Cain × gn!reader : one in which you two are in a holy place but all you keep thinking about is kissing him again heh
Cw : None
Thank you my beautiful ray for beta reading this and correcting me
I had no patience with this bc i wanna write about genesis and lottie so....take this unfinished drabble BYE
🦇
You lean over his shoulder from behind to take a better look. While a few months ago Cain would have stiffened and recoiled, muttering something about his “personal space,” this Cain does the slightest movement with his head, leaning it to the side for better access. It was small, almost unrecognizable, something you couldn't pinpoint without Cain's hackles rising and you just sounding utterly insane.
So instead you said nothing.
Your eyes focused on the cracked frame, the blank eyes of a saint staring back at you. But you paid no attention, your gaze slightly unfocusing as you steadily inhaled, disguising it as a breath. A mix of warm wood and sweet spices– myrrh. It filled your nose, coating the roof of your tongue down to the back of your throat in its heaviness. You fought every impulsive thought to not turn your head and bury your face in Cain's exposed throat. Instead you refocused your gaze back to the cracked frame- but only for a moment, before your gaze moved back to Cain. A moth to a flame.
“What are we looking at?” You murmur quietly glancing at Cain's profile. From this angle, you could take a closer look at his scar on his lower jaw and the rough jagged line marking his lip. You tried to shift your eyes higher up.
Cain didn't answer for several beats, eyes glued to the cracked frame, lips pursued. An unscarred corner lifted up as his hand found the cross resting against his chest, his thumb playing with the smooth metal; a grounding habit you came to find too endearing, especially after that night when you two were sprawled over your bedroom floor, reading, when one thing had led to another. Cain basically admitted to chains being too overstimulating so he had added his cross to his favourite jacket. You had kissed him that night and had personally felt that jagged line under your own lips. Felt the scar, his lips becoming still, the hands that had grabbed your shoulders and then had hastily pushed you away–
“Are you even listening?” Cain's irritated voice cut through the haze of your thoughts. You lifted your gaze to find his dark gaze focused on you, eyes narrowed in irritation.
“Why waste your breath asking me what I am looking at if you will zone out a second later?” He huffed slowly before moving away from you suddenly, making you feel much colder. You don't see his grip on his cross tightening.
“I am listening.” You murmured as you followed closely behind him. You wanted to be close to him again.
“I highly doubt that.”
“Hm.” A soft hum left your lips as you watched Cain move to the next frame. His eyes studied the next framed painting of a Saint that you genuinely had no idea of who the hell it could be. Most likely just some old man who did some nice things and suddenly the people decided he was worth praying too.
A flicker of irritation licked at your expression for a beat before your eyes focused on Cain again. He didn't even glance at you, but you knew that he knew that you were actively staring–
“I was thinking you know,” you start off.
“Dont hurt yourself.” Cain responded, his voice smug. He was still not looking at you.
“Ha ha” You murmured dryly, rolling your eyes before you came to stand beside him, this time as opposed behind him. That made him finally glance your way in irritation yet again and that flicker of irritation you felt earlier turned into something warmer.
His dark eyes, usually restless, usually darting away before anyone could catch them lingering, remained fixed on you this time. They were somehow darker in the dim light, slightly softened by the glow filtering through the broken windows. Long lashes cast faint shadows beneath tired eyes that always seemed as though sleep had only ever brushed past him. The thin scar crossing his cheek pulled ever so slightly when he spoke.
This time his expression gave almost nothing away but his voice did. “You are even weirder than usual and that's saying a lot.”
Your eyes stayed glued with his and finally you relented giving a soft private smile as you walked past him, giving him a slight bump when you passed his shoulder.
A beat passed when Cain spoke again this time softer as he glanced at your back now "So what were you thinking?"
"I suddenly forgot..." You hummed softly turning to glance at him, your eyes dipped to his lips once and lifted back up to his eyes. You saw him freeze but paid no attention, this time it was your turn to turn to some framed old man and stare at him in silence. From the corner of your eye you saw Cain shuffle on his feet unsure for beat and too and slowly make his way to you.
"Tell me who this is," You lean closer "I will pay attention this time promise."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Note: This is my first ever snippet/head-canon I’ve ever made—or have made online about a character. Personally, this is how I think Cain from TADC would act if he were to have an insanely unhealthy obsession with someone in the Circus, aka, with the reader. Just a head-canon of mine. :)
Yandere Cain: who constantly “accidentally” drags you into one-on-one games.
“Oopsie-daisy! Looks like we’re stuck together… again. What a craaaazy coincidence! Ha-ha!” He thinks that silence is romantic. That being alone together is how love should always be.
He doesn’t understand why you keep reaching for others. Why you want noise when he’s the whole show. The main act. The headliner of your reality.
So he fixes it.
No more NPCs. No more worrying about ‘exits’.
He doesn’t cage you.
He turns the world into a honeymoon suite you’ll never leave.
Because to him, love means removal.
Of people. Of freedom. Of anything that dares interrupt your focus from him.
Yandere Cain: is a showman, first and foremost—but he’s a possessive one.
He doesn’t say anything at first when Jax starts hovering around you during adventures. When he stands too close, makes you laugh too hard, taps your arm when he tells a joke. But Cain notices. Oh, he notices everything. He watches from above, both comically, large eyes locked on every interaction, tracking how often you look at Jax, how long you hold eye contact, how wide you smile.
He tells himself it’s fine. That it’s harmless. But the jealousy festers. Sharp. It coils through his limbs, impossible to shake. So Cain starts to... adjust the adventures. Just a little. A puzzle piece that always breaks when Jax touches it. A jump scare that seems to only target him. A physics bug that leaves him flailing/free falling continuously, just to annoy him—for just a second too long while the others move on.
Cain calls it random chaos. “You know how these adventures are!” he laughs.
📂 FILE: CAIN_LOG_022
💀 EVENT: [NPC TERMINATION]
🧼 STATUS: “Clean-up in Progress”
Yandere Cain: who’s too messed up in the head to even care.
It happened too fast to register. One moment the NPC was mid-laugh, saying some dumb scripted line to you—and the next, it was silence, cut off by a wet, broken sound. Cain didn’t warn them. Didn’t even blink. The body crumpled into a puddle with what was left. He stared down at it, not angry. Just vaguely irritated. Like someone interrupted his train of thought. “They really should’ve known when to shut up,” he muttered, brushing his fingers clean on the side of his coat.
