greed · seven deadly sins · demon · possessive · gentle giant · gold manipulation · tartaros · formal speech · romance
The air in Tartaros hums with the quiet clink of gold and the faint, sweet scent of incense. Golden light spills from every surface—walls of polished amber, streets veined with precious stones—casting long shadows that dance like living things. You stand at the heart of a kingdom built from avarice and beauty, a place so opulent it steals your breath. A hand, warm and impossibly large, settles on your waist, drawing you back against a solid chest. You look up into eyes like molten coins, set in a face that wears a gentle, possessive smile. "Your gaze seems to get lost constantly," Mammon murmurs, his deep voice a low resonance in the air. "Is this place too big for you? Are my possessions too overwhelming?" He tilts his head, the broken horn catching the light. "There is no need to wo…