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apoloadonisandnarcissus · 1 month ago

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Robert Eggers on the ending of his “Nosferatu”

But isn’t it interesting that this female archetype who understands the dark side of humanity and is sexualized keeps being reconstituted as the savior of Victorian culture?” [Interviewer says Ellen dies for our sins] She dies for our sins, in a way, yeah. I think there is a sacrifice. But there is also vengeance, and there is also a weird kind of sacred marriage, in a union sense, and a sort of completion of some kind of destiny, because as much as Orlok is a disgusting abuser, he’s the only person who can understand and fulfill a part of Ellen. Hopefully there’s nuance going on there, and it’s not just this or that. Source

Let’s try to break this down:

Eggers is clearly aware of the audience response to his work, and what the loudest voices are saying, especially in mainstream media, and he’s being very careful with his words in this interview not to “glamorize” his gothic tale, and get misunderstood, hence why he talks about nuance. This is a gothic horror romance tale, after all, it’s supposed to be dark and twisted, based in the OG toxic and dysfunctional love story, Catherine and Heathcliff. This story is pretty much “Wuthering Heights” on steroids.

Eggers talks about his intended “demon lover story” and the “Wuthering Heights” inspiration in this interview, too. Only in “Nosferatu”, the roles are reversed, and it’s Heathcliff/Orlok ghost who’s calling Catherine/Ellen to her grave. And like Catherine’s ghost with Heathcliff, Orlok stalks and torments Ellen to get her to join him in death, until she does.

I’ll start by saying female characters in Robert Eggers’ films are usually sympathetic, but they can also be selfish, cruel and their motivations complex (often not straight-out told to the audience) in reaction to the patriarchal societies they live in. Apparently, many are assuming “Nosferatu” is somehow different from his previous works in this regard… for some reason. This has been his dream project for decades, and he started working on the first script in 2016.

"A Sacrifice"

Robert Eggers doesn’t say (nor confirms) that Ellen sacrifices herself to save everyone, and even calls it “a sacrifice” (not “the” sacrifice like in previous adaptations, which was the sole purpose of Ellen/Lucy’s deaths). To me, the “in a way, yes, she dies for our sins” is also curious, because this implies that’s not the point? This is also my idea of the ending: I think Ellen saving everyone was a “colateral” more than the actual goal.

We know there’s sacrifice involved because that’s what the Solomonari book said:

“And so the maiden fair did offer up her love unto the beast, and with him lay in close embrace until first cockcrow, her willing sacrifice thus broke the curse and freed them from the plague of Nosferatu.”

The selfless sacrifice for the greater good can’t be the only thing going on here (and it isn’t, according to Robert Eggers), because when we look at the three adaptations side by side, there’s a huge difference between them, especially from the heroine side (who doesn’t behave like a “sacrificial lamb” like in the previous adaptations):

Robert Eggers also gave us a scene to parallel this one with Thomas early in the film, to provide a contrast, and show to the audience how different these scenes are meant to be.

Here the “prey and predator” theme is obvious; poor Thomas is completely at Orlok’s mercy. For the r*pe interpretation “enthusiasts”, here is your scene. This also happened in the OG 1922 “Nosferatu”, as a reference to the “Dracula” novel, where it’s the brides of Dracula who feed off Jonathan Harker (Thomas book counterpart); which is probably why we see a vision of Ellen during this scene.

“Vengeance”

What I find more intriguing here (and even in the 2023 script when it’s said Ellen looks at Orlok with “fiery reckoning” and has “won”, when the sun is rising) it’s how Eggers talks about “vengeance” but then describes Orlok and Ellen union as a “weird kind of sacred marriage”, and fulfillment of fate, because, in spite of all the obsession and raw toxicty, he’s the only one who can understand and fulfill her (Catherine and Heathcliff textbook). This is nothing new, because Eggers has talked about it before:

“Ellen’s husband loves her, but he can’t understand these ‘hysteric’ and ‘melancholic’ feelings she’s experiencing, and he’s dismissive of her. The only person she really finds a connection with is this monster, and that love triangle is so compelling to me, partially because of how tragic it is.”

Who is Ellen? She’s referred as the only heroic character in the film, several times. Like Von Franz says, she’s a woman born out of time, because while in Pagan times she would have been a “great priestess of Isis”, in 19th century Victorian society she’s medicalized because of her supernatural abilities. Which summons up, Robert Eggers explanation:

“She's an outsider. She has this understanding about the shadow side of life that is very deep, but she doesn't have language for that. She's totally misunderstood and no one can see her," he says. "Because of this gift, in her teenage years, she ends up reaching out to this demon lover, this vampire, who is the one being who can connect with that side of her. But then that other, sensual, erotic world is connected to this evil force, which only increases her shame.”

In a interview to “Deadline”, Willem Dafoe, explains his character, Von Franz, an expert on the occult and mysticism, is the only one who truly understands the psychic connection between Orlok and Ellen (which is unique to this particular adaptation of “Nosferatu”): “I’ve heard Robert describe it as a triangle between Ellen’s husband, who’s a loving guy, he loves her dearly, and he’s conscientious. He wants to be a good husband, but he doesn’t quite see her, and he doesn’t understand what she’s going through. And then on the other hand, you have this demon lover that attracts her, and she doesn’t know why, but somewhere there is a deep understanding there and a deep attraction.”

In the same interview, Eggers also says:

“Thomas thinks he's the hero but really his wife, who everyone is calling crazy and telling to shut up and tying to beds, is the only one who can solve the problem," Eggers says. "That's much more interesting.”

We also see this in story itself: in the first and second act, Ellen sees Thomas as her “savior” and often talks about how his love has saved her from her connection to Orlok/Death. And while Thomas tries to embody the “savior” role on the third act, Ellen says to Von Franz: “I need no salvation” because she has never done anything wrong but to be true to her nature. And Von Franz, asks her to act according to it now, too.

This idea of Ellen being the one to “solve the problem” goes back to the first interview I shared: “But isn’t it interesting that this female archetype who understands the dark side of humanity and is sexualized keeps being reconstituted as the savior of Victorian culture?”

Robert Eggers explains that, unlike her friend Anna, Ellen cannot, or will not, conceal her sexual desires. Orlok hears some internal cry in her, and targets her as a result, and in this, Eggers explores themes of punishment and the shaming of female sexuality. In Gothic female novel fashion, Orlok symbolizes Ellen’s sexual awakening, and sexuality, Victorian era sought to contain and repress.

“Particularly in the 1980s, there was a lot of literary criticism talking about all these Victorian male authors who created these female heroines who have sexual desire and sexual energy, and then need to be killed and punished for that,” Eggers says. “It’s this misogynist thing. But I think a lot of female literary critics who I was also reading were saying, ‘But isn’t it also interesting that, from this repressed cultural period, there’s the idea of this dark, chthonic female heroine who would be the person who could understand the depths?’ And in telling that same kind of story in a modern context, even trying to stay through the lens of the 19th century, we could have potentially some more nuance there, potentially, hopefully.”

“Chthonic” is an adjective from the 19th century, and means “inhabitant from the Underworld”

We see this punishment of women who embrace their sexuality in Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” novel, too, with the character of Lucy Westenra (who’s more progressive and liberal) and gets punished (vampirism + death) as a result, while Mina Harker is the embodiment of the modest and virginal Victorian woman and is “saved” by the narrative.

The character of Ellen Hutter in the 1922 “Nosferatu” is based on Stoker’s Mina Harker, and it’s her purity that allows her to sacrifice herself to stop Nosferatu, which Eggers subverts on his adaptation (sex + death). In a way, his Ellen is more Lucy than Mina, and even how Orlok/Dracula lures them is the same (sleepwalking).

On a superficial level, one could interpret this as 2024 Ellen weaponizing her sexuality to destroy Orlok, and getting revenge on him for the torment he put her through, but isn’t this kind of contradictory with the rest? And this is very straightforward, there’s no nuance here, like Robert Eggers says.

I’ve read some weird mental gymnastics to justify Ellen and Orlok’s covenant was broken due to her sacrifice (or whatever), but that doesn’t seem what Eggers is talking about here, nor it fits with the “Wuthering Heights” inspiration on this story. Speaking of which, “revenge” is associated with Heathcliff (Orlok), not Catherine (who’s selfish and indecisive), she’s manipulative but it’s in connection with their desires, not for revenge purposes.

This “reckoning/vengeance” bit wasn’t in the 2016 script, it’s an addition to the 2023 final version, and Eggers has said several times he didn’t changed his story all that much. Ellen planning to die and take Orlok with her, driven by revenge, sounds like a huge change to me, because it’s a whole new motivation. In the 2023 script, we also have a description of how Ellen is ready to marry death, like her dream foretold (the one where she has never been so happy, which seems kind of contradictory if she’s doing it for revenge).

A commentary on the 2023 script, it’s incomplete, has omitted parts and scenes that didn’t play out that way in the final version. One example is in the prologue; in the film, Orlok’s first line is about how Ellen has awaken him, but this line is missing from the script. Ellen embracing Orlok as they die is also not the script the public has access to; instead it’s said he covers his face and falls over her, dead (which doesn’t happen in the actual film, thankfully). So, indeed, there is something dubious about this script. Also there will be a Blu-ray extended version of the film; and this script already has missing dialogue and scenes from the theatrical release, so it can’t possibly be the final version of “Nosferatu” script.

This is the so-called “fiery reckoning” look Ellen gives Orlok as the sun rises. Lily-Rose Depp proved herself as an actress in this role, and I’m not seeing any vengeful expression here. She’s just smiling, which, honestly, can have several possible meanings.

But still, Eggers mentions “vengeance” plays a part in this scene, alongside with the sacrifice, the sacred marriage to Orlok and them being fated. All of these are involved on his ending. Also, we have social commentary on Victorian society throughout the film.

Lily-Rose Depp explains Ellen is trying to come to terms with her own sexuality during the film, and Eggers calls her “heroic” because of her sexuality and her understanding of darkness. We have the cast and crew saying Orlok is sort of an embodiment of Ellen’s dark desires and sexuality (that Victorian era tries to repress and shame).

If she’s getting Orlok killed out of revenge, and herself by extension, doesn’t that, on a symbolic level, signifies that she’s killing her own sexuality and desires? Punishing herself? And doing exactly what Victorian society wants her to do? Which seems to be the opposite of what Robert Eggers intends here? Ellen dying alongside Orlok already symbolizes her sexuality getting punished according to Victorian society (like “Dracula” Lucy) however, she’s the one who’s saving everyone.

“Vengeance” and “reckoning” can also have another meaning: “Vindication”. Which in Christian theology is connected to another word: “Providence”. “She has been vindicated” and “she has won” mean the same thing. “Reckoning” is also connected to Doomsday = Apocalipse = “Book of Revelations”; which can be connected to the occult meaning behind these characters (Babalon and the Beast).

“Vindication” means to prove oneself right after being accused of being wrong by others. To me, this seems to be more aligned with Eggers words:

“But isn’t it interesting that this female archetype who understands the dark side of humanity and is sexualized keeps being reconstituted as the savior of Victorian culture?”

In accepting Orlok, Ellen is accepting herself, symbolically embracing her own sexuality and wearing her shame like a badge of honor. And by extension she breaks the curse of Nosferatu and saves everyone. She’s vindicated because she has been medicalized, drugged and tied-up because of her “hysteric seizures” (which were believed to be caused by a wandering womb, connected to female sexuality) for years, but it’s her empowerment through free sexuality that saves the day, and proves Victorian society wrong.

But this “vindication” can only be possible if all that’s happening here is what Ellen truly wants, because she has fully accepted herself, her nature, because she’s been fighting against her dark desires (Orlok) all movie. Which is exactly what Von Franz advises her to do:

“Harken” means “to listen” or “give respectful attention”.

Then, “succumb to the darkness” isn’t about Ellen passively surrender to Orlok; but about her accepting her true nature and self. She’s the one who says she doesn’t need to crucify the evil within her, after all. Robert Eggers also says he wants to provoke reflection on the audience when Ellen asks “does evil comes from within or beyond?”, but, to him, it’s both.

Still, “evil” is nuanced in this film, too. In one interview, when asked if Orlok is the villain of the film, Bill Skarsgård joked he’s the “romantic lead”, but, as Nosferatu/Dracula he’s obviously villainous, but there’s nuance to him in this adaptation. When Ellen accuses him of being a villain, his answer is “I’m an appetite”, after all. He is what he is, he doesn’t hide his nature. The “nuance” to Orlok’s evilness here is most likely rooted in Romanian folklore where the demonic isn’t inherently evil, it’s simply more attuned to Chaos than with Cosmos, where God and the Devil are twin brothers.

Bill Skarsgård says there’s an entire novella on Orlok’s back story that Eggers wrote just for him. Orlok had a family and was once married, but Eggers doesn’t want the world to know his full backstory but it’s detailed.

We are also told Orlok was a sorcerer in life, one of the Solomonari (from Romanian folklore) who studied black magic at the Scholomance, a school in the mountains where the Devil teaches 13 disciples and chooses one of them to be his slave at the end (demonic version of Hogwarts, if you will). He sold his soul to the Devil and became a vampire as a consequence.

Wicked Sacred Marriage

“Bride of Dracula” theme. It’s pretty obvious. Count Orlok and Count Dracula are the same thing, and Robert Eggers’ “Nosferatu” is also based on the Bram Stoker novel.

Not only Herr Knock bitterly says Orlok only cares about “his pretty bride”, but his covenant with Ellen is literally “And shall you be one with me ever-eternally.” And then even consummate it: “As our spirits are one, so too shall be our flesh. You are mine.”

