All In for The Great Mammon
Mammon had always worn his bad reputation like a badge of honor. Greedy. Selfish. Scumbag. The Avatar of Greed who couldnât stay out of trouble even if his immortality depended on it.
To everyone else, that was all he was.
But you had seen the truth hidden beneath the loud bragging, the flashy scams, and that cocky grin. Youâd discovered the demon who would sprint across the Devildom without hesitation the second you were in danger. The one whoâd shrug off his own jacket and drape it over your shoulders the moment the Devildom nights turned cold. The one who always found his way to your side when the world grew too heavy, too cruel, too overwhelming.
He was the same demon who had cradled your broken body in his arms the day you died, tears streaming down his face as he sobbed like heâd lost the only thing in all three realms that truly mattered. His voice had cracked over and over, whispering your name like a prayer and a curse.
He wasnât perfect. Far from it. He was loud, impulsive, and endlessly troublesome.
But he loved you in a way that was raw, messy, and devastatingly real. And somewhere along the line, you had fallen helplessly in love with him too.
You would do anything for him.
Unfortunately⌠he knew that. Which is how you ended up here.
 You stood backstage in the dim, hazy underbelly of the Devildomâs lower district, the bass from the gambling floor thrumming through the thin walls like a second heartbeat. The âdressing roomâ was little more than a curtained off corner stacked with crates of illicit hellfire whiskey and half-empty bottles of cheap demon perfume. A cracked mirror leaned against the wall, reflecting back a version of you that made your stomach twist.
The red corset dress theyâd forced on you was sinful. Black lace trim hugged every curve, the boning so tight it pushed your chest up like an offering to whatever dark gods ruled this place. Matching gloves climbed past your elbows. And the thigh high boots? Tall and seductive. Your hair had been tousled into something that was both wild and elegant, lips painted a deep, glossy crimson that screamed allure.
Your fingers trembled as you fastened the last hook on the corset. The fabric was cool against your skin, but your cheeks burned. This is insane. You werenât some succubus performer. You were the human exchange student, the ambassador, the one who was supposed to represent the Human World with dignity. Yet here you were, about to strut out there, dancing and singing like the main attraction in a den of vice. All for him.
Three days ago, the knocking on your bedroom door had been frantic, too loud and too fast to be anyone but Mammon. You barely had time to sit up before the door flew open and Mammon practically tumbled inside.
âOi! Human! Wake up, this is huge!â He slammed the door behind him. His white hair was even more disheveled than usual, and that signature smirk was stretched wide across his face. âYou ainât gonna believe what I just heard about. Thereâs this underground casino poppinâ up in the lower district. Real high stakes, yâknow? The kind where one good night could set a demon up for centuries!â
Youâd groaned, pulling the blanket over your head. âMammon, itâs 3 AMâŚâ
âGet up!â He yanked the blanket down, golden eyes sparkling with that familiar greedy glint.
You squinted at him, already suspicious. âWhy do I have to go?â
Mammonâs smirk turned sly as he plopped onto the edge of your bed, leaning in way too close. âThe ringâs only open for three nights. This is our shot! And with a human like you on my arm⌠everyoneâs gonna be curious about ya instead of watchinâ my hands. A weighted dice here, a switched card there⌠Easy Grimm. Perfect distraction, right?â
You hesitated, sitting up fully now. âMammon⌠that sounds like cheating. And dangerous.â
He waved a hand dismissively, though his cheeks flushed just a little. âCâmon, everyone thereâs gonna be cheatinâ and stealinâ! Itâs the name of the game in the lower district, ya know? No one plays fair. And hey-â He puffed out his chest, jabbing a thumb at himself. âThe Great Mammonâs got your back! I wonât let anyone get too close to ya. Youâll be perfectly safe. Câmon, itâll be an adventure! You and me, rakinâ in the Grimm togetherâŚâ
His golden eyes softened a fraction, blush deepening as he glanced away. âBesides⌠I kinda want ya there. Makes it more fun.â
You sighed, already knowing you were going to regret this. But the way he looked at you made it impossible to say no. âFine. But if things go south, weâre out.â
âDeal!â Mammon grinned, bolting for the door like he was afraid youâd change your mind.
