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To watch your fall from Grace

A/N: This is the first time I have written an x Male Reader so I hope that you enjoy! I would appreciate your feedback and ideas for future fanfics! I enjoy writing about Yakumo as he is my favourite but I would love to try other NU: Carnival characters as well! I am pleased that the new event suits the theme of this fanfic as I have been working on this for the past few months. Please enjoy! I have been inspired by @serotoninandespresso after reading their Jacaerys series- I may not have watched HOTD but I always look forward to their latest work, so I wanted to try and write my own. ~ 12.6k words.

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, abuse, familial abuse, internalised homophobia, religious trauma, religion used as a weapon for control, manipulation, smut (R18 content), emotional suppression, depictions and thoughts of deaths.

“For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross.

Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behaviour. But now he has reconciled you by Christ’s physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation— if you continue in your faith, established and firm, and do not move from the hope held out in the gospel.”

Their mouths were agape, as they drank desperate, from the chalice you held against their lips. They waited with bated breath, clinging to your words, as though your voice alone could offer salvation. Their expectant gaze pierced directly through your skin. Their unblinking stares sought to expose your flesh and bone; to dissect your body and unveil your darkest depths, to their predatory gaze. They would not hesitate, to sink their claws and consume your flesh, as though it were the bread of Christ.

You remained steadfast in your devotion to the Lord. You placed your faith within his scripture, dependant on his words as they became absolute. You pressed your palms together, in a silent vow; a promise to God. A promise to dedicate your entire life towards his service.

Poised, you lifted your left hand upwards, gesturing towards the pews of familiar faces. The Bible, your guide, held securely within your right hand.

“This is the gospel that you heard and that has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven, and of which I, Paul, have become a servant”

Drawing the sermon to a close, you addressed your Parishioners directly, reminding them to adhere to the ten commandments and ‘love thy neighbour as thyself’. Starved, they drank directly from your hand, filling their lungs with your words and basking beneath the light of your holy blessing. You lead them blind, like lambs towards the slaughter.

Descending from the pulpit, you were greeted by the disapproving expressions of the village Elders. Their tone was sharp, venomous, as they praised your sermon with a sickeningly sweet tone; a tactic used to condescend and belittle. Their eyes narrowed, skin crinkled at the corners of their temple as they inspected you. Their eyes tore apart flesh and bleached bone. The leader of the village was an elderly man, with outdated views and exceptionally high expectations. Father had placed you directly beneath his trust. An extension of Father, he was the eyes and the ears. Nothing you did could ever escape his notice. Playing into their hands, your lips curled upwards, into a tight, rehearsed and practised smile. You expressed gratitude for their attendance.

Their Leader, Elder Peregrine, reminded you that God was always watching and that you should not stray from practising what you preach.

Your Cassock felt suffocating. You couldn’t breathe as oxygen refused to fill your lungs. Your stole became heavy, weighting you downward. Your collar pressed tightly against your throat, as the searing, burning pain of damnation, pumped through your veins and spread throughout your entire body.

You could not escape the thoughts; memories that persistently haunted you. Elder Peregrine reminded you of Father. His stare, all powerful and all consuming, caused your body to submit and cower in fear.

Your soul would never reach the pearly white gates of Heaven. Heaven lay beyond the reach of your sacrilegious finger tips.

Your sins were unforgivable.

You deserved condemnation.

You deserved the divine punishment that God had asked Father to bestow upon you.

Your facade faltered, weakened; your smile wavered and your vision blurred. Their voices faded into the background, as your body was rendered immobile. Careless and self-absorbed, they failed to notice a shift in your rehearsed demeanour. You excused yourself, momentarily escaping into the safe confinements of your office. Slipping inside, you stumbled forwards, gripping the wooden desk with such force, that your fingertips turned white. You couldn’t breathe. Your body riddled with guilt that threatened to consume you, and eat you alive… You desperately reached for your Bible. The page you desired, highlighted by a silver cross that the Orphanage had gifted you. Your eyes frantically scanned across the page, searching for a sign that God had not abandoned you… That your sins were ‘redeemable’ within his eyes. You would spend eternity repenting if God would allow you a second chance at forgiveness.

“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness”

The words of God were the oxygen that kept you alive. His speeches initiated the impulse that allowed your heart to beat. God was the water that sedated your thirst and the blood that pumped through your veins. Spluttering, you choked, as air refilled your lungs and granted you the gift of breath. The pain slowly subsided, suppressed back into the darkest depths of your unforgiving mind. You placed your hands together, closing your eyes. You prayed to the only stability you knew.

After regaining your composure, you straightened your collar and returned to the Chapel. Expecting emptiness, the parishioners typically enjoyed shared conversation, with light refreshments post-sermon, inside the adjacent hall. You were expected to attend the event; to tend to the worries of your parish. You gathered your satchel from the podium, placing the bible securely inside. As you turned around to descend the staircase to the pulpit, you felt a pair of eyes focus upon you. Turning in their direction, you were greeted by an elderly couple. You did not recognise the pair; you had never met a unfamiliar face in the five years since moving to that village. No one moved to your town. No one ever left.

“Good afternoon, It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do not believe that we have met prior” you spoke, offering your hand towards the gentleman as a sign of respect. His expression softened as he extended his hand to return your greeting. “Thank you, Father. We recently moved to your quaint village with our grandson and hoped we would find company to keep our table warm, during a cold evening” he spoke, with a warmth akin to a wood fire on a cold, crisp winters night.

“You have come to the right place, Sir. We townsfolk will never see you without and will welcome you into our homes as you would us”

“Thank you, Father. You are welcome into our home whenever you should please. My grandson is an apprentice baker and we would love to break bread with you.” As he spoke, his wife’s expression softened, gazing upon you with a loving, caring and gentle look. It was something unfamiliar to you… it felt foreign. Was this what maternal affection was supposed to feel like? The elderly gentleman hesitated briefly, before summoning courage to continue. “Our grandson has fallen unexpectedly ill this past week, since moving to your village. We had hoped that you may be able to visit our home and offer your blessing… To aid in his swift recovery.” You felt a sudden warmth resonate within your chest. It was evident that the couple cared deeply for their kin, and it was something that struck a cord deep inside your soul.

† † †

The following morning, you placed a gathering of lavender and herbs into your satchel; slipping your bible and cross into the tired leather case. You wrapped the strap across your chest, gazing into the mirror and taking a deep inhalation of breath. You stepped outside, greeted by the blissful warmth of the morning’s rays. The sunlight warmed your skin, adding a soft glow to your exposed hands and flushed cheeks.

Descending the pathway into the village, you greeted familiar faces, wishing the townsfolk a pleasant morning, and kneeling down to ruffle the hairs of children who approached you. Their hopeful expressions were genuine and reflected your own former self; You could barely recall that fleeting feeling of innocence. You created a cross above their heads and blessed them, as they ventured into school, eager to learn and develop their growing minds. A genuine smile tugged at the corners of your lips as they danced across the village green, proudly proclaiming the blessings you had bestowed upon them.

Turning right, you vacated the town centre and followed a secluded path that mimicked the curvature of the forest. Dense flora momentarily obscured your vision, before opening into a clearing. Once abandoned, the newest villagers had rejuvenated the area, building a home from ash and adding life to the furthest corner of your isolated town.

