#i think about that a lot. I think he feels a lot of guilt about it and thats why he is the way he is towards cole & solas later on. oh well

[lunarxcity]

Why you? (Part IV to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort (Now Azriel is in his healing era, don't worry he does suffer in this chapter so prepare for the azriel angst. You can't be in a healthy relationship when you are mentally at your worst and lashing out at everyone around you and Azriel is learning this the hard way.)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Parts I, II, and III if you missed them!

-

They say that misery breeds loneliness, or was it misery likes company, either way Azriel couldn't remember how it went but he knew he felt miserable and alone.

You were gone and Rhys had banned him from seeing Elain, even though it didn't matter. He couldn't even look at her without feeling crushing guilt. Guilt for considering killing your friend for the sole reason of him wanting to fight for his mate, which any honorable fae male would have done. Guilt for possibly driving you out from the Night Court. Guilt for dragging Elain into this and then ignoring her.

To say that Azriel has been a mess would be an understatement. After needing to sleep in your bed to calm himself down the night you left, he hasn't had a decent night's sleep. At this point, his dark circles had dark circles, he hadn't shaved, and he has basically been on autopilot for the past 3 months.

Him and Rhys hadn't been on good terms for the first month, but he came around and apologised for the way he spoke to him. They were civil, but Azriel didn't know how he could be close with him again after what he said. If you were there you would have played the peacekeeper, telling him what to say and scolding Rhys for his lack of sensitivity. He thinks about you more than he would care to admit, which is saying something because he's been admitting it a lot lately.

The first 2 weeks were so rough for Azriel that he threw himself into his work, not talking to anyone and even missing his training which he can't recall having ever done. He walked into the training ring and first thing Cassian did when he saw him for the first time since the night you left was laugh and say, "Oh brother, you look a bit rough for wear. You have obviously had better days."

Azriel didn't say anything. His face was set in the same straight-faced look that he had been wearing every day. He just walked up to Cassian and began fighting him. You would think that missing 2 weeks of training out of the hundreds of years wouldn't make a difference, but he had lost every single sparring match between him and Cassian. You would have loved to see it, you probably would have been on the sidelines laughing saying that Azriel needed to be humbled with his snowball fight record. His thoughts strayed to you and he was immediately snapped out of it by Cassian landing a blow on his right jaw sending Azriel to the ground."

"You seem distracted brother. I am always here if you want to talk." He holds his hand out as a truce, but Azriel doesn't take it. He was upset and in pain and feeling a flurry of emotions that he didn't know how to deal with. He picked himself up and told Cassian, "I appreciate it brother, but I don't need you or Nesta or Rhys trying to fix me." Granted he realised he was being a bit dramatic, but his adrenaline was high and didn't know how to deal with what he was feeling, let alone what he was feeling.

Azriel turns his back on Cassian, beginning to storm off from the training ring. "You think she would want you to suffer in Silence? To keep hurting everyone else because you're trying to outrun your problems? " Azriel stilled. "If she cared enough, she wouldn't have left. Why should I care about myself when she is so repulsed by me that she would prefer an enemy of the Night Court's company over mine?" His voice was ice that sending shivers down Cassians spine, this was the feared Spymaster of the Night Court speaking, not his brother.

"For someone who's job it is to collect information, you truly do not know anything." Cassian shook his head and took off into the sky before Azriel could say anything.

Great now that's two of his brother's that he's not on great terms with. Things with Cassian continued to be tense and since he was also on Rocky grounds with Rhys, things had become a bit awkward with Feyre and Nesta. Yes they were polite and would invite him to things and he would still have his weekly coffee with Nesta, but things were a lot more tense since they couldn't even bring up their mates.

No one in the inner circle would bring you up, not to Azriel at least. He knew they talked about you and Azriel, both in friendly hangouts he wasn't invited to and the family dinners that he had been dodging. He knew that they probably had a lot to say when the insomnia had gotten so bad that he needed to take residence in your room. He doesn't know the exact details because the shadows have been withholding information from him too. Just what he needed another person who had an issue with him, this one actually being part of him.

At this point he was on the best terms with Amren which actually started an unlikely friendship. He must have looked so pathetic for Amren to invite him over for tea. It started with talks of the prison, which then led to the inner circle, which then led to inner workings of the Night Court. Tea with Amren became a normal ordeal, she didn't treat him differently and was the same blunt Amren she's always been. It was a good distraction.

He wore the gloves you had gifted him regularly, even if his hands weren't bothering him, he liked the sense of comfort he felt when he wore them. He still felt a mix of emotions when he thinks about your departure, he's angry with you for leaving him here like this, sad because he feels like you have given up on him, and most of all feeling like he's an idiot because all he wants is for you to come home. To come back to him.

Rhys had assigned him on his first mission, a recon mission in the Dawn Court. Azriel had begged to go to the Autumn Court, to at least check on you and make sure you're okay, but Rhys immediately shut him down every time. It's a two week long mission and he was ready to go. The blade you gave him for Solstice had been left in your desk, since Azriel moved to your room. It was too special to him to risk damaging it, so he left it there but he feels like he wouldn't be doing your gift justice if he didn't wear it on his mission.

At this point it had been about 6 weeks without you. He took the blade from the sheath you had also had made for him and inspected it. The silver metal shone in the sunlight, and the blade was the thinnest and sharpest he had ever seen. Outside the silver edge of the blade there was a clear outlining that went all the way around the edges of the blade. He assumed this was the blood bind, so Azriel took the blade and sliced his left hand. The blood weld and the blade absorbed it, the clear lining turned red with blood and once it had decided that was enough blood spilled to activate the blood bond, the red turned into a shimmering black.

Azriel admired and then sheathed the blade. He turned and looked at himself in the mirror and almost jumped at the sight. He truly did look terrible, the beauty of the blade you had crafted for him a contrast over his current ragged state. Your blade. That you had made for him.

Azriel knew he hadn't been the greatest friend lately. He skipped the things you guys would usually do to try and get to know Elain better, his reasoning being you guys have already spent so much time together and would have so much more. He wishes he could go back in time and deck himself for even thinking that. He misses your coffee runs. He misses pranking Rhys with you. He misses laughing with you at Cassian being well Cassian. He misses your laugh.

He doesn't even need you there, he would take whatever small part of you he can and would happily thank the Mother for even allowing him that small respite. He's coming to realise that in the midst of his cruel and miserable existence, you had been the one ray of light in his life and that when the Mother decides that it's his time and he's nothing more than stardust scattered across the universe or the Mother decides to take her revenge for the sins he's committed in this life that it's the sound of your laugh that would carry him away. If the Mother was good she would allow him the luxury of scattering you with him, but ashes are plentiful and he only needs a single ember.

In the silence of your room, haunted by the ghost of your absence Azriel breaks. Tears stream down his face for the second time in this very spot and realizes that something needs to change, that he needs to change.

When Azriel returns from his mission, he knocks on Cassian's door. Cassian opens the door, his face is straight and devoid of his usual smile. "Are you finally ready to talk or am I going to have to kick your ass again and watch you storm off and brood some more." Azriel begins to feel shy, it is not a feeling that is common to him nor one he likes. This was already very hard for him, but he also forgot that Cassian was Cassian and he wouldn't allow him to walk in like nothing happened. Azriel knods and looks at Cassian with determination in his eyes, "I'm ready." Cassian matches his seriousness and then breaks down in laughter and brings Azriel into a bone-crushing hug. "I'VE MISSED YOU BROTHER." Azriel normally would have tried to get out of it, but he needed this.

Azriel sat down and told Cassian his problems. All of them. They started mid-day and didn't end until passed out after sunrise. He told him about feeling worthless and left out. He told him about you and how he doesn't know what he did or how to fix it but does know he's going insane like this. He talked about Rhys and how that whole situation had really affected him, Cassian had no idea and was so upset that he left for an hour or two and came back bloodied. 15 minutes later Nesta came in and brought him bandages and ice while telling him good job for putting Rhys in his place.

This became regular for Azriel. Him and Cassian would talk out all his problems one by one and he would actually try to do something to fix them. Cassian talked with Madja, and Azriel was now seeing her regularly as she claimed that "illnesses of the mind must be given the same level of attention as illnesses of the body." He started showing up to family dinners again. He apologised to Elain and told her that he couldn't go on with what they were doing because he wasn't in a place for anything right now and could barely deal with himself. She understood and was happy he was finally getting the help he needed. He told her not to wait for him and that it would be better for them to remain friends and she agreed.

Azriel began doing things for himself. He went to your guys' favourite bakery on the regular. He started reading all the books you had left on your shelf. He even started playing piano again, a hobby he had long forgotten, but only remembered because found his old compositions stuffed in a book on your shelf. He had no clue how you got them, he thought they were all thrown away, but nonetheless he was glad to have them.

Things were looking up for Azriel. The only thing bothering him was that he still didn't have you here or know why you left. No one would tell him anything and they would all shut down around him when you were brought up. Conversations would quiet, and topics would be changed. This confirmed the suspicion he had from the beginning, the reason you left was directly concerned with him.

While he was getting better, Azriel did have his ups and downs. His biggest down was the realisation that you had been writing to every single person except for him and Elain. The shadows had finally decided to start talking to him again and the first thing they had told him is that they caught your scent in the house. He flew like a madman from the other side of Velaris, getting there in record time. He searched for your scent, desperate to see you, when he found a handful of envelopes, all with your name and scrawl. The ink was a dark red and the lines were too thin to be from any of your writing tools. You must be using Eris' then.

This bothered Azriel so much he almost forgot the reason why he was holding these letters. He looked at who they were addressed to and saw every single Inner Circle member had received a letter but him and Elain. He put the letters back on the desk and waited to see if anyone would bring them up. Nothing. His shadows began to update him of their arrivals. You had been regularly corresponding with them and not him. Azriel was crushed.

Nevertheless, he continued with his routine. He saw Madja regularly, became close with his family again, and began to actually do things for himself. The process was difficult and so incredibly hard, especially for someone who had been bottling things up for as long as he had.

He's even been visiting his estate lately to see his mother, as she lives on his property. He avoids her when he isn't doing well, she's been exposed to many cruelties over the span of her long life she doesn't need to deal with more. Talking with his mother has really helped. Her warm smile could brighten any day. He's missed her lately. He has a bad habit of putting the ones that he cares the most about on the back burner, but he's working on it.

It's been 3 months since you left and Azriel is finally feeling better. He was at his weekly session with Madja. It was going really well actually, well it was going really well until she causally says, "And how do you feel about a certain princess' return to the Night Court?" She asked almost sounding like a child teasing their friend in front of their crush. Azriel didn't even pick up on it. His shadows stilled and his eyes went wide. You were coming back? Back to the Night Court? Back to him?

