purity's temptation - y.jw
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pairing: celestial!jungwon x angel!reader
synopsis: As the chastity celestial, Jungwon always told himself that desire is the one thing that corrupts, the one thing that would fracture his purity. When you arrive at Heavenâs gates as a newly ascended soul, itâs like his soul magnetises to yours, unable to stay away. If desire is truly sinful, then why does it feel so divine with you?
genre: slowburn, fated strangers to lovers, angst, smut, fluff
warnings: unprotected sex (angels can't get pregnant ok), breeding, pet names (angel, beautiful), angst, SLOWBURN. (if I've forgotten any pls lmk!)
Part of The Seven Heavenly Virtues series.
This story is meant to be felt as much as read.
Tap each đ¤ that appears in the story to listen to the companion piece for the scene!
The Heavenly Vows are one of the most sacred rituals in the spiritual realm â where celestials make their promise to their God, to protect the human world. They are designed to protect, to inspire, to upkeep Heaven and all its habitants. Known as the Seven Virtues, each celestial is entrusted with the functioning of society.
The celestials are power.
Soft, white light filters through fluffy clouds, settling like a blanket over the pristine city of Heaven, where twines of gold circle around white marble buildings, light reflections casting a faint glow on the streets. Doves chirp and trill as they dive and somersault in the bright blue sky, camouflaging into the impossibly white and gold clouds. White leaves decorate pale brown tree trunks, the branches hanging still in the silent, sedentary air.
It almost feels too beautiful to walk through.
Even after living in Heaven for centuries, the pristine streets where innocent souls wander always felt too pure, even for a celestial. It almost feels too beautiful â as if one step could tarnish its purity. Entrusted as the chastity celestial, Jungwon leads Heaven - known for his self-control, discipline, purity and expected to lead Heaven righteously and justly.
Jungwon took his title as a celestial seriously, keeping anyone and everyone at armâs length, focusing on the needs of the spiritual city.
Desire is the one thing that corrupts â a truth he recited more often than he felt it.
No matter who he was introduced to, who he met, who he observed from afar, he never let himself get close, knowing that his self-control and discipline could crumble to pieces before him, all for something fleeting, for something not permanent.
Yet lately, the silence of Heaven had begun to echo, the stillness reverberating in waves. The perfection that once steadied him, reminded him of his promise to himself, now pressed around him tightly like glass. Each prayer, each hymn, each rhythmic rise and fall of the sun and moon unfolded just as it should yet it didnât give him the same stirring feeling that he used to feel. It was as if Heaven had become a routine â predictable, rehearsed.
And in the quiet of the everyday duties, where the marble gleamed flawlessly and the angels and ascended souls pass through silently, Jungwon canât help but wonder what imperfection might feel like, what it would feel like to finally let his self-control lapse.
The thought always left a sting of guilt on his tongue.
But desire always finds a way through the cracks, even in Heaven.
And those cracks shatter when you ascend.
You marvel at the marble staircases, how delicate twirls of ivy almost glitter in the streams of sunlight beaming down on you as you ascend, the towering pearly gates to Heaven inviting you to the sanctuary where youâll spend eternity.
Jungwon feels it before he sees it â a ripple in time, a pulse in the typical stillness, the faintest tremor that runs through the air like a quivering heartbeat. His head lifts instinctively, eyes immediately drawn to the pearlescent gates. Heaven does not stir without reason.
From his post above the city, he watches as the clouds part to make way for a new soul, the air radiant, trembling, alive. Most arrivals are quiet, humble, polite.
When you appear from the staircase, light flares around you like a halo, gold flickering along your soft skin, casting a golden warmth over your features. The air shifts and bends around you, like heat on glass.
Itâs almost like he can feel his vows cracking under the pressure of your presence, his curiosity piquing, his heart thudding uncomfortably in his chest. His first thought is that you are beautiful, a refreshing warmth to the cold, clean, pure city around them.
His second thought is that because of that fact, you donât belong here.
He tells himself that the pull in his chest is his sense of duty, the ache in his palms as he balls his fists until his knuckles blend into the marble behind him is his fear of a divine imbalance. But even now, before knowing your name, before hearing your voice drifting past your lips, he feels something shift in him.
And that scares him more than it should.
He descends from his post, quietly clearing his throat as he makes his way to you â each step careful and precise, his eyes never leaving your figure, watching as you take in the quiet intensity of Heaven. Clouds part for beams of sunlight to stream down, illuminating your figure, the impossible white of your clothing glowing even brighter, shimmering in the twinkling light.
He could think of so many things heâd rather be doing, not wanting to step too close to this curious fire burning a few feet from him, his stomach squeezing uncomfortably as he finally approaches you. As the chastity celestial, he is responsible for the safe and kind introduction to your new eternity, your second life.
He stops, a few feet away from you, clearing his throat again. You snap your gaze to him, surprise overwhelming your senses.
âSo, this is Heaven?â You ask curiously, unable to tear your gaze from the blinding yet soft white of the marble, greens and golds accenting every surface.
âThis is Heaven. I am the chastity celestial, lovely for you to join us here,â Jungwon says carefully, his words sounding practiced, rehearsed, like theyâve been said hundreds of times before â and maybe they have.
You tilt your head in confusion, looking up at him. âCelestial?â His soft, black hair twinkles as the strands catch on the sunlight, creating a cool contrast against his pale skin, his even paler clothing.
He tries not to notice how human you sound, how warm and curious your voice sounds, smooth and refreshing. Your voice doesnât belong here. You sound alive. And for a fleeting second, Jungwon envies you. âYes, there are seven celestials who are responsible for the safekeeping of Heaven â I am one of them,â he replies curtly, watching you curiously.
