she’s an angel .ᐟ

You admired Father Zayne; felt respect towards him that you had seldom experienced before. He was well spoken and commanding, he took great pride in his work, and he made extraneous efforts to help his community. He wanted everyone to feel at home in the Lord’s flock, and even if his face stayed relatively stoic, you saw him for the caring man he was. Ever since he filled in for Father William after his unfortunate passing, you haven’t been able to focus on anything but him. He is well- spoken, and every service radiates the passion he has for his work. Nuns, priests, and churchgoers alike respect Father Zayne. You’ve even caught a couple of young women whispering about how handsome he is. Of course you playfully told them to keep their admirations to themselves lest someone hear. Though you had very little room to scold them for their proclivities. 

While the members of your congregation are focused on the holy word that Father Zayne is preaching, all you can focus on is the man himself. His sharp features, angled nose, soft cupid’s bow, and intense gaze could put any angelic statue to shame. His hands, though often covered by pure white gloves, are deliciously veiny and large. The small bit of skin you are able to glimpse at through his vestments make you flustered in a way you’ve never experienced. You feel disgusted by your behavior; you are in a holy place, under the Lord’s roof, and yet you have such impure thoughts. Lusting over the man who is the town’s holy beacon while you have taken an oath to the Lord. You pray every night to rid yourself of these unclean thoughts, doing everything in your power to rid yourself of this sin. However, these thoughts that plague you come back stronger every day. It is to the point that you wonder if you should avoid Father Zayne unless you absolutely have to. Being in his presence alone feels like temptation that if you were to indulge in would force you down a path of no return. 

You snap out of your thoughts as people around you rise for benediction. You scramble to stand and partake in the final blessing of the service, closing your eyes and allowing Father Zayne’s voice to fall over you. 

“...The Lord bless and keep you; The Lord make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you…Go in peace, Lord bless you all, and may you all get home safely.” Father Zayne’s voice echoed throughout the chapel as a choir of ‘amens’ rang in the air. You and your sisters gracefully escorted the members of your congregation to the front of the chapel, wishing them blessed good nights and safe travels.

Even as you spoke with the invigorated members of your church, your eyes couldn’t help but wander over to Father Zayne. You kept sneaking glances at the taller man in his vestments. A part of you felt like a broken record thinking about how handsome he was for another night in a row, but it didn’t make it any less true. As the last of the churchgoers left and your sisters began to trickle back into their dorm rooms for the night, you made your way over to Father Zayne. 

“That was a wonderful sermon, Father Zayne, I always look forward to the passion you exude during the gospel,” You praise, trying to tone down how excited you are to be speaking to him yet again. His face remains stoic, but you think you saw a small twitch of a smile creeping up on his lips. You may be imagining things, but you like to hold onto the hope that he enjoyed the praise he was given. “Thank you, Sister. I hope you have a good night, I must head back to my study before I turn in for the night,” Father Zayne spoke, nodding his head softly as he made his exit. You wave him goodbye and watch him turn the corner out of sight. You always wish you could have longer conversations with him, yearning to talk with him for hours on end, but that would be unbecoming of a nun. Your intentions with speaking with him aren’t entirely pure, after all. The thumping in your chest, the way your cheeks heat up when he’s around, and the way your hands get clammy are all signs of your impurity. Once again, you need to relinquish your sins to the Lord before bed. 

The bright gleam of the moon shone throughout the church grounds. You held a lantern in hand as you made your way back to your living quarters. The air was cool but nice, especially against your flushed skin. You folded your sweater closer to your chest, following the dimly lit path of the hallway. Despite walking these halls every single day and night, something appeared different tonight. Almost as if something was watching you. You tried to shake it off and convince yourself you’re just being paranoid, but the weight just wouldn’t leave your shoulders. There were moments you swore you heard footsteps creeping up behind you, only for no one to be around. The feeling only intensified in your stomach as the temperature felt as if it had dropped. Your body shivered as you hurried your pace back to your room. Why did it feel as if the path to your dorm was taking even longer than usual?

“Oh sweetie, you look so pitiful,” A voice echoes out. You snap your head around to follow the voice that calls to you, but you’re met with an empty hallway. A chill runs down your spine and you feel your heart thump in your ears. Surely you weren’t hallucinating a voice speaking to you. What if this was the Lord himself speaking to you, just to call you pitiful? You’re not sure which one would be worse at this moment. After a couple of more moments of silence, you make your way back to your room. Slowly opening the door, you’re met with an empty room, and a sense of relief washes over you. You shut the door behind you and set the lantern onto the bedside table as you sit down on your bed. You kick off your shoes, ready to quell the ache that is pulsating in your feet, when you finally notice a figure standing in front of your door.

“W-Who are you?” You gasp, eyes widening as you look at the otherworldly being up and down. The figure easily towered over you, his body large, muscular and imposing. His facial features were sharp and dangerous, and his crimson eyes intimidated you as if they stared directly into your soul. Messy silver hair hung above his eyes, but all you could focus on were the two dark red horns that sprouted out of his skull. 

“A-A demon? What are you doing here?” Your voice stuttered, in complete disbelief that a creature of sin was standing before you in your bedroom, let alone inside the church. Your hands shakily scramble to the rosary around your neck, jutting the copper crucifix towards the man in front of you. 

“Sweetie, if that was enough to scorn me, do you really think I would’ve made it this far?” He scoffed, almost offended that you thought a little cross could deter him. Still, you didn’t let go of your hold on the cross despite your hands shaking in his presence. The warm and worn edges of your rosary seemed as if it was the only thing grounding you in this moment. A part of you wondered if you were dreaming, because in what world would a demon be residing in your room? 

“I asked you what you’re doing here…What do you want?” You swallow hard trying to maintain any semblance of confidence you could muster. You couldn’t show this creature how weak and terrified you were. The man stepped towards you, looking closer at you as if he was examining you head to toe. You jolt slightly at his sudden movement, but determined to keep your resolve.

“You are shaking like a little kitten with her tail between her legs, yet you are still trying to act tough and bare your fangs.” A small smirk crept up on his lips as a small chuckle left his throat. “How cute.” The man’s tail swished behind him lazily, as if he was simply toying with some prey he had found outside.

“Are you not going to answer me?” 

“If you must know, I followed a delicious scent in here.” He leaned closer to you until his face was hovering right above yours, his dark eyes possessing a certain hunger to them. “It beckoned me to come closer…to take a bite.” You pulled away and crawled to the middle of your bed. You didn’t understand what he was getting at, or maybe you didn’t want to admit you had an inkling.

“What are you saying?” Your eyes squinted at him as you pulled your knees to your chest. Sylus looked a bit unamused at your inability to understand. 

“Must I spell everything out?” He sighed, shaking his head. He raised his hand towards you and you instinctively closed your eyes, afraid of what he might do next. Surprisingly, he flicks your forehead with his middle finger, earning a small yelp from you. “I’m Sylus. I am an Incubus, a demon that feeds on desires. And you, my dear, are swimming in them.” 

A part of you sits in disbelief as you piece together his words. “Desires? Me? I think you’re sorely mistaken.” Sylus taps the tip of his beautifully chiselled nose and smirks. 

“I think not. My nose never lies.” 

“Well, it did this time!” You snap. Your face grows red as you lose your composure, but Sylus seems unaffected by the sudden outburst. 

“If my nose suddenly went faulty, I might be in trouble,” He chuckled, crawling onto the bed closer to you. “You got defensive awfully fast…I believe there’s some feelings you have yet to come to terms with, Sister.” The demon gently touched your cheek with his fingers, his long nails trailing down to your throat. 

“D-Don’t call me that. Your unholy mouth shall not refer to me by my name, or Sister. In fact, I think you need to leave.” Slapping his hand away, you scoot further back towards the headboard, keeping your rosary jutted out towards him. You weren’t going to relinquish your guard just yet. 

This was nothing new to Sylus. Most humans were appalled at his arrival every time unless they were truly debaucherous. He rarely encountered a human that didn’t fight his very presence, but they always caved eventually. 

“I’m not leaving until I have gotten my fill. You wouldn’t kick out a starving puppy would you, Kitten?” Your mouth hung agape as he laid onto your bed, lounging like he wasn’t an intruder in your bedchambers. 

“It is a good thing that you are not a starving puppy. Besides, you will starve here as well. There’s nothing for you to feed on here, so please go elsewhere.” Despite how confident you try to sound, your voice wavers a bit at the end. Either way, he does not seem to be budging. 

“As much as I would love to leave, Kitten, I do not have the strength to. I followed my nose here in order to feed but that took the last of my energy.” Your eyes watched his tail lazily swish behind him before flopping over like a limping flower as he spoke. A part of you knew not to believe such a farce of a story, he looked well put together, not like a demon starving for his next meal. You could not see any traces of dark circles, sunken cheeks, or frail limbs on him. In fact, his muscles were deliciously well defined, his face was strong and handsome, and his eyes were intoxicating and you sensed as if they were already trying to pull you in. As if he could see the wheels in your head turning, he spoke up. 

“Usually I can leave undetected, but with an empty stomach, I cannot guarantee I won’t be seen leaving your room. And how do you suppose you would explain an incubus to your fellow nuns?” The thought terrified you and sent ice through your veins. Imagining waking up the next morning and escorting a sex pest out of your room through the halls of a holy sanctuary. Your fellow Sisters would croak, and Father Zayne…He would look at you with such disgust. He would discover the lustful thoughts you have about him, how you wish every day would come true and pray every night to go away. He would see you as unclean and filthy, and he would wonder why someone like you would even have been able to take an oath to begin with. Everything you’ve worked hard for in the past 4 years would all be for naught. 

After a couple minutes of silently spiraling, you clear your throat to speak. “I cannot…indulge in the ways you need to be fed…But are there ways to feed you enough to where you can get enough strength to leave?” 

“There aren’t.” You were afraid of that answer. To be honest, this was all making your head swim in directions you weren’t prepared for. It all made you feel trapped; if you let him stay then you ran the risk of being caught with a demon in your dorm, cast aside for being unclean and impure. However, if you fed him then wouldn’t you be just as perverse as him? Why must the Lord test you in these ways? Perhaps it truly was a punishment for your behavior as of late. 

“I can see your thoughts swirling around, Sister. Perhaps you should sleep on it for the night.” He hummed, poking the spot between your eyebrows. 

“I do not wish to sleep unguarded in a room with a sexual deviant.” 

“Do not fret. I cannot do anything to you if you do not wish for it. I may be a deviant, but I’m not a monster.” While you could feel a little tension in your body release as he spoke, his words did little to soothe the storm that was swirling inside you. Thoughts of your reputation, plans on what to do if he were discovered, and the occasional thought of how sinfully handsome he looked all amalgamated together into a ferocious cloud in your mind. Frankly, the situation made you exhausted, and as much as you would like to figure out a solution right this second, you need to sleep. 

Rubbing your temples, you sighed heavily. “For tonight, you may sleep in here. You must sleep on the floor and do not even ponder the idea of crawling into my bed or else-“ 

“Or else what, Kitten?” 

“You have terrible manners. Did your mother never teach you to not interrupt when someone is speaking?” He shrugged, but motioned for you to continue. You were already exasperated, and the night wasn’t even over. “As I was saying, you must sleep on the floor. During the day, you may stay in here, but if anyone comes into this room, you must hide yourself. I can’t help you leave this place if you are caught. Any questions?”

