╰┈➤ This is where I cross-post my A03 stories, and where I will post more relaxed imagines or my rantings about characters and media I currently enjoy.
I'm not picky in requests for characters or relationships.
𝖫𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗌:
No OCs that I don't own
No scat/urine
No inflation/feederism
No ageplay
I also usually don't write mlm fics. Since I'm a lesbian I usually need a woman in the fic to either insert myself or enjoy writing. This may change in the future and I'm still open to requests, its just way less likely to happen. I still do straight ships
With that said if you make it a genderswap I'll almost DEFINITELY write it. I love lesbians I love writing lesbians and we need more.
If your request falls within these fandoms and doesn't contain any of the above, send it in <3
𝖯𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌:
I am of the opinion that there is no perfect amount of censorship. This is a very complicated topic. Some censorship is necessary to protect people (like sexual content in children's spaces, or CSAM) but other censorship can end up silencing communities. (like censoring "sexually deviant relationships" can end up just censoring queer relationships)
With this in mind, I will write fanfiction with dubious consent, coercion, or power imbalances.
If any of this bothers you, I completely understand, and this may not be the page for you.
🖤𐙚₊˚⊹♣️✿♟️˚❀༉₊˚✮
𝖠𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖬𝖾:
╰┈➤ I've been writing for years. I've written one-act plays, poetry, satirical newspaper articles, and of course, fanfiction.
A one act play I wrote in grade 11 won a local competition and was performed at a province-wide competition.
Over the last year I've been insanely busy with getting an engineering degree, but I missed writing so much. Hence, the fanfiction, because it's very low-stakes and I can write and update whenever I want. With this in mind, updates are unpredictable.
Outside of writing I've loved to read for years, and I'm trying to read more. Send me book recs. I'm also an amateur vocalist (it's hard trying to learn music theory when your instrument can sometimes not make the noise) and was a theatre kid, though I SURPRISINGLY wasn't a musical theatre kid.
I'm a lazy goth. I've always been very into DIY and have recently started sewing again. I'm also very active in the political scene of the goth subculture, and I hold a special place in my heart for the grassroots organizations who ally with people over companies and states.
"Put a trans girl on your couch"
- Mia Wong
🖤𐙚₊˚⊹♣️✿♟️˚❀༉₊˚✮
I will update this page as time goes on. I intend to link a masterlist to each fandom if I have any works for them.
When Santiago makes the mistake of bringing an escort back to the theatre, Armand knows he cannot let it slide. Anything too far risks pushing the coven into a coup d'état, so how can Armand show he's still in charge without upsetting this delicate balance?
Tags: improper use of mind gift, Armand is really Mr. Psychosexual torture, mild blood kink (vampires ofc ofc), degradation
Content warnings:
Dubious consent via mind gift
Descriptions of blood and of consumption
Degradation via use of misogynistic language
Brief descriptions of strangulation/choking
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
"Oh, dear Santiago… you never were the cunning one…”
Santiago froze, his fangs buried deep in your neck. As the man descends the steps, he retracts before dropping you to the floor, his sole focus on the man in front of him.
An almost halo of light surrounds the man’s hair, painting as a near-angelic figure come to grant you salvation. Yet as you fixate on him as your anchor, you realize there is no salvation here.
He grabs Santiago by the collar of his blood stained shirt—your blood—and forces him against the wall of the green room.
Santiago is paralyzed, and stares to you for a moment. You avert your eyes to his attacker instead, fascinated by the development. Your mortality hung in balance either way—what difference would it make if Santiago or a stranger were to kill you?
He spoke. Softly, as though explaining to a child why it’s rude to hit your friends, though with the threatening edge of someone who’s been waiting, maybe excited, for this.
“For the violation of law four: a vampire shall not reveal their true nature to a mortal and let that mortal live,” He leans forward, and spoke to Santiago in a hushed whisper.
It’s the same tone your clients use when they ask for more than you can give. A gentle push, a pathetic plea, but using subtext to apply the threat should you refuse.
The Angel releases Santiago, who immediately falls to his knees. He tries to meet your eyes, wearing pity and remorse.
“Dear Maître… I never intended on letting her live…”
While the words are intended for the man, the plea for forgiveness extends to you. As if he were a spider pleading with a captured fly for forgiveness, while he continues to wrap you in his web.
“A little slip of the tongue here, a joke there…” Something in his words makes you feel like he’s draining your blood again, you feel lighter with every plea he sings to the man. “What difference would it make for her to die under a bridge or die here? If I kill her tonight or tomorrow?”
The man scoffs and averts his attention from Santiago, who remains grovelling at his feet. While Santiago is an actor, the mawkish sentimentality of the stage leaves him a fool in earnest interactions.
The angel then turns his attention to you, crouching to the floor as he grabs your wrist. He presses two fingers to your wrist pulse point, all without addressing you directly.
“If only you had fully drained her before I returned, then you could’ve pretended to be cleaning up a previous kill, and I could’ve pretended to have loyal children. Yet you failed to even subdue her.”
He stands and drags you up with him. Any remaining blood in your body rushes from your brain, leaving the world spinning as he holds you upright by your wrist, as though you were a doll. Despite your vision blurring, you can make out the soft facial features of a young gentleman, no older than twenty.
“I’m sorry Maître. I never meant for it to go this far… you see that she-”
“Enough.”
He drops you. You don’t feel yourself hitting the floor.
“Get up.”
You’ve never felt heavier, as though you could sink through the ground and down six feet at a command. But his command invigorates you, as if the words themselves were pulling you back to your feet.
He watches, scanning you over again without meeting your eyes, and turns back to the stairs. Santiago watches, looking from you to the man and back to you again, as if asking for your intervention.
But it doesn’t matter. You’re too weak to even look back at him, much less interject. Besides, any remaining strength is reserved for your survival.
“Come.”
You ascend the stares behind the man. Though makes the world spin faster, you follow. He addresses Santiago a final time without turning to him.
“You are dismissed.”
