#father paul smut

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Blasphemous Rumours

Warnings: 18+, smut, hierophilia, sacrilegious acts, priest kink, fucking on an altar, suggestive themes in a confessional, riding a rosary(?...), hair pulling, biting, light blood play, exhibitionism, suggestive themes during mass, probably smth else but i don’t remember. nothing too crazy🧌. im debating on linking the playlist i wrote this to, but it would kinda get rid of the anonymity of this account…. ~nero :)

Father Paul Hill x female!reader

Word Count: 6.3k

You hated this fuckin ferry. 

You loved your family but you never understood why they never left that island. When you found your way out you left without a second thought. Vowing to never settle here again but that didn’t mean you’d never visit your family. Usually for the holidays you made your way back out here, but this time you just had a break in your schedule and wanted to visit. Wanting to visit didn’t trump the hatred you had for riding this fucking ferry though. 

To be completely honest you didn’t hate the ride itself but rather how the journey made you smell like a feeding bucket at Seaworld. The evening sun was gracing you with its last bit of warmth as it began to tuck itself behind the horizon. Against the cool mist of the water for a split moment, you almost understood the appeal of this lifestyle.

Almost. 

The ferry pulled up to the dock and your eyes fell on the shoreline meeting some abandoned nets and dried out seaweed. The seagulls' mews echoed as you exited the boat. Grabbing your bags you took a deep breath as your feet hit the sand and you began the trek up to your family home. 

Nothings changed. 

It’s been years and everything still looked the same. The houses, the people, hell even the smells were the same. It was uncanny. You saw the church in the distance and were relieved knowing that you could finally lay your bags down soon. As you passed the church your eyes landed on a relatively young man standing outside, a warm smile welcoming anyone that passed by. Styx-colored locks, a slender frame, and a face that looked ever so familiar. Pressing your lips together in a close-lipped smile and waved at him making a mental note to speak to him later. 

Your family’s house was only two doors down from the church and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to see them. Knocking on the front door you eagerly waited to see who would see your face first. 

“Coming!” 

You heard faintly from the other side and you were greeted by the face of your mother. 

“Y/n! Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you!” 

She embraced you immediately, nearly squeezing the life out of you. 

“Hi, Mom.” You chuckled 

Over her shoulder, you saw your little sister, Briar, smirking at you trying her best not to laugh at your current situation. Your mom pulled you into the house motioning for you to come eat dinner as you arrived just in time. 

“Please, come eat. We’ll worry about your bags later. You came just in time to go to mass with us after.”

Mass? Why so late?

“Mass? Did you guys miss it this morning or something?” 

Washing your hands you turned around to face your family as you dried them. Before you sat down at the table your dad came from around the corner physically interjecting himself into the conversation as your mom spoke. 

“No, they happen—hi dear, they happen in the evening now. A new priest has been filling in for the Monsignor. Apparently, while he left for his trip to Jerusalem he fell terribly ill. Such a shame. But Father Paul is phenomenal! I think you’ll like him.”

Your mom looked at you with a knowing smile and you knew exactly what she was teasing you about. You rolled your lips around your teeth and began to eat, swallowing a sly comment. 

After you guys finished dinner, you fixed yourself for mass. Although you weren’t religious on your own time, you did it for your family while you were here. Plus, it allowed you time to wrestle with your feelings with Christ to see if it really wasn’t for you. Your relationship with God or whoever was out there was complicated. Wildly complicated. You knew in your heart that you were a formal sinner yet you lacked the guilt that should’ve come with that. 

If anything, you relished in it. You loved being entangled with the feeling of sin, it made you feel alive. You felt so strangled as a kid with religion, as if every move you made was under scrutiny so when you found the courage to separate yourself, you may have overindulged in things that were impious in nature. 

Just as you were this evening, clad in a low-cut tank top, a hoodie, jeans, and slip-on Vans. If you felt you didn’t belong in Crockett before, you definitely visually fit the part now. Looking like a complete foreigner in comparison to everyone else. You screamed city. From your clothes, and makeup, even down to the way you spoke. You tried your best to eradicate every trace of Crockett when you left but there was one thing you couldn’t scrub away. 

God. 

God always found a way to squirm His way around your brain and tether you to this island. 

“Y/n! You ready, honey?” 

“Yeah!”

Spraying yourself with a light perfume you walked out into the front room where your family was waiting for you. Filing out the door, the walk to the church was quick which was something you despised as a kid and you could feel those same feelings bubbling up as you neared its entrance. It was as if God was mocking you, knowing that you had such an internal feud with whether or not you believed, what was right and wrong, and if you even had a sliver of faith left within you. 

Sitting down in the pews next to your family, you felt at home once the incense filled your nose. The strange feeling of comfort washing over you as memories of your childhood flashed in front of you. The tottering organ that was moments away from wood decay, the massive crucifix in the center arch of the back of the church, and the haunting glow from the warm ambient lighting had you questioning yourself once again. You swallowed the thought, deciding that nostalgic comfort was weighing out your need for logic. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as everyone around you rose to your feet and the chimes of the bell echoed through the building. It was at this point that you realized how many people were stuffed into the pews. Mass was never like this as a kid. 

He’s either the hottest thing known to man or he’s sent from God himself. 

Anticipation settled in your stomach and you fought the smile that was begging to stretch your lips. You needed to know what it was. Maybe he was just a really good preacher, and you were being facetious–or maybe you just walked into the next Jim Jones story. Either way, your eyes were glued to the hallway counting the seconds to the procession. 

As everyone around you opened their book of hymns you were fixated on the white robe that exited the side door.  You didn’t recognize either of the altar boys and for a brief moment, you wondered where the last two poor bastards ran off to. But then your eyes fell on his. His stark black hair wasn’t as neat as it was earlier today when you were walking through town. A few pieces in the front dangled over his right eyebrow and his head was bowed slightly as he walked through the pews. 

Your mind was pulled away from fully taking in the man as you were distracted by how full the church sounded. When you were younger the hymns always sounded so hollow and weak, but tonight it resembled a traditional mass. Savoring the moment of repose you felt, you found it within you to appreciate the music resonating through the building finding it somewhat odd that they were singing a hymn that sounded so haunting. 

At His feet the six-winged seraph, cherubim with sleepless eye~

Your attention drifted back to the priest where he kneeled at the steps and then bowed his head at the altar. When his head raised to stare out across the pews you felt your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Your mom nudged your side, smirking when you turned to look at her. 

“Told you.”

You shoved your tongue in your cheek, swiping it across your teeth as you sat back down. Mass went by in a blink considering you were completely engrossed in the man in front of you rather than his preaching. At some point, you completely tuned out his biblical orations and resorted to the simple pleasures of imagining him and yourself in various scenarios in the church. 

In the pews, across the altar, across the altar with the front door open waiting for Beverly to waltz through, in the confessio-

“Honey, come. I want you to meet Father Paul.”

Your mom tapped you on your shoulder pushing you out of your trance of thoughts. Standing up, you smoothed out your top and took a deep breath in an attempt to shake out the tension in your shoulders you most certainly built up during your daydreaming. Walking out of the church you wondered why you were leaving if she wanted you to meet the man. You turned around and noticed that he was no longer at the altar either. Stepping out to the front, your questions were soon answered as a smooth voice sounded from behind you. 

“I see we have a new face in town.” 

Your mother butt in before you had a chance to speak for yourself. Laying her hand across the small of your back introducing you to the man you just spent the better half of an hour fantasizing about. 

“For a little bit, we do, yes! This is my daughter, y/n. She usually comes around for the holidays but we got lucky this time around. This used to be her home until about two years ago.”

You stuck your hand out, Father Paul grabbing yours with a firm grip and you couldn’t help the compulsion to stare at his hand for a moment before quickly finding your mind and smiling at him.

“Nice of you to step in for the Monsignor. My mom told me you’re his stand-in for the time being.” 

“Yes. I apologize seeing as I’m not who you expected, but I assure you he’s on the road to recovery.” 

As Father Paul spoke, you couldn’t quite place why he looked and felt so familiar. You were running through files of how you could’ve possibly known him but nothing was coming out concrete. 

“Oh! No need to apologize. I quite enjoyed your sermon, it was very similar to what I was used to growing up here. It’s as if he never left.” 

You chuckled out your last sentence and suddenly nerves found themselves coursing through your body as you maintained eye contact. You were committing his face to memory. Whether it be for personal reasons in the dead of night or to try and figure out where you knew him from. You’d wrestle with that later. Right now, you were just hoping that you weren’t being painfully obvious. 

You were. 

You were bordering a fine line of staring and eye-fucking him that your mother and sister were finding absolute humor in. Your eyes flickered back and forth between his clerical collar and his face trying to shake the thoughts that were circling their way around your head. 

“Well, I’m glad that I feel so familiar to you. I hope to see more of you during your time here with us.” 

He smiled at you with such sincerity you forgot about all the lust brewing for a second. His face held so many emotions but you couldn’t place any of them. 

“You will.”

You smiled back at him, your eyes holding something a little more heavy though. You were aware of the priesthood’s celibacy and something about knowing you couldn’t have him made the feeling that more intense. Although, you didn’t miss how it seemed the feeling was reciprocated while you looked at him. Father Paul spoke, breaking the silence that you two created. 

“Well, it was very nice to meet the rest of your family, Mrs. L/N, but I am afraid that I have some matters to tend to back in my rectory. You all have a very nice night.” 

His gaze lingered as he spoke, giving you the same treatment as you did moments before and it was making you squirm on the inside. His gaze was soft but so intense and the contrariety of it left your mind racing. While you and your family said a choir of goodbyes, you watched Father Paul walk away as your family made the way back to the house. Your sister spoke up, whipping you from your thoughts. 

“At this point, you should just tell him you want to fuck him.” 

Both of your parents exclaimed your sister’s name in shock but the two of you were left laughing. 

“Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad.” 

“Y/n, you might as well have been sucking his fingers in front of us.” 

As you guys walked back into the house your mom snickered as you genuinely asked for her opinion. 

“Was I being that obvious about it?”

She paused. 

“You could be…less obvious about it.” 

You groaned in embarrassment rushing straight to your room to avoid any teasing for the night. 

“Goodnight!” 

~*~

You couldn’t sleep. You opened your phone to check the time knowing full well that it was the middle of the night. You just wanted to see how late it was. 

3:33. 

Shit. 

You let out an exasperated sigh wiping your hand across your face. It was usually at this point in the night that your hand found its way in between your pajama pants and gently glided itself across your sensitive floret. Your hips jolted forward at the contact and as soon as that sensation spread through your body, images of Father Paul flickered in your mind. As your finger circled over your clit you found yourself reaching your climax faster than usual. As your orgasm flooded through your limbs, your chest heaved for air trying to calm the euphoria running through your veins. 

Pulling your hand from under the sheets, you let your arm drape across your eyes grappling with what you just did. But before you could really identify the problem with your actions, sleep weighed heavily on your eyelids. 

When you woke up, your middle of the night scandal was the first thing on your mind. 

How am I gonna look at him again? 

A string of questions ran through your mind leaving you mentally scattered but as you got ready for the day and saw your sister in the main room, it left the front of your mind. 

“Morning.” 

“Morning. You gonna go to church today?”

You shot your sister a look that was a mixture of embarrassment and a playful knowing. You two erupted into a fit of giggles that ended with you looking at her out of the corner of your eye. 

“Maybe.”

She watched you, impressed by your honesty, and nodded her head. Taking a sip of her drink she spoke through her swallow making her voice a little gummy. 

“Your best chances of seeing him are in the evening. For some reason, he’s stopped coming out in the day. Probably to avoid Bev. That woman would sew herself to his hip if she could.”

“Bev was up the Monsignor’s ass too, nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve never seen someone try to get so close to fucking God.” 

You both were laughing until you saw your mother emerge from the hallway and you halted the sound in your throats. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. Just givin’ Bev shit for being Bev.”

Your mom laughed through her nose and shook her head at your antics and you were preparing for a small lecture. 

“So I take it you’ll be heading to the church tonight y/n? Typically we only go on Sundays now but I’m sure Father Paul would be ecstatic to see one of us a little more often.” 

Your family took great pride in taking the piss out of you and to be completely fair you made it quite easy. You rolled your eyes at your mother because even she knew you had lost touch with your faith, but now you had reason to find it–maybe. 

“I wasn’t planning on it but since Briar and now you have both greeted me with the question maybe I will. Build some rapport with the man.” 

“We both know you’d wanna build something more than rapport with him.” Briar chimed in. 

“I literally can’t even! You know…with him. It’s against their whole code. Don’t think I forgot. But also they like should come up with a code to not have hot priests, I’m just sayin.” 

They both just hummed in agreement still silently giving you shit. 

“You guys are terrible.” You laughed. 

~*~

You had all day to conjure up a scheme of how you’d find a way to get close to Father Paul and you finally decided on a plan while you were getting ready. 

Confession. 

Technically you didn’t need a priest for confession but it’d be nice to have someone listen while you were in the box. Everyone separated into their rooms for the day and you hoped that was still the case when you stepped out of the house. 

“Skirt’s a little long isn’t it.” 

You didn’t expect Briar to be sitting in the main room so her voice spooked you before you registered her words. 

“Yeah, but I think the side slits balance out the potential prude.” 

You shoved your leg out to the side showing off how the slit in the maxi skirt stopped at the middle of your thigh. Paired with a fairly tight black long sleeve and chunky boots, you were bordering on looking like a mortician. In your mind, being clad in all black hid not only you, but your true intentions from being so visible. The last thing you needed was being sniffed out through a choice of clothing, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t hopeful for an interaction. 

“I’ll be back.”

“Be safe.” Briar snickered

Stepping out into the cool night air, you were thankful to feel something other than the emotional heat from your family. It immediately soothed your nerves and you found yourself focusing more on your plan. With the church doors open, you noticed you saw nobody walking in and when you walked up the steps you were surprised to see the pews empty. It felt like you were intruding, like a fly buzzing around a dinner table. Your footsteps echoed in the empty building and you felt an overwhelming feeling to run out and forget about this elaborate plan. To sacrifice your need for affection and carnal satisfaction for a walk across the shoreline or to the general store. Just something else. 

Your eyes panned over to the confession box and you were wrestling with your gut feeling to stay. Maybe you should confess and get it off your chest…just not with him there. With disquieted uncertainty overcoming you, you took a step back to exit the church deciding that you’d come back another day, but when you expected your body to glide through the air, you stumbled into something solid instead. Whipping your body around you apologized profusely. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I was spaced out and didn’t hear anybody behind me I’m so-” 

And then you paused. As your eyes traveled up to meet the person you stumbled into your eyes caught the clerical collar. It was like a bullet lodged itself into your chest and you felt your limbs begin to grow cold from shock. You knew who lied above that collar and you had to find the guts to look at him in the eye. 

“It’s no trouble at all. Are you alright? You seem pretty startled.” 

Father Paul placed his hand on your shoulder looking down at you with genuine concern. You made the mistake of looking at him directly in the eye and you wished you didn’t. His deep brown eyes furrowed under his brow waiting for your response but you were entranced by him. Stuttering when you found your voice. 

“I, uh, yeah. I’m fine. I just was in my head about something.” 

Father Paul cocked his head slightly trying to figure out where to step with you. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and flickered back and forth between you and the confessional box. 

“I noticed you were quite focused on the confessional, were you looking to confess this evening, y/n?” 

You panicked. Backed in a corner, your mouth moved faster than your brain. It was too late before you could register the words flying out of your mouth. 

“Well, yes and no. I’ve been quite separated from my faith as of late but I’ve been struggling with…some intense internal issues that can’t be ignored now. I’m not sure if confession would make it better or worse and that’s why I was so engrossed in it.” 

“Well. We’re here now. If you’re comfortable, I can lead you through it.” 

You were hesitant. You worried that in your current state, you’d divulge too much, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed to do. To just get it all out of your system and bear the humiliation. You looked at him one last time and it was as if he was waiting for your compliance. He may as well have been extending his hand out to lead you to it. Closing your eyes and accepting this as a fated moment you inhaled a deep breath and nodded. 

“Okay.” 

Walking to the confessional, you got down on your knees, folded your hands in front of your mouth, and exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You looked through the latticed opening and made out a few of Father Paul’s features. A feeling began to pool in your stomach as you realized the dynamic of the situation you were in. Your mind swiftly moved into the gutter wishing you were on your knees for a different reason. 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned–and will continue to do so.” 

You paused deciding one last time if you were going to bear all your bones here. Swallowing your pride, like a gun sounding the start of a race, you relieved yourself with zero guilt. 

“Being separated from my faith has left me in a deeply sacrilegious state. For the most part, I can ignore my thoughts, my taboo interests but since I stepped foot back on this island it's all come bubbling back up.”

You looked to see if Father Paul was looking at you but he stared straight ahead giving you his complete focus to your confession. 

“I find, grave desire in things I shouldn’t. Sexual hunger that I can’t displace somewhere else because I know the only reason it brews within me is because I know it’s wrong. Father, these feelings came back to the surface when I laid my eyes on you during Mass. I couldn’t help it. The feeling that pooled in the depths of my stomach and left me aching for something more. Forgive me, Father, for my boldness, but I fear that the only way I can feel relief is to…release.” 

You felt your breath quicken at how honest you were being but it was soon replaced by the feeling of of excitement. 

“I know it’s wrong but I…I can’t stop the feeling. This is all I can say, I’m sorry for my sins.” 

Silence. 

You felt like you sat in silence for an eternity waiting to hear his voice echo to your side, but you didn’t. Instead, you heard the pace of his breathing. You almost confused it for your own but you held your breath trying to calm your nerves and still it echoed. 

“Father…I. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any-” 

“Y/n. Come to the other side. 

As you rose to your feet, you heard the door on his side of the confessional click open. When you stood in front of the door, it was the first time this evening you found the courage to look him directly in the eye. There was a dastardly hunger swimming in his brown eyes. Like a predator stalking his prey, his aura was intense and left you frozen in front of him awaiting his command. His eyebrow slightly cocked upward and his hand raised, coaxing you towards him. You followed, pausing before you stepped inside his side of the box but he coaxed you forward with his voice so smooth and alluring. With little room, you were left to slot yourself in between his legs. 

Your breath hitched as you looked at him again and he patted his thigh with his hand that was wrapped in a rosary. Clenching around nothing, you made the swift decision to close his legs and straddle them instead of taking his knee. Letting your hands rest on his shoulders you stared him down. Nothing but salacity was radiating between your bodies and quickly you began to feel your desire rise into your face. Searching his eyes for any indication of his feelings you opened your mouth to speak but he occupied the silence before you. 

“I wondered if, you would find the courage to be truthful and I must say I’m struck by your honesty.”

Your heart nearly stopped. 

You fucked this up, bad.

“Father, I-”

“No need for any apologies. I’m glad you were so honest.” 

“You…you are?”

“Lying is a sin, so yes. But it relieves me of my own prurient conscience so that I may indulge in you free of guilt.” 

You weren’t paying attention to the movement of his body due to being so focused on his words, but when his words were punctuated with the rolling of his rosary-clad finger across your cloth-covered center, you were made very aware. Your cunt clenched around nothing and your body lurched forward unintentionally writhing over his hand. Your breath came out in shutters and your eyes, now hooded with lust, gazed into his own in a frenzy. 

His fingers kept gently teasing your bud through your panties and you couldn’t help the compulsion to ride in tandem with his movements. The beads of the rosary gifted you an unknown kind of pleasure that you knew would afflict your mind for the rest of time. It was a feeling that was near indescribable but the pleasure was too good to deny. You rested your head on his forehead, gripping onto his shoulders for some type of leverage. You bit the corner of your lip in an effort to silence yourself, but your ragged breathing was near that of an incensed bull. 

“If you did a better job of controlling yourself yesterday, I may have been fooled by your sheepish nature, but you just couldn’t quell this desire on your own, could you? You went home to seek some satisfaction but you found none, so you came here to plague me instead. Praying that I’d fix this ache within you. Am I right y/n?”

You went to respond but Father Paul’s finger slipped past the barrier of your underwear, leaving you to feel your arousal be spread across your puffy petals. A moan escaped your throat and the way it echoed off the confessional walls into the church made you shrink into his body. A pathetic attempt to hide from your lechery. Father Paul hummed, urging you to speak as he sank two fingers into your honeyed garden. Catching your breath, you found your words. 

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Father~”

You brought your head up to look at him again, too dazed to even feel like this was real. As his fingers continued to roll themselves against your sweet spot, your breath quickened as your mouth stayed ajar looking for the courage somewhere in yourself to slot your lips against his. As he rolled his finger over your swollen bud, your body decided for you. Your lips danced in a sweat and lust-filled hysteria leaving your brain foggy with desire. You rolled your hips into his hand needing more of him and your sounds slowly increased in volume as you felt a bead of the rosary slide across your center. The feeling of the beads slightly grazing your sensitive lips brought you faster to the precipice of elation than you expected and you pathetically whined for your release. 

“I’m, I’m close, Father.” 

You expected him to speed up his ministrations, but instead, he removed his slick-ridden fingers from your garden and brought them up to his lips. As if his hand was dripping in myrrh, he sucked you off of his fingers and paused before he spoke. Ghosting his fingers across his lips, his tongue hesitantly licked the tips of them as he dragged his hand away from his face.

“If you’re going to be brought to rapture by my hand it will be done when all of me is inside of you.” 

Father Paul motioned you to stand up and you staggered out of the confessional with him not far behind. He grabbed your hand and dragged you down the center of the church pews up to the altar. Ripping the white cloth off the altar, Father Paul held his hand out before sitting you down on the altar. He caressed his hands down the curves of your body before toying with the waistband of your skirt. Looking down at you, you saw the fervor swimming in his irises. 

“My sweet lamb, is this alright?”

You nodded and he slotted himself in between your legs feeling his bulge at your center. Depraved and corpulent lust washed over your body and your fingers fumbled with his belt, unfastening it with haste. You looked up at him and his face was closer than you expected, the heat radiating off of your bodies leaving a mist of humidity between you. You palmed him through his jeans and an inviscerated moan crawled out of his throat. The sound urged your body to move faster, the need to have him inside of you becoming near unbearable. 

He kissed you again, insatiable ardor all that you could taste. The feeling trickled down your body leaving goosebumps across your soft skin and a river seeping through the fabric of your panties that slowly painted the apex of your thighs. He tapped your thighs and you took it as a sign to lift your hips. In a swift motion, your skirt and underwear were left in a pool by the altar. Father Paul removed himself from his sweater, throwing it in the pile of sacrilegious cloths that served as a visual reminder of the desacralization that was about to take place. He left his button-up to cling to his chest and he moved his jeans and underwear down to the middle of his thighs, leaving him with his fervid cock on full display. 

You kicked your boots off your feet, the thud echoing a little bit louder than you intended. With your feet now free from their confines, you wrapped your legs around Father Paul’s legs, bringing him as close as possible. Your hand slithered between your bodies and varnished the tip of his cock in your amatory nectar. Your moans harmonized in synchrony and you gazed into his lust-blown eyes seeing nothing but black and you were sure yours were the same. He asked silently one last time for consent and you nodded slightly before he entered you. 

The stretch of his cock was something you felt only one could dream about. It filled you perfectly and you knew you wouldn’t last long. Your head dipped back in zeal, relishing in the feeling that was rushing in waves over your form. When your head tipped back up, your eyes met the enlarged crucifix that hung in the center of the back wall. For a reason unknown to you, locking eyes with Jesus as you desecrated His holy house made a pang of carnal hedonism tangle in your sexual daze. 

Your hands webbed themselves in Father Paul’s hair gripping at his strands and pulling his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder, feeling his breath heat up your skin. You felt his mouth open and drag itself across the side of your neck. A slight chill graced the parts where his spit marked his territory. You felt his breathing get heavier and all of a sudden you felt his cock slip out of you and he picked you up from the altar, turning you around and kicking your feet into a perfect V shape. He bent your body over the altar and slowly pushed himself back into you, the new angle making you cry out in complete perverted passion. 

