˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ⟶ NOCTUNIS (or nocti) 2w1 infj ୨୧ mexicana 𖦹 she / her .ᐟ
৻ꪆ. a soft thing with sharp teeth , long lashes and all . a girl with her earbuds in ; listening to . . . my heart is the worst kind of weapon - demo by fall out boy ৻ꪆ. — ; the world is ending and im late for work (◞‸ ◟)
@noctunii is my main interaction account! i reblog everything i enjoy on there: art, ocs, reblogged writing, misc fandom stuff - just so i don’t clog this blog with stuff u guys don’t wanna see
hai guys .. do u have any ideas for new fandoms or characters u wanna see written for :p ? some things im interested in rn are criminal minds (esp spencer and hotch..), hunger games, harry potter (mainly cedric), band of brothers, the pacific, genkill, resident evil, tvd, fbdo (cameron frye esp) . sooooo if you guys have any requests at all, even if it’s for a fandom im not exactly familiar with, i’d like to expand my horizons w diff characters for blurbs and stuff
˖°࿐ “ and you stay . ” anakin skywalker x gn!reader
“it’s nice out here,” you say aloud, into the breath of night.
your words are soon betrayed as you shudder at the way the cool air nips at your skin.
you resist the urge to curl into yourself. instead, your hand smooths along the railing of the balcony as your eyes survey the city before you. the planet of coruscant was different from what you’d call home; sterile metal and wafts of fresh air from this high up penetrating your nose, your gaze finding themselves absentmindedly counting the number of tall skyscrapers and buildings erected throughout the streets.
lip caught between your teeth, you find yourself mesmerized by the warm, glimmering lights scattered along the velvet shadows.
your eyes then shift to the sky overhead and you can almost feel your pupils dilate at the thought of the vastness of space. all you can see is the darkness of the cosmos, the parts where light carves a puncture wound into the surface of the sky, little flickers of starlight blooming out across the galaxy.
“it’s cold.”
a turn of your head, something that comes like second nature. the sight of the face that you know’s etched behind your eyelids makes something in your chest warm, like syrup coating the thick cords of your venae cavae.
anakin, you see — already looking at you, eyes half-lidded with the shadow of his dark lashes pooling against skin.
“it’s not that cold,” you mumble, suppressing the small smile that plays on your lips.
he shifts a bit closer and you can feel the warmth radiating off of his cloak, the soles of both of your shoes barely grazing each other. you soon realize that it is in fact just a little cold, especially seeing the way your words dissipate into a soft puff of vapor, barely noticeable, as it slips past your lips.
“you’re cold,” he says, disguised behind an airy breath. almost a laugh.
“am not,” you shoot back immediately, a grin forming on your face. he raises a brow in mock surrender and shakes his head, mimicking your own grin with one of his own if not a bit more boyish.
your face eventually settles and he can’t help but admire you as you turn back to the view — eyes dancing along your side profile until they trace the curve of your lips. moonlight blots along the corners of your face, contouring the apples of your cheeks as it mixes with the lights of the city below you too, a watercolor of pale colors smudged against your brow.
he feels the electric thrum of what lies beneath his pulse as he inches closer towards you, the unmistakable pull he feels. a beat passes before—
“you’re staring, ani.”
a amused sigh slips past his parted lips, “i know.”
you spare him a soft smile and he feels something clench his chest. “are you gonna stop?” you ask him.
“no,” he flashes a sly grin, his eyes creasing at the edges.
your lips purse in thought, and he wishes he could dissect your brain; to crawl into your limbic system and scan every idea that runs through your head. you settle on a warm, “alright.”
you eye the glare of metal out of your peripheral, a muted sheen like a dull flashlight cupped in your palm. your hand drifts closer without thinking, inch by inch, until your fingers brush his — and then slip between the gaps, fitting easily against the cool metal of his cybernetic hand.
gazing up at him, the rest of the world seems to fade at the edges the longer you stare, until it’s just his expression holding your attention in place. the light’s draped him in mellow lighting, embalming him in faint warmth.
“you’re gonna stay a while longer?” he hears you ask, tone quiet.
“yeah,” he mumbles, thumb rubbing against your knuckle mechanically. “our trip was delayed, council allowed me a free morning tomorrow.”
you nod at that, thick lashes clumped as you glance down at where you’re connected. “good,” is all you say.
you stay like that a moment longer, close and quiet, the city stretching endlessly behind you. the city never pauses, only shifts in rhythm. distant ships glide between towers of light, traffic lanes threading through the night like veins of something alive.
his hand is still in yours.
warm where it should be warm, steady where it should be steady, like he’s not thinking about letting go and you aren’t either. your fingers are still laced together the same way they were a moment ago, not tighter, not looser — just held. present.
