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makeyoumine69 · 6 months

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Call Me Babydoll 4

PAIRING: DBF!Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Anything that seems too good to be true probably isn't. After a dinner with Patrick that didn't go well, you realized that your relationship with him is more complicated than you initially thought.

CONTAINS: Angst, mentions of food, cursing and use of pet names (babydoll), smoking, gaslighting & manipulation, humiliation & mild bulling.

WORDS: 4.1k

A/N: This chapter is a bit long, but I hope you enjoy it!💕

LINKS: [Ch.3]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [MASTERLIST]

God, you couldn't imagine a worse situation than this — being stuck in the limo with Patrick Bateman after he discovered your little secret about your virginity. Panicking from the lack of oxygen, you looked down at his deadly grip on your wrist, your brain overloaded with thoughts of a possible escape route.

"Patrick, I should go," you tried to release his grip when you noticed that the car had stopped, but he kept holding you tight. "My Dad is waiting for me!"

"Your father can wait a little longer," he demanded, pulling you a little closer, forcing you to raise your shy eyes to him. "Tomorrow we'll have dinner and talk about...this whole thing."

From the raspy sound of his voice, it was obvious that Bateman was doing his best to save what was left of his self-control, his skin burning yours with its heat.

"And what if I say 'no'?" You snapped at his cheeky way of speaking.

With a soft chuckle, he let go of your wrist and grinned as he saw you rubbing the spot where he was holding you a moment ago. "You don't want to upset your Dad, do you?" When Patrick met your confused gaze, the corners of his lips turned up. "I mean, the last thing you want is for your dear father to find out about all the nasty things you did…with me."

Your nostrils flared with anger, but you tried to play it cool. "What? Are you really trying to blackmail me?"

"No," Bateman grinned at your irritated stare. "Just a little reminder not to try to play games with me. It's pointless anyway."

Uh yeah, sure. We'll see who laughs last.

Saying nothing in return, you looked at him one last time before opening the car door and getting out.

"I'll pick you up at six. Wear something nice...something that hides your tattoos." Patrick ordered through the half-open window, the wide, smug smile never leaving his face.

The urge to turn around and show him your middle finger was so damn high, but as you faced the facade of your house, the memories of your father occupied your mind and stopped you at the very last moment.

"I don't have any of those clothes you're talking about," you simply replied, spinning around and crossing your hands over your chest. "Because I—"

"That's not a problem, babydoll. We can buy you some fabulous dresses or skirts," his brown eyes traveled over your body like a scanner, making you feel completely naked, you even shrugged off the shiver. "By the way, does your father forbid you to wear skirts or dresses because he knows someone would kidnap you? You have such pretty legs."

You closed your eyes and counted to ten to calm yourself. "I love my jeans, and pants are just much more comfortable for me!" Your voice trembled with embarrassment and anger. "If all the girls around you look like sluts in their skimpy dresses, that doesn't mean I have to! Jesus, why am I even trying to justify myself?!"

Your little tantrum only made him chuckle in pure satisfaction. "I have no idea why, but I like it," his arrogant smirk made you sick. After checking his Rolex nonchalantly, Bateman added, "See you tomorrow, (y/n). And tell your father that my old man has approved those investments we talked about a week ago."

Wait, what?

Now it was your turn to try to stop him, but just as the last word fell from his lips, the limo pulled away, leaving you with an unspoken question stuck in your throat like a lump.

The air of your house greeted you with a sharp smell of smoke, signaling that your father was home and not in a good mood — he had taken up smoking since your mother died, and now you knew pretty well that when he was feeling down only a cigarette could bring him some relief.

Walking slowly through the halls of your not-so-luxurious but spacious house, you found your Dad sitting in the living room with a glass of his favorite whiskey and a pack of cigarettes that he twirled nervously in his hand.

"Hey, Dad," you called out quietly, halting in the doorway — the strange pangs of guilty causing your heart to pound painfully against your chest. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I didn't hear you coming," he turned to you, his wrinkled face lighting up the moment he saw your apprehensive expression. "I'm fine...just had a busy day," he put the cigarette in the ashtray and got up from his comfortable armchair. "How did you make it home?"

His sudden question caught you off guard, as your father didn't usually ask such things. Frowning, you stepped into the living room and looked at his tired face — he seemed to have aged even faster in the last few months, when his business had stopped being as profitable as it used to be.

"I'm fine, thanks," you carefully took a seat on the couch next to him, noticing that the bottle of whiskey on the coffee table was half empty. "Dad, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my dear," your father smiled at you and poured himself another glass of alcohol before sitting back down in his armchair. "What is it?"

"Did you really ask Pat—" you stammered and coughed a little. "I mean, did you really ask Mr. Bateman to pick me up after work?"

Right after you asked, you tried to catch a glimpse of your father's reaction, to notice any strange expressions or anything that might discredit him, but to your surprise, your father just gave you a sympathetic grin, sipping his drink and looking at you adoringly.

"Maybe I did..." he tilted his head thoughtfully. "...or maybe I didn't. Forgive me for my bad memory, it gets worse every day."

Sighing, you couldn't help but smile at his words, as your father was always the one who could warm your heart just by saying a few simple words.

"All right, all right," you paused, rubbing your tense temples. "He asked me to inform you that the investments you discussed some time ago have been approved and..." as you noticed your father's face changing so quickly, you had to pause for a second. "...is it something important?"

Your father took a quick drag on a cigarette, blowing a few rings of smoke to the side to keep them away from you. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes," you fidgeted nervously in your seat, seeing your Dad's reaction. "Yes, he did."

"That's...that's one of the best pieces of news I've had in a long time," your father stood up again, looking for something. "I need to make a call..."

Nodding, you decided that now was not the best time to ask more questions, so you just decided to leave and go to your room, but as soon as you strolled away, you heard your father's enthusiastic voice again:

"(Y/n), wait," he stopped beside you, holding a phone in his slightly shaking hand. "I know I've always been too strict when it comes to you, but I've always tried to give you as much love and care as I could...since your mother..." His words cut right through your heart, and you even had to grit your teeth from the itchy tears that welled up in your eyes.

"Father, please...let's not talk about it." You interrupted him, not wanting to open up your old wounds.

"Uh, I'm sorry. I just wanted to tell you that...Patrick Bateman seems like a good man," you almost lost your sense of orientation in this room at his sudden statement. "I haven't allowed you to hang out with boys much, but you can get to know him better since he's been asking about you a lot."

Fuck, you couldn’t believe it.

First, Bateman had his eyes on you. Then he tried to seduce you, break you and make you forget your morals, and he fucking succeeded, because in the end Patrick managed to get his hands on you, and now his farther suddenly approved the budget for your Dad's business. Was this just a coincidence or another way to manipulate you?

"Well, you tried to protect me from...everything and everyone, I can't judge you..." you murmured as you reached the door. "You always want the best for me, so... I promise I'll think about it."

With that, you closed the door behind you, leaving your father alone in the living room. A wild cocktail of emotions swirled in your chest, as if you had drunk something extremely hot — you wanted to laugh, to cry, to scream. How on Earth did that happen? That your own father was directly encouraging you to get close with Patrick Bateman? Was that someone's bad joke?

As soon as you got to your room, you opened the closet, looking for some "fabulous" dress Patrick wanted you to wear.

"Fucking narcissistic idiot," you cursed aloud as you flipped through your clothes, getting more and more annoyed by the second. "Why do I even care what he thinks about my appearance?"

You exhaled tiredly and hid your face in your hands, feeling the strong shudder in every inch of your fragile frame. This man, damn it, this man was a devil himself, and your father just called him 'a good guy'.

Unbelievable.

"All right, I have to pull myself together." You moved quickly to the mirror, breathing steadily and rubbing your cheeks. "I'll do it for Dad, I'll figure it all out."

Winking at your reflection, you returned to your search for a suitable dress, not realizing that it was getting late.

The next day started with a heavy rain which woke you up with its sound, so loud that you couldn't fall asleep again. So, you decided to get up earlier and write a bit before your work.

Your father was already gone when you got downstairs — the memories of your earlier conversation were still running through your mind, leaving a bitter aftertaste. As you made yourself a cup of coffee with your favorite organic milk, you couldn't stop thinking about what might happen tonight — the unknown made you feel a little nauseous, but the breathing exercises your mother taught you always helped you in such moments. Uh, what would your mom say to you if she were here, if she knew the situation you were in?

Would Patrick be able to enchant her so easily?

The workday went by so quickly that you didn't even realize you were rushing back home in the taxi. During the ride, you tried to distract yourself with your poems, some of which you had written during the break at the café where you had been with Patrick the day before. After many attempts, you noticed that whenever you tried to describe the feelings Patrick evoked in you, it seemed as if your mind was losing touch with reality. The pen he gifted you was burning your skin as if it were some cursed relic, but yet this phantom pain was something you probably missed in your life, it didn't feel like grief or sorrow — it was something completely new.

Even though you were not a huge fan of Manhattan, you couldn't deny the fact that it looked absolutely breathtaking at night, with all its lights, mesmerizing atmosphere, and soaring skyscrapers that made your head spin whenever you looked at them.

There was no doubt that the restaurant Bateman was taking you to would be exquisite and luxurious, so when you entered the establishment, you were not surprised that most people were paying attention to your persona, as you had no jewels, no beaded clutch — just your modest but tight black dress, which was one of your shortest. The maître d' escorted you to your table, and from that moment on, the game began between you and Mr. Bateman, although your conversation didn't flow at first.

"So, do you like this place?" Patrick asked a little indifferently after swirling his drink — J&B Whiskey, that seemed to be his favorite.

"Mmm, yeah, it's pretty good." You replied, avoiding his gaze and staring at the napkin on the table that you were nervously crumpling.

Bateman couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. "Pretty good?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Uh," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose briefly. "Do you even know what this place is?"

Finally, you left a poor napkin alone and looked up at him. "This is Dorsia, right? I saw a sign outside."

For a moment his face remained blank, but the next moment a deep, prominent line appeared between his knitted brows.

"Yeah, this is fucking Dorsia," he spat out his words and took a sip of his whiskey. "Nothing special."

Actually, his suddenly confronting tone was embarrassing. "Well...I'm not a frequent guest in these chic restaurants. Come on, you know that."

Unfortunately for you, your voice sounded more sad than irritated, and Bateman didn't miss it. His warm palm touched yours gently, but he didn't dare to look at you.

"Huh," he mused, drawing an invisible line across the back of your hand with his soft fingertip. "It's pretty hard to impress a girl like you, since you just don't understand—"

"The taste of luxurious life?" You cut him off, causing him to raise his brown walnut eyes to your face. They looked so mysterious in the dim light of the restaurant hall.

Patrick pulled his hand away as if struck by the electric shock, clenching his jaw in tension, and this sight was something you never thought you would have to witness.

In a few minutes of awkward silence, the waiter brought your food, and since you refused to take any alcohol, you asked him to give you a dessert menu — maybe something sweet would cheer you up and help you get through this strange dinner that was hard to identify as a date or whatever it might be.

"We have amazing cheesecakes, good choice." The waiter replied as you handed the menu back to him.

"Thank you," you made yourself comfortable in your seat and gave Patrick a warm smile, which left him a bit confused. "I need something to compare with the desserts I've had in my favorite café."

Although you hadn't intended it to be a joke, you weren't irritated at all when you heard his soft chuckle for the first time during dinner. "Just don't tell anyone about this," he crossed his arms and looked at you with a mischievous grin. "I don't want the local chefs to end their lives."

"Oh, God," you laughed, looking at his drink. "Why do you all have to drink whiskey? My Dad can't work without a bottle of his favorite drink next to him," as soon as Bateman heard about your Dad, he straightened up in his seat and fixed his Rolex. "Speaking of him...can I ask you a question?"

"You can try, babydoll." Bateman sneered in a mischievous voice and looked around quickly as if he noticed someone familiar.

"I want to know about the investments—"

"Hey, Halberstram!" An unknown male voice echoed from behind you, shamelessly interrupting your conversation. "Haven't seen you for a while, how have you been?"

A handsome man with light brown hair — wearing a stylish suit that was one hundred percent overpriced — came closer to your table and offered Patrick a handshake, which he accepted, but you couldn't help but notice a glint of anger in his hazel eyes.

"Allen," Bateman shook his hand and then quickly glanced at a woman next to him. "I didn't expect to see you here, I heard you were on vacation in Paris."

"Well, Meredith didn't really like it, so we decided to come back a little earlier," Paul replied, pulling a beautiful blonde girl closer to him. "I thought Halloween was over." Allen chuckled and pointed at you, making you palpably uncomfortable. "Nice manicure, so gothic."

Frowning, you checked your black manicured nails and then looked up at him, suppressing your inner battle to tell him to fuck off. "Thanks." You replied coldly and noticed Patrick clenching his fists in tension.

"And where's Veronica, Marcus? That big-titted chick you were hanging out with at the last yacht party?" Allen asked, continuing to stare at you with undisguised interest.

What the hell was going on? Why did he call him Marcus?

"Veronica?" Bateman interjected, pretending to try to remember. "She's probably with her family in South Hampton."

"Oh, and who is this punk girl?" Paul's question made your nails claw at the soft skin of your knee.

Patrick closed his eyes for a second, definitely trying to find the best answer. It was obvious that a man like him didn't want to ruin his reputation, since you were not a person from his circle. This seemed to be a dead end until an unexpected idea came to your mind.

"I'm a journalist," you explained in a confident voice. "And I'm interviewing...Mr. Halberstram because I'm writing a book about Wall Street."

"Wow," Paul seemed to be surprised. "That's...pretty impressive."

"Yeah," Bateman cleared his throat and unclenched his fists. "She's one of the best journalists in New York, and she wants to write a book, too."

Oh my God, please shut up!

"It's pretty impressive that you were allowed to come here," Meredith suddenly blurted out, giving you a disgusted look. "There's a dress code, you know?"

"I'll leave you for a while, since you have things to discuss." You fumed and got up from the table — Patrick didn't even try to stop you.

In a few minutes, you found your way to the outdoor terrace on the upper level. As you stepped in, you noticed another blonde woman — she looked gorgeous, with her elegant, red-manicured fingers wrapped around the burning cigarette.

"Um, excuse me," you approached her from behind. "Could you pass me a cigarette, please?"

As soon as she turned around, you could see her sad blue eyes, cold as ice. "Sure."

Carefully, she reached into her black clutch to find a pack of cigarettes and offered you one.

"Thank you." You smiled after she lit your cigarette.

"No problem," she grinned back, looking away to see the lights of New York city. "It's so beautiful here, isn't it? I wish he could be with me right now."

Her question left you speechless, because you didn't know how to react, but just as you were about to say something, you heard the door open and the unknown man with the red hair joined you on the terrace.

"Courtney, you're here. I was looking for you," he chirped with an affectionate intonation. "The cocktails are ready."

Unlike the guy, the woman — that apparently was named Courtney — didn't seem happy, you would even say she was getting sadder — her previous words puzzled you, because now it was obvious she was talking about someone else.

With the last puff of smoke, Courtney took a quick glance at the night city and turned to you. "Take care."

Even a few moments after they left, you could still feel the wisp of sharp sadness in the air. Shivering with cold, you came closer to the railing, looked down and smoked, the signals of passing cars distracting you a bit from your train of thought — that fucking snobbish bitch and her supposed boyfriend pissed you off completely and you didn't really want to come back. Her behavior reminded you of why you hated yuppies, Wall Street, money, luxury. You hated it all, while your father tried his best to give you such a life so you could turn into a heartless ghost with no emotions except greed and...disgust?

A sudden touch of soft, warm fabric made you almost flinch. "Are you trying to catch a cold?" A familiar voice asked, and a jacket was wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

No way that could be him. "Patrick?"

The next moment, the owner of the familiar voice — which was indeed Patrick — deftly snatched the cigarette out of your mouth, eliciting an irritated groan from your chest. "You don't need this, believe me."

As you turned around, you watched him puff on your cigarette, but when he blew out a few rings, his face cringed in disgust. "Jesus, this is some girlish shit." Patrick ranted and quickly put out the cigarette.

"What are you doing here?" You crossed your arms in a defensive gesture and stepped away from him.

Patrick chuckled softly, your eyes accidentally glancing around his broad chest and the fashionable suspenders that looked so good on him.

