#anthemofgvf

[anthemofgvf]

Saints and Shadows: Jake Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

description: it began with vivid dreams—dark and alluring. then, seeing him outside your church, with an irresistible force drawing you in. his charm was undeniable, yet something about him felt dangerously sinful. what secrets lied beneath his captivating facade, and why did fate seem to entwine your paths?

trope: demon! jake x catholic y/n

a/n: truthfully a whole novel of angst, chivalry, and passionate filth for spooky season involving the man of the hour. obviously, this is in no way shaming the catholic church nor the religion, just pure smutty, angsty fiction with a lot of storytelling ;)

word count: 19k+

taglist for future fics

warnings after cut…

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

warnings:

smut (18+ minors dni!), fluff - lots of it, praising, plot building - lots of that as well, angst, dom! jake and submissive reader (jake also is a bit submissive too whoops) passionate, fluffy, yet drunk-on-love filthy sex, dirty talk, religion, religious beliefs, struggle with religion, catholicism, virgin reader, virginity taking, fingering, oral (fem! and male receiving), bits of degrading, choking

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Darkness was meant to be feared. You were raised to believe that — to worship the light, to live by the Word, and to turn away from anything that reeked of sin. The Church taught you that redemption came through repentance, that evil could be erased with prayer.

But this was different. There was no terror in it, no shadow reaching to consume you. Instead, it came softly - calm, familiar, almost tender. A quiet presence that wrapped around you each night, lingering long after you woke.

It started with the dreams. At first, only fleeting impressions - a silhouette, a voice you couldn’t place. And then, they grew vivid. This was unusual for you - to be able to feel in your dream state. Different nights were different scenarios, but all had the common theme of him in it. Whether he was lingering in the shadows, or the front man of the show, he was gracefully haunting your dreams for almost a year before he made himself known to you. The memories that were being fabricating were just a mere introduction to who you were about to meet, that he was in full control of.

Sometimes, you had caught yourself waking up with your hand grasped at your heart, trying to soothe its rampageous banging at your chest. Your breathing was inconsistent, but yet, it was not out of fear. You had no reason to be afraid of this stranger, for he always brought you comfort in your slumber. What brought you the fear was the realness of it all. You could feel his warm presence, his soft touch, his voice that you had seemed to fully understand without ever hearing it outside of your sleep.

The consistent feeling that soothed your mind - that you chased every night, knowing that every single time that your head hit your pillow, you would see him. He would be waiting for you the moment you entered REM. And some nights, you would be waking up in your dreams, and he would be resting next to you in bed. Regrettably waking up out of them too early and cutting off some of the moments you sacredly shared with the stranger, you'd be reaching in your bed in search of him. How lonely you would feel, and stupid for thinking that just maybe these dreams were true memories. As if he existed, as if he was a prominent figure in your actual life. Someone that you guiltily were falling in love with.

But he wasn't real. He was just a figment of your imagination.

Or so you thought.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Worcester, Massachusetts

You sat in the pews of the Saint Paul Cathedral with your mother and father on that Sunday. It was a tradition that you carried out with them ever since you could remember, and once you moved out of their home, you continued it. It was a sacred time for you that brought you comfort, although your faith had deteriorated slowly over time. Even though you weren't as passionate about Catholicism as you used to be when you were a child, it still was a safe space for you to come, feel accepted, and clean of sin.

The only turning point where you felt yourself grow farther from the Word was as you grew, your core values changed with the current times, despite what the Bible may have said. But that did not stop you from trying to live your life through Christ and repent for your sins when due. After all, it was a staple in your everyday life, and to change tradition and pattern wasn't on your agenda, despite your lightly tampered beliefs.

Mass was always the same - predictable in its rhythm, sacred in its repetition. The rise and fall of voices, the echoes of hymns against stone walls, the faint sweetness of incense curling through the air. It should have felt holy, cleansing even, yet lately it settled differently within you. Each prayer felt heavier, every Amen lingering on your tongue like a secret you weren’t ready to speak.

You watched the congregation bow their heads, lips moving in perfect unison, and wondered if they, too, felt the tremor beneath the stillness. The flicker of candles cast golden halos across the faces around you, but your eyes kept drifting toward the darker corners - the spaces where light didn’t quite reach. That’s where you felt it most: the quiet pull, subtle but certain, like something unseen was watching from beyond the glow of the altar. This feeling did not come apparent to you until the dreams began, but you shrugged it off.

You dressed modestly, as always - out of reverence, out of habit. A soft, cream-colored midi dress hugged your frame just enough to flatter, its fabric light and easy to move in as you knelt or rose during Mass. A thin cardigan rested over your shoulders, and a delicate gold chain caught the light whenever you turned your head. It wasn’t anything extravagant - comfortable, simple, but put together in a way that made you feel quietly beautiful. You’d always preferred to keep it that way.

Your eyes lingered on the architecture of the cathedral, stained glass and large rising ceilings that encapsulated serenity and inner peace. While the priest spoke, you then walked your eyes around the room. To see who was in attendance, to see if you could find him.

This was a common occurrence for you ever since the dreams started. This had to be the place you saw him as you frequented here so often. For in which the way he made you feel was free of sin, pure and untouched. Afterall, the second part was right. But everyone is a sinner. There is just such the difference that stands between those who repent for them, and those who do not.

"Did you have any plans for the night?" Your mother had asked you after mass had concluded.

"I'm going to come back for confessionals tonight but think I'm just going to relax for the day. Nice break from work, y'know?" You had spoken back to her.

"Well, you're always welcome to join us for dinner if you'd like." Your father chimed in.

You nodded with a smile. "I know. I'll keep you guys posted on that." You told them as you three pushed through the doors and exited into the parking lot.

You gave them both a hug, considering their invitation in mind, and parted ways to make the long walk to your car.

You had parked significantly ways away from them, as the parking lot was quite large. You didn't mind the walk, although the fall breeze began to bite at your bare legs, but it would only be a matter of time before you could sit into your vehicle and turn the heat on.

Multitudes of people roamed the parking lot, some staying after to talk amongst themselves outside, while others and their families rushed to their cars. Different faces, most familiar, but some new - you enjoyed people watching from time to time.

Then quietness filled the air, and you pulled your cardigan shut with crossed arms. The crowds had seemed to falter, and it felt as if it were just you alone in the parking lot, despite the number of cars that were still left sitting idle. You began to dig into your purse for your phone and your keys, looking up for moments at a time to make sure you did not bump into anything at your disposal of attention.

Then he appeared.

Not suddenly, but in a way that made the world tilt ever so slightly. He crossed your path as you walked, posture straight and impossibly composed, with a presence that drew the air closer around him. You caught the sharp lines of his jaw, the dark sweep of his hair, the slow, deliberate way he moved as though nothing in the world could touch him — and yet, somehow, everything did.

His eyes met yours, and it was like recognition in reverse, as if he’d been waiting to see you here just as surely as you hadn’t known you’d been waiting for him. The pull was immediate, undeniable, a tension that made your chest tighten and your pulse quicken.

Yet, he continued his journey past you, while you were left trying to compose yourself that you had finally met the man that had been appearing in your dreams for the long months out of the whole year. To you, you had felt like you had known him for an eternity.

You stopped in your tracks, turning on your heels and watched him walk away. To where he was going was unbeknownst to you, but you weren't going to let him get away that easily, or that far for that matter.

"Hey!" You called for him.

He turned around slowly, picking his chin up and meeting your eyes once more with his hands in his pockets.

Nonchalantly, he spoke to you. "Hello."

He was ever-so beautiful standing in front of you. He had not moved his feet yet to travel closer to you, as if he was allowing you to take in his presence that you had felt before, that you had known, yet it was all still so unfamiliar.

He was sporting a glint of a smile, eyes coated in a deep brown, with hair that cascaded just below his shoulders. His posture was upright, with a dark grey, fitted coat, and a black shirt that only had two buttons undone, and matching jeans and thick boots. No, you had never seen him at mass before. But here he was. Here.

"Do I," you took two cautious steps towards him, "do I know you?"

He followed your movements, careful and calculated. "Hm?"

"I just," you stopped again as he traveled to you at a leisurely pace, "I feel like I've seen you from somewhere and… I can’t quite figure it out." With saying this, you had hoped he would give you closure on how his face was recognizable enough to appear in your dreams so often.

"I usually take walks here on Sunday mornings." He shrugged as he stood before you.

"In the church parking lot?" You huffed a laugh. "Not... attending mass?" Your eyes flickered to the cathedral, then back to him.

And in that quick moment, you had realized you were truly alone with him. You and him at a standstill, and no others around to witness it.

Your face was screwed into one of confusion. There was no way this was one of your dreams all over again. It was too real, felt too real. But, then again, your dreams had deceived you before.

He shook his head lightly. "Sometimes I'll attend, yeah, but if I don't, I usually walk through here to clear my head."

You still couldn't wrap your head around his words. Around what he claimed to be factual. You had done your best to recognize every face that entered and exited the church, but his, his had never been present.

"Oh," you nodded slowly, "You just... I think we've..."

What were you to say? That he's been seemingly "haunting" your dreams? That in every waking moment you're wondering where he is? When you would finally be graced with his presence? How you kept hanging onto the thought that you began missing someone you had never even met before?

He quirked his eyebrow, waiting for you to finish your sentence. Patience radiated off of him.

"Never mind, I'm sorry. It's stupid." You crossed your hand in the air.

He shook his head with a light laugh. "Well, I guess I should 're-introduce' myself then?" He extended his hand towards you. "I'm Jacob, or Jake, whatever you prefer."

Jake. Finally, you had a name to put to that damned face.

You put your hand into his. His hands were riddled with light calluses. This was a new addition to what made him, him. Something that you had not felt from him before in your dreams. Character, personality. You still had more to unravel about this man.

"Y/n." You said back to him, shaking his hand lightly and keeping your hand lingering with his longer than you probably should have. But, to feel his hand in yours, foreign yet familiar, you needed a continuous reminder that this was real.

Jake’s grip was firm, grounding, and yet somehow gentle, like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply without crossing a line. He didn’t pull away when your hand lingered — if anything, he let it stay a moment longer, and the air between you thickened in a way that was impossible to ignore.

"Well, y/n," he said with his voice carrying across the little space between you two, "I think we ought to see each other more often now."

He pulled away from your grasp, though the lingering warmth remained etched into your skin like a quiet promise.

"I agree," you spoke softly. "But I don't like surprises Jake."

That same smile he wore tugged tighter, yet his gazed softened. Unbeknownst to you, he was admiring your beauty up close. That face of yours that he had known longer than you had knowledge of, that face that he dreamed of being so close to - or even, just to be close to all of you.

"You don't?" He quirked. "I admire your forwardness, y/n." He paused for a moment, letting the fall breeze whisper and intertwine between the both of you. "How about dinner, then? Tonight?"

