Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mark couldn’t pinpoint when he started attending the Masses. One day, he was simply there, tucked into the pews as though he’d belonged all along. In such a sacred space, Mark made it a practice to refrain from judging by outward appearances. Everyone deserved a chance at redemption, to turn their lives toward something better. That was the foundation of his ministry. But this young man stirred something within him that Mark couldn’t name. 

Seated in the very front row, his eyes never wavered. They followed Mark through every prayer, every sermon, unflinching and intrusive. At times, it felt as though Donghyuck could see right through him, his gaze peeling away the layers of Mark’s priestly composure and baring his soul.

Mark had been watched before—by the curious, the desperate, the faithful—but this was different. Donghyuck’s gaze didn’t seek comfort or forgiveness. It demanded something. What, Mark wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

It wasn’t until the day Donghyuck approached him that Mark began to understand the weight of what he’d been feeling. A silent, lingering threat seemed to pulse beneath his skin as the young man drew near. He tried to push the thought away, dismissing it as a trick of the mind, but it returned tenfold, relentless.

Now here he stood, face to face with Donghyuck.

The young man’s skin glowed faintly in the cold light of the church, smooth and golden in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. His black hair fell messily across his forehead, the strands framing sharp, almond-shaped eyes that felt too keen, too knowing. Mark found himself momentarily caught, drawn to the faintest curve of the man’s plush lips, which held a smile that wasn’t quite a smile.

When Donghyuck extended his hand, Mark hesitated. The man’s grip, when it closed around his, was warm and firm, despite the faint chill that clung to the church air.

“The Mass today was truly uplifting, Father Mark,” Donghyuck said, his voice smooth and unhurried, coated in honey. Mark had never heard anything so beautiful before, and that disturbed him most of all.

“I was wondering if it would be possible to schedule a time to talk privately,” Donghyuck continued, tilting his head slightly.

Mark swallowed hard, his throat dry. He felt the air between them shift—charged, heavy, as though something unseen lingered just beneath the surface. Everyone deserves the chance to seek redemption, he reminded himself. But his smile felt thin and forced as he nodded, willing his voice to stay steady.

“Of course,” he said, his eyes darting briefly to the side, as though searching for an escape from the intensity of Donghyuck’s gaze.

“Donghyuck,” the young man interrupted smoothly, his voice clear and unwavering. “My name is Donghyuck, Father.”

“Donghyuck,” Mark repeated, nodding slowly, the name rolling awkwardly off his tongue. “I’m free on Friday after the Mass. You can stop by then.”

Donghyuck inclined his head, his gaze lowering briefly as though lost in thought. The pause felt deliberate, weighted, and Mark couldn’t help but feel as though something had shifted in the room.

“I’ll see you then,” Donghyuck said finally. His voice carried no hesitation, no doubt. He lingered for a moment longer, his presence unsettlingly magnetic, before stepping back and melting into the dispersing crowd.

Mark remained rooted in place, staring after him, the weight of the encounter settling heavily in his chest. There was something about Donghyuck that he couldn’t shake, a feeling that would linger long after the church doors closed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way about anything—or anyone. Perhaps it had been before he sought refuge in the church himself, when he was young and lost, a man desperately searching for salvation. Shaking his head, Mark knelt at his bedside that evening, clutching his rosary as though it might anchor him. His prayers felt hollow, and his thoughts drifted far from God.

-

Mark led Donghyuck into the small room adjacent to the chapel, his steps measured and steady. Still, he couldn’t ignore the weight of Donghyuck’s gaze pressing into his back. It was oppressive, heavy, as though the young man’s presence filled the room entirely.

Mark turned to face him, schooling his expression into calm neutrality. “What brings you here, Donghyuck?” he asked, folding his hands in front of him. His voice was even, but inside, a quiet unease churned.

Donghyuck didn’t respond immediately. He shifted his weight slightly, his gaze lowering to the floor. For the first time, he seemed unsure of himself. His hand reached up to knead the back of his neck, a gesture that struck Mark as oddly vulnerable.

“The thing is, Father…” Donghyuck began softly. His voice, so calm and confident before, was now tinged with hesitancy. “I think I might be… straying from faith.”

The confession hung in the air between them, heavy and charged. Donghyuck’s eyes remained fixed on the ground, and Mark felt the silence press against his skin like a second weight.

“I’ve done things,” Donghyuck continued after a pause, his voice quieter now. “Things I’m not proud of. But I want to… change. I want to make things right. I was wondering if I could retreat here, under your guidance.”

Mark felt his breath catch. It wasn’t the first time someone had come to him seeking spiritual refuge, and yet there was something different about this. About him.

He forced himself to nod, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’m proud of you for trusting me with this,” he said, his voice steadier than he felt. “We’ll work together to restore your relationship with God.”

Donghyuck’s lips curled into the faintest smile, but something in his expression made Mark’s stomach churn. He bowed his head slightly. “Thank you, Father,” he said softly, his tone smooth and sweet like honey dripping from a comb.

-

That evening, as Mark knelt in prayer, he felt an ache in his chest he couldn’t explain. His prayers were fractured, his thoughts tangled. He told himself it was the weight of responsibility, the burden of guiding a lost soul back to the light. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

And when Donghyuck arrived later that night, his presence felt like a storm, quiet and contained but brimming with an energy that threatened to spill over.

When Mark found him in his new room, Donghyuck was unpacking, his back turned. The sleek button-up he wore was open at the collar, exposing smooth, tanned skin. Mark’s breath hitched.

“Please button up,” he said, the words sharper than intended.

Donghyuck turned slowly, his lips curving into a faint smile as his hands moved to comply. The sound of fabric rustled softly as Donghyuck’s fingers moved, one by one, up the buttons of his shirt. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though he knew exactly how much time it took to unnerve Mark.

“There,” Donghyuck said, his voice low, almost sultry, as he finished fastening the last button. He tilted his head slightly, studying Mark with those sharp, almond-shaped eyes. “Better, Father?”

Mark cleared his throat, his fingers tightening on the rosary he’d brought with him. “This is a house of God,” he said, though the firmness in his voice faltered. “We… maintain modesty here.”

Donghyuck smiled, just the faintest curve of his lips. It wasn’t mocking, but it wasn’t apologetic, either. “Of course, Father Mark,” he murmured. “I only want to make sure I fit in here. It’s important to me.”

Something in his tone made Mark shiver. He wasn’t sure if it was the words themselves or the way Donghyuck said them—soft, smooth, as though he was slipping into Mark’s thoughts and settling there.

“You’ll have plenty of time to learn,” Mark said, stepping back toward the door. His knuckles brushed the cool wood of the frame, grounding him. “If you need anything, let me know.”

Donghyuck’s gaze followed him, and Mark could feel it, even as he turned to leave. “Thank you, Father,” Donghyuck said, his voice still honey-sweet. “I’m grateful for your guidance. Truly.”

Mark nodded, not trusting himself to speak again. As he closed the door behind him, he pressed the rosary to his lips, whispering a prayer he could barely hear over the sound of his pounding heart.

-

All the time he had spent in the church, Mark had felt the comforting closeness of God. He never doubted the Lord’s presence; never questioned the sanctity of this space. Here, within these hallowed walls, he had always felt safe—shielded from the darkness of the world. No evil would make it past the church doors. That much he knew. Or at least, he had thought he knew.

Tonight, though, that certainty felt fragile, a thread stretched too thin.

Mark sat at the long wooden dining table, its surface polished to a dull sheen by years of use. The candles flickered faintly in their iron holders, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls. The air was cool, calm, and still—save for the quiet footsteps of Donghyuck as he strode into the room.

Mark’s eyes flicked up as the younger man entered. Donghyuck’s movements were unhurried, his shoulders loose, his gait almost too casual for the solemn space. As he passed, the candles nearest to him shivered in their flames, flickering as if caught by an unseen wind.

Donghyuck settled into the chair across from him, his long legs crossing as he leaned back with an air of ease. For a moment, Mark hesitated, glancing at the faint curve of Donghyuck’s lips, the way his eyes gleamed faintly in the warm light. The younger man’s presence was heavy in the room, pressing against Mark’s composure.

Clearing his throat, Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary. The beads were smooth and worn from years of prayer, a familiar comfort in his hands. Slowly, he stretched his hands across the table, offering them to Donghyuck.

“We will begin the prayer,” Mark said, his voice steady, though a faint tremor lingered at the edges.

Donghyuck nodded and placed his hands in Mark’s. His palms were warm—too warm, like the heat of sun-warmed stone—and Mark’s fingers twitched involuntarily at the contact. For a moment, he tried to focus on the feeling, wondering if it was just his imagination.

But no—there it was again. That chill in the air, faint but insistent, crawling across the back of his neck like a whispered warning. The room felt colder now, the temperature subtly shifting with no discernible cause. Mark suppressed a shiver, forcing himself to meet Donghyuck’s gaze.

