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redfoxwritesstuff · 5 hours ago

Text

Thanks I hate it

I love it.

I hate you.

A/N: Damn @redfoxwritesstuff how can I say no to you when you want more FoxDicker!

Summary: You don’t want to feel; you just want to forget. So you take Adam to bed, again and again, using his body like a balm for everything you refuse to confront. No strings. No meaning. Even when your nails dig into his skin. Even when you pull him closer like you’re afraid to let go.

Tags/Warnings: f!reader, smut, p in v, fingering, teasing, smut, fluff, anal fingering, rough sex, reader is a fox sinner, squirting, spanking

The fire crackled and spat, its flames roaring high into the bruised red sky. Embers floated upward like tiny stars, glowing and flickering before fading into the hellish horizon where crimson stained the clouds. Insects croaked and chirped in the trees, a harsh yet oddly soothing symphony that underscored the strange stillness of summer in Hell.

It always surprised you how the underworld had seasons, warped and extreme as they were. Most days, the heat was smothering, the kind that made your skin feel like it might peel right off. But today had been kind. Tolerable. It was the type of day that evoked memories of camping excursions that you hardly remembered from your human existence—warm evenings, faces illuminated by fire, and gentle laughter drifting through the trees.

You hugged yourself tighter, pulling the frayed sleeves of Adam’s old sweater down past your hands. The lake water from earlier had long dried off your skin, leaving only the faintest trace of minerals and the tart sting of tomato, barely detectable to anyone but you. It was tolerable now, more of a ghost than a stench. The real comfort was the sweater itself. Oversized and worn thin, it draped over your frame, swallowing you in warmth and scent. You'd never tell Adam how much you loved it. He’d teased you for weeks after the first time he gave it to you, back when the two of you were still dancing around what you were. Honestly, you were still figuring that part out.

The fire popped as Adam cursed, drawing your eyes. He sat across the fire pit, face scrunched in frustrated determination, as he stabbed another marshmallow and held it over the flames. His pile of charred, blackened failures sat beside him in sticky, sugary disgrace. You watched him with fond amusement, your lips curling as a soft laugh escaped.

The warmth from the fire and the alcohol in your system made you feel pleasantly detached from your thoughts, like everything was floating just above you. Booze passed hands, laughter sparked like kindling, and for once, you let yourself enjoy the moment.

Summer dropped beside you with all the grace of a cat in heat. The wolf sinner grinned, her thin hot pink camisole clinging to her curves, cleavage practically spilling over as if daring gravity to test it. Her tiny shorts left nothing to the imagination, riding up so high they might as well have been lingerie. She leaned close, her breath sticky with cinnamon liquor and mischief.

“So,” she drawled, her voice smoky and teasing, “have you given any more thought to my offer for tonight?”

You didn’t look at her. Instead, your gaze stayed fixed on Adam as he groaned and flicked another marshmallow into the fire pit, the flames hissing around it. The corner of your mouth twitched, heat rising to your cheeks.

“For the last time, Summer,” you said, your voice low, the words tugging at the edges of a sigh, “I don’t think Adam and I are at the stage where… branching out is a thing we’re doing.” You didn’t say “ever,” but the word tasted heavy on your tongue.

Summer laughed, that familiar wolfish grin stretching across her lips. Her golden eyes sparkled in the flickering firelight, full of secrets and shameless joy. She draped herself closer, pressing her soft breasts against your arm and giggling.

“You have no idea what you're missing out on,” she sang, tilting her head toward the rowdy cluster of sinners near the logs. “My Salem over there,” she purred, gesturing with her drink toward the lean, tattooed snake sinner who was guzzling beer like water, “he’s got two cocks.”

You blinked.

“Both,” she leaned in, lips almost brushing your ear, “nine inches. No sharing issues. Full stamina. It’s like riding a goddamn hydra.”

Your face flushed hotter than the bonfire. You let out a laugh, choked and breathy, and pressed your hand over your mouth.

Of course, she said that. Of course.

You swallowed hard and pressed your thighs together, trying to ignore the creeping warmth pooling low in your belly. This wasn’t the first time Summer got under your skin, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. There was a reason the two of you had been such good friends for so long. After all, you met at Nympho-Con—an event not exactly known for wholesome friendships—and you’d gotten to know each other intimately in more ways than one.

You remembered the first night like it was etched into your skin. Fast hands. Faster mouths. No names, no expectations. Just need. And release.

Summer leaned in again, her voice turning into a sultry purr, smooth and heavy with mischief. “And Jack,” she murmured, her breath hot against your ear, “he’s a little shorter than Salem, but his cock is thick. Like, stretch-you-until-you-scream thick.” She giggled softly, breathless and wicked. “You probably wouldn’t walk straight for days after he’s done with you.”

A shiver rippled through your spine, your body reacting before your mind could stop it. But you held your ground, clinging to the boundaries you’d set for yourself.

“Like I said,” you murmured, offering a weak smile as your gaze dropped to the fire, “not tonight.”

Summer sighed dramatically, pulling away and crossing her arms beneath her breasts with a loud pout. “You’re no fun anymore,” she whined. “We used to have the wildest sex parties. Don’t you remember?”

You did.

And what you remembered wasn’t freedom. It was chaos. Faces blurred together in your mind, limbs tangled in meaningless heat, voices you couldn’t match to names. You woke up with pounding headaches, the sheets damp with someone else’s mess. Sometimes you didn’t even know if it was cum or piss staining your mattress. Every night blurred into the next, and it all felt so empty.

Then Adam happened.

Summer scoffed, her eyes following the direction of your gaze. “Ever since that dumbass,” she muttered, jerking her chin toward Adam, “you’ve turned into some monogamous prude.”

You followed her stare and saw him battling a flaming marshmallow like it was a personal vendetta. His brows were furrowed in pure determination as he blew on the scorched sugar, only managing to fan the flames bigger. You laughed softly, your chest tugging in that quiet, painful way it always did when you looked at him too long.

God, he was ridiculous.

But he was yours.

“Well, there you go again.” Summer’s voice was dry with exasperation. “You look like you’re about to marry that idiot. Or fuck him again. Or both.”

Her words slammed into you, and your body tensed. Your neck snapped toward her, eyes sharp, voice cold. “What?” you snapped. “No. Definitely not.”

The idea alone made your stomach knot. Marriage. You’d been there. You knew what came with it. Emptiness. Loneliness. A ring didn’t mean love. It meant ownership. It meant pretending. And you swore to yourself that you’d never be someone’s accessory again. Never again.

Summer lifted her hands in mock surrender, her face dripping with disbelief. “Okay, okay,” she said, not bothering to hide the smirk curling on her lips. “You keep telling yourself that.”

She stood and brushed off her shorts, which didn’t even try to cover her ass. Her tail swayed lazily as she licked her lips and looked toward her waiting boyfriends, both already watching her with hungry grins.

“I’ve got a long night ahead,” she said sweetly, her voice tinged with amusement and challenge. One look, one flirtatious brush of her fingers, and both men got to their feet like obedient pets, grinning as they followed her into the shadows.

“Goodnight, prude!” she called out playfully.

You didn’t respond. You were still watching Adam.

“Ugh, babe!” he groaned, holding up his nearly empty bag of marshmallows with a look of utter betrayal. “This fire fucking sucks! I’ve got, like, five left. This is a marshmallow massacre.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that broke free, your heart aching in the best kind of way. He looked so annoyed, so focused on a problem so small and stupid, and yet somehow it meant everything to you. That normalcy. That silliness. That dumbass grin.

Your dumbass.

“Yeah, no shit, you're having a problem,” you muttered, exasperated, as you snatched the poker and the bag of marshmallows from Adam’s hands. “You're literally stuffing the goddamn marshmallow into the flames like you're trying to sacrifice it.”

You crouched down by the fire, shifting your tone into something almost instructional. “Look,” you said, holding the white puff near the flames, letting the heat kiss it gently. “Just use the residual heat. Be patient. Let it toast, not burn.”

Slowly, the marshmallow’s outer shell began to darken from pale white to a golden brown. The sugary skin bubbled ever so slightly, turning that perfect shade of crisp without charring.

Adam groaned behind you, already chewing on two raw marshmallows straight from the bag. “Ugh, that takes forever,” he mumbled around a mouthful, pouting like a child denied dessert.

You rolled your eyes and finished toasting the marshmallow, then turned, sticking the end of the skewer toward his mouth. “Here.”

He didn’t even say thank you. Just opened his mouth and took it, immediately huffing and fanning his lips when the heat hit his tongue. “Hot,” he whined, cheeks puffed. “Okay, yeah, fine, it tastes better. But it’s still a pain.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you noticed his gaze shift toward the tent across the fire. The one where Summer and her boyfriends had disappeared not too long ago.

“She goes to bed early for someone who brags about—”

He stopped mid-sentence as the night was suddenly split by a loud, drawn-out moan. It stretched through the trees, followed by another, higher and even more obscene. The polyester of the tent rippled like something inside was trying to claw its way out. Limbs pushed and pressed against the thin walls in rhythmic bursts.

You groaned and slapped your forehead with your hand. “Of course,” you muttered. “Of course, she’s treating this like an orgy retreat.”

Adam let out a long, low whistle, his eyebrows climbing as he stared. “Babe,” he said, leaning toward you with a grin that dripped mischief, “maybe we should join the party.”

That made your body go taut, fur standing on end. Your tail stiffened, and your ears snapped upright. “Absolutely not,” you growled, the sound coming out raw and low. Your lips curled, revealing a flash of your sharp canine teeth.

Adam blinked, brows lifting in surprise. His hand stopped halfway toward the marshmallow bag, and for a second, the tension between you hung unspoken. That might have been the first time you’d snarled at him in months.

You winced as the realization sank in. You had grown soft with him. Softer than you ever thought possible.

You pulled away quickly, arms crossing tight over your stomach. “I’m just… not feeling it tonight,” you mumbled, turning your back to him. The crackling fire behind you clashed with the echoing cries of pleasure from the tent, a jarring rhythm that made your thoughts churn.

You told yourself you didn’t care. Adam was a decent lay. That was it. Summer was wrong. You hadn’t changed. You were still the same.

Still wild. Still free. Still unbound.

But even as you thought it, the lie didn’t settle right.

A memory crept into your mind, cold and clanking. The weight of iron on your wrists. The choke of metal around your neck. The sound of chain links dragging along the floor. Clink. Clink. A prison you once called home. No escape. No choices.

You couldn’t let yourself go back to that. Ever.

“I’m gonna sleep in the car,” you muttered, voice flat and brittle. You didn’t wait for a response as you turned and began walking toward the dark outline of your vehicle. “There’s no way I’m getting any rest with all that—”

Your ears flattened against your skull just as another shriek erupted from the tent. Summer’s voice, unmistakable and shameless, echoed through the clearing.

“OH FUCK YEAH, THAT’S THE SPOT, BABY, DON’T STOP! HNNNGGH!”

You winced as Summer’s voice tore through the night like a banshee on heat. Rolling your eyes, you muttered, “Anyway… you can, I dunno, do whatever,” and headed toward your car.

The buzz you’d been nursing all evening had evaporated, replaced by that bitter sting of memory clawing up your spine. You clenched your jaw as you opened the car door, frustration curling in your chest. You didn't like that it was still there, the weight and chains of it. That memory never really let go. Just sat there in the dark corners of your soul, branding itself into you over and over again.

The door creaked, and before you could get in, you felt a presence behind you. You turned, and sure enough, Adam was right there.

He didn’t speak right away, just gave you that boyish grin, head tilted like a dumb puppy who had no clue he’d just pissed on the rug. “Come on, babe. You always get cold at night.”

Before you could object, he pulled the handle, flopped into the back seat of your old truck, and yanked the seat down to make space. His legs didn’t even fit properly, but he still sprawled like he owned the damn place.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, like the night hadn’t just collapsed in on itself.

You narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

Your voice came out more annoyed than angry, though even you could hear the lack of venom. He never knew when to shut up or sit still. He never read the room. His timing was always atrocious. You had a million and one reasons to throw him out of your life and never look back.

And yet… there was always that one reason that seemed to anchor you.

You didn’t know when it started—maybe back when your world had cracked, and no one had noticed but him. Maybe when you stopped asking for help and he just kept showing up anyway. Loud. Dumb. Insistent.

Reliable.

All those reasons why you shouldn’t—couldn’t—be with him scattered like dust in the wind when that one reason took root. It wasn’t just the sex, though, that was addictive in its own right. It was the way he stayed. The way he held you together when you didn’t even know you were falling apart.

Another orgasmic scream sliced through the air from Summer’s tent, and you groaned as you climbed in and shut the door behind you. The sound dulled immediately, replaced with the low hum of the night and the soft rustle of blankets as you shifted next to him.

The back seat was small, cramped. The front seats blocked most of the light from the fire outside, plunging the car into a warm, private darkness. You curled into Adam’s side, and like always, his hand found your head.

He started scratching behind your ears. Slow. Gentle.

You sighed, voice muffled against his chest. “You know I hate that.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, fingers still working that sweet spot that made your eyes flutter. “Totally forgot.”

“Liar.”

But you didn’t stop him. You moved closer instead, breathing him in, the familiar scent of smoke, marshmallow, and something just him.

And you didn’t hate this. Not even a little.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your spine. You stiffened slightly at first, then melted when he pressed his lips to your temple in a kiss that was too soft, too careful.

“You warm enough now?” he asked, voice low, barely audible in the dark.

You didn’t answer. Not with words.

Instead, your hand found his, guiding it further down your back, your breath catching in your throat as the heat between you both started to build. His body shifted beneath you, muscles tightening in anticipation. The air grew heavier, tension pressing in from every angle.

You glanced up, eyes locking with his.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability.

In the dark, cramped cocoon of your beat-up truck, where the warmth of breath clung to the windows and the bonfire’s dying glow flickered weakly through the cracks, shadows danced across Adam’s bare skin like ghosts fighting for purchase. Every shift of light made him look like something holy and damned all at once.

Your fingers, trembling but eager, reached for him like old, gnarled branches desperate for the sun after a brutal winter. He hovered above you, shirt already tossed somewhere on the floor, the sharp curve of his grin cutting through the heavy air.

When you grabbed him by the front of his pants and dragged him down to your lips, the kiss you gave him wasn’t lusty or wild. It was soft. Stupidly tender. Dangerous. A silent confession your heart screamed against.

His origins were unknown to you; he was a chaotic miracle that entered your life and remained.

His hands found your cheeks, thumbs brushing the heat rising there. Then came the rustling, the impatient tug of clothes being shed. You. Him. Bare again, skin against skin. But this time, it felt like something was unravelling between you.

This wasn’t like angry sex after a fight, nor was it the kind of fucking you did to fill a void or escape a memory.

No, this felt slower. Heavier. Honest.

And maybe Adam felt it too—because for once, he said nothing. No stupid jokes. No dirty quips. Just breath. Just the sound of lips grazing skin. Just the faint creak of the car groaning as he shifted his weight. Just your soft gasps filling the space between you.

Your fingers curled into claws, gripping at his back as you arched, grinding up against the thick, pulsing heat of his cock. He was already painfully hard, and your slick heat was making him twitch against your thigh.

You didn’t want to think. Not about the past. Not about what this meant. Not about the way your chest ached like something was blooming where nothing should.

This wasn’t love. This couldn’t be love. This was supposed to be easy. Shallow. Fun.

So you did what you always did. You shut your mind off and let your body speak.

“Ugh, babe,” Adam groaned as you pressed your fingers around the base of his cock, keeping him firmly at bay.

He tried to thrust forward, but you squeezed tighter, stopping him. His whole body tensed, forehead dropping to yours. “Fucking hell, you’re such a damn tease.”

You smirked up at him, lazily swirling his wet, swollen head against your entrance, letting it just catch, just threaten to push in. You slowly and agonizingly dragged it over your clit, guiding it through your soaked folds. The friction sent jolts up your spine. Your abs fluttered as you held yourself back, clenching with the effort not to come from just that.

“What’s wrong?” you cooed, voice dripping like honey laced with poison. “Can’t handle a little edging?”

His hips bucked, but you shifted your hips away, your wetness smearing across his shaft. He whimpered—a low, gravelly sound that made your insides twist with pride.

“I swear to fuck,” he hissed, biting your shoulder hard enough to make you flinch and laugh.

You leaned into his ear, tongue flicking the shell of it. “If you want it, beg for it.”

Adam groaned, his restraint fraying by the second. “You’re fucking cruel.”

“And you love it,” you whispered, finally pressing the tip against your fluttering entrance again.

He tried to push in, but again you held him back, grinding your clit along his thick length instead.

“You're so wet for me,” he breathed, mouth hot against your collarbone. “Goddamn, I can feel it. You gonna make a mess before I even get inside you?”

