Father Paul X Reader - Tumblr Posts

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞... || father paul hill x reader

summary ✟ you want something that you can't have. he needs something he shouldn't take. it's a match made in heaven, but there's nothing holy about it.

word count ✟ 6.6k

warnings ✟ spoilers for midnight mass (even in the warnings!! but only up to episode 4, and it's somewhat canon divergent anyways, but still), SMUT (slightly dubcon due to overstimulation, penetrative and oral sex [m receiving], fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, a bit of painful sex/pain kink), virginity loss (for both of them!), extensive religious references throughout, 'father' title, brief suicidal ideation, self-injury (but not for mental health-related reasons, and not by the reader), age gap (reader is 18 and a high school senior, father paul is ??? older than that), innocent reader, tons of blood consumption, vampire shenanigans, way more fluff than this has any right to have

...𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧, 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧.

"I wasn't sure if you would come," he admitted quietly, sitting far off in the back of the room.

You swallowed nervously before you answered, clutching the strap of your bag where it crossed your chest, standing in his doorway and wondering if you looked as nervous as you felt. "I wasn't sure either," you replied.

And that was true, because when he'd asked you to visit him at his parsonage tonight, you had been too stunned to fully believe it. It seemed a little too good to be true, among other things. But even so, you were never really going to turn his offer down; because ever since Father Paul had arrived here on this quiet, dreary little island, you had begun to feel things you'd never felt before.

All of your friends at school had crushes, they had since elementary school, and you weren't sure if you were a late bloomer or… just not a bloomer at all. Then you met Father Paul. And though you had never expected or wanted to— not for your priest, anyway— you bloomed.

Your face got warm watching him give his homilies; your legs crossed and flexed against each other each time you heard his voice. You loved the way he said things, so wise and thoughtful. Though you'd always been active at the church, your activities there had doubled just for more chances to speak with him.

Where your lack of sexual interest had seemed like perhaps a blessing at first— a gift from God in your quest to maintain purity until entering the bonds of marriage with His soulmate created for you— now it felt like you were being unimaginably tempted. Was this from Him as well? Was He testing you to strengthen your faith?

Or was He showing you the man you were meant for, as impossible as that could be?

Father Paul, after all, wasn't made to have a companion. He was made to lead God's children; his purpose was greater than literal fatherhood, his destiny was not matrimony to another human but to the Lord and His church.

But gosh, he'd make such a good husband: so kind, so sensitive, so intelligent yet never condescending. And, well, he wasn't so difficult on the eyes, either. Sometimes he'd put his hand on your back, or your shoulder, and it usually took all your strength not to bite your lip when he did things like that. His touch was intoxicating.

Even now, standing in his dimly-lit parsonage, your skin was alight just imagining that he might touch you tonight. You weren't sure if that was why he requested for you to come here— you were far too sheltered to know how people might subtly proposition each other— but your intuition was strong enough to know he wanted something uncouth. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have asked you not to tell your friends, or your parents, that you were going to see him. There had been a certain look in his eye (even though he hadn't been looking at you when he said it, not directly), a certain darkness to his gorgeous voice…

Further evidence was what he said next. "Shut the door, please."

Nodding, you shut the door behind you.

When you looked at him again, he was standing— though you hadn't heard him move at all, hadn't heard his chair scrape on the floor or even his clothes rustle.

"Why did you come, then?" he asked. It took you a second to remember what he was even talking about.

"You asked me to," you answered plainly.

"I think there's more to it than that," he pressed, and you felt your throat tighten up. He knew. And to be fair, you already pretty much knew that. But even so, it was a little terrifying to hear him really acknowledge it, even if he was being subtle.

You were mostly just scared that he was about to admonish you. He wasn't the type for that, but it would be just as excruciating for him to have called you here just to let you down easy— for him to sit you down and have a talk about boys and girls and the special feelings they have for each other. About how there's nothing wrong with what you feel, just… misguided. And you'd have to just sit and nod and pretend not to be mortified, apologize if you made him uncomfortable, promise you would never act on childish temptations like this. Maybe you'd throw your dad under the bus, say you were attracted to a priest because of the fatherly support he'd given you that your real father never had. Maybe you'd thank him for everything he'd done for you and for his grace in your folly.

You'd act like you were okay with it. But you wouldn't even go back home, you'd just walk straight into the ocean knowing he'd have to speak at your funeral.