"You could have just told me that you wanted to suffer alone on the terrace like a crybaby. Then I wouldn't have had to look for you all over the fucking restaurant." His voice became slightly stern as a sign of the high level of irritation — his patience seemed about to snap.

"I didn't ask you to come after me," you retorted, but didn't take off his jacket because it was so warm and nice. "Besides, what the hell was that? Why did that guy call you Marcus? Is that your real name? God, maybe you're a fucking scammer trying to deceive my father?"

His loud laugh echoed in the fresh air, Bateman couldn't help but applaud because your theory was fantastic. "That...that was hilarious, babydoll," he theatrically wiped away a few tears and came closer. "We stopped at your question about your father, as I recall."

"You know what?" you suddenly charged at him, almost bumping into his solid torso. "You should have hired several hookers instead of taking me to this useless dinner. At least it would have been a lot cheaper!"

"What?" He asked, still giggling as if you had told him another joke.

"My father has been waiting almost a year for some extra funding," you started, shortening the distance between you to a mere inches. "And just like in fairy tales, the necessary investments were approved as soon as you got your hands on me. What a great coincidence, don't you think?"

Patrick hummed to himself, hiding his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Go on."

"You won't get it," your voice wavered, as if your nature refused to utter the words. "I know that rich guys like you can buy anything and everything — houses, cars, yachts, corporations, girls..." the more you spoke, the darker Bateman's eyes became. "Girls of all body types, ages, virgins or not, and so on. But for me — money is nothing, and I won't do it even for my father".

"You're done?" Patrick asked, pressing a finger to his lips and looking at you with an unreadable expression. When you nodded, he took you by the chin and tilted your head to the side, his thumb brushing against your lower lip as if by accident. "Now, listen to me, babydoll. I invited you to dinner because I wanted to apologize...for the things that happened between us..." your heart skipped a beat at his last words and your legs went weak, but you stood still, looking straight into his dark hypnotizing eyes. "I must say, you're a really cute, sweet girl, pretty even," he smirked as you shivered from his finger sliding down your neck. "But I don't want to be a babysitter."

"W-what?" You gasped, your voice barely audible as your breath hitched from the hard lump in your throat.

"(Y/n), listen, your father's business can be profitable enough, that's the only reason my Dad and I decided to finance it," Bateman removed his hand and stepped aside. "The long wait was caused by bureaucratic processes and my old man being away on business all the time."

There were no words to explain the feelings you were experiencing — frustration, deception, embarrassment?

"I…I understand," you bit your lower lip to keep the tears from forming in your dejected eyes. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

Just as you were about to take off his jacket, Patrick stopped you and after a small hug, he added: "Unfortunately, I don't like messing around with little girls because I'm pretty demanding when it comes to sex.” His arrogant grin was about to become the last straw of your self-control, but you kept fighting. "Let's go back to our table, your dessert must be waiting for you."

With a quick flick of your hand, you wiped away any traces of your tears when he didn't look at you. "I'm not hungry. Go, I'll join you soon."

Bateman gave you a worried look, then glanced at the railing and shook his head. "No, we'll come together, I'm responsible for you tonight and I don't want your father to be nervous."

How fucking cute.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

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mellowmagnolia · 1 year

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Lol, just imagine Belphegor who develops a revenge kink. Revenge directed at him. Or more like degradation kink but with revenge as the main theme.

He wants MC to be brutal and unforgiving. To use him as their own personal toy. Use him as they please, when they please. Because now he will submit thanks to his guilt. He will show MC what a good boy he has become. That he is now docile and ready to do everything that's asked of him.

POV: Belphegor is eaten by guilt so much after what he's done to them that now after realizing the crush he's had on MC from their very first meeting he wants to be choked by them while they ride him.

Ahahaa I have so many scenarios in my head!

So below is some smut with AFAB/feminine reader, no/neutral pronouns + mommy kink so be warned 👋

Belphegor kept watching you from a safe distance ever since "the attic incident". You were reluctant to treat him like you did the others in fear of a reaction from him. Sure, everyone was supposed to make peace and move on, preferably forget what had happened. But both you and Belphegor knew that was easier said than done. The weeks following that chain of events, everyone seemed to be under the mutual agreement that no one will ever mention that again. Although the tension could be felt at mealtimes, or whenever you and Belphie were in the same room, no one seemed to let out a whisper of that day.

Belphegor felt like he was in a hell of his own making. He desperately wanted to get closer to you, but didn't know how. And he felt this pressure building up and not relenting in the slightest whenever another day has gone by without speaking to you. He really wanted to make amends. He wanted to explain to you how in a strange and ironic sort of way, he started liking you long before he did the unforgivable to you. Not even two encounters in, and he started feeling the tell tale sign of a crush developing.

He started to like your little talks. He started to look forward to them. Granted, there was not much to be done in the long breaks between your conversations, but that wasn't just boredom. No, he started to take notice of how your RAD uniform was hugging your figure. How your skirt rode up just slightly when you sat down so you could chill with him by the door. He loved your laugh whenever you recounted something funny that happened that day. He loved that you were genuine in wanting to help him and his family. So one would then naturally ask: what was he thinking when he strangled you if he already liked you?

Well, that's a little bit more complicated to try and explain for him. You see, he never expected you to be able to open that door. And as he was taking his usual nap, his dreams got interrupted by nightmares of the war. Then you came and interrupted those nightmares by calling his name. He was shocked to say the least. Waking up in a cold sweat, his eyes were fixed on you, and in an instant a wave of emotions came flooding. You were sweet, yes, but you were also a reminder of his cause of suffering. How could he start developing feelings for you? His head was spinning. He felt like he was betraying Lilith with his little crush. He felt like he was responsible for her death all over again.

And that was the moment he striked. Seeing red, his pulse was throbbing in his ears as his hands kept squeezing around your throat. He felt a crush, but he kept going. It's like his muscles were refusing to cooperate. His fingers kept themselves locked. And then he realized the noises you were making stopped. And that you sat there, limp, held up only by his hands. He felt his stomach drop and a cold sweat forming on his brow. Your mouth hung open and your lifeless eyes were staring at the ceiling. He couldn't process yet. He didn't want to admit he did that. Belphegor tossed your body down the stairs, where it landed with a loud thud. Footsteps came rushing in, all his brothers were coming in to see what caused the commotion.

The demon sat still, hearing little more than his own labored breath. He felt several pairs of eyes on him. It was fear and disbelief he was feeling. But he couldn't let that show. He needed to play it cool, perhaps that would help them forget about it faster. Here and there, between his own racing thoughts, he could hear his brothers addressing him. He put on his act, like he rehearsed in his head just a few seconds before, when his mind was going a mile a minute. He could hear Mammon sobbing. He had to say something. What came out of his mouth was not in accordance with his feelings. Not even a little. But he had to do this in hopes they'll forget, forget about MC and forget about the whole exchange program. For the best of all. And after a couple of minutes, which felt like an eternity of suffering and desperation, to the surprise of everyone, there you stood, alive and unharmed, next to the vanishing clone that Mammon was gripping in his arms.

Now Belphegor was at a loss on how to mend your relationship. He could start by trying to spend more time with you. Always with another brother of his nearby, though. He understood your reluctance. But he couldn't help but be a little selfish. He wanted you all to himself. He wanted to have a moment with you, one where he could pour his heart out to you and tell you how sorry he felt. But the timing was never right. And after several days of trying to control this pressure that was threatening to spill and make a mess, he couldn't hold it in any longer.

It was 1 a.m. and he chose to sleep in the attic that night, in hopes that the added peace of mind of a familiar place would lull him to sleep. That seemed to have the opposite effect. His mind refused to shut up, thoughts circling the same subject: you. With a huff, he got up and grabbed his favorite pillow. His feet seemed to lead him to your door. He chewed on his bottom lip. He knew this was not the best idea. It seemed like too much, too all of a sudden. Yet he couldn't stop his hand from reaching for your door handle and turning it.

As he half-opened the door to your bedroom, he could see the warm light of your bedside lamp contrasting with the blue light of your DDD, as you sat there, scrolling Devilgram. He cleared his throat. Your head turned abruptly in his direction, eyes widened in surprise. He felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He raised his left arm in a non-threatening manner and gave you a little awkward wave. You locked your DDD and sat upright.

"Belphegor? What's up?" You asked, eyebrows raised in concern. "Can't sleep?"

"Something like that..." Was his croaked out reply. Damn, he knew this was stupid. Yet he did it anyway. Typical.

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that..." You continued, unsure. Frankly, you didn't know what to do in this scenario. You two have talked very little since the incident. Normally, if it were any other brother, you'd offer to keep them company, be it in your room or their own. But since this was Belphegor, you felt lost.

"Can I..." He started, hand nervously now fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Can we talk?"

That took you by surprise. You felt like this moment would eventually come, but you kept postponing the thought until later. Well, that moment came now and you felt unprepared for such a serious conversation. Yet, you gave a small smile and patted the top of your bedsheets.

"Yeah, sure. Take a seat!" Your tone sounded more cheerful than you have intended, especially given the subject of the conversation you're going to approach, and you felt like slapping yourself.

"Right." His gaze fell to the ground as he approached your bed with measured steps, carefully sitting down next to you. He only dared to take his eyes off your futon for a brief moment, to look into your eyes, and that was enough to knock the wind out of him. You looked at him with big, glossy eyes in anticipation of your talk. He took a sharp inhale in, playing with the zipper on his pillow cover.

"So", he sighed "I know I'm really bad at this, but, can we talk about what happened that day?" He held bis breath and felt his muscles tense awaiting your response.

"Sure. What about that day?" That question came out a little trembled. Shit. You had to be careful. Just the mere thought of that day made you want to cry. And you definitely didn't want to cry in front of him.

"I-I" he cleared his throat again. "I never really apologized to you. Like... properly. I'm sorry, MC. I'm sorry for the pain that I've caused you. I'm sorry for being so cruel and insensitive. I'm so ashamed of what I did a-and I don't know if I can ever make things right with you but I'd love to try!" Belphegor desperately let it all out in one breath. He felt like if you were to interrupt him, he could never manage to get it all out. He wanted to make sure you understood.

And all you did was twist your body so you could face him better. It was hard to keep your tears from spilling. But you refused to wipe your eyes unless absolutely necessary. You just looked in his eyes. And Belphie felt like breaking down in a million pieces. You looked so sad, so...betrayed by his past actions. He broke in a fit of sobs. Instinctively, your arms found their way around him. Squeezing him to your chest as you couldn't contain your tears anymore. You both sat there crying, shaking with your sobs. Belphie returned the embrace. He clung to you just like Mammon did after the incident. Oh, the irony, he thought. You were real, you were here and he was so, so sorry and so, so grateful that Barbatos found a loophole to bring you back to life so he has the chance to apologize and repent.

After a while, you both loosened your grip on each other and made eye contact. Belphegor felt so vulnerable now, still in your arms, forehead lifted from its place at your chest to meet your eyes. You felt a tenderness towards him come over you at that moment. He looked so small and fragile compared to the big bad demon who haunted your nightmares. You wiped his left cheek with your thumb and gave him a shaky smile. And he didn't know what came over him in that moment. He set his palms down by your sides and lifted his head so his lips could kiss yours. Your eyes widened in shock but soon enough you found yourself melting into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He felt emboldened, deepening the kiss. And you felt the same, bringing one hand to close around the hairs at his nape and slowly, gently, pushing him down so he could lay on his backside. You straddled his lap to break your fall and broke the kiss in the process.

"Please" he spoke, through pants "Please punish me. Take your revenge on me!" His whispers were breathless and desperate, his chest rising and falling rapidly, heartbeat in his ears as blood was violently rushing to his face.

You felt a bit taken by surprise by his request. But you were willing to oblige, albeit you didn't know how to start your "punishment".

"If that's what you wish..." you trailed off as you raised his shirt, exposing his nipples. You started kissing him again, now with more fervor, and he happily returned your kisses, letting you take control with your tongue. You started becoming aware of his growing erection as you bucked your hips into him and his breath hitched, making a small noise. You found that cute and endearing, so you kept kissing him lower and lower down his jaw, towards his neck, licking at his pulsing jugular all while keeping the friction between your bodies going. His breathing grew more and more laboured, on the verge of moaning.

It felt surreal to you. As if the roles were reversed and this time you were the predator and he was the prey. At last, your lips reached his left nipple, giving it a gentle suck and a lick. His hips spine curled and his hips bucked into you.

"Ah, yes mommy!" For a moment, everything seemed to screech to a halt. Your eyes snapped to his and all you could hear was both of your ragged breaths. He felt like dying inside. It was too early for that, he knew it, but his horny mouth seemed to have a mind of its own at this point. Instead, you smirked and started kissing lower down his belly, following his happy trail to his now tenting pants. You gently lifted the elastic and removed both the pyjama pants and his boxers in one go.

He felt so sensitive, that just being exposed to the air made his cock twitch. But he was grateful his earlier slip up didn't seem to ruin the mood. Now your wet mouth started exploring his length, beginning from a kiss to the tip and a lick to his underside. Then, carefully holding him from the base with your hand, you took him gently in your mouth. Belphie already felt like fireworks were going off behind his eyelids as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. You prepped him like this, sucking him off for a while, and when you felt satisfied, you took your mouth off him and just when the demon felt like missing the loss of your mouth, he felt you position your slick hole above him. He sat there wordless, holding his breath as you started to push him into your entrance. It felt like pure bliss. Your warm walls embraced his length and gave him a squeeze when he was up to the hilt.

"Good boy!" You praised and he felt his cock twitch again, feeling like he's ready to burst from those two words alone. Then you started moving slowly, gently lifting off his lap and moving your hips in circles when you had him fully inside. The pleasure was dizzying. He felt his hands jump to your hips and he thrust upwards. A little surprised, high pitched moan came out of your mouth. He did that again, only to ellicit the same response. Then again, until he eventually found a rhythm, making you bounce on his lap. You were too far gone to say anything anymore. His thrusts hit your spongy spot so well, that it made you wish the sex would never end.

In a sudden movement, he took a hold of you and spun you so that you were the one now lying on their back. His cock still inside you, he took the time to admire you and brush his fingers over your nipples through the soft fabric of your nightshirt, only to lift it up and latch his mouth around a breast, while the other hand was occupied with gently twisting your nipple. Your spine arched into his mouth.

"I'll make you feel so good, mommy!" It came out a little muffled since he wasn't willing to let go of your breast to speak. He started thrusting again, and you felt him so deep you could swear his tip was kissing your cervix. You could only moan and grab a hold of his horns in response, pulling at his hair in the process. Wait, when did he transform? It didn't matter now, all you could focus on was indeed how good he was making you feel.

"I'll be your obedient lapdog, mommy! I'll be your living dildo, whatever you please. So please, please forgive me!" His dirty talk made your mind reel. You never thought he'd be capable of uttering these words. Especially to you. But it made your stomach flutter at the thought of him wanting to be forgiven so bad he'd degrade himself like that. And to be frank, you were kind of digging it. Before you could give it more thought, you found yourself speaking as well.

"Yes baby, fuck mommy just like that!" That seemed to be all he needed to keep going with renewed vigor, making your walls clench as his thumb started to rub circles on your clit. You couldn't hold your orgasm much longer and Belphegor felt that in the tighening around his cock. With a sudden powerful thrust, you were sent over the edge as your hole started fluttering around his length, which is all Belphegor needed to spill inside of you as well. He let himself fall to your side, your sticky bodies locking in an embrace, the only sounds in the room being your labored breaths as you were trying to recover. Maybe Belphie's new kink was something you could work with.

__________

And that's it folks. Couldn't bring myself to make MC actually degrade him but I think I made Belphie compensate for that though. Hope you enjoyed it ;P

#obey me #obey me swd #obey me belphegor #obey me smut #obey me belphegor smut

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deannagrey · 4 months

Text

A Mendell Christmas: Part One

A little Christmas short for the holiday season! This occurs toward the end of Team Players, before Aderyn (spoiler alert for Team Players ending!) reveals she's leaving Mendell. (please excuse any errors, I'm not the best editor lol)

Naomi

“Naomi?” A soft, rhythmic knock at the door called for my attention. “It’s me.”

I tugged off my headphones and glanced at the clock. I’d been so knee-deep into online Christmas shopping I didn’t realize the time.

"You ready?" Lincoln was out of breath — undoubtedly from taking the stairs two by two because he couldn’t stand the time it took to climb them.

