#priest Frankie

[akitasimblr]

"I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU PARTNERS IN CRIME" 😎

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[feelingpure]

Fellow Travelers | The Episode 6 Promo and Episode Guide

A lot seems to be going down in the next episode, so let's peruse it.

It’s 1968 and Tim’s an anti-war protester sought by the FBI.

Yesss, can't wait for rebel Tim! But also wtf, the FBI?!

(More under the cut.)

Hawk and Lucy have a settled life, two children and...

Hmmm, I have a feeling that family might not be coming first this time.

...a country house - the perfect spot for Tim to hide.

Uhh, why does this child have a gun?!

Marcus puts aside his career to care for his aged father while denying himself romance.

Ugh, triple pain incoming for Marcus.

Frankie becomes a counsellor for girls left behind by society.

Frankie: an angel.

Out of touch for years, Hawk wants Tim back in his life...

Ooh, Lucy's gonna yell at Hawk, ok! And who's that in the kitchen... I don't think it's Tim?

...and Tim on his way to becoming a priest – can’t resist Hawk’s charms.

Of course he can't resist it, as they said in episode 4. So, looks like everyone's going to be hurt in some way, cool cool cool, can't wait.

[sofiaispunk]

Hot priest Morales. Thats it. that's the request

btw love your dbf series!

Sacred Temptations

pairings: priest!Francisco Morales x Reader AU

a/n: Thank you so much, beautiful! fuck YESSS hot priest Morales is making me feel all kind of things rn. I immediately pictured him as Pedro at the Oscars with his white slutty little buttonup. Thank you for your request! I really appreciate you and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know what you think and if I should make a part 2 maybe?

words: 2k

warnings: religion, smut, flirting, forbidden romance, bratty reader, blasphemy, inappropriate behavior, 18+

You reluctantly followed your parents' lead as they made their way to the local church for Sunday mass. Your outfit for the day reflected your style and individuality, a short blush dress, which barely covered your body. The dress had delicate ruffles along the hemline, adding a touch of femininity to your attire. You paired it with a light cardigan, casually draped over your shoulders, providing at least a bit modesty.

Throughout your life, you had never been particularly fond of churches. The rigid traditions, the solemn rituals - they had always felt foreign to your free-spirited nature. Sunday mornings were often spent indulging in your own pursuits, watching Netflix, brunching with friends or lazily laying in bed, far removed from the pews and hymns.

However, as you returned from college for the summer, something within you had shifted.

Perhaps it was the newfound sense of maturity or maybe it was the desire to reconnect with your roots and understand your own beliefs better. Whatever the reason, you made a conscious decision to join your parents on their weekly visit to church.

As you entered the church, your eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the ornate stained glass windows, the flickering candlelight, and the peaceful atmosphere. Amidst the congregation, your gaze fell upon the priest, who stood at the pulpit, preparing to deliver the sermon.

You found yourself momentarily drawn to his presence, observing how he engaged with the congregation, his gestures emphasizing his words, and his voice carrying a soothing tone. His light brown hair, sleekly gelled back, added a touch of refinement to his overall look. However, scattered throughout his hair were subtle streaks of grey, hinting at the wisdom and experience he possessed.

A neatly trimmed, patchy beard adorned his face, accentuating his rugged charm. It framed his jawline, which was sharp and defined, lending him an air of strength and determination. His broad shoulders hinted at physical presence, giving him a commanding stance as he stood before the congregation.

Curiosity gnawing at you, you turned to your mother, who sat beside you , and leaned in to whisper a question. "Mom, who is the new priest? I don't think I've seen him before."

Your mother, engrossed in the beginning of the service, momentarily glanced at you and then followed your gaze toward the young priest. With a warm smile, she whispered back, "That's Father Francisco. He recently joined our parish. He is a lovely man. Father Francisco has been a guiding light for our community. He's been instrumental in organizing outreach programs, helping the less fortunate, and supporting charitable initiatives. The impact he's made on our community is truly inspiring and a true blessing.”

You nodded, taking in your mother's words. The intrigue surrounding Francisco only intensified as you listened to your mother's description.

As the Sunday service progressed, you couldn't help but feel a peculiar sensation, as if you were being watched. You shifted your gaze and found yourself locking eyes with Father Francisco. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as your gazes met, and an unspoken connection seemed to form.

Surprised by the intensity of the eye contact, a familiar heat rose in your core. However, instead of looking away, you felt an unexpected surge of boldness within you. Perhaps it was the curiosity sparked by your doubts, or the desire to seek answers, but you decided to seize the opportunity and act upon this newfound courage.

Determined to engage in a conversation with Father Francisco, you waited until the end of the service when the parishioners started dispersing. As people began to leave the pews, you approached the young priest, your steps deliberate and your mind racing with desire.

With a deep breath, you stood before Father Francisco, and mustered the courage to initiate a conversation.

"Father Francisco," you began, your voice steady and lower as usual. “I was hoping you could spare a moment of your time.”

“Of course, my child. What can I do for you? I believe we have never met before.”

Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you challenged Father Francisco's claim of not seeing you before.

“Father, are you truly suggesting that you haven't laid eyes on me in this sacred space until now? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps I simply didn't catch your attention until today.” you laid it on thick, making sure to flutter your eyelashes innocently.

“My apologies for not giving you the attention you deserve. It seems I'll have to make amends for that oversight. But I assure you, I am honored to make your acquaintance now.” The corners of his mouth curved into a gentle smile, his eyes mirroring the twinkle of your own.

You leaned in in slightly, the playful tone never leaving your voice. “Well, Father, it appears that divine intervention has finally led you to notice my presence. I must say, it's quite flattering to have captured the attention of such a captivating priest.”