“we should go inside,” your voice is like caramel to his ears, slithering into his canal as he looks at you with nothing but heart eyes.
he waits a beat before suggesting, “we could stay out here.”
you tilt your head, cheeks warming. “i thought it was cold?”
his vision shifts over the slope of your nose, taking in all your features. he can see everything about you this close, he realizes, apart of the beautiful picture he calls you. “it is,” he affirms.
“and?”
he thinks, pulling his lip between his teeth for a moment as he bites back a grin, never taking his eyes off of you. “..i don’t mind a little longer,” he says.
you smile, warmer this time — your head lolling ever so slightly forward, inching towards him. it’s sickening what it does to him. “just a little longer, then.”
he nods immediately. you almost laugh, but it fades when he steps just a little closer too, like he’s just following something instinctive. his synthetic hand tightens around yours as his other one, adorning warm flesh and buzzing love beneath the pads of his fingers, snakes up as it cups the camber of your jaw gingerly.
your eyes flicker up to his then back down again as he does the same, leaning closer and closer until your lips manage to touch. it’s gentle, so chaste he barely feels it, like the touch of velvet melding against his lips as you both fall apart.
it makes his pulse quicken as you card a hand through his curls, finally feeling the warmth of his robes as it blossoms in your gut like an orange being sliced open, fresh and sticky and messy. something sweet, you think, as you sink deeper into him.
you don’t pull away all at once. it takes a moment before you both disconnect, sharing the same breath for a second. your foreheads hover close for a second longer, and then you both breathe out at the same time, the sound catching somewhere between a laugh and something quieter.
it slips out of him first; a soft, breathless exhale that almost turns into a laugh against your lips.
your foreheads hover close for a second longer, and then you both breathe out at the same time, the sound catching somewhere between a laugh and something quieter. you answer it without thinking, a quiet laugh of your own that barely makes it past your mouth before it fades into the space between you.
his eyes open first, slowly. he’s still close enough that you can feel the faint warmth of his breath, uneven in the same way yours is. then his gaze starts to move, like he can’t decide where to land first — your eyes, your mouth, then back to your eyes again.
he wholly admires you, the way the corners of your lips bloom with buzzing adoration like branches of wisteria, the glimmers of starlight in your irises.
“you’re not cold,” he slowly mumbles against your mouth.
you hum. “told you.”
your fingers come up to wrap around his wrist, your thumb pressing against his pulse point. as he gazes into your eyes, he can only think of you and you alone. he wonders what it would be like to hold you closer than this, closer than anything.
a pause.
and then you let out another small breath of a laugh, softer this time, and his attention flickers back to your face immediately like he heard it even before you made it. “what?” he asks quietly, choked with an amused scoff behind it.
you shake your head slightly, still close enough that it barely counts as movement. “nothing.”
his eyes are still on you. still moving, still searching, like he’s memorizing details without meaning to — the curve of your expression, the way you’re looking at him, the fact that you’re still there and still real and still you.
then his forehead tips forward just slightly, not quite touching yours again, just close enough that the space between you feels deliberate instead of empty.
HIHIHI OMG los campesinos are actually so bomb i never realized i had heard their songs without even knowing it was them . fhank u for this rec u chnged my brain
Just found your blog and girlllll your writing for Sephiroth is just chef’s kiss 💋 thank you for your writing really it’s so good 😭🖤
thank u so much!! u guys have no idea how much being praised on my work means to me like sometimes i genuinely forget i write for others sometimes and that u guys literally like it. then i get ppl like u and it makes me fall in love with it all over again. thank u so much for reading, especially for sephiroth! i put all my effort into him i fear even in my old fics
tifa!! omg i love<3 hope you’re doing well pookie<3
thank u thank u ! ugh i love tifa so much shes actually goals and i love her as my pfp .. especially for this theme . i’m doing a little better but im sad spring break is coming to a close and school is nearing its way in my brain again . trying to get some form of fics out in the last week to try and feel more productive 💔 i genuinely can’t wait for summer
Hi! I’ve been reading your Sephiroth works and wow they are phenomenal. 😍
I was wondering if you could do a Sephiroth x reader who wants to brush and play with his hair? It’s just too gorgeous to leave alone, and I need to style it so badly! Maybe we can even lightly massage his shoulders too?
