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mandowifey · 1 year

Note

i could always go for some love from an ethan character🫶🏼🫶🏼

my pronouns are she/her, my main hobbies are baking, reading, watching movies (old/classic movies >>>>) & traveling. i’m a mix between an extrovert and an introvert but most of the time i’m perfectly ok with being by myself with a good book or nice movie :) i have a cat who i adore & love more than most people😌

Oooh! Hello Anon! Sorry this took me so long. Also, I fully agree with the cat sentiment.

That being said I assign you...

Ellison Oswalt.

Ellison Oswalt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: General fluff, playful, domestic bliss, and traumas. SFW.

○ ○ ○

"Do you think Clint Eastwood ever got tired of being the same cowboy in every movie?"

You stretch your legs across Ellison's lap, and the man grunts to move his notepad out of the way. He pushed up his glasses and laid his wrists on your shins to use you as a writing table. When he did not answer, you glanced towards him and gently dig your heel into his thigh.

"What?"

"Did you hear me?"

Ellison looks at you in a quizzical manner before looking at the tv. On the screen was grainy old western featuring a handful of deceased actors. One man flashed a revolver at the other, which prompted retaliation, and now everyone in the saloon had their guns drawn. He liked older movies, and they gave him a sense of nostalgia. Another grind of your heel brought his thoughts to the present.

"I think if he did, he wouldn't have done so many to begin with," sighed the older man. "He's good at it. He probably liked the easy money. Plus, it wasn't like Disney existed quite yet. Limited roles, limited options, and redundancy is bound to happen."

Pressing your lips together, you squint at him and look at the tv again. "Wasn't my question," you chirp smartly and lift your left leg to bump your foot under his chin. Reviled, Ellison recoiled and slapped gently at your foot until you laughed and dropped it down to his lap. "I asked if he got tired of being the same character," you said again, smirking as you watched him wrestle to keep your legs down.

Once you settled, Ellison slapped his notepad against your knees and pulled a soft giggle from your throat. "I'm sure he did," he places a large hand on your shin and slips it up over your knee. Goosebumps raise on your skin, and you feel a little warm. "Who wouldn't get bored being the same person over and over? Or he felt obligated to keep doing it because he's good at it. Maybe being that cowboy is the one thing he knows best, maybe..."

There's a pause that lasts a beat too long. His eyes close behind his glasses, and you quickly sit up. "Hey." Your palm cups his cheek and turns his head to face you. "Stop that." Your lips press the corner of his mouth as he sighs through his nose. His hand comes up to take down his glasses before he looks at you with his beryl orbs.

"I love you," your voice was gentle and unassuming. "Bad taste in Western movies or not." His lips twitch, and he fights not to smile. He pulls you suddenly to sit in his lap after abandoning his notepad.

"You do, do yah?" His voice is a purr, the grin stretching his features and accentuating the deep grooves of his face. Those uneven teeth flashing you and making your heart pound. Ellison palms your hips, drawing you impossibly close to him as his pupils blow out with desire.

"I do." You agree finally as you lower your mouth to catch his.

He shifts you both and lays you back while kissing you. The degree in which he's on you is scolding, his hands venturing you like it's the first time all over again. As he does, the Tv drones in the background, gunshots going off like fireworks while your own burst behind your eyelids.

I love you too.

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wayward-persephone · 2 years

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do you see any of the characters helping reader throat train? 🥺

Oh my 🥵

The Grabber/Albert Shaw

When he's feeling generous and wants to just sit back and enjoy your mouth on him. Would almost be entranced by the sight of you slowly taking him deeper and deeper.

Troy Dyer

Would definitely enjoy training you. Would love to tease you a bit, but would also praise you and shower you with affection the entire time.

King Aurvandil War-Raven

One of the only times he's gentle with you. Will growl in approval and pet over your face and jaw lovingly, telling you how good you are doing, and how much pleasure you're bringing him.

Ellison Oswalt

Enjoys being in your mouth anyways so this is really the next logical step. Would look up so many articles on the best way to help and make you the best teas afterwards to soothe your throat.

Sal Procida

Has a habit of fucking your mouth already so he's beyond ready for this. Would massage your jaw and kiss all over your throat afterwards while praising you. Will also tease you the next day if your voice is raspy.

Chet Baker

Is probably the one to bring it up. Will shower you with praise and would lovingly pet over your face and neck. Cooing at you over how well you're doing and would watch you with heavy-lidded eyes the entire time.

