#Mammmon x Reader

[messysketchyobeyme]

Mammon's snarky comment fizzles and dies at the back of his throat when you cup his cheeks. Your hands–soft, warm, and safe–distract him from whatever he had been complaining about in the first place. Your thumb, feather-like, strokes him underneath his eye. His eyelashes flutter automatically.

His heartbeat quickens like a beating drum until it's the only sound he's able to hear. You're so close, and it's taking everything in Mammon's power not to pull away and scrub away the heat that crawls up his neck to the entirety of his face. It's not like he doesn't want to relish in your touch and the sweet smell of your body wash, but, damn, you have such a way of making his stomach tie itself into knots. It's insane.

His lips move as he attempts to say something–anything–suave as a last-ditch effort to save his dwindling dignity. He yearns to make your heart pound, skin flush, and mind spin–just as you do with him. As always, no sound comes out, and Mammon is left with nothing except your gaze boring into him.

All of the sudden, your eyes trail down until they finally land on his lips. Mammon's entire body goes rigid when, like a crescent moon, the corners of your mouth quirk upward. You mouth, 'May I?' and Mammon's legs almost give out right then and there. He wants to shout into the heavens how much he yearns for it but does nothing except try (and fail) to mask his trembling hands.

He's only able to give a slight nod accompanied by a barely audible gulp. You lean in and plant a kiss on his lips. It's short and over before Mammon has time to process it, but his mouth buzzes all the same. He continues to stand there while fireworks explode in his chest, tearing him apart.

"I'm sorry I'm late," you say.

"Huh?" Mammon's brain takes a moment to start working again. "Oh, oh, yeah, right. Well, ya know better than to keep the Great Mammon waiting." His response is half-hearted and quiet. 

You kiss him again.

[leviathans-watching]

☽ chapter three | wc: 3.5k | series m.list ☾

“So, I can use you as much as I want?” you ask, scooping up the last bit of your ice cream. “You really promise?” 

Mammon nods, fork scraping across his plate. “Yeah sure. I mean, I’m using you too, aren’t I? It’s only fair. Plus, if you get your sorcerer’s license, we then have access to all of the archives and everythin’, which can help us hunt for answers.” 

“Oh, good point,” you say. Mammon had been the one to bring the idea of a pact up again, not you, something that came as a bit of a surprise. He must have been thinking about it all day, as his conditions were all very clear-cut and defined. And heavily in your favor, you can’t help but notice. The only thing he wants is the ability to break it whenever he wants and autonomy, both of which you were definitely going to give him anyway. “So, let’s do it. Is there like a ceremony or something we need to perform?” 

Mammon chuckles. “I thought you were the expert on pacts since you were planning on trapping me in one.” 

“I was not!” you argue hotly, and he laughs again. 

“Relax, relax. I’m only teasing. But it’s not anything too fancy, we’ve just gotta say a few words, then boom, you’ve got yourself a pact.” 

“Should we do it now, then?” 

You almost expect him to balk; a pact is no small thing and you definitely wouldn’t blame him if he changed his mind. But Mammon is certain, and your insides warm as you realize it’s a measure of his trust in you. Hopefully, you can make sure his trust isn’t misplaced. Mammon looks at you expectantly and you grab a pen and scribble out the terms of the contract, signing and then having him sign on two pieces of paper. There, that should help assure him you won’t take advantage of your newfound control. 

“Alright, let’s form this pact,” you say, tucking your contract in a secure place and handing him his copy. “What do I need to say.” 

“Well, first,” Mammon begins, “we gotta hold hands.” 

You reach out across the table, clasping his hands in yours. His hands are rough and warm, and his white nails glitter under your kitchen light. The sight of your hands in his, over the half-eaten pie and your empty plates, makes you smile. Has anyone ever done something like this? You truly doubt it. 

