#the entire show just fills my chest with like | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rainforestakiie · 3 days ago

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hello everyone!

merry christmas!

here is my christmas gift for everyone! i hope you all like it! it's just a short au, but i hope it's good enough.

Life was unforgiving, a relentless tide that threatened to drown Adam every waking moment. Each day felt heavier than the last, like carrying stones in his chest. His boys, his entire world, were struggling in ways he couldn’t always reach. Adam loved them more than life itself, more than his own breath. If it were possible to take their pain and bear it for them, he would have done so without hesitation. But this year—this crushing, merciless year—had left him grappling for solutions, for ways to hold everything together.

Eve, their mother, had died when Abel was just a toddler, too young to remember her laughter or the softness of her touch. Cain, on the other hand, carried the weight of her absence like an invisible anchor, dragging him down into a sea of anger and sorrow. The grief burned in him, raw and festering, and no matter how much therapy Adam arranged, no matter how much he tried to reach him, Cain’s pain found ways to seep out. He bottled his emotions, compressing them into a tight coil that would inevitably snap, releasing all the bitterness in sharp, devastating bursts.

Abel adored Cain, following him with wide, innocent eyes full of admiration. But Cain couldn’t bring himself to meet that gaze. He avoided Abel, pushed him away, his anger turning inward, his love for his little brother drowned beneath the weight of his grief. And Abel, sweet and tender-hearted, would turn to Adam, his voice trembling as he asked, “Daddy, why doesn’t Cain like me?”

Those moments broke Adam. He would soothe Abel as best he could, whispering reassurances he didn’t fully believe. Meanwhile, Cain’s muffled sobs echoed from behind his closed bedroom door. Adam felt like he was being crushed under the weight of it all, as though he were the one dying, slowly and quietly, under the stress and sorrow.

When December approached, Adam made himself a promise. This Christmas would be different. He would give them a holiday they’d remember forever, a glimmer of light in their darkened world. He picked up every overtime shift he could, leaving the boys with their kind, elderly neighbor, Mrs. Whitaker. The extra hours drained him, but the thought of their smiles kept him going. They deserved joy, deserved a Christmas that felt magical. He swore to himself he’d give them everything.

The tree was the first step. Adam let them choose the decorations, watching with quiet joy as Cain’s usual scowl softened into something resembling a smile. They wandered through Walmart, Abel’s tiny hands tugging at Adam’s sleeve every few seconds to show him some shiny ornament or string of lights. Cain lingered by the electronics aisle, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the Xbox display. Abel, ever the dreamer, stopped by the toy section, his gaze repeatedly drifting to a colorful dollhouse. Adam pretended not to notice how long Abel stared, but he mentally added it to his list. Whatever it took, he’d get them those gifts. It was going to be a good Christmas. It had to be.

But fate, cruel and unrelenting, had other plans.

They left the store as dusk fell, the air biting and crisp, their bags filled with ornaments and garlands. Abel’s mittened hand slipped into Adam’s as they crossed the parking lot, his high-pitched chatter bouncing into the cold night. Cain trailed behind, earbuds in, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets.

It happened so fast… and yet so slowly.

Adam would replay the moment in his mind a thousand times, the scene burned into his memory like a scar that would never fade. Abel’s hand slipped from his grasp—just for a second, just long enough for the boy to dart ahead.

“Abel!” Adam’s voice cut through the crisp air, sharp with panic.

Then he heard it. The low growl of a car engine revving, tires screeching against the icy pavement. His heart leapt into his throat as time seemed to slow to a crawl. He dropped the shopping bags without thinking, the sound of ornaments shattering barely registering in his mind. His legs moved before his brain could process, every muscle screaming as he lunged toward his youngest son.

“Abel!” he roared, his voice raw with terror.

The headlights blinded him, twin beams cutting through the gathering twilight. Abel froze, his wide eyes reflecting the glow like a deer caught in the path of an oncoming truck. Adam’s world narrowed to that single moment, the sound of his pounding heart drowning out everything else. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the fabric of Abel’s coat—so close, so agonizingly close…

And then the impact.

The sound was sickening, a dull, hollow thud that echoed in the parking lot and seemed to reverberate in Adam’s very bones. The car skidded to a stop, but the damage was done. Abel’s small body crumpled to the ground, motionless.

“No,” Adam whispered, his voice barely audible. “No, no, no…”

He fell to his knees beside Abel, scooping his limp body into his arms. The boy’s face was pale, his lashes fluttering weakly as he let out a faint, wheezing breath.

“Daddy?” Abel’s voice was so soft, barely a whisper, but it shattered Adam’s heart.

“I’m here, baby,” Adam choked out, tears streaming down his face. “I’m here. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Cain stood frozen a few feet away, his earbuds dangling from his ears, his face pale as he stared at his little brother. For the first time in years, the anger was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered fear.

“Call 911!” Adam barked at no one in particular, his voice cracking. “Someone call an ambulance!”

The driver stumbled out of the car, their face pale and trembling, words spilling from their mouth in a frantic, incoherent stream. Adam didn’t even look at them. All he could see was Abel, his sweet, precious boy, so small and fragile in his arms.

The world blurred around him, time losing all meaning. Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder, but Adam’s focus never wavered. He held Abel close, whispering promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“Stay with me, buddy,” he pleaded, his voice breaking. “Please, stay with me.”

Cain dropped to his knees beside them, his hands trembling as he reached out, hesitating before placing them on Abel’s tiny arm.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

Adam looked at his eldest son, his eyes filled with a mix of pain and desperate hope. For the first time in what felt like forever, they shared an unspoken understanding. They were a family—fractured, hurting, but a family nonetheless. And they would fight for Abel with everything they had.

A week later, the hospital room had become their second home. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled the air, and the soft hum of machines monitoring Abel’s recovery provided a constant background noise. Abel lay propped up in his hospital bed, his leg encased in a bright blue cast, small doodles already decorating its surface thanks to the nurses. His face was pale, but his eyes still held their spark of determination, his bravery shining through in every small smile he gave Adam and Cain.

Adam sat by his youngest son’s side, exhaustion etched into his features. The bags under his eyes told a story of sleepless nights spent worrying, praying, and strategizing how to manage the mounting bills. The Christmas he’d envisioned, filled with presents and laughter, felt like a distant dream now. Every spare penny was going toward the hospital, and the magic of the holiday seemed to be slipping away. But Adam refused to let his boys see his despair. He forced a smile, even as his heart felt heavy.

“You know,” Adam began, his voice warm and upbeat, “I heard on the news that Santa’s making his way down from the North Pole. They say the snowstorm coming tomorrow means he’s testing his sleigh to make sure it’s ready for Christmas Eve.”

Abel’s face lit up despite the pain that flickered in his expression when he moved too quickly.

“Really, Daddy? Santa’s coming soon?” His small hands gripped the edge of the blanket, his excitement momentarily washing away the weariness in his voice.

“That’s right, buddy,” Adam said, brushing a stray curl from Abel’s forehead. “And you know what? I bet he’s got something special planned for you. I mean, who else is as brave as you, huh? Santa must have noticed that.”

Abel smiled, but it faltered after a moment. His eyes fell to his hands, his fingers twisting nervously.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispered. “For being stupid. If I hadn’t run off…”

“Hey,” Adam interrupted gently, leaning closer. His voice wavered, but he kept it steady enough. “No, Abel. None of this is your fault, do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. Things happen, and all that matters is that you’re here with us. Don’t ever think you’re to blame for this.”

Abel nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Okay, Daddy.”

Across the room, Cain sat in a chair by the window, his back turned to them. His posture was stiff, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. The reflection of his face in the glass showed the turmoil he refused to voice. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze was distant, focused on something outside that wasn’t there. Adam knew the guilt was eating at him too—Cain had barely spoken since the accident. He hadn’t even yelled or snapped, which somehow hurt more than his usual outbursts.

“Cain,” Adam called softly. “Why don’t you come sit with us? Abel’s been waiting for his big brother to tell him a story.”

Cain hesitated, his shoulders tensing. For a moment, Adam thought he might ignore the invitation, but then Cain stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked over, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets and perched stiffly on the edge of the bed.

“Hey, squirt,” Cain muttered, his voice gruff but soft. He avoided Abel’s eyes, instead staring at the cast. “Nice artwork you’ve got there. Who drew the dinosaur?”

Abel’s grin returned, as bright as the morning sun.

“Nurse Kelly! But I told her where to put it,” he said proudly. “You can draw something too, Cain!”

Cain’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile.

“Maybe later,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Adam watched the exchange with a quiet sense of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. No matter how broken they felt, no matter how much the year had battered them, they still had each other. And somehow, that had to be enough.

As the evening wore on, Adam stayed by Abel’s side, reading him stories about reindeer and snowmen, while Cain sat silently, occasionally chiming in with a sarcastic comment that made Abel giggle. The snow outside began to fall, dusting the town in white, and for the first time in days, Adam allowed himself to hope.

They might not have the perfect Christmas he had dreamed of, but they still had love. And love, Adam thought, could make even the hardest winters feel warm.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he pulled at the frayed ends of his sweater sleeves. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade he tried so desperately to maintain. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile and glanced between his boys.

“Hey,” he began, his voice uneven, “Why don’t we write our letters to Santa? He’s gonna need to know what you guys want for Christmas, right?”

Abel’s eyes widened, his face lighting up with a gasp of excitement. “Really, Daddy? We can write to Santa?”

Before Adam could respond, Cain’s voice cut through the moment like a dull blade.

“Why?” he asked flatly, not even bothering to look at Adam. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

Adam blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Well...”

“Because Santa won’t know what to get you otherwise,” he replied, trying to keep his tone light, though the strain crept into his words.

Cain’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he scoffed. “We can’t afford a Christmas this year, so what’s the point?”

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the cheerful spark in Abel’s eyes flickering as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?” Abel asked, his voice trembling.

Adam tried to laugh it off, waving his hand dismissively. “Santa is magic, remember? He doesn’t need money. He’s got elves and all that Christmas magic stuff.”

Cain let out a bitter snort, shaking his head.

“Santa doesn’t exist, Dad,” he muttered, his tone sharp and final. He lifted his gaze to Adam, his dark eyes filled with an anger and sadness that cut Adam to the core. “I know it’s you. You’re the one who works your ass off so we can have Christmas. And this year? There’s no Christmas.”

Abel’s lower lip quivered, tears welling up in the corners of his wide, innocent eyes.

“Santa... doesn’t exist?” he whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. His small hands clutched the edge of his blanket as though it could protect him from Cain’s words.

Adam’s chest tightened as he hissed at Cain, his tone sharp but quiet.

“Enough,” he said firmly, his eyes darting toward Abel, whose cheeks were streaked with tears.

Cain huffed, rolling his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, standing abruptly and stomping toward the door. The sound of the door swinging shut behind him echoed through the room, leaving a suffocating silence in its wake.

Abel sniffled, his small body trembling as he wiped at his eyes.

“Daddy... is Santa real?” he asked, his voice desperate, pleading for the truth.

Adam’s heart shattered. He crouched beside the bed, gently taking Abel’s hand in his.

“Of course, he is,” Adam said softly, though his voice broke under the weight of the lie. “Santa’s as real as the magic in Christmas, buddy. And you know what? I bet he’s waiting to see your list right now.”

Abel sniffled again, hesitating. Adam reached for his notebook and a fluffy, pom-pom-tipped pen that one of the nurses had left behind. Placing it gently on the bed beside Abel, he gave his youngest son a reassuring smile.

“Why don’t you start on your list while I go check on Cain? Just write down everything you want, okay? Santa’s got this.”

Abel’s wide, teary eyes stared down at the blank paper, his small hand reaching hesitantly for the pen.

“Okay, Daddy,” he whispered. “But... is Cain gonna be okay?”

Adam ruffled Abel’s brown curls, his voice soft and soothing. “He will be. He’s just sad right now, that’s all. But I promise, everything will be okay.”

Abel nodded, clutching the pen tightly as Adam stood. Casting one last glance at his youngest son, Adam forced himself to step out of the room, his heart heavy.

The hallway felt colder, lonelier, as Adam searched for Cain, his stomach twisting with worry. Cain was only thirteen, still a child himself, no matter how much he tried to act otherwise. Adam knew the anger Cain carried was just a mask for the hurt he couldn’t put into words. Finding him, reaching him—that was the only way forward. Adam took a deep breath and moved toward the elevator, silently praying he wouldn’t fail them again.

Abel sniffled, staring at the blank page in front of him. The notebook felt heavy in his lap, not because of its weight but because of what it represented. What could he ask Santa for? The dollhouse he’d seen at the store? The cuddly Care Bears he’d wanted for so long? He shook his head. Those things didn’t matter right now. Not really.

Abel’s tiny fingers curled around the pen, his brow furrowed in deep thought. What he wanted wasn’t a toy. What he wanted... was for his family to feel whole again.

The pen touched the paper, and Abel began to write in his uneven, childlike handwriting:

‘Dear Satan,

Hi, it’s me, Abel. I hope you and the reindeers, and the elves are doing okay! I’ve been trying to be good this year, even though sometimes it’s hard.

I thought a lot about what I want for Christmas, but it’s not toys or anything like that. I just want my daddy to be happy. He’s so tired all the time, and I think he’s really sad too. He works so, so hard to make sure me and Cain are okay, but I wish he didn’t have to. Maybe you can help him not have to work so hard anymore? And maybe... maybe you could bring him someone who can make him smile again.

And Santa, I want Cain to feel better too. He doesn’t like to talk to me, and it makes my heart hurt. I think he’s sad like Daddy, but he won’t tell me why. Could you make him happy again? I miss him. I miss when he used to laugh and play with me.

That’s all I want, Santa. Just for my family to be happy. And, if you can, please make it snow this year! Cain really likes the snow, even when he doesn’t admit it.

Thank you.

Love, Abel

As he finished, Abel sniffled again, staring down at the page. His small chest rose and fell with a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if Santa could do all that, but it didn’t hurt to ask. Carefully, he placed the notebook on the table beside him, leaning back into his pillows with a soft sigh.

He doesn’t notice his spelling mistake at all as he folded it up.

The cold air hit Adam’s face as he rushed out of the hospital, the sliding doors hissing shut behind him. His eyes scanned the parking lot and the dimly lit sidewalk beyond until he finally spotted Cain, sitting on a bench just outside the hospital’s entrance. His hood was pulled up over his head, his shoulders hunched as he stared at the ground.

Adam approached cautiously, his heart heavy with worry and frustration.

“Cain,” he called gently, but his eldest didn’t look up.

“Leave me alone,” Cain muttered, his voice tight.

Adam sighed, stepping closer. “I can’t do that, bud. I need to talk to you.”

Cain huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s there to talk about?”