I smiled at him. His eyes were bright and full of infectious excitement. He bounced on the balls of his feet like he was ready to take action at a moment’s notice.

“For what?” I couldn't help but tease.

“Naomi.” His shoulders sagged and his smile tapered off into near non-existence. “They’re all downstairs right now and in the worst mood ever. We have a job to do and you’re going to tell me you forgot?”

I laughed and got up from my desk to reveal the bottom half of my outfit. Relief smoothed Lincoln’s brow. He chuckled at the spin I did to make my green, tree skirt light up. His bouncing was back.

“You really thought I forgot?” I tugged off my sweatshirt to reveal the ugliest Christmas t-shirt I could find at the local thrift shop. It had reindeer patches, a multitude of Santa Clauses, and enough colorful candy cane to make one feel cross-eyed.

“You’re just so good at bluffing, Sunshine,” Lincoln said and pulled out two Santa hats from his bag. Both were green and trimmed with gold fabric. My name was embroidered in black thread on one.

I gasped and stood still as he placed it on my head carefully as if it were a crown.

“There, now you’re all set,” he said.

“This is so cute! Where did you get it? Wait…do you know how to sew?”

“No, I wish. I just know people who know people who know how to sew.” He nodded in approval at how the hat looked on me and then, placed his own on. “I got one made for all of us. I wanted it to be perfect. A holiday to remember despite…well, you know.”

Lincoln had been planning this for weeks. And as his partner in crime (or elf in crime depending on the level of Christmas spirit), I was committed to helping him.

“It will be perfect,” I promised while adjusting my hat. “They’re going to cheer up and we’re going to make this a time to remember. They’ll be so holly and jolly we’ll probably get sick of them.”

Lincoln laughed. “God, imagine.”

“Anything is possible this time of year,” I said even though seeing Sam, Henrik, and especially Finn more excited than Lincoln and I would be a sight to behold.

“Are we all set?” I grabbed my phone, ready to record reactions for the eventual short film Lincoln wanted to put together. He was going to call it “Our First Christmas.” When I asked if they’d spent holidays together before he said, of course.

“Why first then?” I’d wondered.

“Because you’re here and now, our family’s bigger. It’s our first Christmas together,” he’d said so casually like it was simple and my inclusion vital. I’d cried that day and Finn almost got into it with Lincoln until he realized it was good tears.

“Almost set,” Lincoln answered me. “Just one more thing…”

He tossed a garland around my neck. I snorted but didn’t protest.

“Now you’re perfect!” He grinned. “Remember your cues?”

I rolled my eyes, good-naturedly. “Of course I remember my cues. I’m a professional.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He started out the room and I followed with an equal amount of pep in my step.

Lincoln had big plans for his Secret Santa event – something of which I didn't originally think needed much of any planning. But in any event Lincoln put together, he committed ten times the necessary energy and focus. And I was lucky enough to also be his second. We wreaked havoc on our household with our combined forces. The guys feigned fear of our events, pretending they hated being roped into the fun. It was a farce they kept up even now as I marched into the living room.

"Uh oh," Henrik teased from his spot on the couch. He closed the book he was reading, using his index finger as a temporary bookmark.

Sam was lying on the loveseat with his legs hanging over the edge of the armrest and a glassed gaze on the ceiling. My heart tugged at the small smile he flashed in my direction. He'd been in a dark place after his relationship with Aderyn had been left in a state of limbo. I couldn't get much out of him but Finn relayed some of his fear. Sam was a large chunk of the reason why Lincoln wanted to go so hard this holiday season. The guys didn't usually exchange gifts but retail therapy was something Lincoln thought could cheer everyone up.

"What's this?" Finn was in the kitchen, loading the last bit of dishes into the dishwasher. He smiled when I twirled once for him to admire the lights on my skirt. I’d been sworn to secrecy about Lincoln’s plans but that didn’t keep me from at least showing my boyfriend the outfit earlier.

Finn loved a lot of things about my skirt…mainly how it clung to my waist and provided easy access for him to do what he wanted. My cheeks burned when I remembered how long we’d spent in our room this morning. How long he insisted on being underneath me.

Finn flashed me a knowing smile before finishing up the dishes.

“Uh…” I cleared my throat, trying to get back on track.

“The lights,” Lincoln whispered from the staircase. He tried to keep out of view, readying for his big entrance. “If I may have your attention and then, the lights.”

Sam laughed at Lincoln’s obvious coaching. Score. It wasn’t his carefree laugh but it was better than his forlorn staring.

Henrik was polite enough to pretend like he didn’t hear Lincoln. He made a noise of wonder when I clapped and the lights went out.

“Since when did we have that?” Sam sat up, completely intrigued.

“Irrelevant,” Lincoln said and then whispered to me, “Tell them it’s irrelevant.”

“I installed them last weekend,” Finn explained.

“You rewired our living room in a weekend?” Sam asked, impressed.

“It didn’t require rewiring,” Finn said.

“Nowadays, sound-sensitive lights are pretty common and simple to install,” Henrik added.

“Irrelevant,” Lincoln repeated, this time it was a plea.

“Right!” I called in a voice louder than usual. The guys jumped and turned their attention back to me. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is our main event.”

“What?” Sam glanced at his friends, searching for explanations. There was enough light from the sun setting outside to bleed into the living room and flood the floor with a warm red. The red painted their faces, revealing similar expressions of curiosity.

“All I know is that she needed sound-sensitive lights.” Finn shrugged and joined Henrik on the couch. “What she needs, I get.”

“Simple and straightforward,” Henrik said when Sam looked at him in exasperation. “Did you expect he’d be anything else?”

Sam chuckled and sighed. “No, I guess not.”

“Gentlemen,” I said and unlocked my phone to start the music. An instrumental version of A Holly Jolly Christmas played. “Tonight is our first annual Mystery Secret Santa.”

“Mystery Secret Santa?” Sam asked. “That feels repetitive. Isn’t Secret Santa already a mystery?’

I frowned. “Okay, are you going to let me finish my introduction or not? We have a dance to get through.”

“Oh, there’s a dance?” Sam’s face lit up. He pulled out his phone, ready to record. “Say less.”

Henrik and Finn tried to hold in their laughter, succeeding only when I shot them silencing glares.

“I would like to present to you this night's host,” I announced with a dramatic gesture of my arm. “Lincoln Hill.”

Henrik set his book to the side and clapped at his friend’s entrance. His smile grew wider when he saw Lincoln’s dramatic fur-lined, red cape and the oversized carpet bag he toted.

“Good evening,” Lincoln started in a deeper voice than usual. He bowed to our audience. That was my cue to turn on the multi-colored, twinkling Christmas lights I’d lined around the living room’s entrance.

Henrik’s clapping got louder and Finn joined in. Even Sam looked impressed, whistling at the light show as he directed his camera to them briefly.

“Taught her that,” Finn said quietly with pride.

I smiled at him and continued, “Mr. Hill will tell you all how our mystery will unfold.”

“Okay, Mr. Hill,” Sam teased. “Let’s see what you got for us.”

“In the two-story house, right off Highbury Lane, lived five very studious university students.” Lincoln walked around the living room as he spoke. With each sentence he said, I lit a candle. Warm light slowly brought life back into the house.

“We live off of a street,” Finn mumbled. “Right?”

“We do,” Sam assured.

“Ssh.” Henrik patted Finn’s shoulder. “It’s fine.”

“All of which,” Lincoln continued, choosing to ignore the interruption. “Had a bloody, red secret.”

“The best kind,” I said.

“Very,” Lincoln agreed and winked at me. “Each secret was written down and hidden to quell their guilt. Due to sacred law, that secret was to be revealed once a year. And during that time, they were cursed to read a fellow housemate's secret. Once the secret was shared, they would temporarily be free of guilt during the holidays. Free to be merry and bright.”

“That’s kind of sad when you think about it,” Finn mused.

“It is.” Henrik hummed in agreement.

“Okay, guys, it’s not supposed to be sad,” Lincoln quickly abandoned his spooky deep voice for his normal tone. “It’s supposed to be fun lore.”

“But we’re cursed,” Henrik teased. “How is that fun?”

“Yeah, since when are curses fun?” Sam wondered.

“I can’t.” Lincoln turned to me with a groan. “They’re so…them.”

I laughed and hurried to his side to unzip the carpet bag. “It’s fine. We’ll just move on to the picking.”

Lincoln sighed, shook out his shoulders, and resumed his narrator's voice. “One sheet for each housemate. One chance to end their guilt by confessing to their murder.”

“You’re first.” I took the bag and hurried over to Sam.

“The broody leader with a heart more tender and kind than he lets on,” Lincoln said.

“Alright, cool it with the titles,” Sam grumbled and dug his hand into the bag.

“Well?” I asked when he opened the sheet.

“Um…I can read it aloud?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s a mere riddle. Something only you and the murderer will connect on,” Lincoln said.

“That makes no sense,” Sam said and shrugged. “But whatever. It says, I murdered in secret. My feet made no sound. I can construct the coffin easily. My hands are skillful enough to handle the ground…What the hell?”

“Next,” I sang and moved to Finn.

He reached into the bag with one hand and snuck his free hand to the back of my knee. I breathed easily under his warm touch as he read his riddle.

“I murdered between jokes. Made a sound like no other. I’m an easy catch. Just remember I’m nobody's brother.”

“Can we trade?” Sam asked. “I think I know that one.”

“No trades!” Lincoln demanded. “The bag has chosen.”

“Your turn.” I smiled at Henrik and he returned it before retrieving his confession.

“I murdered in daylight. I was drowning in yellow. My fingers typed fast. I felt nothing but mellow.” Henrik chuckled. “Cute. I like this one.”

“And you.” I skipped to Lincoln and shook the bag a little. He used a hand to cover his eyes before picking.

“I murdered with a spoon. Or maybe it was a fork? Whatever it was, it happened under the moon. Whatever it was, I didn’t do it for sport.” Lincoln breathed a sigh of relief.

“And me,” I claimed the final sheet. “I murdered determined. I did it first. As a leader, I wasn’t afraid. As a person, I don’t fear any curse.”

I smiled, pleased.

“Well, there you have it,” Lincoln said.

“No, I really don’t.” Finn frowned down at his paper.

“You can get the help of one murderer,” I said. “But only one so choose wisely.”

Lincoln nodded in agreement.

“I got you,” Sam said and Finn sighed with relief. Sam whispered a name into his best friend’s ear and the guy lit up.

“Ah, that makes a lot more sense," Finn said.

“Are we good then?” Lincoln bounced on his feet again, already geared to start his Christmas shopping.

“No, not yet,” Sam said and pulled his camera back up. “We’re going to need that dance you two promised us.”

“Oh right.” I started toward the Bluetooth speaker. Lincoln caught my elbow before I could leave.

“Nope, they don’t deserve our dance.” Lincoln shook his head. “Not unless they stop laughing and appreciate our efforts.”

“No one’s laughing,” Sam said while…well, laughing.

“You're such an asshole,” Lincoln said with a smile. “No dance this time. We will reveal our talents when we know they’ll be appreciated. Right, Naomi?”

“Right, exactly.” I nodded. Finn caught my eye and something in his gaze told me I could be convinced to do a private show later.

“That’s all we have for now, folks,” Lincoln announced. “It’s up to you to do the rest. To figure out your fellow murderer and make sure your present is the best.”

“I do love it when he rhymes,” Henrik noted.

“And I don’t,” Sam joked. “But this is entertaining so I’ll allow it.”

“Come on,” Lincoln said. “Get off your butts and start looking for gifts. You’ve got twenty days until Christmas Eve. Let’s make every one of them count.”

#mendellhawksseries

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hoonichi · 2 years

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Can I request a smut with corruption kink, Junkyu as a dom. Thank youu

not all angels have halos / trs junkyu

you’ve never had your first kiss, let alone lose your virginity yet, but once you find yourself leaning against the wall, out of all places - the wall of your local community church, you are praying for no one to see you like this.

your pretty white skirt is hiding all the commotion that’s being forced its way into your drenching pussy, while you have your face hidden in junkyu’s neck, holding in your whimpers for dear life.

“it’s not fun when you’re not letting yourself to be loud,” junkyu chuckles, retracting his head from your own neck where he already has left a few marks on your skin.

it was already a sin that junkyu was merely a stranger and you let him do this to you. but the way he was ogling your body the whole summer camp and sending you dirty looks every time you crossed paths didn’t go unnoticed and was making it unbearable for you to hide away your own want, need to have junkyu’s hands around you.

junkyu was advancing on you like a predator looking for its next prey ever since he laid his eyes on you in the church’s choir, your voice sounding like a melody in his ears. and that gave him a pretty good amount of material to imagine how lovely you’d sound when he’s fucking you good. and it was only a matter of time when he would hear it.

once junkyu notices the wall you’ve put on before him crumble down, he’s grabbing your hand and pulling you away when no one is looking.

“t-there’s people around…j-junkyu,” you recollect what’s left of your voice, since the current movements of junkyu’s fingers pumping in and out of you are already making your head spin. you grip into his shoulders and are partly happy that you’re leaning against the wall, otherwise you’d have fallen already.

“so? let your voice out for me and not them,” junkyu says as if it’s not a big deal to be fooling around on the church’s grounds. junkyu rests his forehead into yours and gazes down at you. its something like kindness? generousness? especially when junkyu is known to get straight to the point.

well, he is, by having his hand down there. but at that moment your heart flutters and the time stops, because junkyu is so close. you gaze down at his lips and in the moment close your eyes, expecting something.

junkyu chuckles when he notices your reaction, “not yet angel, i heard a first kiss was a big deal out here”

immediately you open your eyes, realizing that you’ve been standing there, puckering your lips like a dummy. embarrassment is quick to fill you up as you feel your face getting redder by seconds. right, a first kiss is meant to be shared with someone you loved, but was junkyu considered that yet?

instead, you look down, now avoiding his burning gaze. unholy thoughts enter your mind when you start to wish on seeing what’s happening under the light material of your skirt.

“have you touched yourself before?” junkyu asks, deciding to not point out your burning cheeks. it’s not like you were going to run away, he’s already got you in his hold.

“s-sometimes,” you slowly nod, reminding yourself to grip on junkyu’s biceps every once in awhile.

“do you think about me?” the question throws you off guard. it’s like junkyu knows. knows that you do. not wanting to voice this out, you bite your bottom lip and focus on the pleasure you’re getting instead.

junkyu speeds up his fingers and now they’re hitting every right spot. a small longing moan slips out from your throat and you press your body into junkyu’s.

“answer me,” junkyu growls lowly into your ear. you shake your head in an instance, feeling more shameful than you already were, “not going to? fine, then you’re not going to cum”

with that, the pleasure you were getting was taken away just like that. junkyu pulls out his fingers and steps away from you. your chest is heaving with hard breaths and you feel dizzy.

but you were so close, so close that it feels so unfair and evil. what’s more than evil is junkyu placing his fingers in his mouth, licking away your juices while you watch all of it unfold right in front of your eyes.

“no!,” you yell out, grabbing his hand and pulling it back in between your legs, where it used to be, “please, please let me finish, please” you beg, your innocent girl image completely thrown out the window. you close your legs around his hand and grind down on it, yearning for some kind of friction.

junkyu’s face softens and a small smirk forms on his lips, “then answer me, angel. do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

“y-yes! yes i do! please j-junkyuu,” you answer without a beat, you don’t even care anymore. you want him. you want junkyu so bad.

“good,” junkyu nods, thrusting two of his fingers back into you, making you gasp. you roll down your hips to meet with the movements of his fingers, forgetting to, more so too tired to contain your moans anymore. your mind being fixated on only one thing and that being to reach your high.

junkyu knows you’re close when you spasm around his fingers, thus placing his thumb on your clit to give you that additional push. you throw your head back and it hits the wall, your vision quickly beginning to see white streaks everywhere.

“s-sso good, please, m-morehmph!,” you cry out, forcefully gripping his hand, pushing his fingers deeper and faster. junkyu keeps up and pumps in his fingers with force. it’s making you crazy. “ ‘m so close-,” you bite down on your lip, unwelcome tears rolling down your cheeks.

“cum, angel, let it all out,” junkyu whispers in your ear, biting down on your earlobe. that’s all it takes for you to let yourself go over the edge. a streak of moans continuously leaving your mouth as you struggle to keep yourself up.

junkyu pulls out and it already feels too empty for you.

