#THE HUG IN THE END A 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[shaiyasstuff]

red | zayne | prologue to through the fire

synopsis : Fate chose another, but his heart never stopped choosing you.

content : soulmate!au, zayne x reader x sylus, zayne x non-mc!reader, unrequited love, angst (light or not, you decide)

writer’s note : read through the fire heree. Guys I stayed up all night writing this because I’m flying to europe today and I don’t know if I’ll have time to write😭 so have fun reading this guyss

Shaiya

Zayne stared at the name etched into his skin, barely brushing his fingers over the letters as if touching it would somehow make it less real.

Silence crashed around him like a wave. The world dimmed.

No, he thought, chest tightening. It should’ve been her name.

Yours.

He wanted to claw at it, to tear it off and rewrite the universe.

But all he did was stare—still, quiet, unreadable. His face gave nothing away, though his heart was screaming.

You didn’t cry when he told you.

He had expected the silence. Maybe even anger.

But not the way you reached for him, pulling him into a soft embrace as if you were the one offering comfort.

As if you were the one letting go.

You smiled.

And that broke him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He held you too tightly for a moment too long, afraid that if he let go, everything between you would unravel.

Then he forced a smile—calm, polite, practiced. Like he was happy. Like this wasn’t the end of something sacred.

But he wasn’t.

He didn’t love Shaiya—not then. There was no spark, no fireworks when he first saw her in the park.

There was just you.

You, with your quiet steadiness, your silent understanding. You, who noticed every flicker of emotion on his face, even when no one else did. You, who knew how to wait through his silences.

But something kept pulling him back to Shaiya. A whisper in his gut. A gravitational force he couldn’t explain.

So he went.

And when she laughed, something in him stirred. When she smiled, he felt breathless. Her presence, soft and bright, wrapped around him like a tether he hadn’t asked for—but couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t like with you.

With you, it was slow, quiet, real.

With her, it was sudden—like being caught in a current he couldn’t swim against.

And yet, even as he sat beside Shaiya, laughing at something she said, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

Back to you.

Back to the way you smiled without expectation. Back to the warmth of your hug.

Back to everything he was afraid he’d just lost.

—•

“Zayne? You there?”

He jolted upright at the sound of Shaiya’s voice through the phone, pulled sharply from the spiral of thoughts he hadn’t realized he’d fallen into.

He cleared his throat, forcing steadiness into his voice. “Yeah. Sorry—I was signing some reports.”

A lie, smooth and effortless.

Shaiya laughed lightly, the sound soft through the speaker.

“It’s okay.”

Then, after a beat, her tone shifted, quieter. Concerned. “I’m a little worried about Y/N. She’s been… distant lately.”

That made him still. Completely.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice low. His fingers curled against the edge of the desk.

Shaiya hesitated. “She spaces out sometimes. When I talk to her, she smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I caught her clutching her wrist the other day—I think she might be hurt, but she brushed it off.”

Zayne didn’t hear the rest. Her voice faded under the weight of his thoughts.

How hadn’t he noticed?

You, the one person he thought he always saw clearly. The one whose silences he understood. He’d been so caught in the chaos of his own confusion that he hadn’t seen you unraveling in the quiet.

He swallowed, guilt settling in like a stone. “I’ll talk to her,” he murmured.

“Okay,” Shaiya replied, her voice soft again. “I’m heading to bed now—early shift tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat after yours.”

The line disconnected, and silence bloomed in the space it left behind.

He sat for a moment, staring at nothing. Then he stood.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his feet carried him across the corridor.

He stopped in front of your door. Raised his hand. Hesitated.

Did you have a mark yet?

The thought hit him like a wave.

And somewhere—deep and cruel and honest—a voice inside him whispered that he hoped you didn’t. That maybe, if fate had overlooked you too, you’d still stay.

That you’d still look at him the way you always had.

That he wouldn’t lose you completely.

But even he knew that was selfish.

So he knocked, softly.

No reply.

The door creaked open.

He stepped inside, meaning to call your name, to ask if you were alright—but the words never made it past his lips.

You were asleep, curled up at your desk, your breathing steady. Peaceful.

And then he saw it.

A flash of red ink on your wrist.

His name.

His breath caught.

Everything in him stilled.

This—this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

His name was on your skin. In red. And he hadn’t even known.

He stumbled back like the air had turned to fire, his legs moving before he could think.

The door slammed behind him as he pressed his back against it, chest rising and falling in erratic waves.

That’s why.

That’s why you’d been pulling away. Why you smiled like it hurt. Why you never said a word.

Because it did hurt.

And all this time, he’d been too blind to see it.

Tears stung his eyes, blurring the fluorescent lights of his office as he clenched his fists at his sides.

You had been burning alone. Crying alone.

And now that he knew—

There was still nothing he could do.

—•

He saw you.

It was late—close to midnight—when he stepped out of his car, bone-tired from another shift.

The streets were quiet, bathed in the soft yellow haze of flickering streetlamps.

And there you were.

Leaving your apartment, coat hastily thrown on, arms folded tightly around yourself like you were holding yourself together.

Zayne froze, half in the shadow of the trees lining the sidewalk.

He meant to call out. Your name was already on the tip of his tongue.

But then he saw your face.

Not just the weariness, but something sharper—something broken.

Sadness. Anger. Resignation.

And suddenly, he couldn’t speak.

Because he knew—

He knew it was because of him.

So he stayed silent.

Just watched.

He followed your steps with his eyes as you crossed the street, your pace slow, unsteady.

The city was quiet around you, but inside, you were a storm. He could see it. He felt it in the way your shoulders sank.

You disappeared into the dim glow of a small pub tucked between closed storefronts.

He didn’t go in.

He stood across the street, leaning against the hood of his car like a coward, watching through the window as you made your way to the bar.

Sluggish. Heavy.

He saw your hand signal the bartender. Saw the first drink vanish. Then the second. Then the third.

His chest tightened with every empty glass.

Because it was his fault.

He was the reason you were unraveling one drink at a time. The reason your mark burned red with his name while he bore someone else’s in black.

Then—

He saw him.

A stranger. Tall. Pale hair that glinted under the bar’s low lighting.

Zayne’s breath caught as he watched the man slide onto the stool beside you, say something with a smile, and slide across a piece of paper.

He saw your smile falter. Saw the pain flicker across your features like lightning.

Saw the way your body flinched, just barely, like a wound had been pressed too hard.

And Zayne saw it all.

Every agonizing detail.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t cross the street. Didn’t pull open the door.

He couldn’t.

Because what would he say?

What right did he have?

He stood there, paralyzed in the dark, watching you turn away from the man politely, watching you order another drink with trembling fingers.

And he hated himself more with every breath.

—•

Two days later, he stepped into your office.

The door clicked softly behind him, and for a moment, he simply stood there—watching you work, your shoulders tense, eyes tired in that way only he seemed to notice.

He cleared his throat gently. “Long day?”

His voice was calm, casual, as he placed a cup of coffee on your desk like it was just another routine between colleagues.

You looked up and offered him a smile—soft, warm, as if nothing had changed. As if nothing had shattered between you.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, fingers curling around the warmth of the cup.

It hurt.

Because he saw it now—what he’d missed before.

The subtle flinch when your skin brushed the sleeve of your sweater.

The split-second delay in your smile. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes.

He swallowed. The words slipped out before he could stop them.

“I saw you out. Two nights ago.”

The air shifted.

You stilled for a fraction of a second, but didn’t look away.

He wished he hadn’t said it, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t just worried. He was jealous.

His jaw tightened as he brought his coffee to his lips. “Were you drinking again?”

His voice cracked—just barely—but enough to betray him.

You blinked. Then turned your gaze to the window, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Just needed some air. That’s all.”

And then, as if your body hadn’t yet caught up with your lie, your fingers drifted down, brushing against your wrist—so faintly it would’ve gone unnoticed.

But he saw it.

He always saw you.

He opened his mouth, something sharp and aching rising in his throat.

But he bit it back.

The truth. The apology. The longing.

None of it would fix what fate had done.

So he stepped back.

“Don’t overwork yourself,” he said, turning on his heel before the tremble in his voice could betray him again.

And he walked away.

Because what else could he say?

When it was his name on your wrist.

And someone else’s on his.

—•

A week later, he stood motionless in his office, staring blankly at the floor.

Shaiya’s voice still echoed in his ears.

“She found her soulmate.”

His heart didn’t sink—it clenched. Like something inside him had braced for a blow and still wasn’t ready for the impact.

He didn’t believe it.

Not for a second.

Because he knew you.

Knew the kind of lies people told when they were trying to protect themselves from pain.

Before reason could stop him, his body had already moved. He found himself standing in front of your office again, just like he had so many times before—only now there was something different clinging to the air.

A desperation he couldn’t admit.

He wanted to shake you. To ask why.

Why you were doing this to yourself. To him.

Why you were pretending this didn’t hurt when everything in your eyes told him otherwise.

But he said none of that.

Instead, he knocked gently and stepped in.

You looked up at him, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe.

Because you smiled. Small. Warm.

As if nothing had changed.

As if it didn’t ache.

And that only made it worse.

“I heard from Shaiya,” he said, voice low, too even. “You found him?”

You nodded, the gesture soft, almost apologetic. “Yeah.”

His mouth parted slightly, like there was something he needed to say—but the words caught halfway.

“That’s… good,” he said finally. But the pause before the word good was a wound all on its own.

It hung in the air. Heavy.

And it wasn’t joy that colored his tone. Not even relief.

There was something else.

You blinked, startled by the hollowness of it. “Is everything okay?”

Zayne looked at you, long and quiet, his gaze searching your face like it held an answer to something he couldn’t name.

Then, slowly, the mask returned.

A neutral expression. The kind he wore in operating rooms. In grief.

“Yes,” he replied, forcing the edges of his mouth to lift. “I’m just… glad for you.”

But even you could hear it.

The tremor beneath the stillness. The way glad didn’t quite land.

Silence stretched.

Zayne looked away for a moment, then back—eyes flickering with something raw, something not yet buried deep enough.

And still—he said nothing.

Because what could he say, when it was his name on your skin—

And someone else’s story you were trying to live?

When Zayne stepped out of your office, his chest tight and throat dry, he nearly walked past him—

The man from the bar.

Tall, silver-haired, with that same calm presence that had unsettled him days ago.

This time, he stood waiting. Expecting him.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said coolly, offering nothing more than his name—because he knew it was enough.

Zayne stopped mid-stride.

His eyes widened for a brief second before narrowing into something colder. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

He remembered that night.

The flash of your pain. The way Sylus had leaned in, close but careful, like he knew exactly how much space to take.

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

“Take care of her,” he said, voice sharp but restrained. Controlled. Like a blade held at the throat but never pressed in.

Then he turned without waiting for a reply, shoulders stiff, the weight of what he couldn’t say trailing behind him like a shadow.

But if he had stayed just a second longer—

He would’ve seen it.

The slow, knowing smirk tugging at Sylus’s lips.

Not arrogant, not mocking—just assured.

A look that said he would.

And maybe even more than that—

That he already was.

—•

The hospital hallway was quiet at this hour—just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the echo of distant footsteps.

Zayne stood alone in the on-call room, the door shut behind him, the walls far too close.

He leaned against the locker, head tipped back, eyes closed.

But the silence wasn’t peace.

It was suffocating.

She found someone.

She said she found her soulmate.

The words circled in his mind like vultures, tearing into the edges of his restraint.

He clenched his fists, breathing slow—too slow, like he was trying to stay afloat in his own chest.

Sylus.

The name had weight now. It wasn’t just a stranger from the bar anymore—it was someone you had chosen. Someone who made you smile, even through the ache.

Someone who could stand beside you without carrying the guilt Zayne did.

His hand lifted without thinking, pressing to his chest like he could calm the sharp, twisting ache there.

He didn’t understand it.

Why did the mark choose Shaiya?

Why not her?

Why not you?

Because if the universe had any sense of justice, it would’ve branded your name into his skin.

Not someone else’s.

Not someone he had to learn to care about.

Not someone who wasn’t you.

Zayne sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair.

His shoulders hunched in on himself, like the weight of everything was finally catching up.

All the moments he’d brushed aside.

The quiet hurt in your eyes.

The way you smiled like you were trying to protect him.

He remembered the night he saw you drinking, the way you flinched when Sylus got too close, the pain you thought no one saw.

And he had done nothing.

He had stood there, watching.

Helpless.

His name was on your wrist. In red.

And it didn’t matter.

Because fate had already played its cruel joke—and he had laughed along with it, pretending he could live with it. Pretending he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

He had spent so long mastering silence, mastering stillness—he didn’t know how to fight for something that wasn’t supposed to be his.

His breath trembled, a rare crack in the mask he wore even when no one was watching.

He wanted to scream.

To demand answers from whatever force had decided this was how the story would end.

But all he could do was sit there.

In a quiet room.

With your name echoing like a phantom in his chest.

And nothing he could do to make you stay.

[flowervrse]

to be honest i didn't know what to expect reading this. i'm an atheist and haven't really delved into the world of religious fics, but every time you write get completely hooked this was completely INSANE.

the pacing of the beginning is done so perfectly - the way your write it makes me feel like i'm falling slowly with the storyline. i feel like usually i'm able to almost separate pov fics from myself, make it feel like i'm reading it the way i would a third person book - but this is fic actually made feel like i was the reader, that i was seeing these things through my own eyes.

the juxtaposition of the innocence and desperation in the smut scene, chasing (and falling) after each other while they're still praying and using clinical names is so - honestly, i have now words that would be able to accurately describe how i feel about this, because it's everything all at once in one gorgeous piece of writing.

and oh my god. "You're not burning." -"You're so beautiful." these lines. it's like i could feel their happiness radiating from them in a big, warm hug. (what am i even saying at this point)

and then there was jake's pov. i think this cemented the fact that they were made to fall together, both admiring and wanting each other from afar but never realising how down bad they both are. both instilled with purity and obedience, to find the right time to - at this point i don't even want to say fall, but rise - with each other.

AND THEY GOT THEIR HAPPY ENDING. 😭😭.

this is by far my favourite fic you've written and probably one of my favourite jake fics on the platform. i also went, researched the analogies, and then reread this. i may not be super familiar with them, but the way they're incorporated is masterful. THANK YOU for writing this.

the fall of a man — sjy

SYNOPSIS: You were taught that virtue was a woman’s greatest strength, that temptation was a test of will, that desire was the serpent’s whisper leading you astray. But when temptation comes in the form of Sim Jaeyun—holy, untouchable, the very image of devotion—your faith begins to waver.

content tags: slow burn, plot with little bit of porn, mutual pining, both of them are religious and virgins, set in catholic university that is lead by nuns, they don't have sex ed!! adam and eve references, religious guilt, reader crushing and thirsting over jake in religious way that's been written for almost 5k words, some of the scenes are heavily inspired by 'guilty as sin' by ts.

warning: heavy sacrilegious content, karina kind of represent the serpent in reader's pov, blasphemy, explicit content (smut): reader masturbate in the chapel, virgins trying to fuck, virginity loss (obv), blowjob, fingering, unprotected sex (condom don't exist), jake call out god's name a lot of times. wc: 16.7k

note: my darling, @fangel really inspired me and make me overcome my fear in writing the most unholiest thing in the world, i'm inlove with you, bae and you really changed my world with your fics <3 i wrote this fic for armin arlert way back 2023 but never had the guts to publish it, but hey u give me a reason to continue this fic. and to my readers out there, i hope you enjoy reading this fic, i love writing jake's pov here :)

Ever since you were a child, you followed everything your parents told you. Raised in a devoutly religious household, your days revolved around faith—joining church activities, attending every Sunday mass without fail, even flying to Puerto Rico with your family to take part in Misa de Aguinaldo.

Religion wasn't just a part of your life; it was your life.

You loved God. You loved listening to preachers, absorbing their words like scripture carved into your soul. You loved spreading the message of Jesus Christ, the warmth of faith filling you every time you shared His name.

You prayed constantly—palms pressed together, head bowed, whispering words of gratitude for every blessing, of repentance for every misstep. You prayed for strength, for purity, for the will to resist temptation.

And yet—temptation had a name.

And his name is Sim Jaeyun.

You remember the first time you saw him walking through the gates of the Catholic university you both attended.

Jake Sim was the very embodiment of devotion, of unwavering faith. He carried himself with an air of holiness, always with a rosary wrapped around his fingers or a Bible tucked beneath his arm. He spoke with conviction, every word laced with the kind of certainty only true believers possessed. And yet, to you, he was something else entirely.

The way he moved, the way his voice echoed through the chapel—it was hypnotic. Your prayers would falter on your tongue whenever he stood at the altar, leading hymns with a voice so steady, so sure.