Stepping towards the white picket fence that surrounded the wooden cabin, you immediately stumbled backwards. Your chest felt unusually tight. The wind carried a sense of unease. Your instincts screamed into your ear; demanding that you leave. You believed that God was warning you. God was instructing you to reverse your steps and abandon your mission… Alas, you remained composed. Your gaze shifted across the landscape, attempting to locate the source of the distress. You did not feel a maleficent presence; no shadows or distant stares.

You were alone…?

Nevertheless, a cold sweat ran down your spine, as you hesitantly pressed your knuckles against the door.

The sound echoed. You heard nothing but silence for a moment. In those few seconds you felt an urge to flee. To run as far away as possible and to never look back. Your body acted on its own. Your left foot stepped backwards, your hands clenched, and your breath caught in your throat. Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You were ready to run… when suddenly the front door burst open and the familiar face of the elder gentleman greeted you. You couldn’t escape. You couldn’t run. Your mind raced as he greeted you, welcoming you inside with a hearty smile that did not console your fear.

The familiar sense of damnation etched across your skin. Your hands felt weak. You legs felt heavy. Your vision blurred as the villager welcomed you inside, offering you a refreshing cup of tea. You hazily accepted his offering, using his voice as a guide. He lead you into the living room, where the signature light from a cross, placed directly above their fireplace, welcomed you home. You felt the Lord’s presence, his welcoming voice offering relief from your ache. “We deeply appreciate your assistance, Father (Y/N). Our dearest grandson is bedridden, plagued by a mysterious illness that has rendered him weak. We were forced to vacate our previous town and I fear the sudden change in scenery has caused him great distress. He does not fair well with change” the elderly women informed you, her voice gentle yet laced with apprehension and concern. You understood her worry. You had heard rumours that a mysterious illness plagued the neighbouring lands. Said illness had claimed many lives, yet you remained certain in your belief that God would save your villagers, should the infection spread and penetrate your parish. You lifted your satchel onto your lap, retrieving the small bag of herbs alongside your Bible. You lifted your gaze to meet the elders. “Please do not allow worry to consume you. I trust that God shall protect your grandson and ensure his safe recovery” you reassured. You felt heavy tension escape their shoulders, relaxing under your faithful promise of safety.

You learnt from the elders that they had recently fled their village of Klein, after rumours began to circulate that a dark and mysterious, serpent-like force, had began to posses the land. Livestock perished and local townsfolk disappeared into the darkness of nightfall. It was said that the creature was the off-spring of the Serpent from the Garden of Eden and those who gave into temptation or sin, would disappear; their soul chained and condemned to Hell.

They spoke of their lives, expressing the importance of religion within their memories; they had met during a religious sacrilege in a foreign land. They had relied upon the word of God to offer guidance. God had always answered their prayers and brought them assistance when it was needed most. They believed that God had lead them to you, with purpose.

Captured by their attention, you failed to notice a dark figure that lingered in the space between the kitchen and the living room. His presence, caused the hairs on the back of your neck to rise. You felt a chill, a shiver forced down your spine. Your eyebrow arched upwards before your head turned, facing the allusive entity…

Suddenly, marigold became your deliverance.

Your pulse quickened. Your lungs expanded and filled with oxygen; blood pumped through your veins. You felt alive. Your unsteady mind, once filled with fears and self-doubt, cleared. Your mouth opened and closed. At the end of the hallway stood a deity. A mirage. His soft complexion offered the affections that the word of God could not. His timid and gentle demeanour entranced you. Your eyes widened, unable to turn away. Your fingertips tingled as you felt an urge to reach outwards; to place your touch upon his face and trace the curvature of his pristinely sculpted cheekbones. You wanted to know if the figure was mortal; If God had descended Heaven to place this gift entirely within your care…

The Bible, resting securely in your lap, seethed. The leather spine and paper pages burnt your skin with torturous desire. Your body collapsed in on itself. Your mind, abruptly filled with sinful thoughts; memories of the past returned to haunt you. Your wrists throbbed with paresthesia, as a lashing ache spread across your extremities, rendering you unable to move. Father’s words echoed inside of your mind, reminding you of the sin you had once committed. An unforgivable sin, that banned you from the gates of Heaven and cursed you to eternal damnation.

God would not forgive you for your cruel acts of rebellion.

God would not forgive you for betraying yourself.

“If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their blood is upon them”

Your blood blackened, marked by immoral acts. You wore a noose around your neck; a crown of thorns and nails pressed against your wrists. You could attempt to atone for your sins with death, but God would not desire your soul. After death, it was the Devil who awaited you. You could pray at his alter, cleanse your skin with Holy water until it was bleeding and raw, and drink the blood of Christ until your abdomen tensed and your vision turned black… But nothing could remove the impurities from your being. Nothing could cure you of your ailment; this disease had destroyed your entire life.

Your left hand reached instinctively, gripping your right wrist in an attempt to soothe the burning, seething pain. You reminded yourself that you deserved this. Father, the nuns in the Orphanage, Christ and God, all knew that you deserved this.

Religion had saved you from a life of debauchery.

God had saved you.

God had…

As your mind raced, your breathing became laboured and your body unconsciously hunched forwards. Tears streamed down your pale, clammy cheeks. Your torso trembled with fear. Your mouth filled with bile. You were sickening. You disgusted yourself.

Your thoughts continued to consume you, until a hand, gentle, affectionate, humane and tender, pressed against the side of your face and guided your head upwards.

Marigold, the colour of damnation, greeted you with a smile. It was sick and twisted. It was mockingly tender, patient and beautiful. It soothed your ache and reminded you to breathe.

“Breathe” his voice brought oxygen back into your lungs. His voice, heavenly and holy, was a mirage offering you water within the endless terrain of sand, dust and dehydration. He swiped his thumb against your cheek, removing the tears that stained your face. His expression, unlike those who came before him, was compassionate. “Father (Y/N)?” He hesitated. The way he spoke your name was sinful. He extended his hand in order to offer you assistance. He could sense the fear that had slowly began to consume you; a dark aura that radiated off of you in waves. Your left hand withered, as it reached upwards to accept the aid of the Marigold demon, that attempted to lead you astray. Your clothed hand met his own and colour flooded your vision.

“Are you alright, Father (Y/N)?” he voiced concern. His expression laced with genuine worry. He then reached for a porcelain cup, lifting the liquid towards your lips as he guided you to drink it. You accepted the offering, a treaty of peace. Your voice broken and weak, responded in earnest.

“Please forgive me.”

You did not know if it was he or the Lord that you were begging for.

† † †

His name was Yakumo. He was an aspiring baker, with dreams of escaping the countryside, to travel the world and live in cities, brimming with opportunity and freedoms. He was timid, self-conscious and patient. He cared for his elderly grandparents, tending to their live stock, preparing their meals and fulfilling their errands. His eyes shone like stars beneath the moonlit sky. His smile could melt the hearts of the most hostile souls. He treated strangers like friends and welcomed the world with open arms.

Despite his honest nature, he was hesitant when religion was discussed. He would bite his tongue, nod his head and follow his grandparents lead. You did not push him. You accepted his lack of belief, despite the quiet whispers in the back of your mind telling you to punish him for his disloyalty to God. You could not understand how anyone could fail to acknowledge the creator of the universe; the all-mighty; the all forgiving… Despite this, God would forgive him. Even if he was not a believer. Even if he failed to follow the ten commandments, he would be forgiven when he entered Heaven.

