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aesopsharpmybeloved · 2 years

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Less than Holy

I finally went and did it. After more than two years I went and wrote a fanfiction. This is basically a Fix-It - Everyone lives/nobody dies, not even Pike the dog or Erin’s baby. There are also no vampi- I mean angels and Monsignor Pruitt is actually in a hospital on the mainland and not father Paul Hill at all.

Less than Holy - 7.6K

Of all the people you would expect to fall for, the priest was the absolute last one of them.

You were a promising young writer, already having published a few books, the last one being a bestseller in the US. And while your name could be seen in many bookshops around English speaking countries and some foreign ones, your face was a mystery to the public. Which suited you, really. Your favorite genre to write was supernatural horror. Ever since you were a little girl, there was just something thrilling about darkness and what may lurk within. You grew up passionately reading up on Ed and Lorraine Warren's supernatural cases, fell asleep to the classic stories by Mary Shelley and Sheridan Le Fanu, and watched the newest flicks in cinemas with bated breath and a content feeling.

That's how you ended up on Crockett Island. Originally, you were only staying there in order to write your latest book; it was a story about a small, lonely fishing town, just like this one. Strange, horrifying monsters from deep waters would start targeting poor unsuspecting people from the island, and pull them down from their boats and dinghies and into the water below. The only people who could stop it were a couple of teens. You were really trying to appeal to a younger audience too with this book. In order to better capture the atmosphere and characters in your story, you decided to find a place like the one in your book where you could stay while working on it - and there it was.

Crockett Island.

Tiny. Quiet. Only several dozen people lived there and everyone was special in their own way. At first, you were renting a small house. The people who used to live there had moved to the mainland some time prior; as did many others after the faithful spill some years ago. That's how you actually found out about Crockett. An ad in a local newspaper on the mainland later, and this really nice couple was offering you their house on Crockett for a very reasonable rent.

The first few months were strange. Some citizens of Crockett observed you with distrust and apprehension, others were way more curious and friendly. Annie Flynn was among the latter group. Not two days after your arrival were you sitting in the Flynn family home, sharing dinner with their family of three. Four, said Annie. Her oldest son was currently off island, she said. It would take you some more time to find out that he's currently serving a sentence for manslaughter while DUI. You weren't one to judge. God knows you too participated in some wild parties and made a lot of bad decisions. Not ones quite so serious, true, but that didn't matter to you. You've grown quite close to the Flynn family over time. Also to the Scarboroughs, the Gunnings and the new sheriff and his son.

Sheriff Hassan, just like you, was a newcomer to the island, and despite having come before you did, he seemed to have it even harder because of his religious beliefs. It took you no time at all to figure out that the folk on Crockett Island were quite religious and many of them attended the Sunday mass in the church of St. Patrick. Having not grown up in a religious household, everything you knew about religions was from what you've studied yourself, and while you didn't necessarily affiliate yourself with any of them, you did believe in some kind of higher power.

Annie Flynn once invited you to tag along for the Sunday mass and you had agreed. The parish priest, Monsignor John Pruitt, was an older gentleman. His years were visibly catching up to him, and it was rather visible even to the untrained eye. While he was obviously absolutely devoted to his faith and had great knowledge of the holy book, his mind seemed to be wandering elsewhere from time to time. Even so, you enjoyed listening to his sermon, and it was obvious that he was well beloved by his flock. Unfortunately, this is where you finally came face to face with one not so lovely citizen of Crockett Island.

Miss Beverly Keane. Just the look she gave you as she noticed you among the crowd in front of the church. "So, you must be the outsider, then," she began, a thin, tense smile on her lips, but not within her eyes, "Annie Flynn's told me about you, of course. However, pardon me, if I'm mistaken, but you've been here for a few weeks now haven't you? This is the first time I see you here." You didn't like her expression one bit. Smug and self-righteous, as if she caught you in a lie. You suddenly felt like you've done something bad, and she was about to mock you for it and threaten to tell your parents. A stupid thought, really, but she did make you feel this way. "I'm not exactly a catholic. I'm not exactly anything either," you admitted honestly. You had no reason to lie. "But I'm open minded and I did read the Bible. I wanted to hear the sermon and also figured that this church," you motioned with your left hand, "is kind of the centre point for the island, isn't it. Since I'll be staying for a while, I thought I could perhaps meet the folk around here." The look on her face told you she wanted to retort with something, but she only took on the previous tense smile and said the important thing is that you're here now.

And then Erin came.

Following old Mrs. Greene's (whom you didn't know very well) passing, her daughter Erin, who's been living off the island for years now, came to take care of her mother's funeral and ultimately decided to stay. You actually met her on the ferry as you were coming back from a trip on the mainland. You looked at her and she looked at you and you finally recognised you didn't recognise each other at all. And you started talking.

Since then, you stopped counting your days on the island. Your book was long since finished and published, yet you stayed. The family whose house you've been renting contacted you about possibly buying in from them, for a fair price. And you said yes. Your family offered to have the rest of your possessions delivered to Crockett. And you said yes. Erin asked you to come with her to every Sunday mass. And you said yes. For some reason, this small, sparsely populated town has started to feel like home. Things weren't perfect, but they were fine. Life was slow and quiet. The islanders warmed up to you, little by little, until you were one of their own. Their neighbour. And you found you could no longer imagine waking up and not smelling the crisp salty sea air. And life was fine.

---

"Sunday's tomorrow," said Erin off-handedly, folding some laundry on her dining table. You murmured in agreement, mostly just paying attention to the words you wrote on your laptop, and the mug of tea in your hand. It's become so normal. You and Erin would be at your or her place, talking, playing games, watching films, or just doing your own activities in each other's presence. "Monsignor Pruitt will be back," offered Erin again. You raised your eyes from the screen: "He made it back safe, then?" That made Erin pause. "Actually," she breathed in, "I don't know. Nobody's seen him yet, really. And, I mean, Bev's been putting welcome messages on the church side, and she gave him instructions and what not...Yeah, he'll be back."