You had watched him, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips as he spoke, the way his lashes fluttered when he blinked. You had memorized the way candlelight danced across his skin, the way the veins in his hands shifted when he clasped them in prayer.

The boy who knelt before the cross with his eyes closed in deep, persistent faithfulness.

The boy who touched the rosary beads with such reverence, his fingers gliding over each one as if they held the weight of his salvation.

But all you could think about was how those same fingers would feel tracing the lines of your body, how they would press into your skin—not in prayer, but in something far more sinful.

How his lips would taste if they weren't murmuring scripture, if instead, they whispered your name in the dark.

How his faith would crumble if he ever looked at you the way you wanted him to.

And as you sat in the pews, hands clasped, head bowed, you prayed—not for strength, not for purity, but for him.

You shouldn't think about him that way. You shouldn't let your mind wander, not here, not in the house of God.

You knew the weight of sin, the warnings etched into you since childhood. Your family had made it clear—masturbation, desire, sex before marriage—each was a path to damnation. To act on them was to betray God.

Do not lay a hand on any boy. Do not think of flesh, of pleasure, of sin. Do not touch your body with thoughts of another.

But if you had never touched him, never let your hands stray to your own skin —if all you had were thoughts, then how could you already feel guilty as sin?

The golden light of the late afternoon filtered through the stained-glass windows of the university chapel, casting soft hues of red, blue, and gold onto the polished wooden pews. The air was still, filled only with the faint scent of old parchment and melting candle wax.

You sat near the front, fingers absentmindedly tracing the spine of your prayer book. The chapel was mostly empty, save for a few students lingering in quiet reflection. And him.

Sim Jaeyun stood near the altar, carefully arranging hymnals. Even in the simplicity of his tasks, there was a quiet devotion to him—an unshaken faith that made it impossible to look away.

You tried to focus on the words of the scripture open in front of you, but your thoughts were restless. It wasn't the first time you had stayed after midday prayers, and it wasn't the first time you had found yourself stealing glances at him.

A quiet sound of footsteps against the marble floor.

"You're here again."

You glanced up to find Jake standing at the edge. You nodded, offering a small smile. "I like the chapel in the afternoon. It's peaceful."

Jake hummed in agreement, sliding into the pew beside you, though he kept a respectful distance. "It's my favorite time, too," he admitted, clasping his hands together. "When the day is slowing down, but the world isn't quite asleep yet."

You studied him for a moment, watching as the sunlight touched his face, illuminating the softness in his features. "What do you pray for?" you asked.

Jake exhaled, his gaze fixed ahead. "For strength," he said. "To always follow the right path."

You nodded slowly, looking down at your hands.

"And you?" he asked.

You hesitated. You knew what you should say. Strength. Wisdom. Purity.

But instead, you murmured, "For understanding."

Jake turned to you, brow slightly furrowed. "Understanding?"

You swallowed. "There are... thoughts I don't always understand." You hesitated, fingers tightening around the pages of your prayer book. "And I ask for guidance. To know what is right."

For a moment, Jake was silent, then he offered a small, knowing smile. "God sees our hearts even when we struggle to see them ourselves." His voice was gentle and reassuring. "Sometimes, we don't need to have all the answers. We just need to trust Him to show us the way."

His words should have comforted you. But as you looked at him—at the boy who made your heart race in ways you couldn't explain—you weren't sure if the path you longed for was the one God had intended for you.

Sim Jaeyun barely even knew you. The two of you only shared a religion class, occasionally finding yourselves in the same prayer group. Your interactions were brief—just passing glances, a quiet exchange of smiles. Sometimes, after kneeling in prayer, he would hand you a sandwich and a bottle of water and you always accepted with a small nod of thanks, though the warmth in your chest lingered long after.

During every community outreach, you would catch glimpses of him—kneeling to pet stray dogs and cats, laughter spilling from his lips as children clung to his arms, their tiny hands gripping at his sleeves. He spoke to the elderly with a patience and gentleness that felt almost sacred, offering up his seat without hesitation, carrying their bags.

He was the kind of person people gravitated toward, the kind of person who made faith feel tangible—something living and breathing, rather than just words in a book.

You wondered if someone like him, someone pure as gold, ever sinned.

Sim Jaeyun was a name whispered often in the girls' residence hall. Every night, as curfew neared, you would hear them murmuring from their bunks.

"He'd make such a good husband." "Imagine him as a father—he'd be perfect." "Any girl would be lucky to have him."

A quiet admiration, soft and innocent. So why was yours so much heavier? So much more?

Why did yours feel like something that sat in your chest, something that pressed against your ribs with every prayer, something that burned?

"Your body is sacred."

The nun's voice rang through the classroom. She moved slowly between the rows of desks, the wooden stick in her hand tapping lightly against her palm with every step.

It was an all-girls class since she was teaching anatomy. But this wasn't just about the body. It was about purity.

She stopped near the front of the room, turning to face the class. Her gaze swept over each of you, as if she could see straight into your thoughts. "God has given you this body," she continued. "A temple. A gift. A vessel meant for holiness, not for sin."

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat.

"Temptation is everywhere," she said. "It creeps into your thoughts, into your hands, into the desires you do not speak of. But hear me, girls—"God is watching.""

The stick tapped against her palm again.

"Masturbation," she said, the word itself feeling heavy as it filled the silence, "is a sin against your own flesh. To lay a hand upon yourself in lust is to defile what was meant to be pure."

A hush settled over the room. Some girls looked down at their desks, others sat rigid, eyes wide, hands folded neatly in their laps as if to prove they had never done such a thing—never even thought about it.

You felt a heat crawl up the back of your neck.

"When you indulge in these acts," she continued, voice sharp with a warning, "your body burns—not with passion, not with pleasure, but with sin. A fire that does not cleanse, but corrupts."

She paused, her gaze sweeping the room again,

"And when you engage in sex outside of marriage, when you surrender yourself to the desires of the flesh, that fire does not leave you. It stays. It marks you. And on the day of judgment, when you stand before God, He will see it. He will know."

A shudder ran through you. You clenched your hands together, nails pressing into your palms.

Then, the nun's eyes landed on you.

"You understand, don't you?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came.

And just for a moment, you thought of him.

Sim Jaeyun.

Of the way his fingers brushed over rosary beads in prayer. Of the way his voice sounded when he spoke of faith, of devotion. Of how those hands, that voice, could ruin you.

And as the nun continued, warning of damnation, of the watchful eyes of God, you couldn't help but wonder.

If God was watching, did He already know what was in your heart? And worse—had He already condemned you for it?

"Yes, I understand," you said, though the words felt heavy on your tongue.

Guilt settled deep in your chest. Your palms were damp, fingers twitching slightly as you clasped them together.

You needed to repent.

You needed to pray until the thoughts left you, until the weight of sin lifted from your heart. Until the fire the nun spoke of no longer burned beneath your skin.

"Here, an apple for you."

A small hand reached toward yours, fingers curled around a tiny, imperfect apple. The child's eyes were bright with innocence, his smile wide as he offered it to you.

It was community outreach day in the mountains, where children ran barefoot over the uneven ground, laughter ringing through the crisp afternoon air. The scent of earth and firewood lingered, mingling with the distant voices of volunteers.

You knelt slightly, accepting the apple with a gentle smile. "Thank you," you said, your voice soft.

The boy beamed, pleased by your gratitude before running off to join the others.

You were about to take a bite of the apple when a sudden tap on your shoulder made you pause. Turning, you found your classmate standing behind you, her expression impatient.

"I need you to find Karina," she said, arms crossed. "She's missing again. And we need to leave by three."

You sighed, tucking the apple into your pocket. "Alright, I'll look for her."

With that, you made your way up the stone steps leading further into the hills, where the trees grew denser and the voices of the other volunteers faded into the rustling of leaves. The fresh mountain air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke.

As you climbed higher, a small tug on your sleeve made you stop.

"Lady, where are you going?"

You looked down to see a little girl standing beside you, her dark eyes round with curiosity. She was sucking her thumb, her tiny fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt.

Crouching down to her level, you offered a reassuring smile. "I need to find my friend."

The girl tilted her head, studying you with the kind of seriousness only children could manage. Then, after a moment, she leaned in slightly and whispered, "Be careful out there."

You raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

She pulled her thumb from her mouth and grinned, baring her tiny teeth. "There's a snake," she hissed, making a slithering motion with her hands. "They bite!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "I'll be careful."

With a gentle pat on the girl's head, you urged her to go play with the others before continuing your search.

"Karina!" you called, your voice echoing through the trees. The afternoon air was with the scent of damp earth and pine, the only sounds around you the rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of children below.

After what felt like ages of wandering, you sighed, pulling the apple from your pocket. Your thumb brushed against its smooth surface as you took slow steps forward, letting yourself take a small break.

Then, just as you were about to take a bite, something caught your eye.

It was small cabin, worn by time, tucked between the trees. You hadn't noticed it before, hadn't even realized anyone lived this far up the mountain.

Lifting your head, you parted your lips to call for Karina again but you heard a low, quiet, barely audible voice over the wind.

Your breath hitched slightly, and instinctively, you stayed silent.

Tilting your head, you slowly took a bite of the apple, the crunch loud in the stillness. Step by step, you moved around the cabin, careful not to make a sound.

You crept closer, your breath shallow, your fingers curled tightly around the apple. The rough wooden cabin stood against the trees, its single window slightly ajar. Through the gap, the muffled voices inside grew clearer—soft murmurs, hushed laughter.

A breathless moan.

Your body tensed, You hesitated for only a moment before tilting your head, peering through the dust-coated glass.

And that's when you saw the most sinful acts you've ever witness.

Karina was sprawled against the wooden table, her back arching beneath the weight of the farmer pressing into her. Her dress was bunched up around her waist, her bare thighs caging his hips. His hands gripped her skin, fingers digging into the softness of her legs, his mouth trailing down the curve of her neck.

Your stomach twisted, but you couldn't look away.

Karina wasn't resisting. She wasn't recoiling in shame or horror. There was no fear in her expression, no sign of guilt or repentance.

She was pulling him closer.

Her fingers wove into his hair, tugging slightly as her head fell back, exposing more of her throat to his lips. Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her mouth parting with quiet, trembling gasps.

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

The nun's words echoed in your head, warnings of fire, of suffering, of bodies burning for their sins.

But Karina wasn't burning.

Your breath trembled as you stared, as the world you had known—the one built on prayer, on restraint, on the fear of temptation—began to splinter.

How is she not burning?

The apple slipped from your fingers, tumbling to the ground with a dull thud.

A hiss was heard. The sound was sharp, unnatural, cutting through the silence of the forest. Your body stiffened, a cold shiver crawling up your spine. Slowly, your gaze flickered to the tree beside you.

A snake. Its body coiled around the rough bark, scales glistening in the fading sunlight. It was watching you, its tongue flickering out.

Eve was tempted. Eve took the fruit.

Your stomach twisted violently as you staggered back, tearing your eyes away from both the serpent and the scene inside the cabin.

You ran. Branches scraped against your skin as you pushed through the trees, your feet barely touching the ground. The echoes of Karina's breathless moans clung to you, no matter how fast you tried to outrun them.

You needed to forget. To erase the moment of sin that had burned itself into your mind. To cleanse yourself before the weight of temptation swallowed you whole.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..."

Your eyes clenched shut as you muttered the prayer, over and over, you repeated the words, as if their rhythm alone could cleanse your mind, could undo what you had seen.

The rosary felt heavy in your hands, the beads pressing into your palm. But no matter how tightly you held it, no matter how desperately you clung to prayer, the memory would not leave you.

"Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

You sucked in a sharp breath, your chest tightening.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners—"

Your voice broke. This was your fall.

A single tear slipped down your cheek, then another, until you were gripping the rosary so tightly your knuckles turned white. A quiet sniffle escaped you, but the tears kept coming, blurring the dim candlelight of the chapel.

You could not stop trembling, your stomach tightening, a dull ache spreading between your legs, heat pooling where it should not.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, but it did nothing to stop the throbbing. You clenched your fists, willing the sensation away, but the images had already taken root.

Karina. The farmer. The way her body had arched into him, how she had clung to him. It should have horrified you. It should have disgusted you.

Instead, a shudder ran through you as your mind betrayed you, as the image shifted, reshaped itself into something far more forbidden.

Not Karina.

You.

And not the farmer.

Jake.

Your breath hitched. The thought was wrong—blasphemous. But it came unbidden, vivid and consuming, slipping into the cracks of your mind like sin itself. You saw him above you, his hands gripping your waist, his lips murmuring something against your skin.

Your rosary slipped from your fingers, the beads scattering against the marble floor.

You gasped softly, snapping your eyes open as if waking from a dream—no, a nightmare.

Your hands flew to your chest, pressing against your heart as if you could smother the racing beat beneath your skin.

No. No, no, no.

Tears welled in your eyes again, this time not just from guilt but from fear—of yourself.

This was your fall.

The serpent had coiled itself around you, whispering its venom into your ears, seeping into your thoughts, your body.

Karina was expelled after the nuns discovered what she had done during the community outreach.

You helped her pack in silence, folding the last of her skirts into a worn-out suitcase.

Your nose was red, your eyes swollen—for many reasons. Of course, you hadn't told anyone what you saw. That was yet another reason you were a sinner. You had kept her secret, watched in silence as she was cast out.

But worse—you couldn't stop thinking about it.

And worst of all, you had lost another prayer partner.

Your voice was quiet when you finally asked, "Do you regret it?"

Karina's hands stilled over the fabric of her blouse. She stared at the ground for a long moment before exhaling slowly. "No."

"They're sending me away," she continued. "Some isolated place, far from men. Away from temptation. They'll make me enter seminary, force me to repent, try to fix me."

She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Fix me. As if I'm broken."

You said nothing, letting her words settle between you.

Karina turned then, her gaze finding yours. "But I don't regret it. No matter what they try to tell me." A small, humorless smile tugged at her lips. "But you wouldn't understand, would you?"

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as you folded it, staring at the delicate lace trim. "There are a lot of things I don't understand," you admitted. Then, meeting her eyes, you added, "But I do not judge. I am here to listen."

Karina studied you, her expression is pained. Then she let out a slow breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know the story of Adam and Eve," she said.

You nodded. "Of course."

"They call it the fall," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "But have you ever thought that maybe it wasn't a fall at all?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her fingers intertwined. "Eve took the apple. She chose knowledge, chose to know desire, hunger, craving. And for that, she was cast out." Karina exhaled through her nose, a bitter smile on her lips. "But maybe that was never a punishment. Maybe it was freedom."

She glanced at you then, "Christianity tells us that craving is sinful. That wanting—whether it's knowledge, pleasure, or love—will ruin us." Her voice lowered, "but tell me—why would God give us bodies that feel if He didn't want us to use them?"

Your throat felt dry.

"You've thought about it, haven't you?" Karina questioned. "You've felt it."

Heat crept up your neck, shame curling tight in your stomach.

Karina smiled, but it wasn't mocking. If anything, it was knowing. "It's normal to crave, you know," she said. "To want."

"In the city," Karina continued, "I heard students openly talk about sex. About how it's natural. They even discuss things like hormones, the way the body reacts to desire. When your clitoris—"

"Shhh!" Your eyes widened as you shot a panicked glance toward the door. Your hand moved on instinct, pressing against her lips to silence her.

"Do not use such vulgar words!" you hissed, even hearing such a thing felt wrong, like an invitation for sin to take root inside you.

Karina only laughed, she gently pulled your hand away, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "Why? Because the nuns don't want you to know your own body?"

Your cheeks burned, your fingers curling into your lap as you looked away. "Because it's wrong," you muttered. "You speak of things that lead to damnation."

Karina sighed, tilting her head. "Says who? The nuns? The ones who tell us that touching ourselves will set our bodies on fire?" She leaned in slightly, "Tell me, have you ever actually tried it?"

Your breath hitched as you swallowed, your pulse hammering against your skin. "I—I would never—"

Karina smiled knowingly. "Of course you wouldn't. Because you're afraid, aren't you?"

You stiffened. "Afraid of what?"

"That they were lying to you," she said simply.

You stared at her, Karina reached for your hand, her touch gentle as she placed it over your own lap. "If it's really so sinful," she murmured, "if it really makes you burn... then why don't you test it?"

Your breath caught in your throat. Her fingers pressed lightly against yours. "Go on. Just once. Just to see if their words hold any truth."

"If you want to touch yourself," she continued, undeterred by your silence, "put your fingers inside—but don't just push in and out. Curl them inside, find the spot that makes your legs shake."

Your entire body went rigid as Karina leaned closer, her lips curling, almost amused at your reaction. "And your clitoris—"

"Stop," you gasped, eyes widening as you instinctively clamped a hand over her mouth. Your other hand flew to the door, your head snapping toward it, terrified that someone might hear.