Thank you~ 💋
“i still don’t know how you’ve managed to care for it all this time,” you mumble.
your fingers comb through his hair, like wool against the pads of your skin. it’s surreal how soft it is, you could get lost in the strands if you tried.
he’s seated with his back to you, long silver hair spilling like liquid down the length of him, pooling against his back in a way that feels almost unreal. it always startles you a little, how much of him there is—how something so soft can belong to someone so feared.
sephiroth exhales amusedly, a puff of air escaping his nose at your comments. “it isn’t so difficult,” he claims. “i dedicate an hour or so each night for it.”
“an hour?” you ask, and he really wonders if it’s so incredulous. he makes a low noise of accordance, and you sigh. twirling a couple of silver strands in your clutch, you admire the sheen it has in the dim light of your room. the way the warm bulb catches on everything, painting you both with its own hue and capturing you within its clutch.
you hum absentmindedly, a song you’re sure you don’t even know the name of. sephiroth tries to guess it in his head, sifting through all the recent music he’s heard (which isn’t very many).
“did you always have hair like this?” you eventually ask.
“what do you mean?” he asks.
“when you were younger, i mean.”
he thinks back, the memories muddled; warped visages swirling around in his brain. his brow furrows, and another comb of your fingers brings him back. he glances down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap.
“i’d assume so,” he says. you don’t press on, but instead, nod your head softly as if he could see it.
“i was wondering if you’d let me braid it,” you ask. “do you think that’d look nice?”
“do as you wish,” he says instead, softer.
you take a deep breath, lips twisting as you try to decide how to go about it. you gather it gently, careful not to pull. you don’t think anyone’s ever done this for him—not like this. not slow. not without purpose beyond function.
he doesn’t react at first. his posture remains straight, composed. but you feel it—the faint shift when your fingers brush the nape of his neck, the near-imperceptible breath he takes. it’s meditative, the repetition of motion, the quiet between you stretching into something comfortable.
“you’re very careful,” he murmurs.
you shrug, lightly. “i don’t want to hurt you.”
the quiet settles along the room again, only your small breaths filling the silence. you work your fingers through another section, letting it fall into a silver cascade, until your skin hits his scalp. you let your nails graze his head and he suppresses the chill that threatens to wave over him.
that, more than anything, stills him.
you begin the braid slowly, dividing his hair into three even sections. your hands move with care, crossing one over the other, weaving something deliberate from something wild.
you continue humming, and sephiroth finds some comfort in the way the sound buzzes in your throat. he lets his eyes fall half-lidded at your soothing cadence.
another cross. another pull, gentle and precise. it feels intimate in a way neither of you can explain.
his gaze lowers, just slightly.
“i’m not so fragile as that.”
“i know,” you say softly, focused on your work. “but i think you deserve gentleness anyway.”
he huffs, lightly, and you tap your knuckle against his head at his comment. like it’s so outlandish that he said that.
and after some time, you’d finished the braid at the end of his hair finally, tying it off with a small ribbon you’d brought without thinking he’d say yes. (you’d know he wouldn’t mind anyway.)
when you’re done, your hands linger, just for a moment. then you let go.
“there,” you whisper, before leaning forward and pressing your lips to the nape of his neck, reveling in the feeling of your mouth against the warmth of his skin. he reaches back, fingers brushing over the plaited hair.
you lean back against the headboard, watching as he tactically examines your handiwork.
he turns only slightly, enough for azure, feline eyes to catch on the features of your face. he gazes at you, slit pupils flickering along you. your lax position, your soft expression, the way you look at him with nothing but adoration.
“thank you,” he eventually mutters.
a smile tugs at your lips, yet nothing comes out. sephiroth thinks the sight is more than enough.
your boots against dirt and gravel, falling into a monotonous rhythm, feels surreal when you know you’re not walking for 12 miles; when you know your flesh will no longer split open into angry, bloody ellipses on the back of your heels.
your eyes catch along the trees, the branches bobbing every which way with the soft wafts of a breeze. you make your way towards to where you can only imagine dick would go this early.
the cool air nips at the sliver of bare skin exposed beneath the loose collar of your uniform. it’s strangely comforting when you know you can feel your nose, ears and fingers.
grimacing, you glance back to the trees.
