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#their relationship and dynamic captivated me

unhelpfulfemme · 7 months

Text

...because in this, as with everything he did, there were layers of intent, moments when expected patterns would suddenly dissolve into something else.

This line is about a swordfight, but I feel like this sums up this entire book series, and Laurent's role in it, quite well. There is an internal logic, patterns and symmetries, to everything that's happening, but the moment you think you've grasped them they shift into something different (and as someone really fascinated with dynamic systems I love it). It's like that with the plot, it's like that with the romance, it's like that with the characterization, it's even like that with the worldbuilding through the power of Damen's very biased narration.

And what I particularly like is that it doesn't only get patterns, but it also gets dynamics, because things must be done in the right order, in the right moment, with the right intensity, to have an effect, and interpersonal relationships shift and change as a response to this constant back and forth. And this principle is everywhere: the battles, the politics, the swordfights, the sex, the chivalric tournaments.

He thought of Laurent's delicate, needling talk that that froze into icy rebuff if Damen pushed at it, but if he didn't - if he matched himself to its subtle pulses and undercurrents - continued, sweetly deepening, until he could only wonder if he knew, if they both knew, what they were doing.

^ Like that, for example. Or the way some things have to happen as a precondition to Laurent feeling safe, at first: on a micro level, there must be some token show of dominance on Laurent's part, to which Damen should respond sweetly and unintrisively, before he lets himself go, and on a macro level, the show of dominance before he lets himself go is the entire first half of book 1. You must always do something, which will then change the thing that you're acting upon, put it in the right position for you to do what you wanted to do all along. I love this.

Finally, I'm not a person who's very partial to symbolism. It tends to ruin my sense of immersion when the weather is dreary because the character is sad and the curtains are blue because they symbolize the sadness of the scene, because it always makes me feel like the world is small and unreal and like the writer perceives the world in a deeply egocentric way (I hate antropomorphising; if you have to project yourself onto something to appreciate it, you're not appreciating it. real appreciation requires accomodation, not assimilation). But man the symbolism in this, and the way it intertwines the cultural and the personal, makes me go feral.

The intricate crisscrossing laces of Veretian clothing paralleling the tangled threads of Laurent's mind, both of which require skill and patience to unravel, both of which have both a protective and a stymying purpose, and how they contrast with Damen's straightforward nature, because he is a man who sees beauty in simplicity and seeks to achieve it. The intricate lacing of Veretian clothing also reflecting the intricate, overly complicated way they do everything, which is also reflected in their intricate, overly complicated architecture, and Damen's immediate reaction to all of it. The Akielon philosophy of appreciating things for what they are - striving for measured simplicity in order to appreciate the quality of the fabric, the stone, the body, and how it makes Damen receptive to how artless Laurent gets when he's vulnerable. The man who is an unbeaten champion of the okton, a sport where you have to have the strength and precision and self-control necessary to ace a spear throw while dodging other people's spears flying by you while riding a horse, being the one who knows the right move to make at the right time regarding the saw trap that is Laurent's personality. The man who enjoys having spears thrown at him for fun taking on Laurent's prickliness in a spirit of sportsmanlike challenge.

#captive prince #the real enemies to lovers here is me saying that this book has nothing that interests me and then #discovering that it captures the way I see the world and the dynamic way I see interpersonal relationships like nothing I've ever read befo #I have a lot more to say about the worldbuilding and the character work in particular but this is what I noticed at first #because it's so so important to me #also not to merrily mash my blorbos together without rhyme or reason #but I think Thrawn would so appreciate how the cultural logic of each nation is reflected #in their art and architecture

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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A Thought™️ that I had last night and shared in the Discord server, that I’m now going to share here more fleshed out.

CW for implied/mentioned dubcon, kidnapping, unhealthy relationship dynamics, objectification, and reader anxiety. Oh and Simon being Mean.

You belong to Johnny — one of his toys, essentially. Like a cock ring or a vibrator but better because you also serve as a little companion pet. Someone that Simon got for Johnny to pour all that overflowing love and tenderness into when he just… can’t handle it. When he starts wanting to hurt Johnny in Very Bad ways past the lines they already walk, only because Johnny wants to dote on him.

So Simon got you as a gift for Johnny.

And he gets to dote on you, chatter to you, soothe you, fuck you. It’s a weird “relationship” you two have. Johnny pouring so much into you while you awkwardly try to reciprocate and tolerate. A bit like a child’s beloved long-suffering pet. Simon lets Johnny drag you everywhere, dress you up, babble on about you. Put in all that attention and energy when Simon is needed (or simply just focused) elsewhere. Johnny’s happy as a peach, Simon gets a bit of a break, and you’re a soft-spined thing that’s stopped crying and whining for the most part so wins all around.

You and Simon’s relationship is nonexistent. Just a matter of logistics. You’re one of Johnny’s toys that Simon got for him, end of. You interact with him only so far as 1, following the rules of captivity; 2, keeping Johnny happy; and 3, being used as a reward or punishment to be given or taken away.

And the two of you are respectively fine with that. You follow Johnny around, speak almost solely to or through him. Are not acknowledged by Simon unless Johnny’s showing you off.

Until Johnny is gone for a Period of Time. A mission, most likely.

While he’s away, you treat it as a sort of vacation and just avoid Simon, don’t even ask when Johnny will be back. Until one day you’re going about your business, kind of bebopping along in your own little world. And almost run directly into Simon.

Blink in surprise, hurriedly skirt around him, pulse skipping. “Excuse me,” you say, soft and melodic (a voice you specifically use to soothe and neutralize) and then pad away quickly.

It flips something in Simon’s brain. Like a cat seeing a bit of interesting movement. Locked on, tail swishing.

You’re just so… shy. Even with Johnny you’ve always been a bit reserved, but with Simon you studiously avoid eye contact with his very person - in a way he can’t even get Johnny to do in the deepest subspace. You’re just this quiet little thing that lives in his house, and it’s like it only just occurs to him.

Simon starts finding ways to hem you in against counters and walls, making you squeeze past in hallways. You try to be so so careful of his Sacred Personal Space because Johnny’s gleeful shared stories (and shown you evidence) about how Simon “handles” touching without permission. You’ve no interest in being on the receiving end of any of that, thank you very much.

But then Simon starts showing up all over the house to watch you like a specimen — you devoid of Johnny. You’re so normal and functional. Snacks and tv shows and novels. Bird watching in the windows. Napping in Johnny’s room. Cooking and cleaning up after yourself.

He starts taking up all the space you just got back. Fills up a room with his presence alone. Squishes you in on the couch until you’re nearly falling over the arm just to maintain that sliver of no-contact.

Gets to the point that he even growls at you when you pass too close, just to hear you squeak and watch you dart off with a mumbled, “sorry!”

“Make us a cup of tea,” he says as your futzing in the kitchen on morning.

You’re so used to being ignored that you don’t respond, mouthing words to some ditzy song stuck in your head. He grunts in annoyance and takes two long strides towards you — not that he needs to, your head snapped up halfway through the first.

“Oop,” you breathe, scrambling away from the counter.

“The hell are you going?” He ask, voice purposefully gruff.

“I, um… I thought… that you needed something…?” you explain, pointing at the cabinets you were just in front of.

“I need a fucking cuppa.”

You blink.

He reminds himself that you’re not trained like Johnny. But that doesn’t mean you’re getting away with anything.

“Do I need to spell it out for you?”

A double blink as you seem to process. “O-oh! Uh, sure. The black cup right?”

You shuffle back to your previous spot and reach into the cabinet, up on your toes because Simon put it a shelf higher than usual. Seem to actually be waiting for a response as you hold the mug up in question. He just stares.

And there goes the nibbling - a nervous habit that tears up your bottom lip. Still, you keep going, filling the kettle and tapping your fingers nervously at the sides as you wait.

“Earl Grey?” you ask.

He grunts. You look a little frustrated about that, if you should take it as a yes. Decide that it is and fish a sachet out while the water’s heating.

While you wait, you try to continue what you were doing before - making yourself a little parfait - but Simon’s stationed himself in such a way that you can’t get to the cutting boards without asking him to move. And you really, really want some of the fresh fruit he bought yesterday.

“Um…” you start.

He crosses his arms, seems to loom without ever taking a step closer. You fidget, fingers twisting in the long sleeves of your jumper.

“I need — could… could you…?” You’re flushing brighter and brighter, eyes darting all over so fast he’s surprised you’re not dizzy. “Could I get by… um, into that cupboard… please?”

He takes a single half step to the side. Your eyes actually get a bit shiny as you blink, confusion and anxiety welling up. But you keep it together enough to awkwardly angle yourself, get the cabinet open just a sliver, and maneuver a cutting board out.

Simon realizes you’re holding your breath the entire time, until you’re once again a safe distance away. He snorts softly as you pluck a tiny paring knife from the block and get to work on cutting up your assortment of fruits.

“Who the hell said you could have a knife?” he demands.

You pause, give him a truly baffled look. “Um… no one said I couldn’t? I just, uh, use them sometimes. Johnny’s taught me tricks. Or-or tried to anyway…”

It’s the most he’s ever heard you speak. Your tone catches between appeasement and genuine confusion. You finish cutting a strawberry into cubes, then send him a worried glance.

“Am I… not supposed to…?”

Because you know that it doesn’t matter how things normally are. What matters is how Simon wants things to be.

“Put that down.”

You do. He strides towards you and as always, you’re quick to make way. He takes up the knife to finish paring and jerks his head at the the stove.

“Tea’s almost done. Take care of it.”

You jump as the kettle starts to whistle, murmur a quick “oh, shoot!” as you hurry to finish making his tea. By the time you’re done, he’d cut all the fruit and stolen a handful as a toll for his “help”.

Hasn’t actually put any of the fruit in your waiting yogurt, though. And the dishes are still there on the counter, along with detritus of unwanted bits like strawberry tops.

He takes a sip — made just the way he likes.

“Next time, dont make me repeat myself,” he barks.

You jump nearly a mile, blueberries rolling across the counter.

“Y-you repeated yourself?” You ask, hurrying to catch the berries before they hit the ground.

“About the tea,” he explains impatiently.

You blink for a second. “Oh! I thought you were on the phone. Sorry.”

He grunts. And doesn’t leave. After a moment, the pressure of his stare seems to get to you.

“Was… there anything else…?” you wonder.

“I’d tell you if there was,” he replies, flat.

You swallow, press your lips together, then continue with your task, shoulders a little tenser than before. When your parfait is finished (and dishes are in the machine) you escape to the dining table to eat in peace. He gives you two solitary bites before he’s at the corner next to you, and your spoon clinks against the bowl in surprise.

Well.

Isn’t this a fun game?

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #mean Simon ghost Riley #simon riley

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incognit0slut · 7 months

Text

SILENT PLEA

Part 1 of kinktober | main masterlist

Being a few feet away from your friends wasn’t going to stop you from seeking pleasure with your professor.

softdom!spencer x fem reader; Thigh-riding, teasing, semi-public, praise, age gap, power imbalance with teacher/student dynamic

words: 2,932

a/n: this one is dedicated to those who just wants to sit on his lap while being praised 🖤 (also i has to repost this bcs of some error it was so weird)

IT WAS HIS EYES. The rich, earthy tones of his irises with subtle flecks of amber and gold held a comforting warmth that seemed to radiate within, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. You always found yourself captivated every time his gaze fell on you. It felt as if he had a secret language written in those brown orbs, one that spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

Or it might've been his hands. You always knew he had nice, well-kept hands but the more you examined them, the more you noticed how enticing they truly were. The size of them always surprised you, as well as the length of his fingers, but it was the veins running along the backs of his hands that really made you dry at the mouth.

Maybe it was the age difference. The mature lines on his face, those crinkle lines around his eyes whenever he smiled only adding an appeal to his appearance. And the way he carried himself with a sense of authority was definitely a factor, one that never failed to make you weak in the knees.

But perhaps it was just him. All of him. The way he stood at his tall height. The way he laughed at his own joke. The way he spoke in his lectures—the enthusiasm palpable in his voice as he explained the difference between a trigger and a stressor while mentioning he was going to put them in the finals, something he shouldn't have probably done.

It was everything about him. His unruly hair. His tailored suit. His charming smile.

And there was the way that he called you, addressing your first name in a room full of people, yet every time you were alone with him, you felt special. You were always his good girl.

"You're such a good girl for me, you know that, right?"

You knew, because every time you did as you were told, he gave you more. More than what you wanted, more than what you needed. He knew you inside and out, and as much as you hated to admit what you were doing these past couple of months was deemed inappropriate, you still couldn't help it. Everything about him made you crave more.

That was why you found yourself perched on his lap after class. It was wrong on so many levels. Not only was it unprofessional for a faculty member to be sexually involved with a student, it was also looked down upon to be in a relationship with someone almost twice your age. But temptation won over rational thoughts, and you had to admit, the professor you had a crush on ever since he introduced himself in front of the class, was really good at tempting you.

"Spence..." You sighed out, hips squirming along his lap. Each of your legs was on either side of his thigh, and you sat there, waiting for him to do something because you were desperate. How could you not when he had been eying you throughout this morning? The subtle glint of mischief wasn't lost on you when he spoke in front of you and your peers, and now that you were finally alone with him, you wanted his undivided attention.

Spencer's hands gripped your thighs as his eyes swept along your body. They momentarily paused on the low dip of your shirt, your cleavage visible for his own pleasure, before he glanced back up to your face.

"We don't have much time," he reminded, yet his hands were sliding up your skirt. And he was right, there wasn't enough time. Staying in his class after everyone had left wasn't exactly ideal, but it didn't stop you from locking the door before you practically climbed on top of him. You knew his next class was about to start in fifteen—no, thirteen minutes. You had already spent the two minutes waiting impatiently for him to touch you.

Now you couldn't leave this room without having a part of him. You needed him, every fiber in your body was screaming for him, and if you had to beg for him to comply with your needs, you would gladly do it in a heartbeat.

"Please." Your voice was barely a whisper, yet he still heard you loud and clear. "I-I need you."

Your breath hitched as his thumb stroked along the outline of your underwear and it took a lot of self-control for you not to whine pathetically. "Yeah? Tell me what you need then."

You paused, opting to choose the right words that wouldn't sound so vulgar because, with the way your body was reacting, you could only think of wild, explicit things. Your eyes settled on his face, sinking in the way he was watching you intensely, and your words abruptly stopped at the tip of your tongue.

"Go on, use your words," he urged. "Tell me what you want me to do."