“May a poor demon have a pillow? The floor is awfully hard, Kitten.” Before he could ask anything else, you tossed a spare pillow towards him. 

“Good night. Do not disturb me.” You huff. Sylus did not respond after, only giving you a deep laugh, lying down on the cold floor for the night. He was excited for the game you two were going to play from now on. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

It had been a couple of days since you began harboring an incubus in your room. You were terrified of someone walking into your living quarters in the middle of the day and discovering your awful secret but it seems so far your secret was safe. In your free time, you attempted to do research on him in the library but alas, nothing came up in your search. Scanning through countless books you were unable to even find anything on incubi as well. It seems the Lord really was putting you between a rock and a hard place. 

Hiding him in your room was weighing heavy on your conscience, you felt like you were living an even bigger lie than you originally had been dealing with. All you wanted to do was escape this situation unscathed and go back to normalcy but you had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Thankfully, despite his intimidating appearance, you come to realize Sylus was quite nice towards you. On days you would come back to your dorm after being on your feet all day, he would massage your sore feet and ankles. Taking his time to make sure all of the tension in your legs was gone before letting you sleep. He would tell you about what he saw out of the window that day; some days it was birds building a nest in the tree next to your window, others it was the cat that was roaming around the convent. He would make remarks about how plump the little feline is getting due to everyone spoiling him. 

You never completely let your guard rest around him, wondering every time he was nice to you if it was just a ploy to defile you. He never pushed, though, which surprised you. You hated to admit it, but Sylus was growing on you a bit, even if you were still wary of him. While scripture had taught you about demons that lead you to temptation, you never expected the one that appeared at your door step would be kind or interested in watching animals outside your bedroom window. It was a very strange feeling, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. 

Without realizing it, though, he had gotten you to talk about Father Zayne. It started out as vague mentions here and there of your daily duties, but it quickly evolved into long conversations about your intense admiration for the man. How he was extremely intelligent, a great leader, how his voice made your heart beat out of your chest, and how when he smiled at you you often wondered if you had gone to Heaven somehow. You were embarrassed to say these thoughts out loud; until now, they had been locked deep inside of you. It was freeing in a way to finally get it off your chest, but the heat on your face wouldn’t go away. Sylus said very few words and just let you speak your mind, but a smirk never left his face as you indulged in your feelings. 

Long after you went to bed, he watched you carefully, observing the slow rise and fall of your chest. He had finally figured out the source of those desires that you had denied ever having. Even now through “innocent” chatter amongst you two, he could sense the desire you have for this man and how you’ve rebranded it as admiration. He couldn’t help but let out a low laugh, finding you completely and utterly adorable. Perhaps this meal was going to be even more delicious than he had initially planned for. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

It had been a long day of cleaning and organizing with your Sisters, lending your helping hand wherever you could. Thankfully after hours of hard work, you were finally done. As you began to make your way back to your dorm, you were stopped by Sister Simone. 

“Ah! Before you head back, do you mind taking these files to Father Zayne? I was heading there but Mother Jenna needs my help.” Despite exhaustion beginning to set in your bones, you agreed. She handed you two large boxes of files, thanking you as she headed in the opposite direction. A part of you was excited to see Father Zayne. You hadn’t crossed his path in a few days, so this was a much welcome addition thrown your way. As you arrived at his office door, you set the boxes down for a moment as you knocked softly on the dark wood. 

“Come in.” Zayne’s smooth voice echoed through the door. You opened the door slowly and was immediately met with a sight you weren’t prepared for. Absent were his normal vestments in favor of a white button up, rolled up to his elbows. The shirt fit him well but as he moved, you could see it taut against his chest giving you the faintest hint of how toned he was underneath the fabric. His usual swept back hair was a bit disheveled, and a sheen of sweat and a flush decorated his cheeks. At the tip of his nose sat a pair of wire glasses you never even knew he owned. You already thought he looked very handsome, but this was a completely different aura to him, one that you realized was dangerous to be near. Your heart began to ring in your ears, your hands grew clammy, and all you could do was stare in awe of this man crafted by the Lord himself. 

“Is everything alright, Sister?” His voice snapped you out of a trance you didn’t register you were in. You blinked a couple of times, fumbling to get your words out. 

“Ah! Y-Yes! Sorry Father, I was asked to drop these file boxes off to you.” You bent down and hoisted the boxes back up. “Where would you like me to put them?” 

“Feel free to set them over there, next to that shelf. I will go through them in a moment.” He pointed to a corner of the room, resuming the task of organizing the papers he had in his hand. Placing the box where he said to, you finally took in your surroundings. His office was disheveled as boxes, file folders, papers, and scrolls littered every surface. It seems as if there’s a method to his madness, but you were unsure of what it was. Turning back to Zayne, you could see his brows stuck in a permanent furrow as he intensely read through the papers in his hand. 

“Father Zayne…It’s already very late. Are you sure you don’t want to take a break for the night?” The man shook his head and let out a small sigh. 

“Unfortunately, if I leave my office in the state that it is in now I will not be able to sleep.” 

“Then…may I help you? If you were to do this alone, you will be here until dawn. It will be faster if it is the both of us.” Zayne looked up at you for a moment. He scanned the room around him as if he was pondering on what his next move should be. 

“Very well… I appreciate the help, Sister.” With that, the two of you worked in tandem to clean up the storm that had been created in his chambers. While you worked, you both spoke about a variety of topics, such as sermons, events planned during the rest of the year, and the reasons why both of you chose the path of the Lord. You learned that after serving, Zayne had met Father William and that William took him under his wing. He made him realize that life wasn’t just war and bloodshed, but that there could be peace and stability through it all. He spoke of his own admiration for Father William, and the more he spoke you swore, you could see a twinkle in his eye. This was the longest you had ever got to be around Zayne, and you enjoyed your time together. How easy the conversation flowed, how being in each other’s spaces felt…right. 

After putting away the final book on Father Zayne’s shelf, the two of you stood back to admire your work.

 “I appreciate the help, Sister. It was nice to have some company while I worked.” He looked over at you, and for the first time all night, you’ve got to see his features up close. His mouth twitched up in a small, genuine smile, and his eyes were tired but grateful. You could feel a blush blooming onto your cheeks as you looked away. 

“I-It was no trouble at all. I wouldn’t have been able to rest well either, knowing you were working here all night.” 

“I will take care of the boxes in the morning. Go get some rest, Sister. And thank you again.” He opened the door for you and walked out behind you. Locking his door, he turned to walk away before stopping. He looked at you once last time and gave a small nod, “Good Night.” 

“Good Night, Father Zayne.” And with that, you were now alone. The walk back to your dorm started out at a normal pace, but quickly grew more frantic the closer you got to your room. The heat that had burned your cheeks for the past few hours had crept down to your cunt. Your core throbbed, and your mind was flooded by thoughts of Father Zayne. The sweat glistening on his forehead, his button up stretching against the muscles you had never noticed, the scars that littered his deliciously toned forearms. How would his hands feel if they had traced your chaste body? Would the sweat still glimmer the same on his forehead if he were on top of you? What expressions would he make as the both of you committed the ultimate sin? Your head began to swim, unable to fight between shame and pure unadulterated lust. 

Stepping into your dorm room, Sylus quickly sensed the intense arousal oozing out around you. Your pheromones were sickly sweet, desperate to be devoured. “What exciting adventure happened today to get you so worked up, Kitten?” He stepped towards you, and you practically threw yourself into Sylus’ arms. Your body ached and yearned to be touched. Fire coursed through your veins, and an unfamiliar heat lit up in your core. You grasped onto Sylus’ arm, face flushed and breath uneven as you looked into his crimson orbs. 

“W-What are you doing to me?” You whispered. He smirked and lifted his hand up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I’m not doing anything, everything you’re feeling right now…every ache, every fiery sensation…is your body yearning to be touched. You’re yearning to be devoured.” His voice faded into a whisper as he spoke his truth. He had no hand in the overwhelming feelings that were welling up inside of you; he was merely a spectator. “They were here long before I arrived.”

“What do I do about them? I-I’ve never felt this way prior to you...” Your mouth was as dry as cotton as you desperately cling to his arm. A part of you was scared, scared of what you were feeling, scared of what to do about it, and scared of what came after. 

“I can help extinguish these flames, but only if you want me to. If you say yes, you’ll be giving up a part of your oath…a part of yourself.” His sultry voice called to you like a siren song as his lips softly caressed your jaw. Without realizing it you let out a small gasp, the small bit of contact making the ache explode in your chest. Your eyes shut as you relished in the small bit of ecstasy. You knew you needed to say no, you needed to stay pure for the Lord, for your faith, for Zayne…but you were running out of reasons to say no to this silver haired seductress. He lied in wait for your consent, you held all the power in this situation…but you never felt more out of control in your whole life. 

As you weighed the morality of your options in your head, his lips never left your jaw, painstakingly painting a trail of fire from your ear to your collar bones. Your resolve was quickly melting away, and you were struggling to keep your head on your shoulders. Your eyes fluttered open to see dark hair brush against you, and hazel eyes gazing at you with that familiar hunger. 

“Sister…I see how you look at me. How you look away when I meet your gaze. I wish to see more of you, to see expressions that are locked away from others. Please, won’t you grant me this one selfish wish? Won’t you let me help you?” The voice that came out of his mouth was not Sylus’ smooth and seductive tone that you had grown accustomed to, but the soft, professional voice that echoed in the chapel every service. The face that greeted you every morning when you came to do your daily chores. The man you have yearned for every single day now in your bedroom, here to fulfil the one lustful dream that has plagued you.

“Please…” in a way you felt betrayed by your own words. How much longer were you going to keep fighting this feeling, these sinful urges? With your aching words, Zayne immediately got to work, small whimpers left your lips as each article of clothing made its way unceremoniously to the hardwood floor. You covered your eyes with your hands as you laid close to the man of your affections, in nothing but a set of white cotton. Embarrassment crept into your skin, the cool air brushed against your bare skin. He brushed the tips of his fingers along the hem of your bra, tracing the fabric that laid upon your ribs gently. 

“May I?” He whispered. You bit your lip softly and nodded. Sliding his hands to your back, he unclasped the back of your bra and slid it off your body. Heat welled up in your face as his piercing gaze focused on your breasts.

“Mmn!” A small whimper slipping its way past your lips as his hands squeezed the plump flesh of your breasts. He fondled them carefully, taking his time in feeling the weight spill into his fingers. He dragged the pad of his thumb along your perky nipples, rubbing small circles on the nub. Each movement of his thumb sent waves of electricity through your body. It was such a simple gesture, yet your body temperature was already heating up. 

With a hungry gaze, Zayne leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the soft skin. You didn’t dare look at him, shutting your eyes tightly as you focused on his tongue exploring your tender breasts. His hot breath tickled you as he lapped at your flesh. The sensation of his lips grazed your skin while his tongue claimed you made your head spin. 

“Sister…” Zayne’s voice whispered, “Please look at me.” You obediently followed his request and slowly opened your eyes. You moved your hands slowly as Zayne grabbed them gently and pulled them away from your face. 

