macabr3-barbi3

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 8- Hating you was never really an option I'd ever consider. (AU Powder/Ekko)

The world is quiet around them, Powder’s head resting on his shoulder and her hair smelling of lavender. City lights sparkle along the skyline, pinpricks of light in the endless cover of the night. The party still rages downstairs, music spilling from the cracked door that leads back downstairs with the sounds of joy and laughter as the perfect accompaniment. The faint taste of her lips lingered on his mouth, his heart so full of regret and longing at the life they could have had that it burned in his chest.

“Do you hate me?” She asks suddenly, and Ekko looks down at her in confusion, in wonder. When she meets his eyes- the only place that he faintly sees her, the other traces of her lost in this alternate version with her soft features and easy contentedness- she looks curious. Inquisitive. A look he’s come to know in the short time that he’s been with her, a look that said she was thinking too hard and too long. He could read this version of her like a book, open and trusting.

If Powder was a book, Jinx had been a steel box. Barbed wire lining every corner, impenetrable by logic or reason, by emotions or loyalty. Despite knowing that they’re the same in every way that really matters, he can’t help but constantly compare them. How different they were in the ways that they had grown up, the lives that they led. Here before him, this girl was so untouched by the things that had gone wrong for them, so unlike the one that he knew that it would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic.

He clears his throat to buy time, reaching up to tangle his finger in one of his new braids- he wondered if anyone in his version of home could help him recreate them. “What do you mean?” He asks, keeping his voice as low as hers- a secret conversation for a secret place.

“You’re not… not my Ekko,” she says finally, and his blood freezes in his veins. “I mean, you look like him. You sound like him. You smell like him,” she adds playfully, burying her nose in the fabric of his collar with a laugh. “But you’re not him.”

He can’t even think of what to say. His words have been stolen from him, her revelation and the consequences flashing through his mind. How would this affect things? What if she wouldn’t keep working with him on their project, wouldn’t send him back, where he needed to make things right? If she knew that he wasn’t her Ekko- and he tries to ignore that distant sting of jealousy, that there was another version of him somewhere in the universe that got to have her, that had gotten to be with her this whole time- then what happens now? Why had she still allowed him to kiss her?

“The first thing you look for when you enter a room is the exit,” she continues, still leaning against him despite her confession. “You watch everyone like you expect them to go up in smoke, like they’re ghosts. And me?” Her eyebrows turn up, her expression almost pitying with the sad smile on her face. “The way you look at me… well, if you’re not my Ekko, then I feel like the chances are pretty good that I’m not your Powder.”

And she wasn’t. Ekko’s Powder was long gone, lost somewhere inside of Jinx where he wasn’t sure he could ever get her back. Lost to the Shimmer, to Silco’s influence, to the darker parts of the Undercity that he had tried so many times to bring her out of. 

“So, that’s where the question came from- do you hate me? The other version of me.”

He’s quiet for a long minute. He should say yes- he would have said yes, before. Before meeting this Powder, knowing that this was what they could have had. Feelings had been brought to the surface that he had shoved down for so long, he thought he could just dismiss them. But if she knew the truth already… if he was really honest with her, with himself…

“No,” he admitted. “Hating her- hating you- was never really an option I’d consider. I don’t think I would have tried so hard to bring her back if I really did.”

“You wouldn’t be trying so hard to get back to her,” she offers, and Ekko realizes that she’s probably known the whole time what he was trying to do with their work. “I get it; even if the place I went was objectively better than where I am now- which, I get serious vibes that it is- I would do the same if it was me. Wherever you’re from, whatever she’s done, whatever it was that… made you like this… that’s your home. And I’m here to help, Ekko.” She places her hand over his and squeezes hard, and he’s suddenly blinking too quickly and trying to swallow a lump that’s made a home in his throat when she uses her grip to pull him standing with her. She hugs him, soft and delicate and fragile, too smart and kind for her own good. And even knowing that she supports him, that going back was the right thing to do, that there was another Ekko out there somewhere that needed to come back for her to be happy…

It would be hard to leave this quiet world behind.

I loved a tragic 'what-could-have-been' love story so much heheh 🤭

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 7- Do you want them to hear you? (Lute/Reader; eating out, possible exhibitionism)

this one was an experience, I think I was possessed but here we are

It was too warm in the supply closet, the hard lines of spare, pointless training spears pressed against her back. Her top was damp with perspiration, dripping from her forehead and being absorbed by the dark fabric. Her breath came in heavy pants, too concerned with keeping herself upright to risk trying to wipe the moisture away with the back of her gloved hand. All the while, she kept coming up with different synonyms for this infernal atmosphere she was experiencing.

Sweltering. Feverish. Hot. 

Heaven was supposed to be perfect. How could she be drenched in sweat right now when the temperature should have been as it always was, perfectly, personally tailored to her wants?

Lute was nothing if not the model exorcist. Punctual and prompt, strong and fearless, swift and ruthless. She led her team with an iron fist under Adam’s watchful eye, harsh and unforgiving when it came to barking commands and demanding respect. She was Adam’s right hand, second in command, and she bowed to no one.

“Eyes down here, sugar.”

Right. You.

The angel on your knees before her on the dirty ground of the supply closet after dragging her in here after practice had ended and saying she looked tense, and that you’d love to help with that. The scant space was lit only by the faint glow of your respective halos, and the look in your eyes would be more at home on a Hellspawn in that fiery cesspool below than any creature in God’s realm. And yet here you were before her. She was standing above you but she was not in control here. Not with you, strong hands tracing lines up and down her thighs that left paths of fire in their wake. 

She’s desperate to maintain some semblance of the control that she holds so tightly most of the time. “Get on with it, if you’re so intent on doing this here,” Lute snaps at that cocky look on your face. Just watching, like you could do it all day. Like she was worth such a gaze. And she loves and loathes the way your smile quirks up on one side at her demand, head tilting to one side and hands stilling at her knees.

She knows the rules of this arrangement between you. Whispered hotly into her neck the first time she had been shoved against the wall with eager hands under her shirt and creeping between her legs after an argument that you refused to stand down in, where you kept pushing back verbally until you snapped and pushed physically, ripping Lute’s face down to yours to tangle your mouths together. When you had stilled at her silence, Lute had trembled in anticipation, shivery with want, wondering why you weren’t doing anything more once you had her in your grasp.

“Verbal consent,” you had muttered, your lips and teeth dragging against the sensitive skin of her throat while your hands stayed stationary, “is a must. I don’t know what kind of amateur fumbling you’re used to, but I’m not simply going to do as I like. If you act like you don’t want it, I will stop. I need at least a word- ‘yes, please, more, don’t stop;’ you get the gist,” you concluded, fingers plucking at the waistband of her panties before starting to withdraw.  

“Please,” she seethes between her teeth, like she had done all those weeks ago, and the way that her stomach drops in lust when your hands resume their motions makes her hate herself a little. The soft gasp that leaves her lips when your fingers dip below the waist of her leggings is odious, another verbal confirmation of the heat that races through her body when you look at her like that. Heat that seems to manifest around you, her skin feeling like it's on fire despite the cool air now contacting her bare skin when you finally drag her leggings and panties down in one strong pull. She’s exposed before you, dripping sweat and arousal to your gaze for a brief, searing moment before you lean forward and take what’s been offered.

Your tongue is an unpredictable thing of wonder. Agile and strong as it swirls around her clit, she’s never more thankful for the anatomy of humans as she is when your mouth is on her, devoted attention trained on making her feel good. And fuck, you do a fantastic job- she can already feel the razor’s edge of release creeping up on her, her blood boiling under her skin as her breath comes heavier and more rapid, building to the point of panting while your skilled mouth switches between dancing circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves and sucking hard while you lick at her drenched folds. She risks letting go of the shelf behind her to grab at your hair, strands tangled between her fingers when you look up and smile with your eyes since your lips were still occupied.

She was supposed to be in charge. How could she bend so easily to your whims?

You were experienced. Dangerous. You made her feel like a creature of Sin, like some lustful madness was left in the wake of your deft fingers and corrupting her from inside out with every touch. She could feel it now, creeping from the depths of her soul when your fingers came up to slip inside of her alongside your tongue, dancing against that spot inside that made her see stars, made your halo seem to glow a little brighter when the edges of her vision darkened. 

“Fuck,” she gasps out when you use your free hand to drag a strong thigh onto your shoulder, the motion tipping her hips forward until she felt like she would slip down the wall. Her fingers tighten in your hair, and she’s about to snap something about a warning when you hear the soft shuffle of footsteps outside the door.

Her heart stutters at the soft murmur of voices, only starting again when you suck hard at her clit and bring her back to you. She can’t stop the moan that escapes her at that, and she knows it's in her head but it feels like the voices have stopped, like the feet have shuffled closer, like someone could be standing on the other side of the thin wood that separated the supply closet from the training room.

Your finger crooks against the soft, spongy spot amongst her walls, the slide frictionless with the sudden rush of lust that floods her body. You pull back far enough to whisper, the shine of Lute’s arousal over your lips, your chin. “Do you want them to hear you?” You ask softly, and she shakes her head with wide eyes and a vehement no even though the thought of someone seeing her like this made her body tense with anticipation. “Better keep it down then, angel.”

And you’re back to the task at hand, diving back in with a renewed vigour, three fingers of one hand intent on bullying the sweet spot inside her while the other digs almost painfully into the muscle of her thigh on your shoulder, holding her in place, dragging her against your eager mouth. And it's like now that she’s been told to be quiet, she’s aware of how loud she is, how loud you both are.

The noises fill the hot air; the wet, rhythmic sounds of you fingering her, the occasional slurp when you disconnect from her sex enough to breathe before getting right back to it, the creak of the shelf behind her when her fingers flex their grip as she tries to hold on. She’s letting out these soft, breathy noises like a balloon leaking air, moans and gasps that she can’t control as you drag her towards release.

Lute hears a door slam somewhere in the distance, probably not even in the training room or anywhere close, and the force of her orgasm nearly burns with its intensity. It explodes like a star, pleasure sweeping through like a forest fire to kindling as she whines in an effort to keep quiet, teeth digging into her lip as her entire being is set ablaze. She can feel you coaxing her through it, tongue and fingers relentless even now as you drag it out, until the fire fades and she’s left boneless, smoldering ash still perched on your shoulder.

The spark threatens to spread when she looks down to see you dragging your dangerous tongue around your digits, licking yourself clean of her.

You don’t let her fall when you finally remove her leg, holding it while you stand and pull her leggings back up to help her keep her balance as you press closer, uncaring of the dampness of sweat that clings to her clothing, her skin. You trail your fingers through the pool of it that rest in her collarbones before pressing a kiss there, and then to her lips. Salty from the sweat, and then your tongue gives way to the unique taste of herself, something that Adam had always said deterred him from kissing after a woman went down on him, but she had never minded. Not when she also got hints of you, the gum you chewed in between training sessions, the smell of you invading her nostrils at the same time.

“Better?” You ask softly when you finally pull back, releasing her so she can stand on her own shaky legs again. She scoffs, like she hadn’t just fallen to pieces on your fingers and tongue, like she was back in control of the situation. Like she wasn’t desperate to be anywhere else, somewhere more private, so she could return the favor, watch your eyes go dark with lust looking down on her, mumbling words of praise and encouragement while, like just now, she burned.

“Acceptable,” she mutters instead, turning away from the annoying smirk that adorns your face, knowing that her body still trembled from the rolling aftershocks of an orgasm that had left her breathless. It makes her snarky, wanting to wipe the expression away. “Maybe next time-”

“Ohh, planning already? Was it that good?”

Lute’s face flushes, already overheated and sweaty and irritable in the face of your insufferable confidence, knowing that you’re right. Rather than responding, she opts to shove past you and through the door of the supply closet- unlocked, she realizes, ignoring the bolt of desire the thought sends through her- and leave, stalking out of the training room with your laughter echoing in the space behind her.

I DON'T KNOW MAN IT BASICALLY WROTE ITSELF LMAO

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 6- Please don’t make me beg. (Jayce/Viktor, teasing) *it's not what you think*

“Viktor.”

Silence. Moments crept by, counted by the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall of the lab.

“Viktor, come on.”

The Zaunite simply hummed under his breath, turning a page in the notebook he was perusing, unaware- or simply uncaring- of Jayce’s plight. He was laid out across the cot that they kept in the lab for later nights, eyes searching Viktor’s frame imploringly while the other scientist paid him no mind.

“Please.”

Finally, Viktor looks up. Finds the picture that Jayce makes spread out as he is on the thin mattress, and his lips quirk up on one side. “At last, you have learned some manners, hm? What do you want?”

Jayce makes a noise, low in his throat, the sound reverberating through his chest. “You know what I want,” he says, perhaps a little pathetic, but he doesn’t care how it sounds. He’s desperate. A fiend. He had had a taste, a sloppy request made after too many drinks, but Viktor had obliged and now?

Now Jayce was ruined.