The bible reminded you that all souls, beneath God’s guidance, could be forgiven.

God would never forgive you for sullying Yakumo’s name. Late at night, when the image of Yakumo burned the inside of your eyelids, and his name lay on the tip of your tongue, you would press cold, leather straps against your marred wrists and atone for the sins you had committed. Flagellation was your Utopia. The seething pain brought euphoria. You deserved to suffer, as the Devil threatened to consume you.

Yakumo was a demon concealed behind human flesh.

Despite his initial hesitation, Yakumo began to regularly attend your sermons, requesting private discussions, alone, late into the night. Yakumo always visited the church each morning. He prepared fresh bread, your favourite kind, and hand-delivered it directly to you. The steam would billow off of each slice, as though he had rushed over, the moment it had left the oven. He sat down for tea and joined you during breakfast. He assisted you in preparing you sermons and advised on which passages to teach the children after school. He was your right-hand man, teaching the children how to bake cupcakes to take home for their mothers and siblings. They began to adore him. The entire town fell for his charm. You had the sense that he would make an outstanding father…

Occasionally, your gaze would linger upon him for a second longer than strictly necessary. When you stood atop your pulpit, teaching your sermons, your eyes would scan the parishioners until they settled upon a familiar marigold. Your hand would rest atop his arm during private study sessions. You learnt to add an extra spoonful of sugar to his cup of tea, as his smile shone brighter when the liquid was sweeter. You learnt how to prepare his favourite meal, exotically spice beef stew with seasonal vegetables. You befriended an elderly farmer to ensure the produce was local and fresh. The spices were difficult to obtain, yet you were able to seek assistance from a student’s mother, as she often ventured into the city for work. She would return with all the rare and exotic spices that you could ever hope to desire. You invited him into the church for dinner each Friday, and in turn, his grandparents would host you for a traditional Sunday supper.

You felt the tension that weighed heavy on your shoulders lighten when you spent time with Yakumo; basking in his affectionate glow. You spoke about the future with him, and although your answer was tight and rehearsed, he did not undermine it. He spoke longingly of a life beyond what he was currently living. He enjoyed his life as it was, but hoped for a day where he could make his grandparents proud and succeed internationally. Although he dreamed of this, he never wanted to leave his grandparents behind. He owed his life to them. He wanted to spend eternity repaying them for their graciousness.

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written: “For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.” No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Stood proudly atop your pulpit, your left hand extended towards the parishioners, whilst your bible rested securely within your right. Your gaze drifted across the attendees, before settling upon a familiar Marigold. Your expression shifted, the corners off your lips tugged upwards, before faltering when control was regained. To escape his permeating gaze, you acknowledged your congregation separately, responding to their body language and altering your homily to suit their current needs.

Drawing your sermon to a close, you descended the short staircase. Your gaze fixated upon your feet, distracted by thoughts of future discussions. Unaware of your surroundings, you collided with solid mass and stumbled backwards; your forehead colliding with a broad, stiff chest. An apology lingered on the tip of your tongue, as you lifted your focus towards forgiving eyes of marigold. Suddenly greeted by a hesitant, angelic smile, Yakumo’s expression brightened. “T-Thank you for your wonderful sermon this evening, Father. I enjoy listening to your interpretations of God’s word. I-I particularly enjoyed your passage about God’s love toward us… Father… D-Do you… Have you…” he hesitated. His voice trembled. His gazed shifted downward, avoiding eye contact, as he rocked back and fourth between the tips of his toes and the heels of his feet. Riddled with anxiety, Yakumo often struggled to express himself without holding back, for fear of judgment or rejection. You waited patiently, allowing him time for thought. You had learnt this was the most successful approach to tackling Yakumo’s anxieties. He remained silent, consumed by grief. His lips trembled but the words remained unspoken, caught in his throat. You reached towards him, wrapping a hand around his wrist in order to ground him. “Why don’t you follow me?” You asked, a genuine smile graced your cheeks. You found it easy to smile around him. He lifted his head to meet your gaze. Nodding his head in silence, he blindly followed behind you. You turned towards your quarters, before stepping out the backdoor and entering your private garden. It was a small space, decorated with red rose buds and blossoming bluebells. You gestured towards a sheltered bench, offering him a place to relax and ease the tension from his mind.

The moment he stepped outside of the sacred walls, he felt at ease. The sunlight danced across the surface of his pale skin, heating his cold-blooded being. “You think too much, Yakumo” you teased. A light dusting of red decorated his cheeks. You felt comfortable within his presence. You were easily able to shift from the professional role as priest, to the casual role of companion a without a second thought. “P-perhaps you think too little” he responded, his expression equally as entertained as your own. You take position on the bench beside him, angling your body towards him, as you playfully nudge his arm with your fist. Your relationship with Yakumo had developed since meeting; the shift from strangers to friends was as easy as taking a step forward or taking a breath of air. You felt comfortable around him. You felt your facade slip around him. You felt you could be honest towards him. “Your bread this morning was delicious. I particularly enjoyed the contrast between the moist banana bread and the crunch of the caramelised walnuts on top” you mused, watching as the corners of his lips tugged upwards into a smile. “Grandfather created the recipe. He used to make banana bread every Friday, as a reward for paying attention in class. I used to count down the days each week, until I would be able to try his latest creation. Caramelised walnuts were always my favourite, and since… s-since I did not know you back then… I-I did not want you to miss out. I wanted you to s-share the same experience as me.” His voice was timid and soft. He was honest yet reserved. He spoke the truth inside his heart, even if his tone highlighted the fact he felt ashamed for feeling that certain way. For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. You face felt flushed. “I… thank you, Yakumo. I wish that I could have known you during that period of our lives. Although, you may not have appreciated my sense of fashion. I used to steal Father’s garbs and drown myself in excess fabric until I tripped over my own feet” you laughed, reminiscing fondly on the short period of your life, you genuinely felt at ease. “I-I think I would have found that to be r-rather cute… Father” he responded, avoiding eye contact.

You caught yourself gazing at Yakumo with more affection than God would dare to allow. Your gaze lingered a dangerously thin line between admiration and adoration. You took notice of the tired crinkles that decorated the corners of his eyes, the roughness of his cheeks from years spent completing outdoor labour in the blazing sun, and the dry skin that spread across his lips after years of biting the thinning flesh when nervous. He noticed your eyes lingering upon him. He felt at peace under your direct attention. He felt as though God looked upon him with a smile when you looked at him in a way that a prophet would look to their God… In his eyes, you were above the word of God. You were a separate entity that could control him with a slight of hand and a tug of the lips. He wanted to worship at your temple and find solace between… His face flushed, a deep red spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears and down his chest, turning the same shade as the weathered cape that decorated his shoulders. He felt a deep shame burn within his core at the unsavoury thoughts he created inside of his mind. He was tainting your image.

