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stnkiconverse · 11 months ago

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you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.1 - The Calm Before The Storm

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet ;) )

wc: 1.5k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas wil pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The small city of Greenville, Alabama, was waking up to another mundane day, but not you. Not today. Today was different. The peaceful façade of your life as a fresh college graduate working in a tiny flower shop was just that – a façade. Behind it lurked a storm, one that had been brewing ever since your mother’s death.

Greenville was a quaint place, where everyone knew everyone else, and secrets were hard to keep. But you had a secret, a dark one. Your mother’s tragic end had shattered your world, and the man responsible, your stepfather, continued his life unscathed. He was a police officer, respected by many, but you knew the truth. He was a monster, and you’re going to stop him.

---

The flower shop was your sanctuary. “Petals and Posies” was a small but charming establishment, filled with the fragrance of fresh blooms. You lost yourself in the simple tasks of arranging flowers and tending to customers. The shop's front area displayed packets of flower seeds, inviting customers to start their own gardens. Along the side walls, ready-made bouquets sat in neat rows, a burst of colors and fragrances that never failed to lift your spirits. Customers could choose to customize their bouquets with the help of one of the two employees, either you or your colleague, Lisa.

Lisa was a warm and friendly presence in the shop, always ready with a smile and a kind word. You appreciated her company, though you often found solace in the quiet moments when the shop was empty, and you could immerse yourself in your work. Next to the employee desk stood a stand with various bouquet wraps, allowing customers to add a personal touch to their floral arrangements. The shop was small, but it had a steady stream of clients, enough to keep it alive and provide you with a modest living.

Your apartment was just a few blocks away, a small but cozy place that you had made your own. It was a simple one-bedroom unit, but you had decorated it with care. The walls were adorned with framed prints of your favorite paintings, and the shelves were filled with books that offered an escape from reality. Your bedroom window overlooked a small park, and you often found yourself gazing out at the trees swaying gently in the breeze, finding a momentary sense of peace.

---

Weekends were spent visiting your mother, a routine you cherished. She lived with Frank in a modest home on the outskirts of Greenville. It was a place filled with memories, both good and bad. Your mother, Anna, had always been your rock, your confidant. She was a kind and cheerful woman, always seeing the good in people. You admired her strength and the joy she brought into your life. During your college years, she met Frank, a man who seemed to offer her the love and companionship she deserved. They married while you were away at school, and for a while, it seemed she had found happiness.

Your mother’s house was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast to the man who lived there with her. The living room was filled with family photos, mementos of happier times. The kitchen was Anna’s domain, where she spent hours cooking and baking, her laughter filling the air. You loved these visits, the chance to reconnect with your mother and escape the loneliness of your apartment.

But the happiness was short-lived. It was during one of these visits that you first noticed the bruises. They were faint, barely visible, but they were there. As you helped your mother prepare dinner, you noticed the slight wince as she lifted a pot, the dark shadows on her wrists that she tried to hide with long sleeves.

---

“Mom, what happened to your arm?” you asked, trying to keep your voice casual, though your heart was pounding.

Anna glanced down at the bruise and quickly pulled her sleeve down. “Oh, it’s nothing, dear. I just bumped into the doorframe,” she said with a forced smile.

Before you could press further, Frank walked into the kitchen, his presence immediately changing the atmosphere. He was a tall, imposing man with a perpetual scowl etched on his face. The air seemed to thicken with tension whenever he was around.

“Everything okay in here?” he asked, his voice gruff.

You forced a smile. “Yes, just helping Mom with dinner.”

Frank grunted and walked to the fridge, grabbing a beer before heading back to the living room. You watched him go, a knot forming in your stomach. There was something off about him, something that made your skin crawl.

You decided not to push your mother further that evening, but the image of those bruises stayed with you. Over the next few weeks, you visited more often, trying to spend as much time with her as possible. You suggested outings, hoping to get her away from Frank’s oppressive presence. Sometimes she agreed, and for a few hours, you saw glimpses of the cheerful woman you knew. But other times, she declined, her eyes filled with a sadness she couldn’t hide.

---

It wasn’t long before things took a turn for the worse. Your mother stopped answering your calls. When you did manage to see her, she looked more tired and emaciated each time. The once vibrant woman was now a hollow shell, her spirit crushed under the weight of Frank’s abuse. She had stopped eating, her clothes hanging loosely on her frail frame. Her eyes, once full of life, were now dull and lifeless.

You tried to talk to her, to get her to open up about what was happening, but she remained silent. The fear in her eyes spoke volumes, though, and you knew she was hiding something terrible. Frank’s behavior grew more erratic, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. You witnessed him yelling at your mother, his face twisted in anger, while she stood there, her head bowed, taking the verbal abuse without a word.

One day, you arrived at her house to find it eerily quiet. Your heart raced as you searched room after room, finally finding her in the bedroom. She was lying on the bed, her face pale and lifeless. An empty bottle of pills lay on the nightstand, and a crumpled note was clutched in her hand.

With trembling hands, you unfolded the note. It was brief but devastating: “I can’t take it anymore. He’s taken everything from me. Forgive me.”

---

Your world shattered in an instant. The grief was overwhelming, but what fueled your rage was Frank’s reaction. He showed no remorse, quickly moving on as if your mother’s life had meant nothing. The day of her funeral, you saw him laughing with another woman, and something inside you snapped. The seed of revenge was planted, and it grew with each passing day.

---

The day of the funeral was overcast, fitting the somber mood. The cemetery was filled with friends and family, all gathered to pay their respects to your mother. You stood by the grave, numb with grief, as the preacher said the final words. You barely heard them, lost in your own thoughts.

You recalled the earlier years with your mother, the warmth and laughter that once filled your home. She had been your everything, the one person who understood you completely. As you stood there, the memories of her gentle touch and kind words played in your mind, a stark contrast to the cold reality of her absence.

As the service concluded, you watched the mourners drift away, leaving you alone by the freshly turned earth. Your mother’s coffin was lowered into the ground, and you felt a part of yourself go with her. The weight of your grief pressed down on you, but so did something else – a cold, calculated resolve.

You watched as Frank, dressed in his police uniform, walked towards his car. His face was a mask of indifference, as if the death of his wife meant nothing to him. A woman was waiting for him, someone you didn’t recognize. She smiled as he approached, and your stomach turned.

Frank got into the car and leaned over to kiss her. The sight was like a punch to the gut. The betrayal, the callousness, it was all too much. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought to keep your composure. But inside, something snapped.

It was then that you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were going to get rid of him. He didn’t deserve to walk away unscathed. He had to pay for what he had done to your mother. And you were going to make sure of it.

As you turned away from the cemetery, a new resolve filled you. This was just the beginning. The storm was coming, and you were ready to unleash it.

