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dollfacefantasy · 1 year ago

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Hold My Calls

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: you teasing leon about his flip phone leads to some fun

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fucking during a phone call, age gap, daddy kink, praise/degradation, over-stimulation

word count: 2.9k

a/n: hey everyone school is kicking my ass rn, but i am back with another one. thank you so much for the support on my last post that meant the world to me. i don't care if this is not technologically accurate or whatever just let me be delusional in peace. as always comments and reblogs are appreciated and i will give you special smooches in return <3 also thank you too my loves @tosuckmyweenis @kaitkatme @chasingkennedy @explorevenus @sleepyluxe @death-paint @petitecolibri for helping me come up with ideas for this one and/or beta reading - ily all sm :)

When you started dating Leon Kennedy, obviously you knew there was an age gap. You figured it wasn’t a big deal. He’s only thirty-six. That isn’t that much older. And for the most part, that was true. The difference in years never seemed to play a huge part in how you loved each other. But there was one thing that reminded you of this man’s age.

He had a fucking flip phone.

Honestly, it didn’t even say much about his age. It highlighted his stubbornness. He was not incompetent. His job had him working with all kinds of shit that you didn’t even try to understand, so it’s not like he can’t work a smartphone. He just doesn’t want to.

It didn’t really matter. If anything, it was kind of cute. The way he fumbled with the buttons that were too small for his fingers. The loud chiming ringtone that he would grumble about yet never turn down. The sight of him trying to find the right distance to hold the phone away from his face so he could read the font. You had heart eyes on your first date when this man popped in a CD because he couldn’t use the aux with his flip phone. They were simple quirks, but they were just so endearing to you. You’d tease him about being outdated, and he’d put up with it cause it was you.

“Why do I need anything more? This thing can call you, and that’s all I really need,” he’d say with a teasing expression when you’d crack a joke.

You’d roll your eyes at the excessive charm, but you couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, but-”

And he’d cut you off with a kiss. “Trust me. I like it. It’s simple. Plus it’s like indestructible. But if I ever want an upgrade, you’ll be the first to know.”

The only time Leon ever considered ditching his trusty flip phone and upgrading to something more advanced was when you would send him nudes. Seeing the masterpiece that is your body reduced to a handful of pixels on the tiny screen drove him fucking wild. Upon hearing the chime of his phone and seeing the small image of you gracing his screen, he’d find a moment alone to try and see the details. He’d hold the phone two inches away from his face trying to make out every last curve. Days when he got those pictures ended with nights where you got fucked on every surface in the house.

He’d come home from work, his eyes full of lust before he even saw you. You’d glide into the room with a knowing smile on your face. You wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.

“Hi, baby. How was work?” you ask, feigning innocence. You close the distance between the two of you and wrap your arms around him.

“Oh, you care about my work now, huh?” he asks, a smirk creeping onto his face as his arms return your embrace, “Doesn’t seem like it when you send me those cute pictures during the day, distracting me, making me think about you when I should be focused.”

Your lips part and your eyebrows raise in mock offense. “I only send those to help you, motivate you,” you tease as your fingers coast along his biceps, “Maybe if you had a real phone they wouldn’t bother you so much. You’d be able to see everything clearly and not be left imagining.”

“I don’t need to stress about pictures though when I got the real thing waiting at home for me every night,” he purrs as he leans in and starts kissing you.

You return the kiss with the same level of passion, lips moving with his as the two of you stumble over to the couch. You fall back onto the cushions with Leon on top of you. His hands already roam your body and begin removing articles of clothing. He wasn’t in the mood to take his time after having that grainy image of you gnawing at his mind all day.

“Fuck, baby. Every time… I can never get enough,” he grunts as he yanks your top over your head and tosses it to the side. His hands rub up and down your sides, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your sensitive skin and making you squirm. In no time though, they’re on your breasts. He kneads the plump flesh as his lips trail down to your neck and collarbone, leaving a trail of saliva-coated skin in their wake.

He’s all over you all at once it seems. It’s overwhelming in the best way. You’re moaning and writhing on the couch, nearly trying to hump his leg while one of your hands tugs at his hair. You bite your lip and whimper as his lips move down over the swell of your chest.

He grabs your hips firmly and presses them down to the couch. His half-lidded eyes look up at you momentarily. “Quit squirming,” he breathes. He gives your chest a few more kisses while keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Need time with my pretty girl after I’ve been aching for her all day.”

You give a weak nod and focus on controlling your movements as he tugs your shorts off and drops them.

“Good girl,” he mutters before attaching his lips to one of your nipples and swirling his tongue around the peak. He hums in satisfaction as he feels the bud in his mouth. His fingers lazily stroke up and down your folds over your panties. He disconnects his mouth momentarily and looks up at you again with a smirk on his face.

“So wet already?” he teases, now being his turn to look smug, “You want me just as bad, don’t you? That’s why you send those pictures right? You’re missing Daddy while he’s at work?”

“Mhm, miss you so bad. It drives me crazy,” you say. A whimper escapes you as his fingers apply more pressure and his movements more strategically target your clit.

“I can tell. Makes you act like a little slut, huh?” he asks before he kisses down your stomach to the hem of your panties.

You feel your face getting hot at his comment, but you nod anyway. You bite your lip and keep your eyes locked with his.

He chuckles at your timid confirmation. “That’s ok, honey. Daddy’s here now. I’m gonna make sure you get all the attention you need. Can’t have my girl left wanting,” he says, pulling down your panties and putting them with your other discarded clothes.

He loops his arms around your thighs and pulls you closer so that you’re angled in a way he can reach you from his position on his knees. Your back is flat on the couch, and your legs are held over his shoulders. He doesn’t waste time, licking a stripe up your cunt and then delving his tongue inside of you.

Your head falls back onto the cushion in response. A moan escapes your throat at the sensation. Your sounds only increase in frequency and volume as he grips you tighter and fucks his tongue in and out of you. He watches you, relishing how he can pleasure you with so few touches. His tongue laps up your wetness and his mouth finds your clit again, sucking and flicking against the bundle of nerves just how you like.

His name and a variety of expletives leave your mouth while your hand slides into his hair and holds the blonde locks. Your hips twitch from the rising feelings of ecstasy in your tummy, but Leon’s hands keep you firmly in place. He devours you like a starved man, the hours of torture that little picture inflicted on him all paying off right now.

He’s skillfully swirling patterns onto your clit and occasionally exploring your insides. He knows you’re close because he can feel the way you’re pulsing and hear the way your moans and whines reach that slightly higher pitch. It only makes him work with more dedication.

“That’s right, sweetheart. C’mon, give it to Daddy. Let me taste it,” he grunts as he continues working you to the edge.

You cry out, your thighs quivering and your hips bucking as you succumb to release. You’re moaning with abandon, fingers clutching his hair as tight as possible. He groans into you from the sight in front of him.

You ride the high and he continues with his mouth throughout. When you reach the seeming conclusion, your chest is heaving and your limbs feel heavy, but Leon doesn’t stop. He continues on as if you were still on the way to your climax instead of coming down.

“Too much,” you whimper as your hips jerk and your hands make a weak attempt to push his head away, “Daddy, please.”

“Daddy, please?” he mocks with a laugh, “But this is what you wanted, babydoll. You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”

You whine, hips still squirming as your retort dies in your throat. It felt euphoric, it was just so much. This was what you wanted though.

“That’s what I thought,” he says before burying his face between your thighs again.

He continues eating you out until you’re an absolute mess. Your eyes are rolling back, nonstop whimpers fall from your lips, and your twitching thighs are clamped around Leon’s head. It was what he’d been wanting to see since he’d heard that chime in his back pocket.

“I’m gonna cum,” you slur. Your head felt cloudy from the numerous orgasms he’d brought you. A strangled cry tears through you as your body moves like it’s possessed. You convulse on the couch while his mouth makes you see stars for the umpteenth time.

Tears prick at your eyes from the intensity of your release, and finally, he starts easing off of you. He pulls your thighs off of his head and leans back. He wipes his chin that’s coated in your slick and licks his fingers. Seeing that alone has you clench around nothing which in turn spreads a smirk on his face.

“Good girl, baby,” he coos, planting a kiss on your inner thigh, “You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

He stands up from his knees, grunting as he gets to his feet and taking a moment to stretch. You can tell the extended amount of time in the position put some strain on him. Your lips curl into a small smile while adoration fills your hazy eyes.

“Your joints locking up on you, old man?” you tease with a quiet laugh.

“Don’t start,” he says, trying to sound stern, but you can see him suppressing his own smile, “Especially since I know you want more.”

That shuts you up because he’s right. He shakes his head and makes a mock sound of disappointment.

“I know you, baby. My dirty girl. Made you cum how many times, and you still want more,” he says. He begins stripping off his clothes into a pile next to yours. “My little whore would never turn down a chance to take my cock.”

Once his clothes are off, he languidly strokes himself a few times and climbs on top of you. He peppers some kisses on your face and starts to slide inside you. You were more than ready but still sensitive from the recent series of highs.

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll get you full of my cum in no time. Fuck all that neediness right out,” he murmurs into your ear, his breath on you sending chills down your spine.

You mewl and tighten around him in more ways than one. Your arms cling to his torso that hovers above you while your walls squeeze around him to take him deeper. He grunts and his head falls forward a little as he feels sparks of pleasure in his abdomen.

“There you go, angel. Taking me so perfect. My pretty girl. Made for me,” he says into your ear as he sinks into you completely.

You nod mindlessly, your head fogging up again as he fills you. He presses sloppy kisses to your neck as he starts pumping in and out. You’re both breathing heavily and allowing the pleasure to take over. One of your hands slides to his hair to rub his head while his hips snap against you.

He’s falling into the perfect rhythm with you, one that’s driving you both toward the goal line, when suddenly you hear a muffled guitar strum coming from the floor. Leon groans and you burst into laughter as you hear the ringtone you had set for him as a joke.

His movements get weaker as his focus is drawn elsewhere, but he doesn’t stop rocking his hips. He reaches down to the floor where his phone is ringing in the pocket of his crumpled pants. He fishes it out and shifts so he’s kneeling while drilling into you.

He holds the phone up and squints to read the tiny caller ID on the flip phone which makes you laugh harder through moans. He smirks at your laughter and clamps a hand over your mouth. “Shut up, I gotta take this,” he says teasingly.

He whips open the phone, the maneuver causing you to moan and squeeze around him again. He winces at the sensation, nearly unable to restrain himself from giving into his carnal urges to groan and slam into you harder.

Your eyes widen as he brings the phone to his ear without stopping his hips and in the most monotonous voice says “Kennedy here.”

It’s good that his hand is over your mouth to keep you quiet. The contrast of his movements and that voice have the sparks of pleasure igniting into flames in your belly. Seeing how he handles his dumbass flip phone so smoothly has your arousal nearly pooling on the couch.

He listens to the call while grinning at you struggling to keep yourself somewhat under control. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Sounds about right,” he drones as the person on the other end goes on and on.

His strokes are just as deep as before, nudging you in the perfect spots repeatedly. Your eyes roll back as you feel yourself getting near the peak. A soft whimper escapes you, loud enough to pierce the barrier of Leon’s hand. His hips sputter at the noise and his face contorts. He lets out a quiet grunt but quickly catches himself before losing it further.

“What? Yeah, I’m listening,” he says, his tone growing a little impatient, “Look, I’m just wrapped up in something right now. Could you not have just told me this before I left?”

You know he’s getting closer himself and struggling to hold back. You can tell from the way his jaw is clenched and his eyes are projecting his rising frustration he has for the person who made this call.

“Yes, I understand. I’ll deal with it tomorrow,” he says, effectively ending the conversation.

Then, to hang up, he doesn’t press a button. Instead, he flicks his wrist and shuts the flip phone with a clack.

You throw your head back against the couch cushion and a loud moan rips through your throat. You shudder as a wave of pleasure courses through you after witnessing something so unexplainably hot.

His eyebrows raise in amusement, noticing how much you enjoyed that. “Hmm, I’m not hearing any complaints about the phone now,” he says. He’s trying to tease, but his voice is husky with arousal. He maintains his grin as he drops the phone to the floor again and returns to his previous position which was closer to you.

“Careful, you’re gonna break it,” you whimper.

“Nah baby, I told you that thing is indestructible,” he breathes and starts pounding you into the couch mercilessly.

You bite your lip and resume clinging to him, your fingers digging into his back. You both are panting, expressions going lax as you focus on chasing the high.

“Daddy, ‘m gonna cum,” you mewl, unable to contain yourself for much longer.

“Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says into your ear, his voice taking on more of a growl, “Daddy’s right there with you. You deserve it for being so good for me. Being nice and quiet while I was on the phone.”

As soon as you have permission, you give into another release. Your legs shake and your arms cling to him tighter as the euphoria shoots through you. You’re gasping for air and whining while squirming beneath him. Soon it’s just too much for Leon. He tightens his grip on you and slams deep before groaning and draining himself inside of you.

He rocks in and out a few more times before slowly pulling out. He then sits up on the couch and sinks back into the cushions. You follow by sitting up as well and curling up against his side. He pulls you into his lap, stroking your hair away from your face and kissing your forehead. The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while until he gazes down at you with a smug look in his eyes.

“I knew the flip phone was a turn-on,” he says, clearly pleased with himself.

You scoff. “It is not. It was just… it was the situation,” you defend.

“Sure, but you were tightest when I was messing with the phone,” he says knowingly.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs at your stubbornness and gives you another kiss. “You can admit it, baby. I won’t judge. Really, if you like it that much, maybe I’ll show you how strong it can vibrate later.”

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #smut

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sorcerousundries · 21 days ago

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I’m dreaming of all the possibilities

A Valyrian wedding with Aemond

Warnings: Valyrian!reader, typical targcest, reader is Aemonds niece, mentions of rape(not by Aemond), readers hair is long enough to be braided, a lot of blood, I think dragon metaphors are romantic leave me alone, reader is described as beautiful, minimal dialogue, nicer!Aemond, shit pacing, Valyrian might not accurate

NSFW warnings: thigh grinding, marking, slight power imbalances, virgin!reader, Aemond dirty talks in Valyrian, no protection, vaginal penetration, slight voyuerism.

Translations: Issa ābrazȳrys, nyke kivio naejot ao naejot sagon aōha mīsio, aōha egros, aōha sumby, nykeā raqiros ao kostagon confide isse, aōha jorrāelagon skori ao dijāves issa, nyke kivio naejot ūbremagon naejot ao rūsīr undying devotion hae nykeā zaldrīzes would tend naejot pōja drōma, nyke krimvo aōha prūmia syt choosing issa, kostagon ao feel hae dāez rūsīr issa hae ao gaomagon va zaldrīzes arlī - my wife, I promise to be your protector, your blade, your shield, your friend you can confide in, your lover when you desire me, I promise to tend to you with undying devotion as a dragon would tend to their eggs, I thank your heart for choosing me, I pray you can you feel as free as you do on dragon back || Valzȳrys, kostagon aōha jēda rūsīr issa sagon lēdan rūsīr passion se perzys, kostagon īlva jorrāelagon zālagon hotter than vhagars perzys, nyke kivio naejot sagon pazavor, naejot sagon compassionate, naejot shifang se trūmāje parts hen ao rūsīr devotion se pāsagon, nykeā zaldrīzes emagon daor limits se neither shall īlva jorrāelagon. Ziry jāhor sagon remembered daor sepār hae union hen gaomilaksir se sacrifice yn hae mēre hen jorrāelagon - Husband, may our marriage be filled passion and fire, may our love burn hotter than vhagars fire, I promise to be loyal, to be compassionate, to understand the deepest parts of you with devotion and love, a dragon does not have limits and neither shall our love. May our marriage be remembered not just as a union of duty and sacrifice but as one of love. || Sīr vok syt issa, issa dōna ābrazȳrys - so perfect for me, my sweet wife || kotlu - please

NSFW content under the cut

When you first heard about Aemond it was from your mother, she had talked to you about betrothal before but for the most part the topic remained untrodden territory.

