#put him in a room with a priest for five minutes

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

Obviously the structure of an episodic series often requires characters to go from 'complete strangers' to 'close friends/family' in an unusually short amount of time. I get it.

Writers need a 'new guy' in the group to ask questions about the setting that the audience can't, but still (especially in comedy shows) want the fun dynamics that come from all the main cast knowing each other super well. It's one of those functional tropes like L-Shaped Blankets where you're required to suspend your sense of disbelief.

Having said that, I love when writers choose to take this trope and retroactively justify it by later on revealing that the Seemingly Normal Everyman Character is actually as unhinged as the rest of the group— it's just that their weirdness manifests specifically as an ability to form found family dynamics with literally any group they join, almost immediately after joining.

Like, you assumed that they just fit in so well because your group has a special vibe, but then you accidentally left them in the supermarket for like five minutes and by the time you realised and went back they were already Blood Brothers with the cashier.

Characters who are like friendly dogs in that you can put them essentially anywhere, with anyone, and they will just be like “welp! Guess this is my New Family now” and just go along with it.

[nicholasgoodgirl]

sin? maybe - father charlie

summary: your priest takes you home and it leads to other things

warning: p in v, oral (m receiving), face fucking, after care, virginity loss.

a/n: chat idk how to feel abt this at all and am too scared to read it back. i swear if i spelling his name wrong the whole time. im deleting this acc off the face of the earth

3:23pm

you were waiting in the rain; unbothered than anything. but there was no denying the tempeture change as the rain continued it was beginning to become unbearable. five minutes turning to ten, ten turning to fifteen. your mom still never came

you walked back into the church drenched from all the rain. your white dress sticking to you, it was still cold in the church nonetheless.

"y/n?" you turn around to your name being called "what are you still doing here?" father charlie asked.

"oh my mom never came to get me" she probably drank to much and passed out somewhere, it was embarrassing to admit but thats the only reason you went to church, so you can be far from her and to be nothing like her.

"you're all wet. how long have you been out there?" you shrug at his question. he tilted his head in observation looking you up and down; his eyes lingering longer on your breast.

that would have normally made you uncomfortable if it were anyone else, but it was father charlie and everyone knew him as the 'hot priest' and they weren't wrong either.

he clears his throat "uh I'll give you a ride home" he gave you a quick smile then grabbed his keys off the alter and on the way out grabbing his umbrella.

he put his hand on your lower back guiding you under the umbrella. he gave you the keys so you can unlock the car "why don't you start the car up while you're at it"

"oh i dunno how" you declined the offer politely but he insisted that you did it anyways so he can hold the umbrella for you.

you open the car door and bend over putting the upper half of your body inside the car and trying to start it up like that instead of actually sitting down. the key wouldn't really turn so you put your knee on the seat getting into the car more. while doing this you could gradually feel your dress raise. something in you just knew he was looking up your dress

you give up "i can't get it to start" he lets out a low chuckle and takes the keys from you and gestures for you to get out the car. you hold the umbrella while he gets in the car to start it up. the engine cuts on and he takes the umbrella from you and walks you to the passanger side and shuts the door behind you.

--

3:34 pm

in the car everything he did and had in his car intrigued you. the way he drives with one hand on the wheel and the other hand rested on his leg. the blankets he had in the backseat, the rosemary cross that was hanging from the rearview mirror

"whats your house adress?" he questioned parking at the stop sign, waiting for your answer.

you shrug again "you don't know where you live?" he probed. you did but it was embarrassing to think about how if your moms boyfriend saw you with a guy he would beat you.

"do you wanna come to my house instead" his question was almost hesitant but i accepted the offer with a smile.

--

4:01 pm

his house was nothing fancy, the aura of the place was comforting. he started a fire in the fireplace and it set a more warm tone in the room.

"you can use my shower. just walk down the hall, it's to your right. I'll bring you a warm towel and clothes"

you walk down the hall and take a turn to the right and find his bathroom. it was definitely not like the bathroom at your house. it was clean the, the scent of father charlie lingered.

you undress then walk over to the shower putting it on hot. a couple minutes into the warm water hitting your body changing your body temperature from cold to warm there was knocks at the door.

"It's unlocked!" i yelled from the shower. and the door opens "i have no actual clothes that you would probably wear to bed but you can wear one of my shirts" ,,don't even worry about it" you reassure

it didn't matter to you, you actually liked the idea of prancing around in that mans shirt. you couldn't forgive yourself for how bad you wanted him to fuck you in the shower.

"well call me if you need anything" he opens the door to leave out. "wait!- wait.. father charlie"

"you can just call me charlie" he corrects. "could you maybe talk to me about your day or anything i don't wanna be alone right now"

you could hear father charlie chuckle at the question "sure. why not"

he began talking about his day while i cleaned myself off. he went into detail about how he made his breakfast and how precise everything had to be. meanwhile i just couldn't get the thought of him talking me through sex.

"you're doing so well"

"how does that feel"

"you need me to slow down" the thought didn't stop it felt so wrong but you needed him. you were giving him hums to let him know you were still listening.

you turn the water off "can you hand me my towel" your hand reaches out of the curtain and you can feel the towel being placed in your hand "thank you"

"can i-" he was cut off by you walking out the shower with just your towel on. he cleared his throat "I'm gonna go" he reached for the door but you grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"will you stop it" he snaps. both his hands grab your arm "stop! im trying so hard not to sin but for fucks sake you're making it nearly impossible"his words comes flying out faster than you could process

"oh.." you mumbled. "y'know we can do something about your little problem" you look down at the buldge in his pants.

he wasnt wearing his vestmant anymore he was just in a black button up with some black formal pants making it more noticeable.

"fucking hell" he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "such a slut. i thought you would have been good. looked so pure" he spat almost like it wasn an insult. "guess not"

"have you ever touched youreslf?" the question wasnt one you would like to answer cause you always felt shame afterwards but nodded anyways avoiding eyes contact; not proud of your doings.

"of course you do" he breathed out "on your knees" ,,what?" you question unsure if you heard him right

"baby you have been so sweet to me so far and I'd hate it if i have to repeat myself"

you drop to your knees and he unbuckles his belt not breaking eye contact with you once. father charlie pulls his pants down and his underwear.

you grab his dick and put it in your mouth. hallowing your cheeks out "look at you taking me so well" he tangles his hand in your hair, grabbing ahold of it and pushing your head forward causing you to gag; you could feel him touching the back of your throat.

"lord please forgive me" he whispered so low it's a suprise you even heard the words come out his mouth

at this point he was just fucking your face, he was watching as his cock disappeared into your mouth. after a while your eyes began to water.

he pulls you away from him "stand up" ,,did i do something wrong?" you ask, letting your towel drop, standing to your feet. wanting to fix any mistake you made along the way. "no sweetheart, you did just fine i just wanna be inside you instead"

he turns you over but you weren't as thrilled about this as he probably was. you were a virgin and too scared to tell him.

he bends you over the counter and you grab ahold of it for support. he lines himself up with you and pushes in

"so fucking tight" he groaned. "wait-" you hit the counter top with your hand "please just wait" you whine

he stops what he's doing and waits for your signal to go "you can move.." my words come out sounding almost strangled.

he pushed in and out of you and for a second you can hear his breath hitch "are you on your period?"

"what!? no" you look behind you and see his lips slowly curl into a smirk "you're a virgin aren't you?" ,,mhm" you nod "even better" he gloated

you could feel his dick hit a spot that made your toes curl. the burning sensation goes away with each rut. you let a few whimpers slip and a grunt with every thrust; your body jolting forward.

he gripped your hips tightly to allow himself to pound into you. you could have sworn you felt his tip hit your cervix.

the sounds of skin slapping against eachother flooded the bathroom "you're such a slut. letting your priest fuck you over a bathroom counter"

he pulled your hair back putting you into a deeper arch, to hit your sweet spot. a guttural moan leaves your lips "oh fuck" you moan.

father charlies hand goes down to your clit rubbing firm circles, sharp uneven breaths pulled through you as you could feel your orgasm approching.

with no warning his warm seed coats your insides, as he rides out his high. his fingers continues to rub in circular motion which makes you finish next; unfolding right there.

you hold his hand to stop him. "im done i can't take anymore" you whisper.

"im sure" he pulls out letting a hiss escape, then walks over to the shower and letting the water run again. the both of you get in and shower together.

he got done before you and while you were still getting clean he made you a snack.

--

5:59 pm

you two were laid in bed. your head resting on father charlies chest while he traces light shapes on your skin.

"what do i tell my mom" you ask. "whatever you want sweet girl" he kissed your head. what were you gonna tell your mom, you were with another man in his shirt. and overall he's the priest of the church you go to.

[damiansgoodgirll]

decided to put this four requests together as they were kinda similar and i had an interesting idea! hope you don’t mind!

damian priest x reader / rhea ripley x reader (platonic) / the judgment day x reader (platonic) / jey uso x sister reader

likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

‼️ brief mention of panic attack, typical wwe violence, angsty and some feels

i’ll look after you

you were currently stressing backstage because your brother had an important match later that night and he wanted you there to support him. it was probably the only monday off of raw that you had and yet, your older brother insisted that you were there for him.

but now you were completely paralysed in front of the small tv screen in your locker room as you saw your best friend rhea and your crush damian priest getting destroyed by the new judgment day.

it was okay until the five of them attacked rhea’s injured leg and damian tried to shield her with his bigger body.

“oh my…” your brain went in autopilot mode. you had to do something. you ran out of the room, ignoring your brother’s calls and sprinted towards the arena.

everyone cheered when they saw you, making the judgment day stop their actions. even if you wanted, you knew that you wouldn’t have been able to stop them. it was you against all of them. that’s when liv got out of the ring and faced you. you had a dark smirk on your face that made liv shiver and before dom or anyone else could do something to stop you, you grabbed her hair a shoved her against the metallic stairs, making her yelp in pain.

dom saw that and while finn and the rest of the team continued their beating on damian, liv was crying on the ground, making dom shove you to the side so he could help her out.

jey saw everything from his changing room. and when he saw dom putting his hands on you, he couldn’t stay there and watch, he knew he had to do something. so he grabbed the first chair he could find and he run towards the ring, making everyone stop their actions on damian.

when the group left, smirking as if they won, you joined your brother inside the ring. you saw him holding rhea’s hand, comforting her and whispering soft words as she was in very much pain. your attention went to damian, who was clearly in pain too.

“hey…” you knelt down next to him “you’re okay…i promise you” you took his face into your hands and gently caressed his cheeks “i’m here…we’re gonna help you…”

“y/n…” damian’s broken voice called you “you shouldn’t have put your health at risk for us”

“i wanted to…” damian looked into your eyes as you said those words, seeing how genuine you were being.

“you’re crazy hermosa…” he whispered, making you chuckle a little. with his face still in your hands, damian took that as an opportunity and gently kissed your hands “thank you…this mean so much to me”

“you don’t have to thank me…” you smiled “we are gonna help you…”

and so, while jey was helping rhea, you were trying to keep damian on his feet, aiding him towards the backstage. his hand on your hip made you shiver but that was no time nor place to think about the effect that damian had on you.

you both let them sat while medical staff checked on them.

“what took you so long!” you whispered to your brother, slightly punching him in the stomach.

“woah! calm down sis! i don’t know…i wasn’t thinking when everything happened” he whispered back.

“your girl is getting beaten by five people and you weren’t thinking?”

“she’s not my girl…” he pouted, making you smile.

“yeah sure…” you smirked.

a couple of minutes later, medical staff told you that there were two ambulances waiting for them outside and that you could go with them if you wanted to.

jey wanted to but he had a match later that night so he told that he would have gone after the show, implying that you were free and would have gone with rhea and damian.

you nodded at the medical staff and they let you in the ambulance with damian. rhea was half unconscious and in much more distress that you didn’t want to bother her, knowing that doctors needed to work on her during the ride at the hospital. damian was sat on the stretcher, still in pain but not as bad as rhea was, even if he took more hits than her this time.

you sat next to him as nurses were working on him.

“we have to cut your shirt off sir” one of the nurses told damian. he simply nodded, letting them doing their jobs.

you tried to look away as damian was sitting half naked next to you. he saw how much you blushed and if it wasn’t for the extreme pain he was in, he would have definitely teased you.

he slightly jumped when one of the nurses touched his red and bruised shoulder “we should help you laying down” she said, making the stretcher more comfortable for damian.

as he laid down, he softly took his hand out, sign that he wanted you to hold him. with a soft look in your eyes, you delicately held his hand, whispering soft words to him.

“you’re okay damian…i’m gonna be here all week if needed to” you said chuckling a little “i’m here for you, always”

“thank you…this means so much for me” he whispered back.

once you arrived at the hospital, both ambulances took rhea and damian in emergency care, leaving you behind. the doctors who took care of them told you that you hat to wait outside for further news but your anxiety wasn’t helping. between not knowing how your brother was doing on his match and having your best friend and biggest crush both under observation, all this stress was taking a big toll on you.

you paced around the waiting room for what it felt like hours. people looking at you, some of them understood your position, others were just giving you weird looks.

you needed to have news about damian and rhea as soon as possible or you were going crazy.

a kind nurse offered you a cup of tea and she helped you sat down in one of the empty chairs in the room. she gave you an understanding nod before going back into emergency.

maybe she was right, you needed to calm yourself. but opening twitter wasn’t helping as all you were seeing on your feed were pictures of rhea and jey as they were holding hands and pictures of you and damian sharing sweet and loving looks.

reading the comments, you agreed with the people who said that rhea and jey were a cute couple. but it felt weird to you that people liked you and damian together too. you knew how his fans were protective of him, especially the girlies who never liked seeing him with friends. you were taken aback from those nice comments towards you.

the tea the nurse gave you helped you relax a little as you close your phone and let your eyes rest for a little. unconsciously you fell asleep, too tired of the events of the night.

a comforting hand gently woke you up, touching your shoulder “hey wake up sis…” your big brother jey softly whispered at you as he was sat next to you.

you yawned a little, opening your eyes “jey…”

“you tired?” he asked and you nodded.

“what time is it? it gotta be pretty late if you are already here..”

jey nodded at you “yeah, i finished the match and went straight here”

the match - you thought. the only reason you were at the arena on your monday off “how did it go? i’m so sorry i fell asleep, i wanted to watch it”

“i won” he said with the biggest grin on his face, almost making you jump in your seat.

“no way! i’m so proud of you! you deserve this! now go get your championship!” you whispered try not to scream as it was pretty late and there were other people around you. your little moment of happiness made him smile.

“ma’am?” one of the doctors that had rhea and damian under observation called you, making you and your brother turn your heads “both miss ripley and mister priest are okay” those words brought you and jey a sigh of relief “they are under medication at the moment but you are both free to see them if you want” you nodded and let the doctor show you rhea and damian’s rooms.

you softly opened his hospital room and you saw him sleeping so you didn’t want to wake him up. you tried to be as more silent as possible as you closed the door and took the seat next to his bed.

about ten minutes later damian tiredly opened his eyes, meeting yours “y/n…”

“hey…” you smiled at him “go back to sleep, the doctor said that you need to rest”

“i wanted to thank you” his raspy voice said “for everything you did today, for me and rhea…”

“shhh…you don’t need to do this and you don’t need to do this now” you moved closer to his bed so now you could grab his hands into yours. he looked at you with such tenderness in his eyes that you felt emotional for a second.

