#something something leave it to a priest to corrupt something so pure something something | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellinistical · 29 days ago

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Priest! Vampire! Rafayel x Nun! Reader.

synopsis: when a charming new priest is sent to your convent amidst the winter freeze, you're naturally untrusting. unfortunately, he's more knowledgeable of the faith, and you could learn a thing or two, especially if you want to protect yourself from the recent vampire attacks.

trigger warnings: (heavy plot!). minor and major character death, blood, dubious consent, sacrilegious themes (Not Christianity or Catholicism; made up religion but using synonymous terms), gore, porn with plot, fingering (fem. receiving), hand jobs, piv, non-consensual vampire transformation, bodily horror, drinking blood, playing with blood, human consumption, unwilling cannibalism, afab reader- usage of female anatomy (though not descriptive of size/skin markings). fem. reader- she/her used. biting. choking. manipulation. blasphemy. overstimulation. virgin reader. corruption. monster fucking. slight belly bulge, bondage. incorrect use of holy water. wax play. this list may expand and/or be altered.

trigger warnings: (for this chapter): afab. reader. fem. reader. body horror. vomit. descriptive ruin of flesh. trauma exploitation. careless discard of a body. blood. death of minor character. implied death of a child. maiming. pet names. manipulation. emotional manipulation. suffocation. descriptions of flesh and membranes. breaking of a neck. misuse of religious beliefs. the start of an obsession.

a/n: this piece holds no actual religious scripture or quotes, I just needed those terms as they were synonymous. This is in NO WAY a jab at those faiths nor is it meant to spread hate or harm to them. It is also not an insult to those who practice. I tried to write with care, which yeah may be hypocritical of what I have here, so I apologize. Additionally, thank you to everyone who voted in the poll. While it was originally intended to be a one-shot, I felt it would be better to break it into chunks as this is very plot-heavy. Thank you for your support! Reblogs are highly appreciated.

word count: 7.5k

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III. La Sorella

"When the rooms were warm, he'd call,"

Gods above, you had smelled divine.

Rafayel leaned back in his chair, fingers brushing over his lips as he exhaled through his nose, tasting the memory of it. It had been subtle, carried by the warmth of your skin, woven into the fibers of your habit. He imagined the way it must cling to you, pressed into the nape of your neck, tucked behind your ears, threaded through your hair.

How unfair, he thought, tongue running over the tips of his fangs. He had spent centuries with the scent of blood, of damp stone and dying prayers, yet here you were—brimming with life, untouched by decay, and smelling of something so achingly pure that it made his jaw tighten.

Rafayel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. It was just a scent. A passing thing. Nothing more.

And yet, deep in the marrow of his bones, he already knew that was a lie.

How unfair. How cruel, really, for something so fleeting to leave such an imprint.

The moment you stepped into his office, the scent had wrapped around him like a whisper of something forbidden, something intoxicating. It was warm, faintly sweet—like honey drizzled over ripe peaches left to bask in the summer sun. Beneath that, something softer, cleaner, the lingering trace of soap and the crisp linen of your habit, worn and washed a hundred times over. But it wasn’t just that. No, there was something alive in your scent, something human, something red.

It clung to the air even after you had gone, weaving itself into the wood grain of his desk, settling in the old stone walls like an invitation he hadn't asked for. He inhaled deeply, letting it fill his lungs, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if trying to taste the ghost of you that still lingered.

You had stood so close. So unaware.

He closed his eyes, fingers twitching at his sides as he exhaled slowly. There was something sinful about the way you smelled—like warmth on a cold night, like blood rushing just beneath delicate skin, like something he wanted.

Regardless, he'd have plenty of time to be close tomorrow.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached for his scripture, the old leather cover worn smooth beneath his fingertips. He licked his thumb, the taste of parchment and dust lingering on his tongue as he flipped through the fragile pages, scanning the familiar words. Verses of devotion, of faith, of divine wrath and holy retribution. The very foundation of Astra’s will.

But his mind was elsewhere.

Tomorrow, he would walk beside you, close enough to catch the warmth of your breath in the winter air. Close enough to see the way your pulse fluttered at the base of your throat. Close enough to watch the light shift in your eyes when you smiled at the villagers. Would you smile at him, too? Would you laugh, let your voice rise like a bell in the quiet streets of Linkon?

His fingers stilled on the page.

“And on the third day,” Father Rafayel intoned, his voice steady, measured, almost instructional, “The Vampires set off to find brides of their own,”

He moved slowly through the pews, the hem of his robes whispering against the stone floor as he passed. His hands were clasped neatly behind his back, fingers idly tracing the spine of his scripture. The flickering candlelight carved sharp planes into his face, but his expression was calm, thoughtful—he was not simply preaching, but teaching.

“To this, Astra spoke: ‘Man shall know no fear but of me, for I am ever the protector.’” He paused, letting the words settle in the air before continuing. “And so, in His divine wisdom, Astra cast the Vampire into eternal cold. For if the Vampire were to know warmth, would they not still refuse to repent?”

He turned slightly, addressing the room as a whole. “What is warmth, my flock?” His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. “Is it merely the sun on our backs, the fire in our hearths? Or is it the love we hold for one another, the kindness we offer, the devotion we show to Astra?”

A murmur of agreement spread through the congregation, heads nodding, some lips moving in whispered prayer.

Rafayel smiled faintly, satisfied, and resumed his slow pace down the aisle.

“To be cast into coldness,” he continued, “is not merely a punishment of the flesh, but of the spirit. The Vampire are forever condemned to hunger, to crave what they cannot have. They are forever seeking, but never satisfied.” He stopped near the front, tilting his head slightly. “And so, my dear postulants, what lesson do we take from this?”

Silence hung in the air as the room awaited his answer.

“That to seek what is not given to us by Astra is to invite suffering.” His gaze swept over the congregation, his voice unwavering. “That desire unchecked is a cage of our own making.”

He exhaled softly, letting his words settle before offering a small, composed smile.

You raise your hand, clearing your throat. "If desire unchecked is a cage, then why is it not when it is checked? Wouldn't a cage be limiting you instead?"

A flicker of amusement passed through Father Rafayel’s eyes as he turned to you, his expression unreadable yet attentive. He tilted his head slightly, considering your words with the patience of a scholar indulging an inquisitive student.

“A thoughtful question,” he mused, stepping closer. “Desire itself is not inherently evil, nor is it a cage by nature. But tell me,” his gaze locked onto yours, “when man desires something beyond his reach, something that is not his to take, does it not consume him?”

He paused, letting the room linger in the weight of his words.

“A cage is not merely bars and locks—it is the torment of longing unfulfilled. It is the hunger of the Vampire, forever seeking what has been denied to them.” His voice was even, yet there was something beneath it, something deeper. “Unchecked, desire festers, twists, becomes something monstrous. But when it is tempered—when it is acknowledged, understood, and held within the boundaries Astra has given us—it ceases to be a prison.”

He stepped back slightly, offering the faintest ghost of a smile. “Tell me, postulant, do you feel caged?”

"I do not. But...I also dont see why there are so many restrictions on the Vampire. What did they do? If we have power to limit them ourselves, why would Astra not just eradicate them?"

A silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. The other postulants shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between you and Father Rafayel. Even Simone, usually bold, looked at you as though you had just spoken something forbidden.

Father Rafayel, however, did not react with outrage or condemnation. If anything, there was a glint in his blue-and-pink eyes—something sharp, something intrigued. He regarded you for a long moment.

Instead, he laughed.

Low and quiet at first, but with a growing amusement that unsettled those around you. He shook his head, exhaling through his nose as if he had just been presented with the most fascinating puzzle.

“A fair question,” he said, and just like that, the room exhaled. His tone held no scorn, no reprimand—only consideration. “You ask why Astra did not simply eradicate the Vampire, rather than shackle them with restriction?” He clasped his hands behind his back, beginning to pace through the pews, as though contemplating aloud.

“Consider this: why does Astra allow the wicked to walk among the righteous? Why does He not strike down every thief, every liar, every sinner the moment they transgress?” He paused, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Because even the condemned have a role to play in this world. Their suffering, their struggle—it is a lesson, a warning, and a test of our own devotion.”

He stopped pacing, turning to face you fully. “The Vampire were not always as they are now. Long ago, they were men—until they defied Astra’s will, hungered for that which was forbidden, and sought to claim it. Their punishment was not to be erased from existence, but to endure. To be stripped of warmth, of sustenance, of life as they once knew it.”

"But Father, why are we so focused on the Vampire anyways as of late?" Simone asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

“A perceptive question, Sister Simone,” Father Rafayel murmured, settling into his chair with a composed ease. He adjusted his glasses, the flickering candlelight catching in the lenses, making his irises gleam.

He flipped through the scripture deliberately, the rustling of parchment the only sound in the heavy silence. When he found the passage he sought, he tapped a finger against the page, though he did not read aloud. Instead, he looked up at you both.

“The Vampires have always been a topic of importance in theological study,” he began smoothly. “They represent the boundary between man and monster. The consequence of unchecked desire. It is not merely about them, but about us—what we allow to fester in our hearts, what we fail to restrain.”

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze drifting over the assembled postulants. “And yet, it is true—recently, the discussions of the Vampire have grown more… pressing.”

His fingers drummed lightly against the arm of his chair. “You’ve heard of the murders in Linkon, haven’t you?” His voice was calm, but something about it made the room feel colder.

A few of the younger postulants shivered. Simone nodded, hesitantly. “Yes, Father. But surely, it can’t be—”

He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “Can’t be? I wonder, Sister Simone, how many bodies must pile before we stop dismissing the possibility?”

Silence.

“Astra’s teachings are not just relics of the past,” he continued, tapping a page with a gloved finger. “They are guidance for the present. The Vampire are not just myths, nor are they merely the evils of old. Their hunger is eternal, their presence... insidious.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer, more deliberate:

“It is our duty to be vigilant.”

He leaned back slightly, exuding the calm authority of a scholar, though something in his expression—something behind his ever-so-patient eyes—felt oddly satisfied.

“Does that answer your question, Sister Simone?”

You frown. Sureley there was more to it.

When you open your mouth to speak, Rafayel closes his book. "That will be all. We will begin our donations, in one hour. Get your food and drink, and you all grab your coats." his smile is kind, easy as he gets up.

Pressing your lips together, biting back the words sitting on the tip of your tongue. Something about his answer—about him—still doesn’t sit right with you, but there’s no point in pushing now.

Father Rafayel’s smile is warm, pleasant even, as he stands, robes shifting around him like a flowing shadow. But when his gaze flickers toward you, there’s something beneath the kindness—something watchful.

"Come now," he says, tone as gentle as a lullaby. "Astra blesses those who give freely. Let us not keep the good people of Linkon waiting."

You nod slowly, following the others as they file out of the pews.

The bread felt dry as you swallowed, your gaze fixed on Sister Jenna. She stood near Father Rafayel, their heads bent in close conversation. Her brows were knitted in concern, lips moving rapidly as she spoke. Father Rafayel listened intently, his expression calm, occasionally nodding in response.

You couldn't hear their words over the ambient chatter of the dining hall, but the tension in Sister Jenna's posture was unmistakable. She wrung her hands together, a gesture you recognized as a sign of her deep worry. Father Rafayel, in contrast, remained composed, his demeanor almost soothing as he replied to her.

Simone set her plate down beside you. "You would think they'd get tired of soup. But noooo." she tears her bread in half, dipping it in the soup before throwing a quick, "Thank you Astra.", and biting a good bit off.

You smirk, tearing off a piece of your own bread. "Soup is easy. Keeps everyone warm, keeps everyone fed. Besides, I think it's tradition at this point."

Simone chews thoughtfully before swallowing. "Mmm. Maybe. But still, a little variety wouldn't kill us. Imagine—roast duck, maybe a sweet pudding for dessert." She sighs dramatically, resting her cheek on her hand. "One can dream."

You chuckle, but your eyes drift back to Sister Jenna and Father Rafayel. She's still speaking, her hands now clasped tightly in front of her chest. Whatever she's saying has her nervous—agitated even.

Simone follows your gaze, raising an eyebrow. "What's up with Sister Jenna? She looks like she just found a rat in the bread bin."

You shake your head. "Not sure. But whatever it is, she’s not happy."

Father Rafayel murmurs something to Sister Jenna, and though you can't hear him, his expression remains smooth, almost reassuring. Sister Jenna, however, doesn't seem entirely convinced.

Simone nudges you with her elbow. "Bet it’s about the Vampire stuff." She lowers her voice mockingly. "Bewaaare, the Vampire walk among us, waiting to steal your warmth."

You roll your eyes. "Shh, someone's going to hear you."

Simone grins, tearing off another piece of bread. "Oh please, everyone’s too busy praying over their tasteless soup to notice."

"Still- he's rather...impish, don't you think?" Another plate settles beside you- Yvonne. "I think he's rather handsome."

You snort, covering your mouth as you chew. "Handsome? Yvonne, really?"

Yvonne shrugs, taking a dainty sip of her soup. "What? He is. Those eyes, that voice—he’s got presence."

Simone huffs, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on. He’s unsettling. He always looks like he knows something we don’t."

Yvonne tilts her head. "That’s called intelligence, Simone. You might not be familiar with it."

Simone glares, flicking a breadcrumb at her. "Ha. Ha."

You glance over at Rafayel again. He's now watching Sister Jenna leave, his expression unreadable before he turns back to his own meal.

You lean in slightly. "Impish is a good word for him," you admit. "He’s...polite, but there’s something beneath it. Like he’s always amused by something we’re not in on."

Yvonne hums, tapping her spoon against the rim of her bowl. "That’s what makes him interesting."

Simone makes a face. "That’s what makes him creepy."

"Ya know, it's weird. Priests can get married and stuff but we can't." “Not how it works, Yvonne." "Father Thomas is married." "Okay?"

Simone waves her spoon dismissively. "That’s different. He was married before he joined the priesthood."

Yvonne shrugs. "Still. Feels unfair." You smirk. "You thinking of running off and getting married, Yvonne?" She grins. "Depends. Maybe if Father Rafayel asks nicely." Simone groans, throwing her head back. "Oh, please!" You chuckle, shaking your head. "I don't think he’s the marrying type." Yvonne sighs dramatically. "Shame. I’d make a great priest’s wife."