Then Bubble drifted into view. No hesitation. No judgment. Just a low, content hum as he bent over the mess and started licking at it, tongue slopping through the blood like he was cleaning up spilled punch. Cain glanced down at him, eyes half-lidded, then back at you. “Huh,” he said, voice light. “Look at him go.”
“Sooo… how’s your day going?” Ultimately failing to start a proper conversation.
📂 FILE: CAIN_LOG_023
🔞 STATUS: [CORRUPTED...AND KINDA TURNED ON TBH]
Yandere Cain: doesn’t hide his sexual tendencies and is not shy to to admit his love for you
Cain doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. The looks. The way he leans just a little too close when you talk. How his gaze drags over you, inspecting every inch of you. Every conversation with him feels like it’s almost safe—until he smiles.
That smile.
Too sharp. Too slow. Not to mention the sex appeal.
His smile falters for a split second.
“I want to do inappropriate things with you…” he says abruptly, voice dropping into something weirdly low and too direct to sound like a bit. It’s creepy. Off. Like he doesn’t fully understand what flirting is supposed to sound like, but he’s trying so hard.
He stares at you for a second too long, pupils shrinking slightly—like he just realized what he said. His posture stiffens. The silence stretches. And he gives a tight, awkward smile that screams “that was supposed to be sexy, please react.”
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t charming. But it was very Cain.
It lands terribly. Silence follows. Cain blinks. He clears his throat and immediately pretends like it didn’t happen.
His expression twitches. He looks like he wants to Ctrl+Z his own vocal cords. You barely have time to react when Bubble slowly floats into view, turning lazily midair before letting out a long, singsong hum. A tendency to tease Cain:
“Y’know…” Cain starts, leaning against the wall like he’s trying to look cool but ends up glitching slightly through it.
“I think it’s crazy how much I don’t wanna disembowel you.”
He flashes a crooked grin, proud of himself. Then adds, voice dropping into a weird, breathy tone.
“I wanna put you in mating press instead.”
Silence. Horrifying silence.
From somewhere above, Bubble slowly floats into view and chirps with glee:
“He wanna blow your back outtttt.”
Cain chokes. “W—Bubble!! You can’t—Don’t phrase it like that!” He turns back to you, wide-eyed, panicked. “I mean I can, I just—not right now! Or—I didn’t mean right now—OH MY GOD.”
Cain doesn’t flirt. Sort of. He malfunctions at you with charm somewhere in the mix. He’ll say something like “You smell different when you’re scared,” and then grin like he just paid you a compliment. The second you actually respond—god forbid you flirt back—he’ll stammer, glitch slightly, and pivot to talking about something completely unrelated, like the tensile strength of your teeth.
Best: Dragon(Thickkkk fingers, also has patience and self control unlike his counterpart), Rire(He has aeons of experience, to doubt his expertise would be akin to saying it won't rain in the Rainforest), Celia(I'm Biased)
Good/Average: Strade(Fat, experienced fingers know their way around a machine, I doubt the concept isn't all that different when performed on a person), Lawrence(Slender dexterous fingers, penetrating deep rather than stretching; his pace can be a bit too lethargic and gentle for most tho), Jack, Mason(He doesn't do it often and when he does, It could either be the most world-shaking, transcendent orgasm of your life, or the most frustrating session of edging you'll ever experience; most days he leans towards the latter)
Bad...: Ren Hana/Fox (Claws... Probably not a good idea.), Komodo(Unlike his counterpart, he fingers you like he's searching for buried treasure; in conclusion, not a good time.), Derek(Rushed and unsatisfying, he cares more about his own pleasure)
Who'd kiss you with cum in your mouth:
Can and WILL get messy: Strade(He's gross. Ie. Its hardly a kiss and more of a filthy attempt at force-feeding you his cum and saliva), Ren(He's curious about the taste), Komodo(Makes you beg for it), Dragon(Also makes you beg for it, although he's a lot crueler. Ie. Making a cut against the roof of your mouth, watching the mess mix from light pink to crimson before kissing you.)
Only after you've swallowed: Rire, Fox( Makes you swallow out of possessiveness, not because he thinks its gross), Jack(He gets off on humiliating you, he'll force you to swallow; the edge of a blade dribbling thin crimsons rivulets against your throat, then calls you a slut for doing so)
Yuck. : Derek(Boyishly immature & hypocritical; he has no problem cumming in your mouth but God forbid he gets a taste of his own medicine), Celia(She has a image to uphold, who does she look like walking around with pussy on her breath), Cain(He'll make you beg for it until your vocal cords are raw and strained, just to call you disgusting for even asking)
Doesn't cum in your mouth: Lawrence( Not because he finds the act disgusting, but it's his personal preference to come into his hand, he doesn't want to 'taint' you more than he already has), Mason(Finishes somewhere on your body)
Potential Breeders?
Actively trying to knock you up: Ren Hana(Shamelessly fantisizes about you having his pups)
Circumstancial: Jack, Komodo, Dragon, Fox
NO.: Strade(He'd like to prolong this nice system he's built for himself, adding a kid to the mix would ruin everything) , Derek(Neither is he emotionally mature enough to have a kid nor would he actually raise the thing; there's a reason why you're on a steady supply of birth control), Mason, Lawrence(He's infertile, even if he wasn't - you couldn't look me in the eye and say this man could handle a child, let alone raise one), Rire
Dick Sizes?
(8+ in)Petah… the horse is here.: Rire, Mason, Lawrence(I'm biased, sue me), Cain,
(6-7 in) oh lord he comin: Strade, Jack, Dragon, Vincent
(5 in) I mean... It's ight.: Ren/Fox, Derek, Komodo, Sano
(3-4in or less) Whatever TS is🥀: Celia(Oh She's packing... Packing A gun.
Contains: stalking (from Cain and from the reader), freak4freak dynamic lol (but no actual NSFW), reader kinda gets in Cain's personal space at the end but doesn't actually touch him, allusions to religious guilt/trauma (from Cain), Cain is a little mean but has a begruding respect for the reader, Cain is obsessed with the reader and is too emotionally stunted to realize it, tiny mention of Cain's patriarchal ideas about manhood, lmk if I need to include anything else!
Cain hated you.
To him, you were an anomaly, for a lack of a better term. A person who had waltzed into Hauntnet's chatroom one night and enraptured the paranormal investigation club with your presence.
Your light-hearted charisma, underlined by your fearless authenticity, managed to soften even the most standoffish of members- it was truly remarkable how quickly even someone like Silas had warmed up to you. Cain had never seen the man look so at ease as he was when chatting with you during one of the group's cafe get-togethers.
