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The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 17

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

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

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Smut, angst, religious themes, religious guilt

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Author's Note: This is a short chapter, mostly setting the stage for the next one. Sorry it's been forever. My daughter is finally old enough to play independently for short bursts at a time, so I've been trying to get back into writing. The next chapter is laid out already. I just need to type it up and fine-tune it. Love you guys! Thanks for your patience!

________________

“How do you not see it as murder though? It’s immoral.”

You stared at Isaac unblinking, wondering if this conversation was going to be worth the effort or if it was only going to further anger you.

It had been three weeks since you’d left campus and the comfort of Noah’s arms. As unfortunate as it was, your only real escape from your parents had been Isaac. Worship band practice had ended and the two of you were holed up in the kitchenette behind the main sanctuary while you waited for your father to be done with work.

“I think,” you began, “that you are making the mistake of believing you have a superior sense of morality.”

His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “How so?”

“Well, I mean it’s really easy, right?” you asked. “To feel like your side is the moral side and everyone else’s morals don’t measure up. It feels good. Strokes the ego. It doesn’t make you challenge your thought process or step outside of your emotional comfort zone.”

“I resent what you’re implying, but go on,” he said flatly.

“Okay, consider what position someone would have to be in to have the same moral compass as you, and still want to have an abortion. For aborting the fetus to still be the kinder choice than going through with birthing it.”

Isaac’s mouth hung open, face blank as he processed what you said. Finally, he took a breath. “That’s really difficult for me to picture.”

“Right,” you said, “because you’ve never faced that kind of hardship, and you’ll never have to make that decision. It’s a heartbreaking decision, and the church has chosen to demonize women who are already going through the worst times of their lives.”

Something you had said finally started to break through his defenses. It was evident in his sunken posture and stern expression.

“But don’t you think that if someone chose to have the baby, God would provide?” he asked.

“Maybe,” you said. “But I would never force someone to make that choice, and I don’t believe God would, either. He gave us free will for a reason, and I think he loves us enough to forgive us should we not have the courage to go through with bringing a life into this world.”

Isaac sighed and remained silent for a while, staring at his shoes while he contemplated everything you were saying. So far, this was the most productive conversation you’d had with him. It was clear he was making a concerted effort to listen.

“I never did end up donating the proceeds to Life Alliance,” he said. His voice hovered just above a whisper, as if he were confessing it to himself instead of you.

“You…what?”

He nodded. “I should have included you in that decision.”

You blinked, surprised by this confession. For all intents and purposes, you’d written Isaac off as someone so brainwashed by the church that he was incapable of independent thought, especially if it went against the church.

“Thank you,” you said, then paused, fighting with yourself over whether to ask your next question. “Do you understand why I was against it?”

He licked a dry spot on the corner of his lip and sniffed, nose wrinkling. “It’s still sort of hard for me to grasp, but I think I’m starting to get your side of things. Even if I end up not agreeing, I think these are still important conversations to have. We’re meant to question things, right?”

You exhaled deeply, surprised by how much relief you felt hearing those words. Hearing that someone was willing to entertain your stance made you feel a lot less alone.

“Trouble is, we’ve got a problem in our congregation where nobody seems to want to talk about this stuff.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, then tilted his head in thought. “What if we could do something about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like a small group study? Once break is over and we go back to school. We could lead a discussion group about stuff like this. Do you think your father would go for it?”

You perked up. “No harm in asking, I suppose.” For the first time in a while, you felt energetic. All last month, you’ve been feeling down because of all the problems within the church community that seemed impossible to fix. Now you potentially had a plan for how to start addressing them. “Yeah, let’s put something together.”

Life, unfortunately, had other plans.

__________

It was two days before you were set to go back to school and all you could think about was getting back to Noah. Missing him hurt though, so you tried to distract yourself by putting together a proposal for a small group session you could lead with Isaac.

Your parents had invited Isaac over for dinner at your request. Your father had actually smiled at the idea, seeming to think you’d finally started coming to your senses. You and Isaac had been working diligently typing up your proposal and your father was two-thirds of the way through reading it when he paused and peered at Isaac over his glasses.

“I think leading a small group would be a great next step for you, son,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” said Isaac politely giving you an encouraging thumbs-up under the table.

“We’d like to start leading sessions once the new semester starts,” you chimed in. “I know it’s short notice, but I think it could be a really great thing for the youth outreach program.”

“Well, I’m happy to see your desire to be more involved in the congregation, I must say,” he replied and you smiled. “Isaac, would you excuse us just for a moment?”

Your face fell.

The air thickened unpleasantly. Wordlessly, Isaac nodded and excused himself from the table, offering you a confused look on his way out and you shrugged in response.

“Dad?” you asked.

Your father’s shoulders dropped as he sighed in frustration. “I’ve been meaning to discuss this with you. I should have brought it up earlier, but I haven’t had a chance.”

“Brought what up?” you asked.

He shared a look with your mother that you couldn’t decipher, which your mother took as her cue to chime in.

“Sweetheart,” she began, worrying at her lip. “We’re not sure if college is the best place for you anymore.”

_______________

Noah stared at the half-full pot as coffee slowly dripped into it. Rubbing at the crusts in his eyes, he sighed through his nostrils and demanded more patience from himself.

“Coffee ready?” Tiffany asked, yawning as she rounded the corner from the hallway into the kitchen.