“Ah, I don‘t think flattery will get you anywhere. But what is it you wanted to talk to me about, my child?“ he smiled at you, the corner of his eyes crinkling.

“There’s something plaquing my mind lately, something I haven't experienced in a long time. I'm not familiar with the process of confession. And I was wondering if you could help me, confess my sins?“ you asked innocently, your teeth grazing your bottom lip while your fingers played with the hem of your dress.

“I see. Come to the confessional after next week's mass. We can sit down and discuss the things that weigh heavily on your heart.” As he began to respond, your conversation was unexpectedly interrupted by a line of people forming, seeking his guidance and counsel. You, understanding the demands on the priest's time, gracefully stepped back.

“Well, Father, it seems you are a man in demand. I won't keep you from attending to the needs of your flock. I’ll see you next week, then.”

You offered a playful wink before making your way out of the church, subtly swaying your hips.

-

Surprising your parents, who had grown accustomed to your reluctance to attend church voluntarily, you made your way to the church the following Sunday. Feeling bold and sexy you opted for a green two-piece lingerie set adorned with subtle lace details, which flattered your skin tone perfectly. You threw on a modest high neck white dress on top which made you appear extra innocent. 

Seating yourself in the front row, like a diligent Christian, you eagerly awaited the arrival of Father Francisco.

The Sunday mass took place as usual, without any noteworthy incidents.

Midway through the service, though, you uncrossed your legs, inadvertently capturing Father Francisco's attention, causing a faint blush to color his cheeks. His words momentarily faltered, a subtle indication that your presence had made an impact.

Father Francisco regained his composure, seamlessly continuing the service with his priestly duties. Though his gaze occasionally drifted towards you, he maintained his professionalism, determined to carry out his responsibilities.

You, too, were aware of the effect you had on the priest. A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you observed his momentary distraction.

After the last strains of the closing hymn faded away, and the majority of the parishioners left the church, you seized the opportunity to approach the confessional. With each step, your heart beat a little faster, a mix of nervousness and anticipation filling you.

The confessional stood at the back of the church, tucked away in a quiet corner. Its wooden structure, weathered with time, carried an air of solemnity and reverence.

You approached the confessional, noticing the ornately carved wooden door adorned with intricate religious symbols. You reached out, your hand trembling slightly, and gently pushing it open. The door creaked softly, as if welcoming you into its sacred confines.

Inside, the confessional revealed two compartments separated by a latticed screen—a space for the penitent and a space for the priest. Soft, golden light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns onto the wooden panels.

Taking a seat on the worn cushioned bench, you found yourself enveloped in a sense of hushed tranquility.

In the dimly lit space, you could make out the faint silhouette of the priest's side. 

“Forgive me father for I have sinned. That’s what I am supposed to say, right?” you said, your voice hushed, almost sensual. 

“Lately, my thoughts have wandered to someone who is unattainable. Someone who is meant to inspire and guide, yet remains just out of reach. But I can’t help it, I can’t seem to stop thinking about him at night, think about his big hands and how they would feel on me. About how his big cock would feel deep inside of me. These impure thoughts plague me at night, but they plaque you too, don’t they, daddy?“

Your breathing became heavier as you continue. “Tell me, do you think about me? About your big dick filling up my tight little cunt. Putting your big hands in to my little panties, working me open with those thick fingers of yours. Tell me, Frankie, how badly you want to fuck me. “You shifted on your seat, your thighs rubbing together relieving some of the tension, your own words riling you up. “I can be your little good girl, you know. Just say the words.”

You sank deeper into the plush cushions, Slick arousal pooling in your panties at the thought of him being only a few inches away from you. The tension and the longing became too strong, and you slipped your hand under your already soaked panties. You let out a small whimper as you dragged your wetness up to your clit, rubbing small circles on it. “Oh, fuck Frankie. I am so wet for you. “ you let head fall back, moaning his name loudly. “Can you hear how wet I am? Just let me sit on your face, Frankie. I want to make your whole face wet with my juices. “ You pant, unable to believe that you are so close to cumming after such little time of playing with yourself.

In an act of playful audacity, you reached down and slid your now ruined panties down your legs. With a sly grin, you slipped the fabric through the narrow slit, allowing it to dangle enticingly between the little gate that separated you from the priest.

You held your breath, anticipation mingling with a hint of nervous excitement, hoping you didn’t go too far this time. Moments stretched into eternity as you waited for a response, your heart beat thundering louder with every passing second. Then, amidst the silence, you watched as the priest's hand reached through the small slit and carefully retrieved the green lacy piece you offered. A faint rustle accompanied the movement, and then, silence enveloped the confessional once more .

But it was not the quiet that captured your attention; it was the deep, audible inhale that followed, that made another flood of arousal coat your fingers.

Then, only mere moments later you could hear his sounds. Lustful groans filled the small space.

The furious slapping of his fist as he worked his cock made the tension coil in your own stomach. “Tell me what you want Frankie, you want me on my knees, huh, worshipping your cock?” another loud grunt. “Ahhh, yah that’s it. I wish my mouth was on that dick too, baby. I want to swirl my tongue around it. I bet your cock tastes fucking amazing. I’m going to drain every last ounce of cum out of you.” 

“Oh, God,” he let out one final strangled sound that almost sounded like he was in pain, reaching his climax. You followed soon after, clenching down on your fingers hard, shouting out his his name.

As you both came down from your high, only your breaths were audible.

“I'm not quite familiar with how this whole confession thing works. Do I need to say a dozen "Hail Marys" or perform a few extra penances to make up for that?” you asked innocently, awaiting his answer, but you were only met with, once again, silence.

