This idea has been festering in my mind, pls pls, obsessed Coyle rlly wants to get freaky with the reagent, but reagent is virgin and "like the good Christian law abiding man" he is, he decides to sort of force a ring on that finger!! And not sin by having premarital sex and to consumate their wedding..and then honeymoon night!! Ps..crybaby reagent reader..
tags & content: NSFW, rape/non-con, sexual content, rough sex, painful sex, obsession, canon-typical violence, physical assault, a not really official wedding but it gets the point across, blood as lube, loss of virginity, humiliation, reagent reader, afab/female reader
“You startin’ with the waterworks already?” Coyle sneered, his fingers bruising as they crushed you easily against the office desk. Your fingers scrambled uselessly against the charred wood, only serving to squash your ass harder against the cleft in his pants.
You can barely get the air out of your lungs, let alone pleas. Your lips gasp around air, tasting the bitterness of your own tears as they track uncontrollably down your dirtied cheeks. The clatter of the baton being placed beside your head made you flinch, whimpering. His free hand scoops under your jaw, fingers jabbing hard into your wet cheeks.
You felt his rough chuckle vibrate against the side of your head, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he seemed to drown in your misery.
“Best keep that wailing to a minimum before I decide to fry you from the inside out,” he growled, though as he ground himself against your ass, his confined cock, now hard, told you he didn’t quite mind the tears.
Panic lanced up your throat, his rough fingers easily shoving your pants and panties down to your ankles. A high pitched, weedy sound erupted from your throat.
“Stop, stop, please,” you wailed, clawing at the desk. The acrid scent of smoke and charred flesh filled your lungs.
Coyle cursed, his lip curling into a cunning smirk. “You right, sugar. I almost forgot.”
He leaned over you then, an immovable force pressed over your back. You tried to arch away from him, but the wooden desk only dug uncomfortably into your ribs. When Murkoff fed you the way they did, it was easy to feel them against any hard surface. A hand reached for your wrist, and you squealed, trying to jerk it away from his grasp. You managed to slip away twice before his impatience took over.
His fingers curl tight in your hair, slamming your face into the desk. Numbing pain cracks across your nose, barely even feeling the steady trickle of blood that mixed with your tears. You gasp, body tensing.
“I will make you ride that fuckin’ lightening if you keep squirming,” Coyle spat, releasing your hair with a rough shove before finally catching your wrist. “Weepy sack o’shit.”
You moaned, your struggles weakened by the dizzying sensation in your vision. Just barely, through the blurriness, you watched him work a charred, metal ring onto your finger. It drags uncomfortably against your skin, the metal rough and cold. Coyle doesn’t care about the discomfort, admiring the mockery of a wedding ring sitting wedged on your finger.
“I’m a God fearing man, sweetness. I believe in doing things the right way, the way the Good Book intended,” he mutters, thumb lingering on your knuckle where the wedding ring kisses. “Ain’t right for a man and woman to be together without the blessin’ of the Lord and the State.”
He leans his weight harder into your wrist until you cry out in pain, the bones grinding uncomfortably.
“Ain’t you got something to say, you ungrateful little shit?”
Spots dizzy your vision. Your lips barely form around anything other than a sob. He shakes you roughly.
“I will fuckin’ fry you, girl. Say it.”
“I-I…do?” You sob, nails digging hard into the wood. All you’re rewarded with is an approving grunt from Coyle, muttering something in triumph under his breath. He lifts his weight off you, and you almost sigh in relief. A glob of blood drips from your nose when you lift your head an inch, but you’re stopped dead when his hand lands hard on your ass.
You hear him spit, and a warm glob of saliva lands at the top of your exposed folds. Disgust wracks through your spine. You instinctively try to curl in on yourself, but the crushing realisation that you’re trapped paralyses you.
His thumb catches the wetness and rubs it roughly over your dry cunt. It’s an uncomfortable, vile feeling, making your bottom lip wobble.
“We’re gonna do this proper-like. Have us a real nice honeymoon night.” His lip cracks open into a sadistic grin. “Wanna make sure this marriage is sanctified, every which way.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” you sob, your shoulders shaking as you draw a pathetic wail into your lungs. “Please stop it.”
Coyle kisses his teeth in annoyance, but he doesn’t lash out. You feel his fiery glare pierce the back of your head, before his thumb moves higher up instead. It presses against your ass, but not hard enough to push past the ring of muscle. Your body goes rigid.
“It ain’t right for you to be so ungrateful, wife,” he hisses, barely held back contempt in his voice. “Ain’t right at all.”
“I’m sorry,” you stammer, blinking away tears. They won’t stop coming. “I just, I—”
“Any other man, they’d’a had their way with you by now. Raped you raw and left you for dead,” Coyle harshly cuts you off, his words like a knife to your heart.
You start sputtering, your voice cracking with hysterics. “No, no, please…”
He seems to let the image linger, a horrifying alternative; you’re sure if Leland hadn’t been enticed by your blubbering confession of being a virgin, he would’ve done exactly that. You imagine yourself, a charred, twitching corpse to join the police station’s macabre decorations.
“But it’s our honeymoon, ain’t it?” He chuckles darkly, twisting his fingers in your hair. You shrink away, but he doesn’t yank your head up like last time. He seems to enjoy the way you brace yourself for it instead, anxiously anticipating his actions. His scarred flesh brushes against your cheek, and your nose wrinkles with a shiver. “Why don’t I give you a choice?”
His finger presses harder against the ring of your ass, making you squeak.
“You want me to ruin your cunt?” He growls in a low rumble. “Or this tight little asshole?”
Your eyes widen, gasping for breath. He presses his finger against the ring of muscle, just barely breaching. It’s enough to make you choke on a sob, squirming uncomfortably underneath him.
“My…My!” You sputter, dissolving into a mess. You hiccup on sobs, and Coyle simply scowls.
“Don’t keep me fuckin’ waiting.”
Humiliation burns through your core. “My…” Your bottom lip wobbles, your voice a shaking whimper. “My…pussy…”
Behind his sunglasses, you’re sure his eyes light up with malicious glee. Just the sound of you forcing that mortifying answer from your lips makes him shiver. His hand finally releases your hair, trailing down the side of your neck. It’s plastered with sweat, but he doesn’t care, even when your shoulders instinctively shoot up to your ears.
“Good girl,” he growls, his hand roughly groping your breast. When the position makes it difficult, his fingers dig hard into your shoulder and yank you onto your back. His thumb moves away from your ass, but you can’t even find it in you to relax. “Ain’t that as sweet as apple fuckin’ pie?”
It’s worse like this; your face is a mess, slick with tears and your eyes red raw. Your legs don’t react fast enough to kick, his hands digging into your hips and jerking you closer to the edge of the desk. Your exposed cunt presses against his clothed hard on, legs falling open around his hips.
Your chest heaves in panic. You jerk away when he tears at your shirt, yelping as the material gives way easily. He rumbles something about the way your tits look before he grabbing one again, digging into the soft flesh hard enough to to bruise. He leans down, tongue flicking out to circle a peaked nipple before he draws it into his mouth. He sucks hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, before releasing with a crude, wet pop.
His fingers move to your cunt next, the calloused pads of his fingers probing them roughly, smearing a fresh glob of saliva he spits crudely onto the flesh. He finds your clit, your hips twitching in surprise at the way he grinds down hard on the little nub.
You whimper, realising you can’t even hide your face in the desk.
You feel like you’re going to be sick. Reluctant arousal just barely blooms in your belly, but it’s enough to make you shiver with shameful tingles. The revulsion, at yourself and Coyle, hits you hard. Even when you scrunch your eyes shut, you can’t escape the humiliation.
Two fingers suddenly plunge in your cunt.
Your eyes snap open with a ragged, shocked gasp, legs snapping shut around his hips. Coyle cares little for your comfort, his lip twisted into an impatient snarl. Numbly, you realise it was because you’d closed your eyes, trying to retreat into the darkness beneath your eyelids. He pumps them roughly, your head shaking from side to side as you grasp the edge of the desk above you until you white knuckle it.
“It hurts,” you whine, tears blinding your vision again. Coyle doesn’t listen to you, his eyes having shifted focus back to the way his fingers disappear inside your cunt.
“Tighter than a nun,” he whistles.
You clang of his belt ripples through the air. Panic tightens in your chest, your lungs stuttering to a stop. He loosens his pants enough to free himself, and you force your eyes away from the sight of his cock. You swallow down a scared whimper, mouthing pleas you can’t get around your tongue.
You feel the head of his cock through your folds, his hips rutting impatiently through the warmth. It bumps against your clit, making your teary cheeks flame red.
“Ain’t gonna be gentle,” is the only warning he gives before he forces his way into you. The pain is immediate and bright, drawing a horrible scream from your lips before you can even take a breath. It explodes through your core, your lack of arousal and his lack of concern for your pleasure making it feel like he was splitting you open.
“It hurts! It hurts!” You wail, your voice cracking. “Stop it, please! Stop!”
You claw desperately at the desk, trying to find any sort of leverage you can to get away from him. But Coyle is an immovable force, simply pistoning into you with single minded fervour. You’re gasping and sputtering, each hard smack of his hips against yours punching the air from your burning lungs.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you choke out between sobs, hips instinctively bucking and twisting. Something hot and warm trickles down your thighs — through your hazy, panicked mind, you can tell it’s blood.
Shattering his silence, Coyle finally sneers down at you, his lips twisted in annoyance. “Quit your fuckin’ caterwauling, woman.”
He hooks your knees over his elbows effortlessly, even with your frantic, panicked kicking. His cock, slick with your blood, seems to batter your cervix with renowned speed. Your body bounces against the desk, fucking you hard enough to make your vision go white. Your back arches, but it does little to relieve the pressure.
Your mouth goes slack, your sobs whistly.
Coyle takes the opportunity to lean over you, grinding into your abused cunt. His breathing is ragged in your ear, a lustful groan rumbling from his throat that makes you sick. “Fuck, fuck.”
You don’t know when he finishes, your mind blank. You’ve gone numb from the pain, only able to feel his rhythm stutter and stop, your body finally stilling atop the desk.
Your fingers and toes tingle with numbness.
Dazed, you stare at the ceiling. You don’t know how you’ll make it to the shuttle in this state, but all you can think about is that it’s over. The humiliation settles over you, but all you can think about is dragging yourself straight back to that Sleep Room.
You close your eyes for a fleeting moment.
Tears leak steadily from them, your nose wrinkled in quiet, panicked sniffles.
Leland blows out a ragged breath, his lips curving into a satisfied grin. He drops his gaze to your cunt, admiring the wet, sticky mess he’d made of it. He bumps your legs apart, teeth catching his bottom lip in a groan dripping with lust.
“Well, how ‘bout that?” He chuckles, gripping your jaw to capture your lips. The kiss is brief, filthy, rough, but you don’t have any energy to resist the tongue plundering your mouth. When he pulls away, he gives your cheek a rough pat. “Honeymoon ain’t over, sweetheart. I’m fired up already.”
Your voice is a muffled squeak. “What?”
“I let you choose what you wanted fucked first, babygirl,” Coyle chuckled darkly, wiping your tears roughly over your pale, exhausted face. “Now, roll over. Time to give this sweet ass a proper welcome.”
