ALL MY WANTING LOOKED LIKE A SIN : MAYBE I DIDN’T WANT YOUR PRAYERS, I JUST WANTED YOU TO LOVE ME.
PAIRING: NATALIE SCATORCCIO X READER
SUMMARY: natalie had loved you for as long as she could remember ˙ . ꒷ you lived in a world that called girls like her temptation and girls like you daughters. good girls didn’t want what you wanted. ˙ . ꒷
WARNINGS: cussing, flirty language, infidelity, religious themes, trauma/guilt, internalized homophobia, emotional abuse, mild blasphemy, atheist (nat), misogyny, mentions of sex, kissing , injuries ,undressing in locker rooms ,manipulative/controlling boyfriend, mom controlling what reader eats , virgin talk. ˙ . ꒷
JASMIN NOTE: hi i love yj and this is sad. read with care and let me know if i offend anyone. ˙ . ꒷
divider creds is @angeliicide dont know where the first first lace divider is from tho.. i found it off pintrest have fun reading !! 🤎
𓂃 . © 2026 , turnersx. all rights reserved. ◞ (do not give my work to ai!! reblogs are sooooo appreciated thank you for reading! :0)
HAS. ANYONE. ELSE. DIED. FOR YOU. BUT. JESUS?
You were in church, fiddling with your cross as your uncle preached, twisting the silver between your fingers until it left dents in your skin. The words droned on and on, but you weren’t really listening. Your stomach curled with boredom—or maybe shame. Maybe both. Every glance your mother threw your way felt like judgment. Every breath felt like it could be wrong. You weren’t just sitting in church.
You looked up and saw Natalie across the pew, her hand waving slightly. She always waited for you during church because the two of you hung out almost every day. Best friends. At least that’s what you told yourself. Maybe it was more complicated than that, but you didn’t want to think too hard about it.
Your uncle’s voice cut through the hall.
“In Matthew 5:28, it tells us—lust is a deadly sin. And temptation? That’s for exactly the punks of this world. God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”
Your chest tightened. Your fingers clenched around the cross so hard it almost hurt. Every nerve in your body screamed that this wasn’t just a sermon. It was a warning. A reminder. A list of everything about you that could be called wrong.
When church finally ended, you walked out quietly, avoiding Natalie’s eyes. Your parents followed close behind, leaving you to brace yourself for the world outside—and for the school day ahead, where you would surely have to face her.
At home, the walls of your huge house did nothing to drown out your parents’ arguing. Even with six floors between you and the living room, their voices still cut through the house like knives.
“She needs discipline! An ass beating!” your father shouted.
“Oh please, she’s not a little boy,” your mother scoffed.
“Well, she sure acts like one! The way she messes around with that Natalie Scatorccio—”
You stood in front of your mirror and sighed, tracing your reflection with tired fingers. Who were you supposed to be? And who did you even want to be?
Downstairs, the maid looked at you with concern. “Want breakfast, sweetie? Walter can drive you to school.”
You shook your head. “Actually, I haven’t eaten in da—”
Your mother cut in sharply. “She’s on a diet. She only needs fruit and maybe dry toast.”
The maid frowned. “She’s a growing girl. She needs food.”
You dismissed her quickly before your mom could snap. “I’m okay,” you said, even though you weren’t.
You slipped past your father before he could say anything and headed out. Outside, car honks greeted you before you even reached the sidewalk.
“Want a ride, preacher’s niece?” “Want a ride, princess?”
You rolled your eyes at the jocks leaning out of the windows, laughing like they were God’s greatest gift.
Natalie caught up to you quickly, one hand wrapping around your shoulder.
“You okay?” she asked, looking at you closely. “You’ve been running off all day like some kind of superhero. What are you, Batman or something?”
You let out a small laugh. “No. I just want to get through the day.”
Natalie frowned. “Why? Days are supposed to be slow. Don’t take life for granted.”