That first night, however, didnât go as planned.
The underground venue was a den of velvet drapes, low lighting, and the constant clink of chips. Demons of all shapes and sizes crowded around felt tables, eyes sharp and smiles sharper. You stuck close to Mammonâs side, his arm looped possessively around your waist as he steered you through the crowd.
You drew stares immediately. A human down here? Whispers followed you like smoke. A few bolder demons leaned in, offering drinks or âbetter gamesâ with leering grins. Mammonâs grip tightened each time, his usual loud bravado turning into a low, warning growl that sent most of them slinking away.
But the energy was off. Everyone was on edge, watching for tricks. Mammon barely got a chance to work his magic. By the end of the night, his stack of chips was smaller than when you started.
âTch⌠lousy bunch of paranoid idiots,â he grumbled as you prepared to leave. âNo oneâs makinâ any real moves tonight.â
Thatâs when the lights dimmed further. A slow, sultry beat filled the room as the burlesque show began on the raised stage at the far end. Feathers, shimmering scales, and hypnotic movements drew every pair of eyes in the place. The crowd surged forward, attention finally stolen.
You watched the performers. Confident, teasing, commanding the room with nothing but presence and allure. An idea sparked.
âMammon,â you whispered, tugging his sleeve. âIâve got a plan for tomorrow night.â
He blinked, tearing his gaze from the stage. âHuh? What kinda plan?â
You smiled sweetly. âLetâs just say⌠Iâll be the distraction you wanted. A better one.â
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Several rehearsals later, and your âdistractionâ had turned into the main event. The bass vibrated up through your heels. You could hear the low rumble of voices and the occasional roar of victory or despair from the gambling floor just beyond the curtain.Â
You had told Mammon that you needed to excuse yourself for a moment.
Heâd grinned, distracted by a fresh hand of cards, and waved you off with a quick, âYeah, yeah. Donât take too long, human!â Little did he know.
Your heart hammered against the tight corset. This dress left almost nothing to the imagination; lace and silk clinging to your waist, the neckline plunging daringly, the skirt slit high enough to flash thigh with every step.
A sharp knock on the wooden crate beside your âdressing roomâ made you jump.
âFive minutes, sweetheart!â a gruff voice called.
You took a shaky breath, smoothing your gloves. Part of you wanted to march out there and drag Mammon back to the House of Lamentation by his ear. The other part, the part that had fallen for his stupid, greedy, golden-eyed charm, wanted to see his face when you stepped into the spotlight.
The curtain twitched, and you caught a glimpse of the floor. Dim red lighting, swirling smoke, tables packed with demons in tight suits and looser morals. And there, at the center table, was Mammon. His white hair caught the light as he leaned over his cards.
He hadnât seen you yet.
Then the music shifted. Slow, sultry, heavy with dark strings that vibrated low in your belly. Your cue.
The stage was a raised platform bathed in low crimson light, smoke curling around your ankles. The gambling floor stretched out before you; demons of all shapes hunched over card tables, dice rolling, Grimm stacking high.Â
He was laughing loudly, too loudly, slamming down cards with exaggerated swagger while nursing a glass of something strong. You rolled your eyes despite yourself.
Then the spotlight hit you.Â
Your hips swayed just enough to make the slit in your skirt reveal the smooth line of your leg. The moment you emerged, the noise dipped. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd like flame across oil.
A human. Here. Looking like lust itself.
Mammonâs head snapped up so fast you thought heâd get whiplash. His cards slipped from his fingers, scattering across the felt. Those blue-golden eyes widened, pupils blowing wide as they raked over you. From the glossy crimson lips down to the dangerously high heels and back up again. His mouth fell open.
âY/NâŚ?â His voice was barely audible over the music, but you saw it on his lips.
His face flushed a deep, unmistakable red. The Great Mammon, master of scams and self-proclaimed smooth talker, looked utterly floored. One of his opponents said something, but Mammon couldnât pull his gaze away from you. His hand clenched around the edge of the table like he was physically restraining himself.