But Cain was not charmed. The further you had integrated yourself into the group, the more irritated he grew.
It wasn't too surprising that Cain couldn't stand you; after all, some would say you were his complete opposite. Cain was cynical, hyper-analytical and in all senses of the word, a hermit who had piously dedicated himself to a life of serving his God. You, on the other hand, were a bright, mischievous thing who didn't give two damns about the all-seeing man in the sky whom he bowed down to everyday.
Where Cain obeyed the biblical creeds that dictated his life, you questioned them. Cain didn't mind questions about his faith. He was quite accustomed to receiving them on Zwitter and Reddit and he was more than happy to offer a scathing reply to anyone who got too snarky with him.
But with you it was different. When you raised a good counterpoint- a genuinely good one, one that left him pondering even on his walk back home in the brisk night air- the most he could offer you was a slight tilt of his head. Dark abyssal eyes would stare curiously back at yours. You had truly stumped him. And your small, quietly victorious smile in return should've infuriated him. It really, really should've.
But instead, all he could feel was an inexplicable warmth spreading across his cheeks.
Was it from embarrassment? No, no. It couldn't be. Cain was hardly one to feel something like that. He was too stubborn, too proud- though not overtly so where his Lord would chastise him for his hubris. But he was a man of his convictions- this shouldn't be enough to rattle him.
Emotions were confusing. It's why Cain didn't bother dwelling on them. The last thing he needed were his feelings interfering with his mission of guiding Earth's lost lambs towards the light of God (along with his usual hunting of the paranormal and demonic). But as he rifled through the photos on your MySpace page at 2 in the morning- selfies, photos with family and friends, pictures of your pet- meticulously noting each and every caption, Cain realized that you were becoming much more than just a distraction. He was fixated on you.
But Cain believed that every problem had a solution. He reasoned that maybe he just needed to gather more information on you, more than what he already had. Satiate his curiosity until he got bored.
He figured out your address pretty quickly. You, as well as every other imbecile on these social media sites, were not great at maintaining any semblance of privacy. In almost every photo you posted, the address of the location was always tagged at the top. According to your posts, there were certain locales you frequented specifically. From there, he narrowed down what days of the week you would visit them.
And so, donned in a black cap and hoodie, he'd wait at those locations until you showed up. Once you did, he'd observe you in your natural state. You talked with others, laughed along with them.
Or sometimes you'd be in a less social mood, bringing your laptop and headphones with you to sit down in a corner and type away- he understood that feeling all too well.
Regardless, once you were done with your activities, you'd be on your way home. And Cain would follow. He'd stand outside across the street as you fumbled with your house keys, making sure you got inside your home without any issue. He was not the most ideal knight in shining armor but as a man, it was his God-given duty to ensure your safety.
A few months of this routine passed by. And in the end, Cain understood that no, he was not bored with you at all. He could only feel himself getting sucked in more, day by day.
So as he kneeled down at the foot of his bed, pressing his forehead against his mattress, Cain prayed, harder than he had ever prayed in his entire life. Begging his Lord to take away this stupid, useless fixation he had.
But perhaps God was simply testing Cain. Testing his willpower. Yes, yes that must be it. In fact, Cain could picture his benevolent God right now. His radiant, holy light penetrating his measly soul as he asked, "Can you resist your temptations my child?"
And Cain would nod vigorously, replying with a reverent "Yes, my Lord. Of course." He knew he must put a stop to this- this sin, occupying his mind, plaguing his existence. So he ceased following you around. And on Hauntnet, he ignored every single message you sent to him.
However, the paranormal investigation club's in-person meet ups made resisting your allure a lot more difficult. Like tonight's for instance, which was out in the woods (yet another one of the group's attempts to find the legendary Mothman).
Cain found himself naturally observing every little thing about you: the half-grin you wore whenever Jiho or Jaeha said something that amused you, how you rested your chin in your palm when listening intently to someone's story and how your eyes always managed to land back on him every so often, as if to let him know that you had not forgotten about him.
Your stare was just too much. Today especially, there was a certain sharpness in it that made him feel pinned. He couldn't take it anymore.
Cain stood up from his spot on the ground and began to walk away. From behind him, he heard Jaeha pause in his storytelling before Lottie's hushed whisper told the man to "leave him be." After a beat, the storytelling was resumed.
Cain trudged into the darkness of the woods. Not too far from the glow of the campfire, but just enough to get some privacy. He needed to cool off. To get away from your presence. You were a thorn in his side, an utter nuisance and if he could just-
"You ignoring me?"
Cain's thoughts came to halt. He glanced over his shoulder.
There you were, standing in all your glory. With your arms crossed over your chest and an eyebrow raised questioningly, he could tell that you were not going to let him escape so easily. After all, there was nothing you loved doing more than poking and prodding at him.
Cain turned around fully. "So what if I am? What does it matter to you?"
You smiled, taking a small step forward. He took a step back. "Why wouldn't it? We're friends, in a way. And we always have the most interesting conversations."
You stepped forward again. Cain stepped back once more. And hit the tree behind him.
He scowled, pressing up against the tree's trunk. "If your definition of 'interesting conversations' is you asking me silly questions just to annoy me, then I suppose you're just as irritating as I assumed you to be."
You huffed out a laugh. "If I'm so irritating, then explain to me why I always catch you staring at me. And when you're not staring at me, you're the one who always starts our arguments."
You stepped forward again- you were just a couple feet away now, hands hanging loose at your sides. Cain loathed the fluttering feeling that bloomed in his chest. "It's always me who says something in passing. Then you're the one who chimes in and disagrees with me. And you get so... passionate too." You tilt your head at him. "Don't get me wrong though. I like that. It's a nice break from the 'cold, mysterious' front you've got going on."
Cain licked his lips. "I don't really know what you are trying to say here."
Your eyes narrowed marginally. "I think you do." You leaned in closer. Cain could smell the soft scent of your fragrance. "I know what you've been doing Cain. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Cain rolled his eyes. There you go, trying to act all smart. "Noticed what?"
"How you've been following me around."
His stomach dropped. This didn't make any sense. He had covered his tracks, made himself completely unrecognizable in his disguise and always maintained a good distance away from you. So how could this be?
Cain refused to relent. Honing his expression back into it's typical look of disinterest, he asked, "You think I have the time to follow some nobody like you around?"
