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thebunnednun · 4 months

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Tempted to touch! Men of One piece x Fm! Reader (Multi Character fic)

Pairings: Ace x Reader, Shanks x Reader, Mihawk x Reader, Crocodile x Reader, Smoker x Reader

Synopsis: Can someone write like a lil thing for Ace, Shanks, Mihawk, Crocodile and/or Smoker or any One Piece character (secretly) seeing their S/O being able to whine (dance) and having crazy waist control (being able to bounce their ass without movin anything else)? 🧍🏻‍♀️

A little something for @mororona who gave me the prompt.

Use this song: Tempted to Touch by Rupee

I'ma also tag @fanaticsnail I know you're sick rn, and I hope this helps, I added ben for you! Plus you love dancing and this music.

As a caribbean latina, I couldn't resist.

On with the show!!~

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Ace

The ship's corridors echoed with the distant sound of music, drawing Ace's attention as he passed by [Name]'s room. His curiosity piqued, he couldn't resist the urge to investigate. Quietly, he approached the door and peeked through a crack. What he saw took his breath away.

[Name] stood before the mirror, bathed in the soft glow of the room's ambient light. They wore a simple tank top that hugged their curves and shorts that accentuated their toned legs. The music pulsed in the air, setting the rhythm for their movements. With each beat, their hips swayed with an otherworldly grace, their waist seemingly moving independently of the rest of their body.

Ace's jaw dropped at the sight. He had never seen [Name] like this before—so carefree, so alive. His heart skipped a beat as he leaned against the doorframe, unable to tear his gaze away. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, a mixture of amusement and admiration swirling in his chest.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the music. He crossed his arms, feeling a rush of warmth spreading through him. "I never knew you had those kinds of moves," he thought, his mind buzzing with excitement. He watched in silence, savoring the intimate moment.

As the music faded into the night, Ace lingered a moment longer, committing the image of [Name]'s dance to memory. With a soft chuckle, he straightened up and continued on his way, a newfound appreciation blossoming in his heart.

Shanks

The Red Force sailed smoothly through calm waters, the gentle lull of the ocean providing a rare moment of tranquility. Shanks, ever drawn to the call of adventure, found himself wandering the deck in search of excitement.

As he strolled along, the distant strains of lively music reached his ears, beckoning him like a siren's song. Curiosity piqued, he followed the melodic trail until he came upon a secluded corner of the ship. There, hidden from prying eyes, he discovered [Name].

[Name] stood in the embrace of the sea breeze, their form swathed in a loose-fitting sarong that billowed around them with each movement. The soft fabric accentuated their every sway, casting shadows that danced across their skin like fleeting whispers.

Shanks, ever the playful observer, couldn't help but grin as he watched from behind a nearby barrel. His eyes widened in awe as he beheld [Name]'s dance, their waist moving with a fluidity that seemed to defy the laws of nature. Each motion was a symphony of grace and control, weaving a tapestry of enchantment that ensnared his senses.

"Well, well," he murmured to himself, his voice lost amidst the music's intoxicating melody. His heart quickened with a rush of excitement as he continued to watch, his admiration mingling with a newfound sense of desire.

As the last notes faded into the night, Shanks remained rooted to the spot, reluctant to break the spell that had enveloped him. With a soft chuckle, he finally emerged from his hiding place, his grin widening with each step.

"Someone's been hiding some talent," he remarked, his voice laced with playful teasing. He approached [Name] with a glint of mischief in his eyes, ready to share in the dance they had unwittingly revealed.

Mihawk

The courtyard of Mihawk's imposing castle was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the air heavy with a sense of quietude that seemed to envelop the world in its embrace. Mihawk, ever the solitary figure, made his way through the shadowed corridors, his footsteps echoing faintly against the stone walls.

As he passed by a window, a flicker of movement caught his attention, drawing his gaze. Through the glass, he beheld [Name], bathed in the ethereal light of the setting sun. They wore a fitted top that hugged their curves and leggings that accentuated the elegant lines of their form.