Tucker Crowe

He likes teaching you new things so he would really enjoy this. Would be happy to have you on your knees as he calmly and slowly trains your mouth and then your throat to take his entire cock. Brushing your tears away with soft touches and tender words.

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mandowifey · 1 year

Text

The Start of Something.

Chapter 1. || Chapter 2

Ellison Oswalt can't remember the last time he had a break this big. A cult survivor who made national news, a secluded compound quartered off from the public eye, an entire town of folks gone over night. This is the opportunity to become the best seller once more, to tell the story of a young woman who survived against the odds.

- + - +

Warnings: Mentions of cult practices, reader is the survivor of extreme trauma as well as sexual assault and ritualistic practices. Reader is afab, and has gone selectively mute as a trauma response. Mentions of blood, traumatic memories, thoughts of anxiety, depression. This is a slow burn, with plot. (It'll be worth it, promise!)

Note: This is an AU, where the events of Sinister did not end with the family dying.

- x - x - x - x - x -

Alaska was on the list of top three locations Tracy wanted to visit, which made it easier convincing the family to uproot despite the recent incident. Sitka was a small town located in the middle of endless forests, mountains and icy lakes. The people there cultivated most of their own food and livestock. Those who were able bodied enough to handle the work manned small fishing vessels during season and that was how they survived long winters. It was a difficult place to grow old, and that was when you weren't a tourist.

"Trevor, Ashley come here for a second."

Ellison came jogging around the moving van, which to everyone's surprise had stayed in tact since renting it nearly 200 miles ago. Wearing his signature cardigan, he leaned and placed a box down on the edge of the truck before looking at his children. So much had changed since Chatford. Ashley didn't smile much, though the cocktail of therapy, child psychiatrists and medications were mostly to blame. Trevor had become much more withdrawn, and Tracy, she said it hadn't been his fault but the way she looked at him spoke otherwise.

He smiles. "I know I already gave you both a pep talk about moving here, but you gotta remember not to wander around anywhere without an adult. There's-"

His pointed gaze fell upon the full sized bed in the corner. It seems Tracy remembered to tell the movers to put it there. Things were different now, and that included their marriage. The only reason they had not finalized the divorce was to keep their children from dealing with any other sort of stress on top of what had already happened. Part of him hoped that this new book would be his gateway into repairing his marriage and family.

"Bears, wolves, and other bad things." Both children said unanimously.

Ellison pushes his lips together, softening his brows. He had not realized how many times he'd given them the 'safety talk'. Satisfied that the children understood, he waved them off and grabbed his box before walking inside. Their home was an older model, a mix of vintage and modern. Some of the wood that came with the original structure had been restored, but the rest had been left untouched. It was not as glamorous as their previous residences but it was the only place they could afford with their strict budget. Stepping around the corridor into his office, he places the box down on the desk and glances.

With a heavy sigh, Ellison walked out of his domicile and resumed bringing in boxes.

---

You were running.

His scream followed you over fallen trees, through the leaves and streams. Dogs barking, their hot breath at your legs. Your lungs were filled with ice, aching with each sharp breath you took. Everything inside you was tired, but giving up meant going back, and you would rather die.

It felt like you might, as you broke through the tree line and the lush woods became a narrow cliff face, nearly 60 feet above white capped rapids. Jumping would certainly result in death, but so would allowing yourself to be caught. Your heart slammed in your ears as rushing winds made you wobble and catch yourself near the edge. You look below, before your eyes drift back to the trees. Four men ran out, two holding foaming dogs on leashes, and two holding torches. Their black and red ceremonial robes ruffling in the wind.

"Y/N," A man with short platinum blonde hair and piercing blue eyes emerged from the middle of them. His prominent cheek bones making him appear much more ghastly in the low light of the setting sun. The robes he wore mirrored that of a christian reverend. Though instead of white or gold accents, they were red.

"Stay away from me, Joseph." Your voice hardly audible over the wind.

His lips pressed into a thin line and he frowned as he looked at you. Joseph was so clearly disappointed, the look in his eyes made you think he might've almost felt bad. But you knew better. He takes another step towards you, causing you to inch closer to the edge, making him stop.

"Don't you think this is a little bit of an overreaction, hmm?" He rumbles. "Come on darling, what are you going to do, jump? That fall alone is nearly 60 feet. It'd kill you on impact-"

Your bare feet touch the edge of the cold stone, your eyes on fire as you look at him.