His thrusts were deep and pointed making sure that you felt every inch of him drag in and out of your seraphic labyrinth. Just when you felt that the feeling couldn't get any more intense, his hand entangled itself into your hair and pulled your body up, flesh against his chest. His thrusts became rougher and you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. 

“Feel good, my dove?” 

You were fucking yourself back onto him, any coherent thought on the brink of leaving you amidst your ardent pleasure. 

“S-so…so good, Father. Shit.”

You were running out of air, your body paying more attention to the dam that was about to burst within you. 

“Better than your hand?”

“Uh-huh”

Your eyes were rolling back in pleasure and were hooded as you looked back at him. He gingerly guided your body back down to the altar and removed his hand from your hair, slowly tracing his hand down your back. Both of his hands grabbed your hips and the feeling had you crying out as his tip kissed your cervix. You felt his body lean over yours as he moved your hair away from your neck. His breath was sticking to your neck before a whisper ghosted over your ear.

“I’m sorry, but trust me right now.” 

He licked from the base of your neck and then you felt him pierce your skin with his teeth. In your licentious stupor, you just moaned out at the contact not fully registering that his teeth were sinking into your flesh or the fact that footsteps were echoing through the church. 

“Father, you weren’t in your rectory so I assumed this would be second best to find you-oh…” 

Bev.

Her grating voice almost brought you out of your daze, but Father Paul resorted to slow, deep thrusts as he kept he kept sucking your neck. When he lifted his face from your neck you felt a warm liquid trickle down your skin and pool towards your collarbone before landing on the altar. You lifted your head, your body weak and wracked with pleasure. You could barely make eye contact with her as your eyes were so hooded but you heard her voice resonate through the building once more. 

“Haresis Dea.”

Your head dropped unable to focus on her and your body rolled back into Father Paul’s, needing more of him as your orgasm was slowly fading back into your body. As you moved against him, his hips slowly began to thrust back into your sloppy cunt as Bev waited for some semblance of an explanation. 

“God has chosen her. He has chosen to consecrate this union, this nocturnal metamorphosis with lascivious intent because she is the last piece. God has willed it this way and has chosen her.” 

Father Paul bent down to lap at your neck again and his hips regained their momentum. You pushed yourself up from the altar and wrapped your arm around the back of his neck lapping at the blood that was dribbling down his chin.

“Very well.” 

And you heard Bev’s footsteps walk out of the church, the main doors closing behind her. Father Paul picked you up again, turning your body back around to face him. There was a certain ferality that wasn’t in his features before that had you clenching around his cock. With the doors shut, you both let your moans reign loose, a salacious cacophony filling the air. Your eyes scaled up the wall again and you came face to face with Jesus as a pool of heated arousal settled in your lower stomach begging to be set free. Your head knocked back in avidity and you didn’t see him slice a small cut in his wrist. 

When his thumb found your enflamed bud, you brought your head forward and he placed his bleeding wrist against your lips. As a wave of sexual delirium washed over you, your mouth hung open and he urged you to suck on his wrist. The metallic taste flooded over your tongue as your orgasm heightened your senses. Father Paul kept fucking you through your high until he reached his own, his cock painting your labyrinth a warm alabaster. He pulled his wrist away from you as you both were trying to calm down your breathing. 

Both of your mouths now covered in a drying garnet hue, you found yourself pressing your lips against his once again, unable to satisfy this ache completely. He chuckled as you both pulled away. 

“Easy, my dove.” 

You nodded, placing your hands flat against his chest. 

“Let’s get you dressed and then walk to the rectory, hmm?” 

Licking your bottom lip and locking it behind your teeth, you nodded as you slowly made the return back to your body.  

© yeonjuns-beanie

[grugruel]

Lust for Vampyr

Pairings: Paul Hill x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

Summary: A new handsome priest arrives at Crockett Island and youre desperate for his attention, but when he seems to be avoiding you, you do the only logical thing. Show up at his door

Word count: 3.8K

Warnings: Blasphemy, age-gap (reader over 20), oral sex (f! receving), pinv sex, rough sex, praise kink, slight thigh kink? Little bit of edging and cock-warming, tasting of blood (vampire shenanigans), PRIEST KINK.

Id never really found any interest in attending mass, despite my parents insistent attempts to drag me along. I had been watching the old monsignor preach for years now until he left for his pilgrimage, leaving a blank spot for a new priest to take his place.

Paul Hill had he called himself, and it was like lightning struck. All of a sudden I had a new fevor for the faith and although I had moved out long ago, my parents were thrilled to say the least. Little did they know though, that a fire had stirred within me. I started with innocent glances, admiring him from a far, telling myself it was just because of his enthusiastic way of preaching. But then getting a thing for his tall stature, big hands and stark black hair. He had me cleching my thighs together as I sat next to my parents in the church pews.

He made me want to confess my every sin to him and eventually I did, when I grew desperate enough. Just for the chance to hear him breath in that quiet intimate way I had begun to crave.

We had met briefly, just to introduce ourselves, but thats it. I wanted to talk to him more though, learn more about him. So I started lingering after mass, telling my parents to go on ahead without me just so I could get a word with the new father. But he usually dissapered into thin air before I got the chance, seemingly avoiding me like the black death.

Which Is how I ended up in my current situation. It was after the usual mass, I had dressed extra nicely tonight. I was standing in the cold on the fathers poarch, knocking on the rectory door in my fancy dress, black tights and mary janes.

I felt out of place, I know I shouldnt be here for this reason, I know I shouldnt have dressed nice in an effort to seduce a man of the church. Shame crept up my cheeks, coloring them a bright red. But I heard shuffling behind the door, then footsteps coming toward me and immedietly regretted my decision.

What was I doing? This is so stupid, hes going to send me away, direct me back to my parents like a lost child. My thoughts came to a sudden halt when the door finally opened, and there he stood. Father Paul.

He was in his regular black shirt and white collar, wearing his tight jeans. His eyebrows rose when he saw me, 'Ah' he sighed, as if expecting me but surprised none the less.

'Father.' I greeted, smiling faintly, 'Youre a busy man, you always disappear after mass, its hard to find time to talk with you.' I told him, he smiled apologetically 'Unfortunately yes, Ive had some urgent business to atend to lately, its taken up all my past time.' He explained as his gaze trailed down my body, eyes lingering on my thighs, 'I- uhm. . .' he shook his head, completley lost in thought when a particularly chilly breeze blew by. He shuddered, apparently noticing the cold for the first time, which managed to break him out of his trance and making him pay attention to my own shivers. Noting the goosebumps lining my arms and collarbones. He met my gaze again, hestitating slightly before moving out of the way 'Its freezing, please do come in.' He said, smiling cheapishly. 'Thank you.' I whispered as I passed him, intentionally brushing against his arm and hoping that he would catch a whiff of my perfume.

He closed the door behind us and made his way to the kitchen, 'Tea?' He asked.

'Yes please.' I answered and he smiled to himself, pleased with my manners. He gestured to the armchair in the middle of the room, 'Please, sit.' He urged me, then put a kettle of water on. I nodded and sat down, crossing my legs.

We waited on our opposite ends of the room, an akward silence settling over us. Finally though, the wistle of the kettle rang through the rectory and he made us two cups and sat down on the sofa opposite me. He handed me my cup and our fingers brushed as I took it, our eyes met, lingering on eachother. But he cleared his throat and looked away, 'So what brings you here?' He questioned.

I rested the cup in my lap as I tried to come up with an appropriate answer. 'We havent peoperly met, I suppose. . I simply wished to get to know you a bit better.' I said shyly.

He smiled, 'Well ofcourse, thats reasonable enough. Did you have any specific questions in mind?' He asked, sipping his tea.

I blanked completley, what was my plan here? 'I- No, not really. Uhm.' I stumbled ahead blindley.

He chuckled, 'Youre never this nervous in confessional are you.'

My face lit up in shame, averting my faze from him 'Well father, I suppose it gets easier in the dark.' I said, sipping my tea nervously.

He chuckled, 'I suppouse it would yes.'

I nodded gravely, looking back at him and found that his eyes had drifted to my body. It took me by surpise, but pleased me grately, 'Father?' I asked, trying to get his attention.

'Mmhm?' He hummed distantly, not taking his eyes off of me. Perhaps I wasnt so far off in coming here after all, my tights and skirt seemed to be working. Gaining some confidence, I uncrossed my legs and his gaze followed them intently. God, all he needed to was look at me and I was his, completley and utterly. In a sudden surge of brazenness, I let the cup rest in my lap again, clutched in my hands. Then spread my legs wider and slid the cup between my thighs, still in my grip, so that the view of my panties was blocked by that alone.

His bresthing stuttered, a made a sound that was barely a gasp. He rubbed his hands over his face and combed them through his hair in an effort to collect himself. But it did not work, he felt himself being affect by you, in the same way he was everytime he saw you. Which Is why he had to run off, why he had to keep his distance from you.

He sank further into the sofa, liftning his lap to adjust his position and then sat back down. I practically drooled at the sight, a tingling sensation pulsing through my core. I had to close my eyes for a few seconds, making an effort to think straight, at least until the feeling had calmed down and I could talk freely again. I moved my gaze back onto him and our eyes met, communicating with eachother, exchaning desires we could never say aloud.

Both a bit distracted by eachother, I decided to take the bull by its horns, 'Listen, father. I-' I began, but he shut me down instantly.

'Dont-' he said, holding his hand out to stop me, 'I know. . . I know.'

My mouth fell open in shock and I scrambled for an excuse, but I could not find the words. Shame tainting my tounge. 'Ive tried to stay away, but youre persistent. And I told myself that you must be a trial from god, tempting me, testing my faith.' he said, sitting up straighter and looking into my eyes.

'A trial that I will undoubtedly fail.' he confessed. Relief surged through me, he did want me. I reached out to lay a hand on his knee, but he jumped up, walking backward until he hit the kitchen counter. He leaned against it and crossed his arms, ensuring that they could not reach for me. He was fighting his urges, his own body was betraying him. I stood up, walking around to sofa to meet him, but he shook his head 'No, NO!' he shouted, making flinch in response to his sudden outburst.

'Im sorry, but this- this cannot happen.' He gestured between us, 'Whatever this is.' he sighed desperately and I stopped in my tracks, because I knew he was right. But he was just meters away from me, he was in my vecinity. Free to do with me however he pleased, if he pleased.

I whined at the thought, beacuse it could never happen. I grabbed the back of the sofa and bent down to rest my forehead against it, in a desperate attempt to collect my thoughts. A quiet complain reverberated through my body, "Why did it have to be a priest?" I bashed myself, a whine escaping me as I shook my head slowly. I slid forward, resting my elbows on the sofa so that my hands were free to hide my face. If only I could turn invisible, just disappear. But I was too painfully aware of his looming prescence to escape the moment, he kept a safe distance, occupied with battling his own thoughts.

I burned hot, terribly hot, my face ablaze from the shame of my indecent thoughts and actions, in stark contrast to my body which was only lubricated by them. Every single nerve-ending was tingling in reaction of what I craved.

I was trying, but failing very badly to calm myself, when there was movement in my peripheral, it happened so quickly that I was sure I had imagined it. But it was too late either way, because he had appeared behind me. All I noticed was a small gush of air and then he was pushed up against me, hips to ass and I involuntairily froze.

A shuddering gasp came form behind me as he lrt go of his restrictipns and his hands made contact with my skin, one hand moved to hold my hip while the other explored the dip of my lower back, testing its limits. He rubbed a few slow cicles with his thumb onto my skin, seamingly mesmerized by the goosebumps that rose. He stopped, for only a moment and then flattened his hand against the small of my back. He pushed downward with his palm and as if he'd found a hidden button, my back arched, and my breathing faltered. It was as if god himself had touched me and I had to bite my cheek to stop from moaning.

A low intake of breath could be heard from behind me, as if astonished by what he could accomplish. And as he kept the hand on my lower back pushed against me, he strengthened his grip on my hip and pulled me closer to him. When completley flush, I felt him again. But this time, there was an evident hardness in his jeans and I moaned reflexively, I couldnt help myself. How could I be excpected to? The priest of Crockett Island himself was hard, for me. How I did not scream and beg for him to tear me apart right there is beyond me.

He hissed in response to the friction that the thin fabric of my dress created against the rough fabric of his tight jeans. I tried griding against him with what little movement his hold allowed me, which earned me a displeased grunt and smack on the ass in punishment. I had to cover my mouth as another moan threatened to escape me.

Visions of everything I've dreamed of him to do to me flashed through my mind, things I've only ever imagined while touching myself. My entire skin was on fire as I tried to collect myself, scarcly succeding. I could only manage a single word.

'Father?' whispering it quietly, I turned my head a sliver, as far as I dared. It was enough to make out his disheveld state, chest heaving from supressing his heavy breathing, his usually perfect hair fallen in stressed strands over his forehead, his shirtsleeves carelessly folded and rolled up, showing his forearms. Such simple things drove me absolutley feral, I had to restrain myself from shaking in anticipation of his next move, barely daring to move in fear of him retracting from me.

But he never moved and everything was quiet apart from his shuddering breaths, a result of him fighting his most carnal desires. I wanted to touch him, to caress his beautiful face, to feel his skin under my fingers, and although I loved the shallow feeling my impact had on him, I wanted it deeper. So despite my better judgement, I straigthened my arms and moved to stand up and turn to him. But he quickly stopped me, grabbing a fistful of my hair and thrust my body forward into the sofa, my hips colliding with the back of it as he shoved my face into the pillows, cushioning the force of it.

He hadnt wanted me to see him like that, as if I saw him it would all become real. His desires, his unholy thoughts, his betrayal of god. But I did not care, I had crossed that point a long time ago.

'Father, please.' I begged, voice muffled by the pillows. And there was a slow realisation in his movements as he loosened his grip on me and stepped back. Confusion crowded my already full mind, as he began rubbing the back of his head in distress, turmoil brewed inside of him.

'Im so sorry' he whispered. Oh. . . Poor father, he mustve thought I was begging him to stop. 'Please forgive me, I dont know what came over me. I would never want to hurt you, please know that.' he rambeled, meeting my eyes, begging for for my forgiveness.

I stood up, shaking my head in dissmissal as I made my way to the light switch, turning it off, darkness enveloping us. I searched for soothing words to reassure him, 'You could never hurt me father, im yours.' I said and made my way through the darkness to him, trying to locate him from memory, I reached out blindley in an effort to avoid colliding with something but he met me half way, seeing my struggle.

I did not question it as he laced his fingers with mine and led them to his chest, making my heart skip a beat. I slowly traced my hands upward until I felt his face, enjoying everything my working senses had to offer me. His scent and the feeling of his soft shirt and skin. I placed my hands on either side of his face, cradeling him 'Take me now, in the dark.' I said carefully and stod on my tiptoes.

I leaning into him and as he did not retreat, I kissed him once, tenderly. 'Nobody but us will know' I whispered against his lips, then moved to kiss his jaw, feeling him relax under my touch.

'We will repent in the morning' I assured him and then quated myself, '"It gets easier in the dark"' I found his hands, and moved them to my breasts 'Take me now.'

This time, father Paul did not hesitate. He squeezed my breasts as he met my lips forcefully, kissing and biting me like a starved man. One of his hans dove behind my back, while the other found purchase under my ass. He hoisted me up into his arms in one quick motion, I gasped, surpised by his strength.

He walked me to the armchair, setting me down in it and kneeling in fornt of me. He spread my legs with his strong hands, and laid them on each thigh, squeezing hard. His hands slid up my thighs until they met the hem of my dress. He met my eyes, asking for reassurance and I nodded enthusiatically, giving it to him. He continued moving his hands upward, the dress catching on his wrists and follows his movements. He leaned closer, kissing a trail along the inside of my thigh until he came to my core. He ripped my thights open and moved my pantied to the side, and as he already had me go-ahead, he dove right in. I gasped as he made contact with my core, his tounge thrusting inside of me. Tasting my very being, he moved one of his hands to my clit, attacking it feverishly as the other stayed squeezing the soft flesh of my thigh. He was feral, and I loved it. He hummed as he ate me out, absolutley loving every second of it. My moans became needy and high pitched as I grabbed his hair to shove closer, he did not protest. I came hard and fast, closing my eyes as white light blinded my vision, making me dizzy. As I opened my eyes again the room was spinning, and the father sat proud infront of me grinning. 'Youre doing so good, my girl.' He said and rose up to kiss me, I could only manage a smile. To lost in pleasure to do anything else.

He picked me up and walked me to the sofa, laying me down on top of it and puttin almost all of his weight on me. He rested his forearm close to my head, letting it support his weight and tangling his hand in my hair, grabbing it and gently pulling my head to the side. While the other hand traced down my shoulder and lowered the strap of my dress, to gain easier access to my breast, then kneading it greadily. His lips moved from my mouth and kissed their way down to my neck, sucking and licking at that tender spot above my collarbone. I moaned reflexively, which only spurred him on further. His hips were moving against mine, enthusiastically and rythmically with the rest of his body. Our closeness made his clothed erection rubb against my core perfectly. I moved my legs to stradle him, tightening the grip and bringing him even closer to me, then rutting my hips against him. The friction was delicious and that paired with the fathers delerious assault on my neck, his breath hot against my skin and his moans vibrating through me, had me close to coming undone right then and there.

My hands had found their way to his back, scratching and pulling at the fabric, but it wasnt enough. I moved my hands to unbutton his shirt, but struggled due to our position. I grew tired and greedy from not succeeding, so I removed his colar and tore his shirt open, yanking it down his shoulders, but did not manage to get it further. Displeased about ruining his shirt, he bit me, once, hard enough to draw blood. I gasped and he stopped, removing his hand from my breast and slid it to my neck, coating his fingers in my blood. Stunned silence had settled over us, apart form our unanimous labored breathing. He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting my blood and it was like he became a whole other person. If lust had not driven him before, it did now. I found it strange, but was to mesmerized by the moment to question it. He stood up, resting one knee on the sofa between my legs and began unbuckling his belt. I bit my lip from anticipation, the sight driving me mad, he looked positively devine. 'Have you done this before?' He asked me, I nodded my head in response, 'Have you, father?' He did not answer, his eyes were just drinking me in.

'Touch yourself.' He ordered, and I wasted no time. I moved my hands down my body, lifting the skirt of my dress with one hand and shoving the other down my panties, sliding it inside me to wet it then circling my clit in slow deliberate motions.

'Oh. . . ' he shook his head, 'Good girl' he praised in a shallow whisper, he looked at me like I was no longer a test from god, but a gift. He moaned as I touched myself, surely I was a sight in itself, my breast out, the skirt shoved up over my thighs and hips and my chest heaving from breathing heavily as he was towering over me. His tussled hair and shirt pulled down beneath his shoulders, exposing his chest and collarbones, his veiny hands working his belt. I closed my eyes as I felt myself coming close, and the sound of him drove me further. The belt buckle clanging, a zipper opening and the rustling fabric of clothes falling to the floor was erotic in a way I never could have suspected. White dots were specking the darkness of my eyelids, and a spring was tightening deep in my stomache. My breathing became frantic as I envisioned the father inside of me. I was a second away, when he snatched my hand out of my panties and I whined in frustration, the specks darkened and I felt moving around me.

I opened my eyes and he was below me, stark naked, holding my hand to his face and licking my slickness from my fingers much like he had done with my blood. 'Beautiful angel, you taste divine.' He sighed.

I moved the hand he was holding the caress his face 'Please father, I cannot wait any longer'. And he odded, sliding his hands under me and lifting my hips to pull my dress upward, once he'd done that I sat up to help him pull the dress over my head. He then lowered himself on top of me, pushing me back into the sofa and resuming his previous position.

'Im yours, only yours father.' I whispered and he kissed me tenderly as his hand traced down my body, feeling every curve on the waw down and pulled my panties to the side. He lined himself up with my entrance, teasing my opening by sliding himself through my folds. My breath caught, 'Please, please, please.' I whined desperstley, begging seemed to be the only thing I was capable of around him.

He suddenly slid inside and we gasped in unisome, our eyes met and we stayed like that for a while. No one moved, no one talked, we just admired eachother silently while he let me adjust to his size. He raised his eyebrows, as if asking for consent and I nodded eagerly, pecking him on the lips. He slid out of me completley, confusing me terribly and I desperatly clung my arms around his shoulders, burrying my hands in his hair to make him stay. But he only chuckled in response and kissed my arm lovingly, then slammed back into me. Setting a brutal pace, almost knocking the air out of my lungs.

I could not tell whos moans belonged to who, but amidst the frenzy he gave me a few short kisses on the lips in reassurance, then nuzzled his nose against my cheek and moved his forehead to the crook of my neck, whispering against my skin 'Youre doing so good, sweet girl.' His sweet words were a stark contrast to his hard, fast thrusts.

A few hours ago I was nervously getting ready for mass, dressing nicely in hope of the new priests approval, and now hes ballsdeep inside me.

He moved his hand to my clit, rubbing it in fast circles. I covered my mouth with one hand as a scream threatened to escape me, while the other tore into his back, leaving long red scratch marks and he hissed into my neck. Enjoying every part of the pain and pleasure mixing with eachother.

He straigthened his arm to sit back anf change position, but never relenting his pace. He raised my hips onto his thighs, placing one hand on my waist in a grip that will be leaving bruises on my skin, and pushing the other hand down on my abdomen while still circling my clit with his thumb. His thrusts hit that spot inside me that made my toes curl and it all became quite overwhelming, about to push me over the edge.

'Im- Im close' I managed inbetween breaths and he hummed, nodding as his own movements became irregular. I grabbed onto the cushions for dear life as I was tipping over the edge, electricity sparked between us, and all of a sudden I felt thunder tearing through me and he collappsed on top of me. His thrusts slowed down, allowing me to ride through my high.

'Good girl' he sighed and kissed my forehead as his ruts came to a stop and pride surged thorugh me.nHe stayed inside me, laying comfortably with me as oour breaths calmed together. I could feel his seamen sippering out of me, and I loved it. Because it was him.

'Will you stay with me tonight?' He asked.

'If you'll have me.' I answered, smiling as he kissed my lips.

[cxffeereid]

POV: You bit your lip too hard and Paul kissed you to make it better.

AN: This is just a quick little blurb of something I thought about and wondered what would happen? I hope you all like this!! Full fic is in the works!

No warnings needed, only slight suggestive tones.

Paul was sitting on the sofa, reading his book as you looked around at the walls, the dishes that still needed to be cleaned. You would get round to them soon (not likely) as you took your bottom lip into your mouth and bit down. To your surprise, it was a lot harder than you intended.

“Fuck! What the..” You exclaimed, walking to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

Paul’s head lifted up from his book, as he got up and walked to the bathroom. He leaned onto the door frame as your lip was slightly bloody from the bite.

“What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

He waited for your response as he didn’t want to push you into answering him. You turned around and looked at him, his eyes went straight to your lips as his stomach started to turn.

“Yeah, just accidentally bit my lip too hard”

You walked past him, as he followed you. Even tho, it was only a very small amount of blood, he could smell it. Your blood had a different scent from others, it was probably due to the fact it was mixed with lust.

Paul sat next to you on the sofa as you played with your lip. The small amount of blood already dried onto your lips. He thought the tang could still be on your tongue and that made him move closer to you.

He placed his hand onto your chin, his thumb gently touching your lip. You leaned into his touch as he looked into your eyes, closing the gap between you. His lips attached to your bottom lip first then kissed you properly.

The kiss was so deep yet so soft like he was nervous. Maybe he was, as his bloodlust was craving your sweet taste in more ways than one.