Mammon gives you the words to say, some in your language and some in Latin, and it only takes a few moments before you feel a heat emanating from your side, just shy of feeling like a burn. You pull your hands back, peeling your shirt up, and watch as ink, glowing gold, spreads across your skin. What is left behind, gradually fading into a deep, dark black, is a sigil, one you recognize to mean wealth or money. How fitting. 

Gently running your finger over the mark, you half-expect your skin to feel different, but you wouldn’t even be able to tell it’s there if you couldn’t see it. It’s weird but already feels like a normal part of your body. 

“Sweet,” you say, looking up at Mammon. “How are you feeling?” 

“Me? Oh, I’m feelin’ good,” Mammon says, grinning. “There’s always a nice rush of power. How about you?” 

You take a moment to do a scan, but… “I feel the same,” you say, brow furrowing. “Should I be feeling different?” 

Mammon runs a hand through his hair. “Maybe you just need to tap into the power. Do you have a place we can test it?” 

“Yeah, out back,” you say, picking up your plate. “Should we go out there?” 

You make quick work of picking up the kitchen table, then lead Mammon to your ‘training ground’– a small, clearing in the midst of your various garden beds. Mammon looks around appreciatively, letting out a low whistle. 

“Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said ya grew herbs and shit.” 

You laugh. “No, I wasn’t. Impressive, huh? Now, what do I need to do?” 

Mammon sobers up, looking at you speculatively. “You said you’re not that good at magic, right? Well, that doesn’t really make any sense, considering the binding spell is super high-level stuff. I’m wonderin’ if you’ve got some kind of block or something.” 

“I’m not sure,” you confess. “I have trouble sustaining spells over periods of time, and I’ve been told that means I’m weak. Solomon, however, mentioned one time that I have a large capacity, or something like that, and that if I had more magical energy I’d be able to do some wicked stuff. Although,” you say glumly, “who knows if that’s true. If he’s lied to me once, isn’t it likely he has been this whole time.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” Mammon hastens to assure you, “like I said, I think his intent was to bother me with this spell more than you. But if he was telling the truth about your capabilities, then a pact is probably exactly what you need. I shoulda filled you right up to the brim with energy, so now all we need to do is try to unlock it.” 

“How?” 

Mammon tilts his head, mouth twisting as he thinks. “Let’s try this first: Are there any spells you can do but can’t make last?” 

“Like a flame?” you ask, and he nods. “Because I can light a little candle-sized flame, but it goes out right away.” 

“Try lightin’ a flame,” Mammon orders, and you exhale, praying that you’re able to sustain it. If you can, this will open the door to you getting your license, which is everything you’ve ever wanted. 

Holding out your finger, you concentrate your attention to the tip of it, then push, envisioning a flame. Immediately, a column of fire explodes from you, shooting high off into the sky. “Holy shit!” you yelp, lurching back. It dies out, leaving only its heat behind. “Holy shit,” you repeat, looking at your finger in amazement. “I just did that.” 

“You did!” Mammon agrees, looking pleased. “Try again.” 

You do, and like before, a giant inferno pours out from your body, thankfully not causing any actual harm to you or your surroundings. You, because it’s your magic, and your land because of the protections on it. 

“Okay, correct me if I’m wrong,” Mammon says, “but I’ll bet you’re pushing with all your might, aren’t you?” 

You nod. “Yeah, if I don’t use all of my effort, the flame won’t ignite.” 

“That’s how it used to be, Sweetcheeks,” Mammon says. “But now you’re not running on empty. This time, when you do it, try just giving it a really light nudge.” 

You do as he says, and to your surprise and amazement, you only light a small flame. It burns steadily, not a flicker in sight, and you don’t feel tired at all. 