Santiago calls back, but you can’t make it out. It seems irrelevant to the man in front of you as he doesn’t address it further. Though you have no reason to care what happens to Santiago, you can’t help but wonder what leverage or power this man has over him. Whether it’s the same threat he has over you, or if there’s even more at play.
You follow him through the theatres back rooms. Past disorganized props, discarded wigs, strewn costumes, and catches your tired eyes. That is until you pass through two rows of coffins, lined neatly as though you entered a group funeral. He doesn’t stop, and you even seem to pick up the pace.
After another flight of stairs, you are led into a cozy office with two chairs. He turns one around and sits in the other. You half-collapse in the available chair.
He mumbles something, and crosses to the desk behind you. It’s only now you realize you’re still bleeding and staining your chemise. You reach up to touch the puncture wound in your neck, and stare at the blood on your fingertips. It’s colder than you thought it would be.
“Drink.”
He hands you a glass of water, and you realize he poured it from the carafe at the desk. Your hands shake as you lift it to your lips, and you choke down a sip before the glass slips from your hands.
But it doesn’t hit the ground.
He’s holding it in his hand as if he hadn’t handed it to you at all.
“Careful, it’s crystal.”
He returns your glass and takes his seat.
It’s only now you have the energy and the stillness to fully observe the man in front of you. Though his face still wears the mask of youth, his eyes are exposed, revealing wisdom beyond his years. He leans back in his chair, lighting a cigarette while scanning you over again.
This moment could be a painting, but he breaks the illusion when he speaks.
“I am Armand. I’m the director for the Theatre des Vampires performances.” He glances to your bleeding neck, and takes another drag, “How long has Santiago been seeing you.”
You avert your eyes to your glass and swirl the water inside, focusing on the simple motion.
“A few days… he’s been twice before. Tonight was the first night we left together.”
Armand suddenly shifts forward and grabs your chin, as though he appeared in a blink. He tilts your face up to look at him.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
He’s colder than you thought he’d be, yet the touch of another is comforting. It doesn’t demand or take, save for your attention.
Satisfied, he releases your chin and relaxes. You partially miss his touch, and glance to his hand before remembering his penchant for eye contact. Armand flicks his cigarette ash onto the floor as he stares back at you.
“Where did he meet you.”
He’s humiliating you. This must be intentional. But this isn’t the first time you’ve embarrassed yourself for your own safety. You steady yourself.
“A brothel. It’s nearby. You wouldn’t know it.”
“Depends. How many of you are there?”
“Five other girls, two recently vanished. The madame thinks they ran away.”
He smothers his cigarette into his arm rest.
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t.”
“Tell me, do you know what happened to the girls?”
Hot and cold. You saw what he was capable of with Santiago, and you remember the demands he made of you earlier, marching you up the stairs while you were close to fainting. Yet now he’s warm, drawing you closer. You could tell him anything.
You should tell him everything.
“Fuck.” You whisper to yourself and take a sip of your water. This briefly breaks the eye contact, and you remember where you are.
You don’t know this man, what he’ll do to you, or what he’s even capable of.
With Santiago there were rules. He would supposedly take you back to his room, you’d spend the night, and it would be over. While the rules ended up meaningless, it provided a guide of some things that you could expect.
You can’t expect anything here.
“Armand? What am I doing here?”
“What do you mean?”
He only speaks in questions, and what value do yours hold if there’s always a follow-up?
“Santiago brought me here, and I think he was going too far… but you stepped in. Why?”
“I believe we can help each other.”
He rises, moving over to sit on the wooden coffin at the end of the room.
Another coffin.
His expression is mirthful, and he gestures to the empty spot next to him.
“Sit with me, and I promise to explain the coffin. I don’t believe death is contagious.”
He’s joking, trying to set you at ease, but everything in this room and this interaction just feels wrong.
But as if running towards death itself, you move to sit next to him.
He pulls out another cigarette, handing it to you. You accept and hold it to your mouth as he lights it for you.
You linger for a minute as he holds the lighter, still enjoying the sensation of another body next to yours.
He leans back, propping himself up with one hand while he lights his cigarette with the other.
Now you’re the one staring, but not in the scanning, methodical way that he looked at you.
You take your time, slowly tracing your eyes from his resting hand. Faint veins line his arms, and you follow them up his shoulders, where they disappear beneath his rolled-up red shirt.
The vertical lines of his shirt make the already lean man even slimmer, and your eyes follow these lines down to the tan waistcoat, snug against his body. You watch his chest rise through the waistcoat as he inhales the cigarette smoke and wonder just how well it hugs his figure.
Does he do this on purpose, to encourage imagining him without clothing?
He exhales the smoke and taps the ash on the coffin before turning back to you.
“Your Madame has had two girls go missing, yes? When did you last see them?”
You exhale, and replace the air in your lungs with smoke, allowing it to soothe you from the inside.
“Nicole disappeared from her room during the night two weeks ago. She didn’t take any of her belongings, she just vanished.” Hot ash falls on your chemise, burning a small hole in the already tattered fabric. You pay no attention to it, but Armand leans forward to brush the remaining ash off your dress.
“Apologies, I didn’t want your…” He pulls away and glances down to your undergarments, “…dress to be damaged further. Please continue.”
“It’s fine. Santiago left my coat somewhere; I’ll look for it in a minute.” You smother the cigarette butt on the coffin and adjust yourself. His touch, though brief, still reverberates through your skin. “Yvette disappeared with a gentleman a week ago. I never saw him, but another girl said he paid Madame for the night, and later he returned alone with more money. She didn’t hear his explanation, but apparently Madame was indifferent.”
It’s uncomfortable to think that tomorrow morning Santiago could return with enough money to make Madame forget you exist. Explain it as running away while you could be on the bottom of the Seine.
“And you only met Santiago recently?”
You shake your head.
“No, he’s been a regular for a few weeks. Nicole was his favourite,” You chuckle to yourself, and glance to Armand, “He was… always weird. A few times he just wanted to talk, and he would tell her stories about a coven of witches who massacre the mansions of nobles in the night.”