Adam sat down beside him, the bench creaking under his weight. “Cain, I know you’re hurting. I know it’s been really hard since... since your mom passed. But you can’t keep taking it out on Abel. He doesn’t understand why you’re so angry, and it’s breaking his heart.”

Cain scoffed, his jaw tightening as he turned to glare at Adam. “Why do you always take his side? You don’t get it.”

Adam frowned, his voice soft but firm. “Then help me understand. What’s going on, Cain?”

Cain’s hands balled into fists, his voice rising. “How can I be happy when it’s his fault Mom’s gone?”

The words hit Adam like a punch to the gut. His heart shattered, and for a moment, he could only stare at his son in disbelief.

“Cain,” he said quietly, his voice trembling. “It wasn’t Abel’s fault. Your mother got sick, sweetheart. No one could have stopped it—not you, not Abel, not me.”

Cain shook his head violently, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “She wouldn’t have gotten sick if she didn’t have Abel! If he wasn’t born, she’d still be here!”

Adam reached out, placing a hand on Cain’s shoulder, but the boy shrugged it off. “That’s not true, Cain. You were so little back then, you don’t remember everything. Your mom loved you both so much, and she wanted Abel. She was sick before she even knew about him.”

Cain turned away, his voice breaking. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Adam insisted, his tone steady but pained. “I was there, Cain. I saw it all. Your mom... she fought so hard to stay with us. She loved you more than anything. She loved Abel too. Losing her wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just happened.”

Cain’s shoulders trembled, but he refused to look at Adam.

“I hate him,” he whispered, though the words lacked conviction.

Adam’s heart ached as he leaned closer. “You don’t hate him. You’re angry and hurt, and I understand that. But Abel loves you so much, Cain. He looks up to you, and he doesn’t understand why you push him away. He just wants his big brother to love him back.”

Cain’s breath hitched, and for a moment, Adam thought he might break through. But then Cain shook his head, standing abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Cain—”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” Cain shouted, his voice echoing through the quiet night.

Adam watched helplessly as Cain stormed further into the parking lot, his chest tight with sorrow. He wanted to fix this, to hold his family together, but the cracks ran so deep.

“Cain,” he called again, his voice softer now. “Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m here. I love you, kid. Don’t forget that.”

The snow fell gently at first, the flakes swirling down like delicate whispers from the heavens. Cain stood frozen, his emerald eyes wide as the first flake landed on his gloved hand. But as he stared closer, his brow furrowed, his voice small and uncertain.

“It’s... red?”

Adam’s stomach twisted at the words. He blinked, following Cain’s gaze to the flecks of snow that dusted the ground around them. It wasn’t white—it was crimson, like the snow itself had been stained. His breath caught as he instinctively reached for Cain’s shoulder, his fingers trembling slightly.

“Cain,” Adam said carefully, his voice low and steady, “Let’s get back inside. This... this doesn’t look right.”

Cain nodded mutely, his earlier anger dissipating into something far more fragile—uncertainty, perhaps even fear. Adam guided him toward the hospital’s entrance, his hand resting firmly on the boy’s shoulder as the sliding doors whooshed open.

Once inside, they turned to watch through the glass as the snowfall grew heavier, the once-gentle flurries transforming into a steady cascade. The red snow blanketed the cars, the pavement, the world outside. Adam’s jaw tightened, his mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“What in the world is this?” he muttered, half to himself.

Beside him, Cain made a soft sound, a noise somewhere between curiosity and unease. His forehead pressed lightly against the glass as he stared out, his breath fogging the surface.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he murmured.

Adam swallowed hard, his mind darting back to Eve, to the winters they’d shared together when the snow came soft and white, blanketing the world in peace. But this… this was something else entirely. It wasn’t supposed to snow at all—Adam had only mentioned it to Abel as a way to keep the boy’s hope alive, to give him a sense of magic during such a difficult time.

But now it was snowing. Red snow.

Adam glanced down at Cain, who was still staring out with a mixture of wonder and unease.

“Cain,” Adam said quietly, “I don’t know what’s happening, but... let’s not tell Abel just yet, okay? He doesn’t need to worry about this.”

Cain hesitated, then nodded. “Okay…”

Adam’s hand rested lightly on Cain’s shoulder again, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He tried to push the unease down, to bury it beneath the weight of his responsibility. But as the red snow continued to fall outside, he couldn’t help but wonder: was this some strange, miraculous sign? Or something else entirely?

Adam felt like he was trapped in a surreal dream, one where the universe had suddenly decided to grant him reprieve from years of hardship. The letter from Eden Apple Insurance remained on the table, untouched since he first read it. No matter how many times he glanced at it, the words didn’t change. Insurance. Fully covered. Abel’s medical bills cleared. His mind raced as he tried to piece together how this could even be real.

And yet, it wasn’t just the medical bills. Everything was... shifting. Subtly, then undeniably.

The next day, Adam received another letter. This time it was from the bank. He stared at it for a long moment, his fingers trembling as he opened the envelope. Inside was a notice about a loan he’d taken years ago to cover unexpected expenses. It had been eating at him, every payment feeling like a weight tied to his ankles. But now the letter said the loan had been forgiven. Written off due to “processing discrepancies.”

“Processing discrepancies?” Adam muttered aloud, baffled. His heart raced. Was this even legal? Was it real? He didn’t have time to dwell on it before his phone buzzed.

It was a text from his cousin, Darren, who had borrowed a couple hundred dollars last year and conveniently forgotten about it. “Hey, Adam. Just sent the money I owed you to your account. Sorry it took so long. Thanks for being patient.”

Adam dropped the phone on the table, staring at it like it had sprouted wings. Darren? Paying him back?

That night, as Adam tucked Abel into bed, Cain lingered in the doorway of the hospital room. Adam half-expected his eldest son to grumble about something or stomp off outside to wait for him, but instead, Cain crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, watching Abel with a faint smile on his face.

Adam hesitated, glancing up. “Something on your mind, kiddo?”

Cain shifted awkwardly but didn’t leave. Instead, he spoke, his voice softer than usual. “I, uh… was thinking we could have lasagna tomorrow?”

The words hit Adam like a truck. He froze, blinking at Cain as though he’d just spoken in another language.

“Lasagna?”

Cain gave a small, almost sheepish shrug. “Yeah. I mean, I know we haven’t had it in, like… forever. But I was thinking about Mom a lot lately. I don’t think she’d want me to... I don’t know, keep being this... angry.”

He fidgeted, his face flushing slightly, his green eyes flicking down to the floor. “I just… I feel like I should try. For her. And for Abel.”

Adam’s throat tightened as he tried to find words. His first instinct was to double-check, to make sure this was actually his son standing in front of him. But instead, he simply nodded, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’ll make it. First thing tomorrow.”

Cain’s lips twitched into a grin. A real grin. “Cool. Thanks, Dad.”

Adam blinked several times, then glanced out the window where the red snow continued to fall, blanketing the ground in its strange, otherworldly shimmer. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be possible, that this bizarre, blood-coloured snowfall wasn’t a natural phenomenon.

But it wasn’t just the snow.

The next morning, another unexpected shift: the car. Adam had been worrying about it for weeks, hearing the strange clunking noises whenever he drove to work or the hospital. The repairs were going to cost him a fortune—money he didn’t have, even with the other miracles happening. But when he checked the mail, there was a letter from the local auto shop.

“Due to a holiday promotional raffle, your car has been fully repaired at no cost to you. Merry Christmas!”

Adam sat back in his chair, staring at the letter with wide eyes. He hadn’t entered any raffle. He hadn’t even stepped foot in the shop recently.

Then Cain came downstairs, tossing his backpack onto the couch with a grin. “Hey, Dad.”

Adam looked up, blinking. “Hey. You’re... in a good mood.”

“Yeah, school wasn’t so bad today,” Cain replied, plopping down at the table and grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl.

“Oh, and guess what? Ms. Kline actually cracked a joke in history class. Can you believe that?” He laughed, shaking his head.

Adam stared, dumbfounded. Cain. Laughing. Smiling. Talking about school as though it didn’t weigh him down like a millstone.

“Uh, lasagna tonight, right?” Cain asked, glancing up.

“Y-Yeah,” Adam stammered, still processing. “Lasagna.”

Cain grinned. “Cool.”

It was as though the universe had flipped a switch. And then came the hospital call that threw him for another loop: Abel was being discharged early. Christmas Eve, to be exact. Adam nearly dropped the phone, his mind whirring. “Wait, what? Are you sure? I thought you’d keep him through Christmas!”

The nurse on the other end chuckled. “It’s a Christmas miracle, Mr. Dawson. His recovery’s been remarkable. We’ll have the paperwork ready for you tomorrow.”

Adam hung up, his head spinning. He glanced again at the window, at the crimson snow falling steadily, glittering in the faint sunlight. There was no logical explanation for any of this. None of it made sense.

As he rubbed a hand over his face, he murmured to himself, “What in the world is going on?”

Cain’s voice came from the living room. “It’s a Christmas miracle, Dad. Just roll with it.”

Adam couldn’t help but laugh softly, his gaze drifting back to the red snow outside.

“A Christmas miracle,” he whispered. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But for the first time in years, Adam felt something he hadn’t dared to feel in a long time.

Hope.

Christmas was just around the corner, and Adam had a sinking feeling that, if he hurried, he could still create the perfect holiday for his boys. The red snow swirling outside was strange, unsettling even, but it couldn’t ruin their Christmas... could it? When he picked Abel up from the hospital, it was the first time in weeks that Adam had felt light—truly light—as if an invisible weight had been lifted from his chest.

Abel’s small arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and he buried his face against Adam’s chest, his voice soft, “I’m so glad I’m home, Daddy.”

Adam grinned, his heart swelling with love as he gently patted Abel’s back. He could hear Cain humming beside them as they walked up the stairs to their flat. Cain looked so... happy, so carefree, like nothing was wrong.

Adam shifted Abel higher on his hip as they reached the door, a small frown tugging at his lips. The one thing that weighed on his mind was that he hadn’t been able to finish the Christmas decorations before Abel came home. He’d wanted it to be perfect for them. He opened the door, stepping inside... and froze. His heart skipped a beat, a strange feeling of dread curling in his stomach as his eyes widened.

Both Cain and Abel gasped, their voices filled with wonder. Cain looked at him, his brow furrowed in disbelief, “When did you have time to do all this?”

Abel squealed, his arms tightening around Adam in pure joy. “Daddy! This is amazing!”

Adam let out a soft, awkward laugh, his eyes darting around the room. The living room was... overdone. Every inch of their home was covered in decorations, down to the hallway, kitchen, and even the bathroom. Cain and Abel’s shared room, with the bunk beds, looked like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare, depending on how you looked at it. Adam carefully set Abel down on the sofa, scratching the back of his head nervously.

How did this all happen?

“Dad?!” Cain’s voice called out from the kitchen. “You made cookies?”

Adam blinked, staring at Cain as he entered the room, a plate of cookies in hand. They were perfectly shaped, decorated like little Santa faces and reindeer, their eyes glittering with something almost too perfect. Adam’s mouth hung open, confusion flooding his mind. Did he make these? He didn’t remember baking cookies. But they looked so... real, so delicious.

Cain hummed, moving toward Abel with a playful grin, offering him one of the cookies. Abel gasped, his eyes wide with delight.

“Daddy! They’re so cute!” he giggled, picking up a reindeer cookie, “Look, this one has red eyes!”

He laughed, delighted by the bizarre little treat.

Adam’s lips twitched into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drifted to the Christmas tree, its dark red, purple, and black ornaments gleaming in the strange light of the room. It was... something, alright. A bit much, even. Too much. But somehow, everything felt so perfect—too perfect. He couldn’t remember doing it, yet it was there, overwhelming him with its eerie beauty.

Something was wrong, but for a moment, Adam couldn’t figure out what. He only knew that, for better or worse, everything was just... done.

Adam’s heart thudded in his chest as he slowly stepped further into the flat, his eyes taking in every inch of the transformed space. Twinkling fairy lights adorned the walls, shimmering garlands hung over doorways, and stockings were neatly hung by the window ledge—one for each of them, including a tiny one for the dog they didn’t even have. The Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, a mix of red, purple, and black ornaments gleaming under the glow of string lights.

Cain plopped onto the sofa beside Abel, a cookie already half-eaten in his hand.

“Seriously, Dad,” he said around a mouthful. “You really outdid yourself. This is, like, Pinterest-level stuff.”

Adam blinked, his mind scrambling to make sense of it all. “Uh…”

His voice cracked slightly as he tried to form words. “Thanks…?” He sounded so unsure it made Cain glance up.

“Wait,” Cain frowned, raising a brow. “You did do this, right?”

Adam scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes darting to the cookies in Cain’s hand. He didn’t remember making cookies. In fact, he didn’t remember doing any of this. His gaze swept over the Christmas decorations again—the perfectly strung lights, the coordinated tree ornaments, the festive throw pillows on the couch. How could he have missed this? Was someone else in his flat? Was he losing it?

Abel’s squeals of excitement snapped him out of his thoughts. The little boy held the reindeer cookie up to Adam with bright, sparkling eyes.

“Daddy, look! It’s Rudolph, but his nose is so shiny! And he has the cutest little antlers!” Abel giggled, his tiny hands cradling the cookie like it was a treasure.

Adam forced a smile, his lips twitching slightly.

“That’s, uh, great, buddy,” he managed, his voice uneven.

Cain flopped back against the couch, pulling another cookie from the plate. “Man, you were busy,” he said, his voice light and relaxed.

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d even have time to get decorations, let alone set all this up.” He gestured vaguely at the room, then bit into another cookie.

Adam shifted nervously. “Yeah…” he murmured. “Busy.”

“Daddy?” Abel tilted his head, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes. “Did you make all this for us? It’s the best Christmas ever!”

Adam’s chest ached at the sincerity in his youngest son’s voice. He crouched down in front of Abel, brushing a stray curl out of his face.

“Of course, I wanted to make this special for you,” he said softly. And it wasn’t a total lie. He did want to make it special. He just… didn’t know how all of this had come together.

Abel threw his arms around Adam’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Thank you, Daddy!”

Adam hugged him back, his heart both full and bewildered. When Abel pulled back, Adam glanced at Cain, who had stuffed another cookie in his mouth and was now flicking through a Christmas catalogue that had somehow appeared on the coffee table.

The flickering red glow from the snow outside caught Adam’s eye, and he glanced toward the window. The crimson snowstorm had picked up again, blanketing the streets and rooftops in an eerie glow. Adam felt a chill creep up his spine, though he quickly shook it off. Whatever this strange snow was, it had brought something to his family—something warm and magical.

“Alright,” Adam said, clapping his hands together. “Cookies before dinner isn’t exactly the best idea, but I’ll allow it. Let’s figure out what we’re making tonight.”

