#Photo Walk Around Austin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosie-writings · 1 month

Text

Back to Eden

Request: ✨anon—You and the gang investigate a haunted mansion and the reader is targeted after a joke is made that she looks like the wife in old photos. Medium/Doppleganger trope as well.

Summary: Something about Colby caught your attention, and it’s confirmed when you all learn too much about the afterlife when he brings you to investigate a murder at a haunted estate. How hard can a soul bond love?

Warnings: Murder, Vomiting, Reincarnation, Mediums, Ouija Board use, Light Angst, Soulmates trope, Colby x Reader smut, Unprotected sex, very light Dom/Sub dynamic, and Possessive Romantic Relationship/behavior

Words: 13.5k

No Y/N Used

Title is from ‘Take Me Back to Eden’ by Sleep Token

It started the day we met.

There was no room in my head to even question whether it was strange or not. Every crevice of my mind filled with him. It was fine. That was it; fine. I didn’t allow myself anything more than a skip of a heartbeat here and a blush there. Nothing more.

Only once did I allow myself to think of him as I fell asleep, but that was because we literally fell asleep hip to hip. It wasn’t anything more than necessary though. It was during an investigation and there were two beds for the five of us to sleep on unless we slept on the floor. Due to complications, we lost our second room that night, and we were too afraid to sleep separated anyway. I was on the edge of the bed, Colby in the middle, and Sam on his other side while Nate and Seth were in the other one.

And if I woke up curled around his arm and he woke up facing me sharing a pillow, we didn’t say anything about it.

I didn’t know what it was. The only logical answer was that we easily clicked. We got along fluently, and the first time we met in person, we talked about everything and cried laughing by the end of the night. I couldn’t shake this feeling, though. And it was a dangerous one.

When I looked him in the eyes the first time, it felt like I knew him.

I chalked it up to him simply being who he was. In every way, he was my type—if I even had one—so technically, anyone who looked like him could have given me these feelings. However, I knew people and had friends who looked similar to him. None of them ever made me feel a fraction of how he did.

Perhaps the morality of cognitive dissonance could have an exception.

Colby, four days ago while I coincidentally was at a tattoo appointment, messaged me:

What are you doing next week?

So, naturally, I responded:

Wow I said no more snaps and you still send selfies

He sent a rolling eyes emoji. And then:

See, the problem with no snaps is now you don’t send photos back

So I said:

Maybe that isn’t the problem but the entire point smh

What do you want from me next week?

Your appearance in a video, he replied.

Perhaps

Perhaps?

I have a lot going on

Lmao no you don’t

Excuse me? Yes I do

What are you doing in four days?

You’ve given me so much room to creatively respond to that

Bitch, what plans do you have?

To make sure I can still walk by the end of this week

???

Ten minutes later, he followed up the question marks with:

What does that mean?

What a concerning thing to say and then leave me on read, he sent.

Finally when my tattoo was finished, I sent him a selfie back.

Impatient much?

Ohhhh, he replied.

Jfc did you purposely get it in one of the most painful places?

Yes now what do you want from me next week?

We’re going to a haunted estate in Texas and we want you to come

Oh? Where in Texas?

Outside of Austin

My heart skipped at the thought. That was where we first met. I was from Texas, and there was a party for content creators I was invited to despite being smaller. I met Sam and Colby and a lot of their friends. I still remembered not minding the humid summer night as much as I typically did.

Oh okay so you want me to come

I mean yeah, we all did

Mhm sure

What are you talking about?

Funny how you’re going to Austin and you want me to come

Funny how you’re making a it a big deal

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t hold down my smile. I sat in my car, and even though the back of my knee ached with pain, it was almost numbed by the words staring back at me.

Aw if you wanted me to come with you guys on an investigation to the city we met in of course I’d say yes, how sweet

Nvm. Fuck you

I sent a heart emoji back.

He sent a middle finger emoji.

Buy me a plane ticket.

‘Colby Liked your message’

I went home with jittery hands and a beat in my step. I didn’t even have coffee yet.

It happened simultaneously. After my career took off a couple months after the party in Austin, I moved to Los Angeles to be with my best friends. Sam and Colby, two weeks prior, moved to Las Vegas. I gave them so much shit for it, but everyone knew that the girls I lived with were my main priority.

I never planned to live with anyone; I liked my own private space. But somehow these freaks changed my mind.

As I packed my bag—my flight was in a little over an hour and I hadn’t packed yet, how on brand for me—Tara lounged in my bed.

”Don’t you have your own shit to do?” I asked.

”Maybe,” she sighed pathetically. “But your bed is so comfy and your room is so clean.”

”Yeah my bed is comfy because I don’t have a bunch of shit on it.” She gasped.

”That was mean.”

”How many pairs of shoes did you sleep with last night?” She gave me the finger. “There’s your answer.”

”I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a bunch of boys.”

”Same,” I sighed. “But you know how fun these trips are to me.”

”Yeah. Sometimes I forget how much of a freak you are.”

”Uh, I’m not a freak. A spiritual nerd? Perhaps. But not a freak.” She laughed and lay back against the pillows.

“You met them in Austin, right?”

”Yes,” I said cautiously.

”And Colby asked you to come with them back to Austin?”

”Yes,” I exasperated now. “What’s wrong with that?”

”Nothing,” she shrugged. “I was just wondering when you and Colby were going on a date.”

”Oh my god.” I rolled my eyes as I zipped my suitcase before standing it up. “God forbid a woman be close friends with a man without wanting to fuck him.”

“And you have you lying eyes on.”

”My lying—Bitch, these are just my eyes!”

”And they’re fucking lying.”

”You’re an idiot. I need to go.”

”At least tell me when you guys get together.”

Finally, it was my turn to give someone the finger.

I sent Colby a selfie without a message. He quickly responded:

Now who’s sending me selfies not on snap

I wish I could unsend texts

We’re leaving soon, he said after reacting to my last message.

I didn’t respond.

There was nothing better than taking a flight home especially when my headphones were on and I was alone in my aisle. As I looked out the window and watched as we descended from the puffy winter clouds, I realized that this was one of those moments that I was ever grateful for my job. During the quiet moments, the moments alone, and the ones I get to go home with headphones on and friends waiting for me on the other side,

Something leapt within me at the thought of meeting my friends in my home city; the one where I saw them for the first time. And maybe I thought about one of the four more than the rest, but I didn’t let my brain trail too far away from me. I needed to keep my senses about me to get through this week.

Colby said it would be a big one.

Before each investigation, of course they researched the locations. He didn’t tell me anything; I wondered if it was that interesting or if he had a feeling. I had a feeling, but I always did before investigating with them.

I choked the feeling down when my Uber from the airport dropped me off at the hotel we were sharing for tonight. Well, tonight we were sleeping at the estate we were investigating and we would probably sleep through the rest of the afternoon before checkout to get to our next flight. I couldn’t decide if I was excited for it or not.

Maybe we wouldn’t sleep but wait until sunrise then hurry out to debrief in a safe diner.

Sam and Colby scheduled it so that they would be at the hotel first.

I couldn’t shake this feeling inside of me especially when the hotel room door opened and I saw Sam’s smiling face.

“Hello!”

”Sam hi!” My arms were around his neck as the door closed.

“It’s been so long since we’ve last seen you.” He led me into the room. It was work to swallow with such a dry tongue.

”I know! Didn’t mean for it to be so long.” My words died in my throat when I came around the corner and saw Colby. He sat on the bed with his phone in his hand. When he looked up at me, I could have passed out. Seeing him in person for the first time in months almost made me drop dead; my vision narrowed and I didn’t know exactly what to do with my body.

”Oh so you did decide to come after all—“

”Hey stupid,” I laughed. My heart stopped when he got off the bed. “How could I miss another opportunity of both of you running, crying, screaming, throwing up because of a little ghost hunt—“

”You’re an idiot,” Colby said as he pulled me into a hug.

”Of course that’s why you’d come back,” Sam jeered. “At least laugh at Nate and Seth too.”

”Oh no,” I scoffed as I pulled from Colby. “There will be plenty of teasing to go around.”

After, when Nate and Seth arrived and we had dinner and settled after traveling, it was time for us to make our way to the estate. It was only 20 minutes from our hotel, and the entire time, the boys bickered and told jokes while trying to introduce the viewers to the history of the estate.

“They say that Miss Johnson was a medium, and that due to the religion that was prominent in this area at the time, she was forced to be silent about her craft or be excommunicated from the city,” Sam began.

”But,” Colby took over. “Because it was one of the two ways she made a living and because she believed in it as firmly as she did, she left the community she was in. On top of being a medium, she worked as a seamstress and was very good at her job. In 1886, she was hired by the lady of the estate to make clothes for everyone who lived in it. During her time at the estate, though, it was reported that she would sneak personal belongings into the dressing rooms to communicate with spirits of the house and also keep herself cleansed from bringing any back to her guest house that was on the property. She said there were three that were most active and always made sure that guests knew that they were present even if they were new to the estate.”

”The most active spirit claimed to be Ada who was the First Lady of the estate a generation before,” Sam started again. “Apparently she died of natural causes on the estate, but before her, her husband, William, passed away from a virus he caught while traveling.”

”The weird thing about the whole story,” Colby went on. “Is that it says that Ada’s death was from natural causes, but she only lived for 48 years. That doesn’t add up unless she had an underlying disease or something that was never recorded.”

”Maybe she was saying fuck ya’ll to all the damn men she had to live with,” Nate scoffed with a sassy flick of the wrist. I rolled my eyes and looked out my window. I sat behind Sam who drove, and Nate sat in between Seth and I.

”We don’t know how she died,” Sam laughed. “Okay, back to the medium. Her story is very interesting because while she worked at the estate, she reported three ghosts even though only two people—Will and Ava—were claimed to have died there since they were the first generation to live in the estate. She claimed to have communicated with a woman ghost and a child ghost, not so much the ghost of a man.”

”Two months after Miss Johnson started gossiping with the other servants of the estate that there was a child ghost living on property, she was brutally murdered in the dressing room,” Colby said. “So the rumor is that maybe there was a child in the estate but they passed and someone wanted to cover up the death?”

”Or maybe someone wanted to cover up that the child existed in the first place,” Seth suggested.

”Which opens a lot of other question,” I quickly replied.

”Right,” Colby agreed. “So there’s a lot of nuance and sketchy things going on behind the scenes.”

”I’m not sure why Miss Johnson would have been murdered in such a violent way, though,” Sam said. “If it wasn’t to cover up whatever ghost politics she was talking about, then what was it? Because a murder that gruesome must be an act of passion, but who did she piss off that badly?”

”I guess we will find out more information when we go on that tour.”

It wasn’t the tour that intrigued me, no. Immediately when we drove on property, the hair on my arms raised. I looked over my shoulder. I watched through my window intently.

The boys goofed as we grabbed the supplies and made an intro to Sam and Colby’s video, but I tried my best to remain silent and calm.

It was like the ash trees had eyes.

”Hello!” Our tour guide greeted us as we entered the house. “Welcome to the Bateman estates, I’m Angie the current owner.”

The floorboards under my feet felt ten feet away from me.

I stepped through the threshold behind her as Sam followed me and the rest of the boys followed him. My eyes latched on to every object of the room. The cream wallpaper filled the top two thirds of the walls while dark wood paneled the bottom third. The crystal chandelier in the foyer matched the crystal and gold wall lamps on the sides of the entrances of other room. A wide wooden staircase lengthened up either side of the walls of the foyer and met together at a wide plateau where various hallways branched off. The yellow lighting rained down on us gently, and for the first time since walking up to Sam and Colby that night at the party, a sweet fragrance made itself home in the back of my throat.

Familiarity.

I looked through the left threshold. It led to a sitting area full of furnishings and a bay window that overlooked the fields to the left of the house. I looked to the right, and I looked in between Nate and Colby to see the white and clack checkered flooring. It must have been the kitchen.

“We have had numerous visitors tell us that this was the house that made them believe in the paranormal,” Angie continued. My eyes pulled into focus from the kitchen, and when they landed on the person my gaze dodged, I met eyes with Colby who already looked directly at me.

Another glance shared between us a good four seconds too long. I looked back at Angie.

”Does anyone ever say that these are good or evil spirits? Or do they feel anything weird at all?” Sam asked. I was glad someone in this house had a level head on their shoulders because mine certainly was not.

”Not at all!” Angie exclaimed. “We’ve never had an evil spirit. There’s been freaky movement though, and a few people have reported there being a trickster or sorts here, but nothing pure evil by any means.”

”That’s good that they’re nice then,” Seth said. Angie nodded.

”I’ve made my way around working at plenty of haunted hotels, houses, and such, and there’s a reason that this was the property I invested in. I’ve never felt such good and light spirits before.”

”That actually helps a lot,” Nate laughed. I looked at Colby again.

He was already smiling in my direction.

”William and Ada Bateman first moved to this estate after his job took off. They lived in the city beforehand but he needed to get out because of some issues with this job. Apparently guests who have visited this house say that there’s a woman spirit here who makes her presence very much so known by playing with hair, moving things, or making noises. Sometimes people can see a woman with a white or pink dress in the corner of their eyes.”

”Oh shit, that means she has a lot of power to make herself that known,” Nate said. Angie nodded.

”If it’s Ada, yes. She has the most power in this house.”

We continued the tour.

“This room,” the guide started slowly. We knew what lay on the other side of the door. She had already led us through the downstairs and multiple rooms upstairs. By tone of voice, we knew what happened in this one. Colby entered first behind her then Sam, Seth, me and Nate. “This room is the dressing room where Miss Johnson was murdered.” I subconsciously bit the inside of my cheek as I looked around.

There was absolutely nothing ominous about it.

I didn't anticipate the house being so open, warm, and homey. The orange glow of the lights illuminated the faded yellow and pink floral wallpaper, and the plush intricately designed yellow, cream, and red rug under us swallowed my feet whole even through my shoes. It felt like I could curl up comfortably in this room and lull to sleep by the brush of the trees below.

“Do you know why she was murdered?” Sam asked.

“They say it was because she communicated with the ghosts and made a big deal about it through the house. Apparently some of the other servants were religious and didn't like the way she tried to communicate with spirits. That's some motive, but apparently her death was never avenged.”

“Wait, they never found out who killed her?” Colby asked. Angie shook her head.

“No. They couldn't find evidence among the servants and they didn't have visitors during the time of her death. It was like it was sudden.”

“Is there a child ghost here?” My mouth ran before I could catch it, and I confidently held Angie's eye contact as the boys shot looks at me.

“Well, that was a part of the story too, we think.” We all stood silent waiting for more. “Apparently two maids especially hated Miss Johnson for bringing children into her gossip about the spirits. She started saying that a child ghost also lived in this estate even though no children had lived here. It raised suspicions among the servants. Some would spread rumors believing that there had to be a child ghost and further investigating whose baby it was and then others would not believe her and make fun of Miss Johnson.

“Two maids specifically, though, were the oldest servants of the house. They were Ada’s personal maids, and they especially did not appreciate the gossiping about children ghosts. They tried to get Miss Johnson to shut up about it and suddenly a couple months later, she was found dead.” I gawked at Annie's story.

“Wait, you're saying that the two servants who personally knew Ada and were close to her were the ones who didn't like the stories about the child ghost?” Sam gasped. Angie nodded.

“That's right.”

“What if Ada had a baby and it died when it was young? Why would they want to cover it up? Was it with another man?” Seth asked.

“There are no records of a baby ever being born here. Except for one photo.” My stomach dropped at the thought. “There's a photo of Ada and a baby in the lord and lady’s room playing with the baby. The thing is, Will is behind them sitting and watching happily. The only record we have of the baby is one where both parents seem happy that they have her.

“Now, there's no evidence for this and I usually don't talk about this because I'm not on one to stir the pot really, but apparently there were political issues behind the scenes of William’s work. There was a lot of tension especially since the Civil War had ended, and William was against slavery the entire time, so when it was abolished, there were a lot of people who held a grudge with him because of where they lived. It kind of made him a target considering his business was also quite successful so he had money and power too.”

”Do you think someone killed the baby then to get back at him?” Sam asked.

”The politics in his work were brutal. It was either that or someone didn’t want him having an heir.”

“Can we see photos?” I asked.

”Yeah,” Angie said as she led us from the room. “We were headed there next.”

The next room was the primary bedroom. Seth followed Angie and Sam and Nate followed him. I was at Colby’s side, and when it was our turn to walk through the door, I went in front of him.

The second I took a step towards the door, my heart raced, clammy sweat rose to my hairline, and a chill swept through me.

”Holy shit—“ My eyes widened in fear and I froze in my place at the scared tone of Colby’s voice.

”What?” Sam gasped when he heard that tone as well and he turned to look at us. “Oh fuck!”

“What?” I cried. “Everyone’s looking at me and freaking out—”

”There’s a strand of your hair that’s literally raising up by itself like someone is lifting it—Oh.” Right as Colby pointed it out, the hair dropped like whoever it was that held my hair walked away.

”What the fuck was that?” Seth cried.

“Probably Ada.” My eyes widened. Makes her presence very much so known by playing with hair, was what Angie just told us downstairs.

”No way!” Colby laughed as we entered the rest of the way in. “Wait, that's crazy, did you feel it?” I shook my head.

”No, not at all.”

”She’s never violent. In fact, a lot of times, she’s so gentle with the things she does that sometimes we can’t tell if it’s her or not.”

I looked around the room and blinked furiously.

The chill didn’t leave me.

The sweat didn’t leave.

Welcome back.

”Wait,” I gasped. Then all eyes were on me. In a panic, as I returned to myself for a minute, I cowered in and turned to Colby.

”What’s wrong?” Sam asked. I gave Colby a look.

”No-No, keep going it’s fine,” he said.

When I heard Angie’s voice again, I started telling him.

”Did you hear that?” I asked him so quietly that my mouth made more sound than my voice. His eyes widened.

”No? What—“

”I don’t think I heard it audibly, but you know when a voice just comes in your head and it isn’t your own and it’s so sure of itself that it has to be something else?”

”Actually yeah,” he gasped. “Wait, you have that too?” I nodded furiously.

”Yes! All the damn time, it’s annoying.”

”Sam said he hadn’t had that before.”

”Anyway,” I sighed and swallowed tightly. “When we walked in, I had a cold chill, I was sweating, and then I heard it in my head like that, something that said ‘welcome back’ and—“ Colby’s eyes widened in fear as he stared at me then he looked at Sam who already analyzed us on the other side of the room. “And I could just be making things up or something, but I swear to god—“

”You feel like you’ve been here before?” Hesitantly, I nodded. “Alright. I do to, I didn’t tell them that though.”

”What?” I gasped. “Why didn’t you?”

”Why didn’t you?” My silence answered the question. “Yeah that’s what I thought.”

”What’s happening?” Sam finally broke his silence.

“We’ll talk about it in a little,” Colby determined with finality, and we tuned in to the rest of the tour.

”These are all the photos we have left that were taken at this estate,” Angie said, and on the left wall of the room, between two large windows that overlooked the field and the lake, were almost two dozen photos on the wall. At first it was hard to see. The sun nearly set, and these were west facing windows, so orange bands of bright light shot through the room.

My only thought was to curl up in the middle of the bed.

It looked incredibly soft with the layers of intricately stitched cream blankets and pillows; I could take the hardest nap nestled in the middle of it. The plush rug under my feet nearly lulled me to sleep like the last room as I made my way over to the photos. The boys followed, and Angie began speaking about the significant ones.

”This is William, that’s Ada, and those are some of the servants, and that was taken in the fields with the dogs—“

I couldn’t remember the rest of what she said. My eyes never left William’s photo. I wasn’t sure I was breathing anymore, not when a familiar feeling washed over me.

Not when the same feeling I had when I looked at Colby in the eyes rained down on me the moment I looked at this photo in the eyes.

”Oh my god,” Seth laughed. “Wait, look at this one. It looks so stupid; looks like you,” he called out my name and it snapped my attention back to him. I glared at him as he laughed.

”Whatever, asshole,” I said. I looked at the photo lower on the wall. It must have been Ada. She was in the garden with what looked to be her maids, but she relaxed with them and smiled and made silly faces. My heart skipped again.

”Wait,” Colby said ever so quietly. My heart skipped again. I looked at him. His eyes never let the photo in front of him. I followed his gaze, it was Ada’s photo. “You do look like her, don’t you?” I really looked at Ada now.

”I—“ I stumbled over my words. I was about to mock him, but the thoughts died in my throat when I realized that I did, in fact, look similar to her.

“Oh my god, she does!” Sam said.

”Ada is most active in this room,” Angie said from behind us. “People also report hearing voices and a baby’s cry, and also seeing apparitions here or down the hallway coming in this direction.”

”Oh, so people have seen figures too?” Seth asked.

“They have,” Angie said. “People say that places where frequent birth and death are the most active for spirits, and since this is the room that’s most active, we suspect that Ada passed in this room, probably gave birth in this room. But a lot of the exact details and history of this estate are hidden.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the bed. When Colby’s hand gently held onto my elbow to lead me out of the room with everyone else, goosebumps trailed over my skin in the wake of his touch. What was wrong with me?

”So,” Angie began the end of the tour as we entered the foyer again. “If you are wanting to get as in touch with the spirits of the house as possible, I recommend doing your thing in the kitchen, the dressing room, and the primary bedroom, but, of course, everywhere has a chance of activity.”

”Thank you so much!” Sam told her, and after our final goodbyes, the five of us were left in the house alone.

”Alright,” Sam spoke to the camera. “We’re going to have to leave a music box in the hallway upstairs outside of the primary room.”

”Definitely,” Seth agreed.

“Maybe, if you guys are up for it, we can do a little bit of a seance in the dressing room or primary room?”

”Jesus Christ, I knew you were going to fucking say that,” Nate groaned.

”Of all places, it’s the safest to do it here. Have you felt the demons? There are none!”

That, of all things, was true. Not an ounce of dark energy or fear intimidated me through the entire tour, and the rest must have agreed because we planned a seance in the primary room at three am.

”I think I’m going to volunteer Seth to do the Estes method,” Colby said as he fished supplies out of his backpack.

”Why am I always the Estes method bait?” He whined.

“Because the ghosts like you,” Colby sighed as he tossed Seth headphones. “You should be thankful. They don’t like me as much. Let’s get the rem pod and ask spirits some questions first.”

Immediately as the rem pod turned on, it lit up.

”Is it messed up?” Colby asked. Sam recalibrated it. It continued the beeping and flashing of lights even as Sam got up and stood next to us. “Damn, maybe not.”

”If there’s a spirit here with us could you possibly walk away from the lights? It’s our device to communicate—“

The rem pod turned off.

I looked at Sam with bright eyes as he turned to me as well.

”Thank you, and to make sure you’re actually listening and can hear us, can you step close to the red device again?”

Immediately the lights turned on. My heart pounded as my eyes fixated on the empty space around the pod.

”Thank you so much, I’m Sam and these are my friends. We wanted to ask the spirits in this house some questions, light up the device for yes or turn it off for no, would that be alright?”

The lights didn’t end.

”Awesome, hi I’m Seth. Is this Ada?”

The lights turned off.

”No,” he gasped. “Is this William?” They didn’t turn on. “Is this Miss Johnson?”

The rem pod shrilled to life. I gasped and looked at the others.

”Hi Miss Johnson,” he said.

”This is so freaky, how is it so exact?” I whispered to Colby who stood on the other side of me.

”I don’t fucking know,” he laughed.

”We were wondering if you were willing to tell us a bit about the house?” The lights stayed on. “Perfect. You’re really active, is there something you want to tell us eventually tonight?”

The lights still stayed on. It must have been an accident.

”Ask a controlled question just in case,” I mumbled.

”Did you work as a chef in the house?” Colby asked. The lights turned off.

”Well shit,” Sam laughed. “Were you the gardener?” Still no lights.

”Were you the seamstress?” I asked and the rem pod woke to life again.

“People say that you were a medium as well, is that true?” The rem pod stayed on after Sam’s question. “Is that the reason you’re so active?” The lights didn’t turn off.

”Do Will and Ada live here still?” The rem pod stopped then started again. Colby shot Sam a confused look.

”Do they sometimes live here?” Yes. “Do you mean that they can come and go as they please?” Also yes. “No way,” Sam gasped as he turned back to Colby. “That means there’s a vortex or a hotspot or something in this house.”

”We should find it and ask questions there,” Nate said.

“Thanks for talking to us, Miss Johnson. You can follow us around the house tonight if you’d like.”

And Sam turned off the rem pod.

”First one to find the vortex has to do the Estes method in it,” Colby said.

”Bitch, you’re saying that like it’s a reward,” Nate snapped back.

