#nun!reader

[tojisun]

military man simon ghost riley x nun!reader

!! it’s all in his head :(( // prev

the first time simon dreamt about taking you—there, by the confession booth; somewhere hidden from prying eyes, somewhere he knows you would forgive him—he turned to ignoring you. he stopped visiting the chapel, stopped coming with johnny every wednesdays. he stopped coming to the local town completely, choosing to spend his vacation at the base instead, somewhere far, far from you.

his shame ate him up, consuming him one fibre at a time.

it was not that simon felt guilty for thinking about you that way—mewling for his touch, breathy in your own right, blinking your eyes up at him as you whisper his name in a voice so reverent, he forgets who it is that you truly worship—and he knows that was the problem. he held no guilt for his thoughts, for his sin, because simon wants nothing more than to fulfill his dreams.

he imagined it, you know? while dousing himself with the hard sprays of the cold shower, simon fisted at his throbbing cock and pumped his fist as he chased after the woman in his dreams, the one he knows that couldn’t be you even if she possessed your body or borrowed your voice. the one he knows was just a twisted manifestation of his fascination for you because simon knows you will never fall for temptation this way. especially not for him. especially not with him.

simon folded his body into himself, his head pressed against the cold tiles, grunting and moaning, too far gone with his desire until his pleasure tips over, spilling, his orgasm racking his body with tremors.

simon savours the silence of the yowling lust that was licking up from the pit of his stomach, feeling himself twitching with a sort of euphoric buzz, before washing away the remnants of his shame.

the next day, he filed for a mission across the continent and simon did not come back home for eight months.

he foolishly thought that this would have been enough to chase away the pooling storm of his yearning, but when simon returned. when simon visited the little chapel with johnny, and when he saw you once again, simon realized, with a heavy heart, that no amount of distance or time crawling by could make him forget how to love you.

that night, simon dreamt about you again. he dreamt about taking you—slow despite the ravenous hunger that ensnared him, and loving despite the blasphemy.

and when he woke up, simon basked in the glow of his euphoria, his palm ghosting over his chub. when he finally slipped his hand underneath his boxers, simon closed his eyes and murmured your name as he lost himself in the throes of his pleasure.

-

next

[elfven-blog]

Stained in Glass

Summary: The kind priest has taught you a new way to worship. Priest!Leon x Nun!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, age gap, p in v, dubcon, manipulation, fingering, tied up reader, use of authority for manipulation, corruption kink, RELIGIOUS THEMES THROUGHOUT Word count: 1.4K

When you arrived at this church, as a newly vowed nun, it would be an understatement to say you were nervous. The trembling in your hands hadn’t stopped for days, and you had trouble speaking to the sisters of your new home. All that until some sisters of your own age took you into their embrace, and you grew to love the community. Even more so when the priest of the parish seemed to take you under his wing, the older man often gave you advice on both your life and your journey with God.

The other nuns had told you this was a regular thing to happen, that the kind priest would help the newer nuns become more relaxed in the unfamiliar environment. And it did help to have someone not from the area to talk to, someone who had been through what you had to. Especially when it was Father Kennedy, and those pretty blue eyes of his. Especially when it was Father Kennedy, and those hands that seemed to explore every inch of you as he helped you pray properly.

Which is exactly what he was helping you with right now in one of your private sessions. You were both knelt on the floor, his hands having guided you to spread your knees and your hands tied in the correct position “If they’re tied you resist the temptation to move them” his deep timber had whispered into your ear and the end had been tied above you, helping keep your hands up. Those same hands you’d been watching all day while he gave sermons were now resting on your waist.

The blonde leant closer to you, and you swear you could feel his warmth and muscles through your habit. And his hands moved lower, slowly pushing the fabric up until it was over your hips. All in the name of God, he declared. And while you knew none of this was in the teachings, surely a man of God would not show you wrong…after all, how could something that felt so good be a sin.

The warmth of his breath ghosted against your neck as his hands pushed your panties down your trembling thighs, tongue licking at the skin as fingers ghosted over your clit “You’re doing so well, my angel” the word used to feel wrong when he called you that, but now you knew it to be true. You were his heavenly angel, and he your God. Your hands tugged on the rope as he shushed you, his other hand holding you to him by wrapping around your neck.

The divine feeling he gave, was like no other. Nothing could be sweeter than how he helped you worship, and his hands dipped lower until it could gently push into your already dripping cunt. Your almost silent gasps like honey to his ears as he drew more and more from you, almost addicted to the sound. His mouth latched onto your skin, never hard enough to break for no bruises should be in case the other sisters ‘tried to stop your perfect worship’.

Hot tongue lapping at your neck until it was soaked with his drool, his fingers pushing into your clenching hole until your legs shake and the rope has to hold you weight. Leon squeezes at your neck in a way that has you seeing stars and whimpering, the noises only driving him on further as he takes you apart in his private chapel. The colours of the stained glass cast a darker shadow in the night, but it still lets you see the way his eyes darken, the blue swallowed by his pupils. Eyes never leaving the way his fingers disappear into your warmth.

You had spent many nights agonising over thoughts you had believed to be in line with the evil in this world, but thanks to the Father those thoughts had been put to rest. His guidance in moments like this offered peace to your thoughts, and when he showed you what real worship was, the thoughts were gone entirely. After all, his words eased your mind and allowed you to know the truth that these things were no sins.

Your back arched and a moan slipped from your mouth as he added another finger, eyes and mind clouding as he brought you to the brink of pleasure. The tongue on your neck licking up to your ear as he applied that slightly more pressure to your neck. Teeth tugging at your lobe while you whined and tried to beg for more. But you had no need to beg anything of your kind priest, he would happily give anything to his angel.

As he gave in so easily, your slick coating his fingers until your gushing, body slacking against the rope completely and his hand around your throat loosens as he helps you ride your orgasm. Leon does not give you a chance to rest before he is pulling his cock from its confines, the fat tip nudges your clit as his hips rutting at a quickened pace as he chases his own release.

You press your trembling thighs together, and the blondes head falls onto your shoulder in a way where you can feel the quick hot breaths on your neck as he pants. He groans in that low voice he uses for his sermons, the one that has you wet on Sundays and falling apart on his tongue on Mondays.

“That’s it pretty girl, keep ‘em right there for me” and you held them together as close as you could, the soft pillow of your thighs almost causing Leon to lose control as his hand moved to clutch at your hips, nails digging into the skin in a way that would leave bruises in the morning. The self-control he had to have in order to not bend you right there and take what he really wanted. But for that you weren’t ready, still believing in some of your teachings. But no worries, he would have you soon.

For now, the soft friction of your thighs and the slick coating his cock would be enough, especially as your whines pitched up from the oversensitivity of the head continuously nudging the abused clit as you struggled to stay composed. His mouth attached onto your neck again as his hands moved to pinch at your nipples. The buds hardening as his hips stuttered from the sudden squeeze of your thighs, his moans stifled by your skin.

The man was in pure bliss, and if this is how it felt to be nestled between your legs while you let him ravage you…then your sweet pussy must be heaven. You cried out loudly as he tugged your nipples harder, his focus more on his own pleasure than on yours. Your whines and whimpers only driving him further as the head of his cock caught on your dripping hole, and you bit back a pained whimper. Leon lost in the pleasure did not realise as his pace did not let up, the feeling of his cock nudging at the opening had your eyes glazing over, mind turning to filth at what it would feel like.

So you did not stop him as his cock stretched your pussy open, and Leon grinned as he watched himself disappear until he was settled into your cunt. Your body twitching as you begged him to move, pleads falling on deaf ears as he watched you squirm. How he loved to watch you writhe like this until the only thing from your mouth was his name and how good it felt, how stretched you were, how full you were.

That was all it took before he moved his hips at that brutal pace “Your worship is so important” his cock hammered at your cunt, walls clamping down on him as he kicked inside you. Mouth open with saliva drooling down your chin and head back with eyes closed. Leon wondered how far he could push this, after all you’d let him fuck your cunt. “Such a good whore, letting me defile you” and the words sent warmth rushing down.

It was a matter of moments before you were gushing around his cock, and Leon swore he saw the gates of heaven as you did. The feeling of your cunt squeezing down hard onto him, as slick soaked his cock, his legs and dripped down his balls. He pulled you impossibly close as he humped at your pussy, rope after rope of hot seed filling your womb, until he was drained, and you were filled. He pulled out slowly, eyes watching the way your hole clenched around nothing, cum leaking from you and onto the tiled floor.

And if this is how you were meant to truly worship God? How could you ever say no.

[loveliestlovelygirl]

divine temptations | 222

you're such an angel, and i'm gonna hurt you

fallenangel!anakin x nun!reader | lore 🪽 | playlist

synopsis: after the meeting with the high council, anakin is imprisoned publicly to shame him. in his hatred for your guardian angels, he destroys them, causing chaos to overcome both heaven and earth.

w.c: 2.6k+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, heavy religious themes and imagery, inspiration taken from catholicism primarily, sexual themes, corruption kink, light sexualization of the reader as a nun, fem!reader & use of she/her pronouns, attempted sexual assault {mentioned}, rape {mentioned}

table of contents | 333 {coming soon}

The memories of his assault of your vessel were visceral and disturbing weeks after the event. Your neck was left bruised, and it ached for several days. Sometimes, you couldn’t sleep because every time you closed your eyes you were sent back to that moment where you were at your weakest, helpless against that tree. Almost raped. Almost.

Almost is a taunting thought

You believed that, since you hadn’t been defiled, you shouldn’t be bothered by the occurrence for long. You shouldn’t have these nightmares of being raped over and over again. You shouldn’t feel vulnerable. You would simply return to your beautiful life here at the convent, your sanctuary. A place where you never have felt unsafe or threatened in any way. You loved the women here, and they loved you.

The last time you were vulnerable like this was your past life when you were a part of the world, before you had found the monastic way of life. Never did you believe you would have to feel pain like this again.

Hatred lights the path of the fallen. But you hate that man for what he wanted to do to you. How could someone be so wicked?

And every time you thought of his face, you cried and sometimes wished for death. These were thoughts that haven’t scathed your mind since you entered the convent. But perhaps contact with that despicable man left you tainted. Maybe you needed to be cleansed and prayed over, bathed in the holy waters.

What other recourse did you have?

When you explained to your sisters why you required the service, they were more than happy to pray over you. They prepared the bath for you too. Sister Agnes remained with you the entire time to help guide your prayers. The water must have risen an inch from your tears. After the bath, Sister Agnes walked you back to your private chamber.

She broke into a sob. “Oh, my dear,” the elderly woman wiped her tears, “We shouldn’t have allowed you to go near the road alone.”

You drew her into a hug. Of course, they should have sent you with another. But all you could say to the heartbroken woman was, “Don’t worry about it. I feel much better now. Our Lord protected me.”

Sister Agnes cried harder when you said that. The new expression upon her wrinkled face was one of relief. She truly believed you. And you were happy that she would not share your pain.

You bid her goodnight and went inside your room to pray. When you wanted to feel closer to the Creator, you opened your window to let the moonlight in and knelt before your window seat, setting a pillow under your knees, a makeshift prayer bench. While it was not the proper way in which to address Him, you were not so sure He minded.

For the first few minutes, you sobbed, thanking Him for the lightning that only struck your assailant and not you. The electricity only touched your skin momentarily. It was as if there had been a barrier between you and Death. You should have both died from the lightning, but only that man did. The miraculous occurrence saved you from an even greater pain.

But the thought did little to comfort you. Why you? What made you so special that you deserved a supernatural rescue and so many others didn’t? The thing that should have brought you to your knees in gratitude and praise of your savior made you... question everything, including how heavenly justice worked?

Although, the whole incident could have been some cosmic joke.

And despite spending the whole day in prayer with your sisters, you felt the same. You were still terrified about what happened. So much so that sleep was an impossible feat. During all your time at the convent prior to the horrific event, you embraced solitude and found contentment. But this night, you wouldn’t have hated companionship, someone to hold you tight and tell you that you were safe here.

“You can’t say that, Anakin! Do you understand the gravity of this situation? Do you?” Obi-Wan had never shown his anger so outwardly before. Anger marked his brow, his furious stare, his clenched jaw, and his haunting tone.

Anakin could sense his fear, despite the rage his friend used to hide it. They both understood that what Anakin had done was enough to have him sent to hell for all eternity. Their father was not so lenient of the angelic hosts as he was of humans. The humans were free to sin, and forgiveness was offered to them at every turn. And yet somehow, they still missed the chance to ascend to the heavenly realms. Most chose to trade their vaporous lives for eternity. And the Creator allowed it because of free will.

“But it’s true, Obi-Wan. There’s nothing you can do,” Anakin said emotionlessly. The chains of light were clamped tightly round his ankles, keeping him grounded. Nothing can break them except for the Creator’s Will.

He was chained to the platform right outside the chambers of the High Council, like he was an animal on display. And to the rest of the heavenly host, Anakin was a creature of anomaly. Seraphim were respected for their unbreakable devotion to Him above all else, yet Anakin wished for nothing more than to leave his place of honor. He wanted to be able to visit the Earth realms. He wanted to seduce you.

“I will try to change his mind,” Obi-Wan said to him with all hope. “He is more understanding than you give him credit for.”

With that, Obi-Wan disappeared. His wings were so quick that he moved almost at light’s speed. And Anakin was alone again in his humiliation. But he didn’t mind because now he could give you all his attention. He watched you as he always did. But this time he was not pleased by what he saw.

Never had he seen you so unhappy. He’d never witnessed you cry for anything but joy. The visions you saw in your sleep. You believed they were nightmares, but he saw the demons torturing your mind as clearly as he could see you below. Your good-for-nothing guardians were evidently too busy to cast them away. Anakin would do that for you, but he was in a bad place as it was. Interfering with your life again wouldn’t be prudent. If the Creator did not eliminate him, Obi-Wan certainly would. So, this time, he did as he should, and he merely observed from a distance, watching you cry your eyes out and writhe in pain only felt by your spirit.

The more he watched the heavier his own spirit weighed. If your guardians had served you faithfully, then you wouldn’t be left understandably traumatized from the event. It was almost too hard for him to watch you this way. But he couldn’t leave you alone like this. Even if you didn’t know he was there. He couldn’t let you out of his sight.

And as your pain grew deeper, so did his hate for those who failed in their calling to protect you. Unlike the other angels, Anakin struggled to contain his hate. No one who harmed you was free of his wrath. Certainly not your guardian angels.

The heavens erupted into chaos. Anakin had lost himself to his own wrath. He couldn’t hold it in anymore. He had been punished for saving you from being violated, and those who failed in their duty to protect you were left completely unscathed. And for someone who already, secretly despised the entire heavenly host and whose hatred was like a forgotten thorn in one’s side festering for ages, obliterating your five guardians in one hailstorm of fiery rage was as simple as taking a breath for him.

Instantly, he was reprimanded by the Creator directly. In a single moment, ejected from the heavenly realms, banished to dwell upon Earth until the end of time. Hell, where he would now spend eternity, was his final destination. The mercy of the Creator saved him from being sent there first. Earth was to be his Sheol, a temporary hell.

But did they forget that his interests lie only with you. Did they fail to notice that this might be what he wanted all along? Even if he only had until the end of time with you, he knew that it would be worth it. Though you were unaware at this time, nothing would keep him from you. The laws of heaven no longer applied to him. He was free to torment the earthly beings, though that wasn’t nearly as alluring as possessing you.

 Banished from Heaven and sent to Earth, he lost his heavenly title, and his name was written among the fallen. He kept his beauty in full, but now as an angel of light. And despite having wanted this to happen, being reprimanded so heavily over what he saw as the right thing to do irked him. And the pain that he felt you living through as a result of your guardians’ inadequacy ignited his fury in ways devastating to the Earth. 

His rage awoke nature’s spirits. Thunder, Lightning, Rain, and Hail terrorized the inland villages. He disrupted the seas, wreaking havoc on coastal cities, leaving them destroyed in his wake. And nothing was put in place to stop him.

The voices of the High Council rang in his ears as they pleaded with him to end his madness. But Anakin was drunk on power, the lack of restraint he now possessed, for the fallen were given domain over the Earth for a time of unknown length. He didn’t believe in redemption. His thought was why not enjoy it here. The earthly realms were to be his last Heaven.

For weeks, the destruction by Anakin’s fury continued.

Obi-Wan was sent to stop and contain him. But Obi-Wan believed, perhaps foolishly, that Anakin’s heart could be changed.

The cherub appeared before him, glory to glory, withholding nothing. And yet the majesty of the fallen one was still unmatched.

“You know why I am here,” Obi-Wan announced, wielding his fiery blade, directing its point to the enemy.

Anakin could not cower in the presence of the threatening blade. That was beneath him. “Do I?”

“Given more time, Earth and its surrounding realms will be destroyed. This lust for power has consumed you.”

He was not blind to his own faults. But under his own authority, he could do as he pleased. Destroying this realm would be good. Nothing good has come from mankind. Not in his eyes. From his view, he could see the suffering humans enacted upon each other and upon the Earth, the very thing which provides them life. The only good in this world was you. And he had plans to sweep you away. Far away.

“The one that you love. You’re going to kill her. She will hate you.”

Anakin gave him a biting glare. If Obi-Wan knew... then that meant so did He. And the rest of Heaven. “I’d never hurt her. I can see her now. She’s sleeping. She doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“What do you think will happen when you destroy her life? Everything and everyone she cares for? You don’t think that would hurt her?”

“Obi-Wan, you have no idea! Did you see what happened to her? What almost happened? I live through her pain. I want to save her from evil. Can you not understand?”

The cherub refused to back down. His blade was still held high. “This is not up for debate. I have been sent to put an end to your insanity one way or another.”

Anakin smiled wickedly. “Oh... by killing me?”

“That depends on you, my friend.”

Anakin did not understand.

