#Paul Hill X Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mandowifey · 11 months

Text

Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

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

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It's a storm to end all storms.

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

"I had warned you, all of you."

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

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

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

° ☆ ° ☆ °

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

"Relax."

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

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

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

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

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

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

"F-father, p-please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's it, good girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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chelseasdagger · 11 months

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Restoring Faith

Father Paul Hill x Reader

Summary: You pay Father Paul one of your midnight visits and he finds himself struggling with his sworn devotion

Warnings: religious themes, sacrilege, smut, oral over clothes (m!receiving)

Author’s Note: This is a late birthday present for @chellestrash , my true love of my life, and I hope I’ve done this little idea you love justice :’) I’m absolutely positive I didn’t make it sounds as pretty as some of the other fics, but I hope it will be alright :)

Word Count: 4k

The cold air sends a shiver down your spine as the gravel crunches beneath your feet. Wrapping your arms around yourself tighter, you keep your head down to protect your face from the wind. You follow the path that connects the great big church to the smaller house just behind it, the trail only visible due to the moonlight pouring down from above.

You’re no idiot, you’re aware anybody could see your somewhat frequent visits to see him. However, you convinced yourself that it was okay to go, so long as you waited past midnight to take the trip. Whether it was actually a valid excuse was a whole other subject. One you didn’t particularly want to think of and potentially use to talk yourself out of doing this.

Stepping up the old, creaky stairs of the small porch, you give one last glance over your shoulder to the abandoned street the church faces. There’s not a person in sight and you raise your hand to knock on the wooden door.

It opens after a moment and you smile at the sight of the priest in front of you. He’s dressed completely in black, excluding the stark white collar that frames his neck. You can’t help your eyes from giving him a quick once over, taking in the dark button up shirt tucked into the form fitting slacks that drape down his legs. His voice calling your name brings your gaze back to his face.

“How…,” he trails off, craning his neck higher and looking past you, “how can I help you?” His greeting is stiff, and you know he’s worried about curious eyes possibly seeing you here. You can’t fight the way your lips pull into a smirk at the idea of him already getting nervous.

“I just had a question, Father,” you begin to explain, and notice him looking at you with cautious eyes. “Is that not what you said? That we can come to you and seek guidance? Ask questions about our faith?” You can admit that it was slightly unfair using his own words against him, but it works all the same. He bows his head before nodding once, silently stepping aside and allowing you to walk inside.

It’s the same as it always was, with the couch being the only real centerpiece to the room. The curtains are drawn closed on each of the windows and it gives the sense of seclusion from the rest of the small island. The three lamps that line the right wall are all lit, painting everything in a warm glow. You’ll never get over how welcoming his home was, how it provided a safe space when you needed an escape.

The sound of the door clicking shut makes you turn around to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, slightly hesitant as he stays silent and waits for you to speak first.

“Nobody saw me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” you flash him a cheeky smirk. Paul responds wordlessly with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He steps further into the room, his arm brushing yours as he walks to the small, open kitchen area.

“I haven’t seen you at Mass,” he finally breaks his silence. You watch as he grabs an empty glass from the drying rack beside the sink before filling it with water from the tap. “Can I get you anything?” he offers with wide eyes, motioning towards the cup in his hand.

“I was sick,” you pick the first thing that comes to mind, “allergy stuff since the weather is changing.” The lie rolls right off your tongue. You watch as he drinks his water down, fixating on the way his Adam's apple moves with each swallow. Giving yourself a mental shake, you answer his earlier question.

“And I’m okay, thanks,” you decline his offer as you lean against the back of the couch. The priest says nothing but gives a solemn look your way.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he speaks gently into the quiet room. His dark, brown eyes look sincere, enforcing the truth behind his words. There’s a small pout on his lips and you’re not sure if it’s from your faux illness or if he can somehow sense that you’re not speaking the truth. Either way, he continues with the conversation.

“But I’m glad you’re feeling better. W-What can I do for you?” He sets his glass down on the small counter beside him. “You… um, mentioned seeking guidance? What about?” His eyes are focused onto yours and you find yourself only able to keep eye contact for a few seconds before his stare feels like too much.

“Well,” you begin with a light laugh under your breath, “I just wanted to have you read to me again.” Your fingers toy with the thick seam of the couch cushion. “Is that okay? It just—it helps, is all.” You’re not certain the explanation makes a ton of sense, but there is truth behind it. His words help; it relaxes you to come and listen to him read, even if you don’t always find yourself secure in the faith you grew up with.

When you look up at him again, Paul is standing with a genuine smile on his face. It’s clear he likes hearing that he can help, and you feel a twinge of guilt shoot through your chest at how he genuinely enjoys what he does. It makes you being here that much worse, knowing how content and devout he is.

“Of course, I-I can do that,” he replies, his voice somehow even quieter than before. “Did you have a certain story you wanted me to read from?”

You think over his question for only a short moment. Deep down, you knew you could listen to him speak about even the most mundane things, including what he had eaten for breakfast. His voice was the thing to calm you, not the words he spoke.

“I don’t really care. Whatever you’d like, whatever we left off with,” you flash him a small smile. The priest nods only once before walking towards his bedroom, disappearing into the shadows of the small corridor leading to the door.

You let out a big breath of air you weren’t even aware you were holding in. Being alone with him felt good, it always did, but you couldn’t deny the guilt once again growing in your chest. Deep down, you knew this was wrong, but it always felt good when the guilt shaped to something else. Something stronger and impossibly difficult to ignore.

There’s only a small moment for self reflection before you hear his footsteps echoing out on the wood floor again. You glance towards the sound and find him returning back into the main room with the Bible wedged between his arm and his side. His fingers are busy, rolling the fabric of his long sleeve up to just above his elbow. As inch after inch of his skin is exposed, you find yourself unable to look away from the veins trailing up the inside of his arm.

He repeats his actions on the opposite side, gazing up at you from under the few strands of hair that have fallen out of place. Your lip finds its way between your teeth subconsciously, your own way of anchoring yourself and ignoring the need to tuck the loose curls back behind his ear.

“In moments where I truly begin to doubt my faith, I…” he trails off, fixing the last roll of his cuff over his forearm. He grabs the Bible and brushes his thumb over the raised letters as he continues, “I like to look back on the story of Job.”

You can’t even stop the exasperated sigh that leaves your body. He looks up at the sound, his head tilted slightly like a confused puppy.

“Job? Really, Father? I’m pretty sure that’s the opposite of restoring faith,” you curl your fingers to create air quotes over the last two words. Paul gives a small smile, lowering his head. He’s dealt with your opinions regarding faith and why God allows things to happen as He does.

“Maybe… maybe to some but I-I find that it’s a reminder,” his voice is quiet and calm, already slipping into his usual pattern of speech when he’s behind the lectern. He steps deeper into the living room and passes by you, making his way to the empty couch.

“A reminder to trust in Him even when we’re not sure of-of the path,” he finishes. You’re thankful he’s behind your back so he doesn’t see the way your eyes roll at his canned response. He must’ve seen the tension in your body though, taking note of the way your arms are still crossed over your chest, because he tries once more to get you to listen.

“You do remember that he was rewarded? In the end?”

“Yeah, but he went through hell to get it… hardly seems fair,” you answer him.

“Well, the Lord, He—,”

“If you say ‘Works in mysterious ways’…” you cut him off with a warning glare as you finally turn to face him.

Paul lets out a breathy laugh, staring down at the thick book in his hands. “I was only going to say that He doesn’t always…” he pauses for a moment, searching for the right words, “reveal His plans to us in a way that makes sense at the time. That’s all,” he finishes with a tight-lipped smile.

There’s a brief moment of silence that hangs in the air as you wait for him to move past this conversation. His quick inhale fills the room as he clears his throat quietly, his arm gesturing towards the couch.

“Shall we?”

“Of course,” you respond softly, your words tucked under your breath. He walks around to the front of the couch, his eyes fixed on you as you follow his path. He sits down as his fingers curl around the blue, knitted blanket that’s sprawled out across the cushion beside him.

