#eli sunday x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theehoneeybee · 3 months

Text

An Evening Coffee

pairing: Edward Nashton/gn!reader warnings: stalking, obsession, swearing, implied kidnapping? the riddler is just a silly goose word count: 1.0k

part one

synopsis: Edward's obsession only grows stronger the more you pull away from him. ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏ a/n: thank you for the love on the previous fic <;3 also don't forget my requests are open teehee ✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

After Edward had left your apartment you were quick to draw all the curtains, triple checking that the front door was locked. To be extra safe, you heaved the coffee table in front of the door to barricade yourself in.

He knew where you lived.

The hairs on your arm stood up straight, alert. The air in your apartment weighed on your shoulders, unable to escape the feeling of dread that surrounded you. You drowned in fear. How did he know where you lived? Had he been here before? Was he still here now?

You didn't have a second of peace, your brain swarming with questions. Everything began to make sense. The feeling of being watched and followed, and of course, the card.

You wanted to move apartment, to run away and hide where he could never find you, but there was one small problem. Edward still had your laptop.

You stayed awake all night, forcing yourself to keep your eyes open. Caffeine and anxiety fuelled you as you stalked from room to room, unable to sit still, frantically checking that you were alone in the apartment. Was it even worth informing the police? You had no physical proof that Edward had done anything and the Gotham police were useless. They would just tell you, "we'll look into it," then you would never hear from them again.

The alarm from your phone blared in your ear. You don't remember falling asleep. You shot straight up, eyes snapping open as you scanned around your room. It was time for you to go to work.

Each time a customer came through the door a shiver ran down your spine, anticipating Edward's arrival. The night dragged. You anxiously stared at the clock, watching as the seconds ticked by all too slowly.

"Evening," Edward greeted you as he came through the door, the bell chiming behind him. You tried your best to keep a straight face, to keep the fear at bay.

"Evening."

He gently sets your laptop down on the counter. "I'll just have a coffee tonight," a kind smile adorned his lips as he spoke to you. How could he look you in the eyes and act like nothing was wrong? You couldn't help the shaking in your hands as your poured his coffee. "Well, I was able to get the virus off your laptop. Like you said, it was just something you got from a dodgy site."

You nodded, mumbling a thank you as your grabbed your laptop to put it away. Had Edward been the one to mess with your laptop? Part of you knew that would make sense, that is was the logical thing to think, but the way he looked at you almost had you convinced otherwise. Almost.

"You should be more careful, you know," Edward advised. "Try not to use those sites in the future. You never know what could happen. There's some dangerous people out there." His clear glasses gleamed in the light.

He wouldn't leave fast enough. Edward took his sweet time, sipping his coffee and scribbling his answers in a crossword puzzle. You watched him cautiously from across the diner, avoiding eye contact whenever he would glance your way. When Edward finally left, you let out a sigh of relief. A weight was lifted from your shoulders, not having to worry about him for the rest of your shift.

You scurried home, eager to get out of the dark and into the safety of your apartment. The illusion of safety, at least. Before you went to bed that night you messaged your manager, begging to be switched to the day shift. It would be too hard to find a new job on such short notice, so changing your shifts would be the quickest way to deter Edward. It was hard to fall asleep. No position seemed comfortable or safe. On your side, it left your back exposed, vulnerable to the world. You tossed and turned for the rest of the night, every little noise of the city waking you from your sleep.

You thought the switch to day shift kept Edward at bay. Aside from the feeling of being watched, you had not seen or heard from him. You asked your co-worker who took over the night shift if she had seen him, brown hair and clear frames, you described. Nothing.

Even your laptop was completely fine. The black screen and flashing question mark never appeared again but you still felt a level of unease using it, covering up your webcam with tape, just in case.

After a long day, all you wanted to do was rot in bed. One of your co-workers called out last minute, leaving you to cover them until someone else could come in. The rest of the evening you had spent running errands. Hauling all of your groceries onto the subway was no easy task.

You shuffled into your dark apartment, unable to flick on the light just yet as you carried your bags into the kitchen. They smacked onto the countertop with a loud thud. Your bedroom light was still on. Odd, you thought. You could've sworn you had turned it off. Electricity isn't cheap after all.

As you entered your bedroom, someone sprung out from the darkness, making you jump with fright. You hadn't spotted Edward in the corner, shrouded in the shadows. He towered over you, his eyes obscured by his glasses. You slowly backed away from him, until you were pressed up against the wall. He stood inches away from you.

"I missed you," Edward cooed. "You stopped working the night shift."

Your bottom lip trembled, fists balled against your sides as you stared up into his green eyes. Before you could utter a word, he spoke again.

"I just wanted to see you. You caught onto me hacking your laptop pretty quickly. You're a smart one." So he was the one who tampered with your computer.

"Please just leave me alone," your voice trembled as you spoke. For someone who used to seem so meek, Edward was making you shake with fear. His hand came up to cup your face, his thumb running across your bottom lip. You swallowed. He leaned down, his face centimetres yours.

"Don't think you can get away from me that easily."

You were his.

243 notes · View notes

cannedbeefaroni · 5 months

Note

can we get an analysis on how different paul dano characters take nudes? LMAOOO TYTY 🙏

Ok ok I will admit I think louis ives would take good nudes at least. She’d know how to take a good mirror selfie in sexy dresses and lingerie. She’d cover her face with her phone or crop it out.

With Joby Taylor you’d get really awkward selfies with his face in frame looking either high or stupid. He’d be very obsessed with taking shirtless pics and sending them to you randomly.

Edward nashton would take top down pictures of his cock with the lights off and the flash on. You can see his pajama pants pulled down with Cheeto crumbs on them. Also you’d get some belly in the frame (hot)

Calvin weir-fields would send jacking off videos with loud moaning if you demanded hard enough for it because he’s a pushover and a bottom. The video cuts off before he cums tho.

Eli sunday would send you letters with disgusting nasty filthy smut of his deepest desires and crude sex drawings.

Burt fabelman is a man of god. He does not photograph his genitalia like some hooligan.

Pierre Bezukhov gets painted like one of those French girls if you know what I mean (look it was one time and he was drunk or something)

#danonation #danocel #edward nashton x reader #riddler x reader #calvin weir fields x reader #eli sunday x reader #joby taylor x reader #louis ives x reader #pierre bezukhov x reader

131 notes · View notes

danosrosegarden · 7 months

Text

good god - eli sunday x gn!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day ten. prompt: spitting. 🎃}

{contains: descriptions of male masturbation, religious guilt, and using spit as lube.}

☽ It wasn't that Eli had set out to have the coils of his brain flutter and throb with those filthy thoughts of you. It had sort of just...happened, and by the time the deep, nibbling guilt had set in and blackened his conscience, it was too late. He may as well finish what he started, right?

☽ It was difficult for him to keep quiet when his imagination ran so wild and free, but he'd try. It only made his cheeks burn harsher and his blushing cock throb harder to imagine how you'd giggle at his failed attempts to shut himself up by biting on the thick flesh of his hand.

☽ It was all about that deliciously slow build, and it all started with the inside of his thighs. He'd caress himself with a light, tickling touch and think of your soft hands on his warm skin. You'd be such a good servant for him, ready to take whatever he gave you with open arms.

☽ The thrill of dragging the cool pads of his fingers up and down his trembling, sensitive legs grew stale after a little while, and he was too worked up to wait any longer.

☽ The glob of spittle he drew from his mouth dripped from his tongue and onto his throbbing cock in a long, thin string. He spread it all over himself, imagining he was covering himself in your thick slick. God, what he would give to just have one chance to thrust into you. How tight and warm you'd be. What bewitching noises would spill from your slack jaw.

☽ "Oh...oh God..."

☽ The shame that boiled in hot bubbles in his cheeks only encouraged him to keep tugging at himself. It was a bewilderingly odd phenomenon...this dark, ugly, twisted guilt that rested in the pit of his stomach only got him even more worked up.

☽ He might as well go all out; he'll be paying for it in the light mist of early morning anyway when he inevitably cries from the pure, whole disgrace he feels nested in his shattered heart. He'll have to beg for forgiveness anyhow, so why not imagine you on your knees in front of him with your slick tongue out, ready to be painted with his hot seed?

☽ He'd make a mess on his quivering stomach with one final, airy, pleading whisper of your name.

☽ Everything about you had him utterly entranced, from the light notes of your scent that whisked by his nose when you stood in front of him after a service, to the flutter of your eyes in the sparkling sunshine of Little Boston. You were a crackling fire burning hot in his face, you were the dark, yellowed sky painted in the clouds before a storm. You were enchanting, truly, and he hated you something fierce for it.

#eli's writing #danonation #paul dano #eli sunday #there will be blood #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x y/n #kinktober #kinktober 23

58 notes · View notes

starlightsearches · 2 years

Text

A New God

Hi.....I have nothing to say about this except it made me lightheaded writing it. I hope my own horniness has not blinded me into thinking this is good if it’s not. Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated.

Eli Sunday x Female Reader

Minors DNI

3.8K

Warnings: loooooots of talk about religion, sacrilege, PIV sex, mentions of masturbation, virginity loss (m), fingering, reader gets slapped once and not during sex, a brief mention of pain kink, kind of hate-fucking if you squint. Let me know if I've missed anything.

He’s standing in the doorway again.

There’s a summery breeze blowing through the open windows of the new school house, carrying the scent of wildflowers and cedar smoke and the promise of an end to the long and harsh winter. Your students are already jittery with excitement at the idea of a warm afternoon, and once they notice that your attention has been stolen from them, a ripple of laughter flows through the class. It’s not too great a loss; they wouldn’t want to learn anything in the last few minutes anyway.

“That will be all for today, students. You are dismissed.”

The room is filled with a loud cheer and the scrape of desk legs against the uneven wooden floor, and you try not to smile too widely at their simple expressions of joy. A few shout quick thank yous back in your direction, and a few more greet Eli as they pass him, saying, “hello, Brother Sunday.”

He smiles down at them pleasantly, patting one or two of them on the head as they run by. You cross your arms over your chest, lips pressing into a frown.

Eli is a rather persistent preacher—you’ve only been in town a few weeks, at the request of Mr. Plainview to run the new school house—and Eli and his parish have come knocking at your door almost every day, bearing fresh meat or jars of goat milk. Sometimes he visits with his mother or other members of the church who love to extol his virtues. Mostly he visits alone.

