#it's a comedy of manners at the very least

[lemonhemlock]

not to be a hater on main but i just stumbled on a tik tok claiming that tsh both takes itself too seriously and could use more absurd comedy and it nearly made me punch a wall

[stardust-and-fries]

Oh boy!! A chance for me to yap about gender at length?!?!!?!? DON'T MIND IF I DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [See tags for details. But be warned... I Popped the Fuck OFF writing this one, it's a doozy!]

Sorry if this is rude, but how do you identify? I looked around a bit and couldn't find anything, my apologies

Not rude! Honestly, I don't know these days! Lots of thoughts swirling around in my head. Maybe this is too much, but also maybe saying something instead of keeping it inside will be helpful... I'll put my gender thoughts under the cut... maybe someone can relate and offer some thoughts lol:

Recently, I came to the conclusion that I'm really not attracted to men at all, and maybe, I never have been. Looking back, I can kind of clearly see that any crush on a guy I thought I had was more like "wow, this person is COOL as HELL. I hope we can be really good friends." And then I noticed, that any crush I had on a girl felt... different. The feeling was totally different, and it still is. Have you noticed how most of the men I draw are quite feminine? I also have no idea what's going on with my gender. I know I'm me, a Yugo, I also can't comfortably say what exactly I am. Though by technicality, I am nonbinary, the word doesn't feel QUITE right to use for me. Maybe genderqueer is better. I've never identified as a man, but I have identified as transmasc and taken T. I really do like the results I've gotten from that. But at the same time, I don't really feel close to "manhood" at all, but something about having a mustache sometimes, like I tend to do, feels right to me still. I also like to wear lipstick and stuff. I don't know. I'm also not a "woman" I don't think, but I identify with more... I don't know, masculine expressions of womanhood if that makes sense? I am very androgynous in expression, in short. So basically I don't know what the hell is going on. All I know is I love women LOL. Can anyone relate to any of this? Any ideas?? I will not be offended by any assumptions you might have lol. Maybe I should just make a comic about this.

[lucius-i-ran]

Let's talk names, specifically, Big Three's children's names, because the fact Percy, Jason and Thalia are all named after three greek mythological figures and the other three just aren't bothers me so much more than it should.

First of all, a lil analysis because there's no diagnosis yet but something ain't right:

Percy is named after Perseus and while he was a hero and so on and so forth, the reason the name is so perfect for him was the mother. Danae protected and soothed little crying Perseus, during a stormy night while they were literally trapped in a wooden box, lost at sea. She cradled him to sleep, or at least tried to, while her herself was scared witless for her life. And Perseus grows up to kill Medusa as a "fake wedding" gift to Polydectes, the dictator King of Sephiros who harassed the hero's mother so she would marry him; Perseus killed Medusa in hopes that this would make Danae free from the bothering manners of the King and when he realised it was just a trick to get rid of him, Perseus killed Polydectes with Medusa's stare (hello?? what the fuck?? Wink Wink)

Thalia is named after none other, even in tradition, a divine daughter of Zeus. Now, I don't actually want to dwell too much on the greek figure because in their tradition, she was the Muse of Comedy and while it was welcomed now and then in ancient greece, it was much more appreciated in roman's culture, especially in the satirical sense of the genre; on that note, in roman culture she was still the godly protector of comedy and satire and idyllic poetry but she was also the representation for one of the three Graces (mild wink, because it's not that hard to see what I'm trying to convey).

Jason is named after one of the first heroes that studies call complex, human, anti-heroic even. He's my fucking favourite. He's a hero alright, but he feels like the role isn't cut out for him. He's insecure about his position as leader of the argonauts (wink wink). He's scared of the mortally dangerous trip he has to go on and lead men on (winK WINK). And he's constantly subject to fate, obscure and unknown that rules over even the most righteous men and reduces gods to spectators (I said WINK WINK goddammit).

Now, how hard was it to find three more figures?

Here's my take:

I would've named Bianca, Antigone. She's the protagonist of a greek tragedy that bears her name. She's the descendant of a cursed family and she fought teeth and nails against an authority that would not give her brother proper burial; those embody the reasons why I would give her the name. One, we can all see where I'm coming from with "cursed family". Two, she fights and rebels against a role that she refuses to fit in: in Antigone's case, it's the silent and obidient woman's status for which the ancient greek society is known. In Bianca's case it's - kind of linked to her girlhood - the parentfied sister role; she loves her brother but she yearns to be free again. Three, Antigone dies, sealed alive in a cave, to give her brother a proper funeral ceremony and this is important for two things: -she values proper burial (yk, Bianca daughter of the god of the dead wink wink), -she would do anything for her brother, because she's her sister and that's unbreakable, no matter how much she despises it (wink fucking wink). And maybe that's exactly the reason Maria, an educated lady, daughter of one of the richest guys in the country that of course knew about greek tragedies and their analysis, gave her the name; she thought it would fit her as a first daughter destined to be sister - because in 30s italy the more children the merrier - in hope she would become one who would do anything for her siblings. Also Antigone di Angelo sounds spectacular and her family would call her Titina, I'm fucking positive.

I would've named Nico, Enea. Enea is: - A Prince (Trojan); - An outcast Prince, a runaway from his very own destroyed city; - An outcast Prince, a runaway from his very own destroyed city that set anchor on the coast of Italy and starts the Roman lineage. Nico is a Prince, technically, and a runaway from his birth place (also due to a war, technically so wink wink). Nico is an outcast, for various reasons that the book explains very thoroughly, most importantly he's an outcast that seeks a home, somewhere stable, so he travels to find it and fails most of the times, some of them making doom falling on him like a goddamn old closet. Now, about the Roman thing, it might be kind of a stretch but for me it isn't so shut the fuck up; Nico is the first official bridge between CHB and Camp Jupiter, between greeks and romans, like Enea is a bridge between trojans and romans. Enea is also famous as a representation of "Pietas" that is not to be intended as pity but as respect towards the elders and the gods specifically, stretched out to be respect (and affection) for the family, as he is pictured running away from a burned down Troy, with his old father on his back and the little son guided by the hand. He's the embodiment of family love and of "no one gets left behind" (WINK WINK). Maria probably studied Virgil's Eneide and she wanted her son to be as beautiful and brave and caring as the hero; and Nico ultimately grows up to the expectations. Also, don't come and tell me Enea di Angelo doesn't go hard as fuck

(btw Niccol�� is a greek name, and it means Winner of the Land/People, but he's not a hero so it doesn't count)

(also, I have no idea (and no intention to search it) what's the translation for Antigone's name in English and I have no intention of translating Enea in Aeneas. They are italian, and I don't see you going around translating Bianca in White, thank you very much).

Last but certainly not least, I would've named Hazel, Camille. I've used the French version because of the influence on 30s Luisiana, but I'm naming her after the Volscian Queen Camilla. She is a warrior queen, very close to the goddess Diana (Artemis), character from Virgil's Aeneid and she opposes him (Aeneas/Enea) in his pursue of the land (half a wink because, again, there's something there but I can't figure out what). She's brave, cunning, fast (described as going faster than horses, able to run across the fields without disturbing the wheat; a little wink to Airon) and she has loyal followers who trust her leading abilities. One of her biggest flaws is her coveting for treasure (wink - wink) and it is the very reason for her inevitable death (WINK), attracted by the gilded robes of a priest that she thought they'd make excellent spoils of war.

idk how to end this so just stop reading okay bye

[amarguerite]

I think there's an interesting overlap or at least a visible evolutionary link between the heroine of a comedy of manners and a screwball comedy-- it is about a (usually) young woman learning how to live in the world. there's wacky characters about her. her family is usually very funny and often mortifying. the plot usually involves her marrying or being married to a hero who embodies at least some of the virtues of the era.

HOWEVER

the screwball heroine is always rewarded for the unconventional choice.

it doesn't matter how insane that unconventional choice is. it always works out for her

as long as she has enough moxie and one-liners, she can do anything. she wants a leopard as a pet? sure, fine, it'll net her a paleontologist. she wants to be a newspaper reporter at a time when papers are still male dominated? she's so goddamn successful she can't quit her field. she wants agency and genuine connections to people (usually in the form of a fiancé) in her life? running away from her life and going on some kind of wacky journey lets her make real connections with people for the first time. she wants to be a detective? she cracks the case. she wants to go on the stage? she becomes the star of the show. she violates class boundaries? she finds love and fortune. she wants a divorce? she gets it, and often a better marriage too

I think that is what is appealing in a way, about the form of that particular narrative-- the starting assumption is The Heroine Triumphant

[starcurtain]

More Phaidei Fics I Want to Read

1. Obligatory "fish out of water" fic (mostly AU because the timeline would probably not match canon, but we do what we want here!), taking place after Mydei and the Kremnoans first make it to Okhema. Okhema is already harsh on outsiders, let alone on a conquering "barbarian" tribe infamous for bringing strife to so many other city states. Mydei doesn't know the local customs at all, and while he doesn't care the slightest about how these pathetic Okhemans see him, the trouble he keeps getting into is affecting the reputations of innocent Kremnoans too. He's got to find a way to blend in, at least enough to stop costing his fellows any chance of finding paid work... Too bad the only person who is willing (and has time) to help is Phainon (who isn't native to Okhema either but done a much better job of learning to get along with the locals). The guy thinks he's the Titans' gift to Amphoreus just because he beat Mydei in a duel once. It was only once! And why does it matter whether we eat standing up or lying down? What are you laughing at, Savior Complex?! Or, tl;dr: The culture clash comedy one where Phainon and Mydei teach each other entirely opposing sets of manners, and come to learn a lot more about one another in the process.

2. Also obligatory omegaverse where Mydei is an omega born with a unique constitution: he's built like an alpha, snarls like an alpha, and dominates his opponents like an alpha. He even smells like an alpha, especially when he's in heat, so the only people who ever figured out his secondary gender were his doctor and his parents, all of whom are dead now. The whole world thinks Mydei is an alpha, and his reputation as an indomitable warrior prince pretty much hinges on people continuing to believe that. The problem is, Mydei wouldn't actually mind getting to live an omega's life, at least the part about finding a mate and starting a family. Only, who in the world would want him for a mate? Any alpha hunting for an actual omega would never think to look in Mydei's direction, betas would just be confused, and even those few alphas who are attracted to other alphas would only end up disappointed after discovering Mydei isn't one. He's nobody's ideal partner, and he'd mostly made peace with that--until Phainon. Until that upstart alpha from the middle of nowhere knocked Mydei down in a brutal spar and then pulled him up with the gentlest hand, and suddenly it mattered that no one would ever want Mydei. It mattered a lot. (Of course, the long and short of it is that Mydei is the man of Phainon's dreams, and after a series of setbacks and miscommunications and lots of silly angst, they'll find their way to a happy ending.)

3. After discovering Mydei's weakness for sweets and cute things like pink pomegranate juice, Phainon decides to engage in a bit of light-hearted teasing: He starts sending Mydei exceedingly adorable gifts and fancy candies under the guise of a "secret admirer." The joke is on Phainon, however, when it turns out Mydei finds the gifts quite charming and is determined to discover the identity of the mysterious gift giver. A reasonable person would quickly give up on the joke to avoid getting caught, but Phainon has always been weak to chasing thrills--and maybe this whole thing about being Mydei's "secret admirer" isn't too far off after all... (The real joke is that Mydei, realizing immediately who the gifts were from, invented an entire "hunting my admirer down" story just for the fun of watching Phainon squirm--and, well, because keeping the whole thing going, being showered with attention by his rival, doesn't feel too bad at all.)

4. The opposite fic: The one where Mydei's completely mismatched online personality accidentally catfishes Phainon and causes some very silly drama. Mydei's (anonymous) teletweet account is full of cutesy chimera kitten memes, aesthetic pictures of food, heart emojis, and overly punctuated (with exclamation points) recaps of shopping trips in Okhema's market... Can anyone blame Phainon for thinking this is the account of a cute girl who is refreshingly earnest about her love for chubby seals and pink milk tea? But as Phainon becomes closer and closer to "Fig Stew" online, things get more and more complicated--because he's also been getting closer and closer to his real world companion Mydeimos lately. Both Fig and Mydei are wonderful, and Phainon can barely bear the thought of losing either of them in his life. Trying to get closer to them both would be way too dishonest, but choosing one over the other... What should he do? Meanwhile, Mydei is in trouble. He wasn't planning to set up some secret identity or anything; it's not his fault Phainon mistook him for a girl online! There's nothing weird about dudes posting sparkling kitten gifs, godsdammit!! But now the charade's gone on way too long to come clean, especially since Phainon seems so invested, and... well, can you blame Mydei for not wanting to give up on the closest thing to a relationship he's ever managed to start? tl;dr: Online mistaken identity hijinks fic.

5. The required-in-every-fandom time travel fic (with bonus fake dating)! Through an outpouring of Oronyx's power, Mydei and Phainon end up in the bodies of their future selves, who, it turns out, have not only managed to end Amphoreus' war and revive Castrum Kremnos, but... appear to have also... gotten married?!! Now Mydei and Phainon have to not only find out exactly how their future selves managed to save the world (so they can accomplish the same task) then look for a way back to their own time--they've got to do all of that while also pretending to be a happily wedded pair of rulers to avoid raising everyone's suspicions. This would be a whole lot easier if either of them knew the first thing about being actual kings... or about relationships. The slightest slip up could create ripple effects that change the entire timeline permanently, but--no matter how nerve-wracking it might be to admit, after seeing the future in store for them together--there's nothing Phainon (and Mydei) won't do to make sure things go exactly as they should.

[jeongharine]

syntax ERROR

⚝ wonwoo x reader

⚝ comedy, light smut

⚝ notes: the one where jeon wonwoo is your nerdy math tutor. but he’s unexpectedly hot. and you’re his friend’s sister. obviously. (part ii)

“a pc bang?” “yes she’s always there,” says hoshi, while munching down his sandwich.

“but i can’t teach her there-” “of course you can’t, but you’ll find her there. it’s the one on the left around the corner,”

“now, remind me why i am doing this,” “because you’re my friend and i’m fantastic at being one,”

wonwoo just gulps down his apple juice, looking at the time on his phone.

“you should change this narrative, it’s getting boring,” “wonu, i just need you to do me this favour because if she doesn’t pass this class it’ll be a problem, okay?”

a sigh. “yes, that’s fine. but only for this class okay?” hoshi grins, all teeth “you’re the best,”

“yeah.. i better be going then, i hope she’s a well-mannered student otherw-” wonwoo says, setting off.

“oh.. about that..” “what?” he stops.

“nothing, she listens well,” hoshi says, scratching the back of his head.

x

she listens well when she wants to, he should have said.

not that this a surprise for wonwoo, knowing her brother. but damn, this girl is getting on his nerves.

“okay y/n, let me be clear. your brother begged me to give you lessons, so now please can we go to the library?”

“nu-uh, i have a tournament here this afternoon. we can do another day,” you crack your fingers and re-position your chair.

“see, maybe this is why you’re not getting through this class. you can do the tournament another day, it’s more important to study matrix systems to pass the exam than gaming,”

“boooooring, i will do that tonight if i feel like it okay? i don’t need your-” you turn your chair around to face him. “...help...”

since when your brother’s friends were this handsome. holy fuck, with that cap on before you couldn’t see anything and maybe he should have kept it on for your sanity. fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. fuckity fuck.

you can see that he is deeply annoyed by your behaviour, probably he’s used to people who take academic life very seriously. nah, he’s friend with hoshi so. you scoff a laugh.

and he’s just there, looking at you, waiting for an answer.

or maybe to beg you.

“but on second thoughts...” you begin to say, “we can come to an agreement..” “that is?” he shifts in his position.

“we game for about an hour, because you game and i can see that just by looking at your face. and then, we can look at the first two chapters of maths analysis. i think this we’ll do, yes.” you grin widely.

and he hates to admit that the grinning suits you best.

wonwoo promised hoshi that he would have at least gotten through the matrix systems today with you, but here he is. without a fucking clue of what to do.

and you are just looking at him smiling prettily, as if you absolutely don’t know how charming and good-looking you are.

so wonwoo just sighs, and turns his head to glance at the pc screen near him.

even his side profile is pretty, you think to yourself.

“fine. but at least let’s play some battlegrounds.”

“can’t promise you anything,” you say pleasantly, eyes creasing in a glittering smile that suddenly makes wonwoo skittish.

x

“do you want to fuck my brains out?”

the air in his little dorm becomes unbearably stuffy all of a sudden but you refuse to let it show, after finally voicing the thoughts that were possessing your head for the past few weeks.

wonwoo turns to face you, looking far more collected. you never would have thought it would all come to a head like this in his room on a monday afternoon. but here you are, feeling a little light headed but inexplicably brave.

“i mean,” you say. “doesn’t every girl on campus you know want you to fuck their brains out?” “that you have to tell me, i don’t think i can give you an answer,” he says, piling up the books on his desk.

he starts to drum his long fingers on the cover of the statistics textbook for a good minute, eyes focused on the dusty windowsill while he is chewing on the inside of his cheek.

and it takes you a second to really make that sink in: wonwoo is restless. he is hanging on your next words.

“so, are you going to say something or you will make me wait here all afternoon?”

you smile. and he hates how his palpitations go up by a notch.

“neither. just knowing that you rubbed one out to the thought of me is closure enough to me.” he clearly tenses up. “who says i have?”

you close your textbook with a thud. “oh, don’t be embarrassed wonu. we’ve all been there at one point or another.”

he’s at the brink of being disgusted with himself for getting a hard on when you just used his nickname like that, but despite it all his heart still leaps up into his throat when you sit up from his bed and collect your bag.

“you touched yourself thinking of me?”

you look at him with one hand on the door handle and wonwoo swears his vision blurs slightly as you grin at him like that.

“you say it like you’re surprised.”

there is no build up, no easing you into the uncharted waters. he kisses open the seam of your mouth without any hesitation, the heat of your tongue against his. it feels so harsh and erotic, so completely unlike the wonwoo you just got to know.

so polite and so pleasant.

but now his hands are on you. and you haven’t had the time to realize your eyes were closed until his hands come up to palm around your waist, searching for skin while you whine against him.

your brain is foggy with the taste of him. he pulls back just as you starts to sway in his arms.