(in some part of your mind, you’re brought back to the image of skeletal trees and numbing cold all around you. quick breaths turned to a puff of vapor, the wet and soggy feeling of your gloves unable to stay half-on any longer.)
your eyes are ripped away as quickly as you first looked — instead, focusing on the light spilling between the branches, brushing you in fleeting, dappled warmth as you continue to walk through.
you find a gap between the trees and you’re grace with a full sight of the sky in what feels like ages. you squint, a hand coming up to shield your face as you attempt to see past the glare.
boots thumping along the small wooden dock, the sun settles over you, warm and steady, pressing gently into your skin like something alive. it gathers along your shoulders and arms, sinking in slow and deep, a quiet heat that lingers and spreads, as if the light itself is resting there, unhurried.
you feel it move with you. slipping across the small gap of your collarbone, catching at the curve of your neck, pooling in places where your skin is open.
you watch the light spilling over the lake in uneven ribbons, stretched and distorted, as though the water were slowly pulling it apart. your eyes catch on every ridge of the sloped mountains over yonder, and you wonder how it’d feel how to climb one yourself.
a thought that seemed to be so incredulous as a child seems not so more. you’re sure you could do it, now. if you really wanted to.
they’re riddled with trees and plants and grass, and you find the abundance of greenery is refreshing to see, even as it’s cloudy with distance. varieties of oak and spruce and life. you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.
a duck quacks beside you and yet, your brows relax at the sight of a shirt and towel that lay at the end of the pathway.
your head quickly jerks back, hands ready, as the water lifts and falls in sharp, glittering arcs, and he’s there; hair bright and coppered by the sun, dripping as he drags a hand over his face, pushing it back in quick, impatient strokes.
his eyes flick up, and something changes at the sight of you. “towel—” he says, a little breathless, already reaching, his fingers flexing as he beckons you over.
you startle into motion, the moment snapping into urgency as you reach for the towel, fingers catching in the fabric before you tug it free.
it bunches awkwardly in your hands for half a second before you shake it out and toss it toward him, the movement quick and a little clumsy.
it arcs through the warm air, soft and weightless, before landing in his awaiting hands.
“thanks,” he says, voice low, a little roughened by the cold.
you huff softly. “you could’ve warned me,” you say. “nearly took my head off coming out of there.”
there’s the faintest shift at the corner of his mouth—there and gone, but real.
“didn’t think anyone was watching,” he muses.
you scoff, watching as he walks back up the wet incline, feet smacking the soil beneath him. the water drips from his skin and from the weight of his soaked shorts in steady streams until it gradually transforms into soft drips, a slow cadence sputtering against the ground.
he rubs the towel through his hair, slower now, pushing it back. the sunlight catches in it, lighter than it should be, almost amber where it’s wet — and for a second it pulls your attention before you look away.
he sits down with a small groan, hand settling along the sun-kissed wood. your attention darts all along his face, the freckles dusting his face and the small creases in his skin.
you exhale sharply before taking a seat on the dock, too. you ignore the way your knee pops and so does dick, instead focusing on shifting your weight back onto your palms. “how bad is it?” you ask, nodding your head to the water.
“cold,” he answers simply.
you narrow your eyes. “that doesn’t help.”
he chuckles, drying the back of his neck. you hum faintly, eyes trailing along the scenery once more. you focus back in on the two mallards you heard earlier. the drake drifting cleanly across the water while the brown hen floating beside him. she gleamed in the sunlight, all sharp color and reflection, while he remained soft-edged, folded into the plants’ muted tones.
“all depends on what you’re used to,” he tells you.
you chuff. “i think we both know what we’re all used to, by now.”
he sucks air through his teeth in amusement, in some sort of way. looking between the water and back at you, he adds, “wakes you up.”
with that, the lake settles slowly after you both sit back, the surface smoothing into long stretches of gold where the sun splays itself thin across the water. the trees shift overhead, rays breaking through in soft, uneven patterns that move across his shoulders, his hands, the ground between you.
“what do you think you’ll do after this?” you ask. his eyes fall on you, seeing the forlorn look in your eye.
he sighs, looking up in thought, taking a moment to answer.
“i’m not entirely,” he admits. “lew had mentioned something about a possible job offer when we got back.”
“doing what?”
“a nitration plant,” he says. “family company, i guess.”
you hum, nodding in acknowledgment. a silence settles between the two of you again. the sun seems to beat down a little bit harder.
he clears his throat. “what about you?” you turn your head fully, squinting once more at the brightness of the sun that engulfs your vision. “do you have anything back home?”
you shake your head with a pitiful smile, one his eyes can’t seem to shake off. “don’t really have much waiting for me.”
