remmi ♡

Semi.

Short black hair that framed her face in sharp, rebellious layers, never quite tamed by the uniform’s strict rules. A silver nose ring that caught the light when she tilted her head in defiance during Mass. A matching lip ring that drew your eyes more times than you could confess. She moved through the corridors like the rules didn’t apply to her, the hem of her skirt a fraction too high, her tie loosened just enough to make the nuns frown.

The rumors said her parents had dragged her here after catching her kissing a girl at her last school.

A girl. The word alone sent a forbidden thrill through your stomach the first time you heard it, something hot and liquid that pooled low in your belly before you could shove it down with a Hail Mary.

You tried not to look at her. You really did. But in the back of Theology class, when the sister droned on about the dangers of carnal temptation, your gaze would drift. Semi would be slouched in her seat, one boot tapping restlessly against the leg of her desk, that lip ring glinting as she chewed on the end of her pen. Sometimes she caught you staring. Those dark eyes would lock onto yours, and the corner of her mouth would lift into a cheeky smirk. Then came the wink, slow and knowing, like she could see straight through your carefully constructed piety down to the ache you tried to bury under layers of guilt.

You always looked away first, cheeks burning, heart hammering against your ribs like it wanted to escape this holy prison. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. The prayer became a constant loop in your head, but the sin only grew sweeter the more you tried to ignore it.

You had never spoken to her. Not a single word. Until today.

Sister Margaret had pulled you aside after morning prayers, her voice gentle but firm. “You’re our brightest student, dear. Semi is… struggling. If you could tutor her in Scripture and Ethics, just a few evenings a week, it would be a great act of charity. And there’s extra credit toward your final marks.”

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped, or at least it felt like it. The idea of being alone with her, of sitting close enough to smell the faint hint of cigarette smoke she tried to cover with mints, close enough to see the delicate curve of that lip ring up close…

“Yes, Sister.” You’d answered, voice steady despite the storm inside. “I’d be happy to help.”

The rest of the day refused to move normally after that. Time didn’t pass, it dragged.

In Theology, the words on the page blurred into meaningless lines of ink. You tried to follow along as Sister Margaret spoke, something about virtue and discipline, but every sentence seemed to circle back to the same thought.

You’ll be alone with her.

Your pen hovered over your notebook, unmoving. A full minute passed before you realized you hadn’t written a single word.

You told yourself to focus. You always focused. That was who you were.

But your mind betrayed you.

What would she be like up close, without a classroom full of witnesses? Would she still smirk like that? Like she knew something you didn’t… Would she sit too close on purpose? Would she even take it seriously, or would she treat the whole thing like some kind of joke?

Worse, would she look at you the same way?

Your grip tightened on the pen.

Or would she not look at you at all?

The thought landed heavier than it should have.

The chapel bell rang, low and steady, signaling the shift to afternoon prayers. You stood with the rest of the class, movements automatic, practiced. Hands folded. Head bowed.

“Ave Maria, gratia plena…”

The Latin rolled off your tongue without effort, years of repetition carrying you through. But your focus slipped again, drawn sideways despite yourself.

She was there. A few rows ahead, slightly off to the side. You hadn’t meant to look, you never meant to, but your eyes found her anyway, like they always did.

Semi stood with her head tilted just enough to suggest she wasn’t fully paying attention. Her lips moved, but you couldn’t tell if she was actually following the prayer or just mimicking the rhythm. The silver of her nose ring caught the light filtering through the stained glass, a brief, quiet glint of defiance in a room built for obedience.

For a moment, just a moment, she turned her head.

Her gaze landed on you. Not by accident. Something in your chest tightened, sharp and immediate. You looked down too quickly, the words of the prayer tingling on your tongue.

“…benedicta tu in mulieribus…”

Heat crept up your neck. You pressed your hands together harder, as if the pressure alone could steady you.

Stop this.

This was ridiculous. It was a tutoring session. Nothing more. You would sit across from her, go over the readings, correct her mistakes, and leave. That was all.

That was all it could be.

But your mind refused to cooperate.

What if she didn’t behave?

What if she said something, like she always seemed to, careless and bold and entirely unconcerned with consequences?