She giggled against your palm, her laughter muffled before she gently pulled your hand away. "Why are you so scared?" she teased. "It's just your body. It's natural."

Your cheeks were burning now, hot with embarrassment.

Karina sighed, tilting her head as if she pitied you. "If you ever do find someone," she continued, undeterred, "a boy—"

You swallowed hard.

"Let him play with your nipples." Her voice dipped lower, as if she were sharing a secret meant only for you. "Let him suck them, bite them just a little. It feels so good."

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

"And a boy," she went on, eyes glinting with mischievous, "his penis—"

"Karina!"

She laughed, completely unashamed of her own words. "What? It's true! If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it, suck on it—especially the tip."

A choked sound escaped you.

"Giving someone pleasure," she said, watching your reaction, "is just as enjoyable as receiving it. Maybe even more."

Your hands trembled in your lap. You couldn't even look at her now. Your mind felt clouded, a war raging between every lesson the nuns had taught you and the curiosity her words planted deep inside you.

Karina exhaled, shaking her head. "You poor thing," she murmured, you bit your lip hard, trying to drown out the heat rising in your body with pain.

"You should try it, you know," she said after a beat, her voice almost gentle now. "Just once. Just so you know if they were lying to you all along."

Your chest tightened, your heart hammering so loudly you feared it might betray you.

Because the worst part wasn't her words.

It was that you wanted to know if she was right.

So you repented again.

You prayed and prayed for forgiveness, whispering desperate pleas beneath your breath, pressing your forehead against the cold chapel floor. You gripped your rosary so tightly that the beads left indentations in your palm, as if pain itself could cleanse you.

But it was getting harder. Especially now, with Holy Week approaching. Longer prayers, deeper fasting, more time spent in solemn reflection. And yet, the more you immersed yourself in worship, the more temptation gnawed at you.

Especially since Sim Jaeyun was the one leading Passion Week.

You sat among the others, hands folded in your lap, your gaze fixed on the cross, trying not to think about him. Trying not to remember Karina's words.

"If you ever find someone, let him touch you, let him play with you—"

You swallowed hard, clenching your fists against your thighs.

Women and men were not allowed to be seen too close together. A proper distance must always be kept, a respectable space left between bodies. A simple conversation was permitted—but only from afar.

"You do pray very often."

The voice came from behind you. You stiffened, your breath catching in your throat as you turned slightly—only to find him.

Jake stood just a few feet away, hands clasped in front of him. "Is something bothering you?"

You turned back toward the cross, swallowing the lump in your throat. Your fingers curled against your knees, sweat forming at your temples.

"No," you whispered, though the lie burned on your tongue.

Jake was silent for a moment. Then, softly, he said, "You can talk to me, you know. If something is troubling you."

You closed your eyes. How could you tell him?

How could you tell him that the prayers weren't working? That no matter how hard you tried, the thoughts would not leave you? That he was becoming the temptation you could no longer escape?

Your eyes started to water again, he knelt beside you, as his presence settled so dangerously close—closer than what was proper.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, your fingers tightening around the rosary.

Jake watched you. From this close, he could see the way the candlelight illuminated your face, casting soft shadows along the delicate curve of your cheekbones. Your skin glowed, almost ethereal, as if touched by something divine.

You looked like a painting—one of the old Renaissance depictions of saints and martyrs.

Beautiful.

His gaze drifted lower, to the way your lips barely moved as you whispered prayers, the words shaky, your hands trembled over the rosary, clutched so tightly.

His eyes fell to your knees. The fabric of your skirt had shifted slightly, revealing the barest hint of bruised skin—evidence of hours spent kneeling.

He had seen piety before. He had witnessed countless prayers, watched the most devout of worshippers bow their heads in absolute faith.

But this—the way you prayed, the way you looked before the altar—felt different. He couldn't imagine what sin someone like you could have possibly committed.

His voice came quietly, "You should rest."

You flinched slightly at the sound of his voice,

"I can't," you murmured.

And then softly, without thinking—he reached out.

His hand hovered over yours for just a breath before settling atop your trembling fingers. Palm to palm, warm and steady, stopping you mid-prayer.

He didn't know what possessed him to touch you. Perhaps it was the way you looked so lost, so utterly consumed by something unseen. Or perhaps it was the fact that no nun was watching, no one to scold him for standing too close, for placing his hand over yours.

His touch was meant to be assuring. Nothing more. Nothing sinful.

But then you stiffened beneath him.

Your breath caught in your throat, your shoulders going rigid, your fingers twitching beneath his. Your heartbeat slammed against your ribs.

You turned your face toward him.

Jake sucked in a quiet breath as his eyes met yours—wide, desperate, a single tear slipping down your cheek.

He had never seen a gaze like that before. Not in church, not in prayer, not in the face of someone seeking salvation.

His fingers flexed slightly against yours, the warmth of your skin radiating beneath his palm. His thumb brushed against the back of your hand, a slow, instinctive movement, like a silent reassurance.

Before he could stop himself, his other hand lifted. Gently, hesitantly, he swiped away the tear that had slipped down your cheek, his fingertips barely grazing your skin.

You gasped softly. It was the smallest sound, but it sent something through him, something that made his fingers linger just a second too long against your face.

Your skin was warm beneath his touch. Soft. Alive.

It took everything in him to pull away.

The moment his fingers left your cheek, a strange kind of loss settled in his chest. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the fabric of his handkerchief before carefully pulling it out. Silently, he placed it in your trembling hands.

"Whatever you were praying for," he murmured, "I'm sure God will understand."

As if to anchor you back into the faith you were grasping so desperately onto, he smiled.

The kind of smile meant to bring comfort. But to you, it only made it worse.

"I should go," Jake said, you nodded, unable to meet his gaze. He shift beside you, the soft rustling of fabric as he stood. His presence lingered for just a moment longer before the sound of his footsteps echoed against the chapel floor, growing fainter.

And yet, his warmth remained.

Your hands trembled as you lifted the handkerchief to your face, pressing it against your damp cheeks. His scent clung to the fabric—a faint trace of sandalwood and incense, something undeniably him.

You exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut.

God will understand.

A broken sob escaped your lips as you clutched the fabric tighter, your body trembling with something you no longer had the strength to fight. Tears slipped freely down your cheeks, soaking into the handkerchief as you sniffled against it.

Your fingertips skimmed over the waistband of your skirt, then lower, brushing against the thin fabric beneath.

A sharp breath left you when you felt the wetness, sticky and warm, pooling between your thighs, evidence of the thoughts you had failed to purge.

You should stop. You should repent.

And yet, your other hand only tightened around the handkerchief, pressing it closer to your face, inhaling the faint traces of him.

Still kneeling, you stared at the cross before you. Your body trembled, shame curling in your stomach.

You sobbed, your weight tipping forward, forehead pressing against the marble floor. Your free hand clenched at your skirt, your knuckles white with restraint.

Your finger dipped inside, a choked gasp slipping past your lips at the sudden intrusion.

The feeling was new, startling and unfamiliar. You hesitated only for a moment before pressing deeper, your body clenching around the touch, breath hitching as pleasure licked up your spine.

The nuns had warned you—the body will burn.

But as your fingers curled, as something electric shot through your legs, making them tremble, you realized this was not pain nor suffering.

Your mouth parted, a quiet, breathless sound escaping as you rocked into your own touch, your other hand bracing against the marble floor to steady yourself, the overwhelming scent of him filling your senses.

Sim Jaeyun—his hands hovering over yours, the warmth of his palm against your trembling fingers, the way he had wiped away your tear.

Your fingers pressed deeper, and a soft gasp escaped your lips. You imagined it was his touch, his fingers exploring you with hesitant curiosity.

"You do pray very often," his voice echoed in your mind, "Is something bothering you?"

Yes, he was bothering you.

You pictured him above you, his fingers tracing over the same places your own were now.

"Does it burn?" he would ask, voice laced with something both sinful and sacred.

And you would shake your head—because it didn't.

It felt holy.

Your body arched into your own touch, your legs trembling as heat coiled deep inside you, tighter and tighter, threatening to consume you whole. The pressure, the ache, the need—it was overwhelming. It was blasphemous.

Yet, it was the closest you had ever felt to salvation.

A gasp tore from your lips, soft yet sinful in the silence of the chapel. Your fingers pushed deeper, your body rocking to meet them, each movement sending dizzying waves of pleasure through you.

Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead, falling onto the floor. You added another finger, stretching yourself further, testing the limits of your own body. A choked whimper escaped as your walls clenched around the intrusion, your breathing ragged. Your other hand fumbled against the floor, grasping for stability, but there was none—no safety, no sanctuary, no way to stop now.

You think about his hands on your waist, his lips trailing down your neck. Your body tensed, your fingers working faster, chasing the edge of an unknown pleasure that built higher and higher—until it was too much, too much.

With one final, shuddering breath, the world shattered around you. Your body trembled, pleasure crashing over you in violent waves, a silent cry caught in your throat as your mind went blank.

Your body slumped forward, forehead pressing against the cool marble floor, your fingers slipping out as the aftershocks of pleasure left you breathless.

There was only silence. Only your heaving breaths, the scent of candle wax and incense thick in the air, the fading echoes of his name somewhere in the depths of your mind.

Then, guilt settled in, so heavy. You had really fallen.

And yet, as you lay there, pulse still racing, you couldn't bring yourself to repent.

The days blurred into nights, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself slipping further into something you could no longer control.

You couldn't meet your own reflection anymore. The girl in the mirror was not the same—her eyes hollow with guilt, her lips parted in silent prayer that never reached the heavens. You had abandoned the comfort of your rosary, leaving it untouched on your bedside table. Even the scent of candle wax and incense, once a balm to your soul, now felt suffocating.

It was as if a devil had settled inside you, whispering in your ear, feeding your thoughts with things no holy woman should crave. And yet, no matter how fiercely you fought it, you kept returning to your sin.

Each night, beneath the shroud of darkness, your body became a traitor. Your hands moved without permission, exploring places you had been taught were forbidden. Your bedsheets tangled around your legs, damp with sweat, evidence of your transgressions.

And always, always, his name spilled from your lips.

Each time, you found yourself back in the same position—fingers trembling, thighs clenched, gasping into the silence of your room, drowning in him. And it felt too good to stop.

"Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love..."

You whispered it every day in the chapel, hands clutching the rosary so tightly. "According to Your great compassion, blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin..."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the fabric of your sleeves as you knelt before the altar. You sobbed, your body wracked with guilt, your lips forming words of repentance.

And yet—when you returned to your bed that night, your body trembling with guilt, your prayers still lingering in the air—

You touched yourself anyway.

"It's impressive how you always pray," Jake said, his voice gentle, filled with quiet admiration. A small smile graced his lips. Another interaction. Another moment that would be burned into your mind, another weight added to the burden of your sin.

"How you always find time to speak with Him," he continued. "I'm sure whatever you're praying for, you'd be heard."

You swallowed hard. Would God listen when your prayers were no longer pure? When you begged not for salvation, but for relief from the temptation standing before you?

You forced a polite nod, quickly wiping at your damp cheeks, hoping he wouldn't notice how red your eyes were. How broken you looked. Your knees ached from kneeling for so long, your fingers sore from gripping the rosary too tightly. If only he knew what your prayers had become—not words of devotion, but desperate pleas for deliverance.

You were about to stand, to create distance, to escape before your body could betray you again. But before you could move, Jake lowered himself to kneel beside you.

The proximity sent a shiver down your spine. His presence was grounding, yet it set something uneasy alight inside you.

"You know," he said, voice soft, "I quite admire you."

Jake smiled, warm and sincere, his eyes searching yours as if he was seeing something sacred in you. "You share a special relationship with God," he continued. "The way you pray, the way you devote yourself—it's beautiful."

"I've seen the way you never miss a prayer," he went on. "The way you kneel here for hours, speaking to Him when no one else is watching. I've seen the tears, the way you hold your rosary."

His gaze flickered down to your hands, still red from gripping the beads too tightly.

"And I think... that kind of devotion is rare."

You swallowed, forcing yourself to look away, because his words—his praise—felt heavier than anything the nuns had ever told you.

Because it was him saying it.

He didn't know that your devotion wasn't pure. That your prayers were not for holiness, but for control. That when you closed your eyes at night, it wasn't scripture that filled your mind, but the memory of his touch.

"God must love you very much," Jake murmured, tilting his head slightly. "To have someone as loyal as you."

You inhaled shakily, without thinking, you shifted back, settling onto the wooden pew. Jake stayed where he was, still kneeling, his gaze fixed on the cross. You swallowed. Your fingers curled around the rosary in your palm

"Can I confess, Jake?"

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Jake turned his head, he hesitated for a moment before moving to sit beside you, his posture still composed. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice is with quiet curiosity. "I am not a priest—I can't take such confessions."

You exhaled sharply, your grip tightening around the rosary.

"Forgive me, for I have sinned."

Jake stilled beside you his confusion was evident in the way his brows knitted together, in the way his head tilted slightly as if trying to piece together what you meant. "Why?" he asked slowly.

You couldn't look at him. If you did, you feared he would see it. The truth. The war inside you. The way he was the very thing you needed to confess.

Your throat tightened as you muttered the next following words. "Because," you whispered, forcing the words out before you lost the courage to speak them, "I don't think I want to repent."

Jake stiffened beside you. His breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. His fingers curled against his lap, gripping the fabric of his trousers. "H-How can you say that?" His voice was unsteady, a stark contrast to the usual calmness he carried. His soft features, always composed, always gentle, were now pulled into shock and disbelief.

You swallowed, your throat dry, your heart slamming against your ribs as you forced yourself to continue. If you stopped now, if you let fear take hold, you would never be free of this.

"I think of things I shouldn't."Your voice trembled, but your gaze didn't waver this time. "I touched myself."

Jake's body jerked slightly, his lips parted again, but no words came, as if he had been struck speechless, as if the confession had ripped the breath from his lungs. His Adam's apple bobbed with a harsh swallow, the tendons in his neck tightening. His gaze flickered away, darting briefly to the cross above the altar, as if seeking guidance, as if seeking a way out. But there was none. He could not look at you, not when the weight of your confession was still lingering in the air

"You..." he started, but the words failed him. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. His brows furrowed, "Why are you telling me this?"

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to speak—forced yourself to ruin yourself completely. "Because it was you, Jake."

Jake inhale, his eyes widening, but only for a second. Something changed—something deep inside him, something that flickered behind his dark gaze like a dying flame suddenly reignited.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your skin tingling under the intensity of his stare. But you didn't stop. You couldn't.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

Jake's fingers dug into his thighs, gripping so tightly. His breathing turned shallow, uneven, his chest rising and falling at a pace that betrayed his struggle. His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips, before snapping back up, but the damage was already done.

He was flustered.

"D-Do not say v-vulgar things," Jake whispered, his hands trembling slightly where they rested against his lap. But it was his eyes that held you captive—wide, burning, conflicted.

Your throat tightened, and before you could stop yourself, tears welled in your eyes again. "I don't think I'm free of guilt if I confess to God."

Jake flinched at your words. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to reach for you, to stop you, to comfort you—but he didn't. Because he shouldn't.

"I keep praying for forgiveness," you continued, your voice trembling, "but I do not regret what I have done."

Jake inhaled sharply. His gaze flickered to the cross for only a moment—as if searching for guidance—before returning to you. Your lips trembled as you forced out the truth, the final confession that sealed your fall.

"I only feel guilty because thinking of you is a sinful act against my own people."

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your skirt. You weren't sure what you were asking from him—absolution, understanding, or something far more dangerous.

"God is willing to forgive again and again, right?" you choked out. Jake's breath hitched, and then you asked the only question that truly mattered. "But are you willing to forgive me?"

His throat bobbed with another hard swallow, but he couldn't speak. Because there was no answer to give. Not one that would be right. Not one that would be true. He stood abruptly. The movement was sudden, almost jerky, as if he was running—fleeing.

You watched him, lips quivering, hands still clenched together in your lap.

His palm was sweaty as he brushed it against his robe, his pulse erratic as he stepped out of the chapel, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that made your chest ache.

You didn't call after him. You didn't move. Because what could you say? He was already gone.

Jake arrived early at the residence hall, his movements stiff, controlled, as if forcing himself into habit, but as soon as the door shut behind him, his composure cracked. His chest rose and fell with deep, unsteady breaths, his hands running through his hair in frustration. The ghost of your voice lingered in his ears, wrapping around his mind like a noose.

"I touch myself with the thought of you."

"I do not regret what I have done."

His jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. He sank onto the bed, head falling back against the pillows, eyes squeezing shut.