”Someone’s bound to find it—“

”Found it.” We spun on our heels and noticed that Seth was missing.

“Seth?” Sam called.

”Over here.” We followed the voice around the corner of the kitchen and walked back into the foyer. He stood in between the two staircases and on the walls across from each other, there were two mirrors.

”Wow, it’s almost as if the house chose you to do the Estes method,” I jeered.

”Fuck ya’ll, I was actually trying to look for it unlike you bums who stood around bickering about not doing it.”

”It was literally right in front of us,” Sam sighed before he reached for the spirit box in his backpack. “Alright, someone go get a chair.”

A minute later, Colby came back with a chair and placed it in between the mirrors.

”I hate you guys, for the record.”

”We figured the hate hadn’t left since the Conjuring house.” Seth gave Sam the finger as he pulled the blindfold over his eyes.

”If there’s any spirit in the house, you’re welcome to come talk to Seth through the spirit box,” Colby called loudly.

“Loud,” Seth immediately said in that monotone voice. We all whirled our gazes to him.

”What’s loud?”

”Colby.” The room froze.

”You said my name,” Colby said. “Do you know me?”

”Know you.”

”Do you know all of us?” Silence. I could almost make out the flipping of channels under the noise canceling headphones.

“Come.”

”Where do you want us to go?”

”Follow me.”

“Who are we talking—“

A loud noise from upstairs cut Colby off.

Then the music box started playing. I looked up the stairs immediately, but saw nothing as the chilling music sang down to us. We all gawked at each other in silence.

”Was-Was that in the dressing room?”

“It was!” Sam gasped quietly at Nate’s faint question.

”Are you in the dressing room?”

”Maybe.”

��What’s your name?”

”Come find out.”

”Uh,” Sam said as he slowly turned to Colby. “I thought there weren’t evil spirits here. Why does this feel weird?” Colby shook his head.

”I mean, a full on murder happened in this house so like, there has to be some kind of residual negative energy,” Colby replied.

”Could just be a trickster, though, like she said,” I intervened.

”That’s true,” Sam said. “Maybe we should go where it’s asking us to go to—“

”Bedroom.” Seth’s single word cut our conversation short.

”Get him out,” Sam said as he looked back at Colby. “We’re going to the primary room.”

I sat at the foot of the bed. My right foot rested on the bed in front of me, and I messed with the shoelaces. My hands were busy; they needed something for my brain to stay grounded.

I watched as the boys set up the Estes method again for Seth and also placed the rem pod in the middle of the room. The bedroom door was open so that we could hear the music box.

“Alright,” Sam sighed as he sat in the middle of the rug between the rem pod and Seth who sat in the chair. His bright eyes looked up at Seth expectantly. “It’s really not weird here, is it?” He asked. Seth shook his head.

”No, it isn’t, actually,” Colby said.

”I really don’t think it’s evil. If there’s any spirits in the house who would like to—“

The rem pod shrilled to life.

“Alright then, let’s go,” Colby said, and Seth pulled on the blindfold.

“Are you Miss Johnson?” The rem pod didn’t turn off. “Are you Ada?” The rem pod stopped.

”Here,” Seth said. Sam looked at Colby quickly.

”There could be more than one; maybe everyone’s here.”

“We came.”

”Oh, yeah I did call you guys.”

”You,” Seth’s monotone voice responded to Colby.

”Me? Or who—“

”Colby.” The room fell still as we stared back and forth between each other.

”You-You said my name—Did any of you say my name since being here?” Colby asked as he turned to each of us.

“It’s been hours, I’m not sure,” I said slowly.

“You,” Seth repeated.

”I know,” Colby said. “What about me?”

“Not quite what… I didn’t get the rest of that.”

”Not quite, what?” Sam asked. ”Miss Johnson, you said you were a medium, was there something about the Bateman’s you found out but shouldn’t have known about?” A few beats of silence passed.

”I’m sorry to say,” Seth cut the silence.

”What did you find out that you were sorry about?”

“I’m not mad at all about it. Holy shit, that was a full sentence.”

“What are you not mad about?” Colby asked.

“You were sick.” My eyebrows rose in question, and I turned to the three to see what they thought that meant.

”Who was sick? Who do you mean by you?” Sam asked.

”I told you.”

”Colby?” He clarified. “Are you talking about last year?”

”Not quite what… It was the same sentence I missed before.”

“Not quite…” Sam mumbled in thought. “I’m confused.”

”Is there a child ghost here?” I asked.

“Certainly.”

“No way,” Nate gasped. “Literally answered that immediately.”

I saw a shadow from the corner of my eye.

And then the music box.

I leapt, though, before the music box went off, and the boys also jumped as I scared them.

“What the fuck was that?” Colby asked me. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked to where I saw the shadow run by.

It would have been child height in the hallway running past the door.

The music box turned off.

”I-I—It’s okay—”

”No, what was it?” Colby pushed on. I looked up at him, and I supposed that my wide eyes and pale face was enough proof for him to believe me.

”There-There was—I saw a shadow run by. How did you not see it? You would have seen it perfectly from where you are.”

”I didn’t see anything.”

”She literally jumped before the music box went off,” Nate confirmed.

”What was—”

”Child.”

”That was the child?” Sam gasped.

”Yes.”

”Who else is here? Miss Johnson, the child, Will and Ada?”

”There’s more.”

”More?” Colby gasped, and Sam looked up at him with wide fearful eyes.

”Who else?”

”Visitors.”

”No, no,” Colby gasped as the pieces fit together. He stood away from where he leaned against the bed next to me and pointed at Sam. “That’s what it told us; there’s a vortex and they can go and come as they please. I bet spirits can travel to this house and leave it.”

”You’re totally right,” Sam said. “Can you tell us who—“

”It doesn't matter.”

”Why doesn’t it matter?”

”Because… Because—I didn’t catch that—welcome back.”

My vision pounded to black and my heart fell out of my ass,

”Welcome—Who are you welcoming back?”

”Colby.” The three of us looked at Colby with wide eyes.

”I’ve not been here before.”

”Before.”

”Before what?”

The room was silent for a while.

Nate sucked in a breath to say something, but Seth cut him off.

”Death.”

”What?” Sam gasped. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It said-It said you were here before death, is that what it said?” Nate asked.

At that point, my heart tied in my throat, and I couldn’t dare look in Colby’s direction. I knew he looked at me.

”Um, when was I here—“

”Long time ago.”

“To a ghost, a long time ago could mean a lot different than what it means to us,” Sam said.

”It’s you.”

”Who’s you?”

Seth said my name.

No, the spirit box said my name; it was so vivid and loud in the headphones, that I caught the unmistakable syllables of the word. I wondered if I passed out because I didn’t remember much of the Estes method after that.

There was no other explanation for how this ghost knew my name. Perhaps Sam and Colby’s names were familiar with the ghosts, but not mine.

“Get him out.”

It was over before I could process what happened.

”Why did it say her name though?” Sam asked and Colby looked back at him with no answers.

“And why the fuck did it say ‘it’s you?’ What an ominous thing to say,” Nate said.

”Just before it said that Colby had been here before death. What does that mean?” Sam’s voice raised and I flinched. I turned from them.

There was an ache.

An ache that cut so deep in my chest, I wondered if the bone cracked. Tears welled in my eyes.

”What-What’s wrong?” I heard Colby’s voice. I took a step away from them.

And when I accidentally let out a sob, I heard Colby push Seth away.

”Cut the cameras.”

I didn’t like that tone in his voice.

He knew.

It sounded like he was about to cry as well.

”What is it?” He asked as I left the room, he was on my heels. I shook my head as I wiped the few tears that fell.

”Colby,” I said with a tense jaw. He stopped.

We stood alone on the plateau that overlooked the foyer. I slowly turned to him. I looked at him.

He looked at me.

We didn’t say anything.

I couldn’t think of the words to say, and I visibly saw the softness of realization in his eyes—or something adjacent to that—and he swallowed tightly.

”I remember this.”

”Colby?” I heard my name next. I looked past Colby as Sam came up slowly. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Those weren’t the questions I had, no.

I wondered, what did Colby remember?

Did he taste the familiarity in the air like I did?

Did he feel the cathartic peacefulness like I did?

Did he see the extra presence like I did?

We gathered our things and went into the dressing room to prepare for our three am seance.

”I’m thinking we could start soon,” Sam said softly. I checked my phone. 2:30am. “I know it’s early, but it’s already been so damn active. I bet Miss Johnson is with—“

The spirit box in his backpack turned on by itself.

”Yeah, she’s here,” Seth sighed, to which Colby burst out laughing.

The lights were off.

Five candles were around us as we placed the ouija board in the middle. A ring of salt encompassed us all. Colby sat nearly across from me; Sam in between us with Nate to my left and Seth in between him and Colby.

”The devices you guys have been playing with all night are around the room,” Sam announced. “You can mess with them if you’d like, but we would really appreciate communicating directly with one of you with this board.” He looked at us and we each put our fingers on the planchette. ”Did a spirit follow us in here?”

It took a few seconds, but the planchette moved to yes.

”Is this spirit Miss Johnson still?”

It didn’t move.

”Hi Miss Johnson, thanks for talking to us all night. Sorry if we’re being redundant—“

The planchette began to circle around the yes.

”Okay,” he laughed, and I couldn’t tell if he thought it was funny or he was intimidated. “We want to know more about the exact history of what went down in this room. Were you murdered in this room?” The planchette stayed on yes.

But then it drifted away. It slowly moved without motive.

“Do you know why you were murdered?” The planchette circled back to yes. “Were you murdered because the people in this house did not like that you were a medium?”

”Look—“ Nate said, and we watched as the planchette made its way to the letters.

I tried to rationalize if this was happening, because I absolutely wasn’t moving the wood. I looked at Colby. He looked at me from already examining Nate. I couldn’t look away from him. What a time to—

“T,” Sam mumbled.

What a time to fawn over him, how he looked under the dim candlelight, when I was supposed to be spooked from the presence of ghosts. I looked back at the board. My mouth went dry as it went to the third letter.

”Sam,” Colby mumbled in caution.

”It said stop.”

”Do you want us to close off this session?” Sam asked.

The planchette slowly made its way over to No.

”No?” He asked. “Do you want us to ask other questions…” His voice trailed off as the planchette moved on it’s own towards the letters again.

”I never asked,” Colby grumbled in frustration. “Is there a message you have for us?” The planchette went back to Yes.

We were quiet.

W E L C O—

“Are you spelling welcome?” Sam asked. The planchette went to Yes.

B A—

“Are you telling us ‘welcome back’ again?” The planchette pointed to No. “Who are you saying…”

Not this again. My tears burned my eyes this time, and they were glossy when I blinked.

What did it mean? What did welcome back mean? This spirit said Colby was here before death and then told me—

”Are you telling Colby, ‘welcome back?’”

The plachette landed on Yes, and I almost broke the rules and yanked my fingers from the board.

Then it started to spell out my name.

”No, no, no; don’t do that,” I cried.

“Stay on,” Sam said sweetly. “It’s okay—We—I think we’re done here. I…”

”What the hell is it spelling now?” Seth asked.

”Are you giving us another name?” Sam asked.

The planchette was determined to finish this word.

”Are you going to spell the name of the person who murdered you?” He pressed on.

”I…” Colby mumbled. I looked up and watched the words die in his throat. He, too, looked all too pale, and with the red and blue rem lights on him, they reflected his glassy eyes. I watched his throat; it was work for him to swallow.

Was he actually going to cry?

”Is someone remembering—“

”I know what it’s spelling,” Colby choked out. That was when Sam shut up and examined his best friend.

“Soul-ties,” Seth whispered. It was like realization settled in for him as well, becasue the way his eyes widened and darted between Colby and I made me wish for the ground to swallow me up whole.

The planchette circled three times on the board for us.

“It—The ghosts just called you two soul-ties.”

Our fingers were off of it.

”Thank you for—“

”Colby,” I mumbled as he shot up. Sam closed out the seance just as Colby left the safety of our circle. I followed him out of the salt line and into the dimly lit hallway. “Colby.” He ignored me as he hesitantly made his way down the stairs. ”Colby,” I repeated firmer. “Colby, don’t leave me,” I choked. He stopped and looked up to where I was at the top of the stairs.

I walked down to him, and I swore, another life flashed before my eyes.

I didn’t know the man who stood in front of me, but I knew his eyes.

I didn’t know the blue dress on my body, but it was my body.

I looked back at Colby as I made it to the first floor. He didn’t take his gaze off of me for a second.

”Oh my god,” Seth gasped as he ran a hand through his hair. “Before death, you were here. The ghost welcomed her back. “She—Miss Johnson literally just called you two soul-ties! It’s—oh my god—is reincarnation real?”

The daunting, jarring, death defying truth hung over us like a black cloud. The five of us looked at each other.

”What the fuck are we going to put in the video? Have you even been recording Sam?” Sam checked his camera even thoguh he looked so far from himself.

“Yes,” he stuttered. “I-I have no idea what we’re going to say.”

”We can’t just tell them that reincarnation is real because we literally went to the house our best friend's owned in their past lives—“

“Shut up,” Colby burst out. “Just stop. Let us-Let us think for a second. Don’t say shit like that.” I looked at him. Offense must have been prevalent. “We-We need to fucking talk or something, I know-I know the whole reincarnation thing is insane, but this-this is still our fucking lives too.”

”Yeah, no,” Seth sighed. “Totally. I know. Maybe we should pause for the night and chill out. Maybe we can take naps and order food.”

”You think they DoorDash here?” Sam scoffed at Nate.

“I mean we can try.”

”I’m probably going to have to go pick it—“

I appreciated Sam diverting the attention from me and Colby, and he led the other two towards the kitchen. Colby didn’t take his eyes off of me.

”How believable is this for you?” I whispered. He only swallowed, blinked quickly. I wiped the tears from my face with the back of my sleeve, and then I paused when I noticed tear tracks on Colby’s face as well. “Let’s…” I started cautiously. Colby’s eyes slowly widened, but he didn’t stop me when I raised my hand to his face and wiped the last tears away. “Let’s just finish this investigation. Debrief, and we can sort things out later. We don’t want this video to go to waste.” He nodded but didn’t pull away from me. I couldn’t stop touching him either.

Forty minutes later, Sam and Colby came back with the food they picked up.

Seth offered to go with Sam, but Colby pressed that he could do it. Seth didn’t fight it; we all knew. I would have done anything to be a fly on the wall of that car. What did they talk about? They had so much time to be alone.

“I’m sorry for how this night turned out if it freaked you out or anything,” Seth said as he sat next to me on the sofa. I shook my head.

”No, I mean, yeah it’s weird. I’m not upset or anything,” I rushed. It felt nice that one of them started the conversation. Nate came into the room with bottles of water and gave one to each of us as well. He sat in the chair to my right. “I feel like I’m at the point now where I’m gaslighting myself. Like did it actually happen or there has to be some kind of explanation.” Nate nodded in agreement.

”Yeah, that seriously hits us hard everytime we finish an investigation, but then we pull out the footage and it’s like reliving it a second time. The moments that literally have no other explanation are a lot more easy to believe when it’s watched back because it’s like reconfirming in your head that it was real, you did see it, and you know it wasn’t staged or anything,” he said.

”I just feel like this is different,” I muttered.

”It really is,” Seth agreed. “I know it’s a lot more personal for you and Colby, but imagine if the Estes method session and the seance we did really was real; what does that have to say for the rest of the world? If it was real and we were talking to the real ghost of Miss Johnson, and she literally called you and Colby out by name and basically told you that you two lived here in your past lives; what the fuck does that mean for the rest of us?”

”Reincarnation could literally be real!” Nate gasped. “That’s such an insane thing to claim in a video! Wars literally start over religion.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m just fucking relieved that I’m not the one who has to edit this post it.” We laughed at his joke because that was very much so fair. But my smile slowly fell.

Nate was right; he didn’t have to edit this footage. Sam and Colby would have to.

Colby would edit this footage and he would be the one to ultimately decide what to do or say. That terrified me. I felt bad for him, because clearly both he and Sam were stressed as hell if they took an hour break by themselves. Sure, they picked up food for all of us, but they still went off alone and during a tense time.

What did they talk about?

Over dinner—or a 4am breakfast, I wasn’t quite sure anymore—we discussed what to do next. Maybe we got information about reincarnation and soul ties, but that wasn’t what we were here for.

”I just know we haven’t gotten anything about the murder,” I said in between bites.

“That’s true,” Seth said. “Are you guys up to trying more?” He looked up at Sam and Colby, but his gaze lingered on Colby more.

”I am,” he said and then looked around.

“Yeah, we definitely should try again to see if we can find out who killed her,” I said. Colby looked me in the eyes for the first time since the car ride with Sam.

A gentleness was in his eyes, and it replaced the fear and frantic thoughts. I needed to know what was said. Later. We would figure it out later.

”Awesome, would you guys be up for trying it in the dressing room again or should we try something down here?”

”Let’s try down here,” Seth answered Sam. “Clearly Miss Johnson is very active in the dressing room and she didn’t have much else to say other than what she already has. Maybe we can try to get another spirit.”

”But she’s the one who would know who killed her,” Colby said.

”I mean, they might have ghost meetings or something, I don’t fucking know. Also we’re close to the portal so maybe we can talk to another ghost not attached to the house.”

”Seth, if you want to go flirt with demons again, you could just say it,” Nate jeered.

”Shut the fuck up.”

It was settled.

We placed the music box in the vortex and the rem pod on the other side of the house in between the sitting room and the back door. We left the backdoor open. The winter chill brushed in, and the clean air filtered that scent of familiarity lodged in my palate if only for a moment.

It happened quickly.

Since Miss Johnson was a medium, it was easy for her to communicate with us with each method. Within 30 minutes, we talked to multiple ghosts and narrowed down a few names that Angie talked to us about before. We all believed it was one of the maids close to Ada who murdered Miss Johnson for speaking about the baby.

The maid knew that William and Ada had a baby too early; there wasn’t enough time in between their wedding and when the baby was born, so everyone would have known they would have had her before getting married. On top of that, due to the dangerous position he was in at his job, it made them a target. Because of everything, they kept the baby a secret and safe in the house. Even though she was presumably safe in the house, she was still murdered by someone.

Miss Johnson told us that Ada believed it was someone in the house, but not too long after the child passed, William did as well. There wasn’t enough time between either death; she couldn’t figure out who did it, so she fired all of the servants in the house aside for her closest and personal maid. She wasn’t a part of the scheming.

When Miss Johnson came to work at the estate, it had been 20 years after William and the baby passed. They did a good job covering up the fact that they had a child and the fact that she was murdered under their own roof. Until Miss Johnson arrived.

”You’re telling me,” Seth started with a deep laugh of disbelief laced in his tone. He leaned forward in his seat. I sat on the sofa next to Nate who had his head leaned back on the rest, eyes closed, and arms folded—we couldn’t tell if he was asleep or not but we didn’t disturb him—and Sam and Colby did the Estes method in the middle of the sitting room. “That she literally outed a secret they had to keep in order to not lose everything they had? And she didn’t know?”

“Someone poisoned Will too; that’s what had to have happened. There were too many suspicious things happening for us to not rule that out,” Colby said.

“Ada was still alive and the maid still worked there,” Seth went on. “Which means that unless it was someone outside of the house, which looks very unlikely, it was the maid.”

”Or Ada herself,” Colby said quietly. His eyes were on me. My throat went dry.

“Ada…” Seth said. Nate was suddenly awake.

”Ada herself killed Miss Johnson?” Sam asked. He still wiped the tears from his eyes from coming out of the headphones and blindfold.

The rem pod and the music box shilled to life.

I was pushed too far, worn too thin. The bathroom was too far. I was out of my seat and down the wooden stairs of the patio out back before I could blink. By the time I finished getting sick, Colby was behind me. I saw a flash of Sam on the patio before my tear filled eyes looked up at Colby.

He didn’t blink. There was no real expression on his face aside from his attentive eyes. Then he slowly nodded. Tongue dampened his lips in thought

“Ada stabbed Miss Johnson 36 times because…” His words faded. I wondered how I looked. I could feel how pale I was.

”Inside—Come inside guys,” Sam rushed with a nervous shake in his voice. It was freezing out here. Colby didn’t even flinch.

The words went unsaid but not unnoticed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

”No, no,” Colby said gently to Sam as he turned back to the house. The grass poked my ankles over my vans and my socks soaked up the early morning dew. My eyes scanned the fields. The water over a hundred yards from us was still as a mirror; the faded starlight bounced off. The sky already reflected a lighter blue. “It’s not you at all. Hold on a second.”

Sam went back into the house. They left the door open. Colby turned to me.

”Reincarnation isn’t real, Colby,” I muttered roughly. An eyebrow shot up.

”Yeah,” he scoffed. “You believe it isn’t real now but only because you think you wouldn’t murder anyone.”

“It-It wasn’t me—“

”Maybe, but in this lifetime, your daughter wasn’t murdered in front of you.” Chills fell down my body like a cold rain when he spoke those words. I couldn’t look away from him even as the tears broke. “And your husband wasn’t poisoned right after.”

“Fuck,” I gasped breathlessly. “This is real, isn’t it?” Colby swallowed. His eyes scanned the expanse of land around us. It took a while, and the more seconds that passed, the more I knew it confirmed my statement.

”Do you not remember running across this grass and jumping in the lake?”

Like a train engine, the memory crashed into me and I almost fell off my feet. The hot Texas summer sun burned my skin, but I kept my eyes on… a man. Colby; his eyes looked back at me, and before I could drown in them, we broke the surface of the water.

I looked at Colby in front of me. Moonlight reflected in his expectant eyes.

The seconds ticked by. I could feel them in the warming wind, in the dimming stars.

”Who’s going to believe us?”

That morning, as we met in a diner with coffees and a basket of fries since we weren’t hungry enough for a full meal yet, I tried my hardest to debrief and be in the conversations with the boys. But how could I? Information was revealed and things happened with no other explanation tonight, and Colby’s silence was telling. Did he believe it? Or did he not want to?

The others must have felt the tension and thank god they didn’t feel awkward and carried the conversation easily.

I wasn’t ready for confrontation. Thinking about where I stood with Colby by myself in my own head was enough confrontation. Of course Sam didn’t realize. Or maybe he did and that was why when we got back to the hotel—when the sunlight shot across the awakening city and burned our night infested eyes—he finally mentioned the elephant in the room.

”Honestly,” he mumbled as we neared the elevator. Nate and Seth were ahead of us speaking quietly. Colby slowly looked at him, and I avoided his gaze because it was too serious. All knowing. “I’ll stay with Nate and Seth tonight.”

I wanted to scream no please don’t leave me but another terrifying feeling pulled my other arm.

”Okay,” Colby simply said and that was that.

A well of excitement and fear and curiosity overflowed within me.

The three boys got off first and thank the heavens the other two didn’t mention Sam getting off with them. The elevator doors shut, and before they sealed, I stole one more glance at Sam who looked back at me already. His comforting eyes warmed my entire body and then Colby and I were alone.

I wasn’t breaking the silence until he did.

We left the elevator—only two floors from the other three—and I decided it was the longest elevator ride I had ever taken. My vision pounded with anticipation as we neared our room. He unlocked the door and led me inside.

I recoiled at the ever soft gleam in his eyes. I tried to forget that it looked like it was work for him to turn away from me.

“Let’s-Let’s just relax first.” I nodded. Maybe I couldn’t break the silence. At least I knew that he wanted to have the conversation with me.

I washed my makeup off. Colby brushed his teeth. We both stood at the double sinks. It took everything within me to not glance at his reflection. I saw the tension under his skin. Maybe he fought the feeling as well. Or maybe he felt my tension. He couldn’t be uncomfortable alone with me, no. He would have told Sam not to leave.

My throat tangled within itself when Colby walked from the bathroom into the bedroom and took his shirt off at the same time. I looked back at my reflection and thank god he continued around the corner to his luggage so that he wouldn’t see my wide eyes glaze over.

Either the universe is out for blood or Colby sent a message with that move.

After I braided my hair, I too left the bathroom and flicked off the lights. The silence was comfortable but it wasn’t peaceful. Intangible questions netted between us, I knew that much, and from the way his eyes narrowed on the things he messed with in his backpack as I took off my clothes, I wondered how much speaking we could get done tonight. Unless we could communicate without words. Maybe I got ahead of myself.

I didn’t even think about facing him at all. Everyone changed in front of each other—at least just shirts and pants—like it was a regular thing. It was a regular thing for us, but this was substantially above that. The intimacy shook my breath and I hoped he didn’t hear the way my breath hitched as I pulled on an oversized shirt to sleep in.