“Hello Mr. Sunday,” you greet him, dusting the chalk from your fingers on your skirt, “what can I do for you?”

“It’s Brother Sunday, please, or Eli,” he corrects, paying no mind when you ignore him.

Eli ambles in from the doorway, a gentle smile on his face and his eyes latched onto yours, hands folded meekly in front of him. He’s a tall man compared to most, and it seems he does everything in his power to appear small and docile, standing before the front row of desks and hunching his shoulders. Something about the innocent little grin he wears sends a shiver up your spine.

“I did not see you at church yesterday,” he says in a quiet voice. The pad of his thumb trails gently over the smooth back of his hand, and his nails are clean—another rarity for Little Boston, “I thought you’d said you’d attend.”

And you’d thought he’d get the message after five Sundays without your presence. You breathe deeply, reciting the sentence you’d rehearsed for a moment like this one. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sunday. I had other obligations which could not be avoided.”

His smile doesn’t falter. “My dear sister, what obligations could be more important than praising the lord?”

It takes all your restraint to not roll your eyes. You’d list quite a few, if you thought there was even a chance he’d listen. Instead, you turn your attention to the chalkboard, erasing the marks you’d made with a surprising ferocity.

“I’m not sure why my obligations are any of your business, Mr. Sunday.”

The steady sound of Eli’s footsteps grows louder, bringing the walls around you in with every step of his worn but well-shined shoes. You don’t want to look, can’t force yourself to move—not even when you feel him standing right behind you, pressing so close you couldn’t step to either side without brushing up against him.

He’s so warm, radiating heat like God’s light, letting it bleed through his clothes and forcing you tighter against the blackboard. There’s a shake in your hands as you put down your erasing cloth, his wet breath up against your ear.

“I’m a prophet. Salvation is my business.”

You have to think very hard to keep breathing. His presence has loosened your tongue more than you’d like. “Maybe I don’t believe in prophets.”

You sound weak, a little lamb mewling for its mother. Still, it makes him pause, his voice damp with fear. “You don’t mean that.”

Your fingers curl into tightly clenched fists, seething with rage. You were so goddamn tired of hearing men tell you what you did and didn’t mean. You whirl around to face him, your anger making your blood run hot.

“Yes, I do,” you find yourself shouting, and more surprisingly, have no desire to stop it, “I don’t believe in prophets, and I don’t believe in God. And you can ruin the rest of the town with your silly fantasies but I—”

You’re stunned into silence when the palm of his hand meets your cheek, thrown to the side more by the shock of the impact than the force behind it. The sting still brings tears to your eyes.

You haven’t recovered before he has his mouth on yours.

He presses his whole, hot body against you, your head slamming back against the blackboard with a dull thud, and he’s got your face in both of his hands, rubbing the soreness from where he’d hit you with rough fingers, his lips fierce and hungry, moving so urgently you feel the scrape of teeth. He kisses you, open-mouthed and wet, skin like hell-fire, and you’re too stunned to move.

He pulls away just as you’re about to lean in. A string of spit is all that connects you to his lips, until you watch it tremble and break.

“You wicked, wicked girl,” he whispers, but he’s still got your face in his hands.

And then he’s gone.

It’s been two weeks since then. Two weeks since you’d seen Eli Sunday at all—not even walking through town, or visiting on some neighbor’s doorstep. Not tending to the animals outside his home the one or two times you’d had an excuse to pass by. You’d thought, even—although the idea made your stomach twist—about going to the church for his Sunday sermon, just for a chance to see his face.

It was that damn kiss. You’re still thinking about it—getting flushed and hot every time you look at the chalkboard and remember how it felt to be pressed up against him, going to sleep with the sound of his voice, the words wicked girl repeated in your ear until you can’t think of anything else but the burn between your thighs.

You heave a sigh, sitting at your desk with only an old book for company, eyes on the blackboard. There’s no more tenderness around the place where you’d hit your head, but your fingers travel there anyways, prodding at the skin, hoping for some reminder of how it had felt when he had touched you.

Because he had touched you. And it had been wonderful.

The sun is just beginning to set just beyond the school house windows, and there’s a heavy pit in your stomach at the thought of walking home alone in the dark. Little Boston is not so modern as your hometown, and there are wild animals about at night—coyotes and mountain lions, and, worst of all, the men from the oil rig, drunk and prowling.

You could have been home long ago, but you’d lingered here all afternoon, glancing at the door every few moments as you swept the floors, turning over your shoulder at each imagined sound as you cleaned the blackboard. It seems your waiting was all in vain. You sigh, standing from the chair and stretching the stiffness from your back, glancing one last time at the door.

And then your knees go weak. He’s there.

“Eli.”

He looks up from his feet at the sound of his name, eyes wide; you’ve never called him Eli before, always Mr. Sunday. You both knew the antagonism behind the title, and without it here between you, you’re left feeling vulnerable and naked.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, stepping across the threshold, ducking his head unnecessarily. He’s dressed like he’s about to give a sermon—wearing a dark vest over a roughspun shirt—unusual for most afternoons, since he still worked his father’s farm when he wasn’t peddling salvation. You wonder what the occasion is, eyes wandering down his long, dark frame. When you look back up, he’s watching you, his cheeks turning pink.

You both jump to fill the silence, your words running together in a babble of sound and you can hardly understand what he might be saying, until you pause, just catching the end.

“—and when I could not find you at your home I thought I might check here, to make sure you were alright.”

“You were at my house?” you ask, feeling startled and stupid. You could have left hours ago.

“Oh, yes—” he’s staring at the hem of your dress, and you know this can’t be what it looks like when he preaches, so shy and penitent, like a child prepared to receive a scolding they know they deserve, “I wanted a chance to speak to you . . . to apologize for my behavior the last time we met.”

He glances up through his lashes, mouth pressed together in a tight line. He thinks you might let him off so easily. You shrug your shoulders instead. “Go on, Mr. Sunday.”

Eli nods. “My conduct towards you was unscrupulous and immoral, and I am deeply sorry” —he hums, weighing the possible regret for whatever he might say next— “and . . . I appreciate your discretion as well.”

That gives you pause. You hadn’t even thought about telling someone.

Could you have told someone? It might have backfired—had the whole town whispering about you, calling you idolatrous, calling you a whore, calling you evil for corrupting such a holy man—but it might also have brought some shame down upon Eli, sown the seed of doubt in the hearts of a few of his followers. There would have been a mean satisfaction in seeing him disgraced, no longer able to look you or anyone else in the eye, no longer able to stand in front of his congregation and call others to repentance.

And yet you hadn’t said a word.

You step forward, bridging the distance, standing a little closer than you should. Studying him openly, you feel a delightful spark at the way it makes him flounder, his throat trembling as he swallows hard. It’s like his body has no idea how to handle the way it feels to be so near a woman, nowhere to hide the desire he feels inside. If anyone glanced in through the windows right now, there’d be no denying that Brother Sunday has been caught up in a very grievous sin.

“Why do you want me to join your congregation, Eli?” you ask, hardly whispering in the fading light.

He frowns, confused.

“B- because I want you to be saved—” and it seems there was a little misstep in his words. His eyes fall closed and he tries again, “I want everyone to be saved.”

“Hmmm,” you hum, inching another half-step closer until the hem of your dress brushes up against his ankles. His heavy breaths fill the shrinking space between you, but do nothing to stop the contact when your chest pillows against his, “but you don’t bring gifts to everyone. You don’t visit the men at the rig everyday, or Mr. Plainview, don’t bring your disciples by to see him nearly as often. Why is that?”

He’s quiet, chin dropped again, and you press one finger underneath it, forcing him to meet your eyes. Just as you suspected, there’s longing in his gaze, and the remnants of his self-control crumbling once again before you.

“Do you think I don’t see the way you look at me, Eli?” you ask him softly, and he shudders, hand clenched tight around the edge of a desk, knuckles white like it takes work to keep himself standing, “I am not naive; I know what it means when a man looks at a woman the way you look at me.”

You can feel his breath turn cool against the perspiration that coats your skin, caused by the warm spring night and the fire he’s stoked in you—that same fire you see burning in his own features.

“Please.” He hardly breathes the word.

“Please what, Eli? Tell me.”

You’re looking at him just past the tip of your nose. In the half light, his green eyes look almost black, and they’re focused on your lips.

Too many wants, and no way to voice them.

He kisses you again—like the first time—one hand on your neck and the other cupping the back of your head, skin hot like a brand. The thrill that travels through you is unique, though, because now you get to kiss him back. Pressing your mouth into his more firmly, you stand up on the tips of your toes for better leverage. His whole body trembles when your hand meets his ribs.

“Please,” he whispers again, and that does sound like a sermon, like a prayer. Like a man in commune with God.

“Tell me what you want, Eli. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I want—” his voice is high and keening now, “God, I want to touch you.”

Funny enough, that’s what you want, too.

You stumble back onto the solid wood of your desk, pulling him along after you. Eli falls to his knees before you, a gasp on his lips as you shift the hem of your dress higher and higher until you can feel the gentle breeze against the skin of your calves.

He cups his hands around the backs of both your legs, worshiping palms a little rough as they skate over your skin, and he leans his head against your still-covered knee, eyes wide. There’s an unfamiliar leap in your chest when you watch him press a kiss to the fabric just on the inside of your thigh, his hands trailing higher and higher up your skirt. You’re losing contact with the world around you, feeling far away as he slips the linen you wear under your dress down your thighs.

“I’ve never- I don’t know how to-” his fingers just brush the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt, his lips trembling with unspoken desires. You take his left wrist in your hand, guiding him forward, positioning his fingertips against your soaked entrance.

“Touch me here.”

You grip him tightly as his fingers explore, tracing the outline of your folds, dipping gently into your entrance—thicker than your own, already offering an unfamiliar stretch. Without any guidance from you, he runs his thumb down through the cleft between your legs, brushing against a particularly tender spot, and a jolt surges through your body.

You cling to him, hand planted against the scruff of his neck. “There, Eli. I need you there.”

