#i'm posting filth on the internet via fanfic for the first time

[eddiemetalheadmunson]

bow thy head and prey // an AU father paul turned theology college professor x f!reader fanfic [midnight mass fandom]

this is 1,000% dedicated to @star-spangled-man​ for putting this thought into my goblin brain and now i literally can’t quit thinking about it. so basically, this is all your fault miss ma’am. hope you enjoy. *shoots finger guns and slowly backs away into the darkness*

tags: @rothko-mirror​ (who suggested Theology as his subject in the first place which was fucking BRILLIANT for obvious reasons) / @girlwiththenegantattoo​ / @lovepollution​ 

Above is my headcanon idea of how Professor Paul Hill looks like in this fic.

THEOLOGY:  the study of the nature of God and religious belief.

“when he’d call you up to his desk as he’d hand back assignments to the class, your heart would shiver with pleasure at his gentle smile that you decided was reserved only for you as he’d compliment you on your work. and he always complimented you on your work.”

It was starting to become a serious problem. A serious problem that's taken the form of a ridiculously tall, handsome man with a brilliant mind, thick locks of raven hair and eyes that swirled like golden constellations against the night sky. A serious problem that had long since begun to take ownership over your thoughts without permission. A serious problem by the name of Paul Hill, your Theology Professor at the private university you’ve been attending for three years, now.

You knew instinctually since the first day of class that this would happen; honestly, how could it not? Theology was your favorite subject, something you could spend hours upon hours discussing with the right company, and Professor Hill was certainly the right company.  

You’re not sure precisely when you’d started packing up your things a little slower at the end of his class. Probably around the same time he started reciprocating your unwavering eye contact (you were always a bit of a “teacher's pet” to begin with, so this started out as merely a respectful gesture on your part) and engaging with you in class in a manner that, at times, felt like an intimate one-on-one conversation. When he’d call you up to his desk as he’d hand back assignments to the class, your heart would shiver with pleasure at his gentle smile that you decided was reserved only for you as he’d compliment you on your work. And he always complimented you on your work.  

It wasn’t some generic kind of praise, either. No, you’d heard that praise directed at others throughout the semester. With you, he’d hold out your assignment and as your fingers would brush against his as you accepted it, he’d grin with pride and say something like, “amazing work, as always, Miss Y/L/N”, or “a fascinating perspective, Y/N”. You knew that you were visibly delighted by his comments, and it would always bring a blush to your cheeks at how glaringly fulfilled you must appear when he would commend your work, but it was a losing battle to hide the satisfaction of taking up some space within his mind.

Yes – it was, without a doubt, becoming an issue. Something that made you ache inside with a longing entirely unfamiliar to you. A longing that came before sleep as you’d close your eyes and imagine what his lips would taste like if he kissed you, or how comforting the warmth of his body pressed snugly up against yours would feel. You’d think of his big hands (good God, those hands) running over the slopes and planes of your body when you showered, feeling light-headed with your imagination alone by the time you’d shut the water off. You’d think of him when you’d see a couple walking past, hands intertwined, with stars in their eyes as they gazed at each other.

Quite frankly, the man had turned you into a simpering, heartsick little girl. He’d stripped away everything you knew, or thought you knew, about love and lust and a meeting of the minds. He was fascinating. You remember it like it was yesterday, the day he asked if you’d like to hang back from class and take lunch with him in the classroom so you both could continue the thriving conversation you’d been lost in. Your heart had nearly pumped itself out of your body and the most you could manage by way of a response was a crooked little smile accompanied by blushing cheeks and a shy nod. Little did you know how disarming the sight of you was to him at that moment, eyes twinkling with an eagerness to please that had him gripping the sides of his chair and clenching his jaw.

College professor or not, he apparently lacked any of his usual intellect when it came to you. He knew he shouldn’t further encourage you but was finding it next to impossible not to crave your time. He had become, without his consent, rather dependent on that sweet smile, the way you’d glow like the sun when your discussions narrowed in on a particularly existential topic, the way you valued his mind as much as he valued yours. Amongst other things. Amongst many other things.

