#father paul x you

[mandowifey]

Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, P in V sex, unprotected sex, dry humping, mutual masturbation, lots of priest play, biting, pining, dom!Paul, semi established relationship, cum play, mentions of cervix, mentions of bite wounds.

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It's a storm to end all storms.

That was what Beverly Keane proclaimed at yesterday's service. The woman had a penchant for dramatics and often spoke with puritanical judgment. Folks were accustomed to the devout woman's manic ramblings, which meant she was never taken literally. However, when the Coast Guard reached out to warn the town to evacuate not but four hours before the storm was due to impact, Bev Keane stood, smug and proud.

"I had warned you, all of you."

Towns folk rushed towards the docks with their families, arms full of the few precious belongings they had. Sturge was helping them up the ramp and into the ferry, trying to explain that there was no need to panic. Dark waves sloshed and rolled under the boats. People were gasping and crying out below the blackening sky. Hysteria at its finest.

"You lot wrought this upon yourselves," sighed Keane, who stood on the dock, hands linked together. "Those of us who remained loyal to our faith, who filled the church every day and lived our lives devout and holy have no reason to fear. The Lord recognizes his own and will shephard us unto his raft to guide us through the storm."

Over half the population fled Crockett that dreary afternoon. Those who remained boarded their windows and hunkered down to ride it out. While the last ferry departed, Bev Keane smiled and turned to head back up the trail. Confident in the hopes that God would sort things out in the end.

° ☆ ° ☆ °

Candles warmed the room around you, while flashes of lighting illuminated the windows and caught your eye. When thunder clapped and shook the wooden frame of the rectory, you would suck in a sharp gasp and tense, which drew a low chuckle from the man above you. Rain impacts noisily against the glass windows, causing a steady hum.

"Relax."

A hand closes under your jaw and tips your head back, exposing the curve of your throat. Lips press against your skin, making you rumble and start to smile. "You are so strange," the words leave your mouth in a breathless sigh. "How can you not be at least a little afraid?"

He chuckles again, and you feel teeth graze your flesh. "I have much more important things on my mind." There was a pull to his words that brought moisture between your legs. Heat consumed you, twisting through your limbs and fogging your thoughts.

"Looks like you do too." His palm cups your mound. Embarrassment overtakes you as you realize you had soaked through your underwear. "Messy little lamb." Lips slotting together, the man kisses you with intensity. He parts your mouth with his own and scoops his tongue between your teeth. You can feel the way his nose pushes to your cheek and taste the remnants of the tea he had earlier.

Words fail you as you cave below him. The bed moves under you as he shifts your bodies and lays himself between your legs. Another flash of lightning, another gasp, this time it's for him. He presses the aching bulge against your core and leans his weight into you. You feel so small with his body caging yours, and the contact makes you simper.

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

Paul's voice was lile velvet in your ears. Candlelight flickers in those obsidian eyes of his, and you watch his angular brows start to vex. Heat burned in your stomach, and you paw at the blankets beneath you.

"F-father, p-please."

A smile breaks the tension, and he drops his head down to gently kiss the middle of your forehead. He rumbles his praise against your skin, balancing himself on his knees and one hand while the other pulls your leg around his hip. You tilt and groan unabashedly as Paul starts to grind into you. The friction of his clothed cock pressing and sliding over your crease had your clit engoring with blood.

Head tilting back, your mouth hangs open as soft groans waft out. Paul was watching you, admiring every line in your face as he began bucking into you. Your body bounces, your cries coming out louder as he thrusts as though he were fucking you. The impact had you soaking more than before, leaking a spot on the blankets.

"U-uhn, hnn, p-please-" You felt frantic, desperately craving the Priest to bury inside and claim you as his. To carve through your insides and nestle himself in the furthest reaches of your cunt. The ache within your body called to him, your scent nearly driving the starving man mad.

"Patience is a virtue." Paul sat back against his legs before placing both large hands on your hips. Fingers gripped bruisingly tight as he hoisted you upwards against him, locking your pelvis to his so he could continue rutting. The man sighed, his eyes closing as he grunted and panted softly. Both of you mutually wind your bodies together in a frenetic desire.

Panting fills the empty space, and you're using the massive bulge between his legs to chase your release. Paul used you, too. His hands greedily squeezed and pulled you while his hips bucked to yours. "T-that's it." He gasps, his large thumbs pressing down into the front of your pelvis, causing a pleasant pressure inside of you that made you mewl.

Ravenous, the holy man watches as you fall apart. Chest heaving, skin flushed, and nipples showing through your tank top. "Look at you, little lamb," His voice purrs. "So beautiful, a spectacle to watch unfurl." Rolling his hips forward, Paul grinds his cock into your core and makes you whine. You are gradually rising now, the friction pushing you higher and higher. Smiling, he smoothed one large palm over your stomach as he moved it onto your breast. "Let me hear you." He pinches your pert nipple between his thumb and index finger, causing you to arch and cry.

"That's it, good girl."

Your face burns. Sweat builds in a thin layer on your skin as the sensation of bursting swells inside of you. Paul lifts off his legs to get a better angle and alternates slow grinds with firm, steady rocks of his hips. Each impact jostles your smaller frame, bouncing you under him and pushing cry after cry from your parted lips. "I-im g-gonna-" It was hurtling towards you full speed. You knew there was no use in trying to fight it. You could feel the burn of his eyes on your face, watching you as you fell apart.

"It's alright, my angel, let me see you."

Paul leaned over you, bucking himself against you just right. Your clit throbs, slick soaking through your panties and onto him as you gasp and jerk. Fireworks spark in your belly as the rush hits you. Your cunt clenches sporadically, your body shaking as you cum. Reaching your hands up, you curl your fingers into his arms, thighs shaking as he continues to grind against you. Paul coos, mesmerized by your face. When you rest back and relax, he leans and opens his pants to spring himself out.

With your head still spinning, you hardly notice him fist his cock. Eyes transfixed on your soaked underwear, the Monsignor inches closer and strokes himself against you. "S-such a messy lamb," his voice shudders with pleasure as his palm slicks across his length. "S-so beautiful." He sounds like he may cry, his dark eyes heavy with lids and lips parted. You look up at him, feeling your heart race at the sight. "P-please father, I need you to cum." Paul jerks, startled by your words and breath stopping in his throat.

That undid him. He bucked against his fist while you pulled your panties to the side. Whimpering and looking down, he groans as he cums. Hot, thick ropes spraying across your folds and fingers. You feel the heat as he drips inside your crease. "O-oh." He bucks one last time, a final spurt landing on your clit and dribbling downwards. Paul looks disheveled, breathless, as he settles down from his own high.

You were ready to speak when he dropped over you, impacting your lips with his own. Paul slips his large hand between your legs, using his nimble fingers to collect his cum and push it into you. You gasp, groaning into his starving mouth as he sinks inside your cunt to the knuckle. "Mh, p-paul-" He kisses your words and swallows them whole, adding a second digit which causes you to shriek into him. He pumps them inside of you, trying as hard as he can to reach your end with his seed.

Mouths and tongues lashing together, Paul slows his fingers right as you begin to buck against him. "So needy tonight," remarked the holy man as he licked over your kiss swollen lips. "I suppose you have been good enough to earn a little more. What do you say, my lamb?" His fingers curled inside of you, applying pressure to your gspot and bladder. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and your back lifts off the blankets. "Y-yes, p-please father Hill." You gasp, struggling to bring your eyes to his. The man flashes his teeth, and his eyes crinkle along the edges. His digits squelch inside of you as he begins to pump them faster.

"Since you asked so nicely." Paul nods, drawing his fingers out while you whine.

The loss of him makes your cuntache. Feeling no need to rush, Paul takes his time removing your sodden underwear and his pants. Carefully, he lays beside you and shifts you on your side, facing away from him. As he closes the distance between your bodies, you feel the cold press of his skin behind you. Paul lifts your leg and kisses behind your ear. "Keep this up for me, please." The delicate tone in his voice makes you throb, and you obey.

You feel the familiar prod of his cock and angle your hips back to make it easier for him. Paul guides his tip to your sopping opening and grunts with you as he presses inside. With a sudden snap of his hips, he submerges inside your heat and bottoms out. The stretch is immense, and you can already feel the tip nudging at your end. "G-god!" Your lip quivers and leg shakes, the muscle burning now.

As if he knew, Paul curls his frigid hand under your knee and holds your leg. Lips kiss at your shoulder as he starts liesurely rocking inside of you. The drag burning your cunt and making you whine. Eagerly, you shove yourself back against him, nearly sobbing each time he pushes fully inside and reaches your furthest depths. You're keening, whining, noisily falling apart for him as he rocks. Paul smiles against your skin, peppering you in soft kisses as he takes his time.

Thunder rattles the wooden frame of the rectory, but you hardly notice. Paul drives himself inside you faster now, spearing every inch of his aching cock deep inside your heat. More sparks are flying now, he's brushing everything right within you. You can hear him grunting and gasping behind you, his breath fanning your skin as he bucks his hips. His fingers dig into your skin as he plaps noisily against your ass. Paul grunts, his movements stuttering and becoming uneven.

It spurs something in you, and you fuck yourself back against him. "P-please, please!" You cry as he desperately stuffs himself inside you. Paul bites your shoulder, muffling his groan as he sinks to the hilt. You flutter around him, your abrupt orgasm taking you by surprise as you clench on his throbbing cock. Groaning louder, he bruises your skin as he empties directly against your cervix, the hot flood of his cum making you whimper and grind into him.