“but it’s true…” his voice raspy but soft.

“damian…go back to sleep”

“i will” he laughed “i’m so tired…remind me to thank your bother too”

“he’s with rhea now” you smiled.

“yeah…they would look good together” he had this tired look on his face that made him look even hotter than he was.

“yeah” you agreed with him.

“i feel like we would look good together too” he said, closing his eyes and smiling at you.

you were taken aback from his words, knowing that it probably was the medication speaking but before you could doubt yourself he spoke again “i’m serious y/n…the way you’re always so kind and supportive with me and rhea…the way you came to me first tonight in the ring…thank you”

you unconsciously smiled at his words “we should talk about this once you’re fully conscious”

“oh we will” he chuckled keeping his eyes closed “i think i love you y/n”

you were lucky he had his eyes closed otherwise he would have bursted out laughing at your speechless face.

“i’m serious…” he yawned “the conversation isn’t over”

“okay…” you whispered kissing his hands again “i’ll be here when you wake up, i’ll look after you damian…”

you kept your promise and waited till he was fully recovered. jey checked on him too and he had the biggest smile on his face when you told him about what damian confessed. he was definitely rooting for you two.

[just-another-personal-side-blog]

Session 0 - Damian Priest x Tattoo Artist

Part 1 of 6

Rating: T

Beta Reader: @jstarr86

“Trust me Dam, she’s the best at what she does. It doesn’t hurt that I’d trust her with my life. You’ve been going on about finally getting that back piece, there’s no one better.” Rhea practically herded him towards what looked like an absolute hole in the wall, his nerves judged it based on first appearance.

“Most of my art was done by her, I’ve been meaning to introduce Dom as well. You got first dibs of course.” She paused at the door giving him a single raised brow, “You do trust me, don’t you Damian?”

Cornered he let out a sigh, it doesn’t hurt to at least take a look to appease her. 

“Fine, after you.” 

A bell above the door could just barely be heard over the heavy rock that beat like a pulse within the confines of the lobby. Framed detailed tattoo sketches hung upon the walls, behind the front desk were a collection of awards and licenses to prove this place was legit. Folders full of premade basic bitch designs sat on the coffee table by comfortable leather chairs, Rhea pressed a button at the front. No sound could be heard but in a span of seconds a young woman came out from the back.

“How can I- Oh! Shit! Rhea! Hey girl! Why didn’t you give me a heads up that you were coming?” Priest looked up from one of the framed pieces he was admiring. Apparently the new arrival hadn’t noticed him from the angle he was standing, not something he was used to given his size. He took a moment to admire the person before him…

Purple faux hawk with an under-fade, full tattoo sleeves on both arms, legs, and back, several piercings both visible and one not, brilliant blue eyes with some intense metallic goth eye makeup and a stunning smile. A pair of fake leather leggings with lace ups on the outside of the legs, a fishnet crop top under a Beetlejuice tank top, tying it all together was a basic durable black dog collar and a pair of Demonia knee length boots.Unlike the blonde Barbie she was finishing up, Rhea’s friend wasn’t stick skinny. She was probably a good size 9 or 10, there was some plump flesh but it appeared to have some sturdy muscle underneath. A full pair of breasts accentuated beautifully with the fishnet, and hips perfect to dig fingers into.

“I brought a friend that I thought you might like meeting, he’s been talking about wanting a new big tat for awhile now. So I told him there's only one person I’d trust with that.” After a moment the girl turned to look at him, there was immediate recognition as well as shock across her features. It was brief and fleeting before putting up a friendly facade.

It took Rhea slapping on the bicep to smack Damian back present, realizing he’d been staring at the artist long after the gal she’d been working on had left happily. Meaning he had given her an intense resting bitch for a good minute now. Incredibly embarrassed Priest offered a hand which she accepted with an impressive firm hand shake.

“You can call me Minnie, only people I like get to use that.” Rhea playful shoulder checked her with a warm smile,

“It’s short for Minerva, her parents were from Athens originally”

“So your namesake is a Goddess of War, seems fitting.” Bright sky blue eyes flicked up from the sketchbook she’d grabbed to start jotting ideas from him. And without pause blossomed like a Sunflower, taking note of the dimple on her right cheek. 

“Best make sure you never get on my bad side, Rhea has some great stories of me chasing off her exes prior to Wrestling. I’m only five years older than her, not to mention like 5 inches shorter even without those elevator shoes she stomps around in.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed that at all. Both of you still don’t have me beat.”

“Well you clearly discovered immortality in high school, because you haven't aged a bit.”

Rhea perched herself on the spare stool in the room, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes as she watched the two getting comfortable with their back and forth.

“What she neglected to mention is the three times she chased them off with a metal bat wrapped in barbed wire and nails welded to it.”

“Jokes on you, I still sleep with that bat beside my bed. Safety first and all that fun stuff. Safer than a machete, I’d rather not accidentally stab myself in my sleep.”

“That’s why we’re best friends.” The Aussie grins before giving Minnie a cheeky wink.

“Why do I feel like I got led into a trap?” She wrinkled her nose at Damian before opening the sketchbook before her.

“You have nothing to worry about Butterscotch, I take my art very seriously. Now let’s start discussing what you’re looking to get and where. I’ll let you know now, that while I’m sure you’re likely VERY blessed… I don’t do anything where I gotta see dick or vag.”

Priest momentarily choked on his saliva while Rhea guffawed in glee. A quick side eye glare at her smothered the sound to a quiet chuckle. Something about her felt like she was messing with the poor Puerto Rican man, akin to a cat staring directly at their owner while pushing a glass of water off the counter playfully.

“You’ve already got plenty of gorgeous pieces on that flawless flesh. What are you thinking of doing?”

No hesitation he pulled his t-shirt up and over while turning to show the empty expanse of his back. Her breath caught audibly, eyes briefly went wide glancing at Ripley wildly. The female wrestler grinned like the Cheshire Cat, watching each interaction with fascination. Plans coming to fruition.

The tattooer bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to focus on what he was actually saying. Once locked in, Minnie began to sketch up fluidly upon paper, at one point he was leaning over her shoulder admiring the work of a talented creative. Bringing his vision to life on the crisp white paper, each description rumbled like incoming thunder located in the man’s voice box. Thank god for hyperfocus cuz lord only knows this was gonna be a genuine challenge for her self-control. All she wanted to do was trace those tattoos on him with her tongue. She had to shake her head to focus back in again, hands working on autopilot, taking in his words with each glide of charcoal across parchment. 

When he finished describing it she looked back up at him with a friendly smile,

“How big are you thinking of making it? So I know what to prepare for, as well as how many sessions to schedule in advance.” He tilted his head in thought momentarily before answering,

“Ideally I’d like it to cover a majority of my back.” She nodded in agreement,

“Alright, I’ve got the sketch started. I'll email you three different versions and you let me know what you like and what you don’t. And if there's aspects you like in one and want to add it to another one, just let me know. This is your tattoo on your skin, I want you to love it decades from now. How’s that sound?”  Damian was genuinely impressed with her professionalism, even as he controls the strong desire to flirt with her. This was a time to behave, she was Rhea’s best friend, and thus not someone to attempt to make any moves towards. 

“That sounds great to me, thanks.” Her smile was so sweet it could have made him diabetic just looking at it. 

“Great. Oh and Rhea, let me know when you want to come in and do those matching ghost tattoos with Dom.” 

“No rush, he’s busy planning his wedding right now so it’s gonna be a bit.”

“Sounds good to me. Now unfortunately I do have another client coming in twenty minutes so I gotta start prepping.” She pulled a business card from her bra, handing it over to Damian,

“My email and personal number is on there in case you think of something you want to add to the tat.Sound good?” Minnie gave a bashful little smile, and it made something deep in his chest want to say something incredibly forward. Rhea snagged him by the elbow, grinning like a cat that caught the canary. 

A nod of thanks was all he got out before being ushered back out, quicker than able to verbalize his appreciation. Ripley called back loudly,

“Thanks love! I’ll make sure he remembers to check his email regularly.” As if he didn’t already do that for work contacts to begin with. Once back in the car Priest gave his companion a look of utter suspicion, he could tell that she had ulterior motives. Nothing vicious or cruel, but she’d tried to set him up on a couple dates in the past, none that worked out. He’s focused on work, most women didn’t appreciate not being number one in his life. It’s been a string of disappointments, to where he bluntly asked Rhea to stop playing cupid. 

“This better not be an attempt at matchmaking again-” She cut him off with a sigh,

“I’ve long accepted that the ball is in your court from now on. I really truly just wanted you to go to an artist I’d trust my life with. She’s a good one, professional, talented, she spent twenty years as an apprentice before taking on her own clients. To top it off, she’s loyal, fun, and could use more genuine friends other than me. Can you blame me for that?” Her tone of voice was honest, after how much time they’d spent together, he could easily tell when she was bullshitting. Damian nodded to her as a show of acceptance to what she was saying. Her attention locked on the drive back to her place, Buddy was gonna get some sparring practice in with the other man. 

His gaze trailed a spot in the distance, trying to keep that woman out of his thoughts… failing miserably. She had such a lovely face, and all the art on display was impressive to be sure. The name Minerva fit her perfectly, especially with how protective she was of the Australian wrestler. It was endearing how she was barely 5’3 and was ready to take on the world to keep her 5’7 well-muscled friend safe. He hadn’t noticed the small smile that spread across his features, but Ripley sure took note of it. Keeping her features stoic while internally she was so pleased with herself. 

She pulled into the driveway where her man was waiting, he waved as they got out of the car. Buddy smiled at them, 

“I’m guessing it went well? Minnie is great at what she does. Rhea doesn’t like to share her with people, so it’s a hell of a compliment she brought you.” She gave him a quick kiss before heading into the house calling back,

“Play nice boys don’t forget the Terror Twins have some matches coming up.”

Damian shook his head w a huff before following the ginger towards their personal gym. Somehow he still had a sneaking suspicion that Rhea was playing a long game now instead of all the quick fruitless dates in the past… The image of Minerva slid by again, and for once… he might be okay with that.

Tagged:

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[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Western Nights.

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.6k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content at the end. talk and themes of PTSD. brief mention of domestic abuse. several mentions of panic attacks. age gap (but all very legal and consensual). smut in future chapters.

Author's Note - it's finally here!! i've had this idea for so long and i'm so glad to finally put pen to paper. the dads best friend trope is one of my biggest weaknesses and javier peña is my favourite character ever, so naturally this was born. this fic will tackle some topics that may be a little tough for some people, so make sure to read the warnings!! can't wait to get this up on its feet and running, and for javi and peaches story to develop <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Healing isn't linear. Recovery is a journey. This is a choice I have to make. No one else can make it for me.

You're repeating reassurances to yourself in your mind as you descend the stairs to the basement.

It's dimly lit, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust. When they do, you're able to make out an old, heavy, oak wood lectern at the front of the room. Rows of flimsy plastic chairs are set almost as an audience, and tables line the edges. The carpet is worn, beige, and stained, the entire space smelling like must and bad coffee. You wonder how many girls like you have stepped foot in here in the past.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your wrists and stick to the back wall, willing yourself to become invisible. Watching as people mill in slowly, you take a deep, steadying breath. In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 6.

"Hi!" a middle aged, dyed blonde, motherly woman screeches at you. The cadence of her voice makes you jump.

"Sorry, sweetpea! Didn't mean to scare you," she looks you up and down before continuing. "You're new here, ain't ya?"

Her southern accent, albeit very high pitched, is somewhat comforting. It's something familiar in this room full of the unknown.

"Yeah," you just about manage to choke out.

She surveys you again, this time with no judgment. You realise she's just trying to figure you out, as you are her.

"If you need anything, just come find me. I'm Primrose."

You smile gently at the floral moniker, and decide that Primrose might be some much needed support. Her motherly aura was calming you ever so slightly.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, if we could all talk a seat, that'd be fantastic."

A tall, curly haired man - who can't be more than 30 - wearing a name tag sticker that reads 'Tobias' has taken his place behind the lectern, gesturing at everyone to sit down. You pick a chair near the back, slouching down and ducking your head.

"Wonderful. Hi, everyone."

A chorus of hellos echoes around the room, everyone clearly used to this routine.

"For anyone who's new here, I'm Tobias, but everyone calls me Tobi. I've been a Priest for the last five years, and I've been running this group for the last two. Usually, how it works is that we get a few people to come up and speak through their experiences."

Your chest tightens, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. As if he sees your panic, Tobi continues.

"Most people find that being able to talk freely and without judgment is a useful coping mechanism. PTSD is complex, and it isn't something that can ever be fully 'cured' - but we can find ways to make things easier. You're in a room full of ladies and gentlemen that might not understand your experience, but definitely understand your feelings."

He catches your eyes across the depth of the room and smiles gently. You muster up the strength to smile back cautiously, and he nods before speaking again.

"Some just come here to listen. Others find it beneficial to talk. No one is going to pressure you, judge you, or scald you. This is a safe space. Share as much or as little as you'd like. Okay?"

Everyone nods and murmurs in agreement. Tobi seems to have a way of reassuring the entire room without really trying. He's calming, tender hearted, genuine. You like him already.

"Who wants to start?"

Primrose shoots up out of her chair on the front row and makes her way to the front. Tobi squeezes her shoulder as she passes, and she beams at him.

"Hi, y'all! I'm Primrose."

The room is clearly familiar with the blonde ball of excitement. Everyone yells greetings at her, her energy almost infectious.

"Most of you know my story, but just in case you don't -"

Her eyes flit to you briefly, and she smiles. You half smile back, relaxing slightly.

"I was in a marriage where I suffered domestic abuse. He used to hit me, manipulate me, call me names. You think it, he did it."

She takes a breath, putting the smile back on her face where it's faltered.

"I have some news to share. I'm engaged!"

A few people jump out of their seats to hug her, congratulating her with pats on the back and yelled excitement.

"Thank y'all, thank y'all! I couldn't wait to tell you guys. I just... I never thought that I could ever be happy again. I certainly never thought that I'd ever find the courage to be with another man, after everything. But I've found someone amazing. And he treats me like a queen. So, to anyone who's new here - it is possible. I promise you. Y'all better help me pick out a dress!"

The room erupts into applause, and Primrose smiles so bright you're surprised the lights don't shatter.

After Primrose, an elderly man named Walter takes the stage. He explains his experience in the military, and the trauma and violence he witnessed for years. You learn that he's a recovering alcoholic, who wasn't had a drink for 9 years. He shakes slightly where he stands, leaning against the cane in his hand. You can tell he's lived through hell.

Finally, after Walter, Tobi stands at the lectern. He's the sole survivor of a car accident that killed his two best friends. After struggling to cope, he turned to God, and became a Priest to better help people just like him in his community. He speaks with such ease, such grace. A wave of calm sweeps over the room as everyone listens intently.

He checks the brown leather strapped watch on his right wrist before clicking his tongue.

"Well, folks, that's all the time we have for today! Feel free to stick around and chat to each other, as always. There's coffee and cookies on the table, and Janet made some of her famous honey loaf too. Thanks for coming. Same time next week?"

Everyone agrees in shouts and thumbs up directed towards the front. Slowly, people rise, stacking their chairs away before making their way over to the table where the coffee sits next to the styrofoam cups.

