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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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"Hellfire."

Pairing: Monsignor John Pruitt x F!Reader

Summary: You are called first to receive everlasting life from the angel's blood during Easter Vigil.

Warnings: Spoilers for Episode 6 of Midnight Mass and all the content that comes with it. Language. Taking some liberties with how the angel's blood works uhhh hehe. Millie who's that AU. Going off of the stream of consciousness / dream-like writing I am trying so hard to stay out of my head and just write what comes.

"Brothers and sisters,” Monsignor Pruitt concludes. “On this most holy night I come to you with good news. Not only the good news of the resurrection of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who arose to forgive us of our sins after three days in the tomb. But, also the resurrection of ourselves."

He clasps his hands together in makeshift prayer, eyes sparkling an unfamiliar orange glow that you've never seen before. That of a feral black cat's eyes bouncing back light. The ones that hunt on the outpost of the island, all teeth and heat and hunger and sex and wild and and and--

Visions of nocturnal holiness.

"I ask you. Trust in me. And God will reward your loyalty heavily. Know that I would not ask of the ultimate sacrifice of your life if I did not have utmost faith in our God for the miracle he is about to bestow tonight."

The silence within the church is deafening. Not a soul rises for his offer, parishioners stunned to their seats. His eyes scan, searching for a familiar face. Finally focusing on yours.

“Please. [“____”]," his voice like liquid honey calls to you, echoing through the church. "I call upon you to take the plunge first, my sweet child. Show the good people of Crockett Island that there is nothing to fear. That there is paradise waiting for us all tonight."

He leaves his pulpit, descending down the steps towards you. His arm reaches out, using his slender fingers to beckon you to him with a "come hither" motion. White vestments flowing, covering his human visage as he moves, billowing out like an angel's wings.

Devils were once just fallen angels. Symbols of purity be damned.

He notices your trepidation.

"One moment of pain, perhaps. But an eternity of youth and love and worship in His name. We have been given a tremendous gift, sister ["____"]. Be brave.”

Beverly Keene remained tucked in the upper corner of the church, stirring the choice of death for this evening. She's always been a witch in your eyes; now the harsh comparison rings true more than ever as she concocts a deadly potion of sickeningly sweet liquid.

The smell reminds you of too hot summers and running against the shoreline as the waves lap against your ankles and buying popsicles at the general store and sticky raspberry juice running between your fingers. Familiar memories and tastes intermingled with rat poison.

“And so Jesus rose from the tomb, trampling down death. As will we. I am with you, and you are with me. There is nothing to fear."

Don't drink the kool-aid, the old adage goes.

But you wonder how vanilla and raspberry taste mixed together.

Jonestown redux is standing before you, with his hand outstretched for you to take; his body backlit by the illumination of hundreds of candles. You look up at him through your lashes, lips slightly parted. Your eyebrows upturned and eyes reposed.

"Monsignor. Forgive me, but I cannot," you swallow hard. Back yourself from that cliff, you have one leg dangling over the edge now! "For I have not taken communion as my sins have been too weighty, too difficult to ever be forgiven. I believe I did not deserve the body and blood of Christ at that time, which is selfish of me. Forgive me.”

John almost considers this for a moment, his thick eyebrows furrowing together as he stares down at you.

"There is no resurrection for me. I will die,” you state bluntly. Your words are finally registering.

Back away back away, make distance between the cliff.

But he smiles, against your expectations. A tight lipped smile, his eyes kissing at the corners when his cheeks raise. Missed by the miracle of reversed age, not reaching the crows feet that reveal only when he's truly happy.

"My angel. You've taken more than enough of my seed in your womb, and down your throat. The blessing is already inside you."

His hand grazes your cheek, and Hellfire reigns down as the finality of his reveal sets in across the room. Hot and prickling at the back of your neck. High pitched buzzing of bees in your ears. Whore of Babylon comes to Crockett Island. Mary Magdalene weeps. Hundreds of eyes descend upon your form, fragile and ready to break at a moment's notice.

Hell has a special place reserved for you for tasting the most unholy fruits. You wear guilt like a halo.

John positions his index fingers and thumb underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. Your eyes dart away, unable to face him. For sure your very skin would burst into flames if you stared too long.

"Look at me," he demands. "Look at me, angel. Do not be ashamed.”

Oh, you’re more than familiar with this position.

Your eyes tilt back, big and yearning and scared yet wanting more. More of John, more of his smell on your bedsheets, more of his fingers in your mouth more of the salty bitter taste of his skin more breaking the boundaries between heaven and hell more more more more flesh more blood no sin no death no guilt.

Hell has a special place reserved for you in due time.

But real hell is living without him. You slip your hand into his, rising from the pew.

The church is silent, conversations about your unforgivable sin now hushed to murmurs. Somewhere in the distance you hear the gentle song of night crickets that intermingle with your delicate footsteps across decades old wood. A resounding creak and moan of the floorboards that echoes through the small church that makes it become an entity of its own, ready to swallow you whole.

Someone is crying, quietly muffled pathetically behind a cloth. A woman blesses herself using the sign of the cross as you pass.