Suddenly the heavy wooden door separating you swung open, revealing Father Francisco standing before you. His gaze intense and focused solely on you, “No.” he growled, letting out a low, almost predatory laugh, “that’s only reserved for good girls.”

[nerdieforpedro]

Another Update 🤗

Frankie Friday fic is scheduled for tomorrow morning! 🤗 Frankie is a bit mean like me. 😩

Working on Dieter, chapter 2. Close to done, I gotta do more research about rich people shit. 🤣 I don’t know much about it.

Feel like writing an Agent Whiskey fic but not sure where to start. I gotta outline it or just throw some stuff at the wall.

Priest Din is coming along. It would be my first fic about him. 🖤

Working on my smut skills. I’d like to get to the level of so many writers on here. The descriptions, the invocation of feelings, thoughts and emotions, I wanna to that one day. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[xoseduce-and-destroyox]

My favorite priest right now father Frankie cicero he the kind of priest to see a woman for a few weeks knowing that one day she'll take him and he won't fight back.

[denimbex1986]

'Have you experienced a strange kind of delirium right before waking up from a dream? Especially when a dream is so lucid and visceral that it feels real. There’s even a stretch when one is simultaneously aware they’re dreaming, but also immersed in it like it’s really happening. A majority of Andrew Haigh’s All Of Us Strangers takes place in a delirium like this.

Adam (Andrew Scott), a lonely screenwriter residing in a ghostly apartment building in London where he’s one of the two occupants, spends a large part of his day gazing into a distance. He’s either staring at a blank word document on his laptop whose blinking cursor is measuring his time wasted, or mindlessly watching TV while chomping snacks. It doesn’t seem like he has friends (not nearby, at least) and he looks accustomed to microwave dinners and leftovers.

His solitude is threatened when his only neighbour Harry (Paul Mescal) shows up at the door, visibly inebriated and slightly on edge. He asks Adam how he copes with the silence of their area, without throwing himself off the balcony. When Harry invites himself in, Adam turns him away politely, almost instantly regretting it. Adam is battling writer’s block, and it seems like he’s also spent a lifetime running away from relationships. A spot decision to look at his childhood things (for inspiration) causes him to visit his parents’ home in the suburbs. While walking around in the neighbourhood, he bumps into his father (Jamie Bell), who invites him to come pay his mother (Claire Foy) a visit. What makes this meeting out of the ordinary is – Adam’s parents died when he was 12. “A car crash,” Adam tells Harry, the writer in him groaning at the cliche.

Haigh’s film is an adaptation of a 1987 Japanese novel by Taichi Yamada called Strangers. As much as it traverses the supernatural/magic-realism path, the grief and longing here is deeply personal. Having missed out on living his teenage years with his parents, Adam becomes a recurring visitor at his parents’ home. Note the obedience in Scott’s eyes, like he suddenly transformed into the shy, awkward adolescent they left behind.

He comes out to them as a gay man – resulting in two exceptionally touching scenes. Foy is exquisite as a mother grappling with memories of unconditional love for Adam’s 12-year-old version, her ‘80s mindset clashing with contemporary progressive values, while still concerned for her son’s loneliness and health. Her immediate question is around a disease she heard about on TV. Similarly, Bell is measured as the ‘alpha’ Dad, who smokes like it’s a fashion statement. But who also surprises his son with his generosity and introspection. It’s almost like Adam is concocting his own revisionist version of his growing up years, to overcome the pain of growing up isolated – which probably played a part in making him an even more isolated adult.

The more he reconnects with his parents, the more Adam finds himself opening up to Harry. Haigh’s film creates the perfect time capsule, as the 80s music becomes more and more prominent (Pet Shop Boys, Frankie Goes to Hollywood), almost as a way of indicating that telling his parents about his unspoken desires, might have freed him enough to profess being attracted to another man. Mescal, in another haunted performance (after last year’s Aftersun) of a man putting up the confident, assertive act while being completely shattered within, is a sight to behold. As Adam’s young lover, Harry brings a recklessness to the dynamic, which the former never allowed himself. Haigh films the sex scenes between Adam and Harry with a directness, as they explore each other’s bodies without the shame that’s been conditioned into them from a young age.

Haigh, who made the similarly devastating 45 Years (his economy could be mistaken for him being distant), brings his fleeting touch here too. He maintains the plot’s ambiguity till the end – is Adam’s writing assignment resulting in him visualising these hyper-real conversations? Is he ‘healing’ through these conversations? Or is he losing his mind? Will these visits take a toll on his relationship with Harry – who, in one scene, realises he will have to step up as the caregiver.

All of Us Strangers is brimming with great performances, but it’s best described as an Andrew Scott showcase. Best known for playing Moriarty in Benedict Cumberbatch’s Sherlock and a priest in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag – Scott brings his most pared-down version for the part of Adam. He almost physically contracts himself around his parents, and gets comfortable in his own body beside his lover. It’s the best example of body-language acting I’ve seen in the last year.

Haigh knows exactly how to leverage the school-boy kindness in Scott’s eyes, and tip him over during the film’s eerie scenes. And yet, a certain kind of love and longing permeate through a majority of the film’s 100-minute runtime, even when it turns into a fever dream. Would you lose your mind to speak to your dead parents for a few more minutes? What does unconditional love really mean – would you embrace a partner consumed by their loneliness? Would you lie beside them and offer them comfort when there’s little to no chance of this effort being reciprocated? All of Us Strangers marinates in these questions, not pretending to fully know the answers.'

[mostbelovedaewwrestlertournament]

Most Beloved WWE Wrestler Tournament

[hauntingblue]

Skypiea time

Robin saying that because I know she only got on a ship to then leave it...

Nami sees Conis and gets sanji out of there so SHE can talk to her akdhksajka not a single second lost

Hello my favourite panel of nami maybe ever

Sillies...