God, he’s so willing to oblige—the lord’s obedient servant, His chosen one—on his knees for you, fingers delving deeper into your wet, tight cunt, thumb rubbing rhythmic circles right where you need it. Sweat drips from his hair pools against your fingers, collects under the hand he uses to keep your thighs parted.

“Is this what you think about,” you ask him, letting your hips shift more fully into his hand in hopes you might mask your own breathlessness, “when you touch yourself, Eli? Do you think about me?”

His jaw is clenched tight, but you know the way his thighs shake. There’s no way for you to ignore the bulge in the black fabric of his trousers, or how his free hand flexes more tightly on your thigh, like he’s resisting the lustful urge to touch himself.

You lean in closer, gripping his face in both your hands so he has to look at you, has to see the way your hair collects against your sweat-stained skin, the way your chest heaves. “I’m sure you do. Not a lot of privacy in your home, with your parents and sisters around. Where do you go when you want to think about me, hmm? The barn? The backwoods? The church?”

He groans, tears pooling in his lower lashes, and your cunt clenches involuntarily at the thought of him bent over the pulpit with his hand down his trousers, sweat dripping onto the pages of the Holy Bible.

Your back bows forward, pulling in closer until your lips just brush his. “If we’re confessing our sins, Eli, you should know I think about you, too.”

He whines, high and keening. “Please,” Eli begs, the movement of his hand haphazard, “I need to be inside you.”

You shake your head, laughing a little, the tender buzzing in your head growing louder with each kiss of his hand against your your folds. “Not yet. Haven’t you heard?—” You pet a hand through his matted hair, pulling a little at the ends. “Patience is a virtue.”

Maybe he sobs, and maybe you’d care if you couldn’t feel the tips of his fingers prodding at your soul. Whatever sound he makes turns quickly into soft, silky laughter, his head lolling against your thigh.

“Oh, you are a wicked girl.”

Yes I am, you want to say, but you can’t. Your lungs have been stoppered by the ravaging heat inside, burned out and filled with smoke as you climb higher and higher to the peak of your pleasure. He must sense it in you; he doubles down on his efforts, holding his fingers in place, spreading them wide inside you and digging the heel of his hand more firmly at the top of your cunt, letting you rut against him like you’re nothing more than an animal. You know now why so many pack into that dark and sweaty church building every Sunday. Being touched by him is a blessing.

Something more potent than the Holy Spirit pours over you; has you crying out in earnest as your ravaged hole spasms—too sensitive for him to pull out just yet. The pleasure runs through you in waves, spreading to the tips of your fingers, curling your toes until your moans subside into whimpers. After a moment, he slips his fingers from between your thighs, panting like he’s the one that’s been overcome.

He’s grabbing at whatever part of you he can reach, warm palm at your neck and your thigh, pulling close until his forehead is pressed against your own.

“I didn’t- I didn’t know that women could—” he stops there, laughing a little, “my God, you are a miracle.”

A miracle. How quickly his attitude has changed, and with so little work from you. Your lips brush against his, eyes open so you can watch his lashes flutter when you deepen the kiss. He tastes like honey, and freshly churned butter, lips trembling when you slide your tongue between them, a lofty breath at the crest of his throat.

As you work at unfastening his pants, the tremor spreads down to his legs, lunging into his hips when you grip his hardened cock in your hands.

He moans—louder than you’d ever expected—loud enough a sliver of fear blossoms inside you, worried that someone might hear. You press your other palm against his mouth.

“Does that feel good?” you ask, stroking him, acclimating him to your touch, and he nods with big, soft eyes. There are tears sliding down his cheeks.

Oh god. There’s an upsetting urge within you, a desire to please him that you would never have expected to feel.

“Do you want more?”

“Yes, god, please,” he’s sobbing again, but quieter now, and you remove your hand fully from his mouth.

Eli buries his face in the crook of your neck, quieting himself as you slide forward, guiding him towards your slick folds, and you can’t help but tense at the pressure, the thick head of him sending an ache through your center, your fingers knotting in his hair.

“Are you alright?” The way he says it, the heavy breaths he takes in your ear—it tells you how much control it takes for him to stay still.

You shift, the meat of your ass sore where it presses against the table, but a delectable kind of sore, like when he’d bruised you against the chalkboard. You think there will be new bruises, on the front of your hips this time, from the way his thumb digs in against you, fighting to brush the bone.

“You’re- you’re bigger than I expected. We’ll have to go slow.”

He nods, but his idea of slow and your idea of slow are not even remotely similar. You bite down on your lip when he thrusts forward with an unpracticed shift of his hips, breathing through the sting of the stretch, fists balled tightly in the loose material of his shirt.

“You can hurt me,” he whispers, tracing his lips up the sweaty tendons of your neck, “if it helps. I don’t mind.”

And it does help, to your surprise, forcing his shirt out of your way, digging your nails into his soft, pale flesh that covers his shoulder blades, marking him red. He shifts forward again, and you silence your own cry, biting into the thick muscle of his shoulder.

You must be wet with desire for him, because the pain fades quickly, a much warmer ache taking its place, and your nails no longer burrow into his skin hard enough to sting, but instead to bring him closer.

His heavy breaths weigh down on your shoulders and he leans back, watches the way he impales you with his stiff cock, cheeks burning with shame. Flushed red, with his eyes turned towards the heavens, he looks like an angel painted by one of the great masters. There’s idolatry in his eyes.

“What god do you worship, Eli?” you ask him, stroking your thumb over the crest of his cheek, gathering his sweat against your skin. He leans in closer, and you know he must want to press his lips against yours, must hope to quiet you with another fierce kiss. You shift just past his reach, ignoring the pain in your tensing core.

“There is only one God,” he admonishes you, “just one. I worship Him.”

He groans at the sound of your laugh, muscles tensing. “That’s funny, because I don’t see Him here. There’s only me, Eli. Who were you on your knees for, just moments ago?”

You can tell the thought has him close, no matter how he tries to deny it. “You- you shouldn’t even suggest such a thing.”

Your hand curls harsh around his jaw, forcing his eyes to meet yours, living for the way your cruelty makes him twitch inside you. “It’s just a question, Brother Sunday. What god do you worship?”

He chases your lips again, and you hold him back. Your own breaths grow louder, crying through clenched teeth with each of his movements, your slick cunt growing warmer with the friction he gives you, at the changed angle, a distinct panic in your chest because he’s going to make you cum again and you want him to.

“Eli.” You should warn him about the hungry pit low in your stomach and the way it grows wider as he presses into you, let him know that something is about to happen, but you don’t have the words to describe it.

He reaches his own point of desperation, eyes screwed tight. The yearning he feels must overpower his piety because you feel the words he whispers, tongue just brushing the tips of your fingers as he wets his lips.

“It’s you. I worship you.”

It hits you in the chest, punching the air from you, your soft sigh meshed with his high, keening groan. He pulls from you before the spasms have left, and you feel the warm paint of his spend against your thighs.

The silence between you is sacred.

“My god,” he’s laughing as he breaks it, giggling against the skin of your jaw, pressing wet, open-mouthed along your flushed skin, “my god.”

And you know it’s not the lord’s name he’s taking in vain. It’s yours.

Tags in case you’re interested: @trelaney, @theold-ultraviolence

#eli sunday x reader #eli sunday x you #eli sunday smut #eli sunday #twbb #my writing #minors dni #female reader #paul dano #danonation #dano nation #danocel

717 notes · View notes

tenderhungering · 4 days

Text

plot to an eli sunday fic i might or might not write depending on how many people are interested (it’ll be h my first fanfic as well!),,,

some vague little plot points i’d love to have,,, it’d be an eli sunday x reader (is danonation dead?)

the plot in my head is daniel plainview’s daughter who is his either

1. his by blood to explore how much easier he took to HW as a son even though later on he clearly saw some issue w taking care of a child that wasn’t “his” ?? like it was a gender thing ! HW is his pride and joy !

2. daniel is infertile and she’s a woman’s he was with’s child and now the woman either left or died (not sure) to explore HIS toxic masculinity in that manner. to be unable to have children as a man i think is always such an interesting thing ??

she loves HW though fuck making her have resentment towards a child. she can have it towards daniel though !

and i’d imagine she does a little more (manual) labor than most woman bc daniel probably needed the extra set of hands ?? sort of. not unlady like bc fuck that but by the standards then women might pity her for not having a “womanly presence” in her life and making her not be very wanted by men (men will fuck anything tbh so whatever but you know?

she attends church against daniel’s wishes bc it’s at least distracting her but she is so going just for eli lmao. i have a vision of her just staring at that man fr….

TW: death, murder, violence

and she is her father’s child. he has a handgun we’ve seen it and i’m sure she knows how to shoot it. something about her killing a man in the middle of a field,,, like a faraway shot of the man approaching her angrily and just her arm extended w the gun and shooting him,,blood splattering,,, she tries to cleanse herself in the creek and she’s just blood stained, scared, will she ever be pure again, can she be baptized, is the the dog that cries after it kills any better than the one who doesn’t, does shame and guilt save you from sin

i am obsessed w flawed and awful readers. i need her to be a terrible little thing

unsure though ! i am the most foolish girl on earth

#paul dano #paul dano fanfic #danonation #eli sunday #eli sunday x reader #there will be blood #twbb #daniel plainview #daniel plainview x daughter! reader

10 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 2 years

Text

Absolution

Eli Sunday x Female!Reader, word count: 2k i blame the discord server i just needed a lot of this and i needed it now so yeah request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: religion, sex on a desk™, oral, language, degradation

“Father Sunday, I’m so grateful that you would let me come to you in my hour of desperate need.”

On the floor of the office at the back of the church, Eli Sunday paced behind you as you sat on the chair at his desk, facing away from him, face basked in the light that managed to pour in from the dusty window. You could have looked almost angelic, cheeks stained with tears, lips pink and pouting, basking in the glow of God’s light, if not for the fact that your cheeks were ruddy with embarrassment. Truly a sign of a sinner to Father Sunday.

“Who else would you come to, my little lost lamb? I welcome your ingenuity, your honesty, now more than ever. To come to me without force. The willing can be saved.”

He spoke with genuine feeling, but never ceased his relentless patrol of the floor, footsteps softly thudding, the creaks of the floorboards with each purposeful step.

“I want to be saved, Father Sunday. More than anything. I want to be pure.”

