#eli sunday x you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

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

708 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

153 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˚

166 notes · View notes

babybluebex · 2 years

Note

Can I ask you for a blurb about the time when Eli "fell to sin" after leaving Little Boston?

oh eli my freak ass husband

You felt the bed shift beside you, and you sighed as you heard the floorboards creak. "Eli," you moaned softly, stretching your hand out to him. "Come back to bed, darling."

"I will," your lover told you in his smooth, almost cautious, voice, and you squinted your eyes open to see him standing by the window, flicking a lighter to light a cigarette.

When you first met Eli, he was so cute. He was innocent and soft, a proper gentleman, a preacher. You got plenty of your share of righteous men that shoved money into your hand, but there was instantly something about Eli that was different. You could tell, that first night as he rutted into you like a wild animal, completely lost in his own desires, that Eli was special. He was quiet and kind, not boastful or overly critical. He was just a man who wanted sex.

You couldn't have imagined that you would fall for Eli Sunday, the preacher from Little Boston. It got to the point where you felt empty without him, and you worried if you were fully in love with him. He certainly was in love with you— he told you so.

You sat up onto your elbows in bed, watching Eli by the moonlight. He was partially dressed, just his pants, his suspenders hanging limply at his hips, his pretty, smooth chest almost reflecting the light. Around his neck, he wore a chain necklace made of gold, one of his first purchases when he reached the big city, he had told you. His hair was arranged awry, out of the slicked-back middle part he usually donned. His neck was littered with marks both from your lipstick and your teeth; for as sheltered and inexperienced as Eli was, he had an innate sense of how to make a woman cry and moan.

You could tell that something was on Eli's mind, what with the way his eyes unevenly focused outside the window as he smoked. "You know," Eli started, his voice still affectless. "I had never smoked a cigarette before I came here."

"Really?" you asked softly.

"Hardly ever drank," Eli continued. He seemed as if he was talking to himself, and you were merely an observer to his thoughts. "Had never had sex. One could say that this city corrupted me. It's made me... Prideful. Sinful."

"Oh, Eli," you whispered. You could sense his pity from across the room, and you beckoned him back to bed. "Come here, come hold me."

"You're my sin, my love," Eli said, and he finally looked at you. "I sin because of you."

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you extended your hands out to him. "I'm sorry," you whispered, and Eli dutifully came to you. He sat on the edge of the bed, and you shifted to wrap your arms around his waist and press your cheek into his warm, freckled back. "You don't have to stay, Eli, you can leave—"

"No, I can't," Eli told you. "I love you. I can't leave you."

You sighed heavily, and you touched your lips to his spine, settling gentle, calming kisses. "I love you too," you told him. "If you're so upset about sinning, isn't there someone you could talk to? I mean, I'm sure you're not the first man to ever fall in love with a prostitute."

"Don't call yourself that," Eli said, and he turned to you. He seemed as hurt as if you had insulted him, and you put your hands delicately on his cheeks. "You're so much better than that."

"But I'm not, sweetheart," you told him. "That's what I am; you came to me, remember? Asked me to—"

"I remember," Eli said quickly, cutting you off. "I remember, I asked you to sin with me. I came here with the intention of sinning, and I have no desire to stop, although I must."

"You don't have to do anything," you told him. "Do what your heart tells you."

"But my heart is in contention with what's holy," Eli said. "I'm a man of God, but I love you. I'm not supposed to, and yet..."

Your eyes filled with tears at Eli's words, and you carefully stroked Eli's smooth cheek with your thumb. "I know you're upset," you told him. "But, Eli... God wouldn't have put me in your life if I didn't have a reason to be. Maybe my reason is to make you sin. D-Doesn't God like to challenge people?"

"Then I have failed his challenge," Eli said, and he pulled at his cigarette.

"No, sweetheart, no," you said quickly. "What if your sinning is the right thing to do? What if... Fuck, I don't know, Eli. I love you and want to be with you, but not if it brings you such turmoil like this."

"I love you too," Eli said, and he discarded his cigarette in favor of grasping your face. "I love you, please hear me. I'd like to marry you, I think."

Your mouth felt dry as Eli urged himself closer to you and pressed his lips to yours, and you kissed him back. He wanted to marry you. Even despite all of his qualms, everything telling him it was wrong, he wanted you as his wife. You broke the kiss and touched your forehead against Eli's, and you whispered, "If you're trying to save me, I don't need it. If you want to marry me because you love me... I'd like that just as much as you."

"You're my favorite sin," Eli told you, and he kissed you again. "The best sin I've ever committed. I love you."