"-Y/N, my dark goddess, please, seek reason, move from the edge and come with me. I promise you will not receive punishment for your disobedience. Just, step away..." Joseph extends his hand towards you, fingers uncurling as his lips twisted into a smile that never quite reached his eyes. In that moment, you knew what had to be done.

His guttural scream echoed as you let yourself fall.

Waking with a gasp, you sat upright in bed and gripped your chest, face and head to check over each inch and ensure everything was still together. Satisfied your body had not split apart, you look around your room and grab the cellphone perched on the edge of the nightstand. 7:45 AM, the usual. Ever since your escape, the nightmares had been relentless. Exhausted could not even begin to describe it. Sleep seemed like a fantasy instead of a possibility.

You decided it was time to start your day, the likelihood of falling back asleep was low. Making your way out of bed, you began the same routine you had done since your liberation three months ago. Shower, teeth, clothes, breakfast. The autonomy if your decisions was still strange. For nearly an entire year you had that right stripped away from you by Joseph. Now he was gone and you could decide when you ate and what you wore. The sensation was still strange, you couldn’t be sure you would ever get used to it.

As you moved around the tiny home, you heard the sound of church bells and felt a pit forming in your stomach. Saint Gale’s had been kind enough to give you housing in the in-law home on the church grounds. To return their kindness you volunteered at the church when you were able, and occasionally at the food kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it helped with the guilt of being supported. The small home was unlisted, and it helped conceal your identity from the public. Within the first three days of freedom, every news outlet and personality wanted to interview you. Everyone wanted the story of the Sitka Satanist Survivor. After denying each and every one, they had dwindled away to nothing as they realized you had vanished from the public eye.

You reminded yourself it was for the best. What happened with Joseph and that cursed place should die with you alone. Not a single soul would believe what had transpired there, and you were fine with that. The acceptance helped you sleep at night sometimes.

Cleaning your coffee mug, you were lost in thought when a familiar prickle made its way up the back of your neck. Your eyes flicked towards the front door, silent. There was a sound of tires crunching in gravel and a car door closing. You drop the mug in the sink and lunge for the knife block, your fingers curling around the handle of one and unsheathing it as you face the door. No one should know you were there. Holding your breath, you listened as soft footsteps trailed to your front door, where someone knocked gently.

A sick sensation began to pool in your stomach, your lungs aching from the lack of oxygen. Your mind swirled with all the possibilities. What if its Joseph? The police said the entire compound was gone by the time they arrived. Gone, not dead. Gone could mean anything. It could mean they were out there, just waiting for you to get complacent. The voice in your head began to whisper. Take the knife, cut your throat, don’t let them in. Don’t open that door. Cut your throat cut your throat cut-

“Hello, my name is Ellison Oswalt, I’m here to talk to Y/N.”

The thoughts abruptly stopped. Your eyes flick to the cornered bookshelf in the living room. Resting on the middle shelf, an old copy of Kentucky Blood. Another writer, someone hoping to capitalize on your experience. Your grip on the knife loosens just enough to alleviate the pain in your fingers. The man being there didn’t anger you, however you were pressed to find out how he found you. Walking to the door, you unlock the bottom lock but leave the chain lock connected. You open it just enough to look out and see him. Standing in his cardigan, he had a satchel over his shoulder and a soft smile on his face. Paranoid, your eyes skim the space behind him, searching for others.

Ellison picked up on your concern. “I’m alone.” He promises. “I’m good friends with the man who runs the church, Gary? I had to search a little to figure out where they moved you to but it’s not public. I hadn’t told anyone either.” He assures, his cerulean eyes catching the morning rays. You stare at him, frustrated that Reverend Morrison would tell anyone where you were.

Since you had not spoke, Ellison continued. “I know you don’t have a great relationship with the media but I want to work with you and tell your story. It’s not every day someone goes through what you did. This is a chance to inspire others, maybe be an awakening for folks. You deserve to be heard.” His words held a lot of passion, you felt compelled to believe him. With a frown, you reach over to put the knife on the counter before looking at him. Perhaps he was right. Maybe if the world learned of what happened to you, you’d find some peace. You doubted heavily he or the public would believe you, but Ellison had a point. It was time to be heard.

Unlatching the chain, you open the door fully to welcome him inside.

For just a moment, you felt hope.

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mandowifey · 1 year

Text

The Start of Something

Chapter 2.