CHOPPER YOU ARE THE CUTEST

Robin throws this guy off a cliff and to make just to make sure she breaks his neck too akdjsksk who is doing it like her???

OMG ACE!!!! IT IS TIME!!!!

[berryispunk]

You Make Me Believe In God

pairing: Priest Frankie x f! reader

Part 3 of "Nothing You Can Do Will Save Me"

Previous parts readable here

A huge thanks to my sibling aka the best beta reader in the world, without you all of this wouldn't see the light of day so please give them some applause <3 and also big thanks TO YOU. This fic got an incredible amount of feedback & I just wanted to thank you all for this <3

summary: They meet again, and it’s a brief but fierce encounter. Switched pov for this one.

tags/warnings: domestic violence, alcohol abuse, LONGING, YEARNING, mutual pining , slight power indifference, kissing, swearing, ANGST, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Guilt, Catholicism, small (?) age difference (Frankie is mid 30’s, reader beginning of 20’s), sexual tension, AU, Catholic Church Core, dirty thoughts, small town, inner turmoil, a hint of soft Frankie, Frankie being an ass, reader has a name (Lucy) hair and green eyes, no other physical discription

“For all that is in this world, the desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, the pride of life come not from the father but from this world.”

The night before the service you spent tossing and turning in your bed. 

The memory of the last encounter with Father Morales was still so vivid in your mind, it played behind your inner eyes like a damn movie every time you closed your eyes. 

You knew this was wrong, for a number of reasons.

First and foremost the fact that he was your local priest and you a regular church goer. You had been going often when the old priest, Father Thomas, was still there, but since Frankie had taken over the job you found yourself looking forward to every Sunday. Now you even called him Frankie in your head!

Each time you were wearing the prettiest dress your tiny wardrobe had to offer, even daring to put on some sheer lipgloss. Thankfully your father didn’t notice, not that he ever came with you. 

These days he was usually blackout drunk on the sofa as you silently closed the door behind you when you left. You were glad he wasn't around much during service so you could relax a bit while hanging on Frankie’s every word during the homily. 

When Father Thomas introduced him one Sunday there was a lot of whispering, especially from the old housewives who were - understandably - very tired of their husbands. The same men who didn’t have a nice word to say to them even if they spent three hours in the kitchen early in the morning before church to cook some spectacular Sunday lunch. A casserole, some potatoes and vegetables they lovingly raised in their own gardens. Their husbands didn’t care. If some of their spouses tagged along during service, they fell asleep snoring like a tractor. 

However, the wives did not. Their gazes were on Frankie from start to finish, watching his every step and soaking up every word. 

You couldn’t blame them at all. Father Morales was awfully attractive with his dark brown, unruly curls and matching warm brown eyes. When he smiled his whole face lit up, creating small wrinkles around his eyes which were absolutely adorable. 

His cassock did little to hide his broad shoulders and muscular arms that seemed to go on for miles. When his sleeves were rolled up it revealed equally strong forearms. 

The ladies of the parish started to bring along fans to regulate the heat that spread over their flushed cheeks during service. Plus, it made it easier to whisper to their pew neighbor.

Frankie didn’t seem to care much about the lustrous gazes. He was polite to every one of them, his eyes only fixed on their eyes whenever he chit-chatted with some of them after mass. He listened carefully, nodded and gave them his undivided attention like they deserved, unlike their dickheads of husbands. 

They all felt drawn to him just as you did. Although in the beginning you had tried to keep your respectful distance, telling yourself that the gazes you caught during service weren’t meant for you. But as the weeks passed by, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore. 

He did look at you and you mirrored his longing gaze perfectly. Bit your lip whenever his gaze locked with yours and sometimes it seemed like he was struggling to continue his sermon nonchalantly afterwards.

Each time you walked towards him for the sacrament of the communion you didn’t lower your gaze anymore, instead you smiled up to him, opened your mouth willingly so he could put the wafer on your tongue and it made his hands slightly tremble. Maybe there was even a tiny hint of a blush on his cheeks before he cleared his throat to serve the other people in line. 

It was a game. It was fun and a good distraction from the shit you had to deal with back at home. 

Your drunk father who only knew you existed when he was starving, the alcohol not enough sustenance. His hateful gaze on you whenever he was halfway sober. He made you feel so small, useless and made it unbearable for you in your own home. In the beginning it hurt, especially when you thought back at the times your sister was still living at home. 

The whole Davis family used to go to Sunday service and afterwards your mom would’ve made lunch and you and your sister Grace helped. It was so peaceful and loving back then, so different to the coldness you felt now. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

All that kept reminding you of the good times now was church, so you kept up the tradition, even if it was by yourself and you didn’t even believe that much in God anymore. Because if he’d been real why would he have let someone suffer so much without reason? 

Seeing the hot priest every Sunday was just a bonus. 

When time passed on and especially after you had told him that you were thinking of him whenever you masturbated something changed drastically between the two of you and you didn’t know whether you liked it or not. The tension you had felt back in the confessional only intensified in his office when you poured your heart out in terms of your problems at home. His eyes on you were so warm and full of worry. It was exactly what you needed at the time, but still you found yourself not worthy of the attention. 

Maybe, you thought, if you were a better daughter your dad wouldn’t feel the need to drink himself to death. 

Maybe, if your mother hadn’t left, things would’ve been different too, but you couldn’t be mad at her. She had fallen victim to your dad’s anger and frustration long before you had even been aware of it. 

Seen rationally you knew thinking about that was no use, but you couldn’t stop your thoughts drifting off. They were quickly replaced by something else entirely: longing. You longed for his lips to finally meet yours, something you dreamed about since you got to know he thought about you too. 