A dead girl walking, and this is the sound of your funeral march.

Your toes bump into the first step leading up to the chancel. Guiding you by your waist, John spins you to face the congregation. Expressions of the crowd are unreadable.

Are you Joan of Arc or a witch about to be burned at the stake?

Blasphemy, blasphemy stood before your friends, family, acquaintances.

A light. The vision of John blocks you away from their watchful eyes as he stands before you, cupping your face within his hands. Your eyes lock together. Gently, he presses a chaste kiss to the center of your forehead. Lips just barely ghosting over your flesh. You tremble before him.

Bev stands behind you, both arms outstretched forward, bent at the elbow. You’re smart enough to realize she’s ready to catch you for when you involuntarily start seizing, your body putting up its final fight against the poison coursing through its veins.

Life. Death. Rise.

A sob starts in your larynx, unable to burst fully to the surface The warmth of his hands removed from your face, now reaching for Bev's as he takes the small plastic solo cup of juice from hers into his.

"I am with you," he whispers as he holds the cup up to your lips. "As you walk through the valley of the shadow of death I am with you, and you will come out on the other side anew. Whole. Pure as a reward for your devotion to Him."

Raspberry and vanilla threaten to break the seal of your lips, the cup tapped against it. His other hand snakes his way up your back, weaving his fingers within your hair. The digits tug against your locks slightly, tilting your head back.

"Open."

Saliva gathers at the back of your throat.

You can't, you can't, you can't.

You cannot dare to lose the chance to miss another one of those too hot summer days where the children of Crockett island throw their books haphazardly into their backpacks basking in their first hours of summer vacation and the salty water clinging to your hair making it curly and sticky raspberry juice dripping between your fingers–

But oh the visions of him with and the way he whimpers into your neck when he thrusts into you, his hot mouth on your pulse point, the way his hand pin down your wrists forcing you to stay still. Murmured praises and bedroom hymns whispered as the moonlight coats both of your bodies in a ghostly blue glow. Was it truly ever living without him? No more hiding no more secrets you are his and he is yours. A boundary death cannot even cross–eternity is a beautiful thing to imagine.

A tear slips out of your eye, rolling down your cheek. The pad of John’s thumb gently rubs it away. Sympathy for the condemned.

"Drink."

And you do.

#shameless self reblog #this is all I got for everyone right now lol ;; no thoughts

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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I humbly request fic prompt #26:

“i wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it”

For Papa Miles. 😈

Against the Window

Beta read by the lovely @littleredwritingcat

Glorious gif by @putonyourbathingsuits

This is the first thing I've written in years. Please take it easy on me, haha. Without further ado, I bring you Miles smut. 3.2k words

"Will you relax for once? Have a drink and mingle," she replies , "and stop worrying about your shorts. You look great."

"l can't believe I let you drag me here," you groan to Alex, tugging at the short shorts you are wearing in an attempt to cover more of your exposed thighs. You hadn't expected this many people to be here when you allowed your neighbor and friend talk you into going to a "small get-together", which was obviously a very not small pool party.

You sigh and stop fidgeting for the moment and look around to see if you recognize any faces. "Is Hank even here? I thought you guys were done for good this time." You look at her watching as she scans the crowd herself, pulling you towards the shaded open bar by the ridiculously large pool.

"He said he and Mi--" she stops as she realizes her slip up and you pull your hand from her grip, placing it on your hip instead.

"Miles? Really?" You glare at her as you order a drink, forcing a smile at the bartender.

"Come on, give him a chance. He likes you."

"So that's what this is about then? Not you and Hank. You're trying to set me up with Miles. Again." You accuse, your voice raising higher than you intended and you noticed other party-goers beginning to stare. You wince and lower your voice as you take your drink. "And if he likes me so much why didn't he call after that night we spent together? He just ghosted me."

"I don't know. Try talking to him about it," she suggests. "He's a really great guy, actually. If Hank were half as considerate as Miles we would probably still be together."

"I don't think giving a woman the best orgasms of her life and then pretending it never happened is very considerate, Alex." You chug the rest of your drink and order another. You decide if Miles shows up you'll get to speak your mind and if not, well, you'll just get drunk and make the most of the night.

_______

Forty-five minutes and two drinks later you're sitting next to a guy who calls himself "Clint", though you're fairly sure that's not really his name, as he tells you about the time he "met Mike Tyson at a strip club and beat him in a round of poker." You resist the urge to roll your eyes and internally curse Alex for stranding you to go off with some guy she'd been flirting with since shortly after you'd arrived.

You chance a look around to see if you can spot your neighbor when instead you notice another familiar face - Miles - headed directly your way and he absolutely doesn't look happy, especially when "Clint" suddenly gets brazen and sets his hand on your knee.

Just as you're about to push this jackass' hand off of you, Miles slides up and slings an arm around your waist and shoots the man a glare.

"Thanks for keeping my woman company, but I'd advise you take your hands off before I do it for you," Miles says, pulling you closer. You nearly push him off of you, indignant that he thinks you can't take care of yourself. But then Clint backs off immediately, his hands raised in defense.