Your thighs tightened around his hips, holding him there, savouring the delicious friction. “Might be worth it,” you teased, rolling your hips up just enough for his head to breach your entrance.

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and desperate. “If you don’t let me in soon, I’m gonna flip you over and fuck the attitude out of you.”

You smiled sweetly. “Promises, promises.”

“Fuck,” Adam groaned, arms braced on either side of your head, muscles tense and trembling. His eyes fluttered shut, jaw clenched as he held himself back, cock twitching at your entrance. He hovered just above you, his hips frozen mid-thrust, like he was on the edge of self-destruction. “Babe, let me fuck you,” he rasped, voice low and gravel-rich, eyes cracking open to twin slits of glowing red. His smirk spread slow, dangerous. His hips dipped forward, the swollen head of his cock nudging your entrance again, slick and insistent—but he didn’t push past your tight hold on him.

You didn’t know why the next words slipped from your lips. You’d never said them before. You shouldn’t have said them.

“Under one condition,” you whispered. The air between you was thick with sweat, smoke, and sex. The fire outside licked the sky and painted shadows across his skin, and you could taste the burnt sugar on his lips, sweet and scorched.

Adam blinked, head tilting, that smile still pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“If you fuck me like you… want me.”

The words trembled out of you. Your voice broke, like porcelain hairline-fracturing under pressure. “Desperately.”

His smile faltered. His brow furrowed, just slightly. You saw the confusion flicker across his face. He didn’t understand the weight of what you were asking. He didn’t feel the world collapsing in on you, how your walls were buckling under the weight of years of being disposable, replaceable.

But still—without hesitation, without second thought—he said, “I always want you desperately.”

And maybe that’s what made him so different. The simplicity in his voice wasn’t dismissive, it was truth. He said it like it was obvious, like the sky being blue or the fire burning hot. Of course, he wanted you.

Something shattered inside you, soft and terrifying.

Your grip on his cock loosened. Your hands trembled above your head, words ringing loud and senseless in your thoughts.

“Okay,” you breathed.

And Adam—fucking Adam—grinned like he’d just won a prize. His face dipped into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he inhaled you, nuzzling like a man starved of affection. Your fingers slipped into his hair, gripping tight, and he moaned into your throat.

Then he thrust.

One slow, deep drive of his cock, stretching your slick heat, pushing all the way in until he bottomed out with a groan that punched straight through your core.

Your body arched, every nerve alight.

“Oh fuck,” Adam hissed, hips jerking forward, the truck rocking with the force. “You feel fucking insane.”

The thrusts picked up, fast and hard, his rhythm wild—hungry. The suspension of the truck creaked and squealed under you both, the windows fogging with every ragged breath and heated grind.

His cock slammed against your sweet spot again and again, dragging obscene, wet sounds from between your thighs as he pounded into you. Your walls clenched, fluttered, trying to hold him in deeper, needing more, always more.

Your legs fell open wider, thighs trembling, toes curling as the slap of his hips echoed in the cramped space.

“Goddamn,” he growled, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your skin. “You’re so fucking tight—sucking me in like you need this cock.”

“I do,” you gasped, lips swollen, head tilted back. “Fuck, I need it—I need you—fuck me harder, Adam, don’t stop—”

He growled something incoherent and braced your thighs, forcing your legs up over his shoulders. The angle shifted, and then he slammed into you, the thick length of him splitting you open with every brutal thrust. His pelvis ground against your clit, over and over, delicious friction that made your hips buck uncontrollably.

“Take it,” he groaned, breath ragged. “Take this fucking cock like the filthy little bitch you are. You love it, don’t you? Love when I ruin you.”

“Yes—yesyesyes,” you chanted, eyes rolling back, pleasure mounting like a tidal wave, your cries breaking into sobs of ecstasy. “Fucking ruin me, please—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Tears pricked your eyes, a blur of pleasure and the rawness of being seen, being held, being fucked like you were something sacred and sinful all at once.

Adam tried to sit up, bracing himself for more leverage—but his head hit the ceiling of your beat-up truck with a dull thud, neck bending awkwardly. He gritted his teeth, sweat trickling down his temple, but he didn’t stop. Hell no. That stubborn bastard just adjusted, grabbed your hips like a man possessed, and slammed into you like a feral jackhammer, desperate and unrelenting.

Each thrust sent your body jolting against the truck bed, loud, obscene wet smacks echoing off the interior. The space was tight, air thick with heat and the raw, primal stench of sweat and sex. Every inhale tasted like lust.

“Ah, fuck, baby—” you mewled, voice strangled, your hands clawing above your head, grasping at peeling upholstery, at air, anything to ground yourself. If you were in a bed, the sheets would’ve been in tatters by now, clutched like a lifeline.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

His cock glistened each time it withdrew, slick and thick, only to disappear again inside your soaked heat. He rammed home again and again, his pelvis smacking your clit with every brutal drive, overstimulating you until your hips were twitching, your thighs trembling from the pace you could barely keep up with.

Then he gave you that grin—the wild, devilish kind, lips curled and teeth bared, canines peeking just before he dove.

His mouth latched onto your breast, tongue dragging hot and wet over your sensitive skin. He suckled hard, greedily, like a man starving for your taste. Then came the bite—just a graze of his teeth that made your back arch and a cry rip from your throat.

He didn’t stop.

When one breast was slick and abandoned, he moved to the other, lavishing it with the same desperate hunger. His lips smacked obscenely as he tugged your nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling, his groans vibrating through your flesh.

“God—Adam,” you gasped, voice wrecked, hips grinding against his base. You rubbed yourself over the coarse patch of hair at his base, the rough friction against your clit pushing you closer, so much closer, your toes curling, muscles locking.

It was coming. You knew it. That white-hot wave of pleasure building, spiralling, threatening to crash over you with violent force.

You broke with a cry so jagged it tore from your throat like a sob. Your walls clamped down on him, convulsing, pulsing, trying to milk every inch of his thick cock buried deep inside you. Your nipples were still in his mouth when you shattered, and he groaned through his teeth, cock twitching inside your spasming heat.

But Adam didn’t stop.

He never stopped.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, pulling out with a lewd squelch. His cock gleamed with your slick, thick and dripping, bobbing with his racing heartbeat. “You’re so fucking hot when you come for me, babe.”

You could barely breathe. Your body was nothing but molten jelly, nerves fried from the orgasm still rippling through your limbs.

And yet—he wasn’t done.

With no ceremony, he flipped you over like a ragdoll, shoving your face into the makeshift bedding, ass up, thighs spread.

CRACK.

The slap landed loud and sharp on your ass cheek, and a shockwave of pleasure tore down your spine, lighting your nerves on fire.

“F-Fuck,” you whimpered, head rolling to the side, your tongue peeking past your lips as you panted, already dizzy from overstimulation. Your ass wiggled instinctively, hips swaying, silently begging for more.

Another slap landed—harder.

You moaned.

Dirty, loud, unabashed.

You didn’t care anymore.

You needed him to break you open all over again.

He delivered—hard—the crack of his palm echoing through the space as it landed squarely on your other cheek. The sharp sting bloomed across your skin, both sides now flushed hot, glowing red, perfectly punished. You gasped as you felt the unmistakable slick heat of your arousal trickling between your thighs, dripping down your inner legs and darkening the carpet beneath you.

Your knees scraped against the rough texture of the floor, and your forearm trembled where it bore your weight. Before you could draw a full breath, he was inside you again, thrusting deep and fast. This new angle, raw, primal, unrelenting, caused your walls to tighten around him like a vice, causing you to let out a broken, strangled sob.

“Fuck, fuck, Adam!” you cried, the sound of your voice mingling with the wet slap of his hips smacking your ass. He was pounding into you with wild abandon.

“Yeah? That’s it, baby—say my name,” he growled, his voice soaked in lust. “You need this cock, don’t you? Can’t fucking live without it, huh?”

With a harsh grunt, he slammed deeper, shoving your face down against the carpet. You whimpered as drool slipped from your lips, your mind spiralling into a haze of pleasure. You were dizzy with it—cock-drunk, and shameless about it.

“Shit, I can’t go a damn day without stuffing this tight pussy and that filthy little ass,” he groaned. You heard the lewd, wet sound before you felt it—two fingers, thick and slick, pressing insistently against your rear entrance. He worked them in slow, stretching you, claiming every inch.

“Ahhhhhh…” you moaned, helpless and keening, your tail lashing behind you. You loved being filled, craved the stretch, the burn, the fullness. And gods, you wished the toys were here—the things he could do with them were burned into your brain, sinful memories that left your thighs trembling.

“I’m not stopping until you leave this floor soaked in your cum,” he hissed, dark amusement lacing his voice. “You hear me, baby?”

He shoved his cock deeper with a brutal thrust, fingers still working your ass, and your only answer was a ragged moan.

“Make a mess for me. I wanna see you squirt.”

Your fingers found your clit, trembling, slick, slipping from your wetness. Your whole body was dewy with sweat, shaking under his weight and power. Your mind could only focus on one thing—coming. Hard. Messy. Loud. Until your vision blurred, and your thoughts scattered like ashes in the wind.

“Ah—fuck—babe, babe—” you sobbed, teetering on the edge. Every inch of you was strung tight, aching for release.

“That’s it, baby, c’mon—show me.” His pace turned punishing, relentless. The space was filled with the sound of sex, a rhythm of desperate moans and obscene, wet slaps. He groaned deep, then roared, his cock pulsing as he came hard, thick ropes of heat shooting inside you.

You shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you, a tidal wave crashing over every nerve. You screamed, voice wrecked, as your cunt spasmed around him. Liquid gushed from you, soaking your hand, spraying across the mat in a messy, euphoric flood.

For a long, breathless moment, the world went still—just you and him, hearts pounding, sweat-slicked and shaking. He finally pulled out with a satisfied grunt, and you whimpered at the loss—followed by the warm, obscene gush of his cum spilling out of you, too much for your pussy to hold.

It dripped in hot rivulets down your thighs, seeping into the already ruined carpet beneath you. And still, you lay there, trembling and open, a beautiful mess of desire, utterly wrecked—and loving every second of it.

“Fuck, this is my favourite part,” Adam breathed, voice low and husky, his hot breath teasing over your overstimulated, soaked pussy. He stared at the aftermath, with your thighs shaking and your cunt still fluttering with the ghost of an orgasm. Your lower lips were slick, parted, and flushed. You could feel the cool air on your skin, contrasting the raw heat between your legs. Every little pulse of your core made more of the mixed mess—his cum, your own release—dribble out, sliding down your inner thighs in slow, sticky rivulets.

Your flushed cheek was pressed into the rough carpet of the car, the textured fibres biting into your skin, itchy and warm with the residue of sweat and friction. Every breath made your body tremble a little. You didn’t even have the strength to adjust, too wrung out to care, lost in the afterglow.

Eventually, your exhausted muscles gave way, and you rolled to the side with a weak exhalation. The shift smeared the mingled fluids between your thighs, coating you messily. You barely noticed the car rock slightly when he moved, the creak of the suspension loud in the silence before it stilled again. Adam dropped beside you with a huff and a grin, his bare skin brushing against yours, radiating heat.

You blinked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. He was already looking at you.

No smirk. No crude joke.

Just that smile—lopsided, tender, real.

His fingers, still tacky with sex, gently pushed back your wild, sweat-damp strands of hair. He brushed them away from your face with careful reverence, revealing your flushed, vulnerable expression to him like it was something sacred.

You braced for a quip. Some stupid, smug comment like “Damn, I wrecked you,” or a laugh about your ruined makeup or twitching tail.

But instead…

He wrapped an arm around you, drawing your trembling body close until your face tucked against his bare chest. The thump of his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear. He gently kissed the top of your head, leaving a soft trail, and let out a quiet sigh.

His hand slid up, stroking gently between your ears, fingers combing through your hair like you were something precious. Every now and then, one of his nails would scrape lightly against your scalp, a mix of soothing and maddening that made your eye twitch.

You wanted to grumble, to remind him how much you hated that. You’d told him a dozen times, probably more.

But you didn’t.

You were too tired, too warm, too held to move.

So instead, you just closed your eyes.

And melted into him.

You hated it.

You loved it.

And you wanted this moment to last…desperately.

✨ KOFI -- DISCORD SERVER -- xREADER COMMUNITY ✨

#kot isn't kit #kot is kit is propaganda #kot is kit is a big government lie #don't fall for the foxdicker agenda

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redfoxwritesstuff · 19 hours ago

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funniest tumblr experience is waking up to 20+ notifications all from ONE person who has obviously just found my account and they then proceed to like and reblog my last dozen or so posts which is then followed by a mysterious anonymous ask. brother who are you trying to fool

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redfoxwritesstuff · 1 day ago

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IT'S NOT ME. IT'S NOT. I DON'T WANT TO FUCK FRAT BOY DICKMASTER FIRST MAN ADAM THEY ARE TELLING LIES TO YOU TOOZ. I'M THE CLASSY LADY LOKI WANTS. NOT... THAT... HONEST! I SWEAR! TO FUCK!

My favorite couple. You and Adam.

AHHHHHHWHWHWHWWWWWW I AM NOT A PART OF FOXDICKER SHE'S A FOX OC SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT MEEEEEEEEEE I'M NOT WITH ADAMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAHHHH

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redfoxwritesstuff · 1 day ago

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I SWEAR TO FUCK SAFFY IT IS NOT A MASTERLIST OF ME AND ADAM. IT'S A FOX SINNER. A FOX SINNER AND ADAM. NOT. ME.

My favorite couple. You and Adam.

AHHHHHHWHWHWHWWWWWW I AM NOT A PART OF FOXDICKER SHE'S A FOX OC SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT MEEEEEEEEEE I'M NOT WITH ADAMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAHHHH

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redfoxwritesstuff · 1 day ago

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My favorite couple. You and Adam.

AHHHHHHWHWHWHWWWWWW I AM NOT A PART OF FOXDICKER SHE'S A FOX OC SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT ME SHE'S NOT MEEEEEEEEEE I'M NOT WITH ADAMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAHHHH

#kit answers

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redfoxwritesstuff · 1 day ago

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Okay you soggy sack of horny walnuts I swear to FUCK if we die Im coming for every one of you

ℜ𝔦𝔱𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔊𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔱

A/N: Now...are we ready to truly feel the weight of your decision?

Rules: You have five tries to try and unlock the true ending. After five failed attempts, that's a permanent game over. Each door will lead you to several options. Choose wisely. And most importantly, have fun!

Summary: Five doors stand before you. Each door will either lead you to your salvation...or your doom.

CW: emotional smut, p in v

<- PREV || FROM THE BEGINNING

The door loomed before you, its charred surface exuding the acrid scent of ash and smoldered fire. A crushing melancholy sat on your chest like a stone slab, and underneath it churned a guilt so vast it swallowed thought and breath alike. You trembled as you stood there, not from cold, but from an unreachable memory. Your body remembered what your mind refused to recall. Another door. Another time. A pain that had cracked you open and hollowed you out.

Your stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile from some ancient wound inside you. But still, you swallowed it. You pressed the fear down like a lid on boiling water, even as your hand, hesitant and shivering, reached out.

As soon as your fingers touched the tarnished brass handle, the door trembled, vibrating with a peculiar hum that resonated throughout your body. Then the light, bright and devouring, rushed forward, filling your vision and engulfing everything else. You gasped, eyes squeezed shut against the blinding brightness as your very soul felt pulled thin, stretched taut like silk on a loom.

And then—

A scent. Lavender. Soft and comforting. It drifted through your senses like a lullaby. Your eyes fluttered open. The sunlight poured through a tall window, warm and golden, kissing your skin. You stood quietly beside it, no longer trembling, no longer lost. Your body moved with tranquil grace, as if it belonged here.

You wore a hanbok of the purest white, delicate as snow under moonlight. Golden dragons were stitched along the sleeves, dancing with each movement you made. Your hair flowed freely down your back, damp from a recent bath, the scent of soap and lavender mingling in the air. Peace clung to your limbs like silk.

“Priestess.”

The voice was a whisper of warmth, low and reverent. It slipped through the air like honey.

You turned, and your breath caught.

Joy bloomed. Unrestrained, radiant, and blinding in its purity. A smile stretched across your lips before you realized it. He was there, kneeling before you, clad in a black hanbok that contrasted the pale white and gold in your own. His ebony hair fell slightly over his brow, swept to the side in that same boyish way you remembered.

“Jinu!” His name escaped your lips with a breathless laugh, your arms reaching for him as naturally as your heartbeat. Like you'd done it a thousand times before. Like your soul knew.

He rose slowly, reverently, as if the moment itself was holy. Then his arms were around you, grounding, solid, and warm. You buried your face against his chest and breathed in his scent, of a mountain with fresh river flowing, warmth, and something that was only his. You melted. Completely.