You let a slow, teasing smile curve your lips, the same one youâd practiced in that cracked mirror, and began to move. Every step, every sway of your hips, every flutter of your lashes was aimed straight at him.
He wasnât cheating anymore. He wasnât even pretending to play. All his focus, all that greedy attention, was locked on you like you were the only jackpot that mattered.
A low bass thrummed through the room, dark strings weaving beneath it. You let the music sink into your bones, lips parting as your voice slid over the first notes of a song you knew by heart. A human world song. Something they would find sensual and exotic wrapped in one.
Your performance started elegantly. Slow, controlled sways of your hips matched the languid rhythm, corset accentuating your curves. One gloved hand trailed slowly down your neck, fingertips brushing over the swell of your chest before continuing lower, teasing the black lace at your waist. You rolled your body like it was made of the smooth liquor filling every cup, each motion a perfect blend of grace and corruption.
Your voice grew richer, lower, more sensational.
The heels clicked sharply as you turned, letting the dress ride up just enough to flash a teasing glimpse of your hips before you spun away again. The room erupted. Demons whistled and hollered, bets forgotten mid-hand.
But you only cared about one pair of eyes.
Mammonâs sharp blue-gold eyes locked onto you like you were the only person in the room. His mouth parted, cheeks burning a deep red darker than the stage lights. Pure, stunned captivation flickered across his face, quickly melting into something hotter. Hunger, shock, and raw possessiveness.
The dance grew bolder. You dropped low into a slow, rolling dip. As you rose, you ran your fingers through your tousled hair and let your head fall back, exposing the line of your throat while your hips continued their hypnotic circles.
A demon at his table cleared his throat loudly. âOi, Mammon! Your turn, idiot! Play the damn hand!â
Mammon tossed down a card without looking, eyes snapping right back to you. Another demon laughed, but Mammon didnât care. He couldnât stop staring. Every sway of your hips, every teasing touch, every elegant twist of your body had him completely ensnared.
You danced just for him. A little spin that made the skirt flare, a slow drag of your gloved hand down your side, locking eyes with him as you mouthed his name silently.Â
You descended the stage steps into the crowd, voice never faltering as you sang the chorus.
Every step was calculated. You hooked a gloved finger under a demonâs tie, purring the lyrics right beside his ear before spinning away with a teasing laugh. You leaned over another table, pressing close enough that the corset did wicked things to your cleavage, singing low and intimate while your eyes stayed locked on Mammon the entire time. Grimm scattered as distracted demons fumbled their chips.
Mammon looked deadly. Jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to slits, a low growl rumbling in his chest that only you could recognize. Every flirt, every tug, every sway of your hips made his expression darker. He looked two seconds from flipping a table and throwing you over his shoulder.
You met his gaze across the chaos. The entire crowd was watching you, but you only saw him.
For half a second Mammon just stared, stunned, golden eyes wide like youâd personally short-circuited his brain. Then the switch flipped. He remembered exactly why he was here. Mammonâs lips twitched into the faintest smirk as he began to move.
While you danced between tables Mammon became a ghost. The Avatar of Greed in his natural element. He laughed loudly at one table, slapping backs, then slipped fingers into pockets. A palm brushed a fat wallet here, a stack of high-value chips there. Undetectable. Elegant, almost. He flowed through the room like liquid sin, cleaning out mark after mark while every eye stayed glued to you.
You kept the performance alive. Black gloves slid up your arms as you trailed a finger along the rim of a glass. Another tie pulled, another whispered tease. Your voice carried over the music, breathy and tempting, the lyrics dripping with double meaning.
Mammonâs eyes never left you. Even as he worked, his gaze scorched your skin with jealousy. Mine, that look screamed.
The song built to its peak. You climbed back onto the stage for the finale, hands sliding down your body, head thrown back in feigned ecstasy. The crowd exploded. Grimm rained onto the stage as bets were forgotten and demons threw money just to keep you moving.
As the last note of the song faded into the smoky air, the spotlight dimmed, casting long shadows across the stage. For a moment, the underground ring was silent.Â
Then the applause thundered like hellfire itself. Grimm rained onto the stage in glittering waves, but you barely registered the chaos. Your chest heaved, skin slick under the stage lights, the corset suddenly feeling far too tight. All you wanted was to slip backstage, find Mammon, and never wear this dress again.