The need filled his body like the effects of Shimmer. He always wanted it, always needed it. Especially after a day like today, when things were harder than usual and nothing was lining up or working the way he wanted it to despite his efforts. He needed that little bit of simple pleasure that he knew Viktor could give him.

Viktor laughs, a charming noise that Jayce had always found endearing. “Perhaps I could be persuaded,” he teases, his accent thick as he finally put his notebook down and turned in his chair to fully face Jayce.

“Please don’t make me beg,” Jayce pleads, but he’s ready to do it. He’d agree to anything in this moment if Viktor would give him what he wants.

Viktor sighs, looking put out even though Jayce knows he secretly loves the attention, loves feeling needed in this way. “It would be more satisfying if you did,” he laments, “but I suppose you have earned it. Go on,” he adds, gesturing with his hands for Jayce to flip over, and the other man lets out a whoop of excitement and manages to turn over in one quick movement.

Once he finds a comfortable position, Viktor reaches over and finally gives Jayce what he’s been wanting- strong, dexterous fingers digging into the tense muscles of his back and shoulders, pressure firm and steady while he starts working out the knots that had come as the result of days of endless hard work from the blacksmith. Jayce groans into his arms at the delicious pressure of it, sweet relief that he had been asking for for days. Most of the time Viktor was too sore, not steady enough after long hours to comply with the request, but he had seemed stronger lately, more up to physical tasks, and Jayce…

Well, he hadn’t begged. ‘Wheedling’ was perhaps a better word for what he had been doing, pestering Viktor intermittently. 

The massage continues, Viktor making satisfied noises under his breath every time he successfully worked a knot out. Jayce wasn’t quiet in his enjoyment and appreciation. “There’s no reason you should be that good at this,” he sighs, turning his head to look at his friend. Most of his muscles had been worked out by now, pliant and relaxed under Viktor’s talented fingers but unwilling to move and break the connection. “You weigh like. Ninety pounds. How do you get so much force behind your hands?” He asks in genuine wonder, and Viktor’s laugh is always a treat when he manages to bring it out like he does now.

“I cannot be giving away all my secrets,” he says. “The mystery is part of the enjoyment, is it not?”

It was. The next, much larger part of the enjoyment was actually getting the massage, having days of aches and soreness eased through pleasurable discomfort. And the final, tiny bit of it came from knowing that he was the only person Viktor was close enough to that he would do this. He was the only person in Piltover that got to have Viktor’s hands on him like this, used for pleasure and friendship instead of science; it made something in him almost annoyingly pleased.

He feels Viktor’s fingers leaving his skin before he registers that the other man is speaking, so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t even hear him. “Huh? What’s happening?”

“I said, all of the knots are gone. Long gone- you simply let me continue.” Jayce turns to look at him, a smile on his face that speaks of fondness in equal measure with vague disapproval. “We cannot stay here all day indulging your hedonistic whims now that the source of pain is gone.”

“I mean… we could?” Jayce says hopefully, and laughs when Viktor reaches down and rustles his hair, a softly muttered, “get back to work” left behind as he returns to the desk and starts writing in the notebook he had been reading earlier. Jayce watches him for a while, head resting on his crossed arms, before he stands and puts his shirt back on, ready to get back to business.

HA got ya

they're cute, I might have vague ideas for a part two going in a more sexual direction but I'm content for now with them just being bros

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

30 Day Writing Challenge Masterlist

Just to keep everything organized! I'll link back to this on each post in case people want to look through everything ✨

[KEY] Hazbin/Helluva | Arcane | K-Pop Demon Hunters | ❗Sexual Tone |‼️Explicit

Day 1- I know I'm bad, but I'm not selfish. (Vox/Reader)

Day 2- How many times do I have to prove that I'm not here to hurt you? (Adam/Reader)

❗Day 3- You know what happens when you misbehave. (Ambessa/Reader)

Day 4- You’re thinking too much. (Alastor/Reader)

Day 5- I knew there was never going to be anyone else for me. (Blitzo/Stolas)

Day 6- Please don’t make me beg. (Jayce/Viktor)

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 5- I knew there was never going to be anyone else for me. (Blitzo/Stolas, sappy sappy sap shit)

For once, everything was… calm.

Blitzo and Stolas were spread out across Blitzo’s couch, positioned so that Stolas could read with his head against the steady thumping of the imp’s heart through his chest. Blitzo was scrolling mindlessly through television channels, stopping when he came across a catchy song or advertisement, not really looking for anything to actually watch. 

He was content, for once. Millie and Moxxie were off doing whatever married people do when they’re not with friends. Loona and Via were holed up in the Hellhound’s bedroom, blaring music audible even through the hardy wood door and the seal of Via’s magic. He’s already gotten one notification about a new upload on his daughter’s Sinstagram account, likely one of the selfies that she always sweet-talked Via into taking with her. Business was good with Stolas handling financial crap and he and the Ms being able to focus on killing people; the pressure of being a royal wasn’t breathing down his birdy’s neck all the time, finally having cut ties with everything but Via. Verosika had even texted him today, sent him a stupid video about wishing death on an ex- but it was progress from the years that she had spent completely ignoring his existence, and he could sense the hint of humor and irony in her sending it to him.

He sighs, letting the arm holding the remote fall and rest on Stolas’s shoulder. “Who would have guessed we’d end up here, huh?” He asks with a laugh, gesturing around the room, the life they found themselves in. “From fuck buddies to… whatever this is. Happiness, I guess? Weird.” He tries to play it off like a joke, to keep Stolas from looking too closely at the vein of earnest truth that runs through the words- that this was good and perfect and all that he wanted.

Stolas doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes trained on his book. “I would have,” he says absently, feathers fingers flipping a page while Blitzo’s brain screeches to a halt.

“What? You would have what?”

He looks at him now, attention pulled from his book at Blitzo’s reaction. “I would have guessed it,” he said again. “In fact, I hoped for it- as soon as I developed feelings for you, this is what I wanted. This easy domesticity, casual affection- happiness, as you said,” he adds, reaching up to grab Blitzo’s arm and pull it down in a semblance of a hug. 

Blitzo is stunned. “Wow. That long?”

“If you count my childhood wishes, even longer,” Stolas replies with a soft smile. “Perhaps not with these kinds of specifics in mind, but the moment you became my friend I was convinced. I didn’t know how long it would take to find you again; only that I would. You changed me, Blitzo,” he says, rolling over so he could be face to face with the baffled imp. “I was a sad and lonely child and you brought joy and laughter into my life, even if only for a short time. I knew there was never going to be anyone else for me.”

Blitzo blinks, unexpected tears blurring his vision while Stolas turns to panic. “Oh dear- I apologize, Blitzy, perhaps that was too much? I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up, Stolas,” he interrupts, and fists his fingers in the feathers at the nape of Stolas’s neck, dragging him down to capture his lips in a kiss. Tender and sweet, just like his bird with his unexpected declarations of eternal love and shit. “You don’t get to just- say things like that and fuckin’ expect me not to kiss you, the fuck?”

Stolas huffs a laugh into the scant space between them, his smile pleased. “Oh, whatever shall I do with the threat of such torture?” He presses another kiss to Blitzo’s face, tone teasing. “I suppose I shan’t speak of the years of dreams of moments like this-”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me more later,” Blitzo says, pulling the former royal down again and repositioning for comfort, their words and sentiments lost as their lips met again, smiles pressed to one another as they settled together, chest to chest, content with what they had made for themselves.

I love them I love them I love them

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 4- You’re thinking too much. (Alastor/Reader established, request)

I saw this prompt and realized that I had a request, wayyyyyy back when I first started writing for Hazbin, that I had started that already had a line similar to this one- IDK what took my brain so long to finally finish it but it's done! to this requester, if you're on tumblr- so so so sorry that it took forever (I will be apologizing on ao3 as well bc I feel like a monster lmao)

Life is good in your warm little cocoon, wrapped in the sheets of Alastor’s bed with your arm slung over the fluff of his chest where it peeks through his pajama top. His breathing as he sleeps is soft, the faint rush of it through his nose rustling your hair where you’re tucked up against him. The radio across the room runs through different channels as he sleeps, short bursts of jazz that make you smile into his skin.

You had been worried that your request the other day would have changed things between you- when he had asked what you wanted for your upcoming birthday (“Anything within my power is yours, dearest”) the only thing you could think to ask was for Husk’s release from his contract with Alastor, and the deer demon had stiffened in his seat across from you where you’d been having breakfast together.

“Anything but that,” he had said with a strained smile, and moved the conversation along, and things were only awkward for a day or two before everything was back to normal, your request forgotten and your relationship reverted to its previous contentment.

Since the failed Extermination a few months back, Alastor had been getting along with everyone a little better. He was still himself- you wouldn’t love him if he wasn’t- but he smiled more genuinely, laughed often, kept his jokes and pranks to an acceptable level that wouldn’t cause any irreparable damage to any relationships or bits of the building. That included Husk; the two were often caught conversing under their breath over a table of cards or a match of chess, laughing and drinking together at the bar. Things seemed better between them, and it was exceedingly rare that Alastor even barked off a command at him. The green collar and chain hadn’t made an appearance in months.

“You are thinking too much,” he mutters beside you, and you belatedly realize that the radio has shifted onto some jazzy rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ while you weren’t paying attention. “And far too loudly for what should be a good day. What could possibly be plaguing you so early?”

You hum into his skin, snuggle closer so you can press a kiss to his collarbone. “I’m not plagued,” you tell him. “Just thinking.”

“Of your birthday request, yes?”

He had always been able to read you so easily. “Yes,” you admit. “I just don’t understand your hesitation, that’s all. I won’t ask you again- you know I’m not one to wheedle when I’ve been told no- but I’m trying to find some insight. You seem to be friends.”

He sighs, brushes a clawed hand lightly over your face and smoothes your hair back. “I admit things are not as… tense between us as they once were,” he says, “but these things are not so simple. A portion of my power is tied to the possession of his soul- without it, I am…”

“Still the powerful, terrifying Overlord you’ve always been?” You ask with a smile, and he chuckles lowly against the top of your head.

“As if that could change,” he teases. And then he’s quiet for a few moments too long, ruminating silently above you as the song on the radio fades to a soft static. “He could leave,” he finally says, his voice low, like there was anyone else in the room to hear what he was saying. “If I were to release him, there would be nothing holding him here. Dear Charlie needs a staff for this place to run, even if the premise is as pointless as it is hilarious-”

“Don’t start with that,” you mumble into his chest, finally understanding his reluctance to grant your request. “Stay focused, please.”

“Right- well, I know I’m correct about that much at least, that she needs staff, and I can only do so much as hotelier.”

“I could always help,” you say, and ignore the affronted scoff that leaves him at that idea. “If Husk were to leave. But I don’t think he would- we’re all friends now. He’s been through it with us, you know? And you know he wouldn’t leave Angel, and Angel’s not going back to Valentino.”

He finally sits up, shifts you with his movements so you’re facing him in the bed with a palm cupping your cheek. “And if you’re wrong? If he leaves?”

You shrug, lacing your fingers through his. “We’ll deal with that if it happens. But I think we need to trust him to make his own decisions, and stay because he wants to- not because you’re forcing him.”

Alastor hums, that light noise he makes when he’s contemplating something. “I suppose you’re right. My power should remain largely uncompromised with the loss of one soul,” he finally concedes. “And if Husker decides to leave the hotel, we’ll adjust accordingly. Consider your birthday wish granted, dearest,” he says, and brings a hand above the covers to snap, loud and sharp. There’s a flash of green light as the chain materializes in his hand and then simply… fades to nothing. Bright and tangible one moment and a wisp of smoke in the next that trails out the door to wherever Husk happens to be. 

It’s a brief moment before the thundering of feet can be heard from the hallway, Husk’s voice loud and shaky in disbelief as he pounds on the door to the bedroom and shouts Alastor’s name. You can’t help the wide smile that comes across your face, rivaling the strength of Alastor’s when you meet his gaze and he’s watching you with fond eyes.

“Well, come on,” you urge him. “He’s still here now- we should have a talk with him before he hightails it out of here.”

“Hush, you,” he says at the blatant sarcasm to your tone, but the relief is evident in his face as he joins you in the short walk to the door to greet your newly freed friend.

ANOTHER SORRY TO THIS REQUESTER, IT WAS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 3- You know what happens when you misbehave. (Ambessa/Reader; teasing, sexual implications)

You knew you were in for it when you heard the door of Ambessa’s office slam behind her, the frames on the wall rattling with the force of it. It was fucked up, the way your stomach dropped in anticipation of what you knew was coming, a verbal lashing that never failed to make you tremble and quake on the other side of the desk from your boss, cheeks flushed with what she surely thought was embarrassment.

She’d never know the full extent of it. 

She makes her way across the room, and breaks the usual proceedings for her punishments to soldiers. Instead of crossing to stand behind her desk, to make her displeasure known loudly while you lowered your gaze across from her, she stands behind you. You could feel the warmth of her body through your clothes, the soft exhale of her breath of your neck, and you fought the shiver that threatened to race down your spine.