He’d long since given up on trying to scold himself out of this equation made up of the both of you, and every day it was a little easier to forget that he was supposed to be the trusted educator, the one to put the kibosh on this energy pulsing with ever-growing vigor. Every dark thought that would flicker across his mind when you’d bite your lip in concentration during a test, or chance a glance at him during the quieter moments in class just to blush and quickly look away when he noticed would be swallowed up with an immediate guilt. You were here to learn, you were his student, for goodness' sake. Adult or not, you were trusting him to do what professors are supposed to do: teach. But riding on the coattails of that thought comes another that always unfolds, unbidden, and murmurs, “that’s not all I could teach her...”

The low timbre of his gentle voice jerks you back into the present along with a startled gasp that escapes your throat. You quickly look to your right and left and realize that every student but yourself is making their way to the exit. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you rub a hand over your face, trying to blink away the fog that’s settled over your brain during class.  

“Miss Y/L/N?”

When you lock eyes with him and spot the genuine concern etched into his face, you feel like you’re being doused with a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my God...I’m – Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drift off, there’s just – I've had a lot on my mind and – “

He holds up a hand gently, an understanding expression dawning his features. “You’re not being scolded, Y/N. Quite the opposite. I just want to make sure that you're all right. I don’t want you to feel that you can’t come to me, should you need to.”

You feel a shiver vibrate down your spine at the words “come to me”, quickly looking away from that penetrating gaze that always manages to make you feel vulnerable and entirely too exposed.

“I’m fine. I... I’m not sure Theology can help me very much with this particular issue, Professor. Thank you, though, of course. I appreciate it,” you mutter shakily, a breathy laugh following the statement while you quickly stuff your books into your worn-out bag in an attempt to unpin yourself from his scrutinizing gaze.

When you look up, he’s advancing on you with an expression you know, without a shred of a doubt, you’ve never seen grace his features, at least not when directed towards you. He leans down before you and places his palms flat against your desk, cocking his head to the side while his eyes drift across your face, and it feels as if all of the air has been sucked from the room at once.  

“Then maybe I can help,” he murmurs with a voice like silk, his tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips.  

You know your chest is completely giving you away with its rapid rise and fall, and it certainly doesn’t calm you when you notice his eyes wandering across your face as if he’s carefully cataloguing what he’s seeing now that he’s closer than he’s ever been.

Before you can utter a jittery excuse for your sporadic behavior, he stands upright and you feel your stomach swoop as if on a rollercoaster at just how tall he is above you. So – fucking - tall, with a presence so commanding he feels almost inhuman. You feel like a fly caught within a web far too intricate to maneuver through, far too close to its builder. Immobilized and drunk on the powerlessness.

You continue to stare straight ahead as he slowly walks to the classroom door, pulling the emergency shade down over the miniature window and locking the door. The click of the lock setting makes you jump as your mind tries to comprehend what exactly is occurring right here in front of you.

He makes his way to his mahogany desk and sits down in the cushioned chair that accompanies it. Leaning forward, he steeples his fingers in front of him, his eyes burning through your defenses as if you’re made of a tissue doused in kerosene.  

“Let’s talk, Y/N. What’s troubling that enthralling mind of yours?” he asks, his voice ringing through a silence that’s only interrupted by your frantically thumping heart.

As if in a trance, your body moves of its own accord. You slip out of your chair, immediately becoming aware of the fact that your legs are shaking. You keep your eyes low, focusing on one step at a time, and only when you reach the edge of his desk do you lift your E/C eyes to meet his. His expression has shifted palpably, the energy in the room itself is charged and crouching in wait. For what, you’re not entirely sure. But you are certain of one thing; only he can exorcise this entity lodged into your heart like a neglected splinter, growing more painful and more demanding to be noticed as every day passes.

Eyes that were once as golden as the setting sun have now bled into a rich, deep brown, pupils wide and penetrating. He uses a finger to gesture you towards him further, and you acquiesce without question, blood rushing through your veins like a river after far too much rain. You walk around the desk and come to stand in front of him with eyes lowered and heart pounding.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he requests gently while leaning back in his chair, long legs widening in a thoroughly distracting manner as he pats a hand against his strong thigh to coax you onto his lap.

Your heart is in your throat as you inch forward, but when you hesitantly turn your back to him to sit down properly, he grips your hips, spinning you back around to face him. He guides you forward to straddle his thighs in a way that makes your legs spread to accommodate the gap between his own until his grip tightens, pulling you into him and then down onto his lap as your hands instinctively reach out for purchase upon his shoulders. A sharp gasp rips itself from your throat when you feel your professor’s hardening cock nestle into the apex of your spread thighs, sending you reeling. He hisses, hands snaking their way around your back to pull you flush against his warm chest. His face buries itself within the space between your neck and shoulder and he inhales the scent of you like a drug, pulse spiking at just how lovely and right you feel, here in his arms.