“I was right.. the tang was still on your tongue. You taste.. I can’t describe but I know that I want more”

[chelseasdagger]

MASTERLIST

*includes gender neutral and female readers (uses female pronouns)

you can also check out these stories on ao3 if you prefer :)

FRANK CASTLE

Teacher (18+) - series (work in progress)

Fall From Grace

Clean (18+)

Immoral (18+)

ETHAN SAWYER

I’m on Fire (18+)

Unwind (18+)

All in My Mind (18+)

SAM ROSSI

In Fluorescent Light

Orange Glow (18+)

MIKEY BERZATTO

Behind the Red in My Eyes

FATHER PAUL HILL

Restoring Faith (18+)

JOEL MILLER

Alone and Forsaken (18+)

[roguelov]

Laughter and Ruin

Summary: After a ravaging storm, the poor church of Crockett Island had gained a few leaks. So being one of the few construction workers still on the island, Beverly Keane asked if you could repair it. You agreed. It was better than nothing, and to be honest it got you a closer look at the newest member of the island: Father Paul Hill. So, what will happen after spending some time together? What will happen with this unusual tension building between the two of you?

Word Count: ~7.7k

Reader: Fem/afab

Warnings: Smut (oral (female!receiving), fingering, priest kink, praise kink, light exhibition kink, minor dirty talk, unprotected sex, riding, switch!reader), mutual pining

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

Banging.

A constant, grating, banging pounded violently somewhere off in the distance.

You groaned from the warmth and safety of your bed. You initially chalked up the banging to a loose piece of wood rapping against your home due to the fierce storm last night, however it was too consistent. It was rhythmic, a simple tune.

After a few more grueling minutes of banging, you had finally come to the unfortunate conclusion someone was at your front door. It was all but shortly confirmed when your name was shouted from the other side.

Fuck.

You rolled out of bed, and shuffled down the hall to the front door. The storm raged nearly all night and you - what felt like minutes ago - had just fallen asleep, only to now be awoken by a demanding stranger. Whoever they were, they were not your favorite person in the world at this moment.

More irritating knocking.

“I’m coming!” You shouted, and grumbled a string of curses under the next breath.

I swear -

You flung open the door.

To your surprise, Beverly Keane stood on the other side with her fist raised about to cause more commotion. Beverly was never your favorite person to begin with, so this irksome early morning encounter didn’t change much. The two of you were cordial at best, but never friends or even neighbors for this matter. So, to see her on your doorstep was a miracle in itself.

You leaned on your doorframe in your baggy, stained, clothes compared to her neatly pressed blouse, hand knit cardigan, and ankle length skirt. You crossed your arms, eyeing her curiously. “Morning, Beverly, what can I do for you?”

She lowered her fist and cleared her throat. “I’ve come to possibly ask for your assistance for a certain task.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

Her lips thinned. “The church has some possible leaks. Early this morning, Father Paul had noticed some puddles and suspected it to be from holes in the roof. We were hoping you could give your professional opinion on them and fix them however you see fit.”

“And what about Sturge?”

Sturge was more of Beverly’s choice in these types of matters. Although he was a construction worker much like yourself, he also dealt - and you believed preferred - with managing all the boats of Crockett Island. While, you preferred the land.

“Yes, well, Sturge is a busy man dealing with the Bell and the Breeze. So, you are the next best logical solution to our problem.”

You hummed a faint ‘Ah’.

“So?” Beverly paused. Disdain flickered behind her beady eyes then asked, “Will you help?”

You weren’t a churchgoer, or very religious in general. You had an inclination that Beverly would rather swallow rusty nails, then deal with your apparent skepticism and the sin which trailed along behind you. Yet, here she was. She had swallowed those nails, put on a strained smile hoping you could help, while secretly praying you wouldn’t.

So, why would you say no, giving her that satisfaction?

“Yeah,” you answered swiftly, pushing yourself off the doorframe. “Give me like an hour to get dressed, get something to eat, get my things together, and I’ll be over.”

She smiled, that awfully pained one. “Great, the Father will be happy to hear it.”

“I’m sure he will. Later, Beverly.”

She simply hummed, spinning on her heel and walking off in a slight puff.

Shutting the door, you rubbed your temples and reluctantly began your day.

After your typical morning routine, you headed outside to your garage - or refurbished shed. It was no bigger than your bedroom, and somewhat cramped. But, it was enough for you, your work, and your hobbies. Opening up the double doors, you strolled in and yanked on the pull cord. A single bright light flickered on it the center of the room, and was quickly followed by a stream of soft orange glow. The top corners were strung with hanging lights, similar to fairy lights.

A smile tugged on your lips.

Your workshop.

You truly spent more time out here than in your own house; which was shown by the stack of dirty cups and plates left behind on your workbench. Wood chips and dust covered them as unfinished projects leaned up against the tower of dishes.

You turned your attention to the far corner of the shed to a bulky blue tarp. Walking the few short paces, you yanked it off revealing a golf cart underneath - one with a few modifications. Perfect for any weather: rain, wind, or sun. It was one of, if not the only, vehicle on this island. Most people walked to where they needed to go: to the general store, to the ferries, or to the church, that was it.

Not much to do, or explore, on Crockett Island.

Your cart had become a staple on the small island, from time to time it served as fun rides during community get-togethers or the go-to for helping lug around stuff. The backend had a trunk bed perfect for all activities but now was filled with tools, all of which was from your last job - helping redo the sign of the general store. Items you were honestly too lazy to put back in their proper places. But, not all the items.

You quickly scoured through your shed and piled other possible tools you may need as well as securing the ladder in place. You pushed open the double doors as far back as they could go, picked the keys off the nearby hook, and started it up. The cart rumbled to life. You backed out carefully, hopped off to shut the doors, then sped off down the dirt path.

You arrived at the church in what felt like seconds.

Tires kicked up mud as you parked out front. You looked around hoping to find the Father - or the newest one: Father Paul Hill, the temporary replacement for Monsignor Pruitt until his health returns. But, unfortunately, you doubted it. Pruitt had withered, and stories swirled about his deteriorating state of mind.

You sighed, and turned off the cart.

Better to start then wait around.

You grabbed your tool belt, and the ladder, then strolled over to the side of the church. You unfolded the ladder and extended it out, leaning it against the green tinted, once freshly painted white, wooden boards. You slowly climbed up and -

It slipped.

Your heart sank.

Luckily, it only slipped a few inches.

The rubber ends of the ladder slid across the still dewy grass; a quick settling.

Shaking your head, you let out a shaky breath. You cursed under your breath, and climbed - scrambled - up the ladder faster than before. However, up top, you paused. Inhaling the smell of the wet earth, you sighed loudly. A smile stretched over your lips. Spinning around, you were king of your own world. Nothing could touch you. Nothing mattered. Up high, the after storm breeze kissed your cheeks. It blew through your clothes and hair uplifting you. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back. The sunlight, through the moving clouds, warmed your chilly skin.

This.

This was one of the few perks of working in construction.

Opening your eyes, you lowered them to the roof, one that had seen better days. Time to work. You carefully treaded over the shingles to the back corner. You decided to work your way up, inspecting every inch and spot these leaks Beverly spoke of.

One there.

And there.

And -

A minor sinking feeling weighed in the pit of your stomach. Maybe, you should have told Beverly no. It wasn’t much work, but it would be busy, tedious work. Then again, you supposed being busy was better than no work at all.

After marking all the leaks and the areas for new shingles, you finally reached the front of the church roof. You carefully walked up to the edge, your fingers found purchase in the grooves of the tower for the church bell. A bell which hardly ever rang these days. You could recall on your hands alone the amount of times the brass bell rang, most of which were for funerals and the occasional rare wedding.

You casted your gaze up to the cloudy sky, watching as the grey clouds skated across it and taking the muggy cool air with it. Treetops, still bare and preparing for spring, swayed and bent. You cautiously leaned closer into the tower, trying to enjoy your world in the clouds.

Footsteps clapped.

Your eyes instantly dropped.

Father Paul climbed down the steps of the church, heading for the path.

“Hello, Father.”

Father Paul jumped and spun around. He looked left and right until he finally turned his gaze upward to you. You smiled down at him. He quickly matched your smiling, chuckling to himself. “I was wondering why I was hearing thudding earlier. I had forgotten Ms. Keane informed me you would be inspecting the roof today.”

Seeing how I didn’t know until this morning, it’s not a surprise.

“Yeah, just me up here. Not Santa or God knocking.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

In that brief moment, you had unknowingly decided you always wanted to hear his laugh.

Father Paul Hill was handsome with a kind, charming face. A face of a good hearted person, a face perfect for a priest. You only caught glimpses of him, but you knew the second your eye laid on him your heart was stolen.

Stolen by a saint.

A true tragedy.

“So,” he placed his hands on his hips, “what’s the damage?”

You hissed through your teeth. “Ooo, it’s going to be expensive. New roof, new everything, and it will cost you a lot of money.”

His shoulders dropped along with his smile. “Oh, well, I guess that should have been a given. It has been around for -“

“I’m joking!” You cut him off. His sullen face was a stab in your heart. You had hoped he caught into your sarcasm, and teasing tone, but he hadn’t. “I’m sorry, I was just messing with you, Father. It’s just a few small holes which is a pretty easy fix. I could get started tomorrow.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, oh! That’s great to hear. Sorry, humor is not so prevalent in the church.” His lips twitched upward. Humor may be zapped from the church, but not from him, not entirely.

You snorted. “Right.”

“Ah, Father, have you made all the arrangements for the service?”

Both you and Father Paul turned your attention to Beverly approaching.

She glanced up at you, her smile tight. “(Y/N), how lovely it is to see you again. I bet the view from up there is one of a kind, especially on a church roof. Higher to God than anyone else here.” She clapped her hands in front of her. “So, what can you tell us about the roof?”

You opened your mouth, however, Father Paul answered for you instead. “Expensive, far, far more than either of us could have anticipated.”

He threw you a sly smirk. You had to bite back your smile. But, Beverly simply sighed with her usual frown. “Of course, it’s an old church, not a spring chicken like any of us here. I suppose we could funnel some founds -“

“Bev, I’m joking.” Father Paul interrupted. “(Y/N) said it is an easy fix and can start tomorrow.”

Beverly blinked. “Oh!” She then smiled widely with far too many teeth. “You are a trickster, Father Paul.”

She chuckled.

Father Paul rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

Beverly turned her beady gaze back onto you. “A quick repair, I hope?”

You best complete it quickly.

You smiled, almost sneering at her. “Yes, I can get it all done tomorrow, it’ll just be a couple of hours. I can make a call to Sturge to pick up a few things on the mainland for me and bring it back on the Breeze. The rest I can pick up at the general store or I already have it back at my house.”

“Perfect.” She looked back to the Father. “Well, if everything is good then I’ll be off. I will see you later, Father. And have a pleasant day to you, (Y/N).”

“See you around, Beverly.”

She nodded then walked off down the rocky path.

Back to her cave.

“Well, is there anything you need?”

Your eyes wandered back to Father Paul. His eager - always ready to assist - eyes bore up at you. Eyes of a priest devoted to the community. You smiled. Warm, and welcoming, so unlike the short one you gave Beverly. “Actually, yes.”

He perked up.

“Can you just hold the ladder for me? It slid a few inches earlier from last night’s rain and it’s probably okay now, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“Of course.” He rounded the church and you followed him from up on the roof. He latched onto the end of the ladder, peering up at you. “Okay, I got you,” he smiled up at you.

I got you.

Three simple words never made you feel so safe, so seen. Your heart flipped in your chest at its little innocent crush. You, however, quickly brushed aside those thoughts and feelings. Gripping the ladder, you made your slow, careful descent.

Father Paul watched for a moment, almost unsure where else to look. His heart skipped - a flutter, an ache. He quickly glanced away, finding interest in the damp grass, in the tiny water droplets, not in your body, not in -

“Alright, Father, you can back up now. I’m good from here.” He was jolted out of his thoughts and stepped back - two large steps. You hopped down the last steps and twisted around smiling at him. “Thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” His heart hammered, lodging into his throat. It pushed, and constricted his airways, similar to the sensation forming in his pants. A sensation he had long since forgotten.

Or tried to.

“Well, I guess I will be back tomorrow morning. Until then, Father.”

“… until then, (Y/N).” He mumbled.

He slowly retreated to his rectory, however he kept glancing back. He watched as you effortlessly folded your ladder, lifted it up, and hooked it to your cart. You were fluid like a dancer: spinning to pick up the tool bin, swaying your hips to scoot around edges, hopping to the tips of your toes to secure everything down.

It was hypnotic to watch.

He swallowed, pushing down old feelings.

You jumped into your cart ready to go. Yet, you couldn’t help it. You peered over your shoulder. Father Paul awkwardly stood on the porch, he gave a lopsided smile and waved. A warmth spread over your chest. You returned the smile - brighter and fuller than his - and waved goodbye before driving off.

Leaving you both excited for tomorrow to come.

The next morning, Father Paul leaned on one of the posts on his porch overlooking the scenery: low fog skirted over the ground; the sunlight streamed through the trees, not yet quite high in the pale clear sky. He clutched a hot cup of coffee, hugging it for warmth. He inhaled the steamy bitterness, and sighed deeply.

This was one of his favorite pastimes. To pause, to breathe, and to watch.

But, there was another reason. One he didn’t dare speak out loud.

He was waiting for you.

He wanted to see you before he truly started his day. He wanted to see your smile, and how it reached your eyes making them crinkle. He wanted to hear your voice, and how it sang above all the other bland white noises. He wanted to be near you, to feel your presence, and how it warmed his body and soul.

He wanted to see his walking desires.

The one person who haunted his waking and sleeping mind. The one person who distracted him from his purpose, his path.

He itched.

He itched - like an addict - to get a glimpse of you.

He sipped his coffee, hoping it could soothe the itch - the need.

It didn’t.

It didn’t even compare.

He eyed his watch. He sighed, as his shoulders drooped. There were things to do, and he shouldn’t waste any more time. He spun on his heel, taking two steps towards the door.

Rocks and pebbles kicked up, bouncing and rolling across the path. The crunching grew louder and louder. Tires screeched to a grinding halt.

Father Paul whipped around. His fingers immediately retracted from the doorknob.

Your cart pulled up to the church, parking crookedly. You hopped out and stared up at the old church. A determined smile crossed your lips.

The Father’s heart skipped.

You, however, had yet to see him. So, you started to set up a workstation with a table and an assortment of tools and supplies. You grabbed the ladder and propped it against the church, giving it a good shake ensuring it would hopefully not slip this time.

You twisted back around.

A figure was caught in your peripheral vision. You glanced over. It was Father Paul. He stood on his porch, watching you. He was still in what you assumed to be pajamas: grey sweatpants, plain white shirt, and a muted blue cardigan pulled over his shoulders.

So domestic. So ordinary. Right then, he was a face that would get lost in a crowd. A man who woke up for work at a boring office job. Not a man who dedicated his life to faith.

Your heart fluttered at the rare sight. You waved at him, smiling.

He smiled, waving back.

Your eyes soaked in his appearance, one last time, before turning and getting to work.

Father Paul hungrily scanned you up and down, one last hit, and walked indoors.

You walked over to your cart, grabbed a pair of headphones then pressed play on your phone. Fast pace music, a heavy bass, flooded your ears shaking off the rest of your morning exhaustion. You bobbed your head along to the beat, smiling to yourself. You laid out a tarp at the side of the church for any debris. You clipped on your tool belt, hoisted a pile of shingles over your shoulders, and climbed up the ladder. Stepping onto the roof, you moved around setting yourself up.

The music uplifted you, it energized you.

It also trapped you within your own secluded world. You failed to notice a bump, or hear a bang.

Unaware of anything, you strolled over to the first leak and got to work. You removed and tossed the old shingles over the side into the blue tarp. You patched and fixed the roof underneath, then started laying out and nailing in the new shingles. A mindless task. One shingle, a few nails, another shingle, more nails - it was an easy pattern, an easy rhythm which matched your music. But, when you reached over you found nothing, you were one shingle short.

You sighed heavily, groaning internally.

You stood up and walked towards the ladder and -

You froze.

Where’s the ladder?

Carefully, you peered over the edge. The ladder in question was sprawled out in the grass like a drunken fool passed out after a rough night. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

Of course. Of fucking course.

You looked back down. You were way too high up. Even if you managed to dangle yourself over the edge - without damaging the roof more - you would still seriously hurt yourself. Fuck me. You crouched down, trying to peer into the Father's cabin. Maybe he is still home. You didn’t see him leave, but then again you didn’t notice knocking over the ladder.

You grumbled.

You couldn’t see anything from this high angle. All you saw was the bottom of the door and the porch.

You sighed, and pulled off your headphones. “Father?” You called out.

Nothing.

Your lips thinned. “Father Paul?” You shouted louder this time.

Seconds ticked.

Your nerves rose.

“Father Paul -“

The front door burst open. Father Paul, poor Father Paul, stumbled out wide eyed.

And halfway through his morning routine.

His raven hair was damp and slicked back. His typical attire - black button up and jeans - was half done. His sleeves were rolled up and the top few buttons were undone, exposing his chest speckled in water droplets, and a used face cloth was tossed over his shoulder. His face was hastily wiped clean, missing spots of shaving cream under his chin. Yet, his chin still sported a five o’clock shadow.

He was fresh out of the shower, and about to shave.

You almost felt bad.

Almost.

An intense heat spread over your chest to the tips of your ears.

Domestic just like before, but far from ordinary. It was scandalous - sinful. Like a behind the scenes picture no one should see, or it would shatter the illusion.

Your thoughts swirled widely out of control. Thoughts of watching him shave as you leaned on the bathroom door and him catching your loving gaze in the mirror, maybe you even offer to help when he missed a spot; thoughts of him in the shower then stepping out wrapping a towel around his waist and running his fingers through his wet hair as water drips down his back and chest; thoughts of you hopping into the shower with him and helping wash away the dirt and day away; thoughts of -

“- the problem?”

You snapped out of your thoughts. You peered down. He stood at the side of the church, glancing up at you. His eyebrows knitted together, and his eyes - those warm brown chocolate eyes - filled with concern. You cleared your throat, “I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean to …”

To what? Frighten him? Break him out of his routine? Have these lewd thoughts? You felt there was a lot to apologize for.

“Nonsense, don’t apologize, you called for me. So, what seems to be the problem?”

“It’s honestly not that big of a deal.” You sighed and joked, “It seems the ladder and I are fighting again. It doesn’t want to cooperate today.”

Father Paul looked around to see yes it was knocked over buried within the grass. He snorted. “So it seems.”

“Could you please just lean it back up against the church for me?”

He placed his hands on his hips, smiling up at you. “I will, but you should invest in a standalone ladder, one that can support itself.”

“I should, but good old reliable never steered me wrong before.”

“And yet here we are.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, I guess you got me there.”

He smiled, shaking his head. He walked over and picked up the dysfunctional ladder. He carefully placed it against the church, but he didn’t let go.

You smiled down at him. “You can let go. It shouldn’t fall this time.”

“And I’m not taking any chances.”

“Suit yourself.”

He did.

In the guise of being the generous helping hand, he stayed put. His fists tightened, the metal edges burying into his palms, as he watched you. His heart skipped - flew. It leapt out of its rusty cage and fluttered happily around. It was dizzying, more so than yesterday. And it was also wrong, he almost felt like a peeping Tom. But, disgust had no room in his heart.

Before you could speak, Father Paul gingerly stepped back giving you the space. You landed firmly on the ground, and spun around smiling at him. “Thanks … again.”

He smiled, tilting his head. “Anytime.”

The two of you shared a moment.

A moment of rising tension. It buzzed in your chest and over your skin. It crackled in the air, the beginning of an explosion - a ticking time bomb.

You, however, quickly stepped in, snipping the wires to defuse it.

Hopefully, the correct ones.

You tore your gaze away. “Right, well, I guess I’ll get back to work. I’ll holler again if I need anything.”

“Please do.”

You tried not to stare, tried to keep those sinful thoughts at bay. So, you simply smiled and nodded, afraid of your own voice at this moment.

Father Paul smiled back then turned around heading back inside.

You greedily drank him in with his back turned. His jeans were far too tight for a priest. He ducked inside, shutting the door behind him.

The thud of the door broke you out of your trance. You sighed, banging your fist against your head. As if to try and knock out these thoughts, these persisting thoughts. So, you instead put your focus back into your work.

Something the Father should also be doing. His to-do list only seemed to grow. Yet, when Father Paul finished his morning routine, he stood by his window watching you.

He watched as you glided around - floating with a hum in your throat; watched as you swayed your hips to your music; watched as you patted your forehead dry with the edge of your shirt granting him a glimpse of your body; watched as you stood on the roof staring off into the woods or up at the sky; watched as you drank your water and splashed yourself a bit to cool yourself off; watched as -

Watched as desire planted its intoxicating roots deeper within his heart.

Everything - everything - you did was captivating. He simply couldn't tear his eyes away. It was his own personal play, show, or movie he wouldn’t dare blink or glance away fearing to miss a single important detail.

You stood on the new patched roof with your hands on your hips. A proud smile wormed its way onto your lips. Your work was finally completed and flawless. Satisfied, you stepped down the ladder, tossing your headphones on your makeshift workbench. You grabbed your water, taking a long needed swig.

“Is it safe to say you completed your repairs?”

You turned, looking at Father Paul. You swallowed the last of your water, and placed it on the bench. “Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Impressive,” he glanced over to the church, “you accomplished it far quicker than I thought you would. But, I should have expected this from one of the best.”

Your cheeks warmed a little under his praise. “Yes, well, it was a simple fix.”

He smiled, softly. “One that I couldn’t fix. I would probably have made a bigger hole if I was up there.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Well, I don’t think I could talk for hours in front of a crowd every week. We all have our own strengths.”

He blinked, surprised by your comment, then chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

You truly loved his laugh. The deep rumble, like the sound of angels blowing their trumpets.

“Actually, I have something to ask of you before you go.” He shuffled side to side. “I think there is a draft coming through the bedroom window, do … do you think you could take a look at it?”

You had nowhere else to be, so you nodded. “Sure.”

You followed the Father into the small cabin and into the back to the bedroom. Your mind tried to wander with distracting thoughts, but you focused on what the Father asked of you.

And not on where he slept.

You ran your fingers over the window, examining it while Father Paul hovered in the doorway.

There.

A breeze blew from the lower left corner.

“Yeah, I can feel a breeze right here but nothing a little caulk can’t fix. And lucky for you Father I have some with me.”

“A true miracle.” He joked.

You snorted.

You shot up and brushed by him - ignoring how your skin flared being so close - to go back to your cart to grab a tube of caulk. Walking back in, you showed him the tube with a triumphant smile. He laughed a little to himself.

Back in his bedroom, you crouched down to your knees in front of the window. Your fingers trailed along the edges, finding the correct spot. Here. Air whistled. A chill blew on the pads of your fingers. Lifting up the tube of caulk, you sealed off the corner.

“This should do the trick,” you said out loud. “And looking at this, I would keep an eye out for any more drafts. Maybe in a year or two someone should replace the frames, it looks like the salty air and weather in general has worn them down a bit.”

You temporarily set the caulk on the floor to inspect your work. Perfect. You turned to ask the Father if he needed anything else when you were met with darkness.

Well, darkness of jeans.

Your eyes trailed up.

Father Paul loomed over you. He bent slightly looking at your handiwork. His eyes dropped, connecting with yours. He smiled, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind for Monsignor.”

Your breath hitched.

He was so close.

With you on your knees, in front of him, it sent a whirlwind of emotions rushing through you. Your mouth dried. Those thoughts from earlier happily returned.

Swallowing nervously, you slowly rose to your feet, all the while unable to break eye contact with Father Paul. He never stepped back. He only straightened his back giving you the thin room to stand.

A shared bated breath passed.

The tension returned; the explosion now imminent.

Your feverish heartbeat rang in your ears.

Say something.

Move.

Yet, all your reasonable thoughts vanished at the mere possibility of what could happen.