Madja looks at him confused. She tilts her head, "You didn't know?" He shakes his head no. He lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding and goes, "No I had no idea. I'm still the only one she hasn't spoken to." His tone bitter, but he caught himself and asked, "When is she getting back?" He hopes she'll just forget about his mini outburst just a second ago.

Madja looks surprised and Azriel is even more surprised at her confusion. She has sat here for the past few weeks hearing about him complain about your lack of communication with him, shouldn't she know that he knows nothing of this?

Madja goes, "You do know you have little shadow spies that listen in to all of your conversations?" Good to see that age hasn't dulled her sense of humour. How did he forget about that? Azriel shakes his head and goes,"Fair enough Madja."

She gives him a pitying look and sighs, "She'll come back. As far as your relationship goes, I would recommend talking it out in person. You both obviously have a lot on your minds, your relationship won't be able to move progress until you address this." Madja leans forward, like she's about to tell him a secret. "Now knowing both of you for so long, I can assure you that you guys will be fine. You're fond of each other and your biggest fear is losing each other, it's going to take a lot more than this to ruin you relationship."

Azriel looks at her agape. While this was fairly common knowledge, no one had actually sat him down and told him this. He assumed that you guys were fond of each other in the way he was fond of each of the inner circle members. Now that the dynamics of the inner circle shifted, they were all pairing up and finding their person. While you had always been close to Rhys, Azriel was the one you had usually ended up pairing up with in the end. Azriel had never come to this realisation, his entire life, he had been yearning for someone to pick him, only to drive away the one person who did.

Madja looks at him and he swears she can read his mind. She shakes her head and starts, "You were ready to die for her Azriel, when she was going to be clipped. You put yourself under the mercy of the old high lord for hundreds of years to ensure her safety and you're going to let your relationship fall apart because of what? A misunderstanding?"

Azriel stills, the conversation had escalated very quickly, leaving him speechless. He can't jump to conclusions before he even knew your side. He would talk to you and everything would be okay. It was just one big misunderstanding. It had to be.

He takes a deep breath and revels in his new found peace and clarity. The Azriel of a weeks ago would have angrily stormed off, lashing out at whatever unfortunate victim would check on him to make sure he's okay, but he's getting better now. He isn't anywhere near perfect, he is the same Azriel, but he hopes that when you get back he will be someone that is deserving to have you in their life without taking you for granted.

He takes a deep breath in and out. "Okay. When is the soonest I can speak with her?"

-

note: Azriel self-help arc time! Yes he did suffer for a bit and yes he will suffer a lot more so don't you worry, but I do think he deserves a little respite. He's coming to his senses... slowly. Thank you all for the support on this series I know we've hit a bit of a slow point in the storyline but there will be the reunion in the next episode which will be explosive one way or another so keep an eye out for that. Until next time loves!

note note: I probably will stop putting out chapters at this speed because I want to actually be able to edit them and the next parts are really important to the story and I do want to get it right :)

taglist: @alimarie1105 @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons @circe143 @i-am-infinite @princesssunderworld @thestartitaness @tiffany-xx @cpfantasybooks @lucia-valentinaa @jennigsonl @ivy-34 @firefly-forest @k-homosapien @coeurdeveea @cherryjain17 @bckynatt @becstersworld @rcarbo1 @gojospearlycim @atluky

[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,

[galaxymagitech]

I think it’s a combination of factors.

Barbara has been there…not quite since the beginning, but for a long time. She’s Batman’s equal, now, and he knows how she thinks. She’s a known variable. He understands her. So, yes, she might be willing to accept killing or even indirectly kill, but it’s always in a fairly controlled way, I think.

It also seems like a lot of Babs’ indirect kills happen outside of Gotham? Huntress is killing gang members. Jason is killing Gotham villains. But if Barbara is helping assassinate world leaders, Bruce might consider it to not be as much of his responsibility.

The guilt is definitely a factor, but it can’t be the sole factor. Bruce absolutely feels guilt about Jason, but he still doesn’t let him kill the Joker. So it may contribute, make him want to find a reason to look the other way, but it isn’t in of in itself the reason.

And maybe, her professing that she’s against killing in general also helps Bruce look away, given that he wants to. Helena and Jason are too blatant about it. They say the quiet part out loud. Barbara is more discrete.

I do think the indirectness matters, but only under some interpretations. Bruce feels that letting someone else kill is the same as killing when it comes to himself. If you think of Bruce’s motivations as fundamentally selfish…perhaps the two steps is enough distance from him that he doesn’t feel those kills on his conscience, whereas the one step of Helena’s kills is worse for him. But if you think he’s primarily motivated by some rigid morality or a desire to make others good people, the distance doesn’t seem to matter much to him. (It does seem to make a difference when it comes to Dick, but there were other factors at play there and not blocking a bullet is different than being part of an assassin team.)

one of my favorite things about the extended Batgang circa New Earth is the way Bruce comes down like a sack of bricks on JPV and ESPECIALLY Helena for even a suspected use of lethal force, while choosing to tactically ignore that Barbara is, like, pretty down with murder. and Babs will also tell you she's against murder, mostly! except for when the murder is being committed by a cop or agent of the US government. or it's the Joker. but it's definitely bad when Helena does it, because of reasons. like genuinely I love this, I love how full of shit they all are. deeply unwell group of people, it's delicious.

[wwwrottoncxrecom]

Breath with me, baby

Pairings: BangChan x 9th member!Reader

Summary: The second your logged in, notifications fill the side of the screen. All emails from your team, most of them containing guidelines to deal with the stalker. The room falls back into a thick silence

Warnings: heavy references to throwing up and anxiety, reader has a panic attack, descriptions of a panic attack, stalking, cussing (one time), angst, this fic is heavy asf, i think thats it ??

Word count: 1.3k

-

-

-

Everything felt like it was falling apart at what was, supposed to be, the best time in your life. You finally started the process to debut as a soloist and everything was falling apart. Someone leaked your debut album and you’ve caught the eye of a sasaeng. Said “fan” has made it their life goal to make yours as unsafe and fear inducing as possible while believing everything they were doing was normal. You could throw up. 

You push past the doors of JYP’s building, the taste of bile slowly raising the longer you think about what’s happening. Everything was so normal a mere month ago, how did it all come crashing down this quick? How did you manage to miss so many signs that this was gonna happen? 

You skip on the elevator, not wanting to be in a confined space so quiet right now. As your feet thud up the stairs, your mind races with memories of signs you so blatantly ignored. This fan wasn’t new. But it started innocent enough that you brushed it off. But when the dms went from sweet fan messages to pictures of your house, you started to realize it wasn’t as innocent as it originally came off. 

A headache is beginning to form, and you slowly raise a hand to rub at your forehead. Why you? Why anyone? Why were idols expected to be ok with dealing with this simply because they’re famous? The thought only increases the feeling of your heavily increasing nausea. With weak steps, you manage to reach the studio door. 

The door opens, and you’re immediately hit with Chan’s cologne. It calms you, as do the dims lights. You two lock eyes and your shoulders visible relax. There’s a unspoken conversation between you before he’s standing and pulling you into a tight hug. You swiftly hug back, albeit not with the same amount the strength. 

“It’s ok. Do you wanna talk about it?” You shake your head, and he mumbles a soft ok. One of his hands moves to your hair and he softly threads his fingers through the strands. It relaxes you, and you melt into his embrace. A couple minutes passes before you feel comfortable enough to pull out of the hug. You look up at him and he softly rubs his nose against yours, giving you an eskimo kiss. 

“What do you wanna do?” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear it perfectly. The question is simple, but it causes you to think and you don’t really want to do that. So you quickly shake your head and fully pull away from his embrace. You reach for your bag, unzipping it and pulling out your lyric journal. 

“Can we work on my album? My mental state has changed over the past couple months and I’m considering a new concept with everything going on.” There’s a deafening silence after your slip up. You stare at each other for a brief second before he’s opening his mouth to question it.

“What do you mean with everything going on?” The panic starts to raise again, causing your breath to pick up slightly. How did you let that slip? Why did you let that slip? The bile is slowly raising in your throat again and it takes everything inside of you not to throw up. The silence is deafening, and you quickly come up with a lie.

“Schedule wise. With my solo debut and our comeback in Stray Kids, It’s just a lot.” Chan seems to buy the lie as he nods. You let a breath of relief, and allow Chan to see your journal. You trust him enough to not judge you. Trust him enough to see the layers that you have peeled back in that journal. Despite all this trust, you couldn’t tell him about what was really going on. The guilt of worrying him gnawing at your bones like a dog with a bone. It was suffocating, it had a grip on you that you just couldn’t release. 

You trusted him with your life, that’s why you couldn’t tell him the truth. 

The more the lie sits on your mind, the more the panic starts to creep into your throat. As the urge to throw up returns, your hands start to tingle and shake. The rooms shinks and everything started to feel suffocating. It feels like your lungs are tightening, your nose is tingling and air refuses to enter it. Just before you can tip over the edge into full blown panic, Chan softly touches your shoulder. 

“Hey. I’ve been talking to you for the past minute. You’re obviously not in the right mindset to be working, so how about we schedule for another day?” You suck in deep breaths before slowly nodding. You reach for your planner thats tucked away in your bag. Upon opening it, the tingling returns. Most of the dates are filled with fan calls, all for the same person. You quickly slam thee planner shut, throwing it roughly back into your bag. Chan eyes you but doesn’t say anything, simply watching as you instead grab your laptop.

In an attempt to escape the reality that’s becoming increasingly obvious, you decide to use to the calendar on your laptop. It’s a personal one, still having important dates but it allowed for a less stressful approach. Or, that’s what you were hoping for.

“Come here, we can pick a day together.” The second your logged in, notifications fill the side of the screen. All emails from your team, most of them containing guidelines to deal with the stalker. The room falls back into a thick silence. You know Chan is reading the emails, if roles were reversed you would be doing the same. You usually have nothing to hide from each other. Unfortunately for you, you did have something to hide.  

“Wait, I can explain-” The panic is raising, your breathing is back to a rapid pace, your hands starting to shake as the tingling returns. His lips are moving, but your brain isn’t allowing for your ears to process what he’s saying. You look away from him, the look in his eyes only increasing what your feeling.

“..Are you even listening to me? Where are you going that you can’t fucking listen to me?” Silence, then his face quickly reflects both hurt, regret, and realization. The look makes you sick to your stomach. 

“I didn’t mean to yell, i’m sorry. But you should of told me this was going on. You lied to me earlier when I asked what you meant. Why? Do you not trust me?” The tears start to flow at that and you quickly shake your head. 