The distant strains of music reached Mihawk's ears, a delicate melody that seemed to dance upon the evening breeze. And dance they did—[Name], with a grace that transcended mortal bounds, moved with a fluidity that spoke of hidden depths and untold mysteries. Each movement was a testament to their skill, their waist control impeccable, their every motion precise and mesmerizing.

Mihawk stood in the shadows, an enigmatic figure shrouded in darkness, his keen eyes fixated on [Name] as if they were the only star in a vast, empty sky. A rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips, a whisper of admiration that lingered like a wisp of smoke in the still air.

"Remarkable," he whispered to himself, his voice barely more than a breath against the canvas of the night. In that moment, amidst the quietude of his solitary vigil, Mihawk found himself captivated by the hidden depths of [Name]'s abilities, drawn to the allure of their silent dance like a moth to flame.

In the courtyard below, [Name]'s movements flowed seamlessly, each gesture a tantalizing blend of strength and elegance. The fading light cast long shadows that danced along with them, creating an almost otherworldly spectacle. As they twirled and spun, their eyes briefly met Mihawk's through the window, a spark of recognition passing between them.

For an instant, time seemed to stand still. The world outside the castle walls faded into insignificance, leaving only the unspoken connection between the two. Mihawk felt a stirring within him, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. It was as if [Name]'s dance had unlocked something deep within his stoic exterior, a flicker of warmth in the cold recesses of his heart.

[Name] continued their dance, unaware of the profound effect they had on the man observing them. Their movements grew bolder, more daring, as if sensing the intensity of Mihawk's gaze. The music swelled, and with it, the emotions that had been carefully kept at bay.

As the last notes of the melody faded into the night, [Name] came to a graceful stop, their chest rising and falling with the exertion. Mihawk remained in the shadows, his expression contemplative. He knew that this moment, this dance, had changed something within him.

Stepping away from the window, Mihawk made his way back through the corridors, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. The quietude of his castle had been shattered, replaced by a new and intriguing possibility. The allure of [Name]'s silent dance had left an indelible mark on his soul, a mystery he was now determined to unravel.

Sir Crocodile

The echoes of Crocodile's footsteps reverberated through the empty corridors of his stronghold, the weight of his recent meeting still heavy upon his mind. As he neared his quarters, a faint sound reached his ears—a melody so delicate, it seemed to hang in the air like a whispered secret.

Intrigued, Crocodile followed the sound, his curiosity piqued by the mysterious allure of the music. It led him to one of the spacious rooms, where he found [Name] dancing in the soft glow of candlelight. They were clad in a stylish ensemble that hugged their figure in all the right places, accentuating the graceful arc of their movements.

Silent as a specter, Crocodile lingered in the doorway, his keen eyes fixed upon [Name] with a gaze as sharp as the blade of a scimitar. He watched as they moved with a fluidity that seemed to defy reason, their waist swaying with a skill that mesmerized him. Each movement was a testament to their prowess, a silent symphony of elegance and finesse.

A predatory smile curved his lips, a silent invitation lingering in the depths of his gaze. "Remarkable," he whispered to himself, his voice a husky murmur against the canvas of the night, a flicker of amusement dancing in the depths of his steely eyes.

[Name] spun gracefully, the light playing off their form in a tantalizing display, each motion drawing him in further. The candlelight caressed their skin, creating a shimmering halo that only added to their allure. Crocodile's eyes followed every move, every sway, as if committing them to memory.

With a silent nod of approval, Crocodile made a mental note to compliment [Name] later, in his own subtle way. But for now, he remained rooted in the shadows, content to bask in the intoxicating beauty of their silent performance. There was a predatory grace in the way he observed, a sense of possession mingled with admiration.

As the music reached its crescendo, [Name] executed a final, breathtaking spin, coming to a poised stop. For a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing, the air thick with the lingering echo of their dance.

Crocodile stepped forward, his presence finally known. The movement was deliberate, almost languid, like a predator approaching its prey. "You dance beautifully," he said, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of the power and danger he wielded so effortlessly.

[Name] turned, their eyes meeting his, a spark of something electric passing between them. The dance had ended, but the night had only just begun.

