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spacebabesuki · 8 months ago

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I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - Hellcheer

Eddie Munson|Chrissy Cunningham|Hellcheer Week 2024|Devil & Touch Starved - Day 6 @hellcheerweek

oneshot, songfic, word count: 3k

Summary: Christine Cunningham, a young and innocent nun at Hawkins Convent, is cherished for her purity—so holy that they even call her the new Virgin Mary. However, her faith is challenged when a delinquent named Eddie Munson—described by the priest as the very reincarnation of the devil—appears. “Oh, sweet angel, you think you’ll never sin, don't you? You just haven’t met me yet.”

Christine Cunningham, a young and innocent nun at Hawkins Convent, had taken her vows at eighteen, beloved by priests and admired for her purity—the sweet girl was so holy that they even called her the new Virgin Mary.

Her gentle nature was said to be so strong that even the devil himself could not tempt her from the path of holiness. Well, the problem was they just hadn’t counted on the fact that the devil had arrived.

No prison in Hawkins could hold him. So, they had sent him to the convent, hoping the word of God would redeem him and save him. They believed the devil was inside him.

His name? Eddie Munson...

When the priest attempted an exorcism, even he, the most respected priest in Indiana, gave up. Eddie Munson, with a devilish smile on his cold face, had laughed throughout the entire ordeal. His icy eyes and dark demeanor had suggested a future more sinister than any criminal's.

The city had been right when they labeled him a criminal: the devil himself incarnate.

Only Christine could save him.

For weeks, she had tried, but without success. He remained cold, evil, and malicious—capable of provoking even the calmest of nuns to anger. And anger is a sin. Despite her best efforts to remain on God's path, this man was leading her astray. With each passing day, the holiest nun in the world was beginning to falter.

The smoke clouds billowed from his mouth like a freight train cutting through a small town. He smoked, exhaling clouds of smoke through his parted lips. Dressed all in black, with a leather jacket, bracelets, and silver rings on each of his long fingers, he stared at her while holding the cigarette inside the church.

If sin were a person, it would definitely be him.

They had both been seated in the church confessional, doing this every day. She knelt, praying for him, while he sat back, his long legs spread out in black pants, and Eddie laughed quietly. She tried to focus, but she couldn’t. He kept watching her through the small opening in the confessional, grinning and blowing smoke just to make her pretty blonde hair, hidden by a black veil, flutter.

And she confessed that it was not the first time her eyes had lost focus as she looked at his belt, his long legs spread open... and then she blushed, closed her eyes, and prayed even more fervently.

In the beginning, she had thought she should only pray for him.

But God help her, because now she was praying for herself too.

He was obsessed with watching her, driving her to the edge, provoking her with his gaze and his words. She was his little amusement park in that fucking convent. And she, despite her angelic face, was like a piece of forbidden sin to him—he couldn’t take his eyes off her—the sweet, adorable nun.

The jokes he told from across the room were revolting and far too loud. And with each day he spent there, trying for salvation, people shook their heads, whispering "God help her," when she told them she was going to save him.

With a smirk, he taunted her, “But your good Lord doesn’t even need to lift a finger.”

The priest, concerned for the poor, sweet girl, advised her to give up, saying, “Sometimes, God’s plan isn’t for everyone.”

But she believed in the salvation of Eddie Munson’s tormented soul.

“I can fix him. No, really, I can,” she insisted. “And only I can.”

She was convinced this had been the hardest mission God could give her, and she accepted it with open arms, believing that He never gave burdens too heavy to bear.

She believed saving him, Eddie Munson, was her mission.

Dopamine surged through his brain every time he saw her in her nun’s habit, clutching her rosary.

“What a waste,” Eddie said, grinning. “A sweet thing like you, belonging to no one. If you could, you’d be mine.” He blew smoke into her face, pressing the cigarette back between his lips while she was still on her knees praying for him in the confessional. “If you ever give up this whole God thing, call me,” he winked, his lips making that teasing sound.

Every time she tried to focus on her prayers, her eyes drifted to his hands. Kneeling before God, praying for his soul, his intimidating presence loomed over her, moving back and forth as if her prayers meant nothing.

And now, every time she prayed, she remembered that one day Eddie approached her. She felt it—her eyes squeezed shut in fear, trembling. When she opened them, she found his heavy boots right in front of her. Kneeling before Eddie Munson, she swallowed hard and felt his touch—the touch of a man for the first time in her life. It was so... No! She forced herself to return to her prayers. But as she prayed, she felt the tip of his finger—a rough, calloused digit—gently tracing hearts on her rosy cheek.

