#totally not my fantasy rn | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bucknastysbabe · 1 year ago

Note

Ser Criston is OC Princess (Rhaenyra’s younger sister) sworn protector & is in love with her but he knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help being obsessed and Rhaenyra hates it because it’s her little sister & so one night she asks Ser Criston to sneak out for a walk and they kiss & get caught by Rhaenyra idk

Hi yes I totally got carried away bc Criston has me in a chokehold rn. I hope you enjoy, I love the obsessed aspects. I also got to explore the other indications in F&B that insinuated Cole rejected Rhaenyra. Thanks for the ask🥰🥰 I don’t usually do OC’s but since it’s a Targ I mean I can only leave so much up to interpretation! But it was fun and diff

Rating: Mature

Tags: Forbidden love, unreliable narrator, Criston’s POV, oc-ish Princess reader, Sorry I made Rhae a bitch ugh, Criston’s snappy ass, Alicent is his bestie, masturbation, fantasies, dark Criston, virgin reader, clit orgasm, open ending, angst and pining galore, Religious Guilt, Harwin doing his best okay?, character study-ish, obsessive/possessive Criston

Word count: About 6k

@aemonds-holy-milk @aemonddtargaryen

Lucerra Targaryen, called Cerra, was oft said to be the spitting image of the late Queen Aemma. She retained more of her father’s demeanor, none of the resolute strength of Aemma and the fiery nature of young Rhaenyra. The fire that had entranced Criston once. He was told all of Cerra’s quirks when they made him her sworn shield.

He so much did not glance Rhaenyra’s way now, the burly Ser Harwin towering over the heir. They shared a kiss once, Criston ran, their close bond was severed. He knew down deep she coveted her uncle. It burned him, but he did his duty. The duty hanging around his shoulders like a lead weight— just cloaked in white wool. Criston found himself bewitched again.

The sweet Cerra, her gentle innocence and piousness. Something unmarred, not yet tainted by the world. The knight wondered if she was the maiden reborn, sent to test him. He prayed and prayed and confessed repeatedly to get rid of the wicked sin in his heart. Usually after touching himself.

Criston had always been weak when it came to the fairer sex. He’d fall madly in love like a boy and his first fuck. Just no fucking, more of the merest scrap of appreciation and touch had him by the vulnerable throat.

He coveted the young princess badly. Sometimes she would grab his palm when frightened, or on a walk to the Sept. Criston felt disgusting wondering how that soft hand would feel around his cock, the pale flesh clashing against ruddy. Cerra didn’t know, couldn’t know how weak he was.

Rhaenyra obviously knew of the metaphorical chink in the armor. She was becoming increasingly nosy of her sister’s doings as of late. He sourly thought to himself, ‘spoiled cunt couldn’t have me, of course she’ll make sure I part from her sweet sister.’ He frowned in annoyance at the elder’s recent interruption.

He’d merely helped her up to reach a flower in a tall bush. Certainly didn’t expect chaste Cerra to be so…close. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, startling him as she sighed, “You’re too kind Ser Criston, my white knight. What would I do without you?” She didn’t mean anything licentious, the Princess never did. Once a lordling flirted and she blushed to her ears and called for Criston to escort her away.

He preened about that for days. He’d heard the idiot boy scoff, “Stupid Dornish mutt.” Criston grinned and leaned toward the shorter lad, keeping his voice low. The princess shouldn’t hear such filth. He hissed, “This mutt would be glad to cave your fucking skull in with a Morningstar. Don’t come near the Princess ever again.” That was that. Back to his original thought.

At the moment Criston couldn’t help but sink into her soft gesture, pale white waves and lavender eyes gazing up as she laid her head on his chest. The brunette laid a chaste hand on her waist, but the moony look on his face was likely brighter than the Hightower’s beacon.

“My lady is kinder, no need to praise your sworn shield, merely doing my duty Princess.”

His cock was full to bursting at her sweet scent and wide eyes, framed by pretty lashes. Cerra closed those lavender orbs and inhaled gently, relaxing in the center of the Godswood. Criston’s hand thumbed little circles into her waist, feeling the princess relax more, leaning into his stronger frame, lips subtly parting.

“Cole! This is an unseemly position to be seen in with my sister if Larys’ spies are about,” Rhaenyra called with a smile and cocked head. Lucerra stepped back with a gasp, flush flooding her cheeks. She stammered, “R-Rhaenyra, no no, I w-was simply.”

“Simply what?”

Criston cooled his expression to state, “The princess was expressing her gratitude for me. Nothing more.”

Lucerra nodded, gesturing to the knight, cheeks still flaming and eyes downcast. She certainly wasn’t acting as if this was innocent. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes and stepped forward to grab her sister’s hand. Casting a glare toward him she hissed, “I need her for the afternoon, you can wait outside the door.”

He stiffly nodded, anger flaring up in his chest so violently Criston feared he would yell at the heir. Instead he murmured, “Yes princess.” From a distance he trailed the two blondes, aggravated as all Seven Hells. Rhaenyra never paid attention to Cerra, especially since having her first babe. Damned bitch. Where was her loyal whore Harwin?

Waiting outside Rhaenyra’s chambers, Criston thought over her precious sister’s actions. He wondered what it would be like to touch her more. Graze over her sensitive neck, breasts, lower belly. She’d probably squeal if he suckled on a pretty tit. He inhaled sharply, catching himself on a low moan. Repentance would be in order soon.

Maybe he was being punished now— waiting outside like a mangy dog.

For hours.

Cerra came back out with a strange look, apologizing, “Sorry Ser Criston, that went longer than expected, I didn’t think my sister would want that much of the day. Shall we head to supper?”

He nodded, extending an arm forward. The princess was quiet, eyes flicking toward him a couple of times. Criston asked, “Yes princess?” Lucerra stopped on a dime and faced him, face close to tears. She warbled, “You’re not mad are you? I- I can’t deny family. Rhaenyra actually uh- helped. I was acting imprudent in the Godswood, I apologize for being wanton and brazen Ser.”

Oh. Criston blinked a couple of times. She was expressing more than mere affection? He wiped away her tear with a gloved hand, sighing, “No princess, I could never be mad at you, what’s in the past is in the past. You are anything but wanton, the picture of the maiden to me. Don’t let her scare you.”

She smiled, tipping forward on her feet some, eyes entrapping Cole easily. Then he was engulfed into a hug again. What had brought in this madness? He couldn’t complain, yet.

She breathed, “Oh, oh I was so worried you’d be mad. We should go to the sept tomorrow, yes?” The knight’s lips quirked up as he replied, “That sounds splendid my Princess, we shall go in the morn. Now let’s get you to dinner?”

She grabbed his hand again, practically skipping, chattering now about her time with ‘big sister’. Criston listened, he always did, but he needed to go jack his cock before going mad. Then wallow in guilt about it all night at the edge of Cerra’s room. She preferred him taking watch from inside her quarters. Such a frightened little lamb.

Wallow in guilt did he. While the princess slept in her grand bed, Criston couldn’t help but replay the shame in his head. As soon as he’d escorted her to dinner, he went to his quarters and stripped down heavy armor and pants. The man shuddered at the sensation of cool air hitting his achingly flushed cock.

He pictured the pristine Targaryen underneath his tanned body, writhing with pleasure. Criston spat on his hand and worked his prick, panting softly. Cerra’s doe eyes would be teary, overwhelmed with the pleasures of the flesh. She’d whine while he’d pump into her virgin cunt, “Oh, Criston, oh gods! Don’t stop!” The knight gasped and shuddered at the thought, groaning as he spilled all over his hand.

He blinked again, running a hand through his hair. Lucerra was awake, hair shining like silver under the moonlight. She spoke in a soft rasp, “Ser Cole, are you still here?” He laughed at her silly question, replying, “As always, can’t trade me out like the Cargylls.”

“Oh, good,” she pulled the covers off the bed and stretched, white nightgown pulling in the right wrong places, “I had a horrid dream. I can’t possibly go back to sleep yet.”

Criston frowned at her admission— it pained his heart to have her upset. He questioned, “A bad dream? What was it about?” She stepped onto the cold marble floor, shivering, shrugging on a thicker robe hung nearby. His eyes followed her smaller form come closer, curling up in a plush chair adjacent to his position. She wiped a hand across her face, still groggy.

“I can hardly remember now. I was alone, so alone, not even my dragon was around. I k-kept calling out for someone, probably you,” she pulled the robe tighter, “I don’t know. Maybe it was the wine.”

Cerra’s lips were drawn tight, brows pulled together. Criston wanted to pull the pretty girl onto his lap, she was still shivery. He thought of a decent response, something comforting. The knight settled on, “It was obviously a dream, I’d never desert you my Princess. That big white beast wouldn’t either.”

Her lips curled up to let out a tinkling laugh— making Criston’s sick heart skip a beat. Cerra replied, “Cloudwing is not a beast! She’s a good girl.” The brunette chuckled along with the Targaryen, smiling helplessly, such a lovesick dumb dog was he.

A beat of silence grew over them, heavy with something. The earlier revelation of Lucerra behaving with romantic intentions still lay undiscussed. Criston suggested gently, “You will catch a cold if you do not get back under the covers, princess. You won’t be alone, I swore an oath.”

One he would break if she just asked. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted that truly or not. He’d gotten quite far being the son of a common born steward.

She bit her lower lip and shrugged, “I’d much rather sit with you Ser Criston. I’ll be okay as long as I keep my feet off the dreadful stone.”

“Lucerra, please, shall I pick you up then? You need sleep, the Sept remember?”

Her gaze locked onto the white knight’s intensely. Lucerra fidgeted with her robe, the damn air growing heavier. Criston found it hard to think when she was being so confusing. She finally spoke, a meek whisper, “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.”

Lifting the blonde was easy, her squeak and grasp onto his shoulders adorable. Criston had to bat away more thoughts about how simple she was to handle. He laid her down gently, taking the coat she shrugged off. Lucerra grabbed onto his hand with a fervent tightness as he turned back to his chair.

“Please, don’t leave me so alone, I don’t care what Rhaenyra says. Just keep me warm?”

Her pretty face was achingly raw, open, eyes tinged with fear. Criston swallowed heavily. He was weak. He couldn’t run away this time. Didn’t want to run away, bask in the sweet sin. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe it was a test from the seven.

“Criston?”

“Yes, just, just- give me a second to get my armor off.”

Now he was shivery with want, warring with trepidation. Ridding his body of armor was horribly slow. The awkward clank of each piece coming off. Each heavy noise reminded him what he was potentially giving up. Soon Criston remained in simple breeches and a linen shirt. Lucerra pulled back the covers and smiled nervously.