“Our Father wishes to offer you a deal. He has changed his mind on your punishment. But...” Obi-Wan sighed and shook his head, “only if you put an end to your anger now. It is not the Creator’s Will for the Earth to be done away with yet.”

In order to declare his interest, Anakin immediately paused his merciless pillaging of the surface. “I am listening.”

In return, Obi-Wan sheathed his blade of fire. “He knows how strongly you care for this human.” His voice was coated with disgust for the lesser being. “He knows exactly what she means to you and what you’re willing to give up for her. In his divine grace, He is willing to make an exchange with you. Give up your dominion over this realm, and he’ll allow you to be her guardian, though not an angel. But your eternal status, depends on how well you serve her.”

This offer was... merciful.

Beyond what Anakin knew he deserved. Not only was he being offered a chance for redemption, but he was being offered the one thing he craved most in the entire universe. As your guardian, he would have unbridled access to you and your beautiful mind. At his discretion, he could even appear to you, making his existence known to you.

Being known by you...

The thought of that was more than even he could process in all of his great understanding.

He was used to being veiled from you completely. Contact had been forbidden. But with this offer, you would be in his grasp. He could travel between dimensions and allow his glory to be witnessed by your perfect gaze. Anakin could not stop his curiosity at what it might feel like to be seen by you. Would he prefer it? Or would he dislike the contact? His intuition whispered that he would like it very much and that he might even find it addicting.

How could he say no?

“I... accept.”

Obi-Wan did seem surprised in the slightest. “I see. I will inform Him of your decision. You will feel weakened very soon. I understand that... you wanted this. But I don’t understand why. You-you, Anakin, held the position of the highest honor. Why would—”

“I never wanted any of it. I wanted to be free to pursue my singular interest.”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I would be cautious in your new role, Anakin. More than ever before. Because this is a test. Did you believe that you were truly going to get everything you wanted without a cost? If you serve her faithfully all her life, an eternity with us is yours. But the temptations you will face as her guardian, I’m not sure you can handle it.”

“What?” Anakin spat. “Protecting a human is practically a mindless affair. That’s why it’s given to the lowest of all angels.”

“Realize that even that group is superior to where you stand currently,” he added humorously.

“I won’t be able to physically harm humans in this form. So, don’t worry. I won’t kill anyone.”

“That was not the temptation I was referring to.”

Anakin realized what his friend meant. So he quipped, “Lust is a human feeling.”

“Is it?”

“What do you mean, is it?” Anakin said mockingly.

“Do not be quick to assume anything. You’ve never been in the earthly realms before. It’s much different. You may find yourself desiring things that seemed unnatural to you before.” Obi-Wan turned, signaling his departure. “Remember the laws of Heaven. Despite your fallen state, if you wish for eternity in Heaven, where she will most certainly end up, you must abide by our laws.”

Eternity in Heaven with the one he craves. There was hardly a better fate in mind even if he never ascended to the honor he once claimed.

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@ejs398 @anakinsgirlfriendreal

[kaeyx]

For the kinktober event what about 6 with angel!Chuuya and demon!Dazai where dazai just tries to seduce reader like the good demon he is, and chuuya at first tries to prevent it but gets tempted instead😈🙏

Day 6: edging/denial + angel/demon!poly!skk

Warnings: smut, probably blasphemy

Another slow roll of Chuuya's hips makes you sob, legs trembling where they're spread wide on your own bed. He doesn't look much better, head bowed, eyes shining with tears, his hair a mess where it's usually perfectly soft.

Dazai is towering over Chuuya, wings spread wide and triumphant. He ignores your desperation and gives Chuuya's hips another tug, making him slide out of you and pressing the angel's ass against his bulge. Chuuya's lip trembles and one of the hands he's using to brace himself strokes your cheek. You whine, closing your eyes, another noise of desperation escaping you as Dazai drives Chuuya back in as far as he'll go, stretching you out more than you'd ever imagined was possible.

You try to reach out, to cling to the angel above you, but Dazai's thin tail holds your wrists down.

"None of that, pretty," Dazai laughs, grinding the fat tip of Chuuya's cock against your insides. "Doesn't that feel good?"

Your whine is all the answer he needs, and the way Chuuya gasps when you shudder and clench around his length. It's evident in his voice that Dazai is enjoying himself immediately, even if he isn't getting any direct action.

"Dazai, just let me..." Chuuya starts strong but trails off, not sure of what he's asking for.

"Cum?" Dazai says helpfully, though his smile is sharp and full of teeth. "You want to cum? Fill up our little servant of God? Put a nice, hot load in them and show them what feels better than worship?"

"Father forgive me," Chuuya hiccups, looking on the verge of tears.

But Dazai only kisses the back of his neck before making him move inside you again, in and out, agonizingly slow.

"You're going to have to move on your own if you want that. But I don't think you're ready yet." Dazai looks down at you, your flushed skin, your lips bitten red. You can't bring yourself to plead. What would you even ask for anyway? For less? More? He grins, slit pupils widening as he takes in your ripped habits and the way you've given up on trying to free your hands.

"I'm going to keep you both here a little longer."

Taglist: @miloofc, @gettinshiggywithit

[farfromstrange]

Carpe Noctem [PREVIEW]

Main Masterlist

PREVIEW.

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Warnings: (additional tags to be added/changed) Dead Dove Do Not Eat, religious imagery & symbolism, vampirism, Dark!Matt, blood consumption, corruption kink, SMUT (18+), pain kink, blood play, ANGST, canon typical violence, physical assault, allusions to sexual assault, hunter and prey vibes, allusions to stalking (possibly full-on), scent kink, marking, blasphemy, no happy ending

Summary: Over the past centuries, nothing could have stopped Matt Murdock from wanting, craving, everything, even what he could not have; money, power, and sex, among other more materialistic things, but nothing has him in quite a chokehold like the insatiable hunger for blood he was cursed with the night he died. Nothing could have stopped him from getting what he wants until one day in March, you enter his life.

Matt has stolen, beaten and killed without care, but corrupting a child of God is a line he dares not cross. You, a nun. It’s unthinkable. The part of him that longs for the life he was torn out of—the boy still riding the waves of Catholicism, that Matt Murdock—would rather see him impaled on a wooden stake than allow him to take your blood. Your blood, your innocence, and all that you are; the aroma of rosemary and sanctity that surrounds you is a siren’s call that draws him inevitably closer. The same walls of Clinton Church that house you would incinerate him, and he still wants you. He wants you, but he can’t have you.

Devoting yourself to the church saved you from the abyss, but it may also lead to your eternal corruption at the hands of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt Murdock. A vampire. Soon, you find yourself not only on the verge of losing your innocence to this angel of the night but your life, too, and your world drastically changes for what you realize might be worse than death itself.

(18+ MINORS DNI!)

A/n: I’m back, back, BACK again! Vampire!Matt brainrot is real, and this idea was so dark in my head and kind of ironic, really, I had to put it out there for you. I will be doing my research on Catholicism religiously (pun intended) to make this as accurate as possible, but it’s still an alternate universe and I like making up my own rules. Everything I write is my personal playground, and I invite you to join me for this steamy piece of angst. So far, this is only a concept, but I will get to writing it as soon as I can! The idea is there, and I’ve got some things planned out already. So, if you’re curious, do stick around!

AESTHETIC.

Matt.

You.

RELEASE DATE: TBD!

(If you want to be tagged to know when I release it, as always, feel free to let me know. I don’t bite. Well, only sometimes.)

[munsonology]

O Holy Night

A Biker!Eddie and Nunny short story

18+ only, MINORS DNI

CW: Fem!Reader, blasphemy, knife kink, sodomy, religious kink

Summary: Eddie visits Nunny at the convent late at night and they discuss her new attire, and some new feelings.

With her habit hoisted around her waist, Nunny watched as her lover took the blade of his switchblade up her thigh. The sensation against her stockings made her thighs quiver.

Eddie took hold of her stockings at the crotch, he cut a hole inside and pulled the fabric apart.

“These are new,” Eddie observed.

Usually his little nun wore white, cotton briefs. Tonight she was wearing a pair of high cut white panties, scalloped lace around the edge. A delicate pink rose in the waistband.

“I thought…I don’t know,” you shied away from him, closing your legs.

Eddie grips your thigh open. “Tell me. What did you think?”

You lean forward, fingers playing with the chains around his neck.

“I thought—I thought you’d like it..if I was more—I don’t know, more modern, more sexy like the girls at the bar.”

“The girls at the bar…” Eddie hums.

“So I bought all this stuff. Panties—garters—”

“Jesus Christ Nunny, you just jump into the deep end, huh?”

It’s silent between them for a moment. Eddie pushes back Nunny’s veil to reveal her hair. He can’t help but imagine what a white one would look like on her instead.

“I don’t want the girls at the bar, my little nun. The only girl I want in my bar is you.”

With a warm hold on your face, he kisses you deeply. You welcome him, your legs bringing him closer. You moan at the feel of the knife handle against your mound. It pushes past your panties and slowly creeps into your cunt.

“What would He say about your getting fucked like this? Hmm?”

You whimper as the handle kisses your g-spot. “He’d ask if I could turn cum into wine.”

The vulgarity stuns Eddie for a hot second. He laughs, bringing you along with him in a fit of giggles.

“I love you,” you tell him.

Eddie’s breathing slows. “I love you too.” He pockets his knife and rises from the bed.

Staring at the bland wall of Nunny’s convent room, he takes the crucifix down from its post.

Using his powers, he transforms the bottom piece of the cross into a smooth, rounded head. A curve at the end.

“If you want we could test it out…see if your cum is as magnificent as that little book you tote around says.”

Nunny bites her lip with anticipation. Eddie stands over her and takes hold of her neck. His thumb rubs against her throat. “What’s your safe word?”

“Bethlehem.”

Eddie pushes her back on the bed. Crawling over her, Eddie rips the rest of the habit and underclothes off her body with his sharp claws. She mews seeing the horns on his head grow from the curls.

With her legs wide, Eddie slides the crucifix inside her sopping cunt. He fucks her with it, not holding back how deep he’s inside. “Fuck,” Nunny pleads.

She could fill a pool she’s so wet. Her sheets will be soaked. That’s how it always is with him. She grabs the crucifix and with him, guides it further, her cunt squeezing the wood.

“Say a prayer for me, my little nun,” his voice is deep.

“Hail Satan.”

[youandtom2]

As Wicked As Sin (demon!Tom x nun!reader) 18+

Summary: You have spent your whole life devoting yourself to your faith and God. But it only takes one, sinful night to devote yourself to the devil. Themes: smut, like major major smut, sex in a church with a demon with a breeding kink, what else do you need to know , death, religious PTSD T/W: this is sacrilege, so if you don't like the idea of the devil offending God or Catholicism then this isn't for you. w/c: 8.3k a/n: hi, just me, your friendly horny whore here to say that i spent a lot of time on this and i am very tired. tbh I'll probs edit this again at another point. Please enjoy. Also I am not religious in the slightest but I researched as best as I could so plz don't come for me if I got anything wrong. Again, it's fiction. here for a good time not a long time :D

MASTERLIST

The church bell echoes through the hollows of the building, marking the eleventh hour as you push open the solid, wooden doors with all your might. Behind you, your tunic and your veil drags across the tiled floor, sweeping up the dust of the archaic building while you make your way into the main hall, watched over by the numerous holy statues and shrines. By habit, you look up, letting the architecture emanate its holiness and take your breath away by its sheer size. No matter how many times you enter this church, it never fails to take your breath away. 

“En el Nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Amen.” 

The day is like any other. Temporary living in a monastic community, your duty to your institute and to the Abbess comprises prayer, spiritual learning and devoting yourself to better understanding your divine vocation. You’re half way through your novitiate, and with six months to go before you are called to take your vows, you still have a lot to learn. The eleventh hour is a time for self-reflection; taking the initiative to find your soul and connect it to God without the supervision of your superiors.

Spiritually, your heart finds guidance in the Virgin Mary and your feet carry you up towards the shrine calmly, composed. The closer you get, the sooner you realise that another Sister has already taken prayer in front of her. No matter. You cannot begrudge another for taking the time to pray. Her body lies low to the ground and you can’t figure out who it is, and you don’t want to bother her, but she doesn’t seem to be conducting herself in a proper, respectful way. She’s on her knees but slumped forward, her hidden face grinding into the tiled floor and her limbs are somewhat sprawled. Something’s amiss here.

“Sister?” Her body lacks a response so you rest a cautious hand on her shoulder. “Sister, are you alright?” The second your hand touches her, her body rolls to the floor like a ragdoll, quickly revealing her face. You take one look at her before you let out an ear-piercing scream and the sound carries further than the church bell could. It’s Sister Magda. But instead of the kindly face you see near enough every day, the deathly stare of her blood-ridden eyes holds you captive. Something sinister has consumed her and her washed-out skin is stained with dark crimson blood, crying from her eyes, leaking from her nose and flowing into a river on her cowl. She’s dead, and although a terrifying sight to behold, it isn’t what scares you the most. This is surely the sadistic work of an evil force, a subject you know very little of. 

“Help! Anyone help!” You scream, your voice already wearing thin. “Please! Anyone!” 

A black cloud of nuns come hovering into the hall filtering their way through the pews, their eyes widening at the horror before them. Your superior, Sister Maria is the first to reach you and you’re already desperately pleading your case before she has the chance to investigate. The others flock around Sister Magda, whispering quiet appeals to the Lord and signing the cross over their own chests.

“I don’t know what happened! I swear, I just found her like this! She…she’s dead, Sister, I…I--”

“Breathe, child, breathe. It’s alright.” 

As you cling onto the shoulder of Sister Maria, there seems to be a silent conversation shared amongst the other Sisters, one you’re oblivious to. Their silence over such a tragedy has your heart stopping dead in your chest and it leaves you questioning why they aren’t in such a state of mourning like you are. 

The loss of Sister Madga is a hurtful one, being one of the very few Sisters that you sought comfort in when times became hard. She understood you more than anyone, coming from a strict religious family like yourself whose father used to scare her with the threat of demons and how your sins would feed them, and like with any stray animal, they would always come back for more. You were so frightened of doing anything that your father, or God, didn’t permit. The fear of demons became more of a motivator in your monastic journey than your own faith in God, and it was Sister Magda that empathised with you and guided your purpose towards the brighter light. 

Now that you suspect an evil force has claimed Sister Magda, you feel like your world has come crumbling down around you.

“Oh Lord in Heaven have mercy on us. It’s happening. Sister Maria, we have to get her out of here.” Her? You turn towards them and they’re staring at you. Oh God. They mean you.

“What’s happening?!” You cry, but no one gives you the straight answer you’re looking for.

Before anyone is allowed the chance to speak, an inexplicable rumble of rock and concrete thunders around the room, subjecting the church to a small earthquake and you blindly reach out for safety and stability. 

“It’s too late. The prophecy has already begun, she’s part of it now.”

“But she’s only a novice!” They beseech, seemingly on your behalf. You have no idea what they’re talking about. Prophecy? What prophecy? Part of what? Why is no one telling you what’s going on? 

“This demon works in the cruellest of ways. He waits for no one. We have no option, Sisters. Quickly, we must pray.” Your stomach churns as Sister Maria confirms your hypothesis with that one singular word. Demon. The bile rising in your throat stings and burns off any waiting words. With just one word, a childhood of trauma floods your mind, images of your father berating you as you confess your sins and you can’t blink them away knowing that he warned you of this. Somehow, he knew this was going to happen. Were you not good enough? Had you not vowed enough of yourself to God? Did you not spend enough time in church?

The Virgin Mary statue before you topples precariously from side to side, losing its balance as a crack snakes its way up the middle, moving of its own volition in whatever direction it pleases until, just seconds later, the pristine image of her holiness shatters to the ground. Sister Maria does her best to catch you as you slump against her, numb with the terror that paints your skin a horribly pale colour. Whatever’s coming, whoever’s coming, there isn’t anything from your six months of novitiate that can protect you from the dreaded evil force. 

Leaving Sister Magda’s body in her final resting place, the Sisters quickly scamper, coordinating themselves throughout the space of the church with faces painting no other emotion than the terror that riddles your own. Promptly, they settle themselves onto their knees, clasp their hands together and bow their heads. You see their lips moving, and although you can’t hear what they’re saying, you recognise the shape of the words of prayer as they quietly whisper to themselves with God as their witness. 

“Sister Maria, please! What’s going on?” Frustratingly, she ignores your question and grabs hold of your forearms, a desperation in her tight grip. The rumble grows in intensity, the shards of the Virgin Mary rattling at your feet. 

“You have to listen to me. No matter what happens, it is imperative you keep your eyes closed and whatever you do, do not stop praying. May God have mercy on your soul.” 

Sister Maria escapes your clutches to find a space of her own, following her own orders and all too soon, she’s praying with the same desperation. Quivering, you can’t find the power in your own body to move. Wrecked by panting breaths, you weakly turn, prop yourself up onto your knees, clasp your shaky hands together, and close your eyes with Sister Magda’s bloodied corpse being the last thing you see. When your mind clears just a little, the well-rehearsed words of prayer whisper from your lips. 

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; Thy kingdom come, thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven…”

When the cacophony reaches its loudest, a white burst of light emits within the church, bright enough to burn through your lids, and although you can’t fathom its source, you know you can’t let it distract you from praying. You can’t open your eyes. You won’t open your eyes. You don’t want to face the same fate Sister Magda did. You’re not ready to face your fears. 

Your confidence in faith is restored when the light begins to dim and the rumble reduces to a tremor. The sound of falling dust and cracking stone descends into silence until all that is left is the small, wavering whispers of the Lord's prayer. You think it’s over, you think you’ve won. The power of eight devout nuns sanctifying themselves in a holy place of worship appears to be working against this demon. But like Sister Maria warned, you cannot stop praying, no matter what happens. 

But then you feel it; a small breeze, blowing straight through your tunic to pierce your body like ice to the skin. On a hot summer’s day, a breeze as cold as this should be impossible, it’s almost arctic. As it whirls around the church, it carries a whistle, low and hollow. 

