#beneath the serpent's skin

[certified-pumi]

Unloved Beloved

One person already shared their idea for @itsabouttimex2’s platonic yan AU, “Not The Beloved” (go check it out if you haven’t already) so I’m here to share mine too, inspired by their “Not The Beloved” fic. An ‘what if’ scenario if you will.

warnings: spoilers for lmk season 5, gender neutral reader, child neglect, parentification, favouritism, yandere platonic/familial characters, kidnapping, likely OOC writing.

Following close to canon, Xiangliu was the one responsible for MK’s egg hatching prematurely. Thus, also allowing for the Shadowpeach family to finally have their perfect monkey baby!

One day for whatever reason, Xiangliu ends up on the Flower Fruit mountain. Recognising where he is, he decides to pay a quick visit to the little harbinger that he had set free.

He didn’t have to look for long, as he noticed two small, monkey silhouettes on the beach. Approaching them, he immediately recognised MK, the little ball of sunshine as energetic as ever. He played with who appeared to be another monkey, only somewhat much taller than him in stature.

However, upon closer inspection, Xiangliu realized that it wasn’t another monkey that MK played with. As the young child took off their hood, the demon was met with a pair of innocent, large eyes that stared back at him.

A human.

Curious enough, he approaches you both. Despite your cautiousness about this strange new face, you easily let your guard down once he convinces you that he’s an old friend of Sun Wukong’s.

He quickly learns that you’re MK’s older sibling and Wukong’s and Macaque’s adopted human child. When Xiangliu asks about your parents’ whereabouts, he’s surprised to learn that both of them are away. “And you’re taking care of the little one all by yourself? Your brother sure seems lucky to have such a reliable older sibling,” he comments. He doesn’t miss the way you try to hide your frown and then nod along.

Naturally, Xiangliu doesn’t stick around for too long. He leaves and once your fathers return, you mention your father’s “old friend” visiting and describe him as best as you can.

Not recognising anyone by that description, Sun Wukong and Macaque brush it off as you having an imaginary friend.

As for Xiangliu himself, he had to admit that he didn’t expect for Sun Wukong and his mate to be present at the right time to adopt the future Harbinger of Chaos. Or that the Great Sun Wukong would also adopt a human child beforehand. Knowing the potential risk to his plans if the Harbinger was being raised by the Monkey King and the Six Eared Macaque, the nine headed demon decides to drop by more frequently.

He knew that he couldn’t directly approach baby MK. The fact that Sun Wukong and his spouse were fussing over him would mean that he had no opening for talking to the mystic baby monkey without having to talk to them.

And that’s where you come in like a blessing.

By befriending and gaining your trust first, Xiangliu could indirectly learn more about what the rest of your family has been up to. He’d have to put in a little effort not to be noticed by your fathers, sure, but as long as he could use you to keep an eye on MK’s development under the Great Sage, it’ll be worth it.

In the next few years that follow, Xiangliu has observed the dynamics that were in your family in order to befriend you. To him, it became obvious fast how there was a clear favoritism directed towards the youngest child in the family. Of course, he’d use that distance that your fathers were making to let himself close to you.

Each time you were left alone with MK, Xiangliu would appear. Knowing that your parents considered his existence just as imaginary, he decided to play under that guise. He made sure to always remain friendly towards you and MK, offering to play with you both. The best part of all of it to you was that he didn’t treat you differently than MK.

Along with your friendship with Xiangliu prolonging, he started to notice how your fathers’ treatment of MK started to affect you further into your childhood. He didn’t have to intertwine or even talk to you to see it, since your fathers didn’t have to put any effort in making it more obvious.

Whenever he’d attempt to talk to you alone, you’d have to apologize, saying that you’re too tired to talk. The reasons being going to school and then having to babysit MK. It seemed that your fathers completely forgot how the demon toddler’s stamina was much more vast compared to that of a human child.

 And when you weren’t tired, it was during the times that you had your fathers drag you along to wherever MK wanted to go. You never had time to talk to Xiangliu anymore or to even do your own hobbies. 

And like a salt to the wound, the demon could also see all the brand new gifts that MK had each time he’d have some time to observe the boy. Compared to him, you still had your hand-me-downs from your Papa. It didn’t help that  along with them, patched slits for nonexistent ears and tail remained on those clothes. Like a cruel reminder to the reason for your father’s selfish treatment.

It was baffling how both of your fathers prioritized your brother’s feelings over your being. Your entire existence was limited to wherever your parents decided that MK needed something more.

When you tried to reach out to any other adults or to any other kids about your state at home, you were either brushed off or met with disdain. Other people in your life told you to grow out of it and stop being ungrateful. You were the adopted child of Great Sage and his loyal partner, after all. What more do you want, when you already have what many other children don’t?

The more he watched, the more that Xiangliu started to feel an ounce of remorse towards you. While he watched your social life crumble due to having to put MK’s needs before your own, he started to wonder if he made the right choice by letting the boy be adopted by two enabling monkeys.

One time, he caught you quietly crying to yourself. With no one around, Xiangliu had a rare opportunity to comfort you.

“I hate it! Everyone keeps saying how I should be grateful for being adopted by the great, famous warriors like baba and papa… but-! It’s like they don’t love me. Not as much as MK anyway,” as you sniffle, the demon reaches out to stroke your hair.

His touch is gentle while he watches you with a stern frown.

“You must really hate MK, don’t you child?” Xiangliu asks, “To be completely robbed of your freedom, all because both of your parents prioritize his wishes and needs over your own. That must’ve been so difficult for a child like you.” 

As you wipe away your tears, you look at your ‘imaginary friend’.

“I… I don’t,” you admit, “It’s not that I hate MK, it’s just… I-I don’t like how both baba and papa brush me off. When I tell them I’m too tired, I can rest only after all of us go to the arcade that MK wanted to go to. I can’t even play or go to my friends on my own! MK always wants me to play with him or else he’d get upset. And both of them hate to see him cry…”

Xiangliu was quiet as your lower lip started to wobble again. More of your tears fell, making the nine headed demon pull you in a hug.

“It’s not fair, it’s not! Why do they care more about what MK wants? He always gets anything he asks! But I want new things too! Why do I have to work for them and MK doesn’t?!” you wail. “Why is MK their favorite?! I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Oh, I know, I know, child…” 

“It’s not fair, it’s not fair!!”

Feeling his resentment for your family growing, Xiangliu doesn’t say anything. He just lets you cry your little heart out.

Once you’re all tuckered out from crying, Xiangliu has no heart to put you back in your bed. He was still fixated on you, safe and peaceful in his arms. Your tear stained face and swollen eyes were something that he couldn’t look away from without feeling resentment.

As a so-called hero and warrior, he couldn’t help but to laugh bitterly each time Wukong referred to himself as your baba. Xiangliu saw how many clones he summoned to take care of MK the moment the boy got sick with the slightest cold. Yet he nor his partner could spare one glance at you, who was waiting for them while being late to school.

He hated the way Macaque missed your potential over the sake of training MK. While he taught the boy how to shadow travel, he completely missed the way you tried to get his attention by trying to perfect one of his signature moves. He only ever patted your head and told you not to bother with it, while going to then teach and praise MK for trying that exact same move.

It seemed that the privileges from Nuwa never left MK, despite him abandoning his shell. The more he observed the young boy, the more Xiangliu grew bitter.

Because of his parents, the boy is gonna grow up with a need to be a hero. To live up to the ideal that Nuwa and his own parents had set out for him.

All while you were used and left behind, like an unpolished gem meant as a gift for your brother.

He recognised that your brother was attached to you. He might be the only one who pays attention to you, besides Xiangliu himself. But, he is also the reason others miss seeing your true potential. You were still young and unwilling to accept that little MK was the true cause for your suffering.

But, that’s where a demon like Xiangliu can help.

He watched you be sidelined for far too long. Your fathers never gave you a chance to experience what you could’ve been, they just kept you restrained to what you should be for your brother.

Irony of it all was that once long ago, your fathers were the one who rebelled against the whole Heaven. And now, they were keeping their own child in a gilded cage while simultaneously undermining your wants and needs, just like how Heaven did to them.

Just like how Nuwa did to him.

He was done watching you suffer your fathers’ foolishness. 

Black tendrils now surround you both, it wasn’t long until Xiangliu had you both teleported from your room. And even so, when he glanced over your unconscious form, you were still sleeping and unaware.

 Far away from those disgraceful fathers, demanding younger brother and that tropical prison that you’ve been forced to call home, now with him you’ll  finally be free. Soon enough and with him by your side, you’ll be able to reach your full potential.

No matter the sudden change in his plans, Xiangliu knows that having you here with him will prove much more fruitful later down the line. And as for your family and more specifically, your brother….

It was too late for him to fix what’s already been done with MK. But he knows, he’ll be able to help you set yourself free.

By sharing with you the freedom of what only the Chaos can bring.

ending note:

It's been so long since the last time I wrote something. I hope that it wasn’t a boring read, lol.

Also, I should mention, I hadn’t finished watching season 5 so I have yet to see what else is going on, buuut I had to get this fic idea out of my system, so yeah.

Thank you everyone that stuck ‘til the end!

[fear-is-truth]

† 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 — charlie mayhew x f!reader. | mdni

tags: mature content・mentions of religion・angst・flashbacks of smut・fem!reader・self-inflicted flagellation・blood・not proofread / wc: 1158

⟡ a/n: sorry if there are any grammatical errors or mistakes. english is not my first language

father charlie mayhew sat on the edge of his narrow bed, the white walls of his private chamber closing in around him. the small space was sparse, almost ascetic, with only a few religious artifacts cluttering the windowsill. the emptiness mirrored the discipline he tried to embody—from the polished metal sink in the corner to the stiff, neatly made bed beneath him. everything in his life was governed by order, by control—everything except you.

he glanced toward the tiny window where rain trickled down the glass, his chest tightening with a dull throb. leaning forward, he buried his face in his hands, fingers pressing into his temples as if he could will you away like a migraine.

but you were always there.

your fingers clawed at the buttons on his collar, desperate and needy—tugging him closer as he struggled to cling to any vestige of control he possessed. plushy lips brushed the edge of his neck, and he could hear the slight tremor in your breathing. “charlie,” you pleaded. not “father” this time. you had stripped him of that sacred title, and reduced him to a man in your arms—a sinner. your body pressed against him, warmth seeped through the fabric of his robes into his bones, hands traveling down the line of his chest, and it was at that point when he realised… he didn’t give a damn about sin or salvation.

rising to his feet, he stripped off his cassock, letting it slip past his shoulders before pooling on the floor. cool air bit against his skin, the bruises and scars on his back crisscrossed the pale skin in a web of guilt. charlie didn’t dare look in the mirror, couldn’t stand to see the evidence of his weakness. instead he knelt down and stared at the cat o’ nine tails resting on the bed before him, its nine strands splayed like serpents awaiting to strike. the handle was a rough wooden club, and as he gripped it tightly, his fingers brushed the frayed ends of the ropes, already darkened with blood and sweat from last night’s penance. he rearranged the nine strands carefully, spreading them out methodically before each lash.

he began to ease himself inside you, the tightness and warmth making him groan into the crook of your neck. he paused briefly, allowing you to place your hands on his shoulders, before fully sheathing himself, dragging out a broken moan from your lips. then he curled an arm around your waist, slowly withdrawing his hips, before thrusting inside you again.

he slammed the whip across his back, the sharp crack echoing through the small room. the nine strands bit into his skin like the nails that had once driven into his saviour’s flesh. pain was instantaneous, cutting through the haze of memory. he sucked in a breath as the second strike followed, then a third.

the heat of your skin burned under his fingertips, the sheets had tangled around your legs in a twisted mess of linen and heat, as you arched beneath him, crying out his name—charlie—over and over, like a prayer. his hand tightened on your waist, guiding your hips against his, guilt warring with the heady pleasure that coursed through him with every deep thrust. he pressed you into the mattress, lips tracing the column of your throat as your thighs clenched around his waist.

charlie’s grip faltered, his body hunching forward as he gasped for air. he could feel blood dripping down his back, onto the floor, but he didn’t care. he deserved this. he needed this.

the punishment was supposed to cleanse him. it was supposed to scourge away the sin. (it never worked, not really.)

he laid the whip down, trembling as he reached out to rearrange the strands, spreading them evenly across the bed before lifting it again. his hands shook as he braced himself for the next blow, muscles tensing as if to ward off the pain he knew was coming.

“don’t stop,” you begged, voice cracking as his body moved against yours, the sudden clench of your walls leaving him dizzy. the sheets were a tangled mess, your hands clutching at them. but it hadn’t been the sheets you clung to in the end—it had been him.

with a swift motion, he brought the whip down again. the impact sent a shockwave of agony through his body, his knees buckling slightly under the force. a guttural sob tore through his chest. fresh welts overlapped the scars from the previous nights, the pain melding together into one throbbing, pulsing reminder of his weakness.

(charlie mayhew was a weak, pathetic man.)

“you’re so beautiful,” you murmured as your nails scraped along his back, leaving faint red marks in their wake. his hips rutted into yours with a rhythm that had made him forget who he was. hand slid beneath the sheets, fingers digging into your flesh before he buried himself deep inside you. you let out a strangled moan, biting down on your lip as your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, and it took everything in him not to cry out in response, to keep his own sinful need locked behind his clenched teeth.

the pain was nearly unbearable now, his skin raw and bleeding from the repeated lashes. but still, he struck again, his eyes squeezing shut against the images of you.

(the memory of you writhing beneath him, the sheets twisted around your bodies as his hips rolled into yours, was burned into his soul.)

agony built to a crescendo, the sharp sting of the rope tearing at his flesh, but it still wasn’t enough. it was never enough. chest heaving, he let the whip fall from his hands and clutched the edge of the bed for support. his back was a mess of blood, bruises and torn skin, but the pain in his back was a dull throb compared to the ache in his chest.

you had told him, in the quiet of your shared sin, that you loved him. he hadn’t responded. he couldn’t. because if he had said it back, it would have made everything worse. he couldn’t love you—not the way you wanted him to. not the way he already did.

charlie ran a hand through his hair, slick with sweat, staring blankly at the white walls that had seen too many nights like this one.

he didn’t know how many more nights like this he could endure. how many more times he could sit on the edge of his bed, flogging himself for the pleasure he found in your arms. how many more lashes it would take to absolve him of the sin of loving you.

you were worth every drop of blood, every sting of the rope. you were his temptation, his punishment, and his salvation all at once. he would willingly suffer for you, again and again.

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[hisfavegirl]

The Serpent’s Flame - Draco Malfoy x Reader.

Summary : Being in your sixth year at Hogwarts meant you were nearly at the top of the food chain, and with your bloodline—the legacy of Salazar Slytherin on your father’s side and the dark, mysterious Gaunt lineage from your mother—you carried a reputation that both intimidated and intrigued. Students whispered about you in the halls. Some feared you, thinking your bloodline gave you a dark edge. Others envied your beauty—long, silver-blonde waves that cascaded past your waist, your tiny frame accentuated by curves most girls only dreamed of. And your emerald green eyes? Hypnotic. Dangerous. Just like a Slytherin should be.

Warning : Smut, Reader is described of having Silver blonde hair and green eyes, Reader is the last bloodline of salazar slytherin after voldemort, Nudity, Semi Public Sexs (Bathroom), Rough Sexs, Fingering, Edging, P in V sexs, Unprotected Sexs.

Draco Malfoy Masterlist.

Wizarding World Masterlist.

Dividers by @bernardsbendystraws and @arcielee

The soft echo of your heels against the ancient stone floors of Hogwarts followed you as you strolled alongside Daphne Greengrass and Pansy Parkinson, the air crisp with that early-winter sharpness that filled the castle in November. Pansy had just delivered a biting remark about a Hufflepuff girl who nearly incinerated the entire left wing of the Potions dungeon, and you let out a low, velvety laugh that lingered in the corridor like perfume.

“Honestly, how do you almost blow up the class with a Calming Draught?” Pansy drawled dramatically.

“Talent,” you mused, your voice as sweet as honey, but threaded with the same venom all Slytherin girls were taught to perfect.

Daphne smirked. “Jealous, Pans? I think you just hate not being the most talked-about disaster in the school.”

You rolled your eyes, lips curved in amusement, fingers grazing your wand tucked discreetly in your thigh holster beneath your skirt. Today, you left your hair down—a rare, silken curtain of long, silver-blonde waves cascading down your back. It shimmered like moonlight with each step. Only Slytherin students ever saw it like this. But today, everyone would.

The towering doors of the Great Hall groaned open under the weight of centuries, and a hush fell over your group as you stepped inside. Your presence pulled heads as if drawn by invisible string—Hufflepuff girls pausing mid-bite, Ravenclaws stealing glances over books, even a few daring Gryffindor boys locking eyes before quickly looking away.

But none of them mattered.

Your gaze found him instantly.

Draco Malfoy.

He sat languidly at the Slytherin table beside Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, his fingers playing idly with the edge of his goblet, but his eyes—those piercing, storm-grey eyes—were already on you. The moment your gaze met his, everything else dulled. Sound, light, movement—it all bled into background.

He was smiling.

Not the cold, calculated smirk he gave to the rest of the world. No, this was different—private, intimate, soft only for you. Like the rare sun behind grey clouds in a storm-wrecked sky. His eyes devoured you slowly, undressing you in a way that made your skin burn beneath your uniform.

You walked toward him, slow and graceful, every sway of your hips deliberate. You were aware of the way his eyes darkened the closer you got. By the time you reached him, the tension crackled like electricity.

Draco stood up before you even reached your seat, pulling out the bench beside him. His hand brushed the small of your back as you slid in, lingering there longer than necessary, thumb tracing slow, subtle circles against your blouse. He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“You know what that hair does to me,” he murmured, voice low and sinfully smooth.

You turned to him, your full lips parted just slightly, heart beating like wings in your chest. “That’s why I wore it down today. For you.”

He inhaled, sharp and shallow, his hand now resting fully on your thigh beneath the table, hidden from everyone. The warmth of it spread like fire.

“You’re cruel,” he whispered, voice raw with need, “walking in like that. All sweet and untouched on the outside, but I know better.”

Your eyes glinted with mischief, lashes fluttering as you leaned in, your lips brushing his. Not kissing—almost.

“You like cruel,” you whispered. “You like knowing I’m yours and everyone else just wants.”

He groaned softly under his breath, thumb now pressing into your inner thigh. “I want you now.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence, voice breathy. “Then come find me after dinner… if you can wait that long.”

His jaw clenched, his desire so tangible you could feel it hum through him. From across the table, Blaise and Theo exchanged knowing looks, smirks playing at their lips.

“I give him ten minutes,” Theo muttered.

“Five, if she keeps playing like that,” Blaise replied. But Draco didn’t even hear them. His entire world was you and he was burning.

The golden light of the enchanted ceiling bathed the Great Hall in a twilight glow, but none of it touched the storm brewing in Draco Malfoy’s eyes.

His hand was still on your thigh, fingers tracing patterns with a possessiveness that was becoming more desperate by the second. You were whispering something soft against his jaw, your voice silk-wrapped seduction, when a voice cut through the magic between you.