Then Father Paul’s eyes flickered. A quick jump, a flash to your parted lips. He was enthralled, fascinated by the plump curves.

The detonator stopped ticking, and was shortly followed by sweet destruction.

Like a coiled viper, Father Paul leapt. His hands cupped your face, fiercely pulled you in.

His lips meddled against yours.

You hummed, fluttering your eyes closed.

Your feet stumbled backwards and your back hit the wall. Like horny teenagers, both of your hands touched every part of each other’s body.

Father Paul broke the kiss - and you almost whined - but his lips quickly moved to your jaw and down your neck. Sighing, you craned your neck and bunched up the front of his shirt. His surprisingly nimble fingers unclipped your tool belt, sending it crashing to the ground with a thunderous bang.

That should have been the warning. That should have snapped each of you out of your haze.

Yet, it only fueled you both.

Like a dinner bell.

Father Paul nipped at your neck, enjoying your shallow breathy sighs. Your hands caressed his chest. You, however, were craving more. Lust was injected into your veins; all by a certain someone sucking and marking at your neck. But, his shirt and those pesky buttons were in the way. You tried to undo - tried, and tired, fumbling them with your shaky hand. Frustrated, you ripped open his shirt, sending buttons pinging onto the floor. Your cool hands ran over his hot skin. He hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck. Taking a low steady breath, his fingers greedily unbuttoned your pants. You pushed off the wall, forcing him back.

Clothes started to fly off.

You shimmied out of your pants and removed your shirt. Father Paul tossed aside his ruined shirt. He ripped off his belt and awkwardly kicked off his pants. It left you both only in your undergarments, but you could only be apart for so long.

You grabbed Father Paul’s face, bringing him in for another kiss. Far messier, more needy. He groaned. His hands splayed on your lower back, flushing you against his body. He was desperate to have you as close as possible. His hand inched up, following the curve of your back. His fingers easily unhooked your bra, and easily tossed it aside.

He soon guided you over to his bed. The back of your knees hit the edge and sent you tumbling backwards. You flopped onto the springy mattress, staring up breathless at Paul.

And he looked down at you like you were his meal.

He crawled over top of you, stealing another kiss. Painfully short, but still so sweet. He then followed a downward path. His lips down your neck, down your collarbone, and down the valley of your breast. Smirking, he moved and wrapped his lips on one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it.

You moaned, threading your fingers through his hair.

He smiled, eager to hear such noises.

His lips ghosted over your skin to the other breast so it may receive the same treatment. You hummed, tightening your grip into his hair. And ever so slightly, you nudged him downward.

He chuckled.

His eyes flickered up.

You bit your lip, unable to hide your excited smile.

Maintaining eye contact, he continued to kiss down your body, down your stomach, over your hips, and where you wanted him most. His hot breath blew over your clothed core, sending shivers down your spine. “Fuck,” you whispered.

He smirked.

One of his fingers hooked around your underwear and slowly slipped them off, throwing them into the pile. He peppered delicate kisses up your inner thigh, and jumped to the other side missing where you needed him.

You whined.

He nipped at your thigh, marking a place only he was allowed to be. Your fingers tangled into his hair, yanking on those dark locks. He groaned. His eyes peered up at you. You squirmed, and wriggled. You whispered a plea - a prayer.

Paul couldn’t deny you - or himself - any longer.

His mouth dove in.

You moaned out his name.

His tongue slipped between your wet folds, instantly addicted to your taste. He devoured you, devoured you as if it was his last supper.

You bucked your hips.

His hands latched onto your hips, holding you down as he ate you out. He hummed, and moaned, sending toe curling vibrations throughout your body. He threw one of your legs over his shoulder, burying himself further. His nose rubbed against your clit, bringing about such dizzying pleasure.

You tugged on his hair, chanting his name.

He moaned. He could and will get drunk on this, drunk on your taste. Worst of all, he will always want to hear how his name tumbled off your lips. He loved how it rolled off your tongue, loved how you whimpered, loved how every sound you made was a fuel to a growing fire. Even now, the tent in his boxers was painful. Every moment, the smallest twitch against the rough fabric, sent pleasure through him.

And oh, how he wanted you.

But, he also wanted to savor this.

He pulled away from you.

You whined. You were so close. You cracked open your eyes, peeking down at him. His lips and chin glistened. His wonderfully pink lips curled into a giddy smile, his eyes twinkled like a child given an early Christmas.

His finger slipped inside of you.

You moaned, arching your back as your hands now clenched the bedsheets.

His smile widened.

However, a light knocking cut through all the pleasure.

Tap, tap, tap.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Your head snapped over to thankfully - and surprisingly - find the bedroom door pulled almost all the way closed, just the tiniest sliver left opened. You could only see the corner of the desk, and the adjacent windowsill but nothing more.

When was it shut?

The front door creaked open followed by footsteps.

The Father, however, was undeterred. His movements were a constant rhythm, a slow unwavering beat.

You threw your forearm over your mouth, muffling any noises from slipping out.

Footsteps crept closer to the bedroom door. A shadow passed over the crack. “Father? Father Paul, are you in here?”

Beverly Keane.

Paul stared directly at you as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Beverly, but I’m a bit indecent at the moment.”

“Oh!” Her footsteps retreated back to the front door. “Apologies, Father. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“That’s okay, Beverly.” His thumb swiped over your swollen clit. Your body reacted, grinding down on his thick fingers. Yet, you viciously bit down on your forearm preventing any moans from escaping.

The front door creaked again. But, it did not shut nor did you hear her footsteps fade away. Beverly hovered in the doorway, clearly still in need of something. “I’m so sorry for barging in, but I was hoping you may have any insight about the repairs and (Y/N), has she finished yet?”

Paul’s once sweet, charming smile shifted into a devilish smirk. His eyes locked onto your shaking frame, desperately trying to hold it together, while his fingers were buried deep inside of you. He curled his fingers. You dropped your hands, twisting them into the sheets as you bit down on your lip about to draw blood.

“No, she hasn’t.” His eyes sparkled with such mischief.

“Of course.” Beverly replied, with a knowing - I had expected this - tone.

“It will get done,” Paul answered quickly. His voice was so soothing, and so calming. Oh, how lies easily spilled off his silver tongue. Especially for one devoted to faith. “She ran to the general store for one thing she had unfortunately forgotten, and will be returning shortly.”

“Right.” She only sounded convinced because of the Father’s words. “Again, I wish to apologize for intruding, I will be on my way now. I will see you later, Father.”

“Good day, Beverly.”

The door softly clicked closed.

You squeezed your eyes shut, still biting your lips as you tried to listen to Beverly’s fading footsteps and not the wet sounds or encouraging hums from Paul. His fingers curled and -

Your mouth fell open, unleashing a wanton moan. “Fuck.”

“I’m impressed,” Paul hummed, stroking your walls and feeling as they clenched nearing your release. “Not a single peep out of you when we had a guest.”

You wanted to curse at him.

You wanted to scream.

But, you couldn’t muster anything with his fingers still inside of you. Not when he moved faster, not when he whispered praise, not when he watched you hungrily. You were at his mercy.

“I’m curious,” he said nonchalantly, watching as his fingers continuously disappeared inside of you, “what would you have done if Miss Keane saw us? Hide? Run? Deny it … let her watch?”

You whimpered. You didn’t like Beverly, but the idea of her finding you in bed with the Father sent a course of excitement through your veins.

You were the temptation for Father Paul’s demise.

It empowered you, it thrilled you.

Paul smirked. He knew it turned you on, watching as you shivered and squirmed. He licked his lips, “Personally, I believe she would combust, it would be utter blasphemy in her eyes. And yet -“

You moaned, bucking your hips.

“- how could such sweet sounds be blasphemy? This is divine, this is heaven sent, this is a culmination of God’s intervention and work.” He let out a shaky breath. “And you, my dear, are God’s finest work … so beautiful … so lovely.”

You whined at his praises, at his buttery words.

“My dear, will you please come for me?” His thick fingers pumped in and out, curling and caressing you - edging you. “I want to see it.”

You wanted to - god you wanted to, just for him. You grinded down on his fingers as pleasure filled you.

“Yes, just like that,” Paul cooed. “God, so beautiful, so elegant.”

His thumb curled around your clit in a constant rhythm. You gasped, burying your face into the sheets. You cursed and moaned. “Paul,” you whined.

“I’m here, oh please, be good for me.”

His words, his touch.

It pushed you over the edge.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you arched your back and fired out his name as you gushed over his fingers. Stars. Brilliant bright stars erupted behind your eyelids. Bliss, heavenly bliss, coursed through you.

Paul beamed, gently working you through your orgasm. Your chest heaved as you gulped for air. All of this was his doing, all of this was because of him.

He removed his fingers.

You whimpered at the loss of sensation. Your mind swam, still foggy in the hazy bliss. Faint movement rustled; the bed creaked and dipped. Cracking open your eyes, Paul crawled back on top of you. Your heart jumped into your throat.

You had it wrong earlier.

No.

You were not the temptation for Father Paul.

He was the temptation. He was the devil in disguise, he was the serpent whispering in your ear.

He smiled down at you. He bent down, kissing you softly. You humming lovingly. Your hands cupped his face, your thumb gently stroked his cheek.

He then, without warning, teased your entrance with the tip of his cock.

You gasped.

He chuckled, his eyes lit with sin.

He did it again.

You bit your lip, suppressing the lewd moans from escaping.

“Please,” he dropped his head, whispering into your ear, “I want to hear you.”

Your heart skipped.

But, you also wanted to hear him, to hear his moans. You wanted to see him fall apart, you wanted to see bliss washing over his features. Most of all, you wanted to pleasure him, to give back what he gave to you.

Thrilled by the idea, you hooked your leg over his waist and flipped him - quite easily - over. Paul flopped onto his back, his arms thrown out to the sides with his usual combed back hair dangling in front of his face. His eyebrows shot up.

You smirked.

In this new position, you took control and lowered yourself onto him, watching as his surprise melted away to pleasure. His eyes fluttered close, and his mouth hung open. His hands latched onto your waist as his fingers dug into your hips to find grounding in this high.

You moved languidly. Enjoying how he craned his neck back, seeing his veins pop in his neck, and how his lips - perfect and eloquent - fall open into a blubbering incoherent mess.

Your hands rested on his chest, and you rose and slammed down.

He moaned, followed by a string of curses.

Not very Fatherly.

You smirked to yourself, and continued to move up and down. He whispered your name, strained on his lips. You closed your eyes, letting your own pleasure take control. You tossed your head back as you bounced on his cock. He lazily opened his eyes, a tired smile stretched over his lips. Your back arched, your head tilted up to heaven. It was like a renaissance painting, the perfect depiction of lust. “Divine.” He mumbled.

You opened your eyes, looking down at him.

He was still smiling.

A warmth bloomed over your chest.

You leaned down and kissed him. You slowly pulled away, leaving a thin space between the two of you. “You are the one that is divine,” your thumb ran over his bottom lip, “divine and ravishing, and the best kind of temptation there is.”

You sat back, smirking at his dumbfounded face.

You rolled your hips.

Paul stuttered out a moan.

You knew you loved his laughter, but you might love his sweet moans more. Paul’s nail dug into your hips. “Good god, please don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t.

You moved with new vigor. Every one of his moans and pleas stoked the fire burning inside of you. He soon met your pace and thrusted up. You leaned your hands on his chest, moaning. Your nails scraped down his chest, leaving faint red lines carved into his perfect skin.

He shivered.

You bounced on his cock faster listening to the wet noises and skin smacking together. It was all nearly drowned out by your racing heart, by the intense hum of soon to be all-consuming pleasure, by the high pitched creaking of the old bed springs.

Paul thrusted up again.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

You moved faster, wishing to reach your end and his. Your legs began to shake, yet Paul’s steady hands guided you along, kept you moving. He groaned, his cock twitched inside of you. He whispered hastily, “Please, don’t stop, god you’re doing so good. I’m -“

Paul moaned as you rocked your hips.

“God, please do that again,” he begged.

You did.

He whimpered. “Fuck.”

You did it again, and again, and again.

Paul gasped. He couldn’t hold it back much longer. He was nearing his end. “I … I can’t last much longer.”

You reached a hand and cupped his face gingerly. You smiled softly, “Good.”

You bit your lip and used the last of your energy. You pounded yourself against him. He moaned, and easily matched your pace. You wanted to collapse into him. To let his body, his flesh, his mind, his soul consume you.

“God, you are beautiful,” he muttered, “please I want to hear you one last time.”

You shivered.

Your walls fluttered around him, a final warning.

He whispered your name over and over like it was his only prayer. You moved once, then twice, and then he finally fell. He cried out your name, forcing your hips down and bruising them in the process. Your walls clamped down around him. You moaned loudly, as more heavenly bliss filled you. Fuck. Your movements now slow, and weak, as you ride out your combined highs. Until finally, you stopped exhausted, yet with his cock still buried deep inside you.

Heavy breathing filled the now quiet space.

Paul stared up at you. Your head was still bowed forward as you catched your breath. He licked his lips. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips, guiding you back down to earth.

He wanted to see you like this indefinitely.

To hear such sweet melodies.

To see you every day and every night.

To always touch you and hold you knowing you were his and his alone.

He licked his lips, a little nervous, as this seed of hope and want began to bloom. He cleared his throat, “You know, I think the sink is also broken if you wish to come by tomorrow. It drips constantly.”

You lifted your head. You stared at him, stared into his pleading eyes. And you simply couldn’t help it. You laughed. You laughed wholeheartedly, shaking your head. “I see the church still hasn’t taken your humor yet.” You bent down, hovering over him. Your lips skimmed over his, “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” He smiled and pulled you down for another kiss.

Yeah, he was temptation.

The best kind.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Through the Veil of Darkness

Also on AO3

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Summary: Inspired by the myth of Eros and Psyche -- two souls that meet in the darkness find ways to love without seeing each other… even if the darkness conceals more than just appearances.

WC: 6.5k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, vampirism, accidental vampire hypnosis kinda?, sleepwalking, blood drinking, some mentions of violence, hierophilia, fluff with eventual smut, some angst, unprotected p in v, ummm I think that's it but lmk if anything else!

-------------------

“Love looks not with the eyes.”

— William Shakespeare.

————————

First, you felt the balmy ocean breeze slicking your skin. The not-so-distant roar of the waves reached your ears and you tasted salt on your lips all too vividly, piercing through the fog of your unconscious state. Whatever it was you were dreaming of dissolved like seafoam on the sand, leaving behind the nebulous blue darkness of your eyelids.

Consciousness returned to you unhurriedly, weighing down your limbs until you were fully aware of them. A tingling sensation ran up your spine, and your eyes fluttered beneath the lids. You opened them to find more darkness, but you could immediately tell you weren’t anywhere near your bedroom. 

It was a moonless night, with only the pinprick lights of the stars to accompany you. You could feel the damp earth beneath your bare feet, a chill threatening to seep into your bones, but you had nothing else to cover yourself with. 

There was no fear at first, though, only a mild curiosity – a sort of compelling that you couldn’t ignore. Your eyes adjusted slightly to the darkness, allowing you to better see the silhouettes of the pine trees huddling close together in front of you. Behind you, there was the incessant roll and pull of the waves, spraying over the rocks as they crashed against them. 

In all the years you’d had sleepwalking issues, you had never strayed so far from home. What’s more, you didn’t feel entirely there, but instead in an in-between place, like you were an outside witness to yourself. You couldn’t help but stare at the water, vast and unfathomable. Had it been the sea that called to you in dreams? 

No, that didn’t feel quite right. But then, what was it?

Your heart skipped a beat as the reality of the situation slowly sank in, the beginnings of anxiety dancing in your sternum. You glanced around, but you didn’t really have a sense of direction without being able to see clearly. Still, it was a good idea to get as far away from the water as possible, just in case. 

You walked slowly, your hands raised in front of you uncertainly. When you reached the treeline, you realized it would be impossible to navigate through the thick foliage in your current condition. Your best bet would be to wait until morning came…

You couldn’t help a small whimper as dread sank to the pit of your stomach like a stone. You wrung your hands agitatedly, mind starting to scramble for another solution. How long until twilight? You wondered. Should be able to see a little better by then, right?

“A little lost, are we?” A low voice suddenly said, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

You froze in place, fear unleashing itself in hot and cold flashes all over your body. You hadn’t even considered that you wouldn’t be alone out there. For a terrible moment that temporarily halted time, it occurred to you that you might be dead. 

But a violent somersault in your chest made you finally inhale sharply, reassuring you that you were very much alive – and very much vulnerable. The voice had sounded like it was close by, but you couldn’t be sure which side. Still, you could feel a heavy gaze on you, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Your own voice was tremulous as you asked. “Who’s there?” 

You heard the foliage gently rustling a little too close for comfort, a snapping twig nearly making you bolt like a spooked deer. The harsh pounding of your heart was like a dinner bell that had him salivating like a Pavlovian dog. All of his senses urged him to leap forward and secure his meal, but his body was tense and rooted to the spot.

He silently chastised himself, holding on tight of his self-control. It was precisely because of his nature that he did not reveal himself to you, but he could see you clear as day. In fact, he had seen you wandering out there, slow, deliberate steps leading you in his direction. 

He hadn’t been conscious of his compelling you, but he still did not fully understand all the new gifts that had been bestowed upon him. He thought it was perhaps due to the dangerous hunger stirring in his gut, an instinctual blind search for his next meal. He swallowed hard before continuing.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said soothingly, his voice still barely above a whisper. “Trust me, I realize how this must seem, but I’m just here to help.”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, considering this. “How come you don’t have a flashlight with you?”

“Oh, er, I… guess I just forgot one. Silly me, didn’t cross my mind,” he said, and it partly sounded like he was admonishing himself for the slip-up.

You took a small step back, apprehensive but trying not to show it. You figured it was best to stay on his good side, just in case, but putting up a front didn’t mean you would be so trusting.

“I suppose I should count myself lucky that you were out searching for lost souls…” you said, a sarcastic edge to your tone.

He let out an amused breath. “Couldn’t sleep, more like. I saw you out on the road and followed to make sure you were safe. I’ve heard it’s wiser not to wake up sleepwalkers.”

“Deal with them much, do you?”

“No, you happen to be my first one.”

You hummed in thought. The whole thing was so bizarre that you couldn’t entirely believe you weren’t still dreaming. Somehow though, despite your general standoffishness, the fear seemed to be dissipating. Perhaps it was better just to go along with it for the time being. 

“So… Will you tell me who you are?” You asked.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” He countered, stalling.

“Valid ones, yes.”

His hesitation was palpable in the following silence. Your heart rate was slowing down, though, which was a good sign. Some tension left his body in a long exhale, but he still wasn’t sure what to say.

“Just think of me as…” He trailed off. 

“My guardian angel, of sorts?” You offered.

He couldn’t help a faint smile, which you couldn’t see but you could hear as he said. “Of sorts, yes.” 

You let out an amused huff, deciding not to press it. Crockett Island was a rather small place, so you figured you’d find out your savior’s identity soon enough. A gust of wind blew in from the water and you crossed your arms tightly over your chest to try to fend off the chill.

“Well then, angel,” you said, trying to keep your teeth from chattering. “Will you help me get home before I die of hypothermia?”

“Yes,” he said, and you heard rustling once more, growing closer. “Hold out your hand.”

“What for?”

He merely chuckled in response, and you pursed your lips. Perhaps it was a little silly, but how could he expect you not to ask so many questions? 

You swallowed hard and flexed your fingers, not knowing what to expect. Slowly, you reached a shaky hand out, your skin prickling with hyperawareness. For a moment, you thought you wouldn’t feel anything at all — That he might just be a fear-induced hallucination to get you through the worst of it. 

But then you felt his cool, steady hand wrap around yours, making you gasp.

Your heartbeat spiked once more, but it was short-lived. Still, he held his breath as he drew you closer, so you could actually feel his physical presence. He saw your eyes widen and your lips part slightly, perhaps in marvel, or alarm, or a combination of both, but it was a charming look all the same. 

“Stay close and just follow me,” he said. “I’ll let you know if there are any obstacles.”

You bit back any further questions on how he would be able to do that, instead just humming in assent. He couldn’t help another chuckle at this, sensing it must have taken a great effort.

The walk through the woods was awkward and halting at first, but soon the two of you found a rhythm. He kept to his word, patiently leading you around anything that came up on your path. 

Once, he even had to lift you off a larger boulder, his hands securely gripping your waist. He didn’t even grunt with effort, as if you were light as a feather. Your face felt hot and you were glad he couldn’t see you getting flustered… Or at least, that’s what you thought. He had the strangest urge to cup your face and swipe his thumb over the soft skin of your cheek to feel its warmth.

Instead, he took your hand again and kept going. There was the faintest glimmer of light in the distance, through a small gap in the trees. You thought your mind might be playing tricks on you again, but as you continued, it grew in brightness, and you let out a little laugh of relief. 

“Almost there,” he said. “There’s a break in the trees just up ahead.”

Excitement made you go faster, walking by his side and eventually surpassing him. The world beyond the forest became more and more visible, as if you were passing through a tunnel leading out of a nightmare. You nearly tripped over a large rock in your haste, yelping in surprise, but he swiftly caught and steadied you.

“Careful.” He chuckled. “Eager to leave me behind, are you?”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, still walking ahead. “Aren’t you going to walk me back to my house?”

“Er… Not quite. This is as far as I can take you.”

You reached the break in the trees, glancing back over your shoulder and realizing that he truly wouldn’t follow you any further. He hadn’t emerged and you couldn’t even see his silhouette amongst the trees. You frowned, your momentary relief melting back into confusion. 

“Can’t you at least come out into the light?” You asked. “I’d like to see what my savior looks like.”

For a moment, he said nothing, watching you from his spot further in. He chewed on his thumbnail anxiously, trying to think. Already the night had a strange quality to it, but the consequences of him revealing himself – and therefore what he was – would be very much real. And besides, the sun’s rising was imminent, and he had to get back to the rectory before that happened. 

“Afraid not,” he said finally. 

“Why?”

“Some things are best left as mysteries,” he said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You hummed noncommittally, biting back the urge to continue being stubborn. The sky was just beginning to lighten on the horizon, tinting it a deep red. A part of you wanted to stay and watch the sunrise, but exhaustion was beginning to weigh on you. It would be a little silly to keep questioning him at that point, anyway. Things would regain their normalcy once again in the daylight, and all you had to do was go back to sleep until then. 

“Well, thank you for helping me,” you said defeatedly, trying to stifle a yawn. “I would say I owe you one, but I’m not even sure if we’ll ever meet again…”

“Maybe in another dream,” he said, the smallest note of sadness in his tone. 

You smiled faintly, and for the briefest second, you thought you saw a pair of eyes reflecting a hint of light through the foliage. “Maybe, indeed.”

—————————

It rained for a whole week after that night, the dense showers droning on at all hours of the day. The sound of it lulled you into a state of reminiscence, going over what happened over and over again. The finer details had become foggier, slipping through your fingers slowly as time passed.

Sometimes they were clearer in dreams, like a beacon calling you back out into the night. You even woke up to find yourself standing on the porch once, one foot already on the steps. After that, you made sure to set up extra precautions around the house so you wouldn’t end up walking right out into the downpour. It was one thing to get lost when the weather was mild, but you didn’t think you’d be so lucky in harsher conditions. 

You spent some of those days researching angels and other sorts of spiritual figures, but all that influx of information – oftentimes filled with contradictions or addendums – only served to confuse you further. There were even forums with accounts of people supposedly having similar encounters, but somehow you still felt like you were dealing with something else entirely. After a time, you figured that trying to find answers on the internet was likely a worthless pursuit.

Even in dreams, you were unable to conjure what he might look like, this angel of yours. You hadn’t told anyone else about the encounter, not only for fear of seeming like you were losing your mind, but also because it was kind of nice to have something just for yourself. 