“Our Father, who art in h-heaven…” Shivers shake you as you repeat the Lord’s prayer for the second time. “Hallowed be thy name--”

“‘Thy kingdom come, thy will be done; on earth as it is in heaven’. I love that you think a few meaningless words can keep me away.” 

Two voices dance in a choreograph around the church. One has all the characteristics of a human’s; deep, smooth and carries the tone of a man, but the other that’s laced to it is darker, raspier, clipped and off-kilter, almost incomprehensible to the human ear. Two very different voices, but only one mind. One of a demon’s. 

The sudden presence of the demon’s voice silences yours, rendered completely frozen that something, or someone, has materialised directly in front of you. You can’t even begin to imagine what form he presents himself in. Your father claimed that demons take many forms, each of a different purpose; to scare, to lure, to trick, to hide, and what makes them so dangerous is that it’s impossible to tell their motive. You’ve seen and heard of so many different depictions of demons, all inconsistent to one another so there’s no telling that what stands in front of you now, has ever been seen before. And you won’t ever know. All hope is not lost if you just keep your eyes closed and don’t stop praying. 

“...And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil.” 

The sound of his sweeping tread descends down the steps of what used to be the Virgin Mary shrine and your hands clasp tighter. He’s getting closer and closer…

“My sweet Sisters, nothing can stop temptation. I, Tom, elder of the House of Holland, am temptation, I am evil, I cannot be stopped. The prophecy forbids it.” 

Whatever tactic you used to block out his voice before fails you the more he continues to speak. It easily drowns out your own, hushing out the prayer and fills it with his unholy words, as if he’s speaking from the depths of your mind and you’re forced to stop and listen. It’s tuneful, fluid, rolling like a wave and it drags you along in its tide before inevitably drowning in it.

It’s then you realise the true purpose for continual prayer, it’s not permission for God’s protection, it’s to block him out.

“Our…our Father, who a-art in heaven--” 

“Mmmm, fresh meat.” The demon’s voices, both human and demonic, rumble closely to your ear. “I bet you’ve never seen a demon before. Don’t you want to see? Don’t you want to give into temptation and open your eyes?”

“Don’t do it!” Sister Maria cries out, hysterical as she knows how little prepared you are for the danger you face. 

“You’re not real,” you whisper, in denial. “Our Father, who art in--” A warm, firm hand curls around your shoulder, your prayer interrupted by a whimper of fear. The touch to your shoulder spreads warmth around your body, subjected to a feverish sweat and a small droplet rolls down your back. Your failed attempt of prayer doesn’t reach further than the second verse when he speaks again.

“I’m very real. Open your eyes and see.” 

“No!” You’re sobbing now and praying has long gone from your priorities. All that remains is the memories of your father yelling at you to repent your sins, ordering you to confess to keep the demons away while you cry uncontrollably, much like the way you are now. “Father, I’m so sorry.”

“Ahh, I see it now. Daddy always warned you about me, didn’t he? I bet he told you that I could eat your soul unless you cleanse yourself of your sins. He had you confessing and repenting day in and day out until you were spilling your deepest darkest secrets. But what for?”

He saunters behind you, dragging a finger from your shoulder, over the nape of your neck until it finds rest on the other side. 

”I could still eat your soul should I choose to, but I’m not here to hurt you, little nun. In fact, I’m here to do the exact opposite…” 

“W-What?”

“Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to trick you! Pray, Sister, pray!” 

Blackness consumes your sight and mind; your own conscience falls silent and the words of prayer that have been ingrained in you since you were a child slowly fade. But how? You knew it like the back of your hand. You could recite it in three other languages; knowledge that was passed down from your father to safeguard you from hell, but now that you kneel in the presence of this demon, something that was part of your everyday routine has just slipped your mind. 

You feel the light traces of a finger tip tilting your chin upwards and his shadow lines your lids, giving you only a slight indication of where he stands in the room. His coercion is like an ear-worm, crawling its way into your head and infecting it with not only his own voice, but others too. ‘Open your eyes.’ It’s Sister Maria’s voice, tender and caring. ‘Open your eyes.’ Suddenly it’s Sister Magda, gone but never forgotten. Her words were always a comfort to you. ‘Open your eyes.’ An older voice reaches you. It’s your mother, speaking from beyond the grave and you almost crumble. ‘Open your eyes.’ Your younger sister, the only one rebellious enough to reject your father’s method of parenting and she became an outcast because of it. You wish you were more like her. ‘Open your eyes.’ No. Anyone but him. The strict, authoritarian voice of your father digs deeper than the ones before him and hearing his demands condition you into obeying. 

​​ ̴̯̻̙̂͆͌̐͘O̶̧̫̣͕͋͐̾͘P̴͓̭̺͎͒̊͆̀E̵̙͔̺͔̅͆͠N̶̨̢̺̿ ̴̤̾͆͋̚Y̶̡̢̫̰̑͘̕͜͝O̶̡͍̰͇̹͑U̸̡̗̗̺͋͐̽̽Ȓ̸̤̥̇ ̵̧̼̠͐̓̆͠E̷̥͒͒̃Y̸̛͚̰̎͜ͅË̴̖͉̥̖͙Ś̵̠͇̗̄̈̚̕

Light floods in as you blink your eyes open, caving in to temptation. Standing before you with his finger still curled under your chin is the demon, but he’s not at all what you expected to see. Of all the demon recreations you’ve seen in your lifetime, none of them hold a spot of resemblance to what is actually standing in front of you. Where you expected to see red, slimy scales is actually a golden wash of warm skin adorning a human body, bare from the waist upwards. Hugging his waist are straight, creaseless black trousers. The long, draping material hangs from his hips, elongating his height as they hide his bare feet scuffing across the floor. 

Every breath he takes accentuates his lean and chiselled body and it’s mesmerising watching how his muscles tense under his skin. You should really divert your stare, succumbing to indecency was an act of immorality according to your father. Abstinence was the one true way of devoting your body and soul to God but this demon makes abstinence seem unreasonable, especially when he exhibits himself like this. It would be a complete waste.

Breaking, your virgin eyes lift higher to see dark, chocolate eyes staring back at you, creasing with the widening smirk that reveals his pearly white teeth, lacking the fangs you expected to see. A soft bed of curls hangs candidly over his eyes, brown and shiny. You have to admit that, for a demon, he’s visually stunning as the sun paints him in an ethereal light, and if you were none the wiser, you would think he is a holy entity, come to bask in the glory of his worshippers. 

The irony of it all has you questioning everything your father has told you about demons. They aren’t scaly creatures with horns and a pointed tail. They don’t spit fire with every word. They aren’t rabidly trying to consume your soul. The fact that he isn’t doing any of those things triggers your curiosity. He’s so alluring that sacrilegious thoughts flood your mind, the kind that would have your father rolling in his grave, the kind that would make him tell you that God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit were to be the only source of satisfaction in your life, and nothing else. That included you too.

“There you are,” he speaks seductively. “What a precious little thing you are--”

“Stay back, you evil demon!” Sister Maria yells, a slight grumble to her throat. The demon pans his attention over to your superior who’s coming to a stand with a wooden cross clenched tightly in her fist. Unlike you, her eyes remain closed. 

“Now now, Sister Maria. Don’t be so bitter. Not everyone gets chosen.” 

“Chosen? Chosen for what? Sister Maria--”

The demon’s satirical laughter echoes around the church, bouncing off every stained-glass window and concrete wall. “Oh, she doesn’t know? Sister Maria, shame on you for calling me evil, but I think you are the real evil here,” he mocks. 

You swivel yourself around to face Sister Maria, her bottom lip quivering. You’ve never seen her so helpless before. She was always the face of bravery in the community, always sharing her wisdom to guide the lost. They say the eyes are the window to the soul, but even with her eyes closed, guilt isn’t a good look on her. 

While you keep your stare on Sister Maria’s crumbling bravery, the demon behind you crouches to rest his hands on your shoulders, his lips hanging low next to your ear. A scent so delicious seeps into your nose, it almost has your eyes rolling. “You see, little nun, for life to exist there must be balance. Good and Evil, life and death, Heaven and Hell. And your God didn’t like being equal. Not one bit. Especially to someone like me. But despite how much he hated it, I realised that even two worlds apart, he and I are actually quite alike. Both a sucker for gluttony and power, only he was willing to threaten the balance of life and began taking what was rightfully mine, stealing my souls, converting them and building his power and I thought that was rather selfish of him. It was only fair I did it back and so the cycle continued for centuries until the balance of life hung by a single thread. So we vowed to a treaty: every one hundred years, He condemns a life of his own to hell…” He turns your head towards Sister Magda, blood beginning to dry. She was too kind to deserve hell. Calmly, he reaches out a hand towards her and like the snow under the sun, her body fades away and her soul is claimed. 

Blackness fills his sclera when he turns back to you, cavernous and haunting.

“But in return, I must give a life back.”

“You can resurrect the dead?” You ask.

“I could but where’s the fun in that? No, no, little nun, I give back life in a very different way, one that your idiot God never anticipated.” His arm comes to encircle around your hips, pressing a flat palm across the expanse of your stomach and you feel a spark of adrenaline. ‘Give a life’, he said. The gears wind and the cogs turn until it comes to you.

Give a life. Not to the dead, but to the unborn. He means to impregnate.

His eyes fade into an autumn brown. “Rather prescient, don’t you think? How you and little Annie Madga’s life bear such a resemblance to each other, as if everyone knew what was going to happen to you, how your lives were shaped around God as if that would protect you from me.” The revelation stops you breathing. All this time, you were pinned from birth, both you and Sister Magda, raised by strict but protective fathers, forcing you into a monastery in the hopes that the prophecy wouldn’t come true, and it is the reason you connected so well with each other. You were lambs for slaughter. “But it is written. A vow from the divine cannot be broken. So it will be done.” 

“Sister Maria…” you plead, searching for answers from her like you’ve done before. “Please tell me it isn’t true.” 

She doesn’t respond right away and that alone gives you your answer. Nothing more needs to be said, but alas the words you dread slip from her lips. “I’m sorry. It’s what the Lord above wants!” 

“She gave you up.” A gentle, masculine voice funnels into your ear. It’s his, but it’s so…enchanting. “She just wanted to save her own skin. She doesn’t care what happens to you. It only matters if she gets to live another day.” 

“You gave me up,” you echo back to her. “You gave me up and you gave Sister Magda up too and now she’s dead. You knew this was going to happen and you never told us!”

“W-We didn’t want you to be in fear, dear child, we just wanted you to find hope and love through God. He will protect you!” 

“Such deception. God won’t protect you. He sacrificed you and Annie Magda to me. Your life is in my hands now. Give yourself in to me.” He sounds so convincing, lulling you into a sense of security and you can’t find it in you to doubt him. 

“I’ve given up most of my life, my freedom to God, and what has He done for me? Sacrificed me? Was I not good enough for Him?” 

“Don’t listen to him, Sister. Remember the Lord’s prayer, keep that close to you.”

“He can’t look after you anymore, but I can. I can give you everything you want. Give in to me.” Your veil is stolen from you, revealing your hair. You pay no mind to his wandering hands as you keep your gaze on Sister Maria, the sight of her bringing about an unprecedented anger that boils in your chest. You’ve never felt anger like this before, never had such a fiery resolve disease you so quickly and it doesn’t feel like you. But right now, you’d do anything to spite Sister Maria.

You should be shaking in fear of the demon roaming his hands all over you, shedding you of your religious habit piece by piece, burying his nose deep into your hair, your neck, whispering and serenading you with his presence, but you aren’t. It’s the only comfort you feel in your fit of fury. The bounds of your religion begin to break. 

He’s shown you nothing but soothing hands, and it’s those same captivating hands that turn you towards him and by the time your eyes meet, you're under his spell. A foggy haze blinds you of rational thinking, leaving you with no fear about sinning and condemning your belief, and giving into him suddenly seems like a paradise.

Sister Maria tries one last time to get through to you. “Sister--” 

 G̵̠̎̉I̸̢̱͈̼͖̓͛V̴̤̘̳̼̰͗E̴̻͙͛̔̅̇ ̵̧͍͕̀I̸̛͔̺̒̇̄N̵̩̐͝ ̷̘̯͔͙̆͊̉̀̅T̴̫͈̺̩͐͆O̵͖̥̜̝̊́͘ ̸̲̫̉͑͠M̶̧̬̘̀͊̕Ȩ̵̲̳̈̊̾̕ 

But it’s too late. Your fate has already been laid out for you.

“I…give in.” 

“To who, little nun. Say my name.”

“To you, Tom, elder of the House of Holland.”

“Good girl,” he whispers darkly. “This is going to be so much fun.” He moves to cradle your head, warm hands supporting the weight of your jaw and with a fleeting glance to your lips, he kisses you. You’ve never kissed anyone before so the moment his lips touch yours, the outside world is forgotten. Instantly, you forget you’re in a holy place. You forget about everything that’s pure and whole, throwing away your divine vocation and abandoning everything you’ve learned over the last six months. It’s sacrilege to its highest degree; martyring yourself to this demon in front of an army of nuns and many variations of Christ’s likeness painted onto the ceilings and windows. 

Betrayal never felt so good.

The kiss deepens, his tongue breaching past your lips with ease and you willingly open up to him. Promiscuity runs ragged in your head, sending signals to your body that refuse to be ignored and this demon seems to hear them just as well as you do. 

“Will you give yourself to me?” 

You shouldn’t, but your lips rashly speak before you stop them. “I will.” 

“Will you pledge your heart, body and soul to me?”

“I will.”

A hand rests on your stomach again. “Will you serve me and bear what is mine?”

“No! Sister, you’re making a grave mistake!”

E̶̡͝N̷̝͙̋O̷̲̞̊U̷͑ͅG̵̺̹̅̾H̶̜̀ͅ!̴̯̥̚ 

The demon waves a hand and you watch with wide eyes as Sister Maria’s body flies through the air, colliding with the large pillar by the main door and immediately knocking her unconscious. The other Sisters scatter, running before they too become a victim of the demon’s wrath. A gasp escapes you and in a moment of clarity, you feel the urge to go and run to her, but the demon’s hold on you is too tight to let you go. 

“Leave her,” he coos, sweeping away your hair and kissing your neck. Soft, pillowy lips roam your neck and the second your eyes close, Sister’s Maria’s unconscious body slips your mind and you’re back under his spell. “She’s only ever lied to you, I’ve been the one to show you the truth, so tell me, little nun. Will you serve me and bear what is mine?” 

“I…I will.” 

The demon, Tom, slithers away from you, walking back towards the lectern that stands in front of the crucifixion of Jesus above the altar. He leans against it, his abs tensing and his mouth smiling. The sight is delicious and it’s begging you to fall into temptation yet again. 

“Come to me,” he demands with the curl of his fingers. Without a second thought, you begin crawling towards him in what remains of your undergarments, stopping just at the base of the lectern. He admires the look in your eyes, gazing up at him as if he is the only light in your life and how you convey an innocence that says you’re willing to do anything for him. 

“Have you ever had cravings? Desires?”

“I’ve…I’ve always wondered what alcohol tastes like.”

He laughs heartily, holding his stomach and tilting his head back. Heat floods your cheeks. “Do they teach you to be this naive? No, little nun, I don’t mean like that. I mean…” His hand cups your cheek gently, staring straight into your soul. “Have you ever had dirty thoughts, thoughts so filthy that you just can’t help but slip your fingers into your tight, little cunt and fuck yourself until your screaming.”

Every crude, vulgar word is like a hit to your chastity. Normally you would wince at their sound but in his voice, they’re words of a poem. What is he doing to you? 

You answer honestly, truthfully. “I’ve…I haven’t done anything like that. It--It was forbidden.” 

“What is it with you prudes that always forbid fun things?” A revelation glosses over his eyes, his mouth widens. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you? You’ve never had anyone fuck you before…and yet here you are consenting to be defiled by me, to take my seed and bear the offspring of a demon. My, my, you must be a curious, wanting thing.” 

“I…I…” Why can’t you say no? Why do you not want to?

“Well let’s not waste any more time. Here’s how this is going to go, little nun, since you are a follower of rules. You do everything I say. You forget about what the church and Daddy has taught you because when we’re done, his skin will crawl when he won’t be able to recognise his daughter when she’s all whored out and dumb for my cock. I’ll do whatever I want to you and I’m not going to stop until you are full and round with my seed. And I get to do it with God and Jesus as witnesses and I can’t fucking wait.” 

Your chest is heaving, glistening with sweat as lust consumes you. It’s exhilarating and you decide that you’re ready, so with an aching whimper and a determined nod, you hand yourself over to him.

“Strip.” 

You’re already peeling off your undergarments before you come to a full stand, clumsily ripping the material at the seams as you drag it from your body. The alien sensation of having cold air swirl around your naked form takes your breath away. Tom grins wickedly at the sight; unblemished skin waiting to be marked and branded by him. But he spots it, the small, dainty cross chained around your neck, the one your mother gave you, and his expression drops like an anchor, changing to something far more sinister. Within a blink of an eye, he snatches it and the chain breaks, the small cross burning in a contained fire in the palm of his hand. 

He cocks a brow. “You won’t need that anymore. You’re on the side of the devil now. Now strip me.” 

The old, royal blue carpet burns your knees while you obey his command, and within seconds you set sight on him, and fuck, you’ve never seen a more unholy sight. Smug and borderline arrogant, the demon watches for your reaction while you unveil his cock, girthy and bobbing under its weight. It lies within inches of your face, and he asks you of the unfathomable. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue,” he commands, his voice becoming deep and throaty. Unceremoniously, he spits into your mouth and it almost sears your tongue but you refrain from moving. Grappling onto the underside of your chin, he coaxes you towards his cock and slides it into your mouth until the tip reaches the back of your throat where you fall into a fit of gurgles and involuntary gagging.