"Hey man, she didn't say she had a boyfriend." His words come out slurred and you wince as he stumbles out of his stool and mumbles something about "not looking for any trouble" as he heads towards the poolside.

Miles relaxes his grip on you but doesn't pull away entirely and you turn to finally look at him properly; his thick salt and pepper hair has grown since you last saw him and his beard seems a little thicker. What you notice most, with a deep blush, is his open button-down shirt revealing his tan, toned chest and stomach. When your gaze slides back up to his face, you notice he's looking at you as well, though instead of a blush, he's wearing a smirk.

Breaking out of your daze you push his arm off of you and take a step back, making his smirk vanish and his thick eyebrows draw together.

For a moment you're not sure what to say so you simply stare, anger and confusion obvious on your expression judging by his own silence.

Finally you speak: "What's up Miles? Here to fuck and run again? A little wham bam thank you ma'am? Once wasn't enough?"

He has the decency to look ashamed, clearly at a loss for words. "Can we just, I don't know, talk? Inside I mean; too many drunks out here."

Against your better judgement, you nod in agreement. No matter how angry you may be, something about this man is irresistible to you, so you find yourself following him inside and up a flight of stairs when the lower floor appears to be crowded as well.

Miles leads you to what appears to be an office, with sparse, expensive looking furniture and a lot of windows along the walls so that you can clearly see the party going on below. You consider sitting down but you don't know how much time you're willing to give him just yet, so you simply lean against a wall opposite the windows and wait for him to speak.

He paces for a moment, then stops in front of you and gives you a weak smile. "I know I fucked up. I've never been good at anything other than one night stands, so when I realized I actually cared about you I just... freaked the fuck out. I thought if I ignored it then it would go away--"

"For you, you mean. You obviously didn't give two shits about how I felt, did you?" You spit out the words as you poke him in the chest.

He glances down to where you're touching him and steps even closer, and you can now smell his aftershave and cologne, which has more of an effect on you than you like. "I'm an asshole, I know. But I want to do better. I want to try," he says, "with you." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans down to press his forhead to yours.

"Please, just... give me a chance."

The rational side of you knows you should shove him off of you, and run back downstairs; just call a cab and go home, crawl in bed and forget this night ever happened.

Instead it feels like you're glued to the spot, so close to him you're practically breathing the same breath, the warmth of his skin seeping through your clothes. Everything about him seems to overwhelm you; his scent, his broad shoulders and his deep brown eyes peering intensely into your own and you feel absolutely paralyzed with desire.

You open your mouth to respond, but you're not sure what you want to say, so you just look at him, feeling what little resolve you had left break. If this turns out to be another disaster, you'll survive. All you know now is how badly you want him. Right now.

You're both breathing heavy, staring at one another as if daring the other to make the first move. You slowly slide your eyes down to his mouth, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. That proves to be his breaking point, as he pulls you towards him, one hand on the back of your head, the other on your lower back. He crashes his lips into yours, his teeth clanking almost painfully with your own. Wasting no time, he slides his tongue into your mouth when you gasp, bringing your hands up to rest on his shoulders as his hands slide down your body and firmly squeeze your ass, forcing a moan from the back of your throat.

He pulls you firmly against the growing bulge in his shorts and you moan again, grinding into him to hear him groan your name. "You drive me crazy," he pants into your ear, his warm breath making you shiver, and you feel yourself getting wetter from the sensation.

The way this man affects you...

"Miles, please," you say, though you're not sure what you're begging for exactly.

"Please what, baby? Tell me what you want," he says, a taunting edge in his words.

"Just touch me," is all you can manage, dragging your nails down his chest making him hiss in response.

"Oh, I'm going to touch you alright." He slides his nose across your cheek, kissing his way across your jaw before leaving wet, open mouthed kisses down your neck as he slowly sinks to his knees in front of you, backing up just enough to look up at your heaving chest and lust-blown pupils .

"Take everything off," he demands. Something about his submissive position mixed with the authority in his commands makes you feel dizzy with lust. "Keep your eyes on me," he adds as though he can tell you're really into his game.

You bite your lip, feeling a blush rise across your cheeks as you slowly slip off your clothes starting with your shirt. Just as you're about to remove your panties he places his hand over yours. "Not yet," he says, his eyes traveling over your body. Your eyes flicker behind him self-consciously as his gaze slides from your face to your neck, to your breasts and abdomen, and he slowly leans in. "I told you to look at me,” he tells you, and his voice has shifted. All in all, you’ve always thought of Miles as a fairly laid-back guy, but in this moment, he sounds direct. Demanding even. The change in tone does something to your bones, and you can’t tell if you’re still standing upright, or sinking.

"You're gorgeous, perfect."

He presses his lips against your stomach, making you tremble as his beard tickles deliciously at the soft skin. Miles never breaks eye contact as he slowly kisses his way up, finally landing on your left breast and wraps his lips around your nipple, tugging lightly with his teeth and then firmly sucking it into his mouth.