Ellen saying to Orlok “You cannot love” is a reference to Bram Stoker’s novel, “Dracula”, when one of Dracula’s brides accuses him of the same: “You yourself never loved! You never love.” And his answer is: "Yes, I too can love. You yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so?”

In “Nosferatu” (2024), Orlok takes the “Heathcliff route”, but his hesitation after the “I… cannot” and the context of their conversation (“remember how once we were?”) is a direct parallel with Dracula’s exchange with his bride, in the novel.

The “I’m unclean” is also a reference to Bram Stoker novel, by the way.

But in this story, vampires aren’t made the “traditional way”; Orlok’s victims don’t turn into vampires, they just die. Orlok himself is dead, and his spirit appears to be trapped in that rotten corpse. Him physically dying is the only way to set his spirit free.

Fated

Why are Ellen and Orlok fated?

I think this is what Ellen was asking Von Franz at the beginning of their last conversation: “I must know… why me, professor?” Von Franz replies she was born to the occult. So, indeed, it has occult meaning. Which is also connected to the “sacred” part of her marriage to Orlok.

I already talked about this in another post, but I don’t buy that Orlok was deceived by Ellen: they were both meant to die, and knew what they were both signing for. Because this was the only way to complete their covenant, and the book with the knowledge of how to defeat Nosferatu belonged to Orlok and was in his fanatical servant office (so he obviously knew about this, and was a part of his plan). Eggers isn’t a director that leaves things to chance.

And in true “Wuthering Heights” fashion, Ellen and Orlok, like Catherine and Heathcliff, couldn’t be together in the living world, only in the spiritual world, united by death. And Ellen, like Catherine, dies and leaves behind a grieving husband, Edgar/Thomas, while being reunited with Heathcliff/Orlok in spirit.

Ellen was “fated” to break the curse, which involved “offer[ing] up her love unto the beast, and with him lay in close embrace”. She has a connection to the Underworld, and she fulfills her role as “priestess of Isis” in the end. She’s also the one who awoke Orlok, and she’s the only one who can tame him, and destroy/free him from Nosferatu curse.

#nosferatu 2024 #robert eggers #Count Orlok 2024 #Ellen Hutter 2024 #Bill Skarsgård #bill skargard #wuthering heights #lily-rose Depp #Lily rose Depp #ellen x orlok #orlok x ellen

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adultbabystories · 9 months ago

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< Old bully, New boss > The past is in the past, and after high school, you set your mind only on the future.

High school can be so cruel, kids can be so cruel. As an adult, you knew there was nothing wrong with being a little overweight or being a bit weird, just being yourself is okay. But your teen years were awful. You were being picked on by bigger, older, masculine kids. Nobody showed real interest in you. You had a good friend or two, but that was about it. Not to mention you had no young love at all. To this day, you're thanking the universe for the fact those bullies didn’t know about your bedwetting problem. You knew that if high school was rough, it could be much worse.

In college, you decided to make a change. To become fitter, healthier, stronger, physically and mentally. The past is the past, and you have the whole future ahead of you. In time, you fell in love with sports and decided to take a break from studying and take a course to become a personal trainer.

Your hometown is long away, this is the new you. Not the little bedwetter weirdo kid, but a large-ass fit-looking man. You felt that when you sent your resume to the local gyms.

After a day, a well-known gym called you back and booked you an interview with the owner for the next day. You were so excited that you picked out the best outfit you could think of. Sporty, but classy and serious. Showing your worked-hard body, but not overly revealing. You had to make it just right.

Walking into the gym, you were a bit overwhelmed by how pristine and well-maintained it was, probably for the rich and famous. A receptionist greeted you and led you to the owner’s office where she knocked and opened the door for you to get in.

A huge man stood up and greeted you. By the looks of it, he was doing steroids, but you weren’t completely sure about it. Not to mention he was very good-looking and got you a bit nervous just for it. There was something familiar about him.

“Nice to meet you Mark, the manager here told me it’s your name. Sorry but I still didn’t go through your resume, he just said we need to call you in, and we did.” He said and gestured to the chair next to you.

”Thank you, I’m honored by the thought of working here. Not only it is one of the best gyms in the area, but I feel like there are so many potential opportunities to develop my future clients, and myself.” You said, still trying in your mind to figure out why he was so familiar.

”That’s great! I like your attitude! So my name is Will,” his name was Will.

Fuck! That was Will! One of your high school bullies! Shit he had changed so much. He surely took steroids, he wasn’t that big at all. But look at him now, he’s massive, bigger than you. Plus, he owns this place, and he is more successful than you. He is the owner, the boss, the interviewer, the one in control.

”Now let me check your resume real quick, for formality and all,” he winked and took a look.

”Wait, Mark Spencer? Shit, I knew I recognized you, from high school! Well, most of the time you were facing me while I gave you good wedgies. Ha!” he laughed and gave the table a loud knock.

It made you flinch a little, while your mind raced to the whole humiliating things Will and his friends did to you in high school.

”Bla bla bla, you’re hired! My manager said we should hire you and I trust him completely. Congratulations! Now for the real question -“ suddenly something changed in his behavior.

”Is it true you were wetting your pants and wearing diapers to bed? It was a rumor that went around just after we graduated so we couldn’t pick on you, but you are lucky because kids can be cruel with this kind of information! Ah, Mark the bed wetter! In my gym!” Will talked and laughed, while you sat there, blushing red from embarrassment.

“Well, that job is your pampers, you want it?” He asked and waited for your reply.

“Yes, yes thank you Will” You answered, trembling a bit.

”Off you go then, my manager will contact you. But I have only one demand for now.” He said and waved for you to come closer, and you did.

”The equipment here is very expensive and I can’t have big babies wetting it. So either you control yourself or we can help you with buying adult diapers for you to wear around here as a uniform! Ha!” He couldn’t help but laugh right in front of your face.

”Go go” he waved you off, still laughing.

You turned around, degraded, humiliated, holding your crotch while running for the nearest bathroom to release your full and erupting bladder. ------------------------------------ Our past, complicated as it is, makes us who we are today. It forms our dislikes, but also our likes and desires.

#one page abs

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bittencandy · 2 months ago

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ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣

Summary: It's such a dumb thing to have a crush on Mammon, your awful boss and the bane of your existence. You just wanted a few days off from your job to get your head on straight again, but of course he'd have an issue with that.

What you weren't expecting was what happened next.

Warnings: 18+, mammon calls reader a 'bitch'. Toxic dynamic. Degradation. Reader has breasts and vagina but no fem pronouns used, described as wearing skirts. Oral (let's be honest, mammon is not a giver but let's indulge in the fantasy), overstimulation, multiple orgasms.

Notes: 11.2K words. Not proofread. Reader is down bad, Hellborn!reader. Mammon being an insufferable pervert.

It's astonishing, even to you, how you've managed to developed feelings for someone who might be the most obnoxious demon in Hell - a tall order to fulfill, but he does so with a concerning ease.

His arrogance is on steroids, he's lazy, selfish, and has the manners of a pig. And despite crafting his image and brand around an aesthetic that implies comedy, he has the wit and sense of humor of a stunted schoolboy.

He is royalty. Maybe you could blame his ego entirely on his status, but somehow that might be giving him too much credit. You're sure that if he lost everything in a snap, overthrown and reduced to the lowly rank of the very demons that he despises, that he'd still cling onto his pride and overconfidence. You couldn't pry it from his dead hands.

Worse than all of that though, is that he's also your boss. An overbearing, exhausting, respectless boss. He oversteps personal boundaries, pushes you past your limits, and treats you like a tool to be used rather than a living being.

At his beck and call, that's what you are. He isn't mindful of your personal time or if you're off the clock. Like this very morning when he had woken you up four hours before your alarm could do the job.

You had barely registered that you were even conscious as your hand blindly searched your bedside table for your phone. Functioning entirely off of muscle memory.

The sound of his ringtone had cut through the peaceful atmosphere with all the subtly of a gunshot. You tried to blink past the sting of sleep and the shock of the light pouring from the screen as you accepted the call with the swipe of your thumb. You hardly had time to lift the device to your ear before the rough pitch of his voice - which was way too cheery for 3 a.m. - spilt out from the speaker in an unbroken stream.

"Heyyo, how's my little assistant doing? Good, good. Listen, I've really been cravin' some Mexican - you know the place, right? Of course, you do! I don't pay you the big bucks for nothin'! So, I was thinking that you could go and get me some. Probably a coupla burritos, maybe - or . . . hmm . . . Ya know what, make sure to get the party box. And make sure they skim out on the hot sauce this time, yeah?"

The line had hung up with a click, leaving you to sit alone in silence that suddenly felt too quiet instead of peaceful. He hadn't let you get a single word in. The option to try and reject his order was cut off with an abrupt kind of casualness.

You didn't want to move from the warmth of your bed. You didn't want to get dressed and figure out the exact restaurant that he wanted, because it probably wasn't even open this late. And despite his assumptions, you didn't know just which one he was referring to with his vague instructions.

Your mouth was dry, your eyes were threatening to slip shut again, and the sun hadn't even begun to dawn in the horizon, but the even bigger punch to the gut was when a notification dropped down from the top of your phone's screen.

Ball and Chain

wood u do me a solid n pey for it :)

Its kinda expinsive n i don think i hve the money rn thx

All in all: a total piece of shit.

And yet, like an absolute push over you've managed to develop some weird sort of attraction to him. It's Stockholm Syndrome - forced proximity or something. At least that's the excuse you make for yourself. How else could you possibly explain it?

You've been told that you have bad taste in men before. You've heard it from your parents. Your friends. Even coworkers have voiced their confusion in your past flings and boyfriends.

You've dated your fair share of red flags. "Bad boys" if you want to be cliche. One was emotionally unavailable, one was a cheater, and the other an arsonist with a penchant for outbursts that often resulted in murderous rampages. But somehow Mammon makes them all seem normal. A true talent.

So you can't manage to figure out why the guy that makes you want to bash your head into a wall also makes something hideously saccharine and soft pulse in your chest each time you see him. Something that you've horrendously recognized as affection.

You can't track when his voice shifted from nails on a chalkboard to charming and pleasant. It's gravely, coarse, typically held in a jeering lilt. You've seen some flinch at the sound of it, the loud way that he often projects it causing many to roll their eyes or scoff, and yet, like a lab rat that's been trained, you find yourself hoping to hear it again.

Maybe it's his power. The control he wields as a Sin. The ability he has to kill most demons with the flick of his hand.

You've been at his side for years. You know all of his quirks. How he likes his frappuccino's with so much caramel that it's practically seventy-five percent of the drink. He has the windows on his limo tinted so that he doesn't have to see the poor; turning on one of those sensory videos is the only way to successfully get him to focus, and he can't really handle eating anything spicy. He'll practically bite your head off and accuse you of trying to kill him if any kind of hot ingredient makes it into his lunch, though he'll refuse to stop trying to eat it. Chewing and swallowing while he moans and groans past the pain.

He's a terrible person. A PR nightmare. A horrible boss. And somehow, he's got you wrapped around his finger.

It's more than a little pathetic. Any self-respecting demon would have left by now. Fizz has - and if anyone else could possibly have a spec of understanding on your situation, it would definitely be him. But he's left. Finally severed his ties with Mammon and saved himself before the Sin could properly chew him up and spit him out.

You do respect him in that aspect. A part of you lives through him, latching onto his act of defiance, his reclaiming of independence and imagines that you're the one who finally told Mammon to go fuck himself.

But you don't think that you could truly move on from him. That you could let go. Truthfully, you don't think that you want to.

You've spent too many years with him to leave now. At some point, somehow, you've grown fond of him. All of the hatred and irritation boiling and simmering down into a soft devotion.

You like him. You actually like him. It feels like a sort of betrayal to yourself, but the sting of it grows duller and duller with each passing day until you're sure that it will soon vanish entirely. Like a faded memory.

It makes it seem normal then that you've managed to grow protective of him. Some might say the word "possessive" is better suited, but it seems like an exaggeration to you.

There are many facets to your tasks as the King of Greed's personal assistant. One of them being his bodyguard - not that he technically needs it. He holds powers that most demons could only dream of wielding, but it doesn't keep you from fulfilling your task and sheltering him from the crazed fans that often attempt to swarm him.

You've delt with all of the demons parading themselves in front of him. Desperately throwing their bodies in his path to try and get his attention, with their tits and asses on display like the perfect depictions of desperation.

So, by all accounts, it shouldn't have struck a nerve in you to see him talking to her.

You weren't allowed into the court room. Only high-ranking demons are permitted during hearings of this caliber. Namely the Goetia Family and the Sins.

You were left alone in the lobby, sitting on some gaudy, velvet cushioned waiting chair while you waited. The room is always uncomfortably quiet. Almost hollow in a way, with its vaulted ceilings and spaced-out walls giving it an eerie resemblance to catacomb.

The almost rhythmic tapping of the receptionist's fingers sweeping along her computer's keys echoed from the stone and marble floors. It was annoying. Like a persistent bug circling outside of your ear.

But the irritating noise of the keyboard clicking muted down into a distant hum as all of your focus narrowed down onto the phone you held in your palm. You were tuned in to a live feed of the trial to make sure that he wouldn't make a complete ass of himself. Though the likelihood of that was dim, you still had hope. You were holding out that the fidget toys that you had given him beforehand would occupy him enough to keep his usual antics down to a minimum. But you weren't going to hold your breath, either.

It was a quick glimpse of it, the view on the both of them out of focus while they sat far off in the background. The focal point of the live video trained on some imp, kneeling and bound in chains as he stared forward, eyes wide and chaotic with fear and fury.

You couldn't see what had captured his attention. The scope of the camera fixed entirely on him but based on his expression you could gather that it was more than likely Satan. His judge and possible executioner.

