#midnight mass reader insert

[k-nayee]

Between Faith and Flesh Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

wc: 2.8k a/n: incase it was unclear, this is a little cross-over between Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass while also being an Actor!AU. Might be a lil confusing but wanted to make something new lol

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything....James 1:2-4." 

The familiar warmth of the chapel enveloped you as you delivered the final lines of your morning homily, your voice calm yet resonant in the quiet space.

Sunlight filtered through the modest stained-glass windows, casting soft hues of gold and amber across the worn pews where Crockett Island's tight-knit congregation sat.

The scent of salt and damp wood lingered faintly in the air—a reminder of the sea just beyond the church walls.

Your gaze swept across the group, catching the faces you had come to know so well over the past year.

The mayor's daughter Leeza Scarborough sat in the front row, wide eyes attentive on you as she folded her hands neatly in her lap.

Even Sheriff Hassan stood near the back as his son Ali sat near him listening intently, despite knowing how outdated many were to his Islamic faith.

These people, they had become your family in a way—this island, with all its quiet mysteries, had grown on you.

You closed your sermon with a passage on resilience, something that had always resonated with you—like how faith, similar to the sea surrounding them, could be both steady and tumultuous.

"We find strength not in the absence of struggle, but in how we rise after the waves pull us under." Your words hung in the air for a moment, met with soft nods and murmurs of agreement from the congregation.

"Let us pray," you began, your hands resting gently on the altar.

As you spoke your thoughts wandered briefly, like they often did, to Riley Flynn—a name you had known only through the accident that had first led you here.

His absence was a constant echo in the small populace community, felt even when it wasn't spoken aloud.

As the congregation stood to leave, you lingered near the altar to exchange kind words with those who came up to you.

A soft word here, a warm touch on the shoulder there—each gesture felt like a testament to how far you'd come.

This role, unexpected as it was, had become more than just a position. It was your calling.

"You've really made a place for yourself here," Anne said quietly, her expression sincere as she approached.

"Thank you Mrs. Flynn," you replied, offering her a gentle smile. "Means a lot coming from you."

And it did. Especially knowing how much of the weight of her son's sins pressed on her mind. 

It still surprised you sometimes how much the town had accepted you. Even when being the first ordained woman pastor—something that should have sparked outrage, especially in a small traditional community—the people had welcomed you with open arms.

Or at least most of them had.

The familiar sound of heels clicking sharply against the stone floor caught your attention.

Bev Keane.

She always had an aura of cold disapproval, her gaze flickering over you with barely concealed distaste.

"Another lovely service I'm sure," she said, compliment laced with her usual acidity. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she continued, "But I wonder if perhaps next time you might include more...traditional teachings? Some of the congregation finds your progressive messages a bit, well, out of step."

Her words stung, but you kept your expression calm refusing to rise to her bait.

Bev had never approved of your leadership from the start—the idea of a woman in your position, however temporary, was something she barely tolerates.

With every sermon you gave, every interaction with the townsfolk that went well, her bitterness seemed to deepen.

"I'll take your suggestion under consideration," you kept your tone firm. There was no point in arguing with Bev directly—it would only lead to more confrontation.

One thing you had long since learned about Bev's resistance was that it was more about control than doctrine.

She craved the power that came with influence over the church, and your very presence threatened that.

Bev's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. Well I'll leave you to clean up. God knows there's always work to be done."

With a stiff nod she turned on her heel and marched away, her presence lingering even after she disappeared through the doors.

As the last of the congregation departed, the chapel fell into a serene silence once again.

You exhaled softly, feeling the weight of the morning settle on your shoulders.

Despite the support of the community, moments like these reminded you of how precarious your position was.

You knew she was waiting for any excuse to discredit you—an outsider who had stepped into a role she believed was hers by right.

Busying yourself by tidying up, your hands smooth the fabric of the altar cloth as you cleared the space for the next service.

The chapel, now empty, felt both peaceful and solemn.

It was in these quiet moments that you often found yourself reflecting on the journey that had brought you here—from your small-town upbringing, to your studies, to this remote island where you now stood as the first ordained woman pastor.

The soft chime of your phone broke the stillness. Pulling the device from your pocket, you faintly smile at the name on the screen. Nick.

The message was short but familiar—a photo of him post-workout, his face flushed with exertion with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

Nick: Finishing up my workout. Just wanted to give you an update :)

Your could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

You weren't sure why you were smiling so much—after all, it was just Nick being...Nick. Friendly, teasing, always with that infectious charm.

But somehow, the way your eyes lingered on the photo for a beat too long made you acutely aware of something deeper. Something you weren't sure you should be feeling.

Shaking your head slightly, you reply back.

____: Glad to see you're keeping busy!

You hit send, already imagining the smirk he'd have seeing your response.

As soon you tuck away your phone, intent on finishing the cleanup, another buzz came almost immediately.

Nick: Hope you weren't doing anything unholy with that picture of me ;)

The heat had spread to your face and a startled laugh slipped past your lips.

You quickly type back.

____:  Behave Nicholas. I'm a pastor remember? 

You knew he was just being playful, but it didn't stop the way your heart skipped slightly at the implications.

Unholy. The word reverberated in your mind longer than it should have.

Before you could dwell too much on it, another text came through.

Nick: Sure sure I believe you ;) Anyways got a surprise for you

Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, curiosity piqued.

____: A surprise? What kind?

Nick: You'll see. Just finished that project I told you about. Check your email when you get home. And no peeking. You promised

The reminder made you chuckle. ____: Fine fine I'll wait. It better be good especially with all this mystery!

You added a playful emoji at the end, the excitement clear in your message.

His response was immediate, and you could practically hear his voice.

Nick: Oh it's good. Don't worry I know you're going to love it.

You smiled at the screen, shaking your head at his confidence. Of course he'd know.

The faint echo of your steps on the wooden floor snapped you back to the present, making your thoughts drift back to his arrival, how it had all begun.

It was almost a year at the time when Father Pruitt had left on his pilgrimage, leaving you in charge of the church—a transition you hadn't anticipated but had eventually embraced.

And just as you were starting to find your footing, Nicholas Chaves had appeared, adding a new dynamic you hadn't expected.

Before he arrived to Crockett Island, you recall the unexpected email you received: a simple inquiry from the actor who was looking to deepen his understanding of priesthood for an upcoming role.

He wanted to shadow someone in the clergy, someone who could give him an authentic insight into the life of a pastor.

And he'd heard about your rather unique position on the island...

You of course were slightly taken aback by his openness and easy way he'd talked about his work.

It wasn't every day someone like Nick came knocking, but you had agreed mainly from intrigue of the whole situation.

Even when Bev became immediately suspicious of him—practically interrogating him when he first arrived—the rest of the town welcomed him warmly, charmed by his easygoing nature.

"Another distraction," she'd muttered once when Nick had offered to help you carry boxes of hymnals inside one time. "This is a church not a social club." 

Her words always came with that same bitter edge, though by now you'd learned to brush them off. 

He stayed in Father Pruitt's old house with you during that time in one of the spare rooms.

As you finished locking up and made your way toward the small home, your thoughts drifted back to him.

You never planned on feeling so affected by him. Yes he was charming, but it was more than that—there was something about him that drew you in even when you tried to resist it.

And it wasn't just his looks—though you couldn't deny the way your breath occasionally caught when he smiled at you in that boyish way of his.

No. It was his presence. The way he carried himself—confident yet curious, never shying away from asking questions about your work and sermons, about faith itself.

He was genuinely interested, even if he wasn't fully immersed in it like you were.

In all, conversations with Nick were easy; late-night talks often ended up stretching longer than intended as you discussed everything from theology to the little absurdities of life.

And yet despite the growing comfort, there had always been a tension simmering beneath the surface.

The first time you felt the it was when he'd sat in on one of your late-night study sessions, helping you prep for Sunday Mass.

His quiet attentiveness as he listened to you practice, his casual lean against the doorway as he watched with a smile tugging at his lips.

Now, as you made your way up the steps, you wondered what this surprise of Nick's could be.

You pushed the front door open, the familiar scent of wood and old books greeting you.

It was home now—at least for the time being. Letting out a sigh, you set your bag down and make your way to the bedroom.

Changing your robes and veil into a more comfortable sleepwear, you grab your laptop and settle into bed.

There in your inbox, you find a sent email from him.

Three video files, each with a timestamp of about an 50 minutes. The subject line read simply: For You.

You frowned in confusion but quickly clicked on the first one. The video loaded, and as it played, the familiar face of Niecy Nash popped up on the screen.

A soft laugh escaped you—a TV show? It wasn't what you were expecting, but you were intrigued.

As the episode unfolded, you were drawn into the storyline.

It was refreshing actually, seeing a concept that brushed against the edges of a religion that's intertwined with your own daily life.

By the second episode you were completely hooked. You'd grown attached to the characters, loving the way they navigated this warped world of morality and sin.

The storyline itself was intense and unpredictable in how it blended the very faith you preached into something so viscerally raw.

But then your heart leapt a little as Nick—or rather, Father Charlie finally appeared on screen.

You smiled, unable to resist snapping a picture of the scene and sending it to him with a simple teasing text.

____: Look who just showed up on my screen.

Your phone buzzed almost instantly, but you ignored it.

You were too caught up in watching him; your eyes tracing the way he moved, the way his expression shifted with every word.

It was surreal watching him play a priest when just a few weeks ago, he had been standing beside you in the church helping with the altar cloths.

Every close-up of his face had your heart doing an odd little flip. You'd shared conversations with that face, shared jokes and moments of comfort. 

The goofy smile on your lips was hard to suppress as you watched him banter with Sister Megan, the two having a light giggle over stolen fries.

You couldn't help but draw parallels between the man on the screen and the man you had grown close to—the actor who had been nothing but kind, thoughtful, and, admittedly, a little flirtatious.

And then the scene change.

The camera panned across a dimly lit, sparsely furnished room. Your eyes narrowed, focusing in on the figure sitting at the edge of a bed.

It was Father Charlie—his broad, bare back flexing as he sat, hunched slightly. The room was silent except for his soft labored breathing.

You watch with growing confusion as his breathing deepens.

A soft sound escapes him—a low moan—and suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifts entirely.

Your eyes widened upon realizing what you were seeing. Father Charlie is pleasuring himself.

The sounds of his quiet sighs fill the room, and you freeze as you try to process what you're watching. 

The camera caught it all: the soft sighs, the slow measured pace of his hand, the quiet moans that grew more strained with every movement.

You felt your breath hitch, heat creeping up your neck as you watched too stunned to look away.

You know it's just a show—it's just acting—but seeing Nick, someone you know, in such an intimate and vulnerable moment...it shakes you.

Your body feels hot, heart pounding as Father Charlie quickens his pace, his breath becoming more erratic, moans growing louder.

A strange warmth unfurled in your chest that you immediately tried to suppress.

It felt wrong to watch this—wrong to feel anything about it.

Your fingers tremble as you reach for your laptop, the desire to pause or stop the episode battling with the inexplicable pull to keep watching.

And then it changed again.

The camera cuts to him standing at a basin, his back to the facing you once again, the muscles in his back flexing under the low light.

You blink rapidly as he begins to wash his hands, the sound of the water almost deafening in the silence.

That's when you notice it—the chaps. He's wearing bottomless chaps, the skin of his thighs and backside completely bare.

"Sweet baby Jesus," you whisper, hands shaking as you press a hand to your mouth in attempt to contain the heat that spreads across your face.

It wasn't over.

Father Charlie moved toward a small wooden box, opening it with a reverence that made your stomach twist.

He reached inside and pulled out a flogging whip—a thick, multi-tailed instrument of punishment.

His expression is solemn, his lips moving in silent prayer as he prepares the whip, his fingers brushing reverently over the strips before raising the instrument of self-punishment.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch, unable to tear your eyes away as Father Charlie strikes himself.

The sharp crack of the whip fills the room and you flinch at the sound.

Each lash is deliberate. His body jerks with every strike, a soft grunt escaping him with every hit.

His whispered prayers mix with the sounds of his punishment, the intensity of the scene almost unbearable as it goes on, each crack of the whip sending a shiver down your spine.

It's too much. You couldn't take it anymore.

Your hand shot out, scrambling to close the laptop with a thud. For a moment you couldn't move.

Your body felt both heavy and weightless at the same time, suspended in the strange space between what you knew and what you had just witnessed.

The room around you suddenly felt too small, too close.

Shakily, you brush a few stray strands of hair from your damp forehead, trying to steady yourself.

You were a pastor—dedicated to God, to the people you served. You weren't supposed to feel like this.

Closing your eyes tightly, you try to will the feeling to go away and dissipate like the smoke from the candles you had blown out earlier in the church.

But the heat in your face, the trembling in your hands, didn't fade.

You felt as though you had been thrust into a battle between your devotion to God and the temptation of something far more dangerous—something you could no longer ignore.

The dim screen of your phone in your peripheral catches your attention.

Hesitant, you picked it up, and your stomach drops at the sight of Nicholas's message.

Nick: What do you think?

[inej-ruination-ghafa]

bigger than the whole sky - g.h

midnights masterlist | the great war | paris

summary: the one where you admit your feelings for Gale and then the world falls apart

wordcount: 4.0k

warnings: mass bombings, death, mass murder, the bombing of District 12 was similar to a genocide so beware of that

“Can I ask you a question?” You looked up at him, lifting your head up from his shoulder. 