Donghyuck’s touch was so foreign, so strange, that it disturbed Mark’s train of thought for a second or two. His eyes dropped to their hands, the contrast of Donghyuck’s golden skin against his own pale fingers inexplicably fascinating. A tingling sensation rippled through him, settling somewhere deep in his chest.

When Mark finally dragged his gaze upward, Donghyuck was watching him. Intently. Not with the soft humility of a penitent, but with something sharper, something that burned low and steady behind his almond-shaped eyes.

Mark swallowed, his throat dry. He closed his eyes to shut out the image, clinging to the structure of prayer like a lifeline. He spoke, his voice low and reverent.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” Mark began, his voice steadying as he traced the sign of the cross.

Donghyuck murmured along, his tone softer but no less deliberate.

Mark took a breath, focusing on the familiar rhythm of the words. “Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

But the simple grace felt insufficient. Tonight, Mark needed more—something deeper, something that might anchor his troubled spirit. His grip on the rosary tightened as he continued.

“Lord, we come to You in humility, seeking Your guidance and Your light. Cleanse our hearts and our minds, and lead us away from temptation. Protect us from the shadows that creep into our thoughts, and strengthen us in Your holy presence.”

The words trembled slightly as they left his lips, a flicker of his own unease bleeding into the prayer. He squeezed Donghyuck’s hands reflexively, willing himself to feel the grounding comfort of another believer’s touch.

But there was no comfort to be found.

The warmth of Donghyuck’s hands seemed to seep into his skin, unnervingly persistent, and the chill in the room deepened. Mark tried to keep his eyes shut, but something about the silence that followed made his chest tighten.

Was Donghyuck still watching him? Mark could feel the weight of his gaze, even with his eyes closed.

Mark opened his eyes, releasing Donghyuck’s hands more abruptly than he intended. The sudden absence of warmth was startling, as though the cold in the room rushed in to fill the space between them. Mark leaned back slightly, clearing his throat in an effort to dispel the tension clinging to the air.

“Thank you, Father,” Donghyuck said softly, his voice smooth, honeyed, and impossibly calm. He tilted his head slightly, his smile faint but sharp at the edges. “Your prayers… they feel very personal. It must be a blessing to have such faith.”

Mark stared at him, his pulse quickening. The phrasing lingered in his mind, unwelcome: they feel very personal.

There was an intimacy in those words that made Mark uncomfortable, as though Donghyuck had peeled back the protective veil of prayer and seen something raw.

“Faith is… what guides us,” Mark replied, carefully choosing his words. He heard the faint tremor in his voice and hated it. “Without it, we would be lost.”

Donghyuck’s smile widened, his teeth flashing briefly in the candlelight. “Yes, Father. Without faith, we would all be lost.”

As he spoke, Mark’s fingers instinctively found the rosary in his lap. He hadn’t even realized he was holding it so tightly. The beads, worn smooth from years of devotion, slid under his thumb, a familiar rhythm that usually brought him comfort. But tonight, they felt heavier, almost foreign in his grasp.

Donghyuck’s gaze flicked to the rosary. His eyes lingered, just for a moment, and then he leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed once more.

“Shall we eat?” Donghyuck asked, his tone light and easy, as though nothing had passed between them.

Mark nodded, swallowing hard, but the unease in his chest refused to dissipate. He looked down at his rosary, his fingers tracing the crucifix at its end.

Then it happened.

A sharp snap broke the fragile silence between them.

Mark flinched, his eyes darting down to his lap. The rosary had broken, the string unraveling as beads spilled out in every direction, clattering against the table and the stone floor. The sound echoed unnaturally loud in the stillness, like a cascade of falling marbles.

For a moment, Mark couldn’t move. His hands hovered uselessly above the fragmented beads, his breath caught in his throat.

“I—” He started to speak, but his voice faltered. His rosary, the one he’d carried for years, the one that had weathered countless prayers, was now scattered in pieces before him.

Across the table, Donghyuck didn’t move. He watched, his head tilted slightly, the flickering candlelight casting strange shadows across his face.

“Father,” Donghyuck said softly, breaking the silence. His voice carried a note of something Mark couldn’t name—sympathy? Amusement? “Are you all right?”

Mark nodded quickly, though his hands were trembling. “It’s… it’s nothing. The string must have been weak,” he said, his voice tight.

He bent forward to gather the beads, his fingers fumbling against the smooth surface of the wood. But his mind was racing. That rosary had survived years of wear, had been pulled and tugged countless times during prayer. How could it break now—here, at this moment?

Donghyuck didn’t move to help. He simply watched, his expression unreadable, as Mark hastily swept the beads into his hand.

As Mark straightened, clutching the broken rosary in his palm, Donghyuck finally spoke again.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper.

Mark froze, his heart lurching. “A sign?”

Donghyuck’s lips curved into a faint smile, his gaze steady. “That sometimes even the strongest things can… give way.”

Mark’s chest tightened. He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. The words lodged themselves in his mind, unwelcome and heavy, as though Donghyuck had meant more than he’d said.

He quickly tucked the broken rosary into his pocket, his movements stiff and deliberate. “Let’s eat,” Mark said, forcing the words out. His tone was sharp, almost commanding, but the authority he hoped to project felt thin, fragile.

Donghyuck’s smile remained, but he said nothing more. He simply reached for the bread on the table, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the silence that followed.

-

Mark knelt at his bed, the cold of the stone floor biting into his knees even through the thin padding of the rug beneath him. His eyes remained fixed on the broken rosary lying in front of him, the loose beads spilling across the blanket like a constellation of tiny stars. Each bead seemed to gleam faintly in the dim candlelight, mocking him with their sudden fragility.

His breath came shallow and uneven, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his chest. Mark clasped his hands tightly in front of him, the familiar posture of prayer, but even that simple act felt foreign tonight. His voice wavered as he tried to summon the words.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…” he began, the prayer faltering as the words stumbled out of his mouth, brittle and unsteady. His breath hitched, catching in his throat as though something unseen had wrapped itself around his lungs. The prayer felt distant, hollow, as though it were someone else’s voice echoing in the room—not his own.

Mark inhaled sharply, a trembling breath that did nothing to still the storm churning inside him. He reached out to the loose beads again, his fingers brushing over the cold surface of the polished wood. They slipped easily between his fingers, scattering further onto the blanket. A knot of frustration coiled in his chest, and he tightened his grip on the fabric beneath him, his knuckles whitening.

For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, exhaling shakily, trying to focus. But just as his breathing began to steady, something flickered in his peripheral vision—a shadow, quick and sharp, dark against the faint glow of the room.

His heart stuttered, and his head whipped to the side, his breath catching once again.

The cross of Jesus hung above his bed, unmoving. The room was still, silent save for the faint crackle of the candle on his desk. Mark’s pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at the crucifix, his eyes searching for something—anything—out of place. But there was nothing. Just the carved figure of Christ, arms outstretched in eternal suffering and salvation.

Mark closed his eyes tightly, shaking his head as though to dislodge the unease that had burrowed into his thoughts. “No,” he whispered to himself, though whether it was reassurance or denial, he wasn’t sure.

Clasping his palms together once again, he forced his head to bow, his lips trembling as he tried to find his connection to God. “Our Father, who art in heaven,” he began again, his voice hoarse.

“Hallowed be Thy name,” he whispered, the words dragging from his mouth like stones, heavy and unyielding. “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done…”

His throat tightened, and his voice cracked. He gripped his hands tighter, his knuckles aching with the force of it. “On earth as it is in heaven.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He strained to hear his own words, to feel the familiar comfort of prayer settling over him, but all he could hear was his breathing, shallow and quick, and the faint hum of the wind outside the stone walls of the church.

“Give us this day our daily bread,” he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

He hesitated again, his lips pressing together in a thin line. His hands trembled as he tried to continue, but the words stuck in his throat. A sickly feeling bloomed in his chest, a cold dread that spread through him like ink spilled across paper.

“Lead us not into temptation,” he murmured finally, his voice breaking on the last word, “but deliver us from evil.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain, as though they might shatter at the slightest touch.

Mark’s breathing came in short gasps now, his chest heaving as though he’d run a great distance. His palms unclasped slowly, his fingers falling limp against his thighs. He opened his eyes and stared down at the broken rosary once more.

“Please, God,” he whispered, his voice raw and low. “Protect this house. Protect me. Protect us all.”

He waited, his eyes searching the empty air before him, desperate for something—anything—that would reassure him. A sign, a flicker of light, a warmth in his chest. But there was nothing. Only the quiet, heavy stillness of the room, and the faint shadow of the cross stretching long against the wall.

Mark’s head fell forward, and for a long time, he stayed there, silent and unmoving, his thoughts a swirl of fractured prayers and doubts he dared not name.