Recognising his sudden shift in behaviour, you extended your hand and rested the tips of your fingers against his shoulder, guiding his body towards your own. “Yakumo, are you alright?” You questioned, worry evident within your gentle tone. He flinched, his head nodding in an attempt to reassure your concern. “J-Just a little warm…” he whispered. Removing your hand, you rested them against your own thighs, before clasping your hands together in a silent prayer. Whenever you felt conflicted, you sought guidance from God, asking for his assistance. Yakumo watched as your lips twitched, moving in time with the words you created inside your mind. You were a Holy creature, following blindingly behind the lead of religion; listening to the word of a man that had yet to be proven to exist… You followed like a lamb being lead to the slaughter and in his eyes, Yakumo wished he could be the God you’d follow to your demise.

Yakumo had never believed in religion. Born and raised within a Catholic orphanage after his parents death, he had faced the true extent of control that religion could possess across someones soul. His own image was dark, tainted by a curse that possessed his bloodline. He was a direct descendant of the great serpent; the same creature who had lead Adam and Eve to their demise. That was what he had been told, ever since his creation. He had faced the wrath of Catholic priests who aimed to cleanse his soul; drown his lungs in holy water until his blood was purified of sin. He was told that God had abandoned him for his travesty, but he had never felt the urge to seek his original approval. Guilt possessed him as lives were lost by the curse that darkened his blood, but never once had he felt guilt for his betrayal to God. If God was as cruel as the orphanage had been, then Yakumo would rather find solace at the Devil’s door.

He had longed to escape religion… until you had arrived at his doorstep. Clad in priest drabs, with tear stained cheeks and laboured breath, Yakumo suddenly felt as though God may be real. Despite the torment suffered at his hands, God had lead him directly to you, and for that, he would be eternally grateful. He soon became tolerable towards religion; bile no longer caught in his throat at the idea of asking God for forgiveness. You were an Angel disguised as a human and he longed to trap you within his dangerous grasp.

Abandoned at birth, the Catholic Church raised you from a neonate to a young adult with aspirations and hope. The orphanage had guided you, through the word of God, and inspired your faith in the all-mighty being. You had placed your innocent trust within the Sisters who tended to your care. The priest, your ‘Father’, had guided you towards the Holy light of forgiveness and redemption. You attended regular sermons and diligently assisted your adopted siblings when requested upon. You were the Golden child, who excelled beyond expectation and whom shone brightly in your Fathers doting eyes.

You were destined for divinity.

Yet, like Icarus, you flew too close to the sun. His name was Olivine. He was the son of a Priest from a neighbouring congregation. He was timid and considerate. He was alluring and enticing. You spent the summer at his side, reciting the bible, climbing trees and catching bugs. He shone brightly inside your childish, hopeful and innocent orbs. He basked you in his glory. You laughed beneath his sunlight and danced in his kindness. You clung to his side, entranced by his promises of liberation. You drowned yourself in his praises. You stepped into his sanctuary and were engulfed by his flames… He burnt you, yet you found pleasure within irredeemable scars that marked your skin with permanence. You felt liberated within his tender embrace.

One fateful summers day, you had both escaped the sermon, fleeing into the darkened realm of the village library. As it was a Sunday, the building was abandoned and you were left alone. You shared laugher as your cheeks flushed with enthusiasm, and the vigour of youthful joy danced through your veins. You reached to hold his hand, watching as peridot eyes gazed into your own. They offered you a release… They offered you an escape from the unspoken horrors that you did not want to consciously recognise. He connected to you and treated you with a sense of humanity. He had never once, worshiped the ground you stood upon. He recognised your emotions and responded to them with honesty. In that moment, overwhelmed with jollity, you failed to acknowledge the approaching footsteps resonating from behind. You acted on instinct, leaning upwards and pressing your trembling lips against his own. The moment your lips collided, your world filled with colour. His touch was euphoric. You had finally understood that it meant to enter into the Garden of Eden…

As freedom teasingly brushed against the palm of your hand, it instantly disappeared into oblivion. Father had caught you. Father abruptly removed you from Olivine’s side, swiftly ensuring that all communication was severed. You were blamed for the sin committed. Father isolated you, concealing you within the inescapable walls of the Church basement, until you were able to atone for your betrayal to God. The Sister’s limited your meals, and you were banned from interactions with your siblings. The word of God was branded into your mind. Father forced you to extend your arms, scarring your wrists with leather, each time you failed to follow the commandments proposed by the Lord.

The wounds extended beyond a surface level of suffering; the scars would never heal. Each time you found your mind wandering beyond purity, you were reminded of the familiar seething ache. Your unhealed scars would burn, bleeding, as though God could read your mind and placed judgment upon it.

Father dowsed you in Holy water, filling your lungs with blessed fluids, to ensure you body, mind and soul could be cleansed of sin. He did not forgive you and only watched, as you resembled Lucifer, falling from grace. Segregated from the congregation, your lessons were held in private. When you reached the age of maturity, you had dreams of escaping the abuse and venturing into the city. You wanted to escape religion. You wanted to escape the torment God had forced you to endure.

Alas, you were never granted such luxury. Father had banished you and placed you in the care of your current townsfolk. He fabricated tales of your ability to heal the wounded and speak directly to God. He ensured that they would never allow you to escape. Wherever you went, eyes were certain to follow. Elder Peregrine held the key to the church and if he so wished, you would bathe in flame and descend to ash.

Laying awake, unable to calm your nerves, you stared upwards at the empty ceiling above your bed. You lived within the walls of the church. You awoke, bathed, dressed, worked, ate and slept within the rigid and constricting walls. Your entire life revolved around the Church. You turned to the Bible laid atop your beside cabinet. As you shifted your position, the dated bed, groaned beneath your weight. You reached for the sacred text, flicking through the pages until you reached the passage you desired. Your tired eyes scanned across its contents, reminding yourself to say true to the word of God. He was the only one who could love you. He was the only one who could forgive your disgustingly, horrid sins.

“The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world. He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognize him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him. Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God— children born not of natural descent, nor of human decision or a husband’s will, but born of God.”

You had allowed sinners to enter the safe confinement of your confessional booth, to express their remorse and atone for their wrong-doings. It was stated that if you were able to confess and remain honest, God would offer forgiveness. You understood the importance of revealing the truth to God, yet you were physically unable to. If you admitted the truth to God, you would first have to admit it to yourself. Your sins outweighed those of the townsfolk. Your sin was punishable by death and if your congregation became aware of your illicit acts, you would face judgement upon a cross.

You had once dropped to your knees and pleaded with God for forgiveness. You had asked God to allow you an escape from the torturous thoughts that plagued your mind. You had asked God for Father to forgive you. You had asked God to change you… You had asked God why he had made you this way. You had begged God to ‘fix you’.

You felt tears gather in the corners of your eyes, as they spilled down your cheeks and slipped into the opening of your mouth. You had thought that God had ‘cured’ you. You had attempted to ignore the Demon who threatened to lead you astray. Marigold caused you to smile and cry in the same breath. Marigold gave you hope. Marigold gave you a reason to flagellate.

God was testing you. God wanted you to suffer until you were no longer able to bare it.

Laying awake with trails of tears staining your cheeks, you were interrupted by a panicked and uncoordinated knocking upon the chapel’s door. Gathering yourself, you dashed towards the entrance, concern etched into your expression. You worried that a member of your church was in danger; that someone had fallen ill and needed immediate attention.