"But are you willing to forgive me?"

His breath came out shaky, ragged, as he muttered, "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name..." His voice was strained and the prayer did nothing.

Nothing to rid him of the images flooding his mind, of your tear-streaked face, of the way your voice trembled, of the way you looked at him as if he held the answer to your salvation. He sucked in a sharp breath as his hands gripped the sheets beside him, as the tension in his body coiled so tight it hurt.

And then—he felt the unbearable heat pooling low in his stomach. The painful ache of his cock pressing against the fabric of his pants.

He let out a quiet, desperate whine, the sound muffled against his palm as he ran a hand over his face, as if trying to scrub away the shame, the want, the overwhelming weight of you. Still, the words of his prayer tumbled from his lips, over and over, between broken breaths.

Just like Adam, he had been steadfast. Pure. Untouched by temptation. He had walked the path of righteousness without faltering, without question, his faith as unwavering as the ground beneath his feet. He had known his purpose—to obey, to serve, to resist.

And yet, you— the Eve.

A whisper of temptation. Just as Eve had reached for the fruit, her fingers brushing against the knowledge of sin, you had reached for him—not with hands, but with words.

And now, like Adam, he was failing. He had seen the fruit before him. He had heard the serpent's voice, had felt the first stirrings of doubt deep in his chest, where conviction once lived.

He wanted to reach back.

To taste. To know. To fall.

Because wasn't that what Adam had done? He hadn't been deceived—he had chosen to fall with Eve. He had taken the fruit from her hand, knowing what it would cost.

"Take a bite."

The voice echoed in his mind, low and insistent, curling around his thoughts like a serpent coiled around a branch. Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes remained fixed on the ceiling, but he did not see it.

Instead, he saw you.

He imagined you whispering to him, your lips forming the very words that now tormented him. He imagined your fingers brushing against his wrist, leading him closer to ruin. Just as Eve had turned to Adam with the fruit cradled in her palm, you had turned to him with your confession, tempting him in ways he had never been tempted before.

His cock throbbed painfully beneath the confines of his pants, damp with his own arousal.

"Take a bite," the voice urged again, slithering through the cracks of his crumbling resistance. His hands clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He should continue praying, to fight whatever temptation the devil was filling him.

But instead, he lay there, panting, burning not with the way the nun teaches, his body betraying him as he squeezed his eyes shut. He let himself imagine.

"Heaven and earth are full," the voices soared inside the chapel, the morning light streaming through the stained-glass windows.

"Are full of your glory."

Jake's lips parted, but he did not sing. His gaze was fixed on you. You stood in the choir, your voice blending seamlessly with the others, yet somehow, to him, it was the only one that mattered.

Your long white dress fell in soft folds to your feet, the fabric catching in the gentle morning breeze drifting through the open doors. The wind moved through your hair, shifting it slightly, making it look almost weightless.

You were a vision of purity wrapped in divinity.

"Hosanna, hosanna."

Your eyes are dull and distant, told a different story. You sang the words, but you were not present. There was no joy, no reverence, only an emptiness that should not belong to someone standing before God.

"Hosanna in the highest."

But to him, you were the highest. More than the chapel's towering walls, more than the altar bathed in candlelight, more than the cross above them all. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to reach, to worship. But not as a believer should.

"Show me."

The words slipped from Jake's. Your breath caught in your throat, your eyes widening as you stared at him.

The small room at the back of the chapel felt unbearably tight, with the scent of old books and dust, the faint aroma of candle wax lingering in the corners. A candlelight was at the center of the table.

This was a place of study, of quiet contemplation, and A man and a woman should not be alone together. Not when the door was shut.

"Show me." Jake swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Show me how you touch yourself."

"H-Huh?" You stuttered, barely able to form words, your mind struggling to comprehend what he had just said. "Jake, you're so pure... I don't want you to be tainted like me. I already disappoint God—"

"Please, just show me."

His voice was desperate, his restraint fraying at the edges. Jake stepped forward, closing the distance between you.

Your breath hitched as he leaned over the table between you, hands bracing against the worn wood, trapping you between his body and the cold stone wall.

"I have thoughts about you too."

Your eyes snapped up to his, his eyes were glassy, his lips trembling as if the weight of his own confession was too much to bear, unshed tears brimming in his lashes.

"I thought of you that night," he murmured. You sucked in a breath, pressing yourself further into the table.

"I disappointed God too."

"Jake. . . " Your breath hitched at his confession as your eyes is searching on him. "Are you not afraid? Of the fire that will burn you?" you asked.

Jake's breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling as he leaned closer, his hands tightening against the edge of the table. "Does it burn you when you touch yourself?"

"Because when I thought of you," Jake continued, "my body just ached for your embrace."

Your heart pounded so loudly; you almost want to lower your head due to the proximity.

"It's not the fire that burns me."

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched as his gaze bore into yours, "It's the ache of longing for you."

You had feared he would resist, that he would turn away, condemn you, beg for salvation. But he wasn't begging for salvation. He was begging for you.

"Take a bite," a voice in the back of your mind hissed—low and insidious.

And without another word, without hesitation, you reached for him. Your fingers curled around the nape of his neck, you pulled him in, lips met his.

A low, desperate moan escaped Jake's throat as he crushed you against him, his hands finding your waist, gripping you so tightly. His body pressed into yours, heat radiating through the layers of fabric that still separated you.

His lips moved against yours with a hunger that startled you. The tears that had brimmed in his eyes slipped down his cheeks.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling, needing. The kiss was desperate, both of your teeth are clashing. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. The pressure of his mouth against yours softened after a moment, his lips parting slightly, then his tongue brushed against yours.

A soft gasp left your lips, and Jake seized the moment, his tongue slipping past the seam of your mouth, exploring, tasting. He groaned into you, the sound vibrating against your chest, making something hot coil in your stomach.

Your grip tightening in his hair as the kiss deepened, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes, coaxing you into submission.

"If you want to make a boy weak, touch him there. Play with it, stroke it."

Still kissing him, your free hand drifted lower, hesitant, until your fingers pressed over the hardness beneath his pants.

Jake cried out. His entire body jerked, his hips stuttering beneath your touch as he broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.

"Oh my Lord—"

His head fell forward, forehead pressing against your shoulder as his breath came out in ragged, uneven pants. His hands clenched at your waist, gripping the fabric of your dress.

You swallowed, watching in fascination as his body trembled beneath your touch.

Carefully, experimentally, you pressed your palm more firmly against him, stroking him slow through the fabric.

Jake whimpered. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction, chasing the pleasure, more relief, yet it was never enough. Your name slipped from his lips in a strangled moan, muffled against your shoulder.

"I want to see you. Please." You whisper, more like a whine as your fingers continued to stroke him through the fabric of his pants.

Jake lifted his head slowly, his breath ragged, his pupils blown wide with something that had nothing to do with faith. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his lips parted as they trembled.

His gaze locked onto yours, vulnerable yet so needy.

"W-Will you touch me more?"

His voice cracked at the end, his body shuddering as he fumbled with the buttons of his pants, his fingers shaking too much to work quickly. You watched as he hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly, before finally tugging the fabric down past his hips.

Your breath caught in your throat.

A penis. His cock was thick, long, flushed a deep shade of red. Fluid leaked from the swollen tip, dripping down the shaft in slow, glistening trails.

You remembered feeling disgusted way in anatomy class, staring at the stiff, clinical images in textbooks, thinking the male body was strange, almost grotesque.

Now, your mouth watered.

Heat pooled deep in your belly, your pussy clenching together involuntarily. You didn't even realize what you were doing until you were already on your knees.

Jake's breath hitched, his body going rigid. His wide, teary eyes stared down at you.

"W-What a-are you doing?" He exhaled sharply, his voice cracking. You glanced up at him, your hands settling on his thighs.

A whisper from your past came back to you, "Suck on it—especially the tip."

Your lips parted, and you murmured, "I'm going to pray for forgiveness." then you took him into your mouth.

"Ahhh—!"

A choked gasp tore from his lips, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His hands flew to your head, fingers tangling in your hair, but he didn't push. He held on for dear life.

His knees buckled slightly, his breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps as your warm mouth engulfed him.

You tasted the saltiness of his arousal, the unfamiliar flavor spreading across your tongue, but instead of pulling away, you took more.

"Jesus Christ, this is disgusting," Jake cried, his voice shaking—yet his hands remained buried in your hair, his hips jerking forward, pushing himself deeper into your mouth.

His breath came out in broken gasps as he watched you, watched the way your cheeks hollowed around his cock, the way your lips stretched to accommodate him. His fingers trembled where they tangled in your hair, torn between holding back and pushing in further.

"It feels too good—too good, too good—" he whined, his mouth falling open, eyes glassy.

Your stomach tightened at the sound, heat curling between your thighs at the way he was breaking apart. You wanted more, you needed more.

Your tongue traced along the underside of his shaft, your head bobbing steadily, each movement coaxing more whimpers from his lips. His thighs trembled beneath your hands, his entire body shaking with pleasure so foreign to him that he didn't know what to do with it.

"You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain." The words echoed in the back of your mind, a commandment you had already shattered beyond repair.

But you like hearing him, hearing the way he gasped for God, the way his voice cracked when he moaned between whispered prayers.

Your eyes flickered up, meeting his gaze. Jake whimpered, his breath stuttering as you took him further, pushing yourself until the tip of his cock brushed the back of your throat. Your gag reflex tightened, but you didn't pull away. You held him there, letting him feel everything.

"A-Ahhh—!"

A loud, uncontrollable moan ripped from his throat as his head fell back, exposing the column of his neck, veins prominent, his Adam's apple bobbing with every gasping breath.

His body tensed, his fingers gripping you too tightly, as if he was seeing God Himself in the pleasure washing over him.

His moans grew louder, needier—his entire existence reduced to you and the sin you were leading him into.

His grip in your hair tightened, his hips stuttering as he fought to keep himself from thrusting into your mouth, from losing himself entirely.

"S-Something's coming—something's coming."

His voice broke, whimpering and breathless. Still bobbing your head, you reached down with one hand, lifting your skirt, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of your underwear. The moment your fingers brushed against your slick folds; a moan vibrated against his shaft.

Jake gasped, his thighs tensing, his entire body shuddering at the sensation.

Your wetness coated your fingers, and with no hesitation, you pushed one inside, curling it the way you always had when you were alone—except now, you weren't alone.

Now, it felt too good to be true. Because Jake was in front of you.

Because Jake was falling with you.

Your own pleasure built with every movement of your fingers, every muffled moan that sent vibrations through him.

His hand slid down, trembling, until it brushed against your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tears pooling at the corner of your eyes, tears from how deep you had taken him, from how overwhelming it all was.

His touch was tender, contradicting the broken, filthy sounds spilling from his lips.

"You're—" he choked out, his voice wrecked. "You're touching yourself?"

You hummed around him, confirming, not slowing down, your fingers working deeper inside yourself as his body tensed above you.

Jake whimpered, his head falling forward, his lips barely parted as he stared. His stomach coiled tighter and tighter, his body trembling as his hips stuttered, chasing the feeling, unable to hold back.

"You look so beautiful," he sobbed, his voice raw and shaking. "So divine."

His gaze never left you, drinking in the sight of you—on your knees before him, lips wrapped around his length, taking him so deep without breaking eye contact.

A choked moan tore from his throat at the way you looked up at him, at the sheer devotion in your eyes. It was as if you had been sculpted by God Himself, crafted not from dust but from light, from holiness.

Jake had always admired you.

The way you prayed every afternoon in the chapel, hands clasped. How your lips moved so softly in whispered hymns, the way your voice blended into the choir like something celestial.

How you knelt before the altar, head bowed, untouched by the world around you, your beauty standing apart from anything he had ever known.

Now, you were kneeling for him, your mouth worshipped something else entirely.

His hips jerked forward, unrestrained, a sob catching in his throat.

"Oh—oh, my God—"

His entire body shook, the pleasure nearly blinding. A choked sob left his lips as his release spilled into your mouth, hot and thick, coating your tongue. His hips jerked involuntarily, pressing deeper until your nose met his abdomen, forcing you to take every last drop.

You moaned at the sensation, fingers working faster inside yourself, chasing the same pleasure that had just undone him. The taste of him lingered on your tongue, salty, forbidden—yet you swallowed it all, not letting a single drop go to waste.

Above you, Jake shuddered violently, his hands tangling in your hair as if clinging to you for stability.

His head tipped back; his lips parted in a silent cry as he came down from his high. His fingers trembled against your scalp, stroking gently.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he whispered, his eyes clenched shut, his chest rising. He held you there, cradling your head against his abdomen, his body still twitching from the aftershocks.

You tapped his thigh twice, a silent signal. Jake inhaled sharply, His grip loosened instantly, and with shaky hands, he let go of you, his cock slipping from your mouth.

A thin string of saliva connected you, stretching between your lips and the flushed tip of him before breaking. Your tongue remained out, your breath ragged, your lips swollen and slick with the remnants of his release.

"You... you swallowed my seed," Jake whispered, you stared up at him through lidded eyes, your breath shaky, your body still moving, fingers still working inside yourself.

His gaze flickered downward, following the slow, desperate motion of your hand beneath your lifted skirt. His cock twitched, still sensitive, yet already stirring again at the sight of you.

"It... it should be in your uterus," he muttered, his brows drawing together. "Not your mouth."

A slow smile curled at your lips, heat simmering beneath your skin as you reached for his hand, guiding it to your cheek.

"Then pump me with your seed, Jake," you whispered.

A sharp inhale left his lips, his fingers tightening at your sides before he pulled you to your feet.

His mouth was on yours again, his hands trailing down your back, finding the zipper of your dress. He tugged it down slowly, the fabric loosened, slipping over your shoulders, pooling at your feet.

Jake pulled away, his lips parting as he took you in—your bare form. His throat bobbed, fingers trembling slightly as they traced over your waist.

He bent down, lips finding the curve of your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

Your gaze lifted past him, to the walls of the room—where portraits of nuns, saints, and martyrs hung in quiet judgement. Their solemn eyes bore into you, unblinking, unwavering. Your chest tightened, guilt creeping in but you didn't want to stop.

Instead, you let your eyes fall shut, choosing to surrender—to savor the moment.

"Teach me how to please you," Jake murmured against your skin, his hands encircling your waist, holding you close.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers threading through his hair before drifting down to cup his face. Your foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

Jake's eyes fluttered shut as he sighed against your palm, his lips brushing against the center of it before pressing a tender kiss there. His own hands lifted, fingers tracing the shape of yours.

You pulled away slowly, you reached behind you, unclasping your bralette. The straps slipped from your shoulders, the fabric falling away, leaving your bare skin exposed to the afternoon light. Your underwear followed, sliding down your legs until you stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but temptation itself.

Jake's breath caught, his entire body rigid as he took in the sight of you—completely bare, completely his to look upon, to touch.

His lips parted, his gaze roamed over you, over the soft curve of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the smooth expanse of your thighs. He had seen statues of angels, paintings of the Virgin Mary draped in flowing white, but no work of art, no scripture, no vision of heaven itself had ever looked as divine as you did now.

You turned, settling yourself onto the wooden table behind you, your legs parting slowly, revealing yourself to him without hesitation.

A shaky exhale left your lips as your fingers trailed down your own skin, tracing along your inner thigh before sliding to your labia. You arched your back slightly, sighing as you spread yourself wider, holding his gaze.

"Come here, J-Jake," you moaned, your breath hitching as you pushed a single finger inside yourself. Jake swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, he undid them. He let the fabric slide from his shoulders, pooling onto the floor before taking slow steps toward you.

As he neared, his breath hitched, his gaze lowering to where your fingers disappeared inside your slick folds. His pupils dilated, "It's so wet," he whispered.

Before you could respond, his hand moved. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, still slick from your arousal, and gently pulled your hand away.

Jake's gaze flickered to your glistening fingers, then he brought your hand to his lips.

You gasped, your walls clenching involuntarily as his tongue flicked out, tasting you for the first time. His lashes fluttered shut, a soft groan slipping past his lips as he took more of you onto his tongue, savoring the taste.

When Jake opened his eyes again, they were darker.

"I want more." A sudden moan tore from your throat at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You reached for his wrist, guiding his hand between your legs, breath hitching the moment his fingers brushed against your slick folds.

Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers trembling as they hesitated at your entrance, slowly he pushed a single finger inside you.

A gasp escaped you as he entered. His jaw clenched at the sensation, his breath uneven as he felt you—felt the way your walls clenched around him, soft and wet and so impossibly tight.

His free hand gripped your thigh for support, his own body shuddering. Then he curled his finger.