You look up at him, eyes bright in admiration, curiosity glimmering behind every syllable. âSo, you look after everyone here? In Heaven?â
âWe do,â he clips, hands clasped behind his back. âIt is our purpose.â
The words shouldnât sting, but they do. For the first time in centuries, Jungwon feels the pressing, insistent ache of solitude creeping in, settling heavily on his lungs â quiet, intrusive, human.
He stays silent, turning on his heel and walking through the still streets, each footstep measured, precise. He almost curses himself when you follow him.
âSo, what do souls do here? Is this just a better Earth?â You ask curiously, almost skipping along with him, unable to contain your happiness for making it to Heaven, having the opportunity to marvel at the sights before you. This is the rest of your eternity. Your fingers brush against his as you stride alongside him, and he has to restrain his breath from shuddering. Itâs almost like he can feel the temptation infecting his discipline, your curiosity rotting through his self-control.
The familiar spike of guilt settles on the tip of his tongue.
âThere are angels who will acquaint you with the city, please ask them any questions you have,â he responds shortly, his gaze trained on the path in front of him.
Until you both stop at an extraordinarily tall building, spires of golden twine and white marble shimmering and catching on the sunlight, pale, double arch doors towering over the two of you. Itâs almost overwhelming for you to stand before it.
Jungwon clears his throat again, pushing open the heavy doors, and you gasp at the sight. Impossibly, the interior rivals the brilliant exterior by far, the floor white tile accented by pale grey ripples, extending up the walls to showcase a beautiful pair of gold intricate wings, each feather carefully carved, with a pale gold halo floating above. Itâs the most gorgeous thing youâve ever seen in your life.
Jungwon spares no second glance to the lobby, walking in and stopping at the lobby desk, a slab of marble with strands of ivy weaving through the tiny crevices.
âGood morning, we have a new ascended soul today,â Jungwon says curtly to the angels behind the desk, gesturing for you to step forward.
One angel behind the desk, with long, wavy blonde hair and soft freckles smiles politely at you, and you step forward, introducing yourself.
You glance over your shoulder, and he is nowhere to be seen, the doors shut behind you.
Time has always been a constant in Heaven, the days bleeding into each other like watercolour, the sun steadily falling and rising like soft, quiet breaths. They were steady, predictable. But lately, Jungwon found himself counting the hours he wasnât meant to notice.
It begins as routine, he tells himself. That the newly ascended souls need guidance; thatâs his role, his responsibility.
He finds you in the gardens, sat delicately atop a carved stone bench, detailed swirls of etchings weaving up and down the cracks. Your hand outstretched with a handful of bird seed, doves fly by, perching on your hand, pecking a few seeds into their mouths and flying off, a soft smile on your face. The doves never land for the angels or the ascended â until now.
âYou seem to be adjusting well,â Jungwon says, his tone even, polite, careful as he watches how the doves land on each other on your hand, desperate for bird feed, making you smile even wider.
You glance up at him, finally tearing your gaze away. âI think Iâm starting to⌠Itâs peaceful here. Almost too peaceful.â
He hesitates, shifting his weight on his feet. âPeace is Heavenâs gift.â
âMaybe,â you say quietly, setting the bag of bird feed next to you, turning to face him. âItâs so quiet here. Doesnât anyone ever get tired of perfection? I mean, we have to spend the rest of eternity here.â
The question lands like an earthquake under his feet. âNo one gets tired of Divine Order,â he replies carefully.
âThat didnât sound like a yes,â you tilt your head, curiosity bubbling.
Something inside him falters, his heart palpitating, skipping a few beats. He looks away, casting his gaze on the intricate carvings in the stone. âYou ask dangerous questions,â he says quietly.
You laugh, the sound soft and airy, carrying through the air like a song. âYou give careful answers.â
He shouldnât find that amusing. He shouldnât find you amusing. But a weight he didnât even notice settled on his chest lifts anyway.
You stand, the soft beams of light catching in your hair, the strands glimmering softly as you shake the bird feed off your hand, the few seeds left in your hand scattering along the ground. You smile, unaware of the fracture youâve caused in him. âThank you for checking on me, Celestial,â you say gently, a soft smile on your face, smoothing out your flowing, white dress, the light fabric dancing in the faint wind.
âItâs my duty,â he says automatically, nodding politely.
As you gather your bag of seed and walk away, Jungwon feels it â something unfamiliar and insistent stirring in his chest.
This isnât right. Not as a celestial. Not for him.
Even as he moves through Heavenâs calm, pristine streets, you are everywhere and nowhere. Faint echoes of your laughter ricochet off white walls. The memory of your outstretched hand, delicate and patient with the doves, taunts him, forcing a subtle, reluctant smile to the corner of his lips.
The streets no longer feel like home. They feel like a cage, air thick, silent in a way that presses on his ribs. Even the hum of wind brushing past him seems to insist, whispering, reminding him of you.
That night, his prayers falter. Words fumble across his lips, prayers that once fell easily, like water over smooth marble, now stumbling against the weight of his thoughts, that heavy sense of your presence that seems to follow him everywhere. Centuries of devotion offer no guidance here.
And he wonders: Why does it feel wrong that you ascended? Why does your laughter, so human, so alive, disrupt the eternal calm?
Days pass â or perhaps weeks; time in Heaven doesnât move how it used to. Jungwon tells himself heâs avoiding you, that his duties have just filled up his hours, yet he still finds traces of you everywhere. The air carrying the faint scent of jasmine and honey that reminds him so much of you. The marble paths shimmer differently, a little brighter where your footsteps fell. Even the hymns sound different â slower, gentler, human, as if Heaven itself has noticed your presence.