You threw open the door to reveal Yakumo. His eyes were wide, frantic and wild. Water cascaded down his face, his hair damp by droplets of rain that fell from the heavens above. Looking into his eyes, you did not know if he was crying or if it was the rain that decorated his distressed expression. You welcomed him inside, ushering him into the kitchen and wrapping a warm towel around his trembling form. You prepared tea, placing the cup directly into his hands, in order to warm him and still his nerves. His breathing was ragged and irregular. You placed a hand atop his own and his gaze shifted upwards to meet yours.

Marigold was terrified.

“Yakumo, breathe. You need to breathe” you reminded him. You watched as he filled his lungs with oxygen, mimicking your pattern.

“I-I apologise Father, I did not know where else to turn-“

“Do not apologise, Dearest Yakumo. The church will always welcome you.” You reassured. You had never known him to act this frantic. It concerned you. He was always timid and composed.

“I-I… I must confess something to you, Father.” The words spilled from his mouth, faster than his mind could react. You sensed that he wanted to withdraw his statement. You sensed that he did not want you to learn of the secret he had attempted to hide.

Recognising his hesitation, you extended your hand towards him, offering assistance as you guided Yakumo towards the confessional booth. Stepping into your assigned side, you gestured for him to follow suit. He paused, unsure. “You may make your confessional anonymously” you explained. You hoped that he would understand the implications. A moment later, you heard him enter the opposing side and sit down. You had known Yakumo for little over two months and in that time, he had never expressed an urge to confess. You had believed that he was immune to sinning… It put you at ease, knowing that he was human and capable of making mistakes. You could hear his laboured breath as he attempted to console himself. His voice was quiet, soft and broken. “Forgive me F-Father, for I have sinned” he began. You waited, offering him space and time. “I-I… I have hurt people, Father. I have destroyed countless lives… I bring misery and misfortune wherever I roam” he cried. You could sense that he was crying into the palms of his hand, his voice muffled against fabric.

“In what ways have you hurt these folk?”

“I-I… I curse the lands that I roam. Where I walk, livestock perishes and humans lose their lives to the unknown. I have visions… nightmares of myself committing heinous acts… I cannot escape these thoughts. When I wake, I hear the rumours spread. They follow me. Lambs perish during the night… Women missing against the shroud of darkness. I-I know that I-I am the cause but…” he could no longer continue. His body trembled with fear as he admitted to the troublesome acts he believed he had commit. “But I-I would never hurt anyone. I can’t h-hurt anyone.”

Breaking tradition, you stepped out of your booth and entered into his. Wrapping an arm around his waist, you pressed his body against your own, allowing his tears to cascade downward and spill into the soft, pristine white fabric of your nightgown. In the rush to attend to the knocking at the door, you had failed to dress in appropriate attire. You held him against your body as he trembled, his hands clinging to your clothing for both reassurance and support. “You should not blame yourself, Yakumo. I can sense that God would not allow you to commit such sinful acts. Your soul is divine and God protects you. These visions, are likely a manifestation of your self-doubt and anxieties. You associate yourself with negative occurrences in order to compensate for deeper fears. God will often communicate with us through dreams. Please tell me what you see” you encouraged him to continue.

“I… I appear as a serpent. I sink my fangs into the lambs and scatter their sacred blood across the lands. I lure people away from their homes. I terrify and haunt innocent lives. P-people are too kind to me. Father (Y/N), you are too kind to me” he whispered. His eyes shone beneath the pale moonlight as he gazed, deeply into your own. You felt breathless. The innocent desperation contained in his expression rendered you immobile. You struggled to respond as a familiar heat radiated from your wrists. The burn reminded you to maintain self restraint. “C-Call me (Y/N)” was the only thing you could muster. “I hurt people (Y/N)… I am a blemish upon this world. They tried to save me, to cleanse my soul but I am rotten. My soul is possessed by a Demon. The serpent wishes to spread chaos and I cannot control it. (Y/N) the closer I get to you, the more I lose control.” His expression darkened as he gazed upon you.

“What do you fear, Yakumo? Allow yourself to let go. You are not possessed by a Demon. If you have fears or doubts, express them to release yourself of strife” you urged. You understood what it felt like to be haunted by dreams; communications with God in which you played the role of the villain. As a child, God had appeared to you in dreams, scolding you for your misbehaviour. Father interpreted these dreams as punishments for mistakes you had made, although you were unaware of what you had done wrong. Although you saw those apparitions as punishment, for yourself, you could not see Yakumo in the same light.

“When I-I was a child… The orphanage found me alone… My entire village had been consumed by illness that left me untouched. T-They called me cursed… Wherever I went, tragedy followed. I don’t want to stay anywhere for long, incase my grandparents find out that a Demon possesses my soul… When people get hurt, I find a reason to flee. I want to run far away until I cant hurt anyone any more but…’ he paused. He shook his head as tears spilled from his terrified eyes. “I cant. I cant” he continued to mutter, crazed, beneath his breath. “I cant… I do not want to go anywhere where you cannot follow.” His words caused you to stumbled backwards. Surprised by his raw display of honesty. You felt yourself acting on instinct as you placed the palm of your hand against his cheek, tilting his head upwards.

“You are not cursed, Yakumo. You have faced hardship but that does not mean that you are to blame for the loss of life that occurred near your feet.” You attempted to be reassuring. The seething pain intensified the closer you became to Yakumo. “B-But I shall lead you to ruin… You should not consume Honey and Curds, for you are aware to refuse evil.” Your voice betrayed you. Your hands trembled. You knew that if he followed you, he would be damned.

Yakumo did not respond to your warning. He maintained eye contact, reaching upwards to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was intense, filled with longing. He guided you downward. His touch caused your nerves to tingle. Eyes of Marigold entranced you. “(Y/N)”. The way he said your name was sinful. Your name became a curse as it fell from his innocent, pure, Godly lips…

Yakumo tempted you. He was the serpent inside the Garden of Eden who intended to lead you astray. He offered you an apple, a sweet delicacy dripping with ambrosia. It was a saccharine nectar that would soothe the painful ache and provide relief to your condition. It was a promise.

If God intended to be unforgiving of your sin, they why did he test you so?

His predatory gaze pierced directly into you; his aura became dark, uncontrolled and unescapable. Your mind, hazed with disillusion, was unable to distinguish Yakumo from that of a Serpent, as the two separate entities morphed into one. “(Y/N)…” he repeated. His hand reached towards you, guiding you forwards, towards him. His knees collided with the seat of the confessional. As he stumbled backwards, you fell forwards, you knees bent as your body collided with Yakumo’s own. Perched atop his thighs, your eyes widened, when a stark heat radiated across your cheekbones and spread towards the tips of your ears. His mouth uttered your name as though it was a prayer. His eyes gazed upon you as though you were the answer to life, itself. It was sinful. It was intoxicating.

Within the cramped walls of confessional, God was your witness. He watched as you struggled to chose which path you would follow. Your wrists burned with guilt. God was your saviour. God was the only one who would love you when the Devil ascended from Hell to claim your soul. You couldn’t breathe. You did not know if you wanted to breathe.