"Good thing you’re not allowed, then," Simone teases, nudging her.

Yvonne pouts. "Still, it’s not fair. Why can’t we?" You shrug. "I don’t think that’s the point, Yvonne. We’re supposed to be devoted to Astra, not distracted by… earthly things." Yvonne smirks. "You say that, but if Father Rafayel asked you to marry him, what then?" You nearly choke on your soup, coughing as Simone snickers. "That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard." "Is it?" Yvonne teases, nudging you. "You’re always asking him questions. Maybe you’re just curious about more than scripture." You glare at her, cheeks warming. "I ask because I want to understand, not because—ugh, never mind." Simone stretches her arms. "Honestly, if he did get married, I feel like it’d be to a book. Or his own reflection."

Yvonne sighs dramatically. "What a waste of a handsome face."

You roll your eyes, but as you take another sip of soup, you can’t help but glance at Rafayel again. He’s speaking with another sister now, his expression pleasant, charming even.

Your eyes meet Father Rafayels for a moment, and you don't miss the crows feet when his eyes smile, all too gone before his gaze returns to Sister Jenna. Yvonne and Simone were too busy talking to have noticed.

Your heart skips a beat. Was that...a hint of warmth in his gaze? You quickly look away, feeling a heat rise in your cheeks. There’s no way. He’s just being kind, like he always is. Right?

But the way his smile reached his eyes, how it seemed to linger just a bit longer than usual, leaves you wondering. The curiosity gnaws at you, but you shove it down, forcing yourself to focus on your meal.

Yvonne continues, oblivious. "I still think we’re underutilized around here. I mean, we could do more than serve soup, right?"

Simone laughs. "Don’t tell me you want to be handing out more donations. I can’t imagine carrying all those bags around."

You shake your head. "It’s not about what we’re doing. It’s about why we’re doing it. We’re helping others."

"That’s one way to look at it," Simone says with a shrug. "But we could still use a little more excitement."

You can’t help but glance back at Father Rafayel. His attention is still on Sister Jenna, but now, the thought of that smile lingers with you. What if there's more?

Trying to clear your head, you focus on the conversation again.

"Here you go ma'am," you hand a care basket to a woman. "No- no more- I don't need help from the church," "Pardon?"

The woman recoils slightly, her eyes narrowing as she looks at the basket in your hands, then at you. Her tone is sharp, defensive, as though she’s been caught in something she wants no part of.

"I don’t want anything from the church," she repeats, her voice low, almost trembling with unspoken anger. "What do you want? To keep me quiet? To pretend you’re doing some good?"

You blink, unsure how to respond. The other villagers, some further down the path, keep their distance.

Father Rafayel, noticing the exchange, steps forward, his presence looming. "Ma’am, this is simply an offering from Astra’s followers. No strings attached. It’s just food to help you."

She glares at him, almost looking through him. "It’s never just that, is it? You think you’re fooling us? I know what’s behind all this." Her voice cracks, and she steps back, shaking her head. "I don’t need your charity."

You hold the basket in your hands, unsure of what to do. Father Rafayel seems unphased.

"My son is missing after one of your 'donations,'" she repeats, her voice trembling but steady now, as if she’s found strength in her grief. "He was taken, just like the others. Don’t think I don’t know how these things work. You make promises, give a little, take a lot."

You feel a knot form in your stomach, an uncomfortable silence stretching between you, as all eyes from the group of villagers flick toward the woman. Father Rafayel’s calm demeanor falters for just a fraction of a second, but it's quickly masked by his polite smile, though his eyes are sharp and calculating.

"I’m afraid I don’t understand," he says, his voice soft but firm, yet with a subtle edge that betrays a hint of something darker beneath. "I assure you, every donation we make is done with good intent. There is no malice in our charity."

The woman steps forward, her face contorted with a mixture of sorrow and rage. "I watched him take that toy one of you left... Then he vanished." Her eyes flicker toward the other villagers, who are all pretending to be preoccupied but watching intently. "Now, I ask you, where is he?"

"Ma’am, please," he says smoothly, stepping closer to the woman with measured steps. "Accusations like these cannot be made lightly. I am certain there has been some misunderstanding."

“No! My son is gone, Father! Dead, like the others! Where is Sister Agnes? She is the only one suitable to lead Linkon!”

Father Rafayel puts a hand on your shoulder, cold and firm, before pulling you behind him.

His smile softens, almost as if he’s pitying the woman. He steps forward, his posture unthreatening, but there’s an air of assurance in his every movement. His grip on your shoulder loosens, and his voice drops to a soothing tone.

“Please, ma’am,” he says, his words gentle but full of weight. “I understand your grief. We all feel it, in our own ways.” His gaze shifts to the villagers standing around, their worried expressions now caught between fear and uncertainty. “But I promise you, nothing has happened here that you don’t understand yet. There are things beyond our control—things that even I, as a servant of Astra, cannot explain fully.”

He places a hand on the woman’s arm, his touch tender yet firm, guiding her emotions as if his mere presence could steady her heart. “The disappearance of your son, the pain you feel... I understand it more than you know. But blaming the church, blaming me—won’t bring him back.” His voice is like a balm, his words measured with the intent to comfort and convince.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, leaning just enough to meet her eyes, his expression almost fatherly, as if he has known her all her life. “I am here to help. But we must look for answers together, not through anger, but through faith. Through Astra's guidance. And I promise, we will find the truth.”

He steps back, his posture open and inviting, like a shepherd trying to calm a scared flock. “I can help. But you must trust that the road we take will be one of patience and peace. We cannot rush this. Come, let us speak of this calmly, and let me help you. Let me ease your burden.”

His tone is persuasive, persuasive enough to dull the sharpness of the woman’s accusations. She stands there, silent, her face still twisted with anguish, but there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes—an opening.

“I know it's hard,” Rafayel continues, his hand never leaving her arm, “but I swear on Astra's name, I will do everything in my power to help you. And we will find the answers—together.”

The woman softens, hugging him as she tears up.

“Thank you, Father.”

Father Rafayel’s smile falters just for a moment—so brief that only the sharpest eyes might catch it. It’s a subtle shift, but enough for you to notice. For that fraction of a second, his face twists into something unreadable, and his grip on the woman’s arm tightens ever so slightly, as if disturbed by the closeness of her vulnerability, as if he’s disgusted.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it’s gone. His expression smooths back into that calm, almost pitying demeanor, the one that lures people into trusting him. He takes a slow breath, clearly controlling his reaction, and his eyes soften once again as he gazes down at the woman who now leans into his touch, tears brimming in her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, voice soothing, laced with false warmth. His hand remains on her arm, steady, even as his internal discomfort grows. “It’s my duty to guide you.”

But the moment lingers longer than it should, and for a heartbeat, there’s a coldness that creeps up his spine, a reminder of how easily the facade can break.

He gently pulls away, guiding her back toward the rest of the crowd with a practiced ease. “Now, let’s take a moment to breathe, together. Astra will guide us all through this.”

He steps back a fraction, his gaze flickering momentarily to you, as though assessing you for some deeper understanding, before returning to the woman. But that flicker of discomfort is gone, as if it never existed at all.

“Please Father, you too, Sister, come in.”

Father Rafayel’s smile widens, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he steps forward, his movements smooth and assured. He gestures toward you, subtly guiding you behind him as he enters the woman's home. “Thank you, but we must insist. We are here to help.”

You follow in his wake, feeling the air shift as the woman leads you both inside, her voice shaking but insistent. The warm scent of soup still lingers in the air, mixing with the cold, earthy aroma of the house. Rafayel’s hand is still on your back, a gentle, guiding pressure, even though you can sense the undercurrent of his control in every gesture.

As the door shuts behind you, the woman wipes her eyes, now grateful but still fraught with grief. “Please, come sit,” she urges again, her voice softer now, as if the presence of the priest and his gentle authority has given her something to hold onto in her overwhelming sorrow.

You step further in, feeling the tension between you and Rafayel, a quiet hum of awareness between you two, as if there’s more to the moment than the simple exchange of care baskets. The whole scene feels eerily domestic, like you’re merely actors in a play that’s unfolding without you quite understanding the script.

You settle into a seat, glancing up at Rafayel, who already seems at ease. His presence fills the room, effortlessly shifting the energy. "Thank you for your hospitality," he says warmly.

And then he does something truly unexpected.

He grabs the woman’s face.

The room is suffocating as Father Rafayel’s fingers twist and press into the woman’s face. Her eyes bulge, the pupils rolling unnaturally as her body shudders with the struggle to break free. But there’s no escape. His grip tightens further, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of her face, pressing her eyes deep into their sockets until—

A sickening crunch echoes through the air, her screams choked by the brutal force. Her body goes rigid, her mouth opening in a silent, grotesque scream, but no sound comes. Her eyes are utterly ruined, blood and fluid leaking from the sockets where his hands had crushed them.

Before you can react, before you can even scream, Rafayel's hand moves again—swift, clean. His fingers snap around the woman’s neck, and in one cruel, efficient motion, the bones snap under his strength. Her body goes limp in his grasp, crumpling in a heap as the life is ripped from her with terrifying ease.

You stand frozen, your throat tight, heart hammering in your chest. The room is dead silent now, except for the faint sound of the woman’s body hitting the ground, her blood pooling beneath her.

Rafayel doesn’t even glance at the corpse at his feet. He straightens up, brushing his hands together nonchalantly, as though he'd simply gotten rid of a bothersome insect.

"See?" he says, his voice low and calm, almost casual. "This is the price of questioning. Disrespecting." He looks at you, his eyes cold and unblinking, like a predator that has just satisfied its hunger. "A lesson in obedience." He kicks the body. “Not even worth drinking from, the damn whore,”

You can barely breathe, your mind reeling, unable to fully comprehend the violence that just unfolded before you.

His gaze turns back to the lifeless woman, a fleeting flicker of something like irritation crossing his face before it's quickly replaced with that eerie calm. “I’ll take care of the body,” he says, not even looking at you. "Come along."

The words don’t register at first. You’re too trapped in the horror of what just happened—the snap of her neck, the crushing of her eyes, the sickening finality of it all.

But you hear his voice again, smooth and unwavering. “It’s over now. Let’s move on.”

You don’t move for a moment, your heart beating slowly.

Rafayel’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. The air feels heavy, suffocating. The body at his feet—still warm, still oozing—is a silent testament to what he just did. To what he is capable of.

His lips curl, just slightly. “Apologies, Sister,” he says smoothly, taking a step closer. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Your breath is uneven, your body rigid as he moves within arm’s reach. The scent of blood clings to the air, thick and metallic. Your stomach churns violently, and you press a trembling hand to your mouth.

“Breathe,” he murmurs. “We wouldn’t want you fainting now, would we?”

Your vision tunnels. The corpse is there, crumpled like a discarded doll. The woman’s face—what’s left of it—is grotesque, ruined. Her mouth still twisted in an expression of agony she never got to voice.

This isn’t real. This can’t be real.

“You—” Your voice cracks, your throat burning with bile. “You killed her.”

Rafayel exhales through his nose, head tilting as if you had just stated something obvious. “Of course.” He steps around the body, walking toward you with that same composed grace, his expression patient. “She was becoming… a problem.”

Your pulse is deafening in your ears.

“You—” Your words are failing you. Your thoughts are failing you. The bile rises higher. You need to get out of here.

But his hand is already reaching, fingers barely grazing your wrist before you recoil violently.

His eyes darken, just for a moment. “Careful,” he says, voice still impossibly gentle. “Fear is unbecoming of you.”

You stagger another step back, shaking your head. “This—this isn’t right—”

Rafayel sighs as if this is all terribly inconvenient for him. “Sister.” His tone shifts, taking on something firmer. “Compose yourself.”

Your breath comes in shallow, panicked gasps. You’re going to be sick. You are sick.

And yet, the way he watches you—it’s as if he’s enjoying this. Studying your every reaction, memorizing every flicker of horror in your expression.

“Now,” he continues, as if nothing had happened, “we still have work to do.” He gestures to the body with a gloved hand, his fingers flexing absently.

“Shall we?”

“No! We most certainly shall not! You-” “Careful now, sweetheart.”

Your breath stutters in your chest. The way he says it—sweetheart—makes your skin crawl, like something sickly sweet masking poison underneath.

“I—” Your words catch. Your pulse is hammering. You glance down at the woman’s lifeless body, her head lolling unnaturally to the side, sightless eyes ruined and dark. The smell of copper thickens, and your stomach twists.

His voice is low, almost amused, but there’s an edge to it—something warning. “Don’t let that pretty head of yours get ahead of itself.” He steps closer, deliberate, calculated, the heels of his boots clicking softly against the ground. "I'd hate to see you become distressed over a little… inconvenience.”

Your stomach lurches. The bile in your throat burns. “A little inconvenience?” Your voice wavers, barely above a whisper, but the fury is there, tangled with the fear. “You murdered her! She—she didn’t even get to scream—”

Rafayel exhales through his nose, tilting his head slightly, like a teacher watching a foolish student struggle with a simple lesson. “Yes, I suppose that was rather quick of me,” he muses. “Would it have been better if I had let her beg first? Cry a little longer?”

Your body goes ice cold.

His lips curl, a poor imitation of something kind. “You’re shaking.” He reaches again, fingers brushing your elbow, but you wrench away, stumbling back.

He stills.

The moment stretches. The air feels wrong.

Then, his hand lowers, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Ah. So you do have some fight in you.” His smile lingers, eyes hooded. “Good. I was beginning to worry you’d crumble too quickly.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a desperate, caged thing. “Stay away from me,” you rasp.

His expression doesn’t change. “Sweetheart.” He says it so sweetly, so condescendingly, like he’s scolding a child for throwing a tantrum.

“I own you.”

The words sink into you like teeth, cold and cruel.

Your breath stutters.

“You belong to the church. The church belongs to me.” He watches you carefully, studying every shift in your face. “And what kind of shepherd would I be if I let one of my flock stray too far?”