"Oh God!" A sharp cry left your lips, your back arching at the sudden jolt of pleasure. Jake choked on a moan, watching you intently, his eyes locked onto every flicker of expression on your face.

He did it again, this time slower, pressing deeper, and your fingers dug into his shoulders.  His breathing grew heavier, his forehead nearly pressing against yours as he whispered, "Can I touch your breasts?"

Your head fell back, your lips parting on a silent gasp. You nodded frantically, eyes shut, too overwhelmed to speak properly. But a pleading "please" slipped from your lips.

That was all the permission he needed. Jake's other hand rose cautiously, fingers ghosting over the curve of your breast before cupping it fully, squeezing experimentally. His breath hitched at the feeling—warm, soft, the peak pebbling under his touch.

You moaned at the contact, pressing into his palm, "You like that?" he asked.

You nodded quickly, tilting your chin up to kiss him again, swallowing his breath. Your body was burning in a way that the nuns never depicted, your core aching with want, and you didn't care how shameless you sounded when you pleaded, "Please, touch me more."

Jake swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his fingers kneaded your breast, his other hand still buried deep inside you, working slow, torturous circles that made you gasp.

"Lean down and suck my breast," you whispered against his lips. "I heard it feels good."

Jake pulled back slightly, blinking down at you, his cheeks flushed. "Like a baby?" he asked, almost innocently, though the way his hips pressed forward, grinding his aching cock against your thigh, told another story entirely.

You let out a breathy laugh, though it was cut short when he twisted his fingers inside you, making your back arch.

"No," you whimpered. "Like a man who wants me."

Jake groaned, before lowering his head, his lips parting as he took your nipple into his mouth. The moment his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud; a cry left you.

He started gently at first, his lips soft and warm against your breast, still testing, still learning how to touch you. But as your back arched, as your fingers tangled into his hair and held him there, he grew bolder.

His lips sealing around your nipple, his tongue swirling. Then his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh, just enough to send a delicious shudder down your spine.

"Jake—" you gasped, thighs clenching around his waist, trapping him against you.

He moaned against your skin, his free hand massaged your other breast, fingers rolling the hardened peak between them, mimicking the movements of his tongue.

"Add another finger inside me—please, please," you begged, voice breaking, hands clutching at his shoulders, urging him deeper.

Jake's forehead pressing against your chest bracing himself as he obeyed. His second finger slipped inside, stretching you further, filling you in a way that made your toes curl. Your walls clenched around him, tight, warm, so wet, and Jake whimpered, his hips bucking against your thigh at the feeling of you around his fingers.

"I want you inside me," you whispered into his ear, tears slipped down your cheeks. Jake let out a shuddering breath, his body stiffening at your words. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "They said it will hurt," Jake whispered, his fingers, still buried deep inside you, twitched. His free hand came up to your cheek, wiping away your tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch so tender it made your chest ache.

He swallowed hard. "I don't want to hurt you."

You leaned into his touch, your lips brushing against his wrist as you whispered, "I want to feel all of you, Jake. Even if it hurts, I want you."

Jake's breath hitched, his forehead pressing against yours. With trembling hands, he withdrew his fingers from your heat, watching the way your body shuddered, the way your thighs quivered as he left you empty. He brought his fingers to his lips without thinking, tasting you again, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out a quiet, needy moan.

Jake let out a shaky exhale, gripping himself at the base. His other hand rested on your thigh, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. "Are you sure?" he asked.

You nodded, spreading your legs further, offering yourself to him completely. "Please, Jake."

With a shaky breath, Jake lined himself up with your entrance, his tip pressing against your heat. His hands trembled as he gripped your thighs, steadying himself, his forehead resting against yours as he slowly, carefully, began to push inside.

A gasp tore from your lips the moment he breached you. Your arms wrapped around him, clinging to his shoulders, molding yourself against him as your body adjusted to the slow intrusion of his thick cock.

The stretch was overwhelming. Tears welled in your eyes, slipping down your cheeks as your walls struggled to accommodate him. Looking down, you saw—he had barely entered you. Only the tip, and yet, it already felt so much.

Jake let out a strangled moan, his breath stuttering as he squeezed his eyes shut. 

"S-Slow," you whimpered, your body trembling beneath him. Jake nodded rapidly, biting his lip so hard. His entire body was tense, his self-control hanging by a thread as he forced himself to move at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"You’re so—" He choked on his words, a desperate whimper escaping him. "So tight—God—"

His hips twitched involuntarily, and you gasped, your nails raking down his back at the sudden jolt of sensation. Jake's breath hitched at the sharp sting of your nails, his cock throbbing as he pushed in another inch.

A broken sob escaped you.

"I-It’s too much—" you whimpered, your walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust, trying to take all of him.

"Shh, I know, I know—" he whispered, kissing your tear-streaked cheek, peppering soft kisses along your jaw, trying to ease the overwhelming stretch. His hands slid down to your thighs, holding you open, rubbing gentle circles into your skin as he murmured against your lips, "do you want me to pull out?"

You shake your head, Jake exhaled sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his hands steadying you before he pressed forward again, stretching you further. Until you felt his abdomen on your navel. Every movement forcing your walls to open for him, to take him in ways you hadn’t known were possible.

A hiss escaped you, your back arching off the wooden table at the overwhelming sensation of being completely full. "Y-You're inside me," you gasped, as your gaze dropped between your bodies.

Jake groaned softly, his hands gripping your waist, his cock throbbing inside you as he fought to remain still, to give you time to adjust. "Yeah," he murmured, "I'm inside you."

Your breath was ragged, your fingers shaking as they slid up to his face, tracing the curve of his jaw. "I'm not burning," you whispered, half in disbelief. "I'm not burning."

The nuns had lied. The warnings, the fear, the fire they swore would consume you if you ever gave in to desire—it was nowhere to be found. There was only warmth. Only Jake.

Jake swallowed hard, his gaze locking onto yours. He reached for your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

"You're not burning," you whispered. Jake brows furrowing, a gasp tore from your lips as he pulled out slightly before thrusting forward again, sinking into you. His mouth fell open, his head tilting back as he felt you, felt the way your walls clung to him, squeezing him.

His lips parted, but the only sounds that came were broken, incoherent prayers.

"Oh, God—" he choked out. His hands shook as they traced over your body, touching you, his fingers skimming your sides, your stomach, your breasts. You cried out as the pain shifted, morphing into pleasure.

"You're so beautiful," Jake sobbed, he thrust back inside you, deeper than before, his arms tightening around you. His chin rested atop your head, his lips brushing against your hair as he inhaled, breathing you in, letting your scent consume him as much as your body did.

"You're—you're everything," he whispered shakily, his hips rolling into you. "Made perfect, sculpted by God’s own hands," he moaned against your skin. "How could something so sinful feel so good?"

You whimpered beneath him, clinging to his shoulders. 

"I could do this every day," he moaned. Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering open, finding his face above you. He pulled back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his trembling hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His forehead pressed against yours.

"I would do this every day," he corrected himself, groaned as he thrust deeper, his hips stuttering slightly at the way your walls clenched around him. "Worship you like this. Love you like this."

Your moans grew louder, your nails pressing deeper into his skin, leaving marks along his back as if claiming him in return.

Jake groaned, his lips parting, his body trembling from the way you felt. "Would you let me?" His eyes searched yours. "Would you let me taint you? Every day?"

His hands roamed your body, gripping your waist, then sliding lower to cup the back of your thighs, pulling you closer. His movements slowed, dragging out every sensation, every inch of him inside you.

Your back arched, your legs wrapping tighter around his waist, locking him in place, your breath coming in soft, desperate gasps as the pleasure built inside you. 

"Yes, yes!" you cried out. "Taint me, fill me with your seed—I don’t care anymore!"

A ragged moan tore from his throat as he thrust harder. "You're all I've ever wanted." His pace turned desperate, frantic. His hands shook as he rocked into you. His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he drove deeper, his body pressing you down into the wooden table. The room was filled with the sinful sounds of skin meeting skin, of breathless gasps and muffled cries.

"I’ll give you everything," Jake panted, his forehead pressing against yours, sweat dripping from his temple. "I’ll fill you up, I’ll make you mine—"

His thrusts grew erratic, his hips snapping forward, chasing release, chasing you.

Your walls clenched tighter, pulsing around him, and he whimpered, his body tensing, his breath stuttering as the pleasure coiled unbearably tight inside him.

"Jake, Jake," you whimpered, your hands drifted lower, fingers grazing over the stretch where your bodies met. You could feel him inside you, thick, pulsing, dragging against your walls with each deep, sliding thrust. 

Your fingers dipped lower, pressing against your clit. A sharp gasp escaped you. The moment your fingers touched the sensitive bundle of nerves, a bolt of another intense pleasure shot through you. 

Jake groaned at the movement, his grip tightening, his lips parting as he watched you touch yourself.

"It feels too good—too good," you sobbed, rolling slow, shaky circles against your clit, heightening the pleasure building inside you. Your walls spasmed around him, gripping him tighter, making his hips stutter.

"Oh my Lord," Jake moaned, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body shaking with the effort to keep himself together. "This—this feels too good. I am willing to sin every day to get a taste of you."

"I would trade heaven just to stay inside you forever—"

His teeth grazed your jaw, his fingers locking around your wrists, guiding your movements against your clit, urging you faster, desperate to bring you with him.

"Please—please, come for me," he begged, and with one last deep thrust, as your fingers circled your clit faster, as his cock hit the perfect spot inside you.

The pleasure snapped through you, your entire body seizing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your walls clenched around him, pulsing, milking him as your climax washed through every inch of your being.

Jake choked on a moan, his body jerking as he buried himself deep, hips stuttering, his breath breaking into ragged gasps. His hands trembled as they gripped your hips, holding you still as his release spilled inside you, hot and thick, filling you completely.

His lips found yours again as he emptied himself into you, his body still shaking from the intensity of it all.

You gasped into his mouth, still riding the aftershocks, feeling the warmth of him inside you. Neither of you moved for a long moment, too overwhelmed, too wrecked to do anything but exist in the sinful haze of what had just happened.

Jake’s hands slowly slid up your back, his fingers tracing over your spine made your chest tighten. Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft but dazed, as if he still couldn’t quite believe what he had done—what you had done together.

 "Are you okay?"

Your heart ached at the tenderness in his voice, at the way he searched your face for any sign of regret. But there was none. You reached up, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his cheek.

"I'm full of you," you murmured, "I can feel you inside me."

Jake groaned, his hands tightening on your hips, his entire body tensing as he let out a shaky breath. Yet, even as exhaustion threatened to pull him under, his cock twitched inside you—still buried to the hilt, still too sensitive, yet already stirring again at your words

"Don't say that," he whispered, but his hands betrayed him.

They slid upward, over your waist, tracing the curve of your ribs before finding your breasts again, cupping them, thumbs circling your pebbled peaks. His fingers kneaded softly, rolling the sensitive flesh between his palms. 

Your back arched, your head tipping back, letting your hair cascade over the edge of the table. Your lips parted in a breathless moan, the aftershocks of pleasure still tingling in your veins, yet now, a new wave of desire was coiling inside you again. 

You were undone beneath him, your body glistening with sweat, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyes still dazed, darkened with lust. And yet, you looked untouched. 

His grip on your breasts tightened slightly, his hips pressing forward just enough to remind you that he was still inside you.

"You make me forget who I am," he murmured, his breath shaky against your throat. "What I'm supposed to be."

His lips found the pulse at your neck, trailing down again at every inch of your skin. 

Neither of you noticed the way the candlelight flickered. Because you had both awakened the Tree of Knowledge.

And neither of you would ever return to Eden.

Jake had always been a man of God.

From the moment he could speak, he was taught that he was formed from the dust of the earth, molded by divine hands, a creation of purpose. His parents instilled in him the belief that he was meant to walk the righteous path, to live a life devoted to prayer, to obedience, to purity.

He appreciated every intricate work of the Creator—the way the sun spilled golden light over the stained-glass windows of the churches, the way the choir’s voices soared in perfect harmony, the way scripture spoke of faith and the reward of salvation. He saw God in everything, and in return, he gave himself to Him, dedicating his days to scripture, to service, to resisting the sins that so easily ensnared others.

Where others strayed, he remained steadfast. Where others indulged in temptation, he turned away.

He had watched boys his age succumbs to their own desires— lusting over naked bodies, wandering hands beneath heavy blankets. He had seen the way girls blushed at their names being called by the wrong kind of voice, the way they giggled behind cupped hands, oblivious to how close they danced to damnation.

But not him.

Jake had spent his youth guarding his body, his mind, his soul. He never allowed himself to waver, never let his thoughts wander to things he had been told were unholy. And if—if—his body ever betrayed him in the quiet of night, if his skin burned with an unfamiliar ache, if his mind was tempted by images that had no place in his heart, he would fall to his knees in prayer.

He would beg for forgiveness, whispering fervent apologies, asking for the strength to resist, the grace to overcome.

And for years, he believed he was strong enough.

He believed his faith was unshakable, that no force on earth could tempt him away from his devotion. He had spent his life resisting, rejecting, turning away from desire as though it were a serpent poised to strike.

During one of his evening services at the university chapel, he saw you. At first, it was nothing. A passing glance. A new face among many, just another student filling the pews, singing hymns.

But then, he saw you again.

And again.

You stood among the choir, always placed near the back, always just slightly out of reach—like something meant to be admired from afar, never touched. Your voice wove seamlessly into the others, rising with the organ, filling the chapel, but it wasn't just your voice.

It was the way you bowed your head in prayer, hands folded so delicately. It was the way you knelt before the altar, the way your fingers curled around your rosary.

And every time he saw you, every time your lashes fluttered closed, every time your lips parted to whisper scripture. He would whisper to himself, Song of Solomon 4:7.

"You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you."

Because when he looked at you, he saw something more than human.

He saw a reflection of God’s love, a testament to His creativity—flawless, untouched, pure in ways he never realized he could ache for.

He told himself it was admiration. That his heart only quickened because he saw God in you. That the warmth spreading through his chest whenever you smiled at the nuns, whenever your fingers brushed against the pages of your worn bible, was nothing but spiritual devotion.

But the more he saw you, the harder it became to believe the lie. Because you were forbidden. So untouchable it hurt.

And by the time he had a taste of your poison, by the time your lips had met his, by the time he had felt the warmth of your body pressed against him, wrapped around him. He couldn’t stop craving.

"Jake—" you whined, your voice hushed, breathless, your hands pressed against the cool tiles of the wall for balance. Your body rocked with each deep thrust, your skirt bunched up around your waist, your panties pulled aside in rushed desperation.

Here he was, buried deep inside you in the thin, suffocating space of the girls’ restroom, his hands gripping your hips, guiding you as you bounced against him. He had barely gotten them down before he was inside you. 

Jake let out a shaky breath, his forehead falling against the back of your shoulder, his hips snapping forward, a choked moan escaping his lips as your walls squeezed around him.

"D-Do you love my c-cock inside you?"  He stammered. His hands slid from your hips, traveling up, slipping beneath your uniform blouse to cup your breasts, kneading them, his thumbs rolling over your sensitive peaks as he thrust deeper.

"Answer me," he pleaded, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

A sharp gasp left your lips, your head tilting back against his shoulder as your walls clenched even tighter. "Y-Yes," you whispered, your fingers curling against the cold tile, your knees going weak.

"Say it."

"I love it, Jake," you sobbed, barely holding yourself up as he drove into you faster. "I love your cock inside me—I love it so much—"

Jake whimpered, his grip on you tightening, his entire body shuddering against yours as he lost himself again.

Nothing in this world felt holier than you. Every secret rendezvous was another prayer whispered in the dark, another moment stolen between fleeting glances and hurried footsteps, another sin sealed between trembling lips.

It was your skin against his, pressed against the cold walls of empty classrooms, hidden beneath the dim glow of flickering candlelight in the chapel, tangled in sheets that smelled of guilt and devotion.

It was your kiss—sweet and sinful, your lips brushing against his top lip before capturing him fully, pulling him under, making him forget the weight of his conscience.

It was the way your fingers found his face, tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, down to the sharp line of his jaw.

"Jake," you would whisper, your touch like a baptism, washing away the person he once was and leaving behind someone entirely yours.

Your hands never hesitated when they roamed his body, memorizing the contours of his muscles, the dip of his collarbone, the ridges of his spine. Your body molded to his, fitting perfectly, as if you had been crafted just for him.

And God, how could something that felt this right be wrong? How could he look at you and believe this was damnation?

You were not a temptation.

You were his salvation, And if this was sin—if loving you, wanting you, needing you—meant turning away from heaven, then so be it.

Because Jake had already made his choice and he would choose you every time.

"They say if you have sexual preferences, it's called a kink," Jake mused, his arms wrapped loosely around your shoulders as he stared out at the lake, watching the water ripple under the soft afternoon light.