Noah side-eyed her, noting the oversized band tee she wore that did absolutely nothing to cover her curves.

“Indecent,” he scoffed. She smirked and flipped her hair back across her shoulder. “You know you’re the reason I need caffeine in the first place.”

Leaning against the counter, Tiffany batted her eyes at Noah. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.”

He rolled his eyes. The walls in the house weren’t particularly thick, but he’d still never been kept up quite as obnoxiously as he had been last night.

“What who means?” asked Ruffilo, following in Tiffany’s footsteps and wearing nothing but boxers. He caught sight of the blonde, getting distracted for a moment and leaning in to kiss her.

Noah scoffed once more. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you guys. But really? That loud? At three in the morning?”

Reaching above Tiffany to fetch a mug from the cupboard, Ruffilo huffed a laugh. “You can’t tell me shit, Noah. Do you know how many times you’ve kept me up? At least once a week for the last three years. Consider it payback.”

Noah sighed, rolling his eyes. He supposed he had to be happy for them, especially since he hadn’t exactly been the best friend to either of them. “Well, while you two were busy doing whatever,” he said and the two of them shared a knowing look, “I was working on some new music, and I think I’ve got something. It’s a little bit different than what we’ve done in the past, but I think you’ll like it.”

________

“Fuck you man, this is amazing,” said Ruffilo as he leaned over Noah’s laptop to get a better look at the tracks that had been laid.

“I’m still working on the bridge, but I really like how it’s coming together so far,” said Noah, proud grin on his face. It was the first time in what felt like forever that a song had come together so quickly.

“And the lyrics,” Ruffilo continued. “I can definitely tell you were inspired.”

“Yeah,” Noah said, this time with a little less enthusiasm. He’d poured more of himself into these lyrics than he’d ever done before, but it was evident they were inspired by the pain he was feeling being ripped away from you. His voice rang out through the small room, rudimentary recording equipment distorting it, but the lyrics were still clear.

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I could wait for years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain’t getting over you.

“Noah,” said Ruffilo, looking at him with sincerity, “this is the one. We should send it out.”

For years, the band had been talking about sending some of their music to various recording studios to see if they could get picked up. They’ve compiled a list of different studios whose values and sound matched what the band wanted to promote, and they’d been waiting to come up with a song that would work as a single. But Noah had suffered horrible writer’s block in the last year or so and hadn’t been able to come up with anything worthwhile.

“You think?” he said.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Let’s get Folio and Jolly here to lay down their tracks. I think we’ve got something.”

______

The bitter January wind whipped at whatever bits of skin it could reach. Stopping to catch your breath, you wrapped your coat tighter around you, adjusted your scarf to better cover your face, and continued onwards, unsure of your destination.

You’d been walking for 15 minutes when the rattle of a truck engine slowing to a crawl broke through the sound of the wind. Isaac’s rusty green Chevrolet sputtered to a stop beside you.

“Need a lift?”

“Are you going to take me back to my parents’?” you asked.

He shook his head. You shrugged and trudged your way over the snow piled onto the curb and made your way around to the passenger’s side.

“Please don’t try to reason with me,” you said, sniffing back the cold from your nose and warming your hands on the vents.

“Wasn’t gonna. Your dad was out of line.”

You glanced over and caught the sincerity on his face. “Thanks.” Slumping agains the seat, you relaxed into the warm of the truck’s cabin.

That was a nightmare.

You knew your dad was angry with you, but pulling you out of school? That was a new level of petty. You knew why he was doing it—so that he could keep you under his thumb. He didn’t like how independent you’d become and didn’t trust you to make your own decisions. He also wanted to keep you away from Noah. He’d even said so when you protested.

“I don’t like the ideas that boy has been putting in your head,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” you said. “These are my thoughts.”

“You never acted like this when you were living at home. It’s only been since you were at school. Since you started hanging out with that punk. I never should have asked you to oversee community service. I thought you were stronger in your faith than that.”

“I AM strong in my faith. I just don’t believe the same things you do!,” you shouted back.

“Bruce,” your mother’s quiet voice drifted across the table, “maybe we should consider this before we take any action. I’m sure we could come to a compromise.”

“I am not having my daughter running around like some tramp,” your father’s voice boomed out.

“You do not have any room to talk!” your mother shouted, standing up. You’d never seen her so angry before.

“What’s going on?” you asked.

“Nothing,” your father replied.

“Like Hell it is,” your mother spat. “Bruce I cannot sit here and listen to your hypocrisy. You stomp around getting angry with everyone else’s sin while you pretend to be perfect. I’m not playing along anymore.”

“What aren’t you playing along with?” you asked.

“Ellen, don’t you dare,” said your father.

“Sweetheart, your father had an affair with a volunteer on our missions trip. That’s why we came home early. And now instead of getting himself right with God, he’s trying to control everyone else. Bruce, I am going to my women’s group. Pull her out of school if you want, but good luck controlling her. She might be even more stubborn than you.”

With that your mom walked out. Not knowing what to do or how to handle the information that had been dumped on you, you grabbed your coat and stalked off into the night.

“Where to?” Isaac asked.

“Anywhere but here.”

___________

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The taglist will only allow me to tag 50 people in a post, so I apologize if there's anyone I can't get to. I'll try to tag the rest in the comments.

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