“you don’t even know...” he traces up your back. “..what you do to me, uhm?” you gulp, lips all wet.

the muskiness of him makes your head spin fast, especially when he leaves soft kisses on the skin behind your ear. his mouth is so hypnotic, every move perfectly placed.

“wonwoo,” you stammer, not knowing what else to say. your voice has gone croaky and his hand is venturing up your sweater now, not looking like it would stop any time soon.

your breath catches in your throat when wonwoo trails his fingertips over your clothed breast, dancing across it before brushing the underside. you expected his touches to be harsh, sharp. but they are slow, feather-light. practiced.

his chest heaving like he’s just run a mile, the skin of his stomach hard and hot under your fingers from where you shoved his t-shirt up. his lips are smooth when you inch up to kiss him, gently by his cupid’s bow just to make him grunt. wonwoo’s hands curl around your wrists gently, pampering you with kisses for a couple of minutes before pulling away.

“fuck me,” you whisper. and then, because he has to double take like he didn’t quite hear you right. “fuck me wonwoo, please.”

“please. please, wonu. i’m begging.”

“y/n…” wonwoo growls, because he is really close to pop a blood vessel when you sound all whiny and shameless like that.

“i don’t care if someone will hear us,” you murmur against his mouth before pressing it there for a short kiss. you proceed to trail wet pecks all over his jaw and neck, so that he has to close his eyes with a soft sigh. 

“fuck,” he whispers, “you’re really begging me to fuck you here when your brother could come back any minute,” wonwoo says, kissing you.

it’s getting difficult for you to respond when his hand ventures down to undo your jeans though, mouth hanging open in pleasure while he nips at your bottom lip before pushing you back down on his bed. 

“you have to be extra quiet, okay?” he huffs. and there is something wonderfully satisfying for wonwoo to see you like this, underneath him and all putty in his hands.

“wonu,” you whine again, accepting the soft kiss he presses on your lips before he turns you over and positions you how he wants: on your knees, ass up, face pushed into a pillow to muffle your moans.

“you’re so impatient,” he chuckles behind you, but it sounds so soft. fond, even. he pecks your ear swiftly while you listen to him sliding down your jeans and undies and prepare himself, your heart thudding in anticipation. you’re so thrilled you barely register the embarrassment and awkwardness of being left to wait like this, propped up and ready for him to fuck you stupid. and you gasp when you finally feel his erection against your weeping slit, hot and everything you want.

he keeps grinding against your slick folds. “wonwoo,” you whimper, because his tip keeps slipping in and that alone is making you gush. you push your hips back, tears blurring your sight with how desperately you want him inside you. “please.”

he chuckles softly, leaning over to kiss your shoulder before finally pushing into you.

x

“so, i assume the lessons are going well since you two see each other three times a week now,” hoshi says, voice muffled by the noodles he’s slurping.

his eyes are set on wonwoo’s face, lost in the gimbap in front of him.

because if wonwoo has to be real honest, the lessons are going really well, yes. but also his dating life.

and how can he say that to hoshi... ‘oh yeah, she’s really smart hosh and also a fucking star at giving head!’

in his defence, wonwoo would probably never get over the fact that he has succeded in pulling someone like you. he suddenly turns pink thinking about your pretty smile and your prettier laugh. the glint in your eyes when gaming together and the concentrated face you make when trying to understand math concepts that even he has difficulties in teaching. you clinging onto his arm, the late night ramen runs at the convenience store and your honeyed sighs and moans when you’re in the private of your own.

so yeah, he doesn’t really know where to start with this.

“wonu-yah?” hoshi hisses, and suddenly wonwoo gulps when his friend is holding his stare in a vice grip.

“we’re fucking hosh,” he admits timidly, and hoshi starts swearing.

[bittencandy]

ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔣

Summary: It's such a dumb thing to have a crush on Mammon, your awful boss and the bane of your existence. You just wanted a few days off from your job to get your head on straight again, but of course he'd have an issue with that.

What you weren't expecting was what happened next.

Warnings: 18+, mammon calls reader a 'bitch'. Toxic dynamic. Degradation. Reader has breasts and vagina but no fem pronouns used, described as wearing skirts. Oral (let's be honest, mammon is not a giver but let's indulge in the fantasy), overstimulation, multiple orgasms.

Notes: 11.2K words. Not proofread. Reader is down bad, Hellborn!reader. Mammon being an insufferable pervert.

It's astonishing, even to you, how you've managed to developed feelings for someone who might be the most obnoxious demon in Hell - a tall order to fulfill, but he does so with a concerning ease.

His arrogance is on steroids, he's lazy, selfish, and has the manners of a pig. And despite crafting his image and brand around an aesthetic that implies comedy, he has the wit and sense of humor of a stunted schoolboy.

He is royalty. Maybe you could blame his ego entirely on his status, but somehow that might be giving him too much credit. You're sure that if he lost everything in a snap, overthrown and reduced to the lowly rank of the very demons that he despises, that he'd still cling onto his pride and overconfidence. You couldn't pry it from his dead hands.

Worse than all of that though, is that he's also your boss. An overbearing, exhausting, respectless boss. He oversteps personal boundaries, pushes you past your limits, and treats you like a tool to be used rather than a living being.

At his beck and call, that's what you are. He isn't mindful of your personal time or if you're off the clock. Like this very morning when he had woken you up four hours before your alarm could do the job.

You had barely registered that you were even conscious as your hand blindly searched your bedside table for your phone. Functioning entirely off of muscle memory.

The sound of his ringtone had cut through the peaceful atmosphere with all the subtly of a gunshot. You tried to blink past the sting of sleep and the shock of the light pouring from the screen as you accepted the call with the swipe of your thumb. You hardly had time to lift the device to your ear before the rough pitch of his voice - which was way too cheery for 3 a.m. - spilt out from the speaker in an unbroken stream.

"Heyyo, how's my little assistant doing? Good, good. Listen, I've really been cravin' some Mexican - you know the place, right? Of course, you do! I don't pay you the big bucks for nothin'! So, I was thinking that you could go and get me some. Probably a coupla burritos, maybe - or . . . hmm . . . Ya know what, make sure to get the party box. And make sure they skim out on the hot sauce this time, yeah?"

The line had hung up with a click, leaving you to sit alone in silence that suddenly felt too quiet instead of peaceful. He hadn't let you get a single word in. The option to try and reject his order was cut off with an abrupt kind of casualness.

You didn't want to move from the warmth of your bed. You didn't want to get dressed and figure out the exact restaurant that he wanted, because it probably wasn't even open this late. And despite his assumptions, you didn't know just which one he was referring to with his vague instructions.

Your mouth was dry, your eyes were threatening to slip shut again, and the sun hadn't even begun to dawn in the horizon, but the even bigger punch to the gut was when a notification dropped down from the top of your phone's screen.

Ball and Chain

wood u do me a solid n pey for it :)

Its kinda expinsive n i don think i hve the money rn thx

All in all: a total piece of shit.

And yet, like an absolute push over you've managed to develop some weird sort of attraction to him. It's Stockholm Syndrome - forced proximity or something. At least that's the excuse you make for yourself. How else could you possibly explain it?

You've been told that you have bad taste in men before. You've heard it from your parents. Your friends. Even coworkers have voiced their confusion in your past flings and boyfriends.

You've dated your fair share of red flags. "Bad boys" if you want to be cliche. One was emotionally unavailable, one was a cheater, and the other an arsonist with a penchant for outbursts that often resulted in murderous rampages. But somehow Mammon makes them all seem normal. A true talent.

So you can't manage to figure out why the guy that makes you want to bash your head into a wall also makes something hideously saccharine and soft pulse in your chest each time you see him. Something that you've horrendously recognized as affection.

You can't track when his voice shifted from nails on a chalkboard to charming and pleasant. It's gravely, coarse, typically held in a jeering lilt. You've seen some flinch at the sound of it, the loud way that he often projects it causing many to roll their eyes or scoff, and yet, like a lab rat that's been trained, you find yourself hoping to hear it again.

Maybe it's his power. The control he wields as a Sin. The ability he has to kill most demons with the flick of his hand.

You've been at his side for years. You know all of his quirks. How he likes his frappuccino's with so much caramel that it's practically seventy-five percent of the drink. He has the windows on his limo tinted so that he doesn't have to see the poor; turning on one of those sensory videos is the only way to successfully get him to focus, and he can't really handle eating anything spicy. He'll practically bite your head off and accuse you of trying to kill him if any kind of hot ingredient makes it into his lunch, though he'll refuse to stop trying to eat it. Chewing and swallowing while he moans and groans past the pain.

He's a terrible person. A PR nightmare. A horrible boss. And somehow, he's got you wrapped around his finger.

It's more than a little pathetic. Any self-respecting demon would have left by now. Fizz has - and if anyone else could possibly have a spec of understanding on your situation, it would definitely be him. But he's left. Finally severed his ties with Mammon and saved himself before the Sin could properly chew him up and spit him out.

You do respect him in that aspect. A part of you lives through him, latching onto his act of defiance, his reclaiming of independence and imagines that you're the one who finally told Mammon to go fuck himself.

But you don't think that you could truly move on from him. That you could let go. Truthfully, you don't think that you want to.

You've spent too many years with him to leave now. At some point, somehow, you've grown fond of him. All of the hatred and irritation boiling and simmering down into a soft devotion.

You like him. You actually like him. It feels like a sort of betrayal to yourself, but the sting of it grows duller and duller with each passing day until you're sure that it will soon vanish entirely. Like a faded memory.

It makes it seem normal then that you've managed to grow protective of him. Some might say the word "possessive" is better suited, but it seems like an exaggeration to you.

There are many facets to your tasks as the King of Greed's personal assistant. One of them being his bodyguard - not that he technically needs it. He holds powers that most demons could only dream of wielding, but it doesn't keep you from fulfilling your task and sheltering him from the crazed fans that often attempt to swarm him.

You've delt with all of the demons parading themselves in front of him. Desperately throwing their bodies in his path to try and get his attention, with their tits and asses on display like the perfect depictions of desperation.

So, by all accounts, it shouldn't have struck a nerve in you to see him talking to her.

You weren't allowed into the court room. Only high-ranking demons are permitted during hearings of this caliber. Namely the Goetia Family and the Sins.

You were left alone in the lobby, sitting on some gaudy, velvet cushioned waiting chair while you waited. The room is always uncomfortably quiet. Almost hollow in a way, with its vaulted ceilings and spaced-out walls giving it an eerie resemblance to catacomb.

The almost rhythmic tapping of the receptionist's fingers sweeping along her computer's keys echoed from the stone and marble floors. It was annoying. Like a persistent bug circling outside of your ear.

But the irritating noise of the keyboard clicking muted down into a distant hum as all of your focus narrowed down onto the phone you held in your palm. You were tuned in to a live feed of the trial to make sure that he wouldn't make a complete ass of himself. Though the likelihood of that was dim, you still had hope. You were holding out that the fidget toys that you had given him beforehand would occupy him enough to keep his usual antics down to a minimum. But you weren't going to hold your breath, either.

It was a quick glimpse of it, the view on the both of them out of focus while they sat far off in the background. The focal point of the live video trained on some imp, kneeling and bound in chains as he stared forward, eyes wide and chaotic with fear and fury.

You couldn't see what had captured his attention. The scope of the camera fixed entirely on him but based on his expression you could gather that it was more than likely Satan. His judge and possible executioner.

Hearings like this surprisingly aren't extremely common in Hell. It isn't every day that all of the Sins - excluding Lucifer, of course - are brought together to deliver unholy judgement on a demon. All of the Rings were probably glued to their phones and TV screens to watch the trial, frothing at the mouth with the possibility of watching blood spill.

But you couldn't be bothered to pay that any mind. The imp became long forgotten; the obnoxious voice of the pale, avian Goetia strutting about the dim room and the deep timbre of Satan dulled into a muted hush as your focus narrowed down onto a single, fleeting interaction.

The camera barely picked up the audio. The sound of Mammon's voice coming out muffled despite the hearing taking place in a large, cavernous room. The grin on his face was a joyful one, the flash of his serrated teeth making the sinister edge of it even more sadistic in his obvious gloating.

It felt like ice was in your veins, streaking up your throat to choke you as he shuffled over from his end of the gallery, dragging his chair with him to plop himself at her side. Smiling wide, happy and practically vibrating in place before his expression shifted into something bordering on sleazy.

You couldn't help the way your talons sunk into the arm rest of your seat, claws sinking into the padding with dull pops! as you watched his gloved hand slip onto the face of the counter to walk his fingers over the worn wood as he spoke.

You didn't miss the soft smile her left head passed him, long lashes batting at him before she casted her other half a questioning look. As though she was gauging her other side's reaction to whatever he might have said to her. Like she was asking her other part permission.

Permission to do what?

That's the question that twisted in your stomach and coiled like something molten and nasty.

He was practically leering. Eyebrows raised while he grinned at Leviathan dumbly around some dick shaped popsicle. Never have you ever wanted to slap him so strongly before. Not in all of your years of working under him has he made you feel so angry but seeing them together made your blood a venom in your veins.

It was a brief little interaction, and in a split second it managed to dig under your skin like a splinter.

You aren't sure why their relationship cuts at something deep. The bonds that the Sins have with each other has been considered almost familial. Having been casted from Heaven, it's brought them close despite their all of their differences. It's a relationship that you know you don't have with him. You're just the grunt meant to pick up his morning coffee and schedule the meetings that he probably won't bother to show up for.

Why would he ever look at you? You're just another person who works for him. Someone below his rank.

You know it's stupid. Your little crush. And yet, you can't find it within yourself to try and tear it down, to pick it apart piece by piece until it crumbles and disappears. You aren't dignified for that apparently, so instead, you wallow.

It's been close to a week since the hearing, and you still haven't managed to snap yourself out of the headspace that it had all but shoved you into.

There's been a cloud over you ever since. Nasty and suffocating. You've tried ignoring it. Moving past it and simply focusing on your work like you always do, but it's stubborn. Sinking in deep and latching on like some sort of parasite.

Seeing Mammon everyday doesn't help. It's only invigorating the burning ache of jealousy that threatens to cripple your lungs and leave you choking each time you have to look at him.

It's a slap to the face each time. A not so gentle reminder of the way he had sought out her attention. It's rare to see him deliberately seek out someone. Sure he has his fans. It's no secret that he loves being in the spotlight, preening under the approval of thousands, eating it up light he's starved and it's the only thing that might save him.

But for him to invite himself into someone's space without the motive of something underhanded, which seems like a defiance against some sort of law in nature, is something that you never imagined seeing. It makes you sick your stomach that it wasn't for you.

You need a break. A moment to properly catch your breath and recollect yourself. To get a grip so that you don't slip and let your emotions get the best of you. The last thing you want to do is have a break down during work, possibly in public, and in front of Mammon no less.

It's why you're standing in the middle of his office, in front of his desk. Though calling it an office is being a bit generous, considering that he spends all of his time in it sitting on his ass, watching trash television from the flatscreen that he had posted on the wall across from his desk, ignoring the important phone calls and meetings and business updates that he should be approving.

Much like he's doing right at this moment. There are piles of paperwork and files that are stacked into columns on the face of his desk. Forgotten in favor of the food that he's shoveling down his mouth, cheeks bulging as he sits with his attention transfixed on the screen.

The urge to pick up his slack and sort through the documents is kneejerk, and you have to forcefully remind yourself that you're not here to do his job.

"Mammon, sir," you call.

He doesn't so much as flinch at the sound of your voice. He definitely didn't hear you. His vision hasn't strayed from the cheesy reality show playing. There's a glazed over look in his eyes that has irritation prickling along your skin.

"Mammon." You try again, but he's still miles away. Or his ignoring you. That's definitely a possibility. You repeat his name two more times. The control in your tone audibly slipping, turning thin and clipped. The irritation, the stress of your job, the jealousy still lurking underneath it all has your restrain fracturing.

You hardly register your body leaning over, one of your palms striking down on the desk with a pronounced crack that reverberates up your arm in a heavy ache. You're too distracted to fully notice the flash of pain, too caught up in your impatience.

Finally, he acknowledges you. His eyes shift from the TV and move onto you. But the glance that he gives is quick and lazy.

"What are you doin' here?" he asks, gracelessly cramming in another grab of chips past his teeth.

You have to suck in a deep breath to keep your temper in check. A slow inhale and the simmering heat building in your body dies down into a faint thrum. You clear your throat, pulling back from the desk to straighten your posture and you make a deliberate decision to ignore the bit of ketchup that's transferred onto your palm from his desk.

"I wanted to request some time off, sir," you answer. The words are like ash on your tongue, but you swallow the guilt down. You're allowed to make time for yourself. You're allowed to ask for this. "Not for long. Just a day or two to relax and get a few things in order. I've ran it by Juno already, and they've agreed to cover the days I'd be gone. It's a short amount of time and they have enough experience to be capable-"

"No."

You blink at the response. There's a finality to it despite the relaxed way it was delivered. You're not exactly surprised by his refusal, mostly disappointed. Still, it doesn't keep your annoyance and confusion from showing on your face.

"Can I ask why?"

He sighs like you're the problem. Rolling his eyes dramatically before speaking around his chewing. "I'm not payin' for your leave."

Cheap bastard.

"I don't need you to."

"It's still no."

"Why not?" You can't hide your exasperation now, your arms flaring out from your sides.

He doesn't answer, opting to silently drop the near empty bag of chips, and for a moment you fear that you've lost him again. The sound of his chewing is horrendous this close, and despite having worked for him for three years, it's a habit of his that you haven't entirely moved past. Even worse is that you somehow manage to find him attractive, like some kind of curse.

"Cause I need you here-" one of his lower hands raises to point a finger at you, almost performative like he's in a commercial- " taking care of business and keepin' this fucking machine runnin.' "

"That's what Juno is for." You can't help how slowly you enunciate the sentence, slipping it from your tongue carefully like he's slow.

He doesn't appear to be insulted. When he speaks your name, it's laced with an affection that you wish was real. But it's too sweat, too gentle to be authentic, and the truth of that is like a knife in the chest.

