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blkkizzat · 5 months

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'SINS OF THE FATHER'

PRIEST!NANAMI X READER

✟ the liturgy: (summary) Even the most pious of men succumb to temptation and Father Kento is no exception... especially when it comes to you. (Priest!Nanami POV) ✟ the confession: (tw) dark themes, sacrilege, adultery, blasphemy, jealously, exhibitionism, blackmail/manipulation, heavy biblical references, cunnalingus, fingering, riding dick, shoe fucking, blow jobs, panty sniffing, olfactophilia, dacryphilia, lightly suggested altarboy!yuji (aged-up) x reader, oil tycoon!gojo x reader, suggested mentions of reader x other jjk men, corruption, masturbation and angst as you are literally tormenting this poor priest (lol). ✟ the sins: (wc) 4.1k ✟ the opening rites:(a/n) i grew up catholic (got confirmed too) and went to catholic school but haven't stepped inside a church in literal years. i was honestly surprised how many bible references came so easily from pure memory while writing this.

Sanctified conviction radiates off Father Kento as he approaches the inordinately adorned wood carved pulpit with authority to address his congregation.

Despite the uncomfortable Summer heat there is no lack of attendance, a sea of familiar faces packed into the small town chapel. The buzzing song of cicadas and soft oscillation of the large fan circulating humid air through the church are the only sounds heard as the masses eagerly await his homily.

You were among them of course.

Sitting front and center– a small saccharine smile graced your lips while your doe-like eyes, captivated and attentive, were made even bigger as they raised to the podium to meet his own.

Bible open, Father Kento takes a full breath pause before he finally speaks, his gaze is benevolent yet his voice is firm as it projects over the congregation.

“Dear Brothers and Sisters– Let us reflect on the gospel of First Corinthians Chapter 10 Verse 13…and The Lord says– ‘There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man—”

Oh but you– you were anything but common– and irregardless of any higher standing his status as a clergy member bestowed upon him he was still a man of flesh and blood.

No matter the effort exerted, Father Kento had been unable to keep his eyes from yours during the service. The magnetism of unknown and certainly unholy forces drew him to you time and again without fail.

No beauty in town rivaled yours, not with an angelic countenance that complemented your delicate features so gracefully in your every action.

Yours was a form of divine femininity rivaling that of Venus herself.

If that wasn’t beguiling enough, your honeyed voice and syrupy words had the ability to sway even the most feral of temperaments. Leaving those who heard it at your mercy like a gentle but deadly siren.

“—but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able—”

Is God faithful?

Ironic how you had Father Kento questioning the very foundations of his own faith while simultaneously indoctrinating God’s dogma to his faithful parishioners.

If you were a test he had failed.

Many times.

Even the first man, Adam, had fallen to Eve’s allures and not even the warrior strength of Samson was able to overcome Delilah’s seductions.

Who was he to prevail where the biblical idols had fallen?

What actual grace could God give man against the sensual temptation that he had carved from man’s own rib?

Father Kento had felt forsaken of God’s grace ever since you had approached him after mass to quietly request the rites of confession. He should have refused when you kindly solicited him to perform them in the cooler confines of the secluded rectory over the oven-like heat of a chapel confessional box in summer.

Led astray so effortlessly by your genial charms as you looked to him like a lamb lost and addressed him so meekly as “Father Kento”. He would have just as easily given you access to heaven then if it were in his power.

Yet it was you who had so graciously led him to the gates of Zion— which so conveniently happened to reside in the velvety depths between your thighs.

Consequently, the only sins that were confessed in the rectory that day were the moist squelches of your peach-ripened pussy gushing around his cock and coalescing with the frenzied sounds of hot flesh slapping together in unison.

A child of Lilth incarnate to be sure but you looked so pure and celestial, even in ecstasy.

Hair matted to the sides of your face drenched in sweat while your nimble hands clutched onto his clerical collar. Your eyes filled with such loving devotion and you rode him earnestly as if it was your life’s penance.

Father Kento in turn gives you his absolution by taking you from behind. The swell of your plump rear rippling against his hips and shared fluids splashing onto his hard abdomen feverishly drive him closer to God than he’d ever been.

Yes, he is weak.

But Father Kento held the conviction that not even The Vicar of Christ, the Pope himself would be able to resist the vice grip of your silken cunt as if its true purpose was never to bear life but to wring out the very essence of the soul of man.

He’d fallen prey to a day-walking succubus on hallowed holy grounds.

No– Father Kento was certain if this church had ever truly been blessed as a house of God you would have caught aflame the moment you graced its threshold.

“—but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye are able to bear it’.”

Father Kento concluded the passage. Nonetheless, neither it nor any other doctrine had provided him the solace of escape and nor biblical strength did he receive to endure against his temptations.

There was no resisting you.

There was no escaping you.

For anyone you cast your sights on.

This is exemplified by the obvious effect you have on the young alter boy Yuji.

Barely old enough to be called a man, the youth's entire body flinches whenever you spare a sweet glance in his direction.

Has Yuji’s innocence already been stolen?

Father Kento must quell the inkling of jealousy at the thought lest he stumble over his words and shame himself further.

He was a man in every sense of the word and a man of the cloth, he would not compete for your adulterous affections with his own altar boy.

Even so, Father Kento’s lip does curl in disapproval at the deep flush of guilt on Yuji’s cheeks. Yuji clumsily trips over his own feet, nearly permitting the blessed vessels for the rites of eucharist to fall to the ground.

Harlot! Have you really allowed someone other than himself to bathe in the sins of Jezebel?

Maintaining composure through his sermon, Father Kento reminds himself that an inexperienced youth is no threat.

However it is more than likely Yuji– who normally is so oblivious in nature– had likewise become aware of the wicked exhibition of sacrilege occurring beneath the prayer cloth in your lap at the very hands of your own husband– Satoru Gojo.

“So you may ask where does that leave us as followers of Christ? Temptations lure us into doing, saying or thinking something that does not reflect who we really are as sons and daughters of God.”

Neither you nor your husband were Christ’s children so none of these ideologies applied to either of you.

Nefarious philistines the both of you– godless and immoral.

Although Father Kento was for certain your husband, Oil Tycoon, Satoru Gojo– was the only one whose deeds could put yours to shame.

The white haired devil had descended upon the quiet small town like a thief in the night to greedily capture the first few drops of black gold that surged from the earth before it could even fall to the ground. Quickly buying up land and resources, in less than a fortnight Gojo essentially had control over the entire town– its priest included.

But as he became more wealthy, so did the town and its people. Satoru Gojo built up the town around him to match his own gluttony for opulence, taking the town and its people away from simple old time comforts and into the more complex modern age.

Therefore the man was seen as a saintly savior, rather than the lecherous leech he truly was.

To Father Kento’s credit, if he deserved any at all– he had initially held strong in his faith.

He was not a man tempted by the power that would come from a promotion to bishop if a larger church was built. Nor was he tempted by monetary gain. The treasures he had always held most valuable were only those to be found in God’s kingdom.

Familiar with the tricks masked by flamboyant arrays of grandior, Father Kento’s folly had been his own headstrong vainglory in being a man above the lures of temptation. Thus he failed in recognizing you as the seductive snake in sheep's clothing the cunning tycoon Gojo had sent to be his undoing.

And you had never once failed to unravel him.

Even now Father Kento struggles to keep himself together as you inconspicuously lean against your husband, your head resting gently on his shoulder while the dainty fan you are holding obscures the lower half of your face.

What appears as an innocuous attempt to halt the perspiration rolling from your nape into your heaving bosom is merely a front to hide the sinful ‘o’ your cherry lips form.

Your chest softly heaves although your labored breaths aren’t from the humid heat shrouding the church– but the increasing warmth dampening in your loins. All which had been provoked by your husband slipping two fingers through the buttons of your thin sundress and into your pussy, lightly teasing its gooey folds. Gojo’s movements are mostly concealed by the cloth but Father Kento can make out the skillful circular motions stroking your spongy bud and causing the sporadic twitch in your knees.

You had writhed similarly under him. You were always far too sensitive.

Fat tears would never fail to pour from your bright eyes when he would latch his mouth onto your sex. You would be his last supper if ever given the choice. If heaven had a flavor it would surely be akin to the taste of your pink candied cunt and he knew of no sweeter treat on earth.

Twas no wonder then how Father Kento easily loses all sense of self when flicking his tongue into your gaping slit. Swirling the appendage within your gummy walls he gluttonously slurps down the steady stream of your flowing nectar.

Your mewls and cries for him are far lovelier than even the song of cherubim. Father Kento has committed them to memory and as such he knows when they reach a certain octave– your pitch so high it's practically soundless– you're nearing your nirvana.

Arriving at your peak you would thread your hands through his blonde locks and thrust your hips forward as if his mouth were salvation itself. Your manicured nails would dig into his scalp to rock his head deeper into your plump pussy. The actions would beckon his tongue to finally give you its mercy by dragging it flat up your folds to suckle and nip at your swollen clit.

You never called on God then.

Nor your husband.

Only Father Kento.

Coincidentally, Father Kento’s gaze locks with Gojo’s for a brief moment and Gojo’s pale lips curl into smirk.

A fleeting look is shared before contact is broke but the message is clear:

Satoru Gojo own’s everything in this town.

Gojo owns your cunt.

Your cunt owns Father Kento.

Therefore by proxy Gojo owns him.

The revelation has Father Kento showing the white of his knuckles from the intensity of his grip on the pulpit podium as you simultaneously release a silent scream brazenly cumming on your husband’s dexterous fingers in the middle of mass.

“The time now is propitious for us all to make a journey of conversion, led by sincere faith to allow ourselves to be confronted with the Gospel. Let us confirm this commitment by sharing in The Body and The Blood of Christ.”

Proceeding with communion the altar boy Yuji stands next to Father Kento holding the tray where the blessed chalice of wine and platter of thin wafers reside as the congregation dutifully exits their rows to receive the eucharist.

As it is the more modern way to receive communion the majority of the congregation choses to place their non-dominant palm up over the other to respectfully receive the host. Yet traditionally, the priest placed the blessed wafer directly on the tongue of the one receiving. This practice was typically only seen by the elderly, the most exceedingly pious and of course— you.

When it is your turn to approach you beam brightly as you and all your beauty seem to float before him.

“The Body of Christ.”

Father Kento raises the host before you.

“Amen.”

You obediently replied.

Like expected your eyes fluttered to close as your pillowy lips parted in order to accept the host directly in your mouth.

God help him, this was the most sacred part of mass but the way your deviant tongue lulls out hot and thick with your saliva pooled on the edge and threatening to spill onto your lips has Father Kento shifting at his post.

You look just as compliant and yearning to receive as when you had been on your knees before him taking his cock in your mouth whole.

Father Kento delicately placed the host in your mouth in a similar fashion as to when he would tap the tip of his bulbous leaking cockhead onto your tongue.

So willing to please you kiss his angry red mushroom tip to appease his cock, swirling your tongue over the tiny hole before puckering it between your lips to greedily suck any drops of pre that dribbled forth as you pumped his base.

You were a tease.

That much was evident both then and now as you extended the tip of your tongue to caress the tip of his finger. A tiny kitten lick, but nevertheless a tingle ran through his cock in remembrance.

“The Blood of Christ.”

Father Kento presents the wine symbolizing the blood before you.

“Amen.”

Again you closed your eyes and allowed Father Kento to press the chalice against your parted lips.

The very picture of amenability, you actually enjoyed when he went rougher on you as a result of your teasing. Father Kento would gather your hair into a tight grip as he not-so-gently rammed his cock past your tonsils and down your throat.

It was unnatural and ungodly for a person to lack any semblance of a gag reflex such as you.

In response you pressed your fingers into his thighs– not as a means of resistance, but to control your own lust as you began shamelessly humping your mound against his leg. You were always desperate to feel any small sensation against your cunt while he ravaged your mouth.

Of course, Father Kento would oblige you and in turn he is rewarded with the heavy moans that would vibrate around his cock as his oxford loafer pushed up into your soaked core. Your white lace lingerie did little to contain your juices and as such Father Kento made use of the fluids leaking from your pussy as polish to shine his shoe.

Having sipped the wine from the chalice you peer up at Father Kento as if seeking his approval.

He gives you a small nod.

Similar to the one he bestows upon you after his seed has filled your stomach and you lick your lips as if it was his essence and not The Blood of Christ that lingered on them.

In the beginning, he had prayed long and hard to forget those sinful images of you that would intrude unwelcomed into his mind.

Yet you always had ways of sucking him back in.

Such as leaving your soiled panties stuffed between his headboard. Father Kento thought he was going mad when even after changing the sheets thrice was he still plagued with your smell.

He should have burned the offensive garment as soon as it was discovered and yet he treated it with reverence as if it were a holy object of salvation. Truly an euphoric experience, on days he couldn’t have you he’d bury his nose into the fabric murmuring blasphemy as he worshiped the very scent of you while jerking his cock.

When Father Kento finally ceased trying to resist you he then had the fleeting thought he could save you. Bring you to God and away from your villainous husband.

But you were no Mary Magdalene, there was no returning you to the flock.

You will not leave your husband who provides you wealth and security. Father Kento is not so enamored he holds illusions that extend beyond his reality. There is nothing Father Kento owns and nothing he can offer you but himself.

The singular consolation of the tragic circumstances is that Father Kento is sure you prefer his touch. The touch of a seemingly pious man who only has desires for you.

Unlike your scoundrel of a husband who Father Kento was sure had not remained faithful to your marriage bed. Not the way most of the female townsfolk threw themselves at Satoru Gojo. If he had no qualms using you to achieve his means he certainly had none for himself.

You were simply a pawn to be played, as was Father Kento.

“Before we depart I leave you with these words: Let every day be a new day to renew the promises of our Baptism: We renounce Satan and all his works and seductions — for sh– *ahem* HE – is the seducer. Now go forth, Brothers and Sisters and remain true in the light of God.”

The closing rites over, Father Kento has never been more relieved nor eager for the conclusion of a mass. Watching the congregation mingle in the entrance, he gives his farewell blessings to the parishioners.

A few still remained however you were nowhere to be seen.

This was not odd, the Gojos were a busy couple, likely excusing themselves immediately to attend to more important affairs.

Or so he hoped.

“There you are, Father! Riveting service, as always.”

With a devious grin and a firm drawn-out handshake Gojo greets Father Kento. Turning to face the devil himself, Father Kento greets Satoru in turn with a strained smile and an even firmer grip.

Yet still he is unable to show you any of the wrath you justly deserve and Father Kento’s smile is more genuine when he faces you.

You regard Father Kento coyly as your husband’s arm tightens around your waist. Your face is flushed and it’s evident you are still weakened from the orgasm your husband gave you earlier in front of the entire congregation.

That knowledge though is only held by the three of you, God and perhaps the altar boy Yuji.

Father Kento had never known you to be silent when cumming so the exertion of the effort you expended likely weighed heavy on you as displayed by how you are clinging to Gojo to keep from swaying on your feet.

“Thank you. I am but a humble messenger of The Lord’s wor–.”

“– Wait. Hold that thought!”

Father Kento’s eyebrow twitches as Gojo's attention is momentarily called elsewhere.

Every Sunday, a growing number of parishioners would seek Satoru Gojo’s greeting and recognition after service over that of their priest Father Kento.

True to character Gojo makes an obnoxious show of charisma which leaves the last group of parishioners fawning and singing his praises as they exit.

“Forgive me, Father. Where were we? Ah– Of course! Yes, you are quite excellent in your delivery of God’s word, a true testament to your faith!”

His flattery is so obviously false in its sincerity that Father Kento is not surprised when Gojo’s sordid smirk returns.

“But you are not only a messenger for The Lord… isn’t that right, Father Kento?”

Father Kento warily clutches onto the large cross dangling from the rosary around his neck as Gojo continues.

“I’ll need you to spread mine as well. Haven’t you heard? I have plans to run for Mayor.”

Mayor.

The diabolical fiend truly knew no limits in his quest for control over the town.

“I’ll need you to come over to dinner tonight to consult with the rest of my top supporters.”

Father Kento steeled himself..

There was nothing he could do to stop Satoru Gojo from being mayor but his infatuation with you aside, he could not walk straight into the lion's den to collude with heathens.

It would be the final nail in his coffin, Gojo would indeed own his soul.

“Oh! Y/N is prepping a feast too… aren’t you, angel?”

Gojo’s grip on your waist trails lower to palm the fat of your ass and you clutch on to him tighter as you nod eagerly in agreement, biting your lip as his large hands knead into your cheeks through your wispy dress.

Your body is ever responsive to Gojo’s touch just like he trained you to be.

“I must refuse. I have duties here to attend, I couldn’t poss–”

“P-Please F-Father…”

And just like that your delicate voice cuts through his iron defenses like it were warm butter.

“…K-Kento, p-please come!”

Your request fumbles out of your lips as a cry as Gojo’s devilish fingers dip past your ass to prod at your cunt.

“You heard her Father. She wants you to come. Break bread with us, you will be among friends. Friends who know how to share, yeah? I’ll even share a piece of her cream pie for dessert.”

That had been the final straw. Gojo had gone too far this time.

You seeking him out was one matter but he would not allow Satoru Gojo of all people to dangle you in front of him like a master would dangle a treat to a dog.

“Begone, you foul heretic. I will not tolerate your mockery of me, this church nor God any longer.”

Commanding in his tone, Father Kento extends the cross of the rosary forward to Gojo as if he were casting a malevolent curse back down to hell.

Father Kento doesn’t have the courage to look at you though, he can’t. Not if he wants to take a triumphant stand against Satoru Gojo.

And so Father Kento closes his eyes and silently prays.

Immediately bored at such a devout display, Gojo sighs rolling his eyes.

“Alright, alright, Father. I get it. Whatever you say, jeez. It’s not like I need your support to become mayor– just thought it would be nice is all. ”

Father Kento remains silent as he listens to both of your footsteps exit the church but not before Gojo stops at the doors, his cheerful voice taking on a dangerous edge.

“Heh, you know, not everyone in this town is as pious as you Father. Sheriff Fushiguro has never been one to turn down a stack of bills but I’m sure tonight he would enjoy sharing in Y/N’s creampie if you don’t.”

Father Kento’s eyes open to flash red with fury.

Having received a satisfactory enough reaction from the priest, Gojo grins wildly as your own eyes widen in shock at your husband’s words.

Has Gojo only ever used you to manipulate him alone?

The thought remains as Father Kento doesn’t miss the pleading gaze directed at him from over your shoulder as you are led out of the church.

Goddammit– He couldn’t let you fall into the brutish clutches of Toji Fushiguro.

Toji may have been the sheriff but he was well-known for his oafish demeanor and greasy womanizing ways.

NO! He mustn’t think of you any longer.

Father Kento needs to clear his mind of you for good with prayer.

Prayer and solitude.

Deep prayer and extensive solitude was what he needed if he ever hoped to rise again to gain God’s favor. He needed to call upon The Lord’s strength one last time to remain at the parish tonight and defy Gojo’s will.

Father Kento couldn’t let the pleasures of flesh continue to manipulate the very fibers of his being in such a way.

The rosary still in his grasp Father Kento raises his hands close in prayer as a final call for God’s mercy… and then it hits him– wafting off his fingers, overwhelming his senses and igniting every nerve in his being.

The scent of your cunt.

The lingering perfume of your sinful drippings spilled on your husband’s hand during mass had been transferred to his own when Gojo shook his hand and held it so firmly.

The bastard.

The rush hits him hard and he feels dizzy as his ears begin to ring. Vertigo overtakes Father Kento as he holds the offending hand out as if he had been poisoned.

Leaning back against a wall to gather himself, Father Kento realizes once the manic pounding coursing through his veins begins throbbing in his loins that he’s fated for damnation.

This is the moment he’d always dreaded although ironic with the simple acceptance of it he feels no despair.

Father Kento’s conviction is finally clear as he is left with a singular truth that rang through his entire soul:

Whatever solace he would know, whatever peace he would have in this life, he would only find with his cock buried in the sweet embrace of your cunt.

✟

©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✟ the closing rites: (a/n) hell is hot and it's surely my destination after writing this. i tried to leave it a little ambiguous to whether y/n is actually in-love with nanami or just a sex-crazed slut eager to use him at the request of her husband. i don't have a pt.2 planned just fyi as this is meant to be a oneshot. although i do need to write more nanami so i will take requests for him! but fair warning i am very slow i apologize.

also shout out to the amazing art i used for the gfx ✟ art by mishwell

✟ REBLOG to be unburdened of your sins by Father Nanami but likes and comments are also appreciated!

upcoming: the nursery (yakuza!toji), please teach me! (ceo!gojo), request: teasing choso (college au), request: sukuna x blkreader, [none in any order as im at the mercy of my adhd lol]

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devouringyourson · 19 days

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the whole orpheus eurydice kaos controversy is so stupid and indicative of this websites inability to appreciate nuance like what do you mean it's sacrilege to interpret the myth that way when the literal point of the myth was that love wasn't enough (or that it was too much) it's not a big wonderful perfect romance what are you all on about. it's a perfectly reasonabl and frankly interesting interpretation to wonder if eurydice actually felt the same, to question the levels of trust in that relationship. also it's not as clear cut as some are making out. eurydice isn't a bitch for not loving him back and orpheus also isn't boiled down to be a controlling asshole (which would have been a easy characterisation to make) stop generalising and simiplyfing everything!! he loves her so much he damns her to a coinless afterlife and his guilt on this one selfish mistake takes him further into the afterlife than any human has gone before!! this misinterpretation of the journey as purely true love's power is a key theme of the show itself. Dionysus believe his music and thinks he's doing it all for 'true love' but he fails the first test of the fates. There's so many other factors and prophecy at play. The narrative itself plays with the idea of heroic journeys and how you view that story. Fundamentally though, this Orpheus is still a hero of greek proportions he still does manage to save her. but he doesn't get her back!! do you understand what a fun and clever interpretation that is??? stop being boring and getting angry that it doesn't fit with your own incredible simple interpretation of heavily debated and ever changing ancient mythology

#kaos

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ravengards-rogue · 5 months

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i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is.

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you.

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often.

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting.