“Lasagna,” Cain piped up without hesitation.

Adam blinked, then laughed softly. “Right. Lasagna it is.”

As the boys chattered excitedly about Christmas morning, Adam stepped into the kitchen, running his hand along the countertop. Everything was spotless, perfectly arranged, as though someone had come in and scrubbed the place down to a shine. There were even candy canes arranged in a neat little jar on the counter, tied with a red ribbon.

He stared at the candy canes for a long moment, his stomach twisting. He didn’t have an explanation for any of this. But when he glanced back into the living room and saw his boys smiling—really, truly smiling—for the first time in what felt like forever, he decided he didn’t need one.

Lasagna. Eve was the one who always made it, and it was always perfect. The boys loved it, and so did he. How in the world was Adam supposed to make something half as good? He didn’t want to disappoint them—not now, not ever. But looking at them, seeing Cain laughing softly as he spoke to Abel, his heart swelled with love. Cain was always so good with him, so kind, and Abel, sweet little Abel, was glowing with happiness. Adam’s chest tightened with resolve. No, he wouldn’t disappoint them. He couldn’t. He was going to make the best lasagna in the world, no matter what.

With a deep breath, Adam entered the kitchen, determination in his steps. He unpacked the brown paper bag with all the ingredients, his hands moving methodically as he prepared to make something that could at least come close to Eve’s masterpiece. But as he scanned the cupboards for the baking tray, something caught his eye.

His brow furrowed as he crouched down, examining his oven. The handle felt strangely cool, and when he pulled it open—Adam froze. His breath hitched in his throat as he stared at the most beautifully made lasagna he’d ever seen. Perfectly layered, steaming, with golden-brown edges... and beside it, garlic bread, perfectly crisped.

Adam blinked, mouth agape. "What the...?" he muttered under his breath.

Who had broken into his flat? Who had decorated everything, made cookies, lasagna... and—Adam’s gaze shot to the counter. There, lined up like a holiday dream, were mugs filled with hot chocolate. Whipped cream piled high, sprinkles scattered on top, and a piece of chocolate sticking out like it belonged in a picture-perfect holiday ad.

His mind raced. What in the living hell was going on?

Was he losing his mind? He didn’t remember doing any of this. His pulse quickened as a cold shiver ran down his spine. The decorations, the cookies, the lasagna, the hot chocolate—who was doing this? Was someone watching him? The strange, perfect nature of it all felt too... unsettling.

Too good to be real.

He tried to steady his breath, but his heart was pounding. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone—or something—was here, watching. Helping him, maybe? Or worse... controlling everything.

The weirdness didn’t stop there, no. The entire night, Adam found himself stumbling across oddities that left his mind spinning. He just wanted to enjoy a film with the boys, share a cozy night together without disappointment. Their television was old and cracked, the screen was patchy, and it didn’t pick up all the channels, but Adam had accepted that.

Except, when he turned the TV on, the screen lit up perfectly. He bit his bottom lip, staring in disbelief. It wasn’t just the screen—it was everything. The colours were sharper, the picture clearer than it should’ve been, and there were more channels than the TV should have been able to pick up.

"How did that happen?" Adam muttered to himself, but before he could ponder it further, Abel, perched on the couch next to him, looked up with wide eyes.

“Daddy, can we have popcorn?”

Cain, ever the realist, tried to gently remind Abel they didn’t have any. Adam smiled softly, determined not to disappoint, and hummed, “I’ll just run to the shop quick!”

But before he could leave, he spotted a perfect bucket of fresh, salty and sweet popcorn sitting right on the kitchen counter.

His stomach twisted. He hadn’t made that. It was... too perfect.

When it was time for the boys to go to bed, Adam went to tuck them in, but when he stepped into their room, something else was wrong. The bunk bed—their bunk bed—had fresh, soft quilts, fluffy pillows, and snug sheets that smelled sweet. Cain gasped, staring at the bed in awe, and Abel squealed with joy upon finding a stuffed bear tucked under his covers.

Adam sheepishly tucked them both in, feeling a strange mixture of exhaustion and confusion. He stood still for a moment, his heart swelling with love for his boys, but a cold dread filled him as he scanned the perfectly decorated living room again.

Everything was so perfect. Too perfect.

What was going on? Adam’s gaze landed on something that stopped him dead in his tracks—Sinsmas. It was written everywhere—on the walls, on little notes scattered about. Sinsmas? He frowned, confused. What the hell was that?

Then, he noticed a small piece of paper on the floor. Bending down to pick it up, he saw it was Abel’s Christmas letter to Santa. Adam smiled, thinking maybe Abel had dropped it. His heart warmed as he read the sweet, innocent words, but his lips twitched when he noticed something odd. In big, colourful letters, it read…

“Dear Satan...”

Adam blinked, his mind racing. Did Abel really just write a letter to Satan instead of Santa? He laughed quietly, at first thinking it was just a mistake—maybe a simple mix-up. But as the sound of his own laugh faded into the strange silence of the room, he felt something else: a deep, gnawing unease.

Abel had written a letter to Satan. The devil? What was happening? His mind flashed back to the strange events of the past month—how everything seemed off, like a bad dream playing out in real life. The decorations, the cookies, the lasagna... Sinsmas—none of it made sense.

A wave of dizziness hit him, and he stood there for a long moment, staring at the letter in his hands. His smile faded, and in its place, an overwhelming sense of wrongness settled deep in his bones. Abel hadn’t just mixed up the names. It felt like this was more than a simple mistake. And for the first time, Adam couldn’t shake the feeling that something... or someone... was pulling the strings.

A deep, unsettling hum of confusion buzzed in his head. The world was starting to feel like it wasn’t his own anymore.

Satan?

No. Nooooo. The devil didn’t exist. It was just a story, a myth, a bedtime tale. He and Eve used to joke about it, back in the day—laughing, teasing each other about how they were Adam and Eve from Eden. As if they were the stars of some ancient fable. It was all just that—a fable. There was no heaven. No angels. No God. No hell. And certainly, no devil.

Nope. No.

Adam’s breath hitched as he sank into the sofa, his gaze fixed on Abel’s Christmas letter, his mind working overtime to make sense of it all. His left hand slowly moved to cover his mouth, his thoughts tumbling together like a twisted puzzle. Red snow? Red snow? How could he ignore that? It had snowed, but the snow had been red. And then his luck—his terrible luck—had suddenly turned around. Money problems vanished, a new car appeared out of nowhere, the television fixed itself, and the decorations... the decorations that had shown up overnight. And let’s not even talk about the food.

"Was... was this... all of this..." Adam whispered shakily, his heart beginning to pound with a growing sense of unease.

The sudden puff of hot breath against his neck made his blood run cold.

A voice, smooth and velvety, teased the air. "My work?"

Adam’s body froze. His heart raced, hammering against his ribs as the hair on the back of his neck stood up in sharp, icy awareness. His emerald eyes widened, and without thinking, he whipped his head around.

A man was standing just behind him, casually leaning against the back of the sofa, his arms crossed smugly over the cushions. The man’s lips curved into a smirk that was almost predatory, and his eyes—his eyes—glittered red and gold, like molten metal catching the light. Adam’s stomach twisted into a knot, his mind screaming that this wasn’t real.

Then, the man shifted slightly. A tail. It swished behind him, a sleek, dark appendage that flicked playfully against the floor, sending Adam stumbling back in shock. He yelped, his feet tangling as he fell backwards onto the floor, his backside landing with a painful thud.

The man stared down at him with an almost amused glint in his eyes. His horns—horns—glittered with the red glow of the room.

“Sorry, I should have greeted you first, huh?” The voice was almost too sweet, like syrup—sickly sweet.

Adam’s heart pounded in his ears. His breath came in sharp gasps as he scrambled to push himself back against the sofa, his hands shaking.

“Who... who are you?”

His voice was barely a whisper, tight with fear. He instinctively covered the back of his neck, as if that would somehow protect him from this... thing.

The man smirked wider, and Adam could see the sharp, glinting teeth in his mouth. He laughed—a low, dark sound that made Adam’s skin crawl. The man twirled, flowing across the back of the sofa like it was nothing, his claws trailing lazily along the cushions.

"I'm sure you know who I am," he purred, his voice dripping with amusement.

Adam shook his head violently, his voice growing frantic.

“You’re not real!” he shouted, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush. "This isn’t real!"

But as the man continued to grin at him, as his tail swayed lazily back and forth, Adam’s certainty began to crack. Something was deeply wrong here. The world had shifted. And this man... this creature wasn’t just some figment of his imagination.

Adam’s heart raced. He tried to push himself up, but his limbs felt heavy, like they didn’t belong to him.

“No. This isn’t happening,” he muttered, but his voice wavered, unsure.

The man leaned down slightly, his red and gold eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker. “Oh, but it is. And it’s my work, Adam.”

Adam froze at the sound of his name. How did he know his name?

The man’s smile widened, as if he could hear the desperate beat of Adam’s heart. “Didn’t you wonder why everything changed, Adam? Why everything is... so perfect now?”

He paused, letting the words hang in the air. “You can stop pretending it’s all just a coincidence. I made it happen.”

Adam's breath caught in his throat. What did this man—this thing—want from him? What kind of nightmare was this?

But the man’s grin never faltered, and Adam knew, in the pit of his stomach, that whatever this was... it was only just beginning.

Adam's gaze followed the man, his heart pounding wildly as he watched him move around the room. The man—no, the devil—was casually strolling through the living room, as if this was his home. With a flick of his claws, he rearranged the decorations, and in a blink, the entire atmosphere of the room shifted. The lights twinkled brighter, the tree grew, and the space seemed to become even more beautiful—almost overwhelmingly so.

The man let out a pleased coo, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I think the boys will like it better if the tree was bigger," he murmured, as if speaking to himself.

Adam’s mouth dropped open, and he stared in shock as the tree grew before his eyes, its branches stretching higher, its lights burning brighter. He could hardly believe it. This... this was insane.

The man—Lucifer—chuckled darkly, his voice smooth and lilting. "It’s not that bad."

His voice softened as he glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with Adam. “I’m here to help.”

"Help?" Adam whispered shakily, like a mouse caught in a trap. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. His legs buckled beneath him, and he sank back onto the sofa, his mind spiraling out of control.

“You... the devil? Satan himself? Here to help?”

The man grinned wider, his blonde hair catching the soft glow of the lights.

"Well, Satan isn't exactly me," he purred, stretching out the words like a cat toying with a mouse. "He’s a sin. But Abel's letter was so sweet and pure-hearted, I couldn’t let it go down into the ring of wrath. Not when there’s such potential."

Adam blinked, his brain struggling to catch up.

"Abel's... letter?" he stammered. What was happening? His mind couldn’t form a coherent thought.

The man—Lucifer, he reminded himself—took a few steps closer, his eyes gleaming red and gold, gleaming with an unsettling, almost hypnotic light.

“Besides," Lucifer added, his voice taking on a smug, almost amused tone, "I am the King of Hell. I outrank Satan, anyway.”

Adam felt the air leave his lungs. The King of Hell? He wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but before he could form the words, Lucifer turned to face him directly, his eyes locking onto Adam's with an intensity that made his chest tighten.

“I'm Lucifer, by the way,” he purred, his voice low and playful. “I’d prefer if you called me Lucifer.”

Another strangled laugh escaped Adam, his whole-body trembling.

"Of course," he gasped, “Lucifer! Like—like the archangel, right?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, his tail flicking back and forth, almost like a cat’s.

"One and the same," he cooed. "The fallen angel."

Adam’s head swam as he tried to make sense of the madness. The devil. Lucifer. The King of Hell. The man standing before him had just made the Christmas tree grow, had rearranged his life without so much as a second thought. His world had been turned upside down in ways he couldn’t explain. The sweet smell of cookies, the beautiful decorations, the sudden appearance of presents, the perfect snow… it was all too much, and yet, here it was.

His mind was screaming for a way out, for an escape from the bizarre reality he found himself in. But Lucifer—the devil—was right there, standing in front of him, his demonic eyes shining brightly in the dim room, as though it were all just a game.

What the hell did he want with Adam?

What the fuck did he want with his boys?

Adam’s heart was racing in his chest, thudding painfully as Lucifer’s gaze never wavered. It was as though every movement the man made was calculated, predatory—a slow, deliberate dance that seemed to draw Adam in without him even realizing it.

Lucifer took a step closer, his movements fluid, effortless. His tail flicked in the air with a slight swish, as if it were playing with the tension that hung thick between them. He didn’t seem in a rush. He was enjoying this. Adam could feel his breath quicken as the air in the room seemed to get heavier with each second, each heartbeat, each breath.

“You’re so... tense, Adam,” Lucifer purred, his voice low and velvety, an unsettling warmth creeping into the words. He placed a hand on the back of the sofa, leaning in just a little closer, his red-and-gold eyes burning with amusement.

“Do I scare you, darling? You’re not usually this... wound up.”

Adam’s eyes widened in shock, and he took a small step back, trying to distance himself from the magnetic pull Lucifer seemed to exude.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He forced himself to stand tall, but his legs felt weak beneath him.

He wanted to run, wanted to scream, but his body refused to obey. Instead, he stood frozen, feeling the invisible weight of Lucifer’s gaze on him. The devil’s attention was like a heatwave, suffocating and inescapable.

Lucifer’s lips twitched into a smirk, clearly enjoying Adam’s discomfort.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his voice a soft, honeyed tease. He took another step forward, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of Adam’s shoulder, his touch so gentle, so deliberate, it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

“Do you know how easy it would be to break that tension? To make you... feel good? I could show you what it’s like to let go...”

Adam’s breath hitched at the sudden proximity. Lucifer was so close now, close enough that Adam could feel the heat radiating off his body. The devil leaned in just enough for Adam to catch a glimpse of his sharp, pearly-white teeth, his smile wide and taunting. His scent was overwhelming—sweet, like cinnamon and smoke, but tinged with something darker, something intoxicating.

“You must know, Adam...” Lucifer murmured, his lips practically grazing Adam’s ear as he whispered. “You are beautiful when you’re frightened.”

He straightened up slowly, looking Adam dead in the eye. “But I can make you feel so much more than fear.”

Adam’s mind was spinning, trying desperately to piece everything together, to think through the madness, but it was impossible. His body felt like it was on fire, his heart pounding erratically in his chest. The fear was still there—so much fear—but something else stirred beneath it, something dangerous. His stomach twisted, part of him revolted, and yet, another part of him wanted to step closer, to reach out for Lucifer.

Lucifer seemed to sense the battle in Adam’s mind, and his grin deepened. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against Adam’s jaw, his touch feather-light, yet it felt like fire.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “You want this, Adam. You’ve wanted it all along.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to deny it, to scream that this wasn’t real, that he wasn’t... interested in whatever game Lucifer was playing. But the words wouldn’t come. His lips were dry, his mouth too parched to speak, and his pulse raced in his ears.