You snapped before you could stop yourself. “What if you don’t want this life? What if you want to be left alone?”
She blinked at you, caught off guard, then shrugged. “Seems like you’ve gotta figure that out on your own.”
And just like that, she jogged ahead toward school, leaving you feeling worse than before.
At school, Natalie ignored half of math class, scribbling in her notebook instead of paying attention. You caught a glimpse when she tilted the page—she was writing down songs for you. Fantasy. I Love You Always Forever. Sittin’ Up in My Room. Only songs she thought you’d love. She always knew you too well.
Later, when the bell rang, Natalie walked to her locker and caught sight of you talking to your friends. They were whispering about her again.
“She’s kind, guys. Can’t she just come to our hangout?” you asked, already tired.
One of the girls scoffed. “She’s a fucking dyke. Do you want her staring at us too?”
You laughed nervously. Too quickly. Too fake.
“She’s straight—what? And what do you mean too? You think she likes me?”
The panic in your chest came fast and ugly.
“Even if she did, I would never date her. She’s my friend. That’s all. And she’s kind of a junkie, I guess.”
The second the words left your mouth, they tasted rotten.
You walked off before they could say anything else.
You always felt like there were only two choices in this world: the lie or the truth.
And obviously, you lied.
All the time.
That was probably your biggest sin.
If your uncle knew how much you sinned, you’d probably already be burning. All the lies you told. All the things you said to keep up your image. All the ways you carved yourself smaller just so people would still love you.
Soccer practice was the only place you felt remotely close to being real. Your parents hated it, of course. A girl like you should’ve been in cheerleading, they thought. Something pretty. Something feminine. Something soft.
But soccer felt like the only thing that belonged to you.
You changed into your jersey quickly in the locker room, trying not to look too long at Natalie as she changed too. She caught your stare anyway. That crooked smile pulled at her mouth.
“You ready to kick ass at practice?”
You tied your shoelaces tighter than necessary. “Mhm. Sure.”
You were the goalie. Natalie played striker. Which meant she spent the whole practice charging toward you over and over, sending ball after ball flying in your direction while your heart beat for reasons that had nothing to do with the game.
After practice, you stayed behind in the showers long after everyone else left. You didn’t even really wash at first. You just sat there in the cold, dark stall with your knees pulled to your chest, water hitting your back while your thoughts got louder and louder and louder.
Your fingers found your cross necklace again. You tugged on it once. Twice. Harder. Until it snapped. The tiny silver cross hit the tile with a sound so small it almost didn’t feel real. You stared at it for a long time.
Then you got up, dried off, changed, and walked home.
That night, you wrote in your diary while your parents screamed downstairs. You listened to the Walkman Natalie made you and thought about the way she’d handed it to you earlier with a grin and a quiet little: “For you.” Her blonde bangs. Her rings. Her short frame. Her laugh. Her stupid crooked smile. She knew you too well. And somehow, that made everything worse.
The next week, Natalie slept over. She sat cross-legged on your bed, painting your nails pink because your mother would’ve hated black. The room smelled like cheap polish and your vanilla lotion and the strawberry lip gloss Natalie kept stealing from you.
You talked about stupid things at first. Futures. Marriage. College. What your life was supposed to look like.
Then you said, “I’m talking to this guy. Nathaniel Alex Cameron.”
Natalie looked up immediately. “The football player?”
You nodded. “Yeah. It’s kind of arranged, I guess. We get married after college. He’s a virgin. I am too. He loves me. We want kids. I’ll be a housewife.”
Natalie stared at you for half a second, then burst out laughing.
“A housewife? Marriage? That dickhead couldn’t keep it in his pants for five seconds.”
Your face dropped. “What?”
She snorted. “He hooks up with everybody. I hooked up with him a couple years ago. Trust me, you’re not missing much.”
You stared at her. “You hooked up with Nathaniel?”
She shrugged like it was nothing. “Yeah. He sucks.”