So this Sunday you were finally able to attend service again, because the bruise on your cheek had faded enough for nobody to notice, and found yourself walking determinedly towards his office after the church had emptied. Knocking twice and waiting for an answer. As you get none, you quietly said,

“Father Morales, it’s me, Lucy…” But it was still eerily quiet on the other side so you decided to leave again. 

As you were about to leave the church as well you saw him with one of the women of your parish entering the confessional. His hand guided her into it before he took a seat at the opposite side and closed the door. 

For a moment you contemplated whether or not to leave, you even took  one more reluctant step towards the exit but at the last moment you decided to stay. You couldn’t, no, you didn’t want to waste another day not knowing what his lips felt like so you found a seat in a nearby pew and waited, iting your finger nervously as your leg bounced to an invisible melody.

Finally after what felt like an eternity and simultaneously no time at all, the woman exited the wooden box and you took your chance and slipped into the confessional without giving Frankie the chance to leave.

Hastily you murmured, “Forgive me father for I have sinned.” And you only heard a rustling noise at the other end of the screen separating you both. This felt more like a déjà-vu. 

“Lucy?” he asked, a hint of disbelief or maybe even panic in his voice. 

“Hey Frankie,” you said softly as your heart started beating faster. 

“What are you… No, wait. Is everything okay?” The worry in his voice was palpable.

“Yes,” you assured him. “It is now.” 

You had to bite your lip and hold your breath, afraid this little sentence had revealed too much about the whirlwind of emotions inside your chest. 

But as you heard a faint laugh on the other end you felt instant relief. 

“You know we’re in a confessional, right? So if you don’t have sins to confess…”

You couldn’t keep the grin out of your face as you said, “Sins, father? Plenty of them. How much time do you have?” 

His laugh on the other end of the screen was warm and created little butterflies in your stomach. 

“For you? All day.” And you found yourself giggling along with him.

“I really want to kiss you.” You took a quick breath before adding, “I can’t stop thinking about last week in your office. I—” You didn’t even know how to express what you were going to say, but you desperately wanted him to understand. 

His breath audibly hitched on the other end and a few seconds later his face was so close to the screen you could make out his shape clearly. Without thinking much you leaned in too, your right cheek pressed against the screen just to feel him close. 

“I really want to kiss you too. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about it. But we can’t…” he whispered hoarsely. “No, no… We shouldn’t,” he added and you sighed. 

It’s nothing you hadn’t known before. But it didn’t lessen the ache at all. 

“I know, it’s just–,” you trailed off. 

“Yeah,” he answered without finishing the sentence but the way his voice sounded told you everything you needed to know. His voice mirrored your torment perfectly. 

You were sitting there for a long agonizing moment, your cheek still resting on the screen as the door on your side suddenly opened and he stepped in. His broad frame filled out the small of the confession al instantly and if you’d felt constricted before, it was even more now. His eyes on you were searching but you couldn’t quite place what for. 

“Frankie?” you croaked out and without even wasting a second he leaned down, pulling you up to him and his lips landed on  yours. It was rather gentle at first as his hand tangled in your hair, the other on your hip but it got heated quickly. He pressed your back against the cold, wooden wall of the confessional, his strong and hard frame holding you in place as his tongue sought entrance into your mouth. It all felt so different from anybody you had kissed before. You knew it would. You kissed him back just as eagerly as your hand fisted the fabric of his button-down and gasped into his mouth to which he answered with a soft groan. Your hands pulled slightly at the soft locks in the nape of his neck and you wanted to drown in this kiss. If this would be your last breath on this earth and you’d die right now it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever happening to you.

His hands started to wander over your body, gently exploring. Tracing every curve he could find, the soft of your hip, over your ass which he gave a soft squeeze through the fabric of your dress. He started to grind his front against you making you feel his erection clearly through his pants. It didn’t feel demanding at all but eager, just as much as you were. 

“We need to stop,” he finally panted breathlessly against your kiss-swollen lips. As his eyes opened again they were so much darker than before and it stirred something deep inside of you. 

“Frankie, please don’t stop,” you whimpered needily and he held your gaze, his pupils dilated as he found your lips again with such force you were pressed tightly against the wall with a dull noise. Something had seemed to snap inside of him as his lips latched onto your neck, biting and sucking everywhere he could reach as his knee pressed between your thighs, the fabric of your panties already wet from your arousal and he must have felt it, because he groaned against your neck.

“Fuuuck….” he bit out and no curse word had ever been so hot before. Are priests even allowed to curse?

 “Lucy, I–,” he was almost whimpering at this point, his breath hot against your neck and it made you shiver in the best way.

As abruptly as his lips had found yours he let go of you, taking a small step back in the narrow space and it left you discombobulated. 

“Almighty lord, forgive me,” he murmured, crossing himself and by no means you understood what God had to do with any of this because none of the things the two of you had just done were considered holy. 

“Frankie? What….” Although you were staring straight at him, he wouldn’t even look at you.

“I can’t do this, I am sorry,” he whispered, pained and your eyebrows furrowed, your chest painfully tight and it was getting hard to breathe.

“What?” You blinked, hoping you’d misunderstood.

“I can’t do this..” he repeated and the second time hurt even more than the first. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” you screeched in indignation, anger and disappointment creeping up and probably making you holler through the whole church, the skin on your chest burning hot.

“Please leave,” he said and he still didn’t dare to look at you. Was it shame? Regret? 

“No,” you said firmly, even if your voice was already choked up with all of the emotions brewing inside of you. 

He opened the door of the confessional without saying another word, the intention of making you leave more than obvious and you tried to reason with him. “Frankie, look. What happened, it’s…”

“It can’t happen again,” he cut through your words, like it was so easy for him. 