You let out a trembling sigh. Everything about him was already consuming you, but the moment his hands danced along your sides, you knew you had to have more. Lust surged within you like a relentless tide, pulling you deeper into its intoxicating depths. It was a feverish, aching hunger that clawed at your insides, demanding satisfaction. The simple warmth radiating from his hands gripping your thighs just wasn't enough. So you braved yourself and leaned closer, resting your hands on his shoulders.

"I-I want you to touch me."

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "But I am touching you."

You looked at him through your lashes, biting down your bottom lip. "More," you pleaded. "Please."

He hummed a reply, his hands slowly leaving your hips before they trailed under your blouse, traveling up the length of your body before stopping right on your breasts. Your senses danced with anticipation, every nerve alert and quivering, as his hands cupped each flesh, squeezing them ever so slightly as you felt a thumb brush across a nipple over the thin layer of your bra.

"Like this?" All you could manage was a tiny nod and his smile grew wider. You couldn't help but buckle your hips when he rolled your nipples between his fingers, playing with them in a seductive tease.

"What else do you want?" He gently asked. You noticed the way his voice began to descend, gradually sinking into a deeper tone, and your eyes instinctively fell on his mouth. His lips were a perfect balance between fullness and subtlety. It was gently curved and so inviting that you wanted to feel the shape of them right against yours.

"I..." you started, your voice in a breathless whisper. "I want you to kiss me."

He let out a pleased sound, slowly sliding his hands out of your shirt. "I can definitely do that."

And then he was moving forward, pressing his lips to yours, caging you in with strong hands on either side of your face. You instantly melted like a puddle. You were ice and he was the sun, and the mere taste of him had your body dissipate in his arms.

He teased your bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, lightly tracing the pink skin until your mouth parted in invitation. You moan quietly as the taste of him—faint traces of coffee and something incredibly sweet—greeted you. His tongue slid against yours, hot and eager to taste you as pleasure surged throughout your body.

Spencer slowly pulled away, trailing his lips down your neck before he sucked on the spot right under your ear. You could practically feel the smile against your skin as his hands traveled down your arms, holding you gently as he whispered, "Tell me what else you want."

The ache between your legs was too much to handle. A simple kiss was enough for your body to burn with lust. You needed the pleasure, you needed the release, and he was the only one who could give it to you. He was the only one who knew your body as if you were made exactly for him to ravish. Your eyes smoldered with an insatiable longing and your breath came in shallow, hurried gasps, each one a desperate plea for fulfillment.

It was now or never.

"I want you to fuck me."

He leaned back, if he was surprised by your choice of words, he didn't show it. Instead, he let out a sigh as his hands continued to move down your sides again. "Oh, sweetheart, it's not that I don't want to, but we both know I would need more than..." His eyes swept over the watch around his wrist. "...eight minutes to fuck you properly."

Your breath hitched in your throat, then you watched as the curve of his lip turned upwards into a teasing smile.

"But I can't leave my sweet girl all desperate like this, can I?" Then his hands were back on your hips. "Why don't you ride my thigh instead?"

Your face heated up at the suggestion while your mouth slipped out a desperate whimper. Your skin flushed with a warm, feverish glow, and the world around you faded into obscurity as desire became your sole focus.

You were hesitant, but you were also desperate to find your release, so your body started moving on its own, hips rutting against the roughness of his pants. Pressing the growing heat surging between your legs onto his thigh sent a shiver in your system.

Much to his pleasure, Spencer's mouth stretched out into a thin and permissive smile, unable to hide his satisfaction. "That's it," he praised, fingers digging into your hips. His raspy voice only made you burn with red-hot desire. "Keep going."

Following his words, you moved your pelvis. What started out lazy and slow soon turned into sporadic thrusts as you tried to cling to any friction, grinding yourself against his leg with such fervor. It was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't enough.

Attempting to catch your breath, you buried your face into the crook of his neck to suppress your mewls of arousal as best as you could. But as he continued to massage your hips and manually move you back and forth on his leg, the effort quickly became useless.

"This feels good, doesn't it?" He murmured. "It's so cute how easily you get off with just my thigh, don't you think?" He said, giving your ass cheeks a firm squeeze.

You breathed his name as your eyes fluttered to a close. You grind your hips harder down onto his thigh, gasping against his lips when your clit caught on the material of his pants. Your toes curl as the fierce heat of pleasure overtook your senses. You were greedy with it, chasing after that spark as you rocked your hips steadily, bottom lip trapped between your teeth, and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Doing so well for me," he whispered against your ear, hands gripping your hips as you rubbed yourself against his thigh quickly. He smiled when a soft, strangled moan escaped your parted lips, which encouraged him even more. "Look at you, drooling over my leg."

And just to prove his point, he pushed your skirt up along your legs until its material lay loosely around your waist. His eyes took in the sight of you. The way you were grinding against his leg frantically, the thin fabric of your underwear pressing between your throbbing cunt from the constant friction, slightly showing off soft, bare skin glistening under the light.

"So fucking wet," he mused, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as he watched you drenching him. "Just the way I like it."

It felt as if you were floating, so pleasurably dizzy it turned your head to mush. It was hard to keep yourself upright, eyes rolling back, body nearly giving out. And the wisest thing to do for you was to stop because you could imagine the mess you were making. You could also imagine the wet patch of your arousal staining his pants, visible for everyone to see.

"P-People will talk," you whispered between bated breaths.

"Let them." He rocked your hips forward, encouraging you to move faster. "Let them know your sweet pussy made this mess on me."

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. You rolled your hips again, and the beginnings of something heady and sweet swelled within you. But in that heat of the moment, a sudden hush fell over the room, and your heightened senses caught the faint sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Your body stilled, every muscle tensed, and your breathing became shallow as you strained to listen to the distant murmur of voices.

Spencer suddenly leaned closer and ran the tips of his teeth along the outer shell of your ear once he felt your momentum slow. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?"

You shuddered in response and found your pace again, faster and longer, continuing to knead yourself against his thigh. But then the sudden jolt of the doorknob sent a bolt of panic through you.

"It's locked," a muffled voice echoed from behind the door. "Isn't class supposed to start soon?"

Your ears perked up at the familiar voice before a second voice chimed in, yet still holding a familiarity you also recognized. "Is he not here yet?"

A small groan escaped your lips. There was no denying who those voices belonged to. They were your friends, albeit not that close, yet you were still acquainted with them and the thought of having people you knew standing a few feet away from you while you continued to rut your hips against him was making your head delirious.

"Do you know them?"

You nodded helplessly.

"Then maybe you should keep your voice down," he suggested, holding you closer to him. "Don't want them to know what you're doing in here, do you?"

He noticed the way your body stiffened.

"Or is that what gets you off?" He asked. "Your friends standing a few feet away while you're grinding desperately on your professor?" His hand sits on your lower back, drifting down to the tops of your ass, forcing you to rut forward.

It was so, so wrong, yet you couldn't stop the pleasure coursing through your veins at the possibility of being caught. The knowledge that your friends were just outside, on the brink of discovering your intimate moment, added an exhilarating layer to your pleasure.

"Spencer," you whined. "Please."

"Naught minx," he mumbled. "I think I like seeing you like this."

Suddenly, he jerked his leg up, catching you off guard and you whined instantly, unprepared to counter the pressure pushing up onto your sore cunt. Muffled cries of ecstasy escaped your lips, your teeth clenched in a futile attempt to hold back your moan.

It didn't take long until a pulsating warmth began to radiate from the pit of your stomach. Each passing second brought a rising crescendo, a mounting tension that threatened to shatter your composure. You whimpered, thighs shaking slightly as you continued the abuse toward your clit, somehow the material of his pants made the stimulation even better and it almost caused you to lurch forward in shock.

"That's it, use me," he encouraged. "So, so good for me. My sweet girl."

Your breath came in short, shallow gasps, and your body quivered with a delicious ache. The intensity of it all was almost unbearable, and yet, you craved more, grinding yourself harder. Your muscles tightened, your breath quickened, your skin prickled with anticipation, and nothing could have prepared you for his next words.

"Cum on my thigh and I'll let you cum around my cock tonight."

That was it. You were instantly gone. The thought of having him stretching you was quickly engraved in your brain. The mental image of you spasming around his cock was enough for you to surrender into a blissful mess. The conversation outside continued and you made a concerted effort to keep your voice down, as waves of pleasure surged through you, causing your limbs to tremble and your muscles to spasm.

It wasn't until the sound of footsteps finally retreating from outside that a wave of relief ran through you, yet your breath still came in ragged gasps as he helped you ride out your orgasm and held you in place, making small ruts against himself with your spastic thighs gripping around him tighter.

"Oh my god—" he pulled you in for a kiss. Spencer's mouth devoured you, hot with a passion that made you dizzy. You whined into his mouth and bucked against him, little whimpers filling his throat. Then you felt his tongue on your bottom lip; you puckered your mouth, letting his tongue invade every corner of your entrance as a thrilling sensation shot right through your veins, finally riding out your orgasmic bliss.

When he finally pulled away, he watched as a string of saliva fell against your lips. He reached out and wiped the bottom of your lip with his thumb as his eyes glazed over your red and sweaty face. They flickered from your face down to your lower half as well as your equally drenched thighs. Yet despite the disheveled state of your hair and the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, you radiated a raw and untamed beauty.

Spencer always thought you were beautiful, but nothing could compare to the sight before him. Your once-pristine hair was tumbled in disarray around your shoulders, framing your flushed face. Your eyes, half-closed and smoky with desire, held an irresistible allure that seemed to draw him closer with every glance. Then there were your lips, kissed to a plush, inviting fullness, beckoned with a promise of lingering sweetness. You looked wrecked, like a hot, beautiful mess.

And he couldn't wait to ravish you tonight.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!reader

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satoruhour · 4 months

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oh my god, i dont know if you write for this specifically (feel free to disregard if you don’t), but I’ve been thinking about satosugu x reader,,, imagine kissing the both of them!! spending a nice summer day with them!! just being able to enjoy spending time with the two of them!! I dont know if its my love for both of these characters and their relationship, but i just like thinking abt that dynamic,,,

a/n: wrote this yesterday to upload today since it was a loaded day today ❤️ enjoy. hope it’s up to standard cause i havent written fluff in a long time! / 1.3k, poly!satosugu x reader

sleep-ins were popular amongst the three of you. before you, suguru had his own routine of waking up early to brew some tea for himself, to get the laundry going . .

satoru, on his own, was a light sleeper, sitting straight up at any hint of sound due to his sorcerer duties but after moving in with geto, he’s been letting the long-haired man to do all the work.

and here came you, waltzing back into their lives (and apartment) after teaching at kyoto for just a few months until you couldn’t stand gakuganji and headed right back to your alma mater.

it wasn’t difficult to maintain the dynamic the three of you had from your school days, except maybe unspoken feelings and lingering glances until the two men were gassing each other up to ask you.

you’re not even sure how you even got roped in — old feelings, a crave for the younger days, the allure of satoru, the wonder of suguru — but now you’re stick in between both of them wanting to pee so badly.

alas, your body is trapped under gojo’s protective leg and geto’s gentler wrapped arm, but you still feel your bladder about to burst, trying one last time until your body is slammed back into bed.

“hm . . what’re you doing?” is gojo’s first raspy call out to you as he curls his calf around you even more, and you sigh, turning to him to brush his fringe from his face.

“i need to pee, satoru.”

“no.” and you roll your eyes because he’s always whiny like that and you’d usually employ suguru to do your bidding but he’s fast asleep, still. this was another thing: both you and gojo have inextricably fucked with his routine because now he’s more inclined to sleep in than drink his morning tea. he realised this one day when he was doing laundry, in the afternoon.

“’toru, pleeaasee?” you pout even if he can’t see and like a good boyfriend, he senses your features pulled into a face specifically meant to make him feel bad, and cracks his eyes open.

“oh, youuuu—” gojo scrunches up his eyes and squeezes, and then steals you from geto’s arm, trapping you with tight arms wound around your middle, “stop it with the eyes!”

you giggle, using your free hands to relax the tightness in his brows, using that opportunity to forcibly open his eyes and then you hit him again — knitted eyebrows and doe eyes, and a perfect pout that has gojo grumbling under his breath. silently, you wiggle yourself just enough to reach his face so you can place a peck on his lips and he hums.

another, his eyes say and you indulge him, sinking into his embrace and letting him guide you back to his mouth. morning breath is nothing to the both of you, grinning into the kiss when satoru loses himself and his embrace starts to loosen. the kiss still holds you captive, though, the other moaning softly when you deepen it with some tongue.

“you’re just going to leave me hangin’?” geto’s voice calls out from beside you, and gojo’s excited suguru! gives you just that sliver of time to slip away from the two as they catch up but—

“you’re not going anywhere, missus,” gojo pulls on your arm and you’re falling back into your space in the middle of the both of them, greeted with geto’s lovely laugh and his gentle gaze.

“good morning my loves,” he says, arm draped over the both of you before he leans down to give you a kiss while gojo replies with a good morning as well, also giving a peck to your temple. “what’s on the agenda today?”

“lazing in—”

“i need to pee, firstly,” you pipe up, cutting gojo off and patting his puffed out cheeks. grabbing his face, you wiggle his head just to emphasise your point, “your man here has been preventing me from going to the bathroom.”

“ahem! our man,” gojo corrects, sticking his tongue out just enough to lick your hand and you shriek in disgust while his giggles only fill the room.

“satoru, c’mon, let her go.” and again, the other only cuddles you closer to him, long, lanky limbs trapping your body. geto has a hand on yours like he’s trying his best to console you.

“but— she’s so much nicer to cuddle! did i ever tell you suguru once hit me in the face with his arm?”

and you laugh while the other only sighs and chaos erupts once he stands up and says in faux disappointment — “okay, i’m making breakfast for myself only. guess i lost two partners today.”

“hello?! i didn’t even do anything!” you shout in incredulity, words muffled once gojo slaps a hand over your mouth and laughs, watching through the bathroom mirror at how he chuckles at the both of you. you lick gojo’s hand and he moans obnoxiously.

geto did end up making the both of you some breakfast after some convincing (it was mostly gojo yelling “pleasepleaseplease” in the bathroom and interrupting brushing teeth time), but he’s got around it with a sloppy kiss given to the both of you, sat at the wooden table you commissioned — large enough to bring friends over but small enough for it to feel intimate with your two boyfriends.