You weren't quite so sure. The old man seemed rather confused when you first came. Months later, his health only worsened. You were in doubt that the trip to holy lands was the right call. While still not outright religious, you have grown fond of the monsignor, just as you have grown fond of everyone else, and you were rather worried about him the entire duration of his expedition.

The next day, you sat with Erin in your usual pew at Saint Patrick's. You saw her as she smiled at a boy whom you haven't seen before, sitting in a pew with Annie and Ed Flynn, but before you could ask her about him, the mass had begun. The churchgoers rose and opened their hymnals. You sang with them. Then, there was a strange moment. It seemed to you that some of the people's singing hitched, before returning to normal, while others stopped singing all together. You turned your head in curiosity and found yourself momentarily mute as well. Walking in a golden chasuble behind Warren Flynn and a boy named Ooker wasn't the old Monsignor Pruitt. Instead there was a total stranger. Tall and lean, with thick, wavy jet black hair, thick eyebrows, large dark eyes and, what you thought were, pretty lips. He too sang and his voice, rich and soulful, mesmerised you.

The stranger bowed down before the altar and took his stand behind it, facing his flock. You sat down. He introduced himself as Father Paul Hill and explained that Monsignor John Pruitt has fallen ill on his trip and won't be returning for the time being. He begins his sermon. You had quite enjoyed going to mass before, despite your near-atheism, and you liked the hymns and you liked hearing Monsignor Pruitt talk. But when Paul started talking, it felt like a fire had suddenly settled within your core. No, not a fire, a light. A gentle light emanating a pleasant warmth, definitely not a scorching, destructive fire. Monsignor Pruitt was devoted, and so was Father Paul, but Paul's young energy, and his passion for the word of god made Sunday mass seem like a performance, like an unreachable piece of art. You sat there, drinking in his every word and found yourself wanting to believe them. Wanting to believe him. Once everyone started getting up and lining up for communion, you sat behind, like you always did. Only this time, you weren't alone. The boy you saw earlier still sat in his pew as well. When everyone received their wafer and a sip of wine, they slowly started to stream out of the church. You were still so flabbergasted and amazed by Father Paul's sermon, you were actually one of the last ones to leave. From the church doors you saw Erin wink at you before she walked slowly away with the boy from earlier.

Before you could make your way home too however, a figure stepped in front of you. "You must be (F/N) (L/N). Monsignor Pruitt mentioned you do not take communion," said Father Paul warmly. You had to look up at him a bit, as he really was a tall man. There was a friendly smile on his face and his eyes were kind and inviting. So very unlike Bev Keane's upon your first interaction with her. You gazed into the priest's dark orbs and felt like you've known him your entire life, and like he knew you too. You felt instantly at ease, instantly trusting. "You see, I'm not a catholic. Not really. I'm not even baptised. It wouldn't be right." Father Paul smiles some more and nods in understanding. "Well, never too late to become one," you chuckle, "so I can believe you'll be honest with me and tell me what you, as a 'non-catholic' thought of my sermon?" The way he looks at you, keeping eye contact, with an air of confidence, but with no smugness or conceit, it makes you nearly instantly fond of him. You think for a moment, whether you should praise him for his skill, or play it cool and nonchalant. As always, you decided that honesty is key. "I was amazed," you said seriously, reciprocating his eye contact, "to be honest, I think many people genuinely believe in God thanks to their pastor. And you, um," you felt yourself blushing a bit and instinctively cast your eyes down, "I think you're very convincing." His smile faltered for the tiniest of moments and a strange look appeared in his eyes, before he grinned at you once more, and this time it was positively radiant, like a while of sunshine on a rainy day. "Convinced you, then?" he asks, his voice teasing, nearly mischievous. You couldn't keep yourself from smiling too, slightly coyly: "Oh, I don't know. I'll see next Sunday." You bid your farewell to Father Paul and went home. You'd deny it to anyone, but there was a bit of a pep in your step.

---

The Crock Pot Luck. Despite the town's small population, the spring festival was really something else.

It was Ash Wednesday and Erin made you get your blessing and a sooty cross from Father Paul. You stood before him, closer than before and with your neck craned up more. Standing so close, you admired just how handsome he is, all soft lines and smouldering eyes. The corners of his lips twitched when he saw you. "Remember, (F/N), you are dust, and to dust you shall return" he spoke softly as he dipped his thumb into a bowl in his other hand which contained the ashes. He then brought his right hand up and very gently drew a cross on your forehead: "Bless you, my child."

So now you were sitting with Erin at a bench, listening to the live music, chatting amicably and people-watching. Since Erin was pregnant, she was nursing a lemonade with a paper straw and you treated yourself to a glass of wine you traded for your drink ticket. It was sunny and very mild for the beginning of spring, and you already took your jacket off and were only sitting in a light jumper. Erin was looking to the side of you. You gazed in the same direction and saw Father Paul and Riley Flynn talking on a bench near the edge of the festival. Erin's told you all about Riley after the first mass with Father Paul and actually introduced you to him. He was a nice guy, obviously guilt-ridden with what he's done and a bit unwell. However, it seemed that spending time in Erin's company is doing him good. "You should talk to him," you offered to Erin. She lifted her eyebrows questioningly. "You were, like, childhood sweethearts, weren't you. I mean, I can't tell you what to do, but I'm just saying it's obvious he still fancies you." She snorted and shook her head at you. After a moment she sighed and got up: "Well, since neither of us is drinking, I think I'm gonna treat him to a coffee then." You just winked at her and remained sitting. A short while later, the brown haired girl had a cup of coffee in each hand and was on her way to Riley and Father Paul.