“S-Sylus…This is embarrassing…” You whimpered, averting your gaze a little. You couldn’t handle those strict hazel eyes looking at you, not when you were exposed like this. Not when laid bare with all of your desires on the table. 

“I do not appreciate being called another man’s name, Sister.” He said, a small look of irritation tightening his features. “I know you know what my name is, say it.” He ordered. His gaze seared into your skin, his eyes never leaving yours even as you attempted to swallow away the shame that you couldn’t shake off. 

“F-Father Zayne…” You uttered. 

“Good girl…” He softly smiled, bringing your hands to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently. “Now, please watch me Sister. Do not tear your gaze from me.” You nodded softly as he tucked your hands beside you. He quickly nestled himself in between your breasts, taking the other nipple into his mouth and giving it the much needed attention it yearned for. Your other one was not neglected, however, as his fingers flicked and tugged on the protruding buds. 

“A-Ah~! Father!” You whined, moving your palms back to your mouth in attempt to muffle any sinful noises that dared to escape your lips. It was only while watching Father Zayne’s hands explore your chest that you realized just how large his hands were. They easily engulfed your chest, massaging the flesh in his palm. He grazed your nipple with his teeth gently, sliding the erect nub between his tongue and teeth. He soon pulled away reluctantly. He loved the idea of spending all night suckling at your breasts until sunrise came, but he was here to feed after all. He craved the arousal that you’ve been oozing since the day he stepped into the convent. He could be roaming the city having a meal every night, but he preferred to work for his food. The harder he worked, the more delicious the bounty in the end. And what could be more delicious than a sexually repressed nun drowning in desires? Now that he has you beneath him, he was ready to finally taste the sweetness that had been teasing him for days now.

His hands travelled from your ribs, to your stomach, to the hem of your underwear that sat firmly on your hips. He thumbed the band of the underwear, looking up at you with silent instruction. Your hips raised slightly to allow Zayne to slide your underwear off with ease. Adding to the list of discarded clothes, he took in your form; memorizing the way your skin flushed with arousal and embarrassment, the small curves of your body, the small tufts of hair that settled between your thighs, and how every touch made you ache for more. 

Zayne leaned down and settled himself between your legs, his breath tickling the inside of your thighs. He trailed his fingers along your soft curls, brushing them gently between his digits and spreading open your folds to inspect your eager hole. Once again you wanted to hide away, to crawl into a hole and perish. Every time you sensed the urge to close yourself away, you looked down at Father Zayne’s yearning gaze. You’ve dreamt about him begging to touch you, to taste you, and now you finally have everything you’ve dreamed about handed to you on a silver platter. Sure, it’s not the real him, but you never expected the real him to show up in your bedchambers anyway. You never expected anything from him, not even the greetings he returns when you speak to him every morning. You keep telling yourself you’re happy with the little he gives you, but in this moment, you realize truly how much you crave from this man. He would never stoop so low as to ruin his holiness for a simple nun, and you wouldn’t want him to anyway. If you’re going to cross into the world of sin and debauchery, you want to leave him unscathed. 

You snapped out of your thoughts once you sensed something warm pressing against your folds. Looking down, you see Zayne’s tongue lay flat on your lips, licking long strides up your sensitive slit until he flicks your clit with the very tip of his tongue. Your voice hitched and you immediately slap your hands against your mouth once more. 

“It’s a shame…I desperately want to hear your moans, but it would be quite the predicament if we were caught.” Zayne sighed, almost disappointed. Nevertheless, he continued lightly teasing your pussy, his tongue carefully mapping out a trail of desire. You slid one of your hands to his hair, startled by just how soft his dark locks were at your fingertips. If you weren’t in the predicament you were in, you could spend all day just running your fingers through his hair. You imagined his head laying on your chest, moving in tandem with the rise and fall of your chest as you played with his hair. Somehow this was more intimate than anything that was to come. 

You watched as he snaked his hands around your thighs, squeezing the soft and silky flesh before wrapping his mouth around your core. He began to lap at your cunt like a man starved, devouring you as if you were his last meal on earth. Your hips threatened to lift off of the bed, but he tightened his grip on you to make sure you couldn’t run away. You whimpered and moan against the palm of your hand, terrified of any sound leaking through your fingers as he mercilessly attacked your pussy. Wrapping his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, he began to suckle on your clit messily. 

“Ngnn~!” Your voice hitched. Keeping your voice lowered was impossible at this rate, but you had to, or else you would alert the sleeping sisters next door. Panting and moaning into your palm, you tried to steady yourself, but it was almost as if Zayne was doing everything in his power to get you to squeal. He was determined to make you utterly lose control and dive head first into passion and lust. You felt his finger prod your tight hole, slowly pushing inside of you. Your tight walls clamped around him, the foreign protrusion sending shock waves through your body. You wriggled in his tight grip, unable to handle this sudden onslaught of pleasure. You never experienced anything like this, anything so intense, so overstimulating, so addicting. 

“Let me in Sister…Let me give you the full extent of pleasure possible.” Zayne gasped, his mouth sticky with your juices. Slowly thrusting his finger inside of you, he looked up at you with pleading eyes to let him in. It was so hard though, you never had anything like his thick finger trying to curl inside of you. It was overwhelming to feel your most sensitive spots being rubbed by his calloused fingers. 

“I-I…ngnnn~ I can’t Father!” Your voice flutters, choking the words out between moans. 

“Yes, you can. You’re already taking me so well. I know she wants me to fill her up more.” Zayne begged, making his middle finger speed up inside of you. He was enthralled by how you pulsated around him, how your juices dripped into his palm, and how your cunt echoed sloppy wet noises in your room. If you two weren’t condemned to be quiet, he would be relishing every moan you could give him like it was a symphony created for him alone. 

Eventually, you were loose enough for Zayne to slip in a second finger, stretching your cunt slightly more but it felt like such a big leap. It wasn’t very large, but you already throbbed like you were filled to the brim. You weren’t sure how much more you could take. Pleasure was pooling in your stomach and you wondered if you were going to burst like a balloon. You gripped his hair harder as he continued to drive you closer and closer to orgasm, earning a groan from Zayne. He took this as his sign to try harder, speeding up his fingers, curling them deep inside and lapping at your clit with a desperation he’s never had previously. Your thighs trembled in his grip and your hips began to grind into his mouth, rutting against him. You were close, and he could feel it. How was he able to somehow press every button to nudge you closer to release? You knew he was a sex demon, but it was unnatural for him to know every single thing that made you tick. 

“Z-Zayne I-” You whimpered, fisting his hair and holding his face close to your throbbing cunt. “I feel weird~! I- haah~ I-I! Ngnn!” You moan, your eyes rolling back as your back arches off the bed. The room became blurry as you nearly screamed into the palm of your hand. Unknowingly, you achieved your first orgasm and Sylus was there happily lapping up every drop of juice you bestowed upon him. By the time you regained your senses, the familiar silver haired devil was between your legs, lapping at your cum that drenched his fingers. 

“You’re intoxicatingly sweet~” He cooed. “I knew I had a delicious meal waiting for me, and you are by far the most delicious,” Sylus hummed, planting chaste kisses to your inner thighs. His own body was energized and powerful, enjoying the delectable meal that had been given to him. Your sickly sweet essence courses through his veins, a delightful feeling after going hungry for some time. 

Your body grew heavy with exhaustion as he cleaned you up, grabbing a rag from your drawer to wipe the mess away from your thighs. You were surprised at how gentle he was, rubbing the cloth on your fevered skin as if you were a delicate piece of glass that would break if he pressed too hard. A startling juxtaposition to the intense actions that just concluded moments ago. 

“I…I don’t…” You stuttered, trying to wrap your head around what happened. “What…was that?” 

A deep laugh reverberated in Sylus’ chest as he finished wiping your body down and pulling the blanket out from under you. “Congratulations, you experienced your first orgasm. This is the pleasure they warn you about, Kitten, the whole reason they want you to live a life of chastity…If you had intense pleasure like this every day, it’s hard to focus on the word of the Lord, is it not?” You nodded sleepily, not completely registering Sylus’ words. He tucked you in and laid next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Sleep now. You did well, Kitten.” He whispered, his soothing deep voice lulling you to sleep. 

The next morning you were quick to try and hide the evidence of your wrongdoings, but you noticed that Sylus had already done the work for you. All except a much needed bath. You kept your head low for the day, head in the clouds as you fought between the shame and guilt you felt for breaking your oath to the Lord and the burning passion that seemed to only ignite further due to last night’s activities. You had been taught your whole life to detest any lustful feelings and thoughts, that they were unholy and unclean. And yet, indulging in them sparked a thrill and a sense of freedom that you had never thought possible. Perhaps that was what made you feel so ashamed in the first place, that you enjoyed it and yearned for more. You should feel more regret for your actions, for walking into the dark side, but Lord, you were invigorated. 

You had been standing in place for a while without realizing it, your mind wandering with each thought. You were only brought back to reality with a tap on your shoulder. You turned around and was met with the concerned face of Sister Tara. 

“Are you alright? You’ve been standing here for quite some time,” She asked, worry plaguing her features. You smiled softly at her and brushed away any concern. 

“Yes I’m quite alright. I just had a bit of trouble sleeping last night,” You uttered, resuming your task of sweeping up the leaves from the courtyard. 

“Maybe you should go get some rest? I can take over your duties if you’re not feeling well,” Tara said. 

“I appreciate the offer, Sister, but I’m quite alright. I fear I would just be sitting on the bed staring at the ceiling if I were to lie down at this hour.” You chuckled, but your words did little to make Tara feel better.

“Alright…” Sister Tara was unconvinced, but did little to press you further, “If you change your mind, come find me and I will take over for you.” She smiled, making her way back inside. You hated lying to her, she’s always been so sweet to you. The both of you joined the convent at around the same time and have been close since then. It always comforted you to have someone close to you in age here. It helped make you feel less alone and you know that she matched your same thoughts and energy. You wonder how she’d react knowing the reason you didn’t sleep well was because you were having sexual exploits with a demon you have holed up in your living quarters. Poor thing might croak at the revelation. 

Despite refusing Tara’s offer, your attention span didn’t get much better. You bumped into the other nuns, stumbled over your own two feet, ran into walls and pillars, and even broke a plate during meal time. You were a complete and utter wreck. It had been years since you were scolded by Mother Jenna but yet here you are, being lectured as if you were a newcomer. 

“I’m sorry Mother…” you uttered, unable to meet her intense expression. 

“Take this plate and reflect on your actions today. You may get up once everyone has finished their meals.” Jenna ordered, handing you the two largest halves of the broken plate. You nodded obediently and made your way to the corner of the refectory, kneeling with plate in hand and began to pray. You prayed for forgiveness for breaking the plate, for allowing temptation to latch itself into your veins, and indulging in them in a place so sacred. How can you ask for forgiveness for a plate when you have something more heinous looming over your head? You weren’t even sure you deserved it. 

At that night’s sermon, you could barely look at Father Zayne as he spoke. Every glance you managed to sneak in just reminded you of the filthy actions you committed the night prior. You couldn’t bear to keep having those thoughts in the Lord’s house, to be filled with lust while sitting in the pews next to your sisters was blasphemous. You opted to just keep your face to the Bible in your hands, pretending to follow along with the scripture. Before you knew it, the service was over and your Sisters were already heading towards the doors to help see everyone off for the night. You put on a brave face and wished everyone safe travels and thanked them for their continued attendance. 