He smiles, and smothers his own cigarette butt next to yours, and lets his hand rest closer to you.
“What else did he do?”
You stop and glance back to him. He’s playing a game of humiliation and continually skipping your turn.
“I don’t know what you mean, Sir.”
He sighs, choosing to humour you.
“I mean in bed. You are a terribly pious whore.”
You laugh.
“This time I’m spending is free mind you. This is charity, staying here with you instead of being available to someone worth my time.”
“Charity?” He leans forward, inches from your face. “What about this is charitable to you? What are you giving to me? Because right now I can’t even get simple information from you.”
You’re frozen as he stares, a deer in deep amber headlights.
“I’ve given you the wrong idea about this conversation. You will give me what I need.” Without looking away, he wraps his hand around your neck, “Now, you can swallow your pride like the common slut you are and tell me what I want to know…” His hand grows colder, numbing your skin as he tightens his grip. “Or I can take what I need and everything else in the process. Your memories, feelings, every experience and thought you’ve ever had will belong to me as well. I will search every millisecond of your life if necessary.”
He leans down, face inches from yours. All you can see is his overwhelming eyes, the colour burning itself into your retinas.
“Do you understand me?”
“Yes… maître.”
The title slips from your tongue so naturally, too naturally.
“Good… focus for me.” He slowly moves his hand to cup your chin, tilting you up to stare at him. “You and Santiago… what would he do? Spare me no details, ma petite salope.”
His words send a shiver through you, Madame kicks men from the brothel for such language.
But in Armand’s domain he will do as he wishes.
“He’d pay for two hours but only spend fifteen minutes fucking me, the rest was reserved for his monologue… sometimes I would fall asleep, and in the dark he couldn’t tell the difference.”
He traces a finger along your lower lip, stalling your speech.
“Go on…”
The shaky breath you take does little to steady your nerves. Perhaps he just wants blackmail on Santiago, is that the source of his power?
“He… he wanted me to thrash and try to kick him off. The first time I didn’t try, but the second time I realized how strong he is.” That evening he had left bruises on your wrists from his grip, “When he had “won” he would fuck me… and then he would…” Your words trail off as you find yourself staring at Armands lips, pulled into a cruel sneer.
He leans further into you, his breath caressing your neck as his mouth makes its way to just above your ear.
“Would what?” He whispers in your ear, resting his hand on the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.
He’s close enough you can feel his heartbeat, or is that yours?
“He would bite me,” Your voice shakes as you search for the words, “Like he was kissing me. Sometimes clients bite softly but this was… he loved seeing me bleed.”
“I understand,” Armand murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Blood is…”
He trails off as his hand roams your upper back, tentatively sliding it beneath your dress. Even just a finger beneath your clothing sends your adrenaline soaring.
“Blood is…?” You ask, setting a cautious hand on his shoulder. No matter how afraid you may be you can’t stop touching him.
He moves his hand back to your neck and sadistically presses a finger to the bleeding wound. You wince, but don’t pull away as he smears your blood along his hand.
“Armand-”
His finger finally lifts, exposing more of your blood to the stinging air.
“Just a moment little salope,”
He slides a line of your blood over his tongue.
Blood is apparently special to both him and Santiago.
“That is correct… and yours is particularly sweet.”
“Armand?”
“If only Santiago had brought you to me instead… but he wanted you all to himself.”
He continues musing as he places light kisses along your neck and your jaw, “Help me teach him a lesson, won’t you?”
Fear forms a pit in your stomach, fear of what’s happening, of what this man is, but most of all what he’s doing to you.
For what follows the fear is need. Raw unbridled need for his touch, and you need it now.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers: @pixopix on tumblr
For the cover photo: @lfnmrs on pinterest
This is crossposted on my AO3 Account Temperaynse.
I had to split this into two parts bc it was taking so long too write. Whenever I write a new character in a fanfic it usually takes a few days to get a draft I'm happy with, but the SECOND I'm happy with it I have to post it or I'll go back and keep editing later lol
Thank you so much for reading! I hope to have the second part out soon, let me know if there's something specific you'd like to see.
Imagine Armand interrogating you just because he can... like he already knows everything you're going to say and knows when you're lying, but he just likes to watch you squirm. He likes being able to tell you that you're lying, and watch you stumble over your words as you replace the lie with another even less convincing one, until he's feeding the truth back to you, watching you panic as you realize how much he knows.
It makes him feel powerful again when his coven keeps plotting behind his back. But in this moment he is in full control. You're at his full mercy and you have no idea just how much he knows.
Snippet from upcoming oneshot. ATP should I just write some little imagines? I feel like I'm edging you guys w/ this and I almost feel bad about it.
After another flight of stairs, he leads you into an office space. He turns a chair around and sits in the one opposing it. You walk towards the open chair, your steps growing heavier until you half-collapse into it.
He mumbles something, and crosses to the desk behind you. It’s only now you realize you’re bleeding and staining your white blouse. You reach up to touch the puncture wound in your neck, and stare at the blood on your fingertips. It’s colder than you thought it would be.
“Drink.”
He hands you a glass of water, and you realize he poured it from the carafe at the desk. Your hands shake as you lift it to your lips, and you choke down a sip before the glass slips from your hands.
But it doesn’t hit the ground.
He’s holding it in his hand as if he hadn’t handed it to you at all.
“Careful, it’s crystal.”
He returns your glass and takes his seat.
At last you have the energy and the stillness to fully observe the man in front of you. He really is only a boy, and with Santiago clearly his senior you find yourself extremely unnerved by their previous interaction. He leans back in his chair, lighting a cigarette while scanning you over again.
He finally meets your eyes as he takes a drag, and you find yourself captivated by the vibrancy of their colour. This man is a painting.
“I am Armand. I’m the director for Theatre des Vampires performances.” He glances to your neck, and takes another drag, “How long has Santiago been seeing you.”
You avert your eyes to your glass and swirl the water inside, focusing on the simple motion.
“A few weeks… he’s been twice before. Tonight was the first night we left together.”