"You know no one else does it like you do. You're the only one that can almost keep up with me." His face is pinched in a sincerity that logic tells you is fake, but that foolish romantic in you delights in the sight of it. "You're the glue that keeps this place together. You handle all the borin', useless bullshit while I entertain the masses. It's what makes us work."

Us.

It's so tempting. So close to what you want, but it's not real. You have to force yourself to keep your head on straight and ignore the fluttering in your chest.

He sits up from his chair and rounds his desk to approach you; the bells on his fool's cap chime and jingle, growing louder in his approach. He's still wearing that patient, understanding expression. The sharp edges of his grin have softened into something gentle, and it's so easy to pretend that it's authentic.

It takes you by surprise when he doesn't stop, raising up a pair of hands to cradle your face in his palms. It's a manipulation tactic. You know it is. You've seen him do it to Fizzarolli in the past. Using embraces and tender touches to lull him into a false sense of security, and it pisses you off that he's doing it now. It pisses you off more that you're actually lured by it.

His hands are cool. You can feel it through the rich leather of his gloves; buttery and smooth, chilled by the natural cold of his skin. But it's soothing in a way that it shouldn't be.

"You've never asked for time off in all these years. Are you really gonna leave me now?" He frowns. He's pouting. "You know the rest of 'em are bloody useless. Couldn't find their asses with a fuckin' map. You can't leave me with them, it'll be a disaster."

You want to tell him that he's being dramatic. That it's only two days, but the words die out in your throat. His eyes have gone wide. Big and pitiful like a puppy that's been kicked. It's the image of dramatic. An exaggerated display of hurt and worry.

A stubborn streak of guilt shoots through you despite your basic reasoning. The voice of common sense flickering out for one moment before you're able to reign it back into place.

He's just manipulating you. He's too lazy to deal with his business himself and as good as Juno might be as a temporary stand-in, you doubt that they'll be able to balance all of his responsibilities and yours - even if it is for two days.

All of the assistants before you had either been fired or died. He's not an easy individual to work for. He's exhausting, particular, and petulant, but you have to trust that Juno will be able to handle it. For your own sanity, they have to.

"C'mon, sweet thing. Tell me what's wrong in that little brain of yours." His voice dips from the high tone that it's usually held in, lowering into something smooth and husky.

You don't know if you've ever heard it sound like this before, and it's like you've been doused in something liquid and simmering. A shiver trickles down your spine and settles in your toes.

He did that on purpose. He had to.

His eyes seem like they're burning. The bright chartreuse boring into you, cutting past your defenses and layers and rummaging around to strip you bare.

You have to stop this. You have to get back in control before this tail spins into something that you can't handle.

"It's just two days," you repeat, choking the words out like they're made of dust.

His fingers flex subtly. The points of his claws hidden by the leather daring to dig at your cheeks. His expression hardens, eyes narrowing. But it's the thrum that's tainted the atmosphere that truly lets you know that you're treading into dangerous territory. It's electric. Pulsing and wild and licking at your skin with the threat to sting.

"You're actin' pretty fucking selfish, ya know."

That's enough to snap you out your trance. You rip yourself out of his hands, backing away to create space so that you can think. Clarity drops over you like a bucket of frigid water, and the combination his static filling the air has your stomach flipping.

"I don't see how this is a big deal. It's not that big of a deal, you're just making it one for no reason."

In comparison to the other accusations and insults that Mammon has jabbed at you during your time with him, this is far from first place, but it's enough to tip you into an angry ramble. You can't seem to stop yourself now that it's started. Your mind and mouth slipping away from you and finally letting everything that you've been struggling to keep contained gushing from out in deluge.

"You're such an asshole. You're selfish, and stupid, and you have the table manners of toddler -" his mouth twists into a snarl, and if you were able to help it you'd shut up, but you can't - "you're a shitty person. You're a shitty boss.

I've skipped out on so much for you and this fucking job: birthdays, parties, sick days - I don't even get days off because you can't ever stop blowing up my phone with literally the dumbest requests. 'Can you go down to the mall and get me a pair of shoes.' 'Go to Gluttony to that donut shop.'

I can't believe I actually have feelings for you."

Time freezes. There's no air in your lungs. Your heart drops to your ass.

It all goes flat. There isn't any noise. For the first time in his life, Mammon has been left speechless. And you certainly can't make yourself speak. Your voice is gone. It's vanished and died.

You feel outside of yourself and hyperaware of your own limbs all at once. Your skin is too tight. The air is hot. You're suffocating.

And Mammon is staring. He looks just as shocked as you probably do, eyes wide and lips parted while he tries to process what's happened.

You're mortified. You want the floor to crack open and send you plummeting to your death. That would be a mercy, but the universe seems to revel in your misery because the ground under your feet remains intact. Leaving you to stand with ice in your veins and embarrassment smarting your cheeks.

You're waiting for the boisterous string of laughter to pierce the air. For him to double over while he cruelly mocks you for your little secret.

It doesn't come.

He spares you that much, but his teeth flash in the dull florescent light in a grin that's brutal. He's beaming. Smiling from ear to ear but the delight on his face is saturated with arrogance. Amused and cocky. Like you've stroked his ego in the best way possible and didn't even know it.

Somehow, this is worse than if he would have just laughed at you.

He's watching you like you're a piece of meat.

It's terrifying and thrilling all at once. You contemplate turning around and running out of his office. He can teleport, but if you're quick enough, maybe you'll at least be able to make it to a different floor. A few moments of life and peace without him watching you like he might pounce.

But your feet aren't working. There's a disconnect between your brain and legs and it has you rooted in place. Trapped in your body while the horror of everything sinks into every facet of you.

"So." He draws the word out, long and heavy, nearly singing it. He stands taller, emphasizing the way that he already looms over you. You think he could eat you whole. "Is that what all this is about? You've got yourself an itsy-bitsy little crush-"

"Don't."

It's a warning and a plea all at once. Your voice is somehow shaken and firm. You're trying to keep yourself together. Holding onto the tearing, terrified halves of yourself with a trembling resolve. It takes all of your strength to try and hold the chaos inside from showing on your face.

All the while, Mammon's grin hasn't wanned. If anything, he only appears even more entertained than before. He'll be riding this high for weeks.

"Aw, it's nothin' to be ashamed of," he purrs. His eyebrows perk up, and his smile becomes almost pervy. "I can't say I'm surprised. It is me-"

"Exactly. It's you." You wave a hand in a sort of 'no shit' sort of gesture.

His offence is shown plainly, his smile vanishing in a split second as he rocks back on his heels like he's been slapped. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, come on, you aren't exactly the most respectable person. And that's putting lightly." You glare at him. Almost too tired and agitated to focus on your embarrassment. The absurdity of the entire situation making it easy to forget the anxiety thrumming beneath it all. "Did you already forget everything I've already said? That entire rant?"

His lips purse and his eyes squint in an exaggerated expression that you might have found funny in any other circumstance, but right now it's just annoying. He eyes flicker up to the ceiling for a moment, as though he'll find the answer that he's searching for in the texture and the water stains.

"Seriously?" you scoff.

"What? I'm a busy man, babes, I've got a lot on my mind."

You have to resist the urge to laugh. Swallowing the sound down before it could bubble free, but it still escapes in a thin, humorless chuckle. And you can't keep yourself from mumbling tiredly under your breath. "That's surprising you'd have anything going on in there."

"I fuckin' heard that, ya bitch." He snaps. The pulse of his static coursing through the air lets you know that you might be poking at him too much now. He's killed people for less, and yet you can't seem to keep your mouth shut.

"We're not getting anywhere doing this." You release a heavy sigh, trying to ground yourself. To soothe your nerves which are still going haywire. "It's just two days. And they'll go by so quick that it'll be like I wasn't even gone."

"If they'll go by quick, why do you even need to take 'em off?"

This is one of those moments where you could seriously bash your head into a wall. It's a tempting thought, to just turn around and swing your head into the plaster. If you were lucky enough, maybe it would knock you out and you'd finally get that break you want.

"You are such a frustrating dick. Why does it matter? You don't have any meetings scheduled in that time frame, no commercials to shoot, no venues to attend - Juno will probably end up taking on the paperwork that you do have. So you'll probably just be sitting on your ass at home, or out at some nightclub."

His anger is back. His eyes are narrow, burning in that toxic shade of green that feels like it burrowing beneath your skin. The hint of his power is charging in the air, thrumming and coiling, causing goose bumps to raise on your skin.

"Cause I fuckin' said so," he snarls. "I'm the boss here, yeah? What I say goes."

You want to argue. You want to throw something, to shout, to leave. But you don't do any of those things. You can't. You're worn out. Frustrated. All of the fight in you has fizzled out; water thrown over a fire, leaving it a damp, smoldering pile of dead embers.

This how he does it. He doesn't win arguments because he's in the right or because he's tactful in the statements he makes, it's because he knows how to ramble arrogant nonsense until you just grow too tired and fed up to continue.

"I think I know what all this fuss is about. You feelin' all out of sorts 'cause of your little crush?" He's smiling again. Teasing. Intentionally prodding at that chip in your armor.

You're typically indifferent to his vulgarity and taunting. The most emotion that he garners from you is usually irritation or anger, and despite him being a Sin that could easily cut your life short, you've never been shy about insulting him back. It's easily one of the most frustrating aspects about the way you interact with each other. You both drive each other up a wall. It's a surprise that he hasn't killed you already or that you haven't emptied out your life savings to pay an assassin stupid and willing enough to try and murder him.

But his taunting is enough to have another wave of embarrassment crashing over you. You want to curl up on the floor and pass away on the spot.

He's like a shark that's smelt blood. Sinking his teeth into wounded flesh and latching on. Now that he's found a weakness to exploit, a thing to dangle over your head, he's going to be relentless. Cruelly twisting your arm with it to satisfy his own ego.

This is awful. You had to go and run your mouth. Had to let your feelings slip out. This might be worst case scenario for you. He's the last person in Hell that you'd ever want to have this information.

There's a relief alongside the pain though, but it isn't pleasant or cathartic. It's like releasing a muscle that's been flexed for too long. Pain rippling alongside the alleviation, the stress of it too much to bask in the repose.

"Forget I said that." You don't bother hiding your glare. Mostly for your own sake. In some last effort scramble to at least trick yourself into feeling braver than you truly are. But that twisted, self-satisfied grin on his face snuffs every bit of wavering confidence that you clung to.

"Are you kidding? I'm gonna be thinkin' about this moment for years." The bells on his costume jingle as his body shimmies, like he's trying to contain his excitement and failing. "You're always walking around here like you're all high and fuckin' mighty, meanwhile you've been creamin' in your panties every time you see me."

You wince, rolling your eyes. "Ugh, don't be gross."

"It's understandable. I have that effect on most people." He continues, unaffected by the angry glower you've pinned him with. "I was after all, named the most desired bachelor in Hell."

"First of all, you threatened them into posting you that high in the ranking, and the internet blew up for months afterwards because hardly anyone agreed with it."

"Whatever," he huffs. Petulant and childish. But just as quickly he's rocking back into that jeering, jovial disposition. He's shifts closer to you, eating up what little bit of space you had created between your bodies while you were panicking. "But it does make me wonder just how long you've been sittin' on your secret."

He creeps up with a fluidity that he shouldn't possess. A rhythmic insectile hiss trills through the air, juxtaposed by the cheerful jingle of his bells, and it makes him seem almost sinister.

It has your heart thumping wildly in your chest, and the luminous glint of his eyes pinning you down does nothing to help. It makes you feel like prey. Caught under his focus with nowhere to run. Feet stuck to the floor.

You hate how heat floods you, simmering under your skin, making your breath catch in your throat. You're trapped. Your attention stuck entirely on him as his body presses close to yours, and you can only hope that you've successfully forced an unbothered look on your face. That you seem unaffected from the chill and weight of him on your heated flesh while your mind stirs into a whirlwind.

You have to tilt your head back just to keep your vision locked with his as he looms over you, and it's only then that your brain fully registers his previous musing.

"Just let it go." You try to move away from him, rocking back on your feet, but a pair of his hands lash out in a blur to grip your shoulders. He's got you locked in place.

"Aw, don' be like that." He grabs ahold of your chin when you attempt to look away from him, turning your head back over to keep your focus on him. "So what's it been? A coupla months? One year? Two? I bet the entire time you've been acting all huffy, you were really just all pent up."

You'd rather die than admit to him that you've been sitting on these feelings for more than half of the time you've known him. How you had practically gone through the five stages of grief after realizing that fluttering that he inspired in your stomach wasn't from repulsion but from affection. How you've spent countless nights staring up the ceiling above your bed, hating yourself and wondering why him.

Your friends have all listened to your confused, defeated rambling when you've had one too many drinks. They do their best to be supportive and offer comfort, but you never miss the disappointed glances they pass each other when they think that you aren't aware. Looks that say, "Really? Why him? " As though you don't already know.

You've fought yourself over it a thousand times. Berating yourself and trying to talk sense into your own brain, doing your best to smother feelings that shouldn't exist at all, but they're always there, lurking just beneath the surface. Hungry and persistent, a lonely, longing dog scratching at the door to escape the cold.

"Poor thing. Must've been torture." He pinches your cheeks. The tone he uses, all low and laced with a gauche type of sympathy is all with the aim to ridicule you, and like the traitor it is your body flushes with heat.

Your thighs squeeze on their own, seeking out a friction that isn't really there, and the lack of relief nearly makes you moan in frustration. Thankfully you have half the mind to swallow the sound down before it could leave you, but you must give something away because the smile on his face grows even wider.

"I'd be happy to help you with your little problem. "

If you didn't know any better, you'd say that you were dead. Passed on and gone off . . . somewhere. Another hell maybe, or a different dimension entirely where nothing makes any sense.

You blink dumbly, lips parting while you struggle to process his what he's said. For a moment, you think that you've misheard him, but the words haven't stopped echoing in your head.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Your voice is slow. Careful to make sure that your tongue doesn't snag it in your mouth.

"Let's just cut the bullshit." He says it all matter-of-factly, like he's about to deliver some longwinded sales pitch. "It's not like I haven't noticed. You've been all strung out lately like you've got a broom shoved far up your ass. It's made you even more of a fuckin' drag to be around than usual -" and then, as though it adds less insult to the injury "- and you aren't bad on the eyes."

You lurch back from him, ripping yourself from his grip for the second time tonight. You can't tell if you want to laugh or cry or shout. The sting of how casual he's acting, the lack of tact lashes through you like a whip.

"Is this your idea of seducing me?" Now you're fully looking at the man that you've always regretted liking. The one that made things impossible. Or maybe this is just the reality. This is him as he truly is. The truth that you've struggled to grapple with. That no matter how much you've always wanted to believe otherwise, you'd never be special or appreciated.

"Is it working?" For a moment he almost sounds uncertain. At least that's what you'd like to believe, but the stare he's giving you is sleazy. Dripping with perversion and dumb hubris.

He must see your disappointment because you don't even get a chance to turn around to leave before he's reaching out. "Alright, alright, damn, just listen." He grumbles under his breath. " No sense of humor."

You have to roll your eyes.

"There isn't any reason to runnin' away all pissed off."

"You literally just insulted me. Not to mention, you're my boss. I'm pretty sure propositioning me for sex is breaking some sort of HR violation."

"Since when do we have fucking HR?"

"We don't," you admit with a sigh.

He seems to relax a little bit. Shoulders sagging once he realizes that you aren't making an attempt to leave again. He's wearing that pleased expression again. The one that makes you want to kiss and slap him. "Be honest with yourself; can you actually say that you've never thought of me before? When you're all alone at night with your hand shoved down between your-"

"Does it matter if I have?" Your mouth snaps shut swiftly. It wasn't an admission outright, but it might as well be, boarding close to something that you're determined to keep unsaid. But the damage is already done. He's somehow even more smug; bright eyes burning like he wants to consume you.

"Would it matter if I told you that I've had my hand wrapped around my dick while I thought about fucking you?"

You could combust on the spot. All of the breath has been forcefully snatched from your lungs, like fire eating up all of the air in a room, leaving you empty and burning. You try to center yourself, focusing on the texture of the clothes draped on your skin, trying to listen to the steady stream of audio pouring from the flatscreen, but it sounds miles away; glancing past the height of Mammon's shoulder and through the commercial window to focus on the toxic city skyline.

None of it does you any good.

You feel like you're floating away and stuck all at once, cemented in your own body.

It's a reflex to try and give him some sort of quip in return. Some scratching, humorous remark to try and level the playing field, but you've been reduced speechless.

The thought of him like that flickers across your mind in terrible, tantalizing visions. You hate how your mouth floods with saliva while you picture him fisting his cock. Squeezing it in feverous strokes, the tip leaking for him to collect in his palm, using it to smear over his girth to aid him in fucking his fist.

He'd be big. He'd have to be with how massive he is, scaling over most demons easily.

He'd sound so pretty panting. That graveled edge to his voice turning thin and rumbling while he works himself closer to release.

What would he sound like moaning your name? How many times has he done just that, fucking his own hand with the fantasy of you on his tongue?

It snaps you out from your daze like you've been struck. You can hardly remember how you've gotten here in this moment. The events of the day, the stress, your jealousy, it all seems so murky and distorted, a kaleidoscopic blur.

"I've done it right here in this office." He's slithering around you again, circling you like a serpent coiling its prey.

The confinement of the room is no longer just disorienting and tight, but it feels dirty. The revelation of his perverted fantasies scorching you from the inside out. You can feel his static again, humming and twisting along your limbs, thrashing up your spine in a way that makes you shiver, that has a heavy ache throbbing between your legs.

You've been in this office more times than you can count. Stood at the front of his desk to berate him for ignoring mountains of paperwork and the scandals that he's always determined to get into. Never has it crossed your mind that he's been in here fucking his fist to the thought of you.

It's pathetic how easily it soothes the jealousy that's been haunting you, ebbing the pain away like cream on a burn scar. Ice freezing over something acidic and smoldering.

"You're always wearin' those tight little skirts. Wearing those tops that squeeze your tits just right. Doesn't leave much to the imagination, babe."