You don’t miss the little reminder from your subconscious that you haven’t done this before, and instead of fretting over it, you disregard it immediately as lust takes over, guiding your movements. Taking what you can of him in your mouth, your hand pleases the rest, sensually driving your hand over his length while your mouth sucks on his head. 

“Aw, are you struggling?” He speaks within your head again, as if he heard your subconscious talking to you. For all you know, it’s likely that he did. “I can help with that.” 

Two firm hands claw their fingers through your roots, nails digging deep into your scalp in an ardent massage and the smallest of whimpers bubbles through. You lose control of your movements as the coveted demon above you arduously fucks your mouth. After only a minute, you’re most likely bruised, scratched and burned but it’s all a pain that you eventually learn to brave. A minute later, it’s a pain you learn to love. 

Drool dribbles down your chin and drips onto the carpet. “Oh making a mess in God’s house, eh? How sinful of you. Let’s make more.” 

Your hands lay flat upon his thighs, pushing away while he pulls you in and smothers every chance of you being able to breathe. He bobs your mouth so vigorously up and down his cock that you’re almost sick with vertigo and the feeling of being repeatedly gagged. But of course, he laughs wickedly at your expense and the sound of his rhythmic chuckle buzzes around you before it morphs into something more salacious. Groaning and moaning, you can just hear the undertones of the darker voice rumbling louder until it descends into something primal. The vibrations run like liquid gold through your veins and you yearn for more of the feeling. 

“Shit, that mouth. Stick out your tongue for me.” Tom grabs ahold of his cock and balances it on the tip of the muscle, feeling every intricate twitch of it. He merely uses you as a toy, thrusting himself so that your tongue tastes every inch of him, right until your lips suckle on the base of his cock. 

This is insidiously profane. One glance to your left you see Christ’s eyes staring down at you from the stained-glass window and just for a second, you begin hating yourself. You swear you can feel the judgement radiating from those motionless eyes, and what you previously thought was a look of hope is now a look of censure. How could you have given in so easily? 

Tom can sense your regret and takes matters into his own hands. He calls your name, how he knows it - you’re not sure, but it immediately grabs your attention. “Eyes up here.” His cock slips abruptly back into your mouth again but this time, he’s more in control of himself and it allows you to taste more. There’s a bitter-sweet saltiness to him. “Remember who it is you’re on your knees for. It’s not him - wider - he’s on the side of the selfish God that never cared about you - fuck - the same God that killed Annie Magda, that gave you up to me. They abused your loyalty.” You inhale a breath when he finally releases you, coughing and spluttering and wiping away the mess around your lips. His dark eyes invade your sight, even through the blurriness of tears, and tilts your head up. “But I won’t. Unlike Him, I reward loyalty, and my sweet, innocent nun, you are in for a treat.” 

As much as it pains you to admit, he is right. Never in a million years did you expect to be agreeing with a demon, but he speaks nothing but the truth. And with a simple reminder as to why you exiled yourself from your own faith, the nerves that flutter in your stomach now flutter with excitement. It fuels your heart, beating louder and harder while you are subject to this demon’s manipulation, carrying you and bending you over the table of the altar with a crash. One easy flicker of the eyes sees Jesus on the crucifix just a couple of metres ahead of you.

And you’re about to be fucked by a demon right in front of him. 

You twist your head over your shoulder to see Tom standing directly behind you, vigorous hands gripping your hips. For the first time in what seems like hours, you eventually find your voice. “What are you going to do to me?” 

“So many dirty, filthy things, little nun.” 

“Like…like what?” 

He tilts his head and considers you for a moment. Wow, he thinks. You really are that naive. A sly smirk graces his lips because he’s decided that he too can indulge in naming every way he’s going to defile you.

By the nape of the neck, he pulls you up against him, your back colliding with a wall of solid muscle. You feel the feather-light touch of his lips dance around the shell of your ear, his breath funnelling straight down to your eardrum. “I’m going to do what no one else has done before, not even you,” he whispers, stopping only to kiss beneath your ear. “I’m going to explore your body, inside and out. There isn’t going to be one bit of you left untouched. Not. One. Bit.” Right on cue, his hands slither down your figure, hugging every curve, dip and hill until he finds your tits, perked and pebbled. He rolls your nipples in between the pads of his fingers and in doing so, plucks the nerves that are tied to your pussy. “I’m going to tease you, make you want what you can’t have unless I permit it, and when I do, if I do, you’ll be begging for me to stop. You’ll be making so many pretty sounds; crying, screaming, begging, and all the little moans and whines I know you’re capable of.” He pinches hard and you buckle with a short, curt yelp that verifies his promise. 

“I’ll stretch you out in any way I please. Oh fuck, I’m just thinking about how tight your cunt is going to be, how you are going to have your cunt shaped and moulded by my cock that it can’t ever be filled by anyone else, only me. Your body will shake and quiver around me while I fuck you until you can’t fucking walk anymore.” His fingernails puncture your skin. He’s becoming inpatient as he lists the unavoidable. You swallow thickly thinking he’s finished, but when his forehead grinds against your temple, you realise you are so wrong. “You thought you were born to serve God? You’re wrong, you were made to serve me and I’ll do anything I please. I can’t wait to see you dripping with my seed but know this, little nun--” Sharp teeth bite onto your lobe. “I will replace every wasted drop until you are full to the brim.” 

“Fuck.” 

“That word sounds so delicious in your voice. Say it again.” To entice you, he sucks on the skin of your neck.

“Fuuuuck.” 

“Put your hand between your thighs for me, and tell me what you feel.” 

“I’m…I’m wet.” 

“Perfect. I think I might just have a taste.” 

Panic splinters through you. “A taste--what? Oooohhh my God! Fuck!”

Ass cheeks spread wide, Tom slots himself deep between them until his hot, wet tongue meets with your pussy and an explosion of something intoxicating happens inside you. You’re not quite sure what it is yet, but you are slowly becoming entranced by it. 

It’s the sensation of the wet muscle pulsing inside of you that nearly shatters your sanity. It prods and pokes, rabidly trying to push its way into your tight, untouched hole. With force, the pointed tip of his tongue slides in and you think it’s just a warning for what’s to come, but when his tongue grows inside you, reaching to inhuman lengths and skims your cervix, you completely and utterly fall apart.

His lips are latched, stubborn as they create a seal around your cunt and suck you into him. All manner of expletives fall from your lips as you try to find a way of coping with the mind-numbing sensation of his amorous tongue invading your inner body. It doesn’t help at all. Nothing can help you survive against it wriggling inside you, caressing every wall and breaking boundaries you didn’t know existed.

Your knees buckle and crumble beneath you, being overwhelmed by the instinct to curl into themselves for protection, but by the sheer strength of the demon behind you, you go absolutely nowhere. His hands land a powerful slap against your cheeks as a small punishment.

“Holy mother of f-f-fuck, how - ah - how is this real?” 

Finally, after a few earth-shattering minutes, his tongue slowly retracts, brushing against every nerve with generosity and licks up any traces of your slick as it drips down your thighs. 

“I told you. I’m going to explore your body; inside and out.” 

With too many dormant nerves being shocked to life, you try to pull your hips forward, almost mounting onto the altar, however it is like trying to take a drug away from an addict. The burning desperation of his hands grappling your hips make you wince, having little to no option but to follow his every movement like you are his puppet. Involuntarily, you deliver your cunt back to him and he holds back no reservations; nuzzling his lips and tongue against your clit, furiously flicking it back and forth, becoming an expert of your body and creating the stimulation he knows will break you in a matter of moments. 

His hand snakes around and presses against your lower abdomen. Words that aren’t your own echo in your head and very quickly you recognise his wicked tone. Strangely, as he talks, his lips don’t stray from your cunt and his voice remains within the walls of your mind. “You feel that heat in your stomach? You feel it growing and growing, so close to snapping?” 

“Yes! Ohhhh.” You jerk forward as he suckles on the little bud that’s adding to build up in your abdomen.

“It’s your first orgasm, ready and waiting for me. Let go of it, let it take over you and don’t fight it.” 

“How!?” 

“You’ll know.”

It’s a total shock to your system. Your entire body seizes as the feeling Tom described ripples through you from the tips of your burning ears to the tight curl of your toes, rendering your body completely spent as it flops against the wooden table of the altar. Regardless, true to his wicked nature, Tom doesn't stop. The orgasm gets tighter and grows more intense the longer he refuses to relent and it’s a harsh torment amongst the unprecedented pleasure. 

You cry out for salvation. “Please!” It goes unheard, as does the hiccup of your sob. “It’s too much. Ah!”  

After many hopeless pleads and begs, he eventually, thankfully, eases his attack, reducing his fiery lust to slow sweeps and nuzzling kisses to the cunt that gave him all that he desired. The cramp in your twitching thighs eases and you switch to relying on the table to keep you upright. 

In a trice, Tom boldly ventures upwards, teasing a squeal from you when he licks over your pursed hole, stopping to tease before journeying up the line of your spine. Still recovering, you lack the energy to move even as the demon behind you tugs you up, curling his hand around the column of your neck to hold you hostage in a chokehold. Just as violently as before, he snags your lips, sensually driving his tongue to brush over yours, tangy with the remnants of your slick. You don’t think you can ever get over the whirlwind of excitement when you hear that dark chuckle of his, especially when you moan into him because he knows how much you're indulging in his wickedness. 

He presses his full body weight against you, hot, hard and demanding. 

“I think we’re putting on quite a show for them.” Tom looks up towards the Jesus statue and smoulders. “They should count themselves lucky.” 

“Maybe they might get jealous.” 

Tom stops to look at you, shocked but pleasantly amused. To some extent, you are too, but you’re already marked for hell, what more harm would aggravating the holy spirits do that you haven’t already caused yourself? 

“Tell me, little nun, why would they be jealous?” He knows, but it pleases him to ask anyway. 

“Because I don’t belong to them anymore. I belong to you.” 

Aroused, Tom’s hand squeezes tighter, just enough to leave you gasping. “Yes you do. And I’m going to fuck you like you’re mine. Take a deep breath, little nun, you’re going to need it.” 

You don’t understand why until he’s squeezing every inch of his cock into you, and all the air in your lungs gets wasted into a scream, crying out in unbearable pain as he mercilessly tears through you. The pain is hot and tight, scoring through your nervous system that you can’t move any other part of your body in fear of exacerbating it. 

Is this how it’s supposed to feel? How can anyone enjoy this? 

After a slight struggle, Tom completely fills you. There’s a slight stutter to each of your breaths; suffocation in two very different forms. 

“Ugh, fuck! So…fucking…tight. I can barely move, little nun, you’re killing me.” 

In time, you overcome the pain, thankful it takes this demon more than a minute to acclimate to the tight squeeze of your cunt around his cock, just enough time for that haunting blackness to consume his sclera again, spreading through the veins around his eyes and it’s truly a demonic sight. He grinds his molars together, rabidly growling like a wild animal yearning to be fed and soon morphs into something a little closer to what you expected a demon to be like. He ruts and thrusts like he’s unbound by self-control, desperately chasing after something he can easily obtain, but the chase is where the fun lies. The animality in him drives him to sink his teeth into the supple, sensitive skin of your neck, sucking and licking every mark he leaves behind. He doesn't relent until you are well and truly branded with his signature.

Branded by a demon.

Your slick lines him, wet enough to also tame the burn inside you but sadly, there isn’t anything to tame the burn of the red, hot skin of your ass. He whips his hips so harshly against you, you can feel the redness oozing over your ass. 

“Oh God, it hurts so much!” 

“But it feels so good. You feel so good, fuck. Why don’t we have a little more fun, eh?” 

There’s no time to answer. Tom easily lifts you, swivelling you around and sitting your red ass onto the altar, legs wrapped around his waist. He wastes no time in slotting his cock back into you, pumping just as rigorously as before and you descend into a mania. New position, new angle, new pace, new sights, it’s all overstimulating. Your head falls back onto the velvet table cover and your eyes flutter to a close--

“Not a fucking chance. I want you to watch.” Yanked forward by the scruff of your hair, your chin digs deep into your chest where a small whimper bubbles, and you are subjected to watch his cock disappear and reappear in a fine, fluid movement. The repetition is somewhat mesmerising, like it’s brainwashing you into becoming addicted to the sight.

Suddenly, Tom’s finger, slight and careful, rests gently against your bundle of nerves and twitches precariously. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you follow his every move, hooked on the small but powerful electrical buzzes that his touch causes. A shockwave ripples up your spine at his touch. 

“Oh my God, what was that?” 

“Your most sensitive part, little nun. I’m gonna have a little fun with it.” 

His eyes peers over your shoulder and you shiver at the mischievous twinkle in his black eyes. He wears evil so well it amazes you that you’re still able to recognise when he has something devilish planned. You don’t dare look and instead, let the shock of what he lifts over your shoulder capture you in its tight grip. 

It’s the sacred crucifix, one blessed by the Abbess and doused in holy water. A gasp catches in the back of your bruised throat.

“I’m sure he won’t mind if we use this,” he whispers, rutting in and out and in and out… 

“What…what are you going to do with it?” 

Tom doesn’t say a word much to your horror. Instead, cautious, wide eyes watch the bare end of the cross mount your clit and begin pivoting around the little bud. Your stomach plummets. “Shit! You…you probably shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t what?” He interrogates, scowling. He presses harder and circles quicker. “Shouldn't. What."

"N-nothing, ah ahhhhh!"

"That's what I thought. Remember, little nun, I get to do whatever I want. I don't give a fuck who watches, who listens, what happens or what sacred fucked object I fuck you with, I am owed this."

His movements are brunt and erratic and you feel the heat building in your stomach again. "Okay! Okay! I'm sorry, fuck! I think I'm gonna snap--"

"Oh, you're going to do more than just snap," he pulls completely free of you, already seeing a long line of white, pearly slick trickle from you. "You're going to break. And so am I. We'll do it together."

His cock slides back into abruptly and hits deeper than before and the church fills with your cries. At your clit, the cross almost vibrates with his precision, and at your aching hole, Tom's cock, still thrusting in and out at what feels like the first time. Your cunt just can't seem to accommodate such an intrusion at his size.

Like the demon promises, something snaps in both of you and a chorus of grunts and growls rumble from his chest where whines and mewls leave yours. Instantly blood starts pumping rapidly to your cunt, swelling in size the more he continues to circle your throbbing clit with the crucifix. Your thighs clamped together to inhibit his movements, but he is just too unshakeable. He prolongs the sensation for as long as he can, testing your limits just to hear the sweet, sweet, sobs cracking from your throat. You cry out desperately, voice hoarse and dry as it crumbles beneath the pressure of Tom's desperation to have you, to give him everything but yet still have the physicality to bear the sudden influx of pleasure.

"Fuck! Oh yes, fucking take it all. Take all my cum. Fill you up. You'll be so full and round, oh yesssss. That's it."

The church walls resonates with your cries and heats to the sweltering temperature of your bodies, as if it's reacting to what it's just witnessed.

Your body quivers upon the altar. The velvet beneath seems to be spotted with stains of your own making, leaving behind a very sinful piece of evidence of what devilry has transpired. Starlight flickers behind your eyelids while the remnants of the orgasm begins to dissipate. You regulate your breathing, your pulse, your heart, anything to make the recovery of that planet-shattering pleasure less tedious. Inside you, warmth swims through you and a small minority of it escapes the twitch of Tom's cock, your cunt bursting at the seams while it drips down your thighs.

The crucifix clatters to the ground and Tom desperately pulls from you and begins collecting what escapes by the pads of his fingers and forces it back into you.

“Fuck,” you hiccup. “I think…” you shudder, “I think I’m still cumming.” With that information free to use, Tom teases an evil smirk, sneaking his fingers over your clit and…"NO! No, no, no, no, no, no, please, please, please, just...give me a second.” 

"Hahahaha, oh my dear little nun. This is never going to end." His words echo in between kisses, being strewn over your body as he licks, kisses and bites patches of your skin. His hands cruise over the length of your arms, lifting them and holding them high above your head.

"What...?"

He nuzzles deep into your neck, biting harshly and teasing a wince from you. "I can't get enough of this tight, little pussy. Fuck, what you do to me, little nun, I can't just leave you behind like that. Oh no, no, you'll definitely be coming back with me."

"No..."

"Yes. You made that decision, you willingly handed yourself over to me, you are mine to keep and a vow from the divine cannot be broken."

In a momentary lapse of weakness, tears blur your eyes as you strain to find the eyes of Jesus hanging on the crucifix above you while his lips roam your cheek, kissing delicately, tenderly as if to coax you back into his embrace.

"There's nothing He can do now because..." He pulls your wrist and holds it in the space beneath you. When he unfurls his hand from your wrist, it reveals a mark, a symbol tattooed into your skin. Circular with an unrecognisable language written inside. You're at a loss for breath, skin paling at what you've done.

"You're forever bound to the House of Holland."

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

I went down a deep deep Pinterest hole last night looking for photos for my Home Screen but I kept seeing pics that reminded me of @munsonology Biker!Eddie x Nunny so I started saving them and this was born ✝️🩸

[tojisun]

this is purely self-indulgent (in a twisted way*) but i cant stop thinking about a military man falling ‘in love’ (born from obsession and dependency) with a nun :/

જ how simon never goes to church because he doesn’t believe in all that but johnny’s been going through tough times and simon did promise their captain that he’d be there for johnny, and that included going to church with him.

it’s the local chapel, one that acts as an extension of the abbey in the city, and johnny mentioned that wednesday night services aren’t packed which is why he likes going at this time. simon saw it for what it was—an olive branch for having to put up with johnny.

simon huffed and said, “don’t worry about it.” because johnny really shouldn’t. it’s not like he’s forcing simon anyways. but johnny was still apologetic, quiet, and simon tried to move past it.

so there they were, sinking into the shadows and away from the half-filled pews. the mass hasn’t started yet but the organ is already playing, readying for the first hymn, and that’s when simon saw you.

he didn’t even know nuns functioned in chapels too, so it’s probably there where his fascination first started. he watched as you fluttered around with a few other nuns, saying hi’s to churchgoers, smiling and holding their hands like you’re all longtime friends.

simon would look back to this day and think that maybe that was what drew him to you—the gentleness in which you talked to people. the starved awe in which they looked at you.

simon wondered if their admiration was a form of their desire.