-

Despite the heavy tiredness pressing down on him, Mark managed to finish the Mass without faltering. His voice carried through the chapel as steady as ever, though inside, he felt frayed at the edges. The weight of his sleepless night tugged at him, threatening to drag him down, but the service had gone smoothly—perhaps even more so than usual.

That, of course, was thanks to Donghyuck.

The young man had been deft and efficient with every task, handling the sacred duties with a reverence that surprised Mark. From preparing the altar to ensuring the wine and bread were perfectly measured, Donghyuck’s movements were quick, precise, and practiced, almost as though he’d been performing these rituals for years.

Mark had never had such capable help before. It unsettled him, though he couldn’t quite explain why. He should have been relieved. Grateful. And yet, as Donghyuck extinguished the last of the altar candles with a practiced flick of his wrist, Mark felt a familiar unease crawling beneath his skin, whispering that this was too good, too smooth, too easy.

He didn’t dare let himself grow comfortable with it. Instead, he forced himself to focus on gratitude, turning to Donghyuck as they finished tidying the altar.

“You were of great help today, Donghyuck,” Mark said, his voice warm but tinged with caution. He handed the wine chalice over to the younger man, their fingers brushing briefly as Donghyuck accepted it. Mark ignored the fleeting heat of the contact, shifting his gaze to the carved details of the chalice instead.

“The Lord must trust you a lot.”

The words felt heavier than he intended, though they were meant as a simple compliment.

Donghyuck smiled faintly, his lips curling just enough to reveal the barest hint of teeth. In the dim glow of the candles, his eyes glinted like molten gold, catching the light in a way that almost made them shimmer.

“My pleasure, Father,” Donghyuck replied smoothly, his tone as sweet and measured as ever.

There it was again.

Mark turned away quickly, brushing off the faint shiver that ran down his spine. That subtle but persistent sensation—that something wasn’t right—had plagued him since Donghyuck’s arrival. But there was no time to dwell on it now. There were still matters to attend to.

As Mark stepped away, a figure approached him from the pews—a retired churchgoer, stooped slightly with age but with eyes that remained sharp.

“Father Mark,” the man greeted warmly, his voice a low rumble. He leaned on his cane as he gestured toward Donghyuck, who was now placing the chalice on the shelf with careful precision. “Who is this young man?”

Mark glanced over his shoulder at Donghyuck, who remained absorbed in his task, his back turned to them. The golden glow of candlelight seemed to cling to him, accentuating the smooth line of his shoulders and the way his movements were almost unnaturally fluid.

“He’s… a new volunteer,” Mark explained, his words careful. “He’s seeking refuge here for a time, to reflect and restore his faith.”

The old man’s brow furrowed slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied Donghyuck’s figure. “He’s very capable,” the man said after a moment, his tone neutral but thoughtful. “But there’s… something about him.”

Mark’s chest tightened, though he kept his expression steady. “What do you mean?”

The churchgoer leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’m not one to judge, Father, but his presence… it feels different.” He hesitated, as though searching for the right word. “Unsettling, perhaps. Like there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

Mark’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the edge of his sleeve, but he forced a small smile. “He’s a lost soul looking for redemption,” he said firmly, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. “We’ve seen many such souls pass through these doors. It’s not for us to judge.”

The man nodded slowly, though his expression remained wary. “Of course, Father. Forgive me. Perhaps I’m just an old man reading too much into things.”

Mark placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Rest easy,” he said gently. “Let’s trust in the Lord to guide him back to the light.”

But as the churchgoer shuffled away, his cane tapping softly against the stone floor, Mark found himself glancing toward Donghyuck again.

The young man had finished his task and was now standing by the altar, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed up at the crucifix above him. His posture was relaxed, but there was something about the way he stood—too still, too deliberate—that made Mark’s stomach twist.

Mark shook his head, dismissing the thought. He couldn’t afford to let suspicion cloud his judgment. Everyone deserved a chance at redemption. That was his calling, his purpose.

“Donghyuck,” Mark called, his voice steady but tight.

The younger man turned, his expression serene. “Yes, Father?”

Mark opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated, the words dangling on his lips like fragile glass. Donghyuck moved closer, his steps smooth and measured in a way Mark had never seen before. Everything about him seemed impossibly refined, as though he was something more than human—an angel walking among them. His smile twisted slightly as he waited, his teeth gleaming pearly white in the dim light.

Mark brushed his fingers against the fabric of his cassock, ripping his gaze away from Donghyuck.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Donghyuck was no angel. He was a simple man, searching for guidance. Mark’s mind was clouding, complicating what should have been straightforward.

“Would you like to keep me company while I pray?” Mark asked instead, his voice quieter now, almost unsure. There was a glimmer in Donghyuck’s eyes, something that shifted—so subtle Mark barely noticed it. But he dismissed it quickly.

“I would love to, Father.”

So Mark knelt at the altar, his fingers trembling as he pressed them together in prayer. Behind him, Donghyuck didn’t follow. He stood tall and unmoving, his presence felt like a silent weight pressing down on Mark’s back. Mark felt that gaze pierce him, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around, couldn’t utter the words to invite Donghyuck to kneel beside him. Instead, he clenched his hands tighter, his face twisted in confusion, the line between duty and desire blurring with every breath.

It was in that moment of silence and uncertainty that Donghyuck’s hand suddenly rested on Mark’s shoulder. The touch was soft, almost hesitant, but it burned into Mark’s skin like a brand.

When Mark opened his eyes, the sight that met him was nothing short of horrifying. The air around them seemed warped—black smoke curled and twisted at the ground, slithering up the altar like serpent’s tendrils. The vibrant stained glass was shattered, the crucifix ablaze, flickering with an unnatural fire. His heart pounded in his chest as he whirled around to face Donghyuck, but the man’s hand had already fallen.

When Mark looked at Donghyuck, his face was one of quiet confusion. Everything seemed normal again, save for the lingering feeling of something wrong.

“Are you alright, Father?” Donghyuck asked, his tone cautious, yet beneath it, there was a trace of amusement—mocking, perhaps. Or was Mark imagining it? “You seemed… unsettled.”

Mark stumbled to his feet, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He cast a panicked glance over his shoulder—no black smoke, no burning crucifix.

“No, I’m—everything’s fine,” Mark insisted, though his voice faltered. His knees felt weak. Donghyuck frowned, gently wrapping an arm around his shoulders and guiding him from the altar.

“You’re looking a bit pale, though,” Donghyuck murmured, almost too softly. “I think it’s best if you retreat to your room.”

Mark didn’t resist as Donghyuck led him away from the altar. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, the blurred line between reality and illusion growing thicker. His steps were heavy, his breathing uneven, the weight of what he had witnessed still pressing down on him.

As they made their way down the dimly lit corridor, the silence stretched between them like a chasm. Donghyuck walked with an effortless grace, his expression unreadable, as if nothing had disturbed him. Mark, however, felt the shadows closing in, the air around him growing colder.

Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, Mark broke the silence.

“What was that?” His voice was barely above a whisper, trembling as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Donghyuck didn’t respond immediately. They reached the door to Mark’s chamber, but Donghyuck didn’t move to leave. He stood there, watching Mark with an unsettling calm. Turning lightly to face Mark, his eyes calm but piercing. “What was what, Father?”

“N-nevermind.” He opened the door and stepped inside, but Donghyuck didn’t leave his side. Mark’s breath hitched as he turned around, only to find Donghyuck standing just behind him, his hands pressing down gently but firmly on Mark’s shoulders. The touch wasn’t harsh, but it felt unrelenting, as if Donghyuck’s presence had anchored him in place. Mark sank onto the edge of his bed, his eyes glued to Donghyuck’s face, unable to look away.

The expression on Donghyuck’s face was one of quiet concern, but there was something else beneath it—something far more unsettling.

“I don’t think you’re feeling well,” Donghyuck murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from Mark’s view with a slow, deliberate movement. Mark’s breath hitched again, his skin burning beneath Donghyuck’s touch. Donghyuck’s finger traced along Mark’s jawline, stopping gently on his chin, tilting his head up slightly.

“You should get some rest, Father,” Donghyuck said, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

Mark nodded, as if entranced by the sound of Donghyuck’s words, his mind too muddled to resist.
“You’re right. I should get some rest.”

Donghyuck’s lips curved into a soft, unsettling smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

-

The weight of the information sat heavily in Mark’s stomach as his secretary informed him of the upcoming funeral scheduled for the following week. Just yesterday, Mark had spoken with the old man—just yesterday—but now he was gone, lost in the endless expanse of silence. The memory of that conversation replayed in his mind, each word now sounding hollow, distant.

He tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in his stomach, the creeping dread that refused to loosen its grip. But thankfully, Donghyuck was there to distract him from the overwhelming weight of his thoughts.