"Oh, fuck!" You can't help but throw your head back at the sensation, and he grabs your waist as though he can tell you're about to lose your balance.

He stops all movement until you look back down at him at which point he tells you're a "good girl" and returns his attentions to your other, neglected breast. You thread your fingers into his thick hair and shiver as he drags moan after moan from your lips, his mouth kissing, nipping and sucking your breasts, collarbone and stomach.

Just when you think you can't take it anymore and you feel like screaming at him to stop the torture, he leans in and huffs a hot breath against your clothed pussy, and drags his tongue over the thin cotton barrier. "So wet already," he whispers, clearly able to see the wetness through the material. "I've hardly even touched you yet." Part of you feels embarrassed but that quickly passes when he begins dragging your panties down with his teeth.

He gently guides you over to the chair against the window and encourages you to sit and pulls your panties off your ankle, his eyes immediately landing where you're spread open and glistening. He groans as he licks his lips and leans in pressing his open mouth to your inner thigh, biting down just hard enough to sting and again you find your hands in his hair, tugging slightly which only seems to encourage him.

You look over at the open window, knowing that at any moment someone could look up and see what you're doing; what you're allowing Miles to do to you in a stranger's home.

You've never really considered yourself an exhibitionist, but at the moment the idea sends a thrill right through you, and you feel yourself growing even wetter at the thought of someone watching as Miles slides his head closer to your throbbing center, sliding his tongue over your thigh on his journey upwards.

Miles smirks as though he can read your mind, and he slowly slides his hands up your thighs before lifting them over his gorgeous shoulders.

"You think they're watching? I bet every man here wishes he could do what I'm about to do to you; make you come so hard you forget your own name." You glare at him, though his words seem to carry a hot jolt of distilled lust straight through you – like good whisky down your belly. Instead of wasting your energy with coming up with a witty retort, you grab his head and pull him closer. "So fucking do it then," you challenge. You feel his chuckle more than you hear it as he finally drags his tongue from your opening all the way to your clit, sucking briefly before pulling back and adjusting your thighs and placing his hands on your hips to hold you in place as he sets to work.

At first he runs his tongue up and down in lazy motions to tease, but soon he brings up his right hand to spread you open and before circling your clit in rapid pace. Your hands don't know where to land: his hair, your breasts, the armrests of the chair so you alternate, moaning his name, even louder when you feel him slide a thick finger into you, quickly followed by another. You all but shriek when he sucks on your bundle of nerves and curls his fingers to hit just the right spot and this time you tug his hair harshly, which seems to spur him on as he moans nearly as loud as you and sucks even harder, nearly to the point of pain. Your thighs are shaking, your toes are curled, your back is arched and you're almost there when... he pulls back, leaving you confused and more than a little angry.

"What the fuck, Miles?" You glare at him, even as he licks the remnants of you off of his fingers and leans closer to your face, his nose nudging yours.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm nowhere near done with you." You want to tell him to forget it, frustrated that he cut you off right at the threshold of what would have surely been an earth shattering orgasm, but then he slides of his shorts and your mouth waters at the sight of him. Long, thick and just curved enough to reach all the best spots.

"Come here," he says, stroking his cock as he watches you with hooded eyes. "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

You stand on shaky legs, and your eyes widen as he leads you towards the window, looking down at you with a question in his eyes. "Tell me how you want it," he presses his body firmly against yours as you try to process what he means.

"Wh-- what?" You think you know where this is going but you're still not sure how to say it.

Miles chuckles, slowly turning you around so that you can see the remaining party-goers drinking, swimming and laughing. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, lightly biting down while reaching down to slide his fingers though your soaking wet folds. "I wanna fuck you right against the glass so everyone can see how good you take it. And I think you want that too," he adds.

There's no need denying it. There aren't too many people left -at least whom are conscious- but still, the thought of being watched thrills you in a way you never imagined. Without responding you place your hands on the window, arch your back and flash a grin at him, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

His already dark eyes turn nearly black as he growls, placing one hand on your hip to pull your ass closer to him and sliding two fingers into your heat with the other. "That's my good girl," he praises pumping his fingers hard and fast as you moan, watching as a man jumps into the pool and another laughs at his friend's antics.

Your attention is immediately returned to Miles as you feel him remove his fingers and immediately replace them with his much thicker cock. You yelp and scratch at the glass, hoping like hell it holds up because you're pretty sure you're about to get the pounding of your life.

"Oh fuck, Miles," you groan, readjusting your hands on the glass and trying to balance your legs enough to where you're not entirely leaning on the window. While being throughly fucked wouldn't be the worst way to go, you'd rather not fall through a window naked into a crowd of strangers in the process.

Miles moans your name, his face pressed into your neck as he praises how "unbelievably tight and wet" you are, his hand sneaking around to rub harshly at your clit as he slams into you harder and faster.

"You take my cock so well," he tells you, his voice raspy, "like you were made for it; like this little pussy was made just for me." His words make you clinch and he hisses, squeezing your hip and rubbing your nearly overstimulated clit even harder. You're absolutely certain that you're going to have bruises for days to come.