What if she leaned too close?

What if you didn’t move away?

Your breath caught, barely noticeable, but enough to throw off your rhythm.

“…nunc et in hora mortis nostrae…”

You swallowed hard.

Maybe she wouldn’t show up at all. The thought slipped in quietly, unexpected. Maybe she’d skip it. Maybe she didn’t care enough. Maybe this was just another obligation she’d shrug off without a second thought.

You told yourself that would be better. Easier. So why did something in your chest twist at the idea?

The bell rang again, pulling you out of it. The prayer ended. Chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone shifted, the spell of the chapel breaking all at once.

You didn’t look for her again. You didn’t need to.

The question followed you anyway, persistent and impossible to silence:

What was she going to do when you were alone?

And worse, what were you going to do?

Now evening had fallen, and the library’s side study room felt smaller than it ever had. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind you, sealing you both inside with nothing but the soft glow of a desk lamp and the distant tolling of the chapel bell.

Semi was already there, lounging in one of the chairs like she owned the place. Her uniform blazer was draped over the back of the seat, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar just enough to reveal the faint line of a silver chain against her collarbone. Short black hair fell messily across her forehead, and the silver of her piercings caught the light as she looked up at you.

For a split second, you forgot how to breathe. Your heart kicked hard against your ribs, sudden and uneven, and something light and restless stirred low in your stomach, like nerves, but not quite. You told yourself it was just the situation, just the closeness, just the fact that you were alone with her. It had to be. You didn’t let your mind finish the thought forming at the edge of it, that she looked… No. You shut it down immediately, heat rising to your face as guilt followed close behind. Lord, forgive me. The words came quick and automatic, a reflex, even as your eyes lingered a second too long before you forced them away.

Then she smiled that same cheeky, crooked smirk you’d seen across classrooms. “So, they sent the golden girl herself to save my soul?”

Her voice was low, a little rough around the edges, like smoke dragged through honey. It sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine.

You set your books down on the table with hands that only trembled slightly. “I’m here to tutor you. In Scripture and moral ethics.”

Semi leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. The movement brought her closer, and you caught the faint scent of her, something clean and sharp beneath the rebellion.

“Moral ethics, huh?” She tilted her head, lip ring flashing. “Funny. They put me in here because apparently I don’t have any. Made out with a girl behind the bleachers at my old school. Scandalous, right?”

The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Heat flooded your face; you could picture it too clearly. Semi’s hands in another girl’s hair, that mouth with its silver ring pressing against soft lips, no shame, no guilt, just raw want.

The shift was small, easy to miss if she hadn’t been watching, but it was there. The way your breath caught, the way your grip tightened ever so slightly on the edge of the table, the color rising fast and unmistakable beneath your skin. For a second, she didn’t say anything. The smirk on her lips stilled, something sharper slipping in behind it as she tilted her head, really looking at you now.

Before, the teasing had all been casual; pushing your buttons for the fun of it like she did with most of the girls in this place. But this… this was different. This wasn’t just flustered politeness or irritation.

This was a reaction.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly, her expression shifted into something more deliberate.

You swallowed hard and opened your notebook. “We should start with the readings on temptation. Saint Augustine wrote…”

Your voice came out thinner than you wanted. You forced your eyes down to the open notebook, tracing the neat lines of your handwriting as if they could anchor you, but the words blurred. All you could focus on was the way Semi’s presence filled the small study room, like incense smoke curling around the edges of your resolve.

For a few minutes, you actually managed it. You read aloud from the assigned passage in measured tones, explaining Augustine’s struggle with flesh versus spirit, how the saint had begged God to make him chaste, but not yet. Your voice stayed steady. Professional. Holy, even.

Semi listened, or at least pretended to. She nodded at the right moments and asked a half hearted question about original sin. Her pen moved across her own notebook in lazy loops that had nothing to do with notes.

But soon the boundaries began to shift.

It started small. Semi scooted her chair closer under the pretense of seeing the text better. The wooden legs scraped softly against the floor. Her knee brushed yours beneath the table, light at first, then firmer. Warmth seeped through the thin fabric of your uniform skirt where her leg pressed against yours.