“You're my favorite, you know,” he breathes into your ear, sending an eruption of goosebumps across your entire body that makes you tremble in his arms. “Always have been, even before I noticed your undivided attention. Even before I saw how your eyes would turn into a sky full of burning stars when I’d compliment your work. Even before you managed to slip underneath my skin and keep me up night after night after night.”

You feel as if your vocal cords have been snipped from your throat as you scramble to respond, but all that manifests is one hand raking its way up into the dark, silky curls you’d thought about so often, imagining how they’d feel under your fingertips as he’d press his mouth against your chest, stomach, right down to that place between your legs that would no doubt unravel you until there was simply nothing left of you to stitch back together. A sharp, burning need rockets its way to your center and your hips respond naturally as you gently rock against his crotch, and for the first time, you hear him moan your name into the atmosphere and it rattles your nerves deliciously. You’re certain at this moment you never want to stop hearing your name spoken this way.

“Can I help? Can I touch you, darling?” His voice is thick with lust as his hand splays against your ribcage, and the heat from his fingers scorch your skin beneath the shirt you’re wearing. It’s a fever dream, that this is truly happening, but you nod frantically, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, unable to refrain from letting your lips place gentle kisses upon the warm skin of his neck. He smells like cologne and body wash, but it may as well be an aphrodisiac to you. He grunts and tightens his grip on your hips to grind your center against him again with more pressure, forcing a strangled yelp from your throat that immediately makes you flush in embarrassment.  

All self-consciousness is drowned out jarringly by his right hand sliding from your hip and into your hair at the base of your skull and tugging firmly so that your neck is craning backwards to face him properly. Your peer at him through the lashes of your heavily lidded eyes, feeling out of body in a way you’ve never experienced before.

His eyes are dark pools of well water, unrippled yet brimming with power at the same time. He looks at you like you’re the answer in a way that makes you ache. It feels as if there’s a scratch being itched inside the caverns of your soul, coaxed out by his words, his hands, his eyes. Those eyes...

“Say it. Tell me, Y/N. I need to hear it,” he rasps, fingers scratching against your scalp as his grip tightens to tilt your head back further yet, baring the vulnerable column of your fragile throat to his hungry gaze.

You swallow thickly, trying to calm the buzzing inside of your brain and the electric current sizzling its way through every vein from your head to your toes.  

“I... I want you. I want you. Please – please touch me. I’ve lost...I’ve lost so much sleep because of you. I can’t stop thinking about you and it burns, it fucking burns because you don’t – I never thought for a second that you’d want – “. You choke on the last few words, utterly overwhelmed as tears slip through the cracks at the corner of your eyes without permission, hot and wet and thick as honey as they leave tracks against your cheeks. They reach a boiling point as you feel his hot tongue slowly, gently, lap them up from your skin. You shudder in his lap again, feeling your body go lax, before you whisper a final plea.

“Show me, please...teach me, professor.”

You feel him become rigid beneath you and for one terrible second, panic ricochets through you, your mind instantly sounding off the alarms that you’ve done something wrong. The insecurity has no time to manifest fully, however, as his hand slips beneath your shirt to fully cup your breast, fingers dancing delicately over your hardening nipple before the other hand releases its hold from your hair and pushes the shirt and bra you’re wearing up to your collar bones so he can drink in the sight of you exposed and shaking upon his lap. He thinks this must truly be what God feels like, to make a creature like you shiver wantonly beneath his touch. He feels drunk on it, the desire to see you come undone. To teach you all he knows, and then some. With every whimper that slips from your pink lips, he comes a little closer to understanding heaven’s divinity in a way no book or lecture could ever come close to revealing.

His breath is uneven and even his own hands are trembling ever-so slightly as he grasps your chest in each hand, kneading the flesh there slowly while leaning in to rest his forehead against your sternum, his hot breath fanning across the cavern between your breasts. Your back arches naturally, and you're not sure if your body is pulling away or thrusting itself forward, but he grabs one of your hands from his shoulder and does the same with the other that lingers in his hair, quickly and without explanation pinning them atop each other at the wrists behind your back. Surprise flairs through your nervous system, but as if he knows, he loosens his grip just so and leans in.

