#f: garbage goal

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 3.9k ➠ warnings: cursing, drinking, i won’t say that they fight but there’s some… adversarial conversations in here ➠ genre: fluff, a smattering of hurt/comfort, a dash of angst, established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (after on needlesticks and other metaphors, before between two palms) ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ series masterlist

“…That was passive aggressive.”

“Cheers!” Everyone clinked their glasses in unison.

“To being one year migraine free!” You squealed, entirely unable to contain your excitement.

This was officially the longest you’d ever gone in your life without a migraine since your diagnosis seven years ago now, and the last year of that had been without one entirely, according to your tracking app in your phone. When you showed Sungchan the homescreen of the app proudly displaying ‘You’ve been 1 year migraine free!’, your boyfriend had suggested to go out for dinner with some of your friends still in the area to celebrate. You loved the idea, knowing that you never would’ve thought of something like that on your own. Being chronically ill had always been an inconvenience on your best days; something to overcome, to survive; something that made you feel at odds with your own body day in and day out. The thought of celebrating anything tangential to it never struck you.

The other part of what you were doing tonight, though, was most definitely not Sungchan’s idea.

“That’s the fanciest soda I’ve ever seen, Y/N,” Hendery cocked an eyebrow as you took a sip of your brightly colored, layered drink.

“That’s because it’s not,” you replied coyly.

“Then what is it?” Ten questioned. “Because I thought you couldn’t have alcohol.”

“Mocktail?” Mark asked.

“I can’t have it when I’m on my meds, so I skipped them so I could celebrate for once in my adult life,” you admitted. Giving Chenle, who was on your left, a bump with your shoulder, you added, “Chenle helped me out with what to order.”

“Y/N never even drank in high school, so she was a bit clueless,” your best friend confirmed with a snicker.

“Oh, you’re going to be such a lightweight!” Hendery grinned holding up his hand for a high-five.

“Not that you’re not an adult who can make her own decisions…” Ten cautiously prefaced his question. “But are you going to be okay if you skip a dose of your medication? Don’t you like, need that?”

“It was more than one dose,” Sungchan finally spoke up from your right, for the first time since the cheers. “The medications have half-lives of about a week or so. In order to minimize the chance of a reaction, she’s been off them for two weeks.”

The table was quiet for a moment, an awkward silence as you held Sungchan’s eye contact incredulously.

“He’s just upset I decided to celebrate one year migraine-free by doing something that will probably give me a migraine.” You turned back to everyone else, chuckling sheepishly to dissolve the tension. “Which really is a genius move on my part, I’m aware. But I feel like it’s kind of like lactose intolerant people who really love mac and cheese, you know? Except I only do it once every seven years instead of every other day.”

That earned you a loud round of laughter from everyone at the table—save for Sungchan, who remained quiet as he took a sip of his water.

“Pace yourself, baby,” Sungchan murmured, pushing his glass of water over to you. “You have literally no alcohol tolerance, remember?”

“Mmm… you’re right, sorry.” You set your rather delicious drink down to lean down and sip from the straw.

“Buzzkill,” Chenle stuck his tongue out at your boyfriend.

“Bad influence,” Sungchan retorted, moving your hair back so it didn’t fall in the open water cup as you gulped it down.

“I heard that!”

“I didn’t whisper!”

“Alright, you two,” Sicheng cut in from Sungchan’s other side. “This isn’t cute, lighthearted bickering. Chenle, you’re tipsy and Sungchan, you’re not actually upset at Chenle.”

Chenle knocked back the rest of his drink before covering his mouth as he burped. “Sorry, dude.”

“Yeah, sorry, Chenle,” Sungchan sighed. “Let’s get you home, man.”

“Ten and I will take him,” Sicheng offered. “You worry about your girl.”

“I’m…” You paused, squinting your eyes as you evaluated your current state. “It’s weird… it’s kind of like some of the stuff I’ve been on? For my migraines? Like this one I had… it uhm… it did… I can’t think of the word right now… but it made me really stupid.”

“Speech arrest,” your boyfriend filled in for you, rubbing your back. “It didn’t make you stupid, baby, it made it hard for your brain to grab the right word when you would put sentences together. So your neuro reduced your dosage. That was the topiramate.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” you nodded, swaying ever so slightly in your seat. “That’s the stuff that I can’t have with alcohol.”

“Correct.”

You poked the very tip of his nose. “Maybe you should just be my doctor, Channie.”

He grabbed your hand in a gentle hold. “Wrong kind of doctor. And I don’t even have my degree yet.”

“And I’m not a fish…”

He burst into soft chuckles at that. “No, no, you’re not.”

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or what, but your stomach was doing flip-flops as you looked at Sungchan’s smile, like you were on your first date again. Scooting your chair closer to his, you snuggled up to his side and rested your head on his shoulder.

“Are you tired, baby?” He asked, his voice tinged with concern. “Ready to go home?”

“We can go home, I don’t care,” you shrugged. “But I’m not tired.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I just remembered that you’re my boyfriend, so I can do this like… whenever I want…” You clutched his arm to your chest.

“I can’t believe you’re both dopey, snuggly, cuddly drunks,” Ten commented from across the table, shaking his head. “I never want to see both of you intoxicated at the same time.”

“Yeah, I think God designed this perfectly, actually, so that you two can never be drunk together,” Hendery added, still picking at his food.

“He does work in mysterious ways.” Chenle put his hands together as if he were praying, making the others break out into snickers.

“Anyway, we’re about done for tonight. Everybody have a safe ride home that needs one?” Sungchan asked, pointing around to your friends. After getting a round of yeses and thumbs-ups, he encouraged you to your feet. You were stable, but there was no way you could have been doing any obstacle courses anytime soon.

Your friends took the next hour or so to say goodbye to you, all of them giving you hugs goodbye and one final congratulations in turn before passing you off to Sungchan to lead you out to the car. You and your boyfriend stopped by the hostess stand up front for him to pay off the tab for your whole table before you could finally leave for the night.

In the car, he helped you maneuver into the passenger seat, buckled you in, and pressed a kiss to your forehead before walking around to the driver’s side. You leaned your seat back so you could curl up comfortably and stare at Sungchan as he drove, one hand on the wheel and the other on your knee as always.

“Are you mad at me?” You whispered, hating that your voice was already wavering.

Sungchan sighed, not even needing to ask what you meant. “Look, baby, obviously, I would rather you not have stopped taking the medication that prevents you from going through awful, horrible pain so that you could drink one time in order to celebrate that very same medication working so well that you hadn’t experienced that pain for a whole year but… I get that it’s your health and your life and you made an educated decision knowing the risks.”

“…That was passive aggressive.”

“You’re still a bit tipsy, baby. We can talk about it after you’ve slept it off, and slept off the hangover, and slept off the migraine that you’re definitely going to get, and the rebound headache that you’ll probably get too.”

“No. You say that you get that it’s my decision, but you clearly have an opinion on it. You’re my boyfriend, I value your opinion. So go ahead. Right now.”

“I just…” He took a deep breath. “I just don’t get the sudden interest in drinking, now. You never seemed to have an issue with being sober during undergrad because of your medication. Trust me, you’re really not missing out on anything.”

“Exactly, you’ve done it, so you know it’s not a big deal, because you have that experience.” You crossed your arms over your chest. “I never got that. You heard Chenle; I never drank in high school because I figured I’d have plenty of time to drink responsibly when I was the legal age. And then I got diagnosed with these fucking migraines the same year, and got started on all this medicine that reacts with alcohol. And the whole time I have people who do drink reassuring me that I’m really not missing out on anything, all the while drinking right in front of me, constantly. Every time we go out to dinner, beers in the fridge, wine on the counter, mimosas at brunch, it’s everywhere, and yet I’m supposed to believe that I’m not missing out on anything?!”

Sungchan bit his lip. “I’m sorry—”

“Hold on, I’m not done.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t care that people do drink around me. Like, I don’t want you to stop keeping alcohol around the apartment after this just because of me, Sungchan,” you added pointedly. “I just wish people wouldn’t fucking lie to me about enjoying it, acting like they’re making me feel better. Like, I don’t think you have to drink alcohol to be an adult, but when you’re an adult who has had that choice taken away from them by some outside thing instead of making the decision for yourself, it’s a lot fucking different. And I just… having it happen at the same time as my diagnosis… I know my neuro said that they were chronic and it was a lifelong condition, but before it really sank in as to what that meant, and how long my entire life really was, I had this stupid little daydream about being like a real grown-up and going out for drinks with my grown-up friends to celebrate some grown-up achievement like a promotion or something. That I’d be off of all the stupid medication.”

There were a few beats of still air in the car before Sungchan spoke up. “Are you…?”

“No, one more thing.”

“Alright.”

“I know you care for me, Channie, I do. If there is one thing you have shown me in the past three years, it is that you love me, all of me, in sickness and in health, and it has been more often than not, in sickness.” You squeezed his hand that was still overtop your knee. “You know my medications and conditions better than I do at this point. Like, I’m glad you’re getting a degree in molecular biology and are studying a fish, because I think if you actually became a human doctor, you would dedicate yourself to figuring out how to swap our central nervous systems to take my migraines and put them on yourself.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded.

“Truly, I understand that that is how much you love me and want me to be well and never be in physical pain again. And I love and appreciate you for that so, so much. I know that it hurts you, on the inside, to see me in pain. It hurts me to see you in pain, too. Remember when you got the flu last year and had to be hospitalized for two days?” You squeezed your eyes shut against the awful memory. “I got a stress migraine and didn’t even tell you until now because I knew that would’ve made you feel worse. But I need you to understand that sometimes I’m looking at the bigger picture when it comes to this stuff. I’m going to have my migraines for the rest of my life. And maybe that means I go thirty years without one. Maybe it means I get one a month. Recently, I got a whole year. But there will always be the risk of one. Like, that’s just something I’ve had to accept, and you are going to have to accept.” You poked his arm, making him pout for a second. “So, the way I see it, is that I need to strike the right balance between preventing migraines, and living a life I actually enjoy. And part of living a life I actually enjoy includes doing stuff I’ve never done before, like drinking, and doing it in a way that decreases other risks as well, like medication interactions. And yeah, that put me at a higher risk for migraines, but I’m okay with that. I can deal with migraines, I’ve dealt with hundreds of them before. One more in exchange for a new experience was something I was willing to do this time. Do you get where I’m coming from now, baby?”

Having finally been prompted to talk, Sungchan answered, “Yeah, I understand. I should’ve tried to talk to you about this and see what it was actually about instead of just assuming. I’m sorry I was a dick at your celebratory dinner that I suggested in the first place.”

“I want you to be concerned for me, Channie.” You brought his hand up to kiss the back of it. “Need my guy to make sure I don’t do anything too stupid while trying to enjoy my life. But maybe in the future we can both approach it from a more conversational and inquisitive angle than we did this time, hm?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” He glanced over at you to pat your head, smiling fondly. “My girl’s so smart, even when she’s tipsy and pissed off at me. I got so lucky.”

“I’m probably like, only a little buzzed right now… we spent a long time saying bye to everyone. And you made sure I ate, and drank water, and paced myself.”

“Guess we’ll find out in the morning.” He clicked his tongue teasingly, taking your hand in his again.

“Well…” You popped an over-the-counter headache reliever for the first time in years. “Now I get why they call it a migraine hangover.”

Sungchan chuckled, setting your breakfast down in front of you. “And how does a real hangover compare to a migraine hangover?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, picking up your fork. “My body feels yuckier, but my brain is working a lot better. Like, I’m pretty sure if I saw a puddle right now, I wouldn’t, in the heat of the moment, call it a ‘pile of water’ with my whole chest.”

Your boyfriend burst into laughter. “Pile of water?”

“Yeah, that one happened in one of Dr. Son’s classes,” you sighed, shutting your eyes and holding your head in one of your hands lazily. “Socratic discussion, so the entire class was focused on me and my insightful commentary on what I thought the pile of water represented in the story.”

“I’m sure it was very profound, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you scoffed, opening your eyes just enough to get your next bite of food onto your fork and lift it to your mouth.

The next day, you were more than recovered from your first hangover of your life, but worse off than before. Somehow, in that year without a migraine, you’d forgotten how bad they were. And now, they were back with a vengeance. You couldn’t, in the moment, think what number this would be on a comparative scale to all your others, but it sure as fuck felt like a 9/10 at least.

The blackout curtains in your bedroom were drawn shut, you had an eye mask pulled on, your ear plugs in, and had all of your usually lovely scent plug-ins removed from the room. It felt like the slightest sensory input set off gunfire in your brain, and you would let out an immediate, visceral yelp.

It had started soon after you woke up, meaning that Sungchan came home from the gym to find you curled up under the covers clutching your head, unable to even move to get your rescue meds—the ones that never worked in the first place. He’d been the one to shut the blackout curtains, find your long-unused eye mask, fetch your earplugs from your go bag, take out any artificially and/or strongly scented thing from the room, and prepare all of your medication for you to take in one blind, desperate gulp. He didn’t need to ask how you were doing—obviously, bad.

He climbed back in on his side of the bed, the two of you having worked out that you’d let him know if you needed more or less physical contact during some of the migraines. You always liked having him near, to feel less alone, but sometimes the extra sensations on your body just ended up being too much to handle in the moment. Whether it was body heat, or clothes wrinkling in the wrong places, or hair poking you, sometimes you were just extra on edge, and it did more harm than good.

Right now, you were laying on your front facing him, face buried into your pillow, one of your hands clasped with his and your joined hands cradled to your chest, a comforting, grounding pressure on your sternum. The only indication you had that Sungchan wasn’t asleep was when his thumb would run along yours every so often, a silent reassurance. You’d squeeze his hand back, letting him know you were still hanging in there, you didn’t need anything more, just him.

You must have eventually gone to sleep, as you were now waking up. The eye mask was slightly askew, and you rubbed at your eyes as you pulled it off all the way.

“Morning, beautiful,” Sungchan whispered, then pressed a button on his watch, lighting up the time for a split second. “Or, 6:00 p.m. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you groaned. Your earplugs had fallen out of your ears somewhere, but you would find those later. “But the migraine is finally fucking gone.”

“Good.”

“Ugh.” You dropped your head back down to your pillow. “I can’t believe that migraine lasted two and a half days.”

“I was going to carry you to the ER myself if you woke up and still had it.” Sungchan sat up, and one look at his face told you he was serious. “I can’t believe I let you talk me out of it after you hit the 36-hour mark last night.”

“I told you I just needed to sleep it off.”

“Yeah, for 20 hours straight.”

You winced, and the reminder of how long you had been out seemed to suddenly snap your body back to reality all at once. “I need to pee. Also, I’m hungry. And thirsty. Holy shit, my breath stinks. Actually, my everything stinks— Oh my God I need to pee!”

Quite literally jumping out of bed, your knees immediately buckled, and you dropped unceremoniously to the floor. “Fuck!”

“Woah, baby, you okay?” Sungchan scrambled to follow you, coming to kneel down beside you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Channie,” you reassured him with a sheepish smile, slowly sitting up. “My muscles were not ready for that.”

“You were just passed out for 20 hours straight,” he reminded you, tenderly fixing some of your hair. “And had a migraine for two and a half days. Take it easy for a bit, baby. And you’re about to start weaning back on your meds. Your body’s going to have a lot to get used to again for a while.”

“Those weren’t full doses you gave me earlier?” You asked curiously.

“Hell no,” he snorted. “Do I look like an idiot?”

“That’s what I would’ve done.”

“You’re fully weaned off all of them. Starting back at your full doses would just make all the side effects that you were managing even worse. It might even give you some that you didn’t have the first time you were taking them.”

Your mouth silently formed an ‘Oh,’ and you grabbed Sungchan’s arm. “Thank you, Channie. I… You shouldn’t have to… Thank you. I love you, and I would kiss you right now, but like I said, I really need to brush my teeth.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead, and when he pulled back, there was a warmth glowing in his brown eyes. “I love you, too, baby. And hey, we’re a team, okay? We’ve got to do all this stuff as a team, and that includes health. Your health and mine. You’re not only in charge of taking care of you and I’m only in charge of taking care of me, that’s not how it works. That would be so unfair. Imagine if you never came with me when I got my flu shots.”

“Who would hold your hand?”

“Exactly.”

“But I feel like holding your hand once a year isn’t really comparable to this…”

“My point is that we’re a team, which means we share the tough stuff with each other, so everything isn’t on one person’s shoulders. You have a chronic illness, baby. You have to deal with all the pain, and medication side effects, and everything that I can never take from you no matter how much I wish I could. So let me pick up your meds from the pharmacy, and find you fun new band-aids for your injection, and keep a snack on me since you never will, and learn as much as I possibly can about this.”

“Okay, I get your point.” You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them to look at him. “How do you always know the right stuff to say to make me feel better, Channie?”

“I don’t always. I didn’t the other night at dinner,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but I mean, you usually do when it comes to this stuff, with my migraines. You always…” you sniffed, your vision watering and growing blurry. “You always say all this nice stuff, and it’s not just talk, you really mean it too, I see it in how you act, what you do. Just… how are you… in love with me?”

“Y/N, baby,” Sungchan scooted over to take you into his arms, fully enveloping you with his body as you suddenly devolved into hiccupping sobs into his shirt. “You’re exhausted, right?”

You nodded against him, feeling how absolutely drained you were to your very core, despite the 20 straight hours you had just slept.

He hugged you even tighter to him. “Listen. I’m not going to list out a bunch of reasons that I love you, because I think that’ll just do more harm than good. So I’ll tell you this: I love you because I do. Because everything single thing I’ve ever found out about you, good or bad, has only made me more crazy about you.”

You started crying harder, clinging to him tightly, and he rubbed your back all through it.

“I-I’m so tired, Channie,” you mumbled into his collar, bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand.

“I know, baby, I know.”