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#creepypasta #fandom #slenderman #slender mansion #creepypasta fic #creepypasta x reader #new fic #horror #psychological horror #supermatural #supernatural thriller #jramblesaboutsoap #j’s fics!

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lightdancingwords · 20 days ago

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Breaking The Wall - Breaking The Wall - Part Fourteen of ?

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Original Female Character

Series Summary: When Sergeant Tim Bradford is partnered with Officer Rachel Grace—a sharp, emotionally guarded transfer with a reputation for pushing the limits—tension ignites from day one. Rachel operates with cold precision, often disregarding protocol in the name of efficiency, while Tim, shaped by trauma and discipline, clings to order and control. Though their approaches clash, their results are undeniable, forcing them into a reluctant partnership that slowly deepens through shared pressure and unspoken understanding. As they navigate high-stakes calls, moral boundaries, and the weight of unresolved grief, what begins as friction evolves into trust—and eventually, something neither of them expected.

Word Count: 7,176

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, a touch of angst (maybe?), police procedure, cop work

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

NOTE: Please see THIS POST about the new posting schedule! Thank you!

Addendum: I have a tremendous favor to ask all my readers. Please read THIS POST for more.

Dividers: credit to @firefly-graphics

Chapter Fourteen: Becoming Home

Wednesday – 6:39 A.M. – Mid-Wilshire Division, Rear Lot

The truck door shut with a soft thud. Rachel slung her duffel strap over her shoulder, uniform bag still tucked under one arm, her other hand lingering near Tim as they made their way toward the station entrance.

They didn’t hold hands. Didn’t touch unnecessarily. But they moved like a pair—in sync. Balanced. Steady.

Rachel glanced over once. Not to check. Just to see him. Tim caught it and smiled—but small. Just for her.

They climbed the steps and entered the rear of the building, falling in step down the hallway like they’d done it for years.

As Rachel paused at the edge of the locker room, she turned, speaking low: “Thanks again.”

His voice was soft. “Every time, Grace.”

And her smirk in return? Almost a smile. But real.

6:51 A.M. – Squad Room

Lucy noticed them as soon as she walked in. It wasn’t dramatic. No lingering stares. No giggles.

Just… presence.

Rachel stood by the back table, her vest half-zipped, her duffel tucked beneath her chair. Tim stood beside her, scanning a clipboard, close enough that their arms almost touched. Their posture was relaxed, their conversation quiet.

Lucy watched the way Rachel nodded when Tim murmured something. Watched the way Tim’s hand grazed her elbow in passing as he moved to the coffee station. Nothing overt. But it was there.

The shift.

Rachel didn’t look like someone guarding herself anymore. She looked like someone resting beside something she trusted.

Lucy didn’t say anything. Didn’t raise a brow. Didn’t exchange knowing looks with anyone. She just smiled. And turned toward her locker.

6:58 A.M. – Briefing Room

Grey stood at the front, glancing up from his notes as officers filtered in. The usual shuffle of boots and banter filled the air, but his eyes caught one particular beat:

Bradford and Grace. Filing in. Not side by side—but always near.

And he noticed:

They sat just close enough. Not for comfort. Not for image. Just because… that’s what they did now.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

Because when Tim glanced toward Rachel once— and she looked back, and they both looked at peace—Grey knew.

This wasn’t a risk.

This was a tether. And they’d both earned it.

Wednesday – 8:12 A.M. – Corner Mart, South Mariposa Avenue

The call came through clean and clear. Customer refusing to leave the premises. Yelling. Slamming things. Store clerk asked for assistance—non-emergency.

Rachel pulled the cruiser into the parking lot, the tires crunching gently over scattered gravel near the sidewalk. She scanned the storefront as Tim logged their arrival.

Through the smudged glass, they could already hear the shouting.

Tim climbed out first, and Rachel followed without hesitation. They moved around the front of the vehicle in unison, steps aligned. Neither rushed.

Inside the store, a man in a faded hoodie pounded his fist against the counter, voice raised.

“I told you I paid! Don’t act like I’m trying to steal something, man—this is my stuff!”

The clerk looked pale, hands up, trying to de-escalate. A few customers lingered near the back, eyes wide.

Rachel stepped in first, voice calm but firm. “Sir. Let’s take a breath.”

The man turned, already mid-rant. “Oh, what—now the cops get called for asking for change?!”

Tim flanked slightly to the right, his tone level. “Nobody’s accusing you of stealing. Let’s bring it down a notch, alright?”

Rachel didn’t push forward. She kept her posture open, hands visible, her eyes steady on the man’s face. “You’re clearly upset. Let’s talk about it outside.”

“Why outside?” the man barked. “So you can pin me for nothing?”

Rachel didn’t flinch. “Because it’s quieter. Cooler. You can explain what happened without yelling over the cooler hum and cereal aisle.”

There was a beat.

Tim shifted just slightly closer—not menacing, not crowding. Just ready.

The man blinked a few times, breathing heavy.

And then—slowly—he nodded.

Rachel gave him space as he passed, and Tim offered the briefest nod of thanks to the clerk before following outside.

8:24 A.M. – Outside the Corner Mart

The man leaned against the wall, arms crossed but calmer now. Rachel stood a few feet away, hands on her belt, relaxed.

Tim stood behind and to her left—her shadow, always watching.

She asked simple questions. Got simple answers.

Dispute over missing change. Clerk misheard him. Tempers flared. No threat. No weapon. No real harm. Just heat. Tension. A man tired of not being believed. A clerk tired of being yelled at.

They resolved it with a warning, a handshake, and a nod from Tim that somehow meant more than anything written on a clipboard.

When the man walked off, Rachel turned to Tim. “Not a bad start to the morning,” she said.

Tim arched a brow. “You mean no screaming, no taser, and no paperwork?”

She smirked. “Exactly.”

They stood there for a moment longer—sunlight warming the concrete, morning finally finding its rhythm. And without a word, they returned to the cruiser.

Together.

Wednesday – 8:42 A.M. – 7-Adam-07 Cruiser, Mid-Wilshire Patrol Route

The city stirred lazily around them.

Delivery trucks rumbled along side streets, pedestrians strolled with early coffees in hand, music leaked from half-open windows. The heat hadn't climbed yet, and a breeze drifted in through the open cruiser windows—cool, clean, carrying the scent of bakeries starting their day.

Rachel sat back in the passenger seat, vest unzipped slightly, her hand resting near the open window, fingers lightly tapping against the door frame. The collar of her uniform shirt fluttered just a little in the breeze.

She was quiet, but not in that withdrawn way Tim remembered from months ago. Not like she was holding something back. This silence felt... settled. Like peace had finally made room beside her.