She understandably wanted to wait until you had came of age, remembering the unbearable pressure of being constantly presented with suitors who wanted her blood for their offspring or her place on the throne.

But when the greens offered to form an alliance on one condition. She betrothed her daughter to queen Alicents youngest son.

When your mother sat you down and told you the news you cried and screamed, even as your sobs died down your mind raced with images of what he might be like.

Would he be fat and greedy to consumed with his own need to tend to his wife preferring the company of common whores or would he be thin and unnerving with a wiry smile who would bring you to dungeons and molest you til your hole bled and throat was sore from screaming?.

You felt your stomach churn at the thoughts but they continued to race through your mind each one more grotesque than the last.

When the day finally came for you to meet your eyes stung with panicked tears, you looked at yourself in the mirror a thousand times. your white hair braided in intricate braids you couldn’t even remember the names of, a green gown with an embroidered neckline and golden details that shimmered with the flicker of candles.

You had hoped the Hightower green would please him, you felt wearing traditional Targaryen red and black would send the wrong message.

As much as you hated the situation, you couldn’t help but want to pacify it in every way you could.

———

The gathering took place in the council room, the orange light reflecting around the room making it feel dreamy.

From the moment your eyes locked with his blue ones your heart jumped, you couldn’t pull your eyes from him if you wanted to, it appeared he felt the same from the way his eyebrows rose ever so slightly, his eyes trailing up and down your figure returning to your face as if he wanted to memorise every small detail of your face, wether it be the curve of your bow or the slope of your cupids bow.

He sneered when his mother called his name, prompting him to tear his gaze from you.

You couldn’t even focus on the chatter of your mother and the greens, your gaze felt stuck on his handsome face.

It was only when he stepped forward and took your hand in his calloused one pressing the back of it to his lips you were able to focus on his words “princess, it is an honour to be named your betrothed” he spoke, his voice was velvety smooth as it reached your ears.

You were snapped out of your daydream when you felt everyone’s eyes looking upon you, awaiting your response “the honour is all mine” he smirked at this.

You can’t remember much of the meeting only that as you watched the greens sail away your mother smiled knowingly at you, kissing your forehead “it pleases me that you do not have the same reservations that I did” she comments before walking back up the pathway to the castle, leaving you standing with your dress blowing in the wind, thinking more positively about your betrothal than before.

———

Your relationship with aemond was fast paced but not unwelcome, you often sat together in the library discussing whatever topic came to mind or even sitting in silence wanting nothing more than to enjoy each others company.

You stood in front of the mirror looking at yourself similar to how did approximately nine moons ago, this time instead of green you were dressed in a white robe dipped in redm a golden headpiece said upon your head with tassels dangling by your ears.

“Princess, it’s time” one of your handmaidens called, you thanked her taking a deep breathe before starting the walk to the altar, you’d practiced it before, you counted exactly six hundred and forty eight steps, that’s six hundred and forty eight steps until you’d be married to Aemond.

The steps seemed to fly by, as your feet subconsciously sped up as if you blinked and there was aemond stood in front of you, dressed in a similar garment, his hair braided to match yours.

The officiant stood between you both first handing aemond the dragon glass shard, he brings it your lips and slices downwards, the sting painful but soothed by the cool wind blowing on your face. then your turn, bringing the shard to his heart shaped lips and sliding it down, the blood starting to drip.

His hand cups your jaw as your lips crash together, a mix of the metallic tang and expensive westerosi wine is all you taste, it makes you moan quietly into his mouth before you pull back hesitantly, a stupid grin on your face that he returns.

The taste returns to your mouth as you both drink from the same cup of blood, watered down with wine to make it go down easier. The amount of blood on your lips causing the red liquid to drip onto your dress and down your neck.

“Today we bear witness to the union of the prince and princess of house Targaryen, may their marriage be long and prosperous, filled with devotion and everlasting love to each other as their two souls bind into one, they may now recite they’re vows as oaths and promises to each other and their marriage” the officiant steps down from the altar and you join hands with him.

“Issa ābrazȳrys, nyke kivio naejot ao naejot sagon aōha mīsio, aōha egros, aōha sumby, nykeā raqiros ao kostagon confide isse, aōha jorrāelagon skori ao dijāves issa, nyke kivio naejot ūbremagon naejot ao rūsīr undying devotion hae nykeā zaldrīzes would tend naejot pōja drōma, nyke krimvo aōha prūmia syt choosing issa, kostagon ao feel hae dāez rūsīr issa hae ao gaomagon va zaldrīzes arlī” the words rolled from his tongue as if he didnt have to think to say them.

You take a deep breathe running quickly through your vows in your head before speaking “Valzȳrys, kostagon aōha jēda rūsīr issa sagon lēdan rūsīr passion se perzys, kostagon īlva jorrāelagon zālagon hotter than vhagars perzys, nyke kivio naejot sagon pazavor, naejot sagon compassionate, naejot shifang se trūmāje parts hen ao rūsīr devotion se pāsagon, nykeā zaldrīzes emagon daor limits se neither shall īlva jorrāelagon. Ziry jāhor sagon remembered daor sepār hae union hen gaomilaksir se sacrifice yn hae mēre hen jorrāelagon” you smiled, your joined hands causing the cuts on both to mix blood, feeling the bond between you both seal.

You keep your fingers intertwined as you both walk down the stone steps of dragonstone, towards the castle

———

Your dress fell from your shoulder, your breasts bouncing as the dress fell to the floor, leaving you completely naked.

Aemond sat on the foot of the bed, still in his wedding robes though he’d discarded his eyepatch, Leaving the gleaming saphire embedded in his eye socket on display, he sighs in content as his eyes rake your figure before he pats his thigh in invitation.

You straddle his thigh, your bare cunt pressed against the mix of linen and the firm muscle of his thigh. you lean forward smashing your lips onto his, the sudden change in position causing your clit to catch on the fabric, tearing a gasp from you.

The searing heat of need pulsates through your cunt as you start to grind against his thigh, you bite your lip and throw your head back.

He takes the initiative to start sucking and biting your neck, claiming you as his by marking you.

Your thighs tense and your abdomen pools with molten heat as you feel the knot in your stomach start to coil, “A-Aemond!” You moan, he licks a stripe up to your ear “cum for me, hm?” He encourages.

Fire rushes through your body as the coil snaps and wetness soaks Aemonds robes.

Your chest heaves as you pant for breath, trying to come down from your high.

Suddenly the room spins around you, you realise Aemond has flipped you onto the bed underneath him. His eyes are hungry as he gazes upon your face, a beauty only heard of in history books of old Valyria, he could scarcely believe such a beautiful woman was underneath him and all his.

He spread your legs with his lean one, slotting his pelvis flush against yours, gripping your hips as he presses his lips to yours, a sloppy clash of tongue, teeth and blood, fighting for dominance.

Your nails drag down his back, no doubtably leaving red stripes in their wake under his blood stained robe.

“Sīr vok syt issa, issa dōna ābrazȳrys” he moans into your mouth, the words slurred and murmured in need. The rolls of his tongue as he spoke the words making your cunt pulse as you imagine his tongue on your clit.

“Kotlu, I want your cock” you practically drool, bucking your hips up against the prominent bulge in his trousers.

He unlaces the front of his trousers, dipping his hand into waistband before pulling out his cock, the sight makes you moan.

It wasn’t exceptionally girthy but it was long, he laid it across your stomach and it almost reached your belly button, it curved slightly to the left. It would hit your gspot deliciously you thought, the prospect making your eyes roll back in your head.

But the thought of it was nothing compared to how it felt pushing inside your tight walls, it burned slightly, your hole never being penetrated before but his comforting grip on both your hands made it bearable as you tried to focus on the mouthwatering drag of his cock on your walls instead of the burning sensation.

It felt like an eternity before you finally felt his hips against your ass, all of his cock sheathed inside your cunt, the tip pressed against your spot, nudging it every time he shifted slightly.

“Move” you whined, his hips reeled back before he pushed in again over and over, the rhythm slow at first but he quickened as your moans grew louder, the wet squelch of skin slapping filling your eardrums along with his light groans.

You swear you could even hear maids giggling outside, at the sound of your moans they could tell aemond was practically in your guts. The image of them sneaking around corners, cunts dripping with need knowing they could never have the gorgeous Valyrian statue of a man behind you, taking you like an animal in heat made you smirk. Despite your head being stuffed into the silk pillows, moans muffled as Aemond had you on all fours, your moans could be heard two corridors down, the sounds echoing off the stone walls.

Your legs started to shake as you felt the rush of heat in your stomach again, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth “fuck, m’gonna cum!” you cried, he said something that you couldn’t hear as ringing sounded in your eardrums, your legs shook violently as you soaked aemond and the bedsheets underneath you.

He rubbed your hips as he fucked you through your orgasm, hips grinding and rolling in circles as he shot ropes of cum into your cunt, filling you up with his warm seed.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd smut #aemond smut #aemond x reader smut

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flawseer · 2 months ago

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Your thoughts on the wof characters have been really interesting and I'd love to hear your take on Starflight (your assignment of him being the 'designated sufferer' of arc one is both hilarious and tragically accurate). I've always liked him, cowardly though he is he still acts when he really needs to and the dynamic between him and Tsunami is super fun (the whole outwardly combative but inwardly just wishing to be as strong/as smart as the other).

I like Starflight and I relate to him a lot, as a fellow chronic worrier who annoys his friends with constant blathering about stuff only I find interesting, and often finding myself paralyzed in the face of decisions.

It’s funny how the story puts forward a black dragon, which in media are usually portrayed as mysterious, ambiguously malevolent harbingers of doom, and makes him into this adorable dork.

He’s also the plot’s chew toy, which I am at times less enthusiastic about. Especially when jokes are made at the expense of his misfortune.

Wings of Night and Sea

Starflight’s and Tsunami’s friendship is very engaging because, in a sense, both of them complete each other. For each, emulating the other serves as their last resort when faced with a personal crisis. Whenever Tsunami encounters a situation she cannot overcome with her usual blunt and direct approach, she asks herself how Starflight would resolve the situation. When Starflight becomes overwhelmed and too scared to move, his mind conjures an image of the strongest, bravest, most unstoppable thing he knows, which is Tsunami. Though either would be reluctant to openly admit it to each other, they both rely on each other’s strengths to cover their own weaknesses.

Through this you get the sense that, while their opposite personalities annoy each other to no end—if you locked both of them in a room for three hours, they’d be strangling each other when you open the door again—at their core they have only the deepest respect for each other. It becomes especially apparent when you realize that both of their stories in their respective books have them compare themselves to the other unfavorably.

If these two ever did a DBZ-style fusion dance, the result would likely be one of the most capable and balanced characters in their series.

Starflight's misfortune

CW: Discussion of blindness

One thing I have noticed (and have alluded to a lot in previous posts) is that the plot really likes to kick Starflight in the teeth. His own story arc puts him through the wringer, but he is not even safe in the two arcs past that, where he is largely out of focus. Most of the things that happen to him in arc 1 seem to occur for the sake of the story, but past that... it sometimes feels to me like the world has it in for this guy.

I started writing a list of every bad thing that happens to Starflight over all three arcs, but it got way too long, so now I’m just going to talk about a few select things instead.

One thing that stands out to me is that every other protagonist in arc 1 gets a specific moment. That kind of scene where they enter their tribe’s biome for the first time or connect with a particular part of their culture/physiology, and are overcome with a sudden burst of euphoria or deep resonance with their own nature. Clay gets it when he submerges himself in mud for the first time and then later again when he finds his siblings, Tsunami when she sees and smells the ocean, Glory when she’s in the rainforest and feels the sun, and Sunny when they go through the magic tunnel and end up in the desert. Starflight is the only arc 1 protagonist who doesn’t get a moment like this; when he enters his tribe’s home for the first time it’s a giant craphole that makes him feel upset. It only gets worse from there.

Then there is the big one; the misfortune that happens to him at the end of his book. I struggle to talk about this because... uh... How do I put this?

I opened this post by saying I relate to Starflight on a personal level. I wouldn’t consider myself as studious or well-read as him, so it’s not a direct comparison, but I do like to draw, write and dabble in visual artistry. This is a major part of my life; how I define myself as a person and what I think makes me “me”. The thing about this though is that all of this is tied up into one thing: my sense of sight.

It follows then that what ends up happening to Starflight is the realization of the one thing I fear the most. Thinking about the possibility of losing ones sight is deeply, personally horrifying to me. It messes me up internally just to consider it happening to me.

This, the subject of becoming blind, is a very difficult topic for any story to properly engage with. There are many pitfalls you can fall into and come off as insensitive, or ignorant. The way Wings of Fire deals with this subject is to... well... it doesn’t really. Starflight is blinded and then the story skips over most of his reaction to it because the next POV character gets separated from the group while they sort it out.

In a way, this is a good thing. I don’t know how this series—which often rushes through these really uncomfortable, harrowing events—would be able to show a realistic reaction to this development. Like, losing ones sight would be a horrifying prospect for anyone, but for Starflight especially this completely uproots not only his entire life, but his sense of identity. Everything he likes doing, everything he is and wants to be in life is rendered virtually impossible by this.

Consider who Starflight is. He is a thinker, and a worrier who is always inside his own head. He dreads and fears, he seeks out worst case scenarios, I daresay he is inclined towards pessimism. Whenever his neuroticism gets him too stressed, or emotional, or worried, he has one immediate response: bury his nose in a scroll. When he arrives in a new place, he usually asks where the scrolls are at. When he is under threat of being abducted or attacked, his first instinct is to go grab his scrolls to keep them safe. Like with me and drawing, reading is how he unwinds, how he balances himself. It is what keeps him sane and functional through dealing with adversity (and he's Starflight, so he deals with a lot of adversity).

Then this happens to him, and suddenly the one thing that makes this poor, battered boy happy, the one thing that never hurts him, is taken away forever. If I was in his place, if I learned I was suddenly blind, I would fall apart. I would cry, then scream, then cry AND scream and probably flail around in a panic. Clay would have to hold me down and restrain me so I don’t end up falling off the platform in a frenzied fit. Or worse.

So yeah, I get why the plot had to look away. Seeing this happen to Starflight—him going through this kind of anguish and then sinking into quiet despair as his world crumbles around him—would have been heartbreaking. In the end, we go on Sunny’s solo adventure and when she returns Starflight is already conveniently past the screaming fit phase and has adjusted to his new life circumstances—enough to talk and joke as if nothing happened. He then goes on to dedicate himself to bringing the wonders of literature to other blind dragons, which is a noble goal and good trajectory for his character—even if it’s a bit abrupt and I would have liked to SEE him do that instead of just being told.

Anyway.

This next one isn’t as notable because it doesn’t happen TO him, but I want to point it out to back up my claim that Starflight Ls can and will happen even in story arcs that have very little to do with him. In book 6 Moonwatcher and Darkstalker have a conversation where they discuss the concept of Nightwing powers and how they relate to the moons. The story very pointedly draws attention to the fact that Starflight nearly was born under three full moons and would have become the most powerful Nightwing of his generation if his inept caretakers had not decided to hatch him underground. While I don’t think getting these powers would have been good for Starflight in the long run, it is a bit sad considering he spent most of his childhood thinking he was born wrong because he didn’t have powers, and then Morrowseer further gaslit him about it throughout the arc.