You wondered if somehow, he’d been keeping an eye on you since you’d returned home. The idea was both titillating and unnerving, since you weren’t sure which answer to that question would be better. But of course, it was impossible he’d be anywhere nearby in such conditions.

Gradually, without you noticing before it was too late, the storm worsened. Lightning streaked the bruise colored sky, the low rumble of thunder following soon after. The wind howled furiously, battering at your windows, and it wasn’t long before the lights went out. 

Plunged in that nearly cavernous darkness, you had a slight sense of déjà vu, your skin prickling slightly once more. You didn’t move at first, listening instead for anything out of the ordinary. But there was nothing, of course, and you were still very much alone. 

With little options left, you sighed heavily and slowly made your way to your room to try to get some sleep. With the storm raging on, it wasn’t that hard, and before you even realized it, you passed out. There were no dreams then, only a blissful unconsciousness where the hours ticked by unnoticed.

When the storm finally abated, you woke up to silence in the middle of the night. When you tried to switch on your bedside lamp, you found that the power was still out. You wondered what time it was as you threw open your window to let in the fresh, lingering smell of petrichor. 

You leaned against the windowsill and the first verdant lungful of it seemed to revitalize you, the cool breeze caressing your face. There was another smell, too, so faint you couldn’t really place it. Something metallic. Copper, maybe?

The only sound was that of the wind rustling the trees as it rushed past. Then suddenly, you heard the squelch of wet leaves as someone took a step. Immediately, all of your senses were alert. Your eyes scanned the dark outdoors, but you saw nothing but vague silhouettes.

Another step to your left side, closer than before, and you leaned a little further out the window. The metallic scent seemed to grow a little stronger, and you thought you heard a breath. A small tinge of fear nearly made you shudder, but it was at the uncertainty more than anything else. 

Could it really be…? 

There was only one way to find out.

“Hello, my angel. Seems like you’ve found me again,” you said to the darkness, unable to help smiling a little. “How did you manage it this time?”

A moment of silence passed, in which you weren’t sure if you’d even get a response. Then, you heard him clear his throat.

“Let’s just call it a stroke of luck,” he said, humor in his tone. “Missed me much, dear somnambulist?”

“I was curious when our dreams might intersect again…” you said, skirting the question. “What about you? Couldn’t keep away?”

“So it seems,” he said, the words softer than you’d expected. You could swear he was smiling, too. “Now, don’t go interrogating me again, alright?”

“Oh, you’re not fair. I have so many questions I wanted to ask.”

“Such as?”

“Such as… Why won’t you let me see you?” you said, deciding not to beat around the bush. “Surely you’re not one of those monstrous beings from biblical times, are you? I would think it would be easier to tell if you were…”

He chuckled, but the word monstrous still gave him pause. Oh, if only you knew. The angel he had met back in that ancient cave had been something magnificently horrifying to behold, but though he was now of that ilk, their physical differences could not be greater.

Even so, the acts he’d committed since his transfiguration were far from saintly. He wondered how you would react if you found out the truth… and he found that he did not really want to know the answer. 

“The dark just suits me better,” he said simply, watching as you pursed your lips in annoyance. “You’ve been trying to envision me, hm?”

“To no avail…” you muttered, but then an idea struck you. “Come closer, will you?”

“What for?” 

“Well, if I can’t see you, then maybe I could just trace your features with my fingers instead,” you said. “Maybe that’ll help improve my imagination.”

He swallowed hard, torn between wanting to cave in immediately and wanting to be sensible. He was already craving you deeply — had been absolutely tormented by it for days, even — so he didn’t entirely trust himself not to get too lost in the smallest touch. 

He wanted you, he couldn’t lie to himself about that, but he also wanted to eat you. It was quite the conundrum… but of course, he wouldn’t let himself do the latter.

“I’m not so sure…” he said finally.

“You can touch mine too, if you’d like. That’d make us even.” You offered, unable to ignore a small tingle of anticipation.

Tentatively, you reached out a hand, both in a placating and inviting manner. You heard him shift his weight, but after a moment, he stepped closer. He took your outstretched hand and helped guide it slowly towards his face, cupping his cheek. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes and keeping himself still. 

His skin was soft as if he had just shaved the previous morning, but you could feel the very beginning of stubble regrowing. Your fingers moved up to his cheekbone, slowly tracing underneath his eye until you found his nose. 

The tip of your index finger gently went down the bridge of it, and he exhaled with amusement as you tapped the tip of his nose. You smiled, not daring to go lower at that moment, but instead moving back up and feeling his full eyebrows, his lightly lined forehead, and his eyelids.

Then finally, you moved towards the junction where his ear met his jaw, tracing its outline downwards. You found he had a dimple on his chin, which you immediately found charming. There was also a small rough spot near it where something had dried and crusted. 

You didn’t really pay it any mind though, as you were too distracted by how close your fingers were to his lips. There was a small sound in his throat that told you he was just as aware of it. 

He tilted his head sideways and brushed his lips against your palm delicately, but with a hint of desperation. He kissed every single one of your digits and you, nearly breathless, swiped your thumb slowly over his bottom lip. Unconsciously, you leaned in closer, his breath intermingling with yours. 

“I’m starting to think you’re not an angel at all…” you whispered.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Unless that’s what you want.”

Desire made you all too bold, immediately saying, “What I want is to kiss you right now.”

And he didn’t need to be told twice, his mouth immediately melding with yours. His lips were full and softer than you’d expected, his kiss slow and exploratory like he was holding himself back. You threaded your fingers through his hair, which was damp with condensation, and pulled him even closer.

Your tongue slipped into his mouth and he nearly lost his wits entirely. He had already fed, but hunger rose like a tidal wave within him. His hands cupped your face, his tongue dragging over yours. It was like being kissed for the first time all over again, because it felt like nothing you had previously experienced.

You pulled away for air, your faces still inches apart. Your heartbeat was still pounding like a symphony in his head, nearly hypnotizing him. He could spend all of eternity right there, in that perfectly crafted heaven of a moment. 

“Do you want to come inside?” You asked, lightly curling a strand of hair at the back of his head around your finger. “I can unlock the front door.”

That seemed to slightly shake him out of his daze, and he licked his lips nervously. 

“I… do. I really do, more than anything,” he said slowly, still returning to himself as he fought against his instincts. “But the sun is coming out soon.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“This isn’t your way of getting me to beg you to stay, is it?”

He chuckled despite himself. “We both know you wouldn’t need to beg.”

You sighed, but conceded with a hum. “When will I see you again?”

“Tomorrow night… or I guess tonight, technically,” he said, taking your hands as he pulled back and kissing them. “Leave the lights off, I’ll be here as soon as I’m able.”

—————————————————

And he kept his word, returning when the shadows had deepened enough. A soft knock at the front door announced his arrival, and you quickly brought him inside.

You were getting better at navigating in the darkness, so leading him to your room wasn’t such an arduous task. There, you melted into his embrace, breathing him in – something smokey, like incense, with traces of juniper and copper. You could get lost in it, given the chance. 

“You know,” he said between kisses. “I don’t believe I had the opportunity to see you for myself.”

“Well, I’m all yours now, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

You heard his breath catch at that, making you smile impishly. Even if he was actually able to see you, he repeated the same sacred ritual of anointing your features with his fingers, his hands trembling slightly. But his fingers dared to go lower, tracing down your throat. He felt it work as you swallowed hard.

His ravenous mouth found yours again, unable to help himself. He had you against the wall, his body flush against yours. His knee was inching between your legs, but he seemed in no rush to move things along, his hands remaining in place.

You slid the straps of your tank top off your shoulders, inciting him to get a feel of your clavicles next. His lips ghosted over your jaw, tilting your head sideways to give him more access to your neck. For one delirious moment, his lips parted and he almost let his teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your throat, but he stopped himself. 

“May I?” he asked, referring to the thin piece of fabric that just barely covered your chest.

“Yes,” you breathed, barely able to find your voice. 

He pulled it down slowly, revealing even more. He made a desirous sound as you arched your back invitingly, silently giving him permission to touch, as well. You took his wrist gently and guided his hand, a small hum in your throat as it made contact with one of your breasts.

“Good lord,” he whispered roughly. “I… What are you doing to me?”

“I just thought you’d want to get a proper look, is all,” you said. “I have nothing to hold back from you.”

He nearly fell to his knees then, still partially in disbelief that this was happening. Your trust was not a gift he had been expecting, but the enormity of it rocked him. He couldn’t just take advantage of that, having already hidden so much from you. His fingers splayed over your sternum as he thought, enjoying what could be the last moments of your warmth.

“I… must make a confession first,” he said, swallowing hard. “I am not what you think I am.”

“Oh?” you prompted, intrigued even if you’d thought you were past that for the moment. 

“I am not an angel, that much is true, but I am not just a human, either.”

You frowned, unsure if he was just pulling your leg. “Okay… What then?”

It was his turn to grab your wrist, bringing your hand back to his face. His lips parted, and you felt your index finger against his canine. A small, quick movement of his head and you felt a sharp sting that made you gasp. His lips wrapped around your digit, where a bead of blood had formed, and realization sunk in like a stone to the bottom of a lake – heavy, and yet slow. 

“Oh…” you said breathlessly. “Oh. You’re, um, you’re not going to… Are you?”

“No, no, I won’t hurt you,” he said hastily as you pulled your hand back. “But I cannot lie and say a part of me doesn’t want to… Though I will not let myself.”

You didn’t move, trying to finish processing the revelation as a million thoughts raced through your mind. You hadn’t noticed anything strange when you’d felt his face, but you weren’t entirely sure if he was able to change his features. Could vampires even do that?

“Are you afraid?” he asked, the barest hint of hurt in his tone.

You realized you werent, but maybe you were still numb with shock. Perhaps a part of you even expected something like this, given the circumstances of your meetings.

“I should be, shouldn’t I?” You said, partially to yourself.

He let out a sigh of what seemed to be relief, and it was then you also realized you were still willing to give him a chance, foolish as it may be. But that would be contingent on his being completely truthful with you going forward.

 You wrung your hands together, antsy. Curse your tender heart, and what consequences it may bring!

“Can I see you, then?” You asked. “I deserve that much, at least.”

Your floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight. “Yes, though I think you’ll find this is not my only confession.”

“Two for one,” you murmured, half-heartedly joking. “Have you been… fearing it might drive me away for good?”

“Yes. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

You hummed pensively, further moved by his sincerity. “I’m more open minded than you might think, but don’t push your luck.”

He let out an amused huff, stepping back to give you space. You partially pulled your shirt back up, holding it in place with one hand.

“I am completely at your mercy,” he said thickly as you reached blindly for your bedside lamp.

“And I yours.”

You finally found it and switched it on, repeatedly blinking at the sudden change. And so you saw him, lean and tall, with locks of jet black hair that matched his equally dark eyes. His handsome face was actually familiar, but it was not one you had ever greeted up close… Well, at least not in the daylight.

“You-you are the new…”

“Priest,” he finished for you, nodding. 

Your eyes widened some and you tried to cover yourself up more. “And you’re really, um…?”

“Proof that there is something higher than ourselves,” he said, sighing once more. “At least, that’s how I try to think of it.”

“I was going to say vampire, but I guess you’re not really wrong there.”

You slumped down on the edge of the bed, unsure of how to proceed. It was strange to see that he was made of flesh and blood instead of just mysticism and starlight, but there was a certain comfort in his solidity. Even knowing what — and who — he was, it was more reassuring than the uncertainty of darkness.

Thrilling as that may have been before, the change in circumstances brought about a different type of thrill that you couldn’t very well deny. You just had to organize your thoughts first.

“I’m really sorry, I never meant to deceive you,” he said, gingerly sitting down next to you. “I… never even thought we would get here, to this moment. I thought I would become a distant fantasy that you’d eventually forget.”

“But we just couldn’t help ourselves, could we?” You said, looking over at him and studying his features more closely. “I mean, really, I’d have walked right out into that storm for you to find me again, I don’t have any doubts about that. I… still think I would.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle and the two of you shared a lingering look that held a certain tenderness. Then you bit your lower lip in contemplative hunger, the fluttering feeling in your lower belly not having simmered out.

“What about your vows?” You asked.

“I believe it’s much too late for those, seeing as I’ve irreparably broken them already,” he said without a hint of remorse, steadily holding your gaze. 

“Can I ask you something else?” 

“Anything.”

“You said a part of you wanted to hurt me…” You swallowed hard. “How would you do that?”

His cheeks visibly reddened as he averted his gaze momentarily. You even thought he looked ashamed, perhaps guilty, but you couldn’t be sure it was just that.

“Well, I, um,” he began, but you stopped him by placing a hand on his arm. 

“I want you to demonstrate,” you said softly. “Gently, if you can.”

To his immense surprise, he noticed that trust hadn’t entirely left your eyes. You were a little more guarded, yes, but you were still clearly willing to render yourself vulnerable for him. Perhaps as a way to test him as well, he realized, immediately unwilling to let himself fail.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded.

“Then you might want to turn off the light for that,” he murmured. 

“You don’t want me to look at you while you do it?” 

“It’s not that.” He licked his lips, glancing down at your lips, and then lower. “I just want you to be able to feel things better, is all.”

You suppressed a shiver that threatened to violently jolt through you. Reaching for your bedside lamp once again, you looked at him one last time before the two of you were plunged in darkness once again. Your heartbeat kicked up again. 

“Lie back,” he said, half request and half command.

You did as told, propping your head against your pillow as he stood up. The mattress shifted under his weight as he slowly crawled over you, his breath close to your face. With his nose, he nudged your chin upward, exposing more of your throat. 

“I would start here, where I think you are most tender,” he whispered against your skin, his teeth just barely grazing the side of your neck, then kissing away the phantom of pain that you momentarily imagined. “Oh, I would make such a mess of you.”

He moved to the other side of your neck, his lips barely breaking contact. Then he moved down to your clavicles, making you arch your back again, eyes fluttering closed. He left some love bites in his wake, and you found yourself clutching his arms if only so you wouldn’t become unmoored. 

“This just so happens to be in my way, so… Got to get rid of it,” he said, hooking his fingers over the top of your shirt and pulling it down hastily. 

He made a desirous sound, cupping your breasts in his hands. Your heart seemed to leap against the palm of his hand, an incitation if there ever was one. The flames of his desire were stoked, exponentially growing.

“Hmmm, or maybe I would take my time ravaging these,” he husked, saliva pooling on his tongue. “How could I not?”

Your fingers squeezed his arms urgently, feeling on the edge of pure, exquisite agony. His tongue then circled around one of your nipples, the light pinch of his teeth sending electricity to your core. You exhaled sharply, knees drawing together in search of some friction. It made you hunger for more, but you knew he was being deliberate. 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, and for a moment he thought you might pull his head back, but you did the exact opposite, holding him in place. There was a low, wanton groan in his throat.

His body slid downwards as he began to trail his lips lower. The way he was kissing your body felt like he was holding himself back from actually biting into you, but in that moment, you wouldn’t have minded being devoured. He hiked up your legs to rest on his shoulders, fingers tracing the supple skin of your inner thigh.

“Ah, but here’s another tender spot that could become quite messy,” he rasped, warm breath fanning over your navel. “I have to admit, I’ve been tempted by this one the most. It’s really taking all of my self control, you know?”

“I w-wonder why,” you choked out, half attempting humor but failing with a squirm of your hips. “I think this is far more torturous than whatever you had been fantasizing about…”

“But it excites you, doesn’t it?” He said, a smug edge to his tone. “I can smell it.”

You were about to grumble a retort, but dexterous fingers glided over the soaked fabric of your pajama shorts, where you were aching most. He saw your head drop back against the pillow, biting into your first to keep from making a debauched noise. 

“Oh, God….” you breathed out shakily.

“Not quite my name, but it’ll do for now,” he murmured, his tongue teasing the spot where the fabric clung to your inner thigh, mere inches away from fully revealing you.

Your knees drew close around his head. “I-I don’t think I can take it anymore.”

“Oh, but we were just getting started… Can’t I enjoy my meal properly?”

You extended your arms to invite him back into your embrace, needing more of him melding against you. “Please.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll have time enough for that, then,” he said, but the slightest tremble in his voice told you he was just as eager. “Lift your hips.”

You complied as best as you could, and he slowly peeled your shorts off like he was unwrapping his favorite candy. His mouth watered once more, totally enraptured at the sight of you fully bared for him. You were the true angel in his eyes, soft gazed and supplicant. Did that make him the serpent that was meant to lure you away from Eden? 

No, he told himself. He would give you nothing but paradise, whatever form it might take. Forever and ever, amen.

You heard the soft rasp of his zipper and one of his hands came to rest on your leg when you tried to lower them back onto the mattress. 

“No, keep those up,” he instructed, voice thick with desire.

The rustle of fabric and the clink of a belt as he undid his pants, shoving them down his legs. Your body jerked at the contact of warm, velvety flesh against your slick folds. Your brows furrowed together and your mouth fell slack wantonly at the realization. A rough sound behind his teeth as he coated himself in your slick, the delicious friction an immediate addiction. 

“Yes, just like that…” He notched himself against your entrance, slowly pushing in as he leaned more of his weight on you, practically folding you in half.

His mouth found yours again, a shuddery exhale against your lips as he made you feel every single inch that claimed you. You gripped his arms again, lifting your head if only to lean your forehead against his, wishing you could hold his gaze. Perhaps you already were, through the veil of darkness. 

You were nearly shaking from all the stimulation, pleasure coursing through you like the most delectable warmth. His hips rolled against you like the cresting waves of the sea, an all consuming power within each movement. Nothing had ever felt more right, and you doubted anything ever would again, if it wasn’t with him. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged him, ecstasy beginning to ascend in a spiral up from your navel. 

“Never,” he vowed, panting. 

His hips pressed against yours, pelvis grinding against your sensitive clit. Almost instinctively, you offered him the inside of your wrist, trying to bring it closer to his lips. You knew he was close, and you were more than willing to give him what he so wanted. He tried to protest, but you shook your head and quietly insisted. 

He planted an apologetic kiss on your pulse and squeezed your hip before his teeth cleanly pierced through your flesh. The pain was sharp and white hot, but it only lasted for a moment before pleasure replaced it once more. The full, robust taste of your life’s essence filled his mouth like the finest ambrosia.

A few more thrusts and your muscles tensed, your belly flipping like you were in a free fall. Your soul felt as if it was flung out of your body as you came, clenching down on him. His moans were ragged and muffled as he followed after you, rocking into you through every aftershock.

Then, mercifully, he let you wrap your legs around his waist, not in a hurry to separate from you but making sure you were more comfortable. He sealed the wound with his tongue, cleaning the smears of crimson left behind. You pulled him in for another kiss, something slower and more reverent, like a pact being made. Your head swam as if you had drunk the sweetest of wines, and you slackened into the mattress.

“Well, I’ll be your every meal, if that’s what you want,” you said as you pulled away for air, making him laugh. 

“You’ve ruined me. I cannot possibly taste anything else now,” he said, knuckles gently tracing your cheek in adoration. “It wasn’t too painful, was it?”

“No, I can endure it,” you said reassuringly, biting your lip as you gathered courage to speak up again. “So, does that mean… You’ll stay this time? Even when the darkness vanishes?”

He laced his fingers through yours, squeezing reassuringly and kissing the back of your hand. “As long as you’ll have me… Anything else is unthinkable.”

You reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, feeling as he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t get enough of it – enough of you. The feeling was mutual, and it was a comforting thought that at least as shadows, you were indistinguishable from each other.

“Yeah, I think I’ll keep you around.” You smiled, luminous as all the stars in the sky, the culmination of everything he’d ever dreamed of. “After all, I need my guardian angel looking after me.”

------------------

[proverbsss]

treating you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

(pt. 3 of "reading you right" series linked here)

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

reader(s): thank you so much for your compliments and encouragement, I'm so grateful we can share our carnal need for this man together : ) // this is a WIP without an ending, as I've lost a little muse. Hopefully someday I will update!

notifs: paul hill is a tease again!! ; you got ate out too good and it shut your brain off; hierophilia + Father ment. ; one 'Daddy' mention

"Father, I need--"

"I know. I know, it's okay," he's off the end of the bed in a swift movement, kicking off his boots. "Take off your shirt too." he instructs.

He's barely able to slow down and striptease you, peeling off his shirt and revealing his belly, his chest, his shoulders--all of which he's well aware you love. His major preoccupation, like thirst, like hunger, is the throbbing incomparable feeling of his cock hard in his jeans and getting as naked and free of these inhibitors as possible.

He's almost talking to himself, that soft, sweet, guiding tone, "You thought you could get me to switch harder than that and you ended up needing me inside you, it's okay."

You keen, incapable of refuting him. He swiftly climbs back over you, making the well-used bed creak underneath you both, his expression tensely focused. Just the look on his face, faintly sticky with your cum, his lips certainly still drippy with it, feels like it gets you close to another orgasm. You're caged between his arms and legs and he's the world. And your cunt /aches/ for him.

"Uh, fuck, please, need you now, please-"

His underwear are still in the way of what you both need. You could see before, and now you feel brushing your leg, your thigh, just how wet with pre-cum the front of them is. Paul's cock isn't too big for you, it is a little thicker than you're used to, and it is certainly a thing of beauty. You yearn to touch, taste, feel him and he insists on cradling you like this.

"A little patience is a virtue," he murmurs, his face once again hovering above yours.

"You stretching me the fuck out is a virtue. Bless me, Father."

He growls, an amused, primal sound. "What did I tell you about talking like a dirty movie?"

"I don't /feel/ like a dirty movie, please," you take his hand in yours and direct him to cup one of your tits. That lovely amber-rich color of his eyes envelops you as yours meet them.

"That you don't." he concedes, looking down, a drop of pity tugging at the edges of his mouth. That mouth that sent you reeling in pleasure moments before, your heartbeat still hasn't calmed down. "I think these need a little attention--" he shifts a bit down your body, delighted at the way your gaze follows him, and takes one of your nipples into his mouth. You cry out and your hips buck. Haha, Paul thinks, now /you're/ the one humping at nothing.

"What?" he laughs, nipping at your tit and relishing your reaction. "You get to drag it out for me but I can't do it to you? Talk about double standards." His hands find your hips and clarify a little who's in charge. "No, these tits are what I want to play with, so I'm going to." The tips of some of his teeth graze the underside of your nipple as he sucks gently at the sensitive flesh. You cry out again. "Mhm?" his eyes flick up to your blissed out face. "You need me to make you feel real? Is that it? Every time I push inside you, you get to let go of everything, is that what you need?”

“Yes Father.”

“Good girl.”

Paul can’t be deterred from lavishing a little more attention on your tits before he moves ahead though. What you don’t know can’t hurt you, Paul smirks to himself as his tongue and teeth explore you. What you don’t know can’t do anything but make you whimper and put your hands in his hair; his sacramental bloodthirst is still a secret Paul keeps from you, but he can expose his fangs just a little and nip at the sensitive bud of your nipple with that much more pressure.

“Ohh-” You utter a whine that sounds something like a question, pleasure peaking at the feel of his teeth. No partner you’ve been with before has ever made you question whether you could cum from just your tits being touched—with Paul you have to wonder. Why is a priest so good with his mouth? One of life’s mysteries. You cover your own as he tweaks the one bitten nipple between his index finger and thumb, and teethes at the other.

“No—” Paul surprises you, taking his lips off your breast and scolding you, “No, I let you get away with it before. Hand off mouth. I’d like to hear how well I’m doing,” then when you hesitate, his voice gets a little brusquer. His eyes almost seem to—glow? “Off mouth.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and try and get some part, any part of him, against your needy cunt. Paul laughs and lets you chase the substitute for real authentic friction. The laugh reverbs on your tit, against your tummy.

