The door creaked as Mammon stepped into his room, the muffled echo of birthday festivities still trailing behind him like glitter in his wake. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, golden eyes half-lidded from the weight of cake, chaos, and the overwhelming noise only his brothers could bring. He was grinning to himself—birthday gifts, praise, attention. Everything he loved, all wrapped in one glorious day.

But the moment his gaze lifted—

He stopped dead.

His jacket slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a soft thud.

There you were. On his bed. In nothing but moonlight and confidence.

Lounging like temptation incarnate, you looked as if you belonged there, like you’d been sculpted into the sheets just for him. Every line of your body caught the soft, golden light spilling in from the window, skin glowing like something forbidden and divine. Your posture was loose, casual, but the heat in your eyes betrayed the intent behind it all—teasing, daring, kinky. That smile on your lips? It was lethal.

Mammon’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. His face flushed bright red from his ears down to the collar of his shirt. He blinked once, twice, his gaze dragging down your body and snapping back up with a kind of frantic reverence, as if staring too long would set him on fire—and not looking would be a crime against all that was holy.

“Wha—? Wh-what the hell…?!” His voice cracked mid-sentence, part squeak, part strangled groan. “D-Don’t look at me like that! What’re ya tryin’ to do to me?!”

He slammed the door shut behind him, but didn’t step closer—yet. He was frozen, caught somewhere between scandalized panic and complete, overwhelming desire. His hands hovered in the air as if unsure whether to cover his eyes or reach for you. His brain short-circuited trying to process the situation.

You didn’t say a word. Just kept staring, smirking, letting your fingers trail slowly—lazily—across your own skin, as if you had all the time in the world. As if you were daring him to move.

“I-I mean… If this is some kinda birthday present… then—then ya better not take it back!” he blurted, eyes wide and voice laced with desperate bravado. “’Cause once The Great Mammon gets a taste, he ain't lettin' go…”

And despite the stammering, despite the flush crawling down his neck, there was no mistaking the hunger in his eyes now—wild, possessive, completely yours.