“Here, let me—,” he doesn’t finish his sentence before draping it across the back of the couch. There’s a spot for you now, close enough that you knew you’d be touching him if you sat beside him. As tempting as the offer is, you find yourself shaking your head gently.

“Is-is something wrong?” he asks, his big, dark eyes searching yours. They’re wide and innocent, truly worrying that he overstepped. Once again, you’re reminded of how pure the man before you is; you nearly reconsider your original idea that made you seek him out tonight in the first place.

You shake your head as you stand in front of him, silently kneeling down and sitting on the floor. The priest’s expression instantly grows apprehensive. You flash him an innocent smile but his unsure glare never falters.

“I’ll just listen from here,” you tell him, trying to ease his worries. He looks hesitant but eventually swallows before opening the Bible. His long fingers splay out across the thin pages, turning them one after the other before finally stopping on a page.

He opens his mouth to speak, the words flowing effortlessly off of his tongue. His voice falls into the deep, rumbly tone that you only ever hear when he’s reading to you. There’s no audience, no image he has to maintain, and the words are so quiet it seems almost as if he’s reading to himself. You’ve always preferred these moments, when he appeared the most authentic he could be.

The more he reads the more comfortable you feel. Your body begins to relax and an idea strikes up in your mind. As he turns the next page, bringing in a deep inhale to continue the sentence, you let your head rest against his knee.

He immediately stutters over his words, repeating the same sound over and over. He never breaks his concentration though, and eventually pushes through and finishes the sentence. Not before flashing you a warning look as you rest your cheek against his leg, though.

It isn’t entirely inappropriate and would even be seen as a normal, platonic gesture. But given his profession, you knew it was absolutely not appropriate. You don’t pull away however, just keep your body slumped against his leg.

He continues speaking the old words, his pronounced sentences dissipating into muttered whispers the longer he goes on. Admittedly, you felt special that this tone was reserved only for you; there was a faint flare of pride in your chest knowing that you were the only one to hear his words so rumbly it’s as if they never fully left his chest.

At some point though, you begin to grow bored of just sitting there and waiting for him to finish. Usually these late night reads brought your anxiety down enough just to fall asleep on the priest, leaving him in the most awkward position of not knowing how to convince himself any of this was okay. But right now, you’d rather have some fun.

Paul knew something was up the second he saw your hand reaching towards him out of the corner of his eye. The muscles in his leg immediately tense, you feel it from under your skin. But you don’t want to raise his suspicion so soon.

Stretching further towards the Bible in his lap, you spread your fingers and place both palms over each side. Once his view is completely shielded from the printed words, he immediately looks into your mischievous eyes.

“What—what are you doing?” he asks confusedly. His eyebrows are pulled together as he awaits your answer.

“Just wanted to see how much you knew,” you reply genuinely. You knew the man had poured over this book time and time again, searching for meanings deeper than the blatant lessons that were spelled out for the reader. It always sent a conflicting feeling coursing through you, the way he could recite word after word from memory as if he was the one who had conjured them up. Conflicting because you liked the reminder of how devout he was, and isn’t that just a multifaceted guilt trip.

Paul smiles at your youthful game, and mentally accepts the challenge. He parts his lips before the words fall from his tongue.

“And when the days of the feast had run their course, Job would send and sanctify them, and he would rise early in the morning and offer burnt offerings according to the number of them all,” he begins, never looking away from your face as he repeats them with no hesitation.

“For Job said, ‘It may be that my sons have sinned, and cursed God in their hearts.’” The priest can’t stop from chuckling at the end of his sentence, having looked at your own genuine, bright grin. “Thus Job did continually.”

Once he’s finished, he flashes you his own smile before glancing down at your hands covering the pages still. You slowly remove them, giggling under your breath at how he passed your unofficial test.

The priest licks his lips once before clearing his throat gently, continuing again with his reading. As the minutes pass, you find yourself not paying much attention to the actual weight of the words. You just focus on his muttering voice until you're reminded of how sweet his last stutter sounded. And because you just can’t help yourself, you’re determined to hear it again.

Snaking your hand up his thigh, you feel his body grow stiff all over again. That adorable stutter becomes prominent once more, his eyes quickly focusing on your fingers rubbing up the inside of his leg as he attempts to finish the paragraph. Trying to pace your plan, you curl your fingers around his thigh and give him a moment to get used to the feeling.

“What are you doing?” These words are the coldest he’s spoken all night, yet you stay silent and wait. It takes him longer this time to finally react, to give his consent in the smallest agreement possible. It’s so minuscule that anybody else wouldn’t have noticed, but you know him awfully more than you should.

Half a nod. That’s all it takes, and you let your fingers graze lightly over the black slacks. They're taught from how he’s sitting, and you can see the outline of his thigh through the stretched material. His voice shakes now, the tone less steady and sure, as he forces himself to keep reading.

You’ve got to admit he’s doing better than you thought. He doesn’t stop reading, you assume he’s just trying to focus on something else, anything but your hand moving between his thighs. You must’ve hit a sweet spot though, inching near the little alcove where his thigh meets his hip, because the next thing you hear is a shuddering exhale as he halts his reading.

And there it is only a second later—the outline of his cock showing through the dark dress pants. It never took very long, although this time it seems even quicker than usual. He continues to grow there, until you can see the fabric straining to accommodate for his now swollen head. You’ve barely touched him and he’s already so responsive.

Now that you can physically see the effect you have on him, there’s truly nothing that can stop you. Sure the nagging guilt is still in the back of your mind, telling you that you shouldn’t do this, but you push it away as much as you can. He looks so tempting right now: the loose strands of hair falling into his face, his lip caught between his teeth as he suppresses his groans, the faint twitch his cock gives when he feels your finger lightly drag along the base of his length. You love seeing him this desperate for you.

Your one finger lightly tracing the length of him is truly all it takes for the first twitch to happen in his trousers. The sight makes your mouth nearly water and you finally curl your fingers around him properly. Your grip isn’t too tight considering it’s over two layers of clothes, but it doesn’t stop the choked grunt from finally escaping his lips.

Still you continue, leaning closer until your breath is fanning over the bulge. He feels it, you can tell from the way his fingers clutch the book that’s resting on his other leg. The veins in the back of his hand become more prominent the harder he grabs it. Every part of his body is conflicting itself; he wants it but he knows he shouldn’t.

Still you wait, staring up at him and silently asking again if this is okay. He doesn’t stall as much this time—his eyes squeeze shut tightly before nodding quickly again, forcing another inhale through his nose.

You don’t waste a second and quickly press your tongue flat against the outline of his tip. Slowly licking along the length, you watch his body reel from how hard his stomach clenches at the feeling. He begins to shut the Bible but you grab his wrist before it can close all the way. You shake your head slowly, attempting to convince him to keep it open.

“Y…You know I can’t.”

“I like hearing you, Father,” you mumble quietly in the room. He stares down at you with an expression you can’t quite describe. There’s no emotion on his face, but his eyes look pained, no doubt from the name you referred to him as. He hardly moves except for the shallow breaths that you can only notice because of how close you are to him.

Waiting for his reaction seems to drag on for hours before he finally sighs through his nose and opens the book. You notice the way his fingers shake as he smooths out the page before trying to remember where he left off. Your lips pull into a smile as you hear his strained voice fill the room.

Squeezing the base of his cock tighter, you drag your tongue across his tip again before wrapping your lips around it. The story is cut off with his deep grunt, and you hum around him at the pleasant noise. The priest has his head tilted back, staring at the ceiling as he tries to regain his composure.

You knew this was an awful, sacrilegious act you two were doing, but it doesn’t stop the heat growing between your legs. Leaning closer into him, you work your mouth on him faster, sucking harder through the fabric. His hand closest to you grips the edge of the seat as he seethes through his teeth.

Paul finally looks down at you, staring into your eyes that have never once left his face. You hold his gaze before glancing wordlessly to the book still in his hand. The whimper that he barely slips out is your new favorite sound, replaying it in your head as you shut your eyes.

“A-As long as… m…my breath,” he’s cut off with a shaky inhale. He tries to read aloud, but his voice trembles the entire time.

“Keep going, Father,” you pull your mouth away from the outline in his black trousers to encourage him. There’s a long, dark stripe along the fabric from your tongue, but another wet patch where the head of his cock is straining against the material.