“I really need to pee…”

“Yeah, let’s go.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

#sungchan x reader #riize x reader #sungchan imagines #riize imagines #sungchan #sungchan imagine #riize imagine #nct x reader #nct imagine #nct imagines #jung sungchan #i: sungchan #f: garbage goal #s: buzzer beater #writing #text #mine #bias tag #*100

[justauthoring]

that cherished feeling.

it's a feeling you've never felt before, but bakugou shows you just how wonderful it can feel.

a/n: this is the longest oneshot i've ever written and ive been working on this for like a week lol. i really hope you guys enjoy this :)) i love fantasy au's and specifically (1) barbarian!bakugou!

pairing: barbarian!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

word count: 8,010

warnings: parental abuse, death

“Make sure she looks decent enough for him.”

With a frown, you keep your gaze held ahead even as you’re pulled and tugged in all directions without a single care for your own wellbeing. You know to keep silent, hands held tightly before yourself to stop the violent shaking that overwhelms your body caused by the fear that strikes you deep in the heart.

“He’ll be here any moment,” your step-mother continues, voice cruel, “hurry up!” Her words are hissed at the maids that fret around you, bustling about as they pin your hair back and dust makeup across your face to hide the insecurities your mother refuses to let him see. They’ve been at it for hours now, or at least it feels that way, and you’re tired of being poked and prodded at all for the sake of a man who will probably kill you the second he’s done using you.

They’re barbaric..

They fuck and kill and pillage anything within sight.

They’re monsters.

You’ve heard these whispers around the castle your entire life, maids tucked into corners whispering amongst themselves, the cruel words your step-mother has spat to her council plenty of times. Your entire life you’ve heard about how horrible the Adroghar’s are, that they came into power and nobility by killing Kings, Queens, Princes and Princess’ of different lands, stealing money and destroying villages. 

Your entire life, you’ve been terrified of them.

And now, today, you were about to be married off to one – in other words, sold.

Have you heard? The Queen means to sell Y/N off to the King of the Adroghar tribe!

To Bakugou Katsuki? Isn’t he said to be the most ruthless King they’ve ever had in power?

He’ll kill her. Or worse. Certainly.

If it’s for our safety though, I can’t say I care much…

Yes. Our Queen is doing her best to keep us all safe.

Your step-mother has hated you since the day you were born. You were a constant, living, breathing reminder of your father’s indecency towards her and the second he’d died when you were two, she’s made it her goal to remind you of this fact every day of your life. You’ve been beaten, starved, locked away and treated like garbage by every single person you’ve ever known.

You’ve never felt love. Never felt warmth.

Not a single person has ever cared for you.

And now, to stop the Adroghar tribe from trampling on your land, your step-mother has sold you off to appease them. You had no say just like you never have.

“They’re here!”

A knight comes running into the room, flustered as he calls for your mother’s attention. His words make your entire being freeze, breath caught in the back of your throat as the fear makes your muscles tense.

“The Adrogharian tribe is here!”

Everything else happens in the blink of an eye–you’re forced to move, pulled by hands that grip and pinch at you, your corset tightened around your waist and a sheer shawl draped over your face to cover you from view. Before you know it you’re being led into the main hall where quickly the sound of boisterous chatter echoes and bounces around. You keep your head dipped down as your mother ordered you to, hands clasped politely before you as your nails dig and pinch into your skin.

The second the large doors slam behind you, you know your fate is sealed if it hadn’t already been.

Maybe you could’ve run. Maybe you could’ve tried to fight.

But you know it would’ve ended the same either way.

This is how it’s been your entire life.

Your mother stands directly in front of you, blocking you from view, but you let yourself slowly peek upward, through your lashes. You see the tenseness of your mother’s back as she moves to greet your guests, before slowly letting your eyes drift to who will soon be your husband. Katsuki Bakugou. He’s been the King of the Adroghar tribe for a few years now, having taken over after his mother passed–and since then has made quite a name for himself for being one of the most ruthless and cruel Kings to ever grace the Adroghar tribe.

Considering their record of ruthlessness, this fact scared you even more.

He’s tall, buff with wide shoulders and large hands. His hair is a light blonde that sticks out in every direction, unruly on his head and yet it suits his red, piercing eyes that seem as they penetrate your very sole. He’s wearing a cloak lined with fur, his neck decorated with necklaces with what you can only assume is teeth. The fashion of the Adroghar tribe is very different from the customs of your people, as he wears only trousers and no shirt, showing the world his chiseled chest.

He’s both intimidating and terrifying.

“Ah, King Bakugou,” your step-mother calls out, bowing slowly. It’s odd to see your step-mother bend for another, but you also know she’s deathly afraid of the man before her; given that they had the ability to completely wipe all of you out. “Thank you for making the long trip this way.”

Bakugou regards her with narrowed eyes, shoulders set back as he grunts out; “what’s this offer you have for me?”

Your eyes widen, hands clutching your skirt–he didn’t know?

Letting out a nervous laugh, your step-mother nods; “I heard you have yet to take a wife, my King.”

You watch, best you can see, as his lips set into a thin line. “Our traditions are different from your own,” he hisses, “but… yes. I have not.”

“Well, then, my Bakugou, I offer you my daughter in return for the safety of our Kingdom.”

She steps back then, and you tense, nails digging into the palm of your hands hard enough to draw blood as you raise your head just slightly. Bakugou’s eyes fall on you then, narrowed and dark as he regards you, and feels as if he’s peering into your very soul as you stare back at him then.

“Let me see her face.” Bakugou calls, gesturing for you to step forward.

You move to do so, but you can’t get your feet to work. You’re paralyzed with fear, you realize somewhere along the way–terrified of this man in front of you and the men that linger around him, laughing, cheering, all staring at you with the same leering look that fills your stomach with knots and makes it hard to breathe.

You catch your step-mothers gaze when you don’t move and she’s looking at you with wild panic as she gestures for you to step forward.

You can’t.

“Is she mute or just stupid?” Bakugou hisses.

Your eyes widen, and you feel like you might puke.

Your step-mother’s hand is wrapping around your arm in the next second, grip pinching, yanking you forward as a small yelp leaves your lips in response. You’re thrown, losing your footing as you come crashing to your knees directly in front of the King, your step-mother yanking the shawl off of your head in the next second and a new sense of vulnerability washes over you.

Your step-mother had adorned you in incredibly revealing clothing, more skin than you’ve ever shown on display for all of these leering men to see.

Too afraid to raise your head, you let out a whimper, curling into yourself.

You realize your actions could have you killed but you’re too afraid to care.

I’m going to be killed anyway… raped and then killed. What does any of it matter?

A minute passes and then slowly, Bakugou shifts in front of you. Before you know it, he’s kneeling in front of you, and terror strikes at you when you notice his arm move out of the corner of your eyes, flinching, expecting to be hit or worse, maybe he’s reaching for his sword to kill you–but, neither of that happens. You don’t feel pain or a slap across your cheek, instead, the touch is light and gentle despite his coarse skin as Bakugou gently clasps your jaw, moving your gaze upwards and on his own.

It’s the first time you’ve met his gaze head on, but oddly, his eyes don’t seem so intimidating this close.

He stares at you for a moment, a deep frown etched on his face, before his gaze raises, past you and onto your step-mother.

“Do you always treat your own family like this?”

Your eyes widen. Did he just–

“Bu-but my King, she wouldn’t–”

He scoffs, not even letting her finish and your step-mother falls eerily silent as he does. It’s like his entire personality had changed in the split second you’d been thrown to the ground. He shifts, his hands moving to grab you by the arm, but his grip is gentle, just tight enough to pull you up to your feet. You let him, confused and baffled by what was happening, as your arms curl around you to cover yourself, letting him guide you behind him as you turn to face your step-mother.

You don’t see it, too focused on her harsh gaze on you, but something warm is wrapped around your shoulders a moment later and your eyes fall on Bakugou with parted lips as he clasps his cloak around your neck. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are soft as you grab his cloak gently, gripping the material close to yourself as the warmth envelops you. 

Bakugou turns to face your step-mother, his face dark and his words menacing. “I should have your head for that.”

Her eyes bulge, as do yours—you can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe what’s happening. Never once has anyone stood up for you, and the last person you ever thought that would was the man you’d been sold to. A barbarian. A monster.

Yet, despite everything you’ve been told your entire life, he didn’t didn’t seem like a monster to you at that moment.

Your step-mother sputters over her words, indignation flooding her as she stares back at Bakugou. Then, her eyes drift to yours, gaze cold and steely and you know in that moment, like everything else she’s felt has gone wrong, she blames you entirely.

“She’s just the daughter of a measly prostitute!” Your step-mother bellows, eyes crazed as she loses her composure, voice echoing across the suddenly silent hall. No one says a word as she stands there, huffing with rage. Even Bakugou’s men have fallen eerily silent. 

“She’s just the baby of a whore with not a single claim to the throne,” she laughs, hand reaching out to point towards you. “I was giving you to her as a ruse! She’s nothing more than scum on the underside of my shoe.”

The silence echoes and drags.

It feels like hours of agonizing anticipation as not a single person says anything. You can’t see Bakugou’s face but yours is burning red with the humiliation of your truth being spilled out to everyone, most of all Bakugou. Your step-mother has spent her life reminding you, never once letting you live without hearing similar words in the back of your mind. It wasn’t like your people didn’t know either—maids had spent their life leering down at you and knights had laughed at you anytime you’d drifted past them.

But it’s a new sort of humiliation having it be said in front of Bakugou and his men. 

A minute later, but it feels like eternity, Bakugou finally steps forward. It’s one single step, his wide back thoroughly blocking your view of your step-mother in front of you. It’s one step but he’s standing right in front of your mother, close enough to touch her.

“You should know,” Bakugou starts slowly, voice low. “That your background isn’t a matter of concern in the Adroghar tribe. We don’t care if you’re born from a whore or nobility.”

Your face eases, staring at his bare back.

Then, in the next second, he shifts. It feels like you blink and you miss it. There’s a flash of something red and then the thud of something falling to the ground, before your eyes lower and fall on the head of your step-mother, severed from the rest of her body. Her now lifeless eyes stare back at you, lips left parted from her attempt to scream before Bakugou beheaded her—but she never got the chance. 

“Kill the rest of them,” Bakugou orders, turning to face you, a streak of blood across his cheek.

Everyone?

He wanted to kill everyone?

“Here!”

Small hands are thrust in your face, gripping onto the delicate, beautifully made flower crown and behind the hands, rest a beaming face, staring up at you with twinkling eyes.

“For the princess.”

But– the children…

“P-Please!” You’re speaking before you realize it, your voice squeaking in panic as you step towards Bakugou. Your arm pulls out from beneath the large, heavy cloak he’d draped over you seconds ago, meeting his eyes imploringly. “The v-villagers! The children! Please, spare them.”

Bakugou turns to you, shocked eyes falling on you.

You take his expression as one of anger and with a cry, you fall to your knees, holding your hands out before you. “Please, my K-King. Spare the villagers. They’re… they’re innocent.”

A moment of silence passes. Your face is turned towards the ground, forehead all but pressed against the cold stoned floor, shaking as flashes of that sweet, innocent little girl smiling at you surface in your mind. They don’t deserve to die. You don’t care about the rest of them–not your mother who laid dead and beheaded a few feet in front of you and not the maids or the guards who have leered and laughed and tortured you your entire life. But the villagers–the children don’t deserve to die.

“Spare the villagers,” Bakugou orders, and your eyes widen, the beige of the floor flooding your vision. “But kill the rest.”

He–

“Stand up.” Hands fall on your arms, tugging you back to your feet as you stare at Bakugou bewildered. His face is blank, but there’s a hint of something in his eyes you just can’t quite make out. “If you are to be my Queen, I cannot have you on your knees. Not for anyone, including me.”

It seems the customs of the Adroghar tribe are much different than your own, the thought occurs to you. But it isn’t this fact that baffles you. It’s the fact that he calls you his Queen…

He–he still wants to marry you?

“I was promised a bride,” Bakugou calls out, as if he’d heard your thoughts and it’s the first hint of a smile you see on his face as he glances down at you. “I intend to have one.”

-

You stare at the licks of the fire before you, eyes watching the dance of the flames that heat your cheeks.  

In the dead of the night, Bakugou’s men are as loud as ever. They cheer and laugh around the fire a few feet away from you, some bustling about as they feed the horses and make sure everything is in order for travel tomorrow. 

You’d all only travelled for a few hours before Bakugou had called for you all to stop for rest. His men had seemed confused and you yourself had expected to travel for longer given that it had still been quite bright out at the time–but Bakugou had just brushed off the questioning gazes of his men and had helped you off the horse you’d been riding with him. His grip was gentle as he guided you to your feet, ordered his men to prepare a fire for you and then left you there once it was done.

You hadn’t seen him since.

You held his cloak which was still wrapped around your shoulders tightly, your grip tight as every step that sounded just a little too close made you flinch. You were confused and dazed by the events of the day, still not even sure if you’d properly registered what had happened. Your step-mother was dead, murdered in front of you, and now the rest of your family and all of your servants are dead as well. 

You’d expected Bakugou to reject the marriage at the end of it all but…

I was promised a bride. I intend to have one.

And yet he’d said those words so softly, with an odd warmth to them. Yet, you’d be taken with him as he left your castle, the only home you’ve ever known, placed on his horse right in front of him and now staring at a fire in his people’s camp. Yet, you were meant to follow him all the way back to his home and marry him.

Just how has your life changed so much in such a short amount of time?

“Have you eaten anything?”

Gasping lightly at the voice, your head snaps upwards, wide eyes falling on Bakugou’s. He’s stepping towards you, a plate in his hands as he makes his way to sit beside you on the small cot his men had prepared for you. Your eyes watch as he moves, not having properly registered his question as he takes a seat directly beside you. His leg brushes against your own and you hug his cloak tighter to yourself, body tensing.

“Sorry,” he mumbles gruffly, having caught your reaction. He pulls his leg away and then holds the plate out in front of you. “Are you hungry?”

Your eyes dance across the food on the plate, puzzled by the sight. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.

“All that’s… for me?”

Bakugou’s eyes flicker to the plate, raising a brow; “yes?”

“O-oh, thank you,” with shaky hands, you grab the plate, setting it down on your lap. You feel Bakugou’s eyes on you as you ponder what to try first. It’s not just the amount of the food on the plate, it looks much different than anything you’ve ever seen back at home. You may not have been fed much and whilst you usually were given scraps, you know that this is very different to the traditional food your people eat.

Tentatively, you reach out, taking a bit of it in between your fingers once you notice the lack of utensils and place it in your mouth. Instantly, you're hit with a wave of flavour you’ve never tasted before. Your eyes widen as the taste floods your entire mouth, eyes gleaming with delight as you let out a small moan without thinking.

Bakugou chuckles beside you.

Your eyes fall on him, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Never tried Adrograhian food before, I take it?”

You shake your head, “that and… well, I’ve never had something so… full of flavour.”

Bakugou blinks, the smile fading from his lips as you turn away, trying to ignore the look on his face as you place your attention back on the food. The two of you sit in silence as you eat the rest of the food, perhaps eating faster and bit more messier than Bakugou probably would’ve expected from you–but you’ve never tasted something so decedent nor had so much food to eat all for yourself. 

When he doesn’t punish you the first few times for shoving your mouth full, you figure it’s alright too.

“Thank you,” you call out to him once the food is done, your voice a soft whisper as you smile softly over at him. “Thank you.” You bow your head.

“There’s no need to do that,” Bakugou calls out in a rush, shaking his head. “You don’t… I won’t… hurt you.”

Blinking, you stare at him, lips left parted.

Distantly, you notice red across his cheeks but Bakugou is standing before you can get a better look, pushing himself to his feet before turning, back facing you. “Get some rest,” he grunts, “we have a long day of travel ahead of us tomorrow.”

You watch him walk off, watch as his back grows further and further away, until you’re once again left alone. Except, this time you don’t feel so lonely. 

A small smile curls onto your lips as his words echo in your mind.

I won’t hurt you.

-

Adroghar is beautiful and unlike anything you’ve ever heard.

You’re not sure what you expected, but tall, ornate buildings with intricate and detailed designs across them all are not what you expected. There’s people everywhere, bustling about, and cheers echo as Bakugou comes marching through with the rest of his men, smiles on their faces as they reach out towards him, celebrating his return.

It isn’t barbaric.

And it isn’t poor and littered and destroyed like you expected.

It’s… lively and warm and inviting.

“So, this is the famous daughter of Cassian Heinrich.”

The second Bakugou pulls you off his horse and sets you onto your feet, you’re grabbed by a pair of hands and pulled into a bright smiling face that beams back at you. It’s a woman, her eyes twinkling with delight and her skin pink and her hair the same colour. She’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, and you’re shocked, confused by this sudden demanding presence but yet, as you meet her eyes, there’s only warmth staring back at you.

“Oi,” Bakugou calls out, a hand resting on your shoulder as his other hand moves to the girl and yanks her back. “Don’t bombard her like that.”

“Whatever, Bakugou,” the woman scoffs, brushing him off with a wave of the hand.

Your eyes widen at the action–isn’t he the King?

Just who is this woman to regard him so casually?

You half expect Bakugou to kill her for her lack of respect towards him, but as your eyes flutter toward him, you’re bewildered as he simply just scoffs, a light smile on his head as he shakes his head.

“Mina,” Bakugou calls after a moment.

Mina. What a pretty name.

“Hm?” she hums, eyes flickering lazily to glance at him.

“Could you please help Y/N bathe and find some clothes for her to wear?” Bakugou calls out, gesturing to you. “Make sure to wash that shit off her face.”

You pause at his words, eyes flickering to the ground as you distantly reach towards your face. It wasn’t that you thought you were particularly beautiful, if anything, you’d always thought you were quite ugly and your mother had reminded you often that you were. But… but you’d hoped maybe Bakugou had thought differently.

That maybe he’d seen something in you.

Had the makeup your mother had put you made you look worse?

“You really don’t know how to talk to women, Bakugou,” Mina scoffs, stepping towards her as she pulls her arm, tucking you into her side. You stare at her, blinking, before glancing over at Bakugou who stares back, baffled. “Don’t worry,” Mina sings, smiling brightly at you as you slowly put your attention back on her. “Let’s get you bathed and cleaned, all right?”