He charged camera batteries while replacing them with new batteries and SD cards. He didn’t go over footage with me like he typically did. When was this ever a typical night though?

I stood on my side of the bed after plugging in my phone, and I must have felt him turn towards me because I too faced him. He was on the other side of the bed. As badly as I wanted to look away from his eyes—as badly as I wanted to gaze down the rest of his body—I kept my focus on the way his eyes didn’t defocus from mine.

“How do you feel?” I could curl up in his voice forever if he always spoke that way to me. I nodded my head before I replied.

”Fine, I’m-I’m fine.” He nodded.

”Tonight was a lot.” I nodded again.

”It was.”

”Are you upset?” I shook my head. I wished I could speak. I wanted to, so badly, but not a constructive word came to me. “I—I had no idea—“

”It’s okay,” I rushed out. “Are you upset?’

”No,” he quickly said. “Not at all.”

My heart leapt.

“Every time you spoke, the ghosts in the house freaked out. You were like-like a beacon for me, or something.” I recounted the events that took place. It was true. When I spoke, noises happened. Ada touched my hair. When I spoke, the devices were loud.

With him, I wondered what would happen in the future. Who else could aid him like I could?

”Come here.” I walked over to his side of the bed. His eyes were on my body, I felt the heaviness, but I didn’t look up to him. I would have fallen. Then I looked up to him and stood there. He looked back at me but didn’t say anything.

When his hand reached up and touched my face, I needed to make sure he wouldn’t panic and pull away so I leaned into it. He released a heavy breath.

“I…” He stopped himself.

Then he said my name.

”Say whatever you want,” I told him. I needed him to say it. Say anything at all; I didn’t care how cut-throat it was. I needed everything aired out.

“I didn’t,” he shook his head. “I thought I was crazy for feeling like I already knew you when I met you for the first time.”

The walls crumbled around me. I couldn’t catch my breath. I didn’t like how much time I wasted and left his words alone in the air.

“Colby—“

”You don’t—I know—you don’t have to feel—”

”No, Colby, that’s—I was trying to ignore it all this time.” Realization washed over him and I couldn’t stop from smiling.

”You-You feel the same way then?” I nodded quickly.

“Did you think I would have reacted the way I did when that board said we were soultied? You remembered the memory I had of us in the lake, right? Why do you think I’m on the verge of believing it?” An uneven breath escaped from his mouth as if he held onto it for too long.

With a shake of the head, he grabbed my face, and kissed me. The intensity of it all was unbearable. I couldn’t hold my ground, not when it felt like all our pieces fit together for the first time.

My hands grabbed him. It was so hard to hold onto him when he didn’t wear a shirt. I wanted him in every way, and I knew he wanted me, but how fast was too fast? So I wrapped my arms around his neck. If I grabbed him anywhere else, I knew it would be the end.

It would be a death wish because after he touched me once, only death could separate us.

“Do you even know?” His voice—a quiet breath that sent chills across my heated skin—knocked the wind out of me. How was the room so silent? The pounding of my heart could have filled its walls. “You know how hard it was for me to not kiss you everytime I just—god—I just fucking looked at you?” I swallowed tightly at the confession. His hands on my face held me, and he still pressed kisses to my mouth, across my face. It was hard to stay still. How could we when this realization was bone deep?

Even if I didn’t know whether or not I believed in reincarnation, the desperation in my fascia was evident enough.

”And even if it would have ruined what we had already, it would have been worth it.”

“How do you know I didn’t want you back?” I gasped when his lips slipped down my throat. He laughed.

”I thought you could have, but I definitely didn’t want to risk it.” I kissed him this time, and he gasped with the amount of force I used against him. His arms fell down my body and held me so tightly he lifted me.

”I didn’t realize I needed you,” I gasped.

“I need you too. You think I’ll be able to continue doing what we do without you? You—We literally share the share the same soul. You’re the part of me that I’m not.”

“So you’re the part of me I’m not?” My voice broke when he let go of me.

”Come on.” I could have collapsed into that dark tone. He spun around so that his back was to the bed and he pulled me onto his lap. His eyes were wide and beckoning; I rested my arms around his neck, and I couldn’t even lean in to kiss him. I sat there as his hands raced up my back without even pulling me.

He must have seen it too; something in me that was similar to what I saw in him.

He kissed me first, but I pushed him down. I needed him so close to me that I probably wouldn't be satisfied until the laws of physics were broken. The first time I rolled my hips into his, he left out a satisfied hum, and his hands moved to my hips and guided them back and forth gently.

I knew we still had clothes on, so how did it feel this good? I tried to kiss him but I couldn’t. My hand was still on his face, thumb linked under his chin now, and I couldn’t help myself. My other hand slipped down his skin and touched every inch of it that was exposed. My legs were so weak I should have fallen to my front already, but he held me up. As much as I moved, and as much as I touched him, he had control. He held me, moved me, kissed me, tasted me, and let me have my fun.

Or maybe he was as stretched thin as I. Maybe he needed this like I did, and maybe no one had the control or the fun. I didn’t do anything except follow his lead just as he followed mine. When I kissed him, he kissed back. When I pulled his pants off, my shirt hit the floor with them.

My body vibrated above him. It wasn’t a secret. Now that I was fully uncovered aside from my underwear, he could see it, not just feel it. I didn’t think twice about not wearing a bra to sleep even if I shared a room with the boys because never in their lives have they given me a reason to distrust them or doubt them. But now, a heated blush fell down my face and neck as I sat above him exposed.

“Here—“ His breathless voice made my heart jump again. His hand lowered in between my legs, and my eyes closed quickly or else he would have seen them roll back. “Does it feel good, baby?”

“Colby,” I moaned. He closed his eyes, and again, his body tensed under his skin. I didn’t realize how much of an effect I had on him. “You-You really want to do this? Now?” Then his eyes snapped open with caution.

”Do you not want to?” I shook my head quickly.

”No, I do. I really want to. I just didn’t know if it was too fast.”

”It’s not too fast for me. I’ve wanted you for so long. If it’s too fast for you then we don’t—“

”No, it’s not.” He smiled; eyebrows twinged with confusion.

”Then why did you say that?”

“I’m not sure.” His eyes fell down my body. Fingers played with my braid that now loosely hung over my shoulder.

”Did someone say something?”

”No,” I gasped. Because it slowly crept up on me. “I think-I think I’m so scared.” His eyes snapped back up to mine.

”Of what?”

”How much I feel for you. I need you, Colby, and if either of us fucks this up I—I don’t know what I’d do.” He shook his head.

”I can’t—There’s no doubt in my mind that we won’t work out.”

“How can you be so sure?” He hesitated. Wetted his lips.

”Did you not see how much I believed it as well? I didn’t even question it.” My eyes widened. He was the only thing in the room. Everything around us faded to black; only him. “Did you-Did you not feel the same way I did in that house?” I shook my head quickly.

”No-No, I did. I felt—I didn’t think you did.”

”Fuck,” he gasped, I forgot I still grinded down on him. “I-I felt it immediately when we walked in.”

”Me too.”

I broke eye contact first. And it was an accident. I couldn’t simply be on top of him like this, both of us half naked, and not take in his appearance. His hands replaced themselves on my hips as my hands dragged across his skin.

“Fuck—“ I heard him gasp and I looked back at him. His eyes closed and lips parted with pleasure. So of course I thrusted my hips again and again. I would do anything to see that face as long as possible.

“Need to feel you,” I whined as my fingers pushed past the band of his underwear.

”You already can.” I glared at him. A stupid smile pulled at his dark lips.

”I want you in me.” He couldn’t joke anymore. That smile fell and he didn’t break eye contact as we pulled his underwear off. I said I needed to see that face as much as possible.

He gasped and moaned my name sweetly as his head tipped back. I stroked him slowly and watched every expression across his face. I couldn’t look away; at that point, it became an addiction.

”Come on,” he moaned. He lifted himself up again. “Take—Let me take this off.” His hands were rougher. This time my body tensed when he touched me. His hands yanked down my underwear and he quickly tugged me back on his lap.

He stayed sitting still and his hands held my hips in place.

”Want you to ride me baby, can you do that?”

“Yes—“ I didn’t mean to whine, to sound so out of it already, but I couldn’t believe what was happening. I couldn’t believe it had gotten to this point; that this was our reality now. He was my reality now, and nothing could tear him from it.

My arms rested around his neck as he looked up at me. I was glad I could hold myself up; his hands found my hips and moved my body because I was so far gone from myself. The second I felt him against me, I pulled my hips back so that I could grind on him and not let him slip inside yet.

“Oh my god,” he gasped as his eyes closed in surprise. My moans mixed with his as he guided me against him. Everytime he tried to take me further, I pulled away. I knew it was mean, maybe a little fun to tease him, but it felt too good to not drag it out for a little while. “Come on,” he whispered.

”Impatient?” I asked. He glared up at me.

”Could you imagine if this was all real for a second?” I tried. But then he went on: “If it is true and we’re soul tied and reincarnation is real, that means I haven’t fucked you for like 160 years or something—“

”Oh my god!” I burst out laughing. “Not you trying to use the soul tie to get inside me—Colby!”

It felt like the wind was knocked out of me when he pulled me down on him. My hands held onto him, neck and arm, as he filled me to the brim. His eyes carefully watched my face even as I writhed with pleasure.

“Oh my god, holy fuck—“ The words poured out of me laced with my moans, and he moaned loudly as he grabbed my hips and moved me up and down with him. I held his face with my hands so that he couldn’t look away, and I had no capacity to kiss him, so my thumb pulled at his bottom lip. He looked up at me like he was glued to me; completely hexed in my gaze.

Finally coming to my senses again, I rolled my hips against him, and his eyes rolled back.

”Baby,” he sighed. “You feel so damn good,” his moan broke into uneven laughs.

”You feel better,” I whispered. “Look so good.”

“Fuck, I need you.”

”I know,” I whined. “I need you harder.”

The words were hardly off my tongue when he flipped me over. I squealed when my back hit the bedding. He stood to the floor and pressed my knees back. Fire spread through my body when he thrusted against me. I tried to look down and watch when he drenched his tip through my fluids and teased me to hell and back.

”No, please inside—“

”Are you so impatient? It feels so good, doesn’t it?” Humiliation welled in my stomach at the disgustingly sweet tone in his voice. His fingers gouged into the flesh of my legs, and I held onto the blankets below me.

”Please, need you—”

”You sound so sweet for me, baby,” he teased with a light tone. “Did you not just do this to me?”

”Now am I supposed to tell you that I’ve waited for a hundred years for you to be inside—“ The wind was knocked out of me again when he thrusted inside of me, as deep as he could. “Colby,” I whispered his name. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t moan or say anything at all.

”Oh my—“ his eyes rolled back and he gasped another moan. Maybe his fingers left bruises in between my thighs, and maybe they even bled into crescent moons, but I didn’t care. The pain grounded me and reminded me that he was real. He was here for me, with me, in me; something inside of me screamed finally.

”Mine,” I gasped. I didn't know where it came from. A kind of primal possession washed over me when I looked at him. His eyebrows raised in surprise.

”What?” He gasped. “Mine? You think I’m yours, baby?”

”Yes—“ I coughed. “I’m yours.” He breathlessly moaned and leaned over me.

”Yeah, you’re mine too,” he groaned and kissed me bitterly. His teeth, his tongue, his lips burned as I bit back. And his hand found my throat. It was so difficult for both of us at this angle, and with a frustrated groan, he pulled back, grabbed me by the thighs again and lifted me to lay back on the pillows normally.

I gasped as I hit the bed, my hands still holding onto him. One of my legs hooked over his arm as his other hand held my throat again. It didn’t hurt, I could still breathe and see; it was to anchor my gaze on his.

“Mine,” he whispered. “You’re so mine, mine forever.”

He didn’t stop. It built and built under my skin until I had to close my eyes. My fingers made marks in his skin everywhere I touched him. I needed to curl up under his skin, I needed to be closer even if it was impossible.

“Yeah, are you baby?” I didn’t even realize I moaned still. It wound up inside of me, and he undid me faster than I could hold onto. “Want to come with me?”

”Please—“ I gasped and my eyes opened. He kissed me, his lips breaking skin below my chin, down my neck. “Close,” I said. It must have been a repeat.

”Oh my god, I’m going to,” he warned, and my hands found his neck, his hair again. I looked down between us, and his hand grabbed onto my waist. I was suffocated with the view of our bodies together, and I couldn’t even blink as he lost himself inside of me.

”Colby—“ I gasped, and so powerfully, my climax also came over me. He gasped and hesitated at the pressure, and he held me down to keep himself up. “No,” I somehow whined through my pleasure. I grabbed him and brought him down on me. I needed him close.

And he slowed.

My nails tore across the skin of his back, not enough to leave marks anymore, but enough for us to feel. Then, when he caught his breath, he left gentle kisses across my skin. I gasped as he slowly pulled out of me.

He grabbed a towel from the bathroom before he sat in between my legs.

”Colby—“ I went to stop him, but as he cleaned me, he kissed down my thigh. I hummed with satisfaction as he touched me, loved me.

”I’m still unsure if this is real or not,” he said when he raised to his knees again.

”Yeah,” I sighed a heavy breath. “Me too. If,” I let my mind wander. “If we’re soul tied, what does that mean for us? How easy for us will it be to communicate with spirits, then?” His eyes clicked up to me.

“That’s-That’s really interesting, actually. We need to test it out. As far as I saw today, though, when you were there, you like ushered in the most activity.”

“It could just be because I shared the same spirit with one of the ghosts there.” His eyes brows relaxed in thought. Then, they drifted back up to me.

”If it is real and we aren’t insane, then that means you brutally murdered a woman for me and our baby.” My eyes relaxed and glazed over. I watched him and my heart skipped a hot beat in my chest.

Him, our baby.

”And I’d do it again.”

✧˖*°࿐

Taglist (Comment to be added):

@a-random-google-user

@graceciesiels22

@honestlybabymiracle

#sam and colby #colby brock #sam golbach #18+ only #minors dni #colby brock smut #colby brock x reader #rosie writings #rosie hub #soulmates #soul ties #doppleganger #ouija board #reincarnation

574 notes · View notes

softlyspector · 9 months

Text

Honeyed

Summary: You hate being touched, but you might be willing to put aside your discomfort for a tattoo from Joel.

Pairing: tattoo artist!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~11.7k

Warnings: slow build, no outbreak tattoo!au, reader has issues with touch and is mostly touch adverse, tattoos and getting tattooed (the reader only has one tattoo that is described in any detail), description of a past abusive relationship and a bad experience getting tattooed, insecurity, anxiety, loneliness, implied undefined past trauma with men, Joel gets to have both his daughters in this

A/N: We're ignoring canon and pretending like Joel can draw for this fic, thank you. I love this fic with everything I am and hope you all like it too. I'm trying something new with this header because none of the gif were giving me what I wanted, so I hope its not too cringe as I am not an aesthetic girlie. Thank you for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts! Please please please, be sure to leave feedback!

Summer is at its peak when you first happen by Joel Miller's tattoo studio.

The sky is a jewel bright, cerulean blue, the shining yellow saturation of the sun blurring the air around you in a washed out haze that reminds you of childhood summers past.

Main Street’s sidewalk is hot enough to fry an egg, hot enough to boil soup. It sends shimmering waves up from the asphalt. Blinding sunshine pierces through the tired trees that line the road, undulating waves of emerald green and twinkling golden light shifting over the pavement. The leaves wilt in the heat. A single cloud floats on the sky’s horizon.

The sun feels nice, maybe a little like you’re baking alive, but you don’t mind it. When you suck in a deep breath of that sun warmed air, you feel at home—it tastes like dust and heat and the slightly floral desert bloom.

The town, just a couple hours outside Austin, already feels more like home to you than the city ever did. It’s idyllic, lush with shaded parks, an ice cream parlor and a coffee shop, plenty of restaurants and food trucks, a walkable little main thoroughfare not far from your apartment above a bookstore.

It’s more than idyllic; it feels like a town straight out of a novel. Quiet and quaint and safe.

And, apparently, it has a tiny tattoo studio that you’d somehow missed on all your walks through town.

The shop looks a bit rustic—all raw wood tones and metal—but the art that hangs in the front windows is beautiful. Paintings that seem to be for sale hang next to artfully taken photos of healed tattoos.

You step closer, pressing a hand over your brow to block out part of the glare that rains down from the sky in glimmering waves.

The lone cloud in the sky slides over the sun in what feels like a moment of divine intervention, just for you, so you can see the displayed art properly.

It’s lovely, and your skin begins to itch and tingle with a need you know well. You know exactly what you’d ask for, from the hand of the person who’d created that which hangs in the front window.

You want—need—another tattoo. You need this person’s art to live on your skin, to make a home there.

You step back from the glass as the cloud drifts on and the sun reveals itself again, perfect golden rays slipping over your exposed skin. The world seems to filter back in to you then. The heat of the day, the hush of the breeze that does nothing to cool the air, the sweat gathering at the base of your throat.

Children shriek at the park a block over, splashing in the fountain at the center of it all, parents reclined on benches in the sun, cold lemonade close at hand. The scent of sugar and sun and fried food burns through the air.

The buzzing need only increases as you note the name of the shop and move on to the record store and then the clothing boutique, your mind still hovering in front of the studio.

As much as you would have liked to just burst in, you want more than what a walk-in appointment could probably get you. That, and you needed to do some research about the place before you decided, no matter how much your skin itched with want.

To your dismay, the tattoo shop seems to only have one artist, though it shouldn’t have surprised you, considering the size of the shop. It’s tiny and you doubt there was room for more than one artist to comfortably work there.

A fairly new instagram account lists his name as Joel Miller, owner of, and soul artist at, the studio you had passed. The shop doesn’t seem to have a website, but the few google reviews that it does have are all glowingly positive.

Bookings appear to be wide open according to the instagram bio, but a different kind of itch crawls under your skin at the thought of being tattooed by another man. Your stomach goes foamy, gives an uncomfortable lurch, at the thought of any man at all having to touch you.

You scroll through the few posts that have made their way onto the account, the last dated two days ago. And, for the first time in years, you feel the need for this person’s art on your skin begin to outweigh your aversion to touch.

There are no pictures of Joel Miller, just his art, though some of the posts give glimpses of strong hands and thick forearms. Despite yourself, arousal pools in your belly at the sight. A few scars run beneath the wiry black hair on his arms, thick veins snake beneath his skin to collect in rough, strong hands that speak to hard labor. It makes you wonder if he’d always been a tattoo artist or if he’d made a career change at some point.

Some of the captions on the posts make you snort and you have to wonder if he runs the account himself. You somehow can’t picture the owner of those hands typing out the cheesy, often pun filled, lines.

You ruminate on it for weeks, passing by the shop anytime you have to walk through town to admire the ever changing line up of photos and art pieces hung in the windows. The second week a drawing of a doe appears among the photos and paintings—big eyes wide, ears alert as she looks over her shoulder, surrounded by a thick forest bright with sun and shadow. Bumblebees hover around her alert ears.

She looks familiar but you can’t quite place why.

Sometimes you go out of your way to pass by, just to check out the new photos, even making a day of it, buying yourself an expensive iced coffee and lingering far too long in front of the window, just looking, pretending like the small shop doesn’t take up your every thought.

You spend each evening hoping for a new post to the shop’s instagram page, hoping, too, that the new post contains glimpses of more than Joel Miller’s hands.

The man remains an enigma, a mystery, and if he’s ever in the shop when you stand in the window, you never see him. You convince yourself that if you could just get a glance at him, you’d know. You’d know if you could handle being tattooed by him.

You find yourself rolling your eyes at yourself often. You avoid hugs with friends, cringe your way through having anyone unfamiliar do your hair, tense at casual accidental touch. Phantom echoes of pain and want twin themselves around your heart, slide thick and cloying around your chest, breaking your breath from your body.

It’s inexplicable, how much you crave touch and fear it. It’s terrifying, how you wonder what Joel’s hands would feel like.

Probably it would feel like everyone else’s touch always has. Like your skin is too tight, like your heart might stop beating, like there’s something wrong with you for feeling like prey near capture, like the soft press of another person's hand might start burning.

One hot afternoon, you finally find out what Joel looks like.

The heat is relentless that day as it has been for weeks, the ice cream you’d stopped for at the local parlor rapidly melting as you completed your, now weekly, routine of stopping by the tattoo studio. As unbearable as the heat is, you somehow still find it blissful. On this day, a young woman stands outside the shop cleaning the front window. The door is propped open, frigidly cold air swirling out onto the street.

“Sarah?” A voice calls from within, graveled and gruff and warm. “You ‘bout finished up out there? We need to get goin’. Tommy’s waitin’.”

The girl, who could only be Sarah, turns away from the window, swiping a few errant strands of her hair away from her forehead, her opposite hand anchoring on her hip as she answers back.

You don’t catch her response, too distracted trying to glimpse the man just inside the door.

All you’re able to see for a moment is a crop of dark hair laced with a fine sprinkling of gray before his broad shoulders that test the strength of the t-shirt he wears comes into view. Dark wash jeans fit snugly around his thighs and narrow hips, worn but well kept boots on his feet. He’s certainly handsome and looks rugged, and that both scares you and thrills you.

When you glance back up to his face, you meet his eyes. The slash of sun, a spinning shard of light falls over his gaze when he pokes his head out the door. In the warmth of the Texas sun, his eyes are cast in honeyed tones. The man you know must be Joel Miller smiles at you, one forearm lifting to brace against the doorway, the lines by his eyes crinkling up. His beard is threaded with that attractive gray too.

“Howdy,” he says and he looks like he means to say more, but something seizes your throat and you avert your eyes and keep walking, barely managing to nod back politely. You don’t dare to breathe until you’re well past his shop.

It takes you two blocks to realize the ice cream in your fist had melted over the edge of the cup and dripped over your fingers and that the man whose art you’ve been lusting over for weeks is just as pretty as his hands.

Joel noticed you the first day you lingered outside his studio.

He’d watched you cup a hand over your eyes, squinting against the glare of the sun. Your nose had scrunched up too as you gazed in at what was hung in the window.

A curl of nervousness that he couldn’t exactly place had settled hard in his gut. But you just looked, eyes filled with wonder as honeyed sunshine fell in drafts around you. He half expected a colony of bees to buzz around you, like some long forgotten god.

You’d reminded him then of a deer caught by surprise, big eyes and searching gaze pulling him in, something skittish and troublesome looming around you.

It wasn’t in Joel’s nature to bother folks on the street anyway, but he suspected if he even cracked the door open you’d go flying down the street in a cloud of warmed sun, just like a deer that hears the first snap of a branch under a hunter’s foot.

Eventually you’d moved on, and he’d tried not to feel too bad about it, not that he had any real reason to.

His hand had itched as you walked away, to pick up a paint brush or a pencil or a whittling knife.

To his surprise, you start coming back all the time. A least once a week, and sometimes it seemed like you came by just to come by, like you didn’t have any other reason to be out.

His girls notice, too, when they visit because of course they do.

Sarah is kinder about it than Ellie who tells him to man up and talk to you.

He just tells her to mind her own business, watching you look at the things he’d created with wonder and reverence. It flatters him, really, makes an embarrassing blush he’ll never admit to heat his chest. He considers himself a pretty average artist.

But each time he thinks about following Ellie’s advice, he sees your doe eyes and knows he’d frighten you.

There’s a drawing that hangs in the window now—several actually—of a doe with wide, curious eyes, not necessarily afraid but cautious. He can’t seem to stop painting, drawing, whittling deer.

One deer really, a very particular doe that bees seemed to want to follow.

He wonders if you know that that painting in the front window is of you, if you recognize yourself. You surely don’t, because you keep coming by.

“Since when are you so obsessed with deer?” Sarah asks one evening. The light has faded from the sky in an orange and red blaze, the close blanket of night wreathing the street outside, street lamps buzzing haloing yellow light in patches down the sidewalk.

“Always liked deer,” he comments, mumbling it more than anything.

Sarah rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

He’s right not to disturb you though. The day he finally gets the chance to say hello to you, when Sarah had insisted on washing the front window free of the accumulated summer dust despite his protests that he would do it, fear darts behind your eyes, nervousness seizing your shoulders. You don’t so much as look at him, head ducked, feet carrying you swiftly down the road away from him.

A thread of worry that you’d stop coming by wrapped around his chest until the next week when you’d again lodged yourself in the window, peering in at the ever rotating catalog of his work.

He figures that’s fine for now.

He’d rather you be there, unreachable on the other side of the glass, than have you disappear entirely.