You meanwhile returned to people watching. You took in the kids playing bean bag toss nearby and the good Doctor Gunning talking quietly to a lovely woman you hadn't seen before. Some people were dancing in front of the podium. "Is this seat free?" sounded behind you. You didn't even need to turn around, having recognised the priest's voice immediately. Instead you just smiled into your empty glass: "But of course, father, be my guest." And so he did. You grinned at him and noticed he brought two glasses of wine with him. Upon your questioning look, he offered: "I thought it an appropriate apology, seeing as I have pulled you out of your thoughts." He slid one of the glasses your way. As your own wine had long since disappeared, you gracefully accepted. The next few minutes you spent in friendly, comfortable silence, looking around, enjoying the day.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Joe Collie. He was, put mildly, not exactly in favour of the townspeople. Erin's told you about the hunting accident that put poor Leeza Scarborough in a wheelchair most likely for the rest of her life. You personally only talked to Joe a few times. He was nearly always already drunk, or just woke up after a night of drinking. While irresponsible and a slave to his addiction, the man genuinely didn't seem to a have malicious or cruel bone in his body. He went everywhere with his pupper, Pike. Pike was a sweet dog, very large, but amazingly cuddly and friendly, you slipped some treats his way every once in a while. Now it seemed though that somebody else was intent on feeding the mutt. Beverly Keane laid down a hot dog in front of him and walked away rather swiftly. You grew anxious. If there was a person on this island who hated this dog, it was Bev Keane and while not happy about the thought, you had serious doubts that the hot dog was some sort of peace offering. Without a word you rose and half walked, half ran to Pike, snatching the food away before he could as much as lick it. Pike whined unhappily and barked at you, which made Joe Collie turn around to look. "Hey, hey! What the fuck gives?" he growled at you, undecided between defensive and aggressive. You looked at him, the hot dog in your hand just out of Pike's reach with Pike himself whining and looking at you pleadingly. "You should be more careful. Don't let your dog eat something he shouldn't," with that you turned around, tossed the hot dog into a rubbish bin and went back to your seat.

"What was that supposed to mean?" asked Father Paul once you sat down again. You took a sip of your wine and looked around anxiously. "It's just that-" you scratched your neck, "look, I could be very very wrong and I'm not accusing anyone of anything, but," deep breath, "I saw Bev give Pike a hot dog. And she hates Pike, she tried to get Sheriff Hassan to put him down, just for barking at her. And Erin saw her in school yesterday, in the supply cabinet, fiddling with an entire canistre of poison. I just, I'd rather be safe than sorry." You could feel your cheeks heating up in embarrassment and noticed several people staring at you. There were Erin and Riley, their faces questioning and curious, Joe Collie (who has thankfully brought Pike close to him since then) looked confused and apprehensive, and last but not least; Bev Keane, who looked sour and right now probably wishing you ate that hot dog instead. Father Paul cleared his throat to get your attention: "Well, I'm sure it was nothing...But nevertheless, it's very Christian of you to look out for your neighbours like this." You gave him a small smile which he mirrored with his own, before he began speaking again: "Anyway, about Christianity-" you quietly groaned and rolled your eyes, but kept on smiling and listening.

You and Father Paul had talked late into the evening. It had started as a friendly discussion about religion and Christianity, slowly progressed to getting to know each other and stories of your lives before coming to Crockett Island, before finally becoming a pleasant banter about everything and nothing. The band has long since abandoned the stage, people had packed up the tents and most of those few who remained were currently sitting around a bonfire, talking, singing, or just relaxing. Darkness has fallen and enveloped you and Father Paul like a comforting blanket. You could barely see his face, the only light sources being the bonfire some 60 feet away and a lone street light even farther. A nice feeling of fatigue has started to come over you and you barely stifled a yawn. Father Paul noticed and even in the dim light you could see the white of his teeth flash in a grin. "I can't see my watches, but I'm going to guess it's late," he said with an amused tone. You fished out your phone out of the pocket of your jacket, which you put back on when the temperature dropped with the oncoming night, and glanced at the screen. You immediately regretted it, as you had kept the brightness on 100% and felt like your retina was about to burn to ashes. "It's not even that late, to be honest," you said, trying to cover up another yawn fighting its way through you, "just after half past nine. But I didn't get much sleep yesterday, so I'm a bit tired." You put your phone back into your pocket. Father Hill stood up and reached out a hand to you. You looked at him questioningly. "I'll walk you home," he clarified. You've been living on Crocket Island for quite some time, walked the entire place (including the cat filled Uppards) many times and you were pretty sure you could find your way home blindfolded. Not to mention it's perfectly safe for a woman to walk home alone at night here.

And yet.

And yet you took the Father's offered hand and let him pull you to your feet. He then repositioned your hand to his right arm and started walking. "My, my, father, who knew priests were such gentlemen?" you teased him softly but let him walk you anyway. Truth be told, it felt nice to be in the centre of attention of such a handsome man. 'The handsome man is a priest' spoke a guilty voice in your head, but you managed to quiet it down. You weren't doing anything bad, therefore you had no reason to feel guilty. A friendly priest was simply escorting you home to make sure you're safe from the dangers of... um, stray cats, you supposed. "I'd simply hate for you to fall asleep somewhere on your way because I kept you so long." Or that, that works too, you thought to yourself and chuckled and he followed suit.