The sound of it—Harry Potter’s voice—was a blade through silk.

Your head turned, thick silver-blonde hair catching the light like starlight, cascading over your shoulder as you looked up. Harry stood a few feet away, awkward, tense, holding a folded parchment in his hand. His eyes flicked from your face to Draco’s hand beneath the table.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice unusually soft, and that’s when Draco’s body turned rigid beside you.

Like a predator sensing a threat.

You blinked, curiosity creasing your brow as you tilted your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What is it?”

Before Harry could answer, Draco voice cut him like a thunder.

“That’s enough, Potter,” he said coldly, his voice a low snarl of threat and warning. “You’ve got five seconds to turn around before I forget we’re in the Great Hall.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. He looked at you once more—something unreadable in his eyes—then turned and walked away, his shoulders tight, fists clenched at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, letting your body relax as you turned back to Draco.

“Was that necessary?” you murmured, more amused than annoyed.

Draco’s eyes stayed fixed on where Harry had walked off, his breath sharp, his jaw locked so tightly you thought it might crack.

“He said your name like he owned it,” he growled.

You shifted closer, the air between you thick, heavy with unspoken emotion and lust that simmered right beneath the surface. One of your hands slid up his thigh under the table, resting on the spot where his hand still gripped you.

“And do you?” you asked softly, tilting your face up to him, lips parted, eyes teasing.

That got his attention.

His gaze snapped to yours, dark and full of fire. “You know I do.”

You smiled, slow and sinful. “Then show me.”

And before he could say another word, you leaned in and kissed him. It wasn’t a shy kiss. It wasn’t sweet or soft.

It was claiming.

Your lips molded to his, full and warm, your mouth opening slightly to invite him deeper. His hand slid up your thigh, squeezing possessively, while his other hand tangled in the back of your hair, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until the entire world dropped away.

He tasted like mint and heat, the kind that burned into you and left you gasping. Your body pressed into his beneath the table, your chest brushing his as his tongue slid against yours in slow, unhurried strokes that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You kissed him like he was oxygen.

He kissed you like you were fire.

When you finally pulled back—lips swollen, breath caught—his eyes searched yours with something fierce, something raw.

“Mine,” he said, so quietly only you could hear it. “Don’t let him near you again.”

You smiled, brushing your lips over his jaw, down to his neck, lingering just long enough to make him shiver. “I won’t. He doesn’t get to touch what belongs to you.”

Draco’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he was trying to center himself. When they opened again, they were full of promise—and something darker.

“You’re not going to class after dinner.”

You raised a brow, teasing. “Oh? And where will I be?”

He leaned in, his voice brushing against your lips like a spell. “Bent over the sink in the Prefects’ bathroom with my hands on your hips, making sure you remember who you belong to.”

Your breath caught in your throat, pupils blown wide, heart pounding so loud you were sure the entire table could hear it.

“Then finish your dinner,” you whispered, voice trembling with anticipation, “because I’m not going anywhere.”

The door to the Prefects’ bathroom shut behind you with a resonant click, echoing against the marble and tile like a warning bell. Before the sound even faded, Draco’s wand was in hand, lips curled in a snarl of desire as he cast a nonverbal spell—locking the door and sealing it with silence.

The room was warm with steam, candlelight flickering against the white and gold decor, casting dancing shadows over the water that shimmered in the massive tub like liquid stars.

But Draco didn’t look at any of it.

He was already on you.

His mouth crashed onto yours like a breaking wave—furious, hungry, a man lost in the storm of everything he’d held back all day. You gasped into the kiss, fingers flying into the front of his robes, clutching him as if you were trying to steady yourself on something that was already pulling you under.

“Fuck, I waited all day,” he growled against your lips, his hands gripping your waist with bruising heat.

You whimpered into his mouth as he walked you backward, and you knew exactly where he was taking you. One swift tug and your leg was lifted—his fingers digging into your thigh as he wrapped it around his waist, his hips grinding into yours through layers of fabric, teasing just enough to drive you mad.

“Draco,” you breathed, voice already wrecked, and the sound made him growl low in his throat like an animal barely restrained.

He kissed you harder.

There was no gentleness. No softness. Just raw, desperate need.

His tongue parted your lips again, claiming, deep, overwhelming. The kiss tasted like every ounce of possessiveness and frustration he’d bottled all day—watching Harry say your name, watching you smile at someone who wasn’t him.

He pressed you to the edge of the sink, lifting you up with ease, both hands gripping your thighs as he forced them wider around him. His palms slid to your ass, squeezing firmly, pulling you against him. The moan that left your lips was so helpless, so breathless, it made his jaw clench.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he rasped against your neck, dragging his lips down to taste your skin. “Walking in with your hair down… like you didn’t know exactly what that would do to me.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your throat, your fingers twisting in his soft platinum hair. “I did,” you whispered, wicked and breathless. “I wanted you desperate.”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, and what you saw in his gaze made your whole body ache.

“Then congratulations,” he said, voice dark and low, “because I am. I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”

Your breath caught, lips trembling.

“Prove it.”

And just like that, he was on you again—kissing you with reckless intensity. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to kiss you harder. The other stayed firm on your hip, grounding you as he pressed forward between your thighs, grinding slow, hard, making your whole body tremble with every movement.

You were gasping into his mouth now, dizzy with it, with him, and the way his dominance poured into every kiss, every touch. He was everywhere—hands, mouth, body—owning you completely.

“I hate when anyone else says your name,” he muttered against your lips. “Hate when they look at you.”

“Then claim me,” you whispered, your voice low, ruined with want.

He growled, deep and primal, and for a second he just stared at you—chest heaving, lips swollen, eyes burning with a mix of love, obsession, and something far darker.

“I already have,” he said. “But I’ll do it again. And again. Until there’s no part of you that doesn’t know you belong to me.”

Your whole body pulsed with that promise. You didn’t need candles or silk sheets or whispered poetry. You needed him—here, now, and exactly like this.

And as he leaned in again, dragging your lips back to his with bruising, breathless need, you surrendered to every dark, delicious piece of him.

The mirrors fogged with every breath you took, the scent of heated skin and candle wax curling in the air like a spell. The cool marble sink pressed against the back of your thighs, your skirt bunched up carelessly around your waist. Draco stood between your legs like a storm in human form—his breath uneven, his lips swollen from kissing you senseless, and his gaze… ravenous.

His hand slipped under your skirt again, and this time he stilled.

His breath hitched.

You saw the shift in his eyes immediately—like a fuse had been lit.

“You’re not wearing panties,” he muttered, voice rough, low, and shaking with restraint.

Your lips parted, a whisper of a smirk forming on your kiss-bruised mouth. “Not since breakfast.”

His groan was guttural—frustrated, hungry, and sinful all at once.

“Fuck,” he breathed, like the word had been dragged from the deepest part of him.

You were about to tease him again, when he suddenly gripped your hips hard, and before you could gasp, two long fingers thrust into you—deep, hard, with no warning.

Your moan tore from your throat as your head fell back against the mirror behind you. His fingers didn’t hesitate. They curled inside you just right, pressing against that devastating spot he’d memorized like a spell, and your thighs instinctively squeezed around his wrist.

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he whispered against your throat, kissing just below your jaw, voice dark and possessive. “Walking around all day like that. Letting the whole damn castle wonder what you’ve got on under that little Slytherin skirt.”

You whimpered, biting your lip, fingers gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turned white.

“Do you even know what that does to me?” he growled, thrusting his fingers deeper, harder. “Knowing no one else knows how wet you are for me—but I do. I always do.”

You cried out, your body arching off the sink as he curled his fingers again, hitting that spot inside you that made your vision blur.

“That’s it,” he rasped, his thumb brushing against your clit with maddening slowness. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted me desperate. Wanted me angry.”

His voice dropped lower, turning darker.

“Little tease. You’re so fucking filthy, aren’t you? Sitting in class, legs crossed like a good girl, while you drip onto the seat under you. No panties. No shame.”

“Draco,” you gasped, your voice wrecked, body trembling.

He leaned in, mouth right by your ear. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you moaned, your walls clenching around his fingers, every nerve set ablaze.

“Say you did it for me.”

Your lips parted, a breath catching on your tongue. “I didn’t wear them… because I wanted you to lose control.”

And Merlin, did he.

He cursed under his breath, his fingers thrusting even faster, harder, relentless. His body pressed against you, trapping you in his arms, overwhelming you with the smell of him—cologne, sweat, lust.

You couldn’t hold back the sounds now—not when he was unraveling you with every curl of his fingers, every word dripping filth into your ear.

“You’re mine,” he snarled softly. “Every inch of you. And you’ll never go without them again unless I tell you to. Understood?”

Your body arched, overwhelmed by the wave building inside you.

“Yes—yes, Draco—please—”

“Not yet,” he hissed, pulling his hand away suddenly, leaving you aching, gasping, trembling.

You whimpered from the loss, your body shaking in need.

But Draco’s eyes were molten, burning with possession, and his mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that promised you hadn’t even seen the worst of him yet.

“You want to be my filthy little thing?” he murmured against your lips. “Then beg.”

Your breath came in sharp gasps, skin flushed and damp, as you reached out with desperate fingers and took Draco’s hand—still wet from where it had just been inside you. You guided it back between your legs, aching for the pressure, the rhythm, him.

But before you could get it where you needed, he growled—a deep, territorial sound—and yanked his hand back with a firm grip that made your whole body jolt.

“No,” he said roughly, his voice a low, dangerous murmur. “That’s not how this works.”

Your fingers tightened on the edge of the sink as your thighs trembled, frustration and need burning hot through you.

“Draco, please,” you gasped, but he only raised an eyebrow, watching you with a slow, smug tilt of his head.

“Look at you,” he whispered, dragging the backs of his fingers down the inside of your thigh, never quite where you needed. “So needy… shaking for me already. And you really thought you could take control?”

His hand hovered there—close, so close—but never touching. You reached down with your own fingers this time, slipping between your slick folds and thrusting into yourself with a pace that tried to match what he had done before. Your moan echoed through the bathroom, high and aching.

But it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t him.

Draco watched, gaze darkening, jaw clenched, as you tried to pleasure yourself in front of him—hips rolling, body straining, breath ragged. But there was no satisfaction in it. It only made the emptiness sharper. It made your body ache even more.

Your lip trembled. “It’s not the same,” you whispered.

His chuckle was low and wicked. “Of course it’s not,” he said, stepping closer, gripping your wrist and stopping your hand. “Because these—” he guided your fingers out and held your hand between you, slick and trembling— “aren’t mine.”

You whimpered, your knees threatening to give out.

“Say it,” he said, voice velvet and steel. “Say no one can make you feel the way I do.”

Your chest heaved, green eyes wide and glassy as you looked at him.

“No one,” you whispered. “No one, Draco. Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek, then your jaw. “Say it. Properly.”

“I need you,” you choked out. “I need your fingers. Your mouth. Your cock. All of it. I need you. Please, Draco, I can’t—”

That was all it took.

The sharp edge of his restraint cracked in half. His eyes blazed as he growled into your mouth, crashing his lips to yours in a brutal kiss. His hand slid between your legs again, and this time, there was no teasing. No slow build.

His fingers thrust back inside you with the same devastating rhythm as before, curling just right, dragging helpless sobs from your throat as your nails raked down his shoulders. The pleasure exploded in white-hot flashes, your body melting and tightening all at once under his dominance.

“Mine,” he growled again and again, breath ragged against your neck. “You don’t touch yourself unless I say. You don’t come unless it’s by me.”

Your fingers clutched at his robes, holding on for dear life as he pushed you to the edge, again and again, the tension between you snapping like a whip in the air.

And you would’ve fallen—shattered and ruined in the best possible way—but his lips brushed your ear as he slowed, pulling back just enough to make you cry out again.

“I’m not done teaching you what happens,” he whispered, “when you forget who owns every inch of you.”

Your moan cracked into a sob of pleasure, your body trembling as Draco’s fingers refused mercy. Each thrust was precise, cruel in how perfectly they curled, making your thighs shake and your breath hitch.

“Draco,” you gasped, your head falling back against the mirror. “I—can’t—I’m—”

But he didn’t slow. He didn’t let up.

He was watching you, eyes dark and locked on your face as though trying to burn every sound and expression into his memory. And then—just when you thought you were going to tip into bliss—he groaned low in his throat, the sound thick with want.

You blinked through your haze just in time to see his free hand move. He tugged at his belt with rough fingers, popped the button, and dragged the zipper down. The sound alone sent a fresh wave of need through you.

“Draco?” you whispered, breathless and trembling.

His eyes never left yours.

He withdrew his fingers from you slowly—cruelly slow—and your body cried out at the loss. A high, helpless sound escaped your lips, your hips shifting toward him in pure instinct.

But he only smirked, gripping his now-freed length in his hand, the tip flushed and aching.

“You think I’m going to let you come without me?” he rasped, voice thick with dominance and need. “After the way you teased me all day—after you begged me like that?”

He stepped in closer, the head of his cock brushing your slick folds. You whimpered, your fingers clutching at his arms, nails digging in.

“You’re mine,” he said again, and then—

He thrust into you in one sharp, punishing stroke.

Your cry echoed through the tiled room, body arching hard against the sink, back bowed from the sudden stretch and heat and overwhelming fullness. It was too much—and not enough.

He was buried deep, deeper than his fingers ever reached, and you felt every inch of him. The thick, throbbing pulse of his cock inside you, the way he fit so perfectly, like you’d been made for him.

Draco groaned against your neck, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he held you in place. “So tight,” he breathed. “So fucking perfect around me.”

You couldn’t even form words—your hands flew up to his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he started to move. His pace was ruthless from the start, every thrust rocking you back into the mirror, each one followed by a hiss of pleasure from his lips.

The tension in the air was unbearable. The scent of sex, the heat of your bodies, the way you both breathed each other in like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

“You wanted this,” Draco snarled softly, kissing your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. “Walking around without your panties… so cocky… so filthy.”

“Draco—” you moaned, your voice wrecked.

“You thought you could drive me insane and not pay for it?” he growled, his thrusts slamming harder, faster. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, you won’t be able to think about anyone but me.”

Tears welled in your eyes—not from pain, but from the overwhelming force of it all. The way he filled you, possessed you, ruined you so thoroughly that nothing existed outside of this moment.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he said between clenched teeth, his rhythm unrelenting.

“I’m yours,” you cried, sobbing against his shoulder. “I’m yours—I’ve always been—”

He kissed you hard, a messy, claiming kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation.

He pulled back just far enough to press his forehead against yours, his pace never faltering, his breath hot on your lips.

“You feel that?” he whispered, low and dangerous. “That’s me. Only me.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks, moaning into his mouth as your body started to break apart beneath his.

The bathroom was filled with the symphony of slick skin, ragged breathing, and your broken cries of his name. The sound of Draco’s hips meeting yours echoed off the stone walls, relentless and sharp, a perfect rhythm that made your entire body tremble with every slam of his hips.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, your thighs shaking around his waist, and your head lolled back helplessly as his cock kept hitting that perfect spot inside you—over and over again. Your eyes rolled, jaw slack, breath catching in short sobs of pleasure.

“Right there,” you gasped, voice high and broken. “Draco—oh, my god—there—”

He growled deep in his chest, watching the way your body responded—how your breasts bounced wildly with every brutal thrust, how your legs twitched around him. His eyes darkened with hunger, possession, adoration.

“You’re a fucking vision,” he rasped, one hand sliding to your waist, the other coming up to grope at your breast, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper. “Look at you. You can’t even think, can you?”

You shook your head desperately, but no words would come. Just moans. Just his name tumbling over and over off your lips like it was the only thing left in your mind.

“Completely cockdrunk for me,” he growled with a twisted smirk, slamming into you harder, faster—each thrust stealing the breath from your lungs. “You love this. Love when I take you like this. When I ruin you.”

Your eyes fluttered, your body arching like a bow, caught between the searing edge of too much and not enough. You tried to respond, to say yes, please, always, but all you could manage was a loud, wrecked cry of his name.

“Say it,” Draco demanded, panting hard against your neck. “Tell me who does this to you. Who you belong to.”

“You—Draco!” you sobbed, lost in the haze of it all. “Only you. Always you. Please—don’t stop—”

His hands gripped you harder, fingers sinking into your hips, dragging your body onto him even deeper. He was in complete control—every move calculated to push you further, to watch you fall apart.

“I could watch you fall apart like this every damn day,” he whispered against your ear, voice thick with dark affection. “So perfect. So desperate. So mine.”

Your vision blurred as the knot inside you tightened, twisting hotter and hotter with every brutal thrust, every filthy word from his lips, every stroke of his body against yours.

And he felt it—felt you spiraling, clenching tighter around him, dragging him closer to his own edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded, slowing just enough to grind deep, right against that spot again. “Show me how much you need me.”

When you shattered, it was silent for a second—like the whole world held its breath. And then you sobbed his name so loud it echoed, your entire body shaking as you convulsed around him.

Draco didn’t stop—he rode it out, watching your face, the way your lips trembled, the tears on your cheeks, your blissed-out, cockdrunk expression like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

You trembled in his arms, your body still quaking from the intensity of your climax, your breath short and gasping—but Draco didn’t stop.

Not even close.

He was still moving inside you with an unforgiving rhythm, his hips snapping against yours, cock dragging through your oversensitive walls like he was determined to leave his mark. The pleasure had tipped over into something almost unbearable, a wildfire dancing along every nerve ending—but still, you took it. Because it was him.

“Draco—” you whimpered, voice broken, hands scrambling for purchase against his back. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled into your ear, biting lightly at your lobe. “You will. You’re gonna take everything I give you.”

The hand on your waist gripped tighter, and the other slid up, fingers curling beneath your chin until he was forcing your head back, making you look into his eyes. They were wild, half-lidded, pupils blown wide with dark lust and something far deeper.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice low and rough. “The way you’re still clenching around me, sucking me back in like you don’t want to let go?”

You cried out as he angled his hips differently—deeper, harder, making your walls flutter helplessly again, dragging you toward a second peak far too soon.

“You love this,” he whispered. “Love how I don’t let you go. How I fuck you like you’re mine.”

“Draco—please—” your words dissolved into a whimper, your body betraying you, tightening around him again like it was begging for more.

He groaned, head dropping to your shoulder for a moment as your body pulsed around him again. His control was fraying—he could feel it—but it only made him rougher, more desperate.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re gonna make me lose my damn mind.”

And then he pulled back enough to look at you, his hand still firm on your jaw, holding you in place so you couldn’t look away.

“When we get back to our dorm,” he said darkly, his voice like gravel, “I’m going to bend you over our bed and do it all over again.”

You whimpered—loud, involuntary—and your body clenched around him so hard he nearly dropped to his knees.

He smirked. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to ruin you again. Have you screaming into our sheets.”

Your nails raked down his back as you nodded, nearly delirious from the overstimulation, from how deep he was inside you, from the possessive fire in his voice. “Yes—yes—please, Draco…”

“You’re gonna fall asleep with my come still dripping out of you,” he snarled, snapping his hips harder now, the sound of your bodies colliding echoing in the chamber like something sacred, something obscene.

