#almost 500 notes on my first father paul smut piece???

[valentinoappreciator]

I posted 1,869 times in 2021

155 posts created (8%)

1714 posts reblogged (92%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 11.1 posts.

I added 3,095 tags in 2021

#photo - 918 posts

#text - 809 posts

#gif - 304 posts

#midnight mass - 237 posts

#misc - 221 posts

#father paul - 187 posts

#my post - 152 posts

#writing - 93 posts

#queue - 87 posts

#hitman - 87 posts

Longest Tag: 114 characters

#especially after me accidentally blurting out that i wouldnt mind getting together with him at the christmas party

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

As I'm watching Midnight Mass, I am violently realizing why people go apeshit for Father Paul

I, too, wanna suck him off in the confessional, and I'm only on the first episode

156 notes • Posted 2021-10-03 18:30:56 GMT

#4

ugh i want to peg father paul as he's clutching his rosary, panting his hail mary's, and make that man crumble beneath me. or on top of me. make him ride me so that i may see how his facial expressions change - his brows creasing, his eyes tightly shut, his mouth wide open, his nostrils flaring.

anyway. pegging father paul until he can't even pray anymore, his voice too hoarse and shaky, until he can only just barely string two sentences together, most of them being blasphemous, and the rest being so reverent that god himself would be jealous

164 notes • Posted 2021-10-11 13:45:59 GMT

#3

WELL DONE ITALY!!! WINNING EUROVISION /AND/ THE UEFA EURO 2020 ???? YOU GOOOOO

215 notes • Posted 2021-07-11 21:55:54 GMT

#2

BUT WAIT - THERE'S MORE!

2nd chapter of my Father Paul x fem!reader fic :DD

Word count: 2.3k

Pairing: Father Paul x (AFAB) reader

Rating: VERY MUCH EXPLICIT

Tags: Disrespectful use of prayers, priest kink (obviously…?)

Warnings: blasphemy, me not knowing jackshit about Christianity :’))), probably a lot of grammar errors

Will also be uploaded to my AO3, TheWeirdDane <3

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

In the days after breaking Father Pauk’s view of celibacy, the guilt ate you alive. It prickled under your skin and made you queasy whenever you so much as thought about him. What had you been thinking?! He was a man of God, a holy man and a better person than you would ever be!

You wanted to skip masses out of shame, but you also couldn’t deny the want to see him. You loved those moments when you sat on the front pew, so close to him it felt like you could touch him if you just stretched out your hand. You loved seeing the passion and determination with which he preached, with which he delivered his homilies, and, not to forget, how kind he was with everyone.

Today was no different.

Wearing his purple chasuble - which looked illegally good on him, according to you - he delivered his sermon with the same passion as always. Grand gestures and his booming voice filled the church as he preached, his vestments flowing this way and that.

You were enthralled, and desperately hoped it wasn’t too obvious. At least, to anybody but him. He probably knew. He had to. He was a clever man, a man of wisdom, there was no way he didn’t know what he did to you.

Receiving the body and blood of Jesus Christ, you kept eye contact for an obscene amount of time. He blinked a few times, clearly flustered, but regained his composure the instant he stepped away from you to bless the next person.

A devilish fire of delight roared in your belly.

When mass was over, you excused yourself to your family, claiming you had something to discuss with Father Paul. Which wasn’t entirely a lie. Mostly.

“Sweetheart,” he said, sounding a tad surprised to see you hang back. You smiled at him while putting your missal back on the pew in front of you before standing up and walking over to him.

“Father,” you all but purred and slithered up to him, pressing against him so that you could kiss his cheek and jawline. Your fingers dug into the purple chasuble, not quite wanting it gone yet still wanting him out of it so that you kiss him all over.

“You shouldn’t,” he admonished, but his voice betrayed him by brimming over with warmth.

“Shouldn’t what?” You feigned innocence and fiddled with the soft fabric of the chasuble while looking up at him, peering into those warm, dark eyes.

“You know what I’m talking about, heathen.”

The word was spat at you as he suddenly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, a sharp gasp escaping you, and your eyes widened. There was something... new in his face. A lust, a yearning that you had never expected to see in him.

Then it was gone, his features softening, and he let go of your hair, clearing his throat and looking away.

“No, that’s... that’s not right. I’m sorry, that was... wrong of me.”