Father Zayne had noticed your lack of usual spark and enthusiasm. Without realizing it, he had grown accustomed to you finding him after each service to tell him what you enjoyed about each one. He would notice the light in your eyes as you spoke and the eventual redness that would dust your cheeks as he gave you well wishes for a good night. However, tonight you had barely looked at him during service, and even now, you began to make your way back to your living quarters without so much as even acknowledging his presence. For a man in his position, it would have just been better to leave you alone, but something gnawed at him from deep inside his stomach. Before you were able to leave the chapel completely, he called out to you. “Sister!”

You slowly turned around to face him, the familiar redness on your cheeks still present even as you acted uncharacteristically. He caught up to you and examined your features. Thankfully, you still had color to your face, and he didn’t see any dark circles or hollowed out cheeks. The only thing he could notice was some turbulence that sat behind your eyes, as if your mind had been a storm for quite some time. 

“My apologies for calling out to you, but I wanted to make sure you were okay. You don’t seem like yourself right now. Is there anything troubling you, Sister?” He spoke, worry furrowing itself between his brows. You hated making him fret over you or your silly chaotic thoughts, but a part of you couldn’t help but relish in the fact that for once he sought you out and not the other way around. It didn’t help the complicated feelings that circled in your chest. 

“I’m quite alright, Father.” You smiled softly, not quite meeting his gaze. “My sleep was a bit perturbed last night so I have felt under the weather. I appreciate you asking about me, but I think I will turn in early for the night.” And with that, you quickly turned to head back to your bedroom. 

“Good night.” He managed to choke out as you walked away. It had reached you but you couldn’t react, not now. He wasn’t satisfied with the answer, and he knew he shouldn’t press but, something just wasn’t quite right. He watched you turn the corner out of his sight. He began to turn away himself, but then he noticed a shadow following you. At first he wanted to chalk it up to your own, but the way it moved was unnatural. His jaw tightened as he pondered on what to do, but either way he wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Back in your room, Sylus lounged on your bed as he perked up a bit at your arrival. His normally bored expression grew relaxed as he watched your frame shuffle into the cramped dorm room. “There you are, Kitten. I was wondering if you were ever going to make your way back here,” He cooed, his tail swishing behind him. It reminded you of a cat in a way, the way their tails move back and forth when they’re stalking their prey. 

“It’s Sister…” you grumbled, sitting down on the bed. He scooted closer to you, arm snaking around your waist as he rested his head on your shoulder. “You look tense…Do you need me to take care of you again?” He planted a chaste kiss to your jaw as his free hand began to roam your torso. You scrunch up your face and nudge his face with your palm. 

“You are the reason why I am tense. You’ve ruined everything.” You sigh, continuing your gaze upon the hardwood floor beneath your feet.

“Oh? Do tell,” He hummed, pulling you into his lap. As much as you wanted to yell, to push him off of you and give him a piece of your mind, you don’t have the strength. You were the one who fell into temptation; he was simply just someone who dished it out. 

“Before you came here I was living a normal life…I was perfectly content with my life here, with talking with my Sisters…with Father Zayne. Now, I can’t look any of them in the eye. I’m ashamed of what I’ve done, ashamed I’ve let myself be tempted by a demon and let him lounge in my bed as if he’s a pet. I should’ve screamed and fought you when I first saw you…I hate you…” Your voice trails off near the end, not even having the heart to finish your sentence. Sylus remains unfazed by this, nuzzling his face against your cheek. 

“Mmm…But you didn’t,” He simply stated. “I think you are coming to terms with the reality that you haven’t been as pure as you thought. That these lustful feelings have been swirling around in you for some time now, and that whether I was here or not, they were going to swallow you up eventually,” Sylus spoke matter of factly, as if he had witnessed this exact scenario a thousand times.  

“I feel like I’m being torn apart. I’m plagued by my guilt of betraying the Lord and disgust of letting myself be tainted…but then I’m also wrestling with my thoughts on how good it felt, how free and euphoric my body was all at once. I can’t decide what to do, and it’s troubling me…” You admit, voicing your concerns. It’s strange, confessing your sins to a demon in your bedroom rather than to a priest in a confessional. Your chest was a bit lighter getting this off of your chest but it didn’t solve the situation. 

“Who said you have to choose right now? You’re putting so much pressure on yourself to decide, when you can just focus on feeling…” He planted a small kiss on your neck. “I can do all the thinking for you right now.” His whispers were so tempting. His hands slid to the edge of your skirt, sliding his hand ever so slowly up the side of your thigh. You felt like you should fight against this but, remembering the freedom you experienced last night, you didn’t dare. Maybe having a demon do your thinking for you as he fondled your body in every right way wasn’t such a bad idea. Before you could react, the door to your room swung open. You jolted in Sylus’ grip as you realized the unwelcome guest was Father Zayne himself, but, Sylus seemed completely unfazed. 

“Father Zayne? What are you doing here?” You gasp, wriggling in Sylus’ grip to make him let you go. However, he seems to only tighten his hold on you, leaving you plastered to him. 

“Sister…” The shock in his voice was evident to you. His face scrunched slightly as he examined what was laid out in front of him. He saw the fear and embarrassment in your features, the small tears in your eyes as you attempted to wriggle out of the demon’s grip. As he turned to Sylus, his gaze darkened and anger flooded his senses. “You are not welcome here. Leave at once.”

Sylus continued to remain unaffected by just getting caught. To him, he had no qualms in being caught, he didn’t have years of religious training to keep him on the straight and narrow. He was a creature forged by chaos and lust, determined to create chaos wherever he went. Crosses and scripture written by man had no bearing on him and did not frighten him. If he stood, he would tower over the young priest, and could absolutely crush him in a test of strengths. “Oh no, it seems we’ve been caught. What a shame, I was hoping to have a little bit more fun before someone came and ruined it.” 

You continued to struggle in Sylus’ arms, panic settling into your bones as your mind swam. How could you even begin to explain this to the one man you never wanted to find out? That a demon was here because you let him in and had refused to shoo him away this entire time. “F-Father please…I can explain…” Your voice came out more feeble than you were expecting. Terrified of what would happen next, you refused to look up at Zayne. Would he be disgusted? Ashamed? You wouldn’t blame him for reacting that way, heavens know you would if you were in his shoes. 

As he watched you struggle in the demon’s arms, he couldn’t help but squeeze his fists and tighten his jaw. After Father William’s passing, he became incredibly lonely, losing the only mentor he had and the only person he had any closeness with. When his duties were passed to him, he of course wanted to do right by the man who brought him up from darkness, but he didn’t expect to find a light in this small church. At first, he was unused to the casual greetings and kindness you showed him, but slowly he began to open up. He noticed the blush that would spread across your face when he was near and how you stuttered more around him. You, however, didn’t notice the soft glances Father Zayne directed towards you. How he would always stop when you called his name, no matter what he was doing. Even if he couldn’t talk long, he would spare the time, no exceptions. Now seeing you enraptured by this incubi made him wonder if he did something wrong. If he didn’t express his gratitude and feelings towards you soon enough that you fell right into the arms of a predator. 

“You should be ashamed for attacking an innocent nun, you foul beast. Though I should not expect someone of your standing to have standards.” Zayne spat, his dark expression never leaving Sylus’. 

“Innocent? I think our Sister here is a bit less innocent than you may think, Father.” A deep laugh vibrated against your back as Sylus’ free hand roamed up to the hem of your skirt. He gripped the fabric in his fist and ripped it off with ease. Your panties had also been a victim to his brute strength, leaving you bare in front of the man you looked up to. “Kitten, you wound me. Last night you were melting underneath my touch, but tonight, you act as if I am a nuisance. That’s not very nice.” Sylus feigned a wounded tone. Sylus’ large hands held your legs open, exposing your bare cunt to the Zayne. You couldn’t even look up at Zayne, you were humiliated to your core. You tried to use a free hand to cover yourself but it did little to shield your arousal. Zayne’s jaw tightened at the scene before him. He shouldn’t be indulging in this demon’s game, yet here he was, enticed by your hole fluttering around nothing and dripping onto the sheets beneath your bottom. Your feeble attempts to hide it also did not go unnoticed.  

Your eyes stayed tightly shut as you attempted to free yourself once more. You couldn’t let Father Zayne be taken down this path of debauchery. If he leaves now, he can pretend he never saw anything, taking plausible deniability. You can leave the convent tonight, run away taking no more casualties and never look back. 

“Please Father Zayne…leave…” You whimper, small tears running down your cheeks. Sylus never broke his gaze directed towards Zayne. He watched as the holy man struggled to keep himself composed. His mouth was clenched together tightly, his face and ears were dusted with a pretty pink, and his priestly robes were doing little to hide the growing erection in his pants. 

“Father, you are feeling some impure thoughts yourself, are you not?” Sylus hummed, the vibration of his voice tickling your back. He relished in the sweet smell of your and Zayne’s arousal mixing together in the room, working in tandem with one another to create a sickly sweet scent that he was growing obsessed with. Sylus slid one of his hands to your throbbing core, easily sliding his fingers through your slick. You couldn’t hold back a small yelp from slipping past your lips. You wriggled in Sylus’ grip, trying to fight your hips jutting forward as he lazily traced circles around your clit. His fingers barely moved around your plump lips, and already your wetness was echoing in the room for the both of them to hear. 

Zayne stood frozen as he watched you become a plaything for Sylus. He focused on Sylus’ fingers swirling around your swollen bud, and your body twitching with every fragment of stimulation. You tried so hard to hold back any moans from escaping your lips, but your body reacted on its own. Every small jerk of your hips, every soft whimper you let out, and the beautiful look on your flushed face fueled his jealousy. He wasn’t angry you were committing an atrocious sin, he was upset because another man was making you feel this way. He should be the one to be making you writhe in ecstasy. “Are you sure you don’t want a taste, Father? I can attest that she’s quite delicious.” He smirked. 

Zayne’s resolve finally snapped, hearing about this demon taking a taste for himself felt like the final straw. Moving closer to you he dropped to his knees, shooting a glare to Sylus before inspecting your dripping core. While Sylus’ hands went back to holding you wide open, Zayne’s gloved hands pressed into your inner thighs as he inched his face closer. His hot breath tickled your folds as he examined your glistening pussy up close. Your gaze flew open, you watched as Zayne leaned forward and placed his lips onto your cunt. Did your eyes deceive you? Was this another one of Sylus’ illusions? 

“F-Father Zayne what are you-” You squeak, your voice quickly evolving into moans as his tongue dragged along your folds. You threw your body against Sylus’ large chest, gripping his forearm with an iron grip as you watched Zayne carefully. His approach to eating you out was a lot more awkward than Sylus’, but Lord, did it still feel amazing. A part of you kept waiting for you to snap awake and this all be a dream, a terribly horny dream, but it never did. Rather than having some farce imitation please you like the night prior, here was the real man pleasuring you. The real Zayne was between your legs, lapping at your sex with a hunger that you never thought would cross the young priest’s mind. 

