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kekaki-cupcakes · 3 months

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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

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redrose10 · 2 months

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Hi i had this idea of a short oc and idols BTS. Where they meet during the concert prep and OC is super strong and can whistle like a pro. Not the normal whislte though the one with fingers and is very loud

Here you go! I hope this is okay.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

It was coming towards the end of your first week as a member of the styling team for BTS. Between having to lay out the clothes and help dress seven members for multiple performances, interviews, fan meets, photo shoots, and TWO music video shoots you were exhausted. The stress of all of this was starting to get to you. It didn’t help that the boys seemed to like to give you a hard time. A showing of love and acceptance according to one of the more senior stylists, but you saw it as they were testing the waters to see just how much you’d let them get away with.

Lucky for them you were pretty easy going and had more patience than most.

That’s why you didn’t even flinch when Jungkook “accidentally” popped off two buttons on his dress shirt five minutes before an interview causing you to sew so fast the needle pricked your finger countless times.

Or when Hobi stole all of your style plans and turned them into little origami swans leaving you having to guess who was wearing what to where for the whole day.

OR when Taehyung sat there watching and even recording as Yeontan happily chewed away on one of Jin’s shoes he needed for a photoshoot leaving you to have to run to the nearest store to purchase a new pair in panic.

You kept reminding yourself that today was the final day and then you were off for a few. The boys just had this final interview which should be easy enough to get through so you put the finishing touches on their outfits before standing back admiring your work. They could be annoying, but damn they were handsome.

Then you saw it. Their manager walked in carrying trays of drinks and bags of donuts as a quick breakfast since they’re all that was open. You looked at the boys standing there in their crisp all white outfits and your heart stopped.

Jungkook picked up a donut that was particularly heavy on the chocolate frosting and he smirked in your direction as he took as big a bite as he could. Frosting falling to the floor.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Namjoon going for a jelly filled one. It seemed like it was in slow motion, but you watched as a little glob of raspberry jelly fell from the donut landing directly in the middle of Yoongi’s thigh leaving a bright red stain. He jumped up waiving his hands trying to find a towel, but in the process knocked over his iced americano causing the liquid to spill all over the back of Jimin who was sitting on the carpet next to him unaware of what had just happened.

Jimin jumped up thanks to the ice cold drink running down his spine. Thinking that Yoongi dumped the drink on him on purpose he grabbed the nearest donut he could, a strawberry filled with pink frosting and sprinkles, and smeared it all over the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

Before you could even react Yoongi grabbed a drink from the table, matcha of course, and tried throwing it at Jimin. But thanks to Jimins quick reflexes he ducked, the drink completely missing him and instead landing all over Jin’s white pants.

Today was supposed to be easy. Today was supposed to be simple. You’d had enough of these guys shenanigans and were tired of them making your job difficult. You were going to set them straight.

All seven members were bickering back and forth. The other stylists trying to do damage control and save what they could. You on the other hand took a deep breath before placing two fingers in your mouth and whistling as strongly and loudly as you possibly could. Something you’d learned from your mom when you were younger.

Immediately everyone in the room froze and looked at you with wide eyes. “How did that sound come out of her? She’s so tiny?”, Jin whispered.

Jungkook gently placed Yoongi back on the floor, Hobi dropped the cinnamon sugar donut he was trying to stuff into Namjoon’s mouth, Taehyung smacked Jimin’s hand away when he tried to dump the last little drop of coffee onto Jin. Bang PD even sat up a little straighter.

“Alright listen. I’m done playing these games. You are all grown men so start acting like it. No more making things difficult or I swear on everything that I will make you regret it. Because I will spend every day hoping and wishing that each one of you wakes up feeling like there is a pebble in your shoe. Whenever you walk anywhere there will just be a tiny little annoying feeling on the bottom of your foot, but when you take off your shoe? Bam! Nothing is there. But you will still feel it.”

Jungkook started to snort at your odd threat, but Yoongi quickly smacked his shoulder to shut him up.

You continued, “Understood? Good! Now let’s clean up and then remove any of your clothes that are stained and we’ll replace them with what we can. There’s only fifteen minutes until your interview so let’s hurry up.”

As quickly as possibly the boys cleaned up their mess while the make-up artists and stylists tried to salvage what they could.

Thankfully the interview went great. The guys looked presentable. Not what you’d imagined, but not the worst you’d ever seen them look either. The guys all apologized for the way they had been acting and promised it wouldn’t happen any more. They even had dinner delivered from your favorite restaurant as a peace offering.

As you were packing up the last of your belongings and making your way to your car you found a very disgruntled looking Namjoon standing in the hallway. He had two fingers in his mouth and was blowing so hard you thought he might pass out. When he noticed you giving him a concerning look he awkwardly chuckled, “Y/N, please teach me how to whistle like that. That was amazing. I could really use it. I’ve been trying for hours, but I just can’t get it.”

You giggled before motioning for him to follow you offering to give him a lesson.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #namjoon #jin #yoongi #jimin #jungkook #jhope #taehyung #bangtan #bts fluff #bts fic #bts army #bts crack

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reddeadreference · 4 months

Text

Micah Bell III (The Third)

(The above photo was taken at Clemen's Point)

(Warning: This post contains spoilers!)

About

Name: Micah Bell III (Referred to simply as Micah Bell)

Age:* 39 (RDR2 Ch1-6) 47 (RDR2 Ep1/2)

(*In a newspaper clipping found at his Strawberry camp, it states that in 1877 his father was wanted for murder with a 17 year old son that was Micah based on this quote "suspects are believed to be one Micah Bell, age 38, and his son, also Micah Bell, age 17")

Description: (official description from R*)

A career criminal and hitman, Micah fell in with Dutch's gang about five months ago. He claims he met Dutch when he saved his life in a bar fight over some stolen gold. He comes from a long line of bad men. His father and grandfather before him were also called Micah Bell and, at one point, his father was wanted for murder in five counties. He has a brother living in California, whom he despises. Wild, unpredictable and something of a nihilist, he lives for the action, and is great in a gun fight.

Quick Facts

He has a younger brother named Amos (a letter from his brother can be found at Shady Belle)

We know Micah is the older brother because of the tradition of naming the first born son after the father, hence Micah Bell the Third.

Though his description says he "despises" his brother, it's clear by the letter found at Shady Belle from Amos that Micah was the one to reach out to Amos first, though his intentions were not clear as we didn't see what was in the letter he sent Amos.

He's been a criminal since as young as 17, a newspaper clipping can be found in his camp near Strawberry about him and his father being wanted for murder.

During a conversation he implies Jenny Kirk might have been carrying "Micah Bell the fourth" which many fans assume wasn't consensual, but there is no evidence either way or even that he was telling the truth since she isn't alive to deny it.

He has some sort of lung/respiratory issue as he is constantly snorting, clearing his throat, and coughing.

Outfits by chapter

Ch 1: Colter

Like everyone else he only has the one outfit in Colter which is also the only time he wears the coat shown, it's a shade of red, and a greenish head wrap.

Ch 2-4 & 6:

His outfit after Colter is pretty much always the same with small variations. Photo 1: Black short coat buttoned, red long sleeved shirt buttoned to the top button. Photo 2: no coat, same red shirt with only a few buttons buttoned.

The only time his coat is buttoned is at Horseshoe Overlook, above, but the rest of the outfits are pretty much the same: Some variation of black and red with tan/dirty white pants, with and without his hat.

He also has one outfit where he wears black pants tucked into black boots which are different than the boots in every other outfit (They are possibly the ones he wears during the heist in chapter 4 and on Guarma.) The coat shown above is also the one he wears at Clemen's point.

In the first outfit below he has a red vest over a black shirt and a different black coat, second he has his red shirt and necktie to the side with black jacket from previous, and third he's in his red shirt, no jacket, and the necktie is in a different position.

Bank Heist Outfit

Ch 5: Guarma

He only has one outfit which looks two different ways: before the shipwreck and after. (Since they went from the heist to the ship it is presumed that the shirt below simply wasn't visible under the white jacket, red vest, and white puff tie he wore.)

Outfit Details

He always (except for two instances) has his signature weapons, the custom double-action revolvers. (those two instances being before retrieving them in Strawberry where he'll use whatever weapon Arthur hands him and on the island of Guarma - even though he had them during the bank robbery and presumably on the ship.)

His custom double-action revolvers: The words "Vengeance is hereby mine" are etched onto each barrel and the grips are black with a red skull design.

His guns on Guarma: Seem to be plain double-action revolvers, presumably borrowed/stolen.

Epilogue (Part 2)

His outfit is similar to the one he wore in Colter only the green scarf isn't over his head.

Life/Events

Micah Bell III was born circa 1860 to Micah Bell Jr. According to a newspaper clipping found at Micah camp near Strawberry, when he was 17, in 1877, he and his father were on the run for the brutal double homicide of Roscoe and Jean Briggs, who were hung from the rafters with their throats slit.

It is presumed he also ran with his younger brother for a time before the latter settled down with a wife and kids. A letter found at Shady Belle implies Micah reached out to Amos, but the younger Bell told him not to contact him again and if he heard Micah was "within fifty miles of [him], [he] will come and find [Micah] and then [Micah would] meet [his] maker and apologise to him on both [their] behalves for them things [they] did".

Missions

Chapter 1: Colter -

Micah is in four of the six missions in chapter 1.

He is in the very first mission of the game Outlaws from the West. He is part of Old Friends and is the one to find the map about the train for Who the Hell is Leviticus Cornwall? And like everyone he is part of Eastward Bound.

Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook -

Micah is in one and a second (player determined) mission in chapter 2.

After freeing Micah from jail in Blessed are the Meek? the player has the option of completing the next mission, An American Pastoral Scene, (which will bring Micah back to camp) either in chapter 2 or chapter 3.

Chapter 3: Clemen's Point -

Micah is in 3 of 16 missions with possibly another if An American Pastoral Scene wasn't completed in chapter 2.

He goes with Dutch and Arthur in Blessed are the Peacemakers, he waits with Sean and Bill for Arthur in town for A Short Walk in a Pretty Town, and while he doesn't go to the Braithwaite Manor he's in a cutscene for Blood Feuds, Ancient and Modern so he's listed as being in that mission on the wikia.

Chapter 4: Shady Belle -

The only mission he's in for chapter 4 is the bank heist in Banking, The Old American Art. Though, like most other characters in camp, he is present for Horsemen, Apocalypses as well.

Chapter 5: Guarma -

As one of the group on the island he is in 6 of the 10 missions for chapter 5.

The first mission, Lost and Not Quite Found, Welcome to the New World, Hell Hath No Fury, and finally the mission to leave the island Paradise Mercifully Departed. And then back at camp with the rest of the gang he is then in Fleeting Joy where it's shown he and Javier arrived in Lakay before Arthur, Dutch, then Bill and he's shown in cutscenes in That's Murfree Country.

It is assumed he was picked up by Pinkertons sometime between arriving back to the US and meeting back up with everyone in Lakay and that that's how the Pinkertons knew the gang was there. However, there are two alternatives 1) if Arthur doesn't find the letter at Shady Belle one of the Pinkerton agents will find it and read it aloud. They'll even state that they're going to check there. 2) When Bill finally arrives last he says he was asking all over for them and not long after, the Pinkertons are there. Both are plausible ways the Pinkertons could've found the gang that didn't involve Micah. (Yes, at that point he was a rat and it's 100% plausible that he did just tell them, I'm just giving two other ways that also make sense.)

Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow -

He is in 5 of the 15 missions in chapter 6.

Arthur meets Micah and Dutch in Annesburg in Just a Social Call where Dutch kills Cornwall and the three have to shoot their way out of town. Micah sends Arthur and Bill to get dynamite in The Delights of Van Horn. He goes with everyone to Cornwall Kerosene & Tar in My Last Boy. He's part of the train heist in Our Best Selves and the following mission Red Dead Redemption he is in all four of the various endings you can get.

