#i will probably go now i've wound down a bit though

[void-kissed]

✨ for a random fact about aria? :3

..I mean, Aria is a self-insert rather than an OC, but- thank you anyway for this, friend!

(source: this post by dragonsmooch)

Send me ✨ for a random thing about one of my OCs! (Optional: You can specify one!) - I know I've mentioned this before, but I can never remember how widely it's known, so I'll say it again anyway. Aria is the self-insert I've had the longest as a proper "this is me, but with lore to fit the game world" self-insert, as well as being one of the self-inserts that's existed the longest overall (the few that may beat her would include Camille, Amber, and technically also Emily, but I don't tend to count her since she didn't have story until after I started selfshipping unlike the other two). She started out as my player character in KHUX, who I gave the lore of "uses darkness instead of light" right from the beginning of playing the game, but then the rest of her lore (such as her being a Heartless) came about from the start of 2018 onwards. Some of her story, like leaving her original party under bad circumstances, reflects how things actually went for me playing the game!

This means that Aria is who tends to be used as a placeholder for whenever I want to make a new self-insert for something, which is partially ironic considering that - by virtue of being from Kingdom Hearts - she could technically appear as herself in many other game worlds. Examples of self-inserts that started out as "Aria but in something else" that I can recall off the top of my head include Alectra (actually probably Lamia too - the two of them together kind of combine a lot of Aria's aspects, Alectra personality-wise and Lamia lore-wise), Telanthera, possibly Sapphire despite how different she now is?, I think Ardea, Catarina to some extent, maybe Echo, and most recently (and perhaps most obviously) Lorenza. By contrast, self-inserts that definitely didn't derive from Aria include Adriana, Calanthe, Citri (since she kind of derived from Calanthe), Emily, Seralune, Alise, and Amber.

Hopefully this worked as a fact! Thank you very much once again for sending this, friend!~

[butterfluffy]

strawhats + d. mihawk with a healer!s/o

⠀⠀ੈ♡˳· what would it be like being a healer, and an s/o to these people?

⠀⠀➧ unlabeled | strawhats, d. mihawk (separate)  x gn!reader | multi-character headcanons

⠀⠀➧ warnings — idk, none, ig? mistakes may be present tho.. so do ignore them, thanks.

⠀⠀➧ requests are closed, sorryyyyy..!

⠀⠀꒰ 🍨 ꒱ notes: finally writing to clear out my inbox aAaaaAahhHhhHHHHh

req by @n0body-1mportant

MONKEY D. LUFFY

This trouble maker captain right here is always injured lol

So that said, you always go on healing your big, trouble maker baby

Wild card : Though he can take punches, kicks, and even stabs without screaming in pain—Luffy starts whining like a poor puppy everytime he comes to ask you to patch him up.

“Y/n...! Look, look, I'm heavily injured! I'm reaallyy hurt! Won't you heal me!? And, and! Won't you give me a kiss, too, for doing a great job in beating that bastard's ass!?”

RORONOA ZORO

Same as his captain, the first mate is always injured—due to fights, his harsh training, and other causes

..Despite always being injured, Zoro hates getting himself patched up. But if you're the one doing the healing so he could get better, it's all good for him!

Wild card : Zoro doesn't care if he's greatly bleeding out during a fight—but outside a fight, if he got the smallest cut, Zoro immediately dashes to you to get himself healed up..!

“Hey, so, I was peeling myself apples a while ago using that ero-cook's damned knife—now I got this cut. Heal it now, and eat these with me, yeah?”

NAMI

Nami very much hates getting herself injured, especially getting scars

So Nami is quick to rush to you to get her injury fixed

Wild card : this happens quite rarely, since as said above, she hates getting scars—but, nami sometimes get herself injured on 'places' to see you flushed when she asks you to heal it~

“Babyyy..! Look, look! Look at my perfectly beautiful legs here! They've got a scar! Their beauty has been tarnished, so, please.. Take care of them, yeah~?”

USOPP

Usopp avoids getting himself injured at all cost.

And when he does get injured, he screeches as he dash towards you with tears on his eyes, asking you to heal his injury ASAP.

Wild card : I have this headcanon for Usopp where he's a real clutz, so he always has an injury here and there, and wounds that he doesn't know where it came from.

“Y-Y/n..! W..When I woke up, I saw this new wound on my arm..! I..I don't know where it came from—it's probably from the spirits that I've angered, waaahh!!”

(it was caused by Luffy. He was dreaming that Usopp was a piece of meat, and bit him during their sleep. 💀)

VINSMOKE SANJI

As the left hand man of the ship's captain, Sanji is always out on a fight to support his captain, so injuries are unavoidable.

He's developed durability to the beating up he receives and shows it off his coolness to you, BUT AFTER THE FIGHT, he whines.

Wild card : This perv right here always has a nosebleed everytime you go patch up his beaten up ass, causing you more trouble.

“My loveee..! I'm injured, I'm badly hurt..! Everything's so painful, so please, heal me with your magic kiss—*you kiss him* *he nosebleeds*”

NICO ROBIN

Robin isn't a big fan of getting injuries during combat, or whenever.

Though despite being injured, she handles it like a Queen! (You don't.)

Wild card : As said above she handles her injuries like the Queen she is, BUT, you don't—you're more panicked when she's injured as she stays calm while telling you some morbid jokes.

“Darling.. Please calm down. I'm not going to die, you know? All I got is this small scratch the size of a severed finger, so, don't worry about me too much, okay?”

FRANKY

SUPEEEERRRRR Franky right here who's a barely gets himself injured.

↑ Why? Because, he's a cyborg, a cool one who will barely get a scratch..!

Wild card : ...When Franky does get injured for some reason being during a fight or where else, he starts crying like a small child to you as he asks you to heal him...!

“Waaahh! This damned injury hurts so bad..! It's SUPEEEERRRR painful, I'm gonna cry! Y/n, Y/n, quick, quickly, heal me and ease my pain..!!”

DRACULE MIHAWK

The greatest swordsman? Injured?? Pfft, not a chance.

Though when he's going against strong fellas, he gets some scratches here and there, which he deals with by himself—not wanting to bother you.

Wild card : Mihawk doesn't show it, but, he loves, and finds it cute when you insist on helping him with his injury that he already had managed, or can obviously handle fixing by himself.

“My dear... I already fixed my injury, so don't worry about it. But.. If you really insist on using your ability to speed up the healing process.. Alright. I'll let you.”

© butterfluffy 2023

⠀⠀ʚїɞ · likes, comments, reblogs, and/or feedbacks are highly appreciated!

[bittencandy]

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." 

[808len808]

Noted

!Leon S. Kennedy x Male Reader!

summery: You always flirt with Leon, getting him all worked up for nothing, so when Leon finally got the chance to get you back he took it immediately.

Authers note: I've officially read every single Leon x Male reader fic, so I decided to tribute too like the good samaritan I am.

!Warnings!: nsfw themes, amab terms used for both Leon and Reader, Hypothermia.

(Words: 6,070)

The rain poured down like a thousand waterfalls, fog filling the air as you tried to find your way through the old abandoned village, Leon leaning on you, his hand clamped to his side as the rain and his blood drenched your black shirt in a mean color. You had to find shelter, to tend Leon’s wounds, to warm up in the cold winter storm. You were lucky there wasn’t snow involved yet, lucky that the mission was a success and that you were safe, sort of. 

You looked beside you, Leon’s feet slumped on the ground his boots brown and covered in mud his socks were already soaked and probably very uncomfortable. You praised yourself for getting water-resistant boots before the mission. Leon held his wound covering it the best he could after you told him to keep pressure on it. His face contorted into a painful look his eyes closing every once and a while as he breathed out shacky breaths. 

“Just hold on a bit longer”, you whispered although it was barely audible above the pounding sound of the rain.

Leon had been your partner for over a year now, working together on missions nonstop. 

The first time he got to work with you on a mission he was flustered non-stop, trying to shrug off your comments, and flirtations because you did and said it to everyone…right?

Well technically true, but you did like Leon, maybe not that much at first, but he kind of grew on you, and so did his blush.

Besides the flirty comments from you, you guys were a pretty great team, greater them most, hence why you were sent on missions together so much.

This brings us to where you and he are today, on a mission to retrieve some stolen virus, you didn’t have much details, just what it looked like, and you were supposed to bring it back in one piece for research. You had worked for the D.S.O. long enough now that you knew not to ask too many questions. 

The mission was supposed to be short and easy, you did the first part without any setbacks and finally, you were happy to wrap this up and go back to your apartment and relax. Maybe go to the bar if you are in the mood, maybe invite Leon to the bar? yeah, why not? You had formed a plan in your head already, it wouldn’t be out of character for you to ask him, your flirtations were honestly just part of your and Leon’s routine by now.  But your whole plan was destroyed when a storm came up making it impossible for the chopper to even get close to you and Leon. You were stuck.

Your relationship with your work partner was honestly fun, you were always happy to work with Leon, not only was Leon brave and sweet (and can kick like a mf). He was also funny, and ever since you started working with Leon you actually started to enjoy your job. 

Leon joined your team very early on at the age of 24, making you a bit more protective of him sometimes. "He’s just a kid", you’d say to your superiors every time Leon got dispatched on another life-threatening mission even though you weren’t even 3 years older than him. 

It started off as just harmless comments about Leon’s looks or just cheesy one-liners, eventually, Leon even started to form a few of his oneliners making you grin every time because yes they were bad, so bad that it was funny. But the more you were around Leon the more you started to care about him, even when you didn’t want to admit it, even when you thought you weren’t capable of ever falling in love, even when you didn’t want to, you’ve fallen for the guy, literally and figuratively.

The sun that had previously been shining was completely gone, you squinted your eyes trying to figure your the environment. The village that once was beautiful and would be a beautiful one to live in was now cold and decayed. The old cabins were barely holding up, especially with this weather. The wood creaked threatening to fall apart, even with centuries on its back the storm seemed to penetrate. 

Suddenly you spotted a house in the distance. It was bigger, the roof painted with green tiles instead of the straw roofing of the rest of the houses. The house is made of brick instead of wood standing steady in the rain. 

Your eyes darted back to Leon who still had a look of pain on his face.  “You’re gonna be okay”, you reassured yourself more than Leon, you weren’t even sure if he could even hear you, you’d be surprised if he did. 

You quickly made your way over to the house. You opened the door in a swift motion, your footsteps hard on the wooden floor as the water fell down on the ground with every step you took. The door slammed closed immediately the strong wind pulling it back with a hard smack. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding once the dry atmosphere of the house surrounded you. It was almost as if you had put headphones on that damped the environment, inside the house it was quiet, with no sign of danger. It was dark inside, you struggled to see anything. Your body was working faster than your head. You turned a corner leading up to the stairs, Leon was groaning in your ear as you almost dragged him up the steps. A slim hallway led to one door upstairs, you grasped the walls trying to stabilize yourself as you held on to Leon. 

The room at the end of the hall was as you suspected a bedroom. The sheets were a nice green the same color as the roof, this house seemed clean and new like the people had just left a few days ago. The sheets seemed brand new the wooden bed frame carved. You sat Leon down on the bed gently laying him down, not caring that his blood stained the sheets. “You’re gonna be okay”, you reassured again to which Leon responded with a grunt. 

The side of his abdomen did not look good. You got a few test tubes filled with herbs out and lit a candle on the bedside table giving off just enough light to see Leon’s wound.

You went to work immediately giving Leon a few sorry’s as you slowly lifted up his shirt. He was apparently horrible at staying quiet because with everything you did, he groaned or let out whimpers even after you numbed the wound he just couldn’t keep quiet. It was certainly something you would have to remember in the future.

“There ya go, all better”, you said as you wrapped up the wound nice and clean. Proudly looking back at your work, you were certainly no medic but it was less worse than you expected mostly because it was a fairly small cut and not that deep. 

“Thanks, doc”, Leon joked back to which you gave a wink. “I’m going to double check the house,” you said already standing up to walk away, grabbing your flashlight and toying with it in your hand. “You’ll be all right here?” 

“Yeah I’m fine”, Leon responded his voice slightly hoarse. “You’re always fine”, you quipped back with a grin and quickly left the room, missing Leon’s eye roll.

You thoroughly checked the house and even booted up the windows that were threatening to break with the gushing wind. Going back upstairs you tried to contact Hunnigan again but there seemed to be no signal. 

Leon was sitting up on the bed his radio in his hands as well. “Got signal?” You leaned back against the wall observing as Leon fiddled with the buttons. “Nope,” he sighed. Upon looking down at your watch you were shocked to find out it was already around midnight. The storm had combined day and night in one big tornado. 

“It’s getting late,” You ran a hand through your hair as you spoke. “You should get some sleep, let your body heal.” You walked around to the large fireplace placed in front of the bed, shoving some wood in and catching Leon’s eyes as you glanced back. “What about you?” 

“Don’t worry about me, get your beauty sleep”, you replied with a cheeky grin as you got your lighter out. 

“We can take shifts-“

“Not necessary, just sleep Leon”, you shot a look back cutting Leon’s sentence off. Leon let out a small scoff. But the bed shifted, and the small clang of a radio being placed on the nightstand was heard. You smiled to yourself as you sat down knowing Leon wasn’t fighting back anymore, leaning against the bed frame as you sat on the wooden floor. The fire illuminated the room in a warm color but left the corners dark and unpredictable.

The fire crackled over the sound of the rain against the one window in the room as a loud thunder erupted from the clouds. The fire was hot against your skin even when you weren’t even sitting close to it, it left a tingling feeling on your cheek as you felt your damp hair already dry together with your clothes. 

It was only then that you realized you were still wearing your cold wet clothes. It stuck to your skin as you tried to remove your tactical harness clipping it and letting it sit by the fire, you took off your belt, shoes, and socks as well as your shirt.

Even when your pants felt like hell right now you didn’t want to take them off, not with Leon in the same room. So there you were laying your clothes by the fire leaving you in only your cargo pants. 

“What are you doing” a voice croaked from the bed making you chuckle, you didn’t bother to look back instead staring into the flames. “Drying my clothes”, you responded. “Are you naked right now?!” Leon’s voice was high pitched which made you laugh. 

“Yep, I’m totally naked, dick out and everything”. 