His thumb snaked up and pressed against your clit as he focused on pushing his tongue into your tight hole. Small groans left his lips every time your hole clenched around his tongue and it only encouraged him to please you more. He was going to be damned if a sex demon could please you better than he could. Your back arched and your hand made its way down to his dark locks, tightening your grip on them as if trying to tether yourself to reality. Sylus focused on nipping and kissing your neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of marks without care. He didn’t intervene just yet but still wanted to make his presence known. The mix of pheromones in the room was intoxicating to him, making his body burn with a hunger he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. He knew by the end of the night, he was going to be well fed for many moons to come. 

For a moment, Zayne pulled his mouth away and looked up at you. His fingers lazily traced the outside of your hole, watching it twitch and beg to be filled. “Are you feeling alright, Sister?” You shakily nod, only being able to muster out a few whimpers.

“I think our dear Priest deserves a proper answer, don’t you think?” Sylus cupped your jaw and forced you to look at Zayne. “Go on…” 

“I-It feels…s-so good!” You pant. “P-Please…don’t stop.” 

“Well, don’t keep the lady waiting.” Sylus asserted. Zayne obediently followed his command and slipped two fingers into your throbbing pussy. You yelped in pleasure as you felt them slip inside. After spending months of looking at Father Zayne’s hands, you knew his fingers were beautifully long and thick, but you never thought you’d get to feel them nestled deep inside you. They were even bigger than you had imagined, hitting every sensitive spot inside of you as if his fingers were made for your pussy. He laid his tongue flat against your clit once more, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub. He suckled and swirled the tip of his tongue against it while thrusting his fingers slowly. Zayne began to realize how intoxicating this orchestra of noises that bellowed out of you were. They were more melodic than any record or choir he had ever heard. He had only just dipped his toes into temptation and was already jumping head first into the deep end. 

As much as Sylus enjoyed watching the two of you play around, he was eager to have his own as well. Letting Zayne hold one of your thighs, he snaked his free hand up to one of your plump breasts. He groped the weight of it in his palm before rubbing the sensitive nub between two of his fingers. Electricity was coursing through your veins with every touch the two men gave you. Zayne’s fingers curled deep inside of you, rubbing against your most sensitive spot, causing your hips to shoot up off of Sylus’ lap. He methodically prodded against your g-spot and you already thought you were going to see heaven. Zayne was bringing you closer to orgasm with each second and Sylus was only adding fuel to the fire. 

“Mmm…Don’t run from it, Kitten…Remember how good it felt last night? Why not show that same courtesy to your favorite priest? I’m positive he’s dying to see your blissed-out expression.” Sylus whispered, nuzzling his nose against your earlobe. Your hands latched onto whatever it could to ground you in this moment, opting to have one hand on Sylus’ forearm and your other fisted in Father Zayne’s hair. 

“I-I~! Oh God~!” Unable to warn either of them, your body convulsed with pleasure, moans echoing out of you haphazardly. Looking at you, Zayne couldn’t believe his eyes. You were absolutely stunning as your face contorted with pleasure. He had been blessed to witness many beauties in life; breathtaking scenery, magnificent artwork, miracles performed in front of him, but yet they all paled in comparison to the flushed expression on your features. He thought back to all of the small smiles you had given him, the redness sprouting on your cheeks and the tip of your nose when you got embarrassed, the few times your hands bumped earlier while cleaning, and suddenly his greed consumed him. He wanted all of those things, he wanted more. He wanted to be the one who made you cum like this and moan his name, not some demon. 

“Good girl…” Zayne whispered, standing up and pressing your lips together. His soft lips passionately danced with yours, your tongues quickly crashing against each other. Despite the sexual deviancy that you had grown accustomed to over the past two days, your heart couldn’t help but thump against your ribcage as you realized that Father Zayne was your first kiss. It was heated, passionate, and loving. Surely it wasn’t as innocent as you had envisioned but, God, did it satisfy you all the same. 

He pulled away from your lips with nothing but a string of saliva connecting you two. You panted and collapsed against Sylus’ broad chest. Sylus rubbed between your legs, feeling your body jolt at the sudden stimulation. 

“We’re not done yet, Kitten. It’s bad manners to cum without saying thank you.” He gripped your chin and forced you to look up at Zayne, eyes hazy from pleasure. 

“T-Thank you…Zayne…” Your voice was soft and pliant, already tired from the intense orgasm. 

“Mmm, good girl. Now don’t you think it’s time you return the favor?” Zayne was quick to interject. 

“No. She doesn’t have to do more than necessary. She needs to rest.” 

“Noble words for a man straining the stitches in his trousers.” You couldn’t help but follow your eyes down Zayne’s torso and notice the painful erection pressing up against his belt, practically begging to be released. You swallowed hard and moved your hand to your slick folds. 

“It’s okay Zayne. I want you to feel good too.” You look up at him with sweet doe eyes, your gaze making his heart flip in his chest. He wanted to argue, to whisk you away to his chambers away from Sylus and let you rest but…how could he say no to you begging so nicely? 

“I will continue, only if you promise to tell me if it’s too much. I do not wish to hurt you.” He cleared his throat. A small smile graced your lips as you nodded. 

“Okay…”  Zayne unbuckled his belt and freed himself from his trousers, his thick, throbbing cock springing free. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was in the presence of a sex demon or that you were just that sinfully erotic, but he had never experienced an erection this strong in his life. He quickly positioned himself in between your legs, rubbing the swollen tip against your puffy cunt. He could hardly stifle a groan as he realized just how drenched you were against him. He continued to rock his hips against you, frotting his tip against your already sensitive bud. 

“Please Zayne…” You whimpered, pulling him closer to you. “Put it inside, I c-can’t wait any longer!” How could he resist a siren call like that? Without a word, he began to push himself inside. Your moans synchronized with his as his cock stretched your tight hole. Once he got the tip in, he stalled waiting for your body to adjust. Though it felt like a test of patience to not push himself fully inside, he would never forgive himself if he hurt you. When he took a vow of chastity he thought he could live without sex, but now he would be a broken man if he died without knowing what it was like to have your walls clench around him. 

As noble as his intentions were, you were too impatient to appreciate it. You began to rock your hips against his, slowly inching his cock deeper inside of you. “Zayne please~! I need your dick as deep as it will go.” You couldn’t stop the filth from leaving your mouth. Your body ached and burned for him, you needed that tip to slap against your cervix until you couldn’t walk straight. 

“But I don’t want to h-” Zayne struggled to compose a sentence, too enamored by the heat enveloping his throbbing member. 

“You won’t hurt her. She’s ready to take your cock, Father. Don’t leave her waiting…or else I might have to show you how you’re supposed to fuck her.” Sylus prodded at Zayne. He could see the irritation spark on his face and with the jumpstart he needed, he slammed the rest of his cock into you. Your voice cried out as he began to thrust, giving you the unrelenting friction you so desperately needed. 

“F-Fuck~! Yes…Nnn-yes~!” Your moans warbled out of your throat, your body finally melting into Sylus’ chest. Sylus’ hands never stopped playing with your breasts, teasing and tugging on the tender nubs. He loved watching your breasts bounce with each thrust, it made his own cock stir in his pants. His thick fingers moved to your cunt, and soon he began to shower your tiny bundle of nerves in attention. As Zayne thrusted inside of you, his fingers circled around your overstimulated clit, giving you a dual sensation you couldn’t fathom. “Oh Gods~! Fuck~!” 

“Mmm…That’s it, Kitten. Just focus on our touch.” Sylus muttered, planting kisses against your exposed neck. Zayne’s thrusts grew more erratic as he could feel himself edging closer to climax. Any semblance of composure he walked in with was thrown out the window the second his cock was completely engulfed by you. His hands gripped the bedsheets underneath you until his knuckles turned white, tethering himself to this world as he pounded into you. Without either of you realizing it, Sylus had freed his own massive cock, hissing at the cool air brushing against his warm skin. “Ease up for a moment, Father. I think it’s fair that I get a turn as well. After all, I brought you two together.” 

Zayne glared at Sylus, the displeasure etched deep into his face at the thought of sharing you with him. Even if he was correct, Zayne finally wanted to be selfish for once in his life and wanted to keep you all to himself. Sylus realized he wasn’t going to budge and could only chuckle at how much of an open book the priest was. 

“Fine, have it your way.” Sylus nudged the tip of his cock against your already stuffed entrance, knocking you out of your fucked out trance. 

“W-Wait…There’s no w-way I can fit both of you…” You whined, grabbing onto Sylus’ forearm once again. 

“Trust me, Kitten. Just take a deep breath for me.” Before you could protest any further, you could feel the tip of his cock pushing into you. Zayne slowed down for a moment and Sylus took this opportunity to pop it inside. Both you and Zayne hissed from the pressure, feeling it in drastically different but equally delicious ways. The extra sensation of feeling full and the slight burn from the stretch made your legs shake and feeling the tip of Sylus’ cock rub against the bottom of his own had Zayne stifling a moan. 

“Y-You…” Zayne uttered, trying to fight back against this intrusion but couldn’t deny how good it felt. He could feel every pulse in your pussy that much better, and the extra stimulation was just a bonus. Once he confirmed there was no pain or discomfort on your face, the tension in his shoulders ease. “Forgive me, Sister. I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself composed.” 

“Then d-don’t be…” You whisper, pulling him closer towards you to crash your lips against him. His thrusts resumed after tasting your tongue against his, moving in synchrony with Sylus’ cock. When Zayne thrusted deep inside you, Sylus would wait to push his cock deeper once Zayne pulled back. The constant friction pummelling against your g-spot was a sensation you had never even heard or thought about. It was intoxicating. You moved your hand up from Sylus’ forearm to his hair, gripping it tight in your fist. The action caused him to groan in your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck. Your toes began to curl and your legs began to shake, letting all three of you know just how close you were to reaching your peak. 

“I-I’m gonna c-cum~! I can’t hold it!” You cried out, volume control long abandoned. 

“Let go for us, Sister.” 

“Cum all over our cocks, Sweetie.” 

With their encouragement, you finally let go. Your orgasm crashed over you in a deep wave, your body convulsing as your juices squirted onto their cocks. Your cum trickled down Zayne’s stomach and onto Sylus’ thick, muscular thighs. The two men moaned in unison at your pleasure, a shiver running up their spines as you wriggled between them. They both could feel themselves being edged closer and closer to cumming. Zayne buried his face into your shoulder, inhaling your scent as his balls tightened, emptying deep inside of you. Sylus wasn’t far behind, his seed flooding your insides and together your combined orgasms dripping down onto the sheets below. 

Pants filled the air as the three of you rode out your blissful highs. Zayne brushed the stray hairs out of your face before planting soft kisses around your cheek and lips. Sylus complimented his movements, rubbing your thighs and stomach softly while nuzzling against your neck once again. The two men slowly pulled out of you, their cum gushing out from between your thighs leaving a bigger mess that one of you would have to clean up later. For now, you were happy enough to just mingle in the company of their warm bodies.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Seriously?