But the crowd had other plans.
Before you could retreat behind the curtain, a tall demon with slicked back obsidian hair and a razor sharp grin pushed through the front row. His eyes raked over you like you were the ultimate prize. He was dressed nicer than most, rings glinting on every finger, clearly a VIP. And he was drunk on more than just victory.
âWell, well⌠look what the human world dragged in,â he purred, voice oily as he stepped onto the stage like he owned it. One clawed hand shot out, catching your wrist before you could pull away. âThat little performance⌠you were singing right at me, werenât ya, sweetheart? Come on. Let a real demon show you how we celebrate down here.â
His free hand boldly slid to your waist, fingers digging into the lace with clear intent. The crowd whooped, some cheering him on. Your stomach turned.
âAww, donât be shy.â He leaned in, breath hot and reeking of strong Devildom liquor against your ear. âNameâs Zolroth. Stick with me tonight and Iâll make it worth your while. What do you say?â
His grip tightened, pulling you flush against him.
From the gambling floor, you heard the distinct sound of a chair scraping violently.
Mammon appeared in a blur of white and gold, shoving demons aside as he stormed toward the stage. His usual cocky grin was plastered on, but his golden eyes burned. The Avatar of Greed was pissed.
âOi! Get yer filthy hands off them, ya worthless low rank scum!â Mammonâs voice cracked across the stage like a whip. In seconds he was there, grabbing Zolrothâs wrist with surprising strength and yanking it away from your waist. âThey ainât interested, and they sure as hell ainât goinâ anywhere with you!â
Zolroth laughed, clearly too drunk, or too stupid, to recognize who he was messing with. âBack off, pretty boy. I saw them first. That whole show was an invitation-â
âInvitation?â Mammonâs laugh was sharp and dangerous. He stepped fully between you and the demon, one arm snaking possessively around your waist, pulling you tight against his side. The heat of his body burned through the thin fabric of your dress. âThat show was for me, ya hear? Every sway, every wink, every damn note. They were singinâ straight at The Great Mammon! Ya think a bottom-feeder like you even had a chance?â
You could feel Mammonâs heart hammering against your shoulder. His fingers dug into your hip, not painful, but definitely claiming.Â
Zolroth laughed, low and mocking. âMammon? The scummy second-born? Step off, trash. The human clearly wants a real winner tonight.â
Mammonâs smile sharpened, dangerous. For a second, you saw the real fury flicker. Possessive, protective, the kind that made lesser demons flee. But he played it off with a theatrical laugh, scratching the back of his head.
âHeh, that so? Tell ya what, hotshot. Since youâre so confident⌠how âbout we settle this like proper demons?â
He snatched a revolver that was laid on one of the tables and spun it once with flashy flair before pointing it lazily at Zolroth.
âOne round of Hellâs Roulette. Loser dies. Winner takes all.â His golden eyes flicked to you, dark and possessive, voice dropping into a low growl. âIncluding my human for the night.â
The crowd erupted into a frenzy of murmurs and bloodthirsty cheers. Hellâs Roulette. Six chambers, one cursed bullet that didnât just kill⌠it erased a demonâs very existence.
Zolrothâs grin widened, all teeth and arrogance. âYouâre on, fool.â
You looked frantically between them, heart slamming against your ribs. This had spiraled far beyond a stage tease. Your stomach twisted with anxiety. Youâd only wanted to rile Mammon up, not start a death game. The corset suddenly felt like it was crushing your lungs as the weight of what youâd provoked settled over you.
A neutral third demon was called over to load the revolver in plain sight. He spun the cylinder with deliberate slowness, showing every empty chamber before slipping in the single cursed round. No sleight of hand possible. Or so it seemed.
The crowd pressed closer, hungry for bloodsport. Your pulse hammered in your ears. Mammonâs arm stayed locked around your waist like a steel band, warm and steady even as his golden eyes stayed fixed on Zolroth with lethal focus.