“I trust you with my life, but I knew you would react like this and I couldn’t handle it. I still can’t handle it. I can’t handle you being worried about me like this, it makes me sick. It drives me insane.” His face relaxes slight at that, but you can still tell he’s still upset. 

“I understand you don’t want me to worry, but how you feel about me worrying is how I feel about you worrying about me. I’m your boyfriend, I’m supposed to be there with you in moments that are hard. That’s why I’m here. I wish you told me so I could of helped.” The tears flow harder, causing your shoulders to start shaking. Chan pulls you into a big hug, softly rubbing your back.

“Breath with me, baby.” He breaths in slowly and you follow after him. As he exhales, you exhale. After doing this for a few minutes, the sobs turn into soft sniffles and the occasional hiccup. Chan whispers sweet nothings until you pull away from him. He leans back down and gives you another eskimo kiss. 

“What do you need from me?”

“I just need you here.” 

[quickestgold]

Goodbye, My Lover | Part 4 | The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x Dr. (Ex-Mil)!Reader x Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch

Chapter 4: Thank You

Synopsis: The three of you finally confront the unspoken truths of your past and present, leaving no room for guilt or regret. Nothing is left unsaid. It's a goodbye to the love that once was, but also a hopeful beginning for what might be.

Warnings: Age gap is around 18 years >>> congrats, you've made it, it's comfort time, bestiees

Word count: 1102

A/n: Last chapter of this series (for now...) I might write for Jack and Robby individually if I feel like there's a story to be told. Maybe even a backstory to this, who knows???

Previous Chapter (3): I Forgive You

With steady hands and a clear mind, you feel like you’re finally finding your rhythm again.

Something within you feels more grounded, less haunted by the past.

You're sat next to a bed, working on removing pieces of glass from your patient's leg. They're sedated, allowing you to sit in peaceful silence.

Something in the corridor catches your attention.

Your eyes flicker to Robby standing outside the room, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, watching you execute the procedure with meticulous care and attention. He hasn’t had the courage to enter yet.

"Robby?" You ask gently.

He steps in, arms crossed.

"Looks like you've got it", Robby mutters. A sense of pride in his voice. He was your attending. And he taught you well. Though he always insisted he'd learned just as much from you.

"I could use a hand?" You wouldn't. But you offer anyway, willing him to stay.

That's all he needs, as he grabs a new pair of gloves, instantly finding his place next to you.

He gives you a soft smile before turning his attention to the patient's battered leg.

You sit there for a while, enjoying each other's company.

"Thank you", you say sincerely. "For everything."

Robby's eyes grow wide, before he drops his head, shaking it softly. "You've been through a lot."

"We all have", you acknowledge, a flicker of hope flashing in front of your eyes.

He gently nudges your leg. You reach out, grabbing his thigh without thinking, the instinct still alive. He takes your hand, the sensation still raw but familiar.

Robby looks at the patient’s chart, then shoots a quick look at you, a familiar smirk forming, one you hadn't seen it in a long time.

"Apparently, I need to be more approachable if I want my patient satisfaction scores to go up." He hesitates, but goes for it anyway. "How would you rate my performance, Y/N?"

A laugh bursts out of you, louder than you intended. You quickly glance around, suddenly aware of the inappropriate timing.

Shaking your head, you laugh again, the sound warm and genuine. "You’re ridiculous, Robby."

Robby looks satisfied. "What? Too soon?"

You roll your eyes. "I hope I'm never one of your patients again", a smirk forming on your lips now.

"That makes two of us, my friend", he exhales deeply, feeling like he's finally able to let go.

In this warmth, you both remember. The way love used to be.

You and Jack find yourselves in the break room, still in scrubs, sitting next to each other on the small sofa. The chaos of the ER has died down. No critical patients, no urgent calls, just the two of you in this moment.

Jack cracks open a can of soda, handing it to you without looking. You take it, feeling the warmth of his simple gesture.

He feels you eyeing his sandwich too, but pretends he doesn't. "Jack..." You pout. He slowly shakes his head with a smile.

You put the can down, crossing your arms dramatically.

He glances over at you, still chewing slowly. "You ever think about how we always made it back?" The subject change gives you whiplash.

You hesitate, then give a slight nod. "Every day."

"Yeah." He lets the words hang in the air, not needing to elaborate. Somehow you two always found a way to survive. To come home.

Jack looks at you, his eyes softening before a familiar smirk forms on his lips. “I’m still not giving you my sandwich.”

You laugh, the kind that makes your eyes crinkle. “Oh, come on. I’m starving.”

“You’ll live.” He shrugs nonchalantly, his stoic expression cracking slightly.

You both let out a quiet chuckle. And for the first time in a long time you both realize that this is how it’s meant to be.

With a groan, he finally offers you a bite. You accept, taking a big one. He drops his mouth in disbelief.

As a thank you, you offer your lap with a familiar gesture. Without hesitation, he leans into you, his head resting lightly on your thighs.

And when you softly run your fingers through his greying curls, Jack allows himself to close his eyes, letting his walls down with each calming breath.

For a moment, there’s no history between you. No heartbreak, no regret, just peace. A new kind of love between two people who found their way back.

You push through the metal doors, finding two familiar figures standing on the edge of the rooftop, this time on the appropriate side of the railing.

You hide a small giggle. Progress.

"Thought I'd find you boys up here." You shout over.

Their heads turn instantly, as if they've been waiting for you.

They make room for you between them, before you all turn your gaze back to the sunrise.

You close your eyes and for a brief moment, you swear you can feel their eyes on you. Maybe you will all be okay.

You blink, taking a step back to look at them, their gaze already fixed on you.

You fling your hands around their shoulders, pulling them into a comforting embrace. The three of you stand there for a long moment, holding each other in a way that’s healing, not broken.

You're still here. Together.

You smile at the prospect of this new beginning.

The minutes tick away.

You begin to wonder who's gonna let go first, but quickly realise it won't be them. Not out of fear of what would happen, but out of pure bliss.

So you decide, it has to be you.

You smile, before letting go swiftly. Their hands still on you, even as you step back.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow. Or today. Whatever...", you tease. Robby always insists that just because one shift ends, it doesn't mean it's a new day.

Robby groans. "Today", shaking his head, unable to hide the smile creeping in.

"Dr. Abbot. Dr. Robinavitch", you tease looking at them individually, before you turn around and finally disappear through the doors.

Robby and Jack stay for another beat, not wanting the moment to end.

"You know she still loves you, right?" Jack breaks the silence.

"What?" Robby laughs nervously.

"Come on, brother." Jack tilts his head. "You're good for each other."

"I don't know. I really fucked up."

Jack nods. "So fix it", his voice firm as ever.

The sincerity in his voice makes Robby think. Jack gives him a friendly pat on the chest, as he heads for the door too.

"See you tomorrow", Jack grins.

Robby laughs, like he's finally able to breathe again.

Well well well. This is it guys! I hope you enjoyed this four part series inspired by the 'Four Things that Matter Most': I Love You, Thank You, I Forgive You and Please Forgive Me. Pls pls lmk your thoughts below!! I love reading your comments!

Taglist: ♡

@queenslandlover-93 @sp00kylesley @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sqrlgrl22 @imonmykneessir @gabsgabsvaz @nowandajenn @cannonindeez @sydney-m @persistent-mango

[peanutheaddd]

How is Knight in your swap au? Was he like Petey? What was his relationship with Chief like? How’s he doing in the afterlife?

he wasnt exactly like petey . he WAS a criminal but he was less. Flamboyant. and Flashy. LMFAO. he wasnt some supervillain or anything he mostly committed crimes like theft and sometimes assault if he couldnt control his strength when acting in self defense . regardless he still kind of had an attitude LMFAO so people werent rlly sympathetic to him . swap knight is . kind of like a dog in a way . abandoned dog that only knows how to bite. type beat. hes still like canon knight in that he is pure of heart and dumb of ass but hes never given the opportunity to. allow that pureness to show. bc life has been so shitty to him . LOL.

4 CHIEF. in my mind they used to be friends when they were younger . i think chief tried to help him get his life back on track but knight wasnt super receptive to his help . i think he feels alot of regret still about his death and not being able to help him before he died. he has a Lot of complicated emotions about dog man and he always feels this. sense of guilt about him . i think also bc he knows that greg was knights. number one source of support . greg was probs more support to knight than chief ever was. its s bit hard 2 articulate but basically chief feels a Lot of guilt about Everything that happened with knight .

and bro is chilling

[sturnsblogs]

COMFORT IN ALL THE CHAOS

Teacher!Matt X Milf!Reader

—

You’d been trying to have a good week. Really, you had. But no matter how hard you tried, everything seemed to be working against you.

Eliana had been throwing tantrums left and right—big, screaming, kicking, crying fits that drained you more than you’d like to admit. On top of that, your baby daddy had suddenly decided he wanted to re-enter her life after five years of complete absence. Five years of silence. Five years of nothing. And now, he had the audacity to beg for time with her like he hadn’t vanished without a trace.

You were exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally—everything.

And Matt had noticed.

You’d been ignoring his texts all week—not on purpose, but because the days slipped away so fast, lost in the chaos of single motherhood and the overwhelming weight of everything hitting you at once. Every time your phone buzzed with his name, you’d glance at it, promise yourself you’d reply later… and then another meltdown or another stressor would pull you away.

You felt horrible about it.

So when your doorbell rang late that night, and you opened the door to find Matt standing there, you were both surprised and relieved to see him.

He stood there, looking a little unsure, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bag of Chinese takeout in the other. “Hey, uh, I know things’ve been rough, but I brought dinner. Thought I could—well, help you out. If you’re up for it.”

You blinked at him, feeling a mixture of guilt and comfort. Matt hadn’t pushed. He just showed up, simple and easy, like he was always there when you needed him.

“Hi,” you murmured, voice quiet, the weight of the week still sitting on your shoulders. “Thank you. I didn’t—” You broke off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. You didn’t mean to ignore him, but things were spiraling, and the last thing you wanted was to drag him into it all.

Matt’s smile softened, and his eyes, full of warmth, met yours. “I figured I’d check in. Rough week?” His voice was gentle, but there was a hint of concern beneath it.

You nodded, bottom lip trembling slightly, and instinctively, you stepped aside to let him in. He set the flowers and food down on the counter as if he’d done this before—like he belonged. Maybe that’s what you were trying to avoid—feeling too comfortable, too dependent.

But here he was, and you did need him.

“Yeah,” you said, finally able to speak, your voice breaking just a little. “It’s been a lot.”

You wiped at your eyes, the tears that had been building finally spilling over. Matt didn’t flinch. He didn’t try to fix it or tell you it would be okay right away. He simply stepped toward you, his arms opening in an invitation for comfort.