His lips pressed to the crown of your head, a silent prayer. “You’re far too generous with your affection, Priestess,” he murmured, amusement laced in gentle warning.

You tilted your face up to meet his gaze, a small pout tugging at your lips. “Not with everyone,” you whispered. “You’re…” Your voice softened, eyes locking with his. “You’re special to me.”

Something flickered across his face. A shadow of an unnamed emotion followed by something softer. Pain. Longing. His golden-flecked eyes seemed to shimmer, catching the sunlight like cracked glass. Then his hands cupped your face, gentle and steady, like you were something sacred. Something he had once broken and would never dare to again.

His lips brushed yours, and the world stilled.

“I don’t deserve this,” he breathed, voice rough with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

His thumb traced your cheek, tender and reverent, before you could say anything. “But if you offer it freely,” he whispered, “I will never turn it away.”

His kiss deepened, and with it, the aching restraint unravelled. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, peeling back the layers of silk that separated you. Heat flared between you as he pressed his hips against yours, his need unmistakable. The air turned heavy with desire, the sacred and the sinful dancing between heartbeats, and for that moment… nothing else existed but the two of you.

You undid the knot of his hanbok, each layer slipping off like petals in the wind. The silk whispered down his arms and legs, pooling at his feet in delicate waves.

A shiver coursed over your bare skin, not from the air, but from the weight of his gaze and the growing warmth radiating from his body, now so close, so impossibly near.

Jinu moved closer, his presence wrapping around you like heat from a sacred fire. Your fingers reached up to brush aside the strands of his inky black hair, sweeping them from his brow. You looked into his deep brown eyes that had gold glints in them.

Your touch trailed lower, across the ridge of his collarbone, then further, over the strength of his chest.

“I always thought…” you murmured, fingers pausing over his heart, “…that I couldn’t trust demons.”

He said nothing at first, only leaned in, lips brushing your shoulder with aching tenderness. His sigh was long, contented, as though your skin offered him a kind of sanctuary he'd never known. His bare body moulded to yours, warmth enveloping every inch of you.

“You can always trust me,” he whispered, and there was no plea in his voice, only truth. With hands that trembled just slightly, he guided you toward the futon, helping you lie down, reverent in every movement.

He hovered above you, arms bracketing your head, his face so close you could feel his breath on your lips.

You smiled, a soft, sad thing, as your legs rose to cradle his hips. “When I lost…” The names lingered on the edge of your lips, yet your mind refused to remember them. Too painful. Too distant. “I swore, to them… that I would rid this world of evil.”

Your arms wrapped around him like vines seeking something solid, your face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. You could hear his heartbeat slowly and steadily there, anchoring and quieting.

“You will,” he said, and his voice trembled just as his body did. The tip of his cock nudged against your folds, teasing your entrance with a reverence that made you gasp. Then, with exhale and intent, he pressed forward.

Your breath caught. A soft, broken sound slipped past your lips as your body yielded, opened to him. He filled you slowly, inch by inch, until he was seated deep inside, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Only those who can live beside humans…” he murmured, voice husky and raw, “…will be spared by you.”

Then, as his hips started to move, he gave you a tender, desperate kiss as his words turned into a gentle moan. His cock dragged along your inner walls, scraping against the most sensitive places, and each thrust stoked a fire deep in your core.

“Jinu…” you gasped, your moan catching in the back of your throat as the pressure built with every slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

His hands roamed your body with unspoken worship. He cupped your breasts, kneading them gently, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebbled under his touch. His pelvis ground against your clit with every thrust, sending sharp pulses of pleasure ricocheting through your spine.

“Let me give you what you desire,” he groaned, his voice a rasp of need. He caught your wrists in one large hand and gently pinned them above your head. His other hand braced at your waist, holding you still as he buried himself deeper, grunting with the effort of restraint.

“You can trust me,” he moaned again, the words repeated like a prayer, a vow. Your body bowed beneath him, legs spreading wider, needing more, needing all of him. The slick sound of skin against skin filled the quiet chamber, broken only by your whimpers and his ragged breath.

You clung to him, not just physically, but soul to soul as your body ached with every thrust while your heart whispered things your lips could not speak.

That you trusted him.

That he was your peace.

That in a world where demons waged war against everything you were meant to protect, he had become your exception.

Your salvation.

His mouth found your breast with a desperate hunger, lips sealing around your swollen nipple. He sucked deeply, each pull a decadent stroke of fire that travelled straight to your core. A symphony of wet, obscene sounds filled the air. Each slurp, each breath, each low groan composing a melody of lust and longing that rang in your ears like sacred blasphemy.

“I… I d-do…” you sobbed, your voice trembling with more than just pleasure. It was surrender. Your heart, your body, they were unravelling beneath his touch, melting into him like wax drawn too close to flame.

You knew what you were doing was forbidden. A priestess, beloved by the gods, entwined in the arms of a demon. It was a sacrilege. A betrayal of all the divine vows you once lived by.

And yet… how could it be wrong?

When the Honmoon had torn open the veil between worlds and unleashed chaos, when demons ravaged the earth, rending spirit and flesh alike, it was Jinu who stood by your side. When villages burned, when temples fell, and even your most loyal worshippers were slaughtered, it was he who turned against his own kind to fight for yours.

For you.

Now, his hips slammed into yours with ruthless rhythm, grunting as he fucked you hard and deep. His mouth moved to your other breast, tongue swirling around the sensitive bud before his teeth grazed it, and he sucked. His grip on your wrists tightened, anchoring you beneath him as your body writhed in response.

When you had been at your lowest… when the world felt like a graveyard… he had been your only light.

He had always been there.

So…

So, you gave in.

Your hips tilted up, desperate to feel more, to take more. Each thrust dragged his cock against the sensitive walls of your cunt, and every downward stroke brushed your clit sent sparks of pleasure and set fire to your nerves. Your body quivered, stomach tightening, walls fluttering.

“J-Jinu—” you choked out, voice high, helpless. Your arms strained in his hold, not in protest, but in sheer desperation, your body demanding more even as you felt yourself breaking apart.

Your breath hitched, your back arched, and your heels dug into the bed. The pressure mounted, pleasure coiling in your gut like a tightened bowstring, drawn to its limit.

Suddenly.

A growl.

Low.

Demonic.

His lips left your breast with a wet pop, and when your dazed eyes found his, a chill of awe coursed through you.

His pupils had narrowed, slitted like a blade’s edge. That soft brown now glowed with an unnatural brilliance of deep gold. The miasma of his demonic power crept along his skin, like dark roots spreading beneath the surface, pulsing with restrained fury.

“Give in to me,” he whispered, voice low and rough, more demon than man, as his lips brushed your ear. “Give me your heart… and I’ll give you mine.”

And then he thrust. One powerful push—deep, holding himself inside you to the hilt as he rocked his hips in slow circles, his pelvis grinding deliciously against your clit.

Pinned beneath him, unable to move, your wrists trapped, all you could do was breathe his name like a prayer and press the side of your face to his. Your lips hovered beside his ear, your voice thick with tears and trembling emotion.

“S-silly man,” you whispered brokenly, “you already have it…”

His entire body went still.

No breath. No movement. It was as if time itself had frozen within him.

“…Jinu?” you whispered again, gently.

The sound of his name cracked something open. He inhaled sharply, then slowly released your wrists. One hand threaded into your hair, the other cradled your jaw as he looked at you.

Slowly, he kissed you as if they were his vows; his promise to stay by your side.

His tongue moved against yours in slow, sensual waves, coaxing, savouring. He kissed you like you were the only sacred thing in this ruined world. And as your lips melted into his, he began to move again, deep and slow, the way he knew you liked. Each thrust was deliberate, reverent. Like prayer.

Like love.

His mouth devoured every moan you gave him, swallowing each cry. You clung to him, fingers digging into the firm muscle of his back, as your release crested. And when it came, it came like a storm.

You shattered beneath him, body arching, back bowing, your soul unravelling in his hands as you came. The pleasure was blinding, white-hot, like a thousand threads of light exploding behind your eyes. Your breath broke in a sob, mouth still locked to his, as your body trembled from the aftershocks.

A guttural sound tore from his throat as his lips finally broke from yours, his forehead pressing to yours, breath shallow, trembling. His hips stuttered as he buried himself deep inside you, spilling into your warmth with a low, aching gasp. His entire body quivered, a sheen of sweat glistening on his skin like morning dew, catching the filtered sunlight that bled through the rice paper walls in pale golden ribbons.

He stayed there, unmoving for a moment, cock still deep, still twitching inside you, as though afraid that letting go might break whatever fragile miracle had bloomed between you.

Then, slowly, his eyes opened. The amber of them dulled into tenderness, a quiet reverence softening his features. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, barely a graze, as if afraid to startle you with too much affection.

“I apologize,” Jinu whispered, another kiss following close behind, this one lingering against your cheek. “To sully your body again so soon after you’ve bathed…”

You let out a quiet chuckle, breathless and amused, your eyes still half-lidded with contentment. “That’s never stopped you before,” you teased, the words slipping between swollen lips like silk.

A rare smile curved his mouth, faint and fond. “May I join you this time?”

Your hand reached up, fingers brushing the hair from his damp forehead. “Always,” you murmured, before sealing your answer with a slow, sensual kiss. One that made your breath catch and your heart flutter all over again.

But eventually, the afterglow began to fade. You felt his seed begin to slide down your thigh, warm and thick, and the intimacy of it made your cheeks flush. As you tried to rise, your legs trembled, but Jinu was already there. Strong hands caught you gently, steadying you with practiced ease.

You barely had time to breathe before he was reaching for your hanbok lying in a soft pile on the floor. He wrapped the lower skirt carefully around your waist, his movements meticulous, almost ceremonial. Then, with the same gentle hands, he draped the upper layer over your shoulders, careful not to tug too harshly against your skin.

You watched him with a swelling heart, warmth blooming inside you at the sight. He always dressed you first. Always looked at you like you were something divine.

You laughed softly, biting back a grin, just as he leaned in to kiss you again.

But then—

A sharp, white-hot pain sliced through your abdomen.

“Ah—!” You gasped, eyes flying wide. Breath caught in your throat as your vision blurred with sudden panic.

Your gaze dropped.

Red. So much red.

It bloomed like camellia flowers, spreading across the pristine white of your skirt, vibrant and merciless.

And then you saw it.

Jinu’s hand.

No longer human.

Gnarled. Twisted. Long, clawed fingers—blackened and inhuman, dripping crimson to the ground, heavy and slow.

“Ji—” Your voice broke, your lips trembling as your heart thudded against your ribs.

But before the name could fully leave your mouth…

Darkness.

Your body jolted as you woke with a gasp, cold sweat chilling your skin. You were no longer in the sunlit room. No longer wrapped in his warmth. The air was thick, damp, and smelled faintly of rot.

You sat in a room of wood and stone. Torches lined the walls, flickering fire casting long shadows. In the centre stood a marble statue, once a depiction of the last priestess.

But it was filthy. Cracked.

Covered in moss.

Her face was broken away entirely, as if time and something darker had deliberately tried to erase her.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. The dream still clung to your skin like mist, sticky and cold. You brought your trembling hands to your stomach, as if to check if the wound was truly gone.

No blood.

No warmth.

Just you and the remnants of a memory that felt too vivid to be a dream.

You lay on a bed too soft, too still.

Black silk sheets clung to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. Four towering pillars loomed at each corner of the bed, draped in translucent black veils that swayed slightly, as if breathing. It reminded you of a funeral.

There was warmth beside you.

You gasped, sharp and trembling, as your eyes snapped open.

Jinu.

He lay there, inches from you, his bare chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths. You were both exposed completely, and your arms flew to your chest, trying to shield yourself, as if modesty could protect you from the overwhelming storm of memories…and suffering.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp, familiar and foreign all at once. Your hair was brushed back from your damp forehead by a clawed hand that was both inhuman and unbearably gentle.

It made your skin crawl.

“I’ve been waiting for you…” he murmured, slowly rising to sit beside you. He clasped your face with his large, powerful hands. It should have felt like an embrace. It should have felt safe.

Instead, it felt like a cage.

“Waiting so long… just to see you again.” When he looked into your eyes, they were soft, pleading, and broken.

Then he kissed you.

His lips were cold. So cold.

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes.

You didn’t kiss him back, but you didn’t pull away either. You trembled beneath him, your body torn between the comfort of his touch and the agony his presence evoked. His lips lingered too long, tasting your silence, your tears, your breath.

Then your tears came out slowly and steadily, like a dam breaking.

When he finally drew away, your lips parted, not with resistance. Not with forgiveness.

Read More? 👀 || NEXT ->

Follow #Vexi's Saja Boys Interactive Story 2025 to never miss an update! This story is uploaded every Wednesday @ 12:00 P.M EST.

#fucking soggy ass walnuts are gonna get us killed again #I swear to fuck

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redfoxwritesstuff · 2 days ago

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It's happening in the UK. It's happening in Australia. It's happening in Canada.

Americans- it's happening here too.

Do. Something.

If it's happening in your country, do something. Say something. Make the calls.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 2 days ago

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Tooz, you're fucking adorable. I love this

James Conrad found his calling: to discover, study and protect rare beautiful new creatures.

Big or small. Dangerous or harmless.

The fate of the world depends upon these discoveries and Conrad will travel to pole to pole and all around the equator. He'll search high and low. We are just one species upon this rock.

[I have fallen in love with this Instagram blog and the wild creatures they've come up with.]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Creaturopedia: Chimeric Garden (@creaturopedia_cg)

instagram

@americasass81 @caffiend-queen @nildespirandum @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @muddyorbs @wolfsmom1 @spectre-posts @jtargaryen18 @latent-thoughts @theinheriteddutchess @thezombieprostitute @talklokitome @ladyoftheteaandblood @redfoxwritesstuff @alexakeyloveloki

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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Thirteenth Kiss: Captivate VIII

A/N: Sometimes, post-nut clarity sucks...

Tags/Warning: f!reader, fake relationship, Lucifer is touch-starved

<- PREV || TABLE OF CONTENT

You stifled a laugh, quiet and aching, as you lay tangled in the silken sheets, Lucifer nestled between your bare breasts. He was fast asleep, utterly vulnerable in a way that didn’t seem to belong to the King of Hell. One arm draped possessively around your waist, the other curled slightly like a child clinging to a dream. His face, so often twisted in confidence or anxiety, was soft now.

You could feel the heat of him against your skin, the bare press of his body sinking into yours as if he wanted to disappear inside you, not in lust, but in need.

He hadn’t said a word when it was over, but you saw it clear as daylight—the moment the afterglow dimmed and the reality flickered back into his eyes. That flicker of fear. The silent spiral of guilt winding up in his throat. The beginning of a thousand apologies he would never find the right words for.

You didn’t let him get there.

You kissed him instead, slow and quiet and grounding. And when his hands gripped your hips like a man drowning, you parted from his lips just long enough to whisper, “Let’s go to bed.”

Without resistance, he followed, collapsing against your chest with the weight of exhaustion and something far heavier, uncertainty, maybe. Your fingers sank into his golden hair, stroking softly, your nails dragging in delicate circles along his scalp. He sighed, one of those deep, shuddering exhales that sounded more like surrender than sleep.

You held him. You let him sleep.

Because tomorrow, everything would change. Tomorrow was the true performance—the test of your deception. Could you lie to his daughter? To him? To yourself? Could you keep the mask on when your heart had begun to flutter, fragile and foolish beneath the surface?

Sleep wouldn’t come easy for you.

Not with your mind screaming beneath the quiet.

You closed your eyes anyway, trying to shut the world out—trying to hush the storm of thoughts battering the inside of your skull.

You weren’t a good person.

You had no illusions about that. You belonged here, in Hell. You belonged to fire and ash and everything rotten that had ever lived inside you.

You were not innocent.

In life, you wore so many faces it was hard to remember your real one. You played the perfect fantasy, over and over again—a siren with a porcelain smile, a soft voice, and eyes that promised salvation. You took what people gave you—time, money, trust—and you left them empty. You didn’t just break hearts. You shattered illusions, and you loved it.

You lived for the power. For the thrill. You drank their desperation like wine and slept on silk sheets stained with someone else's heartbreak.

There was a day—just another con at the time—when you targeted a man who looked like all the others. Quiet. Solitary. Starved for affection. You’d played this game a thousand times before. Sweet smiles. Gentle touches. Words dipped in honey and draped in adoration. You pulled out every stop, wove the fantasy with practiced ease.

What you didn’t know was that he was broke. Not just financially, but spiritually. Hollowed out by life. Clinging to hope by a fraying thread—and you were the illusion he wrapped that thread around.

You didn’t know, not then.