“Father, we should prepare for the Bible Study now,” Donghyuck said flatly, his tone devoid of any emotion. Mark glanced up, noting the way Donghyuck stood with that same unsettling calmness—the same detached grace that had followed him since their first encounter.

Mark nodded, though the gesture felt mechanical, his mind still drifting between the echoes of his conversation and the cold, dark thoughts looming over him.
“Of course,” Mark murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers trembled, the world around him starting to blur. “I need to focus on the study,” he muttered, though his voice was frail.

Donghyuck didn’t answer right away. He stood there, watching Mark with that unsettling calm, as though he were a figure etched into the very fabric of the shadows.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready, Father,” Donghyuck finally said, his voice laced with something neither reassuring nor threatening.

Mark felt his legs buckle slightly as he stepped forward, their weakness betraying him before he could gather his strength. A strong arm wrapped around his waist, and suddenly, he was staring directly back at Donghyuck. His heartbeat thudded in his ears, rapid and erratic, as his eyes involuntarily dropped to where his hands were still clenched around Donghyuck’s cassock.

He scrambled back to his feet, his cheeks burning with the sting of embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Donghyuck chuckled softly, but there was an edge to it, something hollow. “It’s fine. You’re just human.” Yet, for some reason, those words didn’t sit right with Mark.

Mark quickly turned away, unable to meet Donghyuck’s gaze any longer. His breath felt shallow, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a burden he couldn’t escape.

He walked to the room where the Bible study would take place, the cool, quiet corridors stretching endlessly before him. 

They began preparing for the study in silence, but the air between them was thick, charged with something neither could name. Mark’s hands trembled as he gathered the scriptures, his thoughts drifting back to Donghyuck’s unsettling calm and the way his touch had made him feel.

Whatever was happening—whatever was unraveling inside him—it wasn’t something he could ignore. 

Mark tried to focus on the task at hand, but his thoughts kept straying back to Donghyuck. The sensation of his touch lingered on his skin, the warmth of it far too vivid. It wasn’t just a physical feeling—there was something intangible, something deeper, that Mark couldn’t name but couldn’t shake either.

As they sat around the study table, the others’ voices blurred into the background. Mark’s mind was clouded, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns on the worn wooden surface. The words of scripture, meant to offer solace, now felt hollow. His gaze kept drifting, unable to focus, always pulling back to the memory of Donghyuck’s eyes—those piercing, unsettling eyes that seemed to see too much.

As he flipped through the pages absentmindedly, something caught his eye. A faint crackle of paper, tucked deep within the Bible, seemed out of place. Mark’s hand trembled as he carefully pulled the page free.

It was unlike any he had seen before—thin, yellowed, and slightly frayed at the edges. The ink was faded, yet the script upon it was distinct, foreign even. His heart thudded in his chest as he stared down at the words, unable to comprehend their meaning.

The others were still discussing scripture, their voices rising and falling in the background, but Mark couldn’t tear his gaze away from the page. His hands trembled as he held it, his breath shallow as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“What… what is this?” His voice broke, barely more than a whisper.

No one responded.

The room seemed to blur around him, the others’ voices growing fainter. Mark didn’t know what he had found, and put it back between the pages. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Mark forced himself to put the Bible down and stand. His legs felt like they would buckle beneath him, but he managed to move. The study ended, and the others began gathering their things, but Mark was quick to leave.

He hurried down the dimly lit corridor, the strange page burning in his mind. The weight of whatever had disturbed him pressed heavily on his shoulders. His thoughts raced, but none of them seemed to bring clarity. All he could focus on was the feeling of Donghyuck’s presence, lingering in the back of his mind.

When he reached the church, he found Donghyuck standing motionless before the altar, his back straight and his gaze directed at the broken crucifix above. Mark wondered if he was praying, but he wasn’t sure. The sight of Donghyuck always unnerved him—there was a quiet intensity about him, as though he carried secrets too dark to be spoken.

Mark hesitated, unsure whether to approach. He knew Donghyuck watched him, even when he wasn’t looking. The weight of that gaze made his skin crawl.

But then, Donghyuck turned his head, his eyes settling on the Bible in Mark’s hands. Mark instinctively pressed it closer to his chest, as if shielding whatever he had discovered from view.

“It’s time for dinner,” Mark said softly, his voice reverberating through the stillness of the church. The words felt hollow, distant, as though they carried no real meaning. Donghyuck remained silent, his gaze unwavering, but he finally stepped away from the altar and began walking toward Mark.

Mark couldn’t look away. The sensation of Donghyuck’s presence grew stronger with every step, the tension between them thick enough to touch. He clenched the Bible tighter as Donghyuck approached, unsure what to expect next.

When Donghyuck reached him, there was no sign of urgency, no sense of haste—only the same unsettling calm. He stopped a few paces away, his expression unreadable.

“Shall we?” Donghyuck’s voice was smooth, almost too calm, as though nothing had transpired. Mark barely managed a nod, his throat dry. He followed Donghyuck through the dim corridors, the weight of the mysterious page still burning in his mind.

-

That night, Mark stirred in his sleep, his body tangled in the damp sheets as shadows clung to the corners of his room. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, but it wasn’t the heat that made his breaths shallow. It was something else.

In his dream, the world was dark. Pitch black. He couldn’t see, but he could hear it—a faint whisper, soft and distant, brushing against the edges of his consciousness. The sound wasn’t unfamiliar; it was a voice he knew too well.

Donghyuck.

Mark’s pulse quickened as the whisper curled around his name, faint at first but growing louder, more insistent. Then came the touch—a featherlight caress, ghosting over his waist, sliding down the sensitive skin of his stomach.

Mark’s breath hitched. His hands twitched, reaching for the source of the sensation, but when his fingers met flesh, it was his own skin beneath his trembling palms.

The touches became firmer, more deliberate, igniting a fire deep within him that he hadn’t felt in years. A low, ragged cry tore from his throat, his body arching into the unseen hands, each caress sinful, maddening, unbearable.

He tried to pray, tried to summon the words to banish the overwhelming pleasure, but his lips wouldn’t obey. The fire consumed him, and he clutched at his chest, gasping as though the dream itself was stealing the air from his lungs.

And then, all at once, it stopped.

Mark woke with a start, his chest heaving, his breath ragged and uneven. The room was silent, bathed in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the window. He stared up at the ceiling, his pulse thundering in his ears.

The dream clung to him, its sinful echoes burning through his skin. He touched his chest with trembling fingers, half-expecting to find scorch marks where the touches had lingered, but there was nothing. Only the rapid rise and fall of his breath, the cold sweat beading on his skin.

Mark sat up slowly, the sheets falling from his shoulders. His hands gripped the edge of the bed as his head dropped forward, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.

“Lord, forgive me,” he whispered hoarsely, the words cracking under the weight of his shame.

The room was too quiet. It wasn’t the peaceful stillness he was used to; it was oppressive, heavy, as though the very walls were watching him. The shadows in the corners seemed darker, shifting ever so slightly when he blinked.

He needed salvation.

Mark reached for the new rosary on his nightstand, his fingers trembling as they wrapped around the smooth beads. The weight of it felt reassuring, grounding him in a way his fraying thoughts could not. Slowly, he rose from the bed, his bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor as he moved toward the door.

The corridors were silent as he made his way to the altar, his steps slow and measured. The chill of the night air seeped into his skin, but he welcomed it. Anything to smother the fire that still burned in his chest.

When he reached the altar, Mark sank to his knees, pressing his damp forehead to the cold stone floor. His fingers clutched the rosary tightly, the beads digging into his palms as he whispered urgent prayers.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,” he began, his voice trembling. “Hallowed be Thy name…”

The words spilled out in a broken stream, each one laced with desperation. He poured every ounce of himself into the prayers, the weight of his sins, his doubts, and his desires spilling from his lips in trembling pleas.

Tears streamed down his face, hot and unrelenting, falling to the stone floor beneath him. It felt as though each one carried a piece of his fractured soul.

“Lead us not into temptation,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But deliver us from evil…”

His shoulders shook as the last word left him, the silence that followed pressing down on him like a physical weight. His hands fell limply to his sides, the rosary slipping from his fingers and landing on the floor with a soft clatter.

Mark lifted his head slowly, his tear-filled eyes fixing on the altar before him. The faint candlelight flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls.

And then he saw him.

Donghyuck.

He stood motionless in the shadows, his figure barely illuminated by the dim light. His head was tilted slightly, his expression unreadable as he studied Mark.

Mark’s breath hitched. His heart raced as his gaze locked onto Donghyuck’s, but the young man didn’t move. The silence between them stretched unbearably, heavy with something Mark couldn’t name.

“Donghyuck…” Mark whispered, his voice barely audible.

