#nun!reader

It was different to see Father Charlie fall in love with you, the man you believed was someone completely different. He was completely surrendered to you, to your love and comfort that you brought whenever you visited his room while he let you use him as much and whenever you wanted.

Only with you did he confess the sins he had never said out loud to anyone, he showed you the scars on his back while you caressed him saying everything was fine with him, you repeated that there was nothing wrong with him.

A lie, but your warm voice was enough to make him melt again and again as he thought only about pleasing you at all times.

There was a dependency and obsession that you ignored, Charlie Mayhew needed love and you gave it to him leaving him weak every time you fucked.

You’d only been at Clinton Church a few months, and had been less than successful at making your mark amongst its parishioners. Maybe this was your calling.

Father Bartley raises a brow but nods. “Of course. I’ll be in the rectory.”

You smile, watching as he retreats before you turn your gaze back on the visit. Stepping from behind the wall, you clear your throat and walk towards him.

“Can I help you?”

The man doesn't turn around immediately. A few slow, deliberate seconds pass before he finally shifts his weight and faces you. His eyes are sharp. Calm. Like a predator assessing prey. You swallow before coming to a halt.

“I'm looking for someone,” he says, and he’d flipping something between his fingers. “Think her name is sister Maggie..?”

You smile and nod. “Yes, she belongs to this parish. Unfortunately, she’s on sabbatical in Rome right now. Is there…something I can help you with?”

“Rome,” He says it like a curse. The knife stops flipping. He stares past you, jaw tightening slightly before he looks back at your face, and eyeing your clothing. “I need absolution.”

You blink, feeling your smile falter because you cannot help with this. “Oh, I’m sorry I- can’t help in that department. However, Father Bartley is here, and he would be more than-”

“Pray with me.” The man interrupts you, and walks forward, moving into the first row of pews. You pause, unsure of your next move and before you realize it, you’re walking towards him, sliding in the pew beside him.

“I- sure,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap. “Let’s pray.”

“You don’t have to kneel.” He stays seated, hands resting on his thighs. Not folded, and you watch the muscles under his skin flex. “I didn’t come for ritual.”

“Then what did you come for?” You ask, keeping your voice light. You don’t want him to think you’re judging him, that isn’t your job.

“I came to find God.” A pause. “But I think I found something else first.” His eyes lock onto yours, dark and searching. “Do you believe in second chances?”

You consider this before nodding. “Yes. Jesus is all about second chances.”

“I’ve betrayed people,” he murmurs lowly. “I’ve betrayed myself. Done things you can’t even dream of, sister.”

You nod, exhaling slowly. “Isn’t it fortunate that God is forgiving?”

“Funny,” he replies, and the pew creaks as he shifts. “Most people start running when I tell them that,” A dry chuckle escapes him. “But you're still sitting here. I think maybe God sent me to the right church today after all.”

“I truly do hope so,” you hum. You tell him your name, and that if he wants to pray, kneeling might be the best option.

“Dex, ”A muscle in his jaw ticks before he sighs. “Sure.”

Together, you both move to your knees on the bench rest, and you make the sign of the cross over yourself. Dex mimics you and you shut your eyes.

“Heavenly Father, I pray that you take respite on Dex’s heart,” you say in a hushed tone. “His burden is heavy. Remind him that during this trying time, you are helping him carry it.”

It’s quiet for a beat, and you let it linger, allowing Dex a chance to speak if he wishes. After a pregnant pause, he says. “Do you think God listens to guys like me?”

You feel your eyes widen, blinking at him. “I- yes. Of course. He listens to all of us, loves all of us.”

Dex gives a short laugh. “That’s where you’re wrong, sister.”

“What makes you say that?”

“God doesn't listen to men with blood on their hands. I've done things that would make devils proud,” He stares at the stained glass above, rolling his eyes. “not all devils. But…You really think a prayer from me means anything?”

“I do.” You say gently, shifting to face him better. “God is forgiving, and just. And he loves better than any of us ever could. He loves us all.”

“God does not love me.” Dex’s voice is so tight you jump, and he lets out a dry laugh. “You’re jumpy.”