And then we don't talk about what happens in arc 3. I am not the right person to discuss it.

My take on Starflight

I was asked to give my take on the character, so...

I already went into how I think he’s very introspective and prone to worrying. I see him as an introvert, which is something he has in common with Glory, and contrast him with Sunny, Clay, and especially Tsunami. He enjoys reading but also other activities where he gets to use his brain. He likes puzzles; I imagine he got very excited when they had to figure out the murder plot in book 2, or when he caught Blister in a lie. If he had a computer it would be full of adventure and puzzle games, and he’d hog the resident DS to play the Professor Layton series all the time.

When they found the academy, it is implied he teaches a literacy course and gives out writing assignments. That is right up his alley, but I’ve always felt he also has strong math/natural science teacher vibes. There should logically be a numbers class at that school and I can’t imagine any other character who would be more suited to teach it.

If I were asked where I would make changes to his story, I guess I would nix the part where he and Fatespeaker hook up in book 5. I have nothing against their relationship, it’s actually grown a lot on me over time. But I never liked how it started. Starflight gets rejected by Sunny and then immediately hooks up with Fatespeaker. This is really undignified for her because it takes their potentially intriguing romantic relationship and turns her into Starflight’s “rebound chick”. You really need to give yourself some time to move on from your previous attraction; rushing like this creates doomed relationships.

The original story implies that about half a year passes between the end of arc 1 and the start of arc 2. I like to pretend this gap is actually a bit longer, by like 2 or 3 years. It gives the old protagonists a bit more time to settle into the roles they’ll occupy during the next arc, and makes it more plausible to me that they could build and outfit an entire school, write the curriculum, designate roles, etc..

In that time, with things being more calm now, Starflight has opportunity to get lost in his own thoughts again. It turns out, now that the dangers of the war are no longer distracting him, he finds it difficult to cope with his blindness and sinks into a depression.

While this happens, Fatespeaker is there with him. She sees his condition worsening by the day, but refuses to give up on him. She reads to him; they talk, and they bond. Though serious self-searching and hard work, together they manage to pull out of the darkness eventually. This is how their relationship starts, and it’s also how Starflight gets the idea to invent the dragon-equivalent of braille.

Somewhere during that time, I also imagine Glory has Tamarin escorted to Jade Mountain so she can help Starflight adjust to his new situation and learn how to navigate his life without needing to rely on others. Perhaps this is what motivates Tamarin to attend the academy later.

What else is there to say? Hmm...

I think Starflight is really fond of hard candy. Jawbreakers are his favorite especially. Though given how prone to misfortune he is in the story, I’m hesitant to put him in proximity of anything with a name like that.

#wings of fire #dragon #wof #digital art #wof art #flawseer art #flawseer reply #flawseer talk #wof starflight #wof nightwing #romance

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seven-stars-in-his-palm · 8 months ago

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analyzing some images (for fun)

so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)

everything under the cut !

unique traits

aziraphale:

1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm

2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr

3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose” very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)

4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.

5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

crowley:

1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧

2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3

3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT

4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it

5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞

6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH

similarities

mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….

1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos

2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….

3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….

4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever

5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃

6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,

okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable spouses #dont have an analyzing tag so. this is it for now

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kc-rising · 3 months ago

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I Need Help

Hey folks, serious post. I've mentioned what's going on with me a couple times but never really went into much detail; I've been having severe pain in my left side for over 3 months now. Doctors can't figure out what's causing it, no X-rays, CT scans, ultrasounds, or blood work show anything. I've seen multiple specialists and gotten no answers. I finally got one of them to send me to physical therapy which I started last week.

My co-pay for specialists is very high and my physical therapy counts as specialist visits according to my shit insurance.

I'm going to be out $600 in the next few weeks because of this. I'm already out more than $500 because of the previous doctor visits and imaging done. So that's over $1100. And this is assuming the PT fixes me. I hope it does, I'm so tired of dealing with this. More bills are still coming in as well so who knows how much I actually owe...

I really hate asking for real life money, especially right now with all the Palestinian gfms going around, but I'm struggling, my job pays like shit (in the US? shocking I know /s) and I haven't been able to work a full shift for the 3 months this has been going on. All of this is excluding my normal medical costs for unrelated issues, which are expensive enough as it is.

I'm going to drop some links here.

Help Me Pay My Medical Bills

If you donate leave me your Tumblr url and a request and I'll doodle something for you:

I'll draw Flight Rising dragons, non-FR dragons, animals, dinosaurs, kaiju, pokemon, any kind of creature really, furries, etc.

Here are some examples of my work from this year's Art Fight

These obviously aren't doodles but they're the most recent pieces I've made and are most accurate to my current style. The more you donate the more time I will spend on your request.

Links:

Ko-Fi

Paypal

Venmo

(please ignore my deadname on venmo and paypal)

** If you can't donate I would greatly appreciate reblogs **

#the stress of it all is killing me #I know I keep up a cheerful vibe on this blog but I am not doing ok #and I'm finding that very difficult to admit to myself let alone strangers on the internet #I don't even know what to tag this with...

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ilovejoostklein · 6 months ago

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i would love a best friends to lovers scenario. Like joost and reader are best friends for years and they are now developing feelings. Reader isn't dutch but german or something else and they teach each other their language. Like imagine joost teaching her dutch. And Please a lot of cheesy fluff. Thank you🥹

sorry for taking a while, i wanted to try to get the dutch as accurate as possible ❤️

How Do You Say ‘I Love You’

You and Joost are childhood friends. After high school, you moved away from the Netherlands and since have been living in the south of France, but he’s always been bad at dealing with your absense

sfw: fluff, friends to lovers, so much fluff

When high school ended and you went off for university, Joost felt like a piece of him had been left vacant. His heart ached during the fall and spring months when you were away in France teaching private English lessons and being a nanny to spoiled little French kids for half the year. The family you worked for always rubbed him the wrong way, but he didn’t realize why until he saw you again.

It was the beginning of summer, the family wanted you to postpone your month-long trip to the Netherlands, the country where you’d spent most of your adolescence and left all your loved ones behind. When you’d told Joost that you wouldn’t be back for another month, he’d gotten so upset and impatient that he booked a ticket the second he got your text and showed up unannounced.

You remembered how mortified you were when you were awoken by the two children, Max and Lucas, you looked after, delirious from sleep hearing them ramble about a strange, tall man with blonde hair who spoke poor French at their door. You hardly heard the morning birds, the sky still had hues of deep, navy blue, and the sun still under sheets of clouds, it was a criminal that you were being disturbed this early.

You remembered even more so the moment you looked through the peephole and felt your stomach turn. Your body was freezing already from being out of the warm bed, but his presence alone paralyzed you with it. You watched the distorted image of his nervous expression and body language, how he looked over his shoulder constantly and tapped his foot. He held one suitcase in his hand and wore an overstuffed backpack. His hair was a lot blonder than the last time you saw him, and he grew a mustache. This wasn’t the man you’d seen last year, and it certainly wasn’t the boy you were inseparable from in school who you watched YouTube and played video games with.

“Joost?” You rasped, still feeling the aura of sleep, the situation itself made you like you were dreaming without the fatigue.

“Yes.” He answered. “Please let me in.” He said curtly.

You frantically unlocked the door and practically jumped into his arms, hugging him as tightly as you could. The smell of his shampoo was overwhelming, bringing you back to when you were in his bedroom, just turned 13 and entering your scary teenage years. He’d always shower after school before you came over, he made it a habit as he liked to play football with the other boys after school and come home tracking dirt and mud in the house. You missed his parents’ voices scolding him for always forgetting to take his shoes off. The smell of apple in his hair brought you back to that beautiful memory. It hurt to let go.

“Missed you.” You mumbled, holding back the tears of the overwhelming happiness to see your friend again. “Don’t forget to take off your shoes.”

“C’est ton petit compain?” One of the boys teased you, prompting you to playfully push the giggling kids away into the kitchen.

“Vas t’en.” You scolded lightly. “Go to the kitchen.”

Joost chuckled, the sight of you with the boys always warmed his heart. He’d only met the kids a handful of times since whenever you two would reunite it would be in the Netherlands. They treated him awkwardly, but it was an infectious happiness, the domestic, comforting feeling of it to see you so caring and motherly. He felt at home with you all the time, and your sweet nature had soothed him for as long as he knew you. Even in the south of France, jet-lagged and nervous he felt happy with you.

“I’ll start making breakfast.” You said, quickly grabbing the apron and putting it over your pajamas he could tell this was a well-established, chaotic routine. “Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Koffie.” Joost exaggerated his choice of Dutch, encouraging you to roll your eyes. “Alstublieft”

You felt a bit bad that your Dutch was severely lacking despite living in the Netherlands for five years. It was honestly kind of embarrassing, especially for someone who taught a language for a living. You understood enough to finish primary school and talk to friends, but completely stopped practicing once you returned to France, and it’s only deteriorated since. Joost was disappointed, to say the least, but he enjoyed having something to tease you over.

“I’ll be here for two weeks, by the way.” He began, “You’ll speak perfect Dutch once I’m gone, so you’ll be really to come back to the Netherlands.”

You scoffed, “Why do I have to learn Dutch but you don’t have to learn French?”

He only chuckled in response as you prepared his coffee the way he always liked, hot, one spoon of sugar and a splash of milk. He’d been drinking it that way since you started high school together. Every morning, in fact, a steaming hot coffee, usually the shitty kind that was somehow always bitter no matter how much sugar you put in there. It was unsurprising that he loved cigarettes so much.

“I’ll learn French, why not.” He said, smiling as he took the steaming mug from you. “Dank je.” He thanked you sweetly.

“Merçi.” You corrected, “Omelette ou pain et fromage mes petits choux?” You asked the boys.

“Pain et fromage.” The two boys answered loudly in unison, clearly hungry and impatient.

“Pain et fromage.” Joost added in his broken accent, “Alstublieft.” His answer in Dutch sent the boys into a giggling fit.

You couldn’t help but sigh and laugh, internally relieved that you wouldn’t have to go fight the chickens for their eggs, a sight that would’ve certainly amused Joost, and could quickly cut up some of the bread you’d baked last night and cheese made from one of the local farmers. You were glad that as tired as he was, you’d at least be able to get him some good food.

You set the table, laying out a few choices of jam, cut-up fruits, and a little bit of butter. The boys drank their cups of juice and ate their breakfast happily, excitedly telling Joost about their today’s plans, a trip to the beach with the neighbor’s family and their youngest son.

“Are you boys good swimmers?” Joost asked them, his smile big and overpowering all his features, it was your favorite thing about him.

“Yes.” The youngest answered, Max, “Ma nounou is a very bad swimmer.” He always had to be brutally honest.

“She’s ok.” Lucas defended, sweetly handing you half of his mandarin when he noticed that you didn’t take any fruit. “We need to be ready in one hour.” He informed Joost quite seriously, the little kid a stickler for rules.

“Yes, don’t worry,” Joost assured him, taking the empty plates for you to the sink once he was finished eating. “Why don’t you help me with the dishes and give your nounou a break, hm?”

The boys exchanged irritated glances, making a silent agreement between themselves to not embarrass you or themselves in front of their guest. They dragged their feet to the sink, helping Joost clear off the table and wash the dishes as promised, giving you a moment to sneak away to get ready.

“How long have you known nounou?” Lucas asked, hearing the shower upstairs and knowing he was allowed to speak freely now. “We don’t know a lot about you.”

“Oh,” Joost huffed, instantly taken back to the same place you went when you saw him at the door. “Seventeen years, we met when we were twelve.”

The boys made a sound of astonishment, the concept of someone being friends for longer than they had been alive was a concept difficult to grasp but made them more inclined to like Joost instead of just seeing him as a stranger in their home. He understood, you were the closest thing to their mother and you’d been with them since they were born, essentially making them family. He needed to make a good impression.

“That’s a long time.” Max, being only ten, this was especially shocking. “Do you love her?”

Joost felt his cheeks burn, the lack of filters that kids had was something he could never get used to. He could only imagine how crazy this one drove you.

“Yes, I love her,” Joost answered, carefully stacking the expensive glass plates, plain as they were the few of them cost probably as much as his shoes. “She’s a good friend.”

The boys decided it wasn’t a satisfactory response, and to continue to interrogate him with questions. Naturally, they had to find out if he was good enough for you.

“You love her or you like her?” Lucas asked his tone still so serious Joost began to get intimidated by the little French kid still in his pajamas.

He heard the shower had stopped for a while, but knowing you, you were probably still overthinking what to wear or were taking a few minutes just to sit in the bathroom wrapped in your towel. He knew you too well, all the tiniest most negligible parts of you he memorized like it was his favorite song. He would play over and over in his head the things that you’d do, how your nose scrunched up when you laughed, how you rolled your eyes every time he corrected your Dutch.

“I do love her,” Joost admitted quietly, making his way to the living room. It was bigger than he remembered, a bit renovated, and kept impeccably neat, he wondered if they’d finally hired a housekeeper. “Kids, did your parents ever hire more help?”

Lucas shook his head, “Non.” He answered a bit sadly. “Maman says we don’t need more than a nanny.”

Joost simply nodded, thinking about the first and seemingly last time he met the boys’ parents. They were tall, stone-faced Parisian lawyers who wanted an escape from the city for their children, or rather from them, prompting them to buy the biggest house on the little hill in a southern French village. It was completely idyllic, but without you, he felt that they’d leave this beautiful home completely soulless.

“You kids should get ready.” Joost glanced at the clock, dreading when he would have to rummage through his bag to find swimming trunks and his sandals.

He found one of the many guest rooms and adopted it as his own for now. After making a proper mess of his clothes, he finally found his brightly colored blue trunks and flip-flops. He was the kind of person who liked wearing sneakers to the beach, but you never failed to give him a lecture about messing up your shoes with the sand, so he decided to be on your good side today.

Every time Joost reunited with you, somehow you’d changed completely for the better. You were more beautiful than the last time he saw you, softer, your presence feeling almost regal. He always wondered how you always looked so put together, how you always could calm or fix a situation. He saw you through rose-tinted glasses, but it never felt like an illusion.

“You look nice.” Joost complimented, taking the beach bags you’d packed from your hand and slinging it over his shoulder. “Are we walking?”

You nodded, “It’s fifteen minutes to the spot we go to.” You said, looking at him with a bit of excitement. “There’s a lot of shops and nice restaurants closer to that area.”

Eventually, the kids ran into their friend while walking, catching up with him and his parents and walking ahead, leaving you and Joost trailing behind.

“They were so tiny the last time I saw them.” He said, remembering how shy and reserved they were just a few years ago.

“Don’t remind me.” You said, watching the boys as they talked and joked with their friends. “I can’t believe we used to be that little.”

Joost turned to look at you, taking in all your beautiful features, returning once again to those old memories that made him happiest. As you two walked, the crashing waves and the fresh saltiness cleared his senses and washed away his apprehensions. It brought him back to the time he realized he loved you.

It was also on a French beach. You’d just completed your first year of university, enjoying the summer break, getting a new job as a nanny, and Joost came down to congratulate you. The two of you lay on the warm sand for hours, fingers grazing each other’s stomachs hurting and cheeks aching from laughing so much. He wanted to blame it on the fact that you’d packed a cooler full of sandwiches and alcohol, or that you’d been wearing a white bathing suit, and the sunset was one of the most beautiful and vibrant he’d seen, shining golden light against your skin. The scene was romantic, he had a bit too much to drink and he thought he was just confused.