Epilogue 2: Beecher's Hope -

The only and final mission he's in is the final mission of the game, American Venom where he ultimately gets gunned down by John.

Camp Life

Micah can be seen whittling a stick, sharpening his knife and cleaning his guns. Arthur can challenge him to five finger fillet. He never goes on guard duty, but occasionally he will announce at the donation box that he's putting money in (usually $25).

He never sleeps; when everyone else is in bed he'll sit at the main fire. The only time he's seen sleeping is if he's been drinking as part of a camp scene (i.e. drinking with Javier) and passes out at a table (shown below) or in a cutscene.

Death

During the final mission of the game before free roam, Micah is shot to death by John in 1907, after he, Charles, and Sadie track Micah down to his hideout atop Mount Hagan. While holding Sadie hostage and while he and Dutch hold John at gunpoint, Dutch makes the decision to shoot Micah, allowing John to shoot as many times as the player wants. After his death if the player returns to the area they can loot one of Micah's custom guns and find his now frozen body beside it.

-If there's something incorrect or something missing from this post you think is important or should be added please don't hesitate to either reply, reblog, or send in an ask about it.-

#micah bell #rdr2 #red dead 2 #red dead redemption 2 spoilers #rdr2 spoilers

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whositmcwhatsit · 1 year

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The Gate Girl

Written for the prompt: "What are we going to do with [all of them], [this], [these ___ ]?"

A/N: Pure self-indulgence full of all my favourite things. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.

None of this would have been possible without my muses, my teachers, and my pests: @thatbanditqueen, @vintageshanny, @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love

Word count: 6387

It was a warm spring evening in Memphis and Chrissie was already regretting the knitted sweater she was wearing beneath her corduroy pinafore minidress. She could feel beads of sweat sliding down her spine and resting near her tailbone. There was no relief to be had from the humid heat standing on the worn grass by the side of the fieldstone wall, surrounded by knots of people talking quietly to each other and pausing to take photos with little instamatic cameras.

Chrissie viewed it all with experienced, familiar eyes. She had been coming to the gates ever since she was old enough to nag her parents to drive her and had albums of pictures of the walls, the little guardhouse, the house off in the distance behind the trees and so many blurry shots of expensive looking cars going into and out of the gate.

Even so, she had felt a little twinge of dread when Lori had suggested driving down. The Chrissie who had spent all that time mooning over Elvis Presley felt very far away and she aimed to keep it that way.

Going off to college out of state had been her escape from the old Chrissie, the boring, insecure, people-pleasing Chrissie who let people walk all over her like a doormat. Lori had never met her. No, since they found each other during the first few disorientating days of school, Chrissie had worked hard to become who she had always wanted to be, cool, confident and aloof. She didn’t wait around to be noticed anymore.

“So, the guard at the gate says that he thinks Elvis might be coming out soon,” Lori said, ambling over with a grin. “He also told me three times that he’s really close with Elvis because he’s his cousin. “

“Yeah, he does that,” Chrissie murmured.

“I think it’s wild that you have your own rock star in your neighbourhood. Best we ever got was some crummy band that once opened for Strawberry Alarm Clock at a festival.”

“Yeah, well, around here he’s just Elvis, we don’t think of him as a rock star or anything like that,” Chrissie said. She was jealously eyeing Lori’s paisley nylon blouse. Somehow she’d managed to dress right for the typical weather of the town that Chrissie had lived in most of her life.

“Wild,” Lori murmured, her eyes sliding over to a group of young guys, who were leaning against the wall, hanging out. “Just Elvis.”

Lori being Lori, they were standing and chatting with those boys by the time a frisson of excitement went through the crowd as movement had been spotted up on the driveway. The boys forgotten, Lori rushed over and grabbed her hand, pulling her to the gates where the guard was urging everyone to step back and keep themselves safe, not that many listened.

It was definitely Elvis coming out. Chrissie had learnt over the years that one car could be hit and miss, usually miss, but when you had more cars leaving at once, and certainly a train of them, Elvis was nearly always leading them.

“Stay over this side,” Chrissie murmured as Lori spotted a less crowded area on the other side of the gate. “He likes to drive, he’ll be over this side.” Lori’s eyes narrowed slightly as she took her in, like she was figuring something out, but then the cars arrived at the gate and they were swept forward with the rush to greet them.

Elvis was indeed driving and he put the car in park at the open gate to sign some autographs and let people lean slightly into the window to take photos. Through the silhouettes, Chrissie could see him wearing his dark tinted sunglasses and a black suit with a high-collar red shirt. It looked good against his pale skin and black hair, very dramatic.

“We should get closer,” Lori said, tugging her wrist. “I want to see what the fuss is about close up.” Chrissie sighed and nodded, knocking her hip against the front headlamp as she was dragged. She locked eyes with the front passenger for just as second and then recovered, but not for long.

“Hey, Cupcake, that you?” Her blood turned to icy water as she registered the words that Sonny called out the passenger window. She thought about ignoring him, but he wasn’t quiet and there was still that pull, that twinge, that prevented her from being rude, especially here at home. She flashed Lori a panicked smile and then hurried around the front of the car to the passenger window.

“It is you!” he remarked, pulling his sunglasses down his nose. “Damn, girl, what happened to you?!” She yanked on her skirt, feeling the colour creep up her face as she tried to come up with something appropriate, a flippant, off the cuff remark that would both impress him and put him in his place.

“I grew up,” she shrugged, catching herself trying to flip her hair over her shoulder and forcibly putting her hand down by her side.

“Yeah, you did,” he agreed with a sly grin. “Looks good on you, though I sure miss those cakes of yours!”

“Well, you could always buy them, you know. Santos Bakery over on South Highland, still tastes as good when you have to pay!”

“No, I think for sure it was all that love you put into them.” She giggled, it just slipped out, and she had to close her eyes to calm herself down. When she opened them again a split second later, she was looking straight into the face of Elvis himself as he looked over to see who Sonny was chatting with. He lifted one side of his mouth in a small smile, casual and intimate. Chrissie had no more desire to giggle. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could make a noise at all.

“It’s been a while,” he said quietly. He probably said that to every girl at the gate, she told herself, just in case they were regulars.

“Yeah, I, uh, went off to school… up North.”

“I was just saying, E, that we’ve been missing all those cakes and things she used to bring us. Remember that one with the cream and the strawberries? Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”

“Mmm hmm,” Elvis murmured, still looking at her, unreadable behind his glasses. He ducked slightly as someone slightly too eagerly waved a record sleeve through the window to be signed and almost thwacked him in the side of the head. “How are you finding school, honey? What is it, March? You home on break?” He paused to scrawl his signature on something and then turned right back to her, eyes fixed on her face.

“School’s great. I mean, the work’s hard, but-“ She stopped, looking to Lori as she bounced up to her side and grabbed her arm. She felt a strange wash of emotions, some pride at being found standing making small talk with Elvis like they were acquaintances, embarrassment that Lori would find out how much of a try-hard she used to be, and a little fear that Elvis’s intense stare would drift away to Lori’s pretty blond head.

“Well, anyway, I guess we better be headin’ on out,” Elvis remarked, absently kissing the cheek of someone’s baby as they brandished it at his window. “It was good seeing y’all.”

“You too,” she managed, smiling so that he wouldn’t know how her stomach had dropped. “Drive safe.” She stepped back and Lori stumbled along with her, attached to her arm, wiggling her fingers in a little wave as she ducked down to look through the car.

The engine started up, but the car didn’t move on, and they watched as Elvis leant across and said something in Sonny’s ear. Chrissie instantly thought that they were making fun of her and waited for the chorus of laughter, but instead, Sonny nodded and his head turned towards them.

“Hey, Cupcake!” he gestured with his head, beckoning her over. Elvis was looking straight ahead, gripping the wheel like she was the one who wouldn’t let him go.

Trying not to meet the eyes of the other people standing around trying to eavesdrop, she stepped back up to his window. “Uh, we’re going to watch some movies over at the Memphian. Y’all feeling like joining us?” The way that Lori squeezed her forearm in a death grip let Chrissie know her opinion on the matter, but she still paused and looked at her so that they didn’t sound too eager.

“I’m not sure, we were planning on going out tonight… I guess it could be fun though.”

Sonny’s wry smile showed her that he wasn’t fooled as he murmured, ‘Uh huh. Well, ask for me when you get there. I’ll let them know you’re on the list.”

“Okay, thanks. Maybe we’ll see you there.”

“Bye Elvis!” Lori called as they stumbled back in time for the car to almost skid out of the entrance and into the traffic. There was a rumble of disappointment from the crowd as they watched the cortege of cars follow him out. Some of the fans, who always tried to chase Elvis when he left the house, ran for their cars; others were discussing whether they were going to maintain the vigil until he returned.

Chrissie finally turned to Lori before the girl’s stare melted her face clean away.

“So, you didn’t tell me you knew Elvis Presley.”

“Hardly,” Chrissie snorted. “He doesn’t even know my name. I just hung around a little when I was younger. I guess he and some of his guys got used to seeing my face.”

“Suuuure, Cupcake,” Lori retorted, sniggering into her cheek. “What the hell was that anyway?” Chrissie flushed, somehow hoping that she hadn’t picked up on it.

“Look, I’ll tell you on the way, but you gotta promise not to judge, because I was young and an idiot.”

Ten minutes later, Lori was cackling so hard that Chrissie thought she was going to pee her pants.

“Shut uuuup!” Chrissie whined. “You promised!”

“Oh, but it’s adorable!” Lori gasped, wiping her eyes. “And actually pretty cunning. ‘Hi Elvis, my family owns a bakery, do you want to sample my goods?’.” Eyes on the road, Chrissie reached over and shoved her purely for the breathy, high-pitched impression alone.

“It wasn’t like that,” she insisted, shifting her shoulders uncomfortably. “One time someone didn’t collect their birthday order and Mama was fretting and saying, ‘What are we going to do with all these cupcakes?’ I was about to head up to Graceland and I knew there’d be lots of people there at the gate- free advertising and all that. Then Elvis came down and he saw the cakes and he took some and it- it snowballed from there.”

Chrissie had genuinely believed that Elvis was simply being polite the way that he always received her care packages so enthusiastically, especially after the time that she had tried to give some brownies to Priscilla and she had demurred, saying that she and Elvis didn’t really like sweet things.

For a while, Chrissie had stopped bringing anything, convinced they had all been going into the trash the whole time. The next time Elvis had come across her at the gate, however, he had demanded to know what other boy she was treating instead of him. That night had been the best night of her life, as he had hung out with them all for a couple of hours, and he kept coming over to tease her about switching her affection to someone else, promising he was going to win her back. It still made her shiver thinking about his arm around her shoulder, his lips pressing little butterfly kisses into her heated cheeks.

However, that was when she was a silly little girl. She was a woman now.

The parking lot next to the Memphian theatre was full of cars, so Chrissie had to park down the street next to a store that was closed for the night. People were milling about outside and, as she approached the main entrance, someone told her not to bother because they were telling people that the theatre was full and nobody else would be let in.

“We were invited,” Lori replied loudly, pushing her on even as she was hesitating. Lori took responsibility for knocking on the locked door, banging with increasingly force as the two men inside the foyer had a conversation and pretended they weren’t there. Eventually, one of them sauntered to the door.

“Sorry, we’re all full. Better luck next time, ladies.”

“We were invited!” Lori bellowed. “Some guy told us to come to the door and ask for him!” She looked back at Chrissie, prompting her.

“Yeah, Sonny West said he’d put us on the list.” He turned and said something over his shoulder, before pulling out a ring of keys and opening the door.

“Okay, girls, you been before? You know the rules? You don’t sit in front of Elvis, you don’t approach-”

“Yeah, I know the rules,” Chrissie muttered, grabbing Lori’s hand and dragging her towards the main screen door.

“Barely know the man,” Lori was muttering to herself. “Elvis who, she said.”