Lucifer’s fingers trailed down Adam’s neck, slow and deliberate, like a predator savouring his prey.

“You’ve been hunted for so long, haven’t you?” he whispered, voice smooth and coaxing. “Fighting against it. Denying it. But now... now, you’re mine. Just let me have you.”

Before Adam could protest, Lucifer’s other hand came up to cup his face, gently but firmly, forcing him to look up. Lucifer leaned in, his breath warm against Adam’s lips, his eyes burning with lustful hunger. It was happening, Adam thought, his heart thundering in his chest. He was being hunted. And Lucifer... Lucifer was the predator.

Lucifer's lips brushed against Adam’s, just a whisper of a touch, so close, so torturously close.

“You’ve been running from this for so long, Adam. But you can’t keep running forever.” He pressed just a little closer, his lips nearly brushing against Adam’s. “Let me show you how sweet surrender can be.”

The room seemed to spin. Adam felt his body tremble, his breath shallow. Every instinct screamed at him to pull away, to run, but Lucifer’s touch was like a drug—warm, soothing, and dangerous all at once.

Adam’s heart raced, and for the first time, he didn’t know what was real anymore.

With a startled squawk, Adam practically launched himself away from Lucifer. His eyes were wide, staring at the devil like he’d just seen a ghost—one with horns and a tail.

“Y-you... you go back now!” Adam stammered, pointing at the air like he could somehow banish Lucifer with his finger. “Go back to... um...”

Lucifer tilted his head, an innocent expression playing across his face.

“Hell?” he offered, his voice sing-song, as if he were helping Adam find the right words.

“Yes! That's right! Go back to hell!” Adam practically shouted, hands flailing in desperate motion. “You’re—you're not needed anymore!”

Lucifer snickered, a sound that sent a shiver up Adam’s spine. He slowly crept closer, his tail trailing behind him like a snake, flicking and twirling.

“Can’t do that,” he purred, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Adam let out a strangled sound from deep in his throat. “What... what do you mean you can’t?”

Lucifer inched closer, eyes gleaming like a predator sizing up its next meal, claws crossed behind him in a too-casual way.

“Well, you see... my contract is with little Abel, not you, Addie. So, I’m afraid you can’t send me back to Hell,” he teased, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

Adam blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if trying to make sense of the absurdity of what he was hearing.

“Contract?!” he finally managed to get out, his voice a mix of confusion and panic. He grabbed onto Lucifer’s ridiculously elaborate jacket, yanking him forward, his fingers trembling with frustration. “What the hell do you mean you have a contract with my baby?! What do you want with Abel?!”

Lucifer raised a single claw to tap lightly against Adam’s hand, his voice laced with amusement. “Relax, darling. I’m not going to harm Abel. I’m not heartless, you know. He’s just a kid.”

Adam's grip tightened, his frown deepening as he pulled Lucifer closer, hissing through his teeth. “Then what do you want with him?”

Before Adam could process the question, Lucifer leaned in with unnerving speed and brushed his lips against Adam’s ear, sending a spark of electricity down his spine. Adam gasped, startled, but when he looked around to see where Lucifer went, the devil had somehow managed to slink away, now lounging lazily across the couch as if it was his own throne.

“What the—?” Adam’s jaw dropped, blinking in disbelief. “What the fuck was that?!”

Lucifer purred, an arrogant glint in his eyes as he made himself comfortable.

“It’s just... let’s say a free sample,” he teased, his voice dripping with mischief, an eyebrow arched as he looked up at Adam.

Adam’s eyebrows shot up so high, they practically disappeared into his hairline. “A free sample for what, exactly?”

Lucifer’s smirk widened, his eyes glinting with far too much amusement.

“Well... for you, darling,” he purred, lazily curling his tail around the cushion, “Just a little taste of what’s to come.”

Lucifer’s smirk only deepened as he lounged across the sofa, his posture casual, but every movement was predatory, like a lion sprawled lazily after a successful hunt. His red and gold eyes glinted, amusement radiating from every inch of him. He ran a clawed finger lazily along the cushion, tapping to some unseen rhythm, as if the entire world was a game he was playing—Adam included.

Adam stood frozen, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath shallow. The air around them felt thick, as though the very room itself was holding its breath, waiting for the next move. Lucifer hadn’t even broken a sweat, but Adam could feel the tension crackling in the space between them.

“A free sample, Addie?” Lucifer purred, his voice smooth, dripping with an unsettling sweetness. “For you, of course.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, eyes never leaving Adam. “Let’s say... I’m offering you a chance to experience what it’s like to be touched by a real god.”

He tilted his head, the playful glint in his eyes darkening just a little. “I’m sure you’ve always wondered. Haven’t you?”

Adam's heart skipped a beat, and he staggered back a step, his fists clenching. The words hit harder than any punch could. He couldn’t understand this—didn’t want to understand it. A god? He wasn’t sure if Lucifer was taunting him, playing some sick joke, or if something else was happening entirely.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Adam demanded, his voice trembling despite his best attempt at bravado.

Lucifer didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back further on the sofa, clearly enjoying watching Adam squirm. His tail flicked back and forth lazily, as if toying with the idea of pouncing.

“Everything in time, darling,” Lucifer purred, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. “You’ll understand soon enough. But you must know...”

His eyes locked onto Adam’s, smouldering with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. “Once you’ve tasted it, once you’ve felt my touch... there’s no going back. And trust me, I’ll make you crave more. You will crave more.”

Adam’s stomach churned, his hands shaking. His mind screamed at him to get out, to run, but his body refused to move. Lucifer was closing in on him, his predatory smile widening with each step. Adam could almost hear the sound of his heart thundering in his ears, each beat louder than the last.

“Why?” Adam found his voice again, though it was barely above a whisper. He took a step back, still trying to make sense of it all. “Why him? Why Abel? What’s your deal with my kid?”

His throat tightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look away from Lucifer’s glittering eyes. “You’re not taking him. I won’t let you.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened slightly, but his smile never faltered. He propped himself up on his elbows, leaning in just enough to make Adam’s pulse quicken.

“Oh, darling,” Lucifer crooned, his voice low and intimate.

“I told you. It’s a contract.” His eyes glinted with amusement, watching Adam’s confusion ripple across his face. “I’m not here to harm the little one, not in the way you think. His heart is pure, and I’m... quite fond of purity. But the real question is, Adam... what do you want?”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, his mind scrambling. What was this? Some kind of twisted game? The whole situation felt like a nightmare that he couldn’t escape.

“What I want...?” he repeated slowly, unable to believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. “I just want you to leave. To get away from my family.”

Lucifer’s smirk deepened, and his eyes shone with amusement. “But you don’t really want that, do you, Addie?”

“You’ve been... curious, haven’t you? Wanting something more. More than just a man. More than just some mortal touch.” His tail flicked again, brushing lightly across the floor. “And I can give that to you. All you have to do is take it.”

Before Adam could respond, Lucifer moved in a flash, standing so close that Adam could feel the heat radiating from his body. His red-and-gold eyes bored into Adam’s, searching, probing, and something in them flickered, something dangerously inviting.

Lucifer’s lips parted just slightly as if he was about to say something—but instead, he leaned forward, his breath hot against Adam’s cheek.

“Don’t worry, Adam. I’ll wait for you.” His voice was soft, almost sweet, as he grazed his lips lightly against Adam’s ear. “After all, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

And then, just as quickly, Lucifer backed away, his smirk never leaving his face. He sauntered back to the sofa, stretching out lazily, his tail coiling behind him in a hypnotic swirl.

Adam’s heart was pounding in his chest, his body trembling as if he’d just run a marathon. He was dizzy, breathless, and confused.

What was this? He shook his head, trying to force his mind to clear. It was madness. All of it.

But Lucifer’s next words made the pit in his stomach deepen.

“Just remember, Addie,” Lucifer cooed, his voice low and dangerous. “The more you resist, the more you’ll want. I’ll make you beg for it. It’s only a matter of time.”

Running a hand down his face, Adam groaned. This had to be dream.

A really-really bad nightmare.

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #lucifer x adam #fanfic #au #guitarduck #fanficiton

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theshittiesttriangle · 2 months ago

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it is fucking tragic that i will never get to experience watching this show for the first time again

one of the best shows ive ever seen, loved the shit out of it. need to find a place where i can watch it again

this is one of the few pieces of media i am comfortable rating at an 8 or 9/10, up there with prince of egypt

#wakfu #thoughts #show opinions #god the opening is just so good #the entire show just fills my chest with like #i think wonderlust is the most accurate word for it #its like a pressure in my chest that i feel when i see images of places perfect for adventure #its like my heart is swelling to double the size at the thought of going on a hero's quest full of beautiful landscapes and wonder #its the same reason why zendikar rising is my favourite mtg set #god i wish i could be an adventurer #go on a quest of magic and danger with a small group of close friends #discover ancient secrets and overcome insurmountable foes #rpgs dont really sate it because it isnt really me doing it #i guess the closest real life equivalent would be living in a converted bus/van with friends #always on the move never in the same place twice

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orcelito · 2 months ago

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Haven't been able to watch too much naruto recently. Been watching Maybe an episode a day ish. I just finished ep 419 tho and WHAT an episode to have ahead of me for grand number 420. Can't watch it rn tho bc I need to sleep and also I'm too tired to give it the full attention that I want to. Bc when I watch it, I will be embracing !!!!THE!!!! legendary Guy vs Madara fight in its FULL FORM!!!!!!

So exciting. God they're laying some major death flags lol, between the flashbacks stuff and the gate of death and well the saying he's gonna die 😂😂😂 I know he does survive it tho. But I'm also embracing this part with the Possibility of him dying. Bc that's what the others are reacting to too. And I wanna experience the full depth of emotion....

Excited for watching this next episode!!! It just cannot be right now.

#speculation nation #fanny watches naruto #some wild shit going on in general. naruto is still not up yet. he's been 'dying' for like almost 30 episodes now.#granted 20 of them were filler lol but still!!!#actually can i just say. genuinely fucking WILD what all Sakura's doing to try to keep him alive.#mouth to mouth is fairly normal (though the me that started reading fanfic in the first place for naruto/sakura went !!!!! at that)#but. the. literally cutting open the side of his chest so she can Reach Inside and pump his heart with her OWN HAND???#just IN HIS CHEST??? HER HAND??? AROUND HIS HEART????? and they DONT end up together?!?!?!?#like i mean obviously naruto & sasuke have a thing but like with kishimoto doing final heterosexual pairings #it's just wild to me that Naruto ends up with Hinata who he has BARELY any development with #instead of Sakura who is like. his bestie also she put her LITERAL HAND IN HIS CHEST TO PUMP HIS BLOOD WITH HER BARE HAND #im genuinely still kinda losing my mind at that. naruto show off the shits!!!!!!#also kind of funny tho. if i remember right she just cuts into. the side? of his chest? like. the ribcage area???#in which case to reach inside to his Heart she'd have to like. cut his ribs. entirely. and then dislodge them to reach inside.#which like theyve got weird ninja magic they can heal shit also naruto's an extra special case anyways.#but still. i have to wonder whether any of them have like. actual human anatomy hdkshfksh #considering how non fatal being stabbed in the chest is in this show. UNLESS it's for plot development. 🙄🙄🙄#but yeah if 12 year old me saw sakura literally grabbing naruto's heart in his chest to pump his blood. i wouldve lost my God Damn Mind.#im still kinda losing my mind. it's so fucking *intimate* it's like. Bonkers.#and naruto is ENTIRELY unaware!!!!! and i very much doubt she'll fill him in. alas.#anywyas i need to go to bed but. yes 👍 naruto 👍

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 3 months ago

Text

Career Day

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, crack, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: Your child comes home and says tomorrow is career day at their school. They want to bring you and their daddy to school to show off how cool you two are, but.. their dad doesn’t exactly have the most conventional job.

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA

SATORU

“My daddy is the strongest!” Your son explains to a room full of his peers. Satoru is proudly beaming next to him. You note how much they look alike. The white hair, the bright blue eyes. Your son looks like he came straight from Satoru and had nothing to do with you.

But your son, Aoi, definitely had your personality.

“Nuh uh. He can’t be the strongest. Superman’s the strongest!” Another kid protested with an unconvinced frown.

“Well, my daddy is like superman!” Aoi retorts, keeping his headstrong personality like his mama. “Actually, he’s even better than superman!”

“He’s not even wearing a suit!” A different child speaks up. You share a nervous glance with Satoru. He’s enjoying this all too much.

“He doesn’t need a suit to be the strongest, dumbass!” Your sweet boy yells, and you promptly cover his mouth. Satoru is laughing his ass off, making the entire situation worse.

Correction, Aoi trying out his dad’s signature hand signal and saying “domain expansion” made the entire situation so much worse.

“You’re grounded, Aoi. You can’t say those things to other people. It’s rude and hurtful.” You say as you and Satoru walk your young boy home. Aoi lets out a small frustrated groan.

“I’m still getting him ice cream.” Satoru interjects with a proud smile. “My boy tried to cast his first domain at just six-years-old. He deserves a sweet treat.” Two wide smiles look up at you, and you realize you’re outnumbered here. Rolling your eyes, you nudge Satoru.

“I want a girl next.”

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako begged Suguru to come to their school’s career day. He was of course hesitant to do so, given that Jujutsu sorcery was still a hidden art in Japan. He didn’t exactly know how to explain his career to a bunch of kids.

He had a plan though. He would just tell the children that he was a preacher at a church. It’s not… completely a lie. He was a leader for.. a type of church.

You and Geto walk into the cozy looking classroom and see a load of other parents there. Your husband grimaced at the thought of having to interact with all these… people.

You give Suguru a reassuring squeeze of the hand. “It’ll be okay. Anything for the girls, right?” You whisper into his ear, making him nod. Anything for the girls.

When it’s finally Mimiko and Nanako’s turn to explain what their daddy does for a living, your small family gathers at the front of the classroom. Plenty of small innocent faces and reassuring smiles fill the room.

“Okay girls, tell us what your parents do for a living.” Their teacher prompts with a warm smile.

“My daddy swallows balls for a living!” Nanako says proudly with a beaming smile.

The kids erupted into laughter while their parents gave you two disgusted looks.

To make matters worse, “He also hates filthy mo-“ Mimiko tries to add on, but Geto quickly covers her mouth with his hand.

After explaining what a vivid imagination your twins have, you go on to explain that Geto is a leader at a church, and well, that doesn’t go over too well either.

“Homeschool?” Geto suggests as the four of you walk home.

“Most definitely.” You agree. Mimiko and Nanako are now educated by you at the home, where they can’t out their dad for swallowing balls.