Hearings like this surprisingly aren't extremely common in Hell. It isn't every day that all of the Sins - excluding Lucifer, of course - are brought together to deliver unholy judgement on a demon. All of the Rings were probably glued to their phones and TV screens to watch the trial, frothing at the mouth with the possibility of watching blood spill.

But you couldn't be bothered to pay that any mind. The imp became long forgotten; the obnoxious voice of the pale, avian Goetia strutting about the dim room and the deep timbre of Satan dulled into a muted hush as your focus narrowed down onto a single, fleeting interaction.

The camera barely picked up the audio. The sound of Mammon's voice coming out muffled despite the hearing taking place in a large, cavernous room. The grin on his face was a joyful one, the flash of his serrated teeth making the sinister edge of it even more sadistic in his obvious gloating.

It felt like ice was in your veins, streaking up your throat to choke you as he shuffled over from his end of the gallery, dragging his chair with him to plop himself at her side. Smiling wide, happy and practically vibrating in place before his expression shifted into something bordering on sleazy.

You couldn't help the way your talons sunk into the arm rest of your seat, claws sinking into the padding with dull pops! as you watched his gloved hand slip onto the face of the counter to walk his fingers over the worn wood as he spoke.

You didn't miss the soft smile her left head passed him, long lashes batting at him before she casted her other half a questioning look. As though she was gauging her other side's reaction to whatever he might have said to her. Like she was asking her other part permission.

Permission to do what?

That's the question that twisted in your stomach and coiled like something molten and nasty.

He was practically leering. Eyebrows raised while he grinned at Leviathan dumbly around some dick shaped popsicle. Never have you ever wanted to slap him so strongly before. Not in all of your years of working under him has he made you feel so angry but seeing them together made your blood a venom in your veins.

It was a brief little interaction, and in a split second it managed to dig under your skin like a splinter.

You aren't sure why their relationship cuts at something deep. The bonds that the Sins have with each other has been considered almost familial. Having been casted from Heaven, it's brought them close despite their all of their differences. It's a relationship that you know you don't have with him. You're just the grunt meant to pick up his morning coffee and schedule the meetings that he probably won't bother to show up for.

Why would he ever look at you? You're just another person who works for him. Someone below his rank.

You know it's stupid. Your little crush. And yet, you can't find it within yourself to try and tear it down, to pick it apart piece by piece until it crumbles and disappears. You aren't dignified for that apparently, so instead, you wallow.

It's been close to a week since the hearing, and you still haven't managed to snap yourself out of the headspace that it had all but shoved you into.

There's been a cloud over you ever since. Nasty and suffocating. You've tried ignoring it. Moving past it and simply focusing on your work like you always do, but it's stubborn. Sinking in deep and latching on like some sort of parasite.

Seeing Mammon everyday doesn't help. It's only invigorating the burning ache of jealousy that threatens to cripple your lungs and leave you choking each time you have to look at him.

It's a slap to the face each time. A not so gentle reminder of the way he had sought out her attention. It's rare to see him deliberately seek out someone. Sure he has his fans. It's no secret that he loves being in the spotlight, preening under the approval of thousands, eating it up light he's starved and it's the only thing that might save him.

But for him to invite himself into someone's space without the motive of something underhanded, which seems like a defiance against some sort of law in nature, is something that you never imagined seeing. It makes you sick your stomach that it wasn't for you.

You need a break. A moment to properly catch your breath and recollect yourself. To get a grip so that you don't slip and let your emotions get the best of you. The last thing you want to do is have a break down during work, possibly in public, and in front of Mammon no less.

It's why you're standing in the middle of his office, in front of his desk. Though calling it an office is being a bit generous, considering that he spends all of his time in it sitting on his ass, watching trash television from the flatscreen that he had posted on the wall across from his desk, ignoring the important phone calls and meetings and business updates that he should be approving.

Much like he's doing right at this moment. There are piles of paperwork and files that are stacked into columns on the face of his desk. Forgotten in favor of the food that he's shoveling down his mouth, cheeks bulging as he sits with his attention transfixed on the screen.

The urge to pick up his slack and sort through the documents is kneejerk, and you have to forcefully remind yourself that you're not here to do his job.

"Mammon, sir," you call.

He doesn't so much as flinch at the sound of your voice. He definitely didn't hear you. His vision hasn't strayed from the cheesy reality show playing. There's a glazed over look in his eyes that has irritation prickling along your skin.

"Mammon." You try again, but he's still miles away. Or his ignoring you. That's definitely a possibility. You repeat his name two more times. The control in your tone audibly slipping, turning thin and clipped. The irritation, the stress of your job, the jealousy still lurking underneath it all has your restrain fracturing.

You hardly register your body leaning over, one of your palms striking down on the desk with a pronounced crack that reverberates up your arm in a heavy ache. You're too distracted to fully notice the flash of pain, too caught up in your impatience.

Finally, he acknowledges you. His eyes shift from the TV and move onto you. But the glance that he gives is quick and lazy.

"What are you doin' here?" he asks, gracelessly cramming in another grab of chips past his teeth.

You have to suck in a deep breath to keep your temper in check. A slow inhale and the simmering heat building in your body dies down into a faint thrum. You clear your throat, pulling back from the desk to straighten your posture and you make a deliberate decision to ignore the bit of ketchup that's transferred onto your palm from his desk.

"I wanted to request some time off, sir," you answer. The words are like ash on your tongue, but you swallow the guilt down. You're allowed to make time for yourself. You're allowed to ask for this. "Not for long. Just a day or two to relax and get a few things in order. I've ran it by Juno already, and they've agreed to cover the days I'd be gone. It's a short amount of time and they have enough experience to be capable-"

"No."

You blink at the response. There's a finality to it despite the relaxed way it was delivered. You're not exactly surprised by his refusal, mostly disappointed. Still, it doesn't keep your annoyance and confusion from showing on your face.

"Can I ask why?"

He sighs like you're the problem. Rolling his eyes dramatically before speaking around his chewing. "I'm not payin' for your leave."

Cheap bastard.

"I don't need you to."

"It's still no."

"Why not?" You can't hide your exasperation now, your arms flaring out from your sides.

He doesn't answer, opting to silently drop the near empty bag of chips, and for a moment you fear that you've lost him again. The sound of his chewing is horrendous this close, and despite having worked for him for three years, it's a habit of his that you haven't entirely moved past. Even worse is that you somehow manage to find him attractive, like some kind of curse.

"Cause I need you here-" one of his lower hands raises to point a finger at you, almost performative like he's in a commercial- " taking care of business and keepin' this fucking machine runnin.' "

"That's what Juno is for." You can't help how slowly you enunciate the sentence, slipping it from your tongue carefully like he's slow.

He doesn't appear to be insulted. When he speaks your name, it's laced with an affection that you wish was real. But it's too sweat, too gentle to be authentic, and the truth of that is like a knife in the chest.

"You know no one else does it like you do. You're the only one that can almost keep up with me." His face is pinched in a sincerity that logic tells you is fake, but that foolish romantic in you delights in the sight of it. "You're the glue that keeps this place together. You handle all the borin', useless bullshit while I entertain the masses. It's what makes us work."

Us.

It's so tempting. So close to what you want, but it's not real. You have to force yourself to keep your head on straight and ignore the fluttering in your chest.

He sits up from his chair and rounds his desk to approach you; the bells on his fool's cap chime and jingle, growing louder in his approach. He's still wearing that patient, understanding expression. The sharp edges of his grin have softened into something gentle, and it's so easy to pretend that it's authentic.

It takes you by surprise when he doesn't stop, raising up a pair of hands to cradle your face in his palms. It's a manipulation tactic. You know it is. You've seen him do it to Fizzarolli in the past. Using embraces and tender touches to lull him into a false sense of security, and it pisses you off that he's doing it now. It pisses you off more that you're actually lured by it.

His hands are cool. You can feel it through the rich leather of his gloves; buttery and smooth, chilled by the natural cold of his skin. But it's soothing in a way that it shouldn't be.

"You've never asked for time off in all these years. Are you really gonna leave me now?" He frowns. He's pouting. "You know the rest of 'em are bloody useless. Couldn't find their asses with a fuckin' map. You can't leave me with them, it'll be a disaster."

You want to tell him that he's being dramatic. That it's only two days, but the words die out in your throat. His eyes have gone wide. Big and pitiful like a puppy that's been kicked. It's the image of dramatic. An exaggerated display of hurt and worry.

A stubborn streak of guilt shoots through you despite your basic reasoning. The voice of common sense flickering out for one moment before you're able to reign it back into place.

He's just manipulating you. He's too lazy to deal with his business himself and as good as Juno might be as a temporary stand-in, you doubt that they'll be able to balance all of his responsibilities and yours - even if it is for two days.

All of the assistants before you had either been fired or died. He's not an easy individual to work for. He's exhausting, particular, and petulant, but you have to trust that Juno will be able to handle it. For your own sanity, they have to.

"C'mon, sweet thing. Tell me what's wrong in that little brain of yours." His voice dips from the high tone that it's usually held in, lowering into something smooth and husky.

You don't know if you've ever heard it sound like this before, and it's like you've been doused in something liquid and simmering. A shiver trickles down your spine and settles in your toes.

He did that on purpose. He had to.

His eyes seem like they're burning. The bright chartreuse boring into you, cutting past your defenses and layers and rummaging around to strip you bare.

You have to stop this. You have to get back in control before this tail spins into something that you can't handle.

"It's just two days," you repeat, choking the words out like they're made of dust.

His fingers flex subtly. The points of his claws hidden by the leather daring to dig at your cheeks. His expression hardens, eyes narrowing. But it's the thrum that's tainted the atmosphere that truly lets you know that you're treading into dangerous territory. It's electric. Pulsing and wild and licking at your skin with the threat to sting.

"You're actin' pretty fucking selfish, ya know."

That's enough to snap you out your trance. You rip yourself out of his hands, backing away to create space so that you can think. Clarity drops over you like a bucket of frigid water, and the combination his static filling the air has your stomach flipping.

"I don't see how this is a big deal. It's not that big of a deal, you're just making it one for no reason."

In comparison to the other accusations and insults that Mammon has jabbed at you during your time with him, this is far from first place, but it's enough to tip you into an angry ramble. You can't seem to stop yourself now that it's started. Your mind and mouth slipping away from you and finally letting everything that you've been struggling to keep contained gushing from out in deluge.

"You're such an asshole. You're selfish, and stupid, and you have the table manners of toddler -" his mouth twists into a snarl, and if you were able to help it you'd shut up, but you can't - "you're a shitty person. You're a shitty boss.

I've skipped out on so much for you and this fucking job: birthdays, parties, sick days - I don't even get days off because you can't ever stop blowing up my phone with literally the dumbest requests. 'Can you go down to the mall and get me a pair of shoes.' 'Go to Gluttony to that donut shop.'

I can't believe I actually have feelings for you."

Time freezes. There's no air in your lungs. Your heart drops to your ass.

It all goes flat. There isn't any noise. For the first time in his life, Mammon has been left speechless. And you certainly can't make yourself speak. Your voice is gone. It's vanished and died.

You feel outside of yourself and hyperaware of your own limbs all at once. Your skin is too tight. The air is hot. You're suffocating.

And Mammon is staring. He looks just as shocked as you probably do, eyes wide and lips parted while he tries to process what's happened.

You're mortified. You want the floor to crack open and send you plummeting to your death. That would be a mercy, but the universe seems to revel in your misery because the ground under your feet remains intact. Leaving you to stand with ice in your veins and embarrassment smarting your cheeks.

You're waiting for the boisterous string of laughter to pierce the air. For him to double over while he cruelly mocks you for your little secret.

It doesn't come.

He spares you that much, but his teeth flash in the dull florescent light in a grin that's brutal. He's beaming. Smiling from ear to ear but the delight on his face is saturated with arrogance. Amused and cocky. Like you've stroked his ego in the best way possible and didn't even know it.

Somehow, this is worse than if he would have just laughed at you.

He's watching you like you're a piece of meat.

It's terrifying and thrilling all at once. You contemplate turning around and running out of his office. He can teleport, but if you're quick enough, maybe you'll at least be able to make it to a different floor. A few moments of life and peace without him watching you like he might pounce.

But your feet aren't working. There's a disconnect between your brain and legs and it has you rooted in place. Trapped in your body while the horror of everything sinks into every facet of you.

"So." He draws the word out, long and heavy, nearly singing it. He stands taller, emphasizing the way that he already looms over you. You think he could eat you whole. "Is that what all this is about? You've got yourself an itsy-bitsy little crush-"

"Don't."

It's a warning and a plea all at once. Your voice is somehow shaken and firm. You're trying to keep yourself together. Holding onto the tearing, terrified halves of yourself with a trembling resolve. It takes all of your strength to try and hold the chaos inside from showing on your face.

All the while, Mammon's grin hasn't wanned. If anything, he only appears even more entertained than before. He'll be riding this high for weeks.

"Aw, it's nothin' to be ashamed of," he purrs. His eyebrows perk up, and his smile becomes almost pervy. "I can't say I'm surprised. It is me-"

"Exactly. It's you." You wave a hand in a sort of 'no shit' sort of gesture.

His offence is shown plainly, his smile vanishing in a split second as he rocks back on his heels like he's been slapped. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, you aren't exactly the most respectable person. And that's putting lightly." You glare at him. Almost too tired and agitated to focus on your embarrassment. The absurdity of the entire situation making it easy to forget the anxiety thrumming beneath it all. "Did you already forget everything I've already said? That entire rant?"

His lips purse and his eyes squint in an exaggerated expression that you might have found funny in any other circumstance, but right now it's just annoying. He eyes flicker up to the ceiling for a moment, as though he'll find the answer that he's searching for in the texture and the water stains.