You didn’t hesitate this time. You walked into his embrace, feeling the weight of the last few days ease just a little as he wrapped his arms around you.

He held you without saying a word, his warmth surrounding you in a way that felt like a safe place. He wasn’t offering solutions. He wasn’t rushing you to feel better. He was just there, and for the first time in days, you could breathe.

After a moment, Matt pulled back just enough to look at you, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “Do you wanna talk about it?” His voice was soft but steady, like he genuinely wanted to know.

You swallowed hard, then nodded, not knowing where to start. You looked down at your hands, suddenly unsure of how to say it all without sounding like you were drowning. “I… I don’t know where to start. Eliana’s been so difficult. And then—” You paused, your heart aching. “He called. After five years. And now he wants to see her. And I’m just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know how to feel.”

Matt stayed silent, just letting you talk. His thumb rubbed gently over your arm, comforting you without overwhelming you.

“Why now?” you whispered, the anger and frustration creeping in. “He didn’t want to be there for her before, but now that he’s ready, he thinks he can just waltz in and fix everything?”

Matt’s voice was low, understanding. “It’s not your fault, Y/N. You’re doing everything for her. You’ve done everything for her.”

You exhaled shakily, feeling the weight in your chest start to ease. “I just want to do what’s right. But every time I try to make the decision, it feels wrong.”

Matt nodded slowly, his hand on your back. “You’ll know what’s right. And if you ever want someone to talk it through with… I’m here. No pressure.”

You sniffled, blinking back tears, and gave him a small smile. “Thanks. That… that means more than you know.”

There was a long, comfortable pause. Then Matt reached down and grabbed the bag of food. “How about we eat? Watch a movie? I mean, unless you’re not in the mood for that, but I figured if you wanted some company… I can do company, you know?” He raised an eyebrow, a soft smirk pulling at his lips.

You laughed softly at his attempt to lighten the mood, feeling the tension in your shoulders release. “I think company sounds nice.”

Matt grinned, his energy a bit lighter now, though still grounded in that caring, gentle way he always seemed to have. “Alright, then. I’m not going anywhere, so let’s get comfy.”

You sat down at the kitchen table together, unpacking the takeout and digging into the warm food. The atmosphere was more relaxed now, no rush, no pressure. Just two people trying to unwind after a long, exhausting week.

As you both ate, you found yourself slowly talking about anything and everything that wasn’t related to your stress. The conversation shifted from Eliana to your favorite movies, to funny moments from work, and even some of Matt’s own silly experiences in teaching.

You weren’t in a relationship with him—yet—but something about the way he made you feel, the way he listened and showed up when you needed him, made it seem like you weren’t so alone in this after all.

When the night ended, Matt stood up, brushing crumbs off his lap. He looked at you with that same soft, sincere smile. “You doing okay?”

You nodded, a genuine smile finally making its way onto your face. “Yeah. I think I am now. Thank you, Matt. Really.”

He smiled, and for a moment, you saw that quiet understanding in his eyes. “Anytime, Y/N. Seriously. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

With a small but meaningful glance, he gave you one last soft squeeze of the shoulder before he slipped on his jacket. “I’ll let you get some sleep. You’ve had a rough day. But if you ever need anything—”

You smiled, feeling lighter than you had in days. “I know where to find you.”

—

A/N- I did not listen to you guys last night and didn’t post what i had so why not do it now.. (updating all my AU’S)

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @slvtme0utt @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill

[mirixmoya]

I’ve been a hayffie fan for YEARS and the backlash I’m seeing against them now after SOTR overlooks the crucial point Haymitch is an unreliable narrator. His trauma distorts his perception, making him believe he’s incapable of love, but that doesn’t make it true. THG series has consistently shown us that first-person narrators don’t always see themselves clearly. Also, if anything, Suzanne Collins really loves to write a boy who’s wayyy more in love with the girl than she is with him.

Haymitch’s relationship with Lenore Dove was passionate and intense, but it was also fleeting and fragile. It was such a beautiful display of young, exciting, love and infatuation. But I truly think had he not been reaped, her free spirit, their diverging convictions, his commitment to his family likely would have led them down separate paths. His lasting attachment feels more rooted in guilt than the once-in-a-lifetime love.

Effie, however, is a love that endures. She chooses him, over and over, for TWENTY FIVE years, despite what it costs her. She but by a deep, unwavering commitment. The real tragedy isn’t that Haymitch lost his one great love with Lenore Dove—it’s that he doesn’t yet recognize the love he has with Effie.

Love doesn’t diminish when you love again. I truly think Suzanne Collins played off of the star crossed lovers trope presented by Haymitch with Katniss and Peeta and make him and Lenore Dove the true ones of the series. If Lenore was Haymitch’s star-crossed lover destined to be lost, then Effie is proof that love can exist beyond tragedy—whether he realizes it or not.

oookay yes anon i do like a lot of what u said, so i'm just gonna give my thoughts below!! (also, worth mentioning, my pre-sotr hayffie thoughts were a product of like 10+ years of thinking, planning, and refining. so with only a week of thinking space, my post-sotr are very much still in the process of being parsed out and refined.)

i think the idea of haymitch being an unreliable narrator is an interesting one, especially considering how closely paralleled with katniss he is. i do, however, think thg fandom has a tendency to misuse the concept of the unreliable narrator, so i'm gonna be careful with that one. i do think that 16-year-old haymitch should not always be taken at his word, especially when it comes to love. no 16-year-old should be. like you said, his love with lenore dove is passionate, and exciting, and full of youthful-enthusiasm. and it is fleeting in the sense that, narratively, we know it is doomed to end. however, i (personally) take post-war haymitch at his word when he says that lenore dove was his 'mate-for-life'. i think he's old and/or lived enough to know what he means, and i believe him when he says it.

it is interesting that you think that haymitch and lenore dove's diverging convictions would have eventually wedged them apart. i don't know if i agree (yet), but it's something i will definitely continue to think about. but i have been thinking about how haymitch's image of him and lenore dove growing old together is entirely of his own imaginings. lenore dove--who we know to be opinionated, and passionate, and full of life--isn't there to speak for herself. i do wonder what lenore dove would imagine for her own life growing old, and whether it would align with what haymitch has imagined for them. i, also, do agree that guilt has big hand to play in haymitch's epilogue memories of lenore dove. he fed her the gumdrop. he feels like he killed her, and i imagine that's not an easy thing to let go of.

what has allowed me to really reconcile haydove and hayffie's co-existence is that neither seems to be taking up the other's space in haymitch's life. hayffie isn't young love, it isn't whirlwind passion, maybe it isn't even that exciting. their interactions are mundane. their romance is a slow grow. it's stone-by-stone, year-by-year, familiarity, trust, sustained companionship. again, not as exciting as young love, but it might be stronger. it maybe has the ability to last longer. effie could never be what lenore dove was for haymitch, nor (do i think) would she want to be. lenore could never be what effie is for haymitch, nor would she would want to be. these relationships don't overlap. they're parallel in a very literally sense where they don't disrupt or overlap onto one another. and i do think this is how i will be framing haydove + hayffie in my fics moving forward. haymitch's lingering pain over lenore dove should be an affirmation of his ability to love, rather than an opposition.

i also like that you brought katniss and peeta into the conversation because i've been thinking a lot about the linear progression of the love stories we see across the series. if everlark is a pure example of star-crossed lovers, and snowbaird is doomed from the beginning, i think that puts haydove somewhere in-between. i think haydove did love eachother a lot, like all-fire, and i do think they were soulmates to a degree. i don't know if they would have been able to live happily ever after. i don't think it's for me to say. but i do think the central tragedy there is that they never got the chance to figure it out for themselves.

hayffie, on the other hand, does get that chance. they spend 25 years together, building their relationship, brick-by-brick. and (seeing as they eventually reach a point where they've known eachother longer than they haven't known eachother) i don't think it's crazy to assume they spent many more years together after the war.

but let me know what y'all think :)

[rebelfell]

Barbeddheimer took over a little bit…stand by…

“Hey, Eddie…you think we could talk?”

Eddie’s head shot up hearing Barb’s voice, his heart swelling seeing her standing in the doorway to the drama room. She was early, catching him right in the midst of setting up the map, on his knees and digging around in his bag.

“Of course!” he said, clumsily scrambling to his feet, his voice coming out a lot smoother than his movements. “Anything for you, gorgeous. What sort of boon does my fair mage crave?”

“It’s about that, actually,” Barb answered.

She hugged the notebook in front of her chest a little tighter, looking down to hide the small smile creeping across her lips. Lips that Eddie, as per usual, was having trouble keeping his eyes off.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The whole…I don’t know…the flirty stuff. I was wondering if maybe you could cool it a bit?”

Oh, wow. So this is what it felt like for your heart to fall out of your ass. Eddie had to lean on the edge of the table, staring down at nothing in particular as wave after wave of guilt hit.

He curled his fingers under the edge, digging his nails in the particle board. What was he thinking? How could he have done this? Screwed up so colossally with the only one who mattered?

“Shit, Barb, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I never wanted to make you uncomfortable—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” she assured him quickly, giving a little shake of her head and chuckling in spite of herself, “I actually, um…I kind of like it.”

Eddie felt a lot of things at once. Relief, first and foremost, followed by a rush of confusion.

“Oh,” he said. “So then…what’s the problem?”

“Well, I just,” she sighed, her eyes rolling behind the frames of her glasses. Not in annoyance, just like she’s trapped in thought. “I guess I like it too much? And I know you don’t really mean it—”

“Sorry, wait—don’t mean what, exactly?”

“You know, just that you…”

Barb tugged her bottom lip back with her teeth, and it took every bit of Eddie’s severely limited self-control to keep his mind out of the gutter.

“That you…like me, or whatever. I’m sure you do this with everyone, but I don’t get attention like that, really ever, and I’m not used to it and—”

Okay, that’s it. Eddie pushes himself off the table and starts to wave both his hands back and forth, the chains on his zippered sleeves and the cuff bracelets on his wrists clacking together.

“Hold on, hold the fuck on one minute...”

Eddie pinched his eyes closed, his brain running through thoughts at a speed that made him dizzy. He knew he’d been maybe a bit too forward, but he couldn’t help it. She was so smart, so wildly, incredibly fucking smart, it was more like a superpower than mere intelligence.

In spite of himself, Eddie sort of loved seeing her week after week outwit and outmaneuver all his traps and pitfalls. She always saw them coming even when the rest of the party were none the wiser. And she’d gotten them out of endless scrapes and jams by thinking her way out.

It absolutely infuriated Eddie, for sure, but only about half as much as it turned him on.

