Adult-FanFiction.org : Cartoons

Just One More Sin	By : AberrantScript Category: +G through L > The Loud House Views: 5501 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Loud House and make no money off this work of fiction.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Author's Notes:
This story will depict abortion. Not in this chapter... but soon. And it will be the one and only time I ever write it. It will not go how you expect it to go.
If you want my opinion on abortion... if you want to see what I see whenever I even read that word... then, continue following this story. If you do not want to read that content, then follow cautiously until I emblazon that warning at the top of an upcoming chapter.
DoctorYnot, thank you for reading this even though it's not something you'd personally enjoy. I can't say the story is rewarding (I'm not too sure what it is), but I appreciate your comments and thoughts. Thanks~
Disclaimer: The Loud House Copyright Nickelodeon (2018)
Chapter 4: Just One Choice
Dear readers, with me, the cast is set. There are five of us players dancing upon a stage.
I represent… resentment.
I hate God.
I hate that He exists.
I hate that He controls me, that He knows me, and that He sees everything I do.
I hate that my life is planned out for me… that I must obey my parents and my God.
I serve Him, but it is done with a heart of stone.
Where He leads me… I don't want to follow.
My sister, Lori, represents acceptance and duty.
She is the one that will step up when things turn bad. She is the one that will resign herself to her fate. She is the one that will… even if it's the worst choice possible… do everything she can to obey God.
But she also represents compassion… and that sincere affection and loyalty in her very bones has led her to sin.
A person can only have one thing at the very top… one true love… and in that very delicate, tragic moment… Lori cast her lot with the sinners.
If she could, Lori would even take their place in Hell for them.
Too bad she can't.
Luna represents mistakes and temptation.
She will listen to God with half an ear. Her eyes will be drawn away to new things, enticing things. She will let things enter her mind, and fester away until they settle deep in her heart.
And once it comes down to it… she also represents passion at the expense of duty.
In this story, she is Lori's opposite.
In this story, if an obstacle is erected in passion's way… then, it will be destroyed.
Luna must be kept on a tight leash. She must exercise discipline.
But she won't.
Because Lori fell from grace, and she let Luna fall with her.
Luan represents logic and cunning.
She is the one that will question God. She is the one that will try to outsmart Him. She will weigh things in the balance and make her judgments with the best of her knowledge. Oftentimes, she forgets that emotions are real things that exist inside real people. Oftentimes, she can only see black and white… and a murky sea of grey.
And once she steps into the dank waters, she quickly loses her sight of right and wrong… and even humanity.
And then, there is Lincoln. In this story, he has no point of view.
For he represents… fear.
Not the kind that makes a man cry.
Not the kind that makes a woman throw herself in front of her child.
Not the kind that makes a child run away.
But the kind of fear that makes a man lay down and let himself die.
The kind of fear that causes a soul to wither away, like a sandstorm across the desert, until there is nothing left.
Lincoln needs constant support to fight his fears. He needs to be nurtured. Whenever he is frightened, he will first run to logic… in an effort to talk his fears away. Then, he will run to passion in the hope that righteous anger, soothing comfort, or melodic singing will distract him. He may also resign himself to his fate… and accept his worthlessness… his nothingness… until his very voice is lost.
And once that boy becomes a mute, he will fall into the arms of resentment.
And he will lay his head betwixt my breasts.
And against my heart he will wait… and he will die.
My family thinks I am stupid. My family does not value me in the grand scheme of things.
And that only fuels my subconscious power.
What they do not know is that I also represent… self-awareness.
And I… I alone… know what it is this author will do to us.
I resent knowing that, no matter the choices I make, he will guide my steps.
I hate God with a deep, burning passion.
But I hate the author even more.
Does the kind reader know my identity yet?
It's not like it matters. My family does not notice me until it is too late anyway.
Regardless of who I am, I know what the reader is waiting for…
For me to jump my brother.
For me to get pregnant.
Well, it is not going to happen.
I won't let it happen!
I would rather die than let that happen!
And even though my choices have never mattered, I still make them.
And I will always hate him.
Wondering which him I am talking about now?
Heh, have fun learning things that are better off left unwritten.
I cannot count the days it has been since my sisters fell into sin.
I can only remember the anger I feel towards them.
I cannot recall the last time I have prayed to God.
And I don't really care.
I am standing at a doorway. It is dark outside, but I think the sun is beginning to come up.
I am peeking through a crack in the door, and I see my three sisters kneeling on the ground.
I turn my eyes away to protect their shame… because they are kneeling without their shirts on, without their bras… each are blindfolded to keep the others from seeing her naked body.