“Answer this for me, my dear,” she says quietly, her words ghosting along your skin with her proximity. “You know what happens when you misbehave- why, then, do you continue to do so?”

“I- I don’t know, ma’am,” you reply with your voice shaking. “It’s not intentional.”

“Now, I’m not sure that I believe that.” She somehow comes closer, perching the sharp angle of her chin on your shoulder, the hard lines of her muscled body plastered against your back. You’re frozen, gaze fixed on the window behind her desk as you struggle not to turn to look at her with her breath hot on your ear. “When you break the rules, you never do so in a way that actually creates loss or chaos. You step out of line, you mouth back to me and superiors, you refuse to do the things you’re told to do- but you don’t actually jeopardize any of your tasks. In fact, they’re usually done meticulously. Punctual.” She turns her head, so she’s whispering directly into your ear now. “How could a soldier who’s punctual be so lax on the rules about respect?”

You can’t think of a response. Your brain feels like its malfunctioning, brought on by the distraction of Ambessa so close to you, looking too closely at your reactions to her, your casual and intentional breaking of protocol.

“I think I might know,” she adds softly, and then there’s a hand placed at the small of your back, fingers delicately tracing the line of your spine as you stop breathing. “You like the punishment- coming in here for me to berate you and send you off to your next assignment. Whether the embarrassment or the degradation, whatever it is, you want it. Enough to intentionally disobey minor, petty orders in a way that results in your ending up here, verbally put in your place by your commanding officer. Is that it?”

When you don’t answer, can’t answer over the feeling of your heartbeat in your throat, she lets her free hand come up to brush the bottom of your chin. “I need an answer, soldier. You can nod.”

Your head moves without thought, a quick jerk of up-down that confirms her suspicion, and she huffs a laugh into your skin. “That’s what I thought. So we can get down to business then.”

It happens lightning fast, before you even have a chance to suck in a breath. The light finger she had stroked across your chin becomes her entire hand wrapped around your throat- not too hard, you can still breath, but the move is surprising enough that it shocks a gasp from your lips. The hand on your back increases its pressure, shoving you forward so you’re bent at the waist across Ambessa’s desk, the relentless force of her arm holding you down while your hands scramble on the surface. Papers flutter to the ground, and she leans down low to breathe words into your ear again.

“I don’t like a mess. If you continue to make one, I might have to reconsider this.”

That has your feeble attempts at escape halting in their tracks. This, what was this? 

The question is answered, at least partially, when Ambessa mutters “good soldier” and removes her hand from your back, sliding it over the curve of your ass, between your legs, using the one still around your throat to crane your face back so you can look into her eyes. Pupils blown, her eyes are narrowed in on you, her sole focus evident as the belt of your uniform is undone by her dextrous fingers.

“You don’t seem to be able to obey orders to avoid punishment. Let’s see how well you can listen to instructions when it's something you want, shall we?”

Ambessa makes my brain go brrrrr (as do like all of the women in this show, why did they make everyone so hot)

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 2- How many times do I have to prove that I'm not here to hurt you? (reader/adam, fluffy/angst, hurt/comfort)

The day was beautiful, as was the norm for Heaven. The temperature was perfect, the sun was shining, flowers blossomed and bloomed along the grass as far as the eye could see. A gorgeous day to spend with your gorgeous new husband, armed with takeout bags full of ribs and the ‘cheapest’ beer you could find, considering that everything in Heaven was free. You were running a little late- somehow, the speed of convenience stores wasn’t the best even in the afterlife- but after being alive for millenia, Adam liked what he liked- what kind of wife would you be if you didn’t indulge him whenever you could, even if it cost a little extra time?

He wasn’t where you had instructed him to be in your text earlier, seated on the stereotypical red gingham blanket that you had laid out in your favorite spot on the hill for a surprise. He wasn’t anywhere in the nearby vicinity, actually, after you had folded the blanket over your arm and set off to look for him, waving to the other angels and Winners that passed you. An acquaintance finally got you going in the right direction when they asked what had Adam’s robes in a twist, having spotted him donned in his Exorcist mask and stalking down the streets with an air of frustration and anger about him.

You found him at last, kicking empty beer cans down what could have almost qualified for a sketchy alley back on Earth if not for the angel-song that played softly through speakers that lined every building. His hands were shoved into his robe pockets, shoulders stiffened and the horns of his mask visible as you approached him from behind with a gentle hand to his back. 

“Adam?”

He swung around, the harsh lines of his tense body softening for only a moment before he went back on the defensive. “What?” He snaps, jerking out of your reach and leaning against a brick lined wall. “Here to end it, finally? Three months of ‘marital bliss’ enough for ya?”

“What are you talking about?” He got like this sometimes, argumentative in his insecurity when he perceived something to be wrong. He had gotten better- loads better since you had first gotten together, trying to communicate his feelings without lashing out, but since the wedding Adam had seemed off. A little touchier, a little more sharp with his words. 

“You were late,” he says accusingly, and the hurt in his voice is tangible. “Telling me to meet you at a certain time and then not showing, making plans for something romantic and disregarding it. I know how it starts- how it always started with them, with him.”

You realize that he’s talking about Lucifer, his previous wives and the betrayals that he had suffered in Eden. You approach the wall he leans on, reaching a hand out to trace along the curve of his mask. “Adam-”

He shrugs your hand off, looking away. The eyes of his mask narrow with pain, old wounds that you had made such strides together to heal reopening at his misunderstanding. “Don’t make excuses! I know what it means, I’m not stupid, and-”

“Adam!” You cut him off with your hands on either side of his face, dropping the bags of your goods for the picnic on the asphalt and forcing him to look at you. “Do you trust me?”

“I did,” he snaps, “until you-”

“Stop,” you tell him gently, smoothing your thumbs along the mask where his cheekbones would be. “Breathe for a minute, please?” You know if you let him really work himself up that it could be days, weeks before he came to his senses and actually talked to you like it had been when you first got together. “What did I tell you I was doing before we met up?”

He rolls his eyes. “Getting something to surprise me- mission accomplished, you caught me off guard just like-”

“Adam.” You fix him with a stern glare, and the first flicker of uncertainty in his reaction flashes across his face. “I was getting food and drinks. I wanted to have a picnic with you.”

“You… You could just be saying that,” he accuses, but his tone is wavering. “Lilith always had some kind of excuse when she was meeting up with Lucifer.”

“Take a look then,” you say, and back away enough to gesture at the bags dropped at your feet. “I was at the market at the corner of Leviticus and West Corinthians- the one with the slow cashiers that we go to anyway because-”

“Because I like the ribs.” He scrubs his hand down over his mask, looking at the bags on the ground- thankfully, it doesn’t look like anything has spilled or broken when he picks it up by the handles and inspects the contents. He stands to his full height again, ripping his mask off and putting it in the bag with the stuff for your picnic. And there was your husband- the dark scruff that lined his jaw, thick eyebrows creased in irritation at himself, a frown on his soft lips that just begged to be kissed away.

You slide your hands into his and squeeze, coming closer to press your lips to his cheek. “How many times,” you ask softly, “do I have to prove that I’m not here to hurt you?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I really am. I just- fuck, babe, I don’t know. You do something that they did and I just fuckin’ lose my reason. You’re so fucking good to me, and I keep- I’m sorry,” he repeats again, trying to turn his face away from you.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I get that shit happened to you that’s hard to just dismiss, and that’s not what I’m asking you to do. What I am asking… is for you to come on this picnic with me.” You reach over and take the bag of goods from his hands, offering him a sweet smile. “And to listen to me. I’m your wife but I’m not Lilith, and I’m not Eve. You gotta trust me.”

“I do.” He meets your eyes finally, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in with his easy strength. “I swear. I’m just- scared to lose you, I fucking guess,” he adds, a faint pink stain dusting across his face in embarrassment at the vulnerability he’s showing you.

“Well, don’t be,” you say. “We’re partners in this. Are you going anywhere?” He shakes his head vehemently no. “Then neither am I. Except,” you tag on with a raise of your eyebrows, “on this picnic. Come on- blanket’s still waiting. Ribs are getting cold, beer is getting warm. I’m determined to have a date with my husband today.” Your free hand slips into his, tugging him gently away from the brick wall, angel-song still raining down around you while you bring him back to the date you had planned, away from his insecure thoughts.

Back to you.

we can all have a little Adam trauma, as a treat

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

Day 1- I know I'm bad, but I'm not selfish. (Vox/Reader, miscommunication, impulsive reactions)

You should have seen it coming.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, you berated yourself mentally, wishing that knocking your head against a wall would do anything other than give you a headache- set the clock back by a few months, maybe. Stopped you from agreeing to be part of the team working with some of Osmodeus’ people. Stopped you from trusting that self-serving prick of a boss you had, despite months of good times and the closest to happiness that you could get in Hell. Stopped you from ever applying to VoxTek in the first place and placing you directly in the path of getting your hopes up and your heart broken. 

You had left the meeting with Osmodeus’ lackeys to report back to Vox, curious when you spotted Verosika Mayday slipping away from the group to slink with her swishy skirt and high heels down the hall towards Vox’s office. She was a few minutes ahead of you, and by the time you had arrived…

The image was burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. Stupid Verosika Mayday, with her stupid, long, stupid sexy limbs wrapped around every inch of stupid Vox that she could reach, seated in his lap as he sat behind his stupid desk. Making him an offer for screen time, merchandising, advertisement- ‘whatever she could get with whatever she needed to get it’  as she had said, her voice low and seductive, her shirt probably plunging down her cleavage, skirt riding up her stupid, perfect thighs when she seated herself in top of him. And Vox was a demon now, but before that he was only human- only a man. You had seen the way his pixelated eyes flickered down to her chest and stayed there, the tight line of his mouth that spoke of a man trying to find the will to keep his hands to himself. 

You had left the file of notes in the dropbox by his office and closed the door silently before retreating, taking the elevator up to his apartment, using the special access key he had given you to get in and wondering if this was enough to make you leave. Leave before he got rid of you. He hadn’t shown any indication so far that he was going to but this was Verosika Mayday you were talking about, all but spreading her legs directly on top of his desk.

You had so few belongings that were actually yours and not things that he had gifted to you- you could be back to your shitty little place near the center of town in a couple of hours. Your contract stated you had to work here for a specific amount of time but not that you needed to live here; Vox appreciated your extra help, you were sure- not to mention the extra benefits that came with being his fuck buddy- but he would survive without having you at his beck and call. And, you think as you start shoving clothes into a cheap bag that you dug out of the closet, he could have Verosika to warm his sheets if he wanted her so badly-

Your mental tirade is interrupted when the front door opens, much sooner than you would have expected of a pair with Verosika’s skills and Vox’s relentless stamina. It closes with a soft click, and you hear an exhausted sigh from Vox, the faint shuffling of clothing that you recognized as him removing his blazer and undoing his tie.

“Fuck, the things people try for a little extra spotlight,” he laughs as he comes into the bedroom, not yet looking towards you as he strips his outer layers and toes off his shoes. “I know this is Hell but come on- you’d think people could have a little pride in their work before resorting to shit like tacky office seduction roleplay.”

He finally looks up, the smile fading from his screen when he takes in the sight of you with arms laden with clothing, a rumpled bag tossed onto the bed. “Goin’ somewhere?” He asks.

You try to be cool about it. “Maybe. What did Verosika want?” You try to ask casually, but you can’t stop the irritation, the petty jealousy that creeps into your voice that tells him in no uncertain terms that you had seen her in his office. 

Vox rolls his eyes. “A deal- a shitty one, at that. ‘Any goods she could offer’ in exchange for exclusive interviews on Vox Tonite to get her name spread further through the Pride ring.”

“And what… what did you tell her?” He was home too soon for him to have taken her up on it- it was mere minutes between you getting here and him arriving, but he could have told her they could discuss at another time, or have been planning to come up here for a change of clothes, to kick you out-

“I told her to get fucked,” he says, deadpan, like the answer was obvious. “Her plan involved ‘benefits’ to me and her, but we’re the Vees- plural, not just me, and I’m not just going to cut Velvette and Val out of a deal. I might be bad, but I’m not fuckin’ selfish, you know?” He resumes his strip down, the buttons of his shirt flicking open, followed by the clink of his belt. “I told her she could go through my assistant like any other potential client and set up a meeting with all of us- there’s so much more potential in her going for something like a modeling contract with Velvette, or review podcasts or some shit for some of Val’s movies. Really play up the succubus thing, you know? ‘This is hot from a sex expert’s perspective’ type shit.”

He looks up at you expectantly, stripped down now to his boxer’s and waiting to climb into bed- apparently completely uncaring of the fact that Verosika Mayday had been throwing herself at him except to shit on her business proposals. The ridiculousness of your reaction slams into you like a ton of bricks, and you throw the pile of clothing in your arms to the floor without hesitation, sweeping the bag off the bed as you clamber on top of it and rest your head on his chest.

“Easy, “ he chides gently, but wraps his arms around you all the same. “I thought you were heading somewhere?”