“So tell me. What are your sins, little lamb. What sets you apart from the flock?”

As you paused, taking in a shuddering breath, you considered changing your mind. The consequences of being so forthright weighed heavy on your mind. Watching the dust settle on the rays of light, the way they floated, sparkling, you tried to calm yourself, licking your lips before speaking.

“Father Sunday, I can only apologise, and I do so profusely, but I’ve…sinned.”

There was a brief pause before he let a soft chuckle fall from his pursed mouth.

“I wouldn’t expect any less of someone like you.”

“Father Sunday, I-”

“Please don’t interrupt me. You’re forgetting who you’re speaking to. You think I don’t know all?”

“You know what I’ve done?”

“Of course, my child. I’m blessed with the knowledge from our Father above.”

Of course. Fear settled in the put of your stomach, coiling its way around your intestines, nauseating you almost immediately as it snaked around your insides and claimed them as its own. You tried to speak, but all you managed was a meek and nervous stutter.

“I see.”

“But, absolution can only come from you. Why don’t you tell me what you’ve done? Let the words come forth and enter into this holiest of spaces, where they can no longer blacken your insides, darken your soul.”

Taking in a deep and shaking breath, you let yourself begin the procedure of washing away your sins.

“Well, Father…I’ve been deeply troubled by thoughts of…sin…for some time now. It’s been overwhelming me, temptation taking hold of my very being. I thought that I may act upon it in a way befitting a true sinner, so in my haste to resolve this possession, I took matters into my own hands.”

Silence behind you, as Eli stopped pacing and stood still, in an indeterminate space in the room, watching and waiting.

“Quite literally.”

From his space in the room, watching over you like a guardian angel, you could hear a soft breath as Eli opened his mouth.

“I don’t mean to covet another woman’s man, but something lately has come over me, and I’ve found myself very interested in…well I won’t say…but the desire was strong enough that I let myself indulge in carnal sins, those of the flesh.”

The gentle sound of fabric shifting, as you assumed Father Sunday was bracing himself against your words, disappointment coursing through his veins at the words of his little lost lamb. But, out of your view, it was evident that something else was stirring in Eli, something to help corrupt his false moral standing.

“I’ve taken pleasures…touched myself, Father Sunday. I wasn’t able to stop myself, the need was too strong.”

A sharp breath, shuddering exhale, before Eli spoke again.

“Please…you must be open…honest…tell me everything.”

Footsteps shuffled behind you, as you could send his presence closer to you.

“In the dark, as quietly as I could. I moved my nightdress up, let the cool of the evening settle over my stomach, bare and exposed. I touched…I didn’t…But I touched…”

“How did it feel, my lost, little lamb?”

“It felt…good, Father.”

The embarrassment of admitting your sins to him had your stomach flipping, blood rushing to your cheeks and pulsing in your ears, deafening you, reddening your cheeks, and filling you with a familiar warmth that only further worsened the shame that coursed through you.

“It was warm?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Hmm…” It sounded ponderous, as though he were contemplating your punishment, or whether or not you could be redeemed for your transgressions. But beyond your view, out of reach of your senses’ comprehension, Eli had quietly loosened the black pants he wore. With his thumb and forefinger, he limply tugged at his semi-erect cock, mouth falling open in a silent gasp, hushed pleasure flowing free.

“It felt…pleasurable?”

“Yes, Father Sunday.”

“And you…followed through to completion on your actions?”

“I’m sorry, Father Sunday. I did. Yes, I did.”

With a free hand lifting his shirt up, he wrapped his palm tight around his length, tugging viciously at himself, his thumb languidly tracing over his head, shuddering at the sensitivity, the tainted satisfaction.

“Quietly? Or were you unable to hold the moans back at your sinful ministrations?”

“Father…I…”

You turned to look at him, but he stamped his foot down, hard and loud, whipping your neck back and staring forward. The shuffling of fabric and footsteps, a belt.

“Oh, Father Sunday. Please not that.”

“From…oh, the belt?”

“I assumed…would that be a fitting punishment? I believe in coming clean, I should be afforded some mercy.”

“And do you believe you deserve it?”

“The belt?”

“Mercy, you silly little lamb.”

“Please, Father.”

He stepped to behind you, slowly, placing his palms firmly on your shoulders, breathing in deeply.

“I think perhaps…” his fingers squeezed into you, holding you down in the seat “…that a punishment fitting of this sinful behaviour, would be to take part in something that might take the whore out of you.”

You stayed silent, cowering into yourself that the insinuation, regardless of how true you might believe it to be, that you were a whore.

“Perhaps something that might satiate the urges. And who better to perform this exorcism of your demons, than a holy man.”

Sitting deathly still, you let his words sink in, their meaning igniting a warmth inside of you, pressure forming in your stomach. You licked your lips in anticipation of his next words, waiting for him to finish his sweet sermon.

“Are you amenable to this?”

Nodding your head lightly, you felt his fingers tense into you further, reassuring yet threatening, which is the way you would describe his presence as leader of the flock. There was the faith that he could save, that he could heal. But underneath lay the threat that by not following his words and his ways, that you could easily be corrupted, damned. He leaned into you, spitting the words out sharply.

“Say yes.”

“Yes, Father Sunday.”

“Stand up, turn around, and get on your knees and pray.”

Doing as you were told immediately, you lent at his feet, making note of his loosened belt, the bulge contained with his trousers, pressing into the front of them, saliva pooling in your mouth. You quickly swallowed it, lest you drool as you began your prayers. Knees in the familiar position, recognising the harsh, gritty wood on the bare skin, you clasped your hands together and began to pray for your salvation. But when you lifted your eyes to make sure you were pleasing Father Sunday and the Lord with your words of apology and devotion, you were met with Eli staring straight back at you. Cherubic, youthful face red, sweat beading on his forehead, his lips curled softly at the corners. His hand, holding his length in his hand, so close you could smell him on you. Hot, slightly salty, delicious.

“Your prayer is pathetic, and I do believe that your sinner’s mouth would be better tasked with something else. Now, if you will please me, I can sense that this would work in your favour. Let me wash your mouth out with my forgiveness, little lamb.”

Mouth opening slightly for him, he tutted, pressing his thumb to your lower lip, his fingers soft and warm as he pushed down on your teeth, lowering your jaw and making room for himself. Guiding his cock by the base, he entered your mouth, whimpering lightly under his breath as you let your tongue press up against the shaft, drawing it over the head as you flexed it. Eli caught your chin in his hand, palm meeting the skin with a slap, gripping tightly as he forced your gaze to his, still resting his firm cock in your mouth as his precum settled on your tastebuds.

“Harlot. You’re a vessel for my salvation. You should stay still and take it, participation indicates enjoyment. You’re not enjoying your punishment, are you?” He pulled back, ejecting himself from your mouth with a sloppy noise, your spit falling from your lips to the floor.

“Of course n-”

“Don’t lie in the house of God, lamb.”

“I enjoyed it, Father Sunday.”

“Then I’ll have to make this a lot less pleasurable for you. Get off of your knees and bend over this desk. I do my best work here, write my sermons, I can eradicate your sin upon it also.”

Stepping behind you as you positioned yourself across the desk, Eli lifted your skirt, silently judging your lack of underwear, as he pressed his fingers to your folds. Bringing them back out, he thrust them at your face.

“Sinful!” His voice was loud, echoing around you. Beet red from the shame you could feel the flush of heat in your cheeks, wondering if the rest of your exposed body was blushing similarly. Before you had time to contemplate it fully, Eli had inserted himself inside of you fully, stretching you, virginal innocence claimed by the shepherd of the flock. It was overwhelming, you could feel the Lord inside of you. You were grateful to Eli, for sharing his gift, his forgiveness.

“Ask for forgiveness, whore. Beg for it.”

“Father…uh…Sunday…p-please…please save me…”

As Eli thrust into you, his hair coming loose from the tidy style it usually sat in, he looked up at the wall, staring at the cross that hung there, well aware that the noises of the carnal sacrifice he was making would be heard through the cracks of the wooden shack.

“You are a whore. You are a harlot. And you are a sinner. And only I can save you, only I bring the salvation you so clearly desire.”

“Yes…yes, Father…yes…”

“Say it, out loud for God and all his children to hear. Tell what you are loud and proud.”

“I’m a whore, Father Sunday…hng…a whore…”

“And I’m here…to flush…hmm…the demons from you…mmm…to expel them…raw and painful as it might be!”

His thrusts became clumsier, no pace to them, frantic in nature as he tried to rid you of your shame, your sin. To make you whole and pure. His fingers, tightly gripping at your exposed hips, bruising the flesh with the effort he put into pulling you back onto him, revelling in his act of charity so roughly bestowed upon you.

“Shall I…bless you…little lamb? Would you like to be anointed?”

“Yes, Father.”

He slipped out, turning you around and pushing you on to your knees once again. His hand, rings glinting in the sunlight, pumped furiously at his cock as he whined in frustration, waiting for you to take position. And as you stared up at him, ready for instruction, eyes wide and sorrowful, his position of command reinforced, he let loose upon you, allowing his blessing to cover your mouth and cheeks. In shocked silence you stayed still, awaiting his further instruction. But as he tucked his shirt back in and adjusted his trousers, all he did was toss a handkerchief at you for you to clean yourself off.

“Though your sins have been absolved for now, I can only expect you to sin again. Weak is the flesh. The temptation of whores.”

Weak indeed, as you limped on shaky legs out of the church, blessed by Father Sunday and intent on receiving further absolution for the sins you might perform on yourself that evening.

#there will be blood #eli sunday #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday fic #paul dano #finnie writes #paul dano fic #danonation #danocel #eli sunday x you #eli sunday smut

156 notes · View notes

ginger-wayne · 1 year

Text

danoblr! i announced this on the bird app already but im making a paul dano character dating simulator game! it’s called paul date-o and it should be out sometime next year! follow along for updates on this project once we get further in development!

139 notes · View notes

jeanbean01 · 1 year

Text

I Dream of you too - Eli Sunday x Reader

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, P in V, unprotected sex, religion, oral sex, masturbation.

Summary: You and Eli have a mutual attraction.