He wished he told you then. The feeling only grew steadily over time, like seeds he’d planted his love for you slowly grew. He was thankful it was slow, the distance keeping his feeling muted and controlled as he didn’t have to face you every day, and your friendship surviving over texting and calls. Even then, he would reread all your texts, and stare at the pictures you’d send at random points of the day. It became like a ritual, every day before bed, when he woke up, if he was having a particularly bad day seeing your smiling face eased him.

“We have so much to talk about.” You were dying to hear all his stories about his tour. Joost was always cool to you, but being a musician made him so much cooler.

“I can tell you all about my shows.” He immediately knew what you were interested in. “But in Dutch.”

You groaned in response, not wanting to start the speaking Dutch argument yet. You found a place far enough to talk out of earshot but close enough to keep an eye on the kids. The weather was perfect, warm and sunny but not enough to swim yet.

“I thought you wanted to learn French.” You said, laying down the blankets and pulling his hand so that he’d sit with you.

“I do.” Joost sat a little closer than you were anticipating, his shoulder and knee touching you. “I’ll talk to you in Dutch and you can answer in French.”

“That’s too hard.” You complained. “Just speak a little Dutch.”

“Fine.” He relented. “De concerten waren leuk, the concerts were fun, easy right?”

“Ja, zeker.” You answered, seeing his face immediately light up at hearing you attempt to speak Dutch again, even if it was simple. “Wat was je favoriete onderdeel, what was your favorite part?” You asked slowly.

“So advanced.” Joost complimented jokingly “Alles was goed, zingen is altijd leuk, maar reizen is het beste, it was all good, but traveling is the best.”

“Ja, dat is leuk.” You answered plainly, not having much in your memory to work with.

Joost chuckled, bumping your knee. “How do you live in the Netherlands for five years and your Dutch is shit?”

“Your best friend speaks French and you don’t.” You attempted to defend yourself, it was a bit hypocritical as you two lived in the Netherlands at one point and not France. “But you will learn, and we’ll speak French all the time.”

“No, because I’m bringing you back to the Netherlands.” He answered, he was serious in his hopes you’d come back. “Everyone is waiting for you there.”

You hesitated, “I just hated the fact I couldn’t pick up Dutch.” You’d said it a dozen times, the fact you’d felt more comfortable speaking French was the reason you’d chosen to start your life here.

“We spoke Dutch all the time as kids.” He reminded you. “Don’t you want to come back?”

You couldn’t help but watch as Lucas and Max built sandcastles with their friend. France was beautiful, you had a good life and found a second family here. Even if the parents were a bit difficult at times, at least they paid you nicely and you knew they loved you. Still, you didn’t know if your future was nannying, or if it was even in France.

“I miss you all the time.” You began, reaching into one of the coolers to offer Joost a beer to let the building emotion taper off. “But maybe I’ll get to come back with you in two weeks.”

“It’s a bit early for beer.” He chuckled, handing it back and trading it for soda. “You’re trying to get me drunk already?”

“Shut up.” You hit his knee with yours. “Do you want to try to get into the water?”

Joost had felt the sun begin burning him through his shirt and was staring at the calm, crystal blue waters. He nodded and was relieved you said something.

He watched as you slipped off the straps of your sheer coverup and kicked off your sandals. You wore a floral bikini, he wished he could get closer to study the pattern and to feel how soft your skin was, he was glad being at the beach with you was an opportunity to be able to be able to hold you.

You two held hands as he led you into the water, thankfully it wasn’t as cold as he was expecting. At first, you two swam alone, you clung onto Joost’s back, your hands resting on his shoulders and legs wrapped around his torso as he went into the deeper end. It was like that for a while, talking about random things and pushing each other into the water until the kids decided to join you.

Joost was always great with kids, he was gentle and patient even if they were spoiled and could be a bit demanding. Lucas and Max spent a great deal arguing over who got to go on Joost’s shoulders so that they could go in the deep end. You spent the rest of the time swimming with Joost, the boys, and the parents before you decided it was time for lunch.

Lucas had been working to keep himself, his brother and his friend separated from you so that you and Joost could have time alone together. It was a sweet gesture, and he could tell how much he cared for you and his wish to be alone, even if he didn’t completely understand the depth of it.

Joost wrapped you in a towel and offered to brush your hair as you began to eat your lunch, a cold sandwich you’d packed the night before, chips, and more cut-up fruits, you couldn’t help it living next to so many farms. You fed some chips and fruit to Joost as he detangled your hair, giggling as you tried to figure out where his mouth was without compromising his work.

“I’m done now.” He admired his work, smoothing down the hair on your face. “I’m hungry, stop forcing me to work.”

He sat beside you and began to eat, still watching the way the sun glittered on the water but even then he felt something missing. As beautiful as it was, he realized he’d enjoyed looking at your hair and the sight of your smiling face much more.

“Is it good?” You asked, always tending to be nervous about whether or not someone liked your food.

“Yes, always.” Joost responded, “I love your cooking.”

“Say, J’aime votre cuisine.” You told him, getting a side-eyed response.

“J’aime votre cuisine.” He repeated, his pronunciation improving a bit. “How do you say I love the beach?”

“J’aime la plage.” You responded, wondering why he was asking such easy questions.

“How do you say I love you?” He was trying to be annoying, but as always you gave in.

“Je t’aime.” You said, rolling your eyes. “You know that.”

“Oh,” Joost brought you into an aggressive hug. “Je t’aime aussi.”

You didn’t know how the playful aggression ended up with you lying down with your head on Joost’s shoulder. You looked over at him, seeing that his expression had softened as you both listened to the sounds of the ocean and soft music from the shops down the street.

“I wish you’d come back forever.” He mumbled suddenly.

“Why so soon?” You asked, “You get to visit me here, and you’re never home anymore anyway.”

“I’d bring you everywhere with me.” Joost’s tone was a bit too serious, “I could take care of you.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at his face. It wasn’t fair, he was even handsome from this angle. “What do you mean?”

He was the one sighing and rolling his eyes this time. “You know how I feel about you.” he began, “You know I don’t see you as just a friend.”

The confession wasn’t that, but just putting the obvious out into the open. You’ve never touched Joost more than a hug, or holding his hand in the seventeen years you’d known each other. You couldn’t fathom how excruciating it would have been if you focused on the fact that you’d always been dreaming about his touch and finally have something besides this friendship, as much as you cherished it.

You could’ve mistaken his lips for strawberries, and when you’d leaned down and pressed yours against them they might as well have been from how much fruit you’d spoiled him with.

You kept the kiss brief, smoothing your hand down the softness of his cheek as you looked into his eyes, the blue much more magnificent and captivating than any ocean you’ve seen.

“Ik hou van jou.” You whispered, the way his face brightened and how he smiled was something you’d never seen before. You wished the memory would burn itself into your mind. “You’re my best friend, I love you.”

“Je t’aime.” He whispered back, wasting no time to bring you into another kiss.

#joost klein #joost #joost klein x reader #fem reader #fluff #friends to lovers

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bonebrokebuddy · 1 year ago

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Semi based on their canon music taste or what I think their music taste should be and trying to be dutiful to keeping a general similar tone to the playlist. That and what lyrics fit them.

also feel free to drop your character playlists here for show & tell

#guys some of these playlists are 6+ hours long so uh. my bad #I’ve been accumulating them for over 3 months #Bruce has a more doom & gloom vibe to his playlist #with a few of ones on his kid’s playlists on there too #did the same with Kon’s and Tim’s where they share some music taste randomly #Jason is more (as the title says) originally had a 80s-00s dad metal vibe #but slowly devolved into songs about sacrifice. resurrection. revival. and betrayal.#for Tims I tried for a mostly time accurate one (00s and earlier) of punk rock and metal (because of him inheriting the role from #Jason his connection to Bruce and Tim being friends with kon (who canonically listens to Metallica so I expanded upon that)#also. Kon’s is time accurate. as the title says. the biggest issue I had was trying to find female artists with the same tone kon canon #likes bc I mainly listen to male metal artists and Spotify does Not Help when trying to explore a new genre of music the one time you try #to look. and as it’s time accurate I couldn’t include Scene Queen but he’d totally listen to them.#kon likes girl bands that sing loudly about a) drugs b) sex c) being famous & others using you for your status or image #which uh. yeah that last one really tracks with his 94 characterization #and also kon has metal that fits him in there bc he canonically likes metal too:)#its been such a wild experience trying to find stuff to fit these because other than Jason’s playlist… I didn’t listen to the other genres #of music. like Bruce’s playlist has some doom metal and black metal. & various other slower genres of metal #but black metal? lmao it sounds like someone made the vocalist eat gravel and put the vocals through a blender it fits him so well #but I Definitely don’t listen to punk rock anymore. used to & working on Tim’s playlist has kinda gotten me back into listening to it?#so if I had to pick a playlist that I was most uncertain that it fit the character’s music taste it would be Tim’s #barts is general ‘gotta go fast’ stuff #but ‘run to the hills’ is specifically a song bc I imagine it reminds bart of max #bones writes in the tags #Billy’s music taste #character playlists #Spotify

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brummiereader · 9 months ago

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MASTERLIST PART TWO

Unchained Melody (Part Three)

Summary: As an uncomfortable tension settles between you both the next day, Tommy finally musters up enough courage to say what needs to be said, only to be interrupted by a scornful Governess, then two unexpected visitors later that day. But as night descends on Arrow House and your guests return to their homes, your husband tells you of the uncomfortable reality, and turmoil you had left him in as he drowns himself in his most reliable friend, and remedy to numb the pain. Whisky.

Warnings: Language, angst, postpartum depression, mutual pining

Word Count: 5291

Authors note: A quieter chapter before things finally come to a head after an eventful, terrifying day in the next part.

Two days. You had been back for a total of two, full days. Not only had you and Tommy been avoiding the hard discussion that desperately needed to take place, you had learnt that the Governess who was hired to care for your son had also been keeping your husband company. Or to be more accurate, keeping him company in the martial bed you once shared. You didn't think it possible your heart could ache anymore until last night when your eyes landed on Tommy's sheepish gaze staring back at you as you left your son's nursery, and you came face to face with not only his disheveled appearance but his belt shamelessly unbuckled as the Governess sauntered from the dimly lit room they had both left. It didn't take much for you to come to the anguished realisation of what had occurred in your absence as you tormented yourself for the remainder of the evening with images of your husband making love to the woman you felt had replaced you, all while a painful nagging of self- conscious thoughts plagued your sleepless night.

Did she satisfy him better than you ever did? Was her body more attractive to him than yours? Did he...love her? As a barrage of unstoppable questions you had no answers for other than the ones your worried mind could conjure up, you dragged your shaky body timidly down the winding staircase the next morning, every part of you fearing you would break down into a puddle of pitiful tears for the hundredth time once again.

You were weeks, if not days from having enough willpower to return to Arrow House, you'd tell yourself. Whether you truthfully believed it or not, it was the sole dream you held onto, wishfully hoping your husband hadn't forgotten you, praying he and your son would show you mercy if you ever returned to them. How could you have been so selfish to think he would've waited? That he wouldn't have moved on? You thought to yourself as you scrambled to piece together your shattered heart from the embarrassment you felt for being so foolish. Your place in the grand house you once called your home was thoroughly understood. You were now, the other woman.

Smoothing down the front of your dress, you closed your eyes, desperately trying to compose yourself before you entered the dining room and let your true feelings slip.

"Good morning Mrs Shelby, some tea perhaps?" Frances greeted you, stood next to William cutting his toast into smaller, toddler-sized pieces as you entered the room. Mrs Shelby...Was you still? You thought to yourself as you walked to the end of the large mahogany table with Tommy sat at the head, looking at the end of the burning cigarette resting between his fingers, anywhere but you, anywhere that would hide the shame in his eyes and the regret uncomfortably wrapped around his chest.

" Yes, thank you, Frances" you answered quietly as you looked to the seat beside Tommy. Your seat. The seat saved solely for the lady of the house. A simple, once mundane decision as to where to sit suddenly felt like the most cementing finality to your broken marriage. Forgoing the position you once held, you made your way around the table to sit next to your son as Tommy's eyes flew up, darting to the unoccupied chair next to him then back to you, huffing as he stubbed his cigarette out into the glass ashtray. What did he expect? Tommy, the man always a step ahead of everyone else, couldn't fathom that someone couldn't just soldier on like him, ignoring the fragility of such a situation, and have things left unspoken without resolution.

With his tired body relenting to yet another issue that needed to be faced, he slouched into the frame of his seat as he turned his head away, running his hand down his tired features as a headache from guzzling half a bottle of whisky in an attempt to numb his guilt the previous night started to thump furiously across his forehead. He too, hadn't slept.

" William, eat your toast son" Tommy said clearing his throat as he sat up noisily unfolding his newspaper whilst staring at you, trying to garner your attention and have you finally look his way. But with your refusal to do so, a mutual silence descended between you both as you tended to your son and ignored your husband's blatant attempts to show you how unhappy he was with your choice of seats. Was he looking for an argument? Was that what he wanted, a slagging match to tally up who was more in the wrong?

" Some more water for your tea Mam" Frances said as she walked in and placed a floral china teapot in front of you as Tommy looked over his newspaper, stealing another glance before furrowing his brow and returning his eyes to the first line of the business collum he had read, and re-read at least ten times already.

The latest happenings in the world of finance that would normally have him buried deep in thought each morning held little to zero interest as his worries drifted to what you were thinking, occupying every space in his restless mind. Did you think he was still having sex with her? That she had replaced you? That he loved her? Tommy nervously thought to himself as his paper lowered, and he watched your lips graze over the porcelain cup in your hand as a dusting of particles illuminated by the morning sun glittered gracefully around you. Captured once again, Tommy's feelings of melancholy that once shrouded him suddenly subsided and an urgent need for reconciliation swept over him as his fingers inadvertently inched across the freshly laid table cloth closer to your hand.

"Y/N, can we tal..." he said apprehensively as you finally looked up to see the anguish engulfing his tired face when the door flew open and the Governess strode in, quickly causing him to snatch his hand away.

" Frances, tea" she demanded looking to Tommy giving him a smirk as he glared at her, his jaw tightening within seconds at the mere sight of her smug face.

" Staff eat down in the kitchen, unless invited otherwise" Tommy mumbled, lifting his newspaper as the tension that had slowly simmered between you both came thundering back tenfold into a suffocating pressure that was weighing the room down. Fuck, she needed to go. Tommy thought to himself as she sat down beside him without a care, taking your place once again, thinking she had the upper hand in the situation. Her little stunt filled with veiled threats the previous night had Tommy calling up and down the country all morning gathering as much information as he could on who she was, and her own little secrets she wished to keep from seeing the light of day. Brazen enough to make such threats, Tommy was no fool to think she hadn't safeguarded the intel she had acquired on him. And until he had dealt with whoever had been entrusted with said information, be it family or friend, her unwelcome presence in the house would have to be begrudgingly endured.

" Mummy" William smiled up at you with jammy cheeks, and a single toothy smile whilst kicking his legs back and forth, single handily bringing a smile to your face and a distraction from the frosty stare the Governess sat across from you was sending your way.

" Hi sweetheart..." You replied quietly, running your fingers across his plump cheek as a tear settled on your lashes, never tiring from hearing the sweetest of words spoken to you.

" Don't talk with your mouth full William" the governess barked, breaking the tender moment between you both and shocking you out of the one delight you felt you were allowed to enjoy.

" Give it a rest, would you? He's two bloody years old" Tommy snapped back, having had enough of her overbearing, over-controlling attitude towards his son, your son. Why the hell did he even go there, with her? Tommy thought to himself, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just throw her in the cut.

" More, more, more" William's little voice squeaked as he pointed enthusiastically to the glass dish of strawberry jam in the center of the table as a quiet chuckle left Tommy's lips and a smile graced your own at his sheer determination, and the learnt knowledge of his sweet tooth he could have only inherited from one person.Tommy.