You could feel your eyes widen slightly at the directness. He had effortlessly made your pulse skip a beat without any constellation other than the fact that this was wholly new yet felt inevitable. As if, this was fate.

"I think I'll take you up on that offer, Jake." You nodded.

You loved saying his name. The name that you had questioned about the moment he entered your head. You finally knew it, and all you wanted to do was to say it.

"I'll pick you up tonight then, say, five?"

You nodded. "And where are you taking me, then?"

His eyes flickered between yours. "I know you don't like surprises but let this be the only one. Dress... nice."

You felt a shiver run through you at his words, though whether it was from the cool breeze or from him, you couldn’t tell. “Nice?” you repeated softly, letting the word linger, tasting it.

Jake’s smile deepened, slow and deliberate, as if he knew exactly the effect he had on you. “Yes,” he said, leaning just slightly closer, close enough that you could see the faintest glint in his dark eyes. “Whatever that may be is your decision. I, happen to enjoy surprises.”

Your pulse raced. It wasn’t just the suggestion, the invitation, or the sheer audacity of it — it was the way he looked at you. Not like someone merely noticing, but like someone who had traced the outline of your soul in dreams and finally found it awake.

You nodded, a small, almost imperceptible motion. “I’ll trust you… this once.”

"Good," he said to you.

Silence struck the air again as you both stood there. Unsure if you were to move or allow him to do so first.

"I, um, I kind of need some sort of direction in order to-"

"Right!" You quickly spoke, shaking your head at yourself and handed Jake your phone to exchange to him. "I'm sorry."

He laughed once more. "S'fine. It's cute, I like it."

You could feel your cheeks burning up, the only warmth that seemed to be provided to you in this moment. You gave him light privacy as you once again roamed the lot with your eyes while he gave you his number and texted himself to save it in his phone.

"Thanks," you said to him as you took your phone from his hand. "Don't be late."

And just like that, he stepped away and turned his back to you, his presence receding into the ordinary world of the parking lot - but the memory of it, of him, lingered like a shadow that refused to leave. You stood there a moment longer as he then walked backwards for a moment, heart hammering, mind racing with thoughts you weren’t ready to name, and yet, somehow, already knew you couldn’t escape.

"I won't be, y/n."

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

"What the hell am I going to wear?" You spoke aloud to yourself as you rummaged through your closet.

You lived in a small apartment enough to just house you alone, as you knew when you moved out that you wanted your own space, clear of anyone or anything.

You had texted Jake where your apartment was the moment you arrived home and spent the next few hours getting ready. Now, after showering, doing your hair, and applying makeup, you were stuck with one more barrier: your attire.

You didn't want to send him the wrong impression. You weren't preparing to sleep with him, as you never had with anyone at that matter. It was one of the only things you upkept with your faith, since you had begun lingering away from specific ideologies of the Church anyways. It was the one thing you still had, and you were proud of that. Right person, right time, right place.

And yet, there you were wearing a strapless white lace bra and matching underwear to go with it, despite no intention of revealing it to him tonight.

Dresses of reds, purples, and whites filled a quarter of your wardrobe, but the color to choose was the untold answer to the question you had been dancing with for seemingly 30 minutes. It had to be perfect, and you knew that.

You had taken a brief moment to message your parents to let them know you wouldn't be making it to dinner tonight. You left out the part that you had a date with Jake, because you felt no reason to include it in your excuse. Since you basically just met the man, there was no need to begin introducing his name anywhere.

And then, you found it — a black dress, satin and soft, draping effortlessly over your curves. It skimmed your waist and hips with a gentle grace, while the bodice clung just enough to hint at your shape. It wasn’t overtly revealing, yet it left room for the imagination to linger. If there was one thing you could do well, it was the subtle art of teasing - and tonight, this dress would do it for you.

You slipped it on and examined yourself in the mirror, twisting side to side and flattening it out on yourself. You hadn't remembered the last time you wore this, or even if you ever had, but it was making its debut tonight for Jake. Surely, he would enjoy it on you.

You slipped on a pair of black kitten heels to complete the look, the soft click of them against the floor a quiet punctuation to your preparation. Delicate jewelry, including a cross necklace, caught the light as you added the final touches, each piece chosen with subtle intention.

Sitting at your vanity, your eyes wandered to the rosary resting atop the mirror. Its beads glinted softly, and you found yourself drawn in by its simple, quiet beauty. A strange flutter began in the pit of your stomach - a sensation you couldn’t quite name. For a moment, it lingered, sweet and unsettling all at once, before you shook it off, convincing yourself it was nothing.

The moment your phone's clock hit five, you saw that Jake had arrived - right on time, as if he’d been waiting up until the exact second. Your chest tightened at the sight of the message, a strange mix of excitement and apprehension twisting in your stomach. Living three floors up, you told him to wait and that you’d come down yourself. It was deliberate.

Of course, he could have let himself in, could have been waiting at your door, but you needed these stolen moments. A few extra seconds to steady your racing heart, to smooth the invisible edges of your composure, to remind yourself that this was real - that he was real. Your pulse surged with every imagined step down the stairs, every imagined glance between you, and a warmth spread through you, electric and impossible to ignore. You weren’t just anticipating seeing him; you were bracing for the way he made you feel - drawn, exposed, alive in ways you hadn’t known you could be.

You grabbed a small black purse and made your way out of your apartment, taking the elevator down and tapping your foot against the ground in anticipation. You only had mere moments before the doors would open, and you would have to walk out there to his car and see him.

The elevator dinged open, and the lobby stretched before you, quiet except for the hum of the building’s fluorescent lights. Your purse swung lightly at your side, but your hands felt restless, clenching and unclenching as if holding onto something intangible.

And then you saw him.

Jake leaned casually against the hood of his car, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other resting lightly on the vehicle. He looked impossibly effortless, wearing a white satin shirt unbuttoned dangerously low and black jeans, eyes fixed on the entrance as though he’d been counting the seconds until you appeared. He was eclectic with his rings decorated on his fingers, and necklaces that clung to his breastbone.

Your chest tightened, breath catching for a fraction of a second. It wasn’t just seeing him; it was the way your body recognized him before your mind could even process it. Heat pooled at your core, a pull you couldn’t resist, a longing you had only begun to understand in your dreams.

He straightened slightly as your steps down the stairs carried you closer, giving you a slow, deliberate smile that both disarmed and commanded you. The world narrowed until it was only him, only the faint brush of breeze against your skin, only the quiet thrill that ran along your nerves like electricity.

“Y/n,” he said, voice low, just for you. It was simple but loaded - an unspoken acknowledgment of the months of unseen connection, the dreams, the anticipation.

You stopped for a heartbeat, letting the moment stretch, letting yourself feel the weight of it all. And then, finally, you took the last few steps toward him, toward the undeniable pull that had been drawing you together long before you realized it.

His hand found your right one, pulling it up to his mouth and pressing a light kiss onto the back of it. A glimmer of a smile curled onto your lips as his eyes continued to hold your gaze, and he slowly dropped your hand as you rested it once more at your side.

Admittedly, you hadn’t been on many dates in your life. Maybe a few here and there but finding someone whose beliefs and values aligned with yours had always been a challenge. Most men these days seemed interested in only one thing, and that was never your intention. You had standards - boundaries you refused to compromise - and, so far, Jake was meeting every single one of them.

But it wasn’t just that. There was something more - a flicker of familiarity that gnawed at the edges of your mind, like a memory half-remembered. As though you had lived this moment before, as though it had already played out in one of your dreams. Déjà vu, you labelled it.

"You look... beautiful." He spoke slowly, allowing his eyes to trail from your feet up to your eyes, holding a small grin.

You knew your face was flushed, feeling the tingling burn running its course from your cheeks to your ears, so in your best efforts, you showcased a toothy grin with a low chuckle, looking down for a moment. But as soon as you lifted your eyes to him, he was still looking at you - admiring you.

"Thank you, Jake," you said softly, "you don't look too bad yourself."

He chuckled at your remark. "Too bad? Is that your attempt at acting nonchalant, y/n?"

And now your face felt like it was on fire.

"Shut up." You bit down on your bottom lip to contain the smile you once wore and hopefully relieve some tension from your cheeks. "I think you and I both know you look great."

He shook his head. "Still like to hear what you're thinking about, whether I know it or not."

He walked over to the passenger side of his car, opening the door for you and allowing yourself to get situated before he entered on the driver's side, and began driving.

You tapped your fingers onto your thighs as you watched your complex go out of view, and the world around you going from familiar, to unfamiliar.

You turned to him. "So, where are we going?"

He clicked his teeth a few times. "Still a surprise."

You gave him a side glance, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You really like your surprises, don’t you?”

He smirked, eyes still on the road. “Only when I’m sure they’ll be worth it.”

The low hum of the engine filled the silence that followed, and you found yourself studying his profile in the passing streetlights - the sharp line of his jaw, the way the shadows seemed to cling to him a little longer than they should have before slipping away.

“So… fancy restaurant? Hidden lookout? You’re not kidnapping me, right?” you teased, trying to lighten the quiet.

He chuckled, deep and unbothered. “If I were, I’d at least let you finish your drink first.”

You laughed softly. “Chivalrous of you.”

“Always.” He glanced over at you then, and something in his eyes glinted - not from the headlights, but from somewhere deeper, like embers catching for a fleeting second. You blinked, and it was gone.

The car eventually turned off the main road and onto a narrow, tree-lined path. The air outside looked darker somehow, thicker.

“Where is this?” you asked, leaning forward to peer out the windshield.

“Home,” he said simply.

“Home?” you repeated, raising a brow. “You didn’t tell me dinner was at your place.”

“I didn’t want to risk you saying no,” he said with a small, knowing smile. “Besides…” He slowed the car, pulling up to a house set back in the woods, half-hidden in shadow and candlelight from the windows. “…I cook better than most restaurants.”

You laughed softly, though something about the way the air felt when you stepped out — the faint scent of smoke and spice, the warmth that didn’t belong to the evening — made your pulse quicken.

He stepped ahead of you, unlocking the door with a faint metallic click that echoed sharper than it should have. The hinges didn’t creak, though you could’ve sworn you saw the shadows along the doorway move - just slightly - as if greeting him.

“After you,” he said, voice smooth as ever.

The warmth hit you immediately. The house smelled faintly of cinnamon, wood smoke, and something darker - like rain on stone. You took a slow look around; the interior was surprisingly cozy. Dark woods, soft amber lighting, candles flickering on shelves filled with books and things that didn’t quite look ordinary.

“You actually live here?” you asked, half teasing, half curious.

He hung his jacket on a hook by the door. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, yeah,” you said, walking further in. "I don't think I've ever met someone who completely isolates themselves from society. Are you the quiet type?"