“you did so well, angel,” junkyu places small kisses down your neck while you come down your high, your legs still shaking in ecstasy. “looks like i finally broke you.” he chuckles when he steps away to look at your fucked out form. “you do know i’m not done with you right?”

you blankly gaze at him, still catching your scurried breath, “wha-what do you mean?”

junkyu chuckles, ”oh angel we still have a long way to go… hm now where was it..”

he turns to look around for something. “oh!,” he says once he spots what he was looking for. you slowly look behind him. your eyes grow wide.

the shed. where all the gardening tools and unnecessary items were held, and where absolutely no one ever goes to.

“you gotta return the favor somehow,” he grins and pulls you towards it.

#treasure junkyu smut #treasure smut #junkyu smut

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

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I thought about this last night and I just can't get it out of my head so I thought I would share. We know that Joel is 36 when the whole thing starts and Sarah is about 12 (which means Joel became a dad when he was about 24). We also know that Sarah's mother is nowhere to be seen. Now, a few months ago I watched a movie (the lost daughter) and it was basically about 'unnatural mothers' anyway, what if Sarah's mother just...couldn't deal with motherhood? What if she didn't feel that special bond with her child and really, just started hating her life from the moment she became a mom? One day, Joel wakes up, baby Sarah is screaming bloody murder because she's hungry and when he turns around, his wife is gone. He thinks she's downstairs making a bottle but nope, not in the kitchen. He goes to see Sarah, calms her down and feeds her thinking 'maybe she left for a run'. One hour passes, nothing. He gets worried. He calls her cellphone. Nothing. He goes back to their room and that's when he notices the half empty closet. He checks the bathroom. All her stuff. Gone. He has no idea what is going on. They didn't fight, she didn't mention anything. A week later, he gets served divorce papers. He tries to talk to her, get answers but she only talks through her lawyer. Joel is completely lost. He's not even 25 and he has a baby to care for and has no fucking clue how to do it by himself. But he has to because his little girl needs him. So he works as much as he can to give them a comfortable life. He leaves Sarah with the nice old lady in the neighborhood even if it kills him to let her go every morning. He learns how to braid hair. He gets up when she's teething and sick and scared because of a nightmare. He puts his entire life on hold because now, everything revolves around his Sarah. She's all he has (apart from his brother) and the fact that her mom left because she didn't care is hard enough for a child, he would do more than his best so she wouldn't feel the absence too much, so she'd grow up and know she's loved nonetheless. Anyway, made my heart ache to think about a young Joel Miller, suddenly having to raise a baby all by himself, the support he was supposed to have completely vanishing with no explanation. I mean can you imagine? Your partner just leaving because they realize they don't love you or the child you share? Pls give this man a hug :'(

THIS!

Well, motherhood is a scary thing but I just know, I KNOW, that if she would have voiced her worries to Joel he would have gotten her to stay and at least give it a try. He would have been there doing absolutely everything and anything to make sure that she was constantly reminded that she was an amazing mother. That she was never alone. That no matter the thought in her head were saying Joel would always find a way to chase away the demons. Because he is so capable of love. He would have never left her alone.

And you just know that he was the most amazing dad ever to Sarah. Like bet my ass even after the longest shifts he was there having tea parties with her. She wants him to put bows in his hair? You bet he's doing that. She wants to have a little princess dance party? Joel is there spinning around with Sarah in his arms, both in matching tutu skirts. We didn't get to see much of their relationship but I know it was the most beautiful thing ever. I doubted she was worried about telling him anything. Joel might get all flustered at first if she was like to seek him out and ask something about periods or something. But then he would be up late at night, reading about it so he could be there for her.

Joel did an amazing job as a father. Sarah was one special girl. They both deserve nothing but love. Now I'll go cry....

#got this hit me right in the heart first thing in the morning #but keep it coming #joel miller x reader

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discocandles · 7 months

Text

Sarah Phillips will fiddle/fidget when she's deep in thought, and if she's thinking about certain people, she'll fidget with certain things in particular.

Most obviously, she'll fiddle with her necklace when she's thinking about James. Flipping it around the chain when she is worried about him, like if he's not back home when he said he'd be. If Sarah is twisting it back and forth between her fingers, she's annoyed because of something he did. If she's gently rubbing the pendant with her thumb in middle finger, she misses him. When Sarah was in England, her mother saw her messing with her locket like that most when her daughter was by herself.

When Sarah taps her feet in a little rhythm, she wishes Henri was there. She can imagine how he would react, and how he'd lighten the mood, make everyone laugh a bit. Or she's hungry, which hunger is something she's grown to relate to Henri, as he's almost always hungry.

If Sarah is thinking of her mother, she'll often twirl the hair around her face, especially when she wishes her mother were there to make sense of the situation or to just sweep her hair from her face and put it where it belongs. Or Sarah will spin her quill between her fingers, trying to commit whatever is going on around her to memory as her mother would love to hear it.

When thinking of Moses, Sarah will mess with her skirt. She'll wrap a bit of the fabric around her finger when she misses him, or wishes he was there to talk her down and help things make sense. If she's bunching her skirt in her fists, something is reminding her of Moses and Cato, and how Moses looked at his brother with so much heartbreak in his eyes. How he'd stay calm in the face of atrocities when he has every right to be enraged, how he doesn't want her to be enraged on his behalf("It won't change anything they do, Sarah.")

She could be thinking about anything or anyone if she's messing with her ponytail or the end of her braid(Sarah had to have braided her hair a lot. I know dic animation never changed character models unless they had to, but still). Sometimes it's her dad, cousin Tom, Abigail Adams, Udney, Arnold before his betrayal, Dr. Franklin, Molly from the women's camp. It could be anyone she grew close to in the war, honestly.

Very few people know that Sarah's thinking about certain people based on what she's messing with. The person who'd know most of them would be Henri, as he's the person that she spends most time with in the liberty's kids timeline. He mostly picks up on the big ones, like when Sarah misses her mom, or how she memorized the rhythm he played when getting the sheep to New York, which if Sarah wasn't one of the best people he had met before, she is now. The day he picked up on Sarah messing with her necklace = Sarah is thinking about James was rough. For her(I should just write that as a story). Sarah had to promise she would make Henri his favorite dinner for a week if he didn't tell James.

Speaking of whom, James would probably notice the different tells if the sight of his crush best friend and colleague staring softly into the distance while tenderly fiddling with the necklace he helped make for her that he'd never seen her part with since didn't make his brain shut down for a solid minute. At least.

#Sarah sitting on her mother's couch rubbing her locket pendant while staring at the ships going towards America lives rent free up here #Sarah was gripping her skirt so firmly when she was staying with Thomas Jefferson all her dresses had matching wrinkles there #sarah phillips #henri lefebvre #james hiller #moses #liberty's kids #headcanon #dic should've let the kids change hairstyles. like cmon #Sarah and Moses's dynamic is so amazing to me like that's his little sister and she'll kick your ass #james hiller x sarah phillips #james and sarah

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becca-e-barnes · 2 years

Note

ok but-

lowkey foodplay with bucky HCs ✨

imagine cooking one of his favourite comfort meals, straddling his lap and feeding him; subtly grinding and moaning extra hard when u use ur fingers to lick up any extra mess

+ if it's a sweet strawb dessert maybe some makeouts? but like idk maybe i'm gross lmao

Whyyyyy do I love this so much? I've always seen cooking for someone as really intimate and affectionate. Idk, I just think it's lovely.

I feel like he'd really find a lot of comfort in food too and the kind of freedom that comes with having that control back but I won't get into that.

There's something so soft in the thought of sitting on his lap and feeding him a dish you made for him. It'd be such a vulnerable kind of love and care, with him holding your hips or your waist, letting you bring the fork to his lips.

He'd moan when the first bite hits his tongue, that's for sure. His eyes flutter shut, his head rolling back just a little and it's mesmerising to watch him get lost in this.

"Is it okay?" You ask softly, preparing a second forkful and a content smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

"It's perfect and you know it." You've never made a dish he didn't like and he makes that so clear.

When he's finished that bite, he notices a little sauce on the tip of your finger that clearly you haven't seen yet. Despite your confusion, he takes the fork from you, bringing your fingertip to his mouth instead, sucking ever so gently. His tongue flicks over the tip of your finger and you don't miss how he moans softly.

He spends much longer than necessary making sure he's got it all before his grip on your hand releases, letting your hand fall and your fingers slip from his mouth. God, you're wet and he fucking knows it.

The rest of the meal passes in quite a similar fashion. You grind against him a little as he eats, letting him try to stifle his moans, kissing his broad shoulders so gently that all the care and attention makes his head spin.

He's rock hard and he won't deny it. Why would he? It feels so good, being allowed to give in.

"Fuck, sweetheart. I hope you didn't make dessert." He huffs out a little laugh, watching as you set the empty plate on the table. You give his lips a tiny, tender kiss but he's clearly still too hungry to keep this gentle.

His lips get more and more insistent, his hands wandering and if this isn't his own personal Heaven, he doesn't know what is.

"Get on the table. Skirt up, panties off. Spread your legs. Good girl." You've never moved so fast, getting far too excited when lifts you and sets you exactly where he wants you. Your panties fall to the floor in a little sodden heap, your legs spread how he asked and if the look in his eyes is anything to go by, he's going to enjoy his dessert.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #this one is a little tamer I'm experimenting #my brother is at a festival tonight #and he's just sent me snapchats of MEGAN THEE STALLION #AND I'M IN MY BED #ON A SATURDAY NIGHT #AT 22 YEARS OLD #the highlight of my weekend will be a trip to tesco #and HE'S OUT HERE SEEING MEGAN #tw: food mention

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kessielrg · 3 months

Text

Kingdom Hearts AU: Lay In the Fire: Part 4

Summary: In which Ventus presents Aqua a traveler to feed on, with the promise that she will keep her alive. Things get messy from there.

Notes: Another thing based on luxmoogle’s vampire AU. Sponsored by Tove Lo’s Come Undone from her studio album, Sunshine Kitty. Much longer this time and with 60% of my usual shenanigans. 😘

Word Count: 3,847

Series: Stupid Kids: 1. Drink Deep: 1, 2, 3, [4]

AO3 Link: here

Ven was pacing. He couldn’t help it- his heart just wouldn’t calm down no matter how hard he willed it to.

Not long after parting from Aqua, Ven decided to write a note. That note ended up outside a certain room. Inside that note was an invitation and the location of one particular dress that had been suggested by Aqua. Now all Ven could do was wait. He tried to bide time by cranking the phonograph every so often, and he even checked the record to make sure it wouldn’t skip once he allowed it to start turning.

And, of course, he paced.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught Ven’s attention. In that moment all his fears went away, and just as quickly a new wave of emotion set over him. Sabrina was at the door of the ballroom. Not only was she on time, she had also put on the suggested dress.

As Sabrina stepped further into the ballroom, everything in Ven froze just so his heart could leap right out of his chest. She was beautiful. The dress Aqua had suggested hugged Sabrina like a glove. The long skirt had a similar fullness to the circle skirts Sabrina was used to, and even boasted a silk underskirt for retaining modesty should she spin a bit too fast. Should Aqua ever decide to wear it again, Ven knew that all he would see was Sabrina. Crushed purple velvet was for Sabrina now- always and forever.

“Aqua’s really been hoarding dresses for decades, yeah? This is something my grandmother would wear.” Sabrina informed Ven once they were close enough.

“It definitely fits better than I thought it would.” Ven quietly mused. She didn’t quite seem to notice as she further scrutinized the dress.

“We’re not even the same size. Can you imagine being a whole half foot smaller than she is just to fit this?”

“No I can not.”

He almost let it slip that it was because he could only see her in it now, but he bit his tongue just in time. The odd moment must have been felt by Sabrina. She placed a hand on her hip as she stared him down.

“So did you invite me to the ballroom just to stare at me in one of Aqua’s older dresses, or is there a better reason?” she questioned.

Ven’s heart jumped right back into his chest again.

“Oh! Right.” he remembered. He gave her a pointed finger to indicate that she needed to wait for something. She then watched as Ven went over to the phonograph and turned its crank completely. Once the turntable was spinning, he placed the needle down on the record and went back to Sabrina. He offered a hand out to her as his face shown nothing but sincerity.

“A dance.” he offered. “Just one. That's all I ask.”

Sabrina looked at his hand, then at him. A mean little thought at the back of her head told her that he was testing her trust. The last few days were more than enough not to; his vampire master couldn’t keep her fangs to herself, he never directly told her that said master was watching, even though they both knew she was. But those were all issues that Aqua needed to address. It wasn’t Aqua that Sabrina was physically alone with right now. Aqua wasn’t the one she wrote letters to when her caravan was away.

Did she even need to not trust Ventus at this point?

“Slow dancing isn’t my thing.” Sabrina eventually said. Her smirk toward him was timid at best. This wasn’t going to be comfortable.

However, Ven was patient.

“Humor me.” he said back, holding his hand out a bit further.

Sabrina remained looking at him. Without ever looking away, she took his hand. She would let him lead- at least for now.

Aqua had spent half a year teaching Ventus various ballroom dances. They had both laughed at the time that they may never have proper balls or galas to show his dance moves in. There was one thing Aqua did tell Ven that was coming back now- read the cues, even if you may think you’re the one leading. Your partner may work to a different tempo, and that would be fine; so long you don’t run over another set of dancers. But adjusting would be a mutual effort. It also had to be done without any words being exchanged. That was what ultimately made dancing tricky. You could both be excellent dancers, but without reading each other and adjusting to your shared needs, everything could fall apart quickly.

For that reason, Ventus started slow and cautious. This was how he always approached Sabrina at first, so it made sense to dance the same way. Sabrina was too rigid, refusing to look anywhere but at Ventus, so he adjusted by allowing them to dance a bit further apart. This put her at a better comfort level. It would be her to bring them back in again once she gained a feel for the music’s tempo. That much made sense to both of them- Sabrina was the one who took time in knowing just what she was comfortable with and what she wasn’t. Offering herself to a vampire in exchange for knowing its familiar had been Sabrina’s idea. Sabrina remained at the castle after, even when she could have gone back home once she felt well again. Her presence still was a gift, not a right. And it all culminated in one important thing; her trust in Ventus.

As the song came to a close, and a new one replacing it, the two slowed in their dance but did not move far apart.

“Thank you.” Ven told Sabrina with full honesty.

“It wasn’t that horrible.” Sabrina retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Just another reminder that Aqua’s training you to be a fine gentleman- and not a feral monster like the rest of us.”

Ven’s face turned to disgust.

“You’re not a monster. Or feral.”

“I’m sure Papa would love to hear that one.” she laughed. She looked at him- a tricky little smile etching the corners of her lips. “You know, he talks about you. Always asking when I'm going to bring you around again. So, since we’ve shared a dance in your little hovel, why not spare one at mine? Eye for an eye, dance for a dance.”

He immediately wanted to agree.

“I’d have to ask…” Ven started to say. He soon shook his head. “I would love to escort you back home. It would be good to get some fresh air too.”

“The nightlife really shines in our camp.” Sabrina smiled. “A heart like yours might just explode from the energy.”

“I can do my best. Isn’t that what matters?”

“I suppose so.”

The two smiled at each other. Sabrina happened to glance down, noting that their hands were still knit inside each other. That was when she finally realized they were still so close. She stepped out of their circle like she was avoiding a snake.

“I should… go get my stuff ready,” she mumbled, “If I'm going home tonight.”

Ven nodded, allowing her the right to leave. She nodded back, not looking him in the eye, as she quickly made her way out of the ballroom. He could see her even as she left eye range. For a moment, he wondered how much longer she would be like a ghost to him; always there, but slightly out of reach. He only hoped it wouldn’t be for much longer…

They weren’t even able to reach the outskirts of the camp before hearing a cacophony of “Sabreenie! Sabreenie!” call out to them. Not long after, a bundle of kids came running up to pull at Sabrina’s dress. It only took one to notice Ventus- and they were the loudest of them all.

“Sabreenie brought a boy with her!!!”

The children let out a collective ‘ooooh’ at the discovery. Ven could feel his cheeks heat up. Sabrina wasn’t taking any of it. Her mouth opened, prepared to reprimand them, but someone managed to beat her to it.

“Give them space, you hoodlums.” the voice of the caravan’s patriarch, Sabrina’s Papa, told the children. “You still have to feed the horse and help Mama with dinner.”