As he calms, he lowers your leg and pulls you into him further by wrapping his arms around you. Paul enjoys the rapid patter of your heartbeat, and he licks over the bitemark he left. You were melting, sinking back into him and closing your eyes as you smiled. "Thanks," you giggle, feeling him pause in licking you. "For distracting me from the storm. I think it helped quite a lot." His chest rattles with a soft chuckle. The two of you remained embraced while it continued to pour outside, safe and warm together from the storm.

[always-andromeda]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 ���𝐋𝐋, 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐃

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ✯ Father Paul Hill x Fem!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✯ 2925

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 ✯ taboo au + "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you."

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ✯ okay, I haven't exactly finished a piece in a good while. so this one is sort of serving as a warm-up and if it's terrible (which I have a good feeling it is lmao), I'm gonna have to ask y'all to be gentle on me. I've loved this man for a while now and this is sort of experimental. tl;dr: I am a sensitive little baby right now so treat me as such.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✯ smut (minors, do not interact), obviously a pretty massive gap in both age and power, depictions of blood and death, could be read as dub con at first (if you squint really hard) but firmly lands on the side of full con, a lot of religious mumbo jumbo (lmao let's ignore the fact that I know almost nothing about Catholicism <3), so much blasphemy, oral (female receiving), a twinge of sub!Paul, and that's all I can think of!! let me know if more is needed!!

(mdni banner template credit goes to @cafekitsune!!)

Behind closed eyelids, all you saw was darkness. And through that darkness came white hot agony. It was practically blinding as it shot up your spine before detonating in your brain. Those little fragments of pain speckled across the inside of your skull.

You wanted to scream, hurl, cry, something. Anything to physically release the intense pain assaulted your nerves. But you wouldn't be granted that mercy. No.

For now, your suffering was confined to this unending darkness. For now, you waited in the void of your own being for the tragedy to subside.

For weeks you anxiously waited for the return of Monsignor Pruitt from his mission trip. Though spending your afternoons looking after the dementia ridden clergyman wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, it was far better than slumming it with Beverly Keane. After all, you were 99% sure that whatever Bev heard managed to make its way all around the island.

Crockett Island was a melting pot of rumors. By now you'd heard the stories; the mythology of the island's residents had woven together to form a complex tapestry. And the longer you stayed, the more you realized how little you desired to be a part of it all.

But you didn't have a choice. Whether you liked it or not, Crockett's citizens had already spun your narrative.

Everyone knew how your mother had taken you away from the island at the ripe age of five years old; saving you the heartache of being raised by an alcoholic father. Part of you had always been grateful for it despite how tough it had been being raised by a single mother who hardly had anything to her name. Yet you couldn't help the guilt that poured into your lungs like cement whenever someone mentioned how much your father had suffered before he died.

Because that was the only way you would've gone back to the island that lived in the shadows of your memory: death. And upon meeting Monsignor Pruitt, it became clear that death would also be the only way you'd want to leave.

The relationship that had bloomed between you and him was a humble one. He'd offered to talk you through your grief which you'd promptly denied. Though you attended services, you weren't much for religion and you weren't about to embrace it fresh off of the death of a father who was practically a stranger. It felt disingenuous.

Finding God is reserved for real tragedies, right?

You'd asked the question like it was a joke.

Monsignor Pruitt had merely tilted his head before replying in that lilting, raspy voice of his: Depends on what you think qualifies as a tragedy.

With a quick eye roll, you'd written the answer off as one of those unbalanced moments of his. Over the course of a few months, you'd become well acquainted with them. Going to services and keeping him company was something to do. Something other than rifling through decades of your father's clutter and further entangling yourself with the community. Something other than being reminded of your own wasted potential.

Strangely, the monsignor felt less like an all seeing eye and more like...a friend. And now, faced with his "temporary" replacement, you were finally certain of what qualified as a tragedy to you.

From the moment Father Paul had addressed the church, you were unsettled. He may have been perfectly kind and personable enough, but his mannerisms edged on the uncanny valley. It was the way he spoke during sermons and how that tone rarely changed during one-on-one conversations. Though he couldn't have been older than thirty, he often held himself as if he'd been around the block more times than anyone could fathom. It was easy to chalk it up to his nature. Of course the man of God had an eerie way of making you feel like a puny mortal.

But Monsignor Pruitt had never made you feel like that. You couldn't brush the thought of the old man out of your mind.

Every time Father Paul attempted to placate your worries, it only pushed you deeper into the depths of distrust. Somehow you just knew he was lying.

And for all of Father Paul's wisdom and mystique, he wasn't a good liar. His tone would shift as he glossed over your concerns with a quick reassurance that Monsignor Pruitt was recovering just fine on the mainland. When you felt brave enough to press him for more, he'd wring his hands or squeeze them into fists. Almost as if he had to physically stop himself from reprimanding you. After all, who were you to question him?

When your eyes finally opened, your vision was overwhelmed by the light. Softly, slowly, the light haloed around the head of a figure that carefully came into view. As your sight sharpened, you quickly realized who stood over you. 

The man you held the most wariness for was kneeling over you. His long face wrought with concern, the alarm bells were already blaring in your muddled mind. But as much as you tried to force the air from your lungs to scream, you could only let out a pathetic, strangled squeak.

That was when he spoke. His voice shook with what sounded like uncertainty, "You mustn't overexert yourself. You're still coming back. But don't worry, you'll be yourself again soon. All in due time."

No matter how much you tried to speak, to move, neither of the actions came to you. All you could do is watch as Father Paul pulled your paralyzed body into his arms and cradled you. And as the potency of your helplessness settled in, you vaguely felt tears prick at your waterline. 

Normally, you would've rather died than allowing yourself to cry in front of someone, especially in front of the father. This time you couldn't control the few tears that slid freely down your cheeks, landing on the father's hand where he gripped your still aching shoulder.

He noticed them immediately and let you out of his grasp long enough to stare into your glossy eyes.

You couldn't quite decipher the intent behind the softness of his gaze. But somehow it was enough to allow the nausea that had slowly been rising in your chest to subside.

Father Paul raised a hand to cup your face. His thumb carefully stroked your cheek, sweeping away the wet trails left by your despair. And whether it was from your sensitivity or the intimacy of the act, you didn't know. But your skin shivered. 

As you gradually regained the feeling in your body, you realized that the first thing you felt after the pain was him. The inherent warmth of his embrace. And in some fucked up way, it was comforting. Feeling like prey, you blinked back the rest of your tears and allowed yourself to soak up as much of him as you could; anything to get rid of the dull pain that plagued your nerves.

You noticed there were tears brimming his own eyes as he smiled softly. "There, you mustn't cry. You've been so brave and in return you've been blessed."

It was then that you began to regain enough cognizance to question what was happening.

Flashes of memory played each time you blinked.

That damned question had been on the tip of your tongue again.

So you found him in the recreational center. There he’d been, on his knees, praying fervently.

Hopefully you're praying for the monsignor's return.

You regretted the words almost as soon as you'd said them. Because as soon as Paul turned, he gave you that dark look that rarely graced his features. This time he hadn't even tried to hide it with his usual discretion.

He merely stared right past you with his eyes wide and pleading. 

You hadn't had the chance to see the thing that attacked you fully. But you felt its teeth at your neck. You felt your own blood dripping from your neck in such a thick stream that the dizziness came almost as soon as you hit the ground. You felt the rough, pale skin of the creature as it smothered you, greedily devouring every ounce of your life.

Of course you were surprised to find yourself lying on the sheets of Paul's bed in his modest home, but that shock was the least of your worries. How were you still alive?

He told his tale as your body mended itself. You didn't know how much time passed. All you knew is that you were enraptured with the sticky sense of dread that was growing in your stomach as he spoke.

You were acutely aware of just how much it sounded like a sermon. How, whether he was aware of it or not, he was pulling out every stop in the preacher's handbook to try and convince you. And if he didn’t sound so convinced himself, you would swear this was deliberate manipulation. But nothing else could possibly explain his youthful appearance and all that he knew. He could recite your history right back to you despite the fact that you’d never once trusted him nearly enough to give it. Only the monsignor knew your deepest fears and your darkest secrets. But this wasn’t your monsignor.

Father Paul was some new beast; an amalgamation of the sweet old man you’d once known, the deceptive preacher who took his place, and some other supernatural force that you couldn’t quite name.

Though you’d only caught half a glimpse of the creature, you attempted to express your terror. That only spurred him on further as he contended that when an angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds upon the birth of Jesus, it deliberately told them to not be afraid.

But none of that explained himself. None of it allowed you to comprehend how Monsignor Pruitt could've shed decades of life; how the old man could now stand there, blood drying on the bottom half of his face, and look at you as if you were something he could have.

You didn't have to ask. You knew by then that when the creature had had its fill of your blood, Father Paul had pulled the scraps of you away for himself. The thought hit you dangerously and made something deep inside you rumble. Like a natural disaster, this had unearthed a litany of complications that you never could’ve anticipated.

“We are at a crossroads," Father Paul said gently before letting his conviction surge again, “Now, you once said that finding God was reserved for those experiencing tragedy, correct?”

You nodded sagely. 

Father Paul grasped your trembling hands in his own, “Have you not experienced one of life’s greatest tragedies? The ending of it? You fell right over the edge of life and before the waters of death could claim you, He brought you back. Hebrought us together.”

You shook your head in defiance.

“This was meant to happen. This was part of His plan, for our faiths — our lives — to be renewed.”

With your throat still stiff and dry, you croaked angrily, “There was nothing wrong with my life! There was nothing that needed to supposedly be renewed!” 

He raised his voice suddenly, “Why did you come to this island?”

“Because my father died.”

“A father who was no better than a stranger to you,” he recalled your own words quickly. If the monsignor had been wise, Father Paul was as sharp as a knife, taking his jabs at you with complete accuracy. “You didn’t have to come here. You didn't have to make friends with a crazy old man. By the grace of God, you were led here. You were led here so you could be shown this truth; this gift. And you are denying this gift."