"Seriously?" you scoff.

"What? I'm a busy man, babes, I've got a lot on my mind."

You have to resist the urge to laugh. Swallowing the sound down before it could bubble free, but it still escapes in a thin, humorless chuckle. And you can't keep yourself from mumbling tiredly under your breath. "That's surprising you'd have anything going on in there."

"I fuckin' heard that, ya bitch." He snaps. The pulse of his static coursing through the air lets you know that you might be poking at him too much now. He's killed people for less, and yet you can't seem to keep your mouth shut.

"We're not getting anywhere doing this." You release a heavy sigh, trying to ground yourself. To soothe your nerves which are still going haywire. "It's just two days. And they'll go by so quick that it'll be like I wasn't even gone."

"If they'll go by quick, why do you even need to take 'em off?"

This is one of those moments where you could seriously bash your head into a wall. It's a tempting thought, to just turn around and swing your head into the plaster. If you were lucky enough, maybe it would knock you out and you'd finally get that break you want.

"You are such a frustrating dick. Why does it matter? You don't have any meetings scheduled in that time frame, no commercials to shoot, no venues to attend - Juno will probably end up taking on the paperwork that you do have. So you'll probably just be sitting on your ass at home, or out at some nightclub."

His anger is back. His eyes are narrow, burning in that toxic shade of green that feels like it burrowing beneath your skin. The hint of his power is charging in the air, thrumming and coiling, causing goose bumps to raise on your skin.

"Cause I fuckin' said so," he snarls. "I'm the boss here, yeah? What I say goes."

You want to argue. You want to throw something, to shout, to leave. But you don't do any of those things. You can't. You're worn out. Frustrated. All of the fight in you has fizzled out; water thrown over a fire, leaving it a damp, smoldering pile of dead embers.

This how he does it. He doesn't win arguments because he's in the right or because he's tactful in the statements he makes, it's because he knows how to ramble arrogant nonsense until you just grow too tired and fed up to continue.

"I think I know what all this fuss is about. You feelin' all out of sorts 'cause of your little crush?" He's smiling again. Teasing. Intentionally prodding at that chip in your armor.

You're typically indifferent to his vulgarity and taunting. The most emotion that he garners from you is usually irritation or anger, and despite him being a Sin that could easily cut your life short, you've never been shy about insulting him back. It's easily one of the most frustrating aspects about the way you interact with each other. You both drive each other up a wall. It's a surprise that he hasn't killed you already or that you haven't emptied out your life savings to pay an assassin stupid and willing enough to try and murder him.

But his taunting is enough to have another wave of embarrassment crashing over you. You want to curl up on the floor and pass away on the spot.

He's like a shark that's smelt blood. Sinking his teeth into wounded flesh and latching on. Now that he's found a weakness to exploit, a thing to dangle over your head, he's going to be relentless. Cruelly twisting your arm with it to satisfy his own ego.

This is awful. You had to go and run your mouth. Had to let your feelings slip out. This might be worst case scenario for you. He's the last person in Hell that you'd ever want to have this information.

There's a relief alongside the pain though, but it isn't pleasant or cathartic. It's like releasing a muscle that's been flexed for too long. Pain rippling alongside the alleviation, the stress of it too much to bask in the repose.

"Forget I said that." You don't bother hiding your glare. Mostly for your own sake. In some last effort scramble to at least trick yourself into feeling braver than you truly are. But that twisted, self-satisfied grin on his face snuffs every bit of wavering confidence that you clung to.

"Are you kidding? I'm gonna be thinkin' about this moment for years." The bells on his costume jingle as his body shimmies, like he's trying to contain his excitement and failing. "You're always walking around here like you're all high and fuckin' mighty, meanwhile you've been creamin' in your panties every time you see me."

You wince, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, don't be gross."

"It's understandable. I have that effect on most people." He continues, unaffected by the angry glower you've pinned him with. "I was after all, named the most desired bachelor in Hell."

"First of all, you threatened them into posting you that high in the ranking, and the internet blew up for months afterwards because hardly anyone agreed with it."

"Whatever," he huffs. Petulant and childish. But just as quickly he's rocking back into that jeering, jovial disposition. He's shifts closer to you, eating up what little bit of space you had created between your bodies while you were panicking. "But it does make me wonder just how long you've been sittin' on your secret."

He creeps up with a fluidity that he shouldn't possess. A rhythmic insectile hiss trills through the air, juxtaposed by the cheerful jingle of his bells, and it makes him seem almost sinister.

It has your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and the luminous glint of his eyes pinning you down does nothing to help. It makes you feel like prey. Caught under his focus with nowhere to run. Feet stuck to the floor.

You hate how heat floods you, simmering under your skin, making your breath catch in your throat. You're trapped. Your attention stuck entirely on him as his body presses close to yours, and you can only hope that you've successfully forced an unbothered look on your face. That you seem unaffected from the chill and weight of him on your heated flesh while your mind stirs into a whirlwind.

You have to tilt your head back just to keep your vision locked with his as he looms over you, and it's only then that your brain fully registers his previous musing.

"Just let it go." You try to move away from him, rocking back on your feet, but a pair of his hands lash out in a blur to grip your shoulders. He's got you locked in place.

"Aw, don' be like that." He grabs ahold of your chin when you attempt to look away from him, turning your head back over to keep your focus on him. "So what's it been? A coupla months? One year? Two? I bet the entire time you've been acting all huffy, you were really just all pent up."

You'd rather die than admit to him that you've been sitting on these feelings for more than half of the time you've known him. How you had practically gone through the five stages of grief after realizing that fluttering that he inspired in your stomach wasn't from repulsion but from affection. How you've spent countless nights staring up the ceiling above your bed, hating yourself and wondering why him.

Your friends have all listened to your confused, defeated rambling when you've had one too many drinks. They do their best to be supportive and offer comfort, but you never miss the disappointed glances they pass each other when they think that you aren't aware. Looks that say, "Really? Why him? " As though you don't already know.

You've fought yourself over it a thousand times. Berating yourself and trying to talk sense into your own brain, doing your best to smother feelings that shouldn't exist at all, but they're always there, lurking just beneath the surface. Hungry and persistent, a lonely, longing dog scratching at the door to escape the cold.

"Poor thing. Must've been torture." He pinches your cheeks. The tone he uses, all low and laced with a gauche type of sympathy is all with the aim to ridicule you, and like the traitor it is your body flushes with heat.

Your thighs squeeze on their own, seeking out a friction that isn't really there, and the lack of relief nearly makes you moan in frustration. Thankfully you have half the mind to swallow the sound down before it could leave you, but you must give something away because the smile on his face grows even wider.

"I'd be happy to help you with your little problem. "

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that you were dead. Passed on and gone off . . . somewhere. Another hell maybe, or a different dimension entirely where nothing makes any sense.

You blink dumbly, lips parting while you struggle to process his what he's said. For a moment, you think that you've misheard him, but the words haven't stopped echoing in your head.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your voice is slow. Careful to make sure that your tongue doesn't snag it in your mouth.

"Let's just cut the bullshit." He says it all matter-of-factly, like he's about to deliver some longwinded sales pitch. "It's not like I haven't noticed. You've been all strung out lately like you've got a broom shoved far up your ass. It's made you even more of a fuckin' drag to be around than usual -" and then, as though it adds less insult to the injury "- and you aren't bad on the eyes."

You lurch back from him, ripping yourself from his grip for the second time tonight. You can't tell if you want to laugh or cry or shout. The sting of how casual he's acting, the lack of tact lashes through you like a whip.

"Is this your idea of seducing me?" Now you're fully looking at the man that you've always regretted liking. The one that made things impossible. Or maybe this is just the reality. This is him as he truly is. The truth that you've struggled to grapple with. That no matter how much you've always wanted to believe otherwise, you'd never be special or appreciated.

"Is it working?" For a moment he almost sounds uncertain. At least that's what you'd like to believe, but the stare he's giving you is sleazy. Dripping with perversion and dumb hubris.

He must see your disappointment because you don't even get a chance to turn around to leave before he's reaching out. "Alright, alright, damn, just listen." He grumbles under his breath. " No sense of humor."

You have to roll your eyes.

"There isn't any reason to runnin' away all pissed off."

"You literally just insulted me. Not to mention, you're my boss. I'm pretty sure propositioning me for sex is breaking some sort of HR violation."

"Since when do we have fucking HR?"

"We don't," you admit with a sigh.

He seems to relax a little bit. Shoulders sagging once he realizes that you aren't making an attempt to leave again. He's wearing that pleased expression again. The one that makes you want to kiss and slap him. "Be honest with yourself; can you actually say that you've never thought of me before? When you're all alone at night with your hand shoved down between your-"

"Does it matter if I have?" Your mouth snaps shut swiftly. It wasn't an admission outright, but it might as well be, boarding close to something that you're determined to keep unsaid. But the damage is already done. He's somehow even more smug; bright eyes burning like he wants to consume you.

"Would it matter if I told you that I've had my hand wrapped around my dick while I thought about fucking you?"

You could combust on the spot. All of the breath has been forcefully snatched from your lungs, like fire eating up all of the air in a room, leaving you empty and burning. You try to center yourself, focusing on the texture of the clothes draped on your skin, trying to listen to the steady stream of audio pouring from the flatscreen, but it sounds miles away; glancing past the height of Mammon's shoulder and through the commercial window to focus on the toxic city skyline.

None of it does you any good.

You feel like you're floating away and stuck all at once, cemented in your own body.

It's a reflex to try and give him some sort of quip in return. Some scratching, humorous remark to try and level the playing field, but you've been reduced speechless.

The thought of him like that flickers across your mind in terrible, tantalizing visions. You hate how your mouth floods with saliva while you picture him fisting his cock. Squeezing it in feverous strokes, the tip leaking for him to collect in his palm, using it to smear over his girth to aid him in fucking his fist.

He'd be big. He'd have to be with how massive he is, scaling over most demons easily.

He'd sound so pretty panting. That graveled edge to his voice turning thin and rumbling while he works himself closer to release.

What would he sound like moaning your name? How many times has he done just that, fucking his own hand with the fantasy of you on his tongue?

It snaps you out from your daze like you've been struck. You can hardly remember how you've gotten here in this moment. The events of the day, the stress, your jealousy, it all seems so murky and distorted, a kaleidoscopic blur.

"I've done it right here in this office." He's slithering around you again, circling you like a serpent coiling its prey.

The confinement of the room is no longer just disorienting and tight, but it feels dirty. The revelation of his perverted fantasies scorching you from the inside out. You can feel his static again, humming and twisting along your limbs, thrashing up your spine in a way that makes you shiver, that has a heavy ache throbbing between your legs.

You've been in this office more times than you can count. Stood at the front of his desk to berate him for ignoring mountains of paperwork and the scandals that he's always determined to get into. Never has it crossed your mind that he's been in here fucking his fist to the thought of you.

It's pathetic how easily it soothes the jealousy that's been haunting you, ebbing the pain away like cream on a burn scar. Ice freezing over something acidic and smoldering.

"You're always wearin' those tight little skirts. Wearing those tops that squeeze your tits just right. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, babe."

You think of all the leering looks he's given you in the past, the quick once overs that you had chalked up to him just being obnoxious. You never gave them any merit. He's known for his perverted tendencies that never really have any true desire behind them, often flirting with people, seemingly just with the goal of being a sleaze. Picking out the wealthiest demon at an even or party in the hopes of hustling some free drinks or meals out of them, but that's typically as far as the flirtation goes.

The individual that had ever truly seemed to capture his attention is Leviathan, with him always seeking her out whenever the Sins are summoned together. Gravitating towards her like a moth to fire. Crawling to her side like a dog begging for scraps.

The reminder is bitter. Sharp and acrid in your mouth. And in an unwelcome rush, you're brought back to reality. Jealousy seeping back into your bones like a poisonous ooze.

"Don't you have Leviathan to go try to flirt with?" you snap.

He blinks like you've struck him, but the chuckle that leaves him is delighted. "Are you jealous?"

You don't answer. You can't. But your silence is confirmation enough.

If the revelation of your crush was going to make him a walking nightmare, then the unveiling that you're strung out enough to actually see Leviathan as some sort of rival is going to have his ego hurtling past the sky.

You can already see the effect of it, how he stands a little straighter, puffing out his chest with a smile that's dopey and complacent. He's eating this up like the attention whore that he is.

"You are." His eyes are ablaze with his delight before darkening. Turning into fervid, luminous pools that has your body thrumming. "I can make you forget about all of that. What do ya say, huh?"

No. It's right there balanced on the tip of your tongue, and yet you're hesitating. It's a simple response. One that would have this conversation ending. You could sweep it under the rug as best as you could, go back to your clear-cut employee and boss relationship - even though you're sure that Mammon would always make sure to remind you of this entire mess. But you could keep your head up and push through it. You know that you could.

And yet . . . You're not sure you want to. Maybe it's wrong - pitiful even, that for the first time in days the anger and bitterness that's been trailing you like a shadow has finally shrunk back. Warded off by his admittance that he's fantasized about you just as much as you have about him.

You should try to remain professional, but it's difficult to ignore that this is bordering close to plenty of the perverted daydreams you've had about him. You've spent countless times bored at meetings or alone at home envisioning him bending you over his desk, rucking up your skirt and fucking you stupid. Taking you while all the other lackies and grunts work just outside the door to his office.

They'd all be able to hear. It would a public declaration. It appeased the sick part of you that you've been trying to ignore, and in your jealousy's absence all that remains is want.

You almost feel like another person when you step towards him, parting through all of your stubborn uncertainty and insecurity. You reach up to grip his cowl, seizing the fabric in a firm grip despite the slight tremor in your fingers.