You let out a slow breath before meeting his eyes with a smile. “And you’re avoiding.”

Dex scoffs, and your eyes track a cut long along his left cheek that disappears from view when he turns.

“How can I expect god to love me,” He mutters. “If no one else does?”

“That isn’t true,” you reply instantly, and you take his hand in yours. He goes still as deer in headlights but you don’t pull away. You hold his hand and give a light squeeze. “I love you. I love all of God’s children. And you, Dex, are one of them.”

“You don’t know me.” He gives a rough exhale. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, once. Testing. Hesitant. Like he hasn't been touched kindly in years - maybe ever - and isn't sure how to respond.

“I don’t have to know you to know that God loves you, and would want me to do the same,” you smile, and pat his hand with your other. “I pray that this gives you some peace.”

You go to remove your hand from his grasp but he holds on, his grip tightening. A sense of panic runs down your spine, and your eyes bounce from his face to your joined fingers.

“Dex..?” you blink at him, and his nostrils flare.

“Just-“ his voice cracks and he shifts, moving closer. “just a little longer.”

He takes your hand, and slowly pulls it upwards to his face. When he breathes out it’s shaky, his eyes shutting with a flutter. You feel your own eyes grow and with shaking movements, you uncurl your fingers, and touch the side of his face. Dex sighs, tilting his neck to press his cheek into your palm.

He takes another breath, one that rattles. His lashes brush your skin as he blinks, and then his hand comes up to cover yours on his face, pressing it there tighter. “You’re warm.”

“As are you.” Your voice is thin, strained, and you stare at him for several moments.

Dex pulls your wrist back and opens his eyes. He gives you a crooked smile, and then stands from the bench, towering over you so that you have to strain your neck.

“Thank you, sister,” he says in a deep voice. “I think I found the absolution I was looking for.”

You’re speechless, unsure of what to say, so you nod, watching as Dex steps from around the pew, and slowly walks from the church, his boots thumping on the tiles.

You stay kneeling for several minutes, staring at the hand that had touched his face. Something had stirred within you, something you had long given up during your time at the covenant.

Desire.

That night, you pray the rosary feverishly. You ask God for forgiveness, that you hadn’t meant to have such unpure thoughts, and when you make the sign of the cross over yourself and blow out your candles, you feel just a little bit better.

-

“Recognize this place, you piece of shit?”

Your eyes widen at the curse word, and Father Bartley raises a finger to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet.

You had been in the back office of the church when the front doors had slammed open, and father had held out a palm, telling you to be still. Now you both lean against the office door, listening to two men speak inside the sanctuary.

Someone pants heavily, and your brows knit.

“Father someone might be hurt.” You whisper and he hushes you again.

“We should be safe here, for now.” says a male voice.

There’s a chuckle, a raspy one, and then another man says “safe? What’s the even mean? You know what happens if she dies?”

His speech sounds…slurred. Tired, maybe injured

“Fisk takes the city, turns it upside down and shakes it, til he finds us, and kills us.”

“Me,” insists the second voice. “Til he kills me.”

“Us,” corrects the first man. “I was there. That was more than enough for Fisk.”

“We need to help them.” you insist, and Father nods.

“Stay here,” he says, and you shake your head. “Sister, it isn’t safe.”

“I want to help.” you insist.

“There’s a nurse, she can patch you up,” says the first man, and the other one sighs.

“Nurses, doctors…lawyers, vigilantes, assassins,” he rants in a slurred voice. “killing people, saving people…acting like it makes a difference. like it matters. It’s not about them, it’s about you. About me, just people.”

You look at Father and then you’re pulling the door, opening it and running into the sanctuary. You pause at the pews, drinking in the scene.

“The…the devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” you whisper softly. He turns, Daredevil, his red covered eyes seeming to gloss over you. You look at the man beside him as father runs up behind you and you feel your skin prick. “Dex?”

“Jesus Christ,” Dex’s head rolls to the side as he looks at you, his face draining of color. “Sister? What the hell are you doing here?”

One of his hands press’s to his bleeding side where red soaks through and his eyes dart between Father Bartley and Daredevil in panic.