You had to admit that your draw to Crockett had been strange. At first you'd attested it to some childhood curiosity. But you'd deliberately put off taking care of your father's run down property, instead opting to spend time walking in the light of Pruitt. In truth, his companionship had been a breath of fresh air. 

Though the people of Crockett adored him, it was always tinged with pity. You'd never pitied him; only admired him for his wisdom and his resilience. 

Paul's expression softened as he held your face in his hands. "Everything I've done...every atrocity, it's been for you." That was when you saw the edges of his wisdom begin to lift and fall away like a second skin he'd crafted over his own vulnerability.

Underneath it...he was simply a man. A man who wanted to save you. 

“Let me give you more. Let me show you how you can trust me," he whispered.

The first kiss inspired an odd mix of emotions in your chest. There was the coppery tang of dried blood on your tongue, strong enough that it took everything in you not to flinch away from his hold on you. But you remembered his reference to the angel and the shepherds.

Do not be afraid.

So you continued, deepening the kiss with a turn of your head. And for all of the worldly experiences Paul had, you became acutely aware that this sort of connection was not among them.

Whether there'd been any true romantic feelings for the aging monsignor, you couldn't quite say. But your fondness of him had transferred to the man before you. Granted, the transfer wasn't smooth, but it was there nonetheless. Somehow it was stronger than ever as he took your hand and brought it to his lips. The kiss he pressed against your palm was slightly tacky with your own half dried blood still lingering.

You brushed a lock of his wavy, dark hair back so you could properly meet his gaze. With the shroud of time having fallen away from his features you could see just how handsome the man was. It was a hesitant sort of attractiveness; as if the banner of God had prevented him from seeing his full potential.

He'd fed on your life and made himself new. And the thought of your monsignor living on in that small way...all because of you? The electric twinges that sparked in your chest were almost too much to bear.

Without fear you devoured him in another kiss. Quickly the mood turned from reverent to ravenous as Paul attempted to keep up with your fervency.

He couldn't remember the last time sin had overpowered his sense of morality. Because he knew in the traditional sense, this was pure sin. No matter how wrong he believed it might have been to let his hands roam your figure, in his bones it was a temptation that finally felt correct. There was none of that hesitance or shame or fear that he'd felt before. The pendulum had shifted on morality and he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Hardly a moment was spared as he tore into the long skirt and the underwear that had kept you modest for far too long. Perfect beauty like this had to be cherished.

So that is what he did. Planted firmly between your legs, he stared up at you with eyes that gently pleaded for permission; for salvation. With your own half lidded eyes, you nodded before spreading yourself open for him.

Like a flower, you bloomed beautifully and Paul groaned at the sight. He could practically feel the thrumming pulse before him as it waited to indulge him. His hot breath teased you and made sparks dance right beneath the surface of your skin. Still you stayed in place, patiently allowing him time to drink in the sight of your folds already puffing and glistening with slick.

Quietly, you heard him mumble something that you only caught the tail end of.

“–forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

It wasn't too long after that when his tongue found a home in that tight, warm crevice. Your hand knitted itself into his dark hair as you searched for something to ground yourself from the overpowering sensation. Something about this new condition of yours heightened every aspect of pleasure.

If you were in your right mind, it would make sense logically considering you'd felt the unbearable pain of your spine shattering and being put back together again. But this was overwhelming in the entirely opposite direction.

You experienced the pleasure on a cellular level as your climax rushed through your limbs. You seemed to feel the vibrancy of every emotion and atom that comprised your being. Nothing was spared from the glory of this blessing. Not your spasming cunt as it contracted around Paul's blessed tongue. Not your heart that was firmly on the track of restoration. And not your mind as it all at once fell apart in time with your quivering thighs. Blood pulsing, every single one of your pores felt more alive than ever as you finally embraced the higher power that had been waiting for you in the shadows all along.

At that moment, you believed it all. From the Angel to Father Paul's divine transformation to the euphoric paradise that enveloped your entire being...it was all real. And most of all, it was all yours. Thanks to the father's grace and generosity, you would create paradise with him. And that seemed possible. After all, with his head between your thighs, you’d both already created one.

[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!

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“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.”

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

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

🚨 Sex that sent me to the ER

A little fun ends in need of medical assistance.

Requested by williewildkat on AO3

I'm slowly recovering from my writer's block and it may be apparent that I haven't had much practice lately. This is basically some steamy action followed by accidentally hurt reader and very guilty Paul.

Written for the NSFT emoji challenge

NSFT /18+ GET LOST CHILDREN

tw: accidental injury, likely inacurate descriptions of a dislocated shoulder

“How exactly did this happen?” asked Sarah Gunning, her gaze rather scrutinising.

“Um,” you said awkwardly, absent-mindendly rubbing at your sore shoulder. Just a few minutes ago this same shoulder had been dislocated, and the good doctor slowly and carefully helped you pop it back into its socket. “I was taking a jog by the Uppards, a cat tripped me and I fell. The fuzzball had the audacity to even hiss at me.”

It was an absolute lie.

However, there was no way you could ever tell Sarah just what happened that made you turn up on her doorstep this day.

---

It went like it usually did. Father Paul and you were spending time in the rectory, with you exploring new writing ideas and him reading, sitting behind his desk. You were content to simply be in each other’s company, the peaceful and comfortable silence only disturbed by an occasional seagull's cry, or a quick gust of wind against the aged little house. 

At one point it became slightly difficult to concentrate, however, as you felt eyes boring into you. You raised your head from your laptop to look at the tall priest, your gaze immediately caught by his smouldering dark eyes. They twinkled at you and Paul gave you a little smile before dropping his gaze back down to his book. You chuckled quietly and shook your head, returning to your work.

This happened a few more times, and before long, you began subtly giving the pastor a little show. Fingers of one hand played with your hair, twirling strands of it around your index. Then you’d scratch your knee a little, hand soon slowly moving up your thigh and pushing your skirt up a ever so slightly. Lastly, you’d arch a little, turning your head up and stretching your neck and shoulders, all the while closing your eyes and releasing quiet little relieved sounds. 

Your face remained neutral, aloof even, as if all of your movements were just normal, absent-minded fidgeting. You felt Father Paul’s eyes on you the whole time, and they seemed to be leaving scorching hot marks in their wake. Teasing him like you did always brought this kind of intensity in him, and you loved seeing and feeling it.

Finally, you raised your head once more to look at your lover. His book sat open in front of him on the table, long forgotten, his chin resting on one of his hands, while the other one lay on the table, balled into a fist. The deep brown eyes were darkened with lust and red tinged Paul’s smooth cheeks.

You got up, an innocent smile on your face and very slowly made your way over to him, hips swaying subtly. “What’s wrong,” you purred, “not enjoying your book?” He didn’t reply, seemingly hypnotised by your every move. Finally you reached him and wasted no time climbing into his lap, your skirt riding higher on your thighs.. You wiggled your hips in order to get more comfortable, and delighted in the small shudder that ran through Father Paul. 

Right away, you felt a quickly stiffening member underneath, and wiggled once more in order to further press it against your clothed dampening core. The priest sighed and two large hands landed on your hips, soon making them move in slow circular patterns.  You rested your forehead against his and breathed against his parted lips: “Kiss me.”

And Father Paul did just that. He turned his head slightly, until he was able to capture your mouth in a soft kiss. It started chaste almost, a big contrast to the sinful movements of your hips and quiet pleasured sounds being let into the other’s mouth. Very soon though, Father Paul grew bolder, his tongue finding its way past your lips and into your mouth, tasting you like a man starved. Meanwhile, your fingers buried themselves into his dark hair, as they always did, pulling at the strands and massaging his scalp. The pastor gasped every time you tugged a little harder.

He was fully hard underneath you now, and you felt the shaft bumping into your rapidly swelling clitoris with every move, your wetness growing further and drenching your underwear. The circular movements turned into small thrusts, the soft sighs into grunts. Paul separated your mouths and put a gentle hand on your cheek, making you look into his eyes. “God… god, you’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice breathy and gruff. His thumb caressed your cheekbone. There was so much love and honesty in his eyes, your breath caught in your throat.

Once more, you leaned over to press a kiss against his lips, one, two, three. “Take me, Paul. Right here,” you pleaded, your heavy petting session making your heat quiver excitedly. Father Paul nodded, eyes slightly out of focus: “G-get up.” 

You obeyed immediately, quitting your movements and bracing your hands on your lover’s shoulders, so that you could get back on your unsteady feet. He stood up as well and moved behind you, pressing your back against his chest, hips grinding against your own, erection dragging over the curves of your bum.

One of his hands travelled to your neck, moving your hair to the side so he could begin mouthing at the soft tender skin there. The other hand creeped over your hip and towards your front until it reached your thigh. Slowly the hand moved upwards and under your skirt, curious fingers sliding smoothly against your inner leg, closer and closer to where you wanted them the most. You released a shaky exhale, when two digits rubbed along your clothed nether lips, the fabric of your underwear drenched with your arousal now.

Father Paul grabbed your chin gently and turned your face to the side, right as his other hand slipped into your knickers, and he pressed a single finger against your swollen nub. Your mouth opened in a gasp and the priest immediately seized the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. He started rubbing your sex in the earnest, rewarded by quiet little grunts and moans vibrating against his lips.

A finger pushed within you and Paul groaned at the wet heat fluttering against it, hungry for way more. His other hand found the hem of your blouse and began pawing at it, prompting you to raise your arms so he could pull the garment of your body. You sighed happily once the blouse was off and cool air hit your heated body. Your hands free, you placed one of them against his own, the one that was contently fingering you. The other hand travelled behind you and slipped between the tight fit of your bodies, immediately finding the hard clothed cock and rubbing it teasingly. 