He climbed onto the soft bed, pulling the blankets back over their frames. Unsure of what came next, Criston simply laid on his back and gazed at her. Lucerra murmured, “Must you be the pious one now?” He raised an amused brow at the bold comment.

“What’s that supposed to mean princess?”

She frowned and nestled into his side, wrapping an arm around him and tucking soft hair into the crook of shoulder and jaw. Criston exhaled sharply, unused to such intimate touch after donning the white cloak. He reached over to grab her leg, pulling it snug across his lower belly, thankfully out of the way of his swelling prick.

Cerra gasped against his neck, giggling, “Good, now I don’t feel like a concubine.”

“Concubine? Pfft. You’re white as snow compared to my cloak,” he replied.

“It’ll be our secret, I’d fear I would perish without my white knight. I swear it upon my heart.”

He couldn’t respond, lest it be something out of control. Instead he rubbed her back and knee, squeezing once in agreement with Cerra’s statement. Soon she fell asleep, softly puffing against his neck. Criston joined soon after, utterly content and warm.

The simple action of cuddling up couldn’t slake the thirst that grew within him for the lovely princess. They had remained chaste and he arose early every morn to get dressed and step back outside the wooden door. Lucerra would seek out touches in secret, holding pinkies with him, laying her head on an armored shoulder in the Godswood.

She would share smiles with the knight across the throne room, Rhaenyra’s calculating look upon the utterly obvious pair. Criston knew one could see into his bleeding heart if they looked into his eyes. The way Princess Lucerra grew tighter and tighter into his side around the keep, lavender eyes sparkling aroused many curious onlookers.

Rumors began to swirl. Criston reluctantly stood outside her chambers a couple nights a week. One night he encountered a poorly prying Harwin Strong. The fellow knight had made one too many passes and he called out, “Get your big ass over here!” He didn’t mind Harwin, but did mind being spied on.

The hand’s son looked sullen as he walked up to Criston, flicking down a dark hood. He gave a sheepish smile, apologizing, “Uh, you know, the girls want what they want.” Criston crossed his arms and deadpanned, “Your girl wants me expelled from King’s Landing on account of rumors”

Harwin gave him a look, disgusting pity lacing his features. Criston reiterated, “The girl remains pure, she looks to me as a protector, you know how easily frightened the princess has always been.” Somehow he felt like a liar. Still her pretty lips and cunt remained untouched.

“Sure Cole. Just be careful, you know what the punishment is of breaking your oath.”

Criston’s temper flared to life, taunting Harwin with a fake smile, “You be careful too now, two Valyrians making some beautiful brown haired babes is a bit strange no?”

Harwin shoved him into the door with a snarl. Breakbones’ power at full force knocked the wind out of Criston, but he wheezed a laugh. He was no better than him— just another lovesick fool. Strong rumbled, “Keep your damn mouth shut and I’ll stay on my side, but I know you got the princess primed for your dirty lowborn cock.”

Criston didn’t want to get his face pummeled in. The raucous already probably woke his sweetling. He gave another smarmy look and hummed, “Noted, Strong.” That earned the knight another shove and the burly man stomped off to lick the bitch’s teats.

The door opened behind Criston, a bewildered Lucerra in her robe. She questioned, “W-what was that? Are you alright Ser Criston? Come in, please.”

His dark eyes scanned down the hallway once more before stepping inside, sighing as she enveloped him into a warm embrace. Criston spoke lowly, “Big sister had sent her own shield to spy on me. We should be more careful.”

Lucerra frowned, lips setting into a pout. She murmured, “We’ve done nothing horrid. Yes, unseemly, but I’m intact. Turn around, let me get off this dreaded armor.” Criston appreciated her desire to learn how to discard his Kingsguard armor— although he averted guilty eyes from the way the Targaryen would carefully hang his cloak, like it still meant something.

As they laid together, she complained into his neck, lithe fingers playing with his inky hair, “You’re right, we should be more courtly, take more precaution. Of all of my sister’s misgivings, why does she care?”

Criston played dumb, it’s what he was anyway. Lied again and said he had no clue why Rhaenyra took such a deep distaste to the pair’s relationship. He sighed, “It will work out, more careful, yes. C’mon, to sleep, sorry about the noise.”

Another night in her arms was a blessing to Criston. He would be reluctantly busy the next day. The king needed a whole retainer for his appearance in public at the Dragonpit. It was the anniversary of Aegon’s landing. Luckily the princess would be in his peripheral. Along with the conniving heir and her other eyes.

It was a banal affair, King Viserys smiling and waving to the crowds. Queen Alicent held her youngest child, Daeron. Rhaenyra and Laenor were surrounded by her bastard brood, holding her own babe Joffrey. Named after that flimsy knight who Laenor was fucking. Poor sap died in the city under strange circumstances, likely Daemon’s doings.

Criston met eyes with Harwin, vaguely disguising a sneer. He ignored the brute and turned his vision back to the crowds, the smallfolk staying relatively easy. Lucerra stood next to her elder sister, holding Lucerys, her namesake. Her smile was gorgeous, a couple of boys cheered for her, throwing a flower.

After the public spectacle, the princess gave a shy smile to Criston on his horse, cheeks rosy pink before the door was slammed shut by the cunt Daemon. He raised a brow and hopped onto the front of the wheelhouse, offhandedly commenting, “Cunt struck and you haven’t even defiled my niece, Ser Crispin.”

The Dornishman clenched his jaw so hard he feared it may crack a tooth. He rode ahead, staying silent, Daemon didn’t forget a slight and surely hadn’t forgot when Criston embarrassed the rogue prince in tournament. Pompous ass.

More annoying feast and merriment kept the knight from his pretty girl. Lords and ladies filled the grand dining hall, dancing to and fro. He stayed put against a column, watching her. Lucerra wasn’t much of a dancer, but she let the old Sea Snake guide her around some turns.

A body sidled next to him, a familiar face and scent. The Queen herself, Alicent smiled softly up at him. She stated, “You’re distracted Ser Criston.” He sighed in return, “I’m sure you’re quite aware of the rumors. Seven cursed my weak heart.”

“Lucerra’s harmless,” Alicent glared toward the non-green side of the table, “It’s her lying sister, you remained truthful. I’ve been trying to stifle the rumors. Have you stayed chaste? I hope you have on account of your neck, my dear Knight.”

Criston leaned down to murmur, “Agonizingly so. I fear I’ve been bewitched yet again. Harwin Strong was sniffing around the other night.”

Her lips turned to a foul grimace at the mention. Alicent hissed, “The realm’s delight is carting around her bastards like trueborns and she’s deadset on potentially ruining her sister’s reputation to get at you.”

“Always been selfish, hasn’t she,” Criston laughed.

Alicent smirked, placing both of her hands over the knight’s. The green queen spoke plainly, “Please be careful dear heart. You’re a valuable asset to our proud dynasty.” The long-suffering redhead disappeared into the throng of people, ever an ally for him.

Back to scanning the surroundings. Daemon was spinning with Rhaenyra, likely talking horseshit in High Valyrian. He scanned for Lucerra, finding her cornered by the tables with a noble clad in the colors of House Darklyn, known bootlickers.

His chest tightened with jealousy. Criston seethed to himself, chanting internally, ‘I will not make a scene, I will not make a scene.’ The Darklyn lad was too close for his liking. It suddenly felt too hot under his heavy armor. He was close to the brink, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles whitened.

Lucerra seemed uncomfortable, face uneasy and body stiffening. The Darklyn fuck was leaning into her space, lips undoubtedly spewing disgusting things a lady shouldn’t hear. The princess gasped at something he said and turned away, getting yanked back towards the man.

That was enough.

Criston stormed forward, shoving through the nobility, snarling in anger. He yanked the uncouth prick by the collar and dragged him far away from his princess. Parts of the crowd stopped to stare, Rhaenyra perking up to look. The princess blushed and excused herself, quickly finding another dance partner in the more palatable form of Tyland Lannister.

“What are you doing? I have done nothing to the King!,” the black haired teen spat. Criston continued to haul the boy past the columns to a quieter place, anger clouding any sort of judgement. He shoved the noble bitch against an alcove, gauntlet pressed against twitching neck.

Darklyn gasped and writhed for air, eyes wide with fear. Criston hissed, “The Kingsguard protects the family and the king. You should know better than to touch the princess like that. I ought to gut you, throw you onto the spikes of Maegor’s Holdfast and watch you rot.”

The stinking reek of piss filled Criston’s nostrils. He looked down in disgust, muttering, “Weakling piss-ant. Don’t dare come near her-,” his threat was unfinished as he was whirled to face Lord Commander Westerling. His face was hard and eyes flinty— obviously disappointed.

“Come Cole, we need to have a word.”

The walk was quiet and unsettling, only the clank of their gear and footsteps sounding off as they reached the quieter area of Maegor’s Holdfast. Criston apologized immediately, “My temper Ser, I apologize, he was manhandling the Princess.”

Harrold Westerling shook his head with a resigned sigh. He rumbled, “You’ve already toed the line Ser Cole. I don’t want to have a capable fighter like you dismissed or facing the black, gelded at that.”

Criston’s roiling emotions died down into a despairing state— his chest fluttering with fear. He nodded and held his head down in obeisance. Westerling continued, “You must take a step back. You’re of the most elite of elite men, a big step from your beginnings. Princess Lucerra is an enchanting girl, I know this is hard, but as soon as you took the oath— this is your life. You must cease all feelings for the girl or request to be transferred to another.”

Criston fought back the warble in his voice. He wanted to rip his cloak off and shout his love, make someone understand. He swore, “I know Lord Commander, I know. I have never defiled the girl, I would never. This is my calling and I’m shirking it. I’ll think about requesting an exchange.”

Harrold clapped him on the shoulder and regarded him with kinder eyes, “Good. I was struck too once. I had many princesses to tend to with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s litter of dragons. Just, please, pray on it and keep it in line Ser Cole.”

“Yes sir.”

He sulked about, Harrold ordering him to his chambers until the was called to his usual watch over his Lucerra. Criston hoped she was alright. He guiltily turned dark eyes onto his shrine of the seven. The small flail and beaded necklace awaited. He had been ignoring the faith, so entrenched in sin Criston could hardly bare to look at the Mother’s cold face.

He prayed and prayed to the mother for relief of his twisted desire, depraved lust, uncontrollable need to consume a sparkling untainted virgin. Then to the warrior to ease his temper, make Criston a calm knight, not blinded by rage so he may protect accordingly. Down the list he went until the dead skull relief of the Stranger awaited.

