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purplelupins · 4 months

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Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 13.7k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: this is it…the final chapter of Lamb! Thank you all so much for reading…thank you to everyone who has supported me and commented and given me feedback. I love each and every one of you. It’s been a pleasure.

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It was nearly noon when you stirred.

You had expected to awaken in bed, just as you usually did these days when you dozed off; it was not a pillow under your cheek that morning, though. There was a steady rise and fall under your ear, and a security to where you lay. You slowly cracked your eyes open, and took in where you were. Certainly you remembered falling asleep on the couch, but you did not recall laying on Father Pruitt. And yet there he was slumped uncomfortably against the wooden arm on the couch with you pulled over his chest and into his lap like a makeshift blanket.

You had assumed he generally didn’t sleep- either didn’t need it or didn’t choose to. However as you looked down at the peaceful man, you found you were wrong. As you rose your head, those dark lashes of his brushed his cheeks as he lay under you in a slumber. You stilled and stared so as to not rouse him; whether it was out of fear of waking the beast, or manners for not stirring your host, you were not sure.

It seemed fate would come to your aid. Father John’s brow twitched in the same way it used to when he would start to fall asleep during a lengthy conversation after Mass when his hair was grey. His wrinkled face would go lax, and he would slump slightly then catch himself and pass it off as him thinking.

You watched his eyes slowly crack open, then it seemed his senses returned to him all at once as he sat up a fraction a little too fast. You fell a little forward and caught yourself on his shoulder and he caught your waist and your upper arm.

“Oh I’m- I must’ve…-“ he trailed off as sleep still gripped him.

You watched him wake up and laugh a little at the slight awkwardness of it. Then he seemed to finally realize that you too had only just awoken.

“You slept.” He stated, voice thick with tiredness.

You nodded.

“I’m sorry I- well I would have moved you, but I didn’t want to…” he could have stopped there and it would have been true too, “…wake you.” He added.

Your silence made him swallow. Making him nervous was not your intent, though somehow seeing him a little uncomfortable made you enjoy your position a little more.

After a moment he sighed and gently guided both of you to sit up and he pulled at the neckline of the sleep dress you wore. You tilted your head away from him for a better view, and the action itself made his nostrils flare.

So trusting for me…

“No more bleeding. Well done little one.” He hummed.

You waited for him to put the fabric back, which he did after another moment; a gentle sweep of his fingers over your collar bone. Soft and unhurried. Nothing like you had seen and felt from the other men of the island. Rough hugs and claps on your shoulder or an entitled hand on your back. Anything but ginger and gentle.

“Why me, Father?” You whispered suddenly. It was a question that you had repeated over and over until your throat went dry. Why me? Why me God, why me?

John sighed out through his nose. You had always been one to not shy from difficult questions. He could remember your mother chastising you when you would pose such queries to the aging Monsignor at 10 in the morning. He tucked his chin to his chest as he thought then turned back to you, eyes soft.

“Because you were perfect.” He muttered.

Neither Eve nor Lilith. You were neither made from his rib nor from the same soil as he, and John basked in that realization. You were his lamb. A willing and trusting creature who only wanted a Shepard, yet so tempting in its soft flesh and sweet smell.

His words hung in your ears. You nodded- not in understanding, because you did not understand, but because it was a truth he believed. You hoped you would come to understand it, too.

You sat up off his lap, and stretched- the bones in your back popped and your tentons pulled against tissue until you were satisfied.

John watched you unabashedly, a small smile on his mouth at the sight of you.

“I don’t think you know this…but you were always my favourite.” Came his low rumble of a voice beside you.

You settled, and looked over to where he was already turned towards you. “What do you mean?” You asked.

He breathed out a laugh, “It look me a while to remember, but over several months the pieces of my fading mind slowly fell together. I remember always enjoying your company…your dedication, your selflessness and selfishness…your curiosity…so sweet.” John recalled the last twenty odd years following your birth. The birth of a child on Crockett was always a true gift. He had watched you go from smiling and wailing in your mother’s arms to walking down Main Street as fast as your chubby legs could, to you being the last remaining light of the island as you pedalled to the marina with the stiff sea breeze sobering you.

Even in his deteriorating body he loved seeing that little face, in and outside St. Patrick’s. Your wit and comforting nature. The look of regret and apology tugging your pretty mouth into a frown when you would see the filthy floors of the church after a rainy day. How the sunshine of summer mornings would reflect off your face through the church windows. Those dresses you would wear under your warm sweaters; colours of lush fauna, blue skys and spring.

You listened to him, and watched as the good Father seemed lost in thought.

“I don’t know if you remember when my family left…but I was so scared. Independence had always been something I was used to, but something about loneliness…I suppose what I’m trying to say is St. Patrick’s was a home for me.” You returned his thoughtfulness with your own.

John smiled again to himself and patted your hands that sat on your thighs, “And it will always be a home for you…even when it stands in ruins.” He murmured.

You sucked in a breath, and looked away. His stare grew far too intense for you at times.

“Come…you need to eat, sweetheart.” Father John sighed and stood, his hands outstretched to help you up. You took his hands, and let him make you food.

The supplies for the island were simple and repetitive. Nothing fancy. It had been months of similar meals and uninteresting ingredients, but you found that you couldn’t complain. You were alive, and that was what mattered.

“Can I ask you something?” John’s chest rumbled as he spoke across from you at his desk.

You looked up from the book you had been reading- your knees tucked up to your chest in the old chair. “Go ahead.”

The Father took a moment to think of the best phrasing while he put his pen down. This had been something that ate away at him for months, but it had never been an appropriate time to ask it. He prayed this was a corrected time now.

“That night…Easter…you came back. You didn’t look afraid…sad and horrified, yes, but not afraid…” he said, “I was afraid. I was grieving…why were you not afraid?”

You looked away, and thought.

“I was afraid but not…not of what you think,” Your eyes glazed over as you recalled that night. How the church smelled of candle wax and iron and wet wood, “I thought I was going to die that night. I did. And I was okay with that. It wasn’t death that frightened me. There was something else that did.”

He hung onto every word, “What was it, my child?”

You swallowed and finally looked up at him, “You- you weren’t violent. When you first got back to Crockett you weren’t violent.” You shook your head.

Your statement surprised him.

“Well- I - had my limit…Joe- well…he suffered but…I suppose that was a circumstantial thing…for the majority of the time yes I was…fairly docile.” He nodded along.

You felt your throat tighten and your nose prickled, “Then why did they rip their families to shreds? Why did they attack like that…they were possessed,” you said and shook your head, “What scared me and still scares me, Father , is that I think those people were just looking for an excuse to be savage. I knew Wade and Dolly so well and I had to pull a Leeza away from them…their own daughter…are we all just…savages safeguarded by laws and manners and faith? What scares me is that I wonder what they really are capable of. And now that…I’m weaker than them, I would be defenceless. It’s the suppressed urges that scare me.” Your voice trembled.

Father Pruitt hadn’t entirely thought of it in such a way. But once you laid out what the islanders had done in that manner, he found himself a little more horrified.

“I can understand why.” He leaned back and rubbed his brow, “I haven’t…I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

You nodded, “It’s why I run, I can handle dying. I can handle God. But the thought of being torn apart and drained by people I loved is what scares me.”

John regarded you- his cupids now pulled into a straight line.

“I know you’re sorry, Father…it’s not you that scares me.” You said gently. You opened your book and picked up where you had left off; leaving the older man to stew and mull over your answer to his question.

Father Pruitt pulled his messenger bag over his shoulder, and sighed as he readied himself for Mass. The black button-up plus that crisp white collar were back in place from his sweater. He took a quick breath as if to say something, then he seemed to decide against it.

You watched from your spot on the couch, and waited to see if he would give into the itch and say what was on his mind-

“You…you can come. If you’d like.” He tried to say it far more casually than he felt, and it showed.

You stifled a laugh, “To a church full of v-“

“I know…just…I thought you might miss it.” He stumbled a little to correct himself. He missed seeing you there. He missed feeling your glow.

You thought for a long minute. You did miss it. You missed the church, you missed seeing other faces…you missed hearing his sermons and the hymns.

“I do…” you whispered.

“Then come. I promise you will not be harmed, there’s been a steady supply and everyone is fed. I promise you.” He spoke almost pleadingly.

You stared up at him, and clenched your jaw.

John’s chest ached. Too soon. “I’m…I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

“Okay.”

The ache tightened, but it hurt so nicely. He looked at you in the eyes, “…okay?” He repeated.

You nodded.

A rush of air left Father Pruitt’s lungs in shock, “Okay. Okay…okay, c’mon, little one.” He held out his hand to beckon you to him.

You stood and padded to the bedroom to retrieve a pair of wool tights and a sweater to have over your dress. When you returned, Father John already had your coat and boots ready for you. It was only a short walk, but the church had always been drafty, and winters were not kind on Crockett.

He helped you into your shoes and closed your coat, “There. Now come along. You’ll sit at the front…no one sits there anymore.” He thought aloud.

But you weren’t listening. You were watching that handsome face as he fretted over you. It was so much all at once how he looked after you. Too much but not enough.

What you didn’t expect was how he took your hand in his larger one and guided you down the rectory steps and out past the cemetery and the rec centre. You had noticed ages ago how many new graves there were, though you never mentioned it.

Father Pruitt drew small, soothing circles along your knuckles and led you up through the back vestibule of the church.

You held your breath and paused in the doorway. The last time you had been there, Erin had shot Bev in the chest. You sucked in a sharp breath suddenly and it hurt your lungs.

You needed to do this.

Closure.

Though you wished that Bev was still on Crockett. You would have enjoyed giving her a piece of your mind now that you weren’t terrified. But alas, she was a long gone pile of dust.

“"When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me?"…He is with you, little one. If I am not enough then know that He is with you.” The Father bent to murmur in your ear.

You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and nodded.

He took that as an invitation to proceed. You stayed with him as he retrieved his green chasuble and slipped it over his head.

“Ordinary time…” you whispered to yourself.

John pretended not to hear you, and continued on. He knew you were reliving and processing what he had put you through.

When he filed out to the body of the church, he placed a gentle hand on your back and pointed to the front pew where Beverly used to sit, “Everyone thinks that spot is haunted by Ms.Keene. I assure you it is not. You can sit there.”

You looked from the pew to him and felt anxiety start to fill you.

John turned back to you and brought his hands up to cradle your soft face.

“I am with you. You will not leave my sight I promise.” With that, he placed a small kiss on your forehead, and released you.

Trust.

You took another shuttering breath in, and out, then stepped out into St. Patrick’s. It was still empty, and your footsteps echoed in the bare building. You looked down at the floorboards, and at the stairs to the pulpit, then finally you dared to look down the aisle to the door. Flashes of Easter make you blink hard to force them away. Now there was no blood, nothing left to portray the carnage that occurred there.

You eyes fell upon the crucifix, and you forced yourself to sit down in the pew. You needed watchful eyes on you that night. Your fear began to bubble up into your throat and constricted it. You needed to not be alone.

You reached into your coat pocket, and clutched your rosary, and you began to pray.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You whispered to yourself.

John still stood in the vestibule, readying the communion when he heard your little voice start to pray. He swallowed thickly at the memory of last muttering that same prayer; clutching at his stomach and screaming for that winged beast to come to him…he might have given into the grief, but John had long since worked through the guilt that did eventually come, contrary to what he told Riley. Instead, he blinked a few times, and began to recite the prayer with you under his breath.

The doors to the church were opened, and your baby hairs stood on end.

“Angel of God, my guardian dear, To whom God's love commits me here, Ever this day, be at my side, To light and guard, Rule and guide. Amen.” You finished and crossed yourself.

There were slow footsteps as parishioners entered, and noticed you. You knew they noticed you by the way conversations stopped and whispers began. You didn’t dare look behind you.

No one approached you, just like your Father had told you. You kept waiting for someone to grow bold and take a seat beside you, but it never came. Even as you all rose for the hymn, and began to sing, you remained alone and untouched.

You sang quietly, and kept your eyes low until Father Pruitt passed you and took his place at the pulpit in front of you. You had to crane your neck now to look up at him, and you found a twinge of pain there in your shoulder from the bite. A cruel reminder.

“Good evening everyone…here we are again as Christmas approaches and the New Year. It’s during this time of year when I am reminded of gifts. Gifts come in so many shapes and forms…at so many times. A shiny new bike, a gift card, a new dress…wrapped up and then torn apart to emphasise the excitement…then there are other kinds of gifts. The gift of seeing a loved one again. A child, a new house, a hot meal. Sometimes a gift can come in the form of a person. Jesus was a gift to mankind…our Lord and our Savour who leads us even though he has left us…” he spoke gently, and you found yourself softening. You felt like you were listening to your Monsignor again. No agenda…no manipulation. Just a man with a collar trying to remind people of God.

“People can be the biggest blessings…we give each other connection, and we empower each other. We can remind each other of better times and push each other to move forward. To recover, to learn, to get out of our comfort zones. To be more pious and to think of God more. People can be reminders for each other just as much as a crucifix…Gifts. Meant to be treasured…” he glanced down at you, and his heart swelled at the sight of you being there, “And cared for. We must nurture and care for those around us who remind us of God, and who push us to be better. We must be selfless for them.”

You listened to him, and rolled your rosary over your fingers. Like little drops of water. The last memory you had of being in church was full of so much fright and anxiety as you tried to get a grip on yourself- telling yourself everything was fine when it evidently hadn’t been. You sometimes wondered what would have happened if you had listened to your gut and left long before Easter. Would you have lived? Or would you have returned to Crockett after to come home only to be devoured at night because you didn’t know about the islands nightly tendencies? Was there any way to escape or were you doomed from the start?

You didn’t stand in line for the Eucharist. You didn’t watch the rest of the flock accept it. But as the final person left to sit down, you heard your name being called gently. You slowly rose your gaze, and met with Father Pruitt standing just feet from you.

“Body of Christ, little one.” He said to you, wafer in hand. You took a moment to catch up with his offering, and when you saw a paper cup in his other hand, you gave in.

“Amen.” You held your hands out to accept it the wafer, and let it dissolve on your tongue.

“Blood of Christ, little one.” He said, holding out the cup to you. You flicked your eyes up to his for just a moment.

Trust.

“Amen.”

You leaned forward, and let him tip the cup’s contents into your mouth. Your tongue was flooded with grape juice.

John watched you proudly, and finished service.

You didn’t stay. You couldn’t. Of course you wanted to see Annie, and to hold Leeza and to look Dolly in the eye. But you couldn’t. The thought alone had your stomach churning with upset. You wordlessly brushed past Father Pruitt as he descended the stairs to bid his parish a goodnight, and he watched you go. You slipped out the back door and ran back inside the rectory and slammed and locked the door.

You ripped off your coat and hung it up with shaking hands, and toed off your boots and yanked off your tights because everything felt too tight and too warm and too itchy all at once and you couldn’t breath.

You turned off the lights and ran into the bedroom and pulled the blankets up and over your head as you tried to find an equilibrium in your breathing. Your ears were ringing and your stomach felt uncomfortable like you had either eaten far too much or far too little.

After a while, you heard knocking on the front door. Your nerves lit up at the idea of one of the islanders being the visitor. Your stomach only dropped further when you heard keys. You knew Father Pruitt was the only one with keys, or so he said. What if this was all a trap? What is he asked you to come that night so he could let the parishioners on you? What if he was lying all along? What if-

“Y/n?” Came that low hum of a voice that you had grown to know. You still didn’t move. What if he had other people with him?

You could hear footsteps coming closer. You pulled the covers closer, and tried to hold your breath.

“Little one, what are you doing?” Came his gentle whisper.

You didn’t reply, staying as still as you could.

He sighed.

“Give me your hand, my sweet girl.”

You didn’t.

“Trust me.”

You slowly moved your arm and released the death grip you had on the blanket to produce your hand to him.

John tutted your palm where little crescent moons were etched into your skin where you had clenched your fists.

You felt him take your hand, and raise it up until you felt him press it against his cheek.

“See? I’m here…you’re okay.” He whispered into your skin and leaned into your touch. You moved your fingers over his cheekbone and along his jaw, then down over the corner of his mouth and over his Cupid’s bow until you returned to holding his face. You felt the light press of a kiss to your palm, and your breath hitched.

“Come here, sweetheart…”

You very slowly pulled the blanket off your head and turned your head up to peak around the room. It was dark. So dark. You knew he didn’t need the lights on to see you clearly, and when your eyes found his, his gaze were two pinpricks of light bouncing off his pupils.

With his other hand, he coaxed the blanket off you a bit further until your thighs poked out.

“There she is…” he whispered, and pulled on your hand to sit up until he was sitting beside you and guiding you into his lap,“You did so good, I’m so proud of you, my girl.”

Your limp grip on his shoulders tightened quickly until you were wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your arms around his shoulders; face buried in his neck.

John exhaled into your hair as your scent flooded his senses.

“I’m sorry I ran…” you murmured.

“Shh..nothing to apologise for.” He kissed your temple, and pretended to not notice how your legs tightened around him. How close you were.

“I know they want to see me…I just…I don’t think I can…” you sniffled.

“That’s alright…they understand.” He cooed, stroking your hair.

You sighed and suddenly felt so embrasssed for running. You felt like a child.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He breathed against the crown of your hair.

You shook your head.

“Do you want to come sit with me? I can read you one of those terrible German fairytales.” He offered.

You laughed shakily, “I’d rather go back to the church, Father.”

He laughed with you, and you enjoyed the vibrations it made in his chest. You slowly pulled away from him, but kept your gaze lowered to his chest. You thought you were stronger than that.

His sigh fanned over your forehead, and his finger came under your chin to tilt your face up to his. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and you could see his face. His breath mingled with yours, and you swallowed it down.

“Come sit with me.” He said gently, “Keep an old man company.”

You relented and untangled yourself from him.

“Slowly…there you go.” He helped you to stand, and put a hand on your lower back to nudge you out from the bedroom.

Your bare feet were cold against the wooden floors. When you sat, you immediately tucked them under you to warm them; you didn’t want to ask for a blanket, you had been enough trouble already.

John shucked off his coat and hung it while watching you in his peripheral. You were cold.

He walked past you and retrieved a blanket from the closet, and grabbed a book he had seen you eye, then returned to you.

You looked up when you heard Father Pruitt round the couch, and your cheeks went warm when you saw the blanket.

“Sorry…” you whispered and accepted the plush quilt.

“Hush.” He whispered and took a seat beside you, then held his arm out for you to come closer. You shuffled tentatively towards him, and he tsked you before putting the book down momentarily to pick you up and slide you over his thighs. You gasped a little and tried not to be uncomfortable for him; squirming to keep most of your weight off him while he pulled the blanket around the two of you and up around your torso.

“Better?” He asked, leaning away from you to see you.

You nodded, and he hummed before picking the book back up and flicking through to find a spot to start.

You sighed, and still felt ridiculous. But then you remembered the last time you had felt silly, and you had had every right to feel what you did. Terror or embarrassment, it didn’t matter. With that thought, you allowed yourself to settle into his collar which dug into your cheek.

Father John began to read aloud. After several minutes, you felt his free hand leave you and reach up to his white collar, and pull it free. You watched him put it down beside you, then return to undo a few buttons as he spoke. You were transfixed by his hand, and then watched it stop and return under the blanket to your thigh.

An odd sensation filled you then. One that caught you as off guard as when you had compared Father Hill to Jesus Christ. It was something that coiled low in your belly…constricted yet not unpleasant. You shifted to alleviate it, and while it did dissipate, it didn’t disappear.

You tried to focus on the Father’s voice as he read to you. But it felt as if his words went in one ear and out the other- all that was left was the gentle hum that resonated from his throat.

“I liked your sermon, Father.” You interrupted him.

John paused at your comment, “I’m glad you did.”

“Reminded me of the ones you’d give when I was little.” You said.

He smiled, and patted your thigh, then continued his reading.

After an hour, your eyes began to droop and your head grew heavy.

John could feel your heart rate slowing, and your weight leaning into him more. He finished the paragraph he had started, the snapped the book shut and placed it beside him.

“Let’s get you to sleep, little one.” He whispered and worked his hand under your legs and the other behind your back before standing up with you in his arms.

You nestled further into his arms, and protested when he went to let you down at the bed for your nightly prayers.

“Just a few more minutes then you can sleep.” He chastised you, putting your feet onto the floor.

You nodded, and stretched then carefully got to your knees; the Father joining you.

You both crossed yourselves and began to pray.

“Jesus, through the power of the Holy Spirit, go back into my memory as I sleep. Every hurt that has been done to me, heal that hurt. Every hurt I have caused to someone, heal that hurt. But Jesus, if there is anything I need to do, if a person is still suffering from my wickedness, bring to my awareness that which I have hurt and need to remedy. I choose to forgive others and I ask to be forgiven. Remove whatever bitterness that remains in my heart, and fill it with Your everlasting love. Amen.” John murmured beside you.

Your heart ached, and you sobered at his words. “Amen.” You whispered and after a moment you looked over at the man beside you. He returned your stare; the light from the living room outlining his face.

You swallowed, and forced yourself to stand. John followed you up and bent his neck to look down at you at his full height.

“Good night, my sweet girl.” He whispered to you, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

“Goodnight Father.” You replied, and sat down slowly. John picked the blankets up, and helped you under. You noticed his hesitation. And you waited.

He stared down at you for a long moment, then leaned over you and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Sleep well.” He whispered just a breath away from you.

You felt that warmth coiling in your belly again, and you blinked more than you should have in an effort to force it away. “Thank you.”

He sighed, and leaned away from you. You watched him clench his hands, and you wondered if he had eaten recently. Just as he went to turn away, you put your hand on his arm, “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Are you…you…you don’t seem yourself, have you eaten?” You asked quietly.

John gulped down some air and looked down, “I’m just fine, thank you. Not to worry.” He tried to reassure you, inching out the door.

It isn’t thirst that ails me, little lamb.

He was never one to brush you off. Which was why is attempt did nothing to smooth you. You sat up, “Have I done something? Did something happen?” You asked.

“No…no nothing. I just…I just need some air.” He tried, his smile tight.

You felt a pang of hurt at his stiltedness, but you didn’t press him anymore. “Alright…goodnight.” You whispered.

He nodded and closed the door halfway.

“So you’re saying you grew up on the Mainland, became a priest…did a little preaching in the cities but said “no thank you.” then came to Crockett in your late 20’s?” You asked as you made yourself a cup of tea.

John nodded from his place at his desk, “It was the 50’s and there were just…so many domestic issues at that time. By the end of confessional I wanted to go home and cry. Crockett was simple and a breath of fresh air. Dull, I know. ” He chuckled.

Your face flushed, “No! No I just…always wondered.”

He smiled, “It’s only natural…I grew up in a non-religious household…Christian but not really practicing…my sister’s passing led me to God. Your curiosity is genuine and fair…who knows where it may lead you.”

You sat down across from him and looked over at his writing.

He peaked up at you and tutted, “Nosey.”

You looked away, and took a sip of the hot drink with a little smile.

It had been over a week now since you had been bleeding out in the cellar. You were completely healed, and truly faced little danger, but both of you refused to acknowledge the elephant in the room.

You didn’t want to go home.

And you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

“I always wanted to travel.” You mused.

“Where would you go?” John asked you, slowing his writing.

“…I think Spain first. See the Vatican…go down to Italy and Croatia then back up to Germany to curse whoever came up with those grim fairytales.” You smiled into your drink.

The Father laughed at that then put his pen down, “I’m sure you will see all of those places and more.”

Your smile faltered a little. If you could get of that island, maybe. Did you want to get off Crockett? Would it be so horrible if you died there?

Your mood dropped.

Father Pruitt’a mouth sat in a straight line when he saw your smile drop. You deserved more. A part of him wondered if the reason you weren’t fighting to leave anymore was because of him. Was he keeping you there? Clipping your wings?

You hadn’t attended Mass since that night. John didn’t ask you to come, he knew you would go if you wanted to. You prayed together every night, and listened to him talk about God in your private hide away. Where you could ask questions and interject.

“Your family called today?” John asked to change the topic.

You sucked in a breath, “Yes…a short call but it was nice to hear their voices…they want me to come for Christmas.”

John clenched his jaw, “I see.”

“I told them the ferries aren’t running very well. Not a total lie.” You shrugged and took a long drink.

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

“Why don’t you go?” He asked.

You looked up at him and laughed a little, “I think we both know the answer to that, Father.”

John looked away, and down at his pen, “If it weren’t for the…what happened, what would you do?”

“I’d…I’d probably go. Take some time away. Maybe book a ticket somewhere and see a piece of the world that isn’t Crockett shaped.” You thought aloud.

He nodded.

“That sounds nice.” He smiled quickly.

“We all have dreams, Father.” You replied.

You finished your drink and stood to place the cup in the sink. When you went to pass by him to return to your seat, the Father’s hand caught yours.

“Come here.” He hummed and pointed to the paper infront of him, “What do you think of this?” He asked you.

You looked down over his shoulder and saw a paragraph he was writing for his sermon. You pursed your lips, and found that your neck was growing stiff at the angle, so you scooted between him and the desk and sat on his lap to read better. You had grown used to sitting in close proximity to the Monsignor, and simply began to read.

John’s breath hitched at your action and he went still for a moment. Certainly you had both been close, but you had never plopped yourself over his legs before. He knew it was just you gaining comfort around him, which was positive, but the action still had him swallowing thickly. Closeness was still something he was being accustomed to after a lifetime of so little. It used to be so easy to ignore any sort of…feelings such as this, but since his regained youth he truly felt like a young man again, and found himself relearning to temper his humanity.

“Well?” He asked in your ear, steadying his breath.

You shifted a little and cleared your throat, “Um it’s good.” You said, “You might want to rephrase this part…sounds a little “holier than thou”.”

His brows pitched up and he leaned closer to read. He looked over the sentence you pointed to and nodded along, trying to ignore the warmth your body bled into him. It seeped into his skin and heated his veins.

“Good…thank you, my dear.” He murmured from behind you, and you turned your head a little to see him in your peripheral.

“My pleasure, Monsignor.”

He grit his teeth at the name. It wasn’t that it bothered him. There was just something about you saying it that reminded him of himself. He gave you a tight smile.

You went to stand, but he slipped an arm around your waist to keep you there, “Sit with me for a while.” He hummed, but had already begun to rewrite the section. You might have protested…or your might not have. You didn’t know which you would choose if you did have a choice.

With his large hand planted against your stomach, and curling to your hip, you stayed put. You shifted to let him see what he was doing, and rested your head into the crook of his neck. He wore no collar nor black shirt…just a tshirt and cardigan. You reached out and picked up his rosary from the desk, and toyed with it. After a moment, you opened your hand, and placed the cross against the little scar you had from your own digging into your hand on Easter.

“Must’ve hurt.”

You jumped a little at his voice and looked up. Your nose bumped his. You hadn’t noticed he had stopped writing altogether, and had been watching you.

“Not as badly as you’d think.” You whispered, looking away quickly to stare down at your hand again.

You saw his arm move from around you to grasp your fingers and bring them up to his mouth where he placed a kiss over the pinkish scar. You felt your ears grow warm, and you tried to pull your hand away, but he wasn’t done. John stroked his thumb over it, and leaned away from you to relax into the back of his chair.

“We should get you to bed, little one.” He mused.

You nodded, though you didn’t feel very tired.

He helped you to stand, and guided you into the back of the rectory. You both knelt facing the cross above the door, but when you went to hand his rosary back to him he shook his head and took yours from the bedside table. It felt oddly intimate to be using each other’s rosary for prayer, and you found your cheeks warming again at the thought of it.

You heard Father John begin a prayer for the night, and you forced yourself to focus on it. Not on how his voice dipped into a low hum that vibrated in your ears and made your fingertips tingle. You told yourself it was just the proximity of someone you had once admired. Someone who, despite the horrible things he had done, cared for you. Not the warmth that simmered just below your pelvis.

“Amen.”

You blinked and glanced at the man beside you and muttered a quiet amen like you had been listening. When he went to rise, you found yourself still rooted to the spot; John halted his movement and settled back down next to you. He didn’t ask any questions nor made any comment. He was patient for you, and if you needed a moment longer, he would join you.

Your eyes were glazed over as you stared at a chip in the paint on the wall, but your ears were alive with the memory of that song the Father danced with you to.

Hallelujah…hallelujah…

You blinked, and sucked in a breath, then released it slowly through your nose. Father John tilted his head to watch you thoughtfully, and you copied his movement. The dim light from a single lamp in the living room cast a warm glow over half his face; one eye glinting in the darkness. Your gaze met his, and you felt your lungs beg for air when you saw reminiscent of the man he used to be. His face soft and vulnerable as he watched you with such fondness.

The selfish and childish part of you whispered to itself in question, “Did love feel like this?” And your other part wished so badly to say no, but it stayed quiet because it didn’t know…and it let that other half wonder idly.

You repeated that question over and over in your mind. Is it? You didn’t know. Not that you had to wonder for long, not when he bowed his head and pressed his lips to yours…and the question vanished. It wasn’t answered, but when he kissed you again, you had no space for wonderment. His hand came up to the nape of your neck to cradle your jaw, stroking small, encouraging circles there. If they could speak they would whisper, “That’s it…that’s it. I’ve got you.” in your ear.

You timidly brought your hands up to his shoulders, not certain if you were to push on them or tug them closer. Your uncertainty seemed to have an answer when he gently ushered his tongue into your mouth. Your little fists slipped over his shoulders just as they did when he carried you to bed at night, and his hand eased around your waist like he did when he held you in his lap while he wrote.

You let him press you close, and you could feel his lean frame flush against you; he elicited a moan from you that he gulped down.

A precious sound.

Then as you sunk into one another, he pulled away just momentarily to pick you up and ease you onto the bed. The plushness enveloped you and his hand slipped to the back of your head to cradle your skull as he returned his mouth to yours and climbed over you carefully. This time you tentatively licked into his mouth, and received a pleased hum in reply as he allowed you.

You repeated the action as you welcomed him over you, placing your knees on either side of his hips. This time he shuttered ever so slightly, and pressed himself closer. You felt one of his hands move to your thigh, stroking it softly like he cherished it, while his other had his fingers twisting into your hair to hold you in place as he grew greedy, and stoked your pining.

Slowly, John pulled away, pecking light kisses to your lips until he was bracing himself over you.