“Are you being serious right now?!” 

You looked over your shoulder and could barely see Leon his face flush and turned away from you. Leon took the silence as an answer. “You weren’t serious were you?”, Leon sighed.

“You can check”, you invited keeping a strict eye on Leon to see if he would actually turn around. And slowly but surely you saw Leon’s head move just to take a quick glance. He immediately retracted his steps once he was watching. “You pervert!” You dramatically said taking a fake look of disbelief on your face. 

Leon covered his face with his hands hiding away from you. “How dare you!”, you placed your hand on your chest acting like you were deeply disturbed.

“You’re the one undressing next to me!” Leon said anxiously making you erupt out in laughter which he automatically mirrored.

“Go to sleep!” you laughed back. 

That night you didn’t sleep not that it mattered anyway because it seemed you and Leon were stuck. That’s right, you had watched the entire night with an aw-struck face as you watched the snow fall down. The ground was already covered with multiple inches of perfect white snow when morning came. And still, the storm went on and rain and snow came together with mud making the beautiful clear ice turn a dirty brown. 

By the time Leon woke up you had already gotten to explore the whole house finding enough food to last for at least a week, and by the looks of it, you would be stuck here for a while.

Leon and you kept tight in the bedroom since the fire was the only thing keeping you warm right now. You and Leon sat by the fireplace as you handed him some random can of soup you found and warmed up above the fireplace while holding one for yourself as well. 

“How long do you think we’re stuck here?”

You shrugged looking outside the window again the blizzard had covered the houses making the scenery seem nicer somehow. Specs of snow and ice slashed across the sky riding the heavy wind.

“For however long that storm is”, you lifted the spoon to your mouth softly blowing it before letting it touch your lips.

“And then just hope that we can get some sort of signal.” You sighed as you spoke the situation was really not looking good.

“We’ll figure something out”, Leon replied back hopeful making you smile. He was always more optimistic kind of funny how he can still be even now.

You sat in silence, sipping your soup while the fire brought warmth to both of you, sitting on the ground in front of the fireplace. It kind of reminded you of Christmas as a kid you’d sit in front of the fireplace waiting for Santa and playing in the snow outside later. 

Your eyes trailed back to Leon who was looking out the window, lost in thought as well. You decided it was time to strike up some conversation again before the silence became too much.

“How’s your wound?”

Leon’s head turned back to you and down to his side as if he initially didn’t know what you were talking about. “Yeah it’s fine”, Leon nodded as he spoke. “At least not infected so that’s good” he spoke with slight cheerfulness in his tone his hair moving with his head as he spoke. 

“You got lucky,” you grinned. “My very professional medical skills saved you.”, you said proudly. 

“Ah, yes, of course, where would I be without you?” Leon questioned back raising an eyebrow. “Probably Dead. So you should thank me honestly for saving you” You took another spoon of soup holding eye contact with Leon as you did. “Oh how will I ever repay you my brave hero”, he said putting his hand on his forehead as he dramatically spoke.

“Oh I certainly have some ideas”, you mumbled to yourself stirring your soup. Leon became quiet and you could quite literally see the redness slowly creeping on his face. 

After the wonderful breakfast soup, you and Leon decided to talk about a plan.

“I want to go outside and see if we can find any help” Leon announced putting down his knife on the downstairs table. 

You raised an eyebrow “You can’t be serious, do you see that blizzard?”

"Yeah well I want to check it out, maybe it’s not that bad, and maybe I can get a signal or something.”, Leon replied back sternly looking directly into your eyes with his blue orbs. 

“There’s no point, Leon, it’s best to just wait it out.”, you argued back, and your argument was true but to be honest you just didn’t want Leon to get hurt. 

“But what if they already sent help and they’re already here,” Leon placed his hands on the table leaning slightly as he looked up at you.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, sighing, already tired of Leon’s stubbornness. “You’re still injured,” you pointed down to his side. 

“It’s nothing, why won’t you just let me go?”, Leon was slightly raising his voice. You leaned back against the kitchen wall your eyes piercing Leon’s in a silent battle of who would look away first. “You could get hypothermia.” Leon just scoffed at that, leaning back as well, standing up straight as if to look more intimidating which he definitely didn’t, well maybe if you were shorter but you’re taller than him so it just looked kind of silly. (I can’t take short people seriously) 

“I’ll be back in less than an hour I promise,” You opened your mouth to speak but he interrupted you again holding up a hand to silence you. “And-, and I won’t go too far.”, he put on his puppy eyes which made you break away. 

“Fine,” you gritted through your teeth, ignoring how Leon smiled as he won the argument. “But if you die on me I’m gonna be real mad.”

“Yeah, yeah” Leon nodded putting on his jacket and backpack as well as all his tackle gear. “Be careful.” Leon gave you a firm nod before closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

The house felt even more quiet now. 

After an hour passed you started to get nervous he was supposed to be back already. It was stupid how much you were stressing out, walking circles in the bedroom profusely looking outside the window for any sign of Leon in the blizzard. You kept checking your watch over and over. When two hours had passed you started to freak out, contemplating if you should go out in the snow to try and find it.

Just as you were going downstairs to get your equipment and go after Leon the door opened.  Leon was standing in the doorway cold wind grasped your hair to stand up in your skin. Leon was absolutely trembling, not looking at you. 

“Jezus Leon”, you quickly ran over swiftly closing the door and looking at Leon to check for injuries. “Are you okay? You had me worried”, you patted down his arms checking to see if he was fine, he was he just seemed very cold, shivering. “Help” he breathed out, you quickly realized what was going on, you had even warned him about it. “Shit.” You quickly picked him up into your arm heading upstairs in a record of time, the fire was still going. “How bad is it?” You asked sitting Leon down on the bed and taking off his soaked coat that was covered in snow and ice by now. 

“I don’t know, one moment I was fine, and then suddenly-“ Leon groaned as your warm fingers touched his now naked arm. “Sorry,” you mumbled back. You got down on one knee and roughly got off Leon’s boots and set them aside. His socks were absolutely soaked you were impressed that he still had all his toes. “Can you move?” You stood up straight noticing how Leon was already staring at you when you made eye contact. Leon gave you a small nod. “It just hurts when I do.”

You held out your arm, signaling for Leon to balance himself with it if needed. “Stand up.” Leon leaned on you as you helped him get up. Your hands went down trying not to think of what you were doing, you were trained for this, it was protocol. But still, you couldn’t help but look away as you fiddled with the button of Leon’s pants, and then the zipper. You were trying to act as nonchalant as possible keeping up a stern face when in reality you were getting sweaty.

“You’re real stupid you know that?”, you asked going down in a swift motion to peel Leon’s wet cargo pants off. “I told you this would happen,” you continued guiding Leon to sit back down again so that you could remove his pants completely. “But you just had to check,” your eyes met his again he was blushing profusely hugging himself with his shivering arms.

“Lay down,” it was more of a command now because you were getting pissed off. Leon obediently did as you said laying down on the bed leaving enough room for you. After wrapping Leon under the warm covers and getting every blanket you could find you finally scooted up behind him trying to warm him as your clothes chest pressed against his exposed back. You couldn’t see Leon’s face but you already knew what he was looking like. You wrapped your arms around him, just like you learned in training, well maybe not totally but hey, this was life or death, right?

“Well?” 

“What?”, Leon questioned back confused as you kept spooning him. 

“Was it worth it? Did you find anything? Anyone?”

He stayed quiet for a while before finally responding. “No”

You scoffed and Leon could feel your hot breath on his neck as you did. “Then what was even the point”, you said disappointed.

Leon was getting fed up al this backlash from you only made him in an even worse mood, even when he was flustered with your arms around him he still found a way to be annoyed, or rather you found a way to be annoying. “You just got hurt for nothing”

Finally, Leon snapped he turned around. “Why do you care?!” His face was almost fuming but his eyebrows were scrunched up in confusion. You suddenly felt bad, and mostly embarrassed by the fact that his face was mere inches away from you. “Because-“ You couldn’t find the right reason even when there were a thousand you just couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

And the way Leon was looking at you right now definitely didn’t help, it stayed quiet Leon keeping strict eye contact with you while you kept finding other places to look at. apparently, Leon wasn’t faced at all by the fact you were so close and by the fact that you could just lean in and-

You noticed a change in Leon’s face his eyes averted down to your lips, and your heart raced in your chest. “I think we both know why”, you whispered making Leon look back into your eyes again while a faint blush painted his cheeks. He leaned in and immediately you did too, meeting him halfway into a heated kiss, even when his lips were cold you brought him all the warmth he needed.

You kept your lips connected with Leon as you propped yourself up on one elbow your head hovering over Leon as you penetrated Leon’s mouth, your hot tongue warming the inside of Leon’s mouth pulling out soft noises from Leon that went straight to your dick.

You tried to pull away to catch your breath or say something but Leon’s lips were on you before you could even process what was happening both his hands in your messy hair. You groaned as Leon pushed you as close as he could his body bare body pressed against yours under the sheets.

You pulled away again this time going straight for Leon’s neck, Leon’s head fell back into the pillow, and finally, you could hear all the noises he was making in his small pants and that soft whimper when you sucked too hard on his sensitive skin. 

It felt like a dream, because you had dreamt about it very many times maybe that’s why your brain had trouble processing the situation. 

“Fuck,” you groaned, “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time”

“Oh yeah how long?”, Leon breathed back, you looked back up, one of your legs between Leon’s legs, your senses were heightened as your lips trailed further down leaving wet open kisses on Leon’s now warm skin, keeping eye contact with the younger man. “You don’t want to know,” you replied with a grumble as you sat up on your knees your eyes averting to admire the view in front of you.

Leon’s muscles tensed his face red his semi-hard erection pulsing through his boxers. “How far do you want to take this?” You asked your knees between Leon’s legs. 

Leon rested his body on his elbows the bed shifting in weight as he did. “I want to take this however far it can go”

You grinned leaning back down to meet Leon’s lips again making Leon tilt his head further back to deepen the kiss. Your hand traveled down Leon’s abs going over his abdomen and touching every bit of skin that you could get your grubby hands on. You toyed a bit with the edge of Leon’s waistband just to test Leon’s patience for a bit. “Please-” and there you had your answer so you complied your hand slid under the fabric making a whine escape from Leon’s mouth.

You started panting yourself your heart beating loudly in your chest as your head dipped down to Leon’s collarbone nipping at the skin there as your hand started stroking his length. Leon closed his eyes his hot breath on your neck. Everything turned out hot and sweaty, you didn’t know how it was possible in this condition but it did.

“Ah, shit” Leon’s voice was raspy and much higher than normal his face had a pathetic look on it like he was just asking to be fucked with his eyes, which he probably did on purpose. You kept a firm rith knowing better than to rush yourself. 

The fire made small cozy noises in the background, and all of a sudden you were happy to be stranded with Leon because now no one could interrupt you, nobody could come and ruin your fun.

You smirked at the thought. “Fuck, please!” Leon mewled out.

“What is it, baby? What do you want?” You again leaned backward admiring Leon’s erotic expression, his lips slightly parted, he wasn’t looking at you almost as if he was ashamed. “Use your words come on Leon”, you grinned as your hand sped up making Leon sputter our more choked moans. 

“You’re usually so talkative..” you teased leaning closer to his face. “Spit it out baby” As much as you encouraged Leon still seemed like he wasn’t obliging. You raised an eyebrow as Leon stayed quiet. So you decided to take matters into your own hands or rather out of your hand. 

You redirected your hand out Leon’s underwear finally grabbing Leon’s attention.

“No, no wait” Leon tried to get your hand back, reaching out for your wrist but you dodged his grabs and clicked your tongue in disapproval. You sat back with a slight smirk sitting on the bed your eyes piercing through Leon as he hesitantly looked at you. “Please-“ “What?” Again you raised an eyebrow seating your hands behind you on the bed. “You’ll have to tell me if you want me to continue” Leon looked at you stubbornly his eyes following the messy sheets of the bed before they met yours again. His dignity was fading by the second and Leon couldn’t figure out whether he liked it or not.

Leon’s puppy eyes met yours as he sat in shame “Touch me,” he mumbled out your lips perked up. You could press him on for more but you felt satisfied with the small response Leon had given you. “Good boy”, you praised signing him over to you as you patted the space between your legs. “C’mere,” Leon happily obliged, he sat down his back pressed against your chest as your hands immediately went down his body again.

Your chin rested on his shoulder watching everything you were doing to that poor boy. “That wasn’t so hard now was it?”, Leon shook his head biting his lips as your hands caressed down again. “Words Leon,” you said gripping his shaft. “Ah! Yes, it-“Leon let out another choked moan his head falling back onto your shoulder his hair tickling the side of your face. 

Leon was trembling in your grip his legs shaking as you embraced him, your free hand found one of Leon’s tits squeezing the muscle, massaging slowly as your fingers crept closer to his sensitive nubs, your rough fingers teasingly rubbing circles around the red ring making Leon’s heart pound loudly. 

The house creaked slightly the stone walls keeping you safe from the cold and whatever the fuck else was out there. 

“Fuck-, please fuck me”, Leon said his words reaching your ears but going straight down. You wanted to fuck his tight little asshole so fucking bad, to make Leon feel you for at least a few days, to truly penetrate him. But atlas you were hesitant, you knew Leon had experience so did you, but maybe this was just not the right setting, you were still in a workspace, and above all that Leon had just recovered from hypothermia. 

“Lee, I’m not sure”, You said your mouth stuck to his neck like glue. “We don’t got any lube or anything, I don’t wanna hurt you,” you replied genuinely concerned. “I don't care just- please,” the corner of his eyes caught yours in an utter most desperate look. And how could you say no to that?

“So stubborn”, you mumbled with amusement. You let out a small sigh your hand slowing down and reaching up. You kissed Leon’s cheek and Leon turned his head back slightly so you could properly kiss him.  “Okay, we’ll start slow yeah? See where it goes”, you said making sure Leon heard every word. Leon nodded and you looked at him for a second waiting for him to catch on. “Right, yeah, words”, Leon nodded his head hanging. “yeah, no that sounds good” he answered with a boyish smile.

“Great, now open up.” Leon was opening his mouth to protest but before he could get a word out of his throat you shoved your middle finger and pointer in his mouth without any warning, well technically you did give him a warning.

