#mystery March 2021 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lilianasgrimoire · 8 months ago

Text

Every Pagan Holiday

JANUARY

KALENDS

1st January

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring Janus/Juno, first day of the Year. Kalends brought us the word 'calendar'.

ÞORRABLÓT (THORRABLÓT)

End of January/beginning of February

Origins: Iceland

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru

Midwinter Festival honouring Thor, usually by feasting and poetry.

FEBRUARY

IMBOLC

2nd February

Origins: Celtic polytheism /Ireland, as St. Brigid's Day

Observed by: Most neopagans, Wiccans, Druids, Asatru (as Charming of the Plow)

Imbolc is the most widely known and observed pagan holiday in the months of January and February. It falls at the beginning of spring/end of the winter for the Celtic peoples; marking the changing of the seasons, as most holidays do. St. Brigid is a Christianised form of or inspired by the Celtic fertility goddess Brigid who is celebrated on this day.

PARENTALIA

13th-21st February

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Greco-Roman polytheists

Translating to 'Ancestors Day', Parentalia is a nine-day celebration of deceased ancestors. Historically it was observed by feasting and making offerings and sacrifices to the dead and spirits of the underworld.

VÁLI'S BLOT

14th February

Origins: Old Norse

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru, Norse polytheists

Váli's Blot is considered by some Asatru to be the Norse equivalent of Valentine's Day but is widely acknowledged as a season changing festival. A day for marriage and celebrating with family and friends, and for remembrance of Váli, the son of Odin who defeated Höðr on this day.

LUPERCALIA

15th February

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Greco-Roman polytheists

Festival thought to honour a wolf who raised abandoned princes, celebrated originally by sacrificing goats to the gods, feasting, and, for fertility, nudity and fornication.

LESSER ELEUSINIAN MYSTERIES

17th-23rd February

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Initiation to the cult of Persephone and Demeter by sacrificing a pig. Prelude to Greater Mysteries, initiations held on these dates. Once completed, initiates could then move onto Greater Mysteries in the autumn.

ANTHESTERIA

27th February - 1st March 2021

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Athenian festivals dedicated to Dionysus and the dead. Held around the full moon in the month of Anthesterion, which in the Gregorian calendar this year roughly translates to 27th February.

THE DISTING/DÍSABLÓT

End of February/beginning of March

Origins: Uppsala, Sweden

Observed by: Heathens, Asatru, Norse polytheists

Celebration of Valkyries and other female spirits, called dísir. Sacrifices were made for a good harvest. Celebrated still by an annual market in Sweden.

MARCH

KALENDS

1st March

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring the god Mars/Ares. Kalends brought us the word 'calendar'.

OSTARA/EARRACH

20th March

Origins: Anglo Saxon paganism, popularised as Ostara by Wicca

Observed by: Anglo Saxon Pagans, Wiccans, Neopagans, Druids (as Alba Eilir), Heathens (as Summer Finding), Ásatrú (as Sigrblót)

The northern hemisphere's vernal equinox, the word Ostara was introduced though Wicca and named for the goddess Eostre. Surprisingly unrelated to Easter in all but name, Ostara symbolises the beginning of spring. As a seasonal holiday it is widely celebrated by many different groups of pagans.

RAGNAR LODBROK'S DAY

28th March

Origins: Icelandic Sagas

Observed by: Ásatrú

Day of remembrance for Ragnar Lodbrok, Viking King of legend

APRIL

KALENDS/VENERALIA

1st April

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Celebration of the first of the month, this one honouring the goddess, Venus.

REMEMBRANCE FOR HAAKON SIGURDSSON

9th April

Origins: Norway, C9th

Observed by: Ásatrú

Day of remembrance for ruler of Norway who claimed lineage to Odin in the Icelandic Sagas.

WALPURGISNACHT

30th April

Origins: German Christianity, originally Saint Walpurga was known for banishing witches and other pests

Observed by: LaVeyan Satanists

Anton LaVey chose to celebrate this holiday as a follow up to the spring equinox and due to its past association with witchcraft.

HEXENNACHT (WITCHES' NIGHT)

30th April

Origins: German folklore, as Walpurgisnacht but witches were alleged to convene with the devil in this night

Observed by: Temple of Satan as 'a solemn holiday to honour those who were victimized by superstition'.

MAY

BEALTAINE/BELTANE

1st May

Origins: Celtic (Ireland/Scotland/Isle of Man)

Observed by: Wiccans, Neopagans, Celtic reconstructionist, Ásatrú/Heathens (as May Day)

One of the more well-known pagan festivals, Beltane is a festival of fire and the beginning of the summer. Also widely referred to as May Day, it is celebrated by lighting fires.

KALENDS

1st May

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Honouring the goddess Maia, for whom the month may have been named.

REMEMBRANCE FOR Guðröðr of Guðbrandsdál

9th May

Origins: C11 Norway, Icelandic Sagas

Observed by: Ásatrú, Norse, heathens

Guðröðr had his tongue removed by Óláfr for rebelling against violent conversion from Norse paganism to Christianity.

JUNE

KALENDS

1st June

Origins: Ancient Greece/Rome

Observed by: Hellenic/Roman polytheists

Anniversary of temples to Juno Moneta (protectress of money, her temple was where coins were made), Mars/Ares (God of war), and the Tempestates (goddesses of storms).

ARRHEPHORIA

3rd Skirophorion (translates to mid-June)

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic reconstructionist

Feast in celebration of Athena and fertility.

MIDSUMMER/SUMMER SOLSTICE

21st June

Origins: Agricultural holiday/longest day observed for centuries by many civilisations. Christianity can date to as early as C4th

Observed by: Wiccans/Germanic neopagans (as Litha), Asatru/Heathens, Druids (as Alban Hefin)

One of the main four holidays in the Wheel of the Year and popularised by Wiccans and neopagans as Litha which is taken from the Anglo-Saxon words for June/July, this is the longest day of the year and the middle point and sometimes considered the beginning of summer.

JULY

REMEMBRANCE FOR UNNR/AUD THE DEEP MINDED

9th July

Origins: C9th Iceland

Observed by: Ásatrú, Heathens, Norse reconstructionist

Aud was a traveller in the 9th century moving between Dublin, the Hebrides, Orkney, and finally Iceland following the deaths of her husband and son. This day is to honour her memory.

HERACLEIA

July/August

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Festival dedicated to Heracles the demigod and his death, involving feasting and celebration.

AUGUST

LUGHNASADH/LAMMAS

1st August

Origins: Celtic Britain (Ireland, Scotland, Isle of Man)

Observed by: Wiccans, Neopagans, Christians (as Lammas), Ásatrú (as Freyfaxi)

Named for the god Lugh, this festival is one of the Celtic harvest festivals and marks the beginning of the harvesting months. It was celebrated by climbing mountains, bull sacrifice, offerings, and feasting. Handfasting is commonplace with Wiccans in modern times.

REMEMBRANCE FOR REDBAD, KING OF THE FRISIANS

9th August

Origins: C7th Frisia (area of Germany/Netherlands)

SEPTEMBER

NOUMENIA

8th September

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Celebration of new Hellenic lunar month. Offerings of honey and incense made to household deities.

REMEMBRANCE FOR HERMANN THE CHERUSCAN

9th September

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú

Hermann the Cheruscan, also known as Arminius of the Cherusci tribe, led the defeat against the Romans at the Battle of Teutoburg Forest and is lauded for saving Eastern Germanic peoples from being conquered by the Roman Empire.

AUTUMN EQUINOX (NORTHERN HEMISPHERE)

22nd September

Origins: 1970s neopaganism

Observed by: Wiccans and Neopagans (as Mabon), Ásatrú (as Winter Finding)

Named Mabon by prominent Wicca and Neopagan Aidan Kelly, after the Welsh mythological figure Mabon ap Moldron, the autumn equinox is one of the harvest festivals and marks the beginning of autumn in the northern hemisphere. Mabon is a relatively new pagan holiday not based on any specific historical festival, but traditionally people around the world would celebrate some kind of harvest festival around the end of September/beginning of October.

OCTOBER

PYANOPSIA

7th October

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Pyanopsia, or Pyanepsia, is a festival to honour Apollo, one of the most important deities, God of music, the sun, knowledge, healing, and archery - amongst other things. During the festival, two special offerings would be placed on doorways and carried to the temple. These offerings were a bean stew, and an olive branch wrapped in wool with honeys, pastries and seasonal fruits hanging from it.

REMEMBRANCE FOR LEIF EIRIKSSON

9th October

Origins: C10th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Remembrance for Leif and his sister Freydís Eiríksdóttir, children of Erik the Red, who are cited with being the first Norse explorers in North America.

THESMOPHORIA

12th-14th October

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Festival held in honour of Demeter Thesmophoros, goddess of agriculture, and her daughter Persephone, goddess of death and life, Queen of the Underworld. Celebrated primarily by women, this festival is linked with fertility, and we know very little about it due to its secretive rites. It is thought that it involved the sacrifice of pigs (although some sources say women), and abstinence.