જ how simon keeps going after that, sometimes with johnny, but oftentimes alone. he doesn’t see you all the time, but you’re there on more days than not and simon’s been the talk of the chapel, he knows, so he also knows that he isn’t imagining the short looks you’ve been sending his way, your eyes alight with curiosity and hesitance because simon’s simon. he doesn’t need a uniform to know that he looks dangerous. that he looks like the very man you’re told not to talk to.

but you still did. and simon doesn’t know why your attention feels like a, well, sweet reward.

જ how simon finds a companion in you. you look at him with such gentle eyes, he feels like hiding. he feels like lying. but then you ask him about his life and simon can’t stop himself from spilling his past, the blotchy ink of his life staining the unblemished canvas that you are.

simon’s voice is hoarse by the end of it, his head downturned in his shame. he doesn’t know what it is you must be thinking, he doesn’t know if he even would want to, but then he hears you sniffling and he whips his head up to look at you, his eyes wide in surprise because why are you crying?

why are you crying for him?

“oh simon,” he hears you say, your voice wobbly from your tears. “come, let us pray.”

simon listens to the prayer, listens to your voice, and thinks that maybe he can start to believe.

જ how simon realizes he comes back not because of faith but because of you.

* i was raised in a catholic school and instead of strengthening my faith, what it did was make me wanna consume sacrilegious works lmao so uhh yeah! this is kinda a fulfillment of that indulgence :’>

(ext) (ext 02) (ext 03)

[notellesblog]

i’ve seen a lot of nun alastor fanart but where is my waiter alastor fanart at😫😫😫

[loveliestlovelygirl]

divine temptations | 111

say yes to heaven, say yes to me

fallenangel!anakin x nun!reader | lore 🪽 | playlist

synopsis: anakin, a seraph, has lost himself to his obsession of you. with every moment he can, he watches over you as you attend to your daily duties around the convent. and day by day his desire grows. when your guardian angels fail to protect you, anakin believes he has no choice but to intervene, breaking numerous heavenly laws in the process.

w.c: 2.2k+

highlights: {minors dni} dark content, heavy religious themes and imagery, inspiration taken from catholicism primarily, sexual themes, corruption kink, light sexualization of the reader as a nun, fem!reader & use of she/her pronouns, attempted sexual assault

table of contents | 222

The crux of his obsession began with your voice. Harmonious and pure. Passionate and sweet. The soft vibrato and splendid timbre of your voice could be heard above all the clatter from the realms of Earth. The melodies you sang haunted him from the rise of the sun to the white shadow of the moon. And while he needed not sleep, he found no rest as he smoldered in his selfish desires for you. After he had fulfilled his duties for that day, when he was alone, he remained perched in the Heavens watching over you, drowning in the beauty of your voice, and lusting for your human touch.

His name was Anakin. And day after day he watched you, wishing he could descend to the realm which held your precious life. But that was a boundary that he was forbidden to cross. He was confined to be a guardian of the Heavens, not of Earth. To him, it was a cruel, cruel fate. Watching you from above, lightyears of distance between your realities, was as close to you as he was permitted.

An angel of his status, chosen to protect the thrones of the deity, a seraph, should give no eye to the realms beneath him nor find solace in the voice of human girl. The way that you had captivated him was unnatural and unholy. If anyone found out he entertained himself with you, he might be marked with shame by the highest councils, until he repented publicly. Though he might never obtain such a position as his ever again. As it were, he found himself considering these things, as if shame might be a solution to making contact with you.

He'd prefer to be your guardian angel than a guardian of his own father. He wanted to serve creation rather than its Creator. And that was sin. He could not deny this secret was a source of guilt. And it would not be long before the all-knowing Maker noticed how far from perfection Anakin had fallen.

But he wasn’t afraid of the fall. He wanted to connect with you in a deeper way than this parasocial existence. He wished to be your guardian angel. But you had many. Someone so beloved by the Creator had five guardian angels. And he hated each of them with equal rage.

Hate was dangerous. It was said that hatred lit the path of the fallen. And if it were true, then he had already doomed himself the moment he began desiring you.

He watched you as you prayed in the chapel, kneeling on the bench and making the Sign of the Cross, touching your beautiful skin with your fingertips. Contentment marked your face, and he felt it in your soul. It was only a feeling he had when he listened to your voice pray and sing with such grace and beauty. In your dainty hands, you held the rosary beads and began to say your prayer. Holding the first bead between your fingers, you whispered Our Father to yourself. Day after day you’d repeat the same prayers with equal passion. Your love and faithfulness to the one who gave you life was unmatchable. You had sacrificed much to serve him, cutting off your family and material possessions entirely to live a humble life in the convent. Your prayers never revolved around your desires, only for others. You often prayed for your sisters. Never for yourself. Anakin often wondered if you had any dreams of your own at all. Despite all his abilities, he could not hear your thoughts. He only heard what you said aloud to yourself.

As you worked with your hands in the garden, you often sang psalms of praise when you thought no one was around to listen. You sang softly, the most beautiful melody which would stain his thoughts day and night forever. He would hear you even when you were silent; the barriers of all the heavenly realms echoed with your voice, to his ears never ceasing. But perhaps, it’s only because he desired you so.

His obsession was different than that of men. Though not immune to your divine beauty, his craving for your touch transcended that of sexual pleasure. Sex is something created for humans to enjoy with other humans. His being was never made for intercourse with mankind, and he viewed it as a simple animalistic action. A way to express desire, but to him it was lacking in true passion.

What he felt for you was true desire.

He wanted to consume you.

Corrupt you.

He wanted you to desire him, crave him, lust over him, with every atom of your body and with every piece of your soul. He wanted to see you overturn your religious convictions and worship him instead. He wanted your prayers, your psalms, your whole heart.

Was that too much to ask?

Forbidden was what it was. Sacrilegious even. And enough to get him cast out of the heavenly realms forever.

But the longer he wished for you, the more he thought that it might be worth it. There was nothing he wanted more than you. And only you. He wanted to live out the rest of eternity adored by you. That would be enough.

But you were unaware of his existence. Which awakened rage within him strong enough to tear galaxies apart.

He could see you, but as long as he remained in his dimension, you would never be able to see him or know that he existed. He was forbidden to show you his glory, to share his voice, and to touch your skin. It was never meant to be.

And yet he still found a way to make contact, against all heavenly odds.

You were plucking red apples from the orchard trees close to the road. It wasn’t a common route from the convent to the market, but some used it. Anakin had finally caught a break from the council meetings with the Thrones and Cherubim and sneaked away to see you. He hated that your sisters sent you out alone where you could be harmed.

Your five guardians flitted around you in a circle. He knew that they would do almost everything in their power to keep you safe. Everything except actually physically intervening. For you, there would be no limits in how far Anakin would go to protect you. He would break every earthly and heavenly law.

For you.

And only you.

When you had filled your basket with apples, you climbed down the ladder to rest. You leaned back against the tree and looked up at the sky. If you had eyes to see the other dimensions, you would have been looking right into his eyes. His heart swelled with pride, knowing that you shared a connection, even if you didn’t know it yet.

An older human male was steering a small buggy pulled by two horses. Anakin had been watching him for miles coming down the road. Your guardian angels seemed to be unconcerned about his approach. And they could hear the thoughts of humans, which meant that you were likely safe.

But there was something about that man Anakin didn’t like. Perhaps it was only his proximity to you. He was jealous of anything that was closer to you than he.

You sang to yourself softly, and Anakin drew as near as he were permitted just to listen to your voice.

“You have a lovely voice,” the man said to you. He had gotten off his buggy and walked over the road and a stretch of grass to meet you at the tree.

Anakin held himself back somehow, though if he saw fit, he could scorch the man from the inside out until he returned to dust.

You looked up at this stranger standing over you, and instantly, your eyes widened in fear. Anakin assumed it had been a long time since you’d spoken to a man. It was natural for you to be afraid. You thought you were all alone.

Anakin only watched the interaction transpire.

“Thank you,” you said back, your voice trembling.

“Would you sing a song for me?” the man asked.

“I think… that you should leave. This is private land, sir.”

A sane person would have backed away and said his goodbyes, but he didn’t. And Anakin knew instantly that he should have trusted himself to know this man’s intentions for you. This despicable creature kicked the basket from your lap and grabbed you, holding you by the throat against the tree trunk.

Your guardian angels had failed you. All five of them. Were they not paying attention to his evil thoughts? How had they missed them? They held the power to influence the thoughts of men. They could have convinced him to turn away and leave you alone.

But they didn’t.

They were going to let this man defile you.

Anakin watched them scrambling around, trying when it’s too late to change this man’s heart. But they could do nothing to interfere with free will once man had decided.

And Anakin thought that to be a stupid law. One meant to be broken.

With a singular motion of his index finger, Anakin sent lightning from the clouds, lightning that struck this man and stopped his heart. He was burned and scarred instantly and fell back, turning to ash.

You screeched and cried and sobbed, crumbling to your knees in a shaking mess. He wished he could comfort you, but he had already done enough to ruin himself entirely. But it was worth it to keep you safe. This was as close to you as he had ever gotten. The electricity from his lightning bolt just buzzed your skin. And he felt it. He wanted you to feel him in some way.

Your guardians looked up at him all at once with fire in their eyes. Anakin smiled and gave them a wave. They were angry and picked him up. He could not overpower them when they were together.

They carried him to the high council and dropped him in the center of the chamber. Anakin did not need to explain himself; they already knew what had transpired.

“Need we remind you of the law of free will? The law given to humans by our Creator?” the Throne of Reason, Mace, said. His eyes were full of judgment and understanding at the same time.

Anakin picked himself up and stood, stretching out his layers of feathered wings. “I could not stand by and watch her be harmed.”

Mace closed his eyes and clasped his hands together. “You are in dangerous territory, young one. You know that what you did is one of the greatest of sins. To interfere with man’s will—” Mace pressed his lips together, “in such a physical way. Using the Heavens’ power against mankind. Anakin, you killed a man today.”

This was all such a waste of time. He knew what they were going to say. How they would interpret his actions. But why was no one speaking of that human’s sin. Rape. Raping a young maiden. That wasn’t worthy of a discussion? It wasn’t worthy of being mentioned?

“What about him?” Anakin asked defiantly.

Obi-Wan shot him a warning glare from where he sat. Obi-Wan was a cherub, one that was usually too busy attending to the wishes of the Creator to attend the high council. But Anakin did not doubt that his friend’s presence was needed today.

“The human?” Mace did not appreciate the diversion from Anakin’s sin.

“Yes. He was going to hurt her! And they—” Anakin pointed at your guardian angels, his entire being catching fire from his rage, “they weren’t going to intervene in any real way. They failed to listen. If I could hear the thoughts of men, I would have done something before he laid a hand on her.”

“Your obsession with this human is… concerning. Don’t think we haven’t noticed. Why are your thoughts on the Earth realms? Need I remind you that your duties are the greatest in all of Heaven?” Mace said.

“But they could have done something!”

Disapprovingly, Mace shook his head. “You can’t know that. Only the Creator does. And it is not your place nor mine to judge men. That is for the Principalities to determine. They enact rightful punishment on humanity. You are not to interfere.”

Obi-Wan spoke up, coming to Anakin’s defense. “He is young. Neither you nor I can say that we haven’t made mistakes.”

“It wasn’t just a mistake. He broke the law. He overstepped his boundaries. He killed a man.”

“In his eyes, he was protecting her.”

Mace sighed. “She does not need him for that.”

Anakin stood there for a long time, drowning in their criticisms. His chest felt heavy, and he couldn’t hear himself think. He couldn’t hear you. All that he could do was worry for you. He knew the human mind could not erase trauma. It would remain with them for good. Tears streamed down his face at the thought of your pain which you did not deserve.

“I don’t need to listen to any of you! You have no authority over me!” Anakin announced without shame. Seraphim were of the highest order.

“I was not the one who called this meeting,” Mace said sympathetically. He looked above.

There was only one who held authority over him.

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[yandere-sins]

Do you know which concept I‘m going feral over again at the moment?

Yandere!Priests

[Warning: Yandere + Violent & Lewd content]

It‘s really just about the absolute depravity of these priests.

A priest who‘s knuckles turn white as they grip the altar so hard to not just jump his darling on the spot while they are in the middle of a sermon. But their darling is sitting in the front row and they can smell their perfume and it‘s driving them absolutely insane and their cock so hard that they can‘t concentrate on their speech to the point they have to cut the service short. Everyone is so concerned about them but when their darling steps up to ask if they are okay or need something, they almost orgasm in front of everyone. (They‘ll make sure that their darling is the only person to take care of them, that‘s for sure. And while the priest is at it, they can invade their darling‘s home and life to the point of no return.)

Or confessional boothes where their darling is spilling all their worries and heartache, which is not only ideal for the priest to know to manipulate them later, but also because they can't help jerking off pitifully to their darling's voice. Imagining them on their knees sucking them off like the little devil his darling must be to turn the priest away from god. Yet the priest will be panting and gasping for air by the time they absolve their darling from the 'sins' they comitted, the priest hoping they'll be back soon with more.

A cult priestess who notices one of the followers turning away from the cult and it happens to very their darling. So they start sacrificing all their darling‘s friend and family, making them the outcast. Making sure they feel so threatened and scared that the moment the priest opens their arm for them, they run and confess all their sins. They are an outcast that the priest can take back under their wing, reform back to their faith and at the same time manipulate and gaslight them to the point that they won‘t want to leave the priests side anymore, which gives room for them to demand the ultimate sacrifice of the darling—their whole being.

A very beloved priest and their caretaker!darling. Priest is the chosen of god but they‘ll refuse to do anything they are supposed to if their darling isn‘t in reach for them at all times. Darling who was forced into this role but is now pressured into doing everything for the priest so the latter may provide the village with divine guidance. Darling that wants to escape but is dragged back and beaten into compliance. And a priest who basks in the glory of getting away with all the lewd and terrible things he does to them with no one to help the darling.

But it goes to other religious figures as well!

Angels that begin to fall from grace without realizing it because they start to simp for their darling and they really shouldn‘t. But the darling looks so cute and the angel loves it when you laugh. They're really trying not to favor them with divine intervention whenever their darling is having a bad day, but seeing their frown turn into a smile when they see a rainbow or pet a stray cat that thee angel led to them, they just can't help themselves from making their darling's life a little easier. That is, until the darling starts to truly commit sins (like fall in love with someone that is not the angel), and they have to do worse things (like watch over them as the darling undresses or masturbates) and they don't even realize just how much they are losing their angelic-ness, because the angel suddenly longs to be more than just a silent observer.

Nuns/Monks that are taking care of a lost sheep on their priests demands and start to forget about all their vows and duties, wanting to only be with them and stalking them around the grounds. Sneaking into their rooms to frolick in their darling's sheets and lick their spoon after dinner, their nethers tingling with lust as more and more depraved thoughts come into mind. Them sitting next to their darling at the sermon, their knees touching and the yan unable to keep themselves from panting and salivating over their darling, developing a desire to deprave them in the same way as the darling has the yan.

Anyway, I'm super normal about it but,

[kaeyx]

aside from that though because I sin from every religion ever

angel chuuya could also be breached off into priest chuuya

hes trying to focus giving his services in church but ur just making him think things that have him needy enough to turn his back on the gospel

oh, and god forbid he catches you in the confession rooms. call it a second glory hole.

🌱

Ohohoho I see it! You're a member of his church or maybe even a nun under him, always so pure and well behaved. You pray with him and prepare sermons with him, within your nice smile and pretty laugh, and sometimes you dance in the garden while you water the vegetables and remember to bring him meals when he gets too lost in doing something else. (To me Chuuya could definitely be an illuminator, the monks that used to paint manuscripts to make them all intricate and colourful).

Chuuya gets a little crush, which turns into a huge crush, which turns into him getting hard whenever he's near you, when he hears you sing or pray or just talk to the churchgoers, healing the sick and asking for blessings for the children. He knows you're far too pious for him to tempt like he could with some of the other nuns, who look at him so young and handsome and are more than willing to lose their jobs just to get at him. But knowing that doesn't make things any easier...

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Christian Woman

König x Nun!Reader

Word count: 12.5 k Tags/warnings: 18+ pure FLUFF & SMUT & COMFORT

First time/loss of virginity, implied consent, teasing, corruption kink, fingering, cunnilingus, thighing/intercrural sex, protected p in v. Silly, sweet, kind of innocent, kind of naughty. Romance, forbidden love trope, love as a religion, happy ending. 

Part 3/3

Everytime König enters your life, you start to lie.

You lie about where you’re going and where you’ve been, you lie about who you see and what you do. People think you’ve helped some foreign man to hospital, that you were away last night to make sure he got safely into treatment. You told them he was some poor fellow who got stabbed and robbed on the street and that you called the ambulance from his phone and that the police needed to see you today for further questioning. 

You lie and lie and lie, and then slip out to see König, who’s hopefully alive and still in the same place you left him last night.

When you enter the old, half-demolished building now serving as a B&B, the same old man from last night looks up with wary eyes. He immediately relaxes back to reading his paper when he sees you’re only the harmless, grey nun from last night. 

You sneak upstairs without exchanging a word with him and go straight to König’s door. Giving it a quick knock and uttering, “It’s me,” you half expect to get shot through the wooden entrance. But there only comes a happy “Come in” from behind the door, and you notice König hasn’t even locked the damn thing. Is he expecting you, or is he simply that confident with his gunslinger skills?