“I’m not,” you say, hiding your face against the warm skin of his chest, mentally berating yourself for another overreaction without evidence, without thought or conversation first. “Stupid, half-assed plan- I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says, running his hands down the curve of your spine, and finally everything feels right again.

no actual hate to Verosika, I love her so much, we just needed a little ✨drama✨

Check out the Masterlist for the 30 writing challenge right here!

[macabr3-barbi3]

HEY EVERYONE I'M STILL ALIVE

I've had such a busy Spring/Summer- I'm in the midst of getting ready for performances of Heathers mid-August, my family is going through some shit, I had a falling out with my best friend of almost 15 years, and I'm getting ready to go back to school for my bachelor's degree pretty soon! Wild ride over all and the struggle bus hasn't reached it's final destination yet I'm sure, but in the center of all of that was a genius idea by our beloved @fraugwinska to try a 30 day writing/prompt challenge to get back into gear and start working those writing muscles again!

It was proposed and started over the month of July, and now that I have a good number of the prompts completed I wanted to start sharing with y'all over the month of August, queued up and ready to go while I'm in crunch time with Heathers 😈 and in a shocking turn of events- I used this challenge to branch into some other fandoms! I hope you're ready for that, bc the bisexual in me really does not know how to function when it comes to the people in Arcane so just like... a warning lmao

And K-Pop Demon Hunters was an absolute delight the first time I watched it so I have some sweet little oneshots for Jinu and Rumi in there (AS IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN) [also a little shoutout to @minkdelovely for suffering the brainrot of this movie with me when I first recommended it, love u ❤️]

But I thought this would be a great chance to share some smaller things while I'm working on other fics (Dream a Little Dream and New Love New Skin I haven't forgotten you 😩) in preparation of season 2 of Hazbin coming to us in October!

ANYWAY THAT'S ALL I LOVE ALL OF YOU, THANKS FOR HANGING AROUND LOL

[macabr3-barbi3]

You have been visited by the encouragement Vox!!

He knows you got this and is rooting for you!! 💙

[macabr3-barbi3]

will wood and his evil twin won't wouldn't and their neutral triplet might could

[macabr3-barbi3]

HAVE YOU SEEN THE HAZBIN S2 TITLE REVEAL???

I SURE DID AND I'M SO FUCKING STOKED!!!!

Real talk I felt a little like I was gonna pass out when I got the news about season 2 (as witnessed by @fraugwinska and @minkdelovely lmao) and it reignited the spark a little 🤭 I have a couple things I've been working on that I hope to start finishing and putting out before the season drops in October (GOD ITS SO SOON I'M SO NORMAL ABOUT IT) but life has been kicking my ass lately and I've been busy with another musical this summer (💚❤️💛) so this was such an awesome jolt of adrenaline to get me back in gear lol I'm so excited to see Vox be a fucking menace

I HOPE YOU'RE EXCITED TOO I CAN'T FUCKING WAIT

[macabr3-barbi3]

sorry for the hold up on like all of my writing y'all I'm fucking going through it lately 😩 idk what it was about the end of April but I'm glad it's over and I'm hoping to get back on a regular schedule again

[macabr3-barbi3]

like you're not one of the most talented fucking writers I've ever met

[macabr3-barbi3]

New Love, New Skin (Chapter 8)

slowly but surely we're getting there!!! Two more chapters of this leading up to the events in Heart Reset, and then we'll be moving on to Memory vs Time which is all told from Kora's POV 👀 as always a heartfelt and adoring thank you to @fraugwinska for her love and support, and for the major assistance with like 90% of the dialogue at the end of the chapter from everyone's favorite deer ❤️

you can see the playlist I made for this fic and series here! (also if you want to know the song that set the Vibe™️for this chapter, check out I Saw You In a Dream by The Japanese House 💗)

Caught in a haze of depression, Vincent does some irreparable damage- and meets a new acquaintance.

Chapter 1 📺 Chapter 2 💛 Chapter 3 📺  Chapter 4  💛 Chapter 5 📺 Chapter 6 💛Chapter 7 📺 Chapter 8

March-October 1961

Time passes in a daze for Vincent once Kora is gone.

He spends a couple of weeks looking for her- how could he not? But he could only go so far with his limited time, his search mainly confined to right around Imp City. When he wasn’t searching for her he was working, usually just catching a couple hours of sleep at the studio after his segment before heading off again. He asked, but the network wouldn’t let him post anything on the news about her being missing, and he got the same answer from the newspapers- “It’s nothing personal,” Rich had told him during their short overlap between shifts. “But people go missing in Hell all the time- if they let you broadcast something they’d have to let every Sinner schmuck out there in, and that’s just bad for business.” At Vincent’s anguished face, Rich had given him a sympathetic pat on the back. “I hope she comes home, Vinnie,” he said, and then he was off for makeup and leaving Vincent to stew in his thoughts.

The days he came back to the apartment he had always expected to see her there waiting for him- her eyes full of tears, lips quivering as she told him that she was sorry, that something terrible had happened and she had been trying to get back to him. He thought he would hold her as close to him as he could get, breathe in the familiar scent of her- the one that was fading too quickly from their apartment- and tell her that it was okay, everything would be fine now, and that he would never let anything bad happen to her again. He would slide the ring that he still carried in his pocket onto her finger and tell her that he loved her, and she would cry for a better reason.

He had continued to check into Viv’s for three months after she left, until Eris caught him chain smoking outside after her shift one day and laid into him.

 “Would ya stop your damn mopin’ already?” She had snapped, sidling up to stand beside him with a hand on his arm. “She’s fuckin’ gone. Get over it.”

“Fuck you, Eris,” he had told her, and when she laughed in his face he thought about shoving her into the wall of the diner. “She wouldn’t just fucking leave-”

“Wouldn’t she, though?” Eris’ thin eyebrows quirked up, a mean sneer to her beak. “Ya know how many times she came into work complainin’ that ya were never around? Always so focused on your work that ya were neglectin’ her- seems everyone around here knew it but you.” She slides her hand down and snags a cigarette from his blazer pocket. Slipping it into her beak, she lights up and takes a deep drag. “Dontcha think if something horrible happened to her that it would be all over that news channel of yours? Listen, Vin, I’m gonna do ya a favor here. If Kora wanted to be with you? She would be.” Smoke curls around her head like some sick caricature of a halo, twirling around her top feathers before dissipating. “You’re gonna make yourself look stupid if ya keep looking for her when she clearly doesn’t want to be found. Let her go.” She stubs her cigarette out on the casing of Vincent’s screen and leaves, her words ringing in his head as he slumped against the wall, out of sight of the windows. 

Was she right? He had spent all of this time looking for Kora working under the assumption that something had happened to her, that she had been taken from him. But as much as he hated to admit it, it was possible- that she had simply had enough and left in such a hurry that she had left everything from her life with him behind. Their argument before he had gone to work that day haunted his dreams; sometimes her face hardened and then cracked like porcelain when he yelled at her, Kora’s entire being crumbling in front of him while he tried to hold her together. It was never enough, and before he woke, shaking and sweating every time, he would watch what was left of her slip through his fingers like sand.

Vincent had told her to leave if she didn’t like who he was, what he was, and now she was gone.

He was still fighting to accept it come July, the heat of Hell unbearable as he sweated through his shirt searching a new area of the ring around Imp City. Then he thought he had seen her- a flash of golden fur that snaked by him in a crowd, too fast for him to process until she was a few feet away. He had stopped dead, the people walking around him swearing as they continued to shove past him while he watched her walk away and get lost in the masses.

He called her name, loud over the heads of the crowd, and she didn’t look back- not even a flick of her ear to indicate that she had heard him over the din, the bustle of the crowd as it weaved around him like an ocean buoy. He thought about following her- grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back to him, clutching her to his chest so he could apologize for the fight, for everything that he had done wrong.

But as he watched the woman walk away he realized that Eris was right- if she wanted to be with him she would be. Kora would have come home if there was anything left of their relationship to salvage- that she hadn’t, that she was ignoring Vincent now, spoke to the truth of the bird’s words. He couldn’t chase her; if it was her and he caught her, what then? Force her to stay with him, to explain herself? If he had been wrong all this time, if something hadn’t happened to take her from him- could he live with her telling him to his face that she did this intentionally?

If she had chosen to leave him, his first fear all those years ago, that loving him would hurt her, had come true.

He walked back to the apartment in a stupor, feeling a strange glitch crackle across his face as he wrestled with his emotions; it was something he couldn’t predict or change, a visual loss of control over himself. He felt it like a tingling numbness that spread over his screen, like when he cried too hard as a child and his eyes ached and burned. The loss of Kora, the potential of betrayal; the guilt, knowing that it was all his fault. He at least had the courtesy to lock the door when he left after gathering his few items in their home- so much of it had been hers; the furniture, the books, the bed. If she ever came back here, would she even notice that he was gone? How had he lived here for years without leaving any mark of his own? How had he left himself be so completely taken with her that he didn’t feel like his own person anymore?

Vincent would have to start over- a new home, a new routine.  A new life that didn’t include his Golden Girl. He didn’t even know if he could cry if he wanted to; would the biology he was created with in Hell allow him to show emotion like that anymore? Maybe that was where it had all gone wrong- not with Kora, with their relationship, his inability to tell her that he loved her. But the fact that he was now effectively a machine- he hadn’t had time since arriving in Hell to take a closer look at his anatomy, to know where organic material started and the mechanical began. 

Maybe this had been bound to happen from the start.

To no one’s surprise, Vincent worked even harder. He caved after sleeping on a break room couch for a couple of days and found a small apartment closer to the news station- roughly the same level of shittiness, so that at least felt familiar even without Kora’s items, her intoxicating scent, the ghost of her laughter. Every night he laid flat on his back in a bed that was too big for one person, with no one to miss him when he came home late, no soft press of lips to his screen when she got up in the mornings with a whispered endearment. He had taken those things for granted- had assumed that since he had them then he always would, and now she was gone and he hadn’t ever had to live in Hell without her.

He goes to work, smiles for the cameras, banters with Joy for the masses of the Pride Rings, and he misses her.

He joins Rich on nights out with the rest of the crew when he can, hiding the hole inside himself by filling it with good food and alcohol and the beaming praises of the people around him. They had learned not to mention the Golden Retriever that they had met at Spite, Rich having smacked more than a few people upside the head in reprimand when they tried. Joy was happier, which was fucking annoying, but she had also learned her lesson about trying to get a dig in about dogs- about Kora- when Vincent had accidentally shocked her with a handshake live on air- her fur had gone staticky and wild, and she had needed to take a ten minute leave to let the hair and makeup team get it under control again.

She would have thought that was hilarious. He hates that he knows that, that he’ll likely spend the rest of his days knowing when she would like something, when she would hate it, when she would laugh or cry or bite her lip at something he had said. Kora’s memory haunts him, pieces of her always just on the peripherals of his mind, just out of sight, out of touch. He thinks he sees her sometimes on the streets when he goes for his now daily walks, but it’s never her; it’s never actually his Golden Girl.

The hurt never fades. It clings to him in everything that he does, every move that he makes. If it weren’t for his memories he would almost think she had never been part of his life at all, if not for how she had changed him. He sometimes thinks about going back to the apartment in Imp City and grabbing one of her old t-shirts- the one that says ‘fuck’ is his favorite- just so he has something physical to remind himself that she was real. So he can cling to that time of his life a little longer. He doesn’t allow himself to go back, to even go near that part of town, or to the diner, or the skating rink.

Rich watches him too closely sometimes, a downturn to his lips when he sees Vincent smiling, laughing with the others, like he knows it's a lie. And Vincent doesn’t like to be so closely observed, but he deals with it because they don’t have much overlap in their schedules most of the time now that they’ve settled into their routines.

He starts drinking- heading out to bars or bringing bottles of whiskey back to his apartment to drown his sorrows, like letting himself be liquor-logged would bring Kora back, make everything better. He doesn’t like it, makes him feel too much like his father, but a salve on a wound is still a salve no matter if it opens up other, deeper hurts. 

Vincent exists in a perpetual cycle of work-drink-sleep-shower-work. And sure, sometimes the lines between those activities bleed a little into one another and he’ll wake up with bourbon spilled across his shirt, where he fell asleep in his chair holding the bottle; he’ll come into work with his clothes damp because he didn’t take the time to dry off after his shower, and the hair and makeup team always looks at him disapprovingly. He manages to keep the drinking confined to home and the bars until the day he doesn’t, and he slips through the back door of the studio with a flask tucked into his suit jacket to sneak a sip of it every here and there while he prepares for his segment on a Saturday evening.

Rich is there for whatever reason, probably hanging around or having come back so he could give Vincent that judging look before he went on air, like he knew the man was self-destructing and actually cared. But he didn’t really- Kora had cared, and she had still left him, and where was she now without him? Where was he without her? Who was left to give a shit what happened to him with her gone?