“Don’t apologize, Father,” you croaked, a weak smile on your face. “I don’t mind that.”

“I do. It’s not a good thing to say.”

Silence stretched out between you, and you cast your gaze down.

“Anyway,” he then said with a sharp inhale, and the smile was back on his face. “Did you have something you wished to talk about?”

“Not quite talk,” you confessed, batting your eyelids. He caught on and chuckled softly, shaking his head.

See the full post

228 notes • Posted 2021-10-05 11:03:33 GMT

#1

BEHOLD - A CREATION OF FILTH

Sooo uuhhhh, I may be diving headfirst into the filth-pool of the Midnight Mass fandom (I'm sorry for not being sorry). Therefore, I have created A Fic(TM) for you all to enjoy 🥰🥰🥰

Word count: 4.3k

Pairing: Father Paul x (AFAB) reader

Rating: VERY MUCH EXPLICIT

Tags: Virginity loss (TECHNICALLY (also yes, sue me, im doing that kink)), disrespectful use of prayers, priest kink (obviously...?)

Warnings: blasphemy, me not knowing jackshit about Christianity :'))), probably a lot of grammar errors i'm like three hours past my bed-time lmao

Will also be uploaded to my AO3, TheWeirdDane 🥰🥰🥰

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

Father Paul Hill was not who you had expected to see at mass that day. Not to be mistaken, he wasn’t a bad sight, at all, he was just not the Monsignor Pruitt that you had become accustomed to. With his lush, dark hair that curled in the back, he was so far from the Monsignor Pruitt who had run the church for as long as you could remember.

Father Paul Hill silenced the congregation which had, perhaps rightfully, been buzzing with questions and low conversations ever since he had entered.

Having introduced himself, and having explained why Monsignor Pruitt was absent, Father Paul Hill gathered them in psalms and praying.

You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, try as you might. Your thoughts were pure, rest assured, they were, but you were curious about who this young man was, what his journey to here had been, what his reasons for being here were. You had a frightening amount of questions burning in your mind, and no answers were given that day.

No answers were given the next day, either. Or the next.

So, naturally, you decided to confront him. Not rudely, of course, no, not aggressively, just catching him after mass in the hopes that you could ask him some of the questions that seemed to burn through your mind, hanging in the air as tangible words that one could just grab.

“Father?” you queried the following day as the pews emptied after another enlightening mass.

Father Paul looked around, trying to locate who had spoken his name, and, seeing you, smiled fondly with a slight bow of his head.

“Hi,” he said, voice deep and warm and soft. You immediately felt safe. There was something about his voice, about the softness of it that enveloped you wholly and made you feel so at ease.

Reigning in a beginning blush, you bowed your head before him before speaking.

“I have some questions I hoped you could answer.”

“I’m happy to try,” he smiled.

You spent the rest of the afternoon talking, and when you exited the church, the sun was already sinking beneath the horizon, leaving a vague, smoldering streak of red on the sky. Beautiful as every sunset was, it stole your breath away, and you stood still, as still as a marble statue watching over the church, ensuring its safety.

Feeling lighter and more purposeful than ever after the conversation with Father Paul, there was a spring in your steps as you walked back to your little house on Crockett Island.

Every following mass, you would look at him as he spoke, so passionately and brimming with warmth, and maybe once, or maybe even twice, an impure thought would present itself. And maybe, just maybe, you invited the thought in, invited it to unfold and create an astonishingly beautiful world in which there was no sin, a world in which laying with your priest wasn’t wrong.

It was close to blasphemy, but in those moments, when Father Paul’s image was so vividly ingrained in your brain and on your retina, when you could practically hear him utter praise for you, you were beyond salvation and beyond God’s good grace.

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

Mass was over, and you were on your way out, when Father Paul called for you. His voice forming your name was like nectar to a starving butterfly - you relished it dearly before turning around to face him.

This time, you couldn’t stop the blush going from your neck to your ears as you walked up to him, trying to act neutral.

He smiled at you, as he always did to everyone, and for the briefest of seconds, you wanted to curse at him for smiling at everyone, when you felt he should only smile at you.

Jealousy was an ugly feeling, however, and you did your best to purge it from your soul and mind. When you looked at him, instead of feeling jealousy, you felt flowers grow and heard birds chirp in your chest.

See the full post

458 notes • Posted 2021-10-04 22:33:24 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →