#paul hill x reader

[covethedirt]

Need him covered in blood and nestled inside me rn

[grugruel]

Lust for Vampyr

Pairings: Paul Hill x f!reader

MDNI/NSFW

Masterlist

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

Word count: 3.8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckled, 'I suppouse it would yes.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chelseasdagger]

Restoring Faith

Father Paul Hill x Reader

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

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

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

Word Count: 4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, the Lord, He—,”

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

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

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

“Shall we?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y…You know I can’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you, Father.”

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

[dollerinna]

WHY IS THE BOT ABLE TO SOUND SO CONCERNED IM DEAD 😭😭😭😭😭

ITS NOT EVEN THAT FUNNY BUT IDC ITS SENDING MEEEEE

(Also the voice feature sounds so realistic now wtf. Lowkey terrifying ngl… 😰)

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝕾𝖕𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖎𝖓 𝕸𝖞 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓

𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔱𝔲𝔰 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔰

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

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

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

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 WIP

𝔈𝔵𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔲𝔪 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔫

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

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

𝔑𝔬𝔩𝔦 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔢

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

𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖊 Nothing here yet :)

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

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

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖘 TBA

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

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

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

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

[creepling]

˚ ༘`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ KINKTOBER 2023

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

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

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

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

༺☆༻ 10th October: Johnny Slaughter

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

༺☆༻ 25th October: Leon Kennedy

friends with benefits, squirting, soft!dom.

[proverbsss]

tiger baby (john pruitt x reader)

it's international tiger day so naturally i picture a haim character calling his partner 'tiger'

Monsignor John Pruitt, Midnight Mass

notifs: NSFW, reader's body is AFAB, John calls you "my girl" once

"Don't fuss now, I'm headed somewhere I think you'll really like" John's kisses almost burn on your skin, and the moment he lifts his head to look at you, you're missing his teeth on your nipple. He loves making you feel good, lives for the way you melt into delirium as your brain shuts off for him. But he also loves to tease.

His elbows are on either side of your torso, John is painfully slow in making his way down your body. "Here?" He asks, planting a gentle kiss on your ribs. His gorgeous golden-brown eyes are full of mischief. He's just as lost in you as you are in his touch. "Hmm...here?" He guesses again, wrong on purpose that the soft skin of your lower abdomen is where you really need him.

"John, John, please-" you whine, surprised into a gasp by the sudden change in his grip on you, his hands dive under your legs and spread your knees wider apart. Basking, he lays his head on your thigh a moment and just looks at you.

"I'm being bad, aren't I?" He murmurs wrily, lips grazing your inner thigh without quite kissing. "I'm being so bad and mean to my girl."

You whine in agreement, squirming and trying to persuade his mouth to land a little higher, a little deeper. You're breathing a bit like an animal too.

"Okay, tiger baby, okay..." he says, loving and needy at the same time. "I'll give it to you, you don't have to whine..."

[angel-eyes05]

guys would you kill me if i wrote a paul hill/john pruitt x reader fic cause i already sped through the ones i like which means its time for me to make my own!!!

[downthewishingwell]

❤

Porogue.

Father Paul/John Pruitt x Fem!Reader

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

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

It's a storm to end all storms.

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

"I had warned you, all of you."

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

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

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

° ☆ ° ☆ °

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

"Relax."

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

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

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

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

"O-oh, P-paul,"

"I'm sorry?"

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

"F-father, p-please."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's it, good girl."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bi-n-evil]

Me seeing a fictional character be portrayed as a dom when they're literally such a sub:

[snowvies]

Mr. Badgley

Penn Badgley x Fem!Reader

summary: you can't stop thinking about your married piano teacher, Mr. Badgley. and one day he slides under the instrument to show you how much he's been thinking about you too.

wc: 1k

cw: age gap (reader 19, Penn late thirties), cheating, piano teacher x student, pussy eating, fingering, female masturbation

Sundays are your favorite days, especially ones like this when the clouds hang low with a murky swirl in the sky. You're nineteen, and college is kicking your ass but you promised yourself you wouldn't think about the papers due when you're here, at Mr. Badgley's house.

You found his ad on craigslist, piano lessons..fifty bucks an hour you would've scrolled past it until you saw him, and his family. You felt safer in a random man's house when his wife and newborn baby were in the same room with you. So you started going there, ever since your freshman year.

Your raggedy car rolllsss to stop and you get out to see the lonely house, picked apart to be perfect, not a single thing out of place... except yourself.

