#let me just dig a whole and put you in it and then you'll be one too

[prettyg1irlstears]

the pool deck | rafe cameron

pairing: bfb!rafe

warnings: smoking, unprotected p in v sex, pool sex, breeding

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

you were spending the day with your best friend sarah. you were by the pool the whole day, just swimming, tanning and gossiping.

“oh no, we ran out of lemonade!” sarah says with a frown when he comes bavk from inside. “gotta go buy more.”

“i’ll wait for you” you smile while putting on sunscreen. sarah nods and you watch her disappear with her wallet in her hand.

ten minutes pass and you get a message from her: got distracted by john b. probably up to his place. sorry!

you just chuckle and shake your head. you still couldn’t believe that a kook princess would date the pogue king himself.

the sound of footsteps take you out of your thoughts and your heart skips a beat when you see their owner.

“hi ray” you smile, taking your sunglasses off to look at him and standing up from your sunbed. “how are you?”

”’sup, bunny,” rafe smirks, the nickname he gave you smoothly coming out of his mouth as he lights up a cigarette and taking a long drag. you were his favorite friend of sarah’s, always so sweet and caring, asking how his day was, all innocent.

“i’m doin’ good, how you doin’,” he blew the smoke out the corner of his mouth, watching her as she walked towards him. “you look good in that bikini.”

“thanks! i bought it last week,” you smile. and look at your bikini. “they also had a blue one but i thought this one was better.”

he chuckled at your words, flicking the ash off his cigarette “well, you have pretty good taste.” he commented, stepping closer to you, his gaze lingering on your body.

“thanks!” you smile and then look at the cigarette. you weren’t much of a smoker, but you took one when someone had them. “can i have a drag?”

hesitantly, he handed you the cigarette, his lips twitching into a smile. “sure, if you must.”

his eyes were focused on your lips, the way you suck on the filter, imagining how they would taste and feel wrapped around his dick.

rafe watched you take a long drag, your lips wrapped around the cigarette looking so tempting. he swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving you. he was getting hard. “you look hot as hell.”

“really..?” you smile shyly. you’re not used to getting attention from guys, and you’re definitely not used to comments like this. “i don’t get that often.”

his eyes roamed over your body, tracing the curves of your figure with a predatory gaze, his breath hitching as his cock hardened in his swimming pants. he coudln’t take it anymore, he reached out, grabbing your ass, squeezing it softly.

you gasp, looking up at him with a shocked and confused expression that only made him grow harder. “what are you doing, ray??”

his hand slips lower, his fingers finding the damp fabric of your bikini bottoms. he chuckles, his eyes never leaving yours. he wants her, wants to strip you naked and ravish you. “i'm going to fuck you in this pool soon.”

that takes you off guard, making you swallow as you try to talk yourself out of it. “that’s unhygienic.. i- i could get an infection or something—“ you stutter, trying to stay calm.

“you'll be the cleanest bitch in town after I finish fucking you.” rafe whispers, rubbing your butt cheeks. he was already imagining what it would feel like to have you writhing beneath him, moaning his name.

he leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. his tongue slides past your lips, exploring your mouth as his hand playfully slap your butt. if only you knew how much he wants to strip you and have you bent over the pool deck for a good, long, hard fucking.

“rafe— wait— sarah—“ you attempt to say between kisses.

his fingers dig into you hips, pulling you closer against him, his kiss turning more hungry as his arousal presses against you, his cock throbbing pants. “shut up and let me fuck you.”

you want to protest, to tell him that this is a terrible idea, that sarah will kill you when she finds out. but before you can respond, you have his fingers knuckled deep into your pussy

he devours your mouth, his tongue dancing with yours. he could feel your wetness coating his fingers and he couldn't wait to slide that sweet cunny onto his engorged cock.

you leave tiny moans and whimpers into the kiss as he fingers you, shamelessly moving your hips into his hand as your knees bend in pleasure.

he whitdraws his fingers before you can cum, a smirk on his face as he looks at you, his hands on your thighs. "get down on your knees, i wanna fuck you doggy right here.”

his eyes devouring your body as he watched you get into a kneeling position on the edge of the pool deck. he undoes his swimming pants and slides them down, revealing his big, hard and throbbing cock. “spread those legs f’me.”

you do as he says so and he positions himself behind you, his cock pressing against your wet folds. he reachs around and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling it gently as he begings to push into your tight pussy.

you gasp, your pussy gripping his cock tight. “ray..” you whimper, followed by a low groan from him.

he pulls your hair harder, causing you to let out a small whimper. "shhh, baby. i'm gonna make you cum." he begins to thrust into you, his balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust, your plump butt jiggling.

all you can let out are small ah ah ah sounds, and god, that could make him cum right on the spot.

he leans down and plants a kiss on your neck. "i can fucking feel your pussy clenching around me, sweet thing. you want me to fuck you harder? or do you want me to pull out and leave you wet and needy?"

“harder.. harder, ray..” you whine out, the thought of him stopping makes you wanna cry.

without missing a beat, he thrust into you harder, pounding your soaking wet pussy. the sounds of his hips slapping against your plump butt combined with your small and needy whimpers filled the air. “look at you.. taking your best friend’s brother balls deep inside you..”

your eyes roll into the back of your head, feeling the knot in your stomach threatening to burst. ”ray!” you moan out, your pussy clenching.

feeling the sensation of your tight pussy clenching around his cock as you reach your peak, he pulled your head back even further and slammed into you one last time, holding you there as he came inside you with a long grunt. "i fucking told you i was going to make you cum."

small whimpers are leaving your mouth, feeling his warm and sticky cum dump inside you and his lips attacking your neck, all while still coming down from your high.

he stayed inside you for a while, waiting until his panting calms down. after a while he gently pulled out, leaving a mess of his cum in your wrecked pussy. "there's my good girl."

even though you’re completely fucked out, you still somehow manage to get up on your knees, turn around and hug him, seeking out comfort.

feeling your small body against his, he pulled you into a tight hug, basking in the afterglow of your intense fuck session. his voice was deep and soothing as he soothed you in his arms. "come here, my little mess."

 ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #outerbanks rafe #rafe imagine #rafe x you #drew starkey #best friends brother #prettyg1rlstears #blurbs𐙚

[spidernuggets]

‼️Nsfw‼️ Minors DNI

It's not even your fault. It's JASON'S fault. If he didn't work out so often, his arms wouldn't have become so huge.

It was literally supposed to be an innocent stay at home movie marathon date night. You were on your bed, watching on the small TV that sat on your desk, which was in front of your bed.

Your back was against Jason's chest while his arms were securely wrapped around your torso. One of your hands rested on his forearm, your thumb caressing it every now and again, while your other arm just laid limp on the side. Your head was awkwardly laid on his bicep but was still comfortable, nonetheless.

You honestly couldn't help the thought.

It was just that every time Jason would lean his head over to your temple to give it a light kiss or when he'd snicker at a scene that was playing, his bicep would slightly flex, and you can feel it under your head.

You just wanted to know what it felt like if his whole arm was wrapped around your throat, putting you into a headlock.

Fuck it, it's fine.

You gave his forearm another comforting rub of your thumb before moving his arm, moving it higher on your body.

"What are you doing?" He asks, his focus still on the TV.

"Just getting comfortable," you say, trying to act casual in which Jason shrugs it off. Jason moved his arm the rest of the way, right where you wanted it. But Jason didn't know your actual intentions. Not yet, at least. So he just gives your shoulder a slight squeeze before giving you another kiss to your head.

And you felt it. When he gave your head a kiss. You felt his bicep flex, feeling his muscles choking you a little.

And you wanted more.

You tried to push away the feeling, but Jason let out a strained yawn, and his muscles tightened around your neck. You tried so hard to push it down, but the tiniest little whimper escaped right through your teeth. And you prayed Jason didn't notice.

But he did... But not in the way you expected it.

"Shit, did I hurt you, sweetheart?" Fuck sake, him asking if he hurt you just turned you on more.

You shook your head. "No, Jason. I just..." You were getting needy. But Jason seemed clueless and was getting worried.

"Just what, love?"

You groaned in frustration and gently rutted your ass against his crotch. And fuck, how you loved his reaction.

He groaned and tensed up, making his muscles tense up, too. You let out another whine, both your hands holding onto his arm that rested around your neck, pushing it impossibly closer to your throat.

"Jesus- that's what you wanted, baby? Wanted me to put you in a headlock? Wanted to be in a fucking literal chokehold? Could've just asked nicely, my love," Jason says, his cock becoming semi-hard.

By now, you're dragging your already sopping, clothed cunt along Jason's thigh, whining for more.

Jason laughs. What kind of boyfriend would he be if he denied you the satisfaction?

So, Jason uses his free hand to move your right leg, spreading your limbs apart, and also giving him easy access. He flexes his arm, and in return, your back slightly arches, tightening your grip, your nails digging into his skin, which he doesn't even notice, while you're crying for his touch.

"Shh, it's okay, my love. You'll get what you want," he whispers as his face is buried in your hair, his large, calloused hands caressing your thighs.

You remove one of your hands from his arm, grabbing his free hand that was feeling up your thigh, and you moved it over the wet patch of your sweatpants and made Jason's hand apply pressure to your throbbing pussy.

"Jay, please!" You cry, throwing your head back onto his shoulder. Jason smiles, kissing your cheek.

"Anything for you, princess," he mutters. He slides his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, pulling your panties up, letting go of them quickly as you slightly yelp at the fabric slapping your skin.

"Jason, please... please touch me.." You begged.

Even in the moment, Jason's heart melts at your pleads. "You're so polite, my love. Just lie there and let me gratify you," he says as he finally slides his hands past your panties, his middle and ring finger pushing inside the folds of your cunt while his thumb gently massages your clit.

Your back arches even more, crying and whimpering at his touch. Jason groans at the sounds of your moans, especially when your voice jumps an octave every time he tightens his arm that is around your neck.

"Fu-fuck.. You look so pretty right now," he stutters. "A moaning mess, just for me. And for what? Just because you wanted my arm around your tiny neck?"

You started to babble, incapable of forming actual sentences. All you can spit out are strings of 'yes, yes!' and 'ngh- feels so good, jay'. Which, without a doubt, makes Jason's ego skyrocket.

Of course, there's the build-up of tension and straining in Jason's pants right now. He'll get to that later. Right now, he wants to make sure the love of his life is fully satisfied from trying to make her desires become a reality.

Which it has, by the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

my first nsfw thought piece, how'd it go?

#jason todd #jason todd is my life #red hood #jason todd x reader #titans jason todd #dc titans #i love jason todd #jason todd titans #red hood x reader #jason todd headcanon #jason todd smut #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd ff #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd fic #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood smut #red hood fluff #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood headcanon #hc jason todd #red hood dc

[agentmarvel]

Can we have headcanons of fem!reader wife x 141 guys and how they each handle her leaving for girl’s night out in a really skimpy dress?

I think they’d all have hilarious reactions.😂

Omg yesssss

NSFW under the cut

MDNI - 18+

♡ Price:

Oh lord, that man is NOT letting you out of the house.

"Where ya think you're going in that?"

gets a little pissy when you remind him you have one girls night a month, and you have every right to wear whatever you want

"Doesn't mean you have the right to show anyone else what's mine, love."

will physically block the door with his whole body, knowing you won't be able to move him unless he allows it

he isn't mad - no, quite the opposite! it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to rip that damn thing in half and have his way with you right there on the foyer floor

"John, move. I don't want to be late!" - "Shame... You should've thought about that before you put on something you know damn well I can't resist."

he thinks it's cute when you argue with him, but you both know this ends up with your front pressed up against the door, panties pulled to the side, and his cock buried to the hilt inside you

after he cums, he pulls your panties back into place and gives you a harsh swat on the ass, not caring that your make up is a little smudged or that your legs are jello while he's giving you that smug look he wears so well

"Enjoy your night out, Mrs. Price. Hurry home."

♡ Gaz:

he's on you before you even walk out of the bathroom after you finish your hair

wraps his arms around your waist, puts his chin on your shoulder, tells you how pretty you look

"This dress new? Haven't seen it on the floor before."

ohhhhh, he is so down bad for you, even after as long as you've been together

makes it a point to grab a quick selfie bc he knows it's a solid confidence booster, and he wants you to feel as beautiful as you look

it doesn't really cross his mind that anyone would try anything on you - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and he knows who you'll come home to; he knows who's bed you'll be in tonight, who's name you'll be calling in the dark

he even helps you pick the right shoes, even though you know he picks his favorite pair in hopes of seeing you in just those when you get home

ever the gentleman, he walks you out to your car, reminds you to drive safe, call him if you have too much to drink, etc.

he does, however, make it a point to send you some downright raunchy texts and a photo of his more... physical reaction, just in case you needed some motivation to come home a little early

when you get home (early), he's still riled up; he's too impatient to wait for you to make it upstairs, much less to unzip your dress for you, so you end up riding him on the landing until he's too tongue-tied to keep telling you how hot you look

♡ Soap:

you're not making it out of the house. Period.

the SECOND Johnny lays eyes on you, it's over

he's grabby as hell, digging his fingers into any part of you that he can - squeezing your ass, your hips, your thighs, tits, tummy, anything - while he navigates you to the nearest surface

"Yer so fuckin' pretty, baby. Never seen something so fuckin' perfect in my god damn life."

it doesn't matter if you end up on the couch, the kitchen counter, in the back yard; he's eating your pussy like a death row prisoner's last meal until you're crying, trying to wrench his head away with the hair tangled in your fist

he has your dress bunched up around your waist, straps pulled down so he can play with your nipples, but uses the whole garment as leverage while he fucks you stupid

you should've known better than to put a t-bone in front of a starving dog and expect it not to bite

"Go ahead, bonnie; text your little friends, tell them you're not gonna make it, yeah?"

♡ Ghost:

"'course, love. Have fun, be careful, call me if you need a ride."

Simon isn't too worried initially; he knows there isn't going to be a single soul in that bar willing or able to face his wrath should anything untoward happen. but then he actually sees what you're wearing, and all bets are off

that's why he follows you, he tells himself, it has nothing to do with the insatiable urge to destroy your ability to walk tomorrow

nothing trumps your safety, in terms of his priorities. he's simply here to look out for his wife, right?

wrong. he spends the next hour and a half watching you from a darkened corner of the bar while his palms itch with a need to touch

opportunity knocks when you excuse yourself from the table, and he follows you into the restroom, slipping in before you have a chance to lock the door

you're not surprised to see him (duh, you know him better than just about anyone), but you are surprised to find yourself bent over the sink, looking Simon in the eye through his reflection. he's fucking you mercilessly, spewing absolute filth while he pulls your head back by your hair

"My perfect little whore, hmm? Waltzing around in that tiny dress, wearing my fuckin' ring, rubbin' it in everyone's faces that you only open those pretty legs for me."

he wants to cum on your face, but you pout about the possibility of it getting in your eye, or worse, on your dress, so he settles for letting you swallow it instead

his impulses return not much longer after you return to your table; instead, he texts you that he's ready to head out, and you are all too quick to oblige

#john price x reader #john price x you #john price imagine #john price headcanons #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick imagine #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish imagine #johnny soap mactavish headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley headcanons #jj writes

[coolyiooo]

BSD Men : Sitting On Their Face

Pairings: Dazai, Ranpo , Fyodor, Atsushi, Chuuya, and Sigma

❗WARNINGS❗: SMUT, MDNI, oral, twitching, throbbing, moaning, whimpering, begging, rounds, scratching, biting, praise, sadism and etc

🖤DAZAI🖤

Hes been begging and pleading for you to sit on his face for the whole day and you agreed to stop his whining. You knew he just wanted to do it because he would see it as a good way to suffocate and die, but you'll make sure to not make that happen.

You were both on the bed and you had just your bra on while Dazai had his underwear on. He was lying on his back while you were sitting on his face. Your thighs were right by his face and his hands were on your waist. Your hands were clutching tightly onto the headboard while he thrusted his warm tongue into you. He moaned against your cunt and clit which only vibrated against you. He loved your taste and seemed to be really enjoying himself. He looked up at up to see your pleasured face and your beautiful body as he sucked and licked your pussy.

You were moaning while one hand was clenching onto the headboard and the other was pulling Dazai's hair, which only made him moan louder against your clit. He put his hands on your hips to help you lower yourself more and completely sit on him. You gasped as he tried doing this and raised your hips higher, making him whine softly.

"I told you to not do that. I don't want to suffocate you" you panted

"I want to taste you more~ and it would be the best way to go...to be strangled by these soft thighs and cunt of my belladonna~" he chuckles softly while looking up at you and sucking on your clit gently.

You moaned softly "no"

"What if I promise you that I'll let you know when I can't breath?" He kisses your thighs. He still looks up at you, but this time with pleading eyes.

"You know I always keep my promises with you~" he bites your thighs gently with a smirk

"Fine...I trust you" you were still unsure, but you believe him

He sighs in satisfaction "fuck yeah~"

He then forcefully brings your hips completely down on him and moans loudly as he thrusts his tongue into you. This feeling was better than before and you unconsciously rocked your hips back and force slowly.

This made him moan more. He made your hips rock back and forth more quickly. He was getting so turned on that he also began to thrust his hips into nothing. He knew you were close so he flicked your clit quickly with a bit of pressure. Your arched your back as your muscles slowly relaxed more. You lowered yourself completely on his face just like he wanted. He moaned and whimper loudly. He could barely breath, but that wasn't gonna stop him flicking your clit quickly.

After a couple more seconds with his warm tongue on your clit, you came on his face while moaning and twitching. Your thighs trembling against his face gently. He was so turned on that he came in his underwear too. He whimpered loudly and gripped tightly onto your thighs while digging his nails into them. You were breathing heavily and tried to calm down from your high. After you came down from your high, your realized that you were still sitting on Dazai.

You gasped as you remembered and got off of him to let him breath. You looked down at him with a worried expression, but he was smiling genuinely and panting.

"That was amazing~ I thought I was gone for a second...we should do that all the time, Bella~" he chuckled

You pinched his cheek aggressively, making him yelp in pain "you told me that you'd tell me when you couldn't breath! We're never doing that again" you seemed annoyed and a little mad.