“If I fail, take me into your arms and punish me accordingly,” he whispered, a couple tears leaking onto his armor, shining by the candles. He would confess another time and receive his penance. Bloodletting seemed fit. Flagellation made him think clear, the pain taking away sickness in mind and body.

A sharp knocking snapped Criston out of his religious wallowing. He called out, “I’m coming.” The door opened to the queen and Ser Rickard Thorne. They both were cloaked and Alicent’s doe eyes looked worried. The younger knight questioned, “What? What is it?”

Alicent shushed him and murmured, “Our dear Lucerra and…the heir,” she spat the word like it was bile on her tongue, “Had some intense words after the feast. Ser Thorne escorted Cerra to her chambers.”

Thorne’s gravelly voice was low, “It was quiet and I checked in as she was in quite the state. She’s not in her chambers and the servant’s passage was left slightly ajar.”

Alicent frowned, “I know she’s upset and frightened. I would rather you find her. No one knows of this. I doubt she would leave the keep but gods forbid. We checked underneath the keep and Thorne most of the passageways. I will keep this at utmost secrecy, dear Criston.”

He nodded, quickly gathering his gear and a dark cloak to cover the white of his garb. While fastening his belt he quickly thanked the pair, “I will find her now. Thank you my queen, Ser Thorne. You may rest now. She will be returned.”

He chastely kissed the queens ring, patting his fellow knight on the shoulder and strode forward, urgency at his tail. Criston was fearful, dreadfully so. What did Rhaenyra do? He bit his lip, worked his jaw, making his rounds around the shadows of the outer courtyard. The goldcloaks were obviously not doing their job, playing cards up in a tower.

He worried she finally broke the princess, told Lucerra of the past. She would be heartbroken. He sped his pace, deciding to check the Godswood. Somewhere she would still feel safe. He knew Cerra wouldn’t run anywhere outside the walls, she’d have a fainting spell.

Speeding up he decided to take a turn and clamber up the wall into the Godswood. He must not be seen. Especially after tonight’s mishap. Swinging a leg over the thick red stone, Criston shimmied down and landed with a dull thud. The clouds covered the moon— making it dreadfully dark. Lucerra must truly be upset. He swallowed down a tightening throat. He needed to be the protector, not a weeping craven.

He scanned around the dark trees and arches to the left. It seemed empty. He moved forward, keeping to the brush, listening. Closer towards the heart tree he heard the familiar little hitching of breath. His Cerra. The fear of what came next shivered his spine.

Criston called gently, “Princess, Princess, is that you?”

He slowly approached, holding out a hand like he was soothing a skittish foal. He could barely see her, just the white of hair and a shadow of a figure. He took another step, stopping when she wept, “No Ser Cole, go away, I wish to be alone.”

All of his fears had come true. She’d turned against him. He shook his head. No. This wouldn’t do. The knight would change her mind. Lucerra Targaryen needed him, not Ser Cole, not the loyal dog, just Criston Cole of Blackhaven’s marches.

“Ser, please, I cannot bear this,” Cerra warbled.

He came to her side, kneeling, swallowing another agonized noise when she turned from him. Criston begged, “Sweetling, what’s the matter, why are you distraught? It pains me.” She sobbed, hands wrenching into a now-dirtied dress.

The brunette engulfed her tinier frame into a tight grip, her back plastered to his. Much like they slept many a night. She fought and tried to wrench free, crying, “No! Let go! I’m just a replacement for her! I always come second! Ser Cole!”

He held tighter, exploding, “I love you!”

Her writhing stopped, eyes turning to him, confusion on fine features. Criston swore, “Bythe Seven and my oath, I love you more than anything Lucerra.” She shook her head, confused, “No, no you don’t, Rhaenyra told me why y-you became my shield.”

He hissed, “No, she lied, she lied lied lied! I kissed her yes, but I ran, I knew it was bad. I was an idiot— she merely wanted a fill in for Daemon. I swear it to be true,” he continued in a softer voice, “I never thought I would love so strongly and deeply as I do with you, it’s more than lust. I would worship you until my last breath, chaste forever.”

Lucerra bawled again, curling into him, soft thighs straddling his own as she wept. He held her and shushed and coddled, praising the perfect maiden’s presence. He dumbly reiterated, “Never, never has anyone taken my heart like you have.” Her bejeweled hands gripped into his cloak.

Her face was dangerously close to his, sweet scent filling the knight’s nose. She whispered in a rasp, “Do you mean it? You love me? I love you, it nearly broke me to hear Rhaenyra tell me.” Criston frowned, pressing his forehead to her own. He murmured, “I was dumb, I bolted after it was initiated. I didn’t tell you, b-because, I didn’t want to lose you princess.”

She placed a hand over his rapidly beating heart and said, “I believe you. I forgive you.”

Criston was so relieved he didn’t realize the tear leaking down his cheek, kissed away by impossibly soft lips. She whispered fervently, “Kiss me Criston. Kiss me like you love me, like you said.” He carefully caressed her jaw, peering into those adoring orbs.

He closed the gap, lips finally meeting, the Princess sighing into him. She clung to his chest still, passively letting Criston take the reins. He chastely shared tender pecks, letting Cerra get into a rhythm.

Her lips opened as the kisses got more desperate, boiling tension rising. She whimpered when Criston lapped into her mouth, moaning himself. She tasted like sweet wine and cinnamon, opening for him beautifully. Cerra wrapped her arms around his neck, thin fingers gripping his long locks. He moaned again, lashes fluttering. All guilt was out the window when in the embrace of this goddess.

He tilted her head to intertwine their tongues, Lucerra shivering helplessly, whining his name. She was shy, better for Criston to take her warm mouth. The princess plastered herself tight to his body, breasts pushed up from the movement.

He’d be good. He will not stain her maidenhead, as much as the dark part of him sought to claim every inch of her. The brunette slid his hands down her waist, squeezing soft hips. She mewled again, feverishly smacking her lips against him. Criston felt her overwhelmed trembling, eyes teary just like he fantasized.

She pulled away with a string of drool, panting, “I- Criston- it aches.” His cock jumped at what the implication of that was. He pressed little kisses down her jaw and neck, basking in her cute noises. He purred, “What aches Princess? I shan’t dare to hurt your heart again.”

She blushed so heavily he could see it even in the pitch of the night. Criston smiled gently, breathing hotly against her ear, “You can tell me, sweet love.” The princess shivered again, hips bucking fruitlessly against his garb.

“Y-you know. M-my,” she looked away, “My flower.”

The dog in Criston grinned at that, the innocent little thing. He hummed, “Have you soaked your linens Lucerra? I don’t have to breach your maidenhead to pleasure my sweet girl. Would you like that?”

She practically sobbed, “Please, my knight, Criston. Our little secret.”

“Always,” he said, taking off his gloves and Cerra’s trembling hands undoing the heavy gauntlets. He slid warm palms up her plush thighs, so soft yet strong from dragon riding. She desperately sought his lips to cover an indecent sound.

One greedy hand spread open a thigh, the other swiping thick fingers through her slick cunt, dragging upward to graze her swollen bud. The princess shrieked into his swollen lips, Criston doing his best to cover the noise.

He offered his free hand up, half-groaning, “Suckle on my fingers sweet girl, can’t have you waking half the keep up.” Lucerra shyly opened her swollen lips to let Criston’s calloused fingers in. He pressed slightly on her tongue, earning a cute little garbled whine.

“Now be good my love, I’ll make you feel better, always will,” he promised. Gathering more wetness seeping from her cunt, Criston circled his fingers around that bud, teasingly thumbing too, dragging the roughened digit against her tender untouched flesh.

She seized and cried around his fingers, drooling and sniffling. Criston cooed, “Mm, feels good Cerra? Made for me, swear it, keep singing for me.” He picked up the speed of his fingers, circling and pinching to make her squeal and writhe on his lap.

Soon the princess was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, unable to stop crying and shaking, thighs trembling. Criston suddenly realized his cock was throbbing and twitching, ready to fill his garments like a green boy.

He desperately rambled, “C’mon my love, let it go, let the pleasure take you, I’m so close, together yes? Kiss me, yes, yes!” They gnashed teeth and noses against each other, no finesse in these last moments, the little death.

She gushed over his fingers first, Criston swallowing her suprisingly quiet keen. His belly tightened, balls drawing up, whining out of his nose at the ecstasy. Cumming absolutely untouched, so intense and powerful. They continued to sloppily kiss, stop to pant, kiss some more until the climax passed.

Criston withdrew his hands from her cunt, wiping them on his cloak. The princess was sapped of energy, head tucked under his scruffy jaw. She murmured, “I think I saw the stars.” He smiled, the giddiness of cumming warping his senses, “Mhm, me too sweetheart. But we need to get you back to your quarters.”

He carried her, sharing more intimate pecks and nuzzling in the darkness, all the way back to her quarters. Ser Thorne seemed to sigh in relief before taking in their debauched state and quickly leaving the scene. Criston placed her down and looked around once more before pressing her into the door, taking her bee-stung lips.

“I love you, I love you,” she sighed.

“I love you more, my princess,” Criston praised.

“Do you listen sister? What will they think when they find your maidenhead shredded?,” Rhaenyra stepped out of the gloom. The bitch took a servant’s route. Lucerra’s face reddened in anger, “Like yours was? Good thing Laenor prefers the company of his pretty squires.”

Criston balked at the brazen comment, lips curling up. The elder sister’s hands balled up, pale skin blotching up in anger. She hissed, “Enjoy your night Lucerra,” pointing at Criston she added, “I’ll see you gelded and sent to the wall.”

The future queen whipped around and left with a furious curse. Lucerra looked to Criston for comfort, getting picked up and led into her bedroom. He grumbled, “The Queen won’t allow for that. Rhaenyra has her own secrets to deal with. Relax, relax, let me get you ready for bed.” His lovely girl did so, quiet but still affectionate. Criston ignored the feeling that this would be the close to the last night.

His gut was right. Within a fortnight he stood next to the Queen, tears in his dark orbs. Rhaenyra was absconding to Dragonstone, as she was the heir. Viserys obliged her request to take her sister, indicating she would begin the processes to marry her off. Lucerra gave her goodbyes, hugging the queen, her father, and then him.

“My heart lies with you always, I love you my white knight,” she whispered gently before stepping away to climb upon her white dragon. He remained stony, utter hate in his heart for Rhaenyra Targaryen. He would make sure she never saw happiness, just as she took his.

