#literally the most self-indulgent thing i could ever do
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[part. 01] || part. 02 || part. 03
My my, would you look at the time??
... It's time for some Earwig summer comic 🏐☀️
I'm having soooo much fun doing this. I initially sketched this a while ago but I thought it could be fun to clean this up for a lighthearted summer comic. I'm embracing my cringe inner self rn
You are currently watching this year's Xtreme Beach Volleyball Brawl Tournament - the bets are off, folks! Who's going to win? Will we ever find the ball after they're done playing? What will be left of the beach?
#earwig and the witch#art#comic#manga#ghibli#clip studio paint#im being soooo cringe rn i can physically feel it. its so good#im so sorry for what im about to post#literally the most self-indulgent thing i could ever do#pls i deserve this its my last month of vacation before i start working my arse off again-#im sooososo normal abt them tho. hhaaha.#bro i swear it's necessary to see Bella's fat plump thighs in every panel i promise bro its normal haha its needed for the narration
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gemini | S.R.
two emotionally wrought people collide at a wedding, and a sexual escapade ensues.
part two
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: smut (18+ mdni)
content warnings: softdom!spencer, use of the term "good girl" (i couldn't help myself), unprotected sex, reader on bc, alcohol, spoilers for 14x15 truth or dare, lowkey idiots in love, fucking against a wall?, fingering, heavy petting, r has an oral fixation, r is wearing a dress and makeup, explicit consent (hot), public sex, i think that's all
word count: 3.42k
a/n: this is a little self-indulgent and i don't care! based on literally just the first line of the song gemini by del water gap. probably not ever gonna get a part two. i've never done angsty smut (smangst?) before, so this was fun.
so, here's the setting, we met fucked up at a wedding
Swirling the drink you held in your hand, you watched your friends as they chatted. The pink liquid in the cup, concocted by Penelope Garcia, was far too sweet for your taste, but you needed the liquid courage to make it through the wedding.
It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for Krystall and Dave. It was that weddings oftentimes left a bitter taste in your mouth – one so bitter that not even Penelope’s drink could offset it.
In your periphery, you saw a blur of purple in the corner, looking up to see Spencer. His hand still bandaged from his most recent brush with death, he used his free one to grip a glass of water. Raising your eyebrows, you gave him your best attempt at a smile before you greeted him, “You look good, Dr. Reid.”
He was fully donned in his favorite color, and you tried to pretend that you didn’t notice that your dress matched the purple hue of his suit. “Thanks,” he said shortly, not quite meeting your eyes.
Noting the way he was looking past you, you demurely leaned your head down, glancing over your shoulder so that you could see what he was looking at, only to see JJ. She looked gorgeous in her red dress, laughing at something her husband said before her eyes caught something.
She was staring back at Spencer, and not for the first time, you found yourself wondering what happened in that pawn shop. Bringing your eyes back up to Reid, you watched the confused look in his eyes bloom as he peeled his eyes away from JJ.
Sick of it, you spoke up, “Alright, I had dibs on being the mopey one tonight. What’s wrong?” You had wanted to brush it off as long-lasting nerves from the hostage situation, but he was acting strange.
You knew you weren’t his best friend, that was a title that JJ had been the reigning champion of since the beginning of time. Yet, you still noticed the rigidity in Spencer’s shoulders as he displayed a clear discomfort with his surroundings. You tried to think of something to say to him. How could you ask him if he wanted to get out of here without it sounding like a sexual proposition?
“JJ told me she loved me,” he said, his voice so low you weren’t even sure you had heard him correctly.
Your head snapped up, “Oh.” Swallowing thickly, you tilted your head curiously, letting loose hair tumble to the side. “Do you love her?” Likely not the right conversation for the wedding of everyone’s favorite right-person-wrong-time couple, but you were desperate for a rope to pull yourself out of your wallowing.
He took a sip of his water before setting the empty glass on the bar counter, “I did.” The admission hit you like a ton of bricks, until her continued, “but now…”
Filling in the blanks, you shrugged, “She’s married. They have kids.” Spencer was always doing the right thing, so pushing his feelings aside for the sake of JJ’s family made the most sense.
Furrowing his brows, he pondered this for a moment before speaking, “It’s not just that. I have feelings for someone else.”
“Oh,” you repeated, and somehow the thought of him being in love with an unfamiliar figure hurt more than him being in love with your mutual friend.
The both of you let the conversation lag, watching as Penelope came back up to the bar and poured more drinks. After she accused you of being boring for not wanting another drink, everyone returned to the tables. “Have you dated anyone since him?”
You choked on your newly acquired water, cupping your hand underneath your jaw in an attempt to stop water from getting on your dress. “Uh, no. I’ve kind of sworn off dating ever since,” you replied, shaking your hand out and letting water droplets fall to the floor.
Sighing, you slouched in your seat, remembering that all you’d ever be was a jaded bride. Left by your fiancé on the day of your wedding, doomed to never love again. Until you met Spencer Reid.
“For everyone?” Spencer asked, and you cursed his natural curiosity.
His question caught you off guard. Despite yourself, you shook your head, “I have like… one person who, if they asked me, I’d say yes.” Your skin started to feel warm, and you weren’t sure if it was your proximity to him or Penelope’s drink coming back with a vengeance.
Spencer stepped a little closer to you, leaning casually on the counter as if he wasn’t affecting your ability to focus. “Who’s your person?” The question was innocent enough that it made your heart ache.
“It doesn’t matter, he’s into someone else,” you told him, reaching behind your neck to pull your hair up, haphazardly twisting it. You didn’t have a hair tie, so you let the locks fall once you felt some semblance of relief.
This statement seemingly bothered Spencer because he looked into his glass, “Did he tell you that?”
Nodding, you chewed on the inside of your lip. “Yeah,” maybe not in so many words, Spencer was rarely crass enough to say he was into someone, but you understood well enough.
The conversation lagged between the two of you once again, your own private thoughts were only interrupted when the music changed. It was a slow song, one for the couples of the night to dance to.
You took a chance, “Do you want to go explore the building with me? It’s getting stuffy in here,” you said, taking one final swig of your water before jumping up from your stool.
He looked back at JJ, who was there with Will, and then forward to the girl who was asking to take him away, “Yes.”
David Rossi had spared no expense for his second wedding to his third wife, and the manor that you found yourself meandering within felt never-ending. Something about following Spencer as he led the way and told you facts about the history of the building felt so normal, and you wondered if it would hurt when the night was over. Maybe this would just end as another memory to loathe about weddings.
Trailing him into another room, you stumbled into his back. Quickly, Spencer spun back and caught you before you could fall to the ground.
Steadying yourself, your heart thrummed at the way he was touching you, tightly holding your waist so that you wouldn’t trip. Once you were no longer wobbling, Spencer reached up and gingerly lifted the fallen spaghetti strap of your dress back over your shoulder. Before you had fully thought out your actions, you leaned up on your tip toes and kissed him.
It was hesitant and gentle, but once you registered that you were kissing him you soon realized that he was kissing you back. What started out as a small peck on the lips quickly morphed into full, open-mouthed kisses.
You thought Spencer might eat you alive, and for a moment, you thought you might let him.
Without separating your lips, he herded you over to the wall, pinning your hips to the wall as you felt heat grow between your legs.
Pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth, Spencer pulled away ever so slightly, your faces just inches apart. “Is this okay?” He asked you, his eyes flickering down to your lips like he was holding himself back from kissing you again.
There was fear. A fear that if you moved forward tonight, nothing would ever be the same, but you took a chance and nodded quickly, “Yes.”
Your answer acted as a release as Spencer dropped his head back down and the two of you reattached your lips. Despite your attempts to ignore it, you felt his hardened length pressing into you through several layers of clothes.
Twisting your head away, you gasped as Spencer took the opportunity to place his lips on your neck, gently suckling on the tender skin as you tried to catch your breath. “Are you sure about this?” You breathed, running your hands underneath his suit jacket, wanting nothing more than to push it off of him.
“Yes,” he answered, giving you the same consent that you had already given him, and it was enough for you to reach for his belt buckle. No matter how badly you wanted to see him entirely bare in front of you, this just wasn’t the place for it.
Gently, you slid your hand down his front, savoring the way his breath hitched against your neck as your fingertips precariously lifted the waistband of his boxers. He gently nipped at your earlobe as you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock.
You let your head fall backward, allowing him better access to your neck as you moved your hand. Moving your hand up so that you could swipe your thumb over the tip.
You dragged your other hand down, pulling his boxers down so that you could get a good look at what you were working with, and biting your lip at the sight of it. Slowly, you started to pump his impressive length, noting how his breathing patterns changed with your movements.
Dragging a knuckle up the underside of him, he dropped his head to your shoulder as you collected his pre-cum on your index finger on your way up, bringing your hand up to your mouth and licking the droplet off, peering up at him.
“You’re so good at that, baby,” he told you, sighing as he reached up and placed his hand on the side of your neck, skimming his thumb over your jawline as his free hand started to make its way up your dress, pausing when he only met bare skin. “No underwear?” He questioned, furrowing his brow at you as you bit your lip, trying to refrain from pressing into his hand.
Whimpering almost indiscriminately, you shook your head, “Couldn’t, panty lines would show under the dress.”
Spencer hummed in recognition, moving his hand up to cup your sex so that you could feel your own wetness on his hand. A pathetic whine escaped your throat as your walls clenched with need, still stopping yourself from grinding on his hand. “What do you need?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, “Come on, you can tell me.”
“You, please,” you answered, your voice dangerously bordering on pleading. “Your hands, anything,” you squeaked out, breathing heavily as you awaited his next move.
Gently, he slipped a finger inside your wet hole, causing you to release a satisfied sigh. “You’re so wet,” he whispered in your ear as you tilted your head back and pressed your lips to his.
As his hand picked up in pace, so did your breathing. With each movement of his hand, you struggled to keep your volume at a respectable level, small whimpers continued escaping you even as you bit down on the inside of your lip. “Spence,” you whined, moaning aloud as he slipped a second finger into you, “Oh, god.”
The silence of the room around you only exacerbated the wet sounds that were emanating from your sex, and if it didn’t feel so good, you might’ve been embarrassed. In fact, as you felt a familiar coil winding in your abdomen, you found that you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure.
Crying out, you nodded as Spencer continued to thrust his fingers in and out of you, “Fuck,” you said, caring less about your volume levels. Even less so when he responded by pressing the heel of his hand against your clit, the pressure proving to be enough to send you over the edge.
“It’s okay,” Spencer whispered in your ear, “Let it go for me, baby.” His words continued as you felt your walls spasming around his fingers, his ministrations had slowed, but he worked you through your orgasm before withdrawing his fingers and lifting them up to your mouth.
Accepting the invitation, you leaned forward and sucked the sweet juices off of his hand, slipping your tongue between his two fingers as you looked up at him. You half expected him to be watching you with lust-blown eyes, but he was watching you just as attentively as he had when you started this escapade.
He retrieved his fingers from your mouth with a satisfying pop and reached down to ruche the fabric of your dress up around your waist. “Wait,” he said suddenly, gripping the silky cloth, “I don’t have a condom.”
Your eyes widened and you shook your head, “I don’t mind.” Still breathing heavy from your previous orgasm, you shook your head again, “I mean. I’m on birth control – and I’m good at it. I mean I keep up with it.” Now babbling, you hoped he’d say something. “I’m clean. I trust you.”
Nodding in understanding, he placed a hand on the side of your neck and looked at you intently. “I’m not going to do anything until you catch your breath,” he told you, taking up an authoritative tone.
Blinking rapidly, you evened out your breathing as he ran his hand up and down your torso, “I’m sorry,” you whispered, taking another deep breath as you looked up at him.
Spencer shook his head, “Don’t be sorry.” He leaned his head down, pressing soft kisses down the side of your neck as you finally pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning down to grip the backs of your thighs.
“It’s okay if you can’t lift me,” you rambled quickly, getting his attention as you aired your concern.
He raised his eyebrows expectantly, pressing his hips into yours and lifting your feet off of the ground. The leverage that he had, along with the support of the wall behind him, allowed him to get both of your feet off of the ground. You would’ve spent more time being impressed by this feat if you weren’t so distracted by his painfully hard cock that had now slipped between your folds.
Leaning down, you desperately kissed his lips, wanting him to give you those open-mouthed kisses that you had started out with. Instead, you cried out when, without warning, his full length slipped into you.
Placing gentle kisses on your collarbone, Spencer murmured, “Are you okay?” He whispered, seeming like he was using all of his self-control to just stay still.
You nodded, feeling his cock throbbing so deep in you that you were almost afraid you’d come from just that pressure alone. “Been a while,” you murmured, taking a deep, shaky breath.
He hummed in understanding, “I’ve got you, take your time.”
His words filled your stomach with butterflies, and it wasn’t just because he was fully sheathed in you. “Spence,” you whimpered, “Move.”
On your cue, Spencer gave a tentative thrust, permitting your resulting moan to mix with his grunt. “Fuck, baby,” he said, continuing to thrust in and out of your cunt, filling the room with the crude squelching of your actions. “I’m not going to last long,” he informed you.
Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you moaned helplessly when Spencer dropped one of your legs to the ground, hooking his arm underneath your other knee, providing a new, deeper angle. You swore as the sensations started to feel overwhelming.
The new angle gave him more control over his movements, enabling him to use his free hand to pull at your breast through the fabric of your dress. As you tugged gently at his hair, you tilted your head back, “Spence, I- shit,” you cursed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of your second orgasm approaching.
If it weren’t for his words of encouragement, you would’ve been embarrassed by coming too quickly, and if anything, the words only spurred you closer to the finish line. “Come for me,” he said, thrusting harder into you as he tried to reach the same point. “Let me know how good I make you feel,” he said, continuing his thrusts until his hips stuttered.
“Coming,” you whimpered, dropping your head forward onto his shoulder as you felt your walls tightening around his hard length. Crying out as he continued to pound into you, you buried your face into his neck and nipped at the skin to muffle your sounds.
Now he was solely working toward his own orgasm, having given you two of your own. “You’re such a good girl,” he panted.
Suckling gently at the skin on his neck – not hard enough to leave a mark, you littered kisses on his sensitive skin. “Come in me, baby,” you murmured, trying to spur him on.
Your success was apparent as his movements faltered and his cock started throbbing, feeling the pulses of his cum as it filled you, your eyes rolled back at the feeling while Spencer slowed to a halt, waiting for a beat before he pulled out of you entirely.
Shuddering at the emptiness you now felt, you leaned against the wall once both of your feet were on the ground. As your legs trembled, you watched as Spencer crouched to fish something out of his jacket, leaving you with your mixture of fluids running down your legs.
As he grabbed the handkerchief from his breast pocket, you gasped slightly as you realized his intentions. “Spence, you’ll ruin it,” you insisted.
“Would you rather go back out there with my cum dripping down your thighs?” He asked, knelt in front of you with his brows raised in mock innocence.
Swallowing thickly, you shook your head, “Jesus.”
He chuckled, using the handkerchief to wipe up the mess the two of you had made on your legs before carelessly tossing it into a nearby trashcan. Noting the way your legs were still shaking, he lifted your chin ever so slightly, “Are you alright?”
Nodding, you offered him a tired, but genuine smile. “I’m great,” you told him, wiping underneath your eyes where you were sure there was a mess of mascara.
Taking your hand in his, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, Spencer led to toward the French doors that led to the balcony, taking you out into the fresh air.
As you leaned up against the railing, Spencer shook out his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, doing his best to keep you comfortable. “Hey,” you whispered, “I really am fine. Are you? How’s your hand?” In all of the hormones, you had forgotten about his injury.
Spencer nodded, looking over the property that Rossi had rented. “I’m good, Y/N. I feel good.” You wished he’d call you baby again, but maybe that was too much to ask for. His eyebrows furrowed.
“What are you thinking about?” You asked him, recognizing the look from years of working together.
He hummed, reaching up and sweeping a strand of hair off of your forehead. “That guy? The one who told you he’s into someone else? I can confidently say he’s an idiot.”
Flushing, you smiled to yourself at the fact that Spencer was calling himself an idiot, especially when he was anything but. Shrugging, you waved him off anyway, “Nobody’s perfect, Spence.”
“No, I suppose not, but even so…” he told you, allowing his voice to trail off like he wasn’t totally sure what he wanted to say to you. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, then maybe you need to turn your attention elsewhere.”
Sighing, you leaned your chin in your hand, “Thanks, but I don’t know. Maybe there is better out there, and I’m just not worth it.” No, after tonight, you’d likely never get over him. It might’ve started as a workplace crush, but you felt in your heart that it was now something deeper.
Spencer shook his head, “Now, that’s where we disagree.”
“Spencer, I can’t-“ Your voice is cut off when you hear someone calling your name from inside the building, smoothing out the front of your dress one more time, you step back into the room, coming face to face with JJ.
She smiles in recognition of you, but the grin immediately fades from her face when Spencer walks out behind you, “Hey, we’ve been looking for you guys,” she said flatly. “They’re about to cut the cake.”
Nodding, you took another quick look at Spencer before following the blonde out of the room, leaving your secret in the room behind you.
part two
#criminal minds#spencer reid#criminal minds fanfic#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds smut#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfiction#dr spencer reid#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid imagine#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds oneshot#written by margot#mdni#margot after hours#softdom!spencer#criminal minds angst#spencer reid angst
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I <3 Australians
pairing- Oscar Piastri x fem!reader
summary: You had an obsession with Australians, your boyfriend and love for the Australian band 5 Seconds of Summer proved as much. So what better way to show your girlfriend you love her than take her to see her other fave Australians?
wc- 2.4k
a/n- HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML OSCAR PIASTRI this is the self-indulgent fic I have been talking about. I am a 5SOS stan and idc if this flops or not because I truly only wrote this for me. also this isn't edited bc I could not be bothered to do so
f1 masterlist
You had a thing for Australians, your boyfriend was proof of that. But even before you met Oscar, you had been a fan of the Australian band- 5 Seconds of Summer. While other girls were in their One Direction phase, you were busy fawning over the 4 Australians. You were one of lucky few that were able to see both when 5SOS opened for One Direction. You were a stan, all of your family and friends knew it. But most importantly Oscar knew it as well.
He was familiar with the band, they were after all from the same country. He became even more familiar with them after the two of you got to together. Anytime he picked you up and graced you with the aux cord, chances were that 5 Seconds of Summer was blasting through the speakers. Oscar didn’t mind, the music was half bad either, not that he would ever say anything negative about it to you.
So when he saw that tickets were on sale for there newest tour and that one of the UK dates just happened to line up with a non-race weekend, he was quick to purchase tickets. The hardest part of this whole ordeal was keeping it quiet from you. Which is exactly why Oscar only lasted 24 hours before spilling the beans.
Today was Oscar and yours designated ‘lazy day’, no responsibilities, no worries, a day filled with absolutely nothing. Oscar had gone into your shared office about 20 minutes ago, what he was doing, you had no clue and frankly you were too busy watching Bones to really care.
You watch as Oscar appears from his office, hands behind his back hiding something from your view, “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”
You quirk an eyebrow at Oscar’s sudden exclamation. “Should I be scared?” You ask, as you sit up on the couch.
“No. Just close your eyes.”
You do as he ask, trusting him fully. You feel him place something in your lap, however, it was too light to for you to fully make out what it was.
“Ok, you can open them.”