You don’t realize you’re crying until the salt stings your lips.

He leans in just slightly, enough that his breath ghosts over your ear. “Now… are you going to be good for me?”

His hand tilts your chin up so you face him. A playful smile rests on his face, even reaching his eyes this time- a genuine smile.

You feel the membrane of the woman’s eye on his gloved hand, now on your chin. Your stomach twists violently, revulsion clawing up your throat. The slick, gelatinous smear of ruined flesh clings to your skin, an obscene mockery of what used to be someone’s sight. Father Rafayel hums, watching your reaction like one would observe a butterfly pinned to a board.

“There it is,” he murmurs, almost fondly. His thumb strokes over your jaw, slow and deliberate, smearing the filth further.

His eyes, those eerie irises of blue and pink, gleam with something dark. Something hungry. You choke on a sob, barely able to force words out. “You’re insane—” He tsks, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Now, now. That’s not very kind, is it?” His grip tightens just enough to remind you it’s there. Rafayel hums, tilting his head as if studying a delicate piece of art. His gloved thumb—still damp with the remnants of the woman’s ruined gaze—glides across your cheek. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rich with amusement.

Your pulse thrums beneath his fingers. He must feel it—how rapid, how unsteady.

“There, there,” he soothes, like he’s comforting a trembling child. “You mustn’t look so horrified.” He leans in, voice dipping lower. Sweeter. “Astra wouldn’t want that, would He?”

You shudder, every nerve in your body screaming at you to run.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

His smile widens, catching the way your eyes dart—searching for an escape that doesn’t exist.

Then, without warning, he releases you. You stagger, your legs nearly giving out beneath you, but he simply watches, hands clasped behind his back, utterly unbothered by the horror he’s just committed.

He flicks his gaze down at his glove—at the remnants of the woman still staining the leather—before pulling it off with a sigh, tossing it onto her still-warm body.

“Now then. Shall we continue?”

He offers his arm, not waiting as he grabbed your own, linking it with his. “Let’s finish our charity.”

So you let him guide you forward, his arm linked with yours in a grotesque parody of companionship. The two of you walk past the cooling body, the scent of blood thick in the air, as Rafayel hums a pleasant little hymn under his breath.

Your body convulses, another wave of sickness ripping through you as you clutch the sides of the basin. The acrid burn of bile scorches your throat, and you gag, spitting out the last remnants of whatever meager meal you had managed earlier.

Your fingers tremble against the porcelain, knuckles white from how tightly you're gripping it. The room spins, the world tilting on its axis, and for a moment, you think you might collapse right there on the cold, stone floor.

The phantom sensation of Rafayel’s touch lingers—his gloved fingers against your chin, the slick, ruined remnants of the woman’s eyes smearing onto your skin. You scrub at your face furiously with your sleeve, but the feeling doesn’t leave. It clings, seeping into your pores, like a stain that refuses to be washed away.

You shudder, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

He had smiled.

He had hummed.

And he had walked away as if nothing had happened.

Another wave of nausea hits you, and you retch again, but there’s nothing left to bring up. Just dry, hollow heaving that leaves your stomach aching and your throat raw.

The world outside continues as if it hasn’t just shifted into something dark and terrible. As if a woman hadn’t just been silenced.

As if you hadn't stood there, frozen in horror, and done nothing.

You can still feel it—him. The icy press of his fingers on your chin, the sickening squelch of ruined flesh, the way he smiled as if he hadn’t just—

A sob chokes out of you, swallowed quickly by another dry heave. Nothing left to expel. Just the raw, hollow ache of terror curling deep in your gut.

The door creaks. Your breath stills.

Boots click against the stone floor, slow, measured steps. A shadow looms over you.

A handkerchief appears in your vision, crisp and clean. “Oh, Sister,” Rafayel sighs, his voice warm with something almost like pity. Almost. “If I knew you had such a weak stomach, I would have warned you.”

The scent of him is wrong—clove and something metallic beneath it, something that lingers too long in your lungs.

The handkerchief dangles between his fingers, an invitation. A mockery.

When you don’t take it, Rafayel hums, shifting ever so slightly. "Come now, Sister. You’ll make yourself sick all over again." His voice is smooth, patient. A priest soothing a distressed flock. A man coaxing something fragile just to watch it break.

You stare at the porcelain, focusing on the tiny cracks running along its edges. Anything but him. Anything but the weight of his gaze pressing against the side of your face.

A sigh. Soft. Disappointed. And then the handkerchief brushes against your cheek.

You flinch.

He works with the precision of a man performing a sacred ritual, slow and methodical as he wipes away the remnants of your sickness. The linen of the handkerchief is soft, but his touch is cold—too cold, even through the fabric.

You should recoil. You want to recoil. But your body won’t move, locked in place by the sheer wrongness of it all.

“There,” Rafayel murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair from your damp forehead. “All better.”

You stare at him, throat tight, heart hammering. He doesn’t seem to mind the fear written across your face. If anything, he looks almost pleased.

He folds the soiled handkerchief neatly and tucks it away like it’s nothing at all.

"Are you well? It didn't trouble you so, did it-" "Get away from me, Father Rafayel."

His expression stills. The ever-present smile remains, but something behind his eyes sharpens, a glint of something dark and unreadable flashing through the blue and pink.

For a moment, he simply watches you. The silence stretches, thick as congealed blood.

Then—

A laugh. Soft, breathy, amused.

“Oh, dear Sister.” He kneels slightly, lowering himself to your level, his head tilting like he’s studying a particularly fascinating insect. “You wound me.”

You press yourself against the cold stone wall, as far from him as possible. Your breathing is shallow, rapid, your pulse a drum against your ribs. He notices. He enjoys it.

Rafayel sighs, straightening again, brushing nonexistent dust from his pristine robes. “You’re upset,” he states plainly. “That’s understandable. But don’t be dramatic. I only did what had to be done.”

Your stomach lurches again.

You turn away, gripping the edges of the basin as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. You can still feel him watching you, like a weight pressing into your spine.

Rafayel exhales, a soft, almost disappointed sigh. “I’ll have Sister Jenna come to collect you.”

It should be a mercy. A reprieve. But the way he says it—so calm, so unbothered—makes your skin crawl. Like you’re a child throwing a tantrum, like your revulsion is inconvenient to him.

His boots click against the stone as he turns to leave. But before he steps out, he pauses.

A beat of silence.

Then—

“I do hope you’ll feel better soon,” he murmurs, and when you finally dare to glance over your shoulder, he’s already gone.

"What's got you so sick lately?" Yvonne and Simone sat on your bed, having decided to stay the night despite the elder sisters firm threats of consequences if anyone was out of their rooms after 9:00 p.m.

You stare at them, trying to piece together an answer—one that won’t make you sound like you’ve lost your mind.

Nothing comes.

Nothing safe, at least.

“Probably just something I ate,” you mumble, forcing a weak smile as you pull your blanket tighter around yourself. “It’ll pass.”

Yvonne hums, unconvinced. “You’re pale as a ghost.”

Simone leans in, scrutinizing your face. “And you’ve barely eaten all day. I mean, I know the soup is garbage, but still.”

You swallow. If you close your eyes, you’ll see it again—the ruined sockets, the twitching fingers, the sound of her neck—

Your stomach turns.

“I’m fine,” you say, a little too quickly. “Just tired.”

Yvonne and Simone exchange a look, and for a terrifying moment, you think they might press further. But then Simone flops back against your pillows with a sigh.

“Well, if you die in the night, I’m taking your blanket,” she announces.

Yvonne snorts. “And I get her pillow.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

Yvonne tilts her head, studying you. "You sure you're not pregnant?" You whip your head toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. "What?!" Simone bursts out laughing, slapping her knee. "She’s got a point! Maybe that’s why Father Rafayel’s been so concerned—" "That is not funny!" you hiss, heat crawling up your neck. "Relax, we're just messing with you," Yvonne grins, nudging your arm. But then she sobers, her gaze searching. "Seriously, though. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. What have the sermons been about?"

Simone and Yvonne exchange a glance.

"Same as always," Yvonne shrugs. "Discipline. Humility. The Vampire."

"Yeah," Simone frowns, pulling at a loose thread on your blanket. "Father Rafayel’s been really fixated on them lately. More than usual. Keeps talking about how they need to be 'understood' before they can be judged. Whatever that means."

You swallow hard, your throat still raw. "Understood?" Simone nods. "Yeah. Like...he’s making it sound like they're not just monsters. That there’s something more to them." Yvonne snorts. "Creepy way to put it, if you ask me." You grip your sheets tightly. Rafayel’s cold fingers on your chin, the wet smear of another person’s ruin against your skin—it all flashes back in an instant. "What else did he say?" Your voice is quieter this time, urgent. Yvonne gives you a curious look. "Why do you care?"

"Cause I'm missing them? We have exams on these if you've forgotten." You point out, coming up with the excuse swiftly. A half lie. Another exam would be coming up in your training to be a nun soon enough.

Simone groans, flopping back onto your bed. "Ugh, don’t remind me. I’d rather scrub the floors of the entire chapel than sit through another exam." Yvonne smirks. "Maybe if you actually paid attention, you wouldn’t have to cram last minute." Simone swats at her. "Shut up, Yvonne."

Forcing a small smile, your fingers are still clenched in the fabric of your sheets. "So? What else did he say?"

Yvonne hums, thinking. "Well...he talked a lot about temptation. Not just the Vampire, but people, too. How those who question too much might lead others astray. How faith should be absolute."

Simone rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, same thing they always say. 'Doubt is the doorway to sin' or whatever." But Yvonne doesn’t look convinced. She shifts, lowering her voice. "It’s not just that. He was watching everyone while he said it. Like he was waiting for someone to react."

A chill creeps up your spine.

You exhale through your nose, keeping your voice steady. "Who reacted?" Yvonne shrugs. "No one. Not openly, at least." Simone huffs. "Not all of us have a death wish, Y/N. You heard what happened to Sister Agnes." Your stomach twists. "What happened to Sister Agnes?" Yvonne and Simone exchange another glance. This time, it’s hesitant. Uneasy. "You…you really haven't heard?" Simone asks quietly.

"No? I've been forced into bed rest for 2 weeks, Simone.I thought she left for the capitol since we hadn't seen her for a month.”

Yvonne scoffs, crossing her arms. "She was supposed to. But then she got sick. Really sick. Fever, coughing up blood, the whole thing."

Simone nods. "Yeah. They quarantined her in the infirmary for a while, but then one day—poof. Gone." She snaps her fingers. "The elders said she must’ve gone to the capital after all. That she recovered enough to travel, but no one saw her leave."

Yvonne sighs. "Probably just left at night. You know how she was—never wanted to make a fuss."

You feel ice creep through your veins. That doesn't make sense. If she had been so ill, how could she have just up and left? No farewells? No word to the sisters she was closest to? It doesn’t sit right with you.

"You're worrying too much, Y/N," Simone chides, nudging your shoulder. "You should be resting, not getting yourself worked up over rumors."

Yvonne smirks. "Yeah. Besides, Father Rafayel would have told us if something was wrong. He always does."

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to nod, though your hands curl into fists beneath your blanket.

Father Rafayel always knows.

©hellinistical 2025 do not copy, translate, distribute, plagiarize, or reproduce in any form without permission, and do not share to any media outside of tumblr.

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chosos-mascara · 2 years ago

Text

lord

𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 - After confessing your sins, Sukuna is unsatisfied by your devotion to an undeserving God.

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 - priest! sukuna, demon! sukuna, true form! sukuna, sacrilege, themes of christianity, sex in a church, unprotected, devotion to sukuna, power dynamic(?), god! sukuna, god complex, sukuna calls reader a whore,

2.5k words

"Forgive me, Father." The words roll from your lips, cherry flavoured chapstick streaked over tongue as you nip at the skin, a tight clenching within chest before you begin the confessional. But, for your own sanity, and your deep faith, you'd needed to come clean. "I have sinned."

Sukuna shifts in the stall, a tightening of fist and curl of lip, anticipating your admission of guilt. Confessionals had been his favorite part of the role he'd found himself within; to hear the deepest aspects of a human's life had been entertaining within this dull life, as well as a chance to feel the fear plaguing their auras. Though, the added factor of unknowing souls confessing sin to a demon so evil to be banished from Hell itself - that had been icing on the cake. And, with a screen between himself and any unknowing devotee, Sukuna could freely grin as he'd absorbed negativity and fear from the soul beside him.

Rain had pattered over the stained glass with gusts of wind blowing below ornate doors. Sukuna knew no one would be visiting in this weather, and with that, he'd have you to himself.

"Confess your sins, girl." His voice was abrasive and unforgiving, a harsh tone you'd felt you'd deserved, though he'd been far from angry. After you'd caught his attention during a Sunday mass, he'd waited patiently for you to arrive with sin in mind. As a demonic being with heightened senses, your presence had an effect over him. Taunting, he'd call it. But, Sukuna had loved every second of it. With you sat the other side of the booth, deep breaths and shaking soul, he'd felt his own hardness over the length of thigh. With your innocent stare and pure scent, he'd wanted to corrupt you more than most; to manipulate and devour your soul until it had been as stained as his.

"Well, you see..." You sighed, closing eyes and leaning forward in the wooden seat. "I've been paycheck to paycheck for a while now, and it's been really hard to afford things like food, gas-" The excuses had been a way for you not only dress up your story, but to lessen the damage of your sins before you'd told them. Maybe this way, you could save yourself from the shame you'd been burdened with.

"Get on with it, girl." Sukuna had understood the harsh mannerisms he'd displayed had only caused your thighs to clench harder - he could smell the nectar of your body's natural lubricant and the guilt you held for wanting something you'd been taught was wrong. He'd wondered if your confessional would be a facade when you'd felt so easily aroused by his presence - had you simply wanted to see him?

"I stole money from someone." The admission hung in the air as it had left your bowed head, hands idly fiddling within your lap in an attempt to distract yourself from the overhanging statement. Sukuna's silence had only caused more array, leaving you to wonder how abhorrent he'd found you when you'd so freely admitted to sin.