Alicent grabbed his hand and promised, “Criston, you will have her again. I may not be her, but I will be good to you as my sworn shield.”

He would tear through bone and marrow to get that chance. For now, he would wait, wait as long as needed. Criston Cole always got what he wanted, just had to work for it. There was a war brewing and she would be on the right side. His side.

#hotd fanfic #ser criston cole x reader #criston x reader #criston cole x reader #hotd fic #hotd smut #my shnookums incel knight #incel knight

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tararantism · 10 months ago

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more lasarian and the kids

another elf? on my blog? who would've thought. various sketches i did last summer of lasarian and their kids (minus one bc i fucked up the face </3). the quality is the best i can do without a proper scanner.

#id in alt text #i like how my scanning app picks up pencil sketches i might do more of these #anyway these are old too bc im massively art blocked rn #for some brief lore: first baby is the youngest and the other two are the eldest and second youngest !! there r five in total #phew #my art #original character #traditional art #drawing #oc art #fantasy art #d&d character #artists on tumblr #oc: noirin

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bittencandy · 5 days 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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vivisviolets · 9 months ago

Text

˖◛⁺⑅♡⑅~you received a lost package~⑅♡⑅⁺◛˖

🎁⁀➴ ✉ Energy check-in

📦⁀➴ ✉ Affirmations

📮⁀➴ ✉ Quotes

*cw* post longer than my temu package's tracking history 💀

˖◛⁺⑅♡⑅ -pick the package image you feel most drawn to- whatever caught your eye first upon seeing this post is most likely *your* pile!!!! but oh ofc you can also ease yourself, close your eyes, focus on your current state of mind/your life, and then ask yourself/spirit/God what pile has what you most need to hear rn! and pls pick more than one pile if you feel interested to do so!!! you may get messages you needed to hear across all piles yakno:))- okkkk byeeee-˖◛⁺⑅♡⑅

✉ pile 1

✉ ✉ ✉

✉ Page of Pentacles, King of Wands, Nine of Pentacles ✉

✉ Earth placements, Virgo/Capricorn/Taurus, fire placements, Aries/Sagittarius/Leo, divine masculine, divine femininity, heavy heart, earthy, warm/hot, -songs Only Angel - Harry Styles, Hate Me Harder - Kesha

✉ Woo- Look at youuu-!!! Look at you go more like- like, holy ish you should have seen me tapping into your energy and pulling out the cards one after the other with such genuine eassseee the heck... -but anyways pile 1s- you are REALLY setting your heart ablaze, it's like you're purifying your heart space after a period of purging energetically... In fact for quite a while, it was a consistent purging of- a lot for you. a total rebirth through a dark forest- you are literally an adventurer traversing through a fantasy land, following the pounding of your royal blood through your heart- knowing it will lead you to your glory- I'D SO READ THAT BAHAH- anyway though, you're really filling your heart with this fire. things and opportunities that fill you with joy and make you feel so warm inside 🎇🔥. I'm hearing a lot of self focus so projects around your passions or moving yourself up towards your goals! mmhm, I'm hearing a lot of different things for the collective- I'm seeing starting up a business, independent artists of various kinds, makeup or personal care focused products, you could be selling prints, monetized pages/videos, building a website- I'm seeing Jan Levinson with her candle side business😭😭... obviously you guys definitely don't house the shadow aspects of her character in your energy (tf am I saying 💀)- what I mean to say is after a lot of melting yourself down, you are now completely reforming into something that is completely personal and your own... like scented candle making 😭👍!!!!!!!!! okkkk I'm so freaking proud of you~ and if you've felt any heaviness just from you refilling your heart with so many opportunities- please don't let that cause you ANY doubts about your endeavors because OH👏- MYGOD👏 it's all going to go so well for you. no matter any circumstances or external worries. keep goingggggggg.

🔥🌱🌳

✉ Nothing can stop me from reaching my goals

✉ Regardless, my goals always become bigger and better

✉ I always reach my goals

✉ Regardless of anything external I am fully capable of achieving all of my goals

✉ Regardless of my mindset, I am fully capable of achieving ALL of my goals

✉ My goals become better and better

✉ I find fulfillment in my goals

✉ My goals always bring me so much joy

✉ My goals always bring me so much abundance

✉ I love building up my goals to infinity and beyond

✉ I am so good at doing what brings me joy and energy

✉ My goals orbit me

✉ My dream life is already waiting for me

✉ My dream life wants me

✉ Earning my dream life is as easy as breathing

✉ I am made of my dreams and desires

✉ My dreams and desires always become mine

✉ My dreams and desires are already mine

✉ Joy and abundance fuel my dreams and desires

✉ Joy and abundance fuel my goals

✉ Every single step I take brings me closer to my goals

✉ Achieving my goals is easier then ever before

✉ My goals have been deemed to be mine

✉Achieving my goals is so easy for me because they are already mine

✉ My goals love me

✉ My goals work for me

✉ My goals work towards me

✉ I am so happy for all I have accomplished

✉ My goals reward me daily

✉ I am rewarded daily because my goals are extensions of me

✉ I am so abundant

I have always been so abundant

Everything is an extension of me, and everything rewards me

✉ Everything is an extension of me, and everything flows me to where I desire to be

✉ My work is my creativity

✉ Creativity flows through me

✉ Creativity has always been my birthright

✉ I am made of creativity

✉ I am creativity

✉ I care for myself easily

✉ My goals allow me to relax

✉ My goals love when I care for myself

✉ The more I relax the more my goals flow to me

✉ I fully trust my goals

✉ I am fully deserving of my goals

✉ I fully deserve my goals

✉ I fully deserve and allow my goals to orbit towards me

✉ I align myself fully with my goals

✉ I am aligned to my goals

✉ I align myself fully with my desires

✉ I am aligned to my desires

✉ I align myself fully with my dream life

✉ I am fully aligned to my dream life

✉ My goals are mine.

✉ ✉ ✉

✉ pile 2

✉ ✉ ✉

✉ Eight of Wands (reversed), Seven of Pentacles (reversed), The Lovers

✉ Air placements, Gemini/Libra/Aquarius, earth placements, Taurus/Virgo/Capricorn, numbers 8, 7, 6, 1111, stops and starts, "air headed"/emotional/flightly described personality, healing unresolved wounds/fears, -song Love Is An Open Door - Frozen (2013)

✉ Oh my pile 2s :'), I'm pretty quick to ask how are you? seeing the certain reversals I got- one of them (Eight of Swords reversed) is definitely way more positive and a really good step in the right direction for you, it feels like a breath of fresh air!!- but it has a heaviness to it, it's a step in recovery from some baggage... and then the next one to come out felt like a real wammy- (Seven of Pentacles in reverse)... I got interrupted after a moment of being engrossed in your energy pile 2s, I feel you had a period where you felt this sense of freedom after a long while of realizing a lot of mental limitations you had that did not serve you- and so you jumped into trying and doing the opposite of those imitations!... but something might have happened that caused all that newfound sense of freedom to deflate in you- and you feel like you've gone right back to square one of how you used to feel- is that right? I find myself asking questions instead of being sure in what I am telling you, maybe that's the state that you're in currently of having all these why this? and why is that? with no feeling of hope in finding any answers, that right? <-- SEE?? there I go putting the questions back onto you instead of giving you answers:')- I'm so sorry. I'm hearing it might not have even been a big thing to have offset you as much as it did, just some sort of small trigger- it might have even just been your own pent up discouragement rearing its head at not seeing enough movement o headway in a certain aspect of your life, even with all the personal changes you were trying to create... I'm using the word trying a lot- omg this is so saddening😭... Ok, I'm going to pull myself out of this dark and dreary pity party (I don't say it in any mean way love ❤️) and take you up with me- because this place sucks and because I have got to offer you some help and some love- it's what you freaking deserve!!

-You have to address your feelings. you have to feel these emotions that are connected to all the limiting thoughts you have. you might be the type to be very flighty when it comes to your emotions- and there is a bright side to that trait that is beautiful and free and I don't think you should get ride of that!! but you're relying and using the shadow aspect of that trait by continuing to fly away to the externals first as to fix the limiting beliefs when really, the way to fix the external- is through the internal. do it for yourself, do it out of love for yourself. give yourself the space, time, patience and love that you deserve. heal your discouragement by allowing it to just be a feeling, and allow it to past like all feelings do. once you start healing and spending time and love on yourself- literally EVERYTHING in your life is going to blossom- love and freedom will be blossoming!!!! and you will be soaring stronger then ever before. oh my gosh-goodness I've gone on, but again- you deserve patience, love, and a space for healing- and I hope I was able to be that my pile 2s~ 🕊

youtube

(*reading your energy I know you may be cynical to these affirmations- again please address your limiting thoughts babe because they ain't getting you no where no how, and allow yourself just a little bit of trust. you don't have to even believe the affirmations, just read them/speak them. allow them <3.~*)

🕊🌅☁️

✉ I allow myself to heal

✉ I am patient with myself

✉ I allow my internal healing to play out

✉ I have full trust in my healing journey

✉ The more I allow myself to heal the more free I become

✉ The more I allow myself to heal the more I receive what I desire

✉ The more I allow myself to heal the more I accomplish

✉ The more I allow myself to heal the better and better life gets for me

✉ I align myself to love

✉ I align myself to joy

✉ I align myself to abundance

✉ I align myself to peace

✉ I align myself to my self love

✉ I align myself to my inner joy

✉ I align myself to my inner abundance

✉ I align myself to my self peace

✉ I am in alignment with myself

✉ I am capable of receiving all that I dream of and desire

✉ I am capable of giving and receiving love

✉ I am capable of self love and self care

✉ I am always capable because I am enough

✉ I am deserving of healing

✉ I am deserving of what I will accomplish

✉ I am deserving of love, healing, freedom, and to know myself better

✉ I deserve to be healed

✉ I deserve to be limitless

✉ I deserve to love myself

✉ I deserve love

✉ When I change, my reality follows

✉ I make the choice to heal myself

✉ I make the choice to love myself unconditionally

✉ I make the choice to allow self growth

✉ Regardless of anything external, I allow myself full self love

✉ Regardless of anything external, I allow myself to fully heal

✉ I release what no longer serves me

✉ I release what does not serve me and reclaim my energy

✉ I call all of my energy back to me

✉ My path ahead is full of healing, love, beauty, abundance, joy and freedom

✉ I trust my path

✉ I will be successful

✉ I trust that my path is full of abundant success that expands

✉ I am already successful

✉ Success is already mine

✉ I trust that success will flow into my life

✉ My success will build and expand

✉ I know that my success will be full of all my desires

✉ I am deserving of my success

✉ I desire to be successful

✉ I allow my success to flow into my life

✉ I trust my success

✉ I trust that success always finds me and I always find success

✉ Everything I desire will find me

✉ Everything I desire will flow into my life

✉ ✉ ✉

(*idk why but extra quotes for you~ ur favored fr~*)