He pouted "but, bella~" he whined while hugging you and nuzzling into your neck

You rolled your eyes "just don't scare me like that...next time we'll just be more careful" He sighs "fine" he then smirks and looks at you "you taste amazing by the way, bella~"

💚RANPO💚

You two do this very often since Ranpo loves doing it. He might honestly be addicted to it. He just loves how your soft thighs are by his face and how they twitch often. He loves how you squirm and moan from the pleasure he's giving you. He loves how you clench his hair, but most of all, he loves how you taste and cant get enough of it. He usually keeps going even after you cum a couple of times.

You were sitting on his face as he skillfully licks your wet cunt with a pleasured face and blushed cheeks. Your hands were on the headboard to keep yourself balanced on something while his hands were on your thighs, caressing and squeezing them gently. he's been overstimulating you since he doesn't want to stop.

"So good~ so sweet~ mmn~!" He whimpers against your pussy

You were trembling so much "R-Ranpo- ah~ Its too much~" you whimper

He looks at you with pleading eyes "Please? I can't get enough of you~ mmn~! I need more~"

You can never say no to him when he looks at you like that but you were being overstimulated "I can't go on any longer~"

"Please~? One more? You look so cute like this~" he begs

You sigh and nod as he continues to eat you out. He moans and whimpers loudly against your clit which only vibrates against it. He made sure to slide his tongue deep inside you as far as he can to taste more of you and make you feel better. There was a tent in his pants thats already soaked from his precum. His cock was Throbbing aggressively inside his boxers since he was so turned on right now. Your moans and trembling was about to make him cum alone.

He then moved his tongue faster to make you cum again. He needed to taste your climax and needed you to do it on his face. His tongue moved in almost a desperate pace. You moaned loudly and clenched his hair. He whimpered against your clit and you finally hit your limit. You moaned loudly as you came on him and arched your back. He whimpered loudly and came in his boxers from how aroused he was at the sight, taste, and sensation.

He was panting heavily as you got off of him and laid down next to him "That was amazing~ you taste so sweet, sugar~" he smiled brightly.

He was hugging you tightly as you breathed heavily "You always say 'one more' but you never mean it" you panted.

"Your taste is so addictive. I can't help myself" he nuzzled into your neck like a child. He then Smirks "I don't ever leave you unsatisfied though, right?"

You blush and sighed while looking away. You shook your head 'no'. He smiled in a prideful manner "That's what I thought~"

💜FYODOR💜

Surprisingly he was the one that wanted to do it and of coursed your agreed. You wouldn't have thought he would suggest it but your not complaining. Little did you know why he suggested it was because he just wanted to see you break with just his tongue and he would be getting a good view when doing so.

Here you both were on the bed and you sitting in his face. His hair was tangled and messed up because of how much you've been clenching it. He didn't mind it at all if anything he loved the feeling of his hair being pulled by you in such an intimate situation. His hands were on your hips to keep you still since you were squirming. He was pretty talented with his tongue and he knew how to use it on your wet cunt.

He looked up at you as you were moaning and trembling from how impressive his tongue worked on you. He had a smile on his face "You look so voluptuous in this angle, moya lyubov~"

You couldn't really respond and didn't even know how to respond to that comment. You blushed and clenched tighter on his hair which only made him release a low moan as he smiled pridefully "So defenseless, vulnerable, and adorable~ I love it~" he said as your thighs trembled in-between his face.

"Your such a sadist~" you groaned softly

Your comment only made him smirk more and flick his tongue faster on your clit. You moaned and trembled more as you felt your climax reaching at a fast pace.

"Your close aren't you, Myshka~? Mmn~ look at me~" he said as he looked up at you and you looked down at him with an overwhelming expression.

He made eye contact with you as he sucked on your clit while using his tongue to circle around it quickly. You came aggressively on his tongue with a loud moan and quivering intensely. He was completely aroused by this sight and all he could do was just dig his nails into your hips and moan deeply. He wanted more. He wanted to see you break even more.

"Why do you taste extraordinary~? Perhaps one more round wouldn't hurt~" he gently sucked on your clit more

You gasped and whimpered "Ngh~! F-Fedya, it's too much~" your body trembled more

"How can I stop when you look so cute and taste so good~? Just one more time, lyubov~" he smirked and shoved his tongue into your sensitive cunt.

"I-im- ah~! overstimulating~" you whimpered \

He smile brightly with pride and caressed your thighs up and down to tease you more. He didn't stop his tongue from moving, if anything, he went faster. He really did like how you tasted "I love it when you lose yourself completely because of me~ so just let me live this moment for awhile longer, okay Myshka~?"

💙ATSUSHI💙

You two were on bed about to get intimate when suddenly you suggested the idea to him. He widen his eyes and blushed when he imagined it in his head, but he nodded and said yes. He could never say no to you and it's not like he hated the idea, he just didn't know what to expect from this experience. He laid down on his back as you wrapped your legs around his shoulders and face to sit on him.

The feeling of you all over him was remarkable and the way you tasted was wonderful to him. He was closing his eyes to embrace the feeling of your twitching, warm thighs around him. His tongue thrusted inside you deeply and switching to flicking your clit gently. Your moaning were only making him feel excited and made him squeeze your thighs gently.

He looked up at you and blushed from the sight "You look so beautiful~" he mumbled against your cunt which vibrated on your clit

You sighed and moaned as you gently clenched his hair "Your doing amazing~ mmn~ it feels so good~"

He was starting to lose his mind a little. He was liking this experience way more than he thought he would. He brought your hips down closer to his face and lifted his head gently to be in complete contact with your cunt. His tongue went deeper inside of you almost as if he was desperate to taste more you. His tongue was warm and making you tremble more. You moaned more louder and tighten your grip on his hair. You gripping on his hair was making him more aroused and his pants tighter. He moaned a lot, making your clit and cunt feel vibrations against them and making the pleasure even better.

"Ah~! A-Atsushi~" you arched your back while moaning loudly

When you moaned his name, it only made him be more rough. It was like he was becoming addicted to you completely. He squeezed your thighs and waist since he was feeling turned on by the situation as well. There's nothing more that turns him on than being able to satisfy you. "You taste a-amazing~ mmn~! I'm sorry I can't control- ngh~"

The way his tongue teased you was like it was his last meal. He moved his tongue into you desperate to get a taste of you. You were at your limit now. You held onto his hair tightly and moaned "Ngh~ I can't- I'm gonna- ah~ c-cum~"

A few more seconds of his tongue circling around your clit and you came all over his tongue with a loud moan. Your thighs and cunt throbbing on his face and your moans made him cum with you. He whimpered loudly and dug his nails into your waist.

You were both panting and twitching against each other from the intense orgasms you both just experienced. He looked up at you and smiled tiredly. His hands were still on your waist, but they were no longer squeezing you "C-can we do that again? Of course, if you want to" he panted slightly

You widen your eyes a bit. Your heart slowly down "You like it that much?"

He nods and looks away embarrassed with blushed cheeks "y-yeah, I enjoyed it"

How could you say no to your sweet boyfriend? It felt amazing as well so you wouldn't mind. It's a good thing he loved this experience. You smiled kindly "Alright then...please keep going"

His eyes shine with gratitude and happiness as he gently brought your hips towards his lips again. His tongue gently and slowly licking your cunt again to not overwhelm you too much.

You moaned softly and his eyes had a lustful gaze "Mmn~ I r-really like this~ just tell me if it's too much for you, ok?"

🧡CHUUYA🧡

You were the one that suggested it first. Chuuya was first surprised, but then he smirked slightly and agreed to it. Of course he would agree to this. So here you two were on the bed with you on his face. He was loving every second of this experience. The warmth of your body all over his face was addicting. Your legs wrapped around his shoulders and your thighs by his face as you shake from the euphoric sensation he was giving you. Your moans were music to his ears. The way you messed up his hair from pulling on it. The way he could see your whole body from this angle.

He smiled slightly as he tried to push his tongue as deep as he can into your throbbing pussy. Your taste was enough to get him hard and throb in his pants.

He looked at you at awe As you arched your back and moaned "Wow, your so fucking breathtaking~"

Your legs involuntarily squeeze his head gently from the ecstasy you were feeling which only made him chuckle softly and moan lowly. "Does it feel that good~? Ngh~ Your so cute when I feel your legs quiver~"

You whimpered and closed your eyes "It feels amazing~"

He smirked slightly "I can tell, doll~ god, why do you taste sweet, huh~? Your just asking for me to be addicted"

He used his ability to make you push deeper into his face which only made the pleasure stronger and unbearable for you. It didn't help that as he was using his ability, he used his hands to caress your whole body. He caressed your rear, back, stomach and chest. He was driving you insane and you were close to cumming. You whimpered loudly which only made him use his tongue in a quick pace. You clenched his hair tightly, making him groan against your clit. His groan vibrating on it.

You couldn't bear the pleasure anymore "Agh~! I-im about to~!"

"Hold it for just a bit longer, doll~ I want to taste you more~" he moved his tongue more slowly

You were breathing heavily "B-but I don't know if- ah~! I can~" you were quivering aggressively

"Please, doll~? I don't want this to end so soon~" he said as he caressed and squeezed your thighs gently.

You just nodded to respond to his question making his eyes brighten up with excitement. He sucked on your clit gently and used his tongue flick it slowly. You were a whimpering mess and gripping harshly on his hair.

He moaned "I can't get enough of you, darling~ ngh~ my God~"

He began to caress your whole body again and squeezing gently when he touched your rear, chest, and thighs. Your body was perfect in his eyes so of course he'd treat you in the best condition. The sensation was too much for you to handle. You closed your eyes shut and moaned loudly

Your thighs trembling violently against his face "I can't anymore- Chuuya~!"

You then came all over his tongue as your whimpered. The sight was too much for him to bear, so he groaned and came inside his pants. His nails digging into your thighs and your hair pulling on his hair. The pleasure was amazing and like a heaven on earth.

You were both panting and throbbing as you calmed down. You laid down next to him while your body was feeling tired. He pull you close to him as he kissed your forehead with a soft smile.

"Aren't I a lucky man...your so lewd yet adorable, doll~" You blushed and were too tired to speak. So all you did was rest your head on his chest and close your eyes. He widen his eyes slightly, but the. Quickly hugged you tightly.

He closed his eyes and sighed in satisfaction "I really am a lucky man"

💛SIGMA💛

You were the one that wanted to try it out and he blushed a lot when you told him what you wanted to do, but he agreed. When he agreed, he didn't have high expectations for it for himself but little did he know that he would love it. You were both on the couch and you sat on his face. Your hands gripped tightly on the couch cushions and his luscious hair. He was using his tongue to flick and tease your clit and cunt. You were moaning and whimpering from the pleasure he was giving you.

"Does it feel good, dear?" He looks up at you for confirmation

"Yeah~ ah~ your doing amazing~" you moaned softly

You begin to move your hips slightly which only made the sensation feel even better. Your legs trembled more and he felt how aggressive your trembling was on your thighs that was on his face and shoulders. The feeling was provocative.

"Mmn~ It feels nice when you tremble, dear" he moans softly

You blushed and moaned more from the comment. From this angle, He thought you looked so erotic. He was becoming aroused.

"Do you like it when I do this~?" He then sucked on your clit gently and moved his tongue in a fast circular motion.

Your eyes widen as you gasped. You whimpered loudly "Ah~! Y-yes~"

You clenched his hair tightly which made him groan against your clit. The vibration from his groan to your clit made the pleasure even better. The way your legs were trembling, the sight, your taste, your moans and you clenching his hair was making this experience pleasurable. He was starting to loose control and become addicted to this feeling. You moaned louder as he moved his tongue faster

"You look so beautiful, dear~ ngh~ your taste is... intoxicating~" he moaned softly

He wanted to taste you more and make you more over the edge. He grabbed your hips and brought them lower to his face as he used his tongue in a more rough pace. The sensation was better than before and you moaned louder as you felt your release approaching. His hands were gripping tightly onto your flesh to keep your hips still.

"Too good~ mmn~! I'm gonna cum~" you moaned as you then instantly came on his tongue and your whole body shivered.

He looked at your face as you came on him. The way you cum aroused him so much, he almost came just from the sight. As your were calming down from your high and breathing heavily, he was panting slightly "That was...i enjoyed that more than I thought" he smiled softly.

You raised your brows and smirked slightly "You liked it?"

He chuckled softly "Yes, dear...i can get used to this"

He then suddenly felt the urge to do this all over again. He didn't want this to end so soon. He looked up at you with a small blush "Maybe just one more taste, dear?"

#bsd fyodor #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd ranpo #bsd smut #bsd atsushi #bungo stray dogs dazai #bsd x reader #bsd chuuya #bungo stray dogs #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd dazai #bsd sigma #bsd #dazai smut #atsushi smut #ranpo smut #fyodor smut #chuuya smut #bungou stray dogs smut #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs headcanons #sigma smut #sigma #osamu dazai x reader #chuuya nakahara #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x reader #ranpo x reader #chuuya 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

[whinesandwhimpers]

cw; victim overtaking kidnapper mid-fucking, choking—almost passing out, breeding kink

stalker!reader who manages to kidnap Soap but does a terrible job of tying him up so when he wakes up to you bouncing on his cock he easily breaks his binds and harshly grabs your hips and starts thrusting up into you.

"This what ye wanted, Lass?"

You gasp as he flips you both over and continues roughly fucking into you, pawing at your tits and pinching your nipples, making you arch your back and release a loud moan.

"Please, please—"

He folds you in half, hitting deeper inside you, wraps a hand around your neck and applies a little pressure, making your eyes snap open to see he's already watching you, teeth bared like a wild animal.

"That's it. Ye want me so you'll take whatever I give ye, filthy fuckin' girl." He snarls and presses harder against your neck, effectively cutting off your oxygen.

Your building orgasm mixes with pure panic as you claw at his arm to no avail.

When your vision starts to dot black and your eyes close, he releases your neck, his hand flying down to rub fast, harsh circles on your clit.

Between your arms sprawling out to clench the sheets and taking his rough pounding(quite literally rocking the bed), you manage a few gasps for air before you're crying out as you reach climax and cum on his cock.

"Ye want my bairn too, aye? Want a big, swollen belly until you're pushing him out of this pretty cunt, aye?" He pulls out of you, flips you over, lifts your ass up before he's driving his dick right back inside you. He grabs your tits and pulls you up, your back flush against his chest, squeezing the flesh and pulling your nipples. He puts his mouth next to your ear, through the sounds of your squelching pussy and his body smacking against yours with every thrust, you manage to hear the low words, a promise that sends shivers through you. "Aye, I can do that. I'll keep you stuffed full of my cock and my cum 'til there's a whole litter of 'em running 'round."

You whine and clench around his cock, your head slumping back against his shoulder as he fucks you to your second orgasm. You bring a hand up to hold onto the back of his neck, making him hiss when you dig your nails in.

"Knew you were—were perfect." You huff out, eyes squeezing shut.

He growls and turns your head and kisses you roughly, biting your bottom lip until it bleeds. When you moan against his mouth at a particularly rough thrust, he groans and slams inside you to the hilt, coating your walls and filling you up with his warm cum.

The feeling of him cumming inside you is enough to send you over the edge, your second orgasm hitting you harder than the first, making you scream.

He holds you on his cock as you come back down from the high, then follows you as you slump forward onto the bed, laying on top of you and keeping his cock buried inside you. He murmurs in your ear about keeping you plugged up so it takes before he nuzzles his cheek against your back and falls asleep.

You can't help but clench around his cock at how he just bred you and how he promises to keep breeding you, causing him to let out a little whimper in his sleep, and though you should feel like you're being crushed by this large mass of a man, you're quite comfortable with him on top of you and fall blissfully asleep.

#john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #casual stalker!reader evolved into ehatever this is #my pussy wrote this #LMAOO #my writing

[familyvideostevie]

a kind of hunger | chapter 2

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

an offer from your employer sets your life on track and throws it into a new kind of chaos at the same time. where does joel miller fit into it all?

length: 5.9k

Warnings: 18+ smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, heavy petting, joel having a moment with r's tits, hand stuff, dirty talk, painful sex for a second, riding (p in v sex), like a really small smidge of breeding kink, emotional turmoil from r cause what else is she gonna do, some plot! wow! a/n: finally! another chapter. it’s short but i think we’re getting somewhere. Let me know what you think! huge thank you to @macfrog for your eyes and for keeping my sanity in check and @bageldaddy for teaching me how to use commas, letting me borrow your bar, and telling me to just “slutty hallmark it.” this is for you guys. 

navigation | 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀

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Bill’s offer costs you one night of sleep and that’s all.

Taking over the bar goes against every rule you've had for yourself up until now, everything that’s kept you going and on your feet.

You lose when you stick around. You get hurt when you get attached. Always keep moving. 

But your night with Joel seems to have shaken something loose. You’ve got a pit in your stomach, a hunger set alight by his eyes and his hands and his attention. It’s like he reminded you how to want, how to stop letting the world turn under your feet and dig in your heels instead.

And there’s what Bill said, the thing that won't leave you alone. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice.

It’s easy to lie to yourself about a lot of things: that you don’t mind this life, its constant movement and instability. That it’s made you crafty. That if you picked up and left right now, you’d be fine. No one would miss you, no one would notice. The names and faces you’ve learned would fade as soon as you found new ones somewhere else. 

You’ve been a tight fist your whole life, only hanging onto what can fit into your rough and weathered palm, half-moon crescents bleeding that damn desperate hope you can never seem to scrub off. It means a whole lot of avoiding things that could matter so you can’t lose them, can’t let them slip through your fingers. A family who saw your need for space and control and turned it into isolation and disinterest, who drove you away as soon as you were able to leave. College was a bust. Relationships gone sour have taught you not to rely on anyone. Failed experiment after failed experiment, just looking for something to stick. It’s better to be alone, right?

That tight fist keeps anyone out, anyway. It’s carefully rolled bills in plastic bags in the toe of a pair of sneakers just in case. It’s talking just enough to get you a place to stay, a job, a ride, but not enough that anyone remembers your face, even if you wish they would. 