“And when you wake up,” he panted, “I’ll still be inside you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes—not from pain, but from how intensely you felt him, how much he overwhelmed every part of you. You felt him getting close, his rhythm growing erratic, the edge in his voice raw now, ragged.

“Say it,” he breathed. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you sobbed. “You, Draco. I’m yours—always.”

And with one final, punishing thrust, he groaned your name like it burned him, burying himself to the hilt, his whole body trembling as he emptied inside you.

He didn’t move for a long moment—just held you against the sink, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling, bodies still connected, still pulsing together like one. His hand slid down your cheek, his voice quieter now but no less intense.

“You drive me insane,” he whispered. “And I’ll never stop wanting you.”

You leaned into him, eyes fluttering closed as your fingers found his hair, soft now, comforting despite the ache in your limbs.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whispered back.

He smiled—dark and soft all at once.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Draco’s arms were firm around you, his stride purposeful as he carried you through the dimly lit corridors of the Slytherin common room. Your head rested weakly against his chest, breath still shallow, limbs boneless from what he’d done to you in the prefects’ bathroom—twice.

The soft crackle of the fire flickered across emerald stone walls, casting shadows as the room buzzed with low conversation. But it all came to a halt the moment the door swung open and Draco stepped inside, your limp, well-fucked form in his arms.

Pansy’s eyes widened. Daphne covered her mouth. Blaise arched a brow and let out a low whistle.

Theodore groaned, tossing his quill on the table. “Again?”

Draco didn’t even slow. His smirk was slow, arrogant, smug in the way only he could be. “She’s exhausted,” he drawled without glancing at them. “Can’t even walk. Thought I’d carry what’s mine.”

Your face flushed against his chest, but you didn’t protest. You couldn’t. You were still trembling, your thighs sticky, your throat raw from moaning his name into stone and silk. Your fingers curled weakly into the collar of his robes as he carried you past your staring friends.

Blaise gave a low chuckle, muttering something about “needing soundproofing spells.”

Draco’s smirk only deepened as he approached the stairs. “Don’t wait up.”

The door to your shared dorm clicked shut behind you, sealing you away from the world. The moment it did, the air shifted. Still thick with the heat between you, with possession and passion that hadn’t yet burned out.

He set you down on the bed gently, the first sign of softness since he had taken you hours ago. But the glint in his storm-grey eyes told you he wasn’t done—not by a long shot.

You tried to sit up, but your muscles ached. Your body trembled with exhaustion, overstimulated and aching in the most delicious way.

Draco leaned over you, brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gliding softly across your cheek. “You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Good.”

“Draco…” your voice was hoarse, breathless, pleading—but even now, even broken open like this, you were still looking at him like he hung the stars.

He kissed you slowly this time. No rush. Just a claiming, a reminder.

“Think anyone else would ever see you like this?” he whispered against your lips. “Laid out. Weak. Trembling just from me?”

You shook your head, and he smiled—sharp, wicked, proud.

“Didn’t think so.”

He trailed kisses down your jaw, your throat, his fingers slowly undoing the rest of your clothes. But this time wasn’t about urgency. It was about ownership. Worship.

“You were made for me,” he breathed, eyes scanning every inch of you like he still couldn’t believe you were real. “And I’ll spend every night reminding you.”

Your hand found his hair, fingers sinking into those soft, pale strands. “You already have,” you whispered.

Draco hovered above you, his forehead pressed against yours, and for a brief moment, his eyes weren’t clouded by lust—but something deeper. Fiercer.

“I’ll never let you go,” he said softly. “Never.”

Your heart stuttered.

“I don’t want you to,” you whispered.

And in that quiet, tangled space, surrounded by soft sheets and flickering candlelight, he kissed you again—not to dominate, not to conquer—but to claim.

The moonlight spilled through the tall windows of your shared dorm, casting pale silver onto your skin like liquid stardust. The fire burned low in the hearth, its soft crackle the only sound besides your breathless moans and the rustle of the sheets as Draco moved over you like a shadow possessed.

His hands framed your waist, fingers possessive, reverent—like he was reminding himself this wasn’t a dream. That you were real. His.

He hovered above you, his eyes hooded with need as they raked over your body. “Look at you,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Every inch of you is perfect. You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words were swallowed by a gasp as his lips wrapped around your nipple, hot and soft and overwhelming. Your back arched off the bed, a breathless moan escaping you as you instinctively threaded your fingers into his hair, tugging tightly.

Draco groaned low against your skin, the vibration sending tingles straight through your chest. He didn’t stop—he sucked harder, his tongue swirling deliberately, almost cruelly, around the sensitive bud. His other hand slid over the curve of your breast, fingers squeezing and massaging to match the rhythm of his mouth.

“Draco,” you whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the twin sensations—his mouth, his hand, his heat pressing you down into the mattress.

He chuckled darkly against your skin, pulling off with a soft, wet pop. “You’re so sensitive tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin as he spoke. “You like when I touch you like this, don’t you?”

You nodded, dazed and breathless, your voice barely a whisper. “Yes… always.”

That answer made his eyes flare. He lowered his mouth again, trailing his tongue across your other breast, flicking teasingly before his lips closed around your nipple once more. Your moans turned desperate, thighs shifting beneath him, seeking friction, seeking more.

He grinned against your chest. “So eager,” he breathed. “I haven’t even started yet.”

His voice was like velvet and fire, and you whimpered as he gently bit down—just enough to make you shiver—before sucking again, deeper this time, more possessive.

“Mine,” he whispered, voice low and rough. “Every part of you.”

Your hands trembled in his hair, and when he finally pulled away, your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. He looked up at you, hair tousled from your grip, lips glistening, and that wicked gleam in his eyes.

He kissed your sternum, slow and lingering, then moved up to hover over you. His hand cupped your face gently, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” he whispered. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You reached up, caressing his jaw, your voice soft and shaken. “Then show me.”

His smirk returned, full of promise and wicked heat.

“Oh, I intend to.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white, as Draco finally pushed inside you—one hard, deep thrust that stole the breath from your lungs. The stretch was immediate, the fullness intense, and your back arched off the bed with a cry that he swallowed in a kiss.

“Merlin,” he growled into your mouth, voice ragged, “you feel like you were made for me.”

His hips didn’t hesitate. His pace was brutal from the start—rhythmic, punishing, like he had no intention of going slow. The bed creaked under the force of his movements, protesting each thrust as he drove himself deeper into you, again and again, without mercy.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, anything, as the pressure inside you built quickly, dizzyingly. His cock hit that spot inside you with precision, every time, like he knew—and of course he did. He knew your body better than anyone ever could. He studied it like a sacred text and mastered it like a spell.

You cried out his name, over and over, your voice shaking with each slam of his hips, and he loved it—every sound, every tremble, every time you clenched tighter around him like you couldn’t help it.

“Louder,” Draco snarled against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Let them all hear how good I fuck you.”

You whimpered, half from his words, half from the way your body was unraveling beneath him. He gripped your hips tighter, pulling you into each thrust with force, his nails digging into your skin, marking you.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze—stormy grey, dark with hunger, fierce with something deeper. His expression twisted with pleasure as he watched your face, saw you lose yourself completely under him.

“You’re mine,” he said, like a vow. “No one else will ever have you like this. No one can.”

You nodded through the haze, your voice breaking. “Yours… always.”

The words made him snarl with satisfaction. He leaned down and kissed you fiercely, his pace never slowing, never faltering. He poured all of it into you—every ounce of control, of possession, of worship twisted with desire.

You didn’t know how long he kept going—minutes? Hours? Time didn’t exist in that room. There was only the sound of your gasps, his groans, the sharp slap of skin against skin, and the bed that shook beneath you.

When your body finally gave out—shaking, aching, overwhelmed—Draco still didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck.

“You take me so well,” he whispered. “You always do.”

And in that raw, breathless space between madness and devotion, you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

Because he was.The room was thick with heat, the air heavy with every moan, every gasp, every echo of skin meeting skin. Your body trembled beneath Draco’s, completely spent, completely his—but he didn’t stop.

He hadn’t slowed since your release—if anything, his thrusts had grown more relentless. Your limbs had gone limp, boneless from pleasure, eyes glazed in the haze of overwhelming sensation. Yet Draco, with that unyielding fire in his eyes, wasn’t finished.

A sharp gasp tore from your throat when he suddenly shifted, his strong hands curling under your thighs. He lifted them with ease, placing your legs over his shoulders. The angle shifted everything—deeper, fuller, blinding.

You cried out, head rolling back against the pillow, hands clutching the sheets as his cock slammed into that spot inside you over and over again with ruthless precision.

“Oh god—Draco—” you choked out, voice wrecked from pleasure.

His pace didn’t falter. If anything, your reaction only spurred him on. He looked down at you, chest heaving, golden hair clinging to his temples with sweat. And then he saw it.

A low, guttural moan left his throat as his hand moved to your lower belly, fingers brushing the slight bulge with awe and wicked satisfaction.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice rough with arousal. “You’re so full of me… I can see myself inside you.”

You sobbed from the overwhelming pleasure, your body twitching with each brutal thrust. The pressure, the stretch, the weight of his words—it all tangled together until your senses blurred.

Draco leaned down, your thighs pushed tighter against your chest, his pace never letting up. His lips brushed your ear, voice low and possessive.

“This is how I want you,” he whispered, breath warm. “Laid out, ruined, trembling—so full of me you can’t think straight.”

You whimpered, barely able to nod, and he kissed your jaw with unexpected tenderness despite the roughness of his movements.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice gentling for just a moment. “Let go, baby. I’ll hold you together.”

And with those words, your body shattered again, a wave of bliss crashing through you so hard it left you gasping for breath, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth.

Draco moaned loudly as you clenched around him, and he drove in deeper, grinding against that spot until your vision blurred. He was wild, wrecked, lost in the feel of you, in the way your body molded to his like it was made for him alone.

When he finally stilled inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck, he didn’t pull away. He stayed wrapped around you, as if grounding himself in your warmth, in your surrender.

His lips pressed softly against your cheek, then your collarbone.

“I’m never letting you go,” he murmured.

And in your dazed, blissful silence—you believed him.

Tag List : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @hayleythecannibal @ceoofglytchell @ashblooddragons @laedeviour @venusbyline

[noirscript]

serpent's claim

Pairing: Yandere Naga x Reader Description: You ran, but Zaeral always caught you. Now his egg rests deep inside, and escape is no longer what you crave. Warning/s: Yandere | Noncon/Dubcon Themes | Oviposition (egg insertion) | Breeding Kink | Forced Captivity | Obsession | Stalking | Predator/Prey Dynamic | Isolation | Escape Attempt | Psychological Manipulation | Forked Tongue (I HAVE TO) Note/s: Commissions are still open! Enjoy this Yandere!Naga. Lemme know what you think about it. btw. I'll try to add the tw tags later. I've been trying to add them but it's not getting added below T^T

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast

The air was always wet down here.

Every breath dragged the scent of moss and something deeper into your lungs—something primal, slick with hunger. You didn’t know how long it had been since you’d seen the sky. Days, maybe. Weeks. It all bled together in this place where time was measured only in how long your heartbeat stayed fast and your skin stayed cold.

You didn’t fall into his territory. You wandered. That was your sin. You thought the shortcut through the canyon would save time. Maybe you didn’t want to go back at all. But now you were here. Now he was here.

You heard him before you ever saw him. A low scrape against stone. A hiss, too long to belong to any animal you knew. It slithered across the air like it was following you, not chasing, not yet, just… watching.

You’d screamed the first time he spoke. A whisper in your ear when you thought you were alone. "You breathe like prey." It echoed. There was no body to pin the voice to. Only dark, endless tunnels, lit by cold, phosphorescent light, where shadows stretched too long.

You ran. Of course you did.

But you learned quickly that you were never fast enough.

You never heard him move. Just the breath on your nape, the lightest brush of scales across your path when you thought he was behind you. The way rocks ahead of you were suddenly slick with moisture. A hunter didn’t need to charge when his prey was already cornered by instinct.

He introduced himself after the second escape.

Zaeral. His name slithered from his lips like a caress, like a chain sliding shut. When he finally showed himself—all of himself—you understood why you had no chance.

His upper half was almost beautiful. Tall, lean, chiseled in the way ancient statues are, timeless and cruel in their perfection. His skin was pale, barely touched by light, with veins like opal beneath the surface. Hair black as pitch hung past his shoulders, framing eyes that glowed faintly with a vertical sliver of gold.

And below the waist—no legs. Only an endless coil of thick, glistening muscle, wrapped in dark scales that shimmered with hints of violet and green, shifting with his breath. His tail could crush boulders. You knew because you saw the bones. He left them there, visible, arranged like a warning. Or maybe an invitation.

He spoke to you like a lover, not a captor.

"You belong down here," he’d murmur, coiling around you as you slept, his body a cage of heat and weight. "You’re so loud, little thing. Every heartbeat calls me closer."

You learned not to scream when he wrapped around you. Not to cry when he pulled you into his nest of damp moss and hollowed stone. It only made him hold you tighter. Only made him hum into your throat with something like joy.

"I adore when you squirm," he’d purr. "It stokes the fire in my belly. And soon, it’ll stoke more."

You never saw another person. You weren’t even sure anymore if the surface existed. When you closed your eyes, all you saw were tunnels, and the glint of his eyes in the dark, and the pressure of coils slowly winding up your legs. You tried to map the labyrinth. You tried to mark your way back.

He always erased them.

"You don’t need a way out. You only need a place inside."

Sometimes, he would leave. Hours, maybe longer. You never knew where. But you always knew when he was coming back. The air changed. Grew heavier. More charged. Like the earth itself tensed with your dread.

He would appear, gliding in with something clutched in his claws. Fruit from underground trees. Pelts that still smelled of blood. Once, a silk scarf stained with perfume—your perfume, long faded. You didn’t ask how he got it. You didn’t want to know.

"You are not the first I’ve chased," he admitted once, curling a length of his tail around your ankle. "But you’re the first to last this long. You burn brighter. You make me ache."

He said things in your ear that no one should say. Things about your body, and his, and how perfectly they’d fit. How your hips were made to take him, no matter the shape he wore. How he could mold himself around you, fill you from any angle. How he wanted to see your belly swell with his spawn. How he dreamed of it.

He wasn’t crude. He was reverent.

Like you were holy. Sacred. A shrine he wanted to desecrate with worship.

You told yourself you hated it. That your tears were from fear. That your trembling was because of the cold, not because of the warmth that bloomed deep, shamefully, when he wrapped his coils around your thighs and purred into your stomach, his tongue flicking lazily against your navel.

“You smell different when you’re scared,” he’d murmur. “But oh… when you’re not scared... that scent drives me to madness.”

He waited. That was the worst part. He was patient. He didn’t force himself. He didn’t need to.

He knew you’d give in.

He’d make you believe it was your choice.

You escaped once. Maybe twice. You didn’t count. Each time, the tunnels stretched longer than before. Each time, your body weakened faster. Once, you made it to a crack in the cave wall, and sunlight kissed your face.

And then his tail yanked you back, gentle as a lover’s hand tugging a hesitant partner.

"You tried," he said, brushing your hair back. "That’s why I love you. It means when you finally stop trying, I’ll know it’s real."

You screamed into his chest, and he rocked you like a child.

"I will never let you die here," he promised. "But I will never let you leave."

You didn’t try after that. Not seriously.

You thought you were giving up. But maybe you were just giving in.

You started to listen when he whispered to you. Started to ask questions. Small ones, at first. "Where do you go when you leave?" He’d smile. Never answer.

You started to watch his body move, the way his tail flexed and rolled over itself as he settled beside you. The power in him. The control.

You began to wonder—just wonder—what it would feel like if he really touched you.

He knew. Of course he did.

One night, as you lay in his coils, barely breathing, his voice dropped low.

"I dream of pushing you to your knees," he said, lips grazing your temple. "Of laying you out across my nest and feeling your body arch as I bury myself in you."

Your thighs clenched before you could stop them.

He growled. Low. Deep. It vibrated through your bones.

"You want it now, don’t you?" he asked, not mocking. Just… knowing. "Say it. Say it, and I’ll make it so you never remember the taste of anything but me."

You didn’t speak.

But you didn’t run, either.

And when his hand slid down your stomach, and he pressed his palm over your core, hot and possessive and unbearably firm—you didn’t stop him.

"You’ve already surrendered," Zaeral whispered, his tongue flicking your cheek. "Let me claim you. Let me fill you."

Your breath hitched. Your body burned. You hated him. You hated this.

But your hips lifted into his touch, and your thighs spread just slightly wider.

A hiss of satisfaction spilled from his mouth.

"That’s it. That’s my precious little mate."

The word mate tasted like ash and honey on your tongue.

You whispered his name.

Zaeral.

And he smiled.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

[mssishipi]

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,

[admiringlove]

mischief managed

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

↬ summary: gojo satoru was a slytherin through and through—cunning, clever, and infuriatingly charming, with a reputation as both a prodigy and a troublemaker. you, a gryffindor prefect, couldn't be more different—fearless, fiercely principled, and far too stubborn to let someone like him get under your skin. or so you thought. by day, the two of you bicker and clash, bound only by your shared duty, but by night, within the room of requirement, you're partners in something far greater—a secret operation known as the marauders, granting the whispered wishes of hogwarts students. for a while, the dynamic works: sharp wit, heated glares, and the unspoken rule to keep things strictly professional, but when a request plunges you both into a conspiracy that could shatter the fragile balance of your world, you’ll find that secrets can’t stay hidden forever—and neither can the feelings you swore you’d never have, because gojo never cared about rules, and it seems he’s starting to care about you.

↬ genre: jjk x hogwarts au; academic rivals/enemies-ish to lovers au; fantasy; drama; romance; angst and then fluff; slowburn basically; happy ending i promise but it takes angst to get there.

↬ warnings: angst; SLOWBURN; slight nsfw; profanity; gojo being a dick at times; oo also shirtless gojo; fictional slurs; mentions of alcohol; some dark stuff (not much, but there are some because what is a story i write without angst); mentions of death; etc.

↬ word count: 126k (until chp 7).

↬ note: inspired by this drabble + ty to the loml @fxstpace who beta read this for me. so happy to finally put this out! art credit: @3-aem.

table of contents.

↬ chapter one: of serpents and lions.

↬ chapter two: veil of the ancients.

↬ chapter three: golden snitch, silver tongue, firewhiskey and kisses.

↬ chapter four: oaths, bitter legacies, and the quiet war beneath the crest.

↬ chapter five: the heirloom of hollow promises.

↬ chapter six: the space between knowing and believing.

↬ chapter seven, part one: all wars end in quiet.

↬ chapter seven, continuation: all wars end in quiet.

↬ epilogue one: the last ballad of hogwarts.

author's note: hi everyone! this is the official masterlist/table of contents of mischief managed!! thank you for reading :3

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[ecstxsyy]

DIRTY MIND. | VIKTOR ❦

Viktor loves to study.

