Terrorforming || Yandere!Harem X F!Reader

Price of Admission

You didn't bother to knock, just let yourself in. Just as you stepped onto the porch surrounding the director's office, it had started to drizzle. Pretty soon, it would begin to pour.

Nurse Thorne looked up from her papers as you walked in the room. She was seated at her desk, as usual. She had a living area in the back of the cottage, complete with her own private bathroom. That way she never needed to leave the camp grounds but could also minimize the time she spent with the campers.

She wanted to be loved by the girls of Camp Bethel, but she didn't want to get close to any of them. One couldn't have it both ways, though. Rosasharon was so popular because she was one of the girls, didn't consider herself above any of them.

If Nurse Thorne was worshiped like the Father, Rosasharon was the Son. No wonder Elizabeth resented her, hated them both. You did too.

"Y/N? To what do I owe this pleasure?" The camp director asked with a tight, close-lipped smile that implied your visit was anything but a pleasure.

"I apologize for the intrusion, especially at such a late hour," you murmured, acting appropriately contrite. This wouldn't work unless you acted the part of a good, God-fearing little girl. "But I desperately need to speak to you."

You had her attention --or, rather, her curiosity-- now. What could you need to say that was so important it couldn't wait until your counseling session tomorrow?

"Please, take a seat, make yourself comfortable," she all but purred, gesturing to the plush la-z-boy opposite her desk chair.

You plopped down into it, staring down at your hands --which you wrung in a show of nervousness-- rather than making any more eye contact with her. You didn't need to look at her to know she was pleased with your obedience, or rather just the lack of your usual defiance.

"I've thought about what you and your daughter taught me. About the difference between shame and guilt... About the need for sin to be confessed before it can be absolved..."

"Is there something you wish to confess?" Her excitement was palpable.

You thought about Rosasharon's muses and the betrayal they --like you-- must have felt, the same one Jesus felt when Judas betrayed him with a kiss, and burst into tears.

"Y/N, your guilt stinks like a heavy pelt you've wrapped around yourself. Let me take it from you," Nurse Thorne cooed.

"I-- I've had relations with my camp counselor, Rosasharon!" You cried before dissolving into sobs.

Outside, thunder rolled overhead, like God was trying to speak to you. But you had not a clue what He was saying.

Nurse Thorne didn't say anything for the longest time. You didn't dare look up at her, instead opting to bury your tear-stained face in your hands.

"I'm so sorry! I never intended it to happen! But, she kissed me and I-- The pull on my flesh was just too strong!"

After another audible crack of lightning, she said, "Jesus once told his disciples, 'Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.' Was your spirit willing, though? We both know you were struggling with faith long before you set foot on these holy grounds."

"I know in my heart of hearts that I am a sinner... But I want so badly to be redeemed, to be worthy of God's love..."

"And you will be. I will make it so." You heard her stand up from her desk, chanced a peek in her direction. You'd seen a similar expression on your mother many times since you were forced out of the closet: disappointment masking a deep-seated disgust and fury. "Return to your cabin. Pray the rosary ten times before you go to bed tonight, and you will be absolved."

"I don't want to room with Rosasharon anymore, lest I be tempted into sin again," you whimpered, like a wounded animal.

"You'll have the cabin to yourself tonight. Tomorrow... Maybe you'll return to Temperance, maybe you'll go with the rest of the Faithful. I don't know yet. Right now I need to speak to Rosasharon. Thank you for sharing this with me, Y/N. Go with God."

...

Seeing as you weren't really interested in repentance, just revenge, you didn't do the requisite ten rounds around the rosary. Instead, you just laid in the dark cabin, dozing on and off as you listened to the thunderstorm outside.

The rain was still beating hard against the windows and roof when you awoke to feel a body shift behind you.

Rosasharon. What was she doing here? She was supposed to be in Confessional.

While she was slender, her bones were heavy as iron or steel. The small cot dipped under her weight.

Her form was soaking wet and freezing cold, but still soft as kittens wrapped in yarn. The soothing scent of vanilla had been washed away. Now she smelled of ozone, like the air before lightning lit up the sky.

Long arms curled around your waist, pulling you close and holding you tight.

You were suddenly awake, although you did your best to feign sleep. Your best wasn't enough, though.

"How could you?" Rosasharon asked you. You thought she'd be angry, betrayed, maybe even heartbroken, but she just sounded a little sad, a little disappointed. Her breath was hot and heavy against the nape of your neck. "How could you?"

You're so tired, your eyelids so heavy, that you insisted on staying still rather than turning to face her.

"You know how."

"Why?"

"I found your book of brides. Louise told me what you did to her, how you lied to and manipulated her to get her to that altar. It isn't that much of a stretch to assume you did the same with the rest of those girls, that you were going to do the same with me. I won't allow myself to be exploited and discarded."

To her credit, she didn't deny any of your allegations. All she said was that, "You're different from the rest. They didn't love me. Not really. Not in the same way you love me and I love you."

You scoffed. "You don't want to be loved. You want to be worshiped."

"What's the difference?" Rosasharon asked, damningly. "My concept of God is closely linked with romantic --intimate-- love. Praying and attending church is no different than making love with a devoted partner."

Then her hand, so cold and smooth that it could have been made out of glass, slipped up your skirt. You should stop her, but you were hurting right now, craving intimacy so badly that your bones ached with need.

"Blasphemy."

"Oh ye, of little faith," she cooed, like a tease, as she dug her way inside of you, embedded herself like a tick or some other parasite.

"No. No faith. I rebuke you. I denounce God. If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell. So I went to Nurse Thorne, told her everything." She seemed convinced at the time, but --if Rosasharon was here, in bed with you, rather than in Confessional-- then the girl must have smoothed things over with the older woman.

"And you thought she would believe you, trust you over me? Does that make you proud or just naive? I suppose it doesn't matter. Nurse Thorne has left the camp grounds. She didn't say when she'd be back, but she put me in charge in her absence. You're mine, Y/N. You were made for me. And I will do everything in my power to show it to you."