TOJI

“Mama, make papa come to career day.” Your young son, Megumi, demanded. He had a small little pout on his face, and his arms were firmly crossed over his chest. Behind him, Toji stood, shaking his head at his son’s determination.

He often did this: telling you to make Toji do something because you were the only person who could make Toji do anything. After all these years, mans was still wrapped around your finger.

“Baby, Papa’s job is kinda private.” You explain quietly as you pet Megumi’s soft hair.

The small boy’s look of determination shifted to a look of reserve. Even as a young child, he wasn’t great at showing when his feelings were hurt, but you could always tell.

“Gumi.” You say his name softly, bending over to look at the boy’s flat expression.

You were also the only one who could coax Megumi into showing his real emotions.

Tears welled in his eyes, and his bottom lip started quivering. “I don’t wanna be the only one whose parents didn’t come.”

“Oh baby.” You frown as you pull your son into a hug. You glare upwards at Toji, and his eyes widened slightly. He knew what that look meant. “You’re going to career day.” You say to him, leaving no room for argument.

The next day,

“Okay Mr. Fushiguro, what do you do for a living?” The teacher asks Toji as he’s sat next to Megumi. Your son is actually smiling, enjoying the fact that Toji actually came to career day.

“People pay me a large sum of money, and I take care of someone for them.” Toji explains vaguely.

“Oh! Like a doctor?” One of the kids asked with an impressed smile.

“Sure, like a doctor.” Your husband lies, knowing that he does quite the opposite of what a doctor does.

SUKUNA

The look on the kids faces as your tall, muscular, tatted husband walked into the classroom was hilarious. Most of them were completely mortified, giving Sukuna frightened stares.

Your husband was completely unfazed. If anything, he was soaking in the kids’ fear. He sat at the front of the room with a look of arrogance.

Your nephew, Yuji, sat between you two. No, he was technically not your kid, but he didn’t have anyone else to bring to career day. So, Unc Sukuna and Auntie Yn were to the rescue.

“And.. what do you do for work, sir?” The teacher asked in almost a judgmental tone as she eyed Sukuna. You couldn’t tell if she despised him or wanted to fuck him.

“I don’t work. I live off tithe.” Sukuna bluntly answered with a shrug. His lopsided smile never left his face.

“What’s a tithe?” A small child asked quietly.

“It means people pay me out of fear of that I’ll harm them if they don’t.” Your husband gives a child a sharp stare with a challenging smile. He wanted the kids to keep asking questions. The thought of scaring multiple children all at once fueled him.

“Like… beat them up?” Another child asked.

“Like eating their snot-nosed children.” Sukuna answered with a toothy grin. The children all shrieked and cried in terror. Hell, even their parents looked frightened.

“Ryomen.” You chide as you look over towards your husband. He was laughing maniacally, even slapping his knee like the old man he was.

Yuji never invited you two to another career day.

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peachylynnie · 21 days ago

Text

wine

word count: 1.3k

synopsis: in which sylus is obsessed with your lips.

contains: sylus x mc!reader (not dating because i like tormenting him like that), alcohol consumption, horny sylus (not smut tho), suggestive themes, mentions of violence and blood, and LOTS of cussing.

a/n: i told myself i wouldn't write anything until i finish finals but sylus won. i'm also avoiding his myth spoilers since i didn't pull his pair yet. enjoy reading! do NOT copy or translate my work. sylus does NOT endorse plagiarism.

sylus wants to kiss you right now. he wants to kiss you so fucking badly, it hurts.

you can't blame the man. you looked absolutely delectable right now. hair up, ears jeweled, eyes hooded, and back bared, oh, you looked so good in the dress he handpicked for you; he could just devour you whole and leave nothing to spare.

and he would have no remorse for doing so either. the auction you two were at was filled with fucking nobodies. how dare they look at you, let alone breathe the same air as you? he's lost count of how many times he felt the urge to just demolish this shithole of a place.

sylus sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. he knows he's being irrational. after all, he was the one who suggested you two attend this auction. you showed interest in an old manuscript that just so happened to be available only at this auction, and he would be damned if he didn't get you everything you could ever want. hell, you could even ask him for his heart, and he would tear it out of his cold chest, deliver it to your divine feet, get on his fucking knees, and beg for you to demand more of him.

so, actually, you can blame him for the situation he is in. he was the one who picked the set you're wearing right now oh so ravishingly. he was the one who brought you to this stupid auction that's taking so long to get on with it already—where the fuck is the manuscript? but most importantly, he was the one who made your lips look so damn kissable right now.

he knew what he was doing when he picked your lipstick for you. deep scarlet that would match his eyes and look good on you. but he never thought it would look this good on you. sylus curses under his breath, feeling his pants tighten around his crotch after remembering you bent over the sink to gaze at the mirror and paint your lips. he recalls how it took him everything not to stride over to you, spin you around, and slam his lips onto yours, hoping to get a smear of that majestic shade.

oh, but it wasn't just the shade of your lips that drove him crazy. it was the texture, too. you must've been feeling heated because you go to take another sip of the wine in your hand. the matted, creamy lip print you leave on the glass has the silver-haired man inhaling sharply and tightening his grip on the table. what he would give to have such a work of art printed on him instead. he wants it all over him. his face, his neck, his fingertips, his cock—everywhere until no single part of him was unmarked by your luscious lips. until there was no room to even question who he belonged to.

that's how badly sylus wants to kiss you right now. but he stops himself using the single thread of patience he has left. yes, the two of you were technically alone, standing at the table in the far back. thank god he reserved a table just for the two of you so only he could marvel at your lip-stained glass. no one would interrupt if the two of you were to just have a full-blown make-out session right now.

but sylus knew better. he knew that you were still wary of him. this, you can blame him. after all, he's not a saint. his entire being is smothered in blood, down to the very tip of his designer shoes. he built his lavish empire of protocores and guns from the taking of lives. hell, he even threatened you the first time you met. though, he only did that to push you to your full potential. he could never truly harm you. but sylus knows you. you, in your most beautiful human form, who dwells not only on the past but also on the lives of others. you, whose empathy is so strong, sylus can't help but admire, even though he sometimes wishes you would just let loose and bring hell upon all those who dare to cross you. thus, your continued, empathy-driven wariness of him. but, sylus knows how to compromise. he's okay with being the one with bloodied hands and fucked-up morals so long as it means seeing you, even if it means from afar. besides, you haven't reported him to your little hunter friends yet. he supposes that's a start, and he could settle with that. he could also settle with this:

"is the wine to your liking, sweetie?" he asks smoothly.

you flinch, taken aback by sylus' sudden question. you were wondering when he would stop staring at you and actually start paying attention to the auction. not that you mind having sylus' eyes on you. it's just that the borderline depraved look in his crimson eyes was making you feel all hot inside and you really wanted to stop feeling all hot inside whenever you were near him, let alone thinking about him.

"uh yeah," you nervously chuckle, setting the glass down. "it's better than i thought." you turn your gaze to a waiter nearby, hoping to get a glass for sylus since he seemed so interested in yours for some reason. "here, let me get one for you too."

you try to catch the waiter's attention by raising your right hand, but sylus stops you. he grasps your hand with his left and rests it on the table. you furrow your eyebrows at him, wondering why he stopped you. sylus, the man who appreciates (that's the nicest way you can describe it) alcohol passing a chance at a complimentary drink? you're utterly confused.

"no need," sylus gives a gentle squeeze, trying to ease your confusion. though, you're not prepared for what happens next.

sylus picks up your glass with his free hand, plants his lips on your lip print, and takes a slow sip. your eyes widen, feeling the heat that was coiling in your stomach spread all around your tense body. holy shit, did he just—?

the aggravating godsend of a man next to you finishes your drink with a satisfied sigh, wiping the garnet droplets from the corner of his lips but not the paint left by yours. "hm," sylus drags his tongue along his lips, a smirk threatening to show. "it is better than i thought."

you flush, seeing your lipstick smudged on sylus' succulent lips. you don’t know what to say. he totally did that on purpose. there's no way he didn't. does this mean the two of you technically kissed-

you don't allow yourself to finish that last thought. you blink rapidly, trying to get your now parched mouth to say something. anything. but you can't. you're completely flustered to the point where all you can do is just gape at sylus with a blush the shade of his eyes tinting your cheeks.

sylus grins, the tip of his canine peeking out from his now-tainted lips. this is better than he thought. perhaps, he should settle more often if it means getting to see you so cutely aroused and embarrassed like this. though, he knows he won't be able to settle for long. he knows one day, he won't be able to hold himself back anymore. one day, he'll conquer your lips for himself and relentlessly indulge in the real thing. but for now, sylus is content. for now.

"cat got your tongue, sweetie?" sylus teases, tilting his head to meet your shaky gaze.

you jerk your head away, trying to get the image of his lips out of your mind. "eyes on the prize, sylus."

sylus chuckles, but not without placing his elbow on the table and propping his face on his hand to get a better look at you. "oh, my eyes are on the prize, sweetie. my eyes are on the prize."

#i'm so cooked for finals #but it's okay #it's not #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace x reader #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace

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sttoru · 1 year ago

Text

your boyfriend sleeps on the couch after an argument you both had earlier that day. after calming your nerves and taking time for yourself, you realise that you might have been a bit too harsh on him.

☀︎｜tags. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. fluff / angst / hurt + comfort. age gap (reader early 20’s & satoru early 30’s). nicknames used; ‘(little) baby’. he’s honestly just the perfect combination of gentle and teasing. subtle mentions of size difference.

satoru shifts on the couch whilst letting out an inaudible yawn. he was tired after an entire day at work and finally had the chance to settle down in the comfort of his apartment.

though, he couldn’t really relax just yet. the reason why being the undeniable tension hanging in the air. he was in fact home, but it didn’t feel like it. not when you were missing.

you had holed yourself up in the master bedroom after an earlier argument the two of you had. it wasn’t a big fight — just a little squabble between lovers. satoru didn’t rush after you when you had decided to walk away midst argument. you clearly weren’t in the right headspace to properly articulate nor communicate your feelings.

he figured that you just needed some time alone and thus decided to leave you be. he didn’t want to risk losing you by annoying you any further.

satoru scrolls on his phone out of boredom. the light radiating off the screen starts to bother his already sensitive eyes. with a sigh, he shuts off the device and puts it down on the coffee table.

it was dead silent in the apartment that was usually filled with your lively chatter. the sorcerer wants nothing more than to cuddle up with you under the covers and fall asleep. but, you needed space and he wasn’t going to disturb you.

he drapes an arm over his eyes and pulls the thin blanket over his chest. his breaths were steady and his thoughts were surprisingly calm. satoru almost drifts off to sleep, however his body lightly jolts awake once he hears the creaking of a door.

careful footsteps echo throughout the hallway and stop right at the doorstep of the living room.

satoru moves his arm to the side so his vision wouldn’t be obstructed. his eyes land on the figure standing at the doorframe — one he could recognise instantly.

it was you, standing there with your head held low and your fingers curled around the hem of your nightgown. you didn’t take another step forwards and just lingered in your spot for a few seconds without saying anything.

“hey, baby.” satoru breaks the silence. his voice was as soft as it could be, not an ounce of annoyance or frustration in it. even if he had all the reason to be upset according to you.

you remember just how childish you acted earlier; you had lost all rationality, shouted at your boyfriend out of frustration and ran off mid sentence instead of properly addressing the issue at hand. the way you handled that situation was wrong and immature.

in contrast to your immature behaviour, satoru had stayed calm and collected throughout the entirety of your argument. he hadn’t raised his voice at you even once nor did he blame you for anything. you felt bad for acting like a bratty kid who didn’t get her way.

you eventually move towards the couch, still not making eye contact with your boyfriend. he sits up and simply watches you with a raised eyebrow—curious as to what you were about to do.

you knew you had to apologise for your behaviour, but what you needed first was his validation. you wordlessly climb onto the couch and under the blanket satoru was using.

your arms wrap around his torso and you hug him tightly to your body, face buried in his shirt to cover your embarrassed and remorseful expression.

satoru’s eyes widen a bit at the sudden show of affection, though he wasn’t complaining. he reciprocates the gesture and nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head.

“my little baby.” he chuckles, hands rubbing your back in attempt to reassure you that everything was and will be fine, “i’m happy you decided to come back to me — thank you.”

again. that tender tone satoru uses only with you and for you. the guilt from earlier hits you like a truck and your eyes well up with tears before you could stop the process.

“sorry,” your voice cracks once you finally muster out an apology. the warmth engulfing your cold body was enough to make you sob in his comforting embrace. satoru sighs and closes his eyes. he rests his chin on top of your head whilst holding you like his life depended on it.

no words were exchanged between you two for a good minute. satoru silently encourages you to cry it out and so you do. after calming down, you sniffle and pull your head away from his chest. your eyes were watery and a bit red.

the pad of his thumb sweeps the stray tears away from your cheeks, his touch precise and careful. he smiles softly at the sight of his teary-eyed girlfriend. you were so adorable and precious to him. even when you looked like a mess — a pretty mess.

“i just..” you start off, small hiccups interrupting your sentence, “i wanted to apologise for acting so childish. i shouldn’t have said nor did any of those hurtful things. i apologise for that as well.”

your lover nods along to your words. he hums in delight and kisses your forehead, his lips lingering there for longer than intended, “don’t worry, baby. i understand. thank you for apologising, though.”

you mutter a small ‘of course’ in-between sniffles. that was all the reassurance you had needed to hear from your boyfriend. though, you still felt bad and the guilt of your immature actions seemed to linger in the back of your mind.

you lay your head back on satoru’s chest and listen to his heartbeat — hoping that the constant sound would drown out any other thoughts. your lover lays on his back and pulls you down on top of him. his hands rub your sides, slender fingers toying with the silky material of your nightgown.

“i’m sorry for being immature sometimes. i’m sure it must be troubling to deal with.” you whisper as you enjoy the feeling of being back in satoru’s arms.

he grins and shakes his head in response. he loves every side of yours — even your immature one. if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now. he truly loves all of you.

the older man places another soft kiss on top of your head and closes his eyes afterwards, “heh, i’d be lying if i said that you trying to act all tough earlier wasn’t cute.”

satoru snickers at the memory. he remembers how you pointed that little finger of yours in front of his face and how you tried to subtly stand on the tips of your toes so you could look him in the eyes properly. your attempts at looking intimidating were quite endearing.

it’s not like he was invalidating your feelings with that comment — he was genuinely trying to lighten your mood. and it wasn’t like it didn’t work.

“whatever.” you huff, playfully swatting his biceps and gaining an over exaggerated ‘ow!’ in response. you’re glad that things have gone back to normal between you two. if the situation had continued for any longer, you’d have lost your mind.

you aren’t the only one who is extremely relieved. satoru is beaming with joy because he gets to hold and talk to you again. that small period of silence between the both of you felt like an eternity to him.

no matter how many times you have those little arguments, satoru will still love you all the same.