Leon moaned around your fingers his eyes closing as his tongue swirled around your fingers, his mouth adjusting to the taste and shape. You looked at him with a face of pride as you let him suck off your fingers. Once you got bored with it and the top of your fingers were starting to form water wrinkles, you removed your fingers releasing with a small plop a string of saliva that connected your skin to Leon’s lips before you broke it and moved them down. 

You went with patients at least you tried to, it was hard when there was a get moaning and whimpering in your ear with every move you made. One finger slid in easily, Leon tensed and shook everyone and a while shivers rolled up his spine as your finger moved to stretch him out. “Relax” you mumbled soothingly in Leon’s ear. Leon was already panting his chest standing proud as he arched his back into your touch. “I’m trying” You believed him on that front. “I got you all right? So just…relax”

Leon’s head nodded as he agreed in a slur of yes and apologies to which you chuckled. Leon wasn’t used to this, it was slow and passionate, you were actually caring for him caring for his pleasure not just toying with him for your own gain. 

With two fingers you got Leon squirming on top of them he was getting impatient and you could tell he wanted more. “Please-, I’m ready”, he complained, you slowly removed your fingers your lips sucking on the skin below Leon’s ear. “I don’t know”, you started trying to think this through, maybe this wasn’t the best idea, fucking your co-worker on a mission. You started to doubt this whole hookup in a whole. “Maybe it’s best if we just stop here, no hard feelings-“ Leon shook his head almost violently. “No”, 

Leon turned around sitting on his knees across from you on the bed. You looked at him questioning. His hair was messy his lips swollen with many marks on his neck that would soon become bruises. “No?” You returned Leon’s words tilting your head.

“We’re still on a mission Leon”, you reminded him to which he rolled his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said under his breath. “You’re only thinking about that now?” 

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small smile. Again Leon scoffed. He looked straight into your eyes as he moved closer. “You’ve been flirting with me since the moment we met” Leon crawled closer his hand beside your hip on the bed his face dangerously close to yours. “I know you like me” Leon continued full confidence. You gulped as you leaned back trying to create some space between the two of you. 

Leon ignored it, his hands going down to unbuckle your belt while you sat there totally in shock at Leon’s attitude.

“Leon I don’t-“ 

“Oh come all that big dick talk has to come from somewhere right?” With that sentence all your thoughts and doubts were thrown out the window you tried to fight it but Leon was quick to go down and shut you up, grabbing your length and pulling it out of its restraints. “Ah- shit-”

His next few moves were quick time blurted together in pleasure his hole aligned with your dick his hand at the base of your cock guiding you while your eyes followed his every move. Slowly Leon lowered down sinking on you as his thighs straddled your lap. Leon’s eyes rolled back his face going from concentration to pure pleasure in a blink of an eye. 

All you could do was dig your nails deep into the flesh of Leon’s ass as your mind became fogged with a big cloud of pure erotic pleasure. “Ah- fuck baby slow down”, you pleaded with grasps feeling how Leon’s walls hugged you tight squeezing you. “Shit!” Leon moaned as he finally bottomed out his head falling on your shoulder. “Fuck” He let out a small choked sob. His hips slowly roll down on you making you groan. 

His dick was squeezed between your body his angry red tip leaking into your skin, rubbing against the fabric of your shirt with Leon’s movements. 

Leon’s pace was sloppy his face concentrated, trying his best it was adorable honestly, but just not pleasurable enough for you. You decided to just take a tiny bit of control, beginning to guide Leon’s hips at a much steadier and faster pace. “Ah- fuck!” Leon’s head fell back his eyes going up in ecstasy as you fucked him back making sure to delicately grasp his sweet spot with every thrust. 

You could tell Leon was trying hard not to cum, his hands anchored on your shoulders sweat dripping down his hairline. His whimpers became more apparent the longer you went on. 

“You wanted this didn’t you?” You panted. Leon’s mouth was agape as he closed his eyes. “Mhm mhm” he nodded frantically. “Wanted me to fuck you like this” you continued beneath your breath. Leon let out a loud moan as you started to rut against his sweet spot, drool was at the corners of his mouth soft sobs leaving his mouth. “shit-shit-shit!” Leon panted his words slurring. “I’m coming- ah- shit coming!” Leon mumbled incoherent things as webs of white landed on both your abdomen, and your movements became frantic trying to race to your own release desperately. 

Leon’s forehead landed on your sweaty shoulder his hot breath on your chest as you finally released inside him. Holding his hips as you slammed your chock deep into Leon not caring that Leon was practically crying on your shoulder as you did. He let out high mewls as your movements slowly came to a hold. 

The both of you sat there in silence panting as you came down from your high. You wrapped your arms around him. “You okay?” You asked genuinely worried that you may have gone too far. Leon let out a small huff of a laugh which made you instantly feel better realizing you hadn’t totally ruined the relationship you had with him. “Yeah…that was amazing” 

You smiled at that sighing with relief. “Oh thank god”, your thumb rubbed small circles on Leon’s back. Leon let out a small giggle. 

After another while of silence and your dick becoming uncomfortable in the wetness of your own cum, you pulled out making Leon whence. You muttered a small apology just as you had done when you treated his injury a day ago. How times change huh?

You gave Leon a kiss on the cheek, you found some towels after rummaging the house, you cleaned off Leon and after that yourself. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t give you proper aftercare, you definitely deserve it after that”, you grinned covering the both of you under the blanket spooning him once again. “It’s okay, you can make it up to me when we get home” 

“Is that so?” You playfully squeezed him. To which he giggled cutely.

“I didn’t hurt you too much did I?” You asked your worries over taking you once again. “Not really and besides I like a bit of pain.” 

“Noted” 

[milksnake-tea]

For the event, Nanook with Augst 8 but instead reader is the one got hurt

❀ ˎˊ- prompts: They come home beaten, bloody, and bruised. ❀ ˎˊ- 1k followers event ❀ ˎˊ- character: nanook ❀ ˎˊ- warnings: implications of physical violence, mentions of bruises and blood, nanook is scary ❀ ˎˊ- a/n: im scared of nanook but also incredibly attracted to them ALSO WHAT IS IT WITH YALL AND ASKING TO GET BEAT UP /LHJ but ykw i know u asked for angst but i kinda made it fluffy imsorry. not really satisified w how this ended but i think its okay

Honestly, whoever did this to you was an idiot.

It was one thing to antagonize the lover of the Destruction. It was another to physically hurt them.

So either your assaulter had a death wish, or a severe deficit in braincells. Although, you weren't too keen on the idea of just running to your lover - knowing them, Nanook would break all of hell loose, giving them a fate worse than death itself.

You sighed to yourself as you rubbed at your cheek, which had already begun to bruise. Thankfully, you weren't hurt too bad, so you could probably just brush it off with a few bandages and ointment. All you had to do was to hope that Nanook wasn't home today.

But of course, fate wasn't on your side.

The second you opened the door to your shared room with the Aeon, what greeted you was a sight of Nanook in their mortal form, lounging on the bed. They weren't doing anything in particular, simply staring up off into space as golden specks flickered around them like fireflies.

Their eyes flicked to you the moment you walked through the doorway. Slowly, their gaze roamed your body, zeroing in on your injuries - evidence of a fight.

Their expression barely changed, save for the slightest narrowing of their eyes. But the atmosphere immediately dampened, as though a black hole had came and sucked all of the air out of the room. The pressure dropped so quickly that your ears popped, and you winced.

Noticing your discomfort, Nanook immediately snapped out of their momentary rage, and the air went back to normal - only slightly, though.

Wordlessly, they beckoned you towards them with a finger, their right arm open for you. Cautiously, you sat down on the bed, allowing Nanook to wrap their arm around you and pull you close.

They studied your bruise carefully, running their finger across it. Swiping their thumb against it, a bit of their power seeped into you, instantly mending your wound.

"Healed by the Destruction," you couldn't help but muse, leaning your head against their broad shoulder. "How ironic. Aren't all Aeons bound their Paths?"

Nanook only hummed, a deep rumbling in their chest. "I've strayed from my Path twice before. The first was when I fell for you. The second is now. Clearly, the laws of the universe are not as rigid as you make them out to be."

"I guess," you shrugged, closing your eyes. Nanook doesn't breathe, nor do they have a heartbeat, but they are warm. Warmer than a human, more like a flame, if anything. "You're not going to ask who did it?"

"I already know," they merely replied. You couldn't help but feel as though their gaze was quite literally burning into your skin as they stared down at you. "I will take care of them, do not worry."

"Don't overdo it," you sighed, shifting into a comfortable position. "The last time you went after someone who hurt me, you destroyed an entire planet."

"I was killing two birds with one stone," they explained matter-of-factly. You laughed, squinting your eyes at them.

"Mmm, I suppose you were," you admitted. Nanook only smiled briefly before poking your nose.

"You should get go wash up," they advised. "You're filthy."

"Gee, thanks," you scoffed, but stood up regardless. You stretched for a bit, rolling out your shoulders before kissing Nanook on the cheek, and then you were off to the bathroom.

But as you closed shower door, and the Aeon heard water running, Nanook's gaze darkened. They dissipated into golden sparks, the only thing that hinted at their existence being a divot in the bed where they had once laid.

That night, as you peacefully rested, unaware of what was happening, your attacker awoke to flames - dark, dark flames devouring their home world as the Destruction watched from afar, the burning planet resting in their dark hand.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[wind-up-thancred]

bit of thancred character musing under the cut that im gonna try to approximate from a 6am discord rambling into something i can actually post. both SHB and EW spoilers included

i saw some folks talking on twt about how guilt seems to be a very important factor in his life and i agree. i think a lot of major parts of his character and arcs have been due to guilt over something he did (or didnt even really do, re: the whole goobue rampage situation). it's driven him to work his ass off after louisoix which lead to him getting possessed... but its probably also what motivated him to do better for ryne after being forced to look his fuckups directly in the eye instead of just wallowing about them. but i think, at the same time, he doesnt really seem to, like... actually be proud of himself for a lot of the stuff he's done in order to work off that guilt? the biggest giveaway for that being the line in endwalker on the ragnarok where he talks about his "good deeds" cynically and seems to insist that they were never really that impactful in the first place. that they'll just go to dust when he dies.

in shb, during the ahm areng segment, not only does he talk down on himself in general, but also puts down his attempts to help OG minfilia back in the pre-ARR days... when i'm pretty sure she never even blamed him for the goobue rampage in the first place.

it's all a little bit sad to me, tbh. i've seen some people reason that, because he was only able to escape poverty due to louisoix seeing potential in his thieving skills, he's essentially internalized the idea that he's only really worth keeping around by ANYONE if he's actively being productive, either helping others or trying to fix whatever fuckups he feels he's made. i think that would explain a lot of this

note the "few positive traits" line, which to me comes across as "i was only picked up out of childhood poverty because he thought my skills were useful." though i don't really know how much of that mentality he's managed to work past by post endwalker. he IS able to go off on his own, and mentions that he trusts the scions to keep themselves safe now... but as i ranted about before, the short story points out that he's only really content to rest briefly before he feels obligated again to seek out unrest to try and help, specifically mentioning minfilia again. also, a couple times during the story, notably post ARR after his possession, mid SHB after he's wounded in a fight with sineaters, and post SHB after he passes out due to the weakening soul-body bond, he seems to dislike even having to rest for medical reasons

it's a pretty interesting part of his character to me. idk if the writers specifically had his rigorous upbringing in mind when they wrote these parts of his character, but to me it would make a lot of sense as an explanation for why he's so averse to rest and why he carries so much guilt and why he's so passionate about keeping the folks around him safe. that's kinda been his whole reason for life since he was a kid-- using his skills for the benefit of others. to him, doing anything other than that would be a waste, it seems.

idk. funny guy makes my heart hurt. yes i had all these dialogue screencaps saved and on hand. yes i am a little insane. what of it

[softxsuki]

Urgent req!

I've been breaking down lately because of the urge to cvt myself . Those breakdowns usually end up with me hitting and punching myself or my walls. I've been clean for idk how long yet but was wondering if you could do a fic with Mikey and Drake related to it. Thanks !

Love your gifs btw:))

Mikey and Draken (Separate) Comfort Reader Who Has A Breakdown

Pairings: Mikey x Gn!Reader, Draken x Gn!Reader

Warnings: mentions of self harm, bloody knuckles, punching walls, punching yourself

Genre: Comfort

Post-Type: Headcanons

Word Count: 480

Summary: In which Mikey and Draken comfort you after seeing you breakdown

[A/N: Sorry for writing this so late, October was such a busy month for me. The Holiday season is so hectic BJFEA. I'm also struggling with writers block which is probably evident in my writing, but if you're still around, I hope this helps a bit :)]

Mikey:

Mikey knows first hand what it feels like to be in a bad place mentally

After all he’s lost so many precious people in his life, leaving him feeling empty

Until he met you, you were his second chance at life, and he really would do anything to keep you safe

He knows about your history with self harm and was very worried at first, scared that you’d do it again and leave him just like everyone else

But he saw how well you were doing and was proud of how far you’d come being clean

Though when you fall into those urges again, leading you to breakdown, he’s by your side

Bloody knuckles and bruises on your own body have him beyond scared, but he tries to stay calm to be he there for you

“Hit me instead if you feel that way, please. I don’t want to see you hurt, especially about something that I have no control over. Just take it out on me, I can handle it”

He’s desperate to take the inner turmoil away from you, he’d face it all if it meant you could feel better

Becomes extra clingy in the next few days until those urges cease, but just let him do his thing, he’s worried he’ll lose you, Mikey will be back to normal eventually 

Everything he does, despite how suffocating it may feel at first, comes from a place of love and care for you, he’d do anything, and I mean anything to help you feel better, just tell him how he can help

Draken:

Draken catches you mid-wall punch and grabs your wrist to stop you from hitting the wall any longer, a pained expression on his face at the state of your knuckles

��That’s not how we deal with things,” He says stoically, millions of thoughts going through his mind, picking through what would be the best thing to say to you now

When it comes to you, he’s hesitant with his words even though he’s usually great with his advice, he’s scared he’ll say the wrong thing when it comes to you so he doesn’t verbally express himself often

Instead he sticks to silently wrapping up your wounds, eyebrows furrowed in concentration–he’s not mad at you, just concerned and wondering how he can help

He knows about your past and considering your actions, he assumes you’re probably struggling again, so he just hugs you

“Don’t struggle alone, come to me first before acting on your own like this, please”

He keeps an eye on you and tries to bring you around with him whenever he has to go out, in an attempt to distract you until he can help you get rid of those urges

Draken manages to stay calm and collected though which is very helpful, so I’m sure you’d feel comfortable coming to him about anything after that

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :)

Posted: 11/5/2023

[yourlocalcorviddad]

Saw a post about Danny calling Dani his little Comet, this one, and then I had an idea to and mix it with a favourite Hozier song, Work Song. Feel free to add or whatever if it strikes you!