“Please…” your voice is unsteady as you beg. “Please more please more please—”

“More? I wonder what you mean…More of my mouth?” You whine. Somewhere between now and that instant several moments ago when you looked down and saw Paul Hill, tongue out and face wet with your juices, shaking his head and humming obscenely into your clit—whatever was left of your conscious cognitive abilities left your body on his lips.

“Please-” you don’t know if increasing the severity of the plea will get across the message you need it to, but desperation is one of few resources left to you, you might as well try it.

“Ah…Not my mouth. I’m almost hurt. You’ll have to help me get over the wound to my pride, you think you can do that, puppy?”

You make a verbal noise that’s a gasp of consonants, nothing like spoken English.

“Yes? You want to be Father’s bitch? I could see that on you. Collar for me, collar for you.” He’s grinning, intensely pleased with himself, grinding against you now as rhythmically as you are him. “Good girl. Ask me to take myself out now.”

Another keening noise from you. Hopefully Crockett Island both assumes their pastor just has a very uncomfortable stomach cramp, and also forgets how low the cadence of his voice is.

“Dnnn, fck—F’ther—please—” He cocks an eyebrow at you, like he might if you made an off-color joke after Mass, or spilled something on yourself. It’s pure patronizing and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the look of it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak mutt. Try again.” Then for good measure he whispers, hot breath against your belly, “I believe in you.”

“Daddy—Father—please—fuck my pussy…I wanna be good puppy for you.”

His eyes flash, that illusion of gold again, at the sound of another unexpected honorific off your lips. Definitely something to explore later. He can’t resist the warmth of your skin, which is dire. Because if he lets himself go too far with that he’ll draw blood and Satan take the hindmost. He nips lightly at your tummy, just under one of your tits. Breathe, John. Hm. His name. Another secret she doesn’t know. Will there be time to tell her? Will there be a sign to give her the same gift that’s been given him?

He’s awakened from his stupor by you clapping your hands on his shoulder blades, his arms, anything you can reach to tell him without words that you can’t be empty much longer.

“Please take your cock out, Father, please I need you to fuck me.”

He takes a beat just holding your gaze, one of the most erotic moments suspended in time as you've lived it. You see the sheer thirst in him by that look. You see yourself as a meal, a toy, something to be played roughly with and ruined.

The effect is just as devastating on him. Your eyes are lyrical. You actually, truly beg with your eyes.

Finally his hands are fumbling in your periphery to shimmy his underwear at least off his length for his dick to start toward somewhere it can do you both good.

____________ to be continued _______________________________

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔰 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 When Erin leaves Crockett to have her baby, the teaching position becomes vacant in the dominical school, so the Town Council decides to call in someone from the mainland to fill in the vacancy left behind.

Lydia Hatcher accepts the proposal without thinking twice, when she catches the Breeze she meets a mischievously handsome man to which she feels immediate attraction. The same happens to him, but what she doesn't realise is that he has way more planned for her than she might conceive.

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Gaslighting, Angst, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Catholic Guilt, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, Non-canon Character Death, Use of Biblical passages as a way of gaslighting, Attempted Murder, Poisoning, Extremely Dubious Consent, Suicidal Thoughts, Stalking, Dom/sub Undertones, Smut, Distorted Ideals of Romance, Obsessive Behaviour, Horror, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Religious Fanaticism.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 WIP

𝔈𝔵𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔲𝔪 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔫

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Rape/Non-con, Distorted Ideals of Romance, Non-Canonical Character Death, Mild Gore, Animal Death, Blood Drinking, Murder, Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Catholic Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Dubious Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Horror, Pregnancy Kink, Smut, Angst.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝔑𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢

𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 Dark! Father Paul x Fem! Reader (OFC)

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊𝖘 AU — Canon Divergence; Dark fic; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Rape/Non-con, Distorted Ideals of Justice, Non-Canonical Character Death, Mild Gore, Blood Drinking, Murder, Coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, Religious Fanaticism, Cult, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gaslighting, Dubious Consent, Dom/sub Undertones, Horror, Attempted Murder, Smut, Angst, Major Character Death.

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

More notices to be added if needed. Let me know when something requires to be added to the warnings/tags, I’ll probably forget something.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

First of all, I feel that I require to warn you that English isn’t my first language, so might happen you find some writing mistakes, I also don’t have a beta reader, again I’m sorry for any errors. If you feel comfortable, you can tell me about them, so I can fix it.

Initially, this story was planned to be a 2nd person reader fic, but I turned into a 'character x OFC'. However, don’t worry, dear grasshopper, as everything has been handled as vague as possible so that everything can be read as a reader fic.

If you desire to be tagged use this Google form to inform me, please, so I can keep it organized =)

This series has a playlist on Spotify, you can find it here, or just by searching for ‘the blood you spill in my garden’ in the search bar.

THIS IS A DARK FANFICTION! Be aware that you will find descriptions at least unpleasant for the more sensitive, if these obscure topics are not your thing man, don’t read, seriously DON’T READ!

If you, dear reader, have decided to ignore all warnings about this story, you are on your own, I am not responsible for anything you find. By the way, minors, this is obviously not for you!

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

@stardustandgunpowder, @liesandghosts, @pruitts-tight-fucking-jeans, @girlwiththenegantattoo, @dreams-madeof-strawberrylemonade, @sterwild, @thegardenarcher, @snapessecretdiary, @judarspeach, @hungrhay, @midnight-mess, @ledzeppelindeanmon, @novywhere @un-kiss-de-breakfast @vivi-venus

If your name is striped, it’s because Tumblr don’t let me tag you for some reason. =(

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Pine-ing For You

Father Paul has a little accident while trying to set up Christmas lights and you decide to get festive.

I got this idea while chatting with @aherdofbees​, and together we developed it to get our dear priest into quite the delicious situation. She made a 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 illustration that goes with this fic. Go on, click the linkie and like and reblog, because it truly is amazing. 

Thank you so much for the inspiration Allison, I loved writing this!

NSFT/18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

Pine-ing For You - 5.3K

tw: explicit sexual themes, consensual unprotected sex, body worship, smut with a lot of feelings™, attmepts at humour

Crockett Island may have seemed dull most of the time to the untrained eye, but after more than a year of living there you knew better. The people, while many of them a bit subdued, all had their little joys in life, their passions, and though they were wary of strangers that came into their little town at first, they were among the most kind and hospitable folks you had the good fortune to have met.

However, when Christmas rolled around, even the untrained eye could perceive the shift in atmosphere. It was a jolly holiday after all and the people indeed were slightly jollier. Little by little, decorations began appearing around the island. Many of them were small and decent, maybe just a wreath on a door, or an electric candlestick set in a window. Some were larger, Christmas lights on the roof, perhaps a little reindeer in the front yard. Few decorated more.

Some of these more festive looking places were the schoolhouse, which had student-made snowflakes in the windows, garlands on the windowsills, lights hung from the roof and even a charming wooden nativity scene in front. The Flynn house and The Greene house also breathed a gentle Christmas atmosphere to everyone who walked by. And then, there was Saint Patrick’s. Apparently, Monsignor Pruitt adored Christmas more than anyone else on the island and it showed. Dozens and dozens of various decorations were found in one of the storage areas of the church by Father Paul, who literally begged you to help him put them up. Which you were more than happy to do.

So now there were artificial swags at every corner of the small church, boughs of holly, wreaths, candles and another nativity set, placed right in front of the altar. This one was more detailed and painted, obviously made to be inside rather than face the weather conditions. And it was quite obvious Monsignor Pruitt took great pride in his decor collection. All that was missing were some Christmas trees.

—

Many residents of Crockett Island used artificial trees for their Christmas festivities, but there were still those who couldn’t imagine celebrating their lord’s birthday without a fine fir or a pine. One day, about a week before Christmas, a group of volunteers would gather on one of the larger fishing ships and set off to the mainland to pick out live trees for everyone on the island who wanted one. Ordering worked through simple paper forms, delivered to mailboxes by Dolly Scarborough. One would write down their name, preferred kind of tree, and its size. Filled out forms were then dropped off in the little town hall, along with the money for it. Unlike everyone else (including you) who ordered only one tree, Father Paul ordered three - two larger to be placed inside the church, one smaller for his rectory. He was, of course, among the volunteers going to actually pick the trees up.

They returned around eleven o’clock in the morning. You stood on the dock, looking at the fishing boat full of tied trees with a smile. Paul would be hauling the trees for Saint Patrick’s and the rectory first, with the help from Ed and Riley Flynn, and you convinced Sturge to help you carry the large pine tree you asked for to your home.

“Thank you again,” you said, walking next to him. You genuinely tried to help him carry it, but after a few minutes of very awkward walking and a few broken off twigs, the handyman simply threw the big tree over his shoulder and hauled it the rest of the way by himself. “Do you accept payment in gingerbreads?” you asked with a grin and raised eyebrows. Sturge thought for a while: “Yeah. But it will cost you.” “Oh? How much?” you chuckled. “I want the entire sheet.” You gave a whistle and made an amused ‘tsk’ sound: “Inflation these days…”

—

Two hours later, you stood at your kitchen counter, decorating gingerbreads with white chocolate. The pine stood tall and proud in your living room. It truly was a beautiful tree, healthy and dense, its herby scent, having already filled the room it stood in, was seeping through the rest of your house. You heard the front door open and shut, followed by some shuffling from the hallway.

“Hmm, it smells nice in here,” came a dreamy voice, making you smile. When footsteps began approaching the kitchen, you turned around to greet the priest. But then: “What are you wearing?” you asked, laughing softly. Father Paul was dressed in his skinny jeans, like usual. What wasn’t usual however, was the 'ugly Christmas jumper' instead of the black clerical shirt, its colour reminding you of his gold chasuble. There was a white nordic pattern on front, consisting of snowflakes and reindeers. It didn’t look terrible, but since you never before saw Paul wearing something like this, it kind of took your breath away for a moment.

“Do you like it?” asked Paul with a smile, pulling at his sleeves which you noticed were rather tight at the wrists. “It’s hideous,” you replied snarkily, making the priest chuckle and walk closer to you. He noticed the half decorated gingerbreads right away and was just about to reach for one when you lightly slapped his hand away. “Ouch. What was that for?” asked Paul, fake hurt in his voice. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his torso: “These are for Sturge, for lending me a hand with that tree.” “Oh I see,” replied your lover, understanding on his face, “will you make some for us, too?” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but smile: “Of course I will, have I ever neglected you?”

Paul pulled you close to press a soft kiss against your lips, claiming your entire attention. Therefore, you didn’t notice his hand slowly creeping up and onto the counter until it was too late, and one of the gingerbreads was snatched and promptly bit into by the father. “You scoundrel!” you smacked his chest, while Paul only laughed with his mouth full, “you’re lucky I love you.”

He swallowed his bite and batted his eyelashes at you: “it must be the sweater.” You smirked and squinted your eyes. “The jumper is hideous,” you repeated and Paul shook his head: “You really think that?” You didn’t. Taking him in once more, you had to admit that it did look rather flattering on Paul’s tall lean frame. “I knew it,” he said smugly, “you can’t lie to me, you like it.” “I don’t like it,” you tried once more, the corners of your lips turning up inadvertently. Paul took another bite of the gingerbread: “Hm, you love it.”

A few moments later, during which you picked at the soft wool of your lover’s jumper while he hummed appreciatively at the taste of your baking, you gave him a kittenish smile: “Since you’ve got nothing better to do right now than be a menace,” he opened his mouth in mock-offence before smiling cheekily, “you could go and start with the Christmas tree, what do you say?” “Hm,” he thought, “I thought we’d do it together?” Your arms encircled his waist again, pulling him closer and lifting your head to meet his eyes: “We will, but you could at least start putting the lights on. It’s a beast of a tree and I wouldn’t be able to reach the top, unlike a certain tall priest.”

He gave you a soft smile and pecked the tip of your nose, before brushing his lips against yours: “Very well.” You watched in curiosity, as his hands came up to rest on your hips and his eyes bore into your own. And then, in less than a second, he was scrambling away, another gingerbread in his hand. You gasped and stared after him, mischievous dark eyes twinkling at you until he rounded a corner. “Unbelievable!” you called after him.

—

You were pretty happy with your work, before you on the counter lay a sheet of nicely decorated gingerbreads of various shapes. Save for the two Father Paul stole right under your nose, but you supposed Sturge wouldn’t really notice that. You were in the middle of moving them into a container, when a dull thud sounded from the living room. “Paul? Is everything alright?” you called. A deafening silence was your only answer for several seconds and you started getting worried, when Paul’s sheepish voice reached your ears: “Um… A little help here, (F/N)?” You finished storing the cookies away, wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and made your way to the living room.

You couldn’t see the priest at first, but when you did, you began giggling uncontrollably. Paul was lying on his stomach very nearly under the tree, the christmas lights cord in his outstretched hand. His torso was bare and you could see the yellow jumper and white undershirt tangled around Paul’s arms, caught on one of the tree’s strong branches. He was looking at you abashed, his cheeks a little rosy with embarrassment.

You learned fairly early on in your relationship that for all of Paul’s amazing qualities, his skill as a priest, his knack for cooking, and his knowledge of your body as a lover, he was sometimes quite clumsy and very accident prone. A week wouldn’t pass without him bashing his little toe on some piece of furniture and you’d often find small bruises on his arms and legs, prompting him to sheepishly explain the cause for them. It was usually doors.

“I’m so sorry,” you said after you caught your breath and walked closer to him, kneeling by his side, “but what happened?” Father Paul released a huff and an adorable pout formed on his lips. “I wanted to turn on the lights. I got under the tree, on my knees, and tried to plug the cord into the socket. I couldn’t reach it though, and wanted to get out, try a different angle. But, um,” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue, “I caught my shirt on a branch. I tried to untangle it, but couldn’t. So I thought I’d just try to take the shirt off, free it from the branch and put it on again. This is as far as I got…” The priest looked angrily at his hands, “the sleeves are too tight at the wrists, I can’t get my hands out! I mean, I tried yanking away, but the tree swayed rather nastily and I was worried it would collapse on top of me.”

“Wait,” you said with an amused grin, “are you really actually trapped? You can’t get out of there?” Father Paul 'tsked: “Yes. I am trapped under a Christmas tree. Can you help me?” You smiled softly at him and pet his hair. You proceeded to move forward, crawling under the tree yourself (mindful of any mischievous branches) and snatching the cord from Paul’s hand. You plugged it in and the living room was suddenly illuminated by multicoloured Christmas lights. You crawled back and sat leisurely on the ground, close to the priest’s head. Paul looked at you expectantly for a while, but after seeing you showed no intention to free him, a look of shock came over his face: "Wha- You're really going to leave me here?”

You once more moved your hand to his head, fingers carding through his dark hair: “'Leaving you' is the last thing on my mind,” you moved until you were lying down next to him, hand now coming to stroke his cheek and jaw, “but right now, I think I like you exactly. Where. You. Are,” you exaggerated each word, thumb moving to stroke the edges of Paul’s lips. “You look like an early Christmas present,” you purred, leaning your head on your free hand. Paul closed his eyes at the feeling of your clever fingers once again combing through the soft curls on the back of his neck. “Are you-... are you really trying to seduce me while I’m trapped under a Christmas tree?”

You giggled airily, tugging at the soft hair gently and delighting in Paul’s tiny little gasps: “Hmm, maybe… Is it working?” Paul’s head fell down to lean on his arms, his cheeks got even darker and in a quiet voice he replied: “A little.” You slowly scratched at his scalp, smiling lovingly each time he leaned into your touch. "Hey," you said then, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Your thumb found his lips again and you gave him a look he could read perfectly by now. 'Tell me you're not ok with this and I'll stop.' it said. Warmth spread through Paul's chest, followed by a gentle tingle of anticipation.

He pressed his lips against your thumb further in a small kiss, before smiling slightly and blinking at you coquettishly, and he too attempted to speak to you with his eyes: ‘I want this’.

You gave him one more gentle smile, before leaning back and looking at him appreciatively: “My, my, I must have been so nice this year, what a lovely present.” The priest chuckled into his arms: “Are you going to tear the wrapping paper off?” Your head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on your face. One fingertip stroked along Paul’s earlobe, descending down upon his pulsepoint and feeling his increasing heartbeat. “Nope, I don’t do that, it’s no fun” you shook your head, “I always unwrap presents slowly, peeling the tape off and trying not to damage the paper. Sometimes I even stop midway, because the anticipation makes it so much better.

“I think I’ll start with the parts that are unwrapped already,” you purred into his ear and moved closer, both of your hands coming to rest on his shoulders while you pressed small kisses into his hair, lips moving down to brush against the nape of his neck. “Hm,” you sighed contently, “such a pretty neck, long and elegant, like a swan, almost regal,” you bit lightly at the beginning of his spine, making your lover release a short gasp, “so sensitive.” You moved lower, hands sliding across shoulder blades: “Beautiful golden skin, like honey, soft, and warm, and very sweet.” Father Paul could feel more hotness entering his already red cheeks. Your whispered praises always had a profound effect on him. He hid his face in his arms.

“Strong shoulders and back, muscles defined perfectly but gently,” you continued and now dragged your fingernails across the entire length of the priest's back, making him quietly groan in pleasure. You’ve never met anyone who didn’t like their back scratched, but Paul seemed particularly enraptured by it. You made sure to lightly graze every inch of the golden skin, finding all the right spots, all the while pushing hot kisses onto every single freckle you could see and connecting them with your tongue.

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle when he felt your hands give his clothed bum a squeeze. “Girls love a guy with a lovely arse, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” you whispered cheekily and gave the lovely arse another squeeze, “alright, let me see the other side of this present before I start unwrapping it further.”

You helped Paul carefully roll over and onto his back, his wrists, still bound by his own clothes, now crossed over one another. Dark hair peeked at you from under the priest’s arms, and his pink nipples looked like little pearls screaming for attention. And they weren’t the only thing craving attention. Paul’s erection was tenting the dark grey skinny jeans and his eyes fluttered when you ran a finger over it. You gave him a grin: “Sorry, I’ve always been a little impatient, but I promise I’ll try to be good.” Paul shuddered out a laugh, his breathing a little shallow: “I wouldn’t be mad either way.”

Slowly you put a leg over his waist and straddled your lover: “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah,” you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, thumbs caressing his brow. “Thick, expressive eyebrows… Dark eyes, so, so large. Like a dolly,” you leaned forward to press your lips against Paul’s eyelids, then pulled away again, “cute, well defined nose, perfect for kissing,” once more you made your point by pecking the entire length of your lover’s nose, making him produce a fluttery chuckle.

“Though, of course, your entire face is perfect for kissing,” you smiled at him lovingly and then your fingers traced the edges of his lips, “but most of all it’s your mouth. That perfect cupid’s bow. I see it, and I want to trap it between my own lips. When you smile, when you pout, when you do that adorable little mouth shrug… When you talk, to me, to your congregation. When your mouth is slightly open and I can see your upper teeth just peeking through. I always want to kiss you.”

You crushed your lips against Paul’s, teeth clashing and tongues moulding against each other. He groaned into your hungry mouth and wanted to curl his arms around you, but soon remembered he was bound and released a desperate sound instead. You only parted from him when the lack of oxygen threatened to take your consciousness away. A tiny string of saliva followed you for a bit, before it snapped and landed on Paul's kiss bruised lips. You kissed the slight cleft in his chin and playfully dipped your tongue into it.

The emotion in your eyes as you pulled back could have made Paul cry, you were looking at him as if he was the rarest jewel, the most fantastical treasure in the world, as if he was your sun and moon and stars. “You have no idea just how beautiful you really are, do you? Inside and out,” you whispered, hands returning to stroke the side of the priest’s face, which was once more getting hot. This time however, he couldn’t hide it and as he lay there, absorbing each and every one of your words, Paul realised he didn’t even want to hide. You leaned closer again, whispering against his open mouth: “So beautiful, so very pretty.” An involuntary moan escaped him.

You smiled against his mouth, then ducked your head lower, nibbling softly around Paul's jawline before descending upon his throat, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple right as he swallowed heavily. You shifted until you sat directly on his hips and rolled your own, rubbing against his constricted erection and making his head fall back, those fine lips opening wordlessly. He took large gulps of air, hands involuntarily trying against his restraints once more. “Soon,” you promised, rolling your hips again, “but do try not to move your hands too much. I really don’t want the tree to actually fall down on our heads. Can you imagine explaining that to Sarah, when we show up all bruised and battered?”

The priest made an unhappy little sound, but tried to keep his hands as still as he could anyway. You made your way down his chest, nuzzling your face into his soft skin and delivering soft kisses and playful bites every time you felt like it. Paul sighed when your lips reached one of his nipples. You circled the nub with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth and pinching it with your teeth lightly. You used your fingers to stimulate the other nipple in perfect synchronisation with your mouth, trying various techniques and listening to Paul’s shallow gasps and quiet groans for feedback.

After alternating between the two, now red and swollen, buds for several minutes, you decided to carry on with your adventurous journey across Paul’s exquisite body, and ran the tips of your fingers against his ribs teasingly. You grinned widely when your lover made a little jump, trying to get away from your touch now: “N-no, don’t,” he gasped, but it was pointless. You again stroked over his ribs and under his arms, and was soon rewarded with choked laughter. “A-angel, please… please don’t tickle me right now,” he begged in between chuckles. You giggled, but took mercy on him, climbing up to steal a kiss: “I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t resist.”

You sat back onto his thighs and gave the priest a reassuring smile after you laid your hands on his sensitive ribs again, this time your entire palms, intent on caressing him and bringing him pleasure. You stroked down, soon finding an obstacle in your way. Father Paul’s jeans looked so, so tight around his hard shaft it must’ve been painful, and you licked your lips as you made eye contact with him and rubbed the heel of your hand over his length. He shuddered and his eyes fluttered closed on their own. You repeated the motion, making your lover groan with pleasure.

“I think it’s time for me to unwrap my present,” you whispered huskily and waited for him to look at you. When he did, you sat even further away, all the way above his knees, and began making a show of popping open the button and torturingly slowly pulling his zipper down. Your fingers curled below the waistline on each side of the trousers and you tugged them down, little by little, revealing one, then two edges of his hip bone, protruding under his skin enticingly. You left the jeans bunched in the middle of his thighs and observed the priest amorously.

His hands, still crossed at the wrists above his head were balled into fists, fingers white at the knuckles. Paul’s face was flushed dark pink, with sweat gathering in his hairline, one drop of it having already rolled down his cheek. His lips were swollen from kissing. Well, his upper lip anyway, the bottom one was currently trapped between Paul’s teeth, but you presumed it’d be in a similar condition. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with lust, and there was a damp spot on the front of his grey boxer briefs. You bowed to press a wet kiss just below his sternum, then lower, then lower again, relishing the soft tender skin of the priest's tummy.

You drew a circle around Father Paul’s belly button with your tongue and started pinching the area underneath with your teeth, teasing at the happy trail going down into his underwear. You looked up after reaching the waistband, catching your lover’s intense gaze. He whimpered softly when instead of going where he needed you the most, you bit into that tempting hip bone. “Please…” he whispered, feeling like he was going to go insane if you were to tease him much longer. Paul didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until your soft hand touched his cheek and he opened them again. You were smiling at him warmly, a look filled with tenderness. He willingly opened his mouth for you when you moved your hand to the back of his neck and kissed him soundly.

At the same time you finally pushed your hand under the waistband of his briefs and took a hold of his aching member. Paul moaned into your mouth in relief, his eyes shutting closed and eyebrows turning upwards. You fondled his manhood steadily, massaging it slowly with your thumb drawing little circles into the heated skin. He breathed hard against your mouth once he had to part for breath, and you stuck your tongue out to trace his lips before pushing it back between them. You were slow in your movements, yet Paul soon found himself nearing his peak.