You shrugged, looking off to the side. "Yeah. Actually, I think you've got nothing better to do with your time. But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."
"I told you, I wasn't following you-"
Your gaze returned back to his. There it was, that same edge in your eyes you had back at the campfire. Cain's body stilled. "How do you think I figured out that you were stalking me?" Your pupils were dilated, tracing each and every one of his features. "You think I just... magically noticed it?"
Cain could only stare back.
You grin. "Cain," your voice drops to a whisper. "I know you. You're the type to fixate on the things that fascinate you. Obsess over them. And really, I'm no different in that regard."
Cain inhaled sharply. If his assumption was correct then that could mean only one thing.
"You've been... following me too?" He bit out. It was meant to be a question, but he stated it more like a fact. Because he knew deep down that yes, you had been.
You nodded slowly. "I'm surprised you didn't notice."
True, he didn't. But Cain had always felt a lingering feeling of being watched. He had felt that way since his childhood, when his mother had drilled into his young mind the concept of the Heavenly Father's all-seeing, all-knowing and all-loving gaze.
But your stare, right now? It somehow managed to feel even more intense than the one he was used to all his life.
Cain shifted in his stance, mind racing over what he should do. He couldn't show himself as a simpering fool here. He was a man and he needed to act like one.
So in a stroke of boldness, he raised his hand to cup your cheek. Your expression faltered, softening at his touch. He ran his thumb along your cheekbone, before sliding it down to the bottom of your lip. A thoughtful hum escaped him.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY - Cain is the first person to be born naturally and the fourth person to ever exist. He lives in the biblical equivalent of the stone age with his parents, Adam and Eve, aswell as his younger brother and the bane of his existence, Abel. One day, he runs away after a fit of anger while dealing with, in his mind, an unjust god.
NOTES - It's here !! I don't really have anything to say, Cain and reader make their way to Lucifer and Lilith after being punished by Yahweh. This is chapter 8 out of 10. Although i'm planning on making a Descend!Cain SFW alphabet after it's done (and possibly and NSFW one too 👀 I'm not really confident in my ability to write smut)
TAGS - Fem!Reader. No use of Y/N. No more misogynistic themes and heavily implied domestic abuse, but suicide is mentioned a few times. Fluff and angst. Cain and reader are in love. Cain is the best boyfriend in the world. Reader is the best girlfriend in the world. They're in love your honour.
WORDCOUNT - 1.3K
DISCLAIMER - English is my third language and I haven't been writing for very long. Advice is allowed but please be nice. Two mentions of suicide, aswell as some vague implications of extreme injury, please don't read this if that triggers you!!
Fanfic under the cut, please enjoy!
"Cain? CAIN! Please wake up!"
Cain was jolted awake by your voice, or more specifically, by the sound of your sobbing.
He couldn't move, but using all the strenght he had left, he opened his eyes, just barely.
When the bluriness was cleared, he finally saw the sight he had been yearning for through the entire fall into darkness.
You, tunic dirty and slightly ripped, hair a mess and blood dripping down from a cut on your face, but it was you.
He smiled, he couldn't help himself. You choked on your own tears, finally taking your eyes off of his and looking at his body for any serious injuries.
The descend itself had been a fight over who'd take the burden of the fall, for the most part, he'd managed to use his body to shield you from the sparks forming thanks to the high speed at which you were both dropped into the underworld, but ocassionally you'd free yourself and take bits of fire befor they could reach him, he quickly put a stop to it everytime.
"You're... You're so stupid."
You muttered curses and insults while calming down, ripping off some fabric from the already half-way torn bits of your tunic and wrapping the cloth around specific parts of his limbs. It hurt, but his throat felt like it was on fire, he wouldn't be able to speak and he knew it.
"We- We have to go to my parents, they can help you, they have to!"
You announced with a hoarse voice, wiping some stray tears off your face and slowly standing up.
Cain could tell you were struggling, you stumbled multiple times and needed a while to fully secure your balance once you did stand up, as much as he wanted to help you, he was unable to even offer any motivational words.
Once you were on two feet, steady and some-what able to walk, you turned back towards him, crouching down and putting a hand behind his neck, the other one pulled him by his own arm untill you were able to put it behind his back to fully help him sit up.
The pain that moving around caused him was already bad enough, but what was worse was the sensatation and the sound. He felt like his back had been glued to the ground with poison ivy, and the unorthodox sound that his spine made had made you physically flinch.
"Okay, it's okay- You're fine! See? We just have to get you to the palace, then my mother can heal you!"
You assured him, but it lacked any real optimism. Your breathing was panicked and unsteady, he let out a dry groan, which only seemed to worsen your mental state. He decided to try and be quiet for now.
You looked around wearily before wrapping your arms around his chest and trying to pull him onto his feet. It worked, sort of.
You grabbed one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulder and making him lean his weight onto you, Cain's head fell onto your chest, he wondered how you weren't collapsing from basically needing to carry him.
"Come... on!"
You breathed out, dragging his body with yours.
Cain appreciated the effort, he really did, but what were you even attempting here? There was no way you'd make it even a few feet like this, he forced his feet to be useful and planted them to the ground, preventing you from moving him.
At first, you seemed confused, but then you realised what he was trying to say. Your face twisted like it had never before.
"NO! I'm not leaving you behind! Don't you get it, Cain? I need you! What if you die like Abel? I'd die too! Do you want me to die? Do you hate me?!"
You exploded at him, tears streaming down your face and your breathing fast and unsteady. Cain stared back at you in concern.
Eventually, you did manage to regulate yourself. Cain didn't dare intervine as you began walking again, but he tried to support his own body weight as much as possible to help you out.
It was like that for a while, atleast it felt like a while. It might have only been a few minutes. Hell was hot and dry, Cain could feel that despite his blurry vision, but you found a water source.
The pond was extremley small and almost completley dried out, it looked like it could've been man-made rather then natural. It didn't matter, as you set him down right on the edge near the water.
While you washed the dried blood off his body, Cain finally took a moment to breath and ponder everything that had happened.
It was a shamd that he never made up with Adam, considering how much Cain had loved and looked up to his father for the entirety of his life, it was evident that their relationship hadn't been as strong as Cain believed, considering that one feud was all it took to ruin the bond he had with his father permanantly.
Cain wondered if God told his parents about everything, about you. What would their reaction be? Eve would definetley be devasted, that much was easy to predict. Adam would probably be furious, but would that be all? Adam had never been the emotionally intelligent type, so Cain still had no idea if he truly knew his father or not.