He chuckled as he walked to the kitchen, which in turn you slowly followed his direction. "Sort, of, yeah. Not always, though."

You raised a brow, continuing to follow the sound of his voice. The kitchen was warm - too warm - with a pot simmering on the stove. He was standing next to it, peaking over to check its progress. The scent hit you first - warm, spicy, and sharp enough to make your eyes sting faintly. Whatever he was cooking filled the house like smoke curling through candlelight.

The dining table was surprisingly contemporary - sleek black oak with a soft matte finish, set for two. Everything looked like it came straight from a design magazine: the linen table runner a cool charcoal gray, the dinnerware a crisp ivory.

Candles flickered in slim glass holders, five of them lined down the center - simple, elegant, but burning with an oddly steady flame. No wax dripped, no wick bent. You couldn’t feel a breeze anywhere in the room, yet the air seemed to move, thick with warmth and something faintly spiced.

The centerpiece wasn’t flowers - it was a small bowl of black stones, smooth and reflective, like polished obsidian. A minimalist touch, but there was something about them that drew the eye. You could’ve sworn they shifted color when you looked away.

Soft music played from somewhere - something instrumental, maybe a jazz record - but beneath it, the faintest hum resonated in the air, low and rhythmic, like a second pulse.

It was intimate. Beautiful, even. But the symmetry of it all - every fork aligned, every flame at the same height - made the back of your neck prickle.

For a fleeting second, you wondered if he’d planned this evening too perfectly.

You then stepped closer to him, peeking over his shoulder as he stirred the pot of red sauce filled with thin noodles that simmered in slow, lazy bubbles. "Smells amazing. What are you making?"

He glanced back at you, lips twitching into a small smile. “It’s called pasta alla diavola.”

“Diavola?” You tilted your head. “Like… devilish?”

He let out a quiet laugh - not forced, but not entirely casual either. “That’s one way to translate it.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Of course it is.”

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence as he reached for a pinch of red pepper flakes.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling. “Just feels a little ironic, I guess. You invite the Catholic girl over and serve her the devil’s dinner.”

That earned a low chuckle from him - the kind that hummed in his chest and made the candle flames flicker. “Maybe I like tempting fate.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was warmth behind it. “Well, if lightning strikes, I’m blaming you.”

“Fair enough.” He turned off the heat, sliding the pot aside. “But I promise, it’s not cursed. Just a little spicy, if that's alright.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

He’d thought of everything: folded linen napkins, that faint hum of music playing somewhere in the background - now strings and piano, distant and haunting. It should have been romantic, and it was, but it also felt like stepping into one of your dreams, or into the kind of quiet that belonged to a cathedral after the congregation had gone home.

You were unhooked out of your daze by the sound of his voice. "Wine?"

"I'm not too much of a drinker, but I feel like this meal calls for it." You smiled to him.

"Sit, make yourself comfortable," he motioned to the table, "don't need to stand waiting for my direction." He gave you a glimpse of a smile.

You walked over to the table and sat, fidgeting with your fingers. You had quickly realized your breathing had heightened. Everything about this was beautiful - too beautiful in fact. How had this not been one of your dreams?

Two wine glasses sat ready, their thin stems catching the light like spun gold. The wine inside looked rich, dark, and almost too viscous as it clung to the bottle when he swirled it.

After he popped the cork off, you watched as he poured the wine, the liquid gliding into the glass with a richness that caught the light like garnet.

“Amarone della Valpolicella,” he said, setting the bottle aside, with pronunciation that was effortlessly fluid. “It’s… complicated.”

You laughed softly. “Like you?”

He met your eyes over the rim of his glass, smiling just enough for it to count. “Something like that.”

You took a sip. It was darker than you expected - smooth but heavy, sweet at first, then bitter on the back of your tongue. It lingered.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“It’s… intense,” you said. “but I like it.”

“Good.” His smile deepened, almost proud. “I like things that leave an impression.”

He left his glass absent at the other side of the table across from you, walking over to the pot and began plating the pasta. It was if he was a master at his craft, carefully twirling it and garnishing it to perfection.

"Do you cook a lot?" You said to him.

He turned his head over his shoulder. "Not as often as I'd like to, but when I get the chance, I prefer to be precise about everything."

"Did you grow up cooking?"

He held both plates in hand, bringing yours over first and setting it down carefully. He walked over to the opposite side of the table and situated himself in his chair.

"Not exactly, no. Just kind of picked it up as I got older. Needed something to keep me entertained while I waste away."

You traced the sign of the cross over your head, shoulders, and heart, bowing for a moment with your eyes shut and whispering to yourself a prayer. Your eyes fluttered open, and you resumed without thought that Jake had or hadn’t done the same. That moment you would take before every meal was often so quick, out of habit, that it barely interrupted the motion at hand.

You swirled the pasta around your fork, taking a bite and humming with satisfaction. "Well," you said before swallowing, "you chose the right hobby to involve yourself in clearly. This is... amazing. You really learned to cook by yourself?"

He chuckled lightly, taking a sip of his wine, before lightly swirling the liquid by twisting at the base of the glass, "Yeah, I know it may seem like you're dreaming, but this is all my doing."

You shot your eyes up to him. Surely that was a coincidence, right? A figure of speech... not alluding to how he first was introduced to you.

Your laugh was faint, lingering with light suspicion, and you took another bite of your food.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I was dreaming. This is all too good to be true, y'know?" You remarked, hopefully lighting the mood.

"Really? What makes you say that?" He sat back in his chair with a quizzical look that lingered with an undertone of sarcasm.

"I dunno, I guess none of my dates have never gone like this. A romantic, candlelit dinner with someone I just met today, yet feels all so familiar. It's strange, but not necessarily in a bad way." You shrugged, continuing to eat.

"Familiar?"

"I can't describe it. Like déjà vu in a sense. You know the feeling, right?"

He took another sip of his wine. "I think so. Are your dreams often like this?"

"I mean, no, but..." you sat your fork down as you felt your head growing tighter, a signal of a headache, "...I can't seem to remember every single one of them, but they all have similar things in them."

"Like what?" He pressed. His eyes lifted to meet yours, the faintest shimmer of red glinting through the brown.

Your heart felt like it had crawled its way into your throat. Suddenly, your pulse rang through your ears, then it skipped once, and then twice.

"You."

He was quiet. His smile didn't falter, yet it grew. It was as if he was waiting for you to finally spit it out, for you to finally catch on.

You continued. "You're... always in them. It's strange because I have never even met you before today or frankly have seen your face around. It was if God himself was manifesting you in my head for me. I don't know if that's too forward-"

"I can assure you that God didn't put me in your head, y/n."

Your eyebrows pulled together. "What's your explanation then, Jake?"

As he stood from the table, you had noticed his plate was left untouched. The wine glass was empty, but the pasta still laid idle.

"You ever wonder..." he drew closer to you, "why you dream of places you've never been? Experiencing things you haven't before? Feeling things you haven't?"

You nodded slowly, your eyes glued to his every movement.

"How do you know about that?" You said lowly, with a light tremor in your voice.

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. It was as if he was afraid to admit the full truth or give you the explanation you've been searching for. Were you even ready to hear what he had to say?

"I... I'm the reason for all of it. I've shown those places to you, allowed you to feel those things you have not experienced. All long before we even met."

You wanted to laugh this off as some sick and twisted joke, but his voice was sincere. It was too honest for this to be a prank.

"What are you saying, Jake?"

He sat in the chair beside you, pulling it directly next to you and folding his hands together.

"I'm saying, y/n... that I'm not human. Not in the way you are."

The air seemed to thicken with his words, as though the room itself was holding its breath. The candles flickered once - every flame bending toward him before straightening again.

You blinked slowly, trying to process what he’d just said. Not human.

“That’s… not funny,” you managed, though your voice didn’t sound convincing even to your own ears.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t smile. His gaze stayed steady on you, calm but heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“I’m not joking,” he said softly. “I wish I was.”

You stared at him, searching for any hint of a lie - some twitch, some tell, anything - but all you found was that same unnerving steadiness, the kind that made the pulse at your throat quicken.

You swallowed hard. “So, what, you’re saying you’re - what, an alien? A spirit? Because if this is some kind of-”

“A demon,” he said, cutting you off, his voice almost reverent, as if the word itself deserved caution.

The room went silent. You could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the whisper of the wind brushing against the windows, the record playing coming to its end.

You laughed nervously, shaking your head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” His tone didn’t waver. “I didn’t choose it. But... I am.”

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your wine glass. “That’s not possible. That’s-” You stopped, searching for the right word. “That’s against everything I believe in.”

“I know,” he murmured, almost tenderly. “That’s why I was hesitant to tell you.”

You rose from your chair slowly, as if standing would make the truth less heavy. “This is... insane. You, you can’t just say something like that to me.”

“I can prove it,” he said.

You froze. “Don’t.”

He hesitated, the muscles in his jaw tightening, then easing again. “You think I’m mocking your faith,” he said quietly. “But I’m not. You believe in angels, don’t you?”

You hesitated. “Yes.”

“Then you know what fell.”

That stopped you cold. The cross around your neck suddenly felt heavier, pressing against your skin.

His voice softened even more, almost pleading now. “I’m not here to hurt you - I never was. You’ve seen me in your dreams because I couldn’t stay away from you. I wanted you to remember me - even if it was only in fragments.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, the prayer your mother taught you echoing faintly in the back of your mind. Deliver us from evil.

“I should leave,” you whispered, though your feet refused to move.

He looked at you - truly looked - and in that moment his eyes caught the candlelight in a way that made you falter. The warmth you’d felt all evening wasn’t just in the air anymore; it was radiating from him, soft and alive, like standing too close to a fire that didn’t burn.

“If I wanted to harm you,” he said quietly, “you wouldn’t be sitting here. But I’d rather you know now what I am than keep pretending to be something I’m not.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty - it was full of heartbeat and breath, disbelief and longing.

You didn’t know whether to run, to pray, or to listen.

"You and I both know that your faith has faltered within the-."

“How did you…” You blinked for a moment, then rapidly shook your head. "That doesn't mean that I don't still hold onto its core beliefs, Jake. How am I supposed to not think that a 'demon' isn't preying on the one thing that repents it?"

He sighed. "Will you please just give me a moment to explain myself?"

For a moment, you considered running out the door. But yet, something drew you in that did not feel sinister.

"What do you have to say for yourself, then?" You folded your arms.

"A few years ago, I saw you walking out of that church and immediately was enamored with you. Your pure aura, your smile, the way you spoke. Everything you were, is what I wanted to be."

"Have you been... stalking me?" Your eyes flicked between his in pure disbelief. The dreams had only started about a year ago, yet he had known you longer than you had known him.

"Not exactly, no." He shook his head. "I never followed you home - never followed you anywhere. Just... watched you walk in and out of the Church. It didn't feel right to do any more than just that."