He looks shocked when your tug him down by the material, the bells on his costume singing sharply in that metallic shudder. Something about his surprise is empowering. The thrill of having knocked him off kilter - as fleeting as it might be - shoots through you like a rush of adrenaline.

You can't keep the smile off of your face as you tug him down to your level; the scent of him clouding all around you with his proximity. An intoxicating surge of musk and ozone.

"I don't think you can make me forget."

His expression almost seems offended, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting until he registers that you're only teasing him. Intentionally goading him on in the aim to get a rise out of him.

His grin is almost mean, all teeth. Like he can't wait to rip into you. "Cheeky fucking bitch."

He snatches you up in blink. Fingers gripping your hips and shoulders like a vice as plumes of rushing, emerald smoke blinds your vision, stuffing your lungs, all bitter and acrid; small charges of lighting licking up your skin and bolting deliciously through your nerves.

It's a quick, dazing blur that has your head spinning and stomach flipping. In a split second your body is being forced over. A hand gripping the back of your head to shove it onto the chilled counter of what must be his desk. A cursory scan of the space confirms that you are still indeed in his office, with the audio from the flatscreen playing steadily while he keeps your face pressed against a folder of files that he's probably never evaluated.

"Should make you do all the work for that bloody snark." You can see his eyes glowing out of your peripheral vision, wide and crazed as a pair of his hands slip down the length of your body in a greedy path. Groping and stroking as they drift, settling only once he reaches the shape of your ass. "But I'll fuck you good this time. You're gonna owe me though."

This time?

You don't have time to contemplate or celebrate the insinuation because he's suddenly ripping your skirt free from your hips with a harsh jerk. Shredding the fabric in single motion.

A complaint is right there in your throat, but it's forced into a gasp when one of his palms strikes down onto your ass with a sharp smack, smarting skin underneath the strength of it.

He groans when it jiggles, smoothing his hand down the stinging skin like he's trying to soothe it but the way he scratches the points of his gloved talons down the bruising flesh is pitiless. It makes you hiss out, spine arching like your body can't decide if it wants to twist away or lean closer to the fire he leaves behind his claws.

"Mammon." You try to admonish him, but it lacks bite, wavering into a weak moan.

It goes ignored, two of his fingers prodding against your clothed pussy, grinding his knuckles against the fabric. It has the texture of your underwear brushing over your clit, too light to be truly fulfilling, but it still has your hips rocking to chase after the sensation.

He's barely touched you and it's already enough to have your eyes fluttering. And then he's removing his hand away, making the pleasure fade into a dull throb that has you mourning the press of his knuckles.

"Damn, you're fuckin' soaked." There's awe and lust in his voice, thick and heavy, blending with the rough nature of his voice and turning it ragged. "How long have you been sittin' like this, all wet and squirming?"

His words are muffled and slurred. It takes the sound of slurping for your sluggish brain to connect the dots. He's sucking on his fingers.

You strain your neck to look back at him, ignoring the ache in your neck to watch him as he shoves then deeper into his mouth. It's vulgar and shameless how he groans around their intrusion, drinking down the taste of you on his gloves, slipping and coiling the length of his striped tongue around his fingers.

You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, a low whimper leaving your lips.

"Feelin' desperate?" he snickers.

"Oh, shut u-" you yelp abruptly, hips jolting from the table making your pelvis lurch painfully against the lip of the desk as Mammon sadistically snatches ahold of your underwear and twists it up. Pulling the fabric taut and tugging until it's wedged between the lips of your cunt, nudging on your clit.

The sound that leaves you is tortured and rapturous all at once. A gutted noise that would leave you embarrassed if you were clear headed enough. You can hardly care about being humiliated while he's keeping that pressure on your pussy, keeping you spread open on the snug cotton.

Your thighs clench, rubbing in a reflective attempt to seek out more tension, but all it does is make you brutally aware of the slick already smearing down your skin.

"Should have known you'd be a slut." There's creaking behind you, the sound of bells jingling as he settles into his chair. It's only then that he lets up on the hold he has on your underwear, a reprieve and loss all at once. "What about it, sweet thing, gonna let me have a taste?"

Chilled breath brushes over your ass, soothing the burn that still throbs from the impact of his hand. It's enough to have your body relaxing with a sigh before you realize what he's said. His offer has your brain scrambling for a moment. Never would you have imagined that he'd ask to go down on you. You figured that he'd already be wrestling to your knees right now, demanding that you swallow down his cock and get him off - not the other way around. But there's no way you're going to turn him down.

"Please," you blurt. Your nails rake across the cherrywood counter, clawing in anticipation to feel the damp of his tongue over your heated flesh.

"Are you sure?" he teases with mock hesitation. "You don't sound like you want it all that bad."

"Yes, yes, please, Mammon," you crumble easily. Giving like sugar melting on heat. "I want it - I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me."

"Well then, since you asked me so nicely." The condescension in his tone should insult you but it only makes you burn hotter. Nerves singing and smoldering like you've been doused in gasoline.

He tears your panties from you too. They pinch your skin before they give, but it's hard to focus on that while he shreds them from your hips, ripping them as though they're made from paper.

A surprised cry leaves you from the chilled lashing of his tongue laving over your cunt, crudely spreading your apart on the long appendaged. His mouth his cold, shocking on your hot cunt, zapping up your spine like ice.

A pair of his hands slip back down on your hips, turning ridged, fixing you in place when you squirm while he eats you from the back. Smothering himself in you with a passion that you wouldn't ever anticipated.

He groans heavily. A guttural, deep noise that has tremors dipping through your pussy. It has your brain nearly fogging over when the length of his prehensile tongue sweeps down to circle around your clit in teasing glides before it dips inside of you. Stroking down to work deep inside like he's trying to drink you.

Each curl and tug pulls a moan from you, pitchy and loud, growing higher. You aren't even fully aware of the increasing volume. How your cries are echoing off of the walls, no doubt slipping past the door where everyone else will be able to hear and easily piece together what's happening.

You know you're going to get looks when you leave the office. Employees lifting themselves up from their chairs, peeking over their worn cubicles to try and get a peek of you, staring in judgement and awe.

How you're going to leave his office is another thing entirely. The bastard ripped your skirt and underwear, but honestly that's a problem for the future. It's difficult to be bothered with troubles like that, to worry about the gossip that's probably already spreading around the building like a wildfire while your boss has his tongue inside of you.

They'll all be talking about you for weeks, but you'll wear it with pride.

His tongue is so deep, reaching a point that you didn't know was possible. Brushing over places like he's searching for something, and when the tick point of it strokes over that patch that makes your toes curl, he centers all of his focus on it. Lapping at that point like he means to take you apart piece by piece and leave you in pool of liquid muscle and bliss.

He's mean about it. Mouthing at your pussy like he's tempted to take a bite of you. Scraping a hint of his lethal teeth over your lips and clit, sending sparks and smoke flicker through your nerves.

The way he does it is sloppy. Almost amateur. Like he's not entirely sure what he's doing, but the enthusiasm he has, moaning and breathing into you, lapping and sucking like he's starved makes up for where he lacks.

You can hear how wet you are. You're dripping, spit and cum dripping down your inner thighs. The stiff hold he has on your hips has your spine stuck in a firm arch, but apparently it's not enough, because he's lifting you ass up high in the air. A sting darts down your back at he holds you up, positioning you until only your chest is held up by the desk.

Even with him hunched over on his chair, there's still a decent height imbalance. Your legs fling out on instinct, kicking out to try and balance yourself, but the sharp smack that he delivers to your ass has you going limp in his hands. He mumbles a complaint into your cunt, too enraptured to pull himself from you, but you think that you can make out something over the cloud stuffing your skull and the slurred nature of his words.

Something that sounds close to "quit fuckin' squirming."

He at least has the decency to snatch both of your legs and swing them to rest the front them on his shoulders, offering you a little bit more stability. It does little to ground you though. You feel like you're floating, even while your back stings and the clutch of his fingers on your hips is bruising.

He's relentless. Fucking his tongue into you like he wants to make a place for himself there. Like he's trying to leave his mark and stain you from the inside out.

You're panting. Strangled puffs of air wrangling from your lungs with every drag of his soaked tongue.

"This cunt's fuckin' filthy," he groans, just as ragged and desperate as you sound. "Such a slutty thing. Wan' you to soak me. Cum all over my face."

His drunken rambling has your every muscle in you drawing up tight. Pleasures licking up your spine, boiling in the base of your stomach, blurring behind your eyes. It rushes up on you in a blink. In a split second, it all goes white.

Your claws lash across the counter, slicing permanent divots through the wood as you try to keep yourself present through the ripples making your muscles writhe and jerk.

You suck in a skipping breath, straining to gulp down enough air to orient yourself through the heat. It keeps rolling through you. Making your limbs twitch and spine arch as he coasts you through the stretch of your orgasm with his tongue.

It doesn't take long for the bliss to melt into something bright and a little too keen. A whimper punches from your chest, a hand mindlessly slapping against the chilled counter as you try to wiggle out from underneath his mouth.

"Mammon, what-"

"Keep fucking still," he chides, stroking his finger over your clit in way that makes your nerves feel as though they've been dipped in lightning. "You're ruinin' my meal."

You swear sharply, mouth opening in a silent cry as he continues to lick at you and gulp you down. It's agony. Clear that he's not doing it for your pleasure, but his own. Getting some sort of sadistic enjoyment out of having you spread out and bent beneath him, tortured on his tongue. Swallowing you down in greedy gulps.

The weight of his static threatening to charge the air makes the overstimulation even more intense. It's fuzzy and shocking; your perception muting down into blurred edges. You're almost uncomfortably aware of your own being, the ache in your bones, the spit and cum staining your skin, the tender throb that pulses through your spasming pussy.

He's relentless and you can't manage to hardly breathe. Your panting leaves you in hiccupping, pitchy sounds that are no doubt bleeding past the door and echoing over the occupied cubicles in muffled cries. Everyone can hear you like this. It should be embarrassing, but all you feel is relief. There's pride swelling in your chest, because you're the one in here with him. Not Leviathan, not anyone else - you.

The alleviation of it pours down your spine like melted wax; embers biting at your fingertips and toes, smoldering thickly in the base of your abdomen.

He chuckles deeply, the smothered noise rippling through your cunt, wringing another set of tremors from you. It's a mindless movement when your hips rock back to fuck yourself on his tongue, eyes rolling as he dips it in deeper.

"Squeezin' on me tight," he slurs, slipping his tongue from your just long enough to mumble. "Want another one? Think you can handle it? Yeah, you're all fucked out already, needy lil' slut."

He pats your ass, all condescending rather than praising but it has you flushing with warmth. Turning hot and boneless as you chase after your high. You will yourself to nod your head, your cheek rubbing along the wood in agreement. That's not enough, apparently, because delivers a row of harsh smacks on the swell of your rump, making you squeal in surprise.

"Don't tell me I've fucked that dumb little head of yours empty already. Where are your manners, huh?" He slips two of his fingers in then, thrusting and crooking them to make you choke. He breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of your pussy. It's crude and perverted. Your face prickles as the chill of his breath brushes over you, a stark contrast to your heated skin and it has you squirming. "Use your words and speak up. Don't be rude now."

"Yes. Yes, I want another one," you blurt in a near delirious surge. " I need it. " His name leaves you in a chant, like a broken record. Each utterance somehow more desperate than the last.

"Alright, damn, there's no need to beg." Everything is glazed over and hazy, and yet a flicker of irritation still manages to glint through the smoke at his snark. You can't dwell on it. And you definitely can't act on it with how he's working each thought from your head with every curl of his fingers.

When you cum again time distorts. Everything seems like it's been doused in syrup, turned sluggish and sweet. It's all been punched out of you until all you can do is sit and take it; struggling to hang on through the wet of his mouth, but he's got you stuck.

His hands are heavy, weighted things that keep you in place while your body tries to contort under his palms. At some point you've started babbling, but you can hardly hear through the roaring of your own ears to understand what you're even saying.

It's all a blur. A kaleidoscopic rush of electricity and pleasure, a weight that feels like liquid and warmth; injected into your veins to make your limbs fall heavy and useless.

He's kept you here for so long - or maybe it's only been minutes - fucked on his tongue and fingers while he takes you apart with a skill that you never expected to be possible for someone like him.

He doesn't stop either.

You aren't sure how many times he tips you over that bright edge, keeping you submerged and drowned beneath in a timeless flow. All you can tell is that you're gasping, keening through empty lungs while you seize up as his tongue forces out another violent high. It shudders through you in heavy tremors. Your cunt clenches tightly around his tongue, flexing and gushing, while the pleasure blends in with all the rest. Stretching out like something infinite. The effect of the endorphins filling your veins making you almost drunk, drooling while you moan out pathetic gasps.

All you can do is whine. Squirming under his hold when it becomes too much, ecstasy twining into something sharp and frayed. You've probably gone all stary-eyed.

He's so smug about it too. You can feel the shape of his wide smile pressing against your skin.

"Mammon, wait . . . give me a minute," you slur.

"What? Tappin' out already?"

You hum lowly, too worn to get yourself to properly speak again. Despite his chiding he eases off, slipping his tongue from you to finally let you breathe. You can't stop the pained groan that leaves you when he shifts your body, maneuvering you down from where he had you tightly suspended on his mouth, letting you sag back down on the desk like a broken, limp doll.

His hands are still firm. Stroking and squeezing at your sweat dampened skin like he can't get enough.

A part of you is still far off and drifted high in plumes of smoke. It's all fuzzy around the corners of your mind, sugar and static humming through your muscles. It makes you all lax and dopey, easily the most relaxed you've probably been in years. All of the stress and anger having been thoroughly wrung from you like water twisted from a cloth.