“Sister get me some bandages.” Father says and you nod, moving to find the first aid kit.

“You can't be involved with this shit,” Dex rasps at you. “Father, make her leave.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, this church will always, provide shelter, to both of you,” Father says in a shaky tone. “But, I think they know you’re here.”

You yank the first aid kit out as a loud flooding comes from the front doors, making you halt. Clutching the first aid kit harder, you run back to the pews and daredevil is shouldering Dex, helping him walk to the back room as Father directs them.

“Hide them here.” he tells you, and you nod as he pulls the doors shut. You turn, watching as Daredevil lowers him to the floor. You step forward and drop to your knees beside Dex, and there’s blood already leaking to the floor.

“Sister... get out of here.” Dex grits his teeth, breathing ragged. “This isn’t your fight.”

“Hello Dex,” you say softly. He smiles and it’s bloody. “I see you made a friend.”

Daredevil scoffs and Dex hums in pain. “The opposite, really,” He reaches up, gripping your wrist as you start to unwrap bandages. Your eyes flick to his and he grits his teeth. “Go. Both of you, need to go.”

You give a short, clipped shake of your head. “I’m going to get the bleeding to stop.”

Dex looks up, past you and his eyes are on Daredevil. He grunts, shifting with a wince.

“I killed your friend, Foggy,” he groans. “and I didn’t think twice. It’s who I am.”

Daredevil exhales, and you can feel anxiety bubble in your chest.

“Save your breath.” You whisper, leaning over him to wrap a bandage. It’s shotty work at best but you have to try.

“Let me die,” Dex tells the other man, nodding at you. “Take her with you, and let me.”

“No,” you snap as Daredevil exhales. You sinch the bandage and Dex’s eyes close.

“I can’t save us both,” Daredevil says. “I’m sorry, I tried.”

He bends at the waist and takes you by the arm. You pull away, fighting him but his grip is strong. “No! We have to help him.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me sister.” Dex is panting, barely conscious, his face is pale.

“I won’t leave you.” Your voice cracks as you shove away from Daredevil, and drop to your knees again, your skirts stained in the blood. The devil of Hell’s Kitchen watches for a moment before he turns and runs out the door, and you set your jaw. You glance at your work before giving him a weak smile. “You’re going to be okay.”

“You’re a terrible liar.” Dex chuckles weakly, his fingers twitching toward your face before falling back limp. “I’m not okay. But… you trying to save me, that’s… nice.”

A wet cough rattles him and blood spills over his lips. He blinks slowly, eyes unfocused now.

“Dex?” you whisper, and you feel at his neck. His pulse is weak but there, still ticking.

His eyes flutter and he mumbles something. You take his hand, squeezing. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay,” opening his fingers, you press his palm to your upper chest. “ You feel my heartbeat? It’s strong, like yours. You are strong.”

“...your heart…” he gives a shaky breath. “So loud.”

His fingers twitch against your chest, cold and clammy. You nod. “Yes. Your heart is strong too.”

Tears prick at your eyes and you let out a sob.

You’d never seen death like this before. It’s so dark yet colorful, cold in its grasp. Dex coughs and you shake your head, not willing to believe this will be his fate.

“Don’t cry.” he whispers in a gravely voice.

You close your eyes, and pray softly. “Heavenly Father please, please help me. Help Dex. His body is broken but his heart, lord. His heart can change. It can be good. Give him a chance.”

The doors to the rectory bang open and Daredevil runs in, moving so quickly you nearly tumble backwards. He bends, grabbing Dex and grunting as he hauls him up.

“We need to hide him,” he gasps, and Dex’s head lulls on his shoulder. You scramble to your feet, rushing from the room.

“This way, the back alley to my apartment isn’t too far,” you explain over your shoulder. “He’ll be safe there.”

The three of you move quickly, the city air thick with smog as you run in the alley way. Your hands are trembling as you unlock the door to your building, and you’ve never been so happy to be on the first floor. Shoving open your front door, Daredevil hauls Dex inside, nearly falling onto your couch. You had never thought your apartment was huge, but with them both inside it feels tiny.