Your moans start to come out louder and you glance down outside, and you swear you see someone watching but you can't care when Miles reaches his free hand to wrap loosely around your throat.

The wet sounds of him pumping into you and his hips slamming into your ass are vulgar enough but when your moans turn to actual screams of his name, he places a hard pinch to your clit and your whole body tenses up before you fall apart in his grasp, his arm moving from your throat to wrap around your waist to hold you upright and to make sure you don't fall through the now fogged up glass. Your vision goes completely black as your toes curl and your hands reach back to tug at his curls as you thrash against him, nearly wailing at the intensity of your orgasm. He continues to pump into your spent body one, two, three more times, pulling your hips firmly against his as he spills inside you with a loud groan and a whisper of your name. "Fuck baby, you're amazing," he tells you, sliding out of you slowly, rubbing a hand down your back.

You turn to look at him, the post orgasm high flowing through you as you wait to see what happens now. Miles leans in and kisses your forhead, then your nose and smiles sweetly at you. "Now that we've given a bunch of strangers a show, you wanna go get dinner?" He asks, "or would it be breakfast at this time?"

You just laugh. "Actually I was thinking we could just go back to my place." You say, turning around as you hear commotion outside and notice a small crowd has formed to witness your activities.

"Encore!" You hear someone shout and you're sure you're blushing down to your toes.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," you say, "now."

#THERE HE IS THATS MY LITTLE BISEXUAL WEED DEALER !!!#this is so important to me #immediately sent this to shan and we both lost our minds #thank you for your service and talent <3 #n s f t #hamish linklater x reader

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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Midnight Mass + The Easter Vigil

We are meant to celebrate the Resurrection tonight, and we will more than anyone ever has. But first, bless me, brothers and sisters, for I have sinned.

#I want to go to there #midnight mass #✝️ writing inspo: midnight mass

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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Midnight Mass Masterlist

Character Playlist.

“Well, that’s the thing about where we’ve been. It’s important, sure. But it's not as important as where we’re going. And every place I was before where I am now, well, they, were just leading me here. Even if I didn’t know it at the time. Even if I didn’t see it.”

『 Fanfiction 』

"Hellfire." SUGGESTIVE THEMES

『 Headcannons 』

Father Paul NSFT Headcannons SMUT 18+

Hcs: Falling in Love with Father Paul

#*points* NOW WITH MUSIC!#a whole Spotify playlist of father Paul content

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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oh I want to write for John Tyler from TMYS so so so so badly

#but will I?#WHOM KNOWs

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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tbh your whole blog is "put that old man in a sexual predicament" /pos

GOD ANON YOU ARE SO RIGHT I do really put those old men in sexual predicaments

#droogiesanddiscourseanswers #extreme camp behavior #my one true passion

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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put that old man in a sexual predicament

#me with father paul / Monsignor Pruitt #tee. hee

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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"Hellfire."

Pairing: Monsignor John Pruitt x F!Reader

Summary: You are called first to receive everlasting life from the angel's blood during Easter Vigil.

Visions of nocturnal holiness.

The silence within the church is deafening. Not a soul rises for his offer, parishioners stunned to their seats. His eyes scan, searching for a familiar face. Finally focusing on yours.

Devils were once just fallen angels. Symbols of purity be damned.

He notices your trepidation.

"One moment of pain, perhaps. But an eternity of youth and love and worship in His name. We have been given a tremendous gift, sister ["____"]. Be brave.”

“And so Jesus rose from the tomb, trampling down death. As will we. I am with you, and you are with me. There is nothing to fear."

Don't drink the kool-aid, the old adage goes.

But you wonder how vanilla and raspberry taste mixed together.

John almost considers this for a moment, his thick eyebrows furrowing together as he stares down at you.

"There is no resurrection for me. I will die,” you state bluntly. Your words are finally registering.

Back away back away, make distance between the cliff.

"My angel. You've taken more than enough of my seed in your womb, and down your throat. The blessing is already inside you."

Hell has a special place reserved for you for tasting the most unholy fruits. You wear guilt like a halo.

John positions his index fingers and thumb underneath your chin, tilting it upwards. Your eyes dart away, unable to face him. For sure your very skin would burst into flames if you stared too long.

"Look at me," he demands. "Look at me, angel. Do not be ashamed.”

Oh, you’re more than familiar with this position.

Hell has a special place reserved for you in due time.

But real hell is living without him. You slip your hand into his, rising from the pew.

Someone is crying, quietly muffled pathetically behind a cloth. A woman blesses herself using the sign of the cross as you pass.

A dead girl walking, and this is the sound of your funeral march.

Your toes bump into the first step leading up to the chancel. Guiding you by your waist, John spins you to face the congregation. Expressions of the crowd are unreadable.

Are you Joan of Arc or a witch about to be burned at the stake?

Blasphemy, blasphemy stood before your friends, family, acquaintances.

Life. Death. Rise.

"Open."

Saliva gathers at the back of your throat.