You remain seated for a little longer, catching your breath. Your teeth are digging into your bottom lip, knawing at it anxiously. You suddenly taste pennies, and lick up the blood quickly with your tongue.

Standing up shakily, you fold your chair at its hinges and add it to the stack at the front of the room. A yawn overtakes you, tiredness suddenly settling into your bones.

Coffee. You need coffee.

You make your way over to the tables, timidly smiling at Primrose as she shows off her ring to a small group of people. Just as you reach over and grab an empty cup, you become suddenly aware of a presence behind you.

"Don't drink that."

A warm, rich, booming voice hits your ears. The large, looming presence comes a little closer, towering over you.

"Trust me, honey. It's the worst coffee you'll ever taste in your life."

You know that voice, it's familiar timbre.

Javier Peña.

You turn around to be met with the sight of him peering down at you intently. He's wearing a flannel and blue jeans, heavy boots on his feet. He smells like musk, sandalwood, and the Texan heat.

God, he looks good. He's strikingly handsome. Objectively attractive. Everyone in your town agrees that Javier Peña is one beautiful man.

And seemingly unattainable. Since leaving Lorraine at the altar years ago, no one has heard any word of Javier so much as dating.

"Such a waste," your mom always says. "Gorgeous man like that. He could have anyone he wants!"

And it's true. Chocolate hair, broad shoulders, strong thighs. The man is a heartthrob.

A heartthrob with a secret, apparently.

"Javier?" you question. "What are you doing here?"

It's now you realise that he's here. At the meeting. You've done such a good job of keeping your head down, going relatively unnoticed. And now, staring down at you, is your dad's best friend. So much for covert.

He must see the realisation on your face. Or maybe he notices the way your breathing quickens. Either way, he places a warm palm on your shoulder, looking at you carefully.

"Hey. It's okay," he reassures. "I won't tell if you won't."

You nod meekly, trying to stay calm. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

The basement suddenly feels too small, too dark, too stuffy. The carpet is too scratchy, the chairs too hard, the table too white. You need to get out before your chest caves in.

"You know, if you still want coffee, there's a diner like ten minutes from here. They do really good pie," Javier tells you, distracting you from your impending panic attack.

You take a breath and nod.

"Yeah. Okay. I like pie."

"Come on," he encourages, gesturing at you to lead the way. "Walk with me."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Javier walk steadily side by side in silence, fingers occasionally accidentally brushing each other. After it happens twice, you decide to put your hands in your pockets the rest of the way, ignoring the warmth that radiates off him.

You eventually arrive at Cherry Pie Diner. The neon sign is blinding, shades of bright pink, yellow and blue flashing and flickering. Inside, the white overhead lights illuminate classic red leather booth seats and waitresses in pinafore aprons.

"Here we are. When you go in, ask for JoJo. She'll take care of you," he winks.

You stand stuck in your place on the sidewalk for a minute, processing his words.

"You're not coming in?"

He seems taken aback by your question. Now he's the one processing.

"You... uh - you want me to?"

"I, uh, yeah. I mean... if you're not busy... I just, uh - nevermind. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"I didn't want to overstep, you know, it, uh- But if it's okay with you... I could do with some coffee."

Javier smiles at you gently, gauging your reaction. When you smile back hesitantly, he pushes open the door to the diner, gesturing at you to head inside.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"What looks good, honey?"

You raise your eyes from the menu you were staring at intently to quirk your brow at Javier.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if anything looked good," he repeats kindly.

"I, um, I'm not sure. What do you recommend?"

"The peach pie," he says without hesitation.

The quick response makes you laugh, the melody of it tugging at Javier's heart strings. He realises, sadly, that he hasn't heard that sound in a hell of a long time.

"Listen, I know it's not anyone's go to," he justifies, "but it's honestly the best thing on the menu. There's nothin' like it."

"Okay," you say with complete certainty. "Peach pie it is."

JoJo is a bubbly, Southern woman with rosy cheeks and a smile that never seems to falter. She takes your orders happily, flirting with Javier like you weren't sat watching, confusion and awkwardness plastered across your face.

"You two seem close," you approach gently, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, I know her husband. JoJo's been serving me here for at least 10 years. Peach pie, every time," he laughs.

"I'm usually a cherry pie girl. Maybe you'll convert me."

You both sip steadily at your coffees, humming in contentment at your first bites of pie. Halfway through your slice, you break the silence.

"Okay, fine. This might be the best pie I've ever had."

"I told you," he smirks. "I'll never lead you wrong, honey. Promise. Not where pie is concerned, anyway."

You finish off your slices in comfortable quiet, neither of you quite sure what to say next.

"So, uh... about tonight..." you begin nervously.

"I won't tell anyone I saw you, cariño. I swear."

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Javi. Really."

Javi. The nickname so rarely used, it makes his heart stutter for a second.

"You're... you're not gonna ask what I was doing at that meeting?"

He tilts his head slightly, gazing at you carefully before replying.

"If you wanted to tell me, you would. I'm not gonna push you. These things take time."

He smiles like he knows. You think, maybe, he does.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, sweetheart."

A breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"Was that your first meeting too?"

He shakes his head, soft curls rippling.

"I've been going for a few months. I sneak out of town every week, so I'm pretty sure Chucho thinks I'm having a secret love affair. He doesn't ask questions."

You both laugh, and JoJo's head whips up, her curiosity peaked. She's never heard Javier laugh like this. Sure, he chuckles at her jokes, but the sound doesn't usually reach the corners of the room like that.

"He'd probably love it if you were, you know. Your love life is often a topic of conversation in my house, among many others in our neighbourhood."

He scoffs, and kicks your foot under the table teasingly.

"Man, nothing happens in that damn town, does it?"

"Nothing at all. Think we're overdue a secret love affair from you, Mr Peña. It might liven things up a little."

"Shut it, you," he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater back down over your wrists again.

"I haven't seen you in a while. Think my dad is starting to get worried, you know."

A deep crease appears between his brows abruptly, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I've just been busy, I guess. Tryna sort my shit out," he snickers dryly, no real humour in it.

"So did you do it?"

"Hmm?"

"Sort your shit out?"

Now he laughs genuinely, bright smile gracing his cheeks.

"Absolutely fucking not."

"Man, I know the feeling," you reassure.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your breathing speeds up slightly, eyes darting around the room. Javier notices, reaching across the booth to grab your hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing comforting patterns on your skin. You take a deep breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"I feel like... like I'm... uh...," he nods at you reassuringly, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "I feel like I'm drowning. I'm barely keeping my head above water at any given moment. And I'm tired, Javi. Fuck, I'm tired."

A warm, salty tear escapes you, running down your cheek. Javi leans forward and brushes it away with his thumb, big brown eyes never leaving yours.

"It's okay, cariño. You're okay," he murmurs. "I get it. God, I get it."

"You do?" you sniffle.

"I do," he confirms. "More than you could ever know. And I know how lonely it feels. But I promise you, sweetheart. You're not alone. Not anymore."

His voice is like warm honey, soothing and golden. It melts into you, releases some of the tension from your shoulders. The tightness in your chest loosens slightly, and you take a deep breath. You find the courage to look at him again, and find that he hasn't taken his eyes off you once. His gaze is like an anchor, tethering you to reality. You surprise yourself by not wanting to shy away from the intensity of it. No, you want more.

Javier lets go of your hand to trace his fingertips up your forearm. He draws patterns carefully, as if he's learning every inch of you, committing you to memory. Like he isn't sure when he'll get to touch you like this again. If he'll get to touch you like this again.

You're still looking at each other, neither of you gathering the courage to look away. It's as if Javi is reading the words off the very surface of your soul. You're not sure you've ever felt so understood in your life. It terrifies you.

Without thinking, you grab a hold of Javier's hand and raise it to your lips, kissing each of his knuckles gently. The tenderness makes his heart ache.

"Hermosa," he sighs almost wistfully.

The sound of his voice snaps you back to the present moment.

"I'm sorry," you stutter, letting go of him. "Fuck, Javi, sorry. I don't - oh, I... fuck."

"Why do you do it?" he asks.

"Do... do what?"

"Apologise for everything. Every other word out of your mouth is 'sorry'," he chuckles affectionately.

"Sorry," you mumble without thinking. You pause, registering your words. The two of you break out into laughter, clutching at your stomachs.

"Are you?"

"Am I...?"

"Are you sorry? Or do you just say it because you think people want to hear it? You can't apologise for your entire existence, cariño."

You look into those warm, chocolate eyes, and realise he's read you for filth. He's right.

"I'm not sorry," you whisper.

He quirks a brow and nods attentively, urging you to continue.

"For... for what I just did. I'm not sorry."

You're praying that he understands what you're trying to say. I'm not sorry for my tender gesture. I'm not sorry for this connection we've made. I'm not sorry for my soft heart.

"I'm not either," he replies, barely above a murmur. You hear him, clear as day.

You reach out, this time, and interlock your fingers with his across the table. His large hand envelopes yours, and he squeezes. It effects you more than it probably should.

JoJo drops a plate behind the counter, the red and white china shattering across the checkerboard floor. The smash snaps you both out of the moment, making you jump. Your heart kicks into overdrive, battering against your ribcage.

"Hermosa, it's alright. Just a plate."

You hear him, but your nervous system doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths become laboured and frantic, and your hold on Javi's hand tightens almost painfully.

"Come on, Peaches, let's get out of here. It's getting late."

Javier stands from his bench seat and pulls you up with him, never once removing his fingers from where they're locked with yours. He shoots a smile over to JoJo, who returns it with glee. The two of you walk across the parking lot, hand in hand, illuminated by the neon light of the diner's sign. The colours dance across Javier's cheekbones, reflecting off the brush of his mustache, painting the rich brown warmth of his hair. He's never looked more handsome.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Peaches."

"Hmm?" Javier asks from where he's leaning against the side of your car, back in the church parking lot.

"You called me Peaches. In the diner."

He nods, smirk etched on his streetlit face.

"Because of the pie."

"Because of the pie," he echoes.

"I like it," you confess quietly. "Peaches."

Javier pushes off the vehicle and stands, towering over you. Without a second thought, he brushes a thumb over your cheekbone in a featherlight touch.

"Sweet like peaches," he murmurs. "Too fuckin' sweet for a world like this one."

You look up at him, breath catching in your throat when you meet his eyes. He's gazing at you with adoration. With tenderness. With so much softness. Your knees go weak with the weight of it all.

It hits you, suddenly. The realisation.

You want to kiss him.

You want to kiss Javier Peña.

You want to kiss him more than you've ever wanted to kiss anyone in your entire life.

You're stood in the parking lot of a church on the outskirts of town with your dad's best friend and you're feeling the closest thing to happy you've felt in months.

You take a step forward, closing the gap between you. The warmth radiating from the older man settles itself in your bones, shielding you from the chill of the night. Just as you tilt your face up towards his, your phone buzzes.

Jumping apart as if you've been caught, you check your messages with shaky hands.

"It's my mom. She thinks I'm with a friend, so she's just checking in. She doesn't like it when I drive in the dark."

The mention of your mother snaps Javier out of his peachy haze.

"You should get back, cariño. It's late. Sorry for keeping you."

"Now who's apologising for no reason?"

He laughs, and you feel like you've won a gold medal. An achievement in its own right.

You climb into the drivers seat of your car, starting up the engine. Just as you're about to leave, Javi taps on the window. You roll it down.

"Same time next week, Peaches?"

"Same time next week, Javi."

You drive away with a smile on your face and a warmth in your stomach, the taste of peach still lingering on your lips. You notice that Javier drives behind you steadily, following you carefully to make sure you get home safe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're staring at the ceiling.

You're plagued by insomnia.

According to the Internet, it goes hand in hand with your PTSD. You make a mental note to work up the courage to ask Tobi about it in the next meeting.

You lie in bed, watching as the sunlight slowly illuminates the room. Usually, you'll make a cup of tea, read a book, watch a TV show. Pace around the room like a caged animal. Count sheep. Do yoga. Listen to music.

Tonight, you take a different approach.

Tonight, you slip a hand under the waistband of your underwear, and replay the way Javi murmured your name in the diner on repeat.

It does the trick.

@frogers @farintonorth @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedrobaby @grace46 @harriedandharassed

[edgessunflower]

Safe word

For @romanthereigns

Pairing: Finn Balor x Fem reader x Damian Priest

Description: When things become too much you get scared and use the one word that will stop things in a second leading to the boys feeling bad

"Look at you so quiet" you look around considering you had a blindfold on and your hands were tied to the bedframe feeling hands on your body. The three of you had been flirty the whole night even when the cameras were around and in front of Dom and Rhea who knew the three of you were together but didn't really see the three of you flirt that much around them even when the five of you hung out on your days off there wasn't a lot of flirting that they could see or notice, things grew when Finn cornered you near the bathroom placing a heated kiss on your neck even sucking on your neck before leaving followed by you sneaking inside the locker room where Damian was as the other three were getting food from catering sharing a passionate kiss "Wait til later in our hotel room we'll have some fun then" you felt a twinge of excitement run through you as you and him talk before all their matches leading to dinner before quickly the three of you locking your hotel room door and stripping each other in between the touches and kisses between the three of you before this moment now un cuffing you from the bed frame only to be sat up and re cuffed feeling hands on your thighs running your hands through hair feeling by how short it was that it was finn while damian was slowly pushing in you which hurt a little before pleasure rushed through. As the next few minutes pass a feeling of dread, a little bit of fear, and being overwhelmed washed over you as the pleasure changed to pain and overstimulation that made you feel panicked trying to free your hands "Aw trying to get away you're stuck here baby" you feel anxiety rush through you as tears flowed down your face and you couldn't breathe feeling your throat burn even trying to use the cuffs to move the blindfold away from your eyes until finally your shaky panicked voice broke through "Pepper pepper PEPPER!" the two immediately stop feeling the sheet underneath you where finn was laying a second ago, you suddenly see the dim light of the lamp and finn takes the cuffs off your wrists immediately crawling back away from them crying "Pepper..." their hearts break seeing you in a ball on the bed before crawling and hiding in the bathroom getting in the shower and quietly sobbing under the warm water before slowly drying off hearing their voices outside carefully putting your ear to the door "God what have we done...she hates us she's terrified" you listen more as you hear how remorseful and guilty about what happened to you slowly unlocking the door coming out seeing them in boxers at the end of the bed slowly grabbing your shirt sticking out of your bag and shorts and hiding in the bathroom coming back out after dressing. You still feel scared as you walk back out with tears down your face tensing when you see their feet in front of you and hands on your shoulders looking at the floor as damian lifts your chin with his fingers "Baby look at us..." you look at them seeing how upset they were "We're so sorry love, we didn't mean to hurt or scare you" they wipe tears away and caress your face before slowly pulling you down to the bed holding you between them whispering to you which makes you feel calm and safe again as you intertwine your hands with their's "I love you boys" you smile seeing finn squeeze your hand placing a kiss on your shoulder while damian kisses your knuckles before kissing your forehead.

[sketchy-rosewitch]

Moonlight Madness: Bo Sinclair x werewolf!gn!afab!reader x Vincent Sinclair

Warnings: slightly OOC Bo, painful transformation, Monster fucking, monster cuddling, PinV, M!Oral, Spit Roast, reader is completely there and able to consent, just can’t talk.