“no?” he mumbles, eyes glancing down at your hand. a ring finger lay bare.
you shake your head, and his eyes flicker back up at the way the sun catches your hair, paints it with its glow.
something tugs at his lips and he nods his head. “i’m sorry.”
you huff, a small groan leaving you as you lean back and let yourself lay against the warmth of the wood, your spine shaping itself to the ridges. a foxhole may be slightly more comfortable, but at least you can feel the sun against your cheek.
he tracks you with an amused quirk of his mouth and a furrow in his brow. you let a long exhale escape past your lips. “yeah, me too,” you say, throwing your arms across your face to shield yourself from the brightness of the sky.
“either way, i’ll figure something out,” he says, more so aloud than to you.
“yeah, you always do,” you murmur. he lets that sit for a moment, before he looks at you with a certain look on his face and an indescribable feeling inside of him, like something needs to escape him — like a flashlight if you cupped your hand around it, light leaking out between your fingers.
“…you ever think you’ll miss it?” you ask, softer now.
you can hear the ducks quack in the wake of his silence; cutting across the water. “parts of it,” he says eventually.
you peek an eye from under your forearms, a little surprised. he’s looking back out at the water, presumably at the ducks.
“not the fighting,” he adds, like he knows exactly where your mind went. “but the men. the purpose.”
“it’s quieter here than anything we’ve had,” you say, almost to yourself.
“austria,” he adds, a light tone to the word. his gaze falls back on you. “ready to wake up and head back?”
a breathe leaves you before you hoist yourself back up in a seated position, letting your eyes adjust again and letting your body settle.
“wake up,” you parrot lowly.
another ripple moves through the water. the pair of ducks drift farther out now, their shapes smaller, still side by side.
you follow them without really thinking about it. they don’t rush. they don’t hesitate. they just move — together, steady, unspoken.
something in your chest tightens, soft and sudden.
you glance at him.
he’s looking out over the lake again, posture relaxed, hands resting loosely against his knees. the light catches along the line of his jaw, his shoulders, before he looks back at you.
and before you can think about it—
you hear him shift slightly behind you. “what—”
you push yourself up, suddenly weightless; the ground is warm under your feet for exactly two seconds before the water meets you. a sharp, immediate, biting cold that climbs fast up your legs.
you suck in a breath, but you don’t stop this time.
it hits your waist, your ribs, then you’re all the way in, the cold wrapping around you in one clean, overwhelming rush. for a second, everything disappears into it. sound dulls. breath catches. the world narrows to the shock of it.
then — you surface, pushing your hair back, breath breaking out of you in a startled laugh you didn’t mean to let out.
“oh, that’s—” you suck in air, shaking your head, water slipping from your face in quick, bright lines, “that’s worse than i thought—”
and yet, you feel your chest warm with the sound of a quiet, unmistakable laugh.
he’s still sitting there, but there’s something different now, something softer, the corners of his mouth lifted just enough to show it.
the lake moves gently around you, sunlight scattering into restless gold, small cinders burning away; the ducks long gone now, just a fading shape in the distance. the sun lays itself across the surface and finds you in pieces, catching along your shoulders, your arms, the line of your neck where the water hasn’t quite reached. it pools there, warm and bright, turning every movement into something softer, something almost unreal.
he doesn’t mean to watch, although he can’t take his eyes off you. for a second, it doesn’t look like anything he recognizes.
you wipe your face again, a brash grin painted along your lips. one that makes his own smile grow a tad wider. it makes the past three years feel worth it. his eyes catch on your ring finger once more as it comes to push back a stick strand of hair, only boring skin and no gem.
his gaze lingers, and dick believes he can finally say he’s glad.
he shakes his head fondly. “told you.”
“you undersold it!” you huff.