As you open your eyes you look down at your lap. You weren’t sure what to expect but it surely wasn’t a folded piece of paper. “A piece of paper?”
Oscar rolls his eyes at your comment, “Look what’s written on it.”
You unfold the paper and it takes a few seconds for to comprehend what is on it. You look at Oscar then back down at the paper, back to Oscar, back to the piece of paper and finally back to Oscar. “You didn’t,” is all you can say.
“I did.”
“Oscar this isn’t funny. I swear to God if you are joking you are sleeping on this couch.” On that little folded piece of paper is written confirmation for 2 VIP pit tickets for the 5 Seconds of Summer Show.
“Surprise!” Oscar shouts, face scrunched up from smiling so hard.
You launch yourself from the couch and into his awaiting arms. You pepper his face with kisses. “Thank you- Thank you-Thank you. You are literally the best boyfriend ever.”
“You don’t need to thank me baby. I know how much you love them.”
Your smile widens into a grin. You reach up to pinch his cheeks, “Don’t worry you’ll always be my favorite Australian.”
“I better be.”
The weeks leading up to the concert were difficult for you. You were torn in between wanting to know the setlist and not. You had done your best to stay in the dark with majority of the songs you did however know one thing they were going to be doing.
“Osc, they throw a giant inflatable dice into the crowd and whatever song it lands on when it’s back up on stage is the surprise song they play!”
Oscar shoots you a confused look. The two of you were on your way to the venue and you couldn’t stop talking off Oscar’s poor ear about the concert. You tired to reel in your excitement and everytime you apologized for being so excited, Oscar, like the good boyfriend he is, would tell you not to worry and that he loved seeing you so excited.
“And,” you begin again, “one of my favorite songs is on the dice!”
“Which one?”
“English Love Affair!”
Oscar nods, “Isn’t that the one about Harry Styles’ sister?”
“Yes! I can’t believe you remembered.”
“See I know a thing or two.”
“So proud of you baby,” you lean over and press a kiss to his cheek.
You managed to convince Oscar to dress the part of 2014 grunge 5SOS, not that it was a challenge considering majority of pants this man owned were skinny jeans. You had your own get-up, black skinny jeans (that you had to dig out for your side of the closet), black converse, a white baby tee with a graphic that read ‘I <3 Australians’ and a red flannel tied around your waist. Adorning your wrist were the multiple friendship bracelets you had made.
You could only be described as Wattpad Y/N. When Oscar had seen your shirt he had raised a questioning brow and had asked “I hope that shirt only means me.”
After going through security you and Oscar were officially in the venue. Oscar was in search of something to eat and you were on the hunt for the merch stand.
“What do you want to eat?” Oscar asks you as you stand in concession line.
“Hmmm,” you take a peek at the menu, “I’ll have a pretzel.”
Oscar, ever the gentleman, pay for both of your snacks and drinks. You barely have your food in hand before you are dragging Oscar to the merch stand.
The line was long enough that the two of you could eat and silently debate with yourself what you wanted to get.
Oscar leans his head on your shoulder, “You have to get the papaya hoodie.”
You roll your eyes, “You’re so pretentious, it’s literally orange.”
“Still you look good in orange.”
“I better considering I wear it nearly every weekend.”
While in line you chat with a few other fans, exchanging bracelets, predictions and hopes of what the dice song will be. You are interrupted by the feeling of eyes on you and Oscar, you glance over your shoulder to see a group of girls huddled in a circle. One of them is pointing to Oscar and yourself.
You eventually get your merch, Oscar insisting on getting the ‘papaya’ hoodie for you. As the two of you were walking to the wristband station, you one of the girls from the group from earlier approaching.
“Excuse me,” one of them asks timidly, “you’re Oscar Piastri, right?”
Oscar nods his head, “That’s me.”
“Okay, that’s what my friend thought,” she points over to where her other friends are standing, all now much more interested in their shoes, “I’m really sorry to interrupt your date but I wanted to ask if it’s okay if we could take a picture with you.”
Oscar looks at you and you nod your head. He knows he doesn’t need permission, but today was supposed to be a day for the two you. “Sure, we can take some pictures.”
After your run in with Oscar’s fans the rest of night moves in a blur and before you know it the lights dim and the crowd starts to grow crazier, yourself included.
You grab Oscars arm, “It’s starting oh my god, oh my god.”
Oscar rubs your hair, “Are you excited?”
“Is the sky blue?”
The overtune starts and you can see Ashton, Micheal, Luke, and Calum take their places on stage. The familiar instrumental beginning of ‘Bad Omens’ fills your ears and you can hardly contain your scream.
Oscar watches in adoration as you sing along, knowing every word. He can’t help but join in. You might’ve not known the setlist, but Oscar did. He added it to his Spotify the night he bough tickets and listened to it when he could. He wanted to make sure that he could sing along with you.
The first 3 songs pass in a blur- Bad Omens, 2011, Caramel- and not knowing the setlist proved to be the right choice on your part because when Blender starts you nearly make Oscar deaf with your scream.
“I’d die for you, I’d die for you, I’d die for you,” you sing looking Oscar directly in the eye. He only shakes his head at you antics. You bop and dance around to the chorus, grabbing Oscar to join in on your chaos and by the second verse he is fully dancing along with you.
Everyone is bumping into each other having a blast, personal space be damned. You were to high on life to care about the repercussion that you would be facing tomorrow-bruised feet and a sore throat.
More songs play and the boys interact with fans, your screaming and hollering along with them. Oscar’s face lights up at the beginning of ‘She’s Kinda Hot’ and he turns to you with a grin on his face, “I know this one!”
“My girlfriends bitchin’ cause I always sleep in. She’s always screaming when she’s callin’ her friend. She’s kinda hot though!” Oscar sings along, wiggling his eyebrows at you when he sings the last line.
Rolling your eyes you give him a light shove away from you. You take a moment to admire Oscar, thankfully that you have a loving boyfriend that would take you to see your other favorite Australians.
The mood takes a 180 when the chords of ‘Amnesia’ fill the venue. You can’t help the tears that line your eyes and the shakiness of your voice when you sing along. Oscar looks at you, concern etched on his face, you wave him off. It was just a sad song, that’s all.
The lights dim and on the big screen you see Ashton, Luke, Micheal and Calum in there suit get up. You know what time it was- Dice time. They explain the rules, if the dice isn’t back on stage within a minute then they’ll be picking the song instead.
Luke hurls the dice into the crowd and the timer begins. Hands are flying up as the dice moves across the pit, you and Oscar watch and before you know it the dice is coming towards the two of you. You stand on your tippy toes to help Oscar, and the other around you, push it back towards the stage.
“That was strangely horrifying,” Oscar tells you.
“Not something I would want to see coming towards me again.”
The dice lands on stage and you have both your fingers crossed, praying that it’s English Love Affair. You look at the screen to see the graphic stop on English Love Affair, and the noise that escapes you is hardly human. All Oscar can do it laugh at your reaction.
Just like with the rest of the songs, you sing along, there is however a little more passion when you sing along to this one. “The picture burning in my brain, kissing in the rain. No, I can't forget my English love affair.”
Oscar wraps his arms around your middle and rest his head on your shoulder, he still couldn’t believe that this song was about Harry Styles’ sister. Oscar may not admit it but every time you told him about any celebrity tea, he always listened. And granted this was old news, but it was new to him the first time he heard this song.
You were panting at the end of the song. “Having fun babe?” You ask Oscar, hoping that your little performance didn’t scare him off.
“I am. I thought you had some performances in the car, but those are nothing compared to what I just watched.”
Before you know it, ‘She Looks So Perfect’ is playing, signaling that the end of the concert is near. You know that the post concert depression would be hitting extra hard the next morning. As the final chord plays and the boys bow off stage you turn to Oscar, asking him if he is ready to go.
“There are two more songs left, for the encore.” He tells you, still planted in his spot.
You shoot him a look, “How do you know that?”
You watch as Oscar’s cheeks grow red, “I might’ve learned the setlist so I could sing along with you. And trust me, you don’t want to miss these ones.”
You knew that they would probably come back out to play ‘Youngblood’ it was their most popular song, however you weren’t sure why Oscar was so insistent that you wanted to hear the other one.
So when they came back on stage and the familiar ‘Oh-whoa’s’ graced your ears you nearly burst into tear. You weren’t expecting to hear ‘Outer Space’ live, ever. You had made peace with this fact so you really couldn’t help it when tears started streaming down your face.
Oscar knew of your history with the Sounds Good Feels Good album, that was an album that you related to so closely, he also knew how much Outer Space/Carry on meant to you.
Oscars hand, now wrapped around your shoulders, brought you closer into his chest as you sang along, softer than you had been singing the entire night, “ I will wait for you, to love me again… I guess I was running, from something. I was running back to you.”
Oscar leans his head in closer and presses a soft kiss into your cheek. Oscar reaches into his back pocket and hands you his phone, flashlight already on, so you could join in with everyone else.
“The darkest night never felt so bright with you by my side,” Oscar sings along. And while you couldn’t see him, you knew that he was looking at you with nothing but love his eyes.
The two of you sway in each others embrace, singing along to the ending-
Nothing like the rain, nothing like the rain
When you're in outer space, when you're in outer space
Nothing like the rain, nothing like the rain
When you're in outer space , when you're in outer space
Love me like you did, love me like you did
I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything
Love me like you did, love me like you did
I'll give you anything, I'll give you anything
You turn in Oscars arms, you bring your hands up to cup his face and pull him in for a sweet kiss. It wasn’t the most romantic kiss the two of you have shares, you were both sweaty, tired, you definitely had tears running down your face, and there was probably some snot in the mix. It might’ve not been the most romantic, but it was something so personal and that’s all that you needed.
a/n: also as I said this was extremely self-indulgent and ik you can def tell. but in all seriousness 5SOS is my favorite band and their album- Sounds Good Feels Good is the album to listen to if you need to get some feels out. I cry every time I listen to Outer Space/Carry on.
I was lucky enough to see them last year at the '5 Seconds of Summer Show' and hearing Outer Space live was an out of body experience. If you ever need some song recommendations for a certain mood, they have a song for nearly everything.
taglist- crossed out names mean I couldn't tag you
@arieslost @customsbyjcg-blog @gr1mes-cc @styl1shl1v @landoscardotcom @poppyflower-22 @blancastans @katiezdiarysblog @mrsstylez @jamieeboulos @tpwkstiles @peanutaj @hiireadstuff @hwalllllllelujah @purple9950 @chaoticpenguindetective @crazymofo-96 @harriesnuggets @inlovewithsierrasix @luckyladycreator2 @luanasrta @inejghafawifesblog @ineedmoremilkk @swiftpiastri@virgo-wonder @faith-f1 @lily1sposts @animetiddies-21 @melissaw1202 @hauntedphotographybookstaco @livelovesports @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @slaygirlbossworld @pastryboyyy @pookiesnukoms @minkyungseokie @f1enthusiastsstuff @mirrorballpulisic @notturlover @notso-sweetcaroline @verspia @mk-wrote @whentheautumnleavesfall @trywhisperingtotheocean @sadbut-true0 @akiraquote @hockeylover4ever @imaginedworldsstuff @sassyangel16 @motkanykodas @foulsongfest @bingewatche @lonely92world @flonaschicken @cvnts3rver @cayls33 @grungy-blue-hipster @kikinuke2 @slupin333
#f1#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula 1 fanfic#oscar piastri#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#op81#op81 imagine#op81 x reader#op81 fluff#op81 fic#mclaren
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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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— sleeping over for the first time
including scaramouche, heizou, kazuha, xiao x gn! reader
genre: fluff, they‘re nervous, kissing, loads of cuddling
— scaramouche
with absolute certainty, the moment you had asked scaramouche if you could sleep over at his place for the first time, his mind threatened to black out in front of your eyes.
obviously in your relationship, things were destined to be quite behind time, it was important for the both of you to take things slow and without rush so no one would end up feeling overwhelmed.
as luck would have it, it was clear you both were ready to take it a further level up.
naturally, it was one thing to meet each other and go on a date, but another to sleep over and spend the night, most importantly, wake up encircled in your arms the following day.
so for quite a while, it rattled an undeniable horror in his unruly thoughts, clearly scaramouche desired to have all ready and set for you but how was he possibly supposed to sleep while you're next to him?
what if the awkwardness would suddenly become so overbearing that one of you would die off suffocation?
mindlessly rehearsing the lines he had set in his brain, you at last, had come to sleep over at his place with his arms already greeting you.
"this is my bed, if you don't fancy it that's on you."
primarily calm, he had now turned back to his usual self, scaramouche found comfort in just being himself and he was thoroughly filled with joy that you did not mind his sense of wording.
"it looks very comfortable, i love it." he took in a second to indulge in your small compliment before snapping himself back to reality. "if you say so."
after a nice dinner the both of you shared, night already approached with you getting ready to sleep.
followed by putting on your sleeping garments, scaramouche and you lowered your bodies into the comfortable cushions together.
the contrast between your slightly nervous, but still composed being and him absolutely not knowing what to do with himself was somewhat hilarious in your eyes.
he could be especially adorable whenever he got flustered by small things like that, might remind him sometimes that that‘s one of the things that made you fall for him in the first place.
taking matters into your own hand, you slowly drew yourself to his body before cautiously looping one arm over his body to rest your head close to him.
scaramouche lightly flinched at your touch, just a bit, it took him off guard but he did not complain, in truth he was delighted that it was you who took the first step because he was sure he wouldn't be able to move a muscle all night.
breathing out relaxingly through your mouth, you voiced your last words to your boyfriend.
"goodnight kuni." to add to it, you made sure to leave a small but memorable kiss on his soft cheek before gathering yourself back on his cold chest.
barely, he was barely able to say anything back. But you sure oughta give him some slack for not saying anything snarky back, at this point he was more nervous than you were.
how do you seem so calm when he's literally dying next to you?
he very much rambled on about this in silence as he turned his body towards your own at last, to of course, embrace you back and get on with this.
his hand was until now shaking but gingerly stilled completely upon placing it on your warm hips.
"goodnight to you too."
— heizou
ah, well, you're mistakenly aware of your boyfriend and his infamous tendencies of being bold in your relationship.
lets say, the both of you shared a nice date together, strolling through the ever so ravishing inazuma city, hand in hand, before he decided to walk you home at last— as heizou tends to do quite often.
by the end of it you beckoned him to come inside for a couple more rounds of cuddling and sweet talks about your days.
but especially after all of that, heizou will become quite tired, he'd rub his blurry eyes ever so often and hug himself closer to your chest before just blurting it out to you.
"i'm sleeping here tonight, okay? okay."
his words were hazy and low now, they broke a little towards the end by how drowsy he had gotten, with that it was only a matter of time before he was fully gone.
"aren't you uncomfortable like this?"
it's as if he didn't even need an answer from you as well, heizou was extra sleepy and wasn't capable of moving a muscle, even if you denied his request, you'd be the one who’d have to walk him home instead.
his whole play with you was a hot take, but you did not mind. Clearly your relationship was very much fresh but it was going to happen sooner or later before you'd sleep over at his place, or vice versa.
especially since you preferred to sleep in your own bed, it was a lot more comfortable for you.
mindlessly, you slipped out of his grasp before he whined for you to come back. You rolled your eyes at him and struggled to piece the words he had thrown towards you together, at this point your boyfriend was simply muttering nonsense to himself.
the most important necessity in your eyes was to get a few extra blankets, in truth, you were quite nervous about all of this but the excitement deep within you took over.
the connection you shared with heizou was already strong on its own but to share a bed with him and wake up the next day was something deemed as romantically intimate in the beginning of each relationship.
before throwing a blanket over your boyfriend, you quickly slipped out of your clothes to put the garments you were sleeping in on, strolling back at last.
frankly then, you got a glance of heizou grimacing a loving grin at you through his sleepy face.
swiftly his arms flew up in the air towards your body to motion you back at him, whining like a puppy when you of course, obliged to his pleas.
"finally, i thought you'd never come back to me."
who knew heizou could be so dramatic when he was sleepy? "i was barely gone." at the last giggle, you closed your eyes to slumber away, this time with your boyfriend by your side.
heizou‘s natural body heat melted into you and at this, you felt secured, safe and were certainly ready to fall asleep.
— kazuha
as were most situations with your boyfriend kazuha, this too, was the result of a spontaneous effect taking place.
he truly couldn't keep his hands off you, they'd either have to be entangled with your own or carefully clasped around the entirety of your body.
after all, kazuha wanted you to be snug and warm at all times, ever so often rubbing calming circles on your back while you were telling him all about yet another boring day which somehow sounded exciting to him.
you see, kazuha was a great listener, and there was nothing he treasured more than you fully trusting him and talking about whatever crossed your mind.
so he figured, maybe, he should just ask if you want to sleep over tonight? it was already appeared to be quite the night, the scent of rain was laced around the cold air and he didn't want you to catch a cold either.
"what do you think of the idea to sleeping over at my place?"
he approached you slowly, noticeably he took baby steps to voice his question, whispering it against the shell of your ear while you were still locked in his sweet embrace.
"sure, if it's really fine by you."
deep within your core, you had anticipated this for a fine while, so you're naturally excited to finally fill a new sense of innocent intimacy in your relationship.
at this, you can be sure about it that kazuha will prepare everything himself, he wants you to feel just like home and doesn‘t require any help from you.
because you, in his heart, were his home so obviously he desired to awaken the same emotion in you. If his place became like a second secure home to you, he'd be more than delighted and filled with sheer bliss.
the thought alone of having his arms around you while dozing off to sleep together made his heart swell heavily, bubbling with excitement.
all the greater was the experience as he got back with an extra pair of blankets and a soft pillow, gently placing it where it belonged before draping the cover over your bodies.
"come here."
the next gesture of his was easy to decipher, kazuha wanted you near and spread his arms apart so you could properly find a homely spot to sleep on, embracing him back.
"are you comfortable?" he gingerly kissed your forehead, once, twice, before lowering his head to meet your glowing eyes, "i am."
the soft hums of his voice were relaxing like a silent sea on a calm night, helping you doze off.
furthermore, the once nervous emotion had soon gone missing and the anticipation of waking up next to your boyfriend the following day had you fancy all the future memories greeting you.
— xiao
it was clear as day that xiao was exceedingly more anxious and nervous than you were.
on top of that he wasn't certain on why he'd become so tense at something so ordinary than sharing a bed with each other.
of course, he wasn't the most experienced in the relationship department, but his mind would still spin uncontrollably within his lost thoughts.
at one particular point xiao's muscles would become so stiff, you'd actually have to ask him again if he was okay with you sleeping over tonight.
to add to his already embarrassing display, he now had to make sure he isn't scaring you off.
"of course you can stay, why wouldn't you?"
coughing right after answering, xiao repeated the same sentence in a much lighter, smoother voice.
"just asking, i want you to be comfortable."
you're certainly no stranger to your boyfriends personality, but unexpectedly to you, he did agree on spending the night together.
you could've bet on it that he would simply switch topics, which of course, wouldn't be a problem either.
"i‘m always comfortable with you by my side."
with someone as xiao, patience was key, you were ready to wait as much as needed for him to warm up to all of this, after all he hadn't encountered relationships like this before, meaning you were his first in many things.
xiao wasn't showing any signs of real emotions anymore, he simply laid flat and waited for you to be done in the bathroom.
you gradually lowered yourself to the snuggly bed afterwards with xiao sharply watching your every move.
from there on, you scooted closer to place your arm on him so he could lay his head on your chest, if he so desired it, you would never force anything on him.