You can't, you can't, you can't.

A tear slips out of your eye, rolling down your cheek. The pad of John’s thumb gently rubs it away. Sympathy for the condemned.

"Drink."

And you do.

#father paul hill x reader #monsignor john pruitt x reader #midnight mass #hamfam #father paul x reader #monsignor pruitt x reader #hamish linklater x reader #hamish linklater imagine #Caitlin loses their damn mind over the fucking hot ass priest cant keep living like this I am literally so insane and feral #please send help #Caitlin go to hell challenge (real)#a/n: rat poison supposedly tastes like vanilla so that is where the reference comes from if that was confusing at all

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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“I’ll Fake God"

Pairing: Herbert West x GN!Reader [Re-Animator 1985]

Summary: A lab accident renders you on the brink of death with little to no hope for recovery. But Herbert isn't about to let the only person he's ever loved to leave his life so quickly.

Warnings: Body horror, death, the usual re-animator content.

A/N: we love the angst. Changing a little bit of the ending to re-animator (1985) to fit my sick little evil narrative. This was written in an odd dreamy like stream of consciousness thing im not exactly sure what this is or if its even good, but I hope you enjoy it.

Memento Mori. Remember that you will die.

When you feared monsters as a child, ones that hid in the deepest corners of your room, you would close your eyes and count to ten. The fear dissipating as your heart rate returned to normal, there was nothing that could hurt you in the first place.

Applying that same practice now, you squeeze your eyes shut; hoping to re-awake in the comfort and safety of your shared apartment. In bed. Waking up from a horrible, incredibly lifelike dream.

But the monsters were real, now. They walked among the same Earth you did. There was no escaping the re-animated monstrosities of flesh and bone that clawed it's way out of the dark makeshift laboratory deep within the basement. The sound of inhuman claws ripping through your flesh, right through your delicate insides.

It's not a dream.

The white coffee cup in your hand you brought for Herbert loosened from your grip, making a resounding crash on the concrete floor. Shattering into uneven pieces as the brown liquid pooled beneath your feet. You didn’t scream. Simply widened your eyes at the spectacle before you, as the monster’s hand continued to create a penetrating trauma; right through to the other side.

The way you looked up at Herbert will be permanently etched into his mind for the rest of his days; a mix of terror, shock, pain, and something else within your [e/c] orbs.

One that Herbert immediately recognized as betrayal.

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

Herbert and Dan’s worried faces loom over you on the gurney as you are pushed through the Miskatonic University ICU. Your hand desperately clutched to your chest, doing little more than coating them with the blood gushing out of your open wound; painting the digits a bright red.

You didn’t dare to look down at it. If you couldn't see it, it wasn't real.

Metallic iron and antiseptic.

The faces of horrified onlookers parted the aisle like the red sea. Each of them blurred into a mirage of color, unrecognizable as they merged into a single entity. Your colleagues, friends, and professors surely spectating the horror no doubt.

What will they say about you in the morning paper, what photo will they use?

"I'm dying, oh god this is it isn't it? I'm dying, Herbert. I'm sorry I'm so sorry I'm sorry”

You hold your bloodied hand up to the overhead fluorescent lights zooming by above you, marveling at the way the harsh light bounced of the ruby liquid. In other less dire circumstances, one might even find it beautiful. Your fingers grasp and coil in the air towards Herbert's direction, desperate to make skin-to-skin contact with the one you call your partner. Your palm presses flat against his cheek, transferring your sticky blood onto his flushed face.

“Shut up, [____], you’re not dying," he huffs out, the warble of uncertainty in his voice makes you doubt him. "Stop being dramatic." He presses his lips against the middle of your palm, giving the area a chaste kiss.

These usual terms of endearment do little to comfort you; having never seen Herbert look this concerned before. The most unhinged events he's encountered have simply been brushed off with ease; he is the only man to have stared down death in the eye and challenged its finality. Never in those intense moments did his eyebrows even dare raise in shock. You lull your head to the side, attempting to hold back a choked sob stuck within your throat.

"Is it bad?" you ask, your chest rising and falling as you let out a pathetic laugh. He doesn't even bother to respond. You know the answer anyways. You'll be entering oblivion tonight.

Pushing you into the empty examination room, Dan and Herbert already knew it was too late. They weren't quick enough, not fast enough. Your eyes glazed over as blood continues to pour from you -- trailing and spilling its way down the side of the now still gurney. A cascading river of crimson. Your arms were stuck with a crosswire of tubes, gathering your vitals. It seemed more a formality at this point, as your heart rate already starts to fade.

Dan, with all his optimism, understands any attempts to save your life would be futile at this point. Instead, his infinite mercy injects morphine into your iv bag - a type of drugged-out relief washing over you almost instantly. Kneeling next to you, he holds your hand as your labored breathing fades into short breaths as the medicine enters your veins. Still painful, yet not unbearable. Just enough to bring you comfort before your expiration.

"You're gonna be fine," he smiles, squeezing your hand. You don't have the heart to tell him he's lying. Instead, you just give him a closed mouthed smile back.