“Look at me. You look even weaker if you just stare down.”
Every muscle in your body tenses to look up at him, and you stare into his eyes. They’re almost yellow, but a little golden like a sunrise. You wonder if anyone has told him that. Armand flicks his cigarette ash onto the floor as he stares back, never wavering in his eye contact.
“Tell me, where did he meet you.”
anddd thats it for now lovelies... I've started the "interrogation" part of the oneshot and I hope to have it out soon. I'm having so much fun writing this, and sharing the process has also been a lot of fun for me, I hope you enjoy these snippets in the meantime.
thank you for reading <3
yes there will be smut in the final oneshot when I post it.
I go feral for mean Armand. Fuck the fact he's capable of being so attentive and thoughtful makes his cruelty hotter. He's choosing to be hurtful. This is why I think I love paris armands dynamic w/ the coven, seeing him be so brutal, and imagining him being that brutal to you? god he can do whatever he wants
I was losing my mind over this little snippet of a oneshot I'm writing w/ paris armand and an escort that santiago stupidly brought back to the threatre. heres a taste:
“If only you had fully drained her before I returned, then you could’ve pretended to be cleaning up a previous kill, and I could’ve pretended to have loyal children.”
The man stands and drags you up with him. Any remaining blood in your body rushes from your brain, leaving the world spinning as he holds you upright by your wrist, as though you were a doll. Despite your vision blurring, you can make out the soft features of a young gentleman, no older than twenty.
“I’m sorry Maître. I never meant for it to go this far… you see that she-”
“Enough.”
The man drops you. You don’t feel yourself hitting the floor.
“Get up.”
... I have a problem with this man. I fucking love it. FUCK YEA I'LL GET UP even if I can't I'll find a way trust
Oneshot is going well. lmk if you want me to tag you when it's done. I'm having too much fun w/ this
So Santiago likes flexing his vampirism on prostitutes, right?
Well what if he pushes it tooo far and genuinely decides to take one of the girls BACK TO Théâtre des Vampires under the guise of "I'll kill her soon so it's fine" to get under Armands skin?? Bc Armand is dealing w/ a little bit of mutiny from his coven so Santiago would be acting out and doing stupid stuff LIKE BRINGING A PROSTITUTE BACK TO THE THEATRE
Then Armand gets fucking pissed. Some mutual verbal abuse ensues. And Armand TAKES THE FUCKING GIRL BACK TO HIS OFFICE??
I love the idea of the coven being really petty with each other, like taking each others ideal kills to get under each others skin.
Anyway I'm writing a oneshot w/ this plot but writing is hard. SO IF I POST ABOUT IT THEN I HAVE TO WRITE IT.
If you wanna read this please lmk so I will actually finish it
An Explicit Priest! Levi Ackerman/Nun! Reader Story.
When Sister Maria finds herself struggling with lust, the last thing she needs is further temptation. Father Levi's arrival at the Convent of Sacred Paradis couldn't be more ill timed. But if her thoughts only serve to distance her from God... why does it feel so good to indulge in them?
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Tags: dead dove do not eat, religious trauma, religious imagery, blasphemy, slowburn, forced proximity, denial, eventual sex, penis in vagina sex, graphic sexual content, reader has a name, sorry, spiritual contamination, tags to be added
Content warnings:
Heavy religious themes, iconography, references, guilt and trauma
Dubious consent(?)
Graphic sexual content/depictions of sex
Sex as religious/spiritual contamination
Heavy references to purity culture
Guilt
More to be added
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. I do not support the catholic church as an institution, nor do I believe that nuns and priests secretly behave in the ways I outline in this story. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
Chapter 4
The tapping of his feet on the cobblestone floor blended with the patter of rain on the chapel roof, his presence a secret the chapel kept, until he set his bible on the altar. He shifted around me, never speaking, never questioning why the candles were already lit.
Even with my eyes shut, I still felt his stare, though the tone and intensity were lost. Whether he was annoyed or grateful for my company I couldn’t tell, yet his actions demonstrated respect for the silence of the chapel.
The tension-filled silence of our earlier interactions was a distant memory, and I could fully relax into worship for the first time in weeks. I felt full of love, of meaning, and I didn’t care how close Father Levi was to me, whether he was staring, or why he would pause so often while preparing the altar. My mind belonged to The Lord, and the priest next to me was the least of my concerns.
My focus held me through the call to None, and the entry of the other sisters into the chapel. I was cradled like a baby in His embrace and prayed silently with the sisters for this feeling to last, to enjoy this moment forever.
I was drawn back to the chapel with the thud of the door, and opened my eyes to find the candles snuffed. My swollen knees cried as I stood, and the extent of my isolation slowly took root. In the empty chapel, I began to doubt whether He had even listened.
“Sister Maria,” Sister Sasha held my arm in a vice grip, pulling me back from my daydreams and into the library. Our table was covered in different bibles with different annotations, with particular attention paid to the children’s illustrated bible in the centre of it. “You fell asleep, please just go to your room and take a nap, we can finish the lesson plans tomorrow.”
Right. The lesson plans. Following None, Mother Hange had informed us of our next ministry work. A catholic school in the next town over had fired their priest and needed substitutes to teach their religion class while they looked for a permanent replacement. Father Levi, and two sisters were to go to the school for the mornings on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays until the position was filled. It seems that He had willed Sister Sasha and I be the first to accompany Father Levi on Monday.
But bibles blurred beneath my vision, verses that had come to me so easily in years passed now slipped from my sight, and my eyes barely stayed open long enough to read a page, even looking at the prose made my head spin.
“Yeah… I should’ve just done it earlier. I’m sorry Sister Sasha, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” I slowly rise to my feet, the edges of my vision dancing, and Sister Sasha moves to support my arm.