When you reached your front door, you let go of his arm to find your keys. You learnt that many people on the island don't lock their homes, even if they're asleep or not present, and while the safety of the island was one of the reasons you stayed, you still didn't feel comfortable just leaving your door unlocked. Finally you found your keys and opened the door. "Would you," you began, turning back around to face Paul, "would you like something, like a cup of tea, or a cocoa?" Father Paul smiled and you could see him better now since you were standing closer to a street lamp. "Are you not tired anymore?" he teased. "Oh, I am, a bit, but you're obviously not," you countered in the same tone, "so you can have a cuppa and go home afterwards and I'll just pass out on the couch." Father Paul laughed earnestly at that and it was one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard. One of the prettiest sights too. "You're very kind, and I'll surely take you up on that offer sometime, but tonight I'll leave you to get your beauty sleep," he said with that same kind and honest smile you were sure he probably got patented and turned to leave. Before he did though, he couldn't quite stop himself from one last retort: "I'll see you in mass on Sunday. Let's see about that convincing." Wink. He just winked at you. You couldn't help but giggle and roll your eyes: "Good night, father," you said cheekily as you retreated into your house and shut the door.

As you set about your evening routine, you couldn't stop thinking about him. True, your mind was on other things too, like Erin and Riley's rediscovered affection, poor Leeza in her wheelchair, and the (in your eyes) very real danger of Bev Keane almost killing Joe Collie's dog. But everytime your mind came back to him. You thought about his eyes, how they looked at every stage of the sunset and how the light in them seemed to shine even after the sun submerged itself below the horizon completely. And you thought about his voice, how it always slightly changed with the matter discussed, from serious and intense, to light and amused. And right before you drifted off to sleep you allowed yourself to think of the priest's pretty, kissable lips. Just for that tiny little moment.

---

You probably just became religious.

All you could do was gawk like a demented owl as Leeza Scarborough took a step after step towards Father Paul to get her communion. Your expression wasn't that different from other people in the church. Many had their mouths open in which would in any other situation be a hilarious way. Some people were tearing up. Some were praying hard. Leeza's parents, Wade and Dolly were ugly sobbing and covering their mouths. Leeza then turned around to face everyone. You've never seen anyone's face containing so many emotions at once. Shock and disbelief soon turned to a look of ecstasy, so wild and raw and unhinged, just looking at her you wanted to scream and laugh and cry in manic happiness. For the first time in your life, you folded your hands together, bent down slightly and started praying. You thanked God, thanked him for letting Leeza walk again, thanked him for showing the young girl his mercy and humbly asked that he keep her healthy. After your quiet 'Amen' you felt another hand enveloping yours. It was Erin. She took you hand in hers and held it tight, looked at you with tears in her eyes and without a word the two of you embraced hard. She then wiped her other hand over her face to clean off the few tears that escaped. The mass ended soon afterwards. The Scarboroughs thanked Father Paul profusely, before excusing themselves in order to visit Dr Gunning about their daughter's miraculous healing. Erin and Riley left together once more and many others walked away in groups, talking loudly and praying among themselves. Just like after the first mass with Father Paul, you were bewildered and stayed behind.

"If you don't believe in God after this, I'm not sure what else you want," sounded an acerbic voice from somewhere to the side. Turning your head, you saw Bev Keane. You hadn't spoken to her at all after Crock Pot Luck and when she tried to approach you, you hurriedly made yourself look busy or caught in a conversation with someone else. It wasn't strange for you to chat up Sheriff Hassan amicably for quite a while, but this one particular while was so long, even he noticed. After Bev got tired of waiting and left, you awkwardly explained your predicament and he immediately nodded his head in understanding. Right now, though, there was really nobody to save you from this woman, and you couldn't exactly manifest a hammer and nails out of thin air to tell her you were busy, what, reinforcing the church walls?

So you accepted your fate, stood up from the pew and went to face her straight on, feeling like a knight about to fight a dragon. She observed you coldly, like usual, but when you looked into her eyes, you realised something. She knew. She knew you saw her giving Pike the hot dog. And in that moment, you also knew that you were right to step in. "Oh, but I never said I didn't believe in God," you said softly, trying to appear as calm and polite as you could, "I just said I'm not Catholic, that I don't have a religion." That seemed to take the wind out of her sails, but she recovered quickly: "Well then, maybe you'll reconsider. You're not really local, so you wouldn't know, but religion is a big part of this community. You see, you come here every Sunday, accept blessings and get to experience God's miracles right before your eyes and still you won't join us,won't commit yourself? Won't give anything back to the community?" Now was your turn to shut up and stare at her, disbelief fetched on your face. "What are you saying?" you asked quietly. Bev smiled at you, a mean smile: "I'm only saying, that if you really do plan on, well, staying here, on this island, the very least you could do is try to fit in and become a part of this community, not just leech on it."

You could feel tears starting to form in your eyes. You knew she was a cruel woman, that she was trying to purposely hurt you, but a small voice inside your head started asking the little nasty questions anyway. 'Am I really leeching on these people?', 'Should I just go and become a catholic? Will I be driven out if I won't?', 'Am I not welcomed here anymore? Should I stop going here?' You tried to will yourself, you tried to be strong, to gather the courage to tell her off, but a single tear had already rolled over the edge and landed on your cheek, slowly running down all the way to your chin and then falling down onto the wooden floor of Saint Patrick's it fell.

"That's enough," said a different voice, one that made you quickly wipe the tear track off your cheek with the sleeve of your jumper and made Bev Keane freeze like a statue. A gentle hand landed on your right shoulder and a comforting warmth settled on your left side as Father Paul appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, to your rescue. "Beverly, this is the house of God," he said, and while he was as soft-spoken as he always is, there was a stern and cold undertone in his rich voice, "The doors are always open just as the gates are always open, to anyone and everyone who comes with peace and humility. One's religion is one's own choice and I am more than happy to interpret from the Bible to all, be they Catholic or not." Bev just stared at him, her expression that of a child who knew they were caught doing something bad, but weren't feeling guilty about it. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said in the most sickeningly sweet voice and smiled, "I was only imploring our friend to consider her decisions. Father, (F/N) (L/N)." And with that she'd spun on her heel and left.