Chrissie elbowed her in the ribs as they stepped into the muted darkness, pausing for their eyes to adjust. The screen was still curtained and there were people milling about, finding their seats and visiting with their friends in other rows. It was certainly pretty crowded and the only available seats were towards the back in what were usually the make-out areas. Not that Chrissie would know much about that…

In the shadows, it would have been difficult to make out Elvis, it wasn’t like he really did have a golden aura, but everyone knew his seat, the one he always chose halfway down the rows at the aisle, the one everyone was forbidden from sitting in. So, they were all aware of his presence even if they couldn’t actually see him.

“Where’s his wife?” Lori whispered loudly as they took their seats. “Isn’t he married?”

“She stays in California mostly now,” Chrissie murmured back. “I don’t think they’re really together anymore.”

She might not have spent much time at the gate recently, but she was still part of the ever-efficient Elvis fan grapevine that stretched from Las Vegas to Palm Springs, Beverly Hills and right over to Memphis, exchanging news, speculation and stories. For a while, there had even been a mimeographed newsletter.

Surveying the rows, for the second time that night, Chrissie locked eyes with Sonny, who was moving slowly up the aisle, running his gaze over the murmuring, fidgeting crowd. He flashed her a grin and pointed at her, before crooking his finger and beckoning. Figuring he was talking to someone behind her, she busied herself with smoothing her skirt and crossing her knee length boots at the ankle.

“Cupcake, hey!” he bellowed across the theatre between cupped hands. She slid down in her seat, wondering when her life had begun to resemble her nightmares. When she peered back over the seat, he urged her over with his arm. Lori was already rising, kicking her feet to get her to move.

“You made it!” Sonny said with a grin. “We saved ya seats.” He indicated to two seats directly across the aisle from Elvis’ usual place, which was empty. Her thoughts swirling, Chrissie thanked him and went to slide into the row.

“Hey, you know what, thinking about it, how about you and me swap places, darlin’?” He pointed across to the seat beside Elvis’. “You can sit over there and I’ll sit here with… What’s your name, beautiful?”

“Lori,” she said, wide eyes sliding from his tall, broad frame and over to Chrissie. Chrissie knew that look; they occasionally exchanged it in bars when they were dancing and teasing and flirting and then realised that they had bitten off more than they could chew.

“I think I should sit with my friend,” Chrissie said quickly, shoving her ahead of her. “She’s not from here and I ought to take care of her. Thank you, though, really. I appreciate the offer.”

Not long later, the lights finally went down, the murmuring faded into silence- another rule- and Chrissie trained her eyes on the screen, trying to ignore the pull of the empty seat alongside her. She clearly failed, as when the mere glimpse of black passed her peripheral vision, she started and froze in her seat.

As the credits played, she counted to two hundred, that seemed a reasonable amount of time, before she turned her head slightly and glanced over. Immediately, Elvis turned too, giving her a closed-mouth smile that curved his cheekbones deliciously even in the shadows of the theatre.

Caught out, she smiled back and turned back to the screen, feeling a strange warm weight settling upon her like someone had tucked a heavy warm blanket over her.

“He keeps looking over,” Lori muttered out of the side of her mouth. “I feel like any minute, he’s going to… Oh shit, I think he’s coming over.” They both seized up, sitting up high in their seats, but though Elvis rose, he strode off up the aisle, followed by a phalanx of his guys. As soon as the fire door opened and slammed shut, the volume of the whispering crept up, people probably wondering if he had left, whether he was just using the bathroom, or visiting the concessions.

“You should have sat next to him,” Lori said, wincing guiltily. “That would have been a great story, wouldn’t it? The time you were Elvis Presley’s date at the movies?”

“Nah, it’s more fun watching… Whatever this movie is, with you. Besides, we can always lie and say it happened anyway!”

Lori giggled and nodded, staring up at the screen as an airplane took off from a night-time runway on screen.

With the main attraction missing, they gradually got into the action happening on screen, so much so that Chrissie was startled when a hand touched her shoulder. She recognised the heavy set, balding man as someone who was in Elvis’ circle.

“You Cupcake?” he asked, his eyes darting between the two of them almost furtively.

Chrissie wasn’t sure how to answer that, so Lori did it for her.

“Elvis wants to talk to you, he’s up in the balcony.”

Unlike Sonny, he hadn’t couched it in a question or flirting, he said it like it was her duty to do as she was told. Chrissie looked at Lori and knew her eyes were sending the same SOS that Lori had sent her earlier in the evening. Lori nodded resolutely, slammed her hand into hers, and rose, pulling her up.

“He, uh, he just wants her,” the man said, pointing at Chrissie.

“Well, sugar,” Lori replied, putting on an awful Southern twang, “he’s gonna have to take what he’s given, cos we done come as a pair.” They didn’t give him any opportunity to reply, but he didn’t seem the type anyway, running his tongue over his slick lips and stepping back out of their way.

In the foyer, a small group of Elvis’ guys were hanging around the concession stand. There seemed to be a competition going on about how far away someone could stand and still catch a piece of popcorn being thrown into their mouths. Chrissie and Lori exchanged looks and then turned towards the door that was marked ‘Private’. None of the guys stopped them, so they pulled it open and climbed the steps in anxious silence.

At the top, there was another landing with doors leading off. The one directly ahead of them had an old-fashioned sign above it that said ‘balcony’. She took a breath, looked at Lori, who squeezed her hand, and then yanked it open, only to be confronted by searing white light.

“Oh Lord, I’m blind!” she mumbled, stumbling back into Lori, who knocked into the door and only just managed to save them both by gripping the handle.

“Shit, I was just fooling around! I’m sorry, honey, are you okay?”

Chrissie squinted, seeing only purple and pink blobs as she felt arms wrap around her waist and lead her further into the balcony. Gradually, the blobs faded and Elvis’ concerned face swam into view above her.

“You okay, Cupcake? How many fingers am I holding up?” She narrowed her eyes at the black leather gloved hand he held up.

“Six?” she half-joked. “What was that?” He flashed a sheepish grin and lifted a black flashlight the length of his forearm.

“I just got it and I didn’t realise it was so powerful. I’m so sorry, honey.”

Being in his arms, wrapped in his warmth and inhaling his scent, she felt a bit giddy as well as still overwhelmingly blind. She frowned slightly and reached up to snatch his sunglasses.

“Well, I think I need these more than you do,” she mumbled, sliding them onto her face. They promptly slipped down her nose and she had to tilt up her face to see through them. She just saw a pink-tinted blur.

Laughing from his belly, Elvis reached out and pushed them back up for her with his finger, brushing a light peck on her forehead that she barely caught before he moved back.

“Well, now we’re the blind leadin’ the blind, darlin’.”

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway and they both turned, Chrissie having to look over the top of the glasses to make out Lori standing there awkwardly.

“Oh, you brought your friend,” Elvis murmured, tightening his hold of her waist with one arm.

“Hi,” Lori said, waving self-consciously.

“She’s visiting with me for break,” Chrissie explained. “She doesn’t know anyone or anything… I mean, she doesn’t know where things are.” He fixed her with a lopsided smile that told her she was adorable like a puppy or a toddler and his eyes fell to her lips, before he gently took his sunglasses from her face and put them back on.

“No, that’s okay,” he shrugged, “the more the merrier. Come on in, sweetheart.” He gestured for Chrissie to take the seat to his left, which she did after floundering for a moment at the loss of his arm around her. “Do you ladies want a drink or anything?”

They both declined and sat primly on either side of him, adjusting slightly as he spread his legs so that his knee was pressed against each of them and he took up both armrests.

“So, you’re visiting? Where are you from, honey? What’s your name?”

“Lori, and I’m not really from anywhere- I’m an Air Force brat, spent a little time in a lot of places, but weirdly I’ve never been to the South, so I knew that I had to come when Chrissie invited me.”

“Chrissie?” he echoed questioningly, looking to his left.

“That’s me,” she nodded emphatically.

“Noooo,” he replied playfully, leaning in and shaking his head right in her face, “you’re my sweet little Cupcake.” He pecked her cheek, lingering with his hot lips against her skin. “I’ve known you longer than she has, I know who you are.” She shivered, basking in the tingly warmth of his attention, just like she had that night a couple of years earlier, but then she remembered that she was different, she wasn’t that Chrissie anymore.

Before she had even made up her mind to do it, she turned her head, her lips brushing against his. That was all the encouragement he needed, his hand coming up to clasp her head and he kneaded his lips against hers, exhaling into her mouth.

Chrissie thought that she enjoyed kissing, but she had clearly never kissed anyone properly before, Elvis showed her that. His tongue slid against hers, even as he was sucking on her top lip and drawing her closer, his hand moving from the back of her head to grasp her neck. Every part of her was sparking and humming as she slipped her hand underneath his black jacket into the searing heat at his back.

“You do taste sweet,” he murmured, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. “I always wondered.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that except by blushing and leaning forward over the arm of her chair, trying to snag his mouth again. This time, he ducked back, though his hand was still wrapped around her throat, his thumb rubbing rhythmically against her pulse.

“Wait, honey, we ain’t being fair.” He turned to his right, where Lori was sitting looking at them, her cheeks pink and her mouth half open. Chrissie’s eyes dropped to where Elvis was holding Lori’s hand. “Lil Lori’s sitting here all left out, ain’t that right, honey?”

Lori’s eyes focused suddenly, but not on Elvis. She looked to Chrissie and the look she wore was different from anything Chrissie had ever seen before, but she still knew what it meant. She swallowed and nodded her head slightly.

Lori turned to Elvis and smiled. It was a deadly, sinful smile that usually bewitched and entrapped the boys at school within seconds. Elvis, it seemed, was not immune to that smile and he leant across, not loosening his grip on Chrissie, and kissed her too.

Chrissie got to see what that looked like from a distance, her eyes fixated on the movement of his plump lips, the tightening of his jaw, the way that his dark hair mingled with Lori’s pale golden bangs. It was mesmerising. She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs tightly to answer the tickling and tingles below her belly.

“Whoo, boy, now Cupcake’s bought me some sweet things before, but nothin’ compares to this,” he said, turning to each of them as he spoke like he was watching a tennis match. His lips glistened in the light from the screen and Chrissie reached out her hand to run her thumb across the bottom one, just to touch its pillowy softness. She gasped as he opened his mouth and nipped at it, using his tongue to soothe any hurt.

“You enjoy the show, baby?” he said softly, smirking in that confoundingly innocent, but sexy way that only he could manage. “See, now, that’s not fair on me. Both of you girls got to watch, but what about little ole Elvis? Where’s my show?”

Chrissie looked from him to Lori, feeling strange, like she was being stretched, pulled too far in different directions. Lori winked at her and then turned her blue eyes to Elvis.

“What do you want us to do?”

“Nothing bad,” he assured her in a soft, playful voice. “Just a little kissing, honey, that’s all.”

Lori shrugged and then flashed her dazzling smile at Chrissie, who felt frozen in the glare as Lori climbed onto her seat on her knees and leant across Elvis, who happily leant back. Lori’s lips were soft, softer even than his though not as full, and she lacked his finesse, but it felt nice as they massaged hers. Her eyes flickered open as Elvis pulled back the curtain of Lori’s hair that had fallen across her face and he gazed at them both with sleepy, tender looking eyes. Lori’s hand clasped her face before sliding down onto her shoulder and then lower. Chrissie shivered in anticipation.

“That’s enough now,” Elvis said gently but firmly. “Gonna make a man feel jealous, and I already lost you once to those boys at college.”

As Lori retreated to her seat, he cupped Chrissie’s face between his big hands, the metal of his rings pressed hard into her cheekbones.

“But you ain’t ever done nothing like that for those college boys, have you, sweetheart?” He didn’t wait for her answer, swallowing down her shallow breaths as he kissed Lori’s lipstick from her mouth. “Bet none of them’ve kissed you like this neither, huh.”