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #gojo x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk angst

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urfriendlywriter · 1 year ago

Text

How to write angst ?

@urfriendlywriter | req by @everynowandthenihaveacrisis @aidyaiden :)

know your character. from their deepest fears to what they cherish the most. know your deepest fear, ask yourself how you will react and feel at that moment. "oh shit, if this happened to me I'll lose my mind" what's that type of scenario for you? write it. :)

decide on the type of angst you are going for!

major, minor, physical, emotional, paranormal, spiritual, verbal, abusive, quarrel, misunderstanding, etc.

and then, decide on--what reaction you can take out of your character by doing what to them.

are they gonna be, held at a gunpoint to give something up? or have their soul wrecked by whom they thought were close to them? or is it going be horror, or etctec, decide on it.

moving on to actually writing it-

Tip 1 - Use sensory details.

her eyes brimmed with tears

his chest heaved

pain clawed at his heart, as his face twisted with hurt

his scream pierced my heart

her lips quivered

she dug her nails into her palms (to distract herself, to stop it from shaking, etc)

show what is happening to ur MC, instead of telling it.

Tip 2 - how to actually write it.

If they're panicking, make them notice too many things at once, show every detail that they're seeing, feeling, from touch, to that burning sensation on their eyes, the blood on the ground, that dryness of their throat, the buzzing in their head and their parted lips unable to trust their own sight, and--and, boom! have them register that they're really really in trouble. and that they've to act fast.

use short, very minimal type of writing for this. make it long, but not long enough that it feels like it's being dragged.

the readers should hold themselves back from skimming the page out of curiousity, they should be in their toes to find out what happens next.

what does your MC do in times of panic? do they chant calm down to themselves, do they get angry, or start crying.. or?? what makes your character genuinely feel an emotion so hard that they'll burst?

there's always something, someone that'll always give them love and easily can be that something or someone to take it away. yk.

Tip 3 - crying.

what is close to your character that u can deprive them of? will it make them cry? beg for it?

what will make ur character cry so hard, that their scream fills everyone's ear, stays in their minds like ghosts and always haunts them?

make a character who never cries, burst out with tears.

while writing crying, focus on the 5 senses, one after the other.

focus it on their breath, make them run out of breath, gasp for air, feel like they're being choked, cry so scrutinizingly. it shud punch the reader's gut.

have them replay what had just happened over and over again in their head

best books and writing styles (for angst) to analyse and learn from (in my opinion);

3rd book in the AGGTM series (yk it hit hard like a truck. it got me depressed in bed the entire time lmao)

Five Survive by Holly Jackson. The moments of red outside of the truck, and moments leading to it.

there's this book called " Warm by @untalentedwriter127 " in wattpad. the author served angst for breakfast, lunch anddd dinner.

and if there's more angsty ones, drop em in the comments! :)

Hope this helps, tag me when yall write a masterpiece! ;)

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nanaslutt · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASE write more of geto being a perv🙏🙏

“pt.1” here

Geto x reader, in showing you how sorry he is for being a creep<3

perv!geto is my obsession atm

contains: fem reader, non consensual photography (reader is kinda ok w it), pervy roomate!geto, crack, gojo makes an appearance, talk of gojo wanting reader, sexual tension, cunnilingus, masturbation(geto), degradation, soooooooo much dirty talk, sweet!geto at the end<3

MDNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

About a week ago you were watching a scary movie with geto on your laptop, drinks placed on the table next to it; dumbly.

So of course when the scariest jump scare you’ve ever seen in your life occurred, your legs jerked into the glass of liquid, spilling it all over your laptop and absolutely ruining it.

“God- Fuck! Noooo! nonono!” you shot up to grab a blanket, pillow, anything, to soak up the liquid, “TAKE YOUR SHIRT OF NOW,” you yelled in a panic to your dark haired roommate, who; you noticed throughout this entire excursion had barely moved a muscle to help, besides the muscles used to laugh at you.

“Babe I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that shit is beyond saving,” he laughed, placing his hand over his chest while he did.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I use my laptop every single, and day I absolutely cannot afford to buy a new one right now.” you placed your head in your hands in defeat.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” geto said, at the end of his fit of giggles at your expense.

“Yeah right, ur broke as shit too, that’s why we’re living together.” you said, muffled into your legs as your body had now fully collapsed in on itself.

“Yeah ur right, but that kinda hurts my feelings,” he said, smirk showing through his faux pout, “thought you liked livin’ with me,”

The two of you bickered back and forth for a while. You ended up putting the laptop in a bag of rice; to no avail, it was completely ruined.

Geto had been nice enough to let you use his laptop in the meantime; only when he was with you though, which you found slightly weird but at least you had access to it to some degree.

Right now you had the house to yourself though. Satoru had picked him up half and hour ago, saying something about wanting to try some new coffee shop with word famous sweets; that meant you had free range of his laptop.

You knew how to clear search history, so you would be fine. You just wanted to watch a movie anyways, nothing criminal.

Sneaking into his room, you unplugged the silver electronic, sliding it under your arm as you took it back to your room. Placing the laptop on your bed and getting comfortable against your pillows, you cracked it open, You had accidentally seen him type in his password before, so getting in was no problem.

What was a problem is what was on the screen when the laptop came to life. An entire folder of up skirt panty shots; and not just anyone’s panty shots; they were yours.

Scrolling through the decently filled folder, you noticed ones that dated back months ago. You saw a picture of you laying on your bed, head in your hands while you kicked your feet behind you; the short skirt you were wearing gave geto the perfect view of your unobstructed ass, slight pink peaking between your cheeks.

Other too, you doing more mundane things like sitting on your knees on the barstool you had in the house, poking out your ass, once again giving that dark haired pervert the perfect shot of your clothed mound.

You were almost impressed at how many there were, and how make different angles he was able to get without your knowledge.

Trying to wrap your head around the idea that yes, your sweet roommate who has never attempted to come onto you once, had a secret folder filled with lewd photos of you.

Saving the file, you sent it to yourself. Once you heard the chime on your phone you quickly copied the link, and sent it to the culprit himself, no other message attached to it but the folder alone.

——

“Ummm ooh, I’ll also get the triple chocolate cream filled crepe cake please! What do you want suguru?” gojo chirped.

Geto started at him with disbelief, he had just ordered 5 full size deserts with the longest name he’d ever heard; all sounding like a stomach ache and a half; and they were all for himself.

“Right..uh, i’ll just get the vanilla scone and a black coffee please.” Geto politely spoke to the man taking his order.

Gojo continued conversing with the cashier, finishing up ordering any last minute items and paying.

Geto felt his phone buzz in his pants, checking it quickly while gojo finished up the interaction; both of them starting to walk to booth in the corner of the cafe.

Suguru’s heart sank to his balls when he opened your message. He knew you were mad too, because you didn’t say anything else other than a link to his private folder of your panty shots. “Fuuuuuuuuuck haha,” geto laughed, hand coming up to cover his smirk as they slid into the booth.

“Huh? let me see, what happened?” Gojo nosed, trying to peek over the table at geto’s phone when he noticed it was the source of his distress.

“I might have to sleep at your house tonight, maybe for the rest of my life I don’t know.” he said, hand dropping back into his lap as he shut his phone off.

“Did you forget to do your dishes or somethin’?” he asked, knowing how angry you got at Geto when he didn’t pick up after himself.

“Yeah maybe, or maybe my roommate just found the upskirt pics i’ve been taking of them for the past couple months.” he giggled, slight remorse in the back of his head. Not from doing it, but from being caught.

Gojo’s jaw dropped, covering his own mouth as he let out a boisterous laugh. “Hahaha oh man, you really are fucked.” the blonde slapped his own knee, “I’ll let you co-sign my lease tonight,” he said, scared that if suguru went home, he might actually get murdered.

Geto kicked satoru’s shin underneath the table, making him wince. Their giggles died down at geto’s misfortune after awhile. “So..” gojo started, “Yer’ gunna let me see the pics right?” he asked, “Already hurt you didn’t tell me about this,” he pouted,

“In your fucking dreams satoru,” geto snorted. He already saw the way gojo looked at you when he was over, always making passes at you and touching you any chance he got.

He would be damned if his bestfriend got his hands on you before he did. “WHAT???” gojo yelled a little too loud for the tiny space they were in, resulting in him getting shushed by geto, “pleaseeeee, I know how good you are at taking pictures I bet they’re soooo gooood.” gojo wined, crossing his arms on the table and laying his head against them.

“Keep dreaming satoru.” he laughed. The whine haired man kept his pouting up for awhile, calling Geto selfish and unfair, his sorrow immediately being forgot about when the massive tray of his deserts finally came out.

——

When you heard the front door to your shared apartment finally crack open open a couple hours later, you were in your bedroom.

His laptop had been tucked away in your bedside table in confiscation, while you awaited with a racing heart, for him to knock on your bedroom door.

You heard him place his keys on the table through the thin walls, then you hear his heavy footsteps as he starts to make his way to your room.

The air was still when the footsteps came to a stop in front of your door. You were feeling a lot less confident than you were before he got here, now the thought of confronting him made your mouth feel dry; heart beating out of your chest.

Finally, the knocks were being rapped on your door, you swear you died for a second when you heard his familiar voice call your name, followed by him asking politely if he could come in.

"Its open," you yelled back. When the wooden door creaked open and his frame came into view, you had to fight off all the neurons in your brain telling you to look away from his hooded eyes.

You felt like you couldn't breathe, the tension in the room was so thick it could be cut through with a knife. You had no idea why, but the current situation was admittedly arousing.

You stayed silent for a while, just staring at each other, neither one of you daring to break eye contact first, "So? What do you have to say for yourself?" you asked, voice coming out a lot less confident than you wanted.

"Im sorry." he replied, swallowing thickly, quickly sucking his lip into his mouth to wet it.

"You're sorry for what?" you asked clarifying, This wasn't going how you expected.

"I'm sorry for being a pervert and taking panty pics of my roommate." He said, taking a couple steps towards where you were sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Are you really sorry?" You asked, voice full of need, as you did your best to supress it, trying to ignore the growing heat in your stomach.

"So sorry" he answered, having made his way inches away from you, eye contact still not being broken. You both noticed how heavily you were breathing, his eyes flitting down to your lips for a second before he sucked his lip into his mouth again, and letting it slide out, dark eyes meeting yours again.

The only thing you heard was your heart beat loudly in your ears as you spoke your next words, "Show me how sorry you are."

----

"Mm so fucking sorry," geto's voice vibrated against your clit.

"F-fuck ohmygod," You moaned at the feeling of him wrapping his lips around the bud, tongue peeking through to flick at it.

"A-again-" you whined,

"'M sorry," he groaned, staring up at you with a smirk as he released your clit, flattening his tongue over the sensitive bud.

You were laid back, ass placed at the end of the bed, Geto was sitting back on his heels as he perched himself on the floor between your thighs, hand rapidly stoking over his throbbing cock.

"W-wipe that sm-ile off your face" you wined, trying to keep the little hold you had over geto.

He didnt stop smiling, but you could'nt tell when he burried his tongue inside your pussy, pressing his face hard into your wetness and shaking his head. His pointed nose rubbed your clit in the most delicious way when he did that.

"S-so fucking dirty" you chastised at how sloppily he was eating your cunt. He was trying to fuck his apology into your pussy with his tongue, really trying to prove how sorry he was.

Loud slurping noises bouncing off the walls and going straight to your head; and to his cock; making you both dizzy at the situation.

"Sorry I'm so nasty," he groaned, muffled by your folds as he tongue fucked you like his life depended on it.

Quickening the pace of his hand against his cock, he was squeezing it the same way your walls squeezed his tongue, trying to mimic the feeling. Pre was dripping steadily from his cock and onto the floor, leaving a little puddle there.

Geto was getting off on this so hard.

Every time you squeezed your thighs around his head and degraded him, his abs clenched, balls tightening with the need to blow his load.

"O-only thing youre good for is eating my pussy, f-fuck" you said meanly with a whimper, eyes dropping down to his handsome face and seeing how fucked out he looked from your words, as he nodded his head and moaned into you, agreeing with you.

He needed to you keep talking to him like that, to keep humping his face, suffocating him, treating him like a bitch, he needed it.

"Use me-" he cut himself off as he moved his mouth back up to your clit, making out with the little bud messily, "wanna show you how sorry I am." he drunkenly smiled at you.

You gripped his hair in a makeshift bun, rolling your hips against his face as he stuck his tongue out for you to get yoruself off on.

Groans of "mhm mhmm" could be heard from Geto between your legs, pumping his cock impossibly faster feeling your wetness gush out of you from his minstrations.

"Ohmygod feels so good- shit-" You wined, tipping your head back, feeling your orgasm build quicky as you rubbed against his tongue just right.

His chin was absolutely covered in your slick, pretty eyes rolling back in his head as he felt himself get pushed towards the edge as well, abandoning his hand keeping your thigh spread to join his other between his legs. He massaged his balls between his fingers, increasing the pleasure he felt while you worked towards your end together.

"Fuck t-tell me your sorry again," you whimpered out, teetering on the edge of your orgasm, "Sorry" his deep voice immediately groaned out, cock throbbing when you yanked on his hair.

"Ag-ain" your moans broke up your speech,

"Sorry, m' sorry, sorry-" He kept babbling against your pussy, sending delicious vibrations through you.

You were feeling hotter at the strange power dynamic going on, using that to your advantage as he kept mumbling the word into you, sending you straight into the most mindblowing orgasm of your life.

"Coming f-uck fuck f-" your voice getting cut off as your stomach started contracting and jerking, you rode your high out on his tongue while he groaned a lengthy moan into you.

Behind where your vision was blocked by the bed, Geto was cumming all over his hand and the bottom of your comforter.

Geto's eyes repeatedly rolled back in his head, hand massaging his cum out of his balls as he stroked himself roughly through his orgasm.

Finally being able to breathe when you loosened your legs from their hold on his neck, dropping your hands from his hair as you laid back on the sheets. Geto's hands wet with his seed came up to massage your thighs, his head rasing from between them.

You both took a second to breathe heavily into the open air, your cunt as his cock alike twitching in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

You felt his hold on you cease for a moment, a couple seconds later something was bouncing heavily next to your head. When you turned your head you were faced with a brand new, rose gold laptop, still in its packaging.

You looked back up at geto, who was now standing, running one of his damp hands through his hair, "If me eating your pussy didnt prove how sorry I am, I hope this will." He smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, Geto are you serious?" you beamed, picking your limp body up from the sheets and holding the package in your hands, he smiled at you fondly, watching you tear it open like a kid on Christmas.

Peeling the plastic from the cardboard you spoke, "Still making you delete all those photos by the way," resulting in him tipping his head back in a loud groan of defeat.

