#father paul hill smut

[tenderlicksdaddy]

Corrupt

Requested: No

Word Count: 2167

Summary: Father Paul wants to speak to you, but it turns out you don't do much talking.

Warning(s): Smut, 18+ content, priest kink (I guess that's kind of obvious), corruption kink (?), Father Paul losing his virginity, Father Paul is not Monsignor Pruitt, AFAB reader, Sub!Paul, Dom!Reader

This absolutely sucks and I sincerely apologize, but it's my birthday and I thought I'd treat you guys to a quick smut about our favorite priest. This is my first time writing for him so if this sucks please let me know. Constructive criticism is very welcome!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You stepped off your porch and took a deep breath in. The salty morning air that had always surprised you somehow. You had lived on Crockett Island for a few months now, but you still got caught up in the small beauties the island had to offer. There wasn’t ever anything new, but the daily things that happened were always a treat.

Such as daily mass, which had quickly become your favorite thing. Father Paul was to blame for that. From the moment he had arrived, he had mesmerized you. His dark eyes that held mysteries beyond your wildest dreams and the way his smooth, velvety voice commanded everyone in a room made you wonder what he was like in bed.

It was a sinful thought, especially when it was all you could think about while in church. It seemed as though he could read your thoughts because every time you remind would wander to those sinful thoughts he would look right at you. Or it was your imagination.

As you walked up to the large church doors your mind had already started to wander. The idea of ruining the pristine image of Father Paul was one that plagued your mind the most.

“Good morning, Y/N.” Erin sat next to you in the pews.

“Good morning.” You smiled at her. “How did you sleep last night?” 

“As good as I can. Between my cravings and Littlefoot moving so much it’s a little difficult.” You nodded.

You continued your conversation until mass began. Mass had always gone by quickly for you. Between your constant thoughts of corrupting Father Paul and avoiding his gaze, everything seemed to fly by. When it came time for communion you stayed seated. It’s not like you didn’t want to, but the fact that throughout his sermons you would get hot and bothered made it impossible for you to go up to him and allow him to place the eucharist into your mouth seemed like taking it a step too far.

Plus, you highly doubted it would be appropriate.

When everyone started to leave you stayed behind for a few moments, hoping to not get caught in conversation with anyone as you tried to leave so you could fix what you started at home. Once you had decided you were in the clear you stood and as you made your way to the doors, you were stopped by the man himself.

“Good morning, Y/N.” His smile made you feel like you were about to burst.

“Good morning, Father.”

“I was hoping I would catch you before you left. Usually, once everyone else is gone you rush to get home, so I’m glad I could catch you.”

No, please not now.

“Of course.” Why would you say that? “What is it that you needed?”

“Do you think we could speak in my rectory?”

Say no. Come up with an excuse. If you do this you won’t be able to go back.

Ignoring your thoughts you agreed and followed him outside and around the back of the church. As you stepped up on the porch of the tiny building you started to reconsider. If you were to walk in, you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself, then you’d be known as the girl who turned the priest away from God and you’s surely be run off back to the mainland.

“Actually, I have to go… do something.” You mentally cursed yourself for not coming up with a good excuse. “Do you think we could do this another time?”

“It will only take a moment. I promise.” He opened the door and allowed you to step inside first. “Just give me a moment to change then we can talk.”

He stepped in after you and made his way to the room in the back of the building. After he closed the door behind him you sighed and ran your hand over your face. You could just walk out right now. You could turn around and leave the building and if he asked where you went, you could say there was an emergency. Yeah, that could work.

As you turned to the door, ready to leave he stepped out of his room.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the few chairs and you gulped before taking a seat.

He sat in a chair opposite you and leaned forward. Your back straightened and your heartbeat picked up.

“Did I do something wrong?” You know you did, but he didn’t know that yet. “If I did, I apologize, although I’m not too sure what it was.”

He chuckled and sat up. “No. As far as I’m aware, you haven’t done anything wrong. Although the confessional is always open.” You quickly looked away from him, which was an obvious indicator that you had something to confess, but he ignored it.

“What I wanted to talk to you about was your presence in the church. You come to mass every day without fail, but you’ve never taken communion. Why is that?”

Because if you had to walk up to him and let him put the eucharist in your mouth you wouldn’t know how to act?

“I just never deemed it as appropriate. Especially considering I’m not even Catholic.” He nodded.

“I didn’t know you weren’t Catholic. I assumed you were since you attended daily mass.” You cleared your throat.

“Am I free to go, Officer?” You smiled at him, and when he chuckled and smiled back your heart thumped louder in your chest.

“Not quite yet.” Your smile dropped. “I noticed during mass, you seem to be uncomfortable. It’s mostly when I look at you.” You looked away from him once again, instead fixating your gaze upon the old TV. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” You might have said it too quickly. “You don’t make me uncomfortable at all.”

You looked back at him. His brows were furrowed in confusion and his eyes stayed on yours.

“You make me the opposite of uncomfortable.” Stop talking. “I feel the most comfortable when I’m around you.” Please stop. For the love of God stop talking. “In fact, Father, you make me so comfortable-” well there’s no turning back now “-that you lead me to have sinful thoughts.”

The moment those words left your mouth, you knew you fucked up. He didn’t say anything, he just sat there, even more confusion etched into his face as his eyes bored into yours. You were definitely going to be run out of town for what you were about to do.

You slowly stood up and stepped closer to him, his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. Your eyes wandered his body for a second before they stopped at his lips and you slowly leaned down, giving him enough time to push you away or say something before your lips touched. 

Once your lips did touch, he pulled his head back and you sat up quickly, a string of apologies left you as you scrambled for an explanation for what you had just done. He calmed you by grabbing both of your hands in his own, making you look at him. He stood up and pulled you closer to him. One of his hands came up under your chin and lifted your face towards him as he bent down and connected your lips once again.

This time you wrapped your arms around his nack as his went to your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pulled away and looked up at him before stepping away and grabbing his hand in yours, leading him to his room. Once you made it past the doorway you pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him.

You left kisses along his neck and tangled your fingers in his hair. He let out a low moan and gripped your hips in his large hands. You grinded down into him, making him gasp and close his eyes.

“Bless me, Lord, for I am sinning.” You sat up and looked at him.

“You’re going to have to pray a lot more than that, Father.” You pulled your t-shirt over your head and leaned back down, pressing your lips to his once more.

You grabbed his hands and placed them on your chest as you sat up again, beginning to unbutton his shirt. He squeezed your breasts lightly, earning a small moan from you. You pulled his shirt open, revealing his chest. Your hands roamed up and down his torso, letting your nails dig into his skin lightly every now and then, and when you did he would buck his hips up into you.

You reached behind your chest and unhooked your bra, pulling it off and hearing a small gasp from Paul. A smile formed on your face as you stood up. Paul leaned up on his elbows and watched you as you kicked off your shoes and pulled your pants and underwear down. You were completely naked in front of the priest.

“Do you like what you see, Father?” He nodded as his eyes roamed your bare body.

You stepped towards the bed once and reached out towards his belt. Your nimble fingers quickly undid it and unbuttoned his jeans. He sat up fully and kissed you. It was a slow, soft kiss. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him.

“Do you want to continue, Father?” You pulled away from him and ran a hand through his hair.

He nodded eagerly and kissed your collarbone, eliciting a moan from you. You gripped the back of his head and pulled him away from you.

“Strip.” He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and pulled his pants down, leaving him in nothing but his briefs.

You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. You pressed your lips just above the waistband of the briefs and he threw his head back and sighed. After teasing him for a few more moments you pulled his underwear down and climbed back on top of him, your legs on either side of him. He looked up at you with half lidded eyes and you kissed him.

This time, the kiss was filled with pure lust as you lined him up with your entrance. His mouth fell open as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. He was big, bigger than you had expected and he filled you up perfectly. His breathing was heavy and his hands were gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white.

You grabbed his hands in your own and he released his grip on the bed, allowing you to hold his hands. You pushed them up and held them by his head as you began to move. His mouth dropped open and a low, gutteral groan left him. You leaned down and started kissing his neck and kept your pace slow, keeping yourself under control. He bucked his hips up as you lowered yourself once again and you moaned into his ear.

“Please.” He was so quiet you weren’t sure you heard him. “I’m not going to last long.”

“It’s okay, baby.” You kissed his cheek. “I’ll make you feel good.”

You picked up your pace and his moans got louder. His grip on your hands tightened and his brows furrowed as the pleasure drove through him in waves. The sight of him under you, completely at your mercy was something you loved. Sadly, you couldn’t enjoy it for long as you didn’t want to tease him too much.

You felt the familiar tightness in your stomach become more and more, but you didn’t want to come until he did. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long as he came.

He threw his head back and his body squirmed under you, as if trying to get away from the pleasure that overtook his whole body. You kept moving, chasing your own high even after his ended, and when you finally reached it, you fell over on top of him, slowing your movements once again.

Once you stopped moving, you both just sat there, trying to catch your breaths.

“Are you okay?”  You asked and kissed his cheek.

“Yeah.” His breathing was still very uneven, and his voice came out in a whisper. “This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked if you wanted to speak to me.”

“Yeah. We didn’t do a whole lot of speaking anyways.” You chuckled and sat up, looking down at him with adoration in your eyes. “You know I’m going to be run off the island if anyone finds out I corrupted their new favorite priest.”

He sat up and kissed you softly, his hands roamed your body and you sighed into the kiss.

“I won’t let them.” He smiled at you when he pulled away.

“Good.” You pushed him back down and held his hands beside his head again. “You wanna go for round two?”

#father paul hill #father paul hill imagine #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill smut #midnight mass #midnight mass imagine #midnight mass x reader #midnight mass smut #i think i might have a priest kink #and maybe a corruption kink

[proverbsss]

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

(pt. 2 of "reading you right" linked here)

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

reader(s): I am not responsible for how you see your own headboard following the consumption of this fic <3

notifs: paul hill wants to worship you!! ; reader turns the tables for a subby paul; reader's still down HORRENDOUS ; cunnilingus, hierophilia

Your legs are unsteady as John leads you to his bedroom by your hand.

"Haha, look at Wobbles try and make their way down my hall," Paul teases.

"You edged me on your boot," you complain sharply, though this of course is tinged with pleasure and the hope that his treatment will continue. The muscles in your pelvic floor are on fire and your hips burn.

"Mmm, technically you edged you on my boot," he quibbles, pleased with himself, "Can you make it to the bed yourself?"