“This is amazing!” you say, breathless. You let the flame die out and throw your arms around Mammon, pulling him into a tight hug. He’s firm and sturdy underneath you, and you’re reminded of his abs, now (unfortunately) hidden underneath a shirt. “Thank you so much!” Mammon freezes under your touch and you remember yourself, pulling back embarrassedly. “Um, sorry, I got excited.” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Mammon dismisses easily. He seems to be just as happy as you, and you grin at one another for a long moment. You’re ecstatic. Trying to make a pact with Mammon was a last-ditch effort, and one you hadn’t thought would ever work, but it had, and now you’re able to do all of the magic you’ve always dreamt of. This is the best day ever!

“I want to do more,” you say determinedly, “so let’s test my new limits!” 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“You’re back again,” Circe, the leader of the board that bestows licenses says, “even after failing the last license trials.” 

“I am,” you reply, full of confidence. With your new pact, you can do what they only dream of doing. “And I’ll pass this time.” 

The members of the board all look at one another, unimpressed, but you don’t let it get to you. You’ll show them what you’re capable of, and make them eat their words. 

“While I’ll admit you had potential, it is highly improbable that you’ve improved enough to be granted a license in such a short amount of time,” another board member, Gwydion, states.“Are you sure you wish to proceed with the trial?” 

You nod, surety clear in your actions. 

“Then,” Circe says, clapping her hands together old-fashionedly, “let us begin.” 

You pass the oral and written trials with ease, as you had last time, and you can feel the tension building as you step into the testing arena for your practical skills application. This is where you’d failed last time, your lack of stamina preventing you from hitting all of the benchmarks. 

That won’t be a problem for you this time. You scan the empty room, letting out a long, slow breath. You’ve got this. 

“Again, begin with lifting stones,” Gwydion orders, and a large pile of boulders appear in the middle of the arena. Last time you’d barely gotten one into the air, severely drained by the effort of holding it up. This time, it’s a breeze to lift them all, propelling them into the air with hardly any effort. It’s akin to holding a thick book– not too heavy, but weighty all the same. 

The board gapes for a long moment. 

“Can I put these down yet?” you eventually ask, and Circe coughs, adjusting her sleeves. 

“Certainly. Let’s, ah, proceed to the next test.” 

The next test is summoning objects, which you do with ease, and then making a flame, which again, you have down perfectly. The other tests are all easily passable for you, and you’re able to complete the third trial without breaking a sweat.

You feel like you’re on the top of the world. 

“You’ve passed all three trials,” Gwydion says, “meaning we will grant you with a sorcerer's license. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” you accept, bowing your head. 

“Out of curiosity,” Seimei, another board member begins, “how did you improve so much? I daresay we’ve never seen anything like it! You now have the capabilities to be one of the greatest sorcerers of out time period!” 

“I doubt that,” you say with a little laugh. “Just finally having a license is enough for me. But as to how I improved, well, I may have had a little help.” 

“Help?” Circe leans forward, interested. “Like a tutor? I know you were working with that Solomon for a while. Though, it still seems impossible for a simple tutor to help you improve so much, especially since your problem was a lack of energy, not actual trouble with completing the craft.” 

“Not a tutor,” you correct, pulling up your shirt to reveal the pact mark. “A pact.” 

Gasps echo throughout the large chamber, bouncing off of the stone walls. “A pact?” Circe repeats, “and with the Avatar of Greed, no less. How ever did you manage that?” 

You drop your shirt, shrugging. “I asked nicely.” 

“Impossible,” Gwydion says. “There are many who have tried to get a pact with the Seven Lords of Hell, but only one in the last century has managed it, and Solomon is a verifiable genius!” 

“And he only got a pact with the fifth-born,” someone else calls. 

“What can I say?” You shrug. “I guess he saw my potential. Now, if that is all, may I go?” 

Circe stares down at you for a long moment. “You may. Your license should arrive in the mail in four to five business days. After that, you will have complete authority to do magic of all types, as well as teach or sell as you wish. I look forward to seeing what you will blossom into. You own a shop, do you not?” 

“I do,” you confirm, wondering what her point is. 