“on the real agenda, we need to go for some grocery shopping,” geto suggests, reaching diagonally to you to wipe off the bits of strawberry lingering at the corner of your lips and gojo shouts a loud oh!, running from the table to grab his phone that he’s left on the bedside table. naturally, he has become so enamoured with the both of you that he doesn’t even need his phone to entertain him that much.

“i made the list like you asked, sugu,” and you’re giggling when you see his eyebrow raise, positive that on the list, there was more of what the house didn’t need than what it did.

silently, you’re helping to clear all three of your plates that had coatings of maple syrup on it, apart from gojo’s who licked his squeaky clean. a smile spreads across your face when you hear them bicker, a common occurrence.

“baby, there’s more candy than actual groceries on here.”

“but suguruuuu . .” gojo pulls this all the time and it hardly works on geto any more, so the both of them invade your cleaning escapades to argue. like the devil on one shoulder and the angel on the other, satoru sucks up to your boyfriend, suguru appeals to you.

“should we listen to him?” leaning against the counter, geto rests his arm around your torso, sidling right up to your face who only gives him a small grin.

gojo follows suit. “sweetness, don’t listen to him. you know you love the sweets i buy, i’ll even buy you your favourite brand!”

here in this kitchen in the house that gojo had no problem expanding to accommodate the both of you were all that you know in this mess of a world, destined to exorcise curses for as long as you live, but it wasn’t so bad when you had the strongest duo beside you, talking over each other on whether meiji chocolate was more important than buying celery for tonight’s dinner.

“boys.” turning off the tap, you shake off the water and turn around in their arms only to see what had escalated: geto ready to summon a curse, gojo crossing his fingers in his muryōkūsho pose, all the while keeping an arm around you like everything’s fine. and as chaotic dating the both of them were, you don’t mind putting both their hands down and calming the situation down.

with a laugh, you give one kiss to both cheeks. “let’s just buy both, okay?”

and satoru leaps to hug you, planting endless kisses on your face while suguru sighs, then smiles, defeated. “plus, we can just make ’toru pay for everything, can’t we?”

“and then make him cook tonight.” you suggest, not-so-quietly.

gojo stops, “hey!”

i didnt write the grocery shopping part since i alr rambled off about it here but maybe next time we’ll see :)

#satosugu x reader #suguru x reader #gojo fluff #geto fluff #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru #geto x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #getou fluff #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satoru gojo x reader

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wandasaura · 2 months

Text

MY FACE IN A RED FLUSH

summary — your first mistake was thinking natasha wouldn’t use the time away to tease you, your second mistake was thinking you could handle it

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, smut, sexting, phone sex, teasing, fingering, nipple stimulation, degradation, praise, daddy kink, dom/sub relationship, bathroom encounter (nothing like… bad bad), begging, threats of punishment, wanda slaps r’s ass ;), the idiots banter but what’s new

authors note — i got carried away with this but hey, we got some development between wanda and r going on at least, also some insight to wandanats relationship and their dynamic + how the contract came about

you are in love universe

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Natasha was going to be gone on business for two full weeks. You’d expected the hardest part of that fact to be how you were sure to miss her, but you were severely mistaken. When day ten came around, and she still wasn’t home, you weren’t at all surprised to find that the several notifications waiting for your attention were all from her. She’d been doing her best to keep you informed in regards to her plans and meetings, and for the most part, she’d been behaving herself well, but the first glance at her messages had effortlessly set your mood for the remainder of the day.

Natasha | Daddy misses you, angel.

Natasha | I bet that sweet pussy misses me too.

Natasha | image attached

You couldn’t help but audibly groan when you opened your iMessages. It was instinctual, you never wanted to leave her messages unanswered, but you regretted your urgency to appease her the second you came face to face with her visibly damp panties and toned thighs that had acquired quite the tan since shipping off to the tropical island just over a week and a bit ago. The deep red material that you were all too familiar with was an even deeper shade of maroon now, so damp that it molded to the shape of her labia, and the bulge of her clitoris was captivating. A throb shot through your own core as you fantasized about taking care of her little situation with your mouth, tonguing at her panties until she got so annoyed with your teasing that she tore them in two and forced your head in close, but she was a thousand miles away, and you were under strict instructions not to touch yourself without her permission.

For a second, you questioned if Wanda had received the same image. If she had, which you were absolutely certain she did, you knew that the lawyer was rightfully hot and bothered, but you doubted she had the same rules as you. Wanda did not seem the type to submit, even if it meant appeasing her wife. After all, there would be no need for you in their relationship if she allowed Natasha to take the reins every once in a while, and you found yourself envious of the woman who could relieve herself at any chance.

You whined at the deep ache in your core, your panties positively ruined beyond a point of salvation when another image rolled through, though this time, she’d taken away your privilege of seeing her well defined lips and clit, however, she’d replaced what you’d lost with the sight of her hand buried in the material. It was her left hand, and the diamond on the center of her engagement ring pressed against the tight materials of her panties. You’d always found it exceptionally hot to be fucking a married woman with consent from her partner, but something about seeing her touch herself with the very hand that Wanda had kissed with adoration in front of all of their family and friends was truly vulgar. She wasn’t playing fair at all, but you suspected she had never intended to make this easy for you.

You | Daddy

It was a simple response, one that in no way encapsulated the millions of scenarios running through your head, but you had no other words to share with her. Not when you’d only just woken up and your sole interest was devouring her. You’d never been particularly good at communication, especially not when it came to sexual circumstances, but god did Natasha love to make you work for it. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise to you that she would pull a stunt like this, but you supposed your naivety was what captivated her so ferociously.

Natasha | Yes, angel? See something you like?

You | You.

You | Daddy, please.

Natasha | Please, what? Don’t you have a class to get to, I wouldn’t want to make you late. Get ready for school, moya lyubov.

Natasha | image attached

She was really playing dirty now. The unspoken promise that you wouldn’t be allowed to touch yourself felt like pure torture, but that had only worsened the blow for when the next picture rolled in seconds later. You’d half expected it to follow the saga of the others; some kind of display in regards to her dripping core and drenched panties. Would she pull them off to the side and bury two or maybe even three fingers into her pleading hole? Or perhaps she would take them off completely and give you an unconstructed glimpse of her cunt. You had been good afterall, Wanda hadn’t relayed any instances of bratty behavior to your knowledge, so she had every reason to reward you. Clearly she was not feeling generous, because the picture you were confronted with at seven o’six in the morning was of her naked chest, and just slightly off-screen you could make out the straps of her favorite lacy red bra. Her nipples were pebbled, undoubtable from the combination of her arousal and the broken thermostat in her suite, and they were a color that attempted to resemble a pinky-mauve. Her manicured fingers pinched at the left bud, but her right remained untouched and begging for the same attention. Her back was arched, leaning into the pain, and while you couldn’t see her shoulders, you could image the tanlines that graced her unblemished skin.

You | You’re not playing fair, Daddy

Natasha | I don’t have to play fair, malyshka. I suggest you start getting ready for class, and I would think twice about trying to touch yourself before I give you permission.

Your lips, already in a pout, had seemed to turn even more downward at her blatant disregard for your sanity. You’d just barely survived nine days without her touch and now, on the tenth, she decided to make that worse by teasing you? Even if she did decide to give you permission, nobody, including you, could make you cum the way she did. It would be foolish to even try and compete with her skills.

You | I can always skip

Natasha | I find out you skipped and you won’t be cumming until summer break

Your heart plummeted faster than a free falling elevator at the implication of spending the next four and a half weeks without an orgasm, especially because you knew that just because she wouldn’t push you over the edge, didn’t mean she wouldn’t tease you and work you up to that point. She would make your life an absolute living hell if you gave her the chance, and that was not a fire you wanted to play with, not now and not ever.

You | I’m going!

Natasha | That’s what I thought. Good girl.

Begrudgingly you pulled yourself out of bed and shuffled over to your duffle bag of clothes in the corner of the room. Ever since the night of the sixth day, when you’d crashed into Wanda’s arms and ratted out your professor, you’d been sleeping at the Maximoff residence. The Sokovian lawyer didn’t seem to be minding your presence, or at least, she hadn’t told you that she minded, but you still tried your best to tiptoe around her. She was always up before you, always in the kitchen when you ventured down the stairs in an outfit that was progressively getting shorter and shorter as the weather warmed. She had breakfast waiting for you most days, and if she didn’t, there was a note on the countertops that said she was already at the office and hadn’t wanted you to eat cold food. She didn’t need to know that on those days, you didn’t have any breakfast at all. On the morning of the eighth, she learned that you hate oatmeal. You’d tried your best to eat it all, or at least an amount that would appease her, but after you gagged for the third time, she pulled the bowl away from your face and scolded you for not saying something the second she put it down in front of you. It was weird. Neither one of you really sought the other out, but when you did cross paths, the atmosphere wasn’t as cold and dark.

It wasn’t as warm as it had been in recent days, so you took full advantage of the wind and the gloomy skies to wiggle your body into a pair of black leggings and one of Natasha’s hoodies that had been left laying around. You adored the start of spring and the mid-summer warmth, but you detested the fact that when those days came, you wouldn’t get to wear the womens clothes as frequently. You supposed you could always steal some of her t-shirts, but there hadn’t been much opportunity to do so yet.

Wanda was in the kitchen that morning, much to your delight. She wasn’t Natasha, you don’t know if she’ll ever mean as much to you as Natasha does, but you liked the simple fact that the house felt lived in when she was around. Her presence served as a distraction from the icky wetness collecting in your panties, and yes, you had changed them only minutes ago, but nothing could stop the floodgates until Natasha allowed you even the slightest fraction of relief.

“Your wife is mean.” You didn’t bother with pleasantries, didn’t even bother to look her in the eye as you walked your way to her fridge and pulled out the pitcher of orange juice. It had become sort of a routine. Wanda made breakfast for the both of you and you got the drinks. You liked having little responsibilities, because even if you knew that you were more than welcome here, you felt the need to earn your keep.

“My wife, huh? Thought she was your Daddy.” Wanda snorted, but the clench in her jaw was enough of an indication that she had received the same messages and wasn’t completely lost on the reason why you were pawning Natasha off so easily. You were annoyed to find that she was handling the teasing better than you. You were absolutely certain that your entire body was as jagged as a sharp rock, and petulantly, you hoped that Natasha stubbed her toe on the way to her next meeting.

“Nope. You can have her. She’s being a tease.” You huffed, bracing your hands on the edge of the counter before you scooted back into a comfortable position against the floating cabinets. Well, as comfortably as possible with the ache between your thighs that you were trying your absolute hardest not to mess with, even though it would be so easy to cross your legs and hope to god that it did something to relieve you. Wanda seemed to appreciate your restraint, because she sent you a soft smile in return and didn’t say anything about you sitting on her counters.

“Oh, I know.” Wanda puffed out a breath of air, the first indication that maybe she wasn’t handling the situation well, just better at hiding her frustration. “Little brat doesn’t know what to do with herself when she’s away for so long.”

You’d never heard Natasha be called anything of the sort, and the admission of her role in the bedroom had brought back your curiosity. Deciding that you couldn’t possibly get in trouble for being curious, you kicked your feet against the cabinets beneath your dangling legs and looked over at Wanda. “Can I ask you a question?”

“If you stop kicking my cabinets.” The lawyer looked at you in exasperation, entirely unimpressed with your fidgeting, though she wasn’t angry. You were thankful for that, because the combination of academic stress and sexual teasing had you restless in all fronts.

“Do you let Natty top you?” You smiled shyly once the words had passed your lips, hoping that it would soften the blow once Wanda processed your question. You weren’t sure if you had a close enough relationship with her to be asking such a thing, but over the last few weeks, you’d really started to wonder how they’d even come to the consensus of opening their relationship to a third party.

Wanda looked at you incredulously, but she shook her head anyway. “No. Why the question? You’re usually running in the opposite direction anytime we ask you something sexual.”

As if your body was trying to prove a point, your cheeks flushed scarlet and you dropped your gaze down to your lap, eliciting a chuckle out of Wanda. “I dunno. You don’t seem the type to submit, and Natty is being a brat. Guess I was just wondering about the contract. How you came up with it and all.”

“Have you talked to Nat about this? Seems you’ve got a lot on your mind.” Wanda hummed, her attention focused on the eggs she was scrambling, though you knew the real reason she was so focused was because she didn’t want to overwhelm you when you had finally gotten the courage to speak to her about this type of thing. She wasn’t wrong. Any other time she’d ever mentioned your sexual relationship with her wife you ran in the other direction, or you retorted with something rude just to get her off your back. She wasn’t as blind to that last detail as you thought she was.

“Not a lot.” You protested immediately, not wanting it to come across like you were rethinking this situation. “Her ring was… very visible in the second picture she sent. You’re married. Very happily from what I’ve seen. If anyone else that I know were in this situation, they’d think I was a homewrecker or something.”

“Is that how you feel?” Wanda frowned, her attention still on the eggs she was scrambling, but she was quickly running out of alternatives to focus on as they reached they perfect consistency.

“No! Nat’s too in love with you to ever do something that would upset you. If you weren’t okay with her… using me… then she would’ve ended things already.”

“Honey, we both know Natasha is not using you. That woman is just as devoted to you as she is to me, but you’re right, she wouldn’t jeopardize our marriage. The contract was my idea. You were my idea. Natasha would be more than happy to submit to me for the rest of our lives if I wasn’t okay with this, but I know that she needs the control as much as I do. We make sacrifices for our partners every day. A marriage is not a one way street.” Wanda smiled softly, nudging your thigh when she realized you were sitting right in front of the cabinet she kept the plates on.

“Why are you okay with me then?” You frowned, having even more questions now then you originally did. Wanda had said that Natasha was devoted to you in the same way she is with Wanda. Does that mean she feels the same as you do? Are your feelings not as unrequited as you’d been forcing yourself to believe?

“You make her happy.” There was something more on the tip of her tongue, something heavy and potentially earth-shattering, but you didn’t press her to share. She was already sharing more than enough with you, and you appreciated her honesty even if it was filtered. “Anymore questions from the peanut gallery, or can we eat our breakfast before you’re late to class?”

“No more questions.” You hopped off the counter, grinning cheekily when you saw Wanda wince out of your peripheral vision. “Would you tell her if I skipped class?”

“Are you sick?” Wanda quirked a single eyebrow in your direction, her hands full of plates as she carried eggs and pancakes toward the dining room table. You grabbed the pitcher of juice and two glasses, following her like a lost duckling despite knowing your way around.