18+ mdni!

viktor x fem!reader

warnings: oral (f!receiving), i just love men who are munches #sorrynotsorry!, fingering.

requests for v-day event are closed!!

cupid’s candy hearts masterlist

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

VIKTOR HAS a brilliant mind, he helped you and Jayce create a way to make magic with science. Without him, Jayce likely would have failed without the two of you. But the brilliance of his mind wasn't confined to just science, the boy was also well-studied on the topic of your body.

He knew every detail, every divet, and crevice of your soft skin. He spent time lying in bed conducting research, venturing to try and find a place he wasn't already familiar with. Your body was like the arcane to him, forever changing and adapting, or at least that’s what he told you while between your thighs refusing to come up for air.

You worried about Viktor a lot and he couldn't tell if he loved you or hated you for it, but you had good reason. He always seemed to forget his limits when it came to sex, he wanted to give you everything he assumed you wanted, but all you wanted was him and that was enough for you.

“Viktor, Jayce is going to kill us. We're so late,” you whined, your fingers intertwining with his dark locks. The two of you were Jayce’s partners at Hextech, he wanted the three of you to present a united front to the board to help seal your plan for a better future.

“I don't care,” came from between your legs, muffled by the skin of your thighs. You and Viktor knew very well that if you really wanted to go support Jayce during his first council meeting the two of you would have left 30 minutes ago. But instead, you were entangled in Viktor’s sheets, curling yourself into them like a serpent from the pleasure.

Viktor’s tongue lapped at your soft cunt slowly, sucking up any juices that fell free. His slim, long fingers were practically at home in your warmth, working into you slowly. Your moans were breathy, full of pure passion and pleasure. Viktor’s other hand played with your nipples, alternating between the two to give them equal attention.

“You taste divine,” the slim boy said from beneath you, humping his erection into the sheets beneath him. The sight made you even wetter, your arousal slipping down onto the sheets underneath you.

You loved the way he got off from getting you off, it drove you up the wall. His fingers work professionally, stroking your g-spot with the tips of his fingers. His touches made your body sing, the intimacy of it all made it a hundred times better.

“I love you,” slipped from your mouth between moans, it made Viktor freeze in place momentarily before he regained his momentum and continued on. He didn't respond but you didn't mind, you didn't expect him to.

Viktor continued lapping at your clit, letting his tongue feel over the small nerve. You were putty in his grasp and he knew that, every flick of his tongue sent your mind spiraling. He felt how deeply you meant what you said, that alone shocked him to his core. He wasn't used to such unconditional devotion.

His fingers worked faster, his mouth wouldn't let him verbalize the words, but he could show it to you through his actions. The speed of his tongue picked up, your clit was overstimulated and sensitive.

“Vik, ‘m gonna cum,” you cried out, your back arching off of the bed as you reached your climax. Shocks of pleasure ran through your lower body as your body bucked like crazy. Your orgasm seemed to last forever, rolling over you wave after wave. You assumed Viktor would be done after that and finally be ready to go to the council meeting, but he had other plans. The movements of his nimble fingers and tongue continued, working against your sensitive core. Your moans crescendoed through the room, another orgasm approaching.

Jayce was going to be furious.

───── ⋆ ⋅ ꨄ︎ ⋅⋆ ─────

[mangooes]

Shooting Games

The street market of the N109 Zone was bustling under the soft glow of hanging lanterns, every corner filled with the sizzling of street food and the murmur of weekend crowds. Normally, Sylus Qinche, the most feared criminal lord in the city, would’ve never been caught dead strolling through such a lively, chaotic place.

But here he was—hand in hand with his far-too-cheerful wife—being dragged around like a glorified bodyguard.

“Sysy, look at that!” (Name)’s eyes lit up, pointing towards a stall where skewers of glazed scallops sizzled on open fire. “We have to get some!”

Sylus sighed, though a soft smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “For the record, kitten, I don’t do waiting in lines. Not even for seafood.”

“That’s funny, because you’re literally doing it right now,” she grinned, winking as she tugged him forward. “Look at you. So domesticated. So obedient.”

“I prefer the term devoted husband, thank you.” He leaned down, murmuring into her ear, “Obedient, however, is not part of my vocabulary. As you’ll be reminded later tonight.”

(Name) rolled her eyes, but the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “Behave, Sysy. Public setting. Kids around.”

That earned a low chuckle from Sylus.

But just as they were about to move on, (Name) stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked on something across the street. Dangerous. Focused. Sylus recognized that glint.

“What is it now?” he asked warily.

“There.” She pointed dramatically.

A shooting game stand, decked out in neon colors and lined with oversized plushies, stood proudly among the other vendors. And at its very top, hanging like some glorious trophy, was a giant dragon plush. Midnight black, crimson eyes, little wings spread in a cocky flair.

It looked insultingly like Sylus.

“Oh no,” Sylus muttered. “I see where this is going.”

“This one’s coming home with me, Sysy!” (Name) declared, grabbing his arm.

“Sweetie, you do realize those games are rigged, yes? The house always wins.”

“Well, they haven’t met me yet.” She shot him a grin that spelled trouble.

Moments later, she stood at the counter, plastic gun in hand, eyes narrowed at the stacked tin cans. Sylus folded his arms, watching with bemused fondness.

First shot—direct hit.

The cans wobbled.

But didn’t fall.

The gamemaster chuckled nervously. “Oh, tough luck, Missy. Maybe another try?”

(Name), being her stubborn self, didn’t back down. Shot after shot, she aimed perfectly, yet the cans barely budged. A few onlookers began to gather, murmuring quietly.

Sylus could see it—the faint crease of her brows, the downturn of her lips. His wife was frustrated. And as much as he adored that pouty face, seeing her sad was not something he tolerated.

“Tch.” Sylus’s crimson eyes gleamed. “I told you, sweetheart. Rigged. Just say the word, I’ll burn this stand to the ground.”

She stopped him before it escalated further.

“No worries Sysy, let’s not waste our time here tonight.”

Sylus, however, had had enough.

Just as (Name) sighed, ready to give up and step away, a firm hand circled her wrist.

“Oh no, kitten. You’re not walking away yet.” Sylus’s voice was velvet smooth, dangerously low.

He gently took the plastic gun from her hands, his fingers brushing hers, lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Let me teach them a lesson in… fair play.”

“Oh? So you think you can do better?” (Name) teased, arms crossed, eyebrow arched.

“Sweetie, I don’t think. I know.” His Evol coiled unseen beneath his skin, licking out like a serpent toward the rigged cans.

With the laziest stance imaginable, Sylus aimed.

Bang.

The cans exploded off the platform as if shot with a cannon.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The gamemaster paled.

(Name) just stared. “You totally cheated.”

Sylus gave her an infuriatingly smug grin. “Kitten, I’d never stoop to such things.” His mist twirled teasingly around her wrist, giving him away. “But if I did, it’d be because someone owes me a prize.”

The gamemaster, still pale, scrambled up and offered the dragon plush with trembling hands. “C-Congratulations, sir…”

With a little bow, Sylus took the plush—far too large for him, hilariously out of place in his arms—and passed it to (Name).

“There. Your dragon awaits you, my queen.”

His wife’s grin was blinding as she hugged the plush to her chest, practically vibrating with happiness. “You’re the best, Sysy.” She tiptoed up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, my dear husband.”

And just like that, any irritation Sylus had towards the scammy stall evaporated.

“I should make you thank me more often,” he murmured against her ear, tugging her close, “in private, perhaps.”

(Name) merely laughed,

“We could have find something else better to do, you know,” she muttered.

“Of course, kitten. And I could’ve let you.” Sylus’s lips curled into a slow grin. “But you pout so sweetly when you’re frustrated. Consider it my civic duty to intervene.”

“You just wanted an excuse to show off.”

“Always. But more importantly—” he squeezed her hand gently, “—I hate seeing you disappointed. Rigged game or not, no one gets away with making my wife frown.”

Her heart did a little somersault at that.

Linking their fingers again as they continued their stroll. She carried the dragon plush proudly, like a trophy, while Sylus kept stealing glances at her—the way her cheeks still held that glow, the way her smile hadn’t faded.

For him, the real prize wasn’t the game.

It was that look on her face.

Totally worth it.

I hate arcade games smh, i always loose and i suck at shooting but of course sylus doesnt.

[certifiedyapperx]

• husband!price headcannons

tags: gets sexual toward the end. mdni.

just thinking about husband!price who knew he wanted to wife you up the second he fucking laid eyes on you.

husband!price who, after two dates, was already shopping around for potential wedding rings, pondering the options, wanting to be ready for when the perfect moment presented itself.

husband!price who didn’t waste any fucking time telling you exactly how he felt about you. a man who lives in the present. with his career, it’s the only way he knows.

husband!price who, of course, made sure you were on the same page before he proposed, solemnly pledging that he would do everything in his fucking power to fill the rest of your lives with nothing but voracious, unconditional love.

husband!price who, in between deployment, spends every goddamn second attached to you. touching you, kissing you, hugging on you any possible way he can.

husband!price who, after another prolonged separation, is damn near starving for you. the intensity of his longing practically palpable. even the fucking guys can tell.

husband!price who, the second he catches sight of you, hair messy and pjs still on--growls a low, primal groan of relief before his duffle bags hit the floor, disregarded, and he’s striding hungrily through the house with his boots and gear still on. tunnel visioned.

husband!price who doesn’t even speak a single word to you before he’s on you, like a striking serpent, gripping your hips so bloody hard you’d think he was trying to shatter the bones beneath his touch. another groan escaping him, so fucking thankful to be touching you again.

husband!price who immediately pulls you into him, hands roaming over every expanse of your body they can manage to find, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sucking in a lungful of your scent, his eyes squeezed shut and his heart pounding so hard you could almost feel it.

husband!price who, the second you breathlessly murmur his name, turns absolutely fucking feral.

husband!price who immediately lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as his hands move to your ass and his teeth attack your neck, sucking and biting marks of ecstatic purple pleasure to life on your sensitive skin as he moves toward the nearest surface he can find.

husband!price who uses one hand to clear every single fucking thing off the table in one clean swipe, sending it all clashing to the floor before he places you down on top of it. zero patience and zero fucking restraint left in him.

husband!price who tells you how absolutely fucking beautiful you look as he’s ripping your clothes off, his lips finding yours, the need and passion and hunger evident in the desperation of his mouth against your own.

husband!price who wastes zero goddamn time before swirling the pads of his thick fingers over your clit, praising you for how fucking wet you are for him, telling you just how good he’s going to stretch you out and how long he’s been just fucking dying to do so.

husband!price who fucks you slow and deep to start, each stroke better than the last, savouring every twitch moan mewl gasp and cry that escapes your lips as he makes you cum over and over and over, with practically no end in sight.

husband!price who talks you through each orgasm, praising you for how fucking good you are for him, telling you how much he fucking missed you. every single goddamn day he’s been away. how much he missed your smile, your voice, and most of all, your perfect fucking pussy.

husband!price who fucking growls as he finally cums, after you’d orgasmed so many times you can’t even see straight never mind attempt to form a coherent sentence.

husband!price who plants sweet little kisses all over you, staying inside you until you’d both regained your breath and some form of normality before slowly slipping out.

husband!price who cooes sweet nothings in your ear as he scoops you up into his arms again and walks you toward the bathroom, looking down at you with love blown pupils before drawing a bath for you both to relax in.

husband!price who can’t fucking wait to make you the mother of his children. because there’s not another goddamn soul he’d rather spend the rest of his life with.

[aventurineswife]

In the quiet, galactic space of the Astral Express’s observation room, you find Dan Heng standing alone, his form ethereal and strong, back turned to you. In his Vidyadhara form, he appears almost otherworldly—a being of dragon heritage with sharp features, midnight-black hair that fades to teal, and curled horns casting shadows on the walls. His clothes, a blend of warrior regalia and quiet elegance, reflect both his heritage and his inner conflict.

You hesitate at the doorway, admiring the serene yet guarded figure before you. He knows you’re there—Dan Heng is never unaware—but he says nothing, his gaze fixed on the stars beyond the glass. In the silence, the space between you feels almost sacred, as if speaking would shatter it.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, daring to approach him. “Dan Heng?” you say softly.

He glances at you, eyes a striking, vivid green that glow faintly in the dim light. For a moment, his gaze flickers with emotion—something raw, buried deep within. But he holds it back, as he always does, his face returning to the composed expression you know so well. “You should be resting.” he murmurs, though there’s no admonishment in his tone.

You can’t help but give a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep. And… it seemed like you could use the company.”

For a moment, he says nothing, but his silence is answer enough. Slowly, he nods, turning his face back to the galaxy. Encouraged, you come closer, standing beside him as the two of you gaze out into the void. His presence is calming, yet electric; you can feel the restrained power within him, the weight of his lineage and the memories he hides.

“You don’t talk about it much.” you say quietly, unsure if he’ll answer.

He tenses slightly, but doesn’t move away. “There isn’t much to tell.” he replies, though you sense the reluctance in his words.

“Even if it’s just with me?” you ask, heart pounding as you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his hand.

For a moment, he remains still, as if deciding whether to let you closer. But then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand slipping into yours. His eyes are intense, searching your face for something, perhaps reassurance or understanding. It’s as though he’s teetering on the edge of something—vulnerability, maybe, or trust.

“Being here, with you…” he murmurs, voice low and filled with an emotion he can’t quite conceal, “makes me wonder if there’s a part of myself that I could share, that isn’t… tainted by the past.”

His words stir something deep inside you, a mixture of empathy and a need to bridge the chasm he keeps between himself and everyone else. You reach up, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, his skin warm beneath your touch. “You’re not defined by what’s happened. You’re allowed to want more. To want someone.”

Dan Heng’s eyes search yours, his breathing shallow as he lets your words sink in. Then, his hand lifts, his fingers ghosting over yours as he draws you closer. His forehead rests against yours, a sigh slipping past his lips, as if he’s finally allowing himself to let down his guard.

The moment stretches, filled with a quiet tension. Then, his lips meet yours, soft at first, cautious. But as you press closer, a new urgency fills the air, the kiss deepening as he lets go of his restraint, just for you. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers gentle yet firm, drawing you in as his lips part, inviting you further.

It’s then that you feel it—a faint, unfamiliar sensation against your tongue. You realize it’s his split Vidyadhara tongue, a delicate, serpent-like touch that’s both unfamiliar and thrilling. A shiver races down your spine as he explores, his breaths growing unsteady. The unique feel of his split tongue intertwining with yours is mesmerizing, an intimate act that seems to bare the quiet vulnerability he keeps hidden from everyone.

Dan Heng’s hands settle at your waist, his hold tightening as he pulls you flush against him. Each movement is tender, filled with a longing he rarely lets himself indulge. His lips trace yours, slow and deliberate, as though memorizing the shape, the feel of you. His breath mingles with yours, each exhale carrying the unspoken desire he’s kept buried.

For a moment, he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours once more. His vivid green eyes meet yours, softened by an emotion that words can’t quite capture.

“You make me feel…” he murmurs, voice barely audible. He trails off, as though he can’t bring himself to finish, but his expression says enough. In his gaze, you see it all—years of solitude, of battles fought and regrets carried, all melting into the gentle warmth he shares with you now.

His lips find yours again, this time with a sense of urgency, an unspoken promise. His split tongue brushes against yours once more, sending a thrill through your senses as he pulls you closer, his hands sliding down your back, grounding you against him.

In that moment, the walls he’s built around himself crumble just a little more. Dan Heng, the stoic guardian, allows himself to be vulnerable, to be human, if only with you. And as he holds you, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you realize just how deeply he feels for you, even if he may never find the words to say it.

[certified-pumi]

Worst thing abt Xiangliu being ur dad is everytime he tucks you in every. Single. Snake. Has to give you a kiss before he can let you sleep.

-🏩

I had to find a picture of Xiangliu’s other form just to check how many snakes there were. The answer was eight.

The idea of Reader being bombarded with eight small kisses over their face is very adorable, but they’d probably also be so baffled and overwhelmed at the sudden wave of affection that came unexpectedly.

You just lay there in your bed, blinking in surprise quietly, while Xiangliu wishes you sweet dreams, along with the eight of his conscious snakes that seemed to adore you just as much as he does. If you love physical affection, you practically won a lottery with this one!

[savyindeepspace]

Red Bottoms 👠

Tags: fem reader x Sylus, action, angst, couple, smut, fluff, praise, body worship, aftercare

Description: After a high stakes mission,he was only supposed to help you out of your heels only for you to find yourself beneath him.

MDNI 🔞

_____________________________

You packed six bullets into the chamber of your gun, checking the safety before sliding the muzzle into the holster around your thigh. The slits on either side of your dress were just low enough to keep the weapon hidden while showcasing your toned quad muscles. Your hair was pulled into a slicked back braid, the end of it sat perfectly above the curve of your ass. Sylus stood behind you, adjusting his bow tie and cuff links that reflected brightly under his crystal chandelier. His frame towered over you in front of the floor length mirror, crimson eyes roaming over you from head to toe. “You look lethal, tonight,” he spoke as smooth as whisky over ice, but seeing you like this was his drink of choice. Meeting his gaze in the mirror, you smirked, “and you look as handsome as ever.” A rich chuckle reverberated from his throat, “always words dipped in honey with you, kitten. I’m flattered.” You turned to face him and ran your gloved finger down his chest, “try and focus on the assignment, hm?” Sylus scoffed sharply and shook his head, catching your wrist in his hand. His expression was dripping with mirth, a crooked smirk tugged one corner of his mouth. “I’m capable of anything, including multitasking. Although, that dress…and those heels are far more enticing than an Aethercore right now,” his eyes fell to the black patent leather Louboutins that hugged your feet and he licked his lips. You cleared your throat, crossing your arms over your chest, giving him an impatient look. “Alright, alright…feisty kitten,” he snorted before offering his elbow for you to hold, “shall we?”

•••

Your objective was simple, infiltrate Ever’s annual gala, loot them of their high rank Aethercore and hopefully be in bed by dawn. You entered the party under the guise as researchers inspired by their studies on ‘The Fountain of Atei’. Holding your finger to a discreet earpiece, you approached the bar to order a drink, “how are things looking on your end Sylus?,” you spoke low, keeping a careful eye on your surroundings. A tall stemmed wine glass glided across the bar top, “enjoy, Miss.” “Thank you,” you brought the rim to your lips, body relaxed against the counter and took a long sip. Your back was framed by the low cut of your dress, spine curved in a serpent like manner. “That dress looks stunning from back here,” Sylus’s voice vibrated in your ear through the comms channel, “nothing so far, but I’ll keep you posted.” He was on the second floor’s balcony, watching you from behind a marble pillar. You met his playful gaze from over your shoulder, “I don’t want to be here all night.” “Of course, Miss Hunter.” You slid Sylus’s black card to the bartender and closed your tab before approaching the dance floor. At first, you watched as couples slowly swayed across the hardwood floor, then a cold presence lurked behind your back. “Pardon me, care for a dance?,” a masculine voice asked, but it wasn’t one you recognized. A tall man with light brown hair and glasses outstretched his arm, inviting you in to a slow waltz. Accepting only to blend in, you begrudgingly took his hand. “I’ve not seen you around before, but I can’t say I’m not pleased, now. You’re quite the vision,” the stranger’s words felt more like venom than velvet as he spoke and your skin crawled from his compliment. You thanked him and bluntly gave a scripted explanation about why you attended the gala. “I see, well, I do hope you’re enjoying the festivities,” an unsettling grin split across his lips. Soft static scratched your eardrum, “just say the word, kitten.” Relief poured over you like lava, “word.” Sylus’s large hand slithered around your waist almost instantly as he pulled you into his solid form. “Pardon my interruption, but may I take my wife back?,” he asked politely, fingers sinking into your hip possessively. “I’m sorry, your name was?,” “Benedict, Ever CEO. She’s a looker,” he spat, eyes stinging your skin with objectification. What a pig.

