#This is honestly one of the most self indulgent things I've written in a while tbh | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bittencandy · 3 months

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𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔫-𝔈𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯

Summary: You broke up with your ex more than a couple of weeks ago, and you're desperate to try and move on. Though it's more than a little difficult to do when his face and likeness seems to be everywhere. Pictured on everything from billboards to cereal to . . . Pregnancy tests?

But maybe you won't have to move on after all.

Warnings: Mammon is a warning all on his own. 18+ content. Minors DNI! AFAB, Fem pronouns. Some unhealthy relationship dynamics (this is probably the healthiest I could realistically make Mammon), some fluff. Jealous Mammon: voyeurism (sex while on a phone call); degradation kink; mirror sex; D/S dynamics; clothed m, naked f; biting; a web as a collar; cockwarming; overstimulation; multiple orgasms; PinV; cream pie; blink and you'll miss it electro play; oral (M receiving); size kink, height difference, belly bulge; honestly, these tags make this sound a lot more intense than it is.

Notes: 26.3k words. Not proofread. Warning divider @cafekitsune. Probably one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've ever written. I have no idea what possessed me to write for this absolute garbage disposal of a man - entity? - but here we are. I've long since stopped trying to make excuses for this. It just is what it is. His sh*t personality and adorable face has captivated me.

It's not explicitly stated but the Reader is heavily implied to be a Succubus.

This was absolute torture. Each day that has passed you by seemed to crawl through the hypothetical hourglass in a reluctant, slow drag, like the universe was intent on leaving you alone to drown in your thoughts; dark, isolating, hopeless thoughts that clung to you with long, cold claws. There was no reprieve. There hadn't been for weeks. And instead of healing and drawing to a close, it seems like that aching, lonely pit that's been sliced into the pulse of your chest has only grown wider, and now it feels as though it might swallow you whole with flaying, gnashing teeth.

And to make matters worse, it's your fault. You were the one who decided to break things off with him. You were the one who said that the relationship was hopeless. That it wasn't going anywhere and the both of you were just rushing towards an inevitable dead end that would just wound you both. You believed you were doing the right thing at the time. Saving you both from the heartache. You were just too different. You wanted for different things and the goals and ambitions that drive you were too polarizing for you to have a healthy, coexisting relationship. And on top of that, after Fizzarolli had ended their ten-year partnership, Mammon had been hellbent on getting you to spy on the jester. Trying to utilize your position within Ozzie's restaurant to dig up dirt on the pair. You had refused, but he just wouldn't stop asking. It was enough to put a strain on what you had. You were offended that he assumed that you would just carelessly throw your friendship with the King of Lust away. That you'd betray his trust. For a little while you had felt so confident and vindicated in your discission in leaving the King of Greed. But here and now, you can't help but to second guess yourself. And the ceaseless chatter of the that tiny voice in the back of your head keeps telling you that you've made a mistake -

No.

Nope.

You were not going to let yourself go down that route. You did the right thing. You did what was best for yourself and sometimes the right thing hurts to do, but it will be all right. You'll survive. You just need time to move on that's all. And then you'll be able to get yourself together. Remind yourself of all of the experiences and people that you had missed out on since you've been in a relationship and then you'll be a brand-new person, prepared for life and all of its opportunities.

But it was a bit difficult to move on when the person that you were trying to get over was literally plastered over every inch of Hell. Seven Rings and all, he had found a way to weasel himself into every facet of everyday life, to the point that it is actually insane. You're surprised that you had never noticed it before. But now, ever since the breakup, you've been horribly hyperaware of all of the ways that he has marketed himself across the city - even in a Ring that isn't his. Billboards, TV commercials, magazine covers, even on the plastic packaging for diapers - he hates kids! What does he know about diapers?!

You couldn't even go without seeing his face when you were paying for things. You had never wanted to set a bill of money on fire before, but the urge had become increasingly difficult to fight when you had offered to pay for dinner last week with your friends, and you been reminded of the fact that his likeness is featured on the banknote for a hundred souls.

You couldn't even go the corner store to stock up on your depleted supply of alcohol without stumbling upon that wide, jagged grin. It was irritating. It made you feel nauseous and sick - mostly because whenever you saw that familiar sneer an array of lovesick butterflies burst inside of your stomach; always closely followed by an adoring, fuzzy warmth that sweeps across your spine and burns at your cheeks. It's disgusting. Obnoxious. And not even the sound of some other customer loudly coughing a few aisles across from you nor the repetitive buzz of the stark, pale florescent lights hanging from the ceiling above are enough to pull you out of those old feelings. They cling to you like a kind of residue. Sticky, thick and stubborn. And even worse is the fact that you find comfort in it. It's familiar. It's warm. And a part of you can't bear to part with it.

Ugh, you're hopeless.

You reach for the bottle you came for - Beelzejuice, which is admittedly too cloying of a drink for you. It could make you sick with its sweetness if you consumed too much, but it got you drunk fast, and as of right now that's all you wanted. You wanted to forget. Even if it was only temporary. But even with your chosen liquor in hand, your eyes keep straying over to the bottle with his face on it. Some cheap knock-off brand, it seems. A watered down and bland substitute, but it looks to be like it might be one of the most expensive beverages on the entire shelf, because why wouldn't it be?

The portrait of his face on the label is a simple sketch, similar to the rudimentary doodle that he always adds next to his signature, but it's still enough to have your heartbeat skip wistfully. It's a familiar brand of alcohol. One that you had found in his liquor cabinet several times. A poor duplicate of one of Satan's brands of whiskey. You had never gotten around to trying it honestly, and you wouldn't be trying it tonight. Not even with his adorable face sketched out on the labe-

You jerk away from the shelf with a colorful string of profanity huffed out underneath your breath, strained and exhausted. This entire situation has you run ragged. Tired with yourself and your feelings and your apparent inability to just. Move. On!

You outwardly groan, squeezing tight onto the neck of the bottle in your grip, swinging your head back on your shoulders. The glare of the lights above isn't even enough to stray you from your thoughts. And for a moment you just stare upward, ignoring the dull sting that the pale glint projects against your eyes while you rove them over the water damaged stains on the ceiling, pointlessly making shapes in the splotches. Trying to look for some kind of distraction, no matter how stupid it may be. But you can only quietly stand in the aisle for so long before you're kicked out for loitering.

"Dammit," You swear, dropping your gaze back down again, vision skipping around the store, over the colorful array of saturated products and the few other people randomly scattered about the floor. It gives you pause when it lands on someone who's standing only a few feet away from you, in front of the shelving facing your back. But irritation flares when you notice that they're watching you with a somewhat animated expression. There's a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth and despite the friendly aura surrounding him, the weight of his eyes has your skin prickling uncomfortably. And even with you telling yourself to just shrug it off, to just ignore him and continue on with your night, you can't hold in your annoyance.

"The hell are you looking at?" You snap, glaring with a snarl.

The Imp blinks, shoulders drawing up tight like he's surprised, and the reaction just serves to irritate you even more. But before you can get another remark, another demon is breezing past you and joining his side with a sunny expression on their face. The guilt and humiliation that settles over you feels like a set of talons running down your back, and you immediately want to shrink into yourself and vanish. You can't fight off the cringe that sweeps over your body, and you struggle to give them an apologetic, strained smile, lifting the hand holding the bottle of mead up to give an awkward wave, and the alcohol inside sloshes around in a way that seems to hammer home your embarrassing predicament.

He doesn't return the look, instead he's looping arms with his lover and leading them out of the aisle all together, but not without shooting you a wary glance over his shoulder and you hear him whisper lowly in their ear before they both disappear around the shelving: "Don't make eye contact with her. She might be a biter."

You need to chill out. You're acting completely erratic, and towards people who don't deserve it. Complete strangers who were probably just here to pick up some junk food and a slurpy, and now they get to go home and talk about the crazy lady standing in the liquor aisle.

It would be fine. Everything would be okay once you just get home.

Everything was indeed not fine. In fact, it might have been worse.

It started out normal enough. You went about your regular routine. Or the routine that you had adopted these past few weeks anyways, which usually consisted of an occasional glass of alcohol and a bowl of ice cream, eating and drinking your feelings while you watched whatever mindless trashy show is currently playing on TV. You try to do some kind of selfcare. Anything to keep you from drowning and getting pulled down into the dredges of your pathetic longing and angst. Tonight, that meant painting your nails and applying a face mask that smelt of pineapples and nectar. And for a moment it was actually nice. It felt peaceful even.

You had slid the glass door that led to your compact outside balcony open, letting in the distant lull of the traffic down below and the scent of the balmy night breeze inside your apartment. That was always a plus to the Lust Ring, that even with the heavy population and the smog of the bustling, neon city, the air here always seems to be a little perfumed, subtly sugared and almost a little heady.

You were humming yourself, perched up on the soft cushioning of your couch, barely registering the angry shouting coming from the speakers of your television. It's probably just two of the ladies fighting again. Tension is going to be at an all-time high considering that Luz is getting married, and she didn't invite Opal to the wedding. Things were bound to get messy. But even with your interest piqued you could hardly get yourself to glance up from your work while you apply coats of a cheerful yellow nail polish to your toes. It wasn't your first choice, but you figured that it was a happy color. And you had hoped that maybe it would make you feel better. It didn't. You had decided halfway through that it was an awful decision. Whether it was because of the particular shade, you don't know, but you found yourself observing the polish underneath the warm glow of your lamp with a mild sense of regret.

Oh, well, it's not like you can't change it.

You lift your focus up from your feet that you had propped up against the lip of the coffee table, scanning the counter for the bottle of acetone, but you come up empty. There's nothing but your glass of mead and the half-melted bowl of cookies n' cream that you had forgotten most of the way into painting your nails. You could have sworn that you had grabbed it and a handful of cotton pads and swabs from your bathroom before you had started, but apparently you didn't.

And then -

You hardly even make out the words, you just hear the voice. That horribly familiar voice, raised in that accented lilt. It has you perking up subconsciously. Your head jerks like it's being tugged on an invisible string, threatening to give you whip lash with your full attention zeroing in on the screen and your body twists in its hunched position to sit ramrod straight. And for one fleeting moment, you hope that your ears are just playing a trick on you. That the universe was kind enough to give you a break within the comfort of your own home, but that small glimmer of optimism is quickly snuffed out like a weak flame when a blur of various shades of green streaks across the screen, accompanied by the jingling of bells and coins. And then there he is.

Ruining the most recent episode of the Housewives of Sin City.

This absolute hell. Well, yeah it is literally. But figuratively as well.

What is he even doing on this show? You can't recall him mentioning to have an interest in it or any of the stars a single time that you had been together. Except for maybe that one time he had found you watching it, and he had casually asked you about one of the wives who had been in the throes of an enraged outburst, while shoving a handful of chips into his mouth, speaking around the mouthful: "What's wrong with that skank? She on the rag or something?"

But now, he's apparently a guest at Luz's wedding. How that's even possibly - why that's even possible doesn't add up. And the shock and irritation running throughout your body like an electrical current has twisted up the features of your face, causing the moisturizing mask placed over your skin to lose its grip, suddenly peeling itself from its hold to fall onto the carpet in a flat flop near your feet.

You don't even give it any mind. Instead, you're looking for an outlet, blindly reaching for the nearest object to throw and your hand snatches up an old Loo Loo Land apple plushie next to you on the couch for you to hurtle at the screen. It makes impact with a pitiful squeak before plopping on the floor and the TV doesn't so much as rattle from the hit, which is honestly a blessing as much as you'd love to see the glass projecting the image of his grinning face to crack and split down the middle. But you can hardly find it in yourself to be thankful for that little fact. You're annoyed and angry and hurt.

Actually seeing him in motion and not in the form of pictures or drawings is just picking at that fresh wound that's still openly bleeding. And suddenly, those three long years of being at his side have never felt so far and yet so close: looming and almost painful. You lurch for your phone, scooping it off of the table to fervently scroll through your contacts. You briefly pause on Fizz's name, and for a second you consider calling him. He would understand. He would sympathize with what it's like to struggle with learning to let go of Mammon's influence and figuring out how to move on. But that wouldn't be fair. Not to him. Not after he's just recently cut ties with the King of Greed, and officially dropped the Sin as his mentor. It would be opening up a cut that he's still beginning to heal.

It has you scrolling your thumb down a little bit further until you find Lottie's number and you press it without much thought, other than the fleeting wish that you weren't interrupting her. She should be free from her shift at the firm by now; it's late enough. But with each trill of the phones ringback tone you get a little more unsure, and the sinking feeling that she's busy, that you've disturbed her nearly has you ending the call. The image of her caller ID posted in the background doesn't help either.

You know that she won't be angry about you contacting her. She's actually been pretty insistent that you do just that if you ever begin to feel overwhelmed or upset, but suddenly the sight of her joyful, beaming face doesn't seem so jovial anymore, and the scarlet glint of her eyes seems accusing and harsh. It's enough to have you second guessing yourself, but just as you're about to press on the red button on your screen, she answers.

The comfort that floods over you lifts from your body like a sack full of bricks and you breathe an audible sigh of relief when you set the call to an open speaker. "I think I'm going crazy," you blurt. You almost wince at the lack of tact, but you can't help it with all of the emotions and stress rising to the surface, forcing all of your worries to spill out of you like a flooding geyser. "Everywhere I look, he's there! How am I supposed to move on when he's shoved in my face every second of the day? I went to the store a few hours ago, and he was all over the place; on cereal boxes and chip bags and fucking laxatives-"

"Okay, okay, okay, " her voice soothes firmly, successfully grabbing you attention enough to get you to just stop talking. "Listen. I really don't think that you're giving yourself enough time to move on from this. I mean, it's been what? Maybe just a little over a month?"

"Yeah, " you nod dejectedly, scooping up some of your liquified ice cream on to the spoon to drink. "Just about three weeks."

She hums lowly. "So, you two were together - surprisingly - for a few years. All of those feelings aren't just going to dry up overnight, babe."

"Ugh, I know!" You whine in an elongated groan, dropping the spoon back into the ceramic bowl with a noisy clatter. You tighten the grip that you have on your phone so that it doesn't go flying out of your hand when you let yourself fall face first into the couch cushions, not caring if it stunts your breathing and when you speak next your voice is slightly muffled. "It's just so frustrating. I don't know what's holding me back. I mean, I really don't even know what I had ever seen in him in the first place."

You hear her scoff on the other end and there's a clipped humorless laugh tainting the sound. "His money? Well, no he's too cheap to even spend it - whatever. Either way, I'm glad you finally woke up to his bullshit. The guy's a total sleaze."

The comment makes you bristle despite your pervious statement, but you can only manage a grunt in response, tired and low while you turn your head, moving from the press of the cushions to finally allow yourself to breathe properly without inhaling the bits of perfume and dust that have undoubtedly gotten caught within the velvet fabric. You've heard all of the confused whispers and frustrated remarks for years. From Lottie and Ozzie and many of the other performers and staff at the restaurant, none of them were shy in voicing their bewilderment over your relationship with the Sin of Greed. They weren't looking down at you per se. You could tell that the side eyed glances and chatter all came from a place of good will and genuine concern - "He just isn't a good person, darling." Asmodeus had told you once. "I know him better than just about anyone and believe me when I tell you that he'll chew you up for all your worth and spit you out when he's finished licking up the bones. You deserve better." - but they still frustrated you.

In the past you had told yourself that they just didn't understand him like you did. That underneath all of the selfishness and confetti and snark that there was something that cared. What a complete blind, fool you had been.

Your eyes land on the TV screen, letting you defeatedly take in the sight of him on stage, guitar in his hands while he belts out one of his songs on an exuberantly decorated stage with champagne colored streamers and the glimmer of coins (fake of course, he'd never use the real thing out of the risk of other demons scooping the change off the floor and stealing it) falling around him, and a row of golden cannons shoot off explosions of sparkling fire and pyrotechnics. He's no doubt eclipsing the wedding ceremony with the act but knowing him that was entirely the point.

So he's there as the part of the entertainment then. He's got to be charging them out the ass for this performance.

You let yourself admire him, sweeping over the neon green of his eyes and the round shape of his face. You could almost feel the cool sensation of his cheeks against your palms. He's always ran a little on the colder side; a little chilled to the touch no matter how heated the atmosphere around him may be. But you had never minded. And you find yourself longing to brush your thumbs along his skin, to feel the weight of his face underneath your fingertips like you've done at least a thousand times.

"He is still a little cute," you remark, melancholic but a little loving too.

Lottie sighs on the other end, ragged and weary but then her breath snags and a small bout of silence hangs over you both. "Is that - is that him singing? Are you watching him?" She accuses, tone saturated in disbelief. She makes you feel like you're being berated by your mother. Like you're a child being caught doing something that you shouldn't have, and it has shame stinging at your cheeks.

"I was watching my show," you defend yourself, eyebrow furrowing as you observe him break into the songs verse. "And then he decided to show up."

"Oh, for fucks sake," she grouses. You can tell that she's shaking her head on the other end. Probably pacing, too. "All right, we're going to do something about this."

That both intrigues and concerns you and you perk up just a little bit. "Do 'what' exactly?"

She doesn't immediately answer and that sets you on edge. You can still hear her shuffling around on the opposite line and it has tension setting in your muscles while your brain tries to scramble around for whatever it is that she's trying to plan or set up, but your mind keeps coming up frustratingly empty. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

"I . . . " she begins a little distractedly. "Am setting you up on a date."

It feels like a bullet has fired your heart out from your chest in sharp burst and the shock is enough to have you clambering up from your flopped over position to glare down at your phone. You can taste the adrenaline on your tongue like something acrid. For a moment you can hardly get the jumbled words out from your throat, and you're left sitting frozen with your mouth hanging open dumbly. " You . . . Wh - " Your eyebrows pinch close. "You what? With who?"

"Do you remember that coworker that I told you about? The hot paralegal?"

You hum to yourself, trying to jog the memory free but nothing familiar rises up to greet you. "No," you answer bluntly, picking at a loose thread from the couch cushion.

The admittance doesn't seem to dampen her excitement in the slightest. "Well, he's nice and Sherry said that he has a massive dic - "

"Okay, I get it!" You say quickly.

"And I think this will be good for you," she says, tone dipping into something gentle and soothing. "I mean, I know I said to take time to move past this, but maybe you could use this as a reason to get out. To take your mind off of things - it won't be anything serious! Just a . . . distraction."

Your lips purse and you can feel a refusal rising up from your lungs, but then your eyes are drifting back over to the TV. The bitter taste of disappointment hits you like a mouthful of lime juice when you see that he's been replaced on screen with one of the wives during a confessional scene, and it serves as a harsh reminder of how pitifully stuck on him you are. Sure, you know that you only need a little bit of time to completely move on, but Lottie's right. Maybe a harmless little date wouldn't hurt. Maybe it would be enough to finally help you to pry those bits of affection and devotion from him and take back your life. "Okay, " you relent wearily.

She exclaims in a burst of excitement, and a part of you loathes how happy she sounds while you're currently stewing in your own misery. "Great! I already texted him about it, but I'll send you his number."

You hum to let her know that she's been heard, a little absentminded while you continue to stare at the screen with some piteous part of you waiting for him to pop back up on the TV. The phone call drifts from there, directing back over to Lottie's day. A nice reprieve from thinking about your own, but as selfish as it is, it's hard to try and pay her words any attention while you're buried under your own emotions. You can't help but be a little bit thankful when she has to end the call, having to turn in for the night in the preparation of some early meeting in the morning.

It leaves you to just sit in silence, with your bowl of melted ice cream propped in your lap while you mindlessly watch TV, seeing the content flit across the screen but not registering it. You had made yourself change the channel about fifteen minutes ago, even when your thumb had stubbornly hovered over the controls of the remote while your subconscious waited for that familiar grin to show back up on the screen. And that fleeting little thought had been enough to get you to mash down on the channel button until you landed on an entirely random program. Some renovation show, about taking homes from demons struggling against foreclosure to remodel the seized properties into luxury houses for reselling to the wealthy and famous.

A lot of the designs were just beyond absurd. Like the bathroom with a mini golf course built into the flooring or the laser tag arena that was merged with a sex dungeon. It was an odd union of hobby and . . . necessity?

And that's where you stayed for an indiscernible amount of time without moving apart from a small shuffle to readjust; you had long since forgotten your intention to remove the yellow polish from your nails. You were steadily nursing on your glass of Beelzejuice, fighting off the slight wince on your face whenever you took a sip. Between the saccharine, syrupy flavor and the burn of the alcohol whenever you swallowed it down, you were hitting close to your limit for the night. Fortunately, a nice, relaxed haze was already settling over you and fizzling at your limbs and fingertips. And for a few blissful moments, you didn't have any clamoring, distracting thoughts or feelings welling up and threatening to stretch you thin. It felt like peace.

You had texted the number that Lottie had sent you a little while ago - Hugo, it seemed his name was - just to try and make an effort, even if it was a reluctant one. It was just a quick hello, nothing much more than that, and you hadn't built up the courage to check and see if he had responded to you. It was so odd. The entire situation and you hate how much you feel guilty about accepting an invitation for the date. It had some acidic, nasty sensation bubbling in the pit of your chest; sharp and cold, but luckily the potency of the alcohol was enough to distract you.

Not for long though, because the show is switching to a commercial break and once again the familiar sight of a layered, pointed clown costume drops across the screen, encapsulated around the looming shape a figure that you know all too well. His voice is raised, meant to grab the viewers' attention easily as he breaks into a pitch meant to entice the watcher into buying his newly manufactured sex robots, modeled after a pair of twins from the Envy Ring.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Your entire body seems to sag, weighed down with defeat, and you swear you can feel tears prickling at your waterline as he leans closer towards the camera, twirling his staff with one of his upmost hands. And for a while you don't even hear what he's saying. You're too busy being forced to watch him while he cavorts around a simple, plum purple background with a pair of robots obediently stationed behind him. And it isn't until he reaches for the both of them and presses them both up against his sides with a somewhat provocative grin stretched over his face that your mind seems to focus, and his indistinct salesman speech becomes fully audible.

" - each sold separately! But if you purchase the both of them in a package deal, then you'll have double the fun for the low, low price of two thousand, six hundred and ninety dollars - not including tax! C'mon! Don't be a cheapskate - " He leans forward, eyes narrowing while his voice subtly shifts a few octaves lower in a threatening rumble - "you better get 'em both, you sick fuck! Ya know you want to!"

Your hand seems to raise on its own, gripping onto the remote and smashing down on the power button, causing the screen to go black, saving yourself and your sanity from having to look at him for a second longer.

It's safe to say that sleep didn't come easily that night. You had tossed and turned for hours on end, and it wasn't until the dawn was rising in the horizon in a blossom of pale lavender and peach hue that you were able to pass out from pure exhaustion. The next few days continued as they usually do with preforming down at the restaurant and going out for drinks with your coworkers afterwards. You had begun to text Hugo within that time, and you felt a bit of consolation to know that he too wasn't looking for anything particularly serious, having been out of the dating game for a few years after spending his focus on furthering himself in his field of work. The both of you had unanimously agreed that whatever was going to take place between you would be entirely casual. It was after two days of speaking that he had asked to take you out for dinner, and with Lottie's words echoing loudly inside your head, you had agreed.

It wasn't until you were getting ready that night that your reality had officially sunk in. That you're actually going to go out on a date with a man that you hardly even knew. After three years of remaining in a relationship it felt like such a strange concept. You had never imagined yourself with any other person but Mammon. And now here you were, rummaging around in your closest for something to wear. Shoving through the mountain made of Thing plushies and all of the other miscellaneous trinkets that he had sent you once he had realized that you were indeed serious about ending the relationship, just to try and get to the clothes hanging from the closet rod.

You had thrown most of his little 'peace offerings' away at first, but after the fourth day of having to carry the armfuls of Mammon plushies and oddly enough, Loo Loo Land novelty cups (you're fairly sure that he was just sending you stuff that he had found in inventory) down to the garbage hatch down the hallway, you had just begun to shove it all into your closet instead. The questioning stares from your neighbors had always felt too invasive whenever they'd watch you slip down the corridor with his pathetic attempts at bribing you back into a relationship clutched to your chest in the shape of stupid toys and knickknacks.

You actually manage a smile when you successfully tug the hanger holding your chosen dress free from the confines of the closet, but you don't even bother trying to fight against the scattered collection of plushies by attempting to close the door to your closet. Not with the way that they've tumbled out from the confines of the snug little alcove and onto the floor. It would be a losing battle, and you don't have time for that with the clock steadily ticking. You were quick to rush off to the bathroom, taking care to spend time on styling your hair as best as you could and making yourself presentable, spraying on a few puffs of perfume across your body.

You had been fine throughout the entire process. The nervousness settling in your gut had been noticeable but manageable. It was faint enough to keep your mind off of it, to push it down and ignore. It wasn't until you were actually at the decided upon restaurant and sitting across from Hugo at a candle lit table for two that the restlessness and hesitancy become unavoidable. And you had long since forgotten your food, far too nervous to eat. It had you trying to distract yourself from the wild thrum of your heart beating in your chest by looking around the dining room, admiring the pale, iridescent shimmer of the dramatic crystal chandeliers hanging above the array of tables and the large, carved marble statues placed along the circumference of the great the walls.

"Are you all right?" Hugo suddenly asks, breaking from your trance. Your attention snaps over to him, making the jewelry hanging from your earlobes jingle.

"Yeah, of course," you reassure quickly, playing with the stem of your wine glass somewhat distractedly. "I'm just getting reused to this sort of thing. It's been a while since I've been on a date with someone new."

He smiles, nodding in understanding way while he prods at his food. "Well, we're both in the same boat in that regard." The burgundy shade of his irises shimmer underneath the gentle glow of the candles flame. "It's no pressure, remember? This is purely casual."

It has you breathing a visible sigh of relief, and the entirety of your body relaxes while you let yourself rest your weight on the table with your elbows. It was something that he has told you before, but it was nice to hear it in the moment, face to face. Hugo moves a bit closer, and the motion looks a little awkward. A little unsure, and as bad as it may sound, it was almost pleasant to see that he too is removed from his comfort zone. That you're not the only one that's entirely out of their depth.

"I hope that this isn't too forward, but why did you agree to even do this?" He asks. "It's just, from how Lottie described it, it was all sport of sudden."

The question gives you pause, as straight forward as it is and for a moment you find yourself without a proper response. He did say that this entire outing was casual, no strings attached. But even then, it isn't exactly appropriate to say that you were just trying to get out of the house because you were going clinically insane; that you're out here on your night off, drinking wine that's entirely too expensive because everywhere you look, you see your ex's face and it's been wearing down on your resolve little by little like pressure on a weak, torn rope. Sure, you have the potential to be an asshole, but even that feels a little insensitive.

You had told him that you had just recently gotten out of a relationship, but he has no clue just how fresh the separation actually is. And you have no idea what Lottie may have said to him, but as of right now you'd like to try and keep your personal business to a minimum if at all possible. Satan forbid you accidentally mention just who you ex is. That last thing you need to deal with is him getting intimidated and running off because you used to have tied with the incarnation of Greed.

"Honestly?" You say, absentmindedly tapping your nails along the stem of your glass with a soft shrug. "As superficial as it is, Lottie said that she knew about a hot guy that was single and looking for a night out. I agreed."

He chuckles at that, playing coy but you notice the subtle way that he preens under the casual compliment. The hint of a smile curling at the corners of his lips, and the slight spike of lust that trickles across the air. It's low, a blink and you'll miss it scent; heady and a little warm, and the faint thrum of it nudges against your body like a hesitant touch before it vanishes. But despite your instinct to chase after that minute pulse of desire and cultivate it into something more, you find yourself completely uninspired to do just that. As dejected and disappointed as it makes you in yourself, you'd honestly rather spend the remainder of your evening catching up on your TV shows than wasting it between the sheets with him. But then again, that doesn't have to be the point of tonight. Tonight, you're just here to get out. To remind yourself of what's out there. You have to try.

"Was she right?" He speaks suddenly just as your taking a sip from of your wine, leaving you to tilt your head curiously with an intrigued hum. "Am I hot?"

You lower your glass, drinking the swig down and you make a show of eyeing him while you debate on how you really want this night to go. This could be a simple time out on the town, or you could truly try to go down the opposite route and wind up in some trashy No-Tell-Motel a few blocks down the strip. He seems receptive enough. In fact, despite his earlier statements, you're more than sure that he wouldn't be opposed to a little harmless fling. And maybe it would help you forget Mammon, even if just for a little while. But is that really what you want though . . ?