““He who guards his mouth guards his soul. One who opens wide his lips comes to ruin.”…I would happily let you be my ruin.” He whispered.

You stared up at him, eyes heavy, “And what of my ruin, Monsignor?”

He smiled thoughtfully, brushing hair from your forehead, “You will have no ruin. Sunlight cannot be ruined.”

“And what about nightfall?” You countered as his face inches closer to you.

“The sun will always be shining somewhere…and if not then let me be that temporary darkness that borrows your glow if only for a while.” He spoke against your lips, and kissed you slowly.

That warm constriction in your belly wove and churned until the heat of it gave you made your toes curl in your warm socks, and arch your back into him like he wasn’t close enough. You hadn’t the faintest idea a body could be capable of such want, and you were intent to allow it to run its course.

That fist that cinched your hair tugged when your thighs tightened around him to draw him closer. A gasp pulled from your lips and John pressed his hips into you, and the rough jean rubbed you so suddenly you cried out into his mouth and along his tongue that knew your taste.

You whined and tugged at his shoulders; that feeling inside you becoming overwhelming. You were at a loss for words to communicate what you wanted, and it was as if he could feel your need for something…something.

He slowed his mouth and pulled away just a breath, “Tell me what you want.” He hummed.

Your eyes went wide and you looked away only for him to chase your gaze, and tut you. “Cmon.” He cooed. You might have thought he was teasing you if he had been anyone else. But John Pruitt was staring back at you like your answer to his question would determine the course of the rest of his life.

“I-…I don’t…I don’t know I’ve never…” you stumbled over your confession.

John nodded, gaze locked on you intently, “Of course…I understand.”

A beat passed between you two, and you were preparing yourself for him to pull off of you and tell you that he couldn’t-

“I’ll be good to you…if you’ll let me.” He whispered.

Trust.

You bit the inside of your lip as you thought; he didn’t move an inch.

Very slowly, you nodded, “Okay.”

He grinned ever so slightly, just enough to show those pointed peaks of his teeth. “Okay.” He repeated.

He leaned away from you then, and helped you to sit up while he rocked back onto his heels to give you room. He pulled off your sweater just as carefully as he had when he had undressed you after your attack.

“Arms up.” He murmured and you did as he said for him to tug your dress over your head.

A part of John was wailing at him to look away from you and to let you keep your dignity. Told him to dress you and take you home and tell you that he wasn’t a good person. But John had always had a tendency for selfishness, and he knew you were letting yourself be just as selfish as he. He knew you were likely having the same or similar thoughts.

So when he let himself look at you.

He let himself gorge on your beauty.

Greedy. Gluttonous.

He remembered then when he was on the cusp of priesthood when he must have been just a little younger than you. How his mentors would remind him of the perils of the seven sins, and how they would test him when he least expected it. How he would have to employ the Lords graces to overcome them. But John more vividly remembered how those same priests would overfill themselves at holiday feasts, and how he had caught a few staring a little too long at women and girls during services. It was difficult to fear their words when they themselves betrayed them.

Which was why John felt guiltless as the fabric came away from you.

Because he would much rather fear the true wrath of God than the intimidating warnings of men. And if God disapproved of the admiration of one of his creations, then John would take the punishment if he was granted this one time to fill his senses with you.

Your hands shook. And you dropped your arms back down as he placed the garment to the side. You half expected him to remain clothed, but he remained where he was and shrugged off his sweater, and grabbed the back of his plain shirt, and pulled it over his head.

You stared up at his form- still and curious. John took your hand in his, and placed it on his chest where his heart used to beat. Feeling his skin somehow made him feel so much more human. Like there wasn’t a lifetime between you and different blood in your veins.

He sighed at your touch and closed his eyes when he sunk back down to you and your hand moved along his collarbone to his neck to the nape where his dark hair curled. Your other hand joined, and tugged a little on the tender hairs there.

He took his hands away from you for only a moment to kick his jeans to the floor, then he returned to you- skin against yours and the veil of your underwear between you. It felt so foreign to know what his flesh felt like. Of course you knew he was born to this world just as every other being- bare as a babe. But he had become so superior in his status that the idea that he had calves and biceps and skin and hair under his chasuble took away so much of that inhuman pedestal you had unknowingly put him on.

Heat seemed to radiate between you both, and your skin became sticky against the winter chill that crept inside through minor holes and cracks in the old building. You pulled at him and tried to press him closer but it wasn’t enough. You didn’t know what it was, but your greed that you had so perfectly neglected since childhood seemed to rear its head with the Father against you.

You found your dwindling strength to push him away and he chased your mouth for a moment and you let him- open mouthed kisses from afar.

“F-father I’m- I- I um…” you tried to shift and squirm to get your point across but even you didn’t know what you wanted.

The older man above you watched intently with almost a paternal care as you tried to explain yourself.

“Is there a gluttonous warmth that’s settled in that belly of yours, sweet girl?” He asked with a small smirk that truly caught you off guard. You suddenly remembered that he was not entirely inexperienced such as yourself, and you briefly wondered if he has always been a little domineering, or if his age had snubbed it or perhaps it was an embraced trait with his renewed youth.

Your mouth lay agape for a moment, then you nodded and squeezed your thighs around him. The stiffness you felt there pressing insistently against your clothed flesh managed to intimidate your insatiability, but didn’t curb it.

“Would you allow me the gift of bringing you to rapture?” He asked so softly, pecking a kiss to the corner of your mouth and caressing your cheek while his other hand’s thumb stroked under your bra’s band.

Your poor mind attempted to catch up, but his touch was making your head spin and melt. His purred question had you recalling everything you had been taught since childhood by your family, “Father isn’t…we…it’s a-“ you started.

“You might think that…but it cannot be a sin. Not when you are this lovely and willing…You are no temptation…you are a gift.” He countered easily. Like he had thought about this before in detail.

“What if you are the temptation, Father?” You asked.

He grinned a little at your retort. Always one to keep him on his toes.

“If I am that, then is it not better to indulge in me than an irrefutable sin another time?” He nudged your nose with his.

You realized then that never once had you ever heard him preach the sins of the flesh. Indeed that temptations were made to misguide us, but never specifically that.

You breathed his air, and flushed your eyes between his, “Then bless me, Father.” You whispered before you could tell yourself it was wrong.

John’s breath caught in his throat, and he could almost feel his pupils expanding into dinner plates.

Cheeky girl.

“It was always going to be you…” he mused aloud, looking over your face, “No disobedience like Adam and Eve listening to the serpent… no you are…you are too good. My holy deliverance.” He kissed you so tenderly.

Then he kissed your cheek, and down your neck to your shoulder where he pulled the strap of your bra down. He followed the elastic to your chest and he helped you remove the article entirely. You looked away shyly, but he brought your attention back to him with a finger under your chin.

“There we go…look at me…you’re alright…” he whispered, a slight shake to his hand, “I’m with you.”

You nodded and sighed as you fought to not overthink.

Once Father John was certain you were alright, he kissed you one more time and began kissing your chest. His hands were a little timid and out of practice as he squeezed your opposite breast, though did not fail to make your toes curl as he pulled sounds from you that you stifled late at night and shamed yourself for; Hail Mary’s falling from your lips like breaths. He lapped at your skin as he descended down over your belly where your ecstasy lay tightly wound and molten.

He stopped then, and looked up at you , face a little shy in his want.

“Your fruit is the only harrowed offering I desire to eat…and if that makes me a sinner then I will humbly accept my punishment.” He murmured.

Your face was so warm you thought you may faint. You didn’t know the man with the stiff white collar and slightly nervous disposition could have such a blunt, honeyed tongue.

You leaned up a little then to look down at him as he kissed at the top of your panties.

“What are you…” you trailed off. You had had an educational sex talk with your mother when you were a teenager, and had read mentions of the various acts you could do, but you were at a loss with how Father John seemed to wish to venture further than just your stomach or hips.

It was no willing education that the holy man had gone through for sexual acts. It had been decades of confessions from islanders and tourists alike back when the island was alive. Some explicit ans some leaving him curious. Tales from visitors he didn’t know who came to spend a few weeks on Crockett and took advantage of the anonymity of the village confessional booth with a young pastor to hear their sins and absolve them before they returned to the city.

It took years, but after a while, he began to piece things together. They made his ears grow hot and his hands grip his rosary a little tighter.

But curious he remained.

Was a woman’s body so wholly splendorous that a man desired deeply to kiss upon her lips where no tongue sat between them? Would she taste as addictive as they said?

“I’d like to kiss you h-here…”he whispered, and so gently ran his index finger down the edge of your underwear where it curved down your thigh, “…please.”

His eyes were wide as he stared up to you; still so unsure but so lost in his desire to think twice.

“…okay.” You managed. Just as lost as he.

His veiny hands ran gentle trailed up and down your thighs, and he peppered kisses in their wake. You shivered and squirmed under the sensations he drew forth, and you wished you knew what to do with them. Were you supposed to moan or tell him what to do? Were you supposed to ask for more? You didn’t know. What you did know was that you wanted his hands to touch you, and that seemed like a good place to start.

It seemed you hadn’t been paying full attention for a moment, though your focus returned tenfold when you felt a warm kiss there against you. You twitched in surprise, and stared down at the man sat between your legs; his dark hair all tousled curls that fell over his forehead and gaze intently immersed in your reaction. He repeated the action, his lips caressing the fabric that still covered you. Your breathing became something you had to actively remember to do when he grasped the undergarment and pulled it down your legs.

With yourself bare to him, you reflexively notched your knees together, though he easily parted them with a little coaxing from his tongue running up your inner thigh.

“Fa-Father Pr-“ you stuttered out breathlessly.

“Shhh…I know…”he whispered against your hip where he kissed and ran a pointed tooth over your skin. He could barely hide the fact that you using his title affected him more than it should have. “Say a Hail Mary with me, sweet girl.” He said.

Your eyes went wide, and the devil in him reared its head for just a moment. He liked seeing you so shocked. But when he began to recite the prayer and you followed his lead, that heathen calmed a little.

“Hail Mary, f-full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed…” you realised the Father had stopped speaking and had begun running his lips down your hip to your pelvic bone, and he tilted his head to nestle his cheek against you for a moment.

“Continue.” He murmured.

You remembered to breathe, “B-blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb-“ you lost any ability to talk when Father Pruitt leaned down and pressed an open mouthed kiss to the delicate flesh between your thighs. You felt the tip of his tongue against you, and his large hands held you firmly in place.

“J-Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” You rushed the end.

John looked up at you and kissed your thigh with a proud look in his dark eyes. “Amen.” He whispered.

Then slow and deliberate, he leaned back down and kissed you again, this time ushering his tongue into the slick pedals of skin. You stuttered out another deep breath, and clutched at the sheets beside you. He lathed his tongue in you and swallowed greedily, rutting himself into the bed while his long legs braced him. His hands began to guide you to roll your hips up into his open mouth and you found that sensitive spot that had your squeezing your eyes shut and your mouth dropping open in sinful gasp.

When your movements became more bold, and your fingers wove into his thick hair, Father John settled deeper into your flesh. He worked his jaw slow and steady. He was an attentive learner and listened to when your breathing stopped and felt your legs shake or your fingers pull him closer into you.

Then like he could hear your mind, he removed one of his hands from your legs and ran his index finger down the curve of your thigh to your entrance when he carefully pushed in; just as careful as when he turned the pages of the Bible. Your body jerked, and you couldn’t help the cry that he pulled from you as he sunk into you to the knuckle.

“How’s that?” He asked you just as breathless as you.

You couldn’t speak, and you found yourself starting to grow far too warm all at once.

“Good?” He prompted, patient as ever, “Tell me if it’s nice, young lady or I’ll have to stop.” He chastised you.

His comment curled deep inside you like his finger as he stroked you and lapped at your tender clit.

“I-it feels go-good Monsignor.” You managed to shoot back.

He grinned and suckled you into his mouth as he pumped you firm and slow. He knew there was somewhere inside you that would make heighten your pleasure, and he slowly teased and touched every inch he could reach until he found that patch of membrane inside you that had you bolting up and pushing his face into you harder.

“S-sorry I’m- I- Fath- Joh-“ you began to babble and try to form an apology as you immediately backed off, but his used his free hand to bring yours back to his head and had you push down again as he sucked and kissed and lapped at your sweetness.

The pressure of his touch had that coil in you start to vibrate and heat up to uncomfortable heights. Your moans came in constant succession, and you found that you couldn’t breathe without making a needy sound.

You were so lost in your own building euphoria that you didn’t see how Father John devoured and held you with such need that he shook and shuttered. A voice in his head asked him if this was for your pleasure alone, or was this his devout need to know what heaven was like when he was surly damned. His hips rocked and ground into the mattress making his ears ring with want.

Your movements met with his and he let you use him to catch that pleasure you had worked so hard for until your body went ridged. A relieved cry tore from your throat and your muscles constricted around his fingers- when had he added another?- and coated his tongue in his prize. You muscles ached from the tension you endured as you rocked against him to ride out your ecstasy. He licked at you gingerly, helping you through it as the blood stopped rushing in your eardrums.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, your eyes lost their glaze and you could look at him. John kissed your thigh, and slowly drew his fingers from you. You winced slightly, and your eyes grew heaviler when he lifted them to his mouth and sucked them clean like he had been waiting for that.

“There she is…” he whispered and kissed you one more time before climbing up your body and nestling his face into your neck. You locked your legs around him and pressed him against you, your breath hitching at the firmness there that prodded at you insistently.

“Wa-was that okay?” He murmured, and kissed your cheeks.

You nodded lazily and laughed a little. So old fashioned at heart, even in his youth. He smiled back, and blew air over your flushed face. He might have been about to say something else, but you tugged him down to your lips before much more than a muffled sound could come out. It couldn’t have been important as he gave into your want and returned your kiss.

It seemed you both grew aware of the heady need that still hung in the air and your joined lips slowed and stopped until you were both simply laying there with your mouths close to one another.

You flushed with embarrassment when a thought crossed your mind- one that belonged in the gutter. Evidently your burning cheeks were observed by the older man, and his eyes grew searching.

“Tell me…” he whispered, and kissed your temple.

You looked away and fidgeted, then subconsciously looked down.

John tracked your gaze, and when it flickered between you, he had a small idea of what was ailing you.

“We- we don’t…” he started, but you shook your head.

“Its not…I- can- can I-“ you fumbled and squirmed.

He stared at you, and felt your hands toy at the nape of his neck.

“Touch me?” He asked, seeing if that was what you wanted.

You couldn’t look at him, but you nodded ever so slightly.

He sucked in a breath to steady himself as he grew lightheaded.

“…give me your hand, sweet girl.” He shuttered and swallowed.

You timidly removed one of your hands from his neck, and gave it to him. The good Father paused for just a moment to check on you, but you bit at your lip and nodded again, and he continued. He rolled a little to the side, and guided your hand down to his waistband. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a moment, and you followed suit in staring back. He helped you slip your little hand inside, and you could feel him pulse against your palm.

Johns breath caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes when you shyly touched him. You ran your hand gently up his shaft, and grew a little more empowered when his hips jerked towards you. Then, you slowly wrapped your hand around him, and his eyes fell shut and his mouth dropped open with a sigh.

You watched him closely, completely unsure of what you were doing as you moved your hand up and back down. You squeezed him slightly, and his head fell into your shoulder with a soft groan. You dragged you hand back up to the tip, and found a wetness there that helped you. It only took a few moments before he was gently taking your wrist and rolling you back under him.

“I’m- I’m sorry…I can’t- please…” he murmured and you nodded again as he took himself out slowly. John braced himself above you, just a few inches away to see you properly, and he sighed. You really were so…so beautiful.

So lovely.

He blinked, and swallowed.

You started breathing deeply when you felt his slick skin against you, and he kissed you again.

“Shh…take a deep breath for me, litttle one.” He said calmly like his own hands didn’t have an elated tremor to them, “C’mon, with me: in…” he took a breath in, and you followed his lead; his eyes held yours in the dim light, and you felt safe.

There was a pressure at your tender flesh that you seemed to crave as your cramped muscles relaxed and gave away to his body.

“And out…” he imitated for you, and you did as he said, though you found it difficult to breathe. The fragile skin slickened, and welcomed him inside you, and you found yourself pressing every inch of yourself against his damp skin to touch, touch, touch.

John sighed and buried his face into your shoulder where your scar was still fresh. He kissed there and scraped his teeth over the unevenness; your nerves were set alight, and you constricted around him suddenly at the sensation. He smiled and kissed again then trailed up your neck to your cheek where he gathered your lips with his again and swallowed your gasp as he pressed himself further until you couldn’t take anymore.

“There you go…such a g-good girl…you alright?” He whispered as he gasped in his own euphoria.

You took a couple breaths then nodded; the stretch that your muscles completed to accommodate him made you ache, but when his addictive kiss coated your lips with his saliva, it ebbed away.

“Deep breaths…there we go just like th-that..”

He started slow. Gentle rocking of his hips into yours as he stroked your thighs and distracted you with sweet encouragement in your ears. Introducing your body to sensations it began to crave and demand. And after a few minutes, your pelvis began to chase his as he moved until he started to lengthen his rocking- drawing further and further out of you and rooting himself inside you like a plant looking for soil.

Your whining in his ear only furthered his chase for pleasure. Your pleas and moans that he savoured and swallowed. Then when one of his hands left you and disappeared between your bodies, you tried to see what he was doing, but your curiosity was sated when you felt him press just above where he entered you, and stroked you so gently. The sounds you cried out into the small, dark room were enough to summon angels and demons alike to bear witness to your willing invasion.

“How’s that sweet girl?” Came his whisper that curled in your ear and peaked your nipples.

“I’m- I-“ you breathed out an attempted response to convey your approval but to no avail.

You could feel his smile against your skin, and you let him touch you like it belonged to him. You rolled your hips to meet his- slow and steady. You began a succinct string of breathless supplications that played in repetitive order in Johns head as he felt you begin to constrict around him. It took his well practiced willpower and patience to remain composed with you. The selfishness in him wished for him to lock his arms around you and take his pleasure from you as if it was something owed, but he knew he was better than that. He was more than the poison in his veins.

For you he would be better.

Then your nails found purchase in the skin on his back as his pace grew insistent, and he groaned a low hum into your neck. But despite the mounting pressure of sybaritism, he kept his hand steady and calm as he helped you meet your own bliss. It wasn’t that he was well practiced or that he knew what he was doing, but he had hearing that could detect every time your breath caught and when a secret gasp would sit in your throat. Just as he had been with priesthood, he was an eager and curious learner, and he was just as dedicated to knowing what your body craved.

John paused for only a moment to readjust you against him; he knelt before you and shifted your hips up to compensate for the change, then his hands gripped your thighs and pushed them down to your torso and guided your hands to hold them. As he slipped back inside you, your swollen mouth dropped open and he crawled back down to you.

“There we go…that’s it.” He whispered, voice shaking so slightly.

So many explicit confessions from his youth had initially made his ears turn pink and his hands shake from the salaciousness; yet now here he was murmuring those same words into your eager ears.

Any Hail Mary’s he might prescribe after having you under him would be hollow. Not when he knew the enjoyment of such tender flesh. You were the epitome of sublime in your chase for pleasure, and he knew he shouldn’t find such carnal desire in seeing you lose yourself. Yet there he was, wanting to savour every moment of your young body falling apart for him to devour.

Your eyes grew heavy and nearly slipped shut. That furnace in your belly was on the brink of combustion, and the good Father only stoked it. So you let him. You relaxed completely and let your mind go blank as he moved you to completion. You could feel your muscles start to tighten around him, and curl to pull him deeper and closer.

Then bliss…

You could barely register your elevated cries into his shoulder as he brought himself closer to you, his eyes crinkling with pride. You rolled your pelvis up to meet his at pleasure overtook you and used you like a marionette to procure every ounce of your deserved euphoria.

Warmth filled your tummy when Father Pruitt went still. He shuttered and sighed low in his chest as he held you tight and filled you.

Your heartbeat pulsed between your chests, and was like thunder in John’s ears. The rush of your blood through veins and your body trying to recover were like music to his ears. John kissed your shoulder, and sighed.

Neither of you spoke…no words to say or sound to make. A mutual silence.

Slowly, he drew away from you, and you found yourself feeling empty. Had you always been so empty?

He lay to your side and pulled you back against him like you used to embrace a pillow on stormy nights as a child.

It was only when he brought your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss there did you both notice that you still clutched his rosary; an imprint of its beads and cross evident in your palm.

“Amen.” He hummed and looked up at you softly.

You faintly smiled and he savoured the expression. A look of fondness.

There was a peculiar feeling inside you, and it wasn’t the way you ached from him or how warm you were. It lasted days as they passed, and only seemed to grow with the more kisses you shared.

When he would run his nose along your neck and hold your hips against him or when he would tilt his head down to you when in the middle of reading and taste your tongue with his if only for a moment.

But also when he would remain calm and honest when his hunger grew. When fear never returned to you. When you both would visit Hassan’s grave at night and he would tell you stories as you readied for bed.

It was the startling question of whether you wanted to stay. And what that would entail. When he had asked you just days ago about your wishes, you had of course wanted to see your family and travel, and in the depths of your heart you still wished to do those and more. But the longer Father John held you, the further those dreams seemed to be.

Would it be so horrible if you stayed? If you lived there forever with John Pruitt and rebuilt your routine there? Would it truly be sinful to alter Gods plan and will and give in to eternal life? Something you had so greatly feared?

Which was why you turned to John one night as he lay beside you. He held you in his arms and was waiting for you to fall asleep before feeding when you sighed.

“Father?” You asked.

He smiled, “You know you don’t ha-“

“Force of habit…forgive me.” You smiled a little too, “I…I’d like to stay.”

Johns brow pinched, “At the rectory? My dear I think we’re past-“

“No I mean…I mean here. On Crockett.” You murmured into his clavicle, and he took a steady breath, “I’m ready.”

He was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, “Alright.” He whispered and kissed your hair.

You thought he sounded pleased. In a way he was. Turmoil had been making his stomach sour as he dreaded that moment. Wondering what your choice would be. But as you said those words into his skin, it was as if a weight had been lifted.

This was his moment to set you free.

You fell asleep on him just as you had often now, and he let himself indulge in your sweet warmth for a while longer.

His last selfish act.

They say if you’re hungry enough, you’ll start to eat your own heart. John’s was gone long, long ago, with only a cavernous need to adore and worship left behind. He knew that one day his hunger would grow too much for his abilities to curb it, and he was not about to let you meet that same horrible fate.

He needed to do right by you.

For you, he would be better.

He knew that having you to hold each day and converse with and grieve with and laugh with would be a paradise, but he knew it wasn’t what you deserved. John hoped you would forgive him one day for what he would do.

But he knew it was what you needed, just not what you wanted.

He slipped from your grasp and found that bag that you counted as your home. He gathered all your little trinkets and books, and found that knife you had long forgotten about. John found his eyes start to prickle as he finished. Your little life in one bag all because of him.

Next, he sat as his desk, picked up his pen, and began to scrawl a note on a piece of paper.

What have I done…

John sighed and continued. His chest ached a terrible pain, and he feared it may fall right out of his chest. Of course it didn’t, but somehow he was certain the pain still wouldn’t have surpassed what he felt then.

He signed it, and folded the paper into his pocket, then he began writing another note entirely. This one he didn’t fold- instead this one would sit atop his desk for the time being.

Then, he picked your bag up and slung it over his back, and moved back to where you lay. It took him half an hour to sit you up gently and slip your coat on without you waking. He knew he didn’t have long. John finished dressing you- socks and boots and all- and hoisted you into his arms.

He forwent his own coat, and cast a look around the rectory to see any last reminders of you. There was only a cup in the sink from you. And he smiled at it.

With you tight against his chest, the Father left the rectory, and strode through the damp grass to the main road. The stones crunched under his boots, and he let his vast memory overtake him as he walked. Memories of seeing you that first morning when he returned. How he had danced with you; how he had looked forward to seeing you. How badly he wanted the best for you, and how poorly that had turned out. He thought of how wonderful it had felt when you finally let him help you…your smile, your kindness, your resilience, your intelligence, your selflessness. He let it all fill him up. John pressed a kiss to your head when you stirred a little, and shushed you until you settled.

His precious little lamb.

You didn’t even bleat as a wolf held you.

A chill brushed your cheeks as you awoke. There was a calm rock that soothed you and kept you just on the edge of opening your eyes. You nuzzled your face further into John’s chest , but something felt off. You sighed, and thought nothing of it until you realized it was your own arm that you were laying on.

And you were cold.

You jolted awake and sat up. Your eyes flickered around in a fright. Under you was a bench, and as you looked at your surroundings, there was water. You were on the Belle.

Alone.

A lump rose in your throat as you pushed yourself up and nearly tripped over your bag that was at your feet. You ran to the railing, and saw that you still weren’t too far from the marina. The next thing that dawned on you was that it was getting light out.

As you gripped the railing, you felt something dig into your hand, and when you looked down, you fought for breath.

“No…” you whispered, “No, no…”

Father Pruitt’s rosary was wrapped around your hand, securing a note to it.

You unwrapped it frantically, and opened the note with shaking hands. At first you didn’t look down at it as you began walking down the side of the boat to look back at the dock. A single tear broke free from your eye when you saw that familiar figure standing on the edge of the platform staring back at you.

You gasped for a breath, and finally began to read. But as you did, you had to fight against tears to see the elegant handwriting.

“Hello little one,

You may not understand now, but I need you to know that you are free now. You had always been sunshine, and you deserved to shine. I have been a selfish man for much of my life, but you would be my one selfless act.

You will find a church with a preacher who reminds you of God and lights your soul. See the world that is not shaped like Crockett Island and breathe in its splendour.

Look for me in solar eclipses, sweet girl; when the moon touches the sun just as you let me grace your glow. You might think of me in years to come as a dark time in your life…and know that I will indeed think of you.

You were a blessing.

You were everything.

Saying goodbye isn’t close to what I want to say, but it is what you need to hear.they say that the worst farewells are the ones unsaid and unexplained. I do not wish to give you any more grief. Which is why I must hurt you this one last time…then no more.

I am with you, sweet angel girl.

Always.

Yours,

John M. Pruitt”

Your head felt far too light at your body far too heavy. You felt bile rise against the lump of grief in your throat.

“John…” you whispered like you had never spoken before. You could barely hear yourself against the ringing in your ears. Then all at once, you realized how bright the sky was, and he wasn’t moving from his place on the dock.

You cried his name louder than you thought you could.

John stood, watching you from the pier.

You screamed his name.

You were terrified for him.

John knew he had to hurt you one last time. Just one. He needed you to never come back.

One more time and then you would be free. John knew better than anyone that grief was just love with nowhere else to go. It was bottled up and leaked out through your eyes and scraped at your esophagus.

“It’s alright, little one…” he whispered, “You don’t need me anymore.”

His dark eyes gleamed with tears that once would have been hot against his cheeks as they fell. Grief. Just love compressed with a cork.

You frantically looked from him to the thin white line that was beginning to form on the horizon as the sun rose. You saw him say something, and somehow you knew he was trying to comfort you.

“John!!! JOHN GO HOME!” You cried, anxiety starting to squeeze your throat, “Please!!”

You could see a fond smile on his face as he gazed at you, and he extended his arm in a wave as if to say “See you again old friend.”

Come back soon.

But you knew then that he had no intention of letting you see him again.

He was setting you free.

And John knew then.

He knew that when you finally passed and you drew your last breath, you would feel a spring breeze against your skin and smell fresh flowers and live in the sunlight for eternity.

But with that realization came his own fate. John knew that when he had enough, and he let his body burn, he would only awaken to the scent of scorched forests and stale air.

Much like the smell following the Easter vigil all those months go.

And John realized that he had indeed already been living in his own death all along.

His own personal hell.

And John remembered then how he had once compared you to a person trying to stay afloat in a body of water with nothing but hope to keep you going. But he saw then that you had never been near drowning; you had never been on the cusp of being dragged down into the depths of the ocean.

He had been the one astray.

And John saw that now, as the sun crested over the empty horizon.

So he took a breath…and let it out.

And he let the cold swell of his fate pull him under.

His eternity.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

#midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #father paul #father paul hill #father john pruitt #father paul x reader #father John Pruitt x reader #hamish linklater #hamfam #flanaverse #Spotify

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oceandolores · 2 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 9

"𝘊𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵, 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘮 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨,"

summary: it's the big day

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 9

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 8

next | chapter 10

The night was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum with unresolved tensions. Inside Joel’s dimly lit living room, the only sound was the soft ticking of the clock as Joel’s mind raced with thoughts of vengeance. He had just finished a tense conversation with Ellie, who had reluctantly agreed to stay home and get some sleep. Her concern had been palpable.

"Now, get some sleep, Ellie, I'll be right back." He said as he pick up his jacket and his truck's key from the desk.

"Wait, where are you going?" Ellie ask, "I need to go back to her house, I need to take care of her before her father's get home," Joel lies.

"Okay," Ellie said.

Joel closed the door behind him, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on his shoulders. As he made his way to the truck, he could feel Ellie’s anxious gaze lingering on him, a reminder of the fragile line he was walking. The lie about returning to your house to take care of you was a necessary deception, a way to keep Ellie from discovering his true intentions.

The truck roared to life, its engine breaking the quiet of the night. Joel’s thoughts churned like a storm at sea, the images of your pain intertwining with the dark intent driving him forward.

He gripped the steering wheel of his truck tightly, knuckles white against the darkness, he clenched his jaw over and over again, as he drove towards the bar where Jamie was likely to be. The truck's headlights cut through the inky blackness, but they could not penetrate the veil of anger that had enveloped Joel. He was determined to find Jamie and make him pay for the harm he had inflicted on you. Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom of vengeance, interspersed with fleeting memories of the tender moments he had shared with you. Every time his mind drifted to your pain, it only fueled his resolve.

He will keep you safe no matter what it takes.

The anger roiling inside Joel was a storm at sea, a hurricane of grief and rage that threatened to tear apart the calm facade he maintained. His feelings for you were like a fragile flower in a storm, blooming amidst chaos but vulnerable to the fury of the winds. Each image of you in pain was a dagger to his heart, a wound that only deepened with every second Jamie remained free.

When he arrived at the bar, he parked a short distance away, his eyes scanning the scene with a predator’s precision. The bar’s neon lights flickered intermittently, casting an unsteady glow on the streets. He watched from the shadows, a ghost among the night, waiting for Jamie to emerge.