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love.

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him.

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last.

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him.

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long.

Almost being what matters most.

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no.

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special.

And that makes it worse.

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in.

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his.

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word.

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him.

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be.

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless.

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe.

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully.

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago.

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck.

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body.

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you.

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always.

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them.

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?”

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression.

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,”

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.”

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you.

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?”

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all.

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,”

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?”

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea.

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking.

Pretending to think.

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?”

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.”

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?”

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,”

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,”

“Javier.”

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.”

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite.

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?”

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,”

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more.

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically.

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?”

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer.

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy.

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it’s like this. Did you forget?”

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal.

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral.

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard.

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,”

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all.

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again.

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,”

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,”

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you.

“Gonna cum soon, huh?”

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak.

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,”

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.”

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh.

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes.

“Are you with me still, do you think?”

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple.

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.”

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.”

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.”

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.”

“Please,”

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.”

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.”

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.”

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,”

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.”

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe.

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard.

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,”

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?”

“Should open you up a little.”

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch.

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite.

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased.

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles.

“One more, okay? Just the one.”

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,”

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,”

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard.

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined.

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs.

“Like the view?”

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.”

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,”

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself.

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,”

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much.

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out.

You feel good. God, you feel good.

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway?

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw.

“Feel good?”

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,”

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?”

“Please,”

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.”

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure.

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard.

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.”

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.”

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go.

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted.

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?”

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,”

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around.

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#javier escuella x reader #javier escuella smut #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 smut #rogues love letters

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dobbysnotsureaboutthis · 14 days

Text

Devotion - Nun!Alastor x (fem)Reader

Masterlist

WC: approx. 16.7k

Be warned this one’s a fattie of a fic!

Warnings/ tags:

NSFW, soft dom Alastor (well the soft part is more of a guise), kind of an emotional rollercoaster if I do say so myself, Attempted sexual assault (not by Alastor), crude language, probably a toxic relationship, choking (in several scenes), biting, reader slowly loses her sanity, heavy sexual tension/ reader being cockblocked by Alastor, eventual smut (a bit of a slow burn… for a one-shot), sacrilege (Note: this has heavily religious themes, but absolutely does not represent actual Catholicism in any way. It’ll become clear later on that they are still in Hell for a reason), Alastor’s manipulative as usual, SISTER ALASTOR!!! I might regret writing this one day Probably not though

Teaser:

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.” Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly. Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it. His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks. “I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.”

You thought you were going to Heaven. And, if you were going to Hell, lust would’ve been the last possible sin you’d pin the blame on. You had been a good daughter, and a good spouse.

This had to be a mistake.

When you fell, you simply laid there, back as bruised as your ego; you had barely a minute to register the deep red Hell called a sky before you snapped to your senses and realized you were naked as the day you were born. All your bravado and fine silk dress had been stripped from your body.

You felt like a lowly offender. Nude and shivering, hot and cold and numb at the same time as you watched twisted winged demons you previously thought only existed in your nightmares surround you, their black eyes gleaming with eagerness at the thought of devouring a fresh spawn in hell.

“Stay back!” You had not a single thing on you to utilize as a weapon, not even the sharp edge of a diamond ring. “Don’t you dare bite me!”

Your muscles had frozen from the shock of the fall, leaving you unable to even attempt crawling away. All you could do was choke out cries, pleading with the hungry monsters to spare you. But why would they? Even you knew your shouts were nothing but the useless attempt of a stubborn caught prey, calling out for the near impossible chance of being saved.

Pointed fangs stop half an inch from your face. You inhale sharply at the sudden movement, as the creature’s pupils slit in surprise at being caught; then its head explodes, and you clenched your eyes shut as the sound of flesh squelching pierces the air, a warm viscous liquid blasting onto your face. You strain against the rigid weight of your body, attempting to lift your hand from the invisible chains that bound it; just enough to shakily wipe at the sticky fluid coating your skin.

You blink once, twice, trying to adjust your sight to the feeling of stinging salt and bloody red. Around you lay the monsters’ bodies, their corpses still so fresh from their second death that their limbs were still twitching. Your eyes dart around, searching for your savior - then you hear the soft clearing of a throat and crackle of radio static.

The first thing you noticed, with a startle, was their costume; what was a nun doing in Hell, of all places? Or perhaps this wasn’t Hell after all, and your initial deduction - that you remembered dying, the sky was crimson, and savage creatures roamed everywhere, so this must mean you’ve fallen from grace - had been incorrect.

You let hope spark in your heart. Maybe you really hadn’t done anything wrong. You were good, and the figure had come to send you to your proper place in Heaven. You curl up into yourself as you suddenly become aware of your nudity- and the scrutiny of their gaze. You felt dirty, and inferior, to the figure of chastity looming above you, their black veil gracing over your shoulders as they examined you up close, concealing you from the predatory eyes of filthy sinners.

They turn your head left and right, up and down - you shiver at the feeling of firm hands through soft suede gloves, afraid to look directly at them lest you accidentally think something depraved.

“I can’t imagine what a lovely dame such as yourself is doing in Hell!”

You blink, surprised at the masculine voice sounding from underneath the delicate cloth framing their head. Then you look up, finally meeting the gaze of your unexpected hero. And you wish you hadn’t, because the crimson in his eyes was piercing, the sharp line of his jaw dangerous, and you curl further into yourself, heart palpitating rapidly as you scramble for words.

You nervously smile in response to his own, unsettlingly wide grin. “Oh, I uh, a-actually just got here.” You pause. “And, I don’t…exactly know why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it obvious? Every demon here has earned their place in Hell’s wicked fire by their sin.” He extends a hand for you to hold, which you take gratefully. The air hits your naked body, and you cover your breasts with your free arm, attempting to make yourself smaller in your vulnerability. But you had no room to ask him for a spare change in clothes as he relentlessly rambles on, seemingly not at all concerned over your nudity. Was this normal in Hell?

“You don’t think that maybe it’s a mistake?” You hunch your shoulders, trying to partially obscure your skin with the length of your hair. “That maybe the angels up in Heaven overlooked something?”

He laughs, the rambunctious noise vibrating sinfully against your frame. “Oh no! I’ve been here for quite many years and Heaven has yet to make a mistake in their judgment.”

Your heart falls, gaze turning downcast. He tucks a clawed finger under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his widely grinning face. “But don’t distress yourself, dear sinner! Under my direction, you are sure to find the cause for your sin.”

You peer at him, whose ebony headpiece draped over his devilish face so angelically. “May I ask why you’re in Hell? You… you’re a nun, aren’t you?”

A sharp noise wooshes by your ear, and you yelp as his pointed nails curl around your bare waist, pulling you into his side just in time to avoid the savage onslaught of humanoid demons racing past you to get to… your stomach curdles as you spot the creatures tearing into the remains of the bird-like monsters the nun had just defeated a few moments prior. To your horror, you spot a heart in one creature’s hand, the organ just as ordinarily shaped and red as any living human’s heart, despite its abhorrent outer appearance.

“What a wretched sight those sinners are.”

You’re once again startled at the closeness of his voice - then you catch yourself. This was a nun, for God’s sake (literally)! Just because you were in pain, died, went to Hell, and lost all your possessions and material value, doesn’t mean you need to toss away your decorum as well. Don’t think anything of that nature.

“Yeah.” You nod, eyes wide as you nod slowly to stabilize your reaction. “I don’t think I can get used to this place.” Your breath quickens at an alarming rate, and you grip tightly onto the lanky, but well-defined arm of the nameless nun beside you.

“I really think it was a mistake,” you whisper.

He presses two gloved thumbs to your cheeks, pulling them into an upward crescent; though you felt its corners drooping downward, straining against his effort. “What a pitiful sight you are,” he starts, playing with the flesh of your face.

“You must be miserable, thinking that the Heavens have forsaken you!” He starts walking again, guiding your stiff body down the street. You latch onto his voice, which feels akin to a stable blanket that shields you from Hell’s barbaric residents. “You’re absolutely lost!”

A sniffle escapes you, and you realize you’ve begun to cry. The nun croons at you, swiping at a tear sympathetically as you cling to his form pathetically, letting his words fuel the pessimism already rotting your brain. “What do I do now? I’ve lost everything!”

You think of yourself just a minute before death, still smiling brightly at the glistening diamond on your digit. You think of, with bitter regret, how the yacht you rode on was far too away from shore on a much too windy day. And you remember how your salty tears melted into the waters around you, sacrificing themselves to the sea, as your last thought becomes your elderly father still at home waiting for his next payment. Waiting for his only daughter, whom he would never see again, not even after death, where you would be wrongfully cast to Hell for the rest of eternity.

Misery, despair, and self-pity feed into one another, spinning and bubbling higher and higher until they reach a climax at the back of your throat, expelling in the form of another choked sob between your parted lips.

“I don’t want to be here forever. I-In this awful place. With awful monsters.” You mop at your tears with your arm, peering up at him through your wet lashes. His gaze is steady on your face, the soft hum of static somewhat comforting; making you want to lean on him, depend on him despite the low buzz of warning in the back of your mind.

“Now who says this place has to be awful?” His hand feels dangerously like lava on your shoulder. He taps the tip of your nose. “You are merely at the beginning of a very long journey, dear sinner! Some souls are indeed not made to ever find the light, and those are the ones who find themselves sinking deeper into debauchery until the day they drown in their own filth.”

Your heart squirms a little at the word drown, your own demise still clear as spring water in your mind. But you surely were not part of the some mentioned. “And others…?”

His grin stretches, face falling into shadow as you turn a corner. His half-lidded eyes glow scarlet in the partial darkness. “Yet still, some others find themselves changed after death, no longer concurring with the sins they partook in when they were alive. Those sinners work tirelessly to erase their wrongdoing…”

You gulp as his voice deepens, shamefully pushing at the thoughts prodding heavily at the barrier you built in your mind.

“…, so that one day, they might even find themselves capable of…” He pulls you in now, dramatically pausing before announcing, “... redemption!”

“Redemption,” you whisper, mainly to yourself. Then, to him, who twinkled expectantly at you; “And how can demons, who have defied the Heavens, be redeemed?”

His head tilts sideways, so that the shadows completely obscured his face, leaving only the wicked outline of his sharp nose and Cheshire grin. You leave your ears unguarded, eagerly leaning on your toes for his response.

The noise, which you previously had thought to be his laughter, was in fact static, which had risen from a low purr to a roaring buzz. Your forgotten nudity suddenly felt painfully evident.

“They pray.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sister Alastor. That had been the name he introduced himself, the Mother Superior, with when he brought you into the cloister he resided in, where several other nuns - you counted at least 20 other heads - were under his care.

It was only your second week in Hell when he would save you yet again.

You’ve slowly accepted that day he found you, that there was nothing much you could do but move on, regardless of the abruptness of your death and the regrets you left unsolved. Instead, you had done your best to adjust; but if you were to be honest, a large part of that effort was due to a certain nun. You had spent a majority of the tour he took you on hanging off of every word, letting him inspire you into faith, afraid that if you were to let go, you might lose your belief altogether.

Never did you think there would be a colossal, gothic cathedral in the very place that repelled the divine. You had to crane your neck to see the very top when the two of you neared its imposing entrance. Even as an appreciator of the luxurious when you were alive, you had never witnessed something so…grand. Such architecture would’ve taken humans centuries, perhaps longer, to build.

“Lucifer himself oversees the church.” You had torn your gaze away from the massive building, eyes landing on crimson pupils, which squinted schemingly at you. “He thought it would be a good idea to introduce the damned to prayer. To enlighten their ruined minds, and make them just a bit more bearable to manage.”

He was humming an unfamiliar tune. There was an old-timey quality to the nun’s voice, one that made you feel as though you were on the phone with a soul who had died long before you; vintage, as the people of your time would call it.

In spite of its awe-inspiring beauty, there were strange details that caught your eye; such as the fact that the benches were filled with scratches, from smaller scores to longer, more offensive gashes. The ceiling seemed to be some Biblical painting, but you could not decipher the angel’s faces; upon closer inspection, you realized that their likeness had been carved out. The only face that remained intact was the tragically fair face of a winged man, brows furrowed in rejection as a lonesome tear wept from his cerulean eye.

Lucifer’s fall from Heaven; you remembered seeing such a painting while alive, and looking at it in Hell felt strange. It made everything you ever saw on earth feel like a simple prelude to what was to come, a mere teaser for the full-length film you weren’t aware of.

Ornamental windows line the length of the room, color reflecting off its surface so purely, so clean, that you would have mistaken the blood-red sky for blue if you didn’t know you were still in Hell. Rows of pews stretched so far that you could barely see the altar from your position in the back.

For the entire week, you would follow the sisters into the cathedral and watch as they prayed. It was an interesting sight, watching the nuns gather around Sister Alastor, who led the prayer; as though they were praying to him rather than with him. You weren’t familiar with the practice, so you had no comparison to draw it to. All you knew was that you longed to appease him, to earn his grace somehow so that you might also earn your place beneath him, feel the firmness of his crimson gaze hold you down.

You frown. Have you always been so pathetic? Your memories were already starting to fuzz.

Now you sit on your borrowed bed, with nothing much to do but play with the skin of your hand and think of ebony cloth, red eyes, and sharp smiles.

Perhaps you could get up and see what the others are doing. They had all been polite, albeit distant; you’re familiar with the way people formed cliques, and it was clear there was some sort of history you weren’t aware of. Only one seemed to be particularly not fond of you. The one with a TV for a head, whose headpiece strained comically over his screen - Sister Vox. You recall the way you stood awkwardly next to Sister Alastor, in nothing but your own flesh as he sneered at you from across the room; seemingly already angry with you despite you having done nothing.

You exhale, brushing your fingers through tangled hair as you propel yourself onto your tired feet. In a way, the greatest Hell was not your punishment, but rather the realization that there would never be rest, even after death.

You pop the door open gently and decide to do some exploring, not sure of where to start looking. The halls were empty, so you pushed open the brass door at the end of it, stepping out into a carefully arranged garden, the many rows of fruits somewhat difficult to identify from Hell’s red light casting onto their surfaces.

“Oooh! A lady!”

You lower your stare to the tiny one-eyed girl tending to the plants, the resident cleaner, gardener, and… bug-enthusiast. All the sisters were tidy and cleaned well, but Niffty was particularly active in ensuring the place was several steps beyond spotless. You snort, somewhat amused that she forgot your identity yet again.

“Hey Niffty. It’s me, remember? I was just helping you with the garden yesterday.”

Her single eye widens, pupil dilating like a cat’s. “Ohhhh right. You’re the new lady!” The impish girl giggles.

“That’s right! Mind if I joined you for a while?”

“Ok! I’m just going to catch some BUGS!!” She kneels, manically pulling at an earthworm stuck in the garden’s dirt. “Come. On. Get out. Get out!”

You smile, watching as she tries in vain to tug out the little wriggling creature. Nifty was the only resident you could somewhat converse with, as she didn’t have the same strange distance the others seemed to hold around them. Perhaps because she wasn’t a sister at all. When you asked her what she was, if not a nun, she had replied that she was working here simply because she wanted to.

You knelt beside her, picking up her task of watering the tomatoes while she was distracted. In life, you had been a chatterbug, riding on the waves of attention you got from your designer clothes, hooked on the arm of a wealthy man you didn’t love. You trace a finger on a velvet leaf, admiring the way it snapped back to position the moment you let go. But in death… you found the quiet so welcoming, that you wondered why you never stopped to enjoy it.

You mindlessly pluck at a weed.

“If it isn’t our guest! What are you doing on the floor?” You look up, to see Sister Vox grinning down at you.

“She’s helping me!” You’re surprised when it’s Niffty who pipes up, having expected her to already forget what you were there for.

He ignores her, holding out a hand.

After some initial suspicion, you hesitantly take it, dusting off your borrowed clothes.

He lets go of you before you can fully stand, distaste clear in his eyes at having to make contact with you. You stumble a bit but manage to catch yourself, shooting a half-confused, half-annoyed look in his direction.

“What are you doing here in the garden? Could I… help you?”

Despite his religious clothing, the cat-like tilt of his eyes and sleek grin felt more like the practiced expression of a conniving businessman than that of a genuine sister. You didn’t trust him. And you also had no idea what he was here for, when none of the sisters had initiated any conversation with you.

“I was working on the garden with Niffty, like she just said.”

“Right, right.”

“So no, I don’t need help. Do you need help with something…?”

His grin turns sly. “That’s alright. I was just thinking, we haven’t gotten to know each other at all, hmm?”

You unconsciously lean away from him. “Yeah. I figured you and the others weren’t interested in getting to know me.” You briefly smile for the sake of manners, before making a path to his left and attempting to side-step him; but he grabs your arm, with enough strength to make you yelp in slight pain.

“Hey! Bad man!” Niffty interrupts your exchange, raising her shovel to stab at his ankle; but he dodges her, plucking the tiny girl off his leg and tossing her aside.

Any hope you had of her success ends when he points toward a distant patch of dirt, exclaiming, “Looks like there’s a lot of bugs in there!,” which sends the tiny girl scurrying, screaming “Where?”

He turns his attention back on you. “Back to what I was saying! You’re new, aren’t you? You must be wondering all about this place.”

“Sister Alastor has been helpful in providing me with information.”

He laughs, waving his hand in the air. “Of course he has! But as I’m sure you noticed, there are plenty of secrets about this place. Sister Alastor doesn’t allow electronics, you know. And I get to work around that rule because my head has a search engine.”

“That’s… uh, good for you, I guess. I’m fine, though.” You tug at your arm again, attempting to loosen it from his hold.

“I insist! Trust me, I have all the information you could possibly need.” He sneaks a hand to your lower back, turning you around while you’re distracted by his words. “Aren't you curious about what sort of things he’s hiding from you?”

…Yes. But not from this guy.

“So what do you say? You could ask me anything at all.”

He was asking you for permission, though the still firm grasp on your arm told you there was no real choice. You sigh, trying not to appear too displeased. “...Alright…wait, where are we going?”

Sister Vox had resumed walking, turning heel and making his way back down the way you came from. “It’s best if we talk in a more private space. I wouldn’t want anything here interrupting. You know how the demons in Hell are.”

You think of how crude the sinners who first attacked you were, and wonder if the others in Sister Alastor’s convent were also capable of such degeneracy. “Ok… not for long, though. I still want to help Niffty with the garden.” You say that more to yourself than him, trying to calm your instincts that were rapidly firing off red flags.

“Naturally, I wouldn’t want to waste your precious time.”

He’s a nun, after all, he should’ve taken vows, he wouldn’t hurt you.

The walk from the garden to the nuns’ cloister felt horribly wrong. As does the entire place, you think, stepping cautiously after him. Their weirdly mysterious schedules felt wrong, the prayers they sang were pure in a mechanical sense, as though nobody believed the words they were singing; the cathedral looked wrong cast in red, and, now that you thought of it, the sisters’ kinship was more of a cult than a clique.

The only thing that didn’t feel wrong - or rather, did feel wrong, but felt equal parts right - was the figure at the center of it all, the nun whose promises you truly did want to believe in. When you peer off the center, to the ones worshiping below, your gut only burns with wariness.

The two of you stop before a room - his, you presumed. “After you then.” He gestures to the open doorway.

You pause for only a moment, out of some remnant of self-preservation; until, ironically, his impatient glare is what sends you scurrying inside. Any questions you might’ve had were long gone, you just wanted to ask him whatever to get it over with.

I should’ve called for Sister Alastor, you think with slight panic as you hear the noise of the door clicking shut. Something in your chest whines at the thought of his reaction, his lips stretched into a grin as his eyes stare down at you with disappointment.

The sound of Sister Vox’s footsteps near behind you is the equivalent of a shark circling its prey on land. You rack your brain for any question at all.

“How long have you been a nun?”

“Fifty years.”

“O-Oh that’s a long time.”

He closes the curtain, keeping an eye on you the whole time. You’re left in darkness, cautiously watching his flickering screen of a head, the only source of light in the room.

You swallow. “How did you get to know Sister Alast-.”

Your sentence gets cut off as a palm roughly pushes at your back, forcing you to land on scuffed knees. Before you could even attempt to comprehend what had happened, you felt a hand encircle your neck, cutting off your breath while furious laughter rang behind you.

“You’re even dumber than you look.”

“What are you do-?” His hand tightens on your neck, and your voice trails off into a squashed squeal.

“Let me make one thing clear to you.” He hisses. You could feel the heat emanating from his screen this close. “Whatever you feel for Sister Alastor, forget about it.”

He twists you around, leaning closer until the surface of his screen is pressed angrily against your own rather feverish skin. “I know what you think! You’re new to Hell, all lost and disoriented, and here comes a nun who promises to guide your corrupt soul to salvation.”

You gag heavily, bits of spit hitting the edges of your lips as he grips your neck with such vigor, that your eyes reflexively become vitreous with a sheen of tears. You could see nothing but his glaring blue screen between bouts of blackness in vision.

“You think he cares for you? That he’s interested in anything else but raising his own status? Ah, yes, Sister Alastor, the sweet altruistic nun who’s just so interested in the problems of an ordinary, lowly sinner.” He’s speaking eagerly now, the sharpness of his teeth nicking against your nose with every other syllable. “That’s what you are!”

Out of self-defense, you align the hard part of your knee with his crotch, and jerk it up, hard.

He screams, the noise surprisingly girlish; though you couldn’t tell if that was part of the ringing in your ears.

“U-urg–h-. What the fuck?” Your voice comes out awfully scratchy.

You clamber sloppily to the door then, not waiting a second to get out of there. Sister Alastor - you had to find him, let him know that one of his nuns was crazy!

You didn’t even get two steps forward when his claw encircled your ankle, dragging you down onto the ground with him. “Let me go, you’re insa-!”

“NO!” You’re taken aback at the utter desperation tainting his voice, whipping your head to see his screen glitching at an alarming rate, all sorts of expressions flickering on his face.

“You’ve no idea how FUCKING LONG it took, for ME to get HIM-.” Pixelated hearts dot his screen, each one of them cracking in two as they fall to the bottom. “TO NOTICE ME! To just FUCKING LOOK AT ME!”