“Does horny count as sick?” You asked, only receiving a huff of laughter and a firm shake of the head as a response.

If you thought your morning had been difficult to handle, your afternoon was even worse. You shifted uncomfortably at your desk, trying to get your cold and sticky panties away from your sensitive core, while simultaneously listening to your professor drone on and on about sentence translations and truth tables. Everytime you moved, you achieved the exact opposite of what you wanted. Your panties were so wet they clung to your pussy, and with each shift of hips and press of your thighs, a pulse of pleasure shot up through your belly and only worsened your situation.

Typically, you sat in the very front row in all of your lectures. You were what others would call a teacher's pet, always raising your hand and answering questions, always assuring that you understood the objectives of an assignment, but today, you had chosen a desk in the back row closest to the wall. Your laptop was turned away from the student on your right, and although your notes were opened, and words had been added to the document that you’d started at the beginning of the semester, your iMessages were open just beside it.

Natasha | Daddy wants your mouth, princess. You’d be good and give me your mouth wouldn’t you? I know how much you love to be on your knees for me

Natasha | video attached

You knew you shouldn’t open it, not when it was so clearly a video of her masturbating if the preview shot was any indication of its content. You knew you should just turn all of your devices on Do Not Disturb and focus on the professor, who was going over questions about the latest chapter assigned as homework, but all logical thoughts, ironic because you were currently in your advanced logics lecture, had completely fallen away from you. It had been eleven hours of teasing. Eleven hours of wet panties and sensitive nipples and Natasha’s pussy in your face but not actually. It had been eleven full hours of pure torture, and you were at your breaking point.

You closed your laptop softly, making the humbling decision to shuffle past all the other students in your row to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re sure it looked like you were having some kind of female emergency with how fast you were moving, but in a way, you were. Only, it wasn’t a result of a miscalculated period, but rather an evil dominant who had worked you up so horridly that you were willing to sacrifice your academics just to beg her for release.

The private bathroom was located in the basement, you had to shuffle down three flights of stairs just to reach it, but you would die before you got caught sexting in the bathroom on the same floor as your lecture, so you hurried down to the basement and hoped that it was free. At least some higher power was looking out for you, because you found that the light was off and when you knocked on the door, nobody had answered. You squirmed your way inside, locking the door before you pulled open your messages and played the video.

It was short, only ten seconds, but in that ten seconds you had seen the beginning of a beautiful orgasm. Natasha’s fingers hammered into her pussy, the palm of her hand making contact with her clit every time she pushed three of her fingers back into herself. Her arousal coated the digits in thick strings, and when she’d cum, when she pushed herself over the edge, you groaned aloud at not only the moan that tumbled past her lips, but the sight of her orgasm spilling around her fingers. You had seen Natasha squirt on a handful of occasions. Usually it happened when she had you eating her out time and time again. You wondered how long she’d been laid in bed for to have reached such a high, and briefly you wondered if Wanda had anything to do with it. There was not a doubt in your mind that Wanda was just as much a tease as Natasha, and the prospect of the most powerful women you know going back and forth so desperately caused another violent pang of pleasure to shoot through your core.

You pushed your pants down, letting them scrunch together at your ankles, not caring about how they brushed against the bathroom floor. You were too desperate to mind the germs, but they would be going in the garbage the second you got back to the Maximoff residence. For now, they’d just have to be fine.

You widened your stance just enough to get your camera between your thighs. The baby blue panties that you wore were absolutely drenched, beyond the state of Natasha’s if that were even possible. Every inch of your intimacy was a visible outline from how they pressed against you, and while you should’ve been embarrassed, you hadn’t even been touched and you were the wettest you’ve probably ever been, you didn’t care.

You | image attached

You | Look what you did, Daddy.

Natasha | Oh, I bet that feels so icky, baby

You | Please let me touch myself

Natasha | My dirty little slut wants to touch herself in a public bathroom? She can’t even wait until she gets home?

You | I’ve been waiting all day! Please Daddy, it aches!

You | image attached

You should’ve felt shame. You should’ve been disgusted with your desperation, but there wasn’t even an ounce of care left in you as you pulled your panties to the side. Two of your fingers swept through your folds, collecting arousal on the tips of your fingers. They glistened in the light, and much like Natasha’s arousal had done in the video she sent, strings of your need attached your dripping cunt to your digits. You hadn’t touched yourself, not technically at least. Your clit throbbed in protest when you narrowly avoided it, and it took all of your self restraint not to throw caution to the wind and give yourself the slightest bit of relief. You would much rather appease Natasha though, and so you hadn’t even made the briefest moment of contact.

Natasha | Oh that does look like quite the sticky situation, baby. Why don’t you be a good girl for Daddy and suck those fingers clean

You moaned at her words, even if they were just white letters on your phone screen. You could practically hear her voice in your head, requesting you to taste yourself for her, asking you to be good. You complied without hesitance, bringing your fingers up to your mouth, your tongue out and waiting for the treat even if you would much rather it be her you're tasting. Before you let them lay heavy on your tongue, you took a picture and sent it to her, because if you were going to be vulgar in your college bathroom, it needed to be for something. You tasted how you always do, but you forced yourself to imagine it was her lips you were tasting and not your own fingers. She loved making out after she had gone down on you, and secretly, so did you.

Natasha | Good girl.

Natasha | Those fingers all nice and clean?

You | Yes, Daddy

Natasha | Good. Pull your panties back up and wash your hands, baby. You’ve still got thirty minutes left of class.

Your jaw practically hit the floor at her response, and you whined in defeat, not wanting to listen to her. You’d been so good for her all day and she was still making you wait? What could she possibly do from across the ocean anyways? Briefly, you’d forgotten about her promise of withholding orgasms until summer break, but when that threat came back to mind, you quickly did as asked, hating that now you were even more uncomfortable. This was supposed to help, not make everything worse.

You | I want to play, Daddy!

Natasha | You’ve been good all day baby, don’t ruin it now. Panties up, hands washed. I want you back in class in the next three minutes if I’m even going to consider letting you edge yourself tonight

Natasha | Or maybe you would like a ruined orgasm more

You | No! Please no Daddy!

Natasha | Then you’ll go back to class and you won’t sneak away again.

The forty minute drive back to Westview felt like hours. By the time that you eventually pulled into the driveway and parked behind Natasha’s car, the days sunlight only lingering behind storm clouds now, your leggings were damp and clinging to your core just as uncomfortably as your panties had been for the last few hours. You were absolutely certain that if there weren’t two material barriers between your legs, that your car seats would be stained with evidence of your arousal. You’d have had a hard time explaining that the next time you got the vehicle detailed, but if that had been the case, you would’ve just burnt the entire car to avoid the looks of judgment you were sure to have received.

The front door was unlocked when you entered, an indication that Wanda had only arrived home a couple minutes before you had. Ever since your appearance on the fifth day of Natasha’s absence, she’d started leaving the door unlocked for you, not wanting another repeat of you stuck outside. You knew it made her feel vulnerable, and at one point you had tried to tell that while you appreciated the thought, she could continue to lock the door after she got in. Wanda didn’t budge on the matter, not that you were surprised, and so you just had to accept the fact that the front door would remain open for anyone to pass through until you got inside to lock the house up tight. It amazed you how Natasha’s presence could mean so much. The woman could hold her own in a fight, you didn’t doubt that, but you hadn’t realized just how much Wanda put her safety into her hands. It only further solidified the already known fact that they were perfect for each other.

Wanda was in the kitchen, already working on dinner, when you dropped your backpack on the floor and inched your way closer to her. The desperate ache between your legs was unbearable now, and every step reminded you of your unfulfilled desire. Wanda looked perfectly put together as she stood by the stove, stirring something in a pot that you hoped was sauce for her spaghetti. Even though you couldn’t see her face from where she was standing, it was clear in her posture that she was fairing well with Natasha’s teasing. You wondered if she had taken her pleasure into her own hands at some point during the day, or if she was once again just better than you at concealing her true feelings.

“I take it back.” You muttered weakly, stealing the glass of water that the redhead had been just about to reach for. It was cold, probably fresh from the filter in the fridge, and you gulped it down greedily. “Your wife is the scary one.”

Wanda laughed although you found nothing funny about this situation. “What did she threaten you with?”

“Which time!” You threw your hands out in exasperation, careful to keep hold of the now empty glass so it didn’t smash into a million tiny shards on the floor if you were to lose your grip on it. “Because at first it was no orgasms until summer break! Then it was edging! And then it was ruined orgasms! I did exactly what she asked, and she’s still being all scary and mean! She sent me a video of her cumming while I was in class!”

“Did she now?” Wanda quirked a single brow in your direction, and you knew that you had gotten your dominant in trouble simply from the way her jaw clenched at the relay of information. In the months that you’ve been in this situation with Natasha, you learned that Wanda was serious about education, a real stickler even. She always droned on and on about the importance of paying attention and taking adequate notes, you should’ve known that she wouldn’t appreciate knowing her wife had distracted you with a video of her pleasure.

“Um, no?” You tried to backtrack, tried to save Natasha’s ass even though she had done nothing in your favor since you’d woken up that morning. Your cheeks flushed as you avoided her eye, suddenly finding the floor much more interesting than her stare.

“Wanna try that again?” Wanda hummed, but you knew it wasn’t really a choice. You’re pretty sure that you audibly gulped as you contemplated your options, ultimately deciding that if anybody's ass had to be on the line, you would rather it be Natashas.

“She did.” You whispered. “But she made me go back to class! That’s when she threatened to make me edge myself or ruin my orgasm.” You added, your cheeks burning a fierce shade of red as you avoided Wanda’s eye. Both women found it cute how flushed you still got whenever anything even remotely kinky was discussed. Despite her annoyance, this moment was no exception.

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, nodding her head as if Natasha’s threat satisfied her. “Good. You shouldn’t have left class at all. I’d be making you spank yourself.”

“I– Do you– Do you make Natasha spank herself?” You spluttered over your words, hardly even able to imagine the redhead on the receiving end of a spanking.

“No. Your Daddy enjoys that far too much.” Wanda laughed, almost as if she found your curiosity insulting to Natasha. You knew she had a pain kink, that was very much obvious when she asked you to pinch her nipples harder on the rare occasion that she made you ride her strap, but you couldn’t imagine enjoying a spanking that was intended to be a punishment. “You on the other hand, start running away from her hand by the fifth spank. You wouldn’t last three if I told you to do it yourself.”

Despite your mortification at Wanda’s admission, a pang of arousal shot through your core at the thought of receiving a spanking, especially from her. You were quick to scrub that fantasy from your brain, not even wanting to entertain it. Even if you had moved past your hatred for her, you refused to admit that she was slowly growing on you. That was just too much to accept right now.

“Stop!” You whined, hunching over the counter and attempting to hide your face against the cold counter. Your cheeks had had a permanent flush to them all day, no thanks to Natasha, but you were certain that they were fire engine red now. Even the tips of your ears carried a warmth that wouldn’t vanish until you found some relief, but Natasha had been radio silent since sending you back to class, and you almost wondered if she would even reappear again before she turned in for the night. You would kill her if she left you high and dry like this.

A shriek of surprise left your lips at the sharp sensation that spread through your left ass cheek when Wanda’s palm collided with it over the thin fabric of your leggings. You’d only barely managed to contain your moan, but there’s no way she’d missed the way your knees threatened to buckle beneath you. Your back straightened instinctively and your head whipped around to find her, only to groan at the smirk of satisfaction on her lips at the sight of you. Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, your eyes were dilated and almost entirely black, and your thighs, oh your thighs were the most telling. You pinched them together desperately, attempting to find any semblance of release.

“What was that for?” You whined, your hand shooting back to rub at the spot that was beginning to ache. You wouldn’t be surprised if her handprint lingered on your skin well into the early hours of tomorrow morning. Your voice is painfully high pitched and needy despite your best efforts to keep your composure, and it merely makes Wanda laugh about the effect a simple spank has on you.

“Who said I needed a reason?” Wanda shrugged her shoulders, but there was something wicked in her eyes. “You’ve had plenty of questions for me today, who says I don’t have my own?”

“You could’ve just asked!” You stomped your foot, officially at your breaking point with their combined teasing. Your eyes glimmered with unbridled tears, and your core throbbed needily, but neither of them seemed too concerned with your desperation, not enough to stop at least. “I’m going to change.” You pouted, stomping past Wanda, abandoning your backpack to be dealt with later.

Hours later, you found yourself laid in bed, your eyes wide in disbelief as you laid on your back and tried your hardest to keep your hands still at your sides. You and Wanda had eaten dinner in near silence, but the spaghetti was good, and you’d helped with the dishes afterward. Neither of you were feeling rather talkative, and that could be chalked up with the fact that Natasha had started her shit again. She poked at Wanda first, and you were thankful for the break of being her center of attention. The lawyer's phone had buzzed from where it was kept in her backpocket during meals if she was wearing jeans. Both of you knew who it was, and Wanda had reached for her phone without a moment of hesitation. It seemed that the both of you were properly whipped for the Russian, because had that text been from anyone else Wanda would’ve ignored it until dinner was over and conversations were finished. It had taken her only a matter of seconds to get into her phone, and you knew it must’ve been sexual based on the way her cheeks flushed and she furiously typed back a response. You were curious about what Natasha had sent her, curious about if you were receiving the same messages throughout the day, but you didn’t have to wait for much longer because your phone pinged next, and Wanda shot you a low warning beneath her breath.

That had been two hours ago, and since then, Natasha had disappeared, leaving you with only strict orders not to touch yourself and the lingering promise of getting your reward soon. You were naked in the guest bed, dripping onto the sheets beneath your body, writhing in anticipation. The house had been silent since both you and Wanda finished dinner, but now the house was filled with her moans. Her moans. Wanda's moans. You’ve seen her and Natasha makeout before. You’ve heard her shakily exhale, groan aloud, you’ve even heard her curse out profanities in Russian when Natasha did something particularly seductive, but you’ve never heard her moan. That felt too intimate, too wrong, but now that you were hearing them you couldn’t deny how sweet they sounded. Was she fingering herself? Was she using a vibrator or fucking a dildo so deep into her pussy that she could feel every groove and crevice against her walls? Were the sheets wet with arousal beneath her body like they were yours, or could she somehow manage to avoid leaking like a waterfall at just a whisper of praise from Natasha? The list of endless possibilities that could be occurring in the room next to yours were driving you mad, and the longer you were forced to listen to her chase her release, only amplified the cravings for your own pleasure.