Rather than answer verbally, you turn back to look at him. It's a tart, cursing look that John meets with yet another grin. Even so, it's now you begin to notice the usual signs of how wrecked he is. You were so caught up in your own delicious torment that you failed to clock Paul mirroring it. You might some of your get your own back yet.

He's comfortable with your routine of the last few days, starting to strip out of his jeans when you say, "Wait." His doe eyes flick over to you, questioning.

"I don't know…" you pick your words carefully, the neediness of earlier converting itself into a sadistic little impulse to tease. "I don't know if we want your pants off yet, right?"

Paul stops a minute. Makes his positively adorable thinking face. There's a reset somewhere in his eyes as he works out why you might have said what you said.

"We don't..?" he repeats, uncertain.

"Nah," you throw out, dragging the tips of your fingers along the foot of the bed. If this duvet could talk, it would already have plenty dirty to say. "I think we probably want you to keep them on and sit first."

Paul clears his throat. His chin dips to his chest a little. Gears recalibrated toward submitting and taking orders fire fast behind those pretty eyes. "Okay, yes." He sits, trembling a bit, on the edge of the bed.

"I'm gonna sit next to you, Father, and you don't move for a little bit. Okay?"

He nods. Good enough for now. Your underwear clings wetly to you under the sleepshirt you were just hiking up for him in the living room. You pull the hem of the shirt down, a bit demurely over your thighs. Paul watches every move.

"Still don't move, baby." You purr at him. He preens silently at the pet name. "Close your eyes." When his eyes are closed, you take his face into both your hands, fingers grazing his ears, the peach fuzz of his tapered sideburns. In a decisive, hushed moment you bring Paul's face to yours and kiss him. Deeply. First-time tier kisses, slow and curious and just beginning to use your tongue.

Paul half-laughs, shyly against your mouth. "Still no moving," you remind into his lips, and he nods "good boy. Good Father." Oh, he likes that very much.

You lick his bottom lip and enthusiastically he opens his mouth to invite you closer, hands scrunching at his sides in desperation to follow your instruction and not not not touch you.

You withdraw from the kiss after another moment, riled yourself and needing to catch your breath. Still you have enough command of yourself to make this all about him, about how pathetic and needy and perfect he is. You bat your eyes at Paul and smile.

"You probably want to make it up to me. How badly you made me need you before,"

Paul tilts his head uncertainly from side to side. A smirk flickers at the corner of his mouth.

"You wanna know how to make me feel good after that, Paul? You wanna know what I need from you?"

He nods again, thoughts boyishly absent from his eyes, his demeanor relaxed and yet so, so ready to do what he's told.

"Can we make that a yes?" you prompt gently.

"Yes." The huskiness in his voice is like a refresher to your thirst for him. You tingle all over with anticipation.

"Good. I'm going to lay back, and I want you on top of me." As you lay down on the soft bedcovers, you realize all the tension your muscles held kneeling on the ground and fucking yourself onto him, even now some melts away and you sigh contentedly. Paul crawls over you, tenderness and want in his eyes and it calls up a smile to your lips.

"What are you smiling at?"

"My little pet priest. Bet he'd do anything I'd ask him."

Paul lays his head down on your belly, happiness going a little fuzzy because of the attention you show him. His curls call out to your hands and you play with his hair. He's radiant. And for now he's yours. He's kissing your neck now, giggling in the crook of your shoulder, lips tickling your chin, your cheek, your ears. You luxuriate in all this for a moment, then tell him, "Give me your ear please, I'm gonna whisper what I want."

His back muscles ripple like a cat's under his shirt as he makes the necessary adjustment to put his ear up to your mouth. But he's too close, too fucking perfect, so you have to bite his earlobe with such exquisite access.

He groans, tenses in his upper body, and rolls his hips over yours. "That's. Not whispering," he complains.

"Shh, shh." you tell him, "You wanna know? Really?" He cocks his head enough for you to see him nod, his length getting easier to feel against your thigh. You reach a hand up in his and gently bring his ear to your lips, "I need you to eat me out like your life depends on it."

He moans, low in his throat, at just the thought of that.

"You want to do that for me?" That serious attention is in his expression again as he nods at you, starting to kiss his way down your chest. "Can you tell me using your words that's something you want?"

In addition to teasing the everloving fuck out of him, getting his consent turns you on more than anything. The thought of Crockett Island's well-mannered, mildly twitchy new priest so eager to touch you, taste you, have you that he'd kept you in his quarters for the last two days reminds you in a heady rush.

"I…" he lifts his head from your chest and blinks, not reluctant, but so fucking needy, "I want to eat you out." He nods quickly, lashes dropping over his eyelids. "Like my life depends on it."

"Good boy. Do it then, please."

His beautiful, hot mouth begins an eager assault of kisses across your chest, migrating down your belly. You arch your back. Usually you two take a little more time here, but there isn't any to spare. So quickly, so deliberately, Paul finds your clothed sex. He wants to touch you, and he wants you telling him that he can.

"Can I take these off you? Please."

You have nothing smart to say. You're no less eager to feel his tongue, his kisses, the vibrations of his voice where you're most sensitive. You nod, and he holds his gaze to your eyes for a beat before pulling your useless underwear off your legs, discarding them on the floor.

You think without meaning to of the word 'devotion,' used in religious terms to describe a supplication, an adoring, faithful, upturned look. It applies equally to the naked need written on Paul's face with his hands carefully spreading your thighs apart.

"Please let m--" he swallows, begins again, "Please may I worship you?"

"Fuck, Paul, yes, please."

And he may have dedicated years to seminary study, he may have pored with his hands wrapped around old books of his faith and volunteered his body in the service of a Christian God, but that tongue of his was made for sinning.

He starts by kissing gently around your cunt, soft, spellbinding little pecks that make your body jerk to close your legs. You still open up for him, gasping and squeezing your eyes shut with how good, how good, how earth-shatteringly good he feels. His tongue starts to lap at your clit and you do feel yourself drip a bit as he deepens the kiss of his mouth on you. Your mind pleasantly lets go of so much residual tension, of today, of every day before this moment with Paul kitten-licking between your wet lips.

Your hips buck as he sucks a little more intently at your clit and your hands lift up and knot themselves up in his hair. He lives for it as you start to fuck his face.

"Yes, yes, salvation is your fucking cunt, thank you--" he sputters out, certainly only half aware of what he's saying but so, so pleased to look up at you and find your face entirely lost in what he's making you feel.

"Here, here," he takes one hand that's left a few fingernail marks in your thigh and hurriedly covers the knuckles of your hand that's controlling his head, "Put me where you want me. Use me, please."

His mouth and your cunt make an obscene symphony together as you moan and arch toward him, trying to win back enough self-control to direct him the way he needs. He's doing pretty goddamn well on his own, you think and laugh to yourself, your calves shaking and heels digging into the bed. His nose bumps an especially sensitive square inch toward the hood over your clit, and his tongue grazes the inside of you. You see stars, the way the old expression goes, you literally see stars. You have to fight to keep your eyes open to how beautifully looks, you'll need this memory of your pleasure, his pleasure, you and he together, for all time.

Your hips are bouncing off his face rather quick and desperately and Paul is drunk with chasing your cum. He sees you biting your fist and between kisses and sucks he has to ask, "You need more? What do you need? Tell me. I worship you. I deify you. I need this," And like a madman he shakes his head to deepen the stimulation of his tongue hitting, soothing, exciting your clit.

"Oh, Paul!" you cry out and reach for his bedframe. "Oh fuck," you're curling into him and keening and he's humping his mattress outright. "Finger me. Fuck please, give me something to-"

Something to cum around, of course. You feel slicker and sluttier than you've ever felt as Paul obediently probes a finger inside your cunt. You fuck his hand, unabashed, so far gone, so trembly. And even the trembling is helping you get more contact out of his tongue, and he's not tired, his thirst is unmatched, the hand not fingering you finds that little arch where his nose bumped up against you before and spreads you the littlest bit open to lap at your clit.

You make a sound that's kind of a shriek and kind of a delighted giggle, and words something like "Ha-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum on you--" fall out of your mouth. Paul moans, the pitch of his voice increasing in a way that sort of matches yours, nearly as desperate for your orgasm as you are. Nobody could be as desperate for this as you, however. No one in the history of fucking cumming has ever felt like this.

"Please," he sucks attentively at your clit and shakes his head again, a black curl plastered across his forehead, his gorgeous brown-green eyes searching you and seeing all of you, then closing again, a holy sight. "Please cum. That's it, please I want to drink you in, please--"

And your upper body accomodates for how powerfully you need to let go, the need for release screams out of your body and you almost hit the headboard, but Paul stops you, adjusts the hand that kept you exposed to him to grip your hip and pull you down to his mouth. Your body thrusts and bucks and arches of its own volition, you're just here, in this tear-you-apart pleasure of cumming on his tongue like no one's ever made you cum before. You're panting, your heart is racing, your blood is on fire.

"Enough-enough-enough fuck please---" you shake and beg and tug a little at his hair as he licks hungrily at you, but he's going to let you go when he's fully satisfied. Your voice continues to climb in whispers and shuddering gasps.

"Like my life," he makes a disgusting, gorgeous slurping noise over your wet needy hole, "depends on it." Like a man starved. Like a man crazed. How will you ever function again. You cry out as he drags his tongue up and down your slit, one last long articulation, before his hand finally relaxes on your hip.

Your eyes flutter as you remember suddenly to breathe, and Paul's hands glide up your leg as you sink them down back onto the bed.

"What did you just do to me?" You utter, mystifed, not fully with the thought as it escapes.

"You have no idea how intoxicating you are." He says, dead serious, if breathless and soaked in you. He sucks his middle finger clean. "None at all."

#midnight mass #father paul hill #john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #fic tag #thirsting hours #hamish linklater #father paul x reader #john pruitt x reader #my blabber #hamfam smut

[grugruel]

Lust for Vampyr

Pairings: Paul Hill x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

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

Word count: 3.8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, 'I suppouse it would yes.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#paul hill #father paul hill #father paul #hamish linklater #midnight mass #father paul smut #paul hill smut #john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #john pruitt smut #priest kink #paul hill x reader #father paul x reader

[cxffeereid]

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

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

No warnings needed, only slight suggestive tones.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, just accidentally bit my lip too hard”

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

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

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

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

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

#hamish linklater #midnight mass #father paul hill #father john pruitt #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #hamfam #priest kink #father pruitt #father paul hall scenarios #father paul x reader #father paul smut #father john pruitt x reader #john pruitt x reader #john pruitt

[roguelov]

Laughter and Ruin

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

Word Count: ~7.7k

Reader: Fem/afab

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

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

Banging.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

More irritating knocking.