You nod, slowly, staring back at Bakugou who watches you leave.

Oddly, you don’t want to leave his side.

-

Mina was chatty.

Very.

The entire time she bathes you, washes your face and hair and dresses you, she barely stops speaking.

It’s comforting, in an odd way. She fills in the silence where you can’t find the words, too overwhelmed by everything to know what to say. 

She’s gentle, too. Where the maids back home had pulled and prodded, sneering at you as they reluctantly helped bathed you–it was rare, only on special occasions where your mother needed you for appearances but you’d always dreaded it. They were cruel and harsh and mean and everything in between.

Mina is none of that.

You even smile as she tells you stories about Bakugou. Apparently the two of them have known each other since they were children–them and a few others that Mina tells you about and assures you’ll meet soon.

Once cleaned, dried and dressed, she politely excuses herself, assuring you Bakugou will arrive shortly. You’re left startled when she distantly informs you that it’s Bakugou’s room you’ve been led to but she’s gone before you can say anything otherwise, so, once again left alone, you take a seat on the edge of his bed, not sure what to do.

Your eyes drift across the room, but you don’t dare move.

His room is rather vacant but large. There’s a huge bed, fur carpets draped across the floors and the bed, some swords lined on the wall and a set of armor tucked away in the corner, along with a desk scattered with papers right across from you. It’s everything you would’ve expected from a man like Bakugou.

Still, it makes you feel like you learn just a little about him.

You jump as the door slams open, body freezing as Bakugou comes barelling in. There's a nasty look on his face and it’s like he doesn’t notice you as he strides right past you, throwing a piece of paper onto the desk across from the bed. Your entire body tenses, shoulders straightening as you hesitate, unsure if you should say something or not.

But before you can make the decision, Bakugou’s red, piercing eyes are on you.

However, in an instant, the anger in his eyes is gone. Instead, his gaze softens, eyes wide with pure shock at the sight of you.

“I… I told Mina to lead you to a spare room,” Bakugou explains, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

You move to stand; “I-I can leave–”

“No,” Bakugou calls out, crossing the distance between you in seconds as he reaches for you. You pause, not daring to move as his hand hovers in front of you, instinctively flinching–he halts the second you do, panicked. Your eyes meet his, and you stare, both of you silent, before your gaze flickers to his hand, and you nod.

His fingers brush against the skin of your cheek, eyes dancing across your face.

“You look… beautiful.”

It’s not what you expected. 

It never would’ve been what you expected.

No… no one has ever called you beautiful.

“They covered you with all that makeup,” he continues, voice soft. “But now that I can really see you… you’re beautiful, Y/N.”

Your eyes stare at his cheeks warming.

“You… you really think that?”

He frowns, “yes,” and there isn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice.

Tentatively, unsure, you raise your hand, setting it over his own. “No one has ever called me that before.”

“Beautiful?”

You nod.

The frown deepens, and Bakugou wants to say more but all he says instead is; “well, you are.”

You smile up at him. Soft, gentle and demure. But there’s so much feeling behind the smile, portraying every bit of emotion Bakugou has made you feel in the short amount of time you've been with him.

“Thank you.”

And he stares back, unsure of the feelings coursing through him–he’d had every intention of denying your mother’s proposal, of slaughtering them all and you included. When he’d first seen you, he’d scoffed at the sight of you, dressed in fine silk that didn’t leave anything to the imagination, your face covered as it was tradition for your people. You’d look skittish, curled into yourself, head bowed and Bakugou couldn’t deny that in that moment, he’d felt nothing.

Not a single thing towards you.

And then your mother had grabbed you and tossed you to his feet, ripping the shawl off your face and Bakugou can’t quite explain it but… something had changed.

Everything had changed.

He thinks back to the conversation he’d had with one of his men just minutes before entering his room, about what was expected of him.

“You must consummate your marriage.”

Bakugou sighs, “I’ve told you, Sero, I have no intention of–”

“Why’d you take her back with us if you had no intention of giving her a child?”

Narrowing his eyes, Bakugou turns to look at the man standing across from him. “Did you expect me to just leave her there? With her family's blood across the walls and no one to take care of her?”

Sero pauses, face twisting into an expression of bewilderment; “I expected you to kill her like the rest of them. She’s just an ordinary human.”

Bakugou can’t rightly explain it but rage seethes through his body at Sero’s word. He’s crossing the distance over to him in seconds, wrapping a hand around the man’s throat and squeezing with a manic look in his face.

“Don’t talk about her like that.”

To his credit, Sero doesn’t falter; “I don’t understand why this girl means so much to you.”

Swallowing thickly, Bakugou huffs, pulling away as he spins, scoffing. “I don’t know,” he mutters, frustrated at his own lack of understanding. Sero was right. You were just an ordinary woman, apparently born from an illegitimate relationship. You had no special qualities, had been raised as a noble by the looks of it–you were skittish and quiet and jumpy and nothing special. 

Bakugou was the King of the Adroghar tribe. He had dragon’s blood coursing through his veins, had strength unheard of and the endurance and ability of a warrior. He’s been raised to be a King, to take charge, to pillage and kill and take what he wants without a single care for anyone else.

Most of all, everyone expected him to pick an Adrogharian woman to marry.

Not a human.

Not you.

“I’m heading to my tent,” Bakugou grunts, “make sure I am left alone.”

“Bakugou?”

Blinking, Bakugou is pulled from his thoughts at the sound of your soft voice calling for him.

He leans back when he realizes you’ve leaned forward, concern etched in your eyes as you stare up at him. It’s instinctive the way his eyes trail lower, and he does it without thought, eyes drifting across your soft, supple skin, taking note of the dress Mina had dressed you in; it was thin, the edges hemmed with lace and rather sheer.

Instantly, he feels his face warm.

You must consummate your marriage tonight.

“You may sleep here tonight,” Bakugou suddenly calls out in a rush, pushing himself off the bed and turning so his back is facing you. “I will sleep somewhere else.”

He’s opening the door before you can say anything, calling out a short ‘goodnight’ over his shoulder before the door slams shut behind him. You jump as he does, lips curving down as he leaves you, once again, all by yourself.

He must’ve been repulsed, you can’t help but think despite his words.

There’s no way a man like him could think you were beautiful.

-

It’s been a few days since Bakugou took you home and you haven’t seen him once since that night.

Your days are mostly spent in the company of Mina and a handful of maids that Bakugou had assigned to you. Despite the sense of familiarity you slowly develop each day, there’s a nag at the back of your mind at Bakugou’s lack of presence–you weren’t sure what you had done, but whatever it had been clearly had been enough to cause him to avoid you.

Today’s the first day Mina has left you alone, with the excuse that there are duties she’s been neglecting that she must attend to. You brush aside her worries, assuring her that it’s alright and spend the first hour of your morning sitting in Bakugou’s room, basically doing nothing. You expected Bakugou to have you assigned to your own room since that first night he left you, given that after all this was his room you were sleeping in–but he never did and still not really knowing your way around the castle completely and not being told otherwise, you remain there.

Then again, the lack of Mina or even your handmaids, makes the experience incredibly more lonely.

You’re bored.

Incredibly so.

So, you ignore the fear striking your heart, still unsure of the limits that were expected of you, and leave his room. The whole thing is one huge maze, but eventually you find yourself outside, tucked away into a huge field lined by a huge forest, with a cave directly in the middle of it. There isn’t a single person around, and everything is entirely silent; you can hear the wind brush through the glass and leaves, can hear your footsteps as you walk and can hear your own heart racing madly against your chest.

It’s beautiful. Everything you’ve seen since arriving here has been beautiful but this… little alcove is gorgeous.

Smiling softly to yourself, you crouch, letting your hands drift across the grass, enjoying the feeling of it against your skin. This is the most freedom you’ve ever felt your entire life and you’ve never been allowed to just explore without the prying eyes of your mother watching your back, staring you down with judgement and hatred.

It’s a new feeling and one you rejoice in, laughing quietly to yourself.

But you’re quickly pulled out of your own little world at the sound of thud, one that rumbles underneath your feet. It causes you to jump, body tensing in fear, head snapping upwards, only for your eyes to fall on… a dragon.

It’s… huge.

It towers over you, a great, large beast that steps out from beneath the confines of the cave, dazzling red scales and eyes that stare right back at you. Oddly, you’re not afraid–you’re frozen in the spot, standing there as it steps towards you, hands limp by your sides and you can’t find it within you to move or walk or do anything but… but you’re not afraid. This dragon could kill you in seconds and it’s one of the most intimidating creatures you’ve ever seen, but you feel comfort as it stares back at you.

You’d known dragons had existed and somewhere in the back of your mind you’d known that the Adrogharian tribe was famous for being dragon tamers–but you’ve never seen one in person.

It… snorts? You’re not sure. Its mouth opens and a noise you’ve never quite heard before comes out, a brush of strong wind hitting you directly in the face, nearly knocking you off your feet.

And then, somehow, you find yourself laughing.

It's the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen

Distantly wondering if you’re crazy, you step forward, small, tentative steps until you’re directly in front of the dragon. Its snout is within reach, and slowly, you raise your hand, eyes flickering from its snout to its eyes, hesitant, before you let your hand fall on the front of its snout. Your hand barely covers any of the dragon, the sheer size of it massive compared to you but its scales are coarse and rough beneath the soft touch of your fingers.

Then, ever so slightly, you watch as its eyes fall shut and he pushes, gently, toward your hand.

“Oh,” you call softly, “nice to meet you too, dragon. My name is Y/N.”

It lets out a gruff, and you pull back with a laugh as it shakes its head.

“His name is Kirishima.”

A yelp leaves your lips as you spin, eyes falling on that of Bakugou who’s stood in front of you.

Panic strikes you, worried he’ll be mad you left his castle or worse, that you even left his room. Swallowing thickly, you step towards him, hands held out before you; “my K-King, I-I–”

“He normally doesn’t like new faces,” Bakugou cuts in gently, sending you a smile as he steps forward, turning his head towards the dragon. He reaches forward and the dragon, Kirishima, nudges its snout towards Bakugou, knocking into him far more aggressively than he had you. Bakugou barely nudges, staying strongly rooted to the spot as he pats Kirishima, before letting his eyes fall back on you. 

“My King, I just wanted to get some fresh air, I–”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Bakugou assures, “everything within the castle is yours.”

Every tense muscle in your body eases, shoulders falling with disbelief.

“I wanted to introduce you to Kirishima,” Bakugou continues, smiling over at his dragon. “We’ve known each other since we were children. He’s very important to me.”

Letting your eyes fall on Kirishima, you flush; “and you wanted to introduce him to me?”

“Of course,” Bakugou assures with ease, nodding. “Isn’t it normally to share these things with your wife?”

Biting your lip, you glance at your feet; “I wasn’t sure you still… thought of me that way…”

Bakugou frowns, “I apologize for disappearing for a few days. I was preparing a surprise for you.”

Turning to him, surprised, your lips part; “a surprise?”

“Yes,” he smiles gently at you. “For tonight. Mina will help you prepare as well.”

-

“A picnic?”

Bakugou’s cheeks are bright red as he stares back at you.

“Do you not like it?”

Gathering your skirt, you shake your head, moving to sit in front of Bakugou. You’d wondered why Mina had dressed you in such light, airy clothes, a pretty pale pink colour as she fretted over making sure your hair was back and out of your face. It made sense now, you realize, that she’d gone to such lengths.

All for a picnic Bakugou had prepared.

“I love it,” you admit with a gentle smile, voice still quiet as you nod at him. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Mina helped me,” he explains, looking entirely too uncomfortable for something that was his plan. He’s sat across from you, one knee up which he rests his arm on, but his face is still burning red and it’s like he can’t meet your gaze properly as he explains. “I know nothing about wooing a woman.”

Before you know it, you’re laughing.

Bakugou’s eyes snap to yours, turning red even further (if that was even possible) as you quickly press your hands to your lips, trying to muffle the giggle.

It doesn’t help.

“Are you laughing at me?” Bakugou asks incredulously, eyes bulging. 

You shake your head, despite how blatant of a lie that is. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, biting your lip as you smile over at him. “It’s just… are you trying to woo me?”

Pausing, Bakugou meets your eyes before quickly turning away. “Maybe,” he mutters, before his shoulders fall. “Yes. Is it working?”

Leaning forward, you shift, brushing your skirt under you as you get more comfortable. “Yes,” you assure. “I just didn’t expect that. Most men would’ve just married me, regardless of whether I wanted to or not.”

Bakugou stares at you. “Is that how it’s like with your people?”

You glance at the array of food, pleasantly happy when you recognize a few fruits you used to love as a little girl–it’s been ages since you’ve been allowed to taste the sweetness of a strawberry.

“Yes,” you explain, as if it’s normal. “If I were… not an illegitimate daughter, I probably would’ve been arranged to marry a few years ago.”

You pause, however, when you see the look of bafflement on Bakugou’s face.

“I mean,” you start, slowly. “That’s why my step-mother reached out to you, remember?”

You watch as Bakugou swallows thickly. “I didn’t know until I got there and I-I… well, what I said… I didn’t mean it.”

Your brows furrow before it clicks in your mind.

I was promised a bride. I intend to have one.

Lips parting, you blink at him owlishly.

“I wouldn’t ever force you to marry me.”

Hands moving to fall in your lap, you force yourself to utter the words; “and… if I said I wanted to?”

Bakugou shifts; “marry me?”

You meet his eyes nervously, nodding. “Yes.”

“Then… I’d say… I’d love to.”

The instant relief that floods you is comforting, the smile curling onto your face once more at his reassurance. “I would be honoured,” you grin over at him, “I’ve felt that way since you took me with you.”

Reaching forward, Bakugou takes your hand in his own; “it’s I who feels honoured.”

-

You were dressed in a beautiful white gown, decorated with lace and delicate designs sewn into the material. It cinched at the waist and reached the floor, with a trail that followed behind you. Your hair had been twisted and braided and pulled up into a hairstyle similar to the ones you used to wear as a little girl. 

It was exactly like the style you’d grown up with and completely different from the Adrogharian traditions you’ve grown accustomed to. The only thing missing was the makeup across the face but you hadn’t argued when Mina had purposely avoided applying any–it brought both comfort and despair to you, staring back at your reflection through the mirror in front of you.

You… felt beautiful.

More than you ever had.

And it reminded you of home–of your childhood and brought a sense of comfort and familiarity to those early years of your life when your father had still been alive, memories of things you didn’t all together remember given how young you were but was a sense of nostalgia you rejoiced in. Before it had all been stolen from you cruelly and your step-mother had made it her goal to ruin you.

In that way, at the same time, it also reminded you of everything that had been stolen from you the second he’d died.

It was bittersweet and yet, it was the sweetest, kindest thing any single person had ever done for you and you cherished it.

“Are you ready?”

Turning to Mina, you nod.

You're led out of the room and down a few halls, until eventually the warm night air surrounds you. The sight before you astonishes you. Rows and rows of Bakugou’s men, all split in the middle where a path of flowers lay and at the end of it rests Bakugou, adorned in a regal shirt and trousers, so opposite of his normal attire. It looks odd on him in the same way he looks incredibly handsome.

And the realization sinks in then.

This is your wedding.

It had come to mind before given the dress but you weren’t sure, especially since Bakugou had talked about it but never beyond that initial conversation. You also figured that the wedding would be done in Adrogharian tradition.

This though? Made everything clear.

You turn to look at Mina who smiles brightly at you, clasping your arm in her own as she slowly starts to lead you down the aisle. Everyone’s eyes are on you, watching you but your attention is solely focused on Bakugou standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of him as he watches you grow closer and closer.

And then, suddenly you’re in front of him.

“Is… all this for me?” You whisper, clasping at your skirt nervously.

“Yes,” he nods, slowly, a nervous expression crossing his face. “Is… is it too much?”

You shake your head; “no,” you smile gently, “no this is… perfect.”

“Good.” His face eases instantly, and then, he tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Because this shirt is incredibly itchy and I’m wearing it for you.”

Despite yourself, you let out a laugh. It bursts from your lips, your hand instantly raising to cover your mouth as you giggle, glancing down at your feet. Bakugou stares at you as you laugh, never having heard the sound before, before he reaches forward, tilting your head upward by the chin.

He’s smiling gently down at you, his gaze the softest you’ve ever seen.

“Shall we get married?”

-

His touch is gentle–hesitant.

You can hear every breath he takes as you stare up at him, hands hovering before yourself.

“I don’t want to pressure you,” he whispers, using his arm to hold himself up. You’re splayed across his bed, the sleeve of your wedding dress slipping down the side of your shoulder, revealing bare skin that stares up at him mockingly. 

He wants you–but he won’t force you.

Pressing your hands against his chest, you try to ignore the shake of your body; “it’s not… that I don’t want to,” you confess despite the flush across your cheeks and the heat soaring through your body. “I just… I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

And his voice comes out quiet, scared. You barely catch it but it’s there, eyes flickering up to meet him as he stares back at you, concern etched into his face.

“No,” you assure, shaking your head. “No, not of you.”

He leans back, shifting so he’s sat back and you follow his movements, pushing yourself up to face him properly. Your hands fall limp in your lap as you stare down at them, clutching at your skin tightly as nerves well inside of you, make your chest tighten and your body tense with anxiety.

“Then…”

“My K-King–”

“Katsuki,” he cuts in, reaching for you. “Call me Katsuki.”

You pause. “Katsuki… before you, I'd never known love.” The words are uttered with pain, hands moving to hold yourself as you turn away from him, embarrassed. But you wanted him to know. Wanted him to understand. “My father died when I was just a little girl and the second he was gone, my mother spent the rest of my life torturing me. I was tucked away, kept hidden from people while she beat me, starved me and told me how I would… never measure up to anything.

“The day you came, she had every intention of selling me to you as a bargain piece for the safety of herself. And she expected you to kill me.”

Licking your lips, you turn to face him.

“That or worse.”

He stares at you, lips left parted with the hesitance of uncertainty. 