Zolroth snatched the gun first, spinning the cylinder with a smug flick of his wrist. He pressed the barrel to his own temple without hesitation.
He laughed wildly and shoved the revolver at Mammonâs chest. âYour turn, second-rate.â
Mammon took the gun, but instead of immediately raising it, he glanced sideways at you. His free hand gave your hip a gentle, grounding squeeze. For a split second the cocky mask slipped, and you saw the real Mammon, reassuring and completely focused on you.
âRelax, treasure,â he murmured low enough that only you could hear, voice soft but sure. âI ainât losinâ ya. Not to this loser, not to anyone. Ya trust The Great Mammon, right?â
You gave him the smallest nod. His thumb brushed your side once more in silent reassurance before he raised the revolver.
The tension in the room thickened. Zolrothâs smirk faltered just a fraction. They passed the gun back and forth again. Click. Click. Until only two chambers remained.
Mammonâs golden eyes locked onto yours. The smirk he wore for the crowd didnât reach them. His voice dropped, low and intense, meant only for you.
âDonât take your eyes off me, got it?â
You held his gaze, heart pounding so hard you could barely breathe. He raised the revolver to his own temple with steady confidence. For a split second, as he lifted the gun, you caught it. A faint, almost invisible flash of movement at his wrist, the cylinder spinning impossibly fast. No one else noticed. Not Zolroth. Not the referee. Not the bloodthirsty crowd.
Mammon pulled the trigger.
A wave of dizzying relief crashed over you so suddenly your knees nearly buckled. He was safe. Mammon was safe. The nightmare scenario youâd been imagining, his body hitting the floor, golden eyes going dull, dissolved in an instant. Yet your heart refused to slow, still hammering wildly against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest.
Zolrothâs face twisted in rage and disbelief for only a moment before pure terror took over.
âYou⌠You cheating bastard!â Zolroth began to curse, voice cracking with fury and panic. âThat was rigged! Thereâs no fucking way-!â He stumbled backward, legs nearly giving out. âI⌠I wonât accept this! You cheated! Everyone saw it, right?! He cheated!â
His breathing turned ragged and desperate. The once arrogant VIP looked seconds away from passing out. He spun on his heel, still spitting insults. His clawed hands shook as he clutched at nearby demons, trying to shove his way through the crowd and disappear before anyone could hold him accountable.
Mammonâs expression went ice-cold.
In one fluid motion, he raised the revolver, aimed at the back of Zolrothâs head, and pulled the trigger.
The cursed bullet exploded with a sickly green flash. Zolrothâs body jerked violently before crumpling to the floor in a heap. The crowd gasped, then erupted into a mix of shocked whispers and uneasy cheers.Â
No one dared accuse him.Â
Mammon lowered the gun with a satisfied smile, flipping it once before tossing it back to the referee like it was nothing more than a cheap prop.
âTold ya,â he said loudly, voice carrying across the stunned murmurs, âloser dies, winner takes all.â
He didnât even glance at the body. His attention was already back on you.
The arm around your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him as the crowd parted. Golden eyes scanned your face, searching for any sign of fear or disgust. The cocky grin he wore for the audience softened the moment he focused on you.
âCâmon,â he murmured, voice low and rough against your ear. âLetâs get ya outta here. Ya didnât need to see that.â
He scooped you up bridal-style without waiting for a reply, one arm securely under your knees, the other supporting your back. The corset dug in as you were pressed to his chest, but his warmth and familiar scent made it easier to breathe.
The Devildom night air hit like ice against your overheated skin as Mammon burst out of the underground casino. His heart hammered so hard you could feel it through his shirt. He didnât slow down once. Golden eyes darted side to side, scanning for anyone foolish enough to follow.
âStupid⌠filthy⌠low-life bastard-â he muttered under his breath the entire way back to the House of Lamentation, boots pounding the pavement. âTouchinâ my human⌠actinâ like they got any rightâŚâ
You stayed quiet, cheek pressed to his shoulder, letting him vent. The corset dug into your ribs with every step he took, but you didnât complain. Not when his grip on you was this tight, this protective.