“Yes sir.” the children replied with sad voices as they went back to the camp, heads down in despair. The patriarch laughed, then turned his attention to Sabrina and Ventus.

“Ventus!” Papa happily greeted. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been around. How have you been?”

“Fine,” Ven anxiously said, even rubbing the back of his head. “Do you mind if I stay for dinner tonight?”

“Did you miss our big pot of stew? It’s never the same way twice!”

Ven took a glance to Sabrina. “Something like that…”

Getting accustomed to the traveler’s camp again took quite a bit of effort. There was always someone who needed attention somewhere. And since Ventus was a familiar, yet not quite family, face, he was taken this and there to many questions and even more requests for help. He didn’t even get to see Sabrina until after everyone was able to eat, and even then, she had purposely sat down on the opposite side of the bonfire. Her tricky eyes flickering back at him, while he likely looked pretty lost from it all.

There was always someone dancing too. Men and women and children, taking turns and switching partners and making it hard to tell who was sitting at any time and who was part of the crowd. One of the current dancers had thrown Ventus into the fray. The poor vampire’s familiar found himself spinning in ways he’d never done before. In almost every ballroom dance, no one could consider you getting dizzy from not being able to spot where you’re going. The only time Ven was able to stop spinning was when he bumped right into someone’s arms.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” he started to say before realizing who had caught him.

It was Sabrina, and her face looked awfully smug.

“Having fun?” she asked- that smug look really went right to her lips.

“I don’t think I’m good at dancing this quickly.” Ven sheepishly admitted.

“Humor me.”

Ven’s heart jolted. He gave her a nod and started to take her lead.

Dancing at the traveler’s camp was like the opposite of dancing in the castle’s ballroom. Sabrina was leading, and it was Ventus who needed the assurance of trust to keep dancing. Their movements together were quick. It became a marvel that they could become synchronized so well. Not quickly, mind you, but with enough trust they could work with each other’s dancing comforts.

Ven didn’t realize how exhausting it all was until Sabrina made the decision to move them away from the bonfire and toward the wagons. It was so prominent that he didn’t even realize that she was taking him to a specific wagon until it was too late.

“I got to see the inside of your house,” Sabrina told him, “So now you get to see inside mine. Eye for an eye, dance for a dance, and home for a home.”

Ven blinked.

“Are you sure?” he asked, but she had already opened the door at the back of the wagon and entered. The boy blinked a few more times before his legs finally moved him forward. There were three floating steps to get inside the wagon.

Inside was like a world all its own. Sabrina had barely decorated the inside, and what she had usually consisted of a deep purple with a hint of blue. Her bed was placed against the long wall on the left, and her chests of clothing and other precious items were on the long right wall. At the front of the wagon was a small area that resembled a desk, sitting on top was a bottle of ink and a writing pen. Ven flushed in realizing that it was the place she must sit when they write their letters to each other.

He now understood why they always carried the smallest trace of lavender to them- her whole wagon had the aroma.

“A bit smaller than you’re used to, I’m sure.” Sabrina smirked. She was already sitting quite haughtily on her bed. Her shoes had been removed and placed carefully by the chests.

“It’s… comforting.” Ven carefully admitted. He sat next to her on her bed before adding, “It’s a lot like you.”

“You think I’m comforting?”

Ven’s face flushed a deep red.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

Sabrina laughed, enjoying his mild discomfort.

“Why do you always laugh at me?” Ven questioned, refusing to look at her.

“Because you’re hopeless.” came the sure answer. “That’s what I like about you.”

“You like me? That’s news.”

Sabrina chuckled as she shook her head. She’d never fully admit how she felt about him. The meantime felt a lot funnier.

“Before, you asked me what I meant by a comfortable relationship.” she then told him. “Since we’re as alone as we’re going to get, I think you deserve to know.”

Ven put his hands in his lap. He prepared himself for whatever she was going to say next with controlled eagerness.

“For me,” Sabrina said to him, “There are no loving or caring relationships unless you trust the other person. You have to believe them enough to defend them when no one’s looking. Being comfortable in a relationship means that you can trust someone with a secret. Believe them when they tell you theirs. To invite them to a space special to you, like, say, the place they call home, takes so much love and trust and safety and-”

“Did you ever learn to say ‘I love you’ in a normal way?”

His boldness had shocked her. At the same time, she was absolutely thrilled by it.

“Not at all.” she smirked, moving closer to him. “Are you requesting that I make an attempt to?”

Ven smiled as he also moved close.

“Nope.”

The two were chest to chest now. Sabrina had even extended her arm over his body to keep herself steady.

“What if I use my actions instead?” she challenged. “Would you try to stop me?”

Her eyes were so dark, so relaxed at the sight of him. Ven felt like he was falling into an abyss. His head felt so light, it was no wonder that his eyes fluttered to the top of his skull when their lips were just breaths away.

“Never.” he promised. Seconds after, their lips touched with chilling static overcoming their bodies. Neither wanted to let go.

It got heavy fast. Ven found his hands roaming to cup Sabrina’s face as the kiss deepened. Sabrina was the one who led them down against her bed. From there, her hands roamed from his chest to his back, clenching his clothing to keep him as close as possible. Ven became the first to vocalize his lust. It didn’t take long for him to coax one out of Sabrina as well.

Note to self: Aqua was never allowed to touch Sabrina’s neck. Only Ven could taste her there. And only him from now on.

The two broke apart for all of a moment. Ven took the opportunity to sit back up, intending to undo the buttons on his vest and shirt. Sabrina stopped him by placing a hand over his.

“Not here, not now.” she told him. Her eyes clearly wanted differently, but even in this heated moment her mind was as rational as ever.

Ven looked like a child who had denied dessert.

“But I thought…”

Sabrina brought him closer, allowing their foreheads to touch.

“Not here, not now,” she repeated in a smaller, sincere voice. He understood.

“As you wish.” Ventus husked before leading them back in for one passionate kiss after another. No one else in the world mattered anymore.

Ven didn’t want to leave. Climbing around her had already been an exercise in patience, and now looking at her continue to sleep made him feel guilty. They didn’t even do anything. Except for a few kisses. …and even fewer bruises from getting a bit too engrossed in each other with the skin contact available.

Not that he felt guilty about those. He was actually quite proud of them, if he was going to be honest with himself.

“I love you.” Ven admitted in a hushed whisper as he stroked a thumb against Sabrina’s cheek. A small hum came from Sabrina’s lips. He took it as an answer. Smiling, Ventus left Sabrina’s wagon. He made sure no one was watching before transforming into his owl form to fly back home.

He would sleep well for the rest of the night. The ghost of Sabrina’s presence haunting his dreams with warmth.

The next morning was spent on autopilot as he got dressed and prepared Aqua’s breakfast. And of course she noticed. And thankfully she didn’t comment on it. As they spent the rest of the morning in the library, Aqua studied him.

He was still reading Giselle, but he certainly wasn’t looking at the words. It was then that Aqua made a choice. She carefully closed her book to give Ventus all of her attention.

“You know, I’ve been doing some thinking.” she told him.

“Oh yeah?” Ven mused, lulling his head over to look her way.

“I think we could join the travelers for a season. Perhaps winter. The Baron might be a bit lonely, but I’m sure he could manage for a few months.”

Ven’s eyes shot wide open.

“Are you serious?”

The vampire gave a firm nod. Ven’s eyes then lit up with joy.

“Winter would be perfect!” he agreed- his voice getting a bit too loud from his own excitement. “You could cover almost all the way up and it wouldn’t look out of place- especially since I don’t think anyone rides in the wagons while they’re traveling. Oh! That means we’d have to get you new veils! And gloves!”

Aqua laughed as her familiar started to form a list of needed items out loud.

“I wonder if we’d have to make our own wagon, or if we can borrow one. If that’s the case, then we’d have to spend time building it. And we can build it to have faux windows! It would be perfect, and no one would ever know! And if they do ask, we just say you have severe allergies to various pollen. We’ve done it before, and no one’s asked after. And since we’d be traveling somewhere new, it would be an even better excuse!

“But what about your feedings? We can’t use the same person every time- it would look suspicious. Trying to go after someone different would be weird too. If it’s someone from the camp, they’d pick up a pattern pretty quickly. And there’s no guarantee there’d be wildlife where we go… We might have to work on that. If only there was a way to preserve plasma for long periods of time!”

A smile was on Aqua’s face, and it surely wasn’t going away anytime soon. Everything was just as it should be.

For now.

She didn’t want to admit it, but Sabrina spent the next morning taking too long trying to reach for a hand that wasn’t there. She knew it wouldn’t be there, but she still tried.

The bed felt a lot colder too, now that she thought about it.

Curse that idiot.

Curse him to the best-worst place in all the cosmos. He deserved every inch of it.

And yet, every bit of her felt light. The good mood allowed her to pick out one of her favorite skirts before heading out to the campfire for breakfast. She must have slept in, considering the only ones still around were her caretakers. She must have also been smiling, or otherwise looked far off, because Papa gave her a rather bemused double take.

“Did you sleep well last night?” he carefully probed.

“You know? I think I did.” Sabrina agreed, her voice sounding as if she was just finding this out now.

“Is the boy that came last night still here?” Mama then inquired.

Sabrina shook her head.

“He couldn’t stay. The schedule’s kinda rigid back at home for him.” A small pause. “Not that I wouldn’t mind him staying over again.”

Her caretakers exchanged a knowing look with each other- they knew something about Sabrina that it would take her years, if ever, to fully understand. And the thought pleased them, to say the least.

“Are you hungry?” Mama asked. “There are still some omelets left over. Plenty of fresh fruit too.”

“Did someone manage to find strawberries?”

“They did!”

“Then I’ll take the rest.”

The small family laughed. Breakfast then went on rather smoothly. She talked with her caretakers about her adventures while riding, and giving cryptic remarks on her time with Ventus when her caretakers asked about them. None of them noticed as a man came walking up to camp.

“Pardon me.” a new voice spoke up. Sabrina and her caretakers looked to the voice. It was a young man with brown hair and determinate blue eyes. He looked to her caretakers before zoning in on Sabrina herself.

“Are you the maiden with the white steed that glides through the woods at night?” he asked. His voice was stern and clear.

“I am she.” Sabrina agreed. “Who are you, and what brings you to ask?”

The mysterious man bowed to her.

“My name is Terra. I’ve come a long way in search of what lurks in the castle overlooking the village. I was hoping that you would aid my knowledge. Many of the villagers do not know you by name, but have seen you close to the area.”

Sabrina cocked an eyebrow. She looked the man over from head to toe. He dressed rather practically, for what it was worth. His well defined abdominal muscles faintly pressed against a black, long sleeved cotton top. The canvas trousers he wore sported the same deep brown as his coat- which in and of itself looked quite worn at the ends of the collar and back paneling. Even more noticeable were his boots. Made of rough leather, they were exceptionally clean for someone who must have trekked through some mud to get to the traveler’s camp. To finish the look off, the mysterious man wore elbow length work gloves and a shallow, wide brimmed hat that wouldn’t last long in higher winds.

After taking in his physical features, Sabrina noticed something almost poking out from the coat’s semi-closed lining. The man was wearing a leather belt across his chest- attached to one of the loops was a stake pointed and poised for an attack. Seeing this, Sabrina put on a sickeningly sweet smile.

This man was a vampire hunter.

Well then.

This poor sucker had no idea what he was in for.

#my writing #writers on tumblr #writing stuff #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic

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carlosfruitsnacks · 2 years

Note

having a carlos brainrot while rushing some school stuff so im gonna dump this right here

Carlos x Fem!Reader in an established relationship where Carlos knows how to sew and make dresses for a reader that doesn't dress up much (its like he has a personal doll or smth lmao) and every now and then the reader likes to flex that the dress other girls are jealous of are made by her boyfriend heehee 👉👈💖💖💖

He also doesn't make it for other people (he'd of course make some dresses for his and her family but never to sell them to the town). I can imagine him being jealous if reader looks at a dress for a little too long (since reader often just likes admiring dresses) that isn't his and he starts to try and make a similar but better dress uwu

im having a fucking heart attack just imagining a bad boy like him have a gentle side where he sews and makes dresses and clothes for people he loves i just agahskdflsjshsjsjlj 😭😭😭💖💖💖

bonus: reader sees him leaving bruno's room one day then the next thing she knows, a week or so she visits him in his room to see him making small dresses for different ages 👉👈

"my doll"

summary:

— Carlos Madrigal has been known to have a brash behavior, but underneath it lies a boy who's talented when it comes to creating clothing, especially for you. Being in a relationship with him means you're his one and only doll.

genre:

— fluff

notes:

— female reader. I do not speak fluent Spanish and all of the Spanish here is translated from google, feel free to correct me.

warning/s:

— none

a/n:

— ah yes another banger request from mochie, let's fucking goooo

The townsfolk of Encanto were aware of Carlos Madrigal's attitude. He was unforgiving, menacing, sly, and unpredictable. He always had a smirk that says that he can get away with any trouble scot-free. Everyone who has seen the Madrigal may claim to know him well but they were all far from the truth of Carlos.

The shapeshifter, underneath the hard exterior, was a talented tailor. The Madrigals have known the teen's potential to create beautiful clothing from scratch. Carlos began sewing when he was only eight. Mirabel Madrigal was the first to witness his talent and applauded him for it, at first, he didn't believe her but he would be flustered at given moments. Carlos loved to lock himself in a room and sew the day away, making hand-made blouses, skirts, and ruanas. Practically every single member of his family has received an article of self-made clothing from him.

Even if the Madrigals were aware of Carlos' hidden talent, the reason for his sewing was unknown...well, that until his twin brother Camilo decided to pry into his business. Camilo was called by Carlos secretly, he was excited to know what Carlos was going to do because he wanted to be able to use it against him.

"Oye, pendejo, can you do me a favor?"

Carlos asked, Camilo literally smiled at him from ear to ear. He can see that his twin brother was hiding something behind his back and that there was a pink tint on his cheeks.

"Of course, hermano. What is it?"

"I need you to shapeshift into someone"

"Easy, who do you have in mind?"

Camilo noticed the hesitation on Carlos' face, it was amusing to find him so sheepish since it's rare. Carlos inhales sharply and looked him in the eye.

"[Name] [Surname]"

"Hmm, [Name]? Oh! You mean that girl from the-"

"Get on with it already, cabrón!"

Camilo rolled his eyes at his twin and dramatically spins around as he shapeshifts. Carlos' breath unknowingly hitched to see his brother transforming into [Name], the girl who has stole his heart months ago. He cursed at his brother's talent of perfect shapeshifting, it merely made him believe that she was in the room alone with him.

"Now what?"

"Try this on"

Carlos turns away and shoves him a hand-made dress with beautiful embroidery, Camilo was in awe for a second to see his brother's creation. The shapeshifter shrugs and takes the dress, he swiftly puts it on.

"Uh, it's kinda tight around the waist and chest, Carlos"

"Huh, really? Anything else?"

"I think the sleeves are too long"

"Okay, I'll just make a few adjustments"

Carlos takes out a small notepad and quickly jots something down. Camilo carefully twirls around, actually liking the dress. He steps into the mirror to see more of the details, it took a while for him to think why his twin wanted him to do this. And it clicked, Camilo looked at Carlos with a mischievous grin.

"You like [Name] don't you?"

Camilo watched as Carlos dropped his pencil and gazed at him with horror, he laughed when he saw his brother blushing. The shapeshifter cackles and points at him.

"Dios mio, you do!"

"I do not! ¡Cállate!"

"Awww, little Carlos has a crush on [Name]!"

Camilo teased with dance and reveled at how Carlos can't say anything to deny it. The cat was out of the bag, Carlos couldn't prevent it from happening. He knew he shouldn't have trusted Camilo on this but he needed him for it, his shapeshifting wasn't perfect like Camilo's. He wanted to give you that dress so badly for a long time, it was only now he thought to make the move.

"My interests are none of your business, Camilo. Just take the fucking dress off and leave me alone"

"Hey, I'm only fucking around. Don't worry I won't tell anyone about this"

The shapeshifter carefully takes off the dress and quickly changed it back to himself, he hands the dress to Carlos. He wanted to trust his twin brother but this was his own blood! A carbon copy of himself! He was just as untrustworthy as himself.

"I'm not trusting your ass"

"How about a deal then?"