"goodnight xiao, sleep well."
knowing full on well that xiao could become quite embarrassed by you simply looking at him, you closed your tired eyes and appeared to have been dozing off, not fully but almost.
it was then when he slipped himself towards you, closing the gap of your bodies to nuzzle himself in your chest, just a tiny bit, so featherlight he was almost unable to be perceived if it wasn't for his warm breath coating your collarbones.
tired of his own jagged breathing, he bit back his lip to force himself to calm his nerves before letting go of his tender muscles.
as his lips were carefully grazing over your tender skin— not to mention how he thought you were already long sleeping, he added a quick kiss on your collarbone.
you could discern that particular motion of his as a way to show worship and appreciation towards you.
obviously xiao was never full asleep, he honestly couldn't be, even if he tried.
if there was something to happen he had to be full on awake and face the so called enemies and protect you in the process.
but being directly confronted with a newly found emotion like this surely was scary at first, not because he was scared of you, but because he did not encounter a situation like this before.
at one point he debated what was harder to pass, a bloodthirsty fight or this.
yet for you, the fact that he had shown you slight factors of his own vulnerability was surreal, after all, there was nothing better than xiao showing you the undying trust he held towards your person.
©2022 anantaru do not share, copy, translate
#genshin impact x reader#genshin x reader#scaramouche x reader#kazuha x reader#heizou x reader#xiao x reader#genshin impact fluff#genshin fluff#genshin x you#genshin impact x you#xiao x you#heizou x you#kazuha x you#scaramouche x you#genshin impact headcanons#xiao fluff#scaramouche fluff#kazuha fluff#genshin impact#genshin x y/n
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Hello! I've been lurking around for a while and I really enjoy how you write Scaramouche/Wanderer! If it's not much to request, how do you think the Wanderer would comfort fem! Reader who's quite emotionally sensitive and gets hurt by his rude/sarcastic manner of speech? I hate that sometimes, I don't feel like I deserve to self-ship with this character because I'm like: goddamn, Scara, it literally wouldn't cost you your life to be a little compassionate and humble🥹🥹
Wanderer x fem!reader. Comfort fluffy fluff fluff.
Trust me, I feel you. I really do🥺
Wanderer had no filter. Not with anyone, or with you. He knew he really should with you. Usually, you would know exactly what he meant, you were that patient with him.
But sometimes, it got to be too much. The insensitive comment from him this time being, "What use do I for have hobbies, much less hearing about yours."
At first, Wanderer didn't know what to do. He would freeze in place, his eyes a little wide. The second he saw tears well into your eyes, there was look in his that was rarely there: fear.
Making you cry was on his list of things he should never ever do.
"That was such a mean thing to say, Scara," You brushed some tears away that fell from your eyes, "you don't have to rub it in that I am a boring person."
...Shit.
When you turned away from him so that he wouldn't see you cry, Wanderer didn't stop you right away. He knew you didn't want him to see you cry and he didn't want to see it either. After a few moments, which he spent internally kicking himself, he put a hand on your shoulder before wrapping his arms around you.
He pulled you back against his chest. "I'm a jerk, I know," He murmured into your hair.
"You are. You really are," You leaned back into him, making Wanderer visibly relax. You didn't sound mad, nor did it sound like you were crying all that much anymore.
In other words, he knew he was on the right track.
Wanderer was sarcastic, egoistical, greedy, and self centered. But most importantly, he was brutally honest. It was because of this attitude that you could tell he was sincere when he said things like this, especially when followed up with what he said next.
"...I'm sorry," It was said barely above a whisper, but you'd heard it.
You let out a soft squeak of surprise when he scooped you up bridal style in his arms. "Let's go to bed now, I've woren you out enough for one day," He set you down on the bed, pulled the blankets over both you, and held you close to his chest.
His fingers stroked soothingly through your hair. You sighed contently, curling into him as you settled into his arms. Despite the fact that you'd forgiven him, you kind of wanted to hear him say how much of a jerk he was again.
He needed to do that sometimes.
After making sure you fell asleep first, Wanderer decided to sleep as well. Sleep was a luxury that he could chose to indulge in if he wanted. This act also showed how much he loved and trusted you.
#genshin impact#fem!reader#genshin imagines#genshin comfort#genshin fluff#scaramouche#soft scaramouche#scaramouche x reader#scaramouche x y/n#scaramouche x you#wanderer#soft wanderer#wanderer x y/n#wanderer x you#wanderer x reader
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Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part two)
+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O
+ What type of BF/GF they would be
Including Valeria Garza, Farah Karim, Kate Laswell, Alex Keller, Gary "Roach" Sanderson, Nikolai Belinski
+ Some Poly! Farah x Reader x Alex Headcanons
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader
ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ
My rules for requests and characters I can write for
Please comment if you want to be added to the taglist, the next part or cod content alone. I also have content for TLOU and Resident Evil, so please specify.
Taglist: @marshmallowinamess
A/n: Hi lovelies! It's me again Lia, currently working on this one while I haven't even posted the other yet because I wanna post early and I love Valeria. Y'all don't got shit on me, I'm writing this shit while I'm in class AHAHAHA. Btw more Resident Evil content soon...
Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.
Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.
Valeria Garza
ꕥ (Just saying, I'd let her step all over me)
ꕥ The El Sinombre falling in love? No shit she's... semi-normal??
ꕥ Black cat/Doberman girlfriend for sure. She's extremely protective and extremely terrifying when she wants to be. Scary dog privilege if you get it. (Occasionally it's funny to imagine her as a Chihuahua)
ꕥ Dates all kinds of women, body type and other things don't matter to her because she doesn't have a type. If you catch her attention then that's that.
ꕥ Loves spoiling you in everyway possible, just sit pretty for her and she'll take care of everything. Doesn't give a shit on the amount of money she spends on you, you want it? You got it.
ꕥ Loves it when you need her, it's one of the ways she feels loved and appreciated. Would never say it out loud but loves it whenever you show her your appreciation by doing manual labor.
ꕥ The idea of you being her pretty little housewife is sending her to heaven.
ꕥ Spanish pet names galore, culture is something of importance to her so will definitely teach you Spanish if she had the time.
ꕥ Would be interested learning about your culture as well because if you're gonna know about hers then she ought to know what to call you in your language. (Definitely not self-indulgent because I'm Filipina and I know she'd pronounce it somewhat correctly)
ꕥ Doesn't ever let you know about her cartel business. You can never know and she will never allow you to get ever get involved. You're too precious to her and god forbid anything will happen to you, she will destroy the world if she had to.
ꕥ She's more of a masc lesbian, she's the type who likes to be in charge in a "I'm the one who wears the pants in the relationship" way. She's very dominant.
ꕥ Doesn't ever even consider to be submissive, with the amount of shit she's been through. She can be vulnerable with you but in no way, shape or form could you ever top.
ꕥ You're an escape from the life she knew, it was peaceful with you. At first she wasn't used to it, definitely has reoccurring thoughts of something going wrong. You dying, getting kidnapped, falling into the hands of her enemies so constant reassurance.
ꕥ Would absolutely kill for you, no hesitation. The literally definitely of "I would burn this world for you", would absolutely deny it but you know otherwise.
Farah Karim
ꕥ Tabby cat coded girlfriend, she's down to earth and chill. She's that one neutral person everyone adores, she puts her best efforts into a relationship for sure.
ꕥ Has and will help you do your make-up all the time, doesn't matter whether you asked. She'll observe the specific way you do it and do it perfectly.
ꕥ Sweetest girlfriend ever, she has dominance tendencies but it's mainly because she's quite assertive and often makes the decisions. Can't help it, after all her field of work requires her to one up egotistic men.
ꕥ That being said, I think she's had some mild PTSD about how they treated her. Sure it made her tough and she didn't like to be bossed around (unlike angry Mexican man) but I like to think she keeps you out of it as much as possible.
ꕥ Chubby!Reader headcanon is that she literally would adore you, compliment anything and everything. Insecure? Not on her watch, she just makes you feel so loved.
ꕥ Most definitely has introduced you to Price (I feel like he's everyone's father figure except los vaqueros and characters he hasn't interacted with) and don't worry he's already looking after you as well.
ꕥ Poly! Farah x reader x Alex headcanons:
ꕥ You guys following whatever Farah says, towards relationship decisions anyway because you and Alex tend to be indecisive.
ꕥ Lot's of communication between the three of you even if it's just a small thing, consent is always key.
ꕥ Alex following his two wives around a lot, he's mostly behind you guys all the time.
ꕥ Farah is patient when it comes to a lot of things but especially you and Alex.
ꕥ You get head pats from both of them, Farah is in a more praising manner while Alex tends to be in a comforting manner.
ꕥ You cannot tell me these two won't be down to cuddle in any position because I know damn well they would be. More often it's just Alex wanting to be a little spoon.
Alex Keller
ꕥ Golden Retriever boyfriend FOR REAL. This man is the type of man to kneel down and clasp the strap of your shoe or heel when he notices it.
ꕥ You know when you pick up something near a corner of a table or underneath it? He's the type of boyfriend to subconsciously cover the edge or corner of that table so that if your head bumps into it then it wouldn't be as painful or even at all.
ꕥ Having said the first one, he also guides your head whenever getting into a vehicle because god forbid you actually hurt yourself. Not on his watch.
ꕥ Understands why you're insecure and definitely offers a lot of verbal reassurance.
ꕥ Is the type of boyfriend to say "Yes Ma'am" when you ask him to do something, doesn't matter whether it's a small thing or labor intensive. It's kinda become your guys' thing now since people take notice on it.
ꕥ Pouty kind of jealous? Not necessarily whiny but makes this sad upset face at you when jealous instead of something like Ghost or Valeria would do where they'd be glaring the person down jealous.
ꕥ Very thoughtful, he pays attention to what you want and what you need and knows the right timing.
ꕥ Forehead kiss giver, you cannot convince me this man doesn't love doing it. Especially when you're shorter than him, loves resting his chin on top of your head or burying his head in your neck.
ꕥ HATES seeing you uncomfortable, absolutely despises it. That's the last thing he wants you to feel when you're around him. Would understand if there's imminent danger around but it would literally being him back to life if you felt safe enough around him even if there was danger because you're confident in his capabilities to keep you safe.
Kate Laswell
ꕥ (LOVE THIS WOMAN, SHE'S FOR THE GIRLS BECAUSE IT'S CANON. ARGUE WITH THE WALL)
ꕥ She only ever let the TF141 and Nikolai meet you because of course she trusts them enough.
ꕥ They were like "So you're the infamous wife of Laswell huh?"
ꕥ Even before you were married, Kate called you her wife because she was ✨manifesting✨.
ꕥ She loves using it though, sometimes she'd be with coworkers and they'd invited her to go out to pub and drink but she'll refuse saying "Can't, my wife is waiting for me". She'd really rather just spend time with you anyway.
ꕥ Congrats, you made her quit smoking or at least she's trying to. She still does every once and a while when shit gets really bad but never around you because she knows that secondhand smoke is just as bad for you.
ꕥ She doesn't have a type when it comes to people so body is out of the question, if she feels a connection then she feels it.
ꕥ Anything and everything to keep you safe, if something were to happen to you, trust that she'll either get it down herself or if she can't then she'll turn to Price and Belinski for help.
ꕥ As much as possible, she keeps you away from everything. The job she has is just too dangerous and she can't risk you, not when you're one of the only good things in her life that keeps her happy.
ꕥ Definitely a workaholic, something as simple as asking her to eat or rest, maybe take a break. She'll do it, for you and because she knows you care for her.
ꕥ Doesn't half-ass anything, full effort when it comes to you especially when there's a special occasion between you two like holidays, birthdays and anniversaries.
ꕥ Also she loves making you laugh, more often with stories of her experiences with Price and also about how they met.
Gary "Roach" Sanderson
ꕥ (I CANNOT FIND A DECENT GIF OF THIS MAN FOR THE LIFE OF ME... Here's the credits to where I found the photo)
ꕥ Get this man a makeshift antenna, he would adore it. You made it for him because of his call sign.
ꕥ He sometimes wears it on missions but mostly keeps it so that it doesn't get damage because this man is definitely a horder, not in a bad way just anything you give to him is something worth keeping in his eyes.
ꕥ Gary definitely gives you handmade gifts back, when he knows you'll like something or even if it's at a random, he loves making them for you and he cried when he found out you kept those all in it's own box labeling it your treasures.
ꕥ Very shy and reluctant at first but once he's comfortable, he is tackling you for a hug when he gets the chance.
ꕥ Doesn't talk a lot, (it took me to Google when I saw that many people hc him communicating through BSL) but I like to think he does talk. It's just really selective, like a few words.
ꕥ The first time you heard his voice, you looked at him like "???". He looked at you confused at your reaction and he only realized it when you told him.
ꕥ Think that he'll try to learn sign language within your mother tongue you know, it's too cute not to think about.
ꕥ He gives off soft lover vibes, definitely far more on the gentle side compared to his comrades.
ꕥ Something in me tells me this man rambles but only and I mean only when he's already extremely comfortable around you, not used to using his voice much so expect a bit of stutter. Which by the way, he does this without knowing he's rambling and will profusely apologize with his tone of voice slowly getting more quiet. (This is your sign, comfort this man)
ꕥ Likes to crawl around and climb things for fun, another one of the reasons his call sign was formed. The first time Ghost genuinely screamed was when Roach was stuck on the side of the wall and Ghost saw him there. Kinda like when you see a roach climbing up a wall and it flies straight for you in your direction. (Happened to me by experience when I was taking a shower)
ꕥ He also likes crawling around, like this I mean. Hacker!Reader seeing this on the enemy's security camera while she tries to shut them off is just funny to me idk why.
ꕥ Chubby!Reader? Sign him the fuck up. You once sat down near him and he saw how you thought spread a bit and it was so close to his that he was just resisting the urge to touch. The voice in his head shamelessly thinking of what it would be like if you suffocated him with them.
ꕥ He loves peppering kisses, doesn't matter whether it's receiving or giving this man would straight up take your hands and use them to cup his face, his hands still being over yours and would with wait for you to kiss him or kiss you himself.
Nikolai Belinski
ꕥ (I have no clue how to write for nik but I'll try my best)
ꕥ We all know him and his jokes about his "wives" which by the way is not true and you know it.
ꕥ He's husband material however he is quite busy, not that he'd barely spend time with you but he is away a lot. There's an upside to this, he constantly calls you (Let's be real, he prefers calls over texts) just to check on how you're doing and he tells you when he's going to come home.
ꕥ Despite all his jokes, he'd never actually make fun of you. Sure he's sarcastic and talks to himself a lot but he'd never go as low as actually making an offensive joke to his lover.
ꕥ Speaking of joking, your laugh is music to this man's ears. Don't matter if you sound like a dying cat, he's still gonna make you laugh.
ꕥ Surprisingly really sweet, people are often surprised to see that man with a lover. He's very thoughtful in a sense that he's observant, sure he's quite absentminded when around you because that's the only space he's comfortable enough to do so but also because he likes listening to you.
ꕥ Does every safety measure in a helicopter possible if he knew you or Gaz would be in that helicopter, he also makes improvements to it and calls it Gaz-proofing because we all know how Garrick fell off a damn helicopter TWICE. (Idk how he does it, Gaz has some serious plot armor)
#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#valeria garza x reader#farah karim x reader#alex geller x reader#kate laswell x reader#gary roach sanderson#roach x reader#gary sanderson x reader#Nikolai Belinski x reader#nikolai cod x reader#farah x alex#cod x female reader#cod headcanons#Aethelwyne Lia writes
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libertine — joel miller.
synopsis. you've been having sexual fantasies about the substitute professor at your college. when the opportunity to get a better mark on a shitty essay you wrote arises, you take it. quite literally take it.
pairing. professor!joel x student!reader/fem!reader
warnings. smut, a smidge of fluff at the end, masturbation in a public bathroom, joel's got a southern accent that i tried to make obvious in the fic (if it's crappy, 'm sorry), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, inexperienced and virgin reader, age gap (reader is in their early 20s and joel's in his late 40s), dom/sub dynamics praise kink, dirty talk. idk what else there is...
goes without saying but this is 18+, MDNI. i'm not responsible for what typa media you consume, but beware for your own good.
word count. 2.6k
author's note. i haven't written smut before so here's my shot at the self-indulgent professor!joel hc that i have... hope you enjoy ❤️ part two in the makings if this does well!!
Classic literature didn't come easy to you, but fucking your professor did.
It started off as every normal day at college did— you flow through your entire schedule, some free time here and there, during which you manage to take a nap or catch up on missing assignments, and at the end of almost every day, you were met with the class you hated, but also loved, the most… Classic literature.
The class itself is fairly easy. All you had to do was read some novels, write essays based on topics from said novels and also write a thorough analysis of it. Easy stuff. But you struggled with the essay writing, it just wasn't your thing.
However, you can't say that you didn't enjoy the class. The most interesting part of it being that substitute professor, Mr. Miller, that just transferred in. Him and that Texan accent of his, those deep, brown eyes, that salt-and-pepper hair trailing down his jaw, those luscious thighs and whatever's hiding behind the zipper of his jeans… You can't stop thinking about it.
It’s been occupying your mind for however long he's been working at your college, and you can't help but have those thoughts when it comes to him. From the way he looks, down to the way he talks about love, he’s attractive inside and out. The way he talks about women, though, was the thing that caught your attention the most. He speaks so highly of them that it almost seems like he worships them, which makes you want to fuck him all the more.
The day you decided to put your mind to rest and have your body do the work, Mr. Miller had put up another assignment.
You dreadfully open up your email at the beginning of class, and groan when the body of it reads “Essay about the importance of expressing love in current youth based on your analysis of Romeo and Juliet due next week Thursday, midnight.”
Turning off your phone, you assert your attention back to your professor. He stood there, in his suit and all, looking more delicious than ever as he reminded your class to check their emails. The stern tone in his voice made your insides flutter, and the way he held onto his waist… God, you can't help but rub your thighs together to hide the throbbing between your legs, already feeling the wetness in your panties.
“Alright, pull out ya laptops and open up that website I told y’all about,” Mr. Miller says, and you’re the first one to obey his order. He gives you a look and when your eyes lock with his, he smiles at you. “As I already mentioned in the emails, we’ll be readin’ and analysin’ Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.”
The more he spoke, the less you could pay attention. Your eyes travelled all over his face, his chest, down to his crotch. Even without a hard-on, there was an imprint in his dress pants. Mr. Miller was the type to speak with his hands, resulting in you ogling at the way his fingers move in the air.
Mr. Miller begins talking about how love is portrayed in the tragedy, his tone changing with each point he makes. You stare at his lips, silently wishing they were on your body, somewhere. Anywhere would be fine as long as all his attention was on you. On all the parts that long for his touch.
You try your best to focus on what he’s saying, writing down what you need to remember. Your thighs are clenching together again when Mr.Miller scratches the back of his head, his bicep visible through the sleeve of his jacket. That’s about as much as you can take.
You hesitantly get up from your seat, mumbling a quiet “excuse me” as you walk out through the doors. It must've looked weird, since you ran out the door in such a rush, but you didn't care. Your main concern was finding a bathroom before all the thoughts about your professor fucking you into oblivion could make you cum on the spot.