REMEMBRANCE FOR ERIK THE RED

28th October

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Erik the Red, probably named for the colour of his hair and beard, was the first permanent European settler in Greenland. His children were explorers too, who went to America, and although his wife converted to Christianity, Erik remained faithful to his Norse pagan gods.

SAMHAIN (HALLOWE'EN)

31st October-1st November

Origins: Gaelic - Scotland, Ireland, Isle of Man

Observed by: Celtic pagans, Neopagans, Wiccans

Pronounced SOW-in (sow rhyming with cow), Samhain was originally a harvest festival marking the beginning of winter. The day itself is the 1st November, but celebrations begin on October 31st, and this has become the accepted associated day. It's a festival of the dead, where the síthe, fae and spirits, can enter this realm from their own. Wiccans talk of a 'veil' thinning, meaning the boundary between worlds. Similar death related festivals around this time can be noted in other faiths from across the globe, and of course in the modern Hallowe'en.

WINTER NIGHTS (VETRNAETR), ÁLFABLÓT/DÍSABLÓT

31st October

Origins:

Celebrated by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Winter Nights is mentioned in the Ynglinga Saga as one of the three greatest blessings of the year, the other two being Sigrblót in April, and þorrablót in late Jan/early Feb. Winter Nights is the celebration of the beginning of the winter season; Álfablót is a sacrifice to the elves, and Dísablót a sacrifice to the female spirits (dísir) and Valkyries.

NOVEMBER

REMEMBRANCE FOR SIGRID THE HAUGHTY

9th November

Origins: C9th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

It is not actually known whether Sigrid Storråda, or Sigrid the Haughty, was an actual historical figure, an amalgamation of a few, or simply a myth. The lore goes that she was proposed to multiple times and turned down many but went on to orchestrate conflict when a potential suitor - Olaf Tryggvason, King of Norway - attempted to convert her to Christianity.

DECEMBER

REMEMBRANCE FOR EGILL SKALLAGRÍMSSON

9th December

Origins: C10th CE

Observed by: Heathens, Ásatrú, Norse pagans

Day celebrating the poet, farmer, and berserker Egill Skallagrímsson, who is recalled in The Icelandic Sagas by Snorri Sturluson. Egill is known for his many killings and escaping death by writing an epic poem after being captured when washing up on our Northumberland coastline.

SATURNALIA

17th - 23rd December

Origins: Ancient Rome

Observed by: Roman polytheists, some Hellenic

Like Yule and Lesser Dionysia, Saturnalia was the Roman winter festival celebrating the coming return of the sun and honouring the god Saturn. The standard feasting and drinking feature, and slaves would be treated as equals like Dionysia. Saturnalia is another festival cited as being picked up by Christians and used as inspiration for Christmas.

WINTER SOLSTICE (YULE/MIDWINTER)

21st December

Origins: Germanic nations, as early as C4th CE

Observed by: Norse pagans, Wiccans, Neopagans, LaVeyan Satanists, Ásatrú, Heathens, many Germanic nonpagan peoples

Yule is the midwinter festival known commonly among pagans as a time for feasting, being with loved ones, remembering ancestors, and looking forward to the return of the light and warmer days. Many pagans will celebrate Yule for more than one day, some celebrating a week either side, some for longer, up to two months, and some for twelve days afterwards. True Yule would have originally been in January for midwinter, but King Haakon the Good

moved it to coincide with the Christian celebrations in the 10th century, as told in the Ynglinga Saga.

On the 24th of December, Anglo Saxons are said to have celebrated 'Mothers Night' honouring female ancestors.

RURAL/LESSER DIONYSIA

End of December/beginning of January

Origins: Ancient Greece

Observed by: Hellenic polytheists

Smaller festival honouring the god Dionysus (Greater Dionysia took place in cities at the end of winter). Feasting, mask wearing to stop distinction between classes so that everyone could feel equal, sacrifices, parades, and phallic display were all used to celebrate.

271 notes · View notes

justlikebart-allen · 5 months ago

Text

saw a couple posts about today (Aug 9th) being Damian Wayne's birthday, but when I looked for a source I couldn't find one for the life of me. which of course sent me down a rabbit hole of batfam birthdays. so.

Official Birthdays

*official as in they appear in canon and seem to be the most popular amongst fans. a bunch of these knuckleheads have multiple birthdays.

Cassandra Cain was born on January 26th according to Batgirl (2000) #33, though in that same issue she celebrates it some time in June because fuck her dad.

Bruce Wayne was born of February 19th according to the Detective Comics #494 fan letters column. Or April 7th, if you're looking at Star Spangled Comics #91 (Golden Age), or October 7th in Legends of the Dark Knight (2021) #10. Feb 19th seems to be the one that's used most often.

Dick Grayson was born on "the first day of spring" (aka March 20th) according to Robin (1993) Annual #4, or November 11th according to the Super DC Calendar of 1976, or a week-ish before Halloween according to Secret Origins (1986) #50, or December 1st according to Young Justice (2011) #20. March 20th fits into the robin origin story though, so we're gonna go with that.

Alfred Pennyworth was born on April 8th according to the Super DC Calendar of 1976, or August 16th according to Injustice: Gods Among Us: Year Five #26 (side note: double colons in titles should be illegal). Neither of these are anywhere near real canon, but Injustice is supplementary material for a fighting game, and I'm always more inclined to go with a pure comics source. Plus this way he and Jason don't have to share.

Tim Drake was born on July 19th according to Robin (1993) #116. He's only got the one birthday and in that issue he totally forgot about it.

Jason Todd was born on August 16th according to Detective Comics #790. No information on when exactly his rebirth day is.

Barbara Gordon was born on September 23rd according to the Super DC Calendar of 1976. That's the only source we've got so that's what we're gonna use.

Unofficial Birthdays

Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, and Damian Wayne have never had their birthdays stated in canon, so most people have assigned them birthdays based on either their debut date (Duke) or some other criteria that is a mystery to me. Those dates (from what I have gathered) respectively are:

Steph: August 11th, Duke: August 13th, Damian: August 9th

WHY ARE THEY ALL AUGUST??? THAT'S 4 (or 5 if you count Alfred) BIRTHDAYS IN THE SPAN OF A WEEK! WHY DO THEY ALL HAVE TO BE LEOS???

anyway that's the fruits of my afternoon/evening. if anyone has corrections with sources or dc canonizes a birthday in a comic I'm not reading (which is most of them, my comics taste is stuck in the 90s/early 2000s), let me know.

#dc comics #batman #batfam #cassandra cain #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #tim drake #jason todd #stephanie brown #duke thomas #damian wayne #barbara gordon #jesus christ this is a long post

118 notes · View notes

thepastisalreadywritten · 1 year ago

Text

By Leslie Patrick

1 August 2023

Anne Boleyn (c. 1501 or 1507 – 19 May 1536), King Henry VIII's second queen, is often portrayed as a seductress and ultimately the woman responsible for changing the face of religion in England.

In reality, she was a fiercely intelligent and pious woman dedicated to education and religious reform.

But after her arrest and execution on false charges of adultery and incest in May 1536, Henry VIII was determined to forget her memory.

Her royal emblems were removed from palace walls, her sparkling jewels tucked away in dark coffers, and her precious books disappeared from the pages of time.

One of Boleyn’s books that has reappeared is the Book of Hours, a stunning prayer book, printed around 1527 with devotional texts designed to be read throughout the day, features hand-painted woodcuts — as well as a rare example of the queen’s own writing.

In the margins of one of the beautifully decorated pages, she penned a rhyming couplet followed by her signature:

“Remember me when you do pray, that hope doth lead from day to day, Anne Boleyn.”

The book vanished with Boleyn’s execution in 1536, then resurfaced around 1903 when it was acquired by the American millionaire William Waldorf Astor (31 March 1848 – 18 October 1919) after he purchased Hever Castle, Anne Boleyn’s childhood home in the English countryside.

The hiding place of the disgraced queen’s devotional tome had been a mystery for centuries, until recent research by a university student uncovered hidden signatures that helped trace its path through history.

The discovery

The book’s whereabouts in the 367 years between Boleyn’s death and its reemergence remained puzzling until 2020 when Kate McCaffrey, then a graduate student at the University of Kent working on her master’s thesis about Anne Boleyn’s Book of Hours, found something unexpected in the margins of the book.

“I noticed what appeared to be smudges to the naked eye,” recalls McCaffrey, assistant curator at Hever Castle since 2021.

Intrigued, she borrowed an industrial-strength ultraviolet light and set it up in the darkest room of Hever Castle.

Ultraviolet light is often used to examine historical documents because ink absorbs the ultraviolet wavelength, causing it to appear darker against the page when exposed.

“The words just came through. It was incredible to see them underneath the light, they were completely illuminated,” the curator recalls.

McCaffrey’s theory is that the words were erased during the late Victorian era when it was popular to cleanse marginalia from books or manuscripts.

But thanks to her extraordinary detective work, these erased words turned out to be the key that unlocked the tale of the book’s secret journey from certain destruction at the royal court to safety in the hands of a dedicated group of Boleyn’s supporters.