It had taken a minute of silence for your trembling face to turn, and your gaze to set over the grates, checking if his shadow had still been seated on the other side. "Father?" You speak once more, though your growing anxiety is met with a dry laugh. Furrowing brow, your heart racing, you begin to question his quietness.

"That's your confession?" Sukuna's laughter brings you to confusion as you await further explanation, a stuttering mess behind the walls while you try to muster a response. "I think you've done much worse than stealing, dear. Don't be so naive to think I wouldn't know about your other sins."

Your mouth drops wide as he speaks, nausea within your body rising to throat.

"You have stolen from many others before. Why do you only confess to this one?" "I-" "Do you think I wouldn't notice the disgusting way you act around me? Oh please," Sukuna stood, and somehow much faster than you'd felt to be humanly possible he'd been within your side of the booth, hand around throat as he'd pulled you to the open. You were pulled toward the benches, body folded over wood and trousers pulled down to expose bare skin, cotton thong allowing nothing to the imagination.

"Spare me your niceties and show me the real whore you are." A harsh slap bestowed onto your ass had caused you to yelp, a burning sensation rippling over skin to leave red marks. "Repent for me, girl." A second and third slap came in quick succession, your eyes squeezing closed and face scrunching with each surge of pain. Sukuna's hands were large and his slaps firm, and with the fourth he'd chosen to leave his hand atop skin to squeeze the thickness.

"I'm sorry, father." Your voice trembles, head bowed into your folded arms as you struggle to keep yourself in the bent position, hands clutching to the old wood beneath you. "It's not me you should be apologizing to." For a second, his grip loosens, and you sigh in relief. Though, it's almost immediately returned when Sukuna grips wrist and hip to have you stand, pulling you toward the large cross behind his usual podium. There, he has you kneel, facing the dark wood cross.

"Apologize to the Lord for your sins, and may you be forgiven." Sukuna's words are like venom in your ear, hand gripping your chin and nails digging to your cheek. "Lord, I-I'm sorry for stealing, I swear I won't do it again-"

Sukuna laughs maniacally, second hand clutching your shoulder while remaining in a crouched position. He's careful not to place a knee on the ground and offer submission before the cross - something he couldn't understand why humans had done so freely. "You're not apologizing for that, are you?"

Your face contorts between his fingers, confusion written over features as you search his eyes for answers. It's now that you notice the red hue - or had they always looked like that?

"You need to confess the true sin you're entwined yourself within." His voice was lower now, a deep reverberance within chest as his pointed smile grew. "Father, I don't understand-" Your question is timid, and when he laughs again you flinch. "Do you think he hasn't seen the way you flaunt yourself before me, a demon? The slick betwixt thigh when you should be repenting for him - you're awful." The final word is more enunciated than the rest, Sukuna sure to break your mind before he can make room his his true intention.

"I'm sorry for being a whore, I promise I won't act on these impulses within me, Lord." There's not much room for silence before Sukuna speaks again, a tut as he voices his concerns. "That's a little better, but I fear something is missing..." The sincereness to his voice had been too nonsensical for it to be true - this was another game he would play with you.

"Ah, I have it." A snap of fingers confuses you, for both of his hands had been holding you tightly in kneeling position. "I think you need a new God to worship. This one won't do for someone as depraved as yourself."

"Father-" You begin your protest, but Sukuna doesn't allow room for your thoughts. "Worship me." With his hands over your body, your gaze forced to his, you'd taken in the true face he'd worn. The gentle expression and brown eyes you'd come to lust had long since gone, a demonic replacement of four glowing eyes and black markings etched over skin. The snarl he'd worn had seemed to contort his teeth too, fangs sharp and pointed.

"Let go!" Your plea had been more energetic than before, fear surging and a fight or flight response causing your stomach to churn. The rush of adrenaline had been enough to make you feel dizzy, but despite your efforts, Sukuna offered no leniency or reprise.

"That's no way to treat your Lord now, is it?" Sukuna held you in place as you'd trembled in his grip. "You'll have to ask for my forgiveness, won't you?" The superiority of his voice had belittled you in nothing more than a few words, body's struggle fizzling out as you'd succumbed to his authority.

"I'm sorry." Your relaxed frame caused his grip to loosen slightly, the anxiety within you suddenly merging into something more. "Good girl, that wasn't so hard." When a hand had come to caress the crown of your head, you'd finally looked to his torso. From there, you'd discovered his true form - four arms had emerged from chest, uniform torn in two to accommodate the extra set of limbs. His stomach had large ridges of muscle, the black markings from his face now decorating flesh previously hidden. As much as you'd hated to admit it, there had been something overwhelmingly enticing about Sukuna. The fear for your life had appeared to die out, and you'd seen him in a new light.

His gentle touch had soothed you, fingers caressing cheek and head as all four eyes had set on you. Had this been the draw of a God?

"Now," He'd spoken in a sincere tone, though you'd known within your core that he hadn't meant it. "I need an act of devotion, a display of adoration for your new Lord."

His lips were close to your ear as he'd spoken, a pair of hands moving to grope your chest above the shirt you'd worn and you'd stifled a moan, leaning into his touch. With this, Sukuna had pushed your body to the stone floor, a quick tare of fabric to leave you exposed to his gaze. There had been something freeing about your nudity before him, chest raised as you'd drawn teeth over lip. The air was cold, yet you felt heat radiating from Sukuna's body - a frame that had practically doubled in size as he'd pinned you to the ground. His grip had settled over your neck, with another set of fingers scratching over the skin of your stomach.

"Perhaps, you can be my Lilith." His statement had little meaning to you and had been more of an utterance, though for some reason you'd felt a hum in the pit of your stomach.

There had been a twang over nipple, a swirl of tongue to leave you gasping and confused, half lidded eyes set over a mouth manifested on the palm of his hand. The tongue had drawn over the bud, drawing circles over hardness and causing your back to arch on the stone tile. "Do you love me?" His words felt sinister but you couldn't help to nod, light headed from his touch.

"I love you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had been stuttered through whines as you'd pressed your chest into his hands more, a mouth latched onto you to cause ecstasy. There hadn't been a statement you'd felt more sure about within your life - you were completely enamored by the entity above you. "Show me, then."

You'd peered down with reluctance, and had been left in awe at the sight before you. Sukuna had peeled the busting cotton from his legs to reveal his endowment: that of two lengths, both thick and extensive. The view had caused some nervousness to stir within you, though a second hand finding it's way to your slick had made your mind numb.

"So sweet." Sukuna had uttered to your ear as he'd bitten over the flesh, pulling another lewd and blaring moan from your lips. The mouth had lapped over slit, circling your clit before moving downward. There had been a few thrusts of tongue before he'd lowered himself further, a stripe over your lowest point.

At first, you'd felt shocked at the movement, yet when feeling the thick appendage tease your opening to finally fill you, you'd spread your legs wider to accommodate more. He'd laughed, positioning the lowest cock to the dripping entrance and easing in. If he'd gone faster you were sure he'd have split you in two, though with the fullness of length and tongue, you'd been left to relax on the tile and take what you'd been given.

Your walls had hugged Sukuna well, his rough rocks allowing a squeeze over cock he hadn't felt before. He'd been right on his initial guess that you were simply something else, something he wouldn't share with others. He'd make you his, he'd make you worship him. With you as a devotee, Sukuna had been sure he wouldn't need another. The feeling of your tightness milking him and the pure moans of pleasure erupting from you had made him want to pillage the entire world to leave only you within it.

What he'd felt had been greed. He'd wanted to take all he could get from your pure form, an unknowing and dainty human fallen within his trap. Like a spiderweb, you'd been tangled in his clutches and left for him to toy with.

A finger had circled your clit as his length had stretched you to brim, the thick arousal coating your folds allowing pad to slide easily over bud. Sukuna's touch had been enthralling, the perfectly timed movements and actions leaving you unable to love another as you had him. No one would give you the pleasure he'd bestowed to you, and you would give him absolutely everything in return.

You swore under your breath, vision blurred. You'd been able to make out his looming body above yours along with the motions of his hips, and with head tilted to the side, you could see the wooden cross he'd defiled you beneath. Even if your mind had raised alarm bells at the sacrilege you had committed, something about the sight had only caused the coil within your core to snap, a sudden wave of intense pleasure to wash over your body. Something that had been coaxed by no one other than the demonic entity you'd allowed inside you.

"Come for me, whore." Sukuna's length had continued to stretch your body with his, leaving an ache between thigh. You were sure walking home wouldn't be an option after this - if he'd permitted you to leave.

"You belong to me, now." His words were aggressive as he'd stuffed you to fullness, your legs locked in position with an inhuman grip. "I belong to you, Lord Sukuna." The phrase had left your lips without thought, and you'd felt nothing other than a deep devotion as Sukuna pushed himself to your limit, the second twitching length lef tto rub over your stomach as the bottom had worked inside.

The feeling of heat had washed over chest as it had your insides, Sukuna's release covering the exposed skin as he'd held you roughly to the ground, inhuman sounds echoing within his body while he'd decorated your weakness with his arousal.

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instexcamera · 11 months ago

Text

Use Me as Your Alter

Priest!Tatsumi x GN!reader

Warnings: blasphemy kink, small corruption kink, rough oral sex (male receiving), choking on cock, biting, very small blood mention

Authors note: holy shit I'm finished with my finals so I can finally get back on that grind!! That's crazy. Anyways I forgot where I got the idea for this and I'm hella tired and actually zoned out while writing this but yk what, I'm too lazy to go and fix it, yay! So it's just gonna be stuck how it is

Word count: 3k

18+ under the cut

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been four days since my last confession." The reply was immediate, "Yes my child, confess your sins and may the lord help you find peace." It had been difficult to do this. Finding time outside of idol activities and side jobs was basically impossible. But the opportunity arose when a fan meet was canceled at the last minute, so with the free time you finally decided to make the trip to the church. Except the man you'd come here to confess immoral desires about was the priest.

It was common knowledge that Tatsumi Kazehaya was a priest. Except you hadn't known this particular church was his or else you wouldn't have come. Not to mention his unit, Alkaloid, was quite popular so he should have mountains of work. Yet, here he was, standing silently before you in his pure white robes kindly gazing down at you. Struggling to form the words of your confession since the man before you was both the listener and recipient of your loving feelings.

The hard wood of the floor begins to cause an uncomfortable dull pain in your knees from the bow you were in. It was quite an unusual position to be in, yet Tatsumi, for some unknown reason, had requested this. Instead of the normal confessional most use he had wanted you to bow before him when you confessed, claiming the connection with god was stronger. With slight reluctance you agreed not wanting to hurt him.

Now it was awkward. Tatsumi, standing right in front of you, only his waist and below in your vision causing you to keep your head down on the floor. You could feel the sweat forming on your brow the more you bowed there. At first when you realized Tatsumi was the priest you figured you could hurry and get it over with. The unplanned for a new position makes you rethink that decision but you couldn't just get up and leave. Not only would your pride be damaged but Tatsumi's view of you may warp into something horrible.

Staying silent isn't doing anything to help your situation. The longer you withheld the more Tatsumi would think you were confessing something gravely immoral. "I confess to having lustful desires about a man." Speaking it quickly, too quickly you hoped he wouldn't fully understand what you spoke. You didn't dare test a glance up at Tatsumi's face. Afraid it would show an expression of revulsion at your words. Focusing on the dark wood of the floor beneath you, focusing on the pain in your knees while you listen for his response. Tatsumi was taking longer than you wanted, perhaps thinking over what you confessed or repaying in kind from when you were silent.

Instead of a response Tatsumi steps closer to you, light brown leather shoes coming into your vision. You could feel your body starting to subconsciously shake, hands gripping into the hard floor. He was close enough that if you lifted your head even an inch your face would be right in front of his thighs. "Forgive me. This question may seem out of place but could you indulge me? I would like to inquire more about these... desires."

You had expected a reprimand, not questions about explaining further. From your inadequate knowledge about church you thought priests weren't allowed to question confessions further, but maybe you were wrong. It had caught you off guard anyhow, whether it was allowed or not. Tatsumi must be asking since he wants to learn just how depraved you are. Once you explain further you'd have absolutely no chance to form a relationship with him.

Gripping into the wood under you, feeling your nails almost break from the pressure as you question him. "I'm sorry, but do I need to? It's kinda awkward to get into my desires in a place as holy as this." Instead of responding a pale hand slides under your chin. There's no time to process it as Tatsumi forces your chin up, concerned eyes boring into yours. Your immediate response is an attempt to jerk away however you quickly stop, you didn't particularly mind his touch.

"I would prefer it if you told me, getting it out will help soothe your mind. Saying it out loud also puts it out before god too, yes? Confessing everything will help your soul feel more at ease. If you're worried I will find you disgusting I won't, this is something between you and god, I am merely a listener." His words made sense of course. Tatsumi wasn't someone who would go against the rules set out for a priest, right?

It wouldn't hurt to tell your thoughts, no matter how depraved they are he has promised no judgment. The way his purple eyes held no disgust or hate in them certainly helped his claims. You didn't need to confess these thoughts were about him either. The way his thumb was ever so slowly starting to move to the corner of your lips and caress was soothing too. Your shaking had stopped too, the feeling of finally being able to fully relax was overwhelming now that you realized it. Tatsumi was like a soothing balm, something you didn't know you needed.

"Yes Father, I'll confess these damnable thoughts. I dream of touching this man where I shouldn't. I want to become one with this man, I wish to find pleasure from him and for him to find pleasure from me." Your voice echoed throughout the vast space, too holy for these wicked thoughts to be cast aloud in. The nervousness which had consumed you earlier had all but disappeared under Tatsumi's gaze, if you didn't know better you would say it had turned loving. Something akin to a shepherd finding his lost sheep after searching for a long while.

His hand had moved from your chin to your cheek, stroking it gently. You hadn't realized but your other cheek was pressed against his thigh, the silky white robes the only layer preventing you from direct contact with his skin. You wished to feel his skin, to kiss and mark it, claim him as yours but he would never allow that. His eyes had never left yours throughout the whole confession, never changing to anything resembling disgust either.