About time I found someone who writes for mammon !! With that being said, I’d like to ask for him with a service top/dom reader? N maybe near the end once we’ve pleased him he returns the favor via oral ? ^^’
MAMMON WITH SERVICE TOP!READER
notes: HIIIHII THIS IS LITERALLY PERFECT??? GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET RN I LOVE THIS LITTLE THING SM☺️☺️ also im so sorry about the wait i got sick and didnt have inspo for like a day😔
warnings: not writing mammon's accent sorry💔 idk how to write accents properly just imagine it in ur mind idk; mammon being an asshole (hey, its mammon.); afab reader; insults like cunt/whore/bitch etc are still used in a gn way tho; my gf proofread like 80% of this if theres any typos blame her not me /j
word count: 1,510 (not including a/n)
NSFW UNDER CUT
okay lets get this straight
this man can NOT be a good dom
he's literally the single of greed what do you expect
our little pillow princess /hj
okay imagine this: after fizz quit, he's obviously PISSED OFF, so u do a little favor for him (wink wink)
Normally, during his Clown Pageants, you'd just sit next to him and the fizzbots on his web, watching the contestants try to win the crowd over, just to miserably fail, and watch Fizzarolli win... again.
This one had to be the most interesting one so far. Fizzarolli quit. And insulted Mammon too. He was pissed, to say the least.
You left the web a while before he "exploded" the Theatre and entered his office.
"That little bitch!" He shouted, bursting inside the office, not in full demon form anymore.
"Mam, the door." You warned him. But yeah, he pretty much already broke the door. Whatever. He's got the money, he'll get it fixed later.
He sat down on his bean bag next to you. "Can you believe it? I made that cunt! And he just walks out the scene like that!" He bitched, sitting down next to you. "That ungrateful, useless, little-" You shushed him before he could finish his sentence. "WHAT?" He growled at you.
"I think you need to, y'know, relax a little. You know what I mean?" You said, giving him the look. His eyes widened a little at the statement. "Just sit back and enjoy yourself, okay?" You said, running a hand under his motley.
"Fuck." He groaned. He was trying his hardest not to just rip his clothes off. He had a tough day. He needed this. He needed you. Your touch.
You run your hand down his pants, pulling his cock out. He was so painfully hard already. "You're this hard already? All because of me huh? You just love the attention, don't you?"
"Just- fuck, don't make me beg, you cunt." He moaned out, leaning back against the bean bag.
"Alright, boss," you said, your voice dripping with lust. You knew how much of a whore he was for that type of nickname.
brief interruption☝️ i hc his dick is about 10" (HAVE YOU SEEN HOW BIG HE IS ofc hes gonna have a huge cock) and has the same colors as his tongue (purple/periwinkle with dark yellow stripes) AND HELLA GIRTHY TOO HELLO????? CONTINUING,
You gently grip his cock, tracing circles on his tip with your thumb, causing the tiniest drop of pre-cum to leak out. "You like this already? Gosh, you ain't gonna last a second like this." You teased, beginning to stroke his dick at painfully slow rate.
"Doll, please," he panted out, in the most ridiculous fashion ever.
"Don't be greedy, Mam." You chuckled, he was so cute begging like this. "I thought you said you wouldn't beg."
"Maybe if you did a better job at this, bitch." He grunted.
"Do you want me to stop?" You said, softening your grip around his member, causing him to panic a bit. "No! Don't!" He begged, tugging at your sleeves with his bottom pair of arms. "Doll, c'mon. Don't leave me hanging."
"Hm," you wrapped another hand around his dick. "Fine, since you're being such a good boy." You'd have some work to do now. Giving him handjobs was always such a handful, no pun intended. Since he's big, a single hand was never enough. You thought about it for a while, forgetting what you were doing in the first place. "So?"
"Right. My bad." You got back to it quickly though; moving your hand up and down his member at a quicker pace, making him pant and whimper under your touch.
You wanted to give him a blowjob. Should you, though? Yes. Definitely. Even though the back of your throat would hurt horribly afterwards.
Your hands are quick to let go of him, making him tilt his head in confusion. "Whatcha doin'?" His confusion died down swiftly after he saw you kneel in front of him, pulling his pants down. "Don't." He said, grinning as he just ripped them off himself, spreading his legs. "Good boy." You mumbled, kissing his length.
While one of your hands rested on his inner thigh, rubbing gentle circles on it with your index finger, your tongue went from his base to his tip, feeling every little vein on the way up there.
"Fuck, pumpkin." He moaned, grabbing the back of your head. "Please." He lifted your head up to make you look at him. He gave you the most pathetic grin ever, sweating his ass off.
"Don't be a baby." You kissed his tip, making him moan, covering his mouth with his hand.
After teasing and edging him for a good 5 minutes, he had enough of that. "Just- ugh, please." He groaned, tugging at your hair. "Do it already. Ya teasing me too much."
"Stop being a brat, whore." You shut him up with that. "Good." Finally, you got to work. Though you only swallowed his tip at first, he was already a mess. But you had to keep going; you force yourself down his length as best as you could, licking and sucking on him. That was definitely not enough though, so you grab the part you couldnt get down your throat with your hand, caressing his base.
"Close. 'M so fucking-" He groaned, sending down little electric shocks. Oh, yeah, he does that sometimes.
another interruption, i hc him an being a ballooning/joro spider, since he kinda looks like one and they use electricity like him‼️ okay CONTINUING ONCE MOREEEE,,,,,
You took your mouth off him for a bit, gasping for air. "You're being so greedy, you know that?" You grinned at him. He looked like such a mess right now. Panting and sweating. But by god, did he look adorable like that. You go back to just gently licking down at his member, looking him in the eyes.
"Pumpkin, please, 'm so close- fuck..."
"Is that so? Hm?" You mumbled, kissing his base gently, going back to patting his tip with your palm. He greedily humped your palm, eager to cum.
He kept on buckling against your palm until he moaned loudly against his hand. "I'm gonna..." You pulled your hand away from his tip, letting him cum all over your face. He slumped down on the bean bag, gasping for air louder than he had to.
You sigh, getting up to grab some tissues to get you both cleaned. He calls you, "Yes?" You reply.
"Y'know, I could 'pay you back'." He grinned, getting up and grabbing you by the waist. "Ya just calmed me down, guess I owe you a little favor." Without warning you, he grabs you and throws you (as gently as he could) back on the bean bag, leaning on top of you, licking his own cum off your face.
"Cleaning the mess you made with your tongue like that? You slut." You fiddle with his jester hat. "What are you gonna do, huh?"
"Just trust me, sweet cheeks." He mumbled, taking your pants/skirt/shorts off. Oh. Was he gonna..? Normally, he wouldn't really pay you back, not that you wanted him to. You were perfectly fine with just pleasuring him. "You don't have to."
"I want to. Are you gonna let me do my thing, yeah?." He grumbled, taking your underwear off with his teeth. God.
"Mhm, yes sir." He kissed down at your v-line, making you tremble slightly.
a/n, i tried to hard to write an amab version but god im horrid at this
also holy shit have you seen his tongue
he def knows how to use it for good
im wet i mean who said that whaaaatttt🤯
He gently licked down at your clit. Once, twice. Then stopped. "Why'd you..?" But he shushed you by shoving a finger inside you. "Ya like this?" You answer with a weak moan, which he took as a "yes".
So, he put another finger in, scissoring them inside you. He sucked on your clit, making you moan and squirm. "Use... your tongue."
"Hm? What?" He pulled out, looking up at you, a wide grin spread across his face.
"You know what I mean." He looked back down at your cunt. You squished his face between your thighs. He took his fingers out, licking them before replacing them with his much longer and thicker tongue, making you whimper. Loudly. He moved his tongue inside you. Up and down, left and right, in and out.
It was rare for him to give you oral, but when he did, it felt like heaven. He pulled out, panting. But you shoved his face back there. He couldn't stop. Not now.
He quickly went back to eating you out, needily thrusting his tongue in and out your pussy.
"Good fucking God, Mammon-" And there he goes again, pulling his tongue out. "Why'd you stopp..." You whined. He looked down at your puffy and wet cunt. "Shouldn't have teased me earlier."
"What, but- but you know you like it!" Your tone dripped with desperation. You needed to cum so badly. Would he give you the satisfaction that early though? Obviously not. Not out of selfishness, he just had to give you a good orgasm. Like the one you gave him. "Mhm..." He huffed against your entrance, gently shoving a finger in while licking your clit in a circular motion.
He did so for a good 5 minutes, before adding a finger, then another one. You couldn't take it anymore. He was overstimulating you so much. You aggressively tugged at his hat, forcing him onto you even more. He took two fingers out, replacing the latter with his tongue.
You definitely couldn't take it anymore. "Mammon, I'm gonna..." Finally, he let you cum. Not that you let go of him for a good 10 seconds though. You gripped at his hat, still riding out your high.
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."
Adam, Mammon, Alastor and Lucifer with a insecure S/o
💋ྀིྀིAdam, Mammon, Alastor, Stolas and Lucifer w/ Insecure S/O 💋ྀིྀི
Note: Yesss i love this request!! As somebody who is insecure about quite a few things I think this is so cute <3 🥰 Also I hope you don't mind me adding Stolas <3
Female!reader, GenderNeutral!Reader for Stolas <3
Warnings: Cussing, mentions of sex
Mammon 💸:
He does not grasp the concept of insecure. Why be insecure when your with him? He chose you, right? He is extremely picky, so what is there to worry about? Why are you insecure? To him you are adorable, so who cares?
He may notice you are feeling down lately, or that you have been avoiding him, which agitates him to no end.
So at first, he will have you bottle up your insecurity, just so that he can be your big savior, and make you feel loved by him.
When you tell him exactly what you are insecure about, he audibly laughs. Well, he doesn't mean to make you upset or anything, but like, are you being serious?
He will say things like:
"Babe, what the fack? you look hot, theres no need to beat around the goddamn bush."
"What, is it your (insert insecurity)? cmon, don't be such a sour puss. You look just fine to me."
"Cmon sweets, whats on ya mind? How about we go out to the restaurant you love, yeah?"
He will go to that restaurant, even though he hates it. He just does not like seeing his little trophy upset or visibly irked. Even if there is Paparazzi around, he will hide them from you, or bribe them to leave.
His favorite insecurity on you would have to be your thighs. He loves squeezing them, jiggling them, putting his head between them, seeing them move when you walk, etc. If you have bigger ones, he thinks that one of, if not the best physical quality about you. He will spend his time ranting to you while snug in your legs about how annoying his newest stars are, or how Ozzie did this, or Fizzarolli did that-
Overall, he will make sure you dont go on with that contentious bullshit ever again. He cant have his favorite little lady upset, can he?
Adam 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪:
He is Adam, the first man, he does not ever feel insecure. he never makes mistakes.
But in reality, he has felt insecure. Especially after his two wives left him for the. same. man.
He does not notice until a while later that you are upset. He thinks you are happy all the time because of him. But he's basically your husband, so he will notice things about you, that you don't even know about yourself (same as mammon)
When you tell him you are insecure, he coddles you, and threats you like you're an infant
He will say things like:
"Your insecure? About what? You have to be lying babe, you look perfect to me."
"Relax babe, im kidding, so its your (insert insecurity)? Oh, are you joking?"
"How about... you and me do a little something something, hm?"
(He is a sex deviant, so he will always bring that up.)
He tries to make it up to you by putting on your favorite movie, and bringing you your favorite snacks. But he ends up eating most of them himself...
But anyways, his favorite insecurity is your ass. He likes squeezing it, spanking it, etc. Even if it small, he likes it and thinks its cute. He will randomly pick you up and throw you over his shoulder and just, spank it, and put you down??
So overall, he is okay at comforting you, but dont come running to him unless you dont want things to turn somehow sexual.