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

I swear -

You flung open the door.

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

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

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

You cocked an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

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

“And what about Sturge?”

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

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

You hummed a faint ‘Ah’.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure he will. Later, Beverly.”

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

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

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

A smile tugged on your lips.

Your workshop.

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

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

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

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

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

You arrived at the church in what felt like seconds.

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

You sighed, and turned off the cart.

Better to start then wait around.

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

It slipped.

Your heart sank.

Luckily, it only slipped a few inches.

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

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

This.

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

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

One there.

And there.

And -

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

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

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

Footsteps clapped.

Your eyes instantly dropped.

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

“Hello, Father.”

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

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

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

He laughed, shaking his head.

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

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

Stolen by a saint.

A true tragedy.

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted. “Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She chuckled.

Father Paul rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly.

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

You best complete it quickly.

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

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

“See you around, Beverly.”

She nodded then walked off down the rocky path.

Back to her cave.

“Well, is there anything you need?”

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

He perked up.

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

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

I got you.

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

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

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

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

Or tried to.

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

“… until then, (Y/N).” He mumbled.

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

It was hypnotic to watch.

He swallowed, pushing down old feelings.

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

Leaving you both excited for tomorrow to come.

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

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

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

He was waiting for you.

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

He wanted to see his walking desires.

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

He itched.

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

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

It didn’t.

It didn’t even compare.

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

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

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

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

The Father’s heart skipped.

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

You twisted back around.

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

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

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

He smiled, waving back.

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

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

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

The music uplifted you, it energized you.

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

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

You sighed heavily, groaning internally.

You stood up and walked towards the ladder and -

You froze.

Where’s the ladder?

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

Of course. Of fucking course.

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

You grumbled.

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

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

Nothing.

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

Seconds ticked.

Your nerves rose.

“Father Paul -“

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

And halfway through his morning routine.

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

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

You almost felt bad.

Almost.

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

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

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

“- the problem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And yet here we are.”

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

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

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

“And I’m not taking any chances.”

“Suit yourself.”

He did.

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

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

He smiled, tilting his head. “Anytime.”

The two of you shared a moment.

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

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

Hopefully, the correct ones.

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

“Please do.”

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

Father Paul smiled back then turned around heading back inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And not on where he slept.

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

There.

A breeze blew from the lower left corner.

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

“A true miracle.” He joked.

You snorted.

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

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

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

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

Well, darkness of jeans.

Your eyes trailed up.

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

Your breath hitched.

He was so close.

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

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

A shared bated breath passed.

The tension returned; the explosion now imminent.

Your feverish heartbeat rang in your ears.

Say something.

Move.

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

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

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

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

His lips meddled against yours.

You hummed, fluttering your eyes closed.

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

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

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

Yet, it only fueled you both.

Like a dinner bell.

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

Clothes started to fly off.

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

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

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

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

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

You moaned, threading your fingers through his hair.

He smiled, eager to hear such noises.

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

He chuckled.

His eyes flickered up.

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

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

He smirked.

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

You whined.

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

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

His mouth dove in.

You moaned out his name.

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

You bucked your hips.

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

You tugged on his hair, chanting his name.

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

And oh, how he wanted you.

But, he also wanted to savor this.

He pulled away from you.

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

His finger slipped inside of you.

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

His smile widened.

However, a light knocking cut through all the pleasure.

Tap, tap, tap.

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

When was it shut?

The front door creaked open followed by footsteps.

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

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

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

Beverly Keane.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good day, Beverly.”

The door softly clicked closed.

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

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

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

You wanted to curse at him.

You wanted to scream.

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

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

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

You were the temptation for Father Paul’s demise.

It empowered you, it thrilled you.

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

You moaned, bucking your hips.

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

You whined at his praises, at his buttery words.

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

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

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

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

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

His words, his touch.

It pushed you over the edge.

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

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

He removed his fingers.

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

You had it wrong earlier.

No.

You were not the temptation for Father Paul.

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

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

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

You gasped.

He chuckled, his eyes lit with sin.

He did it again.

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

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

Your heart skipped.

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

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

You smirked.

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

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

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

He moaned, followed by a string of curses.

Not very Fatherly.

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

You opened your eyes, looking down at him.

He was still smiling.

A warmth bloomed over your chest.

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

You sat back, smirking at his dumbfounded face.

You rolled your hips.

Paul stuttered out a moan.

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

You wouldn’t.

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

He shivered.

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

Paul thrusted up again.

“Fuck,” you moaned.

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

Paul moaned as you rocked your hips.

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

You did.

He whimpered. “Fuck.”

You did it again, and again, and again.

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

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

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

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

You shivered.

Your walls fluttered around him, a final warning.

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

Heavy breathing filled the now quiet space.

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

He wanted to see you like this indefinitely.

To hear such sweet melodies.

To see you every day and every night.

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

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

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

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

Yeah, he was temptation.

The best kind.

#midnight mass #midnight mass smut #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul smut #monsignor pruitt #monsignor pruitt x reader #afab!reader #fem!reader #smut #midnight mass imagine #father Paul imagine

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Baptismus Sanguinis

Monsignor Pruitt x Vampire!FemReader

Also on AO3

Summary: After John turns you into a vampire, you take it upon yourself to remind him he doesn't have to worry all the time.

WC: 3.2k words

Warnings: SMUT 18 + ONLY, vampirism, hierophilia, blood drinking, blood kink?, unprotected sex (don't do it at home), biting, one instance of choking, slight exhibitionism, outdoor shenanigans, mentions of death, let me know if I missed anything!

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The last thing you smelled was the salty breeze blowing in from the sea.

The earth beneath you was cool and damp from the previous night’s rain. Fog hung low to the ground, blanketing everything in a spectral sort of silence. The moon did not show her face, but the sky was clear and glittering with stars. Your unseeing gaze was fixed upon it, eyes half-lidded.

John watched over your prone form anxiously, hands clasped in silent prayer. Your mouth was still stained with the blood you had spit as you convulsed in the grass. He’d held your head in his lap as it happened, fearful that you might hurt yourself further.

It seemed ironic to worry about that as you were dying. But the gash at his wrist knitting itself back together reminded him it wouldn’t be for long.

Still, ridding himself of the guilt of witnessing your death was a Sisyphean task. It had been his doing, after all, even if it was at your behest. 

Even more shamefully, a part of him couldn’t deny how much he wanted the aftermath – an eternity together. Two creatures prowling the boundless night, with nothing left to separate you. Least of all, the mortal coil.

He couldn’t remember how long his transfiguration had taken, only that he had awoken frantic and terrified, like a feral beast before it met the yoke. He didn’t want it to be that way for you, but all he could offer was some solace when the moment came.

The wind picked up once again, rustling the tree tops and stirring the fog. He clutched his rosary tighter, his desperation growing. If his heart still beat, it would be waging a war against his ribcage.

The atmosphere was charged as if a lightning storm was approaching. Suddenly, a ripple passed through you, like a collective spasm of muscles. Your eyes closed, your brow furrowing deeply, and two tears of blood ran down your cheek.

“Oh,” he said breathlessly, a whimper of profound relief stuck in his throat. He could weep with joy in that moment, ceaselessly repeating thank you, thank you, thank you….

He wiped the tears away with his thumbs and your eyes opened. Your pupils were blown wide, the scleras a monstrous red. He didn’t wince, for even then you were his beautiful miracle, his dark star. 

You assessed him with a certain detachment, nostrils flaring as you scented blood.  Once you seemed to realize what was in front of you — but not who — you lunged, sinking your fangs into his shoulder.

He grunted in pain and surprise, holding you fast. Still, mindlessly ravenous, you managed to drink from him. Just a small taste though, for he firmly but carefully pulled you away from him. You panted, mouth stained crimson, trying to blink away the dreamy haze his blood had plunged you into. 

He couldn’t help himself, pulling you to meet his lips. You returned the kiss hungrily, dragging your tongue over his. The coppery taste in his mouth was like an aphrodisiac, burning up in his loins. But he had to pace himself, and he had to make sure of something first. 

“Do you recognize me now?” He breathed, pulling away just enough to look at you. 

You nodded slowly, your gaze finally clear and focused. “I’m sorry. The hunger, it was just…”

“All there was?”

Again, you nodded, a hint of shame crossing your face. He squeezed your arms reassuringly, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Thank God,” he sighed, shoulders sagging. “I… I was scared that maybe I’d lost you.”

“You know I’d find a way to crawl back,” you said, making him chuckle. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nothing I can’t endure.”

Twilight was fast approaching, the first gray tendrils of early morning creeping in. You could feel your exhaustion growing, and the instinct to find a dark place to rest made you anxious.

“We should get out of the open,” you said, reluctantly pulling away from him.

“One moment,” he said, clasping your hand. “Take a look around you.”

And so you did, sweeping your gaze over the forest surrounding you. You found you needed no light to see perfectly, every little detail come to life. The rippling blades of grass, the grooves and misshapen patterns on the tree trunks, and the faintly crystalline spiderwebs clinging to their branches. 

You could hear a small animal rustling in the foliage nearby as if it were right next to your ear. Above you, bats chittered and flew to and fro in the shadows. And beyond that was the soft thrum of their steadily beating hearts.

You closed your eyes and turned your face towards the sky, deeply inhaling the ozone smell of an incoming storm. For a brief moment, you let your mind go blank, ignoring the threat of the rising sun and the fact your own heart had stopped beating altogether.

The world was a vivid symphony of experience. Your mortal life, in comparison, had only had a certain muted charm to it, and it was then that the enormity of his gift struck you.

“It’s so beautiful,” you murmured.

“Yes,” he agreed, but he was looking at your awestruck expression, seeing it all again through your eyes. “And that’s just the beginning of it.”

You bowed your head in gratitude, smiling softly as he kissed your temple. The scent of him was intoxicating, imprinting itself in your mind. It made you want to put your mouth to his flesh once more.

As if reading your mind, he stood up, extending his hand towards you. “Come, my sweet, let’s get you properly fed.”

You perked up immediately, taking his hand. You were radiant when you rose – like a shaft of moonlight, eyes luminous with new, preternatural life. You thought the world was beautiful now, but it was nothing in comparison to you.

He felt like he could burst, unable to remember ever smiling so much. God continued to reward his faithfulness, blessing your union with eternity. He felt the urge to sink back to his knees and kiss the soft earth that had seen you reborn, but instead, he took you home.

—--------------------------------

“Pace yourself. I don’t want you to get sick.”

You smiled teasingly, taking the cup from him. “Have I ever told you that you fuss too much?”