The guardians

Indeed, various pages throughout the text reveal the names and notations of a string of Kentish women — Elizabeth Hill, Elizabeth Shirley, Mary Cheke, Philippa Gage, and Mary West — who banded together to safeguard Anne's precious book and keep her memory alive.

While it’s unclear how the book was initially passed to these women, Anne Boleyn expert Natalie Grueninger suggests it was gifted by Anne to a woman named Elizabeth Hill.

Elizabeth grew up near Hever Castle, and her husband, Richard Hill, was sergeant of the King’s Cellar at Henry VIII’s court.

There are records of the Hill’s playing cards with the king, and there may have been a friendship between Elizabeth and the queen that prompted Boleyn to pass her prayer book on before her execution.

“This extended Kentish family kept the book safe following Anne’s demise, which was an incredibly brave and bold act considering it could have been considered treasonous,” says Grueninger, podcaster and author of the book The Final Year of Anne Boleyn.

Anne’s Book of Hours was passed between mothers, daughters, sisters, and nieces until the late sixteenth century, when the last name makes its appearance in its margins.

“This story is an example of the women in the family prioritizing loyalty, friendship, fidelity, and a personal connection to Anne,” says McCaffrey.

“The fact that the women have kept it safe is a really beautiful story of solidarity, community, and bravery.”

The book, currently on display at Hever Castle, is a touchstone of the enigma that was Anne Boleyn.

Castle historian and assistant curator Owen Emmerson points out that the book contains Anne’s DNA on the pages from where she touched and kissed it during her daily devotions.

“This was a really beloved possession of hers,” says Emmerson.

“Because of what happened to Anne Boleyn, we don’t have a vast amount of information in Anne’s own words. But the physical remnants of her use of the book, and the construction of that beautiful little couplet, have her identity in them.”

While Anne’s Book of Hours has finally found its way home, the research into this intriguing historical mystery is not yet over.

McCaffrey continues to chart the book’s provenance through the centuries to find out where it was hiding all this time.

The discovery of the inscriptions illuminates the book’s furtive journey, providing us with a glimpse into the controversy, loyalty, and fascination that Anne Boleyn has engendered for the past 500 years.

#Anne Boleyn #King Henry VIII #Book of Hours #William Waldorf Astor #Hever Castle #Kate McCaffrey #University of Kent #ultraviolet light #Natalie Grueninger #Owen Emmerson #Elizabeth Hill #Elizabeth Shirley #Mary Cheke #Philippa Gage #Mary West #The Tudors #House of Tudor #British Royal Family

567 notes · View notes

confused-rat · 6 days ago

Text

Mini-Timeline of Lily Orchard’s Lies regarding Lizzy’s Age and Relevant Info

Aug. 12, 2015 - Lily & Lizzy start dating (X) - Lizzy was 18 - Lily was 23 Feb. 2016 - Lizzy turns 19 March 30, 2016 - Lily & Lizzy get engaged - Lily & Lizzy dated over half a year before getting engaged, seven months total - Lizzy turned 19 only one month before their engagement Dec. 2018 - Lizzy breaks up with Lily - Lizzy was 21 - Lily was 26

May 28, 2020 - Lily says Lizzy was 19 when they started dating (X)

Jan. 6, 2021 - Lily says again that Lizzy was 19 when they started dating (X)(fifth post down)

July 24, 2024 - Lily says that all but one of her partners were her age or older than her (deleted)

- Lizzy was five years younger - Mikaila is one year younger - Ginger was seven years younger - Carousel was three years younger Aug. 24, 2024 - Lily says six of her partners were the same age as her, with only two being younger and three older (X)

- this post is the closest to being accurate, as both Carousel and MK could be considered close to Lily’s age, with Lizzy and Ginger being younger—however, we are currently only aware of four people Lily has dated, six if we count Tara Callie and Liana/Leanna Gaudet, but that still leaves five mystery partners we must take Lily’s word on, and considering her previous posts inaccuracies…

Dec. 18, 2024 - Lily claims Lizzy was 23 when they watched the LotR’s movies together (X)

- Lizzy was 21 when the two broke up

#lily orchard critical #lily orchard #lily peet #lily orchard receipts #lily orchard discourse #timeline #debunking lily

50 notes · View notes

greynatomy · 1 year ago

Text

alessia russo social media au

face claim - zendaya

———

liked by user1, user2 and 20,739 others

dailymail Y/n Y/ln and Hailee Steinfeld have reportedly split after 3 years of relationship, sources say.

Click the link in our bio to read the full story.

view all comments

user1 WHAT? No!

user2 another hollywood breakup? shocking…

user3 i don’t believe in love anymore

march 10, 2022

liked by user1, user2 and 5,738 others

ynupdates yn and hailee on twitter. glad they’re still friends. sad they broke up though

view all comments

user1 people always forget that they were best friends before they got into a relationship with each other

↳ user2 true and the friendship they have isn’t one of those where you just forget each other after something not working out i’m pretty sure. they’re so close to each other

user3 i’m a child of divorce

liked by user1, user2 and 15,738 others

enews y/n y/ln back touched down in england months after break up from long time girlfriend, hailee steinfeld.

read the full story with the link in our bio.

view all comments

user1 she’s in england by herself?

↳ user2 she’s probably there for fashion week

user3 y’all are being dramatic they’re still friends

user4 is she still filming euphoria?

↳ user5 probably on a break

september 10, 2020

liked by user1, user2 and 3,564 others

ynupdates yn seen at the manchester united vs arsenal match today!

view all comments

user1 i’m at that game rn!

user2 there’s a match today?

↳ user3 yeah, women’s football.

user4 i thought she doesn’t like sports?

↳ user5 probably not there for soccer… if you know what i mean

october 17, 2020

liked by user1, user2 and 6,839 others

ynupdates yn seen with mystery girl yesterday in england

view all comments

user1 she’s moving on already?

↳ user2 girl. bye. it’s been months since the breakup and hailee has something going on with her costar or something

user3 she’s still in england?

user4 the HAND PLACEMENT AHHHHHH

user5 who goes out with a mug

↳ user6 that’s all i’ve focused on. isn’t she gonna spill it

liked by haileesteinfeld, alessiarusso99 and 6,738,839 others

yourinstagram @/gq

view all comments

haileesteinfeld you on some acrobatics shit

↳ yourinstagram one of my many talents

↳ user9 love that they’re still friends

user1 LOVE her style

alessiarusso99 cute.

↳ yourinstagram ty bby.

↳ user2 WHO IS THIS

↳ user3 soft launch?

↳ user4 probably just a friend

↳ user5 ALESSIA? what are you doing here?

january 11, 2021

#woso x reader #greynatomy #woso #woso imagines #woso imagine #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo

306 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 6 months ago

Text

Polaris – Chapter 6

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, hurt, angst, more murder mystery, divorce, drinking, death

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Welcome back, guys! I'm still trying to catch up with comments and reading, so be patient with me 😂 BUT there's a big reveal in this chapter and things are about to pick up. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on all of it. Enjoy! 🤓🤍

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 6: Curses And Cries

March 2021

As you entered the dingy bar on the outskirts of Juárez, the smell of salsa deliciously hit your nose, causing your stomach to growl. Ever since your prolonged stay in Mexico, you had really gotten attached to the cuisine here.

After your husband’s death, you started to eat your grief in spicy carbs and worked it off with an hour-long jog in the mornings and some Brazilian Jiu Jitsu in the evenings.

And while you were eating your sadness, your companion was drowning his in tequila. Apparently, three shots in this time, judging from the empty glasses on the oak counter in front of him.

You sat down next to him and wordlessly grabbed a plastic menu, skimming through it with interest as Beau watched you from his peripheral and downed another shot.

“Oooh, they have Quesadillas here,” you hummed happily.

“They have Quesadillas everywhere here. And back home. It’s called Tex-Mex,” Beau grumbled and gestured at the bartender for a refill with his fingers.

“Maybe some Nachos, too,” you mused, ignoring his murmurs next to you. He had become quite the grump.

“You’re gonna puke at some point,” he muttered, thanking the bartender as he placed down five more shots in front of him.

“Jesus, by the looks of it, you’re the one who’s gonna puke tonight, not me,” you quipped and arched an eyebrow at his life choices. “Maybe you should order some food as well, soak up all that Don Julio. Or at least eat the limes that come with it…”

“I’m fine,” Beau said and hissed as he gulped down another glass.

“Yeah, by all means, you look great,” you retorted wryly. “What happened? What are you doing back here so soon? You were supposed to be at home the whole week. Weren’t you and Carla planning to go on that cabin trip with Em?”

Unlike you, who had come down here and never gone back, Beau made the trip home every couple of weeks for the sake of his marriage and daughter. You knew, however, from the occasional concerned phone calls with Carla that he barely kept his commitment afloat.

You tried to talk to him, tried to keep a balance, tried to send him home, but you knew deep down that you could try even harder. Selfishly, you wanted him here with you. He was your lifeline, the only piece you still had left of your husband.

Beau snorted a drunken laugh in response and grabbed another shot. “Yeah, that went downhill quickly.”

Your brow scrunched with a mix of concern and confusion. You placed a palm on his forearm in a comforting manner. “What happened?”