-

"Ah, shh, shh little Comet, it's ok, I've got you."

The attempt at keeping his voice steady didn't really work, but he was sure he was keeping a good hold on his emotions at least, since Ellie was calming down in his hold. It didn't mean he wasn't panicking inside at the situation but he was managing. He only had to make it a few more weeks before the others could come, then everything would be safe.

He got her settled in his bed, sleeping and calm now. He had a crib for her, and Jordan too eventually, but he couldn't really stand the thought of them to far. So bed it was.

Both clone and future self had been deaged due to the damage taken, done at Frostbite's direction to heal and better stabilise both. Jordan's injuries had come in defence of both him and Ellie, and, like a weird mirror, Ellie's from defending him and the injured Jordan when he was to weakened from injuries to fight. Ellie had just been deaged from it Dan, who he decided was going to be called Jordan too give himself some separateness, was reverted to his core. In an effort to protect and give him time to heal, he has him inside himself, next to his own core. He'd been warned it meant that Dan would likely take on more of being like his child than his future self, but he just wanted him alive, not like he didn't have the risk of it anyway, at least this time it was under his control.

There was no hope of returning to his dimension, it had been clear at that point, but they had been trying to free all the ghosts they could and get all liminal people and their family rounded up to safety before the GIW got to them. Danny, as the heir prince-until he was of age for the throne at 100-was sent ahead to bridge trust with another dimension, this one in fact, to see it they could bring their people, his people, there.

Clockwork and the Ancients and Observants worked with his parents and the others from town, and other liminality touched people, to get everyone into the ghost zone, which he had leaned also got called the Infinite Realms, safely and cut off that dimension from it.

Apparently that's what most magical creatures had done to that one anyway, long ago. He'd even met the descendents of the witches that had been hunted by, and thus placed the curse on, his family back when Amity was a village.

They'd lifted the, severely weakened by then but still present, curse after apologies were made and explanations done. It was a relief, even though it is likely what had even held him tethered to life enough to become a halfa at all, but he felt more at ease now without it.

All in all, it led him to where he was now though. A new world, a new set of rules, similar but still so different, and two kids that were essentially his.

The sudden crash outside his window on the alley side had him rushing over, ready to defend as best he could, still healing from the injuries in the last fight with the GIW, in case it was a villain attacking.

Only to pause at the sight of the, now likely unconscious, blue and black clad vigilante in the dumpster below.

"Fuck... Well can't leave him, who knows who'd find him there."

It took a bit of work, and mild use of his weak but still present powers, but he got him up stairs and into his apartment onto the, comfortable if he said so himself, couch.

Once there, he checked him over for injuries, careful not to take the domino off and keeping him as clothed as possible, but tending to his wounds as best possible. Doing so, he realised the other was probably only about 20-21, close to his age at least. It made him wonder how long the other had been a hero, and made a thought to ask later.

For now he settled in to make some food -that hopefully wouldn't accidentally come alive again-and keep an eye on his daughter and the hero.

[c-h-i-m-es]

gojo satoru

in honor of my man getting sealed but looking pretty the whole time and chapter 236

"i can't come tonight." you speak into your phone to geto suguru, one of your friends from college. "i heard you the first time. i asked you why." something about his tone tells you that he isn't gonna believe whatever you're gonna say next. "my car.. is in the workshop. i left it there this morning for servicing and i was too tired to go get it in the evening. so i have no vehicle."

you hear him laugh, you hope he believes you by some miracle, "sweetheart that's one of the dumbest excuse i've hear come out of your mouth." you bite your lower lip, thinking of what to say next, but he continues, "but even if that is true, don't worry i can come pick you up."

"suguru even if the car part is not true, i really am tired and don't wanna get ready right now." it is almost seven, not so late for a party, but still late for you, who got home less than hour ago.

"woah what happened to the girl that was always down for drinks?" he chuckles lowly and you do too after hearing him, "i'm not nineteen anymore suguru."

"you know what i'm gonna have shoko drag you there. so i'll see you in a bit." you almost think he's joking, but you know he's not when you hear him speak again, "if you're thinking i'm joking, i'm not baby."

you groan, "jeez you're so damn stubborn. don't bother shoko, i'll surprise her myself there. and come pick me up in an hour." he lets out an amused chuckle, "of course y/n, i'll be there in a bit."

you hang up the call then get up from the couch, putting your phone on charge, you quickly start getting ready.

an hour and twenty minutes later, you are with geto suguru, at his best friend's birthday party. you look at him besides you, "i don't really feel so good about this."

he laughs, finding you actually coming to gojo's party really amusing, "oh baby, i do though. i can't wait to see the look on his face when he sees you."

you grab his arm before he takes another step, "what the fuck? he doesn't know i'm gonna be here?" he looks at you with that fake innocent smile on his face, "didn't i tell you?" you scoff, knitting your brows together at him while he just smiles, not looking away from you, "i don't understand why you're so tempted to ignore him. but you know that he would love to see you again."

"you know damn well i was avoiding him suguru." you sigh and feel him put his arms around you, "you worry too much y/n. come on, if it feels too much, i'll take you back home, yeah?"

you smile at him, nodding your head as he takes your hand, guiding you through the crowd and to the bar, where shoko would always be. "guess who i have with me tonight?"

without looking at him, she replies, "probably one of your girls." ;)

"you wound me, babe." she turns her body back as soon as she hears your voice, face full of shock, "y/n? oh my god how did he bring you?" geto lets out a scoff, "why wouldn't she come with me?" but ignoring him, she comes and gives you a tight hug.

"gosh i missed you so much." she mumbles, not letting you go. you feel nice knowing that you still have your friends who actually care for you. "yeah? i missed you too baby."

geto lets you two have your moment while he orders a drink for himself and you. shoko lets go of you, making you seat in on of the high stools besides geto and sits next to you.

geto puts your drink in front of you, "drink up y/n, you finally are out with us again after forever." you chuckle at his words and thank him. "girl you really need to get out of your house more. everyone misses you." you take a sip of your drink knowing that gojo also comes under her everyone.

she chuckles seeing the look on your face, "you need to stop feeling bad about that one time babe. i shouldn't say this but she wasn't even important to him. and you know it."

"right! that's what's i've been trying to tell her but this dummy doesn't believe me." you let out a sigh, your mind going back to that one random night.

before you reply, shoko nudges you, "he's coming here babe." you snap your head at her direction, hoping she'll get you away but she doesn't and just chuckles at you.

"when did you people get here?" you hear his voice and pray he goes away without paying any attention to you. "just got here, but hey i got you a present. look who i have with me." geto speaks and the next thing you know, he has his arms around your shoulders, making you turn back and face him.

"uh- hi?" you say when you finally face him, him looking at you as if he doesn't believe that you're actually in front of you, which he actually doesn't. he has a shocked look on his face for a few seconds, you hear geto and shoko chuckle and gojo's face bursts into a huge grin.

"woah y/n! i didn't think you'd be here!" he pushes geto from your side and wraps his arms around you. geto and shoko look at you two in front them and then at each other, chuckling and looking away, leaving you two be. "i knew they'd be like this." geto says to his friend as they get into their own talks.

it takes you awhile but you do wrap your arms around him as you take his scent in. oh how much you missed it. he rubs his palms on your back, "i missed you."

"..me too." you pull a little away from him, just enough to look up at him, who looks down at you after feeling you move and smiles at you, "you look as beautiful as the last time i saw you."

you chuckle at his words, "oh yeah? well you look as dashing as always as well, satoru." his heart flutters hearing his own name come out of your lips after years.

he finally lets you go and you both take a seat besides each other. he orders a drink for both of you then turns his body fully at you, eyes lighting up after seeing what you're wearing.

"would you look at that, we're matching." you look down at your own outfit, you are wearing a little above knee length bodycon dress which had black base but had some navy blue details, which weren't visible until light shined on them. (i hope you get it) and then look at him, wearing a navy blue shirt, top few buttons undone with some black bottoms. (yk like that one popular fanart, if you search for his fan art you can find it easily)

"you know, maybe we're just destined to be." you laugh at his words, "this is just called coincident." you look at him, his usual grin on his face.

"i believe whatever i wanna believe, baby." he winks at you with a smirk while you just roll your eyes at him. "anyways.. what came over you to stop ignoring me today?"

you chuckle and look at him, his face has that smirk on his face but you know he is talking serious now. "your bestie forced me actually." you take a sip of your drink, "he also said you'd love to see me, which i guess is true." you tilt your head at him with a smile on your face.

"oh yeah? guess i better listen to him from now then." you two just look at each other, your eyes speaking more words than your lips.

"wanna get out of here?" you smirk at his words, "i don't think people would like the birthday boy leaving the party." he chuckles, getting up from his seat, "honestly, i don't really care about what they like." he takes a step to you, bending to your level, "tell me what would you like."

you let out an amused chuckle, "how about you break up with your girl first this time?" he smirks, leaning in to place a quick kiss on your lips, "oh baby i haven't dated anyone from the day you ghosted me."

"really?" you feel some kind of pride or whatever warm feeling you're having when you hear his words. because you know those aren't some idle words, he really hasn't dated anyone these past years. shoko and suguru have been keeping you updates in his life.

"so tell me y/n, wanna get out of here?" he is looking at you, has not looked away since the moment he asked you how you ended up here tonight.

you grin at him, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to kiss him. you feel him smile onto the kiss, moving your lips together. oh how much you missed this.

even after all the years and among everyone you kissed, he'd still be the best kisser.

you pull back with a smile on your lips, "let's go." he holds your hands in his own, looking behind you, "have fun you two, we're going."

"see i told you this would happen." shoko slaps suguru on his arm, them both look at the two of you with a knowing smirk on their faces. "yeah, have fun." satoru chuckles while shoko winks at you, "tell me everything tomorrow."

"will do." you wave at them both and walk out the club, he guides you to his car, opening the door for you, "look at you being a gentleman." you get in and he get on the other side himself, "where do you wanna go?"

you narrow your eyes at him, "didn't you drink?" he laughs at you, taking you hand in his, playing with your fingers, "my place is five minutes away." you laugh at him, "whatever as long as we don't have to spend the night at police station."

he starts the engine, driving to his place which was actually more than five minutes away, making you anxious the whole ride that he might crash it (you are overreacting) or that you might get pulled over (don't drink and drive babes) but he finally reaches his apartment complex. parking his car in his spot, he turns off the car and you both get out, him coming over to your side to hold your hand.

he pulls you in for another kiss before you walk to the elevator, making out the entire time while you wait for the elevator. once you get in though, you try to keep him off of you in case someone gets in. but he just pulls you to him, placing kisses all along your collarbone, neck and jaw.

once it reaches to his floor, he rushes out to his door, unlocking it in a rush. as soon as the door opens, he pulls you in, pinning you to the door, kissing you desperately as he locks the door.

his free hand roams all over your body, keeping you pasted on him while the other is rested on your jaw holding your face close to him. you clenched your fists around the cloth of his shirt in his back. your mind getting blank as well as overfilled with all the emotions and feels.

"fuck i missed you so much baby." he whispers as he pulls away from you. you look at him, feeling shy about all that is happening. seeing the look on your face, he chuckles, holding your chin with his thumb and pointer finger as he making you look at him, "don't get shy on me now, baby."

you scoff, rolling your eyes, "i forgot how annoying you are." he  lets out a amused chuckle, bring your lips on his, kiss them roughly before pulling back again, "that is because you chose to ignore me." 

you raise your brow at him, "oh? and why do you think i ignored your lying ass?" he takes a step back, but his playful smirk still on his lips, "what lie did i even tell for you to disappear on me for years?"

you gasp, dramatically putting your palm over your chest, "your girl messaged me saying i ruined your relationship, you dumb face." his smirk wavers for a split second, which you don't miss, and you continue before he could open his mouth, "you disloyal piece of shit, i had to be the type of girl who'd use 'i didn't know he had a girlfriend' excuse you know. that is so not me. and that's all your fault."

he takes all your words in and only speaks after staying quiet for a few seconds, "what? you talked with her?"

"duh. i don't know how she knew that fooled around but she messaged me the next day." he comes close to you, cupping your face to make you look at him, "aw baby, but i broke up with her the first thing after dropping you home the next day."

you groan, feeling irritated with having to explain everything to him, you rest your head on his chest, he quickly holds you on either sides of your waist, "satoru.. why don't you get it that she thought you broke up with her because she thought you like me." which he did though. "and i don't know how she found out we slept together, but she messaged me calling me a homewrecker." you let out a chuckle at the end, thinking how silly this everything seems.

 i mean you slept with gojo, you actually didn't know he had a girlfriend and he never said so himself, so it's not really your fault? and the next day, you get a text from this random girl saying you're the reason her boyfriend broke up with her and that you're a homewrecker. then feeling guilty and angry at the man, you avoid him for years. yet here you are again, at his place, knowing where this would head.

he strokes your back until you look up at him, "i don't know why she blamed it all on me and not you." he chuckles, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, "i'm sorry baby, i didn't know that. i'm sorry you were put in that position."

"uh huh, you better be." you say that but wrap your arms around his neck to pull him into yet another kiss. slow and soft this time, moving your lips together like they were meant to be together.

he pulls back a little and sighs, "you ruined the vibe we had going on, pretty." he chuckles looking at your frowned look on your face, pulling you in for yet another kiss.

a little gasp comes out of you, pulling back, you cup his face, "it almost slipped my mind, happy birthday satoru." you pull him down and place a kiss on the tip of his nose, "thank you y/n." his face in a genuine smile the whole time, "now my present?" you roll your eyes but let him continue kissing and sucking on your skin along your jaw and down your neck and collarbone after your lips.

you're gonna be the best present he's ever got.

