mammon had a nasty little habit of barging into your room whenever he seemed fit. for the most part, it was genuinely harmless. he’d come marching inside, sunglasses slipped atop his head, pinning back the bangs of his white fluff as he rambled out random complaints. which tended to be about his brothers’ incessant picking on him, or a new “genius” get-rich-quick scheme.
the demon would find any and every reason under the sun to come see you. always fumbling with rushed excuses to explain what he was doing hanging out with a dumb mortal. as if that was enough to hide his obvious school-girl crush on you.
and here he was again, a subconscious skip in his step as he hustled on over to your room. already beaming with the idea of seeing that pretty smile of yours stretching out your cheeks and warming your skin. whether it was just wishful thinking, or too many smacks taken to the head coming from lucifer; mammon swore sometimes you glowed upon seeing him.
even if it wasn’t true (it couldn’t possibly), the thought alone was enough to boost his ego. you never smiled like that for anybody else. it was reserved especially for the mammon, your first man.
with a tight grip, he threw your door open, brain overworking itself in a hasty attempt to think up of a new excuse to give to you.
“hey, (m/c)⸻” all functioning of his brain ceased the moment he laid eyes upon you. heart throttled upwards into his throat in a split instant.
you were fresh out of the shower, lilac towel crumpled around your feet, wet hair draped over your shoulder. you’re bent over, in the midst of slipping on a pair of pink panties. silk ones with a little bow at the front.
the abrupt sound of his voice startled you into the promise of a heart attack, eyes snapping to his at the speed of light. widening gradually as the reality of the situation began to sink in.
mammon stood paralyzed in the doorway, hand still limply gripping the gold handle. if his aghast expression is anything to judge from, the demon’s about to enter into a permanent state of shock any second now. gaze unwavering from where it sits, burning into your bare skin with a frantic intensity.
the adams of his cheeks have burnt to ash, stained a dark hue that only seems to deepen with every passing second. and when you straighten up, pulling the hem of your underwear up to its proper place around your hips⸻that seems to be the boy’s breaking point.
your own wave of heat has crept up the back of your neck, flushing to your ears. while you hurry to slip on a shirt, you glance back over to mammon to see if he’s snapped out of it yet. your embarrassment is replaced with a wash of concern the moment you spot the single line of crimson that makes it way down from his nostril at a gradual pace.
“mammon?” you mumble, taking a hesitant step forward.
like a spooked rabbit, he jumps, shoulders hunching up to his jaw.
“uh⸻uhm, (m-m/c)! s-s-sorry i didn’t think⸻i never woulda if i’d⸻it was a mistake!” mammon cups a shaky hand over his nose bleed. before whirling around in a flurry of panicked motions in an attempt to escape; tripping up over his own two feet and banging his face bam against your door.
“shit,” you gasp and hurry over to his aid, hands darting all about his slumped over form. he’s pressed the palm of his hand against his right eye. eyelids clamped shut in the form of a cringe. but when you try and get a better look at where he hit his head, mammon waves you away with the other hand.
“i, i’m fine. quit your worryin’, i’m not a weak human like ya.” despite the firm words, the wince he makes when he attempts to open his wounded eye says otherwise. geez, he must have ran into that door hard.
any former timidity has fled you as you choose to focus on taking care of your idiot demon instead of the fact that he’s seen every intimate part of you. you press closer, determined to make sure he’s alright.
pushing up onto your tippy toes, you wrap your fingers around his and gently pull his hand away from his face. this time, mammon lets you. his glare lowers, physically unable to look at you anymore without feeling a rush of humiliation.
however, you’re much too close for comfort as his heart’s begun to hammer outside of his chest once more. beating like an adrenaline junkie’s, and it’s only now that he remembers you’re not wearing a bra. the supple curve of your unbound breasts shows through the shirt you’ve chosen, the fabric clinging to all the right places. the small outline of your hardened nipples has him gulping.
fuck. the things you do to him.
with the back of his wrist, mammon smears the blood atop his upper lip across his cheek. barely able to stop from ogling your tits so he forces himself to observe your bedroom. even though he’s been inside here enough times to have memorized every small detail about the place.