He prays more often now. Longer, quieter prayers. Words tumble from his lips that even he doesnât recognise, his voice barely audible under the soft melody of angelic choirs. He prays for clarity, for understanding, for deliverance from whatever on Heaven this is. For the temptation he feels clawing at his chest.
But every time he closes his eyes, he sees you â your lips curved into an easy, effortless smile, your laughter bending sunlight, your voice weaving through the silence like music.
Somewhere in the cracks of his self-control, he can feel your humanity bleeding into him. And it scares him more than heâd like to admit.
The temple was quiet â quieter than usual.
The air hummed faintly with prayer, soft, melodic singing echoing against the high arches. Pale marble glimmered under the soft light of dozens of candles, their golden light flickering in Jungwonâs eyes as he stood at the entrance.
You were there, sitting before the altar by yourself, hands loosely clasped as you gaze up at a large mural hung on the back wall â a painting of four angels lounging in clouds, hands outstretched, small beams of light shining down on them. The hem of your white dress brushes against the floor, soft as a caress.
He shouldnât have come.
But the stillness of the night drew him here, the quiet of Heaven deafening him. Perhaps, that was how you felt as well. Â
For a moment, he only watched â silent, reverent, almost afraid to breathe.
As if sensing him, you turned around, smiling softly at him. âCelestial,â you greeted, voice gentle, carrying through the halls like a song. âI didnât expect to see you here.â
He only took a few steps forward, footsteps echoing in the stillness of the temple. âNeither did I,â he says truthfully.
You smile softly, your gaze flicking to the burning candles. âDo you pray often?â
It was such a simple question. One that shouldâve been easy to answer. Yet, for the first time in centuries, he hesitated.
âMy life is a prayer,â he says simply â words that once filled him with pride now tasting bitter on his tongue. âEvery act, every vow⌠itâs all for Him.â
You tilt your head slightly, studying him. Itâs almost like you can see the hesitation in his gaze. âDoes it feel lonely? To always give and never ask?â Â
His throat tightens. âFaith is not about asking,â he murmurs, though his voice wavered, betraying him.
You turn towards him fully now, only illuminated by the flickering candlelight, your skin warmly glowing. Something in him falters. You look so human here, fragile, yet full of light. He wanted to say yes, that it was lonely. That sometimes, he prayed not for Heaven, but for silence. That lately, when he prayed, he thought about you. He can feel temptation digging its claws deeper, rooting deep in his heart, tasting that familiar sting at the tip of his tongue.
Instead, he said nothing.
You smiled softly, unaware of the internal war inside him, and turned back to the altar. âSometimes, I think that devotion isnât about perfection. That itâs about truth. Feeling, even when youâre not supposed to. Wouldnât that show true devotion?â
And that lands like a blow to his chest.
He stares up at the mural above â at the painted light, at the divine angels who never once wavered â and wondered if God could feel shame.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. âYou shouldnât say such things.â
âWhy not?â you ask simply, turning back to him. âIsnât truth a kind of worship?â
The claw digs deeper, and something inside him cracks; quiet, invisible, irreversible.
And before you could stop him, before the silence could catch him completely, he turned and left â the echo of his footsteps fading into the soft, melodic voices of the choir, leaving you confused.
That night, he tried to pray. But the words didnât come. Â
The following days pass in silence.
Or maybe it isnât silence â maybe itâs the sound of his faith faltering.
Heaven is still undeniably beautiful, the marble lining the streets glimmering under the bright sun, the ivy and gold twine intertwining together, contrasting beautifully against the ripples of white. The sky still shines bright blue, a soft gold emanating behind the clouds. But something in him has shifted, something that he canât quite name. Every prayer feels heavier. Every hymn feels hollow.
When he walks, he finds his gaze flicking towards where you might be â in the gardens, in the temple. He never intends to look for you, and yet his feet always seem to carry him there. He tells himself itâs his duty, but he knows better.
Temptation isnât loud. It doesnât shout or demand. It whispers. It seeps in quietly, infecting you before you even realise, curling like smoke through the cracks of his control.
He catches you one afternoon beneath the archway of the reflecting pool: kneeling beside the water, your hand drifting through the coolness, watching the ripples shimmer like liquid light. You donât see him, but he canât look away.
For a moment, he envies the water â how freely it touches you, how easily it moves around you without consequence.
He retreats before you notice him.
That night, he kneels in the empty temple again, the same exact spot where you spoke about devotion and truth. The candles are long burnt out. The air is cold, still. His hands shake as he folds them together.
âForgive me,â he whispers, the words catching like thorns in his throat. âFor feeling.â
The silence that answers him feels heavier than sin.
He tries to imagine the light â that pure, cleansing radiance that once shone through him every time he prayed, but it wonât come. Instead, he sees your face. Your laughter. The warmth of your smile as you fed the doves. The tilt of your head when you spoke of truth so freely.
And he hates that part of him doesnât want to be forgiven.
You find him days later â no, maybe weeks. Time feels strange even for you; too fluid, too still. But you notice his absence. The streets feel emptier without his quiet presence, the air thinner, less vibrant.
You find him in the temple again.
He stands before the altar, head bowed. The faint light from the stained glass shines down on him, illuminating his dark hair in a flurry of light colours. The room hums faintly of holiness, yet the moment feels unbearably human.
âCelestial,â you call softly, a small smile on your lips.
His shoulders tense immediately â a reaction so visceral, so drastic, that you wince, your chest tightening. He doesnât turn around.