His wife answers the door a few minutes after knocking, the cold biting your bare legs as you run in for warmth, completely missing her scowl at your lack of kicking the mat with your dirty boots.

Mr. Badgley offers you a warm smile, hair combed perfectly, sweater ironed and pants straight like every weekend. His eyes always look a little empty when you come. His wife jingles her keys around her finger as she readjusts the baby on her hip

"I'm going out, be done when I'm home" the same line. Every week. You smile her way but she doesn't pay mind to it, leaving you and her husband to play. you turn to Mr. Badgley but he's already walking to the connecting living room of the tiny house, sitting on the worn bench as he slides the fallboard up.

You sit next to him as he wears an excited smile, when he's like this, playing with you, it doesn't seem orchestrated by his wife. Every move he makes is analyzed by her, except this. The only reason he's allowed to do this is because they needed the extra money.

"Let's start where we left off last week, yes?" he asked and you nodded, you inhaled the mixture of musk and old books that surrounded the pianist as he began the background cords. his eyes are on you, they shine as his spine relaxes into the music and you begin your part. fingers dancing over keys as you try to remember the pattern

Your eyes squeezed shut once you messed the keys up. He smiles softly and lets a laugh out of his nose at your reaction

"Like this," his larger palm rests on top of yours as he guides your fingers, you nod and try again.

Soon enough an hour passes and you both rise from the bench and you dig into your purse for the fifty bucks you crumpled into it this morning, but, warm hands slide on top of your shoulder and the older man shakes his head.

"No need" he grins and tries to send you off but you insist, grabbing the money but he pushes you out the door.

"I will not have you pay for something that I enjoy just as much, Y/n, have a lovely week" The door softly shuts and you're left stunned.

.

You roll around your dorm bed, restless as the man's words keep ringing in your head. Why didn't he let you pay?

Maybe you're being dramatic. But it isn't like the Badgleys are set either.

You shut your eyes in a huff, suffocating yourself in the pillow under you as you replay the keys in an attempt to lull you asleep

But it isn't just the keys you're thinking about...

It's how his hand guided yours, it's how he looked at you when it was your part to play, it's his scent, it's his being. It's driving you mad.

You arch your back slowly, fingers sliding down your body until you get to your aching core. slick-filled fingers rubbing yourself at the thought of your teacher's hands touching you, grabbing you, loving you.

You moan into the pillow, legs shaking as you cream around your fingers, the thought of him drives you wild.

So just how will you act the next time you see him?

.

Before you know it, it's Sunday and you're back at the Badgleys, with his wife announcing her departure and the formal greetings of you and your teacher, you're back at that bench, side by side.

He starts the cords, and you follow trying to calm your shaking legs as you think about what fueled you that night. You couldn't even look him in the eyes this session.

His hand softly squeezes your bare thigh and you look back at the man.

"You're completely off" he informs you and you don't think your face could get redder.

"I-I'm so sorry...let's try again" you panic but his thumb rubs loving circles on your flesh.

"You usually think the world ends when you mess up, but you kept playing this time, you're mind is somewhere else Ms. Y/n."

"Sorry Mr. Badgley" you murmur

"Talk to me, get it off your chest so we can get back to playing" he smiles and you nod slowly

"...Why didn't you let me pay last time?" you ask, he stops for a moment as the hand on your thigh now rests on his face as he thinks for a moment.

"I just feel like, something so pleasurable shouldn't be bought," he says above a whisper and you feel your entire face glow, and he must have noticed with how he laughs.

"Not those pleasures, Ms. Y/n" he smiles and you don't think you've ever been so embarrassed. But when his laughter stops, his eyes swirl softly into something darker, in that moment you feel exposed to every thought as he eyes you.

He stands, hands finding your shoulders

"Keep playing"

You take a shaky breath as your thighs begin to shake once more, fingers finding the keys as you start the song

"Good," he whispers, his scents overwhelming you now as you feel almost dizzy while playing, you barely notice how he slips under the piano.

"Mr. Badgley, what are you doing?" you gasp as his dark brown eyes gaze up at you

"Keep.playing" he says sternly, and with a swallow, you keep going

He kisses your knees and you feel yourself sticking to your panties as he spreads them apart.

He has a wife. He has a kid. What are you doing?

"You're doing great" he huffs, kissing your thighs, you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment as his fingers dance up to your panties.