You think of all the leering looks he's given you in the past, the quick once overs that you had chalked up to him just being obnoxious. You never gave them any merit. He's known for his perverted tendencies that never really have any true desire behind them, often flirting with people, seemingly just with the goal of being a sleaze. Picking out the wealthiest demon at an even or party in the hopes of hustling some free drinks or meals out of them, but that's typically as far as the flirtation goes.

The individual that had ever truly seemed to capture his attention is Leviathan, with him always seeking her out whenever the Sins are summoned together. Gravitating towards her like a moth to fire. Crawling to her side like a dog begging for scraps.

The reminder is bitter. Sharp and acrid in your mouth. And in an unwelcome rush, you're brought back to reality. Jealousy seeping back into your bones like a poisonous ooze.

"Don't you have Leviathan to go try to flirt with?" you snap.

He blinks like you've struck him, but the chuckle that leaves him is delighted. "Are you jealous?"

You don't answer. You can't. But your silence is confirmation enough.

If the revelation of your crush was going to make him a walking nightmare, then the unveiling that you're strung out enough to actually see Leviathan as some sort of rival is going to have his ego hurtling past the sky.

You can already see the effect of it, how he stands a little straighter, puffing out his chest with a smile that's dopey and complacent. He's eating this up like the attention whore that he is.

"You are." His eyes are ablaze with his delight before darkening. Turning into fervid, luminous pools that has your body thrumming. "I can make you forget about all of that. What do ya say, huh?"

No. It's right there balanced on the tip of your tongue, and yet you're hesitating. It's a simple response. One that would have this conversation ending. You could sweep it under the rug as best as you could, go back to your clear-cut employee and boss relationship - even though you're sure that Mammon would always make sure to remind you of this entire mess. But you could keep your head up and push through it. You know that you could.

And yet . . . You're not sure you want to. Maybe it's wrong - pitiful even, that for the first time in days the anger and bitterness that's been trailing you like a shadow has finally shrunk back. Warded off by his admittance that he's fantasized about you just as much as you have about him.

You should try to remain professional, but it's difficult to ignore that this is bordering close to plenty of the perverted daydreams you've had about him. You've spent countless times bored at meetings or alone at home envisioning him bending you over his desk, rucking up your skirt and fucking you stupid. Taking you while all the other lackies and grunts work just outside the door to his office.

They'd all be able to hear. It would a public declaration. It appeased the sick part of you that you've been trying to ignore, and in your jealousy's absence all that remains is want.

You almost feel like another person when you step towards him, parting through all of your stubborn uncertainty and insecurity. You reach up to grip his cowl, seizing the fabric in a firm grip despite the slight tremor in your fingers.

He looks shocked when your tug him down by the material, the bells on his costume singing sharply in that metallic shudder. Something about his surprise is empowering. The thrill of having knocked him off kilter - as fleeting as it might be - shoots through you like a rush of adrenaline.

You can't keep the smile off of your face as you tug him down to your level; the scent of him clouding all around you with his proximity. An intoxicating surge of musk and ozone.

"I don't think you can make me forget."

His expression almost seems offended, eyes narrowing and mouth twisting until he registers that you're only teasing him. Intentionally goading him on in the aim to get a rise out of him.

His grin is almost mean, all teeth. Like he can't wait to rip into you. "Cheeky fucking bitch."

He snatches you up in blink. Fingers gripping your hips and shoulders like a vice as plumes of rushing, emerald smoke blinds your vision, stuffing your lungs, all bitter and acrid; small charges of lighting licking up your skin and bolting deliciously through your nerves.

It's a quick, dazing blur that has your head spinning and stomach flipping. In a split second your body is being forced over. A hand gripping the back of your head to shove it onto the chilled counter of what must be his desk. A cursory scan of the space confirms that you are still indeed in his office, with the audio from the flatscreen playing steadily while he keeps your face pressed against a folder of files that he's probably never evaluated.

"Should make you do all the work for that bloody snark." You can see his eyes glowing out of your peripheral vision, wide and crazed as a pair of his hands slip down the length of your body in a greedy path. Groping and stroking as they drift, settling only once he reaches the shape of your ass. "But I'll fuck you good this time. You're gonna owe me though."

This time?

You don't have time to contemplate or celebrate the insinuation because he's suddenly ripping your skirt free from your hips with a harsh jerk. Shredding the fabric in single motion.

A complaint is right there in your throat, but it's forced into a gasp when one of his palms strikes down onto your ass with a sharp smack, smarting skin underneath the strength of it.

He groans when it jiggles, smoothing his hand down the stinging skin like he's trying to soothe it but the way he scratches the points of his gloved talons down the bruising flesh is pitiless. It makes you hiss out, spine arching like your body can't decide if it wants to twist away or lean closer to the fire he leaves behind his claws.

"Mammon." You try to admonish him, but it lacks bite, wavering into a weak moan.

It goes ignored, two of his fingers prodding against your clothed pussy, grinding his knuckles against the fabric. It has the texture of your underwear brushing over your clit, too light to be truly fulfilling, but it still has your hips rocking to chase after the sensation.

He's barely touched you and it's already enough to have your eyes fluttering. And then he's removing his hand away, making the pleasure fade into a dull throb that has you mourning the press of his knuckles.

"Damn, you're fuckin' soaked." There's awe and lust in his voice, thick and heavy, blending with the rough nature of his voice and turning it ragged. "How long have you been sittin' like this, all wet and squirming?"

His words are muffled and slurred. It takes the sound of slurping for your sluggish brain to connect the dots. He's sucking on his fingers.

You strain your neck to look back at him, ignoring the ache in your neck to watch him as he shoves then deeper into his mouth. It's vulgar and shameless how he groans around their intrusion, drinking down the taste of you on his gloves, slipping and coiling the length of his striped tongue around his fingers.

You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, a low whimper leaving your lips.

"Feelin' desperate?" he snickers.

"Oh, shut u-" you yelp abruptly, hips jolting from the table making your pelvis lurch painfully against the lip of the desk as Mammon sadistically snatches ahold of your underwear and twists it up. Pulling the fabric taut and tugging until it's wedged between the lips of your cunt, nudging on your clit.

The sound that leaves you is tortured and rapturous all at once. A gutted noise that would leave you embarrassed if you were clear headed enough. You can hardly care about being humiliated while he's keeping that pressure on your pussy, keeping you spread open on the snug cotton.

Your thighs clench, rubbing in a reflective attempt to seek out more tension, but all it does is make you brutally aware of the slick already smearing down your skin.

"Should have known you'd be a slut." There's creaking behind you, the sound of bells jingling as he settles into his chair. It's only then that he lets up on the hold he has on your underwear, a reprieve and loss all at once. "What about it, sweet thing, gonna let me have a taste?"

Chilled breath brushes over your ass, soothing the burn that still throbs from the impact of his hand. It's enough to have your body relaxing with a sigh before you realize what he's said. His offer has your brain scrambling for a moment. Never would you have imagined that he'd ask to go down on you. You figured that he'd already be wrestling to your knees right now, demanding that you swallow down his cock and get him off - not the other way around. But there's no way you're going to turn him down.

"Please," you blurt. Your nails rake across the cherrywood counter, clawing in anticipation to feel the damp of his tongue over your heated flesh.

"Are you sure?" he teases with mock hesitation. "You don't sound like you want it all that bad."

"Yes, yes, please, Mammon," you crumble easily. Giving like sugar melting on heat. "I want it - I need you to touch me. I need you to fuck me."

"Well then, since you asked me so nicely." The condescension in his tone should insult you but it only makes you burn hotter. Nerves singing and smoldering like you've been doused in gasoline.

He tears your panties from you too. They pinch your skin before they give, but it's hard to focus on that while he shreds them from your hips, ripping them as though they're made from paper.

A surprised cry leaves you from the chilled lashing of his tongue laving over your cunt, crudely spreading your apart on the long appendaged. His mouth his cold, shocking on your hot cunt, zapping up your spine like ice.

A pair of his hands slip back down on your hips, turning ridged, fixing you in place when you squirm while he eats you from the back. Smothering himself in you with a passion that you wouldn't ever anticipated.

He groans heavily. A guttural, deep noise that has tremors dipping through your pussy. It has your brain nearly fogging over when the length of his prehensile tongue sweeps down to circle around your clit in teasing glides before it dips inside of you. Stroking down to work deep inside like he's trying to drink you.

Each curl and tug pulls a moan from you, pitchy and loud, growing higher. You aren't even fully aware of the increasing volume. How your cries are echoing off of the walls, no doubt slipping past the door where everyone else will be able to hear and easily piece together what's happening.

You know you're going to get looks when you leave the office. Employees lifting themselves up from their chairs, peeking over their worn cubicles to try and get a peek of you, staring in judgement and awe.

How you're going to leave his office is another thing entirely. The bastard ripped your skirt and underwear, but honestly that's a problem for the future. It's difficult to be bothered with troubles like that, to worry about the gossip that's probably already spreading around the building like a wildfire while your boss has his tongue inside of you.

They'll all be talking about you for weeks, but you'll wear it with pride.

His tongue is so deep, reaching a point that you didn't know was possible. Brushing over places like he's searching for something, and when the tick point of it strokes over that patch that makes your toes curl, he centers all of his focus on it. Lapping at that point like he means to take you apart piece by piece and leave you in pool of liquid muscle and bliss.

He's mean about it. Mouthing at your pussy like he's tempted to take a bite of you. Scraping a hint of his lethal teeth over your lips and clit, sending sparks and smoke flicker through your nerves.

The way he does it is sloppy. Almost amateur. Like he's not entirely sure what he's doing, but the enthusiasm he has, moaning and breathing into you, lapping and sucking like he's starved makes up for where he lacks.

You can hear how wet you are. You're dripping, spit and cum dripping down your inner thighs. The stiff hold he has on your hips has your spine stuck in a firm arch, but apparently it's not enough, because he's lifting you ass up high in the air. A sting darts down your back at he holds you up, positioning you until only your chest is held up by the desk.

Even with him hunched over on his chair, there's still a decent height imbalance. Your legs fling out on instinct, kicking out to try and balance yourself, but the sharp smack that he delivers to your ass has you going limp in his hands. He mumbles a complaint into your cunt, too enraptured to pull himself from you, but you think that you can make out something over the cloud stuffing your skull and the slurred nature of his words.

Something that sounds close to "quit fuckin' squirming."

He at least has the decency to snatch both of your legs and swing them to rest the front them on his shoulders, offering you a little bit more stability. It does little to ground you though. You feel like you're floating, even while your back stings and the clutch of his fingers on your hips is bruising.

He's relentless. Fucking his tongue into you like he wants to make a place for himself there. Like he's trying to leave his mark and stain you from the inside out.

You're panting. Strangled puffs of air wrangling from your lungs with every drag of his soaked tongue.

"This cunt's fuckin' filthy," he groans, just as ragged and desperate as you sound. "Such a slutty thing. Wan' you to soak me. Cum all over my face."

His drunken rambling has your every muscle in you drawing up tight. Pleasures licking up your spine, boiling in the base of your stomach, blurring behind your eyes. It rushes up on you in a blink. In a split second, it all goes white.

Your claws lash across the counter, slicing permanent divots through the wood as you try to keep yourself present through the ripples making your muscles writhe and jerk.

You suck in a skipping breath, straining to gulp down enough air to orient yourself through the heat. It keeps rolling through you. Making your limbs twitch and spine arch as he coasts you through the stretch of your orgasm with his tongue.

It doesn't take long for the bliss to melt into something bright and a little too keen. A whimper punches from your chest, a hand mindlessly slapping against the chilled counter as you try to wiggle out from underneath his mouth.

"Mammon, what-"

"Keep fucking still," he chides, stroking his finger over your clit in way that makes your nerves feel as though they've been dipped in lightning. "You're ruinin' my meal."

You swear sharply, mouth opening in a silent cry as he continues to lick at you and gulp you down. It's agony. Clear that he's not doing it for your pleasure, but his own. Getting some sort of sadistic enjoyment out of having you spread out and bent beneath him, tortured on his tongue. Swallowing you down in greedy gulps.

The weight of his static threatening to charge the air makes the overstimulation even more intense. It's fuzzy and shocking; your perception muting down into blurred edges. You're almost uncomfortably aware of your own being, the ache in your bones, the spit and cum staining your skin, the tender throb that pulses through your spasming pussy.

He's relentless and you can't manage to hardly breathe. Your panting leaves you in hiccupping, pitchy sounds that are no doubt bleeding past the door and echoing over the occupied cubicles in muffled cries. Everyone can hear you like this. It should be embarrassing, but all you feel is relief. There's pride swelling in your chest, because you're the one in here with him. Not Leviathan, not anyone else - you.

The alleviation of it pours down your spine like melted wax; embers biting at your fingertips and toes, smoldering thickly in the base of your abdomen.

He chuckles deeply, the smothered noise rippling through your cunt, wringing another set of tremors from you. It's a mindless movement when your hips rock back to fuck yourself on his tongue, eyes rolling as he dips it in deeper.

"Squeezin' on me tight," he slurs, slipping his tongue from your just long enough to mumble. "Want another one? Think you can handle it? Yeah, you're all fucked out already, needy lil' slut."

He pats your ass, all condescending rather than praising but it has you flushing with warmth. Turning hot and boneless as you chase after your high. You will yourself to nod your head, your cheek rubbing along the wood in agreement. That's not enough, apparently, because delivers a row of harsh smacks on the swell of your rump, making you squeal in surprise.

"Don't tell me I've fucked that dumb little head of yours empty already. Where are your manners, huh?" He slips two of his fingers in then, thrusting and crooking them to make you choke. He breathes in deeply, inhaling the scent of your pussy. It's crude and perverted. Your face prickles as the chill of his breath brushes over you, a stark contrast to your heated skin and it has you squirming. "Use your words and speak up. Don't be rude now."

"Yes. Yes, I want another one," you blurt in a near delirious surge. " I need it. " His name leaves you in a chant, like a broken record. Each utterance somehow more desperate than the last.

"Alright, damn, there's no need to beg." Everything is glazed over and hazy, and yet a flicker of irritation still manages to glint through the smoke at his snark. You can't dwell on it. And you definitely can't act on it with how he's working each thought from your head with every curl of his fingers.

When you cum again time distorts. Everything seems like it's been doused in syrup, turned sluggish and sweet. It's all been punched out of you until all you can do is sit and take it; struggling to hang on through the wet of his mouth, but he's got you stuck.

His hands are heavy, weighted things that keep you in place while your body tries to contort under his palms. At some point you've started babbling, but you can hardly hear through the roaring of your own ears to understand what you're even saying.

It's all a blur. A kaleidoscopic rush of electricity and pleasure, a weight that feels like liquid and warmth; injected into your veins to make your limbs fall heavy and useless.

He's kept you here for so long - or maybe it's only been minutes - fucked on his tongue and fingers while he takes you apart with a skill that you never expected to be possible for someone like him.

He doesn't stop either.

You aren't sure how many times he tips you over that bright edge, keeping you submerged and drowned beneath in a timeless flow. All you can tell is that you're gasping, keening through empty lungs while you seize up as his tongue forces out another violent high. It shudders through you in heavy tremors. Your cunt clenches tightly around his tongue, flexing and gushing, while the pleasure blends in with all the rest. Stretching out like something infinite. The effect of the endorphins filling your veins making you almost drunk, drooling while you moan out pathetic gasps.

All you can do is whine. Squirming under his hold when it becomes too much, ecstasy twining into something sharp and frayed. You've probably gone all stary-eyed.

He's so smug about it too. You can feel the shape of his wide smile pressing against your skin.

"Mammon, wait . . . give me a minute," you slur.

"What? Tappin' out already?"

You hum lowly, too worn to get yourself to properly speak again. Despite his chiding he eases off, slipping his tongue from you to finally let you breathe. You can't stop the pained groan that leaves you when he shifts your body, maneuvering you down from where he had you tightly suspended on his mouth, letting you sag back down on the desk like a broken, limp doll.

His hands are still firm. Stroking and squeezing at your sweat dampened skin like he can't get enough.

A part of you is still far off and drifted high in plumes of smoke. It's all fuzzy around the corners of your mind, sugar and static humming through your muscles. It makes you all lax and dopey, easily the most relaxed you've probably been in years. All of the stress and anger having been thoroughly wrung from you like water twisted from a cloth.

On some subconscious level you recognize him creeping closer, the electricity thrumming around him like a live wire prickling up your spine as he crouches over you. Hunching the shape of his body over yours like he's trying to cage you in.

"Don't quit on me now," he encourages in a mean coo. It's then you feel it. Something tepid and big pressing against the wet entrance of your pussy, cruelly nudging to smear it in the cum soaking your skin.

You can't help the way you whine. Gasping as you squirm underneath the press of it. It's not even inside of you yet and he feels massive. The thick head of his cock splitting your lips wide open to grind heavy circles on your clit.

Even with how many times he's made you cum there's still no way that you're going to be able to take him all in one go. It's a sobering thought, but the debauched ache that throbs through you at the thought of successfully taking him is undeniable. But you already feel so spread thin, worked out and left boneless; he's going to ruin you.

"Mammon, I - I don't know if I ca-"

"Of course you can," he assures in a rich baritone purr that coils in the pit of your stomach. His talons dig in deeper, like a beast with prey in its claws. "You can do it."

His voice is nearly sing-song. So light and relaxed for someone who's planning to tear you apart. He's already crushing you under his weight, dragging is cock over your clit in a delicious rhythm that already has your jaw dropping open. Hitching the head of it at your entrance, pressing forward enough to tease. It's not even in - not even close - and it already has you choking on air.

He was nice enough to give you what you wanted in the beginning. To prove a point that he could. This is all about him now, and he isn't going to leave anything left.

"Again, and again, and again."

You just don't know if you're going to make it out alive.