âI havenât seen you for a while,â you continue quietly, daring to take a step closer. âI was starting to think I did something wrong.â
He turns then â slowly â and for the first time ever since youâve known him, he doesnât look like the peaceful, untouchable celestial you met at Heavenâs gates. His gaze is stormy, his eyes shadowed and alive with something like anger, but underneath you see it: fear.
âThis temple is for prayer,â he says. âNot for-â his voice catches, breath shaking. âNot for you.â
You stare at him, stunned. âNot for me? Why?â
He breathes in deeply, as if bracing himself. âBecause you donât belong here.â
The words stab into your gut like a dagger.
You step back, shaking your head. âI donât understand,â you whisper, your voice echoing through the empty temple. âI did nothing wrong-â
 âYou did everything wrong,â he snaps, voice cracking. âYou make me feel. You make me question. You make me doubt what Iâve sworn my eternity to protect!â His voice reverberates off the marble walls, sharp yet trembling all at once. âYou speak of imperfection as something divine, which it is not. Itâs ruin. You are ruin.â
You take another step back, but thereâs no anger in your eyes. Only hurt, and something else he canât bear to look at. Compassion.
âThen why are you shaking?â You ask softly. âIf I am ruin, why do you tremble when you look at me?â
He flinches like the words struck him across the face. âBecause you are a test,â he hisses, voice desperate. âYou must be. You must be sent by Him â to see if I would fall. And I wonât.â
He lifts his hand up to you, and for the first time since your ascension, the air feels cold. Too still, as if moving would set him off the edge. The divinity of his presence settles down heavily on your shoulders, and instead of it feeling comforting, it feels suffocating. His voice drops to a whisper.
You gape at him, freezing in your spot. âWhat?â
And for a moment, you swear you see it â the hesitation, the heartbreak in his restraint. You could stay. You could reach out. But then his expression hardens, glaring down at you, his lips forming one final word that seals your fate.
Your vision blurs white, and in a flash, you disappear.
Jungwon stands in an empty temple, his body shuddering, breathing hard, his pulse in his ears. The air still hums with the trace of your presence â tender, warm, devastating.
And for the first time in his eternal life, Heaven feels like Hell.
The candles donât relight, the sunlight beaming through the stained glass dampens, until only a dull glow resonates through the temple. His gaze wanders up to where you stood, and he canât help but wonder if the cracks in the marble were always there.
The once sparkling marble is now a dull, smooth sheen â all glimmer, all personality gone, like it disappeared along with you.
He never thought you affected Heaven this much.
Before he can stop himself, prayers start to spill from his lips, words merging into something he canât understand. He repeats prayers, but they just sound like apologies. He thought banishment would cleanse him â but it feels like heâs cutting out his own heart.
He clambers to his feet, almost running out of the temple, the air compressing his lungs, unable to breathe. He stumbles outside, and the sight only worsens the squeeze on his chest.
The sky that used to glow bright and calming, now a dull blue-grey, pale, flat. The clouds dissipate, only leaving a few stray fluffs of cloud lingering sadly in the sky. The choir still sings, but the notes hit wrong, like theyâre singing off-key.
His gaze frantically whips to the reflecting pool you sat at earlier, his heart squeezing painfully. The water that once shone like liquid light now fogged over, muddy, dirty, no longer mirroring the clear blue sky. The doves that used to trill and squawk playfully in the sky now perch sombrely, as if they donât have a reason to fly anymore. The marble streets that once gleamed like light reincarnate now cold and pale, shadows reaching callously over him.
He falls to his knees by the reflecting pool, where you once kneeled, hands pressed to the chilling marble.
âFather,â he whispers, staring into the fogged water. âPlease tell me I did it right.â
Only the wind stirs, a low, hollow exhale that tangles in his hair.
He looks up at the sky â the same sky heâs sworn devotion to for centuries â but it feels like heâs staring at a painted ceiling. Beautiful, unreachable, lifeless.
âI did what you asked,â he breathes. âI cast her out. I turned away from the sin You despise. So why-â His voice cracks. âWhy does it feel like Youâve turned away from me?â
The silence doesnât answer, but something shifts inside of it. Not sound, not sight â something deeper, like recognition.
He hears his own words echo back to him, warped and distant. Sin. Purity. Temptation. They crumble in his mind to dust.
And then the truth settles on him, slow and devastating. Like a heavy blanket.
He was never protecting Heaven. He was protecting himself.
Not from you, not from what you made him feel. From the possibility that love could exist in something holy. From the terror that God might not condemn it.
âMy chastity,â he murmurs, voice trembling. âIt wasnât purity. It was fear.â
The wind brushes against him again â gentler this time. A warmth flickers in the air, faint but real, brushing against his skin like sunlight peering out through a storm.
And in that warmth, he feels it â not condemnation, not wrath.
Something that feels like understanding.
His tears fall freely now, scattering into the fogged water â each ripple glinting with a hidden light, like the reflection of a new dawn he hasnât seen before.
âWas that all you wanted?â He whispers. âFor me to see?â
For the first time, the silence feels like an answer.
He stays kneeling, letting the soft breeze and silence wash over him, like itâs cleansing him of his wrongdoing, his fear, his imperfections. Each exhale is heavy, each thud of his heartbeat loud enough in his ears to drown out the choir. For centuries, he has measured every thought, every breath, every fleeting impulse against divine expectancy.
Now, stripped of all the illusion of control, he feels⌠human.
Slowly, he rises. His gaze falls on the empty temple, on the altar that once felt so solid, so immovable. It no longer intimidated him. It no longer planted the seed of guilt. The marble glints faintly in the dull sunlight, catching shadows that werenât there before.