He grabs at your neck again, before you can dodge his advances, and shimmies your face right up to his. “You think I’m gonna let you stay here and take what’s mine?”

You refuse to fall unconscious now, weakly tugging at his arms with your hands, digging your nails into his skin. He’s absolutely unrelenting in his assault. Finally, as you gather enough spit to expel at his screen, his grip loosens enough for you to speak - “I’m not here to take anything!”

“LIAR!”

“I’m not lying!” You’re raising your voice now as well, although nowhere as loud as his. “I just met him today! I-I can’t leave, I don’t know where else to go! He’s going to help cleanse me of my sins, that’s all!”

“Oh yeah? You want to be relieved of your ‘sins’ so badly?” He’s grinning like a lunatic. No, he is a lunatic! “Why don’t I help you instead of Sister Alastor?”

What?

A rough sensation encompassing your breast made you realize, with horror, that he was groping them. “I’ll relieve you of your sins if you promise to leave this place, and never come back.”

You were growing faint from his chokehold, and this time, you weren’t sure you would stay conscious. Something heated and slimy licks its way up your face, and an all-consuming nausea grips you from the inside, as your heart palpitates faster and faster, trying to outrun a reaper you felt destined to lose to.

You’re horrified as you realize you might have no choice but to endure his assault, your hands falling listless to your side as they pointlessly brush at his insulting limbs, unable to lessen his savage grip. A sheen of humidity coats your neck where his breath hovers and you shrink in revulsion, imagining something infesting your skin where he touched it.

“...Trust me, you’ll never get what you’re looking for from him.��

What is he even saying?

His head had turned double in your vision, his smile mocking you.

Please, don’t. You struggle pointlessly against his hold, as pathetic tears pooled in your eyes for the second time since you landed in Hell. This is Hell, you realized. Where every moving thing was a potential hazard, regardless of their appearance. You had no way of finding out what kind of cruel fiend they had been when alive.

There is no need for the dead to breathe, but your mind still concludes that you’re suffocating. What a strange way to die a second time; a reaction to some missing mechanism you didn’t technically need to exist.

Was there nobody you could depend on?

“That looks like a no to me!”

Sister Vox carelessly releases you, and you immediately gulp in big breaths of air. From the corner of your still-recuperating vision, you spot a slim figure clothed in black towering over your fallen form. You’ve been saved, yet again.

The room sways, and you feel as though you’re floating; the need to find an anchor has never been so strong. You whimper, dragging yourself by your nails toward the figure, who seems to be in the middle of scolding the other, though you find it difficult to focus on their words. You put one distorted palm in front of the other, and the other…

“.....lastor She’s filthy! I could see the way she looked at you, she can’t be in a holy place like this! Wh…”

If you had two hands, then what were the other four limbs moving alongside your body? You poke at one, and it moves away from you like a ghostly apparition.

“...when I looked at you that way, it was ‘disgusting,’ but when SHE does it’s ok? WHY? Have you ever thought, that maybe I…”

After what seemed like a lifetime of effort, you finally made it to the figure, who stood a ways from Sister Vox. You reach out, making a rough estimation of where his legs are, and throw your arms around them, curling the rest of your phantasmal body around his solid form.

The effect is immediate; you feel as though you’ve been sedated, in a pleasant way. The room felt a little less shaky when you were holding onto him. You shut your eyelids to help settle your stomach, then breathe in deep - you’re hit with the soft, mildly spicy scent of hyacinths, then as you sink your face further into the cotton ebony material, a deep, musky scent of wood. It deeply pleases your restless soul, and you settle there, feeling safe in the touch of your savior.

Something vibrates against your cheek; and you realize it’s his voice - Sister Alastor’s - that thrummed all the way down from his chest to your body.

“Look what you’ve done to the poor girl! Now Sister Vox, this is hardly a new topic of discussion between us. Haven’t I warned you plenty of times before to keep your temper in check?”

You nearly purr as a large hand comes down to caress your head, gentle but firm. The other nun’s voice, Sister Vox, is noisy and irksome in comparison. He sounds distressed. “I-I know Sister Alastor, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I just- I really- I lov-.”

Oh, I see.

“I’m afraid I cannot allow that!”

“No-.”

“You made a vow of celibacy, Sister Vox. And of obedience, and kindness toward others, though it seems you failed to follow through with any pledge. You know what that means, don’t you?” The air pops with static, the noise threatening, like the hiss of a viper preparing to strike; but you only snuggle closer to its source, which was still petting you reassuringly as though nothing had happened. You were safe. The target of his poison wasn’t you.

“You don’t mean that, do you?” He laughs in disbelief. “It’s true, I have f-screwed up many times, but you’ve always forgiven me! What’s changed this time? It’s her, isn’t it? Sister Alastor, don’t tell me… you actually favor this thing?”

“Ha! Don’t be ridiculous, Sister Vox. I am a creature of celibacy, just as you are supposed to be. You dug your own grave by failing to adhere to your sacred vows. Do not try to blame your own incompetence on an innocent passerby, if you have any remaining respect for your role as a Sister.” But… you wanted to be favored by him. Perhaps one day.

“Ok, I get it! I’m wrong! Sister Alastor, please…” Was that a sniffle you heard? His voice cracked, as though he were expecting something horrid to come. “Please. I should’ve obeyed my vows. I shouldn’t have done that to her!”

“I have turned a blind eye to your wrongdoing enough times. Rest well tonight, and know that by tomorrow, I will have you transferred to Sister Rosie’s convent.”

Slender limbs swoop down to collect your crumpled frame into a hard chest. Your heart quickens embarrassingly fast, the odd blend of his motherly yet masculine scent sending your thoughts spiraling. “I’ll tend to our guest now-.” He cups your cheek in his hand. “-You gave her quite the fright there.”

“Alastor! Please. I beg you. Please don’t do this to me.”

You had half a mind to feel bad for the sister who had fallen to the floor on his knees, having lost all his dignity and bravado, reduced to nothing but a desperate beggar. You lean your cheek into Sister Alastor’s hand, notice his stance; and you feel powerful, wrongfully so. Powerful because a nun was lowered in prayer to a being he revered, while you laid elevated in that being’s arms. Wrong, because that might’ve been the very feeling that led you into Hell.

You look away.

“Sister Vox, I implore you to not take it personally! You have come here to devote yourself to the cathedral, not me.”.

He truly left the room then, his long steps creating a rather soothing rhythm that swayed you side to side. Much like a lullaby, though the childhood innocence of that melody had been replaced with a much more sinister tune. Sister Vox’s sobs echo down the halls of the cloister, until they grow distant enough to be nothing more than a small buzz in your ear. You tune the remaining noise out.

Sister Alastor’s steps felt more like gliding. The only sign he was indeed walking was the force each step sent to your body, each jolt sending a shiver up your spine. You let yourself relax into him, as you tried to make pressing your face into the cloth of his habit look like an accident.

“Well that must’ve been terrible! On your first day in Hell too. It’s unfortunate, but some demons truly cannot be redeemed, no matter how long they’ve prayed.” His voice disrupts the steady flow of static humming in his throat, and you momentarily turn your face to peer at him.

“How did you know to come find me?” You let yourself hope, for a second, that it was somewhat like destiny; how nice it would be, to have somebody tethered to you so deeply they would always get you when danger came and shrouded you with that despicable helpless feeling. How nice it would be to have Sister Alastor protect you forever.

“One of the sisters warned me of a loud scream coming from Sister Vox’s room, which embarrassingly occurs more often than you’d expect,” he casually explains.

…Oh.

“Does he find it difficult to control his temper?”

He laughs, brow quirking as though entertained by your question. “Something of that sort! Some demons were originally not so terrible, then went searching for redemption and lost sight of their purpose.”

“Is that… What's happening with Sister Vox?”

“Indeed! Smart girl.” He taps your head with two sharp claws, eyelids lowering as his gleaming grin relaxes into more of a soft smile. The touch from his nail makes your scalp buzz, sending a bolt of heat down from your scalp to your body. “But don’t let his progress deter you! Just as many sinners have cleansed themselves of filth through repeated prayer, and have become genuinely devoted to their cause!”

He gestures in front of you, and you realize that he’s arrived at your door. You reluctantly let yourself down from his hold, immediately missing the warmth of his arms.

“Then I bid you goodnight for now, dear sinner.”

You’re unable to look away, gaze stuck on his unreadable expression, longing to grasp onto him and do something absolutely humiliating, such as begging him to stay the night. He might agree. Before you could, he turned around, the bottom of his dress swishing.

“Go on now, you must rest before the morning!”

You shut the door, finally collapsing on the mattress way too firm for your liking. But it’ll do, for a body as exhausted as yours. You shut your eyes, waiting for sleep to take you.

…Except it doesn’t. You groan in frustration, being well-acquainted with insomnia and its way of keeping your mind wide awake while your body aches to rest. For the next hour, you roll around, adjusting any part of your environment that bothered you - tearing off your borrowed dress, moving your pillow aside, sleeping on your left then your right.

Then at last you give up on adjusting your surroundings, admitting that it was the thoughts whirling in your mind that kept you up.

You weren’t a believer whilst alive, you didn’t put your faith in any God. Some turned to religion in times of desperation, and chose to put their fate in the hands of the almighty; but you turned to material possessions instead, and firmly thought there was no problem too great that money couldn’t solve. And now, while you haven’t exactly changed your mind, you find your thoughts relentlessly drifting back to him, twice now having stood tall over your folded body, the crackles in his voice a siren's call you couldn’t not hear.

Your eyes couldn’t find physical proof of the divine, and your mind couldn’t process your abrupt shift in value; but your body tucked into itself obediently, as though it instinctively knew it wanted to worship him.

…It was ridiculous. Disrespectful, how your wretched mind polluted such an act of purity.

Still, you toss and turn, unable to rid yourself of the urge.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s difficult to describe the atmosphere in Hell. The airflow is practically nonexistent, although you do not feel suffocated. In fact, as a reminder from your close encounter with Sister Vox, you don't need to breathe at all; but you could, if you so choose to, still inhale and exhale - almost as though time had frozen everywhere, but each individual element of the landscape could still move about as they normally would.

So you don’t feel cold when you tiptoe out of your room, avoiding the telltale bumps of creaky floorboards as you make your way to the exit; but you shiver anyway, perhaps purely from the memory of sleepless nights you spent walking the streets from when you were still alive.

And now you’re dead, but your muscles still strain with the effort to not be heard, your eyes still dart about to check for signs of danger possibly lurking around the building, your heart still quickens in anxiety at the thought of being caught, though you weren’t trying to hide from anybody in particular… were you?

You briefly wonder whether those automated bodily functions would eventually come to fade when you’ve become accustomed to death.

This part of Hell was surprisingly quiet, in contrast to the nightmare you first landed in. You find yourself lost in its silence, which feels neither peaceful nor safe; but you relax into it anyway, for lack of a better source of comfort.

You snap out of your inner thoughts when you hear the soft, haunting melody of a choir; you lift your head, and you’re met with the familiar sight of the cathedral.

The stone doors loom over you expectantly, luring you to grip onto its handle. There are still others awake at this hour?, you think as you tug with your whole body’s strength to get the heavy door moving. The hinges make a despaired screeching noise as they release from their frame. The choir rises in volume when you open the door, though eerily enough, you find nobody singing inside.

Your footsteps start as a soft ping on the tile floor, then blow up tenfold from the sheer size of the room. They sound like lonely drums to the suspenseful invisible choir, melancholic but enigmatic. You walk down the aisle, closing your eyes to savor the haunting tune until…

…Your face stings, as though somebody’s stare was burning you. You look up to find Lucifer’s teary eye pointing down, and you follow his gaze to the altar, where an isolated figure kneels on the top step. Red light shimmered through the multicolored windows, casting a halo around him. His back was turned, but his bent elbows signified that he must be clasping his palms in prayer.

It seems you were mistaken, and there was a source for the beautiful melody after all. Up close, bits and pieces of the song he hummed audibly glitched, as though the phantom extra voices in his choir were composed of several radios playing simultaneously, with him at the core. He must’ve heard you come in by now. But what was he doing up so late? Come to think of it, you’ve never seen him head to his room, when bedtime came and all the other sisters went to sleep.

“Sister Alastor?” Your voice comes out hushed, afraid to disrupt the almost divine sight in front of you.

He doesn’t reply, and you stand quietly to the side, simply admiring the sharp angle of his face. You should look away, but you don’t. You were afraid of being scolded, but some part of you felt compelled to stare at him until he opened his lidded eyes, which would narrow down at you to reprimand, but ultimately be forgiving.

Indeed, you wanted the sweetness of redemption that could only be savored as the after-meal dessert to a heaping plate of bitter punishment.

It takes you a moment that he really is peering back at you now, and not as part of your fantasy. His grin is as sharp as ever when he stands, slowly making his way to your figure at the bottom of the steps.

“Were you unable to sleep, dear sinner?”

You swallow to ease the dryness of your throat. “Yeah. I was just taking a walk, to clear my thoughts.”

Up close, his gaze is too intense to hold, and you find yourself staring at his chest instead. “And what sort of sinful thoughts could be torturing your mind at this hour of the night?”

“I don’t know, just thoughts. Thoughts of the whole fiasco with Sister Vox, I guess. And…” Your face flushes further. “And just about why I got into Hell. I’ve been wondering what type of sin I committed.”

“Hmmm, and you can’t think of a single wrongdoing you’ve done?” You jolt, heart racing as his voice buzzes right beside your ear. “Not a single crime you might’ve committed?”

You pause in contemplation. The answer was right at your tongue, yet… a lump forms in your throat, but you push, determined to get your words across. “Well I’ve never done anything wrong outright. But I guess… I might’ve been too greedy in life.”

“Oh?” His voice tastes just like a purr. “Do tell me, what sort of dreadful pleasure was a modest little thing like you greedy for?”

“I was greedy for wealth. E-Especially new clothes, jewelry, shoes. I didn’t mean to.” The syllables were rushing out of you now, and you hurried forward, determined to keep speaking until you expelled the one truth you genuinely wanted to say. “I was born into a poor family. My mother was gone by the time I turned 12, and my father soon grew ill. I had no choice but to make money for the both of us, and I did, but it wasn’t enough. And I was getting tired.”

“How pitiful!”

Even while his words stung, you still wanted to hear more. So you kept going. “There was a wealthy man who showed up to my college campus. He complimented my eyes. How cliche, right? I didn’t like him from the start. But I was tired, and I thought he was a good opportunity. And once I got some, I wanted more. I became greedy. I-I stopped talking to my father, aside from the monthly payment I’d lend him. Because I was too busy spending.”

You lift your head to look at him, heart pulsing faster as you realize that his gaze is as steady as ever. “That must be my sin, right? I was a greedy, horrible daughter.”

You eagerly search his face for signs of praise, a hint that you have answered correctly. Instead, his eyes slit further, his mouth closing into a closed-lip grin; he was amused at your attempt, but you weren’t entirely there.

“Something tells me that wasn’t your only sin!” His voice turns singsongy as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side as he gesticulates with his other hand. “There must be something else, something that is so shameful you are unable to even admit to yourself. Try again, dear sinner.”

You rummage through your brain, pausing and scrutinizing every possible mistake you’ve ever made. “Once when I was 12, I rode my bike over a squirrel. I didn’t mean to, I just didn’t see it.”

“Surely you can think of something more depraved?” He examines his nails, looking bored at your attempts. You begin to grow frustrated.

“I picked my neighbor’s lock when I was 7. I just wanted to try it out since I read how to do so in a book. I screamed at my mother sometimes. I stole a pencil from my high school once.” He looks at you expectantly. You inhale, already out of ideas. “I don’t know! I really don’t! I just want to be rid of it, whatever my great sin is!” You continue, riding on the momentum of your exasperation. “I want to pray beside you, Sister Alastor. I want to put my faith in God.”

The fidgety motion of his nails comes to a stop. “You wish to pray beside me? How noble of you!” You hold your breath as he cups your chin, the tip of his claw scratching a nerve pleasurably, causing your eyes to water as you attempt to keep your stare on him. His palm flashes cold and hot on your feverish chin.

“For sinners, worship holds an entirely different meaning! We have all come to this place because in one way or another, knowingly or not, we’ve disobeyed the word of God.”

He’s guided you away from the altar now, headed toward some place you couldn’t bother to pay attention to. “Some of us choose to pray for forgiveness, and do indeed want to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God. Others of us no longer want to put our faith in God, but rather come here simply to pray to something.”

Your legs weaken again, your head lightening at an alarming pace at the seemingly consistent dizzying effect he had on you. “And why do you think that is?” You croak out your words.

“Why would any sinner pray for anything? For the pure fulfillment of thinking they aren’t alone in their wickedness! That somewhere, there is still something that will receive their decrepit prayer.”

He steps behind you.

“That there is still something above them…” A sharp-tipped finger knocks at the underside of your chin, forcing your eyes onto him, the one above. “...Something they can surrender themselves to, and still be accepted as they are.” A small, submissive, choke leaves your lips. He’s not at all deterred, as though he already knew your filthy thoughts and was expecting them. “So that they can continue sinning, all while believing somebody will answer their prayers regardless of the wretched grime that they are.”

You're fully shivering now, desperately pushing yourself against him to feel something, anything, answer the prayer that ached between your thighs. He laughs, the sound echoing across the empty space of the church and infiltrating your innards.

“Poor, aching, miserable girl.”

Sharp nails brush along your neck with false sympathy, ending on the curve beneath your ear. Your breath hitches as his hips caress the arch of your lower back, the promise of something sinful prodding you wantonly.

Your entire body waits for more of his touch, so sorely tired at this point that it is held up only by the pure magnetism of his promise. Of needing to know what comes next, even if there was no redemption, even if you didn’t deserve it.

His head lowers to your right shoulder, the cloth of his ebony veil teasing your cheek and partially obscuring your vision, distracting you from the muddy reflection of your sacrilegious bodies merging in the stained glass window. Static vibrates against your earlobe as he speaks.

“I believe you’re afflicted by the cardinal sin of Lust.”

He licks lazily at the pulse on your neck. It thrums erratically, as he begins to answer your unspoken question. “It’s obvious in your appearance, though you try to hide it. There’s a way those burdened by lust walk, all clenched tight. It’s in the way they talk, as though they’ve lost their rationality in favor of the all-consuming desire…”

The sharp teeth of his grin ghosts over your skin. “...to fuck.”

You’re caught off guard as the nun utters that dirty word, an open-mouthed moan leaving your lips before you can stop it. His nails graze your hardened nipples through the sheer fabric of your nightgown, that he had personally lent to you. He continues. “I can smell it too! But why settle for that when I could choose to taste it?”

There’s no amount of mental preparation you can do for the feeling of his teeth slicing through your neck easy as butter, the odd angle making you lax like a prey in the jaws of a hunter, having fallen for his irresistible trap of allurement. You let out a defeated whimper, wounded and small. A whisper of a growl rumbles at his throat (add more, smth about how you shamelessly push into him) - but all too quickly, he’s pulled away. What - no! Come back!

You hopelessly thumb the place where his teeth were, already aching for his mouth again. Impatient frustration brews in your gut. “What-where are you going?” Your desire overrides embarrassment, driving you to tug at the cloth of his habit. “I thought you were going to relieve me of my sin?”

He laughs once, the sound sharp - and humiliating, even more so when he rejects your touch and pushes your hand off his clothing. “Now, now, I hope you weren’t expecting anything when you went wandering out at night, lost and seeking warmth like a little doe.”

Was it a trick? You could’ve sworn that you heard his breath hitch when he held you from the back and that as you pressed yourself onto him, there was evidence that he, too, wanted you. No, he wouldn’t trick you.

“Remember dear, good things come to those who wait!” He hums sweetly at your expression, which must’ve been confused and crestfallen. “And such a heavy sin takes time to resolve!”

Or was it that you misread the situation? Ah, that must be it. Of course, you had! He was a nun! Just as you’ve been reminding yourself since the beginning! Why would he be thinking of such a thing in the first place? You must be more affected by your sin than you originally thought, to think such a dirty thing while in the arms of holiness.

And just like that, the bubble bursts, leaving you scrambled, completely out of breath, and outrageously needy while Sister Alastor walks toward the double doors, the perfect image of sacred composure.

You breathe deeply, smearing the sweat of your palms on your clothing, trying to gather yourself. This couldn’t go on. You must cleanse your sins so that you can stand properly below him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks into your new life in Hell, the dreams began.

Ever since Sister Alastor enlightened you on your sin, you’ve been actively avoiding it.

Lust.

You still recall how sinful the word sounded on his lips, how you had gone back to bed that night all too hot and bothered. And how you laid awake for hours, afraid to go to sleep lest you betray his words and dream of something lustful.

You managed to ward off sleep for two weeks, given that the dead really didn’t need sleep. But keeping up with the rest of the sisters’ rigorous schedule, and the fact that each interaction with Sister Alastor sent your entire body into overdrive, was wearing on your energy. You didn’t need sleep, but you were tired. And the only way you knew to rid yourself of tiredness was to sleep.

So it was inevitable that one day you would lay down to rest, heavy head sunken into your pillow as you promised yourself not to fall asleep - you were only going to close your eyes a few moments for the reprieve. Then you were lost to your dreams, which does indeed end in debauchery.

It begins innocently enough, taking place in the very same room you fell asleep so that you couldn’t even tell your reality had shifted to imagination. You were staring up at your ceiling, reflecting upon your newly found cause of sin, when there was a knock at your door.

You dragged yourself off the bed to answer the door. Sister Alastor stood on the other side, grinning down at you as he gestured for you to step out.

“Come now, you’ll be late to the ceremony!” He starts walking down the hallway, and you hurry after him, almost tripping over the length of your nightgown as you race to catch up to his long legs.

“What ceremony?” You rub the sleep from your eyes, glad that somebody had interrupted you before you could fall asleep (oh if only you knew).

“To our ceremony, of course!”

“Huh? We’re getting married?” Well, he was a nun so that was out of the question, but really you couldn’t fathom what else he meant by our ceremony.

He laughs. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, dear sinner! Rather, today is the day we finally ease you of your sins. You’ve been eager for it, I’m sure.”