[cyborg-3005]

SPOILER TADC EPISODE 4 ANALYSIS BELOW

so, generally, these episodes keep getting better and better. one is with the facial expressions, pomni’s and jax’s especially felt very nuanced and added more opportunity to read their characters. but i do also mean writing-wise.

this episode definitely felt like it gave us a much larger glimpse into these characters as people:

while she’s “high,” ragatha mentions a lot of things (horses, dancing, etc.) that seem to be memories of her past life. she’s also more genuine about her feelings regarding the other characters, saying that especially harsh thing of gangle being more annoying with her comedy mask. generally, we’re getting more of a peek at how ragatha feels internally.

zooble is given a chance to be a bit more of the straight-person or the emotional stability for other characters to lean on, and is just more present than ever before.

pomni hasn’t evolved as much from her previous characterization, but she’s more in a position this time to be stable and not in constant mental peril.

jax is forcibly toned down as the day goes on, his underlayer of apathy and depression beginning to take over for his usual sadistic vigor.

there’s so many examples with gangle, but i’ll be getting into those later.

notably, especially by the end of the day, the humans aren’t acting like it’s the end of their adventure, but the end of an actual shift, as if this is their actual job that they drive from to their actual home somewhere. i find this interesting, especially for someone like pomni, who seems to take the idea of closing the shift most seriously—as if it’s real—despite her previously being the one most conscious about the artificiality of the adventures. i think this speaks to how in a normal setting, the characters kind of assimilate into it much quicker; the normalcy of this artificial mockery of real life attracts them as respite from the existential dread in being in a world that isn’t theirs. it also seems to awaken a bit more of their underlying selves.

pomni and gummigoo, man that was a powerful scene. we had all been dreading it, but i think i was pleasantly surprised at how mature and quiet pomni was in handling the situation—so many in the fandom tend to kinda infantilize her and so assumed that when she’d see gummigoo that she’d have some sort of breakdown, but the more frazzled and nuanced reaction she actually had feels much more realistic and true to her character.

i noticed gummigoo at least has the same name as before, as when pomni speaks it he reacts by reaching his hand out with some expression of concern. some have interpreted his mannerisms in this episode as that he actually remembered pomni and his previous self when she called his name but didn’t want to say anything to make the situation more complicated, which isn’t exactly 100% confirmed but is a cool theory regardless. i just really like him as a character in general, so it’s cool to see him again.

and i also really like how pomni’s interaction with him ended on a resolute and bittersweet note. like yeah, she’s definitely sad over the situation, but she’s not completely heartbroken—she seems glad to just have seen him again, even if he didn’t quite remember their time together beforehand. her feelings when seeing him are equally positive and negative, not this abject heartbreak that makes her drown in sorrow. she’s even briefly sorta infatuated with him at the counter, which is fun considering how ragatha on an offhand comment basically confirms funnygummy to be canon.

gotta say, maybe a little sadistic, i like seeing jax actually frightened. it seems like the only thing that ends up bringing out any remote amount of good in him, which we implicitly saw in episode 1 when he seemingly pulls gangle and kinger away from the kaufmo situation (perhaps out of fear for their safety?). i’m hoping we get to see his facade further broken down.

ragatha being high was really funny and very intriguing, as we get more of a glimpse at her “true self” underneath her mary-sue-esque facade.

zooble, i love zooble, man. i think to an extent they’re possibly one of the more heartwarming characters in the whole show just on the merit that their “coolness” isn’t quite a facade to distance themself like jax and they actually show care for their friends. i feel like zooble is less of a character we’ll need a dedicated episode for, and moreso one that will consistently show a bit more of themselves throughout.

and then

GANGLE.

i love how many layers there are to gangle’s “dissection” this episode. we see a glimpse into an excellent representation of bipolar disorder and manic episodes, and so much beyond that with her specifically. i love how her mention of the comic artist thing in jax’s “training video” was clearly a projection of her insecurities over her inability to chase her dreams in her past life, which is set up in the beginning by her mentioning her experience as a shift manager. the adventure’s promise of “normalcy”—a relief from her emotional instability, perhaps—quickly devolves into the horror of being left alone with your thoughts and surrounded by the infinite horizon of crushed dreams and mediocrity, that being the spudsy’s itself.

this adventure clearly awoke some old memories of her past life, making her wallow further in her grief over her not being perfect or excelling all the time. i found it amazing how well the pacing of the episode was able to add these layers one scene at a time to build up both the viewer’s understanding of gangle’s struggles and gangle’s struggles building up with the increasing stress of her job.

that scene at the end with her dancing into the traffic felt very reminiscent of a certain scene in DanDaDan episode 7 (i won’t spoil any of that). it’s interesting how happy she appears, yet it’s revealed to be a suicidal moment in some manners—her joy is derived from a destruction of self and the feelings of pressures being lifted that comes with that. when she throws the weird mask away, she’s lifting the burdens of “normalcy” and social responsibility off of herself, and her joy is not necessarily happiness itself but a cathartic feeling of being able to have a true moment of her own. it highlights, perhaps, why people engage in self-destructive behavior—it lets them let go of the burdens and expectations weighing on them, even for a moment.

i like the touch of how this moment doesn’t actually end in making her feel better—she ends up devastated over how she “ruined” everything by having that moment and being emotionally “selfish” for once. zooble makes her realize that no one is mad at her for having that moment (although the circus might be pissed over her time being all of their boss). i do find that in particular interesting, as it’s sort of a continuation of the sentiment both ragatha and jax express that they find gangle more tolerable with her tragedy mask. they’re unkind words, but the episode, and zooble’s moment of comforting her makes clear why those two were saying that—gangle is more of her “true self” without these overlaying masks (with the mask in this episode specifically, i think it represents the expectations of success and normalcy that capitalistic society imposes on us). it’s not that it’s wrong or unwarranted for gangle to want a happier mask, but the show demonstrates that gangle is the most genuine with her tragedy mask, when she has shed the masks that present her as being “acceptable” in a way that actally makes everyone more distant from her.

the “normalcy” of this adventure seemed to be what got to gangle, as the societal expectations of “normalcy” that come with that might have been gangle’s biggest struggle in her previous life. i love that ironically, the two characters that read the most “normal”—pomni and zooble—actually end up being the ones that connect with her, not to demonstrate that normalcy is good but the opposite: expectations of “fitting in” are bullshit, no one fits in or needs to, and pomni and zooble are demonstrating that.

one more thing i have to mention is i actually like how the show is aware of the pattern of “pomni sits and has a heartfelt conversation with another character in the dark at the act 2 low point” of episodes 2 and 3, and breaks the pattern during that scene with pomni and gangle outside in two ways, one of which being pomni’s “here we go again” attitude with the scenario when it begins, and how gangle forcibly ends the conversation before it gets too far for comfort, leaving the emotional resolution a bit more ambiguous and taking more of a journey to get resolved by the end.

my rambles only make slight bits of sense, but i hope you found something interesting to talk about in here. chat with me in the comments if ya want!

[stlllle]

Na real, agora q eu sei q tu é brasileira tenho outra proposta p ti tb

Chishiya x reader with a brasilian reader? 👉🏽👈🏽

We know our culture is very different from them, hugging strangers is basic politeness while asians barely touch, wonder how chishiya would feel with an s/o that has trouble understanding japanese, talks very loudly, is very physical, etc etc

🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷

Chishiya x Brazilian!Reader

Genre: AU, Comedy (???), Fluffy and Hot

Author’s note:

I don’t know if I really like this one 😭 idk, I’m not a huge fan of the whole “Brazilians are like this” stereotype thing... maybe it’s just because I’m not like that myself lol.

But anyway — here’s your request! I hope it turned out okay 🙂

Also, some Portuguese words are sprinkled in here and there!

(And yes, I basically wrote the same thing in another format: consider this the alternate version.)

[Also, no, I’m not translating them — I’m lazy and honestly? I don’t think they’re even translatable (pls my English is limited okay 😭]

Alternate version available

Alice in Borderland masterlist

Main masterlist

You didn’t plan to fall in love in Tokyo. Not with your supervisor. Not with a man who barely speaks unless necessary, whose eyes could cut through MRI scans and whose lips barely curve into anything resembling a smile.

You didn’t plan it. But when you met Dr. Shuntaro Chishiya, plans stopped mattering.

He was cold, clinical, polite in that distant way you’d only seen in movies about Japanese businessmen. He never raised his voice, never repeated himself. In meetings, he spoke in clear, low tones, making residents and students alike sit up straighter, scared of disappointing the “Silent Brain God,” as some called him.

You, on the other hand? You arrived like a whirlwind.

A Brazilian nursing student, here on scholarship. Loud, affectionate, constantly touching someone’s shoulder when you spoke. You hugged everyone. You greeted with kisses on the cheek. You laughed with your whole chest, cursed in three languages, and brought feijoada leftovers to the break room. You made playlists for every mood. You wore your curly hair loose, your scrubs one size too tight, and you said “puta merda” at least ten times a shift.

He didn’t notice you at first. Not in any deep way. You were just another intern.

But then you started hugging him.

Not inappropriately — you had manners. But when he handed you paperwork you’d been waiting for, you’d squeal: “Obrigada, doc!” and lightly grab his arm. When he corrected your charts with his usual passive-aggressive scribbles, you smiled and said “vou tentar, chefe” with a wink. He didn’t respond, but he remembered.

One day, you brought brigadeiros for everyone. You placed one carefully on his desk.

“For you, Chishiya-san,” you said. “They’re sweet. But not as sweet as me.”

He stared.

You smiled. Bit your lip. Walked away.

That night, he bit into the chocolate. And thought about your mouth.

He wasn’t used to noise. He liked stillness. The hum of machines. The silence of an operating theater.

But lately, silence annoyed him. Because it reminded him you weren’t there.

You were always talking. Singing softly while organizing instruments. Mumbling to yourself in Portuguese. Whispering “ai, caralho” every time someone screwed up.

And God, your laugh. Loud. Deep. Infectious.

One day, in the staff kitchen, you were telling a story — something about a drunk uncle and a broken hammock — waving your hands, your hips swaying slightly, laughing so hard you doubled over.

Chishiya watched from the doorway.

He didn’t understand the words.

But he felt the heat.

You noticed him noticing.

Subtle at first. His eyes lingering. His posture shifting when you entered a room.

You tested boundaries.

Standing a little closer. Whispering “bonitinho” under your breath when he passed by. Sending a wink when you caught his stare.

And then, the coffee incident.

You accidentally spilled hot coffee on your thigh during rounds. You hissed, biting back a scream.

He was beside you in seconds. “Are you burned?”

You nodded, breathless.

His fingers touched your skin — clinical, but lingering just a second too long. He applied the cold compress himself.

You looked up at him and whispered, “Vai cuidar de mim sempre assim?”

He didn’t understand the words.

But your tone? Your eyes? He understood that.

The first kiss happened in the on-call room.

You’d been left behind on a late shift. He passed by. Saw the light on. Found you curled on the couch, scrolling on your phone, humming Anitta softly.

He walked in. Sat beside you.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

“Nah. You?”

He shrugged.

You turned to him. Watched his profile in the dim light. His jaw. The way his lips parted to breathe.

“Chishiya…”

He looked at you.

And you kissed him.

Soft at first. Then hungrier. He pulled you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you pulled away, breathless, he whispered: “Loud girl.”

You laughed. “Cold boy.”

He kissed you again.

The sex came later.

Or maybe not that much later.

He tried to resist. You didn’t.

You made it impossible.

Always touching. Always teasing.

You whispered filth in his ear during long surgeries: “Wanna know what I’m not wearing under these scrubs?”

He’d glance at you, eyes dark.

You’d giggle. Walk away.

He snapped one evening.

Pulled you into the supply closet.

Locked the door.

“Take off your panties.”

You blinked. “Agora?”

“Yes.”

You did.

He knelt.

Tasted you like medicine. Clinical. Devastating.

You came loud. Gripping shelves. Knocking over boxes.

He stood. Wiped his mouth. Whispered in perfect Portuguese:

“Deliciosa.”

After that, there were no rules.

Sex in the break room.

Sex in his office. On his desk. Under it.

You rode him in the on-call bed, biting his shoulder to keep quiet.

He fucked you from behind during a fire drill, pressed against the wall.

You said things in Portuguese he couldn’t understand — but begged you to say again.

He whispered things in Japanese you felt in your bones.

But it wasn’t just sex.

It was the way he started bringing you coffee just how you liked it.

The way he said “bom dia” in a terrible accent but with soft eyes.

The way you sat on his lap during meetings and he let you.

The way he touched you — gently. Like you mattered.

You taught him how to dance.

He taught you how to listen.

You fought once. You were emotional. He was cold. You shouted. He stared.

Then he kissed you.

You forgave him.

He said “me desculpa.” You cried.

He wiped your tears. Whispered “meu amor.”

You didn’t plan to fall in love.

But now, you couldn’t imagine your world without his silence.

And he couldn’t imagine his without your noise.

[loudstan]

(67) Days of Whatever the Fuck that Was (PART 2.)

Summary: Chenle wasn't interested in committed relationships until he met the one. The problem is that now she is the one who doesn't want to commit to him.

Pairing: Werewolf! Chenle x Siren! Female reader

Warnings: OOff where do I start. Things get dubious, and even a bit non-conish sometimes so do not read if that's not something you're into. A lot of mind games, manipulation, gaslighting, and all the red flags you can think of. Y/N is MEAN. Also, this is super long so i had to make two separate posts. Read both if you want to know how it started! SMUT.

(PART 2)

“Why’s Jisung crying?” Kun asked when he saw the youngest member of the pack trying to hide how glossy his eyes were a few days later.

“I’m not,” Jisung replied stubbornly, but the words came out broken.

“He watched (500) Days of Summer,” Renjun deadpanned. 

“You watched–,” Kun burst out laughing. “It’s a romantic comedy! How did you end up crying?”

“It’s not romantic, nor funny,” Jisung disagreed.

Renjun sighed. “He’s worried about Chenle.”

“Oh…” Kun frowned. “Is he still hiding in his room?”

Renjun and Jisung nodded.

Kun sighed and hesitantly walked to Chenle’s room, knocking on the door and letting himself in when he heard a monotonous ‘come in’ from the other side.

“Hey, Lele…,” he greeted awkwardly. “How are you feeling?”

Chenle was sprawling in bed, with dark circles under a pair of eyes stuck to the laptop screen.

“Hm,” he replied, without elaborating.

“What are you up to?” Kun asked casually, walking closer to take a look at the screen. “Oh…You’re watching that movie too…”

Chenle barely nodded. “I’ve watched it  6 times. Each time it becomes more obvious that they would never end up together. Funny, isn’t it?” his dull voice said.

“Lele, I’m so sorry,” Kun said sincerely. Not only for what happened to the younger werewolf,  but also for even mentioning that stupid movie.

“It was gonna happen sooner or later,” Chenle closed his laptop and finally looked at the oldest. “She didn’t want me. Not the way I want her, at least.”

Kun looked at him sadly.

“Maybe I could make my own movie,” Chenle joked unenthusiastically. “The title would be (67) Days of Whatever the Fuck that Was.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” the older offered.

“Sure, you could convince her to take me back,” Chenle chuckled humorlessly. “Forget it, gege. There’s nothing anyone could do,” he said, before putting his laptop away and pulling the covers all the way up until they covered his head. “Can you close the door when you leave, please?”

“I…sure,” Kun murmured, walking out and closing the door quietly.  He stood in the corridor for an entire minute as he considered his options. “Fuck it,” he murmured, for once not caring about his manners.

He went back to the living room where Jisung and Renjun were waiting expectantly. “Get up, you two,” Kun told them. “We’re going to the bar.”

“Yeosang, I’m fine,” you insisted after he begged you to go rest for the 5th time.

“ You haven’t seen your mate in a week, and you know that can affect your health. You shouldn’t abuse your body.”

“It’s almost time to close. There are like 5 people here. It can’t be that hard, ” you laughed.

“I can handle it for the last half of an hour,” he offered. “You haven’t been looking too good lately–”

“It’s getting better,” you lied before turning to the customer to take his order. “Hi! What can I get you?”

“Three glasses of Eternal Dusk, please,” a handsome man with a charming smile said, handing you his credit card. 

“Right away,” you replied with a smile, scanning the card and handing it back to him before preparing the drinks skillfully and handing them to him.

 He thanked you and took the drinks to the table where his friends were waiting for him. You thought you recognized one of them, but he quickly looked away, suddenly being very interested in the wall behind him. Over the course of the night, they kept stealing glances at you, quickly looking away and talking secretly in their tiny group. Eventually, the same guy who had ordered the drinks earlier approached the bar again.

“Another round?” you offered.

“Uh, actually–” he stopped mid-sentence with a wince and hesitantly grabbed a pendant that was hanging from a chain, tucked under his shirt. He inspected the relic suspiciously like it wasn’t his own.

“Everything okay?” you asked.

He looked at you and then back at the pendant, which he quickly hid back under his shirt. “Y-yeah sorry,” he smiled politely. “I was wondering–... you’re not from around here, are you?”

“No, I–uh, I’m from the Scarlet Islands,” you disclosed. “Why?”

“Figures. Your beauty is…definitely not something you see in this town,” he said cheekily, looking at you like he had found out your biggest secret.

“Are you going to order something or not?” Yeosang interrupted the conversation, standing in between you and the customer. 

The man smiled at Yeosang before shaking his head and waving goodbye. “I think we’re done for tonight,” he said, going to his table and hurrying his friends out of the bar.

“What a creep,” Yeosang said. 

“Y-yeah,” you chuckled nervously and started cleaning up now that the last customers were gone.

“Heeey, Sangie,” Wooyoung greeted cheerfully approaching the bar. “Can I steal Y/N away for a little bit?”

Yeosang glared at Wooyoung suspiciously. 

“It won’t be anything stupid, I promise,” Wooyung said, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“I’ll be okay, Sangie,” you chuckled, walking away with Wooyoung when Yeosang finally nodded hesitantly.

Wooyoung guided you out of the ship, to the dock that connected it to land. It was late at night and the place was deserted. The only sound you could hear was the water splashing the wooden ship and the distant voices of the crew members coming from inside the ship.

When you looked at Wooyoung you were surprised to see him taking his shirt off.

“What are you doing?” you asked, astonished.

“I’m getting undressed,” he said, unbuckling his belt.

“I can see that. Why?”

“We’re going swimming!” he exclaimed, stepping out of his pants to present himself in front of you in his underwear. “Why are you just standing there? Do you need me to take your clothes off for you?” he asked suggestively.

“Woo, it’s late…” you tried to reason.

“I’ll push you. Don’t test me.”