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slytherinslut0 · 18 days ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S RIDDLEMAS

dec 10th. tom riddle — oral sex, experienced!tom.

RIDDLEMAS MASTERLIST. I 2024

summary: your ex couldn’t make you orgasm, so you were certain you were broken. tom shows you just how wrong you are.

warnings: 18+, SMUTTT MDNI, tom riddle can eat me aliv—sorry who tf said that?, tom riddle is such a realist; he sees a problem and he finds a solution, tom is a munch, praise kink, oral f!receiving, experienced tom, hufflepuff!reader.

Months pass, and your project remains the only thing Tom ever prioritizes when it's you asking.

Progress is slow—slow because you're usually far too busy talking to actually focus—yet, he always stays. He listens, even when the things you say should bore him, even when they mean nothing at all. He sits there—giving you hardly the barest scraps of himself in return as you fill the space between you with everything that crosses your mind.

Things he'd never waste a second hearing from anyone else.

And tonight, to no-one's surprise, you're doing it again—rambling on about nothing and everything all at once. You've got this way of talking—weaving tangents into something almost poetic, and usually, he lets it fade into the background as he works. You're saying something about the differences between the seasons, or maybe it's just some other kind of sentimental nonsense—at this point, he's not entirely sure.

It's easy to tune out. He tells himself he's not really listening.

Until—

"Actually, I guess I should clarify that—it's all hypothetical. I don't date," he doesn't know what you said before this, but he's certainly intrigued by it now. "And really, it has nothing to do with like, self esteem or anything, I'm just broken. Best to save someone the trouble."

That stops him cold. It's not so much the declaration that you don't date—he could have guessed that himself—but more so the way you've just called yourself broken.

It's not a word he's ever heard you use before.

"What do you mean, broken?" He asks, the question coming out far more blunt than he probably intended.

It just seems so out of character for you—you've always been an optimist, far too annoyingly positive to speak of anything this way. He blinks when you freeze, and blinks again when a moment of self consciousness seems to pass over your face—and he notes how that's a first for you, too.

"Broken...as in, uh, not normal," your eyes flit down to your lap, tracing the wood beneath where you're seated on the floor in his dorm. "My ex made that very clear in his assessment of me."

The mention of an ex is something he'd been anticipating—you're in your twenties, after all—but it's the idea that your ex is the source of you calling yourself broken, that he can't quite swallow.

"You're 'broken' because of one ex?" He says, and he can't stop how derisive and skeptical his voice sounds. He doesn't care to try. "I'm not following."

"I'm what you'd call, damaged goods, I think," you murmur, and there's an almost self-deprecating smirk on your face. He can't help but think how he's never seen that look on you, either. "I've got a slew of unhealthy baggage that comes along with me. You know, childhood traumas, abandonment issues, daddy issues—"

He snorts at that—daddy issues—and your head snaps up, smirk deepening despite yourself.

"Don't snort at my daddy issues," you huff, and there's a familiar annoyance in your voice that puts him at ease. "They're valid and real."

"I'm not denying their validity," he counters, his own smirk beginning to surface. "But daddy issues? Come on. You're not some tired cliché ripped out of a teenage romance novel. I refuse to accept your declaration of brokenness until you give me factual reasoning."

You laugh at that—alive and genuine—and for a moment, he's reminded of why he even tolerates you in his space at all.

"Fine," you cross your arms over your chest. "What do you want to know then?"

He makes a low, contemplative sound at that—because there's a million questions that come to mind with the words damaged goods—and after a moment, he settles on the one that falls out first.

"What is it, precisely, that makes you broken?"

You sigh, a bit theatrically—he knows you're just putting on a show and he wants to laugh at you for it—but he reigns that in, for now, while you figure out how you're going to respond to that.

The truth is, you don't know how to tell him the real reason you're broken—the part that has nothing to do with the laundry list of emotional baggage you could rattle off with ease. It's something...different.

Something more physical.

"I don't know, okay?" You're getting defensive. You're not sure why but you are. "Just—forget I said anything. We have this assignment to—"

"You dodging the question tells me it's more than just psychological," he cuts you off, leaning back into the couch. The way he's looking at you makes it clear—there's no way he's letting this go. "You getting defensive tells me you're embarrassed by it."

You sigh again, leaning back on your palms to mirror his body language, though it doesn't feel half as natural on you as it does on him.

"And you, being an insufferable arse, is telling me I never should have mentioned it in the first place."

His smirk at that makes you want to glare at him.

"Stop dodging," he says. "You brought it up. You don't get to take it back."

It's a challenge—the gleam in his eyes is practically screaming so. You're not sure why the sight of it makes something low in your stomach clench, and you're even less sure of why you want to tell him something like this—something you haven't told anyone else—not friends, certainly not family.

Whatever the reasoning, you can feel yourself relent.

"Maybe," you pause, the look on his face makes you second guess yourself. "...maybe I don't want to tell you because I'm afraid you'll look at me differently." You glance down at your lap, fingers twitching against the yellow pleats of your skirt before finally meeting his eyes again. "And I kind of like the way you look at me now."

Something like curiosity passes over his expression at that—but it's quickly hidden by the type of skepticism that tells you he still doesn't believe you're being serious.

"You're overthinking it," he replies, unmoving. "Whatever it is you think you're going to tell me, I'm not going to look at you differently. You're still you—no filter, unabashedly verbal—"

"Too verbal. Too positive, too loud," you finish his sentence for him—because you know that's how he thinks of you. "Too annoyingly optimistic. Far too hufflepuff for your cold snake skin. I know."

"Exactly," he says, tongue running over his bottom lip in attempt to quell his smirk. "So I reiterate. There's nothing you could tell me that would change that."

"Fine," you relent, giving in begrudgingly because you know there's no other option. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He just lifts a hand at that, as if to say; whatever you think it is, I can handle it. The action makes you suck a breath into your lungs, trapping it there.

"You're right," you say after a long exhale. "I have a slew of psychological bullshit that would take the span of a year for me to fully go over in one sitting—but, I'm fine with it. That's...that's not the thing that made me call myself broken."

He says nothing, just makes a motion with his eyes for you to keep going.

"It's, uhm...physical." You whisper, and your brain is moving too much and too fast and you're not even completely sure how to say it without sounding insane. "And...I don't know, I just...I can't orgasm. No matter what. I just can't—it's frustrating and embarrassing and it's the reason my ex ended things."

There's a silence that follows, and he knows if it were anyone else, they'd probably find a way to comfort you. Reassure you. Tom, however, isn't anyone else—

"You're joking," he says, and his tone is incredulous again.

A self-depreciating laugh leaves your lips involuntarily, the sound of it making you almost want to cringe.

"Would it be less embarrassing if I was?"

He's still just watching you, dissecting your words as if waiting for you to crack a smile and confess this was all some stupid joke—and the vulnerability of it aches like a stab to the gut.

"This is the reason you think you're broken?" Is what he goes with when he finally realizes you're being serious. "Because you haven’t orgasmed?"

The bluntness of it makes you flush, makes you wish you could sink into the floor. "I know it's not normal, okay—"

"It's not an abnormality, either," he asserts, with casualty. "You might just have a disconnect."

You blink, caught off guard—not just by his choice of words, but by how matter-of-fact he sounds, like this isn't the mortifying confession it feels like.

"A disconnect?"

"A disconnect," he repeats, looking you over, something clinical slipping into his eyes. "Between mind and body. And considering how loud your thoughts are—"

"Hey—" you snap, suddenly feeling a bit indignant, but he just continues on.

"—it's not surprising that you can't get out of your own head."

You open your mouth to argue, to tell him he's not a therapist, so what the hell does he know? But the certainty in his expression makes you pause. He doesn't look patronizing or condescending, just...assured. Like he knows exactly what he's talking about.

You hesitate, lips parting, a protest forming on your tongue. Before you can say anything, though, he raises a hand to stop you.

"Come here," he says, standing up from the couch.

You blink, trying to decipher what the hell he's implying—because if anything, the last thing that's going to make you less paranoid about intimacy is proximity.

"What?"

He just looks at you, making a motion with two fingers, beckoning you to stand.

"Don't ask questions. Just come here."

It's an order, and it makes your spine tingle in a way that's definitely not comfortable—but you get up from the floor, and move closer to him anyway, closing the distance between you with only a few steps until you're close enough to him that you can practically feel the heat that seems to come off him in waves.

It's weird—he's suddenly too much all at once—you're so much more aware of him being in front of you than you think you've ever been before and it does not help that he's just looking at you—as if studying you—blinking only once as he raises those same two fingers to your neck, resting them against the pulse point at your throat.

Your entire body tenses. His touch is far more gentle than you ever imagined it being, something disarming that makes your pulse beat faster against his fingers as a result—and because this is Tom, with all his smug and certainty—he gives you a look that tells you he can feel it before he slides his fingers up to rest on your forehead.

You scowl at the motion, but he clicks his tongue, the sound as condescending as it is amused.

"I told you, you're an overthinker." He murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips. "Too much noise."

You want to refute that—mostly because you're not overthinking, you can't be—he's just so unequivocally overwhelming—

"I'm not—"

You start, but he moves his fingers from your forehead and places them against your lips—

"Quiet." He scolds, and that makes something low in your stomach clench. "Your body knows what to do. You're just letting your thoughts get in the way."

You long to protest again, just for the sake of defiance—but then his fingers are against your collarbone, and that motion in your stomach becomes a bit more of a squirm—

"Your body is trying to tell you something," he whispers, watching each little hitch in your breath. "But you're too busy talking over it to hear what it's saying."

You realize—with a sort of horror that's laced with something a little more uncomfortable—that he's right. Your body is trying to say something. It's communicating through the unsteady force of your breaths, through the clench of your fists against your skirt—

Of course, he notices. He's noticing far too much.

"Relax," he murmurs, and now he's trailing those same two fingers in an unhurried path down your shoulder. You suddenly regret every decision that led to you wearing a T-shirt. "I'm not going to bite you."

Something about the way he says it makes you wish he wasn't quite so convincing—the familiar banter you long for gone with the sharp exhale that comes out of your mouth as his fingers encircle your wrist—

"Your pulse is racing," he says casually, far too casually for how much effort it's taking you not to scream. "Does that seem broken to you?"

Gods—you want to respond—you really, really do— but your thoughts flatline when you realize his touch has shifted. He's no longer just holding your wrist; he's guiding your hands to rest against his chest, and—

"There you go," he whispers, and the tone of it tells you he knows exactly what it is he's doing to you. "See? Your body's doing exactly what it's meant to do. You—" his fingers trail up your arms, and his voice gets lower. "—are not broken."

You swallow hard, acutely aware of your hands on his chest and the way your palms are clammy against the fabric of his shirt. He's shifting you now, deliberately crowding you, and it's only when you feel the edge of the couch press against the back of your calves that you realize—perhaps a second too late—exactly what it is he's doing.

You stumble back onto the leather, and he follows—crushing his lips to yours.

You gasp, startled, because despite everything you truly hadn't seen this coming. The kiss is messy, clumsy, and his hand finds the nape of your neck, tugging at your hair with just enough force to make it sting. And inevitably, when you gasp again, he takes it as an invitation to work his tongue into your mouth, other hand slipping under your shirt—trailing up your stomach.

You're trembling now, and he makes a low sound at the realization. Your brain is racing to catch up, and the irony of this isn't lost on you—he'd just claimed you weren't broken, but he might as well be destroying you himself.

He parts from your lips only to trail his own across your jaw—

"You're shaking," he murmurs with a smirk against your throat—as if he's taking immense pleasure in the fact—you hate how smug it makes him sound. "Do you want me to stop?"

You want to tell him he's being a bastard, but then his lips press to that spot on your neck—the one that makes your breath hitch and your pulse stutter—and you find yourself whimpering at the sensation.

"No," you breathe, and you'd be embarrassed by the pleading tone in your voice if you weren't so lost in the moment. "Don't stop."

He makes another low, satisfied noise at that.

"Good," he whispers. "No thinking. Just feel."

You swallow—throat dry. It's unfair how easily he's dismantling you with nothing but his mouth and hands. Unfair how he's leaving you breathless and unraveling while somehow making you feel seen in a way you can't explain, even with your eyes shut.

"Tom," you find yourself whimpering, and you aren't even sure what you're asking for—you just know you want more as his lips trail lower—as his fingers work to tug down your skirt. "Gods."

"Shh. Feel me," he murmurs, almost possessively, his lips brushing lower, grazing over your stomach, then your pelvis. "Let your body do the talking."

You've got your hands tangled in his hair before you even know what you're doing, and you hate the fact that you're pretty sure you'd melt into a puddle if he weren't holding you together.

"I feel you," you whimper as he kisses lower. "You're all I feel."

He makes another low sound at that, and you just know it's the response of ‘yeah, that’s right’—but then he's between your legs, panties shifted out of the way, and the first sweep of his tongue against your clit makes all coherent thought shift to static.

"Oh! God," you gasp, the word barely escaping before dissolving into a whimper when he does something with his tongue that makes your vision blur. "Tom—oh, fuck."

He just makes that smug, satisfied noise against you again before his tongue swirls over your clit and you find yourself almost cursing whatever deity made him so good at this, because it's not fair how quickly he reduced you to a whimpering, shaking mess beneath him and—

"Don't stop," you find yourself babbling, digging your nails into his scalp and knowing you look like a goddamn wreck as he makes a meal out of you—tongue lapping up your slick and swirling your clit before sealing his lips around it and forcing your back off the leather beneath it. "Please, don't stop, please—"

It's all you can manage to say. Your thighs are shaking now, and you're sure he's got you dripping all over his face with how soaked you are. He knows you're falling apart and he just keeps going— your brain ceasing function in favour of just focusing on how fucking close you are—how close you are to something you've never felt before in your life—and you're not even sure what you're begging for anymore but it's incoherent and loud—

"I need—" you whimper, your hands tightening in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan against you. You don't know what you're asking for, but you know he has it. "I need—I need—“

"Let go," he murmurs against you, the roughness in it vibrating up into your belly. "I dare you."

There's still a little bit of you functioning on autopilot, just enough to tell you that when he murmurs those words—vibrations rattling up your cunt and into your chest—you're completely done for.

It’s merely a few seconds later that your high reaches its peak and he just keeps lapping as you shake apart beneath him with an intensity you've never felt before in your life—orgasm shredding you apart at the seams. Your thighs clamp around his face, your eyes squeezed shut, ears ringing so loud you barely register his low, muttered praises: "good girl," "so good," "there you go."

You’re fairly positive your legs will never be able to support you again when you finally come back down, feeling entirely like jelly as he pulls back, tongue flicking over his lips to clean off whatever's left of you.

