#so what if he's the devil!? at least he's active in the community! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

genderless-naper · 1 month ago

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sweet words

trafalgar law x gf!reader

sfw, fluff!

warnings: some mention of blood

wc: 1.5k, lowercase intended!

law never expected for his words to have a strong effect on you. he decides to use them to his advantage when you’re refusing to listen.

⇣ credits to the original artist

you and law still have a lot to learn about each other. granted you both have only recently decided to put a label on. you knew you both liked each other, but being asked to be with his felt like it took an eternity. nonetheless you two were ecstatic to finally be official after beating around the bush for months.

before making it official, law only really knew one side to you. that was the side that was meant for friends. he believed he would now see a different side of you, especially since he was more than just a friend. to his surprise he never saw a change in your behavior. you remained the same as when you both were friends. he found it strange, but in the end he decided not to press you about it. you probably will once you’re more comfortable. right? plus, he wasn’t one to talk much either. in fact, he seemed more refined than you had been since getting together.

he found you amusing, particularly your ability to refuse anyone's nonsense. your boldness and confidence made you stand out in these endless seas. with your bounty arguably high he often times found you handling rival pirates and their attacks with ease. you made it difficult for law to focus on his own battles. as worried he could be he still trusted you to not do anything rash.

unforeseen circumstances would soon cause that to change. worried crew- members rushed around the submarine to find law. one they found him, their words tumbling over one another in a chaotic attempt to communicate.

law felt uneasy when the mention of your name arose, “everyone be quiet. only one of you needs to speak so i can actually hear something.”

the crew looked at each other quietly until penguin cleared his throat, “y/n was keeping these pirate hunters away a-and…”

law felt a sudden heaviness form in his chest, “and what..? what happened to her?”

penguin kept his eyes glued to the ground, “she’s with bepo.. she was b-bleeding a lot…”

without a second thought law swiftly created the hand signals to activate his room and shambles. he moved himself to the land the submarine was docked next to.

he took in his surrounding, and saw bepo’s white fur l sitting down with back facing law’s direction. he made his was over to the bear without a second thought. his breath hitched as he saw you on the ground in a bruised and slightly bloody mess. law couldn’t tell if the majority of the fluid was your blood or of the pirate hunters. he dropped to his knees next to the bear to check your pulse. a sigh of relief parted from him as he felt the slow but steady beat against his finger tips.

bepo held you tight while tears trickled down his face, “i told her to be c-careful! now shes gonna die!”

you opened your eyes slowly and let a frail laugh out, “c’mon now.. i’m not gonna die from some stupid pirate hunters?”

law couldn’t conceal the relief that flushed over him, “you’re okay y/n-ya… don’t ever do something so reckless. especially without informing me first”

you sat up slowly and fixed yourself, “i was fine until their stupid devil fruit user. i should’ve knocked him into the water while i still had the chance.” you wince in your attempt to sit up. you held your pained side instinctively.

law spotted your pain immediately since his eyes were focused in your every movement, “i need to treat you y/n.”

you shook your head. you didn’t want to be perceived as weak. it would damage the strong front you’ve built for yourself. law knew you wouldn’t give in so easily, but your strong facade was the least of his concerns. he wouldn’t risk leaving you untreated.

you stood up from your seated position next to bepo. you ignored the minks protests and concerns. law watched as you swayed, struggling to keep your balance, until you ultimately fell back to the ground.

you hadn’t noticed you were falling to the ground until law reached out to grab you. he stayed in his seating position. and helped you to lay back down while resting your head on his lap. every fragile breath you took amplified the tattooed man’s concerns.

he moved strands of hair from your face, and carefully wiped as much dirt off as he could. he knew the only way to get you to listen was to talk you into it. he held your eye contact and spoke clearly, “i know you don’t want to y/n-ya, but you need to hear me out. you need to let me make sure you’re okay because you did so great protecting the submarine”

you looked up through your lashes and spoke tiredly, “i did great..?”

law hums lowly, “you did it better than i could’ve ever asked for. thank you for giving it your all baby.” he took one of your hands in his in order to hold it. never once breaking eye contact.

law didn’t expect for his words to work so well. he continued to use them to his advantage, “you did so amazing so in return im gonna make sure you’re well.”

your once smile broke off quickly, “i don’t need a check-up law! i’m fine!” you sit back up slowly, and turn your back to face him.

law knew he had to use his words more efficiently, “i know you dont think you need one, but it would mean a lot to me if you let me help you y/n.”

he recognized your walls faltering slowly. he helped you to stand then used his devil fruit to move you both inside the submarine. he helped you into the examination table while making sure to send his supportive words your way.

uneasiness was still painted on your face as he talked you into doing his basic checkup routine. as he was in the process of cleaning and covering your cuts he spoke out to you, “i know this is the last thing you want to do be doing, but i just want you to know that you’re doing great. it’s gonna be over soon.”

a slight blush crept to your face, “you really think so?”

law looks up from his task and flashes a small smile, “i really do think so. im proud of you for doing something you would rather want to avoid. this is better than just being physically strong sweetheart.”