You are a creature of distrust. Of longing and starved skin, of loneliness and want. You aren’t sure where those things begin and you end, you aren’t sure where it started. Maybe you had been born that way, shoved onto the Earth and into existence with a mistrust of the world that shaped you into an infinitely lonely thing, an incredibly wary thing.

There’s always been something missing inside you, that might let you bridge that chasm inside you, climb to the other side and put yourself in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t burn the path behind you.

Maybe you are skittish and adverse to touch by nature. Maybe it started when you were a kid, with your parents who have never been tactile, not even when you were a child, not even when you were hurt or in pain.

But you aren’t sure, you have never been sure.

What you do know is that it's left behind a raw hole, aching with a loneliness you can't figure out how to battle.

The times you had slipped your heart into someone else’s palm, wet and sticky with blood, the viscera of who you are, admitting to the pain that vibrated always at a low level frequency below your skin, you regretted it.

Mostly because you’re never able to explain it. It just is. You just are.

It’s who you’ve always been, and sometimes one step forward necessitated two steps back with how much you could handle.

Touch wasn’t even always bad, sometimes it was just too much. And no one wanted or tried to understand that sometimes it just felt too good, overwhelmed you to the point of exhaustion, and sometimes to pain.

You’ve always wondered if there would ever be anyone who’s touch felt safe, felt like it belonged.

The aversion you have to touch and the deepening trust issues that grew wilder every year were only solidified by your last boyfriend, by the tattoo he carved into your skin. He confirmed everything you ever needed to know about yourself, that you were not worth cracking the code on, that no one would ever be willing to try to handle you with care, to expose you slowly, to meet you halfway. To know when you asked not to be touched that you weren’t mad or punishing them.

If he wasn’t willing to put up with you, he’d said, to figure it out, then no one else would be.

You swore off having a relationship, content in the loneliness that you were destined to have claw at your heart, at least in that way.

But with that tattoo came too a deep mistrust, an aversion to anyone getting too close to you, a swearing off, a final nail in the coffin of trying for things to be thrown back in your face. He’s the reason you moved to this tiny town, away from Austin and all the memories that he’d left in you like jagged shards of mirror, reflecting everything you didn’t want to see.

Before he tattooed you, you’d been tattooed several times before. The experience had always been good, one of the few ways you didn’t mind being touched. It had always been the making of a happy memory for you. And he had taken that from you.

He hadn’t just stolen something you loved from you, but shut the door on vulnerability or intimacy with almost anyone.

Joel Miller’s tattoo studio, his stupidly attractive hands, the deep drawl of his howdy, and most of all the beauty of his art in the front window of the shop, captures your mind, ensnares your every thought. It’s woven a net around all the thoughts and worries that normally flutter around your head and calls for them to be silent.

“All I do is think about this damn tattoo,” you say to a friend back in Austin one evening, phone squished between your shoulder and your face as you cook dinner. “Is that normal? Like, I can’t just go get one somewhere else, by anyone else.”

No one knew about the sharp fanged demons that lingered in your past. The distrust and loneliness that ate out parts of your heart, bite by bite, year by year. But Leah does know about your ex, about the tattoo on your shoulder that still aches with long healed pain.

“You said it looks like he does walk-ins, right?” She asks, not unkindly. “Why not just go talk to him for a bit,” she eases you into it. “See if it might be the right fit. I know. . .things in your past haven’t been easy. But he might be alright. I can go with you, if you think that might help.”

And that doesn’t seem so bad. Just talking to him doesn’t seem so bad. You find that you want to. Then you would know if you couldn’t be tattooed by him, no matter how much you admired his art. Leah reminds you again of the nice google reviews, the funny little captions on his instagram posts, that he is not your ex even if he is a stranger.

“He’s running a business,” she says gently. “It isn’t like then.”

She’s right, you know she is, and you miss the experience, you miss getting tattooed.

So, the next morning you brace yourself and make the now familiar walk to the little studio, picking up an iced coffee to sip on the way so you hopefully won’t be too sweaty in the early morning sun that blooms rose pink on the horizon. It gives your hands something to do too, and you fidget with the rim of the plastic lid as you walk.

When you push the door open, Joel is standing at the counter. He has glasses perched on the end of his nose and is paging through a leather bound appointment book that sits next to an ancient computer that looks as though it hasn’t been switched on in a decade.

Something about the sight makes your shoulders loosen just a bit. You certainly hadn’t expected him to look like that, domestic and relaxed and calm. His pen scratches across the paper, a landline phone slotted against his ear.

He glances up at you in the still open doorway, surprise pulling over his features for a brief moment before he makes a hasty end to the call. It makes heat crawl up your body, the way his attention latches onto you and sticks. “Hey,” he greets when he sits the phone back into the cradle, sliding the glasses off. “I’ve been wonderin’ when you’d finally come in.”

There’s something light in the rough, drawling timber of his voice, like he’s trying not to startle you, like he’s inexplicably glad you’re there.

You stiffen and he chuckles, cold air pulsing around you in the doorway before you finally step fully into the shop and let it swing closed behind you. You remain there, just inside the door, trying not to feel like a fish in a barrel, easily caught, even more easily killed. “Caught me, huh?” You try to keep your voice light, waiting for a striking arrow that would never come.

“S’alright. Thought maybe you just walked this way a lot but you always stop to look,” he gestures at the front window. “My daughter is the one that’s always changin’ it around.”

“I appreciate her efforts,” you say, taking a hesitant step forward. “I look forward to seeing the changes. Best part of my week.”

He nods, looking just a tad embarrassed, and then closes the appointment book, giving you his undivided attention. “Lookin’ to get tattooed?” His eyes trace over your exposed skin, noting the few you already have.

“Maybe,” you answer, giving a half-shrug that you hope comes across as nonchalant. “I saw on instagram that you’re, uh, taking appointments.”

“That I am,” he answers easily.

You swallow and glance around the studio. It’s as tiny as it seemed from the outside, but homely and comfortable. The walls are a deep green that remind you of forests you’ve never seen. The walls are covered in photos and art, both created and bought, the styles too different to have been made by the same person.

When you squint closer, you see that a few of them have tiny plaques beneath them, etched with names and dates. Shelves line the walls filled with knick knacks and children’s drawings in frames, and what appear to be family photos. One shelf is stacked with records and coffee table books, an ancient turntable perched precariously on top. A door is propped open behind the dark wooden counter, through which you can see the actual tattooing space, clean and sterile looking.

A lone guitar is hung on the wall, and you wonder if he plays. Your imagination conjures up hands that you’ve been studying for weeks softly plucking at the strings, curling around the bridge.

It’s shameful, the way your body flushes at the thought, the ghost of strummed notes floating in the air around you.

“Darlin’?”

Joel’s voice pulls your eyes away from the guitar and back to his face. Embarrassment drops like hot coal into the pit of your belly. You like the shape of that word in his mouth.

“I just wanted to stop in and see if maybe we’d be a good fit,” you explain hastily, not thinking about the words before they fall like broken promises from your lips. “If you’d be interested in tattooing me.” Before he can open his mouth to respond, you continue, “That wasn’t what I—I don’t mean to take up any of your time. Just if you have a moment. I should have messaged maybe—”

Joel waves you down and gestures around at the empty space. “No, it’s alright, hardly got anyone comin’ through here. Next appointment ain’t ‘til this afternoon.” He reaches below the counter, callused fingers catching on another notebook which he sets on the counter with care.

You follow the motion of his hands, your eyes snapping back to his when he continues, “What are you lookin’ to get done?” The knot of anxiety in your chest loosens a little when he seems to take your nerves for concern over the piece you want done.

Joel’s hands are ones that are familiar to you now after all the times you’d spent looking at the spare pictures of them online. That want, the heat, crawls back up inside your lungs and curls up to stay, making a home among the throbbing tendon and muscle. Though you’d glimpsed him that day on the street, it's a very different experience to stand for an extended period in front of him. His voice paired with the broad set of his shoulders, the cut of his brown eyes focused on you, all adds up to something devastating.

Another vinegary squirm of nerves in your gut is accompanied by your treacherous heart squeezing tight in your chest, battering something long abused, long closed off.

“You can show me reference pictures if you’ve got ‘em,” he offers when you don’t respond again, instead just looking at him, his presence calming in a way you can’t really explain. You blink and pull out your phone, approaching the counter slowly. The ice in your half finished coffee rattles as you set it on the counter, away from the appointment book so the condensation won’t accidentally get on it.

Joel unsettles you, but not in a way that people usually unsettle you. Not in the way your ex-boyfriend had from the very beginning. Instead of feeling the need to flee, you feel the urge to stay.

You show Joel the inspiration pictures you’ve been collecting the last few weeks, swiping slowly through what you have saved in your camera roll and describing what you imagine as best you can. When you lean closer to show him, the scent of clove and cinnamon and leather washes over you. The smell makes you a little dizzy, runs circles around your head.

His brow is furrowed, concentration etched into his features. “I’ll need some time to work out some designs for ya.”

“That’s alright,” you nod, watching those rough fingers sketch broad lines in the notebook he’d pulled out.

“Sorry, sweetheart, don’t know where my manners went. I didn’t get your name,” he says, and glances up at you. “I’m Joel,” he holds out a hand.

Sweetheart. You’ll be hearing the low timber of his voice whispering that and darlin’ in your dreams, you’re sure of it.

You find yourself smiling, your mouth involuntarily pulling up at the corners. You take his hand without thinking. His hand is warm and firm; his fingers engulf yours.

He hums as he takes his hand back, pencil already between his fingers again, and you’re left feeling chilled, like there’s an empty space in the middle of your hand that needs filled. “Real pretty name y’got.”

Oh. You like the hum of pleasure in your chest that chases the nerves below your skin. It’s a pleasant kind of warm.

“You can send ‘em on to me on that. . .app,” he grumbles. And you have to laugh. Between the landline phone, the physical calendar book, and that app he sounds just like the kind of cranky that you find endearing. “Uh, just so you know if you get a reply that don’t sound like me, it’s because my daughter runs it for me.”

“Sarah,” you guess, thinking of the young woman you’d seen cleaning the window.

“Ellie, actually. She thinks she’s a goddamn comedian.” He rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the affection lodged in his gaze. He gestures at one of the pictures framed on a shelf where two teenage girls are slotted on either side of him. “Got two of ‘em,” he clarifies. “Sarah—she does the window. You saw her that day you passed by, the taller one there in the picture.”

You tilt your head, Joel’s eyes following the motion. “They help you run this place.”

“They’re my marketing team,” he grumbles. “Self-appointed, if you couldn’t guess.”

You find yourself leaning on the counter, watching Joel’s pretty hands sketch absentmindedly. “That actually sounds like fun.”

“They seem to think so,” he agrees, glancing up at the same time you do. A touch of pink colors the high points of his cheeks. The delicate little shading makes something warm curl into your gut. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “We don’t get a lot of foot traffic around here, you might have noticed. Ellie’s thinkin’ that account might lure people up from Austin.”

You nod. “It’s a good idea. People have traveled further for tattoos. And we aren’t too out of the way up here.”

“I take it you live around here,” he glances down again, like he finds looking at you hard.

“Not far,” you confirm. “That’s how I found you.”

He goes silent for a moment, fingers continuing to twitch around the pencil before he looks back at you. “I’ll, uh, have somethin’ to ya in a couple a’ days. You can let me know if you want any changes and we’ll set a date.”

You straighten, feeling only slightly dismissed. “Oh, yeah, sure. Thank you.” You start to turn when you remember yourself. That’s not really what you came here for. “Actually, listen, I don’t want to waste your time. You don’t need to start on anything. Not yet. I’m not sure just yet, I just wanted to meet you. I really admire your art.”

You leave it at that. Pouring out all your other issues would just make you look insane.

Joel raises a curious brow at you, waiting, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t ask as you take a step back. “Alright,” he agrees. “I won’t start on anythin’ just yet.”

“Okay,” you back further away, trying desperately not to turn and run, aware you must look odd. “I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so, honey.”

Though the tattoo shop is cold, heat that rivals the temperature outside dissolves the bones in your chest from the way his eyes linger on you.

But that want—need—is within reach now, and something tells you that you can trust him.

At least with this.

Joel sees you more often after the first day you actually come into the shop.

Well—

He supposes he sees you about the same amount, but now you actually come inside. You always pause in the doorway for half a second, those watchful doe eyes going wide, like your instincts always kick in a second too late.

But once you make it inside, you talk to him, share snippets of your life as you watch him draw, eyes focused on his hands.

You breakup the monotony of his days, those times between appointments and the few walk-ins that he does see.

Sometimes, most times, you bring him coffee from the shop at the end of the road, and he hates that you feel obligated to bring something for him. “For letting me hang around,” you always say.

Most times he feels like he’s trying not to scare you away, like one wrong move will send you bolting right back out the door. But he comes to rely on your presence, the sunshine earthy smell you bring inside with you, the cautious questions and wide eyes, the way you dart to your feet and disappear the second a sign of work for him appears, even if he wouldn’t mind you waiting, taking up room in the tiny front room.

Joel has to wonder what happened to you, if anything, or if you’re just a nervous person. Maybe it’s just in your nature to be distrustful. He doesn’t mind you coming in all the time, in fact he likes it, hates the empty spaces you now leave behind. The studio seems impossibly empty and cavernous without you around now, asking about the guitar on the wall, about where he learned to draw, about his girls.

Still, summer passes by slowly, like a jar of molasses catching sun in a window. He watches you come and go, watches you get to know him through tiny encounters that loosen your shoulders more each time you stop in.

He doesn’t tell you that he spends most evenings working on a design for that tattoo you may or may not get, that he has a dozen different versions of it clogging up his notebook.

He figures if you don’t end up getting it tattooed then he can just give you some of the sketches to keep.

Like he’d ever find a damn way to do that without feeling like a fool.

Toward the end of summer, with heat still burning up all the air in Texas and showing no signs of abating, you push the door open with your chin lifted and a smile on your face. Heat, like the rush of burning air from an oven, whips around you and into the shop.

He tells himself the heat is why his mouth suddenly feels dry. He tells himself it has nothing to do with how your ass looks in those jeans you always wear or the curve of your hips in the snug fit or the tank top that shows off your shoulders and arms and chest. All topped off with you smiling at him.

“Hey Joel,” you greet, crossing the studio in a couple strides where you deposit a cup of coffee onto the counter next to his hand. He likes the way you say his name, breathy and quick. “I think I’m ready.”

“Ready?” He questions, bewildered.

His mind takes a moment to catch up to what you mean. The tattoo. You’re ready to get your tattoo.

And Joel becomes aware that he is distinctly not ready for that. Because then what excuse will you have to stop by so often? “Right now?” He asks.

You smile. “Not at this exact moment, obviously,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “Just…generally. Whenever you have time for me. I know you’ll need time to work on a design. I’ll send the inspiration photos to the instagram account so you can look at them again.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, the notebook with your designs tucked under the counter burning a hole in the corner of his vision. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Your smile widens. “Thanks. I can’t hang around today.” You wave a hand back in the direction of the front window, “Errands to run. I just wanted to say that I really love the new painting.”

“The—”

“The new deer. She’s beautiful. More confident than the other ones. I think, or maybe it’s the same. I really like the new one though. You’ve been doing a lot of deer lately.”

He swallows and nods. “Yep.”

Your head tilts to the side before you take a step back, anxiety pulling at your face. “Okay,” you say, your voice noticeably smaller. “Well, I’ll see you around. I’ll message Ellie.”

Before he can stop you, you’ve bolted out the door.

He sighs and rolls his shoulders back as he watches you walk down the street in the honeyed sunshine. When you’re finally out of sight, he pulls the sketchpad out and starts on yet another design.

“Dude, you’ve got it baaaaaad,” Ellie accuses as she sets a platter of fried chicken on the dining room table. “He didn’t even ask for a fucking deposit!”

“No deposit?” Sarah asks, adding a bowl of salad next to the plate. “That’s just bad business practice, dad.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Not everyone takes deposits.”

The girls glance at each other. “Yeah, but you usually do. You told me not to ask for one!”

He grumbles under his breath, settling at the table, just glad that his girls were there at all. He’d half expected the standing weekly dinner to fizzle out once he moved out of Austin, but they always made the drive up, or he went down to them each Friday.

His girls had their own lives, Sarah still in college, Ellie still trying to find her footing as an apprentice at a tattoo studio in the city.

“Did she seem interested?”

Joel assumes Sarah is asking about the tattoo.

You seemed exactly as he’d thought. A little nervous and wary, but mostly curious and eager. He’d been blushing like a kid, the warmth you always tugged along with you into the shop no match for the air conditioning.

“Yeah,” he answers, shrugging. “Ellie’d know more than me—”

“I mean does she seem interested in you?”

Joel glances sharply up to find both his kids grinning at him. “I’m talkin’ about the damn tattoo,” he says, exhaling sharply through his nose before he reaches for a plate.

“Well, that’s obvious,” Sarah mutters with a roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, c’mon, man,” Ellie leans back in her chair. “Isn’t she there, like, every fucking day?”

Joel frowns at her. “Manners,” he reminds her.

He gets an eye roll from her too, before she tilts her chair back down onto all four legs.

“Watch it,” he says, “Your eyes are gonna get stuck like that.”

“Joel—”

“She’s nervous enough as it is,” he grumbles. “Never met someone s’damn skittish.”

“What, like a horse?”

“Like a deer,” he corrects. “She don’t need me makin’ passes at her. I think she’s just now comin’ around to the idea of trustin’ me so don’t say something stupid to her.” He directs the last bit to Ellie. “Clear?”

She spears a piece of chicken. “Clear,” she grumbles.

“I think she likes you dad,” Sarah says, primly cutting into the chicken on her own plate. “I don’t think she’d mind it.”

Ellie sends you scans of a couple designs two days after you abruptly tell Joel you’re ready to get tattooed. It’s accompanied by a message that makes something in you squirm in such a pleasant way that you worry there might be wrong with you.

the old man told me you know i manage the account for him. he’s really excited about this one and can’t wait to tattoo you. he worked on the design for weeks - ellie

Another message pops up almost immediately after the first.

don’t tell him i told you that

A warmth that has nothing to do with your open balcony door and the heat pouring into your apartment floods your veins. He’d said he’d need to work something out for you.

The two designs she sends are beautiful, and it's easy to see not only the talent but the time he put into them. Clearly he’d been working on a design since you first talked to him all those weeks ago.

Your whole body goes awash with heat, warming you pleasantly from the inside out.

You message her back to figure out the day and time, before flopping your phone face down on the couch, a nervous thrumming centering in your body. It folds your veins up into anxious little knots. The phantom echo of his low, drawling voice reverberates around your brain, the casual little sweethearts and darlin’s he throws your way kicking your heart into overdrive, a skittering pounding knocking against your ribs.

A thrill goes up your spine. At the prospect of a new tattoo, at the thought of spending so much uninterrupted time with Joel, of his hands on you.

The last thought jolts you a little.

That that’s something you’re looking forward to.

You aren’t expecting another message, not after finalizing a date only a few days in the future. But your phone buzzes again, yet another message waiting for you.

just a heads up - joel said you’ll have to sit for two or three sessions. he doesn’t want to wear you out.

Well, at the very least he was more considerate than the last man to tattoo you.

A rare rain splashes down the morning of your appointment, driving away the humidity that had curled in the air like a choking wraith the last few days and cooling the temperature down to something mild. It’s the first false start of what will always turn out to be a warm fall.

You take your time getting ready just to ease your nerves, hydrating and eating a bigger breakfast than you normally do.

In the afternoon, the walk to the studio is dreary. The street smells like petrichor and summers long gone. The gloom only makes the interior of the shop feel more cozy.

And more intimate.

When you push the door open, Joel’s daughter, Ellie, is standing at the counter complaining loudly about how old fashioned Joel is as she slowly pages through the leather bound appointment book that seems to never leave the side of the ancient computer you suspect is rarely, if ever, switched on. She seems to be logging appointments from her phone into the book.

Her eyes snap to you the moment the door swings shut, then glances at the clock. “Early,” she says. “Joel is still setting up.”

“That’s okay,” you say, pointedly sitting down on the leather sofa that takes up most of the floor space of the front room. “I can wait.”

You snap your mouth shut to avoid the waterfall of words that want to cascade from your lips. Nerves tingle under your skin, buzz lowly just beneath the surface.

Waiting makes you hot, makes heat rise from your skin in painful waves, as your anxiety continues to crest.

At the counter Ellie snaps the appointment book shut, now grumbling about Joel’s chicken scratch, when you peel off your sweatshirt. “Oh,” she says, surprised. “I didn’t know you had tattoos already.”

You jump a little, eyes flashing to the woman leaning on the dark wooden counter. Her chin is propped in her hand. You aren’t quite sure what to make of that, that she thought you didn’t have any.

“Yeah,” you stand and move closer to the counter. Maybe she’s just trying to distract you. “Why is that such a surprise?” You smile and offer her your arm. “I not look like the type?”

“Joel just said you were nervous,” she says, turning your arm in her hand, inspecting the tattoo on the top of your shoulder, and then the one that wraps around your bicep. “So I figured it was your first.”

Joel had talked to his daughter about you.

Maybe he talked to her about all his clients; she did manage the instagram account for the shop after all.

“I’m always a little uneasy beforehand.”

Your excuse is weak but Ellie doesn’t call you on it. Her eyes are latched onto the tattoo over your shoulder, the one your ex had done. You know what she’s seeing, how a few of the lines are blown out, how it healed badly.

She releases your wrist with a nod, her eyes more knowing than you would like. “Scared of the pain?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It doesn't hurt much, usually. It's relaxing more than anything.” You nod to the tattoo on your shoulder. “But, that one was the last and it did hurt and, uh, it put me off getting more for awhile.”

She looks it over for a minute, brows furrowing at what you know is shoddy work. Your gaze slides to the tattoo on Ellie’s forearm. “You don’t have to worry about that with the old man,” she informs you and releases your arm, her tone serious. “He might not look it, but he’s got a light touch.”

Before you can respond, Joel emerges from the back, rubbing his hands together as he glances between the two of you, his eyes wary. “Ellie,” he says, his voice that low gravel. “You stickin’ around, kiddo?”

“Nope.” She stabs a finger into the top of the appointment book, “Get fucking rid of this.” She grabs her jacket and hops up onto the counter, swinging herself over it, as Joel snaps at her not to. “Too late,” she chirps already out the door. “See you Friday.”

When you turn back to Joel, those splotches of pink and cresting red are back in his cheeks and neck and you have to wonder if he heard what Ellie had said. “That girl,” he grumbles. “Come on around here, darlin’,” he gestures with a roll of his eyes. “You don’t have to climb over the counter like a wild animal.”

You round the end of the counter and follow Joel into the back room where he’s already meticulously prepped everything. He sits on a rolling stool and gestures you in front of him. “I take it you already know the drill?” He asks.

You hum in affirmation and try not to jump when his hand brushes yours. “Easy,” he mumbles, almost to himself. It doesn’t stop a flare of heat from spiking in your blood. “You already decided on your left forearm, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer, holding your arm out to him.

You wonder what it is about Joel that makes him so magnetic, that makes him feel so safe. His hand, already in a sterile glove, slides around your wrist to hold you steady while he cleans your skin thoroughly. The sharp scent of antiseptic blooms around you, chasing away the clove and leather scent that usually lingers around Joel. “You alright?” He asks, glancing up at you to watch your face.

“Yep,” you answer tightly.

“Alright,” he agrees warily, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “I’m gonna haveta shave the area.”

You nod, you already knew that, and watch him pick up a disposable pink bic razor from the tray to his left. Despite having gone through this whole thing more than a few times before, this feels different, it feels more intimate and reserved.

He drags the razor over your skin slowly, carefully, then sanitizes your skin again when he’s finished, the cool flush of the moisture against your skin almost shocking. You go back and forth about the placement of the stencil. Your body tenses when you waffle for what feels like too long. You expect him to get frustrated with you but he doesn’t. His voice remains unbothered and patient.

Maybe your standards are in hell, maybe he’s just being a proper tattoo artist like all the others that had tattooed you before your ex, but it still makes a knot form in the back of your throat.

Eventually Joel presses the stencil into your skin when you give the go ahead. He rubs at it gently, warming your chilled skin, before he peels it away. The warmth of his touch is surprisingly soothing, the loss of it leaving you cold. “If it ain’t right, we can do it again,” he says, jerking his chin at the mirror in the corner, the picture of calm. “Go on and take a look and let me know.”

You both agree the placement looks good, and then comes the moment when you have to climb onto the table and put yourself in his hands. You will have to lie there and let another person touch you, albeit professionally. It doesn’t make it any better, any easier.

Your skin is so empty, so hungry, and Joel’s attention makes you feel like wax held too close to heat.