“i didn’t think you’d actually do it.”
you blink at him (or maybe it’s just you trying to blink the water out of your eyes). “what, you think i scare that easy?”
i love yr new theme ! ! ! so cute and spring like, hope ur feeling ok 💝
thank u so much!! i decided to change my themes and palettes based on the szn because i think its pretty cute (and performative .. so much effort just for a season but its aesthetic..) and i love pink & green! even though its like a billion degrees, its still technically spring :p
it’s been an up and down week but break is just around the corner so time to put my hand to paper and start writing again
Hey bbg!!! Just wanted to ssy that I LOVE your writing!! Your ff7 fics make me giggle and kick my feet hehe
I hope you feel better soon!! Ilysm <3
it’s like u guys all appear once i need all these words :’) i cannot stress how much pressure ive been under lately so to see that you guys enjoy my writing and my blog enough to actually come into my inbox or comments and leave a kind message means the world to me. thank u so much for leaving this here! im glad i could make something that u all love 💗
Hiiii, I'm obsessed with your writing, ma'am!! You really have a sense for detail and vivid descriptions and atmosphere setting!! I was wondering whether you would ever write for our fav hot priest Jud again??? That post deserves 1000000 likes btw. <3
u are the sweetest omg i love u and this is one of my fav asks in my inbox because i strive for sensory immersion in my writing and i really love to like overcomplicate and describe literally everything so thank u so much!
i would love to write for jud again! i wasn’t sure if that fic would be liked so it was really a tester, but i would definitely keep writing for him! i love his character and writing for him . i do prefer writing requests since i’ve been lacking creativity lately so if you’d like to send one in or have any ideas — i’d b glad to write it
There is no.. RAINSROPS ON ROSES AND GIRLS IN WHITE DRESSES AND SLEEPING WITH ROACHES AND TAKING BEST GUESSES- SHADES OF THE SHEETS AND BEFORE ALL THE STAINS ADD A FEW MORE OF YOUR LEAST FAVORITE THINGSSSSS
Stop i started scream singing that when I saw your profile
AAAAAH i actually wore my panic! hoodie today too omg that’s so crazy .. i LOVE bgtwt especially live in denver and this performance, afycso changed my taste in music entirely 💔
hiii!! unfortunately it’s been a really stressful new year :( school has been sucking and i feel like im a little lost in the sauce with everything between classes and personal issues and writing and all my hobbies . i’m trying to get back in the groove and trying to write more often even if it’s just like a snippet a day!
— ৩ fandom knives out: wake up dead man — ৩ character jud duplenticy — ৩ notes no notes today unfortunately ..
one of the first things you learned about father jud is that he listens with his whole body.
his hands neatly clasped behind his back, eyes glued to you as his ears perk up to hear — the broad slope of his shoulders drifts closer like the tide pulled into something inevitable, intentional with the way he listens.
when you see him, a kind smile painted on his face (almost boyish in a way) and the glare of the sun pooling against his skin from past the leaky shadows of the trees, talking to the goers after mass had ended, you realize how much he enjoys this. you see the way his eyes scan each person, how helpful he seems to be; his eyes bunched tight as he murmurs prayers for these people despite the sideways glances and confused brows, his heart catching on every thorn.
you’ve been a donor of the church for a while, attending service every now and then. jud notices your silhouette in the pews every time. your gaze never settles; your attention splintering. flickering over to the monsignor and his endless discourse, to the fractured light of the stained glass glowing overhead, and then to jud. his eyes always seem to find you — even if just a glimpse of your sunday’s best fleeing his line of sight when you leave after the service.
you like him, you think — father jud. he seems genuine from whenever you’ve spoken to him (with what few times you have). there’s an honesty in the way he speaks, pauses included.
you’re not sure what to think when the news of the monsignor reaches you. “a dagger buried in his back,” they’d told you — nor are you sure what to think when the rumor surfaces that father jud was the one who did it.
the door groans softly when you push it open, wood complaining the way it always does. it’s late afternoon, that in-between hour when the light goes honeyed and slow, deep wine reds and ocean blues, slanting through the stained glass and pooling in muted color along the floor.
your shoes thump softly as you walk the center aisle, each step echoing up into the ribs of the vaulted ceiling. the sound feels louder than it is, quickly swallowed by arches.
you scan the area until your gaze settles on tousled curls, messy and dark, peeking out at you.
jud is sitting halfway up the nave, alone in a pew, shoulders slightly hunched. a book rests open beside him, forgotten. when he hears you, he looks up too quickly, like if he’s pulled from thought.
“oh,” he says, startled into a smile. “i didn’t expect—uhm,” his head whips around at the sound of stray papers falling, bending at the waist to pick them up. you step over and grab one, handing it to him as he sheepishly nods in head with a small, “thank you.”
he shrugs, patting his hands on his pants. “hello,” he says, trailing off in an awkward laugh.
“hi.” you smile, lips curling at the corners in a way that makes him grin (politely).
jud clears his throat, lashes fluttering as he looks up at you, brows slightly pinched. “i didn’t hear you come in.”
“am i interrupting?”