Ironically, in that moment you were tempted to pray— silently, in your mind— that Father Paul wasn't about to reject you. But that would've been such a waste, because God was absolutely not about to help you defile yourself and one of His most faithful servants. You were on your own for this one.

Amazingly, in all that thought, only a fraction of a moment had passed. “You do?” you asked quickly, keeping it all vague while you still could.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I think you came here expecting something— something you know that you shouldn’t want, but your body can’t help but crave.”

Geez, you knew he was insightful but you didn’t appreciate the way he’d apparently managed to read your mind.

“Is that accurate?” he asked you, smiling slightly.

“Yes, Father,” you admitted sheepishly, looking down at the floor.

“No, no, don’t look away,” he pleaded gently, taking a step closer to you— and you could see him a little better now in the light of the room, see the way his hair had fallen into his face slightly and the disheveled tilt of his white collar. He smiled a little bit when you met his gaze again. “You’re so young... I don’t think you know how young you are. I don’t think you know how pretty you are, either, or you wouldn’t be coming here looking for… well, looking for what it is that you’re looking for right now.”

As your face heated up a bit, you struggled to keep looking forward at him just as much as you struggled to find a response: but thankfully, you did both. “Thank you,” you awkwardly replied, “but I think I’m where I should be.”

“Oh, I think so too,” he agreed with a quick nod. “You’re exactly where you shouldn’t be, but— but you’re also exactly where you belong, I think.” He furrowed his brow as he pondered his own words. “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”

“No, it makes perfect sense,” you denied. “To me, at least.”

Something overtook his expression— something a little darker, something not quite sinister but not exactly friendly, either— as he tilted his head back to look down at you just that much more. For a split-second, his nostrils flared and his eyes blinked quickly. "I'm sorry," he sighed quietly.

You would’ve assumed it was the beginning of his rejection, if it weren’t for the way he said it: deep and rough like the rocky bottom under the shore; thick and sweet like honey. You were certainly no expert, but you felt pretty confident that wasn’t the voice of a man about to turn you away. "What for?" you asked quietly.

"I'm sorry," he repeated as he stalked closer, your heartbeat hitting double time as he approached you. Though you had no way to know it, in his mind, he said the briefest prayer: Bless me, Lord, for I am going to sin.

And then, all at once, he was on you; You gasped as he grabbed you in an embrace, leaning in to breathe heavily by your face, moving lower to your neck where he inhaled deeply. You realized then what he was apologizing for, and you smiled a little as you shivered in his arms. "Don't be sorry," you soothed, eyes falling shut, "this is all I wanted."

"I'm so sorry," he said one more time, a hoarse whisper that tickled your ear, as his lips ghosted over your neck, "but I'm so hungry…"

For one perfect moment, you were truly blissfully ignorant. That moment ended as soon as you felt his teeth sink into your skin, though. You whimpered in pain, clutching at his shoulders, about to scream— but you couldn't, somehow. Your voice was gone, stolen by pain that crawled all over your body as you felt something drain from you; something more than just the blood spilling from your neck into his mouth.

Your toes curled inside your shoes, and if it weren't for his arms holding you so tightly, you surely would've collapsed.

As you grew weaker, choking on your shallow breaths and hearing your own whimpers of pain die out like a candle’s flame being slowly starved, he leaned down and laid you gently on the couch; you could barely tell the difference between standing up and laying down, spare for his weight on top of you as he drank eagerly from your wound.

You blinked rapidly as you stared up at the ceiling, tears welling and gently rolling from the corners of your eyes as pain faded into numbness and the ringing in your ears was even louder than the sounds of his heavy breathing and quiet moans of satisfaction.

Energy drained from you until you felt the pull towards the dark, the gentle wash of exhaustion beginning to lull you to sleep; and though your mind was foggy and swirling with confusion and fear, you knew this sleep wouldn’t be the sort that sunlight could wake you from. “Father…” you whispered, beneath your breath and near-silent but not unheard.

Just before you could give into it, he sat up slightly and hovered his face above yours. “Keep your eyes open, angel,” he whispered quietly. You tried your best, blinking and squinting as the light from the room cast a bright glow around his dark hair. “Hey, look at me…”

His eyes were dark, and you could feel the weight of his stare— heavy and cold. Your blood stained his lips and dripped down his chin, and as your gaze followed one drop as it rolled down over this throat and stained his white collar, your eyes drifted shut again as you let out a slow sigh of defeat.