She turned her head to the side, catching the early light on her cheek, and said it with no preamble. “I think I’m starting to understand what it means to feel safe again.”

Her voice was low. Not fragile. Just real. She didn’t look at him when she said it. She didn’t need to. She kept her eyes forward, out the window, toward the city slowly waking up.

But Tim? He heard it. Felt the weight of it land in his chest like something sacred.

She hadn’t said because of you.

She hadn’t needed to.

His hand stayed on the wheel, one finger tapping rhythmically against the leather, but his body shifted just slightly toward her. Not to crowd. Not to press.

Just there. Present.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly, voice steady.

And she nodded once.

Still not looking at him. But her fingers brushed the side mirror, and her elbow slid just an inch closer to the center console—closer to him.

The breeze caught the edge of her sleeve.

And for a moment, before the heat of the day could take it all away, they both sat there in that open, golden quiet. Not chasing danger. Not running from ghosts. Just feeling safe.

Wednesday – 9:17 A.M. – Call Dispatch: Code 415 – Disturbance, Possible Trespassing

The radio crackled just as they were passing the end of a residential street bordered by chain-link fences and half-rehabbed apartment buildings.

Tim picked up the receiver. “7-Adam-07 en route.”

Rachel shifted forward in her seat, tightening her vest as the cruiser turned onto a quieter side road. “Details?” she asked, already scanning the environment out the window.

“Caller reported a man inside an abandoned building. Windows are boarded, no one’s supposed to be there. She thought she heard shouting.”

“Could be squatters. Could be more.” Tim’s voice was even. “Let’s take it slow.”

Rachel nodded, fingers resting near her radio mic. “Always do.”

But they both knew—not always. Not when the stakes felt personal. Not when ghosts from the past clawed at the back of her mind.

But today?

Today was different.

9:24 A.M. – Vacant Property, 3900 Block of Oakdale Avenue

The house loomed crooked, its porch sagging, boards nailed hastily across the windows. One side of the back fence had collapsed. Rachel moved ahead of Tim, cautiously circling around the rear while he approached from the front.

The air had thickened slightly. The wind had quieted.

Rachel spotted the back door ajar. She signaled with a flick of her fingers.

Tim joined her in seconds.

No words.

They both drew their weapons, low and ready, posture relaxed but alert.

Rachel’s voice was low. “LAPD. Anyone inside?”

No answer.

Tim took the lead this time, pushing the door open wider. It creaked like it hadn’t been used in years. Inside, dust caught the early light in thick, golden bands. A tipped-over chair, scattered fast-food wrappers, graffiti on the wall.

Rachel followed, her steps silent. She swept the left side of the room while Tim moved right.

A crash—upstairs. Both turned toward the staircase at the same time.

Rachel glanced at him. He nodded once.

Up they went.

Second floor, hallway dark. A door at the end half-open. The sound of something—someone—moving.

Tim gestured. Rachel moved.

She took point this time.

They cleared the space together—two voices, two angles, perfect rhythm.

And inside?

A teenage boy, maybe sixteen, eyes wide and wild with panic. No weapon. Just fear.

He froze. Rachel’s tone dropped low, steady. “Hey. Hey. No sudden moves.”

“I—I wasn’t stealing. I was just—sleeping, okay? I didn’t have anywhere else.”

Rachel lowered her weapon, slowly. Tim followed her lead. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

The boy’s breath hitched. His knees wobbled.

Tim stepped in, voice calm. “You diabetic? Asthmatic? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

The kid nodded—tiny, quick.

Rachel holstered her weapon instantly. “Let’s get you outside. You’re overheated.”

Tim was already calling for EMS.

And Rachel?

She stayed by the boy’s side, one hand lightly on his shoulder as they guided him down.

9:41 A.M. – Outside the Vacant House

The EMTs took over minutes later.

Tim stood beside Rachel, watching the boy be gently helped into the ambulance, oxygen already flowing. He’d be fine.

Rachel’s jaw was set—but not tense. Her hands were steady.

Tim glanced at her, voice low. “You okay?”

She looked at him—and she didn’t fake a smile. But she nodded. “I didn’t freeze.”

“No,” he agreed, quieter. “You didn’t.”

Rachel turned back to the street. There was sweat along her temple, and dust on her vest. But inside? She felt solid. Because for once, the tension didn’t pull her under. It simply passed through.

And she hadn’t stood in it alone.

Wednesday – 9:57 A.M. – 7-Adam-07 Cruiser, On Patrol

The doors shut with a soft thud.

Rachel slid into the passenger seat and didn’t immediately buckle. She rested her head against the back of the seat, tilted slightly toward the open window where the breeze drifted in faintly, drying the light sheen of sweat at her temples.

Tim didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

He adjusted the AC vent toward her, subtle and quiet. Checked the mirror. Rested one hand on the wheel. The other on his thigh, fingers still as stone.

Rachel turned her head, eyes half-lidded, watching the street in front of them. They hadn’t spoken much since the kid was loaded into the ambulance. There wasn’t anything to say. The situation had been resolved. They’d done everything right.

And still—her muscles were only just now beginning to release. Not from fear. Not from failure. But from holding everything together.

She shifted, slowly, reaching across the console. Her fingers found his—lightly, tentatively. Not to cling. Just to connect.

Tim didn’t flinch. Didn’t move too fast. He just let his fingers curl around hers. Warm. Grounding.

Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Steady. “I’m not leaning on you because I’m falling apart.”

He didn’t look at her. But he didn’t let go, either. “I know.”

Rachel exhaled—slow, deep. The kind of breath that fills the lungs after holding too much for too long. “I’m leaning because I can.”

Tim nodded once, thumb brushing softly across the side of her hand. “That’s the point.”

She smiled, just barely. Not because she felt light. Not because everything was easy. But because for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t carrying it alone.

Their hands stayed linked for another block. Maybe two. Then she released his fingers gently, resting her hand back in her lap. But the warmth stayed.

Between them. Around them. Within her.

Wednesday – 11:43 A.M. – Corner of Fairfax and Rosewood

The call volume had dipped by late morning, giving them space to breathe, to sit in the cruiser with the engine idling and the city humming quietly beyond the windshield. Tim was about to reach for his usual protein bar when Rachel spoke up, her voice calm, casual, but deliberate.

“There’s a place just off Fairfax,” she said, her eyes still focused out the window, but her tone carrying intent. “Quiet. Good food. Better than the usual cardboard sandwiches.”

Tim glanced at her, one brow raised. “You suggesting we break tradition?”

Rachel’s lips quirked into something between a smile and a smirk. “I’m suggesting we try something where your meal doesn’t come vacuum-sealed.”

He chuckled low under his breath, settling back in his seat. “Lead the way, Grace.”