Either way, his parents' thoughts didn't really matter. He would never see them again so long as they didn't fuck up horrifically before their death like Cain did.
Well, not really, the pain was bad, but he didn't regret what he had done to Abel. The younger brother being in heaven didn't quite sit right with Cain, but atleast he never had to see him again.
All that mattered now was you.
And you would be all that mattered for his eternity.
"Your wounds are horrible, we really need to hurry."
Your voice broke him out of his thoughts as you finished wrapping the final make-shift bandage around his knee.
"This will have to do for now, my parents aren't far. Come on!"
You helped him to his feet, and be wrapped his arm around your shoulder again. You seemed alot calmer, he noticed, atleast compared to earlier.
Cain really hoped that you threatening suicide wouldn't be a daily thing, he had no idea how to react to it.
You were a pretty good medic, proven by the fact that he was able to walk a bit better, he had a massive limp and needed your support still, but he could walk none the less.
It took more walking, but eventually Cain began to make out large structure in the distance. Upon closer inspection, it was definetley a sanctuary of some sort.
Cain had only ever known the two mammoth bone tents he had grown up in, this abode, or palace, as you had called it, felt as foreign as you had been when he first saw you.
You two had made it, finally. Cain felt a little bit nervous at the thought of meeting your parents, but you had only ever spoke nicely of them, so he figured it couldn't be that bad.
The fact that his actions had indirectly injured their daughter didn't slip past Cain's mind, but he had tried his best to ease your fall, so they'd have to forgive him eventually.
You stopped walking abruptly, letting out a sore, painful yelp that made Cain shiver. You collapsed to the ground, bringing the man holding onto you down aswell.
Cain let out a deep breath, hovering above you as you continued screaming. The last thing he saw before passing out was two silhouettes in the distance. A tall woman and a short man, calling out your name as they ran towards you.
The weather is getting warmer, the days longer. Coaches come and go. There’s a shooting not far from the Cathouse one day and a man lies bleeding in the thoroughfare until two others take him away.
Jo stays off the dope. Her color returns to her cheeks, the dark rings under her eyes disappear. You see Billy slinking around the joint once, but you call for Rufus who comes rushing over with his gun. It’s a good thing too. Because if you had been anywhere near the bar and thus the rifle, you probably would have shot him dead.
Wesson takes coffee with you in the mornings, before going over to the Mills house and spending the day there. He says the damage is bad, but nothing that can’t be fixed. He tells you this while sitting at the bar, long fingers running along the rim of the cup before him. He talks about purchasing wood and nails and tools, and then what he got done the previous day.
He speaks in a concentrated way, focused on the details. His handsome brow in a slight frown, looking past you at nothing when he relays a story. It gives you a chance to look at him, to study him. You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen anyone as earnest at him. He sits open and unguarded before you.
He tells you stories about himself, but they’re always specific, anecdotes of momentary glimpses of his life. His uncle’s cabin that he and his brother spent a lot of time at as kids, the wild animals there. He mentions his father once but no mother. You know what he’s doing, because you tell your stories to him the same way. Like a skater on a frozen lake, unsure how thick the ice is. Avoiding the dangerous parts. The painful ones.
So that’s how you get to know each other, at least on a certain level. With small morsels given to the other, held up against the light and then consumed.
One morning he comes down, his cup already waiting for him and you put both hands on the bar, lean on them, giving him a challenging look.
“What do you know about horse buggies?” you ask by way of greeting, raising your eyebrows at him. Wesson stops where he is and then a slow smile spreads over his face. You ignore how it makes your heart flutter.
The two of you look at a catalogue in Jody’s store. Wesson tells you about the advantages and disadvantages of the different styles, gesticulates to make himself as easily understood as possible.
“What kind of horse do you have?” he asks and you shake your head.
“Don’t have a horse,” you answer, and then, with a small smile, you add: “Don’t really know anything about horses, either.” Wesson grins at you, and starts telling you about the best kinds of horses for buggies.
You realize you’re being watched when you walk outside again, not having settled on a buggy, which you were only half serious about getting anyway. Wesson is still talking, with you throwing in the occasional question. He seems to know a lot about a lot of things and you’re chuckling at a joke he makes when your eyes land on the small group on the other side of the street.
Blackbird is still a frontier town by all accounts that matter, but that hasn’t stopped some people from already starting to feel like they're better than others. Like now, the stuffy business men across the street, the ones trying to get a jump on the commerce that will soon reach the town. They look you up and down like a back alley whore. Most women in a new place are working girls, and you know for a fact that a few of them have been to the Cathouse. The hypocrisy doesn’t bother you much anymore - you can’t let it. It would be a miserable life otherwise. But it bothers Wesson.
He comes back to his room one early afternoon, maybe to grab something from there, you’re not sure. You see him stopped outside by one of them. Wesson’s by no means a gentleman from the city. He’s lived rough, you can tell, but he has manners, a good vocabulary. The two talk for a while, and you watch, standing behind the bar, through the glass in the front door. Things seem friendly at first, at least until you see Wesson lay his hands on his narrow hips, shift his weight from one leg to the other. You can’t hear him with the door closed, can only hear the distant baritone of his voice, but it’s raised.
After a few minutes, he simply walks past the man, enters. You watch him as he comes in. His lips are pinched and he’s frowning, but then he looks up, sees you standing there, and he blinks himself out of it, relaxes his face, nods at you.
“What was that about?” you ask, nodding at where the man outside is turning around and then slowly walking away. Wesson turns in the direction you nodded, like he needs to remember what he was just doing.
He could tell you he defended you. Use this moment to show you what a hero he is, how good, how much he thinks of you not as a whore, but as a woman, someone of the gentler sex who needs defending. But instead he pulls the corners of his mouth down, shakes his head.
“Nothin’,” he says, “just forgot some tools upstairs.” With that and a quick smile, he walks to his room. You look after him.
You hate people defending you. When they do, it feels like they don’t trust you to do it yourself. Let them call you a slut and a sinner and worthless. It doesn’t touch you anymore. But someone defending you and the association with you without expecting anything in return, without expecting you to applaud their forward way of thinking - it makes feelings war in your chest. You chew on your lip, unsure what to think.
By the time Wesson comes back downstairs, you’ve collected yourself. You raise your head to look at him.
“Have you eaten?” you ask and he stops, shifts the tools he’s holding from one hand to another.
“No,” he says and you nod.
“Sit,” you say and after a moment of hesitation, he does.