he started to put away his supplies, and continue to look over the tests he had done. law had left the conversation to quiet down so his focused attention on his work.

you watched the man in front of you do all that he could to make sure you were feeling better. you broke the quiet as you spoke in a hushed tone, ��could you say that again..?”

law looked up from his papers with a confused expression. the recent conversation had already left his mind, “say what?”

you cleared your throat, “what you called me just now.”

law recalled the conversation to find your reference, “the only thing i called you was sweetheart?”

your eyes lit up when he repeated it, “yeah that!” your tone went back hushed, “can you call me that again..?”

the man put away the remainder of equipment as he smirked. he stood in front of your seated figure, and put both his palms in the table next to your hips, “why should i? do you like when i call you that sweetheart?”

you kept your head down to hide your reddened face, “kinda…”

law wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer. he tilted your chin up to look at him, “yes or no y/n. do you want me to keep calling you sweetheart? does that make you happy?”

you couldn’t disguise the affect law’s words had on you. he had never talked to you this way, and you never expected to like these reassuring expressions, yet here you were with a pleading look to be told more.

you nod slowly trying to piece together a proper response, “i guess it does make me happy. it makes me feel warm and comforted..”

law chuckled at your response, “well i’m proud of you for telling me that you like it. i’ll use my words more often if its what pleases you darling. tell me what else you want to be called.”

your smile was increasing in appearance, “i don’t really know. i just know that i like it when you call me that.”

law chuckles again at your honesty, “its okay if you don’t know right now. we can always test and see what you enjoy hearing sweetheart. you just have to make sure you tell me when you do. can you promise to me that you will baby?”

you nodded fast at his proposal, “i promise i will”

he saw your growing smile that hinted at being please with his offer. although you were both new to the relationship, you knew that as time passed, you would discover more about each other and reveal different sides of yourselves. each moment together would promise deepened connections. this would make the journey of getting to know one another all the more exciting.

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doomhands-jr · 5 months ago

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The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 7

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Angst, religious guilt, mentions of religious trauma, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of anti-choice propaganda.

Masterlist

Banner by @flowerynerds

Authors note: Maybe grab a cup of tea for this one.

_________

Noah Davis didn’t like to think of his actions in terms of morality. He understood that right and wrong were subjective. That life didn’t exist in binaries of good vs. evil, and that things like virtue and righteousness weren’t so easily defined.

That didn’t mean there weren’t some steadfast rules he followed:

Do his best to act in a way that aligns with his internal moral compass

Reduce harm much as possible

Do what’s best for the collective, while still keeping his best interests in mind

That line of thinking has served him well over the course of his lifetime. He’d freed himself from moral obligations and had done what he truly felt was best, and in doing so, he was able to walk through life with his head held high, standing by his actions.

The idea that some of his behavior was sinful had not entered his mind since he formally left the church.

But now, as he laid in bed, recovering from the tsunami of brain chemicals that just flooded his system, he felt like a sinner .

The sin coursed through his body, sick and bittersweet. It flowed through his veins, infecting his cells and rotting his bones like a poison. Like a drug.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, clammy palm meeting clammy forehead, cock still twitching with the aftershock.

He’d expected you to put up more of a fight. He’d banked on you shutting him down, batting him away and telling him to behave himself, but you’d walked so willingly into his snare, so eager and needy, offering up yourself on a platter with almost no hesitation.

It was a vile thing that you brought out of Noah. An ugly, profane creature that lurked in the shadows of his soul. He’d been aware of its existence in his periphery. It had been a sleeping beast. One he’d hoped he’d never have to contend with.

But now? It had taken its first shuddering breath, and with it, thrown down its gauntlet. Its demand? You—not as a partner, but as a sacrifice. Sprawled out on an altar for it to consume and defile. To claim for the sake of hubris.

Noah longed to find a way to cleanse himself—confess his sins and pray the rosary. Baptize himself in holy water. Take communion and walk forth a forgiven man. Would that be enough?

War had been waged within Noah, and the odds were stacked against him. He was David, standing at the feet of Goliath. Jonah, staring down the gullet of the whale.

He squeezed his eyes shut and the image of you at the apex of pleasure flashed across his vision. You’d made that offering to him. It was sacred. He’d cherish it for the rest of his life.

_______

Noah had no holy water available to him to wash his sins away. He did have a hot shower, though, and at least that was a start.

Turning on the water, he allowed the steam to gather in clouds around his bathroom. His skin had grown sticky with sweat, and his shoulders ached. As soon as he stepped under the spray, the tension began to dissipate.

He pressed his forehead against the cool tile wall and allowed the stream to trickle down his back.

He had a duty to himself—and to you. There was no denying his affection for you, but therein lied a glaring problem: you were ready for more. You deserved more. You deserved to push past these boundaries of purity and explore who you were outside of faith, and that made you vulnerable. Because whatever sickness lived inside Noah was itching to exploit that vulnerability. Not for your benefit, but for its own.