"Don't sleep," he instructed patiently. "Don't rest yet. There's more He has in store for you."

When something warm dripped down to your lips, into your slack and panting mouth, you swallowed it instinctively without thinking. It hurt your neck to swallow, and yet every time you did it, you hurt less.

And less. And less. Until all your pain was gone, and with renewed energy, you opened your eyes and reached up to grab his arm and pull it down to your mouth so you could suckle at the mark on his wrist. He smiled proudly down at you, even laughing just a bit, as he watched you moan and eagerly drink from him as well. Already you were addicted to the taste, to the rush of energy it gave you and to the way it felt to have his skin against your lips.

“That’s enough for now,” he chuckled, pulling his arm away, but you reached out for it still.

“No, Father—” you whined, sounding much too needy and pathetic for your tastes, but you couldn’t help it; you’d never felt quite like this, satisfied in a way you hadn’t realized you’d needed so badly.

“Don’t be greedy, little one,” he frowned, and the firm correction made your breath catch and your hips squirm for a moment. It certainly distracted you from your desire for his blood, and reminded you of your desire for… something else of his.

Your eyes were just a bit wide as they looked up at his face, then back to the arm you were reaching out for like a child clamoring for a toy— and already his wrist had healed, just a moment after you drank from it. You didn’t understand it fully, but you understood as much as you needed to; you could feel it in you, too, this power. You reached up to your neck and though there was blood still on your skin and staining the couch beneath you, your skin bore no wounds. For some reason, you hoped that his teeth might’ve still left a scar— and you looked up at him, finally noticing the way it felt to have his body on top of yours.

When you made eye contact with him, you could see the question in his eyes: What do you want? And you found the answer on your lips, before you even realized you’d found the strength to speak it.

"I'm hungry too, Father."

He smiled at you, gentle and heartwarming as ever, and reached up to cradle your face in his hand. You could feel his hesitance, and you understood what you were asking him to do was well outside of his rights as a priest, but you continued as you reached up to run your fingers through his hair.

"We've given ourselves to each other already, haven't we?" you whispered. "My blood is in you, and yours in me. Please, Father, take my flesh, too— take my body. It's yours."

"Sweet child," he sighed, leaning in closer and pressing up against you; you hummed happily, relieved by his closeness. "My precious dove… I took what I needed from you. It's only fair that I give you what you want as well, isn't it? That I provide what you came here for? Your reward, perhaps, for being such an agreeable meal."

You shifted uncomfortably beneath him, glancing away and gnawing your lip for a second. "It's not just a favor, though, is it?" you finally found the courage to ask— though you didn’t ask it courageously.

He laughed quietly, tilting his head slightly as he spoke. "Are you asking me if I lusted for you, the way you have for me?"

You were almost tempted to deny it, with him looking at you like that. "Yes, I am," you whispered.

"I did," he answered after a moment that was brief yet excruciating. "I did, and I was so used to denying myself that it was almost second nature to turn my gaze away… but lately, I've been feeling so much less guilty for my desires. And for my indulgences."

He still moved slowly, though, as he leaned down to kiss you. It gave you time to admire how lovely he looked like this, to run your fingers further through his hair and up over the back of his neck so you could pull him down to finish closing the gap and press your lips to his.

You tasted blood— yours, his, didn’t make much of a difference— and you tasted his tongue as it slid between your lips; you tasted wine, and it was sweeter this way than sipped from the chalice.

Your fingers clutched at his hair, mostly an accident as your fist had tightened instinctively, but he gasped against your lips and it only made it easier to deepen the kiss as you felt his body press up harder against yours. Only when you felt him between your legs did you realize they had opened on their own, and you whimpered quietly when you felt that he was hard— fuck, just getting him hard made your chest fill with the warmth of pride. Do they give out trophies or medals for this, for making your priest get a hard-on that you get to feel through his trousers as he ruts his hips up against you? Maybe a commemorative plaque? You wanted a commemorative plaque.

As titillating as a dirty little secret can be, this wasn’t like that. It didn’t feel wrong, or sinful, or clandestine. It felt so right and you knew he felt it, too, when he let you reach down to hastily open his belt. You knew he felt it in just the way he looked at you, stroking his thumb gently over your cheek— whispering to you, calling you his angel again just to see how desperate it made you.

But just before you could reach into his trousers and finally touch him, he pushed your hands away.

“Not yet,” he explained breathlessly. “I need to prepare you first. And if you touch me now, I won’t have the patience to do it properly.”

You somehow found the self-control to pull your hands back and nod, your bottom lip catching between your teeth as he sat up and his gaze lowered to your spread legs. He rolled up his sleeves (all nonchalant, like he didn’t even notice that it drove you fucking crazy) before he pushed your legs just a bit further apart and carefully slid the skirt of your dress up your thighs; you felt like a present being delicately unwrapped by one of those people who likes to save the paper, but, you know… in a sexy way. It’s hotter than it sounds.

He let out a little sigh, his chest visibly deflating from it, and tilted his head as he looked down at where your plain cotton panties barely covered you. One finger drew a line down the fabric, right over the seam of your lips, and even through the garment you felt it so clearly that your body jolted.

“Oh,” he smiled, “you’re so… responsive.”

You already felt so exposed to him like this, but it became much more literal when he hooked that finger under the panties and pulled them aside; even though it was quite warm in the room, there was just enough of a draft that seemed to cling to your opening, giving away to yourself how wet you must be already.

He got a little more intense for a second, his nostrils flaring briefly, and he grabbed your underwear with both hands, just by the waist, only to tear them off with a quick snap! that echoed around the room.

Fuck. So much for saving the paper.

“Oh, little dove,” he croaked as he tossed the ruined panties aside, holding your legs open again since you’d mindlessly begun to let them close. “God, look at you.”

It didn’t sound like he was taking the Lord’s name in vain, even though he obviously was. It sounded like he was completely aware and purposeful that he was invoking the Lord’s name in this moment; his gaze drank in the sight of your body with so much reverence that it seemed perfectly right for him to call on God right now.

You whimpered weakly, the sound nearly lost in the back of your throat, as his fingers started to spread you open and slide over your slickened folds. "No one else has ever even touched you before, have they?" he realized, watching the way you reacted to every little movement.

"No, Father, never," you assured, though you struggled to keep track of the conversation at this point.

"Have you touched yourself?" he pressed, smirking at you slightly.

You hesitated before you answered honestly, "yes."

"And did you think of me?" he wondered. "Did you imagine it was my fingers… exploring you? Taking you apart?"

A sigh fell from your lips as he rubbed your bud in gentle circles, but you remembered his question after a second and nodded quickly.

"Did you put your fingers inside yourself?"

"No," you confirmed. "I was too afraid."

"Are you afraid now?"

"No," you said again.

He pushed two fingers inside you at once, making a sharp pain tear through you for just a second. Thankfully, it faded quickly, and you were left with a curious fullness and the delightful friction of his fingers moving slowly against your walls.

And when they curled in just the right way, your hand shot out to grab his wrist before your mind had even reacted to the feeling. It was a sharp sort of pleasure, severe and nearly overwhelming from just a second of it. “F-Father,” you stammered, but he just smiled down at you, flashing teeth that still had a few traces of your blood on them.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” he cooed, curling his fingers into that spot again even as you tried to move his wrist or your hips enough to get the sensation to de-intensify just a little. "Why are you pushing me away?” he asked roughly, his free hand holding your hips tightly so you couldn’t squirm anymore. It was pitiful how you could fight with all your strength and he barely had to do anything to keep you at his mercy.

“I-it’s too much,” you whined. “Father, please…”

“It’s not too much,” he promised. “It’s exactly as much as it’s supposed to be. Now, tell me how it feels.”

“It feels— ah, fuck— it feels… good, but it’s so…” you trailed off, voice falling to a whisper. “I don’t know if I can take it…”

“You can,” he whispered back, leaning down a bit, letting go of your hips to hold your face. “You can, my sweet dove— I know you can.”

“Fuck,” you cursed again, seeing your leg start to shake as pressure gathered deep inside you.

You bit your lip to try to keep down some of your moans, but he corrected that near-instantly. “It's alright if it feels good," he encouraged you. "It's supposed to. Don't quiet yourself— I want to hear you."

He pressed harder against the spot, he moved his hand faster, and you tossed your head back with a wavering cry.

“That’s good, just like that,” he praised.