A/N: I dunno why I struggled with this one so much, it’s not my best work.

Haunted Hoedown Day 6

Hoedown Masterlist

Previous: Maybe There’s a God Above: Priest!Bo Sinclair x Nun!Reader

Next: Wolves Eat Bunnies: Rusty Nail x gn!afab!reader

It’s hotter than usual in the basement of the gas station and unfortunately you know why. Your hormones kicked up a ton over the past few days and you knew it would be a full moon tonight.

You struggled against the leather straps on the wrist and let out frustrated grunts. You needed to get out of here.

“BO!” You scream, hearing him upstairs. “BO! BO HELP!”

Your screaming goes on for five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes. Then him and another pair of footsteps, ones you recognize as Vincent’s come down the stairs. The door slams open, almost swinging back into Bo but he stops it.

“The hell do you want?!”

You flinch and then huff. “I need you to let me out. I can’t be in these. Not today, not tonight. Please.”

Bo let’s out a scoff. “I ain’t lettin’ you out. You just got fuckin’ days added for askin’.”

“Please. You don’t understand!”

“I do, you wanna run away. I’m not stupid I’ve been doin’ this for over ten years. You’re not special.”

“No! I promise I won’t please Bo please!” You struggle to move, the rather slides against your wrists causing a huge burn as you let out more cries. “Vincent please can’t you tell him to let me out! Something! You don’t understand! You don’t!”

Vincent just stares at you in silence, you frown and try to break from them. Yet you can’t.

“God, just shut up! You’re not leavin’! For even askin’ you’re not gettin’ no damn dinner tonight!” Bo shouts and grabs Vincent by the arm, dragging him out of the room and yo the stairs. “Damn fuckin’ bitch! Been treatin’ her so well! Now she wants to act fuckin’ ungrateful! I’ll kill her! I will!”

You hear clanging and crashes sounds and let out a whine, sounding similar to a wolf. You smack your head against the chair and squeeze your hands into a fist.

“Please just kill me already then!” You scream up the sewer grate.

-

Sweat drips down your skin as the sun sets. You let it painful grunts and arch your back. Your skin feels sore and bruised.

“Fuck! I fucking hate you!” You growl. Your finger nails slowly turn into claws, they grow and you scream as though they’re being torn from you. Fur grows more and more and you feel your mouth turning into a muzzle.

The leather restraints break and you climb out of the chair, bumping and knocking over objects in your way.

You sniff the air for Bo, he’s near by, so is Vincent. Both of them are running closer. Then must’ve heard you.

You let out a small howl begging for them to come down the stairs. Your large hands reach for the door handle and see that it’s unlocked. Quickly you make your way up the stairs and outside of the gas station seeing a very tiny Bo and Vincent running towards you.

Your figure towers over them as they come up just feet from you.

“Birdie?”

You let out a low whine. Slowly, you get on your knees so you can appear submissive to the two brothers.

Vincent and Bo slowly walk up to you, you bow your head away from them as they try and reach out.

Their rough hands touch your fur petting it softly.

“Well ain’t you beautiful.”

You look up and see Bo smiling, something he hardly did with your stubborn ass. He lifts your jowls and looks at your teeth, his thumbs glide along each of the sharp edges. You open your mouth wide and stick your tongue out, licking his thumb.

You feel another pair of hands glide down your back and feel your tail, causing you to pull away from Bo and look at Vincent. He observes you closely. You can tell he’s taking in every detail of you. Still you move and put your face close to his, licking the wax mask. He holds your face and gives you head scratches.

“So what, you’re some big dog. This why you wanted to get out so bad?” Bo asks. He comes around and holds your paw, looking at your claws, he touches a sensitive part and you move it back and glare at him.

You sniff the air again and glance at the twins. Your nose goes downwards until it hits a bulge in Vincent’s pants, you poke it, the wetness of your nose soaking at jeans slightly. You hear an audible gasp from him and he takes a step back. So instead you go to sniff Bo down.

He has the same issue, a bulge is visible in his jeans and you nudge it, smelling the precum already leaking from him.

“Quit it!” He yelps, in the moonlight you see his face turning a shade of pink.

Instead of listening to Bo you continue to nudge the bulge and even lick it slightly. “Fuckin’ dog! Stop!” His voice cracks slightly making you grumble, you move back over to Vincent and grab him by his sweater, lifting him easily up. Then you grab Bo. Both of them weighing nothing to you.

Bo and Vincent stare at each other in astonishment.

You vary them back into the basement and set them so they’re standing on either side of the bed. You lay on your stomach and continue to sniff Vincent who is leaking through his jeans. You hope they understand what you want.

You can tell you’re soaking by now.

Bo is the first to unzip his pants, you look back and see as he pulls his cock out. His fingers go into your hole and stretch it out. “Holy shit are you tight.” He comments, you let out a whine of pleasure. Then hear as Vincent pulls his jeans down. You take the cock in your muzzle, your tongue licking and curling around it.

Bo pushes into you and groans loudly.

Oh how badly you’ve always wanted this. Bo pulls out and pushes quickly back into you. A whine leaves your throat and he leans over your backside starting to fuck your tight cunt.

Vincent does the same with your mouth, slowly pulling out and fucking back into it, both of them taking turns going in and out of you causing your body immense pleasure.

Small gasps come from Vincent while loud groans come from his twin, both of them are in their own little world grabbing and tugging at your fur.

Your tongue curls and licks the bottom of Vincent’s cock as your pussy pulsates around Bo’s.

When you do this Vincent lets out his first groan and his last as his cums down your throat. He whines and looks at you, bucking his hips as you keep going, overstimulating him until you tip over the edge as well. You mouth let’s go of Vincent and you let out throaty whines. Your cunt and legs spasming, which then causes Bo to cum.

He groans and falls on top of you, his load filling your cunt up fully.

When you come down from your high you pick both of the men up and set them next to each other. Your body curls around them.

It only takes 10 minutes before Bo wants to get up. You growl lowly, not wanting any of them to go anywhere for the rest of the night and he’s right back in his spot.

Around midnight you get up and get food for them, blood drips onto the floor and you drop a deer carcass in front of them then let out a bark.

Bo and Vincent wake up with a start and look at your blood mouth and the deer on the floor. Bo sighs.

“Let’s get it up to the house I guess.”

[bitch-butter]

For the writing meme perhaps a POV!

Per your latest insight on writing web it’d be interesting to see some scenes from any of your series from his pov!

But joe from pretty on the inside would also be a beast from what you’ve shared!

omgg I'll leave the trainwreck!joe pov for a minute and turn to a favorite moment of mine from rivers part five aka beat a slow dance. this happens towards the end of chapter two, and is a scene that lowkey is a very important scene because it's the first time they both really want to tell the other that they love them but realize that they don't actually need to. I loved writing it the first time, I hope this is interesting ~

(there's another scene from this fic that's going to get a reimagining but that one might take an extra minute lol)

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

The night raced through his veins like charging horses, like poisonous sugar making his heart thud in his chest and his body feel hollow and brittle against it. He lay with his eyes shut, but knew sleep wouldn't truly come for hours no matter how Joe demanded he find it. It was just too much, far, far too much as he pictured all of their faces behind his eyes: mother, father, the priest, father, the priest, Philip.

Sighing through his nose, he turned his face into Joe's thigh, doing his best to go empty.

For a while he succeeded, and he found himself dreaming softly in Joe's voice, each sharply refracted image touching his mind softly the way the other man's hands would lay upon him, run through his hair. Nobody had ever been as kind to him. Nobody had ever been as beautiful. He saw Philp again, even as his face was not Philip's, as though from across a crowded room and he regarded him with a peaceful feeling in his heart, as though a dove had landed on the sensation. Smiling, he turned his attention back to Joe - beside him the dream as surely as he was in life - and put his face to the other man's neck.

The dream melted away against him easily, and it was like waking up in a rosebud with no traces of sleep deprivation, no lingering sense of doom. He cracked his eyes open gently with no concept of the hour, face feeling grimy and drawn as his blurred sight landed on Joe's silhouette against the honey light of the lamp, the book still balanced in his hand.

He must have read on after David fell asleep, and he found his heart going soft and warm at the fact.

"What did you think?” he asked, his voice barely a figment. Even still, it drew Joe's eyes down to him, and in this light they were practically black, onyx, precious and dark.

Joe huffed a laugh through his nose. “You’re supposed to be sleeping," he chided, and David fought not to preen at the other man's attention even if it came laced with concern. He was weak for anything Joe would give him.

“I slept,” he said easily, practically a sigh as he rolled onto his back. “Did you like it?”

He knows Joe only barely tolerates his questioning about what he reads, and he does do his best to temper it. Joe can be on guard against ghosts at times, still somehow afraid David is setting him up fore some elaborate joke, and it makes him cagey when asked too many questions. David knows the best way to soothe him is to simply allow him to Be, but then that's never exactly been his strongest skill.

They have such things in common. It's why they work.

Joe closed the book with a gentle sound, setting it aside carefully. “I don’t know,” he said with faux nonchalance, his hands finding David's hair. “I liked her, I think," he said cautiously, running his fingers from David's forehead to the space between his eyes, a simple, soothing gesture that David guessed was more for himself. "But I don’t know if I liked it.”

Humming, David relished in the touch nevertheless, eyes closing against the simple pleasure it brought to him, blood going slow as caterpillars in his veins. “Do you think she dies?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t know,” David replied, unable to deny just how deeply he enjoyed the moments when Joe let him talk about books, about what things meant. “Whenever I read something with an open ending like that I think of why they left it open in the first place.”

“Why do you think?”

Thinking, he blinked slowly up towards Joe. “Why give us the option to hope she lives if she dies in the end?" he asked, voice soft in the quiet of the night, in the gently rush that Joe's hands gave him. "If the story is all about how she’ll never be free in life then why not let her die, why even try to keep her alive?”

Joe frowned down at him, brow furrowed, and David knew he was worried for him. He wished he could tell him that there was nothing to worry about, but it wouldn't have been the truth. Nothing made him want to vanish from the earth like being in his parents house.

“Dark way of looking at it, buddy,” he said, like a hand outstretched. “People like hoping for something, maybe it isn’t actually as open as you say it is.”

“You think Chopin wrote it that way?”

Head tilting, Joe ran his fingers through David's hair once more, and he found his heart and eyes fluttering at once at the touch. “I think she could have lived,” he said, and his smile was a delicate thing, something David was afraid of breaking. “I think she probably died, but who's to say she doesn’t live?”

He was so wise. So good. He was the greatest person David had ever met, and he allowed him so much. Permitted him to be so much. “I think that’s right,” he said softly, eyes drifting back and towards Joe with an opaque clarity.

Joe looked uncertain, his smile wobbling, and David couldn't tell whether he was internalizing David's approval or his own pleasure at it more. “You think?”

God, but he was so dear. So...just so. His grandmother had been right, there were moments when he looked at Joe and words escaped him, when even the deepest parts of himself went still and silent like a forest in winter. There could be no way he could ever adequately express just how much he...

“I love your voice,” he said, finding the sentiment as close as he'd come to just saying the words themselves in many years. “I love it when you read to me,” he added, mouth quivering around the word as though it would sprout wings, fly around the room and refuse to be pulled back into his heart.

Joe had no business looking as surprised as he did. “You do?” he asked, voice stretched with incredulity.

Swallowing, David felt himself nod. “It makes me feel safe,” he admitted, wanting to tell Joe everything he'd ever felt laying in this bed in the long, lonely nights when he was convinced his life would be worth nothing. How even in his wildest dreams he couldn't have created Joe, wouldn't have allowed himself the hope, the courage to dream of someone of his enormity.

“You’re always safe with me,” Joe replied, smoothing his hand over David's hair, easy and sure like he had known just what David was going to say.

He broke somewhere deep inside. “Thank you,” he managed, muscles feeling weak at simply laying there and letting himself be looked at, touched with gentleness.

“For what?”

How could he say? But he must say it, otherwise what if Joe never quite knows?

“For taking such good care of me,” he said faintly.

Joe laughed at him with closed lips, shaking his head and giving David a pitying look. “You’re out of your mind, kid," he said on the edge of a breath, the way he always acted as though being kind was just something people did instead of something eternal, something almost otherworldly and deserving of celebration.

“I mean it, Joe,” he insisted, frowning up at him, unwilling to let Joe escape his gratitude. “I can think of ten guys who would have given up on me.”

Scoffing, Joe bent sharply down from his lean against the headboard to press a dry kiss against his forehead, which scrunched up in response. “Well, I can think of a hundred who would have given up on me,” he countered, his fringe hanging to tickle the point of David’s nose, making it wrinkle as he smiled back up towards him. “We made it through, that’s what matters.”

They made it through. How simple and yet how deep could something be?

He couldn't believe that his life was his life. Couldn't believe that Joe was his and he was Joe's, that whatever it was they had between them was worth bravery, worthy of living. He had wanted this so badly as a child, yearned desperately for love and understanding and kindness and had long disavowed that these things could ever truly be his.

But Joe had given it all to him without asking. David owed him the debt of his heart.

He suddenly, urgently, wanted to say the words.

“Can I say something?” he asks, slow and intentional.

For a moment Joe looked down on him with knowing eyes, as though he could see through to David's brain and see the way his synapses fired, the shape the words were taking before his mouth even tried to make them.

“Don’t," he said simply, mouth soft and smiling, and David huffed in dismay.

“Let me say it,” he insisted.

“Don’t,” Joe rebuked, soft and easy as he petted him.

Rolling his eyes, David did his best to not feel rejected even in the most meaningless way. “You don’t want me to say it," he accused, feeling mean, bristling at the way Joe just laughed at him and pulled gently at his hair.

“I don’t need you to say it, alright?" he said, and if it hadn't been the truth the feeling of dismissal might have lingered long in David's veins. As it was, he felt himself going warm once more, sure enough with the knowledge that it was real. They say the words in different ways every day, sometimes absent of even their voices. He doesn't need to say it. "I know,” Joe said, his voice low and solid, his eyes dark against David's face. “I know.”

David could only look at him, and look, and look. The man of his dreams, the man of his life, the man who made him laugh, and forced him to live with his eyes open. If Joe would just ask him to say it he would, he would, and he might never be able to stop. He reached out for Joe with an open hand against his neck, and Joe came to him smoothly, like it took no thought at all, easing him into a soft, lingering kiss, urging him down until they could embrace each other.

"Do you know?” Joe breathed against him, kissing the corner of his mouth until it turned up in happiness, in an elation that he thought this room might never know.