His voice was soft, low and kind of hypnotising. Chrissie wanted to shake her head, to gaze at him adoringly and tell him that she would never let anyone touch her the way that he was doing. That was how she knew it was the wrong choice.

“Some have,” she said, her voice hoarse and small.

He drew back, staring at her with his mouth slightly open, his lips ripe and glistening. She watched him reach up and take off his sunglasses, narrowing his eyes. All the better to see you with. Finally, a little too late, he laughed gently and playfully and she felt sure that she had just scored a point in whatever game they were playing.

“All grown up now, huh,” he observed with a twitch of his left eyebrow, echoing her words from earlier in the evening. She very slowly raised her own eyebrows and nodded.

“Well, what else you let ‘em do?” he asked, his voice low and leaning into gravelly. She felt the cool leather of his gloved hand on her thigh, sliding underneath her skirt. “You let them put their hands up ‘n’ under- under..?” She clamped down on his forearm without thinking and earned herself a pleased smile. “Naw, no, you’re still a good girl, aren’t you, sweetheart. My sweet lil cupcake, still a sweet lil treat.”

He tilted his head and nuzzled into her neck, moving so that she could see Lori peering over his back with a look of complete bewilderment on her face. Chrissie twitched her face into an expression that was the equivalent of a shrug.

Hey, uh, Elvis?” Lori murmured, tapping him on the shoulder. He paused and Chrissie felt him exhale a hot sigh into the crook of her neck that swept down through the wool of her sweater. She shuddered.

“Yes, honey?” He pulled back, his fingers sliding between Chrissie’s like they were two kids on a date.

“What’s that?” Lori asked, pointing at the blue-ribbon pendant around his neck, half buried in his jacket and the gold chains. He looked down, tightening his mouth.

“This here? This is a medal I got for being one of the ten outstanding men in America.” He held out the pendant that showed two hands stretched out to touch one another. “They only give that to people that’ve made a real difference, you know, honey, presidents, businessmen, athletes. Scientists. No fooling, it’s a big deal. I had to give a speech and everythin’. And if you think I was nervous standing up there, no script or nothin’, in front of all those people, you’d be right!”

They oohed and aahed over it while he sat with a proud smile, telling them about the trophy he had at home and the pin that was on one of his other jackets.

As he finished talking, the credits began to run across the screen.

“Aw, it looks like the movie’s over,” Lori sighed. “Thank you for inviting us, it was really nice of you.”

“That’s just the first movie,” Elvis returned, frowning slightly. “The night ain’t even getting started. You girls hungry?” He didn’t wait for their answer, yelling out ‘Jaaaaaames’ at the top of his voice. Chrissie peered over the side of the balcony and saw some people looking up.

The short, stock man from earlier came stumbling up the stairs, eyebrows raised in question.

“We need sustenance, man, hamburgers, Pepsis… Unless you girls want milkshakes?” Chrissie bit down a smile at him finally giving them a choice of something and even then it was only which drink they wanted.

While they waited for their food, the second movie started rolling. Elvis sat back in his seat, clasping each of their hands, and squinting slightly at the screen. Chrissie looked at his impossibly long, thick eyelashes flickering as he blinked and wondered whether he wore mascara. She wanted to ask for a recommendation.

“Quit it, I can feel those eyes burning a hole in me, woman,” he muttered, shooting her a sideways look, the line at the corner of his mouth twitching up. “M’trying to enjoy the movie.”

“Sorry.” She turned back to the screen, looking at Charlton Heston’s sweaty face.

“I’m only teasin’, baby.” He tugged her forward by the hand, kissing her again, and she had the same loop-de-loop sensation in her stomach as the first time. “I like you looking at me. Makes me feel good.” He pulled her hand onto his thigh and pressed it down as he kissed her, moaning a little into her mouth.

By the time James returned with their food, Elvis was buried beneath the two of them as they rubbed their lips, their hands, their faces and their bodies over every part of him they could get access to. When Chrissie got worried about how high his hand was on her bare legs, or how he was a little too insistent, he would turn to Lori and she would watch until her heart stopped pounding so hard and her chest loosened. She could feel herself growing wet, the ache intensifying between her legs, and she wondered how far things would go.

The girls picked at their burgers, their appetites directed elsewhere, but Elvis tucked into his hungrily, eyes drifting over to the screen to keep tabs on the action.

“You like movies?” he asked them. “I love movies, ever since I was a kid. All I wanted to do was be a movie star.” He shoved some fries into his mouth. “Be like Brando, or Monty Clift, or James Dean. I’d study ‘em all the time, trying to figure ‘em out like they were a… a.. math problem or something.” He huffed a laugh at himself.

“Well, you got your wish,” Lori observed. “You’re a movie star. I went and saw you in the movies.”

“Hell, I’m sorry, honey!” he returned dryly. “You want me to refund you the money for the tickets?” He shook his head, chewing fast so that he could finish his thought. “No, I ain’t done it yet, made THE movie, the one that’ll change the way everyone sees me, make ‘em see I can be a real actor if- if they just gave me a chance. Not even close. Not yet, but I will.” The girls nodded, it was impossible not to, he sounded so sure. “You believe me, don’t you.”

“I think you could do anything,” Chrissie told him quietly, immediately beset by the impulse to cringe, which was overwhelmed by the sight of his face lighting up. He nodded, a lopsided grin spreading across his face and making his eyes twinkle.

“Well, shit, I probably could if’n you only keep looking at me like that, honey,” he returned, looking down bashfully.

Food finished, they turned their attention back to the movie for at least two or three minutes, before hands started to knead and rub again, lips started to caress and nuzzle, and Chrissie somehow found herself sliding down Elvis’ body as he sat sprawled in his seat, her mouth sucking and licking at his throat, the coarse hair on his chest, the red linen shirt covering his warm stomach. She reached his belt before he reached down and stopped her.

“Not like this, sweetheart,” he said so tenderly and sweetly that her heart curled up at the edges. “It’s not gonna be like this for you.”

Instead, he scooped her back up onto his lap, where she could feel the hard bulge of him pressing against her thigh, and he let the tip of his nose graze slowly across her cheek and down into the neck of her sweater.

With his other hand, he reached over and gathered Lori to his side too and they cuddled up together to watch the third and final movie of the evening. Sometimes, he would turn slightly and whisper silly comments into her ear and press his pout into her pulse point, making her shiver. Others, he’d give Lori a pinch and make fun of how chatty she was.

They forgot, at least she forgot, that they were canoodling with a world-famous entertainer, a rock star, a man who had conquered everything and everywhere by the time he was their age. For a few hours, he was just their dorky, silly friend with the beautiful face and the softest, most kissable lips.

As the sun rose above the municipal building across the way, Lori and Chrissie rose from their seats, stretching their tingling limbs and rubbing their gritty eyes. Elvis stopped them at the door, clasping Lori’s chin and giving her a soft peck on the lips, before turning to Chrissie and taking her hands.

“Hey Cupcake,” he said with a small smile, looking up at her through his brows bashfully. He pulled at her hands, making her sway slightly in front of him. “Thank you for coming tonight and, er, all those other nights too. It, uh, it meant a lot… It means a lot, to have people rooting for you, especially… especially when things aren’t going so well.” She couldn’t help herself, sinking into his arms and gripping him tightly. She was so tired that she thought she could quite easily doze off with her face smushed against his warm chest.

“There’s that look again,” he remarked as she drew back, gazing at him in fresh wonder, unable to comprehend how the night had happened. “You make a man feel bulletproof, honey. And, uh, I promise I won’t ever let you down.”

“I know,” Chrissie replied, frowning slightly. He kissed her one last time, as sweet and needy and delicious as the first one.

“Come up and visit with us again sometime, okay?” She nodded, reaching out to push his sunglasses up his nose. He grinned.

As they wandered up the street in the greying dawn, arms linked and emotions numbed, Lori turned to Chrissie with a frown.

“That felt a lot like goodbye, didn’t it?” she said.

Chrissie sighed and nodded, thinking about how she could grab some boxes from the storeroom at the back of the bakery to pack away all her photo albums and autograph books.

“Yeah, it did,” she murmured. “It was.”

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fan fic #elvis presley fanfiction #writing prompt game #whositmcwhatsit

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jun-hug · 1 year

Text

dream team art school! au

Doodles that inspired me to write a little drabble fic :)

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

This was Georges biggest project,

okay maybe biggest project this semester... or last 2 months, either way the assignment occupied boys attention for couple last weeks, especially this week. That's why his two best friends were so eager to meet up, it felt like they haven't seen him in so long yet they go to same university. When brunette texted on their group chat asking for a hand with a photoshoot he haven't even blinked an eye before they eagerly agreed.

What's even more exciting, boys haven't seen George's project yet! The oldest kept it a secret to "prevent the leaks" because apart from it being his assignment it was also an entry to one of his most ambitious fashion competitions. The fashion awards of all US fine arts universities. He had high hopes for it.

"Alright I'm almost ready, remember to put the ISO to 200, I borrowed those lights for a reason!” Georges words were a little muffled but still understandable as he worked on setting his design as perfectly as it could get.

"Got it Gogs, come on we don't have a whole day!” they did, their classes finished at 11am today and it was Friday so they were free for the next days. Sapnap was just eager to see the boys creation, after all he put all his heart into it, like he does to all his projects. "Actually we do" Dream interjected, youngest only glared at him knowing damn well he's as impatient considering constant taps on his thigh.

"Yeah Sap idiot, we have all day.. but you're right, it's better if the light from outside is still at it's best." he finally emerged from behind the wardrobe curtain. Okay. The boys were stunned it's not that George usually doesn't look like goddess himself - that's far from truth actually. It's just that this time they're seeing his art mixed with all his grace and beauty. Sapnap manages to whisper little "Oh god" only for Dream to hear, as the tallest boy starts "You-”

The baby blue glowy shirt, ornamented with flowered embroidery makes his face look soft, bringing out his strawberry cheeks and eyes hinted with a bit of peachy shadow. It all contrasts, yet fits without fault with a long, red, mermaid cut skirt. It's flowy, the material decorated with blue beads in the shape of hearts- And oh-

Dream gasps, Sapnap inhales loudly. Fishnets, George is wearing fishnets and the cut in the thigh is so high it shows his left leg fully. good christ, they are so down bad. Sapnap eyes Dream and They can really just see how both of them are fully raspberry blown faces.

They are both hot. red.

And The brunet who's the one and only cause is clearly oblivious to their reaction as he innocently asks "so how does it look?", makes a gesture with hands showing of the sleeves and frills on the skirt.

"I- you, it's well, George, it's so beautiful you look amazing." Dream exhaled eyes still on him, almost not blinking.

"George it truly is gleaming - I mean the colour palette for this one??? Ms Chevreu will loose her shit when she sees this! You actually are so skilled holy smokes” Sapnap added still admiring his friend's piece.

"awe thank you! I hope she looses her shit to be honest that would be funny, she's into reds recently so I think she will" boy snickered, his cheeks visibly tinted, not only from blush he applied couple minutes ago.

"alright!" he clapped his hands "time for shoot!"

Youngest set the light, while dark blond took photos to fill the entire SIM card folder. Taking that George was /very/ photogenic it was easy to catch the best shots, it's almost like he looks perfect in all of them. George is perfect tho, Dream thinks.

"Okay I think we're done, I took pictures from every side I think" Dream announced as George stretched "gods yes please my back is starting to hurt so bad" as to emphasize that he popped his bones ”ew George don't do that” Sapnap made a face.

"what do you mean you are the worst back popper I've met. Hearing only a scoff in response from other boy George's half lidded eyes closed for a little while.

"He's meditating guys!” Dream squeeked in one of his mocking voices, George giggled "he's died!"

"Okay, that's it I'm checking the photos!" Sapnap yanked the camera from the tallest's hands and plopped on one of the puff poufs. "Hey be careful you goose! this camera only cost me 5 and a half months of cafeshop money!” Dream hurried with scolding

George got up slowly and joined the youngest, soon enough all three of them were slumped on floor, brit in the middle looking and commenting on photos. "Hey guys.." brunet started, causing Dream and Sapnap turning to him.