He chuckled, sitting across from you on an armchair. “Countless times. Though I hope I’m nowhere near Beverly’s level. Her benevolence can be quite…”

“Annoying?” You offered.

The way he held back a smile by pursing his lips told you he agreed, but he cleared his throat. 

“I can’t be too harsh on her, seeing how she has so willingly donated sustenance for tonight.”

You looked down at the blood swirling in your cup and wrinkled your nose. The smell was still powerfully enticing, but knowing the source…

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Beggars can’t be choosers, my darling.”

With a little sigh of resignation, you brought it to your lips and drank. It took all of your willpower not to down it all right then and there, opting instead for just the semblance of composure. You licked your lips and raised your eyebrows at him pointedly. 

“Good girl,” he said with an indulgent grin. “Nice and slow.”

Just to be petty, you stuck your tongue out at him, making him laugh.

“Not like we have a stash or anything,” you grumbled.

John had taken care of everything before turning you, going so far as to travel to the mainland for blood samples. He’d wanted you to take it easy and adapt to your new form for a couple of days. He simply couldn’t let you starve, already knowing how hard it was to feed on Crockett Island. 

He raised an eyebrow, but his smile stayed. “I cannot say for sure, but I feel like you’ve only become brattier.”

“And it’s only my second night,” you said with a smirk, glancing towards the window. “Can we go out yet?”

“The sun’s only just set! We’ll go in a few hours, when everyone’s asleep.” He said, gesturing towards your cup. “Finish that first, why don’t you?”

You bit back a retort, deciding to give in for the time being, if only because you really were hungry. In the meantime, as you looked at him glancing back at the bible on his lap, a plan began to formulate in your mind.

He was so used to being extra careful with you, constantly fretting over your well-being. You wanted him to be able to let go completely, without having to worry about any deadly consequences. After all, human frailty was no longer an issue.

When you were done, you went to the kitchen to wash the cup, but not without licking it clean first. It was while you were lapping at it that an idea suddenly came to you. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure John was still absorbed in his reading and, as quietly as you could, you snuck a blood bag out of the fridge.

To pass the hours, you kept yourself busy, trying not to tremble from anticipation. He found the silence a little suspicious, eyeing you from time to time, but you always met his gaze with a little smile. That only made him even more suspicious. 

When the time came, you stood behind him and put your hands on his shoulders. You bent so that your lips were right next to his ear.

“Kill the lights, John. It’s nearly midnight,” you murmured, moving to his other ear. “Hardly seems proper for a priest to be up so late. Wouldn’t you say?”

He suppressed a shudder at your nearness, closing his bible and setting it aside. He reached up to take one of your hands and kissed the inside of your wrist. He noticed your grip tightening a little on his shoulder, as if urging him on. In response, he lingered there, stroking his cheek gently against your palm.

Of course, he knew this was only stoking that flame within you, but he was curious to see how far he could get before it fully consumed you. Teaching you patience had been an arduous affair, but for you, he would always endure it.

“I can even help you, if you want, ” you offered as he kissed the tips of your fingers.

He let go of your hand as you leaned away, pulling the chain of the lamp standing beside the couch.

“Feeling restless, aren’t you?” He said as he stood up, an amused twinkle in his dark eyes. “What’s got you so worked up?”

You shrugged with a cryptic smile, only partially giving into his game. At least now you knew he was in a playful mood, and perhaps that could be used to your advantage. Luckily, not that many lights were on anyway.

Slowly, he started walking around the room and shutting off the lights one by one. You moved counterclockwise across the room, as if the two of you were at a standoff, inching closer to the front door.

You shut the porch lights off and opened the door, the chirruping of crickets greeting your ears. You took a step backward as if daring him to stop you, and he halted in his steps. You held each other’s gazes, an electric tension stretching between you. Your eyes flashed silver in the partial dark as you slipped your hand behind your back. 

John scented the familiar metallic tang that made his head swim. He felt his senses sharpening and his muscles tensing, readying for something that seemed inevitable. It wasn’t until your arm was raised that he saw what you were holding, and only a moment later crimson cascaded down your neck and chest.

Unable to hold back, you messily poured some into your mouth, excess dripping down your chin. So much like a lioness right after a successful hunt.

“I guess you’ll just have to catch up to me,” you said, and took off down the porch steps and towards the forest. 

He immediately ran after you, spurred on by his prey drive, his thunderous footsteps right on your trail. You laughed, giddy and strangely alive, like your heart could start beating again at any moment. 

You were surprised at your newfound agility, swiftly avoiding obstacles on your path, but you purposely tried not to run too fast. You could hear John’s panting breaths and almost felt them at the nape of your neck.

In a small clear patch nestled by the trees, you felt his arms envelop your midsection. Both of you tumbled to the ground with you on your back, John's legs pinning your sides.

He had a wild look in his eyes, fixating on the blood covering you, his mouth twisted in a slight snarl. You were smiling triumphantly, but then you gasped as his hands took hold of your shirt and promptly tore it apart.

Immediately, he dove towards your bare chest, intent on licking you clean. His tongue traced patterns that made you shudder and arch your back. You clung to his hair, tilting your head back to give him more access to your neck. 

It was a natural instinct at that point, and you wondered how his bite might affect you now. He gripped your chin with one hand as he licked up the column of your throat, but he did not use his teeth. Perhaps this was his way of teasing you, a little revenge for the outrageous stunt you had pulled.

“John,” you sighed, but it sounded like a plea. 

“M’not done yet…” he murmured against your skin, licking that spot near your ear that made you whimper.

With his free hand, he trailed his fingers up your ribcage and cupped one of your breasts. He squeezed it lightly, thumb teasing your nipple until it became a hardened peak. Your back arched further, but his thighs kept you from moving too much.

He continued his delicious torture unhurriedly, like the night was eternal. The arousal and blood frenzy had you near feral, but when you tried to get some on your fingers to bring to your mouth, he pinned your wrist down.

“Ah, ah,” he chided lightly. “You’ll take what I give you when I give it to you. I don’t reward brats just like that.”

“So you’re going to punish me?” You asked with a sly grin.

Instead of responding, he stuck two fingers in your mouth to silence you. You sucked on them greedily, moaning. He chuckled at your wantonness, fingers retreating to clutch your jaw again, turning your head to the other side. 

You writhed under him and he adjusted his position, sliding one of his legs between yours, his knee at the apex of your thighs. Your hips bucked, but your frustration grew at the lack of proper friction. You bared your teeth and he kissed the corner of your lips, grinning smugly when you tried to kiss him properly.

“You must be pretty desperate,” he said. “Have I ever told you how lovely you are like this?”

“John, I swear…”

“You swear, huh? To what? To whom?”

You swallowed hard. “Just, please… Can’t you touch me?”

“I am touching you.”

You growled in frustration but he cut you off by licking your upper lip. Unfortunately for him, his plan backfired, for at the first taste of your lips he caved in. He kissed you, his tongue invading your mouth. 

You moaned at the taste, the blood smearing between you driving you wilder. You raked your nails down his back, partly ripping his shirt. You were too consumed by him for surprise to really register, but it still didn’t escape your notice.

Well, you were certainly not going to complain about your new vampiric strength if you could do things like this.

“Let’s get these off now, shall we?” He said,  already tugging at the waistband of your jeans.

You wriggled out of them, and he pulled away to discard his own pants. While he was distracted, you tackled him onto his back. He blinked in surprise but you smiled like the cat that got the cream.

“Allow me,” you said, undoing it the rest of the way. 

He shifted his hips to let you pull them down, His cock was straining against his briefs, twitching when you bent down to lick it over the fabric. 

“You’re on thin ice,” he said, but his voice was ragged with desire. 

With a mischievous chuckle, you took them off, his erection resting against his lower abdomen. Slotting your legs next to his hips, you kept eye contact as you spat on your hand and reached down to stroke his cock. 

He groaned low in his throat, bucking into your hand. The head was slick with precum, and you teased more out by running it up and down through your folds.

“Who’s all worked up now, hmm?” You teased as he gripped your hips tightly, trying and failing to keep his composure.

But before he could voice any complaints, you lined it up with your cunt’s entrance and sank down on it. The two of you breathed out fuck at the same time when he bottomed out.

You placed your hands on his chest for leverage as you began to rock your hips. His hands seemed to guide you, but he let you set the pace. 

You watched him begin to unravel with pleasure, his crimson stained mouth slack and eyes heavy lidded. 

When you gyrated your hips, you felt your clit brush against his skin, making you go faster. You leaned down to kiss him as he helped you bounce on his cock, both of you chasing your climaxes.

His moans became louder, more inhibited, and you knew that he was getting close. You pulled back so you could see him get there, already close yourself. 

One of your hands slid up his chest and came to rest on his throat, fingers squeezing the sides just tight enough to make him gasp.

And it was then that his hips bucked up and his brow furrowed, a stuttering groan leaving his lips. You felt warmth in spurts inside of you as he came, and you ground your hips all the while.

As soon as he recovered a little from his ecstatic daze, he grabbed your wrist and sank his teeth into it. With a cry, your body spasmed violently as your orgasm hit you with the intensity of a free fall.  Only he tethered you to the earth, but just barely, and it was then you understood why the French called it la petit mort.

You collapsed next to him, both of your chests heaving as you stared up at the tree canopy and the barest hint of the stars above.

“Can you go again?” You asked between pants.

He laughed in disbelief. “Can you?”

“I sure can.”

“Insatiable,” he mumbled towards the sky, then turned his head to look at you. “I have to admit… that was fun.”

“Good,” you smiled, taking his hand. “‘Cus we’re only just getting started.”

With an amused shake of his head, he kissed the tip of your nose. If eternity was filled with this — with you — then he could never complain.