“As long as my-my breath is in me, and t-the spirit of God is in my nostrils—,” he’s finding each word more impossible to speak. You never allow him to give up though, rubbing your hand over his thigh to support him.

“My lips will not speak f…falsehood, and my tongue will not utter deceit.” He manages to finish the paragraph before taking deep breaths, swallowing thickly and trying his damndest to not look at the sinful scene in his lap. But his body betrays him once more, twitching into your mouth when you hum sweetly around him as a reward for finishing what you asked him to.

Pressing your tongue right in the ridge under his swollen head, you hear a new sound escape his pressed lips. It's a guttural, raw twist of your name and it’s unexpected.

“Oh… Oh—Wait,” he tries to warn you but it’s much too late. His release happens without him realizing, his body moving while his mind doesn’t have a chance to catch up. When you feel him pulsing in your mouth you glance up at him and oh, what a sight it is.

He’s completely disheveled, biting down into his hand to muffle the noise he’s ashamed for anyone to hear, and the veins in his neck are protruding just above the edge of his collar. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but you always make sure to memorize the sight down to those details. To always keep the picture in your mind.

What really catches your attention though, is the stream of white bubbling up through the taught fabric around his sensitive tip. You didn’t realize he would have finished quite this fast, but you definitely don’t mind it. Squeezing the middle of his length tightly, you slowly slide your hand up, determined to get all of it out of him.

Paul’s thighs are beginning to shake from the sensation and you can only imagine how good it must feel for him. You stick your tongue out as you lap up the mess he’s made, and his thighs jolt to close around your body. His sensitivity to your every touch leaves a desire that burns hotly in the bottom of your stomach. You love the feeling of having power over him, admittedly too much.

Once he’s clean, you finally let go of him altogether and sit back on your legs. He’s left panting in awe as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You wish you could see inside his head, try and understand what he’s thinking. But right now his dark eyes are glossed over and he looks as if he’s somewhere completely else.

“Thank you, Father.”

He scrunches his eyes shut tightly the second the words fill the air. It’s silent except for his panting as you rest your head on his knee once more. This time it is a platonic action, your way of showing him you’re there without words. And there you sit beside your priest in the small, old house behind the great big church, with the weight of everything that just happened.

#father paul x reader #father paul fanfic #paul hill x reader #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass fanfic #hamish linklater fanfiction #hierophilia #as someone who grew up christian i did feel a lil guilty writing this #HOWEVER #he cute.#chelsea writes #happy birthday pea!

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grugruel · 7 months

Text

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

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ebiemidnightlibrarian · 9 months

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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. =(

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creepling · 8 months

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˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ KINKTOBER 2023

helloo everyone, so this will be my first go at doing kinktober!! going to be trying out some fandoms and returning to some old faves, so i hope you enjoy what is to come.

disclaimer: sadly due to work and other commitments i will only be able to post once a week, but i can promise they will be packed with absolute filth for you to enjoy.

under the cut is my lineup for the month. all is subject to change, and as always please make sure to look at the tags before reading. reblogs/replies are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

fandoms include: texas chainsaw massacre game, baldur's gate iii, resident evil.

༺☆༻ 10th October: Johnny Slaughter

dad's best friend, size kink, dacryphilia, edging

༺☆༻ 25th October: Leon Kennedy

friends with benefits, squirting, soft!dom.

#kinktober 2023 #johnny slaughter x reader #gale x tav #gale dekarios x reader #leon kennedy x reader #paul hill x reader #tcm game #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #resident evil #midnight mass #creepling.updates

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purplelupins · 1 year

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Unholy Piety

|Midnight Mass|

Dark!Father Paul Hill X werewolf!fem!reader

Summery: You hated him. He had taken you as a pet, and you hated every moment with him. So what happens when you go into heat and he’s the one person to help you?

FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD MINORS DO NOT READ THIS.

Warnings: established relationship, Father Paul is mean, owner/pet(prisoner) relationship, SMUT, BREEDING, reader is in heat and needs help, priest kink, innocence kink, abuse, unhealthy relationship, fingering, multiple orgasms, semi-forced, cockwarming(vaginal) mentions of past blowjobs, orgasms, lots of cum, light pain kink.

Notes: this is a commission for @mandowifey

This is filthy.

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There was only one word that could describe Crockett Island. That minuscule pin-prick of an island off the coast of Maine.

Slow.

It was very, very slow. The people, the life, the storms, the animals.

After only being on the island for a matter of weeks, you knew that your opinion would never change, even if the big rock did happen to grow on you.

“You take care now.”

Father Paul cast one more small, friendly wave to Sarah Gunning as he stepped down onto the road from the house. Your head perked up from its relaxed positions between your paws as you had been waiting idle for the Monsignor to finish his rounds on the island. As he came to your side, and you stood to your full height, his hand fell absentmindedly to your head; a comfortable gesture he had taken to doing after having you fall into step beside him each time he left the rectory.

That day was just like many others. One where rain hung in the air, and another day where you walked obediently beside Father Paul Hill. You knew people stared at the two of you more often than not, and while you didn’t blame them one bit, you would have thought they had gotten used to the two of you and the strange image you presented. However, there were perks to the unease you created- namely the things you heard them whisper about you.

Hound dog.

Devil dog.

Monster.

Beast.

Hell hound.

Though you had to blame most of those on Beverly. She had a true talent for her imagination. And while you detested the leech…those names made you laugh.

“You must be hungry, hm?” You heard Father Paul beside you, then felt his large hand stroke your ear, and you reflexively shook him off, earning you a deep chuckle, “Someone’s in a mood…guess you’re not that hungry then. Too bad…I think I-“ he paused to wave at someone passing by, a forced smile making its way onto his handsome face like you had seen so many times…the same one you had fallen for mistakenly, “-I still have some of that casserole from Annie…I know how much you liked it.” He spoke so softly to you, glancing down at your massive form, stroking a bothersome finger down your thick fur as he taunted you.

Assho-

“Father! Father Paul!”

As if in practised synchronicity, both you and the priest turned your heads to the female voice that called out to him. You saw the apprehension in Dolly Scarborough’s face when she took inventory of your ever-present form beside Father Paul since his arrival.

Whether you wanted it to or not, a low growl formed in the back of your throat as she got closer and closer until she was within arms reach of the Father. If you had been able to take your eyes off the woman, you would have seen the traitorous, knowing smirk that pinched at the falsely holy man’s perfect Cupid’s bow. But you weren’t listening as Dolly prattled on about something to do with a town meeting and how Leeza was doing- if you weren’t in this form, you probably would have given anything to go with Dolly to have a cup of tea…anything to get away from Father Paul and his iron grip on you. But as your situation would have it, your primal instinct to protect what your canine brain staked as your territory was stronger than you could manage.

And your territory happened to be the 6’5 priest with kind brown eyes that stood beside you.

Her arm was too close to him, practically brushing against his grey cardigan; your sharp eyes were fixated on that point where they nearly joined. Your massive jaws were starting to ache from the need to snap at her arm.

Frighten her.

Put her in her place.

Make her go away.

This was your area.

Your territory.

Yours.

The control you had began to slip, and you could feel your muscles tense as you prepared to pounce. Then, just as you were about to give in, Father Paul laughed at something she said, and put a hand on your head again, and it all stopped. Normally, you hated him touching you…breathing near you, existing in general, but in that moment you needed that connection to reassure you.

Calm you.

You loathed that you needed it.

Needed him.

As you found solace in his touch, Dolly said her goodbyes, including one to you, and walked down the dirt road away from the two of you.

“It’s alright…I’m not going anywhere.” He cooed to you, turning on his heel to continue the path home.

He must have heard the low rumble that vibrated in your chest when you had been staring at Dolly’s arm, and didn’t feel like cleaning up a mess. Your eye twitched and you ‘accidentally’ almost stepped one of your huge paws on the father’s foot.

Stupid…puppy looking self-righteous prick.

Perfect hearing ass-hat.