✉ pile 3

✉ ✉ ✉

✉ Three of Swords (reversed), Ace of Wands (reversed), Nine of Swords (reversed)

✉ Air placements, Libra/Aquarius/Gemini, water placements, Cancer/Pisces/Scorpio, numbers 2, 222, 2222, 1212, 2424, 444, old connections, not needed, present-day path, planting seeds, blunt/honest/levelheaded/practical/mature/grown described personality, "he said- she said-", divided energies, feminine intensity, masculine intensity, commonly used emojis 💗, 🔥, 💀, -song Bloodline - Ariana Grande, Stray Kids (?), Enough - Jess Glynne

✉ For the first time in maybe over 3 years, my brain began to play Bloodline by Ariana Grande as soon as I tapped into your energy- I'm getting you may definitely have prominent air or water placements, more so Cancer, and Libra- other air and water placements too and oh gosh I'm realizing that those are Ariana's signs in her big 3- I do not think I'm connecting wrongly though,- I'm seeing that there are some of you that are either listeners/relate to Ariana, and the other camp is completely indifferent/are not in that fan base at all in which case I'm probably turning you off of this reading 😭😭- yea I'm totally seeing 2 separate camps in this pile rn, this divide of either very fem/fem baddies (that whole Thank U, Next album was very much in that whole aesthetic)- or very masc aesthetic/personality (not gender specific btw- this is fully afab/amab safe)... I randomly typed a fire emoji and heard the word "lit" immediately- so for my masc group you guys are described like that and or aim for that aesthetic- but my fems here are seen as that too 🔥 I'm hearing, like that description isn't gender-expression exclusive 💗🔥. again now there's more music coming through- for my mascs it's K-pop, K-indie, K-rock, K-Metel.. This is so weird to hear because i know nothing about that scene (someone here likes jazz tf- okkkk😭)... two very different and... stubborn- towards each other?- energies rn.

Ok, I'm going to actually get into what's going on as best I can for the collective- I'll be honest, this energy is all over the place, and I'm having a hard time reading or relating specifically to just one group of people rn like- 💀💀💀... I'm hearing the phrase "he said- she said-" so honestly I could be describing two people who are in/were in a relationship of some kind, a feminine and a masculine- (again, afab/amab safe!! and take what resonates) so you could be the feminine reading this and this is about a masculine who's heavy on your heart, or you could be the masculine in this and this is concerning your feminine whom you're really messed up over. and for both of these situations, it's really mutual that you two cut each other deep in the heart space 💀- like fr there is history that has occurred between you two and something happened that really made the mark that you guys left on each other's hearts- open up and start bleeding... and I'm literally just standing here watching the intensity of you two gazing at each other-... I'm seeing this scene of the feminine wanting to close her door but just continuing to stare at the masculine who could have stormed off but instead is still standing on the welcome mat, staring back into the eyes of the feminine- AND I'M STANDING IN THE HALLWAY OF THIS APARTMENT COMPLEX LIKE... I'm just trying to pass through to go feed my cats 💀...

I fr don't know what to say,- and that is so not like me at all. I'm just so heavily in this energy and there are literally two energies coming in and are weirdly connected to each other- AND they are both stubborn as hell. YOU TWO ARE BOTH stubborn as hell 😭. in fact, you two are so similar that when you have a problem with each other- no one can get a foot in the door to help. because you two are literally so on the same level mentally, that you can literally continue your intense stare-down with your friends trying to get in the middle to put the situation on ice- but you both continue to set each other's souls ablaze... you two need a retreat away from each other BAHAH 💀. God, again I do not know what to say because not only are you stubborn and intimidating asf, you are also very mature (referring to a singular person again whew), and you have the (emotional) receipts to back up how intense you can be- (I cannot figure out where to put this but it keeps weighing heavy that some of you are even parents/have young kids you have to be thinking about constantly)- you know bullshit like the back of your hand and I know you'll def be eying my words rn like a hawk... wasn't I suppose to give you affirmations 😭????? *nervous laughter fr* jokes aside- I'm going to stand my ground to you,- I can feel it and see it in the eyes I'm being shown- you've been through a lot. you have a past that is heavy and it's weighed on you since you were just a little girl/little boy/little child. you had to mature fast in the way you did out of your own survival. and that has done what it has done- but what about now? yes, you can do and act however you want to. you've earned your living! as you believed you needed to, had to, and would do- but for someone so confrontational about other's behavior- why can you not do the same for your own? you're usually right with the conclusions you come to about situations and other people with all the shit you've seen- so why not face yourself with that same focus? just as you question other people's behavior, already knowing the truth about them- you can do that very thing to yourself.

question yourself- why does this person trigger you the way that they do? when this person triggers you, what are you reminded of? are you reminded of another person or situation? are you reminded of your family growing up? are you reminded of your father? or mother? or relatives?- does this person who triggers you- remind you of yourself?... do the heavy walls you built when they were required to survive, serve you now? because I think it's what's inside the walls that needs stabilizing.

WOOO I just gave tougher love then I have ever done before- but I freaking had to get through to you love!! I really hope I did, whatever vulnerable emotion you are feeling right now if you've read this far of what I've channeled for you- please know that you have people you can go to with these emotions. this isn't like when you were growing up, you are safe. you are safe to be fully you, every piece of you that you had to lock away or armor up is safe now- thanks to the life you are building for yourself. I'm hearing a saying about how when you cut a tomato, you get a bunch of seeds- and you can plant those seeds, and with your work and patience, you get more tomatoes!! and that's what you've done- taken the small seeds and grew things up for yourself. so please enjoy all your hard work, PLEASE- show all those parts of you love. plant those seeds that you had to lock away and allow them to blossom and finally see the sunlight you created. again, I really am seeing that you do have safe options to turn to for support, definitely personal support- friends I'm mostly seeing- people outside of your old family/upbringing...

if you're in an intense relationship of some kind (said person could even be someone you've known since childhood/earlier years) like what I was channeling earlier, then I'm seeing that could be a perfect opportunity to turn to people for support- and oh my gosh honey you're going to be so loved. you already are, people love you and want you to open up more to them- I'm just seeing you opening up more as being both healing and strengthening for you, but also for your relationships 💗. this is so sweet, you have some sweet people around you that you fully deserve (for those with kids I see you taking so much more healthy joy in being a parent and you connecting with your little ones so beautifully- I'm seeing dancing in the kitchen especially 😭💗). but just to be inclusive to everyone here, you of course don't have to open up to others- I see seeking some professional guidance of some kind would also be incredibly beneficial (also spiritual guidance if you have an interest in that), and also you of course always have yourself. so go inward and see how you can show up for yourself better!!!

alright whew I know that reading might not have been for everyone but it was strong so I know that this reading is for someone💗🔥 so it was a pleasure. anddd my apologizes for the full read yikezies 💀-

💗🔥💀

✉ I am safe

✉ I create a safe space for myself

✉ I have created a safe space for myself

✉ I am in a safe place

✉ I am safe to express and feel my emotions

✉ My emotions are mine and I am free and safe to express them

✉ My environment is safe and fully mine

✉ I choose to feel safe

✉ I allow myself to be vulnerable

✉ I allow myself to feel what as hurt me

✉ I allow myself to be bitter

✉ I allow myself to cry

✉ I allow myself to be angry

✉ I allow myself to grieve

✉ I allow parts of me that do not serve my highest good to pass

✉ I allow what does not serve me any longer to leave my body and exit out of my life

✉ I allow the most vulnerable parts of me to be healed

✉ I allow the most vulnerable parts of me to exist

✉ I respect my vulnerability to be as it is

✉ I love my vulnerability

✉ I allow myself to be patient towards my life

✉ I am patient with myself

✉ I allow myself to release control in my life and surrender to my healing journey

✉ I have released control and am now in a state of healing

✉ I allow myself to prioritize my needs fully

✉ I am my first priority

✉ I allow myself to feel taken care of

✉ I am taken care of

✉ I allow myself self love and self growth

✉ I am focused on giving myself the love I deserve

✉ I allow myself to be emotionally open

✉ I am emotionally open towards myself

✉ I show up for myself

✉ I allow myself to connect to my heart and give love to those I trust

✉ I am open to people I trust

✉ I am shown who I can trust and I allow my heart to open

✉ I am protected and surrounded by people who I trust

✉ I am protected and surrounded by love and those who I can love safely

✉ I am protected and surrounded by abundance and success regardless of any externals

✉ I deserve to be trusted and I am worthy to share my trust

✉ I deserve to be loved and I am worthy to share my love

✉ I deserve abundance and I am worthy to share my abundance

✉ I deserve success and I am worthy to share my success

✉ Trust is my birthright

✉ Love is my birthright

✉ Abundance is my birthright

✉ Success is my birthright

✉ Stability and loyalty is my birthright

✉ Regardless of others actions- I am deserving of trust, love, abundance, success, stability, and loyalty

✉ I accept the truth that it is my birthright, and that I am inherently deserving of trust, love, abundance, success, stability, and loyalty

✉ I allow myself to live my life knowing those truths

✉ I allow myself to breathe through my whole body and begin to shed all that no longer serves me

✉ I trust myself and I trust my journey

✉ I allow myself to be healed

✉ I am capable of being healed

✉ I am healing

✉ I am healed

✉ I allow myself to view my life as my own

✉ My life is my own, and I live by my love, joy, and peace

✉ I allow myself to see life as enjoyable

✉ I am capable of viewing life as enjoyable and all that can bring me joy

✉ I enjoy viewing my life as fun and full of joy and peace

✉ I allow myself to have fun with myself and those I love

✉ I am capable of having fun with myself and those I love

✉ I love having fun in my life and sharing that with those I love

✉ I fall in love with myself, and find someone to share it with

✉ ✉ ✉

✉

✉ oh praise be we're done~ byeeeee till next time

✉ ✉ ✉ love, vi~♡

#୨୧┈♡ vi post #୨୧┈♡ vi pac #pac #tarot #pick an image #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a card #pick a card reading #affirmations #self concept affirmations #self concept #affirm and persist #omg this was so so fun thooo affirmation pacs!!!! i cant wait to make another one soonnn♡#....thats shorter lolll

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ferida-kahlo · 1 year ago

Text

♡ Hotline ♡

Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: You and Mikey have been casually seeing each other for a few weeks. After a late night text from him, you make the drunken insomniac executive decision of calling him back. Naughtiness ensues.