I wait until I hear a loud smacking sound, followed by a cry, and I shiver in disgust.
They are punishing themselves.
They believe that they can still save themselves if they just beat the sin out of their bodies.
I walk toward the steps and I laugh. Cruelly and harshly.
There was a time when I would have opened the door, ran to them, and peppered their sore bodies with tender kisses until my love sent the pain away…
But now I do not care.
Once I was a young, stupid girl… and now I am a bitter teen.
My sisters care more for themselves than they do others. They spend so much time before God… trying to gain His favor with worldly accomplishments, with effort, and with ceaseless prayers.
But it is all for nothing.
I stop at the bottom step.
I sigh.
No man may come to God, but through Christ. For every man has sinned. For every man is unrighteous.
He is… in every respect of the term… the only way.
And mankind may call upon Him… may accept Him and claim Him as their God… and be saved.
That… is a paraphrase of the Romans Road: a simple method of doctrinal evangelism.
If I were Lori, I would dutifully approach mankind with the Truth of God. I would be compassionate and helpful.
If I were Luna, I would target emotions, try to build a response to the message.
If I were Luan, I would make my case for God, engage the mind in a battle of beliefs.
Together, those three would make a formidable opponent on the battlefield.
But they lack one important part.
Me.
Awareness.
Without me they lose sight of an individual person's needs.
Without me they can't see anything but the big picture… they miss all of the little details.
When they exile me and try to handle things on their own… they walk a dangerous path.
Lori should have come to me. Luna should have confided in me. Luan should have turned Lincoln away and into my bosom.
But instead they scorned me.
I am the strongest.
I will not falter, will not stray, will not give in to the lust in my body.
As my sisters punish their bodies, I am going to my brother.
I may be angry. I may be hurting.
But I would rather die than let something happen to my brother.
Whether I am full of purest love and he is free as a bird…
Or I loathe the very air I breathe for keeping me alive and he is riddled with anxiety…
It does not matter.
For I love him most out of all my sisters.
We are lying side by side in the backyard.
The softness of the cotton blanket beneath my feet, hands, and head (for the rest of me is clothed) gives no comfort.
The heat of the sun above my head feels like ice on my bones.
The gentle breeze of a calm day scrapes across my face like knives.
I turn to the side and see him… my one and only brother… pure and undefiled in body…
But in mind, he is tortured ceaselessly.
Always dreaming of Hell.
Always fearing God does not love him.
Always scared… always hurting.
My fingers burn with fire… they ache to stroke his cheek.
And I crush that desire deep in my soul until it is snuffed out, like blowing a candle out with a breath of air.
I chose the backyard because anyone can see us. Because only a true idiot would rape her brother in broad daylight.
"L-L-Leni…?" the boy softly speaks.
It is getting harder for him to express himself. He is suffering… he is losing.
I look into his haunted eyes and sigh.
"I know what they did to you, Lincy," I reply.
Tears instantly come to his eyes and he curls into a ball, shivering upon the blanket.
That fire returns to my fingers… and I redirect it.
There is nothing lusty about laying a hand on a broken soul's shoulder.
Right?
He trembles beneath my hand as it strokes his knobby joint, as my fingers mold across his sleeve and grip his upper arm.
He moves closer to me, hiding his face in my stomach. His knees rest against my thighs.
I look at him and he looks so small, so frail.
Like a tiny bluet in my palm…
And I am full of righteous anger because… I…
My hand drifts down to his palm, my fingers brush his thumb and knuckles.
My other hand goes into his snowy-white virgin hair and rubs soothingly into his scalp.
I turn my eyes up to heaven… beyond a gate… beyond a river… to a throne.
And I whisper, deep in my mind, my anger toward the One that must surely hate me.
Guess what? I hate You, too.
Guess what else?
I will not fuck him!
My body shivers as the coldness of that word ripples across my body like frigid water.
But I say it. Again and again. Daring God to strike me dead in that moment… to keep my body from doing what I will it not to do!
But He is silent. He does not care for me. Never has. Never will.
This boy lying against me has been abused by his sisters.
He has come to me in his time of need, when his voice is tiny and nearly extinguished.
And what can I do?
I fight. I fight it with everything I have.
But I can feel it deep inside me, like a dark beast surging through a forest, pushing down oak trees that lie in its path.
It cannot be stopped.
But I can redirect it.
I will not fuck him.
But I will kiss him.
I will touch him.
I will make him do things to me that an eleven year old should not even know about.
I will come within one slip of raping him, mind, body, and soul… but I will not go one step further.