"No, fuck off"

"I won't tell anyone if you give me all of your seconds. Here's a bonus! I'll be your personal model until you get [Name]'s perfect measurements!"

Carlos looked at Camilo, contemplating. But he knew deep down that he has to make a sacrifice, so, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

"Fine, but don't you dare cross me"

"Jeez, don't look at me like you're going to bury me alive"

You found a huge box in front of the house's porch this morning, your name was written neatly on a tag attached to the box. The box wasn't heavy but you knew there was something in there. You were skeptical that someone is playing a prank on you until you opened the box to see an incredibly gorgeous dress. Your jaw immediately drops to the floor. There was a small letter inside the box.

Hello doll, I hope you like the dress I made you

It said. There was no name, signature, or any clue of who may have done this. You slowly brought the dress out of the box and your eyes twinkled in awe. It was pure magic that the dress was a perfect fit. You twirled around in front of the mirror, absolutely adoring how the dress looked so good on you. Whoever created this dress had skill and experience. You thought it would be one of your family members but none of them admitted to doing it.

You went out for a stroll in town wearing the new dress. All of your friends complimented how pretty your outfit was, you were beyond flattered. You can't help but want to know the stranger who gifted you this. Fortunately for you, Camilo Madrigal happened to spot you in your new dress.

"That's a very pretty dress you got there, hermosa"

Camilo flirted and you batted your eyelashes at him, there must be something about this dress that made the one and only Camilo Madrigal come to you. Who wouldn't want to be noticed by him? Camilo stayed for a while and his behavior seemed odd. You two weren't close, this was the first time you two talked. Something was bugging you about the way the Madrigal acted, he wasn't parading around and entertaining everyone. Camilo seemed so discreet and fully focused on you.

"Oye Carlos, stop pretending to be me so you can talk to [Name]"

You hear a voice all of a sudden, you turn to see...Camilo Madrigal? Huh? There are two of them? You look at the Camilo standing beside you. A gasp exits your lips when you see the fake Camilo transforming into...Carlos Madrigal?!

"Meh, worth a shot"

Carlos shrugged, Camilo rolled his eyes at his twin brother and left. You gazed at Carlos, wide-eyed. The latter looked more intimidating than his brother but he was looking quite timid and avoiding your eyes.

"Did you give me this dress?"

"...Yes"

He blurted out, his cheeks were hotter than the summer heat. Carlos was expecting you to be afraid or say nasty things about how he's the big and bad Carlos Madrigal. What he wasn't anticipating is you giving him the biggest smile he has ever seen.

"That's so sweet of you! I never knew you can sew!"

You gushed and complimented him. Carlos merely loses his shit, you looked so adorable that he just wanted to squish you in his arms. God, he's so whipped for you.

"Uh, gracias"

"Oh! If you don't mind, can you make me a dress for one of my relative's weddings this week?"

"Sure"

"I'll pay you-"

"No no, I don't want your money"

You tilt your head at him with confusion. Carlos chuckles and leaned close to you, almost making your heart jump out of your chest.

"I only take payment by being alone with you tomorrow at eight"

"...Are you asking me out on a date?"

"If you want to, señorita"

Carlos' gruff voice is definitely making you feel things. Eventually, you agree to go on a date with him tomorrow and the rest is history.

Your friends all whined and gawked at another new dress you decided to show off to them. You laughed at them and twirled around, watching the fabulous dress flow with your movement.

"Ugh, I wish I had a boyfriend like yours"

"Yeah, same! Does he ever get tired of making all those dresses for you?"

"Nope"

You reply with a grin. You have been proudly bragging about all your boyfriend's creations to your friends for a long time. Your friends were oozing with envy whenever you would meet up with them wearing a new outfit, they were aware that you had a boyfriend who's a tailor. However, they weren't aware that you were in a relationship with Carlos Madrigal.

After hanging out with your friends, you secretly meet up with Carlos near the alleyway. You find him there already waiting for you with an excited smirk.

"Hey, I've missed you, my doll"

My doll, the endearment he gave to you ever since you agreed to be his girlfriend. He called you my doll because he loved dressing you up with all the clothes he would specifically make for you. Carlos practically spoiled you with new outfits, he had a rough time controlling that.

"Mi vida, we literally saw each other this morning"

"You can't blame me, I feel like I would go insane if I don't get to see your face every two hours"

"Stop being dramatic and kiss me"

Carlos obliges and leans down to give you a brief kiss on the lips, it was tender and quick yet full of emotion. He pulls you by the hand as he takes you to less crowded places in town. You two chatted and interlocked fingers, enjoying each other's company. Every once in a while, both of you would pass by a boutique shop and you would always whip your head to admire a few of the displayed dresses. Carlos thought of this as a challenge, an obstacle getting in the way of his relationship with you.

"I saw you looking at one of the dresses at señora Mariana's shop, doll"

He begins the moment you two reached the Casita. You give him an unamused look, you knew where this going.

"Carlos, all of the clothes you gave me barely fit in my closet now"

"Then just buy a new closet"

You placed your hands on your hips and sighed. Carlos was being jealous again because you were looking at dresses that weren't made by his hands, he thinks that it was a competition when in reality, it was silly. You pointed at the beautiful dress you're wearing.

"This is going to be the last dress you will be making for me"

"But [Name]-"

"Nuh-uh! No buts, amor"

Carlos cutely pouted and turned away, pretending to be mad at you. The Family Madrigal welcomed you again for another visit, they treated you incredibly kindly, almost as if you were Carlos' wife. You stuck around for lunch and bonded with your boyfriend's cousins and siblings. It was almost sundown when you went looking for him to say goodbye. You spotted Carlos silently exiting Bruno's room, you raised a brow and sneaked behind him.

"Hey-"

"Holy fuck, you scared me!"

"Lo siento, mi vida. What were you doing at tío Bruno's room?"

"Nothing"

Carlos replied quickly. You can already tell he was hiding something but you don't try to pry into it. Before you go home, you and Carlos shared a long kiss while nearly getting caught by Camilo making out. You wave to your boyfriend goodbye and walked away.

"Ay dios mio, Carlos Madrigal"

You sighed while running a hand through your hair. You gazed down at another box presumably with another dress your boyfriend made again, you get this every week and he doesn't show any sign that he's stopping anytime soon. You waste no time and opened the box, you were not surprised to be in awe of what was inside. You read the note that was addressed to you.

I know you said to stop but my hands can't help it, my doll. Hope you like this though, this one's gonna be better than any of those dresses you saw at señora Mariana's shop - Carlos

You carefully took the dress out of the box and gasped at how utterly ethereal the dressed looked. All of a sudden, you began shedding your clothes and slipped on the dress. Goddamn, you looked like a goddess wearing it. You squealed and posed in front of the mirror. Carlos Madrigal definitely never failed to impress you.

In the afternoon, you met up with Carlos at his house and he literally went down to his knees when he saw you wearing the dress he recently made. You weren't lying when you said it made you flustered. You were a bit mad at him for making another dress despite telling him to stop, but nonetheless, you thanked him.

Currently, you were hanging out with Carlos in his room. You watched him work on another project, it brings you comfort. You noticed that he was making tinier clothes than usual so you asked him.

"Who are these clothes for, amor?"

"Oh, it's nothing, my doll"

Carlos kissed you on the cheek and continued working. You swooned at how absolutely sweet your lover was despite what the townsfolk would say about him. How could you not when he makes clothes for all his loved ones and he treats you so greatly?

masterlist

#encanto #disney encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto fanfiction #carlos madrigal #carlos my beloved #carlos madrigal my beloved #carlos madrigal x reader #carlos madrigal x y/n #carlos madrigal x fem!reader #carlos x you #carlos x reader #carlos x y/n #jay's fanfics™️#jay's fluff fics™️

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thomasshelbydrabbles · 2 years

Text

The Messenger (19/22)

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Adeline Taylor (OC)

Warnings: period typical sexism, series typical violence, period typical views of PTSD, period typical racism, blood and gore, smut

Summary: Tempers run high as everyone prepares to deal with Sabini in his men. Adeline is surprised by more than one Blinder.

**This is a series, so you should read The School Teacher first if you want to understand everything.**

Note: As the show does, I am loosely using actual events and people from WW1 and other time periods represented in the show. These are fictionalized versions of both events and the people.

Word Count: 4421

A/N: So excited for this chapter. I know many of you have been waiting for this, too. Enjoy!

Belgium, 1915

Nurses, doctors, gurneys, and bottles of blood surrounded her as she flew through the field hospital. It wasn’t until she noticed her blurry vision that she felt the tears streaming down her face, falling from her chin to mix with the blood on the floor. She ignored the shouts behind her. A large hand clamped on her shoulder, halting her progress. Spinning on her heels, she glared up at the doctor who had stopped her.

“You’re not authorized to be here.”

“Tell me where Captain Solomon’s is and I’ll take my leave quick as I came.”

“I’ve no time to negotiate with you. Nurses aren’t to be back here; for your own safety.”

“In a fucking war zone?” Adeline asked, eyebrow raised. “I’m in no more danger here than I am out there. Now tell me where he is before I become unpleasant.”

“Adeline.”

She barely recognized the sound of his voice between the coughs and the rasp in his lungs. Without sparing a glance to the doctor, she hurried to Alfie’s side. Taking his large hand in hers, she gazed up at him with a concern she couldn't mask. Even knowing he had no need of her pain when he laid in the bed suffering, she couldn't keep the tears back. He’s alive. She reminded herself. Again. And again. He’s alive.

“All this fuss for me, pet?”

“Don’t speak, you daft Jewish bastard,” Adeline scolded as she hurriedly wiped the tears from her face. “Not going to heal if you keep using your mouth for nonsense. I always make a fuss about you; can’t let you have all the fun now can I?”

His lips twitched up into a ghost of a smile, and Adeline forced herself to smile in return even as she felt another part of her heart shatter. Squeezing her eyes closed, she released a breath through her nose. So much suffering, so much of it avoidable. Politicians, field grade officers - men making a bigger mess of things. One day, long after all of this - assuming anyone survived - she’d make George pay. Leaving that thought for later, she took an assessment of Alfie’s condition. His usually bright eyes were red-rimmed, viscous yellow-green fluid dripping like molasses from the corners of his eyes. She could see the tell-tale signs of conjunctivitis as well as some discoloration of his skin; she could only imagine how badly it itched. Scratching would only exacerbate the problem, likely opening the skin thus increasing the exposure, possibly causing an infection. She inclined her head a bit at Alfie’s self-control.

“You’ll answer with a shake of your head for ‘no’ and a nod of your head for ‘yes’ - I’ll not have you speaking anymore today,” Adeline told him.

“Have they given you anything for the pain?”

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. Stubborn man. She rolled her eyes, knowing she’d not get him to change his mind and take something more to ease his suffering.

“Do you have a sense of time here?”

She could see how affronted he looked by her question, but she ignored it as he nodded his head.

Good. “Have they flushed your eyes in the last hour?”

He paused, shook his head. She nodded to herself. Standing to her feet, she smoothed out her skirt, a nervous habit she hadn’t been able to shake as she quickly glanced around the hospital. Along the far wall she found the glass bottles and eye droppers. With sure strides, as though she were actually stationed here and allowed to do as she pleased, she crossed the ward and gathered what she needed. Returning to Alfie’s side, she noted the amused look on his face, but chose to ignore it. She’d been a nurse before she’d been anything else, and keeping Alfie alive allowed her to retain her sanity.

Methodically, she went through the motions of flushing his eyes, checking his vitals, tucking the blanket up around him as though it alone could save him. Setting the instruments down felt a bit like an ending and she cursed George again as a sense of helplessness consumed her. They’d seen so much, been through so much in a matter of months - not yet a full year in country, with no end to the hostilities in sight. No end to looking over her shoulder, to waking - silent scream on her lips - as the image of a dark beard and overly large mustache danced before her wide open eyes, a specter to haunt her waking steps because the man couldn't simply contain himself to her nightmares.

Without anything else to do, she sat herself on the edge of Alfie’s bed and allowed her eyes to slide closed for a moment. She would trade nearly anything at this point to hear Alfie’s voice in her ear, to listen to one of his inane stories about Jews and heathens, even hearing him scold her would be preferable to his silence, this silence of sickness, of pain, of suffering. Oh she knew if she asked, if she even gave the slightest outward indication that she needed to hear his voice that he would regale her with tales until he literally lost the ability to speak altogether. She’d not deny she was selfish, that part of her wanted to turn and face him, allow her eyes to beg him to do just that. Fortunately for them both she was more practical than she was selfish so she schooled her features before turning to face him.

For weeks she made herself a menace at the camp hospital. No matter how many threats the doctors made, no matter how many times they contacted her superiors - the thought made her laugh because she didn't know exactly who to have them speak with about her. Certainly not George. She couldn't imagine the punishment he’d create for her if he’d been bothered by something so trivial as her being a nurse at a hospital. Alife was as terrible at being a patient in Belgium as he had been in France, which she made sure to remind him of daily as she flushed his eyes, checked his skin, his lungs. He’d narrow his eyes at her as though plotting some future punishment for her. If it meant he’d make a full recovery, she’d allow him any punishment he wanted.

“We’re discharging him,” the doctor told her.

Adeline’s eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. “The hell you are.”

Wearily, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Nurse Taylor, I don’t know who exactly it is you work for, and I don’t care, but they don’t run my hospital. I do, and I’m discharging Captain Solomons - or sending him to America for further recovery, which we both know he won’t do.”

Logically, she knew he was correct. Alfie no longer needed whatever assistance could be offered by this hospital, and there were other men who needed attention.

“Pet.” Alfie’s voice came from behind her. She closed her eyes; her shoulders slumped in defeat.

The doctor took the excuse to leave. Coward.

She turned to face Alfie. “You’re not healed yet.”

“I’m as healed as this place is going to get me. No use taking up space for no reason.”

“It’s not - ”

“None of that now. No arguing. I only stayed as long as I did, right, laying around like a useless pile of flesh and bones to keep you, right to keep you from worrying your pretty little head about me. I know George sent a letter to you. No doubt summoning you to his side. We both know it’s not smart, not fucking smart to ignore a letter from him, especially when he finds out that you’ve been here taking care of me. And he’ll figure it out, pet.”

“Stop being right and annoying.”

Alfie didn’t bother to say anything. Instead, he slung his arm across her shoulder and led her out of the hospital. He said something to the doctor, but Adeline was lost to her thoughts. She didn’t pay attention to where they went, something Alfie would scold her for if he noticed, but she trusted him. If only to herself, she admitted that it was nice to relax, as much as she was able to in such conditions, and not worry about where to go because Alfie would keep her safe. Alfie always kept her safe.

They didn’t speak as they wandered to wherever it was Alfie led them. They settled in for the night in a shelter stocked with basic supplies. It shouldn’t surprise her that he knew such a place existed. With a fond smile on her face she watched as he checked the perimeter of their little shelter hidden by an alcove of trees, helped him when he handed her one of the rifles that had been stored in a hidden compartment inside one of the walls, and nearly hit him over the head with the butt of the same rifle to get him into bed. Stubborn bastard.

A week passed before Adeline allowed Alfie to speak in full sentences. They’d learned a sort of shorthand way of communicating through hand gestures, a certain look in the eye, and guessing.

“That’s the third letter he’s sent you. Men like George Bergmann aren’t accustomed, right, aren’t accustomed to waiting for a response, not from women like you. Not on account of someone like me.”

Adeline scoffed. Just because Alfie was correct didn’t mean she had to let him know. Part of her enjoyed defying George like this. She’d pay for it later, but at this moment, knowing what she knew about the war, about the thrice damned chemical gas, about…everything - she found it difficult to care.

“Someone like you?” Adeline’s voice was shrill. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this angry.

“Yes, pet. Someone like me, someone to whom you have grown an attachment, right, an attachment, something dangerous to men like George Bergmann who want you to remain alone with no ties, no need to be cautious, to use your head.”

“According to you,” Adeline sassed. “I never use my head.”

Alfie narrowed his eyes. “Respond to his letter, Adeline.”

She opened her mouth. Before she could say anything Alfie reached out and closed her mouth. Narrowing her eyes at him, she swallowed the words on the tip of her tongue. Just because he was right didn’t mean she had to like it. Knowing he wouldn’t release her until she acquiesced, she nodded her head.