Your entire body went still.

For a split second, your mind blanked - just a sharp, startled what - before everything rushed back all at once. Your first instinct was to pull away. It should have been easy. Just shift your leg, create space, pretend it never happened.

But you didn’t. You hesitated. Because what if it was an accident?

The thought clung there, fragile and desperate, even as the warmth didn’t move. Even as it stayed. Even as it pressed just enough to make your breath catch.

And then, worse, you felt it.

Her attention.

Your gaze flickered up despite yourself, and there she was, already watching you. Not casually. Not absentmindedly. Watching you like she was waiting for something, like she was studying every flicker of your reaction.

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t accidental.

The realization hit slow and heavy, settling somewhere deep in your chest as your pulse began to race. She knew. Or at least, she suspected. And now she was waiting to see what you would do about it.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

You kept reading.

“‘Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet…’” The quote felt mocking now, spoken in the same room where her knee was still resting firmly against yours.

Semi’s gaze remained trained on yours as you read. Those dark eyes bore into your own, heavy lidded and unreadable, her lip ring catching the lamplight as the corner of her mouth curved. She didn’t say anything. Just looked. The kind of look that made heat pool low in your stomach and guilt twist sharp and immediate behind your ribs.

Lord, give me strength, you prayed silently, the words looping frantic and desperate in your mind. Deliver me from temptation. Lead me not into…

Semi reached up slowly, a faint crease forming between her brows as if she’d just noticed something.

“Hold on.” She murmured, voice low, almost absentminded. “You’ve got-”

Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair near your face, tucking it carefully behind your ear like it was nothing more than a small, practical fix. The gesture was easy to excuse, casual, harmless.

Except it absolutely wasn’t.

Her fingertips grazed the shell of your ear, then lingered for half a second too long against the side of your neck. The touch was feather light, but it burned like holy water on damned skin.

You froze, pen still poised above the paper, heart slamming against your chest. You didn’t stop her.

For the briefest moment, her hand stilled there, as if she were waiting, measuring, giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Only then did her fingers trail down a fraction before she pulled back, slow enough that it couldn’t be mistaken for accidental. The ghost of the touch remained, warm and lingering. Beneath the table, her knee pressed a little harder against yours, steady, intentional, a silent claim.

Your voice faltered on the next sentence. You cleared your throat and forced yourself to continue, quoting scripture about the wages of sin, about how lust conceived brings forth death. Every word felt like a lie when your body was leaning into the pressure of her leg instead of away from it.

Then her hand moved.

It slid across the polished wood of the table, casual at first, as if she were simply reaching for the Bible you’d brought. But instead of grabbing the book, her knuckles brushed deliberately against the back of your hand. Skin on skin, warm and electric. Her fingers stayed there, knuckles resting lightly against yours, thumb barely grazing the edge of your wrist.

The contact was innocent enough to deny, but devastating enough to feel like mortal sin.

God, please, you begged in the silence of your mind, eyes fixed on the page even as your hand trembled against hers. Give me the strength to resist. Cast out this unclean desire. I am weak, but You are strong. Please…

Semi watched you the entire time. You could feel her stare like a physical weight. She saw the way your lips moved in silent prayer. She saw the flush creeping up your neck. She saw how you didn’t move your hand away.

A low, knowing hum left her throat.

Finally, she broke the silence, voice soft and rough and far too intimate for a tutoring session in a Catholic academy library.

“You can pray all you want, golden girl.” She murmured, her knuckles still pressed against your skin, thumb now tracing one slow, deliberate circle against your wrist. “But I can see it. You’re not asking Him to make it stop. You’re asking Him to forgive you, because you want it.”

Her knee shifted, pressing more firmly between yours, the pressure warm and unyielding.

“Tell me I’m wrong.” She whispered, leaning in until you could feel the heat of her breath against your cheek. “Tell me you don’t feel like you’re burning alive right now. Tell me you want me to stop.”

The chapel bell tolled once in the distance, a solemn reminder of vespers and virtue and everything you were raised to be.

But your hand stayed right where it was.

And for the first time, God felt very far away.

︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