"But planting yourself in my head did?"

He flinched at your words - not from guilt exactly, but from the way they landed, sharp and precise.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said, voice low. “It started as a glimpse, nothing more. A thought that drifted too close to you. I didn’t think you’d even feel it.”

You scoffed, half‑laughing out of disbelief. “You’ve been in my dreams, Jake. You’ve touched my thoughts. You don’t just ‘drift’ into someone’s mind like that.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I didn’t understand how strong the connection would be until it was too late. Once I saw what you dreamed about, what you prayed for - I couldn’t stay away. You asked to feel less alone, didn’t you?”

Your breath caught. He wasn’t wrong, and that frightened you more than anything.

“That doesn’t give you the right...” you snapped, your voice trembling now. “You don’t invade someone’s soul because you think they’re lonely.”

He leaned forward with his elbows pressed onto his knees. “I promise I didn’t come to harm you. I came because something in you called to me. You can feel it, can’t you? That pull between us - it isn’t human.”

You shook your head, backing away a step, your cross-pendant cold against your chest. “Don’t twist this into something holy.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, and for the first time there was sorrow in his tone. “If anything, you remind me what holiness feels like - what it should feel like. That’s what you are to me. A reminder of everything I could never truly be - all of it a lost commodity I could never grasp.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Lost commodity?”

He met your gaze fully now, the candlelight flickering in his eyes - briefly, impossibly, they seemed to flare with a faint, inhuman glow.

“Grace,” he said. “I lost grace… well, I was never given the ability to have it at that.”

You felt yourself drawn back to your chair, seemingly helpless to the pull. You looked away for a moment, situating yourself back in the seat, and noticing the way the candlelight angled its way towards him. Slowly, yet reluctantly, you looked to him.

You took a shuddering breath, pressing your hands to your knees as if to ground yourself. His words weren’t just unsettling - they were impossible. And yet, there was something in the way he spoke, something utterly honest, that made your pulse quicken in a way fear alone couldn’t explain.

"How did you... become..." you motioned towards him with your hands open, "a demon?"

"I am a part of a bloodline. Naamah's bloodline." He answered you. Even though his words should have struck more fear into you, somehow, without warning, you felt calmness overrule you. It was as if opening up about his lineage was a way that settled you into the fact that who he was shouldn't upset you. He didn't choose to become one, he was born into it.

"My father," he continued, "is Sameal."

"Satan?" You pressed with a stern tone.

"Yes," he shamefully admitted, "but do you know anything about Naamah?"

You shook your head lightly. "No, no I don't think so. I certainly know about the devil, though."

He chuckled lightly in hopes to lighten the mood. "Everyone does."

A small smile curled on your lips. He was unfortunately so charming beyond comprehension.

"Anyways," he began, "my father had many 'wives.' But my mother had more... relations than he did. She is a part of Cain's lineage, meaning that she was once mortal. But then she got tied into temptation and sin and was banished to Hell after having relations with demonic spirits and such. So, when I was 'born,' I was given the ability to come and possess a mortal form. It's not necessarily a gift for most, but a consequence."

"How is it a consequence?" Your voice was soft in tone as you spoke.

"Well because in situations as such, those who are mortal don't quite understand all of... this." He motioned towards himself with his hands. "I wasn't always like this, but as time drew longer, and longer, and all I felt was suffering, I figured that if I tried my hand at the whole 'human thing,' I could see if it would make me feel differently. And it was within the first few years that I situated myself here that I met you, or, well, saw you."

A beat played, as if he was checking to see if you were still listening, understanding all of what he was saying.

"There was this sense of, comfort, of safety that you sent me the moment you crossed my path. You're everything that I'm not. You're the closest thing to heaven that I could possibly touch or feel. I've come to learn emotion and feeling and although it feels like a curse, I wouldn't want to strip it away from me after knowing what it feels like to be near you."

He had sought after peace, and found it within you.

You swallowed hard, his words washing over you like a slow, disbelieving tide. There was a rawness in his tone - a confession that sounded more like penance than persuasion.

Your arms, still folded moments ago, loosened against your chest. “You talk about it like you’ve been alive for centuries,” you said quietly, almost testing him.

He gave a small, humorless chuckle. “I have.”

Although you could have only assumed this, that answer should have sent you running, crossing yourself, grabbing your things and bolting for the door. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Instead, you found yourself studying him - really seeing him. The stillness that always clung to him, the way his presence filled a room like the hum before a storm. It all began to click into place in ways you wished it didn’t.

“I’m not asking for you to understand,” he continued, voice steady, but gentler now. “But I’ve spent so long watching the world move without me. People living, dying, loving… and I couldn’t feel any of it. Then you walked out of that church one Sunday morning, and for the first time in ages, something inside me moved.”

You blinked, the faintest ache tugging behind your ribs. “Why me?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if the question itself was strange. “Because you still believe,” he said simply. “Because there’s light in you, and I wanted to see if something like me could stand near it without burning.”

The room felt smaller suddenly - warmer, quieter - as though the air itself waited on your response.

You sat there for a long moment, pulse thrumming in your throat. He wasn’t lying - not a single word of it felt performative. It was terrifying in its sincerity.

"Then..." you leaned closer to him, "what did you expect for me to do for you?"

"Take me into the church." He said earnestly. "I know you were talking about going to confessionals and-"

"I never shared that..." you hesitated, then realized. "Did you hear me say that to my parents?"

His gaze faltered to the table, with his jaw clenched. "Yes. I hear almost everything. Can also read your mind, too, know what you’re feeling… all of that stuff."

Your mouth hung agape. Every thought that trickled into your brain he could read. Every beat of your heart he could sense within. He thoroughly understood you, which could have given you reason to believe that it would be easier for him to deceive you. But he wasn’t, and somehow, you knew that.

"Are you expecting to confess all of your sins and admit that you're a demon? Because I don’t think that’ll blow over easily in the Church." You raised your brows.

"Confess, maybe not entirely, but to see what it's like." He shrugged.

You sat back in your chair with a grin. "So, you lied about going into that church then, huh?"

"A little white lie here and there never hurt anybody, certainly not you."

You bit back a laugh and felt a smile appear on your lips, to which he matched, and a wavering sense of relief fell over you. You hadn't ever seen him in the church, and at first you had believed you did. Now, he was opening up, being honest, and the road forward did not seem to want to steer you out of his path any longer.

"Well, if we want to go, we should go now. Churches aren't open forever, y'know?"

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

As you stepped towards the doors, your eyes trailed up the tall building. You turned to Jake, who was hesitant.

"Have you ever been inside a church before?" You said to him.

Jake’s gaze lingered on the great oak doors with glass panels, his expression unreadable. “No,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been inside one.”

You blinked, surprised. “Never?”

He gave a faint shake of his head. “I wasn’t exactly… invited.” A half-smile tugged at his lips, but it didn’t hide the flicker of longing in his eyes. “Still, I’ve always wondered what it’s like. How it feels.”

You tilted your head, curious. “You mean spiritually?”

“Both,” he admitted. “The air, the silence, the way people seem to find peace in a place like this. I’ve watched from the outside before, you know. People leaving lighter than when they came in.” His voice softened, almost wistful. “I wanted to understand that.”

You glanced toward the door, the scent of old incense faintly drifting through the cracks. “You can,” you said gently. “No one’s stopping you.”

He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s the funny part - there’s a part of me that wonders if I can. If the place itself will know what I am before I even cross the threshold.”

Your heart tugged at that. “Jake,” you said, “you don’t have to prove anything. You’re welcome here, just like anyone else.”

He had truly shown how deeply he understood emotion: fear.

It wasn’t the kind that came with shakiness or tears, but the quiet, restrained kind - the kind that lived behind his eyes as he stared at the church doors. For once, Jake didn’t hide behind his smirk or his easy confidence. He looked almost… human.

“Can I ask you a question? Earnestly?” You posed.

Without missing a beat, he responded. “Shoot.”

“Do you… not know anything about Catholicism, or any religion at that matter?”

There was a beat at play filled with silence, where the only sound that crossed your ears were the low hums of cars passing by.

“If I’m being honest,” he looked to you for a moment, then back to the doors, “I’ve been too afraid to touch anything religious. I’m knowledgeable on the historical aspects, but, when both of your parents resent all of it because of who they are, they kind of just... force you to feel the same way and not grasp a deeper understanding on it all. Kind of tell you that you’ll burn if you get too close.”

“So, you were looking for a guide in a sense then?”

He looked to you once more, a glint of a smile curling on his lips. “Yeah, something like that.”

You could see the tension in the way his shoulders squared, the deliberate steadiness in his breathing. It was as if he were preparing to walk into something sacred and dangerous all at once.

“Well, you don’t have to be afraid. Not with me.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “That’s the thing,” he murmured. “I’m not afraid of what’s inside. I’m afraid of what it’ll see in me.”

The words lingered between you, heavy and honest. For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Then let it see,” you said, your voice steady. “If you’re trying, if you’re choosing to be here - then that means something. It has to.”

Jake held his eyes on the doors for a prolonged moment, scoffing. “You make it sound so simple.”

“Maybe because it is,” you whispered. “Faith isn’t about being unafraid. It’s about walking through the fear anyway.”

He met your gaze then, something tender and raw in his expression. “You really believe that?”

“I have to,” you whispered. “Otherwise, what would my faith even mean?”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a slow breath, he spoke. “Then take me inside,” he murmured. “Show me what forgiveness looks like.”

The hinges creaked as the doors eased open, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to echo through both the church and him. The moment Jake crossed the threshold; the scent of incense and aged wood wrapped around you both. The air inside was cooler, heavier somehow - thick with reverence and memory.

He hesitated only once, his boot just brushing the edge of the aisle’s red carpet. The flickering candlelight painted gold across his skin, though there was something in the way the light bent around him -like the air itself was holding its breath.

You watched closely, waiting for some visible sign of distress, some flare of pain or rejection. But Jake only closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he adjusted to the weight of it all.

“It’s… loud,” he whispered finally.

You frowned. "Loud?"

"Well, not to your ears," he continued his journey forward, whilst you stayed back to allow him to take it all in. "But it's as if the walls are whispering to me. Prayers, hymns, holy echoes - potentially settling with my presence. It's... a bit overwhelming, but not cruel."

"For one, you're not burning - or visibly burning," you joined him at his side and kept your voice in a soft whisper, "maybe it's welcoming you."

He huffed a light laugh. "That'd be a first."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be about being welcomed then. Maybe... it's about letting yourself belong here, even if it's just for a moment."

He turned his head slowly to you, with his brows lightly screwed close together.

"Do you think I'd ever belong in a place like this, y/n?"

Reassurance.

In scripture, in word, song - hymns and prayer, everything told him he would never be accepted into a place as such. Into a holier light.