"Trust in me,” he whispers hoarsely as his soft, warm voice gives way to his head lowering itself to steadily latch onto one of your nipples between two plush lips.

A whimper crawls its way up your throat as your hips respond by jerking forward, seeking to fill an emptiness that feels almost devastating, and you hear – no, feel – him chuckle darkly against the erect bud beneath his lips as the sensation ripples through you.

“Fuck, please, please, please,” you pant, far too gone to feel embarrassed anymore. Far too gone to even articulate what it is you’re begging for, but knowing that if anyone can understand, it’s him.

His eyes are feral when they meet yours. He looks like a man undone. But he releases your wrists from behind you and guides your arms to rest languidly across his shoulders, and both of your hands immediately find purchase in those thick, soft curls again, and tug. It takes no forethought to use this as a way to pull his lips onto yours in a bruising kiss filled with months of longing and lonely nights and living off of gentle glances and ambiguous smiles.

His tongue slips into your mouth and he tastes like caramel, a favorite snack he’d indulge in sometimes that was never not distracting to watch him consume, and when one of his hands slides down to unbutton and unzip your jeans, you mimic his actions with a trembling hand, reaching down to do the same to him.

You feel long, tapered fingers firmly, yet gently, enclose around your wrist after you palm his stiff cock through his jeans, just the feeling of it sending a shudder through you. His hips buck into your touch and he groans, eyes closing, sending a thrill through you, but then he gently pulls your hand away. The wings of the butterflies scattering inside of you freeze over and fall to the ground, shattering like glass in what feels like the ultimate rejection.

“I thought...you don’t want...?”

He brings his hands to your cheeks, cradling your face like you’re some precious, delicate thing under his touch, and he shakes his head quickly with his brows furrowed at having scared you.

“No, I do. I do very much want that, sweetheart. But I’d like to concentrate on you right now, if you’ll allow me. Let me make you feel the way you deserve to feel. Can you do that for me, pet? Can you trust me?”

Relief floods through your nervous system and it must show on your face, because he tilts his head and smiles at you with a tenderness so palpable it robs you of breath. His thumb gently traces patterns against your warm cheek, and he pulls you forward to rest his forehead against yours. He’s breathing heavily, just like you, and the excitement of affecting him this way is enough to make you release a breathy giggle. Your hand slides up his chest to cover his heart, feeling it pump steadily beneath your fingers as he hums softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, awaiting your consent.

You nod slowly, your hand traveling up to palm his own cheek, nails gently raking through the roughness of his kempt beard. He leans into your touch like a man starved, sighing and letting his eyes fall closed. You’ve never felt more powerful than you do now, perched here on your professor’s lap with your shirt rucked up and chest exposed. You’re beginning to realize that you hold more cards than you’d originally thought.

“Yes, sir. I trust you.”

When his eyes snap open to look at you after addressing him as ‘sir’, his gaze is practically searing.

“That’s my good girl.”

He’s on you then, all over you, lips and tongue and teeth invading your mouth as you exchange breaths. His arm twists its way around your back, pulling you into him until you’re practically molded to one another. His other hand makes quick work to help you yank your shirt and bra off and toss them aside carelessly. He can’t help but indulge himself with another look at you, then, and he pulls back for a better view. You feel his darkened gaze sweep over your chest, your stomach, the dips of your waist.  

“Y/N... you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to suckle at your nipple again, making you whimper and reach up to thread your fingers into his locks, pulling him further into you. He groans at the pull of his hair while his fingers begin to lightly pinch and roll your other bud, making you shiver. The sound of heavy breathing invades your ears and you feel as though you’re a fire being kindled into an inferno. He alternates between both breasts, humming in pleasure at the taste of your silken skin as he licks, nips and kisses the expanse of your chest with veneration.

“Oh, God, professor...,” you hear yourself whisper as you let your head fall back in submission to his touch, and he responds with a low laugh against your skin that more closely resembles a growl.

“Class is over, Miss Y/L/N.” He stands up abruptly with you in tow, latching his hands underneath the underside of your thighs to hoist you up upon his desk. He brushes your hair behind your shoulder to expose more of your neck to him before peppering kisses from your collarbone to your jawline with a steadily growing intensity. “And God isn't the one tasting you right now. I am.”