Not until it was too late.

You remember the moment everything changed. One second, you were spinning a lie. The next, you were on the floor, the cold biting your back and the weight of him pressing into your abdomen.

Your throat burned.

His calloused, trembling hands wrapped tightly around your neck like a noose. His fingers clenched with the weight of betrayal and desperation, the whites of his knuckles stark against your skin.

“I loved you!” he screamed, voice cracked and raw, breaking into a sob that cut deeper than his grip ever could. “I trusted you! I gave you everything!”

Tears spilled from his eyes, hot and furious, falling like acid onto your paling cheeks.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t plead. Your lungs screamed for air that wouldn’t come. Your nails clawed at his arms, leaving trails of crimson that only made him squeeze tighter. Your legs thrashed beneath him, panic clawing up your spine like a wild animal.

You were dying.

Not dramatically. Not poetically. Just—dying.

The world dimmed, tunnelled into nothing, and the last thing you heard was his voice—a wounded, broken thing echoing through the void.

“I loved you.”

And then, there was Hell.

No fire. No judgment. Just being. Just the weight of that moment bleeding into eternity, again and again.

Time was meaningless here, but the memory was not.

You forgot his face. Even his name faded like smoke. But his words...they branded you, left scorched impressions on your soul that even damnation couldn’t erase.

“I loved you.”

“Why?”

“Why was I the one fate chose to ruin?”

“I wish… I wish I’d never met you.”

You had heard every insult under the sun. Every slur spit through clenched teeth. Every curse shouted as you walked away with someone’s heart in one hand and their wallet in the other. And you always laughed. Because they were like you—selfish, arrogant, chasing fantasies. You had just been better at the game.

But him? He wasn’t like the others.

He didn’t rage. He broke.

And in his breaking… you felt something you hadn’t felt before.

Guilt.

It came slow, like rot in the walls. It crept in while you distracted yourself with Hell’s hollow thrills, while you traded tales with thieves and killers, liars and conmen. You laughed. You drank. You fucked. You pretended.

But the echo of that man’s voice never left.

It whispered to you in the silence. It clung to you in the dark. It buried itself deep in the softest places you thought had long since died.

And when you finally stopped running, when you lay still in the quiet of your own thoughts, regret bloomed like a thorned flower in your chest.

Because for the first time, you didn’t just steal something. You destroyed something.

If you could just learn to love him… really love him… maybe that hollow ache carved into your chest would quiet. Maybe the gnawing emptiness that had followed you through life, and now even in death, would finally fade.

Here in Hell, you tried. You tried to atone, to claw your way out of the person you used to be. It wasn’t perfect. It was never perfect. Everything you did still danced too close to the edge of manipulation, of performance. But… you told yourself it was different now. Because your intent was different. That had to count for something, right?

After all, nothing in life or death was ever black and white. Sometimes a lie could be as gentle, as warm, as needed as the truth. Sometimes a fantasy could be the only thing keeping someone from falling apart.

So…

You hoped.

Hoped that one day, someone—anyone—might look at you and say, “You’ve paid enough.” Hoped that someone might wipe the slate clean because you couldn’t. You didn’t know how to. You didn’t feel worthy of the peace that came with forgiveness.

You didn’t know when—if ever—you’d deserve it.

Maybe… maybe once your sins were finally absolved, then you’d be allowed to love. Really love. Not just pretend. Not just play the part. But feel it—wild, reckless, terrifying and true.

Or maybe this was your punishment. To spend eternity in a masquerade of affection. To trade in false smiles and hollow touches. To play the lover but never be loved. To taste closeness but never truly feel it.

Maybe your punishment wasn’t fire or torment.

Maybe your punishment was emptiness.

And if that was the case… then maybe you could live with that.

Maybe you had to.

If your penance was to let your soul rot quietly under the weight of guilt until it cracked and dissolved, then so be it. You deserved to carry that burden. You had to carry it. Because if you let it go too easily… what would that say about the people you destroyed?

Your body trembled faintly, the emotions like aftershocks rumbling under your skin. And then, softly—“Wake up.”

You stirred. Your eyes fluttered open to the sound of Lucifer’s voice, delicate and warm like the brush of early light through curtains. A tear slid from the corner of your eye. You blinked it away quickly, embarrassed, and rubbed your eyes, masking it with a yawn.

It had been so long since you let yourself remember that moment of your life. Even longer since it brought you to tears.

How ridiculous.

How… human.

You forced a playful smirk and stretched, your arms rising above your head. “Morning, Luci~” you purred. He turned away instantly, and you followed his line of sight. He couldn't look at your body, bare and unapologetic in the morning light. A slow, teasing grin curled your lips.

“Oh? What’s this?” you cooed, fingers gliding languidly down his thigh, “You up for round two?”

His reaction was adorable, his ears flushed golden, and he coughed awkwardly, retreating an inch too quickly. You laughed, a bright, genuine sound that startled even you.

“I’m kidding, Luci,” you said through your smile, slowly reeling yourself back into the role you’d perfected. “We’ve got work to do, remember? One more run-through of our backstory before showtime.”

Just like that, your mask slid back into place. Smooth. Effortless.

Professional.

Last night was just… instinct. A lapse. A collision of bodies and buried loneliness.

That’s all it was.

Just sex.

And if you told yourself that enough times, maybe you’d start to believe it.

“Oh, ri-right,” Lucifer stammered, his eyes wide with realization. “I… should… waffles!”

The words tumbled out of his mouth in a breathless, garbled mess before he bolted from the room completely naked, limbs flailing, dignity left somewhere in the bedsheets.

You laughed, a soft, bubbling giggle that escaped before you could stop it. But as the sound faded into the quiet room, so too did the moment’s lightness. A hush settled over you like dust on forgotten furniture, and a wave of melancholy crept in, subtle but heavy.

This was it.

Today was the final act.

After the party… you'd go your separate ways.

Your smile dimmed, and you sat there for a long moment, letting the silence hold you. You shouldn’t feel this way. This wasn’t supposed to be real. It was all a performance. Yet, the ache in your chest didn’t care. It pulsed, slow and steady, reminding you that somewhere along the way, your heart had started to blur the lines between acting and wanting.

Still… what you had, even if it was a lie, mattered. The memories you'd made with him—however brief, however scripted—were yours. And for someone like you, who spent a lifetime weaving illusions, those moments felt more real than anything you'd ever known.

You and Lucifer had fallen into a rhythm, a frighteningly natural one. Morning routines, small shared jokes, the brush of fingers in passing… You played the part of lovers so well it almost didn’t feel like acting anymore. And tonight, it would all come to its final scene.

That night, you slipped into your dress, the fabric catching the light with every movement. A rich, gleaming, decadent gold hugged your curves, flaring out into black lace at the hem like midnight smoke curling around sunlight. You pinned the small black top hat to your twisted bun, the gold feather jutting elegantly from the side like a whisper of drama. Your heels clicked softly against the floor, and the delicate gold bracelet on your wrist gleamed with each graceful motion.

Lucifer, ever the creature of habit, donned the same immaculate white three-piece suit. He looked sharp. Timeless. Distant. But the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.

He stood at the edge of the portal, swirling light flickering in the air beside him. His hands twitched at his sides. His eyes darted—searching, uncertain.

Like a man walking into battle.

You didn’t hesitate. You stepped up beside him, reaching out and slipping your hand into his. The touch was simple, grounding.

He froze.

Then, slowly, his fingers curled around yours. He looked at you. His nerves were still there, but behind them was something gentler, trust, perhaps, or the desperate hope that maybe he wasn't walking into this alone.

You gave him a smile, one that you hoped was warm, steady, and sure.

Together, you stepped forward into the glowing portal.

Now or never.

Let this be your grand finale, your swan song for the year.

No more regrets.

You had enough of those to drown in already.

So tonight, you’d set them aside. You’d laugh, smile, and hold his hand a little tighter. You’d drink in the sound of his voice, memorize the curve of his grin, and cherish the way he looked at you like maybe, maybe, it wasn’t all pretend.

You’d live this one night like it mattered.

Even if it was wrapped in a beautiful, opulent lie.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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A/N: It's been a hot minute since I've last written human Alastor. Any readers/fans still out there?

Summary: A simple arrangement. A night of depravity with Alastor. But when he shows up, rough and hungry, your silly little crush turns into breathless moans, aching need, and a taste of something far too intimate to ignore.

Warning/Tags: f!reader, rough sex, friends with benefits (?), one-sided crush, oral (m!receiving), oral (f!receiving), p in v

Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

You pressed the letter to your chest, fingers curled tightly around the crisp parchment like it could anchor you. It was such a simple thing—cream-coloured, smooth to the touch, with elegant handwriting that looked too formal for the man you remembered. Just a date. A time. A location. No flourish beyond his name, and yet it felt like the world shifted when you read it.

Tonight, you would see Alastor.

Not hear him on the radio, not glance at him across a room, not serve him from behind the bar with trembling hands and a neutral smile. But see him. Be alone with him. After all this time.

You hadn’t spoken to him much when you were younger. He was just a boy in your class, well-spoken, peculiar, always humming something under his breath and smiling like he knew things no one else did. You remembered sitting beside him once during a group lesson, how your knees nearly touched. How you didn’t dare breathe too loud. He was kind. Polite. Distant. And you’d harboured the soft, foolish ache of a crush that never really went away.

Then life happened. He rose to stardom, his voice threading through static and speakers across Louisiana while you poured drinks in a half-lit lounge that reeked of gin and regret. Mimzy's wasn't where you'd imagined yourself ending up, but it paid the bills. And it was there, years later, that you crossed paths again.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. Why would he? He was a star. And you? You blended in like smoke against velvet curtains. But there was something in the way he looked at you that second night, something sharper. His eyes lingered. His smile deepened. And when he asked your name, he repeated it softly, like a secret he wanted to keep.

The drinks helped loosen his tongue. You watched his composure tilt, ever so slightly, as the alcohol warmed his blood. His words grew playful. He asked questions. About your life, your thoughts, your nights.

And he listened.

You weren’t sure how it happened. How something, so quiet, began to smolder. But when the letter arrived, you knew what it meant.

It wasn’t romantic. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be.

He’d offered nothing more than a meeting. No promises. No implications. Just a private room in a discreet little motel owned by someone he trusted. If you said his name at the front desk, they would give you the key.

You had spent the entire day preparing.

Your hair curled just right, soft waves framing your face. Makeup done carefully, lips painted with something that wasn’t too bold, but made your mouth feel like a secret waiting to be shared. You chose a dress that clung to your shape without looking desperate—modest, but far from innocent. And beneath it, lace. The kind you haven’t worn in years.

As the sun began to dip behind the city skyline, you stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to calm the nervous flutter in your chest. Your thighs pressed together, a dull ache building low in your belly. You wondered, foolishly, what he might look like now without the mask of a public figure. What his hands would feel like. What kind of lover he would be.

Would he touch you gently, slowly, savouring every breath you took? Or would he take his time unravelling you, relishing in your reactions like a connoisseur of sin? Would he whisper filth with that golden voice, or stay maddeningly quiet, letting his body speak instead?

The thought made you warm all over, heat blooming beneath your skin in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Then came the guilt. Heavy and cold. This wasn’t love. This wasn’t affection. It was just… curiosity, maybe. Lust, almost certainly. He hadn't promised you anything. And you weren't the kind of girl who fooled herself into thinking one night meant more than it did.

But it was hard to remember that with your heart beating the way it was. With your breath shallow and hands unsteady.

You checked the time and panic surged through you.

You were going to be late.

Scrambling, you slipped on your shoes, grabbed your coat, and clutched your small purse to your side. You hadn’t brought anything with you. Nothing… protective. There hadn’t been time, and you couldn’t bear the thought of someone recognizing you in the drugstore. What would they think, seeing a woman like you buying something like that? You still lived in a world where women were expected to be pure, reserved and marriage material. And yet here you were, stepping into the night, skin flushed and thoughts shameful.

You only hoped Alastor had thought ahead. He always seemed to be three steps ahead of everyone else.

Outside, the evening air was cool against your skin, but it did nothing to calm the heat within you. Your legs felt unsteady beneath your dress, and your throat was dry, no matter how many times you swallowed.

The walk to the motel passed in a blur. It was only a few blocks from Mimzy’s, tucked just far enough from the noise to feel like a secret. You followed his instructions, repeating his name to the creole woman at the front desk. Her expression softened with recognition, and without a single question, she handed you a brass key marked with the number 13.

“Far corner, last on the left,” she said, her voice carrying that honeyed Southern warmth. You nodded your thanks, fingers tightening around the key.

The hallway stretched long and dim, the carpet rough beneath your heels, and the walls were painted in a faded shade of ivory. The air smelled of dust and lemon, like old rooms trying to stay clean. When you reached the door, your hand trembled slightly as it turned the knob.

The room inside was plain, intimate in a way that made your breath catch. The bed sat neatly in the centre, covered in crisp white sheets tucked tightly beneath a thin quilt. A wooden radio perched on the nightstand, silent. The bathroom was visible through a cracked door—black and white tiles, steam-stained mirror. Everything smelled faintly of bleach and old wood.

You sat down slowly, smoothing your dress beneath you. The bed creaked beneath your weight. Eleven o’clock, he’d said. But the clock on the wall already read fifteen past.

You stared at the door.

And waited.

The stillness of the room curled around you, growing heavier with each second. That ugly, familiar feeling crept in, hot and sharp, burning just beneath your skin.

Doubt.

What if this was a joke?

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. A quiet laugh pushed into your throat, bitter and humiliating. Of course, he could be playing with you. You’d seen him do it before, with that same charming smile, that little glint in his eye when he fooled someone into believing a lie. He’d done it to you, more than once. Whispered some ridiculous nonsense and waited to see if you’d bite, only to laugh when you did.

Was this just another game? One that ended with you alone in a motel room, dressed like a fool, waiting for a man who was already laughing over a drink at Mimzy’s?

You swallowed against the burn behind your eyes. The shame crawled up your neck, flushing your skin, filling your chest with something that felt like heat and regret and the ache of longing.

“Ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath. You stood quickly, brushing invisible lint from your skirt as if it could scrub away your mistake. Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you turned toward the door.

You were halfway to the handle when it rattled. A sharp click, the sound of the lock unlatching.

Your heart nearly stopped.

The door opened—and there he was.

Alastor.

Brown hair tousled, cheeks flushed, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. His chest rose and fell quickly, the crisp white of his shirt smeared with a streak of deep red near the sleeve. He leaned back against the door, exhaling like he had run here on foot, like the night had chased him.

You froze.

“Ala—”

You didn’t get the chance to finish.

He crossed the gap between you and him and caught your shoulder in his hand, the touch firm but trembling. His body was warm. His eyes flicked to your mouth—and without ceremony, he kissed you.

No warning. No words.

His lips met yours hard, urgent, tasting of smoke and sweat and something sharp beneath it all. Your breath hitched in your throat, your body stiffening as heat rushed through you all at once. For a moment, your mind struggled to keep up, shocked into stillness, but your mouth opened beneath his without thought, instinct driven by the ache that had been building since the moment you read that letter.

His hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, fingers pressing through the fabric of your dress as if trying to memorize the shape of you. The kiss deepened, no longer gentle, but ravenous. It was messy, breathless, laced with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His lips brushed along the curve of your jaw, slow and possessive, the heat of his breath curling into the tender shell of your ear. You shivered as your whole body attuned to him at that moment, nerve endings flaring to life.

“So you came after all,” he murmured, voice low and rasped like a secret. Gone was the chipper, theatrical lilt he wore like a mask at the speakeasy. What remained was something intimate and unfiltered.

“O-of course,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper. Then a gasp escaped you as his fingers found the front of your dress, swift and practiced as he began undoing the buttons one by one. The brush of his knuckles against your skin made your thighs press together, heat pooling low in your belly.

You had thought—naively—that maybe he’d want to talk first. Maybe he'd share something about his day, or at least offer a kiss filled with slow affection.

Instead, he peeled the dress from your body, the fabric sliding down your arms like water, until it pooled around your feet. You stood in your lingerie, the room suddenly colder, yet your skin burned. His gaze dropped, lingered, and your breath caught when you saw the bulge straining at the front of his trousers. You quickly looked away, embarrassed at your own boldness, as your cheeks flushed hot.

You’d thought maybe he’d be gentle. That he’d ease into this, test the waters.

But Alastor’s hands gripped your hips, pulling you into him, until your bodies were flush. His mouth found your neck, lips soft but edged with teeth as he suckled at the delicate skin, drawing a gasp from you. His hips rolled against you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel the stiff heat of him through both layers of clothing.

Your fingers, shaky but eager, found the buckle of his belt. The metal clinked, then loosened. You popped the button, lowered the zipper. The moment the fabric loosened around his waist, his cock sprang free—thick, flushed, and heavy with need.