Imperfection. He realises he always feared it. Not for Heaven. Not for God. But for himself.
âIâve been blind,â he breathes, barely loud enough over the soft rumble of wind dancing around him. âI thought love was a sin⌠but it was fear I worshipped all along.â
Outside, the world of Heaven seemed to exhale with him. The dull, pale sky begins to shift, slowly morphing to that bright blue that complimented your eyes beautifully. Hints of gold leak around the soft edges of clouds that begin forming again. Doves stir uncertainly, then take flight one after the other, dipping and spinning in the air like they always did â tentative, but real. The reflecting pool shimmers faintly, catching glimpses of light where there was only fog.
He tentatively brushes his fingers over the cool, clouded water, rippling away the muddy surface and showing his reflection underneath. His chest tightens at the thought of you â banished, gone, unreachable. But he no longer feels fear. He feels clarity.
If love is truth, then it cannot be wrong.
The thought settles like fire in his chest. Sparking to life and growing bigger by the second. It burns, yes, but it does not destroy. It illuminates.
For the first time, he does not pray for guidance, for absolution, for discipline. Instead, he prays for courage.
âShow me the way back to what is right⌠to what is real.â
And Heaven does not respond with anger or sadness, rather with the faintest stir of warmth across his skin, like sunlight brushing on cold stone.
He knows then what he must do. The sky, the pool, the birds, they all point him to the right direction â to you. The risk, the fear, the temptation â it doesnât disappear, but it no longer holds power over him.
The steps are deliberate, careful. Each one carries him closer to the city, closer to where you are, even if that means he has to travel across realms, across universes, across lifetimes, just to find you. The shadows of his past devotion fall behind him. Not erased but acknowledged.
And as he walks, he doesnât look back.
He has never felt more alive.
Heavenâs border is fragile, bendable, tempting.
If he was to do this before, the temptation wouldâve driven him away. But not now. Not when heâs learned the truth, not when heâs finally confronted the very thing heâs feared all of his eternal life.
When he crosses the border to the Twilight, the realm between Heaven and Hell, it feels wrongly alive. The air thrums like an irregular heartbeat, the dull sunâs rays beat down on him and heat his skin, each gust of wind like hot breath fanning on him. The light in Twilight isnât dark â itâs dim, bruised, violet and pale gold, painted in the sky messily like an abstract painting.
He hears whispers â her whispers. Her breaths, her laughs, her cries, tangled with the wind as it brushes past him. The more he walks, the less celestial he feels, as if Twilight strips him of the power he guarded for centuries. The faint thrum of his energy falters, the aura of light that always softly emanated from him dimming. He directs his gaze to the sky, which warps and bends with each step, his head spinning.
âIf this is punishment, then let me be punished loving her.â He says to no one in particular: to whoever â or whatever â is listening.
After what feels like hours of walking, the distant path in front of him refracts, a mirage flickering to life, and only when he steps closer, he sees you.
Ankle deep in the water, small waves lap up your legs, crashing softly. You stare up at the bending sky, the hot sunlight illuminating a glistening tear that trickles down your cheek, splashing into the water underneath you.
You look devastatingly beautiful â the violet light beaming softly onto your white dress, cloaking the pure material in a silky lavender. Itâs almost as if you sense him. You slowly spin around to face him, another tear trickling down your cheek.
âYou sent me here.â Her words strain from her throat, as if scratching against glass. The simple words are enough for his heart to break, feeling each tear. Â
His breath shudders, tearing his gaze from your face. You look at him as if he crushed all your hopes, your dreams, under his shoe. The familiar spike of guilt pricks his tongue. âIâm sorry.â Is all he can choke out.
You laugh bitterly, shaking your head in resignation. âYouâre sorry? You banished me from Heaven, you cast me out!â The anger radiates from you in waves, each one hitting him with so much force, his lungs squeeze tightly.
âI didnât-â He breathes deeply. âI didnât want to. I felt like I had to. You made me feel things that I thought I could never feel, that I shouldnât feel.â
He takes one step closer. You donât move.
âYou made me doubt everything I was,â he breathes, voice trembling. âI spent centuries believing purity was silence â that if I never felt, never wanted, Iâd be closer to Him. But youâŚâ His words falter, hands shaking at his sides. âYou showed me I was afraid.â
Your lips part and you tilt your head, confusion flashing through your anger. âAfraid?â
âAfraid of wanting. Afraid that love would make me human. Afraid that God would turn away if I wasnât perfect, wasnât pure, wasnât in control.â His voice cracks, breath shuddering as he musters the courage to keep going. âYou were never a test â you were the answer I refused to see.â
The Twilight hums, small shimmers of gold peeking through gaps of violet, beaming down on them softly. The water stills around her ankles.
âThen why did you send me away?â You whisper.
He steps into the water now, water lapping gently at the hem of his slacks, soaking through the fabric. âBecause I thought Heaven couldnât hold something as flawed as what I felt for you.â He finally meets your eyes, his voice softening. âBut maybe Heaven was never meant to be perfect. Maybe itâs meant to feel alive.â
The air shudders around you, as if understanding the shift. The dull sky fractures only just enough for a single beam of white light to beam gently onto you both. The light that once felt like a reminder of his purity now felt like a second chance â a second chance to prove to himself that his chastity isnât absence of emotion, but rather acceptance that love can exist in something holy.
âCome back with me,â he murmurs, reaching out. His hand brushes against yours, tentative fingers intertwining with your own. Â âNot because Iâm pure. But because Iâm finally honest.â
âWith myself.â His subconsciousness seems to whisper to him, and for the first time, he feels like heâs finally found peace.