She didn’t say anything more as she turned the cruiser onto a side street and made a few easy, confident turns, like she’d already planned this out. She parked cleanly, expertly, and climbed out without waiting for him to catch up. He followed, amused, watching the way she moved—casual, self-assured, a far cry from the tense silhouette she’d been only months ago.

The place was small, tucked into a quiet storefront with faded lettering and a patio that smelled faintly of grilled vegetables and spices. A mom-and-pop type of place. Comfort food with a twist.

Rachel stepped inside like she’d done this a hundred times. She greeted the owner with a soft nod, exchanged a few words that Tim didn’t quite catch, then glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Sit,” she told him. Not sharply. Just… firmly. “I’ve got this.”

He blinked once, surprised but not displeased, and took the corner table she gestured toward. The air was cool inside, the space quiet. A few regulars nursed plates and cups of tea, nodding politely as he passed. He watched her at the counter, her posture easy, her tone confident.

She returned a minute later with two bottles of water, sliding one across the table toward him. When he gave her a look, half-teasing, she leaned in just a little, eyes gleaming with something warmer than challenge.

“I’m allowed to take care of you, too,” she said.

Tim held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded—once. Slow. Intentional. “Yeah,” he said softly. “You are.”

When the food came, she passed him his order without hesitation—roasted chicken, spiced rice, grilled veggies. Healthy, clean. Exactly his taste.

He took a bite and made a sound of approval. “You’ve been paying attention.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “You like routine. I like balance.”

They ate in a rhythm of quiet conversation and peaceful pauses, the clatter of utensils and occasional sip of water filling the space with something that felt like home.

And as Rachel took the last bite of her salad, she looked over at him—not to ask for praise, or to check if she’d done it right—but simply to share the moment.

No expectations. No pressure.

Just partnership.

And Tim? He felt it settle in his chest—the weight of something new, but solid. Something he wasn’t used to receiving. Someone who saw him. Who showed up. Who gave back.

And for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, he didn’t just feel grateful.

He felt cared for.

Wednesday – 12:37 P.M. – En Route Back on Patrol

The cruiser was cool when they stepped back inside, the air-conditioned interior a welcome contrast to the heavy warmth pressing down on the pavement outside. Rachel settled into the passenger seat, her shoulders visibly looser than they had been at the start of shift. Tim adjusted the vents, angling one toward her without needing to ask.

She noticed.

Of course she did.

But she didn’t say anything about it—just offered a soft look as she fastened her seatbelt and leaned back.

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet from lack of conversation—it was the kind that came from two people so in sync, they didn’t need to fill the air with sound just to prove something.

Tim drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly near the gearshift. The air smelled faintly of his cologne, the trace of soap from earlier that morning, and her own faint floral perfume that still lingered from the start of shift. Together, it was grounding.

Rachel turned her head toward him slightly, eyes still watching the road. “I used to come to that place… before Jake.”

Tim glanced over, but he didn’t interrupt.

She continued, voice even. “It was one of the few places I could sit, eat slow, not get noticed. No one from the department went there. It felt… normal.”

There was a pause, long enough to carry weight.

“I stopped going after he died.”

Tim’s hand on the wheel tightened slightly, but he stayed quiet.

Rachel looked out the windshield, her eyes distant now—not lost, just searching. “I didn’t think I could go back. Not without feeling the gap. But today… with you—” she stopped. Not abruptly. Just… carefully.

He didn’t press.

So she finished, softer now. “It didn’t feel haunted. It felt like a place I could bring something new into.”

Tim let that sit for a few breaths before he spoke. His voice was low. “Thank you. For bringing me.”

Rachel finally turned to look at him. “I wanted to.”

Something in his expression shifted then, subtle but real. His jaw relaxed. The faint furrow in his brow smoothed. And when they stopped at the next red light, he glanced over and said, “Next time, I’ll bring lunch. We’ll even the score.”

She smiled, slow and quiet. “I don’t keep score, Bradford.��

His answering smirk was faint but certain. “You do. You just hide it better than most.”

That earned him a soft laugh—a real one. And it settled between them like something sacred. The light turned green. The wheels moved forward. And with every mile, the air around them—cool and still—carried not just camaraderie, but something richer.

The beginnings of something lasting.

Wednesday – 2:04 P.M. – Dispatch Call: Code 484 – Petty Theft, Ongoing

The call came in through the standard channel—shoplifting in progress, local business, suspect still on scene. The kind of routine call that officers could almost handle in their sleep. But they didn’t take it lightly. Not anymore. Not when a simple call had turned tense more than once.

Rachel was behind the wheel this time. She liked to drive afternoons, when the sun was sharpest and her focus sharpened with it. The cruiser rolled along a narrow commercial block tucked between a thrift store and a cramped bodega. Heat shimmered along the pavement.

As they slowed toward the location, Tim scanned the front of the small shop. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Clerk’s outside. Doesn’t look hurt.”

Rachel pulled into a side slot and parked clean. “Let’s talk to him first, get the story.”

They exited, uniforms crisp under the unforgiving sunlight, and crossed to the front sidewalk where the store clerk—a younger guy in a faded polo—stood fidgeting.

“He’s still inside,” the clerk said quickly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Far back, near the freezer aisle. Said he needed bread and tried to walk out with a whole box of jerky stuffed under his jacket.”

Tim was about to ask for a description when Rachel’s head tilted—just slightly. Her eyes swept the storefront. Not the customer at the register. Not the mother with a stroller. But something else.

Off.

There was a man inside, pacing back and forth near the drink cooler. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a too-heavy jacket for the heat. His profile was half-shadowed by the condensation on the glass.

And Rachel felt it—not just instinct, but training. Something wasn’t right. Her voice dropped. “That’s not shoplifting. That’s a guy casing the store.”

Tim followed her gaze. “Weapon?”

“Can’t tell. But look at his left side—he keeps angling it away from the mirror.”

Tim nodded. He didn’t second-guess her. Didn’t need to. “I’ll go wide,” he said. “You take center.”

Rachel moved without hesitation, pushing the door open with the low chime of the bell barely audible over the cooler fan. She kept her hands visible, her steps calm. Her posture said officer—but not threat.

The man spotted her. Tensed. She saw it.

Not fear.

Decision.

“Sir,” she called, tone firm, one hand already lowering toward her belt. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

His jacket twitched.

And that’s when she saw the outline—just a flash beneath the fabric. A grip. Small, likely concealed. Not a full-size weapon. But real.

“Gun,” she said sharply, loud enough for Tim—who was just now circling to the side exit—to hear.

The man turned, fast. Rachel didn’t flinch. Didn’t draw.

Not yet.

But her hand rested on her weapon, stance squared. “Don’t,” she said clearly. “Don’t make this worse.”