Euthanasia. What a beautiful word.

You can hear the rummaging of vials in between your haze, your stomach twisting as Herbert pulled out his precious container of re-agent. His facial features become illuminated by the sickly green glow emanating from the bottle, neon reflecting off of his wire rimmed glasses.

Herbert notices you staring at him, as he waves his hand in front of you, seeing your eyes already grow wide in fear. “It's okay, this won't hurt. You'll be okay in no time, back in our apartment, you just have to trust us-"

"Oh, no no no. NO. You've got to be fucking kidding me, Herbert. You're not doing that to [____!]" Dan interjects, jumping up from his kneeling position next to you. Lunging forward, Dan attempts to grab the liquid. Doing what should have always been done.

Where it should have gone the first time Herbert played God.

Smashed onto the floor into a million fucking pieces.

But Herbert's too quick, as he moves backwards away from Dan's rather pathetic attempt. He cradles his potion like a newborn baby, holding it to his chest for dear life. Lips pressed together into a harsh line; his eyes aflame with fury. "It's the only way Dan. This, or we lose them forever."

Dan stares stunned at his partner, his eyes welling. "You want to turn them into one of those monsters, Herbert? Is that what you want? You want [____] to turn into a snarling, disgusting reanimated beast? Because that's what will happen! That's what happened every FUCKING time before, Herbert! I know you want things to be different but you can't save them. I-I'm sorry," his voice waivers as a sob threatens to steal his voice. "It's not working. At least the way you want it to."

"NO. That's not true. It's different! B-Because this time it's a fresh body, Dan! It will work," Herbert explains, hands shaking, barely getting the needle to plunge into the green fluid. "It's different!! It's different this time because...because it's THEM, Dan! Don't you understand? It has to be different!"

Dan shakes his head solemnly. "But it won't be, Herbert. No matter how much you love them."

"Is that truly what you think? What if it was Megan, Dan? Wouldn't you do the same for her? Give a second chance to the person you love the most, breath new life into what was lost?"

Silence.

"Look me in the eyes right now and tell me you wouldn't. This is what we've worked so hard for, Dan. We will eradicate death altogether. There will be no more suffering, no more pain. No more grief."

He wouldn't admit Herbert was right.

"I can't lose anyone else, Dan," he emotionlessly states, turning his gaze towards you.

"Herbert, please," you beg desperately, a gargle from the blood invading your airways makes your speech difficult to understand. There wasn't much time left.

“You're a monster, Herbert."

“And you’re a hypocrite, Dan,” he spits coldly, flicking the tip of the syringe with his middle finger. “I don’t need your moral superiority interfering with this."

With what little strength you have left, you push yourself to the corner of the gurney, cowering with fear as he stalks towards you. You feel like a lab rat, as Herbert stands before you with an emotionless gaze.

This isn't what love was supposed to feel like.

“Don’t. You promised...you wouldn’t." You feel the cold metal of the needlepoint run against the delicate flesh of your inner arm, and you jump. Your sobs of pain slowly materialize into ones of pure terror. "Don't turn me into one of those creatures! Please!"

The pleads fall hopelessly on deaf ears as every ounce left of your body thrashes in protest, fists weakly hitting against his chest. Your voice hitting a shrill octave that was unfathomable and almost out of the human sound waves. Dan turns his head, unable to bear witness.

"PLEASE, PLEASE HERBERT LET ME DIE. PLEASE!!!"

This was for your own good. You couldn't leave him now, not yet. There was so much more to accomplish, so much more that you had to experience together. You are the exception.

Reversed human decay. Memento Vivere. Remember that you must live.

Your clinical death was called at quarter to twelve.

You rose again at midnight.

#herbert west x reader #re animator 1985 #herbert west imagine #re animator imagine #slasher x reader #gn!reader #this sure is something that I wrote #we got a hot priest break

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

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1958 catboy party game by willa morley

#average game night with John Pruitt #SORRY

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droogiesanddiscourse · 1 year

Text

Father Paul NSFT Headcannons

Pairing: Father Paul | Monsignor John Pruitt x reader (Midnight Mass)

A/N: I am literally insane, and I am literally feral. No thoughts, only Father Paul and Hamish Linklater. I am going to hell and you are all coming down with me. Writing this made me literally dizzy. Dedicated to the very lovely @jacknives who helped flesh out many of these HCs in unhinged twitter convos <3 I would not be back writing without you

Warnings: Sexual content, 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. Millie, who's Millie? Reader is written as gn! but also includes talks of menstruation (if it doesn't apply to you, or makes you uncomfortable just ignore! there are tw before the HCs including blood), blood kink, this is incredibly sexual. Feedback is always appreciated, trying to really get the feel for this character.

✧ He asks you to pray with him before the act. The irony is not lost on you -- almost like this will cancel out the evenings sins. Both your knees on the wooden floor beside his bed, hands clasps together. Your heartbeat roaring in your ears. Quietly mumbling under his breath, his wooden rosary wrapped around his fingers. The same ones that will be inside you in due time.