Inside the bar, Jamie and his friends were oblivious to the storm brewing outside. Their laughter and raucous voices filled the air, a stark contrast to the tension simmering in Joel’s chest. He remained hidden, his focus sharp, his patience unwavering. Every now and then, he glanced at the entrance, his resolve hardening with each passing moment.

As the night wore on, Jamie finally stumbled out of the bar, his steps unsteady and his demeanor reflecting the effects of heavy drinking. But just as Joel prepared to make his move, a shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

Unbeknownst to him, someone had been following him, moving with the same stealth and purpose. The presence was unsettling, a silent observer whose intentions were cloaked in mystery.

Joel’s attention was solely on Jamie, his anger and determination a palpable force. Jamie, heavily intoxicated, staggered towards his car, fumbling with his keys. Joel slipped out of his truck, moving silently across the empty parking lot. He followed Jamie’s unsteady path. The scene was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the night breeze.

As Jamie clumsily tried to unlock the door, the keys slipped from his grasp and fell into a nearby drainage ditch. "Fuck, C'mon!" Jamie cursed loudly, his frustration evident as he bent down, reaching into the dark crevice. The night was still, the only sounds being Jamie’s muffled swearing and the distant hum of traffic.

He kept his eyes fixed on Jamie, who was now still crouched beside his car, struggling with the keys. The empty parking lot was dimly lit by flickering streetlights, casting long shadows that danced with the slightest movements.

Joel’s footsteps were soft, almost imperceptible as he approached Jamie from behind. His anger was a fierce, controlled fire, burning with the intent to protect you and ensure that Jamie faced consequences.

As Jamie struggled to retrieve the keys, Joel’s voice cut through the silence. “Looking for something?” The tone was calm, but the underlying menace was unmistakable. Jamie’s head snapped up, and he looked over his shoulder to see Joel standing behind him, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

Joel's smile was devoid of warmth, more of a grimace shaped by his dark intent. His brown jacket, now illuminated by the faint light, made him appear as a looming figure from the shadows. He stood with his hands casually behind his back, but his posture and expression spoke volumes of the resolve that lay beneath.

Jamie’s eyes widened in shock and fear as he recognized Joel. “Mr. M-miller?” he stammered, his voice a mix of surprise and trepidation. The night seemed to hold its breath, the stillness around them amplifying the tension of the encounter.

Joel's demeanor remained unnervingly calm. “Are you looking for something, Jamie?” he asked with a pretense of friendliness that masked the dangerous undercurrent of his intentions. His voice was smooth, like honey laced with venom, creating a facade of benevolence while plotting something darker. The contrast between his calm exterior and the turmoil brewing within him was as stark as light against shadow.

Jamie, visibly shaken, struggled to maintain his composure. “Uh, I, uh, my car keys fell,” he stuttered, his hands trembling as he tried to retrieve the keys from the ditch. “What are you doing here?”

Joel’s response was as measured as it was unsettling. “Oh, I was just out drinking at the bar with Tommy. I think your keys might have fallen too deep.” He offered the lie with an almost casual ease, as though discussing the weather rather than the dark purpose behind his presence. “Are you heading home?”

Jamie’s fear was palpable, his mind racing to keep his anxiety hidden. The dread of Joel uncovering his involvement in your assault was almost suffocating. He attempted to push aside his panic, focusing on the trivial matter of his lost keys. The fear of Joel’s inquiry seemed to magnify with each passing second.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie said, his voice betraying his unease. He began to back away, clearly eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere that Joel created.

Joel’s smile remained, but there was an edge to it that hinted at something darker. His voice was smooth, as though offering a simple gesture of kindness rather than concealing a deeper, more menacing intent. “Well, do you need a lift?”

Jamie’s anxiety was palpable, his body language betraying his fear. He glanced nervously between Joel and the dimly lit parking lot, where the shadows seemed to close in on him. The weight of his recent actions and the looming threat of Joel’s presence created a sense of suffocating dread.

“N-no, it’s fine,” Jamie stammered, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. “I’ll just walk.” His voice was uneven, betraying his attempt to mask his fear with bravado.

Joel’s gaze was unyielding, a quiet storm of determination masked by a façade of concern. “You sure?” he said, his tone smooth and insistent. “the roads aren’t safe this time of night, and it’s not a good idea to be out here alone.”

Joel’s demeanor was calm, yet his presence was a heavy shadow, looming over Jamie. “I can get you home quickly,” Joel pressed, his offer carrying an undertone of menace cloaked in false kindness.

Jamie hesitated, glancing back toward the bar, where the distant sounds of laughter and music seemed almost mocking in their cheerfulness. “Okay,” Jamie then said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you,"

Joel’s smile widened, not with warmth but with a predatory satisfaction. He gestured toward the truck, his movements deliberate and controlled. “No problem,"

As Jamie climbed into the passenger seat, the world outside the truck seemed to dissolve into a blur of darkness and shadow. The engine roared to life, its vibrations a stark contrast to the icy resolve simmering within Joel. The truck rumbled into motion, each bump on the road a reminder of the storm brewing in Joel’s heart.

Joel's mind was a tempest, a relentless maelstrom of anger and righteous fury. His thoughts were as fierce and unyielding as a hurricane tearing through a desolate landscape. He was not swayed by fear or hesitation; the night and its secrets wrapped around him like a shroud, fueling his unshakable resolve. He had witnessed your pain, and it had ignited a fire in him—a fire that burned away any feelings inside him.

Jamie, on the other hand, was ensnared in a cocoon of fear and uncertainty. The truck’s interior was suffocating in its silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the engine. Jamie’s eyes darted nervously from the road to Joel, trying to gauge the other man’s intentions. The weight of his secret pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, each moment of silence more unnerving than the last.

Joel's face was a mask of cold determination, his eyes fixed on the road ahead with a relentless focus. The darkness outside was a metaphor for the storm raging within him, a canvas upon which his resolve was painted in stark, unforgiving lines. He was a man forged from shadows and steel, willing to embrace whatever darkness was necessary to shield those he loved from harm.

As the truck continued its journey, Jamie's unease grew palpable. He realized with a creeping dread that the streets they were navigating were not the ones leading to his home. The road was unfamiliar, winding through the outskirts of town where the lights grew sparse and the shadows deepened.

Jamie swallowed hard, his throat dry and constricted. The weight of his fear pressed down on him as he repeated, “Uh, Mr. Miller, I think you missed the turn.” His voice trembled, betraying his mounting anxiety.

Joel’s response was a mere flicker of acknowledgment, his gaze fixed resolutely on the road ahead, an unyielding expression carved into his features. The night outside seemed to close in around them, the darkness a heavy shroud that swallowed any remnants of comfort. Jamie’s fear mounted with each mile that passed, his discomfort palpable as the unfamiliar roads stretched into an abyss of uncertainty.

“Mr. Miller?” Jamie’s voice wavered again, his nerves frayed. He tried once more to engage Joel, but the older man’s silence was more intimidating than any words could be.

“Joel, are you okay?” Jamie’s question was almost desperate, a thin veneer of concern masking his growing dread. Joel’s eyes remained fixed ahead, his face a mask of cold determination. The silence stretched, a taut string of tension that seemed to vibrate through the air.

“You did this to her,” Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous growl that cut through the stillness of the night. The words hung in the air like a dark omen, and Jamie froze, his face draining of color. The realization that Joel knew, that Joel had connected the dots, was like a chilling blade pressed against his throat.

Jamie’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to form a coherent response. His usual bravado crumbled, replaced by a stammering mess of excuses and denials. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His words faltered, a mix of fear and confusion rendering him almost incoherent.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles white as he continued to drive further from the city lights, deeper into the uncharted darkness. The truck’s headlights cut through the night, illuminating the path ahead but leaving the destination shrouded in uncertainty. Joel’s eyes were darkened with an intensity that spoke of a burning resolve. He was a man driven by a fierce need for retribution, his mind a tempest of rage and protective fury.

The truck roared through the darkness, its engine a ferocious growl that mirrored the storm within Joel. The relentless rumble seemed to amplify the cold fury burning in his eyes. Joel’s patience had frayed, and his control, once a bastion of composure, was now cracking under the weight of his rage.

"Don't you dare fucking lie to me," Joel’s voice cut through the night, a blade of ice that seemed to slice through Jamie’s crumbling bravado. The truck hurtled onward, the asphalt giving way to the rugged expanse of the desert, a barren land that seemed to echo the desolation of Jamie’s soul.

Jamie’s attempts at deceit faltered, his voice a stuttering mess of fear and desperation. The darkness outside pressed in, its oppressive silence broken only by the sounds of the truck’s tires shredding through the emptiness.

Joel’s anger reached its breaking point. With a roar that shook the night, he bellowed, “YOU HURT HER!” The words were a thunderclap, a declaration of war against the man who had inflicted so much pain. The truck veered violently off the asphalt, plunging into the desert’s desolate grip, its speed a reckless testament to Joel’s unbridled fury.

"Fuck!" Jamie clutched at the dashboard, his fear morphing into a primal terror as the truck skidded and swerved. "Please! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" as Jamie screamed.

The landscape outside was a blur of shadows and dust, a chaotic dance of darkness that mirrored Jamie’s unraveling sanity. The desert stretched endlessly, an unforgiving expanse that swallowed the truck’s lights and swallowed the screams of its occupants.

When Joel finally brought the truck to a halt, the silence that followed was almost more oppressive than the storm of noise before. Jamie’s eyes darted around, seeing the monstrous transformation of Joel before him—a man driven by a fury so deep it seemed to burn from the inside out. The calm, collected Joel Miller was gone, replaced by a force of nature, a relentless predator with eyes like burning coals.

"Please, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Please, don't hurt me," Jamie’s pleas for mercy were swallowed by Joel’s unyielding gaze. The fear in Jamie’s eyes was palpable, a reflection of the terror that now gripped him as he realized the gravity of his situation. “Please, Mr. Miller, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Joel’s response was cold, his voice a low rumble that held no hint of compassion. “And you must pay for it.” His words were a death knell, an inexorable judgment that left no room for hope.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jamie’s desperate attempts to flee were futile as Joel locked the doors. The finality of the action was a chilling confirmation of Joel’s intent. Jamie’s sobs were raw, a chorus of despair that filled the air as Joel reached beneath the seat and retrieved the hammer.

The metallic glint of the hammer was a dark premonition, a cold harbinger of the violence that was about to unfold. Jamie’s cries for mercy mingled with the sound of the truck’s engine ticking as it cooled in the night’s oppressive silence. His pleas were desperate, trembling with the raw edge of fear as he realized the inescapable fate that awaited him.

“No, no, no! Please don’t! I’m sorry!” Jamie’s voice cracked, each word a plea for a reprieve that would never come. His eyes darted around in frantic desperation, searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

Joel’s expression remained a mask of chilling resolve. The hammer in his hand was a dark and unforgiving symbol of his determination, a tool of retribution that he wielded with a cold precision. As Jamie’s sobs grew more frantic, Joel’s grip tightened, his own emotions a turbulent sea of anger and grim satisfaction.

"No, no, NO!"

With a sudden, powerful swing, Joel drove the hammer into Jamie’s head. The impact was brutal and final, a shattering blow that resonated with a sickening thud. Jamie’s body jerked violently, the force of the hit sending a spray of blood and fragments across the truck’s interior. The sound of the hammer meeting flesh was a grotesque punctuation to Joel’s wrath.

***

The first light of morning filtered through the curtains, it cast a soft, golden glow over the room. You stirred from a fitful sleep, your body heavy and aching from the events of the previous night. The pain, particularly concentrated in your thighs and between your legs, was a constant reminder of the trauma you had endured. Each movement was a delicate balance between discomfort and exhaustion, and you willed yourself to remain still, finding solace in the dim sanctuary of the room.

Your gaze fell upon Joel, who had fallen asleep beside your bed. The sight was both comforting and surreal. His presence was a beacon of safety in the storm that had engulfed your life. Joel, dressed in a snug army-green t-shirt and jeans, looked worn yet strikingly handsome. His features were softened in sleep, a rare vulnerability showing through the rugged exterior you were more accustomed to. His hand rested gently on the bed, his fingers curled around yours, a silent promise of protection and care. His arm was draped across the bed, propping up his head in an awkward but tender manner.

The bucket of warm water and napkin on the nightstand seemed almost out of place against the backdrop of your shared anguish. They were symbols of Joel’s dedication to your comfort, a small oasis of normalcy in the wake of chaos. His thoughtful attention to your wounds was a stark contrast to the violence and fear of the night before.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you—relief mingled with guilt, gratitude with sorrow. You marveled at Joel’s dedication, his sleepless vigil a testament to his fierce protectiveness. His tired expression spoke volumes, each line etched into his face a story of his struggle to shield you from harm. Despite the crushing weight of your pain, there was a flicker of warmth in your heart for Joel’s unwavering presence.

You slowly extended your hand, gently squeezing Joel’s fingers. The softness of his touch was a balm to your aching body and soul. Carefully, you called out to him in a whisper, “Joel...”

He stirred, his movements slow and groggy. His eyes fluttered open, revealing the depths of his concern and fatigue. As he became fully awake, his demeanor shifted from the soft vulnerability of sleep to a sharp, focused alertness. He sat up, his gaze quickly assessing your condition with an intensity that spoke of his unyielding commitment to your well-being.

“Hey, you okay? I'm here, baby,” Joel’s voice was rough but filled with genuine concern, the harshness of the night giving way to the tenderness of the morning. His eyes searched yours, trying to gauge the extent of your pain and the depth of your emotional wounds.

As Joel's focus shifted solely to you, the outside world seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this tender moment of solace. The ache in your body was still present, a harsh reminder of the pain you had endured, but Joel's presence provided a comforting anchor, grounding you amidst the tumultuous emotions.

"I'm okay, but still hurt," you managed to say, your voice soft and strained. You shifted to a sitting position, wincing as the pain flared. Joel moved carefully to assist you, his hands steady and gentle. His concern was palpable as he looked at you, his gaze searching for any sign of distress.

“Where does it hurt?” Joel asked, his voice a low, soothing murmur.

“Everywhere,” you replied, your voice trembling slightly. “From my legs all the way up.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mixture of sympathy and determination. “Do you need anything?” he asked, his eyes filled with earnestness.

He reached for a glass of water from the nightstand, handing it to you with a steady hand. As you took a sip, your gaze wandered, and you noticed something that made your heart sink. There was blood on Joel’s forehead, a stark contrast against his otherwise rugged features.

“Joel, there’s blood on your forehead,” you said, your voice tinged with concern. You reached out instinctively, touching the area gently. “Are you okay?”

Joel’s hand instinctively went to his forehead, and he glanced at the blood with a faint, dismissive look. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said quickly, attempting to downplay the situation. “Just bumped into something last night. It’s not a big deal.”

His words were calm, but there was a hint of something guarded in his eyes, a subtle shift that made you feel uneasy. Joel’s attempt to brush off the injury was met with a frown from you, his casual demeanor not fully masking the gravity of the situation. The blood on his forehead was a silent testament to the violence that had unfolded, a stark reminder of the lengths he had gone to protect you.

Joel’s attempt to redirect the conversation was gentle, but there was a firmness in his voice that conveyed his concern. “You don’t need to go to the church fellowship event today,” he said, his tone softer now, but still resolute. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’re not in any condition to perform with the dance troupe.”

The mention of the event brought a rush of urgency and panic. Your heart raced as you remembered the hours of practice and the responsibility you carried for leading the troupe. “No, Joel, I have to go,” you protested, desperation creeping into your voice. “I’ve worked so hard for this. I can’t just not show up.”

Joel’s expression grew more serious, his eyes darkening with concern. “But you’re still not well,” he countered, his voice steady but tinged with worry.

As the reality of your situation sank in, you looked around the room, realizing the intimacy of the setting. Joel was here, and your father had not yet returned. Panic surged through you. “What about my dad? Is he back yet?” you asked urgently.

Joel shook his head slowly. “No, he's not here yet, I already spoke with your mother, made something up so she's not suspicious, said Ellie wants to make sure you're okay and send me here because I told her to prepare for the event,"

Joel’s gaze softened, yet there was a steeliness in his eyes that belied his calm demeanor. “Look, doll, you’re not strong enough to perform,” he said, his voice tender but insistent. “I need you to rest.”

You met his gaze with a determination that belied your frailty. “I’m fine, Joel. I can do it.” Your words were firm, a declaration of your will to push through despite your condition.

Joel’s eyes held a depth of emotion, a storm of conflicting feelings swirling beneath the surface. The concern etched in his features spoke of a man torn between his protective instincts and the need to respect your wishes. His gaze was a turbulent sea, reflecting a depth of care that was both comforting and unsettling.

“Okay...” he said quietly, his voice like a soft breeze before a storm, “But, I need you to tell me right away if you’re not feeling up to it, or anything else. Promise me that.”

You could see the raw intensity in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and affection that made your heart ache. Despite his gruff exterior, his eyes were windows to a soul deeply worried for your well-being.

You nodded slowly, "I promise,"

Joel’s relief was palpable, though he still wore a worried frown. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours with a gentle firmness. “Good,” he said, his voice a low rumble of reassurance. “Now, let’s get you settled," as Joel help you to get up, you held his hand.

"Joel.." you say, "Thank you," you look into his brown eyes, "For protecting me,"

Joel’s eyes held a rare tenderness as you thanked him, a flicker of warmth breaking through the stormy depths of his gaze. The sincerity of your gratitude seemed to touch something deep within him, a part of him that had long been guarded and hidden. His hands, rough and strong, gently gripped your shoulders as he knelt beside you, bringing himself to eye level.

“I’ll do anything to keep you safe,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with an intensity that spoke of unspoken vows and sacrifices. “I’d burn the world down to see you safe, to make sure you’re protected.” His words were like a fierce storm, powerful and relentless, but also oddly comforting in their sincerity.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the space between you charged with an electric intimacy. Joel’s presence was a fortress, a wall of unwavering strength that shielded you from the chaos and pain of the world outside. His promise was a beacon in the dark, a light that cut through the shadows of your fear and uncertainty.

You leaned in, drawn by the magnetic pull of his words and the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. Your lips met his in a gentle kiss, a silent expression of the gratitude and affection that words alone couldn’t fully convey. The kiss was tender, a soft melding of your emotions and his, a moment where the world outside ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the closeness you shared.

Joel’s reaction was immediate and instinctual. His hand moved to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss with a tenderness that belied his hardened exterior. It was a moment of raw vulnerability, where the strength of his feelings was laid bare in the gentle press of his lips against yours. The kiss lingered, a shared breath of solace and connection, a promise of protection and care that transcended spoken words.

As you pulled back, the connection between you felt stronger, the bond forged in the crucible of your shared pain and Joel’s unwavering resolve. The look in Joel’s eyes was a blend of fierce determination and quiet affection, a testament to his commitment to your safety and well-being. The room, once filled with tension and fear, now held a fragile peace, a space where the echoes of your gratitude and his promise intertwined in a delicate dance of trust and protection.

As the warmth of your kiss lingered, the delicate tranquility of the room was abruptly interrupted by a soft knock at the door. The sound jolted both you and Joel back to reality. Instinctively, you pulled away from Joel, the sudden shift in the atmosphere a stark reminder of the world outside this fragile cocoon of safety.

Your mother’s voice came through the door, tender yet laced with concern. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?”

Joel, with a subtle nod of understanding, shifted aside, allowing your mother to enter. Her gaze was a mixture of relief and worry as she took in the sight of you, still seated on the bed but looking more composed than you had the night before.

"I’m fine, Mama” you said, your voice steady despite the lingering pain. “I’m feeling better, just a bit sore.”

She approached you with a comforting touch, her maternal instincts immediately taking over. “Are you sure, dear? You still look pale."

You shook your head, a sense of determination anchoring your resolve. “I have to go to the church fellowship event. I’ve practiced so hard for this, and it’s really important."

The conversation between you and your mother continued, the urgency of the situation mounting. “But you’re still in pain,” she insisted, her voice edged with a mix of worry and frustration. “It’s not worth making yourself worse.”

“I should go, Ma. I’m fine, really,” you insisted, the determination in your voice evident. You understood the importance of this event, not just for yourself but for your family’s reputation and your father’s expectations.

Joel, sensing the growing tension and the need for him to avoid your father’s possible return, decided it was best to make his exit. He rose from his seat, his movements deliberate and calm despite the underlying tension. “Well, maybe I should get going,” he said, his tone professional yet carrying a hint of warmth. “Ellie needs my help to prepare for the event."

Your mother nodded, her eyes showing a mix of gratitude and concern as she glanced between you and Joel. “Thank you, Joel. I appreciate all your help. Please, let Ellie know we’re grateful.”

"Thank you, Mr. Miller," you said to him.

Joel gave a nod, a subtle acknowledgment of your mother’s thanks, and made his way to the door. He paused briefly, casting one last, meaningful look your way. The intensity in his gaze was softened by a flicker of concern, a silent promise that he was there for you, even if from a distance.

As Joel left, you turned back to your mother, her hand still tightly clasped in yours. The weight of the conversation and the urgency of the event pressed heavily on your shoulders, but you could feel a new layer of understanding and connection between you and your mother. The barriers that had once seemed impenetrable were beginning to show signs of cracking, revealing the raw, unspoken truths that had long been buried beneath the surface.

With Joel’s departure, the room felt slightly emptier, but there was also a sense of quiet relief. Your mother took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions, and then looked at you with a mixture of resignation and determination.

Your mother’s expression softened as she saw the fear in your eyes, a fear she had known all too well herself. “Mama, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to upset Father. If I don’t perform, he’ll be so angry, and I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around yours as she searched for the right words. Your eyes welled up with tears as you looked at her, the weight of your father’s expectations pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. “If I don’t do this, he will...I can’t take it, Mama. I can’t take it anymore,"

For the first time in a long while, your mother didn’t look away. Instead, she held your gaze, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for not protecting you, for not standing up to him. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my role as a good Christian wife, but in doing so, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed as a mother.”

Her words hit you like a wave, a raw confession that peeled back layers of pain and resentment. You could see the torment in her eyes, the struggle between the life she had chosen and the daughter she had neglected. “Mama…” you began, but she shook her head, stopping you.

“No, let me say this,” she insisted, her voice growing steadier as she spoke. “I’ve watched your father take out his anger on you, and I’ve done nothing. I told myself it was for the sake of the family, for our standing in the church, but those were just excuses. The truth is, I was scared. I’ve been scared for so long that I forgot what it means to be brave, to be a mother who truly protects her child.”

She reached out, her hands trembling as she cupped your face, her touch tender but firm. “I’m sorry for every time I stood by and let him hurt you. I’m sorry for every time I didn’t speak up, for every time I told you to be obedient, to not make him angry. I was wrong, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you listened, your heart aching with the weight of her words. You had waited so long to hear something like this, to have her acknowledge the pain you had endured. But it was bittersweet, the apology tainted by the years of silence that had come before it.

“I promise, I won’t let him hurt you again.”

The sincerity in her voice, the raw emotion in her eyes, stirred something deep within you—a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. “Mama…” you whispered again, your voice choked with emotion.

She pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly as if she could shield you from all the hurt in the world. “You’re my daughter, and I love you,” she said softly. “I should have said that more often. I should have shown it. But I’m saying it now, and I mean it. I love you."

You buried your face in her shoulder, the tears flowing freely as years of pain and longing poured out. It was a moment of profound connection, a bridge built over the chasm of fear and regret that had separated you for so long.

For the first time, you felt like you weren’t alone in this, that maybe your mother was finally ready to stand by your side. It was a fragile hope, but it was hope nonetheless, and in that moment, it was enough.

As you pulled away from your mother’s embrace, the warmth of her words still lingered in your heart, but the weight of your decision pressed heavily on your shoulders. “Mama, but I have to perform,” you insisted, your voice steady though your body still ached. “I can’t abandon my friends like that. We’ve worked so hard.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, a mixture of pride and concern flickering in her eyes. Finally, she nodded. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said softly. “But let’s get you cleaned up before your father gets home. We don’t want him asking any questions.”

With that, the two of you moved with quiet efficiency, working to cover the evidence of the previous night’s horrors. The bruises and soreness were masked with layers of foundation, and by the time you were done, you looked almost as if nothing had happened. The pain still lingered beneath the surface, but on the outside, you appeared fresh and composed.

Just as you finished, you heard the front door creak open. Your father was home. Your mother gave you a quick, reassuring glance before heading out to greet him. You followed a few steps behind, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, deep and authoritative as always. “How’s everything been while I was gone?” he asked your mother as he set down his bag.

“Everything’s been fine,” your mother replied, her voice steady. “How was New Orleans? How did the preachings go?”

“Productive,” your father answered curtly. “The congregation there is strong, but they need guidance. I gave them what they needed.”

His gaze then shifted to you, and your breath caught in your throat. You quickly smoothed out your expression and stepped forward to greet him. “Hello, Father,” you said, your voice carefully controlled.

He looked you up and down, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized your appearance. “Are you ready for today’s performance?” he asked, his tone as stern as ever.

“Yes, Father,” you replied, your heart racing as his gaze lingered on you. “I’ve been practicing hard,"

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good. Have you been a good girl while I was away? Helping Pastor Ben and your mother?”

“Yes, Father,” you said quickly, keeping your voice steady.

He seemed to study you for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing as if trying to catch something out of place. You held your breath, praying that the makeup was enough to conceal the bruises. Finally, he nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Alright then. We’ll head to the church together. I’ll go change first.”

With that, he turned and headed toward his room, leaving you and your mother standing there. “Make me a coffee,” he added over his shoulder to your mother as he disappeared down the hallway.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief as your mother turned to you, her expression a mix of concern and support. You weren’t out of the woods yet, but for now, you had managed to keep things under control.

As you waited in the living room for your father to return, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on you. The church, the performance, the constant need to appear perfect—it was all so exhausting.

Meanwhile, your father, in his room, couldn’t shake the odd feeling gnawing at him. Something about you had been off since he walked in the door. You looked put together, your makeup flawless, your demeanor obedient—but there was something beneath the surface that unsettled him. As he changed out of his travel clothes, his mind kept drifting back to the look in your eyes. He knew you too well. You were hiding something.

On his way back to the living room, your father passed by your bedroom door, which had been left slightly ajar. Something in the room caught his eye, a subtle shift in the air, and he stopped. He hesitated for a moment, then slowly pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.

The room was as you had left it, seemingly in order, but as his gaze swept across the space, his eyes landed on something out of place—a wallet on the floor, half-hidden under the bed. His brow furrowed as he walked over and bent down to pick it up. As he reached for the wallet, a small slip of paper slid out and fluttered to the ground.

Curious, he picked it up, and as he unfolded it, a photograph slipped into view. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the image—one that shouldn’t exist, one that told him everything he needed to know.

It was a photo of you and Joel.

Taken in a photo booth at the Houston night fair just a couple of weeks ago, the series of images unfolded like a nightmare. The first captured your innocent smile, Joel’s arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The next, you pressing a kiss to Joel's cheek, was enough to make his heart pound with a mix of disbelief and growing fury. But the final image—the one that made his blood boil—showed the two of you locked in a passionate kiss, your hands around his neck, fingers tangled in his hair, while Joel’s hands held you close, deepening the kiss with an intimacy that could not be misunderstood.

The reality of what he was seeing hit him like a punch to the gut.

The world seemed to narrow around him as he stared at the photograph, the air in the room growing thick with his mounting rage. How long had this been going on? How could you, his pure daughter? with Joel—the man who was supposed to be his friend, a man he had trusted?

His hands trembled, the photo crumpling slightly in his grip. The room suddenly felt too small, too stifling, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. He could feel the anger, a searing heat that spread from his chest to his temples, blurring his vision with the sheer force of it.

In that moment, a dark cloud settled over him, a mixture of fury and cold calculation. He knew now that you had been lying to him, deceiving him in the worst possible way. The facade of control he held over you began to crack, and his anger surged.

You had been tainted by Joel.

His thoughts spiraled into a storm of biblical proportions, each one more damning than the last. To him, this wasn’t just a betrayal—it was an unforgivable sin, a defilement of everything he had tried to instill in you. The preacher in him seized on the gravity of it, framing it as the ultimate transgression, a stain on your soul that could only be cleansed through punishment, through retribution. You had not just sinned against him, but against God, against the very order of the world as he saw it. He was ashamed of you.

As he turned to leave your room, the photograph burned in his mind, each image seared into his memory as a reminder of the depth of your sins. His mind raced, formulating the words, the punishment, the retribution that would follow. He would make sure you understood the gravity of your actions, that Joel understood the consequences of his. This was not just a matter of discipline; it was a matter of redemption, of cleansing his family of the shame you had brought upon it.

"Father? What's going on?"

***

Joel entered his house to find Ellie already dressed. Tommy and Maria were there too, with Little Luke gurgling happily in his mother's arms. The small family was ready, waiting for Joel to join them for the church event.

As soon as Joel stepped inside, Tommy glanced at him, noting his distracted demeanor. "Joel, where’ve you been? We’re almost late for the service."

Joel stood still, his expression hard to read, his thoughts elsewhere. The tension in his body was palpable, and it was clear that something was weighing heavily on his mind.

Tommy exchanged a concerned look with Maria, then called out again, his voice tinged with worry. "Joel, you alright?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Joel responded in a low, gruff voice as he started walking towards the stairs. "I'm fine, Tommy. Y’all go ahead without me. I’ll catch up. Just need to take a shower first."

Tommy watched him go, his brows furrowed in confusion. Joel wasn’t acting like himself, and the unease in the room grew as they watched him retreat up the stairs. Maria shifted Luke in her arms, her expression mirroring Tommy's concern, but they didn’t push further. They knew better than to press Joel when he was like this.

As Joel closed the door to his room, the walls seemed to close in around him, the familiar space offering no comfort. He stripped off his clothes mechanically, his movements stiff, almost robotic, as if on autopilot. The cold bathroom tiles pressed against his feet, grounding him momentarily, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the storm raging in his mind.

He stepped into the shower and turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over his head, drenching his hair, and running down his body. The chill was sharp, biting against his skin, but it wasn’t enough to wash away the darkness that clung to him. The cold water was like a penance, a physical manifestation of the anger that churned within him. It flowed over his shoulders, down his back, mixing with the sweat and grime of the day, but it couldn’t cleanse him of the memories that haunted him.