You felt hot angry tears pricking in the corners of your eyes, your vision blurring up.

Finally he lifted his head and looked at you. Not a single emotion behind his eyes’ brown hues and his face illuminated by the afternoon sun behind the stained glass. The whole scene made him almost glow. How ironic, you thought, making a devil look like an angel. 

You scoffed as your hands balled into fists. “I thought you felt it too…?” You pressed out between your lips with your chest heaving in barely contained anger, or perhaps hurt.

“I am your priest. You can come to me whenever you need guidance, an ear to listen or a prayer but that’s it, Lucy,” he used your name so nonchalantly. It sounded like an insult in combination with the other words in that sentence now.

“I had your tongue in my mouth just seconds ago and now you wanna go back to just being my priest?” You couldn’t contain your anger as your body started to quiver. 

“I am sorry.” He had the audacity to sound sincere. You stared at him for a long moment, his whole body language so much more guarded and indifferent than just a few moments ago and you struggled to interpret his contradictory behavior. 

“Did I do something wrong? I–”

He shook his head, his hands pleadingly lifted and eyebrows raised high but he didn’t say another word.

You straightened your dress, looking him up and down with contempt in your gaze before you left the church at a fast pace, your steps echoed loudly from the walls. Tears finally streamed down your face, making it hard to see, to breathe, to just be with every step that created distance between you and the one good thing that made you truly believe in God.

my masterlist

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[akitasimblr]

what is going on here?!😳

🖤��previous | next🖤

@simsinfinitylt @sims4thehoes @mdshh @agena87 @whimsicalsimmies @bloomingkyras @moonfromearth @omazake @wastelandwhisperer @jonquilyst @igotsnothing @morgynemberisagenderfluiddaddy @invisiblequeen @seyvia @estah @upstated @adoringsentiment @plumbboo @simbico @obsoletepixels @falsetochild

[poolboyservice]

Y'all I just found out you have to be at least 25 to be a priest, that means that Gerard Way could have 100% tried to become a priest in 2002 just for fun while they were making I Brought You My Bullets

[baronessvonglitter]

I read so many fics over the holidays and found great new (well, new to me) authors. Starting next month I'll be doing monthly fic recs instead because whoa.. this is a lot ❤️

Please take time to read these stories, and others by these creative and beautiful people 💫 And mind the tags, as the majority of these blogs are 18+ and come with their own warnings.

dividers by @plum98 👑

Joel Miller

Borrowed Time by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Joel x f!reader

Darkest Desires by @myownwholewildworld ~ Boston QZ!Joel x f!reader.

Fade Into You by @probablyreadinsmut ~ Joel x Afab! Reader

Girl Dinner by @slimybeth69 ~ kidnapped!Joel x isolated&unhinged&potentially crazy!reader

A good grade by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Perv Art Professor!Joel x afab!reader

Guilty Pleasure by @for-a-longlongtime ~ dbf!Joel x reader

A Hell of a Morning by @aurorawritestoescape ~ Stepdad!Joel x f!reader

It feels like hope by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Hot Priest!Joel x f!reader

Lock the Gate by @almostfoxglove ~ Joel x f!reader

The Older One by @frannyzooey ~ Joel x f!reader

Overloaded by @katiexpunk ~ Joel and Tommy Miller X fem!Reader

Pregame Play by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x reader

Seeing Pink by @gutsby ~ Joel x Reader

Texas Red by @studioghibelli ~ Joel x reader

this one thing you did by @joelscruff ~ Joel x f!reader

Three Strikes by @maiamore ~ Joel x f!reader

Unwrapped by @sunshinehaze1 ~ Joel x f!reader (f. Marcus Acacius & Lucilla Aurelius)

The Warden by @arcanefox207 ~ GameWarden!Joel x F!Reader

you got me thinkin' nonsense by @joelmillerisapunk ~ Dbf!Joel x F!reader

Dave York

In Vino Veritas by @yxtkiwiyxt ~ dave x f!reader

The Lonely Space Between Floors by @morallyinept ~ Dave x F!Reader

One Day at a Time by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dave x Female Reader

A Quiet Neighborhood by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Dave x f!reader

The Road Not Taken by @guiltyasdave ~ Dave x f!reader

Under False Pretenses by @joelalorian ~ stepdad!dave x f!reader

Javier Pena

How could you love somebody like me? by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ f!reader x Javier

Lost and Found by @oliveksmoked ~ Javier x f!reader

A New Year's Distraction by @lotusbxtch ~ Javier + f!Reader

Pump by @morallyinept ~ Javier x GN!Reader

Marcus Pike

Merry Christmas, baby by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Marcus P x f!reader

Sign Here, Please by @inept-the-magnificent ~ Marcus P X f!Reader

Dieter Bravo

A Better Man by @drewharrisonwriter ~ Dieter x reader

Din Djarin

Best Kept Secret by @lincolndjarin ~ bodyguard!din x princess!reader

Pero Tovar

Baron Tovar Takes a Wife by @604to647 ~ Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero x fem!reader

Confession by @sawymredfox ~ Pero x fem able-bodied reader

Marcus Acacius

Searching for the Stars Pt. 2 by @the-mandawhor1an ~ Marcus A x f!Reader

Frankie Morales

Extra cream and sugar by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ Frankie x f!reader

Multi/Other

Blackmail by @milla-frenchy ~ Javier Pena x fem reader x Joel Miller

Cosmic Love by @kedsandtubesocks ~ Marcus Acacius x F!Reader x Marcus Pike

Datura by @suzdin ~ Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Don't say a word if this word is not "please" by @itwasntimethatdidit40 ~ General!Marcus Acacius X slave trader!Javier Peña

Fuckboy by @sizzlingcloudmentality ~ unnamed ppu character x f!reader

Paris, Texas by @almostempty ~ Joel Miller x Javier Pena x f!reader

[arcanefox207]

These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed this past month and would like to recommend. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. I am going to be doing a monthly rec list going forward in an attempt to read more and help reblog and support some amazing authors out there. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤

Joel Miller

Feelings on Fire // @pedropeach You're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you.