By the time he kicked open the door to his room and slammed it shut behind you both, he was still fuming. He set you down carefully on his bed like you were made of glass, then immediately started pacing, white hair wild and cheeks still flushed from the nightâs chaos.
âThat sleazy bastard, Zol-whatever the hell his name was, puttinâ his dirty claws on ya like he owned the place! In front of everyone! The Great Mammonâs human!â He threw his hands up, voice rising. âI shoulda let the bullet hit him on the first turn instead of playinâ fair. Well⌠Mostly fair!â
You stood up, the boots making your legs look endless in that sinful red corset dress. The black lace trim whispered against your thighs as you stepped closer.
âMammon.â You caught his arm, stopping him mid step. Your voice was soft but firm. âYou won.â
He opened his mouth to argue, then froze.
His golden eyes finally focused, really focused, on you. On the way the corset cinched your waist and shoved up your chest. On the glossy crimson lips, the tousled hair, the long gloves, and the dangerous slit in the skirt that showed far too much.
A deep blush exploded across his face, all the way to the tips of his ears. âH-Hah?!â He sputtered as though he were seeing you for the first time, taking a step back only to bump into his own desk. âOi, human! Donât just stand there lookinâ like⌠like that!â
You couldnât help it. A soft giggle escaped you. The Great Mammon, master of scams, king of greed, reduced to stuttering and averted eyes because of you.
You stepped closer, gloved fingers brushing his cheek. âThank you for stepping in. I knew you would.â
Mammonâs breath hitched. His hands hovered in the air like he didnât know whether to pull you closer or push you away before he lost what little composure he had left. âY-Yeah, well⌠âcourse I did. Canât let anyone think youâre up for grabs.â
You smiled, slow and fond, then rose onto your toes. The heels helped. Your lips brushed his before he could ramble anymore.
The kiss was sweet at first, grateful and tender. Then Mammon made a low, wrecked sound in the back of his throat and melted. His arms wrapped around you, one hand splaying possessively across your lower back while the other tangled in your hair. He kissed you like heâd been starving for it since the moment you stepped on that stage.Â
When you finally pulled back for air, his forehead rested against yours. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
ââŚDonât ever do somethinâ that risky for me again, ya got that? I can handle losinâ out on a little Grimm. I canât handle losinâ you.â
âYou wonât lose me. Not ever.â You smiled, slow and teasing, sliding your gloved hands up his chest until they rested over his racing heart. âBesides. You seemed to like the show.â
âLike it?â Mammon let out a strangled laugh, nearly choking on it. âI damn near had a heart attack! Every demon in there was starinâ at ya.â His voice dropped as one hand slid lower, palm smoothing over the curve of your hip and down the slit of the skirt until his fingers brushed bare thigh. âAnd then that sleazy bastard put his hands on yaâŚâ
He shuddered, pulling you harder against him. The heat of his body burned through his shirt, and you could feel just how affected he was, his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach.
You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. âThen remind me who I belong to, Mammon.â
A broken sound escaped him, something between a whimper and a groan. âY-You⌠youâre gonna be the death of me, ya know that?â But even as he complained, his hands were moving, greedy and desperate. His fingers found the laces of the corset, fumbling at first, clumsy with how badly they shook.
âStupid hooks⌠who even designed this thing?â he grumbled, face buried in the crook of your neck. He pressed gentle kisses along your shoulder as he worked, each tug loosening the corset until it finally gave way. The sudden rush of cool air against your heated skin made you gasp. Mammonâs breath hitched sharply.
âShitâŚâ he whispered, flustered and awed. He paused for a moment, eyes drinking up the sight of you like a man dying of thirst. âWhat did a scumbag like me ever do to deserve ya?â
You pushed the loosened corset the rest of the way down. It pooled at your feet with a sigh, leaving you in nothing but the thigh-high boots, black gloves, and crimson lipstick. Mammonâs eyes went wide, pupils blown black with want. He backed you toward the bed until your knees hit the edge and you sat, pulling him down with you.
You tugged him into another kiss. This one was deeper, hungrier. Tongues tangled, teeth nipped, and Mammon moaned into your mouth like he was the one being undone. His hands roamed greedily. Squeezing, stroking, claiming every inch of newly exposed skin as if he still couldnât believe you were real.