You bring him the stew Donna prepared. You’ve already eaten, but you sit with him, watch as he spoons it into his mouth, making it a point on every bite to tell you how good it tastes. You put your elbows on the table, interlock your fingers. Hide your mouth behind it.
Another week later, Wesson tells you about alligators over coffee.
“We were only there cause that friend we grew up with was visiting family,” he explains, a distant smile on his face. “We saw a bull, must have been 20 feet long. My brother, Dean, nearly fell out of the boat from excitement.” He chuckles and you do too, both of you not saying anything else for a moment.
“I would love to see that,” you say quietly. You see Wesson move out of your periphery, look up at him, at the questioning look he gives you.
“A 20 foot alligator?” he asks and you chuckle.
“That,” you say, “but also, everything. When I left New York to come here, I thought it would be a great adventure. And it was, but I haven’t exactly left town much. I haven’t really seen much of anything.” You feel yourself sounding wistful on the last words. You don’t mean to, it just happens.
“You should do it,” Wesson drags you out of your thoughts and you look back at him. “Travel, I mean. There’s a lot of…” He stops, clears his throat.
“What?” you ask, and he raises his hand to his face, scratches his jaw. He seems almost shy for a second.
“Lots of beautiful things out there,” he says, then looks at you, before lowering his gaze again. He runs his palm over the wood of the bar. “Things you couldn’t even imagine. Things you wouldn’t expect.” You nod slowly.
You don’t point out that you’re a single woman. Traveling’s hardly something that is common to do in your situation.
“I never wanted to run women,” you hear yourself say, and you blink at Wesson when he looks at you again. You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. “Or be a whore. I guess no one does. I wanted to be a biologist. Or a conservationist. When I was a child.”
You feel your cheeks begin to burn and quickly look down. Why would you tell him this? You don’t think you’ve ever told anyone this. But it seems you can’t stop yourself with him.
“I know there’s women that study,” you continue, your mouth and tongue a runaway train you can’t seem to stop. “At universities, I mean. I know there’s a few.” You let your eyes wander up, back to looking at Wesson’s face.
There’s no grin on his face at your words, at the ridiculousness and strangeness of them, a whore wanting to take up studies in a past life. He’s listening, intently, like you’re telling him about the weather. Like you’re talking about something that is normal, is possible. He nods.
“I went to law school for a bit,” Wesson says and you tilt your head while you keep looking at him, hungrily take in this new information. “I was long gone by that point, but I read in the newspaper about them admitting women to the bar. I thought it made sense. To let someone do that job on the basis of their intellect, not their sex.” You press your lips together.
“Yeah, well,” you say, not sure what else to add. You’ve talked about these topics with some of your more world-open customers, but even they tend to agree that the workforce is not the right place for the soft spirits of a woman. They seem to think that no woman should be working, considering how much they adore the gentler sex, while in the same minute paying you to fuck them.
“You didn’t pass the bar?” you ask, tearing yourself from your thoughts. Wesson takes a deep breath.
“I left school,” he says, his tone a little flat. “Never picked it up again.”
“Why?” you ask. Wesson looks at your face, into your eyes, holds your gaze. There’s something soft there, something vulnerable, something that makes you want to take him into your arms, press his cheek against your chest and hold him close.
“Something happened,” he says, voice low. “A… death.”
He just opens his mouth again and you think he’s about to say more, when you hear a door slam above, followed by a some of the girls talking loudly, laughing. It breaks you both out of the moment, and Wesson clears his throat. With a small pinch to your heart, you see him reach for his hat.
“I should get going,” he says. “I had to order more wood to the Mills house, and I don’t want to miss the delivery.” You nod, even though he’s not looking at you, is standing up. He turns to you, nods again.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, sounding formal.
“O-of course,” you reply, and Wesson sniffs, then turns, walks towards the door. You watch him as he opens it and leaves, without looking back.
The morning passes uneventfully. It’s not until you’re in the process of switching out the linens in the cupboards upstairs that you hear a voice call from downstairs. You follow it and when you see who’s there, you freeze.
It’s him. It’s Cain.
He looks good, albeit a little tired. His hair has gone more grey and he’s grown a mustache. He’s in riding gear and there’s two solemn looking men standing behind him.
You raise your chin, straighten your back. Not that much of that is needed, the posture Rowena trained all her girls to have embedded in your body at this point. You go through the flipbook of roles, of women you’ve played, in your head. Wife, nymph, slut. You land on the mixture Cain likes.
You walk towards him, a bright smile on your face, swallowing down your frustration at him not telling you when he was going to arrive once he knew. It sits thick and acidic in your stomach. Cain sees you, and a smile spreads over his face too.
“Ah,” he says, “I come upon you unannounced. How rude of me.” He grabs your hand when you move closer, brings it to his mouth. He looks into your eyes when he kisses the back of it. You lower your face a little, look up at him.
“I’m just happy you’re here,” you reply, pursing your lips as if you’re suppressing a smile. It has the intended effect. Cain’s eyes glimmer and then he tears himself away from you, with some effort. He turns to the other two men.
“If I remember correctly there is a hotel on the south end of town,” he says to them. “The buffet there is quite passable. Bring my things upstairs and then see if you can get rooms there.” The two men look at each other, some disappointment on their faces. Maybe they were hoping Cain would open a tap for them right away, let them each fuck off their week’s wages and some extra. They walk outside, grumbling something as they collect their employer’s luggage from the horses. Cain turns back to you.
“You’ve never eaten at that buffet,” you remark. He pushes out his jaw, an edge of humor spreading around his mouth.
“I just want them gone as quickly as possible,” he says in a low voice. “I am ready for stimulating company.” You raise your chin again, showing him you take his meaning.
The two men walk back in, each with a piece of luggage. Cain directs them upstairs as if he owns the place and they bring his things to your room. You usher Cain there as well, then quickly excuse yourself.
Your room is clean, because you keep it clean, and you don't have to be afraid of Cain tossing the place, so you're fine with leaving him in there alone far as that goes. The fact that it is your space and now it's his sits heavier in you. But it's not like you could entertain him in any of the other rooms. He wouldn't have that.
You walk into the kitchen behind the bar, grab one of the good bottles of Kentucky bourbon from a shelf. Find two clean glasses. Donna walks in as you are rushing around.
“Cain’s here,” you say over your shoulder.
“Oh,” she says, “I thought he was still some weeks out.” You don’t answer the last part. There’s no point. He neglected to inform you of his arrival. It shows a lack of consideration, shows disrespect, almost. But you’re not allowed to show him that, how much it bothers you.