You hurry past all the staff that are scattered across the halls and barge into the women’s bathroom. It's quiet and you’re sure you're alone, but you still check. “Hello?” No response. You hurry yourself into a stall and lock the door.
You don't even lift the toilet seat when you sit down on it, your skirt and panties on the floor. You spread your legs and put your fingers into a V shape, spreading your lips open. Using your other hand, you gather some of the arousal that’s been leaking out of you for the past twenty minutes and use it to coat your clit as your finger slowly rubs circles on it.
"That’s it,” you can almost hear Mr. Miller talking in your ear. “That’s my girl.”
“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, feeling yourself getting more horny with the flood of thoughts that won't stop. Your finger rubs circles on your clit, increasing the pressure from time to time. Subconsciously, your hand unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing to reveal your bare chest and begins twirling your hard nipple. You imagine it's his hands, that he’s the one pleasuring you. Your finger’s now working at a pace you can't keep up with, quietly moaning out your professors last name when you use the hand that was rubbing your clit to finger yourself.
One finger in and you’re already gasping at the image on the back of your eyelids. You’re imagining it's his fingers in you, his cock in his other hand as he jerks himself off. You put a second finger in and start thrusting it in and out, when the image changes to his hips clashing into yours as his dick hits spots your fingers could only dream of. Your hips jolt against your fingers at the image of his veiny cock so vividly throbbing in your imagination.
You bring your other hand down to your clit, rubbing the throbbing nub once again. “Fuck,” you whimper as you feel your climax nearing. Your fingers curl inside you, and you’re about to let go.
“Attagirl,” the voice in the back of your head says and that’s the last push for you to cum all over your own fingers, your juices leaking out onto the toilet seat. You continue rubbing your clit until your climax wears off.
When you’re back in the classroom, everyone's already left, only Mr. Miller’s sat at his desk, typing away. His eyes look up at you when you enter through the door. “Oh, hey. I kept your stuff safe, since ya left in such a rush.” A comforting smile decorates his face. He’s so considerate it makes your clit throb again.
“Uh, thank you, sir.” You mumble shyly, packing your stuff into your bag and getting ready to leave. Mr. Miller’s eyes are on you when you turn back towards him.
He clears his throat. “I also wanted to speak to ya ‘bout somethin’.”
“Oh,” you nod. “Alright, what is it?”
“Listen, sweetheart. Y’know the last essay I assigned you to write?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You bite your bottom lip as you think back on what the last assignment was. When you remember, you nod. “Alright, well… You didn't do too good on it.”
“I know,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the shame you feel. “It wasn't my finest work.”
“Yeah.” He laughs with you in an attempt to ease the situation. “But, uh. You can rewrite it and I’ll raise your mark. Whaddya say?”
You think it over for a moment, before shaking your head. “I think I could…” You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re suddenly approaching him. “Get my mark up another way…” Your eyes glance down at his crotch and you bite your lip. When Mr. Miller realises what you’re insinuating, he shakes his head, but his eyes say different.
“Honey, it goes against teacher-student policy, you know that.” He reminds you, but you’re already on your knees in front of him and under his desk, batting your long eyelashes at him to get your way. His bulge grows right in front of your face and you don't think anymore, you just do. Your fingers are unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Sweetheart-” he gets cut off by his dick springing up after you pull his boxers down, precum already leaking out of it. “Fuck.”
You look at him, not sure of what to do. You’ve never sucked a dick before, and the one in front of you would surely end up somehow fucking up your throat. You contemplate just sitting down on it, riding it like you did to your pillow when you woke up from a wet dream about him. That is, until he speaks. “You gonna stare at it or suck it like you wanted to?”
The tone in his voice changed from formal and sweet to deep and dominant, and you’re wet again from just the sound of it. “I’ve never, uh… done this before.”
Mr. Miller nods his head towards you. “Put your lips on the tip,” you do as told, your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Just like that,” he says, his voice wavering. “Now put it in your mouth,” you hesitate to do so, instead wrapping your fingers around the base of his large cock. “Don't be shy, you want your mark up, don't ya?”
You nod, slowly opening your mouth to put more of his cock in. When it hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit. “Breathe through your nose, babygirl.” You do as told and the gagging goes away. “Now, slowly bob your head up and down. Yeah, just- just like that, fuck.” You're bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your fingers working at the base of it. His hips buckle and his dick thrusts deeper in your throat. A moan rumbles in your throat and vibrates on Mr. Miller’s dick, and he has to refrain himself from shoving his whole dick down your throat.
“Fuck, just like that,” he moans. “Good girl.” The praise makes you that much more wet, and you moan against his dick again.
Suddenly, the door swings open and Mr. Miller sits up, looking at whoever entered his classroom. Your mouth doesn't leave his cock, you simply thrust it in your mouth harder, using your tongue to caress his shaft. “Good evening,” he greets the janitor who came in to clean the classroom. “I, uh, I still got some,” Mr. Miller balls his fingers into a fist as he holds back a moan, trying his best to focus on the conversation with your mouth still sucking him off. “I’m still workin’, gimme thirty more minutes.”
The door closes behind the janitor and Mr. Miller leans back against his chair, his eyes half-lidded and looking down at you. He feels his orgasm nearing when you begin pumping the base of his cock again, along with thrusting his dick into your mouth. “I’ll be cummin’ in your mouth if you don't pull away right now, sweetheart.”
Your mouth leaves his cock, but your fingers still jerk him off. A deep moan leaves his lips as a string of hot cum shoots out in loads onto your clothed chest and neck. You’re still pumping his dick when he motions for you to get up. You stand up from under his desk and he’s immediately pulling you closer to himself. You're sat on his lap, dick still hard and rubbing on your belly as his lips connect with yours. He can still taste himself in your mouth and he smirks at that.
His hands are on your knees, but with each kiss, they inch closer and closer to where you need him the most. When he reaches the wet spot on your panties, he grins against your mouth. “So ready for me, hm?”
You nod, whimpering at the soft contact of his finger to your clothed clit. “Yes, Mr. Miller, please-”
“Call me Joel,” he mumbles as his fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and tug them off of you. He slowly grabs you by the waist and aligns his cock with your dripping cunt.
“Wait-” you pause kissing him when you feel the tip brushing up against your folds. “I haven't- Y’know…”
Joel smirks. “You a virgin, baby?” You nod, slowly. “I’ll take care of ya, I promise.” You feel his finger rub over your hole, gathering some of your slick to rub it on his dick.
His hands slowly lower your waist down, his cock slipping past your folds with ease and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. He’s so big that it feels like you’re being split open. “You okay?” He asks you with a kiss to your collarbone. You nod, your bottom lip between your teeth and hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders. “Good, ‘cause this ain't all of it yet,” he says, voice low and taunting, before lowering you all the way down. You whimper as you feel his cock brush against your cervix.
“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his lips as you adjust to the size of him. Joel just holds you there, not moving you until you’re ready. His fingers find your throbbing clit and start rubbing it, your lips still connected. “Mmh,” you moan, your hips jolting towards his fingers and moving his dick deeper inside of you.
You begin pushing yourself up and slipping back down, a string of moans leaving your lips. “Attagirl.”
You’re riding his cock, feeling each and every inch of him filling up your insides. You can feel every throb of his veins pulsing inside of you and you catch all his moans with your lips. His hands are gripping your hips, pulling you down with more force. The classroom is filled with sounds of skin clashing on skin. You’re moaning and whimpering, his cock threatening to tip you over the edge. “I’m… I-” you can't even speak.
“You what, baby?” He asks, his thumbs digging into your hips with the intensity of your thrusts. “You gonna cum for me? You gon’ be a good girl and cum all on my dick?” You can't manage to speak so you nod, tears spilling from your eyes as you feel your climax approaching.
He’s thrusting up at you, now, his climax approaching him again. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, begging him to make you cum with the broken words you’re mumbling. “Ple- Please… Fu-uck, Joel…”
“Let go for me,” he coaxes, his lips right by your ear. “I got you, pretty girl.”
With a loud moan, you’re cumming all over his dick and you feel his hot liquid fill up your insides with a couple more thrusts of his hips. Joel kisses you again. Like a starving man that hasn't eaten for days on end. He kisses you with passion, with more than just lust behind those eyes.
When you both pull away, he makes sure to clean you up. “You were so good for me, sweetheart.” He praises. “So good.”
You’re not sure what to say, so you just kiss him again. And again. And one more time. Until he’s kissing on your neck again, but he inevitably stops and leans into your ear. “I gotta get to work, baby.”
“Okay,” you say with a sigh. “Thanks for helping me with the essay,” your lips pull into a small smirk as you open the door to his classroom.
“All thanks to you.” He returns the same smile. “Couldn’t have finished it without you.”
You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re so unfunny,” and close the door behind yourself.
#joel miller#the last of us#pedro is daddy#joel x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#professor!joel#student!reader#pedro pascal fic#joel miller x you#praise
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Love Languages
What is says in the title. I have no requests right now and I thought now would be a good time to write these, I've been meaning to for over a month now, I think. General fluff, relationship to reader is romantic. GN!reader. Only thing I can think of would be one somewhat dirty joke. But it's literally just Alejandro teaching reader a phrase in Spanish and that's about it.
Price: Acts of Service. He’s been in the military for a while now and, while he may be used to giving orders these days, he remembers the days well where a superior would yell at him to do something. Price is well aware that the chances of survival go up tremendously when everyone is working together as a team, regardless of whether you’ve been given a command to help your pal out or not. It’s almost subconscious, actually. You drop something without you noticing? He’ll pick it up, trailing behind you while carrying it. The dishes need to be done? He’s on it immediately, maybe whistling a song even while he does so. You’re in need of medication? Mans notices when you’re running out before you do and always makes sure to get the prescription and or the meds if he’s able to. And if he can’t then he’ll remind you to pick them up, going with you. As a captain, he’s a busy bee, always filing reports and doing whatnot, so him taking the time out of his day to do something, no matter what, isn’t as small a thing as one might think. It doesn’t even matter how small, repetitive and tedious the task is, he’ll do it just for you. Won’t make a big deal out of it, though, just you noticing he did something for you is more than enough. Give him a kiss in return while thanking him and he’ll be the happiest man alive as well.
Gaz: Words of Affirmation. While it’s hard to pin down one love language for him, he absolutely adores making you feel loved using his words. He can be a cheeky bastard, sassing just about anyone he knows he’ll get away with relatively unharmed, always knowing what to say to make just about any situation go from dreadful to a bit more humorous, for the most part. Gaz does well with words, plus he can also read facial expressions very well. While there might be some guesswork involved from time to time, if you let him, he’ll find the right words fairly quickly. Doesn’t matter if you just want to be told how handsome you look in your new suit, or if you want to be comforted after being let down one too many times. Finding the right time to be silent is also an art, Gaz has mastered it. It comes natural to him, speaking to his loved ones, that is. If he can, he’ll accompany his sweet words with other love languages as well. It’s not uncommon for him to shower you with compliments while twirling you around, giving you a beautiful bracelet, or simply putting his head on your shoulder. This man will hype you up, no matter how insecure you feel. But don’t ever doubt his words, he’s as sincere as it gets with you. If you do then he will make an entire PowerPoint presentation on why you’re as amazing as you are. Has no qualms about holding said presentation either, by the way.
Ghost: Acts of Service. Don’t get me wrong, he loves touching you and getting to touch you, if he could he’d always intertwine his fingers with yours, but he’s not always sure if he should touch you. Would it make you comfortable? Do you even like being touched right now? Sometimes he might be self-indulgent, but it’s not too often. However, performing just about any task for you, he knows that won’t upset you. The trees and hedges need to be cut? You don’t have time to go grocery shopping? Can’t beat this seemingly impossible video game boss? Yeah, he’s got your back. He’s not too shabby at most things in life. Ghost can notice and memorize things very quickly, he’s got enough experience in life to know what to do in most situations plus he loves you dearly, so he’d literally crawl his way to Eden and pick the fruits of the tree of knowledge if you demanded it. If you ask him to do something with you, though, then I can tell you he’s smitten. Loves grocery shopping with you, loves it if you hand him the wrench and hold the flashlight while he repairs something, loves feeding the strays outside your home with you. If you ask him to do something together then he gets the feeling of his affection for you being reciprocated, so never be ashamed to ask him for something. You could literally just ask him for a hug and his heart would soar in the heavens.
Soap: Physical Touch. He grew up with a loving mother who would smother him in hugs whenever she could. He didn’t particularly grow out of that either, he’ll still return any hug his mother gives him to this day. Having grown up in a very physically affectionate household, he took after his family and thus loves touching you in any way he can. Whether it’s ruffling your hair or putting your foreheads together, he just loves being close with his loved ones. Even his friends he’s very touchy feely with. It’s reassuring to him, feeling his loved ones, their warmth, hell, even feeling their pulse is nice. It’s not a given in his line of work, after all. Friend or lover, doesn’t matter, he’ll give you a hug, he’ll cuddle you, he’ll playfight with you. Has a very hard time toning it down and his heart breaks a bit every time someone asks him to not touch them as much, he genuinely can’t help it. When he’s lonely he becomes extra affectionate and isn’t afraid to ask you for some cuddles either, they’re very calming to him. If you return his affection, even if it’s awkward for the both of you, he becomes very happy, almost beaming with joy if you’re not a touchy person normally. Initiate a hug for once and he’ll never want to let you go again. But beware, his hugs are extremely tight. If it wasn’t as embarrassing, I’m sure he’d sleep cuddling something as well. However, it’s not the most manly thing to sleep with a plushie, so he settles for another pillow mostly. Will invite you to take a nap with him, though.
Alejandro: Physical Touch. He’s among the people of his culture who are more tactile. It’s a similar situation to Soap, he learned that from home. While he may not be as prone to being touchy with a friend, unless you’re very close, once you’re lovers he loves nothing more than having his hands on you. Not even in a dirty way, he’s more than content just having his hand on your shoulder too. Will give you massages, lots of kisses and will generally just pull you close to him. Might pick you up and spin you around from time to time as well. He’s a strong lad, so I can assure you, he will be able to pick you up. Not very fond of PDA for privacy reasons, but once you’re home alone, he’ll be all over you. Find a reason to touch him back and he’ll smother you. While he can respect you if you don’t like being touched, he will be sad a bit, but will find alternatives. He’s a very affectionate guy with the ones he loves. For what it’s worth, if you’re not a touchy person and can’t speak Spanish very well, you can say some nonsense and it’ll make him smile every time. Though, beware, he’s not above teaching you things such as “estoy caliente” either. It won’t lead to anything, but he will crack up whenever you say it to Rudy, with the latter being severely disappointed in Alejandro. You trying to speak or learn Spanish shows him that you’re trying to put in effort into learning his culture, which he can appreciate, naturally.
Rodolfo: Quality Time. Much like Ghost, he’ll love you forever if you give him hugs on the regular, maybe a peck on the cheek too if you’re together, but he won’t force anything. It’s ingrained in him that men really shouldn’t be weak, though, ironically, you can see him be just a tad bit softer with lads. A close second for his love language would be gift giving. He earns enough money to buy you something nice from time to time. But other than that, he doesn’t have too much time either, and what little time he does have he wants to spend with you. Sure, he can’t exactly make time for you during a mission, but regardless of how tired he might be, he will drag himself out of bed just to be with you five minutes longer. One activity he particularly enjoys the day after he came home from deployment would be simply taking a nap together. Doesn’t matter if you’re cuddling or not, though he would prefer if you would. He gets to rest, you get to rest, both of you are happy. Besides, whenever he gets to be near you he won’t have to worry about anything happening to you. Considering he’s confident enough in his abilities to keep bad people away from you, he likes having you close as well. You don’t even need to be talking, it could just be the both of you cooking together and eating afterwards, that’s enough to make him content. He can tell when you’re doing your best to make time for him as well, and it warms his heart every time.
Valeria: Gift Giving. She’s the undoubted queen of not having much time for anything at all, and she can’t always make time for you, or most people, either, which is why she’ll opt for other means of showing her affection. While some gifts may take time, those being the special ones, it’s normally something quick she can get you. Some new clothes, some sweets, or something else entirely. She rarely ever gets to give them to you in person, regardless of how badly she wants to see your beaming and surprised face, but she never forgets an important date, her memory is just good like that. Your anniversary, your birthday, your pet’s birthday, she has it all memorized and will get you a gift accordingly. You don’t have to give her anything in return, though, her tastes are very expensive. If you really wanna show her how much you adore her in a way she can easily comprehend, do her some favors. Clean the house, make her a meal, give the soldiers asking for her some misdirections so they won’t catch her. It’s not often she likes someone, much less actually trusting them, but she can appreciate someone, who genuinely wants to help her out, even in the small ways. She might sometimes think that you’re just trying to get a favor out of her, but if you genuinely never ask for anything big even she will doubt her theory and will trust you more. Love goes through the stomach, cook her a delicious meal every once in a while and she’ll love you even more.
Graves: Words of Affirmation. However, it should be noted that that’s just his main way of showing affection, he shows affection in every other way as well, very much so even. It’s hard to pin him down as well, he changes it up every once in a while. But what always stays the same is him giving you small compliments throughout the day. If he can’t tell you how much you’re rocking the garments in person, he’ll leave you a handwritten note to build you up. Very chatty, unlike Gaz, he loves hearing himself speak and will stop at nothing to attain the feeling of just saying something. Considering he’s from the southern part of the United States, he throws around petnames like it’s nothing. If you like it, good, if you don’t, he won’t particularly stop either. In fact, he might get more cheesy and cliche with them as well. Not as eloquent as other people might be, he’s a commander, not a poet, but just as sincere. You look fucking awesome, darlin’. They should make a Met Gala just for you. Will also tease you in a loving way. Bullying his loved ones into blushing is his most genuine way of showing love. Once he teases you, you can be certain this guy really likes you. The formalities are finally over, now he can be genuine and honest with you. Give him strong reactions and he’ll love you even more. Don’t try to fluster him back, though. Conversations like those are competitions and he’s the most sore loser on the planet.
Alex: Physical Touch. Words of Affirmation and Acts of Service are also strong with this one, but I’m limiting myself to one here. As I’ve said a few times already, he loves, loves, loves getting to hug and cuddle you. If you’re together then he has no shame in showing PDA either. Will initiate physical touch, will ask you for physical touch, he’s not ashamed at all. A guy needs what he needs, after all. Even just small touches are more than welcome with him. Hand on your shoulder, his fingers combing through your hair, deliberately leaning against you when he’s tired. Snuggle up to him after a rough day, he’s so gentle with you and will make you feel as loved as he can, either by distracting you with the top ten list of top ten lists of what he loves about you, or by watching a VOD on YouTube with you. Even if you aren’t too touchy, make an effort to initiate physical contact with him, he notices it immediately. Won’t push you, he might stop if you really hate physical contact, but will make it up to you with other love languages. Give him a kiss and he’ll rest his head on your shoulder, with eyes bigger than that of an anime girl. The heart irises are there too, of course. If he’s had a rough day, then please hug him, or better yet, cuddle him. It makes him feel a lot better, drifting off to sleep with your comforting touch. This guy would set a forest ablaze just so you can feel some warmth.