The feeling was building up so quickly inside you, making your hips rock and your thighs quiver and your back arch more and more with every twist of his fingers. There was something familiar about the weight that pressed right up against your entrance, from the inside, and your eyes shot open in shock and fear as you worried what would happen when you reached the peak. To be entirely transparent and a little crass, it felt like you needed to pee— really bad.

You tried to warn him or ask him to stop but when your mouth opened, all that came out were moans and pleas for more. “Give into it, dove, don’t be afraid— just let go,” he soothed, though the softness of his voice was ironic contrasted with the brutal force of his fingers fucking into you with unmatched speed. He had to keep raising his voice to be heard over the sound of your desperate, crying moans: “I know you can take it, come on, I know you can," he groaned, sounding almost demanding in the most delightful way. "Oh, I know you're so close… I wanna hear you, c'mon, sing for me little dove— come for me, show me you’re ready for me to take you.”

The best way to describe it would be like a massive ocean wave hitting a wall; like it was building and building until it crashed all at once. And when it crashed, you let out a noise you were sure that you’d never made before as you felt a sudden gush of liquid come out of your body.

You tried to sit up to see what was happening, but you were too weak, too overwhelmed as convulsions shuddered through your body like electric sparks up a coil. For a second he didn’t slow down— for a second you thought he wouldn’t stop at all, leave you suspended in this no matter how loud you screamed or how drained of energy you became. But, thankfully, he had mercy on you and slowed his movements down to let you start to catch your breath and process what you had done. Finally you could lift your head and look down at the mess you’d made.

He didn’t need to ask if that was new for you: it was obvious, with the way your mouth and eyes were wide open when you looked up at him. He seemed a little surprised, too, but less than you were; after all, he’d rolled his sleeves up, so he must’ve seen it coming to some extent, right?

And it was a good thing he did, too, because his forearm had gotten the worst of it: you noticed a few spots where wetness had darkened his clothes and the couch, too, but you noticed a larger patch of wetness right by where the bulge of his cock threatened to pop right out of his trousers. Of course, after a moment, you realized that one wasn’t from you, and your face (which was still a little numb and tingly from your orgasm) warmed up quickly.

“O-oh, Father, please,” you whimpered, “I-I’ve been good, I need you…”

“I know, dove,” he cooed as he carefully pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth where he sucked on them shamelessly. “I know, and you’ve been so very good,” he agreed once he was done licking your taste from his hand, his voice a little deeper now as he leaned down to hover over you again.

“I’m ready— please, Father,” you whispered, humming happily when he pushed his trousers out of the way and pulled his cock out with a tight grip around it.

But, you see, you felt a little bit less ready when you actually saw it. Because only then did you appreciate that it was much, much bigger than two fingers. You really didn’t see how it would ever fit inside you, but you were still excited to try.

He only had to move his hips forward a bit to press himself right up against you; that close by, it was even more intimidating, though the warmth of his body was also soothing as well. He looked down to watch his cock rub over your opening, and the sight seemed to have quite the effect on him considering he let out a little sigh and shut his eyes for a moment.

"Forgive me," he whispered hoarsely, gaze darting up to your face again briefly when he opened his eyes. "I've never… I won't make it very long, I don't think. I'll try, but—"

"It doesn't matter," you promised. “Please just— fuck, Father, I need to feel you inside me.”

You didn’t usually swear this much. But, you didn’t usually drink blood and have sex with priests, either, and those were probably a bigger deal than the swearing. And it’s a good thing, too, because you did it again when he slid his cock inside you in one stroke.

“Fuck!” you sobbed, clutching at his arms through his sleeves hard enough that you were at risk of tearing the fabric.

His head fell onto your shoulder; he was trying so hard not to move, to be patient and gentle with you, and you could tell from the way he breathed like he was halfway through running a marathon even though you were both completely still. He was trying so hard not to move, but he’d already given in to so many instincts tonight, and his self-control wasn’t exactly at its highest right now.

So he moved, and you cried, but he reached up to hold your face in his hands and kiss your tears away. “Father,” you whispered to him under your breath.

“My dove,” he whispered back.

The stretch left a stinging, burning pain inside you; every movement of his hips only hurt you more, but you didn’t even mind. You liked it, even. Once already tonight he’d given you pain so he could take his own pleasure, and it didn’t bother you much either way.

Of course, when he pulled out just enough to push his head against your spot, it wasn’t all pain for you anymore. You were so sensitive from coming before that it took no time at all to begin treading that same path again.

His breaths were so heavy that each was nearly a moan, if a rough and deep one so quiet you'd almost miss them. But they were like music to your ears; you wanted to hear nothing but his pleasure from now on, if it sounded this good.

When your head tilted back to let a shiver tingle up your spine, you felt his lips against your neck, licking up what was left of the blood from your wound and leaving gentle kisses and bites over your jaw. You moaned at the feeling— louder than you’d expected, and petering out to a whimper at the end..

"You sound so sweet, little dove," he whispered roughly, "and you feel… I don't think I have the words for how you feel."

He started to rock his hips a bit faster, your hands gripping tighter on his neck and tugging unintentionally on his hair again. Overall he was still moving quite slowly— patient, deliberate, like he was savoring every detail of your body— and pressing himself deep into you at the end of each thrust. So deep that you choked on your little whine each time; so deep that you were sure he had claimed your entire body as his plaything.

And you didn't mind at all, you were happy to belong to him when this was how he staked his ownership. Already a humming, electric feeling buzzed under your skin, making your fingers and toes curl and forcing desperate moans to jump out of your slack mouth.

Each pang of pleasure made your walls tighten; which made you both wince from the unbearable tightness of it all. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he asked darkly.

“Y-yes,” you groaned, even though you could hardly believe it. “Yes, Father, don’t stop…”

Even so, when the peak of it hit you, it was so intense that you almost wanted him to stop after all; your hands found purchase on his shoulders and tried to push him away, but he grabbed them by the wrist and pinned each of them back to the cushions of the couch beside your head, beginning to thrust faster.

"Oh, sweet dove,," he groaned, struggling to hold himself back when he could feel your body succumbing to the pleasure he brought you with his own. "You can't let anyone else touch you. You have to be mine."

“Yours,” you agreed, “yours, Father, I’m yours—”

“Christ,” he hissed, and you hadn’t expected to not only hear him swear, but to hear him say that at a time like this. It was… jarring; incredibly hot, yes, but also jarring. “Say that again.”

“I’m yours,” you promised, clutching at his black shirt as you stared up at him through your lashes with half-lidded eyes. “All yours.”

The sound that slipped out from between his teeth was undeniably a growl, and he descended on you for one more ravenous kiss as his thrusts became so fast and desperate that all you could hear was his skin against yours.

And then his pace faltered; and then, as he sighed against your lips, a warmth began to fill you from the inside, not at all unlike the warmth in your stomach when you drank his blood. His thrusts stuttered and slowed to a stop, both of you letting out a low sound of satisfaction, both of you sinking down into the couch and each other.

He laid his head on your shoulder, smiling and letting out a quick ‘hm’ to himself.

"What?" you pressed quietly, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he explained. "I mean, I could before, but… it doesn't make me hungry like it used to. Or at least, not in the same way."

You smiled and let your eyes fall shut, relaxing beneath his weight. It made it hard to breathe, but it was also oddly comforting.

The two of you laid that way, silent except for quiet breathing and still except for your fingers twirling locks of his hair, for an immeasurable amount of time. You never fell asleep, but you weren’t quite awake either: you just let yourself float in that lovely in-between place, finding your mind uncharacteristically quiet and empty of worries.

When he started to move, the dull ache of soreness inside you pulled you from rest and made you wince slightly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I’ll try to do this carefully…”

He was still hard, which meant he was still as big as he had been this whole time, which meant it was a little painful for him to pull out right now-- but as soon as he’d done it, you felt his warm come begin to leak slowly from your opening, and somehow it eased the sting.

Once he had sat back with a slow exhale, you sat up as well and licked your lips as you saw your own blood stain his cock; it was almost as if you moved on instinct as you found yourself sitting up, reaching for him and looking up for approval.

"Oh, Father, let me— please…" you begged, but before you even got an answer you were bending forward and licking the blood off of his length, hearing him groan a little as his hand gripped your shoulder.

He hissed in a breath when you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, while you moaned quietly at the taste of his come and yours blending together. It tasted so wonderful that you couldn’t help but keep licking over every inch of him, hoping to taste it all, and he certainly didn’t make any move to stop you.