[sailforvalinor]

See about Tentoorose's wedding, the thing is Jackie Tyler obviously has been planning Rose's wedding since she was like five years old because Jackie never got to have the big fancy wedding she wanted as she and Pete were too poor, and she had this scrapbook-equivalent of a Pinterest board full of ideas for Rose's wedding back at their old flat, but of course she lost that when they got stranded in the alternate dimension, so she's spent the last couple years trying to piece it back together and remember what all was in it in the first place, and when the wedding is on the horizon she refuses to hire a wedding planner because she wants to do it all herself, except she's never been a very good planner and she can't make it live up to her vision and she's desperately trying to remember what all was in that scrapbook, meanwhile Ten has been begging Rose to just elope with him for weeks but Rose refuses because a) it would absolutely break her mum's heart but also b) she secretly has always wanted an extravagant wedding herself, so Ten has to live through the absolute nightmare of Jackie freaking out about what they even put on the invitations ("what am I supposed to do, write "you are cordially invited to the wedding of The Doctor and Rose Tyler"? What are people gonna say to that? "Your daughter is marrying a man named 'The'?") and trying to come up with people to even invite because Ten of course has no one to invite and Rose due to her desperate search for Ten over the past couple years never cultivated any friends except her coworkers at Torchwood, except in inviting them they'd also be in the same room as all of Jackie's friends (which she has inevitably made) and are going to have to keep up the pretense the whole time that they're totally not Rose's coworkers from the top-secret government agency that monitors extraterrestrial activity but instead all work with her at the local department store or something, and after all this, the wedding ends up going exactly as you'd expect--the venue cancels on them at the very last minute due to an electrical fire and they end up having to hold the wedding in the Tylers's backyard and text everyone who was invited about the venue change, there isn't a bridal party to speak of, 80 percent of those invited don't end up coming due to the confusion about the venue change and due to an unexpected bout of bad weather, which drives everyone inside sopping wet, including Rose in her wedding dress, Jackie completely forgot to order catering and the only thing to eat is fruitcake and so she's desperately trying to bake four frozen lasagnas in her oven that she sent Pete out to get in the aforementioned terrible weather for the twelve people who actually showed up, and in all the hullabaloo Pete stumbles into the living room where Ten and Rose are fruitlessly trying to dry off a bit and asks if they're postponing the wedding, and Ten takes one look at his bedraggled bride and grins, then, pulling the rings out of his pocket, says to the priest, sitting on the sofa, "Nah, wouldn't wanna make you come all this way for nothing, would we? Go on, do your job," and thus, soaking wet and giggling like only idiots in love can, Ten and Rose are married in Pete and Jackie Tyler's living room, and it's all just a beautiful, joyous disaster, and Jackie finds that at this point she's perfectly happy with it, swearing off wedding planning entirely.

[specialinterestshows]

It’s judgment time for the Judgment Day’s tag-team champions in this final chapter of my Damian Priest x Finn Balor fic, Tryst Of Fate.

Warnings for this section: Guilt, hickeys, sex mention

-

Tryst Of Fate (Part 3/3): Judgment

Liberation, redemption, awakening /

Doubt, punishment, destruction

It was having to keep her team focused in the face of anything - that had to be the most difficult part of being a main player in the most dominant faction in the WWE.

Keeping a group of ambitious, hotheaded wrestlers from turning on each other was a thankless job, but someone had to do it - and Rhea did it well.

She sat on the bed of her hotel room with her Latino heat one evening, deep in thought - his head rested on her lap as she ran her fingers through the longer part of his soft, dark mullet. Despite the fact that Dominik was completely relaxed, Rhea just couldn’t seem to let herself do the same.

“Dom-Dom?” she asked, still gently stroking his hair.

“Hmm?” he replied sleepily, keeping his eyes closed.

“Does The Judgment Day seem… off to you?”

“… Damian’s been weird,” Dom mumbled after a moment’s thought, “Dunno why.”

“Finn too,” Rhea muttered, “Maybe there’s still tension between them because of JD…” She let out a heavy sigh before reaching her conclusion.

“I’ll just have to talk to them.”

“Where are they?” Rhea paced back and forth in the locker room the next day. The show started in less than an hour, but Finn and Damian were nowhere to be found. Looking at her phone for what must have been the tenth time in the last five minutes, she groaned at the sight of her last few unanswered calls.

Only a moment later, the locker room door opened and in “snuck” Finn - at least, that was what he seemed to think he was doing, until he locked eyes with Rhea.

“Fucking finally,” she greeted the guilty-looking man, walking over to where he now stood.

Taking in his nervous stance and the sweat that shone on his brow and bare chest, Rhea scoffed, “Fuck’s sake, I don’t see why you insist on running yourself ragged before AND after shows, but-“

And that’s when she saw it. A rather large, red hickey on his shoulder, with a bit of purple blooming up. The pieces fell into place all at once: the strange behavior, the long hours spent “training” - and the size of that bruise.

Rhea moved past a confused Finn and strode down the hall, not slowing for a second until she had the door to the gym in her sights.

Almost the moment she turned the corner, the door swung open, revealing Damian - also glistening with sweat and tightening his belt. The sight of Rhea made him freeze.

“Looks like you had fun,” she said, crossing her arms as she walked steadily closer.

“What do you-“ he tried to put on his most convincing confused face, but Rhea’s glare grew in intensity and he gave up with a sigh.

“How long have you two been sneaking around?” she asked, trying to keep an even tone.

“Mira, we weren’t trying to-“ Damian began to apologize before being cut off.

“How. Long.”

“A few weeks? …Maybe a month?” Damian replied quietly.

Rhea’s distinct lack of reaction for a few seconds clearly unnerved him; even when she finally smirked, he never let his guard down.

Bringing one arm around swiftly, Rhea watched Damian flinch before slowing the momentum on her punch to his shoulder. The blow landed solidly, but without much force.

Surprised, Damian relaxed a bit and opened his eyes to see the Eradicator beaming at him.

“You’ve been fucking before and after every show for a month?” Rhea let out the delighted laugh she had been holding in, “It’ll take a while before you beat mine and Dom’s record, but well done! Can’t say the Judgment Day doesn’t have stamina, huh?”

Damian allowed himself a chuckle as Rhea playfully elbowed him.

“You’re not mad?” he checked.

“Why would I be?” she asked.

“I… dunno,” Damian admitted, looking embarrassed.

“Come on, hot shot,” Rhea waved him over as she turned back in the direction of the locker room, “Let’s hope I brought enough makeup to cover that hickey you left on your boyfriend.”

[end part three of three]

-

Tag List (thank you!)

@domripley , @falloutboy-lover , @aut0luminescence

[stilltrails]

Title: The Specters (original ao3 link) Summary:

He remembers her saying—was it in this very room?—‘Be good to me.’ He thinks, if I see her again, perhaps this time I will.   In an alternate universe where Anne Boleyn never loses her head, she and Thomas Cromwell rework their relationship. (A series of mostly unrelated shorts in which they learn to survive together. Sometimes he saves her, sometimes, she saves him. Other times, they save themselves.)

She is pacing across the room as if the fire is already beneath her feet. She wrings her hands together, throws them in front of her and pulls on the ornate fabric of her sleeves. Her eyes have already misted with tears, and her expression is one of pure dread. 

He has told her that the king means to kill her and would expect nothing less from her. Her house of cards has finally fallen. Her hard work ending with her kneeling on the block, or tied to a pyre. 

Though he finds solace in the fact that she is comfortable enough to fall apart in front of him.

It has not been so for some time. He supposes he has offered the first olive branch in their strained relationship, and Anne has latched onto it like a famished soldier on the cusps of desertion. They have kept secrets from the other for so long, working in the shadows against the other. Racing to knock the other off of the pedestal the king had raised them to

He stands in silence, allowing her to absorb the information he’s provided her. Already, it’s too much. The king wants her downfall to be swift, and by his admission of what the Henry has told him, Anne will either fight or flee. She will not survive if she chooses the former. 

“If you decide to fight, you cannot win. He will have me put false charges on you and you will be executed.” He cautions the Queen as the air of ambition rises about her. He does not mean to smother the fight she has left, though he thinks she may take it that way, “I have already gathered evidence against you.” 

“I imagine you had your fun with that,” she snorts, pausing her pacing just to scowl at him. She resumes, her new dog running beneath her skirts. 

“If I had my fun with it, I would not be standing here warning you of your impending downfall. I do so at the risk of my own life,” His retort lacks the harshness that her accusations did, though he is callous and to the point. Should this go more sideways than it already has, he will be killed alongside Anne. For that reason he has not told anyone what he had planned to do. Not even Rafe, who will have most certainly let him know how foolish he was being. 

The decision had been made on a whim. And seldom did he make such rash decisions without properly weighing the consequences. He recalls arriving in his study early that morning. Pouring over the written statements provided to him regarding the Queen’s infidelity. The act of holding a life in his hand should have been more monumentous than it was. But today it was tedious. Henry had made it so. And how else could he live with himself for what he prepared to do to an innocent woman if the act was anything more than tedious? 

It was not five minutes after he settled that he’d heard it. 

Two voices, muffled as if they were speaking just outside of his door. The voices near identical to he and the Queen. “Be good to me–” he managed to make out. The woman–the Queen–was pleading. Had he seen her, she would have been crying. 

“If I see you again, perhaps this time I will.” He was at his feet at the sound of his own voice, throwing the door open immediately.  What he would see, he was unsure of. But it certainly was not an empty hallway. There was a chill in the air, the subtle scene of perfume as if a woman had been lingering outside. 

But he was alone, with only his reflection on the mirror down the hall. 

Presently he remembers the occurrence. He does not give much credit to tales of ghosts and faeries. But he believes in God, and believes there is no need for a priest to officiate His messages. 

Anne has taken the seat. He takes the one opposite of her. Tentatively, he reaches over the table. He holds his breath as she locks eyes with him, and releases it as she extends her hands to his.  

“What will I do, Thomas?” Her tears spill over now.

“I have contacts in Germany. People who you can trust. They will care for you,” he assures her, squeezing her hands, “we can have you out of the country within the next month. I will arrange it all.” 

“My family?” Her eyes sparkle, her voice hitches, “Elizabeth?” The consequences of his impromptu decision stack on him one after the other. He has no particular love for the other Boleyns. Especially the men. “You are her mother, should you wish for her to go with you, I will orchestrate it. But as for your family, they will need to denounce you.” He thinks of the accusers who will no longer be vindicated now that he has thrown their bargaining tool away. But he hasn’t, not really. He will save Anne and keep the charges on the others. He will save Anne, but the Boleyns are still his enemies. 

Be good to me, it is  below a whisper, but loud enough for him to hear. 

“You do not need to decide now, but I will need an answer soon. I will delay the king for as long as I can.” Thomas stands. Anne reaches for his hand as he pulls it away. He hesitates, and lets her savor his touch. He savors hers as well. At a point they were friends. This phantom distance between them did not exist. 

He would like it to be so again. 

He bows to her, deciding what steps to take next. He will not involve his children. He will send Rafe on some fool's errand. Richard will be easy enough to lead on. And Gregory is…well Gregory. 

He thinks back  to the phantom argument outside of his door. He hopes he has satisfied the specters. 

[madrigaljail]

Encantober # 15 - Midnight

Oh looks it's the inevitable Brujosé

*

“Wait,” Bruno said.

They stopped what they were doing, which was making out on a bench in the garden behind the church. Not the best idea and not at all planned, but the kiss goodbye at the end of an evening spent at Casa Martinez had  turned into two, then more once they settled on the bench. The back door of the rectory was steps away, and they should have snuck through it and up the stairs to José’s room but…the air was warm, the moon was bright, they had an awful habit of enabling each other to take risks, and so-

“Everything ok?” José asked. When Bruno asked for a pause it was usually due to being  overwhelmed or uncertain so the question was expected, as was the soft, soothing play of fingertips in his curls. It was nice, the concern was nice, but a flash of moonlight reflected off José’s wristwatch and Bruno shook his head.

“No, yeah, I’m fine, but-” He took hold of José’s hand and pulled it away so he could study the watch’s face. His shoulders slumped. “It’s after midnight.”

José smirked. “Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?”

“Why would…nope, not playing figure-out-the-reference.” He gave José’s hand a squeeze before he let it go, then slid himself down the bench a little to create space between them. “It’s Sunday.”

After a little pause José closed his eyes, nodded, and turned so they were facing the same direction. He folded his hands neatly in his lap, Bruno rubbed a fold of his ruana between his fingers, and it looked for all the world like they’d spent the evening contemplating the sculpture of the Virgen con el Niño which was situated across the path. 

There was a number of things they were putting off talking about, and Bruno knew very, very well that delaying those conversations wouldn’t make them any easier. Soon. They’d sit down, properly, and figure the big things out soon.

Assuming they could keep their hands off each other for five minutes, and that the number of Madrigals who knew about them stayed below critical gossip mass.Don’t think about Mass.

Suddenly, José snorted. 

“Guess I’m the one who turned into a pumpkin.”

The corner of Bruno’s mouth twitched into a smirk.. He didn’t need the context to land the next joke. “That’s too bad. I know you were hoping for a plantain.”

“That’s enough,” José said and shot him a glare, which managed to be intimidating despite the need to bite his lip to keep a straight face. “Go, get thee gone, devil.”

“Alright, alright!” Bruno hopped to his feet, tried to smooth his rumpled clothes, and regarded the priest with a fond smile. “I, ah…this was nice, even if it got cut short.”

“...yes, it was,” José sighed, and appeared to become preoccupied with his hands. “We’ll have to- we’ll make up for it, soon.”

Even without taking a peek into the future, Bruno could feel that tricky conversation coming at them faster now. He nodded. “Yeah, we will. We definitely will. Uh. Goodnight?”

“Goodnight, cariñi- goodnight, Bruno.”

He took the near-slip of the pet name as a sign things would work out, then flipped up his hood and slipped out of the garden as he had on several other nights. He struggled to stay awake in church the next morning, and was pleased to catch José yawning during Flores’ homily.

[vicvinegarandhughhoney]

Stay- prompt: Hospital Stay, Dennis Reynolds

Fandom: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia

Pairing: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds

A missing scene where Mac finds out that Dennis is in the hospital after S15 E6, and hails a taxi from the seminary to be by his side.

Read here or below the cut

Mac finds out Dennis is in the hospital through Dee- a garbled phone call in the middle of the night as he stands outside the seminary in the only spot that has a good connection. He can’t make out most of her words, but he hears the name of the hospital, and ‘COVID’, which is enough to make his stomach drop.

It’s ridiculous. He’s been doing all he can to get over Dennis, to banish any thoughts of him from mind by devoting his attention instead to religion. And stupidly hot priests (not Gus).

Perhaps this shouldn’t be surprising, though. If Mac’s learned anything from the decades he’s spent around Dennis, it’s that the guy can’t stand not being the centre of attention. He probably infected himself with this stupid illness just to bring Mac crawling back to him, ready with damp washcloths and pec massages to help him feel better. The thought is frustrating beyond belief, but what’s even more frustrating is that it’s goddamn working- within minutes, he’s sat in the back of a taxi, at Dennis’ beck and call just like always.

“Y’okay?” The cabbie asks, tapping his fingers repetitively on the wheel as Mac fidgets in the back seat.

“I’m... I’m fine. Just on my way to see a friend.”

“Ah... at the hospital?”

Mac nods. “COVID. I found out from his sister they admitted him.”

A sigh. “I see. He got a bad dose of it?” At Mac’s confusion, the cabbie waves a hand and rephrases. “It serious?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. He’s known for being pretty dramatic.”

The cabbie laughs slightly and Mac settles back against the leather of the seat, put a little at ease by his own prediction. He carries it with him all the way through the automatic doors of the hospital, reminds himself of it as he wanders along the corridors in search of the room he’s been directed towards, and by the time his palm meets the handle, he’s convinced himself of its validity.

Dennis is a goddamn attention-whore, that’s all. He checked himself into this place like it was a five star hotel and persuaded Dee to get Mac worried and-

His predictions shatter on the linoleum beneath his feet as he rounds the corner.