Alastor 🎶:
He has never felt insecure in his twisted mind.
He will notice immediately that you are upset about something. He takes action fairly quickly, by rubbing your shoulders, etc.
When you tell him you are insecure, he is very understanding. You are his dearest, so he wants to take care of you, and make you feel like an angel.
While he may not understand insecurity himself, he understands you are disarmed, and that bothers him greatly.
He will say things like:
"My love, don't fret about these regal thoughts. What are you feeling down about now?"
"Is this about your (insert insecurity)? If so, that is silly nonsense, my dear. You know I do not mind."
"How about, we take a stroll. Maybe we could stop by Rosie, she sure knows how to cheer you up, hm?"
He tries his best to make you feel better, because your feelings reflect on him. While it may not seem so on the outside, his heart tears when he sees you like this.
His favorite insecurity has to be your hip dips. He thinks they make you look very feminine and womanlike, which he likes. He likes to run his hands over them, enjoying the way his fingers sink into them.
So overall, Alastor makes you feel very loved and cared for. You will never feel discontent as long as he is in your vicinity.
Lucifer 𓆩𓆪:
He has felt insecure a lot. From being casted down into Hell, to his wife somewhat recently leaving him, (to his height), he knows what it feels like
But since meeting you, he is very attentive over you.
So he notices very quickly that you are upset.
When the time comes to tell him that you are insecure, (because he kept asking you frantically whats wrong), He is very understanding.
He will say things like:
"Seriously? You? Insecure? Well we cant have that here, now can we?"
"Its your (insert insecurity)? Its ok honey, I love you just how you are."
"Honey, how about the two of us stay home for the day, hm?"
He will stay by your side a lot more often now that you told him that. He is a very doting and worried lover like Stolas, so he wants you to feel comfortable with yourself.
His favorite insecurity of your is also your thighs. Big or small, he loves them. His favorite is when his head and cheeks are squished against them. Or when he's eating you out, and he feels the warmth smothering his face. He loves the way they move when you walk as well like Mammon.
So overall, he knows what it is like to be insecure. He wants you to feel loved, and like you are cherished by him.
Stolas 𓅪:
Feels insecure a lot like Lucifer. WIth his (ex)wife, concerning his daughter, etc.
He also will notice your changes instantly. SO he will constantly ask if something is wrong. When it comes to you being upset, he will be very combative in telling him.
So when you tell him you are insecure, he feels for you. He will hold you close, and let you lay on top of his fluffy, feathered body.
He will say things like:
"Sweetheart, what is troubling you so much? I am always by your side, you know. So if you want to talk, we can."
"Your (insert insecurity)? But they are beautiful! You don't have to worry my owlette."
"How about we watch a movie? That always seems to cheer you up."
He is very concerned about you, and just wants to make you happy. That is his duty in his mind. If he cant make the rest of his family happy, he can surely make you happy, right?
His favorite insecurity of yours is stretch marks. He likes them, and he thinks they look like cute little tiger cub stripes. He will run his slender fingers over them, making you shiver in the process. He believes they are like pieces of art, just all over your body.
So in his mind, you are perfect. He is always going to love you, insecurity through and through. You are his lover.
Perhaps some headcanons about Helluva Boss Mammon??
Mammon headcanons
He’s the prince of greed, so he gets jealous pretty easily, especially when it comes to you.
He understands you need more than just him to talk to and interact with but NO ONE but HIM is allowed to touch you unless it’s an emergency. He’ll tolerate brushing against people and occasionally hugs, but if you look uncomfortable for even a second he’ll lash out at the other person
He’ll bitch and moan to you about people looking at you too much and will get between you and anyone who shows too much of an ‘interest’ in you. Feel threatened by someone? Just tell him and he’ll deal with it!
He gets you gifts from time to time just to remind you he loves you without having to say it. He is awkward with showing verbal affection, even when physical he tends to come off as possessive
He likes holding you close to him and glaring at anyone who looks at you, not letting go of you until you manage to wiggle out of his grip. He also has you sit in his lap during meetings and stroking your hair/resting his head on yours or your shoulder
He’ll whisper to you how much he appreciates you, it’s things he wouldn’t say out loud. He’ll even give you kisses! It’s usally to show off that your his and his alone, but you can easily catch him off guard and make him blush by pulling him down and kissing him back or even saying things like you love him loud enough for everyone to hear it
It’s cute getting him flustered, he’ll bury his face in your shoulder and hold you tighter, telling you to knock it off and not make a scene
He’ll scold you later, nothing serious just saying don’t make an ass out of him, he has a reputation to uphold! (Though you cant help but notice he gets more affectionate afterwards. He totally dosnt enjoy it or anything.)
Despite not liking people to look at you for too long, he buys you the most dazzling clothes and jewelry, he loves making you sparkle like a diamond!
He takes you out very often, he likes to make sure you experience the luxuries of Hell. It’s one of the upsides of dating him!
there is so little fics of adam, so i'm doing some headcanons because i need that fat man..
adam x reader hc
sfw + nsfw
• definitely has a bit of a tummy, very squishy and nice to lay on. but he absolutely hates when you do—will push you off if you attempt to lay on him.
• those rare moments he DOES let you lay on him, he'll wrap his golden wings around you. they're so warm..
• speaking of his wings, they're SO soft after he washes them properly. i feel like he would get lazy sometimes and not clean them well.
• has no shame, will rip ass in front of you and loudly announce the shit he's about to take.
• loves his ribs. the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, as they say, and it's definitely true for adam. will eat anything you make, but will bitch if it's not up to his "standards".
• he rarely shows his "gentle" side, his ego getting in the way. when he does, it's not exactly.. gentle? whenever he attempts to compliment you, there's always 'bitch' at the end. no matter what.
• "you look nice today..... bitch." "this food is fucking amazing.... bitch." he always throws that sassy remark in as to not seem like he cares as much as he does.
• rarely pays for you. going out to eat? it's on you. you like that shirt? you buy it. you want flowers? forget it. literally will not pay for anything.
• EXCEPT; those very—very rare moments when he's feeling generous, he'll buy you a chocolate bar if you're in a bad mood. (definitely has eaten a few instead of actually giving them to you.)
—————————————————————————
!!NSFW HC!!
• very selfish during sex. his pleasure comes before yours.
• will try anything once. anything.
• as expected, he's very dominant. you've gotta catch him on a bad day by surprise if you think you're ever getting on top of that man. his ego will NOT let him be submissive.
• lives for doggy. he loves seeing the smooth curve of your ass as he plows into you. hand fisted in your hair to pull your back flush against his chest—only to shove your face back down into the mattress.
• does not shut up. wether it be moaning or dirty talk, he's very vocal about his opinion on how good your body looks as he's got your legs spread wide.
• and speaking of moaning, this man is very loud. if he likes something, he's not afraid to show it.
• mask stays on.
• loves degrading you. he enjoys the way your body reacts to his harsh words.
• will fuck you in public if you're bratty enough. or if you tease him by whispering what you want him to do to you. he eats that shit up.
☆ these get updated everytime i think of more, soooo, yeah
latest update: jan 06, 2026
+ (reader is female coded for the nsfw parts...)
nsfw below the cut, sooo...MINORS DNI!!!
SFW
☆ back when you weren't dating yet, he'd talk to his sheep about you, bragging about how he met the cutest girl he's ever seen, and how you're so kind and sweet. (you were dropping hints. he didn't catch ANY of them.)
☆ you probably need to be the one to make the first move, bro is too shy to ask you out. he probably thinks that you're way out of his reach. took your advances as kindness at first, not until you finally slapped some sense into him and told him directly.
☆ he doesn't know how to respond to your compliments, he just blushes and stutters after you do.
☆ your first date with him would be on an amusement park, he'd try his best to win you the giant sheep plush toy he found.
☆ if you're also catholic, your first stop before the amusement park would be the church, he'd thank God so many times for letting him be with you. (will look at you with eyes full of love amidst prayer)
☆ regardless if you're catholic or not, you'd be in his daily prayers.
☆ when he blushes, his ears turn pink too.
☆ does cute couple-y stuff with you like having matching bracelets and the likes.
☆ calls you extra-sweet pet names like: sugar, sweetheart, lovely, honey, and pumpkin, etc etc etc
☆ he prefers sweet over salty foods, but you'd be shocked when you see him chowing down on a lvl 10 spicy soup like it's nothing.
☆ his favorite holiday would be christmas, decorates the entire house as soon as december starts, and has a porcelain decoration replica of The Birth of Jesus.
☆ give the BEST gifts, he knows exactly what to pick out for you, but will also get things just because they remind him of you ♡ (and it's not only on special occasions btw!)
☆ he loves musicals, he knows some of them word for word.
☆ if you were to imagine him in a college au, hear me out on him being a band geek, but he's also a part of a garage band with his brother and their friends, he'd be an amazing guitar player. Cain would be the drummer, but this post ain't about him.
☆ loves hearing you sing, your voice sounds like the heavenly choir to him.
☆ he won't tell you out loud, but he likes being in your room, it makes him feel safe and secure for some reason.
☆ he physically CANNOT sleep without you beside him, he also can't pick between being the big spoon or small spoon, so you decide.
☆ DEFINITELY a morning person, very productive as soon as he wakes up.
+ being with him feels like basking in the sun, warm and comforting.
☆ movie nights with him are cozy and warm, just don't make him watch scary movies though, he's gonna get sleep paralysis with the scary character being his sleep paralysis demon.
☆ doesn't really mind when you take his hoodies, he thinks you're cuter with them ♡
☆ Abel loooves when you're extra clingy, like, yes, please keep the cuddles coming.
☆ pepper his face with kisses and listen to him giggle. (GOSH, HE'S SO CUTE)
☆ loves it when you play with his hair (please do, his hair is GORGEOUS)
+ probably has a more detailed hair-care routine than you do, lmaoaoa.
☆ on full boyfriend mode whenever you're on your period, does not just leave you be.
☆ he will introduce you to his mom first, and she will immediately treat you like family.
+ his dad will be the last to know, probably only when you come over for the holidays, would probably wouldn't believe it when Abel finally introduced you to him. in the lines of "how'd my loser son even bag a baddie like that?"
NSFW
☆ A HOT NERVOUS MESS THE FIRST TIME.
☆ if you're more on the freaky side like the most of us, I'd like you to try and remember the tiktok sound where it goes; "come here baby, come sit next to me, come and take your drawers off, damn you're at the edge of the bed, you're 'bout to fall off." YES THAT ONE, Abel would DEFINITELY be so so so so shy the first time, he'd be blushing, and sweating excessively. (poor baby just wants you, but doesn't know how to start)
☆ as I said above, he doesn't know how to start, so, take the lead mama.
☆ biiiig switch energy, but he loooooves being all subby and shit. there's just something about you being on top of him that makes him so hard.
☆ consent checks every time, doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way.
☆ whimpers and begs (I mean, have you heard him????)
☆ has a not-so-slight preference for lace underwear.
*cough* g-strings too.
*cough* lingerie.
*cough* his t-shirts.
☆ at first, he was too shy to even look at you when you're sucking him off, now he looks at you and admires how pretty you look with his fat cock in your mouth.
☆ he has a very sensitive tip, and it's pink. (kiss the tip first and watch him shudder at the feeling) (his wings fluttered the first time you tried that on him.)
☆ Abel has a breeding kink, no further questions asked, if you disagree, fight me. I like to imagine that his primal instincts just kick in when he's close, and he won't even think about pulling out, he fucks his cum even deeper into you. he'll apologize if he doesn't tell you beforehand though, please forgive him, you just feel so good.