You saw a mischievous glint in his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine, I guess it won’t hurt to swim a little bit,” you said, undressing yourself until you were only wearing your bra and panties. The crew had seen you in a swimming suit before, so this was basically the same. And it was dark, so you weren’t worried about him seeing through the fabric once it got wet

You followed Wooyoung into the water and sighed at the feeling surrounding you.

“Feel good?” Wooyoung asked, apprehensively.

“Really good,” you admitted, surprised. Your body had felt heavy and ached for the last few days, but you were suddenly feeling so relieved.

“Seawater restores sirens’ vitality,” Wooyoung commented, very proud of himself. “I read about it.”

“Aaw, were you worried about me?” you teased.

He splashed water on your face as a response. You gasped and splashed him back, starting a childish battle that ended with him holding you tightly against his own body to prevent your attacks.

You were laughing brightly when you felt the soft presence of his lips on yours. It barely lasted a second, but it made all laughter stop.

Your confused eyes met Wooyoung’s untamed ones. He wasn’t laughing, nor did he seem embarrassed or regretful.

“Did that feel good too?” he asked. His voice was thick with implication.

You stared back at him, speechless.

“Don’t worry, this isn’t a love confession,” he said, gently pushing a strand of wet hair from your face. “This is just me saying that I know you’re going through a hard time, and that your body isn’t taking it well. You’re tired, in pain, and so sensitive…” he trailed off.

You blushed. “Woo–”

“I know it’s someone else that you want,” he continued. “But I can help you forget, even if it’s just for a little bit.”

“You don’t have to–”

“You think I get nothing out of it? You may not know this but I have a thing for sirens. I dated one, actually…but things didn’t end up well. I recently found out through Yeosang that she met someone knew,” he chuckled but his laugh sounded empty, hurt. “I should be happy for her. But I can’t bring myself to. Childish, huh?”

“It was you?!” you asked, astonished. “The friend Yeosang told me about–”

“She’s my ex,” Wooyoung confessed. “Well…if you could call that a relationship. We barely held hands or kissed. She was afraid if we…consummated, she would follow me wherever I went. That was smart of her; following a pirate around isn’t anyone’s dream life.”

“Woo…I’m so sorry,” you whispered sympathetically.

“You’re in no position to be sorry about someone else’s love life,” he laughed, earning a playful punch on the shoulder. “What I’m trying to say here is that none of us is with who we want to be, but we have each other…”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea…” you hesitated.

“Isn’t it tiring to have to pleasure yourself?” he taunted, caressing your waist with intent and making you shiver, suddenly very aware of the proximity and nakedness of you both. “You can’t let the man you love make you cum, and I couldn’t make the woman I loved cum…” he murmured, moving his hands skillfully to give you goosebumps. “Wouldn’t it be poetic if we cum together?”

“The mental gymnastics to get to that conclusion are out of this world,” you joked.

“Y/N,” he groaned. “We’re both lonely and horny, and we’re stuck in a lifestyle that won’t let us have a stable relationship with anyone outside this damn ship. Is it really that crazy to propose we help each other out?”

You considered it for a second. He was making sense; you couldn’t be with Chenle if you wanted to continue your current lifestyle…but Wooyoung would always be there. 

“Captain said no relationships within crew members,” you murmured, holding onto the last argument against this reckless idea.

“Captain doesn’t need to know,” he assured you, closing the distance between your lips and kissing you. You kissed him back, focusing on Wooyoung and trying to forget all about Chenle. Without knowing that you would see him sooner than expected.

“CHENLE!” Kun yelled, bursting into the depressed wolf’s room and yanking the covers away from his limp body. “YOU STUPID BOY!”

After getting over the initial shock, Chenle gave him an unamused glare. “We already established that. No need to yell,” he murmured, reaching for the cover again.

Kun took the cover from his hand and threw it on the floor. He then unclasped from around his neck a golden chain with a doubloon hanging from it and waved it in front of Chenle’s face. “Do you know what this is?” 

“No,” deadpanned Chenle.

“It’s a siren detector,” he replied proudly.

“Why do you even have one of those?” Chenle asked, still uninterested.

“I got it from my time in the navy, of course. All sailors get one for safety.”

“Pff, you were not in the navy,” Chenle scoffed.

“Yes, I was? I sent you postcards?” Kun reminded him offendedly. “Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is we went to the bar where your mate works—“

“You did WHAT?!” Chenle asked outrageously. 

“We were going to convince her to take you back,” Kun continued.

“Nooo,” Chenle groaned, mortified. “How did you even know which bar it was?”

“Jisung led the way,” Kun informed.

Chenle glared at Jisung who was standing awkwardly next to Renjun.

“Sorry,” Jisung mumbled. “Didn’t want you to be sad…”

Chenle sighed. “You should have asked me— did you steal that glass?”

Jisung looked at the glass he was holding, still half full of alcohol. “We left in a hurry and I kinda panicked.”

“As I was saying,” Kun demanded everyone’s attention. “Whenever I got near your mate the detector started burning my skin. I asked her where she was from and she named an island that is located in the Forbidden Sea, which is where you can find  the biggest population of merpeople.”

Chenle stared at him dumbly.

“You imprinted on a siren!” Kun exclaimed exasperatedly. “Well, probably a half-siren…she seems to be able to spend long periods of time on land.”

“…That’s ridiculous. I would have noticed if my mate had a fishtail.”

“I guess they don’t teach you guys anatomy in school anymore,” Kun said. “That’s a myth. Sirens look like any other human. Some historical jerk assumed they had tails because the lower part of their bodies often remained hidden under the water. They have legs just like us, and they sometimes come to land, but they need sea water to survive. My guess is Y/N gets easy access to the water by traveling with pirates.”

“But… it can’t be…”

“It makes perfect sense,” Renjun interjected. “Sirens are famous for their mind control. Think about it: isn’t it weird that you always agreed to everything she said?”

Again, Chenle glared at Jisung, who must have spilled the beans about that too.

 “I don’t know, man,” he sighed tiredly. “Maybe I’m just a simp.”

“No but—“ Jisung spoke nervously. “That night when you met her you were so out of it. All you kept saying was that you didn’t want to mark her. Isn’t that weird?”

Chenke knitted his brows. It was kind of weird. “Maybe it was the fever.”

“Just try to remember,” Renjun insisted. “Did you ever have any disagreement that ended with you saying something out of character? Something that you didn’t understand why you were saying?”

Chenle froze. Every encounter with you had ended like that. Suddenly it all made sense.

Holy fuck. He had been played.

 He groaned and pulled his hair. “So Y/N is a master manipulator. Why does it matter? She doesn’t want to see me.”

”That’s the weird part,” Kun says hurriedly. “I heard her speaking with the other bartender, saying something about not seeing her mate for a week. Your relationship,” he said that word making air quotes with his hands, “ended a week ago. So that has to be referring to you, right? That means she imprinted on you too. But if that’s really the case then she wouldn’t be able to stand being away from you after you guys slept together,” he ranted nonsensically. 

Chenle wasn’t really following. He was still trying to process that he imprinted on a siren, and now Kun was saying that you probably imprinted on him too. He didn’t even know sirens imprinted.

“Maybe sexual relationships aren’t that important for her,” Renjun said, trying to make sense of the situation. 

“Sex is a sacred ritual between siren mates,” Kun contradicted Renjun’s theory. “When a siren is brought to their climax by the one they imprinted on it’s game over. The bond is sealed for eternity. Seriously, guys, what are they teaching you in school?”

“Not how to mate with sirens, clearly,” Renjun replied sarcastically, making Jisung choke on his drink.

“Orgasms seal the bond…” Chenle mumbled, sitting up as he pieced together everything he heard. “Game over…”

“Exactly,” Kun said, excited that at least one of them was paying attention and learning from him. “But then she probably wasn’t talking about you when she mentioned a mate because she shouldn’t be able to live without you after two months of–” 

“I didn’t make her cum,” Chenle admitted.

The room was silent.

“You mean– last time you were together?” Renjun offered.

“Ever,” Chenle deadpanned.

Jisung gasped. “You never told me that!” he accused.

“Yeah, thank god, or you would have told everyone!” Chenle rolled his eyes.

“I get nervous when interrogated!” Jisung defended himself.

“Chenle!” Kun shrieked. “Are you saying that in two months of being fuckbuddies,” he stressed, “ you didn’t make her cum once?!”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Chenle replied.

“Right,” Renjun said sarcastically.

“She kept telling me that I wasn’t good enough. That I didn’t deserve to touch her!” Chenle huffed, incredulous at what he was learning. “Whenever she was about to cum she would stop me with that sickeningly sweet voice of hers–”

“The siren voice,” Kun nodded, starting to understand what was happening.

“And I would always end up doing as she said and–I don’t know I thought it was like a weird kink of hers, or that I really was that bad in bed,” Chenle groaned. 

“She was stopping you from consummating the bond,” Renjun breathed out, catching up.

“Wait what?” Jisung asked.

“She imprinted on Chenle and she knew if he made her orgasm  she would be bonding with him forever,” Kun explained. “She literally hypnotized him to make sure he never made her cum.”

“That’s a whole new level of commitment issues…” Jisung said incredulously. “And gaslighting,” he added,  not believing that someone would go that far. 

But Chenle didn’t doubt you would do all that and more to get what you wanted. You were literally insane.  

“Fucking bitch,” he grunted, getting out of bed and exiting the room.

“Where are you going?” Jisung asked.

“Where do you think?!” Chenle yelled back.

“That’s a terrible idea,” Renjun warned, running after him, followed by Jisung and Kun.

“You either wait here or you come with, but you’re not stopping me,” Chenle grunted, opening the front door and walking out of the house in his pajamas.

The three werewolves exchanged worried looks before following Chenle to his car. Kun ended up driving because Chenle’s hands were shaking with rage, and the car was barely parked near the port when Chenle sprinted toward the imposing ship. 

The bar was closed, and everyone was probably asleep, but Chenle didn’t give a damn. He was going to wake up the entire town if he had to.

But he didn’t have to, because he heard you.

It was distant and weak. You were giggling and whimpering, and at some point, he even thought he heard his name. But where–?

He almost tripped when he stepped on…pants? And there were other pieces of clothing too– Was that your top?!

“You okay?” asked an unfamiliar male voice.

“F-fine,” you croaked.

“That good, huh?” the stranger asked.

“Shut up,” you replied playfully.

The voices were getting closer and Chenle’s enhanced vision could see you swimming toward the dock…with a man. 

“It must have been good,” the man insisted. “You were so out of it that you called me a totally different name.”

“Woo,” you whined, ashamed. “I’m sorry–” 

He pecked your lips. “It’s fine,” he assured you with a smile, reaching for the wooden surface. “You’ll get it right next time–,” his sentence was interrupted when out of nowhere someone grabbed him and pulled him out of the water aggressively. 

Your eyes widened in fear when you saw Chenle, manhandling Wooyoung with murderous intent. The pirate landed on his back on the dock with a loud thud and winced, but that was only the beginning of the pain Chenle had planned for him. 

“C-chenle!” you shrieked, getting out of the water. “Chenle, stop!”

“I’ll deal with you later,” he growled at you, getting back to beating the shit out of the man who had dared to kiss you.

Desperately, you yelled at him to stop, tried to pull him away from Wooyoung, and finally screamed for help, hoping at least one of your crew members would hear you.

Luckily, Yunho came running out of the ship, closely followed by Mingi, who looked half-asleep. They quickly assessed the situation and charged in to separate the two men. San and Yeosang joined the scene right after, helping Wooyoung get up and trying to get him away from the threat.

“I’ll teach you not to touch what isn’t yours,” Chenle growled, breaking free from Yunho and Mingi’s grasp, but thankfully Kun, Renjun and a terrified Jisung stepped in, not letting him reach the poor man. 

“Leave right now or I’ll call the police,” Seongwha spoke authoritatively, standing between his crew and the werewolves.

“Call the police then!” Chenle challenged petulantly. “See if I care. One of my pack is fucking a police officer so they can’t do shit to us–” he suddenly fell on the floor completely unconscious. Behind him, there was Jongho.

“I hit a pressure point so he’ll be asleep for a bit,” Jongho explained calmly. “Not for long though, so you should get him out of here fast.”

The three werewolves nodded quickly, and mumbled a thousand apologies while they grabbed his unconscious pack member and dragged him away. 

Seungwha quickly instructed the crew to take Wooyoung inside and tend to his wounds before turning to you. “Y/N, Captain wants to see you.”

The crew turned to look at you, failing to mask the fear in their eyes. They knew that if the Captain asked you to go to his cabin, it meant you were in huge trouble.

You lowered your head and nodded obediently, grabbing your clothes and boarding the ship. You quickly dried your body and put on some clothes before walking to the Captain’s cabin with trembling legs.

“Come in,” he said before you could even knock.

The antique door opened with a quiet squeak.

Captain Hongjoong was standing by a small window while playfully tossing his spyglass from one hand to the other.

“Did you ask to see me?” you asked nervously.

“I did,” he hummed calmly. “Had fun with Wooyoung?”

Your blood ran cold. There was no way he could have found out this fast, could he?

He chuckled. “Come here, Y/N.”

You took hesitant steps toward him until you were face to face.

“Look outside” he instructed,positioning so you were looking out the window. “What do you see?”

You saw the dock where the fight had happened and if you moved a bit to the right you could see the exact spot where you and Wooyoung had been fooling around. Could he have seen–?

“Saw it all,” he purred next to your ear, answering your unvoiced question. “Can’t say I’m surprised. If someone was going to break that rule it was Wooyoung.”

“It wasn’t his fault–”

“Please,” Hongjoong laughed, sitting on a chair made out of a barrel. “You want me to believe that Wooyoung wasn’t the one who started this? I know my crew,” he said, gesturing at the chair in front of him for you to take a seat too.

“He was only trying to help,” you explained, sitting down.

“Yeah, because you broke up with rich boy, right? Maybe if you hadn’t used your siren voice on him things wouldn’t have ended like that.”

You gasped in surprise. He knew about that?! 

He gasped too, mocking you. “Told you, Y/N. I know my crew,” he informed you, changing his tone to a more serious one. “Relationships within the crew are a rule that could be bent if necessary… but I strictly forbade you from bewitching people.”

“I–I know…”

“Wooyoung and you hooked up, alright, no problem. You’re both adults. But what you did to that man,” he said pointing at the window, “was take away his autonomy for your benefit.”

You nodded slowly, ashamed. 

“I’ve been waiting to see if you would solve things on your own, but now one of my men is hurt. You did that,” he accused.

You winced. “I understand. I’ll pack my things,” you said.

Hongjoong frowned.“Why would you do that?”

“I broke the rules and I put the crew in danger. So I gotta leave, right?”

“That would be the easy way out,” he said sternly. “You can’t abandon people whenever you fail them.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry,” you said immediately.

“Not to me. To Chenle Zhong.”

Wow. He even knew his full name.

“I ended things with him,” you explained.

“But did you apologize?”

“He’ll move on and find someone better.”

“Did.you.apologize?”

You sighed in defeat. “...No.”

“Do it,” he commanded. “In person.”

You nodded right when someone knocked on the door softly.

“Come in,” Hongjoong said.

Seongwha walked in. “Wooyoung will be fine. Only a few bruises, but no broken bones.”

“Good,” Hongjoong sighed. “Tell him he’s grounded.”

“Of course,”  Seongwha said, but shot you a worried look. “What about Y/N?”

“She has her own task to complete, isn’t that right?” he said, looking at you solemnly.

And that’s how you found yourself unblocking Chenle and texting him, asking him if you could meet. The message showed as read for hours until he finally replied setting a time and date.

He picked you up like he often did in the past, before shit hit the fan. At first you refused to get in the car.

“I’ll be quick,” you said.

“I won’t,” he countered angrily. “I have a lot to say, and you’re gonna listen. Get in.”

His voice left no room for disobedience, so you nervously got in the car. This time he drove in a totally different direction. 

“Where are we going?” you asked.

He didn’t reply. He remained silent even when the car stopped in front of a huge modern building, taking you into the elevator and, once again, pressing the button to go to the highest floor. 

You were in awe when you entered a place as luxurious as the presidential suite, but more homelike. It was a spacious penthouse, with minimum decoration, like it had been recently purchased, with enormous windows that allowed you to see the ocean.

“I’m listening,” Chenle said dryly, standing in front of the window and watching the striking view.

You stood behind him, taking a deep breath in to brace yourself. “There’s something you must know,” you started saying.

He kept his eyes on the view, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m part siren. Sirens can control people’s minds with their voices…and I did that to you.”

He clenched his jaw but remained silent, 

“Everytime you came too close I made you believe that you didn’t actually want that. I treated you like shit to keep you under control, but the truth was that I was afraid of what would happen if we went further. I’m sorry,” you finally said. 

He turned around, glaring at you. “You’re sorry? Do you think you can use and humiliate someone repeatedly and then just say you’re sorry?”

You shook your head. “I know what I did was awful. That’s why I ended things; so you can forget about me and move on.”

“That’s your way of fixing things?” He laughed humorlessly. “Imagine someone broke your leg and then they put a fucking sticker on it, telling you to forget about it. Can you go run a marathon?”

“...That’s not the same–”

“That’s what it felt like to me,” he insisted. “You broke me every time you told me I didn’t deserve you. Everytime you made me say what we had wasn’t special. You don’t get to step on me like that and then tell me to move on.”

“I’m trying to do what’s right.”

“No. You’re doing what’s easier.” 

“Chenle I–,” you sighed. “I’m leaving in three days. There’s nothing I can do for you at this point.”

He met your gaze with eyes that reflected a storm of emotions. 

“There’s something,” he said firmly. “Kiss me.”

A shiver ran down your spine. There was nothing you would like more than to kiss him. “Wouldn’t that make things worse?” you asked apprehensive.

“The person I imprinted on used me for months and is leaving in 3 days. Things can’t possibly get worse for me,” Chenle deadpanned. He stared at your lips and took one of your hands tenderly. “Can you let me have just one moment with you that feels real? Without the lies and the mind games?”

You breathed out against his lips. “O-okay…”

Chenle’s lips were on yours, slow and hot. You felt like you were floating. It had been so long since the last time you were this close to him, you had forgotten how well his lips fit into yours, how gratifying his body felt against yours, how easily he could turn you on with his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

You couldn’t remember why you turned down his touch in the past when it was clearly what you needed the most–even the body ache you had woken up with was subsiding thanks to his ministrations.