[grottylittlefox]

How could I ever forget you? Chapter 12

Sebastian Sallow/Professor Sallow × f!MC / reader

Slow burn/fluff/angst, aged up characters 18-mid 20s

Somehow it had taken until your final day at Hogwarts to finally show Sebastian how you felt, and by then it was too late. Years pass and your distance grows stronger, despite your many efforts for him. A surprise encounter at a new job could change things forever. Finding each other once again at the very place you first met, Hogwarts.

Chapter 1: "I guess this is it"

Chapter 2: "Oh how I missed you"

Chapter 3: "Goodbye, Sebastian"

Chapter 4: " think it's time you move on"

Chapter 5: "Professor Sallow?"

Chapter 6: "Welcome Home"

Chapter 7: "You're my good luck charm"

Chapter 8: "I'm more of a butterfly person"

Chapter 9: “What have you become?”

Chapter 10: “I have something for you”

Chapter 11: “Curious”

Chapter 12: “I can never stay away from you”

"Are you sure you're okay, MC? You're really not acting like yourself."

"I'm fine, Garreth. Really."

You were not fine. You were probably the furthest thing from it. But that didn't stop you from lying in the faces of everyone at Hogwarts, everyone but Sebastian that is. You thought that perhaps you'd been a bit too honest with him, that maybe things would be easier if you'd just let him erase that kiss from your recent memory. He was all you could think about, the shadow of that night consumed your every thought. So here you were again, strolling around the Hogwarts valley with your favourite distraction.

"If you need something, anything at all, you know I'm here. Would be best if that something is a potion though."

Garreth was truly trying his absolute best to cheer you up, and his efforts did not go unnoticed. However there was simply nothing in the world that could heal this particular wound, not a potion, not Garreth, and especially not Sebastian.

"Thank you Garreth, I promise I'm okay. Just under the weather is all," you lied.

You soon approached the wooden bridge leading back into the school, prompting the both of you to part ways. As you turned to Garreth, a warm touch gripped your waist, pulling into a tight hug. Your arms found themselves wrapped around Garreth's neck, head buried into his shoulders. It was nice, you needed it.

Pulling away, you stepped backwards onto the bridge, a little blush warming your cheeks.

"Duty calls," you smiled.

"Have a good day, Professor," Garreth smiled back.

~~~

You sat comfortably in your office, minutes away from the end of last period. You had not received a single knock at the door this particular day, until now that this.

"Come in!" You called.

The door slowly crept open, it was Robin. You were instantly filled with dread. The poor sweet girl always knew exactly how to ruin your day, despite never intending too, of course.

"Robin," you sighed. "I really hope you don't have any bad news for me, I've had quite the few days and I don't think I could handle it."

Robin stepped back behind the door. "Oh, sorry-"

"No- Robin! I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap like that. I'm just not feeling well, come in, please. You always have wonderful things to say."

"No, it's that... I do have bad news today," she stepped back into the room.

"I can handle it," you smiled.

Robin took a deep breath, looking rather distraught.

"Professor Sallow, he-" she stuttered.

Panic became you, your heart racing and stomach turning. He what?

"He's leaving!"

"Oh."

"He told us in class today, this may be the last time he teaches us. He's my favourite teacher MC, do you know what's going on?"

"I'm sorry Robin. I don't"

~~~

The longer you lingered on the thought of Sebastian leaving, the more your heart ached. You truly had no idea how to feel. What he did that night was unforgivable. But that didn't change that he was born to teach, it was literally in his blood. You'd assumed you were of course the reason he'd decide to step down, you had threatened him after all. It seemed the torment must have been getting under his skin all long. It was all so.... confusing. You knew he can't have gotten caught for what he had tried to do to you, or he'd be gone already. You'd watched his life go by through struggle and pain to get to this point, teaching was his destiny, you couldn't let him throw it away. Especially not because of you. You had to change his mind.

You grabbed the parchment he had enchanted and scribbled a note across the paper.

'Sebastian, we need to talk'

~~~

A couple of days went by and nothing. Your note still remained etched into the parchment, unanswered. You had not seen a single sight of him, not once. Could he have left already? Or was he wandering the halls under a disillusionment charm in order to avoid you? You truly wouldn't put it past him.

That was until you stepped onto the grand staircase that night, looking up to see Sebastian standing a floor above you.

"Sebastian," you called up, grabbing his attention. He turned to you, meeting your eyes before turning away and continuing his way up the stairs. So this was to be a chase?

You picked up the pace, practically running after him. It seemed the school had your back, as the stairs came to a halt, not allowing Sebastian to climb any further. He darted across to the seventh floor, going in whatever direction he could in an attempt to get away from you.

"Sebastian, stop!" You called out, now only a few metres behind him.

"What do you want from me? You told me to leave you alone, remember?" He replied, pacing through the hallway ahead of you.

"You- you can't-"

Suddenly Sebastian stopped in his tracks, staring up at the wall in front of him. You stumbled behind, setting your gaze on what had put a stop to his racing.

A door, revealing itself in the brickwork.

The room of requirement.

The two of you gave each other a quick look, as you now stood beside each other gazing up at the door. Without a second thought, Sebastian stepped forward, entering the room. You swiftly followed, far too curious to ignore what could be waiting for you inside.

As you entered, you faced a large mirror, a mirror you recognised right away. The Mirror Of Erised. The last time you had come to find it here you were only a sixth year, and you were rather curious to know if you'd be faced with the same reflection as before.

You stood beside Sebastian, both staring deeply into the hazy glass. The image reflected to you was nothing but what stood beside you in the room, Sebastian, just as he was.

Suddenly you watched as Sebastian's hand moved closer, gently taking ahold of yours. Your eyes darted to the real Sebastian, as a light tickle rushed against your fingers, all but an illusion. As Sebastian remained with his hands by his sides.

Quickly Sebastian flinched, moving his arm away and grabbing his own palm, staring at you in complete bewilderment.

Did he feel a gentle touch across his fingers too? Could it be possible ... he sees exactly what you do?

"MC... What is this?" He asked, turning his gaze back into the reflection. A single tear gently fell from his eye as his stepped closer, holding up his fingers up to the glass.

"What the hell is this?" His shaky voice whimpered, unable to hold back the need to cry.

"Sebastian, do you... see me in there?" You whispered.

"No I don't, I-" he stuttered, choking on his words. Immediately he turned around, darting straight back out of the room.

You ran after him, as he continued going higher into the castle, before reaching the astronomy tower.

"You can't run from me forever!" You called up to him from the wooden steps. Dragging yourself up further and further, panting through the elements.

You finally reached him, at the very top. He stood there, his hands on his knees. Teary eyed and gasping for breath. It was absolutely freezing up there. The cold wind rushed through the night sky, blowing Sebastian's hair in every direction, and sending ripples through his cotton shirt.

"She broke up with me. Is that what you want to hear?!" He cried out to you, turning away and leaning over the balcony edge.

Perhaps it was Ostara he saw in the mirror all along.

"No, I-" you shouted over the wind, slowly approaching him. "I wanted to tell you that you can't leave the school. You're an amazing Professor Sebastian, please don't give up. Not because of me."

"I'm not leaving permanently, even if I wanted too, I can't," he took a breath. "Oh MC, you do not understand the trouble I'm in."

"Then let me understand."

"I can't- I.. don't want to put you in danger I..... I'm an evil selfish bastard MC. You're better off staying away from me. Everybody is."

Your throat began to swell, your body limp, you couldn't hold back anymore. You were battered, bruised, exhausted. You had to tell him, you had to tell him with everything you had.

"I can never stay away from you, Sebastian," you choked. "I know you know that."

"I thought you... feared me. I've been trying to turn it around. I understand why, you've seen me... and then the night we kissed I- I'm-"

"What are you talking about? How could you ever think-" you stepped forward.

"The Boggart, MC. I haven't stopped thinking about it. I'm such a monster you-"

"I'm not afraid of you Sebastian," you reached out your arm to him. "I'm afraid of.... not being your happiness anymore."

Sebastian stepped back, smiling through the floods of tears. He raised his wand to the stars above, breathing so heavily the moonlight rhythmically glistened across his chest.

"Expecto Patronum," he cried into the night, a bright light glowing from the top of the entire castle. In an instant, hundreds of glowing blue moths appeared in an explosion of magic, fluttering around the tower like stardust.

You smiled so much at the sight that you could only cry harder, never feeling emotions with such intensity ever before. Everything in this moment was simply indescribable. Too good to be true, even.

"Sebastian," you whispered.

"There is never a world where you are not my happiness, MC," his voice soothed. He towered over you, gently caressing your cheek, analysing every inch of the face he adored so much.

His eyes met the ground again, as he turned away. "But," he paused, the tone of his voice rinsed with pain. "This is all so much bigger than the both of us." He backed away from you, looking back out onto the moonlit mountains.

"Why do you keep talking like this? I-" you were cut off, by the wing of an owl swooping in. Starling.

She dropped an envelope in your hands and glided back into the darkness. You peered down at the letter in your clasp.

Sebastian's letter. Natty must have finally sent it back.

Sebastian's eyes widened, realising what you now possessed.  Your finger gently ran across the seal, ripping apart what had been kept shut for years,

"MC, wait! I can explain-"

You unfolded the parchment, finally revealing that long unanswered question.

Would you forgive me, if this was all for Anne?

"What do you mean, all for Anne?"  You asked, a million thoughts racing through your head.

"I never meant for it to go this far MC, it was supposed to be so simple. I never wanted any of this, I never wanted to hurt you."

The two of you stared at each other, utterly broken. Nothing made sense, absolutely nothing. How was any of this for Anne?

"I... I made an unbreakable vow," he muttered.

"To Ostara?"

"No, to her father."

"A vow to marry her?"

"No-" he took a breath. "He's a dark dark wizard, I should never have meddled with this... I made a vow to find something for him, something hidden in Hogwarts. Something that belonged to Salazar Slytherin."

"Why...why in Merlin's name would you do that?"

"To save my sister."

It all came flooding back to you in an instant. Everything Ominis had said, about her father being a healer, about him losing the plot. Ostara's father dabbled in dark healing magic, the kind of magic Sebastian believed was enough to cure Anne.

"Does, does Ominis know about this? Have you been using him as a pawn in your little game?! Just like Ostara?" You were angry now, the fact Sebastian was willing to meddle with people's lives like this infuriated you. All the years of torment, and it was all to try and cure Anne?

"No." He said raising his voice. "This was all his idea. He introduced me to Ostara, so I could get to her father. All I wanted to do was woo her, not marry her. But that man, he was persistent... He wouldn't even talk to me unless I proved my devotion to her. That's why I'm here MC, that's why I fell off my broom, that's why I'm at Hogwarts."

You were speechless. You tried to reach for what to say, but no words came out. You just looked at him, standing there, hopeless in the wind.

"I didn't want to drag you into this, MC. It's been difficult to try and keep you, Anne and Ostara safe. But... Anne is my priority. I know what I'm doing is wrong, I know it's hurting people. If I was hurting anybody else I wouldn't care, but you... it is torture to know I'm hurting you. You've made this difficult for me, MC. You really have."

"It was Anne you saw in the mirror, wasn't it?"

The pain in Sebastian's eyes was hard to bare.

"It was. She looked so different, so well. I have to see her like that again, even if it kills me....and it might."

"What do you mean?" Your eyes widened, filling up with tears.

"I made an unbreakable vow, MC. If I don't go through with this, all of this-" he stared deeply into your eyes.

"- I'll die."

Chapter 13

[shepherds-of-haven]

Me: omg I love the SoH ROs so much all I wanna do is daydream about them

Me, daydreaming about them: what if they almost died... What if they're bleeding out... What if the MC is bleeding out...

Unfortunately they're all blorbos now, which means I want them to suffer (affectionate)

Which brings the question, in a near death situation, which one of the ROs goes for a dramatic one liner and which one tries to actually say something meaningful?

Blade: he isn't one for drama so I feel like he just wouldn't really think, "i'm dying so this may be my last chance to say something," and would just be like "you... need to get out of here..." (always thinking of the other person), but if he did think he was dying, he'd try to say something meaningful!

Trouble: I don't think Trouble thinks he can be killed for real so he'd probably not even notice the severity of his own wounds, like "I'm fine, stop fussing over me and help [someone else wounded] or get after the enemy or etc.!!!" Not necessarily being nobly selfless like Blade, just sort of not aware how close he is to death and so isn't thinking about it/taking it seriously

Tallys: if she actually thinks she has a real shot of dying, she's staying calm and composed for the other person's sake and is going to fade away with quiet dignity, but she's definitely going to exchange some of the most heartfelt, gut-wrenching, meaningful words anyone's ever heard in their life on her hypothetical deathbed

Shery: I think she'd be sort of panicking and hysterical and trying to think of something meaningful to say, but it'd probably come off as menial, like "Make sure to look after Caine, and... please look after my plants..." Like frantically trying to go down a checklist and sort of being confused and panicky rather than having the wherewithal to actually say what she'd want to say in that kind of situation!

Riel: he'd be extremely calm and would be dishing out instructions on how it's going to go down and what's going to happen next. Basically getting his affairs in order in an efficient and tidy way as he's like literally bleeding out lol, by his composure alone you wouldn't think he was wounded! Basically the exact opposite of Shery, and it would only be in the final few moments of consciousness that he could stop being totally "logical" and he'd get quiet and be like, oh. this could actually be the end. In which case he'd try to sneak in something heartfelt and striking and poignant, but he'd probably have expended all his energy on the first part and would lose consciousness halfway through, so no one would know what he was going to say, and he "wouldn't remember" when he woke up lol

Chase: I think it really depends on the situation... he's been in so many near-death scenarios that he's gotten out of perfectly fine that it's a bit hum-drum for him now, so if it's a simple matter of "oh no i've been shot and i'm bleeding out" he'd probably go for the quip or the dramatic one-liner purely to put the people around him at ease or get them to crack a smile, but if it's like a "oh I'm already dead and there's no way anyone's going to save me except by literal intervention of the gods", maybe he'd say something more meaningful?? It really depends on who's with him and how lucid he is, though!

Red: he'd try to be bracing and good-hearted about it so as to not worry anyone or sabotage himself while he's down (he's of the mindset that if you embrace/accept death too preemptively, you're more likely to die, whereas if you act like it's going to be fine, there's a higher chance that, like, placebo effect will somehow help you pull through), so he'd be like, "Don't worry, haha, I've had worse..." *is bleeding out from a gut shot* "YOU HAVE??" "Well, no, but it hardly hurts..." I think if he genuinely thought it was too late for him, he'd say something meaningful, but it would take a lot for him to get to that point lol

Ayla: I feel like she'd just be pissed and not accepting the gravity of the situation, like, "Why are you all looking at me like that, I'm fine??? Blood replaces itself, you are being dramatic" So she probably wouldn't "waste time" on being sentimental when she can just WILL herself to get better, but if it got to the point where she thinks it's genuinely over, she'd abruptly get scared, emotional, tearful, and she'd probably choke out something vulnerable, like "I don't want to go like this..."

Briony: I think she'd be in shock and would behave similarly to Shery where she would just be saying whatever was racing through her mind, so it could possibly be meaningful and vulnerable, like "I always wanted to... [x]" or it could be somewhat nonsensical or brushing the whole thing off, like "It's just a scratch, I just need to rest, make sure that so-and-so is seen to because I saw that they were limping..." (thinking she's just going to pass out now)

Lavinet: I think she'd be very noble and dignified and graceful in near-death, like she'd arrange herself very beautifully and would be lying there in some infirmary bed with her hair spread out across the pillow as so-and-so clutches her hand and weeps and she murmurs to them to not to worry and tells them "her last words" in a delivery and meaningfulness straight from a dramatic novel

Halek: I think the first time he'd say something so flippant and stupid, like "Holy shit, getting shot is such a pain" -> 😵 (passes out) and if he had the luck of waking up again he'd be like "oh my god those could have been my last words" and he'd take it more seriously the next time and try to think of something more meaningful beforehand lol

[dduane]

So THAT's sorted

The MiddleKingdoms.com site is finally up again and in something like working condition. (The previous problems with it are discussed in brain-numbing detail here.)

The week-and-a-bit delay in this—pausing to get briefly technical here—was entirely due to issues with the responsivity of the site's top slider, which even procuring some moderately high-end tools like the Premium Addons for Elementor couldn't solve. (Though for the attention of those of you who're working on WordPress sites with Elementor, I recommend those really highly. They're terrific, and they deal with a lot of design issues that manifest themselves as "bald patches" in both regulsr Elementor and Elementor Pro.)

The solution was achieved by picking up this slider-specific addon, which is very clever indeed and which I look forward to getting to know better over time.

...So all that stuff is now as dealt-with as it needs to be in the short term. I can see where in the slightly longer term I'll be tearing the entire site down to rebuild it from scratch in a newer idiom. Probably when the books get re-covered sometime next year: we're about due. BUT NOT RIGHT THE FECK NOW, as at the moment I'm sick of the sight of the damn thing.

(Probably not least because every time I've had to look at the top-page slider while troubleshooting it over the last week and a half, every time I see the ridiculous-but-necessary oversimplification[s] of the core series plot[s] / theme[s], I've wound up gritting my teeth over how much more could be said about every one of those books. It's like having to describe seven Star Trek novels, one after another, by that much-loved and almost infinitely applicable phrase "The Enterprise is menaced by a strange alien force." ...But—shrug—marketing, yeah? What can you do.)

Anyway: now I can go on to deal with something else. THANK YOU GODDESS.

Like, tomorrow being Cyber Monday... more marketing. <helplesslaughter> Whoopee. </helplesslaughter>

(ETA: Meanwhile I'm going to cheer myself up by reminding everybody of how MCU!Luis "summarized" The Door Into Fire.) :)

[cloudcountry]

cracks

Genre/Tropes: Fixing up someone's wounds after a fight.

Summary: You take care of Ruggie after his Overblot even though he's still on his guard.

Author's Comments: I'm so glad I've been getting a lot of Ruggie requests because I love him.