“Help me figure this out,” he whispered against the shower wall. It was a prayer in the most ironic sense. He wasn’t sure if he even believed in what he was praying to, but without any other ideas, it felt like the right thing to do. “I don’t want to hurt her, but I’m afraid.”

He received nothing but silence in response.

He scoffed at his own actions. What did he expect? Divine understanding?

He grabbed the soap, lathering it up before scrubbing it over his disgusting, unclean body. Why did he even bother? He learned long ago that nobody was going to save him but himself. If he wanted his demons to die, he’d have to be the one to kill them.

________

On a snowy Sunday morning, Noah didn’t have a church to attend, but he did have a pair of work boots, a heavy coat, and a trail through the woods that allowed him to commune with nature.

He also had a pre-roll he stole from Nick, which he cupped against his jacket to light. It took a few tries. The wind wasn’t biting, but it was present, and it flickered the flame in his lighter. He eventually got it lit though, and he took a deep drag, holding the smoke in his lungs and waiting for it to take effect.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he closed his eyes to focus on the high setting in. His body began to lift, a warm, cloudy, hollow feeling expanding out from his chest to his limbs, and ten minutes later, the joint was spent and Noah was intricately connected to the forest around him.

He walked on the trail, delighting in the way the frozen leaves crunched under his boots. He forgot his gloves again, so he stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked.

You were probably in church right now. Might even be on stage leading the praise and worship music alongside Isaac, where you were safe.

No, that wasn’t true. You deserved more than the life you’d find within the church. If you stayed put, you’d eventually find yourself on the arm of some 30-something with a trust fund and a perfect attendance record at Sunday school. You’d have to hide who you were from society, pretending to fit in where you didn’t belong.

Noah dug his nails into the palms of his hands. He wanted you to have more than that, but he wasn’t the right person to give it to you. At least not in his current state.

Giving up the idea of you was painful, yes. But it also gave him time to figure out how to contend with the ugly parts of himself. If he could let go of his desire for you, then he wouldn’t have to risk that part of him taking over. He could lock it back into the cage he’s kept it in for so many years and continue on in life as if nothing had ever happened.

He’d never have to know that hunger again.

He breathed in deep, allowing the frigid air to sting his lungs and throat. It wasn’t painful enough for him. He needed to toil and sweat and suffer to repent for his sins. He picked up his pace, letting his feet fall heavy onto the ground. Within a few minutes, his heart rate sped up, lungs stretching to accommodate his increased need for oxygen. All systems firing to pump fresh blood through his body.

That helped. Maybe he could sweat the fever out. Force the toxicity to exit through carbon dioxide and leave it as an offering to the forest so it can convert it back to oxygen.

He broke out into a run, thinking back to the time he caught you running in the rain and wondering if you’d been seeking the same energetic cleanse.

You’d cried in his arms that night.

He slowed his pace, down from a run to a jog.

It was the first time he’d noticed something wrong—the first time he sensed that his control was slipping.

A stray root caught his foot and he fell hard to the ground, catching himself with his palms and knees. He stayed there for a moment to assess his body and see if any damage had occurred, and when he found none, he rolled onto his back and laid in the snow and mud, stretching his arms and legs to the side and creating a snow angel.

The snow fell lightly, catching on his eyelashes. He stuck out his tongue, allowing the tiny flakes to melt upon contact and tasting the nothingness of it all.

He closed his eyes, and he was thirteen again. A nude magazine lay open on his floor. He’d just finished masturbating for the third time that day. Sobbing, he grabbed the leather belt hanging over his desk chair and whipped himself across the back with it. Harder this time than last. Perhaps with enough pain, he would learn his lesson.

He bunched a shirt up and stuffed it into his mouth, biting down hard to muffle himself as he wept. God surely wouldn’t forgive him again after this. He would be sent to hell for being so unclean.

For months, he’d tried to break this disgusting habit, but it was to no avail. He was sick and perverted, and lacked the self-control he needed to resist temptation.

He didn’t want to go to confessional. He didn’t want to have to hear his priest’s disappointed voice telling him to say ten hail-marys.

He took a deep, shuddering breath in, noticing how the icy air stabbed at his lungs. He didn’t want to dwell too long on that memory. He could already feel his throat constricting.

It wasn’t until he befriended Ruffilo that he realized he wasn’t uniquely perverted. Ruffilo hadn’t been raised in a church. He talked about porn as if it was something exciting, rather than shameful. He’d been the first one to bring up the subject of masturbation, making casual comments and jokes about how often he got himself off.

Ruffilo’s world—a world without shame—had been a foreign concept to Noah. After being exposed to it, he realized that faith and freedom were mutually exclusive. There was no way to balance the two, so he chose freedom and never looked back.

Noah’s fingers found a frozen leaf. He caressed the edges, feeling how smooth they were and remembered brushing bits of leaves off your coat that time you’d jumped in the leaf pile. He remembered how you gasped when his frigid hands ghosted over the nape of your neck. He could have cut the tension with a knife.