You blindly reached out for your phone, squinting when it initially blinded you before your eyes adjusted to the light. You opened Natasha’s contact quickly,ready to plead and beg and cry for her to give in.

You | I can hear Wanda

You | Please Daddy, can I touch myself? I’ve been so good, please

Natasha | Aw, is hearing Wanda moan turning you on, princess?

You | Yes! Please Daddy! I want to cum, please!

You almost sobbed in relief when your screen flashed with Natasha’s contact picture, and you didn’t hesitate to raise the phone to your ear after you had swiped to accept the call. Her gravely voice was soft, too soft, soft enough to suggest that she knew damn well how frustrated and desperate you were for her, and that she was simultaneously aware of how it was all her fault. You thought for a second that she felt bad for being so cruel, but there was a lingering trace of smugness in her voice that completely went against your first assumption.

“Hi, baby.” She greeted you sweetly. You noticed that the wind was blowing past her as she spoke to you. You wondered if she was on the beach, surrounded by strangers and business partners, or if she was simply out on the balcony attached to her suite. Wherever she was, you wished that you were with her.

“Daddy!” You sobbed, both because you had missed her voice in the last three days, and because knowing you finally had her undivided attention had worsened the moisture collecting between your legs. “Please Daddy!”

“What do you want, baby? Use your words for Daddy.” Natasha cooed, and you fisted the sheets at your sides in frustration, writhing on the bed.

The words tumbled past your lips without care for how you sounded. You knew Wanda could hear you from the master bedroom, but you had not a single care for your dignity as you pleaded with your dominant to let you cum. “Please! Please can I touch myself! Please!”

“You wanna touch yourself, dorogay?” Natasha hummed, and although she couldn’t see you, you violently nodded your head in affirmation. Your babbled pleads were enough of an answer, because seconds later she was directing you to pinch your nipples for her. Despite not being the stimulation you desperately needed, you would take it, and you rolled your pebbled buds between your pointer finger and thumb needily. “Good girl, milaya. You sound so pretty for Daddy. I bet that sweet pussy is just begging for attention, isn’t it? Are you all wet, precious?”

“Yes! Yes! Daddy please! I’m so wet! I can’t– I need– Daddy please don’t tease! Don’t tease!” You sobbed out, your back arching off the bed as you continued to alternate between your nipples and pinch and twist them at the pace you know Natasha would’ve set if she was here to do it herself.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay. Daddy teased you all day, didn’t she?” Natasha’s voice was thick with faux pity, and her tone only worked against you as you clambered to draw in a decent breath of air whilst also focusing on her instructions.

“Yes! Yes! Please! Please! Daddy, I can’t–, I can’t–, please!”

“Okay baby, okay. You’re being such a good girl for me, detka. Touch your pussy baby. Not your clit, not yet. Just use your fingers, how many do you want, sweet girl? Do you want two? Two fingers in that pretty pussy?” Natasha gently guided you through the motions, and you cried out in relief when you felt the stretch of your fingers. Your pussy was gushing, crying for attention, but finally you were allowed to grant the wish it had been begging for all day. There was no slowing your pace. The second your fingers had dipped between your thighs, your pace was punishing, and though you still held the phone up to your ear with the hand that wasn’t between your legs, you were sure Natasha could hear the wet sounds that filled the air around you. “Does that feel good, baby? Use your words and tell Daddy how it feels.”

“G-Good.” You cried out, but even with your fingers working the soft spot within your walls, it wasn’t enough. Your release was just out of reach and the only thing that could send you over the edge was her explicit permission to touch your clit, to finally give the pulsating nerve some love and attention. “D-Daddy please! My clit! M-My clit! Please please please!” Your mindless babbling seemed to have broken her tough reserve, and gently Natasha cooed her approval.

“Touch your clit for me, baby. You don’t have to ask, you just cum when you want to. You were such a good girl today. Daddy didn’t think you could make it all day, you made me so proud, angel. So so proud. Make yourself cum, cum on your fingers for Daddy.” Natasha didn’t need to see your face to know that you were growing closer and closer to the edge, she could hear it in your moans as they spilled from your lips and down the phone line. “Yeah? You’re getting so close aren’t you, getting so close for Daddy. Cum for me, milaya. Cum for Daddy.”

“Fuck fuck fuck! Daddy!” You cried, your back arching off the bed as you finally let the coil snap in your belly. Wanda’s moans of pleasure had increased within the same second, and your cheeks flushed realizing that Natasha’s plan all along had been to get the two of you to orgasm in tandem. “Thank you.” You croaked when you finally came down from you high, your body positively spent and your throat sore.

“You did so good for me, malyshka.” You can hear the smile in her tone, and you melt into the blankets and sheets beneath you as you accept the weight of her words. “You sleepy, baby? You’ve had a long day.”

“Yeah.” You whispered, hating the fact that you wouldn’t last another handful of minutes before you fell asleep on her. “Go get cleaned up, please. Daddy will be home soon, I can’t wait to see my good girl.”

“I miss you.” You sighed softly, already starting to pull your body out of bed. You didn’t want to move, but you’d been so good all day, you wanted to make her proud down to the very last second.

“I miss you too, angel. Wanda’s told me how good you’re being. Daddy has a surprise for you when she gets home.” Natasha promises, and had you been any more awake then you are now, you would’ve begged her to know what she had, but you merely hummed and went through the motions of brushing your teeth, going to the bathroom, and cleaning up your thighs.

The sheets were the least of your concern, and you collapsed into the center of the bed, not even bothering with clothes as you snuggled into the blankets and let your eyes flutter closed, falling asleep in seconds with Natasha still on the line.

#wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #dom!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wandanat #wandanat x reader #dom!wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat fluff #series: you are in love #minors dni ৎ୭

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bittencandy · 2 months

Text

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

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gimmeurtmi · 1 year

Text

piercings — 2min

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader x lee minho

tags: established relationship, polyamory, light dom/sub dynamics, smut!!!🔞

warnings: swearing, throuple, mxm, oral (f recieving), nipple play, making out so much of that, piercings, slight overstimulation, use of “bunny” and “bubs”,

inspo: must i defend myself? anyway. 2min in the 5star teaser pics.

notes: this was just meant to be a quick one but alas. this got away from me. also the mxm is a bit stronger here don't say i didn't warn you and don't say you didn't know it was a throuple.

{ wc: 2426 }

"you keep looking at my lip ring," seungmin smirks at you, eyebrows raised as he catches the shy look in your eyes. they were glued to the black ring only moments ago—but now you can't even look up from your lap.

"it's just.. different," you let out. instead of feeding his ego any further, you turn away from him, smiling as you see your other boyfriend walk in. sporting a piercing in the exact same spot as seungmin, but his is a round stud.

you can't help the gasp that leaves you, and seungmin can't help but laugh.

"hyung!" he starts, enthusiastically, and you know you've been caught. he jumps up in his seat, arm extended towards minho, but you quickly slap it down and tell him to be quiet. seungmin's teasing is bad enough—you don't need minho to realise your new found weakness as well.

"yeah?" minho smiles, sitting down next to you.

"nothing!" you're quick to say. "seungmin is being silly."

"y/n likes the piercings," seungmin says.

"no. i just think they're different. why did you get them in the same spot anyway?" you ask minho in an attempt to move the attention away from you, choosing to ignore the shit eating grin on seungmin's face.

minho cocks his head to the side, shuffling closer to you. "you like them?"

"they're alright," you all but whisper.

minho grabs your chin softly, which forces you to look away from your lap and up into his big eyes. but his eyes only hold you captive for a moment or two, before your gaze flickers down to the round stud below his lip.

he smirks, his lips curling as two lumps appear next to them. you suppress the groan in your throat so strongly it brings up a cough. you turn away from minho as to not cough in his face, and are met with seungmin right in front of you. you're not sure when he moved so close to you but you're now caged in between your boyfriends and their shining new piercings.

you feel rather than see minho placing his chin on your shoulder, your eyes still focused on seungmin's ring. his lips are so plum the ring looks like it's tight—and so you ask.

"not really," he shrugs.

"did it hurt when you got them?" you ask.

"only for a second," minho says, right next to your ear. "kim seungmin did make a lot of noise though."

seungmin rolls his eyes at the comment. he brings his hand to your free shoulder and rubs his thumb over your skin.

"are you going to keep them?"

"maybe," seungmin muses.

you nod, letting the silence devour you as seungmin's gaze freezes you in place. you can hear three sets of breathing, but not much else.

"anything else you wanna know, bunny?" minho asks softly in your ear. you're not sure when he moved them, but his hands are around your stomach—pulling you flush against his chest.

"whatdoesittastelike?" you let it, your voice quiet and cracking and incoherent.

"didn't catch that," minho chuckles, seungmin nodding along with him.

"say that again for us?" seungmin suggests.

you swallow, your throat dry and rough.

"what does it taste like? the metal?"

minho laughs softly, kissing your jaw before he turns his head towards seungmin. they share a look over your head, and then minho brings a hand to the back of seungmin's neck and pulls him closer. your noses touch.

"why don't you find out?" minho offers softly.

you tear your gaze away from that stupid ring and look into seungmin's eyes. they're sparkling and teasing and wanting.

you can't do much else but crash your lips against his.

they're still soft, it's still your seungmin you're kissing, but the metal now between your lips and his is impossible to ignore. it's cold, and foreign, and after a few seconds you experimentally lick his lips. seungmin's been too patient, and he can't wait anymore, and that little lick from you is all he needs to open his mouth and crash your tongues together. you can still feel the ring in between you—can still notice it's cold. but now you can taste it. everything tastes like seungmin, like the coffee he had not too long ago and his lipbalm and his skincare and then you notice. it taste like coins.

but seungmin overpowers that, more so when you start whining into his mouth at the realisation of just how hard he's kissing you. you pull away, as much as you can with minho still behind you, and gasp out for air.

it doesn't take more than a second before minho grabs your jaw and turns you towards him, crashing your lips together instantly. minho is much less patient, and glides his tongue towards yours the second your lips touch.

minho's piercing is different, and so it feels different kissing him. the metal doesn't sit in between you two—it doesn't dare interrupt—but you can feel it probing against your bottom lip every time you open your lips around his. as you keep kissing, moving around each other, you catch it between your lips and pull at it—which causes minho to pull away and hiss at you.

it tastes like silver.

"i'm sorry!!" you wince, "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to!"

but you aren't allowed to keep apologising, as seungmin grabs your shoulders and turns you around—quickly colliding his tongue with yours.

you feel minho's hands around your shoulder so you think he's forgiven you, especially considering he pulls at the straps of your tank top and pushes it down towards your stomach.

you don't think too much about it, you're too lightheaded from all the kissing to realise what's about to happen, until you feel something cold and round rub against your nipple and you gasp into seungmin's mouth.

"shhh," seungmin encourages. once he pulls away he notices just how heavily you're breathing, and so he rubs your cheek soothingly and waits for you to catch your breath.

but you can't. minho's lips are on your chest, kissing and sucking and the cold metal from his stud sends shockwaves all through your body every time it nudges against your nipple.

"you're sensitive today, bubs?" seungmin asks softly.

"it's cold and it's, ahh—“ you try, but your back arches up and minho bites the skin below your nipples and you moan loudly.

seungmin's smile takes over his whole face and he shuffles downwards, "okay, i wanna try."

minho pulls away when he hears that, and smirks up when he sees your blissed out face. the view only gets better, as seungmin's lip ring means the cool sensation presses against your nipple for longer. he sucks and bites and licks and the metal rolls against your sensitive bud.

you try focusing on minho's eyes that glue to your face but you can't, the pleasure too much to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head.

"well, if you won't let me look at you i might as well..." minho mumbles, and you aren't sure what he's talking about until another pair of lips wraps around your other nipple, the cold stud pushing against your skin.

your moans only get louder, the doubled stimulation sending shivers all the way up your spine. you can feel it in the bottom of your mouth—urging you to let out the lewdest noises.

you reach for them, your fingers sliding into their hairs as you pull at the same time. they both groan, the vibrations and the cold and the wetness enough to make you squirm uncomfortably under their weight.

"stop stop stop," you let out, breathless.

they both pull away quickly, eyes wide as they exchange a look between them.

"are you okay?"

"what's wrong?"

"i just," you heave, your whole body on fire. the wetness on your nipples cools you down quickly, but it's not enough. you need air. "it's so good, like so fucking good. i'm just so warm and i can't breath."

minho quickly gets up and sets the aircon to a colder setting. seungmin gets up to leave too, but you stop him with a hand on his shoulder.

"w-where are you going?" you ask, softly. vulnerable.

"just to get you water," seungmin explains, but the look on your face tells him to stay put. "hyung!"

"yeah, i'm on it!" minho says from the kitchen, where he's already filling three bottles of water.

once he's back, you drink more than half of it and sigh.

"sorry if we overwhelmed you, bunny," minho says, brushing the hair that's stuck to your forehead. "that was just really fun."

seungmin looks at him, eyes bright and smirk wide as he says, "so fun."

"i knew your tits were sensitive, but i didn't think a little bit of metal would get you like that," minho smirks.

"i'm so fucking horny," you sigh, letting your head fall against the couch. seungmin laughs loudly, rubbing your knee.

"well, once you've calmed down we can check how sensitive your clit is to our piercings?" seungmin offers.

you look at him, wide eyed, and nod quickly.

minho laughs, kissing your shoulder as he wraps an arm around your middle. seungmin follows, his arms just below it.

"how does it taste?" minho asks, pure curiosity in his voice as he rests his head on your shoulder.

"i guess it—"

"—you could just find out?" seungmin offers, smirking at minho as he gets closer and closer to his face.

you laugh at minho's appalled expression, as if he doesn't kiss seungmin all the time, and decide to move aside as seungmin climbs over to minho's side.

the older grabs seungmin's jaw and kisses him, moaning just like you did as the cold metal collides with his tongue. you watch as your boyfriends kiss, understanding a little bit about what got them so worked up over your reaction. every time you see minho's tongue roll against the lip ring he groans, and there's a small clashing noise whenever their piercings touch.

once you catch your breath, and the increasingly wet patch between your legs can no longer be ignored, you move closer to them and simply grab seungmin's jaw. he resists for only a moment before you tug him away from minho and crash your lips together again.

the taste of the metal isn't too foreign anymore.

"yah!" minho yells, grabbing your hips and squeezing, "that was rude! i wasn't done!"

you pull away from the kiss, only long enough to shrug and say, "i was getting bored."