“no, no. i’m just,” he sighs. “thinking, i guess.”
you hum, your head nodding sympathetically — and the pit of his stomach clenches at the thought that he can’t stop staring at the way your lips twitch with every movement in your expression, the way your eyes soften when they make contact with him.
he tells himself he’s just fond of you: how altruistic you are. you, helping around the church, spending what savings you have as a devotee as it makes up for your absence. you help with flowers. you sit in quietly for service. tea for the older ladies who stay late gossiping in the hall. jud thanks you every time, like it’s the first.
it takes some time for him to tear his eyes away; the sun is low and gold through the stained glass, painting you in color—blue along your jaw, red at your throat.
he glances at the seat next to him before his head snaps back up and utters a quick apology, moving his stuff onto the ground with a motion for you to sit.
you fold your hands together, joined at the thumb, before you take a seat next to jud; your hands neat in your lap. the wood creaks as you lower yourself next to him. it’s old wood, worn smooth by generations of kneeling knees and folded hands. it feels grounding.
you hear a soft hum from him, buzzing low in his throat. the sound of the rasp makes you swallow dryly. “i wasn’t expecting you,” he blinks. “what—what’re you doing here?”
shrugging, you jest, “i was around.”
jud scoffs a bit. it’s meant more as a half-hearted laugh, but you understand in translation. “is anyone ever just around a church at this hour?”
“besides you?”
he smiles, lips tugged until dimples crease his cheeks. “i’m a priest.”
he looks down at his hands, rubbing at the curvature of bone beneath flesh — the ridges in his fingers, in his knuckles.
you eye the texture on his skin: the dusting of faint freckles dotting his nose and neck (alongside the inked skin peeking out from beneath his collar), the incessant tapping of his shoe against the floor. a bittersweet taste settles onto your tongue.
“so, what’s up with you?” you ask, tone light and airy. his eyes flicker up at you, a dull blue-green gone glassy in the church’s dim light, like lake water after a storm. reflective. the words seem to echo in his skull as well as against the inertia of the empty building.
“yeah,” he huffs, breath ghosting out of him. “funny.”
you grin. “i’m serious.”
he hesitates, jaw tightening, then exhales through his nose. “well,” he says, voice dry, “being publicly named the killer priest of chimney rock has certainly… added variety to my week.” his brow creases. “i mean, i’m not sure what else to say.”
you tilt your head, studying him. he continues, fingers flexed at his sides, “everyone keeps asking me to explain myself,” he adds. “as if i could make it make sense if i tried hard enough.”
a lull settles between you two. he smoothes the crinkles in his pants, gazing straight ahead. you eye the crucifix that the wall adorns and everything surrounding it. the altar looks barren in the dim light.
you tap your heels against the ground, floor meeting sole. “you could start with how you’re holding up,” you say.
that strikes something in him. he straightens, turning fully toward you, knee knocking softly against the pew as he moves. his hand lifts, flexed in front of him like he’s about to conduct an argument that hasn’t quite decided what it wants to be yet.
“i—” he starts, then stops. laughs once, under his breath. he rubs his thumb against his fingers, then gestures vaguely toward his chest. “i don’t know.” his brow creases. “everyone else seems to have picked a feeling for me.”
you shake your head. “i mean you.”
he exhales, long and uneven. “i promise you when i say i didn’t do this.” his eyes are droopy, genuine. leaky with desperation. but you can’t help but believe him. lashes fluttering, he gives a small shrugs and looks up in thought.
“yes, the monsignor was,” he pauses. “less than pleasant and we—we’ve had our differences .. maybe more than expected, but i assure you—“ the words tumble out faster than he seems to intend. his shoulders tense, breath shallow, and for a moment he looks less like a pastor and more like someone bracing for reprimand.
you only feel the slightest bit guilty about your eyes straying away from his eyes to glance at his lips every now and then.
then he stops.
a sharp breath in. a long one out.
jud straightens abruptly, color rising in his cheeks. he turns to you, embarrassed.
“i’m sorry,” he says quickly. “that wasn’t appropriate. and uncharitable,” he swallows. “i shouldn’t speak that way, especially to you—you’ve been so generous to the church for so long, and i—”
“don’t be,” you simply say. jud blinks owlishly.
“sorry?”
“don’t be sorry,” you smile. he feels the tip of his ears grow warm at the sight, soft parentheses creasing at the corners of your mouth; the apples of your cheeks widening. like looking into the eyes of summer. “i know how he could be.”
the doesn’t say anything after that, simply swallowing to quench the desert of his mouth, sandpaper against his tongue. you nod mindlessly, eyes big and wide and staring at jud, mind fumbling for what you could say to him, with the rubik’s cube of this conversation.