•••

Sylus released a sharp huff from his nose, his lip curling into a snarl, “she’s more than that, now if you’ll excuse us.” You disappeared into the crowd, finishing the dance with your silver-haired savior. With your arms laced around his neck, you spoke in a low murmur, “any leads? This party is getting old.” He dipped your body to the floor as the song came to an end, warm lips against your ear. “Luke and Kieran already took the Aethercore to the base. Shall we make our grand escape?” “Please.” His arm looped around your waist, leading you to the exit when a sudden uproar erupted from a group of armed guards. “What do you mean missing?! Find it…now!,” the agitating whine of Benedict’s voice echoed throughout the ballroom. Sylus’s palm pressed into the small of your back, hinting at an increase in pace. Your heels clicked loudly as you walked, hand hovering over the gun on your thigh. “Leaving so soon? It’s only midnight,” that man, akin to a mosquito, followed you with the guards not too far behind. Taking a defensive stance, you held your gun with precise aim between the bridge of Benedict’s glasses. He stepped back, arms raised in surrender, “make sure our guests get home…safely.” He vanished into a dark van and sped off, leaving you and Sylus alone with his assailants. “Ten against two, now that’s hardly fair,” he chided, black-red mist coiling around his fingers. A shot rang out into the cold air, you dodged swiftly and returned fire, making a direct hit. The sounds of crunching bones and littered bullet casings filled the atmosphere as you took each guard out one by one. Sylus crushed their bodies to fine powder with his Evol, leaving trails of ashy mist behind. “Victorious once again,” he bragged, stretching his wrists and neck. You rolled your eyes and returned your gun to its holster, “great work, partner, but can we get going? These shoes aren’t exactly made for comfort.” Sylus’s expensive laugh rattled his frame, the corners of his eyes crinkled from a genuine smile. “Your chariot awaits,” he bowed before an open car door. His black Mercedes left a cloud of rubber-scented smoke as he peeled off speedily to the base.

•••

The sight of his dimly lit bedroom was welcoming after a night of intense combat. You sat the edge of his king bed and unbuckled your holster, carefully placing it on the nightstand. The thick straps left faint indents on your thigh and you rubbed the rosy marks on your skin. Sylus removed his bow tie and freed his neck of the top few buttons on his dress shirt. He sauntered over to you, kneeling at your feet, “that little worm was right about one thing, you truly are a vision.” His long fingers curled around your ankle as he slipped one red bottom heel off your foot. A relieved sigh expelled from your mouth and your eyes closed when his thumb sank into the sole, massaging the flesh with measured pressure. “You have no idea how good that feels,” you groaned, extending your other leg into Sylus’s arms. The second shoe was hastily pulled off and he mirrored his movements, loosening the tension in your muscles. His hands traveled up your ankles, fingers melting into your calves. He lowered his face, running his nose over your skin and inhaling your vanilla body oil. A low growl hummed in the back of his throat, his lips started to purse against you. Sylus leisurely dotted kisses from the top of your foot to your knee, making your fingers fist his black satin sheets. “Sy…,” your voice barely a whisper as it left your lips. “Mhmm?,” he purred, pushing his way between your legs. “The Aeth—mmmn,” words caught in your throat when a kiss was pressed against your inner thigh. “I told you, it’s taken care of. Just lay back,” the hem of your dress lifted over his head. “And let me finish what I started.”

•••

A gasp broke from you when his nose nuzzled into your heat. Sylus smiled against your clothed pussy as he nudged his face in further, warming it with his breath. Your hands raked through his hair, gently pulling it by the root, “more…” A deft swipe of his thumb ran over the wet stain on your panties, making you hiss through gritted teeth. “So responsive, tonight…,” rub, lick, kiss. Every sense felt heightened the longer he toyed and teased you over the ruined fabric. “Sylus….please,” you whined, lifting your hips eagerly. A soft bite pinched your flesh, leaving a subtle teeth mark on your inner thigh. Your nails dug into his back, grazing the fair skin beneath them, only goading him further. Sylus tangled his fingers into the waistband of your panties, taking his time to disrobe your lower half. His eyes flickered at the sight of you, bare, soaked and legs falling further apart. He gently slid his fingers through your folds, they glided with ease from the essence that had your pussy glistening. You leaned back on your forearms eyes still locked on Sylus as he worked you open. He plunged two fingers inside and enclosed your clit in his lips. Sounds of pleasure rose out of you as he pumped and sucked you into reckless abandon. “Feels s-so good—haah,” you whimpered. Sylus hummed in response, making your flesh buzz with overstimulation. Pulling his mouth away, he gazed in awe at your sex, “so pretty and wet, but I think she could use more,” bringing his lips close, Sylus spit on your folds and watched as it trickled down before lapping away the excess. “Oh fuck—,” his sloppy mannerisms awoken something in you, making your back arch off the mattress. A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest before he returned to decorating your flushed skin with kisses, rising from the floor to loom over your pliant body. His lips danced across your hips and up your stomach, hands traversing up your sides. They cupped your breasts under the dark fabric of your dress, his thumbs rubbing circles around both nipples. Your moans grew louder from his reverant ministrations and your hips ground against his groin, searching desperately for friction. Sylus pulled the zipper along the side of your ribs down and you shrugged out of the straps before he stripped you bare. “Gorgeous…,” he whispered, lips bearing down on your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist and opened the last of his buttons. His lean muscles flexed as he sat up and threw his shirt the floor. Your eyes wandered down his abdomen, landing hungrily on his evident bulge, making your pupils dilate. “I like that look on your face, kitten,” his husky voice growled, oozing with sin. You dragged your foot down his abs, stopping short of his belt, “this is keeping me from what I want,” your lidded gaze made his pulse stutter and his breath hitched as your toes grazed over his clothed erection. The leather restraint slid through his belt loops, making a soft thud as it hit the Persian rug. Sylus’s merlot eyes bored into as he freed his cock from his dress pants. It hung heavily from his waist, you gazed at the map of veins that traveled down its length. “Is this what you wanted?,” he murmured, lazily stroking himself. “Mhmmm,” you moaned, biting your lower lip. He lowered himself to your entrance, giving it teasing taps with his crown. You writhed impatiently, rolling your hips upwards, “Syyy…” Pressing his lips to your forehead, he finally pushed inside, sinking all the way to the base.

•••

Sylus cursed under his breath when you clamped down on his inches, “shit..so tight..” His hands fisted the sheets on either side of your head, slowly rocking his hips into you. Moving reverently, cupping your cheek, he couldn’t help but soften his gaze while he watched your face contort from pleasure. “You feel so good…so perfect,” he praised, “some times I cannot believe you’re mine.” You traced his features with your fingertips, softly sighing with each drag of his cock. Your heart swelled and body tingled, overwhelmed with emotions as the man above you fulfilled your deepest desires. To be loved, worshiped, respected; all were second nature to Sylus. It was written into his existence with blood red ink. There was no denying the bond between you in life and right now. His lips met yours, warm and gentle, wordlessly professing his devotion. You deepened the embrace by inhaling his tongue and biting his lower lip. A guttural sound ripped from his throat and he clutched your waist harder, elevating the pace of his thrusts. “Yes…yes…right—there,” you keened, fingers tangled in the silver strands at the nape of Sylus’s neck. The vulgar slapping of your wet skin filled the thick air where your bodies connected, clear essence rolling down your thighs. Sylus moaned and hummed in your ear as he filled you with his length again and again. The coil in your gut strained as it wound tighter from each thrust and your breathing became erratic. His eyes glowed bright crimson, sensing you nearing bliss, “yes baby…let me have it.” Digging into his arms with your nails, you gave him a look that begged ‘devour’. Holding you close to his frame, Sylus ground into with heavy strokes, getting faster with every roll of his hips. You sobbed from the fullness and how the friction tortured your aching clit. “D-don’t s-stop, Sy—,” you gasped, interrupted by a bruising kiss. His lips cemented to yours and you whined into his mouth, grasping desperately at his waist that slammed against you. The foundation of the dam inside you collapsed, leaving you splashing your arousal down Sylus’s abdomen. His name fell from your lips repeatedly, leaving him dangling on the edge of release. “Tell me you’re mine,” he rasped, body beginning to tremble. “I–I’m yours Sylus! Only yours..”

Pushing you into a mating press, your knees hung by your ears as he spilled inside you. He kissed you again, slowly, passionately leaving no doubt that he adored your very existence. You pulled him in, wrapping your limbs around his body. “I’m right here, sweetie,” his tender voice dissolved any remnants of worry “I won’t leave.” You rolled into his embrace and his fingers traced patterns on your back, leaving your skin blooming with goosebumps. “Love you…,” you murmured, pressing a kiss on his chest. Sylus’s arms tightened around you, “I love you more.”

•••

Dawn broke over the horizon, streams of sunlight leaked through the heavy black drapes. The steady rise and fall of Sylus’s chest warmed your bare back, his arms roped around you like vines. You turned to face him, admiring at his sharp features that were softened by sleep. “You’re staring,” he grumbled, “I like what I’m looking at,” you retorted, running your finger over the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes slowly, a sleepy smile pulled at the corners in his mouth. A sudden knock interrupted the mood, “uhh, boss?” Luke and Kieran’s voices echoed in sync from behind the large bedroom doors. He pinched the space between his brows as they stitched together, “what is it?” A white note card slipped under the door, Ever’s logo was stamped in the upper right corner. Tying a robe around his waist, he walked to the door, knelt down and grimaced at the message scribbled in gold ink.

“I thought you two looked familiar, Mr. Sylus. It appears my men proved to be weak against you and your ‘little bomb’. I hope you know just how lucky you are to lay beside the Cosmos every night. I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you two and that lovely crow of yours. If you do find yourself interested in a collaboration, please be in touch.

-Best

B.”

You rose out of bed, “what is it?” A harsh sigh blew from Sylus’s mouth as he walked to his desk, placing the card in a small drawer. “An offer I’m not willing to accept,” he said coldly. When he turned to you and saw your troubled expression, it made his anger more palpable. He sat on the edge of the bed, you felt heat radiating off his body. His rigid posture softened from your touch and he leaned into you. “Sy, whatever it is…we will figure it out together.” Your thumbs dug into his shoulders, massaging away tension brought on by stress. Sylus hummed from your therapeutic movements, letting his ruddy eyes fall shut. “I admire your confidence, kitten. Never a dull moment when I’m by your side.” You kissed the space between his shoulder blades and hugged him from behind. He would show you the card, keeping things from you wasn’t in his nature. Sylus just needed a plan first. Nobody deserved to claim the Cosmos’ power for themselves, not even him. He wasn’t about to lose you to human selfishness again, so long as his heart pounded in his chest. Whether your power or his bloodshed ended the world, he would be prepared to fight.

*~*~*~*~

End.

Writer’s note: thank you so much for reading! :) please do not steal or repost. More Lads Fics are pinned to my profile.

[chrissssssmut]

Nymphomaniac succubi misamo x demon hunter male reader

THE HUNTER'S BARGAIN (SMUT)

Succubus!Mina x Succubus!Momo x Succubus!Sana x Demon Hunter!Male Reader

AN: Oh God MISAMO Succubi! This story is probably one of my favorite to write hehe. Enjoy!💗

The ruins were quiet when you entered, sword drawn and senses alert. Moonlight painted silver streaks across the cracked altar, where offerings once lay for gods that no longer listened. Now, only whispers echoed here. Faint, feminine ones.

You weren’t surprised.

You’d been tracking demonic energy for weeks—always one step behind the trail of vanished men and melted sigils. But this… this felt like bait. And you, like a fool, walked straight into it.

The scent hit first—cloying sweetness, like roses laced with blood and something far more carnal. Lust. Heavy, oppressive, impossible to ignore.

And then you heard them.

A giggle. A breath. A sigh.

"You made it, hunter," came a smooth voice from the shadows, low and elegant, silk-wrapped steel.

Mina stepped into view first. Graceful. Regal. Wearing something sheer that clung like fog, her eyes unreadable but gleaming. Her horns curled like a crown, her tail swaying with lazy authority.

"We were starting to think you’d never come," said another voice—lighter, sing-song, with a mischievous lilt.

Momo lounged on the broken edge of the altar like it was her throne. Her smile was wide, eyes glittering with amusement. One of her legs swayed back and forth as if bored… or anticipating something delicious.

Then came the third.

"Don’t be mean, Momo," Sana cooed, stepping close enough that you had to grip your blade tighter. She was close—too close. Her fingers brushed your chest, and her smile was far too tender. "He came for us. He couldn’t resist."

You shoved her back.

"You’re demons," you snapped. "I don’t need a reason to kill you."

Sana didn’t even flinch. If anything, she looked delighted.

"Ooh… feisty."

Mina’s head tilted. "But we’re not here to fight, little hunter. We’re here to make a deal."

You scowled. "I don’t make deals with parasites."

"Then make an exception," Momo purred, slipping off the altar and circling behind you, breath warm against your ear. "We only want one night. Let us devour you, and we’ll tell you where the high demon is nesting. You’ll get your victory… and a taste of something sweeter."

Sana twirled a finger in your hair. "Just one night. No tricks. No bindings. Just you… and us."

You could lie to yourself and say you were resisting for justice, but your fists were clenched because your blood was burning. Their presence wasn’t just seductive—it was invading. Magic hummed through the air like the thrum of a drumbeat deep in your chest. Your skin tingled where their gazes lingered.

"I could snap your neck right now," you growled.

Mina stepped closer. "Then why haven’t you?"

You met her gaze. Her lips curled slowly. A cruel little smile.

"...Fine," you bit out. "But I want the truth. About the demon."

"You’ll have it," Mina said, lifting a hand and tracing a glowing rune in the air. It shimmered gold for a second, then burst into flame.

"The circle is sealed," she said. "Now you can’t run."

Momo giggled. "Not that you’ll want to."

Sana leaned into your side, fingers snaking beneath your jacket. "Let’s see what a hunter tastes like."

You reached for your blade again—but it was too late. The circle had sealed.

Their eyes glowed.

Your fate was sealed.

The rune-circle flared beneath your feet.

A blinding rush of heat surged through the stone floor like a living thing, humming up your boots, coiling around your calves, licking higher with each second—like a serpent made of magic. You staggered slightly as the sensation wrapped your thighs, your spine, until it reached the base of your neck and burrowed into your skin like a lover's breath.

It wasn’t pain.

It was possession.

You weren’t afraid—but you were definitely hard. Painfully, shamefully hard. The kind of arousal that made you feel hunted from the inside out. Like your own body had betrayed you the moment they looked at you.

And they knew it.

“Mm, what’s this?” Momo’s voice sing-songed behind you like the sound of wicked wind chimes. Playful, cruel, curious. She stepped into your space with no hesitation, arms coiling around your waist. Her nails dragged across your abdomen, trailing lower.

“All that bravado,” she purred, “but you’re already twitching for us.”

Her fingers traced the outline of your cock beneath your gear—blatant and bold—and you clenched your jaw, fighting the involuntary jerk of your hips.

“Tch—get off—” you growled, trying to twist away. But she only laughed, soft and breathy, and began mouthing at your neck. Her lips grazed skin like silk, then bit down hard enough to leave a mark.

You didn’t know if it was a threat or a kiss.

“Momo,” came Mina’s voice from the front of the room—slow, regal, honey poured over ice. “Don’t break the toy before we’ve unwrapped him.”

Her tone was light, but you heard the command in it. And Momo heard it too.

“Fine,” she said with a mock sigh, licking the shell of your ear one last time. “I’ll be gentle… for now.”

“He’s not a toy,” Sana whispered suddenly from your right.

You hadn’t even noticed her move closer. Her voice was reverent. Starving. One hand brushed your cheek with surprising softness, the other already working at the buckles of your armor—like she'd memorized the way you were put together.

“He’s ours.”

The chest plate hit the stone floor with a heavy clang, echoing like the toll of a bell.

Your breathing grew shallow as their hands moved in tandem—slow, methodical, and maddeningly intimate. Each strap unbuckled, each piece of leather peeled away felt like another wall crumbling. Bit by bit, they unmade your armor, not like enemies disarming a warrior, but like lovers undressing their prize.

You stood there—bare, hard, and surrounded.

Still, you glared at Mina. The last thread of control.

“This is what demons do, huh?” you hissed. “Trap and seduce?”

Mina stepped into your space, and your heartbeat spiked. Her presence was overwhelming. A woman born of dark royalty, magic bleeding from her skin like perfume. She raised her hand and touched your jaw, forcing you to meet her gaze.

“No, hunter,” she murmured, voice velvet-dark. “This is what you chose. You could’ve walked away. You wanted this. You wanted us.”

You hated how your knees almost buckled at her tone.

Her voice poured into your head like wine—warm, drugging, delicious—and you could already feel yourself sliding under. Trembling, not from fear… but from anticipation.

“You act like this isn’t what you’ve dreamed of,” Mina whispered, leaning in so close her lips brushed your ear. “Being touched. Worshiped. Ruined.”

Behind you, Momo laughed.

“Mina’s right. You’re so easy to read,” she giggled. “Wanna bet I can make you cum with just my mouth? I’ll edge you until you beg like a good little mutt.”

Sana’s arms looped around your chest like vines made of silk, pulling herself flush against your back. Her lips found the nape of your neck. “Don’t listen to her, baby. You don’t have to beg. I’ll give you everything. I’ll ride you until you cry for it.”

You shuddered as her nails raked down your torso—light, then rough. Every nerve was singing. The magic circle pulsed with your heartbeat, and somewhere deep in your soul, you knew this was more than just physical. They weren’t just touching you. They were claiming you.

Then Mina guided you backward. The altar was cold stone, but you barely felt it. Your mind was heat and heartbeat and the brush of her fingers against your thighs. She pushed your legs apart and knelt between them with the ease of a queen descending to claim her throne.

She looked up at you.

“Don’t look away,” she whispered.

You didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Her lips descended. Slow. Sinful. She didn’t dive in. She savored you. Her tongue dragged a long, deliberate stripe from the base of your cock to the tip, pausing to press a soft, reverent kiss there.

“You taste like anger,” she murmured, voice low and hot against your skin. “I’ll fix that.”

Then her lips wrapped around you, and you nearly lost it right there.

Her mouth was perfect. Warm. Wet. Unyielding. She took you halfway, tongue flicking beneath the head with practiced cruelty. Her throat contracted when you tried to buck. Her hands held your thighs down with elegant force.