âIâm yours, Mammon,â you gasped, threading your fingers through his white hair and tugging just hard enough to make him groan. âOnly yours.â
That was all it took. The last threads of his restraint snapped. He pushed you back onto the bed, crawling over you with that familiar cocky grin finally returning, though it was softer now, trembling at the edges with emotion. He kissed you like he was trying to pour every unsaid confession into it.
Clothes were shed in a frantic haze, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room, your gloves peeled off slowly because he wanted to feel your bare hands on him. Every touch made him shiver and curse under his breath, cheeks burning hotter with every needy sound you drew from him.
When he finally pressed inside you, slow and deep, his forehead dropped to yours again. âF-Fuck⌠so good⌠always so perfect for meâŚâ His hips rolled in a greedy rhythm, one hand gripping your thigh where the boot still clung to your skin.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and whispered his name like a prayer against his lips. The rhythm between you grew frantic, desperate, and passionate. He buried his face in your neck as pleasure built, muttering a constant stream of flustered praise and possessive growls between kisses and bites.
Every thrust was greedy, like he was trying to claim every inch of you, to bury himself so deep youâd never forget who you belonged to. His white hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, golden eyes half-lidded and glowing with raw hunger as he stared down at you.
âMine,â he growled against your throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before sucking another mark there. âAll fuckinâ mine. That dress⌠those hips⌠every demon in that place wanted ya, but only I get this.â His voice cracked on the last word, hips snapping harder, the slap of skin echoing in his room alongside your shared gasps.
You arched into him, nails digging into his back, the boots still clinging to your legs as they locked tighter around his waist. âYes-! Mammon-only you,â you moaned, the words dissolving into a whimper as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again.
He shuddered violently at the sound of his name on your lips, burying his face deeper into your neck. âShit- say it louder, treasure. Let âem all hear who makes ya feel this good.â His hand slid down, gripping your thigh hard enough to bruise, the other bracing beside your head as he drove into you with everything he had. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall in a rhythm that would definitely earn complaints tomorrow.
Pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly, every roll of his hips pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel him trembling, his usual facade stripped away until all that remained was desperate need and overwhelming love.
âIâm all yours, Mammon- ah-!â Your voice broke as the orgasm crashed over you, vision whitening, body clenching around him like you never wanted to let go.
âF-Fuck-!â Mammonâs rhythm faltered, hips stuttering as he followed right after you with a broken moan that sounded almost pained. He spilled deep inside you, warmth flooding your core while he held you so tightly it was like he was afraid youâd vanish.
For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant thrum of Devildom night outside his window. Mammon collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you completely, face still hidden in the crook of your neck. His arms stayed wrapped around you like steel bands, one hand absently stroking your side as if soothing himself more than you.
Eventually, he lifted his head. His cheeks were still flushed dark, golden eyes soft and a little glassy with emotion, almost shy.
ââŚYa really went all in for me tonight,â he mumbled. âYouâre insane, ya know that?â He let out a shaky laugh.Â
You smiled, running your fingers through his messy white hair. âIâd do it again. For you.â
âDonât you dare,â he grumbled immediately, nipping at your collarbone in playful punishment. But his arms tightened around you. âNext time I got a scam, weâre doinâ it my way⌠You can always dress up for me in private. No other demons allowed to look at ya like that ever again.â
He helped you out of the remaining boots with surprising care, tossing them aside before pulling you against his chest under the covers. Skin to skin, his warmth enveloped you completely. His hand rubbed slow circles on your back, the other tangled in your hair.
âYâknow⌠I ainât good at this lovey-dovey stuff,â he admitted quietly after a while, voice muffled against your hair. âBut I⌠I love you, yâknow? Iâd burn every Grimm in the Devildom before I let anyone take you from me.â
You kissed his lips sweetly one last time. âI know, Mammon. I love you too.â
Wrapped in each otherâs arms, the chaos of the underground casino felt like a distant dream. There was only this love. Raw, messy, devastatingly real. The kind only Mammon could give.
And you wouldnât trade it for anything.
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