You didn't dare to hesitate any longer, giving him a smile to hopefully soothe any nerves he was experiencing. "I think the fact that you wanted to even come in here and experience a part of it is half of the redemption process.”

He looked forward again, eyes walking alongst the pews, the alter and the quiet statue of the Virgin watching from above.

You were quiet, examining the way his eyes traced and trailed along each piece of the church. What caught his eyes the most was the stained glass, with the moonlight illuminating each fragment. Each figure in the glass glowed, but their eyes had seemed to catch the light in a way that felt too alive.

"Over there," you pointed, taking lead as you walked at a leisurely pace, "is where the confessionals are."

He followed your line of sight and trailed closely behind, noticing the two narrow wooden booths with carved crosses etched into the doors.

You continued walking him through the process. "You go in there, sit and talk to the priest. You usually start with, 'Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.' Then, you state when your last confession was."

"And what do I say? Never?" He huffed a laugh.

"Yeah," you nodded lightly with a smile, "you can. Or 'This is my first confession.' After that, you kind of just talk. You can be specific about when you sinned, how many times, but you don't necessarily have to. You just... tell the truth, no matter how messy or dirty it is."

Jake's brows furrowed. "And then what? He just forgives you, just like that?"

"Not him," you corrected gently. "God does. The priest just listens, offers guidance, and gives you penance - something to help you reflect, or make things right.”

He titled his head, eyes narrowing in on the thought. "So, you tell a stranger all your worst parts and hope heaven still wants you after?"

For a moment, you hesitated. You had realized how strange it might sound to someone like him. "It's not about worth per say, it's about wanting to be better," you said. "About being brave enough to face what you've done."

His gaze softened a little, the tension in his jaw easing. "You make it sound like there's still a chance for people who've fallen."

You offered a small smile. "That's kind of the point. I've done it plenty of times and always walk out feeling... lighter."

"Lighter," a quiet, disbelieving laugh swept into the air from him. "If only it worked that way for me."

"You won't know until you tried."

His eyes caught yours again, and courage flickered behind his eyes.

"Mind going first so I can think about what I want to say?" He motioned his hand towards the booth for you.

"Of course," you took a few steps towards the small door, "but be mindful of what you're saying. You know, can't admit you're the beholder of a demonic soul."

He chuckled at your remark. "Think I figured that one out, but thanks."

You shook your head in a laugh and stepped into the booth, with the scent of cedar and candle smoke mingling in the air. The small wooden door creaked as you opened it, as if the hinges were relieving a sigh.

Inside, the booth was dim, lit only by a narrow strip of light filtering through the ornate lattice that separated you from the priest’s side. The world outside seemed to fall away as you knelt on the padded bench, folding your hands together.

You took a breath - steady, familiar. Then, as you’d done so many times before, you began quietly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

The words filled the small space, soft but certain, and the moment they left your lips, you felt the room shift. The confessional always carried that strange gravity - the weight of honesty pressed into wood and air.

The priest’s voice came low and gentle through the screen, greeting you, guiding you through each step. You spoke carefully, your tone calm but introspective. You didn’t go into detail, only enough to acknowledge the ache that had brought you there.

When silence followed, it wasn’t uncomfortable - it was cleansing. The kind of stillness that let you breathe again.

The priest murmured words of absolution, his voice steady, practiced, but kind. You bowed your head as he gave you your penance - simple, reflective, and grounding.

When you stepped out moments later, the light of the church seemed softer, warmer somehow. The colors from the stained glass shifted across the floor minimally, and you caught Jake watching you with quiet curiosity, his eyes unreadable.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “See?” You said gently. “It’s not so bad.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then at the confessional door. “Not bad,” he murmured. “Just… sacred.”

"As soon as you do it, you'll realize you're psyching yourself over nothing. I promise." You reassured him once more as you folded your hands together behind your back.

As he walked, the light from the stained glass caught on him again - reds, blues and golds rippling over his skin like liquid grace. For an instant, you could almost imagine the church itself watching, waiting.

When he reached the door, his hand hovered over the handle. “If it... reacts,” he said, his tone careful, “pull me out.”

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I will.” Even you were a bit unsure of what would happen next.

He offered one last look - a quiet reassurance, and then he stepped inside. The door shut with a soft click, and for a heartbeat, the cathedral seemed to hold its breath.

The candles flickered, the air shifted faintly, and you could swear you heard the low hum of the stained glass - like the church itself was murmuring in recognition, not in rejection, but in awe.

You took a seat in the nearest pew and sat, folding your hands loosely in your lap. The church was quiet, with the only sound being a distant crackle of candlelight and the faint groan of the wooden beams settling above. Still, your heart was anything but calm.

You found yourself fluttering your eyes shut and beginning to pray for him. The church had grown so still that even your own breathing sounded loud. The words in your head had tumbled out through your mouth in a quiet mumble.

"God, you see everyone who walks through these doors. I beg of you to see him, too. No one is ever beyond saving, not even him."

The prayer faltered for a moment as you looked up at the stained glass - Christ’s figure bathed in silvery, pale light, arms open, the image of compassion itself.

You closed your eyes again and continued, voice no more than a whisper. “Forgive him for what he’s done, for what he was made to be. And forgive me, if my faith in him is foolish. But I believe… I believe you brought him here for a reason.”

For a while, there was only silence. Silence that was intently understanding your prayers. And then, faintly, the confessional door creaked open.

You lifted your head as Jake stepped out. His shoulders looked heavier and lighter all at once, his face unreadable but calm. The kind of calm that wasn’t empty - just... quiet.

When his gaze found yours, something in you stilled. You didn’t ask what he’d said or what the priest would've heard. You only smiled, small but steady.

“Welcome back,” you said softly.

He hesitated, then returned the smile, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. “I think,” he said slowly, “someone must’ve been praying for me.”

You exhaled, the corners of your lips lifting. “Maybe someone was.”

You had forgotten that he could hear you from practically any distance.

He joined you in the pew, settling into it with a sigh.

"Was it as bad as you imagined?" You said to him with a knowing grin.

"No," he sighed, "I surprisingly left unscathed. But I feel... different."

"A... good different?" You searched his face for the answer, but he was nearly unreadable to your eyes.

He gave you a singular, slow nod. "I think so, yeah."

You rested your hands in your lap, glancing sideways at him. He met your gaze briefly, eyes reflective, almost reverent, before looking back at the altar. The silence stretched comfortably between you, unbroken, sacred.

For the first time, you felt no need for words. No need to explain, to guide, or to protect. Just this moment - this shared awe, this quiet understanding.

Outside, the world might be chaotic, unrelenting, but here, in the heart of the cathedral, time seemed to pause. And for the two of you, side by side, it felt like something fragile, and eternal had settled around you.

“What made your faith falter in the years passing?” He spoke quietly to you.

You figured that of how highly you spoke of faith and repentance; you sounded like a hypocrite.

“I still believe in the core values, just… some things in scripture I think are up for interpretation. Along with thinking some of it is a little outdated for present times, so I’d find myself wondering why specific things were considered wrong in the Bible, but made sense to me now that went against the word, y’know?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I get it. I don’t think there’s anything wrong in that. I don’t have a lot of say here, cause we both know I’m not perfect.” He huffed a laugh.

You laughed lightly as his remark, and how ‘I’m not perfect’ resonated with you. Well, it resonates with the majority. There’s reasoning in accepting why you’re not perfect, because it gives you an open ground to make mistakes and learn from them.

"What does it feel like to be you?" You whispered, keeping your eyes forward.

Without missing a beat, he said, "Like falling. Endlessly. Until someone reaches out a hand."

You swallowed hard, feeling as though your throat was growing tighter. "And... does anyone ever?"

You felt his gaze command you, and your head turned to him.

"Most of the time, it's just the fall. Nothing to grab onto, nothing that wants to. But I felt it once." He tilted his head towards you, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Tell me about it." You whispered to him.

His eyes felt unguarded, softening enough to be visible to you. He was hesitant with the words he was about to speak, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze fell. But then, through hooded eyes, he looked to you again.

"It was the moment I saw you walk outside of this place."

You blinked, your heart pulsing rapidly at the uncertainty that you heard him correctly.

From your silence, he continued.

"When I felt that for the first time in my entire existence, I realized that maybe the fall doesn't have to be endless. That maybe if I reached out, you could reach back for me. What I said before was true: something in me moved that day."

The lion had fallen in love with the lamb.

"And," he continued, "I have been to many places - seen all that Earth has to offer more times than I can count at this point. But the draw I felt here was immediately recognizable, as if the world knew that I needed you. That.... I needed to find you."

Somehow, without either of you realizing it, your hands had drifted closer on the crimson cushion between you two. A subtle brush - a fingertip against a fingertip - sent a jolt through the both of you, though neither spoke nor moved away. You held his eyes intently, tuning into the feeling of the tip of his finger tracing the outside of yours.

You raised your finger and moved your hand closer to him, to which he responded with light hesitancy, and allowed your fingers to intertwine with his. His rings were a minor inconvenience in fully encapsulating his hand in yours, but it was an added touch that made him, him.

You felt as though you were silent for too long. But he knew you were thinking about how much this meant to you to hear from him. To truly be present in this moment with him, to how much you wanted to blurt out that you've practically fallen in love with him the moment he graced the inner workings of your head.

But nothing felt better to him than to hear words fall from your lips.

"I didn't know what to make of you in my dreams at first," you began quietly, "but I can't deny that I didn't feel a pull towards you the moment I saw your face in my sleep. I felt stupid at first, because I had never met you before. And, for a moment, I didn't think you truly existed. But... now, it all makes sense to me. Waiting for the right time, right place - right moment."

He shifted closer to you now, your faces drawing nearer to one another. "You make it feel like there's something worth holding onto, y/n. Like there's hope for me. That there is a purpose for me taking a mortal form."

A deep, almost tangible silence settled over the two of you. Your chest tightened at his words, and you squeezed his hand lightly with your cheeks growing warmer by the second. How beautiful he looked, and how his eyes focused in on the minute mixtures of color in your eyes. He could get lost in them if you'd let him.

"Then, hold onto me," you whispered.

The tip of his tongue peaked out of his mouth for a moment, grazing his top and bottom lip, flicking his eyes to your parted mouth, then met your longing stare.

"Y/n..." he said lowly, dragging out your name.

And he knew he didn't have to ask to kiss you, because you were begging for him to do so in your head. Unspoken consent, although your thoughts were loud.

He encapsulated your lips onto his in a soft, prolonged kiss. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach with the feeling of his lips onto yours, and yet, you still felt like your heartbeat was ringing in your ears.

His lips were addictive the moment you got a taste of them. Scorching, tender, moving smoothly against your own. It all felt familiar to you, as if the both of you had each other memorized. In reality, that wasn't entirely false.