It already feels like too much and he’s barely touched you.

A cold prickle of fear slides down your spine too, pulling your shoulders in tight. The last time you did this you—

“You comfortable?” Joel is watching you, his eyes shaded and attentive.

You nod, aware that you are the picture of uncomfortable as Joel changes his gloves. Your hands are in fists, your spine hard and tense. All the air seems to have been sucked out of the room, cold and sterile and icy in your lungs.

“I ain’t touchin’ you until you relax,” he says when he turns back to you, settling next to you on a stool, hand hovering over the tattoo gun on the tray by his elbow. “You don’t gotta—”

“I am relaxed,” you interrupt in a bite, harsher than you mean to. You grit your teeth, your hand only curling into a tighter fist.

“Sweetheart you’re as taut as a bowstring,” he says gently. “Take a couple breaths.”

You do and your heart rate slows. Now isn’t like then. Now is different. “Good,” he says and the praise slides warm against you. “I’m gonna touch you now.”

You nod and the buzz of the tattoo gun starts, his free hand curls over your fist, warm and reassuring and so present it makes tears sting at the backs of your eyes. You realize then that Joel has been touching you quite a lot, and that you haven’t exactly minded.

“Relax, I got you,” he reassures. “You’ll tell me if you need a break,” he says and it’s not a question.

You nod anyway, not sure which part you’re agreeing with.

Joel talks while he tattoos you, mainly about his kids, his two daughters who are clearly his entire world, the point that his life hinges on.

The pride in his voice, the love there, makes you smile.

Joel is much chattier than usual.

Normally you talk his ear off while he works as he silently listens and nods along. Joel is the gruff quiet type, not that you much mind. You’d expected to sit in relative silence, to listen to the rain still drumming against the roof and the low hum of the tattoo gun.

Listening to his voice is a welcome change. You would listen to him read from a dictionary.

Sarah is from his first marriage, Ellie adopted. Sarah is going to college— “Gonna be a doctor someday,” he says proudly. “For kids. Pediatrician.” Ellie is following in Joel’s footsteps, apprenticing as a tattoo artist. “Hope it's what she wants to do,” he says, equally as proud. “She’s got some art out there on the wall—well, I’ll point it out later, much better than mine—it took me long enough to make this switch.”

“What did you do before?” You ask as Joel swipes a damp paper towel across your skin. Ellie had been right, he does have a light touch, a gentle touch.

“Carpenter,” he answers, and you can’t decide if the way he squeezes your wrist is conscious or not. “Long hours, hard work.”

So you’d been right about the look of his hands. Hands that so carefully held yours as his other drew over your skin. “Mm,” you hum distractedly. “What convinced you to take the jump?”

“My girls convinced me. Gettin’ outta Austin helped. Havin’ the money to finally slow down.” He chuckles to himself. “That’s why the marketin’ is a little ridiculous. Moved all the way out here just to complain about the foot traffic.”

You find yourself smiling, watching the flex of tendon in his forearms as he works. His mouth is set in a concentrated line, a divot between his brows. “Looks like you’re doing alright.”

“We manage,” he says with a groan, straightening from his position hunched over your arm. Something in his back creaks and then cracks before he goes back to work. “Although I regret not startin’ a little younger. My brother, Tommy, manages our business now.”

“Carpentry business?”

“That’s right,” he hums, leaning in closer to your arm, his breath ghosts over your arm, goosebumps racing across your skin. You swallow and your hand clenches reflexively beneath his. “You doin’ alright?”

You wonder if he knows his hand is still cupped over yours, if he can feel the racing of your heart beneath his fingers. Maybe he did that with all his clients, just a way to steady himself and you.

You don’t expect him to be looking at you when you lift your eyes back to his face.

Heat blooms in your chest, the flutter of wings beating against your ribs. “Mhm,” you give a nervous hum, trying not to show the feathering thoughts that float like down through your mind, swirling and impossible to bat down.

“Y’have to tell me if you need to take a break.”

“I don’t,” you say quickly, wondering if you should explain yourself a little, if it would be better or worse for Joel to know exactly how fucking nerotic you are.

It shouldn’t matter if he thinks you’re crazy or not.

But it does.

“Just…I’m not so good with touch,” you admit. “I never have been and my last tattoo was…”

You aren’t sure how to phrase it, so you stop and look at his hands again. His hand swallows yours, barely any of your skin visible beneath his touch. You wait for your skin to prickle, for the urge to rip your hand away to swim up the back of your throat, but it never comes. “I’m fine, really. I’d tell you if I needed to stop.”

“I know it,” he says, not blinking, watching you carefully. “I’m just checkin’.” He looks back down, adjusting his grip before he continues, his thumb sweeping over your wrist. “Was it the one on your shoulder?”

“What?”

“The tattoo that was a bad experience?”

You suck in a deep breath through your nose and look away from the top of his head, away from the graying brown that makes your belly clench and the butterflies that live permanently in your chest swing back to life.

The breath you pull in does nothing to steady you, instead flooding your senses with the clean woodsy smell of him. It’s dizzying. “That easy to tell?” You sigh.

“Just a few of the lines are blown out,” he says, not unkindly. “Thought maybe an apprentice did it or somethin’.” Joel’s voice is mild, only lightly prying, an extended hand that you could lie a pearl truth in if you wanted to.

The nerves subside a little. “Apprentices aren’t usually that bad,” you joke.

“No,” he agrees. “Ellie’d never get ya like that. Shouldn’t be tattooing on people yet if you’re gettin’ ‘em like that.”

He doesn’t ask what actually happened, but you find yourself answering anyway. You find that his hand still securely over yours acts like an anchor rather than a weight.

“I had bruises for a couple weeks after,” you admit. “It hurt. He wanted it to hurt. And it healed really badly.”

Joel’s hand pauses, the needle lifting away from your skin, but he doesn’t look up. A long moment passes, and his voice comes out in a forced calm. “Who wanted it to hurt, honey?”

“My ex,” you say and Joel leans back, dark eyes flashing to yours. “He wasn’t my ex then, obviously. He wanted to tattoo me, but he wanted it to be his name. I wasn’t going to do that. He wanted to compromise for initials but I just…couldn’t. Something about it felt wrong. I let him—” you wave your free hand at your shoulder. “—do that. And…I don’t know what happened,” you say. “I think he wanted to brand me. He wanted to leave a piece of himself on me, whether I wanted it or not.”

Joel doesn’t say anything for a while, just blinks away from you and slowly leans over your arm again to continue working.

The tattoo your ex did is the only one that ever hurt, but Joel is gentler than you remember. Or, maybe you simply can’t remember the other times as well, pain of the most recent one blotting out the memory.

“I don’t want you to think about this like that,” Joel says eventually, not looking up. “I don’t.”

“What do you mean, Joel?”

His hand stills, his fingers flexing around your wrist, thumb subconsciously sliding against the side of your wrist. “I mean—I’m not puttin’ something of mine on you,” he says. You frown and open your mouth to protest. “I made it for you. This is yours,” he says adamantly.

You watch him for a long moment, not sure what to say, an emotion you can’t name welling up into the back of your mouth, swollen and trembling.

“I want you to think about it like that,” he says, looking up at you from beneath his lashes, his mouth a hard line. “I’m not markin’ you, because it's not mine. It’s yours. It’s for you.”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

You avert your eyes, blinking away the water that crests against the edges of your lash line.

Though you’ve been bothering Joel for the better part of the summer, you don’t really know much about him. Today is the most he’s talked, about himself or otherwise. All you know is that he makes you feel oddly safe, that he has gone out of his way to try to make you feel comfortable. You can hear the words he doesn’t say, the quiet anger that vibrates under the surface of it. What happened to you was wrong, I would not do that to you.

He wants you to believe he’s gifting you something, and you suppose he is.

You remember Ellie’s message, how she’d said he’d been working on the design for weeks. You think of every moment you spent hanging around his shop for the last few weeks while he worked on a design for you, never saying a word about it, knowing you might decide not to get tattooed.

“Joel,” you murmur, carefully lying your free hand on his shoulder. Muscle flexes beneath your hand, thick and warm. “I know you wouldn’t do that. And you know I wanted to do this, right?”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours again. “I know it,” he shrugs and leaves it at that.

Something unspoken passes between you though. He would not do that to you, but you also sense he would never let anyone else hurt you like that again either.

You watch the feathering of his lashes against his cheeks, the firm set of his mouth, the way he keeps sliding his thumb over your wrist. You study his nose, the line of scar on the bridge, the hard ridge of his brow, the wrinkle that pulls at the skin of his forehead.

“You don’t have to be mad about it,” you say. “I already have that covered. I think I’ve been angry for a long time.”

The room is quiet, the sound of rain on the roof having abated in the hours you’d been there. Joel doesn’t say anything for another long moment, the only sound his breathing and yours, the sound of the tattoo gun buzzing its familiar tune. “I could, uh, fix some of it for ya,” he offers, eventually, leaning back to study the progress he’s made on your arm. “The lines where they’re blown out, we could think of somethin’ to blend it into.”

You look away again, not able to answer around the thick knot braided into your chest. You try swallowing around it, trying desperately to think of something to say. His hand is starting to feel a little heavy on yours. The aching clawing that is two steps back begins to threaten you.

This time, unlike the others, you aren’t quite sure if you want him to stop touching you or for the feeling of his hand to melt into yours, if you’d just rather he became a part of you instead.

You decide to try to ignore it, to focus on the nice parts of it all — how warm his skin is, the calluses you can feel, the scent of his skin and hair, so close you could press your nose into him if you leaned forward a little.

“You have really nice hands,” you comment, entranced by the flex of muscle and vein and sinew even through the black nitrile gloves.

Joel glances up, his face close to yours. You can see the threads of honeyed gold and warm hazel in his eyes, almost sun-spotted “That so?” He asks with a quirk of his brow, fingers tightening over your hand.

You swallow, glancing away from his eyes to focus on anything else, and give a nervous hum.

“You still alright?” He asks, his thumb slipping back and forth over the back of your hand. “Still comfortable?” When you just nod, suddenly too anxious and warm to do anything else, he leans back and releases your hand to strip off his gloves. “Let’s take a break.”

The loss of his touch is—you aren’t sure what it is.

You just know you hate it, and that has never happened before.

“I’m alright,” you protest.

“You’re startin’ to shake, which means you’re goin’ into shock. I’m sure Ellie told you this’d take more than one session,” he says, matter of fact about it.

“She did,” you breathe.

He grunts and offers you a hand down from the table. “Let’s get you wrapped up and then I’ll take you to get somethin’ to eat.”

“Oh,” you say, surprise and that spark of warmth flooding you again. “And you do that for all your clients?”

“Just the ones I like,” he deadpans, fitting a second skin over your tattoo before giving you the usual spiel about how to care for it once the second skin was removed. You hardly listen, thinking only about how Joel said he likes you. “But I assume you know all a’ that,” he says, twisting your arm. “And ya know where to find me if somethin’ ain’t right.”

“Mhm,” you hum, trying not to let the disappointment show when he releases you again. “I’m something of an expert with tattoo care, I think.”

“Three tattoos makes you an expert?” He asks, not looking at you as he meticulously cleans up.

“Well, three that you can see.”

He turns, eyes sliding over you. You’re awash in that warm feeling again, the one that is an anchor and not a weight. “You got more than three, honey?”

You just smile and make a show of looking over the work he’d done on your arm, ignoring his question.

Joel chuckles, “What else do you have?”

“If I told you I’d have to kill you.”

He laughs again and herds you out the back room when he’s finished cleaning up, keys jangling in his fist. “Shouldn’t I pay—”

“Nope. You’ll do that when it’s done. Should just need one more session.”

“Joel really—”

But you’re already out on the street, the door firmly closed behind you. You watch him lock up and then gesture you down the street with a jerk of his head. It’s dark outside, the sky still tinged with dark blue on the horizon. The road smells like heat and rain, like damp dust and lightning.

“You really ain’t gonna tell me what other tattoos you got?”

“You really ain’t gonna let me pay?” You ask, imitating the gruff cut of his voice.

He rolls his eyes. “Alright, fine.” He walks away, leading you down the street, light from the streetlamps cartwheeling over his face, throwing his jaw and eyes into sharp relief and then plunging him into shadow. “C’mon now. You need somethin’ in you.”

You’ve never ventured into the center of town after dark. You’re always at home long before that, curled on your balcony with something to read.

Cicadas light the air with sound, the crisscross of wired lights spear butter yellow onto the pavement below where a bar is serving drinks and a local food truck still idles.

Someone has set up a speaker that folks twirl each other around to, old country music, the good kind. Others park themselves on benches, chatting and eating. It’s nice.

It makes you feel incredibly lonely, reminded of all the gaps in your life, all the places people should be, all the places love and familiarity should be.

Before you can sink into that mire, Joel’s guiding you into line with a careful hand against your back.

His palm is broad and warm, heating you from the inside out. It rivals the warmth pulsing around you, the leftover heat of the day leaching into you.

“What d’ya want?”

“Shouldn’t I get you something?” You offer. “You worked all day, I just laid there.”

“I drew a nice picture,” he retorts. “You lost blood. Pick somethin’ sugary.”

“Bossy,” you comment, feeling alight with nerves as his fingers flex against your spine.

“Mhm, that’s what Sarah and Ellie are always sayin’.”

You glance at him—at the rough cut of his jaw, the thick tendon in his throat—and swallow, nerves pinching at your belly in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time. You press back, so his hand rests more firmly against your back and hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, just humors you by tracing his hand up and down your spine. “Maybe they’re onto something then.”

“Definitely are.” He glances back down at you, “Pick somethin’ yet?”

You look over the menu as the line inches forward, and pick something to drink. Something sugary, as Joel had demanded.

But when he orders he makes a show of not letting you pay and ordering something for you to eat too.

“You should after sittin’ for as long as you did,” he argues when you settle at one of the picnic tables. “You don’t gotta, just thought I’d offer it.”

You and Joel face each other, one leg on either side of the bench, knees brushing. With each tiny touch, lightning zings up your spine, settles in amongst your bones and blood. You have a feeling you could lie all the bones and blood and viscera of yourself right at Joel’s feet and he wouldn’t so much as flinch.

“Right,” you say, picking at one of the tacos he’d ordered. “I can see why you have such nice reviews on google if you’re taking your clients out on your dime after tattooing them.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re that,” he scoffs.

“Mm,” you nod, not sure exactly what he means by that. “What does that make me then?”

You glance up at him and Joel just stares at you for a long moment, something unreadable passing behind his eyes. “You really not gonna tell me about your other tattoos?” He ignores your question to go back to his own.

“Nope,” you take a sip of the lemonade you’d ordered. Despite what you said to Joel, you are exhausted, muscles still trembling in little starts, and the sugar does help. “But you can guess.”

You know he won’t try to guess. He’s too gentlemanly, too mindful of his manners to go around pointing at body parts and guessing if there might be something inked there.

Joel raises a brow, taking a bite of his own taco. “Are you using my manners against me?”

You shrug, smiling. “Maybe.”

“That ain’t playin’ fair,” he accuses, leaning in, the inside of his jean clad thigh brushing against the outside of yours. Your belly clenches, the center of you suddenly aching.

“Who said anything about fair?” You manage. “Do you have any hidden tattoos?”

He shakes his head and glances briefly up, like he’s asking for patience from the stars. But he doesn’t answer your question.

It makes you smile. “Fine, you can keep yours a secret. I won’t pry,” you tease.

“Mhm,” he grumbles again, ignoring your jibe. “You’re mighty brave tonight.”

And suddenly your teasing feels dangerous, falls flat against the stone shore of Joel. The air seems to go frosty, a shiver raking down your spine as you shuffle back a little, suddenly aware of how close you are, how very brave you’ve been. You aren’t sure when Joel started to feel familiar to you.

Since you first met him, you suppose. You’ve carved out a place on that rocky shore whether he wanted you to or not.

“Sorry,” you say, starting to stand, thinking of how annoying you must have been all evening, all day, every single day you’ve taken up his time. You let him comfort you, plied him with trauma you’ve barely touched yourself, let him buy you something to eat against your better judgment when clearly it’s his manners that made him do so. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me. I’ll message Ellie to figure out the second session. Thanks for everything. You didn’t have to—”

“Your hip,” Joel says, curling his hand around your wrist so you can’t move any further away than you already have. You pause, your mind spinning as he clutches you gently.

His voice is steady, like you’re a spooked animal that might dart away at any moment.

“What?”

“I bet you one of your other tattoos is on your hip,” he drawls.

He squeezes your wrist again, now familiar and comforting. You fight the urge to pull your hand away, and instead let the feeling of his skin sink into yours, no cheap plastic gloves separating you now. You can properly feel the calluses on his fingertips, the catch of them against your skin, the soft center of his palm and the lines carved into his skin.

“No,” you lower yourself to the bench again, a tentative smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “None on my hip.”

“How many other one’s you got?” His hand stays around yours.

“Two, not including my new one,” you say, laying a hand over the ink, your skin warm under your hand. “That’s my prettiest one, for sure. And it’s not even done.”

Joel ignores your compliment entirely, like he always seems to. His eyes rove over you, trying to guess the places you were inked, trying to picture it you would guess. It makes you squirm, the thought of him trying to imagine your bare skin, all the hidden places you might be tattooed.

He nods, his gaze heavy on you.

“I’ll just have to keep guessin’ then,” he says, taking a long sip from your cup of lemonade.

You glance away and bite the inside of your cheek. “You’ll be guessing a long time, I think.”

“I’ve got time.” He releases your arm when you start to squirm under his attention, chest burning, lungs compressed into too small a space. Your chest doesn’t seem large enough to contain the feelings beating to life in your heart. “So long as you keep comin’ by.”

A smile pulls at your mouth again, feeling unreasonably charmed. “Okay, fine, I’ll tell you what they are, but not where they are.”

“I ain’t askin’ you to,” he says, even as a smile tugs at the corners of his lips, mustache twitching, like this concession is the only thing he’s ever wanted for.

“One is a honeybee,” you answer. “The other is antlers.”

Joel goes still and doesn’t say anything for a moment. “A bee?” He asks, like he’s never heard of the creature before. “And…antlers. Like a deer?”

“Yeah, like a deer. With flowers and vines and moss all tangled around it.”

“Huh.”

“What? Don’t like deer?” You smile. “Funny isn't it? You’ve been drawing them a lot the past few months.”

He eyes you and then shakes his head, “Don’t like ‘em? Jesus Christ, no. I think I’m gettin’ to be real partial to deer.”

💞 Thank you for reading! Comments and feedback are so appreciated. 💞

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

2K notes · View notes

thegettingbyp2 · 2 months

Note

Austin butler x reader

Reader and Austin are married and Austin does his first interview as a married man and tell them about how he met the reader and there love story plus maybe to add to the cuteness he announces that he is also gonna be a father

A Lot of Changes

Join my Patreon

Support me on Ko-Fi

You were sitting front row in the audience, waiting for Austin, your husband, you walk onstage. He was currently in the middle of the press tour for Masters of the Air but this was his first interview since your wedding and you knew that he was going to be asked about it. You looked down at your hand, smiling when you saw the dainty gold band that was now sitting on your ring finger before being jolted out of your thoughts when you heard the rest of the audience applause as Austin walked on stage.

He’d spoken about Masters of the Air for about fifteen minutes before the interviewer changed the topic. ‘So, we’ve seen on your lovely girlfriend, no, your lovely wifes Instagram a couple of wedding photos,’ he said, causing Austin to smile softly, looking down at his ring before lifting his head, his eyes finding yours instantly and his smile growing. ‘How was it?’

‘One of the happiest days of my life,’ he replied, smiling. ‘I’d been ready to propose pretty much a week after we started dating so it’s been a long time coming but it was so worth it. We got married in this big stately home and she looked so beautiful,’ he said, his voice trailing off as he found you once again in the audience.

‘You were ready to propose after a week? And how long had you been dating before the wedding?’

‘So, we met when filming began again for Elvis after lockdown and she was wandering around the set, offering to get coffees for everyone. I’d noticed that she started doing that pretty much every day so one morning when I heard that she was making her rounds, I decided to go and get her a coffee and surprise her. The only downside is I now have to get her coffee every morning,’ he joked, making everyone else in the studio laugh.

‘And how did you propose?’

‘Well, I wanted to make this big deal of it, I had a plan where I’d booked a couple of days off work and I was going to take her out on a date, you know, really try to woo her. And then because we were in Australia, we were going to spend a couple of days in Sydney and on the last evening I was going to take her to a show at the Opera House, she’s always wanted to go and I was going to propose after the show, by the water. It didn’t really turn out like that, I jumped the gun a bit and our trip to Sydney ended up being a bit of an engagement-moon kind of thing,’ Austin explained, laughing softly. You smiled to yourself as you remembered the night, about a year and a half ago now.

You were waiting in Austin’s trailer for him to finish filming, curled up on the sofa with a film playing softly on the TV. You’d spent the day packing a couple of bags for you and Austin after he’d surprised you this morning by telling you that he was taking you to Sydney for a long weekend. The sound of the door opening made your head turn in the direction of the sound and you smiled tiredly as you watched Austin walk in.

‘How was filming?’ you asked softly when he came and sat down on the sofa next to you, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing heavily.

‘Long,’ he replied, the end of the word being cut off slightly by a yawn and you moved your arms to wrap around him, tangling your fingers in his hair and scratching lightly. ‘That feels amazing,’ he murmured, his eyes closing as he let his weight lean onto yours more.

‘Well, you don’t have to go back onto that set for the next few days. We’re going on holiday and I don’t want you even thinking about work for the whole time we’re away, you hear me?’ you asked, tilting his head to face you. As soon as his eyes were on yours, his body relaxed and he leaned in to give you a quick kiss before groaning against your lips.

‘I still need to pack, I was going to on my break earlier but I completely forgot. I won’t be long and then we can go.’

‘I’ve packed your bags for you, they’re on the bed with mine so we’re good to go whenever you’re ready. I didn’t know what kind of things you wanted to take so I’ve packed some hoodies as well that you might - ’

‘Marry me.’

His words cut you off straight away and you pulled back slightly, keeping your arms around his neck, to look at him. ‘What did you just say?’ you asked as Austin moved to sit more upright on the sofa, hooking your legs over his arms and pulling them across his lap, trying to pull you closer to him. He leaned in closer, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked at you.

‘Marry me,’ he repeated softly, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek. ‘I had this big plan where I was going to take you to the Opera House and propose while we were away but I couldn’t wait.’

‘But I’m in ratty sweatpants, one of your hoodies, this isn’t the time to propose to someone! I mean, I look - ’

‘Perfect. You look perfect ,’ he said, grinning at you now as he tugged you even closer, until your nose was brushing against his. ‘So, what do you say? Will you marry me?’

‘Will we still get to go to the Opera House?’

‘Yes,’ he replied, laughing.

‘Then yes!’ you exclaimed, pulling him in for a kiss.

When Austin had finished recounting the story of his proposal, the studio erupted in applause and you couldn’t stop the blush from rising in your cheeks. ‘And how has married life been treating you?’ the host asked, grinning at Austin.

‘Incredible, we had our honeymoon in Spain and since being back, everything’s just felt so right and amazing and there’s a lot of changes going on at the minute so it’s terrifying but so exciting at the same time.’

‘What kind of changes are you making?’

‘Well, uh,’ Austin chuckled nervously, his hand running along his thigh as he adjusted his seat and looked over at you, looking for permission. Smiling back at him, you nodded gently. Austin grinned back at you before turning back to the host. ‘We’ve been changing one of the guest rooms in the house into a nursery. About three months ago, we found out that we’re going to be parents.’

The applause that followed was deafening and you and Austin couldn’t help but laugh at the reaction, neither of you knowing what you were expecting. Once the applause had died down, the host wrapped up his interview with Austin. Austin thanked him and stood. Instead of heading off of the set, he made his way over to you, sitting on the floor in front of you and grabbing your wrists, draping your arms around his neck.

‘You were amazing up there,’ you murmured into his ear, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head as his fingers absentmindedly began to play with yours.

‘Thank you, baby,’ he replied, craning his neck around to look at you, nothing but love in his eyes. ‘How are you guys doing?’

‘We’re just fine,’ you said, smiling warmly at him, ‘the amount of interviews you’ve got lined up over the next couple of months, they’re going to know just how big their daddy is before they’re even born.’

Austin tilted his head backwards until your face was upside down in his eyes. ‘I love you. Both of you.’

You leaned down to quickly peck his lips before moving your hands to cup either side of his face, running your thumbs along his cheeks. ‘We love you too. Now, be quiet, we’re trying to listen to the rest of the show.’