Dex groans and you push your door shut, leaning against it. Daredevil is breathing hard, and he glances up at you.

“I’ll come back with a nurse,” he murmurs. “She’ll get him patched up. But do not trust him.”

You frown. “I- we met before. He’s come to the church.”

The corner of Daredevil’s mouth twitches as he stands. “I bet he has.”

You open the door for him, peering out before widening the opening and he steps through. He glances at Dex before his face moves back to yours.

“Be careful sister,” he murmurs. “Only open this door for me or Father Bartley. Understood?”

“Y-yes.” You reply, and he nods. You watch him go and then you shut the door again, your eyes moving to Dex.

His eyes are closed, and so much of his skin is covered by blood and wounds it makes your stomach twist. You move into your kitchen, filling a cup with water and you kneel before him.

“Dex,” you murmur softly. His eyes flutter, and when they open they’re hazy. “Drink this, you need to replenish your fluids.”

“...thanks.” He lifts the cup with shaky hands, sipping slowly. Water drips down his chin. “I don’t deserve you doin’ this for me.” His voice is weak, tattered. “Shoulda left me in that church.”

“I already told you,” you murmur. “I’m not leaving you.” He hands you back the cup and you place it by the floor. “I’m going to try and clean you up, okay?”

You don’t wait for his response, rising and only returning when you’ve gathered a wet cloth and clean clothing. With slow movements, you begin to wash away the blood on his brow.

Dex watches you in silence, and you tilt his face, polishing his jaw.

“Your hands are soft,” he says matter of factly. You aren’t sure if you’re supposed to answer so you don’t. The wash cloth is mostly red, so you stand and grab a new one.

His face mostly clean, you help him sit up, and gingerly cut the material of his shirt. He tugs off his leather holster, throwing it to the ground and it makes you jump. He drops several knives, clattering to the floor, some of them muffled by the space carpet and when he’s shirtless, your eyes widen. You look away as he pulls on the clean shirt, your cheeks warm and when he leans back he gives a loud huff.

There’s smears of blood on his arms and hands, and you take his wrist, turning it over so it’s palm up before cleaning his skin.

“I killed a man yesterday.” his eyes are open but they’re gazing up, staring at your ceiling. “You shouldn’t be touching me. I’m poison.”

“You are not poison,” you reply, turning his hand back over and stroking the cloth over his fingers. “You’ve just made some mistakes.”

He chuckles once, shakes his head. “You can’t keep that up, sister.”

“Keep up what?”

“Keepin’ this up. Pretending I’m not a monster,” He flexes his fingers, watching the blood wash away. “People like me? We don't get second chances. Not from God, not from nobody. You're wasting your time on me.”

“God forgives all,” you reply with a quiet voice. “You’ll see.”

Dex stares at you, his eyes hard and his mouth set in a thin line. You prickle under his gaze, shifting before clearing your throat. “I’ll um, get you some food. You must be hungry.”

He leans back against the couch, wincing as his wound pulls and watches you move to the kitchen. You heat him up a bowl of pasta, sprinkling Parmesan atop it before bringing it out to him.

“My apologies,” you laugh. “I don’t have much so, I hope you like noodles.”

Dex hums and takes the bowl, leaning it against his leg but he struggles, his fingers not cooperating.

Your brows knit as you bend, grabbing the fork. “Here, let me. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

You twirl the fork, blowing on it before raising it to his mouth. He parts his lips, accepting the forkful. Chews slowly. Swallows hard.

“So um,” you twirl another fork full. “The mask. The knives…you want to explain that?”

“I kill people. For money.” he pauses as he chews, avoiding your eyes. He shrugs one shoulder, the movement careful around his injury. “I’m a mercenary, sister.”

“Like a superhero?”

“Far from it,” he replies thinly. “They call me Bullseye.”

“Why Bullseye?”

“Bullseye 'cause I never miss. Knives, guns, whatever weapon you hand me - it finds its mark.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

“Really.”

You smile. “So almost like a super power,” you hold the fork to his mouth. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“You’d hate it. Watching me work,” He eats the bite, chewing thoughtfully. “I am no hero. I don’t save people. Mostly just end ‘em.”