“I expected the same,” you whisper, “but now I know you’re not like that. That you’re not some ruthless, barbaric man but you have a heart and your people love you. You’ve given me more happiness than I’ve ever felt and made me feel love for the first time since my father died… I’m not scared of you, I’m scared that once you see me–truly see me, I’ll lose you.”

There’s a beat of silence before Bakugou is leaning towards you. His hands fall on your waist and suddenly you’re falling back against the bed with a light huff of shock, eyes flickering up to meet his own that hover above you. He’s smiling, you realize, but there’s anger in his eyes–yet, it’s not directed at you.

There’s rage burning in his irises and you feel safe because of it.

“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he confesses. “The second I saw your face that day, my world lit up. I want to kill every person who’s ever hurt you, if I haven’t already. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to make you forget about everything.”

You feel your heart quicken, his words echoing in your mind as you stare up at him and see only sincerity staring back at you.

His words are warm and loving and they make you feel like your skin is on fire, a lit with a sensation you’ve never felt. Love pours from his words and he stares at you like you’re the only person that matters–that you're the only person who exists in this world for him.

He envelopes you completely and you relish in it.

“Nothing could ever make me think otherwise.”

Reaching up, you cup his cheeks, fingers brushing against the skin before holding him, the edges of your lips quirked up with a soft, gentle smile..

“You really mean that?”

He nods, thumbs pressing into the pads of your hips, as his eyes dance across your face. “More than anything.”

“Okay then,” you laugh lightly, “then I give myself to you.”

He blinks, lips parting.

“Everything.”

And the surprise fades, replaced by pleasure as he leans forward, the ghost of his lips brushing against your own.

“And I give you the same in return.”

#mha #my hero academia #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou fluff #barbarian!bakugou #barbarian!bakugou x reader

[bittencandy]

𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. 

Nope. 

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

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

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

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

Ugh, you're hopeless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then - 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay, I get it!" You say quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But unfortunately, Ozzie had been right. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Moo💚

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

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

And just like that your will snaps. 

x/x/xx 12:43 am 

fine go ahead i dont even nrrd u 

x/x/xx 12:43 am 

duck 

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

*FUCK

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

*NEED 

x/x/xx 12:44 am 

go crawl to ozz for all i care 

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

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

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

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

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

It's fine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fucking audacity that he has. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it has that horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mammon," you whine brazenly, intentionally coquette. 

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

His web. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He really is so charming. 

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

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

You really want to wipe that look off his face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mammon, what are you-"

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

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

Hugo - Lottie's coworker 

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

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

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

Thursday - 7:43 PM

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

Yep. That'll do it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, wait. Scratch that last one. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hell yes," you answer quickly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wow, look at you, being hopeful in Hell. 

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

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

"We're going to need a bath." 

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

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

[tswhiisftteedr]

Heyyyy, could you do a oneshot f!reader x Zestial nsfw pretty please ? 🙏

Tea Salon ☆ One Shot

Zestial x Salon Owner Sinner!Fem!Reader:

A young woman with big dreams ready to be achieve was what you were, after making a deal with Overlord Rosie you soon found out that your Salon wasn't the only thing that would bloom in your afterlife...

Warning: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Honestly Nothing Kinky, Husband and wife, Praise kink, Creampie, Oral(Female receiving), Old English, NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: 5907

Note: okay if you know anything about business, I am so sorry cuz I don’t, I just did some quick research so if it just looks like a bunch of gibberish (Rosie and reader’s meeting), I am sorry! Also a lot of Rosie in the beginning, like zestial is mentioned but doesn’t show up until the shop is open for a little while.

☆ more under the cut. ☆

In your living, you've always appreciated the simplicity of nature-oriented lifestyle reminiscent of earlier eras. It's not that you have anything against new technologies; you own a smartphone and laptop, after all. What irks you is the over-consumerism perpetuated by planned obsolescence.

Your expectation when purchasing something is that it should function and endure, offering value for the time and money invested. The capitalist mindset, with its overproduction and resulting overconsumption, is something you strongly dislike.

Capitalism inherently creates a class conflict between capital and labor. While capitalists aim for high profits, workers may endure exploitation, receiving wages consistently lower than the true value of their labor.

When you had finally passed away due to a malfunctioning smart car and had discovered that even in the afterlife, people still had to work tirelessly to meet end means, you couldn't deny that you felt disappointed.

With a background in restoration, you secured a position in a somewhat upscale restaurant – well, upscale for Hell's pride ring standards. Although you initially started as a garbage boy, you quickly ascended the ranks to become a server.

Devoting longer hours than your colleagues, by choice, you harbored a goal beyond mere survival in the hellscape. You held an ambition, a genuine dream – to establish a tea salon and sustain yourself through it.

Envisioning your own establishment, you aimed to offer freshly baked treats and brewed tea for guests to enjoy while engaging in lively conversations and gossip.

You were well aware of whose assistance was crucial for your project. Overlord Rosie served as your golden ticket to a thriving salon. You needed her help to secure a building in the border zone shared by her and Overlord Zestial, as both of their people were of interest when envisioning the kind of establishment you hope to open.

After three months of relentless work and an additional month of patiently waiting for an appointment on her end, you finally managed to secure a meeting with the elegant cannibal;

"So, what do you have for me today, darling?" she inquires.

"Well, Madam Rosie—" you begin, but you're promptly interrupted by the demon before you.

"Oh, dear, no need for all those 'madam' formalities for a sweet thing like you. Just call me Rosie. But if you insist on honorifics, then ‘Miss Rosie’ will do!" The leader of Hell's cannibal district and owner of the Rosie emporium cheerfully encourages you to address her casually. Despite the power difference, her amiable attitude eases any tension surrounding your sales pitch.

"Oh, very well then. Ahem, Miss Rosie, I'd like to seek your assistance for a passion project of mine," you pause, collecting your thoughts.

"I'm interested in opening a tea salon. It's been four months since I arrived in hell, and I've been searching extensively for the perfect building. Coincidentally, it's situated on your side of the shared border zone with Overlord Zestial. I understand it's not owned by you as part of the border zone, but being on the edge of your colony grants you some jurisdiction."

"Is that so," she replies, sipping her tea. "I appreciate the idea of a tea salon near my territory. Please elaborate more about the idea itself."

"Of course! I personally dislike the over-consumerism that existed on Earth and persists in hell. My goal is to establish one or two shops at most—something familial and local instead of a big chain. I aim to offer freshly baked and brewed drinks for my customers, who would come from all over the Pentagram. I do acknowledge that most of my clientele would be from your people, Overlord Zestial's, and those from the Radio Demon's territory. A simple analysis suggests that sinners from those areas may be more in tune with the concept, as they hail from eras when such establishments were more common," you explain.

"Well, that's all delightful, darling, but, as you rightly point out, the concept isn't foreign in these circles. Your salon is certainly not the first in these parts. No offense to your aspirations, but I'm struggling to see what sets you apart, something that would entice me to invest."

"As for standing out, I may or may not have direct access to products from the living world," you reveal, prompting Rosie to set down her cup.

"Well, isn't that interesting?" she remarks, now more intrigued.

"Yes, indeed it is. I can assure you that not only would my products be fresh, but they would exclusively feature ingredients from the living world – a culinary experience many down here yearn for. Additionally, I can promise you the highest quality of tea, such as Ceylon," you confidently declare.

"And how would someone like you, who sought an Overlord's assistance, have access to such materials? I'm not necessarily doubting you, but connecting the dots is a bit challenging," she says joyfully.

"Oh, I apologize, but I cannot disclose the identities of my procurers. I've signed an NDA as obtaining items from the world upstairs isn't their primary business. Additionally this avoids attracting requests from other companies, I'm afraid they'll have to remain nameless," you explain.

"Well, isn't that convenient for you, fufufu~ I suppose you'll have to prove your word in other ways," she remarks.

"Indeed, perhaps I have an idea on how to do so that you'd like to hear," you suggest.

"I'm all ears," she replies.

"I've noticed there's a kitchen in this building, so I was contemplating rescheduling another meeting soon after this one. During that meeting, I plan not only to bring in earthly ingredients but also to bake something for you. This would showcase my kitchen skills while simultaneously proving my capability to provide the desired products," you express.

"Well, that does seem feasible. I'll pencil you in for next Monday," she replies, jotting something down on her notepad that had been on the coffee table since the start of the meeting. "Now, shall we discuss payment?" she asks.

"Yes, please. As mentioned earlier, I'll handle the supply for my business. What I need from you is assistance in acquiring the building, help with renovations since it's a bit run-down, and perhaps some promotion to your people concerning work, as I'll still require staff when I eventually open. I've checked the listing for the building itself, and I have more than enough for the purchase. However, when renovations and promoting are considered, my budget becomes a bit tight. I was thinking of a BNPL for that part," you explain.

"Alright then, that doesn't seem too bad. How about this: I get 10% of the overall monthly revenue from your establishment. I still need to make some money, after all, fufufu~ Additionally, we can consider a 1-year BNPL plan to repay the renovation loan. And one more thing: to prove your establishment's worth, aim for a minimum 20% net profit by the end of the year since opening day. How does that sound to you?" she inquires.

"10 percent isn't too stiff, but a 20% net profit may be a little challenging in only a year of business. However, I believe in my dream!" you cheerfully exclaim.

"I'm glad you agree, though I still need some collateral for your loan. But let's discuss that after I get to see your skills in action," she tells you a bit more seriously.

"Makes sense," you reply.

"I think that's all for today unless you still have something to talk about," she asks.

"No, that's all from my side," you tell her.

"Wonderful, darling! I hope to see you Monday at 12:35 a.m.," she says as she stands up and points to the door.

"Yes, so do I," you respond as you exit the room.

Leaving her building, you were more than pleased that the meeting had gone well. Once home, as you collapsed on your couch, releasing all your stress, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the chance encounter with that imp during your first month in hell;

On that day, you had ventured to imp city for errands, finding Carmine products a bit too pricey for your liking. Seeking an alternative for self-defense, you visited a gun shop there.

Exiting the store, you witnessed a heartbreaking scene—an imp being beaten up by a group of sinners, degrading names thrown at him. While you refrained from intervening, as it wasn't your place, the revelation that they were targeting the imp simply because he was an imp, compelled you to approach and ensure he wasn't fatally harmed.

Before you could rouse his battered form with a shake, he uttered, "The hell you want."

"Oh, I just wanted to make sure you were okay," you reassure him.

"Bullshit," he retorts loudly. "Listen, fucking pickpocket, those assholes already took everything I had on me, besides my clothes. And I sure as hell won't be stroll down these motherfucking streets in my underwear. So, if you wanted anything, too bad, now you have until the count of ten before I blow a hole in your skull," he rudely warns.

"First of all, I'm not going to rob you. Second, how are you going to shoot me if you just said you had nothing on you? And thirdly, I was serious about checking on you. It's unfair that they beat you up just for being an imp. It's messed up, honestly. Since sinners don't have specific races like back on Earth, they just go after other beings to exercise their racist ideology," you say.

"Humans sure do love their racism," he remarks, still untrusting but more open to conversation.

"Sinners are down here for a reason, but hellspawns are different. They're currently living their lives, just like humans did back on Earth. And yet, the damned are considered superior? That's just messed up," you express sincerely. In your view, hell's hierarchy wasn't fair. ‘If this was the sinners' punishment, why categorize them as better than imps—creatures born here, not getting punished for misconduct.’

With that sentiment resonating in your words, the imp seemed more at ease as he responded to your next words. "Anyways, you need medical attention. Let's get to a hospital."

"Do you have the money for medical bills, or even the admission fee? 'Cause I sure don't," he replies, a grin on his face, strangely charming despite his black eye and cut lips.

"Yeah, sorry, pal. I can't afford the rates for treating you; I'm saving for something big," you convey with sadness in your voice.

He chuckles at your honesty. "Thought so," he replies, allowing his body to rest against the brick wall of the alley even more, as if surrendering.

"My place is far from here. Do you have any first aid supplies at yours?" you inquire, a slight panic setting in, concerned that if he fell asleep, he might not make it, even though he wasn't bleeding excessively. Yet, he didn't appear likely to stay conscious much longer.

"Yeah, but it's too far from here," he begins, heightening your anxiety. "Though my office isn't. There's some there too," he adds, his eyes glossy, appearing on the verge of passing out at any moment.

"Alright then, just give me the address, and I'll take you there," he somewhat reluctantly grumbled out the location before passing out.

Entering the address into your phone's search engine and hoisting the imp onto your back, you walked to the location.

Quite aware that cab drivers might attempt to take extort you, especially considering you were a human carrying an injured imp, you opted for the slower but more cost-effective walking route, reaching the destination in about 25 minutes.

Climbing the stairs to the seventh floor drained your energy, but your adrenaline surged upon encountering a hellhound and two imps inside the office.

The hellhound growled and barked aggressively, while the female imp simultaneously yelled and prepared for a fight. The only one not seeing red was the male imp, who was trying to make sense of the situation.

"What the hell happened to Blitzø!??" the hellhound demanded.

"Yeah, what the hell did you do to him!?!??" the female imp added, brandishing a knife.

"Millie, calm down. If they brought him here, they're most likely not the ones who hurt him," the male imp reasoned with the female.

"Yeah, it wasn't me. He got beaten up by a group of supremacist sinners," you explained as you gently placed him on the couch in the room. "He told me he had a first aid kit here, so I brought him here as neither he nor I could afford the hospital bills."

"And how can we be sure you aren't part of the jerks who hurt him, huh?" the female imp asked, her nerves still on edge, clearly showing concern for the imp. ‘Well, no, Millie showed concern a lot about Blitz.’

"You can just ask him when he wakes up, but right now, he needs help. So, can any of you bring the kit, and we'll get this over with."

With reluctance, the hellhound, whom you soon learned was named Luna, retrieved the kit and left the healing to the male imp, Moxxie. They preferred you not to touch him any further.

After briefly stepping out to grab some missing antiseptic, you observed as they took care of him. You had convinced your way into staying until he awoke; the thought that his injuries might be worse than you initially thought haunted you, and you couldn't bear the idea that he might have died if you hadn't brought him here fast enough.

After Blitzø had regained consciousness, he thanked you and offered a 50% discount on your first kill. Curious about the statement, you informed him that you weren't aware of what his company specialized in. He somewhat joyfully played their commercial for you.

Finding it all very intriguing, you inquired about the possibility of them visiting the living world for a different purpose, which he confirmed but clarified it wasn't their company's business.

Tugging a bit at their heartstrings, particularly after saving Blitzø, you divulged your ambitions. To stand out and make your dream a reality, you needed something unique, and they held the key to it. Your request was for them to procure ingredients from the human world.

Blitzø exhibited reluctance, but Millie underwent a 180-degree shift, genuinely eager to assist you, with her husband supporting her. After some persuasion, you struck a deal with I.M.P. In exchange for 5/7 of the usual kill price and keeping things on the down low, they agreed to provide you with a weekly shipment of the groceries.

Returning to the present, it was now Monday, and you found yourself 10 minutes ahead of schedule, standing in front of Rosie's emporium with a large cooler containing your ingredients.

An employee inside noticed you through the sizable glass entry doors and came out to guide you to the kitchen. They assured you that they would inform Rosie of your arrival and gave you the green light to start setting up.

True to your word, you efficiently prepared the kitchen, and right on schedule, Rosie arrived to find a clean and ready-to-use workspace, along with the promised fresh and earthy ingredients;

"Looks like you're a woman of your word, aren't you, dear?" Rosie remarked as she grabbed some dairy products and checked the expiration dates on them.

"Of course, and I wouldn't even dream of lying to you in the first place," you assured her.

"Oh, how trustworthy you are, fufufu~" she teased.

"Of course, now should I begin?" you asked, and she replied affirmatively.

With that, the baking commenced. Your choice of treat for today was a Charlotte au fraise. In about 35 minutes, you finished the preparation.

The dessert needed to chill for 8 hours in the fridge, but anticipating such a wait, you had invested in a 'chill crystal' for today and the future. This crystal is essential for cooks and bakers alike in hell as it significantly reduces the time a dish needs to be refrigerated.

Using it, your 8 hours turned into 25 minutes. During that time, you cleaned your equipment and the kitchen and, of course, brewed some tea for Rosie.

Upon reaching the 25-minute mark, you brought out the cake, cut a slice for Rosie, and served her a cup of tea. She relished every last bit of it;

"This was all wonderful, y/n," she expressed. "I am sure of it now, I will definitely invest in your dream!"

"Oh, thank you, Miss Rosie! You don't know how much this means to me!" you exclaimed joyfully.

"I'm glad I can help. But now that we've agreed I'll lend my assistance to you on your adventure, I still need you to agree on the collateral for the BNPL I want."

"Oh, of course. What is it?" you asked.

"Well, it's elementary, dear. What I want is... your soul!" she told you.

"Oh, well, that's only until I pay you back, right?" You asked worriedly.

"Yes, of course. If everything goes well and you pay me back before the deadline, you'll get your soul back. But if you exceed the time limit, your soul will indefinitely belong to me. I hope you understand that," she explained.

With a gulp, you spoke up, "I understand, Miss. Rosie."

"Wonderful, then... 'It's a deal,'" she declared, and with those words, a bright pink contract materialized, altering the entire room's shade. Nervously, you picked up a pen from the table and signed your soul away.

As you pulled away from the contract, a pink chain momentarily appeared around your neck, then vanished in a flash along with the contract.

The demonstration went well, and you got what you wanted. While having your soul signed away was nerve-racking, you believed that if you made your vision work in time, it would return to you.

You begin to double your efforts, working your ass off harder than before. On your days off from the restaurant, you checked on the renovations of your building, and about a month later, everything was completed. After a long time of sucking up to the influential guests of the restaurant, you earned enough money to quit and open your shop.

With Rosie's promotion to her people, you efficiently built a staff, even recruiting some from other districts. On the 7th of August, you finally opened the doors to your shop, and it turned out to be a tremendous success.

The turnout exceeded expectations, but you had trained your staff to handle it. Business was booming, meeting Rosie's conditions in about 5 months instead of a year.

Just as you had envisioned, people from all over the pentagram flocked to enjoy the services your establishment provided. Surprisingly, sinners from Zestial'd district emerged as your number 1 clientele, surpassing even Rosie's people.

With your salon becoming the hot topic of his district, it caught the interest of the governing overlord. Since his people were captivated by your establishment, he decided to pay a visit himself. And so he did.

Upon the first approach to the building, he was delighted by the overall aesthetic.

While he wasn't from the era when salons first became popular, being about two centuries older, the entire ambiance brought a sense of nostalgia, even though he wasn't alive when they gained popularity.

Another aspect that pleased him was the evident respect guests and staff showed to the establishment during a service. People were polite, and the quality of the food served was impeccable.

He was currently enjoying a cup of tea with none other than Rosie, discussing the success of the establishment;

"You've madeth a valorous investment, mine lief friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've hath found quite the gem,” Zestial complimented Rosie as he sipped his tea.

Setting her cup down, Rosie responded, "Oh, quite the contrary, Zestial. My dear little owner was the one who reached out. Sparkles in her eyes and a big dream in her heart. With hard work, she achieved those ambitions, beating my expectations and regaining her soul in less than half the time I expected."

"is yond so? Quite the guts and perseverance the lady hath,“ he replied, taking another sip of his tea.

"Yes, though I honestly didn't expect your people to enjoy this place so much. Really messed up my calculations," she said, playfully feigning frustration.

"well, sinners art inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus," he paused to take a bite of a fruit tart on his plate, "with desserts like this, i don't expect anyone to intermit long ere coming to tryeth those folk for themselves. Speaking of which, i would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous worketh, “ he said once he had swallowed his bite.

Rosie replied, "Well, that's the fun thing – they're both the same person. She works diligently as both showrunner and employee! But yes, I can get her if you truly wish to speak to her."

"yond would beest appreciated,“ he told her.

Meanwhile, you were on the phone with a decor company, trying to arrange something for Valentine's Day in a month – or more like Valentine's week, with new decor from the 7th to the 14th.

Once you hung up, Rosie entered the office and informed you of the situation. Without questions, you followed her into the main room of the salon, and let's just say you were nervous;

Gazing at your form, Zestial spoke out, "i wilt sayeth, miss y/n, i greatly enjoy thy establishment, and so doth mine people.”

"Oh— thank you so much, Zestial, sir, I- I mean, Mr. Zestial. Sorry, I meant Overlord Zestial! So sorry!" you stammer.

"quite the nervous one, isn’t the lady?" he did add with a bawbling chuckle. he said to Rosie, who only nodded in agreement. "well, nay needeth for worries. 'zestial' is quite fine, child." he added with a small chuckle.

"Oh, alright then. Thank you for your praise, Zestial," you said with a soft smile, which he returned. ‘Satan, was he handsome.’

"Hey, how come you call him by his name right away, and I'm still 'Miss Rosie'?" Rosie teased.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Rosie. I've just gotten used to it," you replied, and they both laughed at your flustered state.

This soon became a common occurrence for you, and quickly after that, Zestial came more and more often to the point that your salon became Zestial's meeting spot when discussing business. Consequently, he had his own VIP room for such occurrences.

Simultaneously, you grew closer with the Overlord, becoming more comfortable around him. About a month later, you found yourself crushing on the man, giving him a fair amount of treats on the house to show affection.

And don't think said affection went unnoticed by him. Being an old soul like him brought wisdom, especially in the romance department.

Actually, Zestial himself found himself enamored with you, leading to him declaring his desire to court you;

You were tidying up the VIP room after one of Zestial's meetings, swiping down the table. As you prepared to leave the room, the Overlord spoke up.

"y/n, darling, may i hath't a word with thee?” he asked.

"Yes, of course, Zestial. What do you need?" you replied, your voice slightly quivering, because, 'fuck, did you love the fact he started calling you romantic pet names.'

"well, mine lovely business owner, i hath't to admit something to thee, so prithee did put the rag down and sitteth, " he requested. You obliged. "It seems that I have found mys"'t seemeth yond i hath't did find myself having fallen for thee,“ he began, making your breath hitch.

"i eke did notice yond thee seemeth to feeleth the same, or am i wrong?" he inquired, causing you to shake your head and answer with a weak, flustered 'no.' "did doth bethink so," he said with a chuckle. "then, as we both feeleth for one another, i'd like to court thee, unless thee hath't something 'gainst me doing so.”

"Yes— I mean no, well, um, shit," you stammered. Taking a breath, you spoke out again. "What I meant to say was, yes, I would love to be courted by you, more than anything, actually," you admitted.

Standing up, walking behind you, and wrapping his arm around your figure, he leaned down to your ear. "well, isn't yond perfect. I can't wait to hath't thee all to myself still,“ he whispered, somewhat sensually, leaving you in shock yet longing for more when he pulled away.

And with that, the courtship began. You found yourself taken out for nights on the town to nice restaurants, sweet notes and love poems left in your office for you to see, and evenings spent at his castle in the fireplace room, listening as he serenaded you, oh so lovingly.

You honestly couldn't wait for you and him to become official. You might have thought that being spoken for after such a short time was idiotic in the past, but Zestial was just so perfect and all you needed in your afterlife. It was obvious that you would marry as soon as he asked you.

About 5 months after your initial meeting, you found yourself dining with your suitor at quite the fancy restaurant, fancier than the one you used to work at actually.

"how art thee liking thy food, mine sweet y/n?” Zestial inquired.

"Yes, it's wonderful. What about yours, Zestial?" you asked back.

"everything is eke wonderful on mine end, " he replied, then added on, "Mine darling, would thee mind stopping thy meal for an instant? I'd like to break with an important matter with thee.”

"Oh, why, of course," you replied, putting down your utensils. You were now accustomed to Zestial and his ways, but his next move surprised you.

Zestial had stood up and got on his knees. "mine love, despite not having known thee for yond long did compare to mine long existence, i cannot see myself spending mine life beyond the grave without thee. Thou art high-sighted, talented, ingenious, and quite quaint, to a sir like me, and i would did bet many others, ye art quite literally breathtaking. Yond is accounting for thee as a whole, not just thy aesthetic attributes. So, y/n l/n, would thee doth me the honor of being thy husband for eternity?” He said as he pulled out a ring box, opening it to reveal a beautiful green diamond ring.

Overwhelmed with emotion, you gasped in surprise, your eyes widened at the stunning ring before you. The green diamond sparkled, capturing the essence of your feelings.

"Oh, Zestial..." You trailed off, a wave of happiness and love washing over you. Tears of joy glistened in your eyes as you nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, a thousand times yes!" you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement. Zestial's face lit up with a radiant smile as he gently slipped the ring onto your finger.

As the dazzling gem adorned your hand, sealing the promise of eternity, Zestial rose from his kneeling position. You both shared a tender embrace, sealing the moment with a passionate kiss. The restaurant's ambiance faded away as you were immersed in the warmth of Zestial's affection.

The patrons and staff discreetly applauded, offering their congratulations to the newly engaged couple. Zestial held you close, his eyes reflecting the depth of his emotions.

"to our dateless love,“ he whispered, and you clinked your glasses together in a toast. The night continued, now infused with the magic of your commitment to each other.

From that moment forward, you and Zestial embarked on a beautiful journey, navigating the twists and turns of the afterlife hand in hand, bound by an eternal love that transcended time and existence.

And so, your wedding unfolded in a splendid ceremony. Radiant in your role, you felt like a true queen that day, with Rosie officiating and injecting humor into the proceedings, eliciting laughter from you, Zestial, and your guests.

The day was a jubilant celebration, offering you the chance to become better acquainted with Zestial's fellow overlords, including Carmilla Carmine: Holy Arms Dealer and Alastor: The Radio Demon. Despite their contrasting personalities, they played nice for the sake of the occasion.

However, that was a few hours ago. Now, with the reception concluded, all the guests had departed, leaving you and Zestial in the intimate confines of his castle, specifically, his bedroom.

Following tradition, this was the night of your nuptials, the night where you and Zestial would come together as one for the first time;

Seated at the edge of the king-size bed in your now shared room, you adorned yourself in an exquisite, intricately embroidered transparent nightgown, awaiting Zestial.

The faint click of the door drew your attention, and your now-husband entered, pushing the door open with a subtle yet confident gesture.

"Well, mine dearest bride, “ Zestial said, his voice filled with an underlying lustfulness that sent shivers down your spine. "'t seemeth we finally hath't some time high-lone.” He stepped closer to you, his presence filling up the entire room.

You could feel his eyes roaming over your exposed body, drinking in every inch of you like a starving demon discovering a feast fit for a king. While you tried hard not to squirm or show any signs of discomfort, your heart raced faster than it ever had before as he spoke words of praise.

"T-thank you, Zestial," you managed to croak out, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach.

His voice dripping with false surprise. "thee behold absolutely stunning in yond gown, y/n.”

He stepped closer, his hands reaching out to caress your exposed thighs, his touch sending electric shocks coursing through your entire body. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, fighting the urge to whimper aloud as he continued to tease you. ‘Were you always this needy?’

"art thee eft for me to claim what is rightfully mine?” he asked, his eyes flashing with hunger.

You nodded vigorously, as he slowly undressed himself, revealing his tall, imposing frame covered in black fabric that clung tightly to his lithe figure. He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his pants.

As he stood before you, nude except for his dark briefs, you couldn't help but marvel at his imposing presence. He towered over you like a giant spider, his erect member straining against the thin fabric of his boxers.

Trembling slightly, you open your legs, inviting him to climb onto the bed and join you. Without hesitation, Zestial crawled onto the mattress, positioning himself between your spread legs. He leaned forward, his mouth hovering inches away from your pussy, his breath hot against your sensitive folds.

"Tell me, mine own lief jointress," he purred, his voice low and husky. "Would thee liketh me to gust thee first?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "Yes... please..."

Zestial's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he lowered his head, his lips brushing against your sensitive flesh. You let out a soft moan as he began to tease you, tracing light kisses along your thighs and inner thighs before finally reaching your wet, quivering entrance.

He sucked on your sensitive folds, causing your hips to buck and writhe involuntarily.

As he continued his lewd assault on your most intimate areas, his tongue darted out to lick and circle your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You arched your back, crying out his name, your nails digging into the sheets as he relentlessly pleasured you.

"Oh, Satan... Zestial!" You panted, your breath coming in short gasps. "I'm going to—I'm almost there!"

"Good girl," Zestial growled, his voice thick with desire. He increased the pace of his assault, sucking harder on your clit and thrusting his tongue deeper into your wetness.

Your moans turned into incoherent moans of pure ecstasy as he brought you closer to the edge of orgasm.

Just as you felt you were about to cum, he suddenly pulled away, leaving you craving more. "Not yet, mine own dram naughty bride," he purred. "We haven't begun yet. “

He stood up straight again, his hardened member now fully exposed, throbbing with anticipation. "do thee wanteth me to filleth thee up anon?” he asked, his voice husky with desire.

You panted heavily, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Yes, please, Zestial," you pleaded, your voice hoarse from your intense arousal. "I need you inside me."

“Are thee sure mine own loveth, thy so bawbling i’m afraid i might breaketh thee. ” He teased, which only made whine pleadingly.

Without further ado, Zestial positioned himself between your spread legs once more. Slowly, he pushed himself into your tight, wet entrance, filling you up to the brim.

A mixture of pain and pleasure radiated throughout your body as he began to thrust rhythmically, his massive member stretching and stretching you further than you ever thought possible.

Each thrust was accompanied by a low groan from both of you, the sounds of your bodies slapping together filling the quiet room.

Your nails clawed at the sheets, leaving long, deep scratches in the fabric as he pounded into you relentlessly. Your orgasm built up faster than before, approaching its peak once more.

"Cum f'r me, mine own lief," Zestial growled, his eyes blazing with lust. "Let wend and releaseth all yond pent-up desire. “

You cried out his name, your body convulsing violently as you climaxed again, your juices coating his member and dripping down your thighs.

Your orgasm seemed to fuel him further, and he picked up the pace, thrusting faster and harder than ever before.

"Yes! More, give me more!" You begged, your voice barely recognizable from the pleasure that consumed you.

As your body continued to shake with each powerful thrust, Zestial groaned deeply, his fingers digging into your hips for support. Suddenly, he groaned loudly, his entire body tensing up before shooting his hot seed deep inside of you, filling you completely.

Finally, he pulled out of you, his cock still twitching as he collapsed beside you on the bed. Panting heavily, he reached over and brushed a strand of sweat-drenched hair from your forehead.

"That wast. quite wond'rful," he managed to croak out between heavy breaths. "Howev'r, i doubteth a single round shall suffice to satisfyeth mine own needeth, consid'ring i've been anticipating this moment f'r months. ”

“Oh.” Was all you had the time to say before your night of passion continues.

"Thank you, Zestial," you panted, your own breath returning to normal. "That was... amazing."

You reached over and caressed his cheek, your fingers trailing down to his chin. "Could we... do it again sometime?"

He chuckled softly, his eyes softening slightly. "Of course, mine own lief jointress," he replied, chuckling at your somewhat innocent neediness, his voice still husky with satisfaction. "We has't all the timeth in this hellish w'rld togeth'r anon. "

You lay there for a while, basking in their post-coital bliss, their hearts racing in sync. Eventually, Zestial stirred, moving closer to you. "Do thee needeth aught else bef're we retireth f'r the night?” he asked, his hand trailing down your stomach to rest on your hipbone.

“No, I just want you close to me.” You answered,

“Of course.” he replied softly, placing a kiss on your forehead as you fell asleep in each other’s arms….

Old English in order of apparition;

"You've madeth a valorous investment, mine lief friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've hath found quite the gem, ” = "You've made a good investment, my friend. This salon is nothing but successful; you've found quite the gem,”

"is yond so? Quite the guts and perseverance the lady hath,“ = "Is that so? Quite the guts and perseverance she has,"

"well, sinners art inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus," = "Well, sinners are inherently unpredictable creatures by nature. Plus,"

"with desserts like this, i don't expect anyone to intermit long ere coming to tryeth those folk for themselves. Speaking of which, i would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous worketh, “ = "with desserts like this, I don't expect anyone to resist long before coming to try them for themselves. Speaking of which, I would love to compliment the owner and chef for such marvelous work,"

"yond would beest appreciated,“ = "That would be appreciated,"

"i wilt sayeth, miss y/n, i greatly enjoy thy establishment, and so doth mine people.” = "I must say, Miss Y/n, I greatly enjoy your establishment, and so do my people."

"quite the nervous one, isn’t the lady?" = "Quite the nervous one, isn’t she?"

"well, nay needeth for worries. 'zestial' is quite fine, child." = "Well, no need for worries. 'Zestial' is quite fine, child,"

"y/n, darling, may i hath't a word with thee?” he asked. = "Y/n, darling, may I have a word with you?"

"well, mine lovely business owner, i hath't to admit something to thee, so prithee did put the rag down and sitteth, " = "Well, my lovely business owner, I have to admit something to you, so please put the rag down and sit,"

"It seems that I have found mys"'t seemeth yond i hath't did find myself having fallen for thee,“ = "It seems that I have found myself having fallen for you,"

"i eke did notice yond thee seemeth to feeleth the same, or am i wrong?" = "I also noticed that you seem to feel the same, or am I wrong?"

"did doth bethink so," = "Thought so,"

"then, as we both feeleth for one another, i'd like to court thee, unless thee hath't something 'gainst me doing so.” = "Then, as we both feel for one another, I'd like to court you, unless you have something against me doing so."

"well, isn't yond perfect. I can't wait to hath't thee all to myself still,“ = "Well, isn't that perfect. I can't wait to have you all to myself forever,"

"how art thee liking thy food, mine sweet y/n?” = "How are you liking your food, my sweet Y/N?"

"everything is eke wonderful on mine end, " = "Everything is also wonderful on my end,"

"Mine darling, would thee mind stopping thy meal for an instant? I'd like to break with an important matter with thee.” = "My darling, would you mind stopping your meal for an instant? I'd like to discuss an important matter with you."

"mine love, despite not having known thee for yond long did compare to mine long existence, i cannot see myself spending mine life beyond the grave without thee. Thou art high-sighted, talented, ingenious, and quite quaint, to a sir like me, and i would did bet many others, ye art quite literally breathtaking. Yond is accounting for thee as a whole, not just thy aesthetic attributes. So, y/n l/n, would thee doth me the honor of being thy husband for eternity?” = "My love, despite not having known you for that long compared to my long existence, I cannot see myself spending my life beyond the grave without you. You're ambitious, talented, ingenious, and beautiful, to a man like me, and I would bet many others, you are quite literally breathtaking. That is accounting for you as a whole, not just your aesthetic attributes. So, Y/N L/N, would you do me the honor of being your husband for eternity?"

"to our dateless love,“ = "To our everlasting love,"

"Well, mine dearest bride, “ = "Well, my dearest bride,"

"'t seemeth we finally hath't some time high-lone.” = "It seems we finally have some time alone."

"thee behold absolutely stunning in yond gown, y/n.”= "You look absolutely stunning in that gown, y/n."

"art thee eft for me to claim what is rightfully mine?” = "Are you ready for me to claim what is rightfully mine?"

"tell me, mine own lief jointress," = "Tell me, my dear wife,"

"Would thee liketh me to gust thee first?” = "Would you like me to taste you first?"

"not yet, mine own dram naughty bride," = "Not yet, my little naughty bride,"

"We haven't begun yet. “ = "We haven't begun yet."

"do thee wanteth me to filleth thee up anon?” = "Do you want me to fill you up now?"

“are thee sure mine own loveth, thy so bawbling i’m afraid i might breaketh thee. ” = “Are you sure my love, your so small I’m afraid I might break you.”

"Cum f'r me, mine own lief," = "Cum for me, my dear,"

"Let wend and releaseth all yond pent-up desire. “= "Let go and release all that pent-up desire."

"That wast. quite wond'rful," = "That was... quite wonderful,"

"Howev'r, i doubteth a single round shall suffice to satisfyeth mine own needeth, consid'ring i've been anticipating this moment f'r months. ” = "However, I doubt a single round will suffice to satisfy my needs, considering I've been anticipating this moment for months.”

"Of course, mine own lief jointress," = “Of course, my dear wife,"

"We has't all the timeth in this hellish w'rld togeth'r anon. " = "We have all the time in this hellish world together now.”

"do thee needeth aught else bef're we retireth f'r the night?” = "Do you need anything else before we retire for the night?"

Thanks anon for requesting!

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[redclercs]

DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

iv. you and me would be a big conversation

— the one where both of you have big reputations.

warnings: this one got a little long sorry, bashing towards charles and y/n (i love them ok), taylor swift references,2.6k words.

masterlist ✢ next

FROM DATF1GURL ON TIKTOK: "IS Y/N Y/LN AFTER CHARLES LECLERC NOW?"

[female voiceover]: ❝(...) while it is true she has a contract with Elix the new MAJOR sponsor for Ferrari—horrible drink by the way—rumor has it y/n's actual goal is to get the monegasque driver to spare a glance her way... Like, okay girl, but you left a 3-year relationship five minutes ago, chill.❞

IN pure Taylor Swift fashion, y/n y/ln has found her own ‘Getaway Car’ in none other than the 25-year-old Monegasque Formula 1 pilot, Charles Leclerc.

While nothing’s been confirmed, (come on now, what celebrity will just confirm rumors of their own free will in this day and age? Screw you, PR agents) the actress has been seen at two Grand Prix and the Elix contract gives her good camouflage for being constantly photographed with her new beau.

No matter how much sex-appeal these two exude, let’s not forget that we have a victim here: Aidan Kim. How can you leave a three year relationship with the man that gave you everything and not even two months later you’re already with someone else?

Is it a rebound or are we looking at something serious? In your humble writer’s opinion it’s most likely the former. And let’s not forget what Taylor Swift, in her infinite wisdom, said: “Nothing good starts in a getaway car”, it doesn’t matter if it’s a Ferrari.

SEE ALSO:

→ Aidan Kim buys new home in Sherman Oaks.

→ Every celebrity present at the Miami Grand Prix.

→ Is y/n y/ln really done with RomComs?

May 13th, Los Angeles, California.

“ARE you sure this is who you want as your rebound, babe?” Victoria places the magazine down and turns her head to look at you, using the precise force and tilt for her sunglasses to slide down to the tip of her nose.

“Stop reading that garbage,” you warn, not bothering to change your position in the chaise-longue, you don’t even look away from the script in your hands.

The day started pretty well, sunny Los Angeles made you feel hopeful for the first time in a while as you opened the script Mildred sent you when you got back from Miami. A drama about a young widow. You can work with that.

“I just mean—” Vic shifts her whole body in your direction, “—You have options, what about Timothée? I’m pretty sure the Kylie thing is fake. And he wouldn’t say no to you.”

“Stop that, Vic,” this time you do look her way for emphasis, you mean it. “I’m not looking for a rebound, or anything else for that matter. I want a job.”

“Fine,” Vic makes a show of capturing her lip between her teeth to pronounce the “F” and lies back in the chair. “I’m just saying…”

You’re glad to be wearing sunglasses, so she can’t see the way your eyes rollback. To be fair, you’re at Vic’s house so she has every right to occupy the same space as you at any given minute. Which is all the time.

After the breakup you ran to Vic’s Los Angeles home and left the SoHo apartment to Aidan. Vic's house is amazing, with eight rooms, five bathrooms, a black granite kitchen and of course, the pool. But you miss New York, even if you can fit your own room two times in one of Vic's. At least, according to rumors, Aidan is moving out of the apartment so you might be able to return to it soon.

“I think it’s bullshit that they see me breathing near a guy and suddenly we’re dating,” you drop the stack of papers on your legs, startling Vic with the sound. “Bullshit.”

“It’s just tabloids, babe.” Vic goes quiet, knowing she’s annoyed you and now you feel guilty about that too.

“I know,” you sigh, picking the script back up. Suddenly you don’t like it that much anymore.

Of course you know it’s just tabloids. People talk shit just for fun, but you’ve been their main target for a few weeks now and you cannot wait for them to move on. Which seems unlikely.

You've never been more glad about turning down a Yankees game invite.

Following Ferrari’s disappointing Sunday and the respective mandatory Elix pictures, you hung around the Suite a little longer in aims of gathering your thoughts and the will to leave to meet Vic at another after-party.

“Hola y/n! I thought you’d left,” Carlos carried his bag in one hand as he struggled to put his sunglasses with the other.

“I’m about to,” you smiled at him, locking your phone. “You too?”

“Yep, going straight to the airport. See you in Italy?” he asked, running his now free hand through his black hair, all set.

“See you there, Carlos.” you waved him goodbye before leaning back on the couch.

Vic had apologized for the shenanigans she'd pulled the previous night, saying she knew she should have asked you instead of just running with things. So you were looking forward to the after-party, it would be fun to hang out with your best friend after making up.

It wasn’t even five minutes before Charles came out too, hanging up a call in his half-destroyed iPhone.

“Oh hey!” He greeted cheerfully, the bad aftertaste from the race wasn't evident in his demeanor anymore. They had their debrief and Charles was willing to let go of the negativity momentarily.

“Hi Charles,” your not-as-cheerful tone didn’t bother him one bit. “Are you flying back today too?”

You couldn’t picture yourself in an eight hour flight after everything they’d done today, but they’re not really regular humans.

“We’re driving to New York, actually,” his hand hovered over the refreshment table, until he picked one of the leftover Elix. Charles examined the black can he chose before speaking again, “We’re going to a Yankees game tomorrow.”

“That’s very nice, Charles.”

He hates Elix as much as the next person so you can't help but wonder why he drinks them even when the cameras are off. Carlos and you never do.

“Would you like to join us?” He offered, the last word deafened by the click of the can as he opened it.

You took a few seconds to process the question, long enough for Charles to down about half the can in one gulp.

“Thank you, but I’m flying back to L.A. tomorrow.”

Charles' mouth went down in one corner and you were uncertain whether it was your answer or the taste that caused it. He tilted the can making the remaining liquid dance.

“Maybe another time,” he added, downing the rest of the blueberry flavored Elix. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks for asking me, though,” you smiled, grabbing your purse from the couch. You had recovered enough energy already, and you didn't want to miss the DJ set at the party. “I hope you enjoy it.”

“Thanks y/n,” his mouth was still frozen in that slight wince and you shook your head gently at the sight of the empty Elix. “I'll see you in Italy, right?”

“I’ll be there.” you assured, although you hoped not. But a week didn’t seem like enough time to secure a gig.

YOU land in Italy the day the Grand Prix gets canceled. Which is very much just your luck. It’s for the better, though, safety must always come first.

It makes no sense to run back to America when you have nothing else to do, so you resolve to stay in Rome and catch up with a few friends you have around. Matilde Bassi being the best among them, and she would rather die than let you stay in a hotel instead of her house.

"I said no," she repeats, and her accent—although barely even there— reminds you of Charles for a split second, before your brain lets go of the image. "I've told you a million times to come visit, I won't let you stay in a hotel."

You give up after that because you don't want to annoy her. Matilde has quite the strong character, which is the reason she got to Broadway in the first place. After years of being in New York, where you met her, she decided to move back to Italy. Mati, still pursuing her passion, is currently the European public's favorite Juliet.

The fact that all of this goes down in a phone call gives you time to pick up what little stuff you've gotten out of your suitcase and check-out of the hotel before Matilde gets there to take you to her house.

─────────

"So, how are you doing?" she asks, refilling your wine before moving back to the stove, where she's cooking your favorite Italian meal.

"I'm fine, I've told you," you chuckle, sipping the drink. Her house is beautiful too, and spacious, but it feels homey compared to Vic's. "Taking it easy."

One thing you tend to forget about Matilde is how she is able to see right through your bullshit, and that's exactly what she's doing now.

"You never take it easy, y/n. And I mean how are you really? How do you feel? A lot has changed for you lately." she flips her head back to remove a stray curl of hair out of her eyes, "You can be honest."

"I'm fine, seriously, Mati," you know drinking so fast will make the wine go straight to your head but you'll do anything to avoid really talking about this. Which is unfair, Matilde is being genuine.

"You moved from one coast to the opposite and you're fine? What are you working on right now?"

You sigh, managing to smell your own alcoholic breath. "I'm with Victoria, and I've lived in Los Angeles before, while filming, it's not a big deal. As for work... I'm just– picking some stuff out, seeing the best options."

Matilde nods and turns around to grab two plates from the sky blue cupboards behind her. "Are you planning on going back to New York?"

"Yeah, hopefully," you get up to help her and she gestures for you to take a seat again. "My name was on the lease and Aidan is moving out of the apartment, according to People Magazine, anyway so..."

"Your apartment was amazing," Matilde smiles, reminiscing the girls' nights you spent together while she worked in New York, it was always so much fun to be with Mati. "I hope you can go back. If that makes you happy, that is."

She manages to carry both steaming plates and the bottle of wine to the table, and finally sits down. "Well, enjoy!"

"Thank you, Mati, this smells amazing," you missed Mati's cooking so much because no matter how many Italian restaurants you visit, nothing compares to hers, and you're also glad to have something on your stomach that will make the effects of the wine go away.

Or that's what you hoped for anyway, because you're halfway through another cup of wine, almost done with your food, when you drop the grenade you've left unpinned in your brain for 2 months.

"I don't miss him," you whisper, resting the fork gently on the edge of the plate, between two of the yellow flowers painted on it. "Am I a horrible person because I don't miss him?"

You gave it a lot of thought ever since you took the plane from New York to L.A. the night you said no. You thought—still think—there's something wrong with you because the feeling that something was ripped out of your life and the hole that it left would never be filled never even appeared. There was no hole, it was a scar already, and you picked at it trying to make it bleed. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happens.

"You're not a horrible person, y/n don't say that."

You're glad Mati doesn't let silence fall between you, it would have made you regret everything that left your mouth, but she's already reaching for your hand and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Mourning the idea of someone is worse than mourning their absence. And you had missed Aidan for a long time, even when he was with you.

"I just feel awful for leaving and not wanting to go back, I hate myself for being okay."

The rejected proposal is something you keep close to you still. You love Mati, and you trust her, but you cannot bring yourself to touch that subject.

Mati squeezes your hand, her food forgotten as well. "I'm glad you're okay. I liked Aidan, too. But you're my friend, and I love you and all I want is for you to be better than okay."

"Thank you Mati," it's her words that actually get the tears flowing, and you wipe them quickly with your free hand. "Sorry for dumping this on you so suddenly." you give a choked laugh before clearing your throat.

"I did tell you you could be honest," she laughs, giving your hand a last squeeze before letting it go. "How about we just go straight to dessert?"

You nod, grateful that she leaves to get the tiramisu you bought on the way home from the fridge so you can pull yourself together.

MONACO welcomes you the Sunday before the Grand Prix. Which you are excited about, for the first time in a while.

Matilde proves to be the best company once again, knowing her way around Monaco like it's her own home. You're glad she's attending the Grand Prix too and you were able to get her into the Ferrari Suite with you, unlike your failed attempt at Miami with Vic.

One thing you find out about Monaco pretty soon, is that they're obsessed with Charles Leclerc. He's in buses and billboards and you can see people waiting to catch a glimpse of him outside grocery stores. It warms you up inside that he's so loved in his own country, not many people can relate.

You don't love, however, that the articles online have brought attention to your presence in Monaco too. And although it’s far less than the one Charles gets for obvious reasons, the heat that comes from it is closer to ire than affection.

Still, you take photos with those who ask on your way back from dinner with Mati and ignore the “you’re here for your boyfriend, huh?” Questions that come from people with their cameras millimeters away from your face. Saying “it’s not like that” isn’t worth the effort because it won’t work.

May 23rd Montecarlo, Monaco.

Mati is introducing you to other celebrities that attended the All-Stars game, when Charles comes back from signing autographs to the part of the stadium where you are. He's messy, dirty and all dimples—again— which you start to find annoying. Although it's mildly sweet how he always smiles at you when your eyes meet, you cannot allow yourself to think of that too often. He's a nice guy, he's being nice.

"Hi y/n, I thought I'd see you until the weekend," he greets you, still drying off the sweat from the back of his neck.

You shrug, making way for a couple of guys who give Charles a bro hug, joke about the several mistakes he made during the match and then leave, acknowledging you in the form of a quick scan.

"Good game," you can't help the small laugh that follows the compliment, but Charles only smiles wider.

"I'm a natural," he replies, but takes his hand to the place he hit when he face planted. "Don't you think?"

"Definitely," you laugh again, raising both eyebrows. "I'm just glad you stick to racing."

"Me too," it's his turn to shrug, and run a hand through his damp hair.

“How was New York?” You look over your shoulder to Mati, who’s holding her own conversation a few steps away. “Did you have fun?”

“It was really fun, noisy, big. It’s a shame you couldn’t come.”

“Thank you again for inviting me. I do miss New York, but i had things to do.” You let the air out of your lungs hoping, albeit stupidly, he can’t see in your face that the things you did was read stuff on the internet about the two of you together.

“Oh you live in New York? That’s wonderful, so you know your way around. Lorenzo and I got lost.”

You chuckle gently. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Ready to go?” Mati puts an arm around you, smiling. “Hello, Charles.”

So it is true everyone knows each other in these circles.

“Hello Matilde,” Charles smiles back at her, “I won’t keep you any longer, y/n.”

“No worries, it was nice seeing you.”

“I’ll see you soon, maybe I can show you a place or two in Monaco.” Charles is very casual, but his eyes don’t leave yours for a heartbeat.

Matilde tilts her head and her ponytail falls into your shoulder, the small hairs tickling your ear.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Thanks Charles.” You shake your head away from Mati’s and wave Charles goodbye as he walks by you.

“My advice,” Mati is still holding you by the shoulder. “If I may be nosy… You don’t want to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Charles Leclerc. You don’t wanna do that, y/n.”

You roll your eyes but Mati is unbothered by the gesture. “I’m not doing anything, Mati. He’s being nice, we see each other every weekend.”

“He is a homie hopper, trust me, run don’t walk.”

You tsk, making her shake her head this time. “If it makes you feel better, I’m not doing that, never, ever.”

And although you intend to keep your promise, the first thing you do once your phone is hooked to the hotel’s wifi, is google Charles and his reputation.

Even if you know better than anyone that the internet is full of lies.

─── team principal radio: ❝hello! i really enjoyed creating this chapter, especially the fake media so i hope you've enjoyed it too. thanks for reading!♡❞

✰ paddock club members: @majx00

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #cl16 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #cl16 fanfic #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #f1 x you

[fortheb0ys]

GARBAGE DRABBLE BUT I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS DOWN! FEM+MINORS DNI

Bro, Alejandro would definitely sleep in as little clothes as possible meaning he'd either sleep coming nude or in the most skimpy thong he could find. He's certainly a temptress. He'd sleep facing away from you, his beautiful curves on display. Your eyes would be welcomed by his plump ass with a thin pink sting disappearing between his cheeks.

He'd have you spoon him, feeling your morning wood against his ass. Just to be a tease, he'd wiggle his hips. You'd rub his sides hopes to settle him down. It was too early for you but definitely not for Alejandro.

You'd try to go back to sleep but Alejandro little movements brought you out of slumber.

Once you'd have enough, you grip his hips. He'd play stupid and say he was asleep. But no way in hell would you take his taunting any longer. You knew his end goal was to make you angry. To get you to fuck him stupid. So that was what you were going to do.

It's be so easy to fuck him without removing his thong that's why he wore it. You move the thin fabric aside and spread his cheeks. Alejandro's hole loose, a confirmation to your assumption. He had prepared himself earlier in hopes of getting fucked.

As punishment for being a tease, you slap his ass, leaving a red mark in it's wake. You squeeze Alejandro's firm ass. He moans and pushes back into your hand. You debate to continue teasing but your cock swelled painfully in your pajama pants.

Sliding your pants just below your balls and with the work done you slam into Alejandro hard. Without much waiting for him to adjust you keep a steady pace of deep thrusts. Alejandro loved when you fucked him like this, when he could feel the stinging feeling of pain in his ass. Loud moans errupted for his throat.

Your hand reaches in front of him to cup his bulge that was strained in the front of his panties. Precum soaked the pink fabric. Alejandro felt himself near release as you message his achingly hard dick.

He pushed back greedily to met your every thrust. Your hands mindlessly grip at Alejandro's hips. Thumbs stroking the band of his panties, as you lose yourself in Alejandro's tight heat.

"God, f-fuck." Alejandro gripped the sheets. Your one hand continues messaging and the other wraps around his throat. Just a slight squeeze and Alejandro's eyes roll back.

Alejandro's walls convulse around you, squeezing you tightly. He felt lightheaded and it just added to the overwhelming pleasure he was already feeling.

With a string of incoherent words, Alejandro cums, completely soaking his panties, feeling the wetness in your palm. You soon follow, painting his insides white.

"Looks like you own me a new pair." Alejandro retorts once he catches his breath.

#call of duty mwii #call of duty x male reader #call of duty x reader #x reader #alejandro vargas x male reader #call of duty mw2 x male reader #x male reader #top male reader #dom reader #sub character #alejandro vargas

[yangbbokari]

Skz making a bet on you Maknae Line pt.2

Pairing: OT8 SKZ x f!Reader

Genre, AU: angst ofc, lovers to exes!AU

Warnings: cursing, mentions of cheating, many mentions of insecurities, a little suggestive. I think that abt it

Summary: you happened to learn one day that the never really loved you and only made a bet with the other members to see if you would fall in love with them

A.N: Not proof read at all and FINALLY GOT ALL PARTS OUT YAY

Parts: Hyung line Maknae Line pt.1

HAN JISUNG Han sat there. He was stunned to say the least. He didn’t expect you to show up nor hear what he said. It wasn’t until Chan nudged his shoulder that he let go of the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. The older boy looked at Han disappointedly.

Chan held him by the shoulder as he told him, “Are you gonna be a dumbass and sit here or are you gonna chase after y/n and hope she’ll take you back?”