still, he sees no other way, and takes note of all the simple things you’ve done to make this guest room really seem like your own. which it is; if it was up to the brothers, you’d stay with them forever. you were family now, after all. in more ways than one.
the band posters you’ve plastered over the ashen brick are framed by lush greenery. he recognizes a few of them because of course, the moment he’d caught sight of them on your walls he made sure to listen to a few songs. unintentionally memorizing the lyrics as he did so.
he didn’t do it because he wanted to know what made you happy, or know your favorite song in case he ever had to sing it along with you. nah, he only wanted to see what garbage humans listened to. yeah, that’s it.
out of the corner of his eye, he notices the hot pink lava lamp on your nightstand. then the adorable background of your laptop, left open to reveal a sloth clinging to its branch.
plushies are scattered about the bed. and your favorite, a giraffe you’d affectionately named ice tea, sits snuggled beneath the magenta covers. it’s then that mammon makes a mental note to buy you a special stuffed animal. maybe a lion, or black panther. one you’ll love above the rest because it’ll be from him, and the great mammon doesn’t spend money on just anybody.
finally, you pull back, and he feels like he can breathe once again. he raises a hand to card through his daisy white locks but you grab onto him before he can, and drag him down to the kitchen.
“aye, human! where do you think you’re takin’ me?” he snaps, but doesn’t physically protest.
you don’t answer but instead begin to clear away clutter from the counter. then you nod towards the now clean spot, still dressed in nothing else besides an old high school jersey. when he realizes how much the navy color brings out your eyes, mammon bites down onto his lip and kicks himself for being such a sap.
“hop up,” you say, but the firmness of your voice makes it seem more like a command.
“ya know i wouldn’t do this for anyone but you,” he grumbles out but albeit concedes, bowing his head in shame. the power you have over him is pathetic; he knows this, his brothers know it, every demon in the devildom probably knows it too. but even still, he would do whatever you asked if it meant that you’d smile at him.
if it made you happy, then sacrificing his pride was worth it. mammon wonders if that makes him any less of a scumbag, or if it only makes things worse. either way, he’s hopeless.
his blue jeans are ripped over the thighs and knees, revealing beautiful sunkissed skin beneath white thread. mammon’s legs dangle over the edge of the counter and he can only pray that none of his siblings come home any time soon. or that leviathan won’t crawl out of the dark depths of his room, either.
he hopes this especially as you remove a bag of frozen blueberries from the refrigerator and hand them to him.
mammon accepts them, feeling the chill seep into his fingertips. “what am i supposed to do with this?”
“it’s for your eye.”
you’re surprised to see the damage a flimsy door had done to him, but the flesh around his eyelid has begun to turn the color of prunes. blotchy and painful looking, you know for a fact mammon’ll never live this down.
but you figure, his brothers don’t need another reason to tease him. this will be your little secret.
he scrunches his nose up then, feeling the stickiness of the blood on his face as he does so. “weird.” mammon grumbles but puts the bag against his brow bone anyway.
now that you’ve gotten your way, he can leave. right? he makes a move to slide off but you plant both hands on his shoulder, pushing him right back into place. there’s a huff of annoyance, but no attempt at an argument.
“i’m not finished.” you grumble before grabbing a candy-striped rag from one of the drawers. with a knit of his brows, mammon observes your every move, unsure as to what else you plan to do to him.
a part of him feels ashamed to be treated like a child. but a larger part preens beneath your concern for him. it feels good to be looked after for once. he could get used to this⸻just the two of you, alone. without any of his pesky siblings around to drag your attention away from him.
you run the cloth beneath luke-warm water, then ring it out. mammon’s stare travels lower and lower with your back turned to him, going further than where your t-shirt stops at the cup of your ass. the definition of your legs makes him drool, and the memory of your nude form has him pressing his thighs together. fingernails digging into the grain beneath the counter’s edge.
mammon heaves a sigh then, shaking his head at himself. he roughly loosens his neck tie, the accessory all of a sudden a bit too suffocating.
“ . . . look, about what happened⸻i’m sorry, ya know. it was an accident.”
“it’s alright.” you hum in response.
“yeah, okay. but can we like, can we keep this just between us?” please, he’s desperate enough to almost beg. if his brothers knew, it would be the end of him.