Your only response is a broken whimper, and you feel your mind beginning to gloss over, focusing only on the way his hand grips the back of your neck possessively while the other makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants.  

“Lay back for me, little lamb,” he purrs into your ear before guiding you backwards against the smooth, varnished wood beneath you. You oblige willingly, letting your eyes close as he hooks his fingers into your jeans and wiggles them down your hips with your help until they slide down your calves enough for you to kick them the rest of the way off. Without a moment spared, he’s pulling your panties aside and letting his middle finger gently slide against your glistening crease, making you choke out a moan as your back arches off of the desk.

“So sensitive... you should see yourself right now, just like this. You’re ethereal,” he murmurs, almost as if to himself as his pointer finger joins in the gentle glide that has you digging your nails into the wood beneath you. The pressure is feather light and somehow manages to feel like too much and not nearly enough.

The pads of his slightly calloused fingers swipe upwards to linger at your clit and begin to slowly, almost lazily circle it at varying speeds. His free hand slides its way up your soft stomach to play with your breasts in synchronization with the patterns he’s creating between your legs and you moan his name, turning your head to the side, trying to control your breathing. He’s so unhurried, so obviously enjoying the ways he can make your body twitch and clench beneath his skilled hands. You’re a goddess laying here before him, and he intends to worship you so thoroughly you’ll never doubt your worth ever again. Not that he’d have any objections about proving it to you over and over again like he thoroughly intends to do.

He hunches his large form over you and slides an arm beneath your back to help cradle you and pull your body towards him enough to press his soft lips against yours, slipping his tongue into your hungry mouth with a groan as you whimper at the slowly but steadily increasing speed of his fingers. His touch against the stiffening little bud that’s sending out shockwave after shockwave of pleasure encourages you to wrap your legs around his lithe, slender hips and yank him closer. He almost loses his balance as you do, barely catching himself on a forearm next to your head while huffing out an affectionate laugh at how eager you are to be closer to him. He looks down at you with unabashed affection, revealing his pearly-white teeth in a smile so genuine it makes your heart swell.

Your nimble but shaking fingers begin unbuttoning his collared black shirt with sleeves that are pulled up to his elbows (a look on him that drives you positively feral) and he takes the opportunity of your distraction to his advantage and slides his fingers slowly into your achingly hot channel, making you toss your head back against the desk with an audible ‘thump’ at the sudden intrusion that has you trembling beneath him. He’s everywhere: outside and inside and all around as he begins to pump in and out of you, curling his middle finger to graze something euphorically sensitive inside of you while lifting his palm to grind against your clit as he does. The lewd sounds his actions create by pumping in and out of you overwhelm your senses and you throw an arm over your eyes in embarrassment and blinding pleasure, choking back a cry that morphs into more of a pathetic little mewl.

He feels his cock pulse at that sweet, desperate song you're singing, trying with everything in him to commit it to memory indefinitely, before grabbing your arm and yanking it away from your face to return it to your side. His eyes pierce into yours as he does this, never wavering, and you understand the unspoken order he’s given you: to keep yourself bare and uncovered before him. You bite your lip and clench your eyes shut tightly, nodding and panting out a broken “yes, sir”.  

You hear him hiss something under his breath, leaning down again on his forearm to fully to rest his forehead against yours as he continuously works miracles between your parted legs.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Y/N? Hmmm? How many times I’ve thought about having you spread out before me, just like this? Watching you fall apart underneath me?” he rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face as you wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him as his fingers gradually slow their pace and then slip out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact, your pleading eyes snapping open in question as to why he's suddenly stopped.

“I want to taste you. Want to drink you down when you shatter under my tongue. Will you let me?”

“Fuck – please, yes, sir. Whatever you want. Take whatever you want. It’s yours. It’s yours,” you manage to respond through your strangled breathing, his words lighting you up like a sea of flames, his obvious captivation towards your body bolstering your confidence.

Without another word spoken, he’s lowering himself to his knees as if in prayer, strong hands gripping your hips and lifting you up a bit to pull you closer towards him. You can’t hold back from propping yourself up on your forearms to watch him, your visceral need to see his face between your legs controlling your anticipation.