“So, wait…you think I’m just messing around?”

“No, not messing with me,” Barb answered him carefully, “but if you’re trying to make me feel welcome, or part of the club or something, I wanted you to know you don’t need to.”

Eddie’s head fell back on his shoulders, staring up at the stage lights hanging overhead like he might find some kind of answer hiding in the rafters.

As it was, he was gonna have to go off the cuff.

“Barb, I hate to break this to you,” he chuckled, “but I don’t act nearly this dumb with anyone— let alone everyone. This is…all for you.”

Barb blinked back at him curiously, lips pursed in confusion and her brow wrinkled like when she came to an equation that tested her verve.

“What do you…”

Before she could finish asking, Eddie closed the distance in between them with three long strides. Her breath stuttered as he took the notebook out of her hands, revealing the Hellfire emblem that was plastered across her chest. He flipped it to the first blank page and scribbled something down with the pen from behind his ear.

He then handed the notebook to her, letting the tips of his fingers brush with her trembling ones as she took it back and tucked it in her arms.

“Let me know?” he asked, tipping his head at her and holding out the pen he’d just used.

It was one of hers. She loaned it to him one of the first times they had studied together, and it had not left his person since. Not until now.

She took it from him, that little wrinkle in her brow not budging as she opened up her notebook and started flipping through the pages until she found his scrawl among her neatly printed words.

[pink-ladybugs]

Harvest Moon Ch. 2

Farmhand Abby Anderson x Femme Reader

See ch.1

Inspired by:

──────────୨ৎ─────────

──────────୨ৎ─────────

Description: Fluff, angst, friends to lovers, time skip. Abby Anderson farmhand AU. Modern AU.

Plot: You and Abby had been best friends since childhood. You basically grew up together in a small town in eastern Washington. However, a vicious fight separates the two of you. Only the most unpredictable circumstance can bring you back together. This is the second installation.

Author’s Note: Just some character/story building in this one.

─────── current day ───────

The last time you were driving down these long, winding roads was on your way to California. The fields and flowers used to be so vibrant then. Not now.

Rain pelts your windows as you think about all of the things from your childhood that you’ll have to face again. Your childhood home, white paint peeling off the old wood. The fields of wheat that rippled like waves on a windy day. And… Abby.

You planned to stay as far away from her as possible on this trip. You weren’t staying long. Just enough to get Dan back on his feet again.

The only doctor in Dry Creek had called you when you had just finished up your finals at Stanford.

“Dan had a heart attack. He’s been working himself to the bone on the farm. Refuses help from anyone. Said he doesn’t want to hire someone he doesn’t know personally.” He had said.

“Is he okay?” You asked panicked. The doctor sighed.

“He’s alright now but he shouldn’t be alone on that farm. It would be a good idea to come and take care of him. At least until he practices a healthier life style. He has a lot of blood clotting. If this continues, he could have a stroke…”

You knew it was true. Dan worked himself way too hard. Harder than a man of his age should. The fact that he only had a steak and a beer for dinner most nights probably wasn’t helping.

And that’s how you ended up taking your last semester off, frantically packing a suitcase to drive back to Washington and get him up and running again.

You pull into the long driveway leading to the farmhouse. No animals wait by the fence to greet you like they usually did. They all take shelter from the rain instead. You turn the car off once you reach the house. Your body doesn’t let you move.

What do I even say? “Sorry I havnt visited you in years and I only call you on birthdays and holidays. Sorry Ive been too busy to know about your heart condition. Sorry Im the worst niece in the world.”

You sigh and rest your head against the steering wheel. Then all of the sudden you hear your name called out.

Your head shoots up to find Dan on the porch waving you over.

“Get out of that car right now young lady!” He barks. Just like he used to when you did something wrong as a kid. You step out of your car and run through the rain until you get under the cover of the porch.

You stand in front of Dan like a child in trouble. Your tail tucked between your legs. Dan stands there for a moment. His stance is weaker than when you left. His beard is now more salt than pepper. You brace yourself for an endless guilt trip about how you abandoned Dry Creek… and him. Something you could never forgive yourself for.

Instead, Dan walks towards you and gives you a hug. A warm, tight, bone breaking hug.

“I missed you kid.” He says in his usual raspy voice. Your eyes sting as you pull away to look at him. You wipe the formation of tears from the inner corners of your eyes.

“What are you doing outside? You should be lying down and resting!” You say trying to ignore the heap of emotions you feel from his unexpected welcomeness. You swing your arm around his waist and walk inside. The smell of your childhood hitting you like a brick.

“Doc can’t tell me nothing.” He says giving you a crooked smile. You roll your eyes.

“Doc told me you’ve been a real dummy.” You say leading him to his leather recliner. “Don’t worry Im gonna have you healthy as a horse for harvest alright?” You say as you put a blanket over him.

“Im already healthy as a horse!” And with that, he bursts into a coughing fit. Your eyebrows stitch together in concern.

“You can’t work on that farm anymore Dan. It’s literally killing you. You’re not a young buck. You can’t go lifting hay bales and corralling the cows like you used to.” You say.

Dan looks away from you for a moment. A look of guilt passing over his face. “Well I may have gotten some help.” He says sheepishly.

“You did? Doc said you refused to hire anyone because you didn’t know them.” You say confused.

“Well er… I changed my mind. Just hired someone a couple days ago.” He says obviously hiding something. You quirk an eyebrow. You begin to ask him what he’s talking about before something in the kitchen falls and causes a huge crashing sound to ring out through the house. You rush to see what it is.

Pots and pans litter the kitchen floor. “The pan rack fell!” You call out from the kitchen. As you pick everything up you notice the horrible state of things. Ingredients and utensils sit on the counter, never put away. Old coffee stains decorate the kitchen island. It looks like no one had cleaned it in months. “Jesus, what happened to this place? It’s like the second I leave a tornado hits this house.”

Dan lets out a course laugh. “An important man like me cant trouble himself with chores.”

You walk back into the living room and place a hand on your hip. “Or general hygiene I see.”

Dan’s eyebrows furrow as he smells his armpit. His face breaks into a smile as he realizes you’re right.

“Shower.” You say pointing towards the bathroom. He nods. “Im making you dinner too!” You shout as you walk back into the kitchen.

“Steak with gravy and potatoes please!” He shouts back. “Crack open a beer for me too would ya?”

Is this man insane? You think to yourself.

“Not a chance!” You yell as you hear the shower turn on. You shake your head as you open up the fridge to find some vegetables. Surprise, there are none. You groan as you slam the fridge shut. You’ll have to go shopping. You grab your coat and your keys.

“I’ll be right back! I gotta go to the store!” You shout as you make your way to the door. You stop as something catches your eye.

Next to the door are Dan’s old, muddy work boots, but that’s not what caught your attention. Next to them are a tinier pair. The little cowgirl boots register in your mind as you realize Dan never got rid of them once you were too big to fit them anymore. Your heart clenches as you look at them for a second longer. Part of you misses when you fit into those boots. When things were simpler.

You lock the door and leave the house, hopping into your car to go to the nearest grocery store. A thought occurs to you as you drive down roads you know like the back of your hand.

Maybe I do still belong here.

You let yourself imagine being here again. Making more memories in a place that means so much to you.

But no, you have a different life now. One far away from here. Which is what you wanted…

This is only a short trip. You remind yourself.

──────────୨ৎ─────────

Thank you for sticking around for the second chapter!! I really appreciate everyone who reads these.

[staryuee]

hi ! ru still taking reqs? if so i hv one for u:

diluc, ei, ganyu, itto, venti and xiao's reactions when u tell them ur from another world?

kinda like traveler lowkey - since traveler did introduce u to [char]. so what happens when they clear out the fog of your origins? (lets also make u extremely overpowered 👍)

my apologies for the abundance of characters i want u to write for :( - i may or may not think out of all the people who's works i've read ur the best? aoqooqoao don't mind that but tysm if u take my req! ily :D

S/O THAT’S FROM ANOTHER WORLD

꒰warnings꒱ honkai star rail references, not proofread oopsie

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, venti, zhongli, ganyu, xiao, ei, itto

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . i’m currently on a hsr grind so i just decided to steal both that universe and technically the elements of honkai impact to feed into my delusions ♡

traversing the planets that sprinkle the gorgeous celestial galaxy above has led you to a sticky situation. for the past several months you’ve been wandering around the land known as ‘teyvat’ with the kind traveler aiding you as someone who understands your predicament all too well.

it wouldn’t have been so weird for you as a trailblazer - after all, a nameless’s job is to explore the cosmos and the planets that dot the universe - but what made it undoubtedly difficult was the fact you were: A. alone. B. in a whole different branch of the imaginary tree. C. completely attached to a person from this precarious world.

see, over the course of your adventure you’ve met so many different types of people; some the equivalent of scraping nails on a chalkboard and some…or should i say someone, who’s been at your loving side ever since their heart skipped a beat for you.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc doesn’t like to assume things unless it’s built on a foundation of logic and evidence. so this was an absolute surprise to him.

ʚ your sweet and silly habits, the little mumbles you kept to yourself, your reliance on him to converse with others…he thought those were just endearing quirks of yours! not because you were from a whole other world!!

ʚ listen, he’s not mad, per se. you’re the love of his life (as absolutely corny as that sounds), but he doesn’t appreciate having something like this be brought up so randomly and not with precaution. the traveler was one thing, this was another. he loved you. he needs to sit down for a moment…

ʚ in the grand scheme of things, this revelation made a lot of sense. there were moments you mentioned little tidbits about your personal life where it had him scratching his head. you were freely allowed to have secrets and friends outside of mondstadt…but it came to a point where he was absolutely sure you were making things up.

ʚ what do you mean you reminded him of a man called argenti? he didn’t particularly enjoy getting compared to another man of all things…but you seemed pretty happy with yourself so he’ll let it slide. you’re missing someone named…kiana? well, he’s not exactly sure who that is, but he’d be happy to escort you to meet them?

ʚ it was sweet, really—how much he tried to appease your little waves of nostalgia and nights of sorrow with nonchalant compliance while he had no knowledge of your situation. but, now that he has…everything has become so much more convoluted.

ʚ he’s already a man of very few words, preferring actions to prove his love than mere bluffs—but how was he meant to show you anything when all you ever want is something out of his reach?

ʚ diluc has never been in a position where he couldn’t give someone he loved something they desired. you manage to surprise him even now.

ʚ aside from the guilt he feels about not being able to give you more than a hug and a kiss with a muttered “it’ll be okay, sweetheart”, he’s utterly proud and in awe of you.