He pulls them down slowly, your wetness sticking to the fabric before they are lost in his pockets

Your bare pussy is in front of your teacher's face as he rubs up and down your thighs taking a shaky breath in

You slam the keys as his tongue licks up your pussy, he moans into you before forcing you to scoot closer into his face, his hands wrapping around your ass as he slurps and moans at your cunt.

"Mr.- fuck" you cry, hands climbing to try and stop your moans as your hips buck up to hump his face

"You taste so so good" he groans, making out with your pussy as he sucks at your clit just to tongue fuck your hole

Hot tears flow down your face as he stares up at you, watching you come undone for him.

You shake around him, orgasm approaching closer with every lick, he sucks on your slit before adding a long finger to your hole. You throw your head back as he fingers you, flicking his tongue relentlessly as his finger curls inside you.

You feel him whine and moan against your pussy, and when you look down you see him gripping and grabbing at his hard-on as he eats you out. You cry as that sends you over and you cum around his finger

You're panting as he curls his fingers a few more times before shoving it into his mouth and licking you clean, you're shaking and wide-eyed as hair sticks to your face and he crawls out from under the piano

Right, weren't you two supposed to be playing right now? Isn't his wife about to be home and he's sucking his fingers because they still taste like you?

He helps you off the bench and you stare into the stained cushion but he turns your chin to him before kissing you deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue before breaking it off with a simple

"My wife is on her way...see you in our next session Ms. Y/n"

And you can't wait for next Sunday.

an: lmk how obvious it is idk anything about pianos. This is based on a dream I had last night 😵‍💫🖤 I hope you liked it <333

[queerlilfae]

[grugruel]

I need to grind on a hot older man so bad rn

[theghostinyourwalls]

Sure he’s a scary psychopathic monster, but he’s MY scary psychopathic monster <3

[dark-fanfics-moon]

All I’m saying is…

…My door would be wide open for those three.

[charliedawn]

What if the nurse was bad ?

I thought…What if Nurse Y/N turned out to be a VILLAIN. 😀

Synopsis: There was the rumour of Nurse Y/N going insane and it influenced the slashers to act…differently.

Jason Voorhees

The first one to lose his mind was Jason. He felt it from the start as you became distant and your thoughts darkened. He tried to help you. You were their hope and their light in darkness. He thought he could help, that you would get better. But nothing he did seem to work, and it only made him feel worse and worse as you started growing distant and more insane as time passed. Soon enough, he became more violent himself and some of the nurses noticed his slow return to his old self. And then, he became YOUR monster. He started protecting you and return to his complete muteness and murderous self…He would attack nurses and no word or anything could stop him…And you would simply watch with a smile on your face. The medical board tried to stop you, but it was no use. You were too far gone. At the end, the slashers were back to their old selves and there was nothing to bring you back from the madness that was slowly taking over you.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms was the second to notice your sudden change. You were being more commanding and your eyes no longer held that same kindness he had grown to love. You seemed so cold. But, he still wanted to believe…Brahms still remained your friend until the very end—even when he saw that there was no turning back for you. At the end, he started returning in the walls and make more victims within the hospital. He would drag nurses or random people in his walls and they would never come back. Your own instability echoed within him and the rage and the loss and the suffering returned.

At the end, he dropped to his knees in front of you—his hands covered in blood after you had told him to kill for you. He looked up at you and his eyes held only one question within their depth.

Why ?

Brahms was scared.

Bo Sinclair:

Bo started spacing out at random times. He would get angry for no reason and destroy furniture. At night, he would hold his head and scream as he felt his thoughts turning dark and murderous. He didn’t know why. He had been happy for a few years in St Louis—free from pain. He had just started accepting that things were going to change and he could be happy…but then, he had sensed this sudden unease and unexpected shift. He looked up at you and his eyes widened as he saw you standing there.

"Darlin’. Please…I…" He wanted to ask for your help and held out his hand…but then you smiled. And it wasn’t your usual cheerful or friendly smile. It was a mocking one. A cruel one.

And that’s when he understood and Bo who had never felt anything but pain and suffering and who thought he couldn’t get any worse…was proven wrong. Because nothing hurt more than being offered hope and being deprived of it. In the end, Bo became more dangerous than ever. His rage had no outlet except through violence, and he took it out on anyone who dared cross you. He would protect you, but deep down, he hated what you had become—and what you were turning him back into.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy had always suspected there was a darker side to you. Sure, you acted like the saint of St. Louis, helping out the slashers, showing compassion, and trying to reform them. But Freddy had been around long enough to know that no one was as pure as they seemed. When your shift started, it didn’t take him by surprise—it just confirmed what he’d been thinking all along.

"Heh, I knew it," he cackled, crossing his arms as he watched you lose that last bit of sanity. His grin widened, eyes gleaming with amusement as you stood over the bloodied remains of yet another victim. "You never really believed in all that goody-two-shoes crap, did ya ?"

You turned to him, a slow smile spreading across your face. "I did…for a while. But now I see…why change you for the better, Freddy, when I can turn you into something so far worse ?"

For once, Freddy didn’t have a snappy comeback. The realization hit him hard, the smirk faltering for a brief moment as he looked into your eyes and saw nothing but malice. You weren’t just playing the game—you had flipped the board, and now you were controlling the pieces.

"You twisted bitch," Freddy finally hissed, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice. He didn’t want to admit it, but seeing you this way made him feel…uneasy. Sure, he liked chaos, liked causing pain, but this was different. You weren’t just embracing the madness—you were becoming it.

You laughed harder and Freddy could see your true colours now. He could see…

And yet, even as the realization set in, Freddy found himself drawn to your darkness. After all, who better to lead him back into his worst impulses than you ? You were the monster now, and Freddy ? Well, he was more than happy to follow your lead, no matter where it took him.

Michael Myers

Michael felt it long before anyone else did. The subtle shift in your demeanor, the distant look in your eyes—it wasn’t something he could easily put into words, not that he ever would. He watched you from the shadows, his protective nature shifting into something more possessive, much darker. As you slipped further into madness, he stopped trying to pull you back. He just…followed.

When the first body showed up, Michael stood silently beside you, his knife gleaming in the dim light. You didn’t flinch or recoil at the sight of the blood, instead offering him a wicked smile that sent a chill down his spine. He understood then—you were no longer the guiding force, the light in his darkness. You had become the very thing that pulled him deeper into it.

From that moment on, anyone who tried to "help" you faced Michael’s blade. He would watch you from across the room, eyes cold and distant, but never leaving your side. You were his now, and nothing—not even your madness—would change that.

Pennywise

Pennywise had always seen the potential for chaos in you, even when you were at your most compassionate. So when you started to change, it didn’t come as a shock to him—it was thrilling. "Oh, my little nurse, finally embracing the madness, are we ?" he’d chuckle, floating around you with a twisted grin. He didn’t resist your transformation; instead, he fed off of it.

"Why stop at a few lives ? You and I, we could rule this world, turn everyone’s worst nightmares into reality," Pennywise teased, his voice dripping with excitement. You laughed along, your eyes gleaming with a newfound hunger for destruction.

Together, you unleashed horrors in the hospital and the world would learn to utter your name in fear. And Pennywise ? He reveled in it, proud to have been right about you all along. He became your partner in terror, following your lead as he fed on souls. All mercy and redemption gone…

But, sometimes he would look at you—really look at you—and his eyes would lose their light for just a second…For just a fleeting second, he would look at you and remember who you used to be: the innocent and loved little nurse who made slashers believe in change. And he would feel a tug in his chest.

…He would even come to regret the old you.

Penny

Penny, unlike his brother, was more confused than delighted by your change. He’d always been the more playful one, the lighthearted monster who didn’t take things too seriously. But as you grew colder, more distant, something inside him shifted too. He followed you around like a lost puppy at first, hoping you’d come back to your old self.

When it became clear that wasn’t happening, Penny grew more frantic, trying to win your approval by any means necessary. "See ? I can be bad too !" he’d shout, laughing maniacally as he tore into the nurses that tried to intervene. But no matter what he did, he couldn’t bring back the warmth in your eyes. And that scared him more than anything.

In the end, Penny followed you out of fear and desperation. He didn’t want to lose you, but he also didn’t understand this new version of you. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up. He looked at his brother one night as they were keeping your door and asked:

"Pennywise…Tell me. Are they really…Are they really gone ?"

Pennywise didn’t answer. He knew that his brother wouldn’t like his answer. So, he remained silent and Penny became sad…

He had really hoped to see you again.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent never said a word, but the change in you spoke volumes to him. He had always admired your gentleness, the way you handled things with care and grace. But now, as he watched you descend into madness, something inside him broke. His art became darker, more grotesque, reflecting the growing corruption in your soul.

Vincent would silently stand in your presence, waiting for your orders. He didn’t resist the shift; instead, he internalized it, letting it fuel his own creative darkness. The sculptures he made of the staff you ordered killed were more terrifying than anything he had ever crafted before. But still, there was a sadness in his eyes as he looked at you. He missed the old you, but he could never bring himself to fight against you.