Hello Kento,  I hope you are well.  Please refrain from contacting me via my work email. It is inappropriate and annoyingly endearing. Let me be mad in peace. Thank you.  Best wishes,  Your Wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Please Forgive Me

Hello to you too, sweetheart, I must admit your response is both upsetting and encouraging. Truthfully, I wasn't expecting you to respond at all. Of course, I wish your email was more welcoming but beggars and whatnot. What must I do, my love? I have apologised. Not once or twice, but countless times. So many times now it feels like ‘I’m so sorry’ were my first words. I rose early to prepare your favourite breakfast — drove clear across the city to find the precise ingredients (you and I both know there is only one acceptable brand of jam in this household). I plated it neatly, included a smiley face, just as you like it, though, I observed, it was met with a frown, thus defeating the spirit of these things.  Your work clothes were laid out, ironed with care and to perfection, if I may say so myself. I made sure the heating was on well before you awoke, so the chill wouldn’t bother you so — I’ve seen how cold mornings test your…patience, should we say. Your lunch was packed and ready, with a handwritten note tucked inside, although I’m sure you carelessly tossed it aside in your bid to destroy my will to live on a spiritual level. It was a new recipe, by the way. I hope it suits your taste. Do let me know. Perhaps by softening your glare when you arrive home since apparently smiles are beneath you. Even last night, I relinquished the duvet entirely — though I must admit, it was less an offering and more a tactical surrender after you ripped it from my body without mercy. I woke up frozen, on the brink of pneumonia. Need I remind you, I am at a tender age?  And after all of that… You walked past me. Not a word. Not even a glance. You washed the dishes (which is, and I cannot stress this enough, my responsibility), and shoved my work clothes off the bed because — what was it? The sleeve was ‘encroaching’ upon your own and the cotton needed space because ‘husband air is toxic?’ That was particularly hurtful. Entirely uncalled for. My blazer may never recover. Still, I could take it. I could take all of it. Because I admit my fault and I recognise my need to be punished. But to leave without kissing me goodbye? That, my love, was unconscionable. A line crossed. A declaration of war. An admittance of lesser character. I am disappointed in you. Thus, I now join your unrelenting form on the S.S. Marital Displeasure. Let’s see how we fare at sea, together. Yours, unwaveringly, Kento— the husband you once swore never to abandon P.S. Dinner is on me tonight. Please let me know what time you’ll be home. P.P.S. You looked radiant this morning. Even in silence. Even in a mood. You’re still the most beautiful thing in the room.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Wow. Just Wow

Kento,  You infuriatingly adorable man. All those things you listed about this morning are things you do everyday. I know that was supposed to guilt trip me, but that just annoyed me more cause I get it — you’re totally perfect and handsome and tall and you smell nice. Ugh, you’re the worst. Lunch was yummy, by the way. Ten out of ten. The note, which I didn’t carelessly throw away mind you (that was very rude to assume, how dare you) telling me ‘you are loved even when you’re grumpy’ was not. I am not grumpy, Kento. I am aggrieved.  You have aggrieved me.  Also, don’t try to guilt trip me about the cover hogging. You run hot and you know we have a spare duvet in the closet. Many times now, I've begged you to take it because I know I have bad sleeping habits BUT you refused. You said, need I remind you, that you insist on sharing one to be as close to me as possible. Your words.  The work clothes thing was an accident. I didn’t mean to push it off, and I was trying to stay mad so I made up some lie. Tell your blazer I’m sorry. Tell its owner I will never forgive nor forget. You know what you did.  And I don’t want you to join my ship. We can’t both be on it. We’ll sink…damn that’s metaphorical. For your own good, get off now whilst you still can.  Lukewarm wishes,  Your Wife P.S. I’ll be home later than you, I have some things to finish P.S. There was only one other person in the room and that was you, and even then you were clearly the more beautiful one Mr. Wakes Up With A Five O’Clock Shadow And Silky Golden Locks. That pissed me off so much more. Try to be less perfect, thank you.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I Miss You

My dearest, I’ve read your message precisely three times and still, I’m not entirely sure whether I’ve been forgiven or sentenced. However, I feel a sense of optimism, foolish or not.  Let me begin with your opening line: ‘infuriatingly adorable’— it is not quite a compliment but I accept it with caution regardless. I am adorable and I understand that you wish I wasn’t. As soon as possible, I will find a cure. Moreover, in reference to my morning route, you’re right, of course. The tasks I listed are things I do every day. Not as some grand gesture, but because loving you — actively, attentively, without pause — is part of my daily routine. Like ironing my shirts or making my coffee. It’s muscle memory now. If I were to stop, I fear I might just malfunction and catch fire. That said, if you are aggrieved — not grumpy, as I so mistakenly suggested, please forgive me for that too— then I humbly bow to your deliverance, Lady Justice. Though I maintain that the distinction is rather blurry when you’re stomping past me with furrowed brows and lips pressed into a line sharp enough to cut marble, lips I dare say I wish I could kiss into their usual form. Regarding the duvet — yes, I recall saying that. I stand by it. Even if I must freeze to death one night beneath your siege of unconscious theft, I would still rather reach out and find you beside me than not. You will indubitably note that that was unnecessarily dark, I’m sure, and you’ll then make a comment about the phase we shall not talk about that I went through in my youth. Further, the blazer has accepted your apology. It insists you take it off me tonight. Is that too forward? You usually love when I’m forward but I worry this will only enrage you more, likely in a way that will leave me dangerously sore. Perhaps that is what I intend. I cannot tell anymore. I just miss your touch. As for the note, I didn’t assume you threw it away. I merely feared it. I know you well enough to know that even when you’re furious, you’re still gentle with the things I give you. It’s one of those things you do that melt my heart. Your ship — this solitary vessel of marital vengeance — sounds lonely. It is precisely that reason however that I must stay aboard, respectfully. With all my love, Kento – your infuriatingly tall, overly warm, occasionally smug but entirely yours husband P.S. I’ll have dinner ready by the time you’re home. P.P.S. I will attempt to be less perfect, though I make no promises. I’ve spent years mastering my five o’clock shadow, it practically comes in on its own when it senses you’re at your most vulnerable. As for my silk, golden locks, I owe that to you and your hair mask. Thank you.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Tempting

Kento. I’ve read your message. Twice. Once dramatically, on break. Once again, aloud, with emphasis, so the plants in my office could also judge you. And I must say... The audacity. The calm. The poetry. The charm. Ugh. Disgusting. I hate how you win arguments by being emotionally intelligent and devastatingly eloquent. Stop. Also, your blazer is so dramatic. I was always going to take it off you, that was never in question. And yes, I love when you're forward. I loved it just now. Reminds me of that time we snuck off into the janitor's closet and... Moving on. I will admit (reluctantly) that your words were very lovely, they usually are, and the image of you freezing like a noble idiot because you'd rather suffer than part from me for even a life-saving second was both tragic and romantic and exactly the kind of behaviour that makes staying mad at you basically impossible. I hate that for me. But fine. F I N E. You may stay aboard my metaphorical ship, provided you bring snacks and acknowledge that I am the captain and you’re just here for deck-swabbing privileges and forehead kisses. You’ll be handsomely rewarded ;) Love, Your Wife (Still aggrieved. But slightly less so. Like… 69% less.) P.S. If you’re trying to seduce me via dinner, it’s working. You might get that kiss. Or two. Depends how good it is.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Please Stop

Dear YN and Nanami Kento,  I hope you are both well.  Do forgive me for intruding me but, as Head of HR and as your friend, I feel a need to remind you both that you are liaising using your work emails which are monitored by HR. Resolving marital disputes on company hours and company mail is not recommended nor permitted. Please set this aside for when you get home. I also wish to remind you that your offices are a short distance from each other. There doesn’t seem to be a need to be communicating via emails at all. From my desk, I have been watching you two write your emails with smiles on your faces.  I suspect neither of you are mad at each other at all. So, YN, please just forgive him already. He hasn’t done much work all day, whereas your productivity has increased. We should probably hold a meeting to discuss both changes. I am concerned.  Lastly, your fight is distracting everyone. One colleague described it as ‘funny,’ another ‘sweet,’ and someone else called it ‘foreplay.’ I’m sure you understand why exactly I intervened. You are both already on two strikes. Please don't make me remind you of what exactly what happened the last two times. The company is still paying for therapy sessions for the affected employees. Do better.  Best wishes,  Ijichi Kiyotaka P.S. Why were you even mad? Did he forget an anniversary? Comment on your weight?

From: [email protected]

Subject: Kinda Embarrassed. No Longer Mad

Dear Kento, Did not realise the whole office was invested in this. No wonder the intern was giving me a look and Sharon from IT told me that she and her husband also fight like this to ’spice up’ their love life, and that its best when the husband gets mad too. TMI but appreciated. Are you even capable of getting mad at me? Well, anyway, you heard the man. Let’s continue this conversation at home.  And Ijichi, I know you’re reading this, you Peeping Tom. I hope you know we’re going to make sweet, dirty love tonight. All night. Bring this up to the Big Boss, I dare you. I know you haven’t forgotten the huge favour you owe me for beating Gojo up when he needlessly sent you on errands around the city. Please stand up for yourself. Do better, as you say. Kento, let’s go home together tonight. I need to apologise to your blazer as soon as possible and to catch up on kisses expeditiously. In fact, expect a knock on your office door.  Love,  Your wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Didn't Notice Ijichi's P.S.

Dear Nanami, and Ijichi because you are reading these, He sat on my bunny plushie yesterday. He flattened her. I'm mad again. Hate, YN

From: [email protected]

Subject: Thank You, Ijichi

Dear wife and Peeping Tom colleague, You have no appreciation for the work I put in to get back into my wife's good graces. All your disclaimers about simply doing your job were clearly written in deceit since your gossiping self could not resist prying. Do not think I haven't overheard you collecting bets on why she was mad at me in the break room. Please expect Gojo's presence in your office with some new, overbearing task soon. You're welcome. Worst wishes (to Ijichi), Nanami Kento And nothing but love (to my wife), Ken

From: [email protected]

Subject: Don't Read This One, Ijichi

Ken, You're so hot when you're all assertive. Wanna get strike three? Preferably in your office, on your desk? Gojo can distract everyone for an hour...or two. Lust, Your Wife

From: [email protected]

Subject: Don't Keep Me Waiting

Sweetheart, Door's open.

From: [email protected]

Subject: I Am Not A Peeping Tom

I hate you both and you deserve each other. Regrettably, Ijichi Kiyotaka

From: [email protected]

Subject: Freakyyyy

Dear Nanami, YN, and my favourite Peeping Tom, This is what happens in the office? Wow, maybe I should get a desk job (lol that's probably what Nanami's getting right now, lucky guy) Can't believe I was slaving away, keeping the world safe, and you two were slacking off and getting it on. I'm expecting a baby Nanami soon. Make me the godfather pls pls pls Stay sexy, The Strongest P.S. Can I watch? I’m kidding…unless?

Not with the kind of work you did—work that made men like him keep their distance.

Not when he’d built his life on lines he didn’t cross, rules he didn’t bend.

Not when he wasn’t even meant to be there that night—stuffed into a booth at the club, dragged out by Greyson for a birthday he hadn’t wanted to celebrate.

But you were there.

And suddenly—so was he.

Zayne had watched you that whole night.

Not on purpose—not at first. But his eyes kept drifting, finding you in every pause, every lull in conversation.

The soft sway of your hair with each step, like it had a rhythm all its own.