#eli sunday x reader #eli sunday x you #eli sunday #paul dano x reader #paul dano x you #paul dano #eli sunday angst #paul dano angst

220 notes · View notes

goodboyriddler · 2 years

Note

(apologies in advance but) …. eli sunday x reader …. and one day eli notices in the bible that it doesn’t say anything specific about not being able to fuck thighs before marriage so he’s like… lightbulb moment…

I gasped when I read the last sentence anon. Actually I'M sorry... blasphemy, light dubcon, fucked up Eli manipulating and degrading you ft. breeding kink.

"No need to worry, my dear lamb." The prophet says as he drips more oil from the bottle, before starting to spread them on his palms. "I know what's best for you."

Eli's eyes follow his fingers as they run throughout your thighs, mouth agape in fascination as he fondles the flesh. Your whole body is tense. That's why you are here, after all. He had asked you to stay after mass, telling you, my dear you look tense has anything been worrying you? Before you could answer he had put on a firm palm on your lower back, directing you to the front of the small church, to the altar.

He's such a loving and caring person. A man from God. You're lucky to even have his attention from someone like him. He had rolled his sleeves up and told you in a gentle voice that he was going to make you feel good.

"I d-don't know about this, Brother Eli-"

Your nerves start to get the better of you, your shaking hands wanting to stop his roaming palms closer, and closer to your inner thighs. Why does this feel wrong? He told you this would help you. Eli had sat you in his altar, lifted your dress just barely covering your front as he had spread your legs and stood between them.

"Silence." And his voice is absolute, making you snap your mouth close. Your gaze lowers. "Do not be ungrateful for what I'm doing for you. Turn around, maybe you need a massage from the back."

He pushes down into the wooden altar, and you're bending over, your dress lifted to your hips, and he groans before his hands start exploring again.

You hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled.

"Wh-what are you..?"

A firm hand in your hair presses your face down again when you try to turn around.

"I know the scripture more than anyone." He states more angry this time, a hand going again to your thighs. You had made him upset, and you can't help the knot forming in your throat. "Does that stupid mind of yours think it knows the scripture more than me?"

"N-no." You shake your head. Of course not. That's why he's here, to tell you what's better for you.

"I know the words, like the palm of my-" His hands move further until he's kneading your ass, squishing it under his grasp. "-hand."

You start to sob, your fingernails dig into the wood. Why does it feel so good? Being touch like this?

"Worry not my dear lamb, it is not blasphemy if it's in your thighs. Nowhere in the words of God says that. I recently discovered it. It's a gift from Him, can't you see?" He whispers in your ear. "Are you questioning Him?"

"No, prophet."

You hear a zipper lowering, before he gives a blissful sigh. You see a hand grab the bottle of oil from the altar before the sound of slick jerking noises fill the church.

"C-close them up more. Aren't you ashamed?" He forces your thighs close, and you blush at his words.

You feel the cold feeling of oil dripping down your thighs. And you held your breath when you feel something hot slipping through them. The prophet groans, his hands gripping your hips.

"Look at you, soaking already. Can't wait for me to be inside you, you have to tempt a man of God with this skimpy sundress. You're no better than a common whore." Eli starts to move, long thrusting motions as he starts to pant. "I can't wait to fill you up with my seed, so everyone can see you're mine."

His hipbones slam against your ass, and you grip the end of the table. From here Eli can imagine being inside you, how would he fuck you, and he slaps your ass, kneading it.

This man of God inside you, making you drip with his seed. You should be fucking grateful, thanking him for making you squirm, for being so attentive to find the gift of being able to have you like this.

He quickens his pace, his cock sliding in an out of your plush tights, and you know he's close.

"You will look beautiful carrying my child." He groans, his nails digging your hips, and you whimper. "You only exist to serve me. Being breed and filled is your divine duty to me."

"Thank you, prophet." You sob for this gift. His cock slides over your covered core every time he slides in, and it makes you breathless. "Thank you."