The younger man didn’t respond. He simply stood there, watching, his presence unnervingly still.

Mark blinked, and in that instant, Donghyuck was gone.

The altar was empty.

The silence returned, deeper than before, stretching out like a void that seemed to swallow the room whole.

Mark sat there for a long moment, his chest heaving, his breath shaky. The echoes of his dream still clawed at his mind, vivid and unrelenting, as if they were burned into his very being.

The rosary lay forgotten at his feet as Mark clutched at his chest, his fingers curling into the fabric of his cassock as though he could keep himself from falling apart.

-

The next day, Mark couldn’t shake the lingering sense of dread.

He felt bad for Donghyuck. He was just a young man seeking help, but Mark wasn’t sure anymore if he was capable of providing that help.

Every interaction with Donghyuck felt heavier now, layered with implications Mark couldn’t put into words. Donghyuck’s calm, unwavering demeanor had once seemed like the mark of a man at peace. Now, it felt like something far more unsettling—something calculated, deliberate.

Mark tried to ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest, but it refused to subside.

Even as they prepared for the funeral later that week, Donghyuck’s presence loomed over Mark like a shadow—silent, unshakable, always watching.

The funeral itself was a quiet, somber affair. Mark delivered the service with his usual calm, his voice steady as he spoke the words of scripture over the deceased. But his thoughts were fragmented, fractured by the lingering weight of Donghyuck’s gaze.

When the ceremony ended, Mark retreated to his chambers, seeking solace in the worn pages of the Bible. His hands trembled as he flipped through passage after passage, his mind grasping desperately for clarity, for answers. But the words blurred together, slipping away like water through his fingers.

Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.

Mark’s hands tightened on the edges of the book. 

Donghyuck’s deft efficiency didn’t go unnoticed; the young man had been swift in cleaning up after the funeral, his movements as graceful and precise as ever. But Mark hadn’t lingered to thank him. He needed distance. He needed space to breathe, to think.

But even in his solitude, Donghyuck found him.

Mark froze when he heard the knock at his door—a soft, measured sound that echoed faintly in the quiet of his room. Before he could respond, Donghyuck stepped inside, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Father, may I talk to you?” Donghyuck asked, his voice light and unassuming, but there was an edge to it that Mark couldn’t ignore.

Mark snapped the Bible shut, the sound louder than he intended. He clutched it to his chest as though it might shield him, his face flushing with guilt. It felt as though Donghyuck could see right through him, into the turmoil that churned beneath the surface.

“Of course, Donghyuck,” Mark said, forcing his voice to steady. He gestured weakly to a chair, though Donghyuck didn’t take it. Instead, he stood just inside the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

The sound made Mark’s heart lurch painfully in his chest.

“How are you feeling?” Mark continued, his voice quieter now. “How is your relationship with God?”

Donghyuck tilted his head slightly, a faint, almost unreadable smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements unhurried but deliberate, until he was just a few paces away from where Mark sat.

“I’ve sinned, Father,” Donghyuck said at last, his voice low and steady.

Mark stiffened, gripping the Bible tighter, the edges of its leather cover digging into his palms. “What do you mean?” he asked, his words careful, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

Donghyuck’s expression didn’t change. “Just yesterday,” he said, his tone calm, almost conversational. “I gave in to my lust.”

The words hit Mark like a blow, his breath catching in his throat.

“I… pleasured myself,” Donghyuck continued, his voice soft but unapologetic.

Mark’s brain seemed to short-circuit.

He hadn’t thought of himself as someone with a vivid imagination, but the image came unbidden—Donghyuck’s body bathed in dim light, his golden skin gleaming with the sheen of sweat, his lips parted, his expression one of unrestrained pleasure. The thought burned itself into Mark’s mind, vivid and inescapable.

The room suddenly felt suffocatingly hot. Mark’s cassock clung to his skin, the air thick and heavy, and the blanket draped over his lap felt like a weight pressing him down.

He tried to speak, to say something—anything—but no words came. His lips parted uselessly, his tongue dry in his mouth as his heart hammered against his ribs.

Donghyuck tilted his head again, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light of the room. “Does that shock you, Father?” he asked, his tone as light and casual as if he were asking about the weather.

Mark swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away. “W-we are all tempted by sin,” he stammered, his voice uneven, trembling. “But we… we must seek forgiveness.”

“And do you think I deserve it?” Donghyuck asked, stepping closer.

Mark’s breath hitched as Donghyuck closed the remaining distance between them. He could feel the heat radiating from the younger man’s body, so near now that the scent of him—warm and faintly sweet, like the trace of incense—was impossible to ignore.

“Of course,” Mark managed, though his voice faltered. “God forgives all who repent sincerely.”

Donghyuck’s smile deepened, and there was something sharp about it now, something that sent a shiver racing down Mark’s spine.

“Then hear my confession, Father,” Donghyuck murmured, his voice dropping lower. “And tell me if I’m worthy of His love.”

Mark’s fingers tightened around the Bible until his knuckles turned white. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in as Donghyuck’s presence loomed larger, heavier, more suffocating.

“I… I need to pray,” Mark blurted out, rising from the bed. He stumbled back a step, clutching the Bible to his chest like a lifeline.

Donghyuck didn’t move. He simply stood there, watching Mark with those piercing eyes that seemed to see far more than they should.

“Of course, Father,” Donghyuck said softly, inclining his head. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from prayer.”

But as Mark turned to leave, Donghyuck’s voice followed him, soft and lilting.

“Though I wonder,” he said, almost to himself, “are you praying for me, Father? Or for yourself?”

Mark froze, the words striking a chord so deep it sent a chill coursing through him. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

Instead, he fled the room, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty hallway.

-

Even in his sleep, Mark couldn’t escape Donghyuck.

The dreams had become a nightly torment. At first, they were fragmented images, fleeting and nonsensical, dissolving into shadows by the time Mark opened his eyes. But now, they had grown vivid, visceral—an assault on his senses that lingered long after he awoke.

At first, Mark was sure it was just another dream.

He felt the familiar pull of foreign touches on his body, the phantom warmth of hands tracing over his skin, his senses heightened with a need that horrified him. The dark, quiet shame of it had become routine—a nightly penance Mark couldn’t seem to escape. But this time, when Mark’s eyes fluttered open, the dream didn’t dissipate into nothingness.

Donghyuck was there.

Mark’s breath hitched as his vision adjusted to the pale moonlight spilling into the room. Donghyuck hovered over him, his presence impossibly close, bathed in an ethereal glow that made him look almost otherworldly. The shadows clinging to the corners of the room seemed drawn toward him, twisting and curling like living things.

The blanket lay discarded on the floor, forgotten, the cool night air brushing against Mark’s exposed skin. His thoughts were sluggish, caught between sleep and wakefulness, as he struggled to process the scene before him, when Donghyuck forces one of his legs to his chest, a long string of spit falling from his forked tongue. Mark gasped in surprise, his senses slowly returning as he felt the warmth of it dripping down his ass cheeks. 

Donghyuck’s dark eyes glinted with an unnatural light, something sharp and predatory lurking just beneath their surface. His lips curled into a smile—soft, almost tender—but it carried a weight that made Mark’s stomach twist.

Mark’s breath stilled when he saw them—small, curling horns peeking out from beneath Donghyuck’s dark hair, catching the faint light in an unmistakable gleam. His heart began to race, alarm bells ringing in his mind, tearing away the last remnants of sleep.

This was no dream.

Mark tried to move, to scramble back, but his body felt heavy, sluggish, as though he were trapped in quicksand. His limbs barely obeyed him, trembling weakly as he tried to pull away.

Donghyuck’s hand shot out, gripping Mark’s thigh with inhuman strength, his sharp nails digging into the tender flesh. Mark cried out, his voice breaking into a strangled gasp.

“Shhh, Markie,” Donghyuck murmured, his tone low and smooth, a growl laced with mockery. The sound rumbled deep in his throat, something primal and utterly inhuman. Mark’s blood ran cold. Donghyuck’s Arm travels between their bodies as he aligns his dripping cock right with his hole. Mark’s eyes widen, his mouth opening in protest but the dark chuckle that leaves Donghyuck reins him mute. “Calm down.”

Mark shook his head frantically, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. Every instinct screamed at him to get away, to fight back, but Donghyuck’s grip was unrelenting. His presence loomed over Mark like a dark cloud, suffocating, oppressive.

“You’re dreaming,” Donghyuck purred, his voice taking on a syrupy cadence. His free hand reached out, brushing against Mark’s jaw, the touch featherlight but burning like a brand. Mark flinched, a desperate noise escaping his lips, but Donghyuck only smiled wider.

“It’s just a dream, Father. Isn’t it?”