"you're so fucking spoiled," minho groans, "i can't even kiss my boyfriend for three minutes?"

you pull away again, mainly because you feel seungmin struggle to breath, and turn to face minho. you pout at him.

"but you two said i could find out what they feel like against my clit," you whine.

minho rolls his eyes at you.

"fine. come here then," he pulls you closer, already tugging on your pants. "but i swear if you pull him away from me again you're in so much trouble."

"children," seungmin says, hands up in front of him as if to calm you down, "no need to fight. there's enough kim seungmin for everyone."

"look what you've done," you groan at minho, "now he's being a cocky shit."

you yelp as minho hoists you up in the air and places you on your back, tugging your underwear off in a split second. he ignores your comment, mostly because he knows seungmin isn't going to stop being cocky for a while. he'll just take care of the attitude you’re both displaying sometime later.

for now, he rubs his finger along your entrance, gathering the slick on his finger before he invites seungmin to come closer.

"youngest eats first," he says, and seungmin smirks as he wraps his hands around your thighs and pulls you closer to him.

it only takes him a moment to wrap his lips around your clit—and then your moans are louder than you've ever heard them. the metal is cold and hard against you, and seungmin is only spurred on by the noises.

you pull minho towards you, kissing him desperately as your body starts cultivating. "thank fuck for those piercings," you moan loudly, urging seungmin to keep going.

"go on bunny, the sooner you cum the sooner i get to try too," minho smiles against your lips, before he moves down to tease your nipples again. the stimulation is too much, and it only takes a second for you to fall over the edge, your thighs shaking rapidly against seungmin's head.

he pulls away as soon as you push at his forehead, his chin shiny and smile overjoyed. it's a big contrast between his expression and his lip ring—the dangerous look it brings isn't enough to overshadow his pure eyes.

minho rubs your stomach as you calm down, your whole body moving as you gasp for air. he knows you aren't ready yet, and as to not overwhelm you, he moves back and grabs another bottle for you.

"while she calms down," he starts, turning to seungmin, "wanna show me what she tastes like?"

seungmin laughs loudly at that before he grabs minho's neck and kisses him deeply—the pair moaning. at your taste, and the metal, and knowing you're right beneath them looking up at the whole thing.

just as minho cups seungmin's jaw, pulling him closer and grabbing a handful of his ass, you cough.

"min, i—“

minho groans as he pulls away from his boyfriend, looking up to the ceiling with the most fed up expression he can master. seungmin's head falls back as he laughs.

"she's so fucking spolied," he mutters, pecking seungmin's lips one more time before he turns to you.

he situates himself between your thighs, licking his lips as he sees you clenching in anticipation.

"we need to stop spoiling her, seungminnie," minho mumbles, sinking a finger into your heat. you moan loudly, finally feeling something inside you.

"yeah," seungmin agrees, pushing his hair back as he finds the perfect spot to watch you two from. "but it's probably not gonna be today."

"mhm," minho nods, eyes glued to your pussy and the way it sucks in his finger. "not today, then."

at that minho wraps his lips around you, the little stud on his chin rubbing against your folds.

you know you're not going to get tired of those piercings any time soon, or how much your boyfriends spoil you for that matter.

#2min #2min x reader #2mints #2min smut #lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee know x y/n #lee know x you #kim seungmin smut #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #skz x reader #skz fics #skz smut #lee minho smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho x y/n

2K notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 4 months

Text

BAKUGOU KATSUKI MASTERLIST

Ranging from my top Bakugou post to posts with notes above 1k.

Boss ! Bakugo going yandere for his helpful assistant:

WANTS & NEEDS ♡6.6k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes darling for a crime she didn’t commit and then regrets it:

WRONGLY PUNISHED ♡5.8k

FOLLOW-UP ASK ♡2.2k

Darling uses sex as a coping mechanism:

DARLING INITIATING SEX ♡4.8k

Hero ! Bakugou x Villain ! Deku x childhood friend ! darling:

RENUNION ♡3.7k

Cock descriptions:

COCK ♡3.7k

What BNHA ! yandere is the scariest:

SCARY YANDERE ♡3.5k

Bully ! Bakugou creeps on his quirkless study partner:

STUDY-SESSIONS ♡3.3k

Bully ! Bakugo is scary and pushy and delusional:

BAD GUY ♡3k

Fuckfriend ! Bakugou turned yandere:

BORING ♡2.8k

Alpha ! Bakugou figures out why he bullies Omega reader:

LESSON ♡2.8k

HEAT ♡1.3k

Bully ! Bakugo series. He harasses the reader into a relationship:

SEVEN MINUTES IN HELL ♡2.7k

TRUST ME ♡2.1k

Boyfriend ! Bakugou headcanons:

BOYFRIEND ! KATSUKI ♡2.7k

Poly ! KiriBaku bullies cute darling:

BAD INFLUENCE ♡2.6k

Poly ! BakuDekuTodo x darling thirsts:

BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡2.6k

BAKUDEKUTODO X DARLING ♡1.3k

POLY ♡1.6k

Prince ! Bakugou x maid ! dalring:

PRINCE x MAID ♡2.6k

Imagines of what happens when the darling tries to deny the BNHA ! yanderes intimacy and sex:

BAKUGOU ♡2.4k

Bully ! Bakugo x poor ! darling:

IN CASE OF FIRE: PUSH ALARM ♡1.4k

IN THE TRAILER ♡2.3k

FOLLOW-UP ASK

Barbarian King ! Bakugo arranged marriage with princess ! darling:

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ♡2.3k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou reacting to pregnant darling:

PREGNANT DARLINGS ♡2.3k

Overworked and touch-starved Prohero ! Bakugou x girlfriend ! darling:

ONE MORE TIME? ♡2.2k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou with a darling who enjoys being his darling:

DARLING ENJOYS BEING A DARLING ♡2k

Bakugou and darling's sexual role-play dynamic:

ROLE-PLAY DYNAMICS ♡1.9k

Yandere captor ! Bakugo x pet ! darling:

PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡1.8k

AFTERMATH OF PET ! DARLING IN HEAT ♡1.5k

BRATTY PET-DARLING ♡1.1k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x darling with early Stockholm syndrome:

EARLY STOCKHOLM SYNDROME ♡1.7k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou wants captive darling to be willing:

WILLINGLY OR NOT ♡1.7k

Poly Proheroes ! BakuDeku blackmails criminal ! darling:

STREET SCUM ♡1.7k

Bully ! Bakugou redemption, being charming with darling and asking her out:

GIRLFRIEND ♡1.6k

Sheriff ! Bakugou harasses backpacking tourist:

HIS TOWN, HIS RULES ♡1.6k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou's need for intimacy:

INTIMATE ACTIVITIES ♡1.6k

Bakugou having a breeding kink for his crush:

BREEDING KINK ♡1.6k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou cleaning darling’s cuts after she tries killing herself:

CUTS & BANDAGES ♡1.6k

Childhood friend Bakugou and you have been stuck in a toxic relationship forever:

NO ONE ELSE ♡1.6k

Pro Hero ! Bakugou regrets not making you his before it was too late:

MISERABLE ♡1.5k

Bakugou's type:

SUBMISSIVE DARLING ♡1.5k

Alpha ! Bakugou mating his terrified Omega ! darling:

Five Steps for Alphas Mating Omegas ♡1.5k

Prohero ! Bakugou going yandere for childhood friend ! spy ! darling:

EMPTY SHELLS ♡1.5k

Poly wolf-boys ! BakuDeku with a bunny ! darling in heat:

HEATED ♡1.5k

Daddy ! Bakugou punishes his darling for not following her strict schedule:

RULEBREAK ♡1.5k

Yandere captor ! Bakugou x clumsy ! darling:

CLUMSY DARLING ♡1.5k

How yandere captor ! Bakugou punishes his darling:

PUNISHMENTS ♡1.4k

Sadistic yandere Bakugou chases you down after you escape:

BEAR-TRAP ♡1.4k

Poly ! KiriBaku are a toxic duo for poor captive ! darling:

BAD COP/GOOD COP ♡1.4k

Alpha ! Bakugou finally finding his rebel ! Omega ! mate:

MUD ♡1.3k

Prohero ! Bakugou lusting over his equally successful childhood friend:

PROFESSIONAL ♡1.3k

Yandere captor Bakugou with a depressive darling:

MELANCHOLIA ♡1.2k

Incel ! Bakugou kidnaps reader to be his sex-puppet:

TOUCH ♡1.2k

Bakugou smut alphabet:

NSFW ABCs ♡1.2k

Bakugo frustrate with his affection over this clueless moron:

SCARY LOVE ♡1.1k

Bakugou's darling puts on his hero costume:

PLAYING DRESS-UP ♡1.1k

Yandere captor Bakugou's likes cooking with his darling:

HOBBIES ♡1.1k

Yandere captor Bakugou's sleeping habits:

SLEEPING HABITS ♡1.1k

Bully ! Bakugou being heartbroken and desperately in love with you:

HEARTBROKEN ♡1.1k

Yandere captor Bakugou spanking reader:

DADDY'S GIRL ♡1.1k

Yandere captor Bakugou with tiny darling:

PUFF ♡1.1k

How Bakugou became yandere for his darling:

YANDERE BEGINNINGS ♡1.1K

Hermit forest-dweller ! Bakugou takes lost hiker ! darling captive:

HERMIT ♡1k

BNHA genderbender:

FEM ♡1k

Bakugou teaches you how to cum:

STRUGGLE ♡1k

Bully Bakugou kidnaps you during the purge:

THE PURGE ♡1k

Parole officer Bakugou accepts your bride:

OUR LITTLE SECRET ♡1k

Yandere captor Bakugou infantilizes darling:

DADDY'S BABY ♡1k

Captive reader rebels against yandere captor Bakugou:

GONE WRONG ♡1k

The Torodoki family makes use of their quirkless daughter - with friends:

FAMILY FUN ♡1k

What type of hybrid he is:

HYBRID ♡1k

Sad and lonely stalker Bakugou:

DRIVEN MAD ♡1k

Similar posts can be found in the following:

INSERT MASTERLIST

716 notes · View notes

finalgirllx · 2 months

Text

Brat tamer! Theo Nott has taken up my headspace for quite some time now. I hope I captured half the feralism the very idea of it has evoked within me in this short excerpt. warning: a brat/brat tamer dynamic is a well-laid-out kink relationship between two consenting parties. don't claim i didn't warn you, and you are responsible for your sex education/consumption. enjoy! MINORS DNI | f! reader implied | consent is everything

Brat tamer! Theo was captivated by you from the moment he discovered how well you matched his banter. When it came to verbal sparring, you kept him on his toes, your fiery attitude bewitching him. This captured his interest and made the cat-and-mouse game of your relationship more exciting.

Brat tamer! Theo couldn't fathom how so much fucking sass could emanate from someone who effortlessly shifted their expressions from wide, devious grins to alluring doe-eyes, coupled with a saccharine-sweet voice that nearly drove him to the brink of delirium.

Brat tamer! Theo continued to be enthralled by your wit every time you told him off or teased him. Once, you scolded him for gawking at your ass while strolling past the library shelves, and he had to covertly readjust his trousers to conceal his raging erection. He knew he was a goner after that. Ever the romantic.

Brat tamer! Theo's biggest dream was realized the night you finally dragged him to his dorm with a hand latched onto his loosened tie after a night of partying.

Brat tamer! Theo quickly realized he was in for more than he bargained for when your hookups became regular. A handful of times in, he cooed assurances in your ear as he thrust inside of you, wanting to know if he was being too rough. In response, you guided his hand to your throat and told him to be rougher.

Brat tamer! Theo discovered between those hookups and day-to-day banter that you enjoyed, no, not just enjoyed, but you really wanted him to let his frustrations out on you during sex.

Brat tamer! Theo is astonished by this shocking motivator behind your attitude. He is more turned on than he could articulate when he finally realizes you're nothing more than a brat begging for punishment.

-----------------

Brat tamer! Theo always has his hand on the small of your back as you walk together, reminding you to go where he guides you.

Brat tamer! Theo gifts you a necklace with the letter 'T,' a romantic gesture to the unsuspecting eye, but a silent proclamation between you to indicate who you belong to.

Brat tamer! Theo places a strategic hand on the back of your neck to warn if you're beginning to step out of line or run that mouth of yours a little too fiercely. He smirks when you clench your thighs together, knowing the small show of power was enough to make you aroused.

Brat tamer! Theo knows precisely when to weaponize his dark-blue eyes to send a shiver down your back. You learn which expression serves as a warning and which means you're already in heaps of trouble.

Brat tamer! Theo is an expert in dirty talk. He constantly switches up his language, knowing the back-and-forth is a key player in the fun of a brat dynamic. Still, he has a few old, reliable favorites that weaken you in moments.

"Is that so?"

"You should watch yourself."

"You wanna finish saying that?"

"I'm going to take care of that attitude of yours."

hoooo. breathing break. okay.

-----------------

Brat tamer! Theo's extra tie becomes incredibly handy once he discovers they could double as your personal set of restraints. They're highly versatile, really. He uses them to tie your wrists behind your back, sometimes to the bedframe, or even roped over your mouth as a gag when his cock isn't an option.

Brat tamer! Theo's biggest kink is impact play, and it shows. He is liberal in his judgments of what calls for a spanking because he loves to watch the recoil of your ass after his hand lands hard against it. He loves to see the marks form because they prove you have learned your lesson and serve as a branding to show you belong to him.

Brat tamer! Theo likes the traditional route of using his hand to spank you, but he doesn't mind getting creative. He'll use a paddle, a ruler, and his wand if he sees fit.

Brat tamer! Theo tends to switch to speaking in Italian when extra frustrated, the switchover becoming a tell that you won't be able to walk after he's done handling you.

Brat tamer! Theo has no problem punishing you during class, making you sit with him in the back while his fingers tease your cunt.

Brat tamer! Theo warns you not to make a sound, or you'll get it ten times worse at his dorm. But he always knows how to expertly maneuver his fingers to coax the noises from you, guaranteeing he'll be able to exact that rougher punishment.

Brat tamer! Theo loves throat-fucking that spitfire mouth of yours and ordering you to thank him for the opportunity to gag on his dick and swallow his release.

Brat tamer! Theo fucks every last bit of that back-talk out of you, one hand maintaining a bruising grip on your waist while the other keeps your face pressed into the pillow as you babble muffled pleas for him to allow you to cum around his cock.