It’s not one big thing. It’s a million small ones. And nothing ever lasts. You never last; always cutting and running before it can get real, before they can see the truth of you and find it lacking.

You’ve been looking for the missing piece for years now, the thing that will make you feel like you’ve finally made it somewhere where you’re needed enough to stick around. Where you can stop quitting, where you can put down roots. Where you can be wanted.

You just aren’t sure it’s possible. You’ve done so many things, seen so much, that you feel like it’s too late to be anything other than this.

It’s easy to believe all of that until someone like Joel sees through it – until someone like Bill tells you none of it is true. 

Fuck it. 

You call Bill the next morning and tell him you'll take over Frank's. 

According to him, the turnaround will be quick. He'll have someone "official" draw up the paperwork. You tell him you won't change the name. You tell him you will make some repairs, fix the cracked vinyl booths, and give the floors a refinish, and –

"Do whatever the fuck you want," he grumbles over the phone. "It's your bar."

It sure is. 

You own something, now. You belong somewhere – even if it’s just because you have payslips to sign and counters to clean. But maybe this time, if you try hard enough, you can get it right.

You have a meeting to tell the staff that you’re taking over. There are only five of you – two college kids from a town over, the guy who works part-time at the garage by the highway, and an old butch called Pat you find vaguely frightening who’s been working here longer than you care to ask. 

It’s probably the first time all five of you have been in the same room. None of them seem disappointed in Bill’s retirement, and they’re on board with your plan for renovations. Especially after you assure them they’ll be paid even if you close for a bit to get it all done.

Joel doesn't come in. You notice, but don’t spare it too much thought. You can’t because the bar is a fucking nightmare all week.

The keg lines keep blocking, the jukebox dies a sudden staticky death, and some asshole scratches the pool table hard enough to tear up the felt. Everyone and everything is pissing you off. It’s an effort not to spend all of your breaks on that milk crate in the alley with your head in your hands. 

It feels like Frank’s is hazing you. After all you’ve done for it, you feel a little betrayed.

“Why the hell do you think I’m retiring?” Bill says when you call to bitch about it. “This shit is a fuck ton of work.” 

By Friday, you're at your wit's end. 

The rush has come and gone, and now it’s slow. Slow enough that you might be worried, but Pat has told you before that this is just how it is in small towns, sometimes. 

That, or maybe your bad mood scared everyone off. Maybe they're tired of the shitty atmosphere, of the cloudy glasses and squeaking stools, maybe they –

You pop an olive into your mouth.

“Chill the fuck out,” you mutter to yourself. No one is around to hear.

The only patrons left are some bikers at one of the back tables playing cards. Their laughter is too loud without the music going. The mats behind the bar are sticky under your boots, and your temple has started to throb. You feel like locking yourself in the office just for the silence.

The air shifts when Joel steps inside.

The hunger you feel is a familiar fire, coals that stoke themselves and never go out. Lust, infatuation as you take in his broad shoulders and grey-streaked hair. You’re strung out and a fuck might help.

But there’s also a weight in your chest at the sight of him, one you haven’t felt in a while. It sits heavy above that smoldering flame in your belly, a bruise you can’t stop yourself from pressing on.

Maybe part of you expected him to stop coming in after you fucked. Regardless of how it made you feel, you’re just some woman who serves him two fingers of liquor when he wants to run away from his life. Just someone who gave him one good night and nothing more.

But this weight – this big, thorny emotion that looks like affection and attachment and something real – you don’t know what to do with it. 

It’s never been this way with a one-night stand. Yeah, you know the weight of him above you, inside you. You know the taste of his sweat on your tongue, the feel of his head between your thighs. That kind of shit usually doesn’t change anything with you, but Joel is…different. 

Careful, that voice inside you says. 

Joel peels off his jacket and tosses it on the otherwise empty bar, pushing up his sleeves to reveal his tanned forearms. The stool creaks under him and his gaze is heated as it travels over you. He doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s looking. 

He shakes his head when you hold up the bottle of whiskey. 

"Water's fine," he says.

You blink. If he’s not here to drink then what is he here for?

He seems like he always does. Relaxed, like the room was made to have him in it. But you look a little closer, now that you figure you can. The deep scar on the bridge of his nose stands out and his cheeks are a little pink. The temperature must have dropped once the sun went down. His jaw isn’t tense so much as set, determined. He rubs his chin with a flat palm as you fill a glass using the soda gun.

“Whatever you want,” you say. 

He looks around the bar. You figure he's taking in the out-of-order signs on the beer pulls, the flickering light pointing to the restroom, maybe even the goddamn ruined pool table. 

You pick up a rag and start to clean to keep your hands busy. 

 “Quiet for a Friday,” he says. "Things goin’ alright?”

You bristle at the implication. It’s been a shitty week, and you don’t need anyone reminding you that you’re probably not cut out for this.

“Fucking peachy,” you snap.

Joel raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t rise to it. "Seems like things are a little tense.”

You swallow a flash of genuine annoyance. 

"All it takes is a roll in the sack and now you're a talker?"

Joel isn't phased. He takes a small sip of his drink, rolls the glass between his hands. Nice hands, you think. Hands that felt so good between your --

"Just makin’ conversation," he says lightly.

You’ve always thought you were hard to read – hell, you’ve been told that many times. One of your flaws, people always say, but it makes it easier to slide in and out of places without too much damage. And yet, Joel, a man who has been in your bed once and sits at your bar when it suits him, sees right through you.

Your shoulders slump.

“I’m just tired,” you tell him.

Joel rubs his beard with one wide palm. He moves his jaw back and forth like he's giving you the chance to shut him down, like he’s chewing on the silence.

"Heard somethin'," he says. "Wondered if it was true. Thought I'd ask." 

"Are you asking?"

He eyes you, takes another sip of his water like it's a tumbler of amber liquid instead. Like anything you pour him is something to be savored.

"Guess so." 

You set the glass down and put your hands on the wood, leaning towards him with your head cocked. 

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Joel Miller?”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flashing before they slide down to your lips. “Ran into Frank in the frozen aisle at the store.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. "Known him and Bill a long time." 

That explains why he looks like he belongs here. He's probably been in this room more times than you have. All of the things you don't know about Joel hang in the air between you.

"Does Bill...?" 

Does your buddy know you fucked me in the apartment I rent from him?

Joel shakes his head. "Frank told me Bill was giving the place to one of his employees. Figured it was you."

And that’s that. But it sounds like a compliment.

“Well, it’s me alright,” you sigh, slumping a bit. “And there's a lot of shit to do.”

Joel puts a hand on your forearm. It's a light touch, a quick one, but it sends sparks along your skin. A moth to a flame.

“Ain’t no small thing. Ownin’ a bar. Big deal, if you ask me.”

You roll your eyes but pride swells in your chest. He’s right. It is a big deal. 

And here you are in your bar.

With Joel, who fits into all of this somehow. You just don’t know where yet.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask you,” you say with a smirk.

You want to draw it out of him, make him flirt with you for the answers he seems to want. You want something to sink your teeth into after this week, something to play with.

Something to make you feel in control. And that’s what Joel gave you, last time you saw him. He pushed when you pulled, met your touches and your quips with attitude and hands of his own. You felt alive, you felt present. You felt wanted. And it was fun.

If you’re not careful, you might forget what sex was like without that – his attention, his touch. Your name in his mouth. But now that you’re giving staying here a shot, maybe it’s time to indulge. To reach out and take.

Joel snorts. He leans forward and raps his knuckles on the wood. “Should we toast to it?”

You laugh. “I don’t drink on the job.”

He raises his water glass.

“Alright,” you scoff. “Fine.” 

You pour yourself some water and clink your glasses together. Joel’s eyes never leave yours, not when he takes a long sip, not when he sets the glass down. He keeps looking at you with that heavy, unshakable gaze. 

It’s unnerving, the way he makes you feel. You’re still tired, still annoyed, but there's electricity at the base of your spine, the embers in your belly. You want to talk to him. 

You clench your hands around your glass. You want to touch him, too.

“So,” you say. He’s wearing a henley this time, the buttons at the top undone just enough to give you a glimpse of a peak of chest hair. You swallow and flick your eyes back to his. He’s smirking. 

“So,” Joel echoes. “Why’d you take it? The bar.”

You shrug. “Seemed like a good deal.”

“Bill ain’t in the habit of good deals,” he huffs. “He must like you.”

It’s an effort to squash your smile. “I don’t think Bill likes anyone much.”

“Real asshole, ain’t he?” 

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well, he’s your friend.”

“Not much choice in a small town.”

You hum.

The noisy group from the back stumble their way to the door, waving at you as they file out into the night.

“Those idiots ruined my pool table on Tuesday,” you hiss, though you smile at them.

“Gotta be pretty fuckin’ bad at pool to do that.” He looks around and realizes he’s the last one in the bar. “You closin’?”

“It’s only eleven, Joel.” 

His eyes rake up and down your body. Is he thinking about how he touched you, how you fell apart under him? Heat curls lazily in your belly. He runs his finger around the rim of his glass.

“Damn shame,” he says. 

Normally you wouldn’t shut for a few hours, but it’s pretty dead for a Friday and…

And Joel is looking at you like that and you want to touch him.

You don’t mess around with regulars.

You’re already breaking your rules by taking over Frank’s. What’s one more?

The pulse between your legs agrees with you.

“Colin,” you call over your shoulder, stepping back from Joel’s hot gaze. The barback appears immediately.

“Yeah?”

“I’m shutting early. Go home. Tonight’s tips are yours.”

He sputters. “Are you sure?” His gaze flicks to the stacks of glasses behind the bar, the tables that still need wiping down.

“I’ll take care of it. See you next week.” 

He just shrugs and turns on his heel. A minute later the back door slams and you know the kid is gone.

You lift the bridge and slide out from behind the bar. Your boots are loud on the shitty floors with no one in here and each step to the door feels longer than it should because of his damn stare. You feel Joel’s eyes on you as you lock the door and flick off the neon BAR sign that hangs outside.

When you turn around, his eyes are dark.

Joel stays on his stool, one foot on the ground so that his knees are spread wide, watching you. One hand rests on his thigh, thick fingers tapping to a tune only he hears. His other arm is on the wood of the bar, stretching his shirt across his broad chest. 

When Joel looks at you, sometimes it feels like he’s the first person to ever see you.

“Gotta settle up,” he drawls.

“What, you gonna tip me for water?”

“Not exactly,” he says, words dragging in his mouth. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

The air in the bar sparks and crackles like one of those long Texas summer days when a thunderstorm looms like a threat. The electricity of it crackles down your spine, turns it molten, turns you dangerous. It’s never felt like this before with someone you’ve slept with. Just being close to him is enough to kick your pulse into gear. You feel hyper aware of every part of your body as he looks at you like you’re offering him something better than what you can pour.

Which, you guess, you are. 

“And what would that be?” 

He hums.

“C’mere.”

You can see his cock straining against the front of his jeans. 

“Bossy,” you say. “That for me?” You jerk your chin towards his lap and take your time walking back to him.

He smirks. “You wanna go upstairs?”

As soon as you step between his knees, the hand on his leg moves to your hip. Two fingers sneak under the waistband of your jeans to find bare skin. You brace yourself with one palm on his thigh, another on his neck, and thread his soft hair through your fingers.

“I don’t see why we have to,” you say slowly, watching him carefully. “No one’s here. And I know the owner. She won’t mind.”

The hand on your hip slides further back and his fingers press hard into the swell of your ass. 

“Oh, that right?” he chuckles. “Well, as long as we ain’t breakin’ any rules.”

You’re not sure who moves first. You’ve got a few inches on him by being on your feet so you pull him towards you just as he surges up and your mouths meet sloppily, hungrily. Joel tugs you closer and you dig your fingers into his thigh as he swallows your giddy laugh, his beard scratching your skin deliciously.

You’re going to fuck him. In your bar. 

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, lips trailing over your jaw. He’s got both hands on you now, one on your ass and the other on your hip, holding you like he expects you to disappear.

“No, not really–” You cut yourself off with a gasp when he nips your pulse point. “Joel.”

He kisses you again, licking into your mouth. You remember the sounds he made in your apartment and tug on his hair. Joel’s moan is your reward. You press close and grind your hips against the hardness in his jeans and he growls.

“Hard as a rock the second I step in this damn place,” he says, holding you there. You pull back to see his lips spit-slick, his pupils blown. Seeing him undone like this by your touch is just as thrilling as it was last time. His teeth scrape down your neck and he unbuttons your jeans.

“Sounds like a – ah – you problem.”

Joel’s fingers drag through the curls above your cunt before he goes where you really want him. You gasp against his temple when he circles your clit.

“Seems to me I’m not the only one,” he rasps.

The fingertips on his thigh become nails digging in even harder when he slips one finger inside you.

“Gonna leave bruises, sweetheart,” Joel says. Your cunt clenches around him. “You like that? Markin’ me?”

“Maybe I do,” you groan. “You left some last time.”

The angle can’t be ideal but Joel fucks you as best as he can with one finger, then two. You drag his face back to yours and suck on his bottom lip, tugging his hair all the while. Every part of you feels like it’s on fire, like you’re burning up from the inside. 

His other hand rucks up your shirt until you tug it all the way off. He pulls down the cup of your bra with one hand and rolls your nipple between his fingers. 

You could come like this, Joel’s hands everywhere. 

Gripping him through his clothes isn’t enough. You scramble to undo his belt and get your hand in his jeans, button popped and fly down. 

He grunts your name when you spit into your palm and take him in hand, velvety soft and tip leaking. 

“Careful,” he hisses. “Don’t want to stop this before it starts.”

“I’ll be gentle,” you say. He thumbs your clit in response and you gasp.

Time blurs with his fingers inside you. Your strokes are lazy but he hisses each time you drag your thumb over his tip. Is it going to be this, you two pawing at each other against the bar until someone bursts?

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I want –”

He finally returns to your clit with a strained smirk. The veins in his neck are visible, telling you it’s getting to him, too. 

“You remember what I said last time?”

Ask for what you want, you hear me? You ask and I'll do my damn best.

You could have him bend you over the bar. You imagine it, quick and dirty, the wood digging into your waist as he slams into you, flesh on flesh. It would be better than last time, you know it. But you want to see him.

You want Joel’s face in your neck, your hands in his hair as he fills you up. You want to watch him fall apart under you.

You dig your nails into him again and he hisses. You lean forward so your lips drag along the shell of his ear.

“I want to ride you, Joel,” you say. 

His eyes flash. He kisses you hard, swirls your clit one more time, and pulls his hand from your cunt. Your knees feel a little weak so you keep your hands on his shoulders. 

Joel brings his fingers to his mouth and licks them clean.

“Gotta get at least a taste,” he says. “Just as sweet as I remember.” You surge forward to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue and he groans into your mouth.

“Alright, baby,” he says, breath a little ragged. He thumbs your nipple again. “Where’re you gonna ride me?”

“Booth,” you manage. “Over there.” You jerk your head back towards the cracked vinyl seats he’s never once sat in since you met him. He pats your hips and you step back. The stool scrapes loudly on the floor as he stands. 

He cups your cheek with one callused palm and just looks. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen from your kisses. And yet he’s looking at you like you’re the answer to all his problems. 

“So damn pretty,” he says.

Somehow you make it to the booth, a tangle of lips and hands, shedding pieces of clothing as you go. Your bra, his shirt, his belt. Shoes toed off and left in a pile, Joel shoves the table between the vinyl benches to the other side so there’s enough room for him to sit, for him to drag down his jeans and boxers and take his cock in one hand. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of it. God, he’s thicker than you remember. One of these days you’re going to take him apart with your tongue.

You could just stand there and admire him but you’re so wet you think you’re going to drip onto the floor. His solid thighs, the dark hair gathered into curls at the base of him trailing up to his navel. If you were a painter you’d put him to a canvas.

Joel spreads his legs wide, and you run a hand down his bare chest before balancing on his shoulder as you step out of your bottoms. It’s almost funny – the two of you naked but for your socks, Joel’s pants around his ankles.

You want him too badly to spare a thought for laughter.

A condom comes from somewhere – his wallet, maybe, or his pocket, you don’t much care – and he slides it on with a hiss. 

It’s different than last time. More desperate but in a fun way – and you know this won’t be the last time. You know each other’s bodies, now, and this can be quick, can be dirty, because you’ll be doing it again.

So you don’t waste any time straddling him. Joel lines his cock up with your entrance, his other hand on your hip.

“You ready?” he asks. You lean in to kiss him and sink down at the same time in response.

You moan in tandem as he fills you, the angle different from when you were on your back, so different. The stretch is deeper, and somehow you feel fuller than last time. It’s overwhelming, it’s all-consuming, it’s a little painful.

“Fuck,” Joel groans. “So tight. I ain’t gonna last long.” 

It really is a tight fit, so tight you think maybe he was right to ask if you could take him without at least one orgasm to prepare you. The girth of him is splitting you in half, stretching you so much you whimper against his mouth.

Joel’s hands cup your face. “Y’okay?” he says, strained. “Hey, talk to me.”

Your eyes are shut tight, knees pressing hard into his solid thighs as you breathe.

“Need a sec,” you say. “It’s different like this, it’s –”

“I know, baby,” Joel murmurs. “Doin’ so good so far.” 

He shifts his hold on you just a little and you whine. The vinyl cracks underneath his shifted weight as he whispers an apology into your shoulder.

The pain of the stretch dulls to an ache and you know what’s just on the other side. You roll your hips and the head of his cock presses exactly where you want it. It sends a shock wave of pleasure through you so intense that you fall forward a little, Joel’s face pressed to your chest.

He presses a kiss to your breastbone, so light you almost miss it as you start to ride him in earnest. Your knees press into the rough vinyl and Joel’s lips find your nipple. 

“Didn’t give these ‘nough attention last time,” he says. “My mistake.”

His tongue laves at your breasts, one after the other as you swirl your hips over and over. You tug on his hair as your thighs start to burn but you keep going. 

Joel’s teeth scrape against your nipples, the skin of your chest as he nips and soothes, nips and soothes. You’re going to be covered in marks tomorrow. 