"Hmm, ask me later tonight," is all you say, smirking softly, and there it is again. That dim heated little pulse that leaves him and threads across the atmosphere. It should be enough to interest that deep, primal part of your psyche, but there's absolutely nothing.

"So, what did your ex do, if you don't mind my asking, " he says, and you struggle to keep the smile on your face present at the mention of Mammon. " Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out what kind of expectations I'm supposed to be meeting."

Well, that shouldn't be all that difficult to surpass. Not with how self-absorbed and oblivious Mammon has always been. And truthfully, Hugo was attractive - or hot, as Lottie had promised. Sure, you had seen pictures of him with all of the texting that the both of you had done but seeing him in person was somehow all the better. It was easy to see that he takes care of himself. His eyes are gorgeous, sharp and expressive and the suit that he wears is no doubt expensive. And with how considerate and patient that he had been with you throughout your entire time together, he didn't have much to worry about in terms of acceding past the standard that Mammon had set.

"He was . . . " You wrack your mind for a way to delicately leave out the hints that your ex just so happens to be the King of Greed. You really won't be able to handle the entire slew of questions that would no doubt come from that little nugget of information. " A performer . . . " You settle with a squint. "And a businessman of sorts. "

"Oh, yeah? Is it possible that he's been in anything that I've seen before?" He questions conversationally.

Yes. It's very, very possible. "No," you shake your head with what you hope is a neutral expression on your face. "I doubt it."

You take a quick sip of your wine, desperate for some sort of liquid courage to dull the low turning of your stomach. He hums softly, letting you know that he's heard you and pats his mouth clean for any traces of food.

"So, did you work together then?" He tilts his head in a curious kind of way, and the inquiry has your eyebrows furrowing incredulously, prompting him to clarify. "You said he was a performer. You work at Ozzie's, right?"

"Uh, yeah," you admit. "But no. He's business partners with my boss, so he pops in for meetings every now and again. That's how we met." You clear your throat, shifting in your seat to try and regain a sense of comfortability. The memory always leaves you feeling a bit confused. A little torn and stretched between contrast of a fond sense of love and nostalgia but reversibly the bitter sting of loathing and regret. It leaves you a jumbled mess. Stuck because you can't help but wonder just what you had ever seen in Mammon, but it's even worse because all those affections still haven't fully waned. Even before you had fully become acquainted with the Sin of Greed there'd always been that odd sort of intrigue that would pull at you whenever he had arrived at Ozzie's for a meeting; typically, a discussion over the production of Fizzbot's much to Asmodeus' chagrin.

Your boss was never enthused over Mammon's presence in his restaurant, mostly because the Sin would always try to scout new talent to exploit in the shape of Ozzie's employees whenever he was present (not to mention that massive tab that he had racked up at the bar and the kitchen that he always manages to weasel out of paying). And you had been one of those employees yourself. You had been pulled over by the King of Greed one night after your routine, and he had shamelessly tried persuading you in becoming one of his performers directly in front of Ozzie, offering you fame and money and fans beyond your wildest fantasies. Naturally, you had declined the proposal.

The refusal had visibly rubbed him the wrong way, with him no doubt taking it as blow to his pride and his image, but he hadn't let it stop him. Every time that he came in for that monthly meeting, he'd make sure to pop the question, and you'd gently let him down each time. But for whatever reason, his persistence never bothered you. It was almost fun in fact, like a game of cat and mouse. It was entertaining, in a strange sort of way, like the both of you were waiting each other out to see who'd crack first. You actually enjoyed his company. He was brash, garish and vulgar. The jokes that he made were always at another expense and he was insensitive to the point it was concerning, but for some reason you found yourself inexplicably drawn to him. He made you laugh; he let you be yourself, and the both of you could spend hours gossiping amongst yourselves and trashing other demons, laughing at their misfortune and mistakes. Was it rude? Absolutely. But with him, that was perfectly fine. He was a complete douche (still is) but he had never really flirted with you, he'd never given much of an indication that he was interested in you in a sexual nature, apart from admiring your talents on the stage it was a nice break from all of the constant salivating customers that would clamor up against the edge of the platform and ogle you throughout your shift. It was nice just having a conversation with someone who wasn't expecting or wishing to get some cheap blowjob backstage. Ironically enough, one of the most exploitative beings in all of the seven circles of Hell managed to make you feel the most normal. Like you were more than just your basest functions, more than lust and a performer.

It had been Asmodeus who had recognized when your intrigue in the Sin of Greed had melted past an amused kind of fascination and into endearment and desire. He had seen the shift in your emotions long before you had, and you had vehemently shrugged off his gentle accusations for months on end. Insisting that he was reading into the weird type of kinship that you had fashioned Mammon all wrong. You had insisted that you were just friends. You just found him interesting, that's all.

But unfortunately, Ozzie had been right.

"Is it okay if we change topics?" You ask suddenly, desperate to get out of your head. To quit reliving old, painful memories. " It's just - talking about my ex, you know?"

Something sheepish and a little ashamed flits across his face and he's immediately apologizing. "Oh, I'm sorry. That was a little insensitive of me."

"It's okay," you say truthfully, shrugging with a soft smile. "So, do you have any kind of hobbies?"

The conversation diverges for there - thankfully, carrying on while you both try to learn about each other. It leads you to discover that Hugo has a multitude of talents, such as being able to play several kinds of musical instruments and he has a proclivity for painting and a fondness for cooking that was cultivated by his grandfather. He was quick to offer to teach you how to make a dish from the Wrath Ring for your next date, after he learned that you aren't all the adept at the culinary arts, mostly due to the lack of interest.

He's undeniably a sweet guy. He seems to be generous and easy going, but despite all of that you still can't hide from that sharp, nagging feeling that's been picking at you the entire night. The realization that there just isn't much of spark regardless of how charming and gentle he seems to be. And although conversing with him is easy, nice even, to a degree it feels like talking with a coworker or a catching up with a friend. But maybe the lack of attraction wasn't the only thing to blame. The entire night there's been this harsh, laughable sense of guilt and betrayal brewing inside of you, almost like you being on this date with Hugo is somehow cheating. But that's entirely stupid. Not to mention that it doesn't make any sense. Those bitter emotions shouldn't have any footing because you and Mammon aren't a couple anymore, but it's almost like your feelings and heart haven't accepted that yet.

And it leaves you admittedly a little distracted, until you're just mindlessly nodding and laughing whenever it's the appropriate response. Eventually you're just sleepwalking throughout the entire dinner; your body is present, but your mind definitely isn't. Suddenly it's hard to keep yourself in place and your eyes start shifting around the dinning room like you're in search of an exit. This is too much too soon. You shouldn't have agreed to this. You shouldn't be here.

And in your internal panicking you couldn't keep yourself from covertly slipping your hand into your purse hanging from the back of your chair to retrieve your phone while Hugo isn't looking, too busy animatedly scanning his eyes around the room while he's reminiscing about some past vacation on an island resort in Envy. The sting of guilt makes you slightly shuffle in your seat like you might be able to shake the feeling free, but it doesn't keep you from hiding your phone underneath the table in the clasp of your hand while you tap the messaging app and search for Lottie's name. Maybe if you were able to explain yourself to her, she'd help to bail you out. Maybe you could get her to give you a fake call and come up with an excuse-

You freeze, focus landing on the name posted directly underneath hers.

Moo💚

It's such a dumb nickname, and honestly aren't even sure where it had come from. You had just started using it one day, and you stuck with it because even when Mammon would grumble under his breath and roll his eyes like every utterance of the pet name costed a year of his immortal life, you would always see that monochrome blush tinting his cheeks at the sound of it. He'd get offended if you addressed him as anything else; one morning when your brain was still sluggish and dulled by the cloud of sleep, you had called him 'Mammon' and he had elected to give you the silent treatment until you were finally able to figure out just what exactly you had done wrong. And it would make your chest turn fuzzy and soft whenever you'd see the reaction that it garnered from him, full of devotion and affection.

And now the simple nickname, something you had felt nothing but fondness for, feels like it's mocking you. Dangling something in front of your face that you'll never get to have again. You can't help yourself when you press on the contact's name, opening up your messages. It's like your heart is in your throat, heavy and trembling and threatening to suffocate you, and it takes every ounce of your frayed sense of will to keep your from reading the text thread. You could remember the last couple of messages that he had sent without looking over them. The last of them asking for you to 'come to your senses' and return back to one of his penthouses in Greed and when you refused the text had turned egotistical and indifferent, with him claiming that he didn't need you. That he'd do just fine without you.

And just like that your will snaps.

x/x/xx 12:43 am

fine go ahead i dont even nrrd u

x/x/xx 12:43 am

duck

x/x/xx 12:44 am

*FUCK

x/x/xx 12:44 am

*NEED

x/x/xx 12:44 am

go crawl to ozz for all i care

Those simple set of words feel like a knife to the chest; sharp and slicing and you feel those pitiful emotions rising up again, threatening to spill over in the form of tears. You don't know what causes it. If it's the sudden call of Hugo's voice, laced with concern and curiosity as he asks if you're okay, or if it's the slight tremor in your fingers that makes your thumb twitch and press the image of the call button in the corner of the screen above your messages, but when it happens your stomach feels like it falls through your ass. You visibly lurch when his caller ID pops up with an in-progress call and you audibly gasp ragged and a horrified as you slam your finger on the end call button so harshly that it's a wonder that you didn't damage your phone.

Your entire body is pulled taunt like you've been struck by a live wire, and you're sure that Hugo is more than confused because you must look as though someone has a gun pressed to the back of your head.

"Are you all right?" He repeats, leaning forward over the table to make eye contact with you.

It does enough to let you regain some control of your body, letting you pull a tight, unconvincing smile across your lips as you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine." You say, more so to yourself than to him. Honestly, you're being a little dramatic. The connection - if it could even be considered as one - couldn't have lasted for more than a split second. He probably won't even notice the missed call. More accurately, he most likely has your number blocked. You're blowing this entirely out of proportion. You're good. Everything is all right.

"I'm fine," you reiterate and luckily, you're able to make your expression a little bit more convincing.

It's fine.

The air prickles. It shifts and thrums like it's being charged by an oncoming lightning strike, and you can feel your body respond to it. Your back goes straight from the sensation of something hot and buzzing shooting down the notches of your spine while your heart flutters from anticipation in some traitorous Pavlovian response before you even hear that familiar cha-ching! jingle across the electric, pulsing atmosphere. The space directly next to you erupts in a puff of rushing lime and emerald smoke, joined by a flurry of bright, neon dollar signs and confetti that whirls over the beverages and meals belonging to the neighboring tables; effectively tainting the other patron's food in its scatter.

"Well, well, well, look who's come crawling back!"

You're experiencing so many different emotions right now; you can't even keep track of it all of it while it roars around inside of you like a deluge bursting past the battered walls of a crumbled dam. You manage to recognize a few: concern, irritation, regret and most disturbingly, relief, joy and admiration. It's like you're entire being is suddenly overloaded with conflicting information and you aren't sure what you're supposed to say or do.

In your disarray you notice that Hugo has gone still, just as surprised as you are. And the entire restaurant has fallen deathly silent, no longer noisy from the ceaseless chatter of varying conversations or the scrape of silverware on porcelain and the clinking of wine glasses. It's still. So hushed that you could hear a pin drop. Even worse, is that everyone's attention is now fixed on your table. Guests and employees alike, their focus is now on you. It's like you've been strapped down and flayed open on an operating table; you don't think you've ever felt so exposed, so judged in your entire life.

Your mouth hangs open, but nothing makes its way out, not even when Hugo shoots you a questioning look before his eyes center back onto Mammon.

"So this is who you're spending your time with now, " he remarks in that tantalizing lilt, leaning - looming over Hugo with an intrigued squint. His lower hands are folded across his stomach, but he uses the other pair to take ahold of your date by his wrists, spanning his arms open like he's inspecting a toy and his head tilts with the chime of bells. "He's a bit of a flimsy fucker, ain't he?"

The expression on Hugo's face is understandably one of bewilderment, and he lets his arms drop back onto the table counter weightlessly when Mammon releases him. You can see all of the questions burning in his stare and you know that you have to give him some kind of explanation, even if this entire situation was a complete accident on your end.

"Hugo, this is the . . . performer - uh, businessman that I was telling you about earlier," you clarify somewhat cryptically, giving him a tense smile.

His jaw drops a little, shoulders going slack with what has to be the weight of shock and possibly intimidation. "Your ex is the King of Greed?"

"Ex?" Mammon hisses, bending his body over the smaller demon while bearing his sharp teeth like he might bite and tear flesh while he jabs an accusing finger at Hugo. "What? You think just 'cause me and the missus had a little spat that you can just try and move in on my woman?"

The fucking audacity that he has.

Anger sears through you with a gravity that surprises yourself, and you stand up from your seat so abruptly that it has the legs scrapping across the smooth tiles with a sharp noise that could make you flinch if you weren't already so preoccupied. " 'Missus?' We aren't even marrie- we aren't even dating anymore! What the hell are you doing here?"

The Sin blinks at you with what might be surprised before his expression melts into something composed and neutral. "You called; I came. That's what good boyfriends do," he says, and you can hear some kind of accusation in his tone, and he jabs a finger in your direction. " I showed up for you, even after you tore my heart out and practically pissed all over it! Did it get you off? Pissing all over our love?"

The laugh that leaves you is entirely humorless, and at this point you're too upset to even consider that you're having an argument in the middle of some expensive restaurant with your ex while your date sits and watches like some kind of reluctant voyeur. "Oh, please. Because you were always so invested in our relationship, weren't you?" you snap with your tone saturated full of sarcasm. "You poured more effort into trying to figure out ways in getting back at Fizz and Ozzie than giving me even a shred of your time. You started treating us like a chore, don't even try to pretend."

You're able to find some satisfaction in the way that his eyes twitches, his composure slipping. In hindsight, it's pretty stupid trying anger someone who's capable of snuffing out your existence with the snap of his fingers, but as of right now, you can't find it in yourself to care. You want him to get mad.

"And I told already fucking told you that it was only temporary," he defends, tilting towards you to get eye level. "I'm a busy man, babes and blackmailing and ruining the life or your backstabbing, shit-stain, ex-employee takes time. " He explains casually, making your irritation spike.

"Well, that 'shit-stain, ex-employee' happens to be my friend," you hiss hotly, and your tail lashes out behind you.

"All right, maybe we should all calm down and breathe," Hugo chimes in, advising in a hesitant pitch.

Even with his suggestion hanging in the air it takes you and Mammon a moment to pull your venomous glares from each other, and onto him, but it's enough to have you revaluating your current position. You cast an awkward glace around the room, struggling not to shrink underneath the intrigued, gossip hungry stares of the other patrons. You sit yourself back down on the seat, outwardly cringing as it makes an obnoxious screech when you nudge it forward to tuck yourself back up against the table.

"If I want your opinion, you little shit, then I'll ask ya for it, " Mammon snaps with a smile that's all teeth, lethal and razor sharp.

"Then perhaps you should leave," Hugo says. Despite the firmness of his tone, you can see the way that his eyes shift nervously. Not that you could blame him. Mammon can be menacing when he's in a good mood, much less when he's genuinely displeased, and that's not even adding onto the fact the he's royalty that has an entire Ring of Hell serving as his domain. Honestly, the fact that the demon had chosen to speak up at all surprises you completely, and Mammon seems to share your astonishment if the befuddled way that his face has twisted up is any indication.

"The fuck did you just say to me?" The Sin asks, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes glint in that venomous shade of green. You can see the tension setting into his shoulders as he arches over Hugo's space, using his height to make the smaller demon lean back into his chair. You try and send your date a wary glance, warning him to tread lightly. Mammon could be a little unpredictable at best, especially with how he reacts to criticism or just basic social boundaries, so there really wasn't any way to guess how he may respond to Hugo's request. He could either laugh it off with a few harsh insults or he could lash out and try to kill the Imp entirely.

The latter of which, was the last thing that you wanted - for obvious reasons.

But Hugo doesn't heed your forewarning glances at all. He looks up at Mammon, somehow managing to school his features enough to come across as unbothered. "Well, according to her, it seems that you two are no longer in a relationship; and she's made it clear that she doesn't seem to want you here anymore. " He says. "I just think it's best to respect what she wants."

You can feel your mouth go dry and your tongue feels too thick and useless. Suddenly it's as though all of the warmth and oxygen has been syphoned out of the room, making your body tense like it's been dunked in frigid water. The grin on Mammon's face stretches just a bit too wide, and the cheerful expression almost seems a bit feral. You can feel that charged aura building up around him, not enough to create any visible static, but you can still feel it humming along your fingertips and brushing over the exposed bits of your skin. It's a decent indication to let you get a read on his mood, allowing you know that Hugo is wobbling along a very frayed tight rope right now, and any wrong miscalculation could send him spiraling down below.

For a second you think that Mammon's composure might snap but instead that wolfish quality to his sneer melts away as though it had never been there, and he looks positively jovial. Somehow that's worse.

"Ya know what!" he snaps one of his topmost fingers together. "You're right. We should give the little lady what she wants."

Hugo blinks in surprise, visibly relaxing but the buttered-up tone that Mammon uses just sets you on edge. It's too performative - even for him.

"I think that means you should be the one to leave then, mate." Mammon sighs, with a kind of artificial sympathy as he takes Hugo's glass of wine from the table and tosses the near full cup of alcohol back like it's a small sip before he leans close to the demon conspiratorially. "After all, she isn't here to move on, she's just here for a little distraction. Why she chose a limp dick like you for that, I'm still not sure. But hey! I'm not one to judge."

That stings. Mostly because there is some actual merit to his words, as awful as they are to hear. It's a tough pill to swallow, but it isn't one that you want to take from Mammon of all people. That might have been one of the most difficult things about being in a relationship with the Sin. Is that regardless of how brash and inept that he happens to be at the best of times, he's undeniably good at reading others. He knows what makes them tick or how to use their insecurities as a tool. It made it so difficult to hide the most delicate and abrasive parts of yourself from him, and you suppose that might have been you fell for him in the first place. Because you could always be the worst side of yourself, and he had never shied away from it. Not once.

"Well, I'd like you to leave . . . Your Highness," Hugo responds with halfhearted resolve, and you can hear the other tables whisper amongst themselves like they're occupying the front row seats to a drama.

And it has that horrible sinking feeling in your gut.

"Is that so? And just what the fuck are you gonna do to make me, bitch boy?" Mammon taunts, and you can hear the hint of a low growl tainting his voice. The enthusiasm and intrigue wafting from the other occupied tables in palatable, and it feels like you're all holding your breath, dreading whatever may come next but unable to look away. And you want to speak, to get Mammon's attention off of Hugo and onto you instead, but you can't manage to say a damn word. It's like your voice is stuck in your throat.

Your date opens his mouth, to possibly defend himself or relent, but he never gets to opportunity to because one of Mammon's hands is lashing out in a quick blur, grabbing Hugo by the throat. The other sets of his eyes have appeared, glinting with a violent glare of chartreuse and the sibilant sound, similar to the hiss of a rattlesnake's quivering tail, or the disturbed hiss of a cicada puffs from his chest. He raises Hugo up to his level, making the Imps feet dangle pathetically above the floor while his tail lashes wildly. Mammon's lips curl in a nasty sneer, dripping with satisfaction and aggression. "I could break you, pipsqueak. Be careful not to piss me off more than you already have, yeah?"

The grip around Hugo's neck way deadly, and you could see his eyes beginning to bulge from underneath the weight of the Sin's iron hold, making him look like some kind of fucked up chew toy. One good squeeze and he's as good as dead. "I can't believe this is the little fucker you tried to replace me with," he jeers, dangling the smaller Imp like a rag doll.

Finally, all of the tension and chaos is enough to break you from your stupor, letting you reclaim control of your limbs to leap out from your chair for the second time of the night. "Mammon!" You shout, by the Sin doesn't seem to even register that you're speaking with the way that he doesn't so much as spare you a glance. His eyes are fixed onto the demon whose windpipe he has his fingers tightly secured around.

"Mammon! Put him down." You snatch ahold of one of the Sin's wrists, tugging on his arm. "Let. Him. Go, " you warn through gritted teeth, even though you're probably about as intimidating to him as gentle breeze.

Mammon finally spares you glance, the sadistic cheer shifting from his face as his eyes cast down to yours. Hugo continues to thrash around wildly, like a fish tossed out onto a dock but the King of Greed doesn't seem to be in any rush to release him. Instead, he's sighing, exasperated and fully disappointed when he notices your enraged glare, and even without any visual pupils or irises you can still tell that he's rolling his eyes at you. "All right, all right, don't get yer thong in a twist, " he scoffs; frustrated. " Jeez, you've always been so protective over the other normies."

He releases Hugo like he's a discarded piece of garbage, letting the demon land near his feet in a weak pile. You're quick to let go of the Sin's wrist as you slip past Mammon to drop yourself down onto your knees in front of your date, roving your vision over him helplessly as he heaves and sucks in ragged, labored breaths. Pure guilt and hatred wracks through your body at the sight of him and all the while your mind harshly chants that this is your fault. That you did this to him.

"I'm sorry, " you whisper fervently. " I'm so sorry."

He can't respond to you around the strained gasps shaking through his lungs, but you feel him flinch when you place a comforting touch against one of his shoulders. The reaction, no matter how warranted, makes you jerk away from him. It hurt. It dug that remorse in deeper like a hot poker and you were desperate to direct it something. It has you spinning on your heels, rising up to round on Mammon. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" You snarl, anger burning at your fingertips and searing in your chest. The combination of surprise and annoyance on his face just pisses you off even more, making your wings flair out. You catch the way that his eyes glance around the room, surveying the reactions of the customers and servers who have long since taken out their phones to spread the gossip. There's no doubt that this is going to be all over online headlines and trending on platforms like Sinstagram and VoxTok for the next couple of days, and you know that the way that you're publicly insulting him is a setting you on a fast track to his shit list. But you don't care. Not right now. You want him to get mad. You want him to become just as upset and irritated and wounded as you are.

"You're a psychopath! " You rant. " Arrogant, insensitive, selfish -"

" Uh, yeah, babes, " he interrupts, flourishing his arms across his body in a presenting flourish. " King of Greed."

"I'm so tired of hearing that excuse." You scoff around the frustrated laugh bubbling up in your chest, clenching and unclenching your hands to try and relieve some of the tension in them.

"Let's chill out, eh? You're causing a bit of a scene," Mammon grouses.

That genuinely stalls you. Why, you aren't sure, you should be used to this sort of behavior by now, but you're already too worked up to just ignore that comment. "I'm causing a scene?" You point your fingers into your chest, staring up at him with a pure molten resentment. "You're the one who crashed my night and assaulted my date. If anyone here's the problem, it's you!"

A part of you waits for him to lash out, fully expecting to see those sharp, neon flashes of electricity start to fizzle and shoot out around him in a warning, but it never comes. Instead, he's rocking back on his feet, and the irritated scowl on his face shifts, molding into something soft and deceptively charming. "Baaabe, " he draws out an almost singsong whine. "Let's not do this anymore. Aren't you tired of all this fighting?"

His mouth sets into something like a pout, and that coupled with the gentle, saccharine lit to his voice has you hesitating to berate him even more. It's such an obvious ploy to manipulate you - it has to be - but even worse is that it's working. You can feel that annoying, sugared sense of affection rising up and stupefying you. He uses your stalled response to his advantage, taking your hips and cupping your face with both pairs of his hands to tug you a little bit closer into his space until you can feel the thrum of his magnetic aura dipping across your body. His thumbs sweep over the edges of your cheeks, and some treacherous part of yourself longs to lean into his cool touch. "I miss us. I miss you, " he confesses like the moment between you both is private, and for a minute you completely forget that you're in a crowded room, airing out your relationship drama for all to see. "Don't you miss me? Even just a little?"

He almost sounds vulnerable when he asks it. The other sets of his eyes have long since vanished from sight, but the sheer amount of emotion gleaming from the main pair makes your heart ache. And even with all of your common sense raging inside of you and telling you to pull away from him, to slip out of his hold before you get caught too deep to pull out, you don't know if you can. Not when you can finally feel him again after so much time apart. And even with the smooth, press of his leather gloves keeping you from being able to feel his skin directly, the cool sensation of them is too good to let go of. "Yes," you admit, almost a little brokenly. There's the hurt of self-disappointment that runs through you when you say it, but the relief and exhilaration that rises up greatly overshadows it, frothing up and drowning it like the crash of a tsunami against the surf.

"See?" He coos tenderly. "See how much better it is when we don't fight?"

It's the sound of a rough intake of breath that finally rips you out of your moment of weakness and your eyes flit over to the origin of the noise out from your peripherals. It's when your focus lands on Hugo that reality comes hurtling down on you. He's pulling himself up onto his feet, still clearly a little disoriented but thankfully coherent. It has you tearing out of Mammon's hold before you can register it, approaching the Imp with a concerned furrow pinching your eyebrows close. "Are you okay?" You ask, a bit of a stupid question you admit, but you aren't sure what you could possibly say to make this situation any better.

The stare that Hugo pins you with is a little wild and you can see noticeable traces of fear and rage, and he tries to smooth out the wrinkles that have marred his suit, combing his fingers through his unkempt hair in an attempt to try and right himself. "Why would I be fucking okay?"

It's a justifiable reaction, you suppose, but it doesn't make it any less painful take the brunt of that searing glare. You recoil away from it, thumping back into something solid and soft, and the scent of money carries over you; the hint of that leather musk that transfers onto the bills from being stuffed into purses and wallets; the slightly metallic notes of coins and the till from cash registers. That familiarity of it has you unconsciously sinking into the presence pressed up against your body for comfort.

"You're still here, are ya?" Mammon's voice rumbles out, and you can feel the vibrations of it thrumming across your back, but it's hard to even hear what he's saying while you're bombarded by the searing pressure of everyone else's enthralled eyes pinned onto you; the bewildered, hurt stare that Hugo fixes you with as he steadies himself on his weakened legs. It has you feeling naked and bare. Stripped down to display all of your imperfections for all of the world to see, exposing you for judgement. But it's the cold, stinging weight of remorse that wounds you the most; driven in deep by that unforgiving voice in the back of your mind that keeps telling you that the entire trajectory of this night is your fault. That Hugo was humiliated and harmed because of you.

You should have just stayed home. You should have just -

"Let's say you and me ditch this shithole," Mammon purrs: the soothing chill of his hand's seeps through your skin, gripping around your shoulders and waist, threatening to make you go lax against him. "Let's go back home. We can make up for all our lost time."

The scattered whispering around you nearly makes you miss the Sin's words. You can hear all of them, softly giggling amongst themselves and gasping in shock. But it's Hugo's shaken glare and all of the confusion and hatred that peeks through it that catches you. And there's some deep, knee jerk drive that tells you to go and try to comfort him. To try an apologize for the entire derailment of the date and explain yourself, but instead you're leaning back into Mammon's presence, savoring the musky scent of him and the distant magnetic thrum that constantly pulses across his body.

You know whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to choose your fate. It'll completely seal the deal, so to speak, for the remainder of your life. And as dangerous as that thought is, as perilous as that truth may be, you can't find it in yourself to be scared. You find yourself leaning into it - into him - and fully accepting the troubles that may come from it. If you're going to be truly honest with yourself, these past few weeks have been complete torture because as much as you loathe to admit it, you've been lying to yourself. Pretending that you want to move and forget him, when in all honestly, that's the furthest thing from your true desires. You want him. You think that you always will, and some awful part of you basks in it. Seeks it out even. And that shameless bit of you helps you in shedding off the shame that comes with the looks from all of the patrons. Suddenly you don't mind all of the judgmental and fascinated ogling. When he's at your side, none of them matter.

"Sure," you agree, and all of that remaining doubt fizzles out into a dull, muted nudge in the back of your mind. "Let's go home."

You can feel the pleased hum that he releases more than you hear it. A rumble that's close to a purr and he hugs you tighter against his body with all of his limbs like he's afraid that you might vanish if he doesn't. He scoops his lower arms underneath your legs, effectively clutching you to his chest and your arms grip around his neck instinctively. The look that he gives Hugo is outright gloating, with that wide, jagged grin stretched out across his face and you have to roll your eyes at the pompous display.

"Hey, don't forget to pay the check before ya leave, mate," Mammon teases. " And make sure to leave a good tip. Wouldn't want to be a dickhead."