The pressure of his lips grew deeper against the open mouth kisses shared between you two, with your hand reaching to his thigh, and an immediate groan bubbling in his throat. In return, he matched your placement - with his hand on your thigh, and that had you shuddering closer to him. You could almost smell woodsmoke off of him, contrasting against your sweet perfume. Like fire and honey, clashing yet inexplicably harmonious, curling around each other in the small space between you.

It was fervent, raw - real. You had dreamt about this moment the day he introduced himself to you, and in time passing where you thought you would never feel his tongue gliding against your own in a synchronized dance, or his hand creeping up your thigh at a leisured, cautious pace, it was all worth it to you. You finally had him.

"Jake," you muttered against his lips.

He pecked your lips a few more times, then finally pulled away whilst keeping sheer proximity between you two.

"What's on your mind?" He whispered.

"You say that as if you don't know what I'm thinking." You huffed a laugh, to which he matched.

"Right... probably not the best place to be doing this in, huh?"

"You think?" You giggled.

He stood up quickly and extended his hand towards you with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Think we outta get out here then."

You let a small smile melt onto your lips, entwined your hand with his, and trailed after him out of the cathedral.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

In the moments the two of you shared in your slumber, they had never gone farther than light kissing. He was beyond gentle with you, holding and consoling you in most of them. It was as if he knew you had never been touched by a man before, or even if he didn’t, he still couldn’t bring himself to do that in your most vulnerable state.

And that’s all you could think about on the drive back to his house. His hand in yours, he had to have known, right? After all, he could hear you in your head in this very moment. But that also meant that he knew you were finalized in your decision on giving it to him.

You turned your head slightly to glance at him, the dim streetlights flickering across his face in soft amber hues. His expression was unreadable - focused on the road, jaw set, though every now and then, his thumb traced slow circles over your knuckles. It was a quiet, reassuring motion, yet it carried the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Your heart thrummed, a mixture of anticipation and nerves tangling within you. He could feel it, you knew he could. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t said a word since leaving the church - because there were no words left to hide behind.

As the car turned down the familiar winding road leading to his house, and finally parking in front of it, you knew everything would be different the moment you stepped foot in his home. You could sense him stealing a glance at you then, his voice low and deliberate when he finally broke the silence.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone gentle but edged with something deeper - restraint, maybe, or reverence.

And you nodded before you could even think to stop yourself. Because he already knew the answer.

He quickly got out of the car, jogging over to your side an opening it for you. The gesture earned him a light laugh from you, as he extended his hand for you to hold onto, and led you to his front door.

As he pushed through the door and you both entered, you had noticed the candles were still set ablaze, as if they were newly lit. Wax had not melted nor dripped, and the thick air still held the same familiar scent of woodsmoke and incense.

He had approached you from behind, guiding his hand to the small of your back, as he began to walk. "This way."

There was a hallway that sat opposite of the kitchen that led to what you presumed to be his bedroom. You still had so many questions you wanted to ask him, understand him in his entirety, but you knew this wasn't the time. Not now.

He had closed the door behind the both of you as you stopped at the foot of the bed, turning around to see his back pressed against the door with a smirk creeping onto his lips. It was an extra added layer of privacy he wanted to grant you for your own sake.

He pushed himself off the door with the palms of his hands, walking slowly over to you. His eyes flashed in an ember, as if he was stalking his prey. And yet, you weren't afraid. You were playing with fire - literally. This inferno of forbidden lust was taunting you in such a despicably delicious way.

"I want this," he brought one hand to your waist, and the other crooked under your jaw, "to feel safe. To... 'corrupt' you is extremely inviting yet haunts me deeply."

You brought your hand to his wrist, the other resting on his cheek. "I'll repent."

Forbidden things have their charm.

His mouth parted, with his teeth peeking out in a devilish grin. "God, I crave you, y/n. Deeply."

He kissed the side of your neck lightly, inducing your eyes to flutter shut to the sensation of his tender lips trailing down to your collarbone.

"If I ever hurt you," he slowly trailed his lips up to your ear whilst speaking lowly, "please don't hesitate to use your words - even if I can hear your thoughts. I don't know how much restraint I'll have the moment I taste you, the moment I feel what it's like to be inside of you."

Your mouth hung agape as you exhaled a moan. You instinctively pressed your thighs together at his words. You didn't know what you were in for, but you were ready to step into hell's territory. In this moment, you felt beheld to no god.

He captured your lips in a way that made you feel like you were falling into him. The kiss was immediately deep, pulling you into a rhythm that had your breathing inconsistent, and your heat beginning to ache for him more than it already had. You never wanted to let go of him, and in fact, you made him that promise that you would be the one to hold on.

He guided you down on your back onto the bed, and in quick understanding, you scooted back with him using the best of your ability to keep his mouth on yours whilst you reached for his satin-covered pillows. As soon as you felt them brush onto your wrists, you rested the back of your head onto them and tousled your fingers in his hair.

In slotting your open mouth with his, your tongues had found each other again, exchanging taste. He had taken the liberty at allowing the other hand that was not propping him up above you to explore the right side of your body. Feeling your skin wrapped in satin was already sinful temptation enough to rip the dress of your body, but in time, it only had raised your heartrate higher. Hearing each pulse in his ears was riveting, and for you, it all felt like heaven. How was that even possible?

Jake took the liberty at lightly tugging at your bottom lip, dragging it out just an inch, before allowing it to resume its original space, and eliciting a small grin from you. He dove to your neck, at first pressing a harsh kiss onto your pulse point, then opening his mouth and beginning to suck.

With one hand still attached to the back of his head, your other hand ran to his back, desperate to feel the skin that rested underneath it. You knew he was hot to the touch, but you were desperate to understand the intensity of the temperature under your fingertips.

So, with the small proximity curated between you two, you had begun unbuttoning his white shirt, feeling the hum that came from his mouth vibrate teasingly against your skin. That had your back lightly arching into him whilst his mouth trailed down your neck and to above your collarbone at a leisured pace.

And as he lifted one arm, and the other to let the piece of clothing fall off of his body, he threw it onto the floor and found his mouth onto yours once more. Your eyebrows furrowed pleasurably as you felt every carving of his back, the curvature of his shoulder blades - how toned he was. He had all this time to remember how your skin felt under his touch, and it was time for you to remember how his felt.

His index finger curled under the thin strap of your dress, sliding it off of your shoulder before doing the same onto the other side.

"Mind if I take this off of you, pretty girl?" He said into your lips, before pulling away just enough to see your eyes. And in his, you could truly see every detail - the faint crack of light running through the black of his irises, the way they seemed to hum with heat when he looked at you. It wasn't just color; it was motion, like liquid fire beneath glass.

You shook your head slowly. "No, not at all, Jake."

You lifted yourself up to give him enough access to strip it off of you. He was tender with his movements, holding your gaze as he slipped it off of you - with light assistance from you as he sat onto his knees.

Your dress sat off the edge of the bed, and while your eyes examined the front of his soft figure carefully, his eyes were trained on you in the white lace you wore. The color held purity - a reminder that you had stayed untouched by any man.

You looked up hesitantly, and you had noticed how dilated his pupils were. The variation of color in his eyes had since parted, and they were blown out into a deep black. Yet, you could see the white material on your body glimmer in his eyes and that had you burning with desire on how intently he was focusing in on your body.

His lips were parted, with his hands traveling up the sides of your calves. "God, how beautiful you are for me, my angel."

As if your entire body felt like it was on fire already, you felt your face flush from the nickname, adorning a shy smile. You didn't truly feel more beautiful than in this moment - with the way he was admiring your figure. And you were still partially clothed.

Your legs were parted open for him, and he accepted the invitation to crawl through them, and his weight fell onto you as he found your lips once more. His hips were rolling into you just enough to press his hardened cock into your covered cunt, and the foreign feeling had you whimpering into his mouth. You felt a rush of helplessness; waves sent through your nerves that you had not yet experienced before.

He continued his teasing motions with his mouth moving on yours in a passionate rhythm, feeling how your slick was pooling between your thighs, and just barely damping the clad that was rubbing against you. It was driving him insane - it took everything in him not to rip your clothes off of you and fuck you senseless.

Another time, he thought. Eventually, he would be able to have his way with you. With restraint, this had to be on your time, and your accord. He was thankful he had learned patience.

His hands traveled under your back, unhooking your bra with ease, and throwing it onto the ground with a penetrating thump. His lips clung to the skin of your neck once more, then traveled down to your collarbone, and above your bare breasts. For a moment, he raised himself up just enough to see them, humming to himself in pleasure, and then scooting himself down.

Jake's lips traveled down the valley of your breasts, and your chin lifted up to the ceiling with the cooling sensation of his necklaces hitting your skin. In an instant, he noticed the loss of your eyes on him.

"Eyes on me, sweetheart. Don't grow shy on me now." He commanded lightly.

And you met his darkened eyes, and you felt the weight of them almost instantly. The monster inside him wanted you.

His tongue traced around your hardened nipple, inducing your teeth to tug onto your bottom lip and encaging a moan. He did the same motion to the other nipple, and his hand began kneading at your breast in a pressured massage. And once his mouth opened onto your right nipple, and his thumb drew circles on the opposite, your jaw became slack.

Your heartrate rang through his ears, and in turn, his unoccupied hand gripped at your hip, pressing his thumb into the bone to hold you in place. To hear how you felt - from your heartbeat, your thoughts, your words, to feel the heat radiating off of your body was all so addictive to him in an inconceivable way.

He sucked at your nipple lightly, applying more pressure from his tongue. You couldn't believe you were already becoming a mess, moans becoming less airy, and your hips bucking into him from the missed friction. This should have had him immediately relieving the tension from your aching heat, but he needed to see how you reacted from between your thighs.

His lips traveled to your sternum, taking a straight line down your stomach as he lifted his eyes to you. It was as if he knew how you ticked, what you wanted - how you pictured this very moment. He wasn't just looking at you, he was remembering you. How it felt to be as close as he possibly could to brush against your soul where light and darkness were one in your slumber.

And once he found himself above your cunt, he pressed a kiss onto your left, and then your right hipbone. You jolted them towards him, hands balled into the bedsheets, watching his every move intently.

He followed the white lace seams with his mouth and eyes half-shut looking down, pressing soft kisses onto the trail. With his hands hooked onto the tops of your thighs, and the rings adorned on his fingers gave you a cooling sensation onto your heated skin, he began tracing the outside of your panties with his thumbs. You felt a tad ashamed with how your hips continued to move towards him, craving more... and more for his mouth on your heat.

And he gave in, only, with his eyes now flicked up to yours, he pressed a feathery-light kiss onto your clit. Your gasp was airy, with your chest tightening and your shoulders growing tense. And he did it again, eliciting the same reaction from you, and again, yet this time, a whimper bubbled in your throat and exhaled through your nose.

"Jake," you whined in a low whisper, "I've waited long enough for this. Please don't make me wait any longer."