So close, too close; he distracted her from her mission. She blushed, and he noticed, towering over her, always dressed in black, with tattoos of demons crawling up his skin.

That day, she learned there had been only one thing her religious mind couldn’t control with prayer in the world—the effects on her body.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he smiled, tilting her chin up with his finger and forcing her to look at him. She felt something stir in her heart and in her legs, keeping her awake at night since he arrived.

People always said that when the devil is near, you feel it, and he seduces you. She felt like she was sinning, her body betraying her mind.

He was magnetic, but she reminded herself: Lucifer was too.

Then, in a moment of panic, she stood up, abandoning her rosary mid-prayer for the first time in her life. She slammed the door and fled from him, rushing into her room. Concerned about the sin in her heart and the heat in her legs, she leaned against the door, breathing deeply—desperate and sweating—trying to rid her mind of impure thoughts.

She had avoided looking at him for days since it happened, and she hadn’t slept for nights. Yet, she still hadn’t given up on him; she was going to save his soul and then purify her own.

Every day, she saw him with his boots resting on the church pews, and he’d wink every time she passed by.

Now, she was here praying for him again in the confessional, trying to make the heat knot in her stomach disappear as she whispered prayers while holding her rosary.

(...)

Every day had been the same: from 9 to 10 AM, she prayed in the confessional, and in the afternoon, she prayed in his room. He admitted he had become obsessed with her, feeling anxious from 3 to 5 PM, eagerly awaiting the hour of prayer.

Fascinated by her innocence, he was determined to unravel the sweet nun. He could see it from a mile away—a perfect case for his unique skill set: sin. She wore a halo of the highest grade, and he wanted to take it from her.

And today, once again, it was time for prayer. He was lying on the bed, reading, when he glanced at the clock marking 3 PM. A second later, he heard the door open. She entered, head bowed, so beautiful it was almost a sin.

Eddie lifted an eyebrow; today, she wasn’t dressed in her long nun's habit that covered everything. Instead, she wore a white nightgown he had never seen before. She had asked the priest for permission to rest, feeling sick all day, but she wouldn’t give up—she had come to pray for him again.

In his mind, he even believed she had put on the white nightgown on purpose for him. She wanted to sin, but something held her back. He could see her stealing glances at him; he wasn’t stupid.

But this poor angel just needed a little help to sin.

The white nightgown clung to her form, revealing the curves of her body more than her usual garments. He caught sight of the crucifix hanging between her breasts—a sight that felt sinful. It looked so soft, so perfect, that it seemed a crime for someone built like her to be untouched.

“Hello there, pretty thing,” he chuckled, leaning back with his hands behind his head and his boots resting on the bed. “I missed you, sweetheart. I counted the minutes until I could see you again.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze still downcast. She wasn’t afraid of him; she was afraid of the sin. His voice was like honey—flirting, like a sin.

"You are a sinner; don't talk to me."

“Oh, sweet angel, you think you’ll never sin, don't you?” he taunted. “You just haven’t met me yet.”

She knelt at the foot of the bed, beginning her prayers, but soon lost her focus as he drew closer.

Then she heard his rough voice whisper, as if the devil were sitting on her shoulder. But he was standing next to her.

“Good girl, that’s right, come close,” he said, his tone sultry. “I’ll show you heaven if you’ll be my angel—all mine.”

He got off the bed and approached her. She faltered in her prayer, squeezing her eyes shut as sinful thoughts invaded her mind—thoughts of kneeling for him for a different reason.

She felt something new between her thighs at the sound of his voice, his words. It was wet, hot, burning—a longing that made her want to press her legs together. It felt like an emptiness yearning to be filled by the thing inside his belt.

No, this was sin. The worst kind of sin. Nothing had ever sparked these kinds of thoughts in her before. It was him—the devil.

Startled by the notion, she prayed to God for protection, gripping her rosary tighter and pleading for the devil not to take her.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

He was getting closer, and she began praying faster, her heart racing. She could feel his scent enveloping her, intoxicating and overwhelming.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

“God, help me,” she whispered, desperation creeping into her voice. Each breath she took seemed to pull her deeper into temptation, her senses betraying her as she fought to remain focused on her prayers.

Now, he was getting closer, closer, and she could hear his footsteps echoing in the small space. She didn’t want to open her eyes, desperate to resist the temptation that called to her like an angel’s song for paradise, but in this case, it was a hellish melody.

With each step, her heart raced faster, torn between her prayers and the longing that stirred deep within her.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Closer... His hand hovered near her, and she remembered the day he had touched her chin—his fingers so warm, sending shivers down her spine. He was so tall, looming over her, and when he looked at her, it felt as if he could see straight into her soul.