You adjusted your position until you were (semi)comfortably on your hands and knees, though it was more like hand and knees since only one kept you balanced while the other gripped his thigh through the shoved-down trouser pants. When you started to suck on the head again, swirling your tongue and licking up the thin liquid that gathered at his slit, you found a natural rhythm of bobbing your head and taking him just a bit deeper with each movement.

At first, when you gagged, you felt a little embarrassed and worried you would disappoint him-- but he groaned as he grabbed your hair, and pulled you down to make you do it again.

He let you go just in time for you to pull back and get a gasp of air, looking up at him with watery eyes from beneath his erection casting a shadow on your face. You were ready for more, but his hand wrapped around your neck kept you from leaning in again, and pulled you up to meet him where he leaned down into a sloppy (yet perfect) kiss.

You found yourself trying to chase him when he pulled back, but that hand on your neck kept you at bay and you blinked your eyes open to find him smiling proudly at your neediness. “I wish you could stay all night,” he whispered, “but we should wash the blood off your clothes and get you home before your parents worry.”

With a nervous swallow that pressed your throat against his hand, you nodded.

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐒

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

You heard the quiet exhale of a suppressed laugh, glancing through the latticed partition to see his fingers intertwined while his hands rested on his lap. It was pretty dark inside the confession booth, but there was just enough light to sparkle on the golden embroidered details of his chasuble.

“I’ve known a man,” you continued, “outside of marriage.”

“In the Biblical sense?” he asked.

You scoffed a little. “I guess you could say that.”

“And what does it feel like? To be with him," Father Paul asked quietly.

“It feels like a little glimpse of Heaven,” you explained. “And since I think I’ve surrendered my shot at ever getting to see it for much longer than that, I might as well get as many glimpses as I can, right?”

"Sound logic," he chuckled. "I'm guessing that means I'll see you at the parsonage later this evening."

"How long should I wait to leave? So it isn't suspicious?"

"Come with me as soon as everyone's left," he demanded. "Tell your parents you're helping me with… something."

"Something?" you repeated incredulously.

"I don't care what anyone suspects anymore," he groaned, "I just need you. And I'm hungry."

"You know I can't satisfy that urge," you smirked. "My blood won't cut it now that… now that I have a little bit of you inside me."

"More than a little bit, I bet," he added, like he didn't even care that it made a tingle hit right between your legs. "Doesn't matter, though— I have something that'll feed us both. For a while, at least. Take communion with me tonight, angel… after we visit Heaven once or twice."

Even with no one to see it, you fought to keep from grinning ear to ear. And though you knew it was risky, you were helpless to his commands to come see him as soon as you could, giving a flimsy excuse to anyone who cared to ask why you were staying late at the church.

The second you knocked on his door, he opened it; and the second he opened his door, he pulled you inside and pounced on you.

His hands ran all over you, his body pressed you back against the wall, his lips and tongue tasted all over your neck. "I meant to tell you, you gave a really nice homily today," you managed to pant breathlessly.

"Thanks," he groaned softly. "It was so hard to write, when all I've been able to think about for days is you and the way you sound and the way you feel and the way you taste…"

You purred beneath the weight of him, finding your hips rocking up of their own accord.

"Are you hungry, little dove?" he whispered. You nodded desperately, and he reached onto the table nearby to hold up the crystal decanter of communion wine; before you could reach for it, he opened it and moved it to your lips. "The blood of the covenant," he spoke to you as he lifted it and allowed you to drink. Your hunger washed away— some of it, at least— and you hummed happily between swallows.

He pulled it back when you were done, and you licked your lips to get the last drop down. It was his turn now, and he took a long swig: as he drank from the decanter, a drop of sacrament rolled down from the corner of his mouth; so you pressed your tongue to his jaw and licked up the dark red line, moaning quietly at the relief even just a drop of the liquid brought to your aching stomach.

His throat bobbed with each swallow, and even without your new power and its new cost, his neck looked fucking delicious.

As he finished and stopped tilting the decanter back, he met your gaze and set it aside. He smiled— gosh, his teeth were sharper than you remembered— and cradled your face in his hands

"Oh, dove," he cooed. "I've filled your belly, but you need more. You need to be filled another way."

You whimpered pitifully as you nodded. "Yes, Father, please…"

"Get on your knees," he instructed quietly, "and pray."

Why is everyone on this app so h0rny