Or: the one where you and Michael have phone sex.

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, M/F. Minors DNI // PWP, P!rn With Feelings. Phone sex, flirting, teasing, sexual innuendos, dirty talking, mentions of oral sex (m. receiving), masturbation (m. and f.), sexual fantasies, role-playing scenarios, librarian k!nk, mentions of rough sex. // Blink-and-you-miss-it angst, alcohol use, mentions of insomnia, anxiety and self esteem issues.

Word count: 3.8k

Read below the cut OR on AO3

Notes: Reader wears glasses in this - don't look at me like that, it's integral to the plot 🙄

For the history nerds, the quote at the beginning is from the book "Fire from Heaven" by Mary Renault, about the relationship between Alexander the Great and his friend and lover, Hephaestion.

Enjoy! As always, likes, comments and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

His feelings were confused; he wanted to grasp till Alexander's very bones were somehow engulfed within himself, but knew this to be wicked and mad; he would kill anyone who harmed a hair of his head…

… you yawned at the page you’d been reading (i.e., staring at without absorbing a single bit of information), before turning your head to the nightstand and seeing the clock mark 2:49 am.

“Good god”, you whispered, tiredly rubbing your face with one hand, while the other reached for the half-full glass of red wine keeping you company in your insomnia.

Technically, you knew drinking was the last thing you should be doing on a weeknight, when you were having a hard time falling asleep and were expected at work in the morning. But living alone was really not helping you behave like a responsible adult with bills to pay. So, you slowly sip your wine, read your book, and hope that eventually your brain will give up and allow you to pass out for at least a few hours.

Suddenly, your phone lights up with a text. Michael B., it says on the screen. A pang of excitement hits you, and you immediately scoff for reacting so earnestly to a text from a guy you’ve been with (not even biblically, just the daytime coffee dates that people with busy lives manage to pack into a crazy week) for a grand total of two times and less than two hours, overall. Not pathetic at all.

Still, you can’t help but reach for the phone.

Hey, I know it’s late and you probably won’t read this until morning, sorry. Wanna have dinner at that spot we talked about? I can pick you up at the office ;) – M.

You smile, and without really thinking, hit the call button.

He picks up quickly, an amused tone in his voice. “Well, I was not expecting that. What the hell are you still doing up, princess? No work tomorrow?”

You laugh. “God, I wish. I just can’t sleep. Haven’t had one of these nights in a while… my brain won’t shut up, even though I’m so tired I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck”.

“Ooof. That fucking sucks.”

“Yup.”

“Well, I’m glad to be your booty call in this desperate time.”

“Michael”, you laugh so hard you choke on some wine and must set the glass back on the table. “I really don’t think that’s what this is”.

“Oh, no?”, he feigns innocence.

“No…”, chuckling, you continue with the most sultry, mock-seductive voice you can muster “… a booty call is if I was like: Sooo, Mikey… are you, like, busy right now? Do you wanna… come over? I’m aaall alone…”.

You make sure to put particular emphasis on the word ‘come’ and Mike sounds like he is doubling over with laughter. “That was the worst proposition I have ever heard, no doubt”.

“Oh, yeah? Well, you’re officially off my booty call list. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life.”

“Ah, shit… I fucked up now, didn’t I?”, you swear you can hear his grin from the other end of the line. And see the laugh lines that form on the corner of his eyes when he smiles genuinely, the rare but so cute nose crinkle that makes your belly flutter…

You would love to get a fucking grip, thank you very much, but the wine was making you incapable of keeping a level head in this flirtation.

“Well… all is not lost. Taking me out to dinner is a good start to redeem yourself. If your game is on point tomorrow, your booty call list status might be revised… in the not-so-far future”, you add, suggestively.

“Shit. Now the stakes are on. I gotta be on my best behavior tomorrow, then”.

“I don’t know about best behavior…”. You feel like slapping yourself for your lack of subtlety.

He chuckles. “So… you like them a little nasty, huh?”

You’re glad he can’t see you blush furiously. “Not like that… but I do like a man who isn’t afraid to… take what he wants. Respectfully, of course.”

“Of course… damn, girl. You’re getting me thinking about all sorts of things…”

“Well, you’re the one who started talking about booty calls. It’s technically your fault”.

“That’s fucking rich. I was being a gentleman, sent you a sweet text and all. Not a single sex reference!”, he says, proudly.

“Ok, that is true”, you concede, laughing softly. “Are you still at the restaurant?”

He sighs deeply. “Yeah… paperwork coming out of my eyeballs. I don’t even understand how the hell I organized this mess”. You hear rustling through the line, and imagine the mess of letters, invoices and bills that must be covering his office desk.

“That fucking sucks”.

“Word”. His chair squeaks loudly. “So… what are you wearing?”

You laugh. “You’re unbelievable”.

“What? I’m just trying to keep the conversation light, you know? Nobody wants to hear about my fuckin’ paperwork at 3 am”.

It was subtle, but you could sense something deeper in his words (sadness? self-deprecation?).

“I wouldn’t mind hearing about your ‘fuckin’ paperwork’ at any time of day, Michael”.

The line goes silent, and you fear you went too deep, too soon. Made this weird in record time, wow.

“I didn’t mean it like… I meant if you want to talk to me about your shitty day, you know, you can, but I don’t want you to be uncomf-”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I get it… thank you for that”, he says, softly. “Maybe some other time. Right now, I honestly just wanna forget about this for a little while... I was really pumped when you called”.

“That’s okay. Really?” You smile, relieved.

“Yeah, really. So… wanna make a guy happy and tell him what you’re wearing?”

With a chuckle, you concede. “Well, nothing. I’m in bed and I sleep naked, so… yeah”.

There’s a heavy pause. “Holy shit. Are you for real?”

“Um, yeah?”

“Jesus, fuck… baby, you can’t say stuff like that and expect me to be normal about it”.

You grin, having just decided that, actually, you wanna play dirty.

“Who says I want you to be normal about it? Besides”, you throw back, suggestively, “I hardly think a woman can be held accountable for what she says after four glasses of wine on a Thursday night… naked and alone, in such a big bed…”

“Now, see, that was a much better pitch for a booty call than the first o-”

“I’m gonna hang up.”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry”, he laughs.

“You’re an asshole”. Even as you say it, you’re smiling.

“And you are a minx, lady. Gettin’ a guy all worked up…”

“Oh, my... I don’t know what you mean…”, you whisper into the comforter, now balled up in your fist over your mouth, as if to cover up your blushing cheeks from an invisible audience.

“Oh, I disagree… I think you know exactly what you’re doing”. There’s a note of sarcasm in his voice you find exhilarating. A sudden noise – like a chair squeaking loudly on a panel floor – can be heard from his end. Followed by… a metallic rattle, more subtle but still clear. A… belt unbuckling?

Wait. Is he…?

You grin, amused. “Mr. Berzatto… I’m hearing suspicious noises. What is going on over there?”

A deep grunt. “Nothin’ much, sweetheart. Just making myself comfortable, is all”.

“And how exactly are you doing that, mister?”

“You know… freeing the junk.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well, that certainly helps set the mood”.

“Hm… baby, can I ask you for something? It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna do it… but I figure I might as well shoot my shot.”

You notice you are sitting up very still against the pillows in your bed, holding your breath in anticipation. “Sure… what is it?”

A heavy pause follows. Your heart feels like it’s about to beat itself out of your ribcage, your throat feels dry, and your tongue sits heavy and thick in your mouth, the taste of wine suddenly overpowering your senses. And you are so horny.

“Could you… send me a photo of you right now? Are you wearing those new glasses?”. He sounds… eager, almost nervous with the way he trips over the second question.

Oh. Something clicks for you, then. You smile. “So, you really liked the new glasses, huh?”

“Shit… c’mon, don’t bust my balls about it”, he says, with an embarrassed chuckle of admission.

“I’m not! It’s very flattering, actually”. You hope you conveyed how much you are not making fun of him. However, you hate misunderstandings, and to dispel any that might be going on here, you decide there is only one acceptable solution.

“Give me a minute”, you tell him, determined. You don’t wait for an answer before you drop your phone and get to work.

Meanwhile, Mikey sits in his rusty office chair, in what he thinks must look like a very… undignified position. Cock out, right hand stroking it lazily, slumped back with his jeans barely down his ass, work shirt dirty and stinking of cooking oil, his entire body tense in a mix of anticipation and shame. A part of him can’t help but wonder if you are fucking with him: laughing from the other end of the line, leaving him hanging – literally and figuratively (he chuckles dejectedly at the realization that he still remembers something from high school Lit class). He guesses he would kinda deserve that. What type of freak asks for nudes after two… dates? Do those rapid-fire coffee-grabs even count? He is so shit at this. Anything more than a casual hook-up or a quickie behind a sleezy pub is rocket science for him. ‘Congrats, loser! You just fucked it, yet again’.

Then, his phone pings. 5 photos received.

In the first one, you are lying on your side, in bed, a dim warm light illuminating the scene. He can see the contours of your body clearly, despite being covered by a layer of nearly sheer white sheets. His gaze follows your exposed collarbone, to the silhouette of your breasts – he is sure you purposefully allowed a bit of side-boob to slip past the entrapment of sheets… just for him.

He swears he could stare at the shapes of your body all day and never get tired – or limp. His dick is throbbing painfully, now.

It does not get better when he sees the rest of the photos. Your face is visible, on those. The last two are his favorites. You are laying on your stomach, with the reading glasses on, as promised – except they sit lower on your nose than usual, so that your eyes peak out from over the top of the frames. Your hair is down, tousled and wild like it’s just gotten messed up. ‘Is this what she looks like after…’. You are holding a glass of wine to your mouth – lips plump and lightly tinged red – that detail drives him a little insane –, and in front of you lays a book, delicately held open with your other hand. And in the last photo, the sheets have slipped lower down your breasts, revealing a generous cleavage. You’re staring directly at the camera with an inquiring gaze, biting your lower lip. ‘Come get me’.

“… Mike? Are you still there?”