You can feel the electrical pulse around him begin to build. It gives you barely any time to scoop up the strap of your purse with your tail, lifting it from its place hanging on the chair before that little royalty free children's cheer breaks out with that loud cha-ching! and the room distorts and mutates into a twisting billow of green. Hugo's face is the last thing that you see as you vanish within Mammon's grip, still wearing that startled and insulted expression that twists up his features and the look in his eye's stings. It remains with you as the world shifts into something dark and distorted with shades of a deep jade and flashing neon; and everything twists and spins out until everything loses its sense of tangibility and becomes a weightless amalgamation of electricity and smoke. And for one elongated split second it feels as though you don't even have a physical body. Instead, you're just a thing conceptualized through thoughts and emotions and wills that serves as some kind of conduit for those scattered electrical currents to run rampant through you while they take you apart piece by piece and shrink you down into something small and fleeting until you're being is forcefully expanded and overblown. And then finally there's sensation in your toes and fingertips and the point of your tail. You can breathe again, and the cool press of Mammon's body and arms can be felt around you.

You gasp, remembering to force yourself to inhale in an attempt to ward off that delicate weight of dizziness that fizzles around your skull, and with a few steady breaths the faint lull over your head fades away until you can finally focus and get a sense of your surroundings.

At least you didn't vomit like the first time.

It's a quick glance through the large observational window that helps to orient you, giving you a sweeping view of the dreary city down below and the glittering cast of the cerulean and lime green neon lights and signs that decorate some of the buildings. You're just glad that he teleported you both inside. The air in the Greed Ring - if it could even be categorized as air - can often times be putrid, if not outright lethal depending on what section of his domain you're in. Even though this particular penthouse happens to be in one of the more put together cities, far from the smokestacks overwhelming contaminated plumes, the factories and toxic landfills, the wind is able to carry the pollution over on its currents, and it's been known to be quite dangerous. Noxious and putrid enough to be detrimental.

Seriously, you've seen it choke out a family of four.

Reality hits you with all of the grace of a speeding truck, that you're actually here in Mammon's house, and you're left to try and brace for the oncoming torrent of regret and self-hatred that's going to absolutely piledrive you, but it never comes. There's no crushing weight of disappointment or exasperation. Instead, you're greeted with a delicate but fizzling sort of peace. It's like some kind of grip has been lifted from your shoulders and lungs and you're finally able to breathe again after being held underwater and suffocated. It floods through you like a soothing type of warmth, like the sunlight peeking out from the dense shield of cloud cover after days of darkness. It's pleasant and balmy despite the fact that the arms and hands holding you are somewhat tepid; a little cool, and you lean into it.

It surprises you when that gentle feeling of relief starts to shift, and you can taste something sharp and hungry crack across the atmosphere, a little sour. Jealousy, you instinctively recognize. And it's quickly chased by a heavy, pulsing thrum that's heady and a little smoky, and your body's response is immediate, knee-jerk and intrinsic, and every part of you seems to flood with heat and buzz like you've been struck with a livewire. As rare as this particular brand of desire is, it's one that you're intimately accustomed to, and it has Mammon's magnetic signature all over it. All-consuming and wanting and possessive.

He's never particularly been a lustful being, and all honesty, the number of times that you've had sex with the King of Greed has been far in between. In the beginning it was something that you had almost taken personally. You had nearly assumed that maybe there was something wrong with you, that perhaps he just wasn't attracted to you has an individual. But luckily, you had been quick to realize that he just didn't have much of a sex drive all together. It didn't stem from a place of disgust or even necessarily a full-on lack of interest, it was just the urge would rarely ever arise for him. It just wasn't an instinct that he had, or at the very least, it was one that would make an appearance very fleetingly. But it worked for the both of you surprisingly. Usually, after a shift at Ozzie's you were gorged on as much lust and energy as you could possibly take. Too much of a good thing could leave you feeling nauseous and uncomfortable in your own flesh, like your skin has been cinched too tight. It made being around him a breath of fresh air.

But that didn't mean that he absolutely never had a libido. But usually whenever his desire would emerge, it seemed to have a deep-rooted connection to jealousy and some inherent need to prove that you were his.

One of the first times you had sex was during one of his Annual Clown Pageant's and some random demon had shouted up at you from your place above where you were curled up against Mammon's side, stupidly asking for you to lift up your shirt and show him your tits. And the violent crackle of electricity was about the only warning he got before he was roped by a sudden cast of glowing webbing and then promptly tossed across the long expanse of the stadium. Your pretty sure that several of his bones had been shattered.

But as annoying as the stranger was, maybe you should give that guy some props. Even though he had landed himself a trip to the ER you had spent the remainder of your night getting your back blown out by the King of Greed.

You have tried to tell Mammon that he doesn't have to have sex with you to convince you that you're his. That he doesn't have to buy your love and loyalty with sexual gratification. Despite the nature of your being, you don't have to have sex to feel loved or cherished. He satisfies the need you have for touch well, with his constant desire in having you stuck to his side or in his arms in some kind of fashion. You already know that you're fully his. You want to be, and you accepted him and all of his affections and at times lack thereof completely, but he'd always been insistent on touching you after someone has shamelessly flirted with you. Almost like he had to remind himself that you were still there. He wouldn't stop until every inch of you was doused in his scent and it was unmistakable you were his.

Considering how long the two of you have been a part recently, how nasty the breakup had been and the sheer magnitude of the lust and jealousy prickling across the atmosphere and seeping into your skin and saturating your bones, you had a good impression of how the rest of this night is going to play out. It has anticipation running rampant in your veins. You tear your eyes away from the dark city outside of the window to face him, and the weight of his gaze nearly knocks you breathless. His eyes are glowing bright within the dim lighting of the room, burning a deadly shade of chartreuse. It makes you feel pinned in place, like you're being tracked by something dangerous. A weak animal dangling within the jagged, lethal maw of a starved creature.

The energy that's descended over you dances over your skin, magnetic and searching and so vibrant that for a moment it almost feels as though it could transform into a living, breathing thing and consume you both until there's nothing but scraps left behind. You're toeing the line of something vicious, a little wild, and a part of you wonders if you'll even come out of this in one piece. You might just get torn apart.

But you've never been one for self-preservation.

You aren't completely sure who moves first. But suddenly his lips are on yours, tasting floral and a little spicy from the wine that he had stolen from Hugo earlier, and it feels like you've been zapped from the fervent exchange. Your body momentarily goes a little lax, making your tail drop your purse on the floor with a careless flop in favor of winding around one of his lower forearms. It's already a little sloppy and uncoordinated, fueled by desperation and want. Then again, Mammon always has been a little messy whenever he kisses, all tongue and teeth. It might have disgusted some, his outright lack of tact and finesse, but you've always found it endearing and honestly hot. It's depraved, completely filthy, and it doesn't stop you from moaning when he licks into your mouth to taste you.

Every part of your body seems to burn like you've been dipped into melted wax. A shiver skips down the notches of your spine, quivering from the sensation of his lust clouding over you and curling up in your lungs, packing your head full of stuffing. His desire just serves to fuel your own, pilling it up on top of each other until it already has you near mindless. It's straight up embarrassing how easily he's able to affect you. To practically turn you into a pile of mush with a couple of looks and some kissing, but you can hardly find it in yourself to be ashamed.

Both of your hands are everywhere, slipping across each other's bodies, groping and clawing. You can feel the hint of his talons pressing against the cover of his gloves, dragging over your skin like he means to leave marks. The simple thought of him scratching across you with dark, stinging streaks remaining in the wake of his sharp nails has you shifting yourself to wrap your legs around the thick of his abdomen so that you can shamelessly grind against his stomach like some kind of slut, impulsively seeking out your own pleasure.

You can feel the vibrations of his low, mocking laugh tremble underneath you, spurring a liquid heat to build between your thighs. But the whine that leaves you is a little broken and ragged when he cruelly removes his mouth from yours to leer down at you. It makes you painfully conscious of the spit that's been smeared across your lips and the breathless way that you're already panting.

"Look at you, grindin' up on me like a bitch in heat," he croons meanly, but it doesn't offend you, and he knows that. It's a little fact about you that he utilizes constantly for his own benefit. Your desire to take the brunt of his insults until your defenses are stripped bare and you're left to his wills and wants. You can practically feel the satisfaction rolling off of him in waves, thick and rousing and it just has you needing more.

"Mammon," you whine brazenly, intentionally coquette.

You can tell by the look in his eyes; glowing and craving, that it just fuels his ego, single handedly feeding into his hubris. Not that it needs to get any bigger. Regardless of that simple fact, you can't help yourself in indulging him majority of the time; watching him preen underneath your subtle praise and blatant desire; even when he doesn't realize it. Even then, it takes you by surprise when your spun around and tossed into the air as easily as a pillow. You land onto something equally firm and bouncy with a small gasp. The thick, individual threads that stick to your skin in a sultry, adherent grip, have your limbs stuck, keeping you secured to whatever surface he's stuck you to.

His web.

A cursory glimpse has you confirming just as much; taking in the sight of the bright neon glow of the silken twine that keeps your limbs fastened to its grip. The lack of mobility doesn't unnerve you in the slightest, instead, it has something excited smoldering inside the base of your abdomen. And the lust and ardor pouring from him, combined with the magnetic aura that constantly pulses over him does amplifies your fervor to an embarrassing degree.

The grin on his face is sharp and smug, showing off the lethal rows of his teeth. He lowers himself onto the web slowly, his movement are all purposeful; calculated and unrushed. Intentionally dragging out his climb above you, no doubt reveling in the way that your body writhes to try and get near his own.

"You're so fucking desperate," he taunts and there's the hint of a laugh tainting his words. "Could have fooled me, with the way that you were practically eye fucking that cheap bitch."

Your face crumples up into a light sneer, and there's a retort on the tip of your tongue. That low voice in the back of your mind is telling you to keep quiet, or else he'll drag this out more than he already is, but your sense of pride rises up to the forefront. "Well, I wouldn't have been off with another man if you hadn't acted like such a dick."

His eyes narrow, and it could have been a trick of light, but you swear that they glow brighter underneath the shadows saturating the room. That electrical aura around him spikes, becoming palpable underneath his flaring irritation, trickling over your skin like an electrical current that makes you gasp. But he masks his indignation with a smirk that looks all too pleased, like you had blindly bumbled into a trap.

"I really don't think that you're in position for back talk," he chides, tilting his head condescendingly as he continues his climb over you, spreading your thighs wide to fit himself between your legs with the musical chime of bells. He's settled himself over the expanse of your body, placing his topmost pair of hands on either side of your shoulders to prop himself up. Just another soft spot that he likes to take full advantage of. He knows the way that your differences in size affects you, that way that bulk of his body practically engulfs yours. It already has a thrill shooting down the nape of your neck, and your nipples harden underneath the cool silk fabric of your dress while your back involuntarily arches, seeking out the feel of him. You can't even stop yourself from attempting to grind your hips against the swell of his lower abdomen in some carnal search for friction. "It's making me feel like ya don't even want me here anymore," he says, feigning to sulk.

You try to swallow the whine that bubbles up from your throat when he straightens himself, pulling away from you, but it escapes regardless, a little breathless and strained. He definitely heard, if the satisfaction that gleams in his eyes is any indication. He puts a studious expression on his face, eyebrows pinched close while he raises a hand to his chin like he's thinking. "Ya know, I'm pretty sure you left one of those little toys of yours after we split. "

Oh, no.

That gives you some pause, makes your body cease the desperate roll of your hips to focus on him. It takes a moment for your brain to catch up, but once it does it's able to latch onto the fact that you did indeed leave one of your sex toys here at the apartment. One of your favorite ones in fact. A rabbit vibrator that you had bought a few years ago. You had been completely pissed when you realized that you had left it behind after you cleared what you had in his closet and bathroom, and returned back to your apartment to unpack. You had been upset about having forgotten it for the entirety of a week, but you were too prideful to text or call him about it. There was no way that would have broken your silence towards Mammon over a vibrator of all things. And it honestly throws you for a loop to know that he even kept it.

But even worse than all of that is the smile that's stretching at the corners of his mouth. The sight of it alone has the alarm bells in your mind going off. "Considering that you don't want me anymore, I could just go get it for you. Put it in that needy little cunt of yours and let it take care of you all night."

It wasn't an idle threat either. He'd absolutely deliver on it. It's something that he's done to you before, cruelly leaving you bound to his webbing with a toy placed on the highest setting to draw out orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were a boneless, drooling, thoughtless mess. The memory does admittedly have a thrum of heat pooling down between the apex of your legs, but the idea of not being able to touch him after so much time apart sounds like absolute torture.

You find yourself shaking your head, chanting a series of 'no's' under your breath. He hasn't even done anything to you yet, and you've already been reduced to a pathetic pile of mush, already a little drunk from the influence of his lust and magnetic thrum.

"Are you sure?" He presses, absolutely toying with you. His lower hands settle on your legs that have hooked around his waist to sweep up until they're rucking up the skirt of your dress and slipping underneath the fabric to pluck at the straps of your panties with the sharp edges of his gloved fingertips. The feel of his chilled touch on your heated skin leaves a buzzing trail in their path and you press your body further into their hold, savoring the pressure of them.

"Please," you beg unabashed in your shameless behavior, but you've long since abandoned your pride if it'll just get him to actually do something.

"Hmm," he hums lowly, squinting at you questioningly, making your anticipation rise only to snuff it out. "I don't know . . . I'm still not convinced."

You try not to let your exasperation show. You don't want to give him the satisfaction to know that he's truly getting under your skin, though you're sure that you're failing fantastically. You could still smell his jealousy in the air, sharp and bitter on your tongue, and it gives you a pretty keen idea on how to approach this. It's obvious that he wants you to feed into his ego a bit more, wants to see you plead for him and earn his attention back to gorge those possessive urges that he has. You could definitely do that.

"Come on, Mammon, please touch me," you whine, and your eyelids flutter when one of the golden bells hanging from the decorative layers of his costume catches on your clit from over your underwear, rolling over it in a way that makes your mouth drop open. "It's not the same if it isn't you. It needs to be you. Just you. I want you to use me, I need you to fuck me, please, plea- "

"Yeah? You ready to make it up to me?" He asks, gripping onto your chin when you nod eagerly in response. He chuckles lowly, eyes burning in that intense shade of green while his grin stretches wide. You hardly register it when the grip he has on your hips tightens, and a quick blur has your positions switching when the silk strands of his webbing release from your skin and suddenly you're the one looking down at him, perched on his abdomen. He's practically lounged himself over his web with the top pair of his arms curled behind his head, reclining himself against the tapestry printed pillows and satin cushions. It catches you by complete surprise when he reaches with his other set of hands and manages to rip your dress and undergarments from your body with the harsh tear of fabric.

"Well, then - " he starts, landing a cracking smack across the swell of your ass, ripping a delighted gasp from you at the sensation of the sting - "best get started. My dick ain't gonna suck itself."

He really is so charming.

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes at him, propping yourself up on your palms to slink yourself down from your place on his stomach and in between his legs. You meet his gaze with your own when your pull back the pointed, embroidered fabric of his motley to reveal the bulge of his cock straining against his pants. You haven't even taken him out from his breeches yet, but it never fails to surprise you how massive he is. It always takes you off guard, though it does nothing to dull the white-hot desire scorching at your body, threatening to eat you from the inside out; it only fuels it.

He catches the lust and want in your stare judging by haughty glint saturating his expression, lips pulled back in that jagged grin.

You really want to wipe that look off his face.

You can't fight off the urge to lean forward, dropping your mouth open to glide your tongue over the fabric that's pulled taut over the heavy thickness of him. Trying to suck his dick through his costume like a degenerate. You moan aloud when you catch the head of his cock underneath your tongue, but you can't help but be a little disappointed when you're unable to taste him through the barrier of his pants. Though that little bit of discontent is quickly snuffed out by the subtle way that his thighs twitch on either side of your head. It has you pulling your mouth from him to take it in his expression. He's unfortunately managed to keep it unfazed for the most part, still sporting that smug smile, but you know him enough to notice the mild furrow pinched between his eyebrows that let you know he's affected.

It gives you the motivation to reach up and unfasten the concealed buttons keeping his pants secured. You try to hide the anticipation in your movements, doing your best to stay articulate and nimble with your fingers as you pop the buttons free from their openings in the garment. Even with the confidence and desire rushing through your veins like molten sugar you have a difficult time keeping your features fixed into something unwavering when his cock springs free from his pants. He's big to say the least, almost ridiculously so. Sure, you've taken him before, but the memories never really do him justice.

For a moment you're just left to stare dumbly. Admire, really. Roving your eyes over the length of him, appreciatively glancing at the ridges that flare and line down his shaft; shortening and tapering off the closer they get to the bulbous head. You've had a fair number of flings and lovers in the past, but he easily has to be one of the biggest you've ever taken. The first time that the two of you had sex you had almost been a little intimidated by the size of him. But with time, that intimidation quickly melted into a type of awe and desire. You can feel your body react, muscles drawing up tight and heat throbs between the apex of your thighs.

"C'mon now, you were so fucking desperate for it earlier, " he coos, reaching down to grip himself, dragging the head of cock against the shape of your bottom lip, smearing his cum over your pout like a chilled gloss. You open your mouth to taste him, salty and musky across your pallet and you continue to lower yourself down him until you can feel him brush against the back of your throat. You can't help but hum, content from the weight of him on your tongue, the vibrations of your voice reward you with sharp hiss from his lungs. He's cool to the touch, but not unpleasantly so, and the chilled temperature of his skin is almost soothing, like a sort of balm spreading across your tongue.

He's big enough that you can already feel the strain in the hinges of your jaw, and you try to mindful of your teeth, careful not to accidentally scrape him. There's absolutely no way that you'll be able to take all of him this way - you know from experience. It has you placing the rest of him that you can't fit in your mouth into both of your hands, using the saliva that's spread across his girth to aid the firm glide of your palms, moving them in tandem with your mouth to build a steady rhythm. It's already sloppy. Spit drips past your lips, coating his cock in a way that depraved, if not a little gross. Not that he's ever minded. Mammon always seems to prefer his head a little messy, and you've always been one to indulge him.

You make sure to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock, stroking the point of it over one of the soft, sensitive ridges throbbing along its length when you drag your lips up to suck at the head, swallowing the precum that trickles from the slit in a generous pour.

Tears have already begun to prickle at the corners of your lash line, blurring your vision just a bit. It's a little upsetting that it's made it difficult to see the expression on his face, the furrow of his eyebrows but the way that his mouth has dropped open for him to release a bout of ragged expletives is more than enough to dull the sting.

It has you doubling your efforts, desperate to hear more of those breathless swears. You drop your mouth down on him until you can feel him in your throat, and the wet heat of it has him gripping the back of your head with a strained grip, claws threatening to burst through the leather of his gloves and scratch, guiding you to swallow a little bit more of him.

You aren't even the one getting head right now, but you're just as worked up. Your entire body feels like it's being overloaded with something electrical and blazing. Your cunt is soaked, cum smeared down your thighs in a way that you couldn't bother being ashamed of. You're drunk on the scent of sex and the pulsing sensation of lust that's seemed to replace all of the air in the room, making it difficult to see past your desire and your need to taste him. You moan around his length, twisting your fists around him fervently as you suck at him with the goal to make him spill down your throat.

"You're such a slut, ain't ya," but it's more of a statement rather than a question. "Trying to fuck yourself up against nothing like some kind of whore."

For a moment your brain scrambles along dumbly, trying to make sense of his words when you finally realize that your hips have been rolling up against the air in some mindless instinct, and your thighs are tightly pressed together in an effort to find even the smallest bit of friction. It makes shame prickle across your tear-soaked cheeks and you're quick to halt the movement of your waist while you try to refocus on the task at hand, stroking your tongue over his throbbing girth.

"Aw, none of that now," he chides, a little patronizing. Suddenly one of his legs is prying between your own, forcing a frayed mewl from the depths of your chest when he presses it against your slick cunt. It has your hips jerking over him, mindlessly undulating them to seek out that delicious rise of ecstasy. The laugh that bubbles up from him is demeaning. It should probably humiliate you. Make you upset. Or at the very least motivate you to grab onto the remaining tatters of your pride and try to gain some sense of control. To make some half-assed quip or insult at him to at least to assume the illusion of authority. But you like it. You like being at his whims. It makes you feel like you're his. "Damn, you're such a greedy fucking thing. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to come for my spot."

You can only manage to moan around his girth, trying to focus around the thick syrupy warmth that's begun to drizzle inside your skull, making your thoughts drown and sink somewhere a little fuzzy and distant. You can feel that familiar surge of heat and euphoria rising up and swelling at a rate that should be embarrassing. All you can focus on in the pressure of two of his hands holding onto the back of your head and one of your horns, using the leverage to work your mouth up and down his cock, using the wet heat to build up his own pleasure until you're practically some glorified sex toy. The very idea of it has your eyes rolling back in your skull and your hips jolt against the curve of his knee, rolling it against the slick swollen bundle of your clit. You keen at the contact, nearly gagging on the rhythmic press of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You can feel him pulse in your mouth, and his hips twitch with each thrust, losing the control of the even, pronounced pace that he had before until it's all but choppy and selfish. It has you doubling down on your efforts, rolling your tongue over him, swallowing even more of him down despite the how it makes even more tears trickle down your face; squeezing and twisting both of your fists around his length in a frenzied need to taste him. You want him to spill down your throat. You're immediately rewarded by his sweet, guttural groans, basking in the way that they ring out all ragged and low across the room.

He's close. So, so close, and you are too. You feel your shared ardor and lust prickling up around you; in your fingertips and toes, burning white-hot and heavy in the cradle of your hips. Your body coils up tight, waiting to have it crest over you and sweep you under its unforgiving pull.

And then his body is pulling up taut, back bowing until he's nearly curling over you. It takes you a bit by surprise when the grasp that he has on your head tightens in a grip that toes the line of near painful, and he jerks your mouth down onto his cock until it's snug in the back of your throat. He spills inside of you with a gutted groan of your name and a menagerie of frayed swears. "Fucking take it you fucking - shit - filthy bitch - fuck." You do your best to swallow him down, drinking down the cool burst of his cum eagerly. It's difficult with the abundance of it, and the sheer amount of it still shocks you little. But you do your best not to waste a single drop, slipping him from out of your mouth to lick up what's leaked down his length.

You look up at him through your lashes, damp and clumped together, to admire the lazy smirk on his face. His eyes have gone heavy and a little lidded from the aftershocks and satisfaction weighing down his body. You lean into his touch when he cradles the side of your face, wiping the tears from your eye as he guides your lips away from his cock, still hard and throbbing to place all of your attention on him. He doesn't even have to ask for you to obediently open your mouth, dropping your jaw open and sticking out your tongue to show him that you've made sure to swallow all of his cum.

"Look at that," he marvels, bells chiming. "You just might still be my good girl after all."

You whine at that little shred of praise, rocking your cunt against his leg with even more fervor. The texture of the fabric dragging over your clit has your eyes nearly going cross, and you can't even find it in yourself to mad at the mocking way that he chuckles at your desperation. Probably delighting in the breathless moans and mewls that are pouring out of your in an unabashed surge.

"Yeah? You want to make me happy?" He coos, all patronizing and falsely sweet. It should tip you off, and to a degree it does reach that coherent, long buried part of you. But you're already too cock drunk and caught up in all of the lust in the air to focus clearly. "Then quit fucking my leg and sit up."

The sound that leaves you is mournful and little agonized. The very idea of that sounds like complete torture. You're so close to that precipice of ecstasy that you could taste it as much as you could feel it. Winding up your body tight and promising to drag you underneath a torrent of pleasure, all smoked honey, electrical and dulcet.

"Mammon," you gasp with a plead saturating your tone.

His face shifts into a fake pout, eyebrows furrowed like you've wounded him, and as obviously fake as the expression is, you can't help but be disturbed by the mere notion that you might have disappointed him. He places a hand to his chest dramatically. "But I thought you wanted to be my good girl again? And here I thought we'd made some progress."

"I do," you insist vehemently. "I am, I swear I am." And regardless of the pathetic nature of your tone, it's also firm in your conviction. You grip onto some of the thick threads of the webbing beneath you and you think you could honestly snap them if you grabbed them any tighter, sucking in your breath while you reluctantly will your hips to stop. You could honestly sob when you feel the heat in your cunt die out into a hungry, unsatisfied throb, but the need for Mammon's approval triumphs that want. He hums appreciatively when you get yourself to shift from off his leg and move yourself into a sitting position between his legs. You struggle not to clench your thighs together to rekindle that delicious high again. He must be able to see the near pained look in your eyes because the satisfaction rolling off of him is thick and heavy.

He cradles your chin in between his fingers, directing you to look up at him and center your attention onto him, leaning towards you with the rustle of fabric and the jingle of bells. But it's difficult not to track his movement when he sweeps one of his hands down to his cock, using the slick of your saliva and more of the precum that's begun to trickle from his head to aid him in jerking himself off. But you force your gaze to remain glued to his even with the nasty, languid shlick sound of his hand moving over his length begging you to peek.

"Now you're gonna come up here and sit nice and pretty on my cock, " he orders. You can't even hide the excitement that runs over you, flaring deep inside of your abdomen and no doubt lighting up your eyes. But you should have known that there'd be a catch. That it would never be so straight forward with someone like Mammon. "And you're going to stay still and quiet. I've got a very important call to make - ya know, business and all. I won't bore you with the details, but if you try and get yourself off - if I pick up so much a twitch from those hips of yours or single whimper from those pretty lips and you can go ahead and forget cumming tonight."

All the hope that you had previously felt seems to leave your body like a deflated balloon. Despite your need to please him you can't keep your frustration from bleeding into your features and you can feel what must be the hint of a scowl twisting on your lips. But of course, Mammon being Mammon looks nothing short of entertained by the response. "Aw, don't be like that," he soothes with sarcasm coating his words while he pinches your cheeks between his fingertips. "It'll just take a second.

Liar. An absolute liar. He's going to drag this out for as long as he possibly can, and always a masochist, you feel excitement unfurling in your gut at the prospect of it.

"Understand?" He asks, with a wide, expectant grin.

"I understand," you agree without a shred of hesitation.

"Get up here then," he says, sitting himself up from his place lounged against the pillows. But then he's impatiently grabbing onto your waist before you even have time to move, flipping you around to press your back against his plush stomach, sitting you astride him with your legs on either side of his body. You can feel the head of his cock brush against your sensitive clit, making you twitch, a little tender from your ruined orgasm, but you swear that the light touch could have made you cum had it just been a little bit heavier. You have to draw in a deep breath, pulling your focus onto the chill of his body temperature seeping out onto your back as some kind of center. Serving as a kind of buoy to guide you through the deluge of thoughts, and sensations of both of your lust and that electrical aura that constantly pulses around him. It helps you to reach down and take ahold of his cock, lining it up until it's pressed against the slick entrance of your cunt, and you savor the pleased throaty rumble that it drags from him.

He doesn't release the grasp that he has on your waist, even has you begin to lower yourself onto him. Your jaw drops when you start to sink down on his length, and your walls flutter as they stretch to accommodate the swollen head of his cock. It's something you've done plenty, but no matter how many times you do it, it never fails to make it feels as though the air has been snatched from your lungs. You gasp raggedly, grabbing onto one his free hands, lacing your fingers together with a squeeze as you continue to sink yourself down. The stretch comes with a slight burn. Lighting up a deep ache in between your hips but it's one that feels so good. It never fails to make your brain go blank. You just hardly manage to hear Mammon saying something to you. But it seems too far away and vague to make out with the delicious fog taking over your brain even though you are able to recognize the tone that he's using as encouraging and uncharacteristically soft.

You hardly have time to register one of his fingers winding over your clit with tight, practiced movements that have liquid fire shooting up your spine. It makes your hips roll involuntarily and the head of his cock fully slips inside of your cunt with a filthy wet sound. You're finally able to make out some of his words now that the thickest part of him has finally worked past the tight ring of your entrance. "Remember when you couldn't even take me?" He asks, almost conversationally, like he isn't still teasing your clit and practically splitting you open with his cock. "But you were so eager to try. Now look at you, with your cunt taking it like a fuckin' pro."

You drag in another quivering breath, continuing to sink down on him and for a moment you brain distantly worries, despite all logic that he isn't going to end. For a second it seems like he isn't. The brush of the ridges lining down his girth is an exquisite kind of torture, sliding against your walls in a way that has you whimpering and keening aloud. You feel so full already but whenever you think you're nearly done; glancing down to check, there always seems to be a few more inches left. It isn't until you finally feel the solid press of his thighs underneath your ass, physically keeping you from going any lower, that lets you know that you've managed to take all of him. You peer down, almost like some subconscious part of you needs to verify that you've actually fit the entirety of his length inside and when you do the sight of the subtle impression of his cock in your stomach nearly makes you keel over. It's something that you've seen before with Mammon, but it never fails to shoot pure euphoria into your veins, and the glides around your clit from his fingertips does little help you already frayed sense of self.