“Well, now you can expand it much further than you could before,” she says. “It already has great renown in the surrounding areas, and I believe this will only heighten its fame. And with good reason. Getting a license, especially paired with a pact, is no small feat and you should be proud of yourself.” 

“Thank you,” you say, dipping your head. “And thank you for granting me a license. I look forward to being more active in the Sorcerer community in the coming years.” 

With that, you take your leave, exiting the building. It’s only in the lot that you let your emotions show, flopping down onto a bench. A joyous laugh explodes from you and you can’t remember the last time you’d felt such happiness. To think of all the years you’d strove to get a license… finally having it seems like a dream. One you never want to wake up from. 

“I take it it went well?” someone calls, and you look up sharply. Mammon stands on the walk, brows raised. 

“So well,” you reply with a happy sigh. “I can’t thank you enough for this. Allowing me a pact is no small thing, and to do it so soon after we met is truly an honor.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Mammon says, but his ears are red and he won’t look at you. “What is it you humans do after a good thing happens? Go out to eat or something?” 

“Do you want to?” you ask, standing up. “I know a great Mediterranean place nearby.” 

Mammon shrugs. “Sure, I guess. You’re paying though.” 

Shooting him a playful glare, you bite back a smile. “Usually, the person who had the amazing thing happen doesn't pay.” 

“But it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for me,” Mammon says like that’s the obvious conclusion. “So you should pay.” 

“Asshole,” you snipe, but you’re not truly mad. It’s in character for him to pull something like this, and unfortunately, you’re only feeling fond. And a little amused. “Let’s go, then.” 

The restaurant is almost completely empty, due to it being mid-afternoon on a weekday, and a young waiter quickly approached after the hostess sat you down. 

“Can I get you something to drink,” he says, barely sparing Mammon a glance. Taken aback, you just get water. He takes Mammon’s order as well, noticeably less animated, and when he walks away Mammon gives you a look. 

“Jeez, could that guy be any more obvious?” 

“Oh, come on, cut him some slack,” you try, “Maybe he’s just intimidated by you.” 

Mammon barks a laugh. “Please, he’s totally into you! How could he be so obvious, I mean, anyone would assume we were on a date, wouldn’t they?” 

“They probably would,” you allow, heat pounding slightly. Come on, MC, get it together! It’s not like you’re actually on a date. 

The waiter returns then, setting down your drinks and giving you a warm smile. He is kind of attractive - well, not compared to Mammon, but who would be? - and he really is giving you some pretty clear signals. 

“Are you ready to order?” he asks, again addressing only you, and you jolt. You’ve barely even looked at your menu. 

“I think we'll need a few more minutes, thanks,” Mammon says frostily, and reluctantly the waiter steps back. You scan the options, and all of them look good. Eventually deciding on your choice, you wait for Mammon to do the same. Thankfully, putting your orders in goes relatively smoothly, and you relax when the waiter disappears into the back. Mammon watches him go with a glare, apparently actually put out. 

“If he’s making you uncomfortable at all,” Mammon begins, and it really seems that he’s looking for an excuse more than anything. 

“He’s not,” you assure him quickly. “Truly. It’s only a bit of harmless flirting. And anyway, it’s not like it’s going to go anywhere. Not when I have you on my hands.” 

“But if I wasn’t here?” 

The question hangs in the air for a long moment, and you force out a laugh, suddenly feeling like you’re getting cross-examined by a persecutor. 

If you weren’t here,” you say, “then I’d be in my shop, selling herbs and being generally unhappy with my life.” 

“You know that’s not what I mean!” Mammon prods, but you refuse to answer any further. 

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It’s late when you get back to your house, and you’re still high on your acquisition of your sorcerer's license. Because of that, you almost miss the letter sitting innocuously on your entryway table. 

“What’s that?” Mammon asks, and you flip it over, eyeing the blood-red seal on the back. The symbol niggles at your brain but you don’t immediately recognize it. 

“I’m not sure.” It’s suspicious, definitely, what with it showing up in your house and all, but you’ve never been one to leave stones unturned so without thinking, you’re breaking the seal, unfolding the letter inside. 

You scan the paper, each word more and more improbable than the last. 

“What? What does it say?” Mammon pulls at your arm, taking the letter from you, and you see the moment when he realizes who the letter is from. “Shit,” he curses, “god-fucking-damn it. Fucking Lord Diavolo, never able to mind his own business.” 

“Lord Diavolo, as in the Lord Diavolo, right?” you ask stupidly. “As in, ‘Ruler of the Devildom’? That Lord Diavolo?” 

Mammon looks at you like he’s afraid you’re going to pass out, which, okay, fair. Your legs feel like jelly, a feeling that you're growing more and more familiar with as you spend time with Mammon. 

“Yes, that Lord Diavolo,” he answers slowly. “News about my pact must have reached him. I should have expected this,” he continues, more to himself than you. “I knew my time up here wasn’t going to last that long!” 

“He summoned us to the Devildom,” you say faintly. “Lord Diavolo, who we can’t refuse, summoned us to his castle.” 

“Relax,” Mammon says. “Look, he’s actually a pretty nice guy. He and Lucifer are pretty close, so I suspect he’s got a part in this letter, but since it’s Diavolo summoning us, that means the intent is to learn more about you, not to punish me. It’ll be fine.” 

“The Devildom.” You look at him with wide eyes. “Oh my god, I can’t leave my shop! I have responsibilities, and a job, and a life, and I can’t just abandon it all to go down to the Devildom!” 

“But you’re gonna have to,” Mammon says. “MC, I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I can’t let anything bad happen. I swear to you that your shop will be fine and that you will be fine. I don’t want to go down there any more than you do, but there’s no way around it. If we don’t go there, they’ll come to us, and trust me when I say you don’t want that headache. I’m sure you’ll only be down there for a couple of days at most, and then you can come back to your life like it never happened.” 

“What about the binding spell?” you ask. It doesn’t escape your notice that he only says ‘you’, making no mention as to what will become of him. The implication leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“They’re gonna sense it,” Mammon says, thinking aloud, “and if it comes out that it was done accidentally, there’ll be consequences, so we’re going to have to pretend to- to actually be bound. Like we’ve been seeing each other in secret.” 

“Why? Wouldn’t it be better to confess it was an accident and see if they can help us break it?” 

Mammon sighs. “Ideally, but then you could get in trouble for messing with magic that got out of control. It could jeopardize your license and reputation.” 

Oh, he’s trying to protect you. 

“If that's what you think is best,” you say. “I trust you, Mammon.” 

“I trust you too, MC,” he says, clasping your hands. Was it really only days ago that you’d held his hands before to make the pact? It seems like a lifetime away. “Everything will be fine. Like I said, I’m sure Diavolo only wants to meet ya. He gets real interested in humans or angels that go against the grain.” 

“Does this mean I’ll meet your brothers?” you ask, and Mammon nods. Despite your nerves, you’re at least a little excited about that. Though some of Mammon’s stories give you a poor impression, it’s also clear he has a lot of affection for them and you’d love to get to know Mammon better through them. 

“Unfortunately.” 

You laugh, your nerves easing. “Okay, then we’ll go tomorrow morning. I have to get packed and set up my shop to leave… This is why I wish I had an assistant who could take over for me! I’ll just have to put a sign out front and a notice up online.” 

“Do what you’ve gotta do,” Mammon says, “and if you need any help, let me know.” 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely. “And I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this. If I hadn’t listened to Solomon-” 

“Exactly,” Mammon interrupts. “It’s Solomon’s fault, so don’t beat yourself up. And I’ve been havin’ a lot of fun these past days, okay Sweetcheeks? Whatever happens, I’ll always remember this time as a good one.” 

His words make something flutter in your chest, and you swallow, unable to express just how much you feel the same. 