Beau silently reached into the inner pocket of his jeans jacket and pulled out a folded and crumpled heap of stapled papers, slapping them onto the counter in front of you. With a creased brow, you took them and unfolded them carefully, while Beau downed another shot.

“Oh Beau…” You sighed when you read over the lines that stung out and looked at him, putting the document back down. “She’s divorcing you?”

“Yup,” he replied bitterly and stared ahead, another shot raining down his throat.

You frowned and snatched the last remaining shot, drinking it before he could.

“Ey!”

“You’re cut off,” you barked sternly at his protest. “Drinking isn’t gonna make this better, you know?”

“You sure? ‘Cause it certainly feels like it.” Beau grinned lazily at you. Judging by the glaze in his green eyes, you were honestly surprised he didn’t slur his words yet. But then again, you figured he had built up quite the tolerance over the last couple of months.

“Uh-huh, worked out great for you the last few weeks. You know, some would even say all the booze is what got you into this mess in the first place,” you retorted and threw him a pointed look.

Beau muttered mockingly into his empty glass, “Really? And who are those people?”

Rolling your eyes with a small sigh, you grabbed his arm and tried to get him up from the barstool. But Beau shook his head and wiggled himself out of your grip. In that moment, you wished that he was lighter and that you were a lot stronger.

“Nuh-uh, I’m not done sulking yet,” he told you and swiftly turned to the bartender once more.

Fourteen tequilas in, you were finally allowed to take him back to the motel. Getting him from the bar into the car and then from the parking lot into the room was quite the straining task. He was a big guy, his full weight resting on you as you had his arm slung around your shoulders, guiding him on wobbly bow legs.

“Where’s your key?” you demanded firmly like a kindergarten teacher talking to a misbehaving toddler.

Beau flashed you a crooked smirk. “It’s in my pocket. Go fish.”

You laughed in annoyed amusement. “Oh, you’re gonna regret that one tomorrow,” you said and dove your hand into the back pocket of his jeans, hauling out the key without further ado.

“Ow! Did you just pinch me?”

Well, some further ado.

“You bet I did,” you replied dryly, chuckling as you turned your back to him and fumbled the key into the lock.

“Oh, you’re a sly one, alright… Kinda like it,” he slurred drunkenly behind you.

You soon caught a waft of tequila as his breath tickled your neck, your gaze wandering up as his flat palm steadied on the door next to your cheek. He then leaned his forehead on your shoulder as he swayed behind you in the cool night air. A shiver ran down your spine, but you tried to remain composed.

“You smell nice,” he noted with a smile in his voice. “You always do.”

You snorted and finally managed to unlock the door. “Okay, now I know you’re really wasted,” you joked and tried to get his mind to focus on something else.

You didn’t take offense to his advances nor did you put too much thought into them. You supposed every guy, who was drunk, lonely, sad, and most of all, a man, would hit on any female in his proximity. His pride was shattered, and you were just the closest thing there to mend the pieces of his ego back together again.

Besides, you weren’t all that scared of him. Maybe currently a little uncomfortable, but that was it. You knew he was a good guy. And if it turned out he wasn’t, you had practiced enough Jiu Jitsu over the course of the last months to throw him on his ass with the power of your little pinky.

However, before you could twist the knob and open the door, he gripped your waist and spun you around. Your back hit the flat surface behind you, pressing against the fragile wood as you came face to face with him. He licked his plump lips with a mischievously cocky smile, leaning closer to you as he dipped his head.

But you didn’t move or flinch. Instead, you patiently crossed your arms over your chest and quirked your brow with an amused smile. “And what d’you think you’re doing here, gaucho?”

As long as he didn’t overstep any lines, you were willing to entertain his little flirtations for the sake of his ego. Deep down, you knew he wouldn’t go through with them anyway. Like the tequila, it just made him feel better in the moment.

As expected, the mischief soon disappeared abruptly from his face and was replaced by a surprise attack of nausea. “Puking,” he managed to spit out.

With a sigh, you grabbed behind you and swung the door open for him, watching him bolt past you into the bathroom. You heard him retching a second later.

“Told you so!” you called after him with a triumphant grin.

With a few taps of your combat boots, you waited till the silver elevator doors of the DA’s office parted with a ding. Your head bobbed mindlessly to the jazzily generic music till you reached the fifth floor and Diane’s office. For once during this case, you were excited to meet with a prosecutor. You finally struck gold and had something in your hands, even if it was just a username and a possible connection to the victims.

Depending on what your tech analysts at the FBI back in Houston would find, you hoped for an arrest by the end of the week.

“Hey, working hard, I see,” you said with a friendly smile as you approached Diane’s desk and saw the huge piles of files in front of her. It was late, too. The office was empty, her colleagues already having cleared out.

“Yeah, I’m the newbie, so I got a lot of catching up to do,” she said, chuckling softly.

You then noticed the diploma behind her hanging on the wall and nodded impressed. “Wow, Stanford Law School, huh? You’re from California?”

“Oh yeah, born and raised. And honestly, it’s not that remarkable. It’s really just like any other law school in the country,” she replied modestly.

You snorted, amused over her response. “Yeah, I doubt that.” There was a twinge in your stomach and a voice in your head.

Smart, driven, the California Penal Code, it whispered, checking off a secret list.

“By the way, I’m sorry about last week,” Diane apologized, causing your brow to wrinkle in confusion for a moment before you caught on. Her voice sounded secretive like the two of you were having a chat between friends. Only that you weren’t remotely close at all. “I didn’t mean to barge in and interrupt anything with that hottie sheriff.”

“Oh, uh, don’t worry about it,” you told her courteously, squinting your eyes a bit.

“You’d think someone like him would be married,” she commented cheekily, while you direly wished you could escape the awkwardness of that conversation.

“Divorced,” you supplied politely, trying your best to remain professional.

Socially weird, the detective voice in your mind noted.

“Oh, that explains it. Wonder what happened there. I was actually so surprised when Sheriff Arlen introduced you as his girlfriend,” Diane said and explained further, “I just noticed your wedding ring, so I assumed you were his wife.”

“Uh, no.” Your eyes flashed down to your golden wedding band around your ring finger, the urge to take it off and hide it in shame before crawling into bed with a torrid lover suddenly permeated your thoughts. As if taking it from your finger and hiding it in some pocket, out of everyone’s judgmental sight, would make the immoral affair less of a betrayal.

There’s nothing to feel guilty about, you reminded yourself sternly.

However, there was a flicker of something in Diane’s gray eyes that tugged and tore at you, cautioning you to tread carefully. That something wicked in her eyes wanted you to suffer and doubt yourself.

“So, what’s the story there? You married?” Diane asked bluntly and then shook her head, chuckling. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry. It’s none of my business.”

“No, you’re good,” you feigned your assurance with a hard smile. “Dead husband, actually. Happened a couple of years ago now.”

“Ah, well, lucky you. Sheriff Arlen seems like a catch,” she quipped, grinning.

“Yeah, lucky me,” you faux-agreed and kept your smile, although everything was killing you inside.

“So, how did you two meet? Excuse my nosiness, I’m a sucker for a good love story.” Diane’s question reverberated with charm that could’ve easily fooled anybody into thinking it was all just harmless curiosity.

But not you.

You broke a polite smile, but your stare could’ve killed her. “He was my husband’s partner back in Houston.”

“Oh, wow. Sounds a bit messy, doesn’t it?” Diane gave you a surprised look, but you couldn’t shake the feeling she had already known the answer and her question was only supposed to torture you. Your feet were starting to get antsy to leave, your hands itching to grasp your gun. When you only replied by offering her another tight-lipped smile, she cleared her throat and dropped her intrusive exam. “So, uh, what can I do for you? Any new leads?”

Pursing your lips, you shook your head. “Uh, no. It’s a tough one. We’re still chasing down several ends, but nothing concrete. Just wanted to stop by to give you the coroner’s report of our last victim. It came through this morning.” You pulled out only one file from your bag, keeping the others inside, and handed it to her.

“Oh, alright. Anything remarkable?” Diane’s smile was sharp as she leafed briefly through the report. You guessed she didn’t need to read it to know what state the victim was found in.

“Uh, no. Nothing so far. Gotta be honest with you – this case is a tough one. Might take us a while,” you lied openly. You knew she didn’t buy a word of what you said, and you could see that she didn’t care.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll solve the case. After all, you’re a smart one, Agent Y/L/N. I have no doubt you’ll catch her, eventually.” Diane sent you a confident smile.

It was the last insurance you’d needed. You knew for a fact you had never mentioned to Diane that the killer was most likely a woman. That information wasn’t anywhere in the documents you’d given her yesterday. You had kept it close. Only a handful of people knew.

You could then see it all right there in front of you as the alarm bells rang in your head. You were face to face with your killer, staring right into her gray and cold eyes, and there was nothing you could goddamn do about it.

Judging by her cunning look, she knew it, too. She wanted you to catch on. She wanted you to know it was her. She was fucking playing with you.

March 2021

“Oh God…” Beau groaned as he hugged the yellowing porcelain throne, his forehead propped up on the back of his hand, knees scraping against the chipped and dirty green motel bathroom tiles.