Father Paul, who was currently fondling your left nipple with his free hand, released a little moan and his mouth separated from your own. To your slight disappointment, the hand on your breasts disappeared, but you soon found out why. The hand blindly started pushing things on the desk out of the way, some books and papers even falling to the floor. Neither of you paid any mind to them.

The priest extracted himself from you and you instantly missed the warmth of his body and the feeling of his fingers on and in your core. A gentle hand pushed against the space between your shoulder blades and guided you to bend your body over the desk. You lowered your torso and shivered at the feeling of cold wood against your heated skin. A few minor adjustments later and your bum was pushed up, skirt bunching around your waist, legs parted, knickers ripped off and somewhere on the floor. Your hands gripped the edges of the desk in a vice grip. 

Pressing your warm cheek against the wood, you watched Father Paul out of the corner of your eye. Two large lean hands touched your shoulders and slowly moved down, caressing your skin lovingly and moving down until they reached your arse cheeks. He got down onto his knees and spread you further, face inches from your dripping sex. His breath fluttered against your folds and you exhaled shakily.

The priest’s thumb came to pull one of your nether lips to the side and the next second his tongue was thrusting into your hungry opening, making you arch your back on the rectory desk. “P-Paul,” you whined, “Please, just… I need-” You felt him grin against you. “Okay,” he murmured, so quietly you nearly didn’t hear him over your wildly beating heart.

You heard some shuffling - a faint ‘ding’ of a belt buckle, a sound of a zipper being pulled down. You turned your head even more and saw your lover’s stiff cock in its full glory, deep red and glistening. Paul gripped its base and came forward. Your eyes closed on their own accord and a relieved moan fought its way out of your throat when you felt the first inch or two enter you. But then he stayed still.

 “Paul!” you protested, barely noticing how desperate your voice sounded, “please, don’t tease me!” Father Paul bent over and you were immediately washed over with the comfort you felt every time you felt his body pressing into your own. He craned his head to connect your lips in a sweet kiss. Your eyes were closed and you wiggled, attempting to get his member further into you, but as you were trapped underneath Paul’s body weight, it was no use. 

So concentrated on the kiss and the need to get finally filled, you didn’t notice the priest’s hands were moving your own behind your back, until suddenly the kiss stopped and Paul’s hips gave a hard thrust, burying his cock within you completely. The suddenes and intensity of it pushed the air out of your lungs and your entire body shuddered. Paul gripped your wrists firmly, there was no way you’d get out of his hold. Not that you minded.

Paul’s hips began snapping into yours, his movements hard and deep. Having had almost no time to adjust to Paul’s girth, the stretch burned sweetly, the slight pain mixing with pleasure soon turned you into an incoherent mess. You barely registered the scrape of teeth upon your shoulder and neck as Paul leaned over you once more, the hold on your wrists tightening ever so slightly. The coil in your stomach was already burning bright and tightening with every deep, toe-curling thrust. Your hips unconsciously moved to meet the priest’s own and your back arched every time he hit that hidden spot within you, nearly making your vision falter momentarily. 

“I’m- I’m c-close,” sounded a shaky voice beside your ear, followed by a series of soft moans. You decided not to grace him with an answer. Not that you’d be even able to really answer that at the moment anyway. Your lover shifted and that hidden bundle of nerves inside you was now mercilessly pounded with each harsh snap of his hips. Your eyes rolled back and your moans turned into breathless little grunts. Two fingers then attacked your swollen throbbing clit and you were thrown over the edge, plummeting head first into the abyss of ground-shaking orgasm, your thighs trembling and bound hands trashing uselessly against Paul’s hold. 

Your cheek dragged over the smooth wood of Paul’s desk and as his movements quickened and his moans grew in volume. As his rubbing of your poor lovebud hadn’t ceased, you felt your overstimulation grow and were soon thrown into yet another release, and this one was searing, scorching hot, very nearly painful. Your body screamed from the pleasure and pain, and hot tears rolled over your lashes as you writhed underneath the priest’s body. You were so overwhelmed by the sensations, the sounds, the smells, you didn’t even notice the pain in your shoulder as Paul had to pull on your wrists a little to keep your arms from trashing.

Finally, a broken ‘Oh, good God’ cut through the sounds of skin on skin and deep moans, and you felt hotness spread within you. Paul groaned into your skin and slowed his thrusting, and you were able to feel each spurt of his thick cum painting your walls white, some of it soon starting to drip out of your still clenching opening. 

Soon you could only hear two sets of laboured breathing and wildly beating hearts. Your wrists were released and it only now occurred to you that he managed to hold you down entirely with just a single hand ever since the other one went to rub at your clit earlier. Still high from your endorphin explosions earlier, you almost didn't register that the pain in your shoulder began lightly throbbing and your right arm felt really weird when you tried to move it.

Still buried inside you, Paul rested his entire weight against you, making you almost purr in contentment. Tiredly you put your left hand up to run your fingers through his hair and pull him to you. The angle was a little off, but you desperately needed to kiss him. Father Paul had similar ideas and soon you drank off the other’s lips, exchanging soft words and tender smiles. Paul’s hands meanwhile moved over every inch of skin he could reach from his position, caressing your sides, your hips, your shoulders-

You hissed.

“What’s wrong?” asked Paul immediately, “Did I hurt you?” His voice was full of concern. He lifted himself up slightly and began observing you for any damage he might have caused. “No, no,” you murmured, hating to hear him worried, “I probably just pulled a muscle, or something.” Deafening silence was your only answer. “Paul? Ouch!” you swore quietly when the priest touched your right shoulder. “I don’t think this is a pulled muscle, Angel…” he sounded so incredibly apologetic and ashamed, but before you could ask what happened, you cringed as he pulled his soft shaft out of you, your combined releases following it and running down your thigh.

He helped you stand and you looked at your shoulder. There was a weird bump there, and you were quick to identify this bump as the edge of your collarbone. “We need to call Sarah,” he said quickly, already scrambling for his phone which was lying among the heap of things he moved to the side earlier. “Hey, hey, stop,” you grabbed the device before he could as much as unlock it. “Calm down love,” your hand touched his cheek, forcing him to look into your eyes. His own warm dark orbs looked panicked and sad, even glistening wetly. 

“I hurt you,” he said hoarsely, his knuckles going white around the phone. “It was an accident,” was your quiet placating reply. You took the mobile from his hand before he'd crush it in his hold, and put it back on the desk. You captured his mouth with yours softly, before moving your lips to his eyelids, kissing the unshed tears away, your healthy hand caressing his hot cheek. “It’s just a dislocated shoulder, Paul. It can happen.” He sighed unhappily and placed his forehead on your good shoulder.

“We need to ask Sarah to come look at it, though,” he murmured against your skin, making you chuckle slightly. “That’d be hard to explain love,” you said, fingers drawing soothing patterns into the crown of his hair, “we’re both a mess and reek of sex. The entire room is. I’ll clean myself up quickly and pay her a visit, okay?” 

He assisted you in his little shower, helping you wash places you couldn’t reach now that your right hand was temporarily out of business. Paul also helped you dress in one of the sets of spare clothes you kept in the rectory. Once you deemed you looked presentable enough, you made to go to the island’s doctor’s house. Paul sat on the little sofa looking somewhere off in the distance, his eyes still sad. Releasing a ‘tsk’ sound you walked until you were right in front of him. “Paul,” you said, gently.

The priest looked at you and swallowed, instantly starting to fidget with the hem of his sleeve. You placed your left hand under his chin and made him raise his head. Your lips connected. Soon his mouth relaxed against yours and he released a soft sigh. “Promise me you won’t beat yourself up over this?” you spoke quietly. Your lover chuckled humorlessly: “I can’t promise you that.” You gave a pout. “Well, at least promise me you won’t beat yourself up too much? Really, it was an accident, it could happen to anyone. I’ve known a person who dislocated their shoulder by bumping into a door frame.” He looked down for a bit before his eyes met your own once more. Paul sighed again: “I-... I’ll try…”

—

All in all, it wasn’t all that terrible. Sarah fixed you up, gave you a neat sling and some prescription painkillers. You were standing in front of the rectory not even an hour after you originally left. You pushed the door open and was immediately hit with the amazing smell of onions and garlic sauteing on the stove. You were nearly salivating by the time you spotted Father Paul. He was opening a can of diced tomatoes. “I, um, I’m making spaghetti,” you could see his eyes travelling to your sling right away.

You chuckled and came closer. “The arm’s alright,” you started, “I’ll only have the sling for a week.” He nodded his head, but looked sad still. “Paul Hill," you spoke strictly, "if you don't stop beating yourself up, I'll beat you up myself, once my arm’s fully functional again, I swear it!" Finally, finally, he quietly giggled. You gave him a gentle headbutt, then connected your mouths in a long kiss. A loud hiss brought you back to reality.

"You're burning the garlic, love."

Thank you for reading. I hope it wasn't too bad. It's been two months since I published anything at all and there are two other wips sitting in my drive giving me the stink eye. As always, you can check this work and all of my other works over on AO3. If you decide to leave a review, I'll be very happy &lt;3

[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

[theghostinyourwalls]

Me and my slasher boyfriends

[mostlyghostlyy]

The feminine urge to put pathetic men in a snowglobe and shake it wildly

[sorry-cant-help-it]

Okay who tf decide that Father Paul is a Top/Dom??? Yall are liars that is one of the most submissive and breedable men I have ever seen

[proverbsss]

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

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao

notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet

"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.

