Beneath Our Disguises

Your Savior (Priest x Reader)-Part 1

(Finally got inspired, hope you enjoy guys!)

(Priest x Reader)- Not exactly an urban myth or anything but I thought it would be fun, is mythical still though! For the record I am not religious, I know very little about religion and if I insult your faith or something I am very very sorry, very much unintentional and this is entirely made up so keep that in mind as well!

You lean forward on the pew, hands pressed together tightly and eyes pressed together as you try to get that image out of your mind, that awful thing that had seared its way into the back of your eyelids as you try to forget, but you can't.

That poor girl, what had she done wrong but be able to swim, what had she done wrong but not heal, what had she done wrong but be intelligent. You let the tears flow, burning their way from your eyes that hurt desperately from watching the pyre. You don't let yourself sob, or let out a noise as the silent tears drip down our cheeks and onto the wooden floor beneath your bare feet.

She wasn't a witch, none of them had been, they were all just subject to the terrible people that live here, that blame women for their problems because of that drought that caused their starvation, because of the cold winter, because of the sickness. But did they not all just logically fit together? Cold and hungry people get sick, it seems to make sense from your father's practice, from everything you had read, from everything that you can't say for fear you will be the next one burned at that terrible place.

A gentle hand is placed on your shoulder, and you try to hold back tears, try to subtly wipe them away as you look up to see who could be attempting to comfort you, the only person left as a spectator to that day's event.

"You should not still be here, Madam (y/n)." Comes the gentle voice as you look into the eyes of the man that had come to console you.

"I am sorry Father Blackwood." You say quickly, jumping to your feet suddenly and brushing a strand of hair from your face as he merely smiles back, an attempt at comfort.

"It is alright, it is a sad day to watch one's family be burned." He says, the words try to give you condolence but it merely aggravates you more. But the only response that is appropriate to such a man is a mere nod and look away, trying to keep yourself together at the glimpse of the charred skeleton still tied to the post of iron used for such events. It is hard to believe that just hours before, that woman had been your cousin, unmarried and intelligent, a recluse, a virgin, and murdered because of it.

Taking breaths to clear your outrage at the injustice, but it isn't his fault, and you must not be angry with him. "Indeed it is, a dozen now." You tell him, voice flat as your try to conceal your fury at that fact. All sacrifices, virgins and alone, intelligent women, sacrificed to feed men's pride and vanity.

"Indeed, a dozen." And in that instant you catch the small smirk that lifts the corners of his mouth, he seems pleased that it is so many and the disgust that grows inside you at the thought has you turning away.

"Well, Father Blackwood, I must be heading home, it is becoming rather late." You tell him quickly, attempting to excuse yourself from the situation, to escape this deranged priest that has had so many condemned for the simple sin of being smart.

"Oh, indeed, lady (y/n), but if you wouldn't mind having supper with me this evening?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and immediately you are wary.

Why would this great priest want to have dinner with yourself? A town nobody with a dead father, not even courted regularly. But how could you refuse him, he could have you dead for such an offense.

"I am not certain that is wise sir, I must be heading home before it is dark." You try to excuse, attempting to be polite but it is incredibly difficult when confronted with such a powerful man as you try to say no.