The way you poured wine without spilling a drop—elegant, effortless. Like this wasn’t just a job, but a craft you’d made your own.

In the low, moody glow of the club, you looked untouchable.

As if you didn’t belong to this place at all, but moved through it—like smoke, or something not quite real.

He watched. Quietly.

Careful not to let it show—not in his face, not in the way he sat rigid, fingers curled tight into his coat.

But god, he was mesmerised.

Fully. Completely.

And he hadn’t even touched you yet.

Greyson stumbled out first, the rest of the group trailing behind in a blur of laughter, apologies, and half-hearted goodbyes.

Then it was just you and Zayne.

He didn’t move. Didn’t look like he intended to.

So you tilted your head toward the bar—wordless—and walked.

He followed.

You sat him down and ordered a slice of cheesecake. The best one on the menu.

He didn’t ask why. Just picked up the fork and took a bite.

And that’s when it happened.

You laughed at something—small, probably stupid—but it slipped out before you could catch it. Light. Unfiltered.

Zayne went still beside you.

Completely still.

He hadn’t expected it. Not here. Not from you.

But god—it did something to him.

The kind of thing he didn’t have words for.

Not yet.

“You were so obedient,” you tease, licking your popsicle with an exaggerated wink as you glance up at him.

Zayne walks quietly beside you, milk tea in hand, eyes never on the pavement—always on you.

These walks had become routine now. Late-night dessert runs. After-shift drives.

Little rituals that started the night he’d stayed longer than he meant to… said more than he probably should have.

You remember it clearly. The way he’d asked to stay in touch.

You—just tipsy enough, basking in the slow glow of his attention—had leaned in with a grin and handed over your number.

It started small.

He’d show up during your shifts. Never making a scene, just watching. Waiting.

And when your night ended, he’d walk you to his car. Drive you home. Never asked for anything.

Then one evening, he’d asked if he could take you out. Just dessert.

You remember sliding into the passenger seat, laughing as you buckled in.

“You’re the first guy who’s ever taken me out for something other than sex,” you’d said—half a joke, half confession.

You hadn’t expected the way his face shifted. The quiet ache in his eyes.

His hands moved slower then, gentler, as he reached across you to pull the seatbelt into place.

The softness of it caught you off guard. Made your breath stutter.

“Then I’ll be the only guy from now on,” he said.

You laughed, brushed it off—playful, easy.

But your heart had already betrayed you.

And now?

Now, seeing you had become part of his routine. His rhythm.

Before your shift. After.

If you so much as texted craving something sweet, he’d show up with it—no questions, no hesitation.

He didn’t say much. Never asked for more.

But the way he looked at you?

He was starting to realise—he needed you more than he wanted to admit.

You both slowed as the club came into view, neon lights casting soft blue against the pavement.

You turned to him, that familiar grin on your lips. Playful. Easy. “This is it. I’m going now.”

He gave a small nod, hands tucked deep in his coat pockets. “I won’t be able to pick you up tonight,” he said, voice lower than usual.

You waved him off. “It’s okay. I know you’ve got a long shift.”

A step back. Still smiling. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

His gaze softened—barely, but you caught it.

The crease between his brows smoothed, and for a heartbeat, he just looked at you.

Like you were something fragile in a world too sharp. Something he didn’t quite know how to protect…

But wanted to.

“I know,” he said.

But what he didn’t say—not out loud—was that he wished you didn’t have to.

He stayed there, watching as you disappeared into the club, swallowed by low lights and velvet curtains.

Only when the door clicked shut behind you did he finally turn and head for his car.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he exhaled slowly.

His palms itched against the steering wheel. His collar felt too tight.

He shouldn’t be thinking about you like this.

But god, the image of you clung to him.

The way your head tilted when you teased. The spark in your eyes. The curve of your smile like you knew exactly what you were doing.

That dress—barely skimming your thighs.

The way you walked. The way you moved in those heels like the world owed you its attention.

He leaned back, closed his eyes.

Let out a quiet, frustrated breath.

You were driving him mad.

And the worst part?

You didn’t even know it.

—•

The hospital hums with beeping monitors and rolling carts, a constant background chorus of machinery and footsteps.

Zayne moves through it all on autopilot—writing reports on whiteboards, checking charts, letting children place sticker crowns on his shoulder as he makes his rounds.

Then comes a thought.

Sharp. Uninvited.

What would your children look like?

And then—did you even like children?

He chokes on his own spit, coughing into his fist.

“You good, doctor?” Greyson appears beside him, giving his back a firm pat.

Zayne raises a hand, nodding as he swallows down the last of the cough.

“Yes. I’m fine,” he says after a beat, voice tight but steady.

Greyson studies him a second longer before shrugging and moving on, clipboard tucked beneath his arm.

Zayne exhales, adjusting the stethoscope around his neck like it might steady him. But the thought lingers.

You—holding a toddler. Your laugh mixing with theirs. Something soft, impossible. A vision from a life he had no business imagining.

He drags a hand down his face.

It’s stupid.

He’s never even seen you in daylight.

He forces his focus to the next room. To the patient. To anything else.

A little girl with tangled hair and smudges of marker on her arms beams at him as he walks in. Her grin is gap-toothed and infectious.

“Dr. Zayne!” she calls.

“Hey, princess,” he says, masking the shake in his chest with a practiced smile. “Did you draw me something today?”

She holds up a page—stick figures under a rainbow. Or maybe an explosion. He can’t tell.

“That one’s you,” she says, pointing to the tallest figure with absurdly long arms.

Zayne crouches beside her bed, taking the drawing like it might fall apart in his hands.

“And who’s this?” he asks, tapping the smaller figure beside him—big eyes, a dress, a smile that somehow feels too familiar.

She shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe your wife.”

He freezes.

Just for a second.

Long enough for the air to shift.

Long enough for the thought to wedge itself deeper.

Maybe.

“Maybe,” he says softly, folding the paper and slipping it into his coat pocket.

Her monitor beeps steadily. His heart doesn’t.

He finishes his rounds on muscle memory—hallways blurring past, fluorescent lights feeling too bright, too white.

By the time he makes it to the parking lot, the sun’s slipping behind the buildings.

He leans against his car, pulls out his phone. Opens a message thread.

‘Craving anything sweet tonight?’

He stares at the words.

Deletes them.

Types again.

‘Are you okay?’

No.

Backspace. Gone.

He locks the screen and exhales, head tipping back, eyes closed against the fading sky.

God, what were you doing to him?

Over at the club, the shift drags.

The music is louder than usual, the crowd drunker, the tips smaller. You’re on your feet for hours, smile painted on and cracking at the edges.

Someone spills a drink on your tray. Another tries to grab your waist like you’re part of the decor. You laugh it off—polite, effortless. Like always.

But tonight, it wears on you more than usual.

Maybe it’s the ache in your legs.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not here.

He usually is. Somewhere in the corner, tucked into a booth, quiet and watching like he’s memorising the shape of you.

But not tonight.

You told him it was fine. That you didn’t need looking after.

You meant it. Mostly.

Still, when you glance at your phone between tables, you find yourself hoping for something.

A text. A dumb dessert joke. A “you good?”

Something.

Nothing.

You wipe down the counter harder than necessary, forcing a breath through your nose.

Don’t be needy.

Don’t get used to kindness that was never promised.

The club lights shift—purple to red, red to gold—and your head throbs with it. You duck into the back for a break, slipping behind the staff door and leaning against the cool wall.

You check your phone again.

Still nothing.

You open his name. Type.

‘Busy shift?’

Pause. Backspace.

‘I didn’t see you. Everything okay?’

Backspace.

You sigh, thumb hovering.

Instead, you swipe up and lock the screen.

Shove the phone into your pocket like it’s heavy.

Because the truth is, you’re not used to missing people. You’ve made an art out of not needing anyone.

But Zayne?

Zayne is making you forget the rules you built around your own heart.

And that’s dangerous.

You shove the phone deeper into your apron pocket and push off the wall, heading back out into the club.

The music swallows you whole again—bass thudding against your ribs like a second heartbeat.

You move on instinct, clearing glasses, flashing smiles, pretending you belong in a place that feels more like a cage with every passing night.

But your mind drifts.

It always does when you’re tired. When you let your guard down even a little.

You remember the first time you walked into a place like this.

Not because you wanted to.

Because you had to.

The debt collector had been polite, at least. Smiling when he explained it in simple words your mother couldn’t quite grasp, not through the painkillers and the hospital bills.

Smiling when he leaned back in his chair and said, “It’s simple. A few nights a week. Some tips, some cash under the table. You’ll make a dent in what’s owed.”

Like it was nothing.

Like it was normal.

And maybe it is, for girls like you.

Girls who grew up learning that being pretty was a currency, that being polite was a shield, that survival sometimes meant smiling even when you wanted to scream.

You hadn’t screamed.

You’d just nodded.

And now here you are. Still smiling. Still surviving.

Some nights it’s almost easy. Some nights you almost forget.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you feel every compromise pressed against your skin. Every choice you didn’t really get to make.

And for the first time in a long time, you wish someone would notice.

You wish someone would see past the gloss and the grin and the practiced tilt of your head.

Someone like him.

Zayne.

You shake the thought off, slipping between tables with mechanical grace.

You don’t have time for stupid things like hope.

Hope gets you reckless.

Hope gets you hurt.

You know better by now.

You wipe down the counter one more time, even though it’s already clean, just for something to do with your hands.

And when your break finally rolls around, you duck back into the staff hallway, sink onto the bench, and let your head fall back against the wall.

Your phone buzzes.

Your heart jumps—too fast, too hopeful.

But it’s just a shift schedule update.

You let the screen dim without reading it.

And in the hollow quiet between songs, you whisper the one thing you’ll never say out loud.

“I miss you.”

—•

It was supposed to be a forgettable night.

Just one drink. A quick in-and-out for Greyson’s birthday. He hadn’t even planned to stay past the first round.

But then the music shifted. The crowd parted.

And there you were.

You moved through the club like it didn’t touch you. Like the noise and heat and heavy stares slid right off your skin.

Your tray was balanced with casual precision, your smile a half-formed thing you only gave to customers who tipped well.

But it wasn’t your smile that caught him.

It was the quiet.

There was a stillness in you, even in motion.

Something practiced. Controlled.

Like you’d learned how to be looked at without being seen.

He knew the look. Knew the posture.

It was armor.

You stopped at a nearby table, set down a round of drinks. A man reached for your wrist—too familiar, too fast.

Zayne tensed.

But you stepped back smoothly, smile never slipping, voice light as sugar as you said something he couldn’t hear.

Whatever it was, it worked. The man laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender.

You walked away untouched.

But he didn’t.

He was still sitting there, heart beating faster than it should’ve, watching the place you’d just been.

It should’ve ended there.

Just a glance. Just a moment. Just a beautiful woman in a too-loud club, doing her job.

But then you passed his table. You didn’t look at him—but he looked at you.

And for the briefest second—half a breath, maybe—you brushed a hand across your hip.

A nervous tic. A flicker of discomfort.

Gone just as fast.

But he saw it.

And it stayed.

Even after Greyson had one too many and spilled whiskey on his sleeve. Even after the group peeled off into the night, loud and laughing.