Yakumo trembled as his finger tips pressed against your chin, tilting your head towards his intense, intimate gaze. He paused, pressing warm lips against the curvature of your ear, meeting the joint between your jaw. His lips burnt a mark into your flesh. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” With that, your teeth sunk into the fruit of the tree. Accepting evil, you felt your restraint tug, strain and snap. Gasping for breath and fighting against absolution, Yakumo guided your lips towards his own, and pressed them together. His lips offer salvation. The ropes that tied around your neck, no longer restricted you. The steering pain of damnation was soothe by Yakumo’s tongue, as it slipped into your mouth and forced your attention to shift from the fear of God, to his Holy alter.

A moment later you separated; your body trembled, spluttering as you struggled to catch your breath. Yakumo’s breath felt warm against your skin. The small space felt cramped yet oddly safe. Despite the judgment of God baring down upon you, you felt untouchable in that small space of hidden sanctuary. “P-Please tell me that you want this. Please tell me that you want me” he whispered, his voice pleading as he gazed upon you with the same look you recognised within your self. It was the stare of a broken man; one who clung to God with every single fibre of his being. It was the look that reflected back into your own eyes, after months of torment at Father’s hand. Father’s face briefly flashed before your eyes; searing pain spreading up your wrists. This was wrong… You weren’t allowed to want this… You weren’t… All thoughts stilled as Yakumo pressed his plush, soft lips against your neck. The skin, sensitive and untouched, fluttered beneath his administrations. Your pulse quickened. A unfamiliar heat coiled in your gut as his lips trailed upwards, before teeth sunk into the soft flesh of your earlobe. “Let me pray at your alter and find communion between your legs.” His voice was desperate, pleading… and who were you to deny a parishioner your assistance.

He shifted your weight, positioning your legs to either side of his hips. As he lifted your body, your nightgown rose, exposing the soft expanse of your upper thigh. You had never shown your body to anyone; concealed beneath priest attire, your body remained unseen and unsullied. His hand, with the desperation of a dying man, pressed into your thigh. He held your body against his own. His lips returned to your own, devouring you with the strength of a man on the brink of starvation. He was ready to drink the blood of Christ directly from your lips, and consume communion bread between your thighs.

His hands shifted further upward, exposing more of your virgin flesh to his hungry gaze. He lifted your nightgown, pressing his growing need against your skin. You gasped into the kiss, as his throbbing cock, begging for attention, seeking assistance from your thigh. Lost in a mirage of pleasure, his forked tongue grazed across your lips and slipped into your mouth. With renewed vigour, his tongue desecrated the untouched cavern, marking its territory as it attempted to slip down your throat. You groaned, your hands trembling as they tugged at the front of his shirt. You pulled the fabric of his clothes, unable to find solid ground. He pulled back, saliva connecting you; his lips returned to the sensitive expanse of your neck. Lips pressed against pulsating flesh; teeth sunk into your skin, leaving marks that burned you and resembled those left behind by the Devil.

His teeth and lips began to devour you. He left bruises to remind himself that your body belonged to him. A moan, deep, needy and desperate escaped you. “Y-Yakumo!” You gasped, uttering his name like it was a prayer. He was defiling you within the walls of the confessional. God was your witness. You offered God a glimpse into your sins. God watched as you sullied his name and mocked his word. Yakumo’s lips curled against your skin. He was the one you had turned to; God’s name no longer fell from your lips. “F-Father, forgive me for I have sinned” he whispered.

“C-Call me (Y-Y/N)” you groaned. After this encounter, you would no longer uphold the position of ‘Father’.

“(Y/N), you are more than a slave to religion. If loving you and filling your body with my essence is a sin, then I shall happily perish at the hands of Satan.” His words ignited a fire within your soul, burning the threads that tied your heart to that of Gods. You felt tears burn your eyes, cascading down your cheeks as relief washed across your system. You had lain awake at night longing for an escape from this role you were forced to play, and here, in that moment, Yakumo had provided you with an exit.

His back pressed firmly against the wooden wall of the confessional booth; his breathing laboured. Your hands shifted, wrapping around his neck and bringing his face towards your own. You pressed yours lips close to his, brushing against him as you spoke. “I-I want you to deceive me” you pleaded. Responding in earnest, he ran his hands across your thighs, allowing your legs to fall apart and to expose your most intimate area. His fingers kneaded the tender flesh, easing muscles that ached after repeated pressure from dropping to your knees in God's prayer. “I-I hope that one day, the only man you drop to yours knees for, shall b-be me” he paused. He spoke before his mind could register the sinful indications to his words. Your cock, throbbing with a lack of attention, twitched is response. The swollen head pressed into Yakumo’s abdomen, causing him to groan with desperation. Your body was reacting in ways you had never experienced before. He had captivated you.

Fingertips danced across your abdomen, lifting your white nightgown as he slipped his hands towards your chest. He pressed his index finger against your swollen buds, tracing the outline of your nipple. He lacked experience; he was a virgin, he was innocent and honest. His hands were hesitant and clumsy. He was eager to elicit the desired response from your lips. “Y-Your body is beautiful.” His finger pressed into the hardening nipple, teasing the sensitive bud. You felt a deep, guttural moan bubble in your chest and slip past your lips. Your eyes, half-lidded with desire allowed Yakumo to explore.

In Yakumo’s eyes, your body was his alter. He would drop to his knees and worship you. He would beg you, as his God, to offer him guidance. He found religion within your eyes, prayer in your bedroom and communion on your skin.

Yakumo’s cock pressed against the tight confinement’s of his black trousers. He shifted your weight to ensure his throbbing cock pressed directly between the curvature of your ass. Your spine arched, the moment his right hand joined the left on your chest, pressing into your tender flesh and seeking to entice a concoction of desire and want from your mouth. “Y-Yakumo~” you whined, his fingers pulling your nipples; twisting with a gentle, practised tug. You had never paid attention to the needs or wants of your body, yet in a instant, Yakumo understood what you wanted in its entirety. He watched as your eyelids fluttered, eyelashes thick with unspilled tears as unadulterated pleasure coursed through your veins and brought you towards the release you had always craved.

Yakumo continued in his attempt to remove your nightgown. He guided your head and arms out of the fabric, exposing your body to the empty rows of pews, positioned directly in front of the booth. You had not registered the moment Yakumo opened the curtain to expose your acts to an empty crowd. “Y-You are so cute, (Y-Y/N)… Your body is trembling” he whispered, his tone gentle and calm.

Moving downward, he slipped his fingers along the waistband of your underwear, avoiding contact with your swollen cock. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, soiling your underwear with your desire. In contrast, Yakumo remained fully clothed; his body modest and dressed appropriately, despite your current situation. You felt shame burn deep within your core, as he slipped his fingers beneath your waistband and wrapped them around your swollen cock. You gasped, a sharp whine as your hips reacted on their own; involuntarily thrusting upwards as your body subconsciously chased the stimulation he was providing. His expression softened as he watched your body fight against your instinct. “I-I stand here today as a human man, a honest man. A man who seeks to find religion between your thighs. A-Allow me to drink from your chalice” he begged. He pushed down your underwear, guiding your body to a stand in order to remove the cloth entirely. In doing so, he was able to unbutton his own trousers, exposing his thick erection to your gaze. Despite attempting to avoid eye contact, your lips twitched, as the thick head pressed heavily against his own abdomen. Yakumo’s cheeks flushed as he turned his head away from you. “I-I apologise…! M-My body… It has a mind of it’s own. I-I do not want to scare you.” You felt his panic. Yakumo was riddled with anxiety and self-doubt. It was his honest nature that caused you to fall directly into his arms. “I-It’s…” you began, before pausing. You returned to sitting on his thighs, your legs spread to either side of his hips, as a sudden wave of confidence possessed you. You guided your cocks together, wincing in pleasure as the two sensitive heads pressed into each other. You watched as his body trembled, seeking guidance from you and longing for the confidence to continue.

