#i feel so gross n pathetic i need human touch so badly

[sensitivegoblin]

vent

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

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

This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

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

It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Next

Masterlist 2

[19red]

no.18 1988 ♥️♥️♥️

Thank you so much for asking, anon! I had a lot of fun writing this!!

#18. smile kisses, two dorky grins pressing together  / read on ao3

*

Before the door slams closed behind him, Patrick is already wrestling with his coat. “I had an epiphany,” he yells to Jonny’s empty foyer, tugging on his left sleeve and toeing off his shoes simultaneously—stumbling—catching himself against the wall. Almost succeeding in spraining both a wrist and an ankle. “Did you hear me?” he yells again, grateful Jonny didn’t witness that.

“The key is for emergencies only.”

“I said,” Patrick follows the voice to the kitchen, “I had an epiphany.”

Jonny is standing shirtless by the fridge, head tipped back, throat muscles working as they pump down gulp after gulp of water. Some of the liquid drips disgustingly across Jonny’s chin and down his gross sweaty chest.

“Were you working out?” Patrick asks, somehow in equal measure surprised and not. “It’s 10 pm, you monster.”

“And?”

Patrick hops on the island, socked feet dangling in the air, and makes grabby hands for a beer.

“That’s not for sitting,” Jonny complains like clockwork but he sticks his head in the fridge and bends to grab a can, thus subjecting Patrick to the frankly unholy sight of his perspiration-soaked shorts clinging to his frankly unholy glutes.

“Let’s go back to my epiphany,” Patrick says.

“Okay.” Jonny chucks the beer at him, then leans back against the closed fridge, thick forearms crossed over his perfect, suckable nipples.

“Come on, asshole. Ask me.”

“Did learning your first multi-syllabic word hurt your brain very much?”

“First of all, fuck you,” Patrick says, flicking the side of the can a couple of times before cracking it open at arm's length so the overflow spills onto Jonny’s floor. “Asshole has two syllables.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says because he can’t abide being wrong nor mess that isn’t expressly of his own creation.

Patrick takes a swig and flaunts his dimples. “That’s my epiphany exactly.”

“What?”

“I was on a date and--”

“Yeah,” Jonny pushes off the fridge. “I know that,” he says in his bitchiest monotone, stepping right into the pool of spilled beer as he muscles Patrick’s knees apart with his hips. He puts his scorching hot hands on top of Patrick’s thighs. Up close, his body radiates heat in unrelenting waves and nasty wafts of sweat that make Patrick’s dick, the fucking weirdo, perk up in red-hot interest.

Patrick flexes his fingers around the cool damp metal of the can. “You reek, by the way.”

He catches a flash of a smug smile before Jonny’s face dips out of his field of vision and Jonny’s nose digs into the crook of his neck.

“You smell good.” Jonny takes a nice deep breath and Patrick’s skin pebbles.

“I was on a date.”

An overdramatic groan makes Patrick shiver, head to toe. Jonny thumps his forehead against Patrick’s shoulder and just—slumps. What a fucking baby.

“She was hot,” Patrick starts, “and--”

“I don’t wanna know about your date.”

“No—shit. N-no, you d—ah. You do,” he stutters. This conversation would flow so much easier if Jonny weren’t mouthing wetly at the side of Patrick’s neck while dripping his mind-drugging sex pheromones all over Patrick’s favorite shirt. Mastering speech is damn hard when half of your brainpower is busy wrestling the horny into submission. No scooting closer to Jonny to rub your hard-on against his firm slick stomach. That’s a bad idea. Bad!

“You want to know,” Patrick croaks. He squirms around to dislodge Jonny’s mouth and receives a stinging bite for his effort. “Listen,” Patrick fists a hand in the damp hair at Jonny’s nape and pulls. Once it’s clear Jonny, stubborn fucking bastard, isn’t going to yield, Patrick crosses his ankles to trap him in the space between his legs before stamping the cold beer can right into his abs.

Jonny jolts back with an embarrassingly chirpable shriek and glares.

“She was hot and like, great tits,” Patrick goes on as nothing happened, “but you never know with chicks, yeah?”

Jonny glares harder.

