Summary: It's so fun rebelling, so fun knowing that you're doing something wrong. But not everyone realizes they're falling in love with the devil.
Warnings: Christian!Reader, corruption, Copia's a bit creepy in this but like not in a pedophile way-in a scary way
A/n: Okay, if I was to go on with this idea fully, I would have to write a whole novella and I don't have time for that with all the requests in my inbox. So, here is, genuinely, the worst thing I have written. I am really fucking sorry.
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You watched him with glazed over eyes, the lights being jumpy in a way that tired you fast - the sensitivity weathering you down. Plus you had kept your eyes on him all night, that also tired them out.
They would hate you for this, your parents would be so angry if they knew you were here, watching this man who worshipped the unholy lord himself. But it wasn't his fault - you'd walked the line, you were the snake in this game of paths. And you'd turned against your parents at the crossroads.
And now here you were, trying to rebel as you watched this man sing about sex and Satan. Oh, hell too.
You regretted it at first, the crowd suffocating. You had felt naked, like everyone knew you were Christian, like everyone knew about your secret in this place that seemed to greet you in an unwelcoming manner.
But the regret stopped. You didn't know if it had stopped when the show started, or when the singer, you learned was named Papa, knelt down on the stage and took your hand in his, pressing a kiss the the top of it.
Adrenaline and heat rushed through your body, waves crashing inside of your ears and pounded out the sound of everyone around you screaming in excitement, screaming so you didn't have to.
You wanted to hold him, touch him. He was someone your parents wouldn't want to meet over dinner. But he was enchanting. So surreal it hurt you.
After he left it felt like your soul had been sucked out of you chest by some evil force. You'd never seen the goat, but if you had ever been in love with him, it was right now. Cause he had created this figure and he created these ghouls that danced on stage with smiles on their faces.
How could you ever continue breathing whilst knowing that those worhshipping a man ever unholy smiled like this, sang like this, had fun like this?
And though it hurt you to remember that your parents were home, convinced you were sleeping over with some friends of the same religion, you truly were doing worse. It stabbed you in the chest, but what hurt worse was that you wanted every ounce of this man.
From his voice to his body, his face and his hair, you would break your vows to god to run off with this man for a single night. And tonight was that night, wasn't it? In one way or another, you had fled with him; he just didn't know your name and your age, nor did he know your favorite color or quirks you carry. He didn't know that you got on your knees and prayed every night, he didn't know that you practiced abstinence because the church requested so.
All he did was see you once, noticed that you breathed like him and watched like him. And that was enough for you to say you'd skipped with him and loved with him.
Though later you realized it wasn't enough for him. Not when his bandmates watched you with sharp glares you could feel through their masks, the turning of his head at lyrics that meant more to him than just the tune.
It hit you harder when the show ended, watching them interact so merrily. And the guard, standing there and watching you with a close eye, got a smile from Papa. A signal. A mark of the beast rang thin through the air as you made eye contact with that guard, smiling shyly at him.