Even after he should’ve left, should’ve gone home, should’ve forgotten you.

He stayed.

He sat in that booth long after his reason for being there had disappeared.

Because of you.

Not your smile. Not your body.

But that flicker.

That moment when your guard cracked.

That was the night it started.

The night you became more than a passing glance.

More than a pretty girl in a loud room.

You became a question he couldn’t stop asking.

The drawing is still in his coat pocket.

He hasn’t taken it out, hasn’t looked at it again—but he knows it’s there.

Knows the crayon lines are probably smudged now from how many times he’s slipped his hand over that spot, just to feel the weight of it.

The thought of you still hasn’t left him. Not since the hospital. Not since the half-typed texts in the parking lot.

He told himself he’d leave it alone.

Give you space. Give himself time.

Be smart.

But smart doesn’t feel the way you do when you laugh.

It’s nearly midnight now.

The hospital is quiet, fluorescent lights dimmed, halls echoing with tired footsteps and vending machine hums.

He should go home. Sleep. Reset.

Instead, he leans against the break room counter, thumb hovering over your name in his phone.

There’s a long pause before he types.

Just one line.

'Still working?'

He stares at it.

It’s too casual. Too easy.

But he sends it anyway.

And for a minute, he regrets it. Instantly. Completely.

Wonders if you’ll ignore it.

If he’s overstepped. If he’s made the wrong move again.

But then, three blinking dots.

You reply.

'Yeah. Almost done. You okay?'

He exhales, his shoulders dropping just slightly as he types, slower this time.

'I had a rough day. Thought about cheesecake.'

He thinks for moment. Then—

'You free after?'

You don’t tell him yes.

You just send a location.

A late-night diner tucked behind a gas station on the edge of downtown. The kind of place that smells like burnt coffee and fried things, with flickering neon signs and booths that have seen too much.

You get there first and slide into a corner booth, tired and still half in uniform, the faint shimmer of the club lights still clinging to your skin.

You order coffee you won’t drink and a slice of pie you don’t really want, just to have something on the table.

You check your phone twice.

He walks in just as the server sets down your plate. His coat is still on, hospital badge clipped to the pocket, hair mussed like he’s been running his hands through it all night.

He spots you instantly. Doesn’t smile.

But his eyes do something soft. Something wrecked.

Zayne slides into the booth across from you.

You study him for a second.

He looks tired. Paler than usual. There’s a crease between his brows like something’s still pressing on him.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He nods.

Then shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

It’s the first honest thing he’s said all day.

You push the plate toward him without a word.

He doesn’t hesitate. Picks up the fork. Takes a bite.

Silence stretches, but it’s not the kind that hurts. It’s the kind that feels… mutual. Like you’re both resting in it. Like your bodies are tired of pretending.

Zayne sets the fork down slowly, eyes still on the pie.

Then, “I thought about you all day.”

You blink.

It’s not like him. Not like this.

He keeps going, quietly.

“At work. During rounds. Between rooms. I couldn’t stop. It was…” He trails off, shaking his head. “It was too much.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

Your heart is loud enough inside your chest to answer for you.

He finally looks up. Meets your eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says. “But I keep coming back to it.”

To you.

You lean back against the booth, eyes soft, mouth tugging into the faintest smile.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.”

“But you did anyway.”

He nods.

You stir your coffee. Take a slow sip. It’s gone cold.

“Maybe I’m bad for you,” you say. It’s not flirtation. It’s a warning.

“I think we both already knew that.”

And still—neither of you moves to leave.

The pie sits between you, half-finished. The lights buzz above your heads. Somewhere, a jukebox plays a song neither of you recognise.

And under the table, your knees brush.

Just slightly.

But neither of you pulls away.

You don’t move your knee. Neither does he.

The contact is small, meaningless to anyone else. But for you, it feels like a crack in the dam. Like if one of you shifts just a little further, it might all come pouring out.

Zayne’s fingers curl on the edge of his plate. Not tight, just steadying. Like he’s holding himself in place.

Your gaze drops to his hand.

Then rises back to his face.

“I used to come here a lot,” you say, voice low, mostly to fill the space. “After work. When I first started at the club.”

He glances up, waiting.

“My feet would hurt, and I’d smell like vodka and desperation, and I’d sit in that corner over there—” you nod toward the back booth “—and pretend I was someone else.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then Zayne speaks, softer than before. “Did it work?”

You shake your head. “Not really. But for ten minutes, with a slice of pie and no one looking at me like I was for sale… it helped.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Or helplessness.

But all he says is, “I hate that that’s the world you live in.”

You offer a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, “It’s just the world.”

Another silence. Comfortable. Heavy.

Zayne shifts slightly, resting his elbow on the table, hand open between you.

It’s not an invitation. Not exactly.

But it’s there.

You look at it. Then at him.

Slowly—so slowly—you reach across the table and lay your hand in his. Fingertips first. Like a question.

His fingers close around yours cold, but careful.

For a while, neither of you speak.

You just sit there, two tired souls in a fluorescent-lit booth at the edge of the world, holding onto something small and quiet, real.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel like you’re performing.

And when he finally walks you to your apartment door, he doesn’t try to kiss you.

He just stands outside your door, waits for you to get in, and waits for you to close it.

You give him a shy smile, “I still don’t know what this is.”

He meets your eyes.

“Me neither.”

And then—finally—a smile. Faint, a little broken, but honest.

“Good night,” he says.

You smile and nod, closing the door. His touch still lingered on your hand.

And for once, you don’t feel like running from it.

The city is still stretching when you wake.

Sunlight spills in slanted lines across your bed, catching the shimmer of your discarded heels by the door.

You’re not usually awake this early—not without a shift dragging you from bed—but this morning, you are.

Because you didn’t sleep much.

Because your hand still remembers the shape of his.

You roll over and check your phone. No new messages.

Just the one from last night, still sitting there like an afterthought, like a thread you could pull on if you wanted to:

‘You free after?’

Your lips tug into the smallest smile. You don’t reply. Not yet.

You press the phone to your chest and let the silence settle around you—not heavy this time, but calm.

It’s been a long time since quiet felt like anything other than loneliness.

You pull on a hoodie and wander into the kitchen barefoot. Make toast you don’t eat. Brew coffee you forget about.

The apartment is still. Safe. Yours.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t feel the need to be anywhere else.

He doesn’t sleep either.

The couch is stiff. The apartment too quiet. He keeps the TV on low just for the illusion of company.

But it’s you he’s thinking about.

The way your fingers curled into his like it wasn’t a question. The sound of your voice when you told him about sitting in that corner booth like you were trying to disappear.

It gutted him.

Not because you were broken.

But because you’d learned to live like it was normal.

He wants to text you. Something small. Something stupid.

‘Did you ever actually eat that pie?’

He doesn’t.

Instead, he lets himself lie back, eyes half-closed, and replay the moment your hand touched his across the table. Not rushed. Not reckless.

Just… soft.

And that’s the problem.

You’re not a mistake he made one night.

You’re something quiet and persistent.

Like a pulse beneath the skin.

Something that makes him feel alive—and that terrifies him.

He sits up. Rubs a hand over his face.

Maybe he shouldn’t see you today.

But he knows he will.

Your shift doesn’t start for hours. No need to rush.

So you let the water run hotter than usual, stand still beneath it, eyes closed, as if the heat could erase the noise from last night—the bodies, the stares, the constant wanting.

But it’s not the club that lingers.

It’s him.

Zayne.

The quiet way his hand found yours, careful, like he was holding something fragile.

The way he didn’t kiss you—not out of disinterest, but something that felt like reverence. Like restraint was his language for care.

And that’s what unsettles you most.

Because you’ve known touch that took.

Words that smiled while hands closed in.

People who made affection feel like a transaction.

But Zayne doesn’t take.

He waits.

And it’s that waiting that’s dangerous. The kind that makes you want to give something away, without being asked.

You catch your reflection in the fogged mirror.

For a second, it’s easy to imagine his fingers along your jaw—soft, not searching. Just… there. Present.

That’s where the ache begins.

Not in your body—but somewhere deeper. Somewhere you thought you’d sealed off for good.

You brace your hands on the sink, exhale slow.

Don’t get used to it.

Softness is expensive. And you’ve already paid more than enough.

Later, when you’re stepping out the door, your hand moves on instinct.

Phone. Screen. Empty.

Still no message.

You don’t know if that’s better or worse.

You type anyway.

‘Last night was nice.’

Four small words. Quiet things.

You hover for a beat too long.

Then send them.

And tuck the phone away before your doubt catches up.

He doesn’t plan to see you.

Not really.

He just ends up outside the club around the time you usually show. A coincidence, maybe.

A lie he tells himself because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

You spot him before he sees you—leaning against the hood of his car, hands tucked into his coat pockets, the city casting him in gold and shadow.

You can’t help the way your mouth curves. Barely. Just a flicker of something soft.

You cross the sidewalk slow, hands buried in your jacket.

“You stalking me now?” you ask.

“Maybe,” he says, like it doesn’t matter either way.

You lift a brow. “You’re not even gonna deny it?”

Zayne shrugs. One corner of his mouth tugs up, tired and honest.

“Didn’t feel like lying today.”

The quiet stretches between you. Not awkward. Not quite.

Then, quieter—

“I don’t have to be in for another twenty.”

He nods toward the passenger seat.

You open the door and get in.

Neither of you speaks much.

The windows are down. The wind moves through the car like it’s trying to carry something away—your thoughts, maybe. The fear. The wanting.

He doesn’t ask where you want to go. He just drives.

Like the road is the only thing that makes sense.

Like proximity is enough.

You sit curled sideways in the seat, arm propped against the window, eyes half-lidded, watching the city slip by in streaks of light and blur.

You glance at him. Study his profile.

“I don’t get it,” you murmur.

He doesn’t look over. “Get what?”

“You. This.”

A vague gesture between you—fragile and undefined.

“You’re good,” you say. “Clean. You don’t belong in my world.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just presses his mouth into a line and turns off onto a narrow road. Trees rising on either side, the city falling behind.

When he stops, it’s at a quiet overlook—nothing but sky and the glitter of far-off buildings.

He shifts into park. Kills the engine. Everything goes still.

Then he turns to you, slow.

“You think I’m clean?” he asks. Not mocking. Just… tired.

You study him now. Really study him.

The faint stubble. The lines beneath his eyes. The way his shoulders slope under invisible weight.

“No,” you say. “Not now.”

A beat.

“But you make me feel like I could be.”

His hand moves—hesitant. Reaching without reaching.

Fingertips graze your wrist, like he’s asking for permission without needing an answer.

“Don’t say that,” he whispers.

You don’t pull away.

“Why not?”

His eyes flicker.

“Because I don’t know how to deserve it.”

The silence that follows isn’t empty.

It’s full of every word neither of you knows how to say.

Then he lifts his hand—slow, reverent—and lets it settle along your jaw. Just barely. Like you might vanish if he touches you too fast.

You let your eyes fall closed.

So does he.

His mouth hovers near yours. A breath away.

And then—

you both pull back.

At the same time.

Like something holy just almost happened.

Like it still could.

You lean in, rest your forehead against his shoulder. He exhales, soft and long, and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Neither of you says anything.

Because sometimes silence is the answer.

And for now, it’s enough.