"yeah?" dark brunette asked.

"thank you... for supporting me, like not only this time but at all" he turned his eyes from both pairs of theirs. Then he cupped each cheek and gave it a short kiss.

Boys blushed, all three of them.

"Yeah no problem Gogs, we'll always be your biggest fans" Sapnap breathed out.

"Always" Dream repeated.

And if for the rest of the day boys only watched movies all cuddled up on couch, snacking on anything they found in brunets kitchen, that was on them.

thank you for reading ♡

hugs,

Jun

#georgenotfound fanart #georgenotfound #dream fanart #dreamwastaken #sapnap fanart #sapnap #dreamnotnap #dnn #dream team #dream team fanfic #gnf #dtqk #mcyt #gnf fanart #doodle #art school au #drabble #dreamnotnap fic #jun arts

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w2beastars · 7 months

Text

Beast Complex: The Deer and the Wolf

(Warning: This is a VERY self-indulgent fanfic, read at own risk)

He was a red deer at the beginning of his fifties. He had a slim build and fair face that made him look younger than he actually was. The square-framed pince-nez glasses he was wearing helped making him look like an animal of a certain age. He was dressed in a black suit, appropriate due to the funeral he had to host only four days ago.

The CEO of the Horns conglomerate tapped the table with a finger while feeling anxious. Louis was unsure if accepting the offer of a cup of coffee to catch up with her was such a good idea. They hadn't seen each other in years, and they didn't part on good terms. Or at least, not exactly good, but perhaps not bad either. But he had been so surprised to see her attend the cremating ceremony, he had probably not been thinking straight.

Louis took a glance around the coffee shop. Several animals had gathered here to chat. He saw a orange cat with a cell phone of a sort similar to the kind Louis had used when he was a teenager. Louis was glad that phones had made a comeback, he had never been thrilled about the lenses you could put into your eyes, it felt... wrong and intrusive. But perhaps new technology always felt threatening when you had reach a certain age.

Louis then spotted an empty table with a half-filled tea cup and an empty glass. There was a straw in the glass, the end of it had been chewed on.

It made the deer recall something. Something that made him blush.

"Louis."

Louis blinked and turned his attention toward a grey wolf with brown fur. She was dressed in a dark-blue blazer that was open, revealing a white shirt. Her fur was curly. She seemed like she was out of breath, as if she had been running, but she wore high heels.

Louis smiled, more out of a sense of being polite than actually being happy to see her. "Juno, it's good to see you again."

"I'm very sorry, there was a small crisis at the studio. One of the models had accused the tiger who took the photos of looking at her funny. I swear, bunny models are gonna be the death of me..." Juno took a seat at the other end of Louis' table. "Iced strawberry latte, please." She said to the hyena who worked as waiter in the café.

"I would like another coffee." Louis said. He looked at Juno. "So... you seem to be in good health."

"I am."

"Time sure flies by."

"Sure does."

"I should have tried to stay in touch-"

"We have both been busy." Juno said this despite knowing that was not the reason they hadn't talked in years.

There was an awkward pause. Neither the wolf or the deer knew what to say. But after they got their drinks, Juno decided to take the initiative. She recalled that she usually had to when it came to matters with Louis.

"I was not sure if showing up to the funeral was a good idea or not. The article said only family and close friends were invited-"

"I would say you belong in the second category."

Juno raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

Louis shrugged. "As far as I'm concerned." He sighed and smiled awkwardly. "I appreciate that you came."

Juno took a big sip of her latte. "Your daughter sure didn't. She was rude."

"Only because she thought you were a nosey stranger. I'm surprised Marie didn't recognize you. She wears one of your dresses for parties."

Juno smirked. "Then your daughter has good taste."

Louis rolled his eyes and made a small laugh. "Well, aren't you modest..."

Juno did her best not to wag her tail, it was not proper for a wolf her age to do so in public. Then, she looked serious. "I'm very sorry. Well, for what happened to her. To Azuki."

Louis' face changed into a grave expression. "Well... that makes two of us." Louis sighed before placing his cup against his lips.

Juno emptied her cup. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if what she was about to ask was too intrusive. But she had to know. "Did you... love your wife?"

Louis blinked. He coughed, almost spitting out the coffee. He had forgotten how direct this wolf could be. Juno looked at Louis, waiting for an answer. Louis decided to clean his classes to win some time.

"Well..." Louis cleared his throat. "I should just answer yes, that would be the appropriate response, but... it's not that simple. Azuki was very frank, she told me our marriage was about what was best for the Horns Conglomerate. We had a daughter, but that does not necessarily make a couple closer. But we grew to care a great deal for each other. Calling it friendship is not a fitting description, she was not my friend, she was... my companion." Louis smiled. "She knew me so well, she understood me. And now that she is gone... it is as if I lost a small part of myself." Louis sighed, then noticed he was shedding a tear.

He looked at Juno. The wolf started crying as well. And what she said... took him completely by surprise.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Juno yelled, exposing all of her fangs while slamming a fist against the table.

Louis almost lept from his chair. He pushed his classes closer to his eyes as he looked confused. "Excuse me?"

Juno growled, not giving a damn about tact in public space. "Our last night together, when I left that train... the one thing that made me keep calm, the one thing that stopped me from bawling my eyes out and yell at you and kick you in the groin... was knowing you would never be happy with that bimbo!"

Louis was baffled. Then angry. "Hey, that's my wife you are talking abo-"

"I could handle you not being mine because I could comfort myself with you being unsatisfied and unhappy with that pipsqueak! And now you are telling me that you actually miss her?!"

"I... I'm sorry, are you saying that I have hurt your feelings by caring for a female I was married to for thirty years?!"

"Yes, dammit!" Juno stood up and glared at the middle-aged deer. "You owe me me to at least having been a tiny bit miserable with her!"

Louis felt as if he was about to explode as he stood up as well. "You selfish... you childish... you self-centered... you egotistical..." He dropped his glasses as he yelled at the female wolf. "YOU HAVEN'T CHANGED AT ALL, HAVE YOU?!"

For a moment they just glared at each other. The other animals at the coffee-house had stopped talking and eating and instead looked at the heated argument that had started in the middle of the room. The orange cat picked up their phone, wondering if calling the police was necessary

And then, Juno started to giggle, covering her mouth.

Louis narrowed his eyes. "What? What's so funny?"

Juno snorted. "You still look like a little kid when you get all worked up!"

Louis heart was pounding. He was utterly confused. He blushed.

And then he grabbed Juno by the collar of her blazer and kissed her. The wolf was startled, but then hugged the deer and returned the kiss.

Everyone in the coffee-shop looked completely petrified except for the cat who filmed the dramatic scene with their phone.

Then... Louis regained his sanity. He pushed Juno away, resulting in her tripping because of her high heels. "WHAT ON EARTH AM I DOING!? I JUST BURRIED MY WIFE LESS THAN A WEEK AGO! YOU DAMN WOLVES, YOU MAKE ME LOSE MY MIND!" And then he stormed out of the room.

Juno giggled as she sat on the floor. "Wow..."

#beastars #beastars fanfic #beastars fan fic #beast complex #louis the red deer #louis beastars #juno #juno x louis #juno beastars #juno the grey wolf #louis x juno #azuki #azuki beastars

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milkboxmombo · 2 years

Text

Obsure AFTG Headcannons

Aaron sleeps with socks on

Nicky collects weird slippers

Andrew loves to use bath bombs, but will never admit it

Neil likes stale popcorn

Matt loves soap operas, the make him ✨feel something ✨ Nicky joins him sometimes

Kevin has an extensive rock collection

Renee love obscure romance thrillers

Allison is really good at anything science related

Kevin doesn't like raisins, the wrinkles make him uncomfortable

Andrew is scared of spiders, webs included

Katelyn collects bugs, she also has an ecosystem in a jar

Dan is intensely competitive with board games

the twins are allergic to penicillin

Allison is afraid of snakes

Neil always keeps weird shirt in his pockets, and he'll randomly walk up to one of the foxes, empty his pockets, then proceed to walk away without saying anything

Kevin's favorite Gatorade flavors are the yellow and green ones

Abby adores the name Ramona

Betsy is allergic to bees

Matt has really bad allergies in the spring, he absolutely can not breathe through his nose

Renee likes to crochet, she teaches Andrew one time, but has never seen him do it in his own time

Andrew secretly likes to crochet, it's something to do with his hands, something more productive than fidgeting, but he hasn't let himself indulge in it…. yet

Neil will buy different fox merch everytime they go to exites

Dan mostly wears athletic wear, but really enjoys randomly dressing up

Matt's favorite food is his grandma's homemade chicken noodle soup with egg noodles

Nicky is allergic to shellfish and peanut butter

Aaron and Katelyn do yoga together, Aaron initiated the routine

Renee has a septum piercing

Wymack is very passionate about shitty hospital shows

Neil, Aaron, and Andrew all have tooth gaps

Matt and Dan have matching heart lockets

Neil really like weird cat photos, and all of the foxes will show/send them to him at every possible moment

Aaron doesn't like cake

Nicky has an insanely complicated Starbucks order, and all Barista's hate him for it

Allison really likes matcha

Neil loves to lie about really dumb shit for fun

Aaron is bipolar

Kevin is aromantic

Aaron is asexual

Nicky LOVES the sonic franchise

Matt has ADHD

Dan likes to scrapbook and will drag any willing occupant to do it with her, It's usually Matt and Renee

Dan and Matt have scrapbooking dates

Neil at least try anything strawberry flavored

Allison loves Italian food

Wymack, Abby, and Bee all bet with each other

Neil knows how to braid hair

Jean loves dogs

Allison's eyes are a rich green/blue

Matt really likes dinosaurs

Aaron's favorite color is yellow

Aaron, Katelyn, Neil, and Andrew have been forced to go on a double date at least once, and it was the worst experience of their lives

Nicky LOVES chai, he gets Neil to try it once, and Neil has been hooked since

Allison can bench press just as much as Andrew, and they're in a silent competition over who's stronger

Neil is hypermobile, and loves to gross out the foxes

Part One

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artyandink · 1 year

Note

Could I request an Lockwood x reader where they are often asked if they’re dating but they both deny it and in the end they confess to each other? Thanks so much :)