It was the little moan that escaped you what brought you back to reality by the time he had taken your shirt off and was kissing your chest while playing with the strap of your bra.

“Chenle,” you moaned when he unclasped your bra and attached his lips to your tits. “I t-think we should stop now–”

He ignored your concerns, sucking on your nipple languidly. 

“Ooh– Chenle I’m serious,” you started to panic at how dangerously good you were starting to feel. With how sensitive you were since you imprinted on him and how much you had been craving for him it wouldn’t take long for you to climax…and that’s a luxury you couldn’t afford if you were to leave with the crew in a couple of days.

“Don’t be like that,” he cooed, unbuttoning your jeans. “You hardly ever allowed me to touch you during our encounters. You can’t expect me to be satisfied with just a kiss when this could be the last time I see you.”

“T-then how about I make y-you feel good instead?” you offered nervously, trying to pull his hands away from you, but he quickly slapped your hands away.

“I don’t think so. We did things your way many times already. It’s my turn to make you cum,” he declared, pulling your pants down hastily.

“NO! WAIT!” you shrieked, grabbing his hands with all your strength.

Chenle stared into your eyes intently. “There’s that terrified expression again,” he uttered. “It’s almost like you don’t want to cum. But that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it?” he taunted. “Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me…”

You gulped.You indeed hadn’t told him you imprinted on him and what the consequences of an orgasm would be. “I…I just–That’s n-not why I came here–”

“What’s so terrifying about me making you cum, hmm?” he inquired darkly, like he already knew the answer, cornering you against the window glass. “If you don’t give me a good reason I won’t stop.”

You couldn’t tell him, because if you did then you were 100% sure he wouldn’t stop. You didn’t want to do this again, but you didn’t see any other way out right now.

“Pup, listen to me–” you spoke sweetly but he clasped his hand on your mouth firmly.

“No, you won’t,” he spoke through gritted teeth. “You apologize for bewitching me, but you try to do it again the second things don’t go as you planned?” he asked incredulously. 

You squirmed but he didn't budge.

Chenle hummed, placing his free hand on the front of your neck and tracing his fingers over your throat, drawing what felt like random figures. “What a shame. That was your last chance.” 

You gasped for air when he finally uncovered your mouth, but when you tried to speak again no words came out.

You cleared your throat and opened your mouth again, but even though you were saying words, they didn’t materialize into sounds.

You looked at Chenle in shock, and he smirked back at you.

“It’s not nice, huh? Not being able to say what you want,” he asked rhetorically.

‘What did you do?!’ you tried to ask, but of course once again nothing came out of your mouth. 

Chenle understood your voiceless question though and he chuckled. “Here goes my first confession: I found out about what you were a few days ago. I’ve been thinking of ways to stop you from using that voice on me since then. At first I thought about choking you, but I was so fucking mad at you I was afraid I would end up breaking your neck, so I learned how to cast this little spell on your vocal chords.”

Your eyes widened, remembering how you thought that he was just caressing your neck seconds ago.

“I also know you imprinted on me,” he continued speaking, caressing your face. “And I know what will happen if I make you cum so, naturally, I will make it happen.”

Your instinct kicked in and you pushed him, trying to get away as fast as you could, but he quickly caught you and turned you around, pushing you against the window glass with him hugging you from behind. You shivered when the cold material made contact with your bare chest, and the beautiful city view reminded you of how embarrassingly exposed you were.

Chenle’s hand had already found its way into your panties, and he was pleasuring you skillfully and fast, with only one objective in mind.

“Here goes my second confession: I regret not killing that friend of yours,” he whispered next to your ear, while two of his fingers were buried inside of you. “Can’t believe you let him have you like this before me. It drove me mad to find out what you sound like when you’re cumming while in another man’s arms. But what made me even more furious was that you moaned my name. How fucking shameless can you be?”

You wanted to dig a hole and hide in it forever, but first you needed to run away.

He clicked his tongue when you kicked your leg back aimlessly trying to get him off you. “You’re being so rude when I’m making you feel so good you’re dripping down my hand?” He asked, adding a third finger and making you tighten around him.

You shook your head and tried to look at him over your shoulder, giving him your best puppy eyes.

“Do you really want me to stop?” he asked, stilling his fingers inside of you.

You nodded promptly.

He sighed. “I guess I should respect your wishes just like you respected mine–Oh, right,” he pretended to suddenly remember something important. “You didn’t,” he concluded, fucking his fingers into you fast and hard.

You would have screamed if you could. You were so close and it was both marvelous and horrifying. If you gave in it would change your life forever, so you tried to even your breath and will yourself to think of something else.

“Would you look at that?” Chenle taunted. “I can see your ship from here…It’s a shame they’re too far to see how much of an obedient girl you’re being for me, taking my fingers so well, about to give yourself to me completely.”

You did not want anyone to see you like this, but you tried to remind yourself that this penthouse was on the highest floor in an exclusive neighborhood. Surely no one could see you.

“Mm…should I bite you before or after I get you off?” Chenle asked, placing a wet kiss on your neck.

You squirmed helplessly. At this point you knew you wouldn’t break free, and that your efforts were in vain, but you were too stubborn to accept your fate.

“I’m tired of waiting,” he said, abusing that spot that had you rolling your eyes while using his other hand to rub your clit roughly. “Give it to me now.”

Your ears rang and the city lights in front of you became blurry. You felt like the world was spinning around you while the tingly feeling that sometimes you experienced in your fingertips expanded through your body. 

‘Chenle, Chenle, Chenle’ was the only thought in your mind. His firm hands on your body, his warm respiration on your neck, his expensive cologne invading your nostrils, his luscious voice murmuring words you couldn’t comprehend right now–he was everywhere. The feeling was so overwhelming, unlike any orgasm any man had ever given you before. There was no way back now. You were–

“All mine,” Chenle chuckled, removing his hands from your underwear and placing one of them on your throat to remove the spell. “Was that really so bad?” he asked, turning you around to face him.

You glared at him. “Y-you–,” you coughed and spoke shakily, still riding the neverending aftershoks of your orgasm. “Do you k-know what you just d-did?!”

“I’m fully aware,” he replied nonchalantly.

“I won’t be able to leave, you asshole!” you yelled at him as tears started forming in your eyes. “You ruined my life!”

The hand that was on your neck squeezed your throat.

“Like I said, I know what I did. That’s why I did it,” he grunted. “And just for your information, I only reversed the spell to hear you moan. Not for you to get bratty and annoying, so if you try to bewitch me or yell at me one more time you won’t be speaking until the end of my rut.”

You paled. “Y-your rut?!” you choked out.

“Third confession,” Chenle whispered against your lips. “I chose this night to meet because my rut is scheduled to start anytime soon. And you’re gonna help me through it.”

You kicked his leg just out of pettiness. You knew it probably didn’t hurt much and it wouldn’t get you out of this predicament, but you didn’t know how else to voice your anger.

He gave you an unamused look. “That’s it,” he growled, lifting you in his arms and throwing you over his shoulder unceremoniously. You squirmed, kicked, and hit whatever part of him you could reach but it only seemed to add to the punishment that was coming. 

He opened the door to a bedroom, which was also surrounded by wide windows. Like the living room, it wasn’t fully furnished or decorated, but there was a king size bed in the middle and a nightstand, which was all that Chenle needed right now. 

He sat on the bed and manhandled you so you were lying on your belly on his lap, and before you had the chance to ask anything or complain you felt a sharp pain on your ass.

“You’re going to behave,” he guaranteed, landing another slap that made you gasp. “Even if I have to force you to.”

You tried to keep your mouth shut. If he had reversed the spell because he wanted to hear you moan then you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing a single sound from you.

After spanking you a couple more times he noticed what you were trying to pull.

“Really?” he asked, giving you a particularly hard smack that almost made you give in. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured.

He moved you onto the bed, removed your panties hastily and positioned you so your legs were hanging off the bed while still on your belly. You turned your head around suspiciously but you didn’t see him. You were going to sit up when you felt a pair of firm hands gripping your asscheeks and something warm and wet grazing your inner labia. 

You yelped and Chenle chuckled against your center before diving in.

It had been a long time since someone ate you out from behind; usually you were the one in charge, so being in such a compromising position was humiliating yet he was making you feel so good…

No. You couldn’t let him know you were enjoying this. You bit your lip and grasped onto the bed sheets desperately.

His tongue slid inside of you and he landed another slap on your ass, feeling you clench around the wet muscle. He pulled away for a second to say some cheeky comment, but a malicious kick almost landed on his face.

Furiously, he stood up and climbed on the bed, grabbing you as you were crawling away and forcing you to turn around to face him.

“What the fuck was that?” he growled. 

“Fuck you!” you hissed in response.

“Fucking brat,” he spat, unbuckling his belt and straddling you. “After all you’ve done you think you have the right to be angry?”

“Oh and you’re any better?” you asked indignantly. “You forced an orgasm out of me even though you knew what that implied–”

“Agreed,” he conceded, unbuttoning his pants. “We’re both terrible people and now we’re stuck together, so you might as well get used to it–”

“I may be bonded to you but you don’t own me! I’m sure Yeosang can help me find a way to undo this–Hhmp!” your ranting was interrupted by Chenle grabbing your jaw firmly and  shoving his cock in your mouth, absolutely not in the mood to listen anymore.

“Mm, yeah that’s better,” he hummed, thrusting the head of his cock in and out slowly. “Such a beautiful voice but all that comes out of your mouth is poisonous.”

You tried to complain, but the vibrations only pleased Chenle even more. 

“Yeah, go on, princess,” he encouraged you mockingly, sinking some more of his length into your mouth. 

You shot him a dirty look and hollowed your cheeks to give a hard suck, tasting the salty liquid that the tip oozed.

He moaned and his body bent in pleasure. “Oh yeah?” he sneered, pulling out slightly to thrust back in. “Do your worst, princess, fuck–”

“Hmm,” you moaned around him, stretching your lips and straining your neck to bob your head. 

Chenle felt like his head was spinning. You had pleasured him with your mouth before, but this was different. He had never had so much power over you. It made him feel euphoric. He placed his hands on your head to keep you in place, pulling your hair unintentionally. His mouth hung slack and he fucked your mouth rhythmically.

It took you choking when his cock hit the back of your throat for him to cum in your mouth with a guttural moan, trapping your head between his pelvis and the mattress until you drank every single drop.

With a jaded sigh, he climbed off your chest to start going lower, kissing every corner of your body on the way until he positioned himself with his face between your legs to continue what he had started.

You let out a broken moan when he captured your clit with his mouth and sucked insistently. 

Your legs kicked his back and you pulled his hair angrily but you couldn’t refrain from moaning, much to his delight.  He sucked, and sucked until the stimulation was painful, and almost wished he moved his mouth somewhere else but he was suctioning your clit with obsessive intent, wanting it to feel so good it hurt, wanting to break you.

He alternated between flattening his tongue against you while shaking his head and going back to harsh sucking until your stomach contorts and your mind goes blank, making your legs shake in pleasure.

…Except he doesn’t stop. 

It was the first time he had you cum in his mouth and now he was captivated. He wished you had let him do this sooner. How dare you keep this away from him all this time?! 

“Do it again,” he grumbled against your core  between sloppy licks.

“Are y-haa…are you insane?!” you whined, trying to push him away.

He looked up at you with reddened eyes and growled, slapping your inner thigh.

“I said,” he spoke roughly. “Do it again,” he commanded, getting back to work.

This time he was all over the place, licking and slurping every drop of your release and making you shriek in pleasure and embarrassment. He wouldn’t let any of it go to waste. This belonged to him. You belonged to him. And he would take it as many times as he wanted.

You trembled when he once again focused your clit, like it was his new favorite toy, and circled it with his tongue going clockwise and then counterclockwise, and then flicking it barely with the tip of his tongue.

You whined and the death grip you had on his hair to push him away ended up pushing his head closer to your center.

He moaned appreciatively and let you fuck his face until he heard you gasp brokenly, so he sucked hard, bringing you to yet another orgasm. 

Your body relaxed on the bed while he cleaned you up with his tongue languidly, making you wince and convulse sporadically. 

Once he finally licked all he could find, he climbed back up so he was face to face with you.

“I hate you,” you croaked.

“Yeah?” he purred, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. “I don’t think you do…And even if you did, that’s too bad, because I’m obsessed with you,” he concluded, diving in for another kiss.

He was right, you didn’t hate him. You were just mad, and scared, but you loved his lips on yours, and the way his body rocked against yours, and his hard cock pushing against your entrance–

“Ah–haaa, fuck–Chenle!” you moaned loudly when he pushed in slowly, stretching you out delightfully. 

He swallowed your moans with his kisses, between hushed praises for taking him so well. 

“My pretty princess…” he breathed out once he bottomed up completely. He grabbed one of your thighs and pushed it up and outwards before rolling his hips experimentally. He starts very slowly, allowing you to feel every vein of his cock dragging against your inner walls and you have no words to describe how good it feels.

His eyes lit up when he hit a spot that made you arch your back, aiming to hit it harder.

“What happened to that fierce attitude?” he teased when you let out a strangled moan.

You only looked at him with wide eyes, grabbing onto his shoulders clumsily without knowing what to do with yourself. Having him inside of you after having consummated the bond made everything feel 10 times more intense. There was nothing you could possibly say to express how good it felt to have your mate’s cock kissing your cervix so divinely. 

“Poor Y/N,” Chenle spoke condescendingly, using his thumb to wipe some drool off the corner of your mouth. “Cock so good you can’t speak?”

You try to think of a comeback. You really do, but how could you when he was filling you all the way up and hitting all the right places–at the same time?

He chuckled darkly, snapping his hips hard once, twice and then building up a steady rhythm that had you screaming like he always wanted you to.

“Oh g-god…” was the first coherent sentence you said, throwing your head back.

 “That’s my princess,” he praised, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Submitting for her mate–haa…,” he moaned as he nosed along your neck, looking for the right spot to leave his mark.

“C-chenle–” you whined, feeling yourself getting closer the more his pelvis grinded against your clit.

He sank his teeth into your skin and you felt that white pleasure consume you again, making you cum with a silent scream and your legs shake around Chenle’s waist.

He winced when you contracted around his cock, murmuring nonsense about how tight and perfect you were for him while licking the fresh wound on your neck.

You were shaking like a leaf, whispering his name like it was the only thing you knew and he just didn’t stop.

“Fuck! P-please!” you cried out when he pressed his hips against yours harshly and moved them in a circular way before resuming his unrelenting assault. 

You didn’t think you could take any more so you tried to push him away weakly, but he pinned you down by your wrists. 

Both of you knew you weren’t actually trying to rebel anymore, but his wolf loved to show off his strength, making you submit. He had wanted to dominate you the moment he met you, but his rut had turned that want into a need. 

“C-can’t,” you sobbed, but the more you squirmed, the harder he fucked you.

“You’re g-gonna take it,” he grunted, squeezing your wrists and thrusting fast enough to make you see stars. 

Tears slid down your face but you nodded obediently and that sent Chenle into a frenzy. He let go of your wrists to grab onto your waist, sitting up and ramming into you at a speed he didn’t know he was capable of.

“Aah…Haa, fuck, Y/N–my obedient little mate, yeah…” he moaned.

You whined at the praise, letting him fuck every coherent thought out of your head.

“All you have t-to do is take it,” he spoke with slurred words as he impaled you into his cock like a ragdoll. “Let me have you like this,” he emphasized the last word with a hard thrust. “Let me m-make you feel good mm…”

You nodded dumbly while he pounded you on the bed.

“Look this pretty–oh fuck, so pretty for me,” he sounded strained, and his movements were haltering. “Let me g-give you anything you could…oooh anything y-you could possibly want,” he was getting desperate, feeling his knot starting to form was pushing him over the edge. “L-let me…,” he gulped, forcing his knot into you and making you scream. “Oooh Y/N, fuuuck–”

You couldn’t breathe. It was too much. He was too deep, and he was trying to pull you impossibly closer as his cock throbbed inside of you and he finally came with a shaky sigh, shooting endless spurts of cum inside of you.

Your eyes rolled back as he convulsed on top of you, once again pinning your wrists just for show, to remind you he was in charge.

Once both of you came down from your high, Chenle took in the view and beamed with pride. 

You were sprawled out on your back, with his mark on your neck, fucked dumb, submissive, completely overstimulated, impaled on his cock, and full of what soon would be his pups. 

This was what he would wake up to everyday, in this very apartment he had bought for both of you.

Meanwhile, on the ship, Captain Hongjoong put his spyglass down and walked away from the window, letting out an impressed whistle.

“Seongwha, make preparations for a farewell party,” he requested, sitting on his chair and putting his feet on the table. “Looks like Y/N’s staying in this town.”

“You’re so mean,” Seongwha replied, unimpressed. “You knew this would happen when you sent her to speak with him.”

“She’ll thank me one day,” Hongjoong assured him, winking playfully.

[aziraphales-library]

Hello mods! The world kinda absolutely sucks right now so I was wondering if you could recommend some fluffy fics? Maybe the ineffable husbands reuniting and making up, them in an established relationship, them getting together, or anything else. I really don't care what the plot is, I just want them to be happy for one. Thanks in advance! <3

We have an abundance of fics on our #fluff tag, there is never a need to wait to access the fluff! Here are even more to add...

Between Stations by in_a_pickle (T)

Dr. Aziraphale Fell (PhD) is great with books, hopeless with people, and wildly unsuited to his new role as a passenger assistant at a bustling London railway station. When he's tasked with guiding a strikingly handsome passenger to his train connection, what should be a routine assignment turns into a saga of unexpected mishaps and quiet revelations. Between Aziraphale's bumbling attempts at help, confusing signage, and a growing infatuation that threatens to derail him entirely, this brief encounter might just change everything—for both of them.

To Catch a Ghost by anatomicgirl (T)

To Catch a Ghost: The show where two (not) supernatural entities are on a quest to prove (or disprove) the existence of the paranormal. Without letting their unspoken feelings for each other get in the way. Enter: a mad (?) old lady, an unassuming (haunted?) country cottage, and a nice-and-accurate book of prophecies that definitely can’t know their secrets (right??). Will they catch a ghost? Or (even more unlikely) talk? Enjoy the show! Or else.