Your breath hitched, eyes fixed on the way his tip glistened faintly in the lamplight. But before you could admire him further, he reached up and brushed the edge of your bra aside, his fingers finding your nipple and pinching. You moaned, your body arching instinctively into his touch as he tugged and rolled the sensitive bud between his fingers.

It was dizzying, everything was fast, overwhelming, and fuelled with mind-numbing lust.

Driven by instinct, you dropped to your knees as his hands guided you downward. Your face hovered inches from his cock, your breath ghosting across his shaft. The warm amber light painted the room in gold, and the bead of precum glistening at his tip looked almost like molten dew.

You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the pulse of him beneath your palm. With reverence, you pressed a soft kiss to the head. Then another. Your tongue slid out, tracing the thick vein that ran along the underside, up to the slit. He tasted of salt and skin.

“Such a tease, darling,” Alastor breathed, his voice strained with need. His hips twitched when you swirled your tongue around the crown before slowly enveloping him in the wet heat of your mouth.

He groaned.

The sound made you shiver.

You eased him in, inch by inch, your jaw aching as your lips stretched to accommodate him. He was thick, your throat tightening around him as you tried to suppress the reflex to gag. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the tip of his cock nudged the back of your throat.

Alastor’s hand slid into your hair, fingers curling at your scalp as he murmured praise above you.

“That’s it,” he whispered, watching you with a dark, unreadable expression. “Just like that.”

He began to guide you, slow and controlled, the weight of him filling your mouth over and over as you bobbed your head. Each movement sent a pulse of wet heat between your legs, the slick ache of your arousal growing harder to ignore.

You moaned around him, and he groaned in response, hips bucking forward just slightly.

The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty, bitter and thick. Your lips suckled around him with wet determination, every obscene slurp echoing in your ears like a sinful melody. Saliva gathered in your mouth, spilling at the corners in warm rivulets, dripping onto your chin, your chest, the floor. You fought to breathe through your nose, jaw aching from the stretch, concentrating hard not to scrape him with your teeth.

When you dared to glance up, you found his dark gaze locked on your lips. He was lost in the sight of you, watching as your mouth took him deeper, again and again, his hips rolling slowly forward, guiding each shallow thrust as his hands kept your head steady. The tension in his thighs pulsed under your fingertips where you gripped the sides of his trousers, knuckles white, kneeling before him on aching knees.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the weight and rhythm of him overwhelming your senses. One, two, three more shallow thrusts, then he slipped free from your lips with a slick sound. A string of saliva stretched between you, glistening in the lamp light, connecting the swollen head of his cock to your spit-slicked mouth before finally breaking.

You rubbed your sore jaw, lips numb, cheeks flushed, and that’s when you heard it. A low, wicked chuckle from Alastor, smooth and delicious.

“Stand up,” he murmured, voice thick with want.

Your whole body shivered. A heavy, throbbing heat bloomed between your thighs, soaking through the thin cotton of your underwear. Your inner walls clenched with need. You rose unsteadily, trembling as arousal coiled tightly within you.

Before you could catch your balance, he turned you sharply and pushed you forward. The bed caught your fall. You caught yourself with your hands, elbows locked, legs parted slightly as his hands gripped your hips to steady you.

You were bent over the edge of the mattress, facing the wall. Your ass high, your pussy aching—on display. Open. Exposed. Needy.

The air felt thick, heavy with the scent of sex. Your panties clung to your soaked folds, the damp fabric peeling away as he hooked his fingers into the waistband and dragged them down your legs in one slow, deliberate motion. A soft groan escaped him as his thumb grazed the wet seam of your slit, parting your folds with reverence.

You gasped, mortified, when you realized he was crouching behind you. His face was so close, you could feel his breath against your core. His thumbs spread you wider as his fingers gripped your ass firmly, holding you open as he took in the view.

Your heart pounded in your throat. You were so exposed. So vulnerable.

Then—warmth. Wet, velvet, unrelenting.

His tongue dragged through your folds in one long, purposeful stroke before he buried it inside you. His lips sealed against your pussy, sucking gently, then harder, as he hummed into your core like he was tasting something divine. Your entire body trembled, a moan ripping from your throat as you collapsed against the sheets.

“Ah, Alastor—” you cried out, fingers curling into the mattress like you might fall straight through it.

He groaned in return, the sound vibrating through your cunt. His tongue moved with maddening precision, licking and stroking, drinking you down. One hand snaked around to the front of your body, fingers finding the swollen bud of your clit, circling, teasing, pressing in firm patterns that made your hips jerk.

You were unravelling, sobbing with every stroke of his tongue and flick of his fingers. The pleasure was blistering—hot and unrelenting. Your thighs shook, legs barely able to hold your weight. He devoured you, unashamed and ravenous.

You were right on the edge. Right there, just one breath away from release.

And then he stopped.

Everything stopped.

You gasped, body twitching in the sudden absence of sensation, the ache in your core unbearable. You whimpered, caught between frustration and desperation, nerves still singing with pleasure that had no outlet.

You turned your head, wide-eyed and panting, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Why—?” you began, breathless.

Before you could even beg him to keep going, you felt the blunt, searing heat of his cock nudging against your soaked entrance. There was no warning, no teasing. Just one smooth, forceful push, and he was inside you, sinking in with a delicious stretch that knocked the breath from your lungs.

Someone cursed—maybe him, maybe you. The sound was muffled, lost beneath the sharp rush of sensation as your walls struggled to accommodate his full girth. He filled you completely, every inch dragging against trembling, sensitive flesh until he buried deep in a place no one else had ever reached. The pressure was exquisite. Maddening. Perfect.

He gave you no time to adjust. No pause to catch your breath.

Alastor began to move.

He rolled his hips with a rhythm that was as deliberate as it was merciless—long, deep thrusts that melted into sudden shallow snaps. Slow enough to make you ache, fast enough to make your body jolt forward with each impact. Every stroke felt like fire, and your cunt clenched greedily around him, pulling him deeper as your cries grew louder, messier, more desperate.

Your arms gave out beneath you. The sheets tangled in your fists as your upper body slumped against the bed, a ragdoll held together only by the bruising grip of his hands on your hips. He pounded into you with a hunger that felt personal, like he needed to fuck you apart just to prove that he could.

Pleasure coiled tighter in your belly with every thrust. Your orgasm from earlier still hovered just beneath your skin, raw, and aching. Your thighs trembled, your abdomen clenched, and your walls fluttered around his cock—so close. You could feel yourself climbing, rising again with dizzying speed.

So close.

So fucking close.

And Alastor knew. He felt the way your body tightened around him. Saw the way your back arched and your breath hitched every time he struck that perfect spot inside you.

He adjusted his angle—just slightly—but it was enough. His cock drove into that sweet, trembling bundle of nerves with ruthless accuracy, again and again, each thrust a direct hit that had you screaming his name into the sheets.

And then—you broke.

You shattered around him, body convulsing as your orgasm tore through you with raw, animalistic intensity. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your fingers clawing the bed while your cunt milked him in desperate pulses. Your vision blurred, your hearing fuzzed, and for one moment you felt weightless—like your soul had left your body entirely.

But when the rush faded, you realized something had changed.

You were no longer being held.

You collapsed against the bed in a haze, your thighs sticky, your body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure still thrumming through your veins. When you turned your head to look back, Alastor was no longer behind you.

He stood over you, fisting his cock in a tight, fast rhythm. His breath was ragged. Lips parted. Eyes wild.

He stared at your swollen, used cunt like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Then—his gaze met yours.

A slow grin curled across his face, sharp and gleaming with wicked delight. He reached out, fingers curling in your hair as he pulled you forward, guiding you to your knees in front of him like a sinner awaiting communion.

“Open,” he rasped, voice almost broken, breath trembling.

You obeyed.

Your mouth parted, lips soft, tongue extended—and that was all it took.

His eyes fluttered shut, his head tipping back as thick ropes of cum spilled from the tip of his cock. The first shot landed hot on your cheek, the next in your hair. Another across your lips, dripping onto your tongue. He groaned—low and deep—as his hand kept working, coaxing out every drop until his strokes slowed, and his body sagged with release.

The taste of him hit your tongue, bitter and briny.

You swallowed it down.

Your lips glistened with his desire, your chest rose and fell with the weight of everything that had just passed between you.

And still, Alastor stared.

For a long moment, there was only breath—his and yours—tangled in the thick air. Your chest rose and fell like a storm-tossed tide, heart thundering like it wanted to burst free from its cage. The silence between you was loud, electric. You hadn’t expected it to go this far.

Suddenly, Alastor dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around you.

The embrace stole your breath more than any orgasm had.

“Ah—your shirt,” you blurted, self-conscious, words catching on a threadbare edge of panic. “I’ll get it dirty.”

He only laughed, deep and rich, the sound curling like smoke down your spine. “My darling,” he purred, his voice dragging over your nerves like velvet over bare skin, “that’s the least of my concerns.”

Heat rushed to your face. You buried it against the curve of his neck, inhaling him—black coffee, pine bark, and something metallic like rust or iron. The scent clung to him like a secret.

Your arms slipped around his waist, and his hand slid up your back in a slow, reverent stroke before coming to rest behind your head. It was a parody of tenderness, almost cruel. This was supposed to be simple. Just two consenting adults, no strings, no future. A transaction of heat and flesh.

But still—he held you like you were more.

And you let him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your muscles softening under his touch, sinking into the comfort of him. The ache in your thighs was eclipsed by the warmth blooming low and slow in your chest. It was late, your body humming from the high he'd given you, sleep tugging at your edges.

“Tired?” he asked, voice a hush at your temple.

“No,” you murmured, even as your limbs grew heavy, your weight settling against him.

At some point, you were weightless. He had carried you. The soft mattress kissed your bare skin, and you shivered when the sheets enfolded you. You should’ve felt exposed. Instead, you felt cherished. That frightened you more.

Then something strange passed between you...something gentle. He pressed a warm towel to your face, wiping away sweat, the mess of him, of you. Then, like a flicker of a memory from a life you hadn’t lived, he kissed your cheek. Soft and chaste.

It was that kiss that undid you.

Your mind tried to race—building dreams out of dust and nothing. Fantasies of a man who might stay. You saw flashes: mornings with him still in bed, coffee cups clinking, his laugh echoing through a shared kitchen.

No.

You smothered the thought before it could bloom.

“I hope to see you again,” he sighed beside you, sliding into the bed with the grace of a phantom. His fingers trailed along your bare shoulder, down your arm, and curled gently at your hip like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“I… I probably would answer,” you whispered, too quiet to sound like a promise, too honest to be a lie.

He smirked, slow and sly, before closing his eyes, settling into the silence beside you.

You watched the man you once knew and the stranger you barely understood. There was so much you wanted to ask. About his radio career. His mother. If he ever really left, or just changed his shape to survive.

Because in Mimzy’s bar, he still performed. Still put on that voice, that charm. But here, in the hush between breaths, in this room that smelled like sweat and something intimate, he was real. Here, you saw the cracks.

You wanted more of that. Of him.

But sleep, like the tide, pulled you under.

Maybe next time.

Maybe he’d give you a little more than just his body.

Maybe he’d offer a sliver of his soul.

But you wouldn’t fall in love.

You told yourself that firmly, like a child whispering protection against monsters in the dark.

It was just a silly crush.

And lies always sound sweetest right before sleep.

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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A/N: You thought I was going to leave Sunshine and Vox unresolved after that fiasco? Nah, nah, naw. This is a direct sequel to the story Second Place in Hell. As always, @safination this is for you.

Summary: One last date, one chance to decide if your tangled love with Vox can survive the complicated ties that bind him to Valentino. Under the bright lights of the carnival and the hum of tension, passion and loyalty collide in a night that will change everything. Will your hearts find a way forward, or will the shadows pull you apart?

Tags/Warnings: f!reader, established relationship, break up/make up, oral (f!receiving), oral (m!receiving), p in v, fluff, smut

My Sweet Sunshine Masterlist

You lay upside down on your velvet-soft couch, head dangling over the edge as the seventy-second season of Yeah, I Fucked Your Sister, So What? flickered on the oversized screen. The visuals passed by in a blur, the voices blending into static as your gaze stared through the ceiling.

All this wealth, all this comfort, came from Vox—your former boss, your ex-lover, your mistake. When the two of you got involved, he started showering you with gifts dressed up as company perks, bonuses that made it laughably easy to live in luxury for lifetimes without working another day. Even now, after you told him you were done, after you officially quit, the paychecks kept coming. Regular as ever.

You tried to cut ties. You called accounting. You begged, you demanded, you even threatened to send the checks back. But they always hung up on you, like they were under orders not to speak. So you stopped trying. Let him throw money at a ghost. You told yourself it didn’t matter.

But it did.

Because you still hadn’t thrown away a single thing he gave you. Not even the hundred blue roses he gave you that night. They were arranged in their tall glass vase, perched by your bedroom window like a shrine to something you couldn’t name. One by one, the petals began to curl, to brown, to fall. Every day, the flower got smaller, and you thought, maybe even hoped, that your sadness would fade along with it.

But it didn’t.

The grief stayed as loud and aching as the moment you walked away.

You hadn’t left your apartment in two weeks. The same set of pajamas clung to your body like a second skin. Takeout boxes crowded your kitchen counters. Your hair was a tangled mess. Once, you noticed orange crumbs on your cheek when you looked in the mirror; these were chips you didn't even remember eating. The show had been on a 24-hour loop, reruns rolling one into the next while you barely registered the plot.

Then the logo appeared again, sweeping across the screen in bright, obnoxious colours. Your throat tightened. And just like that, the tears came.

Again.

You cried the ugly, broken sobs that wracked your body and soaked the couch cushions.

It felt so stupid. You had told yourself a thousand times that you were finished. That he wasn’t good for you. That you had to leave. But none of that made it hurt less. None of that made you miss him any less.

Because when he held you, when he looked at you like he was trying to memorize your soul, it felt real. Even if it was temporary. Even if it was always destined to fall apart.

Yet, a small part of you believed that he meant it in his own way.

You gritted your teeth, dragging your hands over your face to scrub away the tears. No. He was a selfish bastard. He had a choice, and he never picked you. You were done chasing scraps of affection from someone who only knew how to love halfway.

You deserved more. You would find more.

Just… not today.

Today, you would let yourself mourn a little longer. You would eat more junk food, cry over more reruns, and sit among the dying roses like a queen in a crumbling palace of memory. The pain hadn’t left, but neither had your will to survive it.

When the last flower petal fall, you might be ready to stand up again.

“Vox,” Velvette snapped, her voice sharp like glass against stone.

He barely flinched. His eyes remained glued to the screen of his phone, where a grainy live feed showed the crumpled figure of his sunshine curled up on her apartment couch. She hadn’t moved much in days. The drone hovered in place like a ghost, bearing silent witness to her collapse. She cried during the sitcom’s laugh tracks, the soundless tremble of her lips cutting into him like guilt-laced static.

He could barely breathe watching her. Every cell in his body screamed to go to her, to wrap her up in his arms, to beg her to stay, to come back. He needed her more than he needed his next breath.

“VOX!” Velvette’s voice cracked across the room like a whip as she hurled her phone at his head.

He caught it in one hand without looking, his jaw tightening. His eyes slowly lifted from the screen. “What?”

Velvette was livid. She bent forward slightly, her arms pinned to her hips, her red eyes glowing like coals about to catch fire. “If you're done swimming in your own pathetic pity party, I need you to deal with those pathetic rats trying to take a bite out of my models and my business. They’re making moves, and I don’t trust anyone but you to put them back in their place.”

Vox groaned and rolled his head back. “Why not ask Val? Isn't this the kind of thing he gets off on?”

She gawked at him as if he’d suggested handing the keys of Hell to a toddler. “You want me to ask your pissbaby boyfriend to handle a delicate situation with tact and discretion? The same Val who once blew up a fashion house because they spelled his name wrong in a press release?”

Tired and worn thin, he rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. I’ll handle it. Just… let me pencil it in somewhere. Shit. Where’s my assistant?” His voice turned softer, distracted, as his eyes wandered back to the phone and his precious screen. He tapped into the feed again, searching for her. His babydoll.

His world.

Velvette dropped her hands and let out a groan of frustration. “You know what? Why don’t you two just fuck it out like you always do?”

That made Vox jolt. His head snapped up, confusion painting his expression. “Who? Val?”

“No, idiot. Your assistant. The one you’ve been fucking for five years.” Her voice was dry, unimpressed.

He let out a nervous wheeze, laughing thinly. “What are you even talking about?”

Velvette raised a perfectly arched brow. “Really? You think Val and I don’t know? You’ve been as subtle as a car crash. Everyone at VoxTek knows.”