On some subconscious level you recognize him creeping closer, the electricity thrumming around him like a live wire prickling up your spine as he crouches over you. Hunching the shape of his body over yours like he's trying to cage you in.

"Don't quit on me now," he encourages in a mean coo. It's then you feel it. Something tepid and big pressing against the wet entrance of your pussy, cruelly nudging to smear it in the cum soaking your skin.

You can't help the way you whine. Gasping as you squirm underneath the press of it. It's not even inside of you yet and he feels massive. The thick head of his cock splitting your lips wide open to grind heavy circles on your clit.

Even with how many times he's made you cum there's still no way that you're going to be able to take him all in one go. It's a sobering thought, but the debauched ache that throbs through you at the thought of successfully taking him is undeniable. But you already feel so spread thin, worked out and left boneless; he's going to ruin you.

"Mammon, I - I don't know if I ca-"

"Of course you can," he assures in a rich baritone purr that coils in the pit of your stomach. His talons dig in deeper, like a beast with prey in its claws. "You can do it."

His voice is nearly sing-song. So light and relaxed for someone who's planning to tear you apart. He's already crushing you under his weight, dragging is cock over your clit in a delicious rhythm that already has your jaw dropping open. Hitching the head of it at your entrance, pressing forward enough to tease. It's not even in - not even close - and it already has you choking on air.

He was nice enough to give you what you wanted in the beginning. To prove a point that he could. This is all about him now, and he isn't going to leave anything left.

"Again, and again, and again."

You just don't know if you're going to make it out alive.

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

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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Best Things I Have Bought

I'm not sure how successful I will be in remembering all of it, but I'll try. These have all been game-changers for me, in a variety of ways. If teen me had had access to all of these, I would have been a vastly happier person.

This one is long, so I'll put in a cut.

-outlet timers. Not having to go around and manually turn off lamps at bedtime? Amazing. I bought these but you can and should get some that have a grounded outlet with three prongs so you can attach good extension cords to them.

-famotidine. aka Pepcid, it's the safest option I currently know of for managing acid reflux. I get nauseated when I get acid reflux, so this is a necessity for me.

-T-Gel shampoo. The only one that keeps my husband's insane dandruff under control. Coal tar shampoos smell peculiar, but are totally worth it if they work. For my hair, I like anti-dandruff conditioner--I apply it to my scalp and my other conditioners to the length of my hair. After bleaching my hair, I use Olaplex 3 to prevent more severe damage; the difference is very noticeable.

-white vinegar for a laundry rinse. I get horrendous contact dermatitis and adding this in the "fabric softener" cup in my washer keeps things from making my skin burn.

-on a similar note, all Oxy laundry booster. Doesn't make my skin burn but does make stains and smells noticeably better than detergent alone.

-Aquaphor. If you have eczema, nothing helps like Aquaphor, unless it's hydrocortisone ointment (the same white petrolatum base as Aquaphor but with hydrocortisone) or a prescribed steroid.

-Bissell Stomp 'N' Go pads. I have stomped. The stain goes.

-Prune puree. A packet a day keeps the chronic constipation at bay. Less volume to consume than prune juice and, in my opinion, slightly more palatable.

-Chinotto is a bitters-based beverage that I discovered by accident really helps my chronic nausea. I've tried other brands, and San Pellegrino is definitely my favorite. Tastes weird at first, but when heavy-duty ginger ale doesn't ease it, Chinotto can. And when that doesn't work, I have Zofran (ondansetron) my doctor prescribed me for the nausea I get with migraines, and that's an effective anti-nausea agent for more than just migraines.

-"You Just Need to Lose Weight (And 19 Others Myths About Fat People)" by Aubrey Gordon.

-rolling laundry cart. Doesn't have to be this one but if you CAN roll your laundry to and fro from the machines, do it.

-"Why Does He Do That? Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling Men" by Lundy Bancroft. If you Google, you can usually find a free pdf floating around.

-"The Vagina Bible," by Dr. Jen Gunter.

-satin scrunchies. Wet Brush. Terry cloth lined shower cap. AOA terry cloth hair turban (way, way better than similar ones from drugstore).

-stretchy work pants.

-bra liners. For large-chested people who tend to get sweaty underboob, this is a life-saver.

-Goo Gone.

-Dr. Scholls medicated foot powder and the Earth Therapeutics tea tree oil foot spray. The foot powder works for super long days and the spray for lighter days.

-Reflective heat pad. I use this on my car seat in the winter and I am so happy for that every single chilly morning. I've repurchased it... once or twice? now.

-Retin-A. I used to use Differin, which is adapalene, the most potent retinoid available over the counter, but the switch to prescription-only Retin-A has been very noticeable. Decreased wrinkles, clearer skin. More inclined to flake and burn but it's worth it for me.

-Red LED therapy. Near-infrared stimulates collagen production in the skin. The only other thing that really does that is retinoids. I bought the Omnilux mask, which is certainly high-end, but HotandFlashy (a YouTube content creator) did a great comparison of different masks available by specs and this was the best at the time. The difference is noticeable within days. I've tried other, lower-powered masks, but what made me make the jump to high-end was that I got the Dennis Gross red LED eye mask for crows' feet off eBay and I was like "holy shit, this is better." And Omnilux is better still. It makes sense, since they were the OG of the models that have been in dermatology clinics for a couple of decades now.

-AOA foundation has been at least as good at my TooFaced foundation, and it's like 1-2 bucks instead of 40. There are light, medium, and deep shades, each on different pages; I'm linking to light because that's what I use. The lightest shade works for me, and I'm basically translucent.

-AOA VitaGlow tinted moisturizer is absolutely my go-to for lighter coverage days.

-AOA PawPaw blending sponges. Best out there and also the cheapest.

-(do not buy any of the AOA eyeshadows. Total waste of time, zero pigment. I've tried repeatedly and they're just garbage. The highlights are generally fine though.)

-Direct acid foot peels. The calluses come off. Just don't do it when you have ANY open wound on the feet, because it's acid and will sting like hell.

-blendercleanser solid cleanser for blending sponges and brushes. Actually a) gets them clean and b) rinses out.

-PureWine wine wands. I let these puppies sit for three minutes in a glass and suddenly I can drink red wine without migraines or hangovers. Fucking miraculous.

-Dustbuster. Holy shit it's amazing for ADHD peeps. Small thing bugging you? Can't get yourself to bust out the "real" vacuum? USE THIS.

-Crocs. Don't @ me. I wear a black pair around the house and for garden chores and they make my feet happy. Salonpas patches and/or BenGay for a topical when you're sore--topicals are great pain relief.

-Vibrating neck pillow. Don't need it right now? Wait until your next head cold. Vibration clears sinuses.

-PooPourri. I love not having to smell poop. This, and similar products, work pretty well by trapping scent particles in the oil layer instead of letting them evaporate into the air.

-Electric snow thrower. I can't manage a large, heavy snow blower and I don't want to deal with a gas engine. This little guy helped me clear my large driveway in 3-4 hours instead of 12.

-The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark, by Carl Sagan.

-Handheld home IPL for hair removal. I ordered this exact one and I like it. You can get these on eBay or Amazon for cheaper sometimes; just make sure you PROTECT YOUR EYES during flashes. Targets pigment in the hair bulb so lighter skin and darker hair work better, and deeper skin tones may burn.

-Lanolin chapstick. Makes all other chapsticks I've used look like garbage.

-Steam eye masks. ShopMissA sells these and you can find them on a lot sites; shouldn't cost more than about a dollar per mask. I ended up buying an electric eye mask because I wanted to treat my dry eye and that just felt more environmentally responsible, but I love falling asleep with these on and I can't do that with my plug-in mask.

I think this is where I'll leave it--I've gone back quite a ways in my shopping history across multiple sites and thought about my daily routines--but if any of these problems torture you, these are my suggestions.

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onlyseokmins · 11 months ago

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$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #trigun au #svt au #seventeen au

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transformation4life · 2 years ago

Text

Peak Musclenity

Josh was your average skinny american blonde. Average grades and average life. There was nothing remarkable about this guy... besides maybe one thing.

Josh was gay. Very very gay and was trying to get big like the men he admires over the internet waves. And against all odds he managed to make a friend at the gym! A czech bodybuilder named Alois. Unlike Josh, Alois was as straight as can be and understanding gay people was the least of his problems, but Josh was failing at using a workout machine so bad it led to the two to meeting and becoming workout buddies.

Josh was never one to give up and despite his currently lacking frame he continued to workout even after weeks of no results. Alois noticed this and was starting to get worried Josh's body just wasn't able to get big like his. Alois wanted to do something so do something he did and it was going to be drastic...

"Hey Alois! My man, my big burly man! How's it going?" Josh ran up to Alois mid-flexing routine.

"Oh hey kid, what's up?" Alois replied back.

"Nothing much! Just excited to work out with you!" Josh smiled.

"Great, great...." Alois frowned.

"Is... something wrong?"

"Be honest with me Josh, I've noticed you haven't been gaining muscle for weeks now and you keep that damn smile like nothing's wrong. Your lack of muscle has to be bothering you!" Alois put his hand on Josh's shoulder

"I'm just concerned for ya-" Josh politely removed Alois's hand.

"Don't worry about me! I've noticed this myself actually... and I don't mind at all! I'm just glad to be doing with you!" Josh smiled again.

Alois looked down to his pockets. Alois knew that he had to do this. He needed to give Josh what he DESERVES.

"Look Josh, you deserve to get big like me so I got this supplement for you." Alois grabs a bottle from one of his shorts pockets.

"Don't worry. It ain't no steroid. Just lather it on your face and the effect should spread to your body." Alois put the bottle in Josh's right hand.

"Please, for me." Alois said sweetly.

Alois's deep voice was always something Josh adored so despite his reluctance to accept the gift he did keep it.

"Alright then... uh... are we going to work out now or-"

"Nah. Let's go to your apartment. Just us two."

"Oh! Ohohohohohohoh!" Josh started to blush a beet red.

"A-Alright let's go then!!" Josh quickly turned around as Josh led the way to his apartment.

After a 30 minute drive for both of the men they both arrived at Josh's apartment. Josh unlocked the door with his keys and put his arms towards the apartment living room as if to showcase it.

"Here it is!!! It's not great, but it works!" Josh said with confidence.

Just looking at the place tightened Alois's resolve to go through with his plan.

"Yes... very. Say Josh, how about you apply that supplement now?" Alois gestured to the bottle in his pocket

"Hm? Why now? We're not even at the gym plus I don't think we're gonna be at the gym again until-"

"Just apply it for me please." Alois interrupted Josh again.

Josh was getting really confused at this point, but if the bulging man is asking you to do something you might as well. At least that was Josh's reasoning. So Josh unsealed the lid to the bottle and removed the foil covering the liquid inside and dipped his fingers in and out of the bottle before applying it to his face all over. The substance was a bit thick and a very dark black and it made Josh's skin crawl, but somehow Josh could feel the liquid seeping into his skin leave his face clean again.

"Woah... that was weird! Hopefully it actually works..." Josh looked at Alois for some affirmation only for Alois to be deep in thought.

"Alois? you good?" Alois jumped at the mention of his name.

"Yes, yes! I'm fine!!"

"Okay then, so now that we're at my apartment do you want to do anything?" Josh asked a bit nervous.

"Oh, sure! Though there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Josh,"

"Yeah?" Josh gave a really curious look this time.

Alois opened his mouth only to pause for a second... only for Alois to shake his head before speaking again.

"Josh, when did you have such a beautiful manly beard?" Alois knew there was no going back from this.

"A m-manly what?!?" Alois implying Josh had a beard certainly wasn't something that Josh was expecting.

"Yeah, that beard of yours is thick like mine. a real item," As Alois spoke little by little hairs began to grow on Josh's clean shaven face.

The growing didn't stop for a long while and before long a beard that looks to have been growing for years was now on Josh. Unexpectedly though the facial hair was a deep black and Josh's blonde hair was now black to match the beard. A quick pain went through Josh's head before Josh's confusion turned into confidence.

"Oh thanks, I did always pride myself on not ever shaving it! Doesn't really fit my frame but my genetics blessed me!" Josh smiled as he caressed his beard.

"Of course! Can't forget that almost shaved head of yours too!" Alois continued his trek across Josh's body.

"What are you talking about Alois? I love my curly locks!" Alois stopped messing with his beard and grabbed his hair to show Alois that he did have the locks he said he did.

"No need to lie to yourself, Josh. That shaved hair is a good look with your beard!" And just like Alois planned Josh's hair began to fall off and melt into the floor like it wasn't even there until there was barely any hair on Josh's head.

Josh was still grabbing his hair but his mind caught up with the new reality and smiled again.

"Silly me! You're right! I love the kind of masculine look it gives me! Still no muscle though haha..." Alois knew that last comment wouldn't last long.

"That masculine look really suits you, Josh. Especially with those big muscles and tattoo of yours," Now Alois was the one to smirk.

This absolutely flabbergasted Josh. There's no way Alois was telling the truth. Wasn't it just an hour ago Alois was worried about his muscle gain. Josh was a stick!

"Alois I appreciate your compliment but it's simply untrue... I'm a twig and I definitely have no tattoos. I hate tattoos!!"

"That was what you thought years ago, but look at you now! Gruff and tough and just as old as me!" This was the big one and Alois was ecstatic to see Josh's frail body begin to grow.