He faltered. Eyes wide. Caught between running and drawing.

And that was all Tim needed—slipping in from the right, his weapon raised now, trained with precision. Not overreacting. Covering her.

The man froze.

Rachel stepped forward, hand still low but firm. “You put your hands up right now, you walk out of here, and we handle this like adults.”

A breath. Two.

And the man—shaking slightly—lifted his arms. They cuffed him outside. No incident. Weapon found. Unregistered. Intent unclear.

But nothing went wrong.

Because she saw it. Because he followed her lead.

2:26 P.M. – Outside the Store, Cruiser Doors Open

They stood by the open cruiser doors, watching the other officers finish up transport. The air was hotter now, sun blazing off the roof of the cruiser.

Tim looked over at her, eyes sharp but proud. “You called it before I did.”

Rachel didn’t shrug it off. Didn’t downplay it. “I trusted the twitch,” she said. “The angle. Didn’t feel like jerky was the prize.”

He chuckled once. “You were right.”

She turned to look at him, eyes meeting his. “You didn’t question me.”

He nodded once. “Would’ve been a mistake if I had.”

They held the moment between them.

No medals. No applause.

Just trust, gained inch by inch, and proven when it mattered most.

Wednesday – 4:57 P.M. – End of Shift, Rear Lot, Mid-Wilshire Division

They pulled into the rear lot with the kind of calm that only comes after a long, earned day. The engine gave a low groan as Rachel shifted it into park, the cruiser’s vents still pushing warm air across their skin.

Outside, the light was starting to soften—sun just beginning its descent, throwing long shadows across the pavement. Neither of them moved to get out immediately.

Rachel’s hand rested near the gearshift, fingers drumming idly against the console. Tim sat with one arm slung along the edge of the door, body turned slightly toward her. His expression was relaxed. But his eyes?

His eyes were still all-in.

She glanced at him, her voice quiet. “It doesn’t feel like the same kind of tired anymore.”

He tilted his head. “What kind?”

She took a beat to answer. “Not the kind that drains you. The kind that tells you you did something right. That someone had your back.”

Tim’s voice was soft but sure. “Always.”

Her lips curled—tired, but content. And when she reached to open the door, his hand lightly grazed her forearm.

She stilled.

Not because he stopped her. Because she didn’t want to go yet. Their eyes met. The silence between them shifted again—less professional. More personal. Closer.

“Come on,” Tim said, voice low, warm, “I’ll walk you in.”

Rachel didn’t argue. Didn’t tease.

She just opened her door, and they walked side by side, no words spoken, no space between their shoulders. They moved through the quiet hallway, past the last of the officers signing off, into the dimming edges of a station settling into its evening hum.

When they reached the locker room doors, Rachel turned slightly, unspoken gratitude in the set of her shoulders.

But before she could say it, Tim leaned in—close enough for his voice to touch only her. “You saw everything today. And you led us through it.”

She looked up at him, eyes flickering with something new—vulnerability without fear. And then—so slowly it felt like the air held its breath—she reached for his hand. Just briefly. Her fingers brushed his, then lingered.

“I’m not just safe with you,” she said softly. “I’m better with you.”

Tim didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just let her words root in him, settle deep. Then, gently, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles—brief, quiet, grounding.

Rachel’s eyes didn’t leave his.

And when she finally stepped back to change out of her uniform, he didn’t follow. He let her go. Because he knew she’d come back.

Wednesday – 5:41 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Front Walk

The truck rolled to a gentle stop outside her building, the engine humming low in the humid evening air. The sun hovered low on the horizon, casting warm, amber streaks across the front steps.

Rachel shifted in her seat, eyes flicking to the sidewalk, then back to Tim. She didn’t move immediately. Didn’t unbuckle.

Her fingers rested against the door handle. Her other hand hovered briefly near the space between them. Then, with her voice low and unhurried, she spoke. “Do you want to come in?”

Tim looked at her—really looked—and in that moment, the usual glint of playfulness in his eyes softened into something steadier. “Are you sure?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. I am.”

She didn’t explain. Didn’t offer reasons.

He didn’t ask for any.

She opened the door, grabbed her bag from the back, and let him follow her to the front steps. No words. Just footsteps. Just breath.

She let them in with ease—no tension in her shoulders, no quick glances behind her. The air inside was cool, filtered, comfortable. Familiar.

He paused in the doorway as she dropped her keys in the bowl near the door, toed off her shoes.

“Kitchen’s yours if you want to cook something,” she said, glancing back with a sly tilt to her mouth. “Unless you want to test my pantry improvisation.”

Tim smirked, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind him. “I’ll risk it.”

What followed was quiet. Easy.

They moved around each other in the kitchen like they’d been doing it for months—passing ingredients, opening drawers, brushing hands and shoulders.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t performance. It was theirs.

When the pasta boiled and the sauce simmered, Rachel leaned against the counter, her arms folded. Tim leaned opposite, his eyes never fully leaving her. The scent of basil and heat filled the space between them, but the real pull—the real current—was already thick in the air.

When she stepped toward him, it wasn’t hesitant. And when she reached for his shirt—fingers curling lightly in the fabric near his stomach—he let her.

She kissed him. Not a quick brush. Not a tease. A real kiss. Full. Firm. Anchored in every moment they hadn’t spoken out loud. He kissed her back—slowly, carefully—his hands resting on her waist, then sliding to her lower back. Not pulling her in, just holding.

When they parted, her forehead rested against his chest. His chin dipped, lips near the crown of her head.

They stayed like that for a breath… then two.

Her voice, barely above a whisper: “You don’t have to stay the night.”

Tim’s hand moved up to the middle of her back, warm and sure. “I know.”

“But I want you to stay a while,” she added.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

She tilted her head up. Kissed him again—this one slower, softer, deeper. And when they moved to the couch, it wasn’t in a flurry. It was with purpose. With care.

They touched—palms sliding over arms, shoulders, jawlines. Fingers tracing skin just barely beneath fabric. Her knees tucked beside him, her body folding into his.

They kissed until the food was forgotten. Until her fingers found his hand and held it like it steadied her pulse.

And when they finally stilled—her against his chest, his fingers brushing through the ends of her hair— it wasn’t about waiting for something more. It was about having what mattered most.

Closeness. Presence. Heat without pressure. Desire without demand.

She didn’t need to give him everything.

Just this.

And he received it like a man who knew the worth of every boundary she let fall.

Wednesday – 7:03 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The pasta had gone cold. Neither of them cared. The plates still sat on the counter, untouched since she’d nudged them there with a half-laugh after their second kiss. They’d never made it back to the table.