“Den?”

The nickname slips free, unused for years, at the realisation that he was wrong. Dead wrong. Dennis isn’t capable of this kind of scheming right now. He isn’t capable of much at all except laying on his side, curled beneath the hospital blankets, shivering and sweating simultaneously. An oxygen mask fogs up with each shallow breath he takes.

“Shit, Den.”

Mac lets his feet carry him right to Dennis’ side, where each new detail of the tableau further deconstructs the lie that his best friend is faking this for attention. The pallor of his skin. The way there isn’t an inch of movement beneath his closed eyelids even when Mac says his name. The curls clinging with sweat to his forehead. The cannulas and the wires and the rapid beep-beep-beeping of a pulse that’s too fast to be normal.

It’s a good thing there’s a chair close by for Mac to sink into before his legs give out on him, shaking with the anxiety of this discovery. Dennis is sick. Really sick.

Mac can only recall one other time where Dennis has looked this bad- years ago, when the flu had quickly gone from being a minor inconvenience to something life-threatening. His lips had tinged blue from something the doctor they saw later called ‘hypoxia’, and Mac had carried him out from the bedroom into the range rover before driving him down to the hospital. He’d stayed there for nearly three weeks, two of which were spent unaware of anything with a tube down his throat. Pneumonia. It makes Mac nauseous to even think about.

He closes his eyes quickly, shaking away the image of that time lingering in his head, and reopens them to find heavy-lidded blue irises looking foggily back at him. His heart skips a beat.

“H-hey, Den. You... you okay, bud?”

There’s no reply except for Dennis’ slow blinking, and it soon becomes clear that he’s too spaced out from the fever and the cocktail of drugs he’s on to bring it down to form any kind of response. In all likelihood, he probably doesn’t even know Mac’s speaking to him.

Perhaps that ought to make him more anxious, but instead Mac finds it quells his thundering heart slightly. At the very least, if Dennis isn’t going to remember any of this, this doesn’t have to be as awkward as it currently feels. It can be like old times, just for a while.

Safe in this knowledge, he reaches out and tentatively brushes back an errant curl that hangs over Dennis’ too-warm forehead, thumb grazing over the skin there a moment too long.

“You’re gonna be okay, Den. I promise.”

He murmurs it like an oath, even though it’s one he doesn’t know he can keep. Dennis still gazes blearily at him, half-conscious, shuddering with every other breath. Mac adjusts his oxygen mask, then lowers his hand to take his best friend’s.

It’s cold- too cold. The coldness of his eyes recently whenever Mac dares to step too close.

Still, when he squeezes it, Dennis squeezes weakly back, some fibre of his consciousness still hanging on somewhere within the depths of those icy blue irises.

I’m sorry, it says. For everything. I needed you, and I still do.

Or maybe it doesn’t at all. Maybe Mac’s the one who’s delirious here, sweating his way to insanity in the pursuit of something which doesn’t exist, which burnt out all those years ago and can never be rekindled.

Dennis moves slightly, an arm feebly reaching up to tug at the confines of the oxygen mask, and despite Mac’s insistence that he keep it on, it’s eventually pulled down anyway.

He looks rough beneath it. God, he looks rough. His lips, just like that one time, are tinged blue, and Mac tries in vain to push the mask back up so the much-needed oxygen reaches its target. Dennis stops him every time, though, still blinking slowly but trying to speak now.

It takes a while, but at last...

“M... Mac...”

In an instant, Mac is gone again, unable to prevent himself from tumbling back down the rabbit hole he promised he was done with.

“Yeah... yeah, man. I’m here. I’m always here.”

“S...sss...ssstay?”

There are tears in his eyes, springing unbidden, when he nods. His unoccupied hand drifts back up to the sweat-damp curls and strokes them, ever so gently. The persistent beep-beep-beeping begins to slow beneath the touch.

“Of course, Den. Always.”

[prairiesongserial]

20.24

Passengers streamed into the lounge, all talking loudly over one another. The layers of voices eventually accumulated a main idea: Ghislaine Labelle had been found dead–and one of the valets had been detained as the likely culprit.

Cody’s hunch had been right, then. Val was curious to know how he’d predicted Ghislaine would be the next to die.

Val closed his book. He’d finished the one about the stolen pearls, and this new one was about a wealthy hobbyist detective. It was Old World, and Val could only read five or so pages at a time before his concentration broke. The print was difficult to parse and the minutiae of Lord So-and-so’s life incomprehensible. There had been a war, and the author seemed to think it should be obvious which one–as if there were only one. It was like having an earnest conversation with someone who didn’t realize their French was unintelligible to your Louisiana Creole. That was happening a lot recently.

Val drummed his fingers against the cover of his book. The lounge had filled so that everyone stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, but the mood was less panicked than it had been last night. Wine flowed from the bar. Laughter interrupted the excited chatter.

A few minutes later, Sacha arrived. He worked through the room, friendly and casual, as he attempted several times to call the lounge to order–though Sacha was just as liable to be distracted into a side conversation as the rest of the passengers. 

Val considered re-opening his book. He could probably reach the end of the chapter in the time it took for the room to settle. Reading mysteries with a murderer loose on the ship had significantly dampened Val’s ability to react appropriately to the situation, but Val also didn’t care. People died all the time, and the deaths of a handful of socialites didn’t particularly matter. Friday would put everything together sooner or later. The mystery would resolve. The book would end. On to the next one.

Sacha clapped his hands and once again directed the crowd to circle around. Val felt a pang of annoyance. He decided to skip this part. Val cut a winding path through the room, trying not to look like he was bolting for the door. He glanced over his shoulder before he left–but he didn’t catch any curious eyes on him.

Val turned back again to cross the threshold into the hall. He jumped–Friday had stopped short in the doorway to avoid running into him. Her hair was pinned up and she wore another flowy dress. This one was constructed out of folds of red gauze draped and sewn into place. It matched her lipstick.

“Val, perfect, I need you.”

Friday’s hand closed around his wrist and goosebumps bloomed from the spot, traveling up his arm. He instinctively pulled away.

“It’s important,” she insisted. Val dimly realized that she didn’t look good. She was breathing a little quickly, and her eyes were a little too wide.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping further into the hallway.

She shook her head and motioned him to follow her. She started down the hall before Val could press for detail. She didn’t look injured, but Val’s imagination was active lately. She led the way toward the passenger cabins, and Val tried to blink away flashes of blood–every shift of the layered gauze turned into a dark red gash.

Friday locked the both of them in their shared cabin and finally seemed to relax.

“I need you to help me figure out some French I overheard this morning.”

Val sat on the edge of the bed while Friday paced in front of him. He kept seeing phantom injuries with every shift of fabric, and he felt vaguely sick.

“I don’t know French,” he said.

“Sure you do, you’re from New Orleans.” Friday stopped in front of him, her hands on her hips. “Never mind; it’s probably pointless. I don’t remember any of it.”

“Will you change?”

“What?”

“Your clothes are distracting.” Val winced as he said it.

“Now is not the time to be a priest.” Friday paused, staring him down. “This isn’t cut that low. And you’ve seen me in my burlesque costumes before–you’ve never had a problem averting your eyes. What’s the verse for that? There’s a verse about averting your eyes if you’re having a personal problem and not asking your female friends to change.”

“Would you accept that I’m not up to my usual standard of behavior?” Val said sharply.

“For fuck’s sake, fine,” Friday said. She started to strip, and Val looked away, aggravated that he didn’t have the fortitude at present to honor an old covenant with his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“If you mean, have I been murdered, no, I haven’t. I’m fine. I just have about a million things to tell you, and instead I’m doing this.” Friday spoke over the slide of hangers in her wardrobe as she chose something new to wear. “What will you find least distracting? This one okay?”

Val didn’t look–she was still in her underwear.

“I’m not changing again,” she said, shaking the hanger. “I would never do this for any other man–and I’m very fucking mad at you.”

Val glanced over. It was white with navy blue piping. Clean lines.

“That one’s fine,” he said, turning his whole body to face the opposite wall. He’d intended to give his neck a break, but found himself confronted by the vanity mirror. It pictured Friday’s back as she stepped into her skirt.

Val raised his hand physically in front of his face and rolled his eyes at God.

“Well, it doesn’t match my make-up,” Friday grouched. She signaled she had finished dressing by the sound of her landing heavily in the armchair. Val turned back around to face her.

“You had a million things to tell me?” he asked.

“Starting with…well, no. I’d better do it backwards,” she said. “Ghislaine is dead. Cody found the body, only he didn’t have any reason to be in her room, so now everyone thinks he killed her. And the rest of them, naturally.” She held up a finger to stop Val from interrupting. “John and Cody are locked in John’s cabin while we sort it out. John pitched a fit–you actually wouldn’t believe it. I don’t know what story he’s been giving people, but he came across like a Hemisphere gangster who retired young to class it up as a millionaire. You know, refined, but dangerous when he wants to be.”

“Friday.”

“I’m getting there,” she said. “Anyway, those two are safe for now. But Cody told me why he was in Ghislaine’s room. He’s been working to solve the murders on his own–I guess he had to, it’s not like he could come up to me for a chat while he’s pretending to be a valet. But anyway–he figured out that the valets are going missing too–probably murdered. So double the murders.”

Val had been following her up until then.

“Why kill the valets?” he said when Friday paused for breath. “Which valets?”

“Okay–it’s the valets employed by the murdered passengers. So If we look at all the disappearances in order, we have Ms. Ecuyer first, then Clovis’s valet, then Clovis, then the Dumonts’s valet–I forget her name–then the Dumonts–and Cody noticed that Živković went missing last night–that’s Ghislaine’s valet–and so that’s why Cody went to check on Ghislaine.” Again, Friday paused to catch her breath, but she once again held up a finger to cut off any interruptions. 

Val more or less followed what she was saying. The valets were being killed before their employers, which Cody had figured out. Živković’s absence had clued Cody in that Ghislaine would be next.

“Now, something else Cody told me–there’s this valet who doesn’t go to anybody,” Friday continued. “Apparently they’ve been telling people their employer is holed up in her cabin sick, but Cody went to check it out, and there’s nobody staying in that cabin. So they’re probably the one who’s going around killing people.

“But–” Friday waved the accusation of murder she’d just made away, as if it were besides the point. “back to Ghislaine. I had talked to her this morning–sort of. She only spoke French. She was upset about her missing valet and came storming in on me and d’Orléans–with Sacha chasing after her, trying to calm her down–”

“You and d’Orléans?” Val asked, suddenly.

Friday cut herself off. A guilty look crossed her face.

“I was interviewing them–establishing an alibi for the morning the Dumonts were murdered.”

Val blinked down an uncomfortable image. It helped that Friday was wearing white–his eyes couldn’t play tricks on him.

“You–don’t talk to d’Orléans alone. Or Casimir.”

Friday crinkled her nose. “Well–they couldn’t have killed the Dumonts. The timing doesn’t work out. But–you’re right–they’re slimy.”

Val didn’t really remember the second night on the ship. He’d been as drunk as he could get without getting sick. He remembered being uncomfortably close and warm–Val didn’t usually get close enough to people that the textures of their clothing made an impression, but he remembered rough brocade, then sharp pain. He remembered d’Orléans shrieking in laughter, then in offense.

He’d gone looking for Friday–and the next thing he had any clear memory of was sitting on a step-stool in a staff-only area, starting to sober up with Sacha Fortune pressing a rag against his neck. Sacha had looked annoyed, but he’d pitched his tone artificially, like the blood soaking Val’s shirt collar was the punchline of a joke.

“Those two play rough–it’s an acquired taste,” he’d said with a laugh. “Don’t worry, this is just a scratch. Let me see your wrist.”

Slimy. 

Friday huffed, bringing him back to the present.

“Anyway, Ghislaine said her piece–she listed off everyone that has been killed so far–and their valets.” Friday snapped her fingers a few times, getting excited. “That would explain the names I didn’t recognize. Clovis, Jean-Baptiste, the Dumonts, Elizabeth. So at that point she’d put together that if her own valet was missing, she must be next. Of course she was upset.”

“Jean-Baptiste?” Val asked.

“Yes, why?”

“That’s John the Baptist.”

“Well…that’s not right,” Friday said. “I might be remembering wrong. It was probably–”

“No, you’re not,” Val said. “Clovis Girard was beheaded, and so was John the Baptist.”

Friday stopped short–whatever she’d been about to say was forgotten.

“What was his card?” Val continued. “During the guessing game. The card on his forehead.”

“What?”

“I wrote the card ‘John the Baptist’ for the game. That was the one I put in the bowl.” Val said. “Was that Clovis Girard’s card?”

“That…I don’t remember,” Friday said, realization dawning on her. “Hold on.”

Friday jumped up from the bed, too excited to stay still. She paced the room as her mind jumped onto a new track.

“So Ghislaine hadn’t necessarily figured out that people’s valets were going missing–but she had figured out that the murders are being themed after the characters from the game. What were the Dumonts’s cards? Elizabeth something and…”

Val shook his head. He’d left immediately after guessing his own card.

“Shit, I don’t remember.” Friday chewed on her thumbnail as she paced. “I remember not knowing who either of their cards were–it was kind of boring at that point.” She sighed. “Alright. Aravind was shot through a pillow and Ernestine was in a full bath with her clothes on. She had this little stab wound, like a puncture in her neck. That was weird, because it wasn’t very noticeable, but it was definitely how she died. The bathwater was pink.” 

Val tried to listen, but he was distracted by his own heartbeat in his ears. He had the urge to lock himself in the bathroom and look under his bandage.

“Casimir is the killer,” he said. “With d’Orléans, probably.”

Friday frowned at him, stopping mid-sentence. “But they can’t have killed the Dumonts. The Dumonts were supposed to meet Conti for breakfast at nine–they would have been killed before then, and Casimir and d’Orléans had breakfast delivered to their cabin. The kitchen staff vouched that the two of them were in their cabin between seven-thirty and nine-thirty.”

That didn’t mean much to Val.

“Casimir did it,” he said firmly. He caught Friday’s eyes flick to his neck, then quickly away.

“Why are you so sure?” she asked.

Val couldn’t remember it now. He didn’t even remember what he’d done to Casimir’s eye in his hurry to get away that night. But he had looked under the bandages, and he’d decided never to find himself drunk or alone on this ship again.

“Never mind,” Friday said. “The party game being important answers a question about Ghislaine’s murder. She was almost definitely poisoned, but it didn’t kill her. The killer strangled her instead. I think that poison was probably the connection to her card. I wish I remembered who it was.” Friday sucked her teeth. “Ghislaine was one of the last to guess hers–before the Dumonts, though. I remember her being sort of agitated that it was taking so long. And when she finally got it, she was annoyed that it was somebody English.” She snapped her fingers. “Harriet. From a book.” 

“Harriet Vane?”

Friday furrowed her brow. “That was it. How do you know that?”

Val hadn’t expected to know, so it was a surprise when he did. He’d been reading nothing but mysteries for several days, and Harriet Vane had been a character in one of them. She’d been accused of poisoning someone in a different story that he hadn’t gotten to, but it had come up in the mystery he was reading now.

The coincidence abruptly lost its interest when he realized the more important revelation they’d been talking around.

“The order,” Val said.

Friday seemed to have realized it too. And since she’d actually been present for the end of the game, the look on her face told him he was right.