“F-fuck…”

Mina smiled around your cock.

Before you could lose your mind, Momo straddled your lap. Her skin was flushed and golden in the firelight. Naked. Hungry. Her hips rocked in lazy, teasing circles against your thigh.

She grinned, watching Mina’s pace, then leaned close.

“She’s good, right?” she whispered. “But I’m better.”

Her fingers pinched your nipple, and you gasped, body twitching.

“You’ll really lose it when it’s my turn.”

You whimpered as Mina slid deeper, suction tightening, her throat working around you like velvet heat. Then—pop—she pulled off with a delicate gasp, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

And Momo shoved you down flat onto the altar.

“My turn~”

She didn’t waste time. Her body was all movement, all pressure. She rocked her soaked folds against your cock, coating you in her slick arousal. But she didn’t let you in. Not yet.

You tried to thrust up.

She smacked your thigh.

“Uh-uh,” she giggled. “Not until you beg. Say please, hunter. Say you need it.”

You growled, grabbing her hips, trying to wrest control—but she only smiled wider, like that was exactly what she wanted.

Then, without warning, she sank down. All of her. In one smooth, wet plunge.

Your head hit the altar with a groan.

“Oh fuck—”

“Yessss,” Momo moaned, rolling her hips. “That’s it. Stretch me. Fill me. Fucking use me.”

The rune circle throbbed with each thrust. Every movement echoed in your bones, magnified by the magic. You couldn’t tell where her heat ended and yours began.

From the edge of the altar, Sana watched with wide eyes and flushed skin, fingers buried between her thighs. Her voice was low, broken with breath. “You’re so beautiful like this. Ruined. Shaking. Desperate.”

Momo leaned down and bit your lip.

“Don’t finish yet,” she whispered, eyes glowing. “We’re not done with you.”

She pulled off, slick and gasping—and just when your orgasm threatened to snap—

Sana was there.

Her body coiled over yours like vines in bloom. She grabbed your wrists, pinned them down, and kissed you so hard you saw stars. Then she aligned herself—and slammed down onto your cock.

You choked.

“I need it,” she moaned, trembling. “I’ve needed you for so long.”

You tried to speak. To push her back. But she caught your face between her hands and rode you like you were the only thing keeping her alive.

“Mine,” she snarled. “You’re mine now.”

Her nails raked blood across your chest. Her pace was desperate—sloppy and perfect. She kissed you between every moan, her voice breaking.

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” she hissed, hips slamming into yours. “I’ll fuck you until you forget every other name but mine. You love this. You love me. Say it.”

You couldn’t.

You came.

Harder than you ever had.

Your body arched. Your scream echoed through the runes. And Sana collapsed against your chest, twitching through her own orgasm, sobbing your name like a prayer.

But the circle didn’t break.

Because Mina was already crawling over you again, her fingers glowing with summoned power.

“Oh no, hunter,” she purred, straddling your hips with slow grace. “We said one night…”

Her smile deepened.

“Not one round.”

The air reeked of sex, sweat, and something older. Darker. A magic that curled around your spine like smoke.

You should’ve been done. Spent. Empty.

But the circle pulsed again.

And Mina's voice cut through your haze like the whisper of a blade.

“Don’t fade yet, hunter,” she purred, her bare thighs straddling your hips again. Her cunt hovered just above your cock—still twitching, still hard. “We’re not even close to done.”

Your hands clenched against the stone.

“No,” you growled.

Mina raised a brow.

“No?” she echoed, amused.

You sat up fast, forcing Sana off your chest and catching Mina by the shoulders before she could mount you again. She gasped—just barely surprised—and you pushed her back, flipping her onto her back. For a moment, just a breath, you were in control. Your body moved on instinct, adrenaline cutting through the afterglow like a blade through silk.

“You think I’m just gonna lie here and let you use me?” you hissed, looming over her. “I’m not some toy for you to—”

Before you could finish, something snaked around your wrist.

You barely had time to look down before another slick, smooth appendage looped around your other arm—tightening—and then more coiled around your ankles, dragging your legs wide open.

“What the f—?”

They were tails.

Prehensile. Velvet-slick. Unbelievably strong.

Momo stood behind you, smirking as her long, shadowy tail wound around your chest like a rope, yanking you backward until your spine hit the altar. “Aw, you thought you had a choice?” she teased. “That’s cute.”

Her tail stroked your abs, down your hip, before sliding deliberately along your shaft. You twitched—still sensitive, still hard.

“You came once,” Sana whispered, her own tail curling around your thigh like a snake ready to strike. “That doesn’t mean we’re done.” Her voice dropped, trembling with need. “You’re still hard. Still leaking. Still ours.”

You thrashed against their grip, muscles burning with resistance. “Let me go.”

Mina leaned over you again, her tail slithering around your neck like a choker—tight enough to warn, loose enough to tease. Her hair brushed your cheek as she whispered:

“You can fight us all night, hunter. We like it when they struggle.”

Then you screamed—because three slick tails coiled around your cock.

Not tightly—perfectly. Stroking. Twisting. Teasing.

You tried to buck, but Momo's tail wrapped tighter around your chest, pinning you down. Sana climbed onto your chest, straddling your ribs as she kissed you with wild, open hunger. Her tongue tasted like sin. Her hands cradled your face like she was holding a holy relic.

“We’ll edge you for hours,” she moaned against your lips. “We’ll make you cum without ever touching you directly. We’ll break you, baby.”

Mina’s tail squeezed gently at the base of your cock while the tip rubbed lazy circles just beneath your tip.

“You’ll beg us to let you finish,” she whispered. “And we’ll still say no.”

You were panting now, head thrashing side to side. Your cock pulsed under their touch—every stroke, every squeeze, too much and not enough.

“You’re not ready to cum yet,” Momo sang. “Not until you’re crying. Not until you’re ruined.”

You shouted in defiance, hips jerking—only for their tails to tighten and stop you cold. One stroked your tip with obscene gentleness. Another dragged along the underside of your shaft, teasing your most sensitive spot.

It was hell.

It was heaven.

“I can feel it,” Mina whispered, mouth at your ear. “You’re close again, aren’t you? Already?”

You bit your lip. Blood beaded.

Sana cupped your face. “Let go,” she whispered. “Or don’t. Either way… we’ll make you ours.”

The rune-circle glowed brighter.

And your body betrayed you.

Your cock throbbed violently—but they stopped.

Everything stopped.

No stimulation. No release. Just that ache. That overwhelming, unbearable need.

You snarled, desperate, humiliated.

Mina laughed softly.

“Round three, then.”

Your breath came in ragged gasps. Sweat pooled beneath your back, chest heaving like you’d fought through hell—and maybe you had. But you were still hard. Still bound. The succubi’s tails slithered over your body like serpents of living silk, every twitch, every stroke a cruel tease.

Your cock was flushed, twitching, leaking—angry red and glistening under the altar’s glow.

“You’re such a mess,” Momo purred, crouching over you like a beast in heat. “All that fighting, and now look at you. Cock begging. Body shaking. And we’ve barely even started.”

She mounted you again—fast, without warning. You gasped as she slid down your length, wet heat engulfing you with a tight, greedy grip.

“Fuck—Momo—”

Her hips rolled smoothly, grinding against your pelvis in slow, intoxicating waves. Her hands flattened on your chest as she leaned over you, eyes locked to yours.

“But you don’t get to finish,” she whispered with a smirk.

Before you could respond, she lifted off. Pulled off. Her folds slicked your shaft, and your body screamed for release—but it never came.

You thrashed, moaning through your teeth.

“No—!”

Sana was already there to replace her. She was trembling with need, her thighs soaked, her mouth slack with hunger. She slid onto you slowly, her eyes fluttering shut with every inch she took.

“I need this,” she moaned. “I need to feel you inside while you suffer—while you belong to us.”

Her walls clenched around you in maddening pulses. You tried to thrust—anything to reach the edge she teased—but her tail coiled tighter around your hips, holding you still.

Then she moved.

Not with rhythm—but chaos. Wild, frantic, desperate bouncing that made you twitch on the brink of orgasm so violently, your vision blurred.

And then she stopped.

Pulled off.

Your scream echoed through the chamber—raw and animalistic.

“Please—fuck—”

“Not yet,” Mina cooed, brushing a lock of hair from your forehead. She wasn’t riding you. Not yet. Instead, she held a blade.

Not metal.

A curved, obsidian dagger that shimmered with demonic runes.

“You’re resisting again,” she whispered. “Let’s fix that.”

You didn’t even have time to flinch before she dragged the blade along your collarbone—slow, deliberate. It wasn’t deep, but it burned like fire. You howled, back arching off the altar as blood trickled down your chest.

Mina kissed the wound, moaning softly.

“First mark,” she whispered. “You’ll wear more.”

Another cut—your thigh this time. Momo ground down on your lap harder as she watched your skin split.

“Yes,” she moaned, licking her lips. “Scream for us again.”

And you did—another guttural cry as Mina carved a third mark over your ribs. Each wound bled slowly, the rune-circle glowing brighter with every drop.

Sana’s lips found your neck, and her fangs—small but razor-sharp—bit down.

You shouted, jerking beneath them.

“I want to hear more,” she growled against your skin. “You scream so sweet when we hurt you.”

They took turns again.

Momo climbed back on, hips pistoning in quick, furious thrusts. She rode you to the very edge—and then lifted off right before you could cum. Her tail wrapped tight around your shaft again, holding you in that painful, impossible place between ecstasy and agony.

Sana straddled your hips, her pussy so hot it burned. She rode you slow, her nails digging into your bloodied chest, every bounce making you twitch uncontrollably—until she stopped again, laughing when you sobbed.

“You want to cum?” she asked softly. “Then beg.”

But you couldn’t speak.

You couldn’t think.

Only Mina remained.

She stood at the edge of the altar, watching the carnage she orchestrated. Her body was flawless—lit by magic, glowing like a goddess of sin. She approached slowly, dragging her nails across your marked chest, letting your own blood paint her fingers.

“Your body’s almost broken,” she whispered. “But not yet. I want to see what happens when we ruin your soul.”

She sank down onto your cock—perfect, deliberate, inch by inch until her thighs met yours. And this time—she didn’t ride you.

She fucked you.

Hard.

Vicious.

Relentless.

Her tail wrapped around your throat. Momo and Sana’s tails returned to your shaft, pumping in rhythm with her thrusts, squeezing, teasing, stretching you beyond reason.

And you cried out—not just from pain. From desperation. From need.

You were right there.

So close.

But Mina leaned down, lips brushing your bloodied mouth.

“You’ll cum,” she whispered. “When we say you can.”

And then she stopped.

You weren’t sure how long it had been. The circle pulsed like a second heartbeat beneath you, raw magic binding your limbs, seeping into your skin, your bones. You were slick with sweat, streaked with blood, and your cock was still hard—red, twitching, aching like it might burst.

You had begged.

Once.

And they smiled when you did.

Now, Mina knelt over you again, her cunt glistening with your torment, her thighs trembling. She was soaked, ravenous, her eyes glowing bright as embers. Momo and Sana flanked you, each of their tails still wrapped around your cock, alternating soft strokes and brutal squeezes—every touch designed to edge, not release.

But something shifted.

You could feel it.

They were done teasing.

“You’ve lasted longer than most,” Mina whispered, cupping your face with a blood-slick hand. “But even you have limits.”

Her tail tightened around your throat, cutting off your words as she lined herself up with your cock and slammed down.

You choked—half on your breath, half on the heat of her. Her walls milked you instantly, dragging your swollen length into a velvet vice of pulsing, wet heat.

Momo’s mouth found your nipple, teeth grazing. Sana’s tongue traced one of your bleeding wounds, moaning like she was tasting something divine.

“You’re gonna cum for us now,” Sana whispered, straddling your face. “And we’re gonna drink every drop.”

You tried to resist.

But your body betrayed you again.

Your hips bucked.

Mina moaned, hard and loud, riding you with brutal purpose now—no rhythm, no grace, just pure, relentless use. Her hands pinned your shoulders, and the three of them moved in unholy harmony.

Momo’s tail squeezed the base of your cock, then pumped, twisting.

Sana’s thighs clenched around your face, dripping onto your mouth, her moans cracked and high as she grinded on your tongue.

Your vision blurred. Your body tensed.

And then—

“Now,” Mina snarled.

Your orgasm tore through you like a storm.

You screamed.

Loud. Raw. Unfiltered. It wasn’t just pleasure—it was exorcism. The first pulse of cum hit Mina deep, and she shivered, eyes rolling back.

The second didn’t go to her.

She pulled off just in time.

Momo was already there, mouth wide open, catching the next shot of your release with a lust-dazed giggle.

“Fuck yes—he tastes divine—”

Sana was next, lowering her mouth over your tip just in time to catch the third pulse. She moaned around you, eyes fluttering shut, tongue swirling.

“More,” she gasped. “More. Give us everything.”

You couldn’t stop.

Even if you wanted to.

Your cock kept twitching, kept shooting, your body convulsing under their worship.

Mina leaned down, catching the last strings of your cum with her tongue, licking up your length like it was sacred.

Then she smiled.

“You came,” she whispered. “Good boy.”

But they didn’t stop.

“Oh no,” Momo whispered, already climbing over your lap again. “We’re not done. Not until you're empty.”

You whimpered—yes, whimpered—as your over-sensitive cock was guided back inside Momo’s dripping, needy pussy.

And she rode you hard.

No warning. No buildup.

She bounced with wild, frenzied rhythm, her nails digging into your thighs as she fucked you past your own climax, using your twitching, spent cock like it was still hard.

But it was.

Somehow, impossibly, the circle kept you hard.

Sana sat on your face again, grinding with abandon, crying out as she came—once, then again—each orgasm drawing more energy from you.

Your arms wouldn’t move.

Your hips trembled uncontrollably.

And Mina?

She watched.

One hand between her thighs, the other drawing runes across your chest in your own blood.

“You’re ours now,” she said softly. “Drained. Broken. Marked.”

Momo screamed as she came again, soaking your lap, body twitching as she collapsed forward.

Sana followed next, twitching violently, her juices dripping down your chin.

And still… they wanted more.

Mina climbed on, once more.

Slow this time.

Cruel.

She fucked you with purpose—to leave her mark deep inside, to own your last ounce of energy.

You sobbed against her chest, unable to move, unable to stop the final orgasm being ripped from your soul.

You came again—dry this time, painful, shaking—and Mina came with you, her cry a chorus of power and corruption.

When she slid off you, your body collapsed.

Eyes glazed.

Chest heaving.

Cock soft, twitching, stained with cum and blood.

“Good boy,” Mina murmured, brushing your soaked hair back. “You gave us everything.”

“And we’ll take more,” Momo added, licking her fingers.

Sana kissed your cheek, soft and sweet, as you slipped into unconsciousness.

They were still wrapped around you.

Their marks bled softly.

And the circle glowed—sated.

For now.

You woke to darkness—thick and wet, like the inside of a mouth. The rune-circle had dimmed to a low, pulsating glow beneath your body, casting everything in a red sheen like dried blood under moonlight. You were lying on something soft now—pillows, fur, silk. A nest.

And they were still with you.

Mina’s body was curled at your side, her hand resting on your chest, fingers idly stroking one of the wounds she’d carved into you. Momo lay draped over your legs, her lips parted in sleep, still wet with your release. Sana’s arms were tight around your head, your face buried against her breasts, her breath soft against your ear.

You ached. Everywhere.

Your cock twitched—spent, raw, but already hardening again under their presence.

You swallowed, throat dry.

“…The Demon King,” you rasped.

Mina stirred.

“Hm?” she murmured, not opening her eyes.

“Our deal,” you said, more firmly this time. “You were going to take me to him.”

Momo giggled, not even bothering to sit up. “Aww, he remembers.”

“You made a pact,” you growled, trying to sit up—but your limbs felt heavy, wrapped in silk and tail. Even your voice lacked conviction. You could feel it—them—still inside you somehow. Still draining you slowly, inch by inch.

Sana kissed your temple, voice thick with honey and sleep. “Mmm. We said we’d take you after we had our fun.”

“This is our fun,” Momo added, licking your thigh.

You turned to Mina, anger barely keeping you coherent. “You lied.”

Finally, she opened her eyes. No guilt. Just that slow, dangerous smile you were learning to hate.

“We never lie, hunter,” she said sweetly. “We just leave things… unsaid.”

Her hand slipped lower, dragging a lazy finger down your stomach, to your cock—which, traitor that it was, was already standing again under their heat and scent.

“You really think the Demon King cares about you?” Mina whispered. “You think he’d let you touch him? You think he doesn’t already have a thousand slaves to bleed dry?”

Momo’s mouth wrapped softly around your tip, just a flicker of tongue. Enough to make you moan.

“You need us,” Sana whispered. “You belong to us.”

“No—” you groaned, trying to move, to pull away—but your arms were pinned by soft thighs, tangled tails, velvet kisses.

“You came so hard for us,” Momo giggled between licks. “Came so much. And you’ll keep doing it. Again. And again. And again.”

Mina leaned down until her lips brushed yours.

“Let us show you what forever feels like.”

You tried to resist.

But then—

Their tails bound you again. Ankles. Wrists. Throat.

Momo stroked you to full hardness with slow, devastating precision.

Sana kissed her way down your chest, licking over old wounds and new ones as her nails dug in again—marking you fresh.

And Mina—oh, Mina—straddled your chest and looked down at you like a goddess over a willing sacrifice.

“Don’t worry, hunter,” she whispered, lowering herself just over your face, her wet folds hovering, dripping. “We are the rulers you belong to now.”

Momo’s relentless rhythm never faltered, her breath hitching with each movement as she teased and taunted, spitting on your cock, slick and warm. Meanwhile, Sana’s hands left fresh marks on your skin, each scratch burning as she claimed you in her own way. And Mina, with a soft laugh, slid herself against your mouth, the heat of her pussy consuming you as you struggled beneath their control.

It hit you all at once: you were never going to escape. The mission, whatever semblance of it there was, was long forgotten. You had given up the fight, letting yourself sink deeper into their world. Three succubi, each with their own brand of temptation, had you. And you, helpless, let yourself fall into their grasp. They were far from done with you, each of them using you, bending you to their will. You didn’t know when—if ever—they would stop, and that uncertainty, that endless desire, kept you trapped in their cycle.

[prettybugsinbandages]

Blot!reader pt.5

Part 5 to this

This is a darker story. I suggest you refrain from reading it if you're in a fragile mental state or unable to handle darker themes.

What a foolish, hollow victory—if it should even be called that. A pyrrhic triumph over peers and acquaintances alike, leaving them stranded in the no-man's-land between your hatred and a sickening semblance of friendship you could never quite trust. The confrontation with Idia, the attack on Ruggie—it was a mess, a tangled web of conflict and resentment.

And yet at least nobody had told.

You hadn't been dragged away by STYX, hadn't been locked up in some sterile, white-walled cell to be picked apart and studied for the rest of your life. That, at least, was something.