“Mar-” Her eyes widen, and she doubles back, “Sister Maria, please let me help you to your room,” Determination pierces her expression as she stares at me with worry. “I’ll tell Mother Hange that you’re feeling ill, just please,” She’s begging me, “Please just go to bed.” I doubt I could free myself from her grip, it may even be tighter than the way he held-
“Okay. Just please don’t make her worry”, I let her guide me out of the library as the black dots in my peripheral dance in and out of my vision, contorting the world into a mess of splotches and spirals. Sister Sasha anchors me, and holds me upright as we scale the stairs to the dormitory.
“You should worry about yourself, Sister…” She’s worried about me, when this is my own doing and my actions last night are responsible for- “I’ll tell Sister Mikasa and Sister Annie to wrap a plate for you for later, in the meantime,” We round the corner to my room, and she pulls me close to her body, steadying me while she opens the door. I would’ve been opposed to such physical contact under normal circumstances, yet without steady vision my options grew increasingly limited. She practically threw me on my bed, leaving me facing backwards while she searched for my nightdress, “You are going to bed. Tomorrow, you’ll help me with the lesson plan, and you’ll finish your chores and do everything else, but I need you to rest now.”
My limbs sink into my mattress as though I were being swallowed by quicksand, and Sister Sasha barely manages to rouse me as she removes my veil, carefully positioning it on my dresser.
“Sister Maria… I’m going to undress you. Please don’t take this the wrong way, just our robes are very difficult to iron should you wrinkle them. I’ll leave your undergarments on, okay?”
I nod absentmindedly, and I barely register her touch as she slowly slides my dress off and almost miss the shock on her face as her eyes fall on my abused chest, littered with bruises and bite marks.
We stand there frozen, Sister Sasha in shock and me in absence. I have no energy to react, to argue, to defend, and she has no reaction planned. She swallows and slips the night dress over my purple and blue body.
“What happened to you…” Though the words trembled on her lips, they sliced me deep. She let her hands linger on my shoulders after the nightdress was on, and I waited for her to be angry, to scream at me, to cry, anything, but we remained.
She didn’t ask anything else, and left without saying goodbye. I don’t know how long I sat there as I let myself sink into the mattress, with no way to stay awake without Sister Sasha’s anchor.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers: @pixopix on tumblr
For the cover photo: @lyvasian on Pinterest
The characters from Attack on Titan belong to Hajime Isayama.
The character of Sister Maria is my own intellectual property.
This is crossposted to A03 on my account Temperaynse
Thank you so much for reading, I poofed bc of midterms.. then finals.. then summer classes.. such is life. The AO3 curse hasn't quite gotten me yet but I see why people abandon fics for 5 years lol.
This is shorter but I'm working on the next chapter already, I think it's halfway done and I hope its out within a month.
If you want to be part of the tag list for this fic comment below, ily guys <3
An Explicit Priest! Levi Ackerman/Nun! Reader Story.
When Sister Maria finds herself struggling with lust, the last thing she needs is further temptation. Father Levi's arrival at the Convent of Sacred Paradis couldn't be more ill timed. But if her thoughts only serve to distance her from God... why does it feel so good to indulge in them?
Part 1, Part 2, Part 4
Tags: dead dove do not eat, religious trauma, religious imagery, blasphemy, slowburn, forced proximity, denial, eventual sex, penis in vagina sex, graphic sexual content, reader has a name, sorry, spiritual contamination, tags to be added
Content warnings:
Heavy religious themes, iconography, references, guilt and trauma
Dubious consent(?)
Graphic sexual content/depictions of sex
Sex as religious/spiritual contamination
Heavy references to purity culture
Guilt
More to be added
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. I do not support the catholic church as an institution, nor do I believe that nuns and priests secretly behave in the ways I outline in this story. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
Chapter 3
A door cannot see, cannot observe and therefore cannot judge. It’s nothing but an artificial barrier from one place to another. Yet every minute I stare at the door, the spiral wood patterns begin to stare back.
Before I can stop myself, I cease these thoughts with a knock.
“Enter.” Regret skims my psyche, but I’ve sentenced myself. I force myself past the artificial barrier and into the office, yet doors’ invasive stare cannot be compared to the true prying eyes of the convent.
The Mother Superior sits poised at her desk, a sharp contrast to the mess of papers sprawled in front of her. She’s an enigma that way, in how she can function in true chaos. Our hesitancy to bother her is not out of surface-level guilt—it’s fear. Everyone knows beneath that poise a storm brews. Once her interest is piqued, she won’t rest—or let anyone else—until it’s been sated.
Her eyes scan me, already analyzing potential reasons for my disturbance, and part of me wonders what she already knows before I’ve even said a word. “What can I do for you, Sister Maria?”
I see the cyclone of questions intensifying behind her gaze, and it hurdles towards me. Regardless of my answer, I know that she’ll know everything by the end of this conversation. Should I choose to run, I’ll only buy time, but my life will still be claimed by Hurricane Mother Superior. Her gaze shifts to that of almost pity, and she pushes a chair out in front of her desk with her foot, a silent order to come closer.
I obey and tentatively sit in the empty chair. The moment I meet her gaze, my mind goes blank, and the threat of the Hurricane dissipates.
“Sister Maria, you’re out of it. Earlier Sister Sasha mentioned that the wind last night kept you two up. Let me know if it happens again, I will take care of it”, She smiles, beckoning me to explain myself, but when I can only respond with a nod, she continues, “How did Father Levi find the chapel and his quarters? Does he need me to arrange anything for him?”
This is what forces me back, and I immediately shake my head. My mind runs through a thousand different ways to say this, but none of them matter if the words never actually leave my lips.
“We found something, in the candle cupboard.” The secrets out, but I’m not. Not if Mother Superior can help it. I know better than to tempt her with incomplete information, and she advances on the interrogation.
“And what did you find?” Her smile disarms my doubts, and I want to tell her more, to tell her everything. The white veil almost halos her face, and guilt creeps into my gut at my earlier hesitation.
“A toy.” I’m doing the right thing. “A sex toy. In a cardboard box. With lubricant.” I can’t meet her eyes; how can someone predict the Mother Superiors reactions—much less to the discovery of something so absurd in her convent.