Now, they were on the couch—Rachel curled beside him, legs tucked along his, her head nestled against the curve of his chest. Tim had his arm around her, thumb tracing slow, idle circles over her side through the thin fabric of her shirt.

The TV was on, low volume, something neither of them were truly watching. Just noise to keep the silence company.

Rachel stirred faintly against him, her fingers tracing the seams along his forearm. “I used to think comfort made you soft,” she said after a long, easy stretch of quiet.

Tim glanced down at her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And now?”

She exhaled. Her lips curved—not into a smile exactly, but something warmer. “Now I think… maybe it makes you strong enough to stay.”

He didn’t speak. He just kissed the top of her head. Slow. Deliberate. Like an answer.

Rachel shifted a little, curling in closer, her fingers now resting lightly against his chest, right where his heart beat.

“Feels weird, letting someone see me like this,” she murmured, voice already drifting.

Tim’s voice came soft. “Like what?”

She yawned, just barely, her eyes already sliding closed. “Quiet. Not sharp. Not armored.”

He looked at her—really looked—and let his hand still, just resting now. “You’re still all of those things,” he whispered. “You just don’t have to fight for every inch of air anymore.”

Rachel didn’t answer.

Her breath had evened out, her fingers now limp but still touching him. The tension in her shoulders had melted. The corners of her mouth twitched with sleep.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep. But she had. There on his chest, curled into him like it was something she’d been doing for years, not days.

And Tim?

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for his phone. Didn’t shift her off of him. Didn’t try to wake her. He just sat there. Breathing in the quiet. Breathing in her.

And for a man who had spent so long keeping people out, he’d never felt more at peace.

Wednesday – 9:16 P.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Living Room

The room was shadowed and still. The city’s hush had settled against the windows, muted by drawn curtains and the faint flicker of a muted TV. The air between them was heavy in the best kind of way—warmed by touch, stilled by quiet, anchored in something unspoken.

Rachel had woken slowly in his arms, eyes fluttering open to the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. She didn’t speak at first. Just listened. Took inventory of the steadiness. The warmth. The absence of fear.

And when she finally moved, her hand pressed lightly to his chest as she sat up.

Tim stirred, eyes already open, watching her. She didn’t offer a sheepish apology or rush to fill the silence. Instead, she met his gaze—open, calm, full of something intentional.

“Come with me,” she said softly.

He didn’t ask where. He just rose, following her without hesitation.

She didn’t lead him to the linen closet. Didn’t reach for spare sheets. Instead, she moved down the hall, her hand loose at her side, trusting him to stay close.

When she reached her bedroom, she paused. The room was cool, the bedding crisp and neatly made. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, familiar and grounding.

Rachel turned back to him in the doorway, eyes steady. “You don’t need the couch.”

Tim’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

She stepped back, giving him space to enter. Her voice stayed low. “It’s just sleep. Just… stay with me.”

She watched his face—waited for any hesitation. There wasn’t any.

Tim stepped into the room like it was already familiar, moving past her with a presence that was firm but careful, gentle without being fragile. She closed the door behind them—not to shut anything out, but to hold this quiet between them a little longer.

They didn’t rush.

She pulled back the covers. He toed off his shoes. They moved in tandem, like they’d done this before—not physically, but emotionally.

And when she climbed into bed, he joined her, mirroring her movements until they lay face to face. There were only inches between them. She lifted her hand to his cheek, traced the rough edge of his jaw with her thumb, then let it rest there.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” she whispered.

“You’re not,” he said simply.

He didn’t ask for more. Didn’t try to pull her closer.

So she moved on her own—into his chest, her legs tangling with his, her arm sliding around his waist. She breathed in the comfort of him. His warmth. The slow, steady cadence of something safe.

And when her eyes finally drifted shut again, it wasn’t because she was exhausted.

It was because she could.

Tim pressed a kiss to her temple. “Sleep,” he murmured.

And she did.

Right there in the center of her bed, in the heart of her grief now filled with quiet comfort—she let him in. Not for his sake.

But for hers.

Thursday – 6:03 A.M. – Rachel’s Bedroom

The early morning light slipped through the cracks in the curtains, painting long gold streaks across the floor. The city outside hadn’t fully stirred yet. The hum of traffic was faint, distant. Peaceful.

Rachel blinked awake slowly.

No jolt. No disorientation. Just warmth. Stillness. Him.

Tim lay beside her, breathing slow and even, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other curled around her waist like his body had decided to keep her close even in sleep. His face was softened by rest, shadows still clinging to his jaw, lips parted ever so slightly.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just looked at him.

And then, all at once—without fear, without panic—it hit her.

There was a man in her bed. In her space. In her heart.

And not just any man.

Tim.

Not Jake.

And somehow, the thought didn’t rip her apart.

It didn’t stir guilt or a desperate need to retreat. It settled inside her like a truth she’d been walking toward without realizing it.

She loved Jake. She always would. But that part of her life—the weight of it—no longer suffocated her.

Because here, in the quiet glow of morning, with Tim’s arm around her and the scent of last night still lingering on her skin, she didn’t feel haunted.

She felt alive.

And more than that: she wanted this. Not just the comfort.

But him.

The man who didn’t ask for all her secrets but stayed anyway. The man who kissed her like she mattered. The man who never once asked her to be anything but exactly who she was.

Her hand moved slowly to his chest, fingers splaying lightly across the fabric of his shirt. She could feel the steady beat beneath her palm.

He stirred then—just slightly. His lashes fluttered. His breathing changed.

Rachel smiled. It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t giddy.

It was full.

He blinked up at her, voice low and scratchy with sleep. “Hey.”

She leaned down and kissed him. Soft. Certain. “Good morning,” she whispered.

Tim looked at her—really looked—and smiled back. And in that moment, she didn’t feel like a woman carrying grief. She felt like a woman choosing love again.

And she was ready.

Thursday – 6:52 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Kitchen

The sun had fully crested over the city skyline by the time Rachel pulled open the kitchen blinds, bathing the apartment in soft gold light. The air was still cool from the night before, the walls quiet, the world outside just beginning to stir.

Tim stood barefoot at the stove, one of her old mugs in hand—his mug now, the one she always poured for him—and the smell of fresh coffee drifted between them like something shared and sacred.

Rachel leaned against the counter, her hair tied up loosely, still in her sleep shirt, sleeves pushed past her elbows. She held her own mug between both hands, fingers warmed by the ceramic.

They moved around each other with ease. No choreography. No need to speak directions. She reached for the butter, he passed her the pan. He opened a cabinet, she reached over him for the plates.

Their bodies brushed—hips, shoulders, knuckles—and neither of them flinched. Instead, every touch anchored them. A reminder: you’re here. I’m here. We’re okay.