Farah: Quality Time. Unless you’re part of her liberation force, she likely has next to no time for you either. And even then, time alone with her is sparse. You can make plans with her, but chances are she’ll have the revolution on her mind, what her next step should be and how her enemy might prevent her from getting what she wants this time. It’s hard for her too, trust me, but she needs to be prepared, always. It’s not often she actually can do so, but she’ll try to make plans with you without her mind wandering. She’s usually so focused, but also hyper aware of the bad things that could happen. So, sometimes she sits herself down with you and thinks of only the things she wants to do with you. Order takeout, cuddle and maybe read some books as well. Despite not usually being one for things like that, evenings like those will be the only times she’ll try to take better care of herself. By which I mean, if you have a skincare routine, she’ll try it out with you, asking you questions about what this and that might be and what it does. If you have a face mask that evening, she’ll laugh a bit, but won’t be opposed to trying it out either. It’s rather sudden when she does have time, but it’s time well spent. Show her affection in any way, she’ll always appreciate it. Give her a kiss, tell her how much you love her, buy her some fresh baked goods, she’ll fall in love with you all over again, again and again. Once the fighting is done, she’ll repay you with everything she can, give you whatever it is she has to offer and make sure you can feel just as loved.
Laswell: Gift Giving. She’s not particularly one for physical affection, she much rather shows it through things that reminded her of you. That nail polish looked like it would go well with your new outfit, you’ve been eyeing that necklace for a long time, using a scooter to get around the city was something you’ve been into for a while. She always remembers every single small detail that might be important later on. You like Sanrio. You like motorcycles. You like sports. Because her memory is amazing, she’ll always get you something you’ll like. Even when you forgot something or haven’t thought about it in a while, she’ll remind you. Especially nice things. Brains are always biased towards the bad, she wants you to see the good in yourself and your surroundings. But aside from those two things, she’s rather versatile as well. Her words can make even your biggest insecurities temporarily go away. She isn’t always eloquent, but she can be if she wants to be. Quality Time is a given to her. If she can and you want to as well, she’ll spend every minute of her wake with you. Even when you aren’t around to do any of it and she has time to do so, the dishes will be washed, the clothes in the washing machine will be neatly hung up and the living room will be clean. Now, if you want to make her feel loved, give her some genuine words. She hears lies on the daily and knows when people are being insincere, but seeing you give her a genuine smile while telling her that she looks like a goddess in her new dress sort of does something to her. You don’t need to use the prettiest words, just say what you think, tell her how much you love her, that’s all she really needs.
Nikolai: Acts of Service. Another wildcard, he’ll do whatever makes his partner happy. But if we’re talking about his genuine self, the one that doesn’t do whatever makes you happy, then it’s Acts of Service. It’s unprompted too, for the most part. Whatever he can find out, that makes your life easier, he’ll do. He’s a real handyman for all sorts of things and in real good shape too despite his age. Mans can repair a helicopter, he can do the same for your heater in winter. Never be afraid to walk up to him and complain to him about something not working, he’ll fix it himself in record time if you let him. Doesn’t mind his hands getting dirty either, that’s just what happens. Big things, small things, doesn’t matter. Let him take out the trash or let him fix the engine of your car, he can do both. Hell, if you need someone taken care of in the most brutal way possible, if you need some dirt on someone, he’s also your guy. If he really likes you, then chances are he’ll do some of it for free as well. He’s competent enough in just about everything, he has the experience, so whatever it is you need done, he’ll do it. But if you ever were to do him a favor like that as well, he’ll be overjoyed. Most of the time showing affection is subconscious to him, but once it clicks, and it will fairly quickly since he’s a smart cookie, he’ll give you the most loving smile. You don’t have to kill someone for him, just baking him a delicious pie is more than enough. You make his life easier as it is, but the occasional baked good or gifting him a nice bomber jacket won’t hurt either.
König: Acts of Service. I guess Acts of Service just come with age. Not too big on showing physical affection, not the best with his words either since he can still get nervous around his loved ones from time to time. Another big contender would simply be Quality Time. He much prefers not having to talk all the time, so you knitting while he reads the news would be ideal for him. Being near each other in silence is the best thing he can imagine, that way he can show you how much he loves you without straining himself too much. Acts of Service because he’s old enough to realize that if you really do love someone, you’ll make their life easier in any way, shape or form possible, even if it’s just putting chicken nuggets in the oven just before they come home from work. Besides, despite it being tedious, he doesn’t hate cleaning as much as some other people do. It’s calming to him, seeing his living space be decluttered. So, it helps him and it gives you less work to do at the end of the day. Another way he shows affection is by warding off creeps with his presence. Being around you makes him protective over you. Now, you can spend your time with him in silence, or just occasionally talk, he’ll eat that right up and love it, but you can also give him the occasional hug or cuddle. He won’t mind, but don’t overdo it. He’s not a particularly cuddly person, but he will appreciate you standing on boxes just so he can lean into your shoulder for once, if you’re shorter than him. It’s the small things that count. Another thing he’ll always enjoy is you maybe knitting or crocheting him a scarf. He’s not sensitive to the cold, but he won’t mind being warm either. Spray it with your perfume or cologne too and he could just pick you up and give you a little kiss.
#cod#cod x reader#john price x reader#price x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#rodolfo parra x reader#valeria garza x reader#phillip graves x reader#alex keller x reader#farah karim x reader#kate laswell x reader#cod nikolai x reader#könig x reader#konig x reader
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As someone who is a clean freak with slight germaphobia and gets grossed out VERY easily (to the point that I wear gloves a lot LMAO), I would be MISERABLE with Digger. However.
This goes not make him ANY less pretty-boy OR stop the fact that I'd make out with him sloppy style. ANYWAYS:
Headcanons with him being with a clean freak? I'm nothing if not self-indulgent HGSHADGDHGAHDG
ALSO HI FINNIE I HOPE YOU'RE WELL !!
Clean Freak Reader
KTJL!Boomer Headcanons
literally couldn't be me, like literally, i am in awe of people who can keep things clean. unfortunately, digger and i would stew in our own filth, so we need people like you to come fix it for us (also i picked his nastiest face for this) 💙
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: some mentions of nsfw things, it's fuckin boomer so of course
this is EXACTLY what he needs, i am a big believer in opposites attract and balancing things out and all that jazz!! so someone who can bring out a... neater(?) side of him would only be a positive
it means he can be his authentic self with the added bonus of knowing someone's going to clean up after him, or at the very least keep him clean enough that he doesn't die
he'd struggle a lot with letting you clean up his van, or trimming up his facial hair, or forcing him into a deep cleansing bath, because he would believe you are washing away his natural, sexy musk (which you would be, tbh)
but if the reward is having you actually touch him without grimacing or swallowing your nerves, then he'll concede
also, obviously, having someone who is a clean freak means that you'll be doing most of the tidying up, yeah? like the dishes, trash, laundry, general getting-rid-of-stains?
if so, might he trouble you to don a little maid outfit? i mean yeah, you're already doing him a massive favour, and no, he hasn't exactly remembered to thank you for it
BUT the least you could do is make it a bit sexy for him!!
you are going to end up in a situation where you're not sure when the line between mommy/daddy and actual parent got blurred
he doesn't mean to take advantage of you, and he doesn't mean to be so manipulative, but a few blinks of his big eyelashes can have you cooking, cleaning and mollycoddling him after his failed attempts at murdering the flash or robbing a bank
the positive is that he is very easily trainable, like a puppy!!
you just have to find his motivation. some puppies like attention, some puppies like praise, some puppies are treat and food oriented. you just have to find his thing!
and it's fairly obvious what his thing is...
so if you need to give him a quick handjob to get him to wash behind his ears or put his empty tinnies in the bin instead of on the floor, is that really anything less than a win-win?
i don't think you would ever change him, and i don't think he'd ever truly be appreciative of all your efforts, because he would never ask for things to be clean and tidy
but he'd cherish the thought you put into keeping him from succumbing to several diseases, and any time you spend around him is a bonus in his eyes
#captain boomerang#digger harkness#george harkness#captain boomerang x reader#captain boomer x you#captain boomerang fanfic#finnie writes
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OMFG!!! i just read that chan smut and omg. THE DUALITY!! i literally love all the smuts that you write. also my birthday is february 6th so, if you don’t mind, could you write me a smut with my bias/biases. as you know i have a daddy kink. my biases are chan, seungcheol, and hoshi. you don’t have to. love you and thank you for the dino smut i absolutely loved it!-🎧
Pairing: Fem!reader x seungcheol x chan x soonyoung
Genre: smutty smut smut
Word count: 4.7K
Tags: poly, reader wearing a dress, exhibitionism, voyeurism, pet names (princess), degradation, praise kink, brief choking, fingering, oral (rec. And giving), unprotected sex (please assume everyone is clean, don't do this w/o prepping IRL), pussy slapping, ass play, triple penetration (i know), daddy kink, mean chan, sweet Cheol
Summary: it was just a dumb little party game, gets taken too seriously in teh best way possible. Happy fucking birthday to you.
Author note: first off, happy birthday! You’re always active here and sending me ideas and I appreciate you so much. Second off the fact that your list is my exact top three made this very self-indulging. I thank you for that. Please enjoy me writing out of of my darkest fantasies 😭
“Fuck. Marry. Kill. Seungcheol, Chan, Soonyoung. Go.”
You scorn up at Mingyu, “Didn't know we were still in middle school?”
You were celebrating your birthday with a couple of close friends having some drinks and good quality takeout at your place. Somewhat small for others but what you preferred it. Having all the attention on you in a public place was not your scene. These small intimate gatherings were more your speed. Then again, it prompted dumb shit like this.
Mingyu was not many shots in, but he looked like a toddler that learned to walk for the first time, so it was fair to say he drunk out of his mind. “Don’t cop out, answer the-hic-damn question.”
Your gaze shifted from the three men, all equally waiting for a response. You take a moment to linger in each thought of each man, internally listing out any and all of their redeeming qualities.
Seungcheol, who pretended to not care about your answer, peeks at you through his peripheral. He was the impossibly attractive guy next door, figuratively and literally. It was easy to tell he does everything with purpose and excluded this natural confidence and charisma. Not to mention he was a guy you could rely on like most people already do.
Then we have Soonyoung, the man full of life. If you could describe him in one word, it’d be ‘crazy’. This was the same guy that commits to being a tiger but calling it his ‘brand, and let’s not forget his astrology chart, which you’re not gonna get into. He’s fucking hot, don’t get it wrong, but also the strangest man you’ve ever met on planet Earth.
Now finally Chan, the cute man sitting next to you, eyes coated in nectar-like sweetness with a soft smile on his face. He’s always has been a sweet guy since you met him. He’s amicable and seemingly harmless, which made people feel comfortable around him. You can’t go wrong with Chan.
You visibly ponder, licking your lips, before answering.
“Fuck…Soonyoung, marry…Seungcheol, and I guess kill Chan? But I can’t kill him,” you look to the man mentioned and interlock arms, “so, I’ll just have to kiss him.”
You press your lips against his cheek, laughing emitting from onlookers. A warm blush spreads across his cheeks and he looks down at his feet. His smile turns bittersweet. “Great. Nice.”
“You’ll always be my favorite buddy, Chan. I could never kill you,” you coo, a finger lightly stroking at his red cheeks before he lightly shoves you away, rolling his eyes, and grabs another beer.
You initially don’t think much of it, it was only a dumb ice breaker after all. However, that event had his friends teasing him the rest of the night (but what’s new) and Chan was being the joke of the night, while Seungcheol was poking fun at you instead. Every chance he got, he’s saying things like he’s ‘waiting on that proposal,’ or ‘should I get started on the wedding planning?’ And Soonyoung seems to be a step behind the older gentleman, playfully suggesting what things he does make him ‘fuckable.’ He could be only cutting up limes for shots, or posing on the back of a wall asking, ‘this do anything for you?’ Attention was on you mainly, as expected, but that didn’t warrant the number of times you had gotten flustered.
Nonetheless, everything that night seemed all in good fun, a birthday worth having. At some point in the night, Soonyoung passed out on the couch, while everyone else was preparing to leave. Seungcheol offers to help clean up, it was very neighborly of him, which you always welcome. Chan, in the midst of all this, was nowhere to be found and it caused you to worry, calling his phone with no answer. You weren’t apart from him long typically in these social situations.
“Thanks for helping out, Cheol.”
“Anything for my betrothed,” he teases.
“Shut up,” you lightly elbow, “It’s late, I’m gonna wash up to sleep. Just make sure to lock the door when you leave, okay.”
He nods off your request and lets you venture off to your room. He pays it no mind, finishing off some dishes, unable to hear anything underneath the sound of the sink’s running water.
On the other end of your closed bedroom door, you make a startled expression once you realize what, or should you say who was behind it. “Chan? I was wondering where you were.”
He softly scoffs from the mattress, slouching in his spot, looking as if he waited for your return. “Really? Didn’t seem to think you had a second thought about me.”
“Of course I did.” You walk up towards him and pull him up from the mattress by the arm, smiling at him. “I can’t help but think about you all the time.”
“But you’d kill me, hmm?” He tears his wrist away from your touch, drawing his face closer to yours, “That’s not what you said last week up against my bedroom window.”
You purse your lips in amusement, remembering that day all too clearly. It was moving day for him and out of all people, he called you. He mentioned needing a few boxes brought in and everyone else seemed busy, little did you know, he had other plans that night with you. Those plans are how many times he can get you to cum within an hour, or how pretty you look pressed up against a clean glass window.
“But they don’t know that.” You retort.
“You embarrassed me out there, you know,” His eyes narrow at you, ignoring your attempts of pandering as you flirtatiously tease up his arm, “The friend-zoning, the familial kiss, the rejection, and in front of all our friends. I didn’t like it.”
You softly laugh, fingering through his pretty brown hair, “I’m sorry, but it'd be obvious if I said one of the other two. Could you find in your heart to forgive me?”
He turns away his eyes, feigning thought. “Well, since it’s your birthday, I could…doesn't mean I will.”
He tugs on you similarly the way you did to kiss him, only this time his lips locked on lips, and his skin was noticeably flushed from alcohol and lust. Your eyes naturally flutter shut, arms instinctively reach up for his face, cupping his warm cheeks. You melt in his touch, brazen and ruthless, your arousal basically dripping a hot stain in your underwear as his teeth pull at your bottom lip deliciously.
He strokes your sides, hands drawing the curve of your posterior and clutching in a hearty squeeze, a whimper leaving your lips. You feel the corner of his lips quirk up, eyes pressing into you with a smug expression. “Are you like this with all your ‘buddies’?”
You shake your head with a cheeky smile on your face, “No.”
He hums amused, lips drawing close to your ear, his decadent voice pricking your ear. “I want you to fall apart for me. Can you do that, hmm? Can you do that for Daddy?”
Your abdomen tenses up, a sultry moan escaping you, “Yes, daddy.”
“Such a good girl,” He draws out.
He pulls the zipper down from your dress, pulling off the straps from your shoulders, chuckling against your skin, as your outfit hits the floor. You giggle as he hoists you up, your legs locking around his waist, meeting his lips again more feverishly than the last. He runs you on top of your dresser, parting your legs to stand between them.
“Your turn,” You reach for the hem of his hoodie, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side of the room, “That’s better. Happy birthday to me…”
Hand trailing over Chan’s chest, down his torso, tracing over every dent of his abs, making you lightheaded and giddy. You pull on the top of his jeans, meeting him in a kiss, they become the next article of clothing to come off, following his boxer briefs and grasp his length. His nose nuzzles your cheek, hot breath on your skin, and his digits press up against the fabric of your panties to dip in the wet spot and plunge into your clothed arousal. You pleasantly gasp, hips jerking in his direction, one hand combing through his hair.
“Oh, daddy…”
His smile grows wide. “You’re so wet already, sweet girl.”
He allows himself a taste, humming at the familiar flavor, and pushes past your underwear to gradually thrust them inside, watching uneven breaths escape your lips. He revels in your whimpers, pushing them deeper inside you. The airiness of your voice was additive, but what was more addictive in the look on your face when he sees you close. “That feels good, huh? You like my fingers fucking you like this?”
You were practically vibrating in your seat, and your back arches in distress, gripping the edge of the dresser, “God, yes…You’re so good to me, daddy.”
It was a matter of time before his cock would replace his fingers, swiping your taste on your tongue for you to sample. Moaning, your lips wrap around their slender length, your arousal coating the surface of your tongue and inside your mouth. You hold him by the wrist, his knuckles swallow inside you before his very eyes, sucking your neck dry from his hands as he fucks his fingers into your burning hot entrance.
You whimper into his palm before he decides to pull it away and wrap it around your throat, meanwhile, his cock finds entry in your warmth, your fluttering walls welcoming him. Your hips falling slightly below the dresser's flat surface, you gasp for air. Your vision blurs as much as your abdomen clenches, submitting to Chan’s rough touch. He leverages you by holding you up the back of your knee while your other leg hung over his shoulder, snapping his hips back into you with such ferocity, a throaty moan falling short of every thrust. He sounded scrumptious, like fresh honey oozing out of its comb, you wanted to lick every part of him.
“What do we have here?”
Your helping hand for the party has finally found your helping hand in bed (or this case the dresser), rutting in you like two rabbits in mating season. Chan doesn’t stop his pace, only a smile growing wider on his face. “I guess the jig is up.”
“You’re just gonna keep fucking her while I’m here, kid?”
Chan only grows cockier when you show no sign of change, still moaning his name, “Why shouldn’t I, she sure likes it. Don’t you, filthy birthday girl?”
You nod, “Y-yes, daddy.”
Seungcheol looks impressed, crossing his arms together, he can’t help but enjoy the view. The times he imagined you looking a mess in front of him went on but no image in his head could do justice to the real thing, even if it was Chan’s dick inside you. Your sweat made your beautiful body glisten under the lamp lights, your pretty little pants endearing as they steadily leave your lips, and your messy hair so damn pullable that made his dick twitch.
“Need some help?” He offers nonchalantly.
Chan looks back at the older man for the first time, almost barking back a no, but instead takes a moment to consider and turns to you. His eyes flit back to you, holding you by your face, hips unbearably enthusiastic. “What do you say, huh, you want two cocks in you? Hmm, is that what you want?”
You choke up on your drool, tears already running down your faces as you respond in a hard nod, then proceed to be thrown back on the mattress to have Seungcheol witness your lewd form in its entirety. His hands go to the tent in his pants, palming himself anxiously. He knew you were beautiful beyond words, but there was no other beauty than the way you were almost naked. Your arms come up to your chest, shielding your stiff peaks but at the same time emphasizing the roundness of your breasts.
“W-what?” You ponder up at him, your pretty eyes looking back in a way that made Seungcheol want to scream. “I’m a mess, a-aren’t I?”
“A very pretty mess,” Seungcheol reiterates.
“Of course she is.” Chan sits beside you on the bed, pushing hair away from your face and pressing his lips to your ear, “How about you get his dick wet first, birthday girl?”
“Okay,” you answer back eagerly, trudging forward and pulling Seungcheol by his belt and carefully removing it from him.
Seungcheol gives a look of astonishment, a quick glance thrown to see pride written all over the younger man’s face before turning back to you, already pulling down his pants and exposing his cock slapping on your face.
“Wow.” You gasp, wrapping your hand around his girth, feeling his weight.
“Think you can take it, princess?”
Your heart pitter-patters at the name Seungcheol gives you and you let out a hearty ‘yes.’ Chan stays behind you, hands cupping your breasts, fondling your flesh, he becomes a little devil in your ear. “What are you waiting for then?”