A/N: I've had the first 300 words of this in draft for months and wrote the rest today so... forgive me if it seems rushed. Enjoy! :)

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

You’d just moved to Little Boston after your father had accepted a job at the new oil rig. The town was small– too small. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and you couldn’t get away with the debauchery you could before. One minor act of sin and you’d be cast out entirely.

Though, that thought didn’t hinder your lustful thoughts about the sinewy pastor, Eli Sunday.

Your heart had lurched at the sight of him the first time you entered the church; Eli had stood there and enamoured you at first sight. You knew you had to corrupt him– seize him up and ruin him completely.

He pranced around the pews, spreading the word of God with such zeal and passion that the twist in your gut couldn’t be ignored– especially as he took an elderly woman’s hand and caressed it so sensually, extracting the demons from within her weak bones. His lips had licked upon the woman’s hand in such a way that you couldn’t ignore the thoughts plaguing you.

The images of him using that same mouth on your cunt could not be erased from your mind. He would lick into you as diligently and graciously as he spoke his prayers, humming at the noises of appraisal you would make.

Eli himself was fighting the same kind of sinful thoughts.

He’d seen you at the back of the church staring at him with such devotion, a pretty little lamb, taking in every ounce of profound preaching he offered. He noticed how your eyes followed his every move– how they grazed from his soulfully skewed eyebrows, down his slim chest and all the way to his large feet.

He would lay in bed at night and try to dismiss the scenes playing in his head. Scenes of you gently kissing the head of his swollen cock before sucking the rest of it deeply into your mouth. He would pretend that the hand coming down to cup his erection was you, urging him on– encouraging him with sweet words to let himself go; to let himself ravage you.

Eli would come in his pants, humping at his own lonely hand through his night trousers and fall asleep with bitter regret on his mind and a wet patch staining his front.

This pining had been present for months, the mutual thoughts of sin were all you and Eli could think about in church. It was ruining his confidence in front of the congregation– all he could see was you gazing at him with half-lidded eyes and a half-smile.

Once this particular mass was over, he halted you at the door, calling your name softly.

“Sister, may you please wait behind for a while, I wish to speak with you.”

You nodded in affirmation and waited at the pew nearest to Eli’s stand, carefully smoothing down your skirt and placing your hands patiently on your knee.

As the remainder of the church-goers left the building, Eli made his way to you, the sound of his heavy footsteps startling you.

He came closer, perching himself on the bench and turning to face you.

“I have summoned you to tell you that you cannot attend my church anymore.” He looked apologetically at your shocked, hurt face.

“But why?” You questioned.

“You- ah,” He paused, “You are a distraction. It is no fault of your own, I assure you.” He took a deep breath, “but you take my mind off my work when you are here and I need to be present. I need to guide my flock with a clear mind.”

At this, you knew he was struggling with the same thoughts as you and this was your opportunity to act on them.

“No!” You flew to the ground, knees hitting the sand with a dusty thud, “Eli, please! I can’t bear the thought of not being allowed to attend your mass.” You begged, clutching the material of Eli’s trousers in your hands desperately.

“My lamb, I-” He hesitated, placing a hand on your hair and flattening the strands to your cheek.

“I’ll do anything!” You cried, moving your hand further up his leg, nearing his inner thigh. Eli’s eyes fluttered shut as you barely grazed his crotch.

“This-” He sighed deeply, “This is exactly what I mean. I can’t be near you without devilish thoughts overtaking me.”

You sat further up on your heels and reached a hand out to Eli’s chin, forcing his gaze onto you. As he opened his eyes again, meeting your own, you stroked your fingers over his cheekbone.

“What if I feel the same about you, Eli?” You whispered.

His eyes widened comically as you shuffled further in between his legs.

“What are you implying?” He gasped, grabbing the hand near his cock and squeezing it.

You chuckled softly at his naivety, “I’m implying that I want to do many sinful things to you, Eli. And that I want you to do just as sinful things to me.”

He laughed disbelievingly, throwing his head back to look at the heavens, “I swear you have been placed on this earth purely to lead me into temptation.”

Though, despite his words, Eli pulled you closer to him, holding your shoulders firmly and keeping you in place. You took this as encouragement enough to continue with your actions and brought your hand to this now-tented crotch, palming it softly and grinning at the sighs you elicited from Eli.

“Please.” He choked.

Deciding to tease him no further, you unbuttoned his trousers and pulled his thick cock out of his cotton underwear. It bounced up, the weeping tip spreading pre-cum onto his clothed stomach. Finally, after giving him a few gentle strokes, you brought your mouth to him, breathing hot air onto the tip before dragging him into your mouth.

Eli’s sucked in a harsh breath at the action and his hips bucked, pushing his cock to the back of your throat.

You gagged slightly before humming and pulling yourself back, letting his dick fall from your mouth unforgivingly.

He whined, grabbing your now tussled hair and attempting to shove your head back to him.

“Ah, ah.” You tutted, gripping his thighs and resisting.

Eli let you go almost immediately, but the expression painted on his features showed his dismay.

“I need you,” He whispered fervently.

The desperation in his voice made the space between your legs dampen further and you climbed up from your position on the floor, scrambling ungracefully onto his spread legs. His hands reached under your skirts, calloused fingers gliding over the soft skin of your thighs.

“I need you, too.” You stuttered as his digits moved closer to your core, brushing just so over your clit.

He moved one hand back to himself, stroking languidly before digging his hand into the flesh of your hip and manoeuvring himself to you.

Eli hissed as his cock pushed slowly into your cunt, feeling your walls stretch to his length. You sighed happily as you rolled, relishing in the jerk of Eli’s hips into your own.

“God, you take me so well.” He mumbled, following the statement with a high-pitched whine and harsh, sloppy thrusts.

You moaned at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing your hands into his hair as you bounced. The gold cross you wore swung with your movements, hitting just above your breastbone with each thrust. Eli noticed this and brought his mouth to the pendant, breathing roughly onto it as he pumped into you, “You must be the devil,” He groaned, “Taunting me with God’s imagery while we fuck– Mngh.”

The more Eli moved inside of you, the tighter the coil in your gut became, alluding to your close climax.

Your pants became more frantic as you grew closer and closer. You brought your face to Eli’s, closing the gap between you and uniting in an open-mouthed kiss, your breaths mingling as you both gasped.

You cried out as the coil snapped inside of you and your orgasm ripped through– white-hot pleasure ran throughout your body as Eli continued to shove deeper into you.

The clenching of your cunt drove Eli into further madness as his movements became lazier and more desperate before he made one final plunge. His seed spilt inside of you as he dove his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in deeply.

You both stayed there unmoving until Eli slipped his cock out of you, his cum dripping down your thighs and onto his own.

You laughed, pulling his face to yours and kissing him chastely.

“I think you may be right,” You smiled coyly, “I should not be allowed to sit in your church, Father Eli.”

#eli sunday x reader #eli sunday #paul dano x reader #paul dano #danonation #fic

115 notes · View notes

atasteofelipses · 2 years

Text

Hello my beautiful Danonation ❤️‼️‼️ I want to start writing Paul dano fics so please send in requests!!

Rules

No Smut

Well that’s it !

❤️🫶

#Paul dano #Paul dano x reader #Jay okja x reader #Edward nashton x reader #riddler x reader #fanfiction #klitz x reader #Brian Wilcox x reader #Eli Sunday x reader

218 notes · View notes

texas-writes · 1 year

Text

Candlelight

Cw: loss of virginity, piv sex

Eli groaned as he settled on the edge of the bed to untie his shoes while you shed your dress and hastily pull your nightgown over your head while his back was still turned.

“I enjoyed today,” he says suddenly. “Did you have a nice time?”

You hear his shoes clunk on the floor and shuffling as he begins to dress for bed. Eli’s near-nudity didn’t make you nearly as nervous as the prospect of him seeing you. You’d seen him in his boxers countless times when you had gone swimming together in your youth. Things were so different now, but at the end of the day, Eli was still the same boy you had spent almost your entire life beside.

“Of course I did, I married an amazing man.”

He pauses for a brief moment, before resuming his present task. “What about the house? Do you like the house?”

Oh he was so terribly nervous. Before the wedding, Eli was as composed as a monk, calling on the pastor from the next town over to officiate, calmly instructing the women of the congregation on how to decorate the church. He had it all together while you clambered for your composure just outside the door, waiting for your cue.

But here he was, anxious now as you were earlier that morning, questioning if you were actually happy with the life the two of you were building. The house he had had built for the two of you to live in was beautiful. A small place with three bedrooms, settled under the big tree not far from the church. Asking him for anything more would be foolish. It was perfect as it was.

“I’d love anything you gave me,” you reply, pulling back the covers and slipping into the bed.

He sighs deeply. “That’s not what- please be honest.”

“Darling, it’s a very nice house. Don’t be so nervous, I’m just your wife.”

Eli slips into the bed beside you, leaning against the headboard, smiling softly when you roll over to face him.

“That’s the terror of it. I’ve married the woman I’ve loved since I was a child. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“As sentimental as ever,” you chide jokingly, moving to rest your head on his thigh, tugging the blanket around your face. “I thought I had lost you when you gave your life over to God.”

Eli had suddenly become a zealot when he was fifteen, turning almost all of his attention to the scripture. He’d left town when he was seventeen to study under another Pastor a few towns over, returning when he was nineteen and promptly asking you to allow him to formally court you. He was your childhood sweetheart, so naturally you agreed, and so did your parents, thinking that a man of God would be good to tame your wild nature.

Ever the untamed child you were, always coming home after dark with scraped knees and bruises from falling out of trees, a sheepish Eli trailing behind you, knowing he was going to be punished for being late, but refusing to leave you. Summer days spent holed up in a blackberry thicket gorging yourself on the sweet fruits, face and fingers sticky, bathing in the pond after to rid yourself of the feeling, returning home hours later in your soaked shift, dress thrown haphazardly over your shoulder as you darted past your neighbors to avoid being seen.

As you’d grown older, Eli was less resistant to going swimming with you, then laying in the sun in the grass, chatting as you waited for your underclothes to dry, sometimes stealing a kiss or two if one of you felt brave that day. You two had been especially close in the weeks right before Eli had disappeared. When he did, you’d grieved him like he was dead, despite his folks and yours assuring you it was only a temporary arrangement.