It was a rare that the both of you escape—just the two of you, away from the suffocating walls of the university.  Here, it was quiet. Peaceful.

You hummed in amusement, leaning back against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. "Hmm, I think I have a nose kink."

Jake chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "A nose kink?"

You grinned, turning to look up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. "I love your nose," you said simply, reaching up to tap the tip of it gently with your finger. "I love how it bumps against my clit."

A giggle slipped from your lips as Jake let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head, his ears tinged slightly pink.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, pressing his chin lightly against your shoulder, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his fondness.

You shifted, wrapping your arms around his, your fingers playing with the fabric of his sleeves. "What about you? Do you have a kink?"

Jake pretended to think, his lips pursing before he finally admitted, "I love your tongue."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh?"

His smile widened, his fingers trailing lazily along your arms. "I love how soft it is when you kiss me," he said, voice dropping slightly. "I love the way it feels against my skin, how warm it is when you—"

He stopped himself, biting his lip, his cheeks darkening as he let out a flustered chuckle. "You know."

You turned fully in his embrace, resting your chin against his chest as you beamed up at him. "Say it."

Jake groaned, rolling his eyes, but there was nothing but adoration in them as he dipped his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. "I love how your tongue feels when you're tasting me."

Your giggles turned into full laughter, your arms tightening around him, and he let out a breathy laugh of his own, shaking his head in defeat.

The wind rustled through the trees, the lake shimmering under the sunlight.

"Do you think God still loves us?" you asked, Jake's fingers threaded through your hair, slow and gentle, playing with your scalp as he stared out at the lake, watching the way the sunlight danced over the rippling water.

"Yes," he said, without hesitation.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. "How can you be so sure?"

Jake exhaled softly, his lips curling into a small, thoughtful smile. "Because love doesn’t disappear just because we fall." His gaze met yours. "God loved David even after his sins. He loved Peter even after he denied Him three times. Love isn’t something that fades because of our mistakes. It’s unconditional."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the quiet conviction in his voice.

"Then why do I still feel guilty?" you whispered, pressing your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Jake sighed, his chin resting lightly atop your head. "Because we've been taught to fear Him more than we've been taught to trust His love."

Silence stretched, only the soft rustling of trees and the distant laughter from the festival carrying through the breeze. After a moment, Jake spoke again, "but when I’m with you…" he paused, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your arm, "I feel closer to God than I ever have before."

You pulled back slightly, eyes searching his, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. "How?"

He smiled, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead again before whispering,

"Because you are the most beautiful thing He’s ever created."

Your breath hitched, your hands tightening around his shirt as warmth bloomed in your chest.

Jake tilted his head, his lips hovering just above yours. "And if loving you is a sin…" he murmured, a teasing smile playing on his lips, "then I guess I’ll just have to keep repenting."

His hands wandered lower, tracing slow, idle patterns along your upper thigh. You shivered slightly at his touch, but it wasn’t just the sensation that made your breath hitch—it was the way his finger moved deliberately, forming letters, one by one, spelling out a single word:

"Mine."

Your lips parted, your heart stuttering in your chest as your gaze flickered up to meet his.

Jake only smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting, "I will leave the university," he said suddenly. 

Jake exhaled slowly, "I’ve realized a lot of things, and one of them is…" He hesitated, searching your face, then sighed. "I don’t think I was ever meant to be the man they wanted me to be."

Your throat tightened. "Jake—"

"Everything is okay," he reassured you, his voice firm, calming. "I don’t regret any of it. Not the prayers, not the faith—but I also don’t regret you. And if the only way to keep you is to walk away from what was never truly mine, then I’ll do it."

Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, your fingers curling around his wrists. "You would do that?"

"I would do anything for you," he muttered, "I was never meant to be a saint, and I don’t think I want to be anymore." His fingers tightened around yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch, in the certainty of this moment. "I just want to be yours." 

A breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding.  You swallowed, your lips parting before you whispered, "Ruth 1:16-17."

Jake tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in curiosity. You smiled softly, squeezing his hand. "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay."

His gaze softened, warm and full of love, as if in that moment, there was nothing else in the world but you and him. Jake swallowed, his fingers tightening around yours as he whispered back, "Song of Solomon 3:4."

Your breath hitched. A sharp sting burned behind your eyes as you realized what he was saying, as the words sank into your skin, into your soul. Tears welled up, spilling onto your cheeks as he brought a trembling hand to cup your face, his thumb wiping them away.

"I have found the one whom my soul loves."

A quiet sob escaped you as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, letting the weight of his words settle into the deepest parts of you.

That was the day you faced the judgment of others.

Whispers followed you down the chapel halls, sharp as knives, spoken behind cupped hands and lowered eyes. You were no longer the devout girl they had known, no longer the image of purity they had placed on a pedestal.

You were cast out, stripped of the life you had once known, condemned for surrendering to the desires they warned you against. For falling, like Eve, for stepping into temptation and taking the bite that could never be undone.

But none of it mattered. Because just as Adam had followed Eve into exile, Jake followed you. It had always been him and you. It would always be him and you.

You would always choose him—religiously, faithfully.

You clutched Jake’s hand, sweat beading on your forehead, your body trembling as pain surged through you. Your body trembling with exhaustion. The midwife kneeled before you, her voice firm yet reassuring, guiding you through labored breaths as she prepared to deliver your third child.

Jake pressed a kiss to your damp temple, whispering words of encouragement, of love, his grip unwavering as he held onto you, just as he always had.

He wiped away the tears spilling from your eyes, just as he had that day by the lake, when he promised you that everything would be okay.

And as you cried out, as life pushed forward, as your body bore the proof of your love.

"You’re so strong," he murmured. "Just a little more, my love. I’m right here."

Another sharp cry left your lips, your back arching as the final push sent waves of relief crashing over you.

A baby’s cry filled the room.

A sharp, piercing sound, followed by the relieved murmurs of the midwife as she carefully wrapped the tiny, wriggling form in soft cloth. Your head fell back against the pillow, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. Jake’s hand trembled as he reached for you, his lips pressing against your knuckles, his gratitude unspoken but infinite.

Tiny footsteps thundered against the wooden floor.

"Mama!"

The door burst open, and two small figures ran inside, their eager little hands gripping the edges of your bedsheet.

Cain and Abel—your firstborns.

Their wide eyes shimmered with excitement; their faces flushed from running. Cain, the elder, clung to Jake’s arm, while Abel climbed onto the edge of the bed, trying to peer over your shoulder.

"Did it hurt, Mama? Are you okay?" Cain asked, his brows furrowed in concern, his little hands gripping onto Jake’s sleeve.

"It’s okay, my love," you soothed, your voice weak but filled with warmth as you reached for them. "I am okay."

Jake’s breath hitched as the midwife gently placed the newborn into his waiting arms. A soft gasp left his lips as he cradled the tiny child against his chest, his eyes glistening with tears. His fingers traced the delicate curve of the baby’s cheek, his voice breaking as he whispered, "Seth."

At the sound of his father’s voice, the newborn let out a small, sleepy whimper, tiny fists curling against Jake’s chest. Cain and Abel watched in awe; their excitement momentarily silenced as they stared at their new baby brother.

"Seth," Abel repeated softly, as if testing the name on his tongue.

"He’s so small," Cain murmured, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

Jake let out a choked laugh, pressing a kiss to Seth’s forehead before carefully settling beside you on the bed. His arm curled around your shoulders, pulling you close, his free hand still cradling your newest son. And as your children gathered around you, their voices filled with wonder.

As Jake’s lips found your forehead once more, you exhaled, a breathless, relieved sigh. You thought of Eden. Of Adam, formed from dust. Of Eve, crafted from his rib, made for him, meant to be his. The two of them had once lived untouched, unburdened, perfect in their innocence.

But love—true love—was never meant to exist without choice.

And so, they had fallen. Not out of defiance. Not out of sin. But out of love—a love so deep, so human, it had rewritten the course of existence itself.

Your body spent, your children nestled close, your husband’s arms wrapped around you as he held his world in his hands. Your tired eyes fluttered shut, as Jake pressed another soft kiss against your skin, your newborn stirred gently in his father’s arms.

Falling had never been a punishment. Because It is a gift.

perm taglist: @won4me @ikaw-at-ikaw, @kristynaaah, @fancypeacepersona @tunafishyfishylike @vvenusoncasual, @cutehoons02,

[melanchoire]

stepsister yuna who likes to touch you under the table when you both are eating with your parents, who also loves to masturbate outside your room when you are doing it (she is so pervert) and also sneak into your room to wake you up with oral sex in the middle of the night and then have the most insane and hot lesbian sex you both ever had

cw: dubcon, stepcest.

older step sister yuna who is a complete pervert when it comes to you 😵‍💫 always playing the card of the older sister who is super affectionate and cuddly with her little sister… when in reality, she is just looking for an excuse to have her hands on your body at all times; things like hugging you from behind when she feels like giving you affection, ending with her arms wrapping in a tight grip around your waist, pressing her chest against your back and discreetly grinding against your ass while her hands grope you 🥰 and like anon said, she would touch you under the table during dinner with your parents. of course they wouldn’t notice anything at all because she knows how to do it without being noticed, in addition to her talking about her studies at the college and some funny anecdotes that happened with her friends during the last weekend when she went out partying, your parents are so focused on listening to her talk that they didn’t even notice that she was sliding her hand under your pajama shorts, tracing your folds through your soaked panties and making a small puddle on the leather of the chair seat…

ohhh the part about her masturbating outside your room while you’re doing it… obviously you would look for a moment of total privacy to be able to touch yourself and calm your needs like anyone else, so you would wait for everyone in your house to fall asleep and have a deep sleep so you could finally put your hands inside your shorts and touch yourself until you fell asleep, but trying to be quiet because it would be a complete shame to be somewhat noisy and your family hears you or accidentally one of your parents thinks something happened to you when they hear some whining and when they enter your room you see yourself touching yourself 😭 so yeah, you would wait until late at night when everyone in your house is having sweet dreams so you can have fun in the meantime… or so you think! because yuna would also wait for your parents to be asleep to have fun too 🥰 she would be super stealthy and careful to leave her room and walk down the hall, stopping right next to your door and biting your lip in anticipation when you hear the faint sound of sheets shifting and your soft breathing fills the quiet room

of course yuna can’t see anything because you're inside your room and she is outside, but just hearing your breathing and the slight splashing is more than enough for her to imagine the speed at which you are fingering yourself and rubbing your clit, enough for her to put her hand inside her own pajama pants and match your movements, closing her eyes and imagining that she is in bed with you and mutual masturbation 🫠

and imagine when she finally dares to sneak into your room at night... you’re so fast asleep that you don’t even seem to notice when she climbs onto the foot of the bed, pulling the blankets off your body, drooling at the fact that this time you opted to wear a nightgown as pajamas, a garment much easier to remove 😋 yuna wastes no time and almost immediately crawls until she is in front of you, slowly opening your thighs, lifting your nightgown over your stomach, smiling at how you had even picked out cute panties, too bad they would soon be ruined

yuna eating you while you sleep 😵‍💫 she would love to go wild but she doesn’t want to wake you up, or at least not for now! so she chooses to take her time, tasting your sweet taste on his tongue every time his tongue slides through your folds in a way that makes more of your wetness drip from your hole and start making a mess on the sheets… she loves it when you whimper or breathe heavily sleepily, moving in bed and unconsciously moving your hips against her face

until a moment where you wake up because your bed feels wet, thinking that you had a moment where you accidentally wet the bed while you were sleeping, opening your eyes and being able to distinguish yuna’s figure in the darkness of your room, straddling your lap and grinding her naked pussy against yours, making you realize that it was actually your wetness and juices mixed with yours, completely soaking the sheets beneath you…

but yuna doesn’t even let you assimilate the situation because she is quick to act, covering your mouth with one of her hands and murmuring “just be quiet and everything will be fine.” and it definitely was 😋😋

[murder-cockroaches]

As much as I love all the emotional scenes they got in the later seasons, I think my favorite is this hug from the end of Irresistible in season two

The way Mulder kisses her head and rocks her like a baby 😭

[yokumirumerafan]

can i ask for demon slayers reacting on discovering their feelings to y/n and confessing to her?

Demon Slayers Realizing Their Feelings & Confessing to Y/N 💕✨

🔥 Hashira Reactions

🟢 Gyomei Himejima (😭 Overwhelmed with Emotion)

Realizes his feelings through prayer and deep meditation.

“Y/N… I feel as though the gods themselves have placed you in my life.”

Confesses with sincerity and devotion, holding your hands gently.

Might cry while confessing, overwhelmed by how deeply he cares for you.

“Even if you do not return my feelings, I shall always cherish you.”

🟡 Haganezuka Hotaru (💢 Tsundere & Awkward)

Realizes his feelings after you defend his swords from getting insulted.

Spends DAYS grumbling and denying it before giving up.

Confesses aggressively like: “I LIKE YOU, OKAY? DEAL WITH IT.”

Forgets to actually wait for your answer and just storms off.

(Later peeks back, hoping you’ll say yes).

❤️ Rengoku Kyojuro (🔥 Loud & Passionate)

Realizes his feelings instantly—he’s not the type to be confused about love.

Watches you from afar with admiration, feeling his heart race.

Confesses with a booming voice: “Y/N! I HAVE FALLEN FOR YOU!”

Probably does it in public without hesitation.

“MY HEART BURNS FOR YOU LIKE A ROARING FLAME!” (dramatic but 100% serious).

💨 Sanemi Shinazugawa (💀 Denies It for the LONGEST Time)

“Tch. There’s no way I like them.” (Meanwhile, he’s glaring at anyone who talks to you.)

Gets jealous easily but won’t admit why.

The moment he realizes it, he freezes like his brain just short-circuited.

Confesses awkwardly, like: “Look, I—ugh—DAMN IT. I like you, okay?! Don’t make me say it twice.”

Blushes aggressively and looks away while waiting for your answer.

🌊 Giyuu Tomioka (🤨 Quiet but Sincere)

Takes a LONG time to realize his feelings.

He just thought you were "special" to him, but then Tanjiro was like: “Giyuu-san… I think you love Y/N.”

Confesses shyly, avoiding eye contact: “I… care for you. Deeply.”

Struggles to say the word ‘love’ but means every word.

“I don’t expect anything… but I wanted you to know.” (🥺💕)

💜 Shinobu Kocho (🦋 Teases You Until the End)

Realizes it quickly, but won’t admit it immediately.

Flirts with you constantly, watching your reactions.

Confesses playfully but seriously: “Oh my~ I think I’ve fallen for you. What shall we do about it?”

Smiles, but there’s a genuine softness in her eyes.

“You’re my favorite person, you know? I’d like to keep you by my side forever.”

🌿 Mitsuri Kanroji (💗 Pure & Excited)

Falls in love SO FAST.

Gushes about you to literally everyone before even realizing it herself.

When she finally figures it out, she screams into her pillow in happiness.

Confesses enthusiastically: “Y/N-CHAN!! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!!”

Tackles you into a hug before even waiting for an answer.

🦋 Muichiro Tokito (😐 Oblivious Until It Hits)

Doesn't realize his own feelings for the longest time.

Notices that he thinks about you all the time and gets annoyed when others take your attention.

When he finally realizes it, he just stares into space like: Oh.

Confesses casually but sincerely: “I like you. I’d prefer if you stayed by my side.”

Doesn’t say much, but his gaze is so intense that you know he means it.

🐍 Obanai Iguro (👀 Shy but Devoted)

Realizes it when he gets irrationally protective over you.

Keeps his distance at first, scared of rejection.

Confesses awkwardly but sweetly: “I know I’m not… easy to love. But I want you to know that you have my heart.”

His face is completely red, and he can’t look at you.

“If you don’t feel the same, I understand. Just… please don’t leave.”

🗡️ Main Trio Reactions

🍃 Tanjiro Kamado (🥰 Gentle & Heartfelt)

Realizes his feelings gradually—notices how happy he is around you.

Blushes a lot whenever he thinks about confessing.

Confesses sincerely: “Y/N… I love you. You make my world brighter.”

Would probably write a heartfelt letter in case he messes up his words.

Holds your hands so gently, waiting for your answer with hopeful eyes.

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma (😭 Dramatic AF)

Falls in love with you IMMEDIATELY.

Screams and cries about his feelings to literally everyone except you.

Confesses in the most dramatic way possible: “Y/N, I CAN’T LIVE WITHOUT YOU! PLEASE MARRY ME!!”

Falls on his knees, clutching his heart like he’s dying.

If you say yes, he literally faints from happiness.

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira (😡 Clueless But Honest)

“Huh? Love? What’s that?” (Has no clue at first.)