“A toy…” Though her smile fades, she doesn’t frown. The idea turns over in her head as she contemplates this information. “Tell me Sister, do you know what kind?”
I choke on nothing, my throat closing in on itself as I sit there stunned. She just smiles again, silently soothing me.
“Apologies, Sister Maria. I intended to discern the user’s anatomy, so we could eliminate as many suspects as possible.” She raises from her chair, and I realize I hadn’t given any thought on who it could belong to, “Show me.”
Though our shoulders brush together as we walk down the narrow halls, it little impact on my psyche. My mind stays locked on the box in the candle cupboard, and as we draw closer to the chapel, I feel my stomach tighten. When I think of how The Mother Superior will respond, my insides turn in on themselves and my vision blurs, but the thought of not showing her makes me just makes me further nauseated.
We enter the chapel, and she takes the lead, almost floating to the cupboard. I try to match her pace, but trip over my own robes, and exude none of the grace that Mother Superior demonstrated.
She patiently waits, paying no attention to my stumbling—for which my wounded pride is grateful. While she rests her face in a patient expression, I see a glint of hunger behind her eyes, such anticipation with which she hasn’t displayed in years.
“Show me”, while the tone of the order is indiscernible, I can hear the lines between her duty and her own fascination blur. While I feel my organs knot when I place myself in the Mother Superior’s psyche, I remind myself how she acts in our best interest, while her secondary motives remain just that—secondary.
I pull the cupboard open, and my mind flashes to the warmth of Father Levi pressed against my back earlier—but I’m able to refocus with Mother Superior by my side, an invisible force connecting us both. We both place our mortal desires second to our faith, sharing a silent understanding.
When the top shelf is empty, I feel my stomach shift upwards, crying to empty its contents. I hardly steady myself before I hear a faint chuckle from Mother Superior, which she doesn’t bother to mask with her usual cough.
“It’s gone, right?” I can’t look to her, my prior paranoia flooding as I stand there shaking. I struggle to give a nod, “So very interesting…”
I now stand amid the Hurricane of Mother Superiors curiosity, and brace myself for her interrogation, yet she stands there calm while her storm rages around me. Every silent second we share I feel more vulnerable, and I must force myself not to run from her.
But I’m not the one who runs.
“Sister Maria,” Her hand falls on my shoulder, the storm silencing for a final time. In this moment, the only thing that matters is her next order. “If you see anything out of place, come to me, but otherwise leave this alone. This isn’t your problem.”
Without another word, she pulls away from the cupboard and exits the chapel, leaving me holding the door in the same manner Father Levi did earlier.
The silence of the Chapel is sinking, and without Mother Superior I feel the full burden of my isolation and thoughts.
I reach into the bottom drawer and pull out a lighter—the only one that still works—and think to myself how I had already deceived Father Levi too, even over something as minute as what lighters did or didn’t work.
The room grows dim, a rainstorm brewing outside shields the convent from the sun and blocks me from the warmth of The Lord.
Walking is exhausting, and my feet drag to the altar. I light the candles and let myself relish in the comfort the dim light provides to my lonely soul. He is here. He must be.
I fall to my knees in silent prayer and open my soul to His grace, praying to be healed, for strength, and for everything a Bride of Christ should already possess.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers: @pixopix on tumblr
For the cover photo: @ gr4vestones on pinterest
The characters from Attack on Titan belong to Hajime Isayama.
The character of Sister Maria is my own intellectual property.
This is crossposted to A03 on my account Temperaynse
Thank you for reading, I'm so excited to explore the complexities of the convent and other characters as well as Sister Maria's own thoughts. We're JUST getting started.
An Explicit Priest! Levi Ackerman/Nun! Reader Story.
When Sister Maria finds herself struggling with lust, the last thing she needs is further temptation. Father Levi's arrival at the Convent of Sacred Paradis couldn't be more ill timed. But if her thoughts only serve to distance her from God... why does it feel so good to indulge in them?
Part 1, Part 3, Part 4
Tags: dead dove do not eat, religious trauma, religious imagery, blasphemy, slowburn, forced proximity, denial, eventual sex, penis in vagina sex, graphic sexual content, reader has a name, sorry, spiritual contamination, tags to be added
Content warnings:
Heavy religious themes, iconography, references, guilt and trauma
Dubious consent(?)
Graphic sexual content/depictions of sex
Sex as religious/spiritual contamination
Heavy references to purity culture
Guilt
More to be added
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. I do not support the catholic church as an institution, nor do I believe that nuns and priests secretly behave in the ways I outline in this story. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
Chapter 2
I push my chair back in unison with the other sisters, and glance over at Father Levi while he does the same. Our eyes meet again, and I pull away first, still feeling his gaze burn into me.
We step into the hallway, and he follows beside me in silence. Though his pace is consistent, he keeps brushing my shoulder with his. While it makes sense given the narrow hallway, my breath still stops with every touch—and his warmth seeps deep into my skin.
As we reach the chapel he stalls behind, letting me open the door for us. We enter, and he slows to a stop.
“What a beautiful building.” He breaks the silence, admiring the stained-glass images of the last supper. I turn back at him and observe him in the same way he observes the window. His hands are positioned behind his back, helping to maintain his solid posture. Even when distracted, his face is locked in his contemplative expression, and my eyes fall to the curve of his jaw before I can stop myself. I turn my gaze to the window and move to stand next to him.
“The rest of the convent was renovated maybe a decade ago, but we kept the chapel the same.” I match his tone, paying attention to my breath. Being this close to him makes me conscious of my every movement and how loud each one is—part of me wonders if he’s doing the same. I continue, “So it can get quite cold in here, there’s no insulation.”
“I see.” He turns to face me, and I stop myself from doing the same, forcing myself to turn back towards the altar and walk away.
“The candles are kept in the cupboard over there. You’ll be responsible for setting up the altar before prayers. You can talk to Mother Superior about employing altar boys, if you so choose.” I hear a small scoff from Father Levi, that he quickly masks with a cough. Attempting to ignore it, I walk over to the cupboard and open it, feeling him approach from behind. I focus, “There are lighters and matches in the bottom drawer. I don’t know if any of them work, so talk to Mother Superior if you need more.”