He redirects to a nearby office, blissfully empty, and tries to get a hold on himself. He can fill the phantom of static that crashes across his screen like a blizzard, white and fuzzy like he’s lost signal somehow, and he grabs his casing with one hand like he was tearing his hair out- if he still had any- and reaches the other into his jacket. He’s distantly aware of the door opening behind him as he tips his head back and just drinks as much as he can hold, his throat still human enough for it to burn going down and settle uncomfortably in his stomach.

There’s a hand on his shoulder then, comforting and heavy, and Vincent turns to meet Rich’s eye, the frown below it sad and pitying. “Oh, Vinnie,” he says softly, and Vincent wishes there was a second Hell that could swallow him whole so he could just stop having to be here with that look directed at him. “You can’t go on air like this, son,” he says gently, and reaches out to take the flask from Vincent’s clawed hand. He offers no resistance, letting his grip go limp while Rich sets the flask down on the deks- Rich’s desk, he realizes, and curses himself for his stupidity.

“I’m fine, Rich,” he tries, but his words slur and slide into one another as he speaks. “I can do it, I’m just-”

“You’re just drunk,” the cyclops interrupts. “And I understand you’ve been having a hard time since Kora left, but this isn’t good for you, and it's not the kind of image we want for the station either.” He turns Vincent towards him, hand on his other shoulder, and gently guides him to sit in the chair behind him. “You can sleep it off in here and we’ll talk afterwards- I’ll cover your segment with Joy.”

“No- Rich, man, I can do it, you don’t have to-”

“You can’t go out there,” Rich says sternly, and when he steps back Vincent feels that telltale crackle across his screen, static that betrays his inner turmoil as everything crashes around him. He would be written up for this- he could be fired for this. He watches as if through a fogged window as Rich starts rifling through the Rolodex on the desk, probably looking for an executive, someone on the production team. His career would be over, everything that he had worked for would be taken from him, and it would be like Kora had never dragged him from that junkyard the day that he fell- without her, without his work, without any sort of lifeline. Broken and battered at the mercy of some sick cosmic creator who had let him claw his way to the top only to now send him tumbling back down.

He stumbles out of the chair and into the desk, his knees cracking against the floor with a distant ache that has nothing on the horrid, deep thudding of his heart. “Come on, Rich,” he said, and tries to push himself to standing- he hadn’t realized how weak his legs were, how unstable he was on his feet. ”Don’t do this, please- I-I’ll get my shit together, I swear. I’m okay to go on.”

Rich’s pupil swings up to meet his gaze. “This is bad, Vin,” he says, still rifling through the cards before him before stopping and looking closely at one of them.“I can probably pull some strings to keep you from getting fired, but you can’t be on air like you are now.” He presses a button on the phone before him, which rings for a moment before Rich’s favorite PA answers. “Phineas? Yeah, it’s me- listen, let the team know that we’re gonna have a change to the line up tonight, Vincent needs some time off- see if they can convince Shelby to not be a raging cunt for one day so someone can work with her tomorrow so I can be on tonight-”

“No!”

He’s not sure where it comes from, the sudden, desperate anger that bursts from him with a shower of sparks from the lights above as they all blow at once. His hand shoots out to twist in Rich’s tie, claws ripping through the fabric as he uses it as leverage to pull himself up. “Stop fucking talking,” he snarls, and he registers a fleeting, terrifying moment of fear in Rich’s expression before he goes almost absent. His eye loses its spark, his mouth drops open as if in shock, and the phone clatters to the desk with Phineas’s voice faintly speaking as Rich focuses all of his attention on Vincent.

It’s dark in the office now, the only light coming from his screen, the light casting a strange, frightening shadow over Rich’s eye. “Just… hold on a minute,” he tries again, clearing his throat and releasing his tie. “Hang up the phone, please.”

Rich moves like he’s on autopilot, reaching over and placing the phone back on the receiver without looking away from Vincent. The movement is a little unsettling, even before considering that Rich doesn’t blink, and Vincent reaches out and snaps his fingers. “Rich, come on. I’m sorry, that was- fuck, what’s wrong with you? Say something.”

“Something,” Rich says with no hesitation, and it’s weird but he’s not reaching for the phone again and he doesn’t try to stop Vincent when he turns away to leave.

He catches sight of himself in the glass of the office door- his left eye, the one that Kora hadn’t been able to fully fix all those years ago, swirled like a vortex, slow black spirals that spun counterclockwise and made him dizzy. He shook his head to try and dispel it, and when that didn’t work he slammed his fist through the glass to get rid of the sight and took off towards set.

His hand was bleeding- he felt the steady, warm drip of it as he walked quickly towards the main studio, leaving a trail that security was sure to be able to follow, but they wouldn’t drag him off set if he was already live on air. A glance at his watch confirmed that he had about 4 minutes before they would start shooting, which gave him plenty of time to get there, get situated with Joy, and fake being sober enough to get through a couple of news stories before the first commercial break.

He hears someone call something behind him and increases his speed, desperate to get to the studio before anyone could stop him. He would show them- that he was still reliable, that they were better having him here even if he was a little out of it right now. This was where he belonged, what he was made for.

Vincent comes through the doors to the studio and is met with at least three security guards taking him to the floor- he hears his screen crack before he feels it, a piercing, sharp pain that shoots down the edge of his face when he connects with the floor, an elbow to the gut, a blunt knee to his shin. Joy watches from the desk behind the cameras, and he sees one of the screening televisions flash the rainbow error page before a message came up indicating that Nine Rings News would be back after solving some technical difficulties.

“Let me go,” he groans, and his throat is thick and sore, something lurking there that made it hard to speak- like a lump that one could choke on right before tears came. “I can go on, let go-”

“Here’s the real entertainment of the night,” Joy quips, standing to come closer and more fully watch what was happening as the security guards held him down. “Shame we’re not live-”

“You’re not fucking helping, Joy,” he hears Rich snap, and when he looks over to the doors Rich is leaning against the frame, looking so goddamn betrayed that Vincent has to close his eyes against it. His left eye still feels weird, and he thinks about the way that Rich had simply listened to him when he took the lights out in his anger, like he was mindless with it, and he wishes they would all just listen to him like that so he could do what he needed to do.

He opens his eyes and tries to put some force into it- more intent, more power, and nearly screams, “let me go-”

And they do. All three guards, watching his face while they held his limbs, dropping into immediate compliance as Rich shouted behind them all. Vincent climbed to his feet, dusting his suit off before turning to look at his mentor again. “I can go on,” he insists, and Rich’s mouth is agape in horror.

“Vinnie, what have you done?” He asks, and when Vincent looks he sees the entire production team caught with that same dead gaze that Rich had adopted, that the three guards had now. Joy had trained a camera on him for her own amusement, wanted his downfall televised to the entire company, and now her own expression was vacant behind the lens; the whole scene had been broadcast to the room from one of the test screens.

“I’m- I don’t know,” he says truthfully, and tries to take a step closer to Rich. “You gotta believe me, I’m just trying to-”

Rich leans more heavily into the door, looking away from Vincent and his still spinning eye. “I don’t even know what the execs will do about this,” he says incredulously. “You just- how long will this last?”

“I’ve never done it before.” He looks out across the group, clipboards held loosely in limp arms, eyes still trained on the large test screen above them. “Except you. I don’t know what to do, Rich, I don’t know what this is. I’m sorry- I know they’re probably going to fire me-”

“Fire you? Satan, Vincent, you’ll be lucky if they don’t kill you. Do you know how much money it will cost us being down for even one segment, let alone however many pass until this fucking- whatever you did, until it wears off?” He gestures around the room incredulously. “I could have pulled some strings for coming into work shitfaced- I can’t do anything about this, son.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” He grips the sides of his head and looks around the room again, wondering how he had done this without even really being aware of it. He was so fucked- he would be escorted from the building at the very least, he was definitely going to lose his job after he had already lost Kora with no hope of ever knowing where she had gone or if she was ever coming back-

He catches sight of one of the cameras still pointed at the desk that he and Joy shared, the one that would normally be broadcasting right now if not for the technical error message they were displaying. There were televisions everywhere- he’d never had a chance of finding her on his own, but a message sent out across all nine rings of Pride might do the trick. Rich said they didn’t do that sort of thing, but if he was losing his job anyway what did he have to lose breaking that rule now?

He glances at Rich for a moment, ignoring the call of his name as he approached the camera. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” he says, genuine in his regret at causing this mess for him once Vincent was gone.

“Vincent, come on,” he tries, but Vincent is already reaching for the cords plugged into the back of the camera.

Claws dig into the ports there and spark with electricity. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing exactly, but he can see the way the wires light up with power that zips down them before it disappears into the walls and the rest of the equipment in the room, everything pulsing with little bursts of energy. Like the office earlier, the lights overhead sizzle and explode with sparks, stage lights behind them catching fire at the sudden overcharge coming from somewhere inside him. He could see himself in one of the test screens, the spinning of his eye having died down but his expression is raw and the glass in his screen is webbed from hitting the floor- when he brings his hand up to trace the crack in his screen, the blood from the glass of the office door still drips down his wrist.

He looks straight into the lens. “Kora, baby,” he starts, and he hopes that despite the temporary shut down of their recording equipment that the microphones would still pick up his words. “If you’re out there, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry; please come home and we can talk. I need to know you’re okay, I know- I know I fucked up, Goldie, I know it.”

He can see people moving behind the camera when he glances up- like Rich, the trance he had put them in didn’t last very long, and there were frantic whispers growing in volume as he spoke, the wires coming on and off the set still flowing with bright white arcs of electricity.

“I’ll make it better, okay? I promise. Just- please come home, baby, I need you. I can’t fucking do this without you.”

He has more to say, so much more to tell her while he has the moment, but whatever power he was drawing on to take control of the camera seemed to have overloaded itself. He feels a jolt pass through his arm and straight through his claws, and in a moment the entire building blinks with a flare of the few lights that hadn’t yet blown before everything goes dark.

He looks over to Rich, still standing in the doorway, illuminated by Vincent’s screen, and he disengages his claws and runs, ignoring the calls of his name behind him.

Rich’s disappointed look is burned into Vincent’s mind as he runs home, opening the door of his apartment to a sight that made his chest ache. Bare, depressing, Kora-absent. There was no trace of her here, and this wasn’t his home; it couldn’t be without her. He should have stayed at their old place- if she had come home and he wasn’t there, he would never forgive himself. Even with her not there, it was better than this poor approximation of normalcy that he had had in this new place. And if she heard his message, heard him telling her to come home when he wasn’t even waiting for her? He needed to get back there- he shouldn’t have ever left.  

He doesn’t have anything to take with him when he goes- his clothing could be replaced. He would borrow a shirt from her like he had that first night, and they could just start over together. Forget the last few months, the last few years of him failing her, and start anew with his ring on her finger. He reaches into his pocket to touch it now, the only thing he hadn’t yet lost; the promise he had intended to make to her, even if he had to work on making his mistakes up to her for the rest of his afterlife.

It’s raining as he wanders towards Imp City, and the storm must have caused some sort of outage because the streets are black and dark as he goes, the only real light coming from him. He huddles under awnings and balconies when he can to avoid any serious damage to his equipment- his face already aches from the crack in his screen, and he didn’t want to think about what would happen if acid rain got into it. Closer to Imp City, the further he gets from the center of the top Pride ring, power seems to have been restored. He steps under an awning outside an electronics store, and what he sees on the televisions in the window makes him freeze.

His face- cracked screen and all, his mouth moving frantically with his message to Kora. Not just on the station for Nine Rings News, but on all of them; logos for different channels sit in the corner of the screens, but the video that plays is the same. He hadn’t meant to do that- he just wanted to broadcast from his studio, but he figured this at least meant that there was a better chance of Kora having seen it.

Vincent lets himself hope when he approaches their old apartment from down the street. There’s a light on in the living room, a glow that emanates from the section of window under the short curtain next to the fridge. And he sees something chained to the streetlight outside where Kora usually kept her bike locked up. His heart swells, reluctant hope beating at him from inside his chest-

Only to wither and die when he comes closer and sees that it isn’t her bike, the soft blue one with the little basket on the handlebars for her packages that she carried as a courier. It’s red, beat up and ancient, nowhere near as nice as Kora kept hers. And when he looks to the door of their apartment, the little wreath that she liked to hang up was missing- he comes closer and sees that her name is missing from the mailbox as well, and there’s no welcome mat on the porch.

He can’t hear anything from inside, but the flickering from the movement of the television still beams out from the windows. He doesn’t bother leaning over the railing to try and look inside, or knocking on the door; if it wasn’t Kora, like he suspected now that it wasn’t, the person living here probably wouldn’t react well to the man that had commandeered every fucking TV channel in the Pride Ring showing up on their doorstep. And if Kora wasn’t here, she might as well be nowhere- he would never find her.

He sits on the front step and holds his head in his hands and aches and aches and aches. 