He couldn’t go back to the church. There was too much pain there to revisit. He cut off that part of him a long time ago, back when believing in God meant engaging in his own self-destruction.

Being with you meant dipping his toes back in the water of religion. You and faith were a package deal. He knew that. You weren’t going to give it up any time soon, and certainly not for him.

He closed his eyes again and felt the sting of saltwater. He wasn’t going to cry. He’d done enough of that in his adolescence. But the feelings were there, and they weren’t going to let him off the hook without being felt.

It was you or self-preservation.

He inhaled deeply and forced himself back up, turning to start the long trek back to town. A conversation needed to be had.

________

There was no priest to whom he could confess his sins, but there was Folio, and late on a Sunday afternoon, he could be found stoned in his room.

“I fucked up,” he announced, standing in the doorway.

Nick was on his bed, controller in his hands and headset on. From where Noah stood, he couldn’t see the screen, but he guessed his friend was mowing down enemies in Call of Duty.

“In the middle of something,” he said. “Give me a few.”

Noah invited himself into the room and sat in Nick’s desk chair, observing the décor. Nick decorated his walls with posters of women in various states of undress. Some of them were holding fish. Others were posed on top of cars.

His fishing rod and tackle box rested in the corner next to his desk. An electric drum kit lined the far wall. Clothes were strewn about the room, along with drumsticks, food wrappers, and half-empty water bottles. A few cans of beer spilled out of the overfull trash can. On the nightstand sat an ashtray with the spent ends of several blunts stuffed in the center.

Quite the confessional booth.

“What’s up?” he said, taking his headset off and turning his attention to Noah.

“I fucked up,” Noah repeated.

Nick blinked twice, but made no other movement. “Okay,” he said. “In what way?”

“You already know.”

“The pastor’s daughter?” Nick guessed, tilting his head lower to stare at Noah through furrowed brows. “Did you fuck her?” His tone was accusatory, and deservedly so.

Noah shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Nick turned on his bed to face Noah head-on. “What did you do?”

Noah deliberated over exactly how much to tell his friend. What happened between the two of you last night was private and he didn’t want to share your business with someone else unless you said it was okay, but he needed to get some things off his chest.

“So,” he began, taking a deep breath and shaking his head. “I think I need to stay away from her for a while. I’ve got some stuff to sort out and until I do, I might hurt her.”

Nick gave himself time to fully process what Noah had just said. He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting his eyes drift away from Noah and relaxing his focus as he mulled it over.

“You really care about her?” he asked.

Noah nodded.

“Want me to stay away from her, too?” It was an honest question, and Noah was suddenly struck with how much his friends cared about him.

Noah squeezed and relaxed his hands a few times to increase circulation in his fingers. They were still cold from his walk.

“No, actually. If anything, I think you’d be a really good influence for her. She could use someone like you.”

Nick’s eyebrows pulled up in the center. He tilted his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

“She needs to have more fun,” he said. “She’s been repressed for a really long time and I think she’s ready to break out of that and live life.”

Nick’s eyes went wide and he pointed to his chest. “And you want me to be the one to help with that?”

Noah didn’t want Nick to do that. The last thing he wanted was to see you enjoying yourself without him, but if it was between that and you staying miserable under the church’s influence, he at least wanted you to be happy.

“I think you’d be good for her,” he said, working hard to make sure he didn’t sound bitter at all.

“What if I fuck her?” he asked, his momentary sincerity seemingly over.

Noah’s face dropped. “Don’t fuck her.”

“But what if I do?”

Noah clenched his jaw, grinding his molars together as he steadied himself. He knew Nick didn’t mean anything by it. He was just being himself and trying to rile Noah up, but Noah wasn’t about to give in.

“Then make sure you’re on the same page with her about what it means. Don’t lead her on.”

Nick chewed on his tongue. “Where is all this coming from?” He asked. “Why do you think you’ll hurt her?”

“I guess,” Noah said, picking at a bit of dead skin on his lip, “It’s sort of just a gut feeling? I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something in there that tells me I gotta sort myself out before I get involved with anyone.”

Nick blinked up at his friend, softening. “I didn’t realize you were so serious about her.”

“I don’t know what I feel,” said Noah. “I just need some time to figure that out.”

“You okay?” he asked, hand coming up to scratch an itch at the back of his neck.

Noah nodded. “I will be,” he said. It was true, he would be okay eventually. He was sure of that. He’d survived worse than this. He just needed to figure out what the best course of action would be.

Nick’s eyes flicked back to the paused game on the screen. “So you’re saying it’s cool if I fuck her then?” he said.

Nick could be a real asshole at times. He was abrasive by nature. Many found his personality overwhelming, but the ones who stuck around knew that he was an antagonist, not to be mean, but to challenge people—coax them out of their comfort zones and force them to confront their triggers. He wasn’t always right, and he often stuck his own foot in his mouth, but when he was right, he was so right, it made up for all the other times.

This time, however, he used his skill to diffuse the tension.

“Man, fuck you,” said Noah, slapping the ash tray off the end table. It tipped over sideways and spilled its contents onto Nick’s bed, coating his sheets with ash and spent roaches.