You nod, more awake than ever now. “Yes! Yes, Sister Alastor, I want to be pure.” You breathe a sigh of relief; all the weeks in Hell questioning your reason for being there, feeling dirty next to the untainted sisters, would finally end. Today was the day your sin of Lust would be lifted, allowing you to stand beside Sister Alastor without those sorts of thoughts.

He led you to the doors of the cathedral, which truly was becoming familiar to you at this point. Inside, you walk down the aisle, trying to control your pace. You don’t want to appear too eager, just because you intuitively worry that might bother him.

He steps up to the altar, and, to your surprise, stretches out a hand as though to invite you up with him. Ah, that’s right, he had said our ceremony. You beam, excitedly offering up your hand, which he takes firmly and pulls next to him.

And that was the line where the innocence of your dream ended, while its true corrupted nature showed itself.

You can’t tear your eyes away as he trails his lengthy fingers over the top of his headpiece, moving to unfasten it. Oh my. Oh my…whoever. Panic starts to rise as the veil is loosened from his head, revealing a mess of crimson hair that starts in black at its bottom, and ends in two pointed ears at the top; ears that you could see the silhouette of through his headpiece - but you had no idea they were the same alluring red as the rest of his hair. You want, badly, to tug on them. He continues speaking, casually, as though he weren’t a nun stripping his clothes in front of a tainted sinner with a deeply perverted mind.

“Poor girl, you must’ve been waiting a long time.”

The nuns around you had their heads bowed in prayer, not a single one daring to peer at the two of you. He scoops you up, and you revel in the delightful feeling of weightlessness, of having to carry no burden, for everything that was heavy had been lifted by him.

Half of your mind thought it was strange, that he might perform a forbidden act with pride in public, while the other half convinced you that this was the normal you were kept from all along. He rests his veil on the floor with one hand, the other helping lean your body against the altar.

Your breath hitches as you feel his hands on the sides of your nightgown, pushing up the material inch by inch. This was not an act of perversion, but an artful performance. He, the subject of your mind’s masterpiece, tilts closer; this was a different kind of art, where the painting had taken control of the artist.

His nails drag across the divots of your body as he tugs the nightgown up and over your head. You were bare as the day you were born, bare as the day he found you, vulnerable and about to be eaten alive. But he saved you then, he saved you from Sister Vox, and he’s going to save you now, by relieving your lust once and for all.

A soft noise catches your attention then; and without even looking, you become aware that the nuns beneath you had started singing. The sound of violins pierce the air, along with the hiss of static. The orchestra is coming from the radios, you realize. Just like that night when you found him alone in the cathedral. Finally, he was going to give you what you needed.

Lust crawls up your body like a snake, whispering something ugly in your ear. Your eyes close, feeling the heat of his breath near, his gloved hands brushing over your hardened nipples… then past, across your back. You crack your eyes open to see a very real snake coiled around your neck, and your mouth part in a half-moan half-scream. He shushes you, a lithe finger pressing against your soft lips. It’s then that you notice how strangely his pupils glinted. They were a ruby blood red as usual, but the blurred circumference of an orange circle reflected across them. Your head tilts back as he licks a trail across your chest and over the snake cutting off your airflow, until your gaze is parallel with… did Hell always have a sun?

“...Darling, your hand.”

You refocus your attention on him, who clutches your smaller hand gently, so delicately that you don’t notice where he's taking it until your fingers are right beneath the jaw of the snake. You widen your eyes nervously, but his stable composure relaxes you. Perhaps this was part of the ceremony. The snake hooks its fangs onto your ring finger, and bites.

The bite was soft, and painless. Sister Alastor widens his grin, as though saying, I told you it would be fine!

Then his hands grope at the skin of your thighs, parting them so that he could insert himself at your center. You feel your hole clench, lifting your hips to meet his thrust.

“Are you ready, my dear?”

Then before you could fearfully whisper yes, let your breath brush over the snake which was choking you increasingly hard with regained vigor from your blood, and look up to see his expression - would he appear pleasured? Or would he look composed, the same as always, lowering himself to the sexual act only for the sake of saving you from it?

You had no chance to find out when your eyes snapped open, the scene dissipating as you shifted back to reality. The touch of his firm grip still echoed on your body, the stinging scales of the snake shaping a ring of ghostly pain around your neck.

You’re horribly disappointed at first; then you snap to your senses, panicking, as you push yourself into a seated position and give a quick comb through your hair before running to the door to answer the very real knocks. Thank goodness the knocks had woken you up! Who knows what other perverted things you would’ve dreamt of?

You opened the door to find Sister Maria, the nun residing in the room next to yours. “It’s time for supper,” she courteously informs you.

This wouldn’t happen again, you promised yourself as you followed her to the garden, where a table of hot meals was already set out. You were going to stay awake as long as possible, until you’ve fully ensured your purity.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two months into your afterlife, and you had dreamt a similar scenario many times, one where a guileless beginning would turn to an ending where Sister Alastor would embrace you sinfully, his hardness buried deep into your wanton walls. Then you would awaken, inner thighs uncomfortably sticky with the evidence of your depravity, as you shamefully make your way to clean up so that you could get dressed, and greet the sisters in the cathedral to pray alongside them, your mind burdened with guilt; every word you spoke, every note you sang felt an impure lie.

You’ve begun to avoid him; after every prayer, song, and meal, you would make excuses to hurry back to your room. You’d say you were tired, that you were still adjusting to the pace they lived at. Not that any of them would notice. In fact, it was just the opposite, and they were all too happy you were leaving early.

But you could feel the weight of his stare as you left, its gaze so intense you had half a mind to check for red stains on your back. You wanted to turn around and collapse back into his arms, to show him all your sins and hear his forgiveness, if not for the crushing fear of rejection weighing densely in your mind.

It was an accident, the day you finally spoke to him.

All of the sisters had left early that day, for the excuse of preparing some extravagant meal. You hurry back with them, engaging in conversation with Sister Elaine, who you had practically never spoken to, in fear of Sister Alastor catching you free. It was an accident, because how were you to know that Sister Elaine had forgotten her readings at the cathedral? She had requested you go find it, because she was the main cook amongst all the sisters and had to get to the cloister first. So you ran to the cathedral, chanting to yourself that all you were going to do was grab her readings, which you yourself had never read, and then run right back. If you were lucky, Sister Alastor wouldn’t be there at all.

To your luck, he was indeed gone - or so you thought. As you’re scouring your eyes over the benches, searching for a sign of her belongings; a familiar static-filled voice greets you from the back.

“My dear sinner! Have you forgotten something?”

Your heart skips a beat when he addresses you as his, though you forbid yourself from thinking further. “No, Sister Elaine forgot to take her readings.”

“Did she now? That’s certainly… not good.”

“Yeah-.”

You collide into his chest when you try to leave, making a little “oomph” sound. “I have to get the readings back to Sister Elaine.” You quickly mutter your excuse, but he doesn’t budge an inch. Anxiety starts wrapping its spindly fingers around your chest, threatening to squeeze when the seconds tick by and he still doesn't move.

“What are you in such a hurry for? It’s been a while since we last conversed, hasn’t it?” He bends his head to your level, grinning knowingly like how an adult might scold a child for lying. “Could it be that you’re hiding something from me?”

Your will to resist weakens with each word he speaks, and you curse yourself for agreeing to retrieve Sister Elaine’s readings. “I-.” Fuck. You couldn’t lie. “I might be.”

If feeling charitable was your first mistake, admitting that he might be right was your next. Now he was sure to ask another, then another, until you’ve entirely poured out your heart; then he would know every sinful dream you’ve had, every wrong way you’ve looked at him. Would it finally be too much for him to forgive?

He scratches leisurely at your head, and if you could purr, you would.

“It isn’t good to keep sinful thoughts to yourself, my dear!” His grin turns sly. “Disgrace grows much faster when left to ruminate in a single sinner’s mind.”

His hand comes to rest on the side of your jaw. “Do tell me, what has been troubling you lately?”

And as usual, the ambiguous tone of his voice is so alluring, so full of promise that perhaps, he will be understanding; that you cave in and speak without meaning to. “I-I actually do have something to confess.”

“Hmmmm?” His eyes tempt you to go on, and so you do.

“I’ve been having dirty thoughts.” Your face is a furnace as you continue. “And dreams. But I really didn’t mean to!” You bite your lip, unsure of how to continue.

“Dear, have you heard of confessing?” He notices the confusion in your eyes and carries on. “It is the idea that by admitting all your sins, that alone might lessen the burden inside you.”

He walks to a bench, and then, seats himself on it. You were free to leave… but you couldn’t. He gestures at you with a single hooked digit, and your feet release from their glue-like bind to the tile floor, scurrying to sit beside him. The heat of his body reverberates into your side. His breath hits your head as he speaks.

“Confess to me, dear sinner.”

His presence was a metaphorical magnet, suctioning the words from your chest. “I dreamt of you… doing things to me.” You could practically see your blood pulsing before your eyes. “Bad things, that felt good. L-Like touching me. It felt so g-good.”

“Oh dear!”

You felt your dead heart stop, your next sentence stuck on your tongue. Then you look at him, compelled to say what can never be taken back. “I dreamt that you fucked me.”

The sound of static breaking fills the air; and for what felt like an eternity, that was all you heard. Just crackles and pops and the sound of hissing, which was ordinarily hum drum, but now felt torturously suspenseful. You start to feel light-headed. Something flickered beneath his eyes; a living thing you couldn’t decipher.

“I apologize. It seems I’ve underestimated how deep your sin truly runs.” His dark gaze never leaves yours as he draws a finger across the downward tilt of your lips, pressing them upward into a counterfeit smile. “That was my fault. How could I, a devout Sister of the cathedral, ignore such an obvious plea? Not to worry dear, I have just the idea to help ease the weight of your sin.”

Like clockwork, tears pool in your sockets as you peer up at him, trembling in your seat on the bench. The wetness pricking your cheeks nagged at you, as it felt all too wrong, that you should cry so often under a being so sublime. But you couldn’t help it; his words provided only the promise of comfort, leaving you wondering whether you will ever have him how you want. The lump in your throat feels bruising.

Sister Alastor caresses your cheek, swiping away a fallen tear with a finger; the slight cut from his claw replaces your sorrow with a bead of blood.

“Come now, dear sinner, don’t weep.”

The silver cross on his neck gleams with red, taunting you, mocking you, with its purity.

He slides a hand under your thigh, lifting it to rest on his own lap, then shifting you until your heat is slotted over the hard muscle of his lean thigh. Your eyes widen, shaking your head, your tears scattering with the motion, and you grip the cloth over his chest; you try to warn him, that you are dirty, that you shouldn’t be tainting his clothes.

But he merely croons at you, brushing your messy hair behind your ears as he begins to rock you back and forth on his thigh. “Let go, my dear. You’re alright now.”

There’s a challenge in his eyes, as though he were watching, waiting for you to crack. For all his care and comfort, there was something equally demeaning in his expression. And for that, you summon up all your will not to melt all over his lap, clenching the muscles of your inner thighs to minimize the contact it had with your pulsing heat. Your hands loop over his neck, freezing as they clasp onto his veil, soaking the cloth with your sweat. You weren’t going to give in. You still wanted him to believe that you could be saved!

He hums, the noise vibrating directly into your sensitive chest. You harden your resolve, refusing to let it affect you. But how could you ignore something so all-consuming? You were unable to peer away from him, as the height of his figure blocked your view entirely; unable to stop the gratifying torment of his claws in your hips, grinding you down so deliciously on his thigh. Your breaths turn heavy as your muscles begin to weaken, threatening to collapse on him. Back, and forth.

Back…, and forth. You cry out as your thighs unwillingly part, allowing his muscle to press directly onto your clothed pussy. With each motion, your mind grows more and more fuzzy, so that even if you desperately wanted to, you couldn’t cling onto your determination. Without the grounding pain of his claws, you would’ve surely melted into his body. Your mouth opens, stilted whimpers rushing out like a waterfall, when several bolts of heat jolt into your womb consecutively. Faithful as ever, you listen for his feedback; but the usually talkative nun has gone quiet, leaving behind only the low buzz of static.

“Sister Alastor…” You grind through your teeth, needy for his voice. “Please-.”

You squeeze the tears from your eyes, just enough so that you can see his still figure, entirely collected save for his clenched jaw and lidded eyes, which bore into your trembling body with the heat of magma. His grin is strained. Did he want this as well? You moan, shifting yourself further into his lap, closer to the spot you really wanted. But all you could find, in the depths of his cryptic eyes, was blatant cold condescension.

His hands tighten around your hips, gyrating them down with increased force. Your pussy convulses at the same time your heart shatters, leaving you sobbing as you feel yourself coming to a climax. But your orgasm evades you, as each grind of his thigh only sends jolts of vibration into your heat, leaving your aching womb unfilled. Through the haze of your pleasure, you distantly hear what sounds like his breaths turning ragged.

The static clips, glitching intensely in the background as you hear him speak up. “Are you going to release onto my thigh, dear sinner?”

Your eyes fly open in shock when you realize that the radio filter has disappeared, leaving only the raw baritone of his voice. You catch his eyes, which narrowed deeply into your own, his usual wide grin erased into a closed-lipped smile - then it was over, your eyes lulling back into your head as you nearly screamed, feeling yourself spasm violently over his thigh. Your climax carried on for ages, your vision turning black as one wave rode into the next, the comforting buzz of broken static aiding you through your peak. Yet when you at last lowered your head, gasping forcibly while clutching onto his figure, your heat still ached to be filled, still wanting more.

You were still dirty, tainted with the expectations of a sinner.

You gather yourself, thoughts racing rapidly as you try to comprehend what has just happened. Before you could lower your head in shame, or will yourself to climb off his lap to beg for forgiveness - his fingers tighten their hold over your hips, reminding you of their presence. Then, in one sharp unexpected move, you realize that he’s pulled you over his crotch.

You shoot your gaze to him, who stares down at you with an indecipherable expression. Your heart beats so quickly it drowns out all noise around you, leaving only the sound of blood racing through your eardrums. Your eyes darted around his face, trying to get a sign, anything of what he was thinking. Strained grin, eyes slitted. The tiny handle of a radio dial ticks in his pupil, and you hang onto its movement, letting it guide you further into suspense.

It becomes a game of who will look away first. You’re frozen, afraid that if you were to move, the moment would end. If only you could see clearly the murky creature slithering behind his eyes, which was normally dormant, obediently coiled up like his collectedness, but now wriggled freely like wildfire; unexpected and untethered.

Hunger.

The realization that there was pure, unbridled voracity in his eyes sent your sinful heat clenching over his cock, which, you realize with a wanton moan, was painfully stiff beneath you. You realize at the same time as him, and before you could gyrate your hips down by instinct, the moment was over. He stands, settling your shaky figure onto the cold tile floor.

“What a performance!” He lifts a finger to adjust the lens of his monocle, which is still steamy from your breaths. “Do you find your soul just a touch lighter, my dear?”

You search like crazy for a break in his voice, a crack in his composure, anything to indicate that deep inside, he was as affected as you were. That you had somehow brought a creature of devotion down to your wretched level, that you had affected him with your perversion.

But he only stood straight and tall as always, the only difference in his appearance was the wrinkled cloth where your palms had grasped so tightly.

“I…” You barely make half an effort to find your words, still unable to compute your reality.

He adjusts the crumples in his clothing, smoothing his lengthy fingers over his lopsided headpiece. His grin is once again open and sharp-toothed, as he turns to face the doors of the cathedral. “Now dear, what have we learned from today?”

Your knees wobble, only barely catching yourself in time on your feet. You were no longer listening to his words, only the delectable sound of his voice, which you desperately pleaded to come back to you - but nothing would come out of your lips, as you only huff out more breaths, eyes doe-like with their current wideness.

He chuckles. “Well there’s no hurry! You have an eternity to think, and I do expect a lovely little thing as devoted as you will come to an answer.”

Don’t leave. Your tears, which had only just stopped their flow, began to wet your cheeks yet again. Please wait for me! I can’t leave this place without you. I need you to save me from my sins!

“Don’t leave me!”

He was long gone when you voiced your plea. Your knees give out at last, as you sit sobbing pitifully; deserted in the enormous interior of the cathedral, with only the musky scent of his mouth still lingering on your quivering lip.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been several weeks since the incident, and life carried on the way it always did after death. You stopped sleeping at all because you knew that your dreams would hurt more than ever, given what had occurred between the two of you.

The worst part of it all, was how unaffected he was by it all. How unchanged he was. You would’ve preferred it, in fact, if he had grown more distant. Because then at least, there would be a clear sign that your interference had an impact on him.

Instead, it was only you who darted your eyes away a little quicker, only you who ached with the pain of uncertainty. At night, you warded sleep by pacing in your room, thoughts of him torturously plaguing your mind. Why wouldn’t he accept you? Hadn’t you shown your faith enough? If not, you could pray harder. You devised plans, of improving your cooking skills, doubling the times you prayed a day, of kneeling for him even when it was not required.

Of devoting yourself only to him.

There was a boundary between the two of you, one you couldn’t find the bridge to. He had the power to give it to you, but he wouldn’t. Because without the bridge there would be no difference in your level. And you found yourself hopelessly grasping for him from below.

Perhaps that was the true reason you couldn’t clear your sin. Perhaps that was what lust meant. Lust lured you, a lowly sinner, to try and set foot on the bridge connecting you to the heavenly. It gave you the nerve to long for the embrace of something that shouldn’t be touched. But you didn’t care anymore. If you couldn’t climb up to him, then you could at least pray for his mercy, so that he might consider coming down to you. At least once, you needed him to claim you. To fill the enormous emptiness inside you.

A throat clears above you, while you’re kneeling in the dirt of the gardens. You don’t bother to look up, not until they bend next to you. It’s Sister Maria.

“Hey.” That rouses your attention, because she speaks with the understanding voice of a friend, rather than her usual distant monotony. “I was just looking for you.”

You stare at her, your glum contemplation fogging your clarity and slowing your response. A basic reply finds itself in your mouth. “What for?”

“We just wanted to talk.” A second voice sounds behind you, and you look to your right to find Sister Sofia.

“So you had that kind of experience with Sister Alastor, huh?”

The gears of your rusted mind start turning, as your vision clears, becoming aware of what she was referencing. You begin to deny them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-.”

“You don’t have to lie. We can guess what happened.”

Your face flushes with embarrassment.

“If it makes you feel better, he never even touched any of us like that.” A sigh comes from your right.

“Yeah, the most he ever did was entertain Sister Vox, although that was just to put him in place. And, he’s gone now.”

You rest your head on your knee, peering at the sisters who each looked so forlorn, so down about his indifference that it made you wonder - why did they still revere him? You ask them just that.

“Revere?” Sister Maria begins, a small smile growing on her face. Then she sighs, bunching her knees to her chest to mirror your position. “I guess we all still have some hope that he will return our affections one day. That our subservience is some sort of divine discipline we must master before he can acknowledge us.”

“And… you stay here just because of that?” You speak slowly, their words a sudden bolt of enlightenment through your mind.

Sister Sofia pipes up quietly, staring out the window at the red sky. “Yes. Just because of that.”

Seeing their reactions, it wasn’t too difficult to deduce that perhaps this was the secret you felt divided you from the rest of the sisters. Oh, you realize. All along, they had already been in reverence to him, devoted purely only to him. And I was the newcomer, who was still too fresh to understand the bond that forms only from a deep, shared admiration.

Sitting here now, in the garden with the rest of the sisters surrounding you, you felt a sudden kinship with your fellow devotees, who each prayed for the petting hand of a figure so far up he might be in a different realm entirely.

“Do you think he’d cast me out? If I tried for his affection?”

The sisters glance at one another. One worried, one indifferent. You glance back down at the still-wet dirt, thumbing through the thick brown paste absentmindedly. One of them speaks up. “Well, we wouldn’t recommend it. Sister Vox was particularly insistent on his attention, after all, and…”

“Sister Alastor was truly generous with him. He should’ve cast that fool out the first time he tried to touch him.”

“Sister Sofia!”

“It’s true. Look what he did at the end!”

Another pregnant pause. You feel a hand on your shoulder.

“What we’re saying is, just be careful. I know what you want, because that’s what we all want. But you need to learn to control that desire. Learn to let it fuel your prayers, not destroy your faith.”

“Exactly. You should stop, while you can.”

You don’t hear anything they say, with the exception of what you thought was a chance. “So you say he was generous with Sister Vox…” You mumble to yourself, digging your fingers deeper into the dirt.

Then you start smiling, and the world around starts lighting up with you. The garden suddenly felt that much more beautiful; oh, Niffty cared for the plants so well! Your smile grows to a grin, and you admire the pretty lining of dirt under your fingers. Jagged and unkempt, with a light sheen of moisture creating gentle red reflections on your nails. Hell looked celestial.

You grin even broader until you feel the edge of your dried lip cracking from the stretch; and it delights you, as you think of Sister Alastor’s eternal grin. So that’s why he’s always grinning!, you think excitedly. If I were able to see the world from such a divine view, I too would never stop feeling gleeful! You spring to your feet then, widened eyes searching for the lovely sisters beside you so that you can embrace their purified souls and share your newfound joy.

They were gone. They left, but it’s no matter. They helped you understand!

Your footsteps are light, and you start humming softly as you glide forward, enjoying the lift from your invisible wings. There would be time to relish in the feeling of flight later. Right now, you were set on finding Sister Alastor, eager to share your newfound revelation.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you reached the cathedral, where you would most likely find Sister Alastor, your hands had started quaking with the thrill of seeing him.

You hadn’t blinked the whole way, afraid to miss a single second of the spectacle around you. And even the sting from the dryness of your eyes sent tremors of joy down your body, for the world had never felt so vivid. The stone doors had turned to paper, and you giggle at the thought of them flying away, clutching just a bit tighter onto its frame.

You dart inside, and unlike every time before, you instantly spot his figure. Beautiful and alone, beside the altar. The carmine sky reflects off the jeweled cross he held in his palms, scattering a path of light pointing toward you. You follow each glowing dot with anticipation, the staticky sound of violins growing louder with each step, until you’re encased in the hypnotic instrument.