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader

503 notes · View notes

youaintnothinbuta · 4 months

Text

Bathroom quickie — austin butler x reader

Summary: you and Austin have somehow worked each other up during your time at the met gala, and as soon as you possibly can, you sneak off into a bathroom for a quickie.

Pairing: Austin Butler x fem!reader

Word count: 1,200

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, explicit, mature language, unprotected sex. Probably some typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Austin posed for a photo together while at the Met Gala, his hand behind your back, giving your bum a gentle squeeze.

“Austin, there’s cameras behind us too.” You reminded him. A low, almost inaudible grumble came from his throat in response.

“Need you.” He whispered, trying his best not to break his stare from the cameras flashing at the pair of you. He was half expecting you to shut him down, to tell him to wait til you’re home.

“Need you, too.” You replied, the same barely audible whisper. He shuddered at your response, so desperately trying not to tear you to shreds right then and there. He brought his hand up around your waist, gripping onto you tightly, the pair of you squirmed around, incapable of standing still as you both tried to pose elegantly for the paparazzi. From the outside it must’ve looked tense, maybe like some sort of argument between the two of you.

You and Austin slowly moved up the red carpet, stopping every few steps in front of a new group of photographers. Austin followed behind you as you walked, the people in front of you stopping suddenly, making you press on the breaks abruptly. Austin, whose eyes were focused on the cameras, walked into your back and, god, almost collapsed as he brushed against your ass.

You didn’t know what had come over you, the both of you, but you couldn’t stand this, like the most itchiest itch you couldn’t scratch, you hated feeling this painfully desperate.

“I can’t do this.” You muttered, turning to him.

“Just make it to the end of the carpet.” He replied, giving you a kiss on the top of your head. As you continued along, in a painfully slow manner that felt like it took years to complete, you finally reached the end of the red carpet, where plenty of interviews were happening.

“Bathroom, let’s go.” He placed a hand on your back, gently, guiding you through the people in front of you. You went in first, Austin looking around for a moment to check no one was watching before following you in. The second you heard the click of him locking the door, you practically leapt at him. He picked you up, you wrapped your legs around his waist tightly as he walked you towards the wall. Instantly, you started squirming around in his grip, trying to get any sort of friction you could from him.

“Jesus, fuck.” He breathed out, pinning your fidgeting body between him and the wall.

You let out an accident squeal of desperation, begging him to do anything to you.

“Shh,” he chuckled, getting his thigh in between your legs so you could have something to grind against.

With you propped up against his thigh, he had his hands free to get your dress up around your waist. As he did this, your fingers found the zip of his pants, deftly undoing it.

“Please, baby.” he murmured, your fingers tracing the outline of his cock through the fabric of his underwear.

“Now, Aus.” You nodded, barely even registering the words he spoke, just desperate for some sort of release. His fingers were already inside your panties, finding your wet slit. Your pussy throbbed at the touch, and you bit your lip as he rubbed circles over your clit.

His now wet fingertips found the hem of your panties, pulling them down to your ankles, his other hand bunching the skirt of your dress up around your torso. Your actions followed his, getting his underwear down, his cock springing free. It was long, thick, and veiny. A small bead of precum glistened at the tip, and you moaned at the sight of it. “Austin, please, I need you.” You whispered, desperately. He chuckled again, rubbing your clit faster as he moved his hips into yours, letting his cock slide passed your slick slit.

Normally he’d wait, give you time to adjust to the feeling of him. This time though, he just couldn’t.

He moved his hips forward, pushing his cock inside of you. You gasped at the sudden intrusion, but you didn't pull away. Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself closer to him.

He kissed you, roughly, his tongue exploring your mouth as he began to move inside of you. He was thrusting into you with a primal urgency. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he pounded into you.

He broke the kiss, burying his face in your neck, nipping at your skin as he continued to fuck you. You were lost in the feeling of him inside of you. The pleasure was intense, and it was building quickly. His thumb worked on your clit, rubbing quick circles over you. You whimpered, almost crying with pleasure.

He was grunting with each thrust, his body tensing as he neared his climax. You could feel him begin to throb inside of you, and you knew that he was about to cum.

“Shh,” he hushed you gently, reminding you that this was neither the right time nor place for him to be fucking you.

“I'm going to come,” he said, his voice rough with desire, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside me,” you said, your voice a breathless whisper.

“You gotta come with me, honey, yeah? Can you do that for me?” He asked, practically panting.

“Y-yes, fuck.” You mumbled, with him getting rougher. He momentarily took his thumb off your clit, and dipped it in his mouth, coating it with his saliva. He brought it back to your clit, the extra wetness sending a tingling feeling up your spine. You choked back your moans, if you were anywhere else you'd be screaming his name.

His thrusts became more erratic, and as you felt your orgasm approaching, you hung on even tighter to his neck. With the way you were clinging to him, the way you were biting your lip to keep the sound suppressed, he knew you were about to come. His own orgasm was close too, and he wanted to come with you. He thrust into you hard, hitting your g spot, and you screamed into his shoulder, your orgasm washing over you, as you trembled on his cock. At the same time, he groaned, pulling you as close as he could to himself, his cock twitched inside of you as he came.

His orgasm was intense, and he felt like he was coming for hours. He pulled out of you, you shut your legs to try and stop his cum from running down the inside of your thighs. He leaned over you, his hands either side of your head, on the wall, trying to catch his breath as he redid the fly of his pants. After a moment, he grabbed some tissue paper, cleaning you up as best as he could. “How you feeling, baby?” He asked.

“Good, better.” You replied, pulling your panties back up, catching your breath with him. “Good.” He replied, kissing your forehead as he cupped your face with his hand.

“We should probably go.” He added, helping you stand up straight. “Yeah, we should.” You agreed, still breathing heavily.

He took your hand, letting you walk out the door first. With his head down, he followed you close behind, his hand moving to your lower back as he walked with you, back out, joining the rest of the Elvis cast.

‘I love you.’ Austin mouthed as he held you close by his side.

‘I love you too.’ You mouthed back, he pulled you into his chest briefly, giving you a subtle hug.

504 notes · View notes

taylormarieee · 1 month

Text

Co-Stars turned Lovers A Callum Turner love story

Chapter 1: "Welcome to the Beginning"

Pairing: Callum Turner x Fem!Bestfriend!Actress!Reader

Word Count: 2.k

Warnings: Kissing for like 2 secs, none really

You and Callum were the best of friends. Every Interview didn't feel the same without the other. You and him first starred together on Fantastic Beasts: Crimes Of Grindelwald and you bonded ever since.

You loved him so much and he loves you just the same. You were always spotted around LA together, always around in photos in Paris or New York to the point rumors went around that you guys were dating.

That wasn't the case at all. You were filming a new show and it took place in Paris and sometimes New York, so you constantly had to fly back and forth and you felt alone at times.

So you always invited Callum to which he happily obliged when he was free. You booked a hotel for however long you stayed in that place and always ordered a room with two beds.

One for you, and one for Callum. He was your favourite person in the whole world as you were his. He enjoyed your company and you felt as though you couldn't live without his company.

You had separation anxiety so you always felt sad when he wasn't around and would drive or fly as many hours as it took just to be with him. He was your Earth and you were his Moon. Without you he felt as though his world wouldn't spin anymore.

Without him you felt as though you had no purpose in life. Your sole purpose was to orbit around him, be around him as much as possible. You couldn't breathe without Callum.

But there were times where you had to just thug it out and do things on your own without him. He had a life too and you didn't want to seem like that annoying friend that seemed as though she didn't have a life and was just constantly around him.

There were times you will distance yourself from him if it meant you didn't seem or look annoying. But Callum of course, the sweet soul that he is never minded you clung to him 24/7. He enjoyed it actually, it made him feel appreciated and loved.

You gave him attention like crazy and he was a mama's boy. He loved feeling your validation and feeling as if he was wanted. He was drawn to you and you were drawn to him and this was the beginning of a love story you both never anticipated. The beginning of a story you both would soon realize was fate and destiny, the universe bringing you two together.

~ Welcome to the Beginning~

"Welcome to the late late show, I'm your host James Corden and I would like to welcome out our lovely guests."

Everyone in the crowd cheers and your giggling with Callum and Austin. You were so excited to be on the Late Late Show with THE James Corden. You loved James Corden.

"Gosh why am I so nervous!" You nervously giggle and look at Callum and Austin. "Maybe it's because you love James?" Austin says with a smirk on his face. It was more of a statement then a question.

"Y/n Y/l/n, Callum Turner, and Austin Butler!" He screams out and that's your cue for all three of you to walk out. You smile and wave at all the lovely people that have come out to see you guys.

Because your the first one out because the boys decided ladies first, Your the first to give James a hug. You laughed as he gave you a big loving hug. You sat down and waited for the boys to sit.

Austin sat closest to James and Callum sat on the opposite side next to you. So in shorter words, you sat in between the two.

"Welcome Welcome!" James says happily. "It's lovely to have you guys on the show." He says.

"Well were happy to be here!" You say with a dashing smile on your face.

"Alrighty let's get started shall we? Y/N! You are a beautiful amazing woman and an even more amazing actress! What was it like to first get into acting? Who were your role models and people you would have liked to tell that they inspired you to act?" He asks.

"oo that is a wonderful question. I found it quite easy and hard at the same time. I was a very dramatic kid, as my mother would say" You say with a chuckle, the audience chuckles as well.

"And it just made things easier. But at times I was very forgetful so it was hard to remember some of my lines, but being a kid actor who's just starting you realize that the adults working with you aren't going to be harsh because your a kid, you know? So that really helped because Adults have a big impact on kids cause your taller, seem more intimidating. But no yea, it was very easy. And my role model growing up I would have to say was either Leonardo Di Caprio or Will Smith. I really liked The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air."

Everyone claps at your answer and the queit down the moment James talks, "That's a wonderful answer. I love that! Now Callum and Austin, I heard you guys went to boot camp training for Masters of the Air. What was that like? Training to just be really hot and outlook people like me?" When James maks that comment you burst out laughing and the whole crowd laughs too.

James really had a way of making jokes and making people laugh. Austin and Callum laugh as well.

"That's what I've been saying James! There both incredibly attractive and I feel like that boot camp didn't give them any training except how to make other men feel bad!" You say through laughs.

James grabs your hand and laughs with you. "Right! At least I have someone to back me up and not call me insecure, Thank you!" He says.

You nod and smile at him before letting Austin and Callum answer. "Ugh well no it was a very fun time of training to outlook other men! No I'm kidding. It was very fun and felt so real, and when you really see the work we did on the big screen it's like, woah I didn't think it would come out that good. Cuz you know behind the scenes were goofing around and having little to know clue what's gonna happen next so yea it was a huge roller coaster." Austin explains.

You nod and give out a hum of approval and look at Callum, "Do you have anything to add on to that?" James asks.

"Nope, I mean I would have said it just like that. It was very fun and having y/n on set? Oh it was never a dull moment when it came to her. We all had a lot of fun." He says. You smile and look back at James.

"Alrighty, let's get to the juicy stuff!" James says smiling. You face fall and you mutter out an "Oh no." And the crowd starts laughing because you forgot that the mic's pick up everything.

"Why oh no y/n." Your face lights up with surprise and you cover your face in embarrassment.

"Because I know exactly what the juicy stuff is! So, to answer your question, no me and Callum are not dating Mr. Corden!" You say with a laugh at the end.

"Wow! Do a lot of Interviewers ask you that question?" He asks.

"yes, everyday!" You and Callum say at the same time. "I promise you were just really good friends who hang out alot because one of us has separation anxiety from their comfort person." Callum says motioning towards you.

You laugh and then hit his arm playfully. "I'm filming between Paris and New York so you'll spot me with Callum alot because sometimes I get lonely so of course I'm gonna bring my best friend!"

"Yea there was a few times she brought me but I guess paparazzi don't see us or they do and just don't ship me and her together." Austin defends.

"Ok ok, so well then that question is moved over, completely erased."

After that the interview, you, Callum and Austin decide to go out to eat. You chose the restaurant, you always did. You never wanted to because you were always indecisive but you eventually chose a place and you guys went to dine.

Sadly, Austin couldn't stay with you guys as his girlfriend called and needed him home for something urgent. Something about her cutting her hand. You both said your goodbyes and wished she was ok before sitting and ordering.

This was the night you realized your true feelings for Callum Turner...

This was the night you would never forget... The night it all happened and was brushed off as a mistake.

"Callum... today was so exhausting. I hate when people ship us, I mean I don't hate James, I'm just tired of getting asked that same question over and over again! Aren't you?" You ramble on about today's earlier events.

"I mean, if i'm being honest... I don't care. Me and you both know were best friends so why bother entertaining it." he says as he leans closer to you from across the table.

"Unless of course...You wanna deny the fact that you would ever date me? Do you not love me or something?" He teases with a smirk on his face.

That. That right there is what started it... What started your feelings and the electricity that shot down your spine.

"N-No that's... that's not what I'm saying or i-implying Callum!" You say nervously. You were never nervous around Callum.

"Mhmm yeah...sure." He says still leaning forward even closer to you know. 'Maybe he's intoxicated' you thought. He was never this straightforward with you or even this flirtatious with you.

You guys were drinking in the car but not heavily. His hand reaches your cheek and you giggle nervously. "C-Callum what are you doing?" You ask nervously.

"I'm feeling your face duh! What else would I possibly be doing..." He says. You notice he's not making eye contact with you but more so your lips. You lick them nervously and you see his eyebrow raise for a second.

He leans in just a little closer whispering a "God your so beautiful" before he kisses you. Your eyes are wide and you melt into it. He quickly breaks away and apologizes before you could even kiss him back.

"Oh my lord, I'm sorry... i don't know what came over me. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable that-that was a mistake." He says before rubbing his face with his hands.

"I-It's ok Callum. I'm not uncomfortable. Let's just eat ok?" You say with a sweet smile to hide the sadness in your face from him. He sweetly smiles back at you and you both indulge.

That night was a night you've never forgotten but what you were completely oblivious too was that that night was unforgettable to Callum too.

He thought about that night everyday he looked at you... everytime he touched you... everytime he sees lip gloss coat your full lips.

It plagued his mind like a virus corrupting a humans mind. He wanted you badly but he knew he couldn't have you. He couldn't ruin this relationship he had with you, this beautiful friendship, but goddamn were you addicting.

you and Callum were polar opposites yet destined to be together...If only you two could open your eyes and see what is right in front of you.

You and him were made for each other, you just needed to find each other. Like two lost souls searching for a purpose. Like the Earth and the Moon, they look platonic but one can't live without the other. Destined to fall in love either way.

Love, fate, and desire... Something you two need to give into in order to find yourselves.

Taglist: @dustbunniess @willyoubemycherryy and anyone else that wants to join!

#my man <3 #callum turner #Callum #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #callum turner fanfiction #callum turner major john bucky egan

299 notes · View notes

obessedwithfictionalmen · 1 month

Text

Co-Stars pt.8

Callum Turner X Actress! Reader

Summary: A bad joke is made about Y/n and Callum won't stand for it.

Warning: Joe Koy/ Swearing/ use of Y/n/ mention of being naked

Word count: 1.1k

Yn's outfit:

Award season was going well, she won an Emmy and now she was nominated for a Golden Globes for Best Performance by a Female Action in a Drama series. Unlike the Emmy’s, she was now nominated as if she was a main character, and it was amazing. The cast walked on the red carpet, again, getting yelled at by photographers. ‘’Good luck tonight, Y/n, I hope you win!’’ one yelled. It made the woman smile. ‘’Boys how does it feel to work with this amazing woman’’ without saying a word, they all start to kneel, to pay their respect to her. ‘’Oh my god’’ Y/n laughs. She takes a pose for the photographers and the boys get up. ‘’I love you guys’’ she says to her co-stars.

They didn’t know who the presenter was, so Y/n had to google him, but at the same time, Florence Pugh came to the table and asked for a photo with her. Her phone was towards the camera, her google research was exposed. But the ceremony started, Y/n was nervous, she was against really good actress, like Emma Stone and Bella Ramsey. ‘’Now Master of the Air was amazing! But I didn’t get why each time we saw Y/n on screen, we saw her naked, I mean, was the only purpose of her character, being naked? You’re playing in a series about WW2, not Sex Education’’ that was supposed to be a joke, but no one laughed. Y/n was looking at the presenter with a death stare before taking a sip of his drink. Joe nervously laughed. ‘’Sorry about that’’ he continued his speech but when he ‘apologized’ the camera went on Y/n and Callum. ‘’You better be sorry, asshole’’ Callum mumbled. He hid his mouth when he insulted him, but he didn’t understand why he thought making this joke was supposed to be fun. ‘’He clearly didn’t watch the hole show’’ Austin said to Y/n, which made her smile.

‘’And the winner is…’’ her heart was going to burst out of her chest. ‘’Y/n Y/l/n for her role in Master of the Air’’ She got up her chair, kissed Callum, hugged Austin and Antony, took off her shoes and made her way to the stage. She hugged Meryl Streep, she was presenting the award, when Y/n got to Joe, she didn’t hug him. She took the statue and came closer to the mic. ‘’Oh my god, wow, thank you so much. That’s amazing!’’ her voice cracked from the emotions. The crowd cheered for her. ‘’This series means so much to me, my wonderful co-stars, I love you so much. I don’t want to say the same thing as my other speech, because I did more than being naked in every scene, so I won awards, and people actually know who I am.’’ The crowd laughed at the comeback for the woman. Joe faked laugh and looked at the ground. ‘’To all the people out there, that are scared to pursue their dreams, don’t give up. You can do it, dreams come true! I got men kneeling for me, I won awards, and I got made fun of on national television! Thank you and good night!’’ she said, making the crowd laugh again. Callum was so proud of his girl; she stood up for herself and she did it the funniest way possible.

‘’The Golden Globe for the best drama Television Series goes to…’’ Drew Barrymore opened the envelope, the cast all held hands, silently praying. ‘’Master of the Air!’’ she exclaimed, stomping around in excitement. The cast got up, followed by Tom Hanks, Steven Spielberg and Gary Goetzman. When they all got on stage, the trophy was handed to Gary. Callum and Y/n held hands; it was special to be on stage together. ‘’Wow! Thank you so much, this is amazing! This T.V show is, I think, really important to understand history and its darker parts. I’m going to stop talking or I’ll take all the time’’ Gary laughed. The mic was given to Tom Hanks. ��’Like Gary said, this series is the third, we did Band of Brothers and The Pacific, but Master of the Air is the last and to see it getting so much recognition fills my heart with joy’’ he said, tears in his eyes. Steven stepped forward to talk. ‘’Thank you to everyone that made this project happen, to our beautiful cast, thank you for accepting to follow our crazy idea, love you all’’ he blew kiss to us. Austin stepped forward. ‘’Thank you so much. This type of series, uh, I think, needs to be done so the next generation can understand what really went down. Thank you so much!’’ Y/n smiled; Callum stepped forward. ‘’And finally, thank you to everyone that really watched the show and saw that Y/n wasn’t always naked!’’ that made the cast laugh. A Y/n face palmed, but she was happy to see that the joke wasn’t forgotten and that the guys didn’t like it. ‘’Yeah! Y/n is amazing!’’ Barry quickly said. The woman laughed as they all left stage. Backstage, they all hugged, even the directors joined in. ‘’I’m so proud of all of you.’’ Tom Hanks said.

‘’So, Y/n, a picture came out, can you explain what you were googling’’ the journalist asked, making the woman laugh. ‘’Uh, I didn’t know who Joe Koy was, so I looked him up’’ she simply said. ‘’About the joke he made, your co-stars became protective, what does it mean for you?’’ she was tired of this question, each interview station, they asked that question. ‘’Personally, I thought it was low, I mean, it wasn’t the fact that she was naked that made her win an Emmy and a Golden Globe, so yeah. But I think he learned his lesson’’ Callum answered. Y/n smiled and leaned her head against him. ‘’Thank you, good night’’ the journalist said. They could finally leave this place. Y/n has her statue in her hand, it was really beautiful. ‘’It’s going to fit perfectly beside my Emmy award’’ she said in the limousine. Making her co-star giggle. ‘’Like we told you before, we got your back, we weren’t going to let him disrespect you like that’’ Anthony said. Y/n thanked him as they made their way to the after party.

#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner imagine #master of the air #golden globes

175 notes · View notes

precioustarkey · 6 months

Text

journalism at its finest

summary: you have made a career for yourself by interviewing celebrities, but are feeling a little uncomfortable when one hits close to home.

warnings: none

i nervously climbed into my car. the engine only makes my nerves rattle more. growing up, i was infatuated with actors and musicians. i found myself watching movies for the actors instead of the plot. listening to songs for the singers instead of the message. i can't explain my relationship with the media. i guess being online a lot as a teenager is to blame.

regardless, i knew from an early age that i wanted to work in the industry. not as an entertainer, but in the background. i wanted to observe the lifestyle up close. going to college for journalism was the best decision i have made for myself because now i get to live out my fantasy.

i get paid to interview these people. and though i find a lot of them uptight and spoiled, the nosy side of me loves picking them apart. because of my job, i try my best to stay neutral on these celebrities so that they don't feel uncomfortable. apart from the research i do in order to come up with my questions, of course.

today is different. there is a show called "outer banks" that came around during quarantine, so with my free time, i binge-watched the entire first season. as i mentioned, normally i watch tv shows and movies for the actors, but i hadn't seen anyone in this show.

however, when i delved deeper into google, i found the name of one of the actors to be familiar. drew starkey. i quickly found out that he grew up in north carolina, as did i. confused, i pulled myself from my cocoon on my couch to find my old high school yearbooks. grabbing one at random, i see him grinning in his senior photo. how could i forget?

ever since i discovered this, i avoided the show like the plague. even though i had been surrounded by celebrities for years now, i had never known one of them personally. it almost ruined the glamorous aura surrounding them. imagining him as a regular teenage boy in the classes we shared was humbling. he wasn't mean in high school, not at all. if anything, i remember finding it odd that he hung around the theater kids because he was a total jock.

because of quarantine, i knew that press would be difficult for the actors, and because of this, i never anticipated having to interview them. which helped ease my nerves. moving to los angeles meant that i would interview every celebrity on the new up-and-coming shows. part of me hoped the hype surrounding the show would die down before the lockdown did.

the entire ride to the studio, i told myself over and over again that there was no way he would remember me. he was a jock, and i barely spoke. it wasn't the fact that i was shy, high school just wasn't for me. i counted down the days to graduation. i was only there because i had to be. i put more focus on my studies than my social life.

in the back of my mind, i can't help but fear that seeing him will bring back memories of being the closed-off kid i was back then. as long as no one mentions it, everything will be okay. i repeated that to myself a few times before parking my car in the lot. removing my seatbelt as slowly as possible to buy time.

my hands are shaking as i walk to my studio. i send passing smiles to my coworkers as i make my way to the bathroom. i confirm that my hair, face, and outfit look presentable, and read over my questions one last time.

the cameraman walks up to me as i take my seat to wait for the cast to arrive. "i just got a call; austin and drew are going to be the only ones you're interviewing today. madelyn, rudy, and madison will be interviewed tomorrow," he says, looking for any sort of confirmation. "that sounds perfect," i say, smiling, still looking at my cards.

i hear footsteps coming from the hallway and quickly stand up. austin and drew emerged into the room with their crew. "hello! so nice to meet you, my name is y/n," i say with a grin as i hold out my hand to them. they do the same, introducing themselves as they take turns shaking my hand.

all three seats are now filled, so we can begin the questions. the first fifteen minutes go perfectly; we're laughing, they're thoroughly interested in the questions, and they're giving great answers. turning my attention to drew, i ask, "has this sudden change in lifestyle been difficult for you at all? to go from putting your all into basketball, to then deciding on theater in college?"

he looks taken aback by my question. that nervous feeling in my stomach is slowly creeping back. i made sure that his sports background was easy to find online, so i was confident he wouldn't be too surprised. "wait a second. y/n? y/n y/l/n?" i can feel my cheeks flush at his realization.

"can i be honest? i was hoping you wouldn't notice," i said, covering my face with my note cards. we are now sharing smiles. "oh my god. i sat behind you in algebra, you're the only reason i passed that class," he says in between laughs. seeing him in person has brought all of those little memories flooding back.

after a minute or so of catching up, their team urges us on. "we've got other interviews, guys," the man says impatiently. we carry on for an additional fifteen minutes or so before i have run out of questions to ask. we said our farewells, and i thanked them for coming.

just as they were leaving, drew turned around, brushing past the guys they had walked in with. "y/n can i get your number? i would love to catch up properly whenever we both have time," he says, pulling out his phone. "yes, of course!" i smile, quickly typing in the numbers before they are once again rushed away.

it felt like no time before my phone started dinging.

part two is here!