Esther

Esther’s sharp mind was one of the first to notice your change. She watched you closely, her eyes narrowing as she began to see through the cracks in your facade. At first, she tried to manipulate you back to your old self, using her charm and wit. But as time passed, she realized it was no use.

"You think you’re smarter than me, Y/N ?" she sneered one day, her usual mask of sweetness slipping away. "You think you can out-crazy me ? I’ve been playing this game far longer than you."

In the end, Esther didn’t fight you—she adapted. She started playing her own games, twisting the narrative so that your descent into madness worked in her favor. She would help you orchestrate the chaos, but only because she had plans of her own. Esther always had plans.

Father Paul

Father Paul was devastated. As a man of faith, he had always believed in redemption, in the possibility of salvation for anyone, even the most broken souls. But as he watched you fall deeper into madness, he realized that maybe some people were beyond saving.

He would try to reach you, try to remind you of the good you had once done, but it was no use. "This isn’t you, Y/N," he’d say, his voice trembling with emotion. "You can still come back from this."

But you would just laugh, brushing him off as if his words meant nothing. Father Paul, broken by your transformation, withdrew into himself. He began to question his faith, his purpose. And in the end, he too was consumed by the darkness you had unleashed, unable to reconcile the person you had become with the one he had once believed in.

"…I truly believed you were going to save us."

He whispered—his mouth tainted with fresh blood.

Patrick Bateman

Patrick Bateman thrived on control. His routines, his polished appearance, his hollow social niceties—all carefully orchestrated to maintain his perfect image. But as he watched you, Nurse Y/N, descend into madness, he felt something shift, a crack forming in the foundation of his meticulously built world.

"You’ve changed," Patrick remarked, his voice cold and detached, as always.

You turned to him, a knowing smirk playing on your lips. "Change, Patrick ? I’d say I’m finally seeing things clearly."

Patrick tilted his head, his expression unreadable. He stared at you with a calculating gaze, as if you were just another piece of his carefully constructed reality that didn’t fit anymore. "Clarity doesn’t look like insanity," he said, though his tone betrayed no emotion.

You laughed softly, your eyes glinting with something dark. "That’s where you’re wrong. You’re always pretending, Patrick. Pretending to feel something. Pretending to fit in. But deep down, you know you’re like me."

Patrick’s gaze never wavered. He took a step closer, his face a mask of indifference, though your words hit closer to the truth than he would admit. "I’m nothing like you," he said flatly, yet there was a hint of intrigue in his voice.

"Oh, but you are," you whispered, stepping toward him. "You’ve been hiding behind that empty suit for so long, playing the role of the perfect man. But inside, you’re empty. Just like me. We’re both killers, Patrick. The only difference is, I’ve stopped pretending."

He blinked, his face as stoic as ever, but inside, something stirred. There was no rage, no fear, only a cold calculation. He didn’t care about your madness or what you had become. But there was a faint pull, the idea of relinquishing the last shred of his humanity that kept him tethered to this charade of normalcy. He was intrigued by your boldness, by how freely you had let go.

But he remained still, expressionless. "I don’t pretend," he said quietly. "I just don’t care."

You laughed again, this time louder, more manic. "And that’s what makes you dangerous, Patrick. You don’t care. You’ve never cared. But soon enough, you’ll realize how liberating that can be."

Patrick stared at you for a moment longer, no emotion flickering behind his eyes. "Liberating ?" he repeated, as if the word were foreign to him.

"Yes," you said with a smirk, turning away. "Because when you stop pretending, when you embrace what you really are, there’s nothing left to hold you back."

He didn’t respond. There was nothing to say. He’d long since stopped feeling the need to explain himself. Whatever you were becoming, whatever madness had claimed you, it didn’t concern him. You were spiraling out of control, and he would remain steady, detached. Yet, as he watched you walk away, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Because, in the end, chaos or control—it made no difference to him.

Norman Bates

Norman was never the same after witnessing the shift in you. At first, he felt a glimmer of hope in your kindness, a belief that maybe you could help him escape the shadows of his past. But that hope quickly faded as you transformed into something darker. The gentle demeanor he had grown to trust turned icy, and the warmth of your presence became a cold specter haunting him.

"Y/N ?" he ventured one night, his voice trembling. You stood amidst a room filled with remnants of your darker whims, the glint of madness shining in your eyes.