Father Paul's arm was still wrapped gently around your shoulders. You stood, your look transfixed to the ground where your tear fell and you felt terribly tiny. Just fifteen minutes ago, you felt over the moon with happiness and gratefulness for little Leeza and now you just wanted to go home, bury yourself under pillows and blankets and never leave the house again. "Come on," said Father Paul, the coldness in his voice gone and replaced with comfort, "let's get you some tea." He led you out the back of the church, still with his arm around you, and you let him. Before you knew it, you were at the rectory and he opened the door. His home was humble, there was a small sofa on the left of the door sat in front of an old telly. On the right was a desk and several chairs. Behind them stood a tall bookshelf filled with books. On the far left side was a kitchen with the basic necessities, a stove with an oven, a sink, and an old-timey refrigerator. To the back of the room were doors leading to Father Paul's bedroom. You presumed the bathroom was somewhere in the back.

Father Paul sat you down onto the tiny sofa and set about making you a cup of tea. You sat quietly for a while, just staring into space. “Am I really just leeching off these people?” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying out loud. The priest ceased his movement just as he was about to put the kettle on. After a second or two, he finally fired the stove up and put the kettle down. “No,” he said and came slowly into your view. Father Paul, young, fit, and already beloved and respected by his congregation, got to his knee in front of you and grasped your hands, “No, you’re not. You came to an island which most people leave and decided to stay. You care about these people, you try to help them as best as you can and you are actively trying to be one of them. And they see it. They realise it. And even if you never become religious, if you never come to get your holy communion, you’ll always have your place here. On this island, with these people, in this church. So don’t let what Bev says get to you, okay?” New tears were threatening to spill as you listened to Father Paul. You felt a soft finger underneath your chin and you looked up into the pastor’s soft, gentle eyes. And when you did, he gave you the kindest smile yet. And even as you did let the tears fall freely, you smiled right back at him.

—

It became something of a habit. At least twice a week you and Father Paul would meet outside of church, either at your home or the rectory, for a cup of tea and a chat. Ever since the little incident with Bev, you found that you could talk more freely with him. About everything, really. You talked some more about religion and Catholicism and he explained to you how one who wasn't born into a catholic family and baptised even becomes a catholic. Seeing as you had no knowledge about actually entering the church, your brain spun from all the information rather quickly. That some people can spend whole years as catechumens, before they're actually ready to be baptised and that the rite of election usually starts on the first Sunday of lent. The actual initiation to catholic church then takes place on Easter vigil. It was a lot to take in, but Father Paul remained forever patient, and always willing to explain.

You talked about many other things too. You learned some time ago that he had taken it upon himself to lead a local AA group, so that Riley didn't need to waste the entire day away just to go to and from the mainland. Paul came around one evening looking very happy and proud. He told you about Joe Collie, whom Leeza Scarborough forgave the bizarre 'hunting' accident and who in turn decided to give up drinking. You enthusiastically listened to him talk about homilies he was preparing and the awaited Easter vigil. He even shared some not so public stories, like how he found Warren Flynn secretly snogging Leeza behind the church after one of the masses, or how he heard Erin pray for the health of her baby and had a hard time keeping from chuckling as he overheard her whisper 'Oh, and please let it be a girl, amen' before she ran out of the church. You in turn told him about a new book you were working on, or about your attempts at drawing and painting. You once invited him out for a walk through the small forest behind the church and he happily accepted. And that became a habit too.

However, with every day, every cup of tea, every walk and every Sunday mass, it became more and more difficult for you to be in Paul's almost saintly presence and stop yourself from thinking positively sinful thoughts. More and more you find yourself looking at his beautiful lips, thinking how velvety soft they must be and how sweet they must taste. When he puts his large gentle hand on the small of your back, you find yourself wishing he'd take your face in his hands, or run his elegant fingers through your hair. When he wraps an arm around your shoulders amicably, all you see in your mind's eye are his long, strong arms enveloping you in their heat and safety until you know nothing else. And when he speaks, you imagine lying with him, your head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and his voice, as he talks to you softly. Not to mention the even more wickedly sinful impure thoughts. All in all, you found yourself desperately, maddly and absolutely in love with your friend, who just so happens to be a catholic priest.

As Easter vigil approached, it became even harder, as Paul seemed to always find a reason to touch you. Brushing his fingers along yours as he was handing you your tea, or laying his hand on yours after you had made him laugh. When on a walk, he'd put his hand on your back more often than not and once, when he discovered a lovely place that overlooked the entire island, he actually led you there by hand, linking your fingers together. You decided you couldn't live like this anymore. To know you love someone and feel them so close to you, only to have them taken away again as reality kicks in feels like a heartbreak every time. To love someone as a friend and needing to have constant self control over yourself, else you let your instincts take over and risk driving the person away is exhausting. And honestly, you weren't even sure what was worse. When Paul once told you 'I'm so glad you're here with me' with that smile of his and the ever so kind and gentle look in his eyes, you wanted to tell him. You wanted to kiss him, to fly into his arms and never leave them and hating yourself for the very thought. And as much as he was fond of you, you knew that he would never leave his flock, wouldn't turn his back to his god for an earthly temptation, and therefore you would never actually know what it was like to kiss him.