Reaching for the jam, you pulled it towards you when a hand suddenly grabbed the opposite end, sharply pulling it back into the middle of the table.

" Do you want him bouncing of the walls, hm? Did you eat a lot of sugar when you nursed him? That certainly explains a lot" The governess peered down at you, not giving you an opportunity to reply before coming to her own judgment as you recalled into the back of your seat and a sudden surge of self-doubt engulfed your stomach, your ability to be a mother suddenly brought into question over something so meaningless as a second serving of jam. As your eyes cast down at the cold cup of tea in front of you, every interaction you had had with your son since your return had the feelings of inadequacy that once darkened your mind seep rapidly back into your fragile thoughts.

As you shrank into yourself, numb of William pulling at the sleeve of your dress while the Governess continued her barrage of unwarranted parenting knowledge, Tommy watched as your tearful eyes looked up at him, pulling at his heart until he could no longer withstand the torment of seeing you look so vulnerable. Throwing his newspaper onto the empty plate in front of him, Tommy abruptly stood up, glaring at the Governess as his teeth grounded down onto eachother. Her overstepping into the role you solely held as William's mother getting on his last, and final nerve.

" It's just fucking jam!" Tommy's voice rose, reaching over the table placing the small bowl in front of William as the Governess lips pursed together, and she folded her arms in annoyance that her lecture had gone ignored. "Enjoy my boy" Tommy said walking behind your son, placing a tender kiss to the crown of his head as he looked to you before swiftly leaving the room with some urgent calls to be made, and preferably an anchor and rope to be ordered.

" Well..." The governess scoffed as her eyes darted from the slamming of the dining room door to you, glaring at you up and down. "You certainly have soured his mood. And to think he was finally starting to enjoy life again" she commented as her fingers curled around the cup in her hand, sowing yet another dousing of blame into your troubled mind. Was she right? Had your unexpected return thrown Tommy's apparent newly founded happiness into chaos?

Sat at the living room bay window with a book resting in your hands you had little to no interest in, your eyes darted up from the pages to see your husband outside patting down one of his newest race horses on the freshly pruned grass. Tommy always had been stubborn about anything that would show the slightest ounce of vulnerability in him. So to see him occupying himself with a four-legged creature rather than any two-legged human that could neither, answer back, nor confront him came as no surprise.

Returning to the pages of your book, Tommy, who had chosen the most unusual of spots to inspect his horse, that just so happened to be in viewing distance of you, couldn't help but glance up every other second to get a quick glimpse of you all while internally berating himself for acting like some nervous teen boy psyching himself up to talk to his crush. With a heavy sigh leaving his throat, Tommy looked your way, throwing his cigarette onto the grass with determination to have his thoughts settled once and for all, and finally discuss what needed to be said. But just as you looked up to see Tommy striding towards you, his mustered up courage to have the conversation he had been avoiding took another blow as a car screeched around the corner, interrupting him once again.

" Where is she Tommy?" Polly demanded to know as Esme slammed the car door behind her and they both marched up to the house without the slightest of greetings to him.

" Fuck sake" he mumbled under his breath pointing to the house as you abruptly stood up, bracing yourself for what was to come while your eyes darted to your husband leading his horse away and the living room door seconds away from being thrown open.

" Esme..would you..bloody hell..." Polly grunted, as they pushed past one another through the door frame, when the Lee girl slipped through first and came running up to you. Stepping back your eyes widened, readying yourself for the inevitable, only to be quickly welcomed into a tight hug.

" Why the fuck didn't you tell me?" She said, wrapping her arms around you as your body relaxed into hers and tears began to streak your face.

" Es, I...I don't know. I'm so sorry" you cried as she cupped your cheeks, brushing your tears away with her thumbs whilst you internally scolded yourself for not opening up to the friend that had become a sister, and most cherished supporting hand throughout your pregnancy and labour.

" I would have come with you. God knows I need a bloody break" she stifled her tears with a laugh, pulling you back into her arms as you reached your hand out for Polly who was stood behind her, her trembling hands hovering over the smile beaming across her face.

" I told him, I told you all" Polly said with tears welling in her eyes as she pulled you into a hug, stroking the hair away from your face as you cried into her shoulder. " I checked, I made sure" she said closing her eyes as she clutched the black Madonna around her neck, silently thanking her ancestor's guidance. " Look at you" she said cupping your face as she pressed a longing kiss to your forehead, relief sweeping over her that you was still in one piece. "Come let's sit, before we all lose our footing" she said sniffing back her tears as she linked her arm into yours and led you to the two large cushioned sofas in the middle of the room.

" Where's William?" Esme asked as she looked around the grand sitting area only to see his toys scattered along the floor.

" With the Governess" you said, diverting your eyes as Polly shot Esme a sharp look, or rather, a warning.

" ABCs and 123s, he's two years old for god's sake. Should be out with the horses, in the mud and the meadows, not stuck between four walls. Never did me any harm" Esme huffed as she let her tired body and aching back from another baby weighing down her stomach fall into the feathered stuffed sofa. "What was Tommy thinking hiring that witch?"

" Esme!" Polly warned her as she looked back to you with a tight smile, holding your hand within her own. "Tommy hasn't been in his right mind for a long time"

" It's ok, I know they're together" you said biting, your bottom lip as you looked to the mantel place. Your pictures with him still sitting there neatly one by one. Memories stuck in a flash of a moment, cruelly tormenting you for what you had given up, and what you desperately longed for once again.

" Together? Whoever told you that?" Polly asked, furrowing her brow. " Love, as crude as it is, Tommy... Well I don't think there was ever any feelin..."

" It's ok Polly, It really is" you said cutting her off, trying to reassure yourself and subsequently avoid any further discussion on the topic that had consumed all your thoughts of late. " I burst their happy little bubble"

"Don't think the crate of whisky he has my John bring to his office door once a week, like some bloody delivery boy would agree with you" Esme said less than tactfully as Polly's head snapped to her. "What?" She said bewildered as to why Polly's eyes were suddenly boring into her very soul.

"Esme, why don't you go get us something to eat? Biscuits perhaps" Polly said as your sister-in-law furrowed her brow, crossing her arms.

" Biscuits?" Esme asked frowning, like it was the most bizarre, most confusing of questions to ask someone.

" Yes, bloody biscuits. And a bottle of whisky" she said as Esme stood up with a huff. "The good stuff, he keeps hidden in his office cabinet!" Polly called out as Esme waved her hand above her head mumbling to herself before shutting the door.

" Oh love" Polly said, moving her attention back to you with a heavy look of worry as she stared into your eyes, only sadness and shame to be found in them. "Why didn't you come to me?"

" I was scared you'd judge me Polly, that I couldn't cope when every other woman around me makes it look so easy" you sobbed as she pulled you into your arms.

" God knows there were moments when I wanted to run from it all, Esme too. The only difference between us is, you battled through when we buckled. You didn't have to love, we were here for you. We would have held you up" she said, holding you In front of her as she dabbed your tears from your cheeks. " Your pain is my pain. I would have walked the lonely path of motherhood with you, holding your hand all the way" she finished, cupping your cheeks when Esme walked in with a large cake on a polished silver tray, and one of the finest bottles of whisky Tommy possessed tucked safely under her arm.

" No biscuits, but I found another one of these fucking cakes again" Esme huffed from holding the heavy monstrosity in her hands.

" Give me the knife " Polly demanded with her hand out, her brow raised as she waited.

" Don't think I'm capable of cutting a bloody cake, Polly?"

"Esme" Polly's eyes narrowed in, their once mutual disdain for each other now a daily power play of Polly trying to assert herself over her nephews wild hearted wife.

"Shelby's. Stubborn, the lot of you" she said handing the knife over as she sent you a quick smile." So, you and Tommy had it out yet? " Esme asked, curious as to where you both stood with each other now you had returned.

"I think he tried to. At one point" you replied, recalling the brief moment in the dining room before the Governess barged in, interrupting his chances. " He won't forgive me, I know he wont"

" You focus on little William for now, Tommy can wait. It may do him so good to mull things over, before he says something pigheaded " Polly said handing you slice of cake. She and Esme may bash heads on many things, but the inherited trait of stubbornness was something she couldn't deny. And unfortunately for you, Tommy's headstrong, unyielding nature was the vain of the whole family's existence.

" I can't stomach anymore of it" Esme said, refusing her plate as she made a beeline for the whisky instead.

" God, me neither" Polly agreed, dropping the knife as she took Esme's glass tumbler from her.

" Why, what's wrong with it?" You asked inspecting it, noting it's familiarity to the cake you would often bake.

" Oh, you didn't know?" Polly smiled as she sat back in her chair, her eyes playfully glimmering from the amber liquid bouncing off the sides of the crystal glass in her hand " Every Saturday Tommy insists on that bloody fruit cake you used to bake that weighed more than a newborn baby on being made. He sends that poor old cook up and down the country in search of the ingredient Tommy insists is missing"

" He hated my fruit cake" you chuckled, looking down at the plate in your hand as the memory of happier times when you had become adamant on perfecting your baking skills before the birth of William on a reluctant Tommy flooded your thoughts.

"He still does. But it was a little part of you he couldn't part with" she winked at you as she poured herself another glass of whisky. " I'm starting to think he just enjoys watching the torment on Mr Giles face as the kitchen staff gather around to hear his weekly verdict every Saturday evening" Polly laughed into her drink at her nephews dry sense of fun, and the growing stockpile of cake enough to build a small house stored in the pantry." Why don't you bake him one?"

" Polly, I don't think a cake will fix this" you sighed, casting your eyes down to your lap when she cupped the side of your cheek, turning it to face her glistening hazel eyes.

"No. But it might make him smile. And that would be a sight"

As you said your goodbyes to Polly and Esme out in the grand foyer, grateful for the afternoon you had spent with them and their comforting words, Tommy stood watching by the front door, a pang of jealousy settling in his chest at everyone's ease with you like no time had passed, and mounting frustration with himself that he couldn't do the same.

" All is forgotten then, eh?" Tommy said in passing as the sound of the front door closed, his spite quickly finding a way to weave itself back into the iron cast wall he had slowly let down as he sulked off to his office once again, leaving you with his dampened mood for a fresh crate of whisky waiting for him.

One and a half years ago...

" Tommy this has to stop" Polly said, hovering over his desk, her nephew's head buried deep in a stack of maps, newspaper clippings and letters.

" Not now, Pol" Tommy replied, stubbing his cigarette out before returning to the large plan of Birmingham's canal system on his desk. Wide-eyed and restless. Polly was certain he hadn't slept in days, if not weeks.

" Enough Tommy!" She shouted, trying to snap him out of his madness as she snatched the large map away from him, her eyes pleading with him to give up, to rest.

" I will not fucking stop! Do you hear me?! I will not stop until her body is found!" He bellowed, pointing his finger into the desk as tears welled in his eyes and his face reddened with fury. "Just leave Polly...Go" he sighed, pinching the skin between his brows, his tired body unable to keep up with another argument with his Aunt, and his relentless search for you.

" There's no body to be found Thomas" Polly said as he walked around his desk grabbing the map from her hands before dropping into the sofa and pouring himself not a finger, not even two, but a whole glass of whisky. " Enough!" She said, marching over to him, throwing the remainder of the bottles contents into the fire place before crouching down in front of him. " You can't dull it forever Tommy. You have to listen to me, she's not passed over"

" Polly Stop" Tommy replied, burying his hands into his hair, scrapping his nails along his scalp at the stress tightening around his skull.

" You won't find anything"

" Polly stop, stop STOP!" Tommy's voice crescendoed until a sob of cries left his lips and his shoulders slouched over his body, drained of any rational thought left. " She's dead Pol" Tommy said looking up to his Aunt with an empty, lifeless stare as his hands fell down onto his thighs. Drunk, beaten down and hollow. Tommy had not an ounce of will to carry on. The second half of him was gone, and if it wasn't for William, he would have gladly welcomed the sweet release of death and joined you if it had brought him peace, and you back into his arms. "She's fucking dead..."

As you rummaged through the kitchen cabinets in search of a bottle of brandy you were certain was the missing ingredient from your fruit cake Tommy had ordered Mr Giles to bake every weekend in your absence, a loud crash quickly followed by your husband shouting every blasphemy known to man had you jumping away from the cupboards, and your own choice of profanities quickly leaving your lips.

" Shit!" you heard Tommy mumble as you slowly approached his office door to see him steadying himself with one hand on his desk as he poured the remaining contents of a bottle of whisky into a glass while blood dripped from an open cut on his hand. " What the fuck you looking at, eh?" Tommy said stumbling back and forth as he pointed at the large portrait of himself hung in his office. "Dickhead"

Just go to bed Tommy. You silently pleaded, watching him ease himself into his leather chair as he buried his head in his hand, replaying every moment from the day you had left to every hour he would spend trying to find your body over and over again in his head, letting his emotions fester inside, clinging onto them in an attempt to change their outcome. Watching him reach for another bottle of whisky, you opened the door and walked in, fearing he would drink until he passed out.

" Is everything ok? I heard a noise" You said, looking around his usually immaculate office stacked with paperwork and broken furniture.

" Fucking fantastic sweetheart " Tommy replied, trying to unscrew the cap of the bottle as you carefully walked around a smashed lamp on the ground you could only assume got in his way. " Fuck..." Tommy sighed, his injured hand rendering his attempts to open the large whisky bottle useless. Removing the satin belt around your dressing gown, you took his hand, gently wrapping the soft fabric around the deep gash across his knuckles as Tommy watched on in silence, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as your delicate touch stirred his unwanted emotions once again.

" There" you said letting go, waiting for him to say something, anything to break the palpable silence that had descended between you both as his eyes roamed down your body, and he opened mouth to say something pigheaded, exactly as his Aunt had predicted had he not been left alone to wallow in his own self pity.

" Do you wanna fuck?"

" Jesus Christ...get some sleep Tommy" you sighed, shaking your head as you turned for the door. He had every right to be angry at you, but this, this you didn't have to deal with. A drunken Tommy was an unreasonable man, and you now regrettably wished you had let him drink himself to sleep, and pass out on the floor.

" No? Thought it would stop me from hating you so much" he stated coldly as you came to a stop, his words piercing you as deep as he had intended them to.

" You already have someone that's been keeping your bed warm, our bed warm. Don't you Tommy?" You said, unable to keep your bitterness contained any longer as you turned to face him, and he came to face the outcome of his harsh words streaming down your cheeks.

" I shared our bed with nobody Y/N" Tommy pointed to you as he stood up, taking the large map he had mulled over for the past two years from his desk as he walked past you to the fire. There was no lie in his words. Never once had he tarnished the most intimate part of what was left of you. No matter what he had done to dull his grief in the past, every night Tommy would faithfully return to your martial bed unaccompanied, desperately holding onto the memory of your body wrapped warmly in his arms. " I thought you were dead" he said, the vows he had made to stay faithful unknowingly severed, crushing him more than any broken promise he had ever made.

" I know" you sobbed as you slowly approached and stood beside him, welcoming the comforting warmth from the fireplace as you looked into the towering orange flames and crackling wood burning below them.

" Do you know how long I looked for you?" He said, glancing up at you as you shook your head, feeling a surge of nervousness at where the conversation was suddenly going. "One year, six months and twenty two days" he said, throwing the folded document into the fire, watching the hours he had spent mapping each river, each stream and every canal burn into ash.

" Tommy...I'm so sorry. I should never have let you think that I was dead" you apologised, brushing your tears away as Tommy's stare stayed fixed on the last piece of paper melting away.