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Ellison Oswalt x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Reader is afab, and a cult survivor. Reader has trauma, suicidal ideations, depression, anxiety and PTSD. She has gone selectively mute. Mentions of infidelity, marriage trouble, unhappy relationship, guilt. Masturbation, regretful thoughts.

X - X - X - X - X - X

The first thing Ellison did when he met you was lie. As a writer he had bent the truth numerous times for information, he typically never felt guilty for it. Sometimes the pursuit of the truth required hurt feelings.

However, the way your eyes met his when he explained how he found you made his pulse quicken. Something about that glance made him think you knew better, that you weren't so easily fooled like some. Yet you opened the door and welcomed him in. Though you hadn't spoken yet, he found it a relief. Your selective mutism had been talked about on a couple shows before. 'A response to extreme psychological trauma' they said. His heart hurt for you, to be so young and have gone through what you did, to bear those scars forever. It was something he wouldn't wish on anyone.

What happened in Chatford would haunt him until he died. The kids and Tracy had made it out though they were not unscathed. Things were tough now, he hoped that learning about you would inherently help him learn about himself. You two shared common ground after all, not everyone survived occult practices.

Walking inside, he placed the bag on the table and looked around. There wasn't much decoration or flare, you must not have lived there long. Putting his attention back on you, he smiles. "Your place is lovely." Your eyes focus on him, having kept your distance. Ellison noticed how tense you were and made an effort to move slowly and mindfully. The silence made him smile a little, a knee jerk response to feeling uncomfortable.

"I have heard about your - well, your-" he was trying to find a tactful way to phrase it. "-condition. I brought something that might help us communicate, if you're open to it of course." He watches your face for a reaction. You press your lips, then nod. You weren't certain what he meant. A lot of folks tried to find ways to have you speak, nothing worked, your voice as of now was gone and you weren't sure you would ever find it again. You were still open to the idea of trying, which was why you sat down at the table, folded your arms and waited.

Ellison opened the bag and pulled out his notepad, pen, laptop and a small white board with a red, blue and black marker. He placed each item down carefully before smiling towards you. Your eyes drift to look up at him, suddenly understanding what he wanted to try. It was simple, not incredibly innovative but that felt charming to you. You reach and take the 12 by 12 board and look it over, unable to fight the upwards tilt of your lips. Ellison picks up on your amusement and he chuckles.

"I know, I know. It's not too terribly exciting. I figure we can start simple, go at your pace. I do have questions planned, however long you're able to answer we can keep going." He opened his laptop and sat down to the right of you. Fishing out his glasses, he put them on and leaned to look at the screen. "If you don't mind, I'm gonna additionally write everything here, to make it a little faster." You nod without looking, still entranced by the simplicity of this whiteboard.

Once settled, Ellison looks over to find you playing with the markers. He could see the small doodles of hearts and shapes you tentatively placed in the top corner. He found that charming. Smiling, he nudges his glasses up his nose and reclines to get more comfortable.

"I'd like to start with you. How are you doing?"

Pulled from your trance, your eyes found his. Most people dove straight into the bad things, wanting the 'best parts' of what you went through. Ellison Oswalt was not most people. Your hand lifts the black marker and he watches as you write, then flip the board to show him.

'Alive.'

He smiles a little softer, then nods. "How is your mental health?" He rests his elbows on the table. Flipping the board, you erased and then wrote.

'Not great.'

It felt silly to be so blunt, you only had so much room and didn't feel comfortable telling a stranger how unwell you really were. Your eyes lower and teeth graze your lip, cracking open the tender flesh. You picked that habit up long ago, maybe even before the compound, before Joseph-

"I know you're tired of hearing it, but I am sorry about that. Really. No one deserves to go through what you did." He observed you starting to withdraw inside yourself, and knew he had to do something. "Could you tell me about things you like? Books, food, animals? I'm a big fan of dogs, black coffee and investigative journalism."

It worked. Your eyes unclouded and instead of chewing, you press your lips together in thought. He notices how you write faster this time, because you aren't guarding the words you put down. His eyes skim the board as you turn it.

'Wolves, sweets, fiction. I have a copy of your book.'

His brows lift, you point at the shelf where Kentucky Blood lay. His cheeks felt warm, nearly glowing in the realization you knew of him. Unable to stop the blossoming of his pride, Ellison cleared his throat as you watched him. The way he smiled was contagious and you found yourself smiling as well. The two of you continued back and forth for nearly five hours. He asked about places you wanted to go, colors you liked, hobbies you were interested in and much more. Ellison was trying to get an idea of who you were as a person, figuring that was the first step in understanding who you were now after everything. Suddenly aware of the time, the older man shifts and takes his glasses down.