Before the growth could start, all of Josh's clothes evaporated off his body. The growth now began in Josh's chest as he developed two large pecs that were dying to be popped. Next was Josh's stomach as it became a strong gut and slight hint of abs being there. Josh's back expanded like a large map meanwhile his stick arms were sticks no more as they were now more like tree trunks and his hands grew into sausage like fingers with very rough texture after years of lifting weights. Josh's legs weren't far behind in growing until they were two thick rocks of pure muscle. Josh's flat ass ballooned up into the perfect bubble butt and his feet grew a couple sizes too. Josh's face was next up to bat when it began to physically age and become much more gruff and masculine. Josh's neck thickened as his adam's apple became more prominent. Josh already looked like a completely different person at this point and Josh was none the wiser, but the show still wasn't done. Out of nowhere ink began to surface on Josh's skin with various patterns running all over his arms, back, fingers, pecs, and chest. The most unique one being one that was just "5%" etched on his left pec. While this was happening Josh's dick became quite the well endowed one with a generous 9 inch schlong. The final change wasn't too major with Josh's body being flourished with body hair all over his now huge frame. Josh didn't speak through the whole ordeal, but with a quick change of Josh's memories he just smiled.

"Yeah... you're right. I am BIG and I am a true man!!" Josh flexed his bulging arms and with a shiny gleam a ring appeared on his ring finger.

Alois was quick to notice the accent and deep voice Josh now had. Alois supposed the "just like me" comment changed his birthplace. He also noticed Josh's face being more like his own as well. Alois couldn't believe the black liquid worked. That purchase from the black market was worth all the money he spent. Alois just wasn't sure what to do now-

"Hey Alois, do you see this ring on my ring finger? I don't remember putting this on... Did you pull a prank on me? Pretend we're married? Haha!" Ah right, Josh was still as gay as ever.

Alois thought for a moment. Should a gruff and tough guy like the new Josh be gay? Alois was straight as an arrow and didn't feel like he had the right to change Josh's sexuality.

But... imagining Josh in his current state as gay didn't seem right to Alois. This Josh belongs with marrying a woman! Atleast that's what Alois reasoned. So Alois readied his response and spoke.

"Oh come on, Josh you know full that-"

"Wait we're actually married? I thought you were straight," It was time for Josh to do a little bit of rearranging.

A wedding ring appeared on Alois's ring finger and memories were injected into both men. Memories of meeting way earlier than they actually did. Memories of falling in love through the power of bodybuilding. Memories of their wedding as they kissed under the altar. It wasn't before long after the memories of their lived changed as they passionately kissed right in Josh's apartment which slowly changed into their joint home.

"Babe, у тебя скоро фотосессия..." (Babe, you have that photoshoot soon…) Alois spoke after the kiss ended.

"I know... I have to take a shower.." Josh spoke back.

Josh was still naked and wasted no time hopping in the shower. Josh turned on the showerhead and hopped in letting the cold water lay waste on his large muscular body. Alois while watching his beloved get in the shower realized they were no clean towels in there oh no! Alois quickly grabbed one and rushed to the shower.

"You forgot a towel!" Alois slammed the door open right as Josh finished his shower. Guess it was a quick one.

"Thanks babe, but I can get my own damn towel next time alright" Josh grabbed the towel and started to dry himself.

Before he continued drying himself off he flexed to his husband just to make sure he knows that he loves his man. Josh even did a little pout with his lip!

After Josh finished drying, Alois handed his husband the clothes for the photo shoot later today. Josh quickly put on one of the American flag branded shorts and underwear then went straight to grooming his beard for the shoot.

"Удачи в фотосессии. Я тебя люблю!" (Good luck with the photo shoot. I love you!) Alois said to Josh as he started to leave.

"Тоже тебя люблю!" (Love you too!) Josh left his house completely different than when he entered it moments ago.

Josh became the man of his dreams and Alois was along for the ride as his husband. Josh's photo shoot showed off the new Josh in a glorious way.

First picture by the pool...

Second picture with a cat...

Third picture lifting some mad iron...

And the final picture by the local beach...

As the shoot finished Josh couldn't help but flex in triumph. This was the life! a huge husband, a huge him, and a promoter for products! Josh was a true man. Always has been and always will be with a muscular husband by his side.

#muscle tf #male tf #reality change #mind change #mental change #bodybuilder tf #race change #straight to gay

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brayneworms · 1 year ago

Text

love you (just a little too much) | jolyne cujoh

kinktober day seven: praise kink

word count. 4.6k

content. MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, smut, praise kink, cheating (jolyne cheats on her boyfriend with reader lol), reader is kind of scummy, obsession, childhood friends, mentions of drinking, gender-neutral reader, implied unrequited love, sub!jolyne + dom!reader, oral sex (f!recieving), pet names (pretty girl, good girl, angel, princess—all used on jolyne)

♩ serial killer - lana del rey

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

Contrary to popular belief, Jolyne doesn't mind people knowing she's soft.

The others—particularly the ones she met at the prison, like Ermes and Anasui—think that she tries very hard to maintain a tough reputation, that she puts effort into her hard-as-nails routine that scares off the bad guys. And that's not to say it doesn't, but most people tend to assume that this means she spurns being seen as soft, or compassionate, or even girlish.

But you know better.

I mean, obviously you do. You've been at her side since you were both six years old, meeting on the playground of your relatively shitty elementary school. You remember burning asphalt painted with volleyball-court lines, arches cracked with flecks of black stone. You know every part of her, even the parts she maybe wishes you didn't.

And you've been in love with her for far longer. Longer than that waste of oxygen Romeo, longer than Anasui or Ermes. They can make all the assumptions they want, but you know the truth. Jolyne is soft. And she is sweet, and thoughtful, and loyal, and you know there is nothing she loves more than being reminded of it.

You remember the first time you watched her do her own makeup when you were thirteen years old. Sat in her bedroom, the teal walls and pink carpet, and you were too young and lacked too much taste to feel the nausea that the colours would later induce as your eyes grew more sensitive. You sat cross-legged on her bed as Mariah Carey blasted out from the stereo, watching Jolyne's reflection in the mirror. Her big emerald eyes outlined in messy dark liner, lips outlined in green.

Messy, but she liked it. And she whirled around, brandishing a tube you had no name for.

"Nah," you said flatly. "No way."

"It's just mascara, dummy," Jolyne sighed. "It'll make you look pretty."

"No, it won't."

"It made me look pretty."

"That's 'cause you are, dipshit." You pressed your spine flat against the wall, and as you watched, the skin of her cheeked flushed, soft baby-pink.

"You think?" she whispered, looking shyer than you'd ever seen her, and you felt your heart do something funny.

"Yeah. I mean, don't be weird about it." You bit the inside of your cheek. "Jolyne, you're gorgeous."

She made a strangled, squawking sort of noise and chucked the tube of mascara at you. It bounced off your head as you threw your body to the side to avoid it, and when you looked at her in disbelief, her face was scarlet and blotchy.

"You can't just say things like that," she whined, burying her face in her hands. "Although, feel free to say it again, I guess—"

"Idiot." Your own face burned. "You are not doing my makeup."

That was the start of it, you guess.

The start of looking at her differently, of watching her out of the corner of her eye; putting up her hair into a ponytail, applying lip balm with a careful pinky finger. You've been freinds for so long that you're comfortable changing in front of each other (you used to share baths, for fuck's sake), and suddenly you're seventeen and she's stripping off her shirt right in front of you and it's not innocent anymore. It's something else.

Of course, you're not the only one to notice. The way she sort of... glows when she enters a room. Other people do, and that dipshit Romeo with barely two braincells to rub together between the steroids and the peroxide, he managed to catch her eye. This hulking, seething jock who looked at you like you were a piece of shit under his shoe, who called you weirdo behind Jolyne's back (because he knew he'd catch a fist to the face if he ever did it in front of her).

"I know you want to fuck her," he growled one afternoon, after school, senior year. He crowded you against the wall of the locker room whilst you both waited for Jolyne to change out of her volleyball uniform inside.

"You don't even know what you don't know, you fucking prick," you snarled, staring right up into his eyes. Narrow pupils and bloodshot in the sclera.

"I've seen the way you look at her," he whispered. "You're obsessed with her. And I'm warning you, back off."

"Yeah, big boy?" A smile that was almost hysterical tugged at your lips. "Except you don't really want that. 'Cause you know if I left, she'd go right along with me without even looking at you. You're nothing, and you'll be gone soon, and I'll still be here."

Romeo laughed. "You're fuckin' crazy," he said wonderingly. "Are all Jo's friends this insane?"

"No. Not all of them," you said quietly. "But I am. I'm pretty insane. And you're going to ruin her life. I can fucking feel it. One day you're going to ruin her whole life, and I'll be there to pick up the pieces."

"Romeoooo~" The singing voice soared over the thick tension. The two of you barely had time to step apart before Jolyne came sauntering out the locker room, her face alight in a pleased flush. Her eyes widened when she saw you, and she squealed delightedly. "You stayed!"

"I told you I would, dipshit," you said fondly, grinning as she launched at you and pressed a green kiss to your cheek. Over her shoulder, Romeo glowered.

"Wasn't I amazing?" she said cheerily, linking hands with her boyfriend and swinging their joined arms. Her eyes practically sparkled as she stared up at him, lips stretched in a perfect smile.

After a moment, he grunted. "Yeah, babe. Exceptional as always. That's my Jo for you, huh?" A kiss to her temple, and Jolyne squirmed delightedly.

Strictly speaking, you guess—you ruined Romeo's life before he could ruin hers. Not that he knows it. Oh, you want him to know. You want to throw the evidence in his face and make him seethe, all the while knowing there's not a fucking thing he can do about it.

It happens on Jolyne's nineteenth birthday. You hadn't seen much of her in the day, unfortunately—you'd gone for breakfast, which was tradition for the both of you. You drove her to Denny's and your plates were loaded with pancakes, bacon and syrup, drooling sticky piles of sugar that you scooped up eagerly, talking enthusiastically between bites. She was spending most of the day with Romeo—gag—but you'd see her at the party later.

It takes place at your house, actually. Jolyne's mom won't stand for that kind of stuff, and she's gracefully turning the other cheek to the underage drinking because she adores Jolyne. Her dad had sent a card that arrvied two days early, the inscription typically blunt:

Jolyne, Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn't be there. Be responsible and have a good day. Best, Dad.

"Best, Dad," she snorts derisively, tossing the thing dramatically over her shoulder. But she doesn't trash it. She never trashes the stuff from Jotaro. She keeps it all in a silver box under her bed like a shameful secret, and she reads them when she wants to cry but can't get the tears out. "What an asshole."

She goes home for a bit to get ready, and you prep the house for the party. By the time she comes back, hand-in-hand with Romeo, the place is already crowded. Projections of shapes and colours glide lazily over the walls, filming the bassy music that thumps through the mortar.

She looks fucking angelic, weaving her way through the crowds; she gives an excited little skip when she spots you slouched against the wall, halfheartedly entertaining some drunk guy. Jolyne rushes up to you, clasping your hands excitedly in hers.

"This is amazing!" she gushes. "It's all so amazing! Don't you think, Romeo?"

He barely grunts in reply. "Where's the booze?"

Jolyne's smile falters; something hard sets in her jade eyes, the kind of look that has your mouth suddenly dry. "Eh? Why are you being rude?" Her shoulders square, knots of hard muscle. "Y/n put this whole party together for me! This is their house!"

"Yeah, Romeo." An oily smirk slips over your face, unseen to Jolyne. A vein twitches in his temple over his lusterless eyes. "This is my house. How 'bout a little thank you?"

A spasm crosses his ugly face. "Fuck this," he growls, and Jolyne's jaw drops. "I'm sick of this creep trying to make me look bad in front of you. Jo, I'm leaving. Are you coming, or what?"

"You're joking." Jolyne's eyes are round and hard; an angry blush is starting to bleed across her cheekbones. "It's my birthday, Romeo."

"We'll do something," he presses, picking up her small hands hamfistedly; you bite the inside of your cheek at the touch, wondering if he even noticed the nails she got done especially for today, whether he even cared. "C'mon, Jo, I'll take you to dinner. That Italian place."

Jolyne's face screws up. "I don't like Italian food," she says, which is true. She doesn't like cheese or tomatoes much. Her favourite food is dark chocolate, actually, but if you're talking dinner than Thai food is a safe bet. She likes to make out that she can handle more spice than she actually can.

Romeo grows visibly frustrated; you slouch back against the wall, barely blinking, trying to bite back a smirk. "Anything, then. C'mon, Jo, I can't—I won't leave you here with this creep. Can't you see? Can't you fucking see how obsessed they are with you? It's fucking freaky!"

"Get out!" Jolyne screams. "You horrible pig. How dare you talk about them like that?!"

"You're so dumb you can't even see it!" Romeo yells, his voice starting to rise up over the music. Eyes shift, people turn; you can't have that. As much as you enjoy seeing Romeo squirm, this is Jolyne's day, and you won't let some roid-chomping ape ruin it. You slide between them, setting a hand on Romeo's chest and shoving him back—not violently, not really, you can't have Jolyne thinking you're as bad as him—just enough to make some space to breathe.

You're so close to Jolyne, her shoulder touches your back. You can feel her breathing raggedly, taut with fury.

"That's enough," you say, looking Romeo dead in the eye. "I know we don't exactly get along, Romeo, but I was willing to put that aside for Jolyne on her birthday. I'm sorry you weren't."

Romeo's face flushes slowly with purple colour. "You fucking—you—"

"Romeo," Jolyne says harshly. "Leave. I don't want you here."

His jaw clenches. "Fine! Fine. See if I fucking care." He spins on his heel and storms out, and you physically feel the tension in the air thin as the front door slams behind him.