#paul dano #eli sunday #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #paul dano x reader #danonation #blurb bday #mine

119 notes · View notes

lost-in-sokovia · 2 years

Note

omg i loved your pregnancy headcannons for eddie!! could you do the same for the sunday children? i heart eli

thank you!! and yes i definitely can, what a great way to introduce them! (this will be pretty long considering he has 3 kids so buckle up)

pregnancy headcanons

you and eli start trying for a baby very soon after getting married because he is all about 1. sex 2. doing what the bible says and reproducing or whatever

after a few weeks of trying, waiting, and praying, you finally find out you’re pregnant one day after a checkup at the doctor’s

you are ecstatic to tell eli, tackling him in a giant hug and kiss when you get home which nearly knocks him over and he’s kinda “??” at your like eagerness

“eli, our dreams have come true. im with child!”

i hate saying “with child” but wasn’t saying “pregnant” taboo or something back then?

he’s looking at you as he has his arms still and he smiles the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him smile, his cute cheeks plumping up near his eyes

he laughs and kisses your lips again, picking you up and spinning you before placing his forehead against yours, whispering praises and thanks to god

he fusses over you always and is always asking if you’re doing okay as you go about the things you have to do around the house (because unfortunately it is the early 1900s)

he tells his congregation almost immediately and they are so pleased for you and eli, always making food for you and knitting things for the baby, etc

as your tummy grows eli always has an arm wrapped around your waist and one hand on your belly, waiting to feel his little miracle kick

at night you’ll fall asleep to him whispering absolutely lovely things to the baby as he thanks god that he blessed eli with a wife able to carry his child

after the crib is built, eli entirely blesses the crib which kinda warms your heart but also makes you roll your eyes because your hormones make you a little less patient with all his prophet preacher stuff

he calls the baby his “little miracle” and a “cherub”🥹

he keeps you and the baby in his prayers constantly, praying for a safe delivery for you and baby and that there will be no complications, etc

when you gave birth eli was out of the room (because it was insisted) and though your screaming and groaning nearly brought him to tears, he waited until he was allowed back in before wasting no time and immediately coming to your side, tears forming in his green eyes

he gently rubs over his son’s soft head, letting out a little happy sob and kissing your lips, cradling your cheek

“oh, he’s beautiful… thank you y/n… are you alright my love? are you sure you’re doing okay?” he’s so grateful yet very concerned that you’re okay and you look at him lovingly through tired eyes

“i’ve never been better, eli,” you whisper, glancing down to the sleeping baby with a small smile

eli is so eager when he holds little thomas david, cradling him high enough so it’s easy for him to whisper to his son as though the baby could hear him or understand

he’s praying again as he tries to prevent happy tears from spilling out, your heart the absolute fullest it could ever possibly be

he’s very uncomfortable when you start breastfeeding tommy just right there in front of him, but he slowly sort of lets it go as he recognizes that like that’s the way the lord created life blah blah blah

he is the happiest he’s ever been when he gets to baptize his son in front of his whole congregation a few weeks later, beaming the whole time

fast forward two years later, you decide to have another baby because tommy was just such a lovely little baby and you and eli’s love for each other has only grown since having him

eli wastes ZERO time getting to work, he’s got a thing for breeding as far as the eye can see

eli was away for something so you don’t get to see him until the day after you find out

he arrives back home early in the morning, sitting down on the bed next to you, rubbing your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your head

you inhale and roll over to meet his loving gaze, the warm morning glow illuminating his face as he says softly “good morning, treasure”

you smile and take one of his hands into your own, kissing it before holding it against your chest

“how did you sleep?” he asks. “was tommy good for you?”

“tommy was out like a light at his usual bedtime, however the baby was keeping me up with a stomach ache,” you report with a weak morning voice

eli stares at you for a moment and your lips slowly break into a grin, your husband’s eyes widening

“y/n are you…?” he asks. you nod and he laughs, placing himself on top of you and kissing all over your face while you laugh

“oh thank god himself… oh, y/n… i’m so,” he’s just blabbering on and on between kissing you everywhere he can

eli is enamored with telling his little two year old that he’s going to be a big brother

he becomes a bit more involved as a father when you’re pregnant with your second child, not that he wasn’t before but he doesn’t quite expect you to do things around the house AND mother a two year old super attentively so he watches tommy a lot more

he’ll take tommy out of the house to give you time to clean or prepare food, though he’d rather much be inside with his arms wrapped around you

as eli teaches tommy how to pray, you love hearing tommy repeat after his father at night as eli recites simple prayers for his little son to follow