“Wow we really have been at it awhile huh?” He smiles. “You know we don’t have to go the whole day, you’ve been great so far. Maybe if you’re interested, I could come back?” He looks at you with those sparkling blue eyes of his. You felt compelled to agree, your head nodding quickly. The other writers and journalists you’d briefly been around had never given a damn about anything aside from the occult stuff, something about Ellison was really speaking to you. “Oh, that's great.” He was grinning as he closed his laptop. “How would you feel if we exchanged numbers?”

Your smile faded and you started to pick up the marker before he held up a hand. “I came prepared.” Digging a hand into his satchel, he pulls out a cellphone. It was old and used and previously belonged to Tracy until she upgraded.

“Everything I know is you’re completely off the grid, so I assumed you wouldn’t have a phone. The number is listed under my name so no one can look you up with it.” He continued. “There’s only one person on the phone and that’s me.” He slid it across the table towards you. “I’ve got unlimited texts, data, all the fun stuff. Feel free to browse the internet or whatever you need.”

Your hand reaches and gently takes it. It was a little small, but you didn’t mind. This was such a significant gift. The church had wifi but you had no devices of your own to utilize it. Ellison had given you a means of seeing the world from the safety of your home. Eyes dampening, your lip quivers as you look up. As a father, Ellison saw briefly before him, a scared young woman, alone and vulnerable. He was taken aback and his eyes fluttered a moment before he clears his throat.

“Alright, all I ask is you text me with anything you need, okay? You and I will be seeing one another quite often so I wanna make sure your needs are being met. Even if you wanna just chat about the weather, don’t hesitate.” He pauses a moment. “Or if you are worried about something, can’t sleep, those sorts of things.” He stands up after packing his bag. It was a generous offer. Blinking the wet from your eyes, you stand up as well and leave the phone on the table. There was a part of you that wanted to reach out and hug him, but you don’t. You do not know this man well enough to embrace him. Picking up on it, Ellison smiles and slings the bag over his shoulder. “You have a good night, Y/N.”

A smile flicks across your features, watching him step out the door. Stood motionless in the kitchen, you listen to the car start and pull away. Picking up the phone again, you hold it close to yourself and feel another smile tug your lips. There was a giddiness building within you that you couldn’t remember ever experiencing before. You practically dance out of the kitchen, floating on air as you get changed to go help with the food distribution for the evening. You think about all the things you want to tell Ellison, all the secrets you kept guarded for so long. You wonder if he’d really believe you.

It was nearly 8 by the time Ellison pulled in to his drive way. Tracy hadn’t called or texted him so he was on his own for dinner. Picking up his things and a bag of take out, he slid out of the car and dug for the key. Letting himself inside, he closed the door and called out that he was home. No one called back. He puts his keys in the bowl on the kitchen island and heads to his office. Putting the food on the desk, he puts his bag down and stepped out of his shoes. Today had felt successful, he was certain he started off on the right foot with the young woman.

“Ellison.” He looks to see Tracy leaned in the doorway. “How’d it go?”

Does she actually care? Ellison smiles slightly. “Well it went great, actually. I gave her the phone and she shared a lot about herself with me. I’m hoping she invites me back over the next couple of weeks I really think she is gonna be forth coming with everything.” He sounded eager, he was eager. Tracy folds her arms under her chest and lays her head against the door frame.

“That’s great.” Her smile holds no sincerity. “I found a job in town. I’m gonna need you to get the kids to school on Wednesdays and Fridays. Hope that doesn’t get in the way of your play dates.” Now her smile holds malice. They look at each other for what felt like hours. Letting out a breath, he holds his hands up. “Tracy, seriously I don’t-” “I don’t care. Just make sure you do what you need to for the kids.” She pushed from the door frame and stepped down the hall. The icyness of her words left him feeling hollow.

Sinking back into his chair, he pushed his face into his hands and sighed in frustration. Trust the process, she'll come around in time. He swivels in the seat and opens his food, not going to let it go cold. As he ate, his mind wandered to you. The way you smiled at him and how genuine your reaction had been to the simple white board. He felt appreciated, and a sense of warmth spread in his chest. Gratitude... he hadn't been on the receiving end of that in a long time. Smiling, he chews and thinks of all the things he wanted to ask you tomorrow. Half way through his meal, his phone buzzes. Quickly, Ellison digs it out of his pocket and checks. His expression sprawling into a broad grin, and his chest swelled with pride.