He placed his hand atop of your own, following your lead, as your fingers wrapped around the two sensitive cocks, rubbing up and down; offering relief to your aching need. “G-God help me… (Y/N) I pray you forgive me for the sins I am about to commit with your body” Yakumo whispered, with a hiss-like quality to his sharp needy tone.

In a moment, he guided his hand towards his mouth, salivating over the salty-fluids he had gathered from the tip of your cock. He soaked his digits in his own saliva, covering each fingertip generously, as you watched you with patient fascination. He felt hesitant beneath your watchful gaze; his God was watching him, placing judgment on his blasphemous act. Your mouth, slightly agape, longed to taste the sweet nectar that spilled from his lips. As he guided his hand downward, you pressed your lips against his own, and savoured the salvia that pooled at his chin. He used your distraction to his advantage, pressing a warm finger tip against your virgin rim. Your eyelids fluttered, as the narrow tip of his finger breached your entrance, pressing into your hole with little resistance. He remained patient, allowing your body time to adjust, as he slipped the length inside. Separating from the kiss, you gasped. Your body twitched as your knees pressed into Yakumo’s thighs; your body growing weak as he drew whimpers from your lips. His finger stilled, allowing you time to adjust.

As your breathing steadied, he gaged your reaction, withdrawing his finger before pressing back inside. Your expression indicated no pain and thus, he was able to continue. He took pride in drawing moans from your lips, adding several fingers to ensure your body could accommodate his large size. He was aware of the difference when compared with his fellow man; unnaturally long, almost inhumane. He gazed at your expression, heavenly beneath the moonlight that shone between the gaps in the wood. You appeared angelic, with a halo that shone atop your head. Your cheeked flushed, mouth agape, silently pleading for his touch to push you further towards the edge.

“(Y-Y/N)” he stuttered, his breath caught in his throat as your gaze fixated upon him. He felt his cock twitch, nearing release, from your expression and breathy moans alone. He stilled his movement, feeling your insides contract and convulse around his digits. You could not focus, as a stark mix of pain and pleasure resonated from deep within your loins. Your virgin hole, stretched beyond what it was previously capable of, felt uncharacteristically full. “You make i-it hard for me t-t-to control myself” he whispered, his warm breath drawn against the sweat pooling at your forehead. The position was difficult to maintain, as you felt your knees weaken and slip. Each movement of your body caused Yakumos fingers to press deeper and draw out further explicit moans from your lips. “I-I cant hold back” he cursed.

Yakumo withdrew his fingers. Feeling empty, you whined, a deep guttural whine; a sound you did not know that you could make. His lips curled upwards, before pressing lips against your temple. “Your lips, spill prayers that I want to answer… P-Please (Y/N), allow me to show you what the Garden of Eden can become.” With blurred vision, eyelashes thick with tears, you gazed upwards, watching as expression shifted and became predatory. Beneath his stare, you were not scared; you wanted to be consumed. “M-May God forgive me for my sins… I-I…” you choked, your throat felt tight as realisation dawned. You were sullying Gods name, within his own home… You were offering your body as a sacrifice to the Devil…

“Y-You are not betraying God… You are allowing a follower, a man who worships at your door, to receive your Holy blessing. God would not abandon you for that” he reminded you. The way he formulated his words, sinfully and carefully, catered to soothing your aching mind… Your wrists burned and your head ached. The nails had been placed into your wrists and a crown of thorns atop your head. You were offering your body for your repentance. You were ready to accept execution and at dawn, you’d rise. Reborn and cleansed of humanly sins.

“W-worship me… Worship me as though I were your God”

“You are my God”

He guided your body upwards, as his erect cock pressed against his stomach. The tip was swollen, angry and inflamed. It begged for attention; relief that only your body could provide. He balanced you against the tip, your hole twitched as his heated desire pressed teasingly against the rim. He groaned when your bodies made contact, in a place you had both desired it the most. “Just breathe-“ he whispered, as he pressed his swollen cock into your untouched hole, taking your faith and virginity in one careful and controlled thrust.

He watched as your reaction balanced between a dangerously thin line of pain and pleasure; your eyes glazed, unfocused. Your breathing became laboured as your insides struggled to accommodate his foreign size. Your hands flew forwards, pulling the fabric that decorated his back. His clothes clung to his body, sweat pouring down his head and soaking his skin. Your body, created equal dampness. He attempted to maintain restraint, pressing his entire length inside as he waited for you to signal that he was able to move. You held your breath, your heart rate soaring as your insides stretched. Your rim, pulled wide as his cock filled an emptiness you did not know that you had.

“H-Holy… By G-God you are r-rather large” you gasped, unable to still your hips as they rocked forwards on their own. “Y-You are so tight-“ he groaned. You had claimed his virginity as your own. You trusted each other with the deepest, most intimate parts of yourselves.

Yakumo, encouraged by the persistent throbbing of your insides, began to rock his body upward. His cock, thrust in and out of your tight heat, as the swollen tip searched for the place you needed it most. You closed your eyes, adjusting. His cock, reaching your swollen gland, pressed hard in order to elicit a scream of pleasure. Your back arched, as you silently pleaded with Yakumo. Your body begged; your insides throbbing and wrapping tightly around his cock. He smirked, his hands gripped your waist and held you in place. “Y-You are so tight~” he whined, breathless.

“(Y/N)… P-Please… allow me to satisfy my insatiable desire with your body.”

Your body responded before your mind could react. Your hips, jerking forward, forced Yakumo to lose control.

Shifting your position, Yakumo rose to his feet, slamming your body against the adjacent wall and thrusting his hips upwards. He maintained a steady pace, occasionally becoming erratic whenever his tip retracted and reentered; catching on the swollen, puffy rim. He allowed you to see stars as your head tilted backwards; moans falling from your lips as though they were a hymn. He grew addicted to the symphony that your body could create; gasps, breathless moans, squelches and thumps all mixed together, creating music that only Yakumo was allowed to hear.

His movements increased in speed as he felt your walls constrict, your cock twitching as you felt yourself draw closer to release. “Paint me in your innocence… Decorate my body with our sin” he begged. In a moment, you reached climax and spilled hot fluids across his abdomen. Following suit, Yakumo spilled his virtuous seed inside of you, pushing your body beyond what it was previously capable of. “H-Holy… I-I can’t~ O-Oh, by the Gods~” you gasped, feeling your body fill with fluids that were forced to spill beyond the tight seal his cock had created against your rim.

As the searing pain of relief flooded across your system, your eyes lifted toward the roof of the confessional booth, focusing on the painted glass that mocked you. Your eyes met the smiling face of Jesus. God had witnessed your sinful display of rebellion, but for the first time in your life, it did not hurt. Your wrists, marked with scars, did not ache. Your crown of thorns, fell to the floor, scattering your virgin bloom to the wayside. Your heart, body and soul no longer belonged to God. You had a new calling; you had been tempted by the serpent and lead astray. He would lead you to ruin and you would blindly follow.