Maybe it’s the thrill of that, of just seeing him again, maybe it’s how bad you want him, who fucking knows – you’re already so close.

Everything fades away but this. Joel is everywhere, on you, around you, inside you…It’s just the two of you, limbs tangled and sweaty, panting each other’s name.

The smoldering in your belly is a fire climbing higher and higher and you’re going to explode with the heat of it.

Firm, rough-skinned hands hold you steady as you lift and sink, gasping every time he hits that spot inside you. 

“Joel, I –”

His grip turns bruising as he starts to fuck you on his own, the wet smack of his balls filling the bar.

“I know, baby,” he pants. “I know. You hear that? You hear me fuckin’ you? You’re takin’ my cock so good.”

You plant your hands on his shoulders and try to meet his thrusts.

“Swear I dreamed ‘bout this,” he growls. “How wet you were. Those fuckin’ noises you make when I –” He circles your clit with his thumb and you keen. “There we go. Just like that.”

“Joel –

“Gonna ruin this booth,” he says with a rough chuckle. His forehead is tacky when you press yours against it.

“I – fuck – need new ones anyway, don’t I?” 

Joel grins, all teeth as he pounds into you. 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says, breath hot on your lips. “Soak my cock. Know you can, so tight and –”

Your orgasm rips through you, a broken litany of Joel and yes and god knows what else torn from your throat as he fucks you through it. His thrusts become erratic and you try to keep your seat as he finishes with a deep groan. 

Joel presses more of those light kisses to your collarbones, the base of your throat, so like the one he left on the back of your hand that first night. You drag your fingers through his slightly sweaty hair.

“I’ll move in a second,” you say, catching your breath. 

“Take your time,” he says. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” 

His grip on you is practically gentle, fingers lazily stroking patterns into your skin. You drag a hand up and down his chest. 

It’s tender. It’s…something it maybe shouldn’t be. Something that doesn’t belong in whatever you’re doing. 

You get out of his lap as carefully as you can and stand in front of him, naked. Fucking with a condom is smart and all, but you wonder what it would feel like to have him dripping between your thighs.

He doesn’t hide his stare, though it’s not as charged as before. He’s looking just to look.

“Put your pants on,” you grumble at him. He laughs. 

You scoop your clothes off the floor and head for the bathroom. The tarnished mirror displays your sated smile and bright eyes. You run a hand over the bruises he left on your neck, your hips. Well-fucked is a good look on you. You look exhausted but happy.

Joel is dressed and back at the tabletop when you return. He’s got his usual bottle of whiskey on the wood, two glasses already sporting a pour each. 

“Not workin’ anymore, are you?” he asks you. 

You laugh. “No.”

The soreness starts to settle into your thighs when you take the stool next to him.

The momentary silence isn’t uncomfortable. It is comfortable, which is the strange part. Sitting here with him at your bar after he fucked you a few feet away and sipping at your drinks. 

Joel, for his part, seems unbothered. You can’t figure him out. It makes you feel a little unsteady to know that he sees right through you, but you don’t know what he’s thinking. Would he tell you if you asked?

“So,” he says. “What’re your plans for the place?”

You sigh. A piece of his hair is sticking up and you tuck your hand between your thighs so you don’t smooth it. It’s different with your clothes on.

“There’s a lot to do,” you tell him. “Jukebox is broken. Neon signs need replacing. Plumbing could do with a refresh. I want to refinish the floors, maybe tear off this ugly wallpaper –”

“Make sure you get a good gel for that,” he says. “Shit’s old and won’t come off easy.”

You lean your chin in your hand and shoot him an amused look. 

“Do a lot of wallpaper removal in your spare time?” you ask.

He fiddles with his watch, jaw working around whatever it is he wants to say. 

“I’m a contractor.” 

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grumbles. “You think I sit on my ass all day?”

Honestly, you don’t know. Most of the thoughts you have about Joel aren’t to do with his job. You have no idea what he does when he isn’t here.

You shrug. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Well, I am,” he drawls. He takes a long sip of his whiskey. “And I know the folks around here who you’ll need. Materials, all that.” 

“Are you offering to help me, Joel?” You keep your voice neutral.

He looks at you head-on. It feels like he’s seeing through you again. “If you want it.”

“If we do that, it has nothing to do with…” You gesture between you. “With this.”

Joel just looks at you, letting you sort out what you want to say. 

“I mean, I don’t want charity, okay?”

He shakes his head. “Ain’t charity. I owe Bill some favors. This’ll square us up. You’ll cover all the other shit, I guess.”

“It’s not his bar, anymore,” you remind him, but it’s a weak protest. 

Joel knocks back the rest of his drink.

You’ve been working out how to finance the renovations all week. All that cash you’ve squirreled away over the years finally has a purpose, other than a cushion in case something really bad happens. It’s looking tight between paying the staff and sourcing the work. You’d only be able to close a week at a time and any delays will fuck the whole thing. 

But if Joel’s offering discounted labor, materials on the cheap? You could get it all done faster, get it done right.

“Why do you want to help me?” you ask. 

Joel huffs and if you knew him better you’d say it was in offense. 

“Let’s just say I’m invested in the state of this place,” he says. “And you really gotta replace those booths.”

Your face feels hot. “Asshole.”

“So,” he says. “You interested?”

It’s not a bad idea. Hell, it might even be a good one. Money aside, Joel, whatever his story is, is connected in this town, and if you’re staying it would do you some good to start making some connections of your own. Start settling.

The fist in your chest, your heart, your mind – it loosens just a little bit. 

“I’m interested.”

Joel knocks on the bar once, twice, and stands. He digs in his back pocket for his wallet and hands you a business card with his phone number. 

“I’ll be here Monday morning,” he says. “We can start goin’ over stuff, figure out when you wanna close. All that. Call me anytime. Sound good?”

You just nod. The fatigue is starting to hit and Joel must be able to tell because he just smiles at you.

“Goodnight, boss lady,” he says. “Put the whiskey on my tab.”

Joel grabs his jacket and unlocks the door, sliding into the cool night with a wave. 

“You don’t have a tab, asshole,” you mutter, but you’re smiling a little. 

It feels like pieces are falling into place.

You know you could get the bar fixed up on your own. But with Joel’s help, it’ll get done faster and you might even have some money left over at the end of it. 

It’s a lot all at once. But for some reason, it feels different this time. It’s not another job about to fall through, not another relationship going south because you got spooked. It’s not you getting bored and cutting your losses. 

You want this. You want it to work. Usually, you’d have left by now, before you got too attached, but it’s too late so you’re going to make it work. 

This thing with Joel, though – you’re going to have to be careful. If you’re not, it’ll run away from you and – well. You don’t want to lose control of it.

You look around the bar and sigh. Unwiped tables, a booth that no one should sit in, floors to clean. A few hours of work before bed. 

You know you’re going to spend them trying not to think about the man who just left. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction

[webslingingslasher]

Not to be annoying but I rlly hope u write some kind of blurb for the jealous frat!Peter when someone flirts w reader after they are officially boyfriend girlfriend bc u wanna assess what kind of relationship they'll have after all the emotional trauma and angstttttt (idk if u got my first ask though)

*cleaning out my inbox*

kisses scattered across your face woke you up, hair tickled your nose, and you showed you were awake by lightly pushing on peter’s shoulder. it's just too early.

'can't snooze me, trouble. you're the one that told me to wake you up.' another round of kisses, your wake up call isn't that terrible. 'c'mon, up and at 'em. you've got a midterm to study for, leslie's waiting for you.'

his reasoning doesn't make you move any quicker, it was on leslie for choosing saturday morning as peak study time. you weren't even able to hang at the party last night, instead you hunkered down in peter's room and lightly woke when he crawled into bed around one to tug you into his side.

'it's so early.' peter pouts against your cheek, 'you'll survive. you've been putting in overtime this week. i swear that you've hung out with leslie everyday.' it's true, and like peter said before your first study session 'you'll feel your brain grow, super proud of you.' there's no question you'll ace the midterm.

'promise me you'll let me sleep in tomorrow?' a flurry of kisses, you savor them, you know it's the last attack of the day. 'you got it.'

---

peter thought you could use a little pick me up, so, he gladly walked into the library doors with your favorite fast food. it might've been slightly selfish, because he knows he just won himself some brownie points.

it took him a minute, but he found you. back in the study section, lightly kicking your feet under the table. you were nodding your head while chewing on the end of your pen, peter's heart picked up; he couldn't wait to see the look on your face.

you laugh, he smiles. peter moves around a bookcase and comes to a sudden stop. sitting right next to you, was a guy. he had your total attention, no other sign of people around you, peter couldn't even try to pretend it had turned into a last minute group session.

peter finds it hard to swallow, it's not that you're not allowed to hang out with guys, it's the fact that you lied about it. was there ever a leslie, or was it code for this guy the whole time?

the answer will be in your reaction, and he's about to catch you. you don't see him coming, your eyes flash to the bag on the table then to the hand setting it down. you almost burst at the seams, a surprise visit and your favorite food.

'peter!' you wince at your tone, a nasty look from the table next to you gets a silent apology. 'what are you doing here?' you're already digging through the bag, you miss the inspection he's doing on your study partner. you also miss the way he's avoiding peter's eyes.

'just wanted to say hi,' you chew on a fry and hold your mouth closed while you pucker, a chaste kiss. 'hi.' you swallow and tap on the arm next to you, peter follows the motion closely. 'have you met peter yet?'

'uh, no.' he scoots closer to the table, you shrug and look up at peter. he has his focus on leslie, it seems more intimidating than friendly. when your study buddy looks to you for help, peter loses it.

'trouble? wanna come talk to me for a minute?' you frown, your fries are at the perfect temperature. 'but, you-' the look in peter's eyes tells you he isn't playing, a sense of urgency has you scooting your chair back.

the second you're ducked behind a shelf, it spits out. 'who the fuck is that?' peter's tone has you drawing your head back, it's sudden and aggressive. 'who, leslie?' he laughs, 'nice try, who is he?'

it feels accusatory, you take a slight step back. 'that's leslie, peter.' he snorts, 'and you left out the fact he's a guy?' the reason for his sudden change makes you feel dirty, you don't like how he's directing his words.

'i didn't feel like it had to be spesified.' peter nods sarcastically, 'so i tell you i'm hanging out with... jordan, and i've been around them for hours a day, for the entire week then you find out it's a chick and you wouldn't mind? not even a little bit?'

'it depends on what you're doing with her.' a dry laugh, 'you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing with that name shit. don't stand here and tell me i'm the idiot.'

he's making you feel sad, you don't understand how peter could think of you like that. 'i don't understand why you're so upset.' peter tugs at his snapback, scratching at his curls, he replaces it.

'because you're my fucking girlfriend.'

your arms cross, 'so i can no longer hang out with any other guy?' maybe you were being a little difficult, but he's the one that implied you were cheating, or at the very least capable of it.

'jesus christ, that's what you jump to? no, honey-' the name sounded sour, '-it's the fact that you knew i'd think he was a girl and you didn't try to change that.'

'i don't see why it matters.' peter feels like he's talking in circles and he really wants to break from the conversation because he can feel his frustration building, he's about to start saying things he'll regret.

'it doesn't!' you pull on his arm with wide eyes, your head spins to look around. peter brings himself to a whisper shout, 'it doesn't fucking matter, but it starts to matter when you lie to me.'

'don't make it seem like i'm cheating on you.' you tried to ease him down, like the two had nothing in common. it was the wrong choice of words, a fire blazed in peter's eyes. you stepped back when peter pointed a finger at you, for once, he's making you feel really small.

'you're the one who brought up cheating. go back to your fucking friend, i'm done.'

you try to grab onto his wrist, but peter shakes you off like you're nothing. 'peter,' he has no interest in what you have to say, you can't follow him, he's too quick. 'peter!'

when he's out of sight you look down at the ground and sigh. peter was right, you knew what you were doing by alluding to the fact leslie was a girl. and peter doesn't care when you hang out with other guys, but because you left that part out, you've been lying by omission and it makes everything seem worse than it is.

you just don't know what he meant by 'i'm done,' and you really hope it just pertains to the conversation. either way, you shuffle back to your table with a tail between your legs and hope to god peter would let you apologize.

---

gentle knocks at the frat door, you were scared that if you gave peter a heads up, he'd bolt.

'uh oh, you're in trouble.' ethan has a smug look, it tells you that he's been preparing for you to show up. 'how much?' you need to know your chances before you can think of your plea bargain.

ethan wavers, 'he was... upset.' you hold your face between your hands as you slide in, mumbling out a 'fuck,' before building confidence to move up the stairs.

you lightly tap on your boyfriend's door, when there's no response you slowly twist the door knob. peter's lying on his bed, ankles crossed while a book covers his face.

'peter?' the door clicks shut. you timidly step forward, 'petey?' nothing from him, just a slight adjustment and he's back to reading. 'did we break up?'

the book drops, you're looking right at him. 'no, we didn't break up.' you can breathe a little bit better even if he went back to glaring at words, the main anxiety was flushed. 'okay, good.' you reach the end of his bed, rubbing at his shin you try to soften him up.

'i love you.' peter has a very unimpressed glance when you capture his total attention by taking a seat, pushing into his thighs. 'i don't know why i didn't tell you leslie was a guy, i mean, i honestly forgot but when you started saying she... i didn't correct you.' your fingers twiddle with the band of his watch, 'and i don't know why, i guess i wasn't thinking about it like that. but yeah, i'd feel a bit cheated if you did the same to me.'

'you keep saying cheat.'

cheating is almost number one in things you should never do to your partner, but for some reason, it really hits something in peter. just saying the word, out of context, has him pulling from your touch.

'peter, c'mon, stop it. you know what i mean. i'd never, ever cheat on you. i love you too much. i was on the spot and i thought you were implying i was cheating, and i was trying to say i wasn't cheating but then i think you took that as a guilty conscious coming forward and admitting i was cheat-'

'please stop saying cheating. please.'

you hold your mouth shut, a sheepish look crosses over your face. 'sorry.' it comes out as a mumble, it's an uncomfortable silence. you don't really know what to say, or do. you smash repetitive clicks on the side button of peter's watch, when you take a peek, he's watching your hands.

you're really trying, but you need to wash away any idea of it from his head. 'it's just that i never want you to think i'm cheating-' you're shocked into silence when peter rips his arm from you.

'fucking quit it with the cheating, trouble.' you open and close your mouth like a guppy, nothing sounds right. 'i know you don't like it, but i just need you to know that me hiding that leslie was a guy didn't mean i was trying to-'

'say cheat one more time, i fucking dare you.'

you stay silent. 'i don't know how to fix it, peter. i'm sorry i lied, and i’m sorry i keep saying the 'c' word.' you jump at peter's stage claps, you never knew how sarcastic a noise could sound.

'there we go! that was hard, huh?' it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you frown at him. 'you don't need to be so condescending.' peter snorts, 'and you don't need to be lying about girls who are guys that wanna fuck you.'

you freeze on the spot, pushing the words out like they'll make you puke if you think too hard about them. 'leslie doesn't want to fuck me.' peter nudges your back with his knee, 'you're cute.'

you shake your head, 'i mean it. he knows you're my boyfriend, i talk about you all the time.'

'that's so cute, you're so cute.' you push his arm, 'i mean it, peter! i promise he wants nothing to do with me, he even told me he likes someone else.'

peter plays along for the sake of it, 'oh, yeah? he does? let me guess... it's someone you know.' you light up, 'yes! he wouldn't tell me if we were friends, but he said i know her!'

'right, right. and she's super pretty, right? maybe a little outgoing?' it's impressing how well peter knows this. 'yes-' peter keeps going, 'maybe intimidating because she'd never notice him? and how she might not be into a guy like him?'

peter's ticked every single box; your eyebrows furrow, a supercut of every moment you've had with your study partner runs through your mind. you see where you've been dumb on hints, and how you very much are... the girl you know.

'and that might be because she...' you fill in the blanks with shame, 'has a boyfriend.' it's muttered in a deep tone, pitch mocking peter's next words.

a brew of frustration, not on peter, but on men in general. you can't even study without being hunted? and why the fuck does peter know the game so well?

'this is bullshit! what the fuck is your problem?' you stand and glare down at peter, demanding him to answer on behalf of the world's male population. peter holds a hand on his chest, 'what the fuck is my problem? i don't know, what did i do?'

'you!' you point at him, again, a placeholder for all feminine rage. 'you fucking- you're a... you're a man and you suck and why am i constantly fucking sexualized? all i wanted-' you suck in for air, you don't know why you feel a lump in your throat, is this something really worth crying over? yes.

'all i wanted was a friend.' no tears, you're full of anger again. who does that to a person? 'and the whole time i'm being baited? i just wanted to pass my fucking class, peter! i wanted to do it without your help and the second i don't have a fucking man tied to my hip, i'm being plotted against?'

'trouble,' peter's heart hurts and you can hear it.

'no! it's so unfair, and it's unfair that you'll never understand it. it's unfair that i have to live my entire life afraid of what's behind my shoulder. it's unfair that i can't be left alone. even when i make it clear i already have the person i want. it's just-'

you sink next to peter, he sits up to hug you. 'unfair. it's really, really unfair and i'm sorry i can't relate or understand. i'm sorry you thought you had a friend, i'm sorry you feel like you can't relax, and i'm sorry i rubbed it in your face.'

he did rub it in your face.

'you have plenty of guy friends with good intentions that would do anything to keep you out of harm's way. that includes calling out other guys that may not have them, but i could've been nicer. i'm sorry i'm just a man sometimes. i'll work on it, i promise.'

you melt into his touch, peter is very much just a man sometimes. but he's your man and always good at calling himself out when he needs it. 'is that why you thought i cheated on you?'

'the next time you say cheat, you owe me twenty bucks.' you ignore the quip, 'is it?'

peter scoffs as he rubs your back. 'i didn't think you were cheating, trouble. i was upset that my girlfriend was lying about who she was hanging out with.' a slew of kisses to your hairline follow.

'and maybe a little jealous.' you laugh, there's nothing for him to be jealous over, but he's super serious and pulls away to cup your face so you're looking right at him. 

'because you're my baby, and i need it to stay that way.'