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey headcannon #drew starkey one shot #rafe cameron #outer banks #drew starkey fluff #y/n #drew starkey x y/n

375 notes · View notes

sugarcoatedstarkey · 1 year

Note

Drew and Chase's ex part 2. Drew feeling a 'little' pissed that he wasn't included in the flash forward (let's say he filmed something for it) and seeing everyone speculate that he won't be in season 4. And then out of spite that none of the cast have neither confirmed or denied the rumour in interviews he decides to fuck yn in one of their trailers while filming season 4 and that is how they all find out 😂

And since they wanna be chill with Chase I would say either Jonathan's or Austin's because they're good friends.

Leftovers p2

(Gif credit to owner)

Pairings- readerxdrew starkey

Summary- follow in from part 2, read above.

Warnings- unprotected angry kind of public sex, hair pulling, choking, fingering, hand job, language. (18+)

A/n- hey anon, I changed it up a little. Just found it easier to write it prior to season 4 filming. I hope you don’t mind! Let me know what you think 🥰 also this is unedited atm but needed to post as my drafts are being so weird and I can’t open word doc.

Part 1

"Okay, but if I’m in season 4. Why is no one saying yes in the interviews?” Drew argues, he’s pacing the living room floor.

The vein in his arm is protruding from the way his fist is tightly balled up. “Why am I being told not to say anything?”.

You knew if you weren’t over, half his furniture would be turned upside down and his knuckles would be bruised. He didn’t know how to calm himself down when you weren’t around, he usually bottled things up until they tip him over the edge.

“Whatever”.

You watched as he hung up the phone and brought his arm above his head to throw the phone. “Drew” you sing, his eyes meet yours.

All the anger that had been radiating from him vanishes, he drops the phone onto the couch and walks towards you. Taking a seat next to you, he grabs your face and kisses you. “Thanks for being my anchor” he smiles, your heart skips a beat.

“Do you still want to go to this party JD is throwing for end of season 3? We don’t have to, I mean I know how angry you are” you question, you didn’t really want to go.

You both had been seeing each other on the down low since the night you had sex, so exactly 5 months. You had planned on speaking to Chase but with Drew being busy with interviews and you working in the office until late most night, no one’s schedule ever matched.

That was until you got a text from Chase inviting you to the party, neither of you had hard feelings. You had seen photos online of him with other girls and assumed he had moved on, but you just weren’t sure how he would react to the two of you getting together.

“Oh, we are going” he states, he has a look of mischief on his face but he’s standing and exiting the room before you can even question what’s running through his brain.

2 nights go by and you’re stepping out of a taxi, dressed in a black and white checked dress that meets your knees. You had a good amount of cleavage on display and the waist was snatched.

You and Drew had decided to come separately, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you if paparazzi where to find out about the party. Lucky it was on the down low, and you go unnoticed.

“Hey!” JD yells, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you through the house. He guides you to a bar and grabs you a glass of wine. “So good to see you Y/N! Chase is here somewhere”.

Just as he finishes his sentence you see him walk through the door, he gives you a bright smile and walks over. “Hey!” He greets you, giving you a soft hug and kissing your cheek.

You had only seen each other once since the split, thankfully the second the hug ended, you knew you no longer had feelings for him. You just hoped he felt the same way, you didn’t want to keep you and drew a secret anymore.

“How are you?” You question, taking a sip of the white wine JD had given you. The sweet taste danced over your taste buds.

Conversations begin to flow between the 3 of you and soon the whole cast is gathered in a circle, catching up and chatting about new projects. You said a few things about your own work, but really you just listened.

You still hadn’t seen Drew, you kept checking your phone to make sure he hadn’t bailed. You knew how angry he was, you tried to keep him calm but the second you left his side it just hit him, and he’d search the interviews online.

What seemed like an eternity later; he strode on in. Dressed all in black and frames on his face. He waved at everyone, but you could tell he was anxious. He didn’t like not knowing the future.

“Drew!” Everyone cheered, you waited your turn until you could hug him and say hey. You could feel his lips linger on your cheek and his fingers dig into your hips as a way of saying ‘missed you’.

The rest of the night went by in a blur, you saw Drew occasionally, but he was off talking to everyone. You could see him talking to the show runner and the conversation must have started to get heated as Drew’s fingers kept running over his scalp and his jaw was tense.

You didn’t want to interrupt so made your way to a bathroom, you would do your business and then go back out and see if you could grab his attention without having to go over and interrupt the conversation.

A couple of minutes went by, and you opened the door to leave the bathroom, but Drew stood at the entrance. His hands grip your shoulders and push you softly back inside, closing the door behind him.

He grips your jaw and presses his lips to yours, needy hands touching all over your body. Pushing you up against the cabinets, he helps you onto the countertop. Pushing himself between your parted legs.

You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands caressing your hips. Pulling you close to him as he lets his tongue explore the inside of your mouth.

The music outside is drowned out by your heartbeat rattling in your ears, your skin was on fire from his touch. You could feel his erection against your clothed pussy, you needed him right there and then.

“Can I touch you?” He breathes, you nod your head. Taking a moment to catch your breath, he reaches between the two of you. Pulling your panties to the side, he pushes you back slightly.

Angling you to lay back against the mirror, nodding for you to bring your feet up onto the countertop, when he’s finally happy with the way your sat. He runs his fingertips between your soaking folds.

An almost pornographic moan leaves your lips, he chuckles into your hair. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking at how easy it is for him to get you wet. He pushes two fingers inside of you, your mouth gaping open.

“Dre-w, should we be doing this?” You breathed, your walls fluttering around his fingers. You could feel your self-growing wetter, the movements of his fingers becoming fast and sloppy. You don’t doubt that you have covered his hands with your juices. “Hell, yeah we should baby”.

You don’t argue with him, you’re riding your high in JD’s bathroom. Zoned out to the world, grinding your hips into his hand as he brings you over the edge. Your orgasm washing over you with a sense of release, your moans are hidden by his mouth on yours.

You’re reaching into his pants to grab his cock, pulling it out of its confinements. You use your arousal to pump your hand up and down his shaft as he sucks and bites down your throat.

One of his hands fisting the back of your head and pulling you head to the side to give him better access. “Fuck”.

“Feels so good”

“Yeah?”

“So good, I need to be inside of you”

He’s rushing to undo his zip and doesn’t give you time to move position, he’s pushing inside of you with ease. You let out a yelp when he grips your hips and pushes you down onto him harshly. “Fuck, harder Drew”.

“How hard?”

He was still cautious with how he treated you in the bedroom, not wanting to upset you. You had told him a million times he could carve his name on your skin, and you’d still suck his dick. “Make me scream baby”.

He pulls out of you, repositioning you to lean over the countertop. He gives your ass a slap and pushes inside of you again. Bunching your dress up to your hips so he can get a good view of his cock drenched in your juices.

“Oh shit, please Drew harder” you beg, you grip onto the counter. He grips your hair and pulls you back against him, moving his hips inside of you as he reaches around to kiss you.

His hands caress your body, groping your tits. Reaching down to massage your clit, his other hand grips your throat tightly. His eyes are watching the way your own roll to the back of your head, he’s so close to coming just from the way you looked euphoric right now.

“Your so fucking perfect”

“Your mine”

“We are telling Chase”

“I need everyone to know your fucking mine”

You’re coming hard around him, screaming his name out. He places his hand over your mouth to muffle it out slightly, he holds you firmly against him as you shake around him. Your walls pulsating around his cock, milking him until he’s completely dry.

The anger that had once been raging inside of him had gone, he was satisfied and happy. The feeling of you in his arms had him humming with delight.

“Did you mean that last part?” You questioned; he nodded his head. Looking at you through the mirror. You have him a soft smile and turned your head to give him a kiss.

“No way”

You both jump at the voice behind you as Austin stood at the door, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene in front of him. He steps out without saying another word and closes the door behind him.

“I mean, at least it wasn’t chase?” Drew laughs, he slips out of you and helps you clean up. You’re both trying to work yourselves up to get out of the bathroom and to speaking to Chase, it had to happen now. If Austin knew, it was only right Chase did.

“So why did we just have sex in JD’s bathroom?”

“Just me being pissed off with what’s going on with season 4, kind of wanted to just let some steam off. I mean, I’m pissed no one has just said yeah, he’s in the next season.”

“I’m just being salty”

You nod your head in understanding, you would be pissed to if your cast mates pretended like you weren’t going to be in the next season.

“Guys, Chase is coming” Austin barged through the door and pushed you away from one another. He leans against the counter and nods when Chase came up to the door. “Sup man”.

Chase looked between the 3 of you and quirked his brow, peering over your shoulder at the bathroom counter. “Not doing drugs, right?” He laughed nervously.

You all laughed, it was awkward, and your heart felt like it was in your throat. You were nervous and it made it even worse that Austin was in the room, but as though he could read your mind, he pointed his finger to the door and exited.

“What’s going on guys?” Chase questions, he noticed the both of you being awkward. He could tell someone wanted to say something because you both were still in the bathroom waiting. “Chase, man I need to tell you something”.

Chase nods his head and looks at you, you know he wants to ask if you need to be in the room but when he looks back at Drew, he turns to look at you again.

“So those pictures online?” Chase states, no doubt talking about the pictures that those teenage girls had posted online 5 months ago. “Are you seeing each other?”.

Drew looks over at you, making sure you’re okay with him answering. “Yeah” you whisper, you know you shouldn’t be nervous. Your both adults, these feelings honestly can’t be helped, and Chase would know that.

He had to deal with his old feelings with Maddi when you started dating, he was still getting over her and you were fine with that. You gave him his time and he came around in the end.

“Oh shit” Chase breaths, he runs a hand through his hair. He chuckles to himself; Drew can tell your even more anxious now.

His eyes fall to you as you sway on the spot, picking at the skin around your nails. “I’m sorry man, I’ve been meaning to talk to you”. Drew states, he puts his hand on Chase’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry Chase, we did mean to talk to you” you start, your about to add that you didn’t want him to be upset and that you both weren’t walking around hoping to be photographed together but he stops you.

“Hey, hey. It’s totally fine” he says, there was a slight hesitation when he says fine, but his caramel eyes meet yours. “I promise, I mean sure it’s a shock, but we ended things months ago” Chase finished, he gives you a soft smile.

“I’m happy for you both”

He pulls Drew in for hug and gives him a rough pat on the back, you can feel slight tension from them both. Unsure how to react to each other, Chase was understanding. Yes, he felt a little strange that his ex was now dating Drew who had become a close friend of his since season 1.

But if Y/N could deal with Chase having had feelings for Maddi then the least he could do is deal with the two of them becoming a couple. So, he pulled you into a soft hug and before you could pull away. He brought his lips to your ears.

“He will be good for you”

“Thanks Chase”.

757 notes · View notes

stylespresleyhearted · 2 days

Text

THIS JUST IN: CALLUM TURNER, NEW FATHER

pt. ✌🏻 ~ fc: beautiful rosie hunington-whitely ~

masterlist here ; part one here

enjoy ♥️

liked by user02, user14, and 71954 others

dailymail Callum Turner made a surprise appearance at last night’s award show with girlfriend Y/N and we were all shocked to see she is no longer pregnant. She’s even back in shape! Click the link in bio to find out everything we know about the birth of their child

view all comments

fan21 did ya’ll think she was gonna be pregnant forever ???

fan23 What a horrible thing to do. Talking about a woman’s body and her being in shape after she’s carried and birthed a child? Do better dailymail!

fan12 AHHH CONGRATS TO THEM! 😭🙌🏼♥️

fan33 luckiest child ever

liked by austinbutler and 93715 others

yourinstagram happy daddy day my love 🫶🏻 we love you a million

(also yes our baby was born. he’s perfect.)

view all comments

fan23 omfg ima cry i know he’s the best fucking dad

austinbutler ❤️

yourinstagram we miss you uncle austin!

keoghan92 I remember when Cal used to carry me on his shoulders like that around set 🥺

anthonyboyle you’re ridiculous

yourinstagram LMAO happy fathers day! Come visit soon 😘

yourfriendsinstagram omg so you aren’t gonna be pregnant forever? what?! (😒)

liked by rafflaw, austinbutler, and 76199 others

callumturner I made an Instagram to publicly wish my beautiful partner and the best mum around (sorry Mum) a happy birthday. I love you darling and you two are the most precious things in my life 🥳

comments have been limited

florencepugh I too would make an entire Instagram just to love on @yourinstagram so I get it 😝

anthonyboyle OI IT’S Y/N DAY

camilamorrone happy burfday y/n!!! love you loads!!! 🥳❤️

austinbutler Funny thing, I took this photo. 🌚

keoghan92 LMAO calling him out! tbh it looked like a photo taken by you 😉

callumturner Fuck off the both of you 😂

rafflaw Austin won’t reply to a text but he’ll comment on an Instagram photo. Got it.

yourinstagram austin i told you not to send him the photo 😩 i look horrible! delete!

callumturner Impossible. Never.

liked by zendaya, rafflaw, and 41896 others

yourinstagram Thank you for all the wonderful birthday wishes & thank you to all my friends and family who joined our little family on my birthday excursion 😘 life has never been better since our little man joined us ♥️

view all comments

keoghan92 not fair that austin hogged him the entire week! me and brando had plans for the little guy!

oliviadejonge love you 🥀

fan23 This little family owns my heart. ❤️

liked by user12, yourinstagram, and 577 others

callumnews Callum’s happy reaction when his son yelled out “daddy!” during the panel 😭

view all comments

fan23 all the guys talking about what a great dad he is made me tear up

fan42 “Uncle Austin is the favorite” confirmed by callum lmao barry was heated!!

fan12 He was eager to get on that stage haha! @yourinstagram looks like he’s gonna follow in his dad’s footsteps!

yourinstagram 😂😂 seriously he loves the attention and he’s such a daddy’s boy he kept trying to head on stage

liked by appletv, rafflaw, and 12945 others

yourinstagram #tbt dad life

view all comments

keoghan92 Oh yeah 100%

user13 this is the most of his face they’ve shown

user14 don’t be weird

callumsfamily I miss when the little man couldn’t walk y/n have another!

yourinstagram 😉

fan21 OMG

liked by fan13, zendaya, and 17322 others

yourinstagram MOM LYFE

view all comments

yourfriendsinstagram I miss kissing his chubby baby rolls (and tell Callum to stop taking photos of you in the shower)

fan12 LOL

fan23 It’s funny to picture Y/N trynna shower and Callum and their baby waiting patiently on the toilet 😂😂

yourinstagram they do NOT wait patiently 😂

liked by fan13, fan55, and 88154 others

callumnews Callum greeting his mother as she joined him, Y/N, and her grandson for a day at the park. She was bestowed an award at Parliament House last week for her contribution to gender and cultural equality and she dedicated it to her grandson. All photos of their child had his face blurred out of respect for the Turner family.

view all comments

fan23 He lives on Callum’s shoulders 😂

fan12 Y/N is living all my fanfiction dreams tbh

user23 I hope magazines and fans continue to blur out his face in photos until Callum and Y/N are ready.

fan53 Callum’s mom is so awesome wow

yourinstagram she’s the coolest & the most amazing nan! ♥️ the little guy calls her about 20 times a day because he loves her so much and we have to remind him she has work which he does not like to hear 😂

liked by austinbutler, yourinstagram, and 1533470 others

callumturner time flies when you’re having fun has never felt more existential than since we were blessed with this little human.

We are aware that because of my line of work people will be curious and photos will be taken. As his parents, me and Y/N want to protect him and get ahead of it. To my fans and to the media, if you respect me or basic human decency, we ask that you please only allow the photos we post of our son to grace the internet. Thank you.

view all comments

fan23 Guys if we love and respect Callum like we say we do let’s promise to help protect their son’s privacy!

anthonyboyle Holy shit he’s looking more like his dad every day ain’t he?

keoghan92 Poor lad

Completely fictional! Barry is all up in the comment section and Raff Law is always all up in the likes but it’s because those two are always (or used to be) online haha

Let me know if ya’ll liked it and if you’d want more 🫶🏻

#made by me*#callum turner #callum turner x reader #callum turner instagram edit #callum turner fanfic #dad! callum

59 notes · View notes

thorsenmark · 2 years

Video

flickr

Something “Wicked This Way Comes” in the Clouds (Black and White) by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While out on a morning stroll and walking up this hill in a west Austin neighborhood, I noticed these clouds going by off in the distance. My first thought was that title from the Ray Bradbury book. The next thought was that a black-and-white image would definitely best capture the mood with the clouds. I later did that conversation using Silver Efex Pro 2 where I made some adjustments to color filters to bring out a much richer tonal contrast for the final image.

0 notes

sleepyverstappens · 6 months

Text

Race engineer Gianpiero Lambiase about bond with Max Verstappen: 'Never again with anyone else'

Although Gianpiero Lambiase is a nice person to be around and also an easy talker, he rarely or never gives interviews. But the down-to-earth Brit is also a man of his word and honors the agreement made at the beginning of this year. The delay makes it extra clear that he does not necessarily have to come to the fore and his extensive range of tasks during a racing weekend logically takes priority. Now that both championships have been won, Lambiase joins me. Who is behind that voice that can be heard so often during Grand Prix? The man who always sounds so calm. Except for that one time, after the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix in 2021. So much so that many people still think that it is not Lambiase who is blaring on the radio, but the then reserve driver Alex Albon. Which is not the case.

Not a partygoer

The calm he so often radiates is one of his great qualities. “I think it is very important to be able to keep a driver calm in the heat of the moment,” said Lambiase. “That's just how I am, that's my character. What also plays a role is that – and I don't want to sound arrogant – I set the bar and my own expectations extremely high. Maybe too high. I want everything to go perfectly and I know full well that that's not possible. But it allows me to quickly rationalize and learn from disappointments. While maybe I don't celebrate the highlights as I could or should. Colleagues here will say that I am not a party goer, but that is just how I am.”

An example of this is the celebration, just hours after Verstappen won his third world title in Qatar. While he (Max) is once again lifted on the shoulders by his mechanics in the Red Bull garage, Lambiase walks with his hands in his pockets and casually walking to the start of the pit lane for the team's next photo opportunity. Another moment, last week in Mexico: when a fan has his picture taken with Lambiase, the local asks the engineer if everything is okay between him and Verstappen. It won't be the first and won't be the last time he hears that. Things sometimes get heated between the two, for example recently in Austin.

“But we never argue. Sometimes it takes more than one or two hours after a race to come together again. We both have adrenaline in our bodies, sometimes you need to have some time for yourself before you say things you will regret. And there are also moments when I think: I could have conveyed that better. Max will have that too. We may have different opinions, but in the evening or the next day it is always okay.”

Honesty underestimated Lambiase has been working at Red Bull since 2015 and has been active as a race engineer for fourteen years, so he knows better than anyone how good the mutual bond should be. “You know what is hugely underestimated? How important a part honesty plays in the relationship between a racing engineer and driver. Being yourself is crucial to working productively and efficiently. The moment you start thinking 'I don't know if I should say that, because he might get angry', you are on a lost cause."

So he is not afraid to push back from the pit wall. “I don't think Max would want it any other way either. He's not someone who wants to walk all over you. He is clear, to the point. That's how he was raised. His father Jos trained him wonderfully. I take over that task to a very small extent on the circuit, through my responsibilities as an engineer. That dynamic seems to work well. I'm not an expert in sports psychology at all, but you have to feel the character of a driver to achieve the optimal. That is something fundamental in my work: being able to trust each other blindly, but also having an eye for the emotional side. Especially nowadays, the mental aspect is increasingly important. It's not just about talent or the car, but how someone can deal with that talent and their emotions.”

In that respect, Verstappen seems to be doing well. And the Limburger has also been working with Lambiase to his full satisfaction since his first day at Red Bull's flagship. In fact, after winning his first world title, he even said that he would quit immediately if his race engineer gave up.

“But I can see through that. First of all, no one is irreplaceable. And secondly: there is no way that when I walk out that door tomorrow, Max's Formula 1 career will be over. It is nice that he says that and it shows how well we treat each other,” says GP, who now also reveals that there is an exclusive collaboration. “The day that Max and I no longer work together in this setting will be the day that I would like to take on a different challenge. I don't think it's fair to any other driver if we try to emulate what I've done with Max since May 2016. I see this as something incredibly special and don't think anything like this will happen again. So I hope that we will continue in this way until 2028 ( Verstappen's current contract runs til 2028, ed.). Unless he or the team decides otherwise of course…”

Important sensor At the pit wall, Lambiase is overloaded with information and data, but he emphasizes how crucial the input from the driver himself is. A regular occurrence during a race, for example, is the Englishman asking his Dutch companion whether he would like a different adjustment of the front wing during the next pit stop.

“We indeed receive a lot of information about the balance of the car and the condition of the tires. But the most important sensor is Max himself. We can make all kinds of assumptions, but these are such small margins. The feedback from a driver is very important.”

Since last year, Lambiase has also been the Head of Race Engineering at Red Bull Racing. As a race engineer, he has previously worked with Vitantonio Liuzzi, Paul di Resta, Verstappen's current teammate Sergio Pérez and his predecessor Daniil Kvyat. But what makes Verstappen so good? Hardly anyone can estimate this better than Lambiase. “In my opinion, he has learned a lot from the difficult moments that occurred in 2017 and 2018. He has developed a racing style that not many drivers have. In recent years he has also proven to be very skilled in risk management. In 2021 he understood that he had to finish every race and could not afford DNFs. That year was so incredibly important for his growth. With that title in his pocket and a competitive car in recent years, he can estimate very well how much risk he has to take on Sunday. And also during the qualifying sessions he knows that he does not always have to show his balls or be the 105 percent version of Max Verstappen.”

"I see this as something incredibly special and don't think anything like this will happen again."

Just as Lambiase says he learned a lot in his twenties during his early years in the world, with teams such as Jordan, Midland and Spyker. “I opened myself up to learning things from the smart people around me. Since then I have gained a lot of experience, also through all the technical and sporting changes in the regulations that have occurred. When Max was promoted to Red Bull in 2016, the days leading up to that first race in Barcelona were very hectic and tense. The expectations were sky-high and as a driver you have the feeling after such an intervention that you cannot disappoint the bosses. Of course, he already had a reputation and we quickly saw that he was an exceptional talent. I knew I was in it for the long haul with Max. That has also proven to be the case.”

Despite the many races and the associated travel, Lambiase is far from tired of his work. “This industry is so dynamic. The goalposts never stand still and we always strive for perfection. The excitement that comes with it is what challenges me. It may seem that way to people, but it is not easy to win even one Formula 1 race. Everything has to be right. You've seen this year in Singapore that when you do it wrong, you have a problem. The fact that Max has now won sixteen of the nineteen races is not just because the car is good. That is mainly because of him, and because we make the right decisions as a team.”

What does a race engineer do?

Four minutes. That's how long it takes Gianpiero Lambiase to briefly and concisely describe his many tasks as a race engineer. This goes much further than just talking to the driver during sessions on the asphalt. “Sometimes I wish that were the case,” he says, smiling. “As a race engineer at Red Bull, I am actually responsible for the entire operation of the car on the track. And I work together with all our specialists in the field of aerodynamics, simulations, the engine, you name it. Everything to try to have the best and efficient package on the track as possible.”

It doesn't stop there. “As is known, most of the development of the car takes place in the factory in England. But we as engineers at the circuit itself have the task of testing these new parts and thus drawing the right conclusions. Sometimes this is for the short term, to benefit from it during the race weekend. But sometimes also for the long term for the design of the car, for example for the following year.”

Of course, the car's setup often involves a lot of tinkering during the weekend itself. “Then it is important that the set-up and balance of the car are to Max's liking. That it doesn't have too much understeer or oversteer. There are hundreds of things we can change mechanically or aerodynamically, based on simulations, but also what we invented ourselves on the track during training. I also think I have an important voice in the strategy. As a race engineer you have a fairly large overview and you are in fact the person between the driver and the team. The driver's feeling is evident. In addition, our feedback to the factory must be good, for example what are the things that Max encounters. That in turn helps them to further develop the car.”

#gianpiero lambiase #max verstappen #since I haven't seen anyone translate the full thing yet

128 notes · View notes

carbonfiction · 2 years

Text

Jealousy Problem

MDNI 18+

A/n: ah its been a while! I promise i didn't fall of the face of the earth ive just had a busy busy time! This is a new one for me, so hopefully its not too bad, but ever since my mom took me with her to the theater to see Elvis on opening day, ive been utterly obsessed with both Austin and Elvis! So i thought id try add to the lack of both austin and elvis fics!