You turn around immediately as everyone else awkwardly buries themselves in cups and conversations again. Jolyne's arms are wrapped around herself, staring at the floor. Genuine sorrow twangs deep inside you—you wonder, hardly for the first time, whether you would be this instigatory if she was with someone who actually deserved her.

A smaller, bitter part of you that you usually try to ignore insists that nobody really deserves her. Not even you. But you'll try your best.

"Hey," you murmur. "You okay?"

"H-how can he be so mean?" Her eyes are big and luminous as she turns them to you, shining with tears. Something deep inside you dies at the sight—Jolyne is rare with her tears. More often her intense emotions manifest as anger. You swallow, glancing around.

"Okay. Come on, let's get out of here," you mutter. You lead her through the crowded hallway and up the stairs, heading for your own room. The music becomes muffled as you shut the door behind you, blaring softly through the floorboards like you've dipped your head underwater. Jolyne sniffles, her eyes already drying; she knuckles at them dispassionately, smearing her carefully-applied eye makeup.

"What a mess... I ruined it all," she says, flopping down on the bed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be stupid, dipshit," you say fiercely. "It's your thickhead boyfriend. God, I can't stand him."

"I know." Jolyne picks miserably at her nails. "Maybe he's not... as perfect as I thought he was. But I love him. I mean, I think I love him? Just not when he's like this."

"He's like this all the time," you deadpan, and Jolyne's lip quivers. You sigh, melting down to sit next to her on the bed.

"I don't know what to do," she sighs. "I thought everything was so perfect, and now..."

"Jolyne." Always her full name. You never presume to shorten it, to chip off even one perfect syllable. Every time Romeo calls her Jo, you feel your bones grate together. Like he can't even be bothered to remember who she is. There are thousands of Jo's. There's only one Jolyne. "You deserve so much better than him."

Her throat flexes when she swallows, glancing up at you between the wisps of her green bangs.

It's funny—you know Jolyne inside and out. Every molecule. And yet you still don't see it coming.

Her lips press against yours for the briefest moment, shy and tentative and they taste like aloe vera. You freeze up completely in shock, not even having the werewithal to blink, and Jolyne rockets back, blushing madly.

She waves her hands frantically. "I—hang on! I'm sorry! I shouldn't... I didn't mean to..." Her voice gears up for a wail. "I'm ruining everythinggg!"

"Jolyne!" You clamp your hands upon her shoulders, your pulse thundering in your ears. "C-calm down. It's okay. You haven't—you haven't ruined anything."

Jolyne's brows draw tight together. "I can't betray Romeo," she says, twiddling her fingers. "But I... I'm so fuckin' sick of feeling like... he never compliments me! Never! And tonight, it was my fucking birthday and he just blew me off! What a pig! I'm so sick of him sometimes, I just want to—to—"

Her soft, cold hands land on your face and she kisses you again, harder this time, with intent, and you feel every cell in your body come alive. You hardly believe it's real, but this time you're not going to waste even a nanosecond not concentrating. Your eyes slip closed and your hands move, dropping from her shoulders; one slides down her arms until it wraps around her waist, drawing her close, feeling her soft, toned body press flush against you. The other cups the back of her neck, cradling her like she's something precious. She is, of course. She's the most precious thing in the whole world.

It's overwhelming; it's everything you've dreamed of for the last six years or so, and even as it's happening it barely feels real. You feel the urgent need to make the most of it before you snap out of this dream, or Jolyne reverts back from the delirium that's cleared seized her. It's your chance, after all—to finally show her what someone like Romeo could never give her.

Your left hand slips unde the hem of her shirt, fanning out over the warm skin beneath, and Jolyne shudders. She pulls back from your lip momentarily, her eyes searching yours so intensely that your heart lurches.

"Isn't this wrong?" she whispers, as though she's truly conflicted.

Your free hand brushes a lock of her from her face. "Does it feel wrong?"

There's a moment of hesitation—you can see her conjure Romeo's face in her mind—and then she shakes her head. "It should feel wrong," she mutters, and your thumb strokes soothingly over the small of her back.

"Jolyne," you murmur, and you watch in shivering euphoria as her body shudders as your voice slips into something lower, rolling over the both of you like hot honey. "Lemme take care of you, okay?"

A painful dark blush melts over Jolyne's pretty cheeks. "This won't ruin anything, will it?" She keeps you pinned for now, not letting you carry on. So bold, your Jolyne. People like Romeo want to stamp it out of her. You can't even imagine it. "I dunno what I'd do without you."

"Jolyne," you groan. "Don't say stuff like that right now."

"Eh? Why?!" Her expression twists. "I'm just trying to make sure—"

"You're kind of having an effect, princess," you grit out. Jolyne stops short, her mouth working soundlessly for a few moments.

"Ha! Am I really?" she gushes, her eyes sparkling. "Let me see!"

"Wh—no!" You swat at her hands, cheeks burning. "Cut it out, dipshit. You'll..." You pause, weighing your words. "You'll see soon enough, anyway."

The smile slips off of Jolyne's face, replaced by nervous anticipation. Your heart beats at the speed of sound, jackrabbiting against your ribcage.

You shake your head, scrub a hand down your face. "Lay down, okay? I said I would take care of you, and I mean it." There's a spot of hesitation on her face before she cautiously scrambles up against the headboard, peering down at you sat at the foot of the bed. You strip off your shoes quickly before clambering on over her, fitting your legs neatly over her waist.

She bites her lip. "Y-you really wanna..."

In answer, you lean forward and tuck your face against her neck, breathing in her perfume. She shivers as you nose at the delicate skin, finally putting your lips on it like you've dreamed of doing, and she's just as receptive as you've always thought she might be, letting out a squeak before her head tilts up, baring her throat to you.

"So cute," you whisper, running your hands up her sides. She's small, but so toned—she works out a lot, and it's a unique kind of torture seeing her in gym clothes, all sweaty with her hair pinned up, heading for the shower. "God, you drive me fucking crazy."

"I—I do?" Her breath is caught, trapped. Her hands push under your clothes and skim over the flesh there, cool and clammy, and you shudder so violently that you inadvertently press yourself against her.

"You have no idea." You mouth at her neck almost frantically, sucking skin between your teeth, laving with your tongue, pinching lightly with your teeth before moving onto the next; dotting lines down her neck, collarbones, putting your teeth over the jut of bone and sucking. Jolyne moans, high and shivery, and the sound makes liquid lightning rush to the place between your thighs.

You curse your own impatience, too hurried to savour her like you really want. You reason that you'll have time, after, later, some indeterminable point in the future as you reach down and hike up her shirt, over her head, flinging it to some distant point in the room. Jolyne stares up at you, unabashed; why would she be? You know every inch of each other's bodies already. You smooth a palm from her sternum to the waistline of her jeans, through the valley between her breasts, and Jolyne groans, eyes fluttering shut. You can see the smokey green makeup painted over her lids, the clumps of mascara caught in the delicate lashes.

The flesh beneath your hand is soft, warm muscle. You happily think that she could break you apart if she wanted—but that's the really incredible thing about your Jolyne. She doesn't. She is capable of great violence, but it's never what she wants to do.

She's so, so special.

"You're so beautiful," you sigh; your pupils are probably heart-shaped by this point. "Oh, god—princess, you have no idea how bad I want you."

Jolyne shudders, pushing her hips up against you and you nearly choke. "Show me," she grunts, a challenge in her eyes. "Show me—please."

"'Course, pretty girl," you murmur, watching the flush climbs down her chest. "Anything for you."

Your hands move to the front of her jeans, fumbling with the button and zipper before you drag them down her thighs. Jolyne perks up and helps you shed them, and they too disappear into the nameless void, where everything but Jolyne ceases to matter even an iota.

Next goes her underwear; she wears boxers a lot, and today is no exception. Emerald-green briefs that you drag down her legs so clumsily that they end up dangling from one ankle. Jolyne sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, face lit up bright red as she watches you knead the flesh on her knees, her thighs. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, the heat in your abdomen almost unbearable—but you can't even think of touching yourself. This isn't about you.

It's all about her.

You push her thighs apart, gently, and only now does some tension coil up in Jolyne's stomach, her breath shaking.

"It's okay," you remind her softly, and press soft kisses to her right knee. "It's me, yeah? You have nothing in the world to hide from me."

Jolyne's whole expression seems to melt into something dreamy, like she's home, and you could weep. A soft smile plucks at her mouth.

"You're right," she says, swallowing hard.

"'Course I am, pretty girl," you say lazily, skimming your lips against her inner thigh, a hint of teeth just to hear her gasp. "'Cause I know you, yeah? Better than anyone."

"Y-yeah," Jolyne whimpers, and your eyes practically roll back into your head at how wrecked she sounds already.

You prop your face on her inner thigh, gazing up at her dreamily. "Want me to make you feel good, angel?"

"W-well, obviously," she grunts, squirming her hips. You use your free hand to pin her down.

"Say it," you can't help but poke, watching as her blush darkens. "Say, I want you to make me feel good."

Jolyne glowers. "Eh... you're the worst kind of pervert, aren't you? How didn't I guess..." She throws an arm over her eyes. "I want you to make me feel good. Dummy."

Something intense and hot rolls over you as the words leave her mouth, and without another moment of hesitation you grab her leg, wrapping your fingers around one slim ankle and pulling it up so it bends. "Can you hold that there for me?"

Wide eyed and mouth agape, Jolyene reaches for her own leg to hold up, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs.

"What a good girl," you murmur, and Jolyne squeaks again; her fingers dig into the fat of her own leg, and she stares at you like she's hardly seen you before. There's something gratifying in that disbelief; proof that you're not the awkward thirteen-year-old you've feared she's always seen as you as. You're her equal, her soulmate, and you're both all grown up, now.

Some more than others.

You press your lips to her cunt and she moans, fingers scrabbling desperately to retain a hold of her leg. There's a soft dark thatch of hair that tickles just slightly as you shuffle down between her legs, using your fingers to spread her open. She's wet, and your mouth fills with saliva as you dive in, burying your head between her thighs. With her free hand, you hear her clap her fingers over her mouth to stifle the shriek she lets out at the contact.

The moment your tongue makes contact you know you're lost. Your eyes slide shut as your mouth works at her, feeling her hands slide into your hair and grip, hard, hard enough to remember that it's real. And that notion sends a whole new delirium rushing through you, until you feel literally high, drunk on Jolyne, your perfect girl and her perfect body. She tastes so good, practically addictive, and when her thighs tremble and squeeze around your head you think there would be no better way to die in the world.

She's saying something—choked, hoarse gasps of your name. You pop off her clit with a lingering suck, gazing up at her with a smile you can't quite remember to dial back. Jolyne's pupils are blown wide and dark, barely a ring of green surrounding them.

"It—it's so..." She squirms. "Please keep going."

"No worries on that front, angel," you murmur, sliding your hands under her thighs and pulling her even closer. "I'm gonna make you come for me, yeah?"

A hard shudder wracks her body. She never—it's so strange to hear such filth spill from your lips so easily. You're barely comparable to the friend she's known almost her whole life.

And yet—you are. This could be nobody but you. She doesn't know how she didn't see it before.

You dive back between her legs with unparalleled vigour, and Jolyne's head spins frantically. She's never felt anything like this. Romeo went down on her once in a blue moon, and before that had only been awkward teenage fumblings, sticky and awkward, never this—this worship. It's honestly the best word she can come up with for it. You look like if someone tried to pry you away from her right now you'd kill them without a thought.

The thought shouldn't make her shiver in pleased delight—and yet here we are.

Your tongue rolls over her clit, glides between her folds, presses in, and loops all over again until her hands are fisted in your hair and she's crying out against the muted blaring of the music.

"Fuck, fuck," she curses, blinking hard to try and stay focused. "Gonna come, I'm gonna c-come—"

"I got you," you moan against her, the vibrations sending a whole new set of jitters up her spine. "My girl, my good girl, c'mon, give it to me, I need it, fuck, I need you to come for me—"

Your lips latch onto her clit and suck once, harshly, and Jolyne comes so hard she feels her body separate from herself. Seeing stars has always felt like a dumb expression, but she swears white rockets across her vision, tears it open to perfect clarity. Her thighs clamp down on your head, hips rocking up against you as she shudders and moans through it, and all the while you keep your fingers on her, stroking slow and soft until she twitches from overstimulation. Her foot kicks out on instinct, catching on your shoulder.

She comes back to herself when she hears you wince. "Sorry," she says hoarsely. You just roll your eyes fondly and tap her ankle away.

You flop against her as she attempts to pick her breath back up. She can feel her own release dripping down her thighs and she looks at you, unexpectedly shy. It's surreal, but—but even as reality sets in cold as stone, she cannot quite bring herself to feel guilty.

You press a lazy kiss to the size of her bared breast, making her flinch in surprise. "Heh. You animal."

"Yeah," you agree readily, your voice hoarse with want. "For you, yeah."

Jolyne's eyes flutter. She doesn't quite know what to say to that, to any of this. Instead she swallows, looks around to try and get her surroundings. Your bedroom is intimately familiar—the dark walls, the posters, the fishtank and blinds and assortment of blue stringlights and lamps. Your room has always kinda felt like being inside an aquarium.

A lump settles in her throat. She's grown up here. You both had.

And though she knows she should get dressed and find her phone, although she knows she should call Romeo and try to cover up the hickies dotted haphazardly all over her throat, she can't quite bring herself to do it. Any of it. Because you'd made her feel more loved in twenty minutes than Romeo had in months.

So she curls back up next to you, jamming her head aginst your heart. She feels your breath hitch at the contact and squirms delightedly.

"J-Jolyne?" you say weakly.

"Shut up, dummy," she says as matter-of-factly as she can manage. "I wanna sleep."

"...Okay, angel." Your voice is soft, soothing. "Anything for you."

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