Realizes he likes you when he wants you to be around all the time.

Confesses bluntly: “Oi. I like you. So you’re mine now, got it?”

ZERO hesitation. Just assumes you’ll say yes.

If you tease him, he’ll blush aggressively and yell: “DON’T MAKE IT WEIRD!”

[thenickgirl]

VIDEO RECORDINGS 📹

જ⁀➴ 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝓀 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓇𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑜 𝓍 𝒿𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈

summary: Nick recording Jalen to BMF

type: blurb ✩ genre: fluff ✩ wc: 457

a/n: this little series is basically just me describing videos that i think Nick would have in his phone of his significant other. this series will be used for all of my characters, so n+j/dad!nick/cheerleader+jock and any other au i come up with going forward. shoutout bae for cosigning this series lmao ilysm. happy reading! ✩

11:20 PM

The video begins angled at the bathroom door, with Jalen stepping out into the bedroom moments later. A cloud of steam from the hot shower followed him like a ghost. His grey sweats hanging so low on his hips you can see his Calvin Klein boxers, with no shirt, and his locs in a half up half down style. He turns and looks towards Nick who is recording, his eyebrows furrowed as Nick starts singing.

“Young and fine and dark and handsome,” Nick poorly sings, and Jalen chuckles nervously, clearly flustered, and a little confused. “Peach, what are you doing?” Jalen asks as he walks towards his dresser drawer on his side of the bedroom, but Nick just keeps singing.

“The boy from south of somewhere came walking in,” Nick continues, trying to hold in his little giggles as he sings. Jalen is now blushing while he grabs a white t-shirt from his drawer, before walking towards his side of the bed.

Nick sings a bit louder, “I can’t keep my panties from dropping, he’s so,” Jalen smiles, chuckling as he shakes his head, putting his t-shirt on and down his torso. “Flyyy, Flyyyyyy!” Nick finishes before giggling, and Jalen just stares at him, smiling.

Jalen reaches for the phone, “You’re so weird, babe.”

The sound of Nick’s laughter continues as the video ends.

4:45 PM THE NEXT DAY

The video starts with Nick sitting still at the kitchen table, his expression is flat and serious. He’s wearing a cream oversized sweater, and Jalen is behind him in the distance, dancing in the living room. He’s in a white t-shirt and green plaid pajama pants. The song ‘BMF’ is playing and Nick starts lip syncing the lyrics, “Young and he fine and he tall and he handsome,” Jalen dances along in the background, shaking his hips and hitting the gritty.

“Talkin’ so fine, I might hold him for ransom,” Nick smiles as he continues the lyrics, breaking character every other second by giggling at his boyfriend. Jalen spins around then starts doing the moon walk. “Put it drive, I’m not shy, I might let ya,” Nick lip sings while laughing, and Jalen starts doing the macarena. A wide grin on his face, as he laughs along with Nick as he keeps dancing.

“Cruiseee alllll niiiightttt,” Nick finishes, giggling and Jalen runs towards him, then hugs him from behind. He places tiny pecks all over Nick’s face over and over as Nick blushes, his face bright red. “J, stoppp,” Nick says playfully, trying to push Jalen away, his infectious laughter filling the room. He reaches for the phone, and they both are smiling brightly, love and adoration evident in both their eyes.

And the video ends.

—

a/n: chattttt! how we feeling, what’s tea?? i really enjoyed writing this, and would love to continue this with my other characters as well. nick is such a person who loves to capture and create special moments, so i thought a series like this would be perfect for him, and before you ‘copycat’ rangers come at me saying i stole this, i never claimed to have created this. i personally haven’t seen it, but i don’t read very often on here, so it’s possible you’ve seen something like this before (tho i doubt it), but i don’t care, obviously 😭. anyways, stay tuned and as always, i love youuuuu 💕

🏷️: @muwapsturniolo @luverboychris @freshloveforthefit @sturniolossss @sturniioloslut @ameerahsblog @guccifrog2 @nicksbestie @freshloveee @asherrisrandom @dumbf2ck @maliaforstvrns @emely9274 @marrykisskilled @ksturnz @colorthecosmos444 @tyummyz @nickssidewitch @idrk2292 @leoslaboratory @blushsturns @trevorsgodmother @chrisspussygang @conspiracy-ash @imgoing-backto505 @chrepsi @mattslilies @sturns-mermaid

[eddiesgmcsierra1500denali]

i think the whole thing with caring about eddie emotionally cheating on marisol is actually he himself subconsciously felt more like he was emotionally cheating on buck. at least, he was more upset about lying to buck than marisol. and to some extent we can only care as much as the characters allow us to, and honestly even in 7x10 he did not really give a f about marisol he was only worried about chris speaking to him again (naturally) and theres a difference between like caring about hurting marisol but still obviously prioritizing chris, and not caring about her involvement at all. and everything we have gotten reads like the latter to me at least

yeah 😭😭😭 like honestly i think it was just a convenient way to do the breakup without investing much time into it. anddddd well the thing is that it was like 2 weeks of an emotional affair and they hugged at the end. couples on this show have bounced back from MUCH worse and much less understandable circumstances. they just didn’t want eddie and marisol to 😭 so like. idc

[lemotmo]

Ahhhhhhhhhh

Episode was honestly really good. I loved the Madney of it all. And the buddie of it all. And the Eddie of it all and the Eddie and Chris of it all.

We got to see Madney being the power couple they are all episode.

See Eddie struggling and doing what he needs to do for his kid.

Chris and Eddie stumbled this episode but the end paid off. I do feel like dropping us off weeks into them reconnecting was a bit of a misstep because it felt slightly off even with us being able to feel time passing in universe through out the episode. But that hug and I love you dad at the end was just 😭😭 you just know it made Eddie’s entire month right then and there.

The Diaz parents. Mostly Helena annoyed me so much. Ramon tried to comfort Eddie but he still allowed Helena to make her little comments and shit 😒 and in front of Chris no less.

The buddie of it all was once again front and center. The foreshadowing with the fire captain? How his last recruit ran off with his wife he loved because she got a promotion.

Eddie saying I’m single you don’t have to worry about me you’ll never regret hiring me. And then us very much seeing and hearing him and Buck acting like husbands the entire episode. And they were not subtle about it at all. Literally every time something happened we immediately saw Eddie face timing with Buck. The Bobby said he always has a job waiting for him. The couch theory of it all?? Hello?? I might need your couch? Buddie roommate era I see you coming. The I appreciate you Buck 😭.

Which also hello the Madney and Buddie parallels all episode long. Chim being Maddie’s safe space. Buck being Eddie’s. Maddie constantly turning to Chim when she was scared or frustrated or lost. Eddie constantly turning to Buck when he was scared or frustrated or lost. Like 10 out of 10. Well done 911.

And Buck and him actually discussing Chris and how to proceed like actual coparents? Again 10 out of 10.

And the color theories. They went sooo hard last night. The blue and yellow of it all. The red and Blue of it all.

The Eddie uber driver was honestly kinda hilarious lmao. He was such a weird dork the entire time and it’s like this is who Evan Buckley is waxing sonnets about in La ladies and gentlemen 😂😂 they truly deserve each other 😂😂😂

Can’t wait to hear your thoughts !

YES Nonny! I share so many thoughts with you! I agree on all of this!

I posted my own thoughts here. But there was so much that you mentioned that I agree with as well.

I do wish that we had seen more of the Chris and Eddie reunion. That is about the only thing I'm sad about in this episode. All the rest of it? Top tier storytelling.

The Madney / Buddie parallels were insane!

Buck and Eddie felt like husbands throughout the entire episode. It was perfection! 🤗

Since 12 already went hard with the Buddie of it all, I do wonder what they are going to show us in 13 to top it all. 🤔

The Eddie and Chris story has been resolved. So both of them might be thinking of going back to LA. Helena might object to that, so that could be a big part of next week's story. I wonder if they'll talk about the will at all and that will make Eddie think a bit more about Buck and his relationship with him. Hmmmm... so many questions and no answers.

We'll have to wait an entire week! AAAAH!

[localmentallyillwriter]

Playing with Sigmas hair and cuddling him would cure all my mental illnesses btw 🤭 (THERES ALSO ONLY LIKE 2 SIGMA GIF BTW 😭😭)

Who would have guessed, me actually writing on my blog originally intended for writing ? Any who, I got a sudden spark to write something with Sigma, and allll i want to do is just play with his hairrrrr >.<

Gn! reader x Sigma (relationship, partners)

(sorry if the reader is more ooc)

Genre: Fluff and comfort

Synopsis: Giving this poor insecure man some cuddles and braiding/playing with his hair

Word count: 787 words

Fine for all to read !!!!

Sigma sighed softly, drawing the brush over and over through his long-tangled hair. The milky white and lilac purple colours of silky hair all mixed and tangled together. He loved his hair a lot, he thought it made him look fabulous, but on the days were all he wanted to do was sleep forever, taming the strands felt like the biggest hurdle of his life. He considered giving up, letting his hair be a spikey mess on his head, but that wasn’t professional. That wasn’t the image he wanted for himself.

“Sigma ?” You asked, tiredly walking into the bathroom, dressed clad in one of his cosy white button downs. It smelt exactly like him, marshmallows and lavender. You waddle over, the drowsiness of just waking up still in full affect, making your body feel groggy as you slump on his back, rested your chin on his shoulder, slightly looking at the mirror. He looked flustered, a soft pink hue colouring his cheeks.

“What are you doing up so early dear ? Its only 5, please go back to sleep and get some rest.” Sigma said clearing his throat before turning to instead cup your jaw in his slender hands. He leant down to rest his forehead against yours.

“Welll, you’re up, so I am now.” You say, a soft laugh coming from you as you lazily drew your arms around his waist.

“Ah…My apologise dear. I didn’t mean to wake or disturb you.” Sigma assumed that you were staying up because he had been too noisy.

“Goodness Sigma.” You mutter under your breath. You had noticed since dating him he always thought that he was the problem. Behind closed doors, or any place where he was more vulnerable, he was quite the miserable, insecure man. That no matter how good he did something, it wasn’t enough for him, it broke your heart a bit. Sigma had been as quiet as a mouse, you just wanted to stay up with him to keep him company.

Sigma felt uncomfortable now, the feeling of your arms, feeling like a vice grip instead of a gentle wrap, so he slightly pushed out of the hug, giving you a slightly awkward glance, fiddling with his fingers like he was going to say something before he simply turned back around and started to lazily brush his hair. His eyes just slightly wider now as he stared at the sink, not daring to look in the mirror in fear of catching your gaze, which he was sure was filled of annoyance.

You sighed softly, reaching out very carefully to place your hand on the top of his head. He flinches softly but soon relaxes as he feels your fingers start to trail and run through his hair, starting to untangle any remaining knots.

“Your so pretty Sigma…I love you to much for you to be anything but a treasure.” You whisper to him, leaning over to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but you see the small smile finding its way to Sigma's soft pink lips.

“Your hair though…its quite long isn’t it. You should let me braid it >:3”

And that’s how you and Sigma ended up in this place. Sigma's face resting on your lap as you braided his long hair. His hair was airy and smooth, you had braided his hair, but the sleepy look had melted your heart, so all you were doing was playing with his hair, giving his face soft caresses.

His arms were draped around your waist, his thumb sometimes rubbing circles on your hips, the occasional soft sound of approval and enjoyment rumbling from Sigma throat. He was utterly adorable like this; you could hardly resist. You tugged him up more onto your body, wrapping your arms around him tightly, burying your face into the top of his head, the scent of his lavender shampoo was overwhelming in the best way possible.

This awoke Sigma a bit more, blinking a couple times. He looked up at you with his purple eyes, seeming a bit foggy and dazed from being woken and out of his peaceful state.

“Oh ! Sorry, that was a lot longer than I expected…Uhm, I don’t mean to crush you or anything.” Sigma started to push off, but you clung on tighter. Sigma hesitated, his eyes widening as instead of displeasure, he seemed to be causing pleasure and happiness for you.

Slowly, gently Sigma bought his arms around you again and he snuggled into your chest, letting his eyes close once more. Your hands found its way to those silly locks again, twirling them around your fingers as Sigma found rest on his partner.

so sorry if this is badly written or odd, i feel like this is more ooc 😅 im also editing this when im supposed to be eeping 🥺

[pamelaiscrying]

write something with calafiori please😭

You know i love me calafiori too much but goddamn i know my love is a secret asshole.

B.A.S

A Riccardo calafiori fanfic

Summary: There were three times were you and calafiori went back to each other.

B.A.S

Your history with Riccardo went back long before he ever got with his ex.

But what were you, really? That was never clear.

There were nights when his hands knew every inch of your skin, when his mouth traced secrets against your collarbone. Mornings when his warmth still lingered on the sheets, but by midday, it was as if nothing had ever happened. Neither of you dared to define it, too afraid of what the truth might mean.

Trust was never part of the equation. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that’s why it was so easy for both of you to slip into someone else’s arms, to let your lips brush against strangers’ mouths just to prove that none of it mattered. But did it?

Was it insecurity? Denial? Or were you both simply the worst kind of people for a real relationship?

At least you had the self-awareness to admit it. Riccardo, on the other hand, went and got himself a whole damn girlfriend—only to ruin it in the end.

Both of you were caught in an endless cycle—one of you always picking up where the other left off.

The first time, it was on you.

You had stopped talking when he got into that relationship. You weren’t the type to play the other woman—or at least, that’s what you told yourself. As long as you didn’t know, it wasn’t your fault.

Then the breakup rumors started. The tabloids were full of it, and curiosity got the best of you. A quick check on his Instagram confirmed what you needed—she was gone from his highlights, erased like she had never existed.

That night, you ended up at a club in Bologna. Not just any club—the one you knew he liked. And you made sure he’d notice you. Your dress clung to your body in all the right places, the slits revealing just enough to make his imagination run wild.

And there he was. With his friends, with a couple of forgettable girls—the type who posed for Instagram like it was their full-time job.

But the second your eyes locked, none of them mattered.

You let a smirk play on your lips before turning away, making your way to the bathroom.

And like a man who never learned, of course, he followed.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice low, rough—like he already knows exactly why you’re here.

You tilt your head, eyes flickering with something dangerous, something playful. “Why do you think I want something?”

Riccardo exhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he takes a step closer. The air between you crackles, thick with unspoken history, with the weight of all the times you’ve danced this same dance before.

“You don’t just show up here for nothing,” he murmurs, gaze dropping briefly to the way your dress hugs your body. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s already debating whether to touch you.

You smirk, shifting your weight slightly, letting the movement of your hips say everything your words won’t. “Maybe I just missed you.”

His laugh is dark, humorless. “You don’t miss people. You miss the game.”

You step closer, close enough that his cologne reeks in your nose, close enough that if you wanted to, you could end this teasing right now. But that would be too easy.

“So play with me,” you whisper.

His breath hitches, and for a moment, there’s hesitation—just a flicker. But it vanishes the second you reach for him, your fingers grazing over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the way his heartbeat betrays him.

Riccardo exhales sharply, like he’s trying to hold onto the last shred of self-control he never really had when it came to you. Then, with a low curse, he grabs your wrist and pulls you into the nearest stall, the door slamming shut behind you.

The moment you’re alone, his mouth is on yours—hungry, demanding, like he’s been starving for this. For you. His hands roam over your body, fingers digging into your hips as he presses you against the cool tile wall. The heat between you is suffocating, drowning out the muffled bass of the club outside.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he breathes against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need.

You smirk, tilting your head to expose your throat, a silent invitation he doesn’t resist. His lips are on your skin in an instant, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. “And you knew you’d follow me,” you whisper, nails dragging along the nape of his neck.

His answer comes in the way he moves—rough, desperate, like he’s trying to prove something. Like he’s trying to make you feel every ounce of the tension that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

Clothes are pushed aside, fingers trailing over bare skin, tongues roams in places that shouldn’t touch. It’s reckless, it’s messy, but it’s exactly what you both crave.

And when it’s over, when you’re both catching your breath and dressing yourselves hazily. Riccardo leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he murmurs.

You smile, slipping your dress back into place. “It never does.”

Then, without another word, you leave because that’s how this always goes.

The second time, it’s on him.

You’d just finished a double shift, covering for Maria, who was stuck at home with chicken pox—because apparently, 23-year-olds could still get it. Your feet ached, your head was buzzing from the constant hum of the coffee machines, and all you wanted was to go home, shower, and pass out.

But then you saw him.

Riccardo was leaning against his sleek black car, arms crossed over his chest, muscles flexing slightly—proudly—like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew you’d see him and feel that familiar pull, the one neither of you ever talked about.

You tried to hold back a smile. Forty days this time. A new record for Calafiori.