Somewhere In the Middle With You by Mizmak (M)

Can fast-living, carefree Anthony Crowley learn to settle down after losing the bulk of his fortune? Will the bookshop in a South Downs village, which his Aunt Agnes turns over to him, force him to behave—or will he find her only employee, Aziraphale Fell, too much of a distraction? Then there’s Aziraphale—he loves his quiet, sensible life—which is about to be upended by a very attractive man he has nothing in common with. At least, not yet…

Dustlight by hinetti (T)

Aziraphale Fell and Anthony Crowley are authors of popular blogs and books about cleaning one's living space. Their approaches are the polar opposites, which, for years has resulted in them butting heads. Now they are both invited to partake in a World Book Fair in London and do a signing with their fans. They swore not to argue. They argue. All hell breaks loose when it turns out that people love to watch them argue live. Now they have to do a television series about their philosophy in their living environments. Except both of their flats are the very antithesis of their cleaning philosophy. What will they do to save their reputation? Whatever happens, they're not getting out of it if they don't cooperate. A comedy of errors with an ineffable love story!

But, soft! by On1OccasionFork (M)

With love's light wings did I o'erperch these walls, For stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt. Therefore thy kinsmen are no stop to me. -Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene ii Crowley's life is going well. He's got his shop, his friends, and a new flat with a balcony perfect for a few plants. That's when things start to get complicated.

An Angel For Christmas by PhoenixRose314 (T)

When bumbling but well-meaning angel Aziraphale is reassigned to the Angel For Christmas programme, he is humiliated, but knows it's his last chance to prove himself as an angel before he loses his wings forever. He only has a few days in which to grant a child's Christmas wish, reconnect a broken family and earn back his angelic status. No problem, right? Well, it might not have been... if it hadn't been for the child's ill-mannered, grouchy, workaholic, Christmas-hating dad. As Aziraphale races against the clock to try and restore his Christmas spirit and bring him closer to his son, he also finds himself struggling with some new and unexpected feelings of his own...

- Mod D

[bananacakepie]

Arthur’s sanity is ricocheting around his brain like it’s a pinball machine.

Like, at first, Julian identifies him as having bad days (where he gets nothing) and good days (where he does remember). At first this seems like a bad day: Arthur’s stuck in the past, remembering a friend from his school days, and confronting him for his actions. But then (after some creepy quoting) he seems to understand everything, remembering that Kit is a unique person, so he questions where Kit will stand among his family (still creepy, but he probably has a bit more of his mind).

He compares William (who could either be Will H’s from tid, who acts mean to protect the people he loves OR Will’s grandfather who is best known for brave and twice as self-willed as his grandson) to Tobios (who is William’s brother and known for deserting his comrades). Arthur is likely comparing the brothers: the strong-willed and fight-loving Herondale vs the mild-mannered traitor Herondale. Will Kit be devoted? Or will he put in minimal effort and then flee?

Arthur then deviates from that pattern to compare father and son, which may be him asking if Kit will follow his father. Will Kit be like Stephen, who everyone loved, but still died hated, a traitor to his people? Or will Kit be like Jace, who rebelled against his father’s ideology and blazed his own path?

Will Kit be beautiful? Will he help draw people into his cause, get them to follow him? Will Kit be bitter? Will he poison those around him with hatred and ideologies? Will he do both?

I love this. Arthur is out of him mind, and he’s nailing every single question. As always.

And Ty is the one who breaks him out of this, Ty, who may carry the face of a past Blackthorn, but not anyone Arthur knew. Ty, who is unique.

Also, Arthur is described as seeming angry. He’s serving fierce looks and speaking savagely. Like, he’s very much aware to realize the humor in his situation, that something he never had might be taken from him. There’s kind of a disconnect: tragedy is bad things that happen to you, comedy is bad things that happen to others. Arthur finding this funny shows the disconnect he has with the real world, to use a common phrase, he’s not all there.

From his earlier pov, we know that he does care about the Blackthorn kids.

He’s all torn up, because he can’t tell if he actually cares, or just feels responsible for them, because they’re family, BUT AT LEAST HE CARES. He’s admitted his faults, and is pretty aware of why he needs to stay.

He is one of two adults we know would do anything for the Blackthorns (Helen is the other). They have a great-aunt, they have Diana, but at the end of the day, Arthur is the only one who is making sure the family can stay together. Arthur who will take the medicine and brush off his guilt, and wants to help them in his saner moments.

[bnha-headcanonss]

Suggestion :)

POV, Dealing with depression while dating Shinsou

• Shinsou is extremely patient. If there are certain things you don’t want to tell him at the moment, he won’t get upset. You’re his main priority when it comes to emotions/feelings.

• He takes time to understand what you’re going through. He knows depression is different for everybody.

• At first he tries things that worked to help his depression, if he see’s that it didn’t work, he’ll rethink and approach in a different manner.

• His compliments won’t ever stop. He’ll still gush about how attractive you are to him, even if you’re a week without a shower and just woke up.

• If you’ll let him, he’ll lay with you while watching a television show/movie.

• Forehead kisses while watching said movies/shows

• He’ll get you to watch comedy’s/romance cause he loves to hear you laugh, even if he has to sit through Grown Ups for the millionth time.

• If you want your space, he is always a text/call away and usually at least in the next room over.

• He’s constantly buying you snacks when he’s out at the market or convenience store. Candy, drinks, chips, you name it. As long as he knows you like it, it’s yours.

• Theirs been times you’ve wanted to talk to him about what you’re dealing with, he sits there and patiently listens. He won’t say a think unless you ask him something.

• Walks around the dorms. He’ll take you out and just walk around. The breeze and fresh air does help, but he would never force it.

• When you do want to go out, he’ll do it around nightfall/sunrise because of the lack of people and noise, it’ll be just you two.

• You just let him talk. He doesn’t talk too much in general but his voice is soothing so if you’re just laying in bed, you ask him to tell you about his day, even if he has to repeat things he’s done. Just his soft tone of voice is everything.

• He’s quick to tell you that your feelings are completely okay and valid. He doesn’t make you question yourself.

• He’s careful about having you try new things like shows/food. He has the mindset that you associate certain things with how’re you feeling when you try them and he doesn’t want to have you try something you may like then forever associate it with depression. But he won’t let you know.

• He stocks up on things he thinks you’ll like.

• He’s very adamant on getting you to take care of yourself but doesn’t make it noticeable. He makes sure you’re fed, laundry’s done, chores are finished but he spaces everything out so you aren’t exhausted, and he always helps you so you aren’t alone.

• On top of that, he rarely leaves you alone unless you specifically ask for it, but you rarely do.

• He walks you to class everyday, even if it’ll make him late to his own.

• He’ll ask if you want to go to the store with him around sunset/night. If you say no, he is practically running just to get back to you quicker

If you have any more requests/suggestions, go ahead and drop them! They actually get me to write lmao

Thank you for the request! :)

[tunamayuuu]

for the ask game: ranpo and jouno?

ranpo edogawa (bsd)

favorite thing about them: he was my first ever favorite in bsd! back when i thought bsd was a murder-mystery anime like yuukoku no moriarty.. my favorite part about him is how straightforward he is! i relate to a lot of his mannerisms and feeling of unbelonging in a world that likes to lie

i actually did a long thoughts post on ranpo before!

least favorite thing about them: can't think of any

favorite line: "Mushitarō-kun, you've won! I knew from the start that regular people can't defeat ability users. But I'm still going to defeat you. Why? Because my friends think I'm invincible."

brOTP: kuniranpo, souheki, ranposano

OTP: ranpoe

nOTP: none

random headcanon: (from old post) doesn't have textural issues with food, but may struggle with combined flavors in his food ("if it's sweet, it should stay sweet! if it's salty, it should stay salty!" those flavors cannot mix into one food item unless it's savory food)

unpopular opinion: none i can think of

song i associate with them: all the songs in this playlist! i listened to this all the time before

favorite pictureS of them

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jouno saigiku (bsd)

favorite thing about them: his character design quite obviously! but my real favorite part about jouno is his facade, and the fact that it genuinely confuses people on what he truly is like. when tecchou asserted that jouno was a hero who wants to protect the weak and detests violence, literally everyone (back then) took it and saw jouno as this kind man behind the sadistic persona we see him act around others, esp the agency members (kunikida). i like that he's the epitome of "two statements can co-exist". he revels in the pained cries of criminals, but pauses at an old lady thanking him for his service. he has no qualms messing with a child (aya) and threatening her to cooperate, but he'll use fukuchi's "nothing's greater than the pleasure of protecting the innocent" against him and choose to stay loyal to the mission of the hunting dogs. he puts up this individualistic infallible exterior, but trembles at the exploitation of his weakness and trusts that teruko and tecchou will pick up where he and tachihara left off.

least favorite thing about them: him endangering aya by involving her in this conflict, regardless of how helpful aya turned out to be in this arc. OH okay my real least favorite thing about him is the lack of thought in his writing as a blind character. he's quite stereotypically overpowered and while you can excuse that with the surgeries, it doesn't hurt to depict him walking around in the forest and airport with a walking cane.

favorite lineS: "Your ideals are as broad and lofty as a balloon, but in time, that balloon runs out of fuel and crashes to the ground. You lived always petrified of that day." and "Certainly, it could be that the Agency is not an evil organization and the mastermind is someone else. There are those who claim that. But, you see, either way is fine by me. Whether the detectives are evil or not… I simply want to hear someone's anguished voice." and "One's lament is nothing to compare to the pleasure of protecting civilians."

brOTP: TACHIHARA AND JOUNO AAAAAAAAAAA. tachihara is jouno's FAVORITE junior OF ALL TIME. that's his FAVORITE LIL GUY! jouno and teruko's relationship is comedy to me in the sense that i can relate it to my sibling and i.

OTP: suegiku obviously!

nOTP: kunijou, saizai

bonus relationship i rlly love: fukuchi and jouno's dynamic is very funny and interesting to me. like an evil fukuzawa ranpo edition. (i've drawn fukuchi and ranpo in fukuzawa n ranpos untold origins clothes!)

random headcanon: jouno has fabric-specific sensory issues. his sense of touch isn't dwelled on often (despite being a blind character but oookay), but i hc it to be as sensitive as his sense of hearing. i imagine the hunting dogs uniform are comfortable enough, so his sensory issues really come around when he's in civilian wear. teruko helps him in picking out clothes in stores!

unpopular opinion: nothing i can think of..

song i associate with them: Looking at Me and Please Please Please by Sabrina Carpenter, The Red Means I Love You by Madds Buckley, Emotion by Mia Rodriguez, Monster by Red Velvet IRENE & SEULGI, Physical by Dua Lipa, Queen by Kanaria (Will Stetson Cover)

favorite pictureS of them:

[blugerine]

I’m just now realizing the geniusness of the dance scene in season 2 and how taking a “comedy” show seriously reveals so many new things about it.

NOTE: I have no idea if Neil Gaiman wrote this scene with the intention of it being interpreted in this way, but I really think it sheds so much light on why Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship seems like it went nowhere but downhill ever since season 1.

I feel like because New Omens is marketed as a “comedy show”, viewers usually go in with the intention not to take things too seriously (except for the more emotional beats that are signaled by somber music and intense acting *cough cough*), but as a result of that, we (or at least, I did) missed out on seeing some scenes differently because we originally wrote it off as “just a silly bit”. I definitely did that during the scene where Crowley performs the “apology dance” in front of Aziraphale because he left him alone to take care of Gabriel. I kept thinking about that scene over and over again in my head because it always seemed much more intentionally childish to me than any other goofy scene we see the husbands get up to in season 2 and even in season 1, and I just realized now a reason why that might be the case.

When Crowley comes back to the shop and has to apologize to Aziraphale, the first words that come out of his mouth are “I’m back”, and both him and Aziraphale know those words aren’t enough for Aziraphale to take him back, so what’s the next best thing? The apology dance! When Crowley initially resists the idea of performing the apology dance, Aziraphale reminds him that he’s done the apology dance numerous times in the past, listing all the specific years over the centuries to really get his point across until Crowley relents. After Crowley begrudgingly finishes the silly dance, the audience share a good laugh, Aziraphale is content enough to accept him back, and the fight they just had all seems so “stupid” now in comparison to the bigger fish they have to fry.

Now, what’s the problem in this scene? Or rather, why is this scene such a big deal in regards to why they broke up at the end of season 2? That’s because it’s, again, another example of how they always DANCE (quite literally) around the actual problems in their relationship that result in them constantly breaking up. And this has been happening for CENTURIES, time and time again, they always default to pushing their problems under the rug, letting bygones be bygones. They believe they’re forgiving and forgetting, but as Aziraphale keeps recounting all the years he’s done the apology dance, it’s very clear that they’ve actually never forgotten any of those previous instances of frustration and words of venom they’ve hurled at each other. Instead, they’ve opted to pretend they’re over it, onto “bigger and better” things to do as a distraction. The only time they start conveniently bringing up past wounds is when they have YET ANOTHER breakup scene.

The dance is performed so childishly because of the childish way they deal with the problems that arise in their relationship. Despite knowing very intricately about the infinite vastness of the universe, of mankind’s greatest strengths and weaknesses, they were not made to view themselves as having human emotions, and they were not trained to make compromises that did not threaten their very existence. Crowley and Aziraphale both started as angels, and Crowley wanted God to compromise with him about keeping the universe around for more years than She had planned. But God doesn’t take suggestions, so Crowley’s angelic status was quite literally burned from him as he was sent down to Hell, which traumatized him greatly, and made Aziraphale exist in fear of the divine punishment that came to those who disobeyed God.

As such, Aziraphale and Crowley have so little understanding of how to compromise in a healthy manner, because the first time one of them tried to do it, it ended terribly for both of them, and they subconsciously vowed never to do it again. That’s why, when one of them wants to apologize, it’s almost like a child’s idea of what one is. There’s no addressing of why Crowley’s so desperate to abandon everything and run away, or why Aziraphale is so adamant on staying, even when it clearly hurts him to do so. There’s NO reasoning or compromise. There’s NO talk other than “I was wrong, you were right”. It’s either your side or my side, or we never see each other again.

Aziracrow represents a very realistic on-and-off relationship, where two broken and codependent individuals cannot compromise for fear of divine punishment or even just fear of losing the one that means the most to them. And their little dance? It’s just one of the many times they’ve tried to ignore their very real and important relationship (and character) issues, and it just continues to rot away their relationship time and time again. It’s like putting a bandaid over an infection, but they’re both immortal and everything’s working against them to actually work on healing that infection from the inside out.

So yeah, the dance scene is fucking brilliant because no one saw that coming until you actually finish season 2 and think back on it. Again, maybe I’m just being delusional reading into a scene that wasn’t a big deal, but if Neil did write it with this intention, then I think the way he disguises meaningful insights into broken relationships, tortured characters, and religious trauma through the use of comedy to be really. fucking genius.

And really sad.

I think I might cry a bit after this actually.

(Also, hello, I still have no idea how to use tumblr 💀)

Edit: Just made a couple clarifications here and there! Also, thank you so much for all the positive reception 😭!!! Reading all your reblogged tags gives me so much serotonin agsjdgs it feels so nice being in this fandom so far ❤️

[thydungeongal]

probably too vague question but I burnt out on dnd a while ago and now i want to get back into like the wider world of ttrpgs but there are very many of them and I dont reeaally have a consistent gaming group any more, how do i know where to start?

and to narrow it a little because ive asked this to people before but I cant deal with thise super open ended freeform narrative only games that seems to be all that get recommended to new people based on havin no numbers. I like numbers

If you like a game with a bit of crunch I have a bunch of games to offer! For the record, I also happen to like a well-designed game that's lighter on the rules, but at the end of the day I am a Rolemaster girl at heart and yearn for the crunch.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record I would first recommend checking out the games made by @anim-ttrpgs. Their games are easy to learn but with a lot of bite to them. You will find numbers here. Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is basically complete and it's pretty much a masterful modern investigative RPG that accommodates supernatural elements as well, and while the numbers are simple for the most part there's a lot of mechanical depth to them. They're also currently working on Silk & Dagger: A Sensible Drow RPG (a fantasy comedy of manners) and Death Bed: A Souls-like RPG. If you go through their pinned post you will also find links to their indie RPG book club which is a genuinely nice space and home to many maths-heads like you and I. It's also a really good place to find out about more games.

But yeah, now that I've got that out of the way, here's a brief reality check: while those light on the numbers indie games take up a lot of discursive space, at the end of the day they are actually not representative of non-D&D RPGs as a whole. Most RPGs have at least some amount of crunch and those games you're alluding to don't actually represent most RPGs.

All of which is to say, if you browse most mainstream marketplaces for RPGs like DriveThruRPG you will mostly end up finding very traditional RPGs with a medium to high amount of mechanical depth in their top 10s. So that's one place to look!

Anyway, I'm just going to rattle off a few publishers who are still, like, medium big names and making crunchy games but outside of the D&D/Pathfinder bubble. There's Free League, a Swedish publisher who make very traditional RPGs but not without their own mechanical innovations. Chaosium is an old standby, still churning out content for RuneQuest and Call of Cthulhu (absolute classics of the medium). Steve Jackson Games mostly does Munchkin content these days, but they also have a cool RPG called GURPS which people who like math seem to love. Mongoose Publishing seems to keep collecting old IPs and they are in charge of Traveller, the great granddaddy of sci-fi RPGs, these days. There's also Green Ronin, who came to relevance in the d20 days but have since spun off their own house system out of their officially licensed Dragon Age RPG, called AGE (Adventure Game Engine). White Wolf (now a Paradox Entertainment operation) makes games for goths and while they claim to be storygames for theater kids they're actually pretty heavy on the mechanics, and their estranged former partner Onyx Path is also out there doing their own thing.

But yeah, I know that is already a lot, but what I recommend you do: start by looking at a few publishers making RPGs, see if any of their games' pitches appeal to you, and start from there. Also consider joining the aforementioned indie RPG book club cause it's a nice place where a surprising number of members have turned into girls during the relatively short time the club has been operational.