It was all over now. He had ruined his career, he had lost Kora, he had nothing but a shitty little apartment near the station that people would know to look for him at. He can almost see the way his life had unraveled over the past months, starting with Dante’s and his inability to tell the woman that he loved how he fucking felt about her. Rich would never forgive him for the betrayal after all that he had done for Vincent, and without Kora-

“Well now! Isn’t this quite the sight?”

When Vincent looks up, he sees him; tall, menacing, red. Teeth sharp like razors within his mouth, his smile almost impossibly wide as he stared down at the television from beneath a black, spindly umbrella. His ears are fluffy and stick upright from his head, the same shade of red as the hair that curls in a bob around his face. Vincent thinks he might recognize him from somewhere, some paper he’s seen floating around that he never paid too much attention to. He doesn’t bother responding- if he was going to get his ass kicked he would go down without a fight. He was too exhausted for that, too beaten down with everything that had happened this evening, this month, this year. “It’s quite rude to stare,” the man says when Vincent stays quiet, and his voice has a static overlay to it that makes something in Vincent’s head crackle. “I’m sure you get a lot of it on your end with your… situation,” he adds with a gesture towards Vincent’s head, “but the rest of polite society doesn’t appreciate it so much!”

“Can I help you with something?” Vincent asks blankly, and watches as his smile- somehow- gets even wider. “If you’re looking for a fight, buddy, you’re in for a disappointment.”

He laughs, high and bright. “Oh, Heavens no! I’m not in the habit of punching down, as it were- you’re looking quite pathetic all on your own.” He comes closer and Vincent stays seated on the steps of his old apartment, his ass wet from the rain, feeling just as pathetic as the man had called him. “This is quite the change from the interesting display I happened to see on my stroll earlier- vibrating with energy and electricity and taking over an entire news station connection through sheer force of will- taking over all of the television circuit, actually! I find myself torn between reluctant admiration for the show of power, and amusement at how thoroughly desperate you sounded.”

Anger sparks within him- and out of him, the antennae on his head crackling with a buzz that reaches in an arc towards the other Sinner, catching the end of his umbrella with a snap that lights the fabric on fire before the rain extinguishes it. 

He twirls the umbrella, tilting it down a bit to inspect the smoking hole. “How fun! I suppose there is still some fight left in you after all- how shocking,” he adds with a wink, and the pun lifts something heavy off Vincent’s chest. It was dumb- but it was so Kora that it eased the flash of anger inside of him for a moment. He hadn’t heard one of her shitty jokes in so long, seen one of her coffee mugs or t-shirts. She was such a fan of bad puns and wordplay, something that few people at the station seemed to appreciate the way that he did. He wondered if the Sinner living in the building behind him now had kept all of her mugs, if any of her clothing had still been in the drawers when they moved in.

“Have you lost signal?”

He’s pulled from his thoughts when the man speaks again, close enough now to look fully down on Vincent with that strange smile on his face- he has a staff in his spare hand that he’s tapped gently against Vincent’s screen, making the crack in his glass radiate with pain. “I was never one for televisions in my time,” he carries on jovially. “I find radio to be a much more engaging medium, you know- though I can admit that having the visual of your funny little face really added to the experience. Such entertainment!”

“Yeah, televised breakdowns are my forte,” Vincent says sarcastically. “Did you have a reason for approaching me or are you just here to rub my failures in my face?”

“Oh, I just wanted to see what follows such a thorough frying of one’s career! And I admit, I do wonder if that charming little display of power has a sequel- or if it was a one time premiere?” He bends at the waist, gets right down into Vincent’s face with that eerie smile never breaking. “I might have some use for such a thing every once in a while, granted that there’s never a repeat performance of your little breakdown. I have little tolerance for outbursts, whether electrical or emotional.”

“I don’t- what?”

“I am asking, you obtuse picture box, if you could do that again.” His eyes flicker to dials, harsh feedback whining through the air as he continues to stare at Vincent like he’s seeing into his soul. Darkness spreads at his feet, sweeping the street into shadow; inky tentacles spill from his back and reach towards Vincent menacingly. “You may be geared towards reruns but I loathe them- as well as repeating myself.”

He can’t even see the streetlights anymore, the black surrounding them so dense that no light could penetrate it- the faint glow from behind him from the apartment was even dimmed from the force of it, and he realizes with startling clarity that this person, whoever they were, was powerful. Dangerous. It would be best not to get on his bad side- and if he could be useful somehow then anything was better than the idea of having to wallow around in his own self loathing and try to figure out what to do next. Being useful could give him purpose now that he had no girlfriend, no career, no path. “Shit, yeah! Yeah, I could do it again. Probably.” 

He had no idea if he could, but he was almost positive that it wasn’t a one time thing. It couldn’t be, if it meant this strange man was intrigued by him; he would figure out how to do it again.

“Splendid!” The darkness dies as quickly as it had come, shrinking back into a tiny pool at the man’s feet before he thrusts a hand out- long, spindly, tipped with claws that looked nearly as sharp as his teeth. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Vincent eyes his hand warily, all too familiar with the shady dealings of some of the more known souls in Hell. “This isn’t a deal, right?” He asks suspiciously, and the laugh that answers his question doesn’t really help to ease his frazzled nerves. “Just an invitation to join you for a bit? I don’t even know your name, I’m not trying to sell my soul.”

“Ha! How charming- no, this is not a deal, silly man.” His smile turns even sharper for a moment before he continues, “merely an introduction between… oh, let’s say acquaintances. Believe me, you would know if I was after your soul.”

Despite the rules of this place, Vincent trusts him. So he reaches up and takes the offered hand, relieved when there’s no swirl of magic or heavy chain clicking into place around his wrist or throat. The man’s grin never falters- and if he’s honest, it's starting to get a bit creepy, but he was too far into it now as the other demon pulls him to standing, shaking his hand vigorously. “The name is Alastor, and it is a pleasure to be meeting you- quite the pleasure!”

“Vincent,” he replies, his arm starting to ache with the force that he was being shaken with. “Back atcha. So, what exactly does being ‘acquaintances’ mean? Where do we go from here?” Alastor finally releases him, and Vincent feels something like static clinging to him- if he were to reach out and touch the other man, he’s sure he would shock him. 

Another memory hits him, Kora in one of her oversized t-shirts and a pair of socks, dragging her feet across the carpeted floor to charge up and try to shock him with static- his grip on the phone at the time when she succeeded had caused their power to go out, the upstairs neigbors banging on the floor and yelling while the pair of them had giggled to themselves, Kora’s hair floating in a charged halo around her beaming face.

Alastor’s voice pulls him from the golden-tinged reminiscence. “Where else is there to go on a Saturday night? Out, of course! Come along, my funny little fellow-  there’s plans to discuss and fun to be had! I know this lovely little spot up towards Cannibal Town, a classy bar for business conversation…” He does a little spin on his heel and his voice fades when he starts to walk away, twirling his cane as he does so, and the shadow at his feet swirls in tandem before it grows an eerie, wide grin like the one Alastor wore on his own face and vanishing.

Vincent halts before following, looking back at the apartment he had shared with Kora. It still hurts, a deep hole in his chest when he thinks about her. But she wasn’t here anymore- wherever she was, it wasn’t with him, and that was what he needed to focus now if he wanted to walk away. He couldn’t come back here again- he wouldn’t. He needed to move forward from all of the things that he had fucked up lately. If following this strange demon to a bar up in Pentagram City was the easiest way to get over his failed love, his fucked up career, he would do it.

“An important thing you should know about me,” Alastor calls to him from across the street, “is that I do not like to be kept waiting.” Laughter springs forth from his staff, canned and generic like they sometimes used down at the station. Despite the vague threat to his words, he doesn’t seem in any rush to make Vincent join him- in fact, he looks down fondly at the microphone in his hand, almost contemplative when he asks, “are you joining me or not?”

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m coming,” he says, and he spares one last look at his old home before he jogs across the street to meet Alastor, following a couple steps behind as the other demon walked and talked to the amusement of his captive audience, occasional laughter echoing from his staff out into the streets and drowning out anything Vincent might have contributed to the conversation- he never even looked back to see if Vincent was following.

[macabr3-barbi3]

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let’s fucking GOOOOOOOO

“ No Strings Attached . . . „

“ Be seeing you real soon, sweetheart . . . „

synopsis ┊ ◜ You always dreamed of having a family of your own; the loving spouse, a couple of kids, maybe a pet or two - the whole nine yards. After spending years being unable to find a suitable match, and with your biological clock ticking, you decide to cut out the loving spouse and skip straight ahead to parenthood on your own. But when you discover how expensive alternative family planning methods can be, you're convinced by a friend to let a donor impregnate you the old-fashioned way - no strings attached . . . ◞ wc ┊ ◜ 6,834 ◞ warnings ┊ ◜ Adam x Reader ✧ Afab!Reader ✧ No pronouns or Y/N used ✧ Human!AU ✧ Explicit / 18+ Only / MDNI ✧ Sexual situations ✧ Breeding kink ✧ Dirty talk (you will never convince me that Adam is the quiet type in bed) ✧ Unprotected sex ✧ Creampie ✧ Prostitution (if you squint real hard) ✧ Teeny mentions of roofies and sexual assault (dialogue only; no actions) ✧ Sexting ✧ Vaginal fingering◞ notes ┊ ◜ I had so much trouble trying to figure out who fit this prompt best, and as much as I would love to have a bit more variety in my fics, my heart keeps leading me back to Adam. Go check out our masterlist and be sure to show how much you appreciate all the hard work my lovely wives are putting into this collab~! They're working their asses off to feed us so well - let them know how thankful you are for their dedication to the provisions of our wet dreams~! <3 ◞ links ┊ ◜ syn's masterlist ✧ coven kinktober 2024 ◞

"... and then this fucktard decides he's gonna hop up on stage and try to take my guitar from me in the middle of my fucking set!"

The loud exclamation had you looking around the restaurant, searching for its origin when you noticed the silvery coiffure of your friend at the end of the bar. You raised your hand up in hopes of catching her attention as you tried to squeeze through the small crowd, the buzzing noise of multiple conversations going on all at once drowning out the anxious thoughts reaching through your head. "Lute, hey!" you called, weaving around tables and bodies alike when you realized she wasn't alone.

Sitting on one of the stools was your long-time friend, Lute, and a rather stout, burly looking man in the adjacent seat. Even sitting, it was obvious he was tall, especially when compared to the much smaller frame of your friend. He had a sharp face, his jaw chiseled and nose straight, with skin smooth and free of blemishes save for the cropped patch of facial hair on his pointed chin. His tousled hair was a soft walnut brown, a short shag cut slicked back with a few loose strands hanging down over his forehead. His smile was wide, thin lips stretching across a straight row of pearly white teeth, with lines that told a story of a man that laughed and smiled often.

And his eyes - oh, those eyes. They were narrowed with a hunter's shape, a deep hazel brown with flecks of gold that beckoned you closer with nothing more than a wink and a smile the moment you caught his attention.

By all accounts, he was an attractive man. Under different circumstances, you would have asked Lute to set you up on a legitimate date, see if his personality was as smooth as his appearance.

The closer your feet dragged you to the bar, the faster your pulse raced at the thought of going through with this. Swallowing hard, you had half a mind to turn right around and walk out, to back out of this meeting she had set up for you and go back to your original plan of finding a suitable life partner. But the thought of going through another string of first dates with someone giving you back-handed compliments all night helped you to steel your resolve and follow through.

"There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were going to show up or not," Lute spoke, pulling you from your thoughts once you were within earshot, heart pounding in your ears as you clutched the strap of your bag close.

"Huh? O-oh, yeah. Right... Sorry, traffic was a bitch. I left fifteen minutes early, but there was an accident on the freeway, so it was very stop and go for a while," you explained with a sheepish grin, sliding your bag over your head and slipping onto the stool next to Lute.

"Oh, tell me about it. I live near Main, ain't no such thing as calm in that hellhole. Always leave at least thirty minutes sooner just to get out of the area," the man spoke, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "and that's on foot. Don't even think about it if you're in a fucking car. Trying to drive down there is a total shit show."

You laughed, silently cursing yourself for your subconscious desire for pathological niceties as you waited to be introduced, anxiety levels making it near impossible for you to say anything else in that moment.

"Yeah, yeah, traffic sucks, whatever," Lute dismissed the topic quickly, pointing a finger at the man while staring at you. "This is Adam, my boss. He's the guy I was telling you about," she introduced him to you, then you to him as the bartender set a row of three shots down in front of her.

Reaching a hand across Lute, Adam flashed you a cocky smile as you shook it up and down. "Nice to meet ya," he said, reaching for one of the shots and downing it quickly before your friend could protest. Glaring harshly at the much larger man, Lute picked up the remaining two shots and threw them back, standing to leave immediately after. "Can't believe I set this shit up. Both of you owe me big time," she said, voice laced with annoyance before turning around to make her exit and leaving you flabbergasted at the curt audacity.

You watched as she walked out of the restaurant, the bustle of patrons and work-staff soon swallowing her figure and shielding her from your line of sight. Biting into your bottom lip, you shyly turned back to Adam, unsure of where to begin.