New text message, from Y/N: Thank you for your kindness today. For the first time in a long while, I feel heard.

Ellison finished his bite, considering what an appropriate response would be. By the time he decided, you had sent a picture. Opening the message, he stares quietly. It was you standing in front of the tiny bathroom mirror, holding the phone facing outward and the other arm propping up the white board against your stomach.

Written in fine letters the board read: 'See you tomorrow :)'. He chuckles, however his eyes drift to take you in. You werent in the modest dress and sweater you had worn earlier. Instead, your body was being clung to by a tanktop, and your hips hugged by some pj shorts. It was showing a lot of your skin, and annunciating the swell of your breasts. Your lips looked so soft, tugged into that shy smile, like you didn't know what you had just done to him-

-Stop.

He quickly puts his phone down. This was unusual for him. In the early years when his book had sold well and he had his time in the spotlight, women had thrown themselves at him by the dozen. Of course he had briefly considered his options, but had ultimately been the better man and loyal husband. Tracy was the love of his life, being married gave him stability and bliss. That of course is what he told himself.

That being said, since Chatford, Tracy hadn't spoken much, let alone touched him. It had been nearly 14 months. He tried not to keep track, but he could not help it, he ached to be wanted, to be needed again. Without realizing it, his hand had drifted between his legs, palming the swelling outline of his cock through his pants. His eyes opened, looking down at the picture of the young woman, innocent and broken. His breath caught in his throat and he stands abruptly, crosses the room, then closes and locks his door.

Stumbling towards the bed, Ellison snatched his cellphone before falling onto his back. One of his legs dangled off the bed as he hastily opened and nudged his pants down. He sprung his hardening length out and wrapped his right fist around it. His eyes closed and he let out a soft breath, stroking a couple times before bring his hand up and spitting into his palm. Fisting himself once more, the older man arched slightly, focusing on the drag of his hand. His thoughts went to Tracy, to the first night of their honeymoon, how beautiful she was under the the setting sun. He thinks about when they conceived Trevor, during a get away in Montana, their hasty fucking outside their cabin-

-It isn't working. His cock is starting to deflate and his jaw is tight. He felt pangs of frustration and a little desperation. It had been so long since he had cum. He wanted it, he needed it. Amidst his tumultuous thoughts, your picture hovers behind his eyes. Soft, delicate lips and your eyes, so gentle and unassuming. His hand began to stroke faster, dick fully hard and aching in his grasp. Your hips, hugged tight in those shorts, and your breasts, barely fit inside the tank top. Pre cum began to dribble from his head, causing him to slick easier now.

Ellison let out a strangled grunt and gasp, his other arm over his eyes as he worked. Rutting his hips upwards, he felt a tightness in his abdomen. You were so grateful, so appreciative of him. He imagined you on your knees, lips parted and tongue out, begging for him to cum inside your mouth. Your eyes were glossy, pleading, your fair skin flushed in embarrassment- Ellison chokes and swallows down a groan. His stomach tightened and his balls drew up, his cock throbbed as his hand pumped himself desperately. Your mouth so wide open, so desperate- he cums. His jaw clenching and veins showing in his neck as he spills hot ropes across his knuckles.

Slowing his fist, he released himself and moved the arm from his eyes. He gazed up at the ceiling, shame washing over him the moment his cock stopped throbbing. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to steady his pounding heart. He reminded himself he loved his wife, that she was being distant because of what happened, that things could change. Rising from bed, he grabs an old shirt and cleans his hand before tossing it into the hamper. Putting himself away, he picked up the remnants if his food and tossed them in the bin, still troubled by his thoughts.

It was just one time, he promised. Tomorrow, he would go to you like a professional. He would smile and be polite, ask questions while taking notes, and try to not think about how he came imagining you on your knees for him.

#ellison oswalt x you #ellison oswalt x reader #ellison oswalt headcanon #ellison oswalt headcanons #ellison oswalt #sinister movie #sinister headcanon #ethan hawke #ethan hawke headcannons #ethan hawke headcanon #ethan hawke headcanons #ellison oswalt headcannons #ellison oswalt headcannon #sinister fanfiction #ethan hawke fanfic #fanfic

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