ʚ you were truly something else in battle. fierce, swift, barely visible through smoke and gashes of elements bombarding together like an alchemy lesson gone wrong—he couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

ʚ if diluc was one for relaxing in fairytale bliss, he wouldn’t hesitate to lean back as you slaughtered with delicate ease with a dreamy grin on his face.

VENTI — 温迪

ʚ venti knows every song from the past, present and the future. the future being the most helpful for situations like this.

ʚ but he certainly didn’t expect for you to just say it out right! i mean, he had suspicions (you called him wendy upon your first meeting, he immediately knew there was something curious about you…), but you’ve never really mentioned it before.

ʚ his initial reaction was a mix of unbridled curiosity and utter joy. he has SO many questions which he will let you use as payment instead of mora for every ballad and sonnet he sings for you. but also… you trusted him with this information? fr? (>﹏<)

ʚ he is SO down for you to chat shit about people who pissed you off in your world. will he understand any of the factions or wars involved? nope! but he’s always willing to listen to his windblume when they’re caressing and squshjng at his cheeks as a form of venting relief.

ʚ not only are you a super intriguing storyteller, one that does a heck of a good job to give him the proper material for future ballads, you’re so powerful and talented it makes him shiver! (*≧ω≦)

ʚ he already loved watching your skilful fingers wrap around a weapon…but watching your entire demeanour shift and posture straighten after you’ve left a residue of dust from a hoard of enemies? ooh you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

ʚ there is a certain bittersweetness to your predicament however… being the god of the freedom of all things means a lot of things, but one thing in particular that makes his heart ache: eventually, he’ll have to let you go.

ʚ and not in a dramatic romeo and juliet way, or an anti-commitment way—in the way that this isn’t your home. and venti would never deprive you of the chance to see your own peers and family.

ʚ what’s a little distance to a god who’s already been alone for most his life anyway?

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ “i know.” were the only words that left his lips as soon as you reveal your identity. he never delves deeper into how he knew; or perhaps he didn’t and is just lying to save face…either way, he remains silent with a complaisant smile as he once again picks up his teacup.

ʚ it’s awfully unsettling how this proclamation is met with such nonchalance, but to be fair, he’s a god, and a dragon at that—he’s seen and been the fault of countless of empires falling and rising, including the one you’re standing in today with qingxin’s in your hair, he’s not fazed, but he is certainly intrigued.

ʚ won’t hesitate to bombard you with questions, slowly of course, he doesn’t wish to overwhelm you.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course, the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered. 

ʚ he’s suddenly a lot more in tune with your habits and quirks, he enjoys the whole process of guessing what things you’ve adapted to and learn from teyvat and the things you’ve clearly been conditioned into by your past.

 ʚ silly things like calling accidentally calling the archons “herrscher”, face suddenly going limp with sorrow at the mention of murata, he also does think it’s a little funny you mimic his osmanthus wine line with one of your own…something to do with life being ephemeral and being filled with worldly strife.

 ʚ aside from your unique quirks, another obvious thing that caught his eye was your power. he’s seen many a mortal in his life—some of which had left puffed scarring in his psyche from their sheer strength and will.

 ʚ but you? you were something else. he couldn’t even tell if it was just because he loved you so much that anything you did amazed him, or because it was simply endearing to see his partner so nonchalantly powerful.

 ʚ he may or may not pull the grandpa card occasionally to watch you in action. Can he technically match you in power? possibly. but you should forgive the old dragon, he merely enjoys watching you get sweaty as he sips tea, is that so wrong?  

GANYU — 甘雨

ʚ ganyu is barely awake when she comes home to you, so when you suddenly revealed such news, it abruptly awoke her. yes, she nearly lost a horn in the process—please don’t mention the bump on her forehead.

ʚ despite ganyu being extremely intelligent and quietly observant like an white barn owl with hooded eyes, this was the last thing she expected: was teyvat some sort of resort for outlanders strewn off their course? or did the gods specifically send you down here so you can play with her heart?

ʚ the revelation doesn’t change much apart from your late night pillow talks. suddenly, even the sleepy goat preferred counting the moles and freckles on your skin than imaginary sheep. please do enlighten her about your world!! she will soak up any information and perhaps help you relive some memories with some diy—she’s sure she can remake the food from the xianzhou luofu with some mismatched ingredients!

ʚ one thing that intrigued her immediately about your travels was the place called penacony; you seriously visited a world where dreams were a reality? where you can simply let go of the troubles of life and engage in mindless fun? that was far too out of her realm of imagination, but she was certainly replaying the image you placed in her mind during her late hours at work.

ʚ however…the rest of the story about the dreamy land solidified in her mind that maybe those few hours with ink are worth more than indulging in delusions…

ʚ your martial art skills and general technique with your desired weapon had also piqued her interest, but she had never really put too much emphasis on it or thought to express her curiosity. after all, it’s not like she gets out of liyue much—perhaps this was merely a style from one of the other nations?

ʚ of course, with the present context, she was now even more intrigued! you have to teach her some of those cool choreography moves! you practically use the entire battlefield like a dance floor, sliding around to avoid enemy attacks with such poise and grace you’d think you were merely doing ballet. she’s never been so motivated for something so seemingly trivial to you.

ʚ there’s certainly a hint of worry with your whereabouts. after all, doesn’t this mean you’ll eventually have to make it back home? if so, would you be potentially willing to return to her if your heartbeats ever sync again?

XIAO — 魈

ʚ that explains a lot of the mumbles you told him not to worry about where in which you compared him to people he’s never heard of in teyvat - i mean he barely remembers the blurry faces of people he’s encountered but even so.

ʚ i mean who in the world was blade?? like the weapon? if so, that’s a rather cruel comparison for a man used as a killing slave for most his life.

ʚ he did think it was weird that despite your long stay in teyvat, you hadn’t managed to properly integrate yourself into their cultures - though he wasn’t really one to judge you for that, he was born to protect liyue and he still hasn’t got a clue how to socialise, so really? he understood you all too well.

ʚ soon as you admitted to him your story, it’s like all the lanterns in his head suddenly flutter with light. ah, so you’re not just an outcast weirdo—you’re quite literally from a different planet.

ʚ xiao isn’t one to be super intrigued about other people, his life and duty is specifically intended for the protection of liyue and its people. he has no time to wonder about what’s beyond that.

ʚ but…since it’s you, he’ll try. during those alone nights at the inn, him wrapped up in your arms like an injured kitten as you brush away the dark streaks of hair clinging to his bloodied forehead—he’ll ask.

ʚ did you have any friends? any family? did they love you? what sort of things did you experience? …do you miss them?

ʚ he rarely wants the answer to the last one, he shuts it out almost entirely. he can’t bear the thought of you potentially yearning for somewhere, or even someone, that wasn’t him. it was petty and selfish—but for the first time in his sacrificial life, he allowed it.

ʚ as for your power…he’s not one to be impressed by something he was literally designed for, but it was another thing to watch you work so diligently. it was…admirable.

ʚ there’s been times where you’ve surprised him, and unintentionally hurt his ego. he’s supposed to be YOUR protector, he wants to be. because if he isn’t, what else can he be? you can’t just swoop in and snatch him by the waist while he’s in the middle of training because you think he’s in trouble!

RAIDEN EI — 影

ʚ she truly believes she misheard you at first.

ʚ you’re from where? huh? speak up, please before the stoic shogun breaks down.

ʚ you can’t be from somewhere unreachable…you were hers. and now you’re telling her you belong to a whole other world?

ʚ it’s a poignant moment. on one hand, she’s deeply honoured that you trusted her to admit something so important to you, but truly…the idea you were just barely hers made her irrationally upset.

ʚ once she gets over the sulking, ei finds a little peace with you as you retell some stories of your own life. it’s a little healing almost, knowing you handled yourself so fiercely without her need of protection.

ʚ another raiden shogun? well you better pray you hadn’t dated because otherwise…she’s not sure she can keep that purple electricity of hers in check enough to not leave a branch-like streak across your face (she wouldn’t dare no matter how tempting the idea of branding you as hers the thought may be).

ʚ yae sakura and miko though? now that was certainly interesting. at least she finally had a conversation starter with the kitsune that strayed from the typical teasing.

ʚ you must know that she will absolutely be using this information against you, in the most lighthearted manner of course.

ʚ no it’s actually very normal in the inazuman custom for a shogun to eat a handful of sweets before dinner, you simply haven’t heard of it! yup she also must be the little spoon at night no matter how much smaller or bigger you are from her—it’s a status thing, so come on, get to it.

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

ʚ OH SHIT??

ʚ unexpected, bewildered and absolutely enamoured.

ʚ not only did he manage to bag an absolute gorgeous partner, one that could kick ass like it was second nature, but also one that was from some super cool other world?! oh babe you shouldn’t have said anything, he will absolutely chew your ear off with this.

ʚ nonstop talking and questioning— did you have things like this in your world?? when reference to the most common items. dig you also have rain? did you wake up before dawn or was it always night in your realm? do you have family? what were they like? friends? gasp LOVERS?

ʚ ooh he suddenly couldn’t take it. he knows you’re the most beautiful, handsomest, prettiest person alive—but just the thought of someone else—someone who he couldn’t fight!!—thinking the same thing before he ever did made his stomach feel all funny.

ʚ were there monsters and freaks in your world too? and did you love them as much as you hopefully loved him?

ʚ he knows it’s a little unfair to expect you to only have had eyes for him, but for the sake of his ego…it’s much better to keep past romantic endeavours to yourself. he’s currently more than content that the great arataki itto is your first TEYVAT! boyfriend. no other dude from some shammy planet could change that significant status.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[callmerid]

”Sick little Monster”

Gareth

Damn. How did i get out if bed this morning? Were my thoughts as i dropped my wight on the chair in the lecture hall, absolutely beaten up. It felt as id i was dropped into the ocean from the height of a skyscraper .

I think i had a fever. Whatever.

Professor Lockwood, Kayden ‘s voice was muffled, i tried my best to pay attention but i just couldn't focus, my attention span was too short for my liking today and i was zoning out.

Who thought coming to class like this was a good idea? You idiot.My inner demons screamed back at me, as if they were in pain too.

Shut up

I let out a quiet groan as my head pounded. Eventually I gave him laying my head on my arms, I tried to look at what Kayden was saying but I was zoning out. Fuck

"Can you repeat what I just said Carson?" A rather familiar voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Huh?" I managed to spit out.

"I appears as thought my lecture is not interesting enough to you as you cant be bothered to pay attention to the simplest points, isn't that right Carson?"

Heat flared on my cheeks as anger seeped in through my pores. How dare he? He was not just calling out for basically doing nothing but also humiliation me in front of my classmates.