“Ghislaine guessed her card before the Dumonts, and the Dumonts before Clovis–he was the last,” she said slowly. “Oh my God. Val.”

She was pulling him up from the bed.

“We’re being killed in the order we lost the game.” Friday had him by the wrist–there was a little pain as she gripped the bandage hidden under his sleeve. “John was the last to guess before Ghislaine.”

Val allowed himself to be tugged toward the door.

It wasn’t a surprise that the party game was the key to the murders. It was d’Orléans’s game, after all. 

What bothered Val was that several of the other passengers had already known how to play.

20.23 || 20.25

[priestess-of-ra]

By the Candle's Light

@kitxkatrp

The constant ticking of the wall clock was hypnotizing to him. Look at the way that it moved. It was so soothing. So ordered. So... wait. What had he been doing earlier? What room was he in? Glazed over eyes snapped to attention as he glanced at what he had been holding in his hands. A paint brush and a figurine. Oh, he must've been painting. Where are his paints? Did they get on his sleeve? Luckily, the answer was no; he always took great care to put them where he wouldn't get them on his clothing unless he passed out on his workspace. Which has happened more than once. But it wasn't stopping him from actually addressing the problem.

He was home earlier than normal; his boss sent him home after the books started whispering to him and he was suddenly on the floor. Didn't remember walking home. Or opening his front door. Or what set this was for. Or the past four days. Was he supposed to be doing something? Aside from paint whatever this is. Surely he had a particular color palette in mind. What was it again? Did he remember to write it down? There wasn't any paint on the model, so he had nothing to go off of. Now that he thought about it, he was kinda hungry. Food sounded good. Yeah. And... he had to glance at the clock again. Ah, Amane should be home any minute. Might as well cook for the both of them.

Ryo stood up from his little desk, nudging the chair into place with his foot before exiting to go find the kitchen. It was immaculate, as it should be. He was a bit of a notorious clean freak, after all. Cooking was such second nature that he didn't particularly think about what he was making, he just did. Apparently his sleep-deprived cooking was either utterly immaculate or needed to be exorcised by some kind of food priest. Should he be handling a knife when he's hearing books speaking to him and seeing pictures follow him with their eyes? Probably not. But someone's got to do chores around here.

Every little noise had him jumpy; he startled himself when he accidentally knocked the pepper shaker over trying to reach for a completely different spice. The biggest scare came from what he's praying was the front door opening and the sound of Amane coming inside. If it wasn't that, then he's got bigger problems on his hands. But talking to nothing, if she really wasn't there, wasn't quite unusual for him.

"Welcome home." Ryo greeted, not daring to turn around just in case it wasn't real. "Dinner's cooking, work was short. The books asked to host a séance, but not on work hours. I think I'm missing paint, left it in the sink. Did you have a nice day?" He could barely get that out before yawning and having to bend over the kitchen counter just to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. It's been... approximately four to five days since he last slept. He thinks. He's not actually sure; time has been a blur and quite frankly he doesn't even know what day it is. Which wasn't particularly unusual for him. But then again, neither was this.

[downwiththeficness]

Shadow and Veil-Chapter Nineteen

Summary: Eva Moore’s life was a carefully constructed fiction.  Every day, she did exactly what her mother in law, her husband, and his  best friend expected of her. No mistakes. And, that was going pretty  well for Eva right up until a huge complication literally tried to run  her over. Now, she’s faced with trying to keep the pieces of her life  from falling apart while attempting (and failing) to keep her feelings  for her husband’s new business partner at bay.

A/N: This fic is a sister-fic to A Need So Great and A Need Unleashed.  You do not need to have read ANSG or ANU to read this fic, but there  are Easter eggs from those fics in Shadow and Veil for readers with keen  eyes.  This fic is explicit for canon-compliant blood, gore, violence,  and sex. As such, it is intended for an adult audience, only. A/B/O  dynamics come with their own warning. Anyone under the age of 18 should  not interact with this work. I do not consent to reposting this work to  other platforms. Reblog only to Tumblr.  

Word Count: ~5,900

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Eva entered the church furtively. She was not a Catholic, but occasionally pretended to be for the very reason that brought her to the church that day. The pews were empty, which suited her just fine. Eva wasn’t there to to join the congregation in worship. The priest was also absent—taking his daily walk around the park. It left her with roughly forty minutes to complete her task.

She would only need five.

Striding quickly up the center aisle, Eva headed for the confessional in the far left corner of the room. Stepping inside, she dropped the large tote she was carrying to the floor and knelt down. She felt beneath the seat for the latch she’d installed and flicked it open. Lifting the cushioned bench, she peered inside.

Right where she left it was a metal box. Eva breathed out a shaky sigh of relief as she reached down and pulled it from the darkened depths. From her tote, she pulled a small rings of keys. Finding the one she wanted, Eva slipped the key into the lock and turned it.

Crinkled bills were wrapped neatly into thousand dollar stacks. Around the perimeter, the box was lined with hundreds. Fifty thousand dollars right at her fingertips. Eva closed the box, locked it, and put it in her tote. Then, she closed the bench and flicked the latch closed before wiping it down with her sleeve.

She couldn’t be too careful.

As she move to stand, the door to the other side of the confessional opened and closed. The sounds of movement indicated that someone was sitting down on the bench. Caught nearly red handed, Eva froze in an awkward half-crouch. How could she have gotten the timing so wrong?

The divider slid to the side. Eva stared at an opening that was obscured by an ornate insert. A shadow filtered across the sporadic dots of light. Eva held her breath.

“You know you have to be Catholic to go to confession.”

Horacio.

Standing, Eva grabbed her tote and stepped out of her side of the confessional and into the other, “What are you doing here?”

Horacio looked very comfortable on the seat normally reserved for a priest. His shoulders were pulled back, hands resting softly on his thighs. He was meeting her gaze directly, undeterred by the acid in her tone.

“Hello, Eva.”

She stared at him, trying to work out her emotions. Just last night he was holding her on the floor as her body fought against the serum. His was the face that followed her into sleep when she laid down in bed. His was the scent that she dreamed about. Eva’s unconscious knew exactly what she needed despite all reasons why she shouldn’t. Even now, she had to check the urge to go to him.

“What do you want?”

The words were weak as they fell from her lips. Her shoulders sagged as all the anger deflated out of her. The question really was the cornerstone of her relationship with him. Whenever she thought she had it nailed down, his actions made her think again. When she last left him, he’d all but told her he needed her to testify and that was the primary driver of their interaction.

Which made the fact that he was sitting here inexplicable.

Horacio’s gaze followed the lines of her body from head to toe, “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged, “Woke up a little groggy, but overall I feel fine.”

“Good,” he said with audible relief, “That’s good.”

Eva pulled her tote higher onto her arm, “Are you going to answer my question?”

Horacio licked his lips, “I wanted to know how you are.”

More conflicting information. The flood of anger returning to her was a physical thing that swept into her body.

She shifted on her feet and spit out, “Well, now you know.”

“Eva, please…”

Her jaw clenched against the reflex to give in to him, “No. I can’t keep doing this. You show up, make me think you care, turn around and try to use those feelings to get me to testify, and then ice me out when I don’t agree. Rinse and repeat.”

His brows dropped and he leaned forward, “I do care about you.”

“Save it,” she bit out with a roll of her eyes, “All you want is my cooperation. Which you aren’t getting.”

Horacio was suddenly standing, crowding her against the closed door, “We’re way past that, Eva.”

Instinct had her holding still. It also had her breathing deep so that she could draw his scent in. Eva could literally taste the strength and power that he kept hidden beneath a controlled exterior. It made the omega in her want to force him to earn her submission.

Eva lifted her chin, “Way past what? You trying to use me?”

Catching her chin in the web between his thumb and forefinger, he replied, “You wanted to use me, too. A tool to get rid of your husband, right? That’s how it works when you share a common enemy, Eva.”

She worked very hard not to show how disappointed she was in what he was saying. At least it was finally the truth. She had to comfort herself with that.

His hand drifted from her chin down her neck until it rest over the hollow of her throat, “But, you and I both know that its more than that.”

She swallowed against the weight of his hand. The expression on his face was intense and focused. Her next inhale was dripping with everything he was feeling. Concern. Frustration. Anger. And, something she hadn’t smelled since she left her parents’ house.

Affection.

“You are so fucking confusing,” she muttered.

Horacio laughed quietly, “I’ve heard that before.”

Eva liked it when he smiled, “Have you also heard that your dimples make it very hard to stay mad at you?”

She could tell that the comment threw him and she couldn’t help but to grin with the amusement she felt at setting him back on his heels.

He recovered quickly, “That is one I haven’t heard.”

Leaning her weight into the door, she said, “I’m happy to be the first.”

“There are a lot of firsts with you,” Horacio replied, voice rough.

His eyes softened as they fell to her mouth. She held her breath, unable to move as leaned towards her with intent. How long had it been since their last kiss?

The door to the other side of the confessional opened. Eva’s reflexive laugh was cut off when Horacio’s hand laid across her mouth. Filled with mirth, Eva made no move to break free. She let him keep her quiet while she waited to see what he would do.

The bench beneath the parishioner creaked and a heavily accented voice called out, “Hello?”

Slowly, carefully, Horacio pulled his hand away from Eva’s mouth and backed up. One finger held to his lips, he greeted the woman in a friendly tone.

“You are not Padre Abello.”

“No. I am an apprentice. Padre Mendoza,” he paused in false abashment, “I haven’t taken my vows yet, but I’ll be happy to hear your confession.”

Eva tried and failed to hide her smile as she carefully lowered to the floor where the confessor couldn’t get a line of sight on her. She fluffed the hem of her sundress and looked up at Horacio to see just how skilled he was in an unpredictable situation.

The parishioner asked a hesitant question in Spanish and Eva was proud of herself that she was able to translate. She wanted to know if the not-quite-a-priest spoke her language. Horacio replied that he did and the conversation took off from there. Clearly delighted, the woman began to speak about her sins in a conversational tone, pausing at times for emphasis.

As proud of herself as Eva was, she was also reminded that she was very much a novice. She lost the thread half a sentence in, only recognizing a word or two and unable to put them in context. The book in her nightstand was only marked on the third chapter. Eva knew that it would be a long time before she could listen to someone speaking fluently and actually understand.

There were, however, many things that Eva did understand.

Like the expressions that flitted across Horacio’s face as he listened.

The way he looked totally calm stepping into the role of a priest.

The space between his thighs that looked big enough for her to sit comfortably inside.

In the early years of her marriage, Eva took it upon herself to learn as much as she could about partnered sex. She knew somehow that what she had with Josh was not what she heard about from the other wives in their circle. And, as she was so young, Eva knew that it had something to do with her.

At first, she read from the non-fiction section and tried to understand the mechanics. She explored her body, got comfortable with being naked and vulnerable. She worked hard on figuring out what made her come and tried not to feel guilty when she pictured someone who was nothing like the man who shared her bed.

When that didn’t improve things, Eva meandered over to fiction. She read as many romance novels with plots that interested her and writing that didn’t make her cringe. Discovered trope after trope—snowed in, mortal enemies that were driven to work together, love at first sight, unexpected heats—anything that might tell her how to make herself feel passionately about the man she called her husband.

Eventually, Eva had to admit to herself that no amount of self-exploration or reading was going to fix her relationship with Josh. Filled with doubt, Eva held a secret understanding that there was something broken about her, something that other omegas naturally had that she didn’t. Eva wanted to get lost in passion, but that didn’t seem to be a reality she would ever experience.

Sitting on the floor with fifty thousand dollars in her purse, Eva let herself think about what it might be like with Horacio. She let herself think about crawling up to him, sliding her hands over his thighs to the button of his jeans, about opening the fly and mapping his length. About easing the waistband over his hips to free it so that she could roll her tongue over the engorged head.

How long would he be able to maintain his composure? How long could he keep himself silent? How long would it take for him to spill into her mouth?

Realizing that she was staring at his crotch, Eva dropped her eyes to her hands. Her cheeks and chest were warm with equal parts arousal and embarrassment. Not far away, the conversation drew to a close and Horacio shut the divider. They remained where they were until the parishioner left the confessional.

“Well,” Eva breathed, “I have to say that was a new experience for me.”

Horacio smiled, “Me, too.”

Pushing to standing, Eva shrugged her tote onto her shoulder and said, “Do you think pretending to be a priest is a sin?”

“I have worse sins,” he replied as he, too, stood. “According to my mother, God will forgive me.”

“My mom said the same thing.”

There was a short moment of silence between them. It was comfortable. Just two people sharing the common experience of a mother trying impart some measure of safety to their children.

“Can I take you some place?”

Eva shook her head, “I can catch a cab back to my car. Its not a problem for me to get home.”

Horacio’s mouth lifted in half a smile, “No. I meant I want to take you some place. Spend time with you.”

Eva almost asked him why before her brain caught onto what he meant, “You want to spend time with me.”

He nodded, “If you want.”

God, she should not be considering it. She should be hauling ass back to her car so that she could stash the money in her purse some place safe.

“Okay.”

‘Some place’ was somewhere Eva didn’t even know existed. Horacio pulled to a park behind a building that looked vacant from the outside. The windows were completely boarded up and the brick needed a deep clean. There were other cars parked in the lot, but no one standing around what she assumed was the front door.

“You’re not trying to kidnap me right now, are you?”

Horacio got a good laugh out of that one, “No. You’ll know when I decide its time to kidnap you.”

Eva left her purse pushed beneath the seat of the car, just in case.

He led her to a door that opened directly to a set of stairs to a lower floor. When she hesitated, Horacio took her hand and pulled her gently along behind him. Eva kept close to him as they turned a corner into a hallway that was darker than the stairs. Another turn and the light took on a red hue. Another turn and they were in an anteroom with restrooms on one side and a large entryway to the other.

Voices filtered towards them, the red light falling over tables, chairs. An elegant bar lined the far wall, a bartender serving patrons that were perched atop stools. Eva glanced around, noting that there were plenty of people there and that she recognized none of them.

Horacio led Eva to the bar and ordered a red wine for her, tequila for himself. While they waited for the bartender to pour, Eva took in more of the room. Lit by soft yellow light was a stage. On it were musicians tuning their instruments. The tables nearest to the stage were more densely packed than the ones closer to the bar. Their occupants talked amiably among themselves, occasionally sipping from different mixed drinks.

Eva leaned an arm on the bar and tried not to feel self conscious about the way she was dressed. Most of the men in the room were wearing jeans and t-shirts, although some of them were wearing buttoned shirts. The women were wearing Sunday dresses that were ten years out of date. Eva’s shoes probably cost more than their whole wardrobe.

These were people like her parents. People who lived paycheck to paycheck and sometimes went without so their children could eat. They mended clothes until the fabric couldn’t hold a stitch. These were God-fearing people who gave tithes every Sunday without fail even if they couldn’t afford it.

The slide of glass against wood distracted her from her thoughts. Eva picked up the wine and took a sip. It was a house red, but she didn’t care. Alcohol was alcohol, and Eva definitely needed a bit of a buzz.

“What are we doing here?”

Horacio tilted his head to the side, “I told you. I want to spend time with you.”

She shook her head, “Why? I’m not any good to you if I won’t be a witness for your investigation.”

Sighing, he set his glass down and fixed her with a firm look, “I told you that, too. The investigation is just one part of our relationship.”