"What happened to you ?" he asked, genuinely confused and hurt. The memory of the compassion you once offered felt like a distant dream.

You tilted your head, a smile playing on your lips, but it lacked warmth. "Oh, Norman, don’t you see ? I’ve always been this way. You just never noticed until now."

Norman's heart sank as he realized that the person he trusted most had turned into a reflection of the very darkness he fought against. "But I thought we could—"

You interrupted, your voice sharp. "Could what ? Change ? Adapt ? Look at what you’ve become, Norman. You’re still clinging to that fragile sense of normalcy. But we both know it’s a façade. You are a monster. You will always be a monster."

In that moment, the realization hit him hard. He had thought you were a beacon, a chance for redemption, but instead, you were leading him down a path of destruction. And as he watched you revel in the chaos you created, he felt his own sanity begin to slip. In the end, he would become your puppet, lost to the madness you had decided to embrace.

BONUS

You jolted awake, gasping for breath, heart pounding as the vivid nightmare clung to your mind. It felt so real—the madness, the blood, the slashers losing control, becoming monsters all over again. You clutched the blanket, eyes darting around the darkened room, disoriented and shaking.

The scream you had let out echoed in the silence of the night, and before you could fully gather your bearings, the door burst open. Jason was the first to appear, his imposing figure standing in the doorway—his machete raised and at the ready. He looked around frantically for any sign of danger—but found none. He moved quickly to your side, his large hand resting awkwardly on your shoulder, trying to offer comfort in the only way he knew how.

Brahms was next, peeking from behind Jason, his eyes wide with worry. He didn't say anything—just stared, his usual playful demeanor replaced with deep concern. He slowly made his way to your side, almost afraid to get too close but desperate to offer comfort. He knelt beside you, his hand shaking slightly as he reached out to touch your arm, his eyes searching yours, as if pleading for reassurance that you were okay.

Michael entered quietly, his presence felt more than seen in the dim light. He didn't rush to you immediately, his pace slow and deliberate. He observed you carefully, and then pulled out his notebook from his pocket, writing something down before showing you: What happened ?

He sat at the edge of the bed, his silent and comforting company grounding you in the moment.

Bo Sinclair appeared not long after, his expression a mix of annoyance and concern, as if he'd been dragged out of a deep sleep but couldn’t help but care. "Darlin', you alright ?" His Southern accent soft, the usual sharpness in his tone dulled by the worry in his eyes. He stood there for a moment, arms crossed, before moving to your side, brushing his hand over your hair. "Was it a nightmare ?"

Vincent slipped in quietly behind his brother, standing in the shadows. He didn’t make a sound, but his presence alone was soothing, as if he was there simply to watch over you in case you needed anything. He gave a small nod, acknowledging that he was there for you.

Freddy was last, strutting in with his usual cocky grin, but even he paused when he saw your trembling form. "Nightmares, huh ? Not my work this time, I swear," he quipped, though his voice lacked its usual venom. He leaned against the doorframe, watching the others crowd around you, before adding, "What kinda monster dreams are getting to you now ?"

But there was a strange softness in his voice, an unspoken understanding. He might have been a nightmare in the past, but seeing you like this—it wasn’t his domain. He wasn't your tormentor. Not anymore.

Jason stayed close, holding your hand gently, as if afraid to hurt you but wanting to let you know he was there. Brahms crawled up on the bed beside you, still staring at you with wide eyes, his head tilting as he kept trying to make sense of your distress. Michael’s calm, steady presence, coupled with the note in his notebook, reminded you that they were all here to protect you. Bo's hand never left your hair, his brother Vincent still watching from the corner, always there but never imposing.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, the warmth of their concern slowly easing the tension in your chest. You could see the lingering fear in their eyes—the slashers who had been transformed from nightmares themselves into...your friends.

"I’m okay," you whispered, though your voice still trembled slightly.

But Freddy, of course, wasn’t one to let it go so easily. "You sure about that, sweetheart ? Looked like hell got a hold of you."

You offered a weak smile, shaking your head. "It was just a bad dream."

Jason squeezed your hand a little tighter, as if to remind you that whatever had happened in your nightmare, this was reality now. And in this reality, they were here for you.

Michael scribbled on his notebook again, holding it up: You’re safe.

And, for the first time since waking up, you believed it. Surrounded by the once fearsome killers, you felt safe. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath…Yes. You were safe. Everything was alright. You would make sure of it…