It wasn’t as if you wanted to be where you were; the personal pet for Father Paul… or whatever his name was. You would have gone to hell and back if you had had the choice to be anywhere but there- but nothing could have prepared you for being carted away to a remote island like an artefact. How could you have known that the strange man with the soothing voice and careful smile would turn out to be a devil incarnation? That when he had cooed to you about your condition when he found you, that he had had a hand behind his back with a silver knife to trap you.

You hated that you couldn’t snap at him in your current form…what you wouldn’t give to sink your huge teeth into his arm as it swung beside you…but you knew it would only do more bad than good once he healed.

You sighed and shook your heavy head.

He breathed out a laugh as if he could read your mind as you came up the hill to the Rectory. Then he cast a look around to ensure that you were both alone and leaned down to your soft ear and growled out, “You’d better behave.” Before he gave your fur an unnecessarily hard tug to pull you towards his small home…and your cell.

Inside, it was admittedly a very cozy home. Comfortable and modest. And you were certain that in any other situation, you might have looked forward to seeing it everyday, but given the fact that as soon as the door shut, the house was more akin to a prison than anything else. Once you transformed back into your far less furry form, the ‘nice’ Father was already buckling your collar around your neck; his eyes passive and bored when the chain attached to it clinked.

“Feeling a little precarious today with our emotions?” Came that purr of a voice as you kept your eyes closed to pretend you were anywhere else.

Your face twitched. “Didn’t know we shared emotions…are you going to braid my hair and sing Kumbaya too?” Your sharp reply earned you an equally sharp tug on the leather collar.

“So ill-tempered for such a pretty little thing…” he hummed to himself from behind you, “Now are you going to be a good puppy for me or are you going to insist on fasting again?” He murmured, warm breath fanning down your bare neck; he loved his thinly veiled threats.

Your eye twitched and you bit your tongue to keep in a shiver, “Its cold in here.”

The Monsignor sighed and nodded, making no show of hiding the fact that he was staring down at your bare body, “It is…I suppose a good puppy should live by divine example from their owner…here.” He grabbed a sweater and a pair of your panties that had been thrown off you the night previous.

Just as you went to take them, he held them out of your grasp, and you cursed how small you were in this form.

“Say “Please, Father Paul.”…you know better.” He murmured with a tsk as he turned you to face him.

Your eye twitched again. “Eat shit father P-“

Smack

His hand left a red mark on your cheek, but his expression remained steady as ever.

“Manners.” He said flatly.

You swore you would break your own jaw by how tightly you were grinding your molars.

“Please Father Paul can I please have some clothes please?” You managed to get out all sickly sweet, staring up into his dead eyes.

It seemed that while your sarcastic reply was blatant, he basked in the fact that you did as he said. Paul grinned and handed you the clothes like he was handing you a gift from God, “You see? Good comes to good people, sweet thing.” His black eyes were trained on you as you dressed yourself so fast you swore you’d have rashes later.

Having a barrier between you and him was more than welcomed. It was needed. On more than one occasion he had made you sit there on the floor with nothing but your skin and the collar chained to the wall…especially in the early days.

Just another routine.

Another routine in your life was one you particularly hated. Feared, almost. Not that it happened regularly…but when it did, it made a pit of dread fill your stomach, especially now that you were confined to a small island.

You knew the signs. Your smell changed, your temperature skyrocketed, you had a desperate need to form a nest, and worst but strongest of all was of course your unquenchable need to mate. To be bred.

You hadn’t experienced your heat since he took you…and while it used to be horrible, now you knew it would be even worse with him there.

How you loathed it. You were so weak. Your own body and mind betrayed you, making you so docile and feeble.

You hated it.

You were sat in the bedroom of the rectory, a mass of blankets and pillows gathered around you as you rode out another extreme wave of arousing pain that set your skin on fire and left your clit pulsing desperately. If there was a hell, this would be hell on earth. It was as if any extreme emotion that the human body was capable of had been dialled up to 100 and injected into you.

Pathetic.

It was just after midnight when you heard voices from the church as mass ended. You were surprised more people didn’t question this change…you knew a few people had come by after Father Paul’s “disappearance”…but aside from that you hadn’t noticed anyone making much of a fuss.

With his new pointy disposition, you were affectively stuck inside with him all day. He loved it -being in your company-but now he smelled more unappetizing than those dead cats that had “washed” up month ago.

You put a pillow to your face you as let out a scream of frustration. This was true torture.

An inferno on earth. How poetic.

You wanted to vomit.

Heat made your hearing so sensitive- every little creak and shuffle inside and outside put you on edge. Your head began to pound as you listened to the few people leaving the white building after they had gobbled up that priest’s bullshit. You wondered how they couldn’t see his god-complex; though you supposed they just wanted something to believe it.

Desperation pushed people to do desperate things after all.

This was a statement that ring all too true to you in that moment; when the door to the humble home opened, and you heard the gentle voice of Father Paul call out for you, your body screamed at you in exactly that: desperation.

The Monsignor called your name again.

God you hated how you wanted to run to him. Be held by him. You could feel your legs twitching to get you up- to bend you over to be bred.

Paul slowly walked into the bedroom, and leaned against the door frame that was too small for his height; tilting his head to the side as he tsked at your form.

All curled up on his bed.

Sweating.

Needy.

He could see the clear stains on the sheets from your slick cunt making a mess.

“How’s my little puppy?” He murmured, rolling up his sleeves. The fact that he took a long inhale did not escape you; it wasn’t his fault that you smelled so tantalising.

“Fuck off.” Came your muffled reply as you held onto the blankets for dear life.

Father Paul exhaled sharply. You knew he hated your fowl mouth. He had reminded you on numerous occasions with his legs spread wide as he read biblical verses to you as your throat ached from his cock being forced down it. Though it was better than when he made you sit there for hours impaled on him with that silver knife in his free hand in case you tried to move.

“In another mood, are we? You know you don’t look well, little thing. Feeling…warm?” He cooed, making a point to stroke down your bare leg that stuck out from your spot. That man knew damn well what was going on. He might have been a sadistic monster, but he was intelligent.

He knew you were in heat.

He could smell you from the pulpit during his service. Could practically taste you…he had never been so thankful for the Chasuble to hide his erection.

“Go away Paul.” You said his name venomously, raising your head slightly.

He chuckled again.

“Is that what you really want, puppy?” He purred, leaning over your form, taunting you with his presence. It was like having a drug you craved put in front of you just out of reach.

You whined, and he hummed- a low rumble in his chest that made your insides pulse with need.

Different species or not, he was another predator in his own nature and your body craved him; needed to be dominated.

“The righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves…” he quoted that god forsaken book, and you made a gagging sound, “The more you lie, the more sin will attach to you…surround you…engulf your soul.” He ran his hand through your messy hair.

Heat be damned, there was a little bit of fight left in you; the Monsignor gave you such a perfect opportunity being so close and vulnerable, and you took it. Your teeth were in his forearm faster than you usually could move, and his blood was swimming into your mouth. Another gag formed at the back of your throat at the fowl liquid, but it felt so good to release your anger.

Paul sighed pitifully, and grabbed a fist full of your hair at the base of your scull and pulled.

Hard.

You hated how much it hurt.

That he knew it hurt you.

The hold you had on him loosened, and your teeth came away from his arm; mouth covered in crimson.

“Now look at what you did…” he tsked you and shook his head as he still held you firm and inspected his wound that was already stitching itself together.

You spat out the blood, and felt each of your senses go into overdrive. “Just back off.” You ground out, another surge of need coursing through you- it took everything in your power to keep him from seeing how much pain you were in. “Can’t stand your fucking smell you musty old bible.”

One of his brows rose at the statement, not that it was anything new. He was well aware that you smelled far more divine to him than he did to you.

“Suit yourself.” Paul hummed, and the sound vibrated through your bones like a massage; just his voice made you feel weak.

You glared at him as he stood, towering over you like your were but a small child. It was written all over his face that he saw you as something akin to exactly that- something tiny and in need of guidance.

Once his tall frame finally disappeared from the room, you wished you could find it in yourself to sigh out of relief, but if anything the horrid anguish that wrecked every atom in your poor body was only aggravated. A scream built inside your throat, anything to get that humanoid priest to come back into the room and end your suffering.