You gasp unsteadily, panting like you've run a marathon and you let yourself sag against Mammon's abdomen completely, allowing him to keep you upright while you try to keep yourself tethered to reality. But Mammon, the complete bastard that he is moves the hand that had been on your waist and slips it around onto your abdomen until the soothing chill of his palm is pressed against the gentle outline of his cock. It tears a whine out from your throat and your cunt clenches around his girth so violently that for a moment you think you might cum. You tetter on the edge of euphoria for one glorious second before the sensation settles into an unsatisfied throb.

"Look at you," he marvels with pure satisfaction. "Get a little bit of cock in you and you might as well as be fucked dumb."

You definitely wouldn't qualify it as a "little bit." But you aren't going to tell him that. Not that he necessarily needs you to, your reaction to the girth and length of him is obviously more than enough of an indication of the affect he has on you.

"You remember the rules?" He asks. It takes a minute to comprehend his words. His bells ring out delicately, signaling his movement before you even feel the weight of his chin resting on your shoulder while he waits for your response, sweeping his thumb over the bulge in your stomach in teasing motions. But the sensation also serves to ground you and pull your thoughts to the forefront. You turn your head as best as you can, meeting the searing green of his gaze from your peripheral vision with a clipped, sluggish nod.

"Yeah, I remember," you confirm, a little breathlessly. His eyebrows raise expectantly, grin widening with his own anticipation, prompting you to reaffirm the list. "Keep still, keep quiet. . . And I can't cum unless you let me." You add that last bit a little reluctantly. Mournfully. All you can do is wish that he won't drag this out for too long, even though you know you're just setting yourself up for failure. The entirety of Hell would freeze over sooner. Hopefully, he's not in the mood for breaking any records. You really don't feel like being edged for five hours straight . . . not tonight, at least.

"Atta girl," he praises in a sonorous purr.

And then his hands are everywhere. The finger on your clit is joined by another giving you no reprieve, and the palm that you had been gripping with you own slips free from your hold, joining its opposite to sweep up and take both of your nipples into their fingertips, plucking and rolling. It's wonderfully overwhelming and you have to fight off the unthinking urge to writhe and jerk underneath his ministrations. He might actually kill you tonight. Overload you with pleasure until you're burning and set alight with. Maybe by the end of this, there will just be your bones left. But what a way to go.

It has you so distracted, caught underneath a blissful haze, that you hardly notice the phone that he's pulled out from of his costumes concealed pockets. You think nothing of it at first, but even in your glazed over mindset you're still able to vaguely muse how familiar the casing is. The color and pattern on the back of the device looks oddly similar to your own. But that couldn't be right.

His thumb glides across the lock-in screen, tapping in the pin number to login and it shifts into the screensaver. The picture is familiar. Oddly so. It was one that you had taken a few years back of you and Mammon. He was towering over you with his face smooshed against the crown of your head from when you had abruptly tugged him down by one of his arms to fit into the frame. You were beaming in the photograph, riding an adrenaline high from just having gotten off one of the amusement parks more tame roller coasters, lips pulled into a joyful smile while you glanced up at the Sin who was looking a little disgruntled (because you had forced him to take you to Lu Lu World for your date and not his awful, cheap knockoff Loo Loo Land). But even through his displeased, and somewhat surprised expression you could see just the hint of a smile showing. It was one of your favorite pictures, one that came from an even fonder memory. It's your screen saver. That's your phone. A 'business call' he had said. The damned liar.

"Oh-ho, I figured you would have changed this by now," he comments, amused and no doubt pleased. You feel something akin to embarrassment prickle at you. You were planning on changing it. Honestly, you were. You had just never . . . gotten around to it. You were initially also planning on purging your picture app and deleting the entire folder dedicated to him as well. You just hadn't done that yet either. But more important right now, is how he managed to get his hands on your phone in the first place. Or just what he's planning on doing with it.

"Mammon, what are you-"

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts disapprovingly. "What're the rules?"

Despite your curiosity, you close your mouth without further prompting. But even with his hands steadily building up a steady, consuming fire across your body, kneading and stroking your breasts while he continues to circle your clit with his fingertips, you can't tear your eyes away from the phone. Watching with intrigue and a dull sense of dread as he opens up your messaging app and starts searching through the names with the glide of his thumb. He's humming in your ear, low and concerningly cheery. You aren't sure what he's planning and that's what worries you. He pauses the screen with a small, "oop" and then scrolls back up like something caught his eye. It's when the screen pauses on a certain contact that your stomach sinks.

Hugo - Lottie's coworker

Your stomach sinks at the sight. And for a moment your brain hopes that you're wrong. There's no way he's actually going to that. He won't.

"Let's see what kind of sick shit we've got in here." He clicks the name with a fascinated hum. But even then, you can hear the venomous edge to the sound. You don't let yourself watch when starts to read through the text thread. You can't really put attention on anything else really, other than liquid heat and electricity pouring over you, dissipating the concern and focus that briefly had. But there's nothing to be ashamed of regardless. You had hardly done anything with Hugo that could warrant any jealousy. At least not on your end. Yes, you had been cordial with him and maybe even a little intrigued, but that had hardly been anything that qualifies as outright flirting. Even Hugo, apart from some compliments had been pretty PG in the grand scheme of things.

Your body goes lax against his abdomen when your cunt clenches around his girth, and you try not to twitch from the unanimous, harsh grind and tug from each of his fingers. His body tenses suddenly, coiled up tight like he's physically restraining himself from acting out on something. You're able to pull yourself together enough to glance back down, instinctively searching for the cause behind his apparent distress. Your eyes land on a text, one you vaguely recognize from the beginning, when you had just started talking to Hugo.

Thursday - 7:43 PM

your ex kind sounds like a asshole. seems like he didnt deserve you, you're better off without him

Yep. That'll do it.

You can feel the electrical current around Mammon pick up again, hot and sharp, just toeing the line of nearly becoming painful, but instead it has you gasping out in pleasure. Relishing the sensation of the magnetic aura thrumming across your bare skin, humming over your nipples and the wet heat of your cunt. You can feel it prickling over your clit, and it has your toes curling. Your head lolls back on his shoulder letting you catch sight of your reflection in the large mirror built into the wall across the room. You look absolutely debauched. Your skin was visibly peppered with perspiration; if you paid enough attention, you could see sweat glinting on your body like flecks of glitter, gleaming in in silver and gold underneath cast of the exuberant, vintage style chandelier. Your eyes have a clouded over quality to them, almost like you're intoxicated, and you suppose that you are. But the most lecherous and outright sinful is the way that you can see the impression of him appearing from within your stomach with each gulping, ragged breath you take; and the sight of his hands roaming and stroking over your body, strumming you like an instrument that he's so intimately acquainted with is the image of hedonism. So beautifully wicked, but so, so good.

You easily could have lost yourself to it completely. All of the sensations, the scent of sex and lust in the air. But then it's back. The taste of jealousy, bitter and citrus on your pallet. It's able to rouse you from your sluggish, inebriated state long enough to recognize the muted trill of the ringback tone coming from your phone. But it's difficult to worry over that when the persistent fingers on your clit and plucking at your nipples are steadily tipping you towards that precipice of heat and rapture. Your cunt has started to flutter around his length and your abdomen clenches tight with the build of something heavy and vast rising up over you, ready to consume you from the inside out.

You can hear the muted click of someone on the other side of the call answering - Hugo, your slow-moving brain supplies.

"Oh wow, he hasn't blocked you yet," Mammon muses aloud. "Now keep quiet. Unless you want 'im to hear."

You should make an effort to get Mammon to hang up the phone. You know that you easily could. The Sin is self-serving and obstinate at the best of times - all the time - but this is something that you could get him to stop doing with a single word. You could tell him to figure out a better way to 'get back' at Hugo and cure his jealousy in another way, and he would. But you don't find yourself even trying to get Mammon to end the call. Something about him being this insistent on proving that you're his has electricity licking up your spine.

"Hey! This is the useless cunt that I met at the restaurant, right?" He greets, voice deceptively kind despite his words being just the opposite. There's a long pause on the other side of the line before you pick up a reluctant response, which sounds like it might have been a confused, "eer . . . yes? This Mammon, I take it?"

"The one an' only!" He replies jovially, like he doesn't have you a few good strokes off from cumming while he has a person on the line. But then again, that's his entire play. He wants Hugo to hear. Even so, you try to cling onto the rules he had set, biting into your bottom lip in the effort to keep your mouth shut and the whimpers that want to spill out tightly trapped in your chest. "Listen, I feel like we may have gotten off on the wrong foot earlier, so I just wanted to call and set some things straight to make sure we fully understand each other."

You try to stay privy to their conversation, but it's getting progressively harder to. You have to squeeze your thighs to keep yourself grounded and sat still, but it backfires and only works to tip your closer to ecstasy. You try to pin your attention on anything and everything to keep you grounded. You tear your vision from the mirror instead to look out onto the city, focusing on the thin veil of some kind of smog or cloud that's begun to roll in, the flicker of neon lining the streets, and it appears that a building in the distance has been set aflame; lit up with green fire. That explains the fog - or more accurately, the smoke.

It's no use though. You can still feel the pleasure fizzling over you skin and welling up inside of you. It's getting more and more difficult to hold off. Even while you try and think about a million different things. Taxes, the missionary position, Extermination Day, clowns.

Oh, wait. Scratch that last one.

And then, horribly, a strained moan sneaks out from your throat. For a moment you're too caught up in the haze clouding over your head to even register the sound. And you probably wouldn't have if you didn't catch sight of Mammon's delighted, almost maniacal expression grinning back at you from the mirror in your peripheral vision, all sharp edges and a little feral. He looks all too pleased by your slip up. When he speaks next his voice has taken up that low, resonant tone that melds around his accent. "I just wanted to soothe any concern you may have had for my favorite girl. I can promise you she's in good hands. " And then, like the twisted bastard he is, he's lifting the phone from his ear to hold it closer to you like he's tring to capture all of the filthy sounds coming from your body. "I mean, if you could see the way she's soakin' me - " he whistles high and astonished -" it's a fuckin' sight, I tell ya."

You try to keep your mouth shut so that Hugo doesn't hear and figure out what's going on. But it's difficult to swallow down the noises that Mammon keeps trying to pull from you with his nimble fingers, and then he's gliding his fingertips over your clit in heavy, mean circles that has your back bowing taut, and the seam of his glove catches on the sensitive nerves in a way that has your jaw dropping open. His fingers twists and glide over your nipples to add to the fire, and with just a couple more strokes you're practically blindsided by the molten electricity and bliss that rushes over you in an unforgiving stream. You cum with a loud pornographic cry as you twist and writhe underneath his attention, cunt clenching around his length in a wild spasm while your body tries to wring itself of all of its pleasure. For one moment your mind goes completely blank, leaving you just feel. The world drowns out underneath the onslaught of euphoria that wracks through your entire being, and the only thing that keeps you even remotely present is the cool press of his chest and stomach supporting your back. The chill of him soothes your heated skin, influencing your body to go slack over him.

You have to remind yourself to breathe, drawing in labored gasps while the pleasant haze of endorphins hums through your veins and thrums within your skull like syrup and static.

"Like I said!" Mammon says suddenly, reminding you of your current predicament. There was no mistaking what you and Mammon were doing. Hugo absolutely had to know the King of Greed had just made you orgasm while on a phone call. You feel a little flash of embarrassment, but it's so muted and distant. Buried deep and virtually nonexistent. "She's in good hands. So, if I see you anywhere near her, I'll gut you open like a fucking pig and scatter what's left of you all over Hell."

You hear Hugo's muffled response, a little frantic, skipping over his words but before he can get out the rest of his plea or reassurances, Mammon hands up the call, and carelessly tosses your phone to the side. You don't manage to pick up the sound of a harsh clatter, so you can only hope that the artisan rug saved it from fall damage. You're still too sluggish and dopey to fully register the eager and starved quality that's melded into his lust. But the energy serves to rekindle your own fervor on a kind of subconscious level, even while your body still twitches with subtle aftershocks. He only gives you a small sort of reprieve, slipping his fingertips from your nipples to greedily knead at your breasts. But the touch on your clit doesn't waver it, it only lightens by a few degrees, still swirling and sweeping unforgivingly. You catch his faux pout in the mirror's reflection; pretending to be displeased and disappointed, but you can see the excitement bleeding into his features; lighting up the fiery chartreuse of his stare. "I didn't give you permission to be so noisy," he complains, and his eyebrows pinch close. "It's almost like you wanted him to hear you."

"I was just giving you what you wanted, " you reply, dipping your tone into something soft and alluring. Sure, maybe it was a little stupid prodding at the Sin of Greed, and you know that you're playing right into his little ploy, but you can't stop yourself. If you tend to his ego some, he might be a little lenient on whatever 'punishment' he has in store for you. You reach a hand up to cradle his cheek, guiding his face to tilt down enough to press against the crown of your head. Affection blooms in your chest when you catch the way that he tries to subtly lean into your palm, trying to soak up its warmth. "That was the point, wasn't it? To prove to him that I'm yours?"

You can feel his hips twitching underneath you, and the small shift works his cock in you just a little deeper. You gasp at the sensation, still hypersensitive and tender from your pervious orgasm, but even then, it doesn't fail to send a trickle of desire pooling down your back and in the center of your abdomen. Honestly, you're beyond shocked that Mammon has managed to hold himself off for this long. He's never been the one for self-restraint, and the amount that it must have taken to keep him for thrusting up into you must be monumental. That deserves to be rewarded a little bit, right?

Of course, you can't be too heavy handed with your praise, as much as he loves it when people sing him compliments and applaud his endeavors. It can't lean anywhere that makes him feel as though as he's not the one in control. It has to be delicate and subtle. At least while he's still coherent. Once he's a drooling mess, that's a different story. But you'll get to that.

"Come on, Mammon," you beg, squeezing yourself around his cock while you work your hips against him in faint, gentle swirling motions. His eyelids lower, and you can see his grin waver just a bit, and it might as well as be a visual fracture in his resolve. "I want you to use me. Make me forget him, please."

The grip he has on your breasts fall and take ahold of your hips, and that's the only warning you get before he's picking you up and lifting you up and down on his cock like a toy. It punches the air from your lungs in a way that's almost violent, and it leaves you scrambling, mindlessly clawing and gripping onto his arms in an effort to orient yourself. You can't even hear yourself anymore, but you're sure that you sound absolutely mindless right about now. You can feel every moan and cry that he forces from your lungs with each thrust. It feels like you're being burned alive, raw and merciless, and it has a fresh round of tears prickling at your waterline. You're still too sensitive, but it hurts so good that if he stopped, you're pretty sure that you might actually die.

"Damn - fuckin' hell, you're already squeezing me, and I just started," he laughs with a kind of awe and pride. It shocks you completely, because he's right. You can already feel your cunt fluttering around the delicious drag of his girth, the ridges running along his length and the finger gliding over your clit building up the fiery pleasure, making all of your muscles winding up tight in the preparation of another orgasm. But maybe it really isn't all the surprising with the way that he's passionately fucking you onto his cock, like he's determined to have you both finishing as soon as possible. "You're mine. All mine, " he says, reaching up to grip your throat. Not to restrict your breathing, but enough to feel the pressure of his grip.

"Yes," you agree brokenly, nodding dumbly because that's all you can really manage. "Yours. I'm yours."

You can feel your grip on reality slipping away and fraying with each sharp grind, until your consciousness and sense of self is as good as a pile of mush. You're completely gone, lost with the confines of your own body and the euphoria soaking in bone deep. Your second orgasm sneaks up on you just as easily as the first, leaving you useless and practically immobile, leaving you to just take it. It isn't long until he reaches his climax, only a couple of thrust later and his release is filling you with a cool rush, and a ragged groan.

But he's not stopping. He keeps thrusting into you, unrelenting and hungry like he's been caught in some kind of frenzy, and you're all too eager to take the brunt of it. His hands are everywhere, the sharp points of his claws are lethal enough to peek through the tips of his gloves and leave, exquisite, stinging marks in their wake, marking your skin. You can distantly feel his cum trickling out of you, being forced out with every slide in and out of your cunt. It's so nasty. You can hear the wet slap of your hips meeting each other, the breathless sound of your shared moans and swears. You aren't sure how many more orgasms he pulls from you. The both of you. Mind seems to blur together in one useless spill, and you're hardly able to even count the waves of pleasure that crest over you and rolls down and through your body in frothing, hot waves.

You're coming off of a sort of high when you regain a shred of coherence. Pulled out of the fog when you feel the wet drag of Mammon's tongue sliding up your neck, tasting the salt and lust on your skin. You instinctively tilt your head back, giving him more access to your bared throat. He rumbles, guttural and soft at the display, inspiring a dopey smile to quirk at your lips, and it doesn't fade, not even when the deadly points of his fangs bite down enough to leave superficial bites behind. Neither of you have stopped moving, ceaselessly grinding your hips against each other's, not enough to create space for any decent thrusts, but just enough to create a small spark of stimulation, like you can't bear to stop despite the number of orgasms you've both had.

"Think you've got one more in you?" He asks, lapping at the blood that has welled up from the bite marks, gently nibbling at the junction of your neck; teeth dragging to leave the stinging impression of them behind.

"Hell yes," you answer quickly.

"C'mon then, gorgeous, ride my cock. Show me how much ya missed me."

He lifts you up again, just enough to reposition you, flipping you around without removing you off of his girth to face him. He lets himself fall back against the cushions and pillows in a relaxed lounge, making it easier for you to place your palms just beneath his chest for support as you perch yourself to bear most of your weight onto the balls of your feet and hands. He's already impatiently jolting his hips against yours while you try and find a comfortable position astride him. You can't find it in yourself to get upset by his restlessness, not when you can feel him physically holding himself back from moving too harshly. Something that requires a large sum of control and delicacy considering how much larger he is compared to you. Despite the size difference, his strength never fails to surprise you, how easily he lifts you around like you weigh nothing. Everything about it makes you embarrassingly turned on. Like how far your thighs have to stretch around his hips until there's a burn in the hinges of your joints just so you can place your legs on either side of him.

It's enough to have that irresistible hum of pleasure pouring down and over your body, prompting you to lift yourself up his length, moaning and gasping as the ridges placed along his girth brush along your walls. You pull yourself high with your thighs until he's in at just the tip before you impale yourself on the rest of him, taking him in deep in a single thrust, swiveling your hips in your downstroke. The pace that you set is a little unforgiving on your legs, but it's already worth it with that way that his head rolls back into the sprawling pile of cushions. He's definitely just as tender as you are, but Mammon's never been one to shy away from a little overstimulation - something to do with being the Embodiment of Greed maybe, something to do with excess. And with all of the orgasms he's had tonight, you can already tell that he's tipping towards that mindless, drunken headspace that he occasionally achieves.

"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff," he groans out in that accented lilt, deep and already a little gutted. Even without any pupils, you can tell that his eyes are rolling back in his skull. There's a little bit of drool smeared around his lips, glinting underneath the glow of the lights and it just inspires you to try and drag him in deeper to that blissed out headspace. He's already so close, precariously dangling over that wonderful edge. He just needs a little push.

"You're feel so good, Mammon," you praise. You catch the way that his hips skip a little in their rhythm at your words. "You're the only one who can make me feel this way. There's no one else like you."

His eyes lids flutter, but an arrogant grin makes an appearance on his face before quickly melting into a silent, open-mouthed gasp. "O-of course there isn't," he manages to say, even while you can see the rare tint of a monochrome blush staining his cheeks. It fuels your own carnal want, dousing it like gasoline on an inferno, driving you to ride him with even more ardor. He grips onto your waist like he needs the feel of you underneath his palms to stabilize himself underneath the barrage of ecstasy.

The scent of your shared desire hangs heavy in the air like a special cocktail, a particular type of aphrodisiac that left you a thrall to pure debauchery and instinct. You can practically taste it, melting across your tongue all heavy and musky, saccharine and spice; a flavor that you couldn't find anywhere else if you tried. It's enough to have your body gravitating towards that debilitating pleasure and based on the blissed-out expression on Mammon's face, he isn't far off either.

"So good, Mammon. It's just you, always you, " you moan, and the place between his brow's crinkles close. Your eyes are barely able to track it when he's propping himself up on a single hand, giving himself the leverage to reach up and loop something thin and smooth around the stretch of your neck. It's strong despite how fine it feels, like a silk thread - webbing. It's webbing. He grins when he tugs you forward with the makeshift collar, curling his body around you like he can't stand any sort of unnecessary space between either of you. His lips meet yours with a relieved groan, asking you to open your mouth with the split point of his togue, nipping with his teeth. You whine and moan into him, thrusting down onto his cock from how his thread tightens around your neck, more of a suggestion than an attempt to restrict your breathing, but it spurs you on even more. The pair of hands on your waist start to wander, one drifting up to cup your ass in a tight squeeze and the other dips low to roll the back of his knuckles over your clit. For a second it makes you lose the steady, deep drag of your pace, and your lungs snag on their breath, making break your kiss with a whine.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," Mammon demands in a tone that's frayed and little slurred. "Keep going. I wan' it, I want it - fuck." His tucks his head into your neck, tracing the shape of his web with the dexterous glide of his tongue. You can feel his lips moving against your skin in some kind of repetitive chant and it takes a little while for your ruined brain to make sense of it. You can hear him whispering in a hushed, frayed voice: "Mine," over and over again as he licks and sucks at your skin, intent to leave marks behind.

He pushes his hips up against yours in a punishing pace, plunging his cock up into you, hitting that devastating spot inside of your cunt that has you sobbing. Your hands claw at him, searching and gripping onto the layered fabric of his motley, twisting the material into the clutch of your fists while you try to hold onto the rest of your sanity, but you don't think that you'll be able to. It's all too much too soon. You can't hold on as much as you try to. Not while he grinds a knuckle against your clit, shoving his cock into you relentlessly, making any semblance of a coherent thought evaporate from your head as though they had never been there. You can feel it sweeping over you like you're a pathetic piece of debris caught with the current of a swelling wave. You can feel that magnetic vibration building around his body, catching you in its field and dancing across your skin, letting you know that he's just as close as you are.

You gasp his name like it might save you, even while you're begging to be eaten alive. It's all so overwhelming, so consuming that you don't know what to do with yourself. How to cope with the scope of the emotions and sensations; the scent of you both and all the sounds bombarding your senses. It isn't a conscious decision when you pull Mammon down a little further and sink your fangs his neck, piercing the fabric that keeps it concealed. But it's hard enough for you to taste something like spiced iron flood across your tongue.

The reaction it gets from you both is immediate. His body draws up tight while he gasps out a harsh, "fucking hell - shit - " and you can feel him pulse inside of you before you're flooded with another gush of his cum. The feel of it, the chill of it and the sheer amount is enough to trigger your own orgasm. Your vision goes dark, a vignette marring your sight while a white-hot tide takes control of your body, leaving you a passenger in your own mind. And for one blissful moment you don't even exist. You don't have a job, or an apartment with judgmental neighbors. You don't have a favorite food or a particular song that you listen to on repeat. For a moment it's just you and him.

It takes everything in you to cling onto him. Your wings flare out involuntarily, body twisting while your cunt clings around his girth like it's trying to work him for all he's worth. You can feel that searing bliss in every part of you. From your toes to the pit of your abdomen, making your eyes roll in the back of your skull while you ride out the tail end of your pleasure and everything fizzles into a gentle darkness. For a minute everything is still. Peaceful and gentle while feeling comes back to your limbs and you remember how to breathe. But it's ultimately a familiar scent that guides you back to reality, light with the twinge of leather, earthy, warm and smoky. It sort of smells like money. It smells like Mammon. You lean into it, nuzzling your face into something soft and expanding with breath.

It's enough to make you open your eyes that you hadn't even realized had closed, to look up. The small motion takes a great amount of strength with how sapped your muscles feel, even with the last bits of lust still thrumming in the air and energizing you, but you manage. Mammon has collapsed back against the cushions with you clutched against his stomach with each of his hands gripping some part of you. Even from this angle you can see the pleased, almost dopey smile on his face as he sightlessly stares up at the ceiling. It's such an uncommon expression to see on him, untainted by his usual snark or hubris, but the rarity of it always makes you cherish them even more.

But then you see a furrow pinch between his brows and his mouth purses in clear annoyance. It has worry prickling at your skin, nestling in your gut like a block of ice, but before you can ask him what's wrong he's speaking. "I can't believe you were gonna leave me for that shitty little bloke," he grumbles. He tries to sound harsh and unbothered, but you swear you can hear something fragile peeking through the rasp of his voice.

"I wasn't actually interest in him," you assure, answering honestly, propping your arms on his stomach enough to hold yourself up. "A friend had set me up. I just - I don't know. I was . . . I needed a distraction."

"Which friend?" He asks suddenly, sounding a little too intrigued.

You squint at him suspiciously, letting a short bout of silence fall over you both. "No. You aren't allowed to kill them." He visibly pouts at that, and this one is actually genuine. You entertain the thought of making a joke. Of steering the conversation somewhere humorous to save the both of you from something that might be too real, too bare. But you know you can't. If you're going to try and do this with Mammon again then these kinds of talks need to happen. "That wasn't just sex talk, I really didn't want him, Mammon. Not for a single second."

His gaze sweeps down to you, and you're sure that you catch something vulnerable flit across his expression; eyes minutely widening with what may have been relief, but it was so quick that you barely get any time to register it. He schools his features into something indifferent and nonchalant before you can truly take it in. "Psssh, of course you weren't interested in him. How could you be when you've got me."

"Exactly," you agree, watching him preen under the comment, inspiring you to lean into his ego a bit to draw him out of whatever dark thoughts may be running around in his head. "It would be stupid if I did."

"Dumb as shit," he agrees eloquently, with his brash charm.

It has a laugh puffing from your chest, and it's quickly followed by a heavy drowning warmth in your chest, like a sun was caught within your bones. It's purely fond. Full of endearment and love. You love him. Fuck you love him, even if it tears you apart. It might be stupid, a road that leads to a dead end or a perilous cliff, but you couldn't be bothered to stop on your path to possible self-destruction. You don't know if the true scope of your emotions is returned. If Mammon is even capable of feeling something like raw, selfless love. Probably not. Compassion and consideration don't exactly align with his function as the Embodiment of Greed. Of being avarice incapsulated inside a body to fulfil a particular purpose within Hell. But you always held out hope that there was something in there. You've seen the pure affection displayed by Asmodeus for Fizz; living proof that a Sin could be more than its role, its basest instinct. If the personification of Lust could find and express love, then just maybe Mammon could to.

Wow, look at you, being hopeful in Hell.

You're broken out of your internal struggle when Mammon shifts, tightening his grip around you to keep you secured to his body as he tilts on his side. He curls himself around you even more until his chin is resting on the crown of your head, engulfing you in the breadth of him and his scent. It's enough to settle the torrent inside of your mind, replacing those insecurities and replacing them with comfort and contentment. You can feel the gentle fuzz of sleep beginning to lap at you, seeping into your limbs and weighing them down. You want nothing more than to sleep. To let yourself fall into the dredges of unconsciousness with the soothing chill of Mammon's temperature wafting over your body like a balm. But it's a little difficult to do that when every inch of you is still damp with sweat and his cum is still steadily pouring down your thighs from around the weight of his length that he's yet to pull out, flowing with each small shift or movement.

"Mammon?" You ask, listening to the steady draw of his breath, hoping that he hasn't fallen asleep, but even then, the pattern is still too quick for him to be unconscious. You purse your lips, sighing audibly. "Moo?" You try again, and sure enough at the sound of the corny nickname a simple, but questioning grunt rising up in response.

"We're going to need a bath."

"Eughhh," he groans, low and already thick with the desire to sleep. "Fuck."

#hb mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon x reader #mammon x reader #helluva boss mammon #Hazbin Hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss x y/n #helluva boss x you #helluva boss #hhx reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel #mammon hb x reader #mammon helluva boss #mammon hb

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impishjesters · 7 months

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Jax x Reader w/depression/suicidal tendencies

warning(s): mentions of depression/suicidal behavior/tendencies, nothing graphic though, mentions of morbid/dark humor note: it's only mentioned that he has feelings for you, whether romantic or platonic is left up to the reader. A/N: I think this is the fastest I've ever wanted to write for something utterly new to me, usually it takes a while of being into a series or liking a character to wanna write something. This was...less than twelve hours? This was probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written in a while.