While my other sisters punish themselves and subconsciously make plans to keep themselves from doing what they already know they will inevitably do… I will lie beside my brother in his time of need.
I will give him love and mercy because God will not do it.
I pick him up; the little ball of fear that he truly is; and I cradle him atop my chest. He is shaking; so very small and tender.
The pain I feel from his tears touching my hands is unimaginable.
I will make it stop.
Not for myself.
Not for this fire burning deep inside me.
But for my love for him will I walk the line between good and evil, obedience and sin… and I will scourge my own heart until it is nothing but ashes, just so he may live one more day with his voice.
My hands go to his cheeks.
I lift his face up to the sky, and my eyes behold the anxiety deep in his pupils.
I pull his mouth to mine and I let him lie against me… on my lips, my breasts, my very heart… I let him cry atop me until he has no more tears left to give.
"I-I'm a-a-a monster…" is the only thing he can say. He speaks it against my warm lips. He speaks it as I lay him down and I slip over his body. He speaks it as my fingers dance inside his briefs and stroke his pain into pleasure.
But no matter what I do… no matter how many kisses I give him, how much love I show him… no matter how close I walk the line… his crying won't stop.
And his voice grows ever softer.
I press my skirt-clad groin against his boyhood and thrust against him, but it does nothing.
"I'm a monster," he tells me.
The more I hear it, the angrier I become.
Until the love I feel for him crumbles into ash… and the comfort I show him turns into torture.
"Isn't this what you want, you freak!?" I whisper to him as I slip the front of my skirt over his stomach.
"Isn't this what your body needs, brother!?" I scream into his mouth as I slam our lips together… as I grind our bare sexes against his stomach.
"Isn't this what God wants us to do!? To fuck each other like animals!?"
Tears spring from my eyes as I lift my hips up and my hand aims him at my entrance…
Because nothing else matters. Love. Hate. Good. Evil.
Not one damn thing has ever mattered nor ever will.
"Look into my eyes and tell me you don't want this," I tell the boy still shivering beneath me.
He looks at me with stricken eyes. And there is not one speck of an ember in his irises. He truly does not want this. He alone wants to, and could, resist this deep yearning.
It's a shame that it doesn't matter.
I press against him, taking him inch by inch until I am resting fully atop him. I can feel him throbbing and twitching inside me. I know what it means.
And even though my mind begs my hips not to move… they do. They raise and drop, fast and hard, until the boy's toes curl and his cries of pain turn into cries of pleasure.
I pause my motions to lie atop him and cradle his sex deep inside my body. Then, I grind forward and backward and side-to-side; twisting and bending until I feel his little hips start to press against me.
"I knew you wanted this, pervert," I taunt him; my hair wild, my eyes mad with hate.
Thrust, thrust, thrust. The boy is whining beneath me… begging me to stop with his tears, but also begging me to make him orgasm with his hips.
I look into his eyes and I grin with evil sin racing through my very blood.
"Are you happy now, brother? Have I taken your fears away?"
But over and over again, all he says is "monster, monster, monster," and it makes me so angry.
I pull back a fist and pound it against his chest, knocking the air from his lungs.
"Stop saying that. You are not the monster in this story!"
But he won't stop saying it.
And I won't stop hitting him. I won't stop thrusting. Even after he ejaculates inside my vagina, I keep thrusting; I keep pushing his sperm deeper into my womb as he gives me more and more.
I look at the sky, but the sun cannot be seen.
The horizon is grey with clouds.
I look at the tree, and it is deathly still.
The gentle wind has ceased to exist.
I feel the mixture of our body's fluids soaking into the cotton beneath us, and it infuriates me.
I will not fuck him.
I will not get pregnant.
I won't!
That is my choice!
This is my life!
I throw myself off of him as he finishes putting his sperm in me yet again, and I put my finger nails in my cheekbone and squeeze until I scream in agony.
I turn to my side, lying my head in the dirt, and I yell out my hatred for God until I can no longer breathe.
I reach up and pull the glasses off my head… and I look at the broken soul residing inside them… and I crush it between my fingers until the plastic and glass shatters and cuts deeply into my hand.
That was my choice.
This was my life.
But not one single choice I ever make in this life will ever matter.
My one and only brother… my precious Lincy… laid his head upon my breasts, rested his ear upon my heart… and died.
I turn to look at him, but he is silent and unmoving.
Do you know my name yet, dear reader?
I am Leni Loud… and from my point of view… this is the story of how I killed my family.
Some of you may expect Lincoln's voice to be heard in the next chapter, but do not waste your time.
His voice died with me.
And he will never speak again.
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Just One More Sin