“Good, that’s good pet. You stay here and you write your letter. Then you come find me, right, come find me when the letter has been written and we’ll have us a little chat, yeah, a chat.”

“Now you know,” Alfie began later that evening, “I like to collect strays. My dog, Cyril - found him, right, found him one night in a box in a back alley and he followed me home. Couldn’t turn him out after that because he gave me a look, yeah, you should fucking know the look, pet, given it to me enough yourself, yeah? And since I collect strays I find myself needing to take care of them. Now you, you are a bit more complicated, right, than Cyril. You saved me, brought me back from the brink of death. That created a bond between us, yeah, a bond. Because I don’t have debts, I have devised a solution.”

“Alfie, I’m a nurse. There’s no debt between us. You’ve saved my life as many times as I’ve saved yours. And you’re the one who insisted it wasn’t about keeping score.”

“Not about scores. It’s about doing the right thing.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe it’s also because I have a measure of affection for you.”

Adeline smirked. “A measure of affection? Is that what you’re calling it?”

Alfie frowned down at her. “You’re a nuisance.”

“Aye.”

“And, you can’t take care of yourself because you’re fucking Godless, stubborn woman, and won’t let anyone help you. Gotta take it all on yourself, right? Always making fucking silly decisions like not answering letters from fucking George Bergmann. No sense of self-preservation. Right, we know this, so I’m going to solve the problem for you, pet. Going to solve it by taking care of you.”

“How?”

“Adoption.”

Adeline blinked.

“I’m a grown woman, Alfie.”

Alfie shook his head. “Not as my child. There’s a ceremony among my people, the Jewish people, Teudat Immutz. It’s not exactly designed for our purposes, but I’m a man keen on making things the way I want them because I need to sleep at night, right? We’ll use this ceremony, yeah, so I can adopt you, adopt you into my family, draw you close to me as my sister.”

“I’m not Jewish.”

“Not important, pet. Need to make it legal. I’ll not have the fuckin’ lawyers be the ones to interfere in my wishes, so I’ll make it legal. Draw up the proper documents, right, the documents where I’ll list you as my sister, my blood.”

“Sister?” Adeline breathed.

Alfie stroked his beard. “Yes, as my sister. Call it my better nature, call it my inability to turn away a stray. It’s the only way I’ll be able to sleep, right, and I need to sleep at night, pet, so I’m going to ensure that you’re taken care of no matter how much of a mess you make of your life.”

Tears in her eyes, Adeline threw her arms around Alfie’s neck. She felt his beard against her neck, heard his deep exhalation as his arms returned her embrace. As a feeling of peace and acceptance settled on her, she clung to him tighter, fearing he might one day be ripped from her arms.

Camden Town, 1922

Amusement danced in her eyes as Adeline watched Alfie boss everyone around as he prepared for the Seder. For a moment, she almost felt a flash of pity for little Ollie who couldn’t seem to do anything correct, let alone up to Alfie’s ridiculously high standards. Watching him chase the goat around the room brought back memories of her first Seder with Alfie. Head still a mess of blood, violence, and death; heart still full of blind anger she found herself unable to separate herself from Arke. Prone to violent outbursts with little to no provocation, she terrorized everyone she encountered.

Until Seder.

Alfie forced her to bathe, to put on fresh clothes, and to join him for this sacred meal. He’d brought her into the room where the goats were kept and handed her a knife. Telling her the only death now would be useful. The only killing she’d commit now would be productive. Killing the goat - sacrificing - was symbolic. That year, they’d sacrificed Arke. She ate the Seder meal with her fingers, hands stained with the blood of the sacrificial goat. After, she began to heal, to come to terms with who she had been, and who she had become.

“If you lose that goat, Ollie, we’ll be sacrificing you tonight,” Adeline teased as the goat once more slipped through his hold.

Ollie glared at her even as Alfie’s booming laugh echoed through the room.

“Be kind to him, pet. Lot of pressure on him, right, lot of pressure this bit. Maybe it’s too much responsibility to put on the lad, but he must become a man eventually. Can’t always have him standing off in the corner like a naughty fucking schoolboy, now can I?”

Adeline shrugged, not caring much where Ollie stood. They worked quickly to finish setting the tables. Timing would be important tonight since they planned to end Sabini’s reign both here at dinner and finish off the rest of his crew that would be at the Eden Club tonight.

“They’re here,” Arthur announced as he walked into the room. “Car just pulled up.”

Alfie nodded. “Ollie, go escort our guests to the dinner table, won’t you? Good lad.”

The rest of the party moved into the room. Billy Kitchen sat in the middle of the table, his eyes narrowed as they landed on Adeline. She smiled and waved her fingers at him teasingly. The last bit of bruising around his eye was still visible from when he’d gone and told Tommy about the “lippy woman” in Alfie’s office. Honestly.

Tommy pulled her to his side and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Don’t like you being here for this.”

“Aye. Lucky for me, it wasn’t your call to make.”

“It’s done now, right, so stick to the fucking plan,” Alfie instructed.

Without responding, Tommy pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and rolled it against his lip before lighting it. Adeline sighed as she took her seat opposite Billy Kitchen, Tommy sitting to her right. Arthur took his place next to Tommy and the rest of Alfie’s men took their positions around the room.

She heard Alfie greet Sabini and his boys, and bit back the smile teasing her lips as she heard the door open. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. This was so much better than waiting for Sabini to fuck up, to get bored and change the rules. Just as the door opened, Tommy passed her the cigarette. Taking a deep drag, she silently thanked him. It gave her both something to do with her hands, and a shot of nicotine.

Sabini and two of his lieutenants came strolling in; instantly, Adeline recognized one from the meeting she’d sat in on with Alfie. Given the way his eyes narrowed and his hand closed into a fist, he recognized her, too. A grin split her face. Tommy’d take his eyes for her. Arthur would give her his tongue.

“I see you invite your secretary to every important event, hm?” Sabini hissed through his teeth. “Are there meeting notes for her to take tonight?”

“Never know,” Alfie began, “Never know what help I’ll need, so it’s always a good practice to keep a good secretary close, see, where I can keep me eye on her.”

“Thomas Shelby.”

Tommy met Sabini’s gaze.

“You have healed well since I left you in a pool of your own blood.”

“We’re here to talk about peace, right, peace between us. Not about the blood of the past,” Alfie interjected.

Sabini’s eyes hardened, but he nodded his head. “Peace.”

“Right. Now that the introductions are done, and everyone knows who the fuck everyone is, we can begin,” Alfie said. “Passover started way out in the far east.” He paused. “Pet, do us a favor, yeah? Pour everyone a drink. Can’t have a good Seder, right, without a drink.”

Adeline wanted to tell him to pour his own damn drinks, but she knew she had a role to play. With a forced smile, she grabbed the bottle closest to her and began filling drinks for everyone. If she overfilled Sabini’s just a little, causing it to run over the rim and onto his fingers, well, that was purely an accident. She gave him an apologetic look, or what she hoped was an apologetic look as she returned to her seat.

“Passover, way out there, out there in the sand, out in the desert where me forefathers come from. You know, the Jews.”

One of the doors closes with a metallic sound, drawing the attention of Sabini’s right hand.

“ - started out as a little speck, - ”

“Something isn’t right,” Georgie whispered.

“Georgie, Georgie, it’s alright. Don’t worry, mate. If you want to leave, you can leave. This is about peace, right, about peace. If you need to go to the little boy’s room, I’m sure my lovely assistant can show you the way, right?”

Alfie looked up at the man who’d just closed the door and waved his hand. “We’re gonna open - ”

“He’s alright,” Sabini interrupted, irritation clear on his face. “Georgie’s just fine, Alfie.”

“Do you want to leave?” Alfie asked.

“No, I’m fine.”

“You want to stay?”

“Yes, I want to stay.”

“You stay there then, treacle.”

Adeline coughed to cover her laugh and felt more than saw the smirk threatening to break out across Tommy’s face. How these Italian fucks had been any sort of trouble for Alfie still didn’t make any sense to Adeline. Maybe he was just bored? That explanation made the most sense. Kept them around, kept toying with them because he had nothing better to do with his time. Like Charlie complaining that the Black Water Boys just wave him on through their territory. Men. Like children.

“Okay,” Alfie continued. “So, the pharaoh, have you heard of him? He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands and thousands of years.”

“A persecuted race,” Sabini added.

Adeline watched the way Alfie’s eyes grew wide at the interruption, at the cheek of some fucking wop interrupting his story, spouting off about being persecuted. Idiot.

“He did. He persecuted my race. The killing of the innocent, right?”

She continued to watch Sabini, noted the faux somber expression on his face, the way he covered his heart with his hand as though he had a heart, as though he gave a single toss about the persecution of the Jewish people. He’d like nothing more than to shoot Alfie between the eyes and then slowly disembowel the rest of the people in the room.

“Seder, this feast, that what we is having here, right? Seder is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided, you know, that the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck.”

Adeline took a sip of her drink. The wine was dry, tart - bitter. Something symbolic about it that Alfie had no doubt told her about more than once. She’d asked him once why the food he made for all of the Jewish holidays tasted like earth, like mud, like sand. After a long pause where he’d just stared at her, unblinking, he told her she’d’ve been glad of it back in France, in Belgium. She’d not brought it up since.

“As part of our tradition to do with Seder, right, that in order to make it good with God to kill a king, we have to carry out the Korban Pesach.”

With her hands hidden beneath the table, it was easy for Adeline to slip the gun into her hand. She caressed the trigger with her index finger, the movement as soothing as it always had been. A bit of a habit she’d formed in France, one that used to make George Bergmann keep a wary eye on her.

“That is the ritual sacrifice of the Passover goat.”

One of Alfie’s men brought the goat into the room. It gave a pitiful bleet as though it knew its fate.

“We’re going to sacrifice that goat, that goat there, tonight. It’s part of the reason, Georgie, part of the reason we had to close the doors, right?”

Georgie clenched his jaw.

“But this year, we thought that we’d give the goat a fucking name.”

“You’ve…named the goat?” Sabini asked.

“We fucking did, yeah.”

Beside her, she felt Tommy tense, the anticipation in the room high.

“After the evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh.”

“Wise choice, Alfie. Naming the goat after the enemy to memorialize the sacrifice, solidify the peace.”

“Right, right, death in the name of peace. That’s what we’re doing here tonight.”

The men around the table nodded their heads.

“You know what we called him?”

Sabini shook his head. “What did you call him, Alfie?”

“Darby Sabini.”

As the blade tore through the goat’s neck, no one moved. Blood splattered on the floor as life drained from the sacrificial goat. No one moved.

Wood scraped against the ground as Georgie began to scoot his chair back. Adeline shot him between the eyes before he could escape. Two men grabbed Sabini, tied a rope tight around his neck and forced him to his knees. Arthur rounded the table and hauled Billy Kitchen up by his ear.

‘The fuck is this, Arthur?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “See that lady there? You disrespected her in her own fucking house. Not only that, but you see Tom? That lady there is his fiancée. She’s requested your tongue as payment for your disrespect.”

Sabini looked around the room, eyes wide with disbelief. “You lied to me, Alfie. I thought we understood each other.”

“I did,” Alfie said. He stroked his beard as he moved in closer to Sabini. “I did say that. But see, my sister, right my blood, she went and fell in love with a fucking Gypsy gangster from Birmingham. And, there’s business, the business we agreed to, right, but then there’s family, see, and I can’t sacrifice the man my sister loves, not for business. No. That leaves you, right, leaves you to be the one who has to die. Death in the name of peace.”

“My men, at the club,” Sabini wheezed out. “They’ll - ”

“Die,” Adeline told him. “The smart ones will die quickly, but with John and Michael in charge, it might actually be quite painful for them.”

“You fucking bitch,” Sabini spit out.

“Tommy?” Adeline asked, hand held out behind her.

He placed his cap in her hand and she smiled. Crouching down in front of him, she brought it up close, and showed the blades to Sabini.

“See these? I helped Polly stitch these into the boy’s caps. They’re using those caps right now to kill your men. It’s only fair I think for you to know, to experience their agony. On the bright side? You’ll die tonight. Some of your men might not be so lucky.”

Adeline pulled the cap back and brought it down sharply across his face. Blood welled up and began to trickle down his cheek as he cried out in pain.

“See how much better he looks now?” she asked Alfie. “I wonder if we can make him look like the drawing I made of him.”

“Pet, this is about peace, right? Sacrifices shouldn't be made to suffer.”

Adeline nodded. Standing to her feet she turned to Tommy, placed the cap back in his hand. “Of course, Alfie. It shouldn’t matter that the sacrifice called me a whore.”

Alfie hid a smile as Arthur and Tommy both launched themselves at him. Sabini’s screams echoed through the room. The blood of the goat mixed with the blood of the true sacrifice as Adeline moved to stand next to Alfie. They watched her boys finish their work.

She glanced up at him. “This might be your best Seder yet, Alfie.”

A/N 2: Teudat Immutz is a more present-day way to adopt a child, but I wanted something rooted in Alfie's Jewish heritage to tie their sibling adoption together. I am merging fact and fiction and in no way making claims about how adoption is handled in either religious or legal contexts.

Part 20

Master List

Tag List: @stevie75 @mootiemoose @ohshititsfenharel @fairy-witch-bitch @portents @alreadybroken-ts @books-livre @missymurphy1985 @lovemissyhoneybee @theshelbyclan @highgardenrosexx @dolllol2405

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x oc

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thorntonkrell-blog-blog · 5 months

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Anachronisms are fascinating elements that disrupt the chronological flow of time, bringing elements from different eras into a single context. These temporal oddities can manifest in various forms, from historical inaccuracies in literature and film to unexpected juxtapositions of technology and tradition.

In literature, anachronisms can be unintentional errors or deliberate artistic choices. Let's make an artistic choice.

In the bustling city of 2024, where holographic billboards painted the skyline with neon brilliance, Joe Joe found himself amidst a sea of self-driving cars and hoverboards.

One day, as he strolled down the hologram-lit streets of Tuscon Arizona, he couldn't help but feel like a fish in a tree. "This tech stuff is the cat's pajamas, but damn I miss the good ol' days," he mumbled to himself. Joe, a devotee of vintage vibes, sported a fedora over a Beatle wig and a pair of blue suede shoes that stuck out like a typewriter in a world of touchscreens.

His quirky expressions didn't go unnoticed. A hipster cafe owner named Loretta, who had a fondness for vinyl records and retro décor, overheard Joe talking about the "cat's pajamas" and couldn't help but be intrigued. "Where's the beef, my man?" she quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Amused by the unexpected but welcome comeback, Joe chuckled. "Well, darlin', the beef is right here in this dirty new city But sometimes, I miss the beat of yesterday when our troubles seemed so far away and wanna get back to where I once belonged.

Loretta with her rainbow-colored hair and a peace sign necklace, felt an instant connection. "You know, we've got this place a few blocks down. It's a haven for those who dig the past. Peace, love, and a killer jukebox spinning 45s. You might just find your groove there."

Checking out Loretta's mini-skirt, textured stockings and long legs, Joe figured out that her boots were made for walking and she knew how to use her legs.

Intrigued, Joe followed Loretta to the "cafe", stepping through a green door and bamboo curtains to find what he had been looking for. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the crackling sound of vinyl records. "This place is the bee's knees!" Jake exclaimed, taking in the retro ambiance.

As the two chatted over cups of artisanal coffee, Joe couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. The cigarette machine in the corner and the jukebox playing Gene Vincent classics made him feel right at home. Loretta sharing stories of her love for all things vintage, resonated with Joe's sentiment.

"You know what, Loretta? This spot is truly something else. Feels like a step back in time," Joe remarked, sipping his coffee from a mug adorned with retro patterns.

Loretta grinned, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the neon signs. "Glad you think so, Joe. It's all about creating a haven for strangers who grok the classics."

Feeling a sudden sweet tooth craving, Joe decided to go all out. "How about making it a real blast from the past? I'll take a banana split, extra cherries on top!"

Mia chuckled, "A banana split, huh? Now, that's a choice I can get behind. Make that two, Jazz my man. Sock it to me."

Jasper Febrey said "oh yeah" and split to whip up the splits.

Jasper Febrey's inspiration to start "TimeWarp Brews & Bites" stemmed from a deep appreciation for the charm and character of eras gone by. Growing up surrounded by his grandparents' stories, their album and 45 collection plus classic movies on VHS Jasper developed a fascination for the aesthetics, music, and culture of the past. Jazz liked to rock.