It’s been some time since you sent the photos (twenty seconds, which your anxiety tells you is actually half an hour), with no reaction from him. Your cheeks heat up, and you suddenly feel very silly and insecure. Are they even… good? What makes a good nude? Do these even qualify as nudes? You’re not showing anything super explicit… they’re suggestive, at best. Is he going to think you’re a prude? God, why is this so diff-

Mike clears his throat. “Yeah, I… fuck. Fuckin’ hell. Holy shit. Sweetheart… these are so hot. Jesus… thank you so much. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous…”. The last part comes out as a whisper, like he’s starstruck.

You didn’t know it was possible to get more flustered than you already were. “You’re welcome… I’m flattered I managed to make Michael Berzatto incoherent over some low-res thirst trap selfies.”

“Baby, these are genuinely the hottest pics I’ve ever seen. You look like a hot librarian or something”.

You laugh out loud, triumphantly. “Ah! I knew it!”

“What?”, he laughs along.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Mr. Berzatto?”.

“Fuck, don’t stop calling me that, sweetheart”, he says, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah?”, you whisper.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s just… I’ve got a thing for girls with a kinda nerdy, librarian type of vibe, you know? And when I saw you this last time, holding a book and wearing your reading glasses… I gotta admit, my mind went straight to the gutter.”

Interesting. “Really? What did you imagine then?”.

A pause. “I’m not sure you want to hear it… I don’t want you thinking I’m a pervert or something”.

You sigh. “Mikey, I just sent you near-naked photos of me. We’re having phone sex. We are two horny adults having fun. Besides…”, you switch your tone to what you hope comes across as faux innocence, “… I asked you about it. It is kinda my fault, right? I guess I was kind of… bad”.

“Oh, is that what’s happening?”. He chuckles, as if saying challenge accepted. “Alright, then. When I saw you like that for the first time, this image popped into my head, right? I mean, you looked like a really hot librarian. So, I started picturing you in that scenario, with big glasses and all – just like the photos you sent me… except you had your hair in a cute ponytail, and your lips were even redder with lipstick… and you were wearing fishnet stockings up to your thighs – fuck, you got such nice legs, baby –, and you had a pair of those… what are they called. Uh, kitten heels. Yeah. Fuck, your ass would look unbelievable like that. I mean, it is unbelievable, you know what I mean? When you show up at the restaurant wearing those cute little dresses and skirts, I feel my dick twitching in my pants… that’s how hot you are, baby… that’s how crazy you make me feel.”

His words were streaming out like an avalanche – a filthy stream-of-consciousness. Flash images of all the times you were together pop into your mind. He was always nice and polite to you, if cheeky – that was his personality, after all. You’d never felt disrespected or threatened around him. Maybe that’s why, now that you knew he had been actively thinking about you like this… you were very turned on.

“Too much, sweetheart? You wanna keep listening to this filth?”

“… yeah, Mikey. Keep going. What happened then?”

“Then, I took you to a hidden corner in the library, rucked up your pretty little skirt and ripped your real nice dress shirt open… you know, so I could suck on your tits while I fucked you hard against some shelves. Didn’t even need to rip your panties off, ‘cause you weren’t wearing any. Just lifted you up and slammed my cock right into your pussy… God, you were drippin’ wet for me, and you mewled so sweetly… loud, too. Had to shove my fingers into your pretty mouth to keep you quiet. That’s what I imagined, sweetheart. More or less.”

The crass and vivid way in which he described his fantasy made you speechless. It was exhilarating. Knowing that all those times he had talked to you with a straight face, he had been actively fantasizing about fucking you hard. His words.

“Jesus Christ, Mikey”, you breathe out. “That’s… I can’t believe we had entire conversations while you had a cheap porn flick playing in your head”, you laugh softly, unconvincingly.

He sighed deeply. “See, I knew this was a bad idea… honey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit. I guess I’m just a fucking perv-”

“Babe…”, you interrupt him, gentle, but firm, “shut up, please. I’m messing with you. I told you, it’s very flattering that you’re attracted to me. In fact… it’s super hot. Knowing you were having all those dirty thoughts about me while still being a gentleman… is making me feel all kinds of things, right now.”

“Yeah? What kinds of things?”

“Good things, Mikey… I’m so wet right now”, you mewl, the need for release in your core overwhelming the embarrassment you would be feeling otherwise. Without thinking, you kick the sheets away from your body and cup one of your breasts, kneading it and flicking your nipple – a moan leaves your mouth in a desperate plea.

“Fuck”, he whispers, “you got wet over that filth? Jesus Christ, baby. I won the fuckin’ lottery”.

You are burning with desire, and you can feel your pussy throbbing when you finally give in, sliding one hand down and shoving two fingers inside with barely any resistance. “Mikey… I wanna come so bad. Can you talk me through it… please?”

“Fuck… yeah, sweetheart, anything you want”. He moans, then, and you don’t think you have ever been so turned on in your life. Mikey Berzatto, a horny, moaning mess, jerking off in his mess of an office at 3 am… because of you.

Chicago’s Helen of Troy. You chuckled softly at the thought and decided to up the ante. “Baby… do you know what I was thinking when you were telling that beautiful story just now?”

He laughs, voice recked. “What, baby?”

You pout, and add another finger in, increasing the pace of the thrusts. “I wish you had pictured kissing me real hard, while I unbuckled your belt… would you let me get down on my knees for you, baby? I really wanna have you in my mouth, Mikey, like, right now”. Your words come out broken, sentences all messed up – you sound pathetic, but you are so past caring.

“Shit-”, a gasp, followed by a deep breath and the noise of something hitting a surface really hard. “… holy shit. Baby, I imagined all that and a whole lot more – seriously, you have no idea. Hell, if the lady wants to suck my dick, who am I to deny her, uh? Fuck. Would you let me fuck your mouth, baby…?”

You moan loudly at that and realize you need both hands, putting the phone on speaker – fuck the neighbors – and bringing your other hand to your clit, rubbing lightly, but fast. You were so close. The thought of kneeling on the floor, clothes and hair all messed up from Mikey’s hands, lipstick smudged… looking up at him, and watching his composure unravel because of you…

“Hm… yeah, Mikey, I think I would… ‘cause you’re so nice to me… such a gentleman, even when you’re fucking me hard… would you ask me real nice, baby? Hold my face gently in your big hands, while you fuck it?”

“Fuck, baby… I would treat you so right, you deserve everything-”, he chokes up and, for a few moments, you hear a distant cacophony of noises, like he’s put the phone down. Then, he’s back. “Sorry, sweetheart, I need both hands now”, he chuckles.

You giggle, “Me too… you got me so hot I’m fucking myself on my fingers and rubbing my clit at the same time… and it’s still not enough. I need you…”

“Fuck, that’s so hot. You fuckin’ yourself because of me… I know it’s not enough, baby… you need my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes! Mikey… please…”, you howl, completely out of your mind.

“How do you want me to fuck you, baby? Hm? Want it nice and slow? Nah… I think you like it fast and rough, don’t you? Long as I keep kissing you real good, touchin’ you real gentle, all over your body… you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”. How he manages to say such filthy things with so much honey dripping from every syllable, is beyond you.

“Yeah, fuck, baby… it doesn’t matter. I’m so wet already, you don’t need to do anything else, just hoist me up in your arms and pin me against the shelves… and shove it in me”.

You are still holding onto a shred of decency because you blush at your own crass admission – still, there is clearly not a whole lot left, as you start rubbing your clit and fucking yourself harder and faster. “I don’t want you to be gentle when you fuck me… I just need to feel your cock stretch me open… wanna feel the sting of it for days, be at work and not be able to focus because all I can think about is how you fucked me so good-”

At this point, you have no idea if he can understand anything you’re saying, because your words are intercut with moans and gasps and mewls and incoherent babble, as you’re about to reach your peak imagining Mikey’s on top of you, railing you into the bed.

“Baby, I’m gonna come… fuckin’ Christ”.

“Mikey- fuck!”.

Your body shakes and your eyes roll back from the strength of your orgasm. Distantly, your brain registers a broken string of moans and curses from the other end of the line.

A few seconds pass, and you feel yourself coming back down to Earth. You lazily stretch out on the bed, completely relaxed and fucked out. “That’s so cute… we came at the same time, babe”, you happily whisper, a ditsy smile on your face.

He huffs, amused “Yeah… what can I say? I’m a romantic at heart”.

You laugh sincerely. “This was… so good, actually. I’m glad I gave into my instinct and called you”.

“Well, I’m even more sticky now”. You both laugh at that. “But I’m also glad you called… like, really glad. Uh, can I ask you something?”

You notice a shift in his voice.

“Yeah… what is it?”

“I don’t want things to get weird between us after this… Like, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do all these things to get me off. You know what I mean? It’s just a fantasy… I’ll have you in any way you want me. Okay?”

You feel a tightness in your chest, and you wish, not for the first time tonight, you had him right in front of you so you could kiss him all over and hug him.

“Mikey… I genuinely liked tonight. And the more we talk, the more I like you. You’re not the only one who feels like you won the lottery…”.

“Baby… you’re too sweet. Don’t you think you already got me blushing enough for one night?”

“That’s fucking rich. I must’ve gone through all shades of red tonight, because of your filthy mouth”.

“Please. You loved it”, he chuckles.

“Yeah, I guess I did”, you concede, with a smile.

After saying goodbye – and confirming that yes, you would very much like for him to pick you up and take you to dinner later – you fall asleep fast, your mind finally catching up to the pleasant tiredness in your body, a soft smile on your lips.

#smut #michael berzatto x reader #michael berzatto #mikey berzatto x reader #mikey berzatto #mike berzatto x reader #mike berzatto #jon bernthal #the bear #the bear fx #the bear fic

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therhythmafterthesummer · 1 year ago

Note

How do you think Chris (pre getting together) would have comforted her on a bad mental health day or on a day where she’s sad?

I’m in my feels rn and am in need of some wolfie comfort immediately 😤😤😤

P.S - Love you, Rhythm! Hope you’re doing well always! 🩷

- N. 💄

sorry i held onto this one for so long! i just really wanted to write something for it. here's how i think that would go...

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. you don’t really need to read any other instalment to understand/enjoy this piece). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · roomies idiots to ??? · fluff · hurt/comfort · pre-relationship scenario

minors do not interact.

Fridays were supposed to be the days to unwind. They were supposed to be the day in which you could let loose and forget about work for the next forty-eight hours. At least, you figured they were supposed to be like that for most people.

This Friday particularly, though, had been absolute hell. The whole week had felt like you’d been impersonating Sisyphus and work had been your boulder. You supposed some weeks just… were like that.

Tonight, all you wanted to do was sit in your room, in the dark–preferably in complete silence and just be nothing. If anyone else came to you and so much as muttered a word you were sure you’d break down and start weeping right then and there.