“Wait,” he managed to get out and you let go of him right away. He tried to convey what he wanted with his eyes and, thankfully, you seemed to understand.  You climbed off of him, lying down by his side instead so you could make out some more. From his position, Paul now had some access to your neck and he immediately used this fact to his advantage, pressing sloppy kisses and bites against your pulse point while you massaged his scalp with your fingers. He attempted to duck his head lower, but was held back by his restraints. He gave you another pleading look and you started removing articles of your own clothing, as well as ridding him of the jeans and boxers entirely.

Once you were as naked as he (save for the jumper and shirt tangled on his arms), You climbed back over him, bracing yourself on one hand above his head and pushing your bosom level with his face. Wasting no time, Paul began kissing the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to circle your nipples and flick over them. Meanwhile, your other hand was between your legs, two fingers slowly moving inside your heat in a scissoring motion, stretching yourself. You rested your head against Paul’s, your content sighs fanning over the priest’s black hair.

Suddenly, Paul produced an alarmed sound and turned his head away. You immediately lifted yourself off him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” you asked, your arousal now mixed with worry. He screwed his eyes shut before releasing a sheepish chuckle: “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just-... um, there is a pine needle getting somewhere it definitely should not be getting.” You started laughing quietly, Paul joining you shortly after. After you fished out the pine needle from under the back of his thigh and made sure there were no more pointy things threatening anything vital, you wanted to lean forward again, but Paul stopped you. “I want to watch,” he said. You smiled down at him and made a show of fucking yourself with your own fingers.

Once you felt sufficiently ready, you pulled your digits out and moved down Paul’s body, pushing your hips together. You rolled your hips a few times, the underside of the priest’s cock sliding through your wet folds. Using your now free hand, you reached behind yourself and guided your lover inside. Paul bent one leg at the knee and pushed his hips up to meet you halfway. Both of you choked out a small gasp. Despite your preparation, you needed a few moments to get used to Paul’s width.

You experimentally raised your hips before sinking back, trying to find an angle that worked the best for you. A few thrusts later, you felt a bolt of pleasure shoot through your spine and into your core, and grinned. You lowered yourself until your body was flush with Paul’s and carefully slipped your arms under his, hands coming to tangle into his hair. You connected your foreheads and looked into his eyes deeply as you started thrusting against him in that brilliant angle.

Paul’s laboured breathing and delicate moans blew across your cheeks, warming them more than the blood gathered there. You tilted your head to the side and let your lips connect in an uncoordinated kiss, keeping your eyes open. Paul’s hands were shaking from how much he wanted to reach out for you, all the while keeping in mind that was the only thing he couldn’t do, so he instead tried to convey all the ways he wanted to touch you in through his mouth, sucking on your lower lip, biting your tongue gently, licking a wet strip along your jaw.

Your movements sped up and the fire within you started burning brighter, every single thrust like a spurt of gasoline into a flame. You hid your face into Paul’s heated neck, feeling his heart hammering away at a rapid speed, sensing his groans and whimpers before actually hearing them. You wrapped yourself around him completely, as if willing your bodies to mould into one. The priest bent his leg a bit more, gaining better leverage to pound up into you, feeling his upcoming release nearing as well.

Once Paul heard your moans becoming more urgent, felt your walls beginning to flutter around him and saw your thighs trembling, he started nudging your head with his own, wordlessly attempting to make you look at him, reveal your face. He loved watching you fall apart, your face showing nothing but pleasure, raw, almost unhinged. It was a sight only he was allowed to see, nearly sacred. You raised your head with some difficulty and rested it back against his, your pupils blown wide and constantly disappearing and reappearing behind fluttering eyelids.

You were on the very brink, moments before plummeting down into the abyss, and your hips lost all sense of rhythm. “Come for me, angel,” Paul groaned and delivered a sharp thrust upwards, effectively shoving you over the edge. Your fingers closed in his hair harshly and a wave of pleasure exploded in your core, shooting into your veins like a drug. You gasped violently, releasing a series of short high pitched whimpers as your heat began pulsing around Paul’s twitching shaft. He continued thrusting into you, hitting that little bundle of nerves and effectively prolonging your orgasm.

You were blushing everywhere, sweating, trembling through heaps of bliss, yet a drunken smile bloomed on your face. Your unfocused eyes connected with Paul’s, their gaze intense and almost desperate. “S-so, ah, you’re so b-beautiful, Paul,” you managed to stutter out, and then only watched the fireworks go off in those nearly black orbs. They widened for a millisecond and then, as if a rope snapped, you could see Paul fighting to keep them even open. You would have almost thought he was in pain, with his hands trembling violently, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape to release a long moan, and his head tilting back.

Your walls were painted white, spurt after spurt of hotness spreading through your core. Together you shook through the aftershocks, slowly coming down your highs. You collapsed against your lover, trying to get your breathing under control once more. Several minutes of lazy kisses and whispered words of love later, Paul tried tugging his arms free once more, causing some more pine needles to descend upon your cooling bodies. You groggily climbed up his body until you were able to reach the treacherous twig and untangle it from Father Paul’s shirt.

The priest stretched his arms and proceeded to pull both his jumper and shirt off of him, tossing them somewhere to your left. Finally, finally, he was able to hold you and immediately did just so. “You were right,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, “it is a horrible sweater.” You giggled and let yourself slide down and onto your side, lying next to him. “I don’t know,” you purred, your hand coming to caress his cheek, “I think it’s starting to grow on me.”

You shivered slightly, your body having already cooled down from your previous activities, and reached for a blanket which was draped over your sofa. You threw it over the two of you and got comfortable in the father’s arms. “If there was an advent calendar of making love during Christmas time, this would definitely be there. Under the tree,” you mused, your voice light and airy. “Wonder what would be hidden under ‘24’,” replied Paul in the same manner, “making love after the midnight Mass?” You grinned into his neck, one of your hands slowly massaging his shoulder: “A lovely suggestion.”

“Still want to decorate the tree?” he asked after a while, pressing small kisses into your hair. You murmured something unintelligible and hid your face again. Paul chuckled lowly: “Okay, shower and a movie then?” “Yeah,” you breathed into his skin, “we’ll do the tree first thing tomorrow.” Paul hummed in agreement. You lay cuddled beneath the Christmas tree, the colourful lights dancing on your bare limbs and the smell of pine lingering sweetly in the air. “We could decorate the one in the rectory after. And bake those gingerbreads only for us.”

A giggle started blooming in your chest, soon turning into a full on laughter. “You really are unbelievable!” you bit into your lower lip and pulled back to look into his large eyes. They reflected the big genuine smile on Paul’s face perfectly: “I’ll even wear the sweater.” You shook your head and quickly crushed your lips against his. Absolutely unbelievable.

Thank you for reading, I hope you had a good time c: As always, you can find this story and all of my other stories over on AO3. Please, be sure to check out @aherdofbees​ tumblr as well, she makes the most spectacular art!

the first tags are sentences I had to restrain myself from using in order not to look like the last bits of sanity finally packed their bags and kissed me goodbye

@everythingbutresolved @agirlinherhead​ @rothko-mirror​ @littleredwritingcat​ @vintageglassheart02​ @thexhostess​ @fatherpaulsimp​ @blackberries45​ @daughterofaries​ @exorcise-my-demons​ sending kisses ××

[blackberries45]

Two weeks between bites

Notes: here is a tiny little imagine because I'm having tiny little thots lately.

Warning: NSFW I guess and I didn't have this like proofed. Just a gal, quickly typing away 😅

----------------------------------------------------

Imagine Paul shows up at your back door every two weeks. He looks desperate, disheveled, but mostly in need. The first time this happened you started questioning him and were genuinely worried. You offered to get him help and asked if he was sick. By now though, you knew the routine.

Tonight you ended up on the couch. It was an upgrade from the cold kitchen floor but a whole flight of stairs away from your soft bed. In the moment you didn't mind, but your back would tomorrow. Right now though your mind was spinning and you couldn't care less. Paul was all over you in the same way he had been for months now. He would kiss your lips and neck until you crumpled into wherever he headed you, a few weeks ago it was the kitchen table, and and then he'd started working on you feverishly. He had to get you to orgasm atleast once, then he would, typically inside of you.

When he had gotten you started again he'd pull out of you, no matter your begs and moans at the emptiness, and bend down to start kissing your stomach. He'd continue the soft kisses to your inner thighs and just as you were cooling off from him leaving you empty, he'd softly kiss your most sensitive spot, releasing a beautiful gasp from your lips. The second he would hear it it would be as if it was a race to make you absolutely shatter. He'd use his fingers inside you and his tongue everywhere.

As you were crashing back down your legs would shake and as he'd been doing for months, he'd start to leave a hickey on one of your inner thighs. You thought it was a cute secret between you two that you'd find the next morning. As he'd leave it you'd be in such a blissed out state that you wouldn't notice it was anything more than him sucking on your skin and then soothing it with his tongue. Paul wondered how many more times he could get away with it.

The next day was always unbearable though. Paul would go back to being Father Paul, not acknowledging the crazed night before. He'd barely look at you, almost looking ashamed, acting like something just took over him that he couldn't control. But when the two weeks were up, there he'd be again. A tiny knock on your back door, pure primal lust, and a tiny little bruise on your inner thigh.

[yeonjuns-beanie]

Blaphemous Rumours Preview

HEYYY!!!!! i’ve crawled out of my hole. not quite sure how active i’ll be on here but ive got a pretty solid story with this one. i’m almost finished, but i wanted to draft a preview to kind of bring some life to my account again!

You rested your head on his forehead, gripping onto his shoulders for some type of leverage. You bit the corner of your lip in an effort to silence yourself, but your ragged breathing was near that of an incensed bull.

“If you did a better job of controlling yourself yesterday, I may have been fooled by your sheepish nature, but you just couldn’t quell this desire on your own, could you? You went home to seek some satisfaction but you found none, so you came here to plague me instead. Praying that I’d fix this ache within you. Am I right y/n?”

You went to respond but Father Paul’s finger slipped past the barrier of your underwear, leaving you to feel your arousal be spread across your puffy petals. A moan escaped your throat and the way it echoed off the confessional walls into the church made you shrink into his body. A pathetic attempt to hide from your lechery. Father Paul hummed, urging you to speak as he sank two fingers into your honeyed garden. Catching your breath, you found your words.

“Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Father~”

You brought your head up to look at him again, too dazed to even feel like this was real. As his fingers continued to roll themselves against your sweet spot, your breath quickened as your mouth stayed ajar looking for the courage somewhere in yourself to slot your lips against his. As he rolled his finger over your swollen bud, your body decided for you. Your lips danced in a sweat and lust-filled hysteria leaving your brain foggy with desire. You rolled your hips into his hand needing more of him and your sounds slowly increased in volume as you felt a bead of the rosary slide across your center.

~*~

the rest is cumming soon :D

here it is!

© yeonjuns-beanie 2024

[flyingsaucerrocknroll]

Song of Solomon 6:3

Fuck it I’m posting fanfic to my main blog now

A woman goes to Father Paul searching for help in her sinful ways. 

Reader insert with no real description of the reader

includes: bible verses used in inappropriate ways, church sex, confessionals, religious guilt

can also be read on ao3

The dull yellow light glows from the windows of the old church, usually it was a welcomed sight against the slowly darkening sky but today it just made the knot in the pit of my stomach feel even worse. “This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever had” I think to myself as I push open the doors to the church.

It’s warmer inside the church than I had expected, the wood floor creaks as I enter and scan the empty pews hoping that I’m not disturbing anyone’s prayers. With the arrival of the new priest I was curious, just as most were, when he showed up. Despite going to my own church on the mainland, sometimes when I missed the ferry I would sit through Mass here, figuring that even if it was the wrong denomination God would not mind as I was still worshiping Him. What started as an admiration for the young priest quickly developed into more... sinful feelings. As I make my way back to the confession booth I feel as though I’m walking to the gallows.

“I should just go, I'm not even Catholic” I think to myself as I sit in the confessional booth waiting for Father Paul to enter, but with St Patrick’s being the only religious house on the island I would just have to deal with it. Even with the barrier between us I know this will be an uncomfortable situation when Father Paul is the direct cause of the issue I’m dealing with. After what feels like an eternity I finally hear movement from his side of the partition. Unsure if I should wait for him to give me some sort of signal to start or if I’m just meant to start confessing I figure it best to just ask him.

“Should I start or do I have to do something first? I’ve never been to a confession before.” I hear him laugh and imagine the small smile he would have on his face. I should have looked up how a confession works before coming down here to save me from this embarrassment.

“You can start whenever you feel comfortable but formally you would start by saying, ‘Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been this long since my last confession. These are my sins.’ then you just go from there. Again just do what makes you comfortable though.” I can hear the still-there smile in his voice and my heart starts to rush as I think about how to form my thoughts into words.

“Ok then, bless me father, for I have sinned. Well, again, I’ve never been to confession, it was not a part of my religion growing up. So this is my first time, uh, here’s my sins,” I freeze, nervous, ashamed, and unsure how to tell anyone, especially Father Paul, about my sinful feelings. “Honestly, this is embarrassing and I’m not sure how to phrase this.”

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed, I can guarantee that I’ve heard worse sins than yours. You’re safe here and nothing you say will make our Heavenly Father turn away from you.” Of course he’s trying to reassure me but he doesn’t even know the depths of my depravity... of how I’ve thought about him while alone at night, the way I fantasize about his body over him, the feeling of his breath on my neck, his hands caressing me. I came here for a reason though and if I ever want to feel better about myself I need to at least try to seek help.

“I’m not sure how to say this but I’ll do the best I can. I find myself struggling with... feelings lately. Strong feelings which I know are wrong. And while I've tried to bury these feelings, they only seem to get stronger the more I encounter... a certain individual..."

"Ah, well, feelings are only natural and we can't be too harsh with ourselves for having them. Do you know the root of these feelings? If they come from something lacking in our own lives then discovering that root can help us to find a solution, be it envy, rage, or anything of that nature."

"No, no my feelings aren't... from anger. They're more from, well, I guess affection?" my voice pitches up into a question on the last word. Stars, this was embarrassing.

I hear him hum in question at my reply. I wait in silence for a moment while he readjusts his advice to the new information. There is a new gentleness to his voice when he starts again, almost like he thinks it’s sad for me to come to him over feeling guilt for affection. “There is nothing wrong with feeling love for others. Matthew 22:39 tells us as much."

Oh great, now he thinks I’m some kind of emotionally constipated saint. I can't sit here and let him praise me when I know for a fact what I’m feeling is the complete opposite of holy  "I'm sorry Father, but I think you misunderstand me... What I feel isn't the love one feels for their neighbors and community... it’s" I inhale through my nose and let out a heavy sigh. It’s best to just get this out before there is any more miscommunication.

“It's, well, lustful. The way I feel towards this person, it's a feeling I don't know if I can fight back any longer. I can hardly look at him without feeling... this desire." I sit in my admission waiting for him to say anything back to me.

I can hear him breathe in through his nose like I had a moment ago before trying to clear his throat silently. Ever the saint, he carries on as if I didn't just say the most embarrassing thing in my life, to a priest, in a church.

“We all deal with lust, we are only human after all and it is a natural feeling.” I hear him let out a soft sigh and a slight shuffling as if he’s readjusting in his seat. The next words I hear from him don’t sound as confident as his earlier advice. Maybe my sin is the worst he’s heard. “Maybe praying on it will help?”

“I’ve tried that Father, honestly coming to talk to you was my last resort, no offense.” He offers a quick “None taken” before I continue, “I thought maybe talking to a religious official might help me get a new perspective to better help deal with my uh, issue. My Bible hasn’t been too helpful on the issue either. I constantly remember Matthew 5:28 and it honestly just makes things worse.”

“God forgives all sins equally, there is not one sin worse than any other and He will forgive your sins too. I know it can be hard in the moment but I’m glad you came here. If I can make you feel better in any way just let me know.” I could think of many ways that he could make me feel better but I know I could never vocalize it to him, he’s a man of the cloth and I’m acting as if I’m the whore of Babylon. “Why don’t you try talking to this person? Maybe ask him on a date? He might feel the same way which could lead to your, how did you put it? Issue? Being dealt with in marriage.” I could feel myself turning even redder as he spoke.

“That’s the problem Father, I can't just tell him about my feelings. He isn't someone that is able to reciprocate how I feel for him.” I fiddle with the bottom of my sweater, he has to know I’m talking about him by now who else on Crockett could it be?

“Oh,”  He says softly before pausing, “I’m sorry, that does complicate things though.” All that’s running through my head is a steady stream of he knows over and over.

“It’s not your fault, Father. You don’t have to apologize for my sins.” He shouldn’t have to feel the need to apologize, I’m the one with the problem, he should just cast me out of this church. However, he’s too kindhearted for something like that, so I’ll do it for him. “Thank you for your help Father, I’ll just go now.” I stand to leave and as I exit the booth I see him doing the same. Out of embarrassment I drop my sight to the ground and turn to flee. As much as I want to be near him, this whole situation is just too humiliating. I just want to run home to hide and wallow in my shame.

As I mentally resign myself to my new fate as a hermit, a hand comes over my shoulder and cements me to my spot. His hand. My breath catches in my throat as I turn back to look up at the priest. His grasp is gentle yet sturdy, I hadn’t noticed how large his hands were until I felt how easily just one hand enveloped my shoulder. He unconsciously rubs my collarbone as if he is trying to soothe me. My throat suddenly feels dry as I think of the places where I would much prefer such a touch.

“Really, you have nothing to be ashamed of, just how good can one man be?” His voice is kind yet carries with the conviction of his occupation. It feels as though he’s giving a hushed sermon to me alone.  “We are all human and everyone experiences sin, that’s why God had to send down His own Son to save us.” I slowly look up at him and notice the sincerity in his kind brown eyes. “And anyways you’re a strong woman I’m sure you’ll be able to overcome this and if you’re ever struggling with anything I am always here to listen.” He smiles at me.

I feel my mouth open and close, trying to form words but nothing comes out. I have to get out of here, because the way he's looking at me and the way his voice is sounding is about to make me do something stupid and regrettable.

My eyes dart out over the church and I'm finally struck with just how alone we are here. Nobody has entered since I first arrived and with how dark it is outside now it would be uncharacteristic of the townsfolk to be out and about.

The light press of his thumb against my collarbone snaps my attention back to him. I have to lean my head upwards to look at his face. He's a natural up on the pulpit, a comforting presence there to share the religious doctrine he believes in, but here, a foot or so away from me, he's a giant towering over me.

Was he always this tall? I stare in awe for probably a second too long before I shake myself out of it and give him a reply.

“Thank you Father, really it means a lot that you’re just willing to listen and not shame me for my problem.” I notice his easy smile is still there, but his eyebrows are lightly pinching inward as if with concern or sympathy for my plight. Why did he have to be Catholic? Priests weren’t afforded the luxury of marriage.

“I would never shame you for being human, I am simply here to help guide you down the righteous path. I’m proud of you for even asking for help, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you need it.”

I break the eye contact we were holding, this was quickly devolving into something from my fantasies. His warm hand on my shoulder was enough to make me want to give in to my base desires. If such an innocent touch is affecting me this much I’ll be a goner if I stay any longer. I just have to make it out the door then at least I won’t be fully alone with him and hopefully the idea of ruining both our reputations will be enough for me to calm down.

“Thank you again, I really should get going though, I have some other, uh, tasks I need to get to.” He smiles at me again and I try to smile back but I can tell it must look strained. Maybe that's why, when I try to leave, his hand stays on me. As I step away, his hand slides off my shoulder, down to my arm where gentle fingers curl feather light around my bicep. He didn't pull me back to him, he wasn't holding tightly enough that I couldn't easily shrug him away and escape, but he might as well have with how effectively the gesture stops me in my tracks. Slowly the rest of my body turns to look at where his hand lingers on my arm. My eyes trace up to his face and what I see nearly breaks my heart. He's staring now too, his brow is furrowed and his mouth is pinched in as he looks at his offending hand still on me. He looks ashamed or defeated, or at least apologetic.

"I'm sorry." His voice is so small, if I was any further away I wouldn't have heard him.

"W-what?" It was all I could think to say. Something about how he looked was just crushing. Like he somehow felt he had personally wronged me after I was the one to come in here talking about my unrequited lustful feelings, lustful feelings towards him no less.

But he continued on, "I'm sorry I was unable to help you find any peace today." His eyes search for mine, he pulls his touch away for a moment just so he can take my hand in his. "I pray that, in the future, you will still have faith in the church and myself to help you should you ever need it... despite how I failed you tonight." The smile he gives me feels like a replica of the forced smile I gave him moments ago. I wonder if my eyes had looked so sad in that moment. It hurts to see, and I feel guilt flooding me at the sight of it.

I couldn't go now, I couldn't leave him here with a guilt he didn't deserve. If anyone should feel awful tonight it was me, so in theme with the whole self-sacrifice message the church preached, I decide to socially crucify myself for this man. “Actually, Father, if I may, can I tell you one last confession before I leave? I feel like it is weighing heavily on my heart.”

He seems to perk up at my request, eager to atone for whatever it is he believes that he failed me with. "Of course you can. I am here to help whenever you need me and I am happy to know that you still feel you can turn to me"  I have to take a calming breath to collect myself. There is relief in his smile as he waits for me and it makes what I have to say next that much harder to say. I can't meet his gaze, so instead I look at our conjoined hands and brush my thumb over his knuckles, fidgeting.

“Well, the man I am feeling this lust for,” I stopped, my heart pounding, I can’t do this but I must, “the man who is unable to reciprocate my feelings is you, Father Paul.” My face heats up again and I can feel my grip on his hand tightening, like he was my only lifeline as I plunged into uncertainty. I keep my eyes down, too afraid to meet his eye and find disgust. I know he’ll turn me down anyways as a relationship is forbidden for him. He doesn’t speak right away and finally I look up to accept whatever my judgment may be, but there is no judgment to be found in his eyes. I thought he would be disappointed, maybe even disgusted with me, but there was nothing to indicate any of that in his expression. Instead, he looked surprised, like there was really anyone else in Crockett that I could have such feelings for. While he wasn't giving a negative reaction, I still felt myself needing to placate him. “I know it will never happen, that as a priest you're not even allowed such relations. I just, I couldn't let you look so guilty when it's me who's in the wrong. And, maybe, now that I've said it aloud, this whole ordeal will help me move past this.” So far it was not helping. “I get it if you don’t ever want to see me again, I can make myself scarce if it’s more comfortable for you.” I was starting to ramble out apologies before he finally shook his head and pulled my hand up to his chest. I could feel his fluttering pulse under the knuckles of my fingers. I look up at him once again rendered wordless.

“You don’t need to avoid me or try to make yourself invisible or whatever other ridiculous ideas you were thinking about.” I barely listen, I’m more focused on the feeling of his pulse, this will probably be the closest I’ll ever get to him and I want to commit this feeling to memory. "While we're on the subject of confessions... Would you allow me to make one of my own?"

Him? Confess? What could he possibly have to confess... unless he actually is furious with me and was just trying to hold back until now. Maybe he would tell me this was common and many women had come to him with the same problem and I was just another girl swept up in his unusual charms. Either way, I wasn't about to deny him the chance to speak freely after he showed so much patience with me. I nod at him, not trusting my voice at the moment.

He smiles at my acceptance and continues "I am perfectly clear on the restrictions of my position in the church. However, I feel you should know that you're not alone in your feelings."

My eyes go wide "What? What do you mean?"

"What I'm saying is that I'm human too. On the days that you've missed the ferry and decide to grace Saint Patrick’s with your presence, I can't help but feel excited. There's just something about you that I can't ignore, even if I wanted to. I know I shouldn't pursue such feelings, but at the end of the day, I'm just a man."

Now it was my turn to feel shocked, unable to form any words, I decide to just test my limits. I lean into him and to my surprise he leans down and our lips meet, it’s an awkward kiss yet is still somehow the most meaningful kiss I’ve ever had. Father Paul pulls away first, I don’t stop him, I’m in amazement I even got this far.

