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TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL, SEXUAL HARASSMENT

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“I was afraid you wouldn’t like me if I was a man.”

“…”

“I… I can’t give you a family. I was terrified of being rejected, of being separated from you forever. As annoying as you can be sometimes… I enjoyed being with you.”

Saying it out loud brought an unexpected calm.

Gritting my teeth against the painful throb in my left hand, I slowly raised it.

Perhaps my sincerity was reaching Jerome’s true self, as he didn’t stop me this time, only staring silently.

“I have to try now.”

With effort, I placed my left hand over his heart, taking a deep breath.

The instant I spoke the incantation, a bright light seeped through the gaps between my fingers.

It was proof that my soul was merging with his.

My hair clung to my tear-streaked face as I looked straight at Jerome.

“Jerome, I’ll give you my soul.”

“…”

“So, you…”

Just as I was about to say, come back to me, an icy chill ran up my hand from where it touched his chest.

It must have been Jerome’s soul—an intense cold that pierced to the core, unlike anything I’d ever felt.

‘So cold. So lonely.’

My body trembled at the unfamiliar, eerie sensation.

Fear crept over me, and I instinctively tried to pull back, but Jerome’s lips pressed into mine, his tongue slipping in.

Amid the kiss, I sensed his heartbeat gradually calming.

The light between my fingers faded as the new holy incantation safely integrated into his body.

Jerome, embracing me tightly, buried his face in my chest.

I quietly watched as he slowly returned to his original self.

“It’s strange. I spent so many nights thinking of that person…”

His broad, shadowed back heaved as he breathed heavily, his body and spirit worn out.

I mustered the last of my strength to complete the ritual, pressing my soul into his heart.

Like a man emerging from the depths of the sea, Jerome drew a deep breath, whispering in a low voice.

“I’ll always need more of them.”

As the tone and content you’ve shared are quite intense and delve deeply into intimate and personal dynamics, I’ll work to retain the original emotional nuances while ensuring the narrative preserves the intricacy of the relationships and thoughts being portrayed.

I froze, pausing at the shift in Jerome’s tone—a subtle difference from how he spoke when he talked to me.

Maybe it was the lingering fever, or perhaps I hadn’t fully come back to my senses.

Regardless, it seemed Jerome didn’t recognize me.

After his one-sided confession, Jerome entwined his fingers with mine on my left hand and added quietly,

“That person… isn’t enough.”

“……”

“Sometimes it’s… overwhelming.”

Our eyes met as the pain that had been throbbing at my wrist vanished.

I wasn’t certain what this feeling stirring inside me was, but one thing was clear—I held back the affectionate words tickling at the back of my throat.

‘No, I can’t say it. Because everything I hold dear…’

Something, maybe sweat or tears, traced down my cheek. Jerome watched me silently, then pressed his lips to mine again.

The coldness that sent shivers through me mixed with my warmth, creating a tepid temperature—neither scalding nor freezing.

I wrapped my arms around Jerome’s back, which was trembling faintly, much like I was, in the darkness.

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In a feverish daze, Jerome thought that maybe this place was his dream.

Even as he shared a kiss with Jeanne in this imagined realm, an insatiable hunger simmered within him, hotly radiating from around his heart, fogging his mind.

‘Is this how frustration manifests?’

In truth, it wasn’t an unusual dream. Jeanne often appeared in his dreams, especially the kinds that were charged with tension.

Jerome had all but abandoned even the common act of satisfying himself; it felt meaningless if it wasn’t with Jeanne.

He knew Jeanne would no doubt find such a notion repulsive if he ever found out, but for Jerome, it was a vow—a form of deep, personal satisfaction.

On nights when his restrained desires surged to an extreme, Jeanne unfailingly appeared in his dreams.

Yet, unlike those dreams where Jeanne would simply watch with a passive expression, this one felt almost real.

Jeanne held him close, even parted his lips willingly, allowing Jerome’s tongue to taste him fully.

He took in every detail of Jeanne’s vulnerable expression, saliva glistening as his closed eyes trembled.

‘My dear spouse is still clumsy at kissing, even in dreams.’

Jeanne was intelligent and sharp in every way but seemed to falter when it came to physical intimacy, a trait Jerome rather liked—it meant that no one else had taught Jeanne the pleasures of the body.

Otherwise, Jerome knew he’d have killed that person in secret, driven nails into their urethra, and fed their remains to pigs.

Thankfully, after relentless investigation, Jerome found no sign of a former lover Jeanne had once loved deeply, leaving him relieved—and intrigued.

He began to wonder how he could make Jeanne beg him for this closeness.

As their lips parted with a soft, lingering sound, Jeanne’s flushed tongue slipped out, panting softly.

The faint stimulus was enough to harden Jerome, whose usually calm arousal spiked at Jeanne’s touch.

Jeanne flinched as Jerome’s fingers gently caressed his bruised knee.

Jerome murmured in a soft, almost playful tone,

“To appear in my dreams, you should’ve been prepared for this.”

Jeanne’s eyes widened at Jerome’s words.

Jerome grasped Jeanne’s hips, pulling him down in one swift motion, letting Jeanne’s disheveled hair splay across the bed.

He hooked his arms beneath Jeanne’s knees, pressing his face against Jeanne’s warmth.

Jeanne bolted up, his voice laced with disbelief.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’ll hurt if we’re not thorough. Don’t worry. Chloe was born through this very… entrance.”

“Stop, just—stop talking, you’re insane!”

Even as Jeanne stammered in shock, Jerome didn’t relent, brushing his tongue over the heated flesh.

Jeanne shivered at the unfamiliar sensation, unable to twist away or close his legs, restrained firmly by Jerome’s arms.

The sensation of Jerome’s tongue pressing against him—while ignoring Jeanne’s desperate need—sent tremors through Jeanne’s body.

His hand shot to grab Jerome’s hair, a plea on his lips.

“Stop… I’m not a woman. I can’t… like this.”

Jerome, possibly lost to his own dream-like haze, continued without a word, his smile softening as he observed Jeanne’s trembling, sensitive reaction.

He whispered slyly, “Darling.”

“……”

“If you keep squeezing me like this, you’re going to break my fingers.”

Jeanne’s flushed ears grew even redder as he stared, half dazed.

Jerome withdrew his fingers from Jeanne’s flushed skin, laying his hand gently across Jeanne’s abdomen.

Measuring the length from navel to his entrance, Jerome smirked at the clear difference, knowing Jeanne’s small frame was fragile.

Pressing too far might push his organs upward—a challenging thought indeed.

Watching Jeanne’s overwhelmed expression, tears slipping down his nose and cheeks, Jerome felt a strange ache—a desire to either make Jeanne cry endlessly or ensure he never sheds a single tear again.

Jerome, a man of strict tastes and rituals, found himself conflicted, both wanting to push Jeanne and restrain him.

For Jerome, his quirks were his foundation, guiding him through even the harshest of times, but…

‘Jeanne… Jeanne was something altogether different.’

Jerome, who had been kissing Jeanne’s shoulder, soon rested one arm on his knee.

As he lifted one leg behind him, Jeanne gasped softly.

A heavy pressure pressed against him, creating a tightness that felt overwhelming despite his fingers having been untied.

Jeanne squirmed and whimpered, struggling against the unbearable size.

“Ugh…”

Droplets of saliva dripped from Jeanne’s open mouth.

It felt as if he had briefly lost consciousness.

The violent pressure was so intense that he couldn’t muster any resistance.

With his hand gripping Jeanne’s chest tightly, Jerome let out a sigh and spoke.

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