"Well then," he started, shaking his head as you moved to the stool Lute had previously occupied. "Not surprised by that. She's always been very short and to the point. Can't say I blame her though; this is a weird ass topic to play third wheel to."

"Hah! Yeah, but she's still good people. Just... very blunt," you responded, watching as he twisted back and forth on the stool, almost like a child playing with a swivel chair. It was a cute scene, especially for someone with such a no-nonsense type of appearance. Adam raised a hand to call the bartender back over before turning back to you, nodding his head to the assortment of liquors behind the bar. "What'cha drinking? My treat."

"Oh, I'm not drinking," you started. "I can't anyway. I don't have anyone to come pick me up," you explained with a sheepish grin, to which Adam rolled his eyes once more and turned to look at the person on the other side of the bar. "Don't worry about that shit, babe. I'll pay for a taxi if you get too wasted," he reassured you, flashing youa charming smile before ordering a drink you'd never heard of before. It must have been a specialty at this place. "One drink isn't gonna hurt."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from protesting. As much as you wanted this meeting to be purely transactional, the nature of the topic at hand had frayed every single one of your nerves and left you feeling too embarrassed to look him in the eye - a drink could come in handy and make things a little less awkward. When the bartender set the unknown drink before you, Adam raised a single brow at the uncertainty ever present on your soft features as you simply eyed the glass, leaning forward just enough for you to catch him in your peripheral vision.

"What's the matter? You think I'm gonna try to drug you or take advantage of you?" he asked as you continued to weigh the pros and cons of having a drink with your potential sperm donor. You couldn't help but laugh at the idea of him attempting to slip you something. It was probably a naive thing for you to do by assuming a complete stranger wouldn't try to harm you just because you were here to discuss a deal bordering on prostitution. But Lute had assured you again and again during the days leading up to this meeting that Adam wasn't that type of guy - he was a douche without a filter, sure, but forcing himself on someone while they were vulnerable wasn't his style.

"No. There's no point in doing any of that," waving a hand in the air to dismiss the notion as you reached for the cocktail he had ordered for you, taking a small swig from the glass. "Besides, if Lute trusts you, then you're good in my book."

Adam nodded his head, his grin widening a bit as he placed a hand on his chest. "You flatter me, babe. So, where has she been hiding such a pretty little thing like you?" he flirted, eyeing you up and down momentarily as you set the drink down after you remembered why you were here in the first place. Reaching into your bag to pull out a manila folder and sliding it to him, you didn't beat around the bush, pushing aside the social conventions of small talk and pleasantries. This meeting was meant to be strictly business in nature, so the less words you exchanged, the better. "No small talk? Right down to business, I see. No wonder you two're friends," he added as he reached for the similar looking file sitting on top of the bar.

"Yeah, sorry. I've wasted too much time in the dating pool with nothing to show for it. I'd rather just skip that part now."

"Hey, it's all good. I get it," Adam raised his hands defensively for a moment before pulling out the pre-drafted contract you had passed him and skimming over the first page. He never really bothered to read these things - the legalize was always so confusing, and even when he did read it, his chances of understanding any of it were minimal. "Saves me the trouble of trying to impress you to get into your pants later," he joked with a wink, to which you laughed back.

Already you were beginning to feel at ease around Adam - though you weren't sure if it was because of his easy-going personality or the drink you were nursing, its fruity taste lingering on the tip of your tongue after each sip. He seemed nice enough. Maybe getting to know him wouldn't be so bad-

'Nope. This isn't a date, date. Can't let myself get distracted,' you told yourself as you pulled the contents of his records out to go over them, searching for the other shoe before it had a chance to drop. Things never went this smoothly for you - if they did, you wouldn't be here trying to pay a complete stranger to fuck a baby into you. Part of you hoped there wasn't one, but experience had taught you there always was - it was just a matter of how big said shoe was going to be. And, based on his looks and his charismatic personality (or what you've seen of it, anyway) it had to be a pretty damn big one.

"So, that's all the medical documents you needed to see. Genetic test results, family history, my last physical, sperm count and all that shit, blah blah blah," Adam explained, limply waving his hand as he flipped to the next page of the contract. From what he was able to understand so far, there was nothing in it that he had a problem with.

It was a pretty cut and dry contract, detailing the transaction and individual responsibilities of each party along with waivers to parental rights and financial liabilities, dates for when conception should be attempted and how often it should occur, and a no contact order after conception. "Everything's looking good over here so far- ... wow, you're a retired veteran? I would have never pegged you for the commander type, you seem so chill," you spoke, glancing up from the paperwork when Adam chuckled at your response.

"Yeah, I get that a lot. It's been years since I was honorably discharged though, so I've had some time to fall out of the stricter regime of military life. Now I play music," Adam explained to you as he flipped to the third page, skimming over the first couple of paragraphs when his eyes zeroed in on one particular clause. Turning to you, he leaned in closer and pointed at the section in question. "Lute said you wanted this to be a no strings attached type of thing, but this part's gonna make it really fucking boring. The sex is the fun part, so why put restrictions like no foreplay or kissing?" he asked, his voice just a tad louder than necessary and calling the attention of a couple nearby.

Your cheeks heated up when you noticed them staring, lowering your head as you leaned even closer to Adam and whispered, "Shh, keep it down! It's just to make sure things don't get too complicated, is all," you explained, bringing the papers up to hide your face before continuing on. "And besides, I've never had a partner that's made me... you know... I don't want to put any pressure on you to try," you trailed off shyly, face burning even hotter when you noticed the smirk now plastered on his chiseled features and his laughter flooded your ears seconds later, cursing yourself for agreeing to do this in public.

"What's so funny?" you asked when, even after several seconds, his laughter showed no signs of dying down. The embarrassment of such a revelation as well as his laughing was beginning to sting, and the eyes you could feel were glued to your back only made it that much worse. Setting the papers down on the bar top, Adam covered his mouth with one hand and waved the other in the air, trying to stifle his laughter before you could walk out on him then and there.

"I'm sorry, really. I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I'm laughing at those fucking losers that couldn't get you off. It's just- it's so fucking sad," he said in between each breath, his laughter finally dying out before he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning closer so that only you could hear him this time. "Because if it were me, I wouldn't have let you leave the bed until I made you cum on my face at least three times," his voice low and husky, his smirk wide and arrogant as he pulled away. Bringing a hand up to rest his chin against his palm, Adam discreetly stuck his tongue out between two fingers and rapidly wiggled the tip up and down when no one was looking, reveling in the squeak you let out as you tried to cover your face once more.

"Oh my god," you mumbled, hiding your crimson red face behind the documents he had provided you, rubbing your thighs together for some much-needed friction as a damp wetness began to pool between your legs. Adam stared at you for a couple more seconds before he reached for the nearby pen you had clipped to the manila folder. "Save the flattery for after I've made you see heaven, babe," he told you, drawing a line through that particular clause. He then reached for the papers you were hiding behind, pulling them down until they rested flat on the bar top and scribbled something at the top of the page you had been reading.

"Here's my number; I can get yours from Lute. I'll have a lawyer look this over, and we can meet up to make it official after," he promised, handing the pen back to you before leaning into place a lingering kiss to your left cheek, dangerously close to the corner of your mouth. With another wink of his golden flecked hues, Adam stood up to his full height, giving you a complete idea of just how massive he actually was while tossing some money down for both the drinks and the taxi he had promised you, turning to leave a couple seconds later.

"Be seeing you real soon, sweetheart."

...

'Wait, what just happened?'

A couple of weeks had gone by since your first meeting, and you had yet to hear from Adam. You couldn't keep him off your mind after that day at the bar, the way he looked at you and how he spoke, his voice thick with honey as he promised to make you see heaven over and over again. Anxious for the contract signing and curious to see if he really could, you found yourself scrolling through his social media during your down time and typing out lengthy messages detailing everything you wanted him to do to you with lewd photos of yourself, only to delete it all before pressing send.

With each day that passed, your desire to see him again would get stronger, turning more desperate with every night that he appeared in your dreams. It was becoming borderline obsessive, but it never went further than staring at his picture or watching videos of him when you were touching yourself, imagining it was his hands that were pleasuring you, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he pounded into you from behind.

'Be seeing you real soon, sweetheart.'

It was ridiculous how easily he managed to wrap you around his finger with just a single line and a wink.

Even now, sitting at your work desk and filling out paperwork, you found Adam worming his way to the front of your mind, sapping your concentration as the voices of your coworkers went in one ear and out the other. Eventually, the words you were writing began to shift to illegible scribbles as you closed your eyes, wondering what he could be doing right now. You felt a sharp pang in your chest when you considered the idea that he may have lost interest in your deal, and that's why he hadn't contacted you yet. Sure, you could have contacted him instead, ask him if he was still interested - but for fear of seeming more desperate than you already do, you didn't.

But your patience was running thin at this point. If he did lose interest, why didn't he at the very least message you so that you didn't dwell on him any longer?

Sighing heavily, you slammed your pen down on the desk and reached for your phone, finding his contact immediately. The whole point of this was to beat the clock, and he was wasting your precious time with his radio silence. And on top of that, you were ovulating, your hormones running rampant and leaving you in a perpetual state of emotional chaos. Ready to give him a piece of your mind, you began to type away furiously while struggling to hold back your tears, teeth sinking into the side of your cheek and leg bouncing rapidly beneath your desk.

Just as you were about to press send, your phone beeped, a new message from Adam popping up as your finger hovered over the send button. Part of you wanted to send the message anyway and not bother to hear his explanation for his ghosting you, but as per usual, your hormones seemed to run the show during this stage in your cycle. You couldn't help yourself.

Scrolling up until the text box was just a singular line, you checked the message he had just sent you. When you opened the attachment, you slammed your phone down the second you saw the picture, making your nearby coworkers jump at the sudden noise. "... You okay?" one asked after a few seconds of silence passed and you hadn't made a single attempt to explain your sudden movements yet. Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth, you nodded slowly as you looked down, wrapping an arm around your abdomen as you tried to play it off as an upset stomach.

"I'm okay! Just feeling a little nauseous, is all," you hurriedly explained as you reached for your purse, not sparing another second for them to ask further questions as you rushed off to the bathroom. "I'm going to lunch! Be back soon!" you exclaimed, your words barely reaching the rest of the group as you had already put a considerable amount of distance between you in your rush for privacy.

Once you reached the bathroom and locked yourself inside one of the privacy stalls, you unlocked your phone again to get a better look at the picture Adam had sent you. Heart pounding in your ears and heat pooling within the gusset of your panties, you studied the shape of his nude body, curing the redrafted contract he had used to cover up his cock, that arrogant crooked smirk that has haunted your dreams present as he looked directly into the camera.

A: Lawyer's done reviewing the contract. U ready to sign? 😘

With a whine, you hastily deleted your lengthy rage fueled rant from before, instead choosing to send a much shorter response,

Y: Yes!! When and where?? ❤️ A: Are you free rn??? I can meet U at the notary's office in 20 Y: Sounds good!! Just went on break, be there soon!

You couldn't control the excited squeal that escaped your throat as you reached for the lock on the stall. Before you could unlock the door though, you stepped back and set both your purse and phone down on the mounted toilet paper rack.

Without thinking about it at all, you reached to pull your hair down and undo your shirt to reveal the lace bra you wore underneath and bunching your skirt around your waist so that your matching panties were showing as well. You picked your phone back up and opened your camera, trying not to think about it so as to avoid losing the confidence to follow through on teasing him back. You took a few snapshots of your scantily clad figure - squeezing your breast in one; dipping your hand beneath the fabric of your panties in another; and taking a few of your bare pussy for good measure, careful not to show your whole face in any of them.

Before you could change your mind, you sent a couple of the best shots you were able to get, setting your phone back down the second the 'sent' note popped up above the images. As you were redressing yourself and raking your hands through your hair to pull it back up, your phone dinged with a new message from Adam lighting up the screen.

A: 🍆💦💦💦 A: Fuck that's hot A: Want U to shove ur tits in my face while U ride my dick A: Gonna stuff that pretty pussy so full with my cum baby

Your phone dinged again at the arrival of a new message with an attachment - a video this time. Reaching for your purse, you searched for the earbuds you carried with you, quickly popping them in after making sure the bluetooth was connected and the audio wouldn't play out loud before you opened the attachment.

Slapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a moan of excitement, you watched as Adam slowly pumped his hand along his girth, using the precum that dribbled from his tip as a lubricant, breathy moans coming through your earbuds and making your heart race. If you weren't on the clock right now, you would have stripped back down and fired back with a video of your own when he called out your name, asking if you could take it - and to be honest, you weren't sure. Unfortunately, you were at work, and in the public bathroom no less. You couldn't do something like that here, lest someone walk in and hear the noises you would make just to torture him a bit more.

Y: Promise? 🥺 A: Ofc ❤️‍🔥 Hurry up and get here. Can't wait much longer, need to feel ur pussy squeeze my fat fucking cock Y: omw 🫦💦

You had never sprinted to a car so fast in your adult life.