If ever Eva needed full clarity, it was right now. She was days, maybe weeks, away from doing something that could not be undone. It was critical to her that she knew where they stood.

“And,” she croaked in a tight voice, “what are the other parts?”

He stared at her silently while Eva’s heart pounded in her chest. She needed him to say it out loud because she was never going to be able to put to words the things that she felt whenever he was near. There would never be a place safe enough for Eva to have the chance.

Hand lifting, Horacio brushed his fingers across the swell of her cheek and then down beneath her ear, “This is part of it.”

Eva shivered as he touched her gland lightly. Her fingers curled into her palms to force herself to keep still as he stepped closer. The breadth of his body took up the whole of her vision. Everything else in her periphery was fuzzy and abstract. Chin lifting, Eva held his gaze and waited for him to continue.

“I’ve never met someone with a mind like yours. You’re smart. Smarter than me. And, determined. I think you could move a mountain if you wanted.” A breath, “And, more than anything, you are cunning. Javier taught me that word after I talked for ten minutes trying to translate it. You play the part of a submissive wife so well that I believed it the whole time.” Horacio leaned down, “I believed you were weak. You are not weak.”

She licked her lips, “You’re complimenting me to avoid the question. What are the other parts of our relationship?”

Horacio shushed her quietly, “Be patient.” Then, “I believed you were weak right up until I realized that it was you who ran away from me that morning in front of my apartment.”

“I was afraid,” she admitted.

“I know. A minute more and I would have kissed you. Five minutes more and I would have you in my bed.” His free hand slid over her waist, “I could not let you go. You knew this, and you were the strong one. You walked away.”

Images of what might have been flashed across her mind’s eye. Skin and sweat and inevitability. Eva wished she hadn’t been strong that day. She wished she had just let him make the decision for her.

Horacio seemed to read her thoughts, “We would be in a much bigger mess if I kept you.”

Eva had to admit to herself that he was right. The whole situation would be completely unmanageable if she fell into bed with Horacio. One or all of the people in this tangled up mess would be dead.

“I would not put you in that position. Not back then,” Horacio murmured as he rubbed his cheek against hers. He pulled back and looked her in the eye, “I would do anything to keep you safe. I would keep your secrets, I would protect you from your government and mine.” A pause, “I would kill for you.”

She believed him. Eva believed every word he said. She should be horrified by it. The fear she felt in those precious few moments on the sidewalk should return full force, reminding her of the strange, unnatural power he held over her. Instead, Eva could only feel an affection for him that swelled to encompass all her misgivings.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded.

“Good,” he said, “I want no doubt between us.”

“What are we going to do?”

He smiled, “We’re going to have a drink. Listen to some music. Pretend. After, I will take you back to your car.”

Eva shifted on her feet, thinking. Then, “Okay.”

Horacio’s brows lifted, but he seemed to accept her response. His hands fell away from her body and he picked up his glass, tossing back the liquor. Feeling parched, she sipped at her wine. As she set it back on the bar, Eva caught Horacio’s eye. They looked at each other in a suspended moment that dissolved into quiet laughter.

“I think we might be crazy.”

His shoulders rolled in a half-hearted shrug, “Es normal. This is a crazy situation.”

She had to agree with him. Nothing about how she lived the last six and a half years of her life prepared her for what she was doing right now. Eva did not think she was cut out for the cloak and dagger life. Navigating the complexities of what Josh wanted from her was more than enough.

A glance at Horacio’s face had Eva second guessing herself. His gaze was soft and warm. She could smell his cologne. Beneath that, tobacco and vetiver. In the low light of the room, Horacio looked like everything Eva had ever wanted. It made her think that all of the discomfort she felt over the last few months might be worth it.

Music drifted outward from the stage. A blues number with a walking bass line that drew cheers from the crowd. Eva smiled as she leaned back against the bar.

“Is this one of yours, too?” She asked in a wry tone, “Like Stag Nation?”

Sharing her humor, Horacio shook his head, “No. But, Lizzy recommended this place as a kind of neutral ground.”

“Neutral ground?”

He hummed in the affirmative, “This isn’t the kind of place your husband or his friend is likely to frequent.”

For the second time, Eva had to agree with him. The establishment was well kept and clean, but Josh would consider interacting with people inside it beneath him. There was nothing he could gain from them. No connections. No money. It simply wasn’t worth the time or effort.

“Its nice,” she said eventually.

Horacio ordered another bourbon, “Back home, there’s a bar like this. Sometimes after work we sit and drink, listen to whatever is on the jukebox.”

That sounded nice. Normal. So different from where he was, now.

“How did you even get assigned to this job?”

His head bounced a little as he thought, “My English is better than most of my coworkers.”

Eva almost laughed, “Is that it?”

“And,” Horacio added, “I have no wife or children to miss me if I didn’t come back.”

“That’s...rational, I guess,” she said, not really knowing what kind of reaction was appropriate.

He sipped from his glass, “Honestly? I knew I would get a promotion if I succeeded. And, I can bring everything I learn back to the unit, train the men under my supervision.”

Eva cocked her head to the side, “So you are a captain?”

Horacio nodded, looking neither proud nor embarrassed by the admission.

“You like the job?” she asked as she finished her wine and set the glass aside.

“Yes,” he answered, “I do.”

“Why?”

“I put criminals in jail.”

“Criminals like me.”

He sighed with annoyance, “We have discussed this.”

Eva was surprised to find out that she enjoyed poking at him a little bit, enjoyed the little wrinkle of annoyance that formed between his brows, “I am a criminal, Horacio. I just haven’t been caught yet.”

“Under duress.”

Nodding, Eva added, “Under duress. But, I enjoy what I do. I’m good at it.” She could see that what she was saying unsettled him. Horacio was a man whose entire career was to stop people like her. She touched his arm, “The law says I’m just as guilty as Josh is.”

Horacio placed his hand on hers, “Maybe. But, I have learned that the law is often a matter of interpretation.”

“You don’t know how right you are.”

The band switched gears, slowing down to something soft but no less rhythmic. Horacio drained what was left in his glass and used his hand on hers to pull her towards a densely packed dance floor. She went with him, letting him weave through the crowd until he found a spot he liked.

Eva wasn’t much of a dancer. She was too self conscious, too aware of the way she looked to relax. The low lights and the utter lack of room to do much more than sway gave Eva a small sense of anonymity. Add to it the press of Horacio’s body against hers, the confidence in his hands as they guided her, and Eva was moving without much thought.

She draped her arms over his shoulders, felt him slide his hands over her hips. Lost in the undulation of the crowd, Eva felt something inside her unwind. The tangle of her identity loosened and fell away. She was just a woman dancing with her date. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Horacio pulled her closer, nosed down the length of her neck and back up again until he could press his lips to hers. Eva closed her eyes against the feeling of utter rightness of it. Kissing him felt like laying down in a warm nest of blankets. It felt like the way her mother used to talk about being filled with the Spirit. Like the relief of an answered prayer. Like being in the presence of God.

Pushing the fingers of one hand into his hair, Eva swallowed down a masculine groan that was more felt than heard. The room around her was nothing but pulsing music and the heat of bodies pushing in on one another. She grew dizzy with it, pulled under by Horacio’s kisses and steady burn of arousal in her belly.

Shifting his weight, Horacio pushed a thigh between her legs. The sway of their dance tightened he encouraged her to roll her hips into his with a hand at the small of her back. Dress riding up around her thighs, Eva let him control her movements. She broke the kiss to catch a much needed breath only to feel it pulled right out of her as he nuzzled into the hollow of her throat.

Her head tilted back, allowing him to do as he liked while a pressure in her core made demands for more pleasure. The scratch of his jeans against her inner thighs wasn’t enough to quell a need that was becoming impossible to ignore. Eva widened her stance further and pushed her hips forward to drag her folds against the firm muscle between. She felt him inhale sharply against the skin of her neck, felt him tighten his grip, felt him lift his chin so that he could lay his mouth against her gland and suck a harsh kiss to it.

Her body shook in Horacio’s arms. Arousal rushed through every vein with the force and fury of a bolt of lightning. She moaned in helpless abandon, spine bending so that not an inch of space separated them.

Horacio cupped her face, brought it close to his. They shared soft kisses that belied the  current of want binding them closer together. Every sensation was at once too visceral and cossetted in a dream-like blur. She felt as if they had been dancing like this for hours, days, years. Eva wanted it to last forever.

The song wound down to a close and another, faster number kicked in. Eva blinked rapidly to clear her head. Neither of them were moving. She stared at Horacio, unable to think beyond the fact that she couldn’t bear to leave his side.

He said something that she couldn’t hear above the music, then took her hand and pulled her along behind him. They worked their way out of the crowd and towards the door. Free from the hot press of the dance floor, Eva drew in what felt like the first full breath in ages. Her thoughts came into focus and she became Eva again.

The lobby was empty. Horacio drew her to the base of the stairs and eased her against the brick wall. The kiss that followed was an intense mix of arousal and desperation. It was a kiss between two people who knew they were running out of time.

Moaning low, Horacio pulled away and took her hand again, moving up the stairs at a steady clip that had Eva breathless by the time she reached the top. The sun was already well beneath the horizon as they crossed the parking lot. All that darkness renewed Eva’s sense of anonymity, made her bolder than she might have been otherwise. He wasted no time in getting her to his car. The door was unlocked and opened so that he could help her into the backseat.

This is happening, she thought as she slid across the seat, This is actually happening.

Crawling over her, Horacio brushed his fingers against her cheek, “Good?”

She nodded.

His smile was bright in the darkened cab, his kiss sweet. Eva leaned against the door and lifted her knees so that he could take up the space between her thighs. Her heart almost missed a beat when her body had to stretch wide to accommodate him.

More drugging kisses.

More breaths caught in back of her throat as he arranged her as he liked beneath him. Eva could barely keep up with the demands inside her. She wanted to touch every inch of him. She wanted to hear all the little groans that rumbled in his chest. She wanted to know if the erection tenting the fly of his jeans was as big as it looked.

Rearing up, Horacio ran his hands up the outside of her thighs until he reached the waistband of her underwear. With a glance to make sure she was okay, he pulled them down and off. Balling them up in his hand, Horacio gathered her dress around her hips and stared down at her..

It was reflex to try to close her legs under the weight of such a look, but her thighs were held in place by Horacio’s body. Eva watched his expression grow hungry, followed the path of his tongue as it ran across his lips.

Nimble fingers ran down the seam between her hip and thigh. Eva held her breath as she felt him graze her folds lightly. Rough pads of skin ran up and down, gathering her slick and spreading it around. A small, needy whimper passed her lips, drawing his attention.

“If I knew how wet you were in the bar, I don’t know that we would have made it to the parking lot.”

Mouth turning up in a soundless laugh, Eva felt her cheeks and chest burn with abashed pleasure. He kissed her smiling mouth, methodically adding pressure with his hand until she hissed against his lips.

“Is that it?”

Another needy sound. Higher. Louder.

Humming lowly, Horacio turned his wrist and laid his middle and ring finger against her opening. He circled it in a wet tease before pushing both fingers inside. Eva grabbed his shoulder to ground herself against the fresh wave of feeling coursing through her body. It made her shift her hips down to get more of it, made her core flutter.

Thumb brushing against her clit, Horacio started a rhythm that was deep and lazy. Long, languid strokes meant to ignite every nerve until she burned with desire.

The air around her was thick with his scent. It poured into her, scrambling her thoughts. Eva couldn’t do anything but rock her hips helplessly against his hand. Digging her fingers into the material of his shirt did absolutely nothing to stem the rushing tide of orgasm as it thundered into and over her body. She cried out blindly as her body shook with the force of it.

Horacio eased her down, softening his touch and kissing her neck and shoulders. It was difficult for Eva to catch her breath. The muscles in her hips and thighs trembled with the effort of keeping her from melting right into the leather of the seat.

The smirk he sent her way was so reminiscent of Diego that Eva could not help but to roll her eyes. Pushing up a bit, she kissed him deeply, using the leverage of a hand behind his neck to hold him steady so that she could get at the button of his jeans. Half a second later she had it open so that she could pull down the zipper. Another three seconds and Eva could slide her hand over hot skin to grip his length.

It was as big as it looked.

Carefully, Eva mapped him.

With no basis of comparison, she could only guess that he was of average length. But, the weight of him and the way her fingers struggled to get around him made her think that she would need to work up to fitting him inside.

That didn’t seem to matter so much when he was moaning so prettily in her ear. As confidently as she could, Eva stroked him from root to tip and back down again. Horacio dropped his chin to his chest, breaths coming faster. Then, with a sound of frustration, he pushed the waistband of his jeans down so that she had more room to work.

Eva took a messy kiss from him, increasing her pace. The arm supporting his body gave out and he barely caught himself before he crushed her beneath his weight. Horacio buried his nose in her neck with a hiss. His cock twitched in her hand, pushed firmly into the circle of her fingers with every roll of his hips.

Bodies pressed together, Eva ran her thumb around the engorged head, smearing precome all over. She could feel the muscles of his chest and arms tremble, could feel that he was getting closer. Eva did not know she could want something so badly as she wanted to know what he sounded like when he came. It pushed her to a recklessness she’d never reached.

Tilting her hips up, Eva ran the tip of his cock over her folds. Excited by the surprised moan from the man above her, she gave him a firm stroke as she ground down on him. The move earned her another, deeper sound of need.

Her name was more air than voice, “Eva. I can’t...I’m...Eva, please.”

Eva should have granted him mercy. But, Eva was not a merciful woman. She arched up and licked a heavy path up his neck, tasting sweat that was soaked with desire.

Hips jerking back, Horacio cupped himself with the hand still holding her underwear. He spilled into them with a harsh grunt. Eva drew her hands back from his body, not sure what she should do with them now that he’d come.

Body relaxing, Horacio swallowed audibly, “I think I made the right choice.”

“What?”

Eyes meeting hers, he almost smiled, “About kidnapping you.”

She laughed, “I think I would like to see you try.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he replied as he eased his jeans back up over his hip, “I already have a plan.”

Pulling her legs beneath her, Eva asked, “Are you going to tell me the plan?”

Horacio shook his head, “Better if its a surprise.”

Nodding, Eva righted the hem of her skirt, “Speaking of surprises, my husband has decided that I should try to seduce you.” She paused, “That’s not what this was, by the way.”

He cast her a look to gauge her sincerity, then passed his hand over his face with a chuckle, “Its a good strategy.”

“Is it?”

Nodding, Horacio pulled her into his side, “The serum was a test, yes?” When she confirmed it, he continued, “I’ve been drawing him out, delaying shipments. He’s getting desperate.”

Eva looked up at him, “He’ll threaten you with Alexei next.”

He considered it for a moment, “Not yet. Zero has his own agenda.”

“What agenda?”

“He’s a precision instrument,” Horacio said casually. “There are a lot of people who would love to buy his services.”

“You think he’ll abandon Josh?”

“No. But, he might let him clean up his own mess for a change.”

“Which will make him even more desperate.”

“Which will make him even more desperate,” Horacio repeated. He looked down at her, “He’s turning to you because Zero hasn’t volunteered to set me right.”

Eva eased closer to him, “What do you want me to do?”

He kissed her temple, “Just do what he tells you to do. I’ll handle the rest.”