“There, there…” you soothed with a hint of amusement in your voice, your palm rubbing his back in comforting circles when he heaved again. “Let it all out, big guy.”

“I think this was the last of it.” Beau straightened a bit as his fingers fumbled blindly for the flush. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, his nose was red and snotty, and his lips were pale and dryer than the desert. He never looked worse.

You grinned and pulled out your phone, swiping to the camera. “Say cheese.”

Beau’s brow scrunched in confusion and betrayal. “What in God’s good name-… Why the hell would you do that?”

“You look terrible, my friend. Figured it’d be a great picture for the slideshow I’m planning for your fiftieth,” you quipped, your wicked grin widening.

“Oh God…”

“Relax.” Playfully, you rolled your eyes back, while you saved the photo to your favorites on your phone. “You’ve still got a while ‘til then. You’ve just turned forty not that long ago. I’m just planning ahead.”

“Not that.” Beau shook his head and clutched his stomach, his cheeks losing color again. His eyes widened in miserable realization. “I think it’s starting again.”

With that, he tossed himself over the stained white bowl and puked his literal guts out for the umpteenth time.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Pretty sure you purged all the tequila and drank the entirety of Mexico dry,” you commented with a chuckle over his vomiting noises. If you ever thought the guy was sexy again, you would remind yourself to think back to this moment.

“I don’t remember you ever being this funny when I was sober.” After his last heave, Beau flushed once more and leaned back against the cool wall with an exhaustive sigh. “I think I’m really done now.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “You sure? You’ve said that a few times in the last two hours.”

He nodded with his eyes closed. “Mhm, yeah… That one felt final.”

“Alright.”

You rose from your floor seat against the bathtub and held out your hands. He glanced at them for a second before he took you up on your offer. With your help, he hoisted himself back onto his wobbly feet. You reached behind him and grabbed his toothbrush with a dab of paste from the sink, handing it to him.

You smiled. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

After he thoroughly brushed his teeth and washed his face with cold water, you accompanied him to his bed with his arm slung around your neck. While he was more sober and coherent after his vomit escapade, he was still pretty drunk. You knew the massive hangover that would hit him in a few hours would be more punishing than the desert heat.

Sitting him down on the edge of his bed, you handed him a Tylenol and a bottle of water to swallow it down. “Hydrate,” you ordered as you kneeled down on the carpet in front of him, untying his boots and slipping them off his feet.

As you straightened, your face fell right into his hands, both of his massive palms cupping your cheeks. You stared into his hazy pine-green eyes, a twitch of confusion on your brow as your breaths mingled. Your heart skipped a beat, the white noise ringing in your ears. You weren’t sure what he was doing, but you could guess.

Beau swallowed thickly and dropped his hands from your cheeks. “I should lay down.”

“Yeah, you should,” you bit, a trace of anger in your voice. Though, you couldn’t tell if it was because he almost overstepped or because he didn’t. You knew the latter would be a problem for both of you, so you decided on the first. There was no need to unnecessarily burden your conscience with imagined immorality.

Beau groaned as his head hit the pillow. His eyes found yours, a fragment of an apology fluttered across his features. “Thank you, uhm, for taking care of me. You coulda just bailed.”

“Yeah, I know. But this was more fun to watch.” You grinned teasingly.

Beau pursed his lips, chuckling lightly. “Is that the only reason you stayed? ‘Cause it was fun?”

“No, you’re also my friend, and I’d never desert you. We leave no man behind, remember?” you said with a smile, quoting one of the cliché lines your task force team repeated often. “‘Sides, you and I are trauma bonded.”

“Alright.” Beau bobbed his head pensively, his lips curled. “So… on a scale from one to ten, how full is my quota for tonight to do somethin’ stupid again?”

Your heart twisted and clenched in your ribcage. You knew what he meant. He couldn’t have been clearer. It was all written in his eyes as bright as the stars in the sky when he looked at you, only a dangling question of “May I?” hanging in the air between you two.

“Twenty,” you said firmly and held your chin high, swallowing thickly. “I think that quota is pretty fucking full.”

“That’s too bad.” On his lips flickered a forlorn smile, his hand brushing your cheek for a moment before he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered like smoke on your skin. “But maybe for the best. I’d like to remember that one, and I’m not sure I would tonight.”

A shallow scoff left your nose. “Maybe you’ll remember this,” you said with bitter anger in your voice and stared daggers at him. “You’ll always be the guy that stood on my doorstep and told me my husband was dead.”

Beau nodded with a harsh swallow of understanding and retreated, forcing some distance between you two. “Yeah, I think that’ll stick even through the tequila.”

“Good,” you bit and rose to your feet, walking to the door. “Get some fucking sleep.”

Beau’s mouth opened with a want to say something, maybe even an apology, but the door slammed harshly behind you before he got a chance. And now, all he had left was silence, a raging headache, guilt in his stomach, and regret in his heart.

Breathlessly, you arrived at the Sheriff’s Department and stormed into Beau’s office. The door was ajar as he chatted with Jenny, both of them curiously looking at you before concern took hold of their faces.

“Hey, everything alright?” Beau instantly rose from his chair, his brow knitting with worry.

“No,” you replied with a shake of your head, the alarm visible in every crease of your flushed face. “I think I’ve found our killer.”

“What? How? Who?” Beau ran down the basic wh-questions in confusion. “Weren’t you just at the DA’s office?”

“It’s Diane, isn’t it?” Jenny shot straightaway, and your eyes widened in confirmation as you nodded. “Yeah, I got a weird vibe from her, too.”

“What, no? Diane?” Beau raised his brow at the two of you in disbelief. “Okay, back up a little here. Why do you think it’s Diane? We met that woman only three weeks ago. She seemed alright. Little awkward maybe, but we can’t arrest people ‘cause they’re weird.”

“Look, I know that,” you said and crossed your arms. “And I don’t have anything concrete yet, but it’s just a feeling. I got a really strange vibe from her earlier.”

“Well, we can’t arrest people because of strange vibes either,” Beau retorted. “And if it really is Diane, arresting her at all is gonna be hard. I mean, she’s the DA on the case. Who’s gonna issue the warrant, huh?”

“Convenient.” Jenny scoffed under her breath, earning her a scolding look from her boss.

“Don’t encourage her, please.” He shot Jenny a warning and yet pleading glance.

“Look, I’m not crazy! It’s her. I’ll find proof,” you insisted. It almost sounded like a threatening promise.

“What did she say to you exactly?” Jenny questioned and cocked her head at you in interest. You appreciated her professionalism, unlike Beau who still looked at you doubtfully.

“She asked some really personal questions about me and Beau. And not in a friendly chitchat manner. It’s hard to explain. I guess you had to be there… It was weird, okay?”

“Well, you can’t really fault her for that after what she’s seen,” Beau mitigated the circumstances.

“What has she seen?” Jenny looked suspiciously between you two. When both of you responded with deafening silence and averted your gazes, she chortled. “You two really need to lock that door.”

“Alright, that’s not the point,” Beau huffed his retort with blushed cheeks.

“Can we get back to Diane being a serial killer, please?” you requested impatiently. “Look, she fits the profile. She’s got the California connection. She went to Stanford. She’s obviously wicked smart. And she also knows we're looking for a female perp.”

That caught Jenny’s attention. Her brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell her?”

You shook your head. “No, and it’s nowhere in the files. So unless one of you told her, how did she know that?”

Grabbing the football from his desk, Beau’s head bobbed pensively as he squeezed the peanut between his hands. You tried not to think about Randy, but your heart stung nonetheless. Beau seemed to notice your distracted look and quickly put the ball back down.

“Alright, what do we do next?” he asked with a clear of his throat.

“I hope whatever the tech analysts find points to her. We could also put a tracker on her car. Won’t help in court, but maybe she leads us to one of the bunkers,” you suggested and pursed your lips for the next part. “I could also talk to the other DAs on the case. If we can’t get an arrest warrant here, we can still try through the other states and extradite her.”

“Good idea. Who would–” Beau stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows drawing together as he realized your plan. “You wanna ask Ted? C’mon!”

“It’d be the fastest way! We’ve worked together for years,” you defended.

“Uh-huh, a little too closely…” Beau muttered under his breath, earning a small glare from you.

“Would you calm down? We only went on three dates. Nothing ever happened,” you stated and looked at him, completely forgetting Jenny was still in the room, too.

“I’m gonna go for this part,” she excused herself and touched your arm on the way out. “I’ll do some research on Diane. See what we can dig up about her past.”

“Thank you. That’d be great,” you said as she left.

Beau waited for a beat, ensuring you were completely alone before he found your eyes. “Nothing happened?”

“No, I ended it before it got to that point. Mainly because I didn’t want it to get to that point,” you explained and could see him relax, his shoulders falling.

He stalked closer to you, wrapping you in his arms. He kissed you deeply, hands wandering to your ass and squeezing the cheeks through your jeans. You smiled up at him.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous,” you teased.