☆ he eatsss brooo, legitimately just wants you to feel good, and it's a win-win because he loves eating you out, as I said before, he loves staring at your pretty face when you feel good.
☆ when he's eating you out, he humps the mattress that you guys are laying on, and grabs your thighs to spread your legs even more.
☆ his favorite thing to do while having sex is have your nipple in his mouth (oral fixation baddie over here)
☆ looooves when you bite and mark him, with a special request that you put them below his collar since he WILL get in trouble for that.
+ he loves looking at the bite marks you left, he feels appreciated and loved for some reason.
☆ his stamina is surprisingly good, will last longer than you initially expected.
☆ gets extra whiny when overstimulated, please don't stop though, he's not complaining at all.
☆ he puts your pleasure first, and his second.
☆ if you wear a butt plug while riding him in reverse cowgirl, he doesn't know whether to close his eyes in the added pleasure or force them open to watch your pussy grip his cock while a shiny butt plug is inside of your asshole.
☆ will be very very confused the first time you ask to peg him, but he agrees to try. (he got teary-eyed out of overstimulation, but didn't use the safe word cuz it felt good.)
☆ he'll ask you to tell him beforehand if you have plans to do butt stuff to him because he likes to be clean before you do anything.
☆ prefers if you peg him on missionary, but he has no problem with doggy. (please stroke his cock while your strap-on is inside of him.)
gosh, I love him soooo sosososososo much, anw, me when Abel:
TW: NSFW, Neck Biting, Cowgirl, Oral, Descriptions of a FAT cock, Gentle Giant!Abel, Fingering, face riding, Dependent!Reader, Ables a total sweetie, F!Reader, NOT proofread.
A/N: I'M CUMMING I LOVE HIM. Thanks for the request! ❤︎ ya!
Edit: Hello residents! So there’s been a lot of activity on this specific fic and I believe it’s because of a character from a different fandom. Just to clarify this is Abel from Date Everything!
𐚁 I love him 🤤
𐚁 Abel lovesssss to nip at your neck. By the end of the day, the column of your throat is littered with hickeys and teeth marks.
𐚁 It’s not even about marking you, either. Whiles it’s definitely a plus, Abel genuinely just likes to love on you.
𐚁 SPEAKING OF!! Kisses go a long way with him. During your first few dates, a kiss to his cheek makes him spiral. He loves the connection.
𐚁 FAT COCK
𐚁 It’s so thick and heavy, your hand doesn’t even wrap around it properly. And he leaks so much precum it’s insane.
𐚁 AND its hairy. He's got a long happy trail leading from his belly button to his dick.
𐚁 Abel really just loves to see you on your knees.
𐚁 COWGIRL POSITION ALLLLL DAAAAYYYYY.
𐚁 Abel LOVES seeing you ontop of him. Watching your ass jiggle with as you take every inch of him makes tears prickle in his eyes.
𐚁 And his face totally flushes when he cums. His lips split into a small, dorky grin, as he tries to wipe at the tears in his eyes without you noticing.
𐚁 You definitely notice.
𐚁 He always, without fail, takes his hat off his head and holds it to his chest when he’s bashful.
𐚁 Speaking of, when you’re riding him he 100% lays his hat ontop of your head. It’s big, and falls off every time he thrusts into you, but you just look so good in it.
𐚁 Abel really can’t help himself.
𐚁 HIS FINGERS ARE THICK!!
𐚁 Perfect for preparing you.
𐚁 With such a big cock, it’s easy to accidentally hurt you. And he’ll apologize over and over for his mistakes.
𐚁 Abel is a much CHAMPION. He loves when you ride his face. Don’t be scared to put your weight down, cause he can take it.
𐚁 He also loves to carry you. Watching you depend on him is a dream come true. That amount of trust is so sexy to him.
꒰ ˖ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 :: hazbin hotel x reader
𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 or little nasty things they do during sex :: smut ꒱
broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni :: afab reader with no gendered language used :: clit teasing, alastor :: oral ( reciving ), lucifer :: spit kink :: humiliation / degradation & edging, vox :: mild breeding kink, abel :: p in v sex :: overstimulation :: dacryphilia :: dry humping, adam.
featuring ᝰ.ᐟ✧ alastor⭒ vox ⭒ lucifer ⭒ adam ⭒ abel
────𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑,
alastor never gives you what you want right away. he loves a good chase for his prey. nothing gets the blood singing like a proper hunt, but sometimes it's nice to have something served up to him on a silver platter, exhausted and helpless and broken, and unable to do anything to stop him. there's a peculiar satisfaction in knowing he could end it at any moment, yet choosing not to; it's instinctive, reflexive, something old and sharp. what pleases him most isn't giving you what you want— it's watching how badly you want it. to alastor, your reaction is the true reward. the rest is merely an afterthought.
despite your body's inability to react properly, you are clearly desperate for it— perhaps because of your inability to react, alastor imagines, given how you are not making any coherent thought anymore.
"please, please" you are saying, voice spiking helplessly as alastor taps the tip of his finger against your clit again.
it's like pressing a button: poke here, make you jump and leak and whimper as you try not to pull at his hands. rub elsewhere, make you writhe restlessly and beg for more. for all it's worth, alastor must admit that you do are patient.
how gracious are you to him.
"why?" alastor asks. he keeps tapping your clit, an irregular rhythm that you have no way to predict. tap, tap, tap. he can see the muscles of your abdomen clench with each tap, thighs shaking and trying to feel some friction.
"wha'?—what do you—oh, fuck." you close your eyes, shuddering as you try to collect yourself for a moment.
alastor pauses his tapping because he is a gentleman over all, until you think you are managed to pull yourself together— and when you open your eyes again, alastor gives your clit a rub instead, just one mean little circle.
your voice cracks. "fuck! i don't— i don't know!"
alastor goes back to tapping, then.
you are pitchy, near-tearful. from where he is hovering, now, he can appreciate the pretty way that desperation twists your face, squeezes down over your voice and under your tears. "what do you— ah!— wa-want?"
"that's not what i meant," alastor says slowly. your clit is starting to turn darker, flushed with blood. it looks a little sore. alastor isn't tapping very hard, but it's been a while, and he is being relentless about it. he likes this, he thinks. he wants to see you sore. "i meant why should i stay?"
"wh—what?" you hiccup, even though you do keep making quiet noises under your breath every time he puts a little more preassure. "oh, oh— 'cause i'm good and horny and i—"
alastor pinches the inside of your thigh when you attempt to touch yourself, making your thighs spasm around his hips, and teasing a whimper out of the back of your throat.
alastor shrugs. "you could do it yourself, could you?"
your lips wobbles, looking more distressed than before. "no! please, i can't— i don't—"
"oh, but you're so creative. i would know." alastor smiles, mean, cupping your mound with an incessant pressure instead of an intermittent one, and one you can't press up into.
your shy expression stutters out of existence, and you bite your lip. "i— alastor," you beg.
"sweetheart," he says, voice honeyed, knowing he's being just cruel. alastor lets his own smile soften, deliberate, to a small, slim thing not unlike a knife to be slipped between the ribs. he trails his fingers up the inside of your thigh. "you can do better than that."
your face cumbre.
────𝐕𝐎𝐗,
vox never admits how much he needs it, but there's a strange, guilty comfort in being spoken down to, in the sharp edge of condescension that slips through your voice. it's humiliating, yes, he still glitches of irritation whenever you patronize him because he would rather die again to admit it to you (or himself, even if he's popping a boner), but beneath it all is relief, raw and undeniable. deep down, a traitorous part of him, feels that this is what he deserves, that being reduced and exposed is a kind of honesty he rarely allows himself. he can simply endure the feeling, and in doing so, can't help to be turned on while find some comfort.
he's always been putty in your hands, always so easily riled up by a few words and touches. you can feel his heartbeat quicken under your palms, your hands now up his chest, cold agains flushed skin but he doesn't care. he's too engrossed with your touch.
"what—what are you—!" you slam down on him, hard enough that vox shrieks, voice glitching mid-scream. it's loud; it's conspicuous; you wonder if anyone could hear him.
it hurts— your insides. you'll be bruised and you want to be bruised. you bend up into him as he does, as he chases his own want and desire through the outlet of your body. your cunt squeezes around him and he curses under your breath.
"it's not nice to ignore me, you know," you whisper somewhere above, only to slow down your movements before stopping all together, sliding off him.
"fu-uck," vox sounds frustrated and whiny, arms shaking in futile desperation againts the bindings. "fuck, fuck, fuck, you evil bitch! i hate you! i should have fucked you to death when i still had the chance. god knows you made an eager enough whore for it!"
you hum.
"that's a thought," you muse instead. your hand curls around his dick, cold agains flushed skin as vox pants and cries desperately above.
"fuck you!"
"you should be more careful with the words you throw around," you leaned up, releasing his cock, and slid forward, carefully dragging your wet folds across the length of him. "'whore' is such an ugly thing to call someone. especially when you're in such a state."
vox moans dramatically, a sound that you are convinced he pulled out of a porno. "i—that is not—"
you lean down and spits onto his cock. vox's entire upper body flinches, and he gasps, loud and obvious and telling.
"fuck, fuck! that is not—" vox chokes again.
"if you open your mouth for me," you interrupt, "i'll spit in it."
vox freezes, staring up at you. this, more than anything—more than the pain, more than the humiliation— has him freezing like a hunted animal. his left eye spirals frantically in his panic, black on red on black on red.
at how— he so clearly wants more. no one untouched grips your hands just to get there like he does. vox doesn't know how to want and yearn in any way that is normal. only when you're both stripped down, humiliated, and vox fully riding the high of the humiliation, can you both be honest.
vox opens his mouth, slowly, and lets his tongue loll out.
"see? what a good whore," you purr, and lean down to give vox his reward.
────𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑,
lucifer likes to clean you up after sex. it's just natural to take care of you, after all, only thing is that he likes to use his tongue for it. he likes being messy with it— he needs to feel the wetness, the sheer contact of a hot tongue on your throbbing skin that he asks himself, can you feel it too? of course you can. he worships you, with his tongue and his fingers, his cock and his words. in your pleasure, he finds his own. in your purpose, he finds his own. you are his everything and he desperately hopes that he is yours. how could you ever, when you hear him sigh and groan into your cunt, like he's the one getting off on it?
it always end with lucifer head between your thighs, sucking and licking your gushing pussy. you're gasping, whining as you try your hardest to clamp your legs together, but he won't let you.
"lu, fuck, 'm— 'm sensitive—" your words twist into a moan once you feel him place a smooch directly upon your abused cunt.
"i know, i know," he shushes you, trailing a pudgy thumb down your puffy folds to where his milky cum is still slowly trickling out of your hole. "i will be a moment, yeah? gotta clean you up first."
you know it's only an excuse. your heart pounds. your brain is whirring, moving a mile a minute and you feel like you can't breathe. "lucifer—"
"I've got you," he says, assured. he means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. his tongue darts out to suckle on your clit alongside his fingers. "gonna make you cum again, okay? just let go"
his hands dig into your hips. you're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.
the taste of you fills his mouth as lucifer feast. he lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. his senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.
you want it so much your hands are shaking in his blonde hair, trembling when you buck into his sloppy tongue fucking in and out of your hole, a broad assemblage of blazing tears and spit coating your cheeks, because you cannot do anything else than get addicted to this, becoming a fucking mess when he has you in such position.
he looks desesperate, lovingly. every inch of you is wanted, tongue nestled against your folds and on your hard clit like he wants to stay. he looks at you intoxicated and it shows in how much joy he takes in tasting you. jitched to your very existence, like a planet revolving around the sun. he supposes it's only natural.