He caught you looking, of course. He always did. His lips twitched in something close to a smirk, but his eyes—his eyes were unreadable, locked onto you with an intensity that made your skin heat despite the cold air.

With a slow exhale, you made your way over, stopping just short of him, crossing your arms to mirror his stance. “Let me guess,” you drawled, tilting your head. “You just happened to be in the area?”

Riccardo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

That admission sent a sharp thrill down your spine. He wasn’t even pretending this was an accident.

You arched a brow, feigning nonchalance. “So, what? You missed me?”

His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second—quick, almost imperceptible, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“I tried not to,” he said simply.

And that’s when you knew—this wasn’t over. It never would be.

The next thing you knew, you were in his car, your back pressed against the cool leather seat as his hands roamed over you like he was trying to memorize every inch of skin. His lips were hot, insistent against yours, teeth grazing, breath heavy.

You enjoyed riding him, the way he would roughly split your ass cheeks apart and tease his cock between them. Riccardo enjoyed seeing your terrified expression; how your eyes would go wide and give him the nastiest look warning him to not even think slipping it in the wrong entrance.

“Let me” you command him and he releases the grip from your hips, your one leg bends making you stand in a semi squat position. Slowly moving your lower body up and down, making your tight ass bounce on his cock.

And ricchy loved it, you knew exactly how to ride him. Making him throw his head back and let you do the work, show him how a woman should take a cock and dictate it’s movement.

I t isn’t long after you climb off him—drenched in sweat from the cramped, stifling space—that you finally catch your breath. The car’s interior is a goddamn mess, sticky with sweat and reeking of your mixed scent, it shows the no-holds-barred fuck you just had. Your heart’s hammering in your chest as you steal a glance at him. He’s there, half-awake with a cocky, satisfied smirk, you can see he enjoyed it and proof is the lazy tilt of his head.

He slides his hand slowly along your thigh, the rough pressure sending shivers up your spine as he murmurs, “I know you’ll always be here.”

You arch an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips, and fire back, “And I know you’ll always seek me.”

———

Third time, it’s both your fault.

You’re both in relationships now. Riccardo is still with his Instagram model—nothing new there—and you’ve ended up with a basketball player. He may not be on a huge team, but he’s well-known enough on socials.

It’s been a year since your last hookup with Riccardo, ever since he moved to play in Arsenal

You both end up at the same party, brought together by mutual friendship with Antonio, the birthday boy.

It always starts the same way—your eyes meeting the second you walk in. A silent conversation, scanning each other for anything different, anything social media couldn’t reveal.

Then, the shift. His expression turns cold the moment your boyfriend appears behind you, his arms are on you shoulder,murmuring an apology for letting you enter alone—something about struggling to find decent parking.

Your smile fades when you spot her. Riccardo’s girl. She sets her drink down and throws herself into his arms like she’s done it a hundred times before.

This is new. Both of you in relationships at the same time

The whole night, you and Riccardo barely speak.

He doesn’t need to. His eyes do enough.

Every time you glance up, he’s already looking—fixated, unreadable, like he’s trying to see past the months apart, past the people now standing between you.

You hold out for as long as you can, pretending not to notice, pretending his gaze isn’t burning through you. But eventually, you cave.

You: Will you keep staring?

A few seconds pass before your phone vibrates.

Riccardo: I don’t think he can handle you.

You scoff, fingers already moving over the screen.

You: Neither can your new girl handle you.

Silence. But then—

Riccardo: Want to remind me? Or are you scared?

You: In 10 minutes meet me in Antonio’s guest room in the upper floor.

Riccardo doesn’t reply. Instead, he just looks at you, a sly smirk tugging at his lips, like he already knows how this is going to end.

Then, you watch as he pulls out his phone, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh, pretending to be upset. He leans in close to his girl, murmuring something with just enough urgency to make it believable. She frowns, concerned, and he kisses her cheek before slipping away, heading upstairs under the excuse of an important call.

You don’t move right away. You stay put, perched on your boyfriend’s lap, his arm lazily draped around your waist as he scrolls through his phone. You rest your head on his shoulder, feigning comfort, then suddenly shift.

“I think my period just came,” you murmur, standing up abruptly.

He looks up, frowning. “Damn, baby. So early?” Then he chuckles. “At least you ain’t pregnant.”

You force a laugh, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, lucky me.”

You walk off, heading towards the stairs, keeping your pace slow, casual. No one notices as you slip away.

When you reach the upper floor, Riccardo is already waiting, leaning against the doorframe of an empty room, arms crossed, lips twitching like he’s fighting a grin.

“You know,” Riccardo muses, “he’s not exactly the type of guy you’d go for—let alone have a relationship with.”

You scoff, tilting your head. “Well, Miss Instagram Model number what? Very predictable,” you shoot back, lips curling into a smirk.

His jaw tightens just slightly, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he steps closer, fingers grazing your hip like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“You’re one to talk,” he murmurs, voice low, threatening even.

And then it all wraps up. His mouth crashes against yours, hands gripping, pulling, pressing. There’s no hesitation, no second thoughts—just heat, teeth, and the inevitable pull that always drags you back to him, no matter how much time has passed.

Riccardo smirks, fingers hooking around the thin strap of your red thong, snapping it lightly against your skin. His voice is low, teasing.

“Waited for me?”

You let out a breathy laugh, slipping your hand into his pocket, and sure enough—your fingers brush against the unmistakable foil of a condom. You pull it out, holding it up between your fingers, tilting your head.

“Waited for me, huh?” you muse, throwing his own words back at him.

For a second, he just stares at you, then lets out those breathy laughs of his.

“Fuck it,” he mutters, voice rough, hands already gripping at your hips.

“Guess we both ain’t shit,” you reply.

[rainfallcidre]

*Heavy spoilers for Delectatio Morosa*

I am so... normal about the Conclave Visual Novel!!! It's so many details that just get me.

Just a few examples:

... Tremblay feeding the bird - my heart!

... the woobly font whenever characters are awkward e.g. "Dean Lawrence! Did you even speak to anyone today?" - "Well.........."

... the way that at the turtle pond all the turtles are endings and there is Vincent's silhouette which stands for the good-Vincent-ending meaning that Vincent himself is a turtle which is so true😭

... "Glass houses Thomas!" more than once

...little details in objects in inventory/on desk "not hungry now", "too bad Thomas only wears a women's size large"

... the cardinal among us imposter

... The way Lawrence grabs Ray's cord when they hug👀

... Tremblay and wrists👀

... hungry looks from Bellini and Agnes👀

[artist-rat]

some epilogue vibes (an excuse to draw some hugs. and my durge so many times)

[melanchoire]

camgirl gaeul who enjoys to roleplay as a dom in her livestreams so she invited her friend wonyoung who is also a camgirl but more sub and “innocent” just for wony to end up dominating gaeul in front of her followers and she enjoying how good wonyoung fucks, overstimulate and edge her in different ways

cw: fingering, humiliation, mommy kink (kinda), strap usage.

gaeul loving to show her followers a dominant woman role because the fact that she is small in height and build fed the perverse brain of her fans 😵‍💫 always choosing to fuck with big, buff people, loving holding broad shoulders while riding a big cock and feeling strong arms hugging her waist encouraging her to continue with her task 🙏🏻

until one day gaeul decides to invite her dear friend wonyoung! a colleague from her work field 💕 gaeul thinking that she will have an entertaining night tonight because wonyoung is much more “vanilla” than her; wony in her videos was always dominated and she wasn’t even on top at least once! she was always bent over any surface and receiving the fucking that a beautiful princess deserves 🥰 wonyoung always wearing the prettiest lingerie, giving cute smiles to the camera and always obeying whoever is going to fuck her this time

both getting very touchy and cuddly once the camera starts the live stream; gaeul rushing to get on top of wonyoung, crawling slowly across the mattress until she was straddling her friend. although gaeul knew beforehand that they were going to fuck and that would involve any kind of physical contact, but she rarely felt quite nervous and a blush soon covered her cheeks when she felt wonyoung’s hands on her waist 😵‍💫

gaeul freezing in place and completely forgetting what she was about to do, needing only for wonyoung to lower her hands to gaeul’s ass and give it a firm squeeze simultaneously burying her face in the crook of gaeul’s neck and start kissing her sensitive skin… poor gaeul failing to act dominant and letting out the most pathetic and submissive moan possible 😭 she was meant to dominate wonyoung and make her the same submissive princess she always is, but no! wonyoung has other plans for today

the typical dominant mommy character that gaeul always tends to play had vanished from the moment she felt wonyoung’s hands on her and her touch, but you know what was better? having her fingers on her 🥰

gaeul kneeling on the mattress and wonyoung behind her, both arms surrounding her and hugging her from behind but one is between gaeul’s thighs fingering her and wonyoung’s other hand is closed around her neck 😵‍💫 wonyoung pressing her body against gaeul’s back, resting her chin on her shoulder to admire the cute gestures and expressions gaeul was making because of how wonyoung was playing with her pussy 🫠 it was never in gaeul’s head the thought or idea that wonyoung could ever dominate… but she was wrong! and so much

wonyoung making the most beautiful noises out of gaeul, ramming her fingers harder and harder in and out of gaeul’s abused pussy just to hear those sweet noises she loved so much, becoming so obsessed with making gaeul whimper and fucking her to the point that she doesn't know if her whining is because wonyoung is pushing her too far into submission or because it’s getting to be too much for gaeul to take 😭

danjangz mating press 😩 wonyoung placing her hands on the back of gaeul’s knees and pushing them against her chest until she practically bent her in half + size kink hehe IM SORRY but gaeul literally has this fetish and seems completely in love with fucking herself with giant dildos SO wonyoung chooses one with a size and thickness that will give gaeul a hard time getting used to it 🙏🏻 wonyoung loving fucking gaeul with the strap and being able to admire the bulge forming in her lower tummy? 100% will take gaeul’s hands and force her to press the bulge, placing her own hands on top of gaeul’s to press further on the bulge when he feels she is being too gentle about it 🤗

MOMMY KINK not really anything interesting but wonyoung would call gaeul "mommy" just to make her a bigger mess... things like ”does it feel good, mommy?" simultaneously to which wonyoung gives a thrust that makes the head of the silicone cock hit gaeul’s cervix, knocking the air out of her completely and making her mean obscenely 😵‍💫 of course wonyoung won’t stop fucking gaeul until she is humiliated on social media for not being able to maintain her role as a dom mommy who now can easily be defeated by a princess like wonyoung

[beif0ngs]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

[yokumirumerafan]

YOU THERE, yes you. *Crawls down the wall towards you* I have a request ‼️ So what's the KNY characters reaction when Their lover (Y/N) Suddenly turned into a hamster with a pink bow ? (Also can you Add Gyomei and Haganezuka along with the other hashiras and other KNY characters in these?) THANK YOU, LOVE YA, DRINK WATER, HOPE BOTH PILLOWS ARE COLD AND HAVE A LOVELY DAY!! *Crawls back up the wall and communicated with the other bugs*

KNY Characters Reacting to Their Lover (Y/N) Turning into a Hamster with a Pink Bow 🎀🐹

🔥 Hashira Reactions

🟢 Gyomei Himejima (😭 Emotional Wreck)

Immediately starts weeping uncontrollably at the sight.

Holds tiny hamster Y/N in his massive, trembling hands like a fragile treasure.

“T-The world is cruel… Y/N, my love… why have you been cursed into such a delicate form?!” sobs

Would build a shrine for hamster Y/N and treat them with extreme reverence.

🟡 Haganezuka Hotaru (💢 Aggressive Concern)

"WHAT. WHAT THE HELL. WHY ARE YOU A FURBALL."

Probably shakes you (gently) in panic before realizing that's a bad idea.

“WHO DID THIS? TELL ME. I WILL KILL THEM.”

Carves a tiny sword for you just in case you need to defend yourself.

❤️ Rengoku Kyojuro (🔥 Supportive & Excited)

“OH HO! Y/N, YOU HAVE TAKEN A CUTE AND MIGHTY FORM!”

Treats you like royalty, carrying you around on his shoulder.

Buys you the finest hamster food and brags to everyone about his adorable lover.

Would probably train you to fight as a hamster, convinced you can still become strong.

💨 Sanemi Shinazugawa (💀 Immediate Panic)

“WHAT THE—!? Y/N, WHAT THE F*** HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

Stares at tiny hamster Y/N in horrified disbelief.

Tries to act tough but protects you like a mother hen.

“If anyone steps on them, I SWEAR I WILL END YOU.”

🌊 Giyuu Tomioka (🤨 Confused but Accepting)

Stares at you for a solid minute.

“Oh. …You’re a hamster now.”

Puts you in the pocket of his haori and carries you everywhere.

Secretly finds you adorable but doesn’t show it.

💜 Shinobu Kocho (🦋 Teasing but Worried)

“My, my~ How did my lovely partner turn into something so small and fluffy?”

Gently pokes your tiny nose and giggles.

Tries to find a cure, but not before taking a hundred pictures.

“Oh no~ You’re stuck like this forever. Guess I have a pet now~” jk

🌿 Mitsuri Kanroji (💗 LOSES HER MIND)

“KYAAAAA~~ Y/N, YOU’RE THE CUTEST THING I’VE EVER SEEN!!!”

Hugs you way too tight—almost smothers you.

Buys you a luxurious pink hamster house with soft pillows.

Wants to carry you EVERYWHERE like a fashion accessory.

🦋 Muichiro Tokito (😐 Calm but Curious)

“Oh. That’s new.”

Picks you up by your tiny scruff like a kitten.

Carries you in his sleeve like a secret pet.

Might forget you’re a hamster sometimes. “Wait… where’s Y/N? Oh, right.” looks at his sleeve

🐍 Obanai Iguro (👀 Suspicious but Protective)

“Tch… what kind of ridiculous spell is this?”

VERY protective. He and Kaburamaru guard you 24/7.

“I suppose I’ll have to feed you now…” (only gives the best food).

Secretly enjoys carrying you around but won’t admit it.

🌙 Demon Reactions

🦠 Muzan Kibutsuji (💀 Furious but… Soft?)

“What… What is this nonsense?”

Initially angry, thinking it’s some curse meant to mock him.

Realizes it’s really you and calms down (a little).

Ends up personally taking care of you because he refuses to let anyone else touch you.

“Tch. Ridiculous… but I suppose I must keep you safe.” (Secretly spoils you.)

💄 Doma (💋 Finds It Amusing)

“OH HO~ Y/N, you’re so tiny and squishable now~! I LOVE IT!”

Holds you up like a trophy, showing you off to everyone.

“Can I keep you like this forever? You’re even cuter now~”

Feeds you expensive exotic fruits that are way too fancy for a hamster.

🔪 Akaza (😠 Panic Mode)

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU? I’LL KILL THEM.”

Almost crushes a table in rage before realizing you’re just a fluffy hamster now.

Protects you with his life—he will punch anyone who so much as breathes near you.

“Y/N… I promise I’ll fix this. Just stay with me.”

🦟 Gyutaro (😢 Heartbroken but Devoted)

“W-What…? Y/N…? No way…”

Thinks he doesn’t deserve you anymore because he’s ugly and you’re a tiny, cute creature.

“I bet ya’ don’t even wanna be near me now…” (acts distant but adores you).

Treats you like gold, making sure you’re warm and safe at all times.

🗡️ Demon Slayer Squad Reactions

🍃 Tanjiro Kamado (🥺 Gentle & Determined)

“Oh no…! Y/N, are you okay?!”

Cradles you gently, making sure you’re comfortable.

Swears to find a way to turn you back.

Buys you the softest bedding and cutest little water bottle.

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma (😭 FREAKING OUT)

“AAAAAAAAHHHHH—”

“WHO DID THIS TO YOU?! WHO??!!”

Becomes extremely overprotective, constantly holding you in his hands.

“I mean, you’re adorable, but PLEASE CHANGE BACK, I CAN’T HANDLE THIS.”

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira (😡 Aggressively Loving)

“WHAT KIND OF TINY BEAST FORM IS THIS?!”

Pokes you… a little too hard.

Immediately claims you as his tiny warrior sidekick.

“YOU MAY BE SMALL, BUT YOU SHALL STILL BE STRONG!”

🖤 Genya Shinazugawa (😳 Flustered but Protective)

“WHAT THE—!? Y/N?!”

Blushes like crazy because he doesn’t know how to handle this.

“You, uh… y-you need food? Water? A, uh… hamster house???”

Guards you with his life but is too embarrassed to admit it.

Final Thoughts: Everyone = Overprotective

💖 Hope you liked it!! Drink water and have the best day ever!! 💖

[vaduart]

I think their formula is "they are a set. do not separate them" and yet they have been separated for most of the books 🫠