“i wasn’t going to tell them, anyway.”
he can’t help the way his eyes slightly widen. anyone else would have jumped at the chance to humiliate him, but not you. never you.
anxiously, he taps a finger against the surface he rests on. “o-oh, uh, thanks then. knew i could count on ya.”
when you turn on your heel to face him, again he finds himself furiously looking away. afraid you’ll catch him in the act, staring at places he shouldn’t. you come up to him, stumbling on your way over like the clumsy human you are. but it makes him smile, anyway.
“here,” you tilt his chin upwards, surprising him with the sudden action. even though, he sits still, fighting the urge to fidget as he licks his lips. then, ever so gently, you wipe away at the dried crimson smeared across his brown skin.
you’re so delicate when taking care of him that he can’t help but gawk; stone in his throat and back kindly arched. and this time, mammon allows himself to look at you. the drag of the moist cloth over the corner of his mouth a mere afterthought.
his eyes are a cornflower blue, but it’s the flecks of violet within them that you’ve always found so beautiful. this close, his cologne smells boldly of pineapple. you’re near enough for short warm breaths to fan down your face, and to notice the sharp bob of his adam’s apple when you lock eyes.
but far enough away, mammon hopes with a quiet hysteria, that you can’t hear how obnoxious his heart sounds. pounding incessantly against his ribs till there’s a slight ache.
he’s spent so long hiding his feelings, not only from you, but from himself. that he’s terrified of everything coming out now. especially after he’d made an idiot out of himself earlier.
but when you gaze at him like that⸻as if he’s the only person in the entire universe that matters⸻and cup his jaw so affectionately. hand holding the rag stilled against his cheek. mammon feels this strong pull, one he suspects you’re experiencing as well, if the way you glanced at his parted lips says anything.
this moment feels entirely too perfect, time slowed down between the both of you like a cliche scene from a romantic film.
if this were a movie, he’d have given into his desires and chased your lips with his a long, long time ago.
but this isn’t a movie. there’s no way you could ever feel the same as him. everyone else is right; he’s a no-good, worthless, sack of shit. he’s utterly, utterly pathetic. a loser. and you deserve so much better than him. so mammon smothers down his feelings some more and hopes it’s not too late for him.
that you haven’t noticed how badly he wants to make-out with you right now. to kiss you till your lips are swollen; till his heart stops breaking with every second he can’t be with you.
mammon won’t ruin this. he refuses . . . but maybe you will.
you taste like apricot lip balm and everything he’s ever dreamed of. mammon had dropped the bag of iced fruit, moving to grab onto your arms and push you away from him before he did something he’d regret. but you moved first, pushing yourself upwards to bring your mouth to his.
he froze instantly.
but mammon didn’t have time to let his eyes bulge out of his skull. he didn’t have time to gasp, or to grin, or to even think. he just had to do it; to kiss you like he’d daydreamed about for forever. kiss you like he always wanted to.
every ounce of fight in him disintegrates and he melts right into your arms. giving himself to you entirely.
you’d shuffled backwards when mammon had slipped down from the countertop, belt chains clinking with his every movement. your mouths remain connected the entire time, even as he pushes you back against the nearest wall. the rustic gray paneling is cool against the hind of your bare thighs, shirt hiking up even higher when his hands take the liberty of roaming the plains of your body.
mammon wants to touch you, to feel every dip and curve of your body. memorizing the soft feel of your plush skin; the taste of your breath mingling with his, the fresh citrus scent of your favorite shampoo.
there’s not a single detail he’ll let escape from this moment. not after he’s waited so long, so long for your love.
you want him. you want him in the way that he wants you, and that feeling? indescribable. even as he slips a hand beneath your shirt, knuckles stroking along a strip of your tummy. even as he presses his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, focused completely on the pants you make and the brush of your nose against his. he still can’t believe it.
maybe this is just another one of his stupid, hopeless dreams. maybe he’ll wake up any minute now, snuggled up against a pillow he wishes was you. even if it is, he dips his head and captures your lips with his one last time in a kiss he’ll remember forever.
if he can just have this one moment with you, then it’s all worth it. no matter how much it hurts when he inevitably awakes alongside the sun⸻alone. forever hopelessly in love with you.