Turns out he’s probably both, because you freeze right there on the doorstep when you step in.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers this time, and your eyes fly straight back to his eyes after being glued to the prominent package between his legs for far too long. And good God, the man’s got some muscles on those legs... 

“Hallo, Kätzchen,” he greets, giving you an obnoxiously flirty smile upon noticing how flustered you look.

“You… You shouldn’t be up yet,” you quickly turn to close the door. 

“I have to use the bathroom, no?”

He looks at you from across the room, so innocent and sweet and, at the same time, so mischievous that you don’t know what to do or where to look. He’s gotten rid of the hood, but there are traces of black paint around his eyes, it still clings to his brows, making him look like someone who just came home from a carnival. You want to go to him and wipe it away and tell him that he missed a spot and that he’s clumsier than you thought, but you can’t... You can only fall deeper into your awkward shyness as he raises his brows. 

He turns what appears to be the shreds of his old shirt in his hands, then dumps it into the bin, suddenly a little nervous too. There are moments when you have suspected that König might suffer from social anxiety or shyness around people, but he covers it very well. Around you, the man seems to be at ease, flirts and jokes with you often and is very straightforward with his intentions.

You wonder if he likes you so much simply because you are unattainable. 

Maybe you represent some girl next door to him, perhaps you remind him of his first love. Perhaps you happen to be something so sweet, innocent, and unreachable that he feels strong and safe in your company. Perhaps holding hands and trading a few passionate kisses feels safer than going after a real relationship… Perhaps this Will they, won’t they situation is enough excitement for him, too.

Or perhaps König has been so wounded by women that he prefers to be around a frigid – or at least very virginal – nun rather than face the dangers of approaching a real, attainable woman.

But flaunting himself like this in front of you is yet another clear sign that he, at the very least, loves to tease you to death. He looks like he’s in far better condition than yesterday, and starts to peel off the bandage like it’s just a scratch he suffered. 

“Let me help you with that,” you rush to him, silently relieved when he lets you clean the wound and change the bandage. He even lays himself down to be treated by you and smiles with his signature grin as you fuss around him.

“Not a word,” you risk a glance his way while gently cleaning the wound.

“Not a word,” he promises with a cheeky smile, and gets another erection. 

It’s even worse when he’s wearing nothing but his underwear... You can see the bulge stretching the fabric, forming a tight, thick curve right next to you as you try to focus on your task.

“Perhaps you should put some clothes on,” you offer while trying to concentrate on examining the skin for any signs of irritation.

“Eh. They’re dirty.”

“I can go and ask if they have a laundry room here,” you propose. “I could wash them for you. Do you need a new shirt?”

Ugh, what a stupid question...

“Why not,” he shrugs. “If the view is unpleasant...”

“Behave yourself now,” you say with a soft smile. “XL…?”

“At least.”

He must be getting better if he’s behaving like this... The man’s insufferable enough when he’s uninjured, but now that he’s getting pampered, he’s somehow even worse. You bite your lip as he dares to moan on the bed, too. You’ve brought him food last night, and he’s being treated carefully and touched softly, he’s getting his clothes washed for him, he’s got his own personal nun worrying about him 24/7. Of course he’s moaning.

And you’re in danger because you just love to pamper him. It feels more meaningful to treat his wounds and run on errands than do the eternal dishes at the convent. You feel like you’re saving a life here... Like someone actually needs you, depends on you. You feel so wanted, and König seems to fully agree with you.

“I could live the rest of my life like this,” he purrs on the bed as you gently put a fresh bandage in place.

“I have no doubt about that.”

“Are you really going to get me a new shirt…?” He asks with bright puppy eyes – the faked innocence is so blatant you want to throw a pillow over that face.

“If you give me some money to buy one, then yes.”

“You can have as much as you want. Buy yourself something nice while you’re at it, hmm? As a reward.”

“I don’t do this for the sake of rewards.”

“I know... But you could buy yourself anything you want. A new dress, new jeans, lingerie… Give me a little fashion show when you get back?”

König knows you’re probably the last woman on earth who’s interested in shopping sprees, let alone new jeans or sexy lingerie. Your only summer dress resides at your parent’s house as a relic from the past, a token from your life before sisterhood. But that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t want to see his face when you do a little twirl before his bed, wearing nothing but a laced bra and some matching strings… 

“Give you a fashion show?” you laugh. “When did thanking me turn into you profiting from it?”

“I’m just saying... If you need new underwear, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

You snort and shake your head slowly. “You’re far too cheeky when you’re injured. I truly hope you get better soon.” 

“I don’t,” he crosses his arms behind his head, looking perfectly pleased with himself while lying there in nothing but his underwear. “And neither do you.”

“Excuse me? Of course I do…!”

“No, I don’t think so. You like to take care of people, I can see it. You’d make a good field medic.”

“I doubt that.”

“You remain calm under pressure,” he says. “And you take good care of me.”

“That’s only because you were silly enough to get shot.”

“...And I would do it again if it leads to this,” he grins.

“Cheeky,” you shake your head reprimandingly. “Far too cheeky.”

“You are an angel,” he says gently. “And I mean that.”

You rise to put the trash in the bin, then look back at him. “No, I’m not. I’m just some woman you bumped into in the street.”

“That’s exactly what an angel would say.”

You sigh: it’s useless with König, hopeless, like trying to wrestle with God. No matter what you say or do, he always turns it against you in the sweetest possible way. It’s like he's stripping away pieces of your armour – you fear nothing will be left before this visit is done.

“Did you eat any of the food I brought you…? You need to eat something, and drink a lot of water–” You take a look at the side table, noticing he has already eaten everything you got him last night. “Gosh. You must be getting better if you have an appetite like this...”

König only laughs on the bed. “I’m sorry, Kätzchen, but that was just a snack.”

You brought him three sandwiches, at least a dozen apples and a bag of walnuts, but they’re all gone. Of course a soldier of his size eats like a horse, and he needs all the food he can get, having gone through the wringer last night.

“I’d kill for a Schnitzel and a tall beer,” he sighs dreamily on the bed, no doubt knowing you well enough to tell that you’ll get him anything he wants if he only plays this wounded soldier role right. 

You begin to doubt if his injuries were ever that serious. It just looked bad last night because he was so tired, and there was blood everywhere... With a bleak blink, you realize most of the blood you cleaned off of him last night probably wasn’t his own.

He’s in a cheery mood now, looking at you hopefully from the bed, arms crossed behind him, legs out long, wearing nothing but those stupid black boxers and that goshdarned, sweet smile.

“Do you think you could get me one of those big Schnitzels somewhere…? You know, the really big ones.”

“Maybe,” you cross your arms over your chest, and furrow your brow when he visibly perks up on the bed a little. “I said maybe. We’ll see. And you’ll get water instead of beer.”

“Shame.”

“You don’t need alcohol right now. Plus I can’t just go and buy beer looking like this.”

He smiles. The man’s all smiles today… Probably because of all the blood loss. Or maybe because you’re the girl next door who’s going to bring him his favourite food. 

“Of course not,” he says, with hazy love in his eyes. “I am already forever in your debt, Kätzchen.”

…

It’s not a sin to take a nap together.

That’s what you tell yourself as you curl next to König after you bring him his Schnitzel, shirt, and a few bottles of sparkling water. 

“There’s plenty of room for both. Come on, I won’t bite,” he shifts on the bed and extends his hand to invite you in. 

You lay yourself down next to him and tell yourself it’s just to please a recovering man. There’s nothing sexual about it, so why not?

Still, your body is singing by the time he takes your hand in his own, wrapping both your arms around your middle like you’re an established couple about to get some sleep together.

Raindrops are slowly tapping on the window, and you tell yourself you’re just resting your eyes a bit as your lids drift closed. König is already snoring behind you, with another erection pressed against your back. You’re not intimidated by it: it only feels natural to cuddle him like this. The rain turns into a languid rap, and you know you won’t be leaving this building in a while. With the contentment of a cat who’s finally warm and safe, you fall into a deep sleep.

You stir after an hour or two, waking up to such a pleasant, safe feeling you don’t quite remember when you’ve ever felt this good. König has buried his face in your neck, somewhere in the folds of your coif, probably in an attempt to reach some skin. He pulls you closer when you try to shift, rumbling contently behind you.

“Sleep well…?”

“Mm...”

The moment is so lazy and cosy you don’t want to get up. A large, warm hand flexes against your stomach as König buries his face deeper under the veil. He reaches the skin of your neck and inhales deeply, making all the tiny hairs across your body shoot up. 

You let him kiss you there, and he does it with reverence, like he’s kissing a holy idol. It’s chaste enough but makes you go taut in his hold – in fact, you have to use all your willpower not to moan out loud.

“I think I need to go now,” you whisper, doing absolutely nothing to act on that threat.

“Mm–hm,” he agrees while keeping your body hugged tight against him. 

“König… Really, I need to get back...”

“Ja... Ok,” he mutters, hand traveling up the thick black cotton of your habit. It meets your breast and cups it without shame. You feel the hot, hard length twitching against your back, making leaving this bed less and less tantalizing.

You whine when he starts to fully paw your breast, thrusting his hips up and against your butt. The kiss turns into a love bite right after as he starts to use teeth on your neck – your back arches on instinct, a broken sigh slipping through your lips. He can't be serious... A hickey-covered neck is the last souvenir you want to bring back from this nap.

“You said you wouldn’t bite,” you whimper, but he just laughs softly. The sound is thick and breathless, cinders and smoke so close to your ear that you’re shamefully wet even without his other… advances.

The afternoon is mellow, it has stopped raining, but you wish you could stay on this spun sugar bed with him forever. You know what you want already; in your heart, you’ve made a giant decision, but the overwhelming realisation is too much to bear. 

And so you rip yourself away from his arms and flee once again. He’s the devil himself, smiling on the bed with another proud erection tenting his pants. Rushing back to the convent, adjusting your veil as you go, your mind is plagued with the image of König reaching a hand down those boxers and enjoying a long, drowsy masturbation session while you have to hurry home for Mass.

Christ… 

It only took 24 hours to make you melt in his arms like snow.

And the “naps” become a habit as you haul him food or clothes, new from the store or clean and warm from the drier. You bring him a fresh pair of boxers, too, since he only had the clothes on his back when he was shot. He’s ever so grateful for his saving angel, who he gets to cuddle “as a reward”. You don’t quite know if it's a reward for you or him.

Sometimes, he’s cleaning his gun or doing wall pushups when you arrive, indicating that he’s still recovering but getting better every day – and more restless by the minute. At some point, you’re not even napping anymore; you only lay down with him to snuggle and make out, feeling like a shy teen when you only let him touch you over your clothes. His hands explore you literally everywhere except between your legs because that’s when you gently guide his eager paws away.

You wonder if this is what drugs feel like to some people. You’re fully in the present moment, swimming in a soft bliss, calm and whole and sweet and good. Everything in the world is just as it should be.

“If you ever come to Austria, I will take you to the mountains,” König mumbles nonsense into your hair, freed one day from the confines of your veil and coif. It’s a surrender in every meaning of the word – your clothes are the last literal protection you have against his attempts to worship you.

“Perhaps we’ll stay there... Forget all this,” he chatters lazily, clearly in the same sweet bubble as you. “Ja, that sounds good… I’ll keep you there until you come to your senses.”

“That sounds like a kidnapping scenario,” you comment with a soft smile on your lips.

“Ah. My plan is ruined.” 

You crane your head to look at him. “No... Not ruined.” 

“No?”

“Just exposed.”

You figure it was only a matter of time before this snuggle turned into another make out session. This time, the shared kiss is purposeful, full of presence and slow need. The anxiety is gone, the rights and wrongs of this world tucked somewhere far away.

“We need to stop doing this,” you whisper into his mouth, brain turning into mush from the way he holds you so gently.

“Why…? It feels nice…”

You can’t argue with that, and when his hands start to travel, you do nothing to stop them. 

He slides a palm down your curves, pulls you closer by the waist, cups your butt when you don’t seem to protest. Usually, this sort of behaviour has been a little too much, you have treated it as a bridge that shouldn’t be crossed. Now, you let his hand travel down your thigh, you allow him to grab a handful of your skirt and slowly, slowly drag it up.

When you still don’t protest, his unhurried kiss turns into a delighted, hungry one. 

He finds nothing but skin underneath your dress, and starts to explore your thigh with a trembling hand. He's warm and big, both gentle and calloused, and you can’t help but think how obscene you must look with your black robes dragged up like that, a man’s hand desperately searching for the treasure between your legs while your mouths devour each other in a slow, sloppy kiss. 

His fingers slide up, up, up until they meet the fabric of your panties, then come to a halt right above the mound of your sex. In both horror and thrill, you find your thighs parting, inviting him in, heart racing in your chest as König finds your underwear not only wet but soaked through.

That’s when he groans – into your mouth, hot breaths hitting your face as he examines you through the panties like it’s business as usual that you’re so wet. You’re both ashamed and exhilarated – you haven’t even shaved. And he’s about to…

“Mh–”

You feel him probe the side of the fabric, then casually sliding your poor, soaked underwear aside. Your wet folds are exposed to cold air and warm fingers; the last of your armour, your pride and shame and vows, drift away like they were made of nothing but simple steam. 

He drags his fingers across your folds, unhurried and pleased to meet you so ready. The fact that this man could crush your windpipe or break your spine, he could grab your thighs and force them apart like sticks, have his way with you if he wanted, doesn’t make you afraid of him like it probably should. You know he would never hurt you, but the intensity, the intimacy in his glare and touch, are enough to make the air around you feel electric. 

“You’ve never been with anyone…?” 

The question is breathless and thick, causing your core to tighten.

“No…” 

Is it that obvious…?

“Hmm.”

“‘Hmm’ what…?”

“Nothing. You’re sweet.”

He doesn’t try to steal a peek at your glistening sex, all bared and slick for him. He only has eyes for you. Your rushed breaths, how they hitch in your throat when he brushes a thumb over your clit. Your lids, fluttering over defenceless eyes as you try to search for something to ground you. But there’s nothing to hold on to but him, so you anchor yourself in the dark hunger of his eyes.

“I tried to leave you alone. I truly tried, Kätzchen… But you’re so sweet it’s illegal.”

The words hit you, loaded with lust, but you’re too weak to answer him anymore. Pitch-black darkness stares back at you as the sounds of your drenched pussy fill the room. You want to touch him too, but you’re too shy, still trying to silence the buzzing beehive of your brain and come to terms with the fact that this is actually happening. 

“I should’ve come back for you… I knew I should have, right away. I was too dumb, meine Liebling…”

Starved and dreamy, he looks down at you, whole body tight as you hold on to him and take in his confession. Only, you feel like you’re the one who’s confessing here… He seems to read you like a book, giving you just enough to keep that adoring look on your face.

He slips a finger in, and you stop breathing for a second, the room seems to go darken, even when it’s high noon. Time slows down while your heart thunders in your chest, giving you a sense of urgency where there is none. Pulling out and adding another finger straight away, he ushers a mewl out of you.

Your fingers curl around his shirt, pulling and tugging it as you try to keep intact. A deep rumble echoes in his chest when he sees you so pliant, clutching him like you’re drowning. 

“I know you want this,” he says, voice so rough that you barely recognize it’s him. “Don’t hold back…”

You try to beg him for more but the words come out as a whimper without a voice, causing something dark to flash behind his eyes. That’s all the reply you get: a pleased, filthy stare of someone who’s about to wreck you up. He must like his victims like this, too: on their backs, begging for mercy before he finishes them…

Blinking in despair, you try to drive the intrusive thoughts away, but he’s already upon you. Crossing the last breath of air between you, he captures your mouth in his.

You can do nothing but take, take, take: his fingers and his mouth, greedy for the rapture that’s already blooming in the distance, rising like a tidal wave. He won’t stop kissing you even when you spread your legs further – to what end, you don’t even know, because he fucks you without effort, keeps you pressed against him in a way that says you’re his.

You squeeze your eyes shut, tasting him, your whole body going tense before you erupt with a miserable, pained moan.

You reach the peak and break, right into his mouth, around his fingers, the weight of it all almost unbearable. He groans on your tongue, kissing you while you milk his fingers, your inner walls hugging him in waves.

Nothing moves except you, the shudders and squirms gradually leaving your body while he draws circles on your clit, lazy and somewhat absent-minded, like you’re his favourite toy now.

The release brings with it a roaring wave of sadness, a deep grief, something that has been locked up inside you for months – no, years, now brought to the surface from the bottom of a stagnant sea.

He lets you go reluctantly, releasing your mouth so you can breathe more freely. Burying his face into your neck, you decide to do the same, escaping to the solace of his strength while trying to prevent tears from welling up. 

König doesn’t yet understand that your release continues as a cleansing wave of relief; he only pulls out, slowly and carefully, gently sets your panties back where they were, straightens your dress, and hugs you as if nothing ever happened. 

You start to cry in full, not even knowing why. You just know you’ve wanted this for ages. This connection, this ecstasy, this mutual presence and fulfilment, this sense of belonging to someone. 

“Scheiße… Did I do something wrong?” 

König finally realizes you’re crying, and grows taut from the middle like an iron cord. The pure concern in his voice only makes you bawl louder and grip him tighter, and the man starts to veritably panic.

“Kätzchen, I–”

“No, no,” your jaw is shaking as you try to explain. “I just… It’s…”

You’re hugging him so tight that you don’t know where you end and he begins, but as König caresses your back, swallowing as he does it, you eventually come back down to planet Earth and back to this bed. 

“Did you like it…?” He asks, still with so much worry that you could announce your love for this man right away.

“Yes… Very much.”

“Gut.”

You think about returning the favour, but selfishly, you’d want nothing more than to stay here like this, in his arms, for just a few more minutes. Or an hour... Well, if you got to decide, you’d stay here for the rest of your life.

“Come here,” he says while you’re already locked in an inseparable embrace. He doesn’t make a single move to coax you into touching him in return, and after a few seconds, your voice comes out as a frail question.