In an attempt to get closer to him your hands moved from the floor to his leg, grabbing onto it. Taking care to make sure you weren't gripping too hard, you vaguely remember passing comments about how he had sustained an injured leg which never fully healed and you didn't know if the one in your hold was it.

"That was a beautiful confession dear child. Everything was laid out perfectly, nothing was hidden except one crucial detail. Who is this man you speak of? Neither god or myself can help you unless you tell who he is. I will not judge you, I am not in a position to give out judgment, only god can. " A trickle of dread was creeping up on you. Why must Tatsumi know? Shouldn't god already know if he is as all powerful as it is claimed. But, Tatsumi had asked you, he has kept up his promise of no judgment so far and he was so compassionate and caring to you. He wouldn't berate you if you confessed it was him, surely not.

You would tell him, you had not originally planned to when you had come here today but the way he looked at you, the way he was caressing your cheek. You wanted too. Your eyes slide shut for this, not wanting to watch the moment they turned into hate from what you were about to confess.

"Father Tatsumi, the man I've been having these desires about is you. I've had them since I first saw you, we never speak to each other but you're so kind and stunning. You've pulled me down into sin for someone so holy. I know you must hate me after this, and I apologize. But you asked and so I shall answer." He doesn't say anything, nor does his hand stop its gentle caresses on your cheek.

A moment longer and you can't handle his silence, opening your eyes just to be greeted by that smile, that innocent and pure smile. "I'm glad you were truthful. You will surely find favor in the sight of god, not many could outright admit such a thing as this like you. But you must know you are a wretched being, a creature of sin for thinking of something so dishonorable about a man of god." His words stung, like a harsh slap to the face. You knew he was right though, it was wrong to have these thoughts of someone in his position. Yet he was still being so kind to you.

"I know you will want to redeem yourself. Repentance is normally the advice I give to the lost, but you are a special case. I quite like you too, so, to redeem yourself, worship me like your god. Let my holy body redeem you, treat me as an altar to forgive your sins." His words confused you. You didn't entirely get what he meant, not until the soothing hand on your cheek leaves and he goes to shed his pure robes.

Neither of you say anything, you are too shocked to speak. Tatsumi was bareing himself for you, taking off his priestly robes for a sinner in a place of worship. The more of his body that was revealed the more found him gorgeous. He was anything but perfect now that you saw his body but it made him more human in your eyes. The small moles and blemishes which dotted his body, making an invisible star system but just as beautiful. His small pink nipples, just waiting to be sucked and bit on but that wasn't what he wanted. His toned chest from the days he spent working out, slowly rising and falling with each breath he took. Pale stomach twitching when your gaze ran across it.

More of him was revealed as his robes fell into a white crumple at his feet, with his robes off he looked just like a normal human, not any more special than you were. From the robes surrounding his ankles your gaze travels up, stopping at his knees as you see the faint scar on his left knee. It didn't make him look any less appealing than before, if anything it just proved he too, was not perfect. From there you get to his thighs, the skin just as pale and alluring as you imagined. Perhaps he would let you fulfill your sinful desires and mark the skin there.

What really catches your attention is his pale cock, he's already hard, tip a deep red, painful looking as if he had been hard awhile. A large vein ran down the length of it, smaller ones dotting along. He twitches under your gaze and you move up towards the small patch of mint colored hair which sat just above. However Tatsumi sets a hand in your hair, making you turn your gaze back up to his face. Mint colored hair looked more messy than before, framing his face. He had a faint pink dusting on his cheeks now which seemed to be darkening by the second. "Use me as a way to repent. I wish for you too, and I know you want me in this way as well. If you choose to, however, you must take everything I give you as that is the only way you will be purified."

His confirmation was all you needed before your mouth connected with his thigh. You didn't want to start directly where you wanted, teasing him a little. Eyes closed as one of your hands slides up until it's directly beside his cock, but not touching, rubbing at the sensitive skin on his inner thigh. You could hear him let out a shaky gasp above you at the action. You knew it wasn't fair to tease him after what he was letting you do but you'd leave one mark on him and move to where he wanted most.

Biting into the pale skin, tasting a bit of blood. You hadn't meant to break skin but it just aroused you more and with how the grip in your hair tightened Tatsumi seemed to enjoy it too. Licking over the mark, opening your eyes to watch how the skin quickly bruised over. You hoped he would see this later and remember where it came from, maybe even touching himself to the thought, god you hoped he did. Leaving one last kiss on the sore mark before trailing your tongue up his thigh to meet your hand, quickly switching to where you wanted to most.

You didn't immediately take him in your mouth, choosing instead to still be a tease. He was dripping precum now, most likely due to the bite you had left. Sticking out your tongue to lick it up, hearing a suppressed whimper from above. The taste wasn't horrible, actually quite good. A sort of sweet, just a tad bit salty, more on the watery side. He tasted just as delicious as he looked. Giving more kitten licks to the head, wanting to pull more sounds from the holy man.

When you decided the small licks were enough you pressed a gentle kiss to the slit before dragging a long lick down the side of his cock, along the large vein. He must be quite sensitive there because suddenly a loud whimper echoed out, the hand in your hair yanking. You relished in the sting while you continued your ministrations, far from over. Licking around the entirety of his cock, paying special attention to the veins before dragging your tongue back up to his tip. You had teased him long enough.

Giving another kiss to his slit, feeling the precum gathered there wet your lips before enveloping his cock in your warm mouth. Loud whines escape, the sound soothing to hear. You had only just the tip past your lips that was already making him like this. Slowly you take more of him down your throat, the feeling foreign. The more you take the more small choking sounds start to leave your throat, not used to the large intrusion. Tatsumi's hand was gripping your hair hard enough to hurt and tears were forming in the corners of your eyes from both the pain and how deep you were taking him.

Lapping around his cock with your tongue until your nose was pressed right up against the small patch of teal hair on his pelvis. You were freely choking on him now, spit drooling past your lips and down your chin as you swallowed around him. The feeling is too much for him as he keens and shallowly thrusts, making the choking worse, your airflow cutting off as you breathe through your nose. "How shameful you are, having no issues doing this to a holy man such as myself, in a church no less. You must be even more wicked than I first thought, an evil temptress who convinced me to fall into sin." His words barely make it out before being cut off with a loud whimper when you swallow around him again.

The lack of oxygen was starting to get to you as you slowly took your mouth off, lapping at the veins along the way. His precum was coating your throat, the sweet taste on your tongue. Moving your hand to his cock while you take a moment to catch your breath, listening to the dirty sounds it makes as you move it up and down his spit soaked cock. Tatsumi has stopped talking but his hand was still ever present in your hair, tugging you back towards his cock. It wasn't long before you took him down your throat again, choking one again on his size. Except this time, when you attempt to pull back the hand in your hair keeps you firmly in place, right at the base of his cock forcing you to keep deep throating him.

"You can't pull off, a dirty sinner like you shouldn't need to anyways. I'm helping purify you, you know. I don't have to do this but I want to help make you clean." Tatsumi's other hand reaches and slides under your chin, massaging at your throat where his cock was bulging out, causing you to choke around him more intensely. Loud moans once again escape him as he does it again, the intense feeling too much for him. "I'm gonna cum down your sinful throat and purify you, that's what you want isn't it? To be purified by me?"

If you could nod you would have, but you could barely move your head with the grip he had in your hair, forcing you against him. His cock was twitching your throat and you knew he was getting closer, he just needed one more push to the edge. Swallowing once again around him as the hand on your throat slides to your nose, pinching it. You couldn't breathe at all now, panic starting to set in as you try to pull back but unable too.

"You'll be ok, you need to take all of my seed like this, that way no sinful air can ruin it when I purify you." As he says this you feel a rush of warm liquid flow down your throat, the taste of his cum heavy. Tatsumi lets out louder moans as spots start to form at the edges of your vision the longer your oxygen is depraved but when you think you'll finally black out the grip on your hair leaves and the cock in your throat gets pulled out.

Falling back as you cough, Tatsumi's release coating your throat as he pants above you, spent from his orgasm. You feel some of his spend drip down your chin and you know you probably looked like a total mess. Coming to church to confess your filthy desires about a man just to get defiled by that same man.

Tatsumi looks at you, face red and purple eyes kindly staring at you. "You've been purified by me, how do you feel? I promised my body would purify you and it did."

#enstars smut #ensemble stars smut #tatsumi kazehaya x reader #tatsumi kazehaya smut #tatsumi kazehaya x reader smut

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luvrseung · 9 months ago

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𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 - TEASER

## synopsis! You were always filled with the urge to destroy perfect things. It just felt wrong to leave things untouched. People weren't an exception. So, what are you supposed to do when an angel appears in front of you? Well... ruin him of course.

## pairing! innocent! heeseung x corrupted fem! reader

## wc: undecided

## cw! biggg themes of religion,, religious guilt is very heavy through this (maybe i'm projecting), suggestive?

## a/n! hellooooo everyone! ive been writing so many things but keep falling uninterested like halfway through. this one tho!!!!! i am very motivated to write it and cant wait to share it! so heres a little teaser :P my reason for this being so religous-y is because i find the juxtaposition of something so pure and untouched with something so dark and corrupted really beautiful! also in no way am i trying to make fun of any religion. i was quite religious myself! i value and respect anyone in any religion! this piece was also kind of a reflection of my own inner turmoil... anyways! i hope you enjoy and please stay tuned to the end for a poll determining something tehe...AND LET ME KNOW YOUR THOUGHTS OFCCC!! NOW ENJOY!! ALSO NOT PROOFREAD SO PLS KEEP THAT IN MIND!

Every Sunday, your mother would wake you up early in the morning to attend church with your family. The thin line between filial obligation and genuine devotion blurred with each sunrise. Your parents approached church with a fervor you used to share. Honestly, you found it quite boring, like a duty. Don’t misunderstand, whispers of belief still flickered within you, undying embers that display a gentle glow. Even in moments of despair or dark times, you often find yourself praying to the Lord; but on top of the catholic school you had gone to for your whole life, you found Sunday services tedious, as en extension of what you went through on a daily basis. You also spent the last two nights wasted beyond belief, and you waking up early for church was the last thing you wanted to do. This Sunday was nothing special, unfortunately. Peeling yourself from the comfort of your bed, you slowly get ready for service.

Sitting in your pew, your mind can’t help but wander. Thoughts of anything and everything fill your mind, in attempts to keep you awake during the priest’s sermon. A gentle nudge from your mother jolted you back to a semblance of piety. Her whispered reprimand, "Focus, darling," carried the weight of disappointment and a subtle plea for adherence. You plastered a thin smile on your face and offered a barely-there nod. You have stared at the front of this church so many times, you could draw it without reference.

The vibrant hues of the stained-glass windows, the worn kneelers that bore the indentations of countless prayers, the stoic statues flanking the entrance, it all felt more familiar than comforting. Behind the granite altar, sat the deacon and altar servers; like usual. Except this time, your eye catches an unfamiliar face on the right side of the deacon. He sat toward the end, two other altar servers on his left side. He was dressed like the others, clad in the customary floor-length white robe. His hair was a dark red, a little bit longer, and parted a little toward the side. His eyes big, as his attention is on the priest and his words.

A sardonic chuckle bubbled up in your chest, a silent stir in the holy air. Angelic. That new altar server looked angelic. How utterly cliché. If you were any closer, your blatant staring would be a cardinal sin in its own right. Minutes bled into an eternity as you wrestled with the tedious sermon and the incredibly good-looking boy behind the priest. Just as his monotone reached a fever pitch, a stirring announced the impending communion. Relief, both welcome and unwelcome, washed over you. Relief from the droning sermon, yet unwelcome because it meant the inevitable procession of the altar servers – and your unexpected fixation. With a practiced efficiency, the servers rose, their white robes billowing as they glided down the aisle. Luck, or perhaps a touch of divine irony, had placed you at the very end of the pew, closest to the spectacle about to unfold.

Angel boy, as you couldn't help but label him in the traitorous corners of your mind, drew closer. His face, bathed in the soft glow of the stained-glass windows, held an enigmatic quality. Was it the hint of a smirk playing on his lips, or the way his eyes seemed to hold a depth that transcended the sterile walls of the church? The closer he got, the more the sanctity of the ritual blurred with a curiosity that felt both illicit and strangely sacred. Your eyes locked. Inevitably, undeniably. And your eye contact lingers for a beat too long. A smirk, barely contained, played on his lips before he flicked his gaze away. But not before a telltale blush bloomed at the tips of his ears. He finally makes his way out of your view. Shame, hot and unwelcome, flooded your cheeks as you watched him disappear down the aisle. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a loud drumbeat against the backdrop of solemn hymns.

The taste of forbidden fruit lingered on your tongue, a mix of guilt and a desire you couldn't quite place. The once-tedious ritual now felt charged with a newfound tension, the air thick with an unspoken something that threatened to shatter the carefully constructed walls of your - currently dwindling - faith.

The altar servers returned, their white robes whispering against the polished floor. As the line snaked its way forward, a playful thought tickled your mind. A sly smile played on your lips, a secret shared only with yourself, as you approached the angel-faced boy holding the communion bread. With hands demurely clasped in front of you – the picture of a devoted daughter – you tilted your head up, meeting his gaze. His eyes, the color of rich chocolate, widened momentarily before flickering down. A hint of rose stained his cheeks. You see his adam’s apple bob as he gulps.

He held a piece of bread out, his voice a mere tremor. "The Body of Christ," he murmured.

“Amen.” You reply, leaning forward slightly, your arms pushing your boobs together and showing cleavage that you know he can see. Instead of extending your hands, you kept them clasped. You stick your tongue out as your eyes look at him through lowered lashes.

He cleared his throat, his hand trembling slightly as he held the bread closer. He placed the bread on your tongue with a slight tremor in his hand. You retracted your tongue with a triumphant smirk, the taste of the bread a mere secondary sensation to the unexpected jolt of electricity that had shot through you at the contact. You met his eyes again, a playful glint in them. A single word, more so a sound, escaped your lips, a soft "Mmm," before you retreated back down the line, a smile playing your my lips. The sign of the cross felt almost sacrilegious in this new context as you maintained unwavering eye-contact with the angel boy.