A chill raced down his spine. It was one thing to risk Val’s wrath in private. But public knowledge? Headlines? Tabloids? The CEO of VoxTek cheating on the infamous Valentino with his personal assistant? The fallout would be catastrophic.

“Val knows?” His voice pitched into a whine, his shoulders tensing. The idea of dealing with one of Val’s explosive tantrums made his head throb.

Velvette scoffed and waved a hand like it was common knowledge. “Of course he does. He was the first to figure it out. But it worked in his favour. You left him alone when he ran off to screw around with his latest playthings. Honestly, this open relationship shit is ancient in Hell. You two just took forever to catch up.”

Vox blinked slowly. His mind struggled to catch up with the avalanche of emotion pressing into his chest. He cared about you. It wasn't casual. It had never been. When he was near you, the noise stopped. When he held you, he felt like he was something better, someone worth touching. Being without you made his skin itch. His productivity tanked. His temper frayed. Everything went wrong.

“So… Val is okay with me favouring my assistant?” His voice was cautious now, every syllable weighed with fear. The word he almost said—love—caught in his throat and burned.

Velvette groaned, tossing her head back like she couldn’t believe how stupid he was being. “You are so painfully dense sometimes.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer, the heat of her irritation rolling off her. “Val bitches constantly about how moody you get when he does what he wants. You were jealous, remember? But you got your own little toy now, so he figured it was only fair. As long as you don’t throw the word, love, around, he doesn’t care.”

That hit him like a slap. Before you, it did bother him. Valentino parading around with his conquests used to make Vox sick. But after you… the jealousy faded, replaced with something else. Something deeper. Something that terrified him.

Because this wasn’t just sex. Not anymore.

And Valentino? If he even suspected that what Vox felt for you went beyond lust, beyond control, beyond fun… he would burn everything down.

Including you.

Vox swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the phone still playing your feed. You sat motionless on the couch, eyes blank, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He clenched his jaw.

“But over the past few years, you two became more like business partners than lovers,” Velvette said, lazily inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. “He gets to screw whoever he wants, as long as your assistant keeps you distracted. It works out for him. Less whining from you, more freedom for him. Win-win.”

“Oh,” Vox breathed, barely able to process her words as his mind began to churn. He leaned back in his seat, eyes flicking rapidly as he ran through years' worth of arguments with you. Every painful fight, every time your voice cracked, asking why he wouldn’t choose you. Why he let Valentino come first. Why he never held your hand in public.

He always said it was complicated, that Hell was watching, that it wasn’t safe. But deep down, the truth was uglier. He needed Valentino. Not for love, but for leverage. Vox had power in spades, but Valentino opened doors, forged connections, cemented their dominance. Without him, Vox would’ve had to claw his way to the top alone.

But now… now maybe he didn’t have to choose.

His fingers twitched, itching to reach for his phone, to see you on that damn security feed again. You looked so small on that couch, tucked in a nest of pillows and grief. He hated himself for letting it go this far.

He stood up suddenly, posture straightening with purpose for the first time in weeks. There was a solution. A way to keep you and stay standing beside Valentino, without sacrificing everything he built.

“Velvette,” he said, voice tight with gratitude and simmering annoyance, “thank you for the information. Though, I would've appreciated it, I don’t know, sometime before my assistant started melting into the couch like a discarded ragdoll.”

His head twitched slightly, a small glitch betraying the surge of emotion behind his words.

Velvette shrugged with maddening nonchalance. Her gaze was glued to her Sinstagram feed. “Not my fault, you’re stupidly slow at reading social cues. I figured you'd already worked it out. You always act like you know everything.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but stopped short. She wasn’t wrong. For all his surveillance and obsessive need to stay ten steps ahead, this had been right in front of him the entire time.

“Hey—where the hell are you going?” Velvette called, irritation creeping into her voice as he turned on his heel.

“To get her back,” he said, determination slicing through every syllable.

She scoffed. “And I’m supposed to care? My problem, Vox,” she said, jabbing a finger toward her chest.

He halted, jaw tightening before spinning back toward his desk. “Fine. I’ll deal with your little fashion war first,” he muttered, dropping into his chair and pulling up data. His fingers flew over the keys, hacking into the rival company's system. His mind easily planned how to bring them down: hurt their brand, mess up their PR feeds, and leak damaging footage. It would be simple.

But even as he laid digital ruin to Velvette’s enemies, he opened a side chat window and sent a message.

He stared at his message, waiting for you to read it, his heart clawing at his ribs. He may not own your soul, but you owned his heart in every devastating, secret way. And even if he could never say it aloud in public, that truth burned hotter than Hell’s fire.

He would get you back if it was the last thing he did.

You should have locked the door. No. You should have packed a bag, left the apartment, and found some cheap hotel where he couldn’t reach you. Somewhere without mirrors, without memories. Somewhere without him.

But you didn’t.

And now, your heart pounded against your ribs, angry and afraid in equal measure. Weeks had passed in silence. Nothing. Not a word. And then out of nowhere, he had texted you.

He was coming tonight.

Why?

You stared at yourself in the mirror, bile rising in your throat. Your reflection made you flinch. Your eyes were hollow, cheeks dull, hair knotted from too many restless nights. You looked like someone who had lost something vital and had tried to pretend it didn’t matter. And then your gaze shifted to the apartment behind you in the mirror’s reflection, and a loud, bitter curse left your lips.

The place was a disaster. Blankets twisted like wreckage across the floor. Dishes stacked in the sink. Old takeout boxes. Forgotten laundry. It looked exactly like what it was. A den of someone grieving something they weren’t allowed to mourn.

You didn’t think. You didn’t even try to tell him off. You just… started moving. You cleaned like you were possessed, vacuuming and scrubbing as if the act itself would erase your shame. Then a hot shower, too hot, scalding even, as if you could scrape off the weeks he had ignored you. You washed your hair twice. You scrubbed behind your ears. You stood naked in the mirror for a moment and hated the way your skin still remembered his touch.

Then came the chaos of choosing what to wear. You tore through your closet in a frenzy, flinging shirts, skirts, and dresses into messy piles on the bed. Nothing looked right. Everything was too much or too little, too obvious or not enough. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that this wasn’t about him—that you were just going for an effortless look. But every glance in the mirror, every outfit change, said otherwise. You were dressing for him. As if the right look might somehow shield your heart from breaking.

In the end, despite all your claims of indifference, you reached for the sexiest lingerie you owned. The g-string was a whisper of lace, soft and sheer, with a delicate little “V” charm dangling at the front—subtle, but unmistakable. It sat low on your hips, practically teasing, hinting at secrets meant only for him. The push-up bra matched in black lace, framing your curves perfectly and giving you just the right lift to feel both confident and dangerously desirable.

For the dress, you chose something soft and bright, something that made your skin glow. A summer dress, pastel yellow, catching the light like sunlight trapped in fabric. White embroidery curled along the hem in delicate loops, brushing against your thighs with every step. The material hugged your figure just right, cinched at the waist and flowing out gently. The thin spaghetti straps rested lightly on your shoulders, letting your collarbones and neckline breathe in the open air.

Warm, inviting, and sweet with a hint of heat underneath, you looked just like the season. And as you gave yourself one last glance in the mirror, your lips parted in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. By five, the apartment was clean. Your hair was curled. Your lips were tinted with colour again. And worst of all, your door was unlocked.

You didn’t even know when you had done it. Somewhere between folding a blanket and tossing a shirt on the bed, you had decided to let him in.

Why? Why had you let him?

You began pacing the floor, hugging your arms tight around yourself. A storm of thoughts battered your brain. Maybe this was your chance to end things officially. You could tell him to stop sending those damn paychecks. You could cut all ties to VoxTek. You could look him in the eye and say goodbye for real.

Yes. That was what you were going to do.

You would be calm. Professional. Cold.

You told yourself he could take his expensive gifts with him. The jewellery, the designer shoes, the stupid limited edition tech that had once made you laugh. He could give them to someone else. Some new, infatuated little soul who hadn’t yet realized how disposable they were.

Then the doorknob turned.

You stopped breathing. Your face smoothed out. You tried to adopt some neutral expression, but the thud of your heart gave you away before he even walked in.

And then he appeared.

Wearing a soft sweater vest and a pair of worn jeans that made him look almost human. In his arms, he carried a bouquet so large it looked absurd. A hundred blue roses.

Your chest ached.

Why had you thought this was a good idea?

You had walked away for a reason. You had walked away and hadn’t once looked back. Because being near him hurt. Because you were weak where he was concerned. Because some part of you still loved him, even after everything.

You thought a few weeks apart would dull it. Make it manageable. Clean the poison from your system. But instead, the ache had only sharpened and the longing grown louder.

“Doll,” he whispered.

That voice. That smile. Lucifer help you.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t move. But then he stepped forward, dropped the roses like they were unimportant, and wrapped his arms around you.

He held you like he would fall apart without you.

“I want to take you out on a date tonight,” he murmured against your shoulder, his breath warm, his fingers sliding along your spine like he was trying to memorize the shape of you all over again.

You should have pushed him away.

But your hands didn’t listen. Neither did your heart.

“What?” you whispered, blinking like you hadn’t heard him correctly. Your hands were still raised in front of you, suspended midair, like they were waiting for instructions that never came. You didn’t reach for him. You didn’t push him away. You just… froze.

Vox pulled back, just enough to meet your gaze, and grinned with a kind of boyish mischief that made your heart stutter. “Let me take you out on a date,” he said, his voice light, teasing. “How about Voxtek World?”

He waggled his eyebrows, like this was some ordinary moment. Like the two of you hadn’t torn each other apart weeks ago. Like you hadn’t cried into your pillow, gasping out that you were done.

Your mind scrambled for something solid, something real. Everything felt upside down. The sudden shift in him made it hard to find your footing. Instead of the speech you had rehearsed about boundaries and closure, the only thing that came out was, “But that’s… really public.”

You scoffed, arms finally dropping to your sides. “Unless this is just another business dinner in disguise.”

But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look sheepish or sorry. Instead, he leaned in and kissed you.

And your body betrayed you instantly.

You melted into it without hesitation. His lips were the same. The taste of him, the heat of his electricity, the way he held you like he’d never let go—it all came rushing back like it had never left. You hated how natural it felt. You hated how much you missed it.

“No, sunshine,” he murmured against your lips, brushing them once more with his own, “a real date. Just you and me. Holding hands. Maybe making out under the ferris wheel.”

Then he pulled out his phone and turned it off. A small thing, but one you knew well. He used to do it every time before a proper date, a sign that he was present, that the world could wait. That you were his priority.

Your brows pulled together, the disbelief still refusing to let go. You didn’t understand. None of this made sense. If he was doing this, did that mean he broke things off with Valentino?

No. That would’ve made headlines. The media would’ve exploded.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly, voice barely audible. “What changed?”

He met your gaze without flinching. His eyes, for once, were calm. “I know I can’t give you everything you want, doll,” he said, and his clawed finger traced gently down your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “But I can give you as much as I’m able. I can try.”

You should have been angry. You should have yelled, demanded more than scraps of affection and broken promises. But instead, you just felt… curious. Suspicious. Hopeful. Everything, all at once.

“What does that even mean?” you asked, voice thin with doubt.

He smiled, slow and soft, and slipped his arms around your waist. “It means our relationship, out in the open. No hiding. No pretending. It’s what you wanted, right?” His voice remained gentle, but there was a flicker of fear behind his eyes. Like he wasn’t sure if it was enough.

You should have shoved him away.

But your heart had been aching without him. The ache was so familiar now, so woven into your daily life, that this—his arms around you, the sound of his voice—felt like coming home. You had missed him. God, you missed him more than you’d ever admit.

Maybe with more time, you could’ve gathered the strength to say no. Maybe. But right now, as he leaned in again, as he searched your eyes for something warm, something forgiving, and whispered, “Please, sunshine?”

Your last wall came crashing down.

The love you thought you’d buried clawed its way to the surface, angry and tender all at once. You hated it. Hated how easily it returned. You wanted to scream, to beg your heart to stop caring.

Instead, you exhaled shakily and said, “One date.”

He froze, clearly unsure if he heard you right.

“You get one date,” you repeated, eyes darting away before he could see the cracks forming again. “To convince me. That you’re willing to take a real risk. To be with me, for real.”

His expression softened with something close to awe. And for just a second, you let yourself believe. Not in forever. But perhaps—just possibly—in tonight.

You didn’t know if he was telling the truth. Part of you wanted to believe that he meant it, that he would finally be open with you in public, finally stop hiding what the two of you had. But doubt crept in, curling tightly in your chest. What if this was just another illusion? Another line? Even so, perhaps it was worth clinging to if he was prepared to make the initial move and if he had the courage to risk everything for a brief moment with you in front of the world's lights and eyes.

“But if you fail, then we’re don—”

You didn’t even get to finish.

His mouth crashed into yours with a force that stole the words from your tongue. His kiss was hot and consuming, lips parting yours with a desperation that bordered on hunger. His tongue swept through the seam of your lips, tasting you, claiming you, stealing every protest you were about to make.

“Yeah, baby,” he whispered between kisses, his breath trembling with want, “one date.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep.

“I’ll make sure you’re the happiest when you’re in my arms.”

He said it like a promise. And even though you’d heard those words before, so many times that they should’ve sounded hollow, your heart still fluttered. You melted, just a little, helpless against the warmth of his voice and the tenderness in his touch.

VoxTek World was loud, dazzling, and filled to the brim with sinners. Neon lights lit up the crimson Hellsky, carnival music drifted through the air, and the scent of fried food and artificial cotton candy wafted around you. Everywhere you turned, there was laughter, flashing screens, and animatronic mascots welcoming guests. Vox, naturally, was glowing with pride, chatting with anyone who stopped him, boasting that it was quickly becoming the most visited amusement park in the Pride Ring. He even said it was starting to attract Hellborns from other rings.

You should have rolled your eyes. But instead, you found yourself smiling.

Maybe it was the workaholic in you, the part that had spent three exhausting decades climbing your way through the heart of Voxtek. You weren’t on this project—your time had been swallowed by the demands of Vinder, Vwatch, and VPhone—but you remembered the endless meetings on his calendar. You remembered how he spoke about the park like it was his child. A dream he wanted to breathe life into.

You had almost forgotten that the opening ceremony had been last week. You didn’t watch it. You hadn’t even asked how it went. And now, standing here, you felt a faint, unexpected sadness for having missed it. A strange pang in your chest at the thought of not being there, even though you were no longer his employee. No longer… his anything.

“I would’ve loved to have you by my side,” Vox murmured.

His claws gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and the tenderness in the gesture froze you.

Your eyes widened. “What?” You stiffened and quickly glanced around. There were people everywhere. Sinners were walking past, some glancing your way, others pretending not to. And Vox… he didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t hiding you. He wasn’t keeping his distance.

He was touching you. Guiding you. Treating you like someone important.

“The opening ceremony,” he continued softly, his palm finding its way to your hip as he steered you through the crowd. “You would’ve been beautiful by my side.”

He sounded wistful, and you weren’t sure what to do with that.

“I had Velvette pick a dress for you,” he added, then hesitated. “But… well, I know you left. I didn’t expect you to come.”

Your heart twisted. You weren’t sure if it was guilt or something more complicated.

“The park’s still a work in progress,” he said, trying to brighten his tone as he looked down at you. His hand never left your hip. “But it’s getting there. Just like us, huh?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Everyone was looking. His arm around you, his hand resting comfortably on you as if it had always belonged there and making it clear that you weren’t just some guest. You were someone. You were with Vox.

Your cheeks flushed with heat. You weren’t used to this—the attention, the affection, the public acknowledgment. You had spent so long watching other couples walk by, hand in hand, smiling like the world belonged to them. Now, you were one of them. Or at least pretending to be.

And all the fire you had built up inside you, all the anger and hurt you carried to throw in his face, slowly began to quiet.

Not because everything was fixed.

But because for the first time, it felt like he might actually want to try.

You leaned in closer to him, just a little, barely enough to notice. But even that tiny movement made a difference. His warmth radiated into your body, seeping beneath your skin like sunlight in the cold. Your cheeks were burning, the flush of colour high on your face from the sudden affection, from the way his presence overwhelmed your senses.

“Pretty,” Vox murmured, his voice low, affectionate, almost reverent. “My babydoll.”

He came to a stop in front of the mirror house, pausing at the very first mirror—the only one that reflected your image truthfully before the chaos of distortions inside. The glass caught your reflection perfectly. You saw yourself standing there, tucked into him like you belonged.

And then you saw the eyes. The sinners passing by, stealing glances. Some looked on with curiosity, others with a touch of envy, as if they were seeing something rare and precious. But your attention was pulled downward, to his hand still gripping your hip in a possessive manner.