As the water beat down on him, images from the night before flashed before his eyes, searing into his mind with a vividness that made him clench his fists. He could see Jamie’s face, twisted with fear and pain, as Joel confronted him. The sound of his own voice, raw with rage, echoed in his ears, mingling with the sickening thud of the hammer striking flesh and bone.

The first strike had been deliberate, calculated, smashing into Jamie’s skull with brutal force. He remembered the way the boy’s eyes had gone wide, the life leaving them almost instantly, but Joel hadn’t stopped. The fury inside him had demanded more, had driven him to raise the hammer again and again, even as Jamie lay lifeless on the ground. Each blow was a release, a catharsis, as the hammer connected with sickening squelches, turning bone to pulp, spraying blood in every direction.

Joel’s breath had come in ragged gasps as he continued to hit, his body acting on pure instinct, on the overwhelming need to obliterate the source of his anger. By the time he was done, Jamie’s head was nothing more than a ruined mess, unrecognizable, the blood spattered across Joel’s face and clothes like a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

Even now, under the cold spray of the shower, Joel could feel the phantom weight of the hammer in his hand, the sticky warmth of blood on his skin. He could hear the dull thud of metal meeting flesh, the sound reverberating in his mind like a macabre metronome. It was a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, a grim reminder of the thing he would do for you. To protect you.

The cold water did little to numb the memories, the violence replaying itself in a relentless loop. Jamie’s face, the fear that had flashed in his eyes before the first blow had landed, was burned into Joel’s mind. The brutality of it, the sheer force of his rage, was something he hadn’t fully anticipated. He had known he was capable of violence—he’d done plenty in his lifetime—but this had been different. This had been personal. This had been revenge.

As the water pounded against his skin, Joel tried to focus on the chill, the sharpness of it, hoping it would pull him out of the dark spiral. But it was futile. The memory clung to him, heavy and suffocating, as if Jamie’s blood was still on his hands, refusing to wash away.

He had justified it to himself in the moment—Jamie had deserved it. For what he had done, for the way he had hurt her. Joel had wanted to protect you, to ensure that Jamie could never lay a hand on you again, and in that blinding fury, he had become something monstrous, something he had thought he left behind a long time ago.

The boy's voice still ringing in his head.

"NO!"

Jamie’s screams became strangled, reduced to guttural noises as the hammer struck again and again. The once-bleeding man now lay in a crumpled heap, his pleas silenced by the relentless assault. Blood splattered across the truck’s seats and floor, a vivid testament to the violence that had transpired.

Joel’s breathing was heavy, his hands trembling slightly as he surveyed the aftermath. The interior of the truck was a chaotic tableau of violence, with blood staining every surface, a stark contrast to the pristine desert night outside. The once-clear lines between justice and vengeance had blurred in the haze of his fury.

The desert around them remained eerily still, a stark witness to the brutal act that had unfolded within the confines of the truck. Joel’s eyes were hard, the rage within him momentarily spent but leaving behind a cold emptiness.

He turned away from Jamie’s broken body, the hammer lay on the truck’s floor, a silent witness to the dark turn of events. Joel’s thoughts drifted back to you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood that now marked his hands and the interior of his truck.

His fingers moved methodically, driven by a deep, visceral need to erase the evidence, to scrub away the blood that had stained not just his truck, but his soul.

He dragged Jamie’s body to the back of his truck, the weight of the lifeless form a grim reminder of the violence that had transpired. The tarpaulin was a makeshift shroud, hiding the brutal reality beneath its coarse fabric. As he carefully wrapped the body, Joel's movements were precise, each action a testament to his resolve to contain the fallout of his rage.

The interior of the truck was a chaotic scene of carnage, the once-pristine surfaces now marred by splatters of blood. Joel worked tirelessly, scrubbing away the stains with a rag that seemed too small for the enormity of the task. The blood, now a dark, congealed mess, clung to every surface. Joel’s efforts were relentless, each swipe of the cloth a desperate attempt to cleanse not just the physical space, but the emotional turmoil that lingered in the air. It was as if he were trying to erase the very essence of the violence, to wash away the sin that had seeped into the fabric of his life.

As he poured water over the dirt to dilute the remaining traces of blood, the sound of someone's voice cut through the silence, a chilling revelation that made Joel’s heart skip a beat.

“You’re gonna burn in hell,”

It's pastor Ben.

Ben’s voice echoed with an unsettling clarity. Joel’s body went rigid. He turned slowly, his heart pounding in his chest, as he faced the figure emerging from the shadows. Pastor Ben, standing with an air of grim determination, had followed him all this time, tracking the aftermath of the night’s violence.

It turned out Ben has been following you, watching you all this time—Ben had seen everything. He had been there when Jamie had assaulted you, and now he had witnessed the culmination of Joel’s fury.

“Joel, you’re a monster. I’ve seen you with her. You should be in jail, and you will burn in hell for what you’ve done. Murder is a grave sin, and you’ve committed it without remorse."

Ben's voice cut through the desert night with a chilling clarity. Joel’s body stiffened, and he turned slowly to face the source of the accusation. Ben stood there, framed by the dim glow of the truck’s headlights, his face a mask of grim determination and righteous fury. The weight of his presence pressed heavily on Joel, a stark reminder of the scrutiny and judgment that now surrounded him.

Ben’s condemnation was unrelenting. “You’re not just a murderer, Joel. You’re a depraved man who preys on innocent girls. You’ll face the wrath of God for your sins. You’ve defiled yourself, and you’ve defiled her.”

Joel, who had initially been uncertain about Ben's identity, now connected the dots. This was the pastor who had condemned him, the one you had spoken about. The pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Joel's heart pounded with a mix of fear and rage. His secret had been exposed, and Ben’s condemnation was a direct threat to everything Joel was trying to protect.

Feeling cornered and desperate, Joel realized there was no choice but to eliminate this threat. He seized the hammer, his mind racing with a singular purpose: to silence Ben and protect you.

Joel lunged at Ben, the hammer’s cold metal a grim reassurance in his hand. Ben, recognizing the imminent danger, bolted into the darkness. The night air was filled with the frantic sound of their pursuit, Ben’s footsteps echoing in the still desert.

Joel was relentless, driven by a combination of fear, anger, and desperation. He tackled Ben to the ground with a forceful impact, the two men grappling in the dust. Ben struggled fiercely, but Joel’s determination and strength overwhelmed him.

With a grim resolve, Joel brought the hammer down, each strike a release of his pent-up fury and fear. The hammer met Ben’s skull with a brutal finality, each impact reverberating with the sickening sound of metal against bone. The desert was silent save for the harsh breaths of Joel and the final, dying gasps of Pastor Ben.

As the violence subsided, Joel stood over Ben’s lifeless body, the hammer still clenched in his hand. The reality of what he had done settled heavily upon him. The desert night was an eerie witness to the brutality, the air thick with the smell of blood and the weight of Joel’s actions.

Joel's thinking about you, his resolve to protect you unwavering despite the blood on his hands and the chaos that surrounded him. He had done what he felt was necessary to you, so nobody gonna take you away from him, but the cost of his actions was a burden he would carry with him, a reminder of the darkness that had consumed his life.

Joel’s thoughts snapped back to the present as he emerged from the shower, the cold water rinsing away the remnants of the night’s brutality. As he dried himself, he couldn’t shake the haunting memories of the violence he had committed. His hands, once steady and sure, now trembled with the weight of his actions. The sight of his blood-stained palms, now scrubbed clean but still bearing the marks of his deeds, reminded him of the dark path he had trodden.

He had buried them deep that known only to him. These actions, buried under layers of dirt and deceit, were the grim price he had paid to ensure your safety.

Joel’s resolve to protect you was unwavering. He was willing to sacrifice anything, to face any consequence, to keep you safe from harm. His thoughts were a turbulent sea, with the constant push and pull of guilt and determination. The darkness that had overtaken his life was a relentless force, shaping his every decision and action.

Yet, even as he clung to his resolve, Joel knew that every action had its price. These bones he's hiding will bound him to the consequences of his choices.

The world was a harsh and unforgiving place, and the karma of his actions would eventually come calling.

As he prepared to leave for the church event, Joel’s mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. He had done what he believed was necessary to keep you safe.

He will do anything to keep you safe. to protect you.

He will do anything. Anything.

And for the first time in a while, he pray to God to keep you safe and forgive these bones he's hiding.

122 notes · View notes

asherthehimbo · 1 month

Text

Listen to my music, listen to your heart

previous | fifteen : the sun is still a star, no matter the time of day| m. list | next

notes: warnings, death, grief, domestic violence, physical abuse, verbal abuse, injuries (broken arm plus some bruised ribs), overworked kid, homophobia, mentions of religion, not too much though, bestings, sibling hate, love, self doubt, brief mention of starvation, this is a dark one guys, we HATE mr. Lee trust.

word count: 8. 4k

The two boys sit on the picnic blanket in the shade of the big tree in their favorite park, little snacks and toys littered around them as they play. The elder of the two silently making a bracelet out of flowers he’s collected as the younger plays with the sunlight. Hand moving in and out from the shade as he giggles. “Warm” he says as his hand is extended, before retracting it back into the shade of the tree “and cold!”

“Are you having fun with the sun Channie?” the older boy giggles as he looks at his friend briefly before focusing back on the creation in his hands. “Yeah it’s really fun! Like when my hand is outside the shade it's warm, but when it's inside it's cold again! Come on Bubbles, try it!” Chan's hand reaches for [Name]’s before pulling it out into the sun and retracting it again. “See? The sun keeps us warm!” Chan says as he drops [Names]’s hand. “Mhm, the sun keeps us warm, but too much of it can also hurt us yaknow?” he says softly.

“So? It’s pretty and makes me feel nice! It’s not hurting us on purpose! The sun is nice! It’s like you!” Chan smiles at [Name]. “Like me?” [Name] asks softly as he looks at Chan surprised. “Yeah! It's warm and cozy like when you hug me! And it makes me feel nice like you do when you compliment me! It also makes it light outside like when you help me through the dark hallway’s on sleepovers, and it’s pretty and bright like when you smile!” Chan's words are like an arrow right through [Name]s heart. The six year old is pretty mature for his age, and he thinks that the warm feeling blossoming in his chest now is similar to what they call love in the movies.

“Hm.. so I’m your sun?” [Name] asks as he looks at Chan smile, Chan nods his head and [Name] speaks again, “Will you be my moon then?” Chan tilts his head confusedly “Yaknow being my light in the night? Something that stands out in the dark sky?” At the elders' words Chan nods his head excitedly before reaching out his pinky. “Let’s promise!”, [Name] interlocks his pinky with Chan before striking out his thumb as Chan connects their thumbs. “It's locked in!” [Name] giggles.

Poor kids, didn’t they know? The sun may be bright but it’s burning everything around it, it’s overheating and burning itself with no way of stopping. The sun may be beautiful, but so is destruction, truly wonderful that a child's innocence allows them to remain unaware of this fact. At least they can enjoy this wonderful moment, lest it be their last.

—--------------

Stepping up to the door of your apartment, Chan could feel his heart beating out of his chest. His palms sweaty and clammy, his breathing almost erratic as he tries to control it. He’s shifting on his legs as he debates ringing the doorbell. Before he got here his mind was racing with questions so loud he couldn’t even hear the outside world, but now its so achingly silent he feels like he could go insane. He takes a deep breath again before eventually ringing the doorbell, he’s looking down at his feet- he’s not sure if he can actually face you because he knows if he looks in your eyes he’d crumble.

The door opens and he can hear your breath hitch but he doesn't care he does, he walks past you, no greeting audible as he keeps his head down. Walking into the familiar living room before sitting down on the couch, fiddling with his hands. You silently follow him, your mind a whirlwind of its own. You stand before him before you open your mouth “Channie I-” “Don’t just, don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that, not right now. I want answers, I want to know why you didn’t think I was good enough?” Chan finally looks up at you, his eyes are red and brimmed with tears and his lip is quivering. Your heart shatters and you immediately lower yourself onto your knees so you’re eye-level with him.

You gently take his face in your hands and wipe away the tears that fall with your thumb, forcing him to finally meet your eyes, “No, no it's not like that Channie. I promise you it will never be like that. You’re good enough, you’re better than good enough- it’s just. I couldn't be selfish and sacrifice the happiness of everyone around me just so that I could be with you. Trust me I wanted to, fuck I wanted to be with you so bad, I want to be with you so bad but I- Chan it would be so wrong of me. The happiness of you, of my family would be taken away because of that and I can’t bring myself to do that to you, to them” Your voice is barely above a whisper but it’s filled with deep emotion that Chan has never heard from you.

“How? How would us being together influence the happiness of others, of your family? Why do you think it would hurt me?” Chan's lips are wobbling as he speaks, his voice desperate. “It’s a long story Channie I don’t- I don’t want you to see anyone differently because of it. I don’t want to ruin others' perception of what they know by sharing it.” You say sympathetically.

“Please, I deserve the truth, after everything we’ve been through I want to- I need to know” He grips your hands that rest on his cheeks. “I- okay do you remember when we were really young? Like right before Olivia was born, me, Rachel and Lix went to live with my granddad for a while yeah?” You ask softly and Chan nod’s. “Okay so there’s a reason for that, it wasn’t just cause my mom needed some alone time uhm”

At the age of six, bones break as easily as sticks

“And then they stwepped on the wainbow wight?” Little four year old Rachel says to her younger brother who listens intently. Two year old Felix laying on his stomach as he looks wide eyes to his big sister, head nodding at her words, both toddlers are sitting on the soft playmat in the livingroom. Behind Rachel sits the eldest Lee child, gently styling his sister's hair into twin braids to the best of his six year old capabilities. “Okway so then-” his sisters retelling of one of her new favorite Barbie movie is cut short when their mother walks into the room, she smiles softly at her three children as she walks to them, one hand on her back as the other rests on her pregnant belly, her bump just barely visible. “Hm, [Name] dearest we’re gonna go visit Granddad okay? A sleepover isn't that fun?” The two youngest kids start giggling and cheering but the eldest looks at his mother wearily, her smile seems strained and he can see what looks to be a bruise forming around the wrist that's behind her back. “Can you take your siblings upstairs and help them pack for me baby?” her words are directed at the eldest as he nods.

He silently stands up, picking up his younger brother, securing him on his hip before taking his sister's hand and walking out of the living room up the stairs to their bedrooms. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach, it's bad and dark and he doesn’t like it, it makes him nauseous but he doesn't say anything. Instead he follows his mothers orders, wanting to make any and everything easier for her in her current state. After a while as he’s ensured he’s packed everything needed for him and his siblings he walks back down the stars, only now the closer he gets to the living room, the louder he hears the voices of his parents. The sinking feeling gets darker and he feels weak, like he’s crumbling under the shadow monster festering in his stomach, he puts Felix down in fear that he’d drop him. Placing their bags by the stairs and his two siblings next to one another, “Stay here okay? Big brother is just gonna go check on momma” he says softly and after the two nodded he walks silently to the living room.

“YOU CAN’T JUST FUCKING TAKE MY CHILDREN AWAY FROM ME” he hears his fathers muffled voice scream through the door, anger evident. “I CAN’T HAVE MY CHILDREN STAY HERE WITH YOU IF YOU KEEP THIS UP” his mothers voice is desperate, he silently opens the living room door as he looks at them. His father seems frazzled, button up shirt a mess as it's rolled up by his arms, hair sticking every direction as the vein in his forehead pops in the way it always does when he's mad. His mother is practically shaking as she stands on the other side of the couch, in front of the glass coffee table that [Name] knows they’ll have to baby proof again soon once his mother gives birth.

‘KEEP THIS UP? I AM DOING NOTHING BUT CARE FOR MY FAMILY” his father states angrily as he walks closer to his wife. “YOU AREN'T, CARING FOR THEM DOESN'T MEAN HITTING YOUR SON SO HARD YOUR HAND IS IMPRINTED ON HIS BACK JUST BECAUSE HE WANTED TO SPEND TIME WITH HIS FRIEND. CARING FOR THEM DOESN'T MEAN GOING OUT AND SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE ELSE. YOU AREN'T CARING FOR THEM, YOU’RE ABUSING THEM!” his mother screams and her words seem to snap something in his father.

What happens next is almost in slow motion, his father moves forward fast and pushes his mother in a fit of rage, unluckily [Name] is faster as he opens the door and bolts for his mother. Without thinking he gets behinds her, wrapping his little arms around her back as they’re gently placed on her stomach, he feels the table beneath him shatter, he feels the tiny pieces of glass sticking into his back, his head hurts and he think he’s landed wrong because his one arm is bent weirdly. The rest is kind of blurry to him, he hears his father scream, blaming him for being in the way, he hears his mother crying, asking if he’s okay and muttering apologies. He hears the shuffle of little feet as his younger siblings rush into the room, and his only thought is that he hopes they didn’t see anything. That his mother and his unborn sibling are safe.

When he wakes up to a very bright light, his whole body hurts and for a moment his eyes can’t focus correctly, he goes to use his arm as a way to block the bright light but is met with a big white cast. “[Name]? Are you awake my boy?” The voice of his grandpa speaks from his side, but it feels wrong. His grandpa’s voice is always happy and upbeat, loud and able to warm up any room, only now it sounds worried, soft even. He turns his head to his grandfather, ignoring the headache before he asks “Are they okay?” his grandpa looks confused, “Is who okay my boy?” “Mom, mom and the baby, are they okay?” his grandpa's lips seem to draw into a line before he answers, “Yes. Yes, they’re fine, they’re talking to your doctor right now. Everyones here, the Bahngs too, we’ve all been worried for you” [Name] looks at him confused, “what do you mean? Why is everyone here?” he asks as he tries to sit up, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

“Hey hey don’t try to move too much, you've got a few bruised ribs there, your back is pretty torn up too” his grandpa states, and the boy just nods. “You've been asleep for about a whole day my boy, when you were brought in last night you went into surgery for about 4 hours before being put on heavy anesthesia, doctors said your injuries aren’t too extreme so when you wake up and they’ve deemed it safe you can go home, but you do have a concussion, now before your mom gets in here want to tell me what really happened? Cuz I don’t believe the story of your mom just slipping and you happened to be in the way” the boy only moves his face to the other side of the room, he knows he can’t lie to his grandpa but he doesn't want to tell him the truth either. “Now come on-” his grandpa’s words are cut off as his name is screamed and people rush into the room, his mom, then his two little siblings. The little body of his sister jumping onto the bed, despite the pain he chuckles as she hugs him.

“Hey, Rache sweetie you’re hurting your brother” his grandfather states as his mom places kisses all over his face, muttering apologies as his youngest brother is sat by his feet, holding onto his leg. People start slowly shuffling into the room, Chan is first as he rushes to his best friends side and for a moment [Names] eyes light up happy to see his friend, until his father walks into the room and his face drops, he practically ignores Chan as he feels his fathers eyes on him. “Excuse me, I need to do a check up on him now that he’s awake, all this attention isn’t good right now could everyone move out please?” the doctor speaks as she walks into the room, checking some of the machines next to [Name]. A moment of silence passes as the people start to shuffle out without hesitance, “Can uhm- can Grandpa stay?” [Name] speaks softly, the doctor's eyes soften before nodding. “Yeah, one person staying won't hurt,” she replies.

As she checks over him and [Name] answers all her questions truthfully as he sips water for his dry throat he can feel his grandpa’s curious eyes on him. “Can we stay with you when I get out? Only until mom gives birth” [Name] asks his grandfather hesitantly, as the elder man's eyes soften, “Yeah bud, your moms already planned for you three to come visit me for a while, she needs some time, fourth pregnancy is hitting her hard she said” his grandfather replied, he nods his head as he continues to fiddle with the cap of the water bottle in his hand. The next 30 or so weeks would hopefully be calm for him and his siblings, but he doesn't know what will happen after that, when he gets back home. He’s scared of what his father will do.

At the age of ten, you realize you'll never see your childhood again

“Come on Bubbles, let's play!” Chan says excitedly to the older boy as he stands in the doorway of the study room in the Lee family home, Felix standing behind him as the young boy holds onto the back of Chan’s shirt as he looks at his older brother. “I can't right now Channie, I have to study, maybe later?” The elder says as he sits at his desk, books all around him, pens scattered around. His hair has grown a bit longer than it was when he was younger, it’s almost past his ears. Chan groans a bit at the elders' response “Come on you’ve been studying all day” [Name] sighs at Chan's words, “I'm sorry Channie I just need to finish this, I'll be out later okay?” he says softly. Chan’s dejected face breaks his heart but he can’t afford to not study, not after what his father had done to him last time.

“Okay well we’ll be outside then..” Chan says softly as he turns around, Felix following him, not before giving his older brother a little wave and a small smile. They close the door behind them, leaving [Name] alone with his own thoughts. He turns his attention back to the notes in front of him but he can’t think anymore, his vision is blurry as tears line his eyes, the sting of staring at the books all day is giving him a migraine. He leans back a moment, massaging his head, but it doesn't help. His stomach grumbles a bit, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast but he pays it no mind, he knows if he goes out of this room now his father wouldn’t be happy. Instead he just takes a sip of the water bottle on his desk before sitting upright and continuing his studying. Wiping the tears lining his eyes when they would form.

Time like this passed by quickly, before he knew it the only light in the room had come from his lamp, the sun had set and the moon, at the end of her phase had brought little light through the window. [Name] could no longer hear the giggles of his younger siblings and friends outside. There was some commotion inside the house a while ago, when the family had dinner, he heard voices clearly when his mother had opened the door to bring him food. The warm smile she gave him would've been comforting if not for the sympathy swirling in her eyes. Ever since the accident she had yet to look at him the same, he guesses that's because he had only moved back home recently, only because his grandpa was sick and couldn't care for him alone anymore so they had to move back.

The life he had tried so hard to forget quickly came back to him, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't tell anyone, that would only make it worse. He thinks his grandfather knows, or at least suspects something, he always does. But the man isn't as strong and happy as he used to be. He can't protect [Name] anymore, but that's okay, this time [Name] will just have to protect him, protect all of them.

He stares at his plate of uneaten food, he forgot about it, and with the anxiety bubbling in his stomach he doesn't have too much of an appetite. Despite his hunger just the thought of consuming the food made him want to vomit. He couldn't do this anymore, just sit here in the silence, his head throbbing with pain as he tries to hold back tears. So he stands up, he opens the door softly, and when he doesn't hear commotion he closes it again, only now he's outside the room of nightmares.

Softly he drags himself up the stairs to his grandfather's room, he walks past the rooms of his siblings as he hears soft giggles echo from them. He wants so badly to stop, to join them, any of them, to laugh with them, but he can't, he can't face them like this. So he continues to walk slowly, opening the door and seeing his grandfather sitting on his bed, back leaning against the headrest as he holds a book, his glasses at the bottom of his nose, he looks up at the door and smiles. Almost as if he's expecting his dearest grandson. He puts down the book, along with his reading glasses and opens his arms.

He doesn't say a word, but [Name] is thankful, he lets the tears that well in his eyes fall as he closes the door, or at least he believes he does. He rushes to his grandfather's side, immediately sobbing as he clings to the elder man. His grandfather's arms around him have always been comforting, the soft flesh surrounding him like a protective blanket. It wasn't like being wrapped in the bony arms of his mother, caused by the starvation his father put her through, when she would cry to him about not being able to protect him. It wasn't like the hard muscle or his fathers arms that would put force behind each beating he received. No, his grandfather was soft, he was accepting.

“Shh., it's okay my boy, I'm here, it's okay you can rest now” His grandfather whispers as he pats the boy's head. “It hurts grandpa, it hurts so much” [Name] sobs as he curls more into his grandfather. “What hurts my boy?” he asks softly. “Everything, my head, it hurts from studying all day, it's so painful. I just want it to stop, everything hurts. My heart hurts, my chest burns. I just want to play with them. I just want to play with him. Why can't I play with him, Grandpa? Why aren't I allowed to?” the little boy's body shakes as he sobs, and it's at times like these that he's reminded this is exactly what he is. A little boy, a child.

“Who is it you wish to play with my dear boy?” his grandfather asks, although he already knows the answer, but the young mind listening in on their conversation doesn't, and his grandfather intends to give him that knowledge. “Channie.. I just want to play with Channie again… I miss him Grandpa, I miss him so much. He's always right there, but I can't - I cant-” the boy can't finish his words as he continues to choke on his own tears. His Grandfather just simply sushes him, rubbing his back in a comforting manner, becoming acutely aware of the bumps or raised skin he can feel through the thin shirt on his grandson's back.

It's a while of this, continuing until the boy has stopped crying, his tears still falling but his breathing is more stable now, his eyes are shut as he drifts off. He's always been a heavy sleeper after he's cried. It's this fact that causes his grandfather to act as he does. “You can come in Chan” he says, and the boy looking through the crack in the doorway yelps at being noticed. He slowly opens the door, eyes only on his sleeping friend. “You knew I was here?“ He asks softly as he walks closer, “I always do my boy” the old man smiles at him.

“Is Bubbles gonna be okay? “ Chan looks up at the elderly male, before looking back down at his friend in worry. “He will be, one day…. but until that day comes I need you to promise me something Chan, can you do that?” Chan nods his head frantically and the old man chuckles. “One day, one day when I'm not here anymore, will you take care of him for me?” Chan looks confused “you're leaving?” his voice is hesitant. “No, no not anytime soon, but one day I might have to… will you promise me you'll take care of him then?” Chan nods again, a smile on his face “mhm! I'll do everything I can to protect him”

“that's good my boy, thank you… thank you for giving an old man some peace of mind”

At the age of sixteen is when you realize the world is awfully mean

It was one of the rare days in the Lee household that everyone [Name] loved was in the same place. His father was gone on a business trip and his mother is currently out grocery shopping, leaving only him and his sibling home alone with their grandfather for the day. Chan had decided to tag along, hanging out at the Lee house under the guise of ‘studying’.

So now, sitting in the big study room, some of his siblings spread out at their own desks around him, some up in their rooms, knowing his grandfather was up in the house as well, he felt at peace. It's a strange feeling for him, being at peace, especially recently. His grandfather's state has rapidly been declining in the last few months, the stress it's put the family in causing his father to act out. Push and punish him more, spend more nights away from home, leaving his mother to mourn the loss of their relationship as it was before.

He hates having to hear his mother cry due to his fathers infidelity, the man so easily breaking the trust of his soulmate, it's broken his belief in soulmates and that brings an empty feeling to his stomach, makes bile crawl up his throat because he's sixteen now. It's about time he gets his soulbond, he tries to push the thoughts away, really he does, but they keep coming back to him. He can't even focus on the pages in front of him.

All he can think about is his soulbond, and the fact that Chan’s music is awfully loud. Like seriously he's sitting across the room and wearing headphones how has no one else asked him to turn down his volume, lest his eardrums burst. “Channie? Your music’s a bit loud, isn’t it hurting your ears?” he asks softly, Felix gives him a confusing look from the side of the room as Chan looks up at him, lifting one of his ear cups off his ears as he pauses his music. “Huh? It’s not that loud though..” Chan mumbles at the same time that Felix says “I can’t even hear it, your ears must be really good Hyung!”. [Name] looks between to two boys, before shaking his head and standing up, “Im- im sorry I think I have have just been studying too hard, i'm going to the kitchen” he shakes his head almost as if he’s disoriented, ignores the worries mumbles of his brother and friend as he walks out of the room.

Something is incredibly wrong as he stands in the kitchen. His half drunk glass of water forgotten as it stands on the island before him, his hands grip the sides of the counter as he feels his head throb, as if spikes are piercing it. Worst of all, he can still hear Chan's music, and he knows that's not right because Chan is in another room, he is wearing headphones, [Name] can still hear his voice as well, this shouldn't be possible. His ears are hurting, it feels like his eardrums are going to burst. He has a burning sensation on the side of his hip, and before he knows it the pain makes his legs give out beneath him.

He sits there on the ground, trying to think, biting his bottom lip, until it starts bleeding, in an effort to keep quiet, an effort to ground himself. He sits on the floor of the kitchen, he doesn't know how long, it must have been at least 10 minutes until the pain in his side subsides, his headache now a dull throb and not blinding pain. He takes a moment to breathe, the music in his head now a soft hum almost like a comforting lullaby. He doesn't know what happened, and he tries to think, think of any and all possibili- oh. oh. As he slightly lifts up his shirt on instinct, looking at where the pain was, he now sees a tattoo. A little music note with the letter ‘C’ written in scarily familiar handwriting. Realization hits him slower than he thought it would. The subtle humming in his head reassuring him.

Bahng Chan is his soulmate. Chan is his soulmate. Channie, his Channie is his soulmate. oh he's so fucked.

Later that night, the moon witnesses that the Sun’s tears are just as bright

Chan has been worried about [Name] since earlier today. It was the small things that alerted him at first, the way [Name] couldn't focus on his work, how he kept rubbing his temples as if he had a headache, his hearing sensitivity seemingly increasing as he could hear Chan's music. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen for a while, before coming back holding a warm water bottle against his stomach, against the side of his hip, Chan lifted a brow questioningly but didn't ask. He knew better by now, [Name] may have been his best friend, he always will be, but as his best friend Chan knew [Name] wouldn't talk to him. Not even if he asked.

It's dark now, Ms. Lee had gotten back, she was busy making dinner in the kitchen, three out of four of her kids around her, when Chan left the kitchen Felix had been talking animatedly about a new game he was playing. Chan had gone to get [Name], who was upstairs with grandpa Lee, as dinner was almost ready.

He had a sense of Deja vu as he walked up the stairs, he neared Grandpa Lee’s room and heard sniffles, ones oddly familiar to him. The door slightly ajar, yet Chan doesn't say anything, he just stands, stands and watches through the little open sliver as [Name] lays in his grandfather's arms.

The scene so eerily familiar, yet scarily different as [Name] is now older, much bigger too, he's grown out of most of his baby face, only a little bit of his immaturity still shown on his face, his hair is much longer than it was when he was young, his shoulders much more broad. Grandpa Lee is much smaller, much more frail than those years ago too, he's lost a lot of weight, an unhealthy amount of it, his eyes no longer bright and full of joy, now sunken in and sullen.