His grin was slow, deliberate, dripping with the kind of confidence that made your pulse stutter.

You had no idea what you were in for.

He tugged lightly at the top of your underwear, and you immediately lifted your hips for him to allow him to slip them off of you. His eyes fell to your cunt, and his face had softened into an expression of immense adoration for the sight before him. All of you was perfect to him, and there you had him almost believing that he was dreaming.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathed. He was mesmerized at your glistening cunt, the way it was served for him on an imaginary silver platter.

And as desperately as he wanted to dive into you instantly, he placed his lips onto your clit for a moment, flicking his eyes up to you again, signaling he had no intention of looking away from you whilst he rested between your thighs. And you, you wouldn't dare look away from the obscene scene that was about to play before you.

He dragged his tongue up your slit, causing your back to arch with an, admittedly, embarrassingly loud moan. Your taste fell onto his tongue that was as close to honey as it possibly could be, sweet and unsanctioned, like the forbidden fruit. He was hooked immediately.

His tongue was lazy on your clit as he drew circles upon it. You had found a hand in his hair, tugging lightly as the muscles in your thighs grew tense. The pressure of his tongue became more prominent and punctuated whilst setting a steady rhythm on his mouth.

And he had you saying God's name in vain. You were sure by the end of the night you would be screaming it.

"God, Jake, that feels... so fucking good." You could feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head, and while you allowed yourself to do so, you propped yourself on your elbow and threw your head forward to give yourself a better view of him.

He hummed satisfactorily against you, and that new sensation whilst he sucked on the bud had your whines growing louder. You wanted to suppress your moans, but with remembrance that he lived in the middle of nowhere, you had free-range to be as loud as you wanted to.

He tried different things with his tongue, interchanging his motions to see which made you louder. When, in reality, it all felt so fucking good to you. You hadn't noticed how roughly you were tugging at his hair with how tightly your brows were pulled together, and every fiber of your being was cast into a frenzy. But with the quickening of his tongue, you could tell he didn't mind at all.

He introduced his middle finger at your entrance, circling around it steadily. You could feel the muscles in your legs tightening and tensing, not just from the euphoric pleasure he was sending through your whole being, but the extra added layer of sensation.

With the tip of his finger, he slowly glided it into you, teasing at the entrance. You were tight, but welcoming, so he tested further, and continued pushing his finger inside of you and curling it. Once more, your back was arching, and you began rolling your hips into the motion of his finger pumping carefully inside of you. It didn't help that you could feel his ring prodding your entrance from the outside, knowing you were coating the silver jewelry. But yet, you couldn't find it in yourself to care.

Mixtures of swears and praises bubbled out of your lips. You had seemingly turned to putty under his touch - his mouth, trying to resist letting your head fall back, but eventually, the muscles in your neck fought hard enough, and you gave into it.

Your head was rolled back, eyes squeezed shut while he continued pumping his finger inside of you and flicking his tongue at your clit. You could still feel him peering from below up to you, watching the way your neck strained back, the way each muscle in your shoulders twitched, and the way your stomach tensed as you grew closer to the edge.

He pressed a light kiss onto your clit as he removed his finger from you, feeling the loss of his head under your fingers. You threw your head forward, face still strenuous in contortion from the absence of the feeling. All of it felt over too soon. It was betrayal, but the kind you'd sin for twice.

He sat on his knees, unbuttoning his jeans and lifting one leg after another to fully free himself. And once his cock had sprung out; your eyes had widened lightly. He was admittedly beautiful, tip the color of blush pink, with veins that protruded on his length illuminated by the moonlight that melted itself into the room. He was large in size, and thick. Now, not only were your thighs pressed together, but your shoulders grew rigid.

You crawled onto your knees, raising onto them just enough to meet the height he was at, and spitting onto your hands by pursing your lips. Your knowledge of sex was only broadened by a friend of yours in college, so the extent of what you knew was from whatever descriptive, lewd stories she told you.

You wrapped your hand around his length and began pumping, meeting his eyes and watching as his mouth parted, with his brows pulled together from the sensation. Finally, tension was being relieved for him, and a smirk crossed his lips.

"Wanna lay down for me, Jake?" You whispered to him, flicking your eyes to his agape mouth, then back to his soulless eyes.

He hummed deeply, closer to a growl. "Angel, you don't have to. Let me take care of you tonight." He cooed.

"Nuh uh," you swiped your thumb over his tip, causing him to shudder. "At least for a moment, okay? You got to watch me become a moaning mess, let me try to make one out of you."

His smirk deepened, then stalled - caught between confidence and the shock of what he’d just heard from your mouth. It came back slower, laced with intrigue.

"Dirty girl," he placed a kiss onto your lips, "you outta repent for that one."

You shook your head with a huffed laugh as you watched him relax on his back, muscles in his arm flexed lightly as they raised next to his head. "Trust me, out of all my sins, you're by far my favorite."

He was mesmerized by you. An intoxicating spell you had him wrapped under, posing as innocent and secluded, but filled with such intensity and passion that he had not yet been able to see from you. His cock twitched at the thought of you on your knees in front of him, teasing at the act of being on them not just for God, but for him. The thought of you praising him over Him - he'd nearly had enough at being patient.

You laid flat on your stomach, pursing your lips once more to allow spit to dribble around his length. You began to pump, remembering the tips you were once given by your friend about performing oral. Now, ironically, you were thanking God you memorized it all.

You tucked your teeth behind your lips, pumping at his base as you took him into your mouth. He groaned deeply; his bottom lip tucked under his front teeth whilst watching you from above. As you glided up and down steadily, you flicked your eyes up to him, and from that, he knew he was done for.

"God, angel," the muscles in his stomach tensing from the eye contact, "please don't look away from me. How perfect you look for me just like that."

You hummed lightly around his length as you obeyed his instructions, allowing the spit in your mouth to accumulate while you continued your motions. Keeping a rhythm with your mouth and hand posed its difficulty at first, but eventually you fell into it.

His hand found the side of your face, the other tousled in your hair whilst he massaged at your scalp. A silent praise in how good you were doing - although he was anything but quiet. He had to restrain his hips from bucking into your mouth, so instead, he removed the hand that rested at your face and planted it flat on the bed as he raised himself up just enough where he could still see your eyes on him.

Spit began to dribble out of the corners of your mouth as your motions grew quicker, twisting your wrist as you brought your hand up and down his length, your tongue swirling around his tip each time you came up. For a moment, he threw his head back, mouth agape and shedding praises and swears. And then, he was back looking down to you. Those eyes, black as ink gleaming from the moonlight, were magnetic.

His chest raised and fell at a rapid rate; jaw slack and nerves sent into overdrive. If he didn't stop you now, he knew he would've been done for - a surprise for his normally strong stamina.

Jake's hand fell out of your hair and onto your face, thumb pushing on your jawline to signify for you to release your mouth off of him. You did so, eliciting a pop from your mouth at his exit, and bringing yourself to his lips while you crawled with him towards the back of the bed.

He caged you in his arms, turning you onto your back in a swift motion. The sudden presentation of strength had your teeth peeking out in a grin and breaking the kiss.

"Stay here, okay?" He said into your lips, crawling off of you, and off the bed.

His back now turned to you; you were granted the opportunity to admire every inch of him - bare and unashamed. The smooth expanse of his skin caught the pale light like polished stone, each movement rippling with quiet strength. You could almost feel the heat radiating from him, a pull that dared you to reach out, to touch, to claim.

He rummaged through his drawers while your eyes stayed trained on the way his body moved, each muscle flexing and rolling beneath his skin like restrained power. You shouldn’t have been watching, but it was impossible not to - the way his back tapered, the faint line of strength down his spine, the quiet dominance in his stance.

And when Jake finally found what he was looking for, he swiveled on his heels and lifted up the condom wrapper with his head titled slightly and the faintest smirk that danced across his mouth.

You cocked your head to the side with a huffed laugh. "Do we really need that?"

He brought the package to his teeth and tugged it open, beginning to slide it on his length. "It's to make things easier," his shoulders raised in a light shrug, "and... amidst other things."

He crawled over to you with a toothy grin, yet his bottom lip captured by it, finding himself comfortably on top of you as he pressed a soft kiss onto your lips.

"Meaning?" You said to him. "You can't get me pregnant, can you?"

"Conversation for another time, angel, and its intricacies." He flashed his eyes at you, pecking your lips once more.

He snaked his hand between you two as you had your legs propped up and spread in preparation for him. For a moment, his eyes peered down between you two, lining himself up and circling your entrance with his cock. You hummed with eagerness, yet your shoulders tensed in the reality of it all.

He found your gaze again, sensing light concern from the expression on your face, and in your head.

"You're okay, angel," he cooed, pressing another kiss onto your lips, "if at any point you need me to stop, say something, okay?"

You nodded with a faint smile, placing your hands on his face. And with that, he was slowly penetrating inside of you.

You gasped lightly at the stretch and the light sting of it as he continued gliding smoothly inside of you, holding his eyes for comfort while he fully bottomed out. From him, a deep, guttural groan escaped his mouth as his neck craned upwards, and his eyes fluttered shut.

He pulled out halfway, gliding back into you at that same, cautious pace. He threw his head back down, finding your eyes to see your face was still tense.

"Still okay?" He asked to you, voice warm with worry.

You nodded, quickly, reassuringly, "Yeah, keep going, Jake."

He obeyed, beginning a steady rhythm inside of you. For a moment, you had found the stretch of his length to be uncomfortable, close to the brink of painful, but as he kept going, fuck, it felt like bliss. Like a spark igniting inside of you.

Jake’s grin lingered, slow, teasing, alive with a heat that made your pulse thrum. And there you were, chests sharing mere proximity, sharing this moment that was forbidden and yet entirely right. Sin dripped from the air around you, and you couldn’t help but smile softly, caught between awe and the relentlessness, aching nothing short of a pull of desire.

You pulled him onto your lips, both your sounds of ecstasy forced into hums, then partially escaping with each opening of your mouths. Your hands gripped at his hair, desperate to be closer to him, as if this wasn't the closest you could possibly be. Attached, feeling as though you were giving your soul to him. Hell, you didn't care if that was destined.

He dove into your neck, sloppy kisses dragging on the side of your neck with whispers of elation and sacred words. Angel, he loved calling you that. It wasn't just a name - it was what you were to him. The embodiment of everything tender and untouchable he'd ever want. Every time the word left his lips, it felt like a caress, a reminder that you belonged to him in ways no one else could understand.

Your back arched into him, moans hilted and trying to grasp onto any vocabulary. Yet, it all fleeted from your head and narrowed to a few phrases, but the way your heart was pounding, and your breathing caught for brief periods of time, it didn't matter to you. Each roll of his hip into you, each praise, each deep groan, was all devotion brushing against you to let yourself be exactly what he saw in you. His angel.