“Should I… Do you want me to–?”

“Shh.”

…

Six months without him. 

Six months, and now you couldn’t bear to be apart from him for six hours.

You’re glad you were sensible enough to shave before running to him that morning. Making up more excuses about how you’re seeing your friend because she just suffered a terrible loss and needs some spiritual and emotional support, you sneak a couple of blocks down the street to see König. If anyone suspects something, they say nothing, but you feel the lies as a grimy cloak upon your shoulders as you hurry up the stairs of the B&B.

The shadows dissipate when König catches you in his arms. You get smothered with kisses as he spins you around, making you chastise him for being so careless with the wound. 

It’s, of course, difficult to scold a man who’s kissing you so profusely… You’re starting to feel like he wants it to open again so that he never has to leave this place. To be honest, you wouldn’t mind it either if you two stayed here forever.

“You’re crazy, and silly, and I like you,” you tell him while looking down at him – a strange thing to do, even if the man has picked you up like this once before. 

“Is that so?” 

His eyes always light up when he sees you, but now, he looks like a man in love.

“Yes... I like you a lot.”

“And I like you. Do you want to see how much?” 

He gives you that slightly crooked grin that reminds you of feline predators, or fantasy creatures who are up to no good. He also moves quickly for a man of his size, and before you know it, you’re thrown on the bed like a sack of potatoes. As you laugh and try to adjust yourself on the bedding, he’s already on his knees, head quickly disappearing under your robe.

God, he’s not going to–

“What are you doing…?” 

“Giving you a kiss,” comes a muffled voice under your dress.

He’s headed straight between your legs, two days worth of coarse stubble scraping the insides of your thighs as he goes.

“But… But what about your injuries?” You try to scurry upwards on the bed, hands shooting instinctively to hold his head in place before he does something utterly shameless. 

“König–”

“Sei ruhig.” 

God – you’re not the most confident woman when it comes to these things to begin with. It’s one thing for a man to lay his fingers on you and look you in the eyes while you cum, and another thing entirely to place his mouth where you’re wet and aching. 

What if he won’t like it...?

What if you’re not beautiful enough there? 

...What if you taste odd? 

You’re shy, as any woman would be on their first time getting head. You’re infinitely grateful to yourself for shaving because there’s a delighted, surprised sound under the robe when König strips you from your underwear.

“For me…?” 

He’s smiling at your pussy, voice dampened by the thick cotton, and you thank God that he can’t see your mortified face right now.

You brace yourself for a delicate kiss, maybe a tentative lick or two. But the soft tenderness of yesterday is gone as König presses his whole face into your sex, giving it a good inhale followed by a good, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. 

Wrenched awake from your semi-relaxed state, you jerk up on the bed as he does it again. Then come the flat-tongued, starved licks – your pussy wakes up after recovering from the initial shock, giving a full throb against his stubbled jaw. König breathes a short laugh against you, pleased with this response.

The noise of him “kissing” you is obscene and only gets worse when he drags his tongue up and down your slit. You truly hope the doors here are solid wood because you can’t stifle all the sounds that escape you. For some reason, it is vital for you not to let the old receptionist know that a humble sister of Christ is getting licked to ruin in his establishment. 

You’re stunned, and a bit appalled – was this all it took to turn your nose up to your vows? A big man with big arms and a big gun? Some guy who wants to get under your dress after a few weeks of acquaintance…?

Because that’s what this is, a few weeks’ acquaintance currently under your robes, eating you out like you’re his last meal. 

The things you’ve imagined him do to you are shameful; even now, you fantasize about König picking you up and taking you against a wall when he gets better. This man treats you right, he treats you sweet, but you want more, you need something earthly and raw, and him lapping you under your habit is precisely that. It’s ravenous and adorable at the same time, so conflicting that you don’t know who you are anymore. 

You’re going through several stages of ego death and bliss; you’re going through a crisis of faith and multiple rebirths while König is having a field day with your pussy. It should concern you that he’s so eager to wreck you like this. It should arouse suspicion that the playful aura of this man changes whenever he gets between your legs... He becomes deliciously dark somehow, dark and base and addictive, and you wind into another plane of existence with him, to someplace only reserved for you two. 

“König,” you whisper. “I’m– I’m about to cum…”

“Uh-huh. You have my permission.” 

It’s dark, again, so smooth and rich that your inner walls clench, then flood with pleasure and pain. The inevitable orgasm is thigh-shaking and soul-ripping, your moans long and pitiful now. They’re not whimpers but cries, bare and pained as he continues to bully you with his tongue, grunting silky sin into your core. 

You can feel yourself leak on his chin as you cum, violently, forgetting the whole existence of the man downstairs. He turns you into an overstimulated, limp, heady mess – your chest is heaving by the time König emerges from under your robes.

“Oh God…” 

It simply escapes from your lips when you see how wet his jaw is. There’s a pussydrunk look in his eyes as he takes a look at his good work.

All thoughts of What if he doesn’t enjoy it evaporate when you see the demanding erection between his legs, pointing at you so viciously that you feel pity for the fabric of his pants.

“Ja... I made you see God?”

“Stop it… You’re so cheeky...”

“Eh. And you’re technically still a virgin. We need to fix that, don’t you think?”

“I don’t feel like a virgin.” 

“Well… I can take the blame.” He gives you a naughty little wink. “Remember? I would go to hell for you.”

And as if you weren’t in over your head already, he starts to drag your robes up. Too limp to do anything about him unravelling you like that – not even wanting to prevent it – you continue to catch your breath as his eyes go wide.

“This is what you’ve been hiding under here all this time…?”

He tucks the thick fabric up until your breasts are exposed. You’re not wearing any bra; you stopped wearing them years ago as useless and immoral. Your nipples perk up from excitement under his stare, your panties wrenched down in a hurry, now crumpled and forgotten somewhere between your thighs – the look on his face is priceless as he takes in the view of your exposed body like you’re a Christmas present he just opened. 

“You naughty girl…” he says thickly, and while you’ve received plenty of attention these last two days, it still makes you feel odd to be adored like this. His hawk eyes fly back to you, the corner of his mouth tugging up with some new, nasty idea.

“Want to see what I got?”

Oh God…

You don’t even get to express your consent – which would be enthusiastic – before König pulls the waistband of his boxers down. 

The cock that springs free is long and thick, heavy and red-pink from the tip that’s pointing straight at you. Curving slightly to the side, it’s even bigger than you thought, somehow having been rendered harmless by his pants, making it seem hefty but never that tall.

Your friend was right about him – tall men have tall dicks… Big hands indicate a big dick, too, you remember as you watch how he wraps tall, lean fingers around himself, giving his shaft a slow half-stroke. 

“You want to practice with me?”

You quickly rip your eyes up to his – you’re the world’s lousiest nun, caught staring at a cock like that. König only seems proud that you’re so intrigued by it, his eyes watching over you with dark amusement. 

“Uh–huh,” you swallow and nod – Christ, your voice is breaking… 

And whatever he means by “practising”, you can only hope that he’s not going to put it inside. There’s not even a condom for crying out loud. 

It’s a sigh-inducing thing when he gets to it, rests the heavy head of him on your clit, then drags the fat tip down across your folds.

“F–uck…” his head falls back a bit, lids fluttering closed from the way your slickness feels against him. That’s the most sensitive spot in a man – more of your friend’s advice floods your brain as you watch how he does it again, rasping while guiding himself up and down your slit.

You’ve never seen him so serious: his brows furrow together as he explores your folds, spreading your wetness all over himself while stroking his length. Agonizingly slow, you can see his balls hang heavy and gradually pull tight as he continues to work his cock. 

You know you should touch him, return the favour at last – but it’s hard to interrupt a moment like this. You’re mesmerized to see him already tensing from the chest up, the tendons on his neck becoming visible as he grits his teeth together.

“Kätzchen…” he rasps, “Would you mind if I…”

You fear that he’ll ask for permission to slip it inside, tempted and weak-willed. And to be honest, you’re not sure if you’d have the will to deny him.

But that’s not what he has in mind, apparently, as he begins to fist himself in a slack hurry, with half-lidded eyes and a slightly open mouth. He just wants to cum like this and ease the pain that must be terrible after days of sexual tension…

And seeing you laid out before him, naked and dreamy and bare, licked stupid just moments ago isn’t helping, that’s for sure.

“No,” you whisper, “No I won’t mind…”

You brave your heart to reach out and touch him: it’s just a shy hand gliding down his chest, but it makes him groan from pleasure. A brush of fingertips across his abs, and his muscles contract, and when you slide your palm over his hipbone and coax him to come closer, he finally leans forward and on top of you.

“Kätzchen…” he groans in whispers now. “You’re so wet…”

He could slip it in from this position, search for your opening and rough it inside. It’s tempting, so alluring that you almost say please – but that would be a catastrophe, and so you only look up at him, speechless when he supports himself on his hands and starts to glide up and down, fucking himself between your thighs. 

The bulged tip caresses your clit each time he pulls back – you doubt you can cum another time like this, but he sure as hell tries his everything to get you off too. 

“You want it…” he grunts above you. “You want me to fuck you. Right...?”

“Yes… But–”

“I’ll get a condom.”

“No, wait–” 

Now it's your turn to panic. You were always taught that condoms are unacceptable, while simultaneously, you know you could never do it raw, not even with König.

This is a moral choice you've never had to face before, and your brain is no use to you now. It's riddled with chants of Put it in and Forget about the bloody plastic because even with your zero experience you know it wouldn't feel as good as skin.

"No? It's a sin or something?" 

König pants above you, both tired and needy, and you nod with pleading eyes, not knowing what else to do. 

"Ok… Ok," he adjusts to the new reality while hovering on the brink of eruption. "I'll talk you out of it later..."

You give him a small smile, and he answers it with his own, slowly, starts to move again. Just the feel of the smooth surface of his cock dragging up and down your slit is enough to bite your lip and moan. Sliding your hands over his waist and down his butt, you give him a good squeeze–

And were he inside you, the effects would have been disastrous.

He cums abruptly, with a stiff, broken groan as soon as your nails dig into his skin. Hot, heavy seed meets your folds; it’s thick, the spurts neverending as he continues to fuck himself between your thighs with little control. How you still have anything left to give, you cannot comprehend, but the sudden, messy orgasm of this indomitable man makes you cum as well. 

Everything’s hot and sticky and dreamlike, almost pornographic, your thighs drenched in cum as he ruts through the orgasm with you. You roll your hips in sync with his, arriving at the end of your own mellow, beautiful peak, wondering how on earth it can only get better every time you have sex… 

The afterwaves are magical; you basically came together, and it hasn’t even been in yet. If this is what sex is like, mind-blowing and relaxing, hot and sweet and fulfilling with the right person, then you feel both dumb and proud for saving yourself for König.

And you’re starting to realize that you might just have a boyfriend…

No – not a boyfriend.

You have a man.

…

König orders food – or goes downstairs in nothing but his shirt and boxers and makes the poor man order it – while you lie in bed, under covers, still high from all the lovemaking. The room must be smelling like a sex cave by now. 

You take a quick shower while waiting for the delivery, mentally berating yourself for being so reckless. Having a man cum all over your folds is not exactly a safe way to practice sex… You’re doing everything wrong, asking König if he has any diseases when he comes back. 

He just pulls you back into his arms with a gentle laugh and says: “What do you take me for, a jerk? Of course I’m clean, silly kitty.”

That calms your nerves a little. You’re feeling anything but virginal right now, and putting on the black, heavy robes of a nun doesn’t sit well with you. You leave them on the floor, making König a very happy man by deciding to sit on the bed completely naked. 

You reach for the comforter when there’s a knock on the door, and clutch it against your chest like a paid woman while König pays the courier – still in his black boxers and t-shirt, like he’s just a guy who happens to live here.

“What...? Eat?”

The smell of Nepalese food fills the room: the rich, mouthwatering scents in stark contrast to what you’re used to at the convent’s kitchen. Butter chickens, lamb koftas and flatbreads are laid out steaming on the bed between you, and König attacks the food like someone who hasn’t seen a meal in weeks.

It makes you smile; him being so happy with simple things such as good food and some kinky sex, a nice cuddle and a nap to top it off. He munches on the food with his mouth open because it’s so hot – the man’s secretly so greedy that you can’t help but wonder if he had enough love, food and shelter as a child.

“Do you do this often?” You ask when he rips another handful of flatbread to dip in the sauce. 

“Seduce women.”

“Seduce…?” He laughs. “Kätzchen, I couldn’t seduce a woman even if I tried.”

You’re unsure if he’s dodging the question or being humble – or worse yet, if it means you’ve been an easy conquest.

“You just did,” you point out, realizing you’re sulking when König tilts his head with curiosity. 

“Oh. I’m sorry… Did it hurt?”

You grab a pillow to throw at him, but he dodges it and laughs.

“Careful with the food…!”

And of course he isn’t. 

You decide it’s useless with him, and besides, jealousy is not a good look. But you just can’t help it... You’re so in love that it’s not even funny anymore.

To you, he’s a hero and a God in one man, he’s both Satan and the Saviour. But to König, you’re probably just a nice foreign friend... Some cute nun he met months ago, who he finally gets to grope and taste and, hopefully, soon fuck. He says he doesn’t have time for women, and yet he licks you like a professional – not like you know what a professional in this area feels like, but it’s pretty clear that König is not a virgin even if you are. 

It must be nice to live a dangerous life and bump into women on the street... Woo them off their feet and leave them yearning, then get shot and cared for by some fussy, naive nun who’s head over heels for him. Perhaps it’s his favourite pastime hobby to torture ladies with flowers and letters and some cock and then leave like a cowboy. You wonder if he has a girl in every city – girls who aren’t nuns, girls who know how to show him a good time.

“Kitten... I’m not like that,” he says, a curry-drenched piece of bread dripping sauce over his fingers. “I only hold hands with you. Now that you finally let me.”

And you don’t know what’s more decadent: eating naked on the bed after making love, or being a Catholic nun who’s about to beg a man to fuck you, with or without a condom.

He finally notices he’s about to make a mess on the sheets, and gobbles the food as quickly as he can before there’s sauce all over the bed. Licking his fingers with dark, glimmering eyes set on you, you quickly focus your attention on the food.

The bastard is flirting with you every chance he gets, even when you two are trying to eat... 

“Is this what you call holding hands?” You ask, reaching for a piece of bread he's offering you.

König looks at you a while longer, with an expression he sometimes wears when conversing about serious, deep subject, the issues of God and Heart.

“This is what I call liking someone so much it hurts.”

…

König learns your body language; he knows it like a native speaker by the end of the week. 

You, on the other hand, learn that he’s ticklish on the sides of his stomach and behind the ears. You discover that he gets hard if you caress his abs or whisper in his ear that you like him... You learn everything about what kind of handjobs he likes; you find out that he almost rips the sheets apart when you take him in your mouth.

You lie on top of him, you lie under him, you let him hold you any way he likes. He moves you around like a doll, kisses you until you’re soaked, laughs into your neck when you tell him he’s being impossible again. He loves your breasts religiously, bites and nibs and licks them until you grab his head and tell him you can’t take it anymore. He has an oral fixation for your body and has to kiss every part of you: your inner thighs, your hip bones, the quivering place just below the navel; your neck and fingers and arms, even the arch of your foot. 

You receive attention only reserved for saints, and fear that someone will notice the smell of cum on you, or the musk of a man, lingering in your hair. Your sisters could easily notice your flushed lips if they wanted to. They could see the dreamy smiles, eyes that have just seen God, but everyone is looking inward, and no one sees how you rebel against the Lord right under their nose.

You stay strong in your no condoms policy, but practice with König every day; you practice so much that his wound opens and starts to bleed.

“Oh my God…”

“Heh… It’s okay,” he says as your stare drifts down to the side of his stomach. The bandage is slowly blooming with red, and your crazy soldier would simply go on if you didn’t order him to lie down. 

You’re both naked as you start to patch him up, convinced that this is some sort of a punishment for being so reckless. König only smiles on the bed while you treat him; it’s like his master plan finally worked.

“I like it when you take care of me,” he explains while you clean up the wound. You raise your stare, and in place of a horny, able-bodied man, there’s briefly a boy, a kid who used to make himself sick as a child to get at least some attention.

“Has no one ever taken care of you…?” 

“Not really.”

He grunts when the antiseptic seeps inside the wound – you wince, sympathetic to his pain.

“Is that why you like me?” You try to chitchat and take his attention away from it, secretly nervous when fishing for details on why he would want to be with someone like you.

“There are many reasons why I like you.” 

“Such as…?”

“Your smile, for starters... I like that. And then… I really like your ass.”

“König...”

“What, I’m not allowed to?”

You purse your lips to scold him, but really, your heart hurts so much it burns. There are a million doors to this man, but he only keeps one or two open at a time, to prevent an attack of some sort. 

“I like your devotion,” he says, finally with some serious air about him. “Your kindness. You don’t hurt people.”

“...But you do,” you whisper. It’s not an accusation, only a comment. 

“I would never hurt you.”

The playfulness is gone, and while you miss it, you also like it when König gets fragile like this, stripping himself of all the shields that make him a strong, confident merc.

“Sometimes we have to fight for the things we love,” he continues, probably explaining why he endorses violence.

“Killing is a sin,” you say, more to yourself than to him. 

“Kätzchen... You can’t tell me it’s a sin to kill the ones who would try to hurt you. You can’t tell me it’s not love to hurt them back.”

You look at him, calm and adoring on the bed. He’s so sure of his choices, like an archangel set on the borders of Eden with a flaming sword in his hand... 

And the rose is starting to unfurl, the enigma finally unravelling itself. You’re the sacred Other, the opposite of him, you’re the great Mystery he’s infatuated with. You have peace and faith and hope and love: everything he lacks. 

And he’s the opposite of you. Fierce, vengeful, violent… Hopeless, suffering, without peace. Ready to dive into the world and bathe in it, be it a pool filled with love or blood.

