Once Upon A Time | BSD X Reader Oneshots

D. Osamu X Reader | Beliefs

A/N: Man idk

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"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"

"No," You turned your head back to the view in front of you, smile never faltering once.

Even from a mile away one couldn't mistake the otherworldly ambience of this big building, its doors were always wide open, as if a father accepting his prodigal son that had gone stray, the windows were decorated in stained glass, each depicting a story, some of brave, smart women, like Esther, or brilliant kings, like David, or even unfortunate souls that had received their timely judgment, like the people of sodom and Gomorrah.

Rows and rows of benches were placed in accordance, each occupant gazing ahead of them to what was most likely the source of this unexplained feeling, dozens of men and women stood in a semi circle, their voices harmonizing with effortless precision, faces contorting with their lifting spirits, despite their matching clothing they were all different from one another in their own special way. Just like how God created them to be. Unique.

Behind them stood a gigantic wooden cross, a podium with a mic, a bible opened atop it, and a pastor standing beside it.

Some people were on their knees, wailing cries of atonement, others were standing with their arms up, heads lifted up high and eyes closed, giving their souls and existence to God.

Then there was you, sitting quietly, hands folded, fingers intertwined, legs crossed, but a smile so genuine it made every other person look like a fool. An actor.

"What a peculiar sight." The man next to you spoke up, getting your attention.

Upon closer look, he wasn't as normal as you first took him to be, or at least didn't look like it, the right side of his face was covered in bandages, as if he had sustained some terrible accident, his brown hair fell in wavy locks, but you could tell it was often left unattended, he wore a black three piece, suit, accompanied by a white button up shirt, black tie, and a high-collar black cloak. If you didn't know any better you'd say he was perhaps in his twenties, but his voice was that of a boy who had just hit maturity.

You pondered if he was talking to you or himself, in the end, you opted to give him a response, "What is?"

"All these people, they shout, sing, and worship, yet have no idea if their cries are even going past the walls of this building. What if in they end up beings fools to someone's creative expertise?"

You hummed in thought, he was probably a nonbeliever, perhaps giving church a try. "You have a point, I don't blame you for thinking like that. But once you accept his call, once you feel his presence for yourself, you'll understand."

"You mean the 'Lord'?" He asked, an underlying mocking glint to his tone, his eyebrow cocked in an amused manner.

"Precisely, our father in heaven."

"No, I'm not his son. I'm no one's son."

You stared at his bandaged face for a long time, his words were sincere, you could tell, "That's why we confide in him, that's why we believe in his power and love. Because when no one else will be there for us, he will."

"And yet he gives us rules and regulations? Demands we worship him? Takes when we don't?" He snapped, his voice was ragged and raw, as if denting under a weight too pressing to lift or even understand.