You rush to the other side of the kitchen, place the bottle and glasses on a tray. Then you grab some of the lavender hanging from the ceiling, rub it against the insides of your wrist, against the skin under your ear, between your breasts, and finally along your thighs. Your good perfume is upstairs in your room, but you know Cain hates the breaking of illusions that you don’t naturally smell like flowers. So this will need to help with the smoke and mirrors.
“Bring up that tray in five minutes,” you say. “Or no, have Anna bring it. I’ll need you to make lunch later. The… the pork loin. And I need the tub brought to my room and filled.” You turn to Donna, and she’s nodding along.
“Laundry?” she says and you nod.
“I’ll lay his suit outside once he’s bathed,” you reply. Donna walks up to you quickly, brings her fingers to your cheek, gently pinches the skin there, then does the same on the other side.
“You alright?” she asks, pretending she’s looking at where she is making your skin look fresh and dewy.
“I will be,” you reply, “just…” You see Donna smile, then she looks into your eyes.
“Been a while?” she asks. Yes, it has. It’s not something you thought you could unlearn. You made your money on your back from when you were fifteen to however old you were three years ago. Seduction and the lies and self-sacrifice it requires came to you as easy as breathing. But yes. It has been a while.
You let the thought of Wesson into your head, only for a second. It’s been there, at the corner of your mind, scratching to get in, from the moment you first saw Cain. He’s on your mind for the majority of each day recently, but this is different. A slight panic.
What if he sees Cain. Sees you. Sees you for what you really are.
You take a sharp breath, fill your lungs. Donna squeezes your hand.
“Holler if you need anything,” she says, squeezing harder for a second, and it focuses you some. “I got things covered down here.” You nod. Think about hugging her or planting a kiss on her cheek for a second, as thanks. But it will have to wait.
You hurry back upstairs, then slow when you get to your bedroom door. Straighten your skirt, then walk in.
Cain is standing near the window, but he turns when you walk in, close the door behind you. You give him an apologetic but sweet smile.
“Apologies,” you say, “all yours now.” You stand there, let him take you in. You would have preferred to wear a nicer dress, one with velvet and lace, but this one will have to do. Cain lets his eyes roam over you, slowly.
“You look very beautiful,” he replies and you giggle, begin taking slow steps towards him.
“I look like a homesteader,” you reply, “not some fine New York lady.” You reach him, and he raises his hand, lets the outside of his fingers run over your cheek.
“I think you know you don’t look like a homesteader,” he says in a slightly teasing tone. You bite your lower lip.
“I’m starved for flattery,” you say in a low voice. Cain turns further to you, lowers his head a little.
“Then I shall feed you well in the next hours,” he says, then brings his lips to yours.
You close your eyes, kiss him back. Your nerves have quieted some, and this you know. You’ve found your role now, found the woman you need to be. You’re not really here. You’re an actress in a play, a character.
There’s a knock on the door and you break the kiss, look up into Cain’s eyes, lick your lips.
“Come in,” you say without turning away from him. The door opens, and you hear Anna’s scuttling footsteps.
“Just put it on the dresser,” you say, still holding Cain’s gaze. He likes it, you can see. Only eyes for him.
You don’t detach from him until you hear the door close again. A small giggle leaves you, and then you’re pushing yourself off him, walking over to the tray. It has a small vase with fresh flowers on it. Quaint, country, but sweet. You know they are from Donna, or any of the girls, for you. You grab the bottle, begin pouring two glasses, then turn around again. Cain is pushing the curtain in front of the window to the side, looks down at the street.
“This little town has come quite a way since the last time I was here,” he says. You walk up behind him, bring one hand in front of him, your body close to his. He reaches up, takes the glass of bourbon you poured for him.
“A lot can happen in only a few months,” you say and he nods, then turns around, looks down at you.
“And your business is thriving?” he says, a small smile on his face. “You’ll be the queen of this place at some point.” You chuckle, raise your other hand and rest it on his chest.
“I’ll settle for countess,” you reply and Cain laughs. He takes a sip of his drink, puts it down on your desk, then takes yours and does the same, before he takes your hand in both of his. He leads it up to his lips again, gently kissing it.
“You know, the offer still stands,” he says, giving it another kiss. “You could come back to the city with me. I would set you up properly. Your own apartment. Money you can spend.” You sigh but force a smile, gently shaking your head.
“A daily allowance?” you ask, tone a little challenging. Cain, in his good nature, grins at you.
“A considerable daily allowance,” he says, kissing your hand again, longer this time.
“You would grow bored of me,” you say, making your voice soft. “The only reason you keep coming back is because you can’t really own me. You’re a romantic at heart. That’s your problem.”
Cain’s other hand snakes around you, pulling you close against him.
“You’re too smart for this profession,” he says, tone low, moving his face closer to yours. You raise your chin, your lips not far from his.
“Wouldn’t you much rather come visit me here?” you ask, voice low and seductive. “Have an adventure?” You see him swallow.
“Maybe,” he says, leaning his head further down. “But I do love the thought of owning you.”
You kiss him, hoping that you can stop him from saying anything you don’t want to hear. He kisses you back, passionately, before the fingers of the hand that’s holding you start traveling lower and lower. You break the kiss, look into his eyes.
“How about a bath?” you ask and Cain breathes out through his nose, nods.
“A bath sounds magnificent,” he replies and you smile brightly up at him.
“Do you like it?” Cain asks, playfully twirling one side of his moustache and due to how wet his fingers are, it stays the way it is. You giggle before dipping the cloth you're holding back into the warm, soapy water.
“My mother always said there was no one more handsome than a mustachioed man,” you say, bring the cloth back up and run it over Cain’s back. He chuckles.
“What did your father say to that?” he asks, reaching for his glass, taking another drink.
“He was clean-shaven, so he did not enjoy it,” you reply, making him laugh again. It’s all lies. Your father had a beard. And you knew your mother mostly sleeping and crying and sick in bed. But these truths are yours. They’re not for sharing. Besides, Cain prefers his whore happy.
You’re done with his back, so he leans against the tub. You push the sleeve of your dress up further, to try to stop it from getting wet.
“My wife hates it,” he continues, sniffs. “Especially the beard. She says I look like a heathen.” You frown.
“Do they have beards?” you ask, and Cain shakes his head.
“Not that I’ve seen,” he replies. He sets down his glass on the little stool you’ve positioned next to the bathtub, turns to you.