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[ami-s-place]

Obey me x an mc who over shares everything

i am bakckckc and this is gonna be messy bc i rlly need to pee rn but i want to get this idea out.

Mammon:

"MAMMONNDNS, HELP." you screamed so loud even diavolo could hear you. "WHTA MC?" he yelled back running to your room. "Mammmmmoon, i need to pee." you said, he stared blankly into your eyes .... "..what?, how am i supposed to help you stupid human." you got angrier as you felt like you were gonna piss yourself, "take me to the toilet please mammon if i stand up i think ill piss myself." he whinned but picked you up.

"ugh why do you have to make me do this shit.", "im not forcing yoouuu, just hurry up im bouta piss myself bro"

he finally took you to his toilet, as you sat your ass down you realised he left the seat up...

"MAMMON MY FUCKING ASS IS WET NOW YOU FUCKING BITCH HELP ME" you yelled out, "shit mc um idk if i can go in bc you um your- uh.. half naked.." he stuttered, "bitch i really dont care help me before i get some diesease from your gross ass toilet water or ill ask lucifer to help,"

you hurried him as he came in to help you, he was shocked that there was blood and you barely noticed it, "oh shit not my fucking period, get me a tampon pleaase" you begged him

as he lifted you from the well that was the toilet bowl you pissed and talked to mammon about how you hate putting tampons in because it hurts your pussy too much bc its always dry dispite how much blood is coming out.

"maybe just lube it up?" he suggested, "hm ill try, wheres ur lube." he was stunned.. "wait now?", "well yeah im hella bored."

as you lube up the tampon and yourself you insert it ,,, smoothly as you (s)cream indelight "OMG ITS IN I LOVE YOU MAMMON OMG THANK YOU!!"

he blushed "dont say that while yelling you idiot.."

okay i really have to pee bro idk when ill write again but love yous

[katsuhn]

want, need and deserve

i used to write for obey me, but then i deactivated my account-- i wanna get back into writing so im reposting some things i used to write :))

mammon x reader one shot

-

Sometimes the people you want are incapable of giving you what you deserve.

Of course, time and time again, Mammon has to learn this the hard way. One would think that after five thousand years of living he would have stopped falling for those unable to give him the love he not only wants, but needs with every fibre of his being. But alas, he has not, because sometimes changing yourself takes more effort than just living through it.

Being the Avatar of Greed doesn’t have any perks, if he ever had to be honest. Because of his uncontrollable need for money, nobody trusts him with anything. Often he steals and often he spends, trying to fill the emptiness within his heart with cash.

It doesn’t work. It never has. But it’s easier to keep on going then to admit you have a problem.

Then he met you. Oh god, he met you. Within seconds of making eye contact he was sent spiralling down into a void of nothingness, the walls of the house around him screaming reminders of his wretched past. Scarce touches and soft voices, your eyes set a fire ablaze in his heart, burning him alive from the inside out. A rare breed of human you are, an odd occurrence to those who know you. Time goes on and his riches become second to you, your existence drowning his thoughts in wants and needs for you.

But he doesn’t deserve you.

Late nights, melodic laughs and rain kissing your bodies he knows he’s in deep and so are you, but you’re both thriving within the gardens of desire. His fingers ache as much as his heart does and your smile is as tired as your soul, your minds weighed down by such a depraved world. Scorching hot silences and cold conversations, he drowns in a swarm of admiration for a broken soul. Desperately he holds onto your words, your touch, your lips— unable to get enough of it. He wants more, needs more.

Path lit by the skies as though God is showing you the way to salvation, he realises he is not meant to follow you. Tears turn into sobs as the light sky turns dark, waves of insecurities and hopelessness crashing and destroying his peace of mind. Scratchy throats and stinging eyes, your wrathful screams bounce off the walls and into his heart.

Familiar insults and looks are passed his way, a reminder of who he is and who he always will be.

Greedy scum.

Sometimes the people you want are not the people you deserve.