But He’s The One I Want // @wheresarizona All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

Only then, I am good // @joelsdagger You have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. daddy jackson!joel x f!reader

'Tis thee Season // @joelsdagger You’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together or,  joel fucks you after taking viagra.

Subscribe // @joelmillerisapunk When Joel accidentally stumbles upon your only fans he convinces himself he's only subscribing to help you through college. And then you send him his top-tier subscriber personal video and he's fucked because you don't even know it's him your dad's best friend

Inhale, Exhale // @sp00kymulderr This world is not made for intimacy and both of you know it.

Dance With Me, Darlin' // @milla-frenchy You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel

San Angelo // @macfrog It's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, Joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar where fate delivers him to you.

General Marcus Acacius

Prima Nocta // @fuckyeahdindjarin Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Fit For A Goddess // @ozarkthedog You wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

Ezra

Little Wren // @schnarfer Wild. West. Priest. Ezra. That’s it, that’s the idea.

The Beast Within // @aurorawritestoescape Trekking the Green with his new partner, Ezra is overtaken by his need to have you. While you sleep in the camping tent, the animal within Ezra pushes him to act on his desires. Little does he know, you’ve wanted him as well.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

Nut vid with the sound on // @syd-djarin You accidentally send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

Javier Pena

Office Hours // @itwasntimethatdidit40 You should concentrate on work. But you can't do that with the charming bastard you share the office with in front of you. Why not find a more fun way to spend your office hours?

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika 🖤

[denimbex1986]

“Is this real?”

The connections to our past can be tenuous, where we lose grasp of even simple memories or they can tether us to them in a way that those foundational moments keep us from achieving any level of personal growth. How often do we get to revisit or relitigate our past and if given the chance, would we?

In Andrew Haigh’s electrifying new film, All of Us Strangers, we’re introduced to Adam (Andrew Scott), a late 40’s film and television writer living alone in a seemingly deserted high-rise on the outskirts of London. He’s working on a script about his working class parents set in the 1980s but can’t seem to get past INT. SUBURBAN HOME. He obsessively watches Top of the Pops, listens to Frankie Goes to Hollywood and attempts to conjure up inspiration by looking at old family photographs of him and parents, who both died in a car accident when Adam was 12. Loosely adapted from Taichi Yamada’s Japan-set 1987 novel, Haigh switches up gender, location and sexualities for his most ambitious film to date – a love story, a ghost story and a story of letting go.

During a fire alarm in his apartment complex, Adam spots a figure multiple floors up who has yet to come down and join the meager amount of people who populate the massive building. Soon enough the mysterious stranger appears at his door in the form of Harry (Paul Mescal), bottle of Japanese whisky in hand, making a very forward pass at Adam, who politely rebuffs the advances of the younger, attractive but slightly creepy stranger. Imagine saying no to Mescal? Couldn’t be me, but I digress.

The casting of Mescal, who is absolutely incredible here, is quite perfect and almost eerie. There is a sense, if you’re an adventurous viewer, that All of Us Strangers could be a bit of a spiritual sequel to last year’s Aftersun, featuring Mescal’s Oscar-nominated turn. There isn’t a literal connection between the films other than Mescal but it’s enough to imagine a cinematic universe where they are, especially for a metaphysical and metaphorical story like this.

And it is the metaphysical and metaphorical returning to his childhood home that gives Adam’s story its weight. His nostalgic thoughts of his dead parents begin to consume him and something shifts when he takes the train back to his hometown. Between the subtle cues of Emilie Levienaise-Farrouch’s reflective score and the hazy allure of cinematographer Jamie Ramsay’s 35mm lens, we’re ever so subtly taken back 30 years, where Adam’s parents (sublimely played by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) haven’t aged since their death, with Adam now older than both of them. Their reunion is almost sheepishly cute at first. “Is that him?, Mum asks. “That’s him,” confirms Dad. But it’s also a reunion painted with challenges as Adam still needs to come out to both of his parents (in separate visits). First is Mum, who is as curious as she is disappointed. “It’s a sad life, isn’t it?” she laments and there will probably be several people who will hear those words and they will sting as hard now as they did before, a common refrain from parents at that time (my husband’s mother said this to him verbatim). Foy is exquisite here though, her teased perm and emerald green tracksuit speaking in a contemporary language for the time as much as her words do. When Adam asks his mother “Is this real?” she responds with “I don’t know. Does it feel real?” It does, it is, as Haigh doesn’t present anything in these interludes as supernatural or what we’ve come to expect from a ‘ghost story.’ It’s as real as anything and it both scares and pushes their honesty to unguarded places.

But it’s Adam’s conversation with his Dad that will open the water works (at least they did for me), as Adam details hiding in his room after being bullied at school all day. Dad never asked why and Adam never told why and for the same reason; “I probably would have been one of the ones who bullied you,” Dad says, confirming Adam’s feelings. But Dad, at least this version of him, is far more open and accepting, bringing Adam to tears and most definitely this viewer. As I watched this through saturated eyes, I wondered what I would say to my father, who died when I was 21. We had a very severed relationship and I never officially came out to him in any way (my mother would tell me much later that when I was 3-years old my father said to her “he walks like a faggot”) and if I could find some type of closure to an open wound that’s been there for as long as Adam’s. Do I even need it? I think one of the great powers of storytelling can be two-fold; it can certainly inspire you to do or say something in your real life but simply seeing it onscreen, feeling heard and understood, a vicarious experience can be a shockingly healing salve. My apologies to anyone who sat near me at the Herzog as I was inconsolable in my own moment of self-reflection and memory. It can’t be overstated that Bell and Scott are transcendent in this moment; we’ve associated Scott with his “hot priest” character from Fleabag and as Moriarty in the Benedict Cumberbatch-led Sherlock series, but his vulnerability in this scene is shattering. For Bell, we’ve literally watched him grow up on film, from Billy Elliot to now, playing a father doing his best to find connection with his son. It’s a quiet performance, not simply of restraint but one that allows Scott’s Adam to breathe.