Nobody was safe from Jax’s pranks, including you—regardless of how much he found himself gradually enjoying your company.

It’s actually a right of passage at this point that every new person (as rare as it is) who shows up is subjected to some awful prank to gauge just how much of an easy or difficult target they’ll be.

You handle the pranks with ease. Sure it can be annoying, but there’s little that can seemingly “kill” you here.

Which is a shame really—well, only slightly.

Your therapist would’ve probably found it a good thing, trying to off yourself in a digital world where sleeping and eating were no longer required likely meant the inability to die.

Not in a traditional sense anyway.

You’re the only one ballsy enough to prank Jax back, which isn’t easy but when a prank is successful? Oh, it’s worth it to see his reaction.

There’s an unspoken prank war back and forth, but typically the other’s are the subject of your guys’ pranks. Somehow it feels more rewarding with the joint effort.

It's not often, but sometimes Jax's pranks will go a step too far and trigger something unpleasant. He's not really sure why you just walk off like that, those pranks don't make him feel as satisfied for whatever reason.

Once a special type of friendship grows between the two of you, the pranks lessen—not entirely though—nah he loves the unsuspecting reactions of a prank you didn’t see coming.

The pranks become less hostile and more casual—he’s got a reputation to keep after all, regardless of how he feels about you.

The initial reaction to someone being told there was no way out was to panic, you however, didn’t..well not outright. Your initial reaction is dark humor—even with the whole censorship thing.

Ragatha is the only one initially disturbed/worried over your dark sense of humor, which should be expected from one of them since they’ve been there longer.

Jax is aware of your morbid sense of humor and often plays along with it, especially in the beginning—later in the friendship though? Yeah, there’s no noticeable physical change, but he’s only a tad worried.

When not tormenting the other’s Jax stuck with you, or vice versa.

After the attempted drowning and standing (willingly) in harm’s way of one (or three) of the rides, Jax keeps your bedroom key closer in hand than the others.

And honestly? Ragatha doesn’t even blame him. You aren’t distant from them, but you do tend to favour Jax’s company. Regardless of her feelings about him as a person, it becomes obvious that he feels something less hostile towards you compared to them.

It takes a while before you finally confess to Jax that prior to being trapped in this digital hell, you were medicated for depression/suicidal tendencies. And while the digital world took away things like needing sleep and food, it didn’t get rid of the thoughts or urges.

Now—had this been someone else telling him all this? He’d be very uncaring and probably make a nasty “joke”, but because it’s you? He’s treading into foreign territory here when it comes to emotions.

There’s not really anything he can say that would make you feel better, but he does show a more rare tender side, offering to be there whenever you need him. Just to backpedal like a tsundere and say that he won’t always be free ( a lie, the fuck else does he have to do?), but he’ll try and make time for you during those moments.

He doesn’t do some pinky promise bullshit, I mean he can and would, but he doesn’t expect his offer and attempts to do that much (words of promise aren’t on the same level as a prescription drug after all).

But if being around his rude ass self and doing the occasional nice *gag* gestures of like, hugging or whatever helps you, he’ll do it—just, not with others around obviously. Again, man has a reputation.

From then on Jax is more aware of where you are around him at all times, not in a suffocating way though. Well, not intentionally, he has his moments. But he’s trying, again this is new territory for him.

Jax makes it his unspoken, personal goal to make sure you don’t tread the line of becoming abstracted.

Bonus (fluff)

Jax will make an attempt not to immediately recoil from your touch when others are present.

I’m not talking “Whoops, sorry to bump into you”, I’m talking about grabbing onto his arm or being in his personal bubble because you need something grounding or whatever.

More often than none his immediate reaction is to just use you to lean on, elbow or arm resting on top of your head to give you some contact and pressure. (He does it out of habit even when you don't need it.)

Sure he probably looks like an ass to others, but after a while, they sort of just get used to it since you never bring up being offended by the act.

But in private? Yeah, sure shoot, just don’t expect him to put any effort into returning anything. Maybe the drape of an arm or his legs, but if it’s really bad? He’ll lay or sit there while you cling to him like a koala.

Jax actually finds it kinda funny how tightly you hold on whenever he gets up.

“Wow, you really holdin’ on there.”

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc jax #jax #jax x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader

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aho-dapa · 2 months

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Side note, because I'm watching a video essay that's pretty much saying everything I've been thinking about about,

With sjm's writing, what separates it from a typical romantasy not to take seriously is that post ACOTAR, the author suddenly says to take it seriously.

Feyre's Calanmai Hall scene isn't about Feyre not wanting Tamlin's advances, but that she does, she's just doing the typical romantasy protag thing of rejecting what you really desire. Think about how this contrasts with Rhysand's scenes utm, she doesn't want them and its not given enough detail, but this changes after Feyre and Rhysand get together. For example, the CoN scene. The fucking mid air thing. The telepathy sexting that can happen at anytime without true consequence. Very exhibition. Much voyeur.

This is literally sjm's fantasies played out through Feyre and Rhysand, and even through Feyre and Tamlin.

Despite how much I like Tamlin, he only really became a truly nuanced character in hindsight for me because of sjm's unintentional manipulations of her own narrative. In ACOTAR, he's also built around Feyre the same way most characters are in the first book.

He is built to fit into Feyre, he's meant to parallel her acceptance of her own desires, her own beast through him, because submitting to him is submitting to herself. That's why Feyre's themes get mixed up post ACOTAR, she loses that beast like quality to become a star to suit Rhysand. And sjm brings that back in ACOWAR with the Mirror (although it doesn't hit like it once would have because instead to fitting Rhysand to Feyre, sjm wrote Feyre to fit Rhysand).

The thing that's frustrating is that sjm is the one that is saying these are just not her fantasies on page, she's the one that brought mental health into it, brought up abuse and neglect, and handled it all so poorly.

It's this thing where sjm still wants to have the upturned-nose high ground in her books, she wants to be right, she doesn't want Feyre to be questioned or truly be in the wrong because Feyre is her fantasy. sjm likely writes Tamlin to not like human slavery, not want to be like his father, and with a self sacrificing personality while keeping his beast like qualities for the steamy parts. Because he's written to have that middle ground most people looking for that fantasy can still enjoy while not being too disturbing for our modern sensibilities.

That's why some people not looking for this find Tamlin and Rhysand's actions strange and gross, but people who already indulge in those fantasies were okay with it. And there's even people who think that ACOTAR is too vanilla (me). Anyway.

Basically, ACOTAR is not meant to be taken seriously, its literally another romance book with a fancy (?) cover. Post ACOTAR is not tho, so sjm makes a big deal about taking it seriously because she wants that middle ground with Rhysand when honestly, Rhysand could have been a dark romance ML and no one would have batted an eye. But that wouldn't work for the precedent sjm established with the middle ground, she needs that 'he's feral and sexy and toes the consent line but it's fine because xyz' in her books, and that's why the fandom is so divided. We can't decide whether or not to take it seriously or not because sjm switched up.

Her fault as a writer is that she didn't do this well at all.

I mean, this is also coming from the same woman that briefly had another one of her characters entertain their sovereign right to colonization in goodwill, so. This woman should never have been taken seriously. Unfortunately, she insists upon herself. So in order to actually discuss these books, we have to take her silliness seriously.

(Which is why I stopped because it's an endless cycle of saying sjm wrote something silly and because she's saying it's serious, now we gotta be serious about bat birthing or whatever)

Never forget how I saw a bat get birthed just to actualize how stupid the *gets shot*

#sorry but like #i don't like sjm at all so #anti sjm #feyre archeron #tamlin #rhysand #acotar #feylin #feysand #oh #pro tamlin #i guess #i will never let go of aelin colonizer when sjm used nehemia as a tool to combat that exact same narrative #its fucked and thats how you know nehemia was just a narrative tool to sjm and aelin to some degree

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pepperonidk · 5 months

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Let it Snow || h.js

pairing: joshua hong x f!reader warnings: FLUFF, also this is a very christmas centered , Joshua + reader are both teachers, but it doesn't really come up often word count: 9.1k summary: what does it feel like to be loved by Joshua Hong? It feels like coming home.

a/n: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! this is the first thing I've written since I moved to Korea so y'all be nice lol. this is so self indulgent there's barely even a plot. It's just fluff.

main masterlist

“So I really don’t understand why we can’t just take one car.”

You looked up from your computer to find the teacher-next-door Mr. Hong had made himself comfortable, perched on the edge of your desk with a sandwich in his hand. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes with a sigh as you turned back to the lesson plan on your screen.

“I’m just saying,” he continued as he took another bite. “We’re going to the same place, and with gas prices like this, I just think it’s the most logical solution.” You already knew he was looking at you with an eyebrow, waiting for your imminent rebuttal before he presented his own. It was always like this with him, every conversation a game of tug-of-war, and most of the time Joshua had a way of drawing you to his side. Regardless, it never stopped you from playing along.

You pushed back from your desk, swiveling the chair a bit to get a better look at him. “What about car space?” You began. “My car is too small to hold us and our luggage and gifts.” You fight to keep a poker face as Joshua beams at you with his infamous smile. Since first getting hired two years ago to be a third grade teacher you’ve heard countless coworkers and parents walk down your hallway, excitedly chattering about that exact smile. While it wasn’t uncommon to see Joshua smiling (especially for his own third grade class), it did feel special that right now, you were a private audience to it. The idea made your heart flutter.

“So glad you mentioned that,” he offered you a grape from his lunch box. “I was just thinking that my brand new, spacious, 5-seater SUV with ample trunk space and leg room needed to be taken on a road trip.” You took the grape as you mimed considering his response. Honestly, it was a good idea, but admittedly, there was also some satisfaction to be found in pretending to be reluctant.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you thought of another excuse before Joshua interrupted your thoughts. “Can’t think of anything else, can you?” He raised an eyebrow as you rolled your eyes in response.

“Okay, I admit,” you looked up to see Joshua’s face light up. “It’s a pretty good idea.”

“So that’s a yes?” He asked, finally hopping off your desk and offering you one last grape as the sound of students approaching reminded you that lunch time for teachers was never long enough.

“It’s a yes, Mr. Hong,” you replied, grabbing the grape from his outstretched hand just as you heard an excited squeal. Two third graders were standing at the door, with just the perfect incriminating view of your hand in Joshua’s. You quickly pulled your hand back, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, not even taking the grape.

As if unfazed by their whispers, Joshua raised an eyebrow in amusement as he decided to pop the grape in his mouth before heading toward the door where the two girls continued to giggle about the scene. “I’ll see you later,” he said to you as he headed for his own classroom. “Have a good class, kids! Be nice to your teacher, it’s the holidays.”

You couldn’t fight the smile on your face as he walked out, even as your kids rushed to your table. “Did Mr. Hong finally ask you to marry him?” One excited child asked. By now, there was a small crowd gathering to find out the details.

“Marry him?” You asked in surprise. “Why would he ask me that?” You stood from your desk and motioned for them to go sit down at their desks, which they obeyed, but the giddy smiles on their faces was a sign that the conversation was not yet over.

“Because he loves you, duh,” A voice called out from the back. “All old people have to get married when they love someone.”

“Yeah,” a chorus of agreement followed. “We’ve been waiting all year for it.”

The sting of being called old by a room of 9 year olds was drowned out by the way your heart fluttered at the idea of being loved by Joshua Hong. You weren’t even dating, unfortunately, but every so often he’d make a snide flirty comment or put a hand on your back and you’d find yourself wondering, what if?

You and Joshua had first met in high school when he was your group leader for your freshman orientation. He was a senior in need of volunteer hours and although he was kind and helpful, he was more interested in talking to the other group leaders than becoming buddy-buddy with awkward freshmen. Once the school year officially started, it quickly became obvious that he and his friends were wildly popular at school, at the center of every social circle. Although you had a few friends in common, you were still on the outskirts of their circle.

It wasn’t that you were particularly invisible, but the number of times you had spoken to Joshua Hong could be counted on one hand. The first time was during orientation, when he asked your name for the sign-in sheet. You’ll never forget the butterflies you felt when you saw him smile for the first time. He spoke to you again later that day, when you were sitting beside a boy named Chan and neither of you were really talking to each other. You noted the way Chan lit up in relief at Joshua’s presence.

“Chan!” Joshua called to him before turning his attention to you. “I see you’ve met my neighbor, Chan.”

You waved awkwardly to the boy next to you. “Chan, this is…” Joshua trailed off with a sheepish smile, and a hand reaching to the back of his neck. You filled the silence with your name, feeling heat in your cheeks, embarrassed. Chan must have noticed because he introduced himself once more before realizing you already knew his name. There was a sense of relief in knowing he was just nervous too. “Go easy on him,” Joshua joked. “Chan doesn’t know how to talk to girls yet.” Before Chan could retort, Joshua had walked away, leaving you with the boy who’d become your best friend for the years to come.

The third time was at Joshua’s graduation party that Chan had begged you to accompany him to. You didn’t really know anyone there, although you recognized most of the boys from Joshua’s somewhat large friend group. You were relieved to find you and Chan’s other friends, Seungkwan and Hansol. They were sophomores from his health class, and were really easy to hang out with. The party was more fun after finding them. You didn’t run into the host of honor until you had taken a break from a riveting game of truth or dare to grab a soda from inside the house. Joshua was in the kitchen, seemingly taking a break as well, and didn’t notice you come in until you opened the fridge. When he finally turned to you with a smile, you swore you could have fallen to your knees in embarrassment. The words that came out of his mouth… devastating to say the least.

“Hey,” he began. “You’re Chan’s friend right? I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Joshua.” You hoped he couldn’t see the heat rise to your cheeks or the way your own smile faltered. Thankful that no one else was around, you took his outstretched hand in a handshake and introduced yourself to him for the third time. You didn’t really see him again after that, and honestly, that was more favorable than having to introduce yourself to him for a fourth time.

However years later, in the hallways of another school there he was again. He was a few inches taller, his taste in fashion better, but his smile was the same as it was years before. The vice principal was in the middle of showing you your classroom roster when a knock on the door caught both of your attention.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hong,” your vice principal greeted him. Standing at the door was a blast from the past, and with him came the butterflies you thought you left behind in the musty halls of high school. “This is the new third grade teacher,” she introduced, but before she could get your name out, Joshua had beaten her to it. He remembered your name. Her eyebrow raised in interest. “Do you know each other?”

“Yeah,” you replied. “We went to high school together.” You really hoped no one noticed how warm your face suddenly felt at the surprise of not only seeing him again, but also remembering your name.

“Is that so?” She asked and Joshua nodded with a smile. “In that case, Mr. Hong, you can finish up this tour right? I have a date to get to.”

Joshua gave a salute before taking her place beside you, close enough to smell the cologne he was using. A definite step up from high school Joshua’s usual Axe body spray. “Have a good time,” he called to her as she left. “Now, let me tell you all about which kids to watch out for.”

From the beginning, Joshua had become not only a mentor of sorts, but somehow your best friend as well, and everyone knew. Or at least, they had their own ideas about what he was to you. The third graders in front of you currently were no exception.

“So is Mr. Hong going to be your husband now?” The question snapped you out of your thoughts and you dismissed it with a laugh.

“No,” you laughed, turning to write a math problem on the board. “We’re just going to visit our families together for Christmas break.” Honestly, you really didn’t need to be defending yourself to anyone, but you knew your kids were so curious, and who were you to deny them that?

The class erupted into a chorus of disappointed “aw”s and “boo”s that made you chuckle. “Okay, okay,” you attempted to settle the class. “Enough of that, we have other problems to solve,” you continued as you pointed to the question on the board.

By the end of the day, you were exhausted. After making sure all of your students were sent home safely, you walked back to your classroom and plopped into your desk chair with a sigh, thankful that it was the last day of the semester. While wrapping up a few emails on your computer, you heard a knock at the wall next to you. Two quick knocks and one just a bit later. You smiled to yourself, and responded with the same knock. You and Joshua had a secret knock, a sort of code to let each other know that the other’s presence was needed. You got up from your desk to open the door where Joshua was already waiting outside his own.

“Tired?” He asked, and you nodded back with a sigh. “It’s all that sugar. I keep telling the librarians to stop offering them candy canes before it’s time to go home.”

You laughed at his frustration. “I love those kids,” you began. “But I am so glad I won’t have to see them for three weeks.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Unless, you know, one of them is also visiting home and happens to be in the same 10 mile radius as us.”

You groaned at the idea. “Shua, don’t even joke like that.” You stepped closer to him to playfully push him, at which he dramatically winced and reached a hand over his heart.

“It’s just so fun to annoy you,” he began. “You make this cute little face that looks like a pack of squirrels just moved into your brain.” He reached a hand to tap a finger in between where your brows had furrowed together.

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s only funny until it’s true. Then you have a 9 year old shadow trying to follow you around everywhere.”

Joshua put his hands up in defeat. “Okay, okay. You got me there.” He let out a small sigh before continuing. “Should I come over tonight to help you pack?”

“Don’t you need to pack?” You asked him as he shook his head.

“I finished last night,” he assured you. “Figured you’d probably wait until today to start.”

“You know me so well, don’t you?” you smiled up at him as he nodded.

“I like to think so.” He smiled at you in return, although it felt much softer than his usual smiles.

Joshua arrived promptly at 6 p.m. with a knock at your door and takeout from your favorite Chinese restaurant around the corner. A quick look through the peephole showed a smiling Joshua dressed in his old and worn college hoodie, one that you’ve borrowed and worn enough times that it sparked a dating rumor at work, his duffel bag, and his plaid pajama pants. You were wearing your own matching pair. The smell of the chicken was enough to entice you to open the door. Upon entering your apartment and kicking off his beat up white sneakers and dropping his duffel, he set down the bag of food on the counter and flopped down on the couch, laying down and grabbing the remote to press play on the show you had paused.

“Hello to you too,” you chuckled. “Make yourself at home, I guess.” You grabbed a box filled with noodles and a pair of chopsticks before walking over to the couch. As if on instinct, Joshua lifted his legs, allowing you to find a spot before lowering them back over your lap.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Joshua teased back. “Can you pass me the popcorn?”

“Here,” you rolled your eyes as you handed him the bowl of popcorn. “I thought you were coming over to help me pack?”

Joshua popped a handful of kernels into his mouth before replying which made you grimace. “I’m emotional support.”

“What would I even need emotional support for?” you questioned. “We’re only packing for a few dsays. I’ll just bring a few outfits and –”

You were interrupted by the sound of Joshua clearing his throat and swinging his legs off of your lap so he could sit upright and face you. “Remember last year, you said the same thing and still forgot to bring an outfit for that charity gala your parents throw every year?”

You nodded in defeat and let out a groan as you stood to go to your bedroom closet, to find a dress. You pulled two out, your trusty black dress that you’ve worn to a few of your parents’ galas and a newer red dress that you’d been saving for just the right occasion. After walking back outside, you held them both up for Joshua, who had now moved on from the popcorn and began eating at your noodles. “Which one should I bring?” you asked. “I know I wear this one every year, but I love it and then there’s also this –”

“Definitely the red one,” Joshua interrupted you, nearly choking on a mouthful of tofu to get his sentence out. “No more questions.” You couldn’t tell if his face was red from nearly choking on tofu or the idea of seeing you in the dress.

You shrugged and nodded as you slid the material off the hanger and unceremoniously dropped it into your suitcase, along with all the other outfits that were already packed. For the next half hour, it was relatively quiet in your apartment. The sound of Home Alone seemed to be the only break from the silence aside from the quiet chuckle Joshua would let out throughout the movie. These were your favorite moments with Joshua. School days were busy and loud, so much running around that when you did see him, it was in breathless “hey”s and rushed waves in the hallways. But in the warm glow of the fairy lights that adorned your living room wall and the stillness of it all, Joshua looked ethereal. If you had told yourself at 14 that the boy who barely even knew your name would not only be your friend, but even have a drawer of his own clothes at your apartment, you probably would laugh.

“What’s got you laughing?” Joshua asked, turning his head towards you. You didn’t even realize that you had chuckled aloud.

“Just…thinking, I suppose,” you answered him.

“Is that so?” He asked, moving to sit up and leaning forward on his knees in exaggerated interest. “Better share with the class, then.”

You thought about asking if he remembers the first time you met him, but decided to save it for another day. The quiet peace you had built up in this moment was much too delicate for an awkward question like that. So instead you told him you remembered a stupid Tik Tok that Chan had sent you earlier that day and Joshua’s face lit up in excitement.

He grabbed his phone and sat down next to you, knees touching yours. “Why don’t we give him a call?” He suggested. “He doesn’t even know I’m coming home this Christmas. I told him I was thinking of going overseas for the break.” He pulled up his number and hit the video call button and Chan answered almost immediately. Joshua held the phone to make sure you’re both in frame as he greeted him. “Hey Chan!”

“My two favorite teachers,” Chan smiled. “What’s up?” The sound of a dog barking and multiple people engaged in conversation in the back gave the hint that Chan was already back home with his family.

“I have something to tell you,” Joshua whispered conspiratorially. He leaned forward toward the camera, but before he could get a word out –

“You guys are getting married,” Chan blurted out excitedly and Joshua nearly dropped his phone. Why does everyone jump to that idea first, you thought to yourself.

Joshua was flabbergasted. “What? No that’s not–”

“You’re finally dating, aren’t you?” Chan guesses again, wagging an accusatory finger at Joshua. “I’ve always known–”

“No,” Joshua stopped him. It wasn’t often that you saw him turn so bright red, so you relished the moment. “We– I– I’m coming home for the holidays, is what I was trying to tell you.”

“Oh,” Chan dragged out awkwardly. “Why didn’t you just lead with that?”

“You literally didn’t even give me a chance,” Joshua was exasperated. He passed the phone to you while he stood up to grab a drink and put away the leftover food.

You greeted Chan again. “Channie, I miss you.”

Joshua called out to you from the kitchen. “Ouch, how come you’re never that excited to see me?”

“She sees you every single day,” Chan answered instead. “Let me have my best friend back.”

“Aw,” you began. “Don’t worry Chan, you’re still my best friend.”

“And what am I?” Joshua pouted as he returned from the kitchen.

“A leech at most,” you teased, causing Chan to chuckle. “You showed up just to watch my movies and eat all my snacks.” Joshua rolled his eyes but resumed his original position beside you anyway. He could never really be annoyed at you.

“So when are you guys going to head over here?” Chan asked. “Most of the guys are already here and are already planning to do something after the gala.”

“We’re headed out first thing tomorrow morning,” Joshua answered. “We’re only staying for the week.”

“Make sure you pack your warmest clothes,” Chan advised. “It’s supposed to be colder than usual this week.” You mimed a salute to Chan and Joshua nodded in response. “Okay, I’ll see you both tomorrow then!” Chan exclaimed before saying a quick goodbye, accidentally cutting himself off in the process.

Joshua set his phone down and you could still see the echoes of pink on his cheeks from Chan’s remark earlier. “I’m uh…” he began, getting up from his spot and still avoiding looking you in the eyes. “I’m gonna go get ready for bed. Is your extra blanket still in the hall closet?”

“Yeah,” you responded. “Wake me up later?”

He smiled at you from the bathroom door. “Of course,” he assured you. “Good night.”

“Good morning, sunshine,” you heard a voice cut through your dreams. Joshua was sitting beside you in bed, shaking you gently. The room was still dark and you wondered if you slept any more than four hours. “It’s 5 a.m.,” Joshua told you, as if he knew what you were thinking. “It’s early, but I wanted to beat the traffic.”

You rubbed your eyes as you sat up. Joshua was already dressed. Well, dressed for a road trip. He was still wearing the same hoodie from last night, but traded his plaid pajamas for a pair of black sweatpants, and a white baseball cap sat on his hair that was growing out much too fast. “Good morning,” you yawned. You reached up to brush the bangs that were sticking out from under his hat away from his eyes. He chuckled softly, and you were glad that any awkwardness he might have felt last night was gone.

“I already put your suitcase in the car,” he announced as he watched you get up and head to the restroom to change and get ready for the day. “Everything is ready. Well, except you.”

You popped your head out of the restroom to roll your eyes on him before returning. He walked out of the hallway and headed toward the kitchen. “I’ll make us some coffee,” he called loud enough for you to hear.

When you were finally out of the bathroom, dressed similarly to Joshua in a sweater and sweatpants, you were greeted to the smell of coffee and your favorite pastries from the bakery downstairs. Joshua was sitting at the counter, sipping from his favorite of your mugs – a misshapen Snoopy mug that you had found on one of your many thrift shop trips together. The sight was all too familiar to you and made it much too easy to pretend that this was what it looked like to be in love with and loved by the man across from you.

“You ready?” he asked, handing you your pastries, still in the bag and still warm, and the coffee that he had put into one of your travel mugs. You took one sip and savored the ratio of sugar and cream that Joshua had perfected when it came to you, and nodded at him in reply. After going through your mental checklist of last minute things to turn off and unplug, the two of you finally made it out the door.

“Do you still have that playlist we made last year on that work trip?” You asked as you entered Joshua’s car which was still cold after spending the night in the guest parking spot at your complex.

Joshua handed you his phone which he had plugged into the car. “Duh, it should be pinned,” he said as he fiddled with the many buttons on his car dashboard. You almost sighed as you felt the growing warmth of his heated seats. I’d marry him right now for his car, you thought to yourself as you put the playlist on and handed Joshua the phone. He plotted the address of your childhood home and you two were set for the next few hours.

Not long after leaving the apartment, the sky began to slip out of its indigo hues and into a cozy blend of pinks and oranges that could fool anyone into thinking it wasn’t freezing outside. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, casting a warm glow onto Joshua’s face and as he reached up to grab his sunglasses, he caught your gaze.

“Take a picture,” he teased. “It’ll last longer.” He had his sunglasses on, but it didn’t do much to hide that he was looking at you through his peripheral. You pulled out your phone.

“I will, actually,” you started taking pictures, capturing Joshua’s laughter. He’s so pretty like this, you thought to yourself as you continued to take candid shots of him. “These are definitely instagram worthy,” you told him.

“Send them to me later,” he requested.

“Mmmm… you’ll have to earn them,” you smiled and tucked your phone away. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves down over your palms as you began to yawn.

“You can nap, you know?” Joshua assured, taking a quick glance at you. “We still have a ways to go.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want you to drive alone,” you told him. “Plus, it’s too bright out anyway.”

Joshua let out a sigh before reaching up to pull off his cap which he then placed on your head instead, pulling the front down to cover your eyes from the brunt of the sunlight. “You should really find better excuses if you’re gonna keep arguing with me,” he joked. “Now sleep, I’ll wake you if I need anything.”

“Oh Joshy,” you started. “When will you learn that I never give in easily?” Despite your arguments, you were already drifting off.

“Trust me,” you heard him say softly. “I know it all too well.”

When you finally woke up, it took your eyes a bit to adjust to the brightness of the day. You reached up to pull down the hat over your eyes, only to find that in its place was the weight of Joshua’s head on top of yours and you had accidentally slapped him right in the face.

“Well good morning to you too,” Joshua yawned, leaning off of you. “We’re here by the way.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You leaned back toward your seat and away from the center console where you and Joshua’s arms were practically entwined.

“I felt bad that you only had like 3 hours of sleep, and I guess I dozed off waiting for you to wake up.” He shrugged as if it was the most casual and normal thing to do. It most definitely was not normal. Scanning your surroundings, you saw that you were parked in front of your home. “Are you ready?” Joshua asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a sigh.

The two of you walked out of the car with your luggage in hand, only for Joshua to do a double take in front of your parents’ driveway. “That’s so funny,” Joshua chuckled to himself. “That looks like my mom’s car.”

It was indeed Joshua’s mom’s car.

Apparently, both of your moms had become best friends in the last year, after Joshua’s mom volunteered to help out with the gala last Christmas. The next few hours were filled with countless childhood stories being shared about you and Joshua, leaving you both flustered and embarrassed. It turned out that before Joshua Hong was a high school heartthrob, he was a goofy little boy who dressed up as Shrek every single halloween without fail.

Eventually, when both women had exhausted their memories, they shooed the two of you away to the living room so they could finalize details for tomorrow night’s gala. There wasn’t anything good on TV, so you and Joshua mostly sat together, quietly scrolling through your phones. When Joshua’s mom came in, neither of you even noticed until she remarked, “Don’t you two look cozy?”