Then your gaze lifted to your expression, and embarrassment struck like a slap. You looked utterly lovestruck. Your face glowed red, your fingers nervously fidgeting, laced together in front of you like some pathetic blushing virgin. You hated how obvious it was. How vulnerable you looked. How affected.

“You’re perfect in my eyes, sunshine,” Vox said, his voice warm and certain.

He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

You jolted. Not from the kiss itself, but from where it happened. Out here. In the open. That was the first kiss he’d ever given you in public, and your heart wasn’t prepared for it. Your emotions tangled into a confused storm, eyes stinging with heat, chest tightening. Just weeks ago, you were ready to walk away. To forget him. To reclaim your life and leave all this behind.

And yet… here you were. Basking in his attention. Letting yourself soak in every second of his affection. And you were happy.

Genuinely, terrifyingly happy.

“Vox, you don’t have to force yourself—”

“Force myself?” he interrupted with a scoff. His grip on your hip tightened, and his gaze sharpened like a blade drawn in the dark. “Babydoll, I’ve had to force myself not to fuck you in the parking lot. Or bend you over this mirror, so everyone here would know exactly who you belong to.”

The heat slammed into your body, pooling low in your belly. You expected something lewd—it was Vox, after all—but not like this. Not here. Not now. In public.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and you hissed under your breath as you glanced around in a panic. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Your voice was sharp, but the blush on your face betrayed you, deep and furious and alive.

Vox only laughed, rich and amused, like your flustered state was his favourite thing in the world. “Just being honest, sweetcheeks,” he said, voice dripping with mischief.

Then his hand slipped lower, bold and deliberate, giving your ass a firm squeeze before settling back on your hips as though nothing happened. “Now,” he purred, “shall we keep this date going?”

You were too stunned to speak. Your thoughts twisted into anxious knots as you simply nodded, letting him lead you along.

But beneath the surface of your flushed skin and racing heart, worry began to spread like a slow, creeping vine.

What if you were pushing him too far? What if this show of affection, this rebellion against the roles he usually played, had consequences? You had seen what happened when things between Vox and Valentino soured. You had seen the cracks in his screen, the dullness in his eyes after one of their fights. He would keep working like nothing happened, but you had seen the wreckage. The broken furniture. The shattered tech. The bruises that never made it to the surface, but you knew were there all the same.

Overlords didn’t maintain their power through kindness. They ruled through dominance, fear, and destruction. And now, for the first time, you were starting to grasp the weight of that power. The danger of it. The cost.

Would Valentino hurt Vox for this?

And if he did… would that be your fault?

A sudden weight pressed against your chest, heavy, and suffocating like wet wool draped around your lungs. The thrill of the date, the joy in his laughter, all of it dimmed beneath the creeping fog of realization. This entire time, all you ever wanted was for him to choose you. Just you. To turn his back on Valentino, to draw a line and say, “This is mine.” But now, as you looked around, that hope felt naive.

Voxtek World stretched around you in every direction, loud and blinding, made from lights, steel, and money. His name was carved into every corner of it, stamped with pride. This place didn’t exist without power. Without territory. Without calculated ambition.

And you had loved that part of him once.

You still did, didn’t you?

That ambition, the endless hunger for more, had drawn you in from the start. You admired it because you were the same. You had your own goals, your climb to make. You fell in love with a man who never stopped reaching higher, and Vox had always been more than a lover. He was your mirror in that way.

However, none of this could have occurred if he had not been perpetually engaging in battles for control, forging alliances, and eliminating threats. If he let go of that power, even for a second, it would all collapse. You knew that. And so did he.

It was complicated. You and him. Always had been.

And maybe that was the problem. You didn’t want complicated. You wanted the good parts. The soft touches. The late-night laughter. The warm glances that said everything without a word. You didn’t want to bear the weight of the rest. The danger. The deals. The damage.

He had told you, again and again, that it wasn’t that simple. That you couldn’t have one half of him and not the other. You understood that now, more clearly than ever. Vox without ambition wasn’t Vox. And if you carved that part out of him, if you asked him to trade it for a quieter life, would you even still love what was left?

You stopped walking.

The joyful screams of riders, the clatter of games, the scent of fried food and sugar all blurred together in a distant haze. None of it reached you. Your eyes stayed locked on Vox as he paused ahead of you, turning back, his expression still bright as he began to describe another attraction. Then he noticed your stillness, and his smile softened. Real. Gentle. Just for you.

And at that moment, your heart spoke louder than your mind ever could.

You didn’t need this date to confirm anything. You already knew. You had always known. Vox wasn’t just someone who passed through your life—he was woven into it. Threaded through your memories, your routines, your quietest moments. You could scream that you were done, you could walk away, but your heart would always follow him, aching.

“I want that toy,” you said, suddenly, voice light and trembling. You pointed toward a nearby booth, needing a distraction, something simple to tether you. It was one of the classic games, glass bottles stacked in a pyramid and a bucket of balls beside them. The prize was a plush, oversized blue shark with a wide, cartoony grin.

It looked just like Vark—Vox’s beloved, ridiculous pet shark, now apparently one of the park mascots.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss your temple, soft and fleeting. “Anything for you, doll,” he said, with a warmth that made your chest ache.

He guided you both toward the booth, his hand never leaving the small of your back. He would get you that toy, no matter how many tries it took. Because that’s who he was. He always tried for you. Even when it wasn’t perfect. Even when it hurt.

And as you watched him step forward to pay, his screen reflecting the neon light, his smile sharp but sincere, you knew the truth.

You were in love with him. Fully. Hopelessly.

But those were dangerous words in Hell. Words that could get people killed when said to the wrong man. Especially one with enemies. Especially one like Vox.

Still, love didn’t always need to be spoken. It could be shown, hinted at, lived out in quiet gestures and stubborn hope. And if that was the only way you could say it, then you wanted to find those ways with him.

You clutched the blue Vark plush against your chest, its goofy grin and soft texture already endearing, and you couldn’t stop smiling. Vox watched you with something warm in his eyes, though he’d never admit to how much your delight meant to him. The carnival lights cast a gentle glow over both of you as you walked away from the game booth, funnel cake in one hand, Vark in the other.

“That thing’s bigger than your torso,” Vox remarked, smirking as you adjusted your grip on the oversized plush. “You really going to carry it around all night?”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “I can manage.”

Vox snorted, already pulling out his Vphone. “Or—and hear me out here, dollface—we could send it to your place. Let the VoxTek drone boys handle it. Hands-free experience.” His lips curled around the last words, oozing with sales-pitch charm.

You burst into laughter, half-choking on your joy. “Are you seriously trying to sell me your delivery service like this is a commercial?”

He grinned wider, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I’m always on-brand. Plus, wouldn’t want your arms getting tired before I find something more fun for you to carry.”

You gave him a playful glare and gently smacked his arm with the Vark plush. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” he corrected smugly, tapping a few buttons before you could protest. “Drone’s already on its way. It’ll be at your condo before we’re done with dessert.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the bubbling laugh that escaped you again. “You’re unbelievable.”

The two of you wandered through the park, riding roller coasters and spinning tea cups. You shared sticky carnival snacks, cheered over rigged games, and held hands under the glow of flickering lights. It felt easy, too easy, and you knew the night was slipping by too fast.

Eventually, you’d have to answer him. You’d have to decide whether you could live with the dynamic between him and Valentino, and whether you could be the one waiting quietly in the wings.

“Sunshine,” Vox called, his hand warm around yours as he pulled you toward the Ferris wheel. At the centre of the towering structure glowed a massive blue VoxTek logo, and each gondola was shaped like a glittering V, rimmed with bright lights that pulsed gently against the darkening sky.

You gave him a look, half teasing. “This might be the most shameless branding I’ve ever seen.”

He grinned. “How about we end the night here?” he said, guiding you into one of the gondolas.

Inside, the seats were cushioned, the atmosphere strangely intimate. You didn’t even wait in line.

“The VIP fast pass really is something else,” you mused, glancing out at the crowd still waiting. It was a clever, if ruthless, system. The more you paid, the faster you moved through the park. The highest tier—the black onyx VIP pass—was reserved for Hell’s elite, and it allowed complete access to the park without ever waiting in lines.

“Naturally,” Vox said with a smirk, settling into the gondola.

When the door clicked shut, your eyes widened. The top portion of the walls had turned transparent, revealing a breathtaking view of the park below. Neon lights blinked in every colour, the noise fading into a distant hum.

“We live in the age of subscription, baby,” he added with a wink.

You snorted at that, shaking your head. “Don’t I know it.” But your attention shifted quickly to the view outside, the lights swirling below like glowing confetti.

“Congratulations,” you said softly, your legs brushing his as you sat across from him, your gaze fixed on the towering symbol of everything he had built.

“Sunshine.” His voice was lower now, heavier. You turned your head and met his eyes as he reached for your hand and gently tugged.

Confused, you let him pull you closer until you found yourself straddling his lap.

His hands slid down your back and gripped your ass, kneading the soft flesh with a low groan. His head tilted forward, resting against your shoulder, and for a moment, the only thing that existed was the heat between you and the quiet hum of the Ferris wheel as it climbed higher into the sky.

The moment your eyes met his, you couldn't stop the smirk from curling at the corners of your lips. You leaned over him, the plush seat of the ferris wheel cabin creaking beneath your shifting weight. Warm air hummed around you, filled with the faint scent of fried sweets and ozone, the glow of neon lights flickering across the glass walls like distant stars.

“Really, Vox?” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady even as a low ache twisted in your stomach. It had been over eight months since either of you had properly touched each other, truly felt each other—and not one night had gone by where you didn’t feel the absence of his body heat in your bed. Still, you feigned nonchalance, letting your voice lilt with mock disinterest. “Maybe you can stop by my place tonight,” you said, the suggestion hanging heavy in the space between you, thick with implication. “I wouldn’t mind keeping you up all night… you did say, I could scream at you all I want.”

A slow breath escaped him, and then that damn smirk returned—cocky and hungry. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice lower now, richer. “How about now and later?” His words melted into the air like warm chocolate, just before his hands slid over your hips and dragged you down, pressing your heated core right against the stiff bulge in his pants.

You gasped and opened your eyes wide as your body felt a jolt of electricity. The contact was sharp and intoxicating, your breath catching in your throat. You darted your gaze to the window, seeing the other carts gently swaying in the distance. Some riders were even peeking into yours, curious and unsuspecting. Heat rose to your cheeks as the cart dipped briefly, revealing a full view of the line below, before slowly climbing again. You had one more cycle left before the ride would end.

“Vox,” you hissed under your breath, shooting him a look, “You can’t seriously think you’ll finish less than thirty—”

Before you could finish, the cabin jerked slightly, and then all motion ceased. A loud static crackled overhead, followed by the distorted voice of an announcer.

“We apologize for the inconvenience. Due to unexpected technical issues, the ride is temporarily paused. We’ll resume as soon as the problem is resolved.”

You sat there, blinking, the world momentarily frozen. Then you looked back at him, suspicion dawning as his lips curled into a guilty grin. You followed his gaze to the top of the cart, where the glittering skyline of the amusement park spread beneath you like a map of coloured lights. You were at the very top. Of course, you were.

“Vox…” you narrowed your eyes.

“What?” he replied, voice dripping with faux innocence as he raised a single finger. A faint spark crackled at the tip before he extinguished it with a wink. “Total coincidence.”

“You’re such a—” The words never made it out. Instead, you let your smile twist into something dangerous and playful, a silent promise, as your fingers slid down and worked open the button of his jeans.

The soft scrape of denim parting, the sound of his quickened breath, the thrum of his pulse—it was all delicious. You fished him out, his cock hot and heavy in your hand, throbbing with need. Your thumb dragged slowly across the slick bead at the tip, and Vox groaned, his head falling back with a soft thump against the glass wall behind him.

“Oh, baby…” he breathed, hips twitching at your teasing touch.

You lowered yourself between his spread legs, the cool air brushing against your thighs as your summer dress rode up. You felt the wet cling of your g-string, soaked and doing nothing to hide just how much you wanted this. Wanted him.

Vox widened his stance slightly, anticipation written in every tense line of his body. His cock pulsed, thick and glistening, his eyes locked onto yours like a man starved. Lust shimmered in the air between you, thick and golden, like honey melting under the sun.

And you had no intention of letting this end quickly.

Your lips parted, warm breath ghosting over the flushed head of his cock. You gave him a slow, teasing lick, the tip of your tongue flicking over the sensitive slit before dragging down the veined shaft. It was shameless, deliberate—like the time you'd joked about sucking on that blue, dick-shaped lollipop last Christmas, but now it was him you were tasting, and this time, it was no joke.

A deep, shaky moan escaped his throat, raw and low. His claws tangled in your hair, not yanking, but anchoring himself to reality as his hips gave a slight, involuntary twitch. He was fighting the urge to thrust into your mouth, trembling from restraint.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice rough and breathless, “I missed this. Missed your mouth.”

You responded by taking him deeper, your lips wrapping around the head and sucking with a wet, deliberate pull. Your tongue swirled underneath as you bobbed slowly, creating obscene, sticky sounds that echoed off the walls of the ferris wheel cart. Saliva spilled from the corners of your mouth, coating him, making everything slick.

Your hand slipped down, cradling his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm. They were hot and full, tight against your skin. Vox hissed through his teeth, claws tightening in your hair, mussing it as he tried not to fall apart too soon.

With a loud, wet pop, you pulled back and met his eyes. Your lips were red and swollen, cheeks flushed with heat. “You’re not going to come that fast, are you, sweetheart?” you teased, your voice thick with challenge.

The moment your words landed, something dark flickered across his face.

Unexpectedly, he grabbed you and threw you across the opposite seat. The entire cart swayed with the sudden motion, groaning slightly from the shift in weight. Your breath caught, but you didn’t hesitate—you spread your legs wide, unabashed, letting him see how soaked you were. Letting him smell the heat radiating off your skin.

He growled low in his throat as he knelt between your thighs. His eyes locked onto the tiny scrap of lace stretched over your pussy, the g-string damp and clinging to your folds. “I was wondering if you were wearing anything when I grabbed your ass earlier,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust.

Lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, he pressed his face flush against your core, burying himself between your thighs. “Fuck…” he breathed into your skin, the vibration of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

Then, with a sharp snap of his claws, the thin fabric gave way. The sound of your gasp bounced off the glass, and your back arched as his hot, smooth, eager tongue finally touched you. He licked a slow, deliberate path through your folds before plunging his tongue into you.

You moaned, breath hitching as he fucked you with his tongue, curling it inside and tasting every inch. Then his thumb pressed lightly against your clit, swirling and teasing your swollen nub with purpose. You cried out, fingers clawing at the seat beneath you.

“I missed this taste,” he groaned between laps, his words muffled against your drenched cunt.

You could feel the subtle rhythm of his other arm moving, jerking himself off as he devoured you. He took his time, savouring like a feast, moaning praises against your skin. Pleasure built slow and heavy in your belly, your eyes prickling with tears from the intense heat, the endless teasing.

And then, through the hazy fog of lust, you caught movement out the window. A sinner in a nearby cart had their face pressed to the glass, eyes wide, mouth parted. Oh, God! They could see the outline of your body, your head thrown back, your chest heaving.

Luckily, Vox was on the floor. They couldn’t see the filthy, glorious things he was doing between your legs.

As if plucking the thought straight from your mind, he pulled back with a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes met yours, knowing, sly, and mischievous, and his lips glistened with your arousal, his tongue flitting out to taste it.

Without a word, he moved you, coaxing your pliant limbs with a confidence that made your breath hitch. The cabin swayed gently as he manoeuvred you into position, the low hum of the Ferris wheel and the occasional creak of metal amplifying the pulse in your ears. The seat’s edge dug lightly into your knees as you bent forward, bracing yourself with trembling hands on the seat in front of you. Your back arched instinctively, hips raised in silent offering.

Your thighs pressed together, seeking friction, and your body trembled with anticipation. You could feel the heat of him behind you; he was tall and commanding, and he fit every curve you showed. His fingers skimmed up the backs of your legs, pausing to squeeze the soft flesh before trailing inward, slow and teasing.

“V-Vox…” you breathed, shivering as his cock slid between your folds, smearing a mixture of your slick and his spit against your wet entrance.

His hands gripped your waist, guiding you as the swollen tip of his cock teased your core, nudging in and out of you in slow, shallow motions. It was maddeningly delicious.

As you opened your mouth to tell him to be quiet and be more discrete because people were still looking, he pushed deeper into you and buried himself with one smooth, firm stroke.

Your mouth dropped open, but no sound came out, only breathless awe. His thick length pressed into every perfect spot, and your body clenched greedily around him.