There's a moment of silence, only the soft sniffles of [Name] leaving the room before Grandpa Lee calls Chan in, because of course he knew the younger was there. Grandpa Lee always knows. Chan walks in, and unlike his younger self, he sits next to [Name] the older boy turns in his sleep but doesn't do anything to suggest he's awake. Chan gently brushes the sleeping male's hair with his fingers before looking at Grandpa Lee “what happened to him?... “ he asks, and his voice is trembling, as if he's scared to hear the answer. “Never mind that Chan, do you remember, a few years ago we were all sitting quite like this” Chan nods his head, his eyes still not tearing away from [Name’s] sleeping face, “and do you remember what I asked you to promise me?” Chan nods his head, “Yeah… yeah yeah I promised I'd protect [Name] when you couldn't”

Grandpa Lee takes a deep breath “it was crue of me to ask you such a promise at such a young age… but K know you love him Chan, as more than a friend” Chan's head snaps up, eyes wide “oh don't be so surprised, a Grandpa knows everything….. but Chan, I need you to promise me again, now that you're older, wiser, now that my death is near- ""Grandpa don't -"" It's the truth Chan, we both know it. I need you to promise me again Chan, things have changed, this ask is bigger than what you could be aware of.”

“Me and Bubbles have grown apart a bit.. It hurts and I don't know why it happened. I don't know if he'll ever want me to care for him, to protect him like I want to, but I'll try. I promise I'll try Grandpa Lee” Chan looks back down at the sleeping male, smiling slightly, “I wish his face could always look this peaceful” he whispers, “So do I my boy, so do I” Grandpa Lee gently pats his back.

A few months after, grief only caused disaster

The air was tense, the crowd silent, only sniffles heard among the downturned heads. The loudest sobs coming from the front row where the direct descendants of Grandpa Lee sit. Rachel, clinging to her eldest brother, her face buried in his shoulder as he tries to comfort her, It's hard though, since Felix is right on the other side, mirroring his elder sister's actions. [Name] hugs them close, rubbing their backs gently as their sobs and shaking bodies stick against him. He's not here- not fully, not anymore.

The people around him think it's weird- that he's not crying. He can hear them whisper about the fact that his face has remained stoic this entire time, not a tear or a wobbly lip in sight- he doesn't have the virtue of showing vulnerability now. That's something they don't understand, so he forgives them, it's okay, they don't know. It's good that they don't know, means they won't treat his family differently, means his siblings and mother will be happy. He knows its hard on everyone, his grandfathers death- fuck it feels like his hearts just been ripped out of his chest- his only support taken away without warning but we did warn you [Name] , don't you remember? you knew this would happen.

He can hear the slight sniffles of Chan behind him, but for once he doesn't feel the urge to turn around and comfort his soulmate, instead he wants to curl away and hide from the world, from the cold gaze of his father. His gaze may be stoic, but his fathers is angry- full of rage even and [Name] knows exactly why. He acted out, failed a pop quiz, but can you really blame him? it had happened right after his grandfather died a few days ago and when his father found out- oh boy did he yell. And for once, [Name] yelled back and his fathers anger was not only taken out on him but his mother as well.

His grandfather not being here anymore only solidifies his belief, the belief that he needs to be the one to care for the family now. So he stands up, mid service, gives his father a look and walks out, there are sounds of confusion but nobody dares stop him. He walks towards the church at the far end of the graveyard, it’s empty and he takes a moment to breathe before the hell he knows will break loose.

The air feels thick as it enters his throat, his eyes blurry as he tries to keep away the tears that want to fall. Before he can further clear his mind, a hand harshly grips his wrist, the intensity of the action already alerts him of who the person is as he’s dragged into one of the rooms of the church. He’s thrown into the room as the heavy door closes with a bang, the emptiness of the room causes the sound to echo against the marble tiles.

“WHAT exactly do you think you’re doing?? Running off from your grandfather's funeral after the stunt you pulled- do you WANT another beating??” [Names] father screams as he crosses his arm, glaring down at his son. “Yes” the boy responds in a monotone voice “Excuse me??” his father lifts a brow.

“I want the beating, I want the anger- whatever fucked up punishnment you have to offer, offer it to me. I’ll be your perfect fucking son, be anything you fucking want but you leave my siblings alone- you don’t fucking touch them-” [Names] voice laced with anger drips from his tongue like venom but he still doesnt look his father in the eye, the older man interrupts his son “And who are you to order me around boy?” The last word makes something churn in [Names] heart, not anxiety, not fear, but blinding rage. His father sees him as so little, so weak, and he hates it.

With strength he didn’t even know he possessed, he moved forward, yanking his fathers collar so the slightly taller man would be at his level, “I may not be able to stop you, I may fear you enough to let the abuse continue with myself- but I love them too much to have it continue with them. This boy is the one with the scars and proof to end your entire fucking empire before it reaches its glory. So you listen closely, father, you leave my siblings alone, whatever they choose, whoever they choose- you let them do what they want. You will be a good father to them, you will love and support them. To my mother, you will care for her, you will ensure she’s happy, that she’s the luckiest woman in the world- otherwise I’ll end you myself, using the knowledge you’ve forced upon me I'll end you I swear to God. I swear to God in this church, on this holy land, beneath the eyes of my grandfather I swear your downfall will be worse than that of Samael, you'll have an image so volatile that it stands unparalleled to what Lucifer faces in the eyes of his siblings.” The older man doesn’t speak, he hasn't seen such anger, such determination behind the eyes of anyone, let alone someone as young as his eldest son. But Lee is a ruthless man. An arrogant man who doesn't take kindly to his ego being bruised.

And so, with ease and familiarity he brings his hand up to his son's neck, squeezing until the younger lets go of his fathers collar. “And what do you expect me to do hm? If they disappoint me? How do you expect me to handle that?” he asks almost mockingly, not knowing his son will have a solution. He comes from the blood of his father after all. “I'll take it, I'll do whatever you want, achieve whatever you want- I'll be your perfect plaything, but you will give them a happy life” Despite his constricted breath, 16 year old [Name] glares at his father. He has people he needs to protect, his mother, his siblings, his soulmate. If being away from them, isolating himself and ensuring his father only hates him is what will keep them safe, then he’ll do it over and over again. In every lifetime, hell torture himself for their sake. For what is the value of a star in the daytime?

There's a moment of silence, [Name] refusing to audibly gasp for air as he stares at his father, the pain in his throat burning, within an instant his fathers grip is released. “I must say, your tenacity reminds me quite of myself, son” The older man pats [Names] shoulder as the younger catches his breath, glaring up at his father. “I'll accept this deal, only since you've shown me that I've raised you well.”

Keeping journals is not for the weak, because his sister decided to sneak

[Name] is tired. His back hurts, his whole body aches from the memory of his fathers disappointment, he just wants to fall down onto the softness of his bed and hope the comforting blankets will soothe his aches and not worsen anything. But hasn't it been proven that [Name’s] wishes never come true?

Entering his room, the bland and desolate room, the four walls of his false heaven isolating him from his family. His mother that's seemed happier since the deal was made, Rachel, who seems to hate him now- for reasons he's not sure; Felix and Olivia both busy with their own lives and despite wanting a relationship with their eldest brother not knowing how to create one with the boy who they never see anymore.

Opening his door he can feel something wrong in his room before his eyes fall on his sister reading his journal. Rachel is reaching his journal- the journal he’s been using to keep track of every feeling he’s had since grandfather died- every secret.

In a fast motion he leaps forward, roughly grabbing the leatherbound book from his sister's old as she looks up at him. The look in her eyes is more anger and shock than it is disappointment or sadness, and that makes the back of his mind relax as it means she hasn't read the worst, hopefully not yet.

“Rachel wha-'' His voice is gritted in anger, betrayal that she would invade his privacy, but he doesn't shout. Never, he doesn't ever want to shout at her. “You're Chan's soulmate." She interrupts him, it's not a question, not said in joy, no- she's almost in disbelief. “I-”

“You're his fucking soulmate. AND YOU DIDN'T TELL HIM??“ She's screaming now, and he closes his door as he hurriedly shushes her in hopes of not alerting the rest of their family. “Rachel, please be quiet.'' his voice is desperate and at least she complies. “Yes he's my soulmate, no I didn't tell him and I'm not going to. I can't-” “Can't handle the responsibility of caring for someone? you're a deadbeat brother and now a deadbeat soulmate too?” she quirks her brow, her tone almost expectant now. “Rachel what are you talking about? A deadbeat -” Rachel nods her head “You barely ever fucking talk to us, you don't care for us. Ever since grandpa died you haven't even been a brother to us. You're basically a stranger living in this house [Name].” her last sentence stings, the way she spits his name, no sign of respect or calling him her brother.

He wants to defend himself, really he wishes he could- he wants to tell her how much he wishes to be there for her, how he wants to hug her, to chase away all her worries, to be the big brother he used to be; but the way she looks at him now, it lets him know that those wishes are for not. She hates him, believes him to be no better than a stranger.

She hurts him, but is that not love between siblings? he lets her hate him, lets her believe all the vile things her mind concocts, because at least this means she's loved by his father. “You're pathetic [Name], but U never thought you'd stoop this low” she says before walking out of the room, her shoulder knocking against his forcefully.

His knees want to give in beneath him as his eyes sting with unfallen tears, yet he can't help but be grateful, at least she didn't read far enough to know about the deal. At Least she still has her picture perfect family - even if he feels like he is the one holding the camera.

Right before you depart, he ensures he'll always have your heart.

“Just because you're a big university student now doesn't mean you forget about me, okay? I'll be right behind you next year so don't even entertain the thought” Chan jokes, looking up at [Name], there's a bittersweet tone to his voice and his signature smile is plastered on his face. Yet the way it doesn't reach wide enough to show off his cute dimples, to crinkle his eyes which hold unshed tears make [Name’s] heart ache. He could never forget Chan, never forget the beauty of one he sees as hand grafted by the angels.

“I would never forget you Channie” [Name’s] voice is somber, in a slip of emotion he lets it deepen to its natural tone, rather than the one he's been using to cover up his secret. Chan doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in his own mind- or maybe assuming it's due to the underlying goodbye behind his words. “Bubbles, you're my sun right? you'll still be with me when the earth dies, when the people have rotted away and all that's left are the inhabitable planets of our solar system” Chan asks, his words aren't stated in a questioning tone, it's more directed to himself than the man before him- as if he's reassuring himself. He fiddles with something in his pocket as he rolls on the balls of his feet. [Name] takes Chan’s face in his hands, pushes his thumbs gently into Chan's dimples to make him smile. “Always, the Moon will never be without the sun’s light” The words feel heavy on his tongue as it flows past his lips. Unwavering because he knows it's true, but the glaring stare of his father a few feet away reminds him he can't be as close to Chan as he wants. Just because the Moon is in the Sun's orbit, does not mean they are meant to be, for there are many miles between them.

Chan nods his head in [Names] hands, before taking of his right hand gently off his cheek, “then wear this” Chan says, placing a silver ring on [Names] ring finger “I know your soulmate will eventually put a ring on your left finger when you get married- but I get to have your right” he says cheekily, despite the blush coating his face. ‘You get to have my everything- just ask for it and i'll give you. Please for the love of God ask for it because I need you to want me to love you. I need you to need me the way I do you’

[Name] has never been one to share his thoughts though. “I will Channie- thank you” he twirls the ring on his finger, feelings it's comforting steel against his skin, “I uhm- I have a matching one” Chan says, holding up his right hand, a ring similar to [Names] on his ring finger, only his has a blue moon instead of golden sun in the middle. [Name’s] heart feels like it stops- like the string Chan has just attached to him using these rings is constricting his vital organs ability to keep him alive, the only way for it to start beating is to loosen the string- to lesser the distance because he would never dream of taking off the ring.

So [Name] steps forward, holding Chan tightly against his chest, ignoring the younger's yelp of surprise. He doesn't care about the glare of his father and eldest younger sister, about the teary looks of his younger siblings nor his mothers worried mumbling. Right now as his nose is buried in Chan's hair, inhaling his comfort scent, memorizing it because he knows it will be a very long time before he gets to it again. It's only him and Chan at this moment, he's holding Chan, almost desperate for the younger to realize his yearning.

It's silent for a good minute, before Chan breaks the hug, the unshed tears of prior had now fallen, coating his cheeks lightly, but it's not melancholy in any way. His gaze seems to hold hope of the future- hope [Name] believes to be falsely placed.

—-------------

“- so listen Channie I'm sorry it's just so much was going on, and we both had just started college we were so busy and my father started breathing down my neck- you just-you seemed so happy without me and Rachel decided to drop out which had me-” [Names] rambling as he sits on his knees in between Chans legs are brought to a halt as the man in the couch grabs his face, hands covering the elders cheeks. Chan's touch isn't rough by any means, but there's slight possessiveness in the way he pulls [Name] forward. And before [Name] can comprehend what's happening, he finds his lips interlocked with Chan's and it's the most euphoric feeling he's ever felt.

He feels high, like he's drifting on a cloud, and the warmth of Chan's tear salted lips against his own makes him want more- makes him need more. His own hands fly up to cup Chan's face in reciprocation, the cold steel of his ring contrasting Chan's heated cheeks. [Names] touch is different from Chan's - it's filled with passion and longing- obsessive admiration and a need for more as he tries to press their faces impossibly closer to one another.

He knows they'll need to break apart soon, and his lips already grieve the loss of Chan’s. He stands up slowly, finger gently tracing Chan’s jaw as the male on the couch tilts his head to follow the elders movements, their lips still intertwined. [Name] sweeps his tongue over Chan's bottom lip before breaking the kiss completely, standing up to his full height as he groans while Chan breathes heavily. “what-” [Name] looks down at Chan's flushed face, “do you know how long I've been wanting to do that? I-” Chan takes a moment to steady his breathing before he continues “I can't even imagine what you've been through and fuck even after hearing that I don't know if I believe it but- Ive wanted to kiss you like that ever since I was 14”

[Name] looks down at him shocked, not understanding “since you were 14? that-” his furrowed brows make Chan groan in annoyance “fuck how can such a smart oerson be so stupid” he wispers to himself “I like you Bub, fuck I love you- I'm inlove with you. I have been since before I even found out you were my soulmate. I mean how could I not love you?” Chan asks, almost rhetorical.

[Name] takes a moment to understand Chan's words as he sits down beside the younger male. His heart bursts and his stomach feels warm, despite the danger of it all- he can't go back now, not knowing this… bubut a question still lingers in his mind. “How…. How could you love me though? I haven't had any use to you- to my family I'm about as useful as a star in the daytime and you deserve SO much more than that Channie. So much more than what I can offer-” [Names] spiral is cut off by Chan grabbing his hands. “The sun is a star” he states.

[Name] looks at him, a strange mixture of emotions in his eyes. “I've told you you were my sun before, the sun is a star Bub. The sun gives us light, it gives us life. So sure, you're as valuable as a star in the daytime- you're as valuable as the sun. My sun. No matter what your father or siblings say can change that.” Chan's eyes are filled with sincerity, his words speaking truths [Name] knew but refused to acknowledge.

"God Im so inlove with you" [Name] breathes out, "Say it again" Chan says with a bashfulsmile, "Im inlo-" "No, no say it in your real voice-you don't have to hide anymore" [Name] smiles, "Im inlove with you" his deep voice reaches Chans ears and it makes the younger giggle, his cute reaction causing [Name] to grab him and drag him on his lap. Chan yelps but continues laughing all the same, feeling at home in [Name’s] arms.

They sit like this for a while, in the silence only basking in each others touch, "are you not mad at me?" [Name] asks softly, Chan takes a moment to think before responding "I was, but- I get ut now. Why you thought you had to do it. While I don't agree wuth how you handled it, I do understand that I wasn't the one in the situation itself... Im not mad at you, I don't think I ever could be" he suplies.

[Name] nods, "So? what do we do now?" he asks, "well that depends... are we together?" Chan's voice is hesitant, "I would hope so- I don't just go around telling everyone and anyone im inlove with them" Chan slaps [Names] chest playfully at the elders response. "So do you... do you want to come clean? about everything- to your sibling I mean" Chan looks at his loved who seems fearfull at the notion, "I don't...." Chan nods his head in understanding as [Name] can't formulate a sentence. "You don't have to have an answer now... it's just I think felix is suspecting something already, and they deserve to know"

[Name] nods, "yeah... I don’t know Ill think about it in the morning... right now I only wanne think about you, celebrate that I'm finally your's as you are mine" [Name] smiles as he kisses Chans hand.

The sun is still a star, no matter the time of day. And [Name] is still Chan’s, no matter whatever forces wish to get in their way

Navigation | Stray kids masterlist | soulbound masterlist

Taglist: [16/30][open]: @foxilsdenn @conwunder @heyogg @zzstar @xavi-in-kpopland @idkwhatto-namethis @glitchyaiko @kaisworlds @ashersdeadinside @kuuroomiii @kenaicantcommunicate @chansslvr @bee-the-loser @vivi0vivi @cb97s-laptop @victorbutnotreally @seongsangssbitch

note: yall know the drill, please let me know what your thoughts on this chaoter was because I do really love hearing your input! im sorry its taking me so long to write but things have been happening recently and I just never get the chance too :( also this is NOT proofread guys

#smau #stray kids #kpop x male reader #skz #skz smau #crossover #stray kids x reader #stray kids x male reader #stray kids bang chan #stray kids smau #my music & your heart #bang chan x reader #bang chan smau #christopher bang #bang chan x male reader #bang chan

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queenofallimagines · 8 months

Note

Omg hello!! I just read your devotee headcanons(they were all amazing I loved them) for the brothers and I just wanted to ask if you could do one for guardian angel simeon???in my religion we believe that every person has a guardian angel so imagine how funny it would be when you come down to the devildom and simeon is like :o it's you!!

Certainly beloved!💕 I think this one might be the longest😭

Simeon:

- unlike the others, notices right off the bat

- He’s been assigned to you since before birth like come on he could recognize you by just an eyelash

- Will be slightly hurt if you don’t recognize him

- “You don’t remember me?🥺 but I sing you a lullaby when you were 2”

- Sir…. Please be serious, that’s like 3 seconds of memory

- Will passive aggressively push for you to move in with him in purgatory hall

- Lucifer is exhausted because he’s always there

- “You act like you LIVE here. Go back to YOUR dorms!”

- “Bold of you to think I would leave MY precious, amazing human here will all of you unsupervised”

- He’s not about to stop being clingy neither

- Sharing old stories at student coy meetings like you have got to stop him before he gets out a photo album 😭

- Scolds you like a parent

- “I know you’re now doing what you shouldn’t be”

- Luke is your honorary baby brother

- Will ask Luke to watch you like he’s tall enough to reach the microwave

- “Luke I’ll be back in a minute make sure they don’t have any more sweets”

- Like you’re literally grown💀please tell him to back off a little or this will get worse

- When he realizes he’s falling for you in a way Guardian Angels shouldn’t. He panics

- This the same shit Lilith did

- And he got demoted for just AGREEING with Lucifer about the war

- Hides it like he’s gonna take it to the grave, especially from Luke

- You notice he starts avoiding you a little and will lie through his teeth that he’s just feeling a little under the weather

- Lucifer peeped game though, and he’s like yeah absolutely NOT

- he’s not letting anything else happen to any more of his Family

- Will lock your ass up until he gets Simeon alone to have a talk with him

- Like you now have a curfew 😭

- Listen…. He would tear apart the entire exchange program over lesson 16,,,,

- Like y know how Diavolo said Simeon is the ONE person he doesn’t want to piss off?

- Yeah it’s like inconsolable now

- In any timeline any life any dimension he will feel you’re endanger

- In like Bible canon they really can’t help unless god gives them the okay so they’re often times forced to watch the one they were bound to protect suffer

- But this is the devildom and he don’t really got eyes down here. So who’s to stop him from coming to your aid??

- Even though you’re “technically” okay he’s still like not having it

- As soon as it happens he feels a sharp cold pain throughout his entire body and drops whatever he’s holding

- Struggling to remember how to breathe all he can think about is sprinting to the house of lamentation

- Busts open the doors to see you in mammon arms, and it’s like his whole world shatters

- He hears belphie laughing, and he’s never felt rage like this before

- Lucifer is fighting for his LIFE because he’s having to balance feeling grief, shock,rage, and also try to keep his brothers from going off the deep end so he’s like frozen

- Can’t think fast enough to stop Simeon from unleashing some divine punishment on this spoiled brat

- Lucifer does snatch him up because he will literally kill him in cold blood right there if he doesn’t reason with him

- Almost snaps back on Lucifer before you show up again for the intermission

- Shaking and crying with relief

- You’re gonna make him literally faint MC please😭

- Like don’t the angels use a LOT of magic to keep their emotions in check so they don’t go crazy like demons do?

- They’re having to suppress every emotion ever and dull those

- So he’s got like a couple of eons of just raw feelings pent-up beating his ass all at once

- When you explain the reveal he’s like REALLY about to throw up

- Lucifer and everyone are like feeling relief and are glad you’re okay

- Almost wants to break mammon arms for holding you and barely letting anyone else get near you

- But he’s frozen in shock too

- Lucifer side eying Simon like,,,,, me too bro, but he has NO idea how to talk to him about that?

- Settles for holding you as tight as possible and whispering a prayer into your hair for protection

- Teaches you to use your angel powers

- But doubles down on his over protectiveness

- Helicopter angel now

- Which doesn’t really mesh well with Lucifer’s attachment anxiety

- will come pick you up at random ass times and whisk you away for no reason

- Like the exam is in a month why are you studying devildom history now???

- Causing Lucifer to freak the fuck out when he does his randomly scheduled MC room check-ups

- Doesn’t even think to text you before hyperventilating

- Luckily enough, the first time you come back with Simeon attached at the hip

- Him and Lucifer have gotten into it a few times over this

- Dia is forced to call a student council meeting without you present

- You and Luke think the meeting is tomorrow and are making snacks

- he’s like okay Simeon you can’t keep doing this

- And he goes OFF

- Like this is HIS fault for not watching and protecting you

- Like if this is supposed to be for human angels and demons to coexist you’re doing a shit job

- Almost single-handedly shuts down the program by saying he will take you home and make sure they never get near you ever again

- Lucifer feeling so much guilt he can’t breathe is trying to be in his best behavior and be rational, but Simeon is relentless

- He’s talking out the side of his neck until he snaps back on some “you’re literally following in Lilith’s footsteps! Do you not think that the celestial real won’t also deal out a punishment for MC? You falling from grace isn’t the only thing on the line here.”

- OOP

- It’s suddenly crickets

- Even Barbados is like 😦🫢

- He can’t even deny those allegations so he’s just like glaring at him

- Solomon steps in bc WOW this is getting crazy

- Reasons with him that because you have a pact with all of them now they CANT hurt you and you’re training under him as a sorcerer so you’ll be fully equipped to defend yourself from anything

- Simeon relents at least sitting back down in his chair

- Explains there really nobody best as a candidate for representing the three realms than you being a part of all three of them

- (Lilith when she died wasn’t an angel or a demon but something in between so in my head MC has always been all three; human demon and angel and that’s why they’re extra immune to demon magic)

- Simeon agreeing to chill out a little bit swearing if anything else ever happens to you, he wouldn’t hesitate to target whoever’s directly responsible

- Imagine how awkward the actual meeting is tomorrow 😭

- You’re having a great morning and everyone holding they breath

- Barbados my beloved is the only one who’s got enough sense and acting skills to act like nothing happened

- When you stop lord Doavolo mid-sentence to ask what the FUCK is up with these rancid vibes

- Barbatos kindly informs you that it’s the stress from a new school event that diavolo has yet to announce

- “It happens annually (lie) and it’s usually very exhausting to put together. Perhaps you can alleviate some of that for us.”

- Everyone subtlety lets out the breath they were holding seeing you so excited to help out

- Barbatos stirring the pot a little more ALSO suggests you run the maid bunny café

- Suddenly everyone forgets what the elephant in the room was and is now talking over each other

- There was no school event btw LMAO so they just had to make one up and then take three weeks to prepare for it.

- Great way to lift the spirits though✨

#my writing #x black reader #obey me #obey me x black reader #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me shall we date Simeon #obey me simeon #simeon x reader #om! simeon #obey me x reader #simeon x mc #omswd simeon #slight angst #just for a little spice 💅🏿

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sfehvn · 11 months

Text

new religion part 4

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,049 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

Sunlight filters through the cracks of a haphazardly covered window, illuminating your soft features under the warm glow. Astarion watches the rise and fall of your restful breathing, decidedly one of his favorite pastimes. More seasons have come and gone since he first set eyes on you and he’s baffled that you’re still the only thing on the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t foresee that ever-changing at this point. He recalls his emotional battles; the grappling of newfound feelings. Astarion hadn’t felt a beautiful thing in centuries until you. Until he longed to touch you, to shield you from the very things he’d forced upon other less fortunate souls. You’d slowly but surely become home to him.

You had been sheltered in his manor for days following your father’s death. Beautiful reminders of your presence blessed the cold halls of his lair. He spared no expense upon stocking a wardrobe specifically for you. Beautiful dresses of the finest linens, silk, and velvet in colors reminiscent of summer overflowed the closets and dressers. He would hire a seamstress once you were well enough to allow you the creation of your wares, but for now, this would have to do. He had practically sold out every shop in town that carried luxury clothing just to ensure you’d be able to make a selection that genuinely suited you.

As much as he urged you to make use of his many servants, you refused. Even in your broken capacity, you insisted on doing most things yourself. At which point Astarion would contend he does whatever task at hand on your behalf. He couldn’t comprehend how you could be so careful of every being’s spirit, even when he holds you as you weep. You would cling to him like a lifeline; as if he were going to disappear. Your grief had driven you deeper into his embrace. While this was precisely what he was plotting he couldn't bear to see you so broken. A light snuffed out by the cruel ways of nature. He would spend every waking moment in this bedroom consoling you if it meant he had even the tiniest chance of reigniting that light.

Astarion’s eyes shift to the opening door of the bed chamber. A servant stood with a tray of various breakfast foods, standing in the doorway as she waited for him to summon her in further. This had been the routine every morning; she would wake you with a hot meal, a bath, and fresh clothing. This time, though, would be different. He gestured to the desk on the far side of the room and waved her away once the tray had been set down. She leaves without a question, closing the door on her way out.

It was time he had determined. With your younger sisters in the care of your brother and his wife and your father’s funeral being completed the day before, this was as good a time as any. He had hidden his true nature from your attention for far too long. You had proven to him that you were serious about staying so he no longer had any viable excuses in his mind to continue the lie. He recognized he should have told you sooner and there was a pang of shame that he hadn’t yet. Astarion wouldn’t dare admit it but he had enjoyed the normalcy you had brought into his life. There was a small part of him that was clinging to it.

He collected the tray of food from the desk and slowly approached your sleeping form. He hated waking you but you had been having a hard time keeping any food down, so he had been very strict on you with mealtimes. If your body allowed you even a piece of toast, that was a victory to him. Once he’s beside you, he sits on the edge of the bed closest to you. A gentle hand reaches out to shake your arm gently, and in return your eyes flutter open. You attempt to shut them again, not ready to be woken but he persists. “You need to eat something, my darling.” His words are a gentle beckoning and you allow your eyes to open once more.

“Okay.” You mumble in that sleepy voice Astarion had grown to love along with every other part of you. You push yourself up until your back is against the headboard, looking over the tray that had been placed in your lap. You didn’t bother arguing about the sheer amount of food before you anymore. It was futile. While most of it would go uneaten, he didn’t care as long as there was something that you would eat.

He watches you silently, preparing himself to come clean once you’ve gotten a whole egg and some potatoes down. Your cheeks used to grow red under his gaze, but now it was just par for the course with him and his stare. “We need to talk, Tav.”

Your veins run cold and he immediately picks up the quickening of your pulse. You look from the food to his face apprehensively. “Have I done something wrong?” Your mind raced; had he grown tired of you already? Perhaps he couldn’t take you being so utterly depressing anymore.

“Gods no, my treasure.” Astarion assures, taking your hand into his own. “You’re perfect. Always my perfect angel; this is about, well,” There’s a pause in his words. “Me.”

You nod after a moment, once you’re entirely convinced your heart isn’t going to be shattered by whatever he has to say. “Alright. What is it, love?” Those honied words, he adores when you call him that.

“I haven’t been entirely truthful with you. For that, I am sorry. I want to be though. I want you to know me. Truly know me.” You remain silent and he tried to read your face, but you have not faltered. You look at him with those same loving eyes and it gives him the courage to continue. “I’m not that great of a person. In fact, some would argue me being a person at all. It is ridiculous if you ask me, but to each their own, I suppose.” He’s babbling, beating around the bush. He can’t get himself to say it, it’s as if the words are banished from his tongue.

“Well, that’s just silly, Astarion.” You cut off his nervous bumbling, shaking your head as you move the tray aside. “You’re the most incredible person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, let alone loving.”

“No, Tav, listen.” He says sternly, his nervous dissolve fading as he finally feels the willpower take hold. If he was going to say it, it had to be now before he lost the resolve. “I’m a vampire.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and your face goes blank. There’s a beat of silence and he can visibly see the wheels turning in your mind as you mull over the information he’d given you. “You’ve… You’ve hurt people?” Your fingers pick at the threads of the comforter. You can’t believe you’d missed it, a testament to just how small-minded you indeed were. The sharp canines, the perfect puncture marks on his neck. All of the signs were there and you stupidly couldn’t recognize any of them; but also, how did he walk in the sun? How did he share meals with you?

He nods, “Yes.”

You nod slowly, refusing to look away from the blanket covering your legs. “Have you thought about hurting me?”

He hesitates and a lie almost leaves his lips but he stops himself. He had told you he would be truthful. “Yes.”

Your heart is sputtering in your chest but you’re not afraid. This was the man you loved, the one who had shown you kindness and showered you in a love you weren’t sure you’d ever get to experience. “Why haven’t you?” He’d had plenty of opportunity and time to do something, yet you were still here. Alive and better with him than you would be without him.

Astarion doesn’t hesitate and is relieved when he reaches for your hand without you refusing him. “Because I love you, Tav. That has always been the truth. From the moment I first saw you, I loved you. I haven’t loved a thing since my mortal life, and even that I can’t recall. It would be a cruel existence without you, one that I certainly never want to see. I fought it, you know. I thought if I kept away from you long enough these feelings,” A pause, “My devotion to you would leave my being. I had considered hurting you, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that my still heart would only yearn more. I was destined to see you that day. We were fated for each other. I feel it in my bones when I look at you. I feel it in my chest when we’re apart. Every terrible thing I’ve done has led me to you. I know you feel it, too.”