"God, you feel like heaven, angel," he breathed into your ear, "every part of you... every sound, every shiver... I want to memorize it all."

He raised his head in front of your face, anguished in delicious, lustful despair with how you squeezed around him effortlessly. As if he was the only one meant to be inside of you. To you, that is exactly how you felt.

"Every part of me is yours, Jake." You said, voice low, body arching towards him to allow him to feel your desperation even more for him.

That sent his hips bucking at a faster, yet tamed, pace. "Is that an invitation, or a warning, angel?" He spoke with his voice close to a whisper, thick with desire. "Because," his lips hovered over yours, "I'll make you forget what it felt like to be anything else but mine."

Your hands ran to his back - carved like marble with each line and ridge perfectly defined and dug your nails into the skin. You not only let the way your moans peaked in volume to declare and proclaim your desire for his words to be true, but by piercing his back to mark your place.

"God, Jake," you breathed, "all I've ever been, is yours. Ever since you first saw me, ever since you touched my thoughts... I'm yours."

His hand settled on your neck, thumb tracing gentle, teasing circles. The lust simmering inside him threatened to spill over, each second stretching longer, each thrust inside of you more maddening.

"You have no idea what that does to me when you say that," his words close to resembling a growl, and his eyes sharp, intense, fixed on yours. "You're mine, angel, mine..." he said with a quiet, rumbling chuckle that was heavy with desire, "...and I'm not letting you forget that."

And he brought his lips onto yours in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss with his tongue quickly grazing yours. His moans were once at first sonorous and resonant that bubbled in his throat and drew deep from inside of him, but for split moments, you could hear them turn into almost a whimper, beyond needy and desperate for the chase of his high to not end.

He loved the sensation of your nails puncturing into his back. It urged his release to abruptly hit him and made it increasingly difficult not to fuck you senseless. You clung onto him, not out of fear he would stop or leave, but because you simply didn't want this moment to end.

And in a need to be more connected to you, he removed his lips from yours for a moment, pressing his forehead against yours to hear your pitiful whines of rhapsody. He hummed and groaned in response to your moans, as though he relished testing your restraint - to pull more out of you with each guided movement of his cock and hips.

You felt a coil-like sensation tightening in your lower abdomen, and all of the muscles in your body were sent into a flexed state. You could only assume what the feeling was, as your head grew dizzy from every single fiber of your being drifting into a heightened frenzy.

A smirk glimmered on his face, knowing you were reaching the edge of your peak. "Close for me, huh?"

You nodded with your bottom lip tucked behind your teeth, humming a whimper.

The way he was rolling his hips into you was pressing that spot inside of you that had you screaming God's name in vain, each puncture of the delicious spot felt like a hit at the coil, treading on the path of unraveling. You wanted to hold on for longer, trying your best to hold back to continue to savor this moment that you had wanted for so long, that you had practically dreamed of. Damn him for never putting this into your head. If only you had known how good this would've felt when he was just a person in your thoughts.

"You're gonna keep your eyes on me, okay? Keep looking at me, just like that, making those pretty sounds for me, angel." He commanded.

And as if you felt like you could look away, you didn't dare to. Your eyes were trained on the blackness that had consumed his eyes, and when focusing hard enough, you could see your reflection in them. They were forbidden mirrors, showcasing how lust-drunk you were for him, how he had brought you to your most vulnerable state, all on his doing. And only he was the one who could do this to you, who would, and would damn anyone who ever tried too otherwise.

His orgasm was teetering at the peak that was sinfully teasing, and for him to hold out any longer would normally be a fun game, but he couldn't grasp onto the edge any longer and finally gave into it.

Although his chin dropped low, and the muscles in his shoulders shuddered as his thrusts grew sloppy and just barely held onto rhythm, he continued riding through his high, groaning your name, followed by a few swears that were incoherent to you. You kept your eyes on him to see just exactly what he looked like at his release, and from your partial vision, you saw his eyebrows pulled together tightly with his mouth parted open just enough to expose the bottoms of his front teeth. And then, within just a few seconds, his facial expression softened as he began to come down from his high with breaths and light whimpers choking in his throat.

He snaked his hand through you and began rapid circles onto your clit to help you find your release. The added touch to where your body was already at was beyond overwhelming, and that had finally helped you reach onto the one thing you were desperate to grasp and claim. He had you arching your back into him, muscles tense and your mouth open and exhaling a resounding moan of relief. You swore you saw a flash of white over your vision for a moment when he continued pumping inside of you and slowing the circular motions of his fingers. You were about to press your head into his shoulder as you came, but his hand grabbed your face in an instant, and he forced you - willingly, to allow him to see you as you finished, and came down from your high.

He removed his hand from your clit and pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, chests heaving in unison and heads pressed together with eyes struggling to stay open.

And for a moment, you couldn't fight it, the lids of your eyes overcoming your lack of strength and fluttering them shut.

"Hey," he said to you with a low voice, "you alright?"

You nodded lazily with a hum, taking a moment to collect yourself, and catch your breath.

And finally, through half-hooded eyes, you looked to him, and the black in his eyes began to dissolve. They grew less dilated by the second, before returning to their original state, and showcasing the dark brown hues in his eyes and bringing "normalcy" to them.

"There you are." He cooed, pressing a light kiss onto your lips.

"Hi." You said with a tight grin.

A huffed laugh exhaled through his nose. "Hi, angel."

You rested your hands onto his cheeks and allowed silence to fill the air. Your breathing became regulated as you two dwelled in this moment, still connected, and the world around you finally settled back into its place. Your muscles went to a relaxed state, the sweat you accumulated on your head and body finally became more apparent to you, and the sensitivity of him still inside of you came to be known.

He eased himself out of you, lifting himself off of you as he hopped off the bed and went to dispose of the condom. Your eyes traveled from his naked backside to the floor of his bedroom; clothes scattered amongst the floorboards that were highlighted by the moon. Such imagery in this, showcasing the act you had committed with him.

Once he entered the room again, he rummaged through his drawers and found a pair of boxers, slipping them on quickly before jogging to you and hopping into bed. You giggled at his eagerness, curling up next to him as he began to hum lightly, and massage your scalp.

"Did you want your clothes, or something else to wear?" He murmured to you.

Your head raised from his chest to look up to him. "I'm comfortable like this, thanks."

His other arm was wrapped around your back and his hand at your shoulder; he squeezed you into his body and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

Your hand came up to his chest, drawing circles with the tip of your finger lightly, and your palm near-flat. To not feel, or hear, a heartbeat was strange to you, but what else would you expect? Yet, you never know how you would react until you actually feel... nothing beating against his chest and ribcage.

"Strange?" He said to you. He knew what was on your mind.

You watched your finger for a moment in its motion, then looked back up to him. "A bit. I mean, your chest rises and falls. Is it all... mimicking?"

He huffed a laugh. "Sort of, yeah. I don't need it to survive, but I learned to do it more often in a forced habit to fit in. Also don't need to eat, drink water, sleep - even blink."

"What's the point in the bed then?" You said with a toothy smile.

"Same thing: to fit in." He shrugged. "Kind of negates the whole purpose of 'being human' if I don't try to act as if I perform those things, y'know? I can do it all, just... doesn't do anything for me."

You thought for a moment of numerous answers to the questions you had that plagued your mind. He was different than what you would read in books and scripture. It was as if a lot of it was true, yet some things seemed to be inaccurate.

"So then how do you gain energy?" You said with a puzzled expression.

"By 'feeding' on others' energies, emotions, and..." he trailed off.

"And?" You pushed.

For a moment, he hesitated, opening his mouth to speak before resting his lips into a grin. And then, it clicked.

"Oh," you said blankly, "is that why we-."

"No," he cut you off, "I care about you too much to 'use' you like that. Yes, it may give me energy but, this whole thing wasn't a ploy just to get you to sleep with me if that's what you're thinking." He reassured. "I really do find myself so drawn to you. I've walked through centuries untouched, yet you... you pulled me in with just your presence alone. Even hell couldn't keep me from you."

Every word that left his mouth felt like poetry to your ears. Your breath hitched lightly, the heat from his body becoming more apparent against your skin, as if he was burning for you.

"You... awaken me, y/n. I don't want to continue being just a person in your head. I want to physically be here, with you, continuing my journey towards a better life for myself. I've spent centuries running from myself, from everything that I was," his voice then dropping to a husky whisper, "but you make me want to stay, to feel, to live in a way I thought I'd never allow myself to or even be allowed to."

"You don't have to be alone anymore, Jake," you murmured, bringing your hand from his chest to his cheek, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

A slow, almost imperceptible smile curved on his lips, and the hues of ember in his eyes softened with his facial expressions. He turned his face into your hand and kissed it, raising his hand to tuck your stray strands of hair behind your ear.

"Well, now, I'm not letting you go anywhere." He chuckled, to which you matched.

"What, you're gonna drag me to the pits of Hell if I so choose to leave you?" You pressed back with a playful tone.

His smile grew wider; teeth bare to you. "Think you're already on that journey yourself down there from fornicating."

You playfully slapped his chest, pulling yourself away from him slightly to dramatically sigh.

"Well, bless me father, for I have sinned." You threw your hand up, looking up towards the sky.

"And what else do you want to confess for, angel?" He tugged you back towards him with light chuckles escaping his mouth.

You shook your head with a laugh, cheeks beginning to burn from your wide grin that stayed glued onto your face.

"My confessions are between me, the priest, and God himself, Jake. You should know this by now." You dug your pointer finger into his chest.

He rolled his eyes in a teasing manner at your remark.

Then, Jake leaned in closer, grin crooked and mischievous. "Ah, but tonight, I am both priest and sinner." His fingers brushed yours where you'd poked him, lingering just a moment longer.

You laughed, trying to pull your hand away, but he caught it, holding it gently. "You're incorrigible," you said, shaking your head, though your voice carried more amusement than reprimand.

"Maybe," he murmured, his lips hovering near your ear now, "but I think you secretly like it."

Your cheeks warmed further, and you jabbed him lightly in the chest again, this time a playful tap. "Don't presume what I like, demon," you warned, though your laughter gave you away.

He chuckled as he resumed his face before you again, eyes glinting with something almost dangerous, yet undeniably fond. "You'll confess eventually," he said softly, voice low and teasing, "and when you do... I'll be right here to hear it all."

You arched a brow with a teasing roll of your eyes. "Keep talking like that and I might have to confess everything just to see your reaction."

His eyes sparkled, challenging and magnetic, daring you to test him. "Oh? You think I couldn't handle that? As if I can't already read those little, filthy thoughts of yours now."

"Maybe I want to see how far you'll go." You countered with your heart beginning to thud rapidly.

Jake's grin widened, almost predatory, though still playful. "Ah, angel... you don't have to test me. You already have my full attention - you always will."

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

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