" Searched every forest, every train track until the only thing that was left was the waters, hoping your body hadn't been swept out to sea" his voice grew louder as his anger began to pump furiously beneath his skin.

" Tommy please..." you pleaded as your eyes welled with tears once again, trying to turn his stiffened frame to face you as his hand tightened around the intricately carved mantel, his knuckles turning opaque from the heat rapidly coursing through his veins.

"Polly put an end to it. Had my men stop me from leaving my own house for weeks on end. My own fucking house!" He continued, slamming his fist into the wood with a strong enough blow to split it, leaving a fractured line running permanently through the middle.

" Tom stop, please!" You begged him, trying to pull him away from the raging flames, from the raging fire within him.

" Enough!" he shouted as his hand came up to strike you when your eyes widened and he stopped himself, stumbling back in horror at the terror on your face. "Fuck!" He bellowed from the depths of his lungs, turning away to the door to hide the tears welling in his eyes and the shame on his face.

" Tommy, It's...it's ok. It's ok" You cried slowly approaching him, your body trembling with each step. " Let's sit down, and talk. Yeh?" Your shaky voice tried to reason with him as your hand brushed gently over his shoulder, coming to rest in the middle of his back.

" Now you want to talk, eh? he said, choking out a stifled breath as he brushed his tears away before turning to face your silent pleas to stay. "I'm afraid..." he sighed, bringing his hand up to stroke along your cheek as your fingers held tightly onto the front of his shirt came up to cup his cheeks, pulling him closer to you. "...I'm afraid you may be too late my darling" Tommy said scrunching his eyes closed as his lips hovered over yours, your sobs intensifying into hopeless cries before he pulled your hands off him and left without another word.

Fear of you leaving him again, fear of never being able to forgive you. Tommy Shelby, the most feared gangster in Birmingham, was in fact a man scared, a man so conflicted with the most vulnerable of feelings he had pushed down to the very depths of his heart for the past two years. Love. His broken heart still madly, still deeply in love with the one and only woman of his life. You.

PART FOUR

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#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader insert #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby series #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders series #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you

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vxsellie · 25 days ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚. GHOSTS OF SACRILEGE !

synopsis. fbi agent!ellie williams x nun!reader ; it's truly no shock that the entirety of west virginia is emerged by trepidation, considering hundreds of residents have gone missing within the past three months. as a form of consolation for those fearful, an esteemed fbi agent is sent to investigate. what she finds, however, is more than she could ever have expected.

notes. this piece is part of the mythologica challenge! i tried my absolute hardest to do the theme justice bc of how good it is. also pls note that every town mentioned is real & i did a decent amount of research on each one, but that doesn't at all mean that it's entirely accurate. i've been to some of the places, but not all also ! this is my first time ever writing detailed smut so i literally know none of the correct words to use or how to describe what's happening & it might turn out being literal dog shit,, if that's the case i apologize!

warnings. religious horror, an attempt at writing smut, angst, plot twists, horrible world building, major character death x2, possessive / obsessive romance, descriptive gore, blood, satanic rituals, human sacrifice, blood, oral (r! receiving), brief mentions of abuse & assault, murder as a metaphor, past animal death, long exposition i'm sorry, and - last but most important - the sweet release of desecrating salvation.

wc. 9.5k+

𝓝aught but unease filled the tiny town of bluefeild as yet another missing person is found to be reported in the newspaper. the sun begins to peer over the horizon, long shadows cast against the sidewalk that newsboys toss the papers from. they ride their bikes down the concrete with a fervor that should be rare. but it’s been rather common in bluefeild as of late. every since december. ever since the incidents first began.

nobody in town can be seen outside without a frantic expression and a fast pace. fear fuels their every step as they scurry outside to retrieve the news before burrowing back into the safety of their homes, hungry eyes skimming the article in search of who’s gone missing this time.

ellie hadn't expected much when traveling here. a small town of worrisome locals, a serial kidnapper hiding in plain sight. y'know, the usual for cases like these.

but something about this case stands out to her. there's a certain weight in her chest as each day passes without answers. in the beginning, she'd asked around town, hoping to find some common denominator among everyone's weariness. but there's nothing. the residents are closed off, thick boots and even thicker country drawls quick to kick the agent off their rotting porch at first glance. she's been here for a while now, not a single clue made evident. no loose ends, no muddy footprints, no witnesses. it's like these people just disappear into thin air.

ellie sits in her idled car, eyes scanning today's newspaper for slips of information. she can't help the way her interest piques, slowly going mad with lack of elucidation. she runs a hand through her hair, shoulders weighed with fatigue and dwindling hope.

see, over two-hundred people have gone missing in the past three months ⎯ which is a big deal in and of itself, but even more so considering bluefeild's population is well under five thousand.

her windows fog as rain patters gently against the steel of her vehicle, the whether cold and dreary in comparison to her car's heated temperature. she supposes it fits the mood, though, doesn't it?

after twenty minutes of analyzing each and every word given, ellie groans and stuffs the newspaper into her glove box, slamming it shut. evidently, the paper provided nothing of use to her. it has a picture of the man missing, his name inscribed under the image, and a few words of grief are quoted to have been said by the families. but that's it.

as of this morning, jason casey has been added to the long list of missing persons. and not a soul could say why nor how.

ellie pulls her phone from her coat pocket, clicking on her bosses contact before wedging it between her ear and shoulder. she listens to it ring as she puts her car into gear, pulling out of the parking space she'd been occupying. it's not like anyone here would dare to use their cars anyhow. most shops and businesses have been temporarily closed, owners fearing the possibility of suffering the same fate as those prior.

"ellie?" joel's voice comes through the tiny speakers, papers rustling in the background of the call as he speaks. "what're you callin' me for? i thought you were on the bluefeild case."

"there's nothin' to go off of." she tells him. one hand is rested on the wheel whilst the other holds her phone.

"you're our best investigator, williams, i'm sure you'll find somethin'." he says offhandedly, continuing to shuffle through whatever papers are of more interest to him than his alleged best employee.

she rolls her eyes at his dismissive tone. "hundreds are missing, joel. without a trace or a sign left behind. they're likely dead, if i were to guess. i don't— what the hell good does that do?"

"find the bodies." he says easily. "their corpses might point to their killer."

"no shit." ellie scoffs. "the issue isn't what to do next, it's how the fuck i'm supposed to do it. this has been goin' on for months and no bodies have turned up. where am i even supposed to look? like i said, there ain't a damn thing left behind."

she coasts down the streets of bluefeild, using this time to feel the layout of it and examine what she's working with. she's been here for a while now, but the town remains a mystery to her. and, from what she's seen, it's a bit of a mystery to everyone else as well.

she notices that many of the homes are old and shabby, paint flaking and wood rotting. in the yards, however, almost every resident has some form of a religious symbol. a cross, a statue of mary, a flag for something biblical. anything to show their faith.

to each their own, i guess. she thinks to herself with a shrug before turning her attention elsewhere.

the streets are empty, as expected. a few street lights are on, the yellow illumination flicking with worn age. even on the two-lane roads, there's not a car in sight. she narrows her eyes at this, a shiver tracing up her spine at the disturbing vastness.

"well," joel says, "search the papers some more."

"i've done that a thousand fuckin' times." ellie groans, eyes still scanning her surroundings with intent of committing it all to memory. just in case. "there's nothin' there. it's just all information on the missing people, half-assed sympathy for the victim's family, and a picture of 'em."

joel sighs, the sound of tapping resonating through the phone. ellie recognizes the sound, having worked for joel long enough to know that he always taps a pencil against his desk when he's thinking. it's a good sign, she thinks. it means he's at least giving her predicament some thought.

she's been in bluefeild for eight days now, spending her time interrogating random residents for informations; spending her nights rereading the stupid fucking newspapers. naught good has been of ramification.

the repetition of it all is driving her insane, especially considering none of her efforts have yet to pay off in any sort of way. she'd hoped that when the next person showed up missing, something would present itself. a clue would rear its ugly head at her and she'd grab it by the throat with fervor. but no. jason casey went missing and all heads remain hidden. so, after an hour of battling with her pride, she decided to make the call to joel and admit her being stuck.

"okay." he says, shuffling a bit as he finally gives ellie his full attention. "okay, pull over for a second, i'm gonna need you to do somethin' for me."

she instantly obliges, pulling off to the nearest backroad. gravel crunches under her tires as she drives along the thin path wedged between two decrepit buildings. the alley is small and a bit sketchy, but that's exactly what she needs. ellie puts her car in park, windows translucent in their heavily fogged blanket.

"how many newspapers do you have on you?" joel asks when he hears her car go into idle.

"um," she reaches over and opens her glove box, watching as yellowed papers fall from the newly opened door. they flutter to the floor and atop the passenger's seat. she hums, amused at the sight of her obsession making a tangible image in her head. "a lot."

"okay, good. perfect." joel mutters, the clacking of a keyboard sounding through the tiny speaker. "the first person who went missing was carl andrews. he was thirty-seven. his wife claims he was supposed to have been walking home from work but never showed up for dinner."

ellie scrambles through her messy stack of newspapers, searching for carl's report. she finally finds it, the paper dated to have been written near the beginning of december. she straightens out the wrinkles, examining his picture.

"looks like your average middle age man." ellie mutters, taking in his scruffy beard and wrinkled skin. "he was a carpenter. had two kids, both boys."

"yes, i have the paper pulled up on my computer." joel says. "but it doesn't show his address or nothin'. this shitty website only has half of the damn document."

ellie skims through the words, searching for the street or neighborhood he'd lived in. when she turns up empty-handed she groans, now well familiar with the feeling of disappointment regarding this case. "nope. no home address." she says with an evidently annoyed tone.

"what about his workplace?" joel asks. "if he'd been walkin' home, his work must be close enough for him to do so."

"oh shit," she mutters. she'd studied his article for hours — studied all of them — and she hadn't even thought to look there. her hands clutch the paper as she searches with a hungered gaze. her eyes widen at the address listed on the paper. "yes it's on fifth street."

more typing is heard through the phone, "says here that,, there's a neighborhood right by there. a few blocks down from the carpenters' building. must've been where he lived."

"perfect." ellie grins, adrenaline rushing through her.

oh, she feels on top of the world right now.

"okay, now i want you to look for addresses in all the other papers." joel says, flipping a switch in his tone — off to being ellie's friend and on to being her boss. a familiar change, but an unpleasant one nonetheless. "check 'n see if there's a link between where they'd been last spotted."

"okay."

ellie sets carl's paper aside and grabs another random one. she reads the heading briefly, recognizing it to be the article on bryan turner who'd gone missing in the middle of january. he'd allegedly been walking his dog and never returned to his apartment, according to his elderly female neighbor.

the address is actually listed this time. not his exact apartment number, but the building. ellie can't help the smile that tugs at her mouth again as she grabs a random notepad and scribbles both addresses onto the paper, reminding herself to compare their proximity when she gets back to her hotel later tonight.

"you're a goddan genius, joel." ellie mutters as she sets bryan's paper atop carl's and grabs another. sam cortez. late december.

"thanks, kid." joel chuckles into the phone. ellie has it set aside, call set to speaker as she flips through papers and continues to write down addresses into her notes. her movements are frantic and hurried, adrenaline refusing to wind down from its newly heightened state. joel speaks again, regaining her attention. "uh, sorry t' tell you this but i've gotta go. it's almost midnight and i've been at the building since ten o'clock this mornin'."

"yeah yeah, whatever." ellie replies off-handedly. "thanks for your help, old man. i think i can take it from here now, though. go get your beauty rest."

"promise to call me in the mornin'?" he asks. "i wanna hear what y' find."

"yes, i promise." she laughs. "i'll call you as soon as i wake up."

"okay good. don't overwork yourself either, you need to⎯"

"goodbye, joel!" she says, grabbing her phone and hanging up on him before she has to listen to him reprimand her for lack of rest. he's one to talk, too, seeing as he'd just admitted to having been at the building all damn day.

she sighs, deciding to put a pin in her address search and get back to her hotel to finish working in the comfort of a bed.

she sets her papers into two neat piles in the passenger's seat ⎯ one for those she'd already gone through and one for those she hasn't yet gotten to. then, she puts her key into the ignition and pulls out of the little road.

as she drives down the street, she examines her surroundings once again. still as impoverished as before.

she passes a small farm house, eyes drawn to the old lady sitting on the porch. she's rocking back and forth rather ominously, making direct eye contact with ellie through the windshield. slowly, the woman nods her head toward where a large cross is staked into the soil of her front yard. ellie looks away, a sudden uneasiness washing over her as she presses harder on the gas.

she reaches her hotel a few minutes later, stuffing her papers under each arm before entering the building and heading toward the elevator. by the time she reaches her room, she practically rips her heavy leather jacket off, the yellow 'fbi' label bright and bold against the black material as she tosses it onto her bed. she sits cross-legged in the center of her room, laying out all the newspapers in front of her.

she continues to sort through them all, eyebrows furrowing as she comes to realize that all the victims are men.

she hurriedly flips through the documents, certain she must he wrong. but she's not. they're all male. ellie writes this down on her notepad, handwriting rushed and nigh unintelligible. despite the sloppiness, she circles it, sure it'll prove to be of importance later on.

by the time ellie finishes going through what feels like hundreds of papers, she decides that's enough for her to be able to find a pattern if there is one. the digital clock atop the nightstand reads 2am, flashing bright red numbers at her. she ignores it, too high off the thrill of finally finding something in this priorly monotonous case.

she pulls her laptop from her bag and flips it open atop her crossed legs, quick to pull up a map and type in the coordinates of each address. they appear random at first, completely fucking unrelated to one another. a pang of dread hits ellie in the chest, worried this will have all been for naught.

but then she zooms out.

each dot for each address glows blue. when zoomed out, it forms something. ellie squints, tilting her head at the incoherent image she struggles to make out. seeing as many of the papers weren't analyzed, the picture is only half-complete.

but then it clicks. a pentacle. and at the very center of the shape, a church.

ellie's mind goes back to the old woman on the porch. the way she'd nodded to her cross. the way almost every family in bluefeild is outwardly religious. she can't believe she hadn't seen it sooner.

this isn't just some case where she can stare at newspapers and hope something pops up. it's an intricately weaved web of murders.

her chest heaves as her eyes dart across the screen, unable to believe it. she finds herself tapping her men against the floor, drumming it just as joel does. she curses herself, tossing the pen across the room as her mind reels. it lands in front of the door, ballpoint pointed toward the exit. ellie takes this as a sign from the universe. despite not having ever been a religious person, she can't help the pang of hope in her chest.

deciding to indulge the pen's sign, ellie writes the church's address into her notepad, shuts her laptop, pulls her jacket back on, then heads for the door. she steps over the pen on her way out.

𝓢he stares up at the church, checking to make sure she's absolutely certain she's in the right place. when she's proven to be correct, she stuffs her notepad into her pocket and walks toward the building.

ellie doubts anybody is inside due to the time, but she wants to search the place regardless.

the church is old, creaky wooden exterior painted in uneven shades of white. the roof is brown and dilapidated with wear. atop it, a large cross is seen standing tall, its tip pointed up at the starry sky. ellie wades through the overgrown grass, her breath coming out in white clouds. it's fucking freezing out here.

when she reaches the building, ellie cups her hands around her eyes before peeking through the windows. the glass is dusty and cracked in some places. she can't seem to see through it, transparency made opaque from lack of maintenance.

she leans back and wipes a hand across the dust, forming a wide arc to peer through. inside, the church looks brand new. wooden pews line the space, a long aisle between each formed column. the floor is white tile, cleaned to be spotless. she tilts her head, struggling to look toward the pulpit. it appears to be⎯

"what're you doing?"

ellie jumps, her head slamming against the top of the window frame. she ignores the ache and whips around to face the owner of the voice. a nun.

you stand behind her with a raised brow, your entire body covered by black and white robes. ellie blinks, something about you making her stomach lurch. she's instantly put on edge, shameless in the way she examines your features.

your brow is knit in distaste for the trespassing girl. your eyes are sharp and steady as you pin your gaze onto hers. your hands are clasped behind your back, formal and almost robotic. or at least, that's how ellie sees you.

ellie reaches under her jacket and pulls out her badge. "fbi."