You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.

"I can't help it-"

"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."

“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.

Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.

"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.

"You're laughing at me." 

"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.

"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."

The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.

"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.

“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.

You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"

You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress. 

“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind. 

"I do need you."

You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again. 

“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.

"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty. 

He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"

"I wanna fuck again..."

"What else is new?"

"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?

“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.

You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.

This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.

Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"

“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.

"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."

"Yes..."

"Yes, 'what'?"

"Yes it's all your fault, Father."

“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”

You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.

“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving. 

“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:

“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”

You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”

Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response. 

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

I now have a ko-fi! Consider checking it out to support my addiction to cold brew coffee, or commission something special all your own 🖊️

[angelyuji]

what romance trope would they have?

characters: miguel o’hara, matt murdock, father paul hill, peter parker (any live action), natasha romanov, regulus black, harley quinn [all x gn!reader]

warnings: angst... idk... none really lol kinda cute too kinda idk im insecure about my writing

this is non-yandere sawry guys, also when i started this, i started with miguel so his kinda almost ended up being the shortest cuz i got inspiration halfway through lol and also mixed styles of writing for each character becuz the one thing i am not is consistent.

each character is written in order as listed above saur if you're looking for characters near the end of the list, you're gonna have to scroll... sorry

miguel o’hara: unrequited love

miguel had been on a mission on another earth when he had seen you. you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. with one glance, he had felt things he hadn’t felt since… since he lost everything. he came to see you every day, never talking to you, but watching you from a far. he knew better than to disrupt your life, he knew better than to disrupt the timeline. he watched and loved and protected you, like a guardian angel.

“you’ve been watching that screen for a long time.” jessica comments, giving miguel a knowing stare.

“it’s nothing.” he’s short with her. he knew she’d get it, but she would also try to talk some sense into him. he knows that it can’t happen. everything he touches, he ruins.

“miguel. i don’t know what you’re doing, but as your… friend, i know that this isn’t healthy.” jessica places a hand on his shoulder, he brushes her off.

“i’m not doing anything that needs to be worried about. i’ve sent you a mission.” he hears jessica sigh before leaving him alone in solitude.

he felt better knowing that he was protecting you and keeping you safe, but he knew that it would end. even with the sense of foreboding lingering in the back of his mind, he fell deeper and deeper for you. for your kindness, for your beauty, for your silly laughs and stupid jokes. he loves you more and more with every visit. but then he saw it, he saw the end.

“hey parker.” you pull your earth’s peter into a hug, miguel imagines that it was him.

“i love you.” you tangle your hands in peter’s hair as you both kiss, miguel imagines that it was him.

“i know you’ll always protect me, peter.” peter wraps an arm around your waist and you both fly through the city, miguel feels himself shatter.

he watched as you met peter parker, he watched as you fell in love, he watched as you stopped needing him. he knew that it was never meant to be, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

matt murdock: right person, wrong time

you and matt clicked the moment you met. after bumping into you walking out of a coffee shop, he felt sparks the moment you touched. you relentlessly apologizing to him, pressing a handful of napkins to the stain on his shirt. he barely felt the pain, focusing on your touch. with that one moment, everything fell in place. every moment with you felt magical, he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life, and your quiet moments together, daredevil doesn’t exist, only you and matt. but as your relationship progressed, it was getting harder for matt to keep daredevil a secret: canceling dates, sneaking out in the middle of the night, giving you shitty excuses for his mysterious bruises. he knew you don’t believe him, but he knew you loved him enough to trust that he would tell you the truth in time. he wanted to tell you so bad, but when he wakes up in the morning, hearing your peaceful breathing, your soft skin pressed against his, he holds back. all he wants is to tell you, but he knows that to keep you safe, you must remain oblivious. but he can see the lies weighing on you. he knows you stay up at night waiting for him, he can see the worry ruining your health as you fuss over his injuries. so he let you go. it was hard, letting you sob and scream, fighting the urge to comfort you. he felt his heart shatter as you packed your things. you were the love of his life, but he doesn’t deserve you, not yet.

father paul hill/john pruitt: forbidden love

you were new to the small island, new to the church. you had caught his eye when you had left sunday mass the moment the eucharist had been given. from the corner of his eye, he had seen bev frown as you leave the church. he had put it out of his mind, of course, focusing on mass.

“are you new?” he had seen you walk in with a dog on a weekday, while he was writing his sermon inside the sacristy. with his interest piqued, he walked out. you looked up at his voice and he felt his heart stop. you were beautiful. two paws launched themselves onto his chest and he stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. you raced over, frantic.

“oh my god, father, i’m so sorry. i didn’t think anyone was here so i had let go of his leash.” you frantically explain, trying your hardest to pull your big dog off of him. john paul couldn’t help, but laugh as the dog licked at his face.

“it’s fine, (y/n). it’s very… friendly.” he chuckles as you manage to wrestle the dog off of him. once your dog had settled down, you both sat down on a pew near the back. your dog had jumped into both of your laps. “you’re new, right? i saw you at sunday mass, but i hadn’t recognized you.”

“oh, yeah, father. i just moved here. just like you.” you let out a small laugh.

he bumped your shoulder with his, “guess we’ll have to help each other out then.” from that point on, he noticed that you had been coming around the church more often. soon, he was dropping by your house for dinner and wine once the town goes quiet. both of you sit on the couch, watching some movie that you had picked. he enjoyed every movie you pick, loving every interest you have. you set a plate full of pasta in front of paul and poured him a generous amount of wine. paul felt his eyes drift to your face as you watched the movie. he noticed every little detail about you: the way you bit your lip in concentration, the way your hands gripped the couch in suspenseful moments, your eyes welling up and your lips quivering when the scene gets sad. you turn and paul quickly turns away, feeling his face burn. he feels the cold touch of your hand on his cheek. he looks back and you smile, your eyes trail from his eyes to his lips.

“father, w-will you kiss me?” you stammer and he feels his heart stop. you take his silence as rejection and your eyes shine, “i’m so sorry, father paul, i didn’t me-” he presses his lips against yours as he pulls you into his lap. from that moment on, his daily dinners turned to something more secretive, more taboo. he felt like he was betraying everything he had been taught, but how could your touch be sinful if it feels like an angel’s. every wink, every secret smile, every late-night escapade, his heart had never raced like this. he knew that it could never be, his soul would always belong to god, but he lets himself get fooled by his heart. especially if it means he can feel your skin against his every night.

peter parker: friends to lovers

you had been friends with peter since freshman year. you had been with him through everything: every heartbreak, every broken friendship, every death. you gave him a safe haven after spider patrols. you hadn’t thought of peter as anything more of a friend till he saved your life. you had gotten mugged and peter had jumped in, in that moment, you felt something wash over you. you couldn’t place the feeling till you saw him the next day. peter had pulled you into a hug and you felt your stomach flip.

“i’m so glad you’re okay, god (y/n).” he mumbled into your hair.

you feel your heart beat faster, hyper aware of his arms around you. you laugh, trying to sound normal, “thank god spiderman was there.” he pulls away and laughs.

“yeah, yeah. sorry i couldn’t stick around though. you can’t be too careful.” he bumps his shoulder against you and you felt the butterflies in your stomach rage. since then, you became more aware of the quick touches, the secret glances, the subtle flirting. at first, you really thought it was in your head.

“i really don’t think it’s on purpose.” you frown, recounting to your friend about your feelings.

“you don’t seriously believe that, do you?” they look at you, eyebrow raised. you look back, doubtful. they groan, “oh my god, (y/n), you guys have been so weird around each other for like two months now. everyone has noticed. i mean, you remember when we went to go see a movie last week?”

“i’ll buy it for you, don’t worry. go save our seats.” peter smiles at you. “everyone else is also inside, so just save me a seat.”

 “but, i don’t want you to be standing out here alone.” you frown, looking around. the concession area was almost empty as most people were already inside, waiting for their respective movies to start.

“i’ll be okay, what’s a movie without our food.” he winks and gets into the line. he shoos you off. you wait for peter in the theater, your friend sits in his seat.

“hey, peter’s sitting here.” you whisper.

they laugh, “he’ll be fine if he’s away from you for a couple of hours.” peter walks in, hands full with popcorn and icees. he walks over and stops, he gives you a look and you shrug.

“move down, guys.” he calls to the rest of your group. everyone moves down, but your friend stands their ground.

“peter, there’s a lot of seats, pick one.”

“i want to sit next to (y/n).” he shrugs. your friend gives you a shocked look and you shrug again. they roll their eyes and moves down. peter sits down and hands over your things. as the movie went on, you could feel peter’s arm lightly touch yours, his foot bump into yours. at one point, you can feel him staring at you, but when you look over, his eyes are on the movie. your heart raced, but you grabbed his hand and entwine your fingers. he looks over and you can feel your face burn.

“i know it looks like he likes me, but what if he doesn’t? he hasn’t said a word to me since then. like no surprise visits, no texts, nothing.” you groan and lean your head against the table. your friend hums, but doesn’t respond. the next week, peter showed up at your door.

“i need to be honest with you.” peter sighs. you let him in and he steps in, looking around awkwardly. you gesture to the couch and peter sits down. “look, (y/n), i just feel so- i don’t know. i have to say this, but i don’t want to- to ruin what we have, you know?” peter stumbles through his words. you don’t say anything, heart in your throat. you can feel dread, ‘he knows how i feel, he’s uncomfortable. oh my god, i ruined our friendship.’ you feel like throwing up and tears well in your eyes. “hey, hey, hey. what’s wrong? why-” he puts a hand on your arm, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

“i’m sorry, peter, i know i must have made you uncomfortable during the movies. god, i don’t even know what came over me. i just really, really, really like you. i-i’m so sorry, peter. i’ve ruined everything.” you break down, and peter gets up and kneels in front of you.