------

#midnight mass fanfiction #monsignor pruitt fanfiction #monsignor pruitt x reader #father paul x reader #father paul hill fanfiction #monsignor Pruitt smut #minors dni

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔰 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰

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

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

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

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 WIP

𝔈𝔵𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔲𝔪 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔫

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

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝔑𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢

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

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

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

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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

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

#dark! father paul #father paul x reader #father john pruitt x reader #father paul smut #john pruitt x reader #monsignor pruitt x reader #paul hill x reader #father paul hill x reader #midnight mass fanfiction #hamish linklater x reader #pruitt x reader #monsignor john pruitt x reader #midnight mass x reader #father paul x oc #father paul x f!oc #father paul x ofc #monsignor pruitt x pfc #monsignor pruitt x oc #monsignor pruitt x f!oc #john pruitt x oc #john pruitt x f!oc #john pruitt x ofc #paul hill x oc #paul hill x ofc #paul hill x f!oc #father paul hill x oc #father paul hill x ofc #father paul hill x f!oc #father pruitt x ofc #ebie's writing

[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

#nsft emoji #father paul smut #father paul hill #midnight mass #fanfiction #midnight mass fanfiction #reader insert #father paul x reader #father paul x you #poor paul #someone cuddle him

[paradlselost]

𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇

upcoming midnight mass series …

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ au - ized version of Midnight Mass: Father Paul and Monsignor Pruitt are different people, but most of the story is still the same cause there’s still a vampire. I thought having a vamp!reader would be really cool :) / also i’m going to be opening requests for fanfics soon.

no use of y/n ; reader is referred to as ‘ angel ’

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ female reader , vampire!reader , murder + cannibalism , depictions of eating animals , religious blasphemy , described body horror , debauchery , catholic customs , bloodletting . smut : dubious consent , somnophilia , unprotected sex , broken vow of celibacy , p in v , oral ( f + m receiving ) , blood play , biting to hurt + mark , semi-public sex , possessive tendencies , switch!Father Paul .

reader is the bad “ person ” in this

inspired by this song :

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍

#midnight mass #father paul hill #father paul x reader #religious imagery #catholic guilt #smut #hamish linklater #vampire #upcoming #Spotify

[littleredwritingcat]

Happy Holidays beautiful HamFam!

I wanted to leave you all with a new chapter before I sail off to the tundras of (I kid you not) Kansas-land.

And I hope you're ready for the communion wine to hit the fan! Quick reminder, this fic is strictly 18+ so please be aware of that.

At any rate - enjoy, you stone-cold weirdos and delicious sinners!

Preview:

“Paul…you’re a priest.”

“I noticed. Yeah.”

He makes a show of looking down at himself as if seeing it all for the first time.

“So, I don’t want to be the – the Whore of Babylon, or whatever. Coming in here and destroying everything. You know - your church, your career. You’d never live through Bev’s absolute rage.”

His sigh shifts the entire piece of furniture you’re sharing.

“And unless you’re thinking of becoming an Episcopalian, I can’t just, um, be your girlfriend.”

Paul mutters something about “half-baked bastardized Papistry,” and you crack a faint smile.

“That’s a ‘no’ on conversion, then.”

@everythingbutresolved @agirlinherhead @honey-tree-evil-eye @labyrinthphanlivingafacade @plainlo-inthemorning @thenookienostradamus @fatherpaulsimp @rothko-mirror @meownsignor @thecorgimademedoit @mareyshelley @vintageglassheart02 @thegentlestmaenad @jyngerpeach @ebiemidnightlibrarian @choosekindly @girlwiththenegantattoo @aherdofbees @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish @midwestmisfit @madsmilfelsen @yepthatsacowalright @supplanther

#thrist trap fic #midnight mass #hamfam #father paul hill #midnight mass fandom #john pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #john pruitt/father paul hill x reader #smut writers gonna smut #seriously #so much smut #which is the best way to celebrate the holiday

[girlwiththenegantattoo]

Here's a ficlet I'd like to add to @everythingbutresolved over the holidays we write smut. Wrote this while I couldn't sleep so it may be rushed or full of errors. Some of this is from the idea I got from @apbajs lovely post

This is basically complete smut. Likes, comments and shares have been what's gotten me through this year. Hope everyone has a wonderful New Years.

Wonder

There was something so captivating in the way you knelt before Father Paul’s small coffee table. Your mind preoccupied with the task at hand, you hadn’t thought twice of finding a more comfortable place to sit. Paul knew he shouldn't be staring, not like that and especially not with you. However, as you remained with your back towards him he couldn’t help but wonder, what if this was all part of your plan?

The way your pen continued its quiet dance on paper as you heard his footsteps come closer was a show of comfort in your surroundings. The way you remained there as he let his toweringpresence, just over your shoulder be known, showed a sense of trust. Noticing these were actions he's never witnessed from you before, Paul wonders if you'd act as such with anyone else.

If Paul was a perfect man he would have walked from his bedroom to the sink after seeing you in such a way that twisted his stomach. He would have attempted to clear his throat to draw your attention away from whatever you were trying to do. If that didn't work, perhaps the sound of ceramic dishes clanking amongst one another, would do the trick. As different scenarios ran wild in his brain, his steps brought him to stand so close and towering above you. Imperfections were now the last things on his mind.

Did the close proximity you now shared cause the warmth in your eyes to turn into globes of lust? Was his smell what caused your lower lip to be tucked under a sharp canine tooth? Paul wonders if the material of your jeans were beginning to irritate the skin of your knees against his hard wood floors. More importantly, he wonders what you would look like with them off.

He doesn't remember sitting down on the couch of which fabric matched its mundane surroundings or

how you found the perfect spot between his long, lean legs. As the soft material of his gray sweatpants bunch up under wandering fingers, he wonders just how far your hands will even go. Pupils blown, you continued up to his waistband before sitting back on your heels. Your breath shallow as you asked your silent request. Now he wondered if you could see the tension in his shoulders and furthermore,if you knew it was because of his attempt to hold back.

After taking his hard length between plump, soft lips, Paul wonders if you ever received praises before. Like oh you're making me feel so good or yes, yes that's it, just like that. With that, he suddenly wonders if he's saying too much. Despite his wonder you begin to pick up your pace with every kind word his offers. Each time you only pull back after his now throbbing length hits the back of your throat. Paul worries about your comfort after he begins to feel you gagging around him but is thankful when you place his hands on either side of your face. His fingers thread through the mass of brown curls at the back of your head but he doesn't use it to push or pull.

The way your eyes meet his and hold his gaze for so long makes Paul wonder if there could be more than just this. The way you relax your throat and shove your nose against his pubic bones as his body tensed up, tells him he definitely wants to find out.

Returning to your heels and using the back of your fingers to wipe the edges of your lips, Father Paul finds he's losing himself to your bashful smile.

The way you savor the feeling of his thumb on your swollen lower lips lets him know he doesn't have to wonder anymore.

#hamish linklater #midnight mass #father paul #john pruitt #father paul hill #on the holidays we write smut

[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 :)]

#midnight mass #john pruitt #father paul hill #thirsting hours #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #father paul #fic tag #midnight mass fic #father paul x reader #hamfam smut #my blabber #tfw you can't even write your smut drabble well bc you're feral for the man you're writing about

[flyingsaucerrocknroll]

Song of Solomon 6:3

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

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

Reader insert with no real description of the reader

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

can also be read on ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I reach out to him as he gets within arms distance of me, pulling him towards me for another kiss that he obliges.

When we part he leans down to whisper in my ear, "so, where would you like to take this? My place isn't too far away, but if you'd be more comfortable elsewhere, just name the place."

Oh~ his voice is like honey and I've decided thinking and waiting are overrated at this point. He's waiting for my reply and I figure it'll be easier to just show him where to go then discuss the matter.

I loop a finger under his belt and grab hold of the lapel of his cardigan in my other hand.

The door to the confessional booth was still open. I take a step backwards towards it. I see his eyes move to see where I’m leading him and his eyebrows shoot up.

"Where- where are you taking me, angel?"

"Well, Father, I have many things I feel I still must confess. Won't you take me back in and hear every sin that has crossed my mind while thinking of you?"

His feet follow me into the room, once we pass the threshold he’s practically pushing me back. His mouth searches for mine in the darkness of the confessional.

I reach for the hem of my sweater and begin pulling it up over my head, in the second it takes me to free myself from the garment he whips around and closes the door behind us. Now confined in the dark, close quarters I feel for his top and begin undoing the buttons of his shirt.

Undoing buttons in the dark turns out to be a little harder than I imagined and when he feels me fumble for the second time he quickly moves to aid me. His hands make quick work of the remaining buttons as I decide to be helpful in my own way by shoving the cardigan he always wears down and off his shoulders. Maybe it wasn’t that helpful, but hey it's the thought that counts.

The sound of our breathing is getting harder in the room and as I reach for his belt his hands grab mine and pull them up to be trapped between us.

“I have to ask, are you sure about this? Do you want this?”

The question felt so sudden, that I had to pause to look at him. I pull my hand from his grasp to cup his cheek. He really was a sweet man. I pull him down for a slower kiss, leaving a trail of short pecks down his jaw and neck as he allows me time.

Finally, I grab the lapels of his shirt and breathe out my reply “Yes, Father.” pushing the shirt off him.

He hums in approval and begins removing my clothes, trying to make up the difference between us.  

This time when I reach for his belt, he allows it. Soon enough we end up bare for each other. My head is swimming as I try to take in every detail of him. My hands touch any part of him they can and when he finally places his hands on me it feels like total bliss, he pushes me down to sit where just a few moments ago I was confessing to him about my lustful feelings.

Once I am properly seated he sinks to his knees in front of me and slowly spreads my legs open, looking up at me as if to ask for permission to continue. I watch him, absolutely enamored and nod, letting him know that I want him to keep going. I feel his lips against my inner thigh, “The curves of your thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a skillful workman.”

He continues to murmur verses as he moves closer to where I most desire his touch, “Your waist is a heap of wheat set about with lilies.” Finally I feel his tongue enter my folds and quickly find my clit, the feeling is nothing like how it felt to touch myself to the thought of him, my head leans back in ecstasy and I moan his name like a desperate prayer.

As he laps at my wetness, my back begins to arch and my hands tangle in his hair, pushing his face closer to my center. His name continues to fall from my lips, every repetition of it must be a sin. To be doing something of this caliber in a house of God must have surely damned my soul if my earlier lust had not yet damned me.

The feeling of his tongue on my clit is my own personal heaven, but sadly it ended too soon. A whine escapes my lips as he pulls away leaving a quick kiss against my hip. “Now patience is a virtue, my angel.” ‘My angel’ that was the second time he’s called me that tonight, it makes me feel even more guil; to be compared to something so heavenly when I came in here to deal with my own sins. This train of thought quickly leaves my mind though as Father Paul continues his trail of kisses up my body until his lips are back on mine, I can taste myself on his lips and I feel that same tinge of guilt.

His lips are back on neck as he recites another verse, “Your neck is like an ivory tower, your eyes like the pools in Heshbon,” I feel the light peck of his lips on my nose “Your noise is like the tower of Lebanon which looks toward Damascus.” Another kiss lands on my forehead, “Your head crowns you like Mount Carmel.” Father Paul takes a lock of my hair in his hand and lays a kiss upon it, continuing the passage, “And the hair of your head is like purple; a king is held captive by your tresses.” As he recites more of the verse I notice how wide his pupils have blown out and the pure look of lust in his eyes must match my own.