Your misanthropy had always been a shield—cold, unwavering, impenetrable. But now, it was a curse. The more you resented others, the more you unraveled. Every conversation, every fleeting glance, every whispered word—each one a scalpel sliding deeper into your skin, peeling you open, exposing too much.

You're tired. So tired.

Your eyes have been open too long, staring too hard, too often. But the worst part? The horrors you see don't lurk in the shadows. They aren't some unspeakable nightmare clawing at the edges of your perception.

No.

The monster was you.

Grotesque. Disgusting. Clawing at your own flesh, as if you could tear through the layers and find something—someone—else beneath. But there's nothing. only guilt, thick and suffocating, warring against the weight of your past, your bitter philosophies, your carefully constructed armor.

And now?

The future looms over you like a coiled serpent, ready to strike. But will you? Can you even lift a finger? The world continues its endless droning, conversations whirling like an unbearable cacophony of false normalcy. All you can do it listen. Nod. Smile. Pretend.

They're noticing.

They know.

Again and again, you perform autopsies on long-passed conversations, dissecting them, sifting through every word, every inflection, searching something—desperate—for any hint of deception. Any sign that someone knows too much. The paranoia festers, warping misanthropy into nemesism, a slow, spiraling collapse into something far worse.

You're cornered.

Pushed further and further until you can see it—two escape routes, each leading to another cage. One path is damnation. The other, salvation. But which voice speaks the truth?

The Blot, which saved your life once, whispering in its sick, twisted devotion? Or the people who ignored you until recently—who now, finally, claim to care?

You think both paths are liars.

You try to push it down—the gnawing, the clawing need to confront it—but Kalim's voice cuts through the noise like sunlight piercing the thick fog. Too bright, too warm, too alive.

His touch is an anchor, grounding you in the present, pulling you away from the grimy wretched thoughts that coil around your mind like ivy. His bright smile nearly soothes the tension in your shoulders. nearly.

He's been talking for the past fifteen minutes, his voice a constant stream of energy, filling the silence with anecdotes and half-finished tangents. no one is really listening. His words blur together, melting into a foreign language you don't quite register.

And thankfully, Kalim, and his fleeting attention span, hasn't caught onto your blank stare.

But Jamil has.

A sharp, dissecting gaze—gray eyes that pin you down like an insect under glass. Another bolt of paranoia crawls up your spine, tearing through the delicate strands holding you together. You feel bare before him, exposed and unraveling, as if he's already seen the cracks beneath your carefully placed mask. Does he know? The thought is suffocating, bile rising at the mere possibility.

You force a façade of normalcy, pushing a curious smile to your lips as you shift your attention back to Kalim, who practically vibrates in place, eager for your acknowledgement, like a starved pet desperate for affection.

In his hands, he holds a small charm, raising it up to the sunlight. The rays filter through the red stained glass, casting fractured, beautiful patterns across his face. The delicate craftsmanship, the way the light dances through it—it's undeniably pretty. Something you could admit you would've liked to have as your own.

"I was so worried I lost it," Kalim sighs, cradling the charm close like a treasured relic. "You still have yours, right? Even Jamil has his."

At the mention of his name, Jamil doesn't look up immediately, his gaze fixed on his phone. but there's a brief flicker—his eyes dart up, assessing. As if to prove Kalim's point, he idly taps the charm dangling from his phone case, his movements slow and calculated. He's watching you. Studying your reaction.

He's not dumb.

Jamil has been noticing something is off. He's ignored it before, brushed it aside as nothing more than stress or fatigue. but it's only getting worse. There's something eating away at you, a secret that is detrimental if you let it slip. And yet you're floundering, barely holding it together.

A weakness.

Your brows furrow, curiosity gnawing at the edges of your mind. "Mine?"

Shifting forward, you lean over Jamil, peering at his charm closely. He stiffens slightly, his fingers tightening around his phone as he raises it a little higher—keeping a small distance between you. A faint flush dusts his complexion. Under different circumstances, his reaction might have been amusing.

But you don't have time to dwell on it.

There's a gap in your memory.

Kalim nods eagerly, his smile wide and unburdened. "Right, when we went to the carnival in town!"

A ghost of a memory slips through your fingers, fragmented and fleeting. Laughter—warm and unrestrained. Close touches and easy smiles. The sticky sweetness of popcorn and candy floss. The world spinning, a song hummed under breaths.

It's warm.

Like something meant for you, a fate you could've had—if not for the unfortunate circumstances you're in now.

"When?" you ask softly.

For a moment, the weight of earlier, the crushing paranoia and gnawing fear, is subdued by that fleeting warmth. but only briefly.

"Yesterday," Jamil interjects, his voice sharper than before, tinged with something unreadable—concern, maybe, or something far heavier. His fingers tighten around his phone as if he could hold onto the memory through sheer force of will alone. "How could you forget an entire night? We had that talk about..."

He trails off. The words slip away before they fully form, vanishing like breath against a mirror. His grip on his phone turns vice-like, knuckles going white as if he's trying to physically pull the recollection back before it disappears entirely.

Beside him, Kalim's usual endless chatter has died. The brightness of his expression dims, his ever-present smile cracking at the edges, like something inside him has soured. His lips part hesitantly, but there's a twitch—something unnatural, like his mind is stumbling over itself, tripping on a step that should be there but isn't.

"We went with... with..."

Silence

The world holds its breath.

Kalim's lips move. A name escapes.

It should be yours.

But it's not.

It's close, familiar in shape, in sound, yet wrong—warped, like a reflection ripping in water. A name that belongs to you yet it doesn't, slipping through your grasp like sand.

An old name.

Jamil stiffens beside him. His brows furrow, his expression shifting—anger, confusion, unease flashing across his face in rapid succession. His eyes flick between Kalim, you, his phone, as if willing reality to correct itself. "That's not—" He stops abruptly, his breath hitching. "That's not right."

And something colder than fear pierces through you.

The name—it should fit, should settle against your ribs like something natural. but it doesn't. Because it's not yours.

And yet, at the same time, it clings to you, molding around your existence like it was meant to be there.

A sickness rises in your gut, curling tight around your spine. In the fragile space between heartbeats, something inside you shatters.

You've been ignoring too much. Brushing things off, making excuses, blaming yourself when cracks showed. Too many things have been wrong, buried under a rug now bulging with hidden lies and misplaced truths. Why had you let it go on for so long? Why had you chosen to turn a blind eye—when the one who holds all the answers lingers on your finger, waiting, curled up in the corners of your room?

Your ears ring. The static hum of something beyond your understanding gnaws at the edges of your mind as you push yourself to your feet. Even the Blot ring on your finger seems to tremble, as if it, too, can feel the wrongness in the air. As if everyone in the room knows something is amiss but cannot grasp What.

"I... need to go." you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

Questions claw at your skull, pressing against the fragile limits of your mind, until you feel like you might burst.

Your legs move before thought can catch up, leading you toward Ramshackle, the only place where you might find the answers. but—no. Ramshackle means the Yuus, Grim, maybe even others visiting. You can't risk it.

You walked and walked.

Through the dense thicket, past the towering silhouettes of trees standing like silent sentinels, bearing witness to your undoing. Head bowed, shoulders heavy, as if an invisible crown of burden laid upon your brow, pressing down against your skull. The world around you blurred into a smear of muted colors, but the sound of your footsteps rang clear—too clear. Foreign to your ears, like an echo that didn't belong to you.

You weren't alone. Yet every glance over your shoulder met nothing but empty space, the stretch of the forest swallowing anything that should have been there. Desolation wrapped around you like a second skin, suffocating, watching. The wind whistled through the leaves, its wailing voice desperate to warn you of something, but the message slipped through the cracks of your understanding.

Even nature forbids your being here.

The gnarled roots and stray branches tangled at your feet, snagging at your ankles as if they, too, wished to keep you away—to shelter you from whatever lay ahead. The trees loomed too tall, their skeletal arms blotting out the sky. The moonlight poured in thin, needle-like strands through the gaps, sharp and cold as if it, too, sought to carve something into you.

And through the tangled wild, you found it.

Ruins—crumbling yet standing, broken yet enduring. Whatever it once was had been devoured by time or perhaps an untold story long lost to history. Even in its decay, the quartz and marble shimmered beneath the moon's gaze, stubborn against the age's relentless grip. Thick vines and sprawling branches crept over the walls like veins, an eerie reclamation of forgotten artistry. You couldn't help but think Malleus would love this.

At the heart of it all, a statue—a grand angel, arms outstretched as if to descend from the heavens, delivering divine whispers to the mortal world. but its head was gone, shattered and lost to time, leaving behind a faceless messenger. A list, etched in Old Runics, lined the pedestal, but the words—words you felt you should know—were now unreadable.

Scattered across the ruin, fragments of stone faces lay strewn like gravestones, watching.

How you wished for any divine being to descend and grant you answers...

But no one would come.

Pushing forward, you dismissed the place's whispers, its heavy history pressing against your skin. You had something more pressing, something that burned hotter than the eerie beauty of forgotten stone and untold stories.

"Out."

Your voice cut through the hush of the ruins, a command wrapped in quiet restraint. The turmoil beneath your skin twisted, writing against the mask of control you forced upon yourself.

Silence stretched, a fraction of a second too long.

Your eyes narrowed, fixed on the darkened edges of the forest, where the trees bent too sharply, where the shadows swayed too unnaturally.

"Come out."

For once, it was you who summoned it. Not in fear. Not in desperation. But in demand—something long overdue. Something you were entitled to.

The Blot unfurled from the ring like ink bleeding into water, its form shifting in the dim moonlight as it fully materialized. For a fleeting moment, it didn't acknowledge you. Instead, its attention was fixed elsewhere—on the ruins surrounding you. It stood unnaturally still, a rare moment where its usual theatricality faded into something... uncertain. Unsettled.

It refused to turn towards the shattered statues. its gaze darted away from the broken faces lining the ground, feet shuffling as it stumbled over a stray stone. A visceral reaction.

You took it all in, gaze sharpening. Did it know this place? Did something about these ruins repel it?

The Blot barely had time to recover its balance before its attention snapped back to you. The discomfort melted into something else—something almost reverent. Relief. Delight.

It reached for you, dark fingers stretching forward, curling as if it could trace the lines of your face. "Yes, my dea—"

You slapped its hand away and the sound echoed, sharp and final.

The Blot froze, staring at the space between you, where your touch rejected it.

"Answers." It took a step back. You took one forward.

For the first time, you were looking at it. Truly looking. And it—it shuddered. Not in fear. No, something worse. Limerence—a dreadful, aching devotion. Like it had been waiting for this moment, dreading it, yearning for it, something twisted and hollow all at once.

"Of course." It breathes, a reverent hush, voice soft and distracted. Its breath was hot against your face—only further invoking your ire.

Why does it get to have warmth while you walk around like some glorified corpse?

The questions rose within you, a flood pressing against the walls of your mind, demanding release. You swallowed them back, choosing carefully.

"Why did you really do it—the contract?"

The Blot exhaled, something between a sigh and a chuckle, dragging a hand down its face. It sank onto a piece of rubble with an ease too practiced, too comfortable, its posture a mockery of casualness.

"It was an attractive opportunity to me. That was all."

Liar.

You felt the lie in your bones, the cold, dead space where something vital should have been. it was too easy. The answer came too smoothly, like a script rehearsed a thousand times over.

"Is that it?" You asked, voice deceptively calm, leashing the fury that clawed at your throat. If you lost control, you lost the game. You needed clarity to cut through its deceptions. "How does this benefit you? A mere test—that is your only motive for helping me?

The Blot tensed.

Not obviously. Not enough for the untrained eye. But you saw it. A subtle shift, a fraction of hesitation, something almost imperceptible. It wasn't your anger that unsettled it, but the fact you were seeing through it.

Something inside it twisted, recoiling. For the first time, you were under its skin.

Like a tick.

"How could I not?" it purred, stepping forward, the distance between you an unbearable thing it sought to close. "Crimson purity staining the snow—doll carnage. You were beautiful. Perfect. I was playing, testing how well magicless bodies full of hatred and despair hold me.

A flowery lie. Flimsy in the same nature.

You heard it in the way its voice wavered when it spoke too loudly, in the way its words slipped, momentarily unguarded. It struggled to lie to you.

And yet, the way it longed for you, ached for you, seeped into your marrow like venom. It adored you in a way that felt like hands slipping between your ribs, prying them open, peeling muscle from bone to cradle your heart in its hands. To own it. To press it close and be the only one privileged enough to hear the final melody of your life before it faded into nothing.

It reached for you again—a deliberate move, a test of control.

This conversation was not just words. It was war. A battle for dominance. A struggle to decide who will belong to whom when it ends—if two of you emerge at all.

"You hold me perfectly," it crooned, its voice weaving through your thoughts like a lullaby, sweet and saccharine and cloying. "So you'll be good for me."

A whisper of something unseen curled around the words, an invisible force creeping in. You felt it now—the subtle manipulations, the tiny, practiced tricks it used to keep you beneath its thumb. Its outstretched hand was not just a gesture. It was a leash waiting to be fastened.

You swatted its hand away, forceful, decisive. Your eyes darkened.

You knew the moment you allowed it to touch you, to warm you, to let its honeyed words wrap around you like a noose—you will lose.

Its expression twitched. The rejection—your sudden, ice-cold shift—had unsettled it.

"Do not mistake my kindness for weakness," it murmured, voice softer, but laced with something colder. A slow, creeping shift beneath its mask. "I'll choke you with the same hand I fed you with, my dear."

The Blot seemed to smile then—if it could be called a smile. A grotesque mockery of the expression, teeth too sharp, eyes to knowing.

"There will always be a next time."

But it didn't sound certain.

You saw it then, the cracks in its confidence. Something crawling beneath the surface of its being—maggots of anxiety writhing beneath void-like flesh.

A brittle laugh tore through you—unnatural, humorless yet not unfamiliar these days.

"You don't really know that, do you?" your voice carried something sharp, something cruel, an edge to it that sent another ripple through the Blot's form. "'Next time?' Can I even still die? Can you manage next time?"

The Blot flickered violently, its form spasming, the darkness around you thickening as if the world itself was recoiling. Its reaction was visceral. Violent.

Fear.

You were slipping away. How could you?

Before it could recover, before it could cobble together a response, you forced a grin—wide, too wide. It pulled at your skin, the expression foreign, almost painful.

"Shall we test it, dear sponsor?"

The way it jolted—a full-body shudder, dark fingers curling into fists—wasn't just fear. It was something deeper. Something primal. Something it didn't want you to see. It didn't want to know. It refused to know.

And that told you everything you needed to hear.

It needed you as much as you needed it.

The Blot refused to meet your gaze. The ring on your finger, normally a passive weight, was cold. Cold enough for you to notice. The band trembled, betraying the entity's emotions in ways it would never admit.

Silence.

Real silence. The kind that stretched too thin, suffocating, when not even the Blot had something to say. When both of you were forced to acknowledge things neither of you ever wanted to think about. You loathed this silence.

Then, finally, the Blot exhaled. A slow, steady thing, like it was forcing itself back into form, fathering the shadows that had momentarily frayed at the edges. When it spoke, its voice was careful, deliberate. "I do not know."

The words were slow. Resigned. It had to force them out, had to drag them into existence.

Then, a pause. A long inhale. It straightened. its gaze sharpened, locking onto you with something unreadable. "I spoil you, my dear."

The shift was subtle but it felt like an iron door slamming shut between you. The fondness was back, creeping in like rot beneath fresh paint, like it hadn't just faltered, like it hadn't just broken for even a second. It leaned in, pressing closer as if seeking warmth you no longer bore. "Keeping your little mortal body alive is... taxing, you know."

Another pause. This one heavier.

"Perhaps you should make it easier for us. Go ahead—test it."

Barbed words—spite wrapped in velvet. A silent accusation. You had defied it too strongly tonight, and it resented you for it. So much was buried beneath its void-like flesh, history it would never share.

And yet, you still reached for it. Greedy, unyielding.

You pressed further, voice even, calculating. "Am I stronger than previous overblots?"

For a moment the tension cracked—not from unease, but from offense.

The Blot scoffed. "Of course—how weak do you think I am?" It straightened fully now, like the question itself was an insult. "I've given you everything. Far more than I'd have given to anybody else."

The words carried a weight—a reminder, a warning. Not of its power, but of your place. Of what it had poured into you, what it had made you. There was something else burned in that patronizing tone, something desperate and unspoken.

It couldn't stomach the thought of you leaving. Not in death. Not in defiance. It would rather have your hate than your absence.

And you—perhaps foolishly—let it pull you down into its grasp. Arms wrapped around you, pulling you to sit amongst the ruins, among the echoes of something long forgotten. It traced the shine of the stone in silence, as if admiring something you couldn't see, before finally resting its head against your shoulder.

The Blot's breathing was soft, Even. Too even.

"Now, now..." It whispered, voice honeyed, too gentle. "You're stressed, little star. I couldn't bear to witness a collapse from all of this..."

A pause. A careful lull in the rhythm of its words.

"Let's talk about it again later, yes?"

The arms tightened around you ever so slightly, as if securing you in place. "I'll walk with you home and—"

Another attempt. Another carefully placed detour. Another desperate bid to lead you away from things that could shatter the delicate illusion around you.

You had pushed too close to breaching something dangerous and now it was scrambling to lead you back.

"If I get rid of you, will I die?" The words were sharp, cutting through the thin air as you tilted your head back, your gaze unwavering. You stared into the vacant spots where its eyes should have been, your own eyes nearly devoid of any semblance of life. The coldness in your voice made it clear; this was no idle question. You were determined now, and the warpath you'd set yourself upon was one of demand. "Will I crumble and fold, returning to the state you found me in?"

It almost chuckled, but the amusement quickly faded into something darker. It was surprised by how much you had become like it, the blank stare, the chilling words wrapped in a thin veneer of a smile—you had become a mirror, and that reflection was something it hadn't anticipated. But beneath that initial amusement, something else coiled in the depths of its being; horror.

The idea of you pulling away, tearing it off of you, and crumbling in the process sent a deep shiver through its form. it couldn't lose you. Not now. Not after everything.

The Blot's grip tightened, just enough to make sure you knew it was still in control, still bound to you. Still connected. "You can't," it stammered, its voice rising in pitch, now tinged with panic. "You don't know how—you can't leave me anymore. You were meant to be here. If you leave me, I'll have to—"

It stopped abruptly, as though the thought was too much to handle. The flicker of its form, the instability in its presence, revealed how deeply that fear ran. The idea of losing you was more than just an inconvenience; it wasn't an existential terror that caused it to falter.

Satisfaction bloomed cold in your chest as you watched it unravel just slightly. The realization that you had more power here, more leverage than you'd ever given yourself credit for, was strangely comforting. but something darker followed—a flicker of unease, a sickening worry that it seemed far too willing to go to extreme lengths to keep you bound to it.

"You belong to me, my dove." Its voice softened, returning to the euphemistic tone it favored, the flowery language dripping with soft, seductive quality. "It's in the contract..." The words were wrapped in honey, almost coaxing you to accept its hold the same way it had when you first met. "I'd hate to see you wither away again. It broke my heart seeing you like that. I worked so hard... bringing some things back from your world. It was difficult, you know. That keychain, that call. I thought you'd be happy having a few things to make this feel like home. Do you know how hard it is to keep you hidden from them?"