Even though Eli was a ‘Pious’ man, and in all technicality, in charge of you, he let you do as you pleased, not having it in his heart to stamp out your youthful nature. He preached his sermons and then followed you to the pond to swim for a few hours before walking you home for the evening. He’d return right after breakfast the next morning to get you and not be surprised when he was informed that you’d already been gone for hours. When he would find you perched in a tree, munching on whatever fruit grew there, he would join you, talking for hours or sitting in silence. It didn’t matter much to him, he was just happy to be back.

“I gave myself to God so I didn’t humiliate myself. I was so young and immature I surely would have driven you away. I had to put the energy elsewhere.”

You chuckle and wrap your arms around his leg. “It’d take an act of God to get rid of me.”

“Don’t say that,” he laughs, running his fingers through your hair, fighting the urge to admit that the prospective act of God terrified him.

“Sorry,” you hum, pulling his leg closer to your body.

“I’m joking, darling. You usually wrap your hair when you sleep, what’s changed?” Oh he just loved bringing up the time he walked in on you in your night clothes a few months ago after forgetting to knock. You could have very well been nude. Had he no shame?

“Aren’t pastor’s wives supposed to be plain, besides, don’t we have ‘marital duties’ to carry out?”

Eli chuckles at your comment and prys your hands from him so he can settle himself beside you. “I’d have to go blind to see you as plain. We only have to lay together if you’d like to, I’ve abstained long enough that I don’t think a while more will kill me.”

“I’ve always been curious as to what it’s like. I wouldn’t mind,” you hum, pulling yourself to rest on his chest, basking in the rise and fall of his breath and the gentle thrum of his heartbeat.

His heart stutters at your words. “Has nobody told you what it’s like?”

“No, mother said it was unladylike to speak about it so we never did.”

“When have you ever been ladylike? It’s almost cruel, sending you into the lion’s den unarmed. My father sat me down to talk about it once, right before I left. It was uncomfortable,” he pauses and releases a breath. “He went into excruciating detail about… many things. Perhaps that’s what drove me away. I believe I was too young to fathom the complexity of the situation then.”

“How do you mean,” You question, propping yourself up on his chest watching as he thinks carefully of his answer, a soft pink dusting his cheeks, drawing a smile to your lips.

“I couldn’t connect the feeling, the… experience to the explanation. Youth is overzealous with emotion. It drives to the point of madness, there was no time to truly think on it. I believe I have a firmer grasp on it now,” he hums, bumping his forehead against yours.

Eli’s in a state you’ve never seen him in, his pupils blown wide, his face flushed, lips parted slightly, warm breath ghosting against your lips as you gaze down at him. You bring the hand not supporting you up to tangle in his chestnut hair, leaning down, brushing your lips softly against his before kissing him warmly. His arms wrap around you, pulling you into him as he follows your lips with his, urging you to kiss him more harshly, and you do. You’re fervent, soft flesh against flesh, and mess of teeth and tongue and obscenely wet sounds as the two of you become closer than you’ve ever been.

You whine when he bites your lip a bit too harshly, almost drawing blood, but he realizes his wrongdoing and quickly soothes it with his tongue. One hand moves up to hold the back of your head while the other trails down your side to grip your thigh with almost bruising vigor, urging you to straddle his thigh. You allow him to pull your leg where he wants it, settling into your new place over him. Eli falls back against his pillow, heaving for breath, saliva trailing down his chin, a dopey smile gracing his lips as he slyly brings his thigh up between yours, making your breathing hitch in your throat at the friction, a warmth pooling in your belly, familiar but not.

“Have you- Have you ever…touched yourself,” he asks, innocently enough, leaning up to press his lips briefly against yours again.

“No.”

“Oh, God,” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut, pushing his head back into the pillow. His hands roam up your back, bunching your nightgown in his hands as they fall to rest on your hips, pulling you into his thigh, drawing a soft moan from your lips. “M-May I,” he murmurs, tugging on the cloth to distinguish his intentions.

“Yes,” you whisper back, pulling away to allow him to pull your nightgown over your head, leaving you completely bare before him. His cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson and he looks away for a moment before focusing his gaze back on your face. “You look almost as embarrassed as I feel.”

Eli opens his mouth to speak, promptly closing it and furrowing his eyebrows. “I’ve just never seen a woman like this is all.”

“And I’ve never been seen,” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

He chuckles, scrunching up his nose and bringing a hand up to run his thumb along your cheek. “Nothing to be ashamed of, you’re amazing. Kiss me?”

You lean down, and bump your nose against his before pressing your lips to his, and he kisses you the way he had before, drawing physical reactions from you. HIs hand gives your waist another squeeze before shifting his weight, rolling you onto your back and following close behind. Your breath hitches in your throat as you realize you’re suddenly at his mercy. The scraggly, unimposing boy you had known had grown into a man during his time away, still far from intimidating, but Eli was of his own will now, knowing what he wanted and he had the means to get it. You wouldn’t oppose him even if you wanted to.

The sound Eli makes when he ruts his hips against yours floods you with unfamiliar emotions, urging his body closer to yours. Despite your urging, he pulls away, taking you in, his brows furrowing again, his eyes drifting to the side as he thinks. Finally he decides his course of action and pulls one of your legs up to his shoulder, kissing your ankle chastely. He works his way up your leg, his kisses becoming harsher as he reaches the tender skin of your inner thigh before stopping. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging softly to encourage him to continue whatever it was he was planning.

He buries his face in between your legs, his tongue carefully testing your reaction. When you whine and fist his hair more harshly, he takes it as a sign that he’s pleasing you. It’s clear from his uncertainty that he’s inexperienced, his mouth moving hesitantly against you as he gauges each reaction separately. He’s a fast learner, doubling down on the motions that draw the most from you, reveling in the way your back arches and your thighs squeeze around his head.

You whimper above him, attempting to squirm away from him, prompting him to grab your thighs and pull you back to him. The pleasure he takes in knowing he’s the only one that’s ever made you feel like this, that he’s the only one that you’ve let please you, it’s almost too much for him to bear. He releases one of your thighs, bringing his fingers to tease at your entrance, gathering the slick combination of your arousal and his saliva on them before carefully easing them into you.

A moan tumbles from your lips at the sensation. Eli’s fingers are almost skillful as they curl into you, beckoning you closer and closer to the edge. And then you’re there, falling over with a cry of his name, pulling him closer and squeezing him with your thighs as he pulls you through your orgasm. The sensation’s so unfamiliar that you don’t even register that it’s too much until you’re trembling and pushing him away.

When Eli pulls himself away from you he looks as wrecked as you feel, his hair mussed, chin slick with you, gasping for breath as he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. “Are you- okay? Was that good?”

All you can do is nod and whine, opening your arms to him weakly. He accepts your offer and settles his head on your chest, taking notice of how erratic your heart is in your chest, of how he made it that way. He stretches up to kiss you again. It’s rougher than he would have liked, but he’s still worked up, straining painfully against his cotton shorts as he does his best to keep his composure for your sake.

“Eli, what about you,” you ask, sliding your hand down his back, toying with the waistband of his shorts.

“I’m fine, you don’t have to-”

“I want to, besides, it doesn’t really count if we don’t right?”

“Okay, are you sure you’re ready,” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow, looking down at you, taking in your soft expression.

“Of course,” you reply, smiling innocently as you push his shorts off his hips. He kicks them the rest of the way off. The sudden realization that Eli is completely naked has you putting all of your focus into maintaining eye contact.

“Nervous,” he teases, leaning down to kiss you.

“Me? Never,” you counter, your fingers cautiously crossing the space between you and taking hold of him. His cock is heavy in your hand, your touch making his breath catch in his throat helplessly. Eli’s hips fall into place as you open yourself to him. His hand comes down to guide your hand in lining him up with your entrance, whining as he teases himself against you.

Eli groans and drops his head into the crook of your shoulder as he pushes into you, just barely, slowly easing himself in, giving you time to stretch around him. You grip his shoulder, nails leaving crescent imprints as his hips finally meet yours, a breathy sigh falling from his lips at the sensation. The fullness he brings is almost too much, tears brim in your eyes as Eli brings his forehead to rest against yours, a sign of affection he had been giving you for years when he didn’t know what else to say or do, just a gentle reminder that he’s there with you. It was comforting and familiar despite all the new things you had done together already that day.

“Eli,” you breathe, leaning up to brush your nose against his. “I’m okay, you can, you can move now.” He nods against you and pulls his hips away slowly, the drag making you both moan. Eli sets a slow pace, bringing his hand to rest on the side of your neck, thumb caressing the curve of your cheekbone as he leans to kiss you.

His thrusts become sloppy as he gets closer to his own high, moving his hand from your face down between you, clumsily trying to get you to finish before him, groaning when you tighten around him. You fall over first, wrapping your legs around his back as his hips stutter and he spills inside you. He drops his body onto yours haphazardly, completely spent, groaning and kissing you despite fighting for his breath.

When he pulls away an emptiness follows, making you want to hold him closer as he settles on his side of the bed facing you. “Was that good? Do you need anything?”

You just nod and pull yourself towards him, resting your head on his chest, listening as his heart rate slowly returns to normal. “It was good, you don’t have to keep asking. Just hold me.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, you can hear the soft smile in his voice even though you can’t see him. He wraps his arms around you and strokes your hair as the two of you drift off to sleep together.

#texas thinks #eli sunday x reader #twbb #there will be blood #smut #fluff #fanfic #married life #tw religion #extra fluffy #soft Eli Sunday

30 notes · View notes

pictureinme · 7 months

Text

kinktober day viii. VIRGINITY - eli sunday

word count: ~1k tags: breast play, creampie masterlist | ao3

“Oh, look at that…”

Eli smiles with faux innocence as he gazes upon your sleeping form, donned in a thin nightgown for the hot summer nights. He had been late coming home, he could tell you tried your best to stay up for him– you weren’t even under the sheets, much less using a pillow. Curled up like a puppy, he thought.

The two of you had been married for only a week now, but churchly duties come first before any such… husbandly ones. Eli was saving that very duty for you tonight but of course, there was always a barrage of holy questions when he’d rather do anything else.

He rids himself of his shoes and unbuttons his shirt before kneeling next to your resting face, “Let me see your beautiful eyes, (Y/N).”