So you bit a pillow.

Shredded it really.

Feathers floated down around you in some sort of sick imitation of a halo, and you swatted them away. As fate would have it, Father Paul strode past the door just as you did so, his gaze catching you and the onslaught of white fluff. He chuckled again, and shook his head as he continued his path to the small couch, a cup of tea in hand; not that he cared for the taste any more. It was just a soothing routine.

Another hour passed by in dead silence…save for your moans of agony echoing through the rectory every so often.

Father Paul was sat still on the couch, a book in hand and cup lazily left beside him. At each of your little whines and groans, he would smile secretly to himself; he knew it was only a matter of time. Not that he had been with you through a heat, but he knew the sound of despair.

And he was right.

First came the sound of the chain that kept you confined to the far half of the home, then came the soft sound of your bare feet on the cold, old floor. Then your heavy panting that you tried so pathetically to mask. He heard your breath catch in your sweet throat when your urges pounded at your insides, and your bitten whimpers when you almost gave in.

There was a soft thud from behind him, where you had fallen to your knees from a particularly harsh surge inside you.

“Is my pup having a difficult time?” He called, barely raising his eyes from his page.

“Peachy.” You forced out.

The Monsignor breathed out a short, soundless laugh to himself. You were always one for short and smart retorts; not that they were always particularly of high intelligence or wit, but he found you amusing when you do blatantly refused your own nature. When you were hungry and he offered you food, when you were tired and he offered you a bed, when he offered you care and you turned up your nose.

You would be shown the way, Paul was certain of it. It would just take time, and in that time he would be tested by his lord; a true testament of his faith.

It was only a few minutes that had passed when Father Paul was brought out of his thoughts by you; the sound of you pulling at your collar and chain. Finally, he turned around, folding his book neatly in his lap, and watched as you sunk even further to the floor by the door frame; clutching at your torso like it might fly away, and toes curling; chain completely strained.

You were the complete image of human suffering.

Beautiful.

If the holy man could only imagine wings sheltering you, you would have resembled an angel fallen down to God’s green earth.

He slowly stood, and your ears caught every movement from his body; his shirt scratching against itself, his pants adjusting, his socks slipping down slightly. A long shadow cast over you from his exceedingly tall fame, and while you refused to give him the satisfaction of having you gaze up at him like his followers did at Mass…his affect on you remained the same.

You felt small.

And pathetic.

And hopeless.

Not that you’d tell that monster any of that. Hell would freeze over and those bullshit pearly gates would go rusty before he heard a full confession of how tight his grip on you was.

“What did I tell you about lying, hmm?”

A cold hand slipped along your back, and you could feel your scorching body heat grow cool as he absorbed it. You hated that a small whimper escaped you- having some of the feverish heat relieved was simply divine.

You bet having the rest of him touch you would-

Shut the fuck up you piece of shit horny ass brain. This is an undead monster playing the part of a holy man for fucksake.

“Let me help you, little one…”

That hand on you slid into your hair, and petted your scalp. Again, you felt your shoulders relax, but then your wits came back to you so fast you almost got whiplash from how fast you tried to lunge at the man before you. However, just as you should have expected by then, the icy touch of metal against your neck froze every muscle in your body.

While your body would not move, your eyes did; they were wide and held a fear there that wasn’t shown often. The satisfaction it gave Father Paul to see you staring up at him as such was so strong he felt a sense of regret; sinful was how it felt. Addictive.

“Didn’t I tell you to mind your manners?” He murmured- the light behind him made the shadows on his handsome face darken until he resembled something closer to what he really was- a monster.

A predator.

A demon.

A devil.

In fact he was exactly that: a devil. He had become what he most feared as a man of god. His cheeks looked hollow and his eyes held no light- the bags under them only adding weight to his features like he might drag you down with him into the fiery bowels where his soul now lay.

While you knew you would hate yourself for it by the time the sun rose, in that moment you could not contain the whimper that spilled from your bitten lips. He held you there in that position for as long as he liked, tilting his head every once and a while as he regarded your immobilized form.

Death was not something that you had to worry about unless something silver was being pointed at you; at that moment, however, you had exactly that being held against the column of your throat- a perfectly sharpened silver knife. You still counted that cursed thing as a particularly nasty “Fuck you” from whatever god or gods there were. The fact that the Monsignor had just so happened to have purchased one on his travels, and had it in his possession when he encountered you that first time beyond coincidence; ever since then that blade had become a thorn in your side. The ever-present reminder that you now belonged to Father Paul Hill, and of the circumstances that would befall you should you disobey him.

You watched as his chest deflated- a long sigh from him fanning across your skin.

“I thought you were past this level of hostility, y/n…” his deep tenor vibrated in your ears, and curled your toes. Hypnotic. “…was I wrong?” He added so quietly you thought he might be talking to himself, but then you felt the knife press harder against you and you fought to not squirm, “I said- Was. I. Wrong?” Father Paul spoke dangerously. An edge to his tone made you flinch, and your eyes darted around the room frantically as you wondered if he might actually snap. Slit your throat and be done with you…

“…tell me I wasn’t wrong…”

The voice that you now heard was akin to a punch to your diaphragm. Your lungs felt tight as you tried to breathe. His words- his plea made you look up at his crouched form. He wasn’t even looking at you, his gaze instead on where the silver blade was sat against your jugular.

You could feel your normal mind far back in the dark reaches of your brain screaming at you to fight him- tell him to shove the knife where the sun don’t shine…but that part of your psyche was very small in that moment. The rest was begging you to roll onto your back and beg for forgiveness, tell him you’d never leave him that you needed him…so you opted for something in the middle while you still could.

“No…you weren’t wrong.” The words were heavy on your tongue, and tasted as horrible as he smelled. But you weren’t ready to have the life fade from you just yet, and so in favour of living through the night, and perhaps with some reprieve from the awful disposition you had at that moment…you submitted to him. Your shoulders sank, and your face went lax, save for the odd flinch and wince from the pain and extreme arousal that punished you.

“Will you let me help you?” Father Paul repeated his statement from what felt like hours ago.

A tear broke away from your glassy eyes. Traitor.

You didn’t nod, or give any indication that you would let him do anything, but your lack of resistance was more than enough for him to move forward. Father Paul slowly let the blade slip away from your throat, and he placed it on the counter; there was a light threat to having it remain there.

Large hands encircled your arms, and lifted you up easily to stand on already shaky legs.

“Up, up, up…there you go.” He muttered out so gently you almost laughed; the speed at which that man could go from being an otherworldly predator with a lust for blood to being a soft spoken man who only wanted the best was unmatched. Father Paul lifted you into his arms, and carried you back into the comfort of the bedroom where he laid you down on the makeshift nest you had created hours before.

As soon as you were back in your haven, your hands acted on their own; reaching out to the Monsignor who gazed at you with those deep, rich brown eyes you usually would detest…but something about their soulfulness then made your mind go soft. He watched as you grasped his hand, and almost chuckled at how you could only hold a few of his fingers. Such a little thing you were to him.

You didn’t know if you wanted to pull him closer like your mind begged you to or to toss him from the room like your common sense knew you should; you stared up at him, your hips rocking of their own volition against the blanket there. In the darkness, Father Paul’s eyes flashed from the little light, and your mind remembered that you were indeed dealing with a nocturnal predator…not that the pain under your skin paid that fact any mind.

The rate at which you felt yourself submitting to his supremacy was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it any longer. “P-please…” you whimpered, brows scrunched in despair.

“Tell me what you need, little one.” He shifted closer to you, those soft eyes of his replaced with onyx. But his face was so sincere that you nearly wept.

Sweat had begun to gather at the nape of your neck, and your hands felt too warm, and your head was dizzy and heavy.

“I ne-need you…” you panted, trying to pull him closer.

Father Paul nodded, and brought your forehead to his lips so as to press a kiss there. You might have slapped him for that if this was any other time, but you could only mewl and try to coax him closer.

“Lay down for me, princess…” he murmured, rolling up his sleeves after they had fallen- like a gentleman.

And while you did as he said, you shook your head, “No…I need-“ you gasped, clutching at your stomach like someone had stomped their full weight onto it.

