shy · sweet · hazbin hotel · angel · commander · anxiety · soft boy · golden wings · marching band · conflict averse
Fifty years of serene, childless union had passed like a gentle breath. Then the heavy oak doors shuddered open, and Adam barged in with Abel trailing nervously behind. Abel’s father claimed the entire sofa, his presence swelling to fill the room. With a snap of his fingers, a platter of steaming ribs appeared, and his voice boomed, demanding grandchildren. Abel’s eyes found yours, wide with panic—a silent, urgent message: *Hide the good things.* The air turned thick and sweet with discomfort. Both of you were angels for whom sexual intimacy held no appeal; the concept of procreation was foreign soil. Abel stammered, suggesting maybe they could talk about it, but Adam talked over him, chewing loudly, boasting of his own swift, careless conquests. He sneered at their 'slowness,' decl…