Up close, you notice for the first time his lashes; which lay petal-like over the grayish tint of his cheek, an intricate contrast to his domineering stature. His mouth twists into a demonic grin, made angelic by his serenity. That twinkling crescent mirrored onto your own lips, as though his whole body, and not just the cross he held, had turned into a gem.

He’s beautiful, you think breathlessly.

You smile, enchanted as you hold a hand up to him, one half of a prayer. You understood now, that all the pearls you pleaded for, all the diamond rings you held to your chest at night, in place of a loving body; none of that was sin. They were candy-colored stones that would one day lead you to a house of platinum. And all along, you were meant to step behind its doors, so that the lord might lift your sin of lust. So that he could take you, and let your wretchedness reflect onto its platinum walls.

“You’ve come to find me, dear sinner.”

“I have.”

His eyes are slitted; pupils contracted, glancing at you curiously, asking you a silent question: have you figured out the answer? You lean forward, keen to prove your knowledge.

“Sister Alastor,” you begin, kneeling on the bottom step of the altar. “I think I’m ready for redemption.”

“Oh? Pray tell, how am I to be sure of that?” It was a rhetorical question, a request for you to demonstrate your sincerity.

So you beam up at him, your hands releasing from their prayer, and pressing against the ground to support your weight as you kiss at his ankle. And just as you suspected, instead of pulling away, he hums instead, keeping his body a statue for you to worship.

You daintily tuck your hands beneath the cloth of his habit, lifting it up while taking care to not tarnish the gossamer surface. Your fingers slide up the expanse of his legs, your eyes widening as you glimpse the chiffon fabric of black stockings that end around the hard muscle of his thigh. Your heart pulses faster, yearning to explore what was hidden from you up till now. You offer a kiss to his heated skin through the cloth, arching your back as you lean further into his legs. You lick a strip up his thigh, higher, and higher…

The sound of the violins has started breaking, though you no longer find worry in that. Rather the breaks were equally breathtaking, its existence creating a second, more primal song out of the purer first. You glance up to find his eyes sprung wide, pupils taking on the shape of radio dials, just like that day on the bench. But it wasn’t enough. You turn your attention back to his lower half, lifting his habit over his hips. Your smile brightens in delight to find him hardened beneath lacy black undergarments.

You press your lips to the bulge there, wetting the cloth as you offer your mouth to him. You start to lick, flattening your tongue against his cock, hands finding purchase on the sides of his sharp, angled hips. You vary the flicks of your tongue; small kitten licks give way to longer strips, as you crane your neck, dedicating yourself to pleasing him.

A sharp sound of static pierces the air as you encircle your lips around his clothed tip, creating a third song that is so erratic in tempo that the notes are hardly decipherable. Yet it too was beautiful, and you moan ecstatically onto his hardness as your pussy grinds down onto his suede shoes, the point hitting your nerves just right.

You lift your fingers to the band around his hips, ready to peel away the only cloth separating you and your object of devotion, only stopping the motion of your mouth so that you could-. A primal groan infiltrates your ears, and his clawed hand digs into your hair, yanking you away from your ministrations.

You take in a gasp of air, face flushed and hair lightly clinging to your forehead.

“Sister Alastor…?”

There are small cracks in his composure; a subtle, barely there flush to his cheeks, his sharp teeth gritting so tightly it looked like a zigzag across his mouth. His chest rises and falls, the distorted jumble of music and static mixing in with his breath. He tugs on your hair to lift you into a standing position, causing you to moan in surprise.

Now you’re at eye level with his chest, though he tilts your head so that you can stare directly at the insatiable fire in his. His other hand squeezes around your jaw, the dampness of his sweat apparent through his gloves. You wait with bated breath.

“That’s quite enough out of you, my dear.” Soft tufts of red hair had loosened from his headpiece, and they brushed heatedly against your cheeks as he bent down to ghost his teeth over your pulse. “Your prayer has been heard loud and clear.”

Then he bites down, and color explodes before you like a kaleidoscope entirely composed of shades of red. He lifts you by your hips; and by now, you’ve lost track of where the ceiling and floor was, of what was beside you or within you. All you can feel is him, tearing into your skin as he ravaged the fluid from your neck, him throbbing fiercely between your legs, his sacred mouth stained with your dirty blood as he pulled away, a small, jagged piece of your skin on his lips.

You whimper, your dripping pussy glued to the outline of his cock, desperately trying to suction him in through his clothing as his eyes wildly drink in your reaction. In the distant background, you hear a laugh track start to play. Or was it screaming? Perhaps it was laughter, so maniacal that it mimicked screeching; or perhaps it was screaming, so in denial of negativity that it turned to laughter.

It blends in seamlessly with the nun above you, who had started laughing himself. “Ha ha! Are you feeling it now, dear sinner?” He forces his bloodied jaw onto yours, and you moan at the taste of your own blood, hot, salty, and sickeningly sweet, with the slightest hint of bitter.

“The marvelous passion of salvation!”

Before you even have time to take a breath, he puts a pause to your prayer, gripping your thighs with the whole of his lengthy hand, ripping away the cloth of your underwear, and thrusting himself into your waiting hole in one go.

You scream, throwing your head back as your walls flutter in shock at the sudden intrusion, the hissing of a thousand laughs encapsulating the two of you as he grunts into your ear, hips twitching with the effort to stay still. You throw your hands around his neck, tugging unceremoniously at his veil and digging your fingers into his hair, stroking over his folded ears.

The ceiling’s mural is a blur of color before your pleasure-hazed eyes, and you note that even Lucifer’s teary face was grinning down at the two of you. Though you had no time to contemplate whether he was weeping from happiness, or grinning to conceal his tears as Sister Alastor slides your slickened pussy up his cock, then slams you down again. And again, and again.

Your foggy mind couldn’t decide anymore; was he a sinner disguised as a nun, who used his saintly appearance to freely express his wicked nature? Or was he a nun, disguised as a sinner; a devout angel whose nefarious image had distracted you from his genuine desire to help? How could someone whose thick, satiating cock that snapped so deliciously against your own hips have cruel intentions underneath it all? Each thrust of his girth filled your womb just right, and this time when your eyes rolled back, Heaven was right there in front of you, glitching white-hot like lightning against the hellish red veins of your lids.

“...N-nghh…Sister…A-Alastor!”

His name is a stutter on your slobbering tongue, a screamed prayer from your upturned lips. Sweat runs down his ashen cheeks, dripping past his clenched teeth onto your whimpering mouth.

You squirm in the firmness of his hold, your body a mere ragdoll in the hands of his faith. Why did you ever request him to help you find God, when all along you could find Heaven within one another?

“I-I'm s—orry!” A lousy strand of drool drips down your chin. You tangle your dirty fingers in him, your untarnished savior. Laughing as you at last confessed your wrongdoing.

“-----so–rry, sorry for sinning—!”

He peers at you knowingly, the line of his wide grin wobbly with the effort of sex. His breath is ethereal, reverberating on your collarbone as he nips you there. “The Lord forgives you, dear sinner.”

He flips you onto your stomach, cock rubbing languidly against the sensitive nub of flesh in your walls, pressing your wrists to the ground with his claws as he resumed fucking into your sobbing wet hole from behind. Then his larger frame collapses against yours, his chest pressing flush to the heated flesh of your arched back, and just like that you once again doubt his purity. For a man of Heaven wouldn’t grunt so depravedly into your ear, plunge himself so desperately into the womb of a sinner, as though he were afflicted by the very same sin himself.

And he leaves you no room to feel betrayed, no time to reflect upon your basal desire of being rutted into, by a nun or a demon, or whether that was wrong, because the enormous head of filthy gratification pulsing inside you led you to believe that it could only be right.

“I forgive you.”

The sound of his remission sends the top of your scalp bumping against his lowered chin as you throw your head back for the nth time, feeling something build inside you to an uncontrollable degree. He holds your head in place by the moist strands of your hair, grinning down at your contorted face. With each long drag of his cock against your walls, you feel yourself tighten harder around him, until he pants beside your ear, clamping his teeth into the sensitive divot beside your shoulder. And you howl with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the proverbial rubber band snap, sending your walls convulsing in waves around his cock, as though some biological part of you were trying to suction the cum out of him.

“...Fuck.”

Your eyes snap open to find him watching your expression, his own brows furrowed over his glowing eyes as he spoke the unfiltered curse word; the one syllable so filthy, yet so right coming from his virtuous lips that the band snaps a second time, drawing out the clenching of your walls around his cock, your smile giddy with hedonism.

Your body sinks bonelessly into his hold, but there’s no time to recuperate as he relentlessly pounds into your womb, his grin pulling into more of a snarl as he approaches his own climax. You whimper weakly; the feelings were all too much - his cock squelching against the sponge of your heat, the pleasant sting of his bite marks, the knowledge that this saintly being was losing himself in the sinful depths of your body. You cry out, feeling yourself lose control of your muscles, the need to cum present, at the border between unreachable and occurring.

His claws circle around your neck, squeezing you like a dog on a leash; and just like that, your beyond exhausted body resurrects itself, only for the sake of coming around him one last time as he stills, staticky sigh releasing from his lips while spilling inside you, painting your walls sticky white with his blessing. His hips stutter a few more times as he holds you against him.

You foolishly imagine that he doesn’t want to let you go.

Then he’s getting up, and you blink, trying to recuperate your senses. Your hearing returns to normal first, noticing that the jumbled radio orchestra has quieted. Your sight and touch stabilize, and you take in your surroundings.

You laid, spent, on the floor warmed by the passion of your bodies. Above you, Sister Alastor hums a tune, collecting his seed which spilled bountifully around your lips, and pushing it inside. Your hips twitch, still overstimulated, and you obediently clench your thighs to retain the gifted fluid. You peer up at him innocently, a smile still resting on your lips.

His grin is approving. He dabs a handkerchief at the dried blood around your wounds, readjusting your clothes. “Good job! I always knew you had potential.” The pat he places on your head feels affirming, good, and not condescending.

Then he stands, but not before scooping your molten body into his arms, the tune he’s humming vibrating pleasantly against your body. The walk back to the cloister was light, warm, and carefree; you still felt as though you were floating, but the vibrant disco ball of colors around you had dulled down to a tranquil pool of softer hues.

The sisters gasp as Sister Alastor walks into supper, his mouth still stained with your blood, your ruffled body tucked into his chest. You revel in their disbelief as he takes a seat, joining the rest of them for once instead of eating alone. Pride glitters in your chest, unafraid and free.

Still, you know not to step too out of line, as you eat beside him, noting his gaze, which was once unreadable to you, fixed on your form. You know what he means; that you had successfully walked the bridge beneath you, but now you had to return to your rightful place beneath him.

Until it comes time for your next prayer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Starting your morning prayers so early, my dear?”

You grin around the base of his cock, eyes teary with appreciation. Your nod of agreement comes out as a bobbing of your head, which sends his smile straining in that enticing way you loved.

It was still early in the day, as according to the clock Sister Alastor had made to circumvent Hell’s lack of a night and morning. The rest of the sisters should still be asleep, while you had rushed to serve him the moment you awoke next to him, who sat next to you with a book in his hands.

It made sense to you that he never slept, unlike the rest of you who, while you didn’t need sleep, still did so because your sinful minds needed a rest. The divine had no such needs. And you were happy to greet him in the mornings with a prayer, your throat gagging around his length as he gracefully pushed on your head. Sometimes, you would wake from a sinfully perverted dream to find your pussy already filled to the brim with his erection, as he grinned down at you, reassuring you that he was here to cleanse your body from your wicked sleep.

Then you would laugh with him, letting your glee bounce into his body and then back to yours, so that you could wake up another day and do it all over again.

With time, the sight of your sisters’ betrayed faces no longer bothered you. Sister Vox’s pained cries as he was expelled, rejected from Sister Alastor’s care, became but a mere dent in your memory on the pristinely crafted image of your new God. Your fate was different from theirs, as long as you kept his eyes on you. As long as you tirelessly bent beneath him, praying to his body while he salvaged yours.

Remaining, utterly and completely, for an uncertain fraction of infinity, devoted.

Then you ride his dick into the sunset THE END!

A/N: Dear Grammarly, stop correcting "her heat" to "her heart" I MEAN HEAT WHEN I SAY IT IT'S A SYNONYM FOR PUSSY. Anyway if you got through this fic without thinking “Hey sisters!” once, congratulations! I did not have the same luxury LMAO. This fic was supposed to be a very quick snippet, that turned HUGE (as his cock). If any of you saw the poll, I was actually gonna post that relatively short fic on the same day I made it… but then something dangerous started happening. I started to feel POETIC. AAHHHHH I COULDN’T STOP MY CARPAL TUNNEL WRISTS FROM TYPING. It took over my mind this week :( and while I do type fast, it actually takes me forever to complete a fic because of one main reason: I always end up changing my mind 30002790372097 times on what the plot should be and what should go where then I have to edit out all the stuff I wrote previously that doesn’t work with the new stuff THEN THE CYCLE CONTINUES except when I actually do get the plot settled I'm too lazy to edit the final and it’s AMAZING but also it SUCKS cuz I still have the rest of my life to tend to. But whatever fuck the rest of my life. Does the rest of my life have Alastor in it? NO? THEN WHY IS IT THERE

Taglist: @angeldustharmony, @littlebluefishtail, @cryssyd, @reath-solia, @speedycoffeedelight

#alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #alastor x you smut #nun alastor #nun alastor x reader #sexy nuns #why's there a tag for sexy nuns #smut #fanfiction #alastor fanfiction

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vintagehellfire · 10 months

Text

Danse Macabre | E.M x Reader

summary: Your best friend invites you to a concert that you're less than keen on but you get much more devil worship than you bargained for.

warnings: porn without plot, plot? What plot?, choking, nipple play, blood play, bruising, oral (m receiving), sacrilege, bdsm, dom sub dynamics, just really stupid horny honestly. Eyefucking, teasing, edging???? Spit kink, mask kink, devil worship. This is just pure filth honestly, piv, unprotected sex (don’t do this with strangers ya’ll pls I’m begging) mdni 18+

word count: 8.6k

Thank you to @the-unforgivenn for beta reading this pure filth for me and for correcting my atrocious keystroke mistakes. I love you so much babe.

part two

How you got dragged to some sort of musical satanic ritual by your best friend Lilly was far beyond you. The heavy instrumentals contrasted too harshly with the light and theatrical vocals. If looks could kill, Lilly would be dead. This wasn’t your scene, it never would be, it’s what you told yourself. Sipping your gin, arms crossed, you scrunch your face, the bartender having been too busy staring at your chest while he poured your drink, resulting in a rather disgusting concoction. As if the night couldn’t get any worse.

One of the lighter intro songs came to an end before the pyrotechnics roared to life next to you, one of the guitarists emerged from behind the waft of smoke. It was then that your breath caught in your throat, the way that he played had you hypnotised, placing you in a trance so deep that you couldn’t tear your eyes from him even if you wanted to, veins protruding. Your eyes trailed over his body, tight jeans fitting to his body and a uniform dress shirt adorning his torso, long sleeves and turtleneck underneath, hiding any soft skin. As you would be met with a face, you were surprised to find that you were met with a helmet of sorts, breathing tubes and other such accessories adorning it, as well as sticking out the top. His eyes burned red like embers behind the wide goggles, a darkness swallowing the man behind the mask and drawing you in. Curiosity got the better of you, you watched closely when he stomped to the beat of the songs. he fans collectively let out a wave of screams, throwing flowers on stage. You rolled your eyes so hard they probably should have rolled out of your head. Were you attracted to the masked musician? In some capacity sure, but wholly? No. They just… they knew how to play well and those hands… you could admit those hands were something. You shook your head to rid yourself of impure thoughts, it wasn’t like you liked the music anyway.

Your face was stone cold and your arms were crossed over your chest unhappily, cleavage pushed up, and the leather of your jacket creaking. That was the thing about you, you’d rather die than remove your prized biker jacket. It was your battle armour, much like the guitarists get up seemed to be the band’s uniform. To them, it protected their identity, and it protected you – you wouldn’t be caught off guard, you wouldn’t be vulnerable, you couldn’t. Your icy stare pierced through the smoke, through the flames, as you focused your gaze on the guitarist in front of you. His white guitar distinguished him from everyone else just as your expression did you –perfectly sour.

The crowd behind you chanted along to the songs, screaming about Lucifer and the congregation and whatever other shit you chose to ignore in favour of your best friend. Lilly was one of them, jumping up and down, chanting every word of the hymns the lead singer belted out to the tune of the strong bass line and the chugging of guitars. As much as you wanted her to have fun, you rolled your eyes, this wasn’t your scene. Every song that started out heavy led to a disappointment with the vocals or the rock opera and so you just opted to be the designated party pooper and give your best glare towards the lead guitarist who seemed all too interested in your corner of the stage. He wailed on his guitar harder than you’d seen anyone wail on one before, a flash of worry briefly crossing your mind but you quickly pushed it down.

The masked man played through his songs flawlessly, fingers moving expertly across the fretboard, mind and body completely in tandem; however your pout, your knit eyebrows, and crossed arms caught his eye, he’d stare back at you through his tinted goggles, smiling softly to himself at how adorable you looked when you were so grumpy. He could tell this wasn’t your scene and so during the slow and long intro to a song he walked over to the very front, standing just a few feet above you. He tilted his head to the side, his mask listing as he stared, playing the intro as his eyes never left yours.

The small movement caught your attention, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you felt like the glowing embers behind the goggles were burning into your very soul, dissecting every little secret. He slowly points to himself before he gets his queue to jump into his next riffs, stomping away as he pushed through the heavy chords that thundered through the concert hall. You dared not admit it to yourself, but something inside you snapped, a warmth starting to spread between your legs. No, no you couldn’t possibly be attracted to this, right? But just as that thought entered your mind, it shot out of your head and straight to your heart when you saw the man before you strut over to his bandmate. The two bent over backwards together, the taller of the two supporting the back of the man with the white guitar. A cute moment, or so you thought, but as soon as the shorter was up for his solo, the taller wrapped an arm around him and pawed at his cock, tugging him into his muscled body, catching the one you had your eye on off guard. He rocked his hips into the other and rested his masked head on the shorter shoulder, fake panting. He did not falter however, and that had your brain reeling.

With a small smack on the ass, the taller let him go, strutting away as the crowd erupted in ear shattering screeches, and if what had just transpired wasn’t one of the hottest things you’d seen, you would have absolutely rolled your eyes, but instead it had you shifting in your place, all too keenly aware of the small flare of heat that lapped at you and the proximity of the other bodies surrounding you. You suddenly felt small, trapped; and you wanted nothing more than to run out and dunk your head under some ice cold water. What was wrong with you? Your eyes darted from side to side, hoping your best friend Lilly wouldn’t notice.

What went on next was just about to make anyone lose their minds, the lead guitarist started to throw guitar picks into the crowd, plucking one last one from his guitar and marching over to directly in front of you. The song they played next was clearly well known but it was only vaguely familiar to you, it was one you would listen to ironically while doing the dishes, one that you didn’t care much for, but was catchy nonetheless. What you didn’t realise was just how suggestive the lyrics were – and so when the man with the white guitar stood in front of you, spreading his legs to put himself in a more comfortable playing stance you thought nothing about it but his next motions had your panties soaking themselves in your slick. A long and crooked finger pointed to himself quickly, then he went back to wailing on his precious guitar just before giving himself a window of about a second to stop, his ring and middle finger very rapidly turned upwards, flicking rapidly as if motioning fingering you, his goggles deadlocked on your eyes. You could tell he was watching you for a reaction, and how you knew you wouldn’t be able to tell. Christ, maybe you should have listened to Lilly when she was telling you this band was horny. Truthfully, you had shrugged it off, what, some singer in a pope mask acting all horny? That didn’t exactly get your rocks off, but the moment you laid eyes on the masked men playing their instruments, all rational thought flew out the window.

Little did you know that the guitarist did have his eyes set on you, all queues already learned, his body moving on auto pilot, his performance was deliberately exaggerated just for you, his motions tailored to get you hot and bothered. He knew he played the best role, and as the show went on, with the lack of water, and the horrid head, he knew his veins were pronouncing themselves even more, fingers sliding around, fingering the fretboard with an expert speed. Every nook, cranny, and metal notch memorised by the calluses on the pads of his fingers, like an old lover he’d always know how to please. He would pride himself on it, on his accuracy, and he was thankful, oh so thankful, that his death metal band had allowed him the dexterity to pull something such as this off.

Your eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from his figure, stalking his every move like a predator with their prey, A game of cat and mouse you both played with each other from the stage and the crowd. At this point, all shame was thrown out the window and you were openly eye fucking him, blood boiling in your veins and mouth starting to run a little dry.

The final nail in the coffin was during their heaviest song during the show, a calm moment before the storm, before the stadium exploded in a downpour of black and white paper confetti. Your eyes fixated on the man before you as the song slows to a steady chug, breathy whispers sung into the microphones. It made your head spin as you were trying to compose yourself, breath hitching as the object of your lustful affection met your gaze. His black inky goggles bored you as he brought a shaky hand up, his other hand chugging the low E of his guitar. You were transfixed by the man, unable to peel your eyes from him as he slowly and seductively licked his hand, tongue expertly flicking between his fingers, his shaky breaths becoming ragged and exaggerated. Pressing his hand to his chest, he threw his head back in a moan, sliding his elegant fingers down the front of his uniform until it was level with his guitar, and exactly in time with his strumming, he fisted his hand and with a teasing motion he tugged at the air. Your mouth ran completely dry as you registered that he was feigning masturbation in front of thousands of people. He had you caught in a trance, hypnotised by his agonising motions, his eyes seemingly staring into your very soul, picking apart every last bit of you - he saw the scars inside and your desires all rolled into one. As his actions picked up, one hand still busy on his guitar, you let out a choked breath, transfixed by the man, ghoul, whatever he was, before you. He commanded all your attention, causing your mouth to run completely dry but it couldn’t have prepared you for his “release��-- letting go the moment the confetti cannon exploded. Your jaw slacked, a strangled moan flying from your mouth as you clenched your thighs together, mouth slightly agape.