“Bro!” Nick shouted, but Noah was already out of the room, hissing to himself with laughter, and Nick was too couch locked to chase him.

________

“Noah said to tell you he’s sorry. He got called in for overtime again,” Nick said as he walked into the community center seven minutes late.

Your heart sank. Not just because you wouldn’t get to see Noah, but because he could have easily texted this information to you himself.

It was as you’d suspected. Noah was avoiding you.

Over the course of the week, you’d grown more and more stressed. Sunday was fine. You’d woken up feeling well rested, having dreamt of Noah throughout the night. At church, you couldn’t focus on any of the sermon because you were too consumed reliving the previous night.

Monday came and went with no word from Noah. You thought for sure he would have texted you to say hi or check up on you. Some sort of acknowledgement that the dynamic between the two of you had shifted. But you’d also heard it was customary to wait three days.

So you waited.

By Wednesday, your patience had grown thin. You’d given him the benefit of the doubt, wondering if maybe he was nervous and waiting for you to reach out, so you had, sending him a casual hey .

He never responded. You’d been checking your phone religiously over the course of the week, but it had been radio silence on his end.

“Okay. Thanks for letting me know.” You kept a straight face and a steady voice while you spoke, but it took effort. “We’re supposed to be shoveling snow today but since there’s only us, I’m going to veto that.”

Nick sighed in relief. “Thank god . I wasn’t built for the cold.”

“Get inside,” you nodded towards the doors. “We’ll start with windows.”

He offered up a salute and bounded through the doors, eager to escape the cold.

As Nick got to work, you processed this information.

Noah’s silence was deafening.

Was this your punishment? Was God unhappy with your behavior and was this his way of letting you know?

An element to this was fitting. This was the cost, you realized. This was the price you paid for giving into temptation.

A bitter laugh escaped under your breath.

Was the church right about everything? Was there a reason you shouldn’t fall into temptation?

Maybe Hell did exist—and it wasn’t a lake of fire, but the absence of Heaven after you’d already tasted it.

Even after everything, you probably would still have done it all over again if you had the opportunity. He’d introduced you to a part of yourself that had been dormant for a long time and for that, you were grateful.

But the price was steep.

Your biggest regret was that you hadn’t even gotten to touch him before it was all over. You felt so stupid. Why couldn’t you have held out a little longer? Resisted temptation until you had him fully within your grasp?

But then again, perhaps the loss of him would be even more painful, wouldn’t it?

You sighed and stretched your arms up, resting your forearms on your head as you observed Nick spraying down the windows with cleaner.

You could get through this. It would be hard, but it was within your grasp. People have survived much worse. In the grand scheme of things, this heartache was minor. It would hurt for a while, but eventually you’d recover and life would go on.

It was just a matter of getting to the other side.

You wanted to remember this pain. Savor the full impact and hopefully this would be the only time you needed to learn this lesson. You’d grow, heal, and move on a better and stronger version of yourself.

Eventually.

Right now, you needed to focus on the task at hand: overseeing community service without getting yourself into any more trouble. And that’s what you were going to do. ________

That did prove to be a tougher job than you anticipated. Nick was charismatic as ever and kept trying to get your attention.

You’d throw him a bone every once in a while, if only because it genuinely did lift your spirits to be around him. He was a much safer presence.

“How many weeks do I have left?”

You were strewn across the back pew, doing your best not to wallow, but failing pretty spectacularly, when Nick’s voice broke you out of your ruminations.

“I’m not sure,” you said, sitting up and looking at him. He leaned casually against the back of the pew, rag thrown over his shoulder. His fingers tapped a rhythm on the wood. “I have it written down somewhere. I’d have to look.”

“Can you let me know next week?” he asked, bouncing on his heels. You could see what attracted Ava to him so much.

“Yeah.”

“Or actually, maybe this Friday. Isn’t that when your Christmas thing is?”

You blinked stupidly up at him. You’d forgotten all about the upcoming showcase.

“Oh, yeah. It is. I didn’t realize you knew about it.”

“Yeah,” he said, and then shifted on his feet as if he was trying to figure out a way to avoid saying that Noah told him about it. Which would mean that Nick was also aware of the awkwardness between the two of you.

“Were you thinking of going?” you asked. “You don’t have to.”

“I thought it might be fun to see you sing,” he said, voice soft and lips smiling.

You were momentarily taken aback. You didn’t think Nick cared about anything you were doing. The thought that he might be interested in your life outside of community service was one that hadn’t crossed your mind.

“Really?” you asked.

He looked side to side and nodded, as if it should have been obvious to you.

“Nick, that would mean so much. I would love for you to come.”

“Good,” he said, a self-satisfied smile back on his face. “But try not to suck or I won’t be donating anything.”

You snorted loudly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.”

The conversation died down, and you could feel the elephant in the room rearing its head.

You could ask how Noah was doing. It wouldn’t be too out-of-character. But you’d give yourself away easily if you did.