“I’m not–… You know what? I am,” Beau stated almost proudly. “I don’t like thinking about losing you to some jerk. Actually, I don’t like thinking about losing you at all. It’s killing me that I almost did. I should’ve never let you close the door on me that day. I should’ve never left… At least not like that.”

“It’s okay. I’m here now… with you. It all sorta worked out. Maybe we needed that time apart,” you said softly and hoped you soothed his guilt a little. Your mind drifted back to Diane’s words. Thoughtfully, you twisted the ring on your finger.

“You okay? Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s just something Diane said,” you told him, your brow wrinkling as the bad feeling in your gut expanded. “She just asked about my ring. It was odd.”

“Well, we already know she’s a bit nutty,” Beau said and gave you a soothing smile, embracing you a little tighter as he pulled you against his chest and pecked the top of your head. But his heart ached with worry and a bad feeling.

“Yeah, I just…” You glanced at your ring again and exhaled one nostalgic breath. You then took it off and placed it in Beau’s palm, who seemed rattled by your unforeseen choice. “Take it and keep it somewhere. Throw it in a lake or feed it to a trout. I don’t care. I don’t wanna wear it anymore.”

“Y/N–”

You stopped his protest, knowing it was well meant. “No, really. It’s alright, okay? I’m ready to let go. I’m with you now… And I love you.” You gave him a smile, and he mirrored a softer one, nodding.

“Alright,” he accepted your decision and lifted the ring to your view. He opened a drawer in his desk and stored it carefully inside. “I love you, too. But I’m gonna keep it safe here in case you ever change your mind… which you can do at any point in time, no questions asked, okay?”

“Thank you.” You stretched up to meet his lips, kissing him passionately. Sometimes, it was hard to believe you’d found it twice – true love. But you were sure of it whenever you stared into Beau’s mesmerizingly green eyes. Maybe Diane was right. You were lucky, after all.

August 2020

The cookbook laid open on the marble counter by the stove, a second one with another recipe right next to it. You stared at them, your narrowed eyes wandering back and forth between ‘Brisket’ and ‘Biscuits and Gravy’ as you tapped your chin with a wooden spatula.

You had never been the best cook, as your mother would attest to, but every once in a while you tried and even had some success with the classics. Those two dishes were Randy’s favorite – like almost every Texan’s if you excluded BBQ.

You’d been gone for close to a month for an assignment that took you all the way to Arizona. You had just gotten home two days ago, and after washing a month’s worth of laundry and getting some well-deserved rest, you promised your husband a delicious meal for date night.

When the food was done, you set the table with the good china you’d received from your mother-in-law at your wedding. As you waited, you filled a glass with Merlot. Then, a second one. You stared at the hands of the clock in the dining room moving in a circle, alternating with the watch around your wrist in case either one was wrong. Every two minutes you checked your phone, scrolled through social media, and exhaled sighs. The food was getting cold, but that was the least of your problems.

You were growing anxious, steadying the slight tremble in your hand with more wine.

But when the doorbell rang, you stood up from your chair with relief and rushed into the foyer. You ignored the voice in your head that told you Randy wouldn’t have rung the damn doorbell. He would’ve just used his key. And you ignored the voice when instead of Randy, you found his partner on your doorstep.

“Beau, hey.” Your brow crinkled at the oddness of seeing him so late at your house, but your lips formed a smile nonetheless. “What are you doing here?”

You ignored the voice that warned you about the universal truth everyone in law enforcement knew about. If a partner showed up at a cop’s wife’s house, it was never good news. Deep down, you already knew why he was here. You saw it in the haunted green of his eyes. You saw it in the dark and puffy circles underneath them. You saw it in the bloodstains on his white shirt. You saw it in the bloody creases of his nails that he couldn’t entirely scrub clean before he came here.

“Beau?” The wrinkles in your brow molded into deeper cracks, hardening like cement. You took a step forward, one hand on the door jamb steadying your jittery bones. “Is Randy okay? Is he in the hospital?”

You needed him to say the words, but he couldn’t. His lips quivered, his hands trembled, his eyes filled with tears. He swallowed harshly and clasped his mouth, not knowing what to say or how to find the words. He turned his back to you, walking a few steps. Whatever courage he had to come to your door in the first place, left him the second he saw your face.

You shook your head, disbelief keeping you from accepting reality. You stood on the tracks, the freight train was coming. “Just lemme grab my jacket. We can drive to the hospital together.”

Snatching a too-large jacket from the coat rack you were sure was your husband’s, you tried to bolt past Beau, but a hand on your arm caught you and stopped you on your front lawn. You found his green eyes. He wordlessly shook his head.

“No! It’s not true,” you insisted desperately, tears starting to flood your eyes. “I just talked to him a few hours ago. I-I made dinner… His favorite. He’s coming home! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Beau’s clasp on your arm tightened, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Your tears now fell, too. Yet, you vividly shook your head and stuffed the pain down your throat until it felt like you were choking. “No, you’re wrong. You’re wrong, Beau! He’s coming home to me. He’s coming home…”

You repeated those words over and over until your sobs swallowed them all. Beau pulled you to his chest and held you tightly. You felt his tears fall like raindrops upon your head, your body stiffening and bones turning to stone as unbearable pain and grief wracked through your veins and consumed you.

“I’m so sorry,” Beau repeated, his voice muffled by your hair. His arms wrapped around you even tighter. “He’s not coming home, darlin’. I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

He kept saying it as he held you – how sorry he was. But once the reality of the situation fully hit you, so did your anger. You pushed him away. As you met his gaze, he almost looked hurt by that action, but all you could find in your heart was vitriol, disdain, and blame.

“You should be. You should be sorry,” you spat through your tears. “Where were you in all of this, huh? You said you’d have his back! So, why are you here and he’s not? Where the fuck were you, Beau?”

His mouth jittered open, searching for an explanation for his own failure. “I know… I-I don’t know what happened. It just went south so fast… I-…”

“You guys told me it was a quick job,” you pointed out furiously. “In and out! ‘No big deal, darlin’,” you quoted him in mock. “It was your fucking idea to go in! I asked if you guys needed backup, and you said no! You told me you could do it on your own, you arrogant shit!”

Beau dragged a hand over his face, wiping some of the tears away. “I know.” He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it! You got it? It’s not gonna bring him back now, is it?”

“I know. I know I fucked up. Trust me, Y/N. I know…”

You furiously shoved at his chest, pushing him back a few inches. He let you, didn’t even try to stop you in the slightest. He was willingly volunteering to be your punching bag as if it would magically better the situation and absolve him from his sins.

“You were supposed to be his partner!” you yelled so loudly all the commotion in the front yard of your quiet neighborhood had woken the neighbors, a few of them flooding out of their houses and gathering in their own yards to gawk at the spectacle.

You pushed him again. Harder this time. “You were supposed to fucking protect him!”

Another push. “You promised me you’d take a bullet for him!”

Push. “You fucking coward!”

Beau just nodded in agreement with all your accusations, his eyes brimming with tears. “I know. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

This time, you slapped him across the cheek. “Stop saying you’re fucking sorry!”

The harsh slap echoed through suburbia. Your palm tingled and stung as you watched Beau’s cheek redden with your furious mistake. You stared around you and glanced at the gasping and gaping faces of your neighbors. You clasped your mouth with both hands as you broke down and started to sob uncontrollably.

Kind and forgiving as he was, Beau pulled you back into his embrace, strong arms locking around you and soothing your anguish. “It’s okay… I’m here. I gotcha… It’s okay. I gotcha… I’m not lettin’ go, alright?”

Sobbingly, you nodded as you cried and sniffled, burying your face in his chest. You wrapped your arms around his torso and held onto him, too weak to keep standing on your own.

“It’s okay… I know,” Beau said and tucked you under his arm, leading you back to the house. “C’mon, let’s get you inside, darlin’.”

Chapter 7: Storm Coming

Welp, we know who our killer is now! Ready for the approaching storm called Diane? When it rains, it pours... 👀⛈️

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction? ☕️

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @autistic-gothic

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

Polaris Series: @corruptedcruiser

#polaris #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen series #beau arlen fic #beau arlen imagine #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you

86 notes · View notes

camzeecorner · 4 months ago

Text

⚝ matt sturniolo ↴

April 24, 2003 Tatum’s story began in a quaint little town, where the sun painted the sky with hues of gold every morning. She was born into a family that seemed perfect on the surface. Her parents, loving yet strict, instilled in her the values of hard work and respect. As a child, Tatum was a dreamer, often found with her nose buried in books about far-off places and fantastical adventures. She had a wild imagination, creating elaborate worlds where she was the heroine, conquering dragons and saving kingdoms.

September 16, 2007 Growing up, Tatum was close with her younger sister, Bella. They shared everything—secrets whispered under the covers, laughter echoing through the halls, and dreams of what the future might hold. The bond between them was unbreakable, a sanctuary in a world that sometimes felt overwhelming. Their home was filled with warmth and love, but it also had its shadows. Tatum's parents had high expectations, and the pressure to excel weighed heavily on her shoulders.