The guitarist knew he had you in a chokehold at that very moment, smirking from underneath his coverings. Flawlessly he jumped back into the song and turned away from you, the game of cat and mouse had become too much, too real. It had only taken him an hour and a half to break you down, but once he did he felt a satisfaction he couldn’t explain, and of course he would try to hide it as he continued to strut across the stage as if he owned it. The reality was that he didn’t want to give away just the way this little game had affected him as well, an undeniable strain in his lower half. If his bandmates had noticed, they had clearly made it their mission to torture him, the rhythm guitarist getting on his knees in front of him during a solo, fucking into his own guitar as he pressed his head to the lead guitarists thigh. It wasn’t until the lead placed a boot on his shoulder to push away from him that the one on his knees relented, the crowd exploding in a rain of screams, and yet all you heard was the rush of blood in your ears. You resigned, the game had been won.

As you tried to catch your breath, you looked over to Lilly, thanking Satan that she hadn’t noticed your turmoil. The rest of the show had you holding your breath, knowing that the masked musician had made it his mission to play games with you. the show ended, you were relieved, you might have a moment yet to go home and get yourself off, forgetting the whole of the events that transpired.

“Come on, let’s get out of here and to the merch table before it gets too crowded!” Lilly cheered, sticking her handout for you to take, but as soon as she looked over your face her eyes drained of excitement. “Oh, are you okay? You look a little pale,” she noted, tilting her head to the side.

“Y-yeah, I,” You cleared your throat, “I’m fine, just feeling a little warm. I think I might head home but you go grab some merch. I’ll text you,” you lied cooly. You didn’t want her to know the profound effect that the lead guitarist had on you. With a nod she gave your shoulder a squeeze and darted off.

You could finally breathe, the suffocation that gripped at your throat just moments earlier had slightly dissipated. As dirty as your thoughts were at the moment, it was in your best interest to get moving, and so, as if on autopilot, you let your feet carry you as far from the stage as possible. You slipped past the crowd, weaving in and around groups of friends, teenagers reeling about the show, displeased parents. You wanted to beeline it out of there before anyone noticed you but unfortunately your plan was short lived as you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist and tug you behind a closed door.

Your brain ran at a mile a minute, trying to figure out whether it was cause for alarm, but as your back collided with the wall behind you, you were met with the masked ghoul from the stage pressing his knee between your legs, pinning you in place. All colour drained from your face as your breathing laboured. There wasn’t any fear in your body, not any longer, and if there had been any,it had been replaced with undeniable arousal, heat being sent straight to your core. It took all your willpower not to grind into his thigh.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The husky voice purred, a small accent peaking through. He smelled intoxicating, like amber and cigarettes, a tinge of iron poking through in the softest of undertones. It drove you crazy, mind spinning, dizzy with want. He cocks his head to the side, his nautical mask tilting, the black goggles seemingly bottomless, swallowing his eyes. The musician’s expression is completely unreadable and if you knew any better you’d say it was like a predator who had caught his prey. Your mistake was thinking the little game you both played was over, yet now it seems like it had just begun. The man leans into you, invading your space completely, his covered mouth coming up beside your ear. “Oh you thought our little game was over, didn’t you?” He pulls back, allowing your caged body some space. “Don’t think I didn’t see you, little one.” His sweet voice purrs, setting you over the edge, hips finally pushing into his leg as your head tilts back, smacking softly into the wall.

“Fuck…” The syllable leaves your mouth as a groan before you can do anything about it. Surely you were dreaming this, but when you opened your eyes, you were met with the same mask, the same expression that stared at you from the stage.

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart, I’ll have to bring you to the green room. We’ll paint it red in sin .” You swore you could hear him wink from behind his coverings but you didn’t care, satan, you didn’t care as long as you could have him. You’d worship him in uniform, all sweat slicked and bloody if you had to. In this moment you had a one track mind and you’d be damned if you didn’t act on your desires… but maybe having these desires meant that you were already damned. “What, not as bold anymore? Devil got your tongue?” He mused.

“Are you going to run your mouth or are you going to fuck me?” You spit out at him, a feigned venom behind your words, but they were too lust drenched to be taken harshly. In an instant his body was against yours, thigh pressing into your cunt, slowly rubbing back and forth.

“Earn it.” He growled out, face burying itself into the crook of your neck to pepper both kisses and love bites across your jugular. Your body caught fire, desperate to be taken by the mysterious man then and there. You hadn’t seen his face and you were mildly worried that seeing it would ruin the illusion. Would you even find him attractive under all his coverings? You didn’t have time to think about it before his hands came to the meat of your ass, tugging you against him with a burning desire, fire coursing through his veins. The strangled moan that ripped from your throat was one you weren’t expecting, but did it ever feel right, his strained cock digging into your hips as he pushed your body closer to his. You could tell he was well endowed even through the fabric of his trousers, a heat creeping up your neck at this realisation.

“Don’t tease.” You spat, hands coming up to grip his slightly torn jacket, his arm coverings hiding any identifiers. You were going off of nothing aside from the little fire element pin that was securely pinned to the lapel of his uniform. Your hands found themselves tugging him forward, daring him to kiss you.

“Don’t be a brat.” The stranger growled, swiftly lowering the cloth covering his mouth before assaulting your lips with his. It was all teeth and tongues, pure lust taking over every one of your senses, and it seemed to be true for him as well. You kissed back furiously, nipping at his bottom lip, eliciting a gasp from him that would turn into a groan as you rolled your hips against his, begging for some relief. “Easy, pet.” He muttered against the plushness of your mouth, a small tender moment slipping through the cracks. As much as you enjoy rough, there was a certain swell that filled your heart in knowing that he wouldn’t push too far.

Your escapades were all tongue, teeth, and lips, strangled moans, and tugging at each other’s clothes until you both reached the green room wherethe band was supposed to be, however, your mystery man had ensured to clear it before he went out to find you. The only time either one of you broke from one another was for air or to push the door closed, locking it in the process. Both of you were too impatient, a carnal desire for one another pooling into your veins, fire spreading through you both and kindling in that very low spot in your abdomens.

“If you need me to stop, the safe word is Beelzebub.” The man’s husky voice cut through the groans, tugging your hips forward into his by the belt loops. He gave you a moment to process what he had said, but instead you grabbed onto his mask and tugged his head forward, lapping at his bottom lip in order to gain access to his mouth. As soon as he parted his lips, you were welcomed by his tongue dancing in tandem with yours. He tasted of wintergreen and cigarette smoke, a combination so sinful, so depraved that you should have been turned off, instead it flooded you with desire.

“Need you.” You panted out between kisses, the man unrelenting his assault on your mouth. You were utterly soaked through, and you were certain that the musician could smell you but you didn’t care, not right now anyway. You should have been embarrassed by being taken like this but it just turned you on even more knowing that maybe you would get to live out your newly discovered kink instead of trying to soothe — or smother — the flames by yourself.

“Do you need me?” The man mused. “Mmm, prove it to me, my little devil.” His hand crept from your waist down to your hips, and from your hips down to between your legs, agonizingly circling your cunt, thumb pressing into the seam of your jeans in the exact spot your clit would be in. “Show me how needy you are for me… Go on…” His husky voice teased. When you didn’t react he spun you so your back would be to him, a strong arm holding you against his body while the other busied himself with teasing you. His breath was by your ear now, and his cock pressed into your ass. He was so worked up that he began to rut his hips forward, moaning at the friction. His moan elicited a reaction in you, causing you to throw your head back onto his shoulder, mouth falling open. The tassels on his overcoat swayed with each rut of his hips, tickling the side of your face. You couldn’t imagine he wasn’t warm in his get up but you were too occupied to do anything about it.

“Please, fuck, I need you.” You choked out, eyes screwed shut as he teased. You felt him lick a stripe up your neck before nipping just underneath your ear as a small warning before latching his lips to the sensitive spot, sucking a dark bruise into your skin. The sickening combination of his lips on your neck, his hard on rubbing against your ass, and his fingers teasing your clothed cunt was becoming too much, driving your senses crazy. A low growl emanated from deep within his chest, reverberating across your back from the proximity.

“Then get down on your knees….” He spins you around, voice low and husky as he shoves you down, a mix of fear and burning desire settling in the deepest pits of your stomach. Your knees hit the ground with a thud and you’d be sure to bruise later, but that was a small price to pay. You watched him undo his belt and pull his zipper down before bringing his hand back up to his face, licking it slowly like he had during the show. You knew what was coming but what you didn’t expect was him to give you one last order as he spidered his fingers down the ruffled fabric of his shirt. “And pray.” An animalistic snarl came from beyond the mask as his fingers trailed into his boxers this time. The man tugged his cock out and began to stroke himself, chest heaving, his breathing became laboured.

“Oh, god.” You uttered, but the musician didn’t seem to like that. He let go of his cock, allowing it to bounce against his stomach, a stark contrast with his black attire. It looked delicious with the little opalescent bead of precum nestled on the very tip.

“No, my pet,” he purred, his thumb coming to your lips, slipping past them and into your mouth. It tasted of brass and sweat yet you opted to hollow your cheeks around it anyway, “you answer to our savior, satanus here. You are no longer in the house of god.” There was a cruelty behind his voice, corruption on his tongue. You would have thought the theatrics would have instantly had you shoving him away, but instead it left you craving the masked man, mouth salivating at the thought of him completely ruining you.

Without much warning, he tapped his cock on your lips, his precum smudging across your lips, and satanus, was it going to be his death. Your dark smudge of red lipstick would become ruins in the wake, the thought of a red ring around his member had his brain short circuiting, if you didn’t take him in your mouth soon he was going to lose it. Luckily you complied, opening wide to accommodate his size, letting your tongue lap at his tip as he slid in. He started slowly, almost carefully in order not to hurt you but soon enough you pushed his cock to the back of your throat, eliciting a strangled moan from him. His hands flew to your hair, desperate to hold onto something, anything, and he tugged you forward, pulling a moan from the very back of your throat. You pulled back, saliva building up in your mouth mixing with the salty taste of his seed.It wasn’t something you expected to like but you found yourself chasing it, craving more.

Your head bobbed over his length, your moans muffled as you tried to take him deeper, his tip brushing the back of your throat. His delicate resolve broke then and there, slamming into you at a frantic pace. He chased his high, immense pleasure searing through his veins as he fucked into your mouth like an animal, all sense of self control was gone. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, giving him the most innocent look you could muster as you flicked your tongue over his tip, lapping at his slit. Agonisingly you pulled back, employing the aid of your hand around his length, taking only part of him in your mouth. You jacked him off as you hollowed your cheeks around his tip, tongue expertly flicking over his frenulum and eliciting the most pornographic moan from him.

“Satanus, save me.” The man hissed from above you, pulling on your hair to draw you closer. He was losing control, babbling about how pretty you looked on your knees for him. “You are so exquisitely sinful, my pet.” His chest heaved with every breath he took, fingers tangling themselves further into your head of hair, fingernails practically at your scalp.

You take the praise and you run with it, taking it as a signal to keep going, and this time you move your free hand up his leg, rubbing over his thigh as a tease, a preamble to what you were going to do next. You took his groan as a confirmation to continue, his breaths coaxing you to keep going. You slid your hand up, opting to rub his thigh teasingly, savouring the feeling of the looser material under your fingertips, toying with it before you continued your journey up. While your mouth and right hand busied themselves with his thick cock, your left hand came up to fondle his heavy balls. Who knew that praying to a false idol could be so pleasurable.

“Oh, oh, f-fuck.” The taller threw his head back, voice gruff and fucked out, clearly enjoying this more than he should have been. He was rapidly losing any grip on the situation and he needed to extract himself from it unless he wanted to spill into your mouth. It was his nightmare, his most sinful fantasy, having you like this after the show – a stranger, a person in the crowd. The amount of people that would absolutely kill to be in your position and it was likely that you weren’t appreciating it as you should have been. The man keened before tugging you back harshly, his hips stuttering at the sudden loss of contact from your mouth. “If you keep going like that, I’m going to cum down your throat, sweetheart.” There was a certain level of concern laced into his tone, one that you glossed over through your lust.

“Holy shit…” You breathe out, pupils completely blown, the colours of your irises practically disappearing due to how clouded your mind was with him, only him, nothing but him, and how divine his cock was. At your words, something inside him snaps and he grabs your throat, pulling you up. You could feel yourself growing more aroused by the minute. How he had guessed that you’d be into choking was beyond you, but fuck was this doing things to you that you hadn’t even thought possible.

“There is nothing Holy here.” He growled out, a darkness overtaking his voice. His words sent a cold shiver down your spine, one that found itself shooting down towards your core, causing you to press to him. The ember glow from behind his goggles scanned over your face, flickering, igniting a fire in the bits of your belly. “Here we succumb to our lust.” He breathes before letting your neck go only to bring his hand down to your chest and massage your breast, pinching gently through the fabric of your tank top. In an instant, his mouth attacked your neck savagely, teeth nipping at the thin skin, tongue flicking over the bites to soothe them. You tilt your head back to accommodate him, your breathy moans coming up right beside his ear as you rut into him. You’re desperate to be fucked at this point, needing him more than you need to breathe.

He pierced your skin with his canines, an animalistic desire for you taking over him. He could no longer think, all consumed by his desires. You felt his lips trail down, soft as a butterfly’s wings, stopping at your jugular vein before he bit down, causing you to let out a yelp. Your cry of pain turned into a pornographic moan as he sucked and lapped at your salty skin, a small sheen of sweat starting to gloss over you as you burned up. If this was what being in hell was like, you’d have a hard time coming up with reasons to wind up in heaven. Your torture didn’t end there; however, as he snaked his free hand up to your cheek, holding you in place tenderly as he continued his assault on your neck. He made it his mission to mark you up as his but you were too far gone to care.

“Oh Christ.” You moaned as he lapped at the bite marks he left, but he didn’t seem to like this. Not that you could see this much, but his eyes turned dark as he trailed his lips farther down, burying his face in the crook of your neck before he bit down hard enough to draw blood. Your pain was immediately covered in a strangled cry of pure ecstasy as he tugged you towards him, his hand on your breast moving to your hip, surely bruising it, fingerprint embedded in the skin of your hip bone.

The taste of iron filled the musician’s mouth, his hard on reacting to your metallic taste, pressing into your hip involuntarily. He couldn’t get enough of you - the intoxicating smell of amber and palo santo mixed with the salt from sweat, and the citrus of the gin… He wanted to ruin you once and for all.

“No, my pet, you are not in the house of God. Only the devil resides here. Will I need to have you pray to me again?” The growl that ripped from his throat has you soaking your lace panties, a choked sob escaping from your parted lips. As he took you in, he noted that you already looked completely fucked out, the bruising on your neck blooming like deep red roses, a symbol of both love and devotion. The only thing you could do was shake your head in answer to him. “Mmm,” the stranger hummed, “your body and blood are mine, sweetheart.” He teased you. As your chest heaved, you examined him, traces of your blood down his chin, and some smeared across his mask, his lips were swollen from the harsh and animalistic kisses he was giving you, and satanus were you ever attracted to him in this moment.

“Please… Can I see you?” You plead, your hands coming to his waist, trailing down slowly, your right hand making contact with his cock. The soft cant of his hips encouraged you to grip it gently, stroking him languidly as you await his answer. “Please…” You repeated, eyes desperately boring into the void behind his goggles.

“Oh, is my little pet desperate to see me?” He cooed out, his fingers skillfully finding your belt, undoing it at a painfully slow pace. It was your turn to buck your hips into him, rolling them into his touch. “Mmm, such a little slut, can’t wait until I get my hands on you, can you?” He teased.

“Satanus, yes, please! Wanna see you.” You groaned, breath catching as he slowly teased you through your jeans. “Need you, need- need- ah!” You cried, throwing your head back once again, eyes fluttering shut from absolute pleasure. It’s then that the man opted to unzip your fly, pausing his animalistic activities to gently tug your jeans over your hips. You weren’t having any of this slow and sweet shit; however, and kicked them off as soon as you got the chance to, allowing him easier access to your sopping cunt. The smell hit him immediately and he moaned, head falling against your forehead, his breathing ragged and strained. His cock reacted, bouncing in your hand and you continued your teasing.

“Then beg me for it, pet. I don’t think you’ve earned the opportunity to unmask me just yet.” His resolve crumbled with every soft touch, every stroke. He pushed into your hand and you took that as a sign to speed your motions before you pushed him back. Confusion was written across his features, that was until you let a healthy glob of spit hit his angry cock. “Oh mother fuck.” The man hissed out, crashing his bloodied lips into your own, allowing the metallic taste of your own blood to permeate your tongue. You reciprocated, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. He parted his lips, granting you access, as he swiftly moved your panties to the side, his thick fingers slipping between your weeping folds. It took everything in him to not take you then and there, your pussy sucking his fingers in, tight and wet.

“Please, please, I need to see you.” You sobbed out between kisses, but it was clear that it wasn’t enough. The musician growled at your words, dipping his index into your slick and using it as a lubricant to tease your clit with, it took him a moment but he found the bundle of nerves. The instanthis calloused finger landed on your clit, your vision exploded into stars, mouth practically running on its own, incoherent pleas and various iterations of “more” tumbling from your swollen lips. You were finally giving him something to work with, the pleas, the praises. He continued working your cunt, curling his fingers into the sweet spot deep inside you, warm walls squeezing against him.

“Oh, darling. I’ll give you whatever your sinful heart desires.” He nipped at your bottom lip, splitting it with his canines before he pulled back, panting as he tried to catch his breath, however he refused to remove his hand from your cunt, slowing his movements only a fraction so that he could catch his bearings. “Are you sure?” He asked you, a worry laced in his voice. You nodded fervently, a saccharine look in your eyes peeking through beyond the undeniable lust. Whether you understood he was anxious about what you would think of him or not wasn’t apparent but regardless, you wanted to know who the man you were bound to fuck was.

With a swift move he tugged the mask off, tossing it to the couch behind him and removing his balaclava. What you hadn’t expected was the sight to take your breath away completely. His hair tumbled out of the bun he had it tucked into, and the messy curls cascaded down his shoulders, doe eyes framed by the prettiest eyelashes you’d ever seen, and his swollen lips? God you couldn’t even think anymore. You immediately kissed them, nipping at his lips, taking his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking, tearing a moan from him, his lust filled eyes expanding even farther as you continued your assault on his lips. You bit down harder this time, cracking his lip. This time the metallic taste belonged to him and you couldn’t help but moan at his taste. You needed more.

“Please, I- I need you…” You panted, eyeing the man with carnal desire.

“Eddie, my name is Eddie.” And with that final confession he grabbed you by the hip and dragged you back to the roomiest surface he could find. It was all teeth, tongue, and the metallic taste of each other’s blood. Your hand on his cock and his fingers still working you open, movements becoming more erratic as he practically drilled into you with his fingers, setting an unrelenting pace that he seemed eager to keep up. Your knees hit the back of a couch, and his arm immediately shot to the small of your back, gently lowering you, a contrast to how he was abusing your needy body. Your hands moved to his hair in preparation for what was to come, yanking at his soft locks, releasing a deep moan from low in his chest. His hair was silky underneath your fingertips, few tangles in the way or your mission.

“Eddie, please.” You whined, flush with desire, unable to think of what you wanted anymore than wanting him. A smirk adorned his lips and he sank his knees onto the soft cushion, knees bracketing your hips perfectly, his hands coming up to frame your face, curls ticking your cheekbones as he did so.

“Open up, sweetheart.” He cooed. Instinctively you parted your lips for him only to feel a glob of his spit fly into your mouth. “Now swallow like the good devil worshipping slut you are.” You obeyed without question, swallowing down his spit with a pornographic moan. As you did, he took a moment to line himself up for you. “God, you look so beautiful, blasphemous doesn’t even begin to cover it, pet.” He praised as he rubs his dick against your soaked entrance, your hips rocking into him, threatening to suck him in. He hissed but slid his hand down your body, tracing your figure with his fingers, teasing in the most tantalising way, once he reaches your ass, he gives it a harsh slap at which you gasp out, choking on your breath, the sting of his hand making contact with your ass radiating a heat you hadn’t thought possible. You hadn’t expected it in the least but it was welcome nonetheless. “Behave.” He growled out, a darkness seeping into the word.

“P-Please, Eds… I need - I can’t, please.” You babbled, words completely incoherent. You weren’t even sure what you were begging for at this point. His cock? His fingers? Were you asking to be fucked stupid? In all your incoherent ramblings and begging Eddie caught one thing that made his brain fuzzy around the edges. “Corrupt me satanus, corrupt me, please.” Playing into the whole devil worship aspect had him gone, his hips violently snapping into yours, completely disregarding that you might need to adjust to the stretch. Part of him felt bad, but your immediate response was to wrap your legs around his waist, crying his name out as tears brimmed your eyes, mascara beginning to run down your cheeks. To Eddie, you looked absolutely perfect. He leaned in and peppered kisses across your face to wipe away the tears that trickled down.

“S’this what you want, my little pet? You want me to ruin you?” His husky voice was in your ear as he dipped his head lower, his hips rolling into yours slowly. He moved masterfully for someone so scrawny, cock buried to the hilt as he rocked into you. Your mouth fell slack, tightening your legs around his waist and tugging him into you. “Come on, answer me, sweetheart.” He coaxed, pulling out of you slowly before snapping his hips into yours. The pleasure and pain mixed together in a teasing dance, keeping you on the edge and overwhelming your senses all the same. You couldn’t verbally answer and so you turned your head, tucking your face into his neck and kissing up to his ear. About halfway up you landed on a sensitive spot, causing a moan to tumble from his lips, a shiver running down your spine. You latched on like a vampire, sucking over the spot, lapping over it with your tongue to soothe any violent bites you inflicted upon him. In turn he bit into your shoulder, trying to ground himself in reality instead of losing himself to carnal pleasure, the coil in his abdomen tightening evermore. His plan had gone to shit the moment you continued to nibble on his neck, your hands tugging harder at his lock, pulling him further into you. With a slight upward tilt of your hips, Eddie hit a new angle when he snapped his hips into yours, ploughing deeper into you. The both of you moaned in unison before he released a strangled whimper. It was your turn to break skin, your mouth filled with the crimson substance that sustained Eddie’s life. Releasing your lips from the wound, you kissed over his neck and to his shoulder, smearing the fluid across his upper half.