~~~~~

“Prefect, you don’t need to worry about me.” Ruggie tried to wiggle out of your hold again, his face marred with cracked scars.

“Ruggie, I’m telling you, sit still!” you insisted, pressing your fingers over the cracks in his arms, “You’re not fine! Your skin is all cracked…you’re bleeding!”

“I’ve been through worse. This is nothing.” he huffed, tucking his arms into his chest, “Go away. You’re such a weirdo. I don’t need to be pampered like this-”

“It’s not pampering!” you hissed, whipping your head back towards the Heartslabyul students, “Go get him some water!”

The order was barked at no one in particular, but it was heard. You briefly saw Deuce take off towards the school and Ace follow as Riddle conversed with Headmaster Crowley. Trey and Cater were by your side, but kept their distance from you and Ruggie. You mentally thanked them for staying away from the two of you. Ruggie didn’t need to be crowded by everyone—you were more than enough—especially when he was like this.

“Ow, watch it!” he hissed, arms shooting towards his side.

You swallowed thickly and loosened your grasp on him. He sighed, ears flat against his head as he glared up at you.

“You’re not going to let me go, are you?” he huffed, “Fine. I’ll get treatment. Just stop holding me like this.”

You realized then that one of your arms was looped around his waist, and the other propping up his head. You blinked as his gaze bore into yours. He could have used his signature spell. He could have fought you off easily. He had definitely gone through worse. He could have run away. He should have run away by now.

You removed your arms from him, shifting your positions so that his head was resting on your thighs. He huffed again, but made no move to get up. You wanted to hold him, to soothe him, to let him know that it would be okay, but you refrained. He’d hate that.

“Prefect! I found a few water bottles! Ace brought a first aid kit with him but he’s slower than me so he’ll probably be a bit-” Deuce skidded to a stop in front of you, gulping in a breath of air.

“Who are you calling slow?!” Ace yelled, whacking him upside the head with the familiar red box, “Prefect, this idiot insisted on grabbing protein bars too! So if anyone’s late it’s because of him!”

You weren’t paying attention to a single thing they said, snatching the water and protein bars out of Deuce’s hands at lightning speed. The two got the hint and dropped their argument for now, setting the rest of the stuff in their hands at your feet.

“Drink.” you demanded, pressing a cold bottle to Ruggie’s chest.

He didn’t say anything but didn’t waste a second. You watched with relief as he gulped down the water. You pressed a protein bar to his chest and he ripped it open with his teeth.

“Moisturizer.” you mumbled, eyes catching on the cracks down his arms, “Does anyone have moisturizer on them?”

“Cater does.” Trey said from behind him, his brow furrowed, “He gave it to me a few moments ago. He and his body doubles are going to tell the rest of the faculty about what happened.”

“Thank you.” you opened the container immediately, scooping a generous amount of the cosmetic product onto your fingers, “Ruggie. Ruggie, can I have your hand?”

His fist clenched against his chest as he eyed you warily.

“I can do it myself.” he shot back, reaching for the moisturizer.

You didn’t have time to react to his admission before the cracks in his arms opened more, blood beading in the wounds.

“Stop moving!” you shrieked, catching his arm and placing it gently on his chest, “I can do it, just please…stop hurting yourself.”

“I told you I’m fine! Just let me deal with this, I appreciate you getting me food and water, is that what you want to hear? I owe you, Prefect. Now can I go on my way and get the treatment you want me to get so bad?” he argued, beginning to squirm again.

“You would have done that by now if you could!” you yelled, holding back the urge to shake him by the shoulders, “You would have gotten up and joked around with everyone about what just happened! The only reason you’re not is because you can’t!”

“I don’t need your pity. I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. Fighting takes a lot out of you, you know?” Ruggie propped himself up on his elbows, “I’m-”

“Ruggie, you could run from Ace and Deuce for so long. You’ve always been fast and energetic. I’ve seen you during Spelldrive. Fights don’t wear you out.” you took a deep breath before staring into his eyes again, holding out the lotion, “So…please?”

Ruggie rolled his eyes and thrust his hand into yours. You whispered a quiet thank you as you got to work, gently rubbing in the cream so as to not irritate his skin further.

“You’re so strong.” you mumbled, rubbing little circles up his arm, “You’re so reliable. You’re really clever and resourceful, and you never let yourself get walked all over. You look out for the people closest to you and you truly have a heart of gold.”

“What are you talking about?” he sounded so disgruntled, his eyes glued to the sandy ground.

“I’m talking about you.” you sighed, “I’d like to be someone you can depend on. I’d like to help you. I don’t want to take care of you or coddle you like a baby. I know how much you don’t like that. You came to my aid during this Overblot and I can’t thank you enough. This is how I’m showing the beginning of my gratitude. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ruggie shifted, his head turning to look up at you. His expression was still guarded, but you didn’t expect that to change. The most you could have asked for was to make sure he got out of this okay after trying to protect you.

“You’re still weird.” he mumbled, the tension in his shoulders relaxing just a bit.

You said nothing as you dressed his wounds, wrapping up the cracks you could see in bandages. You did nothing but watch as the newly arrived Crewel helped Ruggie towards the school’s infirmary. You only moved again when Trey silently placed a hand on your back, gently pushing you towards the space in which Ruggie had left. Whispering a small thank you to him, you began to follow his path to the infirmary.

[millersdjarin]

I Only See Daylight

Chapter Four

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E (eventually)

Chapter warnings/tags: slow burn, dad!din, bonding, injuries (not in detail), negative self-talk, mentions of past trauma/abuse

Chapter Length: 4.2k

Previous Chapter | Series Masterlist & Info

notes: im sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than the others! if it's any consolation, a few of the chapters in this fic are 10k, so there's that. :) i've set a posting schedule of mondays and thursdays, but this week i'm posting on sunday because i'm going to be travelling on monday and i have to stay off tumblr to avoid tlou spoilers until the evening. so, surprise :)

i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw you

“How do you feel?” Is the first thing you hear when you wake, rolling over on your makeshift bed to find Mando standing at the cave entrance again. He’s leaning against the wall with one shoulder, his hip cocked out, one leg bent casually. 

Kriffing hells, how is he so attractive when all you can see of him is his posture and his impossibly shiny armour? 

You force the thought from your mind, blaming it on your half-asleep state. 

“I don’t know yet,” you answer with a grimace. It’s been two days since your fall. The pain is better, though the rest of your body feels stiff now, muscle soreness finally catching up with you after the tumble. There hasn’t been another storm, at least, so Mando has managed to hunt for every meal so far. He goes out to get water every morning, filling canteens to the brim. He makes you drink so much that sometimes it feels like you’re swimming in it. “Hydration helps with healing,” he says every time, even though you already know; he says it just to counter your playful glaring at him every time he hands you the flask. 

“Sun rose not that long ago,” he cranes his neck to gaze up at the sky, “if you’re feeling up to it, we can probably travel today.” 

You manage to sit up, but the minute you do, pain shoots down from the wound on your calf and into your ankle. It circles there around the joint and throbs. “Have we got any more ice packs?” 

“One more,” Mando answers as he heads right over to his medpack and gets it out. 

“We should ration it,” you hold out your hand to stop him activating it. “For when we’re travelling. I’ll probably need it.” 

He looks down at the pack, hesitates. Then nods and puts it away. “Do you think you’ll be okay to travel today? If so, we should move soon, make the most of the daylight.”

Shifting a little, you try to get a gage on your body, how it feels. A grimace makes its way onto your face without your consent. Everything hurts. Literally everything. Muscles you didn’t even know you had are strained and stiff. 

But you’ve been here for two days. He’s been stranded here for four. 

“If the answer is anything but yes,” his voice cuts through your rapidly declining thoughts, “then my answer is no.” 

Relieved, you smile. But you protest, “Mando, you’ve stayed with me so long now. I can make my own way back.” 

“No,” he says definitively. “We move when you’re ready.” 

You relax, settling back against the wall. You’re too sore to argue. 

“The kid’s enjoying the vacation, anyway,” Mando says, the lilt of a smile in his voice. 

As if summoned, Grogu steps forward from his little bed at the back of the cave. He yawns, his tiny mouth opening as wide as it can go, his eyes screwing shut. 

Oh, Maker, he is adorable. 

“You take time off a lot?” You ask with a wry smile as Mando scoops the kid up into his arms. 

The huff of a laugh comes through his helmet. “Not really.” 

“Why am I not surprised?”

Mando tickles Grogu’s cheek, earning a little giggle. 

You watch them. There’s that warmth again, creeping its way between your ribs, around your heart. 

You have to look away. 

All three of you are starting to get a little stir crazy by the time the night comes around. 

You’re feeling better, though. Mando’s hydration obsession is working to help loosen out your stiff muscles. It doesn’t help, though, that you have to keep getting up every hour to pee. Especially because you have to tell Mando every time nature calls, which is, admittedly, rather humiliating—it shouldn’t be, it’s fucking natural, but he’s Mando and he’s been making you feel a certain way, and you don’t want to have to admit to this terrifying yet comforting man that you have to piss. It’s even worse that he has to help you hobble outside, then walk away while you do your business, and come back and pretend to not notice the puddle sinking into the ground. 

It’s demoralising. Your cheeks are tired from flushing red all the time. 

But he insists on you drinking enough, even when you protest. 

“I don’t mind doing this, you know,” he says as the sun sets, an arm around you as you hobble to the designated Nature Area. 

“Yes, you do,” you grumble, kind of just wanting the ground to open up and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t,” he insists. “It’s fine. Besides, it’s good to move a little.” 

“A little? Mando, it’s every hour, on the hour, at this point.” 

The unfamiliar sound of a soft laugh comes through his helmet. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it sounded fond. But you’ve never heard a laugh like that. So. “It’s good. Just call me back when you’re ready.” 

He never comes back until you call, no matter how long it takes you.

It isn’t lost on you, either, that you never would have been able to do this on your own. You’d have had to piss where you sat. Which seems like a worse concept than just ruining your leg, and subsequent mobility, forever by forcing yourself to walk home. 