February 3, 2013 As Tatum entered her teenage years, the innocence of childhood began to fade. She became acutely aware of the expectations surrounding her. School became a battleground where grades defined worth, and friendships were tested by the whims of popularity. Tatum struggled to fit in, often feeling like an outsider looking in. She found solace in her art, pouring her emotions into sketches and paintings that spoke of her inner turmoil.

March 18, 2016 Despite the challenges, Tatum had a few close friends who understood her. They would spend hours in her room, sharing secrets and dreams, creating a safe space where they could be themselves. But as high school progressed, the dynamics began to shift. Friendships grew strained, and jealousy crept in, leading to heartbreak and betrayal. Tatum felt increasingly isolated, her once-vibrant spirit dimming under the weight of loneliness.

It was during this tumultuous time that she met him—a boy who seemed to understand her in ways no one else could. Their connection was intense and passionate, but it soon turned dark. Tatum found herself ensnared in a relationship marked by manipulation and jealousy. One fateful evening, after a seemingly normal dinner together, Tatum began to feel unwell. At first, she dismissed it as a minor illness, but as the hours passed, her condition rapidly deteriorated.

In her final moments, she realized the truth: her lover had slipped a lethal substance into her drink, driven by jealousy and rage. The investigation that followed uncovered the chilling details of their tumultuous relationship, revealing a pattern of control that had been hidden behind a facade of love. Tatum's tragic end served as a haunting reminder of the dangers that can lurk behind closed doors, leaving her family and friends to grapple with the loss of a vibrant soul taken too soon.

November 29, 2019 Tatum’s story continued even after her tragic demise, as whispers of her spirit began to circulate in the town. Her afterlife was shrouded in mystery, with many claiming to have seen her ethereal figure wandering through the halls of her former home. The house, once a place of laughter and love, transformed into a chilling reminder of her untimely end. Shadows danced in the corners, and a cold breeze swept through the rooms, leaving an unsettling feeling for anyone who dared to enter.

March 8, 2021 As time went on, it became clear that Tatum’s spirit was restless. The pain and betrayal she endured in life fueled her desire for vengeance. Those who moved into her home reported strange occurrences—objects moving on their own, disembodied whispers echoing through the night, and an overwhelming sense of dread that seemed to seep into their very bones. Tatum, in her spectral form, sought to reclaim the power that had been stripped from her, targeting anyone who dared to live in the house where she had suffered.

June 4, 2024 Her presence became a legend in the town, a cautionary tale for those who might overlook the history of the place they called home. Tatum’s spirit was said to linger, watching, waiting, and ensuring that no one could forget the life she lost and the love that turned into a nightmare. In her afterlife, she became both a guardian and a haunting specter, forever entwined with the memories of her tragic past, seeking justice for the betrayal that had cost her everything.

August 1, 3:13 AM

The clock struck 3:13 AM, its chime echoing through the stillness of the house, a haunting reminder of the time when the boundaries between the living and the dead blurred. Tatum, a ghost caught in the liminal space of her former life, drifted through the shadowed corridors of her once-vibrant home. She could feel the chill of the night wrap around her like a shroud, the air thick with an unsettling silence that seemed to hold its breath, waiting for something—anything—to break the calm.

Moonlight spilled through the dusty windows, casting a silvery glow that illuminated the remnants of her past. Tatum floated through the living room, her translucent form shimmering like a wisp of smoke. The furniture, draped in white sheets, looked like forgotten memories, each piece a testament to the life that once filled the space with laughter and warmth. She paused to gaze at a faded photograph resting on the mantle, its edges curled with age. It captured a moment frozen in time: a family picnic, her and Chloe grinning wide, the sun shining bright, oblivious to the shadows that would soon engulf their lives.

As she moved, Tatum felt the weight of her memories pressing down upon her, a mix of joy and sorrow that twisted in her chest. The walls, once alive with the sounds of her family, now stood silent, their painted surfaces peeling away like the layers of her own forgotten identity. She could see flashes of her life—her and her sister playing in the yard, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting through the air, the warmth of her parents embrace. But those moments felt like a distant dream, replaced by the chilling reality of her existence as a spirit.

Hovering near the staircase, Tatum reached out with her ethereal fingers, brushing against the banister. It felt cold and unyielding, a stark contrast to the warmth of the life she once knew. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept away in the tide of nostalgia, each memory flooding back with vivid clarity. She could hear the laughter echoing in her mind, the sound of tiny feet running across the hardwood floors, the joy that filled the air like the sweet scent of blooming flowers in spring.

But as quickly as the warmth enveloped her, it was replaced by a biting chill that seeped into her very essence. Tatum opened her eyes, and the reality of her situation crashed over her like a wave. She was trapped in this house, a mere observer of the life she once cherished. The playful banter of her laughter was now a ghostly whisper, fading in and out of her consciousness. She felt the ache of longing for the simple moments—the bedtime stories, the shared meals, the laughter that filled the room as they played games on rainy afternoons.

With a heavy heart, Tatum descended the staircase, each step a reminder of her existence in this in-between world. The air grew colder as she approached the door leading to the backyard, where she and her friends had spent countless hours playing and giggling ready explore the world around them. She could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, the way it had kissed her cheeks during those long summer days. But now, the door stood ajar, revealing a darkened expanse that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Outside, the garden lay overgrown, the once-vibrant flowers now wilted and tangled in a wild embrace. Tatum floated into the yard, her heart heavy with the realization that time had continued to move forward, even as she remained stuck in this spectral limbo. The swing set, once a source of joy and laughter, creaked in the wind, its chains rusted and forgotten. She could see the remnants of her playful antics, the way she had soared through the air, her laughter ringing like music, a beautiful symphony that now felt like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

As she wandered through the yard, Tatum caught sight of the old oak tree, its branches stretching wide like welcoming arms. It had been a sanctuary for her and Chloe , a place where they had built forts, climbed high, and shared secrets. She could almost hear their voices, the excitement in their laughter as they played beneath its protective canopy. But the tree, too, had aged, its bark rough and gnarled, a reflection of the passage of time that had left her behind.

Tatum closed her eyes, allowing the memories to wash over her, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love that had once filled this space. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, a ghostly shimmer that faded into the night. In that moment, she realized that while she may be trapped in this ethereal existence, her love for her friends and family remained, an unbreakable bond that transcended the veil between life and death.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon her, Tatum made a silent vow to watch over her loved ones.

PRESENT DAY, 2:46 AM

Hovering in the dim light, Tatum felt the passage of time stretch endlessly before her. Days turned into weeks, each one marked by a deepening loneliness that gnawed at her essence. The world outside continued, oblivious to her plight, as the seasons changed and the leaves turned from vibrant green to muted browns and grays. Each dawn brought with it a fresh wave of despair, a reminder of the life she could no longer touch.

With each passing day, the hatred she harbored for her untimely fate festered like an open wound. The emptiness of her home echoed her feelings, amplifying her isolation. She could hear the whispers of the wind outside, carrying the laughter of children playing in the distance, a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped her. The walls, once filled with love, now seemed to close in around her, suffocating her spirit with the weight of unfulfilled dreams and lost moments.

As the nights grew longer, Tatum's energy waned, and she found herself drawn to the window, staring out at the world she could no longer be part of. Shadows danced across the lawn, and she could almost see herself running, the laughter ringing in her ears like a bittersweet melody. But the joy of those memories was tainted by the bitterness of her reality. She was trapped in a realm of darkness, her heart heavy with the knowledge that she could never again be the girl she once was.

Tatum's thoughts were abruptly shattered by the sound of laughter echoing from outside, a raucous symphony of joy that felt like a personal affront to her years of solitude. Anger surged within her, a fiery response to the intrusion of her carefully constructed isolation. How dare they? How dare a new family come and claim the space that had once been hers, a sanctuary filled with memories? The very air around her thickened with resentment as she pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, her fists clenching at her sides until her knuckles turned white.

The voices floated through the air, carefree and jubilant, slicing through her memories like a hot knife through butter. Each giggle and shout was a reminder of the family she had lost, now ghosts in her mind, their laughter replaced by the exuberance of strangers who had no right to occupy her sacred ground. Tatum could almost see them racing across the lawn, their faces lit up with delight. The sight ignited a bitterness that coursed through her veins, a reminder of what she had lost.

Her heart raced, pounding in her chest like a war drum, urging her to act. She felt a primal urge to scream, to lash out, to demand that they leave her home, the home that had once been filled with her own happiness. The walls that had sheltered her from the world now felt like a prison, and the anger twisted in her gut, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume her whole. She could feel her breath quickening as the laughter continued, each peal ringing in her ears like a taunt, a challenge to her very existence.

It had been about a week since the boys had made themselves at home in my space, and during that time, I had learned their names and a few tidbits about them by eavesdropping on their animated conversations. Matt, Nick, and Chris were triplets from Boston, their laughter and banter echoing through the hallways, while Nate, their friend, also hailing from Boston, seamlessly blended into their dynamic. They had sprawled across my living room, claiming every corner as their own, and I was completely outraged by this invasion.