The brief exchange ignited a thrill within you. This wasn't just harmless interest. An unknown urge, long dormant, roared awake. You craved the challenge of chipping away at that perfect exterior, of shattering the halo that seemed welded above his head. Maybe then, you could see the real boy – and maybe, just maybe, a part of you yearned to be touched by his innocence. Or break it… who knows?

The weight of Monday settled over you uncomfortably and unwillingly. Another week of school stretched before you. In homeroom, surrounded by your friends – Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Minji – you couldn't help but relive the memory.

Sunghoon, slumped over your desk, groaned, "Church yesterday was enough to put a saint to sleep. I swear, I drifted off right after the Our Father."

"Then why'd you drag yourself to the early service?" you chuckled.

"Blame Minji," Sunghoon mumbled, accusatory eyes flickering towards her.

Minji, unfazed, countered, "Hey, it's not my fault you crashed at my place. You know my parents prefer the eight o'clock mass."

Jungwon chimed in, "Maybe we should stop going out so late on Saturdays?"

Four pairs of eyes shot daggers at him. "Thank the lord I snagged a free pass yesterday," Jay said with a smug grin. "Parents out of town mean no mandatory church duties."

"Yeah, but you missed a nice show," Jungwon piped up, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What show exactly, Wonnie?" you feigned innocence, a subtle warning lacing your voice. Jungwon wasn't fooled. "The little performance you put on with the new altar server. You're sick and twisted.”

A playful smirk spread across your face. "Maybe I am, but you love it," you declared, smothering him in a teasing hug. Jungwon squirmed, laughter escaping his lips as he tried to fend you off.

Minji chimed in, “Care to elaborate?”

A conspiratorial glint sparked in your eyes. “Yes, yes mother…Let's just say there's a new, really hot, altar boy… and he’s perfect! Too perfect, if you know what I mean.” A beat of silence follows, confusion falls over everyone before you respond, “Need to ruin him a bit.”

The boys rolled their eyes in unison, but Jay couldn't resist a question. "How exactly do you plan on achieving that, Miss Mother Mary?”

You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, “Well-“

The shrill of the first bell sliced through your conversation like a choirboy's off-key note. Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Kim, swept in with a stern expression, instantly silencing the room. You exchanged helpless glances with your friends and raise both your hands in false defeat as they walk away from your desk and to their respective seats. Leaning in with a conspiratorial glint, Minji whispers, “You better tell us at lunch, bitch,” she points her finger at you and you laugh her off with confirmatory nod.

Before the morning prayer could play through the speakers, Mrs. Kim cleared her throat, silencing the room with a single, sharp rap on her desk. "Good morning, class. Today, we have a new student joining us. Please welcome him warmly." Her gesture towards the door was all it took for the air to whoosh from your lungs. Your jaw practically unhinged itself as the angel-faced altar server from Sunday, walked into the classroom. A breathless gasp escaped your lips, “no fucking way”.

You couldn't believe your luck. Here he was, the object of your amusement, deposited right into your everyday life. An unholy grin split your face, the possibilities swirling in your mind like incense smoke in a cathedral. This was exactly what you prayed for the night before.

You tap sunghoon’s shoulder, who was sitting in the seat in front of you. He leaned back, brow furrowed in confusion, as you leaned in to whisper, "That's him." Sunghoon's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect "o" before snapping shut in realization. He whipped around in his seat, confirming your words with a silent nod. Jungwon had already caught your message through a glance. You threw him a devilish smile, his lips twitching with barely contained amusement. He leaned over to Jay, who was seated next to him, and relayed the news in hushed tones. Sunghoon, mirroring your earlier action, tapped Minji's shoulder diagonally across the aisle, sending the news rippling through your little group like a clandestine prayer chain. A silent wave of excitement washed over you and your friends. This unexpected turn of events proved to be far more entertaining than any Sunday service. The prospect of having him, the object of your wicked plan, in your daily life was a delicious twist of fate, and you couldn't wait to see how it would all unfold.

“Hello everyone, my name is Lee Heeseung. It’s lovely to meet you all.” He scanned the sea of faces before him, his gaze drifting casually across the classroom. Then, something – you – caught his eye. Your hand twirled a strand of hair with practiced ease. The other waved at him, not a simple greeting, but a slow, deliberate movement that sent a shiver down his spine. You knew exactly what it looked like. An invitation, a subtle message almost saying ‘I know you thought of me last night’. A flush crept up Heeseung's neck, a telltale sign mirrored by the rapid bob of his Adam's apple. He could practically feel the heat of your gaze on him. Mrs. Kim brought his attention back to her, “Nice to have you here Heeseung, there’s an empty seat in the third row by the window.” His gaze met yours once more. He made his way towards his seat, two rows ahead and two rows to the right. Your eyes never left his figure when you noticed the all-too familiar blush at the tip of his ears.

The first bell pierced the charged silence, jolting everyone back to reality. A flurry of activity erupted as classmates gathered their books and shuffled out. You darted playful glances at your friends, their attention firmly fixed on Heeseung. Laughter bubbled up inside you, barely contained. With a final shove of notebooks into his bag, Heeseung seemed to hesitate, catching your eye across the room. You couldn't help but smirk, so excited to ruin him. Picturing how different he would look with pierced ears, a cigarette in his mouth, and you on his lap. You just couldn’t wait. The familiar weight of Jay's arm slung around your shoulder grounded you momentarily. "First period, babe?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. "Actually, jongseongie,” you began, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes, "go ahead with the others. I have a… matter to attend to with a certain altar server."

Your friends, well aware of your little new toy, burst into laughter. Jay, however, rolled his eyes playfully. "Imma wait for you outside then,” he announced, resignation coloring his voice. “Or.. you could go to our class? You can’t keep avoiding Giselle forever you know.“

“I do nottt wanna see her _. Also, you know she never liked you, so she gets mad when we walk in together.”

“Whatever you say, Jay.”

He flashed a charming, albeit fake, smile before disappearing out the door. With a final playful roll of your eyes, you turned your attention to the angel at the center of your growing intrigue. Heeseung, now the sole occupant of the classroom, seemed strangely hesitant, his gaze lingering on you. A slow, confident stride carried you towards him, the promise of a delicious encounter hanging thick in the air. Everything about him was a siren song, drawing you in with an irresistible pull. His large, doe-like eyes, framed by dark red hair that tumbled playfully just above his brow, seemed to speak pure and sweet nothings into the air. It’s as if the cruel world hasn’t reach those beautiful big eyes yet. But the most captivating detail was the way his ears, like delicate seashells, flushed a brilliant crimson whenever your gazes met. You already pictured what they’d look like adorned in silver. A slow, predatory smile played on your lips as you sauntered towards his desk. Resting your palms on top of his desk, you leaned in close, the scent of his nervous cologne filling your senses. Your voice, normally laced with mischief, took on a sugary sweetness that would make even the most hardened saint wince. “Nice to see you again, altar boy,” you purred, drawing out the words.

His blush deepens, spreading from his ears down his neck. He stammers a reply, stuttering, "H-hi… I, uh, didn't expect to see you here."

“Likewise…” your smirk widens, reaching out your hand, nails painted red, “I’m _, nice to meet you Heeseung.”

He hesitates before his hand reaches yours, responding to your introduction with a shy smile, his doe-eyes sparkling up at you the whole time. Oh how you wish to swim so deep in those beautiful eyes.

"Well, altar boy," you teased, your voice laced with a sweetness that sent shivers down your own spine. "I'd love to chat more, but wouldn't want to keep you from your first day, would we?"

Fishing out a red pen, you held it between your teeth and uncapped it with a flick of your thumb. "Real quick, though," you bargained, a playful glint in your eyes. You extend your left hand, palm up. Hesitantly, he mirrors your gesture, placing his right arm within your grasp. You scribble your phone number on the smooth skin of his inner arm, finishing it off with a perfectly drawn heart.

"Call me, Hee," you purred, leaning in conspiratorially. "I'll be waiting." With a wink that could melt glaciers, you retreated, your hand brushing against his again as you slipped past him. Out in the hallway, you met Jay, a mischievous grin plastered on your face.

Heeseung, left speechless in your wake, peered out from the now-empty classroom. His fingers traced the inscription on his arm, the warmth of your touch lingering alongside the heat of his blush. With a shaky breath, he tucked your phone number beneath his sleeve. He should probably get to his first period class, but his mind was already swirling with the image of you.

AUTHORS NOTE: HELLOOOO!! now for the poll: would you like smut in this? yes or no!

#enhypen #enhypen angst #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen ff #luvrseung #heeseung #lee heeseung #enhypen heeseung #engene #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fanfiction

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maleyanderecafe · 1 year ago

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The Yandere Angel is obsessed with a good-natured succubus (Oneshot)

Created by: aironiro

Genre: Smut

This one was really difficult to word properly and I'm not really sure why. It's not because of the angel and demon words that I don't know it's just kind of weirdly translated. That might be on my end because I finished this one while I was still sick. Hopefully it makes enough sense that it's still enjoyable though, I did like the backstory that the yandere had in this one. It's pretty interesting. If you are interested in a sequel, please donate to kofi.com/lovesicktranslation to fund it.

The story starts out with Lilith being recognized by her fellow succubus, Meribel, who hasn't seen her since the French Revolution. Meribel talks about how there's a corrupted angel attacking people, including the reaper, Yvette. While talking, Meribel is threatened by Cyril, the corrupted angel she was talking about, and Lilith is able to shoo her away. We see that Cyril has been chasing after Lilith for a while, to the point of attacking other Reaper. Cyril asks to have sex with Lilith, which she accepts because she it's kind of her nature, but is basically overwhelmed by it, something that she is confused and horrified by as Cyril ravishes her body. She passes out and recalls her first encounter with him, having gone to an orphanage to corrupt a priest, only to meet Cyril as a child. Cyril seems to be bullied at the orphanage, and Lilith defends him from spirits that want to take his pure soul away. She talks to him a bit, about how she's actually quite fond of humans. She remarks that because his soul is so pure, he will likely become an angel, and that the two will never meet again, and that even if they did, she would eat him. Lilith ends up waking up at her human friend Akari's place after having passed out. She's worried that Cyril might attack Akari and gets a note from Cyril on where to meet. Cyril upon meeting Lilith again, apologizes for what he's done, and states that he wants to be corrupted so that he can be with Lilith again. The two have sex again, and apparently the reason why Lilith feels so good while having sex with Cyril is because it's a taste of true love (?) something that succubus don't taste as they usually charm the people they're targeting. After all that, Lilith takes a liking to Cyril, even planning to allow him to meet and sort of make sure that he doesn't cause any problems.

I'm not super used to oneshot yandere smut splitting up the actual sex part into two sections, but this one does do that and it kept on throwing me for a loop while I was translating. Personally, I think the idea of a succubus feeling intense pleasure when they are actually loved seems kind of stupid, since I feel like there are people who do fall in love at first sight, so a succubus should be used to that type of feeling, or at least have experienced it once before. The lore of the angels and devils aren't made that clear in this story, which might be because this is part of a second series, with the first one introducing Togo and Akari. I guess it doesn't really need to be because it's a smut, but it does leave a lot to be desired. The most interesting part for me is the backstory, since we do get to see how and why Cyril became so obsessed with tracking her down, even if there is seemingly a weird age gap between them since I believe Lilith would have been around 200 years old when meeting Cyril who died at age 14 according to the end profiles (which is never mentioned at all in the story but alright).

Cyril as a yandere is pretty obsessive, having basically ignored the orders of god so much that his halo and wings ended up getting corrupted just so that he could track down Lilith, and even ended up attacking and wounding Yvette (who supposedly is difficult to kill) and nearly hurting Meribel had Lilith not stepped into saving him. He also seemed to have kept his virginity up to this point. I mean I am sort of glad they have a reason to why Cyril a virgin is able to make Lilith a succubus feel good, but it's still pretty stupid in my opinion. I still don't really get why Lilith ends up keeping Cyril at the end, but I guess it's better than letting a yandere angel run around for a bit. Always cool to see a yandere angel though since that's not something you'd normally see in this scenario. Yandere demons seem to be more common and for good reason.

Anyways, hopefully you enjoy this oneshot. The artwork in it is pretty loose so I could get away with the cleaning easier. The fonts kind of irked me because the original Chinese I was basing it off of uses way too many different fonts.

#The Yandere Angel is obsessed with a good-natured succubus #male yandere #yandere boy #yandere #recomendation #oneshot #manga

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llycaons · 1 month ago

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reread ch47- 49: asmodeus's plan clicked for me in this chapter and I understand now. aruma arima writer than you are....