Your legs trembled, vision swimming from the dizzying pace of his thrusts. Just as your body threatened to collapse, Vox caught you with one arm around your waist. The other slipped beneath your loosened dress, claws gliding up the soft underside of your breast. With a low, dark chuckle, he shoved his hand under your bra, gripping and massaging the plush flesh like it belonged to him.

“Ah, Vox!” you cried, your back arching as his cock slammed into your deepest point, knocking the breath from your lungs.

His claws tugged on your nipple, rolling and twisting the swollen bud while he kept driving into you, each thrust sharp and brutal. Your slick walls fluttered around him, every drag of his cock lighting your nerves on fire.

The cart rocked with every movement, creaking as it swung wildly from side to side. Your hair clung to your sweat-slicked skin, sticking to your face and neck. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes from the sheer intensity of it all, but you didn’t try to stop them. You caught sight of the sinner again through the haze of lust. He had his face stuck to the window of the next cart, hoping to get a better look.

You grinned through the chaos, breathless and bold. Let them watch.

“Oh fuck, baby,” Vox groaned, voice rough and desperate, each word rasping past his lips between wet slaps of skin on skin. “You feel so fucking good, so tight and messy for me.”

His grip on your breast tightened, clawed fingers tweaking your nipple hard enough to make you cry out. The pain sharpened the pleasure, sending electric jolts straight down your spine to your aching, soaked pussy.

“Fuck, I need you to scream for me,” he growled in your ear, biting down lightly on your neck. “Let every miserable fuck down there know who this pussy belongs to. Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, yours!” you sobbed, throwing your head back, overwhelmed by the relentless rhythm of his cock rearranging your insides.

“Damn right,” he snarled, panting, as he dug his fingers into your hips. “And I’m not even close to done with you, doll.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and slammed you back down onto his cock. Your cunt swallowed him whole, slick and twitching, milking him greedily.

“I want you all fucking night,” he huffed, thrusting up into you with enough force to make the cart shake. “Might bend you over the hood of my car in the parking lot. Fuck you right there while the engine’s still hot.”

Each filthy word made your core clench harder around him. The cart smelled of sex, thick, heady, and animalistic. It clung to your skin and his, soaked into the fabric of your clothes, the air itself damp with sweat and arousal.

“Maybe you suck me off while I drive us home,” he whispered against your ear, voice dripping with promise. “Tonight I’ll make you come so hard your legs give out. So hard you can’t talk right for days. All you’ll know is how to scream my name.”

Before you could respond, he shifted, gripping your waist and driving you forward. Your knees hit the seat in front of you, and you gasped, both palms splaying against the glass as he continued to fuck you in earnest. The chill of the window shocked your flushed cheek while your saliva smeared across it, dripping slow and wet down the surface.

Then—slap—his palm cracked against your ass, the sting sharp and sudden. Your breath hitched, but pain melted into pleasure the moment he rammed back inside. Your pussy, raw and hungry, sucked him in like you’d never let him go.

“You like that, huh?” Vox grunted, every word ragged. “You like being fucked like my personal fuck doll?”

All you could do was moan, choked and hoarse, as the pleasure crested higher and higher, tight and trembling at the edge.

“Fucking perfect,” Vox groaned, never slowing, fucking you through every twitch and tremble, like he had every intention of wringing out every last drop of your sanity.

Your scream tore through the cart, raw and trembling, as your body convulsed with an earth-shattering climax. Muscles clenched, nerves aflame, your pussy pulsed around Vox’s cock, holding him tight like it never wanted to let go. You barely registered the creak and lurch of the Ferris wheel starting to move again—time felt irrelevant, lost beneath the weight of pleasure.

Then, with a deep, guttural growl, Vox came with brutal intensity. His hips slammed flush against yours, holding you still as he spilled himself inside, thick and hot, in powerful waves. You could feel him paint every inch of your insides, each pulse of release forcing a gasp from his throat and a whimper from yours.

He stayed buried in you, panting against your skin, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. And when he finally pulled out, slow and careful, you felt everything. A warm, slick fullness slipping free of your swollen cunt, followed by the soft, obscene plop of his cum spilling onto the seat below.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your limbs were jelly, your mind fogged and distant, adrift in a post-orgasmic haze. Vox smoothed your hair and fixed your dress with unexpected tenderness, but he hardly tried as you remained a mess, dazed, used, and glowing.

When the cart doors opened, and you stepped out with him, your ears barely caught the ambient noise of the amusement park. Voices, music, laughter—background static compared to the ache between your legs and the steady slide of wetness down your thighs. His seed mixed with yours, warm and slick, coating your inner thighs with every step.

Then you saw it.

A small droplet of milky fluid hit the pavement beneath your feet.

“Oh, shit…” you mumbled, staring in disbelief.

Vox glanced down and grinned, wicked and smug. “Sunshine, might want to take an extra day off work before you come back into the office.”

Your head whipped toward him. He looked so calm, so collected, as if he hadn’t just fucked you senseless in a rickety old cart and left you dripping with the evidence.

“I know I gave you enough vacation,” he added casually, draping an arm around your waist, “but I need my sunshine around. Gets too damn dark without you.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you in close, his arms circling you fully in the middle of the walkway, in plain view of everyone. The breeze ghosted between your legs, cool and teasing against your flushed, overstimulated skin, but you only leaned deeper into his embrace.

Because at that moment, it hit you.

You couldn’t walk away from him.

For all his chaos, for all the lust and rough edges, Vox had wrapped himself around you in more ways than one. You saw it in the way he held you now, not just with his arms, but with his presence—possessive, warm, and fiercely yours.

So what if this wasn’t a fairytale romance? You had something real. Something raw and alive. And Vox, for all his twisted tendencies, was trying. He was trying to be more than just an overlord who took what he wanted.

You gave him a sly smirk and leaned in close. “Understood, sir,” you whispered. “I assume that means you’re taking tomorrow off too?”

He grinned, teeth gleaming, eyes filled with heat and something softer. “Baby, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

And he didn’t.

He didn’t change overnight. He didn’t cut Valentino off or turn into someone new. He still answered when Val called—sometimes with a sigh, sometimes with silence—but he always came back to you.

You understood.

Whatever Vox had with Valentino wasn’t simple. There were obligations, entanglements, histories thick as blood and twice as binding. It wasn’t just a matter of walking away. You’d stopped asking him to.

That's why you didn't fight him when his phone rang, and he stood there with that tension in his shoulders that meant he was going to leave. You just looked at him, steady and quiet, and said, “Come back when you can.”

And he did.

Every time.

He didn’t promise he’d stop answering Val. He didn’t pretend the world he lived in wasn’t dark, messy, and far from fair. But he gave you something more honest—his effort. His presence. His trying.

It wasn’t grand or romantic in the traditional sense, but it was real.

It was in the way he brushed your hair back when you were tired. In the way he asked if you’d eaten, or pulled you close when your laughter faded. In how his voice softened when he said your name, even when the rest of the world demanded the hard edge of him.

And you?

You stopped expecting easy. You let go of fairytale endings and leaned into the complicated truth of him.

Because it was never about making him choose between you and the world he couldn’t escape.

It was about choosing each other, again and again, even when it was hard. Even when it hurt a little.

There were still days he had to go. Nights when Valentino's grip pulled him away.

But there were mornings when he stayed. When he reached for you first. When he made time, not excuses.

No, this wasn’t perfect.

But as he curled around you that night, voice low and lips at your temple, you knew…

Whatever came next, you’d figure it out together.

✨ KOFI -- DISCORD SERVER -- xREADER COMMUNITY ✨

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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#hazbin alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor x you

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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Your Splashiness (Lucifer x Fallen Reader)

AN: A continuation of the Fallen series of Lucifer fics. Read stand alone or stay tuned for the fallen masterlist!

Summary: Lucifer continues to expand the horizons of his little fallen angel, this time introducing her to the novel idea of a swimming pool. While guilt lingers over the growing evidence of her corruption, that doesn't stop the pair from having the time of their lives.

Tw: Skinny dipping. Nudity. Hard ons. Sexy undies. Lame jokes.

“Come on,” Lucifer said, pulling you along by the hand.

You followed him, a flutter of dusty feathers falling in your wake. Though they were gray, growing darker by the day as you spent more and more time in hell, it was that time of year and you were molting.

The new feathers growing into their place, now little more than pins covered in keratin sheaths, were so dark that you couldn’t see the golden blood feeding up into the new quill.

You tried not to dwell on it. The darkening of your wings was the physical manifestation of your having turned your back on your heavenly hope. They showed the darkening touch of hell, wrapping it’s influence around your soul, seeping into the very essence of who you were.

It should disturb you. You should be mourning the loss of your purity. It should be driving you back up to the safety of heaven’s gates. The visual warning of your damnation was designed to do just that.

There were a lot of things that should be about the path you were going down but than Lucifer looked back at you, gold flush to his near white skin and tinging the red circles on his cheeks. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

Your feet tangled, tripping over themselves as you tried to keep up with Lucifer. For such a short man, he was swift. A few strong beats of your wings sent you forward, giving you a chance to catch yourself.

The sound of feathers moving through the air mixed with the squeaking of hinges that sat frozen for years mixed. Lucifer dropped your hand in order to push open the two french doors with more force when they refused to budge more than an inch, the frosted glass giving way to an oasis you didn’t know existed in the palace.

“Ta-da!” Lucifer said, turning and holding his hands out, fingers wiggling with excitement.

“What is this?”

You stepped through the doors, looking at the sleek tiles and red lounge chairs. Lush green plants in pots sat in the corners and in small gardens on the edges of what looked to be a large, deep tub of water.

“You really didn’t mingle with the winners much, did you?” Lucifer teased. “Didn’t wish to learn about humanity at all?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t really have time and since you, it was frowned upon for the heavenly born to get close to humanity for we may get tempted.”

“And in the end, it was I that tempted you to fall.” A look of guilt flashed across Lucifer’s face, gone before you had a chance to study it. “It’s called a swimming pool.”

“Like a lake?” you stepped closer as Lucifer shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it on the back of one of the chairs.

"Yeah,” Lucifer unbuttoned is vest, meeting your eyes when you turned to him. “Like a man made lake for swimming in.”

“Is there something wrong with natural lakes?” Your hair shifted as you cocked your head to the side, reminding Lucifer that while you were the most clueless thing he’d ever known, you were also the prettiest thing.

“Here? Yeah, if you go swimming in the lakes here you may as well be swimming in a lake of acid. There’s just not enough water to dilute the acid rain enough to make it comfortable.”

“What about… up there?”

Lucifer loved that with your fall came a curiosity of the living world.

“The humans don’t all like the feeling of plants, mud or sand when they swim. Others are overly worried about the germs. A swimming pool gives them somewhere clean and controlled.”

Your face flushed as Lucifer shrugged out of his shirt and started undoing his pants. “What are you doing?!”

“Stripping?” Lucifer wiggled his eyebrows at you as he answered. “I’m not going to swim in my clothes. You should strip too- I promise, that dress won’t be fun to swim in.”

“I don’t have… anything to wear. I didn’t-”

“We’re alone,” Lucifer said, sending his pants and boxers to the ground. “You’ve seen me naked before. I’ve seen you. No one is going to come in here. Just strip and get in.”

Your eyes darted down his body, taking in the lean muscles that reminded anyone blessed to see the king of hell without his clothes that though he was small and lean in frame, he was powerful.

Your eyes went further, running down the length of his flaccid member before darting up to his face where you were met with a cocky grin.

“Don’t get any ideas, now. We’re here to swim.”

“Right.” The word came out in a squeak, embarrassment flooding you.

He was right, you had seen each other naked plenty of times. You’d made love. He taught you the art of making love. There was something different about this that made you feel all the more exposed however.

It was the casual nudity. The naked vulnerability.

“Are you coming?” Lucifer asked as you hesitated. “I promise, it won’t be a bad time.”

You took a deep breath before reaching behind your neck and untying the ribbon that held the top of the dress up. The cups that held close to your breasts grew slack as the ribbon hung limply around your shoulders. With a careful hand, you worked the zipper down the back from where the track started just below your wings.

The dress fell in a puddle around your ankles when the zipper passed your hips. You refused to meet Lucifer’s eyes as you stepped out of your simple low heels.

What you wore under your dress was not fit for one of heaven’s angels, though it was perfect for an impostor. Unbacked mesh hugged your pubic mount, showing off the smooth skin under and the notch where your folds began.

It was Lucifer’s turn to run his eyes over you, appreciating every detail as you rolled the lack topped stockings down your legs. His eyes traveled up your torso to the matching lace bra, cupping your breasts.

There was nothing hidden away. There was no room for imagination with what you wore. It was an illusion of coverage. Your nipples pressed against the soft sheer lace, shifting slightly as you unhooked your bra and let that fall from your body too.

“Let’s get in the pool, beautiful,” Lucifer held his hand out to you. Though his cock was now standing at attention, the look on his face was soft.

You took his hand, stepping toward the water as he urged you on.

“It won’t be cold,” he said. “It’s hard to get a really cold pool here, even if you liked it that way.”

Timidly, you stepped into the water. Rather than feeling the chill of a lake, the water the enveloped your ankle was warm, much like that of a bath you’d been soaking in for a good while already.

The warmth made it easier to step deeper. Lucifer lagged behind, watching as your wings floated over the surface before the barbs began to absorb water, allowing them to sink into the water.

One day, Lucifer would teach you to hide your wings. It wasn’t something you needed or had desire to do in heaven but as you moved through the water, he could see how they grew heavy.

Gray feathers floated on the shimmering water, breaking up the sparkling surface. He remembered your first molt, the way you looked at the ash stained fathers growing in. Each molt after came darker and you looked at the new feathers with sadness that vanished when you looked up at him.

Your wings stretched out behind you as you stepped deeper and deeper into the water. It’s warm embrace wrapped around your naked body.

“Are you coming?” You asked, looking back over your shoulder at him.

“Yeah,” Lucifer had to physically shake himself out of the trance the sight of you put him in.

His soft smile spread wider, turning cocky as he flexed his fingers. It was a small demonstration of his power. Even banished into hell, he had a vast amount of power at his fingertips.

He used the power that once birthed every creature of the living world, every plant that there ever was to… create pool floats shaped like rubber duckies. Brightly colored pool noodles floated in the water.

“What are those?” you asked, laughing at the float’s big cartoonish face as it bobbed on the water.

“It’s your mighty steed!” Lucifer splashed through the water, sending waves up as he chased down a float.

Water droplets sailed through the air, glittering in the soft light. The sound of Lucifer crashing through the water, the waves splashing up against you broke the surreal romantic air of the pool.

“You’re splashing me!” you yelled when a wave splashed up onto your face.

The soft light reflected off his naked ass as he jumped out of the water, throwing his legs over the back of the ducky.

“That’s the point.”

Lucifer kicked his legs, trying to balance atop the float as it rocked wildly in the water. His tail whipped out, cutting through the air as he tried to use it to aid in finding his balance, nearly knocking over a poolside fern.

The ducky wobbled dramatically beneath him as his hoofed feet splashed into the water, the rubbery beak tilting skyward as Lucifer flailed to stay on.

You let out a snort, then tried to hide it behind your hand.

“Oh no,” he said, grinning at you like a devil with a plan. “Did you just laugh at me?”

“No,” you said, still laughing. “You look majestic, your Splashiness.”

“I am majestic!”

Water splashed square to your chest, washing up into your face and droplets landing in your hair. You gasped, blinking against the water dripping from your lashes.

“Lucifer!” You sputtered, pushing wet hair from your eyes.

“Self-defense,” he said, paddling his ridiculous float away with exaggerated strokes, nearly falling off repeatedly. “You mocked my noble duck.”

You launched your own retaliation, cupping both hands and sending a wave toward him. It caught him off guard, knocking him off his float and into the water with a satisfying splash that sent water rushing over the edge of the pool and across the bright white tiles. The red sun of Hell shining through the expansive windows turned the spilled water into a field of glittering diamonds.

He surfaced, sputtering, grinning like a maniac. His laugh bounced off the tiles, echoing around the pool room. You couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

You shrieked and tried to swim away, but it was no use. His strong arms wrapped around your waist and dunked you under. Your wings flailed, heavy with the weight of the water soaked into the down feathers as you tried to throw him off.

The pool became a battlefield of flailing limbs, breathless laughter, and splashes loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling.

By the time you called a truce, both of you were floating on your backs, gasping for air between fits of helpless giggles. The room fell quiet, save for the gentle lap of water around you both. Your chest rose and fell in time with his, breath returning.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard. Lucifer floated beside you, brushing a soaked lock of hair from your cheek before lacing his fingers with yours.

“Worth it,” he murmured, his voice still warm with laughter. “You should laugh like that more often.”

“It was worth it,” you said, looking to where he floated next to you. “Falling was worth it.”

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