“Can I kiss you again?” I finally feel able to express even part of my desire for him. He doesn’t respond and instead just smiles and kisses me again. This time it’s easier, less awkward, and more passionate. I place my hands on his shoulders to pull him closer to me. His body is warm against mine, I can’t help but feel comfortable in his embrace.

I pull away first this time and muster all the courage I have in my body to ask Father Paul for something I’ve been wanting from him. “Father Paul, earlier you said you’d help me with anything you could. Well, I think I have an idea on how you can help me with my... problem.” He raises an eyebrow at me, hopefully he picks up what I mean because I honestly don’t think I’ll be able to straight out ask him to make love to me. He doesn’t reply directly but gives me another quick kiss before fully separating himself from me. I panic, worried that I went too far by asking for something so sinful in the Lord’s house.

“Well, I did say I would help with anything I could and if you think this would help I don’t see a reason to deny you.” He pulls keys to what I assume is the church out of his pocket. “We should be careful though, please excuse me for a second while I lock up.” I nod and watch him walk away, deciding to try to be seductive, I rearrange my sweater, trying to get any form of cleavage from the modest neckline; it doesn’t work very well. I smile at Father Paul as I see him return and this time I can feel it is a genuine smile.

I reach out to him as he gets within arms distance of me, pulling him towards me for another kiss that he obliges.

When we part he leans down to whisper in my ear, "so, where would you like to take this? My place isn't too far away, but if you'd be more comfortable elsewhere, just name the place."

Oh~ his voice is like honey and I've decided thinking and waiting are overrated at this point. He's waiting for my reply and I figure it'll be easier to just show him where to go then discuss the matter.

I loop a finger under his belt and grab hold of the lapel of his cardigan in my other hand.

The door to the confessional booth was still open. I take a step backwards towards it. I see his eyes move to see where I’m leading him and his eyebrows shoot up.

"Where- where are you taking me, angel?"

"Well, Father, I have many things I feel I still must confess. Won't you take me back in and hear every sin that has crossed my mind while thinking of you?"

His feet follow me into the room, once we pass the threshold he’s practically pushing me back. His mouth searches for mine in the darkness of the confessional.

I reach for the hem of my sweater and begin pulling it up over my head, in the second it takes me to free myself from the garment he whips around and closes the door behind us. Now confined in the dark, close quarters I feel for his top and begin undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Undoing buttons in the dark turns out to be a little harder than I imagined and when he feels me fumble for the second time he quickly moves to aid me. His hands make quick work of the remaining buttons as I decide to be helpful in my own way by shoving the cardigan he always wears down and off his shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t that helpful, but hey it's the thought that counts.

The sound of our breathing is getting harder in the room and as I reach for his belt his hands grab mine and pull them up to be trapped between us.

“I have to ask, are you sure about this? Do you want this?”

The question felt so sudden, that I had to pause to look at him. I pull my hand from his grasp to cup his cheek. He really was a sweet man. I pull him down for a slower kiss, leaving a trail of short pecks down his jaw and neck as he allows me time.

Finally, I grab the lapels of his shirt and breathe out my reply “Yes, Father.” pushing the shirt off him.

He hums in approval and begins removing my clothes, trying to make up the difference between us.  

This time when I reach for his belt, he allows it. Soon enough we end up bare for each other. My head is swimming as I try to take in every detail of him. My hands touch any part of him they can and when he finally places his hands on me it feels like total bliss, he pushes me down to sit where just a few moments ago I was confessing to him about my lustful feelings.

Once I am properly seated he sinks to his knees in front of me and slowly spreads my legs open, looking up at me as if to ask for permission to continue. I watch him, absolutely enamored and nod, letting him know that I want him to keep going. I feel his lips against my inner thigh, “The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a skillful workman.”

He continues to murmur verses as he moves closer to where I most desire his touch, “Your waist is a heap of wheat set about with lilies.” Finally I feel his tongue enter my folds and quickly find my clit, the feeling is nothing like how it felt to touch myself to the thought of him, my head leans back in ecstasy and I moan his name like a desperate prayer.

As he laps at my wetness, my back begins to arch and my hands tangle in his hair, pushing his face closer to my center. His name continues to fall from my lips, every repetition of it must be a sin. To be doing something of this caliber in a house of God must have surely damned my soul if my earlier lust had not yet damned me.

The feeling of his tongue on my clit is my own personal heaven, but sadly it ended too soon. A whine escapes my lips as he pulls away leaving a quick kiss against my hip. “Now patience is a virtue, my angel.” ‘My angel’ that was the second time he’s called me that tonight, it makes me feel even more guil; to be compared to something so heavenly when I came in here to deal with my own sins. This train of thought quickly leaves my mind though as Father Paul continues his trail of kisses up my body until his lips are back on mine, I can taste myself on his lips and I feel that same tinge of guilt.

His lips are back on neck as he recites another verse, “Your neck is like an ivory tower, your eyes like the pools in Heshbon,” I feel the light peck of his lips on my nose “Your noise is like the tower of Lebanon which looks toward Damascus.” Another kiss lands on my forehead, “Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel.” Father Paul takes a lock of my hair in his hand and lays a kiss upon it, continuing the passage, “And the hair of your head is like purple; a king is held captive by your tresses.” As he recites more of the verse I notice how wide his pupils have blown out and the pure look of lust in his eyes must match my own.

His lips once again reach mine as he mutters out, “And the rough of your mouth is like the best wine.” I kiss him back roughly and desperate to feel his body against mine I pull him against me. He barely pulls away again to ask if I’m alright with everything that is happening. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? This for me was my wildest fantasy come true, just yesterday it was a fantasy I never thought could be fulfilled. And with that final confirmation from me that I am comfortable with what is about to happen I feel him enter me.

The feeling of him fully inside of me was even more heavenly than the feeling of his tongue on my clit. He halts his movement once he’s fully inside and waits a bit, panting into my ear, before beginning to thrust. I grip onto him further, wanting to commit the feeling of him inside of me to memory. We shouldn’t let this happen more than once and I don’t want to forget this moment. With each thrust I feel closer and closer to an orgasm and once I hear him moan my name against my neck I’m a goner, my orgasm crashes against me and mine seems to set his off as seconds later I feel him finish inside of me.

As I come down from utter bliss I again feel guilty, as Eve tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit I have tempted Father Paul down to hell with me. My soul would truly be damned by now from committing sins of the flesh with a priest of all people. A man who was supposed to be an inspiration on earth for all us sinners. I feel Father Paul kiss my lips one last time, saying something about how he hoped I enjoyed it or that he did but I can’t even process his words as the guilt racks my whole form. I need to leave, I mumble out a quick, “Sorry,” before quickly redressing and leaving him alone in the confessional. The thought of him alone with his now probably sad eyes wondering if he’s done something wrong makes me feel even worse but I can’t let this happen again, it’s not right. Tears start to prick at my eyes as I try to get back to my house as quickly as possible, hoping not to draw attention to my disheveled appearance or where I had left.

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[ihavemanyhusbands]

ABSOLUTION — A DRABBLE

Also on AO3

Pairing: Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Summary: absolution usually follows a confession, doesn’t it? But repentance has to come first.

WC: 1.4k words

Warnings: SMUT!!! MINORS DNI this fic is 18+, dead dove (do not eat!), hierophilia, vampirism, consensual blood drinking, oral (m receiving), orgasm denial/edging, corruption, dom/sub dynamics kinda, umm blasphemy?, some religious imagery, oh he’s kinda mean in this one (and i love it), ummm i think thats it but lmk if anything else hehe

———

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned…”

Your voice was soft and honey sweet, a mockery of piousness. Your hands clasped in front of you in supplication, but it was not for absolution. And no, he also did not buy the demureness of your lowered lashes, nor the downward tilt of your chin.

But he could not lie and say he did not enjoy the sight of you on your knees in front of him. He would take the time to kiss them — rubbed raw from the hardwood floor of his bedroom — later, after he’d heard your confession and cleansed you of all sin.

“It has been… a rather long time since my last confession.” A pink tongue moistening your lips. “Or at least it feels that way.”

He clicked his tongue, not hiding his disapproval. You merely glanced up from under your lashes, still the picture of humble obedience. He let out a sound that almost sounded like a scoff.

“Go on,” he said.

You shifted a little, feeling the familiar ache in your legs begin to form. His dark eyes trailed lower, to the golden cross that hung from your neck — the one he had given you.

“I have been impure in mind and body, tormented by unbecoming thoughts…”

“What sort of unbecoming thoughts?” He cut in. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare say them out loud, Father.”

Again, a derisive snort. “But you would act on them instead?”

“I have, yes.” You nodded. “And I fear I will again.”

“You fear, hmm?” He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against the chair’s armrest. “Go on, what else?”

You swallowed hard, exhaling a shuddery breath. “I have been lustful a-and gluttonous. I-I have corrupted myself and another…”

“Yes, you certainly have,” he said, leaning forward. “You’ve been quite the naughty girl.”

“But I am very, very sorry for these and all my sins,” you said, tilting your face up to look at him, pouting slightly to show remorse. 

But he could clearly see the truth in your eyes, which burned like the flames of eternal damnation. He couldn’t help a chuckle, smiling with teeth that were all too sharp. Teeth that you desperately wanted to sink into your soft, pliant flesh, so he may have his fill of you.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, grasping your chin and pushing down your bottom lip with his thumb. “Lying is a sin too, but you already knew that, didn’t you, little lamb?”

You nodded, opening your mouth for him. The pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue as he studied you, head tilting slightly to one side. 

“Lying tongues must be put to better use, I think,” he said, his eyes reflecting the dancing candlelight. “After all, actions speak louder than words. Maybe you can show me how sorry you truly are.”

At that, your lips wrapped around his thumb as you held his gaze. He could hear the loud thunder of your heartbeat, like a rabbit’s being chased through the underbrush. His hunger yawned open, lashing his insides.

You tilted your head back further, your bared throat a clear message for him. He would heed that call in time, but sometimes he allowed himself to play with his food a little first.

In response, he withdrew his hand, but not before smearing your saliva over your lips first with his thumb. He shifted his hips forward, your eyes flicking down to follow the movement.

He nodded for you to proceed and with shaking fingers, you did quick work of his belt, subsequently undoing the button and zipper of his pants. You felt him straining against the fabric, stirred at the prospect of your warm, wet mouth on it.

You bent down and softly kissed him through the thin fabric, feeling it respond to your touch. There was a sound in his throat — a warning, telling you that you knew better than to tease him.

He ran a hand through his raven locks, pushing back a strand that had fallen over his forehead. His handsome, regal features were shadowed in the low light, giving him a more severe look. 

He watched closely as you eased him out of his briefs, holding back a hiss at the first touch of your bare hand. A sweet smile that was solely reserved for him, and then your lips touched the flushed pink tip. 

“Like this, Father?” You asked, to which he nodded.

“Slowly, now,” he instructed, placing a hand atop your head. “You want to convince me, don’t you?”

You did as told, going slow and soft, tongue circling the tip. Tracing the thick vein running up the side, nearly making him shudder. He let out a harsh breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a mere moment as he lost himself in that heavenly feeling.

“That’s better,” he said, gathering up your hair in his hand. “Always good to be obedient.”

You let out a pleased hum at his praise. He slid over your tongue with ease as you took more of him in your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down still at a slow pace, prolonging every sensation. 

And the way your eyes so sweetly looked up at him, searching for his approval, filled him with a deep satisfaction. Your ears were finely tuned to the sounds he made, understanding what he liked best.

So diligent, so very eager to please. How could he not forgive you everything? 

Soon he found that hunger warred and even threatened to overcome his pleasure. You were so willing to give yourself to him already — he could smell your arousal gathering between your thighs, another siren call to his senses — and all he had to do was take. 

And so, when you came up for air, lips still glossy with the mess you were making, he could not hold himself back any longer. You let him wrangle you onto your back on the floor, his weight pinning you down. A thin trickle of saliva gathered at the corner of his lips as he parted your legs as far as they would go.

You whimpered under his gaze, feeling like you might go up in flames if he didn’t have you soon. He slid downwards, ravenous gaze fixed on his target. Then you felt his hot breath as he buried his head at the apex of your thighs, nose and mouth pressed against your cunt.

He moaned like a man in agony. The tip of his tongue teased your core over the soaked fabric. But, much to your chagrin, he made no attempts to take your underwear off. He was punishing you, after all.

But in instances like this one, you were allowed to use his name. 

“John,” you gasped, head tilted back as if your plea was for the heavens.

He let out a sound that was similar to a growl, one hand splaying over your lower abdomen to hold you in place. His mouth filled with saliva, readying for the bite, appetite clouding his senses.

And then, adjusting his face to one side, his teeth sank into the soft meat of your inner thigh. A cry escaped your lips before you covered your mouth with one hand. The initial agony was always like a lightning bolt, but then it melted away into a morphine-like languor. 

Your body slackened as he drank, fingers digging into his dark curls. He whimpered and groaned at the magnificent taste of your life’s essence, any sin of yours completely erased in his mind.

Then suddenly, he shuddered, his body tensing. You felt his mouth pull away only so he could seal the wound with his tongue. When he looked up, his eyes were glazed over, bright in that way they always were when he’d just finished feeding. 

You lifted your head to get a better look at him as he licked his lips, savoring you to the last drop. You felt a pulse deep in your core at the sight, but you knew that your penance would be to leave you unattended. 

Oh, how awfully torturous! You loved every moment of it. Deep down, he knew that, too, and he used it against you whenever he could.

He left a bloody kiss right on your panties, right over your clit, making your hips jerk. You frowned, half-heartedly glaring at him, and he smiled up at you with pink stained teeth. 

“Good girl, how selfless of you,” he said, practically purring. “You’re on the right path, but I’ll just have to make sure you don’t stray from it.”

------------

[proverbsss]

eating you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

(pt. 2 of "reading you right" linked here)

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

reader(s): I am not responsible for how you see your own headboard following the consumption of this fic <3

notifs: paul hill wants to worship you!! ; reader turns the tables for a subby paul; reader's still down HORRENDOUS ; cunnilingus, hierophilia

Your legs are unsteady as John leads you to his bedroom by your hand.

"Haha, look at Wobbles try and make their way down my hall," Paul teases.

"You edged me on your boot," you complain sharply, though this of course is tinged with pleasure and the hope that his treatment will continue. The muscles in your pelvic floor are on fire and your hips burn.

"Mmm, technically you edged you on my boot," he quibbles, pleased with himself, "Can you make it to the bed yourself?"

Rather than answer verbally, you turn back to look at him. It's a tart, cursing look that John meets with yet another grin. Even so, it's now you begin to notice the usual signs of how wrecked he is. You were so caught up in your own delicious torment that you failed to clock Paul mirroring it. You might some of your get your own back yet.

He's comfortable with your routine of the last few days, starting to strip out of his jeans when you say, "Wait." His doe eyes flick over to you, questioning.

"I don't know…" you pick your words carefully, the neediness of earlier converting itself into a sadistic little impulse to tease. "I don't know if we want your pants off yet, right?"

Paul stops a minute. Makes his positively adorable thinking face. There's a reset somewhere in his eyes as he works out why you might have said what you said.

"We don't..?" he repeats, uncertain.

"Nah," you throw out, dragging the tips of your fingers along the foot of the bed. If this duvet could talk, it would already have plenty dirty to say. "I think we probably want you to keep them on and sit first."

Paul clears his throat. His chin dips to his chest a little. Gears recalibrated toward submitting and taking orders fire fast behind those pretty eyes. "Okay, yes." He sits, trembling a bit, on the edge of the bed.

"I'm gonna sit next to you, Father, and you don't move for a little bit. Okay?"

He nods. Good enough for now. Your underwear clings wetly to you under the sleepshirt you were just hiking up for him in the living room. You pull the hem of the shirt down, a bit demurely over your thighs. Paul watches every move.

"Still don't move, baby." You purr at him. He preens silently at the pet name. "Close your eyes." When his eyes are closed, you take his face into both your hands, fingers grazing his ears, the peach fuzz of his tapered sideburns. In a decisive, hushed moment you bring Paul's face to yours and kiss him. Deeply. First-time tier kisses, slow and curious and just beginning to use your tongue.

Paul half-laughs, shyly against your mouth. "Still no moving," you remind into his lips, and he nods "good boy. Good Father." Oh, he likes that very much.

You lick his bottom lip and enthusiastically he opens his mouth to invite you closer, hands scrunching at his sides in desperation to follow your instruction and not not not touch you.

You withdraw from the kiss after another moment, riled yourself and needing to catch your breath. Still you have enough command of yourself to make this all about him, about how pathetic and needy and perfect he is. You bat your eyes at Paul and smile.

"You probably want to make it up to me. How badly you made me need you before,"

Paul tilts his head uncertainly from side to side. A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth.

"You wanna know how to make me feel good after that, Paul? You wanna know what I need from you?"

He nods again, thoughts boyishly absent from his eyes, his demeanor relaxed and yet so, so ready to do what he's told.

"Can we make that a yes?" you prompt gently.

"Yes." The huskiness in his voice is like a refresher to your thirst for him. You tingle all over with anticipation.

"Good. I'm going to lay back, and I want you on top of me." As you lay down on the soft bedcovers, you realize all the tension your muscles held kneeling on the ground and fucking yourself onto him, even now some melts away and you sigh contentedly. Paul crawls over you, tenderness and want in his eyes and it calls up a smile to your lips.

"What are you smiling at?"

"My little pet priest. Bet he'd do anything I'd ask him."

Paul lays his head down on your belly, happiness going a little fuzzy because of the attention you show him. His curls call out to your hands and you play with his hair. He's radiant. And for now he's yours. He's kissing your neck now, giggling in the crook of your shoulder, lips tickling your chin, your cheek, your ears. You luxuriate in all this for a moment, then tell him, "Give me your ear please, I'm gonna whisper what I want."

His back muscles ripple like a cat's under his shirt as he makes the necessary adjustment to put his ear up to your mouth. But he's too close, too fucking perfect, so you have to bite his earlobe with such exquisite access.

He groans, tenses in his upper body, and rolls his hips over yours. "That's. Not whispering," he complains.

"Shh, shh." you tell him, "You wanna know? Really?" He cocks his head enough for you to see him nod, his length getting easier to feel against your thigh. You reach a hand up in his and gently bring his ear to your lips, "I need you to eat me out like your life depends on it."

He moans, low in his throat, at just the thought of that.

"You want to do that for me?" That serious attention is in his expression again as he nods at you, starting to kiss his way down your chest. "Can you tell me using your words that's something you want?"

In addition to teasing the everloving fuck out of him, getting his consent turns you on more than anything. The thought of Crockett Island's well-mannered, mildly twitchy new priest so eager to touch you, taste you, have you that he'd kept you in his quarters for the last two days reminds you in a heady rush.

"I…" he lifts his head from your chest and blinks, not reluctant, but so fucking needy, "I want to eat you out." He nods quickly, lashes dropping over his eyelids. "Like my life depends on it."

"Good boy. Do it then, please."

His beautiful, hot mouth begins an eager assault of kisses across your chest, migrating down your belly. You arch your back. Usually you two take a little more time here, but there isn't any to spare. So quickly, so deliberately, Paul finds your clothed sex. He wants to touch you, and he wants you telling him that he can.

"Can I take these off you? Please."

You have nothing smart to say. You're no less eager to feel his tongue, his kisses, the vibrations of his voice where you're most sensitive. You nod, and he holds his gaze to your eyes for a beat before pulling your useless underwear off your legs, discarding them on the floor.

You think without meaning to of the word 'devotion,' used in religious terms to describe a supplication, an adoring, faithful, upturned look. It applies equally to the naked need written on Paul's face with his hands carefully spreading your thighs apart.

"Please let m--" he swallows, begins again, "Please may I worship you?"

"Fuck, Paul, yes, please."

And he may have dedicated years to seminary study, he may have pored with his hands wrapped around old books of his faith and volunteered his body in the service of a Christian God, but that tongue of his was made for sinning.

He starts by kissing gently around your cunt, soft, spellbinding little pecks that make your body jerk to close your legs. You still open up for him, gasping and squeezing your eyes shut with how good, how good, how earth-shatteringly good he feels. His tongue starts to lap at your clit and you do feel yourself drip a bit as he deepens the kiss of his mouth on you. Your mind pleasantly lets go of so much residual tension, of today, of every day before this moment with Paul kitten-licking between your wet lips.

Your hips buck as he sucks a little more intently at your clit and your hands lift up and knot themselves up in his hair. He lives for it as you start to fuck his face.

"Yes, yes, salvation is your fucking cunt, thank you--" he sputters out, certainly only half aware of what he's saying but so, so pleased to look up at you and find your face entirely lost in what he's making you feel.

"Here, here," he takes one hand that's left a few fingernail marks in your thigh and hurriedly covers the knuckles of your hand that's controlling his head, "Put me where you want me. Use me, please."

His mouth and your cunt make an obscene symphony together as you moan and arch toward him, trying to win back enough self-control to direct him the way he needs. He's doing pretty goddamn well on his own, you think and laugh to yourself, your calves shaking and heels digging into the bed. His nose bumps an especially sensitive square inch toward the hood over your clit, and his tongue grazes the inside of you. You see stars, the way the old expression goes, you literally see stars. You have to fight to keep your eyes open to how beautifully looks, you'll need this memory of your pleasure, his pleasure, you and he together, for all time.

Your hips are bouncing off his face rather quick and desperately and Paul is drunk with chasing your cum. He sees you biting your fist and between kisses and sucks he has to ask, "You need more? What do you need? Tell me. I worship you. I deify you. I need this," And like a madman he shakes his head to deepen the stimulation of his tongue hitting, soothing, exciting your clit.

"Oh, Paul!" you cry out and reach for his bedframe. "Oh fuck," you're curling into him and keening and he's humping his mattress outright. "Finger me. Fuck please, give me something to-"

Something to cum around, of course. You feel slicker and sluttier than you've ever felt as Paul obediently probes a finger inside your cunt. You fuck his hand, unabashed, so far gone, so trembly. And even the trembling is helping you get more contact out of his tongue, and he's not tired, his thirst is unmatched, the hand not fingering you finds that little arch where his nose bumped up against you before and spreads you the littlest bit open to lap at your clit.

You make a sound that's kind of a shriek and kind of a delighted giggle, and words something like "Ha-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum on you--" fall out of your mouth. Paul moans, the pitch of his voice increasing in a way that sort of matches yours, nearly as desperate for your orgasm as you are. Nobody could be as desperate for this as you, however. No one in the history of fucking cumming has ever felt like this.

"Please," he sucks attentively at your clit and shakes his head again, a black curl plastered across his forehead, his gorgeous brown-green eyes searching you and seeing all of you, then closing again, a holy sight. "Please cum. That's it, please I want to drink you in, please--"

And your upper body accomodates for how powerfully you need to let go, the need for release screams out of your body and you almost hit the headboard, but Paul stops you, adjusts the hand that kept you exposed to him to grip your hip and pull you down to his mouth. Your body thrusts and bucks and arches of its own volition, you're just here, in this tear-you-apart pleasure of cumming on his tongue like no one's ever made you cum before. You're panting, your heart is racing, your blood is on fire.

"Enough-enough-enough fuck please---" you shake and beg and tug a little at his hair as he licks hungrily at you, but he's going to let you go when he's fully satisfied. Your voice continues to climb in whispers and shuddering gasps.

"Like my life," he makes a disgusting, gorgeous slurping noise over your wet needy hole, "depends on it." Like a man starved. Like a man crazed. How will you ever function again. You cry out as he drags his tongue up and down your slit, one last long articulation, before his hand finally relaxes on your hip.

Your eyes flutter as you remember suddenly to breathe, and Paul's hands glide up your leg as you sink them down back onto the bed.

"What did you just do to me?" You utter, mystifed, not fully with the thought as it escapes.

"You have no idea how intoxicating you are." He says, dead serious, if breathless and soaked in you. He sucks his middle finger clean. "None at all."