At one point, Rachel stood beside him while he scrambled eggs, and without thinking, she rested her hand lightly on his back. Just a touch. Just to feel him there.

Tim looked over his shoulder, smile soft. “You’re affectionate in the morning.”

She shrugged, not pulling her hand away. “You make good coffee.”

He laughed, low and real, and kissed her temple without hesitation. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Rachel just smirked and sipped.

They ate at the small table near the window—cross-legged, facing each other, bare feet brushing under the table. The world outside bustled slowly to life, but inside these walls, it stayed warm. Gentle. Unhurried.

Tim reached for the last slice of toast at the same time she did, their fingers colliding. They both paused.

“You take it,” she said.

He tilted his head. “Split it.”

She smiled, cutting it in half, handing him the larger piece.

He took it, eyes still on her. “You always give more than you take.”

Rachel looked down for a beat, not from shame—just from weight. Then back up. “Only when it’s worth it.”

The way he looked at her then—like he wanted to memorize the shape of her soul—made her breath catch. Not because it scared her. But because it didn’t.

After they finished eating, she stood to clean, and he followed without needing to be asked. She washed, he dried. Their elbows bumped once. He nudged her playfully. She bumped him right back.

It was simple. It was ordinary.

And yet—it was everything.

When the dishes were done, and the sun had crept further across the floor, Rachel leaned against the counter and looked at him—not with uncertainty or hesitation, but with something much deeper.

Peace. Presence. Possibility.

“You fit here,” she said quietly.

Tim didn’t ask what she meant. He didn’t need to. He just stepped forward, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her like it was the only thing left to do.

And when they finally pulled apart, her hands resting against his chest, she whispered, “Don’t rush off.”

His reply was just as soft, just as certain. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Thursday – 7:23 A.M. – Rachel’s Apartment, Bedroom & Bathroom

The water ran in the bathroom sink, the faint gurgle of the drain drowned beneath the sound of the city outside beginning to stir. It was the start of another workday—uniforms waiting, duty calls ahead—but inside this apartment, the world hadn’t quite intruded yet.

Rachel stood at the bathroom mirror, tying her hair back with practiced ease. Her vest rested neatly on the dresser, her uniform pants already on, T-shirt still clinging soft against her frame. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a towel, catching the last traces of sleep.

Behind her, Tim moved through the bedroom with the familiarity of a man who wasn’t there for the first time. He picked up his own neatly folded uniform shirt from the edge of the bed, already half-dressed, and stepped into the room like it had always been his, too.

Rachel caught his reflection in the mirror as he entered, rolling up his sleeves, badge already clipped to his belt.

He caught her eyes and grinned. “That look says I missed a spot shaving.”

She raised a brow. “No. That look says you’re using the good towel.”

Tim chuckled, walking behind her to grab his vest from the nearby chair. “You gave it to me.”

“I was being nice.”

“You’re always nice,” he murmured, leaning in to brush a kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Even when you pretend not to be.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips was real.

When they stood side by side in the mirror—both now in full uniform, her slipping her boots on, him adjusting his radio—something shifted in the room.

It felt like habit. But it wasn’t stale. It was warm. Solid. Real.

Tim glanced over at her again, his voice low. “You good?”

Rachel looked at him—not just with her eyes, but with that quiet depth she rarely offered to anyone.

“I’m not pretending anymore,” she said.

Then she reached for his collar—flicked it into place—and smoothed her hand down the front of his shirt. Her touch lingered over the badge. “Now you’re good.”

He watched her fingers, then caught her wrist gently, drawing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. They stood there a beat longer than necessary.

Then Rachel pulled away with a half-smile. “If we’re late, Grey’s going to give us hell.”

“I’ll take the heat,” Tim said. “Worth it.”

She walked toward the front door, vest now clipped tight, duty bag slung over her shoulder. Tim followed behind, boots solid on the hardwood, glancing one last time around the apartment before they stepped out.

Not with a guest’s eye. But with something else. Like he’d be back. Because now? This wasn’t just one night.

This was becoming home.

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cc-detained · 1 year ago

Text

Despite My Despair:Chapter 1

Tommy Shelby / Autistic male reader

Word count:3182

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Warning this chapter will contain : graphic descriptions of sensory overload ,a hint of sexism and racism ( literally only one sentence)

This fic is as historically accurate as possible , please consult the author’s notes if there is any confusion or for your own curiosity.

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Fuck.My.Life.

Out of all the days I could have had, why did I have to have this one ?

Walking along the dreary road with each step, the volcano of emotions inside me slowly moved up with the increasing threat of erupting as I pondered back to what happened earlier.

“Why did you have to provoke him!?”

“ It's your job to de-escalate the situation!”

“How could you be this useless !?”

Once I finally approach my home the familiar horseshoe on the door greets me. Despite my inner turmoil , i open the door carefully,not wanting to start something that would only cause regret .Lumbering over to the tiny kitchen. Putting my now torn coat on the back of the chair lowering myself onto it as i slowly my burrowed my into my hands, releasing puffs of angry breath.

“Are you alright Cassius?”

Looking up, Polly stood in the entryway, hands on hips with her face clouded with concern .

“I'm fine Pol , just had a shit day.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yes , please.”

“Alright let me get some snacks , something tells me we're going to need the energy.”

Minutes pass as we set the table with biscuits and drinks . When we are done Polly turns over to me :

“So, gonna tell me what’s been bothering you?”

“Basically I was doing my job. The train arrived at the station as usual. I was pulling out a gentleman's bag to be passed on, until I felt a tug on my coat. It was the owner of the bag. The gentleman had only just gone and accused me of stealing it from the steward. When I tried to reason with him saying I was the steward and it was my job , he wouldn't believe me . So when I tried to get the station mistress involved , he pulled me back. Pulled me back so hard my coat ripped as a result it ripped. Eventually the station mistress did get involved afterwards, but now I have to pay for a new coat which is now going to come out of my wages this week. Because apparently according to my boss it was my fault it got ripped.” I felt bad for telling Polly a diluted version of the ordeal, but she wouldn't have let the issue go if she knew the truth . As Polly digests what I just said I think back to what had actually happened:

( 1 hour earlier )

I waited outside Mr Wakefield's office , the old rigidity bench I sat on creaked at the slightest bit of weight on it with my coat draped over my arm , around me the walls were covered in a frog like green paint with bits of paper layered across it . The sound of heels hitting the ground pulled me away from reading what was over there stood Ms.Jameson who wore a professional cyan garb with a matching jacket and shirt , with her fair hair styled in mid length curls and possessed an air of elegance out of place here .

“ Cassius ? Mr Wakefield is ready to see you now .”

I got up from my chair , as I walked towards my bosses’ office the walls became less cluttered the more I walked. When I finally reached his office I was greeted by his fine wooden door adorned with “Andrew Wakefield Head of Birmingham Railways”.