Yakumo, content to support your weight, remained still as you attempted to regulate your breathing. He felt your insides respond to his stillness, twitching as thick cum decorated your inner walls. You groaned, resting your forehead atop his shoulder. Your thighs ached and your spine tingled. He pressed his hands into the base of your spine, offering support as you attempted to lower your body to the ground and stand upon your own two feet. He guided his cock out of you; whining as cum spilled down your legs and decorated the scared wood in sinful white. For a moment, the world outside those three walls did not exist. The sound of Yakumo’s breath greeted your ears and it was the only sound you would ever need to hear again. It showed that he was alive; that you were alive.

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave.”

† † †

Yakumo did not abandon you. He removed the evidence of your love from the confessional, cleaning your body and washing your nightgown. He laid you down in your bed before he removed the cross from your doorway. He turned his back to the stained glass panels that decorated the space above your bed. He watched as your chest rose and fell; your cheeks flushed from over exertion. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as his finger tips traced the surface of your cheek. He made a promise to never abandon you. He made a promise to take you far away from this town and to never look back. He made a promise to sacrifice himself in exchange for your freedom.

As dawn broke and sunlight filtered through the stained glass, glimmers of red, yellow and orange painted your face. Your brows furrowed before your eyelids fluttered open. Reaching a hand upwards, to wipe the sleep from your eyes, you suddenly felt a dull ache resonate from the base of your spine. Memories of the previous evening flooded your vision. Your cheeks burned a deep shade of red as you recalled the sinful acts you had committed. In a state of adrenaline fuelled panic, you felt an urge to run; to suffer the same fate as Jesus and atone for your sins by spilling blood. You could hardly breathe as you stepped out of bed, stumbling forwards before collapsing into familiar arms. Your eyes, frantic, were soothed by a reassuring shade of Marigold.

Yakumo returned you to your bed and placed a hand atop your head. “We do not have much time… I-I could not tell my grandparents everything but they… they are waiting. They are outside waiting for us. I-I cannot leave you behind. I do not know what the future will hold and m-maybe we cannot escape the past but I-I want to try. I want to try to create a future with you” the way he spoke, almost made you believe that it was possible. That escaping this life was an option. Your expression saddened, pained by the innocent hope he maintained. “I cannot leave this place, my dearest Yakumo. They will not allow me to, and if I were to try, they would spill not only my own blood, but that of yours and your grandparents as well. I cannot risk those lives to save my own… Y-You must leave. You must leave but please know that even for a moment, for a fleeting moment… you made me happy. That happiness is something I shall carry to my grave. I have never felt true happiness until the moment I met you. For the first time in forever, you made me glad that I was born. Thank you, Yakumo” as you spoke, tears filled the corners of your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks.

Unable to vocalise his response, Yakumo wrapped his arms around your upper torso, pressing your face into his chest. You could feel the tear drops spilling from his eyes as they landed atop your head. His heart rate increased; he fought against his anxieties in order to focus on your own. “N-Never say that… P-Please (Y/N) n-never tell me to leave. I cannot live without you. N-Never tell me to live for you when dying would be easier. T-They cannot hurt you if they cannot find you… M-My grandparents would do anything to protect you… I would do anything to protect you” his voice was broken. It was evident that he was desperate. He was a man, pleading with God for redemption. You have once lived inside his shoes and you knew the heartache of rejection. You lifted your head, staring into his eyes and searching for a sign of hesitation; of fear or doubt. You could not find a single ounce. Yakumo was being honest.

Torn between the branches of Good and Evil on the tree of life, you struggled to chose a path to follow. One path was controlled by your heart and would lead you to ruin. The other path was controlled by your mind and would lead to certain death. You feared a life that you did not know. You did not know how to live without the word of God to guide you. Could you live a life of freedom? Could you live a life and make a decision of your own?

Yakumo turned his attention towards the bible that rested atop your vanity. Lifting it into his hands, he guided the book towards the naked flame of a candle, positioned towards the end of your bed. You watched as he allowed the flames to lick the hard cover. You flinched, reaching forward to withdraw his hand and stop his desecration of Father’s gift… You stopped. You held yourself back and watched as God’s law burned. The realisation crushed you. The bible was only a book. It was fragile. It was nothing more than type on a page. It was destructible. It was not immortal; it did not contain the abilities of a higher and all-mighty being. It turned to ash and stained the floor. It never had been anything more than that. God had never been anything more than that.

In the face of Father, God and all those who used the freedom of religion to control and restrain you, you laughed. You laughed until your chest ached and your lips turned blue. God had been used as a weapon against you and as you gathered the ashes of Father’s control into your hand, you realised the fragility of life and the weakness of control when fear was overcome. You allowed the bible to slip between your fingertips and blow along with the wind. You turned to face the image of Mary above your bed and greeted her with a smile. Perhaps in another life you would reconcile your faith in God.

Yakumo watched as your most prized possession was reduced to nothing in a blink of an eye. In a singular blink, it was gone. He watched as your expression shifted between guilt, relief and resentment. Fire was destructive and cleared everything within its unforgiving path. It cleansed the world of anything it desired… It could cleanse the world of you. Yakumo lifted the candle into his hand and held the flame above your bed. “In a instant, this could all disappear.” It was both a promise and a threat. Wax dripped on to your bed sheets and burnt holes into the cotton. The fire could consume the entire church and burn years of excruciating labour to the ground. The fire would take the life you had built and reduce it to nothing but a distant memory, long forgotten to time. Father would look for your body in the ash. Perhaps he would mourn the son he lost; the one he wanted. Your heart ached for the children who would grow to suffer a fate similar to your own. Their hopeful innocence fading away over time. You prayed, one last time, that God would be forgiving. That by the time they reached your age, the world would be kinder to them.

You opened your eyes and met Yakumo’s gaze. “But as for the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, as for murderers, the sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolaters, and all liars, their portion will be in the lake that burns with fire and sulfur, which is the second death.” You wrapped your hand around Yakumo’s own, allowing the candle to slip from it’s holder and bathe your bedsheets in orange, yellow and red. The burst of flames scorched your skin, as you stumbled backwards. Fulled by a similar rage contained within yourself, the flames burnt and consume anything they were able to reach. You did not spare anything from their hateful wrath. You wanted to start fresh and lose any connections to the past. The cross you had once treasured tarnish, as black soot stained the silver. Your priest garbs turned to ash; a photo album of your siblings faded to smoke. You did not have time to mourn. Yakumo slipped his hand into your own and guided you through the back.

In the distance, you recognised the familiar faces of the elderly couple who had lead you to freedom. They had welcomed you into Yakumo’s life and given you a reason to live. You stopped, turning to face the church that you had once called home. The flames spread like a wildfire and consumed the wooden structure. You watched as the roof collapsed in on to itself. For a moment you believed you could hear screams; screams of the lives lost to those constructing walls. Part of you died in the fire. From the ashes, like a phoenix, you would be reborn.

Your future was incinerated. You watched as memorising sparkles of orange, yellow and red, turned your world into blackened ash. You felt a desire to smile. You felt a desire to laugh. Filled with childish glee, you turned to Yakumo with tears in your eyes and smiled.

“For one who has died has been set free from sin.”

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