“please…” “pwease…” “watch over mommy…” “wa-tch mommy…” “and baby…” “an’ baby…” makes your heart absolutely MELT

eli’s congregation is always willing to lend a hand in helping watch tommy, but you prefer to keep him with you and eli so you decline gracefully

when your tummy is big eli loves to lay next to you, thanking you for another little life and he’ll even sometimes sing happy little hymns to the baby

eli claims that the lord is telling him that you’re having another boy, and you’ll just sit there and nod because you don’t believe he’s a prophet and be like “wow sweetie that’s great”

eli shows tommy how to gently rub your tummy, he’ll hold his son’s little hand in his and place it against your tummy and tommy will gasp all big when he feels the baby kick

when talking about baby names and you mention if it’s a boy wanting his middle name to be eli, your husband is trying his best to act all cool and casual like “o-oh my… i mean if that’s what you want…”

you give birth this time in the middle of the night, eli once again out of the room and trying to lull a fussy tommy back to sleep, kind of crying into his son’s little shoulder because he can hear you begging for him

he’s grinding his teeth and breathing shakily as he holds tommy close, praying as hard as he can that the lord will comfort you when he’s not in there

he brings tommy with him to see the baby because he wouldn’t go back to sleep, and tommy falls asleep on top of your legs with his new baby brother being cradled by you right above his head

eli is sitting beside you and meekly murmuring apologizes for not being able to be by your side but also praises at how well you did and how proud of you he is

“alexander eli, named after his daddy,” you breath, your head on eli’s shoulder as he sits on the bed right next to you as the midwives clean up the whining little baby

eli feels so blessed to have two sons, he’s always praying at night and giving his thanks and he sings to alex unlike he did with tommy, not to say he didn’t have his own special things to do with tommy since he was the firstborn

eli baptizes alex as well, and loves watching his boys grow as he teaches them about love and jesus and he loves acting out bible stories for them but gets super embarrassed when you catch him

fast forward about 15 years. tommy and alex grew up alongside hw and eli’s sister mary, but now you and eli have left little boston and have taken the boys with you

eli has turned to sin in the big city, him drinking more often and occasionally gambling, having more meaningless intimacy with you than loving like he used to

one drunken night the two of you tipsily decide you want to have another baby while he’s feverishly kissing you and tugging away at your clothing

of course the next morning, not everything is remembered and the two of you have forgotten

so a few weeks later when you’ve missed your period and you’re heaving your guts out, eli takes you to the doctor and the two of you discover you are pregnant

eli is shocked and speechless, but you are immediately in love with this little change of plans

eli is doing his best not to seem nervous or guilty, having impregnated you not as lovingly or purposefully as before and all because his life is turning to sin

he still does radio, he’s still a preacher, he has a reputation to uphold so therefore as far as anyone is aware the pregnancy was planned soberly

the boys are a little skeptical but still happy about the idea of a new sibling

when eli is at the radio station the boys take care of you more often, alex is good around the house so he’ll insist that you sit while he takes care of things (because he’s a little bit ahead of his time and raised with more of your ideals from the city)

eli will still wrap his arms around you from behind and rub your stomach before it even starts to grow, and he whispers about how he’s going to love this baby so much

it makes you slightly upset that eli doesn’t talk to your belly the way he did with tommy and alex, but he still loves to rub it and kiss it

sometimes when eli starts to get frisky you have to remind him you’re already pregnant and to keep it to a minimum because after 15 the baby fever still isn’t quite gone

eli seems overall a little more distant about this baby and it upsets you because you’re wondering if he’s even going to love it or not, but your sons love to talk about the baby with you which takes your mind off of eli

when you give birth eli is finally in the room with you, holding your hand and encouraging you quietly

he had insisted. he wasn’t going to let you go through what happened last time and this was his last child, he was going to be there for you

he cried when the midwife held up the pink little baby and announced it was a girl, absolutely staring at the tiny little thing as she squirmed

the midwife placed the baby on your chest and eli kissed you, tears running down his cheeks and all the love you were afraid he wouldn’t have for this baby immediately pulling through like you hoped it would

he gently pet his daughter’s head as her cries turned to whimpers, and he inhaled shakily as he smiled

“oh precious little girl… what a gift you are…”

after she was cleaned up eli held her, admiring her as she slept

“she’s beautiful, y/n,” he whispered to you. “thank you… thank you for gifting me with one more beautiful child… thank you…”

he called her the “lily of the valley” and you immediately thought of “daisy,” like the daisies eli used to bring you when the two of you were engaged

eli smiled warmly at you

“daisy elizabeth sunday”

phew if you stuck til the end you’re a trooper. i hope this was at least slightly a good introduction to eli as a dad and i hope you stick around for more sunday kid content!!!💖💘💕🤍🧸

#eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday #there will be blood #thomas david sunday #alexander eli sunday #daisy elizabeth sunday #paul dano x y/n #paul dano x you #paul dano x reader #paul dano fanfiction #paul dano fanfic #paul dano

77 notes · View notes

papuhater · 2 years

Text

𝟒𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐓 // e.sunday

[ b e t t e r l u c k n e x t t i m e ]

⁴ᵐᵒʳᵃⁿᵗ ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ

𝘴𝘺𝘱𝘯𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘴: y/n, a witch from the year 2022, finds herself in a rather past situation, in the past and a dessert place to be exact. she meets a rather nice lady in a nearby town who is also a witch, she adopts her and after sometime she meet the priest of a nearby town, eli sunday.

𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: eli sunday x fem!reader

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: foul language, violence, manipulation, witches, adding up as i goo...

contents;

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

i. 𝐋𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃 𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇

coming soon

#eli sunday x reader #danonation #eli sunday x you #eli sunday #danocel #paul dano #paul dano x reader

87 notes · View notes

nowyouknowdano · 2 years

Text

Sooo I'm posting a link to a Dark Eli Sunday fic I wrote where he manipulates a naive churchgoer🙊.

Idk why I made it dark but Eli kinda gives me creep vibes so read at your own risk! There is a TW: a forced sex act and religious manipulation, *PLEASE HONOR WHERE YOU ARE TODAY* and if this story isn’t for you that’s okay! (I have others without such harsh themes if u wanna check out my stuff).

As always sending love and big wet Dano kisses! ❤️

28 notes · View notes

edwardnashtiddies · 2 years

Text

i like that so many eli sunday fics are just

eli: THERE IS A DEMON IN YOUUUUU

reader: *literally just horny???*

#eli sunday #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #paul dano #there will be blood

25 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

starlightsearches · 2 years

Note

So inspired by this…..

May I humbly request the most dirty, fucknasty sex with the Paul Dano character of your choice

Oh I can't stop thinking about some fucknasty sex with Eli Sunday 🥵🥵🥵 thanks for giving me the chance to write this delaney!!

Eli Sunday x Femme! Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ only), piv sex, name-calling/degradation, overstim, hair-pulling, spanking, pain kink kind of, dom! eli/sub! reader, lots of religious references, dub-con vibes. Let me know if I missed anything 😚

"Say it."

You can't catch your breath. There are splinters across your stomach from the rough wood, the edge of the table a tattooed bruise on your hips, and it aches with every harsh thrust. You've never felt such an exquisite pain.

Until he stopped.

You manage a whine, shifting on the balls of your feet, hoping that some movement from you would fracture his restraint, but you're met instead with the harsh smack of his palm against your bare ass, his thumb digging into the meat of it until you cry out.

"Say it," he urges again, and the fingers of his other hand thread into your hair at the base of your scalp, pulling back until your spine arches and you can see the holy wrath in his eyes.

"I'm a whore."

He groans, cock twitching where he's buried it deep in your cunt, and he thrusts into you again—slower, deeper. You clench around him, shocks of pleasure traveling down your back and making your knees go weak.

"Say it again."

He lets you fall unceremoniously back against the table, pressing the heel of his hand against your spine, until you're left struggling ineffectually against the weight of him, the wood grain imprinting on your cheek.

"I'm a whore, Eli," you tell him, his every thrust met with the wet kiss of your cunt, and you know he's close by the heavy sound of his breathing, the way his fingers grip at your flesh like it might offer him salvation. "I'm your whore."

He moans, high and keening.

"You are a whore," he says with the sacred weight of a sermon, interspersed with heavy breaths, "you are a sinner, and a temptress and a whore."

But the pattern of his thrusts only becomes more erratic, and he slides his long fingers between your lips, pinching and rolling at your clit until you're writhing like a person possessed.

Whether you find heaven or hell at the end of this, he wants to be certain you reach it together.

It hits you first—the overwhelming pleasure of your rebellion, melts through you to satiate a hunger you could never starve yourself from.

Then the heat becomes too much, and still he doesn't pull away. Your cries don't deter him as the pleasure veers more closely towards pain, and his hands work more harshly at your core, the head of his cock assaulting that same point inside you until you belly swims with fear at what could come next.

"Eli," you try to warn him, trying to grip at whatever part you could reach, to push him away.

He pins your wrist against the table, holds you in place with the pressure of his chest as he leans in close. Your body rebels, legs shaking.

"You're a whore—my whore. And you'll be done when I say."

His whispers brush against the sweaty skin of your cheek, cooling the burning tears that streak from your eyes when the overwhelming light takes you again.

If you thought you knew heaven before . . .

#eli sunday smut #eli sunday x you #eli sunday x reader #eli sunday #paul dano #dano nation #danonation #requests #my writing #delaney tag 💖#minors dni #twbb

372 notes · View notes

laplacesgremlin · 2 years

Text

Masterlist

Paul Dano Characters;

Riddler;

Fics;