His lips once again reach mine as he mutters out, “And the rough of your mouth is like the best wine.” I kiss him back roughly and desperate to feel his body against mine I pull him against me. He barely pulls away again to ask if I’m alright with everything that is happening. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? This for me was my wildest fantasy come true, just yesterday it was a fantasy I never thought could be fulfilled. And with that final confirmation from me that I am comfortable with what is about to happen I feel him enter me.

The feeling of him fully inside of me was even more heavenly than the feeling of his tongue on my clit. He halts his movement once he’s fully inside and waits a bit, panting into my ear, before beginning to thrust. I grip onto him further, wanting to commit the feeling of him inside of me to memory. We shouldn’t let this happen more than once and I don’t want to forget this moment. With each thrust I feel closer and closer to an orgasm and once I hear him moan my name against my neck I’m a goner, my orgasm crashes against me and mine seems to set his off as seconds later I feel him finish inside of me.

As I come down from utter bliss I again feel guilty, as Eve tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit I have tempted Father Paul down to hell with me. My soul would truly be damned by now from committing sins of the flesh with a priest of all people. A man who was supposed to be an inspiration on earth for all us sinners. I feel Father Paul kiss my lips one last time, saying something about how he hoped I enjoyed it or that he did but I can’t even process his words as the guilt racks my whole form. I need to leave, I mumble out a quick, “Sorry,” before quickly redressing and leaving him alone in the confessional. The thought of him alone with his now probably sad eyes wondering if he’s done something wrong makes me feel even worse but I can’t let this happen again, it’s not right. Tears start to prick at my eyes as I try to get back to my house as quickly as possible, hoping not to draw attention to my disheveled appearance or where I had left.

#midnight mass #father paul smut #father paul x reader #father paul hill #fanfic

[roguelov]

Hand of God

Summary: It’s late, and your thoughts are spiraling out of control. So, you decide to take a walk. A walk which leads you to the rec center where an AA meeting is taking place. But, will the thoughts be silenced for long? And what will happen if Father Paul reaches out to help, will you accept it?

Word Count: ~5.7k

Reader: Afab

Warnings: Smut (priest kink, praise kink, fingering), mentions of alcoholism and overwhelming thoughts (nothing specific)

MINORS DNI/ 18+

Damn it.

They were back again tonight.

Fear. Depression. Anxiety. Rage. Self-Loathing.

They have barged in as they do almost every night, right at the exact moment when the last bit of sun vanished behind the horizon, to tease and torment. To scream in your ears and drown out every other thoughts or feelings that remotely brought you an ounce of comfort or joy. To gleefully drag you down into unknown depths of yourself you had yet to explore.

For a long time, you had a simple trick to silence them, one that instantly worked: alcohol. But, it wasn’t a solution. No, it was a mere bandage on the gaping wound. So, you learned to cope. AA meetings, therapy, exercising, yoga and meditation, hobbies, you’ve done it all. And it worked, you started to live again - not survive.

The problem - the biggest one that no one cared to mention - was they never truly went away. Those volatile emotions lingered in the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind. You thought it was over. But, it never was or will be. They only became dormant, giving you a false sense of security.

Cope.

That was all you could do.

But, tonight they were back.

And they were loud, they were demanding.

Laying in bed, you squeezed your eyes shut and plugged your ears.

Silence. Please, I just need silence.

But, they didn’t relent.

You huffed, and ripped off your sheets. In your light grey sweatpants splattered with old paint stains - another hobby you tried and failed at - and the oversized black shirt - that had faded to an off dark navy from its countless washes - you grabbed a jacket, shoved on worn down boots and darted out your front door.

Away. You just needed to get away.

You stumbled down your porch steps, and sped off into the night. You didn’t care where. You didn’t even mind the chilly air - the clawing remnants of winter fighting to stay. You just simply couldn’t get away from your house’s confining walls fast enough.

Zipping up your jacket, you flicked up the collar bracing yourself against the cold. You shoved your hands into your pockets and followed the rocky path. Even in the moonless night, you easily kept on the path. You walked it thousands and thousands of times, you knew every pebble, and every bend. Sighing, your spiraling thoughts tried to settle. It tried to shift more outwardly, than inward, to the biting cold worming its way under your clothes, to the late frost nipping at your fingertips and the tip of your nose. Your thoughts called out for your need for heat and survival.

But, those voices still lingered, still whispered against the night breeze.

Fuck.

You marched, following the winding path past houses and their sleeping hosts, skating around the surrounding ocean, and soon towards the church and the rec center. An inviting light from the rec center bled out into the darkness. Of course, a few candles were lit in the church, but you were never the religious type.

You paused, staring at the light. Curious, and with nothing else to occupy your mind, you changed course. Your footsteps softly padded against the sidewalk, silenced by the constant sound of waves crashing and nocturnal animals sprinting in the nearby thickets.

The front door was cracked open, almost as if beckoning you to come in.

Or as if fate, or God for that matter, was guiding you here.

You peered through the slim crack.

Two men, Riley Flynn and Father Paul Hill, sat somewhat uncomfortably across from each other in metal collapsible chairs. Just the two of them in this vast space made to serve the community. It was jarring, and a bit unsettling.

Why just them? Why those two?

Then it clicked: the new AA chapter of Crockett Island.

Your face scrunched up. This was not how you wanted your night to go. Taking a step back, you turned away. But, the voices purred, pleased by this cowardice act. You clenched your fists, gritting your teeth. AA meetings were not new to you. You had your fair share of staring at unfamiliar faces and spilling secrets not even your family knew of.

The voices were right. You were a coward.

But, not for tonight.

For however long it may be, they will be silenced, and for a short-lived moment you will be you again and not this shell - not this husk.

Knocking, you pushed open the door all the way. You poked your head in. Both men snapped their attention over to you. “(Y/N)?” Riley perked up, practically relieved to see another face.

You stepped into the warm building gently shutting the door behind you. Swallowing down your nerves, you said, “I’m sorry, but, uh, is there room for one more?”

Father Paul smiled, somehow overjoyed by all of this. “Of course, please, grab a chair and join us.”

You shuffled over and took a chair off the rack. Under the men’s watchful gaze, you awkwardly walked over, placing the chair between them creating a triangle rather than the typical circle in these meetings. You plopped down, desperately avoiding their eyes. It felt as if they were staring through you, tearing you apart for your secrets.

Riley cleared his throat. “I, uh, I didn’t know you had a uh -“

“Drinking problem? That I too was an alcoholic?” You cut him off with a bit more venom than intended.

Riley dropped his head, muttering, “Yeah.”

Your shoulders drooped down. “I’m sorry that was … yeah I’m sorry. But, yeah I did, well I guess I still do. Everyday is a battle as you probably know, and I still struggle to keep the demons at bay. Some days are easy and some like tonight … not so much.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re here with us,” Father Paul said with a chirper smile.

You wished you could conjure up a smile for him, but you couldn’t. Not now. You sighed, removing your jacket, then leaned back on the uncomfortably hard chair. “Thanks.”

“How long?” Riley asked, now looking at you.

You crossed your arms. “Almost five years sober, or I will be, come early summer.”

Riley nodded.

Father Paul smiled at you, “That’s good, you should be proud.”

“I am.”

He cocked his head. “You don’t really sound like it.”

“I’m sorry, I … I’m just not in the best headspace right now, but I am … I really am.” A smile twitched on your lips. It was a journey, still is, and you intended to see it through till the end.

Not wanting to sit in the pressing silence, you spilled into a story - a random more cheerful story of your youth - quickly feeding into this temporary distraction. Riley smiled, thankful for your presence, and added his own chaotic childhood stories. It all soon devolved from there.

Story after pointless story.

All the while, Father Paul watched you both, a silent third party. His hands were clasped together in prayer, fiddling with his rosary. Pride and joy buzzed in his chest. Two souls have been connected and now aided each other in their troubling times - a miracle, if he said so himself especially given your both utter lack in faith.

But, there was another reason. Another reason for why his chest hummed, another reason for why he smiled so brightly.

And as he watched the two of you, his thoughts drifted and so did his eyes.

They drifted down your face, over your cheekbones, to your parted lips, and then to your jaw, studying how the harsh overhead lights reflected off your angles.

His eyes drifted down further to your exposed neck, and the way you tilted your head listening to Riley’s tale. The Father was completely fascinated by your soft neck, and the surge of temptation which followed to mark and bruise, and draw out such beautifully sinful noises from you.

Then his greedy eyes drifted even lower to your baggy off black t-shirt. With your arms crossed, it accentuated your chest - your breast. He swallowed, shifting in his seat. No bra. You, however, paid no mind to it. And, given your clothing - shirt and sweatpants - you clearly had no intention of coming here beforehand; so Father Paul would chalk it up to either you were unbothered or forgetful. And, oh dear lord, when you moved, arching your back trying to find comfort in these hard rigged chairs, he could see your nipples slightly poking through the cotton fabric.

And still his eyes drifted lower, because there was more room to fall. Your legs were crossed with your mud caked boots pointed out, sometimes bouncing nervously or to a tune trapped in your head. You constantly fidgeted, crossing, uncrossing, and spreading your legs. Oh, Heavenly Father, the priest thought, if he could he would drop to his knees in a heartbeat just to bury his face between your thighs.

His eyes wandered back up.

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. A smile, small and almost unsure to be there, tugged across your lips. Riley chuckled along with you as he finished his story.

Father Paul clutched his beads.

Father Paul hardly spoke, and if he did he only pushed the conversation a little forward. You and Riley mostly carried it, Riley more than you. You suspected he was relieved to be talking about anything other than religious verse Father Paul might spout.

Yet, it was all winding down.

The only tell of passage of time, in this dark hour, was the faint ticking of the wall clock. You swore hours upon hours had passed, but it turned out to be less than one whole hour.

Riley yawned, stretching his legs out.

Father Paul chuckled. “I suppose it is late, it’s best we end this meeting for today.”

“Yeah, I guess, you’re right.” Riley huffed, getting to his feet. He picked up his chair, then looked at you waiting for you to follow.

You threw him a tight lipped smile, but stayed put.

Riley shrugged to himself and said his goodbyes, taking his chair to hang back on the rack.

Father Paul eyed you curiously for a second before standing up and walking Riley out. Their low mumbling bounced in the empty space, yet you couldn’t decipher a single word.

Sighing, you closed your eyes and tipped your head back.

It was starting again. Those damn voices.

“Are you okay?”