Back in London, Harry returns and this time Adam is more malleable and invites him in. The two engage not in simple small talk but in the rooted fear of intimacy and love that was the 1980s, the era of AIDS and wondering if your next hook up or your next (or first, in some cases) would be your last. It’s one of Haigh’s keen powers, understanding the intricacies of interpersonal relationships whether it’s the rawness of HBO’s Looking, the guarded secrets in 45 Years or Strangers’ closest relative, Weekend. The two discuss using ‘gay’ or ‘queer’ to identify themselves and how the generations word use differs, with Adam definitely in the ‘gay’ camp and Harry remarking “queer is like all the dick-sucking is taken out.” The ice is broken at this point (thanks in part to The Housemartins’ “Build,”) melted, and their bodies do too. They quickly fall into a comfort of domesticity, the kind Adam never thought he’d have (“I’ve never been in love,” he admits at one point). A club scene later in the film, where Harry and Adam do ketamine, begins to break the fabric of what’s real and what isn’t as Blur’s “Death of the Party” rages on.

I called the film a ghost story earlier but I don’t want to give the wrong impression of what that means. It’s not a haunting, Adam’s parents aren’t locked between two worlds. It’s actually Adam that is; carrying the pain and trauma from childhood to adulthood and longing for a way to connect in the middle, to keep seeing his parents and also move forward. But “that’s not how this works,” says mum, and we know the final moments between them are near. And indeed, when the time does come and Dad and Mum offer Adam the affirmations that any child would want, but didn’t know they needed until much later, it’s a devastating master class of writing and performance from Scott, Bell and Foy. For many people who grow up gay, the lack of parental support can feel finite, the same as a physical death, an irrevocable separation. What Haigh has created is a portal of sorts, to reclaim our history, if not exactly rewrite it.

Earlier this year, Celine Song’s Past Lives introduced many of us to the Korean concept of ‘in-yun,’ that the people in our past, even if they’ve touched us briefly, have a permanent effect on our lives, on our connectivity. For Adam, his in-yun exists with the brief time he had with his parents, with his flourishing relationship with Harry and what his relationship to himself will be. Despite all of this emotion, as draining as it is cathartic, the film’s breathtaking finale is not something I’ll likely ever forget. Like 45 Years, Haigh knows how to close a film and the final shot of All of Us Strangers will be a part of me forever. Haigh has created a timeless masterpiece and the best film of the year.

Grade: A'

[horrorfilmgifs]

Am I going crazy or is Frankie hitting on a priest?

Stigmata (1999)

[majestick-posts-op]

Op characters if I forced them to do my latin homework (i swear its not because I'm procrastinating on it. I've finished it)

Self explanatory but I'll elaborate:

Mother tounge latin: Olvia and Robin both spoke multiple languages and have an affinity for old texts.

Could do it no problem: Most of the people here have shown to be very smart. Kuma is a priest, he knows his latin. Law was raised catholic. Katakuri can look into the future to see any mistakes he will makeand avoid them. (Counts as cheating but whatever)

Takes a while but good: Same as before. I think Sabo would be good at latin but get bored as hell and zone out during the translation. Brook was best buddies with Virgilius back in his day.

Barely passes: Franky is impatient, he wont look at all the possible word's meanings and get plurals messed up. So will Sanji. Garp gets the construction rules messed up.

Cries but manages: Cora is smart, but emotional. Kin in the kind of guy who gets a 10 even if he hasn't studied and Koby worries too much. Usopp is great but refuses to believe in his abilities.

Cries but doesn't manage: Sugar would trow a tantrum and give up, Helmeppo would faint. Kaku can declinate the word "giraffe" and nothing else. Sorry hachi.

Tears it up: Kidd has anger issues, Arlong can't do shit unless its Nami translating it for him.

Writes bullshit: Bege is too overworked and tired to care. Kizaku thinks latin is below him. Moria didn't do it on purpose.

Leaves it blank: Krieg and anyone affiliated to him is uncapable of even trying, Perona gets too frustrated. That old man got blocked 10 years on a pair of sticks, you expect him to know latin.

Eats the paper: No explanation needed.

Kills Virgilius: Roger has everything except the skills and Ace must have gotten it from somewere. Zoro just wanted to score higher than Sanji and his friends copied from him. The other 3 would kill Virgilius anyway.

Makes latin illegal: Akainu is a bastard who can't accept his mistakes and so is Vergo.

Cheats (no one finds out): Teach and his crew are smart but they take the chaotic neutral route. Nami could do it just fine but she likes scamming the professors. Shanks learned a trick TM. Never mess with Laboon.

Cheats (they found out): Kuro fought he was being cunning and so was Foxy. Hody ate his dictionary before taking the test.

Changes the rules of latin: Enel was himself, Cabagge thinks he can do no wrong, Cesear.... had a vision. Buggy actually did it to make Shanks fail. Jangoo was either gonna do this, or brainwash the teacher. Doffy shot the one that handed him his version back (face down). Hawkings had a 0% change of passing but with this it went up to 2%.