#frat!peter drabbles

[callsigns-haze]

A blow for an answer

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!classmate!reader

summary: people see the two of you as the goody two shoes but truly there's only one real way you study.

warnings: smut, mention of bombings, blowjobs, unhinged coryo, work sex, dominance, short fic

A/n: This is my first hunger games post so I hope y'all enjoy!

It was a wednesday morning. It was your day when classes start an hour later than usual, allowing you to have a light sleep in before starting a whole day of hard study. Your room was only illuminated by the thin, bright beam of light that peaks through a gap in your curtains. It didn't quite disturb you till the light hit your face, stirring you to awake, quite so lightly.

You decide to turn in your bed to face the other way, pulling the covers further up so that the light didn't disturb you but the young seven year old did it instead. "Wake up! Coryo is about to be here!" Ellie's voice broke the silence as you lift your head to look at the alarm clock next to you. You slept in.

Nobody in the world would have ever experienced you jumping out of bed so quickly, running to your chair to get your ironed uniform to run to the bathroom. "Ells, why didn't you wake me sooner!?" You squeal running into your bathroom. "I tried to! It's not my fault you hibernate!"

You close the door shut and the first thing you do is run to the sink and open the cold tap. You let some water run before you splash a gracious amount onto you face to awoken you.

You had to get ready as soon as possible, Coriolanus will arrive any minute now and you've only risen from bed. Coryo, he was your classmate and assignments partner. The two of you always study together, it's what you do best. A lot of classmates tease that even though your head barely makes it out of books it's not like your father can't buy your way into further studies.

You didn't care about what they thought, now or never, their opinion doesn't matter, especially as you swash your mouth empty of toothpaste and begin to quickly brush your hair before grabbing some jell, water and hairspray. The quickest hairstyle you can maintain is your signature slick bun with a fancy hair tie at the base of the bun.

You've never dragged your hair back so quickly and aggressively, you needed to get it done now. The uniform was easy to put on but you wanted an easy make-up, just plain powder and mascara. You'll still look daring but quite plain for a rich kid.

You take out your powder and apply it onto one of your brushes. Your mom bought you this powder box years back, each time saying that she can replace it but you didn't want that you only got it refilled, it reminded you of times she was around more and let you dig in her stuff to play.

No more time to have sad flash backs. You throw off your nightgown, allowing it to pool around your feet as you slip on some red tights and your blue button up shirt. You put on the skirt, which has been made shorter for women during the years and throw on your blazer. Just on time.

------

Coriolanus was a man who was always punctual. Never missed a day of school in ten years or has never shown up late to any class. You admired that in him, he had potential, like your father says, 'his father was a man who loved his country, his son is much like him', and that was true.

Coryo knocks on the big wooden doors of your family home just to hear some squealing and screaming between the siblings. Like always your little sister Elizabeth runs to the door with hesitation, and peaks through the corner glass to see who has arrived. She smiles when she sees Coriolanus and screams upstairs, "Y/n, he's here! He's here!"

She does a little jump up and down as she twist the key that is at the other side of the door unlocking the door. She runs to him as he leans down locking her in a short hug as the little girl whispers to him ,"She slept in."

He let out a slight chuckle with that. The little girl throwing her older sister right under the bus at every chance she gets. He smiles at her as she talks about her playdate she had with a friend yesterday and how they have a rose garden, like the one his Grandma'am talks about but is quickly interrupted by you standing on the bottom step calling out.

"Ellie, Chase is in the kitchen waiting for you." She rolls her eyes and you give her a darn stare, the one that tells her to get in the move now and you close the door as you exit it and sigh. Coryo let's out another chuckle with that and smirks, "You slept in again, didn't you?" You groan, it's like he knows every time. Are you really that predictable? He laughs at that as he takes some of the books your holding and carrying them under his arm.

"I wouldn't have, if Highbottom was so stuck up and gave us a ten page essay to do in one night!" You moan as you never liked your dean. He was rude, alcoholic and possibly even a drug addict. In all those cases it proves that he should not have the right to teach young adults.

"Hey, I've seen you write essays and each time you get top notch marks. He can try to bring you down but he never will," Coriolanus confronts you as the two of you weave through the crowds trying to get to the university as fast as possible.

"And anyways, if you ever need some motivation to write an essay, you know where to find me," his stupid teasing, especially in public, makes your whole face go red and you shove him slightly but instead of managing to get him away he wraps his arm around you. "Aw, come on Y/n, you can't fight it."

"Oh, you're about to find out what I can or can't fight." You break off running leaving him miles behind. You look behind you to see Coryo throw his hands up in the air as you take off.

------

"Here's our golden girl," Arachne drags those words like nails on a chalkboard. She is one of those girls who run off daddy's money because between both of those ears is suppose to be a brain but no. Just emptiness. "Leave her alone Arachne, I bet once we all hear her essay our jaws will drop." Festus's comment made you let out a small smile, spoiled kids always tried to be bitchy and the best but there's nice words around sometimes.

"So where's your golden boy, I hope he's not with Plinth," Felix roles his eyes. Such an unmannered daddy's boy, your waiting for his father's campaign to be over to see what he's got to say then. He'll become a basic like the two of you.

"Don't be rude Felix, at least he has more manners then a pig like you," you snap at him being fed up of how he quickly insults Sejanus for his family and wealth but none of you are any better than that, it's just that he comes from district.

Festus let out an airy laugh as Clemensia bit her lip to prevent her laughter. You always knock Felix off his high horse and he always reminds you off the position his father holds so you come back at him with the same. You would've continued your little word scrap but the bell rang at that.

"Don't make me finish this off later, zip it."

------

"Who knows what sparked the painful action in the Capitols heart during the dark days?" Your dean asks the class. None of them try to make eye contact with him. Trying to avoid getting picked but here you where raising your hand to answer the question. "Yes Ms. Trevino."

"During the dark days the rebels bombed a shelter where the capitals wife's and kids of politics or generals where hiding. It caused deaths of twenty seven kids and nine wifes."

He nods at you, quite impressed of your knowledge and smiles. "Right, word to word, Ms. Trevino." He was impressed, no one writes about that in any book, the information barely exists anymore yet a girl in his class knew the question to the question almost immediately.

"Very well, what districts or rebels caused the bombing?" That question was meant for you only and know the whole classes eye lay upon you, waiting curiously for the answer.

"They were travellers. Didn't belong to a certain district, always on the move. They were found almost immediately and hung for their doing."

Another correct answer that he did not expect you to be able to get. You look up to see Coriolanus smiling with a proud look at you. He didn't know this himself but for you to be able to know that is quite incredible.

"If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Trevino. How do you have this information?" You hated talking about it, it was quite forbidden at your house. No word was mentioned, no tears were shed anymore, just pure acceptance.

"I lost a family member at that bombing, sir." The looks of pity filled the classroom as you said that. Coryo knew that you mentioned before that you had another older brother but all he heard was that he passed away tragically and here that theory was quite confirmed.

With you saying that, Highbottom went back to teaching from the book. It was a quite slow class leading from then on since all this information was way better covered in the essay you wrote from better sources, this was like a whole baby type of revision.

As the class went on your dean questioned you all on the material, which you knew top notch but the thing he announced after that was truly unfair. "Since you all seem so 'interested' in this sector, tomorrow I shall exam you on it. Ms. Trevino, you will be free from the exam since you've covered all of this in the work you handed me. Now, your all dismissed."

------

Your parents always liked Coriolanus, they believed that even though you get highest marks that he has a great impact on it and they're not wrong. The two of you work rather marvellously in a studying pair.

He sits at your desk since tonight you'll be studying here. You didn't have homework or study due to your dean letting you off but you could clearly see that Coryo was overly stressing at this point and none of the information was going into his head.

"Coyro," you murmur, sitting down upon his lap, pestering his neck with kisses and light bites as he continues reading the papers in front of him. "Hmm?" He hums as he is slowly losing concentration as you rock your hips back and forth over his clothed shaft that is tucked away in his uniform pants.

He isn't wearing the usual red skirt that comes with it, meaning you have less to remove before you start your magic, "let me relax you."

You sink down onto your knees and Coryo begins to feel the kisses that you give to his groin area. You sit up, perched, with your knees hitting the carpeted bedroom floor, in between his legs. You slip down the pants as they reach his ankles and to remove them fully he kicks them onto the floor, bringing his underwear with him.

He's fully exposed besides the blue school shirt that he still wears. You wiggle your body up straight and your face is in front of his sprung, half hard cock. You lean the side of your cheek in the dip of his hip and grab a hold of the hardening cock. You gently begging to tug at him watching his foreskin go up and down as it comes over his shaft. You stare at how he looks so big with your small hand.

As you continue the pre blowjob, Coryo tries to focus on his study notes, but each delicate touch of yours makes him feel like on cloud nine and it's only your little hand. You lean your head more in his hip dip to kiss his shaft from the bottom base to the very top of his shaft. You know this is making Coriolanus sensitive from the feeling of your lips on him creates an arousal.

"So, kiss kiss tell me what was the war?" The most simple question but you kissing every square inch of his cock made it hard to think straight. "It was…fuck…a rebolt against the capital…holy shit."

With the right answer you bend down to take his whole cock head in your mouth and begin giving it soft sucks, you weren't going to go very hard at the beginning. The hiss that left his mouth showed that he was beginning to enjoy this .

You hollow out your mouth and sink a tiny bit more, this wasn't a cheap fuck, it was basically a quiz, but with a lot more spice.

One of your hand is wrapped around his base as you lower your mouth in the top. You keep your movements steady after you ask the next question. Just the way he likes a blowjob. You eyes keep closed and enjoy the moment.

Around four questions later you begin to feel Coriolanus's breathing to pick up as you watch his chest move up and down more rapidly. From now, he has completely lost the ability to speak straight. He was feeling to good to concentrate and technically you've asked him on pretty much everything. The only thing that was in his mind was your warm little mouth around his big thick cock.

He accidentally jerks his hips up leading you to let out delicate gags as he hits the back of your throat, usually he's able to control himself unless he's fucking your mouth.

"God, Y/N." His moans are deep. Hearing him moan so loudly makes you get wet and turned in. You know that once your done with him, he'll give back a favour in return.

You continue bobbing your head up and down for a bit longer until you feel something on your tongue at his very tip, which he was leaking precum. He feels so good he feels his muscles in his stomach contract and thighs shake. He wanted to give you a warning before loading off in your mouth. "Y/N, fucking hell! I'm going to cum!"

As he throws his head back you begin to go faster. You suck hard since you don't intend to pick up the speed to much but you know it'll drive Coryo over the edge, it always does.

He ejaculates his hot cum in your mouth as you continue sucking his tio and rest your hand at the base of his shaft. His salty liquid happily makes it down your throat once you swallow.

Coyro's careless moans escape, he doesn't care about how load he's being. You make him feels so good and the two of you are alone in your house. He grabs the sides of the chair to build up pressures as he believes his orgasm moments. You stop sucking and tugging to not overstimulate him and lift your head off his limp shaft.

You sit up on your bent knees, breathing heavy from your lack of breath while giving the blowjob, and Coryo lays there almost lifeless, still trying to float back to earth. Then you crawl up his body and lay flat on his heaving chest, wrapping your arms under his back.

"I know you don't need to study but I think you deserve a recap of the woman's body autonomy."

Hunger games taglist:

@rosiahills22

@shanimallina87

@callsign-magnolia

@hardballoonlove

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@buckysteveloki-me

@hookslove1592

@kmc1989

@callsign-dexter

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #hunger games x reader #hunger games fic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus imagine

[disneyprincemuke]

you make everyday feel like it's christmas

alternatively: logan is weirdly great at giving presents

in which logan surprises her in the morning with a throughtful second present

(series masterlist)

"merry christmas," is the first thing she hears when she opens her eyes. completely blinded by the sun shining into the bedroom oscar had prepared for them, she closes them immediately and turns to nuzzle her face into logan's bare arm.

"merry christmas," she manages to say, wrapping her arms around logan's arm. "good morning."

"are you awake?"

"yeah, i'm answering you."

"you wished me merry christmas an hour ago while you were asleep," logan grins, turning his body to throw his arms and legs around her body. "i bet you don't even remember that happening."

"you're right, actually. i'm sorry. i think the eggnog really got to me," she sighs, moving her face away from logan's shoulder. she lifts her head and grins, slowly opening her eyes. "good morning, my love."

"good morning!" he beams, leaning down to press a kiss on the tip of her nose. "when you're ready, i've got a present for you."

her eyes widen, lips quickly spreading into the biggest smile. "a present? i thought we already exchanged presents last night? oh, the eggnogs were pretty strong, i guess. i didn't even realise."

"we did." he picks at her hair slowly, pushing it behind her ear as he massages her head softly. "i've got another one for you. i was supposed to get you one gift-"

"yes, like we agreed on last christmas."

"yes," logan nods firmly, "like we agreed on. but, i really had to get you another one. you'll love it."

"babe, you say that every year," she whines, hands chasing for him as he tries to untangle himself from her grasp. "i do always end up loving it, sure, but we agreed no surprise gifts this year!"

"i do like spoiling you," logan answers simply, hunched over in the corner of the guest bedroom while he digs into his suitcase. "i would have given it to you last night, but oscar never would have let me live it down."

"logan, if you actually bit into my joke of giving me nude pictures in polaroid form, i might just book a flight back to the uk early."

"no, it's not that!" logan gasps, furrowing his eyebrows. "it's christmas - not your birthday!"

"logan!"

"okay, shut up," logan giggles, jogging back over to the bed with his hands behind his back. he hops onto the middle of the bed, sitting on his feet as he knelt in front of her.

she sits up slightly, pulling the blankets over her shoulder. "okay, what is it?"

"i've had it stored in my closet forever," he giggles, shuddering ever so slightly as he contains his excitement. "by forever, i mean since december started."

"how? i put clothes in your closet."

"my shoe box."

"your shoe box?"

"yeah, you don't really touch my shoe box often," logan stares at her blankly, hands still behind his back to keep the present from her prying eyes. "right. anyway."

"okay," she smiles, eyes glistening in curiosity. "anyway?"

"right. so you scored your first podium in formula 1 this year, right? in singapore and you were up there with carlos and lando and everything," logan grins, recounting the exciting weekend as if it had happened to him personally. "it took me a lot of convincing seb and your principal to get this."

"i don't suppose you have an entire tyre behind your back, do you?" she laughs, throwing her head back.

"no," logan says monotonously, tilting his head. "but you're close."

"what?"

"i," logan cuts himself off, rolling his eyes sheepishly and giggling softly. "it's kinda stupid. seb had to convince your team principal to let me have these, and i had to make a powerpoint - it was a whole thing."

"mind getting me where your mind's at, babe?" she smiles slightly, a hand reaching out to rub his arm for comfort.

"it's a little silly," he waves her concerns off with a lopsided grin on his face. he moves his arms to rest on his thighs, presenting her with a small box. "it's a lucky charm bracelet."

"a bracelet?"

"yeah. of every single time you made history this year," logan grins, slowly handing her the box. "basically, seb and i begged your team for a teenie-tiny amount of tyre residue after you'd cross the line. then ciara and i found someone to preserve them and carve them into the track layout."

she opens the box, and logan did not lie. a silver bracelet sits in the black velvet box, charms hanging off in the shape of tracks like australia and singapore. "oh?"

"and then we can add more every single time you change history in the sport," logan smiles sweetly, craning his neck to stare at his gift with her. "do you like it?"

"like it?" she coos, slowly taking the bracelet into her hands. it feels so delicate, almost like she doesn't even want to wear it in fear of potentially losing or damaging it beyond repair. "logan, this is the most thoughtful gift anyone's ever gotten me. i love it."

"seriously? i thought it was a bit corny," logan presses his lips together as his cheeks turn a deep shade of red. "and kinda gross - it's tire residue mixed with gravel and heat and- well, you know."

"logan, i love it," she smiles, tracing the charms with her nail. "this is so sweet. suddenly, the custom shoes i'd gotten you didn't seem so special and thoughtful. thank you so much. i wish i could get you something as significant as this."

he frowns, squeezing her cheeks. "i got you this because you deserve it. thank you for letting me be a part of everything you're changing with the sport."

"thank you, seriously. i love you," she cries, frowning when logan takes it from her hands. she tears up as logan fastens it around her wrist gently, adjusting it for her. "i'm scared. what if this gets lost?"

"blythe thought you might say that." he wipes her tear-stained cheek as he presses a kiss to her forehead. "i've got an extra of the entire thing back in the uk. so, don't even worry about it."

she blinks blankly, looking up at him before glancing down at her wrist once more. she looks back up at him. "this is the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"what can i say? you deserve the best," logan shrugs, dimples showing before his smile. "the world, even. i love you."

she wraps an arm around the back of his neck, pulling him down to her as she catches his lips into hers. she sighs against his lips, slowly dropping herself back into bed while pulling logan down with her. he has a hand on her back, supporting her weight while she lowers, inching up to adjust to where her lips are.

"we don't have to be ready for brunch for another," she pulls away, reaching over to the bedside table to tap on her phone, "30 minutes. stay in bed a while?"

taglist: @myxticmoon

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #female driver #fem!driver #f1 female driver #f1 x you #f1 #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke ial

[angelltheninth]

Douma Comforting You on Your Wedding Night

Pairing: Douma x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, married couple, kissing, reassurance, cuddling, a bit of possessiveness, literal sleeping together, expectations, arranged marriage

A/N: I have other stuff with him in the works too but fluff first.

He realizes of course that you're nervous about your first night and that you have certain expectations of him

Didn't want to start the marriage off pressuring you into more then your families already pushed for so when you got into the bedroom the only thing he did was give you a kiss

At first you were relived but the you he started taking off his clothes and your face went firey warm

"Not to worry, there are clean clothes here. Unless you prefer to sleep in your wedding dress." There's a little smirk on his lips as he lets you see his naked upper half for a good while before putting a sleeping shirt on

The first one to get into bed and waits for you with patience

You change quickly behind a changing screen, your whole body burning with anticipation of what's to come, you heard a lot of rumors about what Lord Douma is like in the bedroom and as his bride it your job to satisfy him

You feel like you should give him something, like he will be disappointed otherwise

When you get into bed you steel yourself, making him laugh quietly about how determined you look just about sleeping

"My bride is extremely cute. I'm one lucky man." His hand cups your cheek, a touch meant to soothe rather then anything else but you interpreted is as him wanting to initiate something more

You gather up the courage and kiss his palm which gets a really big, toothy smile from him, thinking that you're starting to relax but that goes away really fast when you start going down his body, fingers starting to pull his pants down

His hands gently take yours and pull you back up, laying you on top of him, making you feel every muscle on his body as he kisses you, all soft and comforting

"Not tonight. Believe me, I want nothing more then to tear your clothes off and make you mine." His claws dig into your clothes just a little, "And yet... there's so much I want to show you before that. You're my bride now, its my responsibility to make you happy here. I'm sure you'll make me happy as well. We can have wonderful experiences together."

The words had more meaning then just a domestic life, you could feel his desire swelling up, it was a marvel he ignored it, and a testament of how much he valued you as his new bride

#douma #douma x reader #douma x you #douma imagine #douma headcanons #douma fluff #kny x reader #kny douma #doma x reader #doma demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x you #kny x you #kny x female reader #douma x female reader

[shoyoist]

not sure if you're into dom!reader stuff but god I would Love to destroy isagi and julien in the bedroom.

— WILL YOU BE GOOD FOR ME ?!

content: gn!reader. dom reader. isagi: overstim, multiple orgasms, inexperienced isagi, praise. julian: handjob, blowjob, edging, begging. sae: he's a brat and you put him in his place. light slapping (not his face), degradation.

ft: isagi yoichi, julian loki + itoshi sae (for myself hehe) — . ｡˚ ♡ his fans could never guess how much he loves being fucked into a blissed out mess

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ISAGI is nearing his limit. you can feel it.

you can feel it, in the way his hips stutter and his cock twitches — throbs — against your slick, velvety walls as he tries to keep up with you, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth and blinking up at you through teary eyes as you laugh.

you're sitting on isagi's cock, riding it gently, working him through the orgasm he'd just had, smiling in satisfaction when you feel his cum drool out of you and make a mess on your inner thighs.

it drips onto him as he lays flat on his back on the bed, trying his best to be good for you — and his cheeks burn at the wet sensation, embarrassed as he realizes just how far he's gone.

"come on, yoichi," you pout, flashing him a look of faux sympathy as you rest one hand on his chest, feeling how warm he is as you sigh. "you've cum three times now and i haven't cum even once."

"'m sorry," he grunts, blue eyes narrowing with frustration — oh, he's so cute — as he reaches out and grabs your hips in shaky hands, pushing himself back against the pillows to angle himself higher again. "i'll — hah, i'll do it this time, angel, 'm sorry."

it's even cuter how he's still trying to stay in charge, how he calls you angel in that hoarse, fucked out whisper his voice has gone down to.

he's so sweet — trying his best, really, and you almost want to tell him that god, he's been doing great.

it's you that's been slowing down to a stop whenever the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and the hit of his cock inside you starts to knock your breath from your lungs.

stopping whenever you get even a little close to reaching your high, to let him catch a 'break' as you lean down to press kisses on his chest, and up his neck to meet his lips.

you've been edging yourself this whole time, isagi is just too fucked out — and perhaps a little too inexperienced, naïve &lt;3 — to see that.

but he really is reaching his limit. you'll have to let yourself go this time, for both his sake and yours. "a little harder, yoichi baby. you just need to find the right spot."

he lets out a heavy groan in response, head tipping back and exposing his throat, adam's apple bobbing with each swallow, as he rolls his hips up and fucks his cock as deep into you as he can.

his balls slap at your ass along with the desperate twitch of his cock inside you, and he gasps — mouth parting so prettily, face and neck flushed all up as he tries to fight his overstimulation and keep going for your pleasure.

the sight alone is enough to make your orgasm slide that much closer to the surface. "yes, yes baby — just like that!"

you feel his fingertips dig harder into your thighs, rough enough to leave bruises as he holds onto you like he's holding your high in place, trying not to let it slip away as he thrusts into you over and over, needing the friction his body is giving yours and the hit of his cock into your wet walls to drive you over the edge—

he needs you to cum before he falls past his limit.

"almost there, yoichi, fuck!" you moan, and it's encouragement enough for him to continue. he wants to keep hearing you, wants your pretty fucking voice filling his ears as you cum, as you add to the lewd mess that's between your skins and all over the sheets.

"so good," you breathe, arching your back as you straddle him, your hips tightening around his pelvis as you shut your eyes and let yourself enter the rush of euphoria that comes with the orgasm you've been holding back for so long. "so good, yoichi — mm, cumming! 'm cumming, baby, ah!"

and god, isagi has been milked dry already but he could fucking cum again, to the sound of your high pitched whine of pleasure, to the erratic bounce of your gorgeous body over his and to the feeling of your orgasm as it wraps around his cock — it's so, so impossibly good.

"pretty," he rasps, watching you through bleary blue eyes as he still holds onto you, pulling you down onto his cock and sending a rush of pleasure through your body and a spike of overstimulated pain through his. "haah— so pretty. say my name for me, angel."

and you can't help but giggle as he says it again — calls you by that adorable petname that should really belong to him, by how good and sweet he's being for you.

but you deliver, because you'll do for your good boy what he wants you to. "mm, yoichi <3 so good for me."

and you feel how his cock twitches inside you again.

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° JULIAN is a sweetheart.

both on the field and inside the bedroom. and this is proof — because you've been knelt between his legs for ages now, one hand wrapped around his cock, the other rubbing circles over his knee and up his thigh, thumb pressing into the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, as you offer nothing but little kitten licks to the tip of his drooling cock.

he hasn't complained once — hasn't snapped, hasn't grabbed your hair and made you take his cock in your mouth, hasn't been mean.

you almost wish he would snap — but he's being so sweet, so patient with you, watching with pleading brown eyes as you tease him, toy with him to your heart's content.

"baby," he groans, unable to take his eyes off your hand — your hand that stays so painfully stationary around his cock, and you know he's hoping you'll finally move it and stroke his length for him, make him cum. "baby, please."

"mhm?" you say it innocently, though what you're doing couldn't be further from it — and julian just meets your eyes with another pleading look, but see, that's the thing.

he looks so good like this.

so beautiful, his mahogany skin glowing in the dim lighting of the bedroom, thighs and abs exposed to your viewing pleasure, arms pressed to his sides and hands gripping the edges of his seat as he tries to maintain composure.

"please, move your hand for me?" he asks through clenched teeth. and it makes you consider.

because if there's anything prettier than julian laying slack in his seat, legs spread and cock stiff in your hand as you tease him endlessly — it's julian laying slack in his seat, begging you to give him more as you continue to give him so very less.

"mm, which hand?" you ask, giving him a doe-eyed look as you trace his skin with your other hand. the skate of your nails across his inner thigh and around his full, aching balls is ticklish, and he flinches, cock jumping in your hand as you give it an experimental squeeze.

"the one you've got on my dick, baby." he breathes, brows screwing together as yet another pearl of precum beads at the tip of his cock. "please."

"please what?" you ask again, and it's so fucking infuriating — anyone else would lose it. but julian just breathes in again, grunting out a curse under his breath as you run your fingers too lightly up his length, to swipe at his tip with your thumb and collect the drop of cum, popping your finger into your mouth after.

"fuck," he hisses, watching with envy as you suck your thumb instead of his cock. "please, baby, i can't — i can't take it. need your hand, your mouth, anything — just make me cum, please."

but oh, you're so mean. you decide to push him one last time. "hm? say that again, sweetheart."

and you think he might snap this time, might finally lose it, needing his pleasure more than he wants to behave for you — but julian never disappoints.

"please make me cum?" he asks, voice thinning into a whimper as you caress his thigh again, making your way down to his balls once more. "please. need—need to feel good, baby. please."

and how can you say no to that? :(

julian cums embarrassingly fast when you tighten your grip on his cock and spit on it, pumping the length as you blow on his tip and take it into your mouth.

your soft lips and hot, wet tongue drown him in so much ecstasy all at once that after all that edging, he just can't handle any more.

"hngh—fuck! fuck, gonna cum, gonna cum—" his voice cuts off to give way to a breathy moan, his chest heaving and back lifting off the cushion he was laying against as he cums into your mouth.

hot, thick ropes of his cum coat the back of your throat as you smile around the girth of his head and swallow, sucking on him as you continue stroking his shaft, guiding him through his high and taking in every drop of cum he spills into your mouth.

"mm, s'good," you mumble, and his breath stutters, hips trembling and vision going blurry with how hard his orgasm hits him.

and you can't wait to keep sucking him off till he's had enough and starts begging for you to stop <33

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° SAE thinks he can do as he pleases.

and he can! he can, most of the time. you're perfectly fine with it.

but if he thinks he can act up in your face, make it look like you're all over him, as if you're hanging on his arm and ready to obey his every command—

if he thinks he can behave so different (stoic, dominant and unaffectionate) in public, when you both know how he is in private (needy, whiney and always asking to be taken care of) — if he thinks he can get away with that, he's wrong.

"say sorry, sweetheart." you tell sae, giving his hip a sharp slap as he lays slack on the sheets — but even as his eyes roll back into his head, the pretty green getting lost in under his lids and his tears, he sucks in a breath and says nothing.

instead of just doing as he's told, he lets his head fall back into the pillows and pushes the air in his lungs out as a moan.

"think you can just be mean to me and i'll tolerate it, huh?" you say, other hand stroking his cock at a pace impossible for him to handle silently, smirking as the cherry tip leaks cum onto your fingers and trails down the back of your hand in twin milky streaks. "for all your high life, you still haven't learned any manners, sweetheart."

and honestly, it's true — sae is as talented and popular as he is arrogant, but you don't mind it, find it cute, in a way.

until it's directed at you, that is.

you're not just any fan of his, you're his lover. he should be sweet to you, both here and everywhere else. "be a good boy for me, sae. just say sorry, mhm? give me a real, pretty look and tell me how sorry you are, for being an asshole to me like that."

his hands curl into fists when you flick the blushed head of his cock, letting out a hoarse "ah, shit!" under his breath as he grabs the blankets, eyes screwing shut as he tries to stay controlled.

he's so cute, trying so hard when he's already fallen apart at your hands and at the sound of your smooth, silky, taunting voice. "or is it that you like being treated like this, hm, baby?"

his face is already red, cheeks dusted a warm pink, the tips of his ears red and his lips swollen from both your kisses and his efforts to keep his mouth shut — but when he hears you say that, you notice how he blushes even harder still.

of course he likes it. "a little slut, aren't you?"

"f—fuck," he hisses, finally lifting his face up and looking at you, and god, he's a pretty thing.

magenta hair all tousled and messy, hanging over his eyes and sticking to his forehead, gaze unfocused and mouth parted just a little as he lets out short gasp after gasp, in time with the motion of your first around his cock. "mgh—please," he tries, only to throw his head back and moan again, another rope of cum spilling from his overstimulated cock to drip over your knuckles.

he's finally said please — but you slap his thigh again, because he deserves it for taking his fucking time.

"there you go, sae. say that again for me?" you ask, giving his cockhead a little pinch, giggling when his dick jerks in your grip.

"please," he repeats, desperate for a break now. he just can't handle it anymore, the embarrassment, the demanding and the empty pull of his balls — he just can't. "i'm sorry, okay? i— fuck, i won't do it again."

"you sure about that?" you ask, and his eyes widen when he sees you readying your hand for another slap — and he nods, starts babbling, "i'm sure, i'm sure — fuckin' promise i won't be an ass again, so please, please, enough."

the sigh of relief he lets out when you let him go, before he flops back onto the bed, abs and thighs sticky with his cum and sweat and your spit — it's so cute <3 you nearly hope he'll do it again, just so you can take him back home and own him like this.

after all, he does like it.

"you'll be a good boy from now on?" you coo, giving him a kiss on his thigh where you'd slapped him, and he nods wearily, eyes shut. "mhm."

"then," you suggest, a smile creeping onto your face as you trace little hearts on his hip with your fingertip. "would you be a sweet thing and help me cum with that good little mouth of yours, once you've had a break?"

when he takes a minute too long to answer, you dig your fingernail into his hip, and you feel the rush of goosebumps that rise on his skin at the sharp touch as he nods. "m—mhm. i'll do it."

"aw," you laugh, watching how he blushes all over again. "such a good boy <3"

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™. #₊˚ପ⊹ NYCHTA. #blue lock smut #sae smut #isagi smut #julian smut #blue lock x reader #sae x reader #isagi x reader #julian x reader #julian loki smut #isagi yoichi smut #itoshi sae smut #bllk smut #bllk x reader #itoshi sae x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #julian loki x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock drabbles

[delusionalwriter02]

helloooooo

i love your insta series! could you make ranpo’s gf p.2? my obsession with him is just 🥹

Insta as Ranpo's GF p.2

a/n : hey love! thank you so much for your request, Ranpo is one of my favorite in BSD so LETS GO

<3 liked by Yosanugirl, Ranthebestpo and 285 others.

Yn_theoneandonly : he's a BABY

Yosanugirl : why is he hiding ????

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : we had dinner, he said my cooking was GOOD, he ATE THE WHOLE PLATE and now it's 2am and I found him in the corner with TAKEOUT

↳ Yosanurgirl : ...... why are you mad ?

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : because there is leftovers and this child decide it's better to ORDER

↳ Ranthebestpo : BUT I WAS HUNGRY

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : THEN EAT MY DAMN FOOD THAT I COOK WITH SO MUCH LOVE THAT IMMA STRANGLE YOU WITH IT

↳ Yosanurgirl : well it's my time to leave, i'll leave you to it Ranpo, hope you don't die

↳ Ranthebestpo : my sweet and dear and adorable little pancake please understand me, I was craving so hard those noddles

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : I MADE NODDLES FOR DINNER

↳ Ranthebestpo : but I didn't crave YOUR noodles

↳ Daze_i : for somebody SO intelligent, you're a real idiot, IT WAS THE MOMENT TO TELL HER YOU LOVED HER NOODLES BUT YOU WANTED TO SAVE THEM FOR TOMORROW AT WORK ???? SO HER COOKING BRING YOU STRENGTH AND ALL THIS SHIT

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : YOU SHUT UP AND YOU RANPO YOU'RE ON SEX BAN FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH

↳ Ranthebestpo : WHAT

↳ Daze_i : can't save you now friend, good luck soldier, you didn't shine but you'll die with dignity

↳ Yn_theoneandonlt : I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP DAZAI

<3 liked by Gintonic, Yosanurgirl and 638 others.

Yn_theoneandonly : at least somebody likes my cooking @.Yosanurgirl

Yosanurgirl : he's a fool for not treating you like the goddess you are

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : 100% agree

↳ Ranthebestpo : you know I can see those comments right ...?

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : GOOD

↳ Ranthebestpo : dearrr i'm sorry for last night, I LOVE your cooking but the craving was so strong, I couldn't resist

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : you SHOULD CRAVE MINE

↳ Ranthebestpo : BUT I CRAVE YOU

↳ Gintonic : right now buddy ? in front of everybody ?

↳ Ranthebestpo : THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : so you don't crave me ?

↳ Ranthebestpo : THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT EITHER yes I crave you so hard and your cooking too but last night I didn't

↳ Daze_i : Ranpo I swear shut up, you're digging your grave

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : yes you are

↳ Ranthebestpo : AM I REALLY PUT ON A SEX BAN FOR NODDLES ???????????????

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : yes you are

↳ Ranthebestpo : LIFE.IS.NOT.FAIR

<3 liked by p0e, Gintonic and 583 others.

Yn_theoneandonly : Karl always been a better deal anyway

p0e : he's the best, a real gentlemen

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : he's much more elegant than some peoples I will not name

↳ Yosanurgirl : Karllll I want a flower too

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : no. only me. right Karl ?

↳ p0e : you do realize he can't respond ?

↳ Yosanurgirl : I don't care let me live my dream

Ranthebestpo : NO THAT'S TOO MUCH ONLY I CAN GIVE FLOWERS TO MY GIRLFRIEND

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : I don't belong to anybody

↳ Ranthebestpo : I didn't say anything for the sex ban, I never reacted when strangers offered you drink because at least we made economy but RIGHT NOW IT'S TOO MUCH, FLOWERS IS SOMETHING PERSONAL

↳ Yosanurgirl : well you DID said something for the sex ban

↳ Ranthebestpo : STOP RIGHT NOW, MY GIRL IS MY GIRL and I certainly won't let a RACCOON STEAL MY GIRLFRIEND

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : I repeat, I DON'T belong to ANYONE

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : and Ranpo if you're that mad, OFFER ME FLOWERS ??????? YOU DID IT ONCE

↳ Yosanurgirl : you're a loser

↳ Ranthebestpo : FINE tonight I will offer you the greatest night of your life, the sexban WILL BE REMOVED AND WE'LL STOP THIS COMEDY

↳ Daze_i : wow, I never saw him THAT invested

<3 liked by Daze_i, Gintonic and 764 others.

Yn_theoneandonly : I fear 5 months of economy went into this trip

Gintonic : and all of that for a sexban

↳ KunikiDA : It's really not the reason, he actually planned it during the last 4 months I think ?

↳ Gintonic : REALLY ??

↳ Daze_i : yeah he was like "whats the best restaurant, the best hotel, what can you do in Paris ?" nonstop

↳ Gintonic : that's actually really cute

↳ Daze_i : for such an important demand, he did things right

↳ KunikiDA : Yes, it was strange seeing him like that

↳ Yosanurgirl : A DEMAND ????? HE'S ASKING HER TO ?????

↳ Yosanurgirl : OMG MY BABIES WILL MAKE MORE BABIES THAT WILL HAVE THE SAME NICKNAMES

↳ Gintonic : that's such a strange way to say it

<3 liked by p0e, Daze_i and 735 others.

Yn_theoneandonly : call me Mrs.Edogawa

Yosanurgirl : CONGRATS MY GIRL

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE IT HE TOLD ME HE PLANNED IT FOR 4 MONTHS ??????