Silence settled between you.
Then Natalie looked at you differently—more carefully.
“Have you ever dated a girl?”
Your stomach dropped.
“No,” you said quickly. “It’s a sin. My parents say.”
Natalie leaned back on her hands. “What if God isn’t real?”
You stared at her. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m serious,” she said. “What if nobody’s controlling any of this? What if we’re the ones making our own lives? What if it’s just us?”
You looked down at your hands.
“I wish that were true,” you whispered.
Natalie’s expression softened.
“I like being here with you,” she said quietly.
You looked up.
“Me too—”
But she cut you off with a kiss.
Warm. Gentle. Careful.
And for one awful, perfect second—you kissed her back.
Your hand found her wrist. Her hand found your waist. The nail polish tipped over and spilled across the floor, forgotten.
Then your mother knocked on the door.
“Everything alright in there?”
You pulled away too fast, your breathing uneven.
“Come in, Mom.”
Your mother stepped inside, took one look at Natalie, then looked at the snacks on your bed with disgust.
“You can’t be eating this shit, Y/N.”
“Sorry, Mom,” you mumbled.
She told Natalie to wait and dragged you into the hallway.
The yelling came fast—about your image, your future, your family, your reputation, about Natalie, about what kind of girl she was, about what kind of girl you were becoming.
By the time you walked back into your room, your face was hot and your chest felt like it was caving in.
Natalie stood up immediately. “We need to talk.”
You didn’t even look at her.
“You need to go.”
“What?”
“That kiss,” you said, your voice shaking. “That didn’t happen.”
Natalie stared at you.
“I’m not gay,” you snapped. “Okay? So just stay the fuck away from me. You junkie.”
The second you said it, you wanted to take it back.
But it was too late.
Natalie looked like you had slapped her. Her eyes filled with tears, but she still laughed bitterly.
“Have fun praying on your knees to God,” she said, grabbing her bag, “when you realize nothing can ever save you from how you feel.”
And then she left.
The second the front door shut, you lost it.
You screamed. You threw your lamp. You ripped the blanket off your bed and hurled your diary across the room. Then you collapsed face-first into your mattress, sobbing so hard it made your chest ache.
Why couldn’t you just be normal?
Why did everything good feel wrong?
Why did wrong feel so much like her?
You didn’t eat for days. You didn’t go to school for days. You locked yourself in your room and barely moved, barely spoke, barely even slept.
It was like being trapped in some endless loop where every thought led back to the same words.
Sin. Lust. Temptation. Lies.
Your parents argued outside your door almost constantly. Sometimes they yelled at each other. Sometimes they yelled at you. Sometimes they tried dragging you out for school, but every time they touched you, you just dropped your weight to the floor and cried harder.
One morning, your older sister Evangeline found you curled up by the door. Your hair was tangled. Your eyes were swollen. You looked half-dead.
She sat beside you on the floor without saying anything for a while. Then she pulled you into her arms and held a granola bar to your mouth.
“Sis,” she whispered, brushing your hair out of your face, “you need to eat.”
You stared at nothing. The only words you could get out were broken and small.
“Sin.”
Evangeline frowned.
“Lust.”
Her hand tightened around yours.
“Temptation.”
She looked like she wanted to cry too.
“Lies.”
She shook you gently. “None of that means you deserve this.”
But you didn’t answer. You were too tired. Too numb. Too gone.
A week later, you finally went back to school. You avoided everyone. Natalie. Nathaniel. Your friends. The teachers who looked at you too closely. You kept your head down and walked the halls like a ghost.
But of course, Nathaniel found you first. He grabbed your arm and spun you around with a grin.
“Hey, babe. You look like you got hit by a truck.”
You blinked at him.
He tilted his head, fake concern all over his face.
“You know I can’t have my girlfriend walking around looking like she doesn’t take care of herself.”
You nodded automatically. “Sorry, Nathan.”