He nodded and you were silent. How did you ask him if he still loved Katniss even if she was in the games again? How do you find out if he loves you back? You wished you could put up more of a fight, ask him the truth but you couldn’t do it. 

“Do you still wish you could-“ you stopped yourself, rewording again in your head. You couldn’t just ask him if he still loved her like that, “Do you think Katniss could make it out?” 

He nodded, “I do,” there was silence after that and to you, that answered both of your questions. 

If you could, you would spend your whole life sitting on that hill with Gale, watching the sun set across the meadows. He had asked you to run away with him only a year earlier and this part of you wished that you had gone with him when he asked. 

You never liked Gale. Throughout your entire time at school, he was the most annoying person to you and you only ever talked to him when Katnis did. 

She was your best friend, the other half of you and you two would go out into these woods whenever you could. She was good at hunting and you were relatively good at the dressing and then selling it. 

Around three years ago, she had invited Gale out into the woods with you and since the moment that he caught you from falling into the river, you had become inseparable; you’d learnt that he wasnt as annoying as you had always assumed. 

Before the 74th Hunger Games, you had realised your crush on Gale. You had ignored it, buried it down into your chest so that nobody else would know. You knew he had feelings for Katniss and so you left it alone. 

When she went into the games the first time, you had become inseparable with Gale, more so than ever before. Now, as she was in it again, you leant on one another. You don’t remember who you were before him. 

“We should go,” you said, stopping your reminicising as you looked at him. You were getting lost in situations and circumstances and the small chance that maybe he had feelings for you to. You couldn’t allow yourself to think like that. 

Since Katniss went into the 75th games, the peacekeeper prescience had increased and neither of you felt safe on the hill anymore. 

He nodded, standing up and offering his hand for you. He pulled you up and you stumbled a little bit, bracing yourself on his chest. 

You looked at him, eyes slightly wide. You were so close you could kiss him here, kiss him in the isolation of the meadow. A part of you wondered whether his eyes actually did just flick between your lips and your eyes or if your love was blinding you. 

You muttered a thank you before pulling yourself away. You knew where he stood, you knew he loved Katniss and you knew he wouldnt kiss you back if you did it. 

So instead, you looked away, tears burning behind your eyes as you thought of it. 

The walk back to the square was slow. The entirety of District Twelve were feeling the effects of the games. There were peacekeepers everywhere, they were blocking the black markets and people were starting to starve. 

You spotted Gales family in the crowd and the two of you walked over, his arm wrapped round you to keep you close - he knew how much you hated the crowds. 

Hazelle, his mother, gave you a warm smile as the two of you joined the crowds that were watching the games. It was mandatory at this point, to watch the games as it came to its end. The sun was setting over Twelve but within the games, it was pitch black. 

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you watched the games unfold. Katniss had just been presumably attacked by Johanna in the woods and you gasped alongside all of the other members of Twelve. 

You looked up at Gale and you could see the fear in his eyes. You could feel your stomach sink; you hated the way that he looked at her. 

It was sick. You knew that it was wrong. You shouldn’t envy a girl who had been put into the games twice within two years but you wished he would look at you that way, with that adoration in his eyes. 

You reached down, grabbing his hand and squeezing it. He squeezed it back, a signal that you two had developed over the years to make sure that each other were okay when silence was mandatory. 

There was silence over District Twelve as they all watched the games on the big screen. The only noise that could be heard was the commotion of the games and the sound of Peacekeepers clicking their guns into place. 

It was silent as you all watched Katniss wrap the coil around her arrow and aim it at the sky. You could hear Gales breath hitch in his chest as she shot the arrow into the force field that surrounded the games. 

The lights cut out. 

Everyone looked at one another as they wondered why the feed in the games had cut out? What was going on? Why did Katniss do that? What was going to happen next? Every single thing she touched turned into ashes, it all fell apart in her hands and now she had taken control. If this was an act of rebellion, you would be proud of her. 

Everyone was asking themselves the same questions about the commotion in the games and so were the Peacekeepers as they looked at one another, all of them listening to some sort of comms message in their headsets.

Hazelle grabbed the boys tight, Rory was about thirteen and Vick ten but it didnt stop her from being worried about them. She looked over at the two of you, wondering if there was some plan that you knew about and she didn’t.

gale just shook his head. None of them knew what was going on.

Posy, his five year old sister, tugged onto his trouser leg and he looked down at her. She was so young to have to watch this all unfold and now something was really wrong, he didnt want her getting caught up in anything. He picked her up, holding her against his chest, her head tucked into his shoulder. 

You reached over, brushing a hand over her hair and she looked at you with a smile. She had no clue what was going on, only that something was clearly wrong. 

“What are we going to do?” You said quietly as you leaned over, looking up at him. 

He shrugged. Gale was so confused, “She’s rebelled, we’re all in trouble,” he replied, pursing his lips when he saw a Peacekeeper walk past. 

The commotion was starting to turn to chaos. The members of District twelve were beginning to yell and ask for answers, wondering why their heroic Katniss would do something like this. They needed answers or this would soon become a mob.

Thats when he walked on stage, Head Peacekeeper Thread. 

You could see Gale visibly tense up at the sight of him. You would never be able to remove the image of him tied up to that post, getting whipped over and over again out of your head. It was the worst thing you had ever seen and it had happened to the man you loved. Now the man responsible for it was parading around town, destroying the soul of your beloved district. 

He tapped the microphone before speaking into it with his gruff and unkind voice, “Everyone back to your house!” He yelled out.

The crowd went silent at the mans demand. This was proof that something had gone wrong in the arena and everyone had a guess what it was; an uprising. 

”Now” he commanded and everyone started to disperse. 

You followed Gale and his family home, Hazelle didn't want you to be alone in that hostel you were staying at with all of those people in the dodgy side of town. 

Everyone was silent as they walked towards their houses. There was an air of something and you could tell that there was a tension. Nobody had any answers and the Peacekeepers basically locking them in their houses made people anxious. 

She sat in the living room of Gales house, unable to sit down. Your best friend was in that arena and nobody had any clue what was going on and it made you sick to the stomach. Then the thought of Gale worrying about her made her ill too and she grabbed onto the mantelpiece, looking at the only ever picture of their full family before the mining accident. 

“You okay darling?” Hazelle asked and you turned around, putting on a smile. 

“Just stressed, but everyone is,” you shrugged, trying to seem positive. 

She nodded, “This is bad, isn’t it?” You could hear the fear in her voice and you wished that there was something that you could say to calm her nerves but this was really bad. 

With hesitance, you nodded your head, “Let’s just wait, we dont need to jump to conclusions,” you said before excusing yourself. 

You walked into Gales room and sat down on his bed. A smile came to your face as you looked at the picture that rested on his bedside table. It was the only picture that the two of you shared and it was from the party thrown for all nineteen year olds when they aged out of the games. You both had the widest grins on your faces. 

“Thats my favourite picture in the world,” he stated. 

A bitter feeling soaked through your chest as you put it back, eyes landing of the one of him and Katniss and Prim, “I thought that was,”

Gale didnt seem to get the hint because he just shrugged it off, sitting down nect to you, “Nah, you’re too pretty in that one,” he teased. 

“Gale,” you chastised. He knew that you hated it when he complimented you but he always did it anyway. 

He always assumed that you must have been self conscious and didnt like the compliments for that reason. It was actually because it hurt too much when he would compliment you, like the words burnt a hole in your chest because you knew that he didnt love you like you wanted him to. 

It was wrong to be thinking about that, to be jealous of your best friend just because of some guy, especially in the situation you were in right now but you couldn’t help the way it bubbled up in your chest. He made it worse as he placed his hand on your shoulder, trying to reassure you it was okay.

“If she rebelled-“ you started to say. 

He cut you off nearly immediately, “She did, she finally rebelled,” there was a sense of pride in his words and there it came again, that wave of bile in your throat.

”Fine,” you spat the words out and he instantly noticed how cold you were being, “This is bad Gale. She’s got us in trouble. They might kill us for knowing her,” 

Like any best friend would, he sensed your worry and reached down, grabbing your hand and squeezing it once just like he had when you were watching the attack. It would normally calm you down but all of your emotions were heightened and you didnt even realise what you were doing before you tugged your hand away. 

He muttered your name and you stood up, hands covering your stomach like you were trying to fight away the sickening feeling. 

“What’s going on?” He asked. 

You shrugged, turning away from him. You couldn’t even look at him. There was some part of you that could see the end coming and it was trying to tell him how you felt. You had to use all of your strength to push those words down. 

You shook your head, “I’m scared,”

You couldn’t see him but you knew that he had stood up because there was a loud noise of a spring creaking that always came from standing up off of his old bed. 

“What’s going on?” He repeated the question, this time more forcefully. 

The tension was rising in the room and you could feel your head pounding. You couldnt bring yourself to turn around and look at him, have a normal conversation like a civilised human. You knew that if you turned around and looked into his gorgeous eyes that you would fall apart, spewing out all of the feelings that you had been burying in the last year. 

“Leave it Gale, its not worth it,” your voice was less aggressive now, just quiet. You had a lot to pine about, all of these years you pined over him and now knowing you could tell him was breaking your heart. 

“If we’re gonna die then you might as well tell me,” he stated. 

He was right and you hated that. This might be your last time to ever tell him and even then you couldnt bring yourself to say it. You felt the shame of cowardice bubbling up in your chest. 

You could live without saying those words. You’ve got a lot that you’ve lived without over the years but something in you told you that you should say it. You couldn’t spend the rest of your life, however short it is, wondering what should’ve been. And if it’s not meant to be, then it’ll be over anyway, 

“Don’t make me do it,”

He placed a hand on your shoulder, “Just tell me,” he spun you around and you squeezed your eyes shut so you didn’t have to look at him. 

He could see the tear that had slipped down your cheek and he knew that this was big. He muttered a please, soft and begging compared to your argument. You could only imagine what his family was thinking as you yelled - you two always argued but never yelled. 

You opened your eyes hesitantly, watching as his eyes softened, “I love you,” you whispered, so only he could hear. 

The Peacekeepers may be planning the end for them. They may be planning to round everyone up and shoot them, you didn't know. But at least you would die knowing that he knew how you truly felt. 

His hand recoiled, and his eyes went wide. Horror washed over you. He didn't feel the same. This is what you had been fearing this whole time, that you would tell him how you felt, and he wouldn't reciprocate your feelings. 

There was silence in the village, no sound of children crying, couples arguing. Silence. All that you could hear was the blood rushing to your head as you realised what mistake you’d made. 

You closed your eyes shut, arms wrapping around yourself as you tried to hide away from his gaze as he worked out what to say next. 

“Say it again,” he asked. 

Your eyes fluttered open, confused. When you looked at him, he had a smile on his face, and you were confused. 

With a shake of your head, you looked down at your feet, blinking back tears, “Don’t mock me,” 

you had never been so vulnerable in front of anyone in your life. Your heart was shattering at the idea that you might die and this would be the last thing that had ever happened to you. 

He walked over and you could see his feet appear in your vision. His hand came out, two fingers under your chin to tilt your head up so that you were looking at him. His eyes softened when he saw the tears spill down your cheeks. 

He repeated the sentiment again, “Say it again,” 

“I love you,” you whispered, even more quiet than before. 

There was silence in the room and he broke it with a laugh, “I love you,” he replied before you could scolded him for laughing, “Thats what you were so scared of saying?” He laughed again, “I thought it was obvious that I was madly in love with you,” 

Your eyes widened and you hit his chest, hand staying there, “Obvious? No, I thought you loved Katniss?” 

He shook his head, “Back then. But she’s got Peeta, and she doesnt love me. Never will. You’re not my second choice, I just didnt see it back then. You’re all Ive ever wanted,”

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning up and smashing your lips against his. His hands moved to your back, holding you close against his. One hand trailed up your spine, nestling in the back of your head as he manoeuvred your head slightly so that the kiss could be deepened. 

For a second, you forgot all about the awful things that might happen and the fears for the rest of your life now that Katniss had destroyed the Games. You just stayed in this moment, allowing yourself to hold him tight. 

You pulled away from him, the moment having been interrupted by the loud noise that ricocheted throughout the village as all of the engines pulled out at once. The sound of the truck engines all igniting at the same time made you both look at one another in panic. 

There was a sinking feeling in your gut that had been getting progressively worse throughout the evening and now, as you rushed to the window and drew back the curtain to see the armoured trucks vanishing into the distance, it got worse. 

The fear for your best friend was still echoing in the back of your mind but now, as you realised that they were all leaving, the panic set in. 

You and Gale shared a worried look, “They’re leaving,” you mumbled, almost to yourself. 

He nodded. There was a silence in the room as you both stood by the window. You both knew what was going on and what this all meant and the adrenaline started to pump through your body. 

Gale leaned over, pressing one more kiss against your lips like it would be the last time that he would ever get to do it. 

 “We have to go, now,” he said and you agreed. You both knew what was gong to happen. 

You rushed into his little sisters room, shaking Posey awake, “What’s wrong?” She asked, mumbling through sleep. 

You didnt know how to explain it to her, “We’re just going on a little walk, grab your favourite teddy,” you said and she nodded, picking up the little teddy bear her father had given her.

“I’m sleepy,” she mumbled, holding her arms out. You couldn’t deny her and so you picked her up, hauling her into your arms. 

When you walked out into the kitchen, you could see Hazelle packing some backpacks full of all of the food that they owned with canisters of water attached. The boys were helping; they were at the age where they could realise what was going on in the world, and they knew what would happen if they weren't fast. 

“Where’s Gale?” You questioned, looking around. 

“Him and some of the other men are trying to pull everyone out of bed and to the forest,” she explained, walking over and pressing a kiss to Poseys head, “You should help him,”

You nodded your head in agreement, settling the little girl down onto the sofa before promising to come back. You started to rush through the village, knocking on all of the doors that werent closed. 

A lot of them had already started packing, but there were a few who weren't. She could see Mr and Mrs Wentworth closing their door, telling one of Gales friends from the mines that he did not want to go. 

You looked around and noticed just how many people were refusing to leave, and that’s when you realised that if everyone did not get out soon and start heading to the forest, then there would be nobody left. 

In the far corner of the village, she could see Gale arguing with a young woman with a baby. You rushed over, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Please tell this man that I will not leave. The Capitol will not kill us, hes crazy,” she demanded, her baby screaming now. 

“Miss, we have to leave, they will kill us,” you tried to reason. 

She scoffed before turning around and shutting the door to her house. 

You looked up at Gale and checked your watch. It had been 5 minutes since the trucks pulled out, “We need to go,”

he nodded. You both knew that this was going to be bad if they stayed for too long. The other men from the mines were rounding up as many people as they could but some didn’t believe and some were too scared of the forest to go with them there. 

“I’ll go grab the last group over there, and I’ll meet you out there at our spot,” he promised. 

You shook your head, “We’re not splitting up,” 

”We have to,” he said, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips, “I love you,” he rushed off into the distance, and you knew this was it. You had to go now. 

You spotted Katniss’ mother and Prim in the distance and you rushed over to them, “Let’s go,” you said. 

“Will they really bomb us?” Prim asked. 

“I think so, kid,” you replied. 

You watched as Gales family came out of their house with some supplies, and then you knew you had everyone you needed. You stood up on a box and looked out at the group. 

“Everyone, please follow me to the forest. Don’t be scared, we will be safe out there,” you called out and as you walked, you looked behind you. 

You were disappointed at the lack of people there, maybe only four hundred or so. There were so many people in Dsitrict Twelve that werent coming. 

It was chaos. Your group were heading towards the forest and everyone else to the main road, thinking they could find help there. You knew the Captiol would let everyone die. There would be no survivors if they got caught. 

You and your group reached the border, and that’s when you saw the bombers flying over. You escorted everyone out, helping the young girl and her baby sister through the cracks through, lending a hand to the elderly couple.

the group walked up to the hill, and your heart was pounding as you watched them start to bomb the Distirct. Then you looked around. 

Gale was missing. 

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you realised that he was gone. He was gone, and you didn't know where he was. He might still be in there. 

You were about to start panicking when you saw another group head up the hill, and you ran into his arms, holding him tight. You flinched at the sound of the bombs, but it was safe here, they didnt know they were here. 

“I thought you were dead,” you muttered, helping him up the hill to his family. 

He chuckled, “Coudnt get rid of me that easily,” he joked. 

You shook your head, grabbing his hand and holdng it as you stood at the top of the hill. He squeezed it when he felt you tense up at the sound of the bombs. 

Everyone watched as the bombers circled around, bombing down the main road at those that were trying to run to safety. 

A tear slipped down your cheek as you watched them all die in the explosions. None of you could have done anything to help them and bring them back. You looked up at Gale, and he pulled you into his side. You watched a tear slip down his cheek at the sight of all of those who died. There were no words in the aftermath of the bombing. The knowledge that everyone had died weighed heavy on their hearts. 

915 from District Twelve. You were the only ones who made it out alive. The war had just begun. 

[phatm0th]

on my period and i have a 4 day weekend and im feeling romantic and im missing father paul like a mf sooo vamp period fic??? a short one??mayhaps???

[tongueinatree]

Aftermath (Zayne Love and Deepspace Fic)

Pairing: Zayne Li x Reader

Fandom: Love and Deepspace, lnds, LADS

Word Count: 1.1k 

Warnings: fluff, angst, smut, NSFW, 18+, Minors Do Not Interact/MDNI! Temperature play (mild). Unprotected sex (always use protection)! AF/AB reader insert character. Profanity is used.

Description: In the liminal moment that stretches from midnight to dawn, in the space between love and longing, there’s no reason for Zayne to question your devotion. 

Author's Note: Main character is afab and uses she/her pronouns (though those pronouns aren’t used here). No "Y/N", but fic is in second person using “you”. Reader character's appearance is not described, though the reader is imagined to be slighter and shorter than Zayne. Not beta read.

This is mostly born out of me wondering what the aftermath of Zayne’s secret time(s), “Silent Poem” would be like from the MC’s POV.

Comments, likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!

All my work, including this fic, is copyright protected. You do not have permission to copy, repost or translate my work! You also do not have permission to submit this work into any AI model or software. 

Aftermath (Zayne x Reader fic)

Say my name. 

Doesn’t he know he doesn’t have to ask? That he can wring it from you, tear it clean of your chest… and you’ll let him do so, with the most dopey smile, with abandon? 

He must not, from the desperation that tinges the words, from the slight increase in the pressure of his hips. 

“Zayne.” It’s all you say, in a low whisper. The whisper’s not a shy one. It’s more like his name is sacred. 

A gasp leaves you as he gives a pointed thrust. He murmurs your name back, but the look in his eyes is glassy; his pupils dart around, unfocused. 

The roll of his hips doesn’t slow, though, nor does it lessen the pleasure lulling your body into a limp mass. You may be on top, but it’s only in the most literal sense. 

“Zayne. Can’t ride anymore. Take over.” You’ve murmured the request in his ear before you’re fully cognizant of it. Zayne’s gaze comes into focus at the request. His gaze takes on a reverent light as his eyes etch a trail across your face; it’s in contrast to how firmly he grips your hips. 

Zayne lets out a sigh, and the sound is half-tortured, half-blissful. 

Then he grunts, once, and flips you over. He doesn’t slide out of you, not even as you both scramble to realign your limbs. Well. “Scramble.” It’s more like you go onto your back and let him tug your legs up around his waist, let him drive in and out of you as he wants. 

There’s something defeated about him tonight. Like he’s a slave not simply to his passions, but to his fears as well. You know that you – and your relationship with Zayne, the ferocity of your love, the vulnerability of moments like this one – all test Zayne’s restraint. You know that he needs restraint as badly as he needs air to breathe. 

So this, tonight, it’s the most carnal of confessions. 

You pull at his wrists from where they’re clutching your knees, to tug them into place at your waist. Zayne flattens his palms so that they curve over the swell of your waist and onto your stomach. Ice sprouts on his fingertips. The sensation of it, on your sweat slicked skin, is jarring, but in the sweetest way. 

Still, Zayne pauses. “Are you alright? My Evol…” 

“Zayne,” you grit your teeth, “I’m fine. I’m always fine.” 

He doesn’t move, “I can’t – it’s only going to get worse.”

You nod, “I know. I like it.”

Then you’re shoving your hips up, so that you envelope him fully, and it’s Zayne’s turn to gasp. 

His eyelids flutter for a second, and then he’s – well, there’s no nice way of putting it – he’s plundering your insides, fucking so hard that the slap of your skin sounds more like cement colliding than flesh. 

You let yourself be pulled away by the motions, to drift through a sea of endless rapture. 

Until your eyes open, and you see that the fear on Zayne’s face is still there. It’s not a palpable look of fear; it’s subtle, hovering beneath the set of his jaw and the swell of his cheeks, and only you’ll ever be able to spot it. 

For Zayne, it’s not that his love for you drugs him (though it does) – it’s that it makes him needy. Clingy, even. He needs to know that you love him as he loves you.

Frustration gnaws away at the pleasure liquefying your body. 

You let your legs fall down from around Zayne’s hips – they’ll start cramping soon, anyway – and you sit up, so that he’s in between your thighs. He’s on his knees, and doesn’t try to move until you shove him onto his backside; the movement dislodges him from inside you, and he looks pained at that. But all too soon, you’ve clambered back onto his lap, and guided him back into you. He’s icy as he enters, colder than before, and the sensation makes you groan in pleasure. You’re now chest to chest. The position is a bit awkward, but it’ll suffice, because it brings you as close to Zayne as you want to be. Gradually, the languid pace of earlier resumes, with your and Zayne’s hips moving together in unison. You clutch at his shoulders, “Zayne. I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Zayne nods, “I know.” 

You shake your head, cup his cheek, “No. Zayne, I’m right here. Trust that. Trust me.”

Zayne lets out a sound that’s something between a laugh and a sob. 

You release his shoulders and take his face in your hands, “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t want to.”   

Doesn’t he know? That you don’t give a damn about his restraint, nor about breaking it to get what you want. You’re also too selfish to care, too in love with him to care… 

Your grip on his chin tightens ever so slightly, “Harder. Colder, too.” 

He complies, and again, it sounds like a fault line splitting in two. 

Zayne releases his Evol at the same time, and eventually his whole body’s covered in a layer of icicles. You press yourself so close to him that it’s not clear where your bodies split apart, and the ice envelops you too.

You whisper your only confession of the night, “Missed you too.”  

It’s both difficult to admit this and not at all that difficult to admit it. Everyone around you – they all think that Zayne is the intense, broody one. They never see this: that you can go toe to toe with him in the intensity department. That you delight in cracking his restraint, that you always will. 

You’ve always been intense, too, albeit behind the mask of cheerful audaciousness. It was just more prudent to conceal this, to turn it into a dogged sort of determination. To defeat Wanderers. To try and defeat your heart condition. But masking a trait does not equal the absence of that trait. Instead, you just turn hollow inside, and you’ve felt hollow for the longest time. No one’s ever matched your fire… until Zayne. He carries his differently, of course. Behind a wall of indifference, of methodical precision, of, well, ice. 

But it’s there and it overpowers him, just as yours does you.  

“How could I love anyone else?”

…

Later, when everything's over and you’re both sated, there are tears in your eyes. They’re neither pained nor happy. Zayne kisses them away, holds your hand tight in his. 

You smile at him, “Love you.”

He squeezes your hand, “I know.”

[seigeocs]

Ships and Characters

Skyrim

My OCs + their ships. Farkas Vilkas Brynjolf

Fallout 3 Butch Cross Jericho Charon

Fallout New Vegas (if it’s not obvious, I really like the ladies in NV) Boone Lily Bowen Raul Cass Veronica

Fallout 4 All of the romance options Deacon Maxon The Raider bosses in Nuka World except the Black siblings

Fallout (TV Series) Ghoulcy Maximus x Lucy

Destiny 1 Any of my OCs Siobhan x Emyr Siobhan x Shaxx Siobhan x Uldren

Destiny 2 Any of my OCs Siobhan x Crow Siobhan x Shaxx

Dragon Age: Origins Any of my OCs established ships F!Cousland x Anora, F!Warden x Leliana, F!Warden x Morrigan, M!Warden x Morrigan, M!Warden x Zevran, F!Warden x Zevran

Dragon Age: Awakening F!Cousland x Nathaniel Howe, F!Cousland/Anders, F!Warden x Varel

Dragon Age 2 I’ll write for any of the characters and ships in DA2.  My favorites are: F!Hawke x Fenris, F!Hawke x Isabela x Fenris, F!Hawke x Varric, M!Hawke x Fenris, M!Hawke x Fenris x Isabela

Dragon Age: Inquisition I like almost all of the ships.  I struggle to write Solas so he’s just not available unfortunately.  Not that I don’t like his character, I just suck at writing him. My OCs and their ships, Dorian x Bull are some of my favorite.  I also love writing interactions that don’t involve smut for the companions as well.

Dragon Age Veilguard (when it comes out as I’m trying to keep away from most of the game information)

Mass Effect F!Shep x Kaidan, F!Shep x Ashley, F!Shep x Garrus, F!Shep x Tali (DON’T CARE IF THEY WEREN’T OFFICIAL, THEY EXIST TO ME).

Mass Effect 2 F!Shep x Garrus, F!Shep x Thane, F!Shep x Zaeed, F!Shep x Garrus x Thane, F!Shep x Tali, F!Shep x Miranda, M!Shep x Jack

Mass Effect 3 Same ship as 1 and 2.  I also write F!Shep x James Vega but in the non creepy Citadel DLC way.  That doesn’t exist in my canon.

Stardew Valley I’ll write smut about many of the characters in the game.  My one farmer is shipped with Harvey and my other is shipped with Leah.  If you give me characters I’ll make it work.  My only line in the sand is I will not write any cheating.

BG3 *waves hand to OCs* I’ll write whatever for them and their ships.  If you request BG3 just give me some options and I’ll figure it out.

Helluva Boss* Established canon ships!  I am loving the angst with Blitz and Stolas right now.

Hazbin Hotel* Established canon couples, Angel Dust x Husker (mostly fluff for these two because Angel Dust needs it).  I won’t write Alastor in any romantic ships.

My Hero Academia*

I mostly write Reader insert fics for MHA.  I also write ships between characters too.  Platonic fluff, found family, sarcasm, and anything that is G to T rating is for every character.  My main ships: Midnight x Eraserhead x Mic Midnight x Eraserhead Mic x Eraserhead Fatgum x Mirko Fatgum x Hawks Fatgum x Eraserhead All Might x Eraserhead Mirko x Shigaraki (Don’t question it, I love the toxicity of it) Compress x Twice Twice x Hawks Hawks x Dabi

Demon Slayer*

My OC x Rengoku My Demon OC x Muzan Reader Inserts for all the over 18 characters I also write platonic found family for all the characters

Kaiju No. 8*

Hoshina is my absolute favorite character in this show. Kafka Hibino is a close second Narumi (omg the anime did him a disservice so badly) Eiji Hasegawa Haruichi Izumo Iharu Furuhashi Reno Ichikawa

Any any platonic, fluff, cute stuff with any of the characters

Haikyuu

As everyone in the main cast is over 18 by the end of the manga, I’ll write all the characters.  It’s mostly Reader Inserts but I’m open to OCs and character x character ships.

One Punch Man

Saitama Genos Atomic Samurai Blast Zombieman

[vvaticanapproved]

About Vvaticanapproved ~

MINORS DNI!!! (17+)

I'm not really expecting this to reach anywhere, especially not now since I haven't posted any original content on here yet, but I plan to in the future so I want to do an introduction for my page ahead of time.

I do have a few fics written and ready to be posted whenever I get around to it and am absolutely up for requests or suggestions, alongside non story related things.

Me,me,me:

My name is Isabella, Izzy or Leigh, whichever is preferred. I'm a student, so posts will always be inconsistent no matter what essentially. I mostly plan on using this to post my self indulgence, but maybe someone else might be indulged too 🤗

In limits, Off limits:

Here are my yes’, no’s and maybe’s regarding what I will post-



Yes~ Smut,physical abuse,relaxed kink, varying traumas, x reader

Maybe~ mentions of S/A or other traumas,suicide,extremely graphic descriptions,mental/psychological abuse.

Absolutely not~ Anything revolving kids that isn’t 100% family friendly, animal death or cruelty,ĩncẽst,nasty kinks and anything with oc’s. I only wite CC and self insert fanfics.

My fandoms and fixations:

This is an extraordinarily long, ever changing list of shit that I’m into. I have a habit of getting really into things and boring myself with them, so here’s some of the ones I haven’t gotten completely sick of. If it’s in orange I likely won’t ever write for it, OR have since stopped writing for it and might pick up again someday if provoked.

MOVIES

──⋆⋅୨ৎ⋅⋆──

Top Gun*

Top Secret

Real Genius*

Scott Pilgrim Vs The World

Hit Man

Apocalypse Now*

Creep

Kill Bill

The Darjeeling Limited

Fantastic Mr Fox

Fight Club

Full Metal Jacket

SHOWS

──⋆⋅୨ৎ⋅⋆──

Midnight Mass

Brooklyn Nine-Nine*

The Shivering Truth

House M.D

Better call Saul

Criminal minds*

Community

Breaking Bad

American Horror Story

The Witcher

Money Heist

Fallout

GAMES

──⋆⋅୨ৎ⋅⋆──

Fallout 2-4

Far Cry 5*

Red Dead Redemption 1+2

Borderlands 1-4

Cry of Fear

Team Fortress 2

Dead by Daylight

Faith: The Unholy Trinity

As I said this list is still growing and there are a ton that I didn’t put on there, so be wary of changes.

If you got this far thank youuuu you’re so sweet I love you thanks for reading this, muah muah.

[ao3feed-midnightmass]

sanctification.

by darlingdekarios "Delight thyself also in the Lord; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart." Words: 7076, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Midnight Mass (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Relationships: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/Reader Additional Tags: Vampire Bites, Age Difference, Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Catholic Prayers, Corruption, Vampires, Reader-Insert May 04, 2025 at 11:40PM Read it on Ao3 » https://archiveofourown.org/works/65290576 ✞ Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to let the author know you enjoyed their work ✞

[ao3feed-narlie]

Between Faith and Flesh

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4UCgdEn by K_nayee Words: 2940, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English Series: Part 18 of TRAVELER ᵐᵘˡᵗⁱ-ᶠᵃⁿᵈᵒᵐˢ Fandoms: Grotesquerie (TV 2024), Grotesquerie (2024), grotesquerie, Midnight Mass (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Beverly Keane, Leeza Scarborough, Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass), Reader, Riley Flynn, Nicholas Alexander Chavez Relationships: Father Charlie/Reader, Nicholas Chavez/Reader, Nicholas Chavez & Reader, Nicholas Alexander Chavez - Relationship, Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt & Original Female Character(s), Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt & Reader, Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt & You, Father Charlie/You, Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring Additional Tags: Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Alternate Universe - Actors, Cross-Post, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, female pastor, i know i know it doesnt exist, But it does now, female ordained minister/pastor, RPF, Canon Compliant, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Crisis of Faith, Temptation read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/4UCgdEn

[werebutches]

I feel so fucking inspired when I get home I’m gonna start writing reader inserts again :’)

Not for tumblr tho I know ppl get annoyed by them so it’ll be strictly for ao3 but I’m definitely starting with midnight mass lmfao

[k-nayee]

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙✩K-nayee's ✩ Stardust (pt.2 teaser)✩*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ ੈ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ ੈ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ ੈ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘ ✩‧₊ ̗̀✧₊∘∘₊✧ Pt.1: Between Faith and Flesh; Grotesquerie x Midnight Mass

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

Your hands fumbled through the cabinets until you found a bag of rice. You ripped it open, spilling nearly the entire bag onto the floor in a frantic haze.

"B-blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because having stood the test that..." Breath coming in stuttering gasps, you clutch the rosary around your neck as you fell to your knees "...p-person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."

Instantly, sharp pains appear from the grains of rice digging into your skin. You ignore it, instead welcome the stinging sensation with open arms.

You didn't deserve comfort, didn't deserve grace—not after what you had just felt.

"Lead us not into t-temptation, but deliver us from evil..." Your words stumbled and cracked as your knees bore down harder on the rice, the pain intensifying. "For t-thine is the kingdom..."

You gripped the rosary tighter, the beads digging into your palm as you clutched them with a desperation that bordered on frantic.

Tears streamed down your face as you rocked back and forth, whispering prayers through broken sobs.

"Forgive me Father..." you gasped, your breath hitching as you tried to hold back more sobs, "...for I have sinned."

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Pine-ing For You

Father Paul has a little accident while trying to set up Christmas lights and you decide to get festive.

I got this idea while chatting with @aherdofbees​, and together we developed it to get our dear priest into quite the delicious situation. She made a 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 illustration that goes with this fic. Go on, click the linkie and like and reblog, because it truly is amazing. 

Thank you so much for the inspiration Allison, I loved writing this!

NSFT/18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN

Pine-ing For You - 5.3K

tw: explicit sexual themes, consensual unprotected sex, body worship, smut with a lot of feelings™, attmepts at humour

Crockett Island may have seemed dull most of the time to the untrained eye, but after more than a year of living there you knew better. The people, while many of them a bit subdued, all had their little joys in life, their passions, and though they were wary of strangers that came into their little town at first, they were among the most kind and hospitable folks you had the good fortune to have met.

However, when Christmas rolled around, even the untrained eye could perceive the shift in atmosphere. It was a jolly holiday after all and the people indeed were slightly jollier. Little by little, decorations began appearing around the island. Many of them were small and decent, maybe just a wreath on a door, or an electric candlestick set in a window. Some were larger, Christmas lights on the roof, perhaps a little reindeer in the front yard. Few decorated more.

Some of these more festive looking places were the schoolhouse, which had student-made snowflakes in the windows, garlands on the windowsills, lights hung from the roof and even a charming wooden nativity scene in front. The Flynn house and The Greene house also breathed a gentle Christmas atmosphere to everyone who walked by. And then, there was Saint Patrick’s. Apparently, Monsignor Pruitt adored Christmas more than anyone else on the island and it showed. Dozens and dozens of various decorations were found in one of the storage areas of the church by Father Paul, who literally begged you to help him put them up. Which you were more than happy to do.

So now there were artificial swags at every corner of the small church, boughs of holly, wreaths, candles and another nativity set, placed right in front of the altar. This one was more detailed and painted, obviously made to be inside rather than face the weather conditions. And it was quite obvious Monsignor Pruitt took great pride in his decor collection. All that was missing were some Christmas trees.

—

Many residents of Crockett Island used artificial trees for their Christmas festivities, but there were still those who couldn’t imagine celebrating their lord’s birthday without a fine fir or a pine. One day, about a week before Christmas, a group of volunteers would gather on one of the larger fishing ships and set off to the mainland to pick out live trees for everyone on the island who wanted one. Ordering worked through simple paper forms, delivered to mailboxes by Dolly Scarborough. One would write down their name, preferred kind of tree, and its size. Filled out forms were then dropped off in the little town hall, along with the money for it. Unlike everyone else (including you) who ordered only one tree, Father Paul ordered three - two larger to be placed inside the church, one smaller for his rectory. He was, of course, among the volunteers going to actually pick the trees up.

They returned around eleven o’clock in the morning. You stood on the dock, looking at the fishing boat full of tied trees with a smile. Paul would be hauling the trees for Saint Patrick’s and the rectory first, with the help from Ed and Riley Flynn, and you convinced Sturge to help you carry the large pine tree you asked for to your home.

“Thank you again,” you said, walking next to him. You genuinely tried to help him carry it, but after a few minutes of very awkward walking and a few broken off twigs, the handyman simply threw the big tree over his shoulder and hauled it the rest of the way by himself. “Do you accept payment in gingerbreads?” you asked with a grin and raised eyebrows. Sturge thought for a while: “Yeah. But it will cost you.” “Oh? How much?” you chuckled. “I want the entire sheet.” You gave a whistle and made an amused ‘tsk’ sound: “Inflation these days…”

—

Two hours later, you stood at your kitchen counter, decorating gingerbreads with white chocolate. The pine stood tall and proud in your living room. It truly was a beautiful tree, healthy and dense, its herby scent, having already filled the room it stood in, was seeping through the rest of your house. You heard the front door open and shut, followed by some shuffling from the hallway.

“Hmm, it smells nice in here,” came a dreamy voice, making you smile. When footsteps began approaching the kitchen, you turned around to greet the priest. But then: “What are you wearing?” you asked, laughing softly. Father Paul was dressed in his skinny jeans, like usual. What wasn’t usual however, was the 'ugly Christmas jumper' instead of the black clerical shirt, its colour reminding you of his gold chasuble. There was a white nordic pattern on front, consisting of snowflakes and reindeers. It didn’t look terrible, but since you never before saw Paul wearing something like this, it kind of took your breath away for a moment.

“Do you like it?” asked Paul with a smile, pulling at his sleeves which you noticed were rather tight at the wrists. “It’s hideous,” you replied snarkily, making the priest chuckle and walk closer to you. He noticed the half decorated gingerbreads right away and was just about to reach for one when you lightly slapped his hand away. “Ouch. What was that for?” asked Paul, fake hurt in his voice. You giggled and wrapped your arms around his torso: “These are for Sturge, for lending me a hand with that tree.” “Oh I see,” replied your lover, understanding on his face, “will you make some for us, too?” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help but smile: “Of course I will, have I ever neglected you?”

Paul pulled you close to press a soft kiss against your lips, claiming your entire attention. Therefore, you didn’t notice his hand slowly creeping up and onto the counter until it was too late, and one of the gingerbreads was snatched and promptly bit into by the father. “You scoundrel!” you smacked his chest, while Paul only laughed with his mouth full, “you’re lucky I love you.”

He swallowed his bite and batted his eyelashes at you: “it must be the sweater.” You smirked and squinted your eyes. “The jumper is hideous,” you repeated and Paul shook his head: “You really think that?” You didn’t. Taking him in once more, you had to admit that it did look rather flattering on Paul’s tall lean frame. “I knew it,” he said smugly, “you can’t lie to me, you like it.” “I don’t like it,” you tried once more, the corners of your lips turning up inadvertently. Paul took another bite of the gingerbread: “Hm, you love it.”

A few moments later, during which you picked at the soft wool of your lover’s jumper while he hummed appreciatively at the taste of your baking, you gave him a kittenish smile: “Since you’ve got nothing better to do right now than be a menace,” he opened his mouth in mock-offence before smiling cheekily, “you could go and start with the Christmas tree, what do you say?” “Hm,” he thought, “I thought we’d do it together?” Your arms encircled his waist again, pulling him closer and lifting your head to meet his eyes: “We will, but you could at least start putting the lights on. It’s a beast of a tree and I wouldn’t be able to reach the top, unlike a certain tall priest.”

He gave you a soft smile and pecked the tip of your nose, before brushing his lips against yours: “Very well.” You watched in curiosity, as his hands came up to rest on your hips and his eyes bore into your own. And then, in less than a second, he was scrambling away, another gingerbread in his hand. You gasped and stared after him, mischievous dark eyes twinkling at you until he rounded a corner. “Unbelievable!” you called after him.

—

You were pretty happy with your work, before you on the counter lay a sheet of nicely decorated gingerbreads of various shapes. Save for the two Father Paul stole right under your nose, but you supposed Sturge wouldn’t really notice that. You were in the middle of moving them into a container, when a dull thud sounded from the living room. “Paul? Is everything alright?” you called. A deafening silence was your only answer for several seconds and you started getting worried, when Paul’s sheepish voice reached your ears: “Um… A little help here, (F/N)?” You finished storing the cookies away, wiped your hands on a kitchen towel and made your way to the living room.

You couldn’t see the priest at first, but when you did, you began giggling uncontrollably. Paul was lying on his stomach very nearly under the tree, the christmas lights cord in his outstretched hand. His torso was bare and you could see the yellow jumper and white undershirt tangled around Paul’s arms, caught on one of the tree’s strong branches. He was looking at you abashed, his cheeks a little rosy with embarrassment.

You learned fairly early on in your relationship that for all of Paul’s amazing qualities, his skill as a priest, his knack for cooking, and his knowledge of your body as a lover, he was sometimes quite clumsy and very accident prone. A week wouldn’t pass without him bashing his little toe on some piece of furniture and you’d often find small bruises on his arms and legs, prompting him to sheepishly explain the cause for them. It was usually doors.

“I’m so sorry,” you said after you caught your breath and walked closer to him, kneeling by his side, “but what happened?” Father Paul released a huff and an adorable pout formed on his lips. “I wanted to turn on the lights. I got under the tree, on my knees, and tried to plug the cord into the socket. I couldn’t reach it though, and wanted to get out, try a different angle. But, um,” he paused, wetting his lips with his tongue, “I caught my shirt on a branch. I tried to untangle it, but couldn’t. So I thought I’d just try to take the shirt off, free it from the branch and put it on again. This is as far as I got…” The priest looked angrily at his hands, “the sleeves are too tight at the wrists, I can’t get my hands out! I mean, I tried yanking away, but the tree swayed rather nastily and I was worried it would collapse on top of me.”

“Wait,” you said with an amused grin, “are you really actually trapped? You can’t get out of there?” Father Paul 'tsked: “Yes. I am trapped under a Christmas tree. Can you help me?” You smiled softly at him and pet his hair. You proceeded to move forward, crawling under the tree yourself (mindful of any mischievous branches) and snatching the cord from Paul’s hand. You plugged it in and the living room was suddenly illuminated by multicoloured Christmas lights. You crawled back and sat leisurely on the ground, close to the priest’s head. Paul looked at you expectantly for a while, but after seeing you showed no intention to free him, a look of shock came over his face: "Wha- You're really going to leave me here?”

You once more moved your hand to his head, fingers carding through his dark hair: “'Leaving you' is the last thing on my mind,” you moved until you were lying down next to him, hand now coming to stroke his cheek and jaw, “but right now, I think I like you exactly. Where. You. Are,” you exaggerated each word, thumb moving to stroke the edges of Paul’s lips. “You look like an early Christmas present,” you purred, leaning your head on your free hand. Paul closed his eyes at the feeling of your clever fingers once again combing through the soft curls on the back of his neck. “Are you-... are you really trying to seduce me while I’m trapped under a Christmas tree?”

You giggled airily, tugging at the soft hair gently and delighting in Paul’s tiny little gasps: “Hmm, maybe… Is it working?” Paul’s head fell down to lean on his arms, his cheeks got even darker and in a quiet voice he replied: “A little.” You slowly scratched at his scalp, smiling lovingly each time he leaned into your touch. "Hey," you said then, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you. Your thumb found his lips again and you gave him a look he could read perfectly by now. 'Tell me you're not ok with this and I'll stop.' it said. Warmth spread through Paul's chest, followed by a gentle tingle of anticipation.

He pressed his lips against your thumb further in a small kiss, before smiling slightly and blinking at you coquettishly, and he too attempted to speak to you with his eyes: ‘I want this’.

You gave him one more gentle smile, before leaning back and looking at him appreciatively: “My, my, I must have been so nice this year, what a lovely present.” The priest chuckled into his arms: “Are you going to tear the wrapping paper off?” Your head cocked to the side, a wolfish grin on your face. One fingertip stroked along Paul’s earlobe, descending down upon his pulsepoint and feeling his increasing heartbeat. “Nope, I don’t do that, it’s no fun” you shook your head, “I always unwrap presents slowly, peeling the tape off and trying not to damage the paper. Sometimes I even stop midway, because the anticipation makes it so much better.

“I think I’ll start with the parts that are unwrapped already,” you purred into his ear and moved closer, both of your hands coming to rest on his shoulders while you pressed small kisses into his hair, lips moving down to brush against the nape of his neck. “Hm,” you sighed contently, “such a pretty neck, long and elegant, like a swan, almost regal,” you bit lightly at the beginning of his spine, making your lover release a short gasp, “so sensitive.” You moved lower, hands sliding across shoulder blades: “Beautiful golden skin, like honey, soft, and warm, and very sweet.” Father Paul could feel more hotness entering his already red cheeks. Your whispered praises always had a profound effect on him. He hid his face in his arms.

“Strong shoulders and back, muscles defined perfectly but gently,” you continued and now dragged your fingernails across the entire length of the priest's back, making him quietly groan in pleasure. You’ve never met anyone who didn’t like their back scratched, but Paul seemed particularly enraptured by it. You made sure to lightly graze every inch of the golden skin, finding all the right spots, all the while pushing hot kisses onto every single freckle you could see and connecting them with your tongue.

Paul couldn’t help but chuckle when he felt your hands give his clothed bum a squeeze. “Girls love a guy with a lovely arse, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” you whispered cheekily and gave the lovely arse another squeeze, “alright, let me see the other side of this present before I start unwrapping it further.”

You helped Paul carefully roll over and onto his back, his wrists, still bound by his own clothes, now crossed over one another. Dark hair peeked at you from under the priest’s arms, and his pink nipples looked like little pearls screaming for attention. And they weren’t the only thing craving attention. Paul’s erection was tenting the dark grey skinny jeans and his eyes fluttered when you ran a finger over it. You gave him a grin: “Sorry, I’ve always been a little impatient, but I promise I’ll try to be good.” Paul shuddered out a laugh, his breathing a little shallow: “I wouldn’t be mad either way.”

Slowly you put a leg over his waist and straddled your lover: “Now, where were we? Oh, yeah,” you leaned forward and took his face into your hands, thumbs caressing his brow. “Thick, expressive eyebrows… Dark eyes, so, so large. Like a dolly,” you leaned forward to press your lips against Paul’s eyelids, then pulled away again, “cute, well defined nose, perfect for kissing,” once more you made your point by pecking the entire length of your lover’s nose, making him produce a fluttery chuckle.

“Though, of course, your entire face is perfect for kissing,” you smiled at him lovingly and then your fingers traced the edges of his lips, “but most of all it’s your mouth. That perfect cupid’s bow. I see it, and I want to trap it between my own lips. When you smile, when you pout, when you do that adorable little mouth shrug… When you talk, to me, to your congregation. When your mouth is slightly open and I can see your upper teeth just peeking through. I always want to kiss you.”

You crushed your lips against Paul’s, teeth clashing and tongues moulding against each other. He groaned into your hungry mouth and wanted to curl his arms around you, but soon remembered he was bound and released a desperate sound instead. You only parted from him when the lack of oxygen threatened to take your consciousness away. A tiny string of saliva followed you for a bit, before it snapped and landed on Paul's kiss bruised lips. You kissed the slight cleft in his chin and playfully dipped your tongue into it.

The emotion in your eyes as you pulled back could have made Paul cry, you were looking at him as if he was the rarest jewel, the most fantastical treasure in the world, as if he was your sun and moon and stars. “You have no idea just how beautiful you really are, do you? Inside and out,” you whispered, hands returning to stroke the side of the priest’s face, which was once more getting hot. This time however, he couldn’t hide it and as he lay there, absorbing each and every one of your words, Paul realised he didn’t even want to hide. You leaned closer again, whispering against his open mouth: “So beautiful, so very pretty.” An involuntary moan escaped him.

You smiled against his mouth, then ducked your head lower, nibbling softly around Paul's jawline before descending upon his throat, teeth scraping over his Adam's apple right as he swallowed heavily. You shifted until you sat directly on his hips and rolled your own, rubbing against his constricted erection and making his head fall back, those fine lips opening wordlessly. He took large gulps of air, hands involuntarily trying against his restraints once more. “Soon,” you promised, rolling your hips again, “but do try not to move your hands too much. I really don’t want the tree to actually fall down on our heads. Can you imagine explaining that to Sarah, when we show up all bruised and battered?”

The priest made an unhappy little sound, but tried to keep his hands as still as he could anyway. You made your way down his chest, nuzzling your face into his soft skin and delivering soft kisses and playful bites every time you felt like it. Paul sighed when your lips reached one of his nipples. You circled the nub with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth and pinching it with your teeth lightly. You used your fingers to stimulate the other nipple in perfect synchronisation with your mouth, trying various techniques and listening to Paul’s shallow gasps and quiet groans for feedback.

After alternating between the two, now red and swollen, buds for several minutes, you decided to carry on with your adventurous journey across Paul’s exquisite body, and ran the tips of your fingers against his ribs teasingly. You grinned widely when your lover made a little jump, trying to get away from your touch now: “N-no, don’t,” he gasped, but it was pointless. You again stroked over his ribs and under his arms, and was soon rewarded with choked laughter. “A-angel, please… please don’t tickle me right now,” he begged in between chuckles. You giggled, but took mercy on him, climbing up to steal a kiss: “I’m sorry, love, I couldn’t resist.”

You sat back onto his thighs and gave the priest a reassuring smile after you laid your hands on his sensitive ribs again, this time your entire palms, intent on caressing him and bringing him pleasure. You stroked down, soon finding an obstacle in your way. Father Paul’s jeans looked so, so tight around his hard shaft it must’ve been painful, and you licked your lips as you made eye contact with him and rubbed the heel of your hand over his length. He shuddered and his eyes fluttered closed on their own. You repeated the motion, making your lover groan with pleasure.

“I think it’s time for me to unwrap my present,” you whispered huskily and waited for him to look at you. When he did, you sat even further away, all the way above his knees, and began making a show of popping open the button and torturingly slowly pulling his zipper down. Your fingers curled below the waistline on each side of the trousers and you tugged them down, little by little, revealing one, then two edges of his hip bone, protruding under his skin enticingly. You left the jeans bunched in the middle of his thighs and observed the priest amorously.

His hands, still crossed at the wrists above his head were balled into fists, fingers white at the knuckles. Paul’s face was flushed dark pink, with sweat gathering in his hairline, one drop of it having already rolled down his cheek. His lips were swollen from kissing. Well, his upper lip anyway, the bottom one was currently trapped between Paul’s teeth, but you presumed it’d be in a similar condition. He was breathing hard, his eyes dark with lust, and there was a damp spot on the front of his grey boxer briefs. You bowed to press a wet kiss just below his sternum, then lower, then lower again, relishing the soft tender skin of the priest's tummy.

You drew a circle around Father Paul’s belly button with your tongue and started pinching the area underneath with your teeth, teasing at the happy trail going down into his underwear. You looked up after reaching the waistband, catching your lover’s intense gaze. He whimpered softly when instead of going where he needed you the most, you bit into that tempting hip bone. “Please…” he whispered, feeling like he was going to go insane if you were to tease him much longer. Paul didn’t even realise his eyes were closed until your soft hand touched his cheek and he opened them again. You were smiling at him warmly, a look filled with tenderness. He willingly opened his mouth for you when you moved your hand to the back of his neck and kissed him soundly.

At the same time you finally pushed your hand under the waistband of his briefs and took a hold of his aching member. Paul moaned into your mouth in relief, his eyes shutting closed and eyebrows turning upwards. You fondled his manhood steadily, massaging it slowly with your thumb drawing little circles into the heated skin. He breathed hard against your mouth once he had to part for breath, and you stuck your tongue out to trace his lips before pushing it back between them. You were slow in your movements, yet Paul soon found himself nearing his peak.

“Wait,” he managed to get out and you let go of him right away. He tried to convey what he wanted with his eyes and, thankfully, you seemed to understand.  You climbed off of him, lying down by his side instead so you could make out some more. From his position, Paul now had some access to your neck and he immediately used this fact to his advantage, pressing sloppy kisses and bites against your pulse point while you massaged his scalp with your fingers. He attempted to duck his head lower, but was held back by his restraints. He gave you another pleading look and you started removing articles of your own clothing, as well as ridding him of the jeans and boxers entirely.

Once you were as naked as he (save for the jumper and shirt tangled on his arms), You climbed back over him, bracing yourself on one hand above his head and pushing your bosom level with his face. Wasting no time, Paul began kissing the sensitive skin, tongue darting out to circle your nipples and flick over them. Meanwhile, your other hand was between your legs, two fingers slowly moving inside your heat in a scissoring motion, stretching yourself. You rested your head against Paul’s, your content sighs fanning over the priest’s black hair.

Suddenly, Paul produced an alarmed sound and turned his head away. You immediately lifted yourself off him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” you asked, your arousal now mixed with worry. He screwed his eyes shut before releasing a sheepish chuckle: “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just-... um, there is a pine needle getting somewhere it definitely should not be getting.” You started laughing quietly, Paul joining you shortly after. After you fished out the pine needle from under the back of his thigh and made sure there were no more pointy things threatening anything vital, you wanted to lean forward again, but Paul stopped you. “I want to watch,” he said. You smiled down at him and made a show of fucking yourself with your own fingers.

Once you felt sufficiently ready, you pulled your digits out and moved down Paul’s body, pushing your hips together. You rolled your hips a few times, the underside of the priest’s cock sliding through your wet folds. Using your now free hand, you reached behind yourself and guided your lover inside. Paul bent one leg at the knee and pushed his hips up to meet you halfway. Both of you choked out a small gasp. Despite your preparation, you needed a few moments to get used to Paul’s width.

You experimentally raised your hips before sinking back, trying to find an angle that worked the best for you. A few thrusts later, you felt a bolt of pleasure shoot through your spine and into your core, and grinned. You lowered yourself until your body was flush with Paul’s and carefully slipped your arms under his, hands coming to tangle into his hair. You connected your foreheads and looked into his eyes deeply as you started thrusting against him in that brilliant angle.

Paul’s laboured breathing and delicate moans blew across your cheeks, warming them more than the blood gathered there. You tilted your head to the side and let your lips connect in an uncoordinated kiss, keeping your eyes open. Paul’s hands were shaking from how much he wanted to reach out for you, all the while keeping in mind that was the only thing he couldn’t do, so he instead tried to convey all the ways he wanted to touch you in through his mouth, sucking on your lower lip, biting your tongue gently, licking a wet strip along your jaw.

Your movements sped up and the fire within you started burning brighter, every single thrust like a spurt of gasoline into a flame. You hid your face into Paul’s heated neck, feeling his heart hammering away at a rapid speed, sensing his groans and whimpers before actually hearing them. You wrapped yourself around him completely, as if willing your bodies to mould into one. The priest bent his leg a bit more, gaining better leverage to pound up into you, feeling his upcoming release nearing as well.

Once Paul heard your moans becoming more urgent, felt your walls beginning to flutter around him and saw your thighs trembling, he started nudging your head with his own, wordlessly attempting to make you look at him, reveal your face. He loved watching you fall apart, your face showing nothing but pleasure, raw, almost unhinged. It was a sight only he was allowed to see, nearly sacred. You raised your head with some difficulty and rested it back against his, your pupils blown wide and constantly disappearing and reappearing behind fluttering eyelids.

You were on the very brink, moments before plummeting down into the abyss, and your hips lost all sense of rhythm. “Come for me, angel,” Paul groaned and delivered a sharp thrust upwards, effectively shoving you over the edge. Your fingers closed in his hair harshly and a wave of pleasure exploded in your core, shooting into your veins like a drug. You gasped violently, releasing a series of short high pitched whimpers as your heat began pulsing around Paul’s twitching shaft. He continued thrusting into you, hitting that little bundle of nerves and effectively prolonging your orgasm.

You were blushing everywhere, sweating, trembling through heaps of bliss, yet a drunken smile bloomed on your face. Your unfocused eyes connected with Paul’s, their gaze intense and almost desperate. “S-so, ah, you’re so b-beautiful, Paul,” you managed to stutter out, and then only watched the fireworks go off in those nearly black orbs. They widened for a millisecond and then, as if a rope snapped, you could see Paul fighting to keep them even open. You would have almost thought he was in pain, with his hands trembling violently, his mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape to release a long moan, and his head tilting back.

Your walls were painted white, spurt after spurt of hotness spreading through your core. Together you shook through the aftershocks, slowly coming down your highs. You collapsed against your lover, trying to get your breathing under control once more. Several minutes of lazy kisses and whispered words of love later, Paul tried tugging his arms free once more, causing some more pine needles to descend upon your cooling bodies. You groggily climbed up his body until you were able to reach the treacherous twig and untangle it from Father Paul’s shirt.

The priest stretched his arms and proceeded to pull both his jumper and shirt off of him, tossing them somewhere to your left. Finally, finally, he was able to hold you and immediately did just so. “You were right,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, “it is a horrible sweater.” You giggled and let yourself slide down and onto your side, lying next to him. “I don’t know,” you purred, your hand coming to caress his cheek, “I think it’s starting to grow on me.”

You shivered slightly, your body having already cooled down from your previous activities, and reached for a blanket which was draped over your sofa. You threw it over the two of you and got comfortable in the father’s arms. “If there was an advent calendar of making love during Christmas time, this would definitely be there. Under the tree,” you mused, your voice light and airy. “Wonder what would be hidden under ‘24’,” replied Paul in the same manner, “making love after the midnight Mass?” You grinned into his neck, one of your hands slowly massaging his shoulder: “A lovely suggestion.”

“Still want to decorate the tree?” he asked after a while, pressing small kisses into your hair. You murmured something unintelligible and hid your face again. Paul chuckled lowly: “Okay, shower and a movie then?” “Yeah,” you breathed into his skin, “we’ll do the tree first thing tomorrow.” Paul hummed in agreement. You lay cuddled beneath the Christmas tree, the colourful lights dancing on your bare limbs and the smell of pine lingering sweetly in the air. “We could decorate the one in the rectory after. And bake those gingerbreads only for us.”

A giggle started blooming in your chest, soon turning into a full on laughter. “You really are unbelievable!” you bit into your lower lip and pulled back to look into his large eyes. They reflected the big genuine smile on Paul’s face perfectly: “I’ll even wear the sweater.” You shook your head and quickly crushed your lips against his. Absolutely unbelievable.

Thank you for reading, I hope you had a good time c: As always, you can find this story and all of my other stories over on AO3. Please, be sure to check out @aherdofbees​ tumblr as well, she makes the most spectacular art!

the first tags are sentences I had to restrain myself from using in order not to look like the last bits of sanity finally packed their bags and kissed me goodbye

@everythingbutresolved @agirlinherhead​ @rothko-mirror​ @littleredwritingcat​ @vintageglassheart02​ @thexhostess​ @fatherpaulsimp​ @blackberries45​ @daughterofaries​ @exorcise-my-demons​ sending kisses ××

[kasha-formerlydrabbletastic]

Parent/Teacher Night

Sheriff Hassan x Fem!Reader (Midnight Mass)

Summary: The reader is a teacher at the school on Crockett Island, engaged in a “flirtationship of the ages” with the local Sheriff, that finally comes to a steamy culmination. 

Word count: 2,243

Warnings: MATURE READERS ONLY 18+ - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Public sex, creampie, P in V sex, oral sex (f receiving), swearing, a small dose of Bev Keane. 

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“Well, that's a welcome sight."

You take the banner down off the wall, smiling as you fold it into its original packaging; parent/teacher night was as expected, with the obvious meeting of parents and the explanation of your planned curriculum and first impressions of your students. You had seen Hassan briefly, a bright spot amongst the rather dull group of parents, but only briefly as you carried on your rehearsed speech and fielded questions that were, frankly, small-minded to a concerning degree. When they left to meet with the other handful of teachers the school has, your classroom was quiet, allowing you to decompress from the pressure.

The voice, deep and soothing, comes from behind you, and you turn to see Hassan, leaning against the door frame as his eyes rise to meet yours. His strong arms are folded over his sturdy chest and you can't help but let your mind wander, imagining once more what being held against that sturdy chest would feel like.

"Evening, Sheriff," you say before your tongue sweeps over your lips; Hassan's gaze falls once more for a brief second.

"I hope I'm not intruding," he says, pulling himself off the doorframe and stepping toward you, a relaxed swagger coming over him. "I know the night is over but..."

You study him from toe to tip, hoping against hope you'll get to feel some of that swagger as soon as possible.

"Parent/teacher night might be over, but I am more than happy to help with any questions you might have."

"I was hoping you'd make an exception," he says, his smile more of a smirk than anything you'd ever seen of him.

There's about three feet between you now, every cell in your body screaming for the gap to be closed. You and Hassan have been dancing around each other for months now, a flirtationship of the ages, but not once had either of you made a move to progress it. The tension was achingly palpable, pressing on you from every side and waiting for you to finally pop.

"Well, what else can I do for the man who keeps Crockett safe if not make an exception?"

"That's true," he says, his smirk growing cockier.

"Oh, please," you laugh. "Don't be so humble."

"I could try," he replies, "but what fun would that be?"

As if out of instinct, you step forward, gazing into Hassan's face for a moment before you say, "So what is it you need, Sheriff?"

"That's the question, isn't it?" he replies, matching your step forward; his voice is quiet, husky to say the least as a certain haze sets in. His brown eyes shift over every feature of your face, seemingly drinking you in as you feel his fingers lace with yours.

The slightest tremble excitedly quakes your body in response, and your fingers close around his. You tug him forward until your chests press together, feeling his warmth seep through your blouse to your skin.

"Hassan," you murmur with every intention to make another quip, but before you can, Hassan exhales, curling his hand around the base of your head and tilting it up. 

His lips barely part as he lowers his face to yours, capturing the gasp that dances from your mouth. They're soft, warm, gentle in their first touch, and immediately intoxicating; it's like a dam has broken, the curl of anticipation from your belly exploding into exhilaration in your veins, coursing through to push you forward against Hassan, throwing your arms around his waist to pull him closer. You'd crawl into his skin if given the chance, but you'll settle for just being as close as possible, touching in as many places as possible.

Both of his hands now cradle your head as his lips part yours, his tongue slipping past, curious to explore your mouth. He hungers for you, craves you in ways he's never shown before. His body pushes forward, pressing your backside against your desk as the most obvious sign of his desire brushes against you.

You moan into his mouth, your core tingling with arousal. The very thought of his cock slipping into you is enough to soak your panties, made more potent by the feeling of his hands drifting down your neck and onto your chest. He paws at your breasts for a moment before they slide down your ribs and over your waist, not stopping until each hand is full of your rear. Hassan scoops you up, settling you on the edge of your desk without once breaking the kiss.

His fingers bunch up your long, modest skirt, hiking it up over your legs as you spread them to make room for him. The kiss grows more desperate and his fingertips press into your thighs, surely bruising them. They grope higher and higher up your legs until his thumbs rest near to your heat; you're certain if he just slips his thumb up half an inch, he will feel the tell-tale wetness he's causing.

In turn, your hands wander, feeling his soft and strong body through his uniform's button-up before you reach down and cup his bulge.

"Ah," he sighs against your lips, his forehead pressing against yours as you begin to stroke him outside his jeans. "Y/N, that feels so good."

"It'll feel even better once I take it out," you giggle.

This prompts Hassan to pull back, his expression messy with lust.

"Here?" he asks, his concern pushing through for just a moment.

"I'm up for it if you are," you reply, your hand already at work on his belt buckle.

"Fuck, I'm up for it," he says before he claims your mouth again.

Your fingers pull his belt open, then make quick work on his button and fly. Maneuvering the hole of his boxers, your hand dips inside, pulling his erection free of its cage. Hassan gasps as your fingers wrap around it, just barely able to close before gently stroking.

"Fuuuuuck," he groans, his grip on your thighs tightening.

With a twist of your wrist, he's eating out of the palm of your hand, needier than you ever imagined he could be. He ruts into your hand, seemingly unable to quench the instinct. The kiss is growing sloppy, his concentration falling into his cock as a bead of precum shines on the tip. You swipe the pad of your thumb over it, pulling back from Hassan's face and licking the digit clean.

"Fuck," he moans, but he doesn't let you continue.

Instead, he gently grabs your wrists, setting your hands on the edge of the desk before stealing another quick kiss. He then drops to his knees in front of you, eyes fixed on yours as he leans forward. His fingertip glides along the hem of your panties, tugging them aside to reveal your heat before he licks a stripe right between your lips. He teases your clit, flicking his tongue against it before he sucks it in between his lips.

"Oh, god," you murmur, glancing at the open door to your classroom and wondering if any other teachers might still be here.

Hell, if Bev Keane walked in on this... she'd shit her holier-than-thou pants.

Hassan, on the other hand, doesn't seem to even spare that a passing thought as he dives into you, his hands pressing your thighs apart the more involved his mouth becomes. He laps at you, tasting every drop of dew that drips from you with relish as your body begins to twitch. Your hips press forward, begging him to never stop, don't stop, don't ever, ever stop...

"God, Hassan," you gasp as he presses two fingers into you.

Thrusting his fingers in, he curls the tips up to catch your g-spot each time they pull back, sending a small dose of ecstasy every time. He carries on, his tongue dancing over your clit, his fingers pulling quick and heavy breaths from you.

Your fingers dig into the desk as you try to keep steady, your ass lifting from its seat the longer Hassan goes. It's only when you think you can't take it anymore that you explode, your orgasm bursting from your core.

"Fuck!" you gasp, gripping the desk. "Fuck, Hassan."

His tongue slows, licking its last few laps before he pulls away, pressing kiss after kiss along your thigh until he reaches your knee.

"You," he says, putting his fingers into his mouth and licking them clean, "taste so good. I could do that all day."

"I'm gonna hold you to that some day," you giggle, grasping the front of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Your other hand, though, reaches down to guide his cock into you.

"Fuck me," he moans when he's fully seated, entirely buried in your warmth.

He's thick, taking up a little too much room, but you don't mind. On the contrary, you positively ache as his cock stretches you out, putting pressure on every sensitive part of your cunt except...

Hassan presses his thumb to your clit, making you sigh when he circles the bundle of nerves softly, gently, as you acclimate to his size. His lips brush yours just as softly, coaxing your mouth open for a kiss before he pulls his hips back, thrusting forward. He starts slowly, a gentle to and fro. Soon, though, as your kisses become hungrier, so does he; he employs more power, each thrust pushing you back on the desk before you lean back, watching Hassan as he pumps inside you. His gaze drops down to the joining of your bodies, too, biting his lip as he ruts into you hard enough that the desk screeches back a couple inches.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," he mutters, taking hold of your hips with his free hand. "I've wanted this... for so long... wanted you..."

His thumb presses just a little harder on your clit, drowning your reply in a low moan. The drag of his cock along your g-spot sends sparks from your core that dance with the tendrils of pleasure reaching from your clit, and you break once more, your walls pulsing around Hassan's cock. You grit your teeth to keep from shouting aloud as you come.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hips grinding against yours. "So fucking pretty when you come."

You smile, sitting up to grasp his ass, to pull him as close to you as possible. He leans forward, too, his lips devouring yours in another kiss.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," he growls against your mouth. "Where..."

"Come inside me, Hassan," you nearly beg, your fingers running through his hair as you pull him in.

He leans forward again, enough to where he plants his hands on the desktop to steady himself as he rails into you, your body absorbing every blow from every quick thrust he has. He grunts with the effort, slamming down until he comes; he groans, his pelvis pressed to yours as he empties himself inside you. With a few more gentle thrusts, he spends himself, ending with his face buried in your neck.

His beard tickles against your skin as he presses soft kisses on your neck. You relish the feeling, the post-coital glow that surrounds you as you hold him against your body.

However long after, he pulls away, his formerly hazy brown eyes now filled with a beautiful clarity.

"I know this is a little out of order," he says gently, "but will you let me take you out to dinner one night this week? There's this place on the mainland I'd really like to treat you to."

"On one condition," you say, pressing kisses to his neck.

"God, anything," he replies on a sigh.

"When we fuck after that," you say, looking into his eyes, "I at least get to see you naked."

"Only if I get to see you naked," he laughs, some of his cockiness making a return.

"Deal," you say, sealing it with a kiss. "We should really put ourselves back together before anyone catches us."

You feel Hassan pull out of you, his softening cock shining with your release; he pulls some tissues from a box on your desk, cleaning himself off before putting himself away.

"Can I walk you home, Miss Y/L/N?" he asks as you dismount off the desk.

You lick your lips, feeling his seed drip out of you as you situate your skirt.

"Let me tidy up first," you say, tugging him down by his shirt again, pressing your lips to his.

"Ahem."

The new voice comes from the doorway, and the two of you turn to see Bev Keane standing there, judgement all over her face.

"I'm sure necking like a couple of teenagers in an empty classroom is just fine to you, but there are some who are put off by public displays of affection like that."

You look at Hassan, having released his shirt already, and take a step back, holding your hands up.

"Apologies, Bev," you say. "It won't happen again."

"I should hope not," she replies. "We've got to close up for the night. Perhaps you and the sheriff would find yourselves more comfortable in the privacy of your own homes."

"Yes, ma'am," Hassan says, looking at you with a surreptitious wink.

Without further ado, he helps you tidy up, and the two of you follow Bev out of the school for the night, taking your dirty little secret home with you.

[blueberry-fiction]

Picture Perfect

Sheriff Hassan x fem!reader

Waves lapped loudly at the edge of Garry Point Park Beach and, in the same fashion, retreated back into the ocean whence they’d come, leaving behind a thick coat of sticky foam spat up from the darkened, choppy water that was only now coming into view on the horizon. Some mornings, when the wind blew in just the right direction, the smell of sizzling bacon and fresh brewed coffee would drift down to the shore from the diner a few blocks over and mingle deliciously with the salty ocean air, blanketing the scene in the warm aroma. This morning was not one of those mornings. No, today the chilly autumn air was thin, crisp, and carried with it the threat of a storm that was scheduled to hit Crockett Island in just two days' time.

The alarm on Y/n's wristwatch chirped twice to signal the time, but she looked down to confirm anyways out of habit. 6:28 AM. Perfect. Not even a moment later, as if summoned by the chirping of her alarm, thin wisps of golden sunlight began to creep out from their slumber and peek out over the wave caps on the horizon. Bright streams of yellow and orange danced across the dark, watery landscape and gleamed brightly into Y/n's eyes from where she watched on the shoreline, her worn leather boots settling a little further into the damp sand beneath her.

Transfixed completely by the technicolor display jumping to life before her, she’d all but forgotten all about the camera dangling from around her neck and her entire purpose for being at the beach this early on a Saturday. As quickly as she could, Y/n carefully removed the old camera from its weathered pouch, slid the lens cover aside, and found her frame. “Now if I could just focus the damned thing...” she mumbled quietly under her breath.

Y/n considered herself a semi-professional photographer, but this particular camera was new to her. Until very recently it had belonged to her mom and, much to her frustration, it had an extremely sensitive focusing ring. Unlike Y/n, her mom had been a fully professional photographer, teaching herself almost all of what she knew about the art from this very spot on Garry Point Park Beach. Also unlike Y/n, her mom had been one of the few life-long islanders that the shopkeepers in the center of town liked to remember so fondly whenever Y/n stopped for a few groceries or to fill up her gas tank- A couple even went so far as to hang a portrait of her mom up on their walls after the funeral. Most importantly to Y/n though, her mom had been a loving role model and an incredible mentor. Her old camera, on the other hand, was not so loving.

To familiarize herself with it, Y/n made a habit of waking up early to snap a few pictures of the sunrise from a sleepy cove at the southern end of the beach near her mom's, er-her's now, house. She'd found a photo of the cove in the house on her very first day here and scouted it out the next morning, camera in hand, attempting to capture as many shots as possible while simultaneously avoiding any potential onlookers that may distract her from her learning process. Lately though, Y/n's artistic progress seemed to have plateaued thanks to her especially sensitive camera and, even worse, four days ago she realized she'd been noticed by someone.

In his defense, Hassan was one of the least threatening island residents who could have witnessed Y/n’s new early morning routine, but even from a distance he could sense that she didn't welcome his presence there by the way she positioned herself just outside his line of vision now.

Four mornings ago, when Hassan had been running a few minutes ahead of his typical schedule and, by chance, caught a glimpse of her making her way toward the mouth of the cove through the hazy morning light, she'd looked up toward the road in time to notice him there, leaning comfortably against the side of his car, and stopped dead in her tracks. Hassan's usually stern face had broken into a small smile and he'd lifted his hand to offer up a friendly half-wave as a sign that he meant no harm, a gesture Y/n hadn't returned.

Instead, he'd noticed the way her body went completely rigid when his eyes lingered curiously on her shadowy figure in the moments that followed. His smile faded, lips settling into a hard line. "She must have known she wasn't the only person out here" he'd thought then.

Had she not realized that this too had been his morning ritual? Albeit, not to fiddle around with a camera, but just to carve out a few solitary moments of tranquility from his day before hurling himself back into playing Sheriff on Crockett Island. And now here she was on a Saturday, too?

Hassan shoved his hands deep into the front pockets of his blue jeans and, looking down, clumsily kicked at a pebble on the side of the road where he’d parked his car only a half hour earlier to watch the sunrise himself. If anything, he thought, he should be the one annoyed with her, not the other way around. After all, he had been visiting this shoreline most mornings for the last two years since becoming the town's new Sheriff, whereas Y/n had just moved onto Crockett Island three weeks ago. He should be annoyed by her sense of entitlement, he thought.

Curiously though, he couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but quiet fascination at the sight of the new photographer in the morning's dim yellow light as she slowly climbed the grassy path that led toward the road where he stood leaning against his car, a smile gently tugging at the corners of his mouth.

X

[scarlettscribbles]

Turn from Water (2/2)

- Msgr. John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x College Student!Reader

← previous

Tags: 3.8k words - Fluff and smut, a bit of angst, making out, good byes

Tags-list: @maximumcoffeeme @wolfieellsworld

Warning/s: NSFW content, blasphemy, frottage, masturbation, fingering, breaking of celibacy vows, penetrative sex (receiving), unprotected sex, riding, oral sex (receiving)

Summary: On a boating trip, you get stuck on a nearby island. The storm wasn't the only thing you were going to ride out.

a/n: and on this day, i said, let there be smut !! this was what i initially wanted to practice, writing gender neutral reader smut. constructive criticisms are very, very welcome

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

You were just towelling off as the door opened. You heard his footsteps as you put on one of his shirts. You could smell his perfume on the white, crisp shirt.

He called out your name and you came, obligingly. His lips parted when he saw you. There it was. "Welcome home," 

As if it was the most natural thing ever, he swooped down and put his lips on yours, hands winding around your waist. His hands were continuously grasping, not content to just hold you. It's as if he wanted to make sure you were real. 

You laughed into the kiss. For a moment, you two just swayed together with bodies close. It was peaceful, more peaceful than some hook-up should be. You respected your partners but it wouldn't do well to get attached. He was so, so sweet but you were leaving tomorrow. 

You came back again to his lips and he reciprocated. "I'm sorry I don't taste like wine anymore."

"Still delicious just the same," he murmured in the space where your lips weren't touching. In the next move, he filled that gap pushing you to a wall and hiking your (or technically, his) shirt. You gasped as his fingers made contact with your skin.

"Do you really want to do this?" he asked so sincerely. Have you mentioned that he was sweet?

"I do; do you?" 

"Help me God, I do." He was kissing you again. You felt like you would never tire of it. Help me God, indeed.

You groaned at his wandering hands sliding up your waist to your chest, then down your back to the swell of your ass until he rested his hands low enough so the tips of his fingers tickled your inner thighs. You rolled your body into his, the heat spreading outwards from the point of contact. You rolled your head back, hitting the wall almost painfully as he graciously lended you a thigh. Those fucking jeans. You were going to get them so wet.

He cradled the back of your head, the part you just thoughtlessly slammed and whispered into your neck, "Be careful sweetheart," 

You gasped as he ran teeth down the column of your neck. In retaliation, you grasped his ass and made sure that he was also grinding on your thigh. The feeling of those tented denims on your skin was just the hottest thing.

It's like a cold water being poured over you when a series of knocks came through the door and the voice of none other than the deacon rang through the house. "Father, may I come in?"

You thought back to your best friend's words. Now she was really cockblocking you. You rolled your eyes, exasperated. He soothed you and put a finger to his lips, indicating you to be quiet. 

He led you to the bed until you lay down on it, propping up your legs. You were confused until he held your hand and led it to - oh. He wanted you to touch yourself. Fuck. 

You began doing exactly just that, making sure he saw it. You twisted your fingers in a way that made you arch your back. Some of it was exaggerated, but the feeling wasn't. He tried to fix his appearance back to its pristine condition. The end product was still rumpled. 

Before he closed the door behind him, he told you, "Be good,"  

You can do that. You'll be good. You reached down and tried to replicate the feeling of grinding against him. You used the side of your wrist to silence your moans, leaving teeth marks.  Your fingers flexed every other second.

Just outside the door you heard the voices of Father Hill and Keane. Something went through you at the thought that only pieces of wood separated you from being seen. How does he feel, knowing that you're a step away from him? Because for you it's burning. You wanted it so bad.

You couldn't be bothered with the exact words but you could surmise that his tone was hurried. Not surprising. The lady talked so much but almost all of it was just air. If he lets her be with his usual patience, it'll last a long while.

Your ears zeroed on the sound of the front door opening and closing. Getting locked. You counted 5 steps until he reached the door to the bedroom and opened it. He paused at the frame, looking at what you were showing him. He stayed there for maybe a moment too long. You smiled. It was a great fucking show.

In a slow measured pace, he crossed the threshold between the frame and the bed and crawled between your legs. You made sure he was accommodated comfortably.

He leaned down, bracketing you within his arms. "Were you good?" He kissed you slowly. 

"Why don't you see for yourself?" He gently put his lips between your sternum, then above your navel, taking your fingers and laying his tongue flat against them. You let your hand flop next to you as he set it aside, working to wet his own fingers. 

"Tell me if there's anything wrong, okay?" 

"Wait, wait," you said and he stopped, just like that. "What do I call you?"

There was a moment of contemplation before, "John."

"John?"

"It's my second name. I-I prefer it."

"Oh," you responded. You slightly pulled up as he leaned down, meeting you halfway for a kiss. "It suits you." His finger was circling around your entrance and his other hand was massaging your inner thigh. 

You felt like your nerve endings were on fire. Like you were already oversensitive even if you hadn't come yet. He sunk a finger in you as he sat back. You missed his lips already but you didn't mind seeing him like this. He was sitting on the balls of his feet, one - two fingers deep, with a firm hand on your thigh.

He was straining against his usual black shirt with the white collar and denims. You shouldn't find it so hot, but you did.

"John!" you gasped as his fingers found the spot that made you see stars. You saw how affected he was when you said his name so you did it over and over, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a drawn out moan. And he loved it. "I'm gonna - John, fuck -"

He pulled you by one hand and kissed you, still fingers deep in you. With your bodies so close together and his proximity providing additional friction, you came. You remembered John exclaiming just as you did, as if he felt the same pleasure. 

He let you breathe for a moment, chests heaving against each other. John kept on dipping his head for repetitive small kisses. "I want you on top of me," 

You nodded, smiling. "Okay." You pulled him close and then gravity was shifting. Did he just flip you both, single-handedly? "You're stronger than I expected." you commented.

"Clearly not strong enough to resist you," 

"And I'm glad for it." It's like there was a force between you like gravity, or magnetism, because you always leaned into each other. Whether it be your lips, noses, foreheads, or arms locked together. It was as if your natural tendency was to be in one space.

You undid his belt carefully, unravelling him bit by bit. When his cock was finally in your hands, he groaned, throwing his head back on the pillow. You thumbed the slit, spreading the precum over the head. You were surprised that he hadn't come yet, given his lifestyle. But then, restraint was very much their thing.

You sat astride him, lowering yourself on his cock. You were throwing caution to the wind and it felt like hot satisfaction going through you. Your twin groans reverberated through the room.

He lifted his hips experimentally, earning him a sharp gasp of his name. You braced yourself on his clothed chest as you both began to move. It was slow at first but powerful. The meeting of your bodies was sounded by the slaps of your skin.

John chanted your name like it was prayer and he was a sinner desperate to be absolved. You told him so and he chuckled softly. "Will you absolve me, then?"

"Of course." You punctuated your response with a roll of your hips. John put both hands on either side of your waist and planted his feet on the bed. Here you were, the metaphorical roller coaster drop; the best fucking ride of your life.

Your earlier comment was warranted because holy shit, he was powerful. You did your best to follow his pace but you stumbled still. He would always right you back up again and each time you would try to hold on better.

"Ah - ah!" The sweat was gathering on your back. You felt almost every snap of his hips at the back of your teeth. You were ruined, so ruined.

John called your name with urgency. You felt it too. You both came, maybe just a second or two from each other. You shivered as he painted you from the inside. 

As you looked at his flushed face gazing up at you with reverence, you wondered if this was how being a heavenly being felt. Who wouldn't want to be a god?

You gingerly slipped his cock out of you, feeling the thread of come that connected you until it snapped. 

You rested your head on John's chest as he put an arm on your back and behind your head. He kissed you softly on your temple. 

"I don't think anyone could ever compare after that," Why was the hottest sex you had with a priest?

"I wouldn't want anybody to compare." John replied. "You're leaving tomorrow."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. You just hummed into his chest.

"Miss Keane organized a mass for tomorrow. That's what she came here earlier for. A proper send-off, she said." His voice was so pleasant. You could drift off to the sound of him speaking. "Will you come?"

"Haven't I already?" you laughed and then yelped as he pinched your side lightly.

"Not what I meant, naughty." he admonished with a smile in his voice. "I wanted to give you a parting gift."

"What, wanna give me a taste of the sacramental wine Father?" you teased.

"Of the sort." He used his arm to budge you upwards so he could place kisses on your neck. You would never get used to how strong he was. "Please just come?"

"Only because you asked nicely." you sighed into his hair, breath quickening as he introduced teeth to his love bites.

"Speaking of asking nicely," The hand on your waist slid lower to grip your ass. "Would you like to go again?"

You blinked. "Already?"

He hummed into your neck as one of his hands rubbed at your entrance, still slick from come. And honestly, how could you disagree?

The next time he fucked you, he was fully divested of his clothes. John knelt behind you and you were on his lap. You could feel the slide of your thighs together. His arms winded around you and you gripped them for support. You were so close that you almost felt one. 

The succeeding times carried the same intimacy. By the end, he led you to the shower and took you under the spray for the last time. He towelled you off even when you insisted you could do it yourself. "I don't mind, sweetheart." 

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

You came back to the rec center late, very late. You felt that if you stayed the night, you wouldn't want to leave the morning after. Your best friend greeted you with an irritated, "Did you fucking know that lady was hosting a mass tomorrow? For us? Like, what for? She's like everyone-phobic. The nice sheriff who helped us, you know, she was like saying shit to him- Wait." And there it was. Her indignance immediately transformed to unbridled humor. "I don't recall you walking away from the camp with that limp bestie,"

"Maybe I tripped." you shrugged in an attempt of useless denial.

"On what? That dick?" she snorted. You both promptly burst into laughter.

"My god, shut up!" you sat with her on your corner and let your head loll on her shoulder. 

"So how was it?" she asked.

You shook your head. "Good, really good." You didn't tell her the details but you told her how nice he was, how he invited you to come see him one last time.

"Okay you're speaking little so it must have been like fucking phenomenal."

"It was," you whined.

"And now you caught feelings."

"Did not," you denied. "Was probably about to, though. He was so sweet,"

She cooed and pulled you into a hug consolingly. "I suppose it's good that we're leaving tomorrow." she concluded. "You know, I wanted to ditch the mass but I'll come for you."

"You don't have to," 

"It's fine, someone has to be on the lookout so a) no busybody comes in and b) you won't be left by the boat." she assured you. "Don't worry, I'll put my fingers in my ears and sing to myself like-" She demonstrated and you smacked her hands, laughing.

"Stop! It's not like we're going to do it in the church!"

"You wanna bet on it?" She held out her pinky. You rolled your eyes. That damn bet again.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

For the second time, you found yourself sitting in one of the pews of the church again, looking among the sea of people with him at the forefront. 

"Um, would you mind if I sat here?" a man with a buzzcut asked. "Got into a bit of a disagreement with the parents. Not that I needed to share that."

You felt amused. "Oh it's fine, come sit!" you patted the space beside you. You introduced yourself and your friend.

"I'm Riley, Riley Flynn. You're one of the shipwrecked kids right?" he asked nicely, albeit awkwardly. "The ones that came to our house were a guy named Angelo, I think, and a couple of other boys. My little brother and mother were ecstatic." You felt a bit sorry that you weren't able to get to know the other nice inhabitants of this island. Instead you had high exposure with the deacon. Sucks.

"Yeah that's us. Hope they weren't too much trouble?"

"Just enough chaos that was welcome, don't worry. Livened the house up a little bit." Riley said. "I heard that Warren, my brother, and some other kids crashed your party, though?"

"Mm, not really crashed. They were welcome. Although! Um, we didn't let them consume like, alcohol or other... substances." you gulped, unwilling to say that there was weed involved.

He raised an amused brow. You were almost certain that he could fill in the blanks of what you weren't saying.

A comfortable silence settled over the both of you, your best friend occasionally nudging you excitedly. It didn't help that today's homily was about love. There was no way it was about you. You didn't think that 2 days' worth of encounters was enough to put that label on it. 

You couldn't help but listen attentively still, though. You loved his voice.

"Father Hill really has a way with words, doesn't he?" Riley observed and you nodded along. "He's the one hosting the AA meetings I'm attending. I think it's going well so far."

"John did? That's so - I'm glad for you," you said sincerely, turning to address him but stopped at his expression.

"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Then you realized, oh shit. You just addressed their priest in a way different from the norm - the same name he wanted you to call him when you were in bed together. "I'm sorry, we kinda talked and became - friends. John, John's his second name." you explained haltingly, neck burning.

"No, it's fine. Just used to thinking of him as Father Paul; John just seems a whole different person." he assured you. You subtly exhaled. You dodged a bullet there, you hoped.

(He knows, he knows. Almost.)

You sat there contentedly, listening to his impassioned speech. You, your friend, and a couple others from your university declined communion. You noticed that Riley remained stationary in his seat too. By the time mass had ended, you were jittering in your seat. At one point your friend held your knee to make you stop, and said, "Chile. Keep it in your pants for like a minute."

As the people stood up and slowly dispersed, John came down from the altar and talked to some of the congregation. Similarly, you went to your friends who huddled at one of the pews. 

"Make sure you all have your stuff okay? It'll be hard to come back once you've left something behind." You don't say. "Meet you at the dock in about 45 okay?" Anj announced. The group chorused their agreement and soon the rest of you were going as well. You lingered on the edges of the church with your friend, until she too went outside, seeing that nobody else was left.

"Don't be too long now," she teased before walking a safe distance away.

You closed the doors and locked them behind you.

"Hi," you called from across the church.

"Hey," he smiled. You were gonna miss that. "Come here, please?"

You obliged, walking up the altar. By the time you were there he revealed a bottle of what seemed like wine, although it looked deeper. "I'm afraid it doesn't have golden flakes."

You laughed, both incredulous and touched. "You're giving me sacramental wine as a gift?" 

"Of the sort." he shrugged and popped the cork open. "I noticed you didn't participate in the communion. Do you want to try some?"

"Sure, not too much though." Yacht and you being drunk wasn't a good combination. "Save me some for when I'm back home."

He agreed and poured it into the communion cup. You almost raised a brow but you guessed that maybe it wasn't a big deal. It's better than just pouring it in your mouth.

He offered it to you with both hands and covered his with yours, drinking like that. The wine tasted way smoother and deeper, richer. There's a taste at the back of your tongue that you couldn't point out. But it was really good, dangerously good.

"You need to tell me your supplier, John." you told him, licking the remnants from your lips. "This would be so popular at parties. Not everyone wants to drink beer and gasoline, you know?"

"You like it?" he asked. You hummed.

"I really, really do." You stepped close to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

"You can't share it. It's only for you," he stated firmly. 

"Yes, Father. I promise I won't give to anybody the sacramental wine you just gave me," you laughed.

"Can I taste it?" he asked. He was so, so close. 

"I don't see why not, it's your gift to me." The clang of the cup against the floor echoed through the church. The wine spilt from the altar up to the first pew, vibrant red. Oh, he meant your lips.

"Delicious,"

You held onto him as he gripped both of your thighs and lifted you onto the altar, swiping aside whatever was on it before. He was kissing you desperately which was a stark contrast to how gently he held your cheeks. You could taste the remnants of the wine between the sliding of your tongues. He immediately slotted up against you like a perfect puzzle piece when you opened your legs. The friction was going to drive you crazy.

"John, John," you panted.

"Don't say my name like that," he pleaded. "I fear that I may not be able to let you go if you do so. I may not be a good man but I refuse to be selfish, not when it comes to you. You deserve the world."

By God, you wanted to stay when he looked like that. But you knew you couldn't. You had dreams after college and he was the priest of this island. "Maybe in another life John," you whispered. "But right now, at this moment - you have me."

He dived back into you, memorizing the depths of your mouth and the plains of your body with his wandering hands. "Can I taste you?" he murmured into your ear. You gasped a yes and John knelt before you. 

You threw your head back, grasping the tablecloth as he laid kisses on your inner thigh before he put his mouth to better use. 

You couldn't help the movement of your hips but you kept on slipping. The chasuble he wore proved far too smooth and silky to find purchase on with your feet. You wondered if this was the ultimate form of your sin - getting absolutely wrecked on the altar by a priest who was still wearing the same clothes from mass.

At a particular swipe of his tongue, your hand flew to his curls. "Fuck, sorry!" You let go immediately. You were worried that you hurt him or maybe he didn't like it.

"No, please," You couldn't disagree. Not when he looked up at you, eyes almost black from dilation and spit-slick mouth. So you tangled your hand in his locks and made sure he knew how much you appreciated it.

The vibrations from his moans sent you over the edge. Your legs shook and your thighs would've closed involuntarily if John didn't hold them open, still busy licking you past your orgasm. 

You tapped his shoulder and he rose from his knees. You tasted yourself on his tongue. John held you until your breathing has calmed. You could've stayed in that moment for eternity.

"I almost want to ask, will I see you again? But that would be a stupid question." You didn't answer, content in tucking your nose in his neck.

"I'll keep the bottle so I won't forget you." It was a promise. 

A sharp rap came from the door and you both jumped. You sighed in relief when your best friend's voice called your name, saying that your 7 minutes in heaven was over. You and John both laughed.

And then you said your goodbyes. 

Maybe you were too quiet so your friend didn't comment on anything until you were on the newly-fixed yacht. Once you settled on one of the chairs, she turned to you and asked. "So, he gave you wine, huh."

You chuckled. "It's a bit of an inside joke. 'S mine though."

"Yeah yeah. Believe me, I have no interest in your holy wine, or unholy," she pointed out. "Come here." She nudged your chair closer to her and laid your head on her shoulder. You sighed into the contact. 

"You're a gem." you told her.

"I know."

At an angle you watched Crockett Island fade from the horizon like a distant dream.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。

John wished that he would be able to find his way back to you again one day. Someday. For the moment, he hoped that the holy sacrament he gave you would be enough.

He cleaned the spilt wine with a spare cloth and reminisced when he was able to drink it from your lips.

。⚬。⬡○⬦。 [fin.]

[belamourelysianlimerence]

Imagine...

He's chasing you through the house, you're naked, and you either run just outside, or into a sunny spot in the house.

'That's not fair.'

[aghostfromtheages]

Midnight Mass/Reader Insert WIP

Just a snippet of the latest WIP I've been working on. I can't get him out of my head so, you know what that means. Some sexual tension in the confessional duh

Part 2 WIP can be found here

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

“Forgive me father for I have sinned.” The wood of the confessional smelt old and a little bit musty. “My last confession was… er… well, my last confession was a long time ago. If at all.” You added the last line as if in explanation, for you truly could not remember. You had been a kid on the mainland the last time you had participated at church. Sitting in a pew didn't much count.

In the dim light, through the confessional lattice, you saw Father Paul smile softly in encouragement. He had already guessed at your request upon your knock at his door. Of your own volition, you wanted to take the sacrament this Easter Sunday, and for that, you needed to attend confession.

“it’s a good start.” His voice was gentle. “I don’t want you to feel as if you have to, it's not my intention-“

“-No not at all. I want to do it. I’m just not used to-“

“-This.” Father Paul’s eyes met yours through the lattice. “I know.” He gave a slight nod of understanding. There was no accusation there, only a statement of fact.

Your face became hot. You had attended church but a handful of times before the arrival of Father Paul. As a social grace, a nod to the community, you would go once a year at Christmas. Never the religious type, your uptick in recent visits could only be attributed to the new, compelling and darkly handsome preacher.