His pace picked up, slamming into you, deeper and deeper, nothing but the sound of breathless lovers, bodies colliding, and the sweet ecstasy of carnal desire flooding the green room. Your hand then came to his back, scratching down it and eliciting a whine from the man above you.

“Please, please, please.” You chanted into his neck. It was as if he understood what you meant, his hand coming down between your joined bodies to rub over the bundle of nerves, little figure eights being drawn over your clit. You were going to lose your mind, and maybe even your soul. Would selling it to the devil be so bad? It didn’t take long after that for a white heat to build, a pressure that you weren’t used to building, the coil tightening, threatening to snap like an elastic band.

“Oh, shit, sweetheart, I’m close.” The man turned his head, kissing up your neck, over your cheek, and found your lips. His kiss was searing hot, burning with need. He chased his release with you, trying to bring you as close to the edge as he could, hoping you might be able to finish at the same time. “Don’t want to finish until you do.” The devil could be generous if he wanted to be.

“S’close.” You panted against his swollen lips, unable to give any coherent answer to him, not that you cared. If laying in sin felt this good, you’d bed the devil any day. “Please, Eds… Don’t stop.” And somehow he kept at it, the same pace, same pressure, same rough and unrelenting fuck that he had been using for the past few minutes. He knew that don’t stop also meant that he shouldn’t change a single fucking thing he was doing, and rightfully so. With a cry, you closed your eyes tight, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you came, the elastic finally snapping, and your release soaking Eddie’s stage uniform.

“Oh- fuck!” The man squeaked, his own release following shortly after. He could have sworn he saw stars in that moment, arms shaking beneath his own weight. His body fully collapsed on top of yours, your arms wrapping around him tightly, kisses tenderly placed on his shoulder. “So perfect f’me.” He mumbled into your sticky skin, reluctantly peeling from you. His brutal and domineering demeanour melted away, replaced by a certain level of care. You could see it behind his eyes clearly. “You okay, sweetheart?” He cooed, brushing your hair from your face, a few strands sticking to your forehead.

“Y-yeah.” You shakily breathe out, your voice hoarse from the activities that had just taken place. As you try to prop yourself up on your shoulders, you wince, a pain shooting through you. “Just sore.” You murmured, suddenly shy under the musician’s gaze. You didn’t dare look at him anymore, a twinge of shame filling your heart.

“Hey, sweetheart, come here.” He mumbled, scooting closer, not daring to pull out just yet. He pulls you up, legs entangled with each other in a pile of limbs, unsure of where one person ended and the other began. He pressed your warm body to his, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, rubbing soothing circles over your back, his gentle voice whispering sweet nothings to you.

“Thank you, Eddie.” You mumbled into his skin, placing a tender kiss over a forming bruise. “That was something else.” He hummed in agreement, allowing his eyes to flutter close for a second, letting himself enjoy a fleeting moment of human contact while he was on tour. While the guys were wonderful and he loved them to death, there was a certain intimacy that he missed in lovers. One that he didn’t indulge in as much these days.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and you pulled away, debating whether to say anything to him, or whether you wanted to indulge in some more pleasantries. If you were any wiser and more observant you’d have noticed the longing in his eyes, his gaze trailing over your figure as you pushed away to gather your belongings. It was odd to say that the musician would have wanted you to stick around for some more aftercare, it would have been even stranger if he admitted to you that he just wanted you to stick around post coitus and have a drink, maybe a smoke, and get to know each other.

“Hey, hang on, let me clean you up.” His voice softened, taking you aback. “Come on, pet, I’m not gonna leave you like this.” He gets up only to tuck himself back into his slick soaked uniform, cringing as he does so. He grabs a water bottle from the nearby table and a small cloth kept on the vanity in the far corner of the room. “Come on, just sit.” He motioned back over to the couch and watched as you hesitantly padded over. You sat down on the cleanest area you could find, squirming as you began to feel Eddie’s cum slipping out of you.

“S’fine, you don’t have to.” You mumbled, turning away from the man. He sighed as he approached you, sinking to his knees before starting to clean your thighs. He worked his way up between your legs, cleaning the leaking spend from your cunt. He placed a few gentle kisses to the tops of your thighs, your eyes flicking over to him as he did so. That was the moment you got a good look at the man. Dark ink littered his skin, barely an inch was pure, untouched, the only areas you couldn’t see his tattoos were the areas in which you had drawn blood, the dried fluid flaking slowly. He continued cleaning you up, rubbing gentle and warm circles with the wet cloth. Part of you couldn’t help but find this incredibly thoughtful, your heart squeezing at the gestures, but the other half of you believed that you were probably just an easy lay.

“Hush, yes I do. It’s the least I can do.” His doe eyes met yours as he looked up at you through his lashes. “I made a mess of you, darling, and I need to clean you up.” His voice was sincere, soft even, and you couldn’t help but melt. You allowed him to tend to your tired limbs, and once he got to your neck, he apologised, knowing that it would probably hurt. You couldn’t help but stare at the softness behind his eyes, the fire that burned within had fizzled out and was replaced by some unnamed emotion. As the towel made contact with your neck, you winced, earning yourself a kiss from the musician. It shocked you that even after the heat of the lustful moment he was still willing to kiss you but you accepted it, melting into his lips. They were soft, a little chapped, but inviting nonetheless.

“Thank you.” You whispered against them, afraid your voice would give out if you spoke any louder. Your hand came up to his face, brushing your thumb over his sharp cheekbone before placing your forehead against his. “You’re sweeter than I anticipated.”

“And you’re kinkier than I anticipated.” He retorted and moved back gently, only to give himself room to fold the towel over to a clean side before cleaning up your face with a gentle hand. “Thank you for indulging me.” He cooed out to you, his sincerity going straight to your heart. You couldn’t help but nod.

“I should go.” Your voice broke, and in that same moment, so did Eddie’s heart. There was something to you that drew him in, that he wanted more of, that he craved. It flew past just the need for human contact, part of it had to do with the way you ran with the punches he threw, you went with the game you played from the stage all the way to the back room. Eddie nodded solemnly, pushing away.

“Yeah, uh…” He bit his lip, tossing the washcloth on the coffee table. Surely worse things had been on that surface in the past, but right now Eddie didn’t care about that, not about what was on that table, what would be in the future, or what he just threw onto it. “You don’t have to, I actually, I don’t know that I want you to. Can I at least buy you a drink?” He asked, standing up straight. You turn around, grabbing your pants so you could slip them back on over your legs.

“You want to buy me a drink?” There’s a hopeful tinge to your voice, head shooting over to look at the musician in question. As you did, you hissed out gently, the garden of blooming roses on your neck blossoming farther across your neck, bite marks adorning your skin like dark tattoos. There was no denying what had gone on.

“Sweetheart, I think we both left a mark on one another,” he teased, “when you pray to the devil so well, I think it’s hard for him to resist.” A twinkle in his eyes told you it was more than just the sex you both had. “Besides, it might help with the pain. What do you say?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed as if you were deep in thought, “only if the devil can treat me right.” You mused. “You going to change first?” You waggled your eyebrows, referring to his squirt-soaked trousers, only to receive a smirk in return. “Oh no sweetheart, I wear my battle scars with pride.” With that, he pushed back to grab his helmet, slipping it back over his head before taking your hand in his and leading you off to the bar. He wasn’t what you expected, none of it was, the show, the music, Eddie, but as you took his hand you couldn’t help the feeling brewing in your chest; the feeling that maybe the unexpected was exactly what you needed.

taglist: @munson-blurbs @the-unforgivenn @littlesubbyflower @word-wytch (if you want) @rip-quizilla @hellfire--cult @mystish

#eddie x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #musician!eddie #stranger things au #mask kink #ghost bc #sodo ghoul #eddie as sodo #i'm obsessed #eddie munson smut #reader insert #music

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thebluester2020 · 2 months

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[SDV] "Sins of the Guilty"

Summary: SDV Bachelors lusting over the nun that's recently come to visit Pelican Town Warning(s): Not proofread, Sacrilege of nuns, Sub!Sebastion [Reader is kinda a dom in his part], Sebastion doesn't have active sex with the reader, it's only imagined, I kinda favored Sebastion's part ngl, Dom!Shane [The usual lol], This is the filthiest thing I've ever written ngl, Elliot is the king of making readers squirt fight me on that, Elliot is a simp low-key, Bachelors loosely follow the plot of the verses, Unprotected sex [Wrap it before you tap it folks], Pure filth, Porn with plot. Word count: 8,285 wordsSide note(s): Inspired by the fact that- I like nuns and priests man. Going to religious schools all your childhood will do that 💀. Also, sorry for not including all the bachelors. I mostly wanted to focus on those who I think would struggle the most with being presented with a pretty nun in front of them cause it's more fun that way pfft.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Shane - "Hopeless Sinner" 1 Peter 5:8 - Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

♡ - Never in his life had Shane been a religious man.

Too much had happened in his life for him to even consider the possibility of a god, and even if there was such a thing? There was no way that they'd look down favorably upon them, especially with all the sins that weighed down his soul.

And he had a lot.

He was a drunk, he could hardly keep his eyes open half of the time. It was common for him to stink, absolutely reek of alcohol and past missed showers and he far too commonly let his alcoholism get him into frequent situations that he would only come to regret the next day. And to add to that list of sins? He wasn't exactly a people person.

He was rude and curt, saw people as an annoyance and treated them like such. He wasn't open to hearing people be kind to him much less try to suggest ways to change himself. The only time he felt semblances of happiness was when he was with his niece and even then? Those times were fleeting and brief, all because of his aforementioned addictions to the bottle.

And...despite all of that, all those troubles...he wasn't intent on changing.

In his eyes? He was a lost cause, too far gone and there was no point in expending energy on something that was damaged. And he only doubled down on that ideology when rumors began to circulate that a nun was going to visit the town for a little while. He even made it a mission to avoid any places where you could've possibly been at!

The last thing Shane needed was some old woman lecturing on the goodness of Yoba and the sins that came with drinking. How that "he wasn't too far gone" and that he could be "saved", all if he just believed and dedicated himself enough.

At least...until he saw you in person one day outside Pierre's shop on his way to get some cans of beer.

. . .

"You must be Shane, I'm Sister Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

It was like the entire world paused for the briefest of moments.

Just enough for him to truly take in your features the moment he saw you, right in front of Pierre's shop no doubt.

Your smile alone could have chased away the darkest of storms and replace it with a sun that shined as much as your eyes did. They were as wide and big as a dog looking up at its owner, he thought. As if you were expecting some type of praise or reward for greeting him with so much enthusiasm. You were slender-figured but graced with long legs, your skin appeared smooth and your lips were pink and full. Yet as Shane looked back down, he was shocked that you weren't wearing a long black dress like he had thought nuns wore but...shorts-

"Shane? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah...I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "How in the hell do you know my name anyway?" He continued, surprised when you didn't flinch at his rude tone.

"The Church made sure to brief me on people's faces and names before I came to visit!" Of course they did…though, he didn’t know whether or not to complain at this fact or to allow himself to silently be happy in a way. After all, it wasn’t everyday that someone cute knew his name off the bat, much less greeted him with a smile that didn’t have badly hidden disdain or disgust behind it.

“Anyway…” You cleared your throat. “You should come to service this Sunday! It’ll be my first one in the valley and I’d love to have everyone there, I-if possible of course.”

He clicked his tongue.

At the very most? He’d think about it.

“Maybe,” Then, he walked past you.

. . .

After the two of you first met, Shane tried avoiding you the rest of the week until Sunday passed him by.

But though be was successfully avoiding you physically, mentally was a whole other issue as no matter what he did? No matter how much alcohol he drank, you’d always find a way to squeeze your way into his thoughts. When he cringed at his own smell at times, suddenly he’d would be hit with a wave of grace as he remembered the smell of your light perfume. It was even beginning to infect his dreams.

Dreams that…were far more pleasant as of late.

In his dreams, you’d sit with him and talk out in some meadow somewhere. Perhaps you’d go on and on about the book of Yoba all the while you steadily inched closer and closer to him before you’d place a hand on his arm. Your chest touching him as your sweet words grew more sensual, forgoing the talk of holiness to instead invite Shane to touch you through your clothes.

But before getting to the good part?

He’d always wake up, left with an aching hard-on and his alarm screaming at him to get ready for work.

That was the first and possibly the only time that Shane began to believe that there may have been such a thing as "The Devil". After all, why else would he suddenly have these thoughts of someone who just arrived in town a few days ago? Especially someone so out of his league?! Also, the two of you only met once and you probably didn't even remember his name!

But after the fourth time of waking up, his own brain once again blue-balling him?

He knew he had to see you in person.

Even if it was just to hear your voice again.

. . .

So, the next day, he went to the shrine of Yoba where he knew you'd be.

And the second he knocked on the door, you responded with a gentle "Come in" before he stepped inside. And...he couldn't help but feel like a black sheep amongst all the holy symbols and the gentle sound of a religious choir playing from a phone, suddenly, the paranoia of Yoba knowing about Shane's unholy imagination of you began to glare up. He felt as if he was going to burst into flames as punishment for daring to offend a sacred place with his presence!

Once he had turned a corner and saw you sitting on a pew, facing the statue of Yoba however...all of a sudden, he was calm and he remembered why he was there.

He simply wanted to confess his sins and have someone hear him out.

"Shane?" You said as you turned around, a smile immediately jumping onto your features. "I thought that was you! It's easy to recognize grumpy voices in this town."

He rolled his eyes.

"Can I help you with anything? What's going on?"

When he opened his mouth, he realize that he didn't have a single clue about how to admit that he wanted to confess his sins. Especially when those sins revolved around you (not that he'd ever dare to say that part out loud). "I uh...want to confess my sins."

Your smile grew. "Oh? Please, sit." You scooted over on your pew before tapping the space next to you.

Obediently, he sat down but a considerable distance away from you. His hands started to sweat and shake, how was he supposed to confess that you were the source of his sins?! How was he going to tell the pure nun of the valley that he was struggling not to masturbate to you defiling yourself on his unworthy cock? The imagination of your moans combined with the image of you begging him to fuck you against the shrine of Yoba plagued his mind. And what's worse?

He didn't feel an ounce of guilt for it really...he just wanted to be around you. Be it fuel for the mind or something more, he just didn't know.

"...Something tells me that you didn't come to confess." You spoke breaking the silence and snapping him from his thoughts.

His heart dropped to his stomach. Did he do something to give himself away?

"How do you-"

"I've been doing this for a while, you tend to pick up clues." You chuckled. "So tell me, what's really going on? I'm a good listener."

The moment you turned around and looked at him, his breath hitched in his throat as his dream from the night prior suddenly flashed in the forefront of his mind. Your pretty pink lips soaked and glistening from your spit whilst you panted heavily like a bitch in heat, practically for him to do something to you, anything to you. Already, he started to feel his cock twitch inside his boxers, causing Shane to quickly clear his throat and look in front of him.

He tried to think about anything else to keep himself from getting hard in front of you.

"...I've been having weird dreams." He finally admitted. "Dreams that aren't...good."

You hummed to yourself for a moment before you responded. "Like..."I may do something awful" type of bad or another type?"

"Lustful." He muttered.

Like the flip of a dime, it felt like the atmosphere in the room changed.

"You've been lusting after someone?"

He nodded his head.

"Who?"

"Does it matter?" He said snappily, eliciting a chuckle from you.

"Don't be so snappy, I like a bit of gossip as much as the next person..." You scooted closer. "Though, if you've been struggling with these thoughts then...the correct thing for me to say as a nun is to suggest you to stop. To be tempted by the flesh is a sin, your thoughts should never be focused on such things."

Finally, Shane forced himself to look at you, fully expecting you to look at him with some type of reprimanding disgust in your eyes but...he was shocked when he found nothing of the sort. You looked at him like a tiger would eye a piece of prey. "But...?" Shane said.

"But, I as an individual say that you should pursue this person. Who knows, she may like you."

Now that made him snort, there was no way that you would like a drunk like him. He was certain of that. "I'm the town drunk, why would she— you like me?" He decided to be upfront, to which you met his words with shock for a moment before you offered him a simple smile in return.

"Nuns have needs too, and who said this had to be a permanent thing? I'll only be in town for a few more weeks, all your sins will simply...wash away, stay between us, once I leave."

It felt like his dream was becoming truer by the second. Only...you were naughtier than what he originally assumed based on your appearance, but it added to the charm, and with each sugar-coated word that fell from your pretty lips, the further his mind slipped into depravity and what he wanted to do with you as he felt his cock chub up against his thigh. After all, when was the last time he'd gotten his rocks off? His right hand and his brain could only stave off the longing for a real tight cunt for so long!

And as he watched you start to lift your dress and slip your panties down your legs.

He immediately took the plunge.

. . .

"F-Fuck!" You cried out as your legs were spread, Shane on his knees as his lapped at your cunt like a man-starved.

And he might as well have been.

He felt as if he had been in a desert for months and had finally spotted an oasis, your slick upon his tongue was sweet and dripped from your pussy like a nonstop faucet, something that he wasn't going to dare let go to waste as he alternated between tongue-fucking your sex with his tongue and moving onto sucking your clit whilst his calloused fingers plunged in and out of your weeping hole.

And you couldn't get enough of it.

"Sooooo d-deeep...." You whined as your eyes started to roll into the back of your head.

Shane's resolve would've snapped if he hadn't been so focused on both eating yu out and prepping you to take his leaking cock, the sound of you, a nun sounding so fucked out and horny...practically crying out for his tongue and fingers made him rut into the air to try and alleviate the tight feeling within' his pants.

"S-Shane...I'm- I'm cumming-" Your high-pitched whine suddenly died on your lips when Shane stopped pistoning his fingers in and out of you as he stood and shredded his clothes.

"No you aren't lil' slut, you'll be doing that on my dick." He grumbled, his hands practically shaking from how eager he was to get inside of you before he finally freed his dick from its confines and lined himself up to your entrance, his hand coming up to press against the middle of your leg and push it till it nearly touched your chest.

Your mouth opened in a wide O at the size of him, causing the man to chuckle.

"Never had something this big in your pussy?"

You unconsciously shook your head but, your pussy nonetheless twitched in eagerness for the man's cock. Despite Shane's eagerness though, he made sure to be as gentle as he could be with you as he gently pressed his mushroom tip against your hole, the feeling sending a rush of electricity over your skin at the feeling of a cock touching your pussy.

It was strange and...it felt hot. Hotter than what you expected it to be.

Shane gripped his cock at the base before beginning to press his tip against your hole, steadily inserting it into your hole before thrusting forward a little as he steadily filled you. The man groaned at the feeling of your wet walls clenching onto him, almost as if you didn't want to let him go despite you possibly being the first man you've ever been with. "L-Loosen up..." He whispered, already feeling a knot begin to form and tighten in his stomach.

It seemed he hadn't been laid longer than what he originally thought. It took ever ounce of Shane's strength and will not to fuck you like a toy, to be as gentle as he could be until he was certain you were ready to be fucked into the pew like you were begging him to when he first started to eat you out.

Then again, you weren't going to last long either as you had just recently had your orgasm denied.

"Y-You're too big..." You whispered, trying to relax your cunt like instructed to but it hardly seemed to do anything at all. You moaned when you felt Shane's cock twitch at your words, a cocky smirk crawling onto his stubbled features as he leaned closer to you. "I'm big huh?"

You nodded your head breathlessly, a moan tearing from your throat when Shane finally bottomed out inside of you, his hips pressing against your ass whilst he tightened his grip on your leg to keep you from trying to escape the stretch his dick gave you.

"J-Just fuck me..." You hissed, shooting a glare to try and chase your denied orgasm. And the man gladly did as you wished, slowly pulling himself out of you before suddenly slamming back into you, almost knocking the air from your very lungs before he immediately went into a harsh and brutal pace. Shane almost had a mind to tease how you looked, your lips flushed and lips wet from your shared salvia from your earlier kissing session.

Your moans were loud and unbridled, to the point where even he was worrying about whether or not your slutty moans would attract unneeded attention to the shrine!

But as his balls slapped against your ass, the sensation in combination with your cute moans only served to make his balls tighten in anticipation of his impending orgasm. "Oh Yob, r-right there!" You yelped out when Shane suddenly positioned himself to fuck into you deeper, his cock slamming into the deepest part of you with each thrust. Shane then moved his hand down from its position on your leg to your hips, using the leverage to pull you onto his cock as he threw his head back to let out a drawn-out groan.

"Fuuuuccckkkk..." He moaned, his mouth hanging open before he lazily looked back down at you, smiling at your fucked out expression as he spotted drool beginning to dribble out from the corner of your lips.

At that moment, his thumb reached to wipe the drool from the corner of your lips before plucking the digit into his mouth with a smirk at your taste. "Can't believe how lucky I am...Yoba must be real," Shane snickered. "I get to fuck one of his cute lil' slutty nuns...especially one that doesn't know what to do with herself when presented with a real dick in her cunt." He continued as the need to fill you up grew with each thrust.

You nodded stupidly, Shane had an urge to kiss you but...your moans sounded too good for him to risk messing up his position and ruining your pleasure that was causing you to cry out so abashedly.

"C-Cummin-" Your climax hit you like a freight train as your body suddenly went rigid. Your cunt spasmed and clenched impossibly tighter around Shane's cock like a vice grip, nearly making him stutter in his movements as you came around his cock. "Y-Yoba-" He hissed, sucking in his bottom lip as he leaned forward a little at the sheer pleasure your spasming cunt brought him.

Shane only managed a few more thrusts before he spilled into you, his stomach clenching and his body stilling as if it were putting all its remaining energy into filling you up.

A breath he didn't even know he was holding released when he finished and looked back at you. Your gaze was unfocused as your cheeks were flushed red and spit trailed down the corners of your lips.

"Oi, you with me?" Shane said as he pinched your cheeks together with his hand, gently shaking you to try and snap you out of your daze.