WISH UPON A STAR

It all started when someone in the cafe asked that one question. “Are you two dating?” I almost dropped my spoon on the table, currently being used to stir my coffee, turning to the couple in the booth opposite. “S-Sorry? I didn’t quite catch that.” I stammered, my hand reaching up to fix my round, rose gold glasses. “Are you dating? I’m sorry if I startled you, but you two just look so cute together and I just had to ask.” I was at a loss for words for a moment, but luckily for me Lockwood answered my question, saving me. “Unfortunately not, madam, but I appreciate the compliment.” He flashed his gigawatt grin, smoothing down his shirt. I recovered from the momentary shock, sipping my coffee to dissipate the tension, recovering quickly. “Turning on the old charm, aren’t you?” I scoffed, tucking my strawberry blonde hair behind my ear. “Well, yes, in order to get a stranger to like you, you need to be charismatic, charming. Have you not learned that already?” “I’ve learnt that every stranger we meet turns out to think you’re a selfish jerk.” “Words hurt.” “Exactly.” Later, Lockwood was sitting with George in the kitchen, explaining everything. “They asked us if we were dating, hilarious, right?” He chuckled, pretending like he was wiping a tear from his eye. “What’s hilarious is that you two aren’t dating yet.” George muttered under his breath before speaking up, “Yeah, hilarious.” “Austin and I can never be a couple. We’re too… different.” “As in?” “We’ve two different ways of thinking.” “What you mean is that you pick the reckless way out and she picks the smart way out.” “Exactly. Two different ways of thinking,” They blinked at each other, George much more exasperated than Lockwood, who just appeared to be calm. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… “So, after that, a couple next to us asked if we were dating.” “Well, are you?” Lucy asked, lying on her bed and reading while I stress-organised the makeup on our vanity, putting them according to colour. “No!” I cried, waving an eyeliner pencil in the air. “Lockwood’s a tad too reckless for me. He always has been.” “He got a lot less reckless when he met you. And you got a lot more reckless when you met him.” Lucy and I had been friends since we were small. We made a pact with Norrie to go to London, but when that backfired Lucy ran away, and when Jacob’s shut down I went after her, so we ended up here. “What do you mean ‘a lot more reckless’?” I interrogated, now waving a bottle of mascara around like a Harry Potter wand. “Remember when we had that case where you and Lockwood were trapped on the roof with a vicious Type 2?” “‘Course I remember that one, we almost died.” “Again.” We both chorused, counting the many times our lives were at stake. “But it was your idea to jump off the roof, onto the trampoline and land in the pool rather than the safer option: face it head on and wait for me and George to get up there.” “Admittedly, it wasn’t that safe to wait-” “But a million things could’ve gone wrong. Yet you did it anyway.” …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… “Lockwood, where’s my cover?” I yelled, chucking a flare nimbly at the oncoming Type 2, an angered victim of a house burglary gone wrong. I drew my rapier, holding it front of me. Admittedly, my rapier was my best tool, since I’d gained my grade 4 very quickly and now could even match and beat the likes of Kipps and Lockwood in a duel. Lockwood claimed that Kipps was a pushover, but if someone beat him at a duel? They deserve a medal. “Right here, Austin!” Speak of the devil. He ran forward, swinging the chain and lashing it forward. “Found the source. Every photo in this house has just one thing in common. Sophia Wallis wears a necklace in them, the same one each time. George messaged me saying that she was strangled to death with it.” “Real nice manner of death, don’t you think?” I said sarcastically, lunging forward and catching “It’s fascinating!” “Do you even have human emotions?!” I snapped. There’s a Type 2, Austin, focus. “Plan D.” “No way. Plan E.”

“Plan G.” “What’s G? We didn’t make a G. Did I authorise this?” “Of course you didn’t. Distract the ghost and run. We stand a better chance together than apart.” “Sound good.” We threw a flare at the same time, meeting our target and running as Sophia screamed, the sound grating my ears as we reached the bedroom, searching everywhere. “Nothing in the drawers.” I informed before moving onto the cupboard. “Nothing on the floor.” Sophia appeared again, and the sound of my rapier being drawn alerted Lockwood, who drew his. “Plan E!” He yelled, and in the heat of the moment I complied, performing an aerial to dodge the flying flare, feeling the object pass between my shins. I started searching, tearing apart the bedsheets until I found the source: the necklace, buried under the mattress. A splash of blood had rusted the metal, but the crystal still glowed brightly. I immediately grabbed the net hanging from my utility belt, throwing it over the source just as Lockwood was knocked back, hitting the wall and falling unconscious. “Lockwood!” I gasped, instinctively moving to check his heartbeat. It was slower than normal, but fast enough to tell me he was alive. I saw his chest rising and falling in an even frequency, but there was blood running down the side of his face from a small cut he’d gained. I tore a chunk off a spare bedsheet, pressing it to the cut and calling Lucy and George, who responded immediately. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

DEPRAC arrived on the scene a few minutes later, immediately taking the unconscious Lockwood on a stretcher and binding his head up. “This could mean a minor concussion, but you and your friends can look after him.” The medic nodded. “We’ll take him home.” “You can watch over him, Austin.” Lucy patted me on the back, not knowing what much else to do. “George and I will prepare some tea for you at Portland Row.” “We will?” George was met with a slap on the head by Lucy, who looked at him with a ‘don’t you dare argue’ face. “Thanks guys.” I smiled, climbing into the ambulance. I immediately was met with the familiar feeling of worry, gripping me as I held Lockwood’s hand, his familiar warmth trying to soothe me. He still had that small smirk like he always did upturning the corner of his mouth. I guess it was his special feature. Apart from his dangerous best plans. “Are you two dating?” The nurse asked quietly, as to not startle me. This time I wasn’t too lost for words, answering almost immediately and surprising myself. “No, but I wish we were.” I took a moment to realise what I just said, “But we can’t. Just as colleagues, this happens. What will happen if we get together?” “I think you should take a risk.” She replied matter-of-factly. I took a moment to think, until it hit me. I just got given love advice by a DEPRAC medic. …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… “Locky. Oi, Locky.” Lockwood woke up to the sweet sound of Flo Bones waking him up, sitting like a queen on the armchair while he was flopped on the chaise lounge. “Flo?” He called groggily, moving to prop himself up. “What’re you doing here?” “Here to see Austy. She’s in a right state, so you can tell me what happened in that there case.” She raised an eyebrow, waiting. “I was hit by a flying piece of wood. The ghost had telekinetic powers somehow, and I was caught in the crossfire.” He explained, hoping Flo wouldn’t ask more. “I may not have gone to no school, but I’m not thick. There’s more, isn’t there?” She gestured for him to continue. “The wood was aimed at Austin. I had to jump in the way or she’d have gotten seriously hurt.” “Are you two datin’?” “No!” He refused sharply, but then deflated. “But I wish we were. However, we work together. It’s best if we keep the line between work and personal where it is.” “That’s something about you that you need to change, Locky.” Flo tutted. “You’re one of my best mates, but you don’t know when to stop being like that closed door on the landing.” “I agree.” George sighed, entering. “Hey, Flo.” “Georgie. You look taller.” Flo briefly acknowledged. “Probably cause I’m sittin’ down here.” “Probably. I had to lift the biscuit rule and use many sugar cubes and coffee sachets to calm Austin down.” “Traumatic experiences.” Lockwood shrugged. “Everyone’s had them. What makes you think she’s any different?” “Cause you like each other.” The statement induced a sceptical grin from Lockwood, who turned away from Flo. “Of course I like her. She doesn’t like me, and it’s bloody embarrassing if it’s one-sided.” “Who said it’s one-sided?” Lucy smirked, sipping her tea at the door. “Are we having a therapy session in here? I don’t need to talk about this, now, if you excuse me, I need to talk to Austin Garcia.” He got up, but his concussion made him trip at the foot of the stairs. “Lockwood, the… stairs.” …………………………………………………………………………………………………………… “Are you sure you’re ok?” Austin asked as they took a stroll before curfew. “Yeah, I feel just perfect. What about you?” “I feel good. Better than before.” “Why wasn’t I warned that Flo was coming over?” “Nobody was.” I shrugged. “You know how she has her own key. She says-” “Never throw one away. It always unlocks something somewhere.” We both quoted at the same time, looking at each other and bursting into laughter. I felt our fingers intertwine, my finger reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “A rose for the happy couple? On me.” A flower seller asked, holding out a rose. “We’re not a-” “Thank you.” Lockwood interrupted, taking the rose.

"We're not a couple, Lockwood."

"What if we were?" We stopped in our tracks. "I think about it every day. Waking up and the first beautiful sight is you. I wish that upon every star every day." He tucked the rose behind my ear, "The thought is simply too tempting to resist."

"Then why do you resist it?"

"Because I never really knew that I should take a risk for love. But I will today. Austin Iris Garcia, will you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?" My only answer was to grab his tie, pulling him in for a kiss filled with fireworks. His hands gently held my waist while mine cupped his cheek before playing absent-mindedly with the stands of his hair.

"WE DID IT, LUCY!"

"GEORGE, I'LL TOSS YOU INTO THAT BLOODY WALL-"

"EVERY MAN AND WOMAN FOR THEMSELVES!"

TAGLIST:

@superpositvecloudshipper

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lucy carlyle #george karim #flo bones

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onsunnyside · 2 years

Note

hi sonny bae! i’m back w more airhead!reader thots :))

ok so idk if this is like a national thing but i remember in my hometown, on the night before varsity football games, people that knew the players would decorate the teams locker room and leave like goodie baskets in each locker and now i’m just thinking what if curtis actually goes through w the football idea and airhead!reader got to decorate his locker🥺 his locker would be so cute, it’d literally scream y/n and he’d probably get teased about the glitter lettering (at least u used his favorite colors and not pink) and he’d act annoyed but his heart would grow ten times the size of his body. then he gets to the basket inside and it’s all his favorite snacks, favorite drinks, and…an envelope? what’s in the envelope? a letter? or mayhaps cute polaroids of u two together <3 mayhaps a polaroid of u wearing nothing but his jersey, and the next one? ur wearing nothing, just ur manicured hands covering ur most precious parts. and the last one?… well u sure didn’t leave much to the imagination🥰 - 🐚

oh my this is so adorable !! i love them !! hehe, it's a little combo of sweet couple pics, you two kissing or snuggled close, and ofc some spicy ones of you in his jersey, a lingerie set in his favourite colour, and plenty of tasteful nudes.

"Who took these?" He asks, staring at the sheer dress covering your breasts. You aren't wearing any panties, just squeezing your thighs shut and giving the camera a shy smile.

now, did you figure out how to take the photos on a timer, or did dummy you take up the offer of one of his friends who guaranteed they'd take the best pictures of you, from any angle😳

i'm also thinking of airhead!reader and curtis in the change room as she tries on clothes: everything is so tight and tiny, the skirt barely covers your ass and your nipples show through all the itty bitty t-shirts.

"Baby, don't you think it's a little... tight?" Curtis asked, gesturing to your cleavage. He could see your nipples right through the fabric, hard and just begging for his mouth. "Maybe try a different size?"

"But this is the only one they have!" You pout, "It's so cute. Isn't it cute on me?" You twirl, almost falling over in your heels. "Look at the strawberries, remember when we made chocolate-covered strawberries?"

Curtis does remember. It was a nice date with just the two of you, although you made a mess of yourself and the kitchen. The night ended with Curtis giving you a thorough wash in the shower—then getting you all messy again.

cough cough, he definitely calls you his little cumdump/cumrag

#wips ask #curtis x airhead!reader #sonny drabbles #🐚 anon

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miscfandomwrites · 5 months

Text

Ghost

A/N: This is one of my first fics but it did get a decent liking to it so I will be reuploading it.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Location: Marvel > Wanda Maximoff > Oneshots

Words: 1.5k

Tagging: @tyler-t0t

“You are not seriously wearing that, are you?” Questioned Tony as I walked by him.

I was wearing a white dress shirt tucked into black pants, my hair a bit messy but down. I had a set of silver rings on both hands, and I was wearing a pair of black boots.

“I am.” I replied, heading to the elevator.

“You realize every woman will be on you in a matter of seconds?” He questioned as he followed me in the elevator.

“That’s the point,” I answered.

There was in fact only one woman I wanted on me tonight, if she’ll have me.

~~~

“You did what?” Steve gasped.

I grinned at him. “Stark hasn’t noticed yet, and I got a photo to prove it” I told him. I pulled out my phone and pulled up the photo of a note stuck to the back of Stark’s suit that read “Kick me”

While it was childish, it got her attention which is what I wanted.

~~~

It was getting late, and the Gala was still going on, despite it being nearly midnight. I was talking to someone who I didn’t know, when I decided to ask her.

I conjured up the words in my head and glanced around to find her.

Wanda was wearing a red dress that did nothing to help the need growing between my legs. With low cleavage and a slit up her left thigh, and the way the fabric hugged her curves…

Damn, I had a thing for women in dresses.

Suddenly a song started playing that I recognized- Jungle, by Nina Chuba.

Care to dance? I asked her, along with an image of us on the dance floor.

She turned to look at me, with a small smile and swore my heart started beating faster.

Of course.

I walked to her, completely leaving the person I was talking to. She had several men around her, all behaving like dogs.

“May I have this dance, Miss Maximoff?” I asked her. She grinned at me as the men turned to look at me with various emotions that I had no care to observe from. Only hers.

“You may” she replied as she held out her hand, which I took.