"oh, baby," you say, not even his name. lucifer knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. all he can do is encourage you. he hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "luci, luci— cumming!" and you unravel on his tongue, around his fingers. and he doesn't stop there, licking you clean of your slick and cum.
he knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. when you cum, you cum hard. your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, thighs shaking and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.
he can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. it's just as magnetic as it was the first time. he's sure that will always be true.
────𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌,
adam, more often that not, can't get his hands off you. which means that sometimes he can't be bother to strip you down and make out with you properly. you don't mind, because you are always good for him, always so sweet and kind and willing to give him whatever he wanted. how could he say no to you? how could he deny those pretty eyes, so full of adoration and desperation then? so sweet. so lovely. adam isn’t forceful, takes enough time not to hurt you but his grip is always so strong, cradling you so easily - like a doll, in his hands. made of porcelain that adam could shatter easily if he wanted too.
calloused fingertips dig into the excess squish of your hips, prompting you to wriggle your waist and forcibly slot your pelvis where adam ushers you atop his lap as you delectably initiate a merciless roll of your hips that had his cock straining against the crotch of his robs and his own hips eagerly bucking upwards.
he devours you in his embrace, and presses a brief kiss to the corner of your mouth before swallowing every mewl-like cry that parts your lips. far too sex-driven to needlessly remove the cloth, adam strives to fuck you through your panty-adorned heat.
the lengthening drag led your clit against the fabric; sinking whenever adam thrusts his hips and temporarily pinned the bundle, catching the sensory mound before it dislodged and continued its previous rut.
you hiss through your teeth, breaking away from his lips to speckle rosy contortions into his skin. adam impatiently rocks his hips as if a mutt graveling in his heat, stiffening cock occasionally bumping your clit before the imprint would card through your soiled unde, gliding trough the dampened fabric with a friction that could kindle fire.
"that's it, babe," he coos, "almost there…"
he sounds breathless as he speaks, body shuddering when you placed a hot palm to his nape, grounding yourself and forcing coarse friction where you straddled him, desperate to clash against his pants as if you'd soon wear the denim to nothing and leave him bare.
"fuck— isn't that nice?" he breathlessly laughs, "like a bitch in heat, hm?"
his hips erratically jerk, and the breathless pants from his mouth divulged his own craving, lips blowing against your collar before biting his presence into your skin. he's just as far off as you. ruby red and temple coated with sweat, adam is flushed and trembling under your hold.
all he gets as a response is a pathetic whine, making him grin. he so desperately wants to ravish what sensible though remained of your dizzying head; fuck you until you couldn't discern the hour of the day, but he refrained. not yet.
"cum for me. c'mon give it to me, show me how you pretty you are, yeah?"
and you do, you gasp and squeal when the high finally crashes over you. he slows his thrusts, barely letting you go before carefully pressing back in, working you diligently through the high as you tremble and cream all over him like the sweet thing you are.
────𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋,
even when you're gasping for air, for consciousness, fucked into another realm now, he's still relentless, fucking deep and hard. he fucks you through his own orgasm, not even caring about how sensitive his cock's gone. he doesn't care, just wants to take you over and over and over. but you don't tell him to stop, never tell him to stop. how could you, when you're the only thing he can take so freel? you'd rather die than take it away from him, so you let him overstimulate you and himself as he murmurs, "one more" and then he's holding you so close to him, in his embrace, against him flaming skin to flaming skin.
you’re giving him everything, he thinks as he presses his chest against yours, wrapping his thick arms around your torso. you’re giving everything and you want to.
abel's never been selfish, does he? never thought of himself first; and he stayed like that even after the day he met you. sweet, loving, innocent you, with glimmering eyes and adoration in your voice. maybe he was glad he didn’t have to perform in front of you.
and so he takes. he feasts hungrily, hands dipping into your fleshy sides, gripping you like a lifeline as he lines his cock at your entrance. here, with you, he gets to be selfish. so hell if he’s going to hold himself back.
he’s almost guilty, heart wrenching in shame as he watches you writhe under him from the thick stretch of his cock. but he keeps taking, keeps kissing your tears away, keeps fucking into you because it’s all he knows how to do, all he knows is there for him at the end of the day no matter what happens.
“good f’me, s’good for me.” he mutters over and over. “wanna hear you say it, please.”
“ah—y-yours—fuck, all yours,” you whine, your nails making home in his back, crying rivers of red as you find purchase in the skin.
his hands come down to your hips, holding them up and steady as he pounds furiously into you, his cockhead ramming against your cervix with every brutal thrust. you’re sobbing, wailing and he has to plant his lips on yours to swallow your cries. when you open your eyes and meet his, his thick lashes are brimming with tears too, glassy over his pretty green eyes.
“you are crying, abel,” your hands trail up to cup his cheeks, thumbing away his tears. they’re warm and sting your hands.
“s-sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, burying his face in your neck. “please, wanna make you cum-- wan’ give you a baby.” he's babbling at this point, not even conscious of what he is saying.
god, his head’s clouding over with the sheer thought of you swollen with his kid, raising a family with you. he loves you so, so much, wants to give you the world on a silver platter if you’d let him.
🐏 Incredibly shy, nervous and bashful when starting up intimacy. Every. Single. Time. It's fucking cute though. He will happily comply but perhaps ask a lot of questions throughout. "Are you sure you wanna-?" "This what you want?" "That feel good?" You give him constant reassurance, lead the way and fuck his pretty little brains out until he's a whimpering mess.
🐏 He's 90% submissive. Loves it when you take the lead. Will whimper. Tear up. Beg. He is completely at your mercy. You could do whatever you want to him and he'd take it like a good angel~ He wants YOU to feel good and if he comes too? Then that's a bonus but one he always thinks he's undeserving of.
🐏 When he's the rare 10% of being dominant, he needs to have had some liquid courage. You're hot as shit and knows you are a free spirit and could easily eat him up. When he IS dominant tho? LORD. You are so shocked by the filth that comes out of his mouth that he's already pressing deep into you, making you arch in ways you didn't think was possible. Would absolutely destroy his king sized bed from pounding into you. Luckily it's only 10% of the time because you'd be battered and bruised (consensually) on a daily and quite frankly those beds are fucking expensive. Not even heaven's budget could fund this.
🐏 Eating pussy is his favourite pastime. Every intimate session MUST involve this. He will borderline whine and whimper when he asks. His cock leaks just thinking about it. When you consent, he is ecstatic every time. He nests his head between your thighs and feels so at peace as he eats you without hesitation like you're his Forbidden fruit. There has been multiple occasions he's come just from eating you out - you didn't even have to touch him. FYI his face ain't budging until you've come at least 3 times. Lucky heaven number 💖
🐏 Would be content if he never got to come at all. As long as you got to (multiple times), that's all that matters to him. He's a giver through and through.
adam's voice boomed as his fists met with the table.
"i'm sick of your fucking mouth!" the angel yelled at the demon, the king of hell.
lucifer's grin grew, his eyes falling on you.
"your little sinner doesn't seem too sick of it." a chuckle seeped through his teeth, his fingers dancing on the tables edge.
adam's eyes followed the demons, scowling when they landed on you. the nerve of this low life, fallen angel.
the angel grabbed hold of your wrist—body slamming into the arm of his grand chair, the impact leaving you breathless.
"this little sin, is mine. keep your fucking eyes off her." he demands.
lucifer's gaze grew hungry. eyes traveled up and down your curves, watching the way you trembled in the grip of the first man.
"seems like this little sin wouldn't think twice about leaving you for... me." the king laughed, watching the way the angels face twitched—words bruising his fragile ego.
you raised a brow, eyes leaving the angel to fall on the demon. his gaze and overall presence sent a sharp wave of lust through you.
adam's growing annoyance boiled over. his other hand snapped its fingers, your eyes darting back to him.
he gripped your face, breath fogging your senses.
"you keep your slutty eyes on me, bitch. look at him again and i'll make sure you. fucking. regret it." his voice dipped low, a lump forming in your throat at the clear threat.
you swallowed it down, and ever so gently spoke.
"what if.. you let him?"
the angels eyes narrowed.
"why don't you let him, and let him fail at making me feel as good as you do."
adam's grip on your face tightened, and for a moment he didn't speak. his face twitched behind the mask before shoving you away with a laugh—hand snaking around the back of your neck to shove you forwards. slamming you down onto the table, he stood—holding your face against the cold, marble surface.
the demons eyes watch you gravel in pain, eyes snapping up to watch the angel laugh hysterically.
"you little bitch, fine! go on and tell lucifer your mighty plan, huh?!"
avoiding the gaze of both men, you speak through gritted teeth.
"fuck me, and fail at making me feel as good as adam does."
the demon does little consideration as he stands. "gladly."
his voice syrupy smooth as he makes his way over. heels and cane echoing against the marble floor.
adam releases his grip on you, taking a small step back to sit back down in his chair. eyes not leaving you, even as the demon reaches out to grab your face.
"i'll show you just why his first two wives left." the demon spoke, eyes snapping to adam to see him sending daggers his way.
lucifer laughed, fingers dragging down your cheek, stopping at your chin to tilt your head up.
as your eyes meet his—waves of lust shot through your spine, bubbling in your lower abdomen. the demon caught on quickly as he watched your thighs squeeze together.
he bent at the hip, face inches from yours, distant soon lost as his lips met yours in a hungry kiss. tongue slipping past your lips, colliding with yours. you can taste his lunch.
adam watched intently, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. his eyes fell on your ass, watching the way your hands twitched at your sides, thighs squeezing together for any sort of relief on your aching cunt. and because he's selfish, the angels hands reached out, pulling you back against him, the demon eyes snapping open to see what the loss of contact was about.
"attempting to prevent the inevitable, adam?" the demon stepped forward, grabbing hold on you once more, lips connecting with yours once again.
adam hissed at the comment, but chose to ignore the pettiness.
the angels hands travelled down your waist, one resting on your hip as the other continued its way down—stopping to push its way between your thighs.
you spread your legs slightly, body shivering as he palmed your cunt—fingers pressing against your clit.
"fucking soaked already, bitch?" adam spat as he pinched the sensitive nerve through your thin cotton panties.
lucifer swallowed your whine, claws digging into the soft flesh of your cheeks.
he pulled back, a string of saliva a sickly reminder of the kiss.
"what a dirty sinner." the demons voice sang.
your knees nearly buckled as his voice rang in your ears.
adam's patience grew thin. he spun you round, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down.
"this is going way too fucking slow. let's hurry this shit up, yeah?"
you bent at the hip as the angel unzipped his robe, your eyes falling on his bulge, precum leaving a heart shaped stain on his boxers.
he palmed his cock, groaning at the sensation, his eyes watching yours.
"yeah, watch me baby. show this motherfucker how good you are at suckin' cock."
he pulled his boxers down just enough to free his aching cock. he gripped the base, yanking you by the wrist to bend you further down.
your hands quickly found his cock, mouth urgently wrapping around the leaky tip. the angel groaned in satisfaction, head tipping back as his hands found your hair—yanking it up before shoving your head back down to take his full length. gagging at the intrusion, tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
lucifer watched from behind, taking a step forward to press his own growing bulge against the curve of your ass. grinding his hips against yours, humming at the soft sensation.
adam watched in distaste.
the demon crouched down, fingers hooking under your panties to slowly pull them down your thighs. a pleased groan escaped his throat at the sight before him.