“Maybe you could,” you shrug a shoulder and he gives you an annoyed look. “Maybe one day you will.”

“Doubtful.”

You place the bowl in your lap. “I’m sorry. I’m bad at small talk. I just know you shouldn’t sleep right now. Not until Daredevil comes back with the nurse.”

“Small talk's shit anyway,” He shifts, wincing. “You're weird. Most people woulda called the cops on me by now. Or screamed. You didn't do either.”

You nod slowly, looking down at the bowl. “I guess. But I’m not afraid of you.”

Dex is quiet and you look up. His eyes are closed and panic kicks at you.

“Dex,” you whisper, leaning forward. “Please, please stay awake. They’ll be back soon.”

His eyes blink and he exhales. “M’awake...”

You shake your head and repeat. “They’ll be back soon.”

Dex’s head rolls to the side, and he looks at you for a few moments before he closes his eyes again, and lays his head back.

“You got pretty eyes, sister.”

You blink at him slowly, and even with his eyes closed, he smiles, wide and unabashed.

The pounding knock on your door makes you jump and Dex shoots up, breathing hard out his nose, his fists already clenched.

“See? Its him,” you say gently, putting a hand on his shoulder and easing him to lay back down. “With the nurse.”

Dex grunts in pain as you make your way to the door, pressing your ear to the wood.

“Sister,” Daredevil murmurs. “we’re here.”

You open it wide, allowing him to come inside. A slim blonde walks in with him, and she looks anything but pleased.

“Thank God.” you whisper. Dex sits up, and he sighs when he sees her.

“Hello Karen.”

She whirls and glares at Daredevil. “Really? Him?“

“Careful.” you say gently, moving to him, and helping him sit up. Karen watches in disbelief and she shakes her head furiously.

“No,” she hisses. “A nun? You’ve got a nun helping you?”

“I-I’m called to help all of Gods children.” You whisper but your voice is weak.

“You- have no idea who he is,” Karen snaps, and she turns to Daredevil. “we need to talk.”

She practically pulls him from the room, and you watch with shaking breath. Dex breathes out slowly through his nose.

“You seem to upset her.” You murmur and kneel beside him.

Dex gives a little shrug, and then his eyes move to your face. “Did you pray for me, sister? After I left the church that day?”

“I did,” you whisper. “I prayed you’d find peace. Some solace.”

Dex nods once. “That’s nice.”

You twist your lips, scooting forward. “Let’s- let’s pray again.”

He raises a wounded brow at you and you smile, hoping it offers comfort.

“I’ll lead.” you offer, and you extend your hand to his. His fingers twitch when you touch him, then his palm flips, and you slide your hand against his. Dex sighs, letting his head fall back with shut eyes and you close your eyes as well, bowing your head.

“Heavenly Father-” you begin, but there’s a feminine scoff and you open your eyes, looking over your shoulder and Karen is glaring at you. Well not you.

At Dex.

“Are you kidding me?” She spits. “You have her, praying for you?”

Dex squeezes your hand, and he lifts his chin.

“Yeah.” He says it like it’s simple. Karen makes a face like she smells something foul.

“She’s innocent,” she mutters, and you don’t like how she talks about you like you’re not there. “Leave her alone.”

“Karen-” Daredevil tries but Dex sits up, grinding his teeth.

“She’s a grown fucking woman,” he snaps. “I didn’t make her do a damn thing.”

“She has nothing to do with this-” Daredevil tries and Karen rolls her eyes.

“Yet we’re in her house for him.”

“He’s my friend.” You interrupt. They all look at you slowly, and you swallow. “And I…um, I make my own decisions.”

Karen’s glare softens just slightly, and she studies you. Daredevil nods at you appreciatively while Dex watches with quiet intensity.

“You got guts,” Karen finally says, turning to Daredevil. “I didn’t realize.”

Then she sighs dramatically and grabs her medical bag off the floor. She kneels by his other side, and Dex looks away as she removes the bandage. His jaw tightens as he braces himself, and you pat his hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

Karen balls up the used gauze and throws it to the floor before opening a new packet. Dex studies your face, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

Karen cleans the wound, and Dex breathes through his nose.