“does anybody pray for you?” he hears you say, voice threatening to thunder against the deafening silence despite you only murmuring it.
glassy eyes dart towards you. along your face. he makes a face and a small laugh tries its hardest to slip past your lips with nonchalance, instead coming out a little awkward and pitched. like knees against the asphalt.
“you’re always the one doing it,” you explain. “for everyone else.”
something in his expression shifts—caught, maybe. vulnerable. “that’s all right,” he says gently. “it’s what i’m here for.”
he chuckles and it rolls over smoothly, much smoother than yours. his brows knit together as he gives a small shake of his head, mind racing to find the words. “i don’t know how i’d feel about that,” he grumbles, tone light. “being .. the focus.”
you smile at him, full of mirth and fondness. “then let me ask.”
he turns fully toward you now.
“jud,” you say softly, “may i pray for you?”
the question hangs in the air for a moment; the sky slowly darkening from beyond the window. he takes a moment before nodding once, his lips twitching at the gesture.
and without quite thinking about it, you reach for his hands. he stiffens, just for a moment, then lets you take them.
(his palms are warm, textured, the faint roughness of work and habit. his fingers curl around yours, hesitant, and yet he still lets himself be distracted by the warmth of your skin.)
you bow your head. he follows.
“o lord,” you begin, voice quieter now. “please see him. see the way he carries things without speaking of them. the way he keeps showing up.”
his thumb presses faintly against your fingers. you screw your eyes shut tighter.
“thank you,” you continue softly, “for the good that lives in him. for the patience in his voice, for the gentleness in his hands, for the stubborn hope he refuses to abandon—even now.”
the candles crackle somewhere near the altar. wax sighs as it bends. you murmur again, “remind him that he is not measured by rumor. nor by fear. remind him that he is known.”
you hear him sigh through his nose, quiet. a faint smile pulls at your mouth. “perhaps nudge him—subtly—into accepting a little help now and then.”
there’s the smallest huff in front of you. a reluctant, breath-warmed chuckle.
you peek one eye open just enough to catch the corner of his mouth tipping upward before he schools it again. his lashes are lowered, but you can see the smile he’s trying to hide.
you close your eye again, satisfied.
“keep his heart steady,” you finish softly. “let him feel how deeply he is held—by you, and ..” your voice dips just slightly, “.. by those who stand with him.”
“amen,” you say.
“amen,” he mimics, lids slowly opening as his eyes meets yours.
you can feel the faint pulse in his wrist. the warmth of him. the slight tremor. you pull away, the heat of his palm leaving yours.
“thank you,” he breathes.
you cock your head, eyes squinted with feigned expectancy. “that’s all?”
he blinks. “what were you expecting?”
“i dunno,” you shrug. “maybe a candle lit in my honor.”
“i’m not canonizing you,” he replies immediately, but there’s the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.
“not even a feast day?”
“absolutely not.”
you hum with a sharp exhale soon after. jud’s eyes trail the slope of your nose. only for a moment — and a quiet laugh slips out of him before he can stop it. not overtly loud but loud enough that it cools the space between you.
you manage a meager smile of your own. it almost makes the two of you forget the way a body thudded against the carpeted floor of the church.
“it did mean a lot,” he adds. “i just don’t mean to sound so ..”
“earnest?”
he winces faintly. “yes.”
“you’re allowed to be earnest,” you say. “just don’t make a habit of it. ruins your mysterious reputation.”
he chokes back the light scoff at your words. him? mysterious? he sees you only in what feels like once a month. but instead, it earns you a paltry look, his lips quirking at the corners.
“i don’t have a mysterious reputation.”
a brow raises. “have you seen the newspapers?”
he gives you a look at that — half warning, half amusement. you feel the heated itch that pets your spine; you manage a short laugh, drawing his attention away from the poor joke.
“sorry,” you mumble, sheepishly.
he shakes his head with a small wave of his hand. “no harm,” he says. the act drops and a grin soon conquers his face. “thanks for coming.”
and as you look at him, you find the rivulets of sweet kindness stain your tongue as you gorge yourself on goodness. you can’t help but feel a little selfish when you indulge in conversation with him.
(maybe you’ll just visit jud a little bit more often. you’re sure nothing will ever happen. he is a man of god, after all.)