You inch closer to Seungcheol, his angry tip on the center of your tongue. You drag your pink muscle over his shaft, tracing over every bulging vein, hearing him suck in his breath. Your other hand cradles his balls, kneading them lightly in your palm. When you push your head over his length, your mouth coats its surface area, feeling like a new, yet familiar world to him.
“S-shit.” His hips twitch forward, hands against his hips.
You bob down to the base, filling your cheeks and stretching your lips. He feels your saliva dribbling down his thigh, seeing the same scene happen over your chin, while your throat takes him with a gutty grit, taking all of him. When you gag slightly, having him almost pulls away in concern, but Chan takes initiative and combs through your hair, slamming you down on Seungcheol’s crotch, a shit-eating grin on his face. The older man almost doubles over, hand firmly planted on your shoulder in anguish.
“Mmh…god…that–”
“Look at you taking his dick like a perfect little slut,” Chan exclaims before mouthing over your neck, love bites adorning your soft skin, “you can’t wait to be fucking filled with cock, can’t you?”
You lacked the ability to be verbal, only vibrating a confirmation around Seungcheol’s cock, the man shuddering in the process. “Princess…”
Chan's hands snake around to your clit, rubbing it with his digits, his firm chest pressing into your sweaty back, the shaking in your body evident. “Take it deeper, slut.”
Tears burn your eyes, hands lifting to press behind Seungcheol, warming his cock in your mouth until you can’t breathe. The said man lets out his share of obscenities, his hands on either side of your head, fucking your mouth at a desperate man’s pace until he feels it swells well past its limit, “Fuck. Fuck!”
He cums hard, long, and deep. The trail of ivory slides down your throat with no warning, Seungcheol fills you to the brim, even overflowing to the corner of your lips. “So…good…”
“Shit, you lasted a lot shorter than I expected, old man.” Chan smugly grins.
The older man tries catching his breath, but not without letting the other man hear it. “Shut up…Chan.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
The voice resonates from the doorway, a barely awake Soonyoung blinks at the scene in front of him in confusion, adjusting to the change of lighting from the pitch-black living room. “Huh, what are you eating, y/n? A hoagie?”
“Oh, god.” Chan groans, bowing his head.
Seungcheol couldn’t pull out of you soon enough, the remainder of his cum swallowed up by you in the process. You picked up the courage to be the first one to ask, “How long have you been standing there, Soonie?”
“Not sure…wait. Are you guys having sex?”
Seungcheol pinches the bridge of his nose, visibly cringing. “Yes, Soonyoung.”
“Do you want to join,” you suggest, exchanging looks with both men already involved.
Their eyes initially express reluctance but eventually, they nod in agreement. Chan whispers an “alright,” in your ear before kissing the side of your face. Seungcheol being still very fresh to their current situation had no complaints, nor was he in the place to. They all redirect back to the intruder, and you ask him again. “Do you want to join us, Soonyoung?”
A pink tinge on his cheeks as your naked body slips from the bed gracefully, sliding down your underwear to the ground. “Join? Can I do that?”
His eyes locked on your prowess, your soft laughter sending off butterflies in his stomach as your hands crawls up to his face, stroking it endeared, “Yes, you can. Will you?”
“P-please…”
You guide him by the hand and bring him over to the bed, joining the rest. You slip the worn-out muscle tee over his head to toss it aside. Once you meet his lips, your hands run through his slept-in hair and melt against you like a dream. You were like taffy, sweet yet salty, no doubt from what he witnessed earlier, but he didn’t care. Forgetting the others around him, he pulls you in his lap, your wet cunt rubbing into his denim jeans as his hands take care of your body, collecting its warmth.
Seungcheol simply watches, running his hand down his body and stroking himself, feeling the tension build back up in cock. Chan joins him from across the bed. Licking his lips, he locks on the way your hips grind against Soonyoung’s, blood rushing towards his cheeks, wondering whether he was turned on imagining it was him or that it was genuinely fun watching.
Your bare skin meshes against Soonyoung, inhaling the stretch of alcohol and his expensive cologne etched into his skin, “Mmh…Soonie…”
“Shit,” the man moans, holding your bare ass in his hands, “I really wanted to do this. You have no idea.”
“You came at a good time too, Soonyoung. We were just about to fuck her together,” Chan doesn’t forget to mention, “She was ready to be filled up with two cocks, what’s one more?”
Soonyoung grins against your lips. “Three cocks in our pretty baby huh…I’m certainly glad I woke up.”
The men strip down to their birthday suits. Chan, taking less time than the others, utilizes this opportunity to retrieve the lube you kept in the drawer of your bedside table. Seungcheol kisses you for the first time that night, sensually stroking your back and parting your hair, while Soonyoung lips attach to your breasts, feeling your nipples grow hard on his tongue as he cradles them. It really hits you what’s happening when Chan squirts the cold lube on the center of your folds, rubbing it between his fingers, up in your warmth, before sliding down to prep your other entrance.
His middle finger carefully tests the entryway, teasing the outer edge, before the lube lets him slide in and adjusts to your grip. Your moans were hard to suppress when he playfully slid them in and out and shot them deeper inside when you ask for more, to which he can’t help but laugh. “Cute little slut, taking it up your ass so well for us.”
He tucks in another digit, curling it inside you, ramming it, and preparing you for every opportunity.
You flex your fingers and toes, “Please Chan, I’m r-ready.”
“Are you sure?” He teases.
“Yes, please…”
Chan obliges, letting you go with a gentle thumb to the opening. They all position themselves, having discussed it moments ahead of time. Soonyoung has his back on the bed with your back hovering inches above his chest. He fingers the hole Chan had gotten ready and made sure it was adjusted to his liking, squeegeeing the excess lube. You twitch on top of him, finally feeling the tip of his cock circle at your entrance and slowly make its way inside you. Your jaw drops open, his member suffocates between your walls.
“Christ…” Soonyoung gasps, “You feel heavenly, Y/n.”
He holds you up from the back of your knees, spreading you wide and pretty, and taking a slow, deep stroke inside you. You let out a low growl, throwing your head back, and reveling in Soonyoung’s gentle pace. “Thats…so…good…”
Chan takes care of himself with aid of the scene, spitting in his hand, and his cock grows to his touch. “You look so fucking good stretched out.”
He approaches you, falling to his knees, and buries his face in your vacant warmth, still stroking himself. He licks stripes up your core, moistening his lips, as the tip of his nose brushes against your clit. Your stomach sucks in, ecstasy enflaming your core. “Fuck, daddy…”
Chan grows only harder and devours you faster, his tenor voices aches inside you, feeding his everlasting lust. Soonyoung takes his time with you still, hands now falling to your thighs, spreading you apart for Chan’s convenience, his hips gradually ramping up the speed.
Seungcheol is respectful in watching, only inching forward when you beckon him closer with moans on your tongue, mouth still wide and welcoming. He takes advantage of your invite, knees meeting the bed, reuniting his length with your mouth, and seeing you take him just as hard (if not harder) as before. Hands land in your hair, straining your neck but filling out of your throat, that glorious sensation coming back to Seungcheol almost immediately. “Pretty mouth…Princess…take me good, hmm..”
“That’s so hot, fuck, what the fuck?” Soonyoung was being overwhelmed in the best way possible, bouncing you harder in his lap, leaving the man with his mouth full smiling with less work to do.
Chan smacks your center fold with the tip of his fingers, feeling you flinch under his touch, and he does it again and again.
“Daddy hurtss…but…feels good…” You can’t help you mumble with Seungcheol’s cock pressing to your lips.
“S-shit, you’re gonna make me cum in my hand,” Chan shutters, honest to his word, “bad girl, but I don’t think I can wait anymore.”
He picks himself off the ground, his cock visibly furious. He rubs your slit with the tip, landing a lash to your clit, your sound of ache music to his ears, before he parts your folds and slides inside you, joining Soonyoung. He presses your legs back, Chan rocks in you in a steady rhythm opposite to Soonyoung. “Mm, daddy’s cock with Soonie’s, l-love so…m-much…”
“Such a—ah—cockslut. T-that good, hmm? You like me fucking you with Soonyoung inside you, hmm?”
“Y-y—Mmh..”
“Say it, fucking tell me you love our cocks splitting you open.”
“I-I love your c-cocks split-t-ting me o-open.”
You clench your body in anxiously, taking both cocks the best you can, but your body can only hold back so much cum.
“Look, who’s desperate to cum?” Chan observes, “Well, you can cum all you want, we’re not stopping.”
Chan is a man of his word. Even when your hips shake sporadically in front of them all, no one's pace falters. You were filled in all ends, an eternal loop of euphoria, the pleasant ache of your muscles easily manageable as long as you don’t lose this sensation.
Seungcheol ruts your mouth with his eyes shut, only hearing the work your mouth puts in and pulls out when feels you’ve had enough. Your slobber prints your cheeks, a tired look in your eyes, but a manic smile on your face. He wipes some saliva away with his thumb, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “I’ll be sure to be slow at first, okay?”
Heart racing, you nod at his message, eyes drifting to see him place himself between you and Chan. Knees planted in the mattress beside either side of Soonyoung, he eases his length in your entrance on top of Chan’s, and unearthly sound follows coming from all around. Not a dry eye in the room, Seungcheol takes your calves and pressed them against his shoulders, squeezing with Chan in an uneven rhythm.
“FUCK!” He bites into your leg, muffling his groans, filling you deep, “take me too, you can handle it. I believe in you.”
You scream in pleasure, your holes being fucked and filled, nodding your head forth and back. “Fuck, yes, like that, please…so full…”
The way it feels like everything at once, you can help but be overfilled with pride. You couldn’t describe in words how it felt, only process the event enough to scream and moan.
“That’s it, take us. Never have three cocks fuck your hole like this,” Chan points out through his sweaty pants.
Soonyoung simply groans deeply in your ear, snaking his hand over your clit, pinching the slick skin, your moans only growing louder and louder, and he then sticks his digits in your moisture, as if you were full enough. “You’re so talented, Y/n. Should’ve fucked you sooner…”
The sounds echoing in the room were like a broken record, waves of euphoria played over and over. It didn’t matter how long it took or how many positions were involved, you felt your heart rate taking ups and downs up they eventually grew tired.
“I’m gonna cum in you, that okay,” Seungcheol requests.
“Y-yes, d-daddy…” A blush deepens the surface of Seungcheol’s cheeks upon hearing that.
On the other hand, hearing his title being misused, Chan gets ticked off. He fuck harder with remorse, reminding you only one person can hold such a title, all while Seungcheol drops his load inside, coating you in snow white, grunting in you as his full length pushed the cum deep inside you until he finally pulls away. You open your mouth again, nonverbally asking to finish him off where he has before and he lets you, stroking what's left against your tongue.
Soonyoung follows soon after, his hips losing patience, “C-cum, in your ass, baby?”
“Yes, please, Soonyoung…” You answer sweetly and he wastes no time, holding his cum deep in your ass after shooting hot cum in your backside until it’s dripping out of the edge.
“Good little cumslut, should I give you my gift too?”
Chan doesn’t even let you answer, encouraged by your startled, shrieks. Finally, his cum spurts from his cock, mixing itself with Seungcheol remnants and pulling out to spray on your torso and fall against your flushed skin, showing you once again he never planned on giving you any mercy. You fall limp against the mattress, ivory honey trailing on your chest, stomach, cunt, and ass. The two of the older men lay beside you, fatigued as you were. Chan tears away from the scene at the moment to come back with wet towels. He tosses one to each of the men before coming to sit at the edge of your feet, wiping away the mess like he always does.
“Should’ve let you lick it up, but fuck it. It’s your birthday,” Chan jesters with a soft grin.
“I would’ve enjoyed it though,” you butt in.
He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, but I like taking care of you.”
Soonyoung and Seungcheol grin upon hearing that, finding their younger friend endearing even after such an unfathomable event, both glancing to see you smile at his words. The intimacy piques both men’s curiosity, erupting all kinds of questions.
Seungcheol shifts his gaze from both you and Chan, smiling knowingly, “You two do this a lot?”
“And you've been hiding this from us for how long?” Soonyoung chimes in with a cheeky grin, ready to tease you both.
“How did this even happen?”
“Chan’s meaner than I thought, Y/n, did you know that? Is that what you like about him?”
“Chan? Chan? When I lived next door?”
“Seriously, how long was I asleep?”
“I’ve never cummed so much in my life. How the fucked did you do that?”
“Can you guys call me about the next orgy?”
The opposing duo laughs, finding the situation amusing already. Chan squeezes himself between you and Seungcheol, nuzzling his face in your neck as he cuddles you, “Well, ‘buddy’ are you gonna answer their questions?”
You roll your eyes and clear your throat, taking your time in answering, still breathless, “I’m definitely calling you both over again.”
#svthub#dino smut#hoshi smut#scoups smut#seventeen smut#lee Chan smut#Soonyoung smut#kwon soonyoung smut#seungcheol smut#choi seungcheol smut#seventeen dino#seventeen scoups#seventeen hoshi#seventeen fanfic#seventeen#seventeen x reader#seventeen x y/n#seventeen x you#dino x y/n#dino x reader#dino x you#scoups x reader#scoups x you#scoups x y/n#hoshi x y/n#hoshi x reader#hoshi x you
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Random König Headcanons
Hey y'all! This is my first post on here so I hope it's alright <3
These are all pretty SFW (for now >:)), so I don't think there's really any content warnings??? Idk let me know if I'm wrong.
Likes going to Build-a-Bear. Will definitely make your bear and his bear kiss.
This man can COOK. Oh, you want takeout? Nah. He's already pulling out the ingredients for your favorite dish. Buys the two of you matching aprons.
Talks to animals like they're babies. I also feel like the man just... attracts wild animals like birds and squirrels. Undercover Disney princess??? Perhaps.
Speaking of babies... the man is so good with kids. Laughs all giddily when toddlers climb him like a tree. Wants you to have his babies so bad
Actually has a decent singing voice. Get him drunk enough and he's doing karaoke like a pro. Oh, and if you agree to sing a duet with him??? He's GONE. Goes all out.
Likes to hold pinkies when walking around in public. He likes holding hands, too, but when he's feeling a little more anxious he'll intertwine your pinkies. PDA isn't his strong suit but he HAS to be touching you at all times, and it's like a pinky promise that he'll always be there with you :,)
Draws patterns/words on your back with his fingertips when y'all are laying in bed. Mainly a bunch of pet names, "I love you"s, and hearts. And cartoon penises
This big burly BEAST of a man loves being the little spoon, no matter how impractical it is. Honestly loves any cuddling position though.
Pouts when you're not giving him enough attention. His lips get SO puffy when he's jealous. Talking to one of his friends? He's grumbling German insults to them under his breath. Eventually he'll just scoot closer to you on the couch and rest his legs on top of your lap. BAM, now he's got your attention, even if it's just you telling him that he's crushing you. Big ol' lap dog.
Likes to do your hair!! He'll take pictures of what he's done and show them to you like a hairdresser :,) It could be the worst hairstyle you've ever seen but you're wearing it PROUDLY.
On the rare occasion that you two go out to a restaurant, he REFUSES to tell the waiter if his meal is wrong. Oh, it's shrimp and he's allergic to shellfish? He's telling the waiter he loves it and will just stare at the untouched plate sadly. Also will not let you trade plates with him because what if the waiter sees??? Tries to sink under the table when you finally cave and tell the waiter that the order is wrong. Glares at you the entire time he eats his new correct meal but is secretly so thankful. <3
Is absolute trash at video games. One of the best combat soldiers on the planet, but put a controller in his hands??? He's lucky if he gets three shots in.
Bought an engagement ring two weeks after you two started dating. I mean, he literally fell in love with you immediately upon seeing you for the first time, so are you really surprised??
Is a really good gift wrapper. His hands always start cramping around the holidays because he does most of the wrapping. His love language is 100% physical touch/gift giving btw.
Adding onto the singing thing... I just think he would be a really good musician, specifically a drummer.
NOSE NUZZLES. Like the Brendan Fraser type of kiss where you just rub noses after. He just gives off those romantic vibes <3
Unconventional kisses. Eyelids, the tip of your ear, everywhere you have moles, your calves, ankles... the man is obsessed with you, and he's kissing you wherever he can reach.
ADORES taking baths with you. Candles, rose petals, bath bombs: he does it all. Washes your hair for you. Lots of forehead and temple kisses.
I am unwell. I need him so bad.
Please feel free to reblog if you'd like!! I hope y'all enjoyed my little (very self-indulgent) rambles. :)))
#könig x reader#könig cod#headcanon#fluff#call of duty#könig fluff#cod#könig mw2#my baby my BABY#need him more than oxygen tbh
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ELWOOD DALTON x PLUS SIZE!READER HEADCANONS
summary: if he can push and pull a big obnoxious yellow lamborghini, imagine what he can do!!! well, you don't need to imagine. i did it for you. but still!!!
warnings: bunch of cute things & various smut elements. chances are i'll steal some of these in my fics later on bc i love repeating myself but i felt inspired to gather the random thoughts in one place. 18+ NO MINORS.
word count: 2100
photo credit: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics
notes: even if all my fics are written with a fat reader in mind, it just feels so good to put the emphasis on it! this is so incredibly self-indulgent and i am not sorry about it. 🥰 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!
FLUFF
Dalton wears very form fitting clothes, like his vast collection of the tightest shorts imaginable that he's worn on the octagon. But you will notice a gradual shift in his clothing preferences. The more he hangs out with you, the looser his clothes will get. Especially his hoodies and his patterned shirts. You will also notice how he accidentally leaves pieces of clothing at your place when he visits. He just likes to drop hints that he wants you to wear his clothes because he wants you to wear his clothes.
The first time he catches you putting on his hoodie if you're feeling a bit chilly or wearing his flowery shirt on a hot day? He's losing it. He'll have a dumb smile on his face all day because this is a big victory just like winning a fight. Maybe even more so when you start sharing clothes casually.
Also he's large. He just is. He takes space both literally and metaphorically. He makes you feel small in the best way. He opens jars for you in a twist of his wrist, he carries all the bags in one trip after grocery shopping, he shoves the laundry basket full of heavy wet clothes on his hip and holds you close with his free arm so you can hang clothes to dry outside. When Dalton locks eyes with you, he just has a way of making you feel so much smaller than him. This size difference, whether it be literal or not, feels good. It feels right. He will never shut up about it, if you ever tell him that you like the size difference. He might love it as much as you.
One of his love languages is you tending to his injuries and wounds. The lovely sound of your voice as you reprimand him and tell him he's too old to break into fights at any minor inconveniences. The gentle touch of your hands when you're cleaning him up with a washcloth and wincing at how much it must hurt... Except it barely hurts anymore he's just so used to it, although he might say it does so you baby him a little more. The adorable band-aids you put on him that he wears like a badge of honour. Eventually, you learn to carry a first-aid kit with you as often as you can. Just in case.
Beach dates. Did I say beach dates? Beach dates. He loves them. Dalton loves to hang out by the ocean and watch the sun rise and set. He loves it even more when you're with him. Holding hands or with his arms wrapped around you, he loves to share this moment with you. It feels so intimate. You can see him in his most peaceful and relaxed head space where the chaos of the Road House doesn't seem to affect him. He could stay there with you forever, with your feet in the water and the ocean breeze tickling your face.
He'd love to invite you to hang out at the Road House during his shifts, but he rarely lets you visit him at work. He's scared you will get injured or hurt by one of the drunk idiots or worse. He prefers to know you are safe and sound, far away from all the danger.