↳ Yosanurgirl : AND WE THOUGHT HE WAS JUST MAD LMFAO

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : I'M SO DAMN HAPPY OMG I CANT EVEN FIND THE WORDS

↳ Yosanurgirl : I CANT WAIT TO PREPARE THE WEDDING AND THEN WE'LL CHOOSE YOUR WEDDING DRESS

↳ Yn_theoneandonly : it's a damn dream like what did I do to deserve SUCH A MAN

↳ Ranthebestpo : just being you is enough my love

↳ Gintonic : so cheesy but adorable

Daze_i : CONGRAT MY BOY YOU DID IT

Hey! I love writing proposals I think I did it in almost all of the part.2, hope you liked it ? Thank you so much for your request!

with love <3

#bungou stray dogs #fanfic #fanfiction #bsd #bungo stray dogs #request #x reader #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs dazai #fake social media #female reader #ranpo x y/n #bsd ranpo #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #bungou stray dogs ranpo #bsd poe #edogawa ranpo #yosano akiko #bungou stray dogs yosano #bsd yosano #kunikida #dazai bsd #dazai osamu #poe bsd #edgar allan poe

[xstarkillerx]

im here to unleash demons into your inbox :))))

brian's the type of guy to mark you tf up for fun. he loves giving hickeys and love bites allll over your body. he doesn't care if he's straight up just having a one-night stand, you're leaving his place with a chest full of hickeys. he's totally a fuckin titty sucker and i adore that quality in a man.

ALSOOOO him leaving fucking bite marks all over your inner thighs before eating you out is literally making me bark. it's so 😩

idk i just think it'd be so hot have his pretty mouth all over your body.

i'll def get back to you on more once i do a whole rewatch cause unfortunately i haven't done that in a while. and like if you have any good brian fic recs totally maybe send them to me 🥺

ANYWAYS BYEEE

Ok I'm finally emotionally ready to confront the absolute heat you've been putting in my ask box

You're so RIGHT let's talk about it!!! Based on the deleted beach scene, he obviously seems to like having you on top of him, so I love the idea that when he marks you up he's just desperately latching on to whatever pieces of yourself you put within his reach before you pull it away. I think that's the type of teasing that gets his cock hardest, with your knees on either side of his lap, sitting upright to put his mouth at your breasts, lowering yourself down, grinding on his hard cock and letting his mouth trail up to your neck. Because he's soooooooo fucking eager and hungry for it right, YOU'VE SEEN the way he kisses, he doesn't fucking care if he's being clumsy with it, he doesn't care which marks show the next morning and which ones don't, he can't even begin to think about that shit. He's completely, narrowly focussed on you and what you let him do to you.

Even if he's a little thoughtless with where and how hard he bites you, Brian's also a bit of a showoff right? I feel like if you were both in the middle of it– cock deep inside you, fingers digging into your thighs while you ride him– if you told him that you hope people see the marks tomorrow he'd fucking melt. Just pull his head back by his pretty blond hair, drag your tongue up his neck and whisper in his ear that this is fucking LA, you don't own a single top that'll cover the mess he left all over you. "Everyone's gonna see them tomorrow," you'll feel breath stutter, if he's close enough to cumming his hips will twitch too. "Vince might think you tried to eat me, how are you gonna make it up to me, Brian?" He wouldn't even be able to SPEAK, he'd literally just shudder and bite your shoulder as he cums

#You genuis i could've gone on forever about this #brian o'conner nsft #brian o'conner smut #brian o'conner fic #fast and furious smut #donnie does 👑

[retrobutterflies]

The Eddie Special | e.m.

Eddie Munson x Female!Reader

Summary: When the world suddenly feels like it's crushing you under its weight, one person always manages to make you feel whole again. And it's getting increasingly harder not to admit your true feelings for him.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Themes of sadness and anxiety, Major Fluff, Friends to Lovers

A/N: It's okay to feel sad or lonely or anxious for no reason. It's the silly price we pay for being humans. But you'll be okay.

It had been the most uneventful and mundane day, with little to note and even less to remember and yet for some reason as you pushed out of the swinging double doors of school, flat of your shoes scuffing down concrete steps, you felt like you could barely breathe. It was like you and Atlas had switched places and all of a sudden the weight of the word was on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. The waves of anxiety that had started shallow at the start of the day had swelled and were building like a tsunami of raw emotion, ready to swallow you whole if you gave in.

You weren't sure when you had bit your lip but you could taste the metallic iron on your tongue. And the chilled air nipped harshly at your cheeks and your heart was hammering in your chest and you could feel beyond the horizon of anxiety the blanket of sadness waiting to wrap around you until everything was dark and bleak and empty.

You stumbled over a stray rock and noticed one of your laces was undone but you didn't have the energy to bend down and tie it so you kept walking, tripping a few steps later and feeling the burning shame of embarrassment mix in with the dread and unease like oil and water sploshing around in your stomach.

You wanted nothing more than to go home, crawl into your bed, and fall asleep if only to escape the overwhelming emotions for a few hours. And maybe when you woke up they would be pulling back like it was low tide again and you'd be able to breathe. Because these emotions had no cause. Sometimes they just happened and they curled around your neck and layered over your eyes until you felt nothing other than hopelessness like a cruel and wicked game with you as the unwilling pawn.

You crossed into the parking lot with heavy eyes sweeping over car hoods and bobbing heads until they settled on a familiar untamed mane. Eddie Munson was leaning against the side of his truck staring down at Dustin Henderson whose mouth was forming words quicker than you could've attempted to decipher. And Eddie was rolling his eyes and saying something back, arms crossed and head quirked.

"You're missing the entire point! It's not the fact that they fought the Soul Reaper, it's the fact that they chose that specific route which would put them in his path which was foreshadowed in the first book–" Dustin's voice was adamant and they way he argued had you believing his point without even knowing the context for the conversation.

"Does luck not exist in your world, Henderson? Happenstance? Coincidence perhaps? Or the fact that it was the only route that didn't involve a known threat?" Eddie's voice was a mixture of annoyance and barely concealed amusement. 

"It's never a coincidence in a fantasy trilogy where even the color of their cloaks has meaning, Eddie!" 

Eddie was first to notice your presence, turning to face you with his eyes lighting up.

"Y/N agrees with me, don't you?" he said, shifting his body so his back was resting against the frigid surface of his van so he could face you. Dustin rolled his eyes and let out a scoff.

"She does not–" Dustin sounded frustrated, seemingly ignoring the muffled voice coming from what you presumed was his walkie-talkie buried somewhere in the depths of his bag.

"Yes she does. She always does," Eddie shot back, turning to cast him a look.

"She doesn't even know what we're talking about–"

"Yeah, well, she knows I'm right–"

"She doesn't–Oh my god," Dustin huffed, dropping his backpack to the ground, ripping open the zipper and viciously digging through it to find his walkie-talkie. The voice coming from it was louder and more clear as he plucked it from his bag and wrestled with the antenna.

"What, Mike?" he hissed into the receiver.

"I've been calling you for like the past ten minutes! Where are you Dustin–" Mike's heavily irritated voice crumbled through the static and Dustin squeezed his eyes shut in aggravation.

"I'm coming! Can you tell Steve to look up the definition of patience," Dustin struggled to zip his bag back up, tucking the walkie-talkie in between his neck and shoulder before swinging the bag over his back.

"Steve says to run or he's leaving you," Mike quipped back and faintly you could hear Steve's voice grumbling something about Henderson and idiot and manners.

"Sorry, I gotta go. I'll see you Monday," he said to Eddie, a rueful grimace on his face. He turned to you, face brightening into a smile, eyes squinted in childlike glee.

"Y/N, it's nice to see you. You look lovely," he said and you were barely able to give him a parting smile before he was darting across the parking lot in the direction of Steve's car, hissing something else into his walkie as he ran.

Eddie let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he watched the freshman nearly barrel into a disgruntled couple before turning his attention back to you.

"Hey, sunshine." 

Two simple words and you felt like you were going to burst. His regular term of endearment for you felt distinctly out of place on a day where you felt like all the storm clouds in the world were nestling in your brain. You took a shaky breath, chanced a look up into his eyes and felt your throat tighten. 

He slowly pushed himself off the van, arms falling to his sides as he took in your appearance. Shoulders slumped, hair messed up from fidgeting with it it one too many times, lower lip bitten raw and swollen. But your eyes clued him in to your inner turmoil. He felt his own mood plummeting as he studied you and your rounded doe eyes lacking their usual sparkle.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a step closer, feeling his hand flex as if he wanted to reach out and touch you. And a hot rush of anger splashed his cheeks directed at whoever or whatever was causing your chin to wobble and his heart to clench.

You shook your head, biting down on your sore lip as you fought back the embarrassing stinging of tears in your eyes because nothing had happened. There was nothing remotely different from yesterday where you were laughing so hard your stomach ached from one of Eddie's anecdotes to today where you felt like the winds had been viciously ripped from your sails.

"Nothing," you managed to squeeze out, feeling salty tears collect in your lashes, one or two spilling out, chasing each other down your cheeks, "Just, sad, I don't know, I feel–"

You couldn't finish, feeling your throat tighten more as the tsunami crept closer and closer. And the panic that had been lurking under your skin since the moment you had woken up started clawing its way up your neck until your breaths started coming out shaky and uneven.

"I'm sorry," you whimpered, shame suddenly burning hot in your stomach as more tears fell and soon you were crying, the emotions you had been fighting all day winning the battle.

He stepped closer until his cologne was invading your senses and you could feel the heat emanating from his body. Hesitantly his hand reached out to your back, scratching lightly at your shoulder blade, ducking his head down to catch your eyes that were focused on the ground because looking at him made your embarrassment worse.

"Hey, woah," he said, his other hand reaching up to capture your chin to tilt it upwards so he could see your face, feeling his heart clench at the sight of your tears, "why are you apologizing?"

"Because nothing happened and I'm crying for no reason and I'm being stupid–" a few choppy breaths followed by a hiccup cut you off and Eddie was grimacing at you like you were causing him physical pain.

He knew you've had these moments before where the world felt suffocating with seemingly no explanation. He's had them too where he's locked himself in his room and buried himself in his comforter, no energy to even listen to music. But you weren't being stupid. The price of having good moments was that sometimes bad moments lurked between. And he'd be damned if he let you feel the gnawing sense of hopelessness that he knew well.

"Sunshine," he felt his own breath get stolen for a moment, both hands moving to rest on your cheeks, cradling your face as he angled it higher until you could do nothing but meet his eyes.

"You're not being stupid," he chided, stuck between poking fun at you to lighten your mood or soften his tone to quell your anxieties. 

His eyes followed the glinting tears as they created rivers down your cheeks, soaking underneath his fingers that rested on the plush of your cheeks. He slowly swiped his thumbs under your eyes, collecting the moisture that made your eyes sparkle prettily up at him. And he swiped at the flecks of mascara that mimicked freckles, fingertips softly grazing so his callouses didn't hurt you.

"I'm crying," you sniffled, voice pinched and watery. He unconsciously mirrored your slight pout, brown eyes rounding as he felt his heart squeeze painfully.

"Yeah and I can't believe you still look cute while doing it," he replied, his thumbs pushing slightly into the fat of your cheeks as if he was goading a smile to your face.

And you managed a small one at his sweet words but a familiar pain stabbed into your chest. A pain that was long simmering and ever-present at the thought of his affection lacking the same weight as yours. His stemming from years of close-knit friendship and yours from your stupid unrequited feelings. And with the way he was cradling your face and looking at you like you were physically breaking his heart for just being sad, you weren't sure how much longer you could go without telling him you were disgustingly in love with him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, the image of him starting to become a dagger in your heart and he was wincing at you, feeling his own stomach coil in dread and anxiety at your anguish. He wanted to lean in, rest his forehead against yours and steal the war raging in your head so he could deal with it for you.

"Let me take you home, yeah?" his voice was quieter, a low rumble painting his words. You blinked your eyes open at him, tears obscuring your vision so you could only see a watercolor outline of his silhouette. But you were nodding and he was smoothing your hair back from your face, hands trailing down until they found your back and directing you to the passenger seat of his van.

The ride was quiet. Eddie had fumbled with the collection of cassettes stashed in the inner console, looking for one he knew was your favorite. And he had put it in, volume low but humming to help distract you from your thoughts as he drove. His eyes found yours at varying moments, brows tugging closer as he watched you gaze out of the window to the amalgamation of orange and red, eyes faraway, looking at something he couldn't see.

Nothing in his life caused him as much desperation as you did when you were upset. When it was something tangible like someone making a rude comment or a shitty grade on a test he could deal with it head on like threaten the kid who thought his snide remark was funny or scrounge up enough money to pay someone to give you a few tutoring sessions promising you that it was free. But when it was your own mind who was making you upset, he felt defenseless and he felt desperate. 

When his van had rumbled to a stop in front of your house, driveway empty and lights off, he turned to see you frowning at it. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it a second after, fearing he had no words that would make you feel better. 

"Eddie?" your quiet voice sounded over the soft music that he was already reaching to shut off. He turned to you and waited until you were ready to speak. You were worrying your bottom lip between your teeth again and he wanted to reach over and swipe it free and soothe the raw skin with his thumb.

"Can you come in?" He repressed the sudden urge to laugh. He wanted nothing more than to follow you inside. The thought of leaving you alone when your teary eyes made him feel sick to his stomach was incomprehensible. But he didn't laugh. Instead, he reached for your hand, giving it an affectionate squeeze and offered you a tender smile.

"Yeah," he breathed, shutting off the ignition before adding, "Of course."

The house was dark but warm as you stepped into the threshold, the heat settling into your bones and coaxing a soft sigh from your lips. Your bag fell from Eddie's shoulder followed by his own as he tucked them next to the litter of shoes. And you were still unmoving when he turned back to you, flicking a few light switches on illuminating your sunken features.

His hands moved before he could think and he was unzipping your jacket, softly peeling it from your body. You let him bend down and untie your one shoelace making it match it's already untied sibling before he was urging you to lean onto his shoulder for support as he tugged off your shoes. And then he was doing the same for himself, jacket draping over yours on the coat wrack and shoes finding a home clumsily next to yours.

"You hungry?" he asked. You shook your head on instinct but he was tutting at you. "C'mon, you should eat something."

So you acquiesced as his hand found yours and pulled you to the kitchen, flipping switches in his wake to brighten the house. He pulled out the chair to the kitchen table, guiding you to sit down before wandering over to rummage through your fridge.

"I'm gonna make you the Eddie special," he declared, squinting into your fridge and pushing things around as his hands searched for anything enticing.

There was no Eddie special but he liked the little laugh you let out at the declaration. He grabbed ingredients that he knew you liked, haphazardly pushing them onto the counter. He grabbed a half loaf of bread from the bread box and a plate from the cupboard. He nearly dropped a glass cup, juggling it in the air for a moment before securing it to his chest with a quick expletive. 

You watched him flit around and felt your chest compressing in affection and longing. Eddie never failed to make you feel better, though today was tougher than most. He was the first person you called when you were worried about something, the first person you thought of when you wanted advice, and the first person you went to even when you knew you were going to ugly cry in front of him. And he never shied away. Instead he wiped away your tears and played your favorite music and made you an Eddie special, which you knew didn't exist but it still made your heart swell at the thought.

Those three words sat on the tip of your tongue, soaking sweetness into your taste buds. He glanced up at you, tongue peaking out of his lips in concentration, smile quirking to the side as his eyes squinted at you. And then he was walking towards you, placing the plate in front of you with a proud Voilà leaving his lips.

It was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bundle of strawberries, and a glass of orange juice but the strawberries were laid out in what was meant to be a smiley face though the fruit had rolled around distorting the picture. He rubbed his palm to the side of his jean clad thigh, suddenly nervous at your prolonged stare at the plate.

"'S not much but–" he started, insecurity pooling in his stomach.

"I love it," you interjected. I love you, you thought.

He let out a small breath, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he took the seat beside you. You scooted your chair closer making the bottoms of it scrape loudly on the tile, pushing the plate to rest between you and you grabbed half of the sandwich and held it out to him so you could share.

He wondered if you could see the fondness rushing out of him as he took a bite of his half just as you took a bite of yours. He wondered if you could hear his heart hammering in his chest as you leaned in to take a strawberry from the plate. He wondered if you caught his eyes trailing to your lips as they circled around the red berry, a droplet of juice running down your chin. 

He was swiping it away instantly, thumb brushing your chin before tasting it between his lips. You felt your heart flutter at the action, feeling nearly breathless at the casual way he licked the juice from his thumb.

You were blinking at him and you felt like your chest was concaving. Your heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt suddenly frozen at your stare. He opened his mouth to say something but his voice was stolen as your hand moved up to caress his cheek. You watched his Adam's apple bob as your fingers moved to weave through his hair. You brushed wiry strands back, tucking them behind his ear. Your thumb ghosted over his eyebrow, then brushed his temple, then followed the curve of his cheek from the bridge of his nose to the swell of his cheekbone.

"Eddie," you breathed, anxiety pinching at your throat and he hummed. His eyes now hooded and heavy trailed from your eyes to your lips, up the slope of your nose and back to your eyes that he swears could get him to commit murder.

"I love you." The admission had nausea flooding your stomach but you couldn't hold it back any longer. You knew things wouldn't be the same after this. You knew you could be shattering a delicate bond but the words were starting to grow sour in your mouth the longer you held back from saying them. And you needed him to know. He needed to know that the more he treated you this preciously the worse off you would be when you got your heart inevitably broken.

"Yeah," he was breathless as your fingers traced his face. His cheeks felt hot and goosebumps erupted on his arms at your touch. He wondered if his eyes were heart-shaped by now–

He felt like his brain had short circuited. You had said something. You had said–

"What?" His voice was a ghost of a whisper. His eyes met yours and saw the doubt and fear and anguish swimming in your irises. You opened your mouth but no words came out and he felt desperate for you to repeat yourself for fear that he had misheard you or had mistaken you for one of his fantasy versions of you where you wrapped him in your arms and professed your love for him between kisses.