“(y/n), baby, no, please don’t cry.” he pulls you into a hug and you feel worse, how can he comfort you when you’ve messed up your friendship? how can he sit there and treat you like you’re a good friend? “i like you too, that’s-that’s what i wanted to say. i thought…” you pull away, in shock. “i thought i ruined everything, but i guess,” he laughs and looks up at the ceiling, “i guess we’re both kinda stupid, huh.” you sniffle, letting out a mix of a sob and a laugh. he laughs and you notice the tears in his eyes.

“yeah, i guess we are.” you cup his face with both hands and pull him into a kiss.

natasha romanov: office romance

you’ve been working at S.H.E.I.L.D for a 6 months and natasha has had her eyes on you for 6 months. at first it started harmlessly.

“hello agent romanov, i’m (y/n) (l/n).  director fury told me i’d be handling your cases from now on.” you keep a neutral face as you address her, and she smiles.

“good to meet you, agent (l/n). i’m glad to know that my cases are in such good care.” she looks you up and down, you quirk an eyebrow before smiling. you stick a hand out and nat examines your face. she smiles before shaking it, “i think we’ll make a good team.”

you let go of her hand, “i think so too.”

she doesn’t really know when friendly interactions turned flirty. it was so easy to talk to you, easier than the others. you were just so… patient, so understanding. she hadn’t felt this way about someone in a very long time, but it was just so easy with you.

nat trailed her fingertips along your arm, she had pulled up a chair next to you as you sat in your office. “what’s our next case?” you ignore her, but don’t make any effort to move away from her antics. “(l/n).” she whispers into your ear. you look over, eyebrow raised. “case?”

“hmm,” you flip through the stacks of manila folders on your desk. “nothing for this week, so you can go get some beauty sleep, nat.” you smile and turn back to your paperwork.

“maybe you should come over tonight, (l/n).” nat smiles at you, mirth twinkling in her eyes. you look away, smiling wide, and decide to indulge her.

“i don’t think that’s very appropriate, agent romanov, i mean what would people say?” you act as if you said something scandalous. nat bites her cheek to fight a smile before leaning in to press a kiss to your neck.

“i don’t know, baby, but i think they’d kill to be me.” she mumbles into your neck, playfully biting you.

regulus black: rivals to lovers

you were the first one to raise your hand, first to make potions right, first to turn your tests in. regulus black hated you. you were a stuck up, know-it-all, whose only purpose for existing was to piss him off. you’d smirk at him when you get the answer before him, when he gets it wrong. and he especially hates that stupid laugh you have when you see that your test scores were higher than his. regulus black hated you. and what makes it worse is that his parents loved you. you were so respectful and good when they were around, hooking your arm with his, smiling and laughing, making his heart beat faster, and his stomach turn. regulus doesn’t really know when that happened. when your stupid face started seeming less stupid and more… pretty. when your ugly laugh was more amusing than annoying. and he doesn’t like thinking about it. you and him? you’ve been enemies since the first year, and even as fifth years, you’ll continue to be his sworn enemy.

“reg?” your angelic irritating voice brought him back from his daydream. he had been sitting under a tree near the whomping willow, reading a book. he looks up to see your face, crouching down in front of him.

“what?” he looks back at his book, you huff and pull his book out of his hands. “(y/n)!”

“listen to me! ...please.” for the first time since he met you, you sounded utterly pathetic. he bites back a gleeful smile.

“fine. you are holding my book hostage, i might as well listen, for its safety of course.” he rolled his eyes and leaned back against the tree.

you sit down onto your knees and laugh and regulus feels like grinning, “of course, for your book’s safety.” you rip a couple blades of grass out of the ground and bookmark his page. he feels his heart jump, but clears his throat. “you know how the parkinson’s are holding another winter gala during the break?” you look at him with your dazzling eyes, he nods, “well, i was wondering if you wanted to go with me… as my date?” he straightens, eyes widening before he narrows them, examining the hopeful look on your face and your wringing hands.

“are you joking with me right now?” he scoffs, leaning back, feeling a twinge of hurt.

“no! no, listen, i’ve really liked you… since maybe the third year? i don’t know, i know we haven’t been the nicest to each other, so i understand if you don’t want-”

“well, i never said that.” he interrupts you, your eyes shine and regulus fights the urge to kiss you. “and i’m fine with putting a pause on our… rivalry.” he rolls his eyes, feeling his face burn in embarrassment. you drop the book onto the ground and toss yourself onto him. regulus starts to shout, but he feels your arms wrap around him.

“thank you, thank you, thank you! i’m so excited!” you hug him tighter and regulus relents quickly, hugging you back. he buries his face into your shoulder, squeezing you against him.

“yeah, yeah, you don’t have to be so excited.”

harley quinn: partners in crime

you met Harley while shoplifting at the jewelry store she was robbing. she had a gun pointed right at you when she paused.

“oh. my. gosh. you are absolutely…” she pauses, tilting your head, before squealing “adorable!!!” she grips your face in her hands, gun still cocked. you feel true fear spreading through your body. “absolutely adorable, we should be friends!” she swings an arm around your shoulder before ordering the jeweler to give her everything. then in one blink, you were in her apartment (lair?) and making out on her couch. you became the planner and she became the plan-ruiner, she did the real action and you were the getaway driver, she brought you the money and you made sure to keep everything off of batman’s radar. even if the plans you make go sideways cause of harley, you couldn’t find it in yourself to get mad. you fell in love. she always made sure to protect you from joker and batman, putting herself on the line when shit hits the fan. she’d never let anyone hurt you, she’d rather be in danger before you.

“angel-cakes! let’s go get some sandwiches from that place near the bank, i’ve been dyinggg for an egg sandwich.” she jumps onto the couch, tossing her legs into your lap.

“you planning on getting some money from the bank?” you start rubbing her feet, as a reflex, eyes still on the t.v.

“no, silly, i just want a sandwich.” she pulls her feet off and twists herself to get her head in your lap. you smile and play with her hair.“alright, let’s go get some sandwiches and some money.” harley shoots up and leaves a big, wet smooch onto your cheek.

[mandowifey]

Nora, she/her, hobbies include sewing, cooking, baking, people watching and trying to control my hoe thoughts behind my cute face🤍

I'm cheating because I know a majority of characters you like. Love you cutie 💋

I assign you: Father "Paul Hill"/ John Pruitt.

Note: This is SFW, and not edited/proofed.

X x X x X x X

Ash Wednesday was a special event on Crockett island.

Folks bore their ashen crosses and funneled out of the church to partake in a sort of potluck feast. Almost everyone brought a dish, and this being your first time participating in the festivities, you did too.

You felt out of place amidst them all, your crossless forehead made you feel like an outsider looking in. As you place the tray of cookies down, you feel the sensation of someone standing near you. A gasp caught in your throat as you jump and place a hand to your chest as you turned and saw him.

Father Paul lifted both hands and smiled uncomfortably. "Sorry about that." His breath comes out in an awkward laugh, his lips stretching into a slight grin that exposed his lovely ivory teeth.

The expression tugged your heart and caused you to gawk as blood pooled in your cheeks.

"You're Y/N, right?"

He's talking to you, idiot.

"Hm! Oh, yes!" You push some loose hair behind your ear and shake your head in a smile. "Sorry, the sun must be cooking my brain."

Paul smiles again, rendering you weak in the knees.

"Tell me about it."

Quiet settles between the two of you, and your lips press into a line as you try to scrounge up a conversation topic. The Monsignor picked up on it and began to motion with his right hand towards the tray of cookies you brought.

"Kind of you to bring something." His dark eyes soften and he nods with his head in the direction of the opposite end of the table. "I'm not much of a cook, but I did provide silverware, so that counts, I hope."

That makes you laugh. "I enjoy cooking, even though I tend to lose track of time and burn things." You admitted with a soft smile. To your delight, he laughs as well.

"Well, some of us have a different calling in life. Maybe you weren't made for cooking, but for something else?" His angular brows lift inquisitively and he smiles.

Your face slowly burns a bright pink.

"M-maybe." You try to laugh and not let your brain wander anywhere inappropriate. He's a priest, for fucks sake.

After a moment, Paul turns his attention toward the crowd. The sun reflects in his eyes, brightening the normally dark pools. Some of his hair had come loose and dangled in short, curled strands over his forehead. Bright sunshine illuminates his profile as a look of deep thought crosses him.

You cannot help staring. It was useless to lie to yourself. You had been pining for Father Hill the moment you attended the first service. Something about the way he carried himself, wise beyond his years and always looking on the verge of tears.

A weepy priest.

"Well, I think I'm gonna steal one of these cookies and head back to my flock." His lips tug into a smile as his eyes fall back on you.

You freeze.

Oh no.

Mouth agape, you watch as he extends an arm and plucks a cookie off the top to carry towards his soft lips. What you see and what Paul fails to is the very burnt underside of the cookie. It wasn't intended, you simply had gotten distracted while baking and ran out of time to make anything else.

The sound of the crunch makes your heart stop beating. You stare at his face and watch the sudden upwards jerk of his brows. He hadn't been expecting that. His other hand comes up to cover his mouth as he chews. Paul makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and you watch as he makes an effort to finish the cookie in one more bite.

Your embarrassment was palpable, and you silently wished the ground would open up and swallow you.

"Wow these are-"

"Don't. Don't say a word, please." You say as you bring a hand to cover your face.

The holy man laughs. "Not as bad as you think. It has a uniqueness that suits you." His voice was sincere.

Moving your hand, you look up at Paul and feel your cheeks burn. "Are you saying I share traits with a burnt cookie, father?"