Voice dropping lower, breathing blooming against your neck, the words now little more than a whisper meant to burrow beneath your cold flesh. "Stop digging. You will only find rot and carnage."

The words slithered into your ear, a sick, twisted whisper that sent a strange shiver down your spine—one that shouldn't have felt the way it did, but it did anyway. Your neglected heart, long buried beneath layers of apathy and indifference, beat just a little harder in response. You hated it. You certainly hated yourself for responding. This was all so sick

You're both sick.

But enough was enough. Enough rot. Enough desensitization.

You weren't done digging. You weren't done looking for the answers, whether that meant finding a heart that would warm the body against yours—or tearing its chest open until you saw all the lies laid bare, no heart, no warmth, nothing left but an empty, rotting shell.

Your head fell back against its shoulder, a motion that felt almost natural despite the heaviness pressing in around you. You tilted your gaze away from the Blot, eyes sweeping across the ruined remnants of the structure surrounding you. The ruins gleamed in the pale moonlight, fragments of marble and stone reflecting the chill, but the lifelessness of it was undeniable. Once, perhaps, this had been a place alive with warmth and movement—now it was little more than a husk, torn open and emptied, its ribs exposed to the indifferent sky above. The people who once filled it, with their quiet chatter, their bustling lives, were no more.

Just like you.

But the Blot held you in its grasp as if you were the most magnificent thing it had ever laid eyes on—as if you were the sun itself, illuminating the sky, or the moon, shining with a beauty too radiant to touch. To it, you were perfection, a creation so divine it could only have come from the heavens themselves.

"Do you love me? Or at least care for me?" The question slipped from your lips almost without thinking, soft and vulnerable. The words, simple and laden with months of quiet desperation, carried the weight of loneliness you hadn't known how to bear. The months had piled grief and yearning into your chest until it felt like grime, coating every inch of your thoughts, every inch of your soul. Beneath all the hatred, all the rage, there was a simple longing for affection, for anything that resembled warmth, from it or anyone else.

The Blot didn't respond immediately. It didn't move, didn't flinch. its form remained perfectly still as your hand rose slowly, almost instinctively, to trail across its chest, up to its neck.

A heartbeat. A pulse.

Strong and rapid, it thrummed beneath your fingertips like a living thing, blood rushing through its arteries at an unusual pace. "Your heart's beating fast." you noted quietly.

At your touch, the Blot's hand shot up, grabbing your wrist with a force that could have broken bone. It tried to pry you away, but it faltered—its fingers trembled slightly, and its body leaned into your touch, as if unwilling to be let go of. Its neck craned further into your hand, a subtle surrender you could feel even through the tense, frozen air. You could hurt it, squeeze the life from it if you wished, and yet it stayed, willing, waiting—it would let you.

A shuddering breath escaped from its lips. Defeat lingered there, but beneath it, something else. Something like longing. And then, it spoke. The words were soft, dripping with something close to affection. "It is, my love. It is."

It didn't directly answer your earlier question, but its actions told you everything you needed to know. The Blot—this strange, unknowable entity—was more fragile than you had realized. it was closer to mortal than you had ever expected. Perhaps, it was more like you than either of you cared to admit.

The Blot's reticence was exhaustive, yet with every word it avoided, every vague response, only served to further unravel it more, to make it slip further from its carefully constructed façade. And with each fragment of truth revealed, it seemed to grow weaker to you, spilling secrets it desperately wished to hide. You could see it now—how much it feared being vulnerable, how much it needed you to remain close, even if it wouldn't admit it outright.

The air grew thick with silence. In the distance, the sea on Sage Island crashed against the jagged rocks, its roar a distant but constant reminder of something larger than both of you. A cold memory surfaced, one you'd try to bury deep in your mind. You had cast it into the sea, hoping it would be carried away forever, but like the tide, it always returned, washing back up to haunt you.

"So you care." It was a statement, not a question.

The Blot's pulse quickened, the rapid rhythm an unsettling contrast to the tenderness in its voice. "More than you could think." its shadowy fingers moved to cover your hand, pressing your cold touch closer to its neck, as if binding you to it in a way words never could. The pulse beneath your fingertips thrummed louder, faster, as if it was trying to prove something to you. Something it could never say with just words.

It was too much. All of it. And yet, somehow, the weight of its affection—distorted, twisted, and terrifying as it was—felt more real than anything else.

"Have you ever cared for another?" The question slipped from your lips with a quiet force, your gaze unflinching as the Blot's fingers twitched slightly against your hand. Another subtle tell. For a being you had once believed to be a master of deception, impervious to these small signs of weakness, it was becoming more and more apparent that the Blot wasn't as untouchable as it seemed. hesitation lingered in the air between you, the kind of silence that stretched on for far too long. Time itself seemed to drag, the irritation that had once simmered beneath the surface rising again.

"...Once." The response came quietly, almost inaudible. "Long before you. They saw every face I wore and loved me regardless. They loved me. And we were happy." The last part came out with a sharpness that was almost bitter, as if the mere mention of that happiness had reignited something long buried. Something painful. The words, harsh and raw, betrayed a history the Blot had tried to bury, and in its voice, you could hear the wound still fresh and tender.

You didn't let up, your questions firing like arrows aimed to kill. "Who?" "How did you meet?" "What happened to them?" But instead of answering, the Blot chose silence, almost petulantly ignoring you. It let out a disappointed whine when you retracted your hand from it, as if punishing it for not complying.

Frustrated, you pressed further. "Are you all the Blot in the world? Some kind of phantom?"

"I am beyond that," it snapped, its voice growing defensive. "How low do you think I am? The other overblots are handled by the others below me—followers." How else could I dedicate all my time to you, my dear?" There was offense in its tone, as if the suggestion you made had wounded its pride. it seemed to have an image of itself as something greater, something more powerful, and the idea of being reduced to something lesser, something controlled, disturbed it.

Your brows furrowed as the weight of its words began to sink in. A creature beyond the Blot, handling others beneath it, followers that served its whims. It spoke as if it were a rule of the shadows, an entity so ancient that time, the concept of it, no longer mattered. And yet, it had once cared for someone. Someone it loved. That alone contradicted everything you thought you understood.

"What were you before you became this then?" The question, even to your own ears, felt dangerous, too personal. The Blot froze at your words, momentarily stiffening. You could feel its nails dig into your sides, a sudden spike in tension coursing through it.

"What do you think?" The response came back sharp, the anger in its voice barely veiled. "Could you dare to comprehend me?" Its tone was almost accusatory, as if you had crossed some unseen boundary by even suggesting it. "I was beautiful—" it paused, the breath it exhaled coming out ragged, as if that single word had drained something from it. The Blot seemed to shrink in on itself, its presence dimming slightly, before it seemed to collapse into you. It sought comfort, but there was no embrace to give.

"Do you still think I'm beautiful, little star?" The question hung between you, vulnerable in delivery, though it was wrapped in layers of something deeper. A need, an ache that was buried beneath all the darkness, all the endless hunger.

It waited, form tense with anticipation. The mendacious creature seemed to yearn for your acceptance and confirmation, seeking an answer you cannot give. Could a creature of shadow with no appearance be classified as beautiful? Could you consider its nature—one of corruption, a motley of despair as something beautiful?

In the silence that followed, you realized something you hadn't before. You didn't know the Blot at all. its personality, its desires, its nature—all of it remained a mystery to you. It had always been desperate to please, to give, to entertain, and even torment, but beneath it all, there was a deeper need—one that hadn't been satisfied in the way it thought it would be. Every gift, every smile, every word it spoke was given in hope that you might—just once—give something back.

Every sin it bears is for you.

And perhaps that was why, despite all of it, you softened, just slightly for a moment. A fleeting softness that you couldn't control, that you didn't want to have. Perhaps it was why, in the midst of everything, you spoke the words that you knew might not be true, but were still true enough to leave your lips.

"You are."

part six

Thank you to all those that submitted questions!! <3 <3

Hope this goes well. It's really late.. or I guess early for me right now so I might edit this in the morning if I read it again and think its shitty.

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[thezeninclan]

suddenly telling them you’re in the mood ft. the hashira

TENGEN turned to look at you the moment you entered the room, sliding the paper door shut behind you. it was as though the sound hashira could sense what you were going to say, for by the time you came to sit beside him, neatly folding your legs beneath you, your head turned away from him so that he couldn't see the flush on your cheeks, there was already a smug little smile upon his face.

he turned to face you, leaning his hand against his hand, appearing almost bored as he peered at you through his uncovered eye. you sat so close to him that you could feel the heat rolling off his body, practically able to feel the smugness exuded from him in waves. his full attention was on you, though he refused to speak first, and you knew he could hear the hammering of your heartbeat, the way your stomach tightened, the way you bit at your bottom lip. "tengen-sama-" you breathed, steeling yourself for what you wanted to say next. "I want you."

in a flash you were on your back on the tatami, his thickly muscled arms bracketing your head, his lips and nose nuzzling at your jaw. he grinned at you, rakish and carnal. "why didn't you say that earlier."

MITSURI goes pink as the hair that frames her pretty face as she turns to look at you, her green eyes wide and startled as a deer. she always flustered easily, but nobody could make her do so like you could. "d-did you say-" she started, waving her hands in front of her face. you could practically see the steam rising from the top of her head. "I don't- I-I mean I do, but did you say that you-"

you decided to put her out of her misery, slipping your hand into hers and whisking her to you. you press a kiss to her soft cheek, feeling the warmth of her blush burnish against your lips. "kanroji-" you whisper softly, feeling the way she gasps softly at the utterance of her name, just as she did every time you spoke it. "I want you." you whisper softly, pressing another kiss to the center of her brow, your arms winding around her back to pull her flush against you.

she takes a deep breath, steeling herself, before she takes your hand and pulls you to her, her body soft and pliant against yours. "I want you too."

IGURO is almost inscrutable, turning to look at you as though you had just asked him some outlandish question, and you almost feel embarrassed, making to turn back around and pretend you had never said anything, when there's a flash of black and in a lightning quick movement he's at his feet. he pulls you against him with enough force to knock you off your center of gravity, so that your body sinks against his.

he's warm, hot, his skin practically steaming against yours as he holds you against him, your soft form against the pillar of firm muscle and lithe sinew that is the serpent hashira. he peppers your skin with fervent kisses, hands wandering to tease at your hips, your thighs, your waist. "p-please." you whimper, fingertips skimming over the bandages he usually wore around his mouth. "I want to feel you." Iguro smirks then, pulling down the bandages so that he could slot his warm mouth against yours, making you melt.

he grins down at you, looking at you with those mismatched eyes you so long fell in love with. "how could I resist, when you ask me so sweetly?"

SANEMI gave you a hard, impenetrable look, and for a moment he looked so stern that you feared you had made a mistake. but as the seconds slipped away you could see the pink coloring his face, the way his wild eyes had widened and darkened, and before you could even prepare yourself for an attack you were on your back, caged in by a massive body above you. his arms bracketed your head, all rippling muscle and scarred skin, the roughness of his body juxtaposed by the gentleness of the calloused hand that rose to brush the hair back from your brow.

sanemi didn't say anything- he didn't need to, for the hardness he pressed against you as he parted your legs told you everything that you needed to know.

SHINOBU is inscrutable as she turns in her chair to face you, the potions and medicines she had been tinkering with suddenly abandoned. "what did you say?" she asks, and your face colors with a blush. a polite smile is etched across her face, but her eyes are alight with a bright, mischievous evil that has you squirming in your seat as you imagine all the ways she could tease and torture you.

"come." she beckons with a hand. "sit with me." you sit at her side, feeling the way she leans into you softly, as small and light as the butterfly from which she gets her name, and when a moment passes and her lips are on yours, you too can feel butterflies.

you had been working up the nerve to tell RENGOKU how you felt for the past hour, twisting your fingers, biting at the inside of your cheek with nervousness. the two of you had been sitting together in quiet companionship for the past few hours, rengoku polishing the grip and handle of his sword and you working at finishing the charcoal painting you had started the previous day. the sun had set with a golden kiss, sleep niggling at your mind, and without further delay or further stifled yawns, you excused yourself to change into your sleeping robes. changing into your yogi had been easy, the soft fabric sliding onto your fatigued body easily, and when you had padded back to the bedroom you shared, you had stopped short, pausing at the door to the chamber your husband still sat in.

you had changed into your yogi boldly, knowing that he knew that the garment was large enough for the both of you— and that you were wearing nothing beneath it. he turned to look at you as you slid open the tatami door, his eyes full of love and tenderness as you entered, his hand coming to a stop on the hilt of his sword as he took in the rest of your appearance. the lapels of your yogi had parted as you walked, and you hadn't bothered to close them again, leaving the front of your body bare and glowing in the candlelight.

"you look beautiful." kyōjurō said, staring up at you in awe, turning his body so he could kneel at your feet. a callused finger rose to trace over the skin of your bare ankle, watching in rapture as you shivered. "I can't believe you're mine." he breathed.

In a flash of orange and red you were in his arms, feeling the way his muscled body pinned you to the ground. "I am." you breathed, feeling his lips trace the column of your throat. "I'm yours."

GIYU was stoic, calm, silent— so silent that for a moment you were unsure if he had even heard you. you felt silly, cheeks flushing a darker red than they had been when you had first approached the tatami door to his study, having built up your courage to call out to your husband. your hand faltered as you made to slide the door shut once more, hoping to pretend that nothing had ever happened.

"stop." he said, his voice making you startle, the hand you pressed to the door halting. he had been so silent that you hadn't even noticed he had risen from his seat and had come to kneel in front of you until his hand pressed to your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. he knocked you off balance easily, pulling you into his arms with the smooth firmness of a breaking wave. his body was so firm against yours, and as you sank into him it was as though two pieces of a puzzle were meeting, the match of muscle and firm sinew meeting soft curves.

"I want you too." he said, his voice as soft as an exhaled breath, and when you looked at him you could see there was a small smile playing over his lips. "I always want you."

you know GYOMEI can feel you as you approach, sensing the way your feet fall against the earth, the way your breath fans out into the cool wind, the way the air parts as you move through the space, so he has no need to jump when you lay your hand upon his shoulder. "himejima." you breathe softly, kneeling at his side and pressing yourself to him. he has been out training for hours, from dawn to dusk, and the night has brought with it a cold chill that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

"come inside." you bid, sliding your fingers between his. he's removed his shirt, likely from the icy soak of the waterfall, and you can see the beads of sweat dancing across his muscular chest. "it's cold tonight." you coo. he turns his head to accept the kiss you place upon his cheek, a big hand sliding down your hip. "gyo-" you whisper, feeling his palms cupping at your ass. "I need some warming up."

[mxchibomb]

content. mdni 18+

siren! rafayel

cw. monsterfucking, dubcon, oviposition, ooc?

 fin-like protrusions grew out of his ears, gills in soft lines behind them. his serpent-like eyes glew a dangerous blue, luring you in with a deadly gaze as his tail flapped against the warm, wet sand in the dark of the night. you sat atop a wet rock after the tides sank, neck arched downwards as he hummed to the beat of imaginary instruments. your heart was almost beating out of your chest and his sugar sweet voice made your head go dizzy, foreheads touching.

 his kisses made your lips tingle and his tongue against yours made you drool, spit falling from the corner of your mouth. he greedily yanked you off your safe rock and you squeaked as water splashed and your knees dug into the same sand he was laying on.

 webbed fingers pushed your hair out of your face, grabbing the back of your neck to leech off of your newfound desire, digging his fangs into the side of your neck and causing you to flinch in pain with a loud gasp. your skin turned a myriad of colors. reds, pinks, and purples. pushing you to the ground, sharp nails tore your shirt and anything underneath it to shreds and his kisses and bites continued downward your wet torso. you found yourself heaving, your skin burning at the sensation of his rough, forked tongue. your thighs squeezed together at the uncontrollable pulse of your aching cunt. your back arched above the sand and weak moans left your lips.

 "...more.. want more.." you muttered unconsciously, the feeling of his sharp nails against your skin making you need instead of hurt. as per your request, your short shorts and cute bikini bottoms had the same fate as your top garments. the siren's purple hair tickled the insides of your thighs, sensitive nose dragging along the strong scent of the pheromones dripping from your arousal soaked cunt. with a soft grunt, his tongue jutted forwards against the heat between your legs. he ignored your needy hands in his hair, tugging tightly. the night was quiet, just your whining and his loud slurps with no one else to be seen. his cheeks hollowed inwards as he sucked gently on your clit, following after it as your hips bucked against his face.

 "hahh.. fuccckkk!~" you yelled into the night as your string snapped, closing your legs tightly around his face as your hole tightly clenched around nothing but air. getting a few more tongue licks in before you tried pushing his head away, he ripped your legs open without a struggle.

 he snuck himself in between, a pair of two cocks happily unsheathed from the slit present on his pelvis. both decently sized, the smaller sat beneath the other and curved slightly more upwards towards the second cock. pointed tips, dark blue to a lighter blue gradient and covered in decorative ridges all the way down. in a post climax daze, you still managed to gulp in nervousness.

 "two.." you quietly assessed to yourself, backing up slightly in intimidation.

 "one is fine." he reassured softly, fangs showing in a mischievous smile. "we can always work you up to size." he sent shivers down your spine. he wiggled forward, the bottom cock slotted against the space between your folds. you whined at the friction and suddenly his hard dick against you made your mind numb again. with soft grinds, he hissed everytime his tip caught onto your hole. without using his hands, he pushed and pushed until he felt your hole to slide in.

 gripping onto the forearms he balanced his upper body on, you let out an elongated moan. he towered over you, purple bangs draped over his eyes. the larger cock that wasn't inside you sat on your stomach as he reached as far as he could, poking at your cervix. you whimpered as he wriggled against the floor, hips digging as deep as they could possibly go as he desperately ground against you with huffs and whines. scales uncomfortably rubbed against your thighs but you chose to ignore it as he slammed into you, instead wrapping your legs around his waist.

 " 's so deep.." you murmured, using a hand to wrap around his free cock and allowing his thrusts to create friction against your palm. he whimpered loudly, high in pitch and he followed the pleasure you gave him. 

 "i want you to have my children." he practically begged, swallowed aggressively as he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. you nodded mindlessly, as if you hadn't processed his words. twitching once more, pearlescent white decorated your stomach and unexpectedly something strange began to push past your cervix. it was a slow process of an unexplainable flow of many small round objects. and strangely enough it brought you to the edge. your head tossed back.

 "oh god.." your voice strained and your eyes rolled into the dark of the back of your sockets and your walls clung tightly to him. your finger pads held onto his biceps for dear life, his hips fighting to push into you even further as his eggs filled your warm insides, perfect for bearing his children. you could feel them in your stomach, the smallest bulge outstretching.

 even as he was finished, two fingers whisked up the sperm on your stomach to shove it back inside you to fertilize.

 "stay with me.." he purred, pressing a tight kiss to your swollen lips.

idk how to write rafayel🧍‍♂️