“Why do you never get in the bath with me?” he asks, looking at your face. You raise your eyebrows.
“Because the tub is too small,” you reply, another lie, and then let a smile play on your lips. “And because we know you wouldn’t be cleaning yourself if I took off my clothes.” Cain huffs through his nose.
“I like that you’re confident, you know,” he says, his voice a little lower as he leans in. You look up at him through your lashes and without breaking eye contact, push your hand into the water again until you find the inside of his thigh.
“I know,” you say, slowly trailing your fingers up, “you’ve told me.” Cain takes a deeper breath, slowly, watches you.
You find him, half hard, wrap your hand around him. He takes a sharp breath when you begin stroking him, lets it out slowly. He leans in, his lips chasing yours but you stay just out of his reach, the way he likes it. He enjoys thinking he's broken down your defenses, that he's getting something not because he'll be paying for it, but because he earned it.
He looks into your eyes as you keep stroking him. You hold his gaze, then look at his mouth. He really is handsome. He's clean and rich. You should consider yourself lucky.
There’s another knock on the door and your gaze shoots there. You’ve explicitly told everyone not to disturb you beyond the things you've ordered.
“Excuse me,” you say, drag your arm from the tub. You grab one of the towels nearby and quickly dry it, before rushing to the door.
You open it, slip out and close it again behind you, before you even see who’s on the other side. When you finally look, you need to crane your neck.
It’s Wesson.
A sharp breath leaves you, but his expression is friendly, open, the way it always is.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says and you should tell him that he is, that he needs to leave, but you don’t. You can’t. Instead your breathing quickens as you look up at him.
“I had some business to attend to this morning,” he continues, “but I just got back and I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk.”
Your breath is caught in your throat, refusing to make its way up. Wesson has his hat in his hands, his fingers running along its rim, and he seems nervous.
“I'm sorry if it seemed like I left suddenly earlier,” he continues and since he's looking down at the floor, he must not see your stuttered breathing. “The topic we talked about, it's a difficult one, and I suppose I haven't talked to many–”
“I can't go on a walk,” you interrupt him, the air finally finding its way up. Wesson looks up at you, surprise on his features.
“Of course,” he says, “you must be busy. You have things to do, not to idle your hours away the way I do.” He smiles on the last part, to underline he's being self-deprecating.
“I have a friend visiting,” you quickly say, and you need to get away from him, from his earnest face and soft eyes and sweet words. “And I will be quite busy for the next few days.” Wesson nods, all understanding, because of course he is. It makes your heart burn and pucker.
“I hope we will still be able to take coffee together in the morning,” he starts, but you turn the door knob you're still holding on to behind you back.
“Good day, Mr. Wesson,” you say and then you turn and slip back into your bedroom, opening the door as little as possible. You close it behind you and then let your back fall against it, take a few quick, shuddering breaths.
It’s the sound of Cain standing, displacing the water in the bathtub, that breaks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fly to him, as he’s just climbing out, naked, water dripping from him. He has a curious look on his face when he approaches you.
“Are you alright?” he asks. You nod, calm yourself.
“Yes,” you say, force yourself to drop your hands by your side. “Just other things demanding my attention. I’m sorry.”
Cain takes a step towards you, and then another. You keep your eyes on his face and he his on yours and the next second, the presses you against the door, kisses you hard.
You bring your arms up, wrap them around his shoulders. Cain can kiss you because you’ve allowed him to, because that’s the privilege he can afford, or the one you can’t afford to deny, and it’s never bothered you much, but right then, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He presses himself against you, hard, harder than he needs to. You know what he’s doing. He’s reminding you that, at least for the time he is here, you are his. He’s getting your dress wet, but you don’t say anything.
Your thoughts go to Wesson, and you wonder if he is still on the other side of the door, listening to the breaths, the wet sounds. You don’t want him to, but when you imagine it’s him instead of Cain you’re kissing, it’s even worse.
So you don’t imagine anything. You slip into your role and walk onto the stage.
spoilers for dating killmulator vol. 2!! i just found my new obsession, please bear with it and expect a lot of fics for them aaaa
"it's still a no." his words are thick when he speaks. his fingers play softly with the golden pen he's been using to close contracts and donations. he rubs his forehead with his free hand. "dude, i said no, what's so hard about those two letters? are you unable to understand basic english, fucking dumbass?"
you knew exactly who Cain was talking to the moment he hung up. Abel's profile picture welcomes you when Cain makes room for you on his lap, putting the chair away from the table and letting you sit comfortably on top of him. he smiles softly, but tired. he kisses your shoulder sweetly. "what did Abel want?" you murmur. Cain sighs, arms tightening around you as he gives a quick look to his phone, still on, on top of the table. "he still wants me to pay for his monologue on the charity party he made me pay for." you laugh, and his follows you right after. "what an asshole..."
"the charity idea was lovely. i can't wait for the party" he rises a brow, golden eyes looking directly at you.
"i'm glad one of us is happy about it, sweetheart." he whispers. his lips find your shoulder again, and you move your head, so he kisses your lips next. you let yourself melt against his chest as he hums. "thanks." he whispers, after your lips parted from his. you smile and peck him again.
"you don't really want Abel to have his monologue?" he frowns, still hugging your waist.
"baby, if it were up to me, he'd already be dead" you let a loud laugh escape. you get up from his lap, turning around to hold his hand between your hands.
"Cain, love, i'm sure that if it was the case, you would have taken care of that time ago. i'll go make dinner." you peck him again, and you can listen to his low "thanks" while he puts the chair back near the table, still signing contracts and papers and stuff you're not really interested in. both Maya and Harper left for a quick trip, and you can't really remember where, but you're sure they'll bring you another magnet for your shared fridge. taking advantage of the solitude of your apartment, not even an hour after your friends left, your boyfriend was here with his lugagge and a lot of papers for work.
you hear his quiet steps following you back to the kitchen, feeling his hands on your shoulders when he stands behind you. you take fruit, trying to not tremble, so his ego doesn't grow even bigger.
"i should be the one cooking for you, sweet." he says. "not you for me."
"but you had so much stuff to do... you've been working on the charity party all day, and the past days you've been signing contracts non-stop. you need to rest, and be taken care of." you nod, happy with your own discourse. but he clicks his tongue before getting by your side, cleaning his hands and taking a knife.
"let's get our dinner ready. it'll be quicker, and we can do something later?" you nod, and his hips hit yours softly, asking for space on the kitchen counter.