Mark tried to speak, tried to protest, but the words died in his throat as Donghyuck leaned closer. The younger man’s breath was warm against his ear, his voice a low, intimate whisper that made Mark’s skin crawl.

“Or… do you want this?”

“No—” Mark’s voice broke, and he turned his head away, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Stop—please—”

But Donghyuck’s dark chuckle silenced him. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a weight that stole the air from Mark’s lungs. “Oh, Father,” Donghyuck murmured, his tone almost pitying. “You can’t lie to me. Not here. Not now.”

Donghyuck finally pushes their bodies together, forcing his cock inside Mark. Mark clutches at the mattress, his breath fast and unsteady as Donghyuck impales him violently. 

Mark squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling violently as the heat of Donghyuck pressed against him, suffocating and inescapable. Every breath felt like fire in his lungs, every touch a violation he couldn’t escape.

His mind reeled, his thoughts spinning into chaos. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. But it felt too vivid, too immediate, too much.

Donghyuck’s lips brushed against the corner of Mark’s trembling mouth, leaving a lingering, cruelly chaste kiss before he pulled back slightly, his smile twisting into something sharper, darker, pushing further and further, until he is nestled deep inside, their bodies flush. He groans at the feeling, moving his hips experimentally and Mark throws his head to the side.

“You’ll thank me later,” Donghyuck whispered, his voice low and dripping with certainty.

Tears ran down his cheeks, and Mark weakly pushed his fists against Donghyuck’s chest. Donghyuck pulls out to the hilt, only to slam right back in. Mark’s breath was knocked from his lungs, white gathering his vision. A feeling so unfamiliar yet addicting gripped him and he kicked, only causing Donghyuck to groan in pleasure. 

The other started moving his hips with more intent now, abusing Mark’s insides in ways he had never imagined. Donghyuck moans in content, smiling down at Mark with a mocking voice in his tone.

“Look. Doesn’t it feel so good, Markie? Just give in.” Donghyuck groaned, only to be met with a weak shake of his head. Donghyuck raised his hips then, slamming down with more force and Mark’s cries echoed in the room. 

He clutched onto Donghyuck’s shoulders, trembling as he tried to fight the hot feeling inside him. Mark was dripping his own pre-cum on his abdomen, bulging with the shape of Donghyuck’s cock. His head spins with pleasure, his hips moving in a desperate attempt to hit the spot that made him see stars.

Donghyuck chuckles darkly.

“Just like that baby,” he growls, his hips moving faster. “See? ‘s not so bad.”

Mark’s eyes open as tears escape, and Donghyuck leans down to swallow his moan into a kiss. His tongue was so long, the form so foreign Mark choked on it, but he eagerly reciprocated. He was torn between the need to resist and the terrifying, all-consuming need to give in to the dark pleasure that Donghyuck offered. 

Suddenly, Donghyuck pressed Mark’s hands down next to him. Their fingers intertwined, and Mark couldn’t help the vulnerable whimper that left his mouth. The touch was strong, grounding in a way Mark wasn’t ready to admit.

But even as his body responded, his mind screamed for it to stop. The room spun around them, the walls seeming to close in as Donghyuck’s thrusts grew more fervent. The air grew thick with the scent of sweat and lust, the only sound Mark’s high pitched moans and the sickening wet noises of their bodies colliding.

The pressure built within Mark, a crescendo of pleasure and pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew what was coming, his body was betraying him, responding to Donghyuck’s relentless onslaught, but in this moment he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The feeling grew unbearable, and with a strangled cry, Mark came, his body jerking with the force of it.

Donghyuck’s grin widened, his eyes flashing with triumph as he watched Mark come. But even as Mark’s orgasm ripped through him, the horror remained. Donghyuck’s cock was still deep inside him, thrusting harshly, ripping one cry after another from him.

The demon’s hand tightened on Mark’s jaw, forcing his gaze up. Mark could feel his cock rubbing against his sensitive walls, crying continuously.

“I’m gonna breed that little womb of yours,” Donghyuck hissed, and Mark’s teary eyes snapped open. He shook his head in terror, crying as he hit Donghyuck once again.

“Please stop- Donghyuck-“ Mark tries but Donghyuck is unrelenting. He moans as he clashes their foreheads together, his face contorted in pleasure.

“Just imagining-“ Donghyuck pressed Mark’s body closer, and the warmth that radiated from their bodies mixed. Mark’s head lolled back, his mind all but blank as Donghyuck grinned. “Full of my kids- Mark-“

The demon’s orgasm ripped through him, filling Mark with a burning, malevolent heat. Mark cried weakly, as Donghyuck fucked his hips into him, pushing his semen deeper and deeper. They fell onto the bed in exhaustion, and Mark’s vision swims again. Donghyuck laughs breathlessly. 

“It’s just a dream.”

-

When Mark wakes, his mind feels like a tangled mess, muddled and heavy. His face is flushed with shame as he stares at the ceiling, but there’s nothing unusual. Only the same lingering phantom touches, the relentless hunger for something more. His trembling hands trace circles over his tummy, a hollow reminder of his emptiness.

His legs feel weak and heavy when he swings them over the edge of the bed. Everything aches. Groggily, Mark pulls on his cassock, his body still resisting every movement. He makes his way downstairs, the familiar scent of morning air greeting him. The sight of Donghyuck already seated at the table sends a jolt through him, and his body tenses, trembling uncontrollably.

You’re being unreasonable, Mark tells himself, the words echoing in his mind as he takes hesitant steps toward the table. His shaky legs carry him to his seat, but his gaze stays fixed on the floor.

“Good morning, Father,” Donghyuck says softly, his voice gentle. Mark can’t bring himself to meet his eyes. He clasps his arms tightly around his stomach, sitting down in silence. Donghyuck hums softly, the sound barely audible, and doesn’t press further. The room falls into a heavy quiet, only the faint sound of cutlery clinking against plates breaking the stillness.

Mark reaches for another slice of bread, his fingers brushing against Donghyuck’s briefly. It’s an accidental touch, fleeting and insignificant—but Mark pulls his hand away sharply, his elbow knocking a glass of water to the floor. His eyes snap to Donghyuck, who looks equally surprised at his reaction.

“Sorry,” Mark blurts out, clutching his hand tightly as if trying to make the sensation go away.

Donghyuck tilts his head, his expression soft, his voice as calm as ever. “Is everything alright?” His hand moves slowly toward Mark’s, but Mark stares at it, his breath quickening.

Despite his mind screaming, he feels powerless, unable to resist. Reluctantly, he places his hand in Donghyuck’s. The touch is warm, almost unbearably so, sending a wave of heat through his body. Donghyuck traces his thumb across Mark’s palm, the movement delicate, as though Mark might shatter at any moment.

“I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself,” Donghyuck says softly, and Mark feels something stir deep inside—something he can’t quite name, something that twists and turns like butterflies in his stomach. His breath catches, and his gaze drops, unable to meet Donghyuck’s.

He pulls his hand back, suddenly aware of the rawness of the moment. Without thinking, he stands, his eyes fixed on the remnants of breakfast left untouched.

“The mass,” Mark says, his voice shaking, the weight of fear and uncertainty pressing down on him. “We should prepare the mass.”

Donghyuck follows him, the weight of his presence looming behind. “Father,” Donghyuck says, his voice like a quiet whisper in the silence, “If there is anything bothering you. Let me know.” 

The quiet hung between them, suffocating and palpable, as Mark moved through the small church, the weight of Donghyuck’s presence trailing just behind him. His heart thudded, each step feeling heavier than the last, the echoes of the previous night still resonating in his mind. Despite his efforts to suppress it, the memory clung to him like a shadow.

They reached the altar, and Mark busied himself with the rituals, but his hands trembled, the movements mechanical and unsteady. Donghyuck stood off to the side, observing him with a gaze that felt too familiar, too invasive. Mark could feel it in his bones, the way Donghyuck watched him—like he saw through all the walls Mark had tried to put up.

During the mass, Mark felt a heavy unease settle over him from the very beginning. His mind kept drifting, thoughts of Donghyuck invading his consciousness, pulling him away from the sacred routine. His hands trembled as he lifted the chalice, his grip unsteady, the weight of it unfamiliar. He could feel the weight of the congregation’s gaze upon him, their expectation hanging in the air like an unspoken burden.

Mark stumbled through the liturgy, his words hesitant, his movements sluggish. The rhythm of the mass felt foreign, disjointed. Every prayer he uttered felt wrong, his thoughts consumed by doubt and shame. It wasn’t just the lingering memory of Donghyuck—it was something deeper, something he couldn't quite escape.

Then, as he raised the chalice to bless the congregation, his grip faltered. The chalice wobbled, teetering dangerously, and before he could catch himself, it tipped, clattering to the floor. The sound echoed sharply through the silent church, a sharp contrast to the solemnity of the mass. Holy wine spilled in a bright red pool, staining the marble at his feet.