He’s searching for the answers, too, only in different ways.

“And no one ever will.”

“No one’s trying to kill or hurt me,” you whisper, trying to stand brave under that flaming stare. But he’s stronger than you, even when recovering. He pulls you back to the bed and in his arms because that’s where you simply belong now, and caresses your cheek, as gently as you caressed his withered flower in your cell.

…

You know your days at the convent are coming to an end, but when the abbess gives you a warning after the fifth day of you skipping half of your chores, appointments and prayers, you go to see her. 

Without mentioning König or what you’ve been up to lately, you simply tell her you’ve decided to move on with your life. You say you’ve studied your soul for months now, coming to a conclusion that the life of a nun doesn’t suit you after all. 

These things happen, and people have left before; it’s nothing new under the sun that a nun or a monk wishes to return to the world. This is not a prison, you remind yourself, knowing that your departure will send some waves through the place but that eventually, people will go on with their lives.

You will probably be forgotten in a year: someone else will take your place, and you will continue your adventures someplace far away from here… Or that’s what you hope. 

But even if things didn’t work out with König, and you somehow ended up alone, it has become clear that you can’t stay here and continue this double life.

König’s offer doesn’t sound too bad: the Austrian Alps sound very enticing, actually. A simple life away from the buzz of the city is a golden opportunity for you; peace and faith can remain in your life without preventing you from participating in it. If only you knew whether he was kidding when he said that…

“Are you sure, sister? This seems like a rash decision.”

“Yes. I’m sure. I… I think I have found something,” you try to awkwardly explain. 

“Something… Or someone?”

“I just know that I can’t stay here. It’s not right.”

“On that, I agree.”

You go through the procedures, ritualistic, almost. The abbess asks whether you understand that this cannot be undone: you can’t just leave and then come back if you change your mind. The doors of the Church will always remain open to you, but your vows cannot be renewed, not in this convent. If this acquaintance of yours turns out to be a disappointment, you cannot simply come back here, don your robes, and start over.

She’s only doing her duty, and you try to listen respectfully, nodding as she lists the things that will be out of your grasp after you walk out those doors. Thinking that everything’s settled, you inform her you’ll leave today, to which she puckers her brows.

“My dear. Don’t you owe it to this convent to meditate on this for one more day? Don’t you owe it to yourself, to the Lord...? I’m sure the world can wait a few more hours.”

You sigh, bow your head, and bend to her will. 

She’s right; you can’t just leave as if all the years of joy and peace here meant nothing. You have people to say goodbye to, and you owe it to God to say your prayers, not your last, but last behind these walls. You haven’t even attended the evening mass these days; it’s like you stopped being a nun when a certain Austrian soldier asked if you wanted to take a nap with him.

You receive lots of well wishes, hugs, even tears when you tell others you’re leaving. Embarrassed that you almost got rid of your robes and sneaked out to another secret lover’s meeting without even saying farewell, you meet everyone with full presence until you find yourself crying too. 

You catch very little envy in your sisters, but there are some who look at you with jealous disdain when you tell them that no, you don’t even have an apartment yet, nor a job, but that you’ll take your new life as a gift and face it like an exciting adventure. 

Thinking about König all day long, you can’t wait for tomorrow so you can tell him the good news. You hope he understands that you can’t visit him every day, even if it has been your silent agreement that you knock on his door before noon. It’s a good thing that the poor man gets some rest: you can tickle and giggle and practice with him tomorrow to your heart’s content, it’s not like he’ll disappear in the next 24 hours.

He’s in König now; all that bliss resides with him and the moments when you two break bread together, or wash each other, tell each other silly secrets on the bed, fall asleep after a round of good sex.

Except that that’s exactly what you fear while you go about your day. 

Sorrow and excitement mix in your heart with bittersweet torment, but what haunts you most is that you no longer find God in the great hall where your sisters sing. You don’t feel His presence during the Mass. 

Sun sets behind the window, and you sigh while peeking out of your nunnery turned prison. Silence weighs upon you like a blanket, but you can’t get any sleep. 

There’s a sudden “clack” on the window, followed by rap, small pebbles or something clattering against the glass. You rise to sit on the bed, instantly thinking of König and his stupid, silly threats.

The longing is awful, it’s even worse when König was away for half a year because now you actually have something to miss. You wonder if he’s watching the same sweet skies as you, if he’s worried or hurt when you didn’t visit him today.

You wonder if the man has only shrugged his shoulders and left…

It can’t be…

There’s another clack, then another, until you jump from under the covers and go to the window, opening it without even remembering to be quiet. 

As soon as the windowpane glides open and you peek out, you meet König and his stare.

“What are you– You can’t be here...!”

“I was just about to sing,” he grins without even bothering to tone down his voice, letting the remaining gravel in his hand fall to the ground.

Bending his knees, he swiftly jumps up, pulling himself to the window sill like it’s easy parkour, probably opening that goshdarn wound again in the process. No wonder men die younger – you’d have to tie this specimen to a sturdy lamp post if you wanted him to stay put...

Throwing a pair of long legs over the sill, he makes himself at home, forcing you to take a good few steps back as he simply waltzes inside your room.

“You didn’t come to see me today,” he says like it’s some kind of an explanation for this silliness.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you roll your eyes. “Something came up, and I had to stay here.” 

If you tell him that you’ve just renounced your vows, there’s no way you’ll get him out. He’d just say you must celebrate the good news by making love all night. 

“That’s alright,” he says amiably. “I’ll just visit you.”

Trying to argue with whispers doesn’t really help your cause. König only smiles down on you like a cheerful, jovial sun.

“But... It’s... You can’t be here…!” 

“I promise I’ll behave.”

“You and your promises… We both know how well you keep those. Go back before you get me into trouble, silly. We can see each other tomorrow.”

“But I want to see you today.” 

“Well, you’ve seen me,” you extend your hands to your sides, knowing you’ve already lost. “You can go back now.”

“I don’t think so.” 

He takes another step, forcing you to back away until you bump into your bed. Crossing the final breath between you, he pulls you into a kiss.

So much for contemplating your choices and dedicating your last night as a nun to God…

And it’s laughable how fast he rids you of your clothes these days. It’s stupid how fast you’re able to help him get undressed…  You all but tear the clothes off each other; actually, you can hear a seam rip when you both yank the shirt over his head, the new black t-shirt you just bought him a few days ago. 

Does he even know what he’s doing to you…?

Muscles rippling in the fading sunlight, he’s a god mortalized. Body built as a weapon to rip or ram his way through enemies, to you, he’s only ever been the source of joy and pleasure.

You could pray on the altar of his pecs, sing songs and chants to his lips, worship the bunching muscles of his thighs, kneel before the thing that rests thick between them. The sheer width of him is enough to make you drunk: desire pools, brims, until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore. 

You lay yourself on the bed, and he follows, like a big panther or a prowling titan. The bed sags as he sets his knee on it, it wails when crawls on top of you. Heavy cock swinging between his thighs, it seems like a cruel joke that you chose this man to be your first. 

And you didn’t expect that you’d lose your virginity this way: in your old room at the holy convent you swore yourself to a few years ago. You didn’t expect you’d lose it to a giant soldier who starts to frantically search for a condom after you whisper to him you’re done with practising.

While theoretically a sin, you’re more sullen with the prospect that you won’t be able to feel the silken hardness of him now that he rolls the plastic on. A little too enthusiastically – as if he hadn’t seen a woman in weeks, let alone cummed all over one two times yesterday. 

Still, you find heat pooling down your stomach as he approaches you, keen and eager and as hard as a man can get when he sees something that he likes.

He doesn’t need to part your legs: you do it for him, and when he sees your pussy all puffed up, leaking a thin stream down on the bed, his brows knit together, the expression reminding you of approaching thunder in summer.

His gaze is heavy like midnight when he guides it back to you – always back to you and your eyes, even if there’s a whole feast down there, prepared just for him. The backs of your thighs meet his as he slowly crawls forward, spreading your legs further apart before the battering ram. 

“Kitten...” he rumbles. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

The springs continue to wail beneath you: it’s like the whole world is against you today, even the stupid bed making it far too likely to get caught. And if you get caught, it won’t be just by some shocked sisters screaming when they find a man inside your room… It will be by them screaming when they find him inside you.

And he doesn’t seem to even care.

“Ach so my little nun… I hope we don’t break the bed,” he smirks.

“I hope you don’t break the bed…”

“You want me to take you down there instead?” 

He nods in the direction of the floor, and you can only blink – your soldier boyfriend is offering to fuck you on the cold cement as if it’s some kind of an option.

“I’m not having my first time on a floor,” you grump.

“Heh. Thought so, princess.”

The possibility of getting caught makes him visibly excited. Hell, it makes you excited... You wonder if he’s an adrenaline junkie, leading a dangerous life and having a life-threatening job, now choosing to try his luck at fucking a nun at a cloister.

You don’t want to be a challenging conquest or a kinky story told to some fellow soldiers at a bar… You want to be a commitment; you want to mean something to him. But you can’t escape the fact that this setting is turning you on. You’re even worse than him, spreading your legs and hoping he’d touch you with that cock; just drag it down your lips and glide it in already.

His gaze is heavy, blue steel, blazing in the darkness as he looks at you so wanton on the bed, a simple crucifix on the wall as the only witness to your deeds. This must be one of the craziest things you’ve done in your life…

Replacing his hand with the head of his cock, he finally lets you have what you need. The tip of him is hot, even when covered in thin plastic, and the sight of him, large and powerful and dark, looming godlike above you, makes you think of pagan heroes and kings. To you, he’s all men in one, the sheer mass of him making your thighs tremble from want.

With a curious finger sliding down the wet, heavy seam of you, he swears when meeting you so pliant and wet. Thanks to your constant “practising”, you’re always slightly aroused, getting in the mood the instant you see him.

Contrary to your belief, having sex multiple times a day doesn’t, in fact, stifle sexual desire but adds to it… It’s like you’ve opened Pandora’s box together, only the box contained all the pleasure in the world instead.

“Are you ready, kitten…?” 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Just… We need to be quiet…”

His smile is a flash of a grin in the falling darkness. “I’ll try my best.”

The sound that leaves the back of his throat is a deprived, hoarse moan. He seems to be enjoying it more than anything while you’re trying to remember how to breathe, but when he settles fully in and stays there, you start to actually feel something… Something thick, and heady. 

Settling to your entrance, he tells you to relax, and you try your best with that; you truly do.

But nothing can prepare you for it, the fat head of him sliding in, smoothly and with a spread that leaves you gasping. The fulfilment is phenomenal – you try to remind yourself to relax your muscles as he pushes a few inches in, and then some more, and then some more. More, more, more, until you start to feel your inner walls wake up with alarm. 

Seated so deep that his balls arrive to touch your flesh, your body starts to accept him, squeeze him, hug him.

And it feels good. In a way, it’s the best feeling in the world.

He groans, slightly high-pitched and surprised; perhaps you’re tighter than he expected, or perhaps he can feel the hugging thing… 

Your cheeks are panging with heat – the whole building is silent except for the broken breaths of you two, and the lewd sounds of fucking on your chaste bed not made to take this sort of abuse. Growing only wetter and wetter, you try to keep your moans lodged inside your throat as he starts to fuck you with determination, seeing that you’re enjoying yourself. 

Pulling out the slightest bit, he chooses to head straight back, apparently not wanting to be deprived of your heat even for a second. Thrust by thrust, he pulls out more, allowing you to get used to what it feels like. The bed is absolutely horrid, creaking every time he buries himself back in. 

It’s a punishing of sorts, his cock knocking the air out of you every now and then. The slap of his balls against you is sinful – your room has seen nothing like this, nothing but some shy solo action every few months. Now you’re spread wide open for a good pounding, his hips reaching a pace that makes the rest of the world slowly dissolve. 

Realizing he might be a bit too enthusiastic with a woman who’s a first-timer, he swallows and slows down his pace, causing you to almost scream with frustration. 

“Am I being too rough…?” He asks, panting like he just ran ten miles. Plugged deep inside you, you can feel his cock throbbing and pulling near the point of cumming – perhaps another reason why he stopped.

“No… No.” 

You sound puny under him, fingers flexing over his skin, the great ribs flaring in reply under your touch.

“You want more?” 

“Mm. Needy little thing...” 

“...Yes.”

Huffing in the hollow of your neck, he breaks into a smile and licks his lips. 

You barely catch the hint of degrading tone in his voice, a mocking, something about the way you’re so wet and needy for him stroking his ego just the right way.

Knowing that he’s here for reasons other than just sex doesn’t change the fact that you enjoy getting sweaty with him, spiralling into a state of total surrender. Ten times more powerful than the most blissful experiences with your God, you want to come here for worship again and again, to have his body entangled with yours. 

Ecstatic that you just came, König no longer holds back; he doesn’t even let you gather the remaining pieces of your sanity before he starts to chase his own peak. Taking what he needs from you, the trusts turn into short, quick pumps, some foul German curse hissed between his teeth just before he cums. 

When the tide swells, it’s a bit different: not just external stimuli and shallow friction, but areas never explored now getting nudged as well. The delicious drag of his length in and out of you, the thickness making you feel overstuffed, does make the pleasure well like never before.

You’re not accustomed to this, being forced so dumb by a cock. Cheekily anticipating the swelling wave, it breaks upon you almost without warning. There’s nowhere to escape, and the climax is blinding, the euphoria leaving you without air for a moment. 

You can feel every thick pulse of his cock, and fear for the condom that looked far too tight to manage to take both him and his load. You whimper and cling to him as he ruts through his heavy bliss, entire body throbbing with heat from the joy of spilling inside you. 

When done, he sinks half his weight on you, thoroughly spent, and you feel fulfilled, some deep-seated joy taking hold of everything that once was hollow. Curiously, all shame is absent. The man on top of you is sweaty and catching his breath, but you’re only glad to swim in the messy, sweaty newness of you two. 

“You ok...?”

You want his weight on you… You want him to stay inside you until he grows soft, you need him to be as drowsy and complete as you.

Hugging him tight in the middle of your post-coital bliss, you feel König rumble into your neck.

“Better than ever,” you breathe a smile. “How about you…?”

“...In heaven,” he replies, and you have to stifle a giggle pushing up your throat. He has never sounded so spent. So tired, happy and fragile…

“I just want to be with you like this,” he continues to mutter on your skin. “Can I be with you like this…?”

“Yes.”

He slowly rises to lean on his elbows, propping himself on them one by one. Weary, pleased eyes slowly focus on you, and the back of his palm comes to caress you, knuckles gently brushing your temple, thumb swiping away an escapee hair. 

“Kitten… I’m serious. I don’t want to live without you.”

“We have a tradition in Austria where men sometimes steal the bride.”

“How convenient,” you smile.

“I know you belong to someone else, but I’m going to steal you.”

Your eyes are full of stars, you just know they are. If this is another one of his jokes, you can’t bring yourself to care, not as long as he looks at you like that, eyes so set and determined.

“I’m sure He won’t mind,” you mirror his gesture, raising a hand to caress his cheek.

“I’ll fight Him if he does.” 

“...You can’t fight God,” you laugh.

“Why not?”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You open your mouth, then close it, shaking your head on the pillow. In a way, you can imagine him taking up arms against God if it came to that. If there was someone foolish enough – or brave enough – to rise against God, that someone would be him.

“König… I renounced my vows today.”

“...You did?”

The happiness, the pure joy in his eyes, is heartbreaking. At that moment, you know that all his silly jokes, follies, and babbles about taking you to the mountains and whisking you away have been real. They have been true, honest wishes... There is no lie in him, no jest, no fakeness. Just pure, simple joy from hearing that you finally chose him, too.

“I tried to leave in the morning but the abbess made me stay for one more day.”

“Ah... So you’re being held a prisoner here?”

“Kind of.”

The familiar twinkle in his eyes tells you that he already has another plan coming right up. That grin means mischief; but with you, only the sweetest kind.

“Well. You’re in luck, then, because I’m here to save you.”

“You just said you’re going to steal me,” you laugh.

“Call it what you want, kitten,” he winks. “But I’m not leaving without you.”

…

The sun has set, but the evening is bright, the sky filled with stars visible even through city lights. It’s dark in the courtyard as you sneak out of the window with König, trying not to giggle as you escape. You call it a prison break; he calls it Einsatz Rapunzel. Whatever it is, it feels like freedom.

The old man doesn’t even care to look surprised when he sees you clothed in jeans and a simple shirt this time, smiling as you rush upstairs, hand in hand with König.

He whispers promises on your skin, saying that you won’t stay here for long; his contacts will get you to the heart of Europe, tomorrow if you want. You can’t wait to sleep with him tonight: simply sleep with him, finally, curl up together in safety, do the most basic thing all lovers do. You can’t wait to wake up to a fresh dawn together, lovely, curious, and new. 

Night covers you with beauty and grace, his pulse against your palm both a promise and a blessing. You take new vows: promising to yourself to live each day fully and bravely, and never again shut your heart.

The only thing left of you on your old bed is your black and white robe, and on it, a crucifix and a rose, and a note that says:

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love… But the greatest of these is love.

[munsonology]

Was looking at nun pics on Pinterest and fell back into my Peter bs as if I ever left lol

Imagining Eddie falls into being a rockstar to cover up that he’s actually a demon who is the next heir to reign over the underworld 🧎🏽‍♀️nunny tried to get him to button his shirt for his Barbara Walter’s interview but she gave up

“Honey? You’re being interviewed by the Barbara Walters. Can you at least button up if you don’t wear a tie?”

Eddie shakes his head with a deep laugh, “the only tie I want is your hands around my neck when I rail you later tonight.”

“…maybe one more undone button won’t hurt anyone.”

[youandtom2]

Hi, demon!tom on the way and I genuinely think this is the filthiest thing I've ever written

and that's me saying that. Buckle up. Things are about to get very unholy.