"what a pretty pussy you have dear."
his hands quickly planted on either ass cheek, spreading them apart to get a full view of your beautiful pussy.
you gasped around adam's cock, earning a slap from him.
"focus on my cock baby. yeah, that's it.."
lucifer stuck out his tongue, licking a long stride up your slick folds, inhaling your sweet scent.
he dove straight in, tongue slipping past your folds to explore your sweet insides.
your knees buckled—lucifer caught you by your hips, holding you up as he continued exploring your internal cock warmer.
adam continued his brutal attack on your throat, hips bucking as he guided your head up and down the length of his cock.
"fuck yeah baby.. suck my cock like the good whore you are. thank this dick for creating all of man kind. fuuuuck yeah..."
the demon chuckled against your cunt, sending a sharp shiver through your womb. he pulled back, placing a soft kiss to your clit as he stood, and began unbuckling his belt.
fuck, you were so close..
lucifer freed his cock from its clothed prison, a hand grabbed your hip as he lined his tip up with your slick entrance.
a whimper left your throat as he slowly pushed his cock into the tight walls of your cunt—whimpering himself as you clench around his length.
"fuck, you're tight.." he groaned as he pushed his way in to the hilt.
he set a slow pace, letting you feel every inch of his cock make its way in and out of your dripping pussy.
"what a good girl, taking it so nicely."
your grip on adam's cock tightened, teeth slightly sinking into the sensitive flesh of his cock. he yanked you up by your hair, slapping your cheek as punishment.
"watch your fucking teeth, bitch. his cock ain't that good, you dick hungry slut."
the angel gritted his teeth, looking back at lucifer as his pace picked up—hips slapping against yours.
adam looked back at you, nails digging into your cheeks. a sick grin spread across his mask.
"you feeling good baby? tell this demon how good he's making you feel—but how it's nothing compared to me."
you moan out, the sound echoing through the air.
"lucifer- lucifer you feel so good.. fuck, your cock feels amazing."
adam's grip on your cheeks tighten, urging you to finish.
"but.. but it's nothing compared to how good adam makes me feel.."
the angel chuckles, eyes narrowing at the ego boost.
"that's right, bitch. this lowlife's got nothin' on me."
"fuuuck.. please don't stop. your cock feels so good lu-lucifer.."
lucifer grins at your words, his thrusts growing harder, sloppier—at the growing pressure building in his stomach.
you feel your own high coming back, the tension between you and adam's staring contest not helping the urge to cum.
the angel yanks you away from the demon, hands finding your cunt and rubbing slow circles around your clit.
you and lucifer groan at the lost sensation, the closeness to cumming faded quickly away.
"your not cumming in my bitches cunt. you can have her ass." he chuckled.
his hand finds your hair, grabbing a fist full and and shoving you to the ground, following you quickly.
the angel lays down, grabbing your hips and slamming you down onto his length—reverse cowgirl.
you stiffen at the sudden intrusion, yet he gives you no time to adjust as he's bucking his hips up into you.
your hands find his knees, gripping them for support as his hands grip your hips and ass.
"yeah, take this dick bitch. fuuck you're fuckin' tight. fuckin' love your pussy babe." adam's grip on you tightened as you moaned out his name, boosting his ego once again.
lucifer steps in front of you, hand gently grabbing your chin to tilt your head up.
he grabs the base of his cock, pressing the tip to your lips.
you part your lips, letting the demon slide his cock into your warm mouth, the feeling sending a shiver down his length.
they both thrust themselves into you, each setting a different pace. adam's brutal, while lucifer is gentle—taking his time to feel you.
the demons hand rests on the back of your head, guiding, not forcing your head—to bob up and down. he grins down at you, admiring the way your eyes tear up every time the tip of his cock hits your uvula.
adam's thrusts become unbearable as he grows close to cumming. "fuck yeah, bitch. you're takin' this god given gift of a cock like a champ."
the angel groans with each clench of your cunts walls around his length.
he reaches up, grabbing a fist full of your hair to pull you away from the demon.
"enjoying the taste of his cock baby?" he spits, before grabbing your hips to lift you up—spinning you round to face him.
he slams you back down on his cock, hands grabbing at your ass cheeks to spread them apart.
"go ahead lu, fuck this little sinners ass."
the demon kneels behind you, sucking on his fingers to prepare your ass for his cock.
adam smacks your ass, getting the attention of the demon.
"nah, don't prepare shit—stretch that ass out." the angel laughs, squeezing your ass cheek and jiggling it slightly.
your eyes snap to adam, "no wait- adam no-"
the demon chuckles behind you, a hand resting on the back of your neck.
"don't worry, it'll feel good after a minute, baby."
he wipes his spit covered fingers on your asshole. he's not mean enough to go in dry..
he grips the base of his cock, lining it up as you squirm and protest.
adam holds you still, nail digging into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks.
the demon gives no warning as he shoves his full length inside the tight walls of your ass. you cry out, head thrown back at the painful intrusion. your asshole burns in pain, but the pair give you no time to sit with the feeling as they both begin thrusting—ruthlessly into your holes, tears falling uncontrollably.
the demons hand on your neck tightens—pressing his face between your shoulder blades as quiet whimpers leave his throat in pure ecstasy.
adam's eyes are glued to your tits, watching them bounce with each thrust, hands now resting on each thigh.
"that's a stupid fucking face you're making baby, does it hurt that good?" the angel mocks, but he isn't wrong.
the pain slowly subsides, each thrust of their cocks hitting deep inside you—each sending a painfully strong rush of euphoria through the knot building within your womb.
"tell him how good it feel bitch." the angel spits.
"it feels good, it feels amazing lucifer! oh satan, your cock feels amazing luuu..." the demon grins, sticking out his tongue to lick up the side of your neck.
"oh yeah? you like taking this royal cock, hm? what a good girl you're being."
both men are growing sloppy with their thrust, both letting out pathetic groans as they reach their peaks.
adam is the first to cum, slamming his cock to the hilt inside your cunt, painting your walls a thick white.
"fuuuuck, take my load baby. let me fill you with my kids, bitch."
lucifer follows soon after, his teeth sink into your shoulder as he bottoms out in your ass, cock twitching with each rope of cum that shoots out into the clenched walls of your ass.
"good girl.. oh, fuck. what a good girl you are. taking me so well."
they soon pull out after coming down from their euphoric highs.
adam pushes you off him, standing to shove himself back into his boxers and zip up his robe.
you lay on the cold marble floor, breathing ragged and legs trembling.
lucifer stands and fixes himself before crouching back down in front of you.
"mm, you didn't cum yet sweet thing."
the demons grabs hold of your thighs, lifting just your hips off the ground.
he stuck his tongue out, lapping up the cum dripping from your twitching holes.
placing you down and sitting up, he grabbed your face, pushing his thumb past your lips to open your mouth.
he let his jaw fall open as the cum dripped from his mouth down into yours.
he sat back, holding your jaw closed.
"don't swallow baby, savor the flavor for me."
he sat back on his heels, picking up your hips once again. his tongue dove in between your slick folds, sucking and biting at your aching clit.
you moaned with a mouthful of cum, mind going fuzzy at the mix of pleasure and flavors.
adam stood next to you, watching the demon eat out your delicious cunt. he crouched beside you, grabbing one of your clenched fists, fingers now intertwined with his.
"feeling good, bitch?"
you nod furiously, hips bucking into the demons mouth.
"look at you, pathetic cum filled whore. bucking like a wild dog in heat, huh?" the angel spoke, his words sending sharp thrills straight to your core.
your thighs squeezed around lucifer's head, trembling as you finally felt the sweet relief of pleasure rush through your body—releasing into his mouth.
he drank your sweet juices like a thirsty man, groaning at the taste.
he pulled back, setting your hips down and grabbing your cheeks.
"swallow it now." he said gently, and you did—swallowing the thick cum, it leaving a bitter aftertaste on your tongue.
he pulled you in, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. it was intoxicating.
adam stands, pulling you up with him.
"yeah, enough of that shit." he spits at the demon.
lucifer chuckles.
"i guess i should get going now. i had fun with you, little sinner. i'm sure you'd like for me to come again?" he hums before turning away.
adam stops the demon, and in a hush tone he speaks. "you should come again, gives me a reason to teach this bitch a lesson on who's better."
the demon eyes the angel, and nods with a grin.
"i'll gladly come show her who's better."
lucifer leaves, leaving you and adam alone.
the angel turns to you, grabbing your face roughly.
"time to show you what a real man is like. dumb bitch."
BRO?$!&?& OAAA I SAW YOU WERE OPEN TO ADAM REQUESTS AND OHHH. MY SNAP.
i am in desperate need. of adam smut.
NOW, WOULD IT BE OKAY FOR ME TO ASK FOR ADAM SMUT WITH A SUBMISSIVE FEMALE SINNER READER WHO IS:
usually shy nervous as fuck but absolutely watches him when he thinks he isn't looking
likes to compliment him in general (at the most random times too, despite the dickmaster being the FUCKING WORST, and she would get that but he IS kinda fine so)
touch-starved, incredibly easy to fluster and tease (bro has a thing for his voices and looks too, one word or look and she'd be on her knees)
pretty insecure in general (and is a sucker for being praised in bed)
I'd also specifically like to hear what he would say to the reader ESPECIALLY THAT IDFK AAA GO CRAZY
Adam’s Sinner
Part 1/3 Part 2
A/N: I was so fucking happy to get a request you don’t even understand. Anyway here it is, I hope I did it justice and you enjoy it!
Warnings: Smut
Adam had been aware of (Name) for about ten years. They met during the extermination, Adam cornering her in an alley. Something compelled him to spare her, and yes he realized what a hypocrite that made him. Poor Vaggie. “Fucking run, bitch.” She bolted. Adam looked around to make sure no one had seen.
The next year, Adam noticed (Name) watching him, hiding behind corners and in shadows. She did this during every extermination for about five years before Adam decided during one extermination to confront her.
(Name) peered around the corner of the dark alley she was hiding in, watching Adam kill a fellow sinner. It should disgust her, but ever since he spared her life she had a strange sort of attraction towards him. Adam looked up and (Name) ducked back behind the wall. When she peered out again, Adam was nowhere to be seen.
“What’s up, sugar tits?”
(Name) yelped, jumping when Adam appeared behind her. He put his hands on the wall on either side of her head, effectively caging her in. (Name) could feel her face heating up. Adam seemed to find it amusing. “Flustered?” (Name) swallowed.
“You know I’ve seen you watching me for the last few exterminations. What’s up with that, hm?”
(Name) had no answer.
“What’s your name?” Adam asked.
“(Name),” she answered quietly. Adam had to bend down to hear her. His proximity made her blush worse, and he snickered. “I think I figured out why. No surprise really, of course you’d want a piece of the first man in existence. I’m the fucking Dickmaster.”
He let her go shortly after their exchange, but confronted her again the next year. As years passed, Adam would spare thirty minutes every extermination to talk to (Name). He found himself becoming fond of the sinner. Her story of how she ended up in hell was interesting, and it definitely helped that she stroked his ego with compliments.
Adam found himself looking forward to seeing (Name) even more than he looked forward to the exterminations. He was grateful Lute hadn’t caught on.
A few years later, and Adam noticed (Name) wasn’t following him as she normally would. So he sought her out. She’d told him a few years ago where she lived, so that was the first place Adam checked. Sure enough, he found her there.
“Sup.”