Brat tamer! Theo is merciful and, in the end, cares about your pleasure as much as, if not more than, his own. So he grants you permission to cum. And then he makes you cum again. And again. For good measure.

Brat tamer! Theo showers you with praise and tender aftercare once finished. He makes sure you're okay and that everything that happened was as enjoyable for you as it was for him. It was. <3

#theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott smut #theo nott smut #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys

914 notes · View notes

phillydilly · 6 months

Note

been loving the way u write. i have been having thoughs and i needed to share. what if hannah schmidt and gianpiero (gp) were one person and was dating max. like y/n became max's engineer/stratgeist in 2021 and got him and red bull the 2021-2023 championships. they're like the ultimate rb racing and f1 couple.

other wags supporting their boys while y/n gets her boy wins. i just imagine them going on the podium together and max constantly saying 'our wins' and 'our accomplishments' like partners on and off track. plus the radio bickering- literally old married couple / mom and dad are fighting but momma knows best

Driven by Love

⊹♡— In which Max falls in love with his new radio engineer and strategist

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Authors note: This idea was genius! I am so sorry this took so long to write, this request has been sitting in my inbox for a while. I’ve been really busy recently and so I worked on this story slower than usual. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy it as much as I loved writing it!

The Formula 1 paddock buzzed with anticipation as Max Verstappen welcomed a new radio engineer, Y/n, after GP's retirement. The Red Bull Racing team had kept Y/n's arrival a well-guarded secret, adding an air of mystery. Y/n, known for her brilliance and strategic prowess, was about to meet Max for the first time, a moment highly anticipated by the entire team.

Upon entering the garage, Max was a mix of curiosity and nervousness, having heard of Y/n's accomplishments. However, nothing had prepared him for her captivating presence. When Max finally met Y/n, her charm momentarily overshadowed his shyness.

Y/n, with a welcoming smile, extended her hand. "Max Verstappen, I presume?"

Max, his nervousness evident in his voice, responded, "Yes, that's me. You're Y/n, right?"

She nodded, her eyes gleaming with intelligence. "Indeed. I've extensively studied your driving data, and I'm thrilled to work with you."

Max, though slightly flustered, managed to speak. "That's great. I've heard incredible things about your strategies."

Y/n chuckled softly, finding Max's shyness endearing. "Let's see if we can continue the winning streak."

The team members around them exchanged knowing glances, aware of the unspoken tension. Max cleared his throat, striving to regain professionalism. "Yes, let's do that."

As they discussed the race strategy, Max found himself drawn to Y/n's intelligence and expertise. Y/n, on the other hand, was amused by Max's shyness, although they both understood the need for a strictly professional relationship.

As the meeting concluded, Y/n extended her hand again. "Looking forward to a successful partnership, Max."

Max shook her hand, feeling a mix of excitement. "Likewise, Y/n. Let's win some races."

₊.˚⊹♡: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

As the racing season continued, Max and Y/n had been secretly dating for months, a relationship they cherished but kept hidden due to Y/n's fear of losing her job. Max knew he raced better with her by his side. Their bond was undeniable and reflected in their interactions during races.

During a race, Max received advice from Y/n about tire temperatures, and their playful bickering over the radio was evident, creating a unique dynamic.

Their hidden love story remained concealed, but their on-track partnership was undeniable. It was a bond they cherished, even if they couldn't openly acknowledge it.

₊˚⊹♡: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

At the team's headquarters, the atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation. Max and Y/n had gathered their colleagues in the briefing room, where they usually discussed race strategies and reviewed data. The room fell silent as Max and Y/n stepped to the front of the room, holding hands.

Their colleagues exchanged knowing glances, smirking and exchanging nods as they anticipated what Max and Y/n were about to share. It was clear that their secret was no longer a secret.

Max cleared his throat and began, "Hey, everyone, we've got something important to share today."

Y/n smiled nervously and added, "Yeah, it's been a secret for a while, but we think it's time you all know."

The room was filled with grins and a few chuckles. Sarah, a fellow team member, couldn't help but tease, "Are you two getting married? Is this an engagement announcement?"

Max and Y/n shared an amused glance. Max replied, "Not quite, Sarah, but it's about our relationship."

Y/n continued, "We've been dating for a while now, and I'm sure most of you have figured it out by now. We're not as subtle as we thought."

Christian laughed and said, "Well, it's about time you made it official. We've known for a while, and honestly, it was about time you came clean."

Their colleagues chimed in with good-natured comments, expressing their support and happiness for the couple. It was a moment of relief for Max and Y/n, knowing that their colleagues had not only known about their relationship but had embraced it all along.

The room erupted into applause and congratulations as their colleagues celebrated the couple's decision to be open about their relationship. Max and Y/n exchanged relieved smiles, feeling that they had finally acknowledged what everyone had known for some time.

Max stated, "Thank you, everyone, for understanding. We're excited to share this part of our lives with all of you."

Y/n added, "We're still committed to giving our best on and off the track. And together, we're even stronger."

Their colleagues applauded once more, and it was clear that Max and Y/n's relationship had only strengthened their connection with the team, making it an even tighter-knit racing family.

₊˚⊹♡: ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

The final race of the season had arrived, and the world watched in anticipation as Max Verstappen found himself tied on points for the championship with Lewis Hamilton. It was a nail-biting showdown, and the pressure was immense.

In the early morning before the race, Max and Y/n found a quiet moment alone in the garage. Y/n looked into Max's eyes and smiled. "You've got this, Max. I believe in you."

Max, taking Y/n's hand, replied, "I couldn't have done any of this without you. You make me a better driver and a better person."

Their moment was interrupted by the team's race engineer, who reminded them it was almost time to head to the grid. Max and Y/n shared a quick, reassuring kiss before going their separate ways.

As the race began, the tension was palpable. Max and Lewis traded positions, battling for every inch of the track. Y/n was on the radio, providing crucial information and guidance to Max. During a pit stop, she couldn't help but playfully tease him, saying, "Max, you're not making this easy on me, are you?"

Max chuckled through the radio, "Well, you do love a challenge, don't you?"

Their playful banter provided a brief moment of relief amidst the intense competition. But as the laps ticked by, Max knew he had to give it his all.

In the final laps, Max and Lewis were neck and neck, the championship hanging in the balance. It was a thrilling battle, and the world watched in suspense. Y/n's voice was a steady presence in Max's earpiece, providing him with valuable information.

Then, with a daring overtaking maneuver, Max surged ahead and crossed the finish line as the race winner. The crowd erupted, and Y/n's voice crackled over the radio, "MAX, YOU ARE THE WORLD CHAMPION!"

Max, with joy in his voice, corrected her, "WE ARE WORLD CHAMPIONS!"

The cheers of the entire team resonated over the radio as Max celebrated his championship victory. The world now knew about their relationship, and they couldn't have been happier. Max and Y/n had not only won the championship, but they had also won the hearts of racing fans worldwide, proving that love and success could go hand in hand on the track.

#max Verstappen #max Verstappen imagine #max Verstappen one shot #max Verstappen x you #max Verstappen x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 smut #max Verstappen smut #max Verstappen x y/n #formula 1 x female reader #max Verstappen x female reader

529 notes · View notes

moraxsthrone · 7 months

Text

TITLE — spoiled

PAIRING — dom!sugarbaby!zhongli x sub!sugarmama!f!reader

WC — 4.6k

WARNINGS — nsfw. MDNI. modern au. soft dom/sub dynamic. oral (m. & f. rcv'ing). deepthroat/facefucking. overstim. squirting. creampie.

NOTES — i always said that when (not if) zhongli came home, i would spoil him rotten. i went from having no zhongli to having him at C2 lvl 90 + staff of homa + a 2pc/2pc tenacity/noblesse set, and him being in the top 21% of zl hybrid builds on the NA server, hitting 100k+ dmg...all in less than a month. i've been good to him and he's been soooooo good to me so i wanted to write this as a celebratory, homecoming gift for my long-awaited, highly spoiled geo daddy. thanks to @crystalflygeo for the idea and inspiration! i hope i did it justice! <3

the knock comes so gently you wouldn't have heard it had you not been expecting it.

“come in,” you say, finishing the last piece of paperwork and setting your pen down on your big oak desk.

the heavy door creaks open, zhongli striding in before closing the door behind himself.

“working late again, my lady?” the young man muses with a subtle smile, looking dapper in his favorite armani suit that’s been perfectly tailored to the lean musculature of his frame.

a leaden sigh escapes your lips. “yes, but fortunately i’ve just finished. your timing is impeccable, my dear sir,” you say with a playful lilt while leaning back in your chair. “i presume i’m not the only one since someone else must’ve let you in.”

“your receptionist was just leaving as i arrived.”

“well, now that you’re here, to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“i wanted to thank you again for the handsome topaz cufflinks you procured for me yesterday at that fancy boutique-” he says in his unhurried baritone, fidgeting with one of them. zhongli sounds so commanding without even trying, making your loins stir with want. you’ve taken great pleasure in spoiling him since meeting him a couple months ago, buying him everything he’s had an eye for, as well as a lot of things he hasn’t even asked for…

“i knew you’d appreciate them, what with your exquisite taste…” you interject, admiring the way the dark orange gemstones bring out his eyes. “besides, the color becomes you.”

he smiles back, making him look more boyish. “only someone with a discerning eye for quality and beauty such as yourself would even take me to places that sell such high caliber merchandise.” he walks towards you, leaning against the front of your desk mere inches from where your arm rests. “but i want you to know that i appreciate the little things just as much, if not more so. something as simple as say…” his voice trails for a moment, “...indulging me in afternoon tea means a lot to me.”

“oh? but your company is no small thing, zhongli. i enjoy lavishing you with gifts, of course. but you give me your time and conversation in return, and that is far more valuable to me than any gift i could bestow upon you…”

“you sure?”

your brow crinkles at his hinting tone. “what do you mean?”

he reaches out with his gloved hand, delicately cupping your jaw as his boyish smile fades. “you’re a very busy lady. your time and attention are in high demand. and yet you decide to give what little of it you have over to me. your time is far more valuable than anything you could possibly buy me, and that’s something for which i could never repay you…”

you raise your eyebrows at him in sincerity. “zhongli. as i’ve already stated, your company is more than enough-”

"my lady," he reaches for your hand and brings your dainty knuckles to his lips. “...if i may?”

your mouth drops open in surprise. though you certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, you’ve never so much as alluded to the prospect of an intimate relationship with him. you’re beautiful. powerful. but also - as he’s pointed out - very busy, leaving you precious little time for meeting a suitable mate, let alone courting one. so just spending time with zhongli - listening to his captivating stories, admiring his handsome face, hearing his spell-binding voice - has been more than worth any amount of money you could spend on him.

“zhongli, w-what…?” you give into the gentle tug of his hand, standing from your chair to face him. with your hand still in his, he cups your cheek with the other while bringing his lips dangerously close to yours. “zhongli, wait,” you say, catching your breath in your throat before he can take it away. “you don’t owe me anything…”

“perhaps not, my lady,” he says, his thumb stroking your burning cheek. “but i would quite like to give you something anyway.” your eyes search his as he speaks, his gaze so comfortably heavy. “you’re beautiful,” he says, breath fanning across your lips. “you’ve been exceedingly generous to me…and i want to give you what i feel is owed to you…”

“but zhongli,” you try, your voice so small and shaky with desire, “i’ve already said you don’t owe m-”

“forgive my insolence,” he interrupts, not sounding sorry at all, “but allow me to put it this way: i’m going to give you what you deserve.”

his thumb grazes your lower lip, only to trail down the column of your pretty neck as his lips finally and mercifully claim yours. and you give yourself permission to kiss him back. how could you not? of course you’ve never expected anything from him, but you’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized about kissing him, touching him.

zhongli is incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, devastatingly handsome, and his voice alone is enough to make your panties wet every time you hear it. in spite of the fact that you’ve been providing for him, it is he who seems to hold some unspoken power over you.

breaking from the kiss, you look up into his amber eyes. “wh-what i deserve?”

without a word he turns you around, your butt now pressing against the edge of your desk.

“by now you must think i’m a weak man…”

you shake your head. “no. i don’t think that at all-”

he places his fingers over your lips. “ah-ah. i wasn’t finished speaking, my lady.”

your eyes widen, filling with lust and desire at his insistent tone. yes. you need this. and he knows it. zhongli isn’t just giving you what you want or deserve; he’s giving you what you need.

“but-”

before you can utter another sound, zhongli spins you around until your hips are pressing against the edge of your desk. you feel his hips press against your bottom, gasping quietly at the unmistakable hard bulge pressing against you.

“zhongli?”

he grinds against you, the force causing the edge of your desk to dig into your hip bones.

“you can feel me, can’t you?” he whispers, his wet lips grazing the edge of your ear. “i’ve wanted you like this all along. does that come as a surprise to you, my lady?”

before you can formulate a response, zhongli’s hands - now naked and warm after having removed his gloves - are running along your bare skin under your pencil skirt until it’s bunched up below your ass cheeks. one of his hands slips between your legs, spreading them apart to slowly make his way up until he feels the moisture between them.

“it would seem you’ve thought about this before as well,” he deduces, eliciting an affirmative hum from you as a response.

his other hand gently pushes your hair aside to expose the back of your neck and you feel the heat of his breath there as his soft lips ghost over your goosebumped skin.

“you must get so tired of having so much responsibility on you,” he mutters. “wouldn’t it be nice to relinquish control every once in a while?”

his voice alone is enough to easily seduce you. with a small nod, your eyes flutter closed as you fight the chill that wants to run down your spine. “y-yes, zhongli, it’s…” your breath hitches when his thumb brushes your lace-covered clit, “...exhausting sometimes.”

a deep chuckle forms in his throat as he peppers light kisses along the back of your bare neck, pushing the ruffle trim top of your dress off one of your shoulders to expose more of your soft skin.

“then allow me.” grasping the back zipper between his fingers, he pulls it down, taking his precious time undressing you from your collar to your tailbone. “if at any point you want me to stop, just say 'lapis'," he whispers and you agree.

he pushes the sleeves over and off of your arms before unfastening your bra. everything falls to the floor, the expensive material pooling around your feet. having rendered you naked save for your panties and designer heels, he stands back a bit and tells you to turn around and face him. feeling a bit self-conscious, you cover your breasts and bite your lower lip nervously as you follow his order.