I led her to the dance floor, twirling her once we got on. I had one hand on her hip, the other holding her other hand in the air, as she reseted her hand on my shoulder.

“You look beautiful tonight” I told her, gazing at her startling blue eyes. The calm and delight that they held in them reminded me of the sky after a rainstorm.

She smirked at me. “Don’t I look beautiful every night, Ghost?” She said. Ghost was my callsign, partially due to my abilities and partially due to my habit of disappearing and reappearing out of nowhere.

“There has never been a day where you have not been beautiful.” I replied, smiling at her.

She let go of my hand and put it on the back of my neck, and moved closer to me. We were gently swaying to the music, and I rested my other hand on her shoulder.

She smiled back at me, humming the song.

I turned my head and saw the men she was with earlier, glaring at us. She turned her head too, and leaned into me.

“Why don’t we go somewhere else?” She asked, as I started glaring at the men.

“Good idea.” I answered, taking her hand and leading her to the elevator.

Once we got in and the doors closed, she grabbed my collar and kissed me. She tasted like strawberry chapstick and cinnamon, just as I had imagined.

I laced a hand through her hair and pulled her closer, and put my other hand on the small of her back. I nipped at her lip and she gladly opened her mouth to me. I backed her up to the wall, pressing her against it. She broke the kiss to look at me. “Care to show me how much you want me?” she asked. I grinned at her.

“You’ve been listening to my thoughts, haven’t you?” I asked her.

“About the fact that you want my dress on the floor, of the fact you have a thing for women in dresses?” she replied, smirking.

“Damn then, you’re in for a hell of a night” I grinned at her.

The elevator stopped at my floor, and I pulled her out of it, pushing her against the wall right outside of it.

I had my hands on her hips and was pressing into her. She wrapped her legs around me, and I started grinding into her as she gasped. She leaned her head back, moaning softly as I started kissing her neck. I pressed kisses to her collarbone, before my lips found her mouth again.

“Do you want marks?” I questioned. This was more so she wasn’t questioned and was comfortable having them.

“Show them who I belong to.”

That was all it took. I lifted her off the wall and carried her to my room, making sure to leave plenty of marks along her neck and chest.

I leaned her against the bed as we kicked off our shoes. I started pulling her dress off of her, groaning at the sight of her braless breasts.

I kissed down her chest, taking one of her nipples in my mouth while I rolled the other between my thumb and forefinger.

Her hand found its way into my hair as she let out a breathless whisper of my name. I switched, taking the other in my mouth. She started grinding against me, and I placed one of my thighs between her legs so she’d have more friction.

Fuck, I could feel her heat through my pants.

I kissed down her stomach, sliding the rest of her dress off. She was wearing a lacy pair of black underwear, which were quickly taken off. I kissed the top of her mound and the inside of her thighs.

“Please” she asked. I looked up and saw her kiss-swollen lips and piercing blue eyes starting at me.

I grinned back and licked her folds as she fell back against the bed, cursing.

“Fuck, you’re already this wet for me darling?” I asked. Her essence was coating her inner thighs and damn, it tasted sweet.

I licked against, from her entrance to her clit, flicking it with my tongue. I put her thighs on my shoulders and pressed my face more into her, licking and occasionally sucking one of her lips.

I took her clit in my mouth and was rewarded by a near yell of my name. I sucked on it, and felt her thighs shaking around me. I carefully entered one finger and curled it, then another. A jumped mess of words fell out of her mouth, some curse words, others my name, and one that definitely caught my attention as I kept curling my fingers.

“Fuck-(Y/N) please please don’t stop! I’m gonna cum!” she cried out, moaning.

I kept up my minstations, sucking harder on her clit as she let out a loud moan, the hand in my hair gripping tighter. I felt her walls start to squeeze my fingers and I kept going.

I looked up right as she came and fuck, I wanted that photo intergrained in my head permanently. Her back was arched, her hair spread out on the bed, her other hand gripping the sheets as she lets out a moan.

I coaxed her through it, eventually earning another orgasum from her. My mouth switched places with my fingers, causing her to scream my name as she came again.

I finally stopped, licking her essence off of her thighs, and flicked her clit with my tongue as she whimpered.

I stood up, licking my fingers as she started at me.

“Fuck, that was good” she told me. I grinned at her.

“I can do better.” I replied. Suddenly a loud chime started playing, from which Wanda grabbed her phone.

She answered it as I went to my bathroom, wetting a washcloth and coming back to her telling someone that she’d be there in a bit.

I wiped her down carefully, as she asked me “Do you do this with all your lays?”

I chucked and tossed the washcloth in the laundry basket, and then helping her back in her dress.

“Only with the ones I really like” I replied. She smiled at me as I helped stabilize her as she put her heels back on.

“I wish I could reciprocate, but I’m needed downstairs. Later, though?” She asked.

I grinned. “I’m always here.” I replied. She smirked at me and walked out the door.

I ran a hand through my hair, tilting my head back and breathing out a curse.

“Fuck”

I sent a mental image to her, of her between my thighs and I got a one-word response from her.

Later.

#miscfandomwrites #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #marvel #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n

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dailysarachidouin · 1 year

Note

I am BEGGING you to draw Sara, Joe, and Ranmaru hanging out. It would mean the absolute world to me!! They're so cute! :D

- 🍉

DAY TWENTY: DATE TIME!!

[ID: A digital colored drawing of Sara Chidouin, Joe Tazuna, and Ranmaru Kageyama from Your Turn To Die. The drawing is framed as a photo. Over the photo, in blue and black text, reads; "Date Time" with a star underneath it. The three are shown from bust upwards.

Sara is wearing a green collared shirt underneath a pink sweater. Her ginger hair is pulled into a ponytail with a hair tie that resembles strawberry leaves. Her eyes are violet and orange, and she has eyebags and freckles. Additionally, she has a star earring, a golden heart locket with a "C" etched into it, and a purple ring. Her hand touches Joe's, which is wrapped around her shoulder, and she's smiling.

Joe is wearing a green tank top, his arms wrapped around Sara and Ranmaru. He has brown hair that is styled to curl upwards a little. He also has dark brown eyes and freckles. Additionally, he wears a lighting bolt hair clip, two small golden earrings, a yellow necklace with a sun on it, and a blue ring. He wears a bright smile, his fangs showing.

Ranmaru is wearing a blue, short-sleeved sweater over a light purple shirt, which also covers white bandages underneath his clothes. The zipper on the sweater is a crescent, matching Sara's star earring and Joe's sun necklace. He has white, curly hair, grey eyes, and acne. He also has a stud earring. He's the only one not looking at the camera, instead opting to stare at his partners adoringly, with a smile.

The background of the photo is a light blue sky with clouds, green grass with pink flowers, and a big tree. End ID.]

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beeeinyourbonnet · 1 month

Text

Covetous | Chapter 8

Rating: E

Pairing: Macelle (Father MacAvoy x Belle) or Nostelle (Nosty x Belle), who is to say which

Summary: Father Joseph MacAvoy wakes up in a library across town with no idea of how he got there. When the kind librarian doesn’t kick him out immediately, he considers that maybe there’s more to life than alcohol.

[chapter 1] [chapter 2] [chapter 3] [chapter 4] [chapter 5] [chapter 6] [chapter 7]

[read on ao3]

tws: alcoholism, homelessness.

-----------------

Though he tried to coax Belle into bed after an hour of calling all the stations near her flat and the library yielded no results, she insisted on sitting in her reading chair all night, staring out the window. He took the couch, too drunk to fight her, and passed out.

When he woke sometime around dawn, Belle was showered and dressed, clutching a white dress shirt in her lap while she dozed. Was it Nosty’s? Based on the photos around her flat, it was too small to have belonged to her father.

He didn’t want to wake her, but he also wasn’t sure what to do. He hadn’t expected to stay over, but he’d soon realized that Belle was going to drive herself into the ground if no one was there to make her eat, drink, and take breaks. It was a relief to see her sleep now, even though it was clear she hadn’t slept much in the night.

Figuring she wouldn’t be offended if he took a shower, he stumbled to the bathroom. She’d lain out a towel and washcloth with a scrap of paper on top that read Joseph. It was next to the mouthwash. How could she manage to be so thoughtful when she could barely remember to blink?

Belle was awake when he emerged in a towel, clutching the shirt so hard, he didn’t think even an iron could save it.

“Good morning,” he said tentatively.

“Morning.”

“Do you want some breakfast?” He wasn’t going to put her through his hideous attempts at eggs, but he could make toast at least.

She shook her head. “I have to go to work soon.”

“You have time for breakfast.” If he kept his voice firm, maybe he would feel firm. Belle nodded, and when she stood, he saw she was wearing two different shoes, one dark brown ankle boot and one black.

“Um, Belle?”

“There’s bread on the counter,” she said. “And jam in the fridge.”

Should he even tell her about the shoes? They were so similar, it didn’t even seem to impede her walking, but if he’d noticed, surely everyone would.

Once they each had a piece of toast spread with butter and strawberry jam, and Belle had let go of the shirt, he brought up the shoes.

“Oh god.” She laughed, a sound he wanted to enjoy but it only squeezed his heart. “My head’s not on right today. I don’t even know what’s on the schedule at work. You won’t let me traumatize any kids, right?”

“Of course not.” He was another story, but he’d made it through the library enough times without incident, he could probably make it today. “And we’ll keep calling. At every free minute.”

She nodded, eyes welling up. “Okay. We’ll keep calling.”

****

Belle considered it divine intervention that they made it to the library without injury since she couldn’t remember looking at the road even once on the drive. She didn’t bother with her usual opening tasks, just sat at her desk and logged into her email to retrieve her spreadsheet.

Joseph asked her a few questions about the coffee carafe and where all the light switches were, and she was so grateful for him being there. She hadn’t felt this out of sorts since her father moved to hospice, but there was no unknown then. Constant vigilance wouldn’t have helped her, she just took her time off where she could and then her bereavement leave when he finally passed. Now, what was she supposed to say? Hi, my usually-unreliable boyfriend of three or so days is missing, and I know he doesn’t have an address and has disappeared before, but I’m certain he’s injured, so I’ll be taking off an indefinite amount of time.

That would be absurd. Besides, if he actually was injured, she might have to take off to care for him.

Joseph brought her a stack of books from the overnight book return slot, and going through the motions of checking them back in soothed her. There was nothing taxing about this repetitive labor, nothing that wanted to pull the loneliness further. It was just books being books, as they always were. Reliably.

“Should I call some stations?” Joseph asked. “They might be happier to talk to a priest than a friend.”

Girlfriend, she wanted to correct him, but what was the point? It wasn’t like she and Nosty had discussed it. They were still figuring things out. That’s what she’d told him they could do.

“Okay, thanks.”

They spent the morning alternating between helping patrons, setting up a room for a school visit, and calling police stations. Joseph stepped outside several times to chat with her friend across the street, and she felt guilty for not doing so herself, but what would she say? The only words that came to her were the old tried and true about books, and if she couldn’t talk about that, she would just talk about Nosty.

She dialed the next station on her list, debating whether bursting into tears would get her more help or not. No one could do anything with just a nickname and a description, and no one had been willing to help her at all.

“Newham police, Constable Graves speaking.”

“Hi,” Belle said, reaching for her practiced words. “I’m looking for recent arrest information.”

“Name?”

“Well, that’s the tricky part, and please pardon me for being difficult, but I’m so worried—”

“If you don’t have a name, I can’t help you.”

Men her father’s age often buckled when face to face with her, and she wanted to scream when she couldn’t get the same effect on the phone. Maybe she’d go around to every station in London in person.

“Sorry, it’s just—he goes by Nosty, and he wears a kilt—”

“You’re looking for Nosty?”

Her head swam. Someone finally recognized him. Had Joseph felt like this last night when he’d discovered the hospital?

“Yes! Yes, I’m looking for Nosty.”

“What’s he done this time, then?”

She swallowed, reaching for a book just to have something to hold. “Nothing. I’m just trying to find him.”