Besides, nothing good would come of it. If Noah wanted to contact you, he would. If he didn’t, then he was just someone you needed to get over.

Nick lingered, just as hesitant to leave the conversation.

“You doin’ okay?” he asked.

You sighed, leaning into the back of the pew. “Yeah,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

You rolled your head across the pew to look over at him. His face held a neutral expression, but there was softness in his eyes.

“Maybe some other time,” you said. “Thank you, though.”

“No problem,” he said. “I’m here if you need me.” He punctuated it with a squeeze to your shoulder and your hand came up to clasp over his on its own accord. He was warm, and truth be told, you really needed the gesture.

Perhaps you’d be okay.

_______

“And there were no signs prior to this?”

“No,” you said, collapsing on Ava’s bed while she worked on her Contemporary Art project from her desk. It looked like a big lump of Styrofoam. She held a strip of sandpaper, rubbing it back and forth over a corner and causing little pieces to flake off and litter the desk and floor beneath her.

“And neither of you talked beforehand about what it would mean?”

“No,” you grumbled, recognizing your first mistake. You absolutely should have talked about what it meant for the both of you before doing anything, and you can’t understand why you’d been so foolish to skip over that. “It just sort of…happened?”

Ava fixed you with an imploring stare.

“Babe, I’m really sorry that you got hurt, but. I don’t know,” she began. “Aren’t you always the one preaching about that kind of thing? It seems like you could have used a little bit of your own advice, don’t you think?”

You turned over and let out a loud groan into Ava’s pillow.

“Not helping.”

“I know, I know. That was probably insensitive. I just,” she trailed off, turning back to her project. “Maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn? Not to look down on others for the things they struggle with. And maybe also to recognize that we’re all human. We’re all sinners. Even you?”

You pouted. “You really think I needed to learn that?”

“You’ve been known to judge in the past.”

“I’ve been better about that!” you said, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I know,” she said. “I know you have.” She pouted back at you. “Maybe I’m not the best person for this kind of talk.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your stomach. “No, you’re fine. I think I’m just feeling sorry for myself is all.”

Ava got up from her desk, brushing as many Styrofoam flakes from her clothes as she could, and crawled into her bed with you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You melded into her touch. “You’re allowed to feel hurt. He did send you mixed signals.”

“What about you and Nick?” you asked. She chewed on her lip for a moment.

“Nick and I…we talked about it beforehand. We knew it was just for that night going into it.” She rested her chin on your shoulder.

“You didn’t want to pursue anything more?”

Ava shrugged beside you. “Neither of us is looking for anything.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder. It would have been nice had you had the same disposition going into the encounter with Noah. You could have just enjoyed it for what it was and then went your separate ways without any complicated feelings. You admired Ava’s ability to do that.

“You’re right,” you said. “We should have talked about it beforehand. Made sure we were on the same page.”

You turned to bury your face in her shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut to keep any tears from escaping.

“It doesn’t always work out that way,” she said. “Don’t judge yourself for your mistakes.”

She stroked your back as you failed to prevent your eyes from leaking. “Is it okay if I cry on you?” you asked, voice muffled by her shirt, a stray piece of Styrofoam finding its way into your mouth.

“Babe, of course. I’m here for you.”

You nodded into her shoulder, allowing the first of many sobs to fall. She continued to stroke your back, soothing you as you wept.

It hurt. You’d trusted Noah to care for you. You never would have believed him to be the type to get what he wants and then not call.

Plus, he still had five weeks of community service (you’d checked), and there wasn’t any way he could get out of that.

“How am I supposed to face him on Saturday?” you whined.

“Hmmm,” she said. “Is Folio talking to you?”

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “He’s actually been really nice.”

“What if you just talk to him? Use him as a distraction so you don’t have to talk to Noah. Who knows? Maybe having fun with him would help you move on.”

You pulled away to look at her.

“You mean like…?” you trailed off.

She laughed. “I’m not saying have sex with the guy,” she said. “I doubt he’d do that since Noah’s like, his best friend. But he’s a good guy and he’s fun to be around. And you could use that kind of energy in your life.”

You sniffled again and let your head drop back down to rest on her, spitting out another fleck of Styrofoam. It truly was everywhere.

You doubted that hanging out with Nick would help you get over Noah. If anything, it would just remind you of him. But you did need more friends in your life, and he was someone you could see yourself getting along with.

Perhaps focusing on your friendships would help. You squeezed Ava’s middle.

“I love you,” you said. “Please be my friend forever.”

She breathed softly, squeezing you back. “If you play your cards right.”

______

Friday’s showcase had a much larger turnout than expected. People lined the pews and even stood in the back after all the available seats had been filled. You peeked through one of the side doors that entered onto the stage and saw Nick sitting in a middle row. Ava sat a few rows in front of him. She caught your eye and gave you a big thumbs-up for good luck.

Your eyes scanned over the crowd, searching for a tall, tattooed figure and coming up short.

He said he was going to come. He was the one who had pressed you for the information in the first place.

You looked down at your phone screen. 6:53. He still had seven minutes to make it.