(Name) jumped. “Adam!”
“What the fuck, babe, not interested in seeing me this year?” Adam placed his hand over his heart in mock hurt, although while he’d never admit it, it actually did hurt him.
“We can’t see each other anymore,” (Name) announced, looking away.
“Bitch why?”
“Because one of these days we’re going to get caught. I know what happened to Vaggie. What would happen if the exterminators found out their leader was socializing with a sinner?”
“You’re not like the other sinners,” Adam argued. “I’d show them that.”
“How?”
Adam was quiet.
“Exactly. And to be honest, I can’t take the emotional torture anymore.”
“The fuck are you on about, ‘emotional torture’? Come on babe-”
“Adam no. I can’t let myself get any closer to you. We only see each other once a year and I got attached, and dealing with only seeing you once a year has gotten too painful.”
Adam was rather taken aback by the confession. He felt the same way but had been gaslighting himself to believe he didn’t. For once in his life, Adam couldn’t find anything to say. He decided the best course was the course of action rather than talking.
He leaned down and abruptly pressed his lips to (Name)’s. Her eyes widened and her body stiffened. When Adam received no response on her end, he pulled back, worried he’d fucked up. She stared up at him with this look on her face that Adam couldn’t place. He didn’t know if it was positive or negative.
“Again,” she finally spoke in a small voice. A smirk stretched across Adam’s face, and he bent down once more to press his lips to hers. She kissed him back this time, almost desperately, and Adam’s arms wrapped around her waist. She shuddered and he pulled back.
“Are you okay?” No teasing or cursing.
“Yeah I just… I haven’t had anyone touch me like this in a long time.”
Adam couldn’t say the same, but this was the first time in a long time emotions had been involved. He kissed her again and snuck his tongue into her mouth as she kissed back. “I want to fuck you,” Adam mumbled against her lips. “Okay.”
Adam pushed her down on her bed, crawling on top of her. He reconnected their lips and slid a hand under her shirt. “Damn,” he commented when his wandering hand reached her chest. “Nice rack.” (Name) rolled her eyes. Adam began kissing down her neck, sucking and biting to leave his mark. (Name) moaned and grabbed onto his horns.
Adam pulled back to shed his robe, and (Name) yanked her shirt over her head. Now that Adam actually had eyes on her chest, he stared for a moment. “So pretty~” he cooed. (Name) blushed and swallowed.
“Oh~” Adam realized. “You like that, don’t you? You like being praised?”
(Name) looked away. Adam grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed, babe, it’s cute.” He returned to her neck, kissing down and down, her shoulder, her collarbone. Then he slid down slightly to press his face between her breasts. He laid more kisses on her chest before taking a nipple into his mouth.
Sensitive, (Name) arched her back and whimpered. “I like that noise,” Adam said, moving to the other breast. “Make it again.” He sucked and she whimpered.
Adam was aware he had a short window of time to make this work, so he pulled back and pulled down (Name)’s pants and panties in one swift motion. (Name) got embarrassed being so exposed, so Adam quickly shed his own pants and boxers to level the playing field.
He noticed (Name) staring at his dick and smirked. He took it in his hand, pumping it a few times for show. “You like what you see, baby? Of course you do. Can’t beat the original dick.”
He crawled on top of her again, nudging her thighs apart with his knee to settle between them. He reconnected their lips while his hand traveled down to the place she wanted it the most. “So wet for me, good girl,” Adam teased. Flustered, (Name) shut him up with another kiss.
They made out while Adam experimentally slid one slender finger into her. Met with no resistance, he added another one, and began languidly pumping them in and out. (Name) was shaking. Eager to hurry this along, Adam added another finger. Three stretched her out and she moaned against his lips at the sensation. It made Adam’s dick throb.
He fingered her, with his thumb circling her clit, until he decided she was well enough prepared, pulling his hand away. (Name) whined at the loss but was quickly shut up by Adam grabbing her legs and throwing them over his shoulders. She gasped. Adam lined himself up with her entrance and sunk in slowly, giving her time to adjust. She squirmed, his girth proving to be a little painful to take.
Adam reached between them to give her clit attention, and that loosened her up right away. He bottomed out with a groan, closing his eyes. “Fuck, babe, you’re so tight.” Adam kissed her again, basically bending her in half as he began thrusting. He swallowed her whimpers and moans while his pace picked up in speed and intensity.
He had tried to be slow and gentle, he really had.
Adam set a brutal pace, and (Name) clawed at his back as he pounded into her. “Fuck, yeah, you’re so good for me, tits. Such a good girl, all mine,” Adam talked as he fucked her, and his every word brought (Name) closer to the edge. “You feel so fucking good.”
Adam’s thrusts were getting sloppy as he neared his own climax. “Cum for me,” he murmured. “Fucking cum for me, baby.” (Name) did, her back arching off the bed, her head thrown back and mouth open in slack pleasure. Her tightening around him pushed Adam over the edge, and he buried himself as deep as he could, cumming inside her.
They both panted, holding onto one another as they came down from their highs. Adam pulled out and rolled off of (Name), collapsing onto the bed next to her. He pulled her into his chest and covered her with one of his wings, nuzzling his face into her hair.
“I’ll find a way to see each other more,” he muttered. “I’ll figure something out.” (Name) buried her face in his chest. “Promise?” Her voice was muffled.
𓂃 ࣪ ˖ ♡ 𖥻 or the parts of your body they're obsessed with :: smut. girls version꒱
broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ minors dni :: gender neutral reader but afab anatomy is used :: handjob, vox :: face sitting, abel :: dry humping, alastor :: fingering; adam :: piv, lucifer
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝅄 ׁ your eyes
he thinks you are pretty, pretty when you smile, pretty when you cry. after all, they say the eyes are the mirror of the soul, and so, he always do his best to fuck you until everything's hazy and blurry with his blatant desire.
lucifer just knows how you feel by the way your eyes roll back he palmed the bend of your knee, pressing the joint by your temple as to ease his strife, and he faltered when you sobbed his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own because he had begun to relentlessly hammer a delicate plot that induced your vision to flicker and blurrily haze with spangled glimmers of hot electricity.
and, for the third time, lucifer slows down, hips flush against your ass he can nudge his cockhead right above your sweet spot, missing it on purpose, because he knows what to do to make your eyes prickle with tears as easy, and it doesn't take long for them to run down your face; the first one goes reluctantly, but after that they start cascading down your cheeks uncontrollably.
"'s too much—" tears descend the swell of your heated cheeks, droplets streaking your skin and smearing the mascara you previously applied to your fluttering lashes, brows tense and crinkled as your eyes lulled towards the back of your head and exposed the reddened white of your dazed optics.
"is that so?" a hum colored his tone, mocking and high, "i just want to be selfish and feel you cum around me. that's okay, isn't it?"
he lets your head fall to the bed again as he pauses the pounding of his hips to reach for your face, grabbing the fat of your flushed cheeks before he presss his thumb on your bottom lip. you're embarrassingly compliant, parting your lips at the same time—tongue swirling around his skin as you cover them in a sheen of saliva.
lucifer doesn't say a word, but there's an uncharacteristic glint in his eyes that you never would've associated with him earlier.
"and you do look pretty like this, dove." his hand lets go of your face, instead moving to gently move your hair from your face. you're a mess, it's humiliating, but he smiles down at you regardless. "you can give me one more, hm?"
you are looking at him like he's an angel, like a devil he's completely consumed by. you are still clad in your clothes, moving up body up and down, docile and pliant on sunday's cock as if you are nothing but a beloved toy.
his brain is in shambles; cluttered and screwed as if he had lost reasoning, but he was aware of himself; aware of his present endeavor: he won't stop until you are sobbing his name, eagerly arching your tremoring pelvis into his own.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐕𝐎𝐗𝅄 ׁ your hands
it's just that your hands are so soft and gentle, compared to his.
vox likes to pretend that you aren't painfully soft with him, but the truth is that you are, and have been for a while now. you do things like this frequently. you no longer give in to goading or falls for the traps voz sets for you.
your hand curl around his dick now, cold against the flushed skin but he doesn't care. he's engrossed admiring your fucked out state. he's always telling you how good you look; sweat drips down your temples and your lips are swollen and so so sweet, cries melodic and high, still not tinged with the usual hoarseness it gets when aventurine abuses of your throat with his cock.
"you are making a mess," you hum, and vox thinks how dirty it is— the sticky wet feeling of his own release against his shaft, the obscene image of how his erection looks wrapped in your hand— it wrenches a moan out of him, it has him thrusting up into your hand.
his futile attempts did little as to alleviate the prodding knot that prompt him to claw against the chair arms. hasty fondle of himself induce naught a reaction, and he bitterly grumbled before arching his back where he sits, huffs of contempt lengthening until pitiful whimpers had been the only sound.
"so what. like you haven't made a mess before," vox tells you, low and rough and a little glitchy around the edges of his screen.
"i guess i do." you simply say, and your hand caresses his thigh, so he's thrusted into, slow, testing.
you are gentle even in this, though vox has given you permission to be rough over and over like he is with you. it doesn't matter. you continue to treat him kindly. it still feels like ripped flesh and shattered dreams and the aches that sit inside long healed scars. it's okay, vox can still destroy himself with this.
vox is quiet. funny. he should've figured something like this would happen soon. you know a little too much. "don't start getting too comfortable with this shit," vox bites. "you think I'm some helpless thing? just 'cause you're all touchy-feely now?"
the glitch in his voice was becoming more pronounced, a distortion of static and frustration that twisted the air.
"ah," you say, quietly. "you don't?."
his heart stops, but the hand on his dick pumps ever faster. he's ruined you, he knows, but in the same way, you've ruined him. now all he wants- all he'll accept- is you, your body, your hands, all of you.
vox doesn't voice none of that, and so he avoids your gaze. good. better that way. you make it feel good too often. he needs to balance the scales.
"fuck, fuck, FUCxzzCK!— shit," vox breathes, voice gravelly, his grip in your hair getting tighter and tighter. tingles spark down your spine, for what had lasted only minutes drilled into lengthening ticks of time. such a case wasn't familiar to him. the antagonizing build that pooled until coiled into a tight dam awaiting its chance to burst.
you kiss him for what feels like the hundredth time— but this time there's something different, something urgent, and he grasps the back of your neck when he attempts to ease the ache himself, swiping rough compresses against whatever he could reach, furthermore tucking a hand beneath his thighs to clutch at his neglected balls, but his caress hardly could amount to your touch-
he harbored no genuine resentment, but with how his conscious craved your touch, he is bound to blame. "then tell me what you want, vox."
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐀𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝅄 ׁ your skin
he is just a little obssessed with the softness of your skin underneath his cold fingers. all for him to claim.
you mewl at the thought, watching him position himself between your legs again and kissing you slowly. alastor caresses your cheek with a gentle thumb, other hand tracing a feather-like path down your body. his fingers brush against your neck, the whine you let out being swallowed by alastor's greedy mouth, and he sneaks his hand under your shirt just as his kisses fly to your neck.⠀
and then he's biting. hard.
alastor laughs, low and dark, and then laughs harder as you groan and arches up against him, rubbing up against where alastor’s knee has ended up pressed into the cushions between yout legs, his hum being muffled by your skin. he goes down and bites, suckles and kisses the tender skin of yourr breast, so far up your you won't be able to hide it.
you have lost your mind. completely. the way your hips rocked back and forth against him felt too good, impatiently whining as if a mutt graveling in your heat, his clothes occasionally bumping your clit before the imprint would card through your soiled panties, gliding trough the dampened fabric with a friction that could kindle fire.
hell, alastor wasn't even inside you. you are so sensitive, it's almost embarrassing.