Dalton still tries to spend a lot of time with you. He likes it when you drive his car around and he can just be the passenger princess and enjoy the view, which means you. He likes it when you cook meals and desserts he hasn't had in forever due to years of intense training and strict diets. He'll always be around you to taste the food or steal a bite of a burning hot cookie that is fresh out the oven. The small things are very important for him.
Small things like slapping your butt when he walks behind you, and you doing the same when the roles are reversed. Small things like going shopping for the most obnoxious shirts that scream elderly dad on vacation vibes. Small things like dropping him off and picking him up when he works at the Road House. Small things like bringing you with him when he trains so that you can just exist in his presence, within a safe distance, and so that you can look at him when he gets all hot and sweaty. Small things like you laughing at his jokes about how everyone seems a little aggressive when he casually beats people up for a living. Small things like telling you that you smell so good and getting new perfumes so when he wears his clothes and you were his, he gets to carry your smell all day long. Small things like looking at you with big doe eyes and a dumb little grin on his face because he likes you so much. He likes the little things, because so often in his life he was living on the edge and he was depraved of those calm, harmless, insignificant little droplets of happiness.
What is the most important thing for him? Protecting you. He is so protective of you. Dalton wants to make sure you are safe and that you aren't involved in any shenanigans he gets himself into. He wants to make sure that nobody and nothing can hurt you. He's quick to remind anyone who crosses your way that they should be minding their own business. It may cause some issues between you, you have to remind him that you are a grown adult and that you can take care of yourself. He believes you, he knows you're strong and capable of anything you want to achieve, but he can't fight his protective instincts. He takes your security and your well-being very seriously. He wants you to know that he cherishes you, that he loves you and that he cares for you.
SMUT
Dalton is a big fan of proving you wrong, but with gentle persuasion. When the two of you start hooking up and dating, he will not put on too big of a show because he's scared to hurt you. He'll start slow, let things escalate at their own pace. He'll pull you closer by the hand for a kiss, surprising you by how he does that so effortlessly. He'll bring your body closer and wrap his arm around you to keep you pressed against him while you cuddle. He'll pull on your ankles to get you closer to the edge of the bed. He'll flip you over on the bed after a little warning that barely gives you enough time to register what he did. He'll hook his arms under your thighs to stop you from squirming away after he makes you cum and he doesn't want to stop just yet.
As much as he wants to chase the high, to show you just how much he can do and how far he can take you, he does it all gradually. He checks in often, maybe too many times at first. Tons of "are you alright? you good, you wanna continue? did it hurt, are you okay?" will be spoken to make sure he doesn't hurt you accidentally. He'll be careful not to hurt you, unless you ask him to.
He's flexible and he will adjust to your body. He'll make it work. You don't have to worry about it. If he can hold his opponent down like a pretzel until they tap out, he certainly can do the same to you. He'll push on your thighs to hold your legs down. He'll spread your pussy open and grunt at how you react when his nose bumps against your clit or when you whimper while he licks your puffy pussy lips. He'll pull on the skin of your cheeks to keep your ass open so he can access what he craves. He'll praise you when you help him, making it easier for him to fuck you good like you deserve.
On the topic of flexibility, he'd love to help you out with yours if you want to. He'll teach you exercises and show you how to relax your body. He'll also respect your limitations. You won't catch him be mad when you say your stomach is in the way or that you struggle to ride him so he has to use you as a fleshlight while you're on top. However, you will catch him rolling his eyes if you say you can't open your legs wider while he knows full well that you do when he's fucking you.
He loves when you sit on his face, no matter how many times he must remind you that he can take it, that you won't hurt him, that he can hold his breath long enough until you coat his tongue with your wetness. He enjoys every second of it.
He's loud. Dalton is a grunter. He grunts when he's fucking you deep with slow but rough thrusts. He grunts when he pulls out so he doesn't cum too fast at the heavenly feeling of your pussy on his hard cock. He grunts when he feels you gag around his cock. He grunts when he tastes your pussy on his tongue and feel your clit pulsate while he sucks on it. He's so fucking loud and he will do whatever he can to make you as loud as him. He wants you to get lost in the moment and forget about your fears and insecurities. He wants you to ride the waves of your orgasms with him until both of you forget how to speak and you can't take it anymore.
The things he must have seen and touched during his career in the UFC make it so that he's unbothered by extra skin to move around, or pretty much anything of the sort. He'll find a way to always make it work and he won't complain. In fact, he loves it. He loves feeling your body on him. He loves the skin-to-skin contact, the closeness. The sweat, the friction, the more he gets the more he wants.
He swells with pride and happiness when he sees you trying to process of the aftermath. Out of breath, flustered, shocked, stuck somewhere between needing three business days to recover and wanting to do it all over again right away. He loves seeing you fucked out of your mind, blissful and satisfied. Dalton loves knowing that he's the one helping you get there, helping you feel so good.
And he knows you love admiring him just as much. The feeling of worship is very much so mutual. He adores the marks, pearls of sweat and trails of euphoric tears he leaves on you. And you adore to watch his muscles and veins bulge after he's had his way with you.
Unlike his trainings of his fights, he doesn't end up in a human sized bucket of ice, but he loves the ritual of cleaning up in the shower or taking a bath with you. He loves to gently touch your body, paying close attention to where his hands might have left bruises earlier. He loves to show you his love with his touch rather than with his caring words or worried questions. It makes Dalton's heart flutter when you do the same, when you soap up his toned body and you wash away the mess of sweat and cum you made together. It often ends up with the two of you going at it again, or simply just jerking each other off with no intention to cum but rather to just feel closer and relax while the hot water heals your bodies.
To put it briefly, Dalton is built for the plus size girlies. He's got the strength, he's got the stamina. He's got it all to make you feel good, to make you feel like you're the hottest person alive because, to him, you very much so are. He cares for you and wants to make you feel comfortable. The more he explores your body and the more he discovers what you love and how to make you moan louder and cum harder, the freakier he will become. Dalton likes it hot and dirty, but he also loves it deep and passionate. He's gonna adapt to what you like and what you can physically do. He's gonna put in the work. He's gonna do what it takes to make you cum so hard you feel like he knocked you out in the best way possible.
#jake gyllenhaal#elwood dalton smut#elwood dalton fanfic#jake gyllenhaal smut#jake gyllenhaal fanfic#jake gyllenhaal imagine#road house
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cake — send me in a character and a prompt and i’ll write you a blurb!
tasm!peter x reader who’s insecure about their stretch marks or hip dips or being flat chested!!! literally any or all of those. he’d be the most comforting ever I’m swooning. (this is not self indulgent at all btw)
spiderwebs
summary peter makes you feel better about your stretch marks.
content tasm!peterparker x fem!reader, reader has body image issues
note mal i love you for this shut up. also I love u.
Peter is kissing you. He's been kissing you for the past ten minutes and you feel like your entire body is on fire.
He hovers above you but still keeps his weight pushed into your torso until you feel breathless with it. Where his elbow is firm up against your side, and his hand at your throat with his thumb in your pulse point.
You feel like you could melt right into the mattress every time he sucks on your bottom lip or when he pulls away to look at you. He blinks hard and says, "Shit," under his breath like he's amazed. You feel quite alike.
He sneaks down the bed, pushing the heavy quilt down until it slides off to the floor. He looks up at you where you're panting, head turned to the side and pushed into your pillow. A smile that Peter thinks is quite unravelling. He starts to push your shirt up, over the bump of your belly and holds it below your bralette.
He starts to kiss along your stomach and you freeze. He peppers tiny wet smacks over the skin you really wish he wouldn't. Weeks of doing your best of keeping your top on around him and hiding yourself from your boyfriend unravel and you shouldn't be this terrified about it.
You push your hands into his curls and say his name. He seems too busy. "Hey, baby," you say quietly, voice shaky when you don't want it to be.
Peter must feel you tense up. He lifts his face and looks worried, hair a mess and eyebrows pinched. His swollen lips glisten under the light on his bedside table.
"You okay?'' he asks gently, sitting up on his arm. "Did I do something?"
You feel worse when he asks because it's not his fault. You shouldn't be so jumpy around your boyfriend when he touches you. "No, I just..." you can't find it in you to explain it to him because you feel stupid. Especially when he'd been loving on you so hard.
"You're not feeling sick?" he gets up and tucks his feet under him to kneel, half a breath away from a panic.
You sit up too, leaning back on your elbows, frowning. "No, I'm...I'm okay, don't worry about it, baby."
He smooths a hand down your stomach and you tense up again unthinkingly. "You sure you're okay?"
You duck your head down and worry you're acting childish. "It's silly."
He squeezes your thigh and smiles something that calms you more than you think he knows. Soft eyes and even worse cheeks, appled and creased around his mouth. "I'm sure it's not."
"I just," you bite your tongue for a moment and work up enough courage to say more. It doesn't take much because he's just Pete. He'd never make you feel bad for feeling things. "I have stretch marks down there. Like on my belly and my hips."
Peter grins. "I know right." Your stomach churns. "They're so cool, huh?"
"What?"
He holds your hip and it startles you how much you don't hate it this time. His thumb traces over the marks absentmindedly like he already knows their path. "They're so pretty."
Your mouth feels a little dry. "Pete..."
He tamps it down a notch, nibbling his bottom lip unthinkingly. "Sorry, okay..." he starts, shuffling up the bed to meet you. "I love them."
"You do?" It's easier to stare at his nose than look into his sparkly eyes.
"Yeah," he nods, hair all floppy, "I think they're amazing."
"They're not ugly?" You hate yourself when you ask it. You're not sure why you do.
"Not at all. Look," he lifts up his shirt and turns to face his hip to you, "I have them too. Grew up too fast, I think."
You reach out to touch them. Running your fingertips over the marks along his hip and in towards his tummy. You think they look a lot nicer on him than they do you. You hum under your breath, you'd never noticed them before, and if you did, they hadn't bothered you one bit. You think he must feel the same way.
"They're pretty," you say quietly, more to yourself. You feel him shiver under your light touch.
"Not as much as yours." Pete falls down again until he's leaning over your stomach again. He kisses over them and you don't feel the need to tell him to stop this time. You relax like butter in the hot sun. You feel just as warm.
He suckles the soft skin and you twitch. "Pete," you gasp.
He pulls back looking proud, mouth popping crudely. "Yours are like little spiderwebs."
You feel a little dizzy suddenly, your arms wobbling under your weight. You lay back down before Peter can make fun of you for it. "Spiderwebs, huh?" you say breathlessly to the ceiling.
"Yeah," he agrees. Suddenly he's above you. Boyish grin that burns brighter than the downlight you were staring at. You close your eyes lest you're blinded by his charm. "It's like a part of me on you. Not as sticky though."
"Jesus," you giggle.
"Do you have any more?" he suddenly asks.
"Huh?"
He bounces up. "Any other marks? I wanna kiss them all. Gotta show my girl how much I love them."
"Peter, no."
"No, you don't have any, or no you don't want me to kiss you?" he asks incredulously. "That's really mean, baby."
"You're unbelievable." You can't help but laugh some more.
"Quick, give me your arms, I wanna look." Peter reaches for you and you roll over out of his grasp.
Peter searches until he finds them. You're less than horrified when he does, you're genuinely happy you have others he can touch. He kisses them for what feels like hours until you convince him it's your turn.
You kiss his until he's putty.
#peter parker#peter parker x reader#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker x you#peter parker blurb#peter parker x y/n#peter parker headcanon#peter parker drabble#peter parker imagine#peter parker headcanons#tasm!peter x you#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter fluff#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm x reader#tasm peter parker#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter parker fluff#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter parker drabble
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This post is me madly projecting with some x reader stuff. Not requested, I had the idea and my besties said "YES DO IT" so this is happening now lmao.
This has been on my drafts for a looooong time, so that's why I'm actually posting this now lmao.
Octavinelle Trio x Reader who is autistic with a special interest in Moray Eels
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul first laid eyes on you for purely business reasons. During the holiday season, the Mostro Lounge stays understaffed most times, and you were oh so kindly falling into his flourished word traps to strike a deal.
He, however, would have never expected all you wanted from him was to know all about Moray Eels that he, as a merfolk, knew. That was... rather odd and maybe even boring?
He got intrigued, were you trying something with the twins? They were his most loyal workers, so he couldn't allow you to do anything.
When you get into a relationship, after much hard work on both parts, he expected, no, hoped you would change this special interest from the slimy eels to the much more interesting octopus.
You... didn't quite catch the hints, though, and this has led to some rather jealous and insecure moments with Azul. Especially if the twins were involved.
One could say that he was so insecure, in fact, that he felt ashamed of even showing his octomerman form to you.
But after you realized all this jealousy and insecurity on his part, you did all you could to show how much you love him and appreciate him for the way he is.
Now your eel-filled room has a little octopus cove, full of things that remind you of Azul or that he enjoys so that he has a safe space to come to.
He still will glare at your Eel stuff when cuddling, almost as if the carnivores were real and trying to get a bite out of you.
"I suppose it wouldn't be bad to stay a bit in here, with you, if you promise me you won't be cuddling those slimy eels to sleep, but rather this much more elegant and cuddly octopus plushie..."
Floyd Leech
Floyd first approached you on a whim. He was bored, you looked interesting enough, and you didn't seem to have any sense of self to run away from him in fear of getting squeezed till you popped, and as such, he stuck for a while.
You were quite different from most people he knew, and sometimes you reminded him a bit of himself or Jade, which gave you some points on his side.
The thing that made him stay, though, was the moment you opened your mouth and asked him if he ever saw a Moray Eel.
You're really asking that? To him? A literal Eel-merman? Hah!
He did indulge you for a while because you actually seemed to know your facts. He would just push you around, sometimes carry you on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, while you blabbered out.
When it came to you two dating, it was very much a surprise for everyone. Floyd? Sticking to someone for so long? That's new.
Floyd tends to cling to you a lot, and even though it gets boring to him real quick that you repeat your eel facts, he cannot for the life of him stop you, since when you ramble is the best time to cuddle.
Floyd will, though, get easily jealous of your eel collection. You have the real eel deal (ha!), and you keep cuddling the plushies? Meanie :(
He will constantly just take the plushie off of your hands and plop himself on top of you. No fake eel, just the real deal.
He didn't really tell you he was a mer-eel, he actually just oh so happened to be taking a swim when you were close, and oh, look, he is an eel!
He lets you play with his fins and will take any chance he can get to use you as his cleaning shrimp to get sand off of him. He just like how your little cute hands feel scrubbing the sand from him, it is like exfoliation!
"hey hey, guppy, wanna do something fun? ya can bring the tiny morays with ya, if ya don't mind a bit of dirt, ahahah~!"
Jade Leech
First met you as a tutor for your work at the Mostro Lounge, per Azul's request.
Found your mannerisms quite interesting, you reminded him of himself and a bit of Floyd too.
He was happy when you didn't distance yourself from him when he talked about his interest in mountains or Mushrooms.
In return, you told him you really really really liked Eels. Specially Morays.
He faked not knowing it and let you talk about it since as long as he could rant about his fungi findings he didn't mind having to hear what he already knew.
When you two began dating, he was very perceptive of your needs. sometimes to a scary level, actually.
He doesn't mind at all your eel-filled room. he finds it endearing, and he even uses some miniatures you buy to put on terrariums he gifts to you.
Autistic x autistic relationship, basically.
He will use your eel interest against you in a silly way, like "I can show you an incredible moray fact if you perhaps go hiking with me :)"
Tbh if you are with him, you should do the same. Makes things fun for you both.
Floyd and Azul are so tired of hearing the both of you talk about each other and enabling each other's interests, but Jade will never judge you. And he will actually shove shiitake mushrooms down other's throats if they do judge you.
The moment he showed you his mer form as per your request, after knowing from Floyd that they both are eels.
Jade doesn't mind you picking and prodding around his mer form if it makes you happy, but if you keep your guard down he will fake drowning you "just for fun :)"
Make sure to hide his mushrooms in return, or he will try funny business again, just saying.
"Oya~ I would never intend to purposefully hurt you, my pearl. But a predator is inclined to bite when their jaws are so open near a cute prey, fufufu~"
I wanted to write something for my fave trio for a while, so I hope yall like this! Other posts and the request for Bee and Vixx will be done shortly after this, Since I already have it in my drafts almost finished! Hope yall enjoy a bit of eeltism!
#twisted wonderland#twst fanfic#twst#disney twst#twst x reader#jade leech x reader#floyd leech x reader#azul ashengrotto x reader#twst jade x reader#twst floyd x reader#twst azul x reader#tena writing
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Law of Attraction—Chapter Four: Moth to A Flame
series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
rating: 18+, minors dni.
warnings: professor!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel mid 40’s), no outbreak!joel, plus size!reader, consensual professor / student relations, so much fucking angst, lots and lots of emotions, talks of the struggles of being plus sized, smut (f oral receiving, unprotected piv), arguing, crying, mentions of a terrible past relationship, this chapter is just literal heartbreak. no description of reader other than being plus sized. mood board is for aesthetic purposes only.
word count: 4.7k
a/n: i gotta say, this chapter is kinda self indulgent. had a fwb for two whole years that literally made me go crazy emotionally and I finally willingly ended it this year… so a lot of this is kinda how i felt during my experience w this. also, huge shoutout to @party-hearses for literally holding my hand through this every step of the way. idk what i’d do without you, dude. love you to pieces.
chapter synopsis: there’s only so much you can do as your feelings for joel bubble to the surface.
-
It’d been around a month since Joel made you the offer.
The offer that made your stomach twist into knots every time you thought about it too much.
You’d pretended everything was fine and that you were okay with the whole ordeal, when in reality, you felt sick every time it crossed your mind.
You could’ve easily just told Joel you didn’t want to go through with it anymore. You knew that.
But something in your heart was tugging and pulling and hoping and fucking wishing he’d change his mind, say fuck the whole friends with benefits thing and just want to be with you.
You could’ve told him no more, but with the way he looked at you like you were the only woman in the world when you were completely vulnerable with him, slotting himself between your legs, pushing into you, an adoring stare with every drag of himself in and out of you—how could you confront him? How could you lose the one thing you had hoped for?
It sounded pathetic. Maybe it was.
There was no denying it anymore, though. You’d fallen hard for the very man that swept you off your feet. But, that’s also the problem—what goes up, must always come down. Your emotions were everywhere, and it wouldn’t be long before you knew you’d start spiraling.
You didn’t want to tell Adrienne how you felt, and it’s not because she’d ever tell you I told you so. No, it was more so the fact that you were too prideful and you didn’t want to show her how vulnerable this has made you—how vulnerable he’d made you.
This is not the woman you used to be.
Maybe there’s something sweet in being soft and allowing yourself to succumb to someone’s desires for you, but not like this. Not to you. You wanted Joel in a way you’re sure he could never accept, and that broke your heart into a million pieces.
To, dare you say, love someone who will never feel the same way was the most gut wrenching, grueling feeling.
You had to tuck away those feelings in a box that you’d shove under your bed and forget about, though, because graduation was coming up in just two days.
Your last finals were today, and despite your mess of emotions and feelings, you were excited to finally graduate. You were proud of yourself for sticking to your goals.
You stared up at the dress you got for graduation, now hanging up on your closet with your regalia. Finding a dress was so much harder than you anticipated, and it made the whole shopping experience miserable.