“You’re lucky this isn’t worse,” she mutters, dabbing antiseptic on it. He hisses. Daredevil leans against the wall watching with folded arms while you stay close to Dex’s side, offering silent support.

When she finishes, Karen pats his side a little too hard, and Dex grunts. You frown but stay quiet, knowing she’s already testy.

“He’ll be fine,” she mutters. “We can move him.”

Your eyes go between the three of them. “Move…him?”

“Yeah,” Karen says, already packing her supplies. “He isn’t safe here. Fisk's men are everywhere.”

Daredevil nods in agreement, pushing off the wall. Dex looks at you but he doesn’t argue.

“Oh, right.” You say quietly, standing and dusting off your skirt. You move out of the way, and Karen brushes past you.

“Mind if I use your bathroom?” She asks, but she’s already moving down the hall.

Daredevils nostrils flare, and you can feel Dex’s eyes on you as you stare at your fingers.

“I’ll- give you two a moment?” Daredevil says but he forms it like a question. He moves down the hall, after Karen and you feel a nervous energy settle behind your ribs.

Dex waits until their footsteps fade, then he exhales.

“Sister.”

He says your name softly, almost sadly, and you look at him. He smiles, and are you crazy or is the scar on his cheek becoming more and more endearing?

“Thank you,” he says sleepily. “For all your help.”

“Of course,” you whisper. “It’s my calling.”

He gives a little shrug. “Is it though?”

“Well,” you stammer, looking down the hallway and back to him. “Um, yes.”

He tries to sit up but grunts in pain and you move to his side, grabbing his bicep with one hand and bracing the other against his spine. He exhales hard, and glances at you, eyes bouncing over your face.

“You’re a good person,” he murmurs. “My exact opposite.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” you reply and give him a small smile. “I have my own complexities.”

Dex studies you again, and then he leans forward, painfully slow, and presses a kiss to your cheek.

It’s soft. Chaste. And over just as fast.

His voice is soft, breath brushing your cheek as he says. “I’d probably be very fond of them.”

Before you can react, Karen comes back down the hall with Daredevil behind her. You move back, letting them help him up, watching as he leans the majority of his weight onto the man with the horns, and you tighten your fingers in your palm to stop from reaching out. At the door, Daredevil nods to you.

“Thank you, sister.”

You give him a weak smile. “May God be with you tonight.”

Dex gives you one last long look, his eyes finding yours and doesn’t let go, like you’re the only thing worth seeing in the room before Daredevil pulls him out the door. Karen follows, tossing a ‘take care’ over her shoulder before shutting the door behind them.

You stand frozen for several seconds. Your apartment is too quiet now. The air feels heavy with the absence, and then you raise a hand with trembling fingers to your cheek, to the place his mouth had touched.

x

Ao3 link

Ben poindexter taglist: @laufeydottirs-writings @viviannagiorgini

Ben Poindexter ML

Softlys Locket ML

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They haunt you every night and day. The dreams were always foggy. The sensation of someone, or something, feasting on your cunt as you lay there unconscious, moaning softly. Your mind only processed pleasure and you would always wake up soaked in your own arousal, breathless from your orgasm. It made you feel disgusting and miserable. However... Each night you laid in your bed, you couldn’t help but wait impatiently for those dreams.

The guilt of your actions and thoughts eventually led you to seek out help from one of the priests. It was late at night, and all of the other nuns had returned to their rooms to sleep, but you needed to repent. You quickly stepped into the confessional booth and you were relieved when you saw the silhouette of the priest on the other side. You kneeled and crossed yourself.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been two weeks since my last confession, and I accuse myself of the following sins,” You took a sharp breath before speaking up, “I’ve been having lustful thoughts and dreams, Father, and I’ve done nothing to try and stop it. I've... I’ve even pleasured myself to the thoughts.” 

The priest stayed quiet for a few seconds before he spoke, his Russian accent sounding strangely familiar but also foreign, “How long has this been going on for…?”