As darkness approaches, Mando takes his flashlight—yours is long dead by now—and puts it in the far end of the cave. He stays over there, rustling in his pack for something. Curious, you watch, wondering what he’s doing; he angles the light strangely, propping it up with a few stray rocks on the ground, and then fishes out a small piece of canvas, pulled from what remained of your tent. He puts it over the flashlight, folds it once. 

Then, the light is softer. Diffused around the cave. 

Grogu, who is sitting against the wall playing with a little silver ball, looks up at the newly-lit cave walls and laughs in glee. 

“You like it, kid?” Mando asks him. 

The kid claps his hands together, gazing around. Mando laughs softly and sits back down beside the kid, watching him. 

You’re watching Mando. It’s impossible not to, with the soft light reflecting from his armour in a new way, casting new highlights and shadows across every curve and edge. You wonder what places he’s been, how he’d look in all kinds of light. Harsh, bright, sunshine of a bright summer’s day, the dark ashy colour beneath rain clouds. 

“Mando?” You find yourself saying. 

He looks up at you, one hand holding the kid. 

“Tell me about somewhere else you’ve been,” you request. “Please?” 

“Where do you want to hear about?” 

“Anywhere. First place that comes to mind.” 

For a second, he’s quiet, just looking at you. Considering. When he speaks, he doesn’t say what you expected him to, and his voice is softer than it should be. “You really want to travel, don’t you?” 

And, okay. 

That hits a nerve. 

You look away, blinking. It’s clear that you’ve tensed, that something has made you uncomfortable; and you expect him to backtrack, to apologise, but he just waits. So patient, like he wouldn’t mind if you didn’t say anything, or even if you just told him to fuck right off. You wish you could see his face, decipher his expression. Match it to the soft curiosity of his lovely voice. 

“Yeah,” you manage on a shaky breath, imagining yourself up there, in the vastness of space, free to explore the Galaxy. “Yeah, I do.” 

Quiet again. He’s giving you space. 

You take it, let it sink in. 

Then, his voice is there again, “So why don’t you?”

And if that isn’t a question and a half. “It’s, uh,” you clear your throat. You’re about to say it’s complicated. But that doesn’t even cover the half of it. Instead, feeling a cold, familiar dread slowly creeping through your veins, you say, “I like it here.” 

He doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you still, some kind of unexplainable patience coming from his dark visor. 

It’s unclear if he can hear the omission of the truth.

You don’t want to lie to him. 

You’re sitting here, in a cave that he so beautifully lit as best he can, on top of a bed that he made just for you to be comfortable, after he’s helped you pee about twelve times a day for the last two days. He’s been nothing but kind. 

And it’s not that you feel like you owe him answers because of that. Nor, in fact, that you think he feels you owe him answers. His quiet, unassuming patience in the dim intimacy of this cave is proof enough of that. 

No, it’s not that. 

It’s that you’ve been alone for so long. You’ve never said this to anyone.

And after all this, once you’re back at your hut and you’ve fixed his ship together, he’s going to leave. And you’re never going to see him again, anyway. 

So. 

“Truthfully,” you say, “as much as I like it here, it’s not where I’d choose to be. If I had another choice.” 

Instead of staying still and silent, he starts to nod. His gaze is unwavering, solid and stable, weaving its way into the tension and uncertainty beneath your skin, soothing it.

Grogu gets up and waddles over to you. He climbs clumsily into your lap.

Then, with a quick look to Grogu, Mando says, “I understand.”

And that, those simple words, make something release in your chest.

The weight of your confession doesn’t feel as heavy as you’d expected. In fact, it feels like something has lifted in the air between the three of you. Like even the kid understands. 

Well.

This is new. 

-

As the third morning in the cave rolls around, you wake up feeling much better. 

Once you’ve relieved your always-full bladder, you tell Mando as much, staggering back into the cave and to your bed. “You can stop over-watering me now,” you tease as he lets you back against the wall, gentle. Your hands are on the backs of his arms, and slide all the way down them as he moves away. You wish you could linger there, and the way he moves so slowly, his visor gazing down into your sleepy eyes, makes you think that he wishes that, too. 

As your palms brush against his wrists, he seems to catch himself. He pulls away quickly and turns to distract himself with the kid.

“So, you’re ready to travel?” He asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” you reply, staring at him from behind. He has a nice behind. (And you need to stop. Immediately.)

“You can lean on me. We’ll take it slow, I promise.” 

Kriff, say that again… “I’ll be alright. You’ve got enough to carry.” 

He looks at you again. “I’m leaving the parts here,” he says, like that should be obvious. 

“What?” You frown. “But your ship…” 

“Once we find our way back, and you’re safe, I’ll come back for them.” 

“Mando, I can manage. Seriously, we should take the parts. You’ve been here long enough.” 

The helmet tilts. “You trying to get rid of me?” It would concern you, if the teasing in his tone wasn’t arousingly obvious.

You just about manage to recover from the stirring in your belly, and you laugh, “Totally. Sick of you already.” 

The kid, standing beside him, looks at you and makes a sad noise. His ears turn down towards the ground. 

Kriff. “Hey, I’m just kidding,” you assure him with a smile. As a peace offering, you reach your hands out to him, and he relaxes in an instant, immediately plodding over to you and climbing into your lap. You hold him, give him a quick hug, then just let him sit there. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m actually gonna miss you,” you whisper into his ear. He coos happily, tugging at a loose thread on your coat.

When you look up, Mando is, of course, staring at you. This time, you know for sure that it’s at both you and the kid.

“What?” You ask. 

“Nothing,” he answers after a moment of hesitation. “I’m going to pack up. Then we can move. You okay to sit with the kid?” 

“You know I am,” you smile, and watch as Mando nods and heads outside.

That pang in your chest is back. Well, you’re not sure when it turned from a slow warmth into a pang. 

But it’s there. Too obvious to ignore. 

For a few miles, you manage pretty well. It took some convincing, but you got Mando to agree to taking the parts along with him in the end. You do lean on him, but only when moving over particularly rough terrain, fallen logs, or exposed tree roots. 

“How we doing?” Mando asks at around noon. 

“Fine,” you say, feeling a little breathless. 

“You sure?” 

“I’m sure. We can stop soon for a break.” 

Another hour passes, your ankle is starting to throb, and you’re really fucking glad that you saved that ice pack for this exact moment. 

Mando sits you down on a fallen log, keeping his arm around you until you’re properly seated, lingering just a little too long for you to tame the way it makes your heart beat wildly. To feel the heat of him through his flight suit, your hands and arms pressed to parts of him not covered by armour, just the soft parts; it’s a lot. When you first saw him, this wall of metal, you never thought you’d see any further than that. Kriff, you never even thought he’d get closer to your hut than he was when you had your blaster pointed at him. 

Maybe that would have been best. Because if he’d just left, if there was another way for him to get the help he needed, you wouldn’t be thinking about him the way you are right now. 

The softness of the crook of his elbow, the curve of his waist and hip. The warmth of his skin that you have yet to see an inch of. All of the weapons strapped to him, so close to you, close enough that if it were anyone else, you’d be scared. 

But it’s Mando. 

This might be the least scared you’ve been in a lifetime. 

He cracks the ice pack to activate it, then kneels down in front of you. Reaching out to grab a smaller log, he places it under your ankle, elevates your leg slightly. Then his gloved fingers tug at the hem of your trousers. “Can I?” He asks. 

Kriff. You nod, unable to form words. 

The rough-yet-smoothness of the gloves is all you feel at first, brushing delicately against your skin as he lifts your trousers, then unlaces your boots, gently pulling them off, followed by your socks. Your ankle is more swollen than it had been this morning, but you’d expected that. 

And, besides, that is not what you’re thinking about right now. 

Instead your mind can only focus on the softness of his hold under your foot, the gentle way he places the ice pack on top of it. The heat of his hand starts to come through. You wish it was his bare skin. Wish you knew what his skin is like. Is it calloused, or soft from always protecting them? Does he have scars? Is the hair on his arms dark, light, a thin covering or thicker, perfect to run your fingers through—

His hands are gone before you realise it. It takes your glitching mind a second to catch up.

You chase him with your eyes, silently wishing for him to come back. 

But then. 

Then. 

As he turns away, he reaches for the flask in his satchel. You watch his hands lift to his helmet, take a gentle hold of the base of it. At first you panic, thinking he’s about to remove his helmet, no you don’t have to do that it’s okay—

But he just lifts it the tiniest bit, such a small movement that you only know it has been lifted because he puts the rim of his flask to his lips and takes a sip. 

You can’t see his skin, not a hint of it. But you can hear him drinking, hear the water against his lips, the gentle gulps as he swallows. 

And the way it entrances you, takes you away from the forest and the pain of your ankle and the fact that this is so not appropriate for you to be thinking—yeah, it’s probably for the best that he can’t ever show his face to you.

You look away before he even lowers the helmet again. 

-

Maybe the worst part about all this is that you’re starting to dread Mando and the kid leaving. 

That’s not how this was supposed to go, not how any of this was supposed to play out. You helped him because it was the right thing to do, because it’s exactly what They would tell you not to do, because your life has been the same every single fucking day since you got here. 

But that’s been fine. It’s been safe. 

“Pass me that wrench?” Mando asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

You pass him it, noting the tilt of his helmet in a wordless ‘thanks’ before he turns back to his job. He’s up on a ladder, leaning against the ship’s exterior wall with one of the panels fully off, fixing something to do with the foundation for the body. 

His ship is bigger than you’d expected. He tells you that it’s bigger than his old ship, the Razor Crest, but only by a little. “It’s a similar shape,” he’d said, “but it has two bunks and more space. For the kid.” He has a star fighter too, apparently, docked at some other base off-world with a friend of his. It’s funny to imagine him with friends, though you’re not sure why. Especially because, since getting to know him the last few days, you know how generous he is. How kind, helpful. Gentle, despite everything. 

Why wouldn’t he have friends?

Beneath him, you sit on a crate and lean against the ship, waiting for him to give you more instructions. The engine has been mostly fixed now, as much as it’s ever going to be out here in the middle of nowhere using scrounged-up parts. He’s just getting the last of the body work done, enough to make sure it’s aerodynamically sound. 

It’s interesting, watching him work. You ask a lot of questions, and every time you do, you expect a frustrated sigh or an exasperated response. But he answers every question thoroughly, and it doesn’t even distract him from his work. 

The sun is warm against your face. The afternoon of Mando’s fifth day on this planet is drawing to a close, fading into the evening. As the sky turns to duller shades of blue, tinted with oranges and pinks, you can’t help but admire the way he looks beneath the light. His armour is always the same, always so distinctive, yet it reflects different lights in different ways. Sometimes it makes the beskar appear darker, like a gun metal grey. Other times it’s a bright silver. Then there are times like this, when it goes with the colour of the sky, reflects the beauty of everything surrounding him. 

You think back to the light in the cave, how that looked different still. The urge to see the Galaxy comes over you again, though this time it’s not staring at his ship and dreaming about taking off in it that does it; this time, it’s wondering what he looks like in even more places, more environments. Does the metal get hot in the sunshine? Or is it always as cool as it’s been when you’ve had the chance to feel it before? 

The kid is sitting on the ground in front of you. There’s a beetle scuttling around in the mud, and Grogu is toying with it, blocking it off when it runs one way, then doing the same when it runs the other. You wonder if he’s going to eat it, or if he’s just having fun by being cruel to the little six-legged creature. 

“Don’t play with your food,” Mando says to him, answering your silent question. 

Grogu looks up at him. His ears turn downwards, sulking. Mando ignores his obvious pleas to change his mind, turning back to his work. When Grogu looks back at the beetle, he only just catches it before it runs off, and instead of toying with it anymore, he just shoves it in his mouth with a loud crunch. 

You find yourself smiling at him. He smiles back, ears lifting again. 

“Alright,” Mando starts to step down from the ladder. You reach out and hold one of the ladder’s legs, knowing he probably doesn’t need you to, but still not wanting to risk it. Ladders make you nervous. “Think that’s the best we’re going to get.” 

You look up to the ship. He’s fixed the panel back on again. Now all that remains is the burnt metal from his “interesting landing”, with some bends in it, exposing little sections of the framework beneath. It’s definitely a patchwork job. But it looks better than it did when you got here this morning. So.

“How’s your leg?” He asks as he folds up the ladder. 

“Good,” you answer. It’s stretched out in front of you, propped on another crate. “Ship looks good.” 

With a resigned sigh, he puts his hand on his hips, and tilts his helmet to look up at his handiwork. “No, she doesn’t. But she’ll do.” Then he looks back to you, “I couldn’t have fixed it without your help. Thank you.” 

You shift under his gaze, unable to help it. Every time he looks at you it feels like his eyes can see right through you, and the part that makes you uncomfortable is that it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Self-conscious and disgustingly aware of your own inappropriate, lustful thoughts? Yes. Uncomfortable? No. You don’t think it ever could. 

“Of course,” you say eventually. “And, hey, I’ve got a scar to remember our little adventure by, huh?” 

He laughs softly. You see the shake of his chest as the chuckle comes through his modulator. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” 

“Hm, no. But there’s no gift shop around here. So.” 

He shakes his head, and you imagine, hope, that he’s smiling under all that beskar. He certainly looks casual, a hand on one hip, one leg relaxed while his weight rests on the other. 

“Do you always stare so much?” You find yourself asking with a teasing, daring quirk of your brow. 

“Yes.”

“At everyone, or just me?”

He pauses. Your heart rate spikes briefly as you wait for his response to your terrible excuse for flirting. “At everyone,” he answers eventually, and disappointment starts to set in before he says, “But it’s harder to look away from you.” 

Oh. 

The disappointment quickly shifts to nervousness, heart beating fast again as you clench your hands in your lap. He just stands there, staring despite the awkward and loaded silence between you, and stares. As if he’s making his point by offering an example. 

You look away. Suddenly, your cheeks are hot. “You hungry?” You find yourself asking. 

He pauses again, then nods. “Yes.” 

“I’ll make us some dinner. You just come back to the hut whenever you’re ready.” It’s only as you stand to hobble back home that you realise he might not want that. You swivel back around to face him, backtrack, “I mean, unless you want to eat out here. Your ship’s fixed now, I guess you can—you can stay in that? You don’t have to come back with me. I’ll be okay.” 