And without thinking, you grab him and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a messy, desperate kiss. He tastes like you, like him, like something you can't quite describe—and it makes everything feel intense and unbearably real all at once.

He gives you a moment, as if letting you recover, just languidly kissing you back—and you have to be honest with yourself and admit that this kind of makes you want to scream.

"A disconnect," he smirks against your mouth, the tone still smug. You manage a weak smack to his shoulder, though it does nothing to wipe the satisfaction off his face. "Still sure you're broken?"

You hate that he's right. Hate that he's managed to pull a reaction from you that you didn't think was possible. But as you sit there, shaky and spent, you know you can't deny the truth: no, you're not broken.

"Not broken." You whisper back. "You will be though, if you don't stop smirking at me like that."

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miyukisu · 2 months ago

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Between Me and You .ᐟ

❤︎ | While your other friends are enjoying themselves on your little camping trip, you and Kaiser were secretly fucking around (3k wc) ╰ feat. michael kaiser (bllk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 6 | kinktober masterlist

tags - exhibitionism, car fun, fingering, hand jobs, kaiser is a bit desperate, camping trip, p in v, breeding, p*rn with plot, profanity, kaiser and reader banter a bit, friends/enemies-ish to lovers

minors do not interact

"Can you stop fucking moving for a second?"

A tone of annoyance filled his voice as he gripped your waist, effectively keeping you in place.

You two found yourselves in a rather interesting position—at the back of your friend's car with nothing else but the equipment you guys brought for the camping trip. You and Kaiser just pulled the short end of the stick hence why the others were enjoying a little bit of space in the cramped car, while you two had none at all.

"Move one more time and I swear to God—"

"What? You'll get harder?" you tease.

Kaiser clicked his tongue. He was already regretting this trip. The first half of the journey was rather peaceful as he probably fell asleep. And maybe it was because he wasn't conscious to keep his "thing" in control—combined with the fact that you had been rubbing against him this entire time—but it wasn't surprising that he was slowly getting hard.

You thought it would be funny to mess with him; you two had that kind of odd relationship anyway. So you rolled your ass against him, pretending that the road was bumpier than it actually is... until he woke up and became aware of the situation.

"I'm not hard," he denies. But the stiff feeling poking at you from behind told you otherwise.

You simply grinded your hips against him again in response—earning a low groan from him.

"Ya alright back there, man?" one of your friends asks, looking in the rear view mirror.

Kaiser breathes in. "Yeah, one of the tent poles just kept poking me and it hurt."

"Something's poking me too," you add, but Kaiser quickly pinches the side of your waist to stop your mischief.

Your friend laughs, completely unaware of what you two were doing at the back of his car. "My bad. Y'all just try your best to get comfortable, a'ight? We got about another hour on the road."

A whole entire hour.

You could either torture yourself by dwelling on the fact that your position was uncomfortable or... you could have fun. But it seems like Kaiser had the same idea as he slowly lifted up the skirt of your sundress. Your eyes widened, fully knowing that the tides have now turned against you.

"Let's see if you like it," he whispers in your ear. His breath felt warm, contrasting the chilly air of the airconditioned vehicle.

The panties you wore today matched the color of your sundress, except he can't really see it with you sitting on his lap like that. Though it hardly mattered. It was coming off later anyway.

He swiped a finger along your core, noticing how damp it had gotten. Kaiser elicits a low chuckle, whispering in your ear again, "Look at how wet you got from grinding on me. Slut."

There was no comeback; how could you deny that? Especially as he presses his thumb on your clit, rubbing it slowly. You were about to moan and fall back against his chest, but his other hand stopped you.

"Hey, remember he can see us through the mirror, right? I'd suggest you behave unless you want them to see you whoring yourself out for me."

You swallowed back your wanton moans. The fact that he had his hand on your pussy so shamelessly was embarrassing enough; you didn't need for the others to find that out too.

But for as embarrassing as it is, you made no effort to swat his hand away. In fact, you let him go on. You let him rub your sensitive clit faster. And you let him hook a finger in the gusset, pulling the fabric out of the way.

He swiped his finger again and it had him snickering. Kaiser pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as way to show his amusement. "Holy shit. You're dripping for me."

This time, it was you clicking your tongue at him. But again, you were at a loss for words. You were too focused on the way he played with your pussy and his dick that seemed to be getting even harder. It was impossible to ignore how it pressed against the flesh of your ass.

"What? Got nothing to say now? Where did all your attitude go—"

Turning to face him slightly, you pleaded. "Just take responsibility for it... please?"

You swore you felt his dick twitch through his sweats. Kaiser gulped down, not expecting for that kind of response. He wanted you to fight back—be your usual feisty self. What was he to do now?

"Say it again," he whispered lowly.

"Kaiser... please?" you obeyed.

He hated how easily he gave in as well. All he needed was your honeyed pleas and he was sold.

Kaiser clicked his tongue, knowingly facing a predicament. On one hand, he wanted to listen to his lust infested brain. But it was dangerous. He was about to finger fuck you in a car filled with your dearest friends after all.

His free hand held you by the arm. "Be quiet... or else."

You gulped. It was going to be a difficult task, but you'd rather keep your mouth shut than get no relief at all. He slowly slid one finger in as if to test the waters.

As he expected, it was warm and tight. It made his mind race with all sorts of lewd images. He silently cursed himself, knowing that he was in no position to give himself the same kind of relief.

Perhaps, seeing you enjoy yourself on his fingers would get him off... for now at least.

Though his mind was preoccupied on what could and couldn't be—he absentmindedly pushed in two fingers without warning. The way his thumb resumed to rubbing circles on your clit while he pistoned his fingers out of you felt too practiced—like he had done this thing plenty of times in the past.

He skillfully and precisely brought you to orgasm—all the while you were fighting for your life to keep your sounds at bay. Hell, you were sure that you were biting down on your lips hard enough to make it bleed.

Kaiser let you ride out your high, still pushing his fingers in and out… slowly. A breathy rasp leaves his lips as he throws his head back against the seat. To some extent, part of him felt liberated too.

A boundary was crossed—one that you two teetered on for what felt like months. His dick was aching, yes, but a different kind of warmth filled him.

Hope? He wanted to call it that, but it felt pathetic somehow. Kaiser felt a bit stupid—thinking too hard about something else while you’re right here, sitting on his lap all fucked out.

“Enjoyed yourself?” He whispered to you once more.

“Shut up, ass hat.”

He chuckles. “That’s what I get? After fing—“

“Shut the fuck up. I’m serious,” you sneer.

And he did; awkward silence enveloped the two of you as you sat uncomfortably—Kaiser still with his hard on and you with your ruined underwear. All you wanted at this point was to get out of the fucking car.

────────────

“Hey, so uh, where did Kaiser go?”

Your friends seemed to look in your direction, thinking that you of all people should know the whereabouts of the man whose lap you sat on for quite some time. However, you didn’t bother sparing them a glance as you continued to help set up camp.

“How would I know?”

Your friends looked amongst each other, slightly unconvinced by your cluelessness. But they shrugged it off—thankfully. Everyone resumed to their designated camp duties and not long after, Kaiser returned from his so-called bathroom break. Though you had a hunch on what that truly meant.

It was normal for the most part—everything went as you had envisioned it… except for the little fact that Kaiser would be avoiding you.

Here you thought that after your little stunt in the car, he’d be even more forward with you. But it seems to have an opposite effect. Every time your eyes would meet, he’d look away. You didn’t even dare talk to him because you knew he’d gloss over you.

But the fact of the matter was that—Michael Kaiser was too overwhelmed by the sudden shift in your relationship. He was trying his fucking best to keep himself in control. Otherwise, there may be consequences…

Consequences which you will soon know of.

────────────

You think the world likes to play tricks on you because why do you have to sleep in the same tent as him when there were 2? And why oh why did you have to sleep beside him? There were 4 of you inside the tent—but still—you found yourself on the same inflatable mattress, under the same blanket. Because of course, the damn thing only fit for two people.

Your friends thought it was alright considering you two have already broken the barrier of physical touch; they just didn’t know how far that REALLY meant.

As best as you tried to sleep, you felt intense eyes boring into the back of your head. You silently cursed him for not following the unspoken rule of sleeping back to back. This was just impossible.

You turned around to face him, pulling more of the blanket towards you. Your eyes were met with his. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What the fuck’s going on with you?”

He stared blankly at you, lips pressed in a straight line. “Nothing.”

“Cut the bullshit. You’ve been avoiding me the entire time we were here after you… you…”

“After I made you cum in the car?”

The audacity of this man caused you to kick his shin. He had to bite back a pained groan to not wake up the others.

“Was that fucking necessary?” He asked. But his question was met with silence; he took it as a hard resounding yes.

A frustrated sigh spilled from his lips. "Fine. I was avoiding you because... I know I won't be able to control myself around you."

You raise your eyebrow in response, unsure of what he meant exactly. He couldn't help but pinch the bridge of his nose to express his exasperation.

"I was this close," he says while pinching his pointer and thumb together as if to show he was holding something miniscule between the pads of his fingers. "I was this close to fucking you in the car."

Your eyes widened in disbelief. This whole time you thought he had regretted his previous actions back in the car, but you had it totally backwards. It was your turn to sigh.

"You could've just told me," you countered.

"That I wanted to fuck?"

"Yeah."

...

"I wanna fuck then," he says so matter-of-factly. It was almost comical to you that it made you chuckle softly.

"What's so funny, assh—"

You cut him off by pulling him into a soft but passionate kiss. Your palm cupped his cheek and your fingers wove themselves into his silky blonde hair.

He was a good kisser—that much was to be expected. It didn't take long for him to reciprocate and then some, pulling your leg to drape over his hips.

Kaiser wanted—no, needed—you to be closer to him. He had to feel your heat, your presence, your everything.

It was almost animalistic how he tried to devour your lips. It was desperate—like a call for help. Now, you were a hundred percent sure about what he had been doing earlier when he left the group.

You pulled away, breathless. If not for the concept of breathing, you would have gone at it until morning. His bright blue eyes stared into yours.

Kaiser was eerily silent, but mostly because he didn't want to get caught doing something dirty with you in the tent. He let his actions speak for himself—his hand lowering to grope the flesh of your ass.

He squeezed it harshly and without restraint; he was way past that. But he decided that it wasn't enough.

He slowly cupped your pussy with his slender fingers. Surely, he was more excited than you were.

"We can't..." your voice trails off—partially due to disappointment, but mostly because he began rubbing your clit again.

"Why not?"

"What? Are you not aware of the two other people sleeping in here?"

"The fuck do we do then?"

But it would seem that he had no plans of letting you speak. Somehow, his fingers found their way in—past your cotton shorts and past the sorry excuse for panties that you wore.

He had been there earlier, so he wasted no time plunging his fingers as if they belonged there. The slight squelching sound made your stomach knot in fear; you could only hope that your friends were sleeping deeply enough.

"What do we do, pretty?" he asked again, though softer.

But his tone betrayed his actions. He stared at you like he wasn't doing anything dirty to you under that blanket.

"I... we... we can't"

Kaiser hummed. "We can't huh?" But he continues to bully his fingers into you and it made your head spin. Words had failed you at this point, so you held on to his arm—failing miserably at stopping him. But you both knew that you wouldn't want him to stop anyway.

The impending climax clouded your judgement. Part of you felt oddly fine if your friends did end up waking and catching you in the act.

The fear had morphed into forbidden excitement.

But it was too soon as he pulled his hand out, leaving you high and dry.

"You think you can get to cum again after being so selfish in the car?"

He tried his best to remain firm, but the muffled whines you let out slowly chipped at his resolve.

"Nuh uh. You gotta be fair," he argued.

At the very least, you were easy to talk to. You pushed him to lie on his back as you propped yourself up on your shoulder. Your palm caressed his body before sliding down to his aching cock. Finally free from its confines, Kaiser let out a strained sigh of relief.

The blanket was a useless barrier; it barely hid his hard length and the motions of your hand.

You chose to go at a painfully slow pace—it made his head spin. But it was so much better than using his own hand that he found it hard to complain at all.

"Fuckkkk," he drawled out.

His face of pleasure was mesmerizing—eyes glued shut with his jaw hanging loosely. It motivated you... somehow. Speeding up the pace, you eventually brought him to orgasm. His body flinched, but he tried to stop himself—not wanting to show how badly you affected him.

You kept his cock in your hand, amazed that it was still hard even after cumming once. "Shit... how are you still hard?"

"Been thinking about this shit all day... How can I not be?"

His honest words sent a jolt to your core. You thought it was impossible to get even wetter. But he managed to do the impossible.

"Fuck—just turn around, will you?"

He asked, but it sounded more like a command. Kaiser got on to his side once more and guided you to do the same so that your back was against his chest. His warm breath fanned the skin of your neck.

His heart was thumping so hard that you could feel it reverberate in your own body.

"Hold your leg up," he commanded again. And you obeyed like the good girl that you are for him.

Kaiser deftly pushed the fabric that was in his way, lining up his cock against your entrance. He pushed only the tip in, but that alone was tantalizing.

You could hear the way his breath hitched. His hand replaced yours as he held up your leg himself. His long fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh, keeping it high enough so he can fuck into you better.

Slowly, he rolled his hips—getting at least half of his length in. You almost let a moan slip out, but you were cautious enough to slap your hand over your mouth.

Checking to see if they're still asleep, Kaiser figured it was safe enough to sheath himself completely inside you. And he swore it was heaven.

Even he wanted to moan. But the prospect of being discovered and stopped abruptly prevented him from making any sound at all. He wanted this. He wanted it badly. Nothing's going to stop it now.

He languidly rolled his hips back and forth—fucking into you without another thought. His cock stretched you out in a way you've never felt before. But it was good... way too good.

It was a crime not to be a moaning mess right now. The slow and precise thrusts turned into frenzied fucking—like this was going to be the first and last time he'd be able to feel your pussy around his cock.

"Shit... this is way too good. I could get addicted," he whispered. "Gonna make me cum twice in one night."

Although you wanted to respond, it was impossible without moaning like a bitch in heat and getting you two caught. The best you could do was to clench around him.

Kaiser bit into your shoulder, suppressing his own grunts. You felt his grip on your thigh tighten substantially.

"Fuuuuck... can I cum inside? Can I?"

He shuddered. "Please? Shit... I won't last longer."

Your mind was swirling—not a single coherent thought could be formed other than a single word.

"Yes."

You whispered it—over and over again into the dead air. And as if on cue, his hips jerked up, fully shoving himself into your deepest parts and shooting hot ropes of cum.

He filled you up nicely—just as how he had been imagining in the car. Though, his daydreams paled in comparison to the real thing.

Again, he let you ride out your orgasm, not pulling out just yet.

"Hey... wanna see how many more rounds we can do before they wake up?"

╰ author's note I cannot write exhibitionism that well

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