You cracked open your eyes. Father Paul stood at your side with a concern etched into his face. “Yeah,” you muttered.

“You don’t sound so sure of yourself.”

You laughed once, and leaned forward bracing yourself against your knees. Your eyes directed onto the recently mopped floors, and not on the Father’s insightful gaze. “I just need a minute. You can go, I promise I’ll lock the door behind me.”

It’s not like much stealing or breaking in happens in this tiny isolated community anyway.

You expected him to leave. Hoped, in a way, he would. Instead, a chair scraped across the floor. You quickly glanced up to see Father Paul back in his chair, now turned facing you head on. He leaned forward, mimicking your slouched posture. His rosary still entangled in his hands.

“Would you like to talk about whatever is afflicting you? You know I am here for you.”

Your eyes couldn’t tear away from the dangling cross. When you spoke it was quiet and dejected. “I don’t really want to hear any bible verses, I’ve heard plenty, and to be honest, I don’t think anything you say Father would help.”

Father Paul dropped his gaze to his hands. He absentmindedly rolled a bead between his thumb and forefinger, an old anxious habit. He huffed through his nose, smiling more to himself. He pocketed the beads into his cardigan. “Okay then,” he leaned back in his chair, “right now I’m not a priest. I’m just a concerned friend.”

You lazily dragged your eyes up, secretly taking him in, and locked with those hypnotically kind chocolate brown eyes. Eyes you dreamt about nearly every night since his surprising arrival.

He tilted his head, smiling softly at you. “So? What’s bothering you?”

The voices were not silenced, an unruly crowd shouting for your attention. However, a new one - a sinfully familiar one - started to take center stage. The new voice purred, absolutely elated in this changing development, and pointed out how close he was, how alone you were with him, how beautiful he looked, how -

Goddamn it.

The Father, as one would suspect, could not help you, not in this changing situation. Not with your demons. Not when this new voice was in the forefront of your mind.

You shook your head, standing up - jumping to your feet. “I’m sorry, I should just go.”

Get out. Get out before you do something stupid.

Grabbing your jacket, you darted off. However, you only got halfway to the exit when he spoke again.

“Please, let me help.”

You froze.

His sweet velvet voice, one that usually commands and guides, was a whisper in such an empty hollow space. And he pleaded - begged to be of service to you.

Peering over your shoulder, he sat on the edge of his seat staring unwaveringly at you. You gripped your jacket, and sighed, “Father -“

“Paul,” he interjected. “I told you I was a friend now, not a priest.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Paul. I don’t think you can help me.”

“Just let me try. What do you want? What do you need right now?”

You almost scoffed. Twisting around, you faced him with a sad smile. “What I want is fairly simple, but very hard to obtain.”

“Which is?”

“To forget.”

“Forget what?” His eyebrows knitted together.

“Everything,” you breathed out. “I don’t want to think about anything, for just one moment I want to forget it all.”

The pains, the sorrows, the anger, the desperation, the guilt - all of it. You didn’t want to dwell on any of it.

So.

How could he help?

How could this man make you forget?

He couldn’t. It was your only logical conclusion.

Yet, the priest had a thought, a thought which always stirred when he saw you, a thought which flared since you stumbled in tonight. “Come. Sit.” He licked his lips, sitting back in his chair. “Please.”

You tightened your grip on your jacket.

Go home.

Stay.

You obeyed his simple command. You were too morbidly curious and hopeful about his possible solution. Your feet carried you over to him, pulled in by his captivating presence. You draped your jacket back across your chair. You moved ready to sit down -

“Not there.”

You blinked, furrowing your brows.

Paul leaned back in his chair with his legs spread apart, gazing up at you. He patted his thigh. “Here.”

Your body tensed up. Your heart, however, leapt into your throat. It fluttered, danced, flipped, sang, etc. Dizzy with a tidal wave of emotions, you whispered, “What?”

Father Paul wasn’t oblivious to it, to your attraction, oh no far from it.

He will admit, more to himself, that in the beginning he assumed your nerves were due to his profession. Most people walked on eggshells around him as if he held their damnation in the palm of his hand, or viewed his absolute devotion as nonsensical. But, those thoughts were swiftly put to rest when he caught you staring.

Always staring.

At a town event, the one of many, eyes burned into the back of his skull. Confused, he spun around and instantly locked eyes with you. You casually played it off, smiling at him then glanced away. Yet, you were undeterred. You continued to eye him hungrily, believing he was completely unaware of it.

Oh, how wrong you were.

And you simply didn’t comprehend the full scope of it. You failed to see how he returned the gesture. With your back turned, or when talking to friends, he drank you in - much like tonight - drank in the obvious temptation that you were.

So, no, he wasn’t oblivious. He knew of your attraction since the beginning.

And he reciprocated it.

Tenfold.

“Sit,” he repeated, snapping you out of your daze. “You want to forget? Then sit.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. No matter how desperately you craved this. “You really want my dirty sweatpants on you?” You joked, trying to hide your nerves and steadily climbing heartbeat.

He chuckled. “I can assure you it’s perfectly fine. And if anything I fear that I am the one that might smell. I was on my feet all day; and I know I reek of incense.”

You laughed through your nose.

He was right. Your pants may be covered in old, determined to stay, paint stains, but you were also curled up in a scalding hot shower a few hours prior wanting, and hoping, to wash and burn away those voices and thoughts.

It didn’t work. Obviously.

He cocked his head. His eyes dragged up and down your body, then reconnected with yours. “Well?”

Your heart flipped in your chest.

Yes. God, yes.

But, you quickly shook your head. “I’m sorry, I can’t you -“

“Have already made you forget about all your worries,” he pointed out. “Have I not?”

You closed your mouth.

He had.

But, how could you think of anything else? How could you process anything with him sitting in front of you asking you to do things you’ve only dreamt of?

“You are thinking only of here and now and not of anything else, so if it is that simple then please sit.”

You almost hated how he was right.

Almost.

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling loudly. Opening your eyes, you met his calm, inviting ones. Yet, something flickered behind those sweet brown eyes. Worry? Mischief? Concern? Lust? It was indecipherable.

“Okay,” you whispered.

You straddled his legs, his knees more accurately, sitting as far away as you could even with this close proximity. Your hands dangled loosely at your side, unsure where they should go. Your heart pounded in your chest. A fire bloomed over your chest and to the tips of your ears.

This is ridiculous. Why am I doing this? And - and -

He tilted his head back a little to gaze into your eyes as you nearly loomed over him. A smile, so kind yet so dangerous, danced over his lips. His eyes held the key to both your salvation and damnation. “See? Not so bad.” He smiled up at you. “But, if I may …”

He bounced his legs.

Inhaling sharply, you toppled forward. Your bodies collided. Your hands flew up, bracing yourself on his shoulders. His sturdy hands latched onto your hips, keeping you in place, keeping you on his thighs and over his -

Don’t think about that - fuck don’t -

“I got you,” he hummed. He laughed at your wide eyes, and completely shocked expression. Smiling, he reached up, brushing his fingers over your cheek. “Better.”

You shivered.

Paul truly couldn’t bite back his smile and amusement. Sin or not, oh how he dreamt of moments like this. His thumbs rubbed hypnotic circles on your hips, putting his spell over you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, trying to ground yourself in this new reality.

“Now, if at any point you want me to stop, just say so.”

Swallowing, you let out a low shaky breath and nodded. Reason had finally left. You wanted this, wanted to stay like this for an eternity, wanted to fall into depravity with him as your guide.

“Good,” he purred.

His hands snuck under your shirt, and started wandering up your back.

You immediately sighed, dropping your head forward and letting yourself get lost in his touch.

His calloused, slightly cold, fingertips sent waves of goosebumps over your skin. He slowly began to map out your curves, feeling how your body molded into his firm hands. He was trying to learn and understand what your body needed, to know where to touch to silence your thoughts and focus solely on him.

His blunt nails scraped down your back.

A soft groan rumbled in the back of your throat.

He slipped out one hand, leaving a chill across your hot skin. Using his index finger and thumb, he tipped your head up so you looked directly into his soothing eyes. He smiled. Your eyes were already glassy as lust poured into your veins. His thumb gently ran over your bottom lip.

Your tongue nearly chased over it.

“Please,” he muttered, his eyes dropped to your lips. “Do not be afraid to touch me, use me as you wish.”

Your hands unfurled and carefully, hesitant and unsure, glided down his chest inch by inch. The perfectly ironed dress shirt bunched and crumbled under your wandering hands. His eyes fluttered closed. A blissful sigh escaped his lips. Your hands moved back up his chest, stopping near his neck. You locked onto his starch white celery collar.

“I told you I was a friend now, not a priest.”

Your eyes slowly peered up at him. Opening his eyes, he met your questioning gaze and nodded. You swiftly tugged on it, on his symbol of faith, letting it fall to the floor. Reinvigorated, you undid the top of his buttons. Your hands eagerly ran over his chest, over his warm skin. With a single finger, you followed the curvature of his body and muscles. He shivered. Your hand paused, landing over his heart. It pounded, hammering excitedly against your palm. You smiled, a small one. Your hands trailed back up and curled behind his neck. Your fingers buried and weaved into the ends of his neatly combed back raven hair. Your nails gently scratched against him.

He hummed, craning his neck. Licking his lips, and losing part of his patience, his hand cupped your cheek and finally drew you in. It was soft, sweet even, as you both tested the water. Just a simple kiss. With one hand still trapped under your shirt, he ran a finger down your spine. You arched your back to the delicate touch.

You exhaled deeply.

More. You needed more.

Your fingers curled, then forcibly yanked on his hair. He gasped. His lips parted. The opportunity you needed. Your tongue slipped in, exploring his mouth, tasting your own personal forbidden fruit.

Paul moaned.

Oh, how wonderfully sinful it was.

He tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue soon fought back desperate to have a turn. He begged to have a taste of temptation.

So, you willingly gave yourself over.

His hand fell from your face, and down your neck. Two fingers rested over your pulse. He smiled against your lips. Your heart rate matched his own chaotic one. His hand moved farther and farther, then snaked back under your shirt. His hands roamed all over your body, while his mouth - his oh so surprisingly expert mouth - left you in a mind numbing haze.

Fuck.

Your skin ignited - burned. His touch was fire against your needy skin, a fire far hotter than the nine circles of Hell itself. Your nerves screamed - sang an enticing new melody with Paul as your composer. Your heart hammered erratically, the resounding drumbeat, in your ears. So much so, you couldn’t hear the faint whimper humming in the back of your throat.

Paul pulled away, painstakingly slow, still savoring your lips.

His heavy panting was a lovely accompaniment.

