(OOC: Requested by Anon via Google Forms) You two were in Adam's inner sanctum—a garishly gaudy, tasteless, castle-like structure; gold plating every visible surface of the tacky palace. Friezes depicting Adam with an... extremely erect body part, or crude illustrations of him, Lute, and other exorcists bathing in the blood of sinners. Pretty gross.

Of course, you found out a way to sneak in. Besides, you did own Adam's soul after all, you could make him do anything; including giving you the keys to his giant man cave in the sky.

“God… f__ck, I was just unlucky, that’s all.” Adam grumbled listlessly, clearly chagrined, from his spot hunched over beside your position perched up on a fancy, gold (obviously) couch.

A corporeal, ghostly green collar attached by a chain to your hand was placed stubbornly on his neck—a painful reminder of his binding to you, one that he thought he’d be much better without.

His hair was tousled, fingers wound up in the strands; you felt obliged to brush them behind his ears—but seeing him all messed up was just a little more rewarding.

“What, you’re still pissy about that?” You glanced over at his slumped, dejected figure, grinning slightly. You knew what he was talking about, obviously—that one night where he came down to Hell, completely drunk, lost a bet and a few poker games against you, a quite infamous overlord in the Pride Ring; of course with the price being his soul.

“...F__ck off, c__nt.” He muttered, before promptly shrieking like a girl when you yanked on his chain, falling face-first onto your lap.