Pairing: Austin!Elvis x Reader

Summary: The photo was completely innocent, youd stumbled over a step by the door and the poor guy you'd tumbled into was just making sure you were okay. But Elvis, you think, has a bit of a jealousy problem

Warnings?: smut, mentions of oral (f), slightly sub!Elvis, some swearing, handjob? Kinda, mentions of bodily fluids (cum, arousal, sweat) i think thats it!

Words: 1669

------------------------------------------------------

The first thing you hear coming in the front door is "Really?"

"Fuckin' really?", he repeats, his accent dripping with the unmistakable southern twang. he's flushed pink high on his cheeks, shoulders squared, and he's furious.

Your laidback, lackadaisical Presley is fuming, he never shouts in your presence, knowing it makes you uncomfortable, but boy does he sulk. making life miserable for himself until he works himself all the way up till he has to shut himself away. Playing his guitar, reading or listening to whatever records he can find into the latest hours of the night, and although you didn't usually care to provoke him- what else had you got to do tonight?

His schedule is clear for a rare few days and you've been in a teasing mood ever since he saw some photos in the paper.

Photos of you, his girl, only his, wrapped up in the prettiest summer dress, with one of his friends arms around your shoulders. taken as you left the venue with everyone after one of Elvis's shows.

The photo was completely innocent, youd stumbled over a step by the door and the poor guy you'd tumbled into was just making sure you were okay. But Elvis, you think, has a bit of a jealousy problem.

"What?, whats the matter?" You purr, feigning ignorance, slipping your jacket off as you walk past Elvis and through the front door of graceland. Sauntering round him, you kick your shoes off next to the couch just how he hates and crane your neck to face him.

Elvis gestures at you, hands out, palms up, the universal sign for "what the fuck?", and you quirk an eyebrow at him. He makes a noise in his throat like an angry cat and crosses the room in a few steps, and crowds against you, until your senses are filled with the intoxicating scent of him.

Before you can even think to do anything he grabs your wrist, pulling your body against him, walking you upstairs until your back is against the bedroom door.

He dips down to place his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the perfume you knew he loved, soft strands of your hair falling around his own against your warm skin.

His other hand is still around your right wrist. Tightly but not enough to harm you. just holding your body still as you tremble with excitement.

His lips plant sloppy kisses until his teeth nip hard enough on your neck to feel the tendons and muscles twitch and the feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat in your throat.

That will bruise, you think idly, Elvis is marking his territory, he's jealous. He's also rock hard against your thigh, dark dress pants hanging low on his hips, shoving the straps of your dress off your shoulders and further down your chest so he can palm your breasts unrestricted.

You can't help but let out a quiet whine as he runs his delicate fingertips over your nipple until it hardens, until he has your full attention. And he's jealous.

"You're mine darlin, that's what, " he drawls, almost on cue, and nips at you again, rolling your earlobe gently between his teeth. Elvis's grip on your wrists tighten fractionally as he ruts his hips and stomach against yours , "I don't wanna share you, want you all to myself."

You laugh then sigh, more sunshine drunk than liquor drunk after your day. You free your hand from his grip and curl your arms up around his neck, grasping a handful of his soft hair in your fingers. pulling his head back so his mouth isn't biting you anymore and his face is no longer buried in your hair.

his throat is exposed, mouth half open, and his eyes are clouded with want, watching you from under his dark lashes.

when you do press yourself up to meet him, feeling his cock twitch under his pants and his soft abdominal muscles clench.

when he snaps out of his daze Elvis's hands pull you away from the door and the two of you go tumbling towards the bed.

"Gotta teach you a lesson, Need ya so bad darlin" Elvis mutters softly against your mouth, like you tripped and posed for a photo with a friend holding you upright to make his heart explode with jealousy on purpose. For you both to end up lazily making love on the couch for hours as you intermittently listen to the radio or to make you both frantically fuck in one of Elvis's prized cars on a secluded side street after dinner is the reason you did it.

You laugh again and kiss him, properly, tasting his jealousy. Before undressing each other in between the heated kissing, sighing happily again when he curls his long fingers around each of your wrists, holding you firmly down to the mattress as his warm torso covers yours.

Elvis starts to get more desperate once he's inside of you, until he can't hold your wrists down because he wants nothing more than the feeling of your hands on his body, sliding through his dark hair and scratching his back and shoulders.

Although before he can truly do anything more you've flipped him, sliding yourself back down around him, riding him, fucking yourself down onto him for half an hour or more until you see the tiny beads of sweat on his hairline. watching him savage his pouty bottom lip and feel his hands start to tremble when he runs his thumbs over your nipples again down to your hips.

You wait until he's starting to beg for it with just his breathing, his cheekbones still flushed pink but now for a different reason, before slowing it right down until Elvis's fingers edge down to stroke at your clit, where he selfishly hopes that if you move with your own pleasure you will move enough to make him finish too.

Except your a step ahead, and you edge it for him, keeping his pleasure balanced, loving how his once icy blue pupils are engulfed in darkened lust and the whines and moans that bubble out of his mouth to stay bitten and red.

He's amenable when he's like this. Elvis will do anything, for you, to you, with you, he just wants more. And today, he's jealous.

"Darlin please , come on," Elvis manages to whine out again as you edge it out for him again. Simply because you can feel his shoulder muscles tense and everytime you grind your body down on him to the hilt, he bites his bottom lip hard almost hard enough to draw blood- except he doesn't.

"jus' let me- let me cum, fuck, you should cum 'round me, darlin please, please," Elvis complains as though so far any amount of begging has given him anything.

"You said I was yours," you say breathless, thighs gripping around his hips, pausing your movements as he lifts his hand to stroke your hair back from your face.

Elvis's hands dip, slowly petting at your throat with his thumbs, applying just enough pressure above your collarbones to make her breathing just that bit harder.

He moans quietly into your mouth as he reaches down between your conjoined body's and realizes his thighs are wet from the heat of you, slick and warm.

He just wants to fucking taste you, throw your thighs over his shoulders and bury his tongue inside you until you melt. "Oh baby You are mine," he agrees, "but that doesn't mean I shouldn't make a mess of you."

"You wanna make a mess of me Mr Presley?" You tease as you feel his cock throb as you begin to slide off him. Retreating to the top of the bed where you lay back against the plushness of the pillows, and it's only a split second later until he's got your thighs open and his mouth on you, drinking you in, licking,tasting and sucking until you have your hand clutched in his tousled hair. until his scalp aches and your grinding down onto his mouth.

When you cum, he holds your hips still with his hands, fingers half-slick, waiting for the aftershocks to subside before he leans up and kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his silver tongue.

Carefully you wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke, once, twice, before watching him fall apart groaning and letting out almost inaudible curses.

you feel him shudder and his hips beg for you to let him cum, finally, fucking finally. he'd been on edge for an hour and was already half hard before you even got in the front door.

When you dont make a move to fuck him again he looks down at you, half underneath him on a stack of pillows, thighs slick, hair ruined, soft purple bite marks all over your breasts, and he realizes what you mean- you want him to make a mess of you, oh-god, and with that warm hand on his cock all he can do is growl so loud he's sure the world will hear him beg.

He braces himself on the bedhead behind you with one hand and scratches his blunt nails across the back of your neck with the other as he watches as his cock paints you, ribbons of white warmth landing across your breasts and down your stomach. smearing down from your wrist as he slides down onto you, stickiness, sweat, slick and fuck-knows-what-else between you as he breathes in through your hair.

"Fuck baby" You shift, stretching out your legs, and he feels you laugh underneath him rather than hearing it, "You have a jealousy problem."

"It's not really a problem if it ends like this every time now, is it?" Elvis jokes as he removes himself off you, sated, feeling boneless and lazy as he laces his fingers with yours and pulls you off the bed in the direction of the shower.

#elvis presley #elvis x reader #austin butler #austin butler smut #austin!elvis x reader #austin butler x reader #elvis movie #im utterly obsessed #pls enjoy!

2K notes · View notes

kekaki-cupcakes · 24 days

Note

Heyyy can you please write something for Nico x male reader where Nico has seen reader around camp and reader is friendly and always laughing and talking with everyone. And Nico develops a crush on reader and eventually he decides to confess to reader when he sees them in the woods. Fluffy mainly but like a little spicey at the end if u do that stuff? :)

hey there bestie, let's pretend it hasn't been two months. this fic is also for @golden-boy-muda 's request for nico x transmasc reader <3

I couldn't find an idea in my empty ol head for this request but then I was looking for old oil painting wallpapers for my phone and now you have this incredibly sappy 3.2k of art references [I advise you keep another tab open for cross-referencing if you want the fUlL eXpErIeNcE]

Oil on Canvas--- Nico di Angelo x transmasc reader [3.2k] »»————-　★　————-««

Nico definitely isn’t a stalker, he understands boundaries [once Jason explains them to him, of course], but he might have a bit of a staring problem.

Sometimes he’s just eating gluten free waffles with Hazel in the dining pavilion and ends up watching you shove your siblings around and plait your little sister's hair so it doesn’t get in her face when she goes Pegasus riding.

He spooned some blueberries onto his plate.

It’s not his fault.

It’s yours, if anything. What is he supposed to do apart from feel like there’s moths beneath his ribcage when you pose, your nose scrunched, up for photos with Drew’s polaroid camera that’s covered with inappropriate stickers?

Hazel elbowed him meaningfully in the side when he couldn’t help but grin because Holy Hades, a single person shouldn’t be able to look that much like the painting Ophelia [by friedrich heyser, to be specific], just because they wore a green camp shirt and a pearl necklace.

Maybe it was his fault that he was comparing you to beautiful paintings.

He scooped the blueberries onto his half eaten waffle and reached for the maple syrup Hazel had finished drowning her breakfast in.

The Stoll brother’s mortal mum had sent a stack of paintings from art galleries all over the world last Christmas, and they’d let him pick out a few of the older more poetic ones that didn’t have enough blood and guts for their taste.

Now the oil paintings of lakes and birds and crying angels and… mainly cats, actually, hung around the dark walled Cabin he slept in.

Your laugh when you threw strawberries at Kayla and Austin while they worked in the infirmary reminded him of Angel [carl von marr, of course] and he felt like Chat a difficult catch [charles van den eycken] when you walked right past him without even glancing back.

So he’d made peace with watching from afar how you would forget daily to put sunscreen on but somehow always remembered to wear this pair of white crocheted gloves that looked like cat paws.

On a completely irrelevant note, Nico was learning to crochet.

Hazel made eye contact with him again when he looked from you to her, and he plugged his ears and glared before she started kicking him in the shins and begging him to pluck up the courage to walk over and even just make eye contact.

Not that he didn’t want to.

He may have lined up in his catalog of daydreams, this scenario where you both went down to the beach. Any beach, really. You’d collect shells and eat popcorn and grapes and lemonade and squish sand between your toes and pick up crabs with him.

PROMENADE ON THE BEACH [Charles Atamian, obviously].

There was another scenario where he’d take you to the farmers market. It had the biggest bouquets of flowers, and rows upon rows of fruits and vegetables and incense and beaded jewelry.

When he was laying in bed underneath the fluffy zebra patterned duvets that Piper forced him to use, mainly because they matched the dark reds of the cushions and browns of the bookshelves and antique lamps in the cabin so well, you were walking down the rows of little stores with him.

You were holding his hand with those soft cat paw gloves and you liked the feel of his rings [he’d read that people liked rings in a book, somewhere] and you’d filled the Studio Ghibli tote bag you had with berries.

He’d watched most of the movies after he saw your bag. He liked Arriety the best.

Clarisse stomped past the Hades table, leaving bloody footprints no one asked about, and smacked him in the back of his head. Nico went back to eating his waffles and daydreaming about your smile.

In the farmers market you would sniff candles and never buy them because Hazel had far too many for all of her spells and the such that he would never run out. And what was Hazel’s was his and what was his was hers, meaning that what was Hazel’s was yours.

Because Nico would give everything he owned, even his favorite jacket, for you to look his way.

And he would buy you flowers, whichever were your favorite.

Maybe the ones from the painting Hazel forced him to take because ‘you can’t just not hang a painting that literally is you, Neeks’.

Italian Girl with Flowers. Joaquin Sorolla. 1886.

He didn’t see the resemblance.

But it didn’t really matter, because he’d get to watch you looking at all the cool things for sale and then he’d take you to the best gelato he’d found so far [he was making a list] or just use the shadows, and take you to a proper gelato shop. Whatever you wanted to do, really.

Nico blinked. He huffed, mainly at himself, and stabbed his waffle. It fell apart on the fork.

“Why’re you angry?”

He looked up from his plate, to Hazel. She was sitting opposite him with a mustache made of orange juice. “...I’m not.”

“You’re not supposed to be pushing down your emotions, remember?” she said sternly, and started picking the green bits off a strawberry. She was eating as many berries as she could, since she wasn’t allowed lollies anymore. The perks of braces.

Nico looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re thinking about the cat glove girl, aren’t you?” she asked with a smirk.

“Cat glove boy, remember?” he muttered, and took a bite of his waffle, wiping squished blueberries off his chin.

Hazel’s golden eyes widened, “Oh yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me,” he said, and was grateful for the excuse to peek your way. You were eating toast. Very pretty-ily. He felt his face heat up.

Hazel perked up, a mischievous grin he didn’t appreciate on her face. “Okay! I’ll go apologize to your boyfriend then-”

Nico stared at her. Why was she like this? She actually went to stand up, and then he yanked her sleeve, pulling her back down to the table. “No! Don’t just… you can’t… stop!”

“You didn’t deny that he’s your boyfriend,” Jason chuckled, sitting down next to Hazel.

“I hate you all,” Nico said.

It was torture.

He felt like Sleepy time potion [Vanessa Stockhard], stuck in the middle of your loveliness, unable to do anything except stare and hope that his face wasn’t too as red as the mushroom he was sitting on.

In the painting.

Not in real life.

Obviously.

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico stared down at the hat in his lap.

He’d done it. He’d actually finished one of the hundreds of projects he’d started in Piper’s efforts to find him a hobby that wasn’t sitting on the fences of cemeteries or standing in line at Mcdonalds.

He had lots of other hobbies, he just… couldn’t come up with them when she was arguing with him.

So they’d gone through writing, painting, records, sleeping, which he excelled in, and then crocheting. None had lasted very long, but he may have had an idea half way through trying to stab Piper with the crocheting stick.

And now he had a white bucket hat with cat ears.

He threw it to the end of his bed, and hid underneath his duvet. Fuck.

Repose. Malcolm Liepke. 1953.

What on Olympus was he supposed to do about the way he wanted to hold you so badly he felt like throwing up and tearing his hair out?

He lay underneath in the pocket of stuffy darkness for a moment, before sitting up, untangling his blankets and teddies from him, and then standing. He may have just had the greatest idea anyone had ever thought of before.

Hazel was still in the shower, singing, most likely, so he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack that was actually just a skeleton, and then stomped out of his cabin, the stupid hat in his fist.

His heart was beating wildly. Stupid heart.

The Wedding Dress. Fred Ellwell. 1911.

He rubbed his face and groaned at the sky. The stars were just peeking out, but it was still pink and yellow, and the sun hadn’t dipped yet. It was hidden by the trees he was trudging through, though.

Fuck.

His chest was hurting.

Nico scrunched up the stupid perfect crocheted hat that just had to stupidly perfectly match your stupid perfect cat gloves because Nico was stupidly perfectly obsessed with you.

You, who was stupidly perfect.

Fuck.

Psyche Weeping. Kinuko Y Craft. 1995.

He trod on twigs that broke underneath his boots and weaved through the tree’s that slowly became more and more laden with hanging pendants and wind chimes and ruins carved into the bark.

He stepped over a thin stream. A frog croaked at him like it was dying. As if it could ever feel like it was dying. As if it could ever fall in love.

Nico groaned at the sky again.

“Just let it all out.”

He turned, and glared. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, actually,” Lou Ellen said, raising a purple eyebrow. It matched the undersides of her curly hair. She pointed to the cabin concealed in shadows and moss and stones behind her. “This is my house. And you are yelling very loudly.”

“I’m not yelling,” Nico argued. “I’m groaning.”

She stared at him for a second. She rolled her eyes. “Just come in, what do you need?”

“I need a spell. Or a charm. Or hex,” Nico said, following her through the wooden double doors. A wind chime tinkled even though the air was still. There were a few bunks lined up against the wall to one side. “Or a magic thing. I don’t care which one.”

The rest of the cabin was filled with small coffin shaped pet beds and empty pink soda cans and voodoo dolls hanging from the roof and rugs with cats wearing strawberry hats on the fluffy material and misty crystal balls.

Lou Ellen lent back on a desk stacked high with papers and paperweights that were actually jars filled with things. “Okay. I have three rules. I don’t kill people, and I don’t make people fall in love.”

“...And?”

“I’ll break both if it’ll be fun?”

Nico frowned. “No. Aren’t you supposed to say you won’t bring people back from the dead? That’s always the third rule.”

She squinted at him. “Uh…no. I send those people to you.”

Nico squinted back at her, sticking his tongue out. He fiddled with the stupid perfect hat and looked around. There was just more creepy things and stuffed animals. “Whatever. I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I need you to… like,” Nico started. He sighed. He looked away.

This was awful.

He was not about to admit that he might be in love, even if it was to reverse the feelings in the first place with whatever heart ripping out brain altering magic was necessary.

The Apollo cabin would find out through the witch in less than thirty seconds. He would never live it down.

Nico groaned again. “Oh for fucks sake, do you need me to fic your voicebox or something?” Lou Ellen hissed.

Nico glared at her. He groaned again, and then whirled around and stomped out of the weird mossy mushroom cabin. “Nevermind!”

“Fine! Have it your way!...weird little emo.”

Nico glared at the frog croaking at him, and kept walking through the forest.

He followed the little stream through the woods until he could hear wind chimes or Taylor Swift’s latest album anymore.

The little stream widened into a proper stream, filled with a lot more frogs. Why were there so many frogs? He nearly stood on a green one leaping across the path. Stupid frog.

Nico stuffed his hands into his pockets, along with the hat. He was tempted to just toss it into the river. Then he wouldn’t have to deal with all of the silly feelings that felt like the biggest things in the world to him and his silly head full of thoughts about your lips.

Maybe the frogs could use the hat as a home.

“Here froggie… Come here… I said, come here... No I am not taking a tone with you!”

Nico froze.

Fuck. He took a deep breath, probably too loudly. He glanced to the side.

Of course you were catching frogs, knee deep in a river.

You looked over, making eye contact, and Nico realized the moths underneath his ribcage were turning into bats. You squinted at him, hands on your hips, while water swirled around and leaves drifted from the trees above. A bucket was wedged between two rocks next to you.

A frog jumped out of it and landed near your leg, on a lillypad.

“Look Albert,” you said, turning to the frog. “It’s a little Victorian ghost.”

“...I’m Italian,” Nico said quietly. He stared at you. He couldn’t help it. Wow. Fuck. Leo was right. He really was pathetic. “And I’m not a ghost.”

“Okay, Victorian ghost.”

Nico stared at you. Fuck.

After that exchange, he should be able to hate you. Right? Right. He now resented you, and the moths turned bats would stop clawing at his chest and he would go back to having a normal life.

Right?

Wrong.

You squinted at Nico, and then slowly turned to Albert. “I think the cute Victorian ghost is having a stroke.”

Nico blinked once, gulped, and then marched forward through the cold water and frogs, his shoes squelching loudly. Gods. This was so embarrassing. But you thought he was cute, even if you also thought he was a dead english boy, so he would be content with dying from embarrassment.

He shoved the stupid perfect hat into your stupid perfect hands.

And then left in about 0.3 seconds.

»»————-　★　————-««

You stared down at your pancakes. Why were they so gray looking? Had someone poisoned them? You figured that it would be a pretty good way to die, and tipped extra maple syrup onto them before you dug in.

To counterbalance the poison, of course.

You scratched at the mosquito bite underneath the strap of your binder. It had flowers embroidered into it. Your binder. Not the mosquito bite.

One of your siblings across from you kicked at your shin, probably on purpose, but you continued to eat your odd tasting pancakes and picked blueberry grit off your white cat paw gloves. They were your favorite gloves.

They also matched your new hat. The new hat that the cute Victorian but actually Italian ghost boy had given you before he teleported away with whatever dark magic he had stored in all that goth-ness.

You tossed a blueberry at Clarisse when she walked past and tried to bash you over the head.

She wasn’t allowed to ruin your new hat.

You turned to see her flicking the blueberry over at someone else, and your eyes flicked past that too. Now way. You stood up, but you’d lost sight of the mess of dark hair when the Hermes cabin barrelled past.

You clambered onto your seat and stood up there. “Oi! Victorian ghost hat boy!”

The dining pavilion went quiet pretty quickly, and everyone turned to the cute guy with a skeleton hoodie and wide eyes. He pointed at himself when you pointed at him, and then went pink.

Clarisse stuck her arm out so you didn’t faceplant when you jumped down from your seat, and you held onto your new hat as you traipsed across the cracked floor.

You’d never figured out how that crack had got there. But there were bigger mysteries.

Like this cute goth.

His face just pinker when you grabbed his sleeve and tried to tug him out of the entire camp’s curious eyes. A dark skinned girl with a lot of butterfly clips and a Steven Universe t-shirt sent a thumbs up in your direction.

It was only when you were standing by the low burning fire pit in a patch of daisies did you realize you hadn’t really planned far enough ahead.

You took off the cat-ear hat and looked down at it. “...Uhm…”

“Sorry,” the goth said quickly, and when you made eye contact he looked away even quicker. “It’s creepy. Boundaries and stuff, I just… saw your gloves.”

“It’s not creepy,” you argued, putting the hat back on with a grin. He was really cute when he blushed. “I mean, I don’t even know your name, and I have no idea who you are but your eyeliner is really really great and… Holy Hades if you smile like that again can I… please kiss you?”

The goth with no name stared at you, and then nodded about ten times too many. “Yes please. But, uh.. If you’re gonna kiss me, please, maybe don’t get my dad involved.”

“...Wut?”

»»————-　★　————-««

Nico could feel his cheeks growing hotter.

Not because of the sun, specifically, but it was hot and bright in the woods. He’d worn sunscreen though. And forced you to put it on too, once he’d found watermelon scented sunscreen, because you refused to smell gross no matter how sunburnt you would get anyways.

His face was hot and red because of you.

You, who was stupidly perfect and also possibly kind of Nico’s stupidly perfect boyfriend.

“Psst, Victorian ghost boy,” you said with a sing-song voice, quietly, and waved your hand in front of his eyes with your pink, blue, and white painted nails. He blinked. You smiled. “You zoned out again.”

“Sorry,” Nico said, and pulled a daisy out of the ground. He handed it over. “I was thinking about you.”

He hadn’t realized the effect that saying that would have on you, but it was worth it when you opened and closed your mouth like one of the frogs you kept as pets.

“I.. well, what were you thinking about?”

Nico had played his cards right. He smirked, and you shuffled forwards on the checked picnic blanket Piper had stolen from Drew, who’d probably nicked it from poor unsuspecting Demeter or Iris kid. You knocked over the basket of strawberries too, and then took your bucket hat off and stuffed it in your lap with a grin.

He tilted his head down. You were both following a very well rehearsed script. “...Kissing you?”

You launched yourself forwards then with a laugh, your cat-paw gloved hands landing on either side of his waist and probably squishing some of those strawberries at the same time.

The sun reflected in your eyes and Nico held the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours.

You kissed back, and once you both stopped smiling widely, you could kiss back.

Properly.

He scratched his fingernails, the ones you’d painted rainbow that afternoon after catching more frogs and complaining about sunscreen, along your jaw when you bit down on his bottom lip.

Not as a complaint, certainly not, and you knew that too because you just sat back on your knees between Nico’s lap and tilted your head to fit deeper against Nico’s bruised lips.

The ones that hadn’t had a single day off since you jumped up in the middle of breakfast with your gluten free waffles you hadn’t realized were gluten free until he had explained it to you later.

It was intensely crazily unbearably romantic but it also meant whatever cold one of you managed to catch, the other would come down with only minutes later.

And Nico felt like that smug little cat from Julie Manet’s Auguste Renoir.

»»————-　★　————-««

#pjo fandom #nico #nico pjo #nico di angelo #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #nico di angelo x reader #nico x reader #nico di angelo pjo #pjo hoo toa #hoo #nico di angelo x you #nico di angelo reader #nico di angelo x transmasc reader #lou ellen #lou ellen pjo

50 notes · View notes