Which was why, as soon as you found yourself in your flat, you went straight to your room. There was no energy left for showers or baths. All you did was take off your clothes and bury yourself under the covers.

You had a total of ten minutes of complete silence before the front door practically burst open and boisterous voices filled your home. It kick-started a twitch in your left eye, it had frustration tears pooling on your waterline, but you couldn’t just… ruin their fun.

You supposed this was the downside of having a roommate. And not only was he a roommate, but he also happened to be the alpha of a pack of wolves, which meant that more often than not your friends and neighbours made themselves at home.

It was fine. That was fine. You loved your friends, you loved to hang out with them and joke and have little parties in your flat. You loved them all, you knew it very well. But, tonight, every little noise they made made you absolutely furious, which made you feel worse because, logically, you shouldn’t be feeling furious at something like this.

Dealing with these conflicting feelings was hard, so you tried your best to just… tune everything out. With your pillow over your head to muffle any sound as best as you could, you laid on your bed, fully naked, probably leaving mascara stains on your pillowcase, but you honestly couldn’t be bothered to care.

You managed to mute all background noise… the downside was that you’d done so by replaying events of the week over and over again in your head. How you dropped your coffee mug in the middle of the lunch room on Tuesday, that very passive aggressive email one of your colleagues sent you, how you’d stumbled over your words in a meeting today…

It felt like your heart was preparing itself for a marathon with how fast it was beating, but for the most part, you were trying to ignore it. You were trying to ignore everything.

At least, until you heard a knock on your door.

“You up, pretty girl?”

Your roommate’s voice was slightly muffled, but you heard him well. Any other day, you would’ve probably felt your mood immediately lift at the sound of his gentle voice and the pet name he often used to refer to you. But, today, you couldn’t even find it in you to answer.

Eventually, you heard him walking away, and it was honestly like a weight had been lifted off of your chest.

Which, again, made you feel horrible.

You loved your friends, and your roommate was no exception. Although, you weren’t sure if it was fair to compare the feelings you had for your friends to the ones you had for him…

Regardless, the fact that you felt relieved that you didn’t have to talk to him made you feel terrible. The rational part of your brain knew that this was all due to your exhaustion, but even that couldn’t push away the feeling that you were a horrible friend because you were annoyed by his presence.

Your phone vibrated next to your head, and you immediately sighed in response.

You were tired and cranky… but you were also chronically nosy. So you picked up your phone and read the notification on the screen.

> Xtopher 🐺: hey pretty > were gonna watch an episode of that series Felix likes > feel free to join us if you want :]

You figured it was easy for your roommate, Chris, to know you were home. You’d left your shoes at the entrance, and, considering his supernatural senses, you were pretty sure he could always hear and smell whenever you were here.

You genuinely appreciated that Chris took the time to send you a text, it somehow reminded you that he wouldn’t just hate you all of the sudden because you didn’t respond to him when he knocked on your door–it probably wasn’t even the first time you’d done that, anyway.

Sleep wasn’t going to claim you anytime soon, and you were out of spoons for the day, but you’d be damned if you slept without removing your make-up. So you spent the next hour rummaging the metaphorical drawer that was your brain, just so you could hopefully find that last emergency spoon you knew would be buried under the events of the week.

By the time you’d found it, a while had passed since you’d heard your neighbours saying their goodbyes, and your roommate going in and out of the shower.

You had to do this now. If you didn’t stand up from this bed right now, you’d break your one and only self-care rule. You couldn’t let the mean part of your brain win, you just couldn’t… Your week had already been bad enough, you had to have at least one win.

So you stood up from your bed, threw on the first sleeping gown you found, and left your room.

Cleaning your face was honestly a blur. You tried to do it as fast and efficiently as possible. While you did, you debated on whether or not you had enough energy to even eat tonight, but, ultimately, you really didn’t. You weren’t even hungry, just zero appetite.

So you made it back into your room as soon as your face was clean so you could put moisturiser on your face–there was no energy left for any fancy skin care routines, so moisturiser it was. If you had to put on any extra products you’d start crying for real…

“Hey”.

“Jesus!” You whipped your head towards the door, with your hands still on your cheeks where they’d been rubbing in your moisturiser.

Chris stood at your door looking at you, wide-eyed, dressed in nothing but his lounging shorts. Any other day, the sight of his bare chest would’ve agitated the critters that had been living rent-free in your belly lately.

As it was right now, you were starting to feel genuine distress in his presence. Which, once again, made you feel like a horrible friend. Distress wasn’t an emotion that you would’ve associated with Chris in normal circumstances, but you figured this week had gone backwards enough for it to be today.

You swallowed, and turned back to look at yourself in the mirror, focusing on finishing tonight’s pathetic excuse of a skin care routine.

“You alright?” Chris’ tone was… tentative. Almost like he knew you were, in fact, not alright.

You lied anyway.

“M’fine…”

When you finished with your face, you walked right past Chris and into the bathroom to wash your hands. ‘Spread what’s left on your hands to moisturise them, too…’ you could hear your mother’s voice ringing in the back of your mind, but, honestly? If you had to deal with the feeling of cream on your hands for a second longer you’d commit crimes.

As you washed your hands, you felt Chris’ presence behind you, right outside the bathroom.

“You sure?”

“Positive”, you were, clearly, not fine. But you didn’t want to continue this conversation further, if you did, you feared what might come out of your mouth.

“Y’know you can talk to me, ri–”

“Yes! Yes, I know. I know, Chris. I really do, but I don’t want to do that, you know? I don’t wanna talk, don’t wanna hear, don’t wanna really exist for what’s left of the day, okay?! Maybe it’s better if you mind your own business instead!”

God, you were the worst person on the planet… Here he was, worrying about you like he always did, offering comfort and support, and you weren’t even capable of keeping the annoyance out of your voice, you couldn’t even stop yourself from saying things you didn’t really mean. Why did you let it escalate so quickly? Another one for the tally of Stupid Things I Did This Week that you can sulk over later…

Chris stared at you for a moment, with his eyebrows high on his forehead, opening and closing his mouth for a bit.

A knot started to form in your throat, and no matter how hard you tried to swallow it and ignore its presence, you just… couldn’t.

“My God, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you…” You sighed deeply, pressing your fingertips on your eye sockets. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, I’m just so, so exhausted, and I just… I need some silence, okay? I appreciate you asking, but I really need to just… be quiet. I need you to know it’s not you, this is completely on me, but please would you just… not talk to me?”

You really felt like you wanted to cry, you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole… Especially because Chris wasn’t saying anything. Which was a very stupid reaction to have when you had just asked him to not talk to you.

When you removed your fingers from your face, you jolted on the spot at the sight in front of you.

You knew Chris was a werewolf. Hell, you’d seen him in his wolf form numerous times already, but sometimes it was hard not to be startled by it.

Chris sat on the floor of the hall, right outside the bathroom, looking you right in the eyes while his tail swished from side to side on the tiles.

You wondered if he’d even fit through the doorway. He was so… big. So big, and so… so cute.

The logical reaction would’ve been to be at least a bit intimidated. He was pretty much at eye-level with you, he was stronger than you, he could very well hurt you with a snap of his jaw, but his eyes were just the same. Gentle, comforting… You were sure that if there’d been twenty more wolves next to him, you would’ve been able to tell him apart from the rest just by his eyes.

Chris whined, and he stomped on the floor with his paw to get your attention. You blinked at him for a bit, and only then did you notice you had actually started to tear up.

Chris whined again, and then huffed. That seemed to be enough to snap you out of it. You could feel your lower lip wobble, but you still walked closer to him, leaving the bathroom to stand in the hall with him.

As soon as you were out of the bathroom he stood on his four legs, and walked further into your space to nudge your hand with his nose. It was odd, really, but looking at him like this seemed to ease some of that squeezing sensation in your chest.

The realisation that he wouldn’t be able to talk to you while in his wolf form was steadily helping you calm down, or, maybe… It was more so the fact that he was trying to respect your wishes, while also not leaving you completely on your own.

“M’sorry…” You apologised again, because you truly were sorry.

There was a small part of you that always worried that days like these would make him suddenly realise you were the worst roommate on the planet, that maybe you were a horrible friend. But, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t hold it against you. That was just the type of man Chris was.

With a minute shake of your head, you placed a hand under his jaw to support his head, and the other on top so you could scratch him behind the ears. Just because you could.

Even if Chris wouldn’t outright admit it to you, you knew he liked it. His wagging tail was more than proof of that.

“Are you my emotional support animal now?” You mumbled, tears were still running down your cheeks, but only sporadically now.

Chris just huffed, and if you looked hard enough, you could’ve sworn there was amusement in his eyes.

He removed himself from your space and turned in circles a couple of times before he was gently taking your wrist in his mouth. You could feel his teeth barely poke your skin, but you could tell he was being very careful.

He pulled a bit. You figured it was his way of telling you to follow him, so you started to walk. Only then did Chris let go of your wrist to start making his way down the hall.

Wiping the tears on your face–ignoring both the discarded lounge shorts by the bathroom door and the fact that you most definitely ruined tonight’s minimal skin care with your tears–you followed Chris to the living room.

As soon as he was in front of the sofa, he nudged the coffee table away with his head, and grabbed one of the blankets you left in a basket nearby to throw it on the floor. He spun on the spot a couple of times, before he plopped down and started pawing at the floor, looking right at you.

You wanted to cry again, but this time, it wasn’t because you were overwhelmed or frustrated. It was just the fact that Chris was… offering comfort cuddles. In his wolf form… in a form that’d make it so he not only wouldn’t talk, but would just be essentially a heated pile of fluff.

And you really, really appreciated it. Mostly because it made you feel like less of a failure, like you weren’t such a horrible friend after all.

Ignoring the fluttering in your heart, you made your way to where he was, took another blanket from the basket, and laid down.

With your head leaning on him, feeling him breathing steadily under you, you simply stared at the ceiling. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that you were laying on the floor, or just his warmth, but after a while, you started to calm down.

Your eyelids felt heavy, you could barely hear anything that wasn’t Chris’ quiet huffs. Eventually, he moved. You lowered your head to the floor for a moment while he took a cushion from the sofa and dropped it next to you, which you took as a sign to use it as a pillow.

Once you were comfortably laying down again with your cushion and your blanket, he simply curled around your body, keeping you warm.

You felt your heart swell, maybe even beat a bit faster against your ribcage, and as you cuddled closer to the big lump of fluff that was your roommate, you couldn’t help but mumble a quiet ‘Thank you…’ right before you fell asleep.

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