Some people took notice of your rotten mood whenever you came down from the high you got when in his presence. Annie tried to cheer you up by her cooking, for which you were eternally grateful, but it didn't help. Sheriff Hassan tried to lift your spirits by telling your far fetched and utterly ridiculous stories from his time as a policeman. You did laugh at all of them, but it didn't help. You could spend hours and hours playing with Pike, but it would never be enough. Erin was the only one who actually addressed the issue openly, pleading with you to tell her what is actually wrong. And, for some bizarre reason, you actually did. You told her about your infatuation with Father Paul and how much he means to you not only as a priest and a friend, but also as a man. Erin listened. She didn't judge you and she didn't mock you. She didn't call you a sinner and she didn't even chastise you. After what felt like hours of you spilling all of your frustration with your predicament, she finally spoke: "You should tell him." "What?" you sputtered, bewildered. "You heard me," she said, "you should tell him. If anything, you'll get it out of your system. Maybe it'll get better." You sat down heavily on her couch and put your head in your hands. You sighed and muttered into your palms. "What was that?" said Erin, genuinely not having understood you. You looked up at her, miserably: "What if he hates me?" You honestly felt like crying, but strangely dull at the same time. "He could never hate you. You're probably his most favourite person on this island, if all the little forest dates are anything to go by," Erin said, amused. You however felt there was nothing humorous about your situation and only covered your face again. "He won't hate you. Just tell him. Maybe you'll even be surprised." Those were words you'd desperately wanted to believe, but found it difficult to. "He's a priest, Erin. After Leeza, nearly the entire island attends his mass. I even saw Joe hanging around at the last one… There's no way… To be honest I-" you stopped for a moment, "I think it might be better if I left."

Neither of you said anything for the longest time. You were softly weeping into your hands while Erin stared at the back of your head in disbelief. "You… You would actually leave? You'd actually leave this all behind?" she was saying as if it was physically impossible to imagine such a thing, "you would leave me and the little one? You would just pack up and leave your home, your neighbours, even after they finally accepted you as one of their own? I'm sorry (Y/N), but that's bullshit!" You winced at the shrill of her voice. "That's bullshit and you know it. Come on," her voice went down again as she noticed your shoulders shake. Gently she rubbed circles into your back before taking a hold of your wrists with her free hand and pulling them away from your face. "Do you mean that?" she then asked, her voice quiet and soft now, "would you actually leave me here all on my own, the only sane woman?" Through teary eyes you looked at her and truthfully admitted: "I would never leave you behind." Erin pulled you close, put your head on her shoulder and made small shushing noises as you gradually calmed down. "I'll tell him," you promised then, "after the Easter vigil."

—

The Easter vigil in Saint Patrick's was a beautiful thing to experience. The entire island, including you, walked to the church using candles to light your way while singing hymns. You felt so entirely light as you walked next to the Scarboroughs and the Flynns. You sang too, and you let your heart replace your brain momentarily, just so you could enjoy the celebration. You let the amazing blessed things fall on your shoulders at once. The Flynn family and their reconciliation, the Scarboroughs and their miracle, Erin and her little one, Joe Collie and his ultimate sign to be a better man. All at once you felt the goodness. And it nearly brought a tear to your eye. Good things are still happening and there are good people to experience them. But this all faded as you laid your eyes on Father Paul. He read from the old books up until the crucifiction of Christ, his death and his revival. And while you deeply enjoyed hearing him talk, you suddenly felt like there was a stone blocking your airway. And you felt like it would suffocate you surely, until-

"So how's that for convincing?" asked Father Paul. All people present were slowly leaving the church. Erin looked at you once, gave you a nod, and then left with Riley. "Listen, um," you looked up at him, and your desperation was probably very visible in your eyes, for his entire focus shifted to you, "I need to talk to you. Privately."

Father Paul just nodded and took your hand once more. He didn't let go until you were in the rectory, sat on his bed for some reason. Only then did he ask what's on your mind. It was so quick you hadn't even been able to build your defenses,or make any sort of back up plan, etc. You just decided to speak.

"I can't become a catholic," you blurted out, feeling a bit sick to your stomach. "Oh," said Father Paul immediately, "why not?" "Because I'm sinning right now, father…" "Why is that?" said Father Paul, his cool facade melting ever so slowly. "Because I'm wanting, father. Because I'm lusting. I'm lusting after a man of the cloth and I feel like I love him. I'm a sinner, because I wish to feel his warmth close to me and I wish to be on his mind always. I want him to kiss me senseless and make me his. Forgive me father, for I have sinned and I am sinning as we speak." You caught your breath finally and looked into Father Paul's eyes. They were nearly unreadable to you, but you saw something within them anyway. A hunger. And when you looked a little closer, you saw there was something you could only call love too.

Father Paul Hill slowly wrapped his arms around you and pressed his soft lips upon yours. And for a little while you felt like you were lost. Lost in the divine sensation of sweet soft lips melting against your own. Your fingers tangled into his hair and he grabbed you as if you were the only thing keeping him alive. You moaned softly as he pulled you into his lap. Being so close to him, your entire brain shut down and you only felt the sensations. The sensation of him kissing up and down your neck, of his arms linking around you so tightly, of teeth nibbling on each inch of exposed skin. You were so lost in pleasure and adoration you almost missed the one sentence you wished to hear, but never thought you actually would. "I love you," sighed Father Paul inbetween kisses. You gasped, but recovered very quickly and pulled him tighter into you. Gently, you grasped at his raven locks and made him look at your face; in your eyes. "I love you too," you replied and pulled him close once more. So forbidden and yet so right, you had no idea what would happen next. One thing you did know though; as long as you and Father Paul laid upon his bed, your lips red and swollen from kissing and your hearts light and filled with love - Life is going to be just fine.

I hope you liked it. I’ll be a happy little sucker if you tell me whatcha think or check this story out on AO3 thank xx

#midnight mass #fanfiction #father paul hill #father paul #father paul x reader #father paul/reader #i love you hamish linklater #erin greene #riley flynn #fluff #no smut #sfw #everyone lives au #nobody dies #fix-it #no vampires au #midnight mass fanfiction

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prettyblondguys · 1 year

Text

Little Red Riding Hood

I think this will be a 3 or 4 part series, so fingers crossed lol

Warnings: It's John, so obviously warning there lol,minors DNI, mentions of choking, drugging, kidnapping, only slightly proofread, the rest I leave in the hands of God.

See the end for notes!!

Who's that I see walking in these woods?