With your gentle smile, the Twilight bends â gold bleeding through violet, the world brightening until it dissolves into light. The light is all-consuming, spilling around you like water through your fingers, igniting a comforting warmth in his heart.
But when the light dissipates, it is not Heaven that greets them.
The air shifts â softer, heavier â like the moment between an inhale and an exhale. The sky no longer blazes gold nor vibrant violet, rather a perfect balance of light and dark. The ground beneath your feet isnât the cold marble youâve both grown so used to, nor is it the warm, lapping water of the Twilight. Instead, itâs something alive, something that thrums along with your racing heartbeats.
âWhere are we?â You whisper.
Jungwon looks around, taking in the endless horizon, the quiet hum that feels like a breath. Then he realises: this place shouldnât exist.
Itâs the space between salvation and surrender, where light and dark meet without judgement.
Heaven hasnât taken them back. Twilight hasnât held them captive.
Theyâre suspended in something new, something made just for them.
âIt feels like Heaven is waiting.â He murmurs. âLike itâs listening.â
A gust of wind blows, gently brushing through Jungwonâs wind-tousled hair, your dress fluttering. He feels you in all your entirety, like your soul is magnetising to his.
With shaking hands, he tentatively reaches for you, wrapping gently around you, holding you close. You melt into his embrace, snaking your arms around his waist, clutching onto him like heâs your lifeline.
For a few moments, you let him hold you, feeling his soft breathing on your neck, his racing heartbeat, pulling you impossibly closer. His grip loosens, and you look up at him, and your breath catches.
He stares down at you like you hung the moon and stars yourself, his deep brown eyes swirling brightly with his affection, with his love for you, a small smile tugging on the corner of his lips. âYouâre so beautiful.â He whispers, and with the loving grin on your lips, he feels his heart mending, the tears healing and glowing with something new â with recognition, acknowledgement, and determination to pursue a new tomorrow: with you by his side.
He gently lays you down on the plush ground, feeling like youâre sinking through and floating simultaneously, like Jungwonâs presence is the only thing keeping you from falling. He hovers over you, his arms caging you in, consuming you in all that is him.
Heat radiates from him in pulsing waves, making the hairs on your arms stand up. Faint scents of sandalwood and rainwater surround you, seeping into your skin â a forever reminder of the man who lays on top of you.
And when you meet his eyes, when your gazes lock on each other, he glows gold: a beautiful aura only adding to his holiness, his celestial perfection, his human imperfection.
âA part of me broke when you banished me,â you whisper, voice cracking. His shoulders tense, a small grimace flashing on his face.
âBut I think itâs more symbolic that you came back â you broke Heavenâs rules by coming back to find me, to say sorry.â
His shoulders relax, almost shuddering as his hands traverse your soft skin, fingertips only just gliding over your sides. The feeling sends a shiver down your back. âYou showed me how to live â how to be human, even as a celestial. I never thought it was possible.â He breathes, his breath tickling your neck.
His gentle hands reach the thin straps of your dress, his knuckles brushing over your exposed collarbone. You gasp, each touch intensified tenfold. âCan I take this off? Can I show you just how much I care about you?â He whispers, his lips tickling your earlobe.
The shaky nod is all he needs. His breath shudders as he hooks his finger into the strap, gently tugging it off your shoulder.
Your skin glimmers gently in the sunlight of this strange realm, shining like a flurry of microscopic diamonds embedded in each pore. He would go as far as saying you look more angelic than him, more holy, with your gentle smile, your kind, curious personality, how Heaven glows even brighter when youâre around.
The white satin glides like silk between his fingers, cool against his fingertips â a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from you. The material falls off your frame easily.
He almost has to restrain the throaty groan that threatens to fall from his lips.
âGods, you really are perfect.â He mumbles to himself, his careful hands tracing each curve and contour of your body. The pads of his fingers trace your dainty skin, dancing down from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts.
Your breath hitches. His touch feels so unholy yet so pure at the same time, like holy water burning against skin. His hands gently cup your breasts, squeezing softly. Your back arches slightly, sighing in pleasure at the soft touch, teasing you, making you want more.
He smiles gently at your responsiveness, wanting nothing more than to give you the pleasure that you gave him. You set him free â now he wants to do the same.
His thumbs brush lightly over your hardened peaks, and you shiver, gasping loudly. The wind picks up, intensifying your sensitivity to his touch. It whispers, lingers, and leaves you wanting more. Your hand snakes up over his shoulder, soft fingertips caressing the nape of his neck, threading through his soft hair.
âMore,â you breathe, eyelids fluttering shut from the gentle, loving pleasure that he gives, your body thrumming with him.
He laughs breathlessly against your ear, the beautiful sound electrifying your nerves, every fibre of your being so innately aware of him. You would die happy only to have the promise of hearing him for the rest of your eternal life.
âOf course, angel,â he whispers lowly, gently rolling your nipples between his fingers. You gasp, your back lifting off the ground. Each tug, roll, and pinch of your peaks send electric waves of pleasure rolling through your body like the swell of an ocean tide. A fire flickers to life in your lower belly, and each careful roll of his fingers only tends to the heat.
Your scent invades Jungwonâs nose, intoxicating him, consuming him in everything that is beautiful, that is unique, that is human. Desire licks at his core, and for the first time, he doesnât shy away from it. He lets it corrupt him, and as long as heâs with you, he finally feels okay with that.
With shaking hands, you reach your hands up to press gently against his chest. The cool material of his silk dress shirt slides effortlessly under the pads of your fingers as you run your hands down the line of buttons.
