Black Horse (John Seed x Reader)

chapter three

That night (after John had a bit of a temper tantrum and threw his workbench to the floor when you refused to communicate) the Baptist couldn't sleep.

From time to time, he had problems going to bed. Usually memories of his childhood or the continuously growing stack of lawsuits sitting on his desk kept him up at night. Tonight was different though.

Everytime he closed his eyes, you were there. With that stupid stubborn gaze, you just sat in silence. With your shirt half way torn, bra and stomach exposed. You had multiple scars near your ribcage. He couldn't stop thinking about tracing them with his fingertips.

And that tattoo. God, he couldn't stop thinking about that dainty flower. He wanted to know the story behind it. He wondered if you had others sprinkled around your skin. He was dying to find out.

He couldn't help but brainstorm other tattoo designs that would look good on your skin. Then, the seven infamous sins popped into his head. He imagined each one etched across your chest, just below the flower.

Sloth.
Gluttony.
Greed.
Envy.
Pride.
Wrath.
Lust.

My, my, he couldn't wait to hear your confession. Which sin fit you the best? His fingers ached to wrap around his tattoo gun and carve your sins into your perfect skin. He couldn't wait to see the blood slip down your body. He couldn't wait to see the look of pain cross your face.

You were uncooperative, there was no denying that. Usually, that drove him mad with other sinners. Just berate them (or ya know... torture them) until they broke down and started confessing.  

But, for some reason, he didn't want to do that with you. John wanted to take his time with you. Get to know your sins intimately. He loved the chase. It was bound to make your confession that much sweeter.

John tossed and turned in his bed. He was getting frustrated now. Every time he closed his eyes, you were frowning back at him. Sitting in that stupid rolling chair.

Wait a minute.

The lawyer shot up into a sitting position, his eyes wide. You couldn't move a rolling chair when your ankles were tied to the wheels, right? He rubbed a palm against his forehead, cussing viciously before kicking off the silk sheets from his body.

His paranoia got the best of him. Now he was sprinting through the bunker barefoot, his heart catching in his throat. His key pounded against his naked chest as if it was tormenting him.

Faster, John.

***

"God damnit," you grunted in frustration. Your determined eyes were glued to the open gate that led to a flight of stairs. You knew he left it open on purpose. He had to. It was literally tormenting you. You tried for the millionth time to scoot your chair towards the exit, but your toes simply scraped across the smooth tile.

You collapsed back into the rolling chair, a deep sigh escaping your lips. You gave up. There was nothing else to do now but wait or sleep.

Sitting upright and constrained to a chair was definitely not the best way to fall asleep. It was hard to keep track of time when you were hundreds of feet below sunlight, but you had to assume it was sometime in the middle of the night.

You had begun to doze off, your head slightly tilting to the right and your eyes drooping like they carried fifty pound weights. However, you almost flipped out of your chair in surprise when John bursted through the door of the confession room.

You stared at him in shock as he instantly calmed when he spotted you sitting in the chair like before. Your eyes drifted down to his bare chest, which was heaving from lack of oxygen. Did he run here? Was he just sleeping? That would definitely explain why he had long pajama bottoms on.

"Jesus," John ran a hand through his messy hair, half chuckling-half sighing, "You almost gave me a heart attack, Dep." You blinked, your gaze still glued to his toned chest. If the man standing before you wasn't your greatest nemesis, you would be drooling right now.

Maybe he did it just to torture you more. But, Jesus Christ. The jaw-string to his sweatpants hung low on his waist, revealing a perfect V suited on his lower abdominals. And, when he started walking towards you his abs contorted with his long strides. You gulped.

You had noticed the carving of the sin SLOTH scribbled along his chest with a line slashed through it before, but now it was in plain view. He had been muttering things to you as you observed his core, yet you didn't seem to notice.

"What's your definition of sloth, John?" You raised an eyebrow at him, abruptly cutting him off and lifting your gaze to meet his. He was shocked that you had even spoken to him, considering the only thing he's heard you say since you got here was Hell.

You were expecting him to rage at you interrupting him, but he didn't seem to mind. Shocker. John's blue eyes analyzed you for a moment. "Excuse me?" He furrowed his brow, resting a hand on his hip. He was curious now. Good.

"Well," you shrugged, "Sloth is a wide scope. Some define it as laziness of the mind and body, yet some define it as a failure to do things that one is required to do." You then tilted your head, not giving the man a moment to respond, "So, which is it?"

He was silent. Blinking at you with bewildered eyes. When he opened his mouth slowly to respond, you cut him off, "Have you ever denied giving atonement, John?" There it was again. His name on your lips.

He wanted to refute. He wanted to scream at such an accusation. Yet, he couldn't stop running that through his mind over and over again. John.

"Did Joseph force you down and scribble that lie across your chest?" You spat, your eyes narrowing in a glare. You were on a ramble now. Like a snowball rolling down a mountain, nothing was stopping you. John was getting pissed, you could tell just by looking at him.

He palms gripped into fists as he listened to you, his eyes filled with a burning light of anger. His chest began to heave like he was running again. You simply smiled.

"Or was it your self-hate staring back at you in the mirror?"