After hearing that, Han finally got up to his feet as he nodded his head. “I’m gonna get y/n back be-because I don’t know what I could possibly do without her. Yeah… that’s what I’ll do.” Then he bolted out of the room to go and find you.

As he ran down the hall and almost out of the building, a particular box caught his eye. It just so happened to sit on the top of the rest of the garbage. He could tell it was yours from the way it was made and decorated. Seeing the box there on a pile of trash made him tear up. He grabbed it and held it tightly to his chest.

You were walking down the street by now. Kicking at the rocks that stood in your way. All the hard work you put into everything just for him to turn his back on you. All the tears had already been cried and dried. Now you were extremely exhausted and your only goal was to get home.

Making your way through the crowded streets, you suddenly hear your name being called. You whipped around to see a very distressed Han racing towards you. Seeing the tear streaks on his face made your heart break. In that instant, you almost forgot the hurt he caused you. But when you did remember what happened earlier, your past anger returned and you decided to walk away from him.

When he saw you turn back around and just walk away, he became panicked all over again. He chased after you until he was right behind you. As soon as he could, he grabbed your wrist and made you face him.

“Y/N!!! I understand that you’re hurt and you don’t want to talk but please just hear me out! You mean everything to me and—”

You immediately covered his mouth. He tried to take your hand off but you put another hand over his mouth.

“Let’s talk about this at home. Please?”

Han finally eased down and nodded his head. The two of you were just a couple blocks away from home anyways. So you and Han walked side by side in awkward silence(insert song, sry I had to😭). He constantly glanced between you and the floor until he gathered the courage to ask you,

“Can I… mmm… Can I at least hold your hand? I’m scared you’ll run away and you won’t listen to me. Then I’ll never see you again! You’ll break up wi—”

You grabbed his hand so he would just shut up. So he did. The rest of the way was in silence with the soft comfort of each other’s breath and presence.

When you made it home, both of you sat on the couch. Spending a couple moments in silence. Eventually, you spoke up, breaking the uncomfortableness.

“Are you not going to explain yourself?”

No answer.

“If you don’t say anything, I’m gonna go to my friend’s house. I need some time. Food’s in the fridge so warm up something for yourself to eat if you get hungry.”

No answer.

You sighed as you rose from your position, almost walking away before you felt a small and gentle touch on the tip of your small finger. A soft voice of the one you loved spoke.

“Don’t go… I’ll talk. However much you need me to. Just don’t… leave.”

The last word made you feel a pang of pain in your heart.

“It was a stupid bet we made when we were younger. Hyunjin brought it up during our debut. The first girl we found the most attractive, we would ask out no matter the circumstances. It took me a month to even get to know you and a year to get close to you. I was scared but they made me confess. So when you accepted I was so happy. Nothing matters more than you. I promise. You’re everything I could ask for so please don’t… don’t leave me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just don’t.”

As much as he tried to keep strong for you, there were tears brimming his eyes. You knew you couldn’t stay mad at him for long. And the way he confessed the truth warmed your heart. How could you leave him?

“I forgive you. I’ll just need a little time. I promise, I won’t leave you alone. I just need to take a bit of time for myself, yeah?”

Han slowly nodded his head as you pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Everything was fine though. You returned on the second day and boy did he make it up to you. In more ways than one. If you know what I mean. 😘 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ LEE FELIX You didn’t hear from him for a few days. It angered you. He was the one who did the wrong thing and now he just thinks he can pretend you never existed!? It’s probably for the best. You don’t know what you would do if you saw him again. Forgive him? Probably not. You’d rather jump on him and claw his face right open. Wait, let’s backtrack that. Probably just punching him in the face was enough.

It had probably been a month since Felix last contacted you, and you to him. It hurt you, you admit. But you were slowly moving on. Finding people you could actually trust in.

Well let’s just say… things did not go according to plan.

On a late night out with a couple of you girl friends, you were drinking and getting hit on. It was fun. The freedom, you mean. You weren’t held back by the restraints of a relationship.

But I guess not everything goes like what you'd expect. Because while you were drinking a margarita, in walks in, no other than, Felix. And who did he just happen to walk up to first? You. The audacity to even take this action made you give him a hard slap on the cheek.

“Hey, asshole. How’ve you been?”

Felix just held his cheek in shame. He couldn’t exactly just yell at you. It was his fault in the first place.

“Hey, y/n… I’ve been awful.”

“Good.”

You were fuming. You were not gonna let some man walk back into your life after saying such hurtful words and then ghosting you for a month. You absolutely loathed him. That wasn’t really true though. Deep down, you still loved him as much as you used to. But, you were too scared to get hurt again.

Felix was equally as irritated but you mattered more to him right now, than his petty thoughts. So he grabbed you by the hand and dragged you out of the bar, ignoring your cries and pleas.

When you were finally outside, his grip loosened but he didn’t let go. You just sighed and rolled your eyes.

"The hell do you want?" You said as you yanked your hand away and began rubbing your wrist.

"A chance to explain myself to you."

"After you ghosted me for a month? Not a chance. Get a life."

"Wait, y/n-"

"Leave me the fuck alone."

"I still want to be with you..." He nearly said breathlessy.

"Well I don't." You were fighting every fiber in you to run back to him tell him how much you love him and never let go. But you didn't want to be the dumb, naive girl, who always ran back to the same man. The same person. The one who hurt them. But you stayed there and listened.

A moment of silence was exchanged until Felix said something.

"We were just immature little fucks when everything happened. Minho made a bet with me, that if I got the number of the roundest woman I could find then he'd give me 200 bucks. I was foolish, so I took up the bet. Had it never happened, I wouldn't have gotten to know the great person you are. I never expected to love you this much, but I do."

You looked up into the night sky to prevent your tears from falling. It was stupid of you to want to run back into his arms. To feel the warmth of his smile and presence again.

“That doesn’t change anything, Felix. You still think I’m a woman who weighs too much and looks… fat. You told me yourself that you love my body. But that’s all a lie because if Minho never made that bet then you would’ve never approached me. You’re just like the rest of them, Felix. Someone who only focuses on looks and not the actual person. You’re no different than Minho. It might have been just an immature joke to you but it meant everything to me.”

“Y/n—”

“No! Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to ever see you again. You ruined me, Felix.”

Felix could do nothing but stay silent and so you walked off. The emotions were too overwhelming for you. You may not have been able to punch him in the face but you were able to express yourself. A month of no closure and now you finally got it. At first, you thought that it’d make you hurt most. But surprisingly, it felt as if you lifted a weight from your chest and now you could be yourself again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ KIM SEUNGMIN You weren’t walking for a long time before you heard another pair of shuffling feet right behind you. You began to panic. It was dumb of you to leave the house this late at night, especially in a big city like this. Your pace quickened and so did the person's behind you. Not only your pace but your breath too. Your fight-or-flight response immediately kicked in and you were definitely opting to flee.

Suddenly, the person ran up to you and grabbed your arm, yanking you back.

"Ahhhhh!!!" Your scream peirced through the night. "Get the fuck off of me! Leave me alone!" But the person only brought you close to their body and hugged you. Then, you heard the soft voice of your boyfriend. "Shh.. shh... y/n it's me. It's me, Seungmin."

You gladly hugged him and thanked him. "Oh god, thank goodness it's just you, Seungmin. I was so scared that someone was following me. That I was going to get abducted or something. Thank you, thank you, thank you." You stuttered out between shaky breaths.

Seungmin only continued to comfort you. "Shh... it's okay. I understand. You're safe now. Sorry for making you so scared, love. Shh..." He rubbed soft circles onto your back as you sobbed into his arms. "I came to find you because you didn't grab your coat and I got worried. Even when we're mad at each other, you shouldn't be out in the cold. I understand if you don't want to talk to me but please make sure you won't get hurt or sick."

It was moments like these that kept you from being mad at Seungmin. You could argue for hours but you would still be his highest concern.

With your hands still holding him to you, you whispered, “Can we just go home?” Seungmin nodded his head, still rubbing your back. “Yeah, let’s go home.” He kissed the top of your head before taking your hand and leading you back to your house.

When the two of you arrived, the once comforting silence became awkward and insufferable. You patted the sides of your arms as you stared at the ground. While Seungmin rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere but at you. The uncomfortable silence was eventually broken by Seungmin.

“I’m sorry for saying that. I shouldn’t have taken my stress and anger out on you when you had nothing to do with it. I should’ve talked it out with you instead and I’m so stupid for taking you for granted.”

“What about the last part, where you said… you know.”

“I said that out of anger. But it was mainly because me and a few of my friends made a bet to take out the first girl who walked through the door at that party we met at. Lo and behold, it was you. But then I really fell in love with you and I became thankful that that bet was made. Because if we never made that bet then I wouldn’t have found you, the wonderful and amazing person I love.”

You couldn’t help but tear up at his words. Seungmin didn’t get upset easily but when he did, he would argue with you for days on end. But he always came back around when he all too quickly became worried for you. That’s what made you love him.

When Seungmin didn’t get a reply from you he suddenly asked, “Are you going to break up with me now?” But then he heard your sniffles and his heart broke. He constantly kept making you cry even when he didn’t mean to.

Unexpectedly, you ran to him and hugged him. “I can’t even think of ever leaving you. I love you so much and your way with words just makes me want you even more. You know me too well, Seungie. I love you.”

He kissed the top of your head before resting his head on yours. “I love you too.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ YANG JEONGIN Jeongin waited outside the bathroom for you to come out. It wasn’t like he could go in. He’d be casted out of the restaurant for being a creep and a pervert. So he patiently waited.

Eventually, you did come out but you had washed all your makeup off. The crying left streaks of mascara running down your face so you washed it before exiting. As soon as you saw Jeongin, you turned the other way. But unfortunately for you, that way just so happened to be a wall. You sighed before turning back to him. You were being a bit dramatic but you didn’t know how else to deal with it.

Jeongin spoke up quietly. “Do you want to talk about it? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You slowly nodded your head in response and he held out his hand to you. You silently took it and followed him into a more quiet and private room.

“I’m sorry for walking away instead of listening to you.” You said.

“No.. no, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier and this was a horrible way for you to find out about it.”

He paused to see if you had anything to say. But when he got no response, he continued.

“Umm… so I used to have a big fat crush on you…”

You giggled at that, a little surprised that he could admit it so easily.

“D-don’t laugh at me! I’m being serious!” He said out angrily. "I-I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." You said as you kept giggling. Jeongin was happy to see you smiling again so he kept going.

"When my hyungs found out they constantly teased me about it. But then the teasing turned into bets. They were betting on me to see I would ever confess or not. I told them I would but I never actually stayed true to my word. One day, they got bored with each other and came to me. They said that I should confess to you. If I succeeded they'd get me the latest Bruno Mars album and if I didn't then I'd have to give each of them 80 dollars. So we shook on it. I didn't want to lose so of course I mustered up the most courage I possibly could and asked you out. When you said yes, my whole world suddenly brightened as if this was what I was waiting for for my whole life. After I took you on a date, I told them of the success."

Your heart swelled at his words. You never knew he was so in love with you. It was almost as if the past event never happened. Now you were smiling from ear to ear as he told the story. Upon seeing your smile, Jeongin did too.

"I thought they'd stop teasing me after we got together but they never did. Calling me a simp and stuff. I'm not saying I'm not because I'm glad that I love you so much people can see it. But I hate being titled that."

Your eyes were full of affection for each other and it was clear as day. Every word that came from his mouth only reminded you of why you loved him so much. So how could you not voice it?

"Innie?" His ears perked up, indicating he was listening to you. "Have I ever told you how much I love you." He immediately pouted his bottom lip and opened his arms as an invitation. You slowly made your way over into his embrace. "Have I ever told you how much I love you too?" You chuckled as you nodded your head. You looked up at him and saw that he was still pouting. So you took it as your responsibility to kiss it away. Glad to say it worked as he laughed at you antics.

How could you ever doubt him when he loved you this much?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist: @123rinu @pgnwook @mixtape-racha @hannieslovebot @lolareadsimagines @garrixer-06 @bandolls @chansbabygirlsstuff @camilagonzalex @mariteez @beccaskz @kibs-and-bits @kaitchan

@lynlyndoll @bangchansslut6 @hanniemylovelyquokka @changbinsjuicybiceps @xx-twalia-xx @bangchansprettygf @lvlnijiro @totallynotlyntv @htnw004 @shecheatedwithme @jiisungllvr @neteyamsmate4life @yoongles2025 @cosniffee @gdaymates @iilliess @tadashisdisaster @celticcountrygal @dazzlingligth @mylilliposts @troublemaker02

#skz x reader #skz #skz fluff #kim seungmin x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #mumu writes #skz maknae line #felix lee yongbok #felix x reader #felix x you #felix x y/n #han jisung #han x reader #han x you #han x y/n #han imagines #han fanfic #felix imagines #felix fanfic #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you #seungmin imagines #seungmin fanfic #seungmin angst #kim seungmin fanfic #skz seungmin #seungmin fluff

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

ASKBOX IS OPEN REQUESTS ARE OPEN HERE ARE THE RULES

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the askbox is theshitpostcalligrapher.tumblr.com/ask , not a dm or submission to the blog. I’ll close submissions too so people don’t get the boxes confused. DM me for any actual clarifications, kind words, etc so they don’t get swallowed up by the behemoth of my askbox for months, and if you want to give me live encouragement the twitch link is right there, and is the ideal way to inquire more about any of the day's rules.

If you want to jump the ENTIRE queue and get your card done immediately, there are ways to donate on the twitch stream to get your request done with an ink of your choice. You can still submit 3 free requests in addition to what you pay for.

I’ll be streaming the entire time the askbox is open on twitch @ theshitpostcalligrapher, trying to get as many of these done today as possible live. Once 10PM EST hits, the askbox will close but if you get your request into the askbox by then, it will be done eventually as I always have 4 cards up per day.

Here’s the link to my twitch, we’ll start a little after 3 o’clock.

Here is a direct donation link to my streamlabs, it works like a ko-fi but I’ve got it set to give me alerts on my twitch so I can see and thank you straightaway for supporting my takeout order

I've planned on a few donation goals this time! They help pay for all the hours I put in and the material costs. Every time we hit a goal, I'll refresh it to 0 and math out whatever overlap to add to the new goal

$20 > Time For Tea! I make a sparkly, food safe glittery tea that looks like ink to enjoy with yall on stream

$30 > Jackbox Break! My Discord VC and potentially chat plays a few games

$40 > Takeout O'clock: It is time to order a food, Mia! Polls will probably be involved for food options

$200 (I am fairly sure we won't get this one) > I bought all the requisite items to bleach my hair to prep for a dye. Let's do this shit LIVE ON AIR BAYBEE

Also of Note: I will be moving house sometime in the next week and a half, which means I will be RECYCLING ALL OF THE CARDS I'VE WRITTEN IN THE PAST TWO AND A HALF YEARS (save for the ones folks pay for on stream, those are earmarked to be mailed out anyways) so if you've gotten something written by me from september 2021 to january 2024 or so, please remember that there is an an etsy shop where you can snag any card from the blog for a few dollars. dm the shop if you'd like to buy a bundle of randoms, I WILL give you a sale about it

#calligraphy #shitpost #faq #openaskbox rules #openaskbox

[physalian]

The Fantasy Language Translation Matrix

Whether you intend to write your own full-blown lexicon with different verb tenses and formal vs informal language, need unique words for spellwork, or just need new names for all your foreign places, behold… the Physalian patented Fantasy Language Translation Matrix.

(I kid. I have no idea if I’m the first to come up with this)

**Disclaimer!** After rolling out your fresh new vocab off the word assembly line, make sure you google it and that it doesn’t already exist and mean something you don’t intend.

Step 1: Pick your Derivative

You can make it sound completely foreign and like total gibberish, but I find it easier for you and other people to read if they have some real-world reference to compare it to, and so they have a clue for which pronunciation rules to rely on. For example: I did not know who René Descartes was my freshman year of high school. His last name was in my algebra book, and I, thinking he was Greek like so many other ancient mathematicians, pronounced his name as if he were Greek “Des-kart-ees.” I got made fun of.

Spare your readers the humiliation.

So say I want a vaguely… Russian/Latin/Italian influence. As opposed to French. Cool. That’s my starting point.

Step 2: Reorder the most common letters from English to your new language

In English, the average use of the standard alphabet by letter in order is this:

Ignore your vowels for a second. I don’t use charts like this on the regular, I use the Wheel of Fortune method and focus on RSTLNE, then go from there. I also want to make sure this isn’t a complete 1:1 ratio so it’s not super obvious I’m just juggling letters around, so I’ll knock out some “duplicate” letters and swap out singular letters for specific sounds.

The goal of this isn’t to stare at two existing language matrices and perfectly match them up, it’s to take the most common sounds and letters in English and make them new, common sounds in your new language, to sound more uniform and like you have a real etymology.

And I end up with this:

This might look a little confusing on how I got from A to Z so the basics:

All my vowels remain in the same place, they just get juggled around so I don’t end up with 8 consonants next to each other and word garbage

My “duplicate” letters are combined so I have more room for the new sounds, like c/k, f/ph/gh, h/wh, s/z. The new sounds then get the spare letters I had left over

Common english suffixes get reduced down so the pattern isn’t as obvious

If you want to include accent marks, this is your chance

I wanted to really emphasize the long “e” and long “i” sounds, so those got extra attention

Step 3: Translating

Oftentimes this is not perfect, or you end up with a word that just doesn’t fit the rest of your new vocabulary, because English is the bastard lovechild of German, Latin, Danish, and French.

I start with English, usually, but if the English word is too short or too long, I translate it first into another language, like Spanish, and go from there. Like “bus” vs “autobus”.

Using your matrix, go one by one. Let’s use a word like “letter”.

English: L-E-T-T-E-R

New: T-A-C-C-A-Z

Step 4: Polishing

So now I have my new word: “Taccaz”

Which is serviceable. I can throw an accent on either A or fiddle with the Z. I can start with “carta” instead and end up with “kizci”. The matrix is just a starting point. It’s designed to streamline the process when I’m otherwise feeling uncreative and in a rush, and it moves very quickly when I need to come up with full phrases and sentences that someone would actually say.