His strong arms slide beneath your thighs to loop around them, coming to rest upon your lower abdomen, pinning you firmly to the desk to keep you from squirming away from him. The sight of him gazing directly at your sex has you instinctually closing your legs, but before you can, his hot tongue is licking a soft, long line from your opening to your clit. He groans as he does this, the taste of your nectar sending jolts of need through his painfully hard cock that’s straining itself in vain against his dark denim jeans.  

Before you have time to even react to the blissful sensation of that soft, wet heat upon your clit, he yanks you closer yet and buries his face between your shaking thighs. Licking, sucking, consuming you like a starving man feasting on a delectable meal long denied to him. He pulls back enough to look up and stare into your eyes unwaveringly as he slips his fingers back inside of you and leans down to press his soft lips around your already throbbing clit, never breaking eye contact as he does. The sight alone makes you feel as if you’re drifting out of your own body, but then he speeds up, humming and groaning against you. His tongue circles and flicks and lathes while his fingers glide and curl into you at an ever increasing speed. You lose the strength to hold yourself up any longer and let yourself fall back onto the desk with a soft cry. He groans, long and low, and tightens his grip on your abdomen to trap you completely as your eyes roll back into your head at the intoxicating feeling of him feasting on you.

You feel all of the taut and trembling strings inside of you snap so suddenly that your mouth opens to cry out his name, but no sound comes. In those few seconds, his vibrating moans and the ecstasy of him devouring you like a predator with its prey fills the air until your hips fight him in pathetic attempt to escape as your voice catches up with the sensations tearing through your nerve endings. You scream. He releases one arm from pinning you down to reach up and clasp his free hand over your mouth, the muffled sounds of pleasure radiating from you driving him fucking mad as your thighs close enough to squeeze his head, pushing his fingers and tongue more harshly against you.

He milks your release until you’re choking on your own sobs, fists tangled into his thick hair hard enough to hurt, the overstimulation he’s forcing onto your body sending your emotions reeling into unknown territory. He finally releases your clit from his lips with a gentle kiss and his fingers slowly come to a halt before delicately slipping out of your soaking center, making you whimper at the aftershocks that follow.

He stands up, adjusting your underwear to cover you again and leans down quickly to wrap you in his strong, warm arms, pulling you against his firm chest as you shake against him, your mind still in a haze.

A hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he shushes you quietly, pressing delicate kisses across your face and whispering muffled praise that helps bring you back down to earth.

“You did so well, angel. So good for me. So perfect. I’m here, Y/N. I’ve got you,” he murmurs and lifts you up again just to plop you both back down into his chair while you tuck your face into his shoulder, breathing him in and wondering if all of this has just been an incredible dream you’ll soon wake from.  

You feel his arousal through the cotton of your underwear and lift your head up to face him, placing a hand against his bearded cheek and letting your thumb gently glide across his lips, causing him to close his eyes and exhale at the sensation.

“What about you? I can – do you want me to...?” You whisper, letting your fingers tangle themselves again into the unruly curls you’ll never tire of playing with.

He chuckles affectionately and takes one of your hands into his own, contentedly bringing your wrist to his lips to kiss you there so softly that you feel your chest clench with a flurry of unspoken emotions.

"You’ve done more for me than I could have ever hoped. Even if it...this, ends here tonight...,” he confesses, his voice quietly taking on a vulnerable tone as his lips place kisses onto each of your fingertips with eyes closed. His brows are knitted together in unmitigated concentration, as if he’s committing every second to memory like it’s the last chance he’ll have.

Your heart swells inside of your chest as you gently pull your hand away to tilt your head and press your lips sweetly against his, tasting both him and yourself as you do, before pulling back to rest your forehead against his. You feel his breath catch in his throat in anticipation of your reply, and you smile, letting your eyes fall closed.  

“Professor Hill,” you whisper with purpose, wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your eyes to look into his own that reflect a nervousness you’ve never witnessed from him before, “I’m yours. Do with me what you will.”

You feel his chest exhale shakily, freeing him of all his trepidations about the two of you, and his response is an achingly gentle kiss that holds a thousand promises you know, without question, he will keep.

#i'd like to just apologize in advance if i may #if hamish ever finds this i will infiltrate elon musks's space program and send myself to fucking mars #anyway #y'all come get your juice #father paul #kind of? #father paul hill #midnight mass #father paul x reader #hamish linklater #dear god it's me amanda #i'm posting filth on the internet via fanfic for the first time #will i still get into heaven? #love - your ginger abomination of a daughter #my writing