“Right.” Patrick drains the whole beer then sets the can aside. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. Swallows up a burp because, even though Jonny would totally deserve to be slapped right in the scowl with a cloud of Patrick’s stinky fermented breath, nobody ever belches in romance novels. “What I’m saying is, like. Are they gonna put out? I kept thinking about you. You always put out. Easiest laid ever.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny grumbles, but his hands are feeling up Patrick’s thighs—squeezing, stroking, squeezing harder.

“Yeah,” Patrick circles his fingers around Jonny’s strong wrists. He can feel Jonny’s heart hammering steadily against his pads. “You’re always up for it. It’s a positive. It made me think.”

“And now you have a headache. Is that the emergency? No aspirin at your place?”

Patrick rolls his eyes and wraps his legs tighter around Jonny, pulls him closer, closer, closer. He slides his hands to Jonny’s waist. “I’m trying to--” a frustrated gargle noise escapes his throat. He wishes there was more alcohol in his system. “I’m serious. I want someone to touch my dick and like. You can do that. You’re good at it. Like, I mean. Almost half decent.”

“Yeah, I’m easy. We’ve established that.”

“I mean I want you to be the only one that touches me—my dick,” Patrick hurriedly corrects, feeling like the earth cracked open and Satan themself spurted from the blazing depths of hell just to drag their blistering tongue all across the entire length of Patrick’svery flammable human body.“Besides myself obviously. I’m still going to jack off.” He’s fairly certain his face is on fire. “And maybe it could go, like. Both ways.”

Jonny blinks, processing. Big doe eyes somehow at once dumb and piercing. “You wanna be the only one that touches my dick?”

“It makes sense,” Patrick nods, feeling a little sick.

“I’m just trying to—“ Jonny frowns—then, suddenly, his mouth twitches at the corners. He clamps it tight. “Shit,” he says as he loses the battle to keep a neutral expression to a smize of such twinkling glory, Patrick’s tempted to proclaim him Canada’s next top model then and there. “Are you asking me to be your boyfriend?”

“No. I mean. I don’t know.” Patrick bites his bottom lip then runs his tongue over the sting, tasting the anticipation. He’s pretty sure he’s making Tyra proud too. “If you want to, I guess.”

“It’d be convenient.”

Patrick slides his fingers past the elastic of Jonny’s shorts and yanks their bodies flush via two full handfuls of the most glorious ass in the NHL. Patrick’s dick twitches hallelujah.“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Wow,” Jonny’s voice drops to a killer rumble as he cups Patrick’s face. His right thumb rests just at the corner of Patrick’s mouth. Patrick thinks about licking it—and does. Just a quick teasing dart of the tongue. Jonny’s eyes go black and hot. “Looks and brains. I’m impressed.”

Their faces inch closer. “Are you calling me hot?”

“No,” Jonny lies badly, nudging his nose against the side of Patrick’s own. Patrick beams so big he feels the stretch in his lips, like he’s giving happiness’ huge monster cock the blowjob of a lifetime or something.“You think I’m hot.”

“Stop smiling, I’m trying to kiss you,” Jonny squishes Patrick’s cheeks between his giant palms in an effort to downscale Patrick’s face-splitting grin to a kissable size.

“You stop smiling.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Shut up,” Patrick says right against Jonny’s mouth. “You love me.”

“Yes.”

Patrick’s stomach does a backflip. Jonny is probably already sex-dazed, babbling nonsense. “Yes?” Patrick asks, aiming for teasing but landing on pathetic. A fucking lovesick fool, all needy and shit.

“Yes,” Jonny says. He sounds lucid enough. Patrick’s stomach backflips again. “Yeah. Pat, Peeks, baby—yes.” Jonny drops little pecks on his lips, his jaw, his chin—his lips again. For each one he keeps whispering yes and baby and Patrick’s name and—

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. Jonny uses the word like a door, pushing his tongue into Patrick’s eager, welcoming mouth. The feeling aches and swells swells swells in Patrick’s chest. After a moment, he pulls back. He needs to tell Jonny, wants him to know—“You’re annoying too. Like, the most annoying.”

“The most?”

Patrick licks the scar on Jonny’s bottom lip and hums.

“So rude,” Jonny scolds. “Fuck you.”

“Could be arranged for sure.”