“I… I’m sorry,” Mark stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of his shame. His hands trembled uncontrollably, his heart racing.

Donghyuck stepped forward, his expression unreadable but laced with something cold and unsettling. The weight of his presence loomed over Mark, heavy like a shadow. Mark turned to him, his stomach churning.

“Father,” Donghyuck said softly, his tone laced with an unnerving calm. “You look weary. Rest is what you need.” His voice was gentle, yet there was something invasive in his words, something that made Mark's skin crawl.

“I can continue,” Mark managed, his voice faltering. His hands trembled, still clutching the chalice as though it might slip from his grip once again.

“No,” Donghyuck interrupted, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “You’ve done enough for now. Let me take over.”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat. “Donghyuck… I—”

“Let me,” Donghyuck cut him off, his voice softer but more commanding. “You are too burdened, too distracted. Let me guide this mass.”

The congregation was watching, their eyes darting between Mark and Donghyuck. A hush fell over the church, the weight of expectation pressing down harder than before. Mark could feel their eyes, expectant and unblinking, waiting for him to continue. But something about Donghyuck’s presence—so deliberate, so unsettling—held them in thrall.

Mark hesitated, his thoughts a storm of doubt and fear. He knew the right thing to do was to step aside, but every fiber of his being resisted.

“Please,” Donghyuck murmured, stepping closer. His eyes searched Mark’s, soft yet predatory. “Let me take care of this for you.”

The weight of Donghyuck’s request felt unbearable, but Mark knew deep down that he didn’t have the strength to refuse. His hands trembled as he set the chalice down, his body succumbing to Donghyuck’s influence.

“Very well,” Mark whispered, his voice hollow.

Donghyuck gave him a faint smile, turning toward the congregation with a quiet authority that seemed to fill the room. He approached the altar, his presence suffusing the space with an almost oppressive calm.

Mark stepped back, his eyes fixed on Donghyuck, his heart pounding in his chest. He watched as Donghyuck took his place, his movements fluid and confident, as though he had always been in control.

“Let us continue,” Donghyuck said, his voice clear and unwavering. The congregation responded, some of them glancing between Mark and Donghyuck, uncertainty flickering in their expressions.

Mark stood to the side, his knees weak, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The mass proceeded, but Mark couldn’t shake the feeling that his place had been taken—that he was no longer the one in control.

And though he wanted to look away, he couldn’t. Donghyuck's presence was too strong, his control too absolute. He moved with a confidence like he had done this before, the kind Mark should have after all this years. Instead, Mark slipped away, fleeing down into his room.

-

There was nothing comforting about Mark’s room.
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. The shame was too overwhelming, too suffocating. His breath hitched as he gripped the edge of the mattress, the weight of his failures pressing down on him like an unbearable burden.

The vivid dream haunted him, relentless and unyielding. The mistake during the mass replayed in his mind, the sound of the chalice falling echoing in his ears. He had failed—not just himself, but his calling, the sanctity of his faith. The boundaries that had once seemed so clear were now stretched thin, distorted, until they blurred beyond recognition. There was no escape from the guilt that loomed over him, a relentless phantom trailing his every thought.

Mark’s gaze drifted to his palm, now facing the ceiling. His fingers were numb, ice-cold and trembling. A memory surfaced—strong fingers slipping between his own, pressing down on the mattress as if grounding him. Mark’s cheeks burned, and a single tear escaped, tracing a path down his face.

A soft knock at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. For a moment, he stared at the door, his chest tightening. Then, with a heavy sigh, he clenched his fists and whispered, “Come in.”

It was Donghyuck. The door closed softly behind him, and in his hands, he held a piece of bread—round, familiar, yet somehow unsettling.

“Father, this is yours,” Donghyuck said, his voice calm but weighted with something Mark couldn’t quite name.
Mark tilted his face up, their eyes meeting. Donghyuck stood in front of him, holding the bread close to Mark’s mouth.

“Wanna open that mouth for me?” Donghyuck asked softly, his tone both gentle and commanding.

Mark felt the air grow thick, every breath heavier than the last. The room, already suffocating, felt even more confined under Donghyuck’s presence. His hands clenched tighter around the mattress as though grounding himself from the pull of something darker.

Mark’s breath hitched, his mind screaming against the intrusion, but his body remained still, paralyzed by something deeper than resistance. The conflict raged within him—between the pull of obedience and the desire to pull away. His fingers trembled as he slowly parted his lips, the piece of bread still held before him.

Donghyuck’s gaze didn’t waver. His grip on the bread remained steady, his expression unreadable but unwavering. The weight of expectation hung in the silence, thick and unrelenting.

“Good,” Donghyuck murmured, his tone laced with something Mark couldn’t decipher. He placed the bread gently on Mark’s tongue, his fingers brushing softly against Mark’s lips as he did so. Mark shuddered at the touch, a wave of warmth spreading through his body despite the cold that still lingered in his hands.

For a moment, everything blurred—time, space, and the certainty of his own faith. The room felt like it was spinning, and Mark struggled to ground himself. He swallowed the bread, the taste familiar, and dull.

“Why?” Mark finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes met Donghyuck’s, searching, confused. “Why are you doing this?”

Donghyuck didn’t answer immediately. He took a step closer, his presence now suffocating, consuming. His gaze bore into Mark, calm and composed, as if he were looking into the very depths of his soul.

“I only want to help you,” Donghyuck replied, his voice smooth, almost too soothing. 

Mark wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Donghyuck’s control felt absolute, his confidence unshakable. It wasn’t just his presence—it was the weight of something Mark couldn’t name, something that pulled at him like gravity.

“I—” Mark began, but his voice faltered. The confusion, the shame, the guilt—all of it tangled within him, choking his words.

“I’ll take care of the rest.” Donghyuck said, his tone softer now, almost tender. Mark’s chest tightened, his body trembling under Donghyuck’s gaze. But something about those words—so simple, so unfamiliar—made him feel like he had no choice.

“I…” Mark hesitated, his fingers clenching into fists, but his body betrayed him. He sank back against the bed, the weight of exhaustion and uncertainty pulling him down.

Donghyuck stood over him for a moment longer before gently placing a hand on Mark’s shoulder, the touch both grounding and unsettling. “You’ve done enough.”

Mark didn’t resist. His body ached, his mind numb. The lines between obedience and rebellion blurred, leaving only the emptiness that had come to define him.

-

Donghyuck had grown more insistent, sticking to his words without fail. He took care of things Mark no longer had the strength to manage—small, everyday tasks that had become overwhelming. Random headaches plagued him, his limbs aching for no apparent reason, and sometimes, he would find himself scrambling for a bucket as nausea overwhelmed him. The secretary had quit, leaving only Donghyuck and Mark in this shared silence, these shared burdens.

Even now, as Mark ran a persistent fever, his body trembling from weakness, Donghyuck remained by his side. There was a quiet, persistent concern in Donghyuck’s eyes—a look Mark couldn’t quite decipher, but it was there, unrelenting, as he gently changed the damp towel on Mark’s forehead.

“It’s cold,” Mark murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he pulled the blanket higher, trying to shield himself from the chill he couldn’t escape. Donghyuck’s gaze flickered, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“It’ll pass,” Donghyuck said softly, almost to himself, his eyes shifting from Mark’s face to the blanket he now held. “Can I?”

Mark, too out of it to form a coherent thought, simply nodded. Donghyuck gently, but firmly, tugged the blanket away from Mark’s trembling form, and Mark let out a soft whine, the loss of warmth unbearable. His mind felt foggy, distant, as though he wasn’t fully present in his own body.

It wasn’t until Donghyuck suddenly lifted Mark’s shirt, just above his stomach, that he realized what was happening. Mark made a sound—part confusion, part protest—but Donghyuck shushed him, his voice low and soothing.

Mark felt his face flush, tears welling in his eyes, the shame swallowing him whole.

“Don’t—” Mark croaked, his voice breaking, unable to understand why his body had changed in this way. His stomach had begun to swell, and despite his efforts to fight it, the growth hadn’t stopped.

Donghyuck’s hand rested lightly on Mark’s belly, warm and steady, as if he were trying to ground himself in something tangible. His expression softened, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him.

“It’s healthy,” Donghyuck murmured, more to himself than to Mark. His thumb traced a gentle, soothing path over the now-covered skin. Mark let out a broken sob, his hands reaching up to rub his tear-streaked face.

“I should eat less,” Mark said, his voice laced with desperation, his breath hitching as if that could reverse whatever was happening.

Donghyuck frowned, his brow furrowing deeply as he shook his head.

“No,” he said firmly. “You should eat more.”

Mark stared at him, his heart aching with a mix of disbelief and confusion, unable to grasp the kindness in Donghyuck’s words, the caring beneath them. His lips parted slightly, but no words came. The heaviness in his chest threatened to crush him, yet the warmth in Donghyuck’s gaze held him steady.