“About two weeks, Father… This is my first time telling anyone.”

“And why is that?”

“I didn’t seek help because, ultimately, I think a part of me enjoys it… I can’t even focus on my duties without thinking about those dreams-”

The sound of the priest’s cold chuckle made a chill run down your spine. “You really can’t get me out of your head? How cute.”

His tone was condescending and you finally made eye contact with his piercing purple eyes. You didn’t even have the time to question how the man appeared next to you so quickly before he pinned you to the wall of the booth.

You yelped, shock written over your expression now that you could see him clearly. The man had long black hair, topped with curled horns. His vibrant eyes glared at you and his lips pulled into a smirk sensing your fear. His pale hands touched your cheek, his sharp nails grazing it slightly. 

“What are you?” you asked with a shaky voice but you had a pretty good idea of who he might be.

“I don’t think I told you you could speak, Y/N," he growled. His frigid fingers trailed down to your throat and he wrapped them around it. He slowly began to tighten his grip, causing you to gasp for breaths.

Your fingers desperately grasped his thin wrist as you struggled to get oxygen into your lungs. Fyodor dug his claws into your throat, a few small red droplets escaping from the small cuts, "I've been studying you for about a year now..."

The demon loosened his grip, his nails softly grazing their way down to your collar, tugging on your nightgown. You screw your eyes shut in a panic, grasping at your silver rosary, "Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium-"

"That won't work, добыча," his sharp purple gaze analyzed your body language before ripping the silver crucifix from your hands, the beads falling to the ground as the string snapped.

You felt your eyes tearing up, panic setting in as you attempted to move away from the devil in front of you, "Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur-"

Unfortunately for you, the confession booths were only so big. Your back hit the wooden wall and you cried out for your God.

"My curiosity eventually got the best of me a few weeks ago and I decided to try an experiment. You see, I have identified you as the most dedicated little lamb and I began to wonder: 'How quickly can I corrupt one of Бог's faithful little play thing?'"

You didn't stop reciting your prayer to Saint Michael, tears streaming down your face. You heard the demon shuffling and your eyes snapped open in a frenzy. Nothing could've prepared you for the sight of Fyodor on his knees before you.

"It took me a long time to finally decide what approach to take when it comes to tempting you," his accent grew thicker as he took your ankle in his hands, "One of my top contenders was driving you to gut all of your sisters at the abbey."

"God won't allow it-," your chest tightened with uneasiness and you began struggling against his grasp. This was obviously the wrong choice and the dark haired monster simply pulled your leg closer to him, causing you to slide down the wall slightly.

He then proceeded to lift your leg over his shoulder, your nightgown bushing up around your thighs. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight. You now understood exactly what Milton was trying to express when he described Lucifer as irresistible because the sight of Fyodor on his knees in front of you was enough to make you feel faint.

"But I figured this would be much more entertaining," the devil smirked, leaning forward to seemingly kiss your thigh. Your mind fought with you to stay focused on your prayer and your teachings. God will save us. But any semblance of a rational thought escaped your mind when you felt a sharp pain in your thigh.

You cried out, feeling the blood rush to the site where Fyodor bit you. The demon doesn't pull away, eager to taste the metallic and salty liquid, holding you tight as you struggle against his grasp.

Your sobs echoed through the church but Fyodor didn't seem to care. The priests were decommissioned one might say and the demon was quite exhilarated at the prospect of one of your sisters walking in on the two of you in the house of the Lord.

"Get off-," your shouts fell on deaf ears as he trails his mouth further up your thighs. The warm liquid (a stark contrast to the man's cold skin) running down your thigh filling the small booth with the sharp smell of iron.

Your body betrayed you as a small gasp fell from your lips. His mouth left open mouth kisses until he reached your bare core and your mouth fell open in silent pleasure. Your attempts to push him away had died down, your hands, which had been shoving his horns to create space between the two of you, now rested helplessly in his hair.

Your moans and gasp filled the small wooden room, back arching away from the wall as Fyodor's sharp tongue explored the depth of your cunt.