As he stumbled into adulthood and the trust fund matured. Jazz noticed a longing for nostalgia among people in the fast-paced, technologically advanced world of 2054. Recognizing the power of blending the old with the new, Jasper imagined a place where cats and chicks could escape the hustle and bustle of contemporary life and immerse themselves in the timeless allure of bygone decades.

Jasper's passion for creating a space that harmoniously brought together the best of different eras led to the birth of "TimeWarp Brews & Bites." His love for retro aesthetics, coupled with a desire to share the joy of half-forgotten times, inspired him to create a joint where patrons could enjoy not only delicious treats but also the ambiance, spirit and vibes of a journey through time.

As Joe indulged in his banana split, the vibrant colors of the ice cream scoops contrasted with the sepia-toned nostalgia of the cafe. The Ginsberg on his typewriter in the corner tapped out a rhythm that harmonized with the jukebox, creating a symphony of eras colliding.

Jukeboxes in 2054 had been replaced by Holihuulias. You swiped your card and a hologram of the performer took the "stage" and performed whatever you chose. A new feature had been added. The hologram would perform a brand new song that you had created with AI after you had swiped your card.

At TWBandB, Jazz still had a Wurlitzer. Joe slipped a coin right into the slot. He chose Rip it Up, I Wanna be Sedated, Get Back and Be Bop A Lula. Inside the juke, a mechanical arm would pick up the chosen record, remove it from its carousel and placed the selected 45 RPM platter on the turntable which rotated allowing the needle to make contact with the grooves in the record and the sound was amplified through the speakers of the jukebox. After Rip it Up the mechanical arm returned it to its place in the carousel and picked out the the Ramones

Following Gene Vincent, Petula Clark started in on Downtown. Loretta and Joe no longer down nor lonely hit the floor and jerked until Chubby came on the Wurlitzer and they twisted and then they twisted again like last summer.

Jazz slipped a coin into the slot and Wonderland by Night started playing. Joe asked Loretta if she wanted to dance. She looked in his eyes and nodded. He brought her in. She put her hand behind his neck. He put both his hands behind her back. He whiffed her Ambush perfume and she his English Leather.

When Wonderland ended, they gently kissed. It seemed like they had done this before but neither could remember where or when.

Perfect

They said goodbye.

"See ya later, alligator" Loretta whispered.

"After while, crocodile, Joe responded.

As they hit the street heading in opposite directions, Joe turned to watch her go. Loretta turned as well.

"We'll meet again Don't know where, don't know when...." Joe predicted.

"I know we'll meet again, some sunny day", Loretta agreed.

They knew they would and they did.

They were where they belonged.

The selected record was placed on the turntable.

The turntable then rotated, allowing the needle (stylus) to make contact with the grooves of the record.

The amplified sound was then played through the jukebox's speakers for everyone in the vicinity to hear.

Return and Rest:

After the selected song finished playing, the mechanical components would return the record to its storage location.

The jukebox was then ready for the next selection.

Inside the jukebox, a mechanical system would engage, moving the selected record from its storage location to the turntable.

The jukebox typically held a carousel or magazine with a collection of records, and a mechanical arm or gripper would pick up the chosen record.

In 1965, the most popular jukeboxes were typically produced by well-known manufacturers that dominated the market during that era. Some of the prominent jukebox manufacturers of the time included:

Wurlitzer: Wurlitzer was one of the most iconic jukebox manufacturers in the 1960s. They were known for their stylish designs and vibrant lights. The Wurlitzer 2800 and 2600 are examples of models from around that time.

Seeburg: Seeburg was another major player in the jukebox industry. Their models were recognized for their sleek, modern designs. The Seeburg LPC1 and SPS160 are examples of popular models in the mid-1960s.

Rock-Ola: Rock-Ola was known for producing high-quality jukeboxes with a focus on both form and function. The Rock-Ola 434 and 435 are examples of models from the mid-1960s.

AMI (Automatic Musical Instruments): AMI was a significant jukebox manufacturer, and their models were known for their distinctive styling. The AMI Continental 2 and AMI K are examples of popular models around 1965.

Jukeboxes during this time often featured colorful lights, chrome accents, and a variety of song selections, reflecting the vibrant and dynamic music scene of the 1960s. Keep in mind that the popularity of specific models could vary regionally and among different establishments.

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how did the Wurlitzer workChatGPT

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Wurlitzer jukeboxes, like those from other manufacturers, worked through a combination of mechanical and electrical components. Here's a simplified explanation of how a Wurlitzer jukebox typically worked:

Song Selection:

Users would approach the jukebox and browse through a catalog or display of available songs.

Each song in the catalog corresponded to a specific location on the jukebox, usually identified by a combination of numbers and letters.

Coin Insertion:

To select and play a song, users needed to insert the required amount of coins into the jukebox.

The cost per song was predetermined by the establishment or the jukebox owner.

Mechanical Selection System:

After coins were inserted, the user made their song selection by pressing the corresponding buttons or keys on the jukebox, indicating the desired song's location.

Record Retrieval:

Inside the jukebox, a mechanical system would engage, moving the selected record from its storage location to the turntable.

The jukebox typically held a carousel or magazine with a collection of records, and a mechanical arm or gripper would pick up the chosen record.

Turntable and Playback:

The selected record was placed on the turntable.

The turntable then rotated, allowing the needle (stylus) to make contact with the grooves of the record.

The amplified sound was then played through the jukebox's speakers for everyone in the vicinity to hear.

Return and Rest:

After the selected song finished playing, the mechanical components would return the record to its storage location.

The jukebox was then ready for the next selection.

Wurlitzer and other jukebox manufacturers incorporated various technologies and improvements over the years, but the basic mechanism of record selection, retrieval, playback, and return remained consistent. With advancements in technology, jukeboxes eventually transitioned from vinyl records to other media formats like CDs and digital files, but the core principles of song selection and playback remained similar.

Loretta joined him, holding a banana split that of her own.

With a grateful nod, Joe dug into the dessert, savoring each bite time tripping his ass off.. The combination of the banana's creaminess, the rich chocolate syrup, and the grooved out atmo made the moment truly special.

With a satisfied grin on his face, Jake leaned back in the retro cafe chair, his Ed Sullivan Beatle haircut adding an extra touch of vintage cool to the atmosphere. Mia, the epitome of 1960s chic, sported a mini skirt, knee-high boots, and textured stockings, channeling the birds of a bygone era.

"Joe, you sure know how to pick a dessert " Loretta teased, a playful twinkle in her eye as she adjusted the hem of her mini skirt.

Joe chuckled, running a hand through his Beatle-esque hair. "Well, Mia, if we're going for a blast from the past, might as well go all the way. The Beatles had it right – a little bit of nostalgia goes a long way."

The jukebox, seemingly inspired by the conversation, switched to a classic Beatles tune, filling the air with the iconic sounds of the '60s. Mia couldn't resist tapping her foot to the beat, her knee-high boots adding a rhythm of their own.

As they continued to chat, sharing stories and laughter, the cafe became a sanctuary where the flavors of the past merged seamlessly with the technology-driven present. In that quaint space, surrounded by the eclectic mix of old and new, Jake realized that sometimes, the most beautiful moments are the ones where different eras collide, creating a tapestry of memories that transcend time itself.

As the evening unfolded, Mia bid Jake farewell with a wink and a classic sign-off, "Peace, love, out!" Jake, walking back into the neon-lit city streets, couldn't shake off the feeling that sometimes, amidst the dazzling advancements of 2024, the past still had its own timeless charm. And with a swish of his blue suede shoes, he embraced the fusion of the old and the new in this ever-evolving metropolis.

However, deliberate anachronisms can be employed as a narrative device. Writers may use them to draw parallels between different historical periods, highlighting similarities or ironies. For instance, a story set in ancient Rome might feature characters grappling with issues that mirror modern societal dilemmas, emphasizing the timeless nature of certain human experiences.

In the realm of cinema, anachronisms can be unintentional production errors or intentional stylistic choices. For instance, a film set in the Victorian era might accidentally showcase a modern car passing in the background. On the other hand, filmmakers may purposely incorporate anachronisms to infuse a historical setting with contemporary flair, creating a unique and visually striking atmosphere.

Anachronisms are not confined to the world of storytelling; they also find their way into art and technology. Consider a steampunk-inspired creation that blends Victorian aesthetics with futuristic technology. This deliberate mixing of eras results in a visually captivating anachronism, challenging our expectations and prompting us to reconsider the boundaries of time and creativity.

In everyday life, anachronisms can be humorous or thought-provoking. Picture a person dressed in period-accurate clothing from the 18th century, casually browsing a tablet in a coffee shop. This juxtaposition of historical attire and modern technology is a playful way of challenging societal norms and expectations.

The study of anachronisms provides insights into how societies perceive and interpret time. They remind us that history is not a static, linear progression but a dynamic tapestry where elements from different epochs coexist, collide, and influence one another. Anachronisms, whether intentional or inadvertent, invite us to explore the boundaries of temporal imagination, encouraging a deeper understanding of the interconnected nature of human experience across time.

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Set a story in 2024 using expressions like the cats pajamas...where's the beef....peace love out....a typewriter and blue suede shoesChatGPT

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In the bustling city of 2024, where holographic billboards painted the skyline with neon brilliance, Jake found himself amidst a sea of self-driving cars and hoverboards. He was an old soul navigating a futuristic world, often using phrases that seemed like relics of a bygone era.

One day, as he strolled down the hologram-lit streets, he couldn't help but feel like a fish out of water. "This tech stuff is the cat's pajamas, but sometimes I miss the good ol' days," he mumbled to himself. Jake, a devotee of vintage vibes, sported a fedora and a pair of blue suede shoes that stuck out like a typewriter in a world of touchscreens.

His quirky expressions didn't go unnoticed. A hipster cafe owner named Mia, who had a fondness for vinyl records and retro décor, overheard Jake talking about the "cat's pajamas" and couldn't help but be intrigued. "Where's the beef, my man?" she quipped, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Amused by the unexpected throwback, Jake chuckled. "Well, darlin', the beef is right here in this city of the future. But sometimes, I miss the simplicity of yesteryear."

Mia, with her rainbow-colored hair and a peace sign necklace, felt an instant connection. "You know, we've got this place a few blocks down. It's a haven for those who dig the past. Peace, love, and a killer jukebox. You might just find your groove there."

Intrigued, Jake followed Mia to her cafe, stepping through the door to find a haven of nostalgia. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the crackling sound of vinyl records. "This place is the bee's knees!" Jake exclaimed, taking in the retro ambiance.

As the two chatted over cups of artisanal coffee, Jake couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging. The typewriter in the corner and the jukebox playing Elvis classics made him feel right at home. Mia, sharing stories of her love for all things vintage, resonated with Jake's sentiment.

You

beautiful when they are in the coffee shop, Jake orders a banana split .ChatGPT

ChatGPT

As Jake and Mia continued their conversation in the cozy retro cafe, the air was filled with the warm hum of conversation and the nostalgic crackle of vinyl. Jake couldn't help but be drawn to the vintage charm of the place.

"You know what, Mia? This spot is truly something else. Feels like a step back in time," Jake remarked, sipping his coffee from a mug adorned with retro patterns.

Mia grinned, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the neon signs. "Glad you think so, Jake. It's all about creating a haven for those who appreciate the classics."

Feeling a sudden sweet tooth craving, Jake decided to go all out. "How about making it a real blast from the past? I'll take a banana split, extra cherries on top!"

Mia chuckled, "A banana split, huh? Now, that's a choice I can get behind. Coming right up, my man."

As Jake indulged in his banana split, the vibrant colors of the ice cream scoops contrasted with the sepia-toned nostalgia of the cafe. The typewriter in the corner seemed to tap out a rhythm that harmonized with the jukebox, creating a symphony of eras colliding.

Mia joined him, holding a banana split that looked straight out of a 1950s diner. "Here you go, Jake. Enjoy the sweetness of the past!"

With a grateful nod, Jake dug into the dessert, savoring each bite as if he were transported to a simpler time. The combination of the banana's creaminess, the rich chocolate syrup, and the nostalgia-laden atmosphere made the moment truly special.

You

give Jake an Ed Sullivan Beatle haircut and dress mia in a mini skirt with knee high boots and textured stockingsChatGPT

ChatGPT

"Jake, you sure know how to pick a dessert and a look!" Mia teased, a playful twinkle in her eye as she adjusted the hem of her mini skirt.

Jake chuckled, running a hand through his Beatle-esque hair. "Well, Mia, if we're going for a blast from the past, might as well go all the way. The Beatles had it right – a little bit of nostalgia goes a long way."

As they enjoyed the banana split and the timeless tunes, the cafe became a tableau of eras colliding – Jake's Beatle haircut and Mia's '60s-inspired ensemble creating a delightful contrast against the backdrop of holographic billboards and futuristic gadgets.

With a mischievous grin, Jake lifted his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To the past and the present, Mia. Who knew a banana split and a trip down memory lane could be so groovy?"

Mia laughed, clinking her mug against his. "Groovy indeed, Jake. It's like we've stepped into a time machine, and I'm loving every minute of it."

As the Beatles played on and the neon lights of the cafe cast a warm glow, Jake and Mia found themselves lost in a moment that transcended the boundaries of time. In their own way, they became living anachronisms, a testament to the enduring allure of the past in the ever-evolving dance of the present.

You

After they finished their treats, they left the place (name the place). Mia said Donke schoen to the owner and Jake added see ya later alligator.ChatGPT

ChatGPT

After savoring the last delicious bites of their banana split and finishing their coffee, Jake and Mia decided it was time to bid farewell to the nostalgic haven they had found. With content smiles, they strolled towards the exit of the retro cafe, aptly named "TimeWarp Brews & Bites."

As they reached the door, Mia gave a friendly wave to the owner, a fellow aficionado of all things vintage. "Donke schoen for the sweet treats and the groovy vibes!" Mia exclaimed with a grin, using a touch of German to express her gratitude.

The owner, a bearded gentleman in suspenders and a newsboy cap, returned the smile. "Anytime, Mia! Keep the retro spirit alive!"

Jake, with his Beatle haircut and a wink, chimed in with a classic touch. "See ya later, alligator!" he called out, adding a playful spin to the traditional farewell.

The owner chuckled, giving them a thumbs up. "After a while, crocodile!"

As the door closed behind them, Jake and Mia stepped back into the neon-lit streets of 2024, leaving the TimeWarp Brews & Bites behind. The juxtaposition of the vintage expressions and the futuristic cityscape seemed to capture the essence of their unique encounter. As they continued their journey through the city, the echoes of a bygone era lingered in the air, a reminder that sometimes, the past can weave its magic into the present in the most unexpected and delightful ways.

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name the owner and he shopChatGPT

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The owner of "TimeWarp Brews & Bites" is Jasper McFly. His shop is a hidden gem in the heart of the city, where nostalgia meets the future in a delightful blend of vintage decor, classic tunes, and, of course, delicious treats. Jasper, with his passion for all things retro, has created a haven that transcends time, inviting patrons like Jake and Mia to experience a slice of the past in the midst of a modern world.

You

What inspired Jasper to srat the placdeChatGPT

ChatGPT

Jasper Febrey inspiration to start "TimeWarp Brews & Bites" stemmed from a deep appreciation for the charm and character of eras gone by. Growing up surrounded by his grandparents' stories, old records, and classic movies, Jasper developed a fascination for the aesthetics, music, and culture of the past.

As he ventured into adulthood, he noticed a longing for nostalgia among people in the fast-paced, technologically advanced world of 2024. Recognizing the power of blending the old with the new, Jasper envisioned a place where individuals could escape the hustle and bustle of contemporary life and immerse themselves in the timeless allure of bygone decades.

Jasper's passion for creating a space that harmoniously brought together the best of different eras led to the birth of "TimeWarp Brews & Bites." His love for retro aesthetics, coupled with a desire to share the joy of simpler times, inspired him to curate an environment where patrons could enjoy not only delicious treats but also the ambiance and spirit of a nostalgic journey through time. The unique fusion of past and present in his cafe became a testament to Jasper's belief that the beauty of history could enhance the richness of the present.

"Jake, you sure know how to pick a dessert and a look!" Mia teased, a playful twinkle in her eye as she adjusted the hem of her mini skirt.

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