Smoker

The ship creaked and groaned as Smoker made his rounds, the steady rhythm of his footsteps echoing through the corridors. His ever-watchful gaze swept over the decks, his stern expression softened only by the glow of his cigar.

As he passed a door slightly ajar, a faint melody drifted out into the hallway, luring him like a siren's call. Intrigued, Smoker pushed the door open a fraction and peeked inside. What he saw took him by surprise.

[Name] stood in the center of the room, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, clad in comfortable workout clothes that hugged their form in all the right places. The music pulsed in the air, setting the rhythm for their movements. With each beat, their hips swayed with an otherworldly grace, their waist moving with a precision that defied logic.

Smoker's eyes widened in astonishment as he watched, his cigar dangling forgotten between his fingers. He took a long drag, the smoke swirling around him like a wisp of shadow. Despite himself, a look of admiration crept into his stern features, softening the hard lines of his face.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of the music. In that moment, he found himself captivated by the mesmerizing rhythm of [Name]'s dance, drawn to the raw power and grace that radiated from their every movement.

The way [Name] moved was a tantalizing blend of strength and elegance, each motion more hypnotic than the last. Smoker's heartbeat quickened as he continued to watch, his breath catching in his throat. He had never seen anything quite like this, and the sight stirred something deep within him, a mix of admiration and an unfamiliar, burning desire.

With a silent nod of approval, Smoker decided to let them have their private moment, content to linger in the shadows and watch from afar. But deep down, he couldn't wait to see the look of surprise on [Name]'s face when he casually mentioned it later, a secret shared between them like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.

As the music swelled and [Name] executed a particularly daring move, Smoker felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips. He could already imagine the playful banter they would exchange, the way their eyes would light up with that spark of recognition. For now, though, he remained in the shadows, savoring the intoxicating beauty of the dance.

Benn Beckman

On a different vessel, Benn Beckman strolled through the dimly lit corridors of the Red Force, the hum of conversation and laughter from the crew fading as he ventured deeper into the ship. A faint, alluring melody reached his ears, drawing him toward one of the private rooms. Curiosity piqued, he approached quietly, the sound of music growing clearer with each step. Balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup, he pushed open the door slightly.

Gently pushing the door open, Beckman found himself captivated by the sight before him. [Name] was in the center of the room, their form illuminated by the soft, flickering glow of candles. Clad in cute pajamas that accentuated their every curve, they moved with an elegance that left him momentarily breathless. The rhythm of the music guided their motions, their hips swaying with a hypnotic grace that seemed almost unreal.

Beckman leaned against the doorframe, his usually calm and composed demeanor giving way to an appreciative smile. He crossed his arms, his gaze never leaving [Name] as they danced. The fluidity and precision of their movements spoke volumes about their skill, each motion a silent testament to their mastery.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he remembered something important—[Name] was supposed to be resting in bed, recovering from an illness. A mix of amusement and concern flickered across his face as he watched them, clearly defying orders.

"Adorable," he murmured, the word a low rumble in the stillness of the room. His eyes followed [Name]'s every move, a mixture of admiration and intrigue shining in his gaze.

As [Name] continued to dance, unaware of their audience, Beckman found himself drawn in more and more. The way they moved was enchanting, each step a perfect blend of strength and grace. The soft light played off their form, creating an almost ethereal aura that only heightened the allure.

When the music finally came to an end, Beckman stepped forward, his presence no longer concealed. "You dance beautifully," he said, his voice smooth and warm. "But you were supposed to be resting, weren't you?"

[Name] turned, surprise evident in their eyes as they met his gaze. Beckman’s smile widened, a hint of playful mischief in his expression. "Maybe you can teach me a move or two sometime," he added, the suggestion laced with a subtle challenge.

For now, though, he was content to let them savor their private moment, the memory of their mesmerizing dance a new secret they shared.

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I wanna add more characters later, Lemme know what characters you want! DM's are always open.

To be posted on the ao3 account soon.

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a fic for almost everyone here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

Seen you soon my loves!!~ <<33

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dobbysnotsureaboutthis · 18 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.”

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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.

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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.

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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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