You were laying down with your legs swung over Joshua’s lap and a blanket on top of both of you. You were cozy, but your cheeks flushed at the teasing tone of her remark. You sat up and scooched an appropriate distance away from Joshua who laughed quietly. His cheeks weren’t red at all. “Oh, don’t mind me,” his mom dismissed, grabbing a vase from the coffee table and retreating out of the living room. “As you were, lovebirds.” From the kitchen, you could hear them in a fit of stifled laughter.

You looked at Joshua who was fighting his own laughter as he waited for you to resume your position close to him. He could tell you were hesitating and cut through your thoughts. “It’s warmer under the blanket,” he coaxed you back to him.

When the doorbell rang and Chan’s voice cut through to the living room, you and Joshua both looked at each other with a sigh of relief. Boredom was creeping in quickly, and Chan offered the promise of something to do to break from the monotony of being in your childhood home. The two of you stood up to meet him at the door and offered for him to come into the house.

“No, that’s okay,” he dismissed. “I was on my way to meet the guys when I saw your car and thought I’d come and see if the two of you wanted to come along.” You were already slipping on your shoes and coat before he said anything else.

“Whatever you’re doing, I’m in,” you agreed, tying your scarf around your neck. Joshua was doing the same already.

“I haven’t even –” Chan tried to continue, but the two of you were already pushing past him, waving goodbye to your moms.

“I call shotgun,” you called out as you walked toward Chan’s car. Joshua pouted but stood at the back passenger’s door anyway.

It wasn’t until Chan was already in the car that you finally asked where he was taking you. “The guys wanted to meet up at the parking lot of the high school,” he explained.

“As a teacher,” Joshua began, leaning forward between you and Chan’s seats. “I don’t condone loitering on school grounds after hours. As a former high school delinquent myself though, I just hope Hansol brought snacks.”

“As fun as that sounds,” Chan chuckled. “I think Seungcheol and Seungkwan wanted to play soccer on the field.”

Sure enough, when you arrived at your old school, you could hear the boys yelling from the field before you even got out of the car. It was a familiar sight, and a wave of nostalgia came over you as you and Chan trailed behind Joshua on your way to the field.

“Remember when you would beg me and Seungkwan to watch our soccer practices?” Chan nudged you.

You rolled your eyes back at him. “I was really interested in soccer, okay?” you defended. You were lying and Chan definitely knew it. You only used to come to his games and practices to watch Joshua play. In your years of high school, however, you never actually learned anything more about the sport.

“Right,” Chan said. “Name a soccer position. Any soccer position. Besides the goalie.”

“Uh,” you hesitated. “Okay fine, I had ulterior motives, but shut up.” Your face suddenly felt hot and you hoped that Joshua didn’t hear your conversation. Chan laughed as he watched you walk away from him.

When you arrived on the field, it seemed that most of the other dozen or so members of Joshua and Chan’s friend group were already engrossed in the middle of a game. You slipped into the bleachers beside Jeonghan, who was snacking on a banana. Jeonghan was Joshua’s partner in crime in high school. Because of your shared literature class, you had spoken to him a bit more than Joshua or his other friends in high school. He gave you a slight nod in acknowledgement before offering you one as well.

“Hey, long time no see,” he greeted you. “Did you and Josh just get here?”

“Yeah,” you replied, accepting the banana. “About an hour ago. No soccer for you today?”

“Not today,” he shook his head. “I hurt my ankle at work, so I guess I’m up here with you today.”

“I can’t promise I’ll be as entertaining as whatever’s happening down there,” You gestured down to the field where the boys had briefly paused to attempt a weird trending dance Joshua had learned from his students.

“I’m sure you will be,” Jeonghan said with a smirk.

“That almost sounded threatening, Jeonghan.”

“Nah,” Jeonghan wrapped an arm around you. “I just have a few questions for you, and I’m sure your answers will be entertaining. For me, anyway.”

You immediately knew where this was headed. Jeonghan was the only other person, besides Chan, Hansol, and Seungkwan that knew of your crush on Joshua. The only difference was that he had somehow figured it out on his own, rather than you admitting it to him. He confronted you on a day like this, at one of the soccer practices. He plopped down beside you during their break and asked bluntly, “So when are you gonna tell ol’ twinkly eyes you like him?”

You had sworn Jeonghan to secrecy, which he of course agreed to. “Why would I tell him myself, when I can be in on the secret instead?” he had said. Even in all of the times you’ve seen him since that day, he’s kept his word. Now here you are yet again on the bleachers about to answer the same question.

Knowing you didn’t have much of a choice, you let out a sigh. “Go ahead.”

“Great,” Jeonghan beamed. “First one, when are you gonna tell ol’ twinkly eyes you like him?” You threw your head back at his question. How does he remember that? You thought to yourself.

“Never, most likely,” you answered. Jeonghan shook his head in disappointment. “What?”

“That’s such a boring answer,” Jeonghan chastised. “Why don’t you tell him?”

“Because I like being his friend,” you shrugged. “What we have right now is nice.”

Jeonghan snorted a laugh. “Seriously?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked loudly, causing Joshua to turn up at you from the field in concern. You smiled and waved to him, appeasing him as he turned back to the game.

Jeonghan put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing as if massaging you. “Relax,” he shushed. “It’s just… you guys are basically in a relationship already.”

“No we’re not,” you argued.

“Oh please,” Jeonghan scoffed. “Half the time Joshua picks up my facetime calls, he’s in your apartment or you’re in his. He has a drawer full of shirts that he’s set aside for you at his place, and I’m sure you have one at yours. Do you know how many times he’s left a night out early so he can come see you instead? And if he doesn’t leave, he’s ordering a meal to your place to make sure you have something to eat. It’s a relationship, you’re just both too scared to say it.”

For once, you were speechless, and for the second time, Jeonghan had hit the nail right on the head. What were you and Joshua? Just friends don’t do the things you do… but also, if he wanted to be something more, why wouldn’t he just ask? And if he didn’t ask… well should you even be doing these things anymore?

“You know I’m teasing you, right?” Jeonghan continued, seeing the way your skin began to pale in panic. “Well mostly. I do think you guys are just a semantic definition away from dating, but you don’t have to say anything to him if you’re not ready.” You let out a sigh. “Thanks, Hannie.”

“No problem,” he said. “Just think about it okay?” It looked like the boys were wrapping up their game, and Jeonghan chuckled as he watched Joshua immediately search for your eyes as he grabbed a bottle of water.

Jeonghan leaned over in a whisper. “I’ve never seen him look at someone like that. I call him starry eyes for a reason.” Before you could reply, he stood to meet the other boys while Joshua came bounding up the bleachers to replace him.

“You okay?” he asked as you nodded your head in reply. “Are you sure? Jeonghan can be a bit much.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “You ready to go?”

“Well,” he began, eyes trailing to the boys who were all grabbing their stuff. “The guys wanna go get waffles at the diner, but if you’re down, we can walk there together. I know a bit of a shortcut.” You nodded and the two of you said your goodbyes to the group.

Instead of walking back to the parking lot, Joshua led you down a small alleyway between the gymnasium and the soccer field. The gap was narrow and dark, especially with the sun beginning to set, and Joshua reached behind him to grab your hand. If you hadn’t just spoken with Jeonghan, you would have felt butterflies, but instead you just felt a bit guilty.

“Joshua,” you called out. “This feels sketchy.”

“Oh, it definitely is,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “This is how I used to sneak off campus way back in the day.” It wasn’t long until you were finally in a clearing, and you paused to catch your breath. Small spaces were not fun.

“You know,” you began. “I had heard you skipped class but I never really believed it.”

“It’s such a shame we weren’t best friends back then,” Joshua laughed. “I could’ve been a bad influence on you so much earlier on.”

“I can’t believe the district trusts you to educate our future leaders,” you teased.

“I’m reformed,” Joshua defended.

“Sure,” you rolled your eyes. As you continued walking, you found yourself speaking before you realized what you were asking. “Do you think we could’ve been friends in high school the way we are now?”

“No,” Joshua replied quickly. “I’m a firm believer that things happen when they’re supposed to happen. Plus, you were too good for me.” He looked over at you with a gentle smile. It wasn’t really the answer you expected to hear, but how can you feel hurt when he smiles at you like that?

“Oh,” you uttered. “Too good for you?” you felt yourself blush at his words.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “You were kind, smart, and cute. I was smart too, but a bit of a slacker, as you can see.” Cute? He called you cute, you thought to yourself.

“Well what about now?” The two of you had stopped at a small park. You weren’t too far from the restaurant, but it was obvious you were both holding onto the opportunity to be away from the chaotic energy that tends to follow a group of 13 boys.

“Well,” Joshua began, leading you to sit beside in the swing next to his. “You’re still smart and kind, and I’m less of a slacker.”

“What about cute?” you asked, expecting him to tease you. “Am I still that?”

Joshua shook his head before looking at you with a kind of softness you hadn’t seen before. It was as if you were something delicate he was holding in his hands and he was afraid that you would shatter with any pressure. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed out the words in a whisper. If the breeze had picked up any more, his words would have been carried away with it.

For a second, you couldn’t say anything. Joshua had complimented you many times before but it was always in silly comments or in teasing jokes. This, however, was none of the above. It felt like a confession, almost, like something he’d been wanting to say for much too long. It just felt different, but the good kind of different. The kind that feels like a door is opening, slowly.

The sun was setting behind him, coating his face in swathes of warmth and you couldn’t help but think the same about him. You had seen him in the sunrise and now with the sunset, and you thought to yourself, If only I could start and end every day with him like this. And so, you decided, it was time to reach for something new, even if it came with the risk of losing what you had now. Hoping for a Christmas miracle, you finally whispered back to him.

“Joshua,” you began. Even in the disappearing daylight, Joshua’s eyes twinkled away, anticipating what you had to say. “I think I… I think I–”

The sound of a car honking turned both of your attention to the source – Jeonghan’s car filled with too many people who were all waving at the two of you. “Hurry up, lovebirds! We’re starving,” Mingyu called from the passenger’s side as they sped away.

The moment was gone, but as you looked at Joshua, he gazed at you with the same fondness as before. He stood up and offered a hand out to you, helping you up. “Let’s…” he began with a sigh. “Let’s try this again tomorrow, okay?”

Your hand still in his, he gave it a squeeze before letting it go.

The next day, you woke up to the sight of blinding sun bouncing off the snow blanketed streets. It was refreshing to be able to wake up well past noon in your childhood bedroom to the sound of your parents listening to Christmas music downstairs. It all felt so familiar, just like you never left.

However, what did shock you, was finding Joshua at the kitchen counter, helping your parents make Christmas cookies. He was still in his pajamas and his hair was still messy, but he was laughing along as your dad butchered all the words to “Frosty the Snowman.” No one had noticed you coming down the stairs, and you appreciated the chance to observe the scene quietly. Joshua just seemed to fit in every aspect of your life so perfectly, and it almost made you regret the years you had spent pining from a distance. But Joshua was right, things happen when they’re meant to.

Finally deciding to make your presence known, you walked to the fridge to grab a glass of orange juice before sitting at the counter, across from where Joshua was adding the finishing touches to a gingerbread man.

“Morning,” you greeted him. “I see my parents have taken you hostage.”

Joshua laughed as your dad responded. “Not true, he chose to come here with his mother, so the labor was implied.” You looked around, Joshua’s mom was nowhere in sight.

“Where is Mrs. Hong anyway?” you asked.

“She went to the gala venue to start with the decorations,” Joshua answered. “Told me to be productive here.”

“Why didn’t anyone wake me?” you questioned. “I could have helped.”

Your parents and Joshua all shared a laugh. “Oh honey,” Joshua cooed. “We tried.” You blushed at the nickname. He dusted his hands off against the apron he was wearing before pulling his phone out to show you the evidence. He had taken a video of him trying to wake you up.

The video showed you sprawled across the bed like a starfish, and as Joshua tried to shake you to wake you up, you swatted his hand away. Even though he wasn’t in the frame, you could hear the smile in his voice. He would never let you forget that he had this video. You hid your face in embarrassment.

“Anyway,” your mom said. “We’re just wrapping up, so you two can go ahead and get ready.”

“I didn’t bring any of my stuff with me so I’ll head home,” Joshua explained as he untied his apron. “I’ll swing by around 6 to come get you?” he asked.

“That’s perfect,” you smiled at him as he nodded and helped your mom place the last of the cookies into a box, ready to be taken to the venue. “What about you guys?” you asked your parents.

“We’re going to the venue now,” your mom explained. “We’ll be getting ready there after setting everything up.” You watched from the counter as your dad and Joshua picked up all of the boxes of desserts and carefully walked to the door to load them in the car. You called out a goodbye to them as you went back up to your room to get ready.

When the doorbell finally rang, it was 5:50 p.m. and you were still not ready. Your makeup was halfway done and your hair was still in a mess of rollers on top of your head. “You’re early,” you exclaimed as you opened the door to an elegantly dressed, hair perfectly coiffed, cologne scented Joshua. “Wow, you look…”

He smirked at you as he held out a flower that he was holding. A single white blossom. “Handsome? Hot? Like heaven on legs? An angel?” he teased.

“Beautiful,” you finished. Joshua looked surprised and with his hair slicked back, you could see the tips of his ears turn a shade of red.

“That’s my line,” he recovered.

“Not yet, I’m not,” you laughed, shaking your head as you let him into the house. He stepped in, but stopped in front of you.

“You always are,” he said again in that same tone from last night. The kind that made you go weak in the knees and made you wish time would pause for just a little bit, long enough for you to memorize the freckles on his face and find constellations in his eyes. Then he smiled, and you remembered how you looked, not even close to ready, but he still smiled at you like that, and you let yourself think, this what it looks like when Joshua Hong loves you.

You almost left the house just like that. It wouldn’t matter how you actually dressed, because you felt beautiful. But, who would you be if you weren’t constantly trying to beat Joshua Hong at his own games? So you snapped out of your haze and finished getting ready, and the look he gave you as you finally came back down the stairs indeed felt like a victory.

“Cat got your tongue, Hong?” you teased. Now in your heels, you were nearly eye level with him. His cheeks had turned pink and instead of replying, he shook his head and laughed.

“I suddenly feel underdressed,” he joked, offering you the flower he had earlier. Before you could reach out to grab it, however, he reached out and tucked it behind your ear. “I know it’ll fall out, but I couldn’t find a corsage or anything.”

“A corsage?” you questioned. “Are you taking me to the prom, Joshua?”

“Just humor me,” he offered his elbow out to you. “It’s what I should’ve done in high school.”

The gala was in full swing when the two of you finally arrived. A band was playing jazzy renditions of Christmas carols, couples were on the dance floor, and everyone was dressed to the nines in shades of red, green, and gold. Joshua’s friends were split into two tables near the back, but before the two of you headed towards them, Joshua pulled you away to the buffet table.

“Hungry?” you asked Joshua with a teasing smile.

“Not really,” he admitted but grabbed a cookie anyway. “I just wanted you to myself for a little bit longer.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” you questioned.

“I just know that as soon as we walk over there,” Joshua pointed to the table where the boys were all gathered around Chan, Seungcheol, and Mingyu having a water bottle flipping contest. “Either Jeonghan or Chan is gonna steal you away and I won’t be able to see you until the night is over.” He took a bite of his cookie.

“And what a loss that would be,” you joked. You grabbed a cup of punch and a cookie as well. “Did you make this one? It looks very Joshy.”

“Yes I did,” he nodded. “And yes, it would be a loss. Save me a dance?” He held his hand up, raising his pinky to yours for a pinky promise.

“Always,” you affirmed, crossing your pinky with his.

Sure enough, as soon as you sat down at your seat, Jeonghan and Chan both were pulling you right back up. Joshua shot you a knowing look and mouthed “Told you,” as you were dragged toward the dance floor.

The band began to play an upbeat Christmas song, loud and brassy. Jeonghan twirled you around as he spoke, loudly for you to hear over the music. “Took you long enough,” he joked.

“What do you mean?” you asked with a laugh.

“We were placing bets on how long Joshua would try to keep you away from us,” Chan answered, doing some dance that did not fit the vibe of the song. It was quite endearing how well the boys knew each other.

“Did you finally get to talk to him?” Jeonghan asked. The middle of the dance floor was a very odd place to be having this conversation, but yet so fitting for the two boys with you.

“Well we were kind of getting to it last night,” you confessed. “Until we were rudely interrupted by a gaggle of impatient and hungry men.”

“Oh we thought you guys were already making out,” Chan announced. By now he was just going through decades of trendy dance moves. He was on the mashed potato now.

“What? No,” you were thankful that it was a bit dark in the ballroom, they couldn’t see the blush on your face. “We were just talking.”

“Lame,” Jeonghan booed, dragging the word out and giving you a thumbs down.

“I thought you wanted me to talk to him,” you questioned.

“Yeah, talk about something juicy,” he retorted. “If you didn’t confess, and there was no kissing, you were just being lame and I don’t care.”

“Well how am I supposed to talk to him if I’m dancing with you fools?” You rolled your eyes. The tempo began to slow as the band began the Christmas Waltz.

“Oh, perfect,” Chan mused as he and Jeonghan shared a mischievous look. Before you could stop them, they had already run back to the table and grabbed a confused looking Joshua who was halfway to taking a bite of his cookie. Once they returned, they shoved him towards you, and he nearly fell to the floor on top of you, but caught his momentum by resting his hands on your shoulders.

You took a step back in recoil, blinking in surprise. Joshua repositioned himself so one hand was at your waist, drawing you in, and his other hand held yours against his chest. “Hey,” he smiled.

“Hey,” you breathed out. He was close enough to you that you could smell the cinnamon in his cologne.

“I guess I was wrong about those two,” Joshua laughed. “Remind me to thank them later.”

“Will do,” you laughed. “But, maybe don’t thank them too much. We have an audience.” You nodded towards the table where at least half of the boys had their phones out, taking videos of the two of you and giving a thumbs up. You leaned your forehead against Joshua’s shoulder in attempt to hide from the attention.

“Ignore them,” he chuckled, giving your hand a squeeze. “This is one of my favorite Christmas songs,” he announced and began singing along quietly. You tried not to wince at the way his breath tickled against your ear in a private serenade.

It’s that time of year,

When the world falls in love.

You pulled back to look at him, his eyes reflecting the light from the disco ball and his face lit up in the dim glow of the strings of Christmas lights. You found yourself leaning in before you could find a reason not to. When your lips finally met his, it felt like coming home. Like the ending of a melody you’ve been chasing your whole life, the answer to a question you’ve been asking since you met him. He was smiling when you pulled away.

“I love you,” he said so easily as if he'd been saying it to you his whole life.

Your mouth opened, as if to say something, but no words came out. Joshua smiled softly down at you. “There is absolutely no way you can argue your way out of this one,” he teased.

“I wasn’t going to argue,” you defended yourself. “I was just… you beat me to it.”

“Well,” he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple. “You’ll have plenty of chances to beat me to it from now on.”

From the side of your vision, you could see Jeonghan, Chan and the others silently cheering the two of you on. Joshua rolled his eyes at them before leaning back in to kiss you. “Might as well give them something to cheer for,” he breathed against your lips.

This, you thought, this whole time, I have known exactly what it feels like to love Joshua Hong. Loving him feels like coming home.

It wasn’t until the day after, when the boys were back at the field playing soccer that you finally got to ask Joshua the one question you’d been dying to ask him since your first day of work with him. He decided to sit out from the game and watch from the bleachers with you instead.

Your arm was looped through his and your head was resting on his shoulder. Your entwined hands were resting on his knee and it was comfortable.

“Oh hey,” you cut through the silence. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Duh,” Joshua replied. “We met at my graduation party, where Chan brought you as his date. Look where that got him though.” He laughed and you could feel it. When you sat up and pulled your arm out of his, he looked at you in concern.

“That’s not where we met,” you bit your lip as you broke the news to him.

“What do you mean?” Joshua argued. “I remember it clear as day. Chan told me he was bringing a girl from school, and I made fun of him for it. Then you walked into the kitchen looking for a soda, and that’s when we met.”

“No…” you began. “We met at my freshman orientation.” Joshua looked confused as you continued. “You were my orientation leader, and you introduced me to Chan.”

Joshua’s face paled in embarrassment and he buried his head in your shoulder with a groan. You patted his back, and couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your lips.

“I don’t even remember meeting my own girlfriend,” he groaned in disappointment.

“It’s fine, Shua,” you assured him. “You made up for it anyway.”

“How?” he questioned, finally looking up at you with a pout.

“When you remembered my name that day you walked into my classroom.”

#caratwritersclub #seventeenweeklyarticle #joshua hong #joshua hong x reader #joshua x reader #seventeen fluff #joshua hong fluff #joshua fluff #seventeen × reader #seventeen angst #seventeen imagine #ioshua hong imagine #svt ioshua #seventeen joshua fluff #hong jisoo #hong jisoo x reader

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greentrickster · 29 days

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Starting a new thread for the Great God Airplane AU (on the usual grounds (ie the original thread was getting Long)), because I've got more to say about it, because I'm me.

Was thinking about how having access to his god!memories would potentially effect Shang Qinghua, and I'm a little surprised to find that I don't think it'd make much difference, at least in this AU. I think the main, most noticeable change would honestly be that he's a lot calmer afterwards. The surprising part is that this isn't because he's not afraid of getting hurt or because he's got OP god powers or anything now, but simply because of how long he's been doing all this.

Like, one of the key features of Airplane's lives seems to be that he's always kinda hanging on by his fingernails when it comes to surviving, keeping up, managing to get by. He's busy busy busy all the time, and as a result of this he's not really aware of how impressive any of the stuff he does really is, because he's never had the time to really sit back and internalize it.

But that's what he finally got when he arrived in this world as a newly divine being with a perfect memory of both everything he'd written and his original outline, and only the instructions 'create it the way you wanted it to be.'

And he did.

He spent years upon decades upon centuries slowly, carefully crafting his world from the ground up, putting as much or as little thought into every single piece as he wanted to, no rush, no deadline, no obligations to anyone or anything but himself. The ability to lose himself in the pleasure of creation, consequence-free, the time to step back and take in everything he's made so far. Anything he needs, anything he wants, he can have, he can make, from snacks to assistants to handle the details he doesn't want to do but which the world needs in order to function, and in order to hold the story he wants it to tell.

And with all that time and experience came the gradual, quiet gaining of confidence. Because he's been doing all this for such a long time that not only the ability but the knowledge of having that ability has sunk deep into his bones. The ability to look at a task and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he's capable of doing it and more.

Shang Qinghua still flusters and laughs and complains and grumbles and thirsts (oh how he thirsts), but instead of a basis of fear that he'll be overwhelmed and crushed beneath the demand, it's on a basis of 'if push comes to shove, he's up to the job.'

It takes him a little bit to notice this change in himself and, once he does, I think he goes and cries a little bit. Because his human memories are the predominant ones at the moment, so it's a strange, shocky sort of relief to suddenly realize that "Oh. I really am good enough. I've always been good enough. I don't have to be afraid that I'm not anymore."

In contrast, I think the thing he has the most fun with is that now, if one of his martial siblings is being a pain about budgets or something, he can go, "You know what, maybe I should just go back to Heaven and let you deal with all this! I could be eating celestial melon seeds right now while writing wildly self-indulgent danmei between organizing my files, but instead I'm down here, dealing with the fact that you can't manage a simple monthly budget! Because, you know, one of these things sounds a whole lot more fun than the other-!!!"

And then his martial siblings get to go, "You know what, on second thought I was being unreasonable, maybe I should see if there's something else I could do to fix this problem instead of just trying to make you fix it..."

#svsss #shang qinghua #scum villian self saving system #great god airplane #sad scared hamster man realizes that he has in fact been Kenough all along

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munsonownsmyass · 1 year

Text

Loving You Easy

Frank Castle x reader

Warnings: Oh, well... Plus size reader, insecurities, kissing. SMUT! oral (f receiving), fingering, bodyworhsip, praise, Frank saying 'Good girl' is a warning in itself, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl tho), creampie, cockwarming if you squint. And a little surprise.

Notes: So... Besides that little cameo in my Billy fic, I've never written for Frank. First full fic for him. Have I nailed his character? Probably not, but I still like what I made. Please be gentle.

And yes... This was super self-indulgent, I'm so sorry 🤣

This is part of the Thirsty for Cox april challenge, where we had to choose a song as inspo for our fic. My song was Loving You Easy by Zach Brown Band.

Words: 3.2 K

It’s the day most girls dream about their whole lives. The day they will go through countless of bad dates and the wrong men for, just to find the one guy that completes them. The one guy she can’t imagine living without.

This was that day. Dressed in white, looking more beautiful than ever. The wedding dress so beautiful it brings tears to your mother’s eyes. The hair and makeup flawless accompanied by a smile that would make even the darkest days brighter.

Unfortunately, this was not your day, but your sisters. While you were stuck somewhere between horrible dates and unfulfilling one-night stands, Jessie had found the love of her life. Matt was perfect. Lawyer, devilishly handsome and so kind and thoughtful.

And you were happy for them, you really were. But you could feel that little pang of jealousy, wishing you could have the same one day. And honestly, you didn’t even care about the big wedding and the whole ‘feeling like a princess’ thing. You just wanted someone to love and who would love you in return.

Sighing heavily, you adjust your dress one more time, looking into the mirror. Not even maid of honor, but that’s okay. Behind you the rest of the bridal party is giggling and having a great time worshipping the bride. Leaving silently, without them noticing, you walk outside to get some air.

“Need a drink?” A gruff voice asks, and you look up into a pair of brown eyes. The guy gives you a sideways smile, holding out his beer.

“What makes you think I’ll share a beer with a stranger?” You question, taking in his features. Dark brown hair, dark stubbles along his chiseled jaw and very kissable lips. Very handsome and definitely the type of guy you’d hit on at a bar. Of course, followed by a rejection, because a guy like that would certainly have someone.

“I’m following you down the aisle in 15 minutes, so we’re hardly strangers, princess.” He smiles, retracting the beer and take a sip, looking out over the beautifully decorated backyard of your parents’ country estate.

“I take it you’re Frank then?” You smile, stepping closer to him. Your eyes meet and he offers the beer once more and this time you take a sip of it.

“Yep. Frank Castle.” He extends his hand, and you shake it, giving him your name in return. For a while you just sit there, passing the bottle back and forth while making small talk, until your mother comes looking for you.

“Oh, Mushy, there you are.” She checks your makeup, visibly frustrated and takes the beer from your hands. “Would it kill you to act a little more ladylike, at least until after the reception?” Your mom walks back in, shouting for you to get ready. Frank gets on his feet, getting ready to go in with you.

“’Mushy?’ That’s not the most flattering nickname, I’ve heard.”

“Ah, well… I’m the chubby black sheep of the family.” You shrug, trying to seem unaffected even though you hate the nickname. Jessie had always been the pretty and skinny one, a real pageant queen kinda beauty, where you were not.

“Those are the best kind of people.” Frank winks at you with a soft smile, before you are both called inside.

The party is at full swing, and everyone is having a great time. Foggy have just given his best man speech, laughing with Matt and Karen, Jessie and the other girls are dancing, while you hide in the corner with a beer. In a glass of course, your mother almost giving you the evil eye when you tried drinking out of the bottle.

“Hiding from your mother?” Frank asks, stopping in front of you. You just nod, patting the chair beside you.

“Yeah, she can be scary.” You laugh as he sits down. Raising your bottle in a silent toast, you both take a drink of your beers. “I’m also hiding from my uncle. He always asks me to dance.”

“You don’t like to dance?” Frank asks with a soft smile.

“No one wants to see this-” you gesture towards your body, “twirl around the dancefloor.” You try to laugh it off, but by Frank’s expression you know he’s not buying it. He’s seeing right through you. He stands up, extending his hand to you.

“Come on, princess. Dance with me.”

“Frank, I…”

“One dance, that’s all I’m askin’.” He doesn’t remove his hand, just steps a little closer, insisting for you to take it.

You’re trying to come up with a polite way to turn him down, when it dawns on you. Here’s a gorgeous man willing to dance with you and you wanna say no? Are you crazy? Just when you take his hand, the band starts playing one of your favorite songs. Leading you out onto the floor, Frank takes a hold of you, swaying you softly to the music.

You make loving you easy

You make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

Reminds me just how much it all makes

Loving you easy

As Frank swings you out and pull you back in, making you giggle, you notice how your sister is watching you. Hell, a lot of them are. This is why you don’t dance, unwanted attention. But still, you got to admit there’s one upside to it. Frank’s eyes looking into yours, his hand on your waist.