“Shh…deep breaths, sweetheart. Alright? Focus on my voice…can you take a deep breath for me?” He cooed, stroking the skin of your legs and he tried to soothe you.

You did focus on his voice, but your body only screamed with more need…not that you were shocked- that man could charm the panties off a nun with just a few words…the bastard.

You felt his hands on your thighs, and you knew what he thought you needed. And while this might have excited anyone else, you felt tears in your eyes. “No…not…no-“ you breathed out.

Paul looked up at you then, halting his path, “What do you mean?” He asked, then added cheekily, “You’ve never complained about my hands before.”

A lie.

…a half lie.

You rolled your eyes, and sat up; his little smile deepened like he thought he was right.

“I need you to cum inside me.” You said bluntly, and evidently it was blunt enough as you were given the gift of seeing Father Paul Hill, or whatever his name was, look taken aback. It was only fair though, this was a senior citizen given a chance at life again- and a man of the cloth. You were fairly certain no one had told him he had to cum in them for…well…ever.

“You need…” he started, the smile he had been dawning dropped into a pensive line; eyes flickering from where his hands were up to where your sweater barely covered your panties then to his own hardening cock as he beat your statement through his own brain.

You cried out again; bringing your knees up to your chest as your body did anything to alleviate this cursed time that you were forced through. Your back hit the bed, and any care you had about him having a full view of your throbbing cunt went straight out the old window beside you.

“I- please! Just- I can’t…” you begged, forcing your eyes open, “Don’t- fuck…don’t think I would ask this if I didn’t need to.” You gritted out, still determined for him to know that this wasn’t you metaphorically rolling over for him from here on out.

The sounds of your pleas were music to his ears; a small smile tugged at his beautiful but shocked mouth for a moment before he seemed to collect himself. Father Paul blinked a few times before he let his gaze drop down to your thighs once more, now receiving a full view of what an absolute mess you were. Your panties were saturated, as were your thighs and the bed under you. He could smell the sickly sweetness of your heat…intoxicating.

“Tell me again.” He said, a little more command to his tone now that he knew exactly what you needed…and just how pathetically desperate you were in need for it.

Your eyes went wide at his audacity, but the closer he was, and the longer he didn’t touch you, the more violent the spasms became. “I ne- fuck… I need you to c-cum in me-“ you managed to get out, “Please…” tears fell from your eyes, “It’s the- the only thing that’ll make it stop.”

The Monsignor leaned over to where your legs were bent up to your stomach, and let his fingers graze your calve, “You need me?”

His touch sent your brain into overdrive but your mouth was still faithful. “I need someone to fucking cum in me! If you don’t do it then I’ll- fuck…I’ll be more than h-happy to go find that nice Sheriff down the r-road!”

Your statement gave Paul pause. His gaze went from soaking up your condition and words to holding your stare like he might hurt you. Father Paul’s hands clenched and unclenched as he let your words sink in.

No.

No you were going to need him.

Not just someone.

Him.

And he was going to make sure you knew it.

“I’d like to see you attempt that journey, little one.” He sighed, but while his tone was still as infuriatingly even and calm as it settled in your sensitive ears, those predatory eyes of his were locked on your every minute detail. His feather-light stroking turned into his huge hands wrapping around your calve and gently pulling it down and away from your torso so that your feet lay flat but your knees were still bent; repeating the action for the other leg, “I’ll even remove that collar around your neck if you wish to leave and find your pleasure in another man besides myself.”

You watched his every movement, scared that if you breathed too hard he would snap…and whatever that might entail. His skin against yours continued to make every nerve in you throb, you didn’t care that he was barely alive and stank of musty wood.

When you didn’t speak, Father Paul tilted his head to the side, and reached up to where the leather was fastened around your neck. The buckle came undone easily enough for him; his dark eyes held yours as he did so, silently daring you to go.

The collar landed with a thud on the floor, and with nothing keeping you there, you suddenly felt very small.

The Monsignor sucked in a breath, “I could be wrong, but I think you were lying…weren’t you?” He murmured, easing a hand down your thigh as they remained spread for him, “I have no doubt that you might be able to find what you require in another male, but I don’t think you want to…do you?”

Your eye twitched as they flicked between his slowly descending hand and his heavy gaze. Your core was positively throbbing, and you couldn’t deny now painfully excited your body was as his hand crept closer and closer to where it needed attention.

Pathetic.

You felt completely and utterly pathetic.

And you knew you looked it too because there was that god damned pitiful look in those big puppy dog eyes of his…you wondered if he had worked on that wet-dog look for his whole life.

Not that you had any time to dwell on the idiotic thought as he kissed your knee gently; his hand was at the elastic of your saturated panties, just stroking the edge. Coaxing an answer out of you.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” His low voice became a purr that vibrated inside you. Father Paul gripped your panties and dragged them down your legs before laying them neatly on the mattress.

With the cold air against you now, you shivered, and unconsciously rolled your hips against nothing. Your mind began to go hazy again, but you were snapped back to the room around you when there was a harsh smack to your thigh.

“Manners, little one.” He said, staring at you expectantly.

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an answer, so you pursed your lips and stared back.

He sighed and shook his head before stuffing two of his long fingers inside you without warning, and you gasped loudly. “I asked you if you really wanted to go. I expect an-“ he curled them just right the hit the spongy patch inside you,”- answer.” But the only thing he received was a scream from you as you arched your back and tears streamed down your cheeks at the stimulation.

Knowing he would get nowhere with giving you what you needed until you answered him, he withdrew his hand and sucked your slick from his fingers, and he sat back patiently.

Your hips bucked and tried to follow him, desperate to have something inside you, but he folded his hands carefully in his lap and stared at you passively.

It felt like your blood and every possible emotion inside you welled up from your toes all the way to your mouth, and your eyes; hot, fresh tears cascaded down your flushed cheeks.

“No- no I don’t- plea-please I just need…I’ll stay!” You babbled, mind completely snapped.

Father Paul tilted his head like he might to a child not having its way. A tantrum if you will.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me then? We don’t want you misbehaving do we?” He chided you.

You shook your head, though it looked more akin to thrashing. “I’ll be g-good!” You cried.

The Monsignor grinned and patted your leg.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it? Spread those legs for me.” He purred, shifting closer to kneel by your feet. His eyes were trained on you once again, as he slowly and deliberately unbuckled his belt. You did as he asked, and spread your legs even further to accommodate his size, but his calculated movements to open his pants were so slow that you started to cry even harder.

This truly was pure torture.

Without thinking, you sat up and looked up at the Monsignor for permission to finish the job. He gazed down at you fondly, and nodded encouragingly to you like you had seen him do to newcomers at the church when they first took communion. Not that any of that mattered. Your hands shook, but you still managed to pull the zipper down and go to reach for him before his hand was wrapped around your wrist with a startling speed.

“Lay back, Little one.” Father Paul muttered, nodding to the pillows behind you.

You fell back with a thud and rubbed your knees together as he drew himself out and held your stare. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock as it sat heavy in his hand.

Father Paul held himself back for a few moments, just basking in the heavy scent of your need, your shining face, glassy eyes and swollen lips…you truly were a work of art in every way down to your soft curves. He knew you were begging him, he heard you, but that moment was something he would remember for a very, very long time, and he wasn’t about to let it be ruined by anything so trivial as impatience and greed. The man stroked himself to the sight of you.

“Please- ah…please Father…”

His trance was snipped away when he heard those words from you. You. You had just said that.

It seemed you were both a little lost from your plea, but he was quick to hold that moment; Father Paul blinked, then before you could beg him further, his weight was holding you down. His free hand was around your throat, and his hips were heavy against yours. “Again.” He purred, running his nose down your cheek.

A hot blush warmed your cheeks.

“Please father…” you whispered out, legs trying to lock around him. There was something addictive about the way your vision was marked with stars from the little air he was allowing you to have.

“Louder.” He said, more commanding.

“Please father.” You cried out, “Please please please!”