"I have more important things to focus on then this, Professor" I shoot back in the coolest, and most polite golden-boy tone I can muster up at this point.

He just shook his head at me and continued on with his stupid lecture in his stupid class with his stupid voice.

I tried to tell myself I wanted to throttle the asshole, which I wanted to obviously, I couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit hurt.

Did he always have to be so hard on me in class, and why only me?

Fuck this.

~

Kayden

I put in the code to my apartment, followed by opening the door.

I knew Gareth was here already with the notification I received when my code was put in earlier. However when I step into my apartment no lights are on . Hm

Maybe he's asleep and sure enough when my living are comes into view he's laying face down on the couch.

Something feels wrong though.

I turn the lights on, take my tie off and unbutton the first few buttons. I drop my briefcase down before making my way towards him.

"Baby? You asleep?"

No answer.

Hm. I take a minute to observe him closer, his neck is damp with sweat, his face is flushed and his muscles are rigid. I know he's awake however due to his uneven breathing. And as I step closer there's a alarming heat radiating off him. I immediately tense up in worry.

"Gareth what's wrong?" I pat his shoulder but his response makes me flinch.

"Don't touch me" He snarls his eyes snapping open almost at once.

I tense, wondering what could be the problem.

"You don't look well, let me see what's wrong with you... And dont ever tell me I cant touch what's mine again." My voice hardens at the end.

He sits up, albeit slowly and a little sloppily too. Worry englufs my body.

He's facing me now, his eyes are hooded and his face is flushed red with sweat beading on his forehead. I press my hand to his forehead.

"I said dont-"

"Your burning up, you have a fever" I interrupt him.

"Get your hands off me." He turns away from me, fury and a little bit of something else clouding his eyes.

I sigh.

"Baby please tell me what it is so we can get over it and take care of my sick little monster."

"I'm mad at you" he spits out glaring at me.

Even sick he dosent loose his fire. That's one of my favorite things about him. Although there are a lot of things I like about him so I may be biased.

"Why pray tell."

He just turns away pouting.

Fucking Adorable my little monster.

"Enough, communicate with me" My tone non-negotiable as I turn his head towards me with my grip on his chin.

"I..." he hesitates.

"Go on"

"Its not that I wasn't paying attention" he speaks lowly "It was hard to because I wasn't feeling well" His voice drops down to a whisper as his eyes look anywhere else but me.

Fuck.

Guilt wells up inside me, a small pit of self-loathing forming for making my little monster feel this way.

"Fuck I'm sorry baby...Please look at me" My voice softens

He turns his head slowly.

"It...It hurt." He whispers

My heart fucking aches.

I lower my face to his.

"I know I've hurt you my little monster, I know I've let you down and there's isn't much I can do but say I'm very, very sorry. Please let me make it up to you know and let me take care of you." I press my lips to his, not caring that he's sick.

He exhales a little, his eyes softening and he nods a little.

"Thank you" I say. And I mean it. "Now let me take care of you"

He stares at me for a minute. "Okay"

I lift him up and carry him to our bedroom, I take his clothes off and change him into something a little more comfortable.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"No I wasn't that hungry." he replies

"Let me bring you some strawberries, I know you want to rest but have some for me first, Please."

He nods a little. I walk to the kitchen, retrieving a fresh bowl of strawberries from the kitchen. I also prepare a glass of water and bring it back to him.

His face lights up a little as the sweet tangy fruit comes into view.

I sit with him as he munches on the fruit. And when he's done I push him back into the bed willing him to rest. I go fetch a wet rag and place it ion his head to bring the fever down. Its not too high, so he should be fine by morning but I wouldn't like him to go out tomorrow.

"Kayden..." his voice brings me out of my thoughts,

"Yes baby?"

"Sleep with me" He blushes a little.

I smile softly, nodding as my heart grows a little for him. I snuggle in beside him bring his head to rest on my bicep.

He lets out a content sigh as his eyes flutter close and I press a soft kiss to his nose admiring his freckles.

And as he lays here all I can think about is how much this man means to me and how much the prospect of him not being okay eats away at my insides.

Idea credits to l1ttlerose

[pseudoquiddity]

Me ruminating on the Stamatins and their religious faith again/their relevance to the Bible. Here goes:

In P2, Peter makes allusions to faith, whereas it's mentioned in the design documents that Andrey is a "staunch atheist." (The Stamatins in P2 seem to be in constant, opposing conflict over things. I wonder how that single-soul candle is working out for them)

But it's pretty clear that Peter isn't religious, per se, he's just desperate - which is something I'd imagine Andrey would take greater issue with than believing in God, but we'll get there. Peter thinks abstractly, not tethered to any real religion, about Heaven and Hell because "it turns out, all this was my hell after all." Peter comes across as someone who desperately wants to escape the torture of his own mind and body and so looks to Heaven as that escape, hence that "Never allow yourself any time to think. That's how you get to Heaven" line. Peter is wracked by a guilt that may be inspired more by suffering than regret. As a man who spontaneously considers suicide, it's safe to assume he doesn't imagine himself living very long. If he can't have oblivion in life through alcohol, he wants it in death, but Hell probably doesn't offer what he wants and now that he's on the maybe-precipice of judgement, he's suddenly contemplating Heaven and realizing he's not done a lot of good deeds.

Sort of the opposite of Raskolnikov's epiphany that religion isn't for scrubbing a person's soul pure and clean, and religion can be epitomized even in sinful people. Peter's grasping for help and doesn't really believe in it.

(Peter also prays when Grace is in danger, and the exchange he has with the Haruspex explains how Peter is using psalms more as a charm than as real faith).

Okay, Andrey? One of the most revealing conversations about his (P1) character is in the Changeling's route, and you have to ignore several Clara responses that are just her saying please stop yelling at me! It's great.

It's already initially interesting that Andrey is angry he and his brother are accused of being faithless. I don't think that Andrey is necessarily saying he is religious, but...

"the greatness of God's design" out of Andrey Stamatin's mouth, can you imagine. He is saying that he might be, that he knows more about God, cares more about God, than Clara does - and that the Polyhedron isn't a revolt against faith. It can grow alongside God, in the same way that we all live with technological progress but many people still keep faith and don't feel it's been disproven. Clara proceeds to stumble back to the Rod and says mama, "Andrey ruined everything."

People riff on Andrey for his hole spiel and that's good, that's deserved, that's drunk philosophy, but this block of yelling is maybe one of the most reasonable and coherent ideas Andrey has that stands (correctly) in the face of Katerina and Clara's views of God. Can you believe it? Andrey has a wonderfully synthesized point of view on religion and how it relates to himself and his actions. He's not the traditional heathen he's made out to be (Katerina isn't completely wrong about the Stamatins, she does accuse them of hurting the Earth).

There's this line in the Marble Nest where your response is a choice. You can make Dankovsky say he either believes or disbelieves in God, and I think a Dankovsky who does believe in God feels just about the same way Andrey does - that progress doesn't mean defiance, that he isn't trying to become God or spit in his face. He's just doing his own thing for the good of the people around him. Curing tuberculosis was once thought impossible and nobody thinks those doctors are heathens now. I wonder if this P1 view will carry over to Andrey in P2/3 or if he's too much of an Italian/Cellini.

[ Slapping my red-string corkboard ] So, JACOB'S LADDER. A man named Jacob in Genesis dreams of a ladder extending from Heaven to Earth. It's been interpreted that each rung is a virtuous step toward Heaven, that Heaven is reachable from Earth with enough dedication toward a more righteous self. Jacob's ladder is sometimes also a staircase.

Peter and Andrey were named after two brothers in the Bible, Simon (later named Peter) and Andrew, the "fishers of men," "Peter, the rock on which I will build my church." Very cool, but lay them aside and think about Jacob and Esau instead.

Jacob and Esau, in Genesis, were twins. Esau was the first-born, who grew up to be a hunter. The name Jacob was given to the second-born because it translates to "he who follows upon the heels of one," "heel-catcher," "restrainer."

In Genesis, Esau gives over his birthright as the eldest to Jacob for a bowl of stew. Later... their father favors Esau and wants to give him God's blessing. Before this happens, Jacob finds out and dresses as his twin in order to trick their blind father into blessing him. This is done successfully and because of this, the youngest brother has prominence over the elder. Their father says to an angry Esau: "By your sword you shall live, but your brother you shall serve; yet it shall be that when you are aggrieved, you may cast off his yoke from upon your neck."

Esau as an individual never "casts off his yoke." He's forfeited his position as the eldest and as someone worthy of special favor. He is often seen as less pious than Jacob, who goes on to have visions, fight an angel and win, and sires a nation.

So, that echos Andrey and Peter... as is obvious, but also in Andrey's statement in P2 that Peter will long outlive this town, including Andrey; "I can kick the bucket, so be it, but my brother must live. He is a genius."

Peter, trying to find some winding way to Heaven through his staircases, as a person who already reflects the Bible in his relationship with his twin brother, a pair of twins who never really make up for what [Peter] took and still takes from [Andrey], and yet simultaneously [Peter] complains of his persecution by [Andrey], a man depicted as a fierce hunter... etc. etc.

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- what does your ex think about you?

hello hello hellooo my loves, today's reading is a bit different than usual (i tend to not focus on love readings too much since i usually find them boring to do). sometimes we can't help but wonder what that ex of ours might be thinking (just for fun).

as always, this is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. muuuuch love <3

⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　*　　⠀.

　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦

　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　*

.⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　.

.　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　,

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　

　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

　　　　　　　　　　　.

　　　　　　　

　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　.

　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀,

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

pile 1: i don't know what i'm supposed to do haunted by the ghost of you. masculine energy. he feels stuck mentally, emotionally, physically, spiritually and psychologically (damn), frozen in a moment that no longer exists. the guilt and regret is eating him alive, he feels like shit for whatever happened between the two of you. he's lurking on your social media accounts (page of swords) in hopes of seeing that you're still thinking about him too. but you're not! you're represented by death. you are the ending he never saw coming. you outgrew him, transformed yourself and became someone he could only dream of getting closer to now. he gets hit with nostalgia at the most inconvenient times loool

pile 2: a damn mess lmao, they still believe that the two of you are soulmates. they feel a deep and spiritual pull to you that they can't explain to themselves. they're constantly debating whether they should reach out or not. they may have tried to get over you by dating someone new but that only worked against them. they dream about you a lot. they feel you and it freaks them out (if you're haunting them on purpose, keep going queen!). they romanticize the hell out of you and your relationship. they want you back even though they're trying to suppress it.

pile 3: they're lying to themselves, pretending to be chill about you or your relationship. they feel like every other person they met after you just doesn't measure up or hit the spot for them. they loved that you had standards but hated to see you thriving. they're fake as hell, they try so hard to act detached that it simply screams obsession to me. the good thing about this is that you're at peace about them, you don't hate them and you don't love them. indifference is the best revenge you could serve to this ex. it keeps them suffering.

as always, thank you for reading <3

[liubovricci]

Astarion. Undead weirdo.