The name slipped out and you felt your heart clench.

Paul stiffens and you watch as those heavy lids of his lower and the corner of his mouth tug. He looked like he was drawing closer to you, watching you with that onyx gaze.

That was when you notice the smudge near the corner of his mouth. "Oh! You got something, here." You tap the right corner of your mouth. It snaps him out of his trance, and his eyes immediately brighten again.

"Here?" He wipes the wrong side.

"No no, other side."

"Here?"

You laugh quietly as he misses again.

"Little to the left."

Paul swipes over his mouth, smudging it worse.

"Got it?"

Was he doing it on purpose? He was grinning at you, those shapely brows lifted, making his round eyes seem even bigger than usual.

"No, jeez, here-"

Without much forethought, you lick your thumb pad and reach up. Gently, you swipe and clear the smudge off the corner of his mouth and smile as you do. Then you realize he's locked in on your eyes.

What were you doing?

You're cupping his jaw and cleaning the corner of his mouth, except your thumb moves on its own now. You drag the pad along his soft bottom lip and watch as his pupils dilate to the size of dimes. The predatorial stare knocks your breath away. Who was this looking at you?

Paul's lips part just slightly and you realize you're still touching him. Before you could begin to apologize and withdraw, you feel the curl of his cold fingers around your wrist halting you.

He offers a smile.

"Thank you."

Then, his lips kiss the pad of your thumb and you feel a wet flick, then a gentle suck as he cleans the chocolate off your digit before releasing you.

At a loss for words, you stand in awe. Had that just happened? You can see that he's about to head off and you quickly find your voice.

"Let me make you more sometime?"

Father Hill stops and looks back at you inquisitively.

"Cookies, let me show you I know what I'm doing."

Your heart felt like a wild bird trying to escape its cage, and you wonder if he's able to hear it. Or if he could smell the arousal that had begun to build within you from the short exchange between you both.

"I'd like that." He nods, and you watch him wander back into the crowd.

Leaning against the table, you look at your thumb and then smile at yourself. What you had failed to mention to the Monsignor before was you had been distracted by the handsome priest talking to your neighbors this morning. Your eyes follow his shape as it mingled in with the townsfolk.

You promise yourself this next batch of cookies would have extra chocolate in them.

[jupiterpiss]

Father!

Father Paul Hill x Fem!OC

Author’s note— This is just an intro to a series I’m coooking up. This does take place some time in the late 1970’s early 80’s.. so keep in mind. Mildred Gunning doesn’t exist sorry folks :(( I got no description cause idk what to say.. anyway enjoy!

Warnings— Mention of pregnancy, vomiting, got some people to proof read but there could be some mistakes (I made this at 1 am), oh and descriptions of a hot priest

She feels like vomiting.

Her stomach churns and twists violently, like the waves that crash not too far from her, the sound tuning into a distant static noise she desperately tries to comfort herself with. Her girls aren’t too far away, running about as high-pitched giggles leave their lips, cheeks rosy and eyes bright as the morning sun as they play.

She’s unsure of what they’re playing, ‘tag’ she supposes, but she can’t pay much mind to it as another wave of nausea rolls through her. Her hands squeeze down harshly onto her thighs, framed bent over as she prepares herself for her breakfast to leave her. Though, it seems quite stubborn.

“Madeline,” she starts, blowing a huffed breath as she tries to compose herself, “Honey,” she tries again, though her calls to her daughter fall upon deaf ears.

Kids, kills them to listen to any sort of authority figure.

She attempts a deep breath but fails, instead gagging and coughing, “Jesus, Maddie-” she tries once more, but doesn’t get to finish her speech. Luckily enough, she gets a loud “yeah?” from her eldest daughter, her small hands pushing back any free strands of hair over her small face.

“Honey, oh je- okay,” she decides trying is useless, and instead remains helpless. She’s sure she’s a sight to behold for all those attending mass this morning, her gagging like a cat with her two little girls running around paying her little mind as they fight each other with sticks. Better then them running around naked and her crying, she supposes. Something her poor mother went through when she was little. Fourth of July wans’t the best time in her household that year.

“Hey? You okay?” A voice calls out, a sweet one. Feminine. She reconzies it as one of her fellow neighbors. Reconzises a flash of black hair and light skin, can guess the rest of the woman’s features that she has engraved into her brain after years of living just two doors down.

She only nods, “Yeah, fine, uh, just gonna’ vomit is all,” she explains, desperate to land a horrible joke that only crashes and burns. Worth the try she supposes.

The neighbors nods slowly, unsure, “okay.. You sure?”

She nods again, “morning sickness, usual pregenat lady stuff, it’s fine.”

They nod, seeming to understand. It wasn’t unusual after all, early trimester meant a one way ticket to the toilet for a few weeks. With that they slowly walk away, going up the steps of mass as they watch her with concern etched in their soft features.

The sun is beaming done on her, seemingly sucking up small amounts of help the breeze brings as she desperately tries to ease the clench of her stomach. She wishes the sun away, hopes a cloud goes over it because what the hell sun? Don’t you see i’m dying here?! It seems the sun, or God, had heard her mindless calls because suddenly the sun is gone, vanished out of air.

She looks to the shadow casted across the grass just above her, expecting to see just dim light but instead sees a figure, a tall one at that. She pays no mind to it, instead giving a small head shake, “it’s okay, I’m okay, just a small dizzy spell,” she explains.

“If being hunched over the grass is ‘okay’, I’m scared to see what is ‘great’”, a low voice jokes, timber and soft. She only laughs, brows rising momentarily before dropping again. She slowly tries to move around, going to face him as she attempts to stand to her full height.

“I’m fine,” she says slowly, trying to reassure the collared man before her (though it’s weak), “It’s okay, just a little morning sickness is all.”

He hums at that. “Seems it.”

“No one ever quite prepares you for the amount of times you’ll be tasting your eggs and bacon when pregnant,” she attempts at another joke, “good to go back for secon-” she cuts herself off as another rush of nausea rolls through her.

“I’m sorry,” she slowly doubles down, setting her hands back on her knees, “ I’m sure mass is about to start, you should go-”

“No, no it’s okay, mass can wait. Much more important matters at play here” he bends down with her, crouching as he hands her a cup of water. A part of her takes note that if he already have a glass of water in hand, he had taken notice of her state much earlier, but she casts the thought aside.

She gulps some down, hoping the liquid would push down her rising early meal, “Thank you.”

He gives a curt nod in return, “‘Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is your power to act.’ Proverbs 3:27. It’s best to make sure you keep hydrated, especially with child.”

“Ah, just a cup of water, but thank you, Father,” she gives a soft smile, slowly trying to straighten out her back from her hunched state

“Think you’ll be okay?” He tilts his head, big brown doe eyes looking up at her in concern, a small frown tugging at his lips. Her brow twitches.

“Mhm,”

He keeps her gaze before slowly going back up to his full height, towering over her like a massive tree, and giving her one last look before looking over to her two little girls. They’ve stopped playing tag now, too focused on ripping grass out of the ground.

“Madeline, Kateylin, go inside please,” he calls out softly, pulling the girl’s attention towards him. They don’t protest nor think twice about listening to the priest, taught to never question a man with such authority before they’re running towards the mass.

He looks over to the pregnant woman again, eyes soft as he holds out a hand, willing her to grab it. She does, giving him an appreciative smile before he brings her along to mass as well, going up the steps slowly as a means to not stir her motion sickness too much.

“You act as if I’m about to burst,” she teases.

“Looked as if you were back there,” he pokes back, canines poking out as he smiles at her and his smile only seems to widen when she gives a soft chuckle.

He leads her to her usual seat in the small church, the same appreciative smile on her soft lips as she looks up at him and takes her seat beside her daughters, with her usual soft expression. The one reserved for him, the same one she held for her husband at one point long ago. That has long passed however, the look is now only for him.

He steps away, going to the front. It’s there he takes a moment to look at everyone in the church, take in the sight of it. For everyone there God has brought in for him to care after, to care for and guide. He looks at the watchful eyes of those who seek the Lord in his own, faces filled with hope and eyes bright.

He looks over to the pregnant woman one more time and it’s then that sun seems to sweep through the windows just perfectly. She’s glowing, he’s sure of it. Whether it’s the sun, the pure love that emits from her or from the child that grows within her, she’s glowing nonetheless. He’s sure that a hallo is around her head, and can almost trace it out with his eyes. A pure angel.

An angel inside the church he helped build, in the town he was helping flourish. The same angel growing his child, that fostered two little girls that surely weren’t his but he was certain to grow into angels just as their mother.

He calms himself then, feels himself too focused on the matter of what’s to come rather than what’s here now.

He takes a deep breath, then begins mass.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

If you're still taking prompts, how about 🔥 for Father Paul 🙏

Yes I am! This is is perfect for him ❤️❤️

———

You always knew what look to give him, even at the most unfortunate times. Like when you approached him in mass to receive the Eucharist, eyes full of lewd promises as he placed the wafer on your tongue.

You knew, too, that he would always hold you to them, no matter what. Penance came first, though, most likely on your knees. They'd already grown accustomed to the smooth, wooden floor of the rectory.

You’d memorized every corner of his austere bedroom. The thin gray curtains, the scratches and indentations on his bed posts, the worn copy of the bible on his nightstand. Even the Christ on the cross high up on the wall, watching over the two of you.

He sat on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping his knee impatiently to bring your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he said with a reproachful frown. “You don’t seem too remorseful of your actions to me. How should we remedy that?”

You batted your lashes prettily, and there it was again — that glint of mischief. Still, you put on a show of piousness, inclining your head demurely.

“Whatever punishment you see fit, Father.”