As I begin to shut the cupboard, his hand threads from behind me to hold it open. My breath hitches against my will, and I glance to see him barely above my shoulder. I can feel his breath on my face, he’s too close.
“Wait.” I stand there frozen, lost in this moment, my body betraying my mind in every way conceivable—while Father Levi continues, “What’s in the top box?” His hand moves from the door to a little cardboard box on the top shelf, and I’m able to turn my head to see what he means.
“I don’t know…” My voice is weak, and I struggle to breathe as he moves to grab it. Relief washes over me as he retracts his arm, and he backs up to observe the boxes contents—while I stand frozen holding the cupboard door.
“Come look.” I don’t know whether it’s a request or an order, but either way I let go of the cupboard door and turn to face him. His eyes remain locked on the contents of the box, unblinking, and unnerving. The spell placed on me earlier has weakened, and I walk over to look in the box.
“Oh…” My heart drops as I scan the contents, completely baffled. Inside lies a pink rabbit vibrator and a small bottle of lubricant.
We stand in silence. Not his usual observant silence, but mortifying silence that begs to be broken. I can’t even look at him or take my eyes off the item, and even though I’d seen sex toys before, there is no correct way to respond to seeing one in this situation. Anything I do could make this worse. My eardrums almost burst from how loud my heart beats, until Father Levi breaks the silence.
“What is your name, Sister?” Father Levi asks, his eyes still narrowed on the items. I try to speak, but the words are caught in my throat and all I manage to choke out is a small cough. “Sister, your name?”
“Sister Maria Goretti.” The words barely escape my lips, my voice hardly above a whisper. Father Levi shuts the box, and I snap back to reality, enough to realize how close we’re standing to each other, and to notice how smooth his robes are. My mind continues to float away from this moment, and I wonder if he irons his robes himself.
“Sister Maria, please inform the Mother Superior of what we found after you show me to my quarters.” He places the box back on the top shelf and shuts the cupboard door. Then he turns back to me.
My body stiffens under his gaze, a gaze almost as intense as when he was staring at the toy. I feel weak and force my head to bow in respect. “Yes, Father Levi. Follow me.”
All my energy goes to avoiding his gaze and putting up a front of control, but focusing on my body leaves my mind to wander. As we travel deeper through the convent my mind sinks into deeper places, darker places. I hear his breath next to me, and wonder what it would feel like against me, like it was when I opened the cupboard. I wonder what he was thinking about when he opened the box, and how he expected me to react. I wonder if he’s ever seen a toy before… or used one.
My breathing deepens and my gait subtly quickens. Though I must lead Father Levi to his chamber, part of me seems to believe I can outrun these thoughts. If Father Levi notices, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
The door to the guest quarters lays at the end of the hall, a light at the end of the tunnel I’ve trapped myself in. I become conscious of how fast I’m walking, and glance at Father Levi to see whether I should slow down.
He hasn’t only kept pace but managed to insert himself next to me without my knowledge. I glance to his face, locked in that undecipherable expression… and my mind drifts to imagine what he would look like using a toy. Would he shut his eyes… or leave them open… or-
The cold metal of the handle forces me back to my body. I am Sister Maria Goretti, purity is my duty to my lord above and to the saint from whom I took my name. This is my divine purpose.
“Sister Maria.” It’s not a question, but an alert. I was standing frozen, my hand gripping the handle—and he noticed.
I open the door and step to the side, allowing him to enter while I bow my head, and silently that he won’t look at me.
“Father Levi,” My words are choked out, each one burning my throat, “You’ll be staying here. Is there anything else you need?” I don’t look at him, or remove my eyes from the floor, I can’t trust my mind anymore.
“Sister Maria”, He’s staring. I feel my breath hitch and heat rise in my face, while I plead with myself to focus, “Do you prefer I address you as Sister Maria or Sister Maria Goretti?” It’s a simple question, but I still struggle to respond.
“Sister Maria is just fine,” I take a breath, steady. “For ceremony, its Sister Maria Goretti.” Another breath, steady. “Father Levi… is it just Father Levi or should we use your last name as well?”
Though I can’t see where he’s looking, I feel the intensity of his gaze weaken.
“No last name. It’s just Levi.” A pause. He cannot mean that. It seems we both caught that lapse, he corrects, “Father Levi.”
“Father Levi…” I repeat back in acknowledgement, my voice finally steady as his name slips from my lips—only for yet another pause to follow. Standing there is agony, and it feels as though my joints have cemented in place.
“Please go inform the Mother Superior of what we found. I will see you at None.”
My whole body relaxes as the door clicks shut, and I exhale a breath I didn’t know I held. I’ve regained control of my body and mind.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers:
I have no idea what I'm doing. she/her. 32.
For the cover photo:
The characters from Attack on Titan belong to Hajime Isayama.
The character of Sister Maria is my own intellectual property.
Thank you so much for reading! I'm really enjoying writing this, but it's so difficult to restrain myself (like for Sister Maria lol)
An Explicit Priest! Levi Ackerman/Nun! Reader Story.
When Sister Maria finds herself struggling with lust, the last thing she needs is further temptation. Father Levi's arrival at the Convent of Sacred Paradis couldn't be more ill timed. But if her thoughts only serve to distance her from God... why does it feel so good to indulge in them?
Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Tags: dead dove do not eat, religious trauma, religious imagery, blasphemy, slowburn, forced proximity, denial, eventual sex, penis in vagina sex, graphic sexual content, reader has a name, sorry, spiritual contamination, tags to be added
Content warnings:
Heavy religious themes, iconography, references, guilt and trauma
Dubious consent(?)
Graphic sexual content/depictions of sex
Sex as religious/spiritual contamination
Heavy references to purity culture
Guilt
More to be added
This is a work of fiction. My writing of these acts does not mean I condone or support the act itself. I do not support the catholic church as an institution, nor do I believe that nuns and priests secretly behave in the ways I outline in this story. If you have concerns, feel free to submit a suggestion.