I found myself lurking in the shadows of the dimly lit halls, watching every step they took and listening intently to every word that spilled from their lips. My heart raced with frustration; how dare they intrude upon my sanctuary, the one place where I could feel a semblance of freedom? Well, something like that. I was determined to take action, to reclaim my space and restore order to my home. Anything to regain control over the chaos that had taken root around me.

Day by day, I began shifting their belongings around, making subtle changes that I hoped they might notice. But, to my frustration, they never did. So, I decided to escalate my tactics. It was around midnight when the house was enveloped in silence, all four boys nestled in their rooms, deep in slumber. I crept toward the first bedroom— Matt.

Matt was quiet, his voice barely above a whisper, a stark contrast to the boisterous energy of the others. I appreciated that about him; his calm demeanor was a refreshing change. I could lie to myself and insist he wasn’t attractive, but deep down, I knew the truth. He had medium-length hair that framed his face perfectly, complemented by a stubble beard that added a rugged charm. Standing tall with a slender figure, he exuded an effortless elegance. Unlike his brothers, who were loud and brash, Matt was much more closed off, a completely different kind of boy altogether.

He reminded me of myself in so many ways, and I found comfort in that connection. There was an undeniable quality about him that drew me in, something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I often found myself lurking in his bedroom at night, captivated by his presence. Watching him in the soft glow of the moonlight, I couldn’t explain why I felt compelled to do so, but it was a pull I couldn’t resist.

As I strolled closer to his bedroom, faint noises reached my ears, causing my heart to race. He was awake? He was never awake this late. I approached cautiously, each step deliberate and quiet. Pressing my ear against the door, I strained to listen. Was that... whimpering? Panic surged through me—was he hurt? My curiosity and concern propelled me forward as I gently pushed the door open, peeking my head in first and turning toward the side of the room where his bed was. The dim light barely illuminated the space, but I could make out the outline of his body. He lay there, but he was moving restlessly, tossing and turning as if trapped in a restless dream.

He was moving a lot, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was having a bad dream. I crept closer, eager to study his sleeping figure, the way the shadows danced across his face in the dim light. At least I thought he was sleeping, but something about his restless movements made me question whether he was truly at peace or caught in a turmoil of nightmares.

His head was thrown back, eyebrows deeply furrowed. His eyes were shut tight, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Was he... awake? I couldn’t believe it; the realization hit me like a bolt—he wasn’t asleep at all.

I stepped closer to him, positioning myself right beside his bed, and let my gaze trail down his body. The blanket was bunched up around his lower stomach, revealing a glimpse of his form beneath. I noticed his hand moving beneath the fabric, shifting in a slow yet frantic rhythm, as if caught in a struggle. His mouth opened slightly, releasing soft, involuntary sounds that hinted at the turmoil within him.

He was whimpering softly, arching his back slightly off the bed, a vulnerable display that held me captive in a trance. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, though I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. Slowly, I began to crawl on top of him, feeling as if my mind was racing ahead of my body. It was as if I could feel myself slipping out of my translucent skin, a sensation that made me acutely aware of my own existence. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He could see me; I could see him. His breath quickened, and he stammered, “W...who... h-how...” I shushed him gently, placing my hand over his mouth, trying to calm the storm brewing between us.

As we sat there in the stillness, his racing heart began to settle, the rhythm gradually calming. I felt limp against his waist, my gaze locked into his eyes, searching for some understanding. He shook his head slowly, disbelief etched across his features. “Who are you...” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. I glanced down at my hands, feeling the weight of the moment. “Tatum,” I replied, my voice low but hurried. His eyes darted across my face, searching for more answers, urging me to elaborate. “...I live here...” I continued, locking my gaze back onto his.

He began to pant, shaking his head in denial. “N-no you don’t... I live here! With my brothers and Nate. This is our home... h-how long... how long have you been here?” His words spilled out in a rush, breathless and frantic. I offered him a sweet smile, trying to soothe the tension. “My whole life... Matt.”

He threw me to the side and crawled away, his hands covering his face in disbelief. “How the fuck do you know my name?” he shouted, his voice rising in intensity. Never did I think I would be uttering the next sentence. “I died here... I grew up here my whole life. I know it sounds crazy...” I began to crawl toward him, resting my hand gently on his arm. He tilted his head down, glancing at our contact before meeting my gaze again. “I’ve been here, trapped here, dead and alone for years,” I confessed.

He chuckled nervously, groaning as he rubbed his hands down his face in frustration. “This is unbelievable,” he whispered to himself, grappling with the weight of my words. I grabbed his phone, quickly unlocking it after memorizing the code from my countless observations. I searched for the home address followed by ‘Tatum Roat’ and clicked on the link that appeared. Handing him the phone, I watched as curiosity flickered in his eyes. He sat there scrolling, reading the horrific news—my murder, my history, my life laid bare before him.

He turned off his phone, setting it aside with a heavy thud, and sank into himself, his head bowed low. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath that seemed to fill the silence around us. Slowly, he turned to me, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. He cocked his head to the side, a hint of curiosity mingling with disbelief. “So what... you’re a... ghost?” he asked, his voice careful, as if testing the weight of the words. I nodded, my gaze drifting away, the cold truth settling heavily in my chest. Hearing it spoken aloud stung more than I anticipated.

“That’s actually kind of cool... and hot,” he murmured softly, a hint of a smile creeping onto his lips. I glanced up at him, a smirk playing on my own lips, my heart fluttering with a flicker of hope. “Yeah?” I asked, my voice laced with anticipation. “Yeah,” he confirmed, his eyes sparkling with an unexpected acceptance.

I began to take my place back on top of him, feeling the weight of the moment shift in the air. This time, he let me, his earlier fear replaced by a curious acceptance. I searched in his eyes, staring deep into his icy blue orbs that seemed to hold a world of secrets. Memories flooded back to me—his whimpering, the reason I had come here in the first place. A smirk played at my lips, a teasing glimmer in my gaze. “Why don’t you pick up where you left off? I didn’t mean to disrupt your playtime,” I said, my voice laced with playful mischief.

He looked at me with widened eyes, surprise etched across his features. “W-what...” he spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. I began tracing my fingers up his neck, reveling in the softness of his skin beneath my touch. “You heard me,” I replied, leaning in closer, my breath warm against his ear as I whispered the words that hung between us.

His breath quickened, and he cleared his throat, the tension in the air palpable. I climbed off of him, settling beside him on the bed, my heart racing with anticipation. I glanced down toward his lap, a smile spreading across my face as I looked back up at him. He was hard, the evidence of his desire undeniable. He gulped, his gaze darting to the side, avoiding mine.

The dim light cast a soft glow across his features, highlighting the beads of sweat that trickled down his forehead, a testament to the heat of the moment. I tilted my head to the side, pouting slightly, my eyes locking onto his. “What are you waiting for... just act like I’m not here,” I purred, my voice dripping with seduction, inviting him to abandon his hesitation.

His hands moved deliberately towards his lower body, retracing the path they had taken before. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pulled the blanket off of him, shedding the extra layer that felt too constricting in the charged atmosphere. He undid the string of his sweatpants, the fabric slipping down inch by inch, revealing more of him with each gradual pull. He paused for a moment, glancing over at me, and I could feel the intensity of his gaze. I was watching his every move, my breath hitching in anticipation.

My eyes flicked up to meet his, and I caught a glimpse of a pleasing look on his face, a mix of confidence and vulnerability. But just as quickly, he shifted his gaze back down, as if the intensity of the moment was too much to bear. He tugged his pants down to his thighs, leaving them still clinging to him, the fabric taut against his skin. His briefs followed closely after, slipping down with a teasing grace, revealing even more of him.

I gasped at the sight, my breath catching in my throat, causing his head to snap up in surprise. He looked nervous, visibly biting the inside of his cheek, a telltale sign of his unease. “What?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. I shook my head, a light smile playing on my lips. “S’pretty, baby,” I murmured, tugging my lip between my teeth to stifle the sounds that threatened to spill out. He blushed, his cheeks turning a deep shade of crimson as he looked away from me. “...thanks...” he mumbled softly, the word barely escaping his lips.

He inched his hands down to his fully hardened dick, softly groaning as he made contact. He whimpered softly. God I could listen to that sound all day. Beginning to move at a slower pace, he began pumping his hand up and down faster, gaining speed. He furrowed his eyebrows, shutting his eyes tightly. His strokes were starting to get more sloppy. I could tell he was insanely close. His mouth hung low at he thrusted his hips in the air lightly. I was completely in love with the sight.

“O-oh go-” he tossed his head back, tears glimmering like tiny crystals as they streamed down his flushed cheeks. His legs trembled slightly on the bed, betraying the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. He breathed heavily, each gasp filled with a mix of pleasure and vulnerability, as he wiped his eyes with his clean hand.

He panted softly coming down from his intense high. I noticed the mess on his lower stomach, trailing my fingers towards him scooping some up. I placed my fingers in my mouth his sweet cum tasted like icing, rich and indulgent. I hum at the taste, licking everything up leaving nothing behind. I look up to meet Matt’s face, his eyes widened in shock, for the second time tonight.

tags- @shaquilles-0atmeal @monroesturnns @blahbel668 @mattssluttywaist @jetaimevous

49 notes · View notes