“tut-tut.” zhongli shakes his head in mild disapproval. “uncover yourself. i want to see every inch of your gorgeous body.”

you lower your arms, exposing your creamy breasts with pretty, budded nipples and zhongli’s amber eyes seem to glow with arousal. he takes his time looking you up and down, licking his lips, drinking in your form as his hard cock strains against his slacks.

kissing you as he comes in close again, pulling you in with his hands on your ass to let the clothed head of his cock rub against your panty-clad pussy. you gasp and he grips his own cock through his pants and rubs the head over your hidden clit.

reaching for one of your hands, he places it on his clothed erection, sending a jolt of arousal to your core. “touch me,” he says. "i know you want to."

you nod, giving his girth a tentative squeeze through his expensive slacks. a quiet groan escapes zhongli’s throat as he pushes himself into your hand, watching you with hooded eyes as you palm him. even through the dark virgin wool you can feel that his cock is thick and hot, and you can’t help but clench as you imagine how it would feel to be taken and filled by him.

“get on your knees,” he commands and you obey, putting you at eye level with the wet spot that has formed where his cockhead is pressing against his slacks. “take my cock out.”

you can hardly believe this is happening. not five minutes ago, you were having an innocent conversation with your platonic sugarbaby. now you’re on your knees, seconds away from freeing his cock and tasting his precum - something you’ve wanted since first laying eyes on him but never thought would become a reality.

your well-manicured hands reach for his belt, unfastening it before opening his pants to free his impressive dick. it’s so pretty - thick and pale with a bulbous tip flushed dark pink and a couple of fat veins running the length of him. you lick your lips and wrap your hand around his silky shaft, so warm and hard. without thinking, you open your mouth to lick his swollen cockhead but he reaches down and stops you with a finger to your chin.

“did you ask for permission to suck my cock?”

his authoritative tone has you soaking through your panties, your own slick coating your inner thighs. “n-no, sir.” zhongli is pleasantly surprised at how effortlessly you’ve stepped into your submissive role. “may i please suck your cock, mister zhongli?” you ask, making his member twitch in your hand.

he gives you a kind, crooked smile. “yes, of course, little one.”

his salty flavor has you clenching around nothing when you drag your tongue from the underside of his cockhead to his slit. you give it a little kiss before swirling your wet muscle around it. “mmm~ you taste so good, mister zhongli…want more.”

“such a greedy slut,” he rasps with a crooked grin. “tell you what - i’ll give you a mouthful of my flavor, but you have to earn it.” he runs his fingers through your hair. “suck my cock well enough and i’ll let you drink as much of my cum as you can handle.”

his words have you eagerly wrapping your lips tightly around him, slowly taking him all the way to the back of your throat to make yourself salivate more. pumping your fist along what you can’t fit in your mouth, pretty soon the room is filled with wet, sucking noises along with the occasional grunt and muffled gag.

with your hand still jerking him, you pull off him with a gasp.

“did i say you could stop?” he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair.

“no, sir.” you barely get the words out before you quickly suck him in again. never before have you enjoyed sucking a cock so much as zhongli’s.

as he watches you bob on him like a cock-hungry whore, zhongli takes off his waistcoat and begins to unbutton the tailored shirt you bought him a couple of weeks ago. he works it off until he’s naked from the waist up. it’s difficult to fully appreciate the sculpt of his perfect body from this angle, but you can make out his chiseled chest and mouth-watering abs, causing you to whimper on his length.

he pets your hair and praises you before resting both his hands on top of your head. he guides your pace slowly at first, working himself deeper, pressing into your throat as he rocks his hips until he’s fucking your mouth. you’re gagging on him, a string of spit and precum hanging from your chin.

“look at me while you’re sucking my dick, little one,” he says, voice still commanding but heavy with lust.

you obey, looking up at him while he admires the way your pretty lips stretch around his wide shaft, traces of your lipstick mixing with your saliva on his skin. it’s hard to see him through the tears that prick at your eyes, but your slick is dripping from your panties onto the floor below. as your fingernails dig slightly into the flesh of his toned thighs, you swear you could cum with his cockhead deep in your throat.

the way your tears dot your eyelashes makes him suck air through his teeth. “nnfuck~ do you have any idea how pretty you look choking on my cock like this, little one?” zhongli’s hips are rocking steadily, his tight balls touching your chin with every thrust. “such a good fucking girl…are you ready for your reward?”

all you can do is moan, the vibration sending him over the edge. with his fingers tangled in your hair, he presses his patch of black hair against the tip of your nose. fighting to keep his eyes focused on you, zhongli groans loudly, releasing his orgasm down your raw, well-deserved throat.

he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you sputtering and gasping for air. but you’ve loved every second of it. even when he’s forceful, zhongli has a grace about him that’s difficult to describe. but you sense it, you know it when you’re with him like this. “th- *gasp* thank you, m-mister zhongli. thank you f- *cough* for your cum.”

“you did so well, little one,” he groans, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your tear-streaked cheek. collecting some stray semen from your chin, he pushes his thumb between your lips and you suck on it, moaning at the feeling of more of his creamy fluid coating your tongue. “you earned every drop, so don’t waste it.”

your willingness to please, your gratitude, your pliability…they all endear you to him. you may spend your money on him, but he slips into the role of your doting dominant just as seamlessly. he wants to take care of you. to dominate you and reduce you to a babbling mess underneath him, but he wants to care for you and make sure you know you’re safe even more so.

he helps you to your feet before backing you up against your desk. he picks you up, semi-hard cock bouncing with his movements, and sets your ass down on the documents you’d just finished when he came into your office.

“zh-zhongli, the paperwork-”

“my dear, the paperwork should be the least of your concerns right now, but if you must know,” he huffs, pulling your drenched panties down and off your legs, “those documents are as good as ruined…”

before you can protest he curls his hands behind your knees and yanks your ass to the edge of your desk, important forms dragging along beneath you, some fluttering to the floor. now you’re naked, save for your louboutins. zhongli clasps his hands around your ankles and lifts them in the air before bringing his lips to one of them and blazing a long, slow trail along the inside of your leg.

“but don’t you worry…” he mutters between kisses to your skin, his lust-darkened eyes looking right into yours, “your work will be the last thing on your mind by the time i’m done with you.”

his words, his voice, his gaze…it’s all too much and you shudder under his touch, breathing his name. your hands find his dark brown hair, the long ponytail hanging over his shoulder and tickling your electrified skin as he sucks a bruise into your inner thigh.

zhongli’s hands glide down the length of your legs, spreading them to expose your wet, swollen lips. “your pussy is stunning, my lady. even more beautiful than it smells.” he pushes your knees further back, his softened cock twitching back to life as he watches your folds open for him. he breathes you in, groaning at the pink tip of your hard bud peeking out from between your inner lips. “i’ve been dying to taste you…

“ohhh~” you keen, back arching when you feel the heat of his breath on your neglected sex. “mister zhongli…please~”

“please what?” he grumbles, dark amber eyes peering up at you from between your legs.

“p-please…” you plead, voice meek and submissive, “please lick me…”

without taking his eyes off you, he sticks his tongue out and licks a slow, wide strip over your puffy lips. your hips jolt at the tender sensualilty of his warm, silky muscle touching you where you need him most.

“your flavor…” he moans quietly, “delectable.” he teases his tongue around your hard pearl, swiping slowly between your inner labia to taste more of you. “sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine i’ve had the pleasure of rolling over my tongue…”

already you’re cooing for him and he can’t help but want to hear what other sounds he might be able to pull from you, never mind how much he’s dying to devour you. he swirls his tongue around your tiny, pink erection before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it in against his tongue. immediately your back arches off the desk as you gasp his name, shoving your sex deeper into his mouth. zhongli’s brows furrow as he sucks you in harder with a deep growl. his graceful hands are pushing on the backs of your thighs, pressing you further open to dip his tongue inside your tight hole.

“gahahhh~” you cry out, his nose nudging your throbbing clit as he fucks you with his wet muscle.

he lifts his face from your pussy, glistening with the mixture of your arousal and his spit. you open your eyes but before you can whine in protest, he kisses you, and you moan at the taste of your pussy on his tongue as he presses two expert fingers inside you. you cry into his mouth, the pad of his thumb massaging your clit.

he pulls away, a string of your juices and his saliva connecting your lips. “such a good girl for me,” zhongli pants, drunk on your pussy. he slips his naked shoulders under your thighs, his free hand pushing up over your tummy and ribs to cup your breast and gently squeeze your pebbled nipple. “i think it’s time for another reward, hm?” all you can muster is a pitiful whimper in response as his fingertips find your sweet spot. “but you have to promise to cum for me, little one,” he breathes.

“y-yes, sir…” you all but sing for him, “please, mister zhongli…promise…i promise i'll cum for you~”

a dark smile tugs at his lips as he lowers his mouth to your cunt, sucking your clit into his warm, wet mouth once again. his fingers work you over nicely, tugging vigorously against your g-spot as he rubs his flexed tongue over your hard, pink tip. your orgasm builds slowly, deep in your bones and outward intensely as your fingers curl in his hair and you buck your hips against his face.

“fuck, oh god~” you cry out, only for him to latch on tighter, determined to suck you all the way off and drink down every last drop of your orgasm.

his waiting mouth is filled with your essence as his blunt fingertips dig into the plush of your hips. he drinks you down as best he can as you gush for him, but a fair amount of your liquid escapes his mouth and drips lewdly from his chin. slowly he pulls away, sliding his fingers out of your still-clenching pussy. you’re still too drunk on your high to notice yet, but his cock is in his hand, hard and leaking again.

“so good…” he drawls, standing and sliding his dark pink cockhead between your wet, slippery folds.

you flinch at the contact. you want it - more than anything - but you’re so sensitive and his swollen tip is driving you mad as it bounces over your poor little clit.

zhongli huffs, his cock momentarily catching on your hole before sliding between your pussy lips again. he knows how overstimmed you must be but he’s too needy to care about that right now. he’s wanted to slip his cock into you for far too long and now that his shaft is sliding between your slippery folds he can’t hold back any longer.

how many nights and mornings has he thought of you while fucking his own hand until he soiled his sheets with his hot sticky semen? how many afternoons has he returned to his office after enjoying a kettle of tea with you, only to lock his door and pull his cock out of his trousers before jacking off while moaning your name under his breath. too many times he has tried to be quiet while biting his lower lip and whimpering quietly as he filled his own hand with his thick, white cum until it dripped between his fingers onto the wooden floor below.

he leans over you, one hand planted on your desk and the other still guiding his cock, massaging your swollen clit with his thick tip.

“you’ve been so good to me,” he groans, lust-blown amber eyes looking down at you with fire in them. “you’ve given me everything i’ve wanted and more…” the underside of his hard shaft is gliding noisily between your folds.

“y-you deserve the whole world, zhongli,” you breathe, looking into his eyes. “i adore you…” his eyes soften at your proclamation. he stops moving his hips and kisses you, soft and tender, his tongue rolling slowly around yours before pulling away just enough to look at your beautiful face again, your eyes so full of desire and affection for him. “and i you. please-” he breathes, eyes narrowing and his hips moving again, slowly. “…let me take care of you.” both of your breaths hitch when his cockhead finally presses against your hole and stretches you open.

“nnhh~fuck, zhongli…so good~” you keen, your mouth falling open at the feeling of the soft pop of your pussy as it surrenders to his meaty tip pushing past it, deeper into your wet heat.

“ahh~” he gasps deeply, “y-you…” his head falls to your neck as he works himself in and out, a little deeper each time, “you feel -mmff- perfect~” your warm, soft walls welcome him, yield to him, sucking him in hard as you moan for him.

zhongli's cock is slick and glistening with your need. his hands hold your hips in place as he plunges into you harder, his fingertips dimpling your plush skin. your nose is buried in his hair, breathing in his masculine scent and his deep grunts as he flicks his tongue over your nipple while his naked hips clap against your ass. he rises, yanking your ass to the edge of the desk and holds you there with his hands over your thighs as he drives his length - hard and thick and wet - into your heat. your lover maintains eye contact with you as he puts your ankles on his shoulders, his hands around your hips to hold you in place when he begins thrusting harder.

fueled by your cries of pleasure, zhongli fucks you right. he takes care of you just like he said he would. you can feel the pressure of your everyday obligations lifting from your shoulders with every groan that falls from his lips, every slap of wet skin that fills the walls of your office, every whimper of his name and every growl of yours as he makes you forget that you ever needed to be in charge of anything. zhongli is in control now, pressing his lips to the inside of your ankle while those burning amber eyes stay trained on you.

you trust him, beyond pleased to finally see this side of him. you had always suspected there was a latent dominant in him, but for him to finally take charge like this - of the situation, of you, of your body - you give it all over to him freely. and you’re rewarded deeply. so relaxed your tits are bouncing, your eyes fluttering and crossing as you feel another orgasm building deep within your core.

zhongli leans forward, holding your legs fast against his chest with one arm while anchoring himself with the other. the pad of his thumb is rubbing your clit, his lips are parted, eyes hooded, his moans mixing with yours as he fucks you so thoroughly and you cry out, “ohh…hnn…ZHONGLI~”, thighs trembling, cumming so hard you spray a little against his taut, sweaty belly, still flexing as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“oh fuck, so beautiful…” he pants, eyes drawn to the space where your bodies meet, beads of your spend trickling down his abs. your cream coats the base of his cock, glistening in his dark brown patch of hair. he quickly lowers your legs, letting you wrap them around his waist, needing to feel him close as he ruts out the last of himself into you.

you’re still mindlessly whispering his name against his cheek as his grunts turn into quiet whimpers and his moans become gasps. “nnfuck…get ready to take my cum, little one.”

you’re fucked out beyond bliss but you manage to breathe out a “yesss…please give me your cum, mister zhongli. need you to fill me up with your hot seed…please, please, please~”

your words send him over the edge, hips plunging hard against you before stilling as his cock throbs inside you to spill the hot, sticky contents of his balls into your readied, welcoming cervix. his thrusts slow and jerk as he fills you completely.

“want you to take all of me,” he confesses against your cheek, eyes closed and brow furrowed. his hips jerk against you, the last of his sperm spilling from his slit. “want you to have it all. you deserve it.”

— BONUS ENDING (because i'm a dork and i love zhongli’s quirky sense of humor):

when he’s ready, zhongli pulls his wet, softening cock out and watches with deep satisfaction as his semen leaks from your still-clenching hole to form a thick, creamy puddle on your officially disheveled documents. he laughs under his breath. “looks like this one has my signature now as well.”

zhongli m.list

— please consider reblogging if you're 18+ and enjoyed this. i worked really hard on it. <3

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