He smiled, pleased. “That’s a good girl.”
You hated how natural it was to go blank around him. To act clueless. To shrink yourself down into something easier to hold. That’s how he wanted you. That’s how your parents wanted you. That’s how everyone wanted you.
Nathaniel leaned down and kissed your cheek, then looked you up and down.
“You should really quit soccer and do cheerleading.”
“What?”
He laughed. “You look unflattering in that jersey. It’s too manly. Too dominating. You don’t wanna end up like Scatorccio, right?”
Your head snapped up.
“She’s not a dyke,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Nathaniel’s face changed instantly.
“What, you defending her now?” he snapped. “What, is she fucking you too?”
Your stomach twisted.
You stared at him for a second. Then you laughed. Not because it was funny. Because if you didn’t laugh, you thought you might start screaming.
“Okay,” you said. “But you cheat on me all the time with Valerie.”
His jaw tightened. “Not this again.”
“She literally told me.”
“It was a one-time thing.”
You gave him that look. That empty, tired look.
“One-time thing?” you repeated. “I literally lie to everyone and tell them you’re saving yourself for marriage like I am, just so people think we’re perfect. And you’re out here fucking other girls.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, because you won’t give me what I want.”
That one shut you up.
You walked away.
In class, you couldn’t focus. Your notes turned into scribbles. Your scribbles turned into her name.
Nat. Nat. Nat.
You pinched your arm under the desk.
“Nat is sin. Stop. Stop.”
“Do you need a minute?” your teacher asked.
You nodded too fast and left.
Bathroom stall. Shaking. Can’t breathe.
Her. Her. Her.
Lunch.
You sat next to Nathaniel like always.
Across the room—
Natalie.
Jackie.
Laughing.
Something in your chest tightened.
Is she replacing me?
You stood up.
“Bathroom,” you said.
Nathaniel didn’t care.
But Natalie watched.
Always.
You were now walking toward Jackie’s locker, doing something you would normally never do. But jealousy brought out a new woman in you, but you were still the same innocent Christian, perverted girl you were, right?
You ruined Jackie’s locker by scribbling “slut” on it.
The hall monitor caught you instantly.
“Miss Y/N L/N!”
Detention.
He wrote you a slip.
You sighed.
You were now washing off the locker for hours, and Nat saw you.
“You need a hand?”
You nodded. “Yeah… then I’m in detention after this.”
Nat chuckled. “Wow, naughty girl.”
You rolled your eyes. “Not shocking.”
She hit you playfully. “I’m in for ruining a jock’s football uniform.”
Your eyebrow went up. “Who?”
She sighed and laughed. “Nathaniel’s.”
You gasped. “My boyfriend?”
Nat shook her head. “Why do you think I got a bruise on my face? I had a fight with them.”
You looked worried. “You look really bad. Do you want me to patch you up after detention?”
Nat smiled. “Mm, sure.”
You guys continued chatting while she helped you wash the locker, then you both headed to detention, having to stay quiet of course.
Luckily your parents were out of town, so the meeting they had was with your maid, and she took you and Nat home.
You were in your room patching up Nat, cleaning her eye as she had her shirt off and her sports bra on, wiping the cuts and bruises she had on her ribs. Her ribs were bruised and her lip was bleeding.
You wiped and patched her up, and gave her tea that she definitely didn’t want but just drank it for you.
Nat would lie in your bed with you while you guys talked.
Natalie said, “Can we talk?”
You sighed. “That thing… that happened. We could still be just friends, right?”
Nat didn’t want to stress you out anymore so she sighed and chuckled and said yeah it was just an accident.
When you smiled and walked off to head to the restroom, she sobbed and wiped her tears.
When you came back, she acted like nothing happened.
Gosh, you’ll never truly know how much she loves you.
Or if you can love her… or Jesus more than your feelings.
𓂃 . © 2026 , turnersx. all rights reserved. ◞