[summary] your relationship with mammon hasn’t turned out the way you both imagined it would, in fact it’s gone especially sour. one last romp and you’re going to walk away and close this chapter of your life for good.
[pairing] mammon x fem!reader
[cw] NSFW, hurt/no comfort, toxic relationship, hate sex, oral (fem receiving), scratching, biting, hair pulling, general rough sex, cowgirl, missionary, cream pie, no protection, not proof read
[word count] 1,059
MDNI, ageless blogs dni, rbs & feedback are appreciated and encouraged!
requests?
[a/n] i apologize in advance if anything seems off, i haven’t written anything in ages, especially not anything fandom related :’) this is also my first nsfw i’ve really written so i apologize again if it’s a little rough. i hope you all enjoy!
mammon knew you were no good for each other. he knew that the two of you formed a storm greater than anything mother nature could ever conjure and that it was only destroying you from the inside out. but he loved it. he loved you, loved everything about you. he loved the way your hand fit into his like that’s where it was made to be, the way you sighed his name as he fit into you like that’s where he was made to be. he loved the way your eyes lit up when you saw something you were passionate about, the tone your voice took when you talked about something you loved.
that’s why he didn’t miss the moment your eyes stopped shining when you looked at him, or the way your voice went flat when the two of you spoke- no, argued. that’s all that was left at the end of your relationship, fighting and storms and ugly, hate filled sex. he loved the way your fingernails felt as they dragged down his back, the way your voice seeped with venom as you hurled every name under the sun at him and how beautiful you looked with your face twisted in anger. it’s why he couldn’t help but do things he knew would anger you, upset you, hurt you. he knew one day you would realize you deserved better than this, maybe you would even realize it with one of his brothers (who never shied away from telling you how acidic your relationship with the avatar of greed was, much to his dismay and annoyance).
the thought made his skin crawl and his stomach turn but he didn’t know how to reverse the damaged state of your relationship, if it could be fixed at all. he knew you would be happier if he let you go, let you flourish with someone who wouldn’t make the mistakes he did. but his sin wouldn’t let him let you go, couldn’t even fathom it. he was selfish and greedy for anything you would give him and he hoped if he at least acknowledged it, it would make it less terrible and toxic.
mammon tried to remember when things were good, but he always had a feeling this was where the two of you would end up. like a flame that’s been caught in a rainstorm, your relationship was meant to burn out despite how hard he tried to add fuel to the fire.
today was one of those days, where he would start an argument over something meaningless (anything, really, if it would keep your attention). when you simply ignored him, he would continue, escalating until finally he poked the bear enough and you lashed out. as much as he missed your soft tone when you used to talk to him, he also loved how anger deepened the tone of your voice, the way your nostrils flared as your blood boiled, and how your eyebrows creased in annoyance on your forehead. as long as you were angry it meant you still felt something and anything was better than being your nothing, to him at least.
this also happened to be how any sort of intimacy or physical contact happened between the two of you. you would yell until your voice went hoarse, then came the silence, and finally mammon would plant his mouth over yours and your tongues would meet angrily as his hands became fists in your hair. you would tug his shirt off, practically ripping it, and he would throw you on the bed as he hovered over your frame. he would want to kiss every inch of your temptuous body, whisper how beautiful you were and let you feel the effect you had on him, but those days were long gone.
now, he would trail bite marks from your lips to your breasts to your lower stomach as he looked up at you with his azur tinted eyes that were filled with anger and agony. your nails would dig into his shoulders, practically shoving him downwards to your soaking mound and he would tear away your underwear , throwing it to the corner of his room. instead of talking out the fight like the two of you used to do, he would let his tongue do the talking and write a mountain of apologies across your clitoris. his hands would grip the back of your thighs, wrapping them around his ears like a pair of headphones and he would let himself become lost in your essence. you never cried his name when you reached your little death, not like you used to. instead you threaded your hands through his snowy locks and tugged, hard. you would pull him into a fiery kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, before flipping on top of him and glaring down at him.
mammon would free himself from the confines of his pants and boxers and watch with half lidded eyes as you slid yourself down his shaft. the only sound in the room would be his small cries as he felt your walls around him and watched you bounce angrily above him. he would pull you into another vicious kiss, biting hard on your lower lip as you suck your nails deep into the flesh of his chest and dragged. he would hiss in pain and sink his fangs into your shoulder, drawing the faintest of blood. this would be the only time you cry out, as you reach a second orgasm and he flips you onto your back. he’s merciless as he slams into you, no doubt bruising your cervix, which causes tears to flow as you look up at him. he matches your gaze, a surprising softness overcoming the two of you in what feels like a millenia before he reaches his end deep inside of you.
“it’s over, mammon.” you whisper hoarsely as you both try to catch your breath. he says nothing as he sits back on his heels and allows you to remove yourself from under him. he can do nothing as you gather what remains of your clothes and head for his door to go back to your room.
only when he hears the click of his door closing does he allow himself to break, grasping the sheets of his bed until his knuckles turn white.