“Everyone is staring.” You whisper, looking to the side where your sister is whispering something to Matt, who only smiles.

“Probably ‘cause you look beautiful.” He muses, giving you another one of his cheeky smiles. Damn, is it even legal to be so handsome? You’re about to make a rebuttal, when Frank speaks. “And I mean it.”

Without warning, he dips you down towards the floor, making you squeal, probably drawing the attention of people around you. But you really don’t care, only focused on Frank.

Bursting through the door to your childhood bedroom, Franks lips never leave yours as his hands run down your body, caressing your soft curves. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re drunk.” You giggle softly, kissing him passionately. He pins you against the wall, grinding his hard length against your heated core. You reach out for him, idle fingers unbuttoning his shirt. In a frenzy of hungry kisses and touches, your dress and his suit is soon spread all over the floor as you fall onto the bed with Frank on top of you.

Frank kisses his way down your body, licking and nipping at your sensitive skin. When he reaches between your thighs, he places soft kisses before diving in like a man starved. You gasp at the first contact, the feeling of his tongue making you shiver. But he slows down, wanting to take his time with you.

Slowly, he adds a finger, then another, stretching you open. Expertly he licks up your folds and sucking on your clit, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him. “You taste amazing, princess. Making such pretty noises for me.”

“Fuck… Frank…” His name is barely a whisper, but it’s enough. Frank devours you like a man possessed. He finds that sweet spot in you that makes you see stars. With his name on your lips, you come.

More. You want more. “Please, Frank. Please fuck me.” You beg him, body writhing under his touch, your need for him strong, overwhelming.

On his way up you body, he makes sure to kiss every inch of skin, caress every curve. “So fucking gorgeous.” He mutters under his breath, placing another soft kiss between your breasts before he once again claims your lips.

His cock is at your entrance, begging to enter. He pushes in slowly, making you gasp as his thick length stretch you open. His eyes find yours so he can see your face twist in pleasure as he pushes deeper. As he bottoms out, you both pant in unison, his forehead against yours.

“You feel so good, sweetheart. Shit…” He rolls his hips a few times, fucking you slowly. You whimper softly, wanting nothing more than for him to move faster, harder. You don’t even care who might hear you, lost in the feeling of him, wanting more.

Franks is so lost in you, not wanting this to end. He kisses you hungrily before he snaps his hips harder. As you close your eyes in pleasure, he looks at you. How your face twists in pleasure, how your body move under him with every thrust. You’re so fucking beautiful, and he wants nothing more than to stay like this for hours. Wanting nothing more than to hear you moan his name over and over.

All day you’ve been talking and all day he’s been thinking how your smile was the prettiest he’s seen in a long time and how he wish you could see the beauty in yourself that he could see. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he already knew he’d want more than just today. He’s been burying his feeling for such a long time, but you make him want to live again.

He can feel himself getting closer, so lost in how good you feel, how good you make him feel. He pulls your leg up, pushing deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over. “I’m close. Please cum for me, baby.” He drives his cock deeper and harder, reveling in the way you moan. “Be a good girl for me and cum.”

His words wash over you, the praise pushing you over the edge. You scream out in pleasure, digging your nails into Franks shoulder. It’s only a few more thrusts before Frank comes, pushing in deep as he empties himself in you.

Frank puts his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from your highs. You kiss him deeply, holding him close. You can already feel yourself wanting to see Frank again, but you wont get your hopes up. A guy like that is probably swarmed by women, many prettier than you.

You look away, hating your intrusive thoughts. As if he can read your mind, Frank cups your cheek, looking deeply into your eyes as he kiss you passionately. “That was something else, sweetheart.”

“Something good, I hope.” You bite back with a grin, making Frank smile. That damned smile. Fuck, he is a gorgeous man.

“Very good.” He smirks, kissing you softly before pulling out gently. After he helps you clean up, he surprises you by staying. He had his own room, but he lays down beside you, pulling you into his nook. You talk for a bit, about nothing important really, but it’s still one of the best nights of your life.

When you open your eyes, the sun is so bright it almost hurts. Or maybe it was just your head. You really shouldn’t have drunk all those beers with Frank. Your memory flashes back to the two of you, sitting outside in your parents gazebo with a ton of beers between you, listening to each other’s stories.

You look to the side and your heart drops. The other side of the bed is empty, Frank nowhere to be found. Even his clothes are gone from the floor. So, yet another one-night stand then. You’re starting to get too predicable, and you hate it. With a heavy sigh, you start to get dressed, getting ready for breakfast. There’s a soft knock on your door and you reluctantly open.

To your surprise, you find Frank outside the door, dressed in new clothes and looking ravishing. “Wanted to pick you up for breakfast.”

“Oh, I thought…” You begin, but stop yourself.

“That was I was just gonna up and leave?” He shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe. “That ain’t my style, princess.”

You smile in surprise, walking out the door to follow him downstairs. Many of the guests have stayed over and the venue from last night had been turned into a breakfast buffet. Your parents had spared no expense for this wedding.

“Look, ‘bout last night, I-” Frank begins, but you stop him with a soft hand on his arm. Ever since your dance last night, you had feared this was too good to be true and when he kissed you after a few dances and too many beers, you knew it was probably only the alcohol talking. So it was better for you to stop him, than to be stung by his rejection.

“Frank, you don’t have to say anything. I’ve already heard it all. ‘It was fun, but let’s keep it to one night’, ‘You are cute, but I’m just not ready for a relationship’ or ’It’s not you, it’s me’. It’s okay, I get it.” You put on a fake smile, willing yourself to look into his eyes. “I’m not the kind of girl men wanna date.” You turn, just wanting to get away.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted a coffee when we get back to the city.”

You stop, not even sure you heard him right. Did he really, this gorgeous man, want to see you again? For a date? In broad daylight in the city? You look at him and the expression on your face makes him laugh. Suddenly, you’re speechless. “I don’t drink coffee.”

“Beer and pizza then? I know you like beers.” He closes the distance, smiling as he looks into your eyes. And you just nod, smiling wide, already looking forward to your date.

Two years later

Frank is standing in the kitchen making you breakfast. It had been two years since he met you. The best two years of his life. After Maria and the kids he never thought he could be happy again. Especially with the things he had done, with all the blood he had on his hand and all the lives on his consciousness.

But you had accepted him, accepted every flaw and loved him for the man he was, the man he had been. You never saw all the bad, only saw him. That morning after Matt’s wedding you had chosen him and still to this day, you woke up every morning and still chose him.

Your footsteps sound on the stairs, your sweet yawn filling the air. You had been tired lately, so he just let you sleep in today, wanting to surprise you on your anniversary.

You always complain about how awful you look in the mornings, never believing him when he calls you beautiful. But you are, inside and out, the most beautiful woman. Even with your hair in a messy bun, mouth ajar in a huge yawn as you sit down, his hoodie covering your beautiful curves, he would still say that nothing compares to you.

“Morning, sweetheart.” He says with a smile, pushing your tea over the counter towards you. With a grateful hum, you take a sip of the tea, eyes never leaving him as he continues making breakfast. Putting the utensils down, he fumbles with his phone as walks around the counter and extends his hand to you.

“What?” You ask, but then the music of a familiar song fills the air. Loving you easy, the first song you guys danced to. You don’t even argue, just take his hand and let him swirl you around the kitchen as the pancakes bake on the pan.

As he swings you around the kitchen, you sing along to the song that has become your song. You love mornings like this, thinking life can’t really get any better than this. Frank place soft kisses on your neck, finding that one ticklish spot you have, making you giggle.

But the smell of burned pancake pulls his attention back to the stove, cursing as he throws away the ruined pancakes. With your help, you quickly get the rest of the breakfast ready and fill your plates before sitting down at the table.

“So, what’s our plans today?” You question before taking a bite of your pancakes, moaning over how great they taste.

“Somethin’ that makes you sound like that.” He grins, sipping his coffee as he winks at you. Breaking of a piece of your pancake, you throw it at him.

“Alright, alright.” He huffs, throwing his hands up in defeat. “Dinner at that fancy Italian place, a movie and then back here. I want your wrapped around me all night.”

“That can be arranged.” You grin, biting your bottom lip. He gets up and stops by your side to kiss you, before he walks to a drawer and take out a small gift.

“Here, sweetheart.” He places the gift in front of you and carefully, you start to unwrap it. Inside is a small box. Opening it, you find a small blue dog collar with a shiny little dog tag.

“You said you wanted to expand our little family.” He says softly, pulling his chair closer and sitting down. “We’re going to pick him up tomorrow.”

You throw your arms around him, kissing him hard. You and Frank already had a dog, a beautiful Pitbull rescue named Red (Frank thought he was so clever with that one), but you both loved dogs and knew you wanted more.

“Actually… I was thinking the same thing, when I made your gift.” You say nervously, standing up to get your gift. Frank just laughs, taking the gift from your hands when you return to the table. He tears the paper off, stopping completely when he holds the stick in his hands.

You’ve been so nervous to tell him, so scared of how he would react. You knew losing his kids had been a pain worse than death, not sure if he ever wanted to have a child again.

When he still hasn’t said anything, his eyes still fixed on the positive test, you get anxious. “Frank, please say something.”

Tearing his eyes away from the test, his beautiful brown eyes find yours. You can see the tears threatening to spill. “I… I’m gonna be a dad?”

“Yeah, but… Only if you want to.” You whisper, looking down at your hands fiddling with the hem of your sweatshirt. You feel Franks hands on your face, cupping your cheeks so softly. Bringing your gaze to his, you see the small smile on his face.

“I should have bought a ring instead of a collar.” He laughs, pulling you into a kiss. Wrapping his arms around you, he brings you closer until you sit on his lap. One hand moves from your back onto your belly. Nothing there to feel yet, still the notion makes you warm.

“I love you, Frank.” You kiss him again before snuggling closer to him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” He whispers into your ear, holding you tight. Things might not always be easy and things were going to change, but one thing that would always remain was your love.

You make loving you easy

you make loving you all I wanna do

Every little smile, every little touch

reminds me just how much it all makes

loving you easy

TFC girls: @e-dubbc11 @itwasthereaminuteago @realfernmayo @pedrito-friskito @mindidjarin @mattmurdocksscars @saintmurd0ck @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

Tagging: @lucy-sky @darlingshane @boliv-jenta

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle #the punisher fanfiction #the punisher #tfc april challenge #tfc writing challenge #thirsty for cox writing challenge

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not-poignant · 2 months

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how do you have the time to write all this stuff /and/ play video games etc etc at the same time? Is it just that you write insanely fast after all these years? I have a lot of hobbies, writing being one of them, and i have such a hard time juggling them lol.

Hi anon,

So, real talk -> The reality is I don't have the time to write and play video games at the same time most of the time.

I haven't written anything since the 17th. I haven't started the next Palmarosa chapter. I'm on day 8 of not having opened a new document and writing anything.

I've edited a whole two chapters (which I suspect I have to go over again) and I've responded to some comments and asks, and that's it. No writing, no growing wordcount, I've been stagnating / not doing anything due to burnout since the 17th (I know the date because I have a giant whiteboard of completed chapters next to me).

Honestly, most of the time I don't actually have the time to read, play video games, watch television, or movies. I am too busy writing/editing/sleeping. With Toby in the mix, the small amount of media I was consuming has vanished.

Sometimes I can play certain video games while writing - these are usually low stakes video games I can endlessly put on pause and then play for five minutes at a time, like Dorfromantik and Garden Galaxy. Any kind of idler video game, like Havendock is also good for this.

Anon, you can't have a lot of hobbies and actually keep up with them and write the way I do, and therapist/s wouldn't recommend you drop all of your hobbies to write the way I do anyway. Trust me.

I had two things I wanted to start learning this year, and I haven't started learning them yet. I don't have the capacity. I had a therapist gently point out to me that if I was always at 100 in terms of output, how can I have any energy leftover for self-work and processing? The answer is: I don't. (That's actually why I've spent a week playing video games, and if anything it's just reminded me that my capacity is still at 100 and this is going to take a bit of concerted decompression).

Most of the time it's not normally quite this overwhelming. Toby has just maxed me out because he's a high energy dog who is also a puppy with Separation Anxiety, and there's no quick or easy fix for that. But most of the time it's still very intense. The list of shows I really want to watch, and books I really want to read, is very long. But I often don't have time to indulge in those things because I'm too busy writing.

A lot of the time I don't actually have the time to reread my own fics anymore, outside of editing.

This year was meant to kind of tackle that more decisively but you know then we got a puppy so... not so much.

But yeah anon, there is no 'how do you do this and do this' - you don't do one of those things, or you do it very haphazardly, in small amounts.

I do write very fast (my wordcount is 120-150wpm), but I don't edit fast (I'd tender that editing fast for most people is a bit of an oxymoron), I don't answer asks fast (some of the longer ones take me an hour to compose), etc. And even then, writing fast is not the same as the time it takes to think out the chapter, to figure out what's happening, letting it percolate etc. A lot of my life is also just resting. I lose about 2-5 hours of every afternoon to sleep or rest for example, where nothing productive happens. And I think one of the reasons I read so many manwha atm is that they're so easy to read comparatively, and so quick, and that's the only way I can really consume stories these days.

#asks and answers #what folks think they're seeing on the surface is often not is what is actually happening #those who track my wordcount on discord (where i update it)#will notice it's not been updated since the 17th #will i write anymore chapters between here and the end of the month?#i don't know #and if i don't #i will have to work even harder next month dsalkfjasfas #anyway yeah no most of your hard working creatives around you #cannot actually find the life-work balance that allows them to enjoy their lives and leisure time and their hobbies #even if they're writing about characters who are learning how to do those things #part of it is capitalism - it's hard to take a break when your antidepressants went up in price #(which is a broader ironic analogy to life in general)

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fonulyn · 3 months

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how are things? and I was wondering if you've got a favorite fic that you wrote or if its just too hard to choose?

i've been down with a cold so things are kinda annoying but it seems to be getting better at least so maybe things are looking up :'D thanks for asking!

oh damn. it is hard to choose. and it also depends on my mood, and like... some are faves because they were fun to write, some because i like how the end result turned out, some bc friends liked them, and so forth. it depends on what kind of a favorite we're looking for :3

i scrolled through my RE fics and tried to pick only the top faves and still ended up with thirty fics :'D (and sorta sad bc so many of them were not crowd pleasers lmao)

but! shameless self-recs under the cut! (it got long lol sorry)

we didn't know how to fly so high (burned down before we reached the sky) (Chris/Leon) - this one's special because it's the first RE fic I wrote and it's what ended a three year dry spell of me not writing a single thing. it's also special because back then i could go "OH ONE NOTE!" and post the second chapter lol.

haunting in my head (tempting me, inviting me to fall asleep in its arms) (Piers/Leon) - since I picked the first one, I'm also gonna pick the latest one. this was the kind of an idea that plagued me until I got it written and i'm super pleased with how it worked out!

and it's kind of obligatory for me to mention the self-indulgent series, because for so long it was what kept me going and what kept me writing when nothing else worked. it might not be the best thing i've written but it's for sure what i've poured most love in.

tear me open (and make me whole again) (Piers/Leon, past Krauser/Leon) - from my whumptober fics this one i was the most excited about. i know it's got quite a bit of violence in it but like. i thought it hit all the right notes emotionally too, and i honestly wished it would've done better. i think it's worth it! am still happy with how it turned out.

(honorable mention to haunt you like it's part of you, another Piers/Leon and past Krauser/Leon, which is something i am really really into but apparently it's just me :'D but I really like the way the pairings clearly contrast each other tbh, i just think it's neat)

in the end it's you and I (Piers/Leon) - this is another whumptober fic I was super excited for! i'm beyond pleased with how it turned out and at least I feel all the right emotions while reading it.

all the things you are (Jake/Piers) - honestly I could've picked pretty much any of the Piers/Jake fic I've written because they were all really fun to write and their dynamic is super fun :'D I love the little bits in re6 where they interact bc they get on each other's nerves in all the right ways!

when it comes to metaltango, they're pretty much all close to my heart lol but can't help but follow in spite of going insane is something i regularly think back to and am still happy with how it turned out. same with the Krauser's back series, and question all my doubts, especially.

never too much to ask for (Piers/Leon) - this one is so very very important to me because LEON LEARNS TO BE LOVED. he learns to not only accept comfort but actually ASK FOR IT and it makes me emotional just to think about it 🥺

gonna show you tonight (Piers/Leon) - this one just makes me very happy.

and then there are the Piers/Leon ones where I've inserted Piers into a game/movie he isn't in, and honestly, those are ALL something I've had fun with and love the results! there's re2 with Piers, re4 with Piers, Damnation with Piers, and a combo of re4/Vendetta/og stuff with Piers! also the other re2 with Piers but that one only has one chapter for now so :'D

heal the scars and change the stars (Piers/Leon) - this one was based on a dream I had and I can still remember the exact vibe of the dream, and the way it haunted me afterwards, and I'm honestly really happy with the fic too. I have a thing for breaking up and getting back together it seems :'D

you're a dream (Piers/Leon) - this is something I've always always wanted to write, because soulmate aus are interesting but I've always gravitated towards imperfect soulmate systems, where it takes real effort to find them, and it's not so clear cut. and I honestly love how this turned out.

at the shore of the unknown (Piers/Leon) - another thing i always wanted to do was a soft apocalypse. this was supposed to be the first fic of a series, and the series is probably not happening, but i'm still content with the mood of this fic as is :3 i love these... slow empty worlds.

before I even knew your name (Piers/Leon) - THIS! this was SO MUCH FUN i don't know if I've ever had as much fun writing a fic :'D idk it was such a joy.

i crave therefore i am (Piers/Leon) - this fic however fought me every single step of the way, i wrote it like three times, and hated half of the process lmao, but i do love how it turned out. and the first scene is one of my all time favorite scenes i've ever written in my life.

to feel again (fwb!Chris/Leon at first, Piers/Leon eventually) - this was supposed to be a quick little oneshot but in the end it spiraled into something longer, and I do love it. like. the whole point of the Chris/Leon bit was that neither of them is the bad guy or wrong but they just weren't right for each other at that point in time, and then I enjoyed letting Leon build trust and a new relationship with Piers slowly at his own pace. 10/10 would write again :'D

last chance garage (ot3) - this one was very emotional to write and also got SO out of hand bc it was supposed to be like 1k max and in the end I wrote 8k lol. but it's my favorite ot3 fic.

winter lovin' (there's snow one like you) (Piers/Leon) - this one is super special to me because it happens in Finland :D they're vacationing on my home turf lol. but also because they're so in love, and they get to have fun and be together and. idk. the whole fic makes me all "🥺💖" like i literally turn into a physical embodiment of those two emojis. i love the fic.

stay until the end of life (Piers/Leon) - this one was also very emotional to write and I wanted to put them through a lot, and show how they really are in it for better and for worse. i wanted to show the struggles too, like... they love each other. they wanna be there for each other. but it's not always that easy. and I do think it worked out great.

three words to last forever (Piers/Leon) - I'm gonna end this way too long list with this because it's the first (and so far only) time I wrote a "choose your own ending" story and it was so much fun! I wish I could do a bigger story where you get to make multiple choices, but that would require some serious brainstorming lol. anyhow, I'm happy I got to do this! and happy with it turned out! especially the saddest ending :'D

now I'll shut up with my deepest apologies lmao.

#i know it's like 90% nivannedy #but what can i say #they've invaded my brain #there are other pairings in there too tho lol #anonymous #ask and i shall answer #me and my fics #re answers

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nightfury-2001 · 8 days

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Okay so. Self-indulgent HTTYD fanfic idea!!! (+ General stuff about main AU

Can't get this out of my head so I'm putting this out there even though I'm not sure I'll ever write a single chapter for this lol

To start off - I imagine this story would feature almost exclusively OCs and have basically nothing to do with canon characters until possibly waaaaay later into the story or like, a sequel if I got that far. It also would take place in my version of the HTTYD universe/my main AU, so certain major events happened differently or never happened at all, various minor details may be changed or ignored entirely, a couple of dragon species may be redesigned if they appear at all, etc..

Really what I'm trying to say is this fic wouldn't be something very many people would be interested in and I'm totally okay with that lol.

Anyway, with that out of the way let's get into what it would actually be about:

After what was supposed to be an easy job goes horribly wrong, a young dragon trapper has an experience that challenges her beliefs and causes her to question if she really wants to continue in her parent's footsteps.

(She stares at the beast. At first glance, it is so very different. But is it truly that different after all?)

As you probably guessed from that simple summary or whatever you'd call it, the fic would be about a young dragon trapper/hunter questioning what she's been taught all her life about dragons after one saves her, and the friendship that slowly forms between her and that dragon. (And yes I imagine the dragon is a Northern Night Fury* because this would be written by me, were you expecting anything different lmaoo)

I realize it could perhaps be a bit too similar to HTTYD 1.....what can I say, it's my favorite movie and I really love it and its themes - but really I do feel like the story/characters I'm imagining are different enough to not have it feel like a cheap knockoff.

But anyway! A couple of details and things I've come up with so far because I have more than just the main idea(s):

- The fic would begin a little after the events of HTTYD 2 - which I imagine HTTYD 2 happened mostly the same as in canon, but I'm seriously debating having Hiccup be the chief/stay the chief in my main AU. Not to go off on a bit of an unrelated tangent but honestly, I'm one of the people that thinks he's just not that well suited for the role. And like yeah, I get the whole parallel - Hiccup becomes the leader of the humans of Berk like how Toothless becomes the leader of the dragons of Berk - but I'm just saying even some of the people who worked on the film thought Astrid should be chief lol

- Anyway so I imagine the young dragon trapper's parents (and their parent's crew) are skilled and pretty well respected dragon trappers/hunters that worked for/supplied dragons to Drago in the past, but since his defeat they've been kinda struggling to find a new employer(s) and have had to travel to unfamiliar areas to find unprotected wild dragons.

- That's how the young dragon trapper ends up in the situation™. She's out helping a small group of older and more experienced trappers with what sounded like an easy job, but due to them getting a bit too cocky on an unfamiliar island they end up getting ambushed by a powerful and territorial dragon. It goes about as well as you would expect it would and our young dragon trapper is certain she's about to die just like the others until! The chonk swoops in and scares off the other dragon!

- Existential crisis time because she just got saved by a dragon.

Other things:

- By "young" I mean around 19-20 or so and not like, a literal child - I imagine the chonk is also around the same age lol

- Also in my AU, while some dragon species are more comparable to parrots/cetaceans/etc., most species could be considered sapient in a human sort of way even if they don't necessarily have literal human-level intelligence in all areas. There's even a couple of species, such as Furies, that I imagine have actual human-level intelligence - they just don't act like humans since they're giant reptiles/reptile-like creatures and don't process the world in the exact same way as humans do and have evolved to have different instincts, etc.

- Soooo because of that I think the idea of occasionally having a chapter from the POV of the chonk would be fun. Even if it's only a chapter or two I could explore the idea of why she decided to save the human (could be really interesting I think, especially if the chonk knew/understood she was a dragon trapper/hunter and chose to save her anyway).

This is really long and I've been working on this post for hours and um yeah. Enjoy I guess?

(*Northern Night Furies are a fan species made by me, basically they're big chonky seal inspired Furies that live in very cold environments. They're usually very friendly and curious creatures.)

#nf01 talks #nf01 writes #nf01 httyd au #nf01 ocs #nf01 fan species #northern night furies #httyd #httyd oc

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mushiewrites · 1 year

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Handsy Hyperfixation

so.....to give an idea of what this monster of a fic is, @awkwardtickleetoo wanted me to name this "Mushie's Self Indulgent Hand Fic", and in my google docs this is labeled "passing out throwing up"...so yeah. this was made back in december and i randomly wrote out 4k words one morning in a frenzy after a picture of dream's hands and thinking about how big they are...and now here we are, over 3k additional words later. it is honestly the most flustering thing I've written yet (to me), cal and i have had trouble even reading through it before it was finished... so yep. here it is! the mega self indulgent hand fic. i hope u all enjoy 😵‍💫

dream catches george starring at his hands from across the room, so he decides to give george a closer look at how much bigger they are than his, and what they're actually capable of

(lee!George / ler!Dream : 7.2k words 🫠)

Four. That’s how many times Dream had counted that George was staring at him. Although, he couldn’t tell if it really counted as staring at him; the brunette was clearly focused on his hands. He had noticed for a while now, even before today, that he would catch George staring at them whenever he would do anything with his hands. At first he figured George would be just watching whatever he’d be doing, but after a while he caught on; it was actually just his hands.

Now, Dream had a theory about why. George was so much smaller than him, and the elder loved to point it out; even more so now that they lived together. In the first two days that George was in Florida he had somehow managed to wrangle up four of Dream’s hoodies, two T-Shirts and a pair of OU sweatpants that he had no idea how George would ever be able to wear them.

George had pointed out multiple times how much bigger Dream’s hands are, how they completely engulf his fist and some of his wrist. The blonde would let him take his hand and compare it with his own, still commenting on how much larger they were. Dream didn’t think it was weird in the slightest, but he noticed that the more time that passed, the more and more he caught George staring. It had been the fourth time in the last hour, with the older boy thinking he was going unnoticed. Though in reality, Dream was sure he’d feel his stare from a mile away.

“Are you really staring at them again?” Dream watched as the sudden question made George jump, wide eyes staring back at him with his cheeks turning a dusty pink as the realization hit that he’d been caught. The younger boy giggled at the way George’s jaw had slightly dropped and how quickly he had closed it with a nervous gulp.

“Staring at what, idiot? I’m not staring at anything!” George spat out after a very tense few seconds while he wracked his brain for things to say. Dream giggled at his sorry excuse of an answer and held up his hands, wiggling his fingers slightly. A smirk formed on his face as he watched George’s cheeks go from pink to red at the action, causing the older boy to break eye contact and look anywhere but at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, George,” the smaller boy shuddered at the accusation, looking up briefly when he saw Dream stand up from the couch and walk over to where he was on the other end. “My hands, idiot.”

“What about your stupid hands?” George bit back, clearly flustered at the prospect of having to admit the truth. Dream’s smirk grew even more as he reached his destination, his knees knocking into George’s as he looked down at him.

“You were staring. Don’t deny it, I caught you red handed George.” Dream was quick to shut George down when he saw his mouth open to protest, making sure he knew that Dream knew his little secret.

“Y-You’re an actual idiot. You’re the idiot! Why would I be looking at your stupid- HEHEHEY!” George was cut off mid-argument when he felt two squeezes on his sides, making him fall back further into the couch cushions.

He brought his legs up to his chest out of habit to protect himself, but he quickly realized he had set himself up as Dream squeezed at the back of his thighs, making him scream out and kick his feet up. This only encouraged Dream to grab one of the flailing ankles, gripping it tightly as he scribbled his nails quickly up and down George’s foot. The older boy squealed and fell to his side, giving Dream the opportunity to grab the other ankle and yank them down so his legs were flat against the couch cushions. Once he forcefully maneuvered the smaller boy to lay on his back, Dream straddled his waist, successfully trapping him.

George was frantically kicking his feet against the couch, trying to dig his heel into it to gain leverage to buck Dream off but finding it harder than he thought it would be. He pushed himself up onto his elbows to try and fully sit up, hoping maybe there was a chance he could get Dream quick enough to make him crumble, but was immediately pushed back down by one of Dream’s hands against his chest. George let out a desperate whine, pushing at Dream’s knees as a last resort to try and loosen the grip they had around his waist but finding it impossible to move him. He was truly fucked.

“Am I the idiot? I’d say an idiot is more like someone in your situation right now, Georgie.” Dream chuckled as he grabbed George’s sides once more to make him buck his hips up with a yelp. The blonde noticed that George still wasn’t looking at him, and Dream could tell he was almost too flustered to function.

“Sh-Shuhut uhup!” George replied through his giggles. He did his best to sound intimidating, but he knew it was impossible with all his squeaks and noises. He threw his head back against the couch cushions with a cackle as Dream moved his hands up to his ribcage, squirming as the tickly feeling spread throughout his ribs.

“Look at that, George! My hands basically cover your entire rib cage,” Dream fanned his fingers out as far as they’d go, smiling down at George as he confirmed they did in fact reach from the top of his ribs to the bottom, even a little on the boy's sides as well. “You’re just so tiny, I guess it makes sense.”

George felt as if his head would pop at any second, his mind so floaty he felt like an overly filled balloon. He couldn’t do anything but laugh and watch as Dream’s fingers covered the expanse of his upper torso. He squeezed his eyes closed after a few seconds and brought his hands up to hide behind them, too flustered to continue seeing himself getting tickled to pieces.