Desperate, wanting, craving for more.

You took this moment to study him.

His head slightly bowed forward, chin tucked to his chest. A low muttering passed over his swollen lips. A prayer, if you had to guess. His eyes flickered up. Oh, how they sparkled with awe. Yet, when his eyes fell back to your lips, they instantly darkened, fueled by lust and sin.

Fueled by you.

He leaned in, hovering his lips over yours. “Divine,” he whispered, “absolutely divine.”

His hands reached up, cupping your bare breasts.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, dropping your forehead onto his shoulder.

He chuckled. It echoed directly in your ear, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His lips skimmed past your ear, and to your neck. He peppered gentle butterfly kisses up and down your neck. His hands, however, were more wicked in comparison. They cupped and kneaded your breasts, playing with them as he pleased. You bit your lip, moaning. You squeezed your eyes shut, falling apart to his touch. His thumb and finger pinched your perked nipples.

You moaned, loudly and unabashedly. And without thinking, acting only on your needs, you bucked your lips.

He groaned.

His lips curled into a devious smile across your skin. He opened his mouth, placing a kiss in the crook of your neck. You hummed, craning your neck. His teeth barely grazed over your skin. You muttered a string of curses under your breath. He nipped, blemishing your unmarked skin. Only to quickly soothe any pain with the flat of his tongue. He repeated the process, all over. All the while, he still teased your breasts.

You squirmed, moaning and whining - turning into a complete mess by a hand of God.

“Good, you’re doing so good for me,” he mumbled.

“Paul,” you whined, as pleasure coursed through you at his subtle praises.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I got you. Just keep focusing on me.”

What the hell was he talking about? How could you not? What other possible things could you be thinking of when he was here giving you your heart’s deepest desires?

One of his hands slid down your body, and began to fiddle with your elastic waistband. He picked at it. Picked once, then twice. He waited for any signs to tell him to stop, to tell him no.

But, none came.

Instead, he was encouraged.

“Please,” you begged, lifting your hips.

He smiled, “Okay, I hear you.”

His hand easily slipped into your pants. His knuckles grazed, tantalizingly slow, over your damp clothed core. You buried your face into his neck, and tightened your grip in his dark locks. Instantly, you tried to grind your hips into his hand, but he moved away before you could experience just an ounce of pleasure - of relief.

You whined.

Embarrassment, or shame, should have flooded your senses. Yet, it didn’t. All your thoughts were on your wants and needs.

On him.

You need Paul, desperately.

“Shhh,” he cooed, “I’m here.”

His fingers pushed aside your underwear. A single finger swiped through your wet folds - a quick fleeting touch leaving you a wanting mess.

“Fuck,” you hissed.

He did it again, this time slower and more deliberate.

You wanted to beg and plead. You wanted to say his name. Hell, you almost wanted to pray. But, any and all words were lodged in your throat.

He, thankfully and finally, slid his finger in.

Just one.

He started slow. Easy, gentle pumps as he learned your body.

You clung to him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I got you. Oh, you’re doing so good for me,” Paul breathed out.

Oh, he was losing his mind.

Your breathy moans was the sweetest, most beautiful, hymn he ever heard. Your body, sculpted perfectly by God, ached for him. Your walls fluttered around him - around his one finger pleading for more. And he wished, prayed to be the best utmost service to you. His movement - each tame pump - became faster and more demanding.

Oh, he wanted more from you.

For Heaven to hear your beautiful songs.

So, he added another finger.

You arched your back, craning your head back as your mouth fell open. The fluorescent lights haloed around you. Your ragged breathing mixed with the sloppy wet noises of his fingers sliding inside of you. Your body acted on its own, grinding down on his deliciously full fingers.

Paul beamed.

That.

That was exactly what he wanted to see.

His lovely angel.

You dropped your head, staring at him.

His eyes shined - twinkled with glee - watching as you drowned yourself in pleasure. Your hands, still entangled in his hair, yanked him forth. You kissed him feverishly, devouring him. He hummed against your lips.

His thumb rubbed your clit.

You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead into his as a moan escaped your swollen lips. Opening your eyes, his dark brown ones - the color of the welcoming immovable earth - were now a black void filled with desire and blasphemy.

He sucked you in, wanting you to fall from grace.

As if you truly cared.

He circled your clit again.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you whimpered, bucking into his hand.

He let out a shaky breath. “God, you’re doing so great.”

Your heart skipped. At every praise, every encouragement, it was dizzying. The way his voice wrapped around you. It was the only voice you could focus on. The only voice to guide you through the dark.

It was spellbinding, enchanting and soothing.

A calming, sweet deliverance from evil.

Yet, it was cut with the sinfully wet noises of his fingers buried deep inside of you.

He moved faster, ferociously working you to your release. He wanted to see it. He wanted to see how you would fall.

“Paul,” you grinded down on his fingers, “fuck - I’m close.”

“Good, good,” he hummed as his fingers slid in and out of you relentlessly. “Eyes on me.”

You opened your eyes, staring back into the void.

His fingers pounded into you.

You had to force yourself, using all your strength, to stay upright. You just wanted to collapse into him. To fall apart, to let your senses be overwhelmed by him. His free hand cupped your face, helping you to keep your eyes on him. He leaned in, kissing you softly. You melted.

His thumb flicked over your swollen clit.

You gasped.

He curled his fingers, beckoning you, calling you to fall.

Your walls clenched around his fingers. “Paul,” you moaned.

His fingers curled again, loving the sweet delectable noises you made. His thumb constantly rubbed your clit, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your forehead fell onto his. You hungrily chased your high and started to ride his fingers.

“Good, you’re so good - god you are truly divine.” He mumbled, straining to keep his composure. “I’m here, I got you.”

His words sent you tumbling over the edge.

You finally fell.

Your walls clamped around his fingers. Your lips fell apart with a silent moan. Bliss. Heavenly bliss coursed through you. Paul continued to whisper encouraging words. His fingers slowly worked you through your orgasm. You cursed under your breath, as it started to become too much.

Too much pleasure.

Too much sin.

He smiled, and finally stopped. Yet, his fingers were still buried deep inside of you.

Your heavy breathing filled the silence. You desperately tried to catch your breath. However, Paul slowly removed his fingers. Your breath hitched. A whine sounded in your throat - weak and tired.

He eyed his soaked fingers. He licked his lips. He looked up at you, while you lazily - with half closed eyelids - tilted your head in confusion. Your mind was cloudy, still in utter bliss. Maintaining eye contact, he raised his two fingers up and into his mouth. Your eyes widened. Your heart lurched into your throat. Oh dear lord. He hummed in delight. His tongue swirled around savoring your taste.

Your eyes locked onto his mouth. His spit and your juices covered his fingers and mouth. “Fuck, I thought you were a priest.” You muttered in disbelief.

He smirked. Saying nothing, he only cleaned himself and popped out his fingers. “So,” he adjusted himself in the chair, his hand resting back on your hips, “better?”

You blinked. Then it dawned on you - the reason for this once in a lifetime opportunity. The voices, and thoughts, had been silenced. You laughed once, smiling somewhat sorrowfully to yourself. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your eyes dropped down to the obvious tent in his pants. It rubbed against you. You had to suppress a moan. “Don’t worry about me,” he said, gaining your attention. “This was about helping you.”

You wanted it.

Your body ached for how it would feel, how he could fill and stretch you. But, you didn’t want to push it. If he said not to worry, then you will take his word for it. You reluctantly moved off of his lap - Paul had to stifle a groan - and turned to grab your jacket.

Best to make a quick exit now.

Paul watched you intensely. Just like you, he wanted more. But, he was a patient man. He still had self-control, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him. To pin you against the wall, to fall to his knees and worship your body, to feel your bare body against his, to always hear your beautiful breathy moans.

He shivered, trying to reel himself back.

You looked at him as you tugged on your jacket. His hair usually slicked back, now pointed in odd directions. His top buttons were undone and exposed the top of his chest, and the tent strained against his tight jeans wishing to break free. He wasn’t the epitome of faith and celibacy.

No, right now he was just a man.

Like he said, for tonight, and probably for tonight alone, he wasn’t a priest.

Your eyes fell to the celery collar discarded on the floor. You shook your head, “Well, goodnight, I suppose.”

In and out. And forget this ever happened.

You spun around to leave.

“You know if you ever need my help again, you know where to find me.” His soothing voice called out. “My door is always open.”

As are the gates, he thought in a knee jerk reaction.

You peered over your shoulder. His eyes connected with yours. He was serious. A warmth, a giddy buzzing, spread over your chest. Maybe tonight was not a crazy chance, but the start of something forbidden. A smile spread over your lips. “Right, of course.”

He licked his lips. Your taste still lingered on his tongue, and he craved more - his new little addiction. “Maybe I’ll even see you in church.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “One miracle at a time.”

He smiled. “Right. Well, I wish you goodnight and I hope to see you soon.”

“Oh, you will.”

#midnight mass #midnight mass smut #father Paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul smut #monsignor pruitt #monsignor pruitt x reader #father paul imagine #midnight mass imagine #afab!reader #smut

[theelfmaid]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Midnight Mass (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/Original Female Character(s), Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/Reader, Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/You, Mildred Gunning/Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass), Riley Flynn, Leeza Scarborough, Beverly Keane, Erin Greene (Midnight Mass), Mildred Gunning Additional Tags: POV Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Witch - Freeform, Witch and Priest, Goth - Freeform, Horror, Drama & Romance, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Death, Sensuality, Sex, Bottom Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, hot priest, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Human/Vampire Relationship, Magic, Falling In Love Summary:

In a peaceful and secluded town, Father Paul Hill arrives as the new priest. He meets Jane, the owner of the café "Mystic Brews." Despite their differences, a special connection forms, unleashing an unexpected romance filled with challenges and mysteries.

#father john pruitt #father paul #father pruitt #father paul hill #monsignor john pruitt x reader #monsignor pruitt #monsignor john pruitt #hamish linklater #midnight mass #john pruitt x reader #john pruitt #fanfic #smut #fluff #angst

[blackberries45]

Cough*awkward info post*cough

If someone was wondering, and so interested...

There are probably peeps who upload audio only on something like cornhub under bestkeptsecretss (two s) and there might be a voice, there are different voice actors for different stories, that is close, not perfect, to someone else. The only one that may have been listened to thus far is about a photobooth.

May God have mercy on your soul, my child 🙏

#father paul hill #midnight mass #father paul #monsignor pruitt #father john #father john pruitt #smut #smutty audio #midnight mass spoilers #for the pic lol #bestkeptsecretss