You stir, only waking as he squeezes your arm slightly. Eli grins as you squint sleepily at him and your smile grows, “Good morning…”

“Not quite, my love,” he gets up onto the bed, hovering over you. “I just wanted to see my pretty wife.”

Eli traces your cheek with a cold finger, and you shiver as you almost fully wake up, “I wanted to stay up for you, I wanted… tonight to be the night.”

His eyes widen, but his expression quickly turns to one of pure warmth, “I… have to admit, that was my true intention for waking you.”

You grin and pull him down by the collar to kiss him sweetly. He laughs into the embrace, but his hands begin to wander to caress your arms– rather roughly. It isn’t unwelcome in the slightest, you felt just as eager to ‘consummate your holy matrimony–’ that was Eli’s way of skirting around the subject, using the more flowery language to describe it. You would prefer ‘making love’ or, when in the proper mood, ‘fuck,’ but he’d have none of that as a man of God.

“I need you,” his hot breath tickles your ear as he makes his way to kiss gently at your neck, “Desperately, my love. May I?”

“Please, Eli.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice as he unceremoniously crawls off of you to rid himself of the rest of his clothing– he needs to be one with you, no manmade barriers would come between your embrace. You follow quickly, only needing to pull your white nightgown over your head and toss it onto the floor.

This wasn’t the first time he had seen your bare self, but this time, Eli practically jumped you once he saw your breasts, “Beautiful, so beautiful.”

You look down at his hardness grinding against you as he explores your body, and mewl at the idea of it being inside of you, “Please… get on with it, I can’t wait.”

“Just let me do this first, love.”

Eli leans down to lick at your breasts, nipping ever so lightly on their curves. You mewl at the time he takes with each of them, memorizing every aspect of them, lest he forget. His other hand kneads the other as he bites gently around your nipple– it feels amazing. Eli’s length continues to rock against your thigh, and you try your best to maneuver it closer to your own arousal.

His tongue flits over your hardened nipples one last time before he moves up to kiss your lips again, “Are you… ready?”

You nod rather quickly, the promise of pleasure after all these years of pining clouding whatever shame you could have possibly felt at this moment. The nervousness inside of you dulls when you see Eli smile as he kneels before your entrance– you feel loved and desired. You could see his hands shaking slightly when he positioned himself in front of you, the tip of his length so close, yet so far.

“I’m ready, Eli.”

He nods, trying to rid himself of any fears he may be holding onto. He pushes inside you, the wetness of your arousal only doing so much to lessen the stretch. You watch as his entirety fits inside of you– it is hypnotic as much as it is painful. A moan erupts from your throat as he’s sheathed to the hilt, Eli’s breathing ragged as ever.

“You’re so…” His eyes are shut tightly, “Warm, and tight, my love.”

Your hips move on their own, desperate to feel more of him. He begins to move slowly, in and out, little moans escaping his throat with even the most minor of movements. You spread your legs even further, wrapping them around his body– that’s when Eli’s eyes finally open to gaze upon the woman he married. His thrusts increase in pace as you meet his gaze, your blown-out bedroom eyes meeting his practically crazed ones.

“Oh, God,” Eli cries out as you clench down, “I don’t, oh– I don’t know if I’ll last.”

A part of you didn’t want him to. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Your gentle voice elicits a pathetic moan to crack out from his throat, and his head lolls back as he chases his promised pleasure. You move your hand down to rub at your unattended clit, wanting to see him fall apart– all because of you. Who could resist such a delectable power play?

Eli stutters in his movements, his expression looking almost pained– he was close, and you wanted him inside.

“Come on, come inside of me, love…”

His eyes shut yet again as he lets out a rather high-pitched moan as he releases inside of you– the warmth of it only encouraging you to get off quicker. You feel your peak approaching as you watch his chest, glistening with sweat, rise and fall rapidly. Eli watches with nothing but love in his eyes as you whimper into your orgasm.

#eli sunday x reader #paul dano x reader #eli sunday smut #paul dano smut #kinktober 2023

150 notes · View notes

theehoneeybee · 3 months

Text

Late Night Sugar Fix

pairing: Edward Naston/gn!reader word count: 1.3k warnings: swearing, brief mentions of murder, implied stalking, usual Gotham things

synopsis: the night shift at the diner was always quiet, few people willing to venture out into Gotham at night, except for one regular who came in on an almost nightly basis.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

a/n: i'm back in my paul dano era. I used to write for him back on an old blog of mine and it's nice to do it again :)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Another slow night. The drops of rain trailing down the window carried the colours of the glowing city lights with them. The small, old TV perched in the corner re-aired news segments from earlier in the week. The sounds barely reached your ears and the subtitles lagged behind the speech.

The diner had become quieter over the past couple of weeks. With two vigilantes using the city as an oversized playground, and crime at an all time high, people weren't too keen to leave the house. Especially at night.

There was a few regulars who still came in, fellow night shift workers coming in for a much needed cup of coffee after a long day. The familiar chiming of the bell pulled your head away from the TV, turning around in your chair to greet the stranger.

His back was turned to you, his green jacket decorated with dark spots from raindrops. He set his umbrella gently down by the door and shuffled over the the bench, taking a seat on the cracked black leather stools.

"Evening," you greeted him. "What can I get started for you?"

The man barely makes eye contact with you. "A cup of coffee please, and, um, do you have any pumpkin pie?"

The clear frames of his glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, little droplets of water clinging onto the lenses. His soft brown hair stuck to his forehead. The umbrella must not have done its job. You gave him a nod and went out the back to prepare his order.

Once you came back, the man had cleaned off his glasses and his attention was now focused on the TV screen. You placed down the food, matching his gaze to look up at the screen.

It was a repeat of a news story from earlier in the day. 'The Riddler terrorises Gotham' the subtitles read, the face of the news reporter was replaced with one of the Riddler's infamous livestreams. The reported called him all sorts of names, 'murderer', 'villain', 'terrorist'. You couldn't help the small scoff that left your lips. This caught the strangers attention, half turning his head to look at you through the corner of his eye.

"Look, I don't agree with the killing," you quickly tried to justify yourself, hoping you hadn't offended him. "But at least he's doing something. I know too many people who have suffered because the cops don't do shit."

An emotion you couldn't quite place flashed on his eyes, leaving just as quickly as it appeared. He nodded, looking back at the TV. "Someone had to do something."

You spend the rest of the evening aimlessly scribbling in your notepad, occasionally turning to the TV for some lacklustre entertainment. The man left, giving you a small nod on his way out. As you cleaned up the plates, wiping down the counter, you glanced at the door.

He left his umbrella.

You leant against the counter, idly flicking between the pages of a newspaper that a customer had left behind.

"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears," you read the riddle printed on the thin pages aloud, "I have no body, but come alive with the wind. What am I?"

"An echo." The answer made you jump, no longer alone in the diner. "The riddle," the man gestures to the newspaper in your hands, "It's an echo."

The same man from yesterday with the clear frames and mousey brown hair was back. You never even heard the door bell ring. Same routine as last night, he sits down and orders a slice of pumpkin pie and coffee. You watched him out of the corner of your eye as he ate, filling in the puzzles from a newspaper of his own.

Strange, you settled on, was the best way to describe him. He kept his head down, occasionally shifting awkwardly in his seat and adjusting his glasses, a nervous habit. Strange, yes, but he also was also endearing. Or maybe you just pitied him, the same way a sad puppy is both adorable and heart breaking.

The man was about to leave, folding the newspaper into a neat little rectangle and tucking it into his jacket. Before he had a chance to go, you dashed into the back of the diner to reunite him with his forgotten umbrella.

"Wait!" you called out to him, "you forgot your umbrella yesterday."

"Oh," he says quietly. "Thank you." He took the umbrella from your hands.

"I never got your name, by the way. I know all my regulars by their names," you explained.

He stares at you, eyes obscured by the reflection of light on his lenses, expression unreadable. "Edward," he finally introduces himself.

It was around the time that Edward began to frequent the diner that you began to notice strange occurrences.

When you would walk back to your apartment, the sun barely peaking over the tall city buildings, it felt like you were being followed. You could feel a pair of eyes searing into the back of your head. A wave of relief would wash over you once you finally stepped into your apartment.

On one of the few nights off you had, you were laying on the couch when a card was slipped under your front door. Getting up from your comfortable spot, you half-opened the door and peered down the hallway. Empty. It was a small greeting card with a cartoon owl of the front with the text 'owl always love you' written in cursive.

'I have keys but no locks. You can enter, but you can’t go outside. I have space but no room. What am I?' was scribbled messily on the inside of the card.

You didn't sleep that night.

You and Edward had developed an unspoken friendship. Each night you found yourself looking for forward to his visit. While you didn't talk very much, there was a mutual enjoyment of each others company. He would help you solve the puzzles in forgotten newspapers. Edward was very intelligent, always quick to answer. While he liked crosswords and dabbled in sudoku, you learnt riddles were his favourite.

"Are you any good with computers?"

Edward looked up from his puzzle, "I'm okay. Why?"

"Well I've been having this issue with my laptop," you explained. Whenever you tried to use it, it would work for about a minute before the screen blanked. Only a small question mark could be seen, flickering in the top right of the screen. You didn't want to waste your money bringing it to a repair shop or buying a new one, so your best bet was asking Edward. "It's probably a virus from one of those shitty free streaming sites."

"I can come take a look at it."

You scribbled your phone number down on a scrap piece of paper. "Thank you so much."

You had texted back and forth with Edward to arrange a time for him to come to your apartment to look at the laptop. Was it the smartest move to invite an almost-stranger into your apartment? No, but Edward seemed trustworthy enough.

'I'll be there soon :)' his message read.

Soon, there was a knock on your door and you were letting Edward into your apartment. He took a seat at your desk as you booted up your laptop.

"It'll be fine for a few minutes and then-" the screen went black. "Bam!"

Edward adjusted his glasses, bringing the laptop closer. "Yeah, I see what you mean." You watched anxiously as he fiddled around with it to little success.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to fix it here," Edward explained. "However, if I hook it up to my computer at home I should be able to get the virus off it."

"So it can be fixed? I don't need to buy a new laptop?" Edward shook his head no. "Oh, thank you! You don't mind doing it do you?"