You look at your dainty hand in his much larger one, his words making you take in a sharp breath of air. He was right, you did feel it. The electricity when he touched you; the comfort only he could provide you with. You wanted to be afraid, that would make sense, but you weren’t. Astarion could also see it, but the tension remained thick as he waited for you to speak. You’re unsure of how to respond, your eyes darted the planes of his face as if you’d find the answer within him. He had given you love and adoration you didn’t believe was ever in the cards for you. He held you and wiped your tears every time you cried; which happened substantially lately. As much as you wanted to be angry or frightened; you were not. You could never be afraid of him.

“Okay.”

“That's- that’s it then? Okay?” Whether it was apprehension or confusion in his voice, you weren’t sure. “Well, I have to say I was expecting more questions. Definitely didn’t anticipate an ‘okay’.”

“You are the same you—the same man who turned the grounds of his property into an ethereal garden solely for me. The same man who allowed me grace when I didn’t consider how my decisions would affect you. The one who’s taken care of me after-” You stopped yourself, the grief of losing your father like a hot coal in your chest. “Are you not?” You question despite already knowing the answer. He nods and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You free your hand from his and take his face into your hands, resting each palm on either cheek. “Then there is nothing you can tell me that will make me love you any less.” Your mind wandered briefly to what his past would indeed entail; heinous acts, no doubt. Yet, you didn’t cower. You held his gaze, faces mere inches apart.

He closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips to your own. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck as you melt under his touch. He turned you into putty; moldable to whatever he wanted you to be. His and his alone. He pushes you into the mattress and swiftly knocks the food tray from the bed. “I’ll love you until the end of time. I swear it.” He speaks into your lips. The words are muffled but they were not lost on you.

Of course, he would have a much too great ask of you soon enough. You were destined to spend eternity with him, after all. He would delay that for another day, however. He would spend his day worshipping every inch of his holy altar: your body. You hadn’t shunned or pushed him away; that was enough victory for one day in his mind. You weren’t afraid of him. You welcomed him into your arms once more, into your body. He would continue to show you, sun up or down, that he was true to his word. His hungry hands explore you, reverent mouth paying particular attention to your neck. How easily he could sink his fangs into you; instead, he leaves tender kisses in his mouth’s wake.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion #bg3 #x reader #ascended astarion #ascended!astarion x reader #reader #tav #ascended!astarion x tav

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spectres-n-soap · 7 months

Text

A Spectre Remembers - Soap x You x Ghost

Content Warnings - Afab Reader, she/her pronouns are used in this chapter but no description of the reader is used, MW3 is canon :(, This is all Ghost POV this time, grief, religion mentioned,

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Ghost remembers the day you joined the task force, he could never forget it. You held yourself well, a woman that knew who she was and what she wanted. He watched you, that itch at the back of his head feeling like a rash now. It burned, begged to be eased and only got worse after the disaster that was Las Almas. The paranoia that haunted him from the day he pulled himself from the grave. Ghost watched the way you acted around others, when you trained and during debriefs. So when you started sitting closer to Soap, Ghost noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Soap touched you the way he did with him. Told the same awful jokes and dragged Ghost by the arm to hang out with you too.

"Oh." You had looked at Ghost, met his gaze before moving over to make room for him on the couch. "You should warn me next time Soap." You chastised him.

And that was it. You didn't receive him with open arms but you made room for him. Carved out a space for him alongside Johnny. Included him with the banter and he would have been a fool to think that the mission in Siberia hadn't changed something. Like something had clicked into place for you. He wasn't a fool. At least not completely because he had been there that night. Ghost stood in the dark hallway, on his way to get a drink of water and he heard you say it.

"I love you."

He had never retreated so fast back to his room since he was child. Not since he father roamed the halls of the house late at night, drunk, high and looking for any reason to unleash his anger.

Ghost remembers the day they returned without him. Without Johnny. His gloves were stained with blood, his hands trembled anytime they weren't holding something and his ears rang from that gunshot. His blood had turned into ice the moment he laid eyes on him. He had rushed over and pressed two fingers to his pulse, nothing but he kept checking. Over and over and over again. He couldn't hear anything, he looked down at Johnny and felt something twist, a knife in his heart. Two knives in his heart, they twisted and devastated him. He reached to feel for his pulse again but Price put a hand on his shoulder. When had they stopped the bombs?

"He's gone Simon."

And fuck if that didn't shatter him. He didn't cry, he wasn't sure if he could but his eyes stung and breathing became harder. Then he was staring at you, standing in the rain as Price spoke. "Soap is KIA." He couldn't look away from you. From the devastation that painted your features and he couldn't block away your pleas. He couldn't move to be the one who moved your hand from your throat.

"Captain." Your voice cracked, "Captain please." You buckled and he couldn't move to be the one who held you up. Ghost stood there as you cried into Gaz, sobbed until you gagged. Price had to be the one who finally broke him from his trance. He had laid awake that night, instead of being haunted by the usual demons he was haunted by you. By the way you had just collapsed, a woman who had carried herself with such strength that he was sure you'd never buckle under the weight of the sky if you had to trade places with Atlas.

You didn't come to the funeral they held for him in the highlands. He wanted to be angry. He really wanted to be and he stood outside your door ready to knock, ready to demand answers why you couldn't have been there for his final send off. For your Johnny's final send off. His hand was raised to knock when Gaz passed by him, "She's not in there mate. She's off giving Soap's family his ashes."

Ghost didn't stay around the base that night. At least Price had gotten everyone a few weeks of bereavement so he could leave when he needed to. And he really needed to right now. It hadn't been more than 8 hours and he was already back at the spot. Night had settled in and the highlands were alive with the sound of crickets, hooting owls and the rustle of grass.

Ghost was not a religious man. Never believed in a God that never stepped in to stop his father from beating his mum. Never stepped in to stop Tommy from getting hooked on drugs and never stepped in to stop them from being butchered. Ghost didn't know any prayers, he had accepted that God had abandoned him but he got on his knees anyways. He got on his knees, clasped his hands together and raised them to his forehead. And he begged. He begged God that night for answers, for direction, for a bloody reason.

Of course he got no answer. At least not at first. What was it that a woman once told him? "God works in mysterious ways." He had believed that to be a load of bloody rubbish.

Yet.

"The doctor thinks stress has put more risk with the pregnancy. Did something happen yesterday? Something upsetting Mr. Riley?" The nurse asked and to her credit, she didn't seem intimidated by him. Something upsetting? He had never seen you snap like that. He looked back to you, your eyebrows pinched together and his shoulders tense.

"Yeah, something like that." He muttered.

The nurse makes a noise at the back of her throat and tries to cover it up with a cough. Ghost doesn't blame her, he didn't exactly make it sound good. Left it vague. At least you hadn't hurt yourself. The thought sent shivers down his spine.

When he had received the call from the hospital that you had been admitted into their care, his blood ran cold. It felt like that day all over again, everything faded and his mind filled with assumptions. Each worse than the last.

You were hurt. The baby was hurt. Both of you were hurt. Someone broke in. Someone hurt you.

He had launched from bed after demanding the address before saying that he would be there in 20 minutes. He didn't care that it was a 40 minute drive, his car was any faster it would have been ten.

You don't look at him. You looked at the IV in your arm, at the tape that kept the IV in place and makes your skin itch, you looked at the walls covered in basic medical posters, you look at the blanket. Anywhere but him. Your name left his lips and you clenched your fists. "Please look at me." He asks, his voice on the edge of a crack. "Please.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mctavish x you #soap #call of duty #cod #ghost x reader #mw3 spoilers #simon ghost riley #thyh #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #ghost x soap x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x you

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annwrites · 5 months

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i already have ♰˳⸙;;

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader (gn! in this post, but fem! in other installments i have/will post(ed))

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & shane share your beliefs in a short conversation in a church

— tags: talking

— tw: suicidal ideation, religion

— word count: 930

— a/n: the views reader expresses towards going to church are my own. if you don't like it, don't read

You stare up at the crucifix before you, feeling devoid of anything.

No.

Not anything.

Hopelessness is the one thing you do feel.

One dead-end after another. That's the only thing you all do seem able to find.

The CDC and Jenner had had no answers. Not with his wife being gone.

The highway and Dale's RV blowing a radiator hose had left all of you stranded in the middle of nowhere.

And now you were here.

You'd all felt so hopeful to hear that bell ringing. You'd prayed to a God who clearly wasn't listening—if he ever had—for it to lead you toward something. To Sophia.

She'd never been here in the first place.

You glance to Carol and can practically feel the grief and desperation rolling off of her. You don't want to believe that Sophia is gone. Or worse: being out there alone in the woods...

If the wrong people—the wrong men—came across her... You don't want to think about how she'd never have a chance.

Death would be kinder.

So you stare at Him—crying tears of blood—and wonder how His father, who knows what it is to lose a child, could allow such a thing?

The wooden bench creaks as Shane sets down beside you. "Didn't know you were religious."

He says it softly, his tone anything but mocking, even if he himself doesn't believe. Doesn't understand how you can—if you indeed do, that is. But if you do—have some sort of faith, something to believe in—he'll just be glad if it finally turns out that you have something that may perhaps help to keep you going.

"I'm not."

The thought of the possibility of you taking comfort in something more, even if you can't see it, quickly disappears. He leans back, resting him arm behind you, all thoughts of encouraging you to take a Bible with you when you all leave now gone.

You're quiet for a moment, then, "Are you?"

He shrugs. "Not really. Never was my thing, I guess. Hard to believe when you're witness to the shit I was as a cop." He looks at you. "Were you ever?"

You shrug then as well. "My parents made me go to church when I was little. Like a lot of kids, especially in the south. I never liked it. The getting up early, and being forced into uncomfortable clothes, and the way my mom did my hair. I didn't like how the other kids were mean to me, or how I would sit on those uncomfortable wooden pews and stare up at a preacher yelling words and passages at me that I couldn't understand. I didn't like how judgmental so many in the congregation seemed to be, even toward each other. Once I was old enough to make the decision not to go anymore, I stopped attending. I didn't regret it."

You look at him and his head is now resting atop his fist as he simply looks at you. You're unsure of the soft look in his eyes.

"So what'd you start believin' in instead? If anythin'."

You glance down to your lap. "Nothing in particular, I guess. I just...I suppose I tried to just see the beauty in nature instead. In the plants and trees, insects and animals, fresh air and clear water. Occasionally even people." You look up to him. "The way I am now—who I am now—is nothing like the way I was before. I didn't need to look for a reason to live, because I didn't need one. Because I didn't want to die."

He uses his other hand that isn't propping his head up to reach out and take your right hand, holding it firmly—comfortingly—in his grip.

"What if that reason was another person?" He looks at you from under his lashes.

You look down to your hand that's in his, watching as his thumb rubs soothing circles on the back of yours. "I don't know how to make you realize you're wasting your time-"

He cuts you off, taking his other hand and lacing it between strands of your hair at the back of your head, gently massaging. "I don't know how to make you realize the only waste would be your life being cut so damn short."

You think back to the things he'd said to you that night in the RV—I refuse to just let you slip through my fingers—he made it sound like...like you were something he'd finally found after having looked for you for so long.

You can't keep doing this to him: insisting that you want to be left alone to die. You'd done it twice now. And while what happened on the highway had been an accident...had he not had his eye on you— not seen you pass out—you may've slipped away right there in the middle of the road. So, he had saved you a third time. And even now he was still trying to talk you into staying...alive.

Giving up was easy. The thought of trying to hold on? It feels near-impossible now. Like lifting a giant boulder and carrying it with you every step of the way.

"Do you believe we'll find her?"

He studies you for a moment. "I hope so."

"Do you believe we'll find...something, or somewhere worth living for?"

He leans toward you, gently pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. "I already have," he says in a whisper, before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

#fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)#shane walsh x y/n #shane walsh x reader #shane walsh imagine #twd x y/n #twd x you #twd x reader

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murfpersonalblog · 11 days

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"I agree that Lestat had nothing to do with [Paul's death] directly. However, if we remember that episode, Paul was like: 'That man is a devil, he got into my head!' And my whole thing was, I mean Lestat did get into his head.... I don't believe Lestat pushed him to do what he did? But obviously Paul was very mentally ill. That, mixed with him being hyper-religious and hyper-Christian, I feel like that intrusion of Lestat into his mind? Maybe it made him feel like his temple was unclean, or it made him feel like the devil got into my head and now I am soiled now I am bad. And it probably pushed him to do that. So I don't believe Lestat did do that to [Louis'] brother. But I think [Lestat's] intrusion into [Paul's] brain probably played a role in him doing that, so I'm glad they spoke on it here."

WOW | Interview With The Vampire 1x6 | Reaction & Commentary - FrankFreezy (23:23 - 24:37)

I LOVE this so much.

Cuz it goes back to what I was saying here: Louis has ALWAYS loved Lestat--beyond reason, religion, family, himself, Claudia AND Paul combined. I HATE when people act like Louis never loved Lestat, or never showed Lestat how much he loved him. Pay attention, y'all!

IWTV S2 Ep8 Musings - LDPDL: Burning Questions (Pt2)

EVERYONE called Lestat the Devil. Louis KNEW what Lestat did to Paul--both at the family dinner, and what Paul said later on the roof. He knew it was all true, cuz he'd seen it with his own eyes, and he'd FELT the same way--Louis felt unclean & soiled & bad, and RAN out of 1132 after they had sex the first time; and RAN to the confessional screaming "HELP ME, Father, he's in my head!" after Paul died.

But the gothic horror/romance is that despite seeing Les at his absolute worst, killing all those priests like an utter demon, LOU CHOSE LESTAT ANYWAY. And it's been (literally) KILLING him ever since. "I run to bad beds!" His 128+ dead men in SanFran are all Les!

It's why I love Ep5, as it's just more of the same: seeing Lestat at his worst and Lou STILL loving the monster AND the man in Ep6 (my fave episode in the whole series so far). Seeing Les try to kill Claudia in 1x7 and STILL mourning him all the way into 2x7.

There's A LOT of Les' trash Lou settles for & accepts, inc. even the suspicion that Les ad something to do with Paul's death; inc. Les abusing both him & Claudia. It's not until Les SPAT on Lou's love before a whole crowd of lynchers with "Come to Me" that the last straw broke how much Louis could forgive, cuz "Come to Me/Viens a moi" was when Les got into LOUIS' head and drive HIM to death (vampirism) too, literally in 1x1 & figuratively in 1x6.

The fandom doesn't talk about the dubcon/noncon/mind-rape of the Come to Me/church scene as much as we should, and how much of a violation it was for Les to be barging all up in Lou's head the way he was, while Lou was literally suffering an entire grief-triggered drunken suicidal mental breakdown. Lou's POV makes it seem more like lethal assault (I'm being mortally hunted; my life/soul's in danger by the white Devil). But Lestat/the script acknowledged the predatory nature of Come to Me during the Trial, when Les flipped it to make it seem like Lou had (sexually) assaulted HIM instead (my purity/chastity's in danger by the Black pimp).

This violation of their relationship is IT for Louis ("those were HIS words! F**k you!"). Their history is sullied, Lou's name & reputation (personhood) is dragged through the mud & soiled. ("I was dead.") With Claudia dead and Les betraying them by participating in the rigged Trial, Lou was able to believe Armand's weak AF lies for 77 years ("bad beds"); and sacrifice his love/marriage, "kill" Les & get divorced (Lou's most non-Catholic move of all, LOL) for good.

Les had ONE chance to be honest about the Trial (the 2x8 Tower Scene) & totally blew it by letting Armand get away with "Banishment." It all comes home (literally, in NOLA), when Lou finally stops running AWAY from uncomfortable truths, and asks the burning questions about Les that REALLY define their relationship.

Cuz it's not really about the Trial, or even Claudia; it's about Paul, the catalyst for Louis' entire arc--she was just the final/ultimate casualty. Everyone important in Lou's life has just been another replacement for Paul, "I loved him more than anyone on earth." All the people he had sit & TALK to him--Lily, Lestat, Claudia, Daniel, even Armand (to an extent), are all just Lou looking for Paul--understanding, acceptance, and love--i.e.: his companion. Someone he can confide all his secrets in, who won't judge/condemn him, and who'll accept & love him for who he is.

Sam said Les is Lou's "soulmate." Even though his heinous antics constantly proved Paul RIGHT, Lou also loved when Les put in the effort to prove Paul WRONG--he CAN behave & act like a human & charm the absolute pants off of Louis by just sitting on a park bench or sofa & TALKING to Louis; CONNECTING with Louis on a deeper level than even sex (which Lou already said is the best he's EVER had--and ya boi got around in the 70s-2000!).

But Les can also match Louis' freak; show his fangs, and be an utter monster Lou ALSO loves; cuz there's something dark in Louis too, that Jacob said "needs friction."

I said before that actual saints like Jonah & Paul are way too nice for Louis; too good & pure for this world. Lou LIKES Bad Boys; he likes men who're effed up & broken, cuz it makes HIM feel like he's not alone--HE'S not so bad after all. Vamps are just crabs in a bucket, and Lou's own hyper-Catholic brain treats it as a form of punishment, that he "deserves" effed up devils like Les & Armand. Beaten down all his life, and hating himself, full of self-loathing, Lou never knew his own worth--"let's meet vampires WORTHY of your love!" In 1x5 Lou stopped putting in the effort to take care of himself & their family/household ("ignoring all other duties of the role Claudia once mocked me for: the unhappy housewife"), and stopped confronting Lestat about his BS ("He treats us like sh*t and you take it! Why is that?!"). He's about to burn Les alive in 2x8, then just visibly gives up (puts the fire out), to "kill" Les by marrying Armand (who he's not even in love with, and who KNOWS Lou's only with him to spite Les) before the ink on Loustat's divorce papers are even dry.

It's only after Daniel FINALLY helps Louis claw his way out of Armand's clutches that he understands what Claudia meant about him having never known or loved himself ("Who are you, Louis?"). Lou's TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION required that he work on bettering himself, and allowing Lestat the chance to better himself too. That "friction" was toxic AF, and they both needed a real CLEANSING, which only started when Lou opened his mouth to ask Les the truth (the false-start in 1x6 about Paul; and the real-start in 2x8 about Armand).

So yeah, I love what Frank said, cuz IMO people in the fandom miss a lot of the horrible things Les does INDIRECTLY, in order to forgive the horrible things Les does DIRECTLY--just like Louis did. But just like Louis, it's possible (& totally valid) to love the man while acknowledging the ways he IS a monster, who needs to come clean & be honest, and start taking accountability for the ways he (in)directly contributed to both Louis & Claudia (& Paul's) demise.

#interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #religion #iwtv tvc metas #vampires #demonology #louis de pointe du black

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cybertronian-reader-imagines · 6 months

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How would Rung, Drift, Rodimus, and Swerve help a fellow bot deal with loss and loneliness during their time on the Lost Light?

((It's not really made clear in this if Reader lost someone due to death, a bad breakup, or something else, so take it however works best for you!))

TW: Mention of religion (no points for guessing which bot brings it up lol), mention of alcohol-like substance

Everyone aboard the Lost Light was running away from something. For you, it was the only person keeping you on Cybertron slipping away, leaving a crater in your spark that made a ship full of crazy seem pretty good, actually - it was, at least, better than being alone.

You have the good sense to actually talk to Rung about this, and he's very encouraging. Maybe running wasn't the best way to deal with the grief but, well... What's done is done, the ship ain't about to turn back to make you face your emotional problems. On the bright side, meeting new people would still be the best solution back home, and there's plenty of people to meet here! He encourages you to give yourself the time and space to grieve, but not to lock yourself away either.

Drift, bless his spark, seems to think the solution to all of your problems would be converting to Spectralism - a new paint job in colors representing renewal and honor is a great way to deal with loss lingering in the spirit, he says. You're not so sure about that, but you let him give you a makeover anyway, and just getting to share stories of your lost loved one while he works does help. Not to mention a little self-care at a time like this goes a long way.

Rodimus is basically the opposite of Drift. Instead of helping you talk your feelings out, he's there to distract you from them as much as you need, whenever you need it. Want to watch this really confusing Earth movie Whirl insists is the best thing fleshies ever made? Want to see how long it takes the two of you to drive Ultra Magnus (and later, Megatron) insane? Want to go on an incredibly stupid adventure? Done and done - he gives you a much needed break from working through all of it every waking cycle.

You'd expect Swerve to be a lot like Rodimus in this respect, but it turns out he's actually quite the listener, and even cuts in with some shockingly thoughtful advice from time to time as you sip your drink, on the house. "Honestly, you couldn't be in a better place to feel lost and alone," he says. "From what I've heard over this bar, the Lost Light could have its own theme song about that... Sometimes, I think I have more therapy clients than Rung." You wonder if he realizes how little he's joking.

#cybertronian reader #maccadam #transformers x reader #gender neutral reader #swerve x reader #rung x reader #rodimus x reader #drift x reader #mtmte x reader #lost light x reader

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chaoticbardlady99 · 10 months

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She's My Religion (Part 1: She's Cold, She's Dark, She's Cynical) Astarion x F! Reader

Hello! I have been plagued with an idea! Enjoy! This will probably be a four part story, but I am not sure just yet!

Title from song “She’s My Religion” by Pale Waves

CW: Parental death, grief, murder, domestic violence, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of emotional abuse.

Synopsis- You are a paladin under the Oath of Vengeance. You escaped the noble life that was unwillingly thrust upon you. Now, on your way to kill your evil step-father while trying to find a solution for the parasite in your head- you find out he’s promised your hand in marriage to Lord Cazador Szarr and that he’s taken your mom’s life. Looking for some comfort- you go to Astarion, but you don’t hear the words you were hoping for.

*Gif does not belong to me- could not find original owner

Karlach whoops and cheers as she releases you from a rib crushing hug- Wyll and Gale are grinning from ear to ear. You are all elated for her that Dammon was able to figure out how to cool down her engine- even if temporarily.

You know that she doesn’t want to hear about the future and the harm not going back to Avernus will cause so you don’t say anything while Wyll tries to lecture her. You are barely listening as the two of them go back and forth, but when Wyll glances back at you with a look that screams, “Can you please help me out over here?”

You chuckle at your close friend’s distress and shake your head at him. Wyll adores Karlach- you know he would give her his own heart if he could. He just needs to let her come to her own decision- you’d like to think that Karlach might decide to go back until they can come up with a permanent solution. However, at the end of the day, it’s Karlach’s decision. You are just as unhappy with the impending doom your bubbly companion is facing, but that is not your weight to carry.

“Unfortunately Wyll, I am going to support whatever Karlach wants to do for as long as I can emotionally tolerate it,” you give Karlach a playful punch in the arm, “you’re not allowed to die on me, ya know?”

Karlach rolls her eyes and smiles- pulling you in for an awkward walking side hug.

“Don’t worry Soldier- I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

You all begin to head back to camp from Last Light Inn when Jaheira calls you from afar, waving you over. You look at your companions and they look back at you- equally as confused. You tell them that you will catch up with them in a little bit and they leave you there alone. Cautiously, you walk towards her- she did just threaten to kill you not even 72 hours ago and what an eventful 72 hours it has been.

You killed a devil, almost died killing that Devil, found out Astarion’s life is in far more danger than initially thought, watched Astarion convince a weird man to drink himself to death, watched an even weirder man be inhabited by a dead lady, fought shadows, and now, Karlach can hug people.

Life could not be any weirder, but you gladly welcome it over the mansion you had been trapped in after your mother married your step-father. The day you escaped from there had been bliss- despite how much you miss your mother. Your mother had been of noble human blood before she met your father (an elf). After one late night tryst and falling pregnant, her title had fallen significantly. She married your father and you had all lived happily together in Baldur’s Gate. You grew up poor, but Duke Ravenguard always tried to make sure you and your family had been taken care of. You grew up with Wyll Ravenguard and you have been tight knit friends almost your whole lives.

Until you were 14.

Count Bridril Von, a high Sorcerer, had not forgotten your mother nor her breaking her promise to marry him by becoming pregnant by another. After your father died, he found your mother and enchanted her to become a mindless puppet. She would break occasionally, but ultimately you were left to fend for yourself against your 9 step-siblings (5 girls, 4 boys) and Bridril Von- who enjoyed taking out all his anger and hatred for your father on you. The only times he would claim you as one of his own would be when you had competed in various competitions and won- outranking his sons. The publicity he got from having a little sharp shooter and for “raising his darling step-daughter after she so horribly lost her hero father” was incredible. You became a show pony- a pretty, malleable little thing that was forced to perform and excel so that she could be treated with basic respect.

The minute you were able to escape the Mansion from the Hells, you ran to the docks, bought a ticket to Silverymoon, took an Oath of Vengeance, and now you are here with an illithid parasite in your head. At first you had thought you were the unluckiest person in the world when you were kidnapped by a mind flayer, but your companions have quickly made the whole journey worthwhile- Astarion especially.

You had met him before in your previous life as a troublemaking bastard and you had had conversations before- nothing too crazy nor serious, just quips and flirting back and forth. Astarion had been at the mansion frequently or you at the palace because your oldest step-sister, Daisy Von, is (was?) due to marry Lord Cazador Szarr. It was no secret to anyone, not even Daisy, that Cazador wants to marry you due to your likeness of a long lost love of his, but you are not of royal blood. Cazador would lose his alliance with Bridril if he married his boorish, rebellious, and unwanted step-daughter- despite your many achievements. You were grateful. You didn’t want to marry the man and Daisy was foolishly smitten- she could have him for all you care. That was your mentality before you knew he was a Master Vampire.

Your family and Astarion’s ‘family’ spent a lot of time together. Astarion had become your escort around the palace grounds because Bridril did not want you to take the spotlight away from Daisy.

Originally, it had been Pale Petras, but you had unceremoniously kicked him in the balls after he had said something rather unbecoming towards you and had to be physically dragged away by Leon before he tried to kill you or worse. Astarion had immediately taken a liking to you for that alone.

When you had stumbled upon each other at the beach after the Nautiloid crash, it had been a little over two years since you had last seen each other. Without the watchful eyes of Cazador, your friendship and romantic relationship has blossomed.

You had been weary at first, worried that he was just getting close to you because he knew how much it would piss off Cazador if Astarion were to be with the one person Cazador could not have. Now, you are about 95 percent sure that isn’t the case, but you remain alert- just in case.

You are used to being used for an upperhand in the world and you hope everyday that you are more than an advantage against Cazador to him because he truly means everything to you.

Which is maybe why you are quite agitated with Jaheira taking precious minutes away from you that could be spent with your love. You offer her a smile as she holds out a letter.

“A letter? For me? Oh Jaheira, you shouldn’t have!”

Jaheira hides her amusement behind a scowl, “it came through here magically. Rolan was able to calm down the little portal it came flying through- I suggest waiting until you reach Baldur’s Gate to be sending and receiving mail.”

You apologize and walk towards camp, opening and reading the contents in the letter. The letter rips open your entire body and it feels like the ground is going to cave in. You read and reread the letter multiple times- standing between the edge of Last Light Inn and the edge of Camp, not even 5 feet away.

Tav,

My name is Mary, I was your mother’s lady in waiting. You were always so busy that we never got the opportunity to meet. I am sorry to tell you that I only have bad news.

The Count had received an offer from Lord Cazador Szarr two weeks ago regarding marrying you that he is not going to refuse- initially he was, but then you continued to not come home and he became bitter.

Cazador expressed urgency regarding getting you back to Baldur’s Gate. Bridril has hired mercenaries to hunt for you.

Bridril killed your mother- the whispers in the castle say it was not an easy or quick death. My understanding is that you took an Oath of Vengeance so I hope Bridril is on your list. Your mother was the kindest woman I have ever had the privilege of meeting.

I know she would want you to know that she loves you, is proud of you, is watching out for you, and knows you are off to do great things.

Keep vigilant and may Selune bless your path.

-Mary

No. This isn't happening to you. You are only days- maybe even a week or two away from going back home, killing Bridril, and freeing your mother. You were going to be a family again. You wanted to introduce her to your companions and buy a nice little home to live in with her like you used to when you were little. You were going to tell her all about your adventures, your time on the Pirate ship that took you to Silverymoon, your life there as a Paladin, and his whole fucking excursion.

She’s gone and the wail that threatens to crack open your chest is suffocating. You quickly walk to Astarion’s tent, where you have been sleeping most nights, and he’s not there. Of all the times you really need him to not be doing anything and yet! You shove the letter back in the envelope and absentmindedly throw it to another part of the tent- not looking and not caring. Your grief feels like it may kill you and you just need to be held- to know and feel like you aren’t completely alone in the world right now.

After a brief chat with Halsin, you discover Astarion is hanging out with Shadowheart behind her tent. You make haste that way- hoping they won’t be too mad that you are interrupting their wine and gossip time. You had gotten back earlier than anticipated and in other circumstances you might wait until he is done, but you aren’t in your right mind.

You approach the tent and hear them talking on the other side, facing the forest, and sitting on a log. The tears begin to manifest in your eyes as relief floods you- you are so close to feeling okay again.

“How bloody hard is it to nicely, lovingly tell someone that you’ve been deceiving them this whole time?”

You stop dead in your tracks.

No.

“Look, there is no good way to say it,” Shadowheart says, “you just need to own up to it and then be honest about all of it.”

“Oh yes because ‘I planned on seducing you, sleeping with you, and manipulating you from the start’ is such a great opener,” Astarion scoffs, “there has to be some other way to make it flow with the rest of it. A better way to tell her.”

“No need,” you speak up miserably, coming around the corner, “you just did. Wasn’t that hard was it?”

Astarion and Shadowheart look absolutely shell shocked to see you standing there. Astarion looks like he’s about to throw up as he gets up and looks at you softly, a pleading, panicked look in his eyes.

“Darling!” he says, getting up, laughing nervously“you’re back early. I- can we-”

“Whatever we are,” you say with a glare, tears now pouring and with as much hatred in your voice as you can muster, “or whatever you were pretending I was to you- it’s over.”

Astarion’s entire face falls while he’s staring at you and he looks like he might cry, he opens his mouth, “Darling, pl-”

Shadowheart looks like she is about to speak up for him too, but you are far too angry, far too hurt- far too lonely right now in the world to let yourself be tricked into staying with him. They are best friends, she’s probably in on it too.