He could see the wicked curl of your lips, amused from toying with him. The worst part was, it always worked. For a moment, he even forgot he was meant to punish you.

“Unless you’re changing your mind?” You continued at his silence, slightly raising a challenging eyebrow.

He chuckled, grasping your chin to tilt your head back, so you could see him looming over you.

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that, I promise you,” he said, thumb pulling down at your bottom lip. “What can I say? You’re real good at distracting me.”

You swiped your tongue over the pad of his thumb, still not giving up on pushing his buttons.

“Do you think I’ll ever learn?” You said breathily.

“Something tells me you won’t, but I don’t mind being the one who tries to teach you some discipline.”

———

[thelighttasteslikelasagna]

archiveofourown.org/works/46869589

word count: 1940

pairing: Brian Wilcox (Fast Food Nation)/Reader

summary: Brian thinks you're such a prude. Always flinching when he spits into the burgers. Not just a prude, you're a coward for not telling him to stop.

OR

Reader has an obvious spit kink, and Brian's perspective is hard to work with.

Brian thinks you're a prude for flinching and looking away every time he spits in a burger. Not just a prude, a coward for also not telling him to stop. It's like you disapprove, but you don't have the guts to tell him to stop.

You continue to quietly work alongside him, looking away whenever he spits onto a burger and rubs the bun over the patty to get an even layer of spit all over it. He grins as he does so- it's his one point of pride against every stuck up asshole customer that raises their voice against the cashier. Whenever he looks at you and snaps, asking if you're judging him, you quickly look away and mumble an apology, and he continues to glare at you, before shoving the order out and letting the cashier on shift know that the order is ready.

Brian is inattentive, but he's not slow. He notices that you only flinch when he spits in the burgers. When he doesn't wash his hands while handling food, you barely bat an eyelid. When a frozen beef patty falls on the ground and he tosses it onto the grill, you continue working without giving it a second look. When he accidentally squirts mayonnaise on the counter and swipes it up with a finger to slather it under the bun (arguably a worse infraction than the spitting), you simply continue working. It confuses him at first. How come you only get nervous with the spitting?

Realizations do not dawn upon Brian. They do not come to him in slow puzzle pieces of recognition and a singular answer. They come like starfall and the hot oil from the deep fryer, and an all-encompassing roar in the jumble of his mind.

To his credit, it hits him when he spits in a burger, and you look away with a sharp inhale. He's about to ask you what the hell your problem is, when his glance lowers, and he sees your legs awkwardly crossed together, along with an uncomfortable look on your face. It leads to him realizing that this whole time, you were-

"What?" he snaps, though the question is addressed more to himself, as if in disbelief that he did not notice it sooner.

"Nothing- nothing! Go on!" you shakily say, and abandon your station, off to do another mundane task at breakneck speed.

Brian smirks to himself, an awful, wide smile that rarely shows on his face. He was rarely offered the upper hand, and now that he had it, he would abuse it until it was rubbed raw. It's ridiculous in hindsight, how he did not notice it sooner. What he perceived as your judgment wasn't actually judgment at all, you were staring in yearning. His disgusting little act, an act he saw as defiance, was one you perceived as dominance in a more carnal aspect.

The rest of the shift passes by normally, and you eventually drift back to his side, appearing to forget the earlier incident. You continue to slap meals together and push them out at a languid pace, and he keeps an eye on you.

You're not very good at hiding your skittish nature around him. You're nervous around Brian that would indicate that you thought he was going to kill you if you misstepped around him, or, well, had a crush on him. Brian always assumed it was the former, he knew how intimidating he could be, even in the silly yellows and reds of his shitty condiment-stained customer service outfit. He's still tall, imposing, with dry-from-dye black hair and an indifferent look on his face. But you try to be innocently affable around him, an attitude he normally dismissed as you being friendly. The spitting, however, hints at a more perverse side that you're hiding.

A side he does not mind coaxing out.

He spends the rest of the shift wondering if you're thinking about him. Are you hoping he spits on your cheek? On your face? Even in a burger? Brian allows himself to get lost in that fantasy. Making a burger just for you. Bun, lettuce, tomato, patty- ahh. He would make a disgusting noise at the back of his throat, and hock a large glob of spit, right onto the bland patty. A viscous seasoning of his own. His train of thought gets the better of him, and he imagines what other bodily fluids you'll happily eat on that burger, why doesn't he just drop his pants and add a healthy dose of-

"Brian?" a voice snaps him from his thoughts, and startled, he turns to his side, to see you. You look hesitant, as if you didn't want to interrupt what he was thinking about, and oh, it's a good thing you interrupted him, he didn't trust where his thoughts were about to lead him.

"End of the shift already?" he asks hoarsely, and you nod.

Brian shrugs off his uniform in the locker room with ease, an annoying second layer that presses over his dark clothes. The smell of the fryer clings to his casual clothes, and he scoffs to himself, and digs through his locker for some gum. The end of a shift always leaves the taste of the kitchen in his mouth, and gum helps him get rid of it.

You're the one with a bit more difficulty with the uniform. You're trying to get the strings on your apron to cooperate with you. You nearly ask Brian for help with the strings, but you keep your mouth shut, you don't want it to come off as a coy suggestion. So you struggle with the strings as Brian pops some gum in his mouth, chewing and watching you.

At last, you manage to squirm out of the uniform, and you shed it off to reveal your own clothes with a satisfied sigh. Your own clothes are a touch brighter than his, he notes, trying to not think about how your sigh sounded, what other sounds he could eke from your throat. He chews his own gum thoughtfully, before realizing he's staring at you.

"Gum?" he asks, deceptively casual. He holds up his box of gum, showing he has a few sticks of gum left. You turn to him with a noise of surprise, and nod with excitement.

"Open up." he says, a slight command to his tone, and he revels with the mindless obedience you display, opening your mouth and slightly sticking out your tongue with an 'aaaah'. There's a curl to the edge of your lips, a smile as you wait for him to unwrap a stick of gum and toss it into your mouth. Brian is inadvertently reminded of a dog waiting for a treat, with you in complete obedience, or a pornstar, in those magazines he keeps under his bed.

Brian smiles, while chewing his own gum. If he had any shred of decency, he would have asked for permission, he would have apologized for what he was about to do, hell, he wouldn't have done it at all.

But Brian Wilcox is not a boy with a shred of decency.

Brian takes a step closer to you, and you falter slightly, but keep your mouth open. Obedience keeps you rooted to the spot, keeps your mouth open. He doesn't have a shred of decency or obedience in him.

An annoyingly sentimental side of him wants to cup your cheek, to make this moment a little more special, but he risks you ruining the intimate moment and pulling away, and he's testing his boundaries as is by simply stepping closer to you. Whatever he's going to do, he has to do it fast.

So in one quick motion, Brian spits his chewed-gum into your mouth, along with a generous amount of spit. To anybody that came up behind him, it would have looked like a tender kiss shared between coworkers after a tense shift, but it is anything but.

You feel Brian's spit and gum hit your tongue, and immediately, you recoil, and your face flusters, going into a deep red.

You cry out as you look up at Brian, and it looks like you're about to scream, so Brian immediately reacts by slapping his palm over your mouth. He allows himself a moment of uncertainty, that maybe he misinterpreted the signs from earlier, that maybe you think he's a complete fucking freak, and that you're definitely going to report him for harassment and assault, and that he accidentally ruined what was a good mutual respect between you and him.

But he swallows that down, and lets a veneer of confidence wash over him- the same kind of confidence that lets him spit into each burger. He looks into your eyes, and starts to talk. He can't tell what you're feeling, your eyes are wide in surprise from his gesture, but your lashes are fluttering, and he's not sure if that's a flirtation, or if you're blinking in Morse code to tell him to go fuck himself.

"Hey, hey, ssh. Seen the way you look at me." he whispers, and he feels like one of those animal tamers, trying to soothe a wild animal.

"You're gonna be good for me and keep my gum in your mouth, right?" he continues, and uses his thumb to stroke the side of your cheek, a placating gesture. He's seen couples in school do this, so it's gotta work on you, right? And it does, like magic. Even under his greasy fingers, you seem to nearly go limp, your eyelids grow heavy, even with his palm over your mouth. You give a slow nod.

"Not gonna scream or do any of that shit?" he asks, and tries to negate any panic in his tone by asking it like an order. You shake your head, and it's sickening, how Brian feels this power over you. He's just spat in your mouth, and you let him. Your pupils are blown wide, looking at him, and some primal aspect of Brian recognizes it as lust, an emotion he's never had directed towards him.

He pats the side of your cheek in a condescending gesture, and lets go of his hand over your mouth. True to your word, you don't scream. Even better, your jaw slowly moves, chewing the gum he spat into your mouth. Brian finds that he likes it.

You're far- very far from the prude he initially imagined you as. If you were, you would have spat out his gum and the spitglob onto the floor the second he let go of your mouth, dainty hands splayed over your mouth and trying to get his taste out of your mouth. You make a small face, he recognizes your tongue swirling at the side of your cheek- and his eyes widen, realizing that you're actually chasing the taste of his spit over the flavored gum, swirling it around your mouth.

You make a small swallowing motion- Brian greedily imagines that it's his spit going down your throat. You continue to chew his gum, and look up at him in silence.

"Good job, doll." Brian mumbles, looking at you. He heard it once from a porno, with a macho buff guy complimenting a buxom girl after she'd performed a sexual act and swallowed something of his. Brian doesn't think he's a macho guy, but with the way you're looking at him, he feels like you see him as one. A heady rush comes over him, a much more intimate sense of power than the first time he spat in a burger as defiance.

"Good job."

[snowvies]

𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐬 ❄︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