"It's okay. I'll give it back to you at work tomorrow."

You thanked Edward profusely as he left your apartment, laptop in hand. When you sat down on the couch, fear punched you in the stomach. The blood drained from your face when your realised that,

You never gave Edward your address.

231 notes · View notes

cannedbeefaroni · 8 months

Note

# insane request but could you perhaps draw eli sundays buldge in his church pants i am chewing through drywall rn

he's a gross little whore who gets too excited during church and needs to expel his demons in the privacy of a dirty hayloft or barn

#i need to rip him apart with my teeth #danonation #danocel #eli sunday #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday smut #there will be blood

55 notes · View notes

danosrosegarden · 5 months

Text

burn - eli sunday x masc!reader headcanons (NSFW) ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{kinktober: day twenty one. prompt: stygiophilia. 🎃}

{contains: sacrilegious content, internalized homophobia, male masturbation, and descriptions of oral and penetrative sex (male receiving).}

☽ He knew what it was, to stare sin in the face. Its teeth were rotten yellow and black, its eyes melted out from the sockets. Its skin leaked thick, putrid pus and it smelled of ripe, rank death. Sin was ugly. It was a simple choice; Eli chose to live in the sparkling light of good godliness. He felt clean and pure and whole, basking in the warmth of God's grace. At least that's what he meant to do.

☽ He'd often had blackened, terror-fueled, demonic dreams haunt his sleep. He could feel the licking flames melting his skin, could hear the crackling snap! of the dark lord's whip. He presided over a humble but God fearing church. He read from his King James daily and prayed fiercely for those less fortunate than he. Was he not doing everything right? Where did these filthy thoughts of you come from?

☽ Eli could tell you didn't wish to be a part of the church. You were likely just attempting to appease your family, who sat next to you each week. While they latched onto his every word, you yawned and rolled your eyes. You were a selfish young man who lived for his own righteousness and thrill. Eli should've shunned it.

☽ Instead, he found a rush of lust flowing through his boiling blood each time he stole a glance your way.

☽ He greeted the upstanding Christians of Little Boston after each service, feeling sick to his churning stomach and wiping his sweat-slicked palms on his trousers as you inched closer and closer to him.

☽ When it was finally your turn to shake his hand and gift him a polite smile, Eli breathed deep and extended a trembling hand.

☽ "God bless you." A voice he hardly recognized as his snaked from his chest as a slick grin plastered itself across your face.

☽ He felt like the bloodied mouse caught between the crunching fangs of a cat. He had a reputation to uphold, damn it. How disgusting he felt, his confidence in the Lord and vigilance against evil struck down by a man.

☽ But deep in that dark cavern of his stomach was a twinge of...excitement? He could weep from the bitter guilt he felt when he touched himself alone at night, thinking of how you'd look down on your knees in front of him. How Eli himself might sound as you took him roughly from behind, the pads of your long fingers digging into his hips as you slid in and out of him. How divine the swirl of your tongue on his weeping cock would feel. There was no denying there was something utterly enchanting, bleakly alluring about the filth-injected thoughts he indulged in. You were something glimmeringly special, and Eli desperately, pathetically wanted what he knew he could never have.

☽ It's not like he was setting out to burn in hell. He was supposed to hate all that was dark and dirty. But there was something about your charmingly devilish grin that held him captive, stuck in the loop of pumping himself until he was squirming and writhing and then sobbing for forgiveness with the remnants of his sin still dripping from his fingers.

#eli's writing #danonation #paul dano #eli sunday #there will be blood #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x y/n #kinktober #kinktober 23

24 notes · View notes

always-andromeda · 2 years

Text

Sleep Tight | Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Eli Sunday x fem!Reader

Word Count | 1,324

Author's Note | once again. sophia is to blame. she just pulls these thoughts from me. witch. /t

Warnings | smut (MDNI), masturbation, unprotected sex, a sprinkle of misogyny (sorry folks, Eli makes the feminism in me just disappear), non-con but it turns consensual, nothing else I can think of!

It’s the middle of the night. Eli’s tossing and turning, hoping he doesn’t wake you. Hoping that it just goes away. Praying that the nauseating shame creeping through his stomach will cease the throbbing below him.

He’d had this problem many times before since he was young. When it had just been him, he’d lay face down and try to suffocate it against the sheets, even if it was painful. He quickly discovered his will wasn’t strong enough. For he’d inevitably end up rocking his hips against his bed, slowly working himself up more, sweating in the heat of the night until he came. Face buried in his pillow, he’d groan desperately and hope the sound was muffled enough that his family wouldn’t hear.

They never did, thank goodness.

So he kept doing it. Almost looked forward to the nights where he’d wake up hard just so he could hump his own bed. He knows this release is something close to a sin. Maybe he’d feel more guilty if he used his hands. Instead he keeps his arms wrapped up and around his pillow, holding it to his body and clenching the cushion in his hands. Once he was done, he would rest easy.

With you by his side, he very well couldn’t do that anymore. Couldn’t quietly and shamefully take care of himself and with a stifled groan; nor could he stain the sheets of his marital bed with his wretched spend. He simply couldn’t. Not with you lying on your side, sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of his current turmoil.

That’s when he gets a rotten idea. The most foul, perverted notion comes to his mind as he stares at your back. It’s the kind of thought that should kill his arousal; should make him pull out his Bible and repent for the intrusive lust.

If anything…it drives him more mad.

It makes him chew on his lip as he nervously inches closer to you. Reaches his hand down to the hem of your nightgown and pulls it up only slightly before pausing. He thinks twice and clenches his eyes closed.

Nighttime in Little Boston isn't usually this quiet. The constant drilling of the distant oil rig has managed to become a part of landscapes white noise; as natural as the crickets or the whistle of the wind. It's an absence that rattles his nerves. All is still as he promises himself he’ll be quick. He’ll be gentle. So silent and so slow that you won’t even notice, save for the stickiness you’ll no doubt wake up with coating your inner thighs in the morning.

But he’s too worked up to even think of some sort of excuse for that inevitability before he pulls himself out of his trousers. He’s achingly erect and leaking from the tip. Still he spits on his fingers. Then taking himself in his hand, he pumps a few times, already panting, then navigates the space between your legs, rubbing the moisture all along your folds until he discovers the hole he needs.

Eli slips his fingers in, sucks a breath in through his teeth at how tight of a fit it’ll be for him. But it’ll feel like heaven. Just laying there, he knows your cunt will take him just as well as the night he married you. It’ll be quick. Gentle. Silent.That’s all he can think as he pushes in, not worrying about whether or not you’ll adjust to his size. Just sinking himself further into your tight, luxurious opening.

The biggest problem is that he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He didn’t think this far ahead. Didn’t think he’d let out a long whine as you squeezed around his cock. He buries his head into the shoulder of your nightgown, hoping you won’t stir, even though the embarrassing sound had already left him.

Strangely, it’s not the sound that wakes you. It’s your husbands head knocking into you that has your eyes fluttering open and softly asking, “Eli, baby? Whas’the matter?”

He doesn’t dare answer. Perhaps if he stays tongue tied and motionless, you’ll figure he had a nightmare and simply fall back asleep. Then he could slip out and curse himself for pressing his luck this much.

Lord knows he pressed it far too much, for you can’t ignore the splitting burn between your legs. Can’t ignore the familiar stretch of Eli’s cock as he’s submerged in you and twitching, obviously needing friction. It’s when you feel the wetness of tears and the heaving sobs against your back that you fully process what he had attempted to do.

Yet...it doesn’t disgust you. It makes you want to turn and hold him in your arms. Call him your precious, sweetest boy and make him fuck you like he really means it instead of lingering in this miserably awkward position. You would take the reins if he didn’t feel so magnificent.

If he didn’t trigger a burn in your belly that has you cooing, “Oh, honey. You could’ve woken me up.” You paused, “I wouldn’t have said no.”

Hesitantly, he picks his head up, his ears perked at the palpable want in your tone, “Really?”

You confirm, “Really.”

“Wanna keep going, baby boy?” You ask. You feel him nod eagerly, waiting for your approval.

You giggle breathily, “Then go ahead. Take me, Eli.”

With a fresh wave of confidence, Eli knows exactly what to do with his hands. He hooks his arms underneath yours and pulls you towards him like he would’ve done with his pillow so long ago. His hands just happen to land on your chest. They just happen to grab onto your tits like he would’ve grabbed onto the pillow.

But you’re nothing close to that sad object. You’re his wife. His angel. His everything as he buries his head in the crook of your neck and thrusts forward. He hears the breath hitch in your throat as he sets his own pace. He kisses your shoulder and hopes it’ll make it better.

And just in case it doesn’t, he whispers, “How did I get so lucky?”

Maybe you’re still sleepy or you're already fucked out. Nonetheless, your head feels heavy as all you can mutter is, “I love you…so much.” It isn’t an answer, but it’s true.

He says under his breath, “That’s right, darling. You’re my good little wife. Letting me take you like this. Letting me have what’s mine.” He hastily takes a hand and pulls up the front of your delicate nightgown so it bunches up at your stomach. Brings his fingers to the aching little bead near the top of your cunt and harshly rubs circles around it. He told himself he’d be quick. He'd have to forego the gentleness and quiet as you yelp each time he pounds into you

Eli is invading every one of your sentences, face pressed to your shoulder, soaking the fabric with his spit with every groan from his mouth, hanging wide open. His cock sliding in and out with ease as he winds you up. Large palm grasping your breast and keeping you caged in against him; subject to every one of his frantic movements. His skilled fingers remember exactly how you like your clit to be ravaged.

By the time he gets you towards the end of your rope, you could burst free from the embrace of his body. You writhe in his grip, babbling incomprehensibly through the pleasure as his seed coats the inside of you and his mouth finds your neck once more.

He kisses your skin tenderly through the aftershocks and whispers against your ear, “Thank you, my darling. I love you. Oh, how I love you.” He keeps pressing those apologetic kisses to your shoulder until you fall asleep. He follows you soon after, still buried inside of your cunt and holding you close so he doesn’t have a chance to fall out.

#danonation #paul dano #danocel #there will be blood #eli sunday #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x y/n #eli sunday smut #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

170 notes · View notes