“No! I hate you so much!,” the venom in your voice being watered down by your anguish, “I hate you more than I thought I could ever hate anyone- undead, dead, or alive! I trusted you and you used me for your own gain- so unkindly, go fuck yourself!”

You spin around on your heels, race over to your tent, and tie the flaps tightly shut. You slump to the ground and just sob- grabbing your mother’s old blanket that you had stolen before you left. You scream into it silently and all the pain in your body is threatening to make you burst apart at the seams. You wouldn’t be surprised if you did.

In less than an hour you have lost your mother, Astarion, and potentially your freedom. Astarion had used you to get one up on Cazador and he succeeded. Now that he knows what Cazador’s ritual is- he’s decided he’s done with you and every step you make has to be done cautiously because one slip up and you are going to be the consort to a fucking Master Vampire after fighting to avoid this for so long. All because Astarion just had to poke the bear.

Astarion signed your fate using your blood as ink.

Your throat is raw and your head is pounding by the time your lungs feel like they know how to properly breathe again. You hear someone knock on one of the wooden beams of your tent and you scoff.

“It’s just me Tav,” Wyll says softly, “can I come in.”

You get up and untie the tent flaps numbly. You look at Wyll, eyes puffy and red- your face streaked with tears. As Wyll walks into your tent, you get a glimpse of Astarion looking crestfallen as you invite Wyll in. You just scrunch your nose up in disgust at him before closing your tent.

Wyll is sitting down on your bedroll and you sit down right next to him- both of you looking at the ground. Wyll gently puts his hand on top of yours and smiles at you with his signature gentle, I’m here, grin.

“My mom’s dead, Wyll.”

“What?”

“Bridril killed her. She had snapped out of whatever hold he had on her when he agreed to marry me off to Cazador,” you choke out between sobs, “he killed her for trying to protect me. Now? I am officially going to be married off to a Master Vampire the minute I step foot in Baldur’s Gate if Bridril has his way.”

“Oh Tav…”

“And then! To make matters even worse?,” you look at him with disbelief and your voice sounds borderline hysterical now, “I overheard Astarion and Shadowheart prepping his ‘I’ve been using you this whole time and I’m ready to break-up’ speech. He was trying to figure out how to be nice about it.”

Wyll stares at you with bewilderment. He is absolutely silent as you break down sobbing again, but he pulls you into him and you put your head on his shoulder.

“I fe-feel so alone,” you manage to say coherently, “and so frightened.”

“I know you do my dear friend,” Wyll strokes your hair as make a mess of his shirt, “but you have Karlach, Gale, Lae’zel, Halsin, Scratch, and even an Owlbear Cub for Gods sake!”

You smile at the emphasis on your rather dangerous furry friend. Wyll had asked what you were going to do with him when you got back to Baldur’s Gate and when you didn’t have a plan- both of you were a little horrified. You both decided to send it to Daisy as an engagement present once it’s big enough to stomp on Cazador and Daisy mid-wedding.

“And besides,” Wyll says, “you’re my closest friend. I won’t allow you to be alone nor face this alone. I’m probably the best monster hunter you know.”

“You are also the only monster hunter I know.”

Wyll rolls his eyes and smiles brightly at you, “That’s besides the point, but I am going to let you sleep. You look like you need it.”

Wyll places a soft kiss on your forehead before he leaves your tent.

“Thank you Wyll.”

He turns around and smiles, “Any time Tav.”

_________________________________________________

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 spoilers #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion romance #bg3 #karlach #astarion x f! reader #astarion acunin #baldurs gate #bg3 tav

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systemic-dreams · 5 months

Text

I made a map of the Feywild because I could not find one I liked.

Feel free to use for your own personal needs.

4K version under the cut:

The Fae take things very literally, especially promises. They can take names, hands and unborn children from unsuspecting visitors with loose lips. Eating and drinking Fey food can ensure that you never leave the Feywild again. But as chaotic and unpredictable as the Fey may be, they abide by the rules of Hospitality and the Rule of Threes. Three Queens, Three Wishes, Three Questions, Three Answers and so forth. They have noble and powerful beings called Archfey which rule from the Summer Court and Winter Court. The Courts of Spring and Autumn are usually subservient or less important and their whole society tends to have a matriarchal dominance. The Queens are the true rulers while the Kings are merely consorts or generals in their armies. You may also find Maidens, Ladies, Mothers and Crones of incredible power here.

Notes:

The Feywild is a plane of existence adjacent to the mortal world we call home. It is a more vibrant and colourful version of our plane where supposedly, the dreams of mortals can shape the terrain. The spirits that pass on when we die become the spirits that inhabit the Feywild, eventually transforming into Faeries and Fae creatures of many different shapes, sizes and temperaments. This has stagnated in more recent years due to religion drawing souls out beyond the Astral Sea. Now the plane is ruled by Archfey who have had countless time to practice their magics. But as beautiful and enigmatic as the Fey and the Feywild may seem, they are a crooked mirror of the real world, much like one you might find in a circus funhouse.

The Feywild seasons are locked geographically and regions grow stronger or weaker depending on the time of year in the mortal world. It is always summer in the Summerlands, etc. And in the Vale of Long Night, it is always night. Some places slip in and out of the Feywild like the city of Astrazalian, and the terrain is constantly changing. Distance is measured by a place's spiritual connection to another, or sometimes by rules the Fey make up themselves. For this reason, it supposed to be unmappable.

Out of lore, I've found this makes for a frustrating experience to navigate. However, I've played the Descent into Avernus DnD module by Wizards of the Coast. It came with a glossy foldout map of Hell and told the DM that the mapmaker went insane while creating it so some of the landmarks might not be accurate. For this reason, I think it wouldn't be unreasonable to tell your players that the person who made this map of the Feywild is certifiably insane. (This will save you grief as a DM when/if complicated questions crop up. Just say a madman did it! since this is not entirely inaccurate ( ͡• ͜ʖ ͡• )

DnD Lore Locations you can look up for modules/story:

Winter Court

Summer Court

The Lake of Frozen Tears

The Vale of Long Night

The Howling Forest

Shinaelestra

Cendriane

The Murkendraw

Mithrendein

Nachtur

Plains of Echoing Thunder

The Summer Forest

The Temple of Leaves

Senaliesse

Maze of Fathagn

Brokenstone Vale

Astrazalian

Harrowhame

The Court of Stars (floating over Autumn next to a mountain)

Other locations are inspired by Faerie Lore or Grimm Fairytales and their derivatives.

Powerful NPCs from DnD lore:

Queen Titania/Tiandra and King Oberon (the Green Lord) are seated in the Summer Court.

The Queen of Air and Darkness/Mab in the Winter Court.

The Pale Prince lives in a fortress on the Lake of Frozen Tears.

Baba Yaga could be anywhere. She fast-travels by flying around in her mortar and pestle/big wooden bucket with a broom. She lives in a Hut on Chicken Legs that moves around by walking and can be found in any forest. Caution to those who enter the Hut when she is not home.

Cernunnos, the Lord of the Hunts may also be seen riding through any of the forests with a big pack of hunters. He is frequently joined by Oberon in the Summer Forest.

Nachtur is the goblin capital and is ruled by the nasty hobgoblin named Great Gark (I have placed this inside a volcano for flavour and dungeon material. You're welcome).

The Murkendraw is a massive endless swamp and can be host to any number of nasty critters including Pfilosfyr the Carrion King, known for his many fungal clones and mycelium minions.

In Brokenstone Vale, you will find lycanthropes and shifters that depend upon the moon, hence their proximity to winter and night. This place is ruled by Viktor Kazan, the Lycan Lord.

Nearby, the island city of Astrazalian spends half the year in the mortal plane and is ruled by Lady Shandria.

The Silver Lake is home to the Lady of the Lake if you want to reenact some Arthurian myth like they did with Geralt in Witcher 1.

The Floating Forest is home to the Pegasi and Lurue the Unicorn Queen (Alicorn). I have put a little tower there for some Eladrin Pegasus Keepers/Servants depending on how intelligent you make the winged horses.

In the Gardens of Pleasure, you will most likely find satyrs, including Hyrsam, the Prince of Fools.

I have left the White Well purposefully off the map. You can place it anywhere in the Winterlands. Should your players find it and the Lady of the White Well, she may grant them a boon. Those she falls in love with, become enamoured with her and earn her blade. They become champions who seek to free her from banishment by becoming her true love. All have died in the attempt.

Additionally, some places may cross over into other planes. The Vale of Long Night and The Dark Forest cross into the Shadowfell where the latter becomes the Dead Forest. The endless swamps of the Murkendraw may also cross into the Shadowfell or The Grey Wastes, while Nactur is closer to the plane of fire. The Feysea leads to Fey islands and the Court of Seafoam and the Court of Coral and continues into the plane of Water. The Primeval Forest spills over into Arborea and Brokenstone Vale spills into the Beastlands.

The Isle of Dreams is made up. If you ever reach it, your players will find the world of their dreams and can choose to stay (and become thrall to the Dreamlord/lady/monarch) or go back with a single-use stone. Breaking it grants one use of the Wish spell. Make them roll a wisdom save.

Honeysuckle Lake is made of honey which makes all the water in the Feywild taste sweet. However, running water is very dangerous to Fey and can wash away their magic. You can see it creating artificial boundaries in the form of rivers. The honeywater in Honeysuckle Lake however, does not flow so quickly and is very viscous and sticky. Dipping a hand into it may not remove a Fey's magic but it can be just as dangerous. The honey is stronger than concrete and has known to pull unsuspecting honeyguzzlers into its grasp.

This is all based on my own reading and research and imagination, so feel free to change it up!

Happy hunting

#feywild #map #dnd #dungeons and dragons #world map #ttrpg #fairy

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purplelupins · 4 months

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 12k

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation,angst, murder (hello have you seen the show?), mentions of s*ic*de, drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes:

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It took your last bit of energy to tell Father John to leave you alone…that it was his fault. Your vision was fading fast; you had lost enough blood that you were dizzy, but your fear and exhaustion had your brain forcing your body to shut down out of self preservation. As darkness gripped you, you heard the Father shift away from the small door and then your head thumped with his heavy footsteps as he walked away.

Maybe he finally listened to you.

Maybe he would actually leave you there to slip into a comatose state and let you die just to hide his sins.

Your eyes dropped shut as you listened to muffled voices. Angry voices. You smiled a dazed smile, and the last thing you could understand was something about limits. You didn’t care what he said…not then. All you felt was dizzy darkness that was making you float.

It was so calm you didn’t want to give in to that nagging feeling of uneasiness. But that nasty emotion was battered away with a serene humming all around you.

You felt like you were a baby again…you wondered if your body was making you remember being cradled by your father. Was this death? Reliving your entire life in mere minutes before your soul left your body. As you felt yourself being held gently, you relaxed even more when the serene sound of low humming lulled you back into that darkness until you were asleep again.

That was all there was until your senses began to return to you one by one. You were somewhere soft and warm. It smelled familiar but not familial. You ached…and your tongue felt heavy. Breathing felt as if your body was operating manually; difficult and jaded.

Your eyes cracked open, and you slowly took in your surroundings as your consciousness sharpened. It had been a few times now that you had awoken in that bedroom, and each time it became more and more unwelcome. You pushed yourself to sit up and winced when you tried to inspect yourself; your neck and shoulder and jaw hurt something terrible. All at once, you were bombarded with memories of the bite. The panic you had felt in that moment as that man’s teeth had sunk into you returned as you went ridged in the bed. Did you die? Had you been turned?

Your eyes flicked around the room anxiously to ensure you were alone. It all felt akin to waking up as a child from a horrible nightmare, and even though you knew you were safe in bed, you anticipated monsters and ghouls to crawl out to capture you. But after a few moments of staring at every shadow and and corner, you decided that you were indeed alone.

You pushed yourself out of the bed, and timidly padded over to the small table by the window where you saw a pair of scissors among discarded gauze. At one time you might have thought things through a little more, but you were on your last nerve, in pain, and cornered, and you were beyond thinking. You crossed the small room to the cracked door, and pushed it open the rest of the way as quietly as you could.

You saw the back of Father Pruitt’s black halo of hair where he sat on the small couch.

He greeted you- that low timbre of his voice resonating inside your ears far more comfortably than it should have. Without another thought, you threw the scissors straight at him. It missed the back of his head, but you saw the stripe of red that was left on his ear after it ripped through his lobe.

John barely flinched. Pain had become something he was used to, and feeling your wrath was something he had to do.

“I apologize for the…” He said as he turned to you and stood, “The suddenness of everything. I hope it didn’t startle you too much.” John gestured to you.

Your mouth opened with some prepared reply, but then when he looked at you, you snapped your mouth shut. Your brow pinched in confusion, and you looked down at yourself. There was nothing that stood out to you, but then you noticed the change in your attire. You didn’t wear pants and a t-shirt to bed typically. And you particularly remembered being disappointed about how your nightie had been soiled by the blood.

And you were clean.

Oh…

Oh god.

Your heart began to thud in your chest.

Why were you clean why were you changed why-

As you came to each realization, you returned your gaze to the Father, and he saw every ounce of shock and contempt there, “You- what did-“ you started, trying to find the right thing to portray your feeling of violation, “You- you took off…You washed me? You washed me.”

John shuffled a step and reached his hand out slightly to you, “I’m sorry…this thing is, you were quite a mess after your attack and you needed the rest…your clothes were soaked in blood and I just-“ he began to ramble.

“Wanted to help.” You finished for him.

Just like he always said.

The good Father nodded, but didn’t move any closer. It was as if John could sense a shift in you then. How your rage seemed to almost boil over as you stood there in his clothes, smelling like him, in his home. It was all too much after what had happened. What he had done. The life he took from you. The people he took from you.

You clenched and unclenched your hand.

Impulse took over, and you lunged towards the fridge, swiped a magnet off of it and threw it right at the imposing man before you. It bounced off his chest.

John sighed. He knew you needed to work through this.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you-“ he started again.

You threw a cup from the counter at him. It hit his head and toppled to the couch. Father Pruitt flinched slightly at the knock, but continued nonetheless.

“- I know you likely will decline, but …I think it would be best if you stayed here unt-“

The spoon you threw at him hit his arm, so you threw a knife too- it cut his cheek. You found a pot lid and threw that too.

It missed.

“-until you heal fully and I hold a town meeting with everyone.” John finished and closed his eyes as he found his patience for you.

He knew you heard him. Especially when you started throwing objects in rapid succession.

And the Father let you.

He could see the tears starting to pool in your eyes; he could practically taste them. Your suppressed emotions surged to the surface of your heart and exploded out of you in pandemonium. Everything you had wanted to do since Easter came out of you.

After several minutes, you slowed your attack. You stood only a few feet from him now after making your way along the kitchen counter to launch various debris at him, and his immobility only made you angrier. If angry was the right word…unsettled, frustrated, scared…it was all muddled together with guilt and grief and you found you didn’t know what you felt anymore.

When the older man didn’t move or even try to reason with you, you pushed away from the sink behind you and walked to him and slapped him square across the face.

Silence rang in your ears.

Your hand stung.

Did he even feel anymore?

The action seemed to stun both of you; you a little longer than he. John nodded as he blew some air out through his nose as if he finally understood something.

You needed to hurt him. And to John, he felt a great sense of peace in that.

“Go ahead.” He murmured to you.

You stood there, head craning up to look at him. For a moment you thought he might be patronizing you. then it was like every bit of restraint left in you ebbed away. Your hands balled up and began beating on him anywhere you could reach. You hit him and hit him and he waited. John watched you patiently, taking even breaths as you shoved at him and beat his body that wouldn’t bruise.

Your hands hurt. They likely sustained worse injury than he did from your hits.

Then all of a sudden, you stopped.

Father Pruitt watched as you sunk your head down, leaned your forehead against his chest, and sniffled. Wet patches began to dampen his shirt, and Father John had to suppress a sound of surprise. When you didn’t continue, and didn’t move away, he raised his arms from his sides, and wrapped you in them. His hands clasped together around your back like a bow keeping you tied. To the Father’s surprise, you nestled deeper into his embrace. Long, shuttering breaths wracked your chest against his that would catch in your soft throat every so often.

John was terrified he might do something or accidentally say something and break you out of your moment of submission. He closed his eyes and breathed in the calm. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had let him hold them so intimately.

Even when he and Millie reuinited after Easter…they never embraced for long. Over the decades, the closest he had come to embracing anyone would have seen when he consoled someone as they grieved. Perhaps it had been when you had let him dance in your living room…yes that must have been it.

John knew that the last time he had sat privately with Mildred when they were young they hadn’t embraced…it had felt like more of a meeting than an ending of a…whatever relationship they had had. Sneaking around when the island went to sleep. Hiding away during the storms…little touches when they passed eachother. Best friends in another life.

Now here you were…this sweet little young woman with hands holier than his; a man who had sworn a life dedicated to God.

He felt envy…among other things.

Yet another sin, but he couldn’t help it.

John knew that he had a tendency to ramble or fill space with words- an attribute he had learned over the years of being a priest. So he decided not to push anything in such a precious moment. He eased a hand up to your head and drew you closer into his chest, and softly shushed you. He hoped he resembled more of a man trying to comfort a young woman, but somehow he knew that his arms encircling you and that low hum of his voice soothing you was more akin to a hunter about to snap it’s prey’s precious neck.

The older man pushed that ill acknowledgment to the back of his mind.

“You’re not alone…you never will be.” he whispered into the crown of your hair after a long ten minutes of embracing you.

You sucked in a steadying breath.

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying, Father…” you replied, a small tremor in your hands as your temper settled under his touch.

He shrugged a little, though not condescendingly.

“It’s entirely up to you.” John sighed, “Only you can decide if loneliness is a blessing or a damnation…”

He was with you. There with you.

A long silence stretched on, then you sighed softly into his chest, and the warmth from your breath blossomed across his chilled skin under his clothes. The sensation made John’s hair stand on end with delight. You were trusting him.

It took two more minutes of contemplation on your part before you said anything. That question that had been on your mind since you woke up close to an hour ago. The question you should have asked him first. Now it prickled up the back of your neck begging to be asked.

“Am I…” you tried, but it was so quiet, “Did I…?” You couldn’t get the words out. You sighed and your shoulders sagged.

“Father am I a…?” You prompted him and looked up for any confirmation or denial.

John searched your eyes for just a second then he realized what you were asking.

“Wha- No!” He whispered almost relieved, “No you didn’t get-…you…you’re fine.” His hands squeezed you tighter as if to reassure you. Maybe himself, too.

You nodded and slowly pulled away from him; your arms hung limp at your sides. You stared up at his brown eyes that looked darker now than they used to.

You jumped when you felt his thumb wipe a few tears that fell. You hadn’t even noticed that you were crying again.

“My dear girl…You’re going to be fine…you’re alright.” He murmured to you.

And for the first time since Easter, you believed him.

And you wanted to.

Father Pruitt sighed and swallowed on the thickness in his throat.

“This…this is my fault- my fault and I-I see that now. It was always about God but it…it all went wrong, so wrong…” he whispered reverently as he remembered how long ago you truly had been okay. John’s eyes held yours as his voice broke.

“It did.” You agreed in a lofty murmur in an attempt to keep any more tears at bay.

He twitched a smile, but forced it away. He didn’t deserve to smile.

You looked down a little, then ventured a glance up as you spoke. “You…I think…I think it would just be best if you maybe revised the descriptions of angels in any of the holy books before jumping to conclusions next time, Father.” Your mouth twitched just as his had. You pursed your lips to hide the bitter amusement that pulled.

Father John breathed out some air he had been subduing.

“I think that would be best.” He nodded, and felt his heart soar at the sight of you accepting him a little. A fragile little bit. Precious.

The two of you stood silently in each other's space as you both seemed to bask in your current truce.

It was you who spoke first.

"I...I'll go home." You said, yet somehow it sounded forced. Rehearsed. You were so used to saying it and needing to get away that asking him if you could stay felt wrong.

It took him off guard, and he deflated a little. But he understood. He didn’t like it.

“You know you’re welcome here, sweetheart…” he reiterated, and offered you a small tight smile that he hoped hid how badly he wanted to beg you to stay.

You nodded, and fiddled with the edge of your- his- shirt. “I know…”

Another moment pulled on, and John was near to sinking to the floor for an answer.

“Can I make you coffee? I still have some I think.” He asked gently. Would you agree? If you did agree was it a sign that you would stay?

You wanted to shake your head, not wanting to ingest anything that wasn’t yours, but a fresh cup of coffee did sound like a godsend right then. And while you were still a little weary of him…you were willing to give him a chance. One.

“Okay.” You said.

John tilted his head to look at you a little better as he was flooded with joy.

“Yes? Good…good.” He hugged you again, but released you almost immediately. He was growing a little greedy with touch.

You fidgeted with your hands and stared down at how clean your nails were. Had he done that too? The skin on the soles of your feet almost itched and made you shift from the amount of attention you were receiving. Months of isolation could do that to a person.

“How do you take your coffee?” Father John asked as he pried himself away from your air. You shifted a little on your feet and told him how you took it, and he grinned- pleased that you accepted his offer.

Have faith…

That was what he told himself then as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He needed to have faith in you, and you in him. He needed to nurture the little faith you had left in you. Help you to thrive.

John knew he had to work slowly and steadily with you. He needed to remind you that he did have good in him, and that he too had once been a lamb just like you. Just another soul looking for salvation. Sadly he had thought he’d found it in a cave. He hoped you might find some semblance of salvation in him.

The anxiety you had felt upon waking still sat at the base of your skull and made your hair stand on end. That little voice of scepticism tickled your ear and made you shutter; you inched your way as little closer behind him as he filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. Watching.

John knew you were staring. You might have been the sweetest lamb in his flock but you hadn’t always been the best at being discreet. With your excitement, and your distain, your curiosity and boredom. At least not with the Monsignor. Evidently even now it was a force of habit that you let yourself be a little more honest around him.

When you saw him cross his arms as he waited, you stepped away and began picking up the various things you had thrown his way. The scissors, knife, spoon, recipe book, pot lid, among others. When you came to a mug you had hurled at him, you picked it up and meekly handed it to the man. He took it with a small smile.

The kettle boiled and steam made your cheeks flush from your spot beside the good Father while he poured the scalding water. John looked up at your watchful eyes, and his nose twitched in regretful humour. He wordlessly took his hands away from the small coffee press and began rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, then showed you his empty, innocent hands.

“Nothing but a morning brew I assure you.” The older man said calmly.

The reassurance he offered you did little to cub your hesitation. You sucked in a breath and sighed. “Do you blame me?”

You had gotten so used to being weary around him that you were half expecting him to slip some blood into the strong drink.

He blinked and with missing a beat he said, “No.”

It seemed the two of you had some sort of unspoken understanding then. He wouldn’t hurt you and you would let him take care of you. You nodded your head, and turned away to pad over to the far wall to busy yourself with what books he had on his shelf. There were a few new ones you noticed.

Then your eyes slowly travelled over to the window, then to the newspaper clipping on the wall. You walked to it and stared at the grainy, youthful face that stared back at you. The same man who was behind you making you coffee.

You nearly hit the ceiling when the glass caught the reflection of the same face right behind you. You spun; startled at his proximity just a couple feet away.

“Sorry.” He said with a quick and slightly awkward smile as he offered you the cup. Those sharpened, white peaks poked out when his lips pulled back, and you were forced to remember that night again; the sounds still clear in your ears as islanders unleashed hell on one another.

You took the cup slowly, and gazed back at him for a moment before finally taking a sip. There was no metallic aftertaste. You sighed and closed your eyes. You needed that.

“Thank you.” You murmured to him, which he returned with a nod.

Tension kept you rooted to the spot, but you eventually managed to take a couple steps away, and gingerly moved past him to sat down on the small couch.

John didn’t want to crowd you too fast, and so stuck to picking up any remaining objects from earlier and washing a few dishes that had laid in the sink.

It was so quiet. While you were used to silence, you were not used to silence between people. You had been begging for an opportunity to talk to someone and here you were with exactly that, yet as fate would have it you couldn’t think of a word to say.

So you said the first thing you could manage.

“You swapped the cassock for jeans, hm?” You asked. It was stupid, but it had been something that made you shake your head with bemusement for months.

The jab at him made Father Pruitt’s brow jump and the lines beside his eyes deepen. Your humour had always been a welcomed companion even when you were little.

“Defiantly more inconspicuous.” He said, pausing to look back at you.

He missed you.

“Sure had everyone fooled…” You murmured. But he heard you…of course he heard you.

John pursed his lips and sighed quietly.

There was so much resentment and hostility inside you, and John knew that he put every bit of it there himself. You wouldn’t trust him on your own; you needed that guiding hand like he always had offered you. This time, he supposed, he faced the possibility of being nipped.

Father Pruitt was aware that you didn’t know every series of events following the vigil. You had run so fast and so far…so determined to stay alive. A crying lamb scattering away from the sharp blade that marked its fate with a red line.

The older man smiled bitterly, then moved slowly towards you.

“Can I sit, young lady?” He asked, coming around the edge of the small couch.

You watched him for a moment, then nodded and tucked yourself into one end of the couch to put space between you.

But then when John finally looked at you, he didnt know where to start.

You waited for a minute. When he still hadn’t spoken, you stared down at your coffee and blurted out another statement that had no rhyme or reason.

"Quite the cult following you have." You said.

Oh well done.

Months of loneliness truly had disintegrated your social skills.

But John’s head snapped up, and he laughed at the suddenness, "For a little while, yes...I did…I…the thing is, I thought it was their ability to hear God through me but…turned out they were more interested in what I had to say rather than God himself. They...they don't consider me much better than Judas now though and admittely I don’t blame them." He weaved his hands together in his lap and looked up at the ceiling.

You were surprised at the admission, "What do you mean?”

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “There is no short version of this for me to tell. But I’d like to tell you…” He said, leaning forward onto his knees, “Properly.”

You shifted a little at the seriousness in his voice, but supposed every story had a few sides to it, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He said genuinely, “I’d like to start…I’d like to start from the beginning…”then he paused and thought, “No, no that’s not right. I’d like to start by saying that…you have every reason to resent my actions, and me. But I think it’s only right that you know everything.” He nodded to himself.

You looked down at the coffee in your hands as he spoke, but once he stopped, you slowly looked up at him. He was staring at you intently, as if gauging where to start. There was so much he needed to tell you and so much he wanted to tell you. He needed to tell you how utterly devastated he was by his selfish actions. He needed to tell you that he had been a coward for most of his life. He wanted to tell you that he missed you. He wanted to tell you that you were what kept him alive.

He supposed there was time for everything.

“When I was young…” he started quietly, “I was in love with a woman who I could not have…not that I’m supposed to have any- well, she was married. She was very devout to the church…a regular just like you were. Her husband was in the war and…she was alone…so alone…we…we let our feelings grow…I gave in and -…She had a daughter by me…Sarah…she had my eyes-“

“Doctor Gunning?” You blurted out, then your eyes widened,“You and Mild-“

“Yes.” He said absolutely, “Our lives were spent staring at eachother from across the church while I watched our daughter grow and I couldn’t even have the courage to come down and tell her…not until it was too late. Sarah…” he sucked in a breath as his throat tightened, “Sarah was shot…She died that night…Millie she…she was distraught in every sense. I tried to give her this gift of life so we could try together and it went all so wrong and it was only me to blame.” You watched him speak, and watched tears well in his eyes. You didn’t know he could make tears being what he was…but here you were with the man who had baptised you, weeping.

He swallowed and gathered himself, “Beverly she…she spun everything out of control. I meant what I said when I first came here, you know? That I’m-“

“-only here to help.” You echoed him.

He looked at you a little relieved that you were there with him.

“Yes. Yes exactly- I meant that. I told lies, but that was not one of them.” He assured you, “All I wanted was to help. To fix the mortality that keeps us from living every chance we desire…take something off of God’s hands but even saying that now out loud it’s foolish. I was foolish because God does not need help He is above help and only needs us to follow his will and somehow I thought I knew better. As a priest, I am supposed to let God speak through me, but at that time I was speaking for Him. Creating my own message…so clouded by this gift given to me that I couldn’t listen…and He was telling me to stop. But I didn’t.”

You didn’t say a word, and he continued.

“Then Bev she…I thought she was doing good and helping spread this gift and spreading the good word…but she…no she was even more clouded than I was. She spun everything until it was all so so wrong…she unleashed a living hell onto the rest of the island. Screams…God help me so many screams that night…”

“I know.” You choked out as you both shared the memory.

“And then it was quiet. So, so quiet. She wanted me to chose who lived and who died. She said it was always going to be me who chose and I realised then that she was no better than the pagans worshipping idols and false prophets…she had put me in ranks with our Lord’s messengers and sought to give me power that no man should be trusted with. As the sun rose, the island hid inside the rec centre and St. Patrick’s…but when the people needed aid and guidance, she made an enemy of herself. It wasn’t a week before the people turned on her and locked her out as the sun rose…now they govern themselves. I- I believe they resent me. We still hold Mass, but it’s so fascinating to witness the shift of a persons perception of you even if it is negative. It…it is…different. I pray that in time they will see that my intentions were only good. That I was merely lost.” Father Pruitt trailed off, and clasped his hands together- squeezing them as guilt gripped him.

“You…” you sat up, coffee gone cold ages ago as you tried to process everything he had told you. “You wanted to give yourself another chance with her…you just…wanted…to help.” You said, mostly to yourself, but John nodded.

“I did. I still do. Only now I truly mean it when I say I am merely a servant of God…to God. My guilt follows me everyday until I am ready to meet my fate…decide it is my last day and I feel the sun for the last time.” His voice broke and he stared at his loosely clasped hands, “Until I am…set free.”

You placed your cup down and settled back onto the couch. You knew this could all be an elaborate lie to manipulate you. You weren’t stupid. But when you finally looked over at him, there was such a startling vulnerability there staring back at you. Like he was baring his soul to you.

“She was your best friend, wasn’t she?” You asked slowly, shifting your gaze to a crack in the floor. “Mrs. Gunning.”

A smile twitched at his mouth, “A lifetime ago…”

You weighed his words, and thought.

There had been so many times now where he had failed to lend his help; that cumulated with his ability to twist words and situations to his betterment did not provide him with the most wonderful track record.

“You’ve lied to me.” You whispered.

“I did, yes.” He replied. Honesty. Have faith.

“You…you manipulated me,” You swallowed, “When I trusted you.”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse with regret. He wanted so badly to tilt your head to look at him.