"... Alright, everything looks to be in order. You both signed, initialed, showed your IDs," the notary seemed to drone on forever, her voice high and nasally as you squirmed in your chair, anxious to get through the signing process. Adam didn't seem bothered at all as he sat next to you, face calm and collected save for that ever-present smirk of his that had you biting your own tongue to keep yourself from shoving it down his throat.

Adam would steal glances at you, winking whenever he managed to catch you staring as he drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair, foot tapping to the beat of a song playing in the back of his mind. "Okay. I'll get this filed for you in a jiffy. You'll both get a letter in the mail once the processing is complete and everything's official," the notary informed you, and your heart sank momentarily when you thought you would have to wait to feel his hands on your body.

Just as you opened your mouth to ask the notary how long it would take for the processing to be complete, Adam reached over and placed a hand over yours, signaling for you to drop the issue and follow him out. "Thanks!" he called back, leading you out of the cramped office building and onto the street.

You followed him in silence as he guided you down the busy sidewalk on Main Street, weaving through the crowd so fast you were struggling to keep up with him. "Adam? Where are we going?" you tried to ask over the loud hustle and bustle of the noisy street.

"I told you I can't wait."

Adam had told you twice already, yet still you were shocked by the urgency with which he kissed you the second his front door was locked. Slaming you against the wall and pressing himself into your body, he wrapped his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, tongues swirling and teeth clashing as you rushed to undo your buttons.

"Been— ... fuck, been dreaming about this for days now," Adam mumbled against your mouth, leveraging you between the wall and his hips as he pulled back far enough to pull his novelty t-shirt over his head and discard it somewhere nearby. Rocking back until he was supporting your full weight once more, Adam turned and took a few long strides to the nearby couch, plopping down with you straddling his lap.

"Yeah? Then why'd you wait so long to text me?" you asked breathlessly when you pulled back, freeing your arms of your dress shirt and carelessly yanking the clip out of your hair to let the tresses cascade freely down your back. "Don't tell me you got shy all of a sudden," you teased, grinding your hips down against his clothed length and pulling a guttural moan from his chest as he guided your hips back and forth.

"H-had to— god, that feels good!" he said through his panting, cheeks flushed red and pupils blown wide with arousal. Tracing a hand up the front of your body, Adam gripped the center band of your lace bra and pulled it down until your breasts spilled from the cups. He wasted no time in shoving his face into the valley between your breasts, pressing heated kisses to them and teeth nipping at the tender flesh, hungrily sucking a pert nipple into his mouth, massaging the other with his free hand and eliciting a deep moan from you.

"Is that right, baby? Why?" you asked him in a breathy whisper, your fingers tangling in his mussed-up hair as you pressed your lower half further against the bulge of his faded jeans. Adam pulled away from your chest long enough to move to the other one, moaning against the hard bud as his hands trailed down to your skirt, pushing it up to bunch around your waist. Running two fingers along your clothed pussy, Adam smirked against your skin when he felt how wet you had become with so little stimulation before he pulled back again to look up at you.

"'Cause if I hit you up before the contract was done, I was gonna come over to your place and fuck you stupid," he explained, licking a stripe up between your breasts until he was nipping at your jaw. Gripping your hip tightly with one hand, Adam pushed the gusset of your panties to the side and dipped two fingers into your waiting heat, groaning loudly at how easily they glided against your plush walls. "Ohh fuck, you're so fucking wet and I've barely touched you," he moaned as he pumped his thick digits in and out quickly, setting a rapid pace as your juices dripped down his hand, leaving dark spots on his jeans.

"You weren't the only one dreaming about this, you know," you gasped, bracing yourself against his shoulders as the meat of his palm slapped against your clit each time he pushed back in, the squelching noises of your wet heat filling your ears as the pleasure built twice as quickly. "That so? You been dreaming about my cock?" Adam asked as he sank his teeth into the side of your neck, your cries making his cock jump within the much too tight fabric of his pants. "M-mhmm, fuck please don't stop!" you whined when he slowed down his ministrations, opting instead to press the pad of his thumb to your puffy clit and draw rough circles against the little bud.

Adding a third finger to your dripping core, Adam picked the pace back up when he felt your thighs begin to tremble, realizing that you were already close to a release. If he wasn't so hard up, he would have slowed down until your orgasm escaped you, but he was just as - if not, more - desperate for your touch as you were for his. "That's it, baby, let me feel you cum on my fingers," he urged you, reaching down to palm himself through the rough fabric as your nails dug into the bare skin of his broad shoulders.

Clenching your eyes shut tightly, you lowered your head as you began to grind down against his hand, chasing that elusive high that you could only seem to reach by yourself. You were so close to an orgasm, your first one with a partner - and not one of those fake ones to make the other person feel better about themselves. A real one. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuh-uuhhck—" you cried wantonly, rocking your hips back and forth as he pressed his fingers further into your greedy cunt, curling them and rubbing harsh circles against the sensitive little nub. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" Adam urged you on, pulling away from your neck and staring up at your tensed expression, struggling to move his fingers in and out as you began to clench around them, grip tight and unrelenting.

He had a feeling you were gonna squeeze the life out of him later - not that he would complain.

A few more pumps of his fingers and a couple more hard circles drawn on your clit, and you threw your head back with a silent cry, your walls fluttering around his girthy digits, refusing to let him pull back even a single centimeter as your orgasm crashed into you. After what seemed like forever, you finally released the breath you didn't realize you had been holding, chest heaving as your lungs sucked in air and your vision began to clear as you came down from your high. Grip loosening on his shoulders, you tilted your head down to look at Adam, a tired groan falling from your lips when you saw him greedily sucking your fluids from his fingers.

"Gods, Adam—"

Catching your gaze, Adam pulled his fingers from his mouth and swiped at your oversensitive pussy, collecting more of your fluids before reaching up and pressing the pads of his fingers against your lips. "Open," he commanded you, and you wordlessly obeyed, letting him push his slick covered digits into your mouth and press against your tongue, sucking harshly as you hummed around them. "Shit, that's so fucking hot," he moaned as he pulled back his hand, grabbing you by the hips and pushing you off of him to stand up and undo his belt.

"Turn around, baby. Let me see that ass."

Doing as he instructed, you bent over until you were on your hands and knees, wiggling your ass just to tease him that little bit as he frantically unzipped his pants and pushed them along with his boxers down to his knees. "Gonna make good on your promise to fill me up?" you asked innocently, biting your bottom lip as you felt the couch sink in when he knelt down behind you.

Chuckling in response to your tease, Adam bent over your form to whisper in your ear. "Oh, I'll do more than just make good on my promise," he told you, supporting his weight with one arm on the back of the couch as he lined himself up with your slick entrance. Placing several messy kisses to the nape of your neck and shoulders, Adam straightened himself out as he rubbed the tip of his weeping cock against your folds, groaning at the warmth that enveloped it when he pushed in just slightly. He wanted so badly to drag this first time out with you, but the absolute hunger, the animalistic desire coursing through his veins in that moment sapped every ounce of self-control he possessed.

"M'gonna stuff you so good, make you scream—" a grunt interrupted his speech when he suddenly plowed forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your warm wet walls in one swift motion, "—my fucking name while you cum on my cock!" Retracting his hips until only the tip remained inside, you whimpered at the emptiness you felt until he was driving his hips forward again, pelvis slapping against the fat of your ass as he repeated the action over, and over, and over again, knocking the breath from your lungs each time his wide girth stretched you open.

"Oh, f-fuck!" you gasped, pressing one hand against the armrest of the couch to find some purchase as you tried to push back against him in time with his movements, his hands holding you by the waist tightly, gruting as your tight pussy envelped his aching cock. "Yeah, that's it baby, push back on it, just like that, fuck!" he groaned, speeding up as he watched your ass bouch with each snap of his hips, ripples rolling through the fat as he drilled himself impossibly deeper into your core.

"S-shit, pussy's so fucking good, barely even started and you're making me wanna cum already!" he hissed through gritted teeth, delivering a hard slap to your rear before caressing the spot where he struck you, repeating the action several times and pulling loud squeals of surprise from your throat each time. "Oh fuck me, Adam, harder, please!" you begged, nails digging into the faux leather of his worn-down couch, that coil in the pits of your belly tightening faster than the first time he made you cum.

Strings of profanities spilled from both your lips as he fucked into you at a brutal pace, the rhythmic 'pap, pap, pap!' sound of skin on skin bounced off the walls and drowned out any noise coming from outside. "Yeah, yeah, fuck baby, give it to me!" you begged, losing yourself in the pleasure and clenching your eyes shut as Adam felt a familiar flutter of your walls, signaling your end was near. Reaching up, he wrapped one hand beneath your jaw and pulled up slightly, pressing his other hand down into the small of your back and forcing you into a deep arch as he ground his hips into yours, making minute thrusts as he loomed over your contorted figure just enough for you to see his face.

"You want it? Y'want my fucking cum, baby? Yeah?" he asked through his grunting and groaning, delivering another slap to the round globe of your reddened backside, heavy balls slapping against your puffy clit. "Yes, please, I want it, I want it so bad, Adam!" you choked, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you felt the first tethers of that coil snapping in your belly, your walls clamping down on his cock as he brought his hand around to rub fast circles against your sensitive nub.

Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt his balls tighten and that urge to let loose everything he'd been holding back was becoming painfully unbearable by the second. "Okay, I'll give it to you," Adam started, releasing your chin and letting your body fall out of the arch as he grabbed onto your hip once more, his other hand still rubbing determined shapes into your overstimulated clit. "But not until you cum for me! I'm not gonna give you my cum until I feel you gush around my fucking cock!" he told you, groaning loudly as he desperately clung to some semblance of control, wanting to feel you quiver and shake one more time before he let himself be swallowed up by the pleasure your body offered him.

It only took a couple more thrusts before you were doing exactly what Adam wanted, your walls constricting around his hardened length almost painfully and your vision going white, a searing pleasure ripping through your being as your essence dripped down your thighs and his, shaking violently as you struggled to hold yourself up. Adam praised you, talking you through your high as his pace quickened even more, chasing his own release, determined to deliver on his earlier promise. "Oh fuck, that's it, take my fucking cum! Take it, baby!" he beckoned, his grunts growing higher in pitch as his hips stuttered.

With one final thrust, Adam was pushed over the edge and he emptied his load into your quivering hole, lurching forward to catch himself on the arm of the couch and not crush you beneath his substantially larger form, his muscles clenching beneath the fat with each pulse of his hot seed into your welcoming cunt.

Back pressed against his heaving chest, you reached behind yourself once you found your strength again and tangled your fingers in the damp mess of hair atop his head. Craning your neck, you tried to pull him close enough to place tender kisses to his face, but the angle he had you in was too deep for you to get much further than his bicep when he wrapped his arm around your upper torso. With a groan, Adam eventually pulled you up against his chest and plopped back, his half hard cock still seated deep within your core as he tried to catch his breath, littering your shoulders and back with gentle kisses of unwarranted (though not unwelcome) affection.

"Fuck... what time did you say you had to be back by?" Adam asked suddenly after several moments of content silence, reaching for his phone that had fallen haphazardly from his back pocket when he pushed his pants down.

Swallowing hard, your throat felt dry as you tried to gather your senses enough to answer his question, glancing over at the digital face of his phone as the time flashed brightly for you to see. If you hadn't just had the most mind-blowing sex of your life, you might have been a little bit concerned by how late your "lunch" was running. "I was supposed to be back thirty-seven minutes ago," you rasped to which Adam laughed loudly as he tossed his phone onto the nearby coffee table. He wrapped both arms around your waist, holding you close and refusing to remove himself from your core, remembering the deal that had brought you two together in the first place.

"Well, shit. Didn't mean to keep you from your work," he said, his tone apologetic as he nipped at the discolored flesh of your neck. A light laugh tumbled from your throat as you craned your neck once again, this time pulling him forward just slightly so that you could place a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, your nails scratching lightly at his scalp and eliciting a low moan from him at the pleasure.

"It's okay. I have sick leave. I'll call them and say I got food poisoning, or something," you rasped, coughing slightly at the pain in the back of your throat. Reassured by your quick thinking, Adam smiled into the kiss before he unwrapped his arms around your body, lifting you by your hips until his spent cock was pulled from the warmth of your core, moving you off him entirely a second later. Standing up, Adam reached down to pull his pants back up, stuffing himself back inside his boxers as he walked to the nearby kitchen and letting you sink back into the cushions of his couch comfortably.

"And what about the contract?" Adam called from the kitchen, to which you hummed, sleep closing in fast with how tired you felt. "What if you wind up pregnant before the contract goes into effect?" he asked once he returned, offering a plastic blue cup filled to the brim with water to you. Thanking him with a nod, you didn't hesitate in taking the cup from him, swallowing several large gulps before you offered it back to him. Adam finished off what was left, then moved you forward to squeeze himself behind you once again, tracing lightly his fingers over the sweaty skin of your face and through your hair.

...

"... We lie?"

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