âCan I take this off?â You breathe, hooking your finger into the space of the first button, pulling him closer. His body shivers on top of you.
âPlease,â he strains, his hands quivering as he tenderly kneads your breasts. With a shaky exhale, you undo the top button, revealing shimmering, pale skin. You languidly undo each button, revealing more of his defined torso. The silk melts off of him, falling beside him with the bottom button popping free.
He glows impossibly brighter, celestial energy radiating from him in a gentle aura, his influence evident in how his skin glows with power. You canât help your hands from exploring the defined ridges and lines in his chest, the faint thrum of holy energy under your fingertips.
His hands leave the swell of your breasts, much to your disappointment, only to map out the curve of your waist, settling on the small of your hip. His thumb caresses your hip bone, skimming along the scanty material of your white, satin panties.
His breath stills against your neck.
His finger dips under the smooth satin, teasing the sensitive skin underneath, him smiling against your neck at your shaky sigh. âPlease?â He murmurs.
You try to speak, but your vocal cords fail you, collapsing under the weight of his gaze. Another shaky nod gives him all the confirmation he needs. With a tender grin, he lazily glides the minimal material down your legs, laying your most pure, most sacred parts out for him.
And you know heâll look after you in the way he touches you, in the way he whispers â like a secret meant only for the two of you.
His hands settle on your bare thighs, gently guiding them open. A low, guttural groan falls from his lips at the sight of you â so gorgeous, so pure, yet so sinful all at once. The slick that shines on your inner thighs glints in the sunlight â a true portrayal of how heavenly you look.
âCelestial,â you whine softly, the aching fire in your stomach raging and wild now, the incessant throbbing and aching between your legs begging to be satiated.
Until you feel his lips on yours. The realm dissipates into the background, leaving only you two, his lips dancing in time with yours. His hand cups your cheek delicately, consuming you entirely. Jasmine and honey lingers on his tongue, staining his lips â a forever reminder of the taste of you. Butterflies take flight in his stomach, swirling in rhythm with your lips.
When your lips part and he pulls away gently, the world slowly fades back into vision, your forehead pressed lightly against his. Your lips swollen and flushed a darker red, he holds back a whimper from how stunning you look to him, all undone before him. âCall me Jungwon. Iâm not just a celestial anymore,â he murmurs, his breath fanning over you.
He swears he falls in love with you again just from the bright curve of your smile.
âOkay, Jungwon,â you say gently, trying his name on your lips. Itâs the most beautiful sound heâs ever heard. âCan you please touch me?â
He groans lowly at your innocent request, heat and pressure building in his core, pressing tightly against his slacks. âAnything for you, my angel.â
His fingers dance teasingly up your thigh, eliciting a quiet whimper from your swollen lips. He smiles. When they finally brush closer, your breath shudders, your legs relaxing and falling open, inviting him in.
With a gentle glide of his fingers, he finally drags the tip of his fingertip through your leaking arousal, moaning lowly at the wetness coating his finger. You shiver, legs trembling as he distributes your wetness to your clit, arching your back and whimpering as he presses gently, experimentally. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, biting your lip as he presses harder, rubbing gentle, firm circles on your bundle of nerves, moans streaming from your lips.
Jungwon relaxes further into you, pressing himself into your thigh. The tent in his pants hardens at the feel of your smooth skin, of your irresistible wetness that he just wants to sink deep into. With shaking hands, your fingers drift from his waist down to the waistband of his slacks, looping your finger in the belt loop.
âJungwon, I want to feel you inside.â You gasp in between pretty moans as he circles your clit with his soaked finger, eliciting another stream of arousal from your wet entrance.
âAre you-â his breath shudders again, a faint vignette surrounding his vision at the simple feel of you tugging at his slacks. âAre you sure you want to?â He asks almost shyly.
With a soft press of your lips against his, your noses brush together as your eyelids flutter shut, immersing yourself in everything that is him.
âI couldnât be more sure. I want to give myself to the one person who makes me feel worthy, who makes me feel alive.â
Just those words alone are enough for his hardness to throb intensely with need. Not just desire, but with overwhelming, overflowing affection for you, it consumes him. Your hands drift to his slacks again â this time with more confidence, with more assuredness, as you help him out of the restricting material, his hardness springing up against his stomach.
You gasp at the size of him, his length stands impressively tall and wide, veins jutting out softly, his head bright red and leaking pre-cum. Heâs never looked more beautiful, bare before you. Not just physically, but emotionally. You can feel his hesitation, his excitement, his fear, his affection.
Heâs never been more human.
He guides himself between your legs, positioning his head at your entrance. His head falls forward, whining softly at the dribbling wetness from your hole.
The stretch is immediate, your pussy struggling to take him inside, despite your overflowing wetness. You both groan in tandem at the overwhelming sensation, his length struggling to stretch you around him.
He inches further into you slowly, stroking your cheek softly, kissing the corner of your lips tenderly. The ground around you thrums in rhythm with the aching pulse between your legs as he pushes impossibly further. He glides along your gummy walls, groaning softly at the all-consuming feeling of you â your heat, your wetness, and the way you clench around him.
He pushes himself to the hilt, your bodies pressed flushed against each other, his cock throbbing desperately inside you. âHeavens, you feel so good angel, I love you.â He murmurs achingly in the crook of your neck, lips brushing against the sensitive skin.
Your stomach explodes into fireworks at the confession, the words tumbling from his lips as easily as the hymns and prayers he dedicates to God. Like heâs speaking truth â fulfilling a prophecy. âI love you too, so much.â You whisper tenderly, hands cupping his cheeks and gently lifting his gaze to meet yours.