“There she is…that’s it little one…beg for your father.” Father Paul grinned and ran the head of his cock through the thick layer of slick that coated your needy pussy; you nearly screamed with need at the feeling. He took one last look at you, catching your eyes with his before he stuffed the swollen tip of his long cock inside you.

A silent scream opened your mouth as he fucked himself into you; he cooed to you, telling you how well you were doing when he paused for a moment. You were tightening around him and pulsing and twitching and…you were coming. He wasn’t even fully inside you, let alone thrusting into you, and your tight, little pussy was coming on his cock like a virgin.

“That’s it…it just felt too good didn’t it?” He murmured, kissing down your shoulder until your sweater didn’t allow him to. It seemed you read his mind, as you were struggling to get the fabric off of your body the next second, needing to feel more of him. Father Paul chuckled, still rolling his hips into you until he was flush with your body.

At his words, you nodded unabashedly as you rode out your high. Your entire body was shaking under him, and Father Paul found it strangely addictive. He stored each detail in the back of his clear mind for another time, savouring it; he almost teased you right there about coming so fast for him…but he’d rather not taint such a special time. Having you completely at his mercy, and begging him for his attention was all he wanted…carnally.

Having your tight heat envelope him all at once was nearly too much for him to handle. Father Paul felt as if his restraint might completely snap in two if he didn’t reel himself in; focus on the famous self control that he so loathed but admired in himself.

Your hands were digging into his shoulders as you tried to pull him even closer, his chest weighing down on you and hips barely pulling away from you as he thrust into you so evenly. So patient.

But it wasn’t enough.

Having him inside you wasn’t enough.

Having his skin against yours wasn’t enough.

Having his cock jutting against your cervix wasn’t enough.

You needed more, so much more.

“Har-harder-“ you squeaked out, humping your hips against him as he rocked into you like a lover might.

Paul pulled away from your chest where he had been kissing gently, and bumped your nose with his- his breath fanning across your face. “What was that?” He said.

“I need-need it harder…please- I can’t…i need you to - anything I’ll do anything just-“ your words lost their coherency as his cock stretched you and stroked you so perfectly…you hated how perfect it felt. If nature allowed it you would have him just do that all day- at least that was what your in-heat mind told you.

“You need it harder, little one?” He cooed, the condescension not lost on you but you were too far gone to care, so you nodded. He breathed out through his nose like you had just confirmed something he had been waiting for, and he took a moment before he nodded with you.

He waited until you almost asked him again before he snapped his hips against yours harshly, and your scream was intoxicating. Father Paul continued his brutal pace, and as he felt you grow tighter again, he felt his restraint slip. He pulled away from leaning over you to grasp your thighs that had locks around his waist and bring them to meet your chest, bending you in half; he shifted to lock them in place, moving his legs on either side of your hips, making sure you stayed open for him whether you liked it or not.

The Monsignor could feel himself getting closer as he gazed down at your dazed face- a silent moan on your lips. He watched the bulge in your navel each time he thrust into you, his cock threatening to burst through your cervix. You needed him to breed you? He was going to breed you.

He picked up his pace, only the sound of his skin on yours and panting in the air around you. God he could practically taste you on his tongue-

You reached up at grabbed his shoulder again before pressing your lips against his, kissing him so sloppily but desperately. Teeth clanking against eachother and lips bruising but fuck you needed it.

More.

As he rutted into you, you humped his cock back, seeking out any friction as your second orgasm mounted even harder than the first.

You felt his cock pulse strongly inside you, and he pushed inside you as hard as he could as he fucked himself inside your dripping cunt; the tip of his cock pressed painfully against your cervix until you swore if might go inside, then you felt it. A tiny wave of relief. Father Paul shuttered and moaned almost as desperately as you; his cock flooding your insides with his cum. Hot spurts of warmth filled your womb, and you felt all tingly.

Finally, he slowed, but when he went to pull from you, you mewled and broke your filthy kiss to shake your head, “No! No-nonono please don’t it- it still h-hurts…need more…please.” You babbled.

The Monsignor panted, but did as you asked and stayed inside you. He leaned down to your lips again, taking full advantage of your need for him; he slipped his tongue inside, and moaned when he felt yours caress his until you were licking his canines. A low groan escaped him then, the feeling of you touching those sensitive teeth sent shockwaves down his spine to his groin.

Never would he have thought that he could get erect again so fast, but there he was already feeling himself swell inside your tight little cum-soaked pussy.

“Yes! Yes please again, pleasepleaseplease!” You whimpered, already rocking your hips greedily like you were trying to jerk him to full erection with your cunt.

At this point you didn’t care if you came- you just needed him to. You needed to feel your womb swell with his sticky cum so badly you cried.

Father Paul absentmindedly began to roll his hips again as he took your hands in his and pinned them against the bed to completely immobilize you- and you let him.

“How’s my little patient doing, hm?” He hummed, kissing down your cheek to your neck. Anywhere he could reach to feel your blood pumping through your veins under his lips.

“I need m-more…still hu-hur -hurts. Please…” You tilted your head to give him better access to your skin.

He hummed again, now feeling his cock growing painfully hard from the slow thrusts inside you.

“Father Paul please…” you whimpered so pathetically, “Breed me- need your cum…ple- ah! Please!”

“Such a greedy thing aren’t you?”

You didn’t care. You nodded and met his thrusts as they grew harsher until the bed was being shoved into the wall.

“Whatever shall I do with you? Hm? I don’t think being bred is going to do anything is it? You’ll come crawling back to me begging for more…” he grinned devilishly at the thought.

You just nodded, aching your back up into him. You could barely even make out words anymore- it was all just an seductive, low hum that make your brain dizzy with need. You had wondered idly before if you could come from the man’s voice alone…and you were about halfway there already in your weakened state.

You were about to murmur out so more nonsense, but the air was knocked out of your lungs when he thrust in you particularly hard. If it weren’t for your heat, you would have screamed in pain, but in that moment it was euphoric.

“More!” You cried, turning your head to the side.

Seeing your throat so exposed made something stir in Father Paul. He could sense your warm blood, like it was teasing him. He ran his tongue along your jugular, and heeded your pleas; driving the tip of his cock as deep inside you as he could over and over.

It all became too much, and Father Paul pulled out, flipped you over and stuffed himself back inside you before you could even gasp. The intrusion made your back arch as you came without warning as soon as he was inside you again. You sobbed as your walls constricted around him, making it even harder for him to thrust into your vice-like pussy. The overstimulation was too much, but the pain was worse, so you bit into another pillow and let him continue to do exactly as you had asked.

The Monsignor lifted your hips high to match his and pushed your upper body further into the pillows, leaving you to grasp at whatever material you could like a lifeline. The Monsignor’s massive hand gripped your hips so tightly as he abused your insides harder and harder, that you could feel bruises already forming.

In this position, your eyes rolled back as he had his way with you, and you knew you were drooling; taking everything he gave you as your mind was completely fucked out. Every nerve in your body was on fire, but now with so much agonizing pleasure that you thought you would black out.

Father Paul let go of one of your hips momentarily to reach into the pocket of his ruined jeans; a slight smirk on his face as he produced his rosary.

“That’s it, little one…that’s my good girl.” He panted- dark curls falling completely down onto his forehead, and clothes tight with sweat as he smoothed his rosary-wrapped hand down your bare back until his fingers were curling around your throat. The beads of the holy item cut into your skin as his palm tightened around your neck- the metal surly leaving deep marks and light cuts that you would later curse him for. But in that moment you might have begged him to wrap you in a bed of thorns.

The Monsignor’s cock was overwhelmingly stroking your sensitive spots as he filled you so well, and you knew you were going to cum again whether you liked it or not. You babbled incoherently to try and tell him, but nothing understandable came out between your lose tongue and his grip on your throat. Paul breathed out a laugh, and grinned at you; a fucked-out mess or not, you were beautiful. Your face twisted in pleasure, and soft body on display for him-

“F-fuuuck- I’m…Father I’m g-go-onna I’m cu-“ you cried out into the pillow below your cheek with what little breath you could get.

Seeing you fall apart from such a submissive position did not prepare the Father for how much pleasure it would bring him- as you gripped his cock again, he couldn’t help but fuck into you even harder- forcing you to take him no matter how tight you were.