“What for? He owe you money?” The constable guffawed and even more laughter echoed around him, like everyone was in on the joke. For a blissful moment, anger replaced Belle’s despair, but she bit her tongue. Yelling at the police wouldn’t help Nosty.

“Please, I’m just—”

“Hang on, hang on, just a minute.”

She sat in shocked silence while he placed her on hold. While she listened to the elevator music, Joseph sat next to her, bracing a hand on her shoulder.

“Hello?” This man sounded much younger, and Belle hastened to gather herself.

“Yes, hi, have you seen Nosty?”

“No, ma’am, I’m sorry.” In his quick accent, “ma’am” sounded like “mum.” “I just thought you might want to talk to someone who wouldn’t laugh at you.”

She grabbed Joseph’s hand, eyes welling with tears. “Thank you. You know him then?”

The young officer spoke so quietly, she had to press the phone to her ear. “We’ve arrested him before, but I haven’t seen him in awhile. Are you family?”

Should she lie? “Yes. I haven’t heard from him in a few days, and I’m worried.”

“If you like, I can take your information and ring you if I see him.”

The tears spilled over, and Joseph shoved a tissue at her. “Would you? Oh, thank you so much…?”

“Cliff, mum. Well, Constable Butler, to be formal.”

“Thank you so much, Cliff.”

She gave him every way she could think to reach her, hung up the phone, and then curled up in Joseph’s lap like a child and wept.

****

MacAvoy had not wished for much in his life. He was fairly content to be miserable as long as he could continue numbing the pain, but he had wished for Belle, and now he had her, and along with her an all-consuming guilt for wishing Nosty out of the picture.

He had never held a human over the age of one while they cried, much less a beautiful woman that he—let’s face it—was in love with. He could sense his future fuckup just lurking around the corner, waiting for the moment to strike.

“Shh.” He stroked her hair even though it would fill him with guilt, but he already felt so guilty it hardly mattered. “Belle, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay. Why don’t we go to your office?”

She mumbled something and he thought he could make out desk.

“Okay, why don’t I put you in your office to relax for a little bit and I’ll watch the desk?”

She agreed to this, so he led her in and deposited her in her chair. Without looking, she opened one of the drawers and pulled out a bag of gummy bears, offering him one before taking a handful and curling up with her knees to her chest to eat them.

“I’ll be right out there if you need me,” he said.

“If you pick up and dial two, it’ll ring this phone.”

He thanked her and shut her in, then paused in front of the door to gather himself. He half expected Nosty to show up after all that and stab him in the throat with his boxcutter, and at the moment, it would be a relief just to see him.

Nosty did not show up while he sat at the desk, and he did not show up once Belle re-emerged, a little red and puffy but otherwise put together.

She sat and rested a hand over his, startling him.

“Thank you so much, Joseph,” she said. “I don’t know how I would have done anything alone.”

“No one should have to deal with something like this alone,” he said, voice hoarse.

She squeezed his hand, then let her fingers drop. “I’m glad I didn’t have to. And—and you know I’m here for you too.”

He could kiss her, he realized. He could lean forward and touch his lips to her red, tear-swollen cheek. That was not the behavior of a supportive friend, though. A supportive friend wouldn’t take advantage of a hurting woman trying to find the man she clearly loved.

A priest also shouldn’t be thinking about when it might be appropriate to kiss someone. The answer for him was never. It was never appropriate.

He would just have to be happy to see her happy.

****

MacAvoy didn’t go home with her again, but he was sure to be at the library before she arrived, and he spent a lot of time learning how to text faster so he could check in on her while she sat vigil by her window all night.

The only times he saw Belle happy was when she was working with groups at the library. She put on a bold face for the patrons, but when she had to lose herself in a group event, he could really see her passion for her job. He was too in love with her to even offer to help—every time he meant to, he would look into her smiling eyes and forget the entire English language.

He called the hospital again on Thursday, but they still hadn’t seen him, and they couldn’t offer to call him with information. He was lucky they were willing to tell him anything, and he had the feeling it was only his credentials. A god-fearing man on the other line was a blessing if MacAvoy wanted to know something.

With Belle’s increasing hopelessness rubbing off on him, the non-news put him in a foul mood. Nosty had better be dead for the grief he was putting her through. MacAvoy made himself a cup of tea with two shots of gin, a little treat for himself that he’d discovered at Belle’s. It was a good way to not hate himself for drinking.

Before he succumbed to the alcohol fully, he sent a quick check-in text to Belle, but she didn’t respond. He hoped that meant she was showering or eating, or maybe reading. She had confessed to him that she couldn’t focus on books, the one thing that had always brought her comfort.

He wished she could read again. No—he wouldn’t wish it.

“Dear God.” He crossed himself. “Please send Belle the strength to love books again. If there’s anyone who deserves your grace, it’s Belle French.”

Satisfied that he had gone through the right channels, he stumbled to the kitchen to scrounge around for dinner. He still didn’t eat much, but at least having toast at night meant he could report to Belle that he was feeding himself, and soon, he’d be getting his monthly stipend from the church. If he bought his own booze instead of going to the pub, maybe he could find things to eat that he couldn’t destroy.

His phone rang as he was debating ruining another egg for dinner, and he nearly fell in surprise.

“Belle?”

“Will you come get me?”

His brain stuttered. Was he wearing shoes? Clothes? Where was his wallet? “Yes, of course, where are you?”

“At the front door.”

He stopped. “What?”

“Outside the church. I knocked a few times, but I didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Be right there.”

His feet carried him so quickly, he almost fell three times, but soon he was yanking the front door open. Belle stood in the shadow, carrying a big purse and a bottle of wine.

“Can I stay here tonight?” she asked. “I can’t be in my flat.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” He ushered her in, wobbly hand on her back as he led her through the church toward the rectory. There were some spare bedrooms she could use, even if they were probably a little dusty.

He led her to the little kitchen first, and when he saw her in the light, he almost fell over. Her eyes and nose were red and puffy, and she had a little cut on the side of her forehead.

“What happened?” he demanded. If Nosty had laid his hands on her, he didn’t care that he was a priest, he was going to—going to—

Well, he would call the police, that was for sure.

Belle’s lower lip trembled. “Nosty’s—”

“What did he do?”

She stumbled back, and he flooded with guilt. She didn’t need him yelling at her if she’d run here to be safe.

“I’m sorry, Belle.” He lowered his voice. “What happened to your head?”

She frowned, reaching up to touch it. Her eyes widened and then she laughed, the same humorless chuckle he’d grown to know.

“I didn’t even realize. I wasn’t paying attention on the phone and I scraped my forehead on the cabinet corner.”

Considering how absent Belle had been all week, it was a wonder she hadn’t done something like that sooner.

“Who was on the phone?” Even a drunk idiot like him could figure out this was the important information.

Belle set the wine bottle on the table, then turned to him with her giant purse. “Where can I put this?”

So it was going to be like that. That was fine—MacAvoy could wait.

He showed her to the spare rooms, letting her inspect each one before deciding, and once she chose the room closest to his, she asked where the laundry room was before stripping all the sheets. It had to be close to eight. Was she planning on sleeping at all?

He shadowed her all around the rectory as she washed sheets, wiped down surfaces with some cleaning spray he dug up for her, and hung up a dress for work tomorrow in the closet.

Once she’d moved the sheets over to the dryer, he blocked her exit. This was madness.

“Belle.”

She gave him a defiant look, jaw clenched.

“Have you eaten?”

It was like he’d deflated her. She shook her head, and then let him guide her back to the kitchen. He didn’t know why he’d bothered—all he had was some bread and a few eggs.

Belle stared at the meager spread of ingredients, then turned to him with wet eyes. “I don’t know if I can cook. I’m sorry.”

“Belle, what happened?”

She sat at the table and pulled the wine toward her, picking at the label instead of looking at him. “Constable Cliff Butler called me.”

That could have been good news, but she didn’t sound like it was. “What did he say?”

“He said that he was out on a call today and saw Nosty in his usual place, and he was—” She swallowed, tears spilling down her cheeks. He knelt before her, grabbing her hands. They would give Nosty a beautiful funeral, one that would show God how much Belle loved him.

“He was what?” he prompted.

“Kicking a football.” She laughed harshly, and then she pressed her lips together. Her shoulders shook.

Still holding her hands, he frowned, confused. What did that mean? “I don’t understand.”

“He was playing around. He left me like this, knowing it would destroy me, and he’s fine. Constable Cliff Butler was very happy to report the good news to me.”

Oh.

He stood and wrapped his arms around her, hardly even relishing the feel of her hair as he stroked it and whispered platitudes while she gripped his shirt and sobbed.

“Come on,” he said when she started to calm down. “Let’s get some food.”

“Do you have wineglasses?”

He licked his lips. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

Before he could blink, she’d thrown his arms off of her and stood out of his reach, glaring at him with a fury like he’d never seen.

“You? You’re not sure? You’re going to tell me not to have one glass of wine?”

In hindsight, he could see how that was not his smartest move. He raised his hands in surrender, the confidence he’d gained with her over the week bleeding out of him.

“I just don’t think it’ll help.”

“You don’t get to decide it won’t help,” she said. “No one makes decisions for me, especially not a man I’ve seen take four shots of gin in the last hour.”

He gulped. He’d thought he’d hidden it better than that.

“At least eat first,” he said.

“Eat what? A raw egg?”

She dropped back into her chair, then pressed her forehead to the table. He was so out of his element—congregants did not usually scream at him. Bartenders and waitresses did, but he was usually blacked out for that.

“I’ll get a pizza,” he said.

“Fine.”

He left the kitchen to hunt down his wallet and waste a prayer on his credit card going through. Since he had no internet, he went all the way down to the office to find a takeaway menu, then called in an order and crossed himself when his card was accepted.

It was just around the corner and the man on the phone said it would only be twenty minutes, so MacAvoy, knowing it was cowardly, waited alone in the office. He should have gone up to comfort Belle, but he couldn’t bring himself to be raged at. He didn’t want to hurt her like Nosty had.

“God, please. Please give Belle comfort. She doesn’t deserve this pain.”

The pizza arrived after twenty-two minutes, and he was forced to return to the rectory. Belle sat at the kitchen table where he’d left her, but the rest of the room was not as he’d left it. While he was gone, she’d washed every dish, wiped down all the counters, and put away all the dishes he’d managed to wash himself. The wine bottle sat unopened on the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She didn’t look up.

“No,” he said. “It was out of line.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. You’ve been so helpful.”

He set the pizza down, pleased by the way she leaned toward it. Hunger was a good sign. “Maybe we can both have a glass?”

She nodded. “I would like that.”

He didn’t have wine glasses, so mugs would have to do, and he said nothing when Belle filled hers to the brim.

“How much for the pizza?” she asked, grimacing when she took a sip.

“It’s on me.”

“Joseph—”

“It’s on me, Belle.”

She licked her lips. “Thank you. For everything. I’m so lucky you found my library.”

He couldn’t believe that he lived in a world where he found a woman to love and that woman was grateful he’d blacked out in her place of work. God really did work in mysterious ways.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said. “Without you—” He shrugged.

“We can both be lucky at the same time,” she said. “It’s not a contest.”

He sat, considering this. If it was a contest, he would win, but maybe she was right. Maybe they were both just lucky that they’d found each other exactly when they needed each other.

“I’m glad you came here,” he said instead. “I’m happy to take care of you.”

She raised her wine mug. “Cheers to taking care of each other.”

He clinked his against hers, then took a gulp. It was much tastier than cheap gin, but his stomach rebelled against it. Didn’t matter. Belle wanted to drink wine, and it wasn’t like not drinking wine would keep him from being sick.

“Cheers,” he said. Belle was hurting and in his church, and he was going to care for her no matter what it took.

[chapter 9]

#anyelle #anyelle fic #anyelle fanfic #anyelle fanfiction #macelle #nostelle #nostelle fic #macelle fic #covetous #new update

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