I thought a lot about this post https://www.tumblr.com/preciouslittle-bhaalbabe/759003055035416576/is-it-bad-that-that-is-my-entire-headcanon-for?source=share after I first read it and realized that a lot of it is actually my headcanon. And a lot of weird stuff started coming into my head that could be done with this kind of Astarion. This text is split into two parts, because I went further, delving into the contrast between Spawn Astarion and AA. This part is about SPAWN, so it's still odd (I warned you!), but not as much as the next part about AA.

1. Breathless

Sometimes Astarion forgets to breathe until he starts talking, and then takes a sharp breath as if to gather air for a line. Sometimes he forgets to breathe mid-sentence, his words dissolving into raspy croaks. Yara mimics breathing for him, placing his hand on her diaphragm. He stares, fascinated, as her chest rises. But during sex and feeding, on the contrary, he starts breathing too much, panting deeply and loudly, so much that any mortal could get hyperventilation. Not because he needs it or is trying to imitate life, but in order to constantly smell the scent of his lover's blood and body.

2. Eyes and sounds

His pupils dilate enormously when he's excited, turning a metallic shade like quicksilver. When light hits them, they glow with a subtle red reflection, and when he drinks blood, they turn completely black, the irises disappearing almost entirely. Yara loves to watch in fascination as his pupils return to their normal size and dilate again at the same speed as a cat's.

He often makes inhuman sounds: a hoarse hiss when he's angry; a low rumble in his chest when he's happy; and a grinding of his teeth as if he's sharpening his fangs before a hunt. During intimacy, especially when he is sincerely lost in sensations and feelings, he can forget how to sound human, tempting, and sexy, and then his voice splits—one tone is gentle, high-pitched, and almost inaudible, the other is raspy, deep, as if from the depths of the earth.

3. Sleep

Astarion neither sleeps nor meditates but can fall into a motionless brooding state when he wants to rest mentally, or torpor, a complete trance-like oblivion, when he needs to restore his vitality. While resting, he can move, and his thoughts transform into dreams that he can't or doesn't want to control. In torpor, however, his body is completely motionless, his breathing stops, and he becomes even paler than usual. He doesn't just look dead; he is dead. At first, this scared Yara to shit. The first few times she shook him in tears, trying to wake him up. She had to sit next to him until he came out of the trance on his own and sat up in bed with his back straight as a stake, not taking a single breath, like a fucking Dracula. Over time, she got used to it and even began to lie on top of him on particularly hot nights, taking advantage of the fact that he is cold and feels nothing at all.

4. Blood and feeding.

5. Sex.

When he drinks from her, he does so slowly, with aching self-control. His hands cradle the back of her head, his lips pressed to the wound as if he wants to seal it, not open. He purrs and sniffles into her neck, taking only a few sips, and then nuzzles his face to the bite for a long time, as if he's going to keep going, but he never does, just licks up new drops until the flow slows down completely. Perhaps he's training his willpower, or maybe he's really enjoying it. With his love, this act is never about hunger, always only about sacred pleasure. Afterward, he always makes Yara do something about the blood loss, and sometimes she thinks he feels just the slightest hint of guilt.

“My love... you shouldn't be so generous. One day I might be unable to hold back.”

6. During periods

Over time, he realizes that he can stop pretending and playing roles in bed and do what he really likes, and Yara won't judge him. Sometimes he gets too chatty and mumbles something about her being a real witch, a plague, a disease that infected him; sometimes it's just loving, sweet nonsense, and sometimes he starts to speak Elvish, and Yara really doubts that it's something meant for her ears.

After sex, he often fascinatedly counts, touches, and kisses the bruises, hickeys, and teeth marks he left on her body this time. He licks the sweat off her body and likes to stay inside her for a while, until he starts to harden again.

Yara doesn't need to keep a calendar because Astarion can smell her period coming a few days in advance. When it begins, Astarion becomes extremely affectionate and clingy, both because he cares and wants to ease her pain and because the constant scent of blood beckons and doesn't let go. He heats the blankets for her and brings her the herbal tea that she always brews for herself according to her father's recipe. But he adds something of himself to this recipe, and then the spoon stands upright in the cup because it is no longer tea with honey, but honey with tea. He drapes her thighs over his shoulders and presses his cold cheek to her lower abdomen. His voice cracks—part concern, part hunger. “Gods, you're hot like a furnace. Does it hurt? Tell me how to fix it.” But she never has time to answer, and it ends up with his face buried between her thighs anyway.

7. Weird habits

Sometimes he puts her on top of him in an uncomfortable position for both of them, her back to his chest, so that her heart is in the same spot where his should beat, but she never complains. They lie there for a long time, silently. And he imagines that her heartbeat is his own.

He can sit for hours twirling a strand of her hair around his finger like a boy playing with thread. Sometimes he tears off a single hair and puts it in his pocket like a talisman. When Yara silently looks at him questioningly, he makes an indifferent face: “What? You don't mind, do you? It smells like you, darling.” He collects her hair/objects, but never admits how many he already has. This habit makes Yara really happy because it reminds her of the behavior of rats, which she adores, when they drag everything they think is treasure into their den. But I wouldn't be surprised if among these treasures there is something bizarre, like a piece of bandage from Yara's wound, which almost killed her once.

Astarion lays his head on her stomach and listens to her body work: her stomach rumbling, her intestines moving, her lungs filling with air, her blood rushing through her veins. He knows he once had the same thing, but he can't remember what it felt like. “Mortal temple,” he murmurs under his breath, thinking she can't hear. But of course she does, and she smiles sadly and caresses his hair with her fingers.

He doesn't feel cold and always wears clothes unsuitable for the weather. And when Yara starts to freeze, he tears his own clothes and wraps her in them, trying to “warm her up,” but instead freezes her even more. Does she complain? No, hardly.

He watches her sleep, perched at the foot of the bed like a gargoyle. When she wakes up, he's inches from her face, eyes wide and unblinking. “You twitched. Were you dreaming of me?” At such moments, in the absence of light, it seems that his smile doesn't reach his eyes, and he looks like a ghost.

8. Care and romance

Yara has almost completely given up the sun to lead a nocturnal lifestyle with Astarion. And when she goes too long without seeing the sun's rays, he cups her face in both hands, examines her skin and the dark circles under her eyes. He frowns, makes a noise. “You're getting pale. You'll soon turn into a drow.” And he goes to build her a nest of pillows and blankets by the window so that she can bask in the rays. He hides behind a curtain in a dark corner, watching the light play on her skin. They talk for hours, until the sun goes down.

He never says “be careful,” but every time Yara goes on a dangerous mission, he discreetly puts some nonsense in her pocket that he considers a talisman. Maybe a cinnamon stick dipped in sandalwood oil because he remembers that she loves that smell. Or a fang that looks suspiciously like a vampire's, and she doesn't even want to know from whose mouth he ripped it.

He memorizes her heartbeat. When she's stressed, he curls around her like a serpent, aligning his stillness with her pulse. His hands flutter, unsure where to touch without triggering her trauma, so he settles for tracing the scars on her forearms with a feather-light touch.

He gives her gifts that he considers romantic, not those that are acceptable to give to loved ones. A wilted rose that he picked up from who knows where (“She's as beautiful as you are, even when she's hurt.”); perfume that he made for her, which has a completely incompatible mixture of scents (“Smells like a disaster. Specially for you, darling.”); live rats that he hates and she adores (“If you smiled like that because of jewelry, I'd steal it for you every night.”).

Sometimes he silently creeps up behind her and demands that Yara tell him she's alive with a blank expression. “You know I'm alive,” she replies with a sigh.

“No. Say it out loud.”

“Fine. I'm alive, love.”

“Say you'll still be alive the next time I wake up.”

“OF COURSE I—”

“Say it.”

“Uhhh... I'll still be alive the next time you wake up.”

“Good,” he replies, burying his face in her hair, and for a moment he looks like an ordinary elf again. But after such conversations, he follows her around like a shadow for a long time.

Astarion kisses her scars with aching compassion and draws out all the darkest details of her own slavery. Sometimes she thinks that he is too distant and indifferent, his eyes become glassy and void, as if he doesn't hear her at all, but in fact he is experiencing all these moments with her live and comparing them to his past. And when she weeps, he never tries to stop her tears. He just cradles her and whispers, “Give it to me. Give it all to me, my love.”

He teaches her how to waltz in the silence and darkness of the abandoned estate hall, but his movements are mechanical, as if he were copying movements from a past life. Suddenly he stops:

“I... don't feel the music. Could you... speed the rhythm for me?”

“Speed... the rhythm?”

“Yes, darling. Your heartbeat.”

And I love him like that.

[blissfulbluee]

Do you think Sang-woo’s smile after he sees Gi-hun made it through dalgona was genuine relief or “oh shit he lived and now I have to act like I didn’t betray him”? That scene in particular is kind of hard for me to read. I think that regardless he felt very guilty about it.

I don’t think he WANTED Gi-hun to die but I think he realized that he was an emotional liability that would inevitably end up holding him back. I think that he thought Gi-hun was bound to die at some point and knew that spending time with him would dredge up old feelings (platonic or otherwise…) that may cloud his judgment/distract him from his end goal. Dude needed to lock in and wasn’t capable of doing that with Gi-hun around. If Gi-hun was going to die he probably wanted save himself the grief of getting reattached. So maybe the smile was a bit of both?

I’d love you hear your perspective!

Hi anon! Thanks for the ask. I really like this question.

I really think that little smile was of relief. I can also see where you come from with both, though. Maybe it was also a grimace, because I do agree with your thoughts here. I think that he genuinely felt guilty for not telling Gi-hun to choose another shape, so he was very much aware of his actions. I think it was to get it out of the way as you said, but also a lot of it was because Gi-hun would tell others, which would give Sang-woo more trouble in the future. If he didn't want to chance Gi-hun dying, he could just have told him to pick another shape with no explanation. Yeah, part of him may have trusted Gi-hun to survive. But either way, he was willing to chance Gi-hun dying there. Again, I would see it as more of an uncomfortable smile due to guilt rather than him being like "oh shit you lived, whoops."

But I don't think Sang-woo would ever genuinely want his childhood best friend to die. I think the games really, really messed up his thinking when he was already not in a good place mentally. So yeah he really did feel like he needed to lock in early on lmao. I genuinely think he thought of it as the only way to fix the life he fucked up other than committing suicide.