But Dream was right; George WAS staring at his hands. It started a few months ago when they had been arguing over something, George stealing the remote or Dream’s phone. He was fast but Dream was strong, and so when he finally caught up to the smaller boy, Dream had gripped his wrist to stop him from getting away. The way one of Dream’s hands had completely wrapped around both of George’s wrists had him feeling faint. He swore he was genuinely dizzy when he realized how much bigger Dream actually was than him.

“I have an idea!” George flinched as Dream broke the silence once more, cracking one eye open to see the bright smile above him. He noticed movement below his vision and leaned his head up slightly, eyes widening in horror as Dream pressed the heel of his hand into his lower tummy, moving it teasingly to make the older boy squeak out a giggle. He placed the rest of his hand down on George’s tummy, spreading his fingers out and pressing the tips of them into the soft skin below.

“Why don’t we see how many spots I can reach with just one hand?”

The second George’s mind registered what Dream suggested he froze, staring up into bright green eyes with a tiny nervous giggle slipping out. It was like his brain short circuited - he couldn’t find the words to protest; he couldn’t form words to describe how much that idea had flustered him.

When he finally had the ability to move his body again he immediately pushed up, trying to launch himself forward to knock Dream off of him to escape. It turns out that Dream had anticipated this and pressed down on George’s stomach, keeping the smaller boy in place. George let out a whine, kicking his legs in a mix of frustration and excitement when he realized he truly was stuck beneath Dream’s hand on his tummy.

“P-Please Dream! Don’t!” He managed to keep his giggles down as he felt Dream pulse his fingers against his skin once, using just enough pressure for it to tickle but not for it to be unbearable. George knew it was on purpose; if Dream wanted it to really tickle, it would’ve tickled like hell.

“Why not, George? You seemed to be so interested in my hands before, I figured you’d like a closer look! And I’m even showing you them in action! Aren’t I nice?” As Dream spoke he began to do the jellyfish technique of dragging his fingertips together in the center of his tummy before fanning them back out, taking George by surprise and causing him to squeal. He fell into high pitched giggles as Dream continued to slowly and gently drag his fingertips in and out, following the jumpy tummy even as it squirmed away.

Even though George wanted to return a snarky comment Dream’s way, he was unable to with how hard he was laughing. Dream had managed to position his ring finger over his ribs, digging right into the muscle between the bones. Once Dream realized this was a more sensitive spot for George, he used more pressure, giggling quietly himself as the boy beneath him practically convulsed with ticklish energy.

“I said, aren’t I nice?” With that, Dream pressed into his lower ribs on the other side of George with his thumb, watching as the brunettes struggling became more frantic.

“Y-YEHEHES YES! PLEHEASE NOHOHO! I’M SORRY DREHEHEAM!” Dream chuckled at his friend's reaction, shaking his head slightly as he continued to wiggle his fingertip’s into the quivering tummy. He leaned forward, using his free hand to press down slightly on George’s shoulder to keep him in place.

“I’m sorry George, but it’s a little too late for apologies now.” Dream let out an overexaggerated sigh, playing up the disappointment before suddenly digging his fingers into George’s tummy, vibrating his hand as well. George let out a shriek, kicking and thrashing and grabbing at Dream’s hand to try and pull it off his stomach.

But Dream was having none of this. He easily scooped up George’s wrists in one hand, pressing them against his chest to keep them out of the way. Dream placed his hand back down onto George’s tummy, his fingertips almost reaching where he was keeping the older boy’s hands hostage. He wasted no time in digging back in, vibrating a little quicker to punish George for interrupting him in the first place.

“PLEHEASE D-DREHEAM I CAHAN’T- I CAHAHAN’T BREHEATHE!” The brunette shrieked between his cackles, squeezing his eyes even tighter as he pulled at his hands to try and break free from Dream’s grip. Just as he had suspected, nothing worked.

“You’re speaking George, that means you’re breathing. You’re just dramatic.” Dream replied nonchalantly, still slowing down to make sure George was okay. The smaller boy was taking in gulps of air between his laughter, Dream still digging in slightly but not as intense as before. He slowly allowed his fingers to come to a stop, staying in place against the warm skin.

“O-Ohoho my gosh. W-Why?” he panted out, opening his eyes again just to give Dream his best puppy dog eyes in the hopes that he would take mercy on him and leave him (and the subject matter) alone.

“Because, I’m just giving you what you want, Georgie,” Dream began, letting go of the boy’s wrists but grabbing one of his hands to lightly drag his thumb over the back of it to help comfort him. “We both know you were thinking about how much my hands tickle. And we both know it tickles so much because you’re so small, and my hands are so big that they cover most of your spots at one time.”

The comment made George’s cheeks heat up, feeling as if tiny fireworks were bursting out of the freckles on his skin. He brought his free hand up to slap it over his face, hiding as much of himself as he could to try and relieve some of the embarrassment. A long whine made its way up his throat and passed through his lips without his permission, making him squirm even more due to how flustering the situation was.

Dream barked out a laugh at that, letting George continue to hide himself as he turned his attention back to his hand on the tummy between his thighs. He pressed his fingertips against George’s stomach a few times, earning a squeak and a kick from him as well as a few stray giggles.

“Let’s just see what spots I can reach, shall we?” The blonde didn’t wait for George to answer, instead stilling all of his fingers except his thumb that was pressing repeatedly into the lower ribs and upper side on the left of George’s body. Dream watched as he threw his body to the right, attempting to escape from the pokes and prods that were sending tiny sparks of ticklish bolts throughout his left side.

“See, this is a good spot that my thumb is resting against,” Dream pressed in a little quicker with his thumb on George’s lower ribs to emphasize which spot he was talking about. “It lets me get your extremely ticklish bottom ribs, and it lets me press into your extremely ticklish sides! Sounds extremely ticklish, huh George?”

Too busy laughing, George was only able to nod his head in agreement, causing Dream to coo at him and apply more pressure. This caused George’s legs to start kicking against the couch cushions again, this time a little more sporadic due to the tickly sensations that were shooting into his side and down his leg. Dream began to rub circles into the bottom two ribs, making George buck up with a screech before he reached down to pull at Dream’s hand once again.

“Ah ah ah, no blocking me! You know what that means.” George’s eyes snapped open, flinging his hand away from his face and silently pleading up at Dream while shaking his head back and forth frantically.

“I-I’m sohohorry! I promise I wohon’t dohoho it again!” The smaller boy tried his hardest to make sure Dream knew he was serious, but it seemed he didn’t care in the slightest whether George was actually sorry or not. He shook his head at the boy below him and smirked, grabbing the hand that George had tried to use to stop him and placing it down to his side against the couch. Dream moved his knee over George’s wrist, keeping it in place so that he once again had a free hand.

“I’m sorry baby, but rules are rules! Now, back to what I was saying,” Dream began to continue, earning a surprised squeak from George as the hand against his tummy sprung back to life, the thumb resuming the light circles along the boy’s very sensitive bottom ribs. “This is just such a good spot. One of my favorites. Never fails to make you laugh, does it?”

Dream could feel the hand under his knee attempt to wiggle free, so he leaned more of his weight against it, careful not to hurt George but enough that he had absolutely no hope of escaping. The older boy was practically howling at the way Dream was rubbing circles into the bottom rib, thrashing and trying to roll over to cover the spot and dislodge the tickling hand.

After a few more minutes the circles turned into a palm pressed against that spot, rubbing slightly to help the ghost tickles subside. Dream waited until George’s laughter had calmed down to light giggling before he decided to continue with the task at hand. He pressed his pointer finger into the skin, feeling the inner edge of George’s rib and moving it slightly to press around the spaces between both sides of his ribcage.

“My pointer finger can reach the middle of your ribs and upper tummy, how does that feel, pretty boy? Hm?” He followed the question with a series of small but powerful pokes, making George kick every time Dream landed one on his ribs. The taunting tone of his voice made it even harder for George to focus on anything but the teases and how badly it tickled. He truly was a flustered mess.

“I-Ihihit t-tihihickles!” George couldn’t help but bring his free hand back over his face, embarrassed by how squeaky and high pitched he sounded through his giggles. Dream smiled at how adorable the sight was, using his pointer finger to do little swirls with his nail. This made George’s giggles jump even higher in pitch, making him shake his head and pull at his wrist in an attempt to hide himself even further.

“It does, huh? Right here, on your ticklish little ribs?” George whined through his laughter at that, turning his head to the side and throwing his arm over his face to hide how red it was becoming. Dream giggled, continuing to tease him as he tapped a few times on his skin before kneading in a bit. “It tickles right here, George?”

The older boy could do nothing but nod at Dream’s question, the description he asked so nonchalantly making George’s head spin. He kept his arm over his face even as Dream decided to use a good amount of pressure to knead circles against the bones. George was wailing at this technique that was clearly tickling him silly. Dream couldn’t help but laugh along with him, finding George’s laughter to always be so contagious. He watched the brunette thrash himself from side to side like a squirmy little worm, making that comment out loud to him just to watch the tips of George’s ears turn red as well.

“Wow, this really is a good spot, isn’t it sweetheart? You’re laughing your little heart out! You’re just a squirmy little ticklish worm, aren’t you?” The blonde cooed, making George squeeze his eyes shut even more. He knew his face was covered but he felt so exposed and so vulnerable under Dream’s hand like this. He couldn’t understand why, but he fucking loved it.

“Okay, let’s give this sensitive little spot a break. How about we go on to the next spot?” Dream asked, not waiting for an answer as he poked his middle finger against the skin a little below his sternum three times. George jolted upwards, not laughing as hard as the previous spot but still cackling enough to let Dream know that what he was doing was working.

“D-Dreheheam please! I cahan’t take ihihit!” George whined through his giggles, finally moving his arm away from his face and opening his eyes to plead once again with Dream. The taller boy flashed his white teeth at him through a big smile, shaking his head back at him slowly.

“I’ve seen you take much worse than this! This is nothing,” Dream explained, as if George wasn’t the one experiencing the tickling. “You’re just a little overly sensitive today, that’s all.”

The elder rolled his eyes at that, earning a quick squeeze to the upper thigh from Dream’s free hand and making him shriek before falling back into bright giggles as the feeling disappeared as quickly as it came.

“N-Nohohot fair, Dream!” George pouted through his jagged breathing, not appreciating the sudden squeeze to his death spot for simply rolling his eyes.

“Awh,” Dream’s caring smile was shining through for a few seconds before a more devious smirk appeared in its place, a menacing giggle spilling out from the younger boy before he continued his teasing. “Is the poor baby too sensitive? Too ticklish? Too small to defend himself?”

George pondered the question before he slowly nodded his head, flinging his free arm back over his face to hide the returning blush. He heard Dream giggle above him, sounding much closer than anticipated. A soft breeze to his ear was enough to make him start giggling again as Dream began to whisper into his ear, giving him goosebumps and making him shudder at the tickly vibrations that came with it. George could hear the teasy-ness dripping from Dream’s words as he continued to mess with him.

“That sounds like a you problem, angel.”

The words sent shivers down George’s spine, feeling how much Dream was loving being able to rip the smaller boy to little ticklish shreds. He knew the exact teases and spots that got to George in the cruelest ways, and Dream was using Every. Single. One. And considering they had only just reached the third finger, George wondered how he’d ever survive this.

“Okay, now that we’ve established you’re too small, sensitive and flustered to do anything, let’s continue.” The blonde had pressed his lips against George’s ear this time, allowing the vibrations from the low tone of his voice to travel from his ear down his spine. Another chill had him shuddering as Dream pulled back, sitting straight up and readjusting his position to make sure George’s arm wouldn’t break free from below his knee.

“D-Do wehehe have to continue? Aren’t you….bored? Isn’t there… something else you’d like to behehe doing?” The smaller boy squeaked out, trying but painfully failing to convince Dream that there were better things to do. George moved his arm slightly to watch as the boy above him quirked an eyebrow up in confusion, a dopey grin spreading across his face at George’s pathetic attempt at stopping him.

Dream let out a low chuckle, the kind that made George want to curl in on himself from how menacing it sounded. He immediately threw his arm back over his face out of embarrassment, but Dream grabbed it with one of his hands and brought it down to join the other hand under one of Dream’s knees. George let out a long whine, shaking his head up with wide eyes. This only made Dream bark out another laugh at the sight.

“Something else I’d be doing? Like what? Laying on the couch? Napping? Editing?” Dream scrunched his nose at the suggestions, shaking his head slightly as he weighed the options. “Absolutely not. I’d rather be right here, tickling you to bits.”

“Nohohoho!” George giggled at that, a loud cackle following as Dream slowly dug his fingertips into the older boy's tummy. He wiggled them slightly with enough pressure to keep George laughing, shaking his head himself as he protested Dream’s actions. He tried to wiggle his hips to move the tickly fingers, but he was stuck between the two thighs keeping his arms pinned. It was then he realized how stuck he actually was. Dream watched as the brunette gulped, staring back up at him with a nervous smile.

“Yehehes!” Dream mocked George, making the smaller boy whine and look to the side, finally breaking eye contact. “What’s wrong Georgie, too ticklish? Can’t handle it?”

Dream still his fingers, only poking into the skin with his middle finger once more. George shook his head a little faster, squeaking as he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth while he tried to hold his laughter in. But Dream wasn’t having this. He used his middle finger to wiggle it a little to the side, just barely grazing the start of one of George’s rib bones. He nearly bucked Dream off with how hard he threw his body around.

“Oh, that’s a good spot, huh George?” The brunette heard Dream’s question, but he couldn’t speak even if he had wanted to. “Right here, on your little ribs again? I’d say this is probably your worst spot, wouldn’t you?”

“S-Stohop Dreheheam! P-Plehease!” George pleaded with Dream, again trying his hand at Dream’s famous puppy eyes. However, the younger boy seemed to be immune to this tactic at the current moment, completely focused on pressing his middle finger to the left and right to make sure he was scraping at the tips of his inner ribs.

“Stop? Okay George, I’ll stop.” The blonde smiled down at him, removing both hands and holding them out in front of him. George let out a sigh of relief, finally able to take a full breath. But this relief was short lived as he watched two hands dart back to his ribs, digging in quickly and vibrating against George’s bones. Dream leaned down again, pressing lips to the boy's bright red ear. “I’ll stop tickling when you stop being so ticklish.”

George felt goosebumps rise on his skin, something that only happens when he gets extremely flustered. Dream knew this, and he raised his eyebrows with a huge grin, comparable to a little kid on Christmas morning. He paused his tickling, sitting back slightly so he could look at George fully.

“Oh, that got to you, huh? What was it this time? The way I said I was going to stop and didn’t? The way I mentioned how ticklish you were?” Dream watched the boy squirm beneath him as he tried to hide his face in his shoulder. “Or was it both? Tell me kitten, what one is it?”.

The elder just squirmed more under Dream’s intense stare, waiting for an answer from him. George stuttered through his reply, not able to think clearly due to how flustered he was. It came out quieter than he’d meant it to be, barely above a whisper as he answered Dream’s question.

“Uhm, t-the third option.”

Dream cooed at that, bringing a hand to his cheek to rub one of his thumbs under George’s eye. He felt as the smaller boy relaxed into the touch, essentially pushing into Dream’s hand and nuzzling his cheek against the skin. This made Dream choke out a squeak, holding in a giggle as George’s stubble tickled the palm of his hand. He had hoped that it’d go unseen but George was smirking at him now, clearly amused with the way he had accidentally tickled the younger boy.

“Oh be quiet George. We still have two fingers left!” the blonde practically growled at George, causing him to giggle at how serious he looked. Dream leaned down closer to his face, grinning as he continued. “I’m not done playing with my tickle toy, yet.”

The brunette swore the room was spinning, feeling incredibly lightheaded at the new pet name Dream used. George didn’t think it was possible to be more flustered than he already was, but apparently this was a night of discoveries, and he added it to the secret list of things that make him melt into a puddle.

“Ugh, Dream, you can’t say that.”

“Why? Because it flusters you? Because it embarrasses you? When are you gonna realize I don’t listen to you? I can say whatever I want. I can do whatever I want.” He chuckled, moving his hands off of his ribs and placing his hand back on George’s stomach, his fingers spread out in the same position as before. George watched as Dream flashed him a bright smile, acting as if he wasn’t currently torturing the absolute hell out of him. “Is that fucking clear?”

George felt his eyes growing wider and suddenly he was nodding, unable to break eye contact with Dream, as if in a trance. Dream had never spoken to him like this before, at least not this seriously. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was flustered out of his mind or just because it was Dream, but one thing was for sure - he found himself wanting to listen to him. He wanted to do what Dream asked of him. He wanted to make Dream proud.

“Good boy, Georgie.” Dream knows exactly what that line of praise does to him, and he smirks as he says it. George felt the dizzying feeling once more, knowing that if Dream continues how he is now, he won’t be able to remember his own name. He let out a whine as Dream wiggled his ring finger lightly, squirming slightly to the left to try and relieve the feeling.

“Stay still for me, okay angel? The more you cooperate, the easier it’s going to be for you.”

George could only nod in response with a tiny squeak of acknowledgement before breaking out into giggles as Dream pressed his finger a little harder against the right side of his rib cage, rubbing back and forth slowly. This caused George to squeal, a loud cackle following as he kicked as much as he could. To his surprise, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping his upper body still, his body jerking slightly to the side but nothing more than that.

“See, it’s not so bad, huh?” Dream was speaking softer than before as he watched George’s eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment. He smiled fondly down at him, moving his ring finger between the spaces of the ribs he could reach. Dream let out a small strained whine when he wasn’t able to get to as many of the bones as he’d like.

“Nohoho it ihihis still bahahad!” George continued to try and speak through his laughter, making Dream break out into airy giggles while he continued to wiggle his fingers along the sensitive skin of George’s torso.

“Okay, still bad, but you’re doing so good!” Dream sounded genuinely proud and George thought he might combust into a million tiny pieces if he said anything else even in the realm of kindness. “I know how ticklish your little ribs are, it must be torture to endure this. But you’re doing such a good job, George. Such a good boy.”

George whined again through his laughter, shaking his head as he realized Dream was even using praise against him now. The blonde wasn’t playing fairly - he was using all of George’s weaknesses he’d ever found out and was putting them all into play at the same time; It wasn’t his fault he was so spaced out!

Dream began to drill his finger against the rib bones, kneading as fast as he could along as many ribs as he could reach. He lifted his palm slightly, moving it forward to get at untouched bones to make George jump. The elder could feel the way Dream‘s finger slotted perfectly in the spaces between the bones, making him attempt to buck up in ticklish agony. He was wailing now, his legs no longer kicking and arms no longer pulling every now and then - he was truly putty. He was truly Dream’s tickle toy.

“NAHAHA PLEHEASE!” George thought he might die with how hard he was laughing, feeling his chest burning every time he sharply inhaled between his cackles. Dream heard the strain in his voice and slowed his finger to a gentle tracing, trying to soothe George and let him ride out the leftover giggles that continued on, even after Dream completely removed his hand.

“Hey, it’s alright, George. I’m right here, you did great, okay?” George was breathing heavily, taking in huge gulps of air as his breathing finally began to regulate itself. “We have one more finger, just my pinky, but if you’re too tickled out we don’t have to do it.”

One thing that he always appreciated and admired about Dream was his ability to be completely genuine and only want the best for the people around him. He knew that Dream would stop if George really wanted to, and because of this George decided to let him keep going. He trusted Dream and knew he would stop regardless if he wound up changing his mind.

“N-Nohoho you- you cahahan,” George giggled out, looking up at Dream and giving him a smile to let the younger boy know he was okay. “Just…behehe quick if you cahan, okay?”

Dream could’ve teared up at how nice George was being. He was willingly letting Dream continue, even if he had just tortured the life out of him not even two minutes prior. The fact that George felt safe with Dream was all he had ever wanted, and he had no idea how to handle the feeling. He leaned forward and grabbed George’s cheeks with both hands, lightly squeezing and squishing his face between his fingers.

“Yes I’ll be quick! Oh my God, George, you’re so adorable. I can’t get over it. I just had to squish you.” Dream was giggling at George’s confusion spreading all over his face, his brows furrowing together and a small wobbly grin forming as he felt Dream continue to contort his face in all different ways. After a few more seconds, the blonde finally pulled back, giggling down at George and watching him attempt to hold in giggles.

“None of that, remember?” Dream was quick to put his hand back on George’s stomach, using his pinky to push into the squishy part of George’s right side and causing him to thrash to the left with a squeak. “No holding in giggles! They’re my reward for tickling you!”

“S-Stohohop saying stuff like thahahat!” George cried out as he continued to laugh his little head off, feeling as Dream began rubbing his finger in all different directions in the middle of his side, trying to find the right place to get the biggest reaction.

“Like what? Me saying your giggles are a reward for me tickling you? It’s true! They are my reward, why else would I be doing this?” Dream continued to wiggle his pinky, pausing for a second so George would look up at him. “I mean, besides the fact that you love being tickled.”

George was sure his face was truly on fire with how hot his skin was, not able to control his reactions and stuttering out protests at Dream’s accusations. He was shaking his head frantically, denying and denying and denying, all while Dream sat in silence from his place on George’s hips, smiling down at him and seemingly not listening to a word George was saying.

“Stop trying to deny it, baby. You know you do, I know you do, so let me take care of you, okay?” Dream sounded so sweet it was making George’s head spin. He felt like his head was filled with cement, letting it lay against the soft cushions below him as he stared up at the ceiling. Dream resumed his tickling after another second, startling George and causing his laughter to come out more frantic than it had been.

George was fully dizzy now, his mind floating somewhere in space while his body remained on earth, tickled and tormented in whatever ways Dream liked. He wasn’t sure how this had even started anymore, not able to think of anything else besides how big Dream’s hand was and how badly it tickled him. The thought of Dream’s hand being able to spread over most of his torso was flustering enough, but seeing it for himself in real time was something he never expected to see. He wasn’t sure how to get his thoughts together - he actually wasn’t sure if he had any other thoughts at all, besides how ticklish it felt.

He jolted as Dream’s remaining four fingers began to move, digging into the spots that had been tormented minutes before. George couldn’t do anything but laugh, twisting from side to side every time Dream’s pointer and ring finger scraped between the bones in the middle of his rib cage. He had never had someone’s focus so closely on a spot before, especially not to experiment and prolong the tickling process like this. George shook his head again, trying to shake the flustering thought from his brain before he actually melts into the cushions below him.

Dream added his free hand into the mix, having explored where he could reach with one hand and now using this opportunity to truly dig into George’s ribs. George screamed, making Dream’s eyes quickly flick up to his face to make sure he wasn’t hurt. It sounded so desperate and raw, like it tore through George’s throat to escape. When he was sure George wasn’t actually in pain he continued on, squeezing and kneading and knuckling at the sensitive little ribs under his fingers. The boy below him could almost be compared to a rag doll - George was completely limp, his head thrown back with his eyes tightly shut, laughing and laughing and not putting up an ounce of a fight.

“Look at you, George. You’re all tickled out, huh? I bet everything feels so much more ticklish now that I’ve flustered you a ton.” Dream teased him, trying to keep his voice in a light tone as he spoke over George’s laughter. The older boy nodded, unable to answer with words because of how hard he was laughing. His face was a deep red, flushed beyond repair as his hair stuck to his forehead and the sides of his face. He was sweating and tears were falling and George couldn’t tell which was which. It didn’t really matter, it was all part of the overwhelming feeling of bliss George had.

“P-PLEHE- DREHE-” He was pleading through his screams, bucking up off the couch even with Dream sitting on his waist as Dream’s pointer fingers found his sensitive back ribs, kneading circles deep into the bones there. No matter how hard he tried, George couldn’t get a full word out. This signaled to Dream that George was indeed tickled out, and he really was at his limit.

The hands on George’s ribs slowly came to a stop, Dream using his palms to try and soothe him once more of the lingering ghost tickles that were no doubt still doing their job. George couldn’t stop laughing. He didn’t remember the last time he was tickled like this, if ever. His chest was on fire and his throat was raw, coughing slightly when he took in a particularly deeper breath.

“Wait one second okay? I’ll be right back.” The younger boy moved off of him and stood up from the couch, walking to the kitchen and opening the fridge. Dream grabbed out two water bottles, bringing one over to George and twisting the cap before holding it out to him.

“Thanks.” George strained out as he sat up slowly, wincing at his sore wrists from being kneeled on for so long. Dream noticed and his gentle smile turned into a concerned frown, sitting down on the couch next to George and taking the wrist that was not occupied into his own hands to begin rubbing lightly.

“Sorry about that,” Dream apologized sheepishly, setting George’s water bottle on the side table when he was finished drinking to scoop his other wrist up, now gently massaging both and smiling when George let out a little contented sigh and closed his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to lean on them so hard. I got a little carried away.”

“You think?” Dream giggled bashfully as he felt his cheeks grow warmer, looking back down at George’s hands as he continued to rub along the skin of the small wrists. The blonde lifted them up, leaning his head down and meeting them halfway to give each wrist a small kiss. He pulled back, seeing George crack an eye open as he waited for Dream’s response.

“I couldn’t help it! Your laugh, like, activated something in me. I just needed to hear it more! It was like I became a tickle monster or something.” It was George’s turn to be bashful, knowing damn well that Dream knew the tickle monster bit always got to him a little more. He groaned, pulling his hands out of Dream’s to cover his own face, knowing he was blushing and wouldn’t be able to control it.

“Okahay, I promise I’m done! I’ve tortured you enough,” Dream giggled at how on edge the elder was, standing up from the couch and scooping the smaller boy up in his arms and making him shriek before he could even uncover his eyes. “At least for today.”

“DREAM! What- whahat are you dohoing?!” George kicked his legs a few times as Dream carried him bridal style towards the kitchen. All hopes of containing his blush were gone as George thought about how effortlessly Dream could lift him, carrying him like he weighed nothing. He was still giggling as Dream set him down to sit on the counter a few seconds later, squirming to the side slightly when the blonde briefly wiggled his pointer finger into his side.

“Grabbing snacks! I’ve decided we’re gonna watch a movie now.” Dream explained, turning his back to George as he began to rummage through the cabinets for anything he thought looked good.

“Oh yeah?” George couldn’t help the softness showing through his sarcasm, watching as the younger boy turned around with an arm full of popcorn and candy.

“Yes,” He replied, handing George the snacks and picking up again, heading towards the theater room. “And since I almost killed you, I guess you can pick what movie we watch.”

The elder let out an over exaggerated shriek of excitement, making Dream jerk his head to the side to protect his ear from the volume of George’s voice. He once again couldn’t stop thinking about how easily Dream was holding him. Without permission, he let out a small squeak, eyes growing wide as they met Dream’s in embarrassment.

The two broke out into giggles as Dream sat him down on one of the cushioned theater chairs, dropping the snacks on his own chair while George situated himself. Dream went and retrieved a huge blanket from the basket in the corner of the room, draping it over the two as he settled in next to George. Dream ripped open a pack of M&M’s, giggling through an eye roll as George leaned over into the younger boy’s space with his mouth wide open.

“You’re such an idiot.” He shook his head fondly as he dropped two into George’s mouth anyway. The brunette giggled as he closed his mouth with a ‘smack’, sliding down in his chair to rest his back against the cushions as he pressed the button to recline it. Dream did the same, snuggling in closer to George and moving the snacks onto the blankets on top of them.

“Watch it, or I’ll make you watch Harry Potter for the twentieth time.”

“Oh God, I’ll never speak again, don’t worry.”

“Dreheam!” The blonde was met with a soft smack on his bicep from a very giggly George, and he couldn’t help but laugh at his snarky comment himself.

Dream watched as he grabbed the remote from the arm of the chair, opening the streaming app and flicking through the movie options. He let out a contented sigh, allowing himself to relax into the chair and closer to George. It was only when George picked a movie that he finally settled down, cuddling in closer to Dream and resting his head against the younger boy’s shoulder.

Yes, George may have been tickled to the brink of death by his menace of a best friend, but if it meant ending in night like this, he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

(you can find this fic on ao3 here!)

#lee!george #ler!dream #i.........have nothing to say #i do not apologize #and if this flusters u #u HAVE to tell me #thats the RULE 😤#but seriously though this is like...my favorite thing i've ever written #i feel like this is my child #and cal also gave me so much help and support through the whole thing everyone say thank u caaaaaaaaal #anyway #i hope u enjoy!#also theres.....over 7k words im sure theres some typos somewhere #mushie fics #mcyt tickle #my stuff

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