Again, getting more and more infuriating with each silence he lets stretch out, he just stares. Kriffing hells, does he ever stop!? 

“Would you let me cook for you?” He asks, finally.

You weren’t expecting that. 

Shifting weight to your good leg, you raise your eyebrows. “You want to cook me dinner?” 

He nods once. “Yes. To thank you for all your help. And as a farewell.” 

You’ve been trying your hardest not to think about that part. It sits in your stomach, cold and dreadful and confusing, too far down for you to swallow it. “Alright,” you agree with a soft smile. “I can’t promise I’ve got any decent ingredients, though. You might have to perform a miracle.” 

“I’m up to the challenge,” he says, hooking his thumb over the belt around his hips. You’re distracted by it, finding your eyes sliding down to his middle before you catch yourself and look back up. The tilt of his helmet suggests he might have seen your gaze shift. “I’ll walk back with you. Just give me a minute.” 

You can’t find a reason to refuse. 

♡ updates posted Mondays and Thursdays ♡

notes: thank you for reading! all interactions are appreciated as always, but comments and reblogs especially fuel my need for validation ❤️ as always, the title and lyrics at the start are from taylor swift's "daylight"

taglist: @toobsessedsstuff @granillx @keepingitlokiii @shoe1412 @kiruoris @quentinor @yourunstablegf @moonknight-s-cumdump @senassn @samanthacookieone @local-fanfic-addict @your-slutty-gf @brilliantopposite187 @iwantjoelmillertoultraviolenceme

if you wanna be on the taglist, let me know! (pls specify if just the taglist for this fic, or the list for all my future fics ❤️)

[angelsanarchy]

Tangerine Skies: Possum x Y/N Series CH 7

Tagging: @svgarcaine @icarus-star @romanroyapoligist @tempt-ress @madamemaximoff06 @shady-the-simp @liquidsmoothdomme @auggiethecreator @ethical-cain-vinnel @blacksoul-27

Possum had stopped responding to text messages at around 7:15PM. She knew he told her not to call but by 2AM, she started calling. When she first started calling, it would ring at least 4 times before kicking into his voicemail. Now that it was so late, she kept calling until it no longer rang but went straight to voicemail meaning the phone was now off.

"Come on Possum. Where the hell are you?" She paced around glancing over to Opossum while he slept on the couch in a bundle of blankets. She heard rustling outside of the RV and walked out to see Possum stumbling into his tent.

"Possum! Are you okay?" She startled him but he shook it off rather quickly.

"Oh yeah yeah I'm totally fine. No worries. I just...ran the whole way here. Did you miss me?" He was out of breath, sweaty and the bottom of his pants were torn and wet.

"Hey...take a minute and talk to me okay? You don't look alright." Possum frowned.

"Well I could use some rest. It's been a long day-" The moment he started towards the picnic table, his leg gave out and Y/n caught him.

"Okay, that's it." Y/n helped him limp towards the table and sat him down. As soon as she was able to assess him, she knew the wetness on his leg was blood. She tore the bottom of the pantleg open.

"Oh I liked these pants!" Possum whine as Y/n came face to face with a bloody and bruise leg.

"What the fuck happened to your leg Possum? You need to go to a hospital." She touched it carefully making him flinch.

"I may have been underestimated how observant I am while running through the woods...I got caught up in a bear trap." Possum winced again as she looked at the gashes.

"Oh my god..." She knew that the only bear traps that would be in the woods would be up near the mountains where all the drug dealers made their products. He was drug running.

"Stay here." She walked into the RV and found her first aid kit, some water and a few clean rags. Possum watched her clean his wounds up on his leg silently, drinking the water she had brought him and using the rag to wipe his face and neck clean.

"You're really good at this...ever been a nurse?" Possum asked seeing how in the zone Y/n was. She looked annoyed...or angry. He wasn't quite sure but he felt like shit.

"No I've never been a nurse. I've just had to take care of myself for a really long time." She gave no emotion as she moved to sit next to him.

"Shirt off, I want to clean the cuts on your neck." Possum took the shirt off and tossed it behind himself. She scooted closer to put ointment on his collarbone and he sighed.

"I'm sorry I scared you. That wasn't my intention at all." He spoke softly and Y/n's eyes fluttered to his.

"You shouldn't be drug running. You're lucky this was the worse that happened to you. Those tweaker deals get high on their own supply and end up blowing your head off." She felt her heart beating fast just thinking about how much worse this could have been.

"Then what would I tell your little brother?" She started getting a bit weepy and Possum grabbed her hand.

"I'm okay. You fixed me up, it's okay. See." Possum pulled Y/n into a hug and she tried to take a deep breath.

"You scared the hell out of me Possum. You can't just put yourself in danger like that...I won't handle it well if something awful happens...and you don't come back." She explained as he ran his thumbs over her cheeks, feeling a few tears.

"A stupid bear trap didn't keep me from coming back. That was the last big job I had to do so I promise I won't be going anywhere anytime soon." Possum tried to reassure.

"It's not like you could get there anyway. You probably broke your leg." Y/n gestured to his swollen limb.

"Nah, probably a bone bruise but definitely not broken. I might need one of those shots though. Trap was pretty rusty." Possum tried to lighten the mood but Y/n glared.

"Put your arm over my shoulders, let's get you inside so we can get that leg elevated." Possum was surprised.

"I can sleep in my tent-"

"Shut up and get your butt in that RV or so help me." Y/n warned. He limped up the steps and noticed the little blanket fort his little brother was wrapped up in and smiled. She had place a small bowl near him so he could eat and drink whenever he wanted. Possum couldn't help but smile. He turned towards Y/n who shut the door behind herself before Possum took her hands.

"Thank you for taking care of him...and me." He kissed her sweetly and gave her hands a squeeze. Y/n wanted to pout at him and be upset but he was here, in one piece, a little worse for wear but he was here.

"Anytime." She leaned her forehead against his and helped get him back into the bed. She helped strip him down so he would be comfortable and she slid into the bed next to him, pulling the covers up to her chest. Possum pulled her closer to his body until they were flush against one another.

"I like spooning with you. You always smell nice." Possum admitted making Y/n laugh.

"You set the bar pretty low babe." Y/n teased. Possum looked at her and shook his head.

"I think you far surpass the bar. You're perfect." Possum grinned and Y/n rolled her eyes.

"I'm not sucking your cock after you had me that worried." She said firmly making him nod.

"Would it be too much to get a joint out of my bloody pants...you know, for the pain." Possum asked making Y/n shake her head. He was taking over her world in every way possible and she wasn't mad about it at all. They both laid up in the back of the RV, naked and smoking with the window open until they both got tired enough to doze off. Possum had passed out holding onto her body tightly, face buried into her neck, leaving small kisses until Y/n's breathing had slowed.

[hyah-lian]

Sleepy prompt 41! With whoever you'd like. <3

THIS GOT A LOT A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED. I had a lot of fun writing it tho. Hope it is fun to read. :)

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

41. “Sleep.  I’ll keep you safe.”

Legend sat with his head on his palm, propped up by his knee, and watched the same child run through the plaza for what had to be the fifth time since he started watching. There were several kids wearing the same 'hero's costume' running about, it seemed to be a festival of sorts, but this one kid kept coming through the same gap between bushes and running the same path so steadily it wouldn't be a surprise if a divot was worn into the street.

If he didn't know better, he'd worry it was some sort of time loop. But no, the air seemed stable enough, there was no other odd tang of magic. Just the same kid, running the same path, through the same plaza.

Though, Gods and Goddesses alike did enjoy their entertainment too. Why else would he be on yet another adventure, and now split from the group too? Why not add weird time shit to it.

Just as he sighed at the though, the little blond streak turned to rush through the plaza again, but tripped and skidded a few feet forward on hands and knees.

Before he registered the movement, Legend jumped up- twisted knee grumbling and causing a pronounced limp- and rushed over.

"Hold on, kid," he crouched and kept his face and tone deadpan at the small scowling face and watery eyes glaring at him, "pretty bad fall. You okay?"

Bright eyes scrunched up around the sharp little nose with only a huff. A second passed before the little one turned up their palms to show off the newly reddened scrapes crisscrossing half-healed ones. Legend guessed their knees would be the same.

"C'mon, my knee is busted up too. Let's sit over there in the shade, and I'll help you out," Lege gestured back to the bench under the tree off to the side. "I've got lots of experience with patching up all kinds of hurts."

He held out his hand, unthinking, and was surprised when the smaller hand slipped into his. They both limped over to the bench and Legend helped the kid shift his legs up to rest on the bench.

"Quite the speedster, you are. You could probably power a windmill all on your own like that. Did you lose somebody, or just have a real zest for life?" Legend chattered while looking for his health kit.

The kid tensed a moment.

"I'll be careful, don't worry. I can't promise it won't sting to clean out the scrape- but it won't hurt as much as the fall. You took that-"

"'vi's lost...." the kid's eyes screwed up again, and they were swiping at them.

"Hey, if you're lost, it's okay-" Legend dropped the wrapped bottle of his wound solution to the bench.

Legend dragged his hands down his face while the kid had their eyes covered, now what?! How do I end up in these situations, I am not the guy for this.

"I'm lost too," Legend ventured, "maybe you just got lucky but found the wrong person first."

The kid looked up. Legend tried to give a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a lop-sided grimace. The poor kid looked exhausted.

"I'm with my... brothers. I fell too, and hurt my knee. So now I'm going to sit still and wait for them instead of running around and getting more lost."

A chubby little fist rubbed up under the kid's nose and eyes again. It almost looked like they bit back a yawn.

"Your turn. I'm going to clean your knee and palms, if you talk it won't sting as much," Legend tried. Maybe he could at least help the kid find whoever is supposed to be watching them.

"Missing... um," they stared at the cloth Legend doused with the solution.

Legend hid it behind a curved hand so the kid couldn't see it when he went to dab the scrape.

"Ow..." they pouted, but let Legend keep working and kept talking, "missing um. My friends. I didn't mean to hurt one, but he put on a mask, and now I don't know where he went. And- and-"

"Breathe, kid."

"I don't know where my other friend's house is anymore. And- and I miss home. But I- I think I got really lost. I don't remember how to get back-" They cut themself off with a yawn before jolting and looking around frantically.

"Tired?" The kid shook their head side to side so hard the back of the hat and the tufts of hair sticking out from under it whipped their face.

"Sure. Well. Waiting in one place can help if you're lost, your friends might be able to find you easier. And you should probably stop running around for a little bit to let yourself heal."

Legend tied off the last bandage around the kid's hand and was met with very slow, confused blinking.

"If you want, when my brothers show up, we can help you look for them or try and help you get home."

Legend busied himself with packing away the kit and giving the kid a minute to think. After another minute with no answer, Legend looked over to see the smaller hylian's head nodding while they methodically ran their finger over the newly applied bandages.

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe," Legend offered.

The kid jolted up again, but let themself relax and lean back with a little nod. Legend offered out his pack for the kid to lean against. They took the offer, quickly tucking it under their head and curling up on the bench. Legend watched the small kid trace their running path across the plaza with their eyes while keeping up their methodical brushing across the bandage.

Legend leaned forward onto his palm again, searching the plaza for any other stray kid with a festival mask, or a parent looking for their child.

An hour quickly passed, the kid snoozed on, and Legend had no luck finding anyone who the kid may belong to. At one point, two little heads poked around the tree that was providing shade, but by the time Legend turned, all he caught was the sight of a parting swish of a grass skirt and a giggle.

He groaned and rubbed at his face again. It was starting to feel like nobody was even looking for either of them.

After another long wait, Legend himself starting to doze, a small finger poked him in the side. He jumped to awareness and whipped his head to glare at a young boy dressed up like a sheikah stealth agent to his side.

"Who are you? Why do you have my friend with you?" Blond eyebrows creased dramatically and arms held akimbo as the boy spoke.

"You're their friend with the mask? Kid's been running all over, looking for you, you know. Fell down 'n everything. Thats kind of a crap way to treat your friend- they were worried."

The boy tilted his head and pulled down the cloth over his chin. Yeesh, these kids are way too young to be running amok alone, Legend thought when he was met with another round face of baby fat and youth.

"That's not me, but he is my friend too, why do you have them?"

"I don't have anyone," Legend balked. What a weird way to talk, it must be one of those things that doesn't translate well from era to era. "I am watching them because they were alone and hurt."

"Hurt?! How!"

"Zea?" The kid woke up, great.

"Yeah! You were gone for so long! My dad was gonna- got all- psssh bust a top! 'Cause the - Wait, how did you get hurt?"

"I fell, see. It's okay," they showed off their bandages like a badge of honour.

"You know this guy, kid?" Legend asked, on the border of relieved and suspicious.

"Yeah, I know Zea. He's my friend too," the kid rolled their eyes with another yawn. "Her dad lets me sleep over when I visit."

"OH- Yeah, dad said to find you because it's time for the play on the stage! C'mon!"

"Bye, I like your skirt." And with that, the two kids held each other's hand and ran off, back through the gap in the bushes.

"LEGE!"

"Finally-" Legend looked to the sky before pushing himself to standing and carefully turning, "TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!"

"Relax, we found you eventually - why do you look so tired?"

"I've been playing babysitter to some random kid who ate shit on the plaza. Do we know whose era we're in yet? Full of weirdos."

"Pffft, says you. Everyone we've met has been delightful! Even met the King of Hyrule and his kid for a little bit. Apparently we're just outside of this era's Hyrule, and the King and Princess- er, Princx I think was how they said it, are here on a visit for the festival. Looks like this is a good place to end up while you wait for our busted up selves to heal."

"Great," Legend hopped over to grab Time's offered arm and began hobbling along with the group, "please tell me we have a room somewhere, I feel like I could sleep for a week."

Time paused, and Legend caught the smirk and shift of his good eye right before he went into action.

"No- NO! Time I- uhf!"

"I'll keep you safe," Time laughed, "I promise I won't drop you. Sleep, and this'll help keep the weight off that leg. Can't have you running around on it if you expect it to heal. We haven't gotten accommodation yet, but Warriors is working on it."

Legend paused for a moment, glancing at the bush and plaza falling rapidly behind.

"You cryptic bastard." He let his chin fall to Time's shoulder and yawned.