Placing more of the pre-made dinners on the freezer shelves, John begins to rub his hands together, cold and tingling from handling the boxes for so long. This was his least favorite part of it all, but he couldn't complain, he was lucky to have even gotten this job. He's grateful. A woman turns down the aisle, picking up a bag of frozen vegetables to read the label. John peers at her through the open freezer door, keeping his head down. She's wearing a short red sundress, and he pays extra attention to how the fabric skims against her knees everytime she moves, how it stretches over her curves and bosom, a sweetheart neckline leaving little to the imagination. He stares, even though he knows he shouldn't, watching as her chest rises and falls with every breath, and then up towards her throat, imagining how soft it would feel beneath his hands, squeezing against her windpipe, looking up up up, where her eyes would show fear and-

Oh god. She's looking at him. Jerking his eyes forward, John begins stocking the shelves again, trying to suppress the tremble that's working to overtake him. In his peripheral vision he sees the woman slowly walk past him, stopping at the other end of the aisle. Looking at him. She doesn't stop. Turning to face her, John notices that she's smiling, her shopping tote slung over her arm. "I… I'm so sorry," he says with a nervous laugh, "you just look like someone I know." The woman doesn't say anything, doesn't move. Just stands there. Slowly she reaches into her dress pocket and pulls out a phone, which she raises towards him. John's smile drops when he hears the shutter sound, again and again as the woman takes photos of him. Quickly making his way out of the aisle, boxes of frozen pasta and chicken long forgotten, John can feel his heart pounding, can feel his face flushing and breathing turning shaky. He shouldn't have been staring. He shouldn't have been staring. She'll delete the photos, she was just...scared. Uncomfortable, because he was looking at her. No, he tells himself, you weren't looking, you were leering. There's a difference. Bursting through the stock room doors, John sits down on the floor and takes a few steadying breaths. In, and out. In, and out. It's okay. It's okay. You're okay. In, and out. In, and out. In, you shouldn't have been staring at her, and out. But you recognize it was wrong, and you feel bad about it. You feel bad about it, like you're supposed to.

After a few minutes he walks back out, hoping the boxes haven't defrosted too much. On his way to the frozen aisle, he walks by the registers and sees the woman checking out. He hurries by, hoping she doesn't see him.

John's shift finally ends and he gets his things together, eager to get home after the stressful day he's had.

"Clocking out?" One of the cashiers, Robert, asks him. "That I am," John replies, "you have to close?" Pausing before the register, he places a packet of gum on the counter. "Yep, all fucking week." Robert scans the gum and takes the bill John hands him. "I'm sorry," John says, offering an apologetic smile, "keep the change. Goodnight." "Thanks," the man answers, "night John."

Outside, John takes a deep breath, filling his lungs as he makes his way to his car. Ripping off the seal, he pulls out a piece of gum and pops it in his mouth, enjoying the minty taste. Reaching his car, he opens the door and slides in, buckling in and starting the engine. He's about to pull off when he looks across the parking lot, where a grey sedan is parked. What caught his attention wasn't the car itself, not even the tacky decorative eyelashes on its headlights. No, what caught his attention was the woman sitting behind the wheel, staring at him, smiling. Her. The woman from the store, who took photos of him. Was she waiting out here this whole time? For hours? The thought unnerves him.

Pulling out of the parking lot, the woman follows him, speeding up when he speeds up, slowing down when he slows down, taking every turn he takes. John's apartment isn't far from his work, so he thinks about whether he should keep driving or pull in, see what she does. He pulls in, watching as she slows down...but she keeps driving. He wasn't doing anything he shouldn't have been, not really, he knows. He didn't have any reason to be scared, he didn't like being scared. It wasn't a feeling he was used to.

The sun streams in through the window, a soft orange haze lighting up the room as John stretches and opens his eyes.

Through patience and a slow temper, I can deal with what the day brings. I am in control of my thoughts, they are not in control of me. I can be better than I was yesterday, and tomorrow I can be better than I was today.

Repeating these mantras to himself, John slowly sits up, his hands flat against the mattress as he prepares himself for another day of impersonating a normal person. Of faking it til he makes it.

With a low hum he stands up, and shuffles towards the coffee pot to start his day.

Which was just like any other day he'd had the past few months, no strangers taking photos of him today. In fact, he had even helped a little old lady reach something off the top shelf, pride swelling in his chest at performing such a small, everyday action with no hidden intentions, no motive other than wanting to help, wanting to do good, to be good.

"What're you smiling at?"

"Just had a good day, that's all." John replies, placing a boxed frozen cheesecake down for Robert to scan.

"Lucky bastard." Robert says, "I swear it's like everyone that comes in here is straight from an episode of Extreme Couponing. Now don't get me wrong," he says, pulling out the right amount of change, "I'm so happy that Susie the Soccer Mom gets her weekly pantry staples at a steal, ok? I'm so fucking ecstatic for her, really, over the moon," John can't help the chuckle that escapes him as he takes the plastic bag from Robert. "I'm serious, good for her. But really fucking annoying for me, y'know?"

"Maybe they'd let you stock instead if you asked really nicely," John laughs, knowing that working the register - for all the woes it entails - is a far better option than stocking. "Nah," Robert backpedals, "it'd be hard for them to replace me."

The sun is setting beyond the horizon as John starts the drive home, his window rolled down as he takes in the swirling colors flowing across the sky, brushstrokes of pinks and purples, clouds placed as if by an artist. The radio plays some local station, a mix of old and new, some he recognizes and some he doesn't, some he likes and some he will just tolerate, the beauty of the heavens before him too serene for even over-edited pop music to ruin. Further on up the road he sees someone walking along the side, in the direction he's going. As he gets closer he recognizes the person, the woman.

Her.

It suddenly feels like there's an ocean swelling and raging in his stomach, his hands tightening around the steering wheel, as he decides on what he should do.