Donghyuck watched him closely, his expression soft, his hand moving with deliberate care. Mark nodded silently, his breath hitching as Donghyuck’s fingers ran gently through his damp hair, the touch tender and grounding.

Mark leaned into it, his body betraying his resolve, seeking comfort where he knew he shouldn’t. The warmth of Donghyuck’s palm against his scalp felt like a balm for a pain he couldn’t name.

He wasn’t sure when the lines between them had blurred. The boundaries he’d once held firm had eroded, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to distinguish one from the other. His grasp on faith—the faith that had once been his anchor—was slowly slipping away, crumbling under the weight of his growing attachment.

Instead of prayers, Donghyuck was in his thoughts. The image of him was inescapable, weaving itself into every corner of Mark’s mind. The way he cared for him over the last few weeks, stayed even when Mark became childish and unreasonable, had begun to shift something fundamental within him.

Mark could feel it—a pull, a longing. He missed Donghyuck when he was leading the mass, missed him when he was holding the Bible studies, his heart aching in his absence. The void Donghyuck left when he wasn’t near felt too vast, too consuming.

And it terrified him.

Everything he had known, everything he had built his life around, seemed to be falling apart. The teachings, the rituals, the unshakable foundation of his faith—all of it was crumbling under the weight of one person.

Donghyuck.

Mark felt as though he was unraveling, thread by thread, with each passing second. He knew he was losing himself—losing the grip on everything he once believed he was—but he wasn’t sure if he had the strength, or even the will, to stop it.

And yet, he stayed. Unmoving. Scared that the fragile moment between them would shatter if he so much as exhaled too sharply. His resolve was cracking like thin ice under his feet, and he wasn’t sure what waited beneath.

His hand trembled as it rose, hesitating in the space between them before finally settling over Donghyuck’s, the one that cupped his face. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, a jolt that was equal parts fear and electricity.

Mark wanted to speak, but the words died in his throat. How could he begin to explain the storm in his chest? How every time Donghyuck was near, his heart ached with something unnameable, something that felt like a prayer and a sin all at once? How his thoughts, once steadfast and clear, had become consumed by the man before him?

He wanted to tell him everything. The fear, the longing, the way his faith had been tested and remade in Donghyuck’s presence. He wanted to tell him how terrified he was—of falling, of failing, of losing himself entirely.

But instead, Mark leaned forward. His forehead pressed lightly against Donghyuck’s, the simplest of movements, hesitant and cautious. Yet it spoke louder than anything he could say.

Donghyuck didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned closer, his breath warm against Mark’s skin. His hand slid from Mark’s cheek to his shoulder, anchoring him there as if he feared Mark might slip away.

Mark closed his eyes, his breath unsteady, as he tried to make sense of the emotions swirling inside him like a storm. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession.

Donghyuck’s hand moved again, this time slipping down to clasp Mark’s. Their fingers intertwined, the gesture so intimate that it left Mark breathless. The sight of it—Donghyuck’s hand, warm and secure around his own—made something deep inside him ache with a longing he couldn’t name. It felt familiar, like a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.

Mark’s walls crumbled completely. He wasn’t even sure when it happened. Without thinking, he closed the small gap between them, his lips brushing against Donghyuck’s in a fleeting, trembling kiss. It was soft, hesitant, and far too brief—but in it, Mark poured every ounce of his confusion, his longing, and his fear.

When he pulled back, his cheeks burned with shame and vulnerability. “I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice breaking as he tried to piece himself back together.

But Donghyuck shook his head, his expression soft yet unwavering. “Don’t apologize, Mark.”

It was the first time he’d said his name like that. No “Father,” no title to keep the boundaries intact. Just Mark.

The simplicity of it broke something else in him.

Before Mark could retreat any further, Donghyuck closed the distance between them again. This time, the kiss was firmer, filled with quiet assurance. Their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt natural and strange all at once, like they’d been drawn to this moment all along.

Donghyuck shifted, hovering just above Mark now. His tongue traced along Mark’s lips, a silent request that made Mark tremble. Despite the shake in his hands, Mark parted his lips, inviting him in.

The kiss deepened. It was messy, unpracticed, and raw, but neither of them seemed to care. Donghyuck’s tongue slid into Mark’s mouth, hot and insistent, and Mark let out a muffled gasp as the sensation overwhelmed him.

And then he felt it.

Donghyuck’s tongue, warm and wet inside his mouth, wasn’t normal—it was forked.

A wave of déjà vu crashed over Mark, but this time, it wasn’t vague. He pushed Donghyuck off of him with more force than he thought he had, his chest heaving as he scrambled back.

Donghyuck didn’t fight him.

The sight that met Mark’s wide eyes stole the breath from his lungs.

Donghyuck’s eyes burned a deep crimson, unnatural and all-consuming. Two horns curled from beneath his hair, their dark surface gleaming in the dim light.

Mark’s stomach twisted violently, and the nausea that had plagued him for weeks surged again. He barely had time to register Donghyuck handing him a bucket before he was retching, his body trembling with each heave.

Donghyuck knelt beside him, his hand tracing soothing circles on Mark’s back. The gesture was familiar, even comforting, but now it felt alien—too cold, too otherworldly.

When Mark finally straightened, gasping for air, his vision swam. His hands gripped the edge of the bed for support as he turned back to Donghyuck, his voice shaking with disbelief.

“You’re real?” Mark croaked, his tear-streaked face filled with equal parts horror and confusion.

Donghyuck reached for his hand, but Mark pulled away, clutching it to his chest like a shield.

A sigh escaped Donghyuck as he sat back, his head tilting. For a moment, he seemed almost... tired. But then his gaze returned to Mark, unwavering and unflinching.

“Does it matter?” Donghyuck asked, his voice low but steady. He reached out again, slower this time, his hand resting over Mark’s stomach.

Mark flinched at the contact, but Donghyuck didn’t pull away. His touch was firm yet gentle, his thumb brushing faintly over the fabric of Mark’s shirt.

And then, with quiet certainty, Donghyuck spoke.

“You’re carrying my offspring, after all.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. And suddenly, everything—every ache, every change in his body, every unspoken truth—clicked into place.

“Your—you—” Mark’s voice broke, the words trembling on his lips as his mind scrambled for coherence. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. How could he? The truth was too terrifying to say aloud.

He had thought he’d imagined that night. Thought it was just his fractured mind twisting dreams into something shameful and impossible. He’d convinced himself Donghyuck hadn’t been there—that he hadn’t touched him, hadn’t pushed him into the sheets, hadn’t torn Mark apart piece by trembling piece.

Yet now, in the silence between them, Mark felt something deeper than shame: pride. And it horrified him.

“You… like me?” The question slipped from his lips in a barely audible whisper, fragile and uncertain, as if the weight of Donghyuck’s response might shatter him entirely.

Donghyuck didn’t hesitate. His hand moved to cover Mark’s, warm and steady, anchoring him to the moment. “I choose you, Mark,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding. “You’re mine.”

The simplicity of those words struck like a thunderclap, leaving Mark breathless. His heart pounded, his thoughts spiraling into chaos. He should have recoiled, should have pushed Donghyuck away, should have screamed at the sheer audacity of his declaration.

But he didn’t.

Because some small, traitorous part of him wanted it to be true.

“You…” Mark swallowed hard, his voice trembling as he spoke. “You did this to me. That night… it was real?”

Donghyuck nodded, his gaze unwavering, unapologetic. “It was real, Mark. Every moment of it.”

Mark’s stomach churned, his free hand instinctively curling over the slight swell of his belly. The memories surged forward, vivid and undeniable—Donghyuck’s hands gripping him, the searing heat of his touch, the way his name had spilled from Donghyuck’s lips like a benediction.

He felt the shame rising, hot and suffocating, but beneath it was something far more insidious: longing.

“I thought…” Mark’s voice cracked as he fought to piece his thoughts together. “I thought it was a dream. A nightmare. Something I could forget.”

Donghyuck’s other hand came to rest over Mark’s, gently pressing against the swell of his belly. The tenderness of the gesture undid him completely.

Mark’s lips parted, his voice shaking as tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t ask for this,” he murmured, his words laced with desperation. “I didn’t ask for you.”

Mark’s resolve crumbled, his walls collapsing under the weight of Donghyuck’s certainty. He wanted to fight it, to cling to the life he had built, but he couldn’t deny the truth any longer.

Donghyuck’s gaze held him captive, unflinching and steady. “You’re mine,” he said, a finality in his tone that left no room for doubt.

And for the first time, Mark didn’t fight it. He let the words wash over him, seeping into the deepest corners of his being. He closed his eyes, his tears spilling freely, and allowed himself to break.