The devil appeared to be pleased with your response, feeling your legs beginning to tremble, and he pulled away with a mocking smirk. Your disappointment was visible as he stands but you refused to vocalize it. Instead, you began mumbling a prayer of repentance, which filled the purple-eyed demon with annoyance.

He grabbed your wrist, dragging you out of the confessional booth, ignoring your limp as blood continued to drip down your leg, staining your white nightgown crimson. The altar statues and stained glass figures looked down upon you and a deep sense of shame filled your heart.

Fyodor forced you to lay on one of the pews in the front row. You took a sharp inhale, not pushing him away as he began removing your nightgown, revealing your bare skin. 

The sound of your breathing filled your ears as he pushed his robes aside and revealed his member. Worry flooded your mind once more as you realized your vow to God was at risk, "Please... Let me go..."

However, the devil rejoiced in your torment as he climbed on top of you and aligned himself with your entrance, "But where's the fun in that, Ангел?"

His purple glare pierced you as he looked down on you with a cold and calculating gaze and you cried out as he suddenly entered you, back arching and fingers clinging onto his stolen uniform. His thrusts were relentless and punishing, not caring that this was your first time.

Your cries soon turned to whines and moans as he maintained a steady rhythm. Your face contorted with pleasure, eyes squeezing shut, "Keep your eyes open, Ангел. I want you to see the Saints as I ruin you,"

You attempted to shake your head but he grabbed your cheeks, nails digging into your skin painfully, forcing you to open your eyes and look up at him. The scene above you was strangely ethereal as the horrifyingly beautiful man looked down on you, his head surrounded with the colorful stained glass as he carefully reached down, brushing his thumb against your lower lip, and you felt your walls clamp down around his cock.

"I think you have still not completely forsaken your god," he whispered, leaning closer to you, lips brushing against your pulse as he stopped thrusting.

You audibly whimpered as he pulled out of you and sat down on the pew. You sat up, confused by why he stopped. You hesitated slightly, using your arms to cover your chest in a pathetic attempt to regain some dignity, "Father...?"

"If you want more, you'll have to work for it and give yourself up to me," he said with a cocky grin, his hair slightly disheveled from our prior activities. You couldn't deny your body craved for more but your pride did prevent you from eagerly sitting on his lap.

It took you a few minutes to finally give into your instincts and you hesitantly sank onto his lap, whining at the stretch inside you. Without thinking, you suddenly kissed the demon, a tugging sensation nagging you in the back of your mind.

Fyodor kept a careful eye on you as you kissed him, amused to finally see you submit. He closed his eyes, deepening the kiss as you tried your best to start riding him.

The devil nipped your tongue in the fiery kiss, causing you to bleed slightly, and he gently sucked on it. You moaned against his lips as his hands drifted to your hips to help you speed up the pace.

Your hands grabbed onto his hair, tugging at his roots as you continued to kiss him feverishly. Your boobs bounced, matching the rhythm Fyodor set and you felt the sensation you had grown far too familiar with overtake you as you moaned.

Your body shuddered as you came, walls clenching around Fyodor's dick tightly. For the first time of the night, you also saw his expression falter for a split second as he shut his purple eyes and let out a sharp exhale before cumming deep into your womb.

Despite reaching your peaks, Fyodor didn't stop to thrust up into you, almost as if he were trying to make sure his load stayed inside of you. Your whines began to fill his ears as you complained about overstimulation and, in the most shocking turn of events, the demon listened to you, pulling out.

You struggled to catch your breath, still leaning against the cold inhumane creature overwhelmed. Fyodor looked down at you and pondered for a few seconds.

Just as you prepared yourself to stand and get dressed, Fyodor's hand moved to your chin and made you look up to him.

"You can call me Fyodor," he said, purple eyes piercing through yours, "Your soul and body now belong to me forever, Родная."

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

Almost is a taunting thought

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

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

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

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

What other recourse did you have?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That depends on you, my friend.”

Anakin did not understand.

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

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

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

This offer was... merciful.

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

Being known by you...

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

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

How could he say no?

“I... accept.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(18+ MINORS DNI!)

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

AESTHETIC.

Matt.

You.

RELEASE DATE: TBD!