Step 5: Full sentences

This is only if you’re really digging deep and not coming up with the occasional fantasy curse word or new name for your fantasy land/realm/noun etc.

For this you’re going to need lots of tables. I based mine off romance languages because I know Spanish and romance languages make sense. This is where you decide how many pronouns, if any, you’re going to use, how the infinitive changes based on past, present, or future tense, how many nouns the word references, etc.

This is… a lot. Way more than you’d ever need for your manuscript. Ever. But I did it just for my own sake. Does it get long? Yes. Does it get tedious? Yes. The point here is to have little pre-manufactured word bytes you can plug and play with, with as little mental effort as possible so you can save it for the rest of your work.

I also came up with very common words already conjugated, like “to be” so I can just glance and type without having to remember to take “is” and go through the process over and over again.

Which means that I can take an entire sentence and translate it to my new language in about two minutes.

English: The payoff is worth it, this is so satisfying. New, roughly: Nu kioyb ela fyzip ne, iski ela valo nicenbalaev.

Of course, you can keep tinkering until you get something that’s easier on the eyes (I’ve been working with this language for years so I can read it pretty well), but not all languages are smooth and pretty and simple.

To be frank: Most readers will just gloss over this stuff anyway, but it shows that you put in the effort and it enhances the lore and the immersion when you do this. At least in the written medium. You can’t ignore it if this is meant to be in a screenplay.

Is this what a language professor would do or recommend? Probably not, I have no idea. Does it work? Yes. I have a fully functioning grammatical system where any input can give me a legible output.

To make this yourself, just change the order of the letters around, adjust your shortcuts, and come up with your own common sounds for those last two rows. The conjugation matrix is where you can really make it distinct, assuming you are basing yours off a romance language, which you don't have to.

—

And there you have it!

Don’t forget to vote in the dialogue poll before it closes!

#writing resources #writing advice #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #fantasy #sci fi #fictional language #language #world building

[mspencerdraws]

I've been thinking a lot lately... I frequently have the honor of working with fantastic indie publishers who are putting out great books, especially from diverse and often historically underrepresented perspectives. In a world increasingly politically hostile towards trans/queer folks, and in an industry increasingly permeated by AI garbage, working w/ these excellent people over the last few years has helped me stay sane, & feeling like the work I'm doing matters. So here we go, Some Really Cool People making some Really Cool Things (that I am vaguely or specifically involved in):

Neon Hemlock is funding their 2024 Novellas! They're super close to funding, and have plenty of time left to possibly discover some stretch goals?👀

Neon Hemlock consistently puts out amazing queer sf/f/h and the lineup this year looks incredible.

https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/davering/neon-hemlocks-2024-novella-series

Atthis Arts' Be the Sea is out now! Climate-conscious Science Fantasy. Queerly Diverse/Diversely Queer. Sea Creatures & Mysterious Dreams.

Also! Author Clara Ward will be donating 100% of their royalties to conservation efforts for our global ocean.

New Edge Sword & Sorcery is funding their 2024 issues of New Edge Sword & Sorcery Magazine! I got to illustrate a trans revenge story last time. 👀 so I'm very excited to see what the next issues have in store! https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/brackenbooks/new-edge-sword-sorcery-2024?ref=bk-social-project

And finally, If a "contemporary romantic drama about sad archaeologists" sounds up your alley, check out A.M. Weald's novel "Even if We're Broken" (out in April this year)!

#my stuff #book recs #crowdfunding boost #kickstarter promo #support small press #indie publishing #indie books #queer sff

[starlightkun]

➠ college au (and after), hockey captain!sungchan, chronically ill!reader (migraines)

➠ series word count: 61,624 (posted; series is ongoing)

KEY

f - fluff a - angst and/or hurt/comfort m - mature and/or heavy themes (i do not write smut, but not everything here will be appropriate for all ages, proceed with caution and read all warnings provided at the beginning of fics)

the beginning ; read these first

buzzer beater (f) ── 22.0k | 27JSC (f) ── 21.3k

the little things ; slice-of-life shortfics, pick at random or skip them entirely

on needlesticks and other metaphors (f, a) ── 4.6k | garbage goal (a, f) ── 3.9k | between two palms (a, f, m) ── 2.4k | saltwater smiles & aloe vera kisses (f) ── 2.6k | freezing the puck (f) ── 4.5k

the happiest ever after ; the end.

little league ── [WIP...]

#sungchan x reader #riize x reader #s: buzzer beater #bb: masterlist #text #mine #writing #recent: ss&avk 02/24/24 #next: little league TBA #ahh im so excited 🥹👉👈 #*100

[gutterspeak]

10, 15, 42, and F for Luthais?

hi ash!! tysm for the ask!!!! :]

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

anything to do with closing the worldwound and living a normal life with Daeran afterwards tbh 😬

TECHNICALLY he didn't know with 100% certainty how things would shake out, but in his mind there was only one path it could all take - especially act 5 onwards (and due to his failed roll on going legend)

telling Daeran he'd only conjectured about there being a rift in threshold wasn't entirely dishonest, but let's be real. he was banking on it being there and knew what it would mean for himself if he went back and stopped Areelu from opening the worldwound. deep down he knew he was basically lying to Daeran and still lied about it up until the very end! it haunted him, sure, but he bent over backwards to justify it to himself and besides, the truth was much worse. it was bad enough that he had to live with knowing their time was finite, why would he want to inflict that sort of pain on Daeran too?

add in a generous splash of selfishness since he didn't want to push Daeran into breaking things off or give him a chance to talk him out of it and we get the saddest wet napkin of a guy that knowingly chose his own undoing because it never could have been any other way. and also he just stays silly <3

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

there's definitely times where his mouth is quicker than his brain but those are VERY few and far between. it's second nature to him to pause and speak carefully due to his upbringing, even when he's angry or upset. it takes a lot for that mask to slip!

generally, he speaks very gently and evenly. I've tentatively decided that his voice claim is James Callis as Alucard (netflix castlevania) since how he speaks in that role is exactly how I imagine Luthais to. soft-spoken, measured, but still snappy when he wants to be... although the accent would be one he's using to mask how he naturally speaks, since his true accent is very Chelaxian and specifically from the area around Kintargo as I like to imagine that there's a regional difference because of where it sits geographically

42. How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

I feel like the sheer amount of horrific transformation and ego death he subjects himself to really speaks for itself!!! and that's not even touching upon literally writing himself out of existence...

this quote from animorphs also feels relevant:

"People don't understand the word ruthless. They think it means "mean." It's not about being mean. It's about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It's about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it." ― Katherine Applegate, The Reunion

F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)?

I want to hug him and give him a big kiss. and then I want to put him in the garbage disposal

#inbox

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

I've been following you for a while, and I'm so happy you got published! I have a story idea but no idea how to even start writing a book, let alone get it published. Do you have any tips for someone just starting the process?

Hi Anon! Thank you!! :D

Honestly, at this stage I think the best advice I can give you is to write the damn book. It sounds super obvious, right? But if your end goal is to get published it is REALLY easy to get bogged down in all the things you "need" to do to make it happen.

But the reality is that having a huge following on publishing twitter and 50k followers on BookTok and an amazing website and a regularly updating newsletter and a selection of really fancy headshots won't mean anything unless you've also got a manuscript.

So: write it. But like. HOW.

I mean. You just gotta sit down and do it. Which sucks. Here's you vs this big empty page and you have to fill it with words and AAAAAAAAA!!! SCARY!!

So... here's my advice!

If the start is too scary, don't start there. The first thing I wrote for Hartswood is on page 277. Don't know the beginning yet, or find it too intimidating to write? Skip it. Write the bit you're mad about first.

Related: if you want to write out of order, you can. Write the scenes that have grabbed you by the lapels and are demanding to be written.

Let the first draft be hot stinky garbage. The first draft is there so the book exists. The edits are there so the book is actually good.

Write every day, if you can. Set yourself a REALLY low word count to meet every day and try to hit it. And if you can't write on any one day, that's fine! Don't beat yourself up about it: life comes first.

Make yourself a private discord server that's just for you. Make a bunch of channels - ideas you want to include, changes you want to make, memes and funny shit related to your story. This way, when you wake up at 1am with an idea/worry, you can post it in there and its WAY easier to keep track of than a notes app.

Find someone to talk to about your story - whether that's just a friend to squeal with, someone to rubber duck at or a beta reader for edits. Its so much easier - and more fun! - if you've got someone else excited with you.

Skip the bits you can't write. Not sure if you've chosen the best word or need to do more research about something but are in the flow of writing? Throw that sucker into [square brackets] and come back to it later. It's better to ctrl+F it and fix it later than derail yourself by falling down a research rabbit hole now.

I hope that helps, Anon!! I love you 💖

#You got this!! #on writing #writerblr #writing tips #long post #i am not an expert im just some guy #but these things helped me!

[hardlystrictlystarwars]

Could I please request a flirty drabble using:

6. “your kisses mean the world to me.”

7. “just one more kiss.” “i can’t. i’ll be late for work.”

23. “Is that a threat?” “Its a promise.”

With commander cody x f troublemaker reader.

Thank youu😊

A/N: AHHH! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! This was super fun, but super short. I hope you like it. I just finished it and had to get it out before I forgot. I will be adding more prompts because I just hit a major goal for my blog fyi. But that's not relevant, anyways, hope you like it!!!

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

Warnings: Sexy times implied, not rated E(but definitely a PG-13 rating), not beta-ed, kinda cheesey

Commander Cody x F!Reader

“One more?” You squealed, leaning over your sheets to kiss him. You tried to catch his lips but he didn’t even look up at you, still too focused on trying to find his codpiece.

“Just one more kiss, I promise,” You pleaded, pulling yourself to the edge of your mattress.  Your lips were just mere inches away from each other, yet his focus was still on that dang codpiece. 

“I can’t. I’ll be late for work,” was all he said before turning away, heading to the bathroom to presumably check there again. 

“I think you can risk being a couple minutes late,” You called out before getting out of bed and following his footsteps, “Just for today? Just for me?”

“I was just a couple minutes late yesterday because of you,” He said, coming out of the bathroom quickly, snapping one of his thigh plates on, “If I keep this up, all of my troopers are gonna expect something more out of me,” 

“Like what? Will they want kisses too?” You teased, “Will those kisses mean the world to them,” You said softly, looking up at him,  lightly grasping his chin to make sure he was looking down at you, “Because your kisses mean the world to me,” 

“Really?” He said, a grin tugging at his lips. You could see his facade breaking in front of you. 

“I promise we won’t waste any time,” You said, “Just give me what I want,”

“Are you sure about that?”

You placed one hand on the nape of his neck, stroking your hand through his hair and nodded. 

“Kriffing shab,” He muttered, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, “You’re gonna regret making me late,”

“Is that a threat commander?”

“Better, it’s a promise,” He said before pushing his lips onto yours.

tags: @badbatch-simp24 @darkangel4121 @mylifeinthetardisforever @Louise-12 @fandom-garbage @alsheyra @Nahoney22 @rintheemolion @kaitieskidmore1

#commander cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #commander cody x you #commander cody fic #commander cody #tcw cody #star wars fic #star wars the clone wars #star wars #tcw imagine #tcw #tcw fic #the clone wars fic #the clone wars fanfiction #the clone wars imagine #the clone wars

[zalrb]

first off: thank you so much for writing this. i was really hoping youd go for the sirebond fanfic, so your effort is GREATLY appreciated! now let's get to the actual fanfic!

starting off with passionate stelena sex, BLISS! 😍

"Elena woke up with a gasp and when she blinked in the unfamiliar surroundings of her motel room and realized Stefan wasn't beside her, that gasp shuddered out to a sob. She curled onto the bed, gripping the scratchy sheets, and heaved violently as the cries wracked her body."

"She couldn't stand feeling like this. Like there was a slow tearing in her mind, in her very core that had yet to rip her completely apart. She never thought she'd feel this kind of pain again and she thought that it might kill her.

But she couldn't go back.

Staying away was the only way to keep her and Stefan alive."

OH MY GOD... my current facial expression is really similar to this:

LIKE....

LOL rebekah secretly being the biggest stelena stan is just so accurate. its funny cause i can really relate to her admiration for them. stelena is ultimate couple goals

"It would be sickening if it weren't so sincere. Elena's body was weakening, her breathing becoming more and more laborious but Rebekah could see that even in the midst of a physical breakdown, she was at peace. Being next to Stefan, choosing Stefan had made her at peace.

"No matter what happens," she was saying. "It's the best choice I ever made."

the fact that she has absolutely zero regrets despite the fact that choosing him led to her death... I CANT WITH STELENA. THEYRE TOO BEAUTIFUL. MY HEART CANT HANDLE IT

"Damon stared up at her for a second before he pushed her off him and got up in one, smooth motion then stormed off. She followed him, knowing Stefan would find Matt and take care of him. She could trust him to do that. She could trust him with anything."

"Elena shook her head at him, almost relieved in how pointless this all was. "I do know that. And I also know that you never got it and if you don’t get it now, you never will," she said. "I could never have had those things if Matt died. It would have never been the life I wanted without him alive. And you can’t think that far ahead to see that. Stefan can."

I AM LIVING FOR THIS

"Damon narrowed his eyes at her.  "Was it ever really a choice?" he asked. "Between him and me?"

Elena bit her lip. "No."

L M F A O !!!!!!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

ELENA IS RUTHLESS. damon is garbage that got trashed

She sighed then said softly, "You don't love me, Damon."

He glared at her. "Don't try to make yourself feel better."

"That's not what I'm doing." She made a soft exasperated noise. "Look at what you were about to do to one of my oldest friends. I chose to save his life and you were about to take it, you were about to spit in the face of my choice. You..." she shrugged. "You don't consider anything I want, you don't take my feelings into account, you just do whatever you want because you need me to be alive for you."  Elena spoke calmly and simply, as if she were explaining something to a child, which only seemed to inflame Damon. "And I - I get it but ... that ..." She shook her head. "That isn't love, Damon, that's obsession. Like with Katherine."

"You loved her for over a century, Damon, you carried her for over a hundred years, and then you came to town and ripped it apart for her, and she didn't care." Elena watched as the pain of the memory flitted across his face. “What did you do with all of that? Where did it all go?"

YES TO ALL OF THIS!!! thats one of my biggest issues with show. damon moves on from katherine SO QUICKLY after a whole fucking century of obsession. so, just like that, hes over her? bitch please. its so dumb. to be fair though... it wouldnt be. itd actually be brilliant if the show didnt try to gaslight us into thinking that damon was genuinely over her and then madly in love with elena. cause he was neither of those things. he basically transplanted his obsession onto elena. which is why he doesnt respect her as a person. i dont think he ever even explains what he likes about her. damons feelings for elena would be a great commentary on toxic patterns in romantic relationships like obsession, idealization, etc. but the show doesnt address any of this in a meaningful way. love that youre doing it though!

YES TO ALL OF THIS!!! thats one of my biggest issues with show. damon moves on from katherine SO QUICKLY after a whole fucking century of obsession. so, just like that, hes over her? bitch please. its so dumb. to be fair though… it wouldnt be. itd actually be brilliant if the show didnt try to gaslight us into thinking that damon was genuinely over her and then madly in love with elena. cause he was neither of those things. he basically transplanted his obsession onto elena. which is why he doesnt respect her as a person. i dont think he ever even explains what he likes about her. damons feelings for elena would be a great commentary on toxic patterns in romantic relationships like obsession, idealization, etc. but the show doesnt address any of this in a meaningful way. love that youre doing it though!

Exactly this, though!

I had a post about it where I was like everything Damon likes about Elena is about what she can do for him

So I was like, I think it would be interesting if Elena kind of re-realizes this with the clarity of a life-changing event where she's just like ... it's not just that I don't love you, you don't love me.

[limeinaltime]

Nasty garbage man/derogatory

CW: Implied assault, abuse, 6 is a horrible person and I do not condone any of these things

- Originally Serial Designation F, was reassigned as 6 due to another Disassembler claiming the letter. Was given Administrator status, lost it, then R gave it back. 

- Violent, manipulative, sadistic, narcissistic and smart, 6 is truly a drone worthy of the infamy he’s cultivated over the years. He’s a ruthless man who gets what (or who) he wants when he wants it, and he takes pleasure in making weaker drones suffer, using his size and strength to make them submit, and god forbid he finds you entertaining.

- Considered the third strongest of the Internecion Drones. Known for his viciousness and love for chasing down his targets, psychologically tormenting them with fear before striking while they’re weak. The metal bands around his legs make his kicks especially deadly.

- The ex-boyfriend of S. 6 took great pleasure in making the poor guy squirm back in their younger years, and the two broke things off during their time at war after a horrible fight. Even after all this time, he misses his old plaything and constantly mocks and degrades S to this day, and leaves more than a few reminders of what they used to have when the two are alone.

- 6 and R have been good friends since childhood, and make for a deadly pair. They helped each other figure themselves out as teens (6 is gay, R is a lesbian), and confided in each other about their goals and wants. While 6 lacks empathy, he does view R as a respectable partner-in-crime and companion, as well as someone useful to have around, seeing as R tends to let him get away with a lot. They ran their little gang of bullies as children/teens, and while he doesn’t say it out loud, 6 kind of misses the members who didn’t survive.

- 6 was banished by X once his behavior crossed one line too many, but he was the first to be brought back by R to help her overthrow X. He was more than happy to help R take X down, but took no joy in working with Adam and Eve, although he did so Jet could also return.

- Despite not liking kids, R handed Jet off to 6, and he became kind of fond of the kid (and maybe taught Jet how to be just as horrible as him). He finds training and sparring easier than the mushy emotional stuff, which suits Jet just fine.

- During the training of the Gen. 2 Projects, 6 became their personal demon, a merciless and violent force that would torment them and beat them up under R’s command. They all hate him.

- Gay and has no shame about it. He wishes Jet would stop bitching and moaning about his own homosexuality already.

#serial designation 6 #murder drones #oc #my art #ref sheet