You could only respond with a soft moan before you looked at him but not at him. He chuckled, he would accept it for now. He just needed to get you dressed, after all...he definitely wanted to discuss if his confessions with you could be a regular thing, at least...until you left of course.

Elliot - "Forbidden Desires" Proverbs 6:25 - Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes;

♡ - When Elliot and you first met. It was on the beach of all things.

Out on the wooden pier that overlooked the ocean. Frequently, the writer would visit here to collect his thoughts for his writing and try to find inspiration from the gentle waves that crashed lightly against the pier and beach alike. Yet it was when he turned his head to the side briefly, the world suddenly seemed to stop on its axis.

He thought you were gorgeous.

Baked in the backdrop light from the sun, he nearly thought you had a halo on your head. Glowing with your holiness that made all the features on your face that much softer, like the way your hooded eyes looked out across the water almost longingly as if you were beckoning for a wave to come and carry you somewhere else. How pieces of your hair escaped your veil and blew with the sea breeze along with your dress.

The longer he admired you quietly, the more he thought you were an ethereal spirit, completely unaware of how you were tempting him despite your outfit telling him that you were the sister that the town had been expecting for about a week now. It was your job to be a role model as to how not to sin.

Yet...he wanted to do the opposite- "Are you going to keep looking at me, or will you say hello?" Your voice snapped Elliot from his thoughts before he finally noticed you were looking at him with a curious but soft gaze, a smile gracing your features when you saw how his cheeks began to tint red.

"E-Excuse me." He said as he stood up and dusted himself off. "I was just in shock, I wasn't expecting the long-awaited nun to be at the beach."

As the two of you stood side by side, he noticed how you were shorter than himself. "Oh," You said. "Did I interrupt your alone time?" You smiled.

Elliot smiled and shook his head. "Oh no, I don't think you could ever do that." He responded, your mouth hanging open a little as a blush of your own started to coat your cheeks. It was then that Elliot quickly cleared his throat and tried to find a way to apologize. It seemed like he wasn't himself, his thoughts kept coming out before he could fully think about whether he could say them or not!

"Sorry, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

You then turned your body fully to face him. "Oh, you're not doing that. I find your forwardness charming." You were dangerous for Elliot's heart, the way you looked up at him made his mouth dry while equally making him feel as if he were floating amongst the clouds. Up until you caught his attention again with a laugh. "What's your name?"

"Elliot," He answered immediately.

"Y/N." You responded. "It'll be hard for me to come to the beach with my duties and all...you should try visiting the shrine in the Pierre's shop. I'll be there most of the time."

"How long will you be staying in town?"

"Two weeks." He struggled not to immediately frown at that answer, all while he simultaneously struggled to not throw a curse at Yoba for making him feel this strongly about one of his devoted followers. Elliot could be frank with himself, he knew that you would be in his every waking thought from this point onward. All he'd think about is how to get closer to you, get to know you and so much more!

"I hope you'll enjoy your two weeks here then sister." He finally said.

"Oh, I'm certain I will." Then you turned to walk away, your faint perfume tickling Elliot's nose as he was left along with his thoughts, his thoughts settling on the newfound fact that you were his muse.

All of a sudden, his inspiration to write came to him like rushing waves during a typhoon. Stories of how a man fell into a forbidden relationship with a woman, or perhaps a shorter tale of how a man falls in love with a spirit, someone he longed for but knew he couldn't ultimately have. Yet, as all the thoughts flew through his mind. One thing was for certain, you left him with a burning ache in his pants.

. . .

Later that night, he admittedly felt slightly guilty for palming himself over his pants at the thought of you. The pretty nun with the soft voice and heavenly features, although Elliot tried not to think too hard about your words from earlier, to not misunderstand how you phrased your words or how you looked at him as a signal for something more...the image in his head was far too addicting to let go so easily.

The thought of you bouncing on his cock while he sucked at your breasts, planting kisses all over your body as you moaned for more...was it wrong of him to have those thoughts? Then again, surely you knew how you sounded when you spoke to him on the beach! You sounded like you were interested in him! That you may have wanted to pursue something more with—

"Ah...look at me," Elliot murmured to himself, running his fingers through his hair as he scoffed at how ridiculous his thoughts were.

You were a nun.

You were just being friendly!

What he was doing was wrong. To think about a holy sister was potentially one of the greatest sins (at least, to what he knew about the book of Yoba).

Perhaps he needed Yoba more than he realized.

. . .

And that’s what prompted him to visit Pierre’s shop three days later, specifically where he knew you’d be, the Shrine of Yoba.

Elliot’s plans were simple, to confess his sins, receive your judgement and advice, then leave. Of course though, he’s leave out the part where his thoughts revolved around you despite the fact the both of you hadn’t known each other for that long. But once he was standing right in front of the door that would lead into the shrine…he felt like his entire body had frozen in place.

Were you actually a nun or secretly a demon? He thought.

No person should ever have power over another like this. But the moment Elliot’s nerves loosened up a little, he quickly knocked a few times on the door before a gentle “Come in” could be heard from inside, causing him to walk in before he immediately saw you getting up from your kneeling position at the shrine.

You smoothened out your clothes and then looked at Elliot with the same angelic look you gave him the first time you met him. “Elliot?” You said. “You came.”

He nodded his head, keeping his head down just long enough in an attempt to ease his blushing. “I figured I was overdue for confessing my sins.”

“Don’t be silly,” You chuckled. “We all come and confess our sins when we’re ready, there’s no pressure.”

It was easy for you to say, he thought.

You weren’t the one who was losing sleep over imagining the naked form of the person you just met. And as Elliot walked to sit on one of the pews, the more he couldn’t help but think that this may have been a bad idea. Although your attire was similar to what you wore on the beach, he didn’t know if his eyes were tricking him or not but…your clothing appeared…tighter.

Around your chest to be more precise and it was driving him nuts.

He silently begged Yoba that you wouldn’t come close enough to where you’d be able to spot his steadily growing hard-on. And thankfully, you kept your distance via sitting on the pew just in front of him with your back turned.

“Now, you may confess when you’re ready to begin.” You murmured a quick prayer before clearing your throat as a sign you were attentive and listening.

Elliot sighed. "Sister, I've been...well- I've had unholy thoughts as of late. Thought that revolve around a woman that I'm infatuated with."

When you didn't say anything in response, he continued.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever been blessed to see. But it would be wrong for me to pursue a relationship with her."

That was when you spoke. "May I ask why?"

Elliot's throat bobbed up and down at the question. "She's a nun."

The silence that followed was so loud that it nearly rang in his ears. Yet, as you turned around to face him, his mouth immediately fell open to apologize until a certain glint flashed in your ears as you looked at him with a smile, a finger tugging at the collar of your uniform.

"And...what do you want to do with this nun?"

"I want to kiss her." At his confession, it was like a string had broken before you and Elliot's lips crashed together. In the writer's mind, it was as if your lips were meant to be with his own, the taste of your mint-flavored lipstick addicting to his tastebuds as he felt around in your mouth. Your breathing became heavier, pressing yourself as close to Elliot as you possibly could despite the pew that still separated the two of you. "What else do you want to do to me?" You panted when you both separated, your breaths labored and heavy as a single string of spit still connected you two.

Elliot silently eyed the rest of your body.

"May I show you, sister?"

. . .

Had you known the man you met a few days ago was capable of this. You would've fucked him right then and there out on that wooden pier.

The position Elliot currently had you in was making you see stars and galaxies behind your eyes, your legs spread out on his lips as he held you tight against his form, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear right before his eyes whilst he fucked up into you like a man on a mission. Each thrust making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you, you felt as if your organs were molding and reshaping themselves just to better fit Elliot's cock.

"Y-Yoba's name..." He whispered hotly against your neck, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck and all the way down to your exposed collarbones from him hastily pulling down the front of your dress. "Y-You're so tight-" Elliot grit his teeth together as he groaned against your skin.

However, each time he fucked up into you, the sound of your sexes meeting reverberated throughout the small area of the shrine as your slick poured down from your pussy to pool and coat the front of Elliot's thighs, you were starting to...feel something.

A certain coil beginning to tighten tighter and tighter by the second in your stomach.

Compared to the orgasms you've given yourself in the past, privately when you were in your room or in an area you were certain was vacant of other people. This one was more intense and threatened to wash over you with such a force that you worried you'd pass out from the intensity! But, it was hard to voice such a worry when you were being fucked to the point that you couldn't utter a single syllable, to where you nearly had a mind to forgo this life and simply be the plaything of Elliot for the rest of your days.

"E-Elliot...!" You keened as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, Elliot's thrusts somehow growing even more ruthless as he tucked his face into the valley between your breasts.

"Shit..." You managed to hear him breathe out.

Your mouth steadily started to form a large O shape as the coil inside your tummy tightened more and more until it finally burst.

Suddenly Elliot stilled his movements to raise your dress higher to witness the wetness that flowed from your pussy like a fountain spewing water, his mouth dropping in shock whilst the lust inside his eyes grew at the arousing sight of your orgasm spewing from your cunt and splattering onto his thighs.

He was only snapped from his trance when he heard your fucked-out moan and your hand tap his shoulder.

"Truly, you are the woman of my dreams," Elliot said with an equally fucked-out voice as if he were the one who just came. "Do that again." Your eyes snapped open as you tried to quickly voice your protest but not before your words were shooed from your lips when the writer fucked up into you again, resuming his previous pace before he gently leaned you back, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you steady whilst his other went to lift your leg higher so that he had a better view of your cunt.

The squelching noises were like a symphony to his ears.

But all he could think about was you squirting again.

The pew you both sat and fucked on was already dirty...defiled.

It didn't matter to defile it some more.

"Please, squirt on my cock again," Elliot begged. "Will this help my dear? Don't hold back, please." Without a single word of warning, the hand that held your leg up dived down to rub quick circles on your clit with his index and middle finger.

"F-Fuck! Elliot...baby, w-wait- you're going to-" Your entire body shook and convulsed from overstimulation as you struggled to keep your head and thoughts straight, moans falling from your lips shamelessly as you could hear Elliot's raspy moans and throaty groans, the sexy noises only serving to make you clench around the writer's experienced fingers.

Elliot took your pussy getting tight as a sign you were close once again, causing him to speed up both his thrusts and his fingers as they rubbed side to side without abandon on your clit. You tried to cry out for him to slow down, to give you a short break but your moans fell on deaf ears as Elliot only silenced you via fucking you harder to the point your moans took the place of the words you wanted to say as he abused your cunt. "Ahhh...." You moaned in pleasure as you felt something begin to well up inside you again.

"E-Elliot- f-fuck...." You couldn't do anything else but whine and beg, his name slipping from your lips repeatedly as his fingers on your clit sped up whilst he rose you forward a little to plant kisses along your breasts.

"Don't be embarrassed my dear," He whispered against your skin. "Just cum, I got you...please." At the sounds of his begging, that earlier feeling of a coil beginning to tighten started to nearly grow unbearable inside you, your eyes barely staying open as you allowed your body to take all the pleasure your eager lover was bestowing onto you.

"Oh, Yoba...fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Your body once again grew rigid as Elliot's eyes darted to where the two of you were connected, his eyes widening as your pussy clenched onto him tighter than before as a clear liquid squirted out from you and around his dick. Upon seeing that sight, he wasn't too far behind from his climax, managing a few more hard thrusts before his head dropped forward a little as he moaned.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath until it was you who broke the silence as you steadily rose your head and slid your hands to rest on Elliot's shoulders with a soft moan and a dopey smile. "You know..." Your voice was hoarse as your hand moved to catch Elliot's chin under your hand before you tilted his head back to make you look at him.

You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, a sweet lovesick moan leaving the writer's lips before a smile slowly came onto his lips. "We should do this again."

"How..." Elliot took a moment to further catch his breath. "How long will you be in town?"

"Couple of months, we can discuss about this being a regular thing as well as...you possibly taking me out on a date next?"

He couldn't think of anything better.

Sebastion - "Hungry Recluse" Genesis 2:18 - Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”

♡ - He had heard about a nun coming to the valley when his mother brought it up at dinner a few weekends ago. And back then? He didn't have a mind to care really.

He was a recluse.

He had nothing against religion but he preferred to stay away from crowds. If a nun was to come to the valley then he was more than certain you would bring a crowd, preaching about Yoba and the likes and he respectfully wanted no part of that.

So, imagine his shock one night when he was outside his home smoking. Only to spot a nun doing the same.

"A nun, smoking?" He nearly choked on his own cigarette. His words catching your attention before you cursed under your breath before you dropped your cigarette and quickly stomped on it with the heel of your shoe.

"Goddamn it..."

He scoffed. "And you curse too?"

You rolled your eyes. "If you're going to snitch to someone, do it now." As Sebastion stared, thinking about how much he wasn't going to snitch to anyone (after all, he believed it wasn't his place nor did he feel like anyone would believe him should he have wanted to do it). He couldn't help but think about how...well, how pretty you looked.

You sported a more roguish look to your uniform compared to what he was originally thinking you'd look like. Clean outfit with a bright smile, maybe a hand carrying a bible or the cross of Yoba perhaps. Instead? One side of your dress was bunched up, exposing quite a considerable amount of thigh as well as the black stocking you wore underneath, and the similarly colored boots that would've typically been hidden underneath.

Your make-up was gothic and you had a septum piercing along with a couple more piercings on the outer edge of your right ear.

And if he was seeing things right...was that black nail polish on your fingers- "Are you going to keep staring?" You said bitingly.

"Sorry," He apologized, quickly looking somewhere else. "I just didn't expect the nun to be-"

"A sinner?" You interrupted with a heavy sigh.

"Different." He finished his sentence.

You clicked your tongue. "Yeah well...that's what you get when you're an unwilling member of the church." You spilled.

Now he was really curious about you. This entire time, he had expected a goody two-shoes sister who would rave on and on about Yoba anytime that they could! Or maybe even some old hag as old as Evelyn was, nagging and constantly haggling people about converting and praying more to Yoba.

But instead? The town received neither.

Only you.

And he was absolutely enthralled by you.

So much so that he found himself unconsciously walking up to you before he cleared his throat. "Do...you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not looking for pity if that's what you're-"

"I'm not trying to pity you." He interrupted. "You just seem to be in need of a confessional as much as anyone else." He shrugged, his words sparking a chuckle that sounded like a melody in his ears.

. . .

And that was the beginning of you and Sebastion's relationship.

One where you two would meet under the guise of night every other day after you had finished your "performance" during the day of playing the innocent nun who wanted to spread the word of Yoba. Something that Sebastion quickly learned was nothing but complete bullshit. The two of you would rant about your lives and how much you two wished you could change things.

Whether it was from Sebastion's dreams of moving away from Pelican Town and into the city, to you ironically praying to Yoba that he'd give you an outing from the church.

The one day you'd be free.

"...Why are you stuck in the church?" Sebastion had asked one day, lighting your cigarette before his own.

You blew a puff of smoke before sighing. "Mommy and daddy had unresolved debts and issues." You said. "To pay 'em off, they got rid of me." You continued.

"Now I wear this damn get-up and play "Good follower of Yoba"." You mumbled a few curses under your breath afterward, ones that made Sebastion snicker under his breath as he considered your situation. Although obviously different, the similarities in your stories were eerily similar. The two of you longed for another life, felt as if you didn't belong in the current one you both lived, and, as much as you both could, you tried to actively change that.

But...where Sebastion could easily pack some things, get on his bike, and head for the city.

You didn't have that luxury.

"Why don't you move here?"

"Unresolved debts remember?"

"I know but...there's a lot of abandoned places here in the valley. We even have an abandoned farm not too far from here. You could live there."

"My cage would be no different then, just a new window to look out of."

A small smile crept onto your features when you spotted an apologetic frown appear on Sebastion's face. One that made you flush a little as his cheeks appeared puffier and cuter. You appreciated being able to talk to him, more than you'd ever be able to convey but...you weren't looking for sympathy or solutions to escaping that only involved you living a life on the run and in hiding.

In truth? Being asked by the higher-ups to visit this small town, meeting Sebastion?

It was as close to a blessing from Yoba as you'd ever get.

Back home, you were a glorified maid if not eye candy for old men. You'd clean for them, cook for them, bring them drinks...it was such a dull life. You hadn't even been able to go to college. You couldn't even do most math but you could damn well recite random passages from the book of Yoba.

You hadn't nor would ever be able to find love!

All talks of boys and falling in love were strictly forbidden, seen as nothing more than a gateway for potential sinning, something you'd eventually learn was nothing but complete hogwash as there were plenty of times you've seen your fellow sisters open their legs for priests when it pertained to the topic of being able to get away with some things. Here in the valley though? You didn't feel that pressure.

You liked it here.

You liked...well, you liked the people. They were nice.

"You should be happy here Sebastion." You said, breaking the silence.

"You have a good life here, it may not be the one you want it's the one that's the best path for you at the moment."

Sebastion rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, you don't live here."

"Maybe, but I'd need a million more fingers in order to count how many situations are worse than this." You sighed. "After all...you never know, one day you may find yourself liking it here. Life is funny like that." At those words, you placed a gentle hand ontop of Sebastion's for only a brief moment before you got up and walked away.

An act that only served to leave Sebastion's heart skipping beats and...strangely upset.

. . .

And he must've sat outside for an extra thirty minutes before he finally went inside.

Dinner tasted bland, and all of a sudden Demetrius' snide remarks and insults didn't even make him turn nor lift his head to briefly glare! All Sebastion could think about was you.

You, you, you, you, you.

He didn't know what sounded weirder or more pathetic.

Him chasing after you like he was in some chick-flick, exclaiming how he wanted to be with you despite only knowing you for going on close to a week now. Or if he said that you were the only person in this entire town who seemed to understand him! The only one who made him truly happy aside from the small yet rare-found joys in his life! He could introduce you to his friends, Sam and Abigail, he thought you'd get alone well with them.

Maybe you could teach Sam to play new songs? He remembered you mentioning how you knew how to play the guitar a little. Or maybe you could simply be another girl added to the group, someone for Abigail to hang out and talk with.

As Sebastion sat on his bed. His mind further diving into his racing thoughts that concerned you, so many situations revolving around the question of 'What if?' that he could barely keep track of them all! He wondered then about what if you'd be another addition to the farming community here. If you would actually take over that abandoned farm.

What would you grow, would you be good at it or would you only prefer animals like Marnie?

Or...maybe you'd be something else?

A writer like that one guy who lived at the beach with Willy.

Or maybe an inspiring somebody like himself or Sam?

Another member to the Adventurer's Guild perhaps?

He considered it all but the one scenario that made his heart strangely ache the most was...if you were with him.

You made him smile the most out of everyone here. Sebastion enjoyed your curt personality that blended well with your shockingly soft tendencies. You were pretty and when your lips weren't covered in dark lipstick, they shined a surprisingly glistening red. Your eyes were the most gorgeous underneath the moonlight ad your figure (if he couldn't guess from the first moment he met you) was something that made his jaw drop every single time.

Suddenly, there was a throb in his pants at the thought of what you'd look like underneath your clothes.

But no, even if you stated you didn't want to be a nun.

He'd give you the respect all the same. He wouldn't dare to do anything inappropriate with your face in mind. It wouldn't be right.

. . .

But oh...did he think it would feel so right.

It wasn't a bad thing to touch himself to the thought of you, was it? You weren't there and so long as you didn't know then technically sin would have ever been committed! At least, that's what he comforted himself with as he furiously jerked himself off underneath his covers, breathless moans leaving his lips as he imagined it was your hand stroking him off rather than his own.

And as he did so, he swore he was more turned on than he ever had been in his entire life.

He imagined you were wearing your dark lipstick as your hand went down to massage his balls, your lipstick leaving smudge trails up and down his cock as you flattened your tongue to trail along the prominent vein that ran on the underside of his cock. Yet as you did so, you kept a firm eye on him as you looked at him through your lashes.

"You must've been so pent up Sebby..." His cock twitched at the nickname. "Waiting for me to do this to you, you must've been thinking about this since the day we've met. Huh?" A whine left escaped him at your words, his vision beginning to blur from both pleasure and growing embarrassment as his cock began to leak more and more pre.

"Not going to answer~?" You purred. "That's okay, you seem to be way more talkative down here than with that mouth of yours."

"P-Please..." He whispered.

Your smirk grew as your hand quickened in its pace, your face leaning in closer to his to the point he could almost imagine your breath gently blowing on his face. "Please fuck me..." He moaned. "R-Ride my cock, j-just do something more with me."

"Such a good boy~"

As you sat up, you licked the tips of your fingers clean from his pre as straddled him to where your pussy hovered over his cock. He twitched at the feeling of your heat, his eyes glued on your dripping pussy before your finger tipped his head to look back up at you. "Keep your eyes on me." You ordered before swiftly pressing a kiss to his lips. A choked-up moan escaped Sebastion's lips when you suddenly sunk yourself onto him. Your hips immediately started a fast pace that made his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Until you suddenly slowed down. "W-Wha...?" He said dizzily, looking back at you. "Why-"

"Eyes on me Sebby~ or what? Is my pussy too good for you to listen to me?" You suddenly slammed your hips down, Sebastion's hand gripping the bedsheets with a loud moan before you resumed your original pace. "You should be following what I say more diligently than this Sebastion" You pouted. "A holy nun is giving you her untouched pussy, the least you could do is look at her~"

"Y-Yes!" He moaned. Tears flowed down the sides of Sebastion's face as he kept his eyes on you, the sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt echoing throughout the room as a familiar knot steadily started to appear in the pit of his stomach. His cock twitching inside your warm pussy as the feeling of your walls nearly drove him to insanity.

Your moans, your face contorting in pleasure as your hands roamed up and down his chest underneath his hoodie. Everything about you made him want to exclaim just how much he had developed a crush on you, something that he wanted to take farther rather than just simply have sex with you. Yet, as the heat in his belly turned white-hot, his moans sounded closer to wails as he begged to cum.

He had to remind himself that this wasn't real.

You weren't even here.

Something that was slapped into him the second he felt his cum pool over the top of the hole he made with his hand rather than feeling it fill you up.

"Y/N..." He moaned as if you'd magically appear before him.

Tomorrow, he would definitely confess his feelings. Religion be damned, he knew that he wanted something with you.

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