Saccharin『 yandere o.shots』(Requests: OPEN)

John Thomas Ward | Father Ward 📚

john faith headcanons/drabbles/imagines thingy. happy spooky month, check 'FAITH' by airdorf, it's fucking good.

also: possible spoiler warning for stuff, i've used many references to the lore and characterization.

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John Ward, in as few words as possible, isn't the most warm person, not cold either, he's more of a action man, in the best and worst ways possible. he's curt, polite, but distant, a guy hard to approach unless you're really close to him--- even then, he's still... far, if his divorce with molly was any indication. he's just... normal, too normal, too nice... too... hesitant, almost like he's hiding something.

and you were right, he is hiding something! suppressing more likely, and considering his job, it's bound to happen. it's just a matter of time when he cracks. but he does try his best to make up for his shortcomings, by... a lot. overcompensating even, and that's what's special about him, he dedicates himself, he's a 'the ends justifies the means' and he won't stop, after all, there's good in evil.

possible type: worship and martyr.

to "activate" that side of him, you'd need to actively be a part of his life or at least, leave a very lasting impression on him to nail yourself to his mind, but even then... he's so quiet about it until it's too late or if he's desperate.

he's a more passive yandere, where most yanderes are willing to maim, kill, steal, kidnap for your cause; john is willing to endure these actions for you, to an extreme degree. of course that doesn't mean he's unable to commit such crimes if needed, but he would definitely, without hesitation risk, mind, soul and body for a mere scraped knee. he could be viciously mauled and he would think of your safety and then smile. he'd honestly rather suffer in your stead than commit suffering to someone else.

in a nutshell he's the most masochistic non-masochist you've ever seen, he's weirdly... more than okay to take a bullet for you, he doesn't get any sexual pleasure from it but the amount of dopamine and oxytocin he gets is... very close. he's your shield, meat-shield more like.

though, you'd probably not be able too deduce this because of his... non-daredevil lifestyle. most of, if not all interactions with him spanned from: spontaneous staring contests, his fluster at even the briefest of touches, the way he'd stutter whenever you were in the same room, his habit of crowding you whenever you two had an actual conversation--- at first glance it seems to be nothing more than a puppy crush that he can't act upon because of his pledge, but even then there seems to be something off about it.

and then it happens, something out of your control, or was it actually something you could have stopped? it doesn't matter. something unspeakable happened and now you're covered in blood; most of, if not all isn't even yours, but there was still a faint pain in your face--- or at least you think there should be, you can't tell.

but you can tell that john is in front of you. and he looked at you with the adoration of a fanatic, but there is no desperation for him to be saved from damnation, he looks at you like he wants to save you, ardently so.

he has a weak constitution, low pain tolerance, flinching as he went down on his knees despite putting equal weight on both, the contact of the floor even with the added padding of his jeans---the bad one still manages to send a wave of pain up his nerves. and still, he smiles up at you with those blue, blue eyes of his, staring right back your red rimmed ones.

you can see it, sigils, scars and runes snaking from under his cleric collar, some of them self inflicted during a ritual and some done by yours truly, though, considering his position as a man of the cloth, he should've hid them in shame instead of domestically display them, like wedding a ring. nevertheless, it made him look... more eye drawing to you, like red on virginal white lace.

your body swayed as you moved your arms to hold his face, a trace of lilac fizz around his irises and a certain emptiness in the pupil, if the eyes are the windows to the soul, you can definitively tell that there is none.

he sold it for you. gave it in a golden platter to enjoy like sweet fruit. though, with the weird complete--- almost crowded feeling in yours, you think he gave it to you.

you comb your fingers through his short black hair, curling fingers around the bangs, it was so dark it looked blue from under the few amount of light that managed to soak into the place. he leans into your touch, even if your touches are beginning to become more violent than soothing, he still closes his eyes and sink into it.

he's not a violent man through any means, and he sure wont share that side of his--- he'll never be able to live with the guilt--- he'd keep it tightly locked like amontillado, using crosses as boards. but violence will always follow him like a shadow. his own personal little plague.

he'd murmur guilty pleas on empty confessionals--- even if the one on the other side isn't allowed to speak a word about it, he cant take any chances of possible testimonies--- though as he prayed to be absolved of penance in heaven as long his conscience laid heavy, he can't help but not regret every drop of blood that he spilled in your name like a proud crusader. he'd ask for God's forgiveness but he knows He cannot grant john heaven for due to his inability to feel true regret about the lives he took, could it have gone differently, more peacefully? maybe, but if he could go back in time and do things differently, he'd be more clean when going about his own little apocalypse.

and what about communion? whenever he'd share he couldn't help but stare longingly as you bloodied your lips with the blood of the christ from that goblet, imagine that instead of putting into your cupped hands that flat disc of bread whenever he shared the body of Christ, you'd use his flesh to sustain you, but instead, he'll settle to listening closely to the bone-like crunch of the wafer--- the urge would be itched but not quenched, but he shouldn't be greedy, he should be grateful that God allowed you two to meet at all.

he can't help but think that this version of you, almost antropophagic in nature, be the one you'd only show to him and him alone instead with the rest. he would often imagine that the glint in your eye meant that you wished it was more literal than metaphorical instead of soft reverence for the lord.

he enjoys the thought of dying for your sake, so why not this way too? this reminded him of a valentine episode about love and morality, 'if you were stranded in an island, would you let your partner eat you?' and he thought the answer was so obvious. the Son shared his body with his dear disciples as an act of love. why wouldn't it be so? 

though a little part of him does whisper him the seeds of doubt about his ways, 'this isn't fully about their sake, acting selfless when you're in fact selfish.'

but john knows better than to believe the lies of that snake, he'll cut the roots of that sapling before it festers and grow fruit--- and Lord knows what will happen if it does.

and so, instead of acting upon his inner turmoil. he simply smiles a coy expression as you call him an 'Angel' for bringing you a cup of water, flustering as your fingers touch his' when you grip the glass.

'such a gentle, nice, unassuming man that john is', you'd think and drink the baptized water, made holy with just your touch.

and he wouldn't have it any other way, like a guardian angel he'd rather you be comfortable and ignorant, than the opposite---and much like actual angels--- if he were to show you his true form, he begs you to not be afraid.

because, here's a reminder in case you forgot.

john loves you.

john loves you.

john loves you.