You exhaled a deep breath and shook your hands out, trying to calm your nerves.

“Want to pray?” came Isaac’s deep voice to your right. You looked over to find him standing quite close to you. His usual v-neck and beanie had been swapped out for a white button-down and black tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair was tied neatly in a bun atop his head.

“Sure,” you breathed, figuring you could use some prayer.

He grasped your hands in his. His were warm. Steady. They helped to soothe your nerves.

“God,” he began, “please watch over us and guide us as we work to spread the good news of Jesus’s birth. Let us not falter. Allow our voices to ring true and fall on ears willing to hear. In your name. Amen.”

“Amen,” you repeated, working hard not to roll your eyes.

It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate the prayer. It was just that Isaac talked as if he were living a hundred years ago, trying his best to sound profound, and you weren’t entirely convinced it was solely for God’s listening pleasure. He was a performer, after all.

He squeezed your hands, smiling. “Almost time. Are you nervous?” he asked.

“A little bit,” you said, noticing the discomfort in your gut.

“Don’t be. You’ve got this. It’s just the one solo and then you’re in the choir for the rest of it.” His thumbs rubbed over the backs of your hands, and you were about to pull your hands away from him, but it actually was quite soothing. He seemed like he genuinely cared about you. And he smelled nice. Some sort of expensive-smelling cologne that was the complete opposite of whatever spiced oil Noah wore, but in a really good, clean way.

“You look great, by the way,” he added, taking a step back and giving you a once-over. “I like the dress.”

The dress in question was a high-necked A-line in a bright shade of red to match the holiday theme (Christmas theme, your father would correct you, because apparently no other holidays existed to him).

You wore a dark green cardigan overtop, along with a gold necklace and black heels. Your lips were painted to match the dress. It was the most dressed-up you’d been since last Christmas. When you chose the outfit, you were still under the impression that a certain tattooed someone would see it.

“Thanks,” you said.

You could tell by the way Isaac lingered that he wanted to continue the conversation, but you didn’t feel much like talking. Needing an exit, you excused yourself to go get a drink of water.

Weaving through other soloists and members of the church choir, you made your way down one of the two hallways that flanked either side of the main sanctuary. You rounded the corner, where one of the members of your church’s worship band—Darian—was passing out programs for the event.

“Hey! You ready for your solo?” he asked when he saw you.

You smiled, breathing out a nervous laugh. “Yeah,” you said, scanning the stragglers still arriving for any sign of Noah.

“I’d be nervous if I was on first,” he said. You took your eyes off the latecomers and looked to find him smiling encouragingly at you.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting your weight awkwardly. “Isaac insisted for some reason that I open.”

Your stomach sank even more. You couldn’t see Noah anywhere.

“He mentioned it was because your song would set the tone for the evening,” said Darian, but you were only half-listening. “Do you want one of these?”

You looked back at him. “What?”

He held out a program for you to take. “In case you wanted to keep it. For posterity, or scrapbooking or whatever.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grabbing it without really thinking.

Your emotional bandwidth had been all but used up, chest tight and head foggy. You felt bad that you weren’t really engaging in conversation, or even paying attention to it for that matter, but hoped Darian would forgive you.

Sensing that you weren’t in the headspace to talk, Darian wished you luck and went back to handing out programs. You thanked him and continued walking across the foyer and down the opposite hallway with no real destination in mind. You were to go on in less than a minute.

You shook your head, trying to get out of it and into your body. You needed to connect with your voice in order to perform, but you couldn’t seem to steady your breathing.

The sanctuary was laid out in a rectangle, with the foyer lining the back, hallways with classrooms running the length of either side, and then a room behind the main stage, so from where you stood at the end of the hall, you could see through the windows of the doors to the stage that the lights had dimmed.

Isaac walked out to the center of the stage from the hallway opposite you. A spotlight appeared on him, and with an abundance of charismatic charm, he thanked the audience that had gathered, before leading them in yet another prayer to bless the evening’s performance and to let God’s will be done.

Throughout the entirety of his introduction, you’d zoned in and out. Your nerves ate at you, consuming your focus and leaving you feeling detached from your surroundings.

You’d performed this song a dozen times at least, and in front of much of the same audience, too. You performed every week in front of the congregation on Sundays. Perhaps you’d struggled with stage fright at one point in your life, a decade ago when you were still fairly new to performing, but these days you were at-home in front of a microphone.

And yet.

Your knees shook. A cold sweat had broken out on the back of your neck, and your stomach clenched and released several times in quick succession.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please enjoy O Holy Night, performed by my dear personal friend, and co-leader of our praise and worship team,” Isaac began.

You heard your name being called, snapping you out of the haze.

The audience applauded. Isaac gestured to the doorway opposite you, where he assumed you would be entering from.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door and walked to the center of the stage. Isaac turned when he heard the doors open, looking caught off-guard for a moment, but he recovered quickly, gesturing to you and clapping to signal to the audience that they should keep their applause going.

He slowly backed away and gave you a double thumbs-up before exiting the stage.