Both of them jumped when they noticed the priest watching from the window, witnessing everything. He stormed in, pulling Munson away and accusing him of being the devil who was corrupting his nun, purer than the Virgin Mary.

Christine gasped, taking deep breaths as the priest intervened, the divine presence preventing her from sinning. Yet her thoughts continued to betray her, and she couldn't comprehend where those dark ideas had come from.

It’s him. The devil.

Still, she kept praying not to succumb to temptation, even as the priest expressed his worries. “Trust me,” she replied firmly, “I can handle a dangerous man. No, really, I can.”

She left the room and knelt in the church, praying, “And lead us not into temptation.” She trembled, struggling to resist his gaze and to forget the thoughts that had invaded her mind earlier: his hands, his rough voice, the belt, his legs, his scent, his dark eyes, his tattoos, his hair. “Lord, help me,” she prayed. “Please, help me.”

As she prayed, she could hear what the priest was doing to him in the next room—the whip cracking against his back. With each strike, Eddie bled and laughed, the twisted enjoyment echoing through the walls. He was the devil himself, laughing even while being punished.

She listened intently for when it would stop. Finally, the priest emerged, leaving him alone, wounded and bloodied in the small prison bedroom where he slept.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

Her heart raced with compassion. Convincing herself it was an act of goodwill, she stood up and walked back to him. With each step toward his room, she prayed.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

She entered to find him leaning against the bed, his strong back streaked with red. In her hands, she held a basin of warm water and a cloth to tend to the wounds the priest had inflicted on him. Only a candle flickered and the crucifix hung on the wall.

Now, alone together in the room—like a prison containing only her and Eddie—the devil—she sat next to him on the bed and began to clean his wounds slowly and gently. He was too quiet, and she hoped that in his soft silence, she might finally save him. But, like the devil he was, he played a trick to lower her guard.

As the saying goes, devils love to corrupt angels.

As her soft, angelic hands glided over his bare back, he smiled without her seeing—a devilish smile—because he noticed she was here taking care of him without the priest knowing. And if she's here and came back, and isn’t scared of what almost happened before the priest entered, it’s because she’s nearly surrendering to sin.

She looked at the crucifix, praying softly as she cleaned the wounds on his strong back. His skin, his tall and muscular form, was so… enticing. She watched her own gentle hands tending to him while he leaned forward, wearing only jeans, quiet and vulnerable in her grasp. He had never been this soft and silent before.

As she cleaned his strong, broad back, her hands trembled with each brush against his skin. She had never been this close to a man before, and with every passing second, her heart raced.

But even she could no longer trust herself. Only God could save her. Yet perhaps God had abandoned her, leaving her alone with the devil.

She prayed,

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

He turned to look at her, gently taking her soft hand and making her stop cleaning his back. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The more she felt her heartbeat quicken, the more her resolve weakened. Only then did she realize they were sitting together on the bed.

Her eyes betrayed her; she lowered her head and looked at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt; his strong chest radiated heat. His tattoos and well-defined abdomen drew her gaze, and she could see the trail of soft hair leading down to where his belt concealed what she dared not imagine.

“Why do you keep fighting this?” he whispered, his voice low and inviting. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, and she felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and electric.

He was the devil incarnate, the only one who could stir forbidden desires within her. Like Lucifer himself, assembling his legion, she felt herself caught in the gravitational pull of his allure. She was the first to be drawn in, the first to feel the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to him.

As he leaned closer, his breath brushing against her skin, she could feel the weight of her resolve crumbling. “Join me,” he murmured, his eyes dark with promise.

Every word was a spell, wrapping around her heart and mind, tempting her to relinquish her innocence and step into the shadows.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

The cloth she had been using to clean him slipped from her fingers, and, succumbing to temptation, she let her soft, trembling fingers brush against his bare chest, feeling the skin of a man for the first time.

Oh no, this is wrong.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

This is...

And lead us not into temptation... but... oh... the... oh... devil...

Oh, poor girl, she failed her mission. She sinned.

Even God couldn’t save her when he pressed her against the wall, and they moaned into each other’s mouths. The rosary slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. His hands slid beneath her nun’s veil, revealing her long, beautiful hair, as he tugged at the fabric of her white gown. She felt the strong, masculine body of a man rubbing against her for the first time.

She gasped into his mouth, fully surrendering, as his hands moved up her waist, lifting the sacred garment she had once believed untouchable. His hands roamed her body, reaching places she had vowed would never be touched.

He pressed her against the wall with such desire that the crucifix fell to the ground—a clear sign that she was now entirely in the hands of the devil.

She could not resist the devil.

"I can fix him—no, really, I can,

— Or maybe I can’t."

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