"there's no fbi in bluefeild." you point out, voice steady and melodic. ellie's lips part at the sound but she shows no other form of sway. you eye her badge, ellie williams. noted to be a top agent in her line of work. your eyes narrow. "where exactly are you from?"

"richmond." she responds, eyes never leaving yours as she places her badge back into the interior pocket in her leather jacket.

you tilt your head, inquiring. "virginia?"

"yes." she confirms.

you hum, noting the four hour drive she's sure to have taken in order to get here. you looks out across the grass, seeing her car still running as it's parked on the side of the road, yellow headlights acting as a beacon against the dark night.

"it's late, miss williams." you tell her, turning back to her to find that ellie's eyes have yet to leave your face.

she analyzes each expression you make, contorting every detail to memory ⎯ from the way your eyes flick across her features to the way your shoulders shift slightly after having been standing in one position for so long. she memorizes you, allowing your very being to sink into her mind. for the case, of course. you're a suspect, after all. she needs to learn you and feel you out in order to get a proper read on whether you're innocent in all this. that's why she stares at you. that's why her pupils are blown and her lips are parted again. totally.

"do you want to come inside?" you offer, raising a brow at her strange, yet obvious sense of interest in you. "it's freezing out here and i happen to have just brewed some tea."

her eyes dart to the shabby church behind her. judging by the exterior of the building, imagining the place having ac and working electricity is shocking. but judging by what she'd seen of the inside, she's tempted to take you up on your offer. for the case.

"only if y' agree to answer some questions of mine." she says, deciding to set the terms and conditions early on.

your eyes narrow, "what type of questions?"

"the type i need in order to solve the case i'm workin' on." she replies, reminding herself of the large amount of missing men and boys who've disappeared in these past three months.

"mm," you hum.

you look her up and down, taking in the sight of her. it's rare to see any form of law enforcement out here. you'd lived in bluefeild all your life and never seen a cop or fbi agent outside of the television. her leather coat hangs heavy from her set shoulders. her chin is held high despite the way goosebumps trail across her skin due to the chill of the air. she's wearing baggy black pants and heavy combat boots. interesting.

"sure." you shrug. "i've nothing to hide."

"we'll see 'bout that."

her eyes rake over to where he car remains running. she leaves it, using it as a sign to you that she plans to make this quick. you understand the gesture and heed it with care, nodding as you shift around her and walk toward the entrance of the church. the large wooden doors are already unlocked as you push them open.

ellie draws her eyes across the foyer, noting the long hallway. to the left is a doorway leading to the sanctuary and chancel that she'd seen through the windows. to the right is a large door with a shiny golden handle, locked. the hall is lined with more doors, some locked whilst others are free to peer into.

you move about the space as though you'd lived here all your life. ellie supposes that might be true, actually.

you sweep down the hall before turning one of the corners down a branched passageway. ellie follows behind you, the hall illuminated by only a dim yellow light. on either side of the hall, more and more doors branch out to the side. ellie pays no mind to the building's layout anymore. instead, she finds herself more interesting in watching your habit billow behind you, your shoes clicking with each step against the tile.

eventually, you're both now in a kitchen area. ellie hasn't a clue when you'd gotten here, far too distracted by you to care much for the journey you'd taken her on.

the floor is tiled to mirror the sanctuary, counters made of marble. you flick a switch and the lights flutter on, a low hum sounding from the ceiling as the kitchen is illuminated by a yellow glow. on the counter, two cups of tea sit premade. you grab them, one in each hand.

with an amused expression, you pass one to ellie. she takes it, eyes the glass in her hand for a long moment. in the end, she decides against trusting it.

"uh," she clears her throat as she places the mug on the counter behind her, turning to you with an uneasy weariness. "you knew you'd have a guest?"

"hm?" you hum, tilting your head at her with an innocent curiosity.

"y' made two glasses." ellie points out. you continue to look at her, feigning confusion that urges her to continue her explanation. "it's just— well, i haven't seen anyone else here besides you."

"i hadn't priorly known of your arrival, if that's what you're suggesting." you inform her before taking a long sip from your mug, peering at her over the rim with an alluring twinkle to your eye. you lower it, keeping the glass poised between your hands as you lick your lips and continue. "i simply knew i wouldn't be drinking alone."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ellie inquires, those fbi instincts of hers lacing through her tone. her eyes glint with piqued interest, watching you with a steady sharpness. it weighs on your chest, heavy but enthralling.

"what i mean is," you place your mug on the counter with a light clink. "in this church, you're never alone. not really."

she raises a brow, back straightening. "someone else is here?"

"something." you correct, a smirk tugging at your lips. "a deity, spirit, ghost, demon. take your pick, miss williams. it hasn't a title just yet."

ellie has surely formed her doubts about whether or not you're mentally insane. she can't help but indulges you nonetheless. if she intends on puzzling out the mystery of the missing people, she can't outwardly state that you're crazy. so instead, she says, "are these,, things good? or are they evil?"

"mm," you shift, taking another long sip of tea. you ponder on her question while drinking, your mind deciding on exactly how much you wish to tell this governmental investigator. once your mind is made up, you place you mug back down and flash her an amused smile. "its morality varies. as i said, it doesn't much like the feel of being confined by the barbed wire of titles. plus, there's more than one. and none are a repeat of the other, each separated by individuality."

ellie bites back a scoff, trying her hardest not to just grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless. she wants direct answers, not riddles. she hasn't the time to figure out what you're trying to get at.

"how many?" she asks. "like. are there lots of them or are they few and far between?"

your brow knits as you take a step closer. at your growing proximity, her breath hitches. you are more than just a nun, you're the embodiment of her obsession. all the care and time she'd poured into this case; you personify it.

you're a religious figure in and of yourself. something worthy of worship and praise. if you were to seen by the world as ellie sees you, historians would be studying you for eons to come. paintings and playwrights would be made in your honor, temples and statues forged in hopes that you'd bat the sculptor even a moment of your attention.

but, alas, that's not how the world works. instead, you're made to be a random nun who lives holed away in a ragged church in the middle of nowhere. perhaps the universe had been wise to hide you from the world, for fear of what your divinity would cause. a repeat of troy, no doubt. wars fought for your hand. lives lost for the pulpy beating heart caged behind your ribs.

"as many as i'd like." you tell her, face now mere inches away from her own.

your body is covered entirely by your habit, black fabrics hanging from your shoulders and arms as to keep your entire being shielded from sight. your hair is cast back and under your veil.

despite the coverage, ellie's enamor is unmoved. it's not your body or your hair that she's drawn to. it's the slope of your nose, the plush of your lips, the curve of your cheek, the arc of your brow, the color of your eyes. it's everything that makes you stand out like a brightly shining star in comparison to the dull darkness that is this church.

and stars like you ought to be admired.

"as many as—" she squeezes her eyes shut, knowing her only chance at regaining control of her head is to not face you. her mind is muddled by thoughts of you. she can't think straight. when she reopens her eyes, she could've sworn you've moved closer. "what're you sayin'? i don't—"

"don't understand?" you finish for her, tone pitched in regalement. your head tilts to the side, your noses brushing. "few people do."

"just tell me what y' mean." she utters, voice a whispered breath across your face in the form of a plea. "tell me without the riddles. tell me without trying to evade the truth. tell me with honesty. if you're straight forward with me, i'm sure i'll understand."

you sigh through your nose, leaning away from her. she follows you like a fish on a hook. you take a step back and she takes one forward. noticing, you hold a hand up to halt her movements and she instantly ceases, blinking at you with parted lips.

your head is downcast, palm against her chest. "you'd hate me."

"hate you?" she questions.

despite only just having met you, ellie is quite certain she'd never come to hate you. your very being is as much a wonder to her as life itself. you're a celestial beauty she cannot bear to tear her eyes from. hate is foreign when you're the context in which it's spoken.

"yes." you confirm, expression contorting into one of feigned guilt. and, had ellie not been in such blind awe of you, she'd have likely seen through your facade of deception. "i've made mistakes; plenty. i could never expect you to hear me speak of them and look past their malice."

"but i would." she whispers, taking a step nearer. she places a hand on your wrist, lowering your palm that had priorly been raised between the two of you. she looks down at where she touches you, albeit through the cloth of your gown. "i'd look past it. i'd see you as i do now regardless of what you'd done."

you shake your head, "you cannot mean that."

"i do." she brings your hand to her mouth, pressing her lips against the hills of your knuckles. she looks up at you through her lashes, her mouth remaining close to your skin as she whispers, "i do mean it."

you feel guilt settle deep within your chest, burrowing between your ribs and in the very tissue of your heart. an immoral darkness encompasses the organ ellie so desperately desires to obtain.

you'd lured people into your entrapment many times before. but something about ellie makes you feel bad for doing what you know you need to.

but it's too late now.

she's your last victim. the final sacrifice needed in order to finish what you'd started back in december. after taking her life, all will be well. all will be well. all will be well. well, well, well, well. you repeat this over and over in your mind as ellie kneels before you. she looks up at you as though you're an alter made for this. for worship.

your breath catches in your throat as you watch her sink to the tiled flooring, hands brought up to rest at your hips. her fingers fist the fabric of your habit as she speaks once more, "allow me to prove how much i mean it?"

your head is swimming, unsure on what to do. logically, you know you should stop this before it gets too far. you've already lured her in close enough to do what's needed. but, for some reason, there's a thick knot forming in your chest. as it grows, you come to realize it's not a knot at all. it's a fist. it's ellie's fist.

her eyes bore into your own, her hands remain gripping your hips. somehow, though, you feel as though they're managing to trace their way through you. they line your bones and caress your tendons before inevitably finding their way to your heart. she holds it in the palm of her figurative hands as her physical ones begin to hike up your habit, slowly pulling the cloak up from the floor.

still, despite the discernible desire in her eyes, she does nothing but wait for your response of consent.

it's inexorable, the way you give in. the slight nod of your head had been predestined from the moment you spotted her at that window; and it will continue to prove relevant until your respective faits are sealed.

to ellie, it felt as though you'd taken hours to reply despite it only having been a minute or less. but the moment you nod, she's moving eagerly. she's grabbing your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter whilst simultaneously struggling to pull up the skirts of your clothes. she's trying to do so many things at once that it's dizzying. for both parties.

you aid her, shifting atop the marble as you pull the habit up to reveal what lies beneath it.

ellie feels the world fall from beneath her knelt locale as she stares. a pair of black lace panties adorn you, the upper half of your body remaining covered by the bunched cloth of your habit. the time she takes to memorize you feels agonizing as you sit there, itching to feel her body on yours.

once she's confident that the image has been successfully engraved into her mind, she leans forward. your legs are already parted when her mouth makes contact with your clothed vulva. the wetness that soaks the material soon made into a mixture of your arousal and ellie's opened mouth.

her tongue traces light circles into your clit, a soft sigh escaping your lips as your grip on your habit begins to loosen. you toss your head back in pleasure, the sound of ellie's slurping and licking mixing with the mechanical hum of the lights.

"ohmygod," she says against you, the vibrations of her voice making your breath pick up its pace. "you're so fucking perfect."

one of your hands comes down to tangle in the auburn of her hair, tufts weaving between your shaky fingers. you tug on it, pulling a grunt form the back of ellie's throat as her scalp stings. despite her noise of pain, this only manages to make ellie more vehement in her actions.

she grabs the hem of your panties with her teeth, yanking them to the side. her eyes are shut as she licks a long strip through your wet muscle. you can’t help the way you stare down at her, watching as she puts her absolute all into making you feel good. and, as it turns out, she’s quite skilled at doing so.

ellie's mind is fogged over, mimicking the way her car's windows had been earlier. she supposes there’s no true difference there, however. the interior of her car had been warm in comparison to the cool outside air. swap the temperatures and there’s naught that varies. the warmth that you provide makes ellie feel cold in contrast, which ends in a fogged mind.

the taste of you is enough to make her lose whatever sanity remains intact. all that adrenaline that had flowed through her earlier is being poured into you.

after all, stars should be worshipped right? they should be admired from below, gawked up at. they should be mapped and studied by only the wisest of mankind. they should be doted on with a possessive sense of adoration, one only fit for something so celestial and untouchable as a star.

and that's what you are. to ellie, at least. you're a brightly shining nebula — a feathery cloud of vibrancy, visible only in the darkest of nights. only in the coldest of weathers. only in most decrepit of churches. only here, only now.

only when fate is carved in this exact way. had one thing been altered, none of this would have taken place. it was providence that brought you together. you weren't written in the stars or tethered your entire lives. in fact, the chance of your paths crossing was rather low. but, honestly, that only makes your acquaintance more deeply rooted in kismet. makes it more special.

"fuck," you pant, chest heaving as you squeeze your eyes shut. your head thuds against the cabinet as you tighten your grip on ellie's hair. she groans, fingers pressing deeply into the skin of your hips, hard enough to leave a bruise. your thighs tighten around her head, a coil of heat sitting heavily in the pit of your stomach. "ellie, i'm—"

she tilts her head up slightly, nose pressing into the bead of your clit. she watches through lidded eyes as you come undone onto her face.

she savors it, committing every little detail to memory. a habit this has become, watching you. your brows knit, your legs shake slightly, you breath hitches. and ellie retains all to it.

she made you see stars. made you look into a mirror and see yourself.

that feeling of blissful release is what she feels every time she's fortunate enough to gaze upon you. and now you've experienced it. and she cannot feel more accomplished than she does right now.

"this," you pant, tugging on her hair to bring her face up to your own. she does as you direct her, standing from the floor to press your foreheads together. "was a terrible idea."

"yeah?" she breathes out. "and why's that?"

you run your hands up and down her back, fingertips tracing the stitching of her leather jacket. you can feel the outlined letters of her 'fbi' label. that familiar twinge of guilt encircles you.

she's a good person — a woman who's to spend the rest of her life helping random people she doesn't know. and yet, here she is. made unfortunate enough to have succeeded in her endeavor.

she stares at you like you're a god, something heavenly. something seraphic. something worthy of her.

"i'm not a good person." you whisper, leaning away from her proximity. predictably, she follows, leaning closer with a desperation only fit for one in love.

the guilt of what you must do is eating you alive. it claws at your chest, snapping your ribs like twigs as it wedges between them to burrow deep within you. it's agonizing yet completely unavoidable.

and in a sickeningly poetic outturn, a random butcher knife is sat neatly atop the marble counter only a foot away from where you sit. just as ellie meets your eyes, the blade happens to catch the light and reflect yellow luminescence. a grotesque reminder of what you're unable to run from.

"nobody is innately good. and, as a nun, y' should know that better than anyone." ellie huffs out a laugh, eyes not daring to stray from you. "in other words, i don't care."

"but you should." you insist, voice teetering on the edge of plea.

"and yet, i don't." ellie counters, just as passionate in her solemnity. you suck in a breath, eyes glossing over. she looks at you with a fondness that feels foreign. she cups your cheeks between her palms, repeating, "i don't."

"i've done horrible things." you say.