"tsk, tsk," he clicked his tongue. his fingers brush the underside of your chin, a few of his fingers cupping the base of your neck as to lift your head from you peripheral and bring it to his forefront visual. "such impatience, my dear. you're quite the needy thing, aren't you?" tilting your head as if examining a newfound discovery.
you're so responsive in both body and voice, jolting with every thrust, arching sharply, legs spasming like you can't take, but he knows you can.
"there is virtue in taking one's time. and i must say," his voice dipped, soft but buzzing faintly, like an old microphone warming up. "...your warmth is positively delightful."
and you lose it.
"please, please" you say, beg, euphoria peaked above its horizon, singeing his goosed skin with excited jolts. "please, want you, wanna feel you—"
humming into the feral abundance of the rough brush of his lips, you can't help but arch against alastor as he twists and pinches the tender skin of your nipples, and your breath hitches at the feel of his mouth brushing your nipple, whining at the feel of his tongue inching closer to your bud.
"oh, no, no," he chimed, devouring you with a magnetic gape, your hues inundated, drinking in your flustered disposition. "i hear what you want, dear. but I don't follow instructions so easily. i prefer to enjoy things at my own pace.""
he smiles wide, and deliberately ignoring your request, he decides to take the tip into his mouth wholly to suck, pushing the nip to the rough of his mouth while his other hand tends to the other breast.
it looks like you'll have to wait a little longer
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐌𝅄 ׁ your hips
he is just a little obssessed with the softness of your skin underneath his cold fingers.
he is always reaching out to you in some way, whether is a hand in your thigh or an arm around your waist. especially if it's to keep you from squirming in his grip.
"hah," he states simply, a sound of pleasant surprise, and adds another finger inside. adam pushes them to the hilt, until his knuckles brush your pelvis. you moan, head thrown back at the sudden, but welcomed intrusion. "acting all nervous around me but this is exactly what ya wanted, aint'cha?"
your teeth clenched but the effort was momentary as mewls of whimpers parted your lips. your hips eagerly bucked into his working hand, desperately aiding him to reach a depth that would cause your eyes to roll, much like they did when his thump began to swipe fast circles over the aroused bud of your clit.
"fucking wet for me, huh? you gonna sing pretty for me when ya come on my fingers, yeah?" his lips latched onto the skin of your shoulder, and he worked his away along the base until kissing the incision of flesh that dimpled behind your ear.
you can't even think straight, hips rising off of the bed, but adam holds your hips with his free hand and pins them down hard you know will leave bruises. your upper body lifts with this, back arching and legs kicking everywhere as you can't stop the loud moans slipping through your lips.
"s'good, isnt it babe?," he says, licking against your bottom lip as he thrusts his fingers deeper into you, "let me hear you."
"adam," you groan, rolling your eyes back while moving your hips forward, hand shooting to his and holding it there, "want your mouth-please."
he chuckles, dipping his head down to give a sharp bite against your nipple, his fingers still curling up into that spot.
"come on my fingers first." he says, floored by how good your voice sounds when you want to get fucked.
you roll your hips forward harder, grinding your clit against his wrist and essentially fucking yourself on his fingers now. he moans against your nipple at the movement, biting down harder as he hears you just above him holding your breath.
"that's it babe, ride it." he encourages, hearing your wet slide against his fingers with each movement of your body.
you shake as it washes through you, feeling his fingers remain in their spot against your little bundle of pleasure inside of you. you feel like you can explode from this alone and he practically forces it out of you, pulling his fingers out and immediately rubbing circles on your clit.
your heart pounds. your brain is whirring, moving a mile a minute and you feel like you can't breathe. everything, everything is so blurry except for him. whose gripping your skin like you're everything to him. like he needs you, like a lifeline, like he can't let you go.
ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ 𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝅄 ׁ your thighs
abel eats pussy for his own pleasure. especially when it's been a long day and all he wants is to focus all his energy on making you feel good.
"please," he gasps, and you finally let him, shifting a little further up so you're fully seated over his mouth. he whines and whimpers against your cunt, slopping and licking your drooling cunt, wrapping his lips and sucking. you whimper softly, hand clutching the headboard as you rock your hips, clit rubbing against the tip of his nose.
"pretty," you muster out, rutting your hips faster against his mouth. you don't need to tell him, he thinks as he sticks his tongue into your pussy, fucking your shallowly on the wet muscle. you stifle a moan, falling forwards, your hands by the side of his head to prop yourself up.his hands always finds your thighs, gripping so hard they bruise. his fingers are digging into your plush skin, forcing you onto his mouth completely, weightless and euphoric.
he hums non committedly, focus zeroed on your cunt, tongue licking and slurping you with vigour. you feel the familiar kindling in your belly as he continues, biting your cheek to keep your composure.
"make me cum, i know you can, abel," you whimper, cradling his face. "gonna m-make a mess, on your face—" you twist off with a moan, ecstasy drowning you in waves. you hear him hum again.
you ride his face, hips grinding against his tongue in search of your orgasm, and he gives it to you. he sucks on your clit and you whine, tugging at his hair sharply as you gush over his face. your vision whites out as he fucks you through it, whimpering as he licks you clean. he looks up at you, golden eyes so full of ambition and adoration.
his mission always has been to make you cum and not ask anything in return. he just wants to feel in control, to know that something he's doing is loved and appreciated, just wanna make youu feel good. so when you cum all over his tongue, he's whining, hips bucking against nothing as you come undone over him.
"good boy," you praise him airily, smoothing his hair down where you pulled it. "how do you feel, hm?"
and he's panting when you get off his face, bucking his hips uncontrollably into you, so hard he knocks you off your high and you fall forward into his chest.
you barely have any time to reprimand him before he's babbling, "thank you, thank you, wanna do it again, let me? please let me?" and you can never say no to him, can you?
Tags: nsfw, smut, cock riding, established relationships, horns, tail, being flustered, teasing
Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions
A/N: Getting back into writing with drabbles! Feels good to post again.
You were too caught up in bouncing up and down Lucifer's cock to notice how he clenched his teeth and tried to stop himself from shaking. He promised to let you ride his cock tonight as much as you wanted as payback for teasing you in that boring meeting.
"I said hold on!" His voice sounded strained but still commanding. As you finally looked at him you saw how out of breath he really was, the blonde strands of hair out of place and falling over his eyes, his horns fully out and eyes shining red. He looked absolutely feral. "Hold on a second, let me calm myself bit."
He leaned back while he held you down you your thighs, claws slightly digging into the soft flesh there. "What's wrong? Are you too tired? We can stop if you are." You placed your hand on his spotted cheek and he nuzzled into it with a lazy smirk.
"Not at all, my love. I need you to slow down a bit that's all. Slower. I know I said you could ride me but you're going too fast and I'm getting really close. Been wanting your pussy all day, it's kinda hard for me to hold back. And I want to enjoy every precious moment we have together." You shivered as you felt his tail drag up and down your back, leaving goosebumps on your skin. "Just cause I'm bad doesn't mean you have to be. You can be a good girl for your King right?"
It wasn't often that he pulled the royalty card on you in bed. Your pussy clenched around his sensitive cock, making it twitch weakly. "Anything for my cute husband." You started again, this time barely raising your self up, keeping most of his cock inside you the first few times, then only leaving his tip in. When you saw him lean his head back with a moan you finally pushed yourself back down, making sure you could feel every throb of Lucifer's cock on your way down.
but beyond that, i believe Lucifer would be a god at it. His skills would be impeccable, especially with how long he’s been ‘alive’ for.
he is sooo focused on your pleasure. he just wants to make you feel good and satisfied. he will gladly sit inbetween your thighs for hours. he loves eating you out
he’s so pathetic about it too. his eyes, hooded with lust and need, staring up at you as his tongue works its magic.
he will beg you to sit on his face. eating pussy is one of hi favorite things, a dominant women is his second. so you riding his face is like a dream come true.
squirt all over him a he will be in heaven 🙏 (no pun intended…lol) he gets so pussy drunk it’s actually insane. he’s addicted and down bad….lucifer is a yearner and a munch
Alastor
alastor isn’t a very sexual person, and he’d much rather tie you up and use his ‘tentacles’ on you or his fingers. his mouth is something he’s not too found off. i hc that alastor doesn’t even like kissing all that much either
but on the rare occasions he does choose to eat you, your left limp in his bed
alastor doesn’t half ass things, he will make sure your spent. he’ll hold you down and force orgasm after orgasm out of you.
he always looks a little feral while eating you out. horns bigger, eyes blacked out, and a smile on his face as his tongue reaches inhumane depths inside of your pussy.
i personally don’t think alastor would like face sitting all that much. he likes control, and he likes being on top. 69 also isn’t his favorite because i don’t think Alastor is a huge fan of head either.
bondage. lots of bondage. if he’s eating you out, odds are you are tied up. he’s also the type of guy to put a pillow under your hips and press down on your lower stomach to really make it feel good.
trust, sometimes alastor knows your body better than you do.
Adam
he does it for his own pleasure more than yours for sure. but that doesn’t mean he’s not good at it.
he talks so much about his head game and this and that, so the first time he ate you out you were hoping it was bad just so you could rub in his face that he couldn’t make you cum. unfortunately and fortunately for you, he made you squirt around 3 times simply just from his tongue.
he dives into that pussy. his face is soaked by the time he coms back up. slow and gentle isn’t the way Adam likes to do it
not to mention the overstimulation oh my god…
i don’t think adam would mind if you sat on his face, as long as you bend over and 69 him he won’t complain.
but speaking of 69, that’s his favorite position by far.
he also dirty talks the whole time; even with a mouth full of pussy.
Sir Pentious
like i said in my sir pentious hc’s (linked here) he is lazy with it
not in a ‘i don’t wanna do this’ or ‘i’m bored’ way….but rather in a soft and sensual way.
he’s always a bit hesitant, asking you if it feels good or if he’s doing it right. he lives off of praise, especially from you. Your moans really build his confidence up to. by the end of it, he’d be a flow state, completely focused on eating you out and nothing else
face sitting is something he would like because he would know it’s enjoyable, since your the one in control. 69 would probably be a bit too much for him. he can only handle so much stimulation at once lmao.
your pleasure is his pleasure. he just wants to make you happy. “i promissssee i wont dissssapoint, my love.” he would declare before using that long snake tongue in all the right ways. his snake teeth are quite sharp and long…so just beware of that….
Vox
Vox uses sex as a way to get what he wants; i 100% he eats you out to apologize to you. not like you can complain much when he’s really good at it 🤷
the tv head definitely required you to spread your legs far and wide, giving him all the space in the world to lick and suck on whatever the hell he wants.
overstimulation for sure, while i don’t think vox is too big of a munch, he still likes it. and he especially likes making you sob and squirm while screaming his name.
he’s always doing the three finger combo on you too. he’s learned a lot (mostly from val lmao) he curls his fingers up while licking you just right. he knows all the tricks and what makes you tick.
yes you can sit on his face. he loves 69ing and usually will complain of you don’t lean over and suck him off too.
vox is a little selfish, obviously, so sometimes he’ll complain if you just want head and no penetration. but if you make it up to him with some head too 😉 he won’t stay mad for too long
hey guys! i know…another hazbin fic….im hyper fixating….requests are open but going by very slowly so pls be patient 🙏 love u all 💋 (lucifer i want u soooo bad…should i write a sub lucifer fic?)
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