Recognizing you were still holding the program Darian had handed you, you clasped your hands behind your back and stepped up to the microphone.

The soft piano intro played out over the loud speakers. You closed your eyes and inhaled deeply.

O holy night,

The stars are brightly shining,

It is the night of our dear savior’s birth.

The first note came out shaky. You’d pushed too hard with your diaphragm, allowing more air than was needed to pass through your vocal folds. You closed your eyes and focused on breath control, feeling the spotlight heat your skin.

Long lay the world

In sin and error pining

‘till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

Back in the late 1843, a church in the south of France had its organ renovated. After the renovations were complete, the church reached out to a French poet by the name of Placide Cappeau, asking him to write a poem that could be used as a hymn. In response, Cappeau penned the first iteration of O Holy Night.

Placide Cappeau was a known atheist.

A thrill of hope. The weary world rejoices

When the Catholic Church got wind of an atheist creating a Christmas carol, they did their best to bury the song. They claimed it lacked musical flavor. At the time, the idea of all men and women owning souls was highly radical.

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

O Holy Night has since become one of the most popular Christmas carols known to western society, thanks in part to John Sullivan Dwight translating it to English in 1855.

You knew this, because you’d written a history of the carol for an end-of-semester project back when you went to high school at Calvary Baptist.

Fall on your knees. O hear the angel voices,

At the time, you’d wondered how an atheist—someone who, in your mind, stood against everything you stood for, could write such a beautiful song that touched the hearts of you and so many others.

O night, divine. O night, when Christ was born.

How could someone with no connection to God write something that so clearly captures the essence of the Holy Spirit?

You chanced a look out at the crowd, once more searching for the familiar face you so wanted to see. The atheist who understood more about Christ’s love than so many in the church ever would, and found no sign of him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, preparing for the high note that signaled the climax of the song.

O night, O holy night.

Your voice rang out, loud and with a pleasing vibrato you’d finally learned to control three years ago. You paused for effect. The music cut out, and you sang the last line.

O night divine!

It was over. You’d done it. The piano melody came back in for the closing notes, and you curtseyed elegantly as the crowd applauded.

You exited through the same doors you entered, heading straight for the restroom so you could take a moment to yourself before you had to be back on stage in the choir for O Come All Ye Faithful.

Placing your program on the sink counter, you ran your hands under cool water, intending to splash some on your face when a small blurb on the bottom of the pamphlet caught your eye.

Collection plates will be passed around. Please help us save countless unborn lives by making a donation.

Unborn lives.

Isaac was donating the proceeds to a pro-life organization.

You’d been unknowingly roped in to an anti-choice fundraiser.

A wave of anger erupted from deep within you, washing over your entire body and pulsating through it.

You snatched the program from the counter, storming out the bathroom, across the foyer, and to the adjacent hallway Isaac stood at the end of.

“What the Hell, Isaac!?” you near-shouted, bounding toward him.

Isaac’s eyes widened upon your approach. He took several steps back, running into two of the other choir members, but it wasn’t enough. You slammed the program into his sternum.

“Whoa!” he said, grasping the program you’d thrust at him with one hand and holding the other out to keep you from coming any closer. “Where’s the fire?”

“What is this?!” you said, stabbing the program on his chest with your finger where the blurb appeared.

He looked at you bewildered, then down to where your index finger pushed into his chest, and then back to you like you were a mad woman. “We said we wanted to give the proceeds to charity.”

“Yeah,” you said, ripping the program out of his hand and throwing it down at his feet. “Like a soup kitchen or a toy drive. Not to Life Alliance!”

Isaac’s eyebrows pulled together in blatant confusion. “What’s better than saving innocent lives?” he said.

“Oh my God,” you scoffed, not caring whether or not it counted as taking the Lord’s name in vain.

Suddenly all the air in the room felt like it had been vacuumed out and you found yourself struggling to breathe.

Taking a step backwards, it dawned on you that this was your limit. The church had compressed you your entire life, and you’d finally reached your breaking point. “I can’t participate in this.” You said it not to Isaac, but to yourself. “I have to go.”

“Hey! Hold on,” Isaac said. “You can’t leave. You’re our first soprano. We need you for the high G.”

You shook your head, turning on your heel. You wouldn’t have been able to hit that note even if you wanted to with how your throat was constricting.

“We can talk about this. Maybe we can do more than one charity,” he said, but you were already halfway down the hall, tears threatening to spill over.

The heels you wore made it hard to run down the icy sidewalk, but run you did. Down the sidewalk, down the street. You didn’t stop running until you’d put several blocks between you and the church.

You’d once thought of it as a sacred place—a home away from home.

Now, the only time you felt at home in it was on Saturday mornings, sharing the space with two delinquents who didn’t even believe in God.

Nowhere felt sacred anymore.

Nowhere except the shed in the backyard of Jolly’s house. But you were cut off from that now, too.

Where did you belong now? __________ How are we all feeling after that? Also, if anyone has any artistic skills and would like to help me make a moldboard or a banner or something for this story, I would be forever grateful!

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