Do not feed my work into ANY generative AI model. I do not consent for my work to be used as AI training data.
As I lay spread and soaked in my sin, I had sworn to myself never again.
I clutched my rosary as he thrust inside me, hoping it would tether me to this mortal plane and prevent his own sin from reaching my insides. The man above me then relaxed, stroking my hair and exposed skin as though I were a pacified animal. His sin slowly began to seep from between my legs, staining my bedsheets as he had stained my soul.
Though he held me close, no comfort was given. The grip was tight and unyielding, even as his breaths grew deeper and his heartbeat relaxed. I had been trapped beneath him, and I thought to myself whether I would now be trapped in damnation.
So I held my rosary and stared up at the roof as though I were staring at my lord himself and prayed. I prayed for the strength to deny lust in the future, for the soul of the man I had lured to my bed, and for the forgiveness of my eternal soul.
When I awoke, the man was gone, leaving behind not an indent in my mattress. The morning bells called us to the chapel, and with every step I felt the weight of my sin growing lighter. I was as clean as the day I entered the convent, a picture of purity.
Following mass, we were given an hour for silent recreation, unless you were assigned to prepare breakfast—a responsibility falling on Sister Sasha and me this morning. Being in such close proximity to someone for so long was usually awkward for me, so I always appreciated how she led the conversation.
"Sister Maria, please let me take over; you'll burn the oatmeal if you stir at that pace." Sister Sasha slid forward from behind me, taking the ladle from my hand. "You can plate the strawberries if you want something to do, though you seem a bit dazed. Maybe head up to your room and rest until breakfast?" I hadn't noticed that I was zoning out, though it aligned with the fact I hadn't slept very well.
"Thank you for your concern, Sister Sasha. Though I'm alright," I smile at her and let her take over preparing the oatmeal while I cut and sugar the remaining strawberries. "I had trouble sleeping last night, is all," which is technically true.
"Yea, I did too. I kept hearing this banging noise… but it was too inconsistent for my brain to tune out." My throat tightens, and I pause the cutting as I wait for her to elaborate. She continues, "I'll have to ask the custodians to check it out if it continues tonight—a broken pipe, maybe?" I relax and resume my cutting, whispering a silent thank you to the heavens above. I don't know what I would do should my closest friend discover my transgression.
"I heard it too, but I think it was coming from outside. It was probably just the wind." I keep my voice steady, emphasizing the exhaustion in my tone to conceal the anxiety underneath. Sister Sasha hums in agreement, and I allow myself to let it go. "I'm going to set the table. Don't touch the oatmeal, okay?"
She turns her head back to me, her face full of vexation. "I can wait ten more minutes for breakfast, Sister Maria. It was one time I snuck food before Mother Hange permitted it." She turns back to the oatmeal, muttering to herself as I leave the kitchen, "One time…"
When I return, the oatmeal is finished, and both the oatmeal and strawberries are assembled on the serving cart to be moved into the dining room. Sister Sasha is leaning against the counter, rubbing her forehead in her hands. She looks up to me as I enter and delivers a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. It's only then I notice how deep her eye bags are settled in her face, and I return the smile while a rush of guilt squeezes my stomach.
"Go tell Mother Hange that we're ready for breakfast. I'll wheel out the cart and clean up in here." Sister Sasha nods and leaves. I push the cart into the dining room and return to finish cleaning, wiping off the counters until the bell sounds.
I leave the kitchen again and stand by my chair, waiting silently while the sisters enter the room one by one. Sister Sasha eventually joins me at my side, and we all stand with our heads bowed as Mother Hange enters, an unknown man trailing behind her.
"You may be seated, sisters." We sit, and Mother gestures to the man to sit at an empty chair on the opposite end of the table. As he sits, Mother continues, "This is Father Levi; he will be joining us as our resident chaplain." She finishes and sits.
Father Levi lifts his head, his gaze raised enough to acknowledge the table without truly meeting anyone's eyes. "Thank you for having me. I hope I won't be a disruption to your routines." His voice is flat, completely devoid of warmth. As his eyes land on me, I notice his lack of warmth extends further than his tone, and my spine stiffens under his cold gaze. My breath catches as eyes meet his, I force a nod as his eyes sweep over to Sister Sasha, who's already eating. Though he hadn't lingered, I could still feel the weight of his gaze upon me.
Sister Historia is smiling, as per usual. Sister Ymir is barely awake enough to eat. Both Sister Annie and Mikasa appear bored. Mother Hange has begun drinking her tea while her eyes scan the newspaper I set at her place. Sister Historia is the one to break the silence.
"Father Levi, it's a pleasure to have you with us. Would you share with us what brought you to our convent?" Her voice drips with the saccharine politeness in which she's so practiced, I could never understandhow she manages to be so excruciatingly nice. I glance to Father Levi, my eyes resting on his perfectly folded hands. He hasn't touched the food in front of him.
"I'm here on mission." He explains with the same consistent tone and then gives nothing else. Sister Historia, though clearly rattled at his avoidance, maintains her usual smile as she begins to eat her oatmeal. I scan Levi's face, attempting to assess his reasoning for stonewalling Sister Historia, though he once again betrays nothing. His face is as rigid as his posture: unyielding, impassive, unbroken.
"Sister Maria," Mother Hange folds her newspaper shut. "Show Father Levi the chapel and guest quarters after breakfast." My breath catches before I stop myself.
"Yes, Mother." I lower my gaze to my untouched food, as I still know better than to question the Mother Superior.
Credits:
For the beautiful dividers:
I have no idea what I'm doing. she/her. 32.
For the cover photo:
This Pin was discovered by Martha Judith OD. Discover (and save!) your own Pins on Pinterest
The characters from Attack on Titan belong to Hajime Isayama.
The character of Sister Maria is my own intellectual property.
Thank you so much for reading, I'm so excited to continue writing this fic. Please share your thoughts below