This time, when your lips connect, it doesnât feel fleeting, like one-sided attraction, like hope. It feels like the beginning of something new, a fresh start, a new eternity with a woman he crossed realms to find, to bring back to him.
He pulls out slowly, almost hesitantly, before thrusting back in, his tip kissing your cervix with each steady, grounding thrust into you. You hold onto him desperately, afraid if you let go, heâd disappear.
Now that he has you, he would never leave.
One hand keeps him up while the other caresses and maps every inch of your skin, ensuring not one millimetre of you is without his tender, loving touch. His thrusts quicken, soft moans and whimpers tumble from your lips, every push into you feels so heavenly, your eyes roll back, back arching into him.
He smiles gently, lips gently kissing and nipping your neck as he makes love to you, his cock pulsing and throbbing intensely, your walls fluttering around him. You grip onto his shoulders gently, his skin thrumming with life, with pleasure under your fingertips.
âJungwon, I need to-â You can barely whimper out your words, too consumed in the bliss of him. His skin shimmers with a light sheen of sweat, his hair falling in delicate waves over his forehead. With shaking hands, you reach up to brush it behind his ear. He smiles.
âCum for me angel, I need to feel you.â He moans quietly in your ear, shuddering breaths rustling your hair gently.
His murmured, desperate voice pushes you over the edge, the fire finally growing out of control, licking at every nerve in your body, exploding into a shockwave of pleasure. With a cry, you release, clenching hard around him, senses consumed by him.
He groans deeply, almost gutturally, your own orgasm pushing him over the edge. His hips stutter before pushing as far inside you as he can, spilling his seed deep inside you in thick ropes, painting your walls a beautiful white. With a shaky breath, he collapses on top of you, still buried inside you as you both ride out the aftershocks of your orgasms, softly pulsing with satisfaction.
âThat was perfect. I love you so much.â You whisper, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes â affection and love swirling beautifully in your irises. He grins gently, his thumb caressing the soft, sweaty skin of your cheek. Each touch sends a rolling wave of passion and desire through your bodies, a lingering reminder of this moment, of everything you both have conquered together.
âI love you too, more than you could ever know.â With a small shudder, his gaze softens even more. âYou saved me.â His words pull the corners of your lips, happiness flooding every fibre of your being. This is your purpose. To love, and to be loved by him.
âReady to go back to Heaven?â He whispers softly.
 He tucks a stray strand of your soft hair behind your ear, your eyes crinkling in happiness. âAs ready as Iâll ever be.â Jungwon pulls out of you, his cum leaking out slowly â a reminder of his love for you.
You both get dressed, the smooth, silky fabric feeling lighter than before. His scent is now more intense, the clean smell of sandalwood and rainwater lingering on your skin, the taste of jasmine and honey stubborn on his lips. Not like heâd ever want to erase the taste of you.
His fingers intertwine with yours, your hands clasped in his. âThank you, for coming back.â You whisper, looking up at him sweetly, your gentle gaze making his heart soar.
âI would travel universes to get you back.â He murmurs. A tight squeeze of his hand in yours affirming this, and you smile, knowing he absolutely would.
The ground starts to dissipate, disintegrating into nothing. The soft, beaming sunlight fades away into a bright, white light, suspending you in nothingness. The only thing that stays, is you next to him, your hand firmly clasped in his. You, the only constant in this ever-changing eternity he calls the afterlife.
The white expanse warps into something more firm, more solid, more real, as your feet touch cold marble, hear trills of doves distantly, the familiar heat of the white light beaming down on you, soft gusts of wind caressing your hypersensitive skin.
Heaven fades into view, and Jungwon canât believe how vibrant itâs grown to be. The gold that dribbles from the clouds is more vibrant, taking up more of the sky. Itâs not just doves that dominate the sky â a flurry of colours litter the blue and gold expanse, a symphony of unique trills and squawks sound together, almost harmonising with the choir that always sings. The reflecting pool in the distance doesnât just mirror â it shines, each beam of sunlight showering the water with glitter and shine.
Jungwon canât help his gaze landing on you, your curious eyes taking everything in â the sterile, pure Heaven that you once knew, now elevated, decorated. It felt homely.
âWhen I banished you, Heaven mourned you.â Jungwon murmurs quietly, studying your face. âThe sky was dull, the doves didnât fly, the colours were bleak and almost sad looking.â
He tears his gaze off of you to really absorb just how much you influence Heaven, how much youâve influenced him. âNow that youâre back, Heaven seems to celebrate you, to thank you.â
Your eyes land on his, looking up at him, tilting your head in confusion. God, he loves it when you do that. He smiles down at you, squeezing his hand around yours. âHeaven has nothing to thank me for.â You shake your head, laughing softly. Your laughter dies on the tip of your tongue as Jungwonâs other hand wanders up to cup your cheek softly, thumb caressing the smooth line of your jaw.
âHeaven has everything to thank you for. You lead me back to what is right. You taught me that true devotion is feeling, even when I shouldnât. You taught me how a chastity celestial should really be. For that, I couldnât thank you enough. Heaven couldnât thank you enough.â He whispers intensely, true admiration glimmering through every syllable, settling deep in your heart.
With a soft smile, he leans forward, capturing your mouth with his, tasting you on his tongue. Heâs never felt more loved, more important. And thatâs all because of you.
Heaven doesnât look any different, it just feels alive. And for the first time, so does he.
A/N: GRAHH first fic of the series done! I hope you guys liked this! Comments, likes, and reblogs are SO appreciated, thank you guys have a great day đź
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