✧ Obsessive about making you feel comfortable and gets genuinely upset if you demean yourself. If you attempt to cover yourself up, or ask for the lights off Paul will insist for you to reconsider. He has a serpents tongue for such a holy man.

✧ "God has made you in His perfect image. Meticulously crafted from dust. I want to see you as He intended. To deny yourself is to deny God, is that what you really want? Show me. Show me all of you. And I will show you all of me."

✧ The kindest, sweetest, most affectionate lover that has ever graced the face of this Earth. He sees you as his own personal deity; and angel sent directly from God to reward him for years of devotion. The Catholic guilt eats at him from time to time, constantly there in the back of his head. But, the way your bodies intertwine perfectly together, how his cock deliciously stretches you out like it was made for you and you alone. It could never feel like a sin to him. And if God Himself made pleasures this strong, who is Paul to deny it?

✧ You have to be reasonably quiet. God knows that if anything sounds off or suspicious Bev will rear her nosy head into your private life. He'll use his mouth to quiet moans threatening to escape from you.

✧ Paul is a quiet lover to begin with. His noises consisting mostly of flushed, broken moans that get caught in his throat. He is quite talkative though. His mouth on yours, panting in between hushed praises.

"You can take it, just a few more inches. I got you. You're so strong for me. My good angel..."

"Look at me, please. I - oh god - I want you to look at me when you cum."

"I-I can't control myself when you touch me like that. Don't stop."

"Can you feel me inside of you? How deep I am? You take me so well."

"Tell me what you want from me. Tell me where you need me the most."

✧ Enjoys giving more than receiving oral; for Adam was also tempted by the delicious apple betwixt Eve's thighs. What he lacks in skill he certainly makes up for enthusiasm. He uses the flat part of his tongue to drink from you, your taste the holiest of nectars. He loves your reactions to his ministrations too. How your thighs squeeze around his head, your nails digging into his scalp. You can feel the heat radiating off of his ears, flushed pink. Paul especially loves when you pull on his thick, black locks. The perfect combination of pleasure and pain.

✧ The way he looks when he hovers over you, member thrusting into your hot core is almost indescribable. Sweat starts to curl his neatly styled hair, pieces becoming unruly and sticking to his forehead. The way his eyebrows furrow together in concentration, eyes half lidded in bliss. He will often forget his own strength. The angel blood which courses inside his veins has not only returned his youth, but given him a whole slew of other newfound abilities. His knuckles turn white as he holds onto the headboard of the bed, snapping the wood beneath his hand.

✧ Other times it manifests itself in bruises across your body - a bite too rough, a grab too strong. Being the sweetheart he is, Paul will profusely apologize for them when the post coital bliss had dissipated. But you love them, because they are proof that he was there. That you were in his bed. That his hands, his mouth, his body touched your skin. That he belongs to you, and you alone. Even if no one else knows.

✧ Loves it when you take the reins too. How his baritone register reaches up to a whine, breathy and high pitched moans as you edge him. And how delicious it will be later, smirking to yourself at mass while thinking about how easily you make him come undone. Watching this confident man deliver his sermon, know that he will be on his knees begging you to bring him the sweet release he craves just hours from now. If only the town knew...

✧ [tw // blood mention] It takes every ounce of his being to not give in to his most primal urges during sex. The mixture of pheromones and your natural scent makes his eyes glaze over, almost putting him into a trance. He'll bury his face into the side of your neck, leaving fresh bruises created by his mouth in his wake. How easy it would be to sink his canines into the soft flesh there, finding your pulse point. The sickeningly sweet concoction of iron and honey across his tongue, how he'd imagine your blood to taste.

This is your body, broken for the forgiveness of sin.

✧ [tw // blood mention] He will break this rule only sometimes. If you are someone who menstruates, he will have a strong fascination with period sex. As long as you are comfortable with it, of course. The disgusting need to see you covered with blood immediately makes his pants tighten just at the thought. While eating you out, the combination of your unique taste mixed with the tang of blood turns him into something you barely see. Your soft spoken pastor becomes an insatiable lust-driven demon.

✧ [tw: blood mention] Drinking the angel's blood straight from the cruet while taking you from behind, his thrusts sloppy and erratic. Blood running down the side of his mouth, his eyes wild. Your head looking over your shoulder, mouth agape as he pours the remaining contents directly onto the curvature of your back. He is an animal, and this satisfies the craving inside him as he licks it off of you.

✧ Once you are both fully spend and fucked out, he doesn't want to separate from you. He lets you catch your breath, both your hearts returning in sync. His large hand, pushing stray hairs off of your face and grazing his thumb against your cheek. You can still feel his heartbeat inside of you.

"Don't move, I want to stay like this."

✧ His cock still buried deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist as you both drift off. Warmth. Comfort. Protection. Together you are one until the morning light. In which this perfect solitude will be once again washed away. From lovers back to secrecy in the blink of an eye.

Paradise lost.

#midnight mass 2021 #father paul x reader #monsignor john pruitt x reader #hamfam #hamish linklater #I am infiltrating your community

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