I thought this implied that she forced herself to sing as an act of self-sacrifice simply because it made sarah happy, but what actually made her throat burn was her hatred and fear of her father wasn't it. to make sarah happy

confronting his trauma directly in the guise of a non-threatening peer and fellow victim of asmodeus oh I'm ill

I think she's playing it up to get close to him but I also fully believe there's a truth there because. how couldn't you be. I'd be terrified of the all-powerful creator of the universe who hurt me too. and he's my DAD? like

of course priest was also violently abused by both his father and the priests who raised him ohhh she's not even lying about this and it's still manipulative as hell. SICK!!!! I'm watching a horror movie I'm walter inside the locked car beating at the window going NOOO SHE'S LYING TO YOU!!!!! PRIEST!!!!!!! this might be one of the only good parts of this arc but it IS really good

MEANWHILE asmodeus is starting to see in priest the one woman she ever truly loved and didn't assault...

trying to square asmodeus's plan with her knowledge of priest's trauma again...he looked visibly upset in that mental image she has so she KNOWS it'll be distressing for him....ACTUALLY tho. priest states so confidently in ch1 'nobody get pleasure from rape but the rapist' to counter asmodeus's statement, and that's not always quite true in real life in terms of purely physical response but the series seems to stand by it pretty firmly (but it's a concept I feel might harm survivors ngl and maybe they'll talk abt it more later in the story), but maybe asmodeus in her long life has seen, participated in, and helped create so much sexual violence that she's seen the exceptions and the guilt and horror and confusion that stem from them, and she's confident that priest will be one of them, because of what she sensed in him...

it's not a question that's answered here for priest because he fights back against her quickly enough, but honestly I think that would explain a lot of asmodeus's behavior in this arc. like 'oh you SAID you didn't want it but deep you you liked it didn't you, and you feel guilty about that and it'll lead you into a shame spiral that'll just make you fall more', compared to the conventional 'succumbing to sexual thoughts is evil and will corrupt you and make you fall' thought. yes....I GET IT. FUCKED UP. really good take on it though, using rape and victim-blaming and the subsequent shame/alienation as the sin/what the demon does rather than a consensual sexual encounter (which was stated early on to be okay and normal!!). this isn't the first time rape is positioned as sin rather than the conventional christian teaching of sin as something else unapproved of else (consensual but unconventional sex, homosexuality), if we read into dante's sodom and gomorroh allusion in his discussion with verge (see the meta 'dante and betrayal')

this is what asmodeus is trying to do, compared to imuri's 'I want to make him happy in leaving the church' (and the unspoken but extremely obvious 'if we have sex it'll be consensual on both sides'). I GET IT NOW....the writing made sense I just didn't understand the sophistication of asmodeus's writing I was like 'is she dumb' but no...she gets it she WANTS to create a broken husk of a child with miserable shame surrounding his actions and desires...

oh yeah she wasn't done with her sentence. she also wants to own him spiritually

asmodeus isn't particularly a sympathetic character I think but the depth she gets in these upcoming chapters is insane I love it

she rly loved this women for thousands of years....jesus

NO...THIS IS A FLASHBACK. beelzebub was so much better than this...and it's the most emotionally heavy arc surrounded by the most light-hearted setting isn't it. the fucking...school festival. and THIS? the contrast is nauseating. tho school is a setting for sexual assault to happen too...it really does remind you that priest and the others are just teenagers

anyway the left-hand corridor, which leads to aria, is in shadow

I've wondered a bit about imuri's age too and this manga would simply not work thematically if she was supposed to be an adult so I must assume despite her chronological age she's the equivalent of a demon teenager. an older one, sure, but she acts around 17-18. still, I wonder if anything will come of priest being two years younger than her fake age. at this point, unlikely, since she's been revealed...

hey do we think imuri's had sex? I guess it would depend on how much she's liked the people she's been sent to seduce - she's been very clear on that. what a troublesome demonic agent! she'll only do her job if she really likes the person? lmao, I'm surprised satan picked her for this

anyway 48 is titled "If I Could Go Back' ohhh I know I say this a lot but I'm literally ill. the upcoming chapters have some of THE most disturbing imagery in the manga. to me

SAME

imuri trying to shoehorn herself in 😭

this panel is quite funny because imuri is very moved, hand over her mouth, blushing, collapsed behind a wall, etc. and priest is just standing there like 🧍

does she just not think asmodeus is going to try something. IMURI...

oh I didn't realize the sara/asmodeus painting imuri did was AT THE ARIA CONCERT. good lord

and it reminds priest of her too...god

more of imuri trying, and not quite succeeding, at connecting with priest and uplifting him. he needs...what does he need? a trusted adult? a community of trusted adults? no...he needs people like him, right? people unconnected from the church, people who get it. that's why he was able to connect so well with aria, and why bel got through to him. hecares about imuri, but she hasn't been through what he's been through (or so he thinks...she has no loveof the church either tho)

VERGE AND PRIEST FRIENDSHIP PLEASE....if there's ANYONE who a. knows what it's like to be exploited by the church b. was let down by the adults who were supposed to look after you and c. is also a real human being with csa trauma it's verge. he's not a demon lord, he's in hell right now too, and they've already had relatively friendly conversations. priest is so angry rn I don't know if that's going to be happening anytime soon but god...what if verge also wants lucifer's help to bring dante back? hm no, he'll more likely go on a journey to find his soul won't he. damn

this bet was so fucking stupid. girl...anyway it did effectively convey how much closer priest felt to aria after she pinpointed his traumas and manipulated him by pretending they were the same as hers

really fucking ominous final panel

USELESS IDIOT

oh shit, we do see him take it out! I wonder if part of the reason we never see it come out is because he's never comfortable talking about it before. but here it is!

this is so fucking twisted. what if a growth and healing arc through a close connection with another survivor of assault was a lie and the person you were trusting was your rapist bent on breaking you

going to cry...I wonder if imuri could have had this with the priest too, if she could have told him about HER past and her pain of rejection. she alluded to it a little, but...I guess her situation is just different than his in a lot of ways. but she's been limited and demonized (ha!) by the church too for so long, surely he could see himself in her in that way...

I've always really liked this visual

hmm when he reacts to aria, he's not just embarrassed - he panics. he immediately tries to leave. he's SCARED.

#mtefil lb #next up is the actual sarah plot whoops

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dollivication · 8 months ago

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hii its.. its me again..

so.. priest!v.. but hes actually a sorcerer not a real priest and thats js a cover:3 He comes to town looking for a virgin for one of his sacrifices or sum

the church absolutely loves him!! they have no idea of his true nature, they js think hes their holy priest and they admire him for that Hes pretty much their prophet:( hes js a very good actor:( kinda like the fortuna cult in dmc4 skkfkejr

he finds nun!user on the church once and hes like.. absolutely sure that theyre the chosen one for his sacrifice!! theyre js too pretty, theyll be perfect for it:333 so he uses his status as a very trusted and respected priest to manipulate user into trusting him by lovebombing them, telling them theyre special, that theyre the chosen ones (he js doesnt tell what theyre being chosen for lol) and user falls right into the trap bc how can they not? thats the most respected priest their church have!! ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)⁭ ⁭

so he takes them to a forest or sum empty place to finally accomplish his whole mission:3 by the very end when hes ready to perform the sacrifice— he js cant bring himself to actually do it:( he realizes that he became wayyy to infactuated w user to let them go js like that:(

but now user knows his true nature so he needs to act fast!! he ends up seducing them and once again they js cant say no to him not even when they know thats hes a dirty unholy sorcerer<\\\3 so he DOES take users virginity but not in the way he planed to 🫨🫨

to avoid the backlash or risking anyone ever knowing he js packs his shit and leaves before they even notice his absence. of course hes also taking user w him bc theyre his now duhhh!! Maybe they create their own crazy cult in some new place who knows:3

this ones been tickling my brain i need to scream it to the world omfg im cryingkkdkfkdjf

THIS WAS SO??? THIS HAS ME IN A CHOKEHOLF.. ANON PLWASE IM LITERALLY ON MY KNEES FOR PRIEST/SORCERER!V……. i LOVE YU SAUR MICH??

he’s literally so “perfect”, everyone relies on him and he promises salvation! whats not to trust?? he KNOWS that he’s pretty much got the entire town wrapped around his finger, he’s not ashamed to do some subtle browsing in women! but he’ll get pretty disheartened, some of the women already have children therefore are NOT virgins, and the others have such dirty minds :/ he needs someone PURE!! that’s the only way he believes his sacrifice can be complete.

so when user fits that criteria, best BELIEVE he’s doing everything in his power to lure user in! and because they’re so innocent, and because he’s got a pretty solid reputation, user is swoooooning :3 his touches grow bolder, his praise becomes more personal. even playing his cards right, he can’t help but actually feel something for his little ol user (◞‸◟) they’re just so… unaware of the corruption he can’t help but take a bit of pity

that small amount of sympathy got out of hand quickly.. he just can’t do the sacrifice!! so the next thing he does is ease user into a trance-like state, kissing them all over while whispering about how he was gonna bring heaven to them. user is so confused and squirmy, but he makes do, because it’s sooo cute to see their face scrunch up when he fills them with his seed<3

as soon as post nut clarity hits, he is IMMEDIATELY thinking “ah nah i gotta get tf out of here”. user is so drunk off his touches that they’re terribly compliant with everything he says, even when he tells them they’re gonna run away together someplace new. they trust him, don’t they? then they’ll know that he only means well and knows what’s best for them >.<

bless yu.. SO MUCH ANON!!! this is itching my brain very very nicely… i want him so BAD ITS SO HORRENDOUS

#dmc v #v sparda x you #v x reader #v sparda #devil may cry #dolly thinks

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serephos · 3 months ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞: 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

cw; implications of sexual abuse, descriptions of grooming, religious trauma, profane language

word count; 829

Salvation.

The stained glass windows cast kaleidoscope shadows across polished pews, a deceptively beautiful prison where faith once flourished. Now it festers like a wound, memories seeping poison through my veins with each beat of my treacherous heart. Even the filtered sunlight feels tainted, a mockery of divine grace that once promised protection but delivered only pain. My father's jade Buddha watched impassively from our shelf, a cultural heirloom devoid of spiritual comfort - his Japanese-American heritage diluted by generations on foreign soil, leaving only empty traditions and prettier lies.

Mom abandoned her Catholic upbringing years ago, though she kept her mother's rosary out of obligation rather than devotion. Grandma, barely sixty and radiant with misplaced faith, still attended mass every Sunday, dragging me along to "save my soul." The plastic beads of her rosary now roll between my fingers like tears, each one a testament to innocence lost.

The darkness crept in slowly at first. Expensive gifts. Special attention. The way he'd stroke my hair during family gatherings, his touch lingering just a fraction too long. "Such a good boy," he'd whisper. "So pure. So special." The camera came later, its mechanical click a metronome counting down to my destruction.

My grandmother taught me to kneel in prayer. My uncle taught me to kneel for other things. "God loves you," he'd breathe, the sake sweet on his tongue as he positioned me just so, "but not enough to save you. This is what He made you for." The videos and photographs accumulated like mortal sins, evidence of my "corruption" stored on flash drives and memory cards - insurance against the day I might find my voice.

I was ten when the first polaroid captured my shame. Thirteen when he upgraded to digital, each megapixel preserving my degradation in perfect clarity. Fifteen when I finally broke in that confessional, splinters from cheap wood piercing my knees in crown-of-thorns mockery. Grandma had insisted confession would "cleanse my soul," her faith as pure as mine had once been. The priest's response to my choked admissions still echoes: "The grave sin of homosexual corruption requires more than mere contrition." He never questioned why a child spoke of such acts, never heard my screams beneath the words. "Twenty Hail Marys," he intoned, "and pray for deliverance from these unnatural urges."

I vomited on the chapel steps.

The flash drive tumbled from my backpack onto polished marble floors. In our modernist living room, where every surface gleamed with calculated perfection, that small device looked obscene. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the soft whir of the central air and distant footsteps - probably my siblings upstairs. Mom's perfectly manicured nails clicked against her MacBook as she plugged it in. The screen's cold blue light illuminated their faces, casting harsh shadows across our imported furniture. Dad's coffee cup shattered against the floor, the sound explosive in the suffocating quiet. Mom's scream started low, guttural, before rising to something primal that didn't belong in our carefully curated space. The rosary beads scattered across Italian tile, each plastic click a gunshot in the darkness. They bounced off minimalist art pieces and designer lamps, rolling under the custom sofa where sake-sweet whispers still echoed: "show me you love Jesus" and "this is our special secret" and "God made you perfect for this."

The memories crystallize like blood on altar cloth. Four years of darkness captured in megapixels and nightmares. "Please, Uncle, no more," echoes in my head, a litany of unanswered prayers. He taught me things no child should know, corrupted every sacred thing with profane touch until even genuine affection felt like sin. Each photograph a stations of the cross, marking my descent into hell while angels turned their backs.

I keep the rosary now, its broken beads a testament to shattered faith. Grandma collapsed when she learned the truth - her pure faith crumbling in the face of such evil. The rosary stands as an artifact of what was lost - of childhood innocence sacrificed on an altar of adult perversion, of prayers that died in a child's throat while God watched and did nothing.

"Sometimes," I whisper to my therapist, fingers tracing invisible rosary beads with the muscle memory of childhood prayers, "I think about all the other lost souls kneeling in those confessionals, choking on secrets while men of God dispense empty absolution like cheap candy. How many children learned that sanctuaries are just gilded cages, where stained glass filters light but can't cleanse the darkness beneath? And I wonder about that silent God they taught us to worship - watching from His celestial throne as children's prayers echo unanswered through marble halls. At least in my uncle's eyes I could see the darkness, could name the evil destroying me. But what do you call it when divinity itself turns away, leaving children to drown in shadows while hymns drift overhead?"

a/n: was actually really nervous to post but i hope you guys enjoyed this! ᓚᘏᗢ

#serephos #booklr #prologue #original story #ocs #original character #writing #writerscommunity #writblr #stories #story #original post #literature #authors #books #bookblr

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contrasting-realities · 1 year ago

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Caleb/Outlander Character intro

You were born with the soul of the caressing. Your nature is one of kindness and compassion to others.

Your earliest years were spent in the kingdom of Rondon with your parents and younger brother, it was a happy life but not one that would last.

Increasing taxes and land foreclosures became commonplace in your country and your family’s farm wasn’t safe from this. Overnight, all the money had dried up and you were left with nothing.

With the last few dimes left in the bank, your father bought a seafare to move to the newly claimed Vinland, however no one knew the truth of this cursed voyage.

What was initially a month-long voyage doubled, with the vessel hopelessly lost at sea both passengers and crew began to succumb to starvation.

One of these unfortunate victims was your mother, who fought until her last breath.

Your father was drowned in guilt from this and took his own life, not only from the grief but so that you and your brother would have ‘something to eat’.

With the sailors praying for the deceased, they decide to respect his last wishes. Both of you are saddened beyond belief, you see the pain in your brother’s eyes but also feel the pain of hunger, you decide to…

Let your brother eat what was left for you (Bloodlust)

You eventually lost your mind to hunger, only recovering once landfall was finally made.

Split the carcass in half and take your fill (Devour)

Eventually, the boat does reach Vinland, and it was worse than you imagined.

Beyond the shores lied a land polluted by energy from the old gods, corrupting anyone who stepped near and taking those who got lost.

The small settlement you lived in was in constant terror of being wiped out by monsters, many went mad from the fear alone. The dark priests were the only ones who could keep their minds pure, ironically.

Either way, your parents died and you were left with Philip, your younger brother, who eventually fell victim to the wilds.