“You regret it.” You stated.

“I do. Every day.” He shifted a little closer to you. So minutely. Just a little bit.

“Can you help me?” You asked quietly.

At that, his head perked up, and he finally caught your eye. “Anything.” He meant it.

You were everything now. Perhaps you had been everything all along.

You considered your request carefully.

“Can you stop them?” You were meek and didn’t expect much. Honestly you were expecting him to give you an answer that would make you want to ask more questions.

As you stared back at him, you felt as if he was taking you in for the first time. Like he was memorizing every ounce of you that he could see, and you felt suddenly very aware of your skin and your hair and the teeth in your mouth.

John considered what might happen if he stood up for your absolute safety from the rest of the community. Many of them had become domesticated and had settled into their existence, but many were still resentful, vicious creatures of his own making. And in their eyes, you were their forbidden fruit. Perhaps you would become even more enticing to them with his authority over you. Regardless of the steady supply of blood to the island, he knew they craved the warmth of a live body to suckle. He was beyond well aware of the craving because, admittedly, he too coveted your tender flesh. John so wished he was far above such vulgarity, but he still found himself having to remind himself that you were sacred. Untouchable. That he was not to pin you down under his weight and expose your neck and bite into your fragile skin…

It would be a lie if he said that there weren’t nights where he was particularly hungry and he didn’t find himself imagining smelling your hair as he drank from you…he had gotten lightheaded by the thought alone and prayed for the remainder of the night.

But John had control.

“I can. Yes I can help you.” He nodded, “I’ll need your faith though.”

You stared at him. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it pained him. John took your hands in his, and knelt down in front of you as he spoke.

“One more time. I promise…just one more time.” He assured you.

You pursed your lips, and vaguely looked out the window.

“I can’t keep doing this…I’m…I’m so exhausted.” You half laughed out of spite.

Father Pruitt nodded.

“I know…I’m so sorry I know you are.” There was that break in his voice again. Like he was on the verge of tears. “You are on such a higher level than I am in God’s eyes. He sees you and He is testing you. And you…you are doing so well.”

“I don’t feel like I am, Father.” You weren’t sure why you were being so honest. There was something magnetic in the man that pulled your heart from you so carefully that you didn’t even feel it.

“Tell me what you feel.” He squeezed your hands. You twitched at the contact, having not touched anyone for so long. His hands were soft…so soft.

You were nervous to open up to him completely.

John could almost feel your apprehension.

“Please, I am the one who put you here in this situation, in this…life. Please make me know your pain.” He whispered.

You looked down at your joined hands, and bit the inside of your lip to keep from crying.

“Tell me what is happening to you.” He urged you one more time in a whisper. And you felt a single tear fall from your eye and onto his thumb. He wished he could encapsulate that tear and keep it- precious.

Your last bit of restraint crumbled under his desire to help you.

“I…I feel washed out from the shore,” you choked out, “Like…like no matter how hard I try, I get dragged back out by a squall that just wont stop. It doesn’t matter how many times I gather my strength…I can’t get back. I feel like I’m in some foreign land and no one is there. And all it’s going to take is one wave that’s a little too big and a little too strong that I won’t be able to get over…and I’ll be gone. Lost under the surface.” Another tear fell onto your hands.

Father Pruitt stared at you, barely blinking as he regarded you.

“Giving in sounds so much easier than whatever it is I have to do everyday.” You shook your head; you hadn’t said any of these thought out loud, and now hearing them made your heart ache even more.

It would be a lie if John said he didn’t know how you felt. There had been many a time where he considered giving in…burning. But each time he would remember you, and how cowardly he would feel if he abandoned you there. He would see that photograph that sat in your hallway of you on Easter as a child in his mind and manage to make it through another day.

“I remember your baptism…” John said after a moment, “You hated it…” he laughed a little, “But when I gave you back to your mother you were fine…resilient and glowing. I have faith that you will weather this. The waters may be stronger, but you’re still that same soul.”

You felt your tears fall, “This time you can’t hand me back to my mom though.” You laughed a little at the ridiculousness of it.

He sighed and looked around the small house for a moment then moved and sat down beside you, and opened his arms to you. You eyed him wearily, but he only waited. He had done the same gesture to you many times over the years. Helped you when you had slipped and scraped your knee, or when your father lost his temper when you got ice cream on your dress on Easter…when you got sick and missed Mass. Always gentle and paternal, but not nearly as intimate as this. Your soul was bared to him now. It was no mere injury or heart ache.

You were grieving.

And he would guide you through it.

You took a deep breath, and scooted closer to him. You felt one of his arms wrap around your shoulders, and draw you into his chest. Your shoulders were ridged for a moment, then as your anxiety waned, and he drew small circles on your back with his thumbs, you relented. You timidly brought your arms around his shoulders and what was meant to be a hug turned into you clinging to him.

“I hate you.” You mumbled. It wasn’t a lie. Not a whole truth either but it was the only thing you could get out.

The Monsignor sighed out an amused breath. You could truly be so curt when you wanted to.

“Hate is such a strong word…used to express how despicable and irredeemable a person is…and I understand. I’ll admit I’m not my biggest fan either.” He agreed.

You laughed.

It was pained, but you laughed.

You sunk into his embrace a little more, minding your neck and shoulder to not disturb the injury too much. He nosed your hair, and settled into the cushions with you in tow.

Your heart clenched when you tried to recall the last time you had been embraced by someone for so long and unrushed. You only grew sadder when you truly could not remember.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep. What you did know was that you were opening your heavy eyes, and your body was warm and relaxed. You slowly took in where you were, and found that you were still in Father Pruitt’s arms.

There was a rumble against your ear, and you noted that it was him sighing. Your hand was gripping his shirt like a lifeline, and he still held you to his chest. And oddly enough, you felt safe. Wrapped in the embrace of the person who terrified you. Friends closer and enemies closer you supposed.

You slowly pulled away from him, and looked up at his face and he stared down at you. Your noses brushed for a moment, and you felt your breath hitch. He didn’t dare move- like a hunter about to shoot his beloved doe.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, warm air wisping against his lips.

He knew it then just as you knew it.

You were lost without him. And not in a way that made you reliant on him for your saving, but instead made him responsible for your healing.

“I won’t.” He murmured earnestly. He would always be a part of you; he had single-handedly etched himself into your life, and even if you left him right in that moment…he would somehow still be with you.

You pursed your lips, and fought the sting in your eyes as tears threatened to spill over again.

Then just as you started to pull from him and stand, John spoke. “Stay…” he said almost pleadingly.

You paused and looked at him as he rose to stand with you.

“Please, just…just for a day or two, you’re not fully healed.” He added, shifting a little as he stumbled over his words, “ I need…I need to speak with the town too…I may not look it anymore but I’m still their elder and they will hear me.”

You paused.

Redemption. You were letting him redeem himself in someway. His offer, while likely coming with good intentions, still made you nervous. You knew what they were like when they were hungry. And Father Pruitt was turned for longer than them, so either he had better control than the rest or he was even hungrier-

“You will not be harmed here, I swear.” He said, “I want to help you.”

You stared up at him, still thinking. You wanted to be helped…at this point you needed it. You were losing yourself completely to solitude.

He whispered your name.

“I need- need to help you. You’re lost…you said it yourself- how hard everyday is for you…and I have to take most of that blame. The thing is, I gave you so much security and assurance when I returned that now you cannot move on from this traumatic point in your life without my help. Let me help you…I know the horror you feel there in your heart- I- I saw it all too. Felt it. No one else could do that for you. Let me help you.” He whispered, hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he spoke, “Please…I need to.”

You bit at the side of your tongue, but found yourself growing weaker in resolve; you weren’t sure if it was from the wound still closing on your shoulder or from the way his dark eyes entranced yours as he spoke to you like you were the most important thing in the world in that moment. But the desperation in his voice ensnared you.

“…Okay.” You whispered back.

John nodded, a rush of air spilling from his lungs.

“Thank you…” he whispered back, and pulled you close, one hand on the back of your head, and the other around your ribs; careful to not disturb your wound, “I’m…I’m going to take care of you.”

Those words alone had your nose tingling as tears began to rise to your eyes, but you sniffled and fought them back.

The remaining hours of the winter daylight were only a few, and you spent them wrapped in a blanket that smelled of the man sat at his desk.

A respectful distance away from you.

Old fashioned.

You laughed a little to yourself when you looked at him so concentrated in his grey jeans and sweater. You wondered if he was more vibrant when he was young. Or was he always an old soul at heart?

“Old man…” you breathed out absentmindedly into a cup of broth he had made you.

“Deprecation is not in good manners, young lady.” He murmured back to you, and you nearly choked.

You forgot that he could hear the tiniest of whispers.

“S-sorry…it just…funny to see Monsignor Pruitt in jeans.” You said, cheeks warming.

John grinned.

“Ah…yes well…I can’t say I’ve worn them since I was a young boy…always saw the young parishioners wearing them by the 80’s and I always wondered what drew people to wear them so often…I won’t lie they are a little stiff at first.” He said in good humour, looking up from his writing.

You held his gaze for a minute, then nodded, “They suit you, Father.”

Your comment caught him off guard, and you chose to let him sit in that slight discomfort. So instead of saying another word you just smiled a little then turned away from him and nestled into your blanket a little more.

A half hour passed before either of your spoke again. This time it was he who approached you.

You were nodding off when you heard him walk over to the couch and crouch in front of you.

“We gotta change your dressing.” He whispered gently, patting your knee. His eyes flickered over your face as he tried to discern how you were feeling. What you were feeling.

You drew your heavy eyelids up and curled in on yourself, “Can we do it later?” You mumbled- already half asleep and so comfortable that you finally knew what those cinnamon rolls you used to make felt like.

“I know…I know…c’mon, hold onto me.” He slipped his hand under your blanketed legs and hoisted you up to walk you to the bathroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and buried your face there.

“There we go…good girl, just sit there for me and I’ll be right back.” He sat you down on the small counter, and retrieved the gauze from the bedroom before returning to you. You peeled your eyes open to watch him work. He snipped the fabric to have it ready quickly, then took a deep breath before gently removing the medical tape that kept your old dressing in place.

“Father it hurts…”You hissed a little at the sting and ache of the wound and how some of the gauze was stuck to the edge of the wound and pulled.

“Shh…shh…there you go,” he cooed to you. You then heard him swallow as the bite was exposed.

“That bad?” You asked.

The good Father blinked and took a steadying breath, “No- no not at all. Healing well actually…just…uh- just it- well…it’s- you’re doing good.” He stumbled over his words as he cleaned around the skin.

You looked up at him now, and he seemed to catch your sobered expression.

“I’m fine.” He said reassuringly.

And you nodded.

“I’m going to take care of you.” He repeated, then tossed the bloodied wipe into the bin and began bandaging you up.

“There you go…good as new.” John didn’t smile; he was almost looking for your approval. Still uncertain. He was almost waiting for you to say that you had enough and that you’d leave. But it didn’t come.

You nodded and let him help you into bed, and he felt a little reassured.

But then as he went to go after bringing your blanket up to your neck, he felt your hand grab his sleeve, and he paused and knelt beside you. Your eyes were closed and your breathing was already slowing.

“Thank you John…” you whispered.

The older man felt tears well in his eyes, but he swallowed and leaned his forehead to your hand.

“I will make this right…” Father Pruitt said quietly to himself. He watched you fade away, and found himself tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear before leaving you to rest.

You slept well into the evening, long past sunset.

When you awoke, the room was dark aside from the sliver of light from the cracked door. You blinked slowly, willing your weariness to go away as you slipped from the bed and to the floor; the cold wood sobered you a little as you padded to the door.

“You must be hungry.”

You jumped at the soft voice from the kitchen.

You pushed the door open and meekly looked out into the main room- your eyes adjusting to the light.

John was stood over a small pot that he stirred occasionally on the stove. It was only then that you smelled that he was making, and your stomach growled in recognition of food.

John hid his grin well when he heard your hunger.

“My mother used to make this all the time when we needed some healing…physical or mental…tell me if it needs anything I…I can’t really taste it.” He said gently, raising his bowed head to look at you. John stood with a spoon full of the soup as he waited for you to decide, and he felt a swell of pride in him when you slowly started to walk to him.

You tried to hide the fact that your stomach was doing flips at his gesture. You couldn’t recall the last time someone had made you food.

“Open…” He breathed out, and you parted your lips; his eyes caught your pink tongue just inside your mouth as you accepted the spoon. A detail he didn’t know what to do with.

You let the taste fill your mouth.

It was good.

Really good.

You swallowed and nodded, “Thank you…it’s really nice. Just a little more salt, please.” You wrung your hands as you spoke.

The older man nodded, and watched you turn away to sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk. A shiver ran through you then, and you sighed as you begrudgingly went to stand to retrieve a blanket.

John turned to bring you a bowl of soup, and quickened his steps when he saw you getting up. “What do you need?” He asked.

“I’m just a bit cold.” You said, and went to move past him but his large hand caught your arm.

“Sit, I’ll get you something.” John sat you back down and placed to soup in front of you while murmuring something about the liquid being hot. You watched him disappear into his bedroom then reappear just a moment later with a pair of thick socks, and a blanket.

“Oh thank yo- …Father what-…” you went to take the socks from him but he knelt in front of you and tucked the blanket around your hips and thighs, then began putting the socks on your feet like it was the most normal thing in the world.

John’s eyes caught your surprised stare, and blinked up at you, “Eat up, sweetheart or it’ll get cold.” He hummed.

You felt your ears grow warm, but you didn’t dare open your mouth to protest and tell him you could take care of yourself. You also decided to ignore the warmed that gathered behind your navel. So without another word, you turned and began to eat what he gave you. You sighed as it went down your throat; you didn’t know how you had managed to make it this long without some kind of human connection.

“I have Mass tonight.” John said and he stood and sat behind his desk- sorting through his papers.

You looked up from your bowl and nodded. Your anxiety rose slightly at the prospect of being alone after what had happened.

Evidently he heard your heart rate spike, and his focus broke from the papers and jumped to you instantly.

“You will not be harmed. It will only be a couple hours. I have the only key to the rectory after Bev- after she…passed. I’ll be speaking with the island tonight…I put in a word for all to attend tonight.” The priest spoke earnestly.

You peered up at his direct gaze, and sighed then nodded. “Okay.”

He returned the gesture, “Okay.” He whispered.

You watched him gather his things, and found yourself surprised by how your eyes followed him around the modest house as he readied himself. You startled yourself with the realization of how attached you were becoming to his presence, and you quickly looked away from him.

John sighed and grabbed his notebook then came to crouch down in front of you. “If anyone knocks, go into the cellar…if anything happens, open the back window and you come to me.” He said firmly.

Your eyes flickered between his, “Okay.”

He grinned a little and patted your cheek lightly, “There’s a good girl…eat, and have more water.” He pointed to the kitchen and you watched him leave. The lock clicked into place.

You felt alone again.

Although this solitude was not altogether uncomfortable. Just quiet.

You could hear voices approach the church and wander nearby. Unease churned in your guts as they drew close, and you chose to relocate to the bedroom. You filled another bowl of soup and shuffled to the back of the house where you cocooned yourself on Father Pruitt’s bed. A wince escaped you when you laid down wrong, and you rolled your shoulder to try to ease the pain. It was more of a dull ache now that throbbed every so often.

You downed the soup, and curled in on yourself. You wanted so badly to shower…to brush your hair and feel more like yourself. You felt far more exhausted than you should have; you wondered if the bite had come with some sort of poison that your body was fighting off.

Sleep took you before you could stop it. It wasnt until you felt a large palm against your cheek that you started to wake up. You nestled into the hand and burrowed yourself deeper into the pillows below your head.

Then you could hear your name being said softly.

After several minutes, you cracked your eyes open. When you did, you were given a bit of a fright.

John was leaned over you just a foot away as he tried to rouse you from your sleep. What startled you however was how the light from the living room caught his eyes and made them glint in the darkness like the cats that used to populate Crockett.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and backed off a touch, “It’s been a few hours…just need to check your dressing.”

You sighed and while you truly did not wish to move from your spot, you did not want an infection in the middle of winter.

“‘S okay…”you mumbled as you got up.

Father Pruitt gingerly pulled your shirt’s neck down and removed the bandage. You were healing, slowly.

“Father?”

John blinked and looked at you, “Yes?”

“Could I take a shower?” You asked. It had been almost two days, and you could feel yourself growing itchy.

The older man ground his teeth for a moment at his lack of care for you.

“Of- of course. The uh…the bite is healed enough that you can wash up under warm water.” He began looking anywhere but at you as he was reminded of how he had cleaned you.

You nodded and slipped past him into the small bathroom, “Um…do you have some clean clothes?” You asked timidly. You hated that you had to keep asking him for help; John on the other hand was elated.

“Y-yes just let me…um…” he began searching through his clothes and found you some pants and a shirt that would likely be warmer than what you had currently. The pants you would likely have to roll up.

You found a little amusement in how he seemed to be so uncomfortable; it wasn’t that it was sweet or gentlemanly, it was that you had been so distressed for so long because of him, and you enjoyed seeing him in the same position.

“Thank you.” You said, and left him there to wash yourself.

John released a breath that relieved a little of the pressure on his chest when you closed the door. He needed to do more than his best for you, and you seemed to be very aware of that. Knowing that you needed him to be better made him unable to relax. John knew he could be cowardly, and selfish, and very wrong, but he was going to do his damnedest to be more than his mistakes and sins. Even if it was the last thing he did.

When you returned to the living room, you found Father Pruitt standing with the rectory telephone pressed to his ear as he looked out one of the windows. You felt your stomach sink at the thought of him telling anyone you were there. But then again, they likely already knew.

“Yes…yes it seemed to go well…blunt or not, they needed the line drawn. No, just wait. I wou-…y/n, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can come out.” He called to you as he paused his conversation.

You timidly shuffled out the door and peeked over at him. He held his hand out to beckon you over as he hummed and mumbled a few things over the phone. You padded over to him, and he kept his gaze trained on you once you came within reach.

John reached up and tucked a few hairs behind your ear and touched your chin gently, “Good…and they understand?…good,” he said, “Yes…she’s strong. Alright. Take care.” He extended his arm to place the phone back on the receiver, and sighed, “Annie.” He said.

Your heart squeezed, but didn’t say anything.

“She’s worried about you,” John hummed, “I spoke to the island last night. Instilled the fear of their god into them lest they touch you again.” His voice lacked any malice or anger, in fact it was very calm, but there was no hiding how tight his jaw was.

You nodded, and tugged at the blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders.

“Father?” You asked him.

“Hm?” He hummed.

“I want to take a walk.” You said.

John stopped looking at your bandage and focused on you, “I don’t-“

“And I want you to come with me.” You finished.

That surprised him, but pleased him greatly.

“Lead the way, young lady.” He cracked a small grin.

You nodded, and disappeared back into the bedroom to find the socks he had given you and a sweater. When you returned, you frozen in your place when you saw him shrugging on that long black coat that was older than you.

“You kept it…” you mumbled.

Father Pruitt paused and looked down at himself, “Ah…yes well I suppose we all have things we grow attached to.”

You pursed your lips, and pulled the sweater you had taken a little tighter before you walked to your shoes and slipped them on. They were clean now, no longer muddy and full of grass.

John joined you by the door, and you looked up at his as he opened the door. He seemed to feel your pause, and turned his attention to you.

“You’re safe.” He whispered earnestly.

There was a calm that came over you then. You didn’t necessarily want to trust him, but you had told yourself that you would let him try to redeem himself. Trusting him was the first step.

You nodded, and stepped outside into the early morning air. The winter temperature made you shiver, but the crisp air was refreshing. You took a slow step out onto the grass, and looked back at Father Pruitt who stood at your shoulder like a guard.

A guardian angel.

You almost laughed at the thought.

He nodded, and placed a gentle hand on your back to encourage you. You truly hoped he was being sincere and wasn’t guiding you into the hungry mouths of the islanders. That this hadn’t all been an elaborate lie.

The frosty dirt and gravel under your feet crunched far too loudly. You could only imagine how loud it was for the man beside you. He chose not to comment.

John couldn’t have cared less about the sound of the road you walked on; he was far more occupied with listening for any islanders nearby, or that winged monster. He didn’t know who had done it, but whoever had cut holes into its wings had done Gods work. Forever contained to Crockett.

The two of you made it almost into town without incident. As you passed the marina, there were several old fhishermen maintaining their boats. Men you used to feed and laugh with. It look mere seconds for them to smell you and hear your heart. One by one their heads snapped up.

You could feel your natural instinct to run, but you felt that hand on your should and farm around your back that steadied you as you and the father stared back at the men.

You sucked in a breath, and turned to the older man, “I’m okay.” You said quietly.

John turned his attention to you, and his clenched jaw loosened.

The two of you moved on through the town. Left and right, heads poked out from windows and people stopped to stare at the pristine lamb walking through their den. Neither of you said a word as you passed the general store, and your old shop.

“Y/n?”

You stopped in your tracks. That voice broke your heart with just your name. You looked over past Father Pruitt, and saw Ali just several feet from you with Warren.

You couldn’t breathe all of a sudden as the memory of burying his father flooded you after so long of you praying to forget it.

“Ali.” You whispered.

The boy took a few tentative steps towards you, then almost ran to you and held you tight. You knew he wasn’t the most affectionate teenager, but as he gripped you, you could almost feel his own sorrow. You pushed the pain of the wound away even as his arm pressed on it.

“Thank you…” his voice came from your uninjured shoulder.

You embraced him and rubbed his back gently, “He loved you, Ali…he still does.” Your voice broke, but tears wouldn’t fall.

He sniffled, and tightened his grip, then slowly pulled away. You noticed how he wouldn’t look at the men beside you. In fact many didn’t. Perhaps he had told the truth about being ostracized.

“I’m sorry…I’m- I should have listened to you I’m sorry-“ he started to ramble.

You shook your head, “Ali…Ali it’s done,” you whispered, then remembered something his father had told you, “Inshallah God will have mercy on you. If I meet him before you, I’ll put in a good word.” You smiled a little, and he stared at you like you had given him the best possible news.

“Thank you…thank you.” He hugged you one more time, before you let him go, and began walking again.

John watched you from the corner of his eye every so often as you made your way through town. He was pleased that he only had to ward off a couple islanders who got a little too curious, and he noticed how you could subconsciously lean into his side when he did.

You house was always a no-go zone for anyone. Especially after your attack. That night when he addressed the islanders, John hadn’t been that angry since Easter…hadn’t yelled so venomously in so long. Now your home sat peaceful and empty.

He watched you gather the things you wanted and needed and stuffed them into a duffle. Photos and books and things that held memories or that you held dear to you. Things that could make anywhere feel like home. Clothes and shoes and snacks. You muttered occasionally to yourself, and gazed longingly at your stand mixer sitting on your counter as you passed it. You missed being you. You missed…living.

You might have stayed and reminisced a little longer, but the sun wouldn’t stay down forever. With just a few more things placed into the bag, you pulled it over your shoulder and walked back to the door where a Father Pruitt stood waiting.

He extended his hand out to you, and you stared at it a little confused, then he nodded to your bag, “I’ve given you enough of a burden to carry in this life.” John didn’t wait for you to hand it to him- he slipped it off your shoulder and onto his like it weighed nothing, then opened the door for you. You grabbed a coat off the pegs by the door, and slipped it on over your borrowed clothes.

Your fingers ached from the cold as you walked back across the island. You buried them into your pockets, and kept your gaze ahead as you went. Just as before, several heads turned as you went by. Your stomach hurt when you saw Annie standing with Ed in their doorway as you passed by. It had been almost 10 months since you saw them, and now you almost felt estranged.

You had begun to notice that whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not. But you truly didn’t belong anymore.

As your journey passed by that gap in the brush by the shore, you paused and began towards it to visit the halo of stones. You crouched down onto the cold earth, and placed your hand over the now-framed photo of Hassan and Ali on his grave.

You sighed, and looked up at the dark sky, “Put in a good word for me, too.”

John swallowed any words that tried to worm their way out. He didn’t deserve to comment. Instead, he stood by and watched you wipe off your knees as you straightened up, and continued on.

The two of you began to come up to the rectory, but then just as you went to turn down the path, you stopped again. You thought for a moment, then turned to the Father.

“Can I take you one more place?” You asked.

“Of course.” He said, and quickly placed your bag inside before joining you again. This time, you continued on past the church and towards the other side of the island.

You slowly led him out to the Uppards, and you walked him over to a patch in the grass that you now knew well. You sat, and patted the spot beside you, “Sit.” You said.

John took the place next to you, and stared out at the water.

“This was where I sat that night.” You said into the wind, “Waiting…”

John watched you, pain clinging to his chest. He had wondered where you had run. What shelter you had made for yourself.

“I tried to keep Leeza and Warren safe, I really did but…it just wasn’t enough,” your broken whisper came out in puffs of vapour. You could feel those emotions you had been certain were guarded start to rear their heads.

John so badly wanted to comfort you…to offer something. But your heart was racing and your breathing was heavy. You needed to say more and he wasn’t going to deprive you.

“He-…” you tried, “He was a good man, Father. Hassan just…he just…wanted some place quiet and safe for Ali…he died being hated but he deserved so much more. Ali deserves so much more and you took that.” Your cheeks warms as that rage began to seep into you.

“I did,” He said finally, voice hoarse, “I did take that and I’m so…so sorry and I wish I could give it all back…” he shook his head and looked over at you as he spoke. You met his gaze and pursed your lips, “There are no words that I could say now or in a hundred years that could express my sorrow to you.” He spoke earnestly.

You sighed, and stared at him, “And what about me?” You whispered.

His breath caught.

“What about me, Father?” You asked.

He thought for only a moment, “I took so much from you…I think the only thing I didn’t take was your faith. I told you…that night…to have faith. The thing is, you do have it. Your ability to believe in good and better is…astounding. You are…so good. And I hurt that. I cannot tell you how guilty I am. I was greedy.” John said honestly, “With so much, but especially with you, I was greedy. They say God mends wounds in time- physical, mental and emotional…but I would place no blame on you if you didn’t heal from what I put you through. You were so bright…so loved…just…Lord so beautiful. So beautiful inside and out and I was a coward for much of my life trying to hide that ugliness and I envied you. I am…so, so sorry.”

The older man looked away from you to stare out at the dark water. You felt a stray tear fall down your cheek at his words. He had hurt you, but you hadn’t expected it to be more than skin deep.

“I hurt something because I found it sublime and I wanted it to last forever. I was…cruel. I was cruel. I didn’t notice the destruction that came with it. And I’m sorry.” John looked back at you, and you noticed the glassiness in his eyes. A few tears fell.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. It might have been an hour that passed before you slowly reached over to him and grasped his hand. He was almost instantaneous in holding it in return.

“What’s it like, Father?” You asked, and looked over at him.

He returned his attention to you, “What’s what like, little one?”

You stared back at him and took in his handsome face. His dark hair that fell a little over his forehead, his dark eyes and full brows. It took a moment of your staring for him to realize you were asking about the… “gift”.

He paused and sucked in a breath before shaking his head, “Well you…you see things you’ve never seen and heard things you never thought you would be able to…smell things you didn’t know could be smelled. I could hear the flowers blooming when I stood close enough…the world breathes. Sings…glows brighter…magnificent.” John thought aloud, looking around him until he came back to you, “But too much of a good thing is bad.” He smiled bitterly.

You blinked, and nodded.

Father Pruitt squeezed your hand, and sighed, “I may not feel the cold but you do. C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you back.” He stood, and pulled you up with him.

You didn’t protest, and let him guide you out of the brush and onto the path. He took you through the marshy woods and along the stone road until you neared the rectory. You noticed then how it was starting to get lighter out. You slowed your steps as you came to the grass, and stopped completely.

John felt you stop moving and looked back at you. His brows pitched up in confusion, “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He asked, fearing your wound had opened up or you had gotten ill.

But you just stared up at him and waited. A beat passed between you where he looked around and inspected you, trying to figure out why you wouldn’t move, then it dawned on him. John stopped looking around, and tilted his head down to gaze back at you. Seconds ticked by and the world around you grew brighter and brighter.

And you waited.

But the Father wouldn’t move. You saw his eye twitch when the warm glow started to break through the trees.

That was enough.

You took his hand and tugged him along where he scooped up your bag that had been resting on the stoop and entered the rectory just as the sun rose. Neither of you commented on what had just happened, not that you needed to. You wanted to see if he had been truthful; did he honestly want to change and stop being a coward? Would he die for you if that was your wish…as someone who he had taken everything from and manipulated.

You felt yourself soften towards him after that night.

For once, he told you the truth.

You let him take your jacket off and watched his hands unzip it. You took your bag and placed it in his room, where you opened it up and slowly took everything out. You felt silly grabbing so many things that you didn’t need…but not having them felt stranger.

You pulled out a fresh pair of your own clothes and didn’t think twice before you lifted up your borrowed shirt.

John Pruitt, ever the gentleman and holy man, froze when he caught sight of you through the open door. He might have chastised you for being so careless if it was anyone else, but he couldn’t get the words out. He saw the curve of your back and swell of-

Turn around John.

He spun on his heel and grabbed a book off his shelf and sat on his couch, facing the very opposite of where you were. It took a few more minutes of you shuffling through your things before you padded back out to him. You passed the couch and placed a pair of your shoes by the door. John could smell your scent again now that it wasn’t muddled with his clothes.

Then you came back and plopped yourself down beside him and leaned over to his shoulder to see what he was reading. “What’s this, Monsignor?” You asked softly.

The title gave him pause and he looked up from the pages.

“It um…it’s a collection of German fairytales.” He mumbled, only now realizing what he was reading.

You leaned closer, and laughed quietly, “Didn’t know you were German.”

“Oh I’m not- it was a gift…many years ago. Decades…Christmas I think. People seem to have the idea that priests lack any fear and don’t like a nice ending for stories. I’ll be honest, y/n this book always scared me a little.” John turned the page and grimaced at one of the illustrations.

“Be not afraid…” you whispered quietly. Those words made his heart ache; words meant to help and comfort were now tainted by his own doings.

You both quietly sat there, not saying a word. As you slowly let you guard down, you could feel yourself starting to recover after months of running on nerves and willpower. Your head grew heavy on his shoulder, and John realised after a minute that you had fallen asleep. He remained where he was and shifted you so your legs were across his lap and your face was in his chest. The last thing you needed was an aching back.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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