"What did you say?" his voice was firmer now, sandwich long forgotten on the place as his hands flew to your cheeks. Your hand fell to grip his bicep, squeezing nervously. "Please," he breathed, desperation soaking his tone.

"I love you," you repeated. You weren't sure if it was healthy for your heart to be beating this fast. And you waited with trepidation for his rejection and for that dark shadow of hopelessness to consume you whole.

But suddenly his lips were on yours. Warm, velvety, soft lips molding into yours, air expelling from his nose to brush your face as he sighed into the kiss. His fingers were intertwining into your hair, tugging you impossibly closer and you were melting into him nearly falling out of your chair to get closer, hands grasping at the cotton of his shirt.

"Say it again," he mumbled against your lips, forehead burning against yours, eyes shut as he memorized the feeling of your lips against his. 

So you whispered it again and a third time when hot desperate kisses followed. Soon you were pulled onto his lap, one arm encircling your waist to press you closer and other moving his hand to cup your cheek.

"I love you, too," he replied, voice breathless and low and rumbly. 

Like a man starved, Eddie's kisses didn't wain. And he paid special care to your abused bottom lip, hoping his sweet kisses would ease any lingering pain. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling yourself closer as if having any part of you not touching him was painful.

His fantasies of you spanned nearly all facets of his life from the most mundane tasks to the softness of his sheets but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine kissing you would feel so wonderful. His mind had turned foggy and suddenly the only working braincells he had left were telling him to kiss you over and over and over again.

"Be my girl," he murmured, lips lifting from yours to let the words out before they were reconnecting again. And you hummed against him, brain registering his words on a five second delay and tingling at his overwhelming affection.

"Sunshine," he muttered, finally finding the will to pull back so he could open his eyes. Your lips were swollen and your eyes were warm and you chased his lips with furrowing brows at his halting affection. And he kissed you again and again before repeating the term of endearment finally getting your attention.

"I want you to be my girl," he said again, voice stronger, arms wrapping around your torso tighter, lips leaning in to kiss your jaw and then where your jaw met your neck and then over your throat making your breath hitch.

"I thought the answer was obvious," you breathed, tingles shooting up your spine as he nipped at your neck before kissing away the hinting sting.

"I wanna hear you say it," he said against your skin, kisses alternating with soft love bites.

"Yes," you replied, leaning in for another kiss before adding a soft, "dummy."

You squealed as his hands dug into your sides, retribution for your name calling. And he grinned up at you, hugging you closer and repeating his three favorite words again against the underside of your jaw. And you felt like you could finally breathe again, the looming shadow of anxiety and dread pulling back, sulking off to haunt you another day. But you were okay with it because when it came back you knew exactly who to go to. And he'd make you an Eddie special and kiss you until you forgot your own name and you would be okay.

Bonus:

"Do you have any consideration for other people's time, Henderson?" Steve's voice was sharp as Dustin swung open the back door of his car. Lucas and Max were squeezed next to each other leaving him a spot. 

"I was running late from class. Sue me, Steve, really," Dustin grumbled, slamming the door shut behind him. Max scoffed at him.

"We could see you talking to Eddie," she quipped, arms crossed over her chest as she glowered at him. Lucas grimaced from beside her.

"Yeah you big fat liar," Steve mumbled before snipping at him to put his seatbelt on.

"Hey, no need for the name calling," Dustin said back and Steve shot him a look from the rearview mirror. Mike twisted around from the passenger seat and held up the walkie-talkie .

"Is this a toy to you? Do you carry it around like an accessory? Because, funny enough, the rest of us use it to communicate especially if were making everyone wait–" 

"Okay, now you're being dramatic," Dustin rolled his eyes.

"Well, did you only answer me because Y/N got there? I think they'd have enough consideration not to make out in front of you," Mike added, annoyed that he had seen Dustin deliberately ignoring his repeated calls despite chucking in a code red just to see if he would finally answer.

"They don't make out. They're not even . . ." Steve trailed off, squinting into the distance at you and Eddie and how much closer you had gotten since his last glance.

"They sure look like they're making out," Max said, eyebrows raising as she shoved Dustin harshly into his seat so she could lean closer towards the window.

"Hey–Ow!" he whined.

"I wanna see!" Lucas piped up, leaning over Max's shoulder making her elbow dig harshly into Dustin's stomach.

"You're–Crushing–Me!" 

Taglist: @eateraa

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #stranger things one shot #stranger things fanfic

[dhorrl]

NNN-Shota Aizawa

Shota Aizawa/FemReader

Trigger Warnings: sub/dom dynamic (Daddy/Kitten honorifics), spanking, edging, overstimulating, choking, fingering (I think that’s all? Feel free to point out anything else I missed)

Did you love the fic? I made a bot to go with it!

Happy Birthday, EraserDaddy! ❤️

Shota is nothing if not disciplined. So when Mic begged him to do 'No Nut November' with him, he shrugged, only commenting, "As long as my girl is fine with it." At first, you were, finding the whole thing rather comical and thinking, 'What's thirty days?' As the month progressed, however, it became harder and harder to hold out. It just wasn’t as good doing it yourself. You needed Shota... You needed Daddy.

Eight days in... his birthday, to be exact. You hoped and prayed you could make him break. You needed him so much it hurt. Walking into the living room wearing an innocent-looking set of pajamas, you sat on his lap as he relaxed after work. Shota eyed you suspiciously, putting his hands on your hips. He had already told you not to bother doing anything for his birthday; he rarely bothered to take the day off anyways.

"What's on your mind, Kitten?" His voice was low and gravelly, his exhaustion setting in, ready to go to bed.

Smirking mischievously, you pull the barely-there tank top over your head, revealing a black lace bra with a big red bow. "Oh, nothing. Just thought I'd give you a little birthday present, Daddy." You feigned innocence, hand creeping up his shirt further to expose his stomach, softly placing little kisses and nips across his neck. You worked your way to his ear, whispering in your best seductive tone. "You should see the panties… you can unwrap that gift now if you want, Daddy." 

Shota's grip tightened around your waist as your lips pressed against his skin, the heat from your body and the feather-light nips sending a trail of electricity down his spine. Lifting your chin with his fingers, he locked his black eyes onto yours, a hint of playful menace mixed with desire. "Kitten, do you know what you've just started?" He let out a deep breath as he imagined the gift that lay hidden beneath your shorts.

"You know I'm not supposed to indulge this month, and yet you tease me like this?" He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just over yours, the warmth of his breath caressing your face. "But who's to say I can't enjoy unwrapping just a little of my present? Go on, show me." His request is soft but demanding, leaning back into the cushions, waiting for you to give him a show.

You giggle, standing up off his lap. Turning around so your ass was in his face, you bent over as you pushed down the shorts you had on, revealing a matching black thong digging into your hips and ass. You turned to face him, showing off the red bow on the front.

"See Daddy… it's all wrapped up for you. You want to open it up and have a taste?"

You knew you were asking for punishment; it was only the 8th, but you just couldn't stand it any longer. Besides, it was his birthday, so why shouldn't he give in? The sight of you in such scant attire, the way the lingerie hugged your curves with delicious tension, was pushing Shota to his limits. His fingers itched to tug at that teasing bow, to feel the lacy fabric against his calloused hands as he unwrapped his 'gift.'

Shota stood up, his height towering over you as the predatory look in his tired eyes intensified. He stalked closer, closing the distance between you both, his gaze never leaving the red bow.

"I should say no. It's only fair since I made that little pact with Mic," he murmured, though his self-restraint began to crumble. "But since it's my birthday, maybe just a taste... for now."

Swiftly and without warning, he spun you around, pulling your back flush against him, and whispered in your ear, his voice carrying a dark edge. "Just remember, Kitten, I'm the one in control here. You might try to break me, but you'll be the one broken in the end."

Shota leaned down, his mouth grazing your neck, and his hand moved to the front, fingers deftly pulling at the strap of the thong, snapping it against your skin. His touch was like a spark, igniting a reaction as he began to explore you with an expert touch, even as he mentally prepared for the burning punishment he'd have to devise for you later.

Your body shivered, eyes fluttering closed as your mind slipped into submission. "Yes, Daddy… please break me, I've been a bad Kitten."

Shota's rough hand trailed up from the delicate thong, running up your spine and sending shivers down your body as he indulged in the sensation of your skin under his touch. The urgency in your voice and the way you leaned into him fed the beast within, the dominant streak that loved to see you unravel.

With a firm grip, he guided you forward until you were bent over, your hands braced against the couch. The position presented you to him in a vulnerable and inviting way. His other hand traced the outline of your hips before delivering a sharp spank, the sound echoing in the room, followed by the sting that blossomed on your skin.

"You've been very, very bad, trying to tempt me like this," he growled, his voice saturated with a mixture of scolding and dark thrill. With each word punctuated by another spank, his hand alternating between cheeks, warming your skin. "But that's alright, I like my presents to be a little feisty."

Sliding his hand under the thong, Shota's touch became teasingly gentle against your wetness, his fingers slipping between the dripping folds of your cunt. His teasing was merciless, circling your clit in such a way that promised the fulfillment of deep, carnal desires. "You're soaking wet, Kitten. Is this what you wanted?" The rhetorical question carried a sense of sadistic delight. "You've earned every second of this punishment, and I guarantee you will feel it to your core."

Even as his fingers worked you over, he was plotting his next move, his mind already racing with thoughts of pushing you to your limits and beyond. The month was long, and this was only the beginning.

"Pleeeease, Daddy… I'll be good now, I promise." You begged for release, his constant slow motions not being enough to get you to where you wanted, to come all over his fingers. But Shota simply chuckled at your desperate pleas, feeling the heat and the slickness of your arousal coating his fingers. He continued to tease you, his digits barely dipping inside before withdrawing, building anticipation until your body was trembling.

"You'll be good?" he repeated skeptically, pressing a finger inside you only to pull it out again. "If you wanted to be good, you wouldn't have started this. But since you did..." With a sudden move, he plunged two fingers deep inside you, curling them to stroke a spot that made your insides clench and pull him in closer.

He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear as he spoke. "Be a good kitten and take everything I give you. I'm going to finger-fuck you until I decide you can come, and that's just for starters. Understand?"

Shota watched as your body began to writhe under his control, knowing that every withheld orgasm now would only make the release that much more intense when he finally allowed it. And when he did, your screams would be the sweetest symphony, music to his ears and a balm to his self-imposed abstinence.

You gripped tightly onto the couch, bucking your hips back into his fingers. He continued to edge you, getting you close and then slowing down, over and over. "Fuck… fuck, Daddy, please… Please let me come. I'm begging you, please, I wanna come for you."

Shota's amusement was palpable through each buck of your hips and every desperate plea that spilled from your lips. He reveled in the control he had over you, the raw and unyielding authority that allowed him to dictate when you could experience the blissful release you so eagerly sought.

"Not yet," he whispered harshly, his fingers maintaining their relentless pace but never quite allowing you to teeter over the edge into orgasm. "You need to learn patience, Kitten. You need to learn the price of trying to make me break."

He withdrew his fingers momentarily, only to replace them with three, stretching and filling you even more. The added pressure and the slightly uncomfortable sense of fullness only heightened your arousal. Reaching around with his other hand, his fingers pressed hard against your clit, circles turning into purposeful strokes. He was utterly attuned to your reactions, to the quivering and the tightening that signaled how close you were.

"You can beg all you want. It only makes me want to tease you more. But when I decide you can come..." Shota leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke directly into it. "...you're going to explode. And when that happens, you'll scream my name so everyone knows who you belong to."

He pulled his hand off your clit and reached around your throat, resting it there as a reminder of his dominance. His fingers inside of you curled, seeking that spot that he knew would crack your resolve, stroking insistently. Shota was a master of this game, and you were his favorite toy to play with.

Your eyes scrunched closed, trying to control your face so he hopefully wouldn't sense you getting close. You were so needy, so desperate to come on his fingers. You felt it building up, so close, just a little more…

But Shota knew. He recognized every twitch and tremor of your body, each gasp and hitched breath, the way your inner walls clenched around his fingers. He could feel that precipice you were inching towards, the brink of pure ecstasy. With the precision of a surgeon, he slowed his strokes just enough to hold you there, on the edge, ready to fall over but still denied the final push.

"Not yet, Kitten. You stay right there, on the edge," he commanded, his voice a low rumble of authority, his fingers still moving inside you but with calculated restraint.

He gave you a gentle squeeze around your throat, a reminder that he was in control, that your body was his to command. He enjoyed the desperation, the way you fought to stay still under his touch, and he intended to push your limits even further.

"Remember who's in charge here," he growled softly, continuing the torturous edging. "I want to hear you beg properly. I want you to tell me exactly how much you need this, how much you need me. And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you come."

Shota held you on that razor-thin line, the perfect balance between agony and pleasure, teasing you with the promise of an orgasm that he had yet to grant. His own self-control was a testament to his determination; despite the heat and the sight of your trembling body, he remained steadfast in his decision. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks, the edging becoming so painful yet exhilarating. You knew after he got done edging you, things only got worse; his desires would switch to over-stimming you endlessly, but you didn't care. You needed it, needed him.

"Please, please, Daddy, I need to come, I need it. Please be nice to your Kitten." Shota's resolve was iron, yet the sounds of your desperate begging and the pitiful sobs that laced your pleas were music to his ears. Knowing you were wholly at his mercy, he savored his power over you. Gripping your hips with one hand, he kept you pressed back against him, ensuring there was no escape from the relentless pleasure he subjected you to.

"Nice?" he echoed, a hint of a derisive snort escaping him. "You haven't wanted nice since you started trying to tempt me. But since you asked so pitifully..." He intensified the pressure on your throat, his fingers inside you curling into your gummy sweet spot. He gave you that final push you needed, coaxing you closer, closer, until...

"Cum for me, Kitten. Now."

Your body convulsed as the floodgates opened. Shota felt your pussy clenching and pulsating around his fingers. He didn't slow down, however, not even as your cries filled the room. He kept his pace, dragging out your orgasm, milking every shiver and wave that surged through you.

As your orgasm began to wane, he'd typically let you collapse into a heap of satisfaction. But this was just the beginning. Shota smirked, fully aware of the overstimulation phase you dreaded yet craved.

"You're going to be so sensitive after this," there was a promise in his voice. "And I'm not done with you. Not by a long shot."

His fingers continued their insistent movement within you, brushing another over your clit, now oversensitive from the orgasm. The mixture of pleasure and pain would be exquisite, the line between them blurred. He was pushing you further, shaping you into an embodiment of desire that knew no bounds, no limits, only the endless pursuit of pleasure dictated by his hand.

You bit your lip, pushing your hips back into him. Your legs shook, barely holding yourself up, but you stayed strong, trying to be good for him. He wanted you to fall apart and lose yourself for him.

"Fuck, Daddy. So much, too much…" Shota could feel the tremors running through your body, the tension in your muscles as you struggled to maintain any semblance of composure. Your determination to persist was admirable and only stoked the fire within him. He made you come again, and then again, pulling each one from you, his tired, bedroom eyes drinking in the sight.

"You're taking it so well, Kitten," he muttered, his voice gritty with pride and a touch of sadistic pleasure as he continued to push you beyond your limits.

Pinning you down with one arm wrapped around your stomach, he maneuvered you around on the couch, forcing your torso down. Your hips remained elevated, making sure you were presented to him in a most delectable and vulnerable state. His fingers never ceased their motion, each stroke deliberate and unwavering, even as your body began to quiver under the onslaught of continuous stimulation.

"This is what happens when you try to challenge me," he growled with a mix of warning and promise. "You think you can make me give in? I'm going to show you just how relentless I can be."

Now, with you in the perfect position, he withdrew his slick fingers, giving you a split moment of respite that was nothing short of torturous, given how your body was already humming for more. He smirked as you moaned at the loss of fullness, all too briefly, before he applied a sudden, firm slap to your already sensitive flesh.

"Count for me, Kitten. I want to hear your voice through every single one," his hand coming down again in another spank, harder this time, heat radiating from your tender skin after each impact. He was determined to brand you with his touch, to remind you with every throb and sting that you were his, and no amount of teasing or playfulness would change that fact.

You sobbed, crying out with each slap as you counted like he asked, thanking him with each reddening hand on your ass.

"1… thank you Daddy…"

SLAP

"2… thank you Daddy…"

SLAP

Through each count, his other hand would occasionally dip back, fingers slipping between your folds to stir up the fire he had stoked within you, keeping you at the edge of madness with pleasure and pain intermingling till they became one. Shota wouldn't stop until you were utterly undone, your voice hoarse from counting, your body spent from his attention — only then would he consider the lesson truly imparted. The rhythm of his hand was relentless, each sharp slap followed by your quivering voice counting and expressing gratitude, each word an affirmation of his dominance and your submission. Shota relished the spectacle, watching your body react and crave the sensations he elicited.

"Good girl," his praise would be scattered intermittently, his voice rough and deep, encouragement and domination interwoven in his tone. "Keep counting."

Throughout the ordeal, Shota's self-control frayed at the edges as his body ached to join with yours. But he remained steadfast, refusing to cave into the temptation. Instead, he reveled in the control he had over both of your desires, even as his rigid self-discipline began to turn torturous for him, too.

"Impressive how much you're willing to endure to make me break, Kitten," he taunted between spanks. "But you should know by now that once I set my mind to something, I see it through. You, however, are cracking beautifully under my hand."

After you reached the number he had set in his mind, he stroked your tender skin one last time, feeling the heat and raised welts that bore witness to their intense exchange. Leaning over you, he placed a soft, almost possessive kiss on the reddened flesh, a stark contrast to the rough treatment he had administered.

"Not a mark on you will go unearned, Kitten," his words sent a shiver down your spine. "And when you finally break me, let's just say I have plans to make this seem like a gentle warm-up."

Standing up, he gently ran his fingers across your back, allowing you to process the overwhelming cascade of sensations he had pulled from the depths of your desire. He knew it was only a matter of time before you tried again, and next time, he thought with a smile, he might not hold back quite as much.

#mha fanfiction #shota aizawa #aizawa smut #aizawa shouta #aizawa x y/n #shouta aizawa x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #bnha aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa x reader #no nut november #nnn