The only thing that kept you going during that whole try-on process was Joel’s words replaying in your head about how beautiful you were and how much he adored your curves.
While it was nice that he thought that of you, you became disappointed in yourself for allowing yourself to thrive off of his validation. You’d spent so long trying to build your confidence from the ground up to where you didn’t need validation from others to feel beautiful. You were never reliant on anyone to make you feel secure within yourself, and you sure as hell didn’t want to start now.
The drive to school was silent. Soft tunes of a Fleetwood Mac song played over your car speakers as you mindlessly drove to campus. Your first final was in Professor Sanchez’s class, and your last one was in Joel’s. You weren’t particularly looking forward to seeing him today.
You’d been feeling like shit about the whole situation since you both last fucked, which was a couple of days prior at his house. Instead of fucking in his office like usual, he’d invited you over for a drink, following up with mind-blowing sex in his king-sized bed.
You were surprised at first, thinking you’d never see inside the four walls of his sanctuary. It was a lot more homey than you’d anticipated it would be. Lots of family photos on the walls; cozy, worn-in furniture decorated the space in a way that flowed well; big stacks of books and a huge collection of DVDs that surrounded his TV. His neatly made bed was centered in his room, adorned by the ample amounts of the May sun that’d shone through his windows.
You only got to look around his bedroom for a few seconds before his lips were on yours, hands roaming your curves as he undressed you in record time. After he’d fucked you well, he pulled you into his side and caressed your body in a soothing, comforting way.
The sex part of it all wasn’t the complicated thing. No, it was the way he fucking looked at you after you both were catching your breaths, fucked-out, dopey smiles on your faces as you stared at each other. He looked at you with such sincerity and gentleness. There was a passion behind his eyes that sparked every time his eyes scanned your features.
A wanting desire. A carnal need far beyond something that was just friends with benefits. You saw it in his eyes.
This is why you were so back-and-forth with your emotions toward him and this whole situation. It was your way of justifying why you should stay and give this a chance. There was just that little sliver of hope, and that hope is what you clung on to as if your life depended on it. That hope was the only thing keeping you from completely breaking down.
You found yourself aimlessly walking into Professor Sanchez’s class. Everything was a blur. Taking your seat, receiving instructions for your final exam, taking said final exam. It was you simply going through the motions, barely even registering that you’d never step foot into his classroom again.
You had a twenty minute gap between Professor Sanchez’s class and Joel’s. You knew you should at least fuel your brain with a small snack before going into his class, but your stomach was in knots again.
Agreeing to be friends with benefits with Joel was a bad idea. You knew it, Adrienne knew it, and hell, even Joel knew it.
You knew you’d be the one to catch feelings and want more. You hated it. It sucked the fucking life out of you, leaving you a crying mess every night before you fell asleep.
You were so emotionally and mentally exhausted. You felt foolish for thinking even just for a second that you’d be able to change Joel’s mind about your relationship—if you want to even fucking call it that—with him.
You kept your head down when you entered Joel’s classroom. You were a couple of minutes early, but luckily, there were a few other students already seated. You felt Joel’s eyes burning holes into your head, and you shifted in your seat uncomfortably.
Please, for the love of god, stop staring at me.
That’s all that was racing through your mind. You felt your phone buzz, and when you saw Joel’s name on the screen, the knot moved from your stomach to your throat. You felt like you could barely breathe. You just wanted to take your final and get the fuck out of his classroom and away from him.
But then, realization dawned on you. He had no fucking idea how you felt, so you being so stand-offish toward him would only raise suspicion.
You looked at his text.
Everything alright?
You sigh and type back, trying so hard to swallow the goddamn knot in your throat that won’t seem to go away.
Everything’s fine.
Not even a minute later, your phone buzzed again.
Stay after class for a bit.
You wanted to scoff at his text. Sex was not going to fix how you felt. In fact, it would make things even worse.
Can’t. Going out with Adrienne tonight.
You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel, who was looking confusedly down at his phone. He sighed and set his phone down on his desk, chair scraping against the floor as he stood up. He went over the final and the rules, distributing the tests shortly after.
One thing you were grateful for in that moment was your ability to zero in on the test, feelings for Joel and his lingering stare set aside. You’ve come way too far and studied too hard to get distracted now.
You were one of the first few to finish, turning in your test onto his desk. He nearly reached out to grab your wrist to stop you from leaving. He’d seemed to have forgotten where you two were at the moment.
You gave him a warning glance as you slipped your hand abruptly back to your side. He played it off like he was reaching to grab the small stack of finished exams, eyes clouded with confusion as he looked up at you.
You mumbled a thanks, Professor Miller before walking out of his class, thankful to never have to step foot in there again.
-
You mindlessly swirled the amber liquor around the glass cup you were sipping out of. You truthfully didn’t feel like going out tonight, but Adrienne wanted to celebrate you finally finishing all of your coursework.
She wanted to stay by your side, but a cute man had come up to her and asked her to dance with him. You insisted she go, because you truthfully didn’t want to suck her cheerful mood into your misery.
You downed the rest of your drink and pushed yourself off of the barstool, needing to get out of the thick haze of smoke the bar was currently bathed in. You sent Adrienne a quick text telling her you were getting a breather just in case she came looking for you at the bar.
You rounded the corner of the bar and pressed your back against the cold wall, sending a chill down your spine. The mid-temp air swirled around your body, filling your lungs with gratitude for not having to breathe in machine fog for another second.
You watched as people passed by, laughing and carefree as they stumbled down the sidewalk with arms interlocked or shoving their friends playfully while boisterously laughing at a joke someone said.
You sighed as you felt tears stinging your eyes, wishing so badly you were able to feel their happiness in that moment. You felt like you couldn’t get your fucking emotions together for the life of you. Your pre-Joel self was dying to come out and feel an ounce of happiness again.
It’s like you were trying to constantly set a candle aflame, and he’d blow it out. Over, and over, and over again. A constant cycle that never ended. A moth drawn to a flame that ended up getting burned in the end because it couldn’t keep its yearning and curiosity and desire to itself.
It killed you inside knowing that you let this affect you so much. The part of you that screamed that you didn’t need Joel’s validation to feel seen and beautiful was being easily overpowered by the feeling that his validation was everything you need to thrive off of.
Being a plus sized girl most of your life came with many struggles—many of which you’ve overcome, but some still lingered like an annoying fucking cough not even medicine could get rid of. You’ve been told you’d never be the beauty standard, or that you’d look better if you were thinner, or you should work out and eat healthier because the way you looked seemed unhealthy.
You’d crumpled up those nasty words and stomped on them anyway, because at the end of the day, the people making those comments didn’t know a single goddamn thing about you or your life. You were just a random girl in their story; one whose presence had an affect on them so much so that they felt the need to make comments about your appearance.
But none of their fucking words mattered.
What mattered to you was that you’d spent years building up your confidence and self-love to get yourself in a good headspace about your appearance, finally in tune with your body and loving that it gave you life.
But, because of those mean words and terrible past dating antics, you’d built a wall up around yourself to protect yourself and your heart from getting hurt again. Allowing Joel to experience the vulnerability you kept locked away felt like a fucking punch of air out of your lungs.
Because, why the fuck would he not want to be in a relationship with you? Why would he offer to be friends with benefits when he was in his mid fucking forties? Were you not good enough? Was it because of the age difference?
You’ve tried to think of every possibility there might’ve been to conclude why Joel just simply didn’t want you like you wanted him, but you were drawing a blank.
You wiped the salty tears that streamed pathetically down your face, straightening up before taking a deep breath, walking back into the bar to order as many drinks as it took to simply just fucking forget.
-
The buzz and excitement for graduation shortly followed just two days after.
But, just like most things these days, it went by in a blur. It felt so liberating to walk across that stage; to have done something for yourself—something that was all yours. Your moment. Your success. Your absolute fucking willpower to see this through to the very end. You finally had your masters in criminal law.
Your mom and dad were proud of you. Your siblings were proud of you.
You were proud of yourself.
It’s a feeling that’d been foreign to you these days, hiding in the shadows of the carnal desire for something more with Joel.
You were never one to ask for much, but with him, all you could seem to want is more more more.
Was it greedy of you to want more than just a good fuck?
Maybe to him, it was.
The buzz quickly wore off with that thought constantly in the back of your mind, replaying like an old scratched record that was stuck on a song that could never seem to make it to the crescendo.
You found yourself in your favorite coffee shop just a few days after graduation, desperately applying to any jobs that were hiring a freshly graduated criminal law student.
Fixated too much on the screen of your laptop before you, you barely even paid any mind to the familiar person standing right across from you. It’s only when they cleared their throat that you looked up, surprise written over your features as you see Tess standing before you.
“Tess! What a lovely surprise.” You greet, the first genuine smile stretching over your lips in almost a week.
“Hi, sweetheart. Mind if I sit and keep you company?” Her voice is honeyed and kind, a hopeful glint flashing through her green eyes as she looks down at you.
“Not at all.” You gesture to the chair across from you, and she takes a seat.
“So I hear congratulations are in order.” She folds her hands around the perimeter of her coffee cup and purses her lips.
You grin and wave her off playfully. “Masters shmasters. No biggie.” You shrug, and she laughs at your nonchalance.
“Nonsense, darling girl, that’s a huge deal.”
You give her a small thank you in gratitude, closing your laptop so you could put your undivided attention on her. She nods her head toward your computer, eyebrows threading together.
“You applying for jobs?”
“Mhm. To just about every position I can find that I’m qualified for.” You take a sip of your iced coffee, wishing the espresso was just a tad stronger.
“Which field are you wanting to go into?”
“I was leaning more toward forensics.” And Tess quirks her brow at that.
“Y’know, I could get you in with the bureau. Misty and I know lots of people in forensics, and they’re always looking for people to join their division.”
“Oh, Tess – I – I couldn’t possibly – you’re Joel’s best friend and I’d feel awful–” You were stammering your words left and right, trying to find footing in what you wanted to say, but nothing seemed right.
She reached a warm hand out and clasped it over yours, immediately making your mouth clamp shut. You were honored that she’d even put in a good word for you, but she barely knew you. She’s Joel’s best friend.
“Sweetheart, this isn’t about Joel. This is about you and your future.”
She was right. Just because she was Joel’s best friend, didn’t mean her offering to put in a good word for you had jack shit to do with him. You were the one who worked hard to get to where you are, and hell, there was absolutely no harm in networking. That was what the criminal justice expo was all about a month back anyhow.
“Speaking of Joel,” She softly murmured, almost seemingly hesitant to ask. “Not to pry, but are you still, you know, seeing him?”
You felt your body heat up at her question, gaze averting to your iced coffee. You were suddenly transfixed on the sweat around the plastic cup, leaving its wake of water rings on the wooden table.
“Um, yeah. I haven’t talked to him much recently, though.”
It was true. You didn’t know how to face your feelings head-on for Joel. It was like a fucking beast in the wilderness that wanted – no, needed – to hunt you down and eat you alive.
And so you ran.
You ran without looking back, avoiding the devastating feeling at all costs.
“God, that man is such an idiot.” Tess mumbled under her breath, but the coffee shop was quiet enough to hear her words of disdain.
“Why do you say that?”
Tess’s eyes bore into yours, her hand reaching back out to yours to give it a squeeze – a warning.
“I’m gonna be truthful here with you, sweetheart, because you’re a good person and you deserve so much better.”
You nod your head in the slightest, willing her to continue.
“You see–” She pauses, trying to conjure up the right words she wants to say. “Joel’s a good person. He really is. Is he an idiot for asking you to be friends with benefits? Absolutely. Fucker’s too old for that shit.”
Tess rolls her eyes, and you chuckle softly at her small rant.
“But, truth be told, he has trust issues. He has a fear of getting hurt. He keeps his guard up because he knows that as soon as he lets it down, someone can walk into his life and worm their way into his heart. I think–”
She pauses, shaking her head subtly before sighing. “I think he’s afraid of falling again because of his last relationship. It didn’t end well. Left him heartbroken for nearly a year after that stupid bitch was caught with another man in their bed.”
You sat back, trying to process the information spewed at you.
It all makes so much fucking sense now.
“Christine is the reason for all this. If I could wring that bitch’s neck I would.”
“That bad, huh?” You ask.
Tess purses her lips and shakes her head.
“You have no idea. Joel was a mess. He wasn’t like himself – far off from the best friend I love and know. It was like he was a marionette and her cruel actions were the ones controlling his every move.”
And suddenly you felt so bad. You felt bad for being angry with Joel, but you know you shouldn’t feel bad.
You agreed to his offer, yes, but he was using you solely for the intimacy to fill a void in his life – that carnal need that tried to claw to the surface. The very void he was afraid would swallow him whole if he didn’t get his fix of you. The thing you saw in his eyes after every time you two fucked.
The very thing that felt like it was eating you alive.
You huff out a laugh through your nose, shaking your head with a sardonic smile across your lips.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m the marionette and Joel is the puppeteer.” You tap your nails on the table as a nervous habit, and Tess’s hands cover yours.
Her eyes held sympathy as she looked at you, probably because she’d chewed Joel out for the very thing that was making you fall apart at the seams.
“Well then, sweetheart, maybe it’s time you cut the strings.”
-
You carded your fingers through Joel’s graying hair as you tugged, moaning his name in desperation. His head was buried between your thighs, making your mind fuzzy and forgetful of everything you’ve been going through mentally the past month.
His skillful tongue catapulted you into your release, crumbling down as your thighs shook and your whine adorned the walls of your bedroom.
He trailed soft kisses up your thighs, fingers indenting into your flesh as he gripped onto you. The drag of his stubble against your skin sets it ablaze, making your eyes flutter open and look down at him.
His soft brown eyes met yours, something behind them you couldn’t exactly read. It was quickly masked with a cocky smirk stretching onto his plush lips, maneuvering upward so he was hovering over you. He moved down to kiss you hungrily, cupping your cheek gently before dipping his tongue into your mouth.
You could taste yourself, moaning against him as your hands glide down to his hips. The taut muscles of his thighs flexed underneath your fingertips as you pulled him closer, wanting to feel his bare chest on yours.
You couldn’t blame him for wanting the intimacy, because hell, it made you feel like you were floating on cloud nine.
It was addicting. Almost fulfilling. You wanted more. More of him, more of his beautiful mind, more of the sweet moments of the real Joel you got to see behind his unyielding exterior.
You wanted it all with him, and yet, he wanted none of it with you.
It fucking stung.
Maybe you were as naïve as you thought, way too over your head with this.
Joel pulled apart from you, gaze meeting yours as he softly smiled.
“You ready for me, darlin’?” His voice is soft, pulling you from your rather brooding thoughts.
You nod, giving him the go-ahead. He collects the slick that’s smeared through your folds, lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly, and he chokes on a gasp from how tight you are. He suddenly realizes you’re tense, so he cradles your head before looking down at you.
“Y’gotta relax for me, honey.” He coos.
Honey. That’s a new one.
He moves up to leave a soft kiss on your forehead. You don’t know why, but the action makes you want to cry. You try to ignore it as he presses into you, praising into your ear about how much of a good girl you are for him.
You’re completely enveloped in everything Joel, the feeling of the drag of his heavy cock in and out of you searing itself into your mind. Your mind was swirling with all sorts of emotions again, and for the sake of your own sanity, you wish it would just fucking stop. You wish your mind could stray away from feeling everything all at once.
Joel felt good. He felt safe. He was broad and strong and handsome and generally kind – everything you want in a man.
His lips moved down to your neck, kissing the soft flesh generously. He managed to find your pulse point easily, causing you to elicit a breathy moan into his ear. You felt his smile on your neck as he began to suck on that spot that drove you crazy, and you gasped.
“Joel, you’re gonna leave–fuck, you’re gonna leave a mark.”
“You’re mine.”
Stop fucking saying that.
You’re not, and he made that very clear when he offered to just be friends with benefits.
Joel picked up his pace, and as much as your mind was distracted, it felt too good. You were nearing your end in a haste, and Joel followed right after you. He was out of breath as he pulled out and collapsed next to you, eyes screwed shut as he tossed his forearm over his eyes.
You got up to go to the bathroom so you could clean yourself up and use the restroom. You came back out, slipped your oversized t-shirt over your head and sat next to Joel’s limp body. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, tear after tear falling down your cheeks.
“I’m not her, you know.” Your voice came out shaky, but it got Joel’s attention.
“Who–?”
“Christine.” The name rolled off your tongue with a surprising bitterness. Joel moved his arm down and looked at you with furrowed brows and a dark stare.
Anger flashed across his eyes. The muscle in his jaw was ticking rapidly, completely irate.
“How the fuck do you know about her?” He spits, moving to stand up hastily. He puts his boxers back on, followed by his shorts.
“Does it fucking matter? I’m just telling you, Joel, I’m nothing like her. I wouldn’t fuck somebody else in the same bed we’d share. I don’t understand why you don’t want to be with me.”
“Don’t fucking talk about her again to me, ever. Not another fucking word.” He was avoiding your last words, a pang in his heart for what he felt for you, but he was seething. He hated that you knew the reason why he was so fucked up when it came to relationships. It felt like you had the upper hand, and he didn’t like it one bit.
You laugh and shake your head, tears continuing to wet your cheeks.
“You’ve made me feel more things for you in this past month than I have for any other person in my life…probably ever, Joel. What’s so bad about us being together?” You press again, because fuck, you really wanted an answer.
He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Be fucking realistic here. It would never work out between us. You’re my student–”
“Was.” You interrupt.
“Was my student. But you’re too young. You don’t have your priorities straight, you’re freshly graduated. You’re too… inexperienced.” He tosses his shirt over his head and crosses his arms, the thin material stretching over his broad, tense shoulders.
“That’s genuinely just rich coming from you, Joel. You didn’t seem to have a problem with my age when you bent me over your desk, or fucked me in the hotel room, or your room, or ten fucking minutes ago. I’m nearly thirty, so don’t spew that bullshit about my age. You’re also really one to talk about me having my priorities straight,” You step around your bed to face him. “You’re in your mid forties and you wanted to be in a friends with benefits relationship, Joel. You’ve called me yours so many times, look at me like you feel something for me, and then expect me to go about as normal? What the fuck is that?”
He pauses for two seconds, nearly blacked-out irises staring into your own glossy and tired gaze.
“It’s not my fault I didn’t live up to the expectations of myself that you created in your head.”
You purse your lips into a thin line, taking a step back from him. He was right, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
“I–I can’t fucking do this anymore with you, Joel. Please get out of my apartment.”
“So that’s it?” He tosses his hands up, looking at you in disbelief. He looked almost, dare you say, disappointed.
“Get out.” You whisper, more tears adorning your cheeks. He scoffs and brushes past you, letting himself out of your apartment with a slightly more forceful closing of the front door. You didn’t care how dramatic you might’ve been in this moment, but you sank to your knees and buried your face in your hands.
You cried and cried and cried, the pain in your heart something you’ve never quite felt before.
You wished nothing more in that moment than to be able to reverse time and make sure not to give in to temptation, because holy hell, she was the fucking devil.
The constant hurt in your heart was a reminder that this was very real, it happened, and you were stuck with the cruel aftermath of it all.
But, Tess was ultimately right.
You were Joel’s marionette no more.
-
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#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#fic: law of attraction#professor!joel#professor miller#plus size!reader#joel miller imagines#joel miller series#joel miller x plus size reader#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x you#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel miller au#joel miller angst
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