There's nothing wrong with seeing if she needs help, he tells himself, a normal man would, a normal man would offer her a ride, he wouldn't think anything of her getting into his car. You are a normal man, John.

He pulls up next to her and rolls the passenger side window down, slowing to keep with her pace. Which is, in itself, a very creepy thing for any man to do around a woman, a fact he is very aware of.

"Hey," he says, in the most amiable, sing-songy, 'I'm not a threat to you' voice he can muster. She stops walking and looks at him. A smile playing across her lips. "Is everything alright?" He continues, "Do you...do you need a ride?" He's trying so very hard to seem harmless, because he is trying so very hard to BE harmless. Smile, but without teeth. Don't look around, it looks like you're checking for witnesses. Don't be too eager. The woman nods her head, reaching out to open the car door before she slips in, fastening the seatbelt. She looks at him, still smiling. "My car broke down." She finally says, although she doesn't look upset about it. "Oh," John returns to the speed limit, turning the radio down a little, "I'm sorry to hear that," And now you're in my car. "would you like me to, um, take you to a mechanic, or, or.." Her smile widens, a big, toothy smile. "Home, if you don't mind, it isn't far. I'll call a tow truck to pick up my car." You're going to let me know where you live. "Yeah, yeah of course, just..point the way!" He laughs, wondering why he's so scared right now. The woman lets out a breathy laugh, her eyes never leaving his face.

A few minutes pass with her occasionally leading them down one street after another. "We're almost there," She remarks, taking a deep breath. The mismatched energies of her calmness and his obvious nervousness filling the car along with the nasally voices played over recycled tracks. "what's your name?"

John lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding, giving her a small apology, "I'm sorry, how very rude of me. It's John." She hums softly in amusement, but doesn't say anything. Thirty seconds have passed and John is still waiting, still expecting her to say her name. Another thirty seconds. Would it be weird to ask now? Has too much time passed? Is she waiting for me to ask? "Here we are," She points at a small white house, the door and shutters painted lavender, flower beds cluttering the yard. Oh. "You have a lovely home!" John all but exclaims, admiring the window boxes and lattices, with ivy growing over them. "It looks like it's from a picture book." he muses. "Thank you, it's a hobby of mine." The woman replies, her smile now one of pride, only looking away from him to take in her work. "Would you like to come in?" Yes. "The inside isn't quite as picturesque, but I think it's nice, if I do say so myself." I would very much like to come in. "Oh, no," John starts, "I really should be going-" "Please? I never get any visitors, so all of my hard work is seen only by little ol' me." The woman looks at him, jokingly batting her lashes, and John can't help but think about how pretty she looks when she's pleading. That's why I shouldn't go in. I can't. I won't. I'm not going in. "I'd love to."

Well… Is all that John can think as he turns in slow circles around the woman's living room, wide-eyed trying to take it all in. Cream walls adorned with countless photographs of (he assumes) friends and family as well as multiple watercolors of birds and flowers, light wood flooring with a large beige rug under the white oak coffee table, which had on display a rather large pink toucan sculpture, and, truly the star of the whole room, a petal pink tweed sofa. "Di-did you decorate...yourself?" It isn't bad, it's actually charming, John admits, but it's...a lot. "Yes, I consider myself somewhat of a… free spirit homemaker." The woman laughs, no, giggles. She actually giggled. And John can't help but laugh with her. "It is amazing. Honestly. I feel like I'm on a movie set." She walks towards the kitchen and pulls out two glasses, "What movie would this be?" With her back facing him, she pours sweet tea into the glasses before putting the pitcher back in the fridge. "Um, I don't know," ponders John, taking the glass she offers him, thinking while he takes a sip. "Maybe a documentary about Better Homes and Gardens." The woman motions for him to sit down, moving two coasters closer to him on the coffee table, before taking a seat next to him. He sits there for a minute, still quite taken with the charming little house. See? This isn't so bad. You can be good. You are a good man.

"So," he says, taking a few more sips as he tries to be nonchalant, "I didn't catch your name?" Holding her untouched drink, the woman stares, that smile appearing once more as she cocks her head slightly, playfully, and asks "What would you like my name to be?"

"What?" John says with a chortle, nervously downing more tea as he feels himself getting nauseous. "You're very pretty, do you know that John?" There's that feeling again, the one he isn't accustomed to, but has felt more in this woman's presence than he has anywhere else. Fear. I should leave. "I should leave." He tries to stand up, but his head feels like cotton and he sinks back down to the sofa, his legs feel weak and the glass starts to slip from his grasp before she reaches for it, placing it beside her still full one on the table. Looking around at his surroundings, John is confused. "I think…" he drawls out, vision starting to get blurry, "I think I need...a..doct...doctor…" The woman takes one of his limp hands in hers, caressing the back of it with her thumb, "Shhh, it's okay," she smiles at him, and John blanches at the sight. It's the same smile he'd given many women, after whatever drug he'd used had kicked in. Meant to be comforting, a kind smile, for the kindness was soon to end. He tries to mumble something, anything that would get him out of this situation. Who is this woman? She brings his hand up to her lips, placing a soft kiss on his knuckles as everything starts to go dark.

"I think I know what movie this would be," the woman whispers, watching as his eyes flutter closed, "have you seen The Collector?"

NOTES!! HI! Thank you for reading this, my writing isn't the best but this story has been rattling around in my head lol. I really like the idea of the tables being turned on John. I basically listened to Little Red Riding Hood by Sam the Sham the whole time I wrote this lol. Turns out John isn't the only big bad wolf in this story ;) Also, the woman is referring to The Collector from 1965, not the remake. The divider is by the lovely @v6que !! All credit to them!

#john tyler #tell me your secrets #hamish linklater #You sickos would love Freddie Clegg #i know i do #also she's plus sized

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