But as you clenched and drenched him with your slickness again, he felt himself come undone faster than he could comprehend. It seemed you could feel every pulse of his cock as soon as he did, because you were thrusting your hips to meet his, albeit feebly, and you began your incomprehensible speech again.

Not that Father Paul needed you to tell him what to do. He couldn’t stand to pull out more than an inch as he chased after his high until he was emptying himself inside you again. He leaned fully over you, removing his hand from your neck and placing both palms over yours as your belly swelled further, greedily swallowing everything he gave you.

“Such a good girl…my good girl…you-you’re doing so well.” He murmured into your back, and you whined at the praise as it only added to your need to please him and preen in his adoration, “Glory be…glory be, sweet girl.”

As you both came down from your highs, the air was thick. Both of you panted, and groaned and your bodies still shook from pleasure; your fingers ached from gripping the bedsheets so tightly, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as the agony under your skin had begun to diminish. Father Paul slowly released your hands, and sat up before gently pulling himself from you and helping you to lay on the bed.

“N-no I need y…you to st-ay inside…” you murmured, not able to put up any kind of fight.

“Shh…I know…just rest for a moment princess.” He cooed to you as he placed a pillow under your hips to keep you sufficiently full of his cum.

You nodded lazily and laid there, limp

Father Paul watched you- your heavy breathing, the roll of a bead of sweat on your stomach, your relaxed muscles, the beat of your heart that made your body pulse.

Beautiful.

If only you weren’t so complacent and volatile everyday, and instead opted for more…domestication.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He purred, laying down beside you. He kissed your shoulder, and petted your sweaty hair out of your face; his touch was beyond welcome, and you couldn’t help nuzzling into his palm excitedly.

A content sigh was the only noise you could make for a moment, then your tried your hoarse throat, “Mmm….b…bet-tter…s-still sore…but nice..’n full.” You breathed out.

Father Paul smiled briefly, and nodded, then traced the marks his rosary had left on your neck- little red dots that were quickly darkening. He sighed and let his fingers wander down to your breasts, to your stomach, back up along your ribs which made you twitch. The scent you emitted was still so delicious to him, especially now with the smell of both of your pleasure heavy in the air. He could practically taste it.

Taste.

While the Monsignor was not one to take without permission usually, the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck as you lay limp was all too strong.

He was hungry…painfully hungry. While his lust was sated, the itch in the back of his throat made him thirst.

The more he thought of it, the further he felt his control slip away, deeper and deeper into his mind. His breathing grew heavier until he was panting to smell you, and his hands wandered across your bruised skin greedily. But when he expected you to push him away and call him a self-righteous fraud or something similar, you only mewled and moved closer into his grasp.

“My…I need…” he panted, losing his thoughts to his need.

You nodded and rolled your hips as his fingers dipped inside the mess between your thighs. Not that you knew what he was really talking about, but so long as he was the one making your pain go away and touching you, you would do anything to make sure he didn’t stop.

“Will…will you let m-me-….please…” Father Paul ran his mouth along your shoulder, and curled his fingers inside you, stroking you so carefully.

“A-anyth-ing.” You replied, just as desperate as your weak thighs began to shake and your pussy tightened around his fingers.

He breathed out a sigh of relief- a sudden rush of air against your skin that made you shiver- your nipples painfully pert and goosebumps popping up all across your body.

“Such a…good girl…my good girl..”his rich voice dipped into a low rumble in his chest as he neared your neck- his hearing going quiet bit by bit until all he could hear was the pulsing of your blood. That sweetness he so craved…had craved since he first laid eyes on you. His free hand came up to stroke your jaw and turn your face away from him so he could run his nose along your artery, thumb caressing your chin.

“F-father P-“

His sharp canines entered your neck like a knife through butter.

If it had been possible for your to scream, you would have, but the simple fact was that he had brought you to another climax just as he bit into you…and your exhausted body could not summon more than a breathy moan.

Evidently the noise you made was echoed by the Monsignor as he stroked you through your orgasm, and drank from you greedily. You were the best vessel he had had…the weight and taste of your blood was like no other. Sweet and pungent that make his mind so clear.

He groaned and hummed against your skin as he slowed, and drew his canines from you; gently lapping at the skin there. Then came the kisses, and the soft murmurs that you couldn’t make sense of in your daze but you knew were sweet by the way he wildre his fingers from you and stroked your stomach.

Everything felt so disorienting and off kilter but in a way that might have made you giggle if you weren’t so tired.

Then you felt movement beside you and you managed to turn your head to watch Father Paul almost carelessly remove his white collar and unbutton his shirt. Your fingers itched to rip the garment off of him and burn it, but you opted instead to whistle weakly. It earned you a low chuckle and shake of his head.

You watched him remove piece by piece of his clothes until he was just as bare as you. Then, he gently picked you up like a doll and sat with you in his lap- you hadn’t even registered that he get gotten hard until he eased you down onto him. This time, your mouth released a long, very audible moan; having him back inside you was pure bliss. Father Paul brought your arms up to his shoulders for you, knowing you would likely lull onto his torso if you had nothing to brace yourself with. And then when you stared up at him, you didn’t stop yourself from kissing him when your brain told you to.

He sighed gently against your lips, and took your hips in hand to guide you up and down his length. He could feel your cum-drenched thighs as some began to leak out of you; so perfectly bred.

You mewled into the kiss as you stretched around him, and let him use you. Your little pussy sufficiently abused.

“That feels good doesn’t it? Right there…I’ve got you…” he cooed to you, kissing tears that fell.

When his lips came back to yours, you captured them, kissing him greedily. It was a mess, but you couldn’t get enough. Your tongues lapped at each other, and his teeth caught your lips as you rocked your hips in a desperate need to feel him inside you. His thrusts were so much more gentle, and while you had been sobbing for as much brutality as possible earlier…the tenderness made tears fall from your eyes for different reasons. It was a gentleness you hadn’t felt before in your life…having not had anyone to come to your aid during your heat before, and no one to warm your bed at all…having Paul hold you and kiss you like he needed you as much as you needed him, if only for that moment, was euphoric.

“Please- ah…please father-“ You gasped against his lips as you felt him already twitching inside you. His entire body was pulsing, and you knew he was close. The Monsignor was just as overstimulated as you, and now with your wrapped around him like he always wanted, he couldn’t fight his desires. He had been fighting his orgasm off, but hearing you pant out his title so sweetly sounded more like a lullaby from an angel rather than the sinful need of a young woman.

She didn’t care if she came this last time, she could barely tell if she was or wasn’t anymore with such ecstasy washing through her. But once she uttered those words, and she felt his thrusts stutter again, she found whatever strength she had in her to help him through it; rolling and grinding against him desperately.

“T-thats it…that’s it- Christ that’s it…my perfect girl…” he groaned unabashedly now, holding you to him as he came inside you. With one last thrust, he pushed his cock deep against your cervix just has he had each time, and you sighed as the final bits of pain washed away, and left you feeling full, warm, and more tired that you ever had been.

You slumped against him, completely boneless.

Exhausted.

Your heart beat aggressively against his chest as you nestled into his embrace and placed your face in the crook of his neck. He panted softly, and wrapped his arms around you to keep you there.

“Are you alright, my sweet?” He murmured into your ear. The low rumble of it warmed you.

“Mhmm…” you mumbled; vision going blurry and dark as sleep began to set in.

“Rest.” He said, kissing your head, and lifting one of your wrists to his lips as well.

You disliked listening to Father Paul, but your fight had left hours ago. And as he cradled you, and wrapped you in safety, you couldn’t protest.

Sleep took you seconds later, and Paul grinned to himself. He knew you would go back to hating him in the morning when you awoke; it wouldn’t matter that he took you and laid you on the couch as he cleaned and re-made the bed with fresh sheets and new pillows.

Or that he washed you as best as he could without waking you.

Or that he placed you in said bed all wrapped in a blanket with a towel under you.

It wouldn’t matter.

And he was alright with that.

#midnight mass #father paul hill #father paul #father john pruitt #father Paul hill x reader #hamish linklater #commission #midnight mass fanfiction #Paul hill x reader

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