He was found, but lived with corruption from the maddening light since, slowly turning into a ferocious beast and seeing things that weren’t there.

After this you decide to begin training with weapons in addition to your work routine to defend your family, you enter an armory and decide to purchase…

Bow & Arrows (short bow, 5 arrows)

Axe and shield (Axe, wooden buckler)

Years passed and you carried on.

You eventually married one of the dark priests, a woman named Evelyn, and had a child with her but once again life was cruel to you.

Philip, now an adult, kidnapped your son after he was born, not wanting him to grow up in the same place that nearly drove him insane.

Your marriage never recovered after that, you couldn’t blame your brother for wanting to protect your child and you even began to reconsider the situation.

Evelyn wasn’t nearly as forgiving however and searched all over Rondon for him, but never found anything.

Afterwards, you went on an expedition with many other men to explore the interior of the continent.

The place wanted to twist your mind but you prevailed anyway.

Before leaving this realm, your men find a few bizarre artifacts and you consider trying your luck.

Take souvenirs from the interior (Soul Stone, failed conflip: Panophobia)

Unfortunately the relic you found tainted you with Panophobia, a fear of everything.

Don’t touch anything and flee back home (Enables Dash later)

It took many days and nights to return back home but by the time you returned, it was too late.

A mercenary band had raided your village, taking an artifact hoarded by dark priests and killing many.

Sadly, your wife wasn’t spared from this tragedy, none of those like her were.

Those who survived described their leader, a man named Belos who wore a golden dear mask, you recognized him as the leader of the Knights Of The Golden Eagle.

You immediately packed and snuck onto a boat to follow him, if not to settle your anger then to at least calm your grief.

Upon reaching Rondon, you learn that he’d been captured and sent to languish inside a horrible dungeon, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

On your last night before leaving the city, you…

Stock up on equipment (x3 iron arrows, bear trap)

Stock up on food (One Dried meat, a moldy bread, x3 carrots)

Stock up on healing items (x4 blue herbs, a white vial, x2 cloth fragment)

Rush straight after him (Dash if certain choices were made above)

#the owl house #the owl house au #fear and hunger #emperor belos #philip wittebane #caleb wittebane #toh x funger au

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monochromaticwriting · 8 months ago

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Listen, I got inspired by this picture by @the-crow-binary, but also because @beevean left a prompt that I can only say, temporarily possessed me. So sorry it's short, and also, I apologize for how out of character Hector is. But I hope y'all still enjoy it 🩷.

Hector was in the trees, listening to the preachings of the man, just below him. He had no interest in the God for which this man was teaching, but he was interested in the man. Every word, every action, was held deep within Hector's mind, bouncing and buzzing like the Devil on his shoulder. Hector was quick to shush the Devil and refocus back on the man.

Father Mathias. A man who looked far too young to be a priest, though Hector knew better. He had been watching this priest for awhile, a part of him yearning for the man. A yearning to touch, to taste, to push and take and take and take. His Lord would be so proud of Hector now, for Hector lusting after a man, he'd never get even a chance to be with. That didn't matter now, whatever his Lord would be saying at this bitter irony was being pushed to the back of his mind.

Mathias' preachings were dwindling, signaling that they would be over soon. As soon as the last person left, so would Hector.

But not now. Hector was going to wait, wait until Father Mathias was alone. Then, then he'd come out of his hiding spot, revealing himself to the object to his wanton desire. Was this what his lord felt when around both he and Isaac? If so... Hector understood it better now. The need to take something holy, and break it, until no light is reflected from the shards.

Maybe Lord Dracula would allow him to take the priest back to the Castle with him. Maybe Lord Dracula would sit and watch as Hector tainted and stained Mathias' pure soul. Maybe his Lord was already watching him. Watching as Hector came out of his hiding spot. Watching as Hector walked closer and closer to the priest.

Hector's hands shook as he stood before the priest. There was a subtle fear in Mathias' eyes, along with a faint stutter in his voice. Would Lord Dracula be proud of the predator his boy became? Hector pushed forward, he needed to feel the soft flesh of the priest under his hands. He needed to tear the flesh and meat off him, and make his soul as dark as Hector's. Maybe then...

Maybe then Hector will feel like he deserved to take everything from Mathias. To take and take and take, until the man had nothing left than the corrupted soul in his body. Hector would own everything of Mathias. His body. His freedom. His soul. Maybe that was what caused Hector to push Mathias' face into the dirt and take.

He takes and takes and takes, and when Mathias is unconscious, he brings him to Dracula's Castle. Mathias would never be welcomed back into the world of man, nor would his God ever welcome him into the blessed lands. Leaving the man needing someone to lean on, leaving Mathias vulnerable. Hector would be the one Mathias leaned on. Hector would be the comfort Mathias sought in his God.

Hector would become his God, that he would be sure of.

#toadwrites #non graphic noncon #corruption #Mactor

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proudfreakmetarusonikku · 1 year ago

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Whumptober Day 10: Branding/Scarring/Collars

Demon in disguise AU. Frustrated and amused both at Tommy's unwillingness to give up on his faith, Dream sees himself in the zealotry and stubbornness- and decides he’s a far better owner than any God could be. Warnings for heavy religious themes, a whole lotta blasphemy (Dream is literally a demon here, he doesn’t have the kindest view on Christianity or God), imprisonment, restraints, abuse, torture, possessive behaviour, mutilation, body dysmorphia, dehumanisation, some mild body horror, Tommy telling people to kill themselves because he’s Tommy, suicidal ideation, infantilisation, and a whole lotta God complex.

ao3 link

—— “Our- our father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy-“

Tommy screamed as the white-hot touch of hellfire made contact with his skin, cutting off his pathetic prayers to a God that had forsaken both him and Dream.

Tracing the flesh of his shoulder with a mocking gentleness, Dream pressed down hard until he could smell the burning. He moved his finger to the side, pressing another circle into his skin like a brand.

Moving his finger down a little, letting the touch of the fire burn as he did, he dug burning claws into his skin, and dragged a semi-circle across his skin slowly, making sure each inch burnt until it dug deep into the flesh, enough to leave a mark. Screaming devolved into a howling, feral noise, pure agony making a human become a frightened beast, desperate to free themselves. Tommy struggled, pulling at his chains, but he was so weak all he did was delay the inevitable, causing the pain to prolong itself.

Dream let the flames dim down after he was certain he’d left a mark, shifting his hands back to match his human disguise. He didn’t need the form of the priest now, he supposed- he wasn’t leading his oblivious flock astray from the almighty idiot they naïvely worshipped, and he’d already ensnared the one true devotee in chains of gold and thorns- but honestly, he liked it. His true form felt alien to him, a mockery of what he’d once been as an angel before he dared question that he was anything more than a tool. Being human, at least superficially, felt better than the burdens of horns and hooves marking him as forsaken by a cruel God.

Besides, he looked almost like Tommy in this form. Demons didn’t have such quaint concepts as family, but he liked to think of the boy as perhaps as close to that as he could get. It was comforting to imagine himself human enough for that sort of love.

He took a moment to look at the brand forming on Tommy’s skin- messy and wobbly due to his struggles, but recognisably a smiley face, that of the mask Dream wore in his true form and perhaps the only thing he liked about it. It might not have meant anything to Tommy, but it was for when he finally broke that stubborn faith of his, not for now. It marked Tommy as his, staking a claim on such a devout soul brought low, a prized trophy. More than that, it meant he could keep Tommy safe. He might be “evil” by the closed-minded view of God and humanity, but for a demon, he was downright saintly.

“See, look, there we go, all done.” Dream said gently to try and soothe Tommy’s panicked breaths. Attempting to corrupt him subtly hadn’t worked, guiding him and slowly trying to turn him against the Lord, so he’d turned to extremes to make him recant his faith. But extremes didn’t necessarily just mean pain- it meant whatever he needed to tempt him into falling willingly, or at least something approaching that. Such a thing would be easier if he could get Tommy to not hate him, and besides, he liked the human. His faith was misplaced and naïve, and his stubbornness was annoying, but he was as kind as any human, while being far less boringly predictable. He had a spine, at least, enough to outwill a good number of demons.

Until he’d met Tommy, Dream had always had to choose between the cutthroat politics of Hell, where loyalty was a joke and if anyone got the opportunity to screw him over for selfish pleasure and power, they would, or his job of tempting humans, all so easily swayed with sweet words and a calm presence into throwing their souls away, lacking any individuality. Tommy was unique, all of the positives of both with none of the negatives. He was the closest Dream had ever come to having a friend.

Perhaps the two of them were caught somewhere between angel, demon and man. Perhaps the two of them were the only ones who could ever understand each other.

Tommy, pale and feverish-looking, still managed to give him an intense glare, fire still burning bright in his eyes even as he struggled to keep them open. “The Lord will forgive you for this. But I sure as fuck won’t.”

Dream sighed, conjuring a roll of bandages. “You’ve never met that bastard. Stop talking about things you have no knowledge of.”

“I’ve read the Bible, dumbass. It’s more fuckin’ trustworthy than a devil. You’re just pissed Daddy kicked you out, aren’t you? You big ba-“

“Shut up.” Dream growled, infernal fire mixing into his practised human tone. His fangs broke through his gums, claws digging out of his nail bed, as all he could think of was blind wrath. The humiliation and pain of being cast from Heaven, tarred and slurred as a great evil simply for taking on a name, an identity, a will, bubbled up in him, and even as he glared, approaching what now to him was just prey like a cat did a mouse, burning sulphur tears pricked at his eyes, anger and agony mixing into one.

The insolent boy yelped, opening his mouth to speak, but as Dream’s spine extended, tearing open the skin on his back, he smacked his face with his bony, half-formed tail, slashing a line across from one side of his face to the other, a diagonal, deep gouge from his jaw to his brow. Even in his anger, he took care to not dig too deep, break through something unfixable. Something approaching tough love still remained in his bestial mind, as twisted and unrecognisable as it was to any human.

As quickly as the pure rage took him over, it abated, and he was staring, horrified, at Tommy weakly sobbing. His eyes were no longer filled with hate, but pure fear and terror. Dream couldn’t feel guilt; it was an emotion that was worthless for temptation and sin, but he imagined the sinking feeling in his gut was as close as possible as he could get to it.

“Shit, shit, shit. Okay, uh, stay still.” It was a pointless thing to say- the chains keeping Tommy trapped weren’t something a human could break through, forged in the fires of Hell themselves. There was enough slack to allow him free roam of the space between worlds he was kept in, and the iron collar around his neck wasn’t too heavy, Dream wasn’t cruel, but they were tight and strong. “I- I, I shouldn’t have- just, let me fix it, m’kay?”

He shifted back into the form of the priest, his features dissipating easier than they appeared, before he ran a gentle hand across Tommy’s wound, sewing it shut with dark energy, leaving a crackling, pitch-black scar. Tommy hissed in agony, weakly lifting his hand to the crack and flinching away on touch, his fingertips darkened from the contact.

“W-wha’ did you do to me?” His voice was weak, wavering. It sounded both wrong, painfully unTommylike, and also satisfying. He was so close. So close to saving Tommy from the same fate he befell, wasting his life on a God who neglected him.

And yet, Lucifer was the evil one.

“I made things better!” Dream grinned, despite the fact he didn’t feel exactly happy. “See, look, what did your God do? Nothing! And I helped you. Am I so bad, huh? Or do you think maybe that stupid book of yours might be wrong?”

“You fucking branded me.”

Dream blinked. “Yes? I mean, I know it hurts, but it’s far better that people know you’re mine. There’s a lot of demons far worse than I am, y’know.”

“Oh, so you fucking own me? Yeah, you’re such good guys. Kill yourself; it’s the only way the Lord will ever forgive you.” Even with his eyes half-closed from exhaustion and blood loss, his glare was sharper than any blade. He really did seem more demon than human sometimes.

“Of course I do. You’re part of my flock, right?” Tommy never seemed to mind that before he knew he was a demon. Dream didn’t really get how it was a big deal. “Everyone else belongs to me. Once they die, their soul will be mine to do with as I please. It’s better than letting them suffer and die for some cruel tyrant of a God, right?”

Tommy laughed, with no humour in his voice. “Well, go fuck yourself, because I’m not going to be- be your fucking property in the next life. I’ve already had enough of it in this. I’d rather fucking kill myself.”

“That’s a sin, y’know? So go ahead.”

“I-“ Tommy pouted, clearly frustrated he couldn’t find an answer. “Fucking die.”

Dream burst into wheezing laughter at the sight. Tommy looked ridiculous, small and curled up in the corner with such a childish expression, a scar across one of his eyes and a crude smiley-faced brand on his shoulder, in oversized green pyjamas that fit awkwardly on him, his hair wild, and the shackles and collar holding him sticking out like a sore thumb against his pallid skin.

He didn’t get why they offended Tommy so much. Humans existed to be property, either of Heaven or Hell, and out of them, at least Hell was fun. Sometimes. The collar was just saying the quiet part out loud, and Dream had thought humans liked honesty. Maybe that was another thing demon-like with him, but he doubted it. Most of the time, he was painfully honest.

Honestly, though, Dream didn’t care that much. He liked Tommy like this. Like how he was, innocent and stupid, when he was created to serve. Tommy was close enough to an angel in his loyalty and ridiculous zealotry; he almost was like Dream back then, a tool, an object, miserable. But unlike Dream, he could be saved from being cast aside cruelly. No, he could willingly fall, and he could be treated kindly, not having to be stuck within two worlds. He’d always have someone close to family, something no demon or angel was able to have. It might have been a gilded cage, but so was Heaven, and at least Dream actually gave a shit about him as anything more than a mindless follower and an ego boost.

Perhaps, to a naïve human, that might still seem cruel. But one day, Tommy would thank him. One day, Tommy would see that they were the same, with their own chains, collars, and brands, and Dream was just showing him that in the kindest way possible.

One day, Tommy would realise he was the closest thing to a loving God he foolishly believed in.

#my writing #ailesswhumptober #c!primeboys #dream smp #religious themes tw #blasphemy tw #imprisonment tw #restraints tw #abuse tw #torture tw #possessive behaviour tw #Mutilation tw #dehumanisation tw

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