"you're a nun." she points out with a light chuckle rumbling her chest. "how horrible could these things have been?"

part of you wants to open up to her, tell her everything that's been weighing on you for these past three months. but each time you get close to a confession, something inanimately symbolic taunts you. whether that be the butcher knife, the hum of electricity, the gun holster at her hip, the residual lust in your chest, or the bright yellow lettering on her jacket.

that gun is meant for you just as that butcher knife is meant for ellie. she'd been wise to bring a weapon, a clear sign that she'd intended on finding someone culpable enough to suspect. and you'd been wise to set the blade atop the counter on the off chance that you'd meet your final victim tonight.

you feel sick to your stomach.

"oh shit," ellie curses as she takes notice to the way you're visibly crumbling in front of her. "i— uh, i didn't mean to be, like, insensitive or anythin'. i'll still listen to you. and i promise to not hate you. promise to never hate you."

"ellie, stop." you sigh. "you can't promise something like that. you don't even know what i—"

"then tell me." she insists, your face still in her cupped hands. you look at her through blurred vision, naught but sincerity behind her pale green irises. "if y' tell me what it is that y' did, we can both carry the burden."

you're instantly shaking your head.

"you don't have to do this alone." ellie says. "plus, isn't a weight split a lighter load than one full?"

as you stare into her eyes, you can't stop yourself from what comes next. you're unable to keep your mouth shut when she's looking at you like that. you decide to tell her, opening your ribs and bearing your heart as though she hadn't already taken it from you. you truly feel more bare in this moment than you did when she'd literally been eating you out.

ellie put her entire trust into you when letting down her guard and abandoning the case she'd obsessed over for weeks. she dropped it like it were nothing, focusing entirely on you in its stead. the least you could do is be honest, right? plus, she's not leaving here anyway. you'd locked the door the moment you two entered the kitchen when she'd been too distracted by your beauty to notice. the trap is already set and she's sitting inside of it without a care. all you need to do now is pull the strings.

but first comes honesty.

for ellie, you'd peel off your clothes. you'd peel off your skin. you'd peel off your flesh. then, when you're naught but bones, you'd give yourself to her. you'd give your entire being to her. not because you think you're worthy of her possession, but because this is all you have. the only thing you're able to offer her as a symbol of your devotion, it's yourself.

though, while you're unable to strip yourself clean off your bones, you feel as though rendering yourself vulnerable and fragile is the next best thing you can offer. for her, you are willing to do the priorly unthinkable.

"you're here in search of the missing men, are you not?" you ask, beginning with baby steps. "in search of who's behind their absences?"

ellie straightens, "i am."

"well." you gesture down at yourself. at your crooked veil that shows stray hairs peeking from underneath; at your hiked up habit, just barely falling to cover your underwear; at your knees that rest on either side of ellie's waist; at your vulnerable state that you're offering up to her. at your bones. "you've found me."

ellie's heart stutters in her chest. not because of what you'd revealed to her, but because you trusted her enough to do so. she no longer cares an ounce for the missing people of bluefeild. all she wants is you. she may be a fool to be this way, but she's in far too deep to mind.

she gives you a weak smile, "i don't care."

"what?" you croak. you stare at her incredulously. there's no way she doesn't care. there's no fucking way. "yes you do."

"i don't."

you blink, looking her up and down. there must be something you're missing — her reaching for her gun, her taking a step backward, her eyes darting toward the knife. but she does none of that. she simply remains stood between your legs, keeps her hands on you, and stares directly into your eyes as you confess your gravest of sins.

"but—" you shake your head, stammering. "but i killed all those people. they're dead. all of them. over two hundred men are buried behind the church."

"i don't care." she repeats, noticing the way your voice raises with trepidation. she traces her hands down your arms, stopping only when they reach your own. she tangles your fingers together, feeling the way your body relaxes slightly to the feel of her touch.

"i killed them because i was paid to." you tell her, your mind reeling as you're unable to grasp her lack of care. you talk in a frantic quickness, rushing to get the truth out for fear that ellie will change her mind in the time it takes for you to speak. "their wives, neighbors, daughters. they— they'd come to me in the confession booths and tell me of the men's abuse o-or assault or misdeeds. and i'd kill them for them. i don't—"

ellie's face remains soft. "you did a good thing, then."

"you can't be serious." you huff, eyes watering with the sheer confusion building within you. "i don't understand how you can still look at me like that. i took their lives. these people, i— they had dreams, they had aspirations and goals and families and—"

"listen," ellie whispers, her hands squeezing yours. "they were horrible people that hurt women. they were abusers and rapists and i don't care what y' did to them or how. all i care about is whether or not y' feel better."

"what?" you ask, voice nigh a breath. "what do you mean feel better?"

"to have gotten that off your chest." she digresses.

you take a deep breath, grounding yourself. the adrenaline of the confession slowly dwindles and you're no longer spiraling. you stare at ellie, centering on her face as the world comes back into focus.

you count your senses one by one. the smell of tea, the sound of humming lights, the feel of a hard counter beneath you, the taste of a bitter truth, the sight of ellie's fond expression. your breathing levels out, slowly but surely. and ellie stares at you the entire time. memorizing you.

"yeah." you whisper. "yeah, i do."

"then that's all that matters."

a supernova; to watch a star combust and explode, a colossally significant occurrence that only the most fortunate are able to witness. ellie considers herself to be substantially fortunate. not only because of what she'd just seen, but because of who it was that did it.

to her, this is even better than a natural supernova. rather than watching a random gassy ball of light die, its you. someone she adores and treasures. and you didn't die. instead, you opens yourself willingly to her. you broke down your walls and bore yourself to her. for ellie, that is far more important than some star's death.

"but—" you say, bringing her attention back to your face. your brows are knitted, clearly struggling to get the words out. she watches you with an easy patience, pupils blown as she submits this to her memory alongside all other files in her brain saved under your name. "but there's more."

"let's hear it." she replies, raising a brow.

you suck in a deep breath, lowering your head as to not face ellie before speaking. "i didn't just start killing whatever men that these women were asking of me. it started smaller. i killed animals, put them in a circle of salt, drew and pentagram, the whole ordeal."

"you sacrificed them?" she asks, tone remaining laced with gentility.

"yes." you nod. "i felt my baptism wasn't enough. god never answered me anyway, he never aided me when i needed it most. he watched my suffering and did nothing. so, i resorted to a new deity of worship." you lift your gaze to meet ellie's. "satanism."

"i'm sorry, i don't—" she blinks a few times, confused. "i don't understand."

"as a child, i relied on god to do everything. my life was nothing without him in it to keep me going. but as i grew, i realized it was unrequited. he cared nothing for me, watching with regale as i sobbed and begged for his help." you explain. "so, as a teenager, i switched over to satanism — worship of someone who actually cared enough to save me."

ellie says nothing, staying silent as you confide in her. she continues to hold your hands, softly cradling them on either side of where you sit.

"but then he wished for payment." you continue. "sacrificial lives as a form of repent for all those years i'd spent as a baptist. i obliged, of course. i killed bunnies and deer, doing research to understand how exactly to offer the stolen lives to him. but as of late, he's wanted more."

"humans." ellie guesses.

"yeah." you confirm. "but i couldn't bring myself to kill random innocent people. so i became a nun and listened in on the confession booths. then, i'd ask the confessors if they wished for me to intervene. they'd concur, paying me to take the lives of their abusers." you recall the fear in the women's voices, the shakiness to their hands as they slipped money through the cracks of the door. "they never saw my face, only heard my voice. and, seeing as i live in the church, none of the recognized me. i soon became a symbol of hope for women and one of fear for men."

ellie's mind strays back to all the religious symbols staked in the yards. "that explains their heavy faith. they think you're some type of prophet."

"yeah, but there's more." you say. "i've researched many, many books to make sure i get this ritual right. and, as it turns out, my 250th victim has to be a martyr. someone who doesn't believe in anything. doing this seals the ritual, ending it."

"good luck finding someone here who meets that criteria." she chuckles.

"exactly." you say carefully. "everyone in bluefield is heavily religious. unless that someone has come from out of town."

"me."

"i wish it wasn't." you rush to explain. "i wish there was some other way i could do this. but it has to be today. i need to do it before another woman comes in asking for my help or the numbers will get thrown off. and if i decline her, i'll lose the faith of all the women in bluefeild."

"okay," ellie shrugs. "do it."

"...what?"

"i don't care." ellie says, the sentence becoming something of a catchphrase for her.

the world stops. again. it screeches to a halt and you almost slam forward at the speed of which it crashed down. you stare at ellie with wide eyes, made shocked by her for a second time. someone so hauntingly perfect cannot truly offer herself up to you like this. she can't seriously be holding out her hand, asking for death to take it.

but what you don't know is that ellie would deem it a gift to die by your hand. it'd be better than dying as a withered elder attached to a beeping machine, or as an agent amid a case who only got to see you in her dreams.

but, this way, she'd be with you always. her love for you would be immortalized; she would be tied down to the very threads that make up the the fabrications of your soul. oh a gift that would be.

"do it." she repeats.

"what?, i don't—" she silences you by leaning forward, pressing her lips against yours.

ellie had kissed you out of impulse, knowing no other way to silence that thundering uncertainty that rumbles your brain. but the moment she does it, she's positive she'll never be able to pull away.

your lips are a cathedral of which she cannot help but melt into, your body a temple she's knelt before and wouldn't hesitate to do again. she kisses you with devout piety, her body molding into yours with each touch that lingers on your skin. somehow, this measly kiss is far more intimate than all else before it.

a silent tear slips from your closed eye as you subtly reach your hand over to where you know the butcher knife lies in wait. ellie surely feels your movement, there's no way she doesn't. but she makes no move to stop kissing you, her lips moving with a vehement neediness.

you loathe the way your fingers find the hilt of the knife. even more so, you despise the way you wrap your hand around it and bring it toward ellie.

she knows. she knows what you're about to do.

and she allows it.

love isn't easy for ellie, never had been. but with you, everything falls into place as though it'd been predestined to do so her entire life. as she feels your body shift toward the knife, nothing runs through her mind aside from your name. on repeat, the singular word replays over and over. she wraps your name around her skull, weaving the letters between her thoughts and molding the syllables against her brain. she was born to love you. and so long as she was able to do so, she'd be okay.

just as the tip of the blade brushes her jacket, you pull away from the kiss and stare at her. the knife remains at her back, resting against leather but not daring to press any harder. ellie's pupils are blown, her lips wet from your own saliva.

"i can't." you utter. "i can't do this to you."

she sighs, "i already told you it's fine, angel. just— as long as i have you near me, i'm content with my decision."

"no." you shake your head. "no i know. it's—" knowing ellie wouldn't understand your explanation, you decide to show her what you mean. with your free hand, you place your palm against her gun holster. "whatever you go through, i want to be there with you."

her eyes widen at your words. she jolts away from you, appearing as though she'd been burned. she sets her jaw, turning her hip away from your reach. "no."

"ellie, please." you implore, tone beseeching. "i can't live on knowing i'd done this to you."

"it's unavoidable." she reminds you. "y' made a deal with the fuckin' devil, or, well— i'm honestly not too sure on the details, but— y' can't not follow through. i understand, okay? finish the damn ritual and live your life."

"i don't want to." you plead with her. "not without you."

she shakes her head, eyes glossing over. despite the evident distaste, her refusal is weak. she stands only a foot away from you, seeming as though she's physically incapable of moving any farther.

"ellie," you say, whispering her name like a prayer. she can't help but look up at you through watery eyes. "ellie, please."

"i don't want you to die." she says, voice nigh a whimper.

"we'll be together, ellie," you tell her, hopping down from the counter to approach her. the blade remains in your hand, long forgotten to the both of you as the sight of the other is far more appealing. "if we do this, we can be together for all of eternity. they'll find our fossils in a million years, bones entwined. they won't even know who's who."

she chokes out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "god, how stupid would that be?"

you laugh with her, "so stupid."

you're both crying now, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at one another. slowly, ellie pulls the gun from her holster. she's unsure on how this will go down, but she's willing to try. for you.

to be loved is a horrific thing, you've found. it's to be swallowed whole by something so disgustingly beautiful that you're incapable of turning away.

ellie takes a step closer, the distance between the two of you closing. her left hand holds the gun, her right hand coming up to wrap an arm behind your neck. she pulls your toward her, pressing another kiss to your mouth.

your tears mingle, forming a salty sea on your touching cheeks. you sob against her, chest heaving as you pull her closer with one hand, the other holding the knife. she tastes of sacrilege, salvation, and sacrifice. the ghosts that will haunt this decrepit church until the end of time. together.

whatever string that pulled the two of you toward each other will be knotted, tying two lost souls in search of the other.

"ellie," you whisper between wet kisses, lifting the knife to rest at the nape of her neck, "it's time."

she lets out a sob, a convulsive gasp tearing from her throat. "okay,"

you count down, the two of you agreeing to do it at the same time. you'll drive the blade into her neck whilst she pulls the trigger. your bodies will fall in unison, clinging to one another.

when you reach one, you sink the blade into her with a sickening squelsh. she chokes, dropping the pistol to the floor. it lands with a loud clank moments before her body falls with a thud. your eyes widen, heart ceasing. blood pools onto the white tiles and only one thought runs through your mind: she didn't pull the trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger.

she

didn't

pull

the

trigger.

she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't pull the trigger. she didn't—

you fall to your knees beside her, hands coming to cradle her bloodied face. you pull her head into your lap, rocking back and forth as crimson soaks into the black fabric of your habit. you clutch her tightly against you, pressing hard on her slit neck, willing the blood to go back inside.

death doesn't take her hand. instead, he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes her for the untimely demise she'd agreed to. the heart she'd taken from you rattles. the death rattle. you choke out a sob at the sound, everything aching.

you lean forward, pressing a kiss to her cold, dead lips. she doesn't kiss you back. you pull away, panting hard as your chest heaves and your eyes burn.

then, in the corner of your eye, you see the metal of ellie's pistol. you crawl across the kitchen toward the weapon, realizing she hadn't even cocked it. god, how had you been so stupid? you do it for her, loading the bullets into the chamber.

with the gun now in your possession, you crawl back over to ellie.

you position yourself atop her, entwining your legs and placing your head on her chest. it doesn't rise nor fall, no beating heard from beneath her ribs. you sob, placing the gun's barrel to the soft part of your chin.

then, without another thought, you pull the trigger. you pull it because ellie was unable. because ellie couldn't bear to do it for you. a part of you resents her for this, but another part can't feel anything for her aside from utmost love.

and there lie two bodies. lifeless.

ellie found what she'd been searching for all her life: something worthy of her devotion. something she can pour her all into. that had been why she became an fbi agent in the first place — in search something to worship whole heartedly. simultaneously, you'd found what you'd been searching for as well: peace.

in the end, however, it had all been for naught.

the ritual didn't work.

it needed someone faithless, someone who didn't care for religion, for god. but that wasn't ellie. not anymore, at least. because, after having met you, she'd finally found something worth her revere.

you were her religion.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist. @luvsturniolo @ilovewomenfr @zzombiegirl @elliessweetheart @kasqnxx @xlovla

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 additional note. i want this to be said here because i know this piece is super fucking heavy. ellie and the reader's relationship is so fucking toxic. anyone who reads this, i hope you realize how absolutely horrific their love story truly is. there's a shit ton of symbolism weaved within this story that i didn't outwardly state (though most of it i blatantly explained). if u have any questions regarding this piece, i'd love to talk about it bc i put a lot of time into making it.

but, again, their relationship is TOXICCCCCCCCCC!!!!!! it's not meant to be idolized or romanticized in any way. if you didn't notice, i barely used the word 'love' and never made either of them say 'i love you'. that was for a reason!!!! because what they share isn't love. it's unhealthy obsession & i need that to be outwardly said before i post this

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