I knocked on the door tentatively which i heard a annoyed “Come in”

I opened the door to see a portly man with thinning black hair and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth .

“ Yes, Sir, you wanted to see me ?”

“ Yeah . I did . I heard about the incident that happened today . Care to explain why you couldn't handle it yourself ?”

“ Well Sir , the customer became violent to the point he tore a part of my uniform as you can see here.” I say I held up my torn coat .

“ So you had to involve poor Mrs Jones because you couldn't handle it yourself?”

“ I mean that is part of her job.”

“Cassius , your job is to handle it, her job is to manage the entire bloody station. Why couldn't you solve it yourself?"

“ Because he started yelling at me and got so close to me I thought he was going to hurt me. How was I meant to solve it?”

“ So you're telling me that my own steward can't do his bloody job cause customer was mean to you !? And you had to drag a woman into this !?” Red started to creep onto his face . I feel a stab of pain . I look down to see him gripping arm so hard his nails are piercing my skin.

“ HOW CAN YOU BE SO FUCKING STUPID!?”Blood starts to trickle down my arms .

“IT'S YOUR JOB TO DE-ESCALATE THE SITUATION YOU FEEBLE MINDED CRETIN !”

“ I BET YOU EVEN PROVOKED HIM DIDN'T YOU?”

“ …we-”

“ DON'T YOU DARE TALK BACK TO ME ! BECAUSE OF THIS FUCKING BEHAVIOR , YOUR REPLACEMENT COAT IS COMING OUT OF YOUR NEXT WAGES. NOW ,GET .THE .FUCK . OUT OF MY OFFICE !” He bellows while launching me out of his office leaving me to have the air knocked out of me by the concrete floor.

Coming back to the present, Polly stared at mid-space, contemplating.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“Well…I don't know . I love my job but I hate how I am treated for things I can't help.”

“So why not tell , Tommy ? I bet you would be treated better after your boss has one meeting with him.”

“Because Tommy has enough on his plate as it is and I don't want to add to his stress. After all, he's only now started to let himself heal.” And if Tommy meets Mr Wakefield he might actually kill him and I am NOT going to lose this job as I might get sent off to the colonies .

“Well it sounds like to me you need a distraction.”

“Yeah…THAT would be great.”

“Alright let's relax for a bit before we'll go.”

[ 15 minutes later ]

“Cassius, you ready to go?” Polly asked me as she passed over the last of the biscuits. The fury I once felt now subsided and I could now focus on the tea that I was having . Teatime, like Polly, was important and a break from the chaos outside. She's practically my mother as they both had to take turns to take care of me after me and the Shelby siblings growing up, which is how we grew so close over the years . She was draped in a loose navy blue dress, and a light brown belt cinched around her waist, which was a nice contrast to the grimy bricks .

“I'm not sure ,won't it be too noisy at this time, Pol?” As I reclined back in the wooden chair on the table was strewn with refreshments.

“It's going to be a quiet night .The loudest person there will be Arthur. Plus,Tommy will be there.” She said, knowing I would never turn down any opportunity to see Tommy,especially since I hadn't been able to spend time with him for the past couple of days since he's been swamped with work

“Okay , give me 5 minutes to get ready !” I yelled as I shot up the chair so fast it nearly fell over and raced upstairs to get changed .

“But you look fine !” Polly said exasperated but somewhat amused.

“I want to look amazing when I see Tommy !” I reply as I start to get change in me and Tommy's room which definitely wasn't made for 2 people as it has cramped space and a single bed , although the room wasn't the best looking with its warm yellow wallpaper and the decorations were a strange mix of mismatched mementos the Shelbys collected over the years like horseshoes and a ship hook which came from the boat they used to live in.

When I put on my outfit, I gaze into the mirror to see if it looks alright. Said outfit in question was a navy blue striped shirt which was a good contrast to my light brown skin, light gray trousers with suspenders, as I gave my black hair a quick brush to make it look acceptable . As I adjusted my matching striped pre tied bowtie (which I'm glad no one can make fun of me for ) , when I went back downstairs again on the way down I put on my coat well it's actually Tommy's since I can't wear my torn one , which is woolen charcoal gray , and turned to Polly at the door . Who changed into a ruby red dress with a translucent v neck and puffed up sleeves, and she styled her hair into a somewhat messy side braid .

We linked arms as we went out the door ,walking in sync, talking about whatever, and if Polly had any visions recently . As we approach the Garrison, its dark wood exterior, which at first looks like all the other buildings around, but the warm lights from inside, presents a tempting invitation to those approaching.

When we finally enter the Garrison, we are greeted by its warm, welcoming atmosphere , which contrasts the cold, dreary mood from outside. Its lights highlight all the mahogany furniture and present a relaxed environment . As Polly goes off to talk to Harry , I look around the pub, trying to find where Tommy is . He's looking infuriatingly handsome wearing a white shirt with a detachable collar with black stripes paired with a dark gray woolen waistcoat and black trousers , with his coat hung over his chair which makes his baby blue eyes stand out . Trust Tommy Shelby to look breathtakingly handsome without even trying. We've been together since the war ended, and at the beginning, it was tough . Tommy returned from The Great War; he came back haunted by the horrors of war, the memories of which would attack him at the most unexpected times . It wasn't as bad as it was back then, but a part of me does wonder if he has never left the war, except this one was a one in his mind that has changed him and if there is no way to help him from this torment.

Yet despite this , I try my best to support him with whatever I can whether that is to comfort him after he suffers from the horrors of his mind , create an environment where he feels safe whenever we are alone and make sure he knows he is not alone and can talk about it when he is ready . Whilst he would never get better , but then again, like my condition, this is something I hope he can learn to live with without it cutting him from the inside.

I see him talking with John who is donning a black striped jacket with matching waistcoat and a white shirt with collar like Tommy and a chocolate brown tie and Arthur ,who is adorning a woolen gray coat and waistcoat with a white shirt and the same collar as his brothers which he added a splash of colour with a red tie, to talking about something in the betting shop looking carefree, which he has been like with his family recently.

“ Princely, what are you doing over there ? Come over here !” Tommy said teasingly with a lopsided grin.

I walked over to him to sit on his lap and wrap my arms around him while nuzzling his soft neck.He brings his calloused hands to rub circles in my hair , as he does this i feel all the nerves evaporate from me as I listen to the familiar rhythm of his heart.

“How are you doing, Tomcat?”

“I'm doing great love , for once I didn't want to strangle someone.”

After he says that, he furrows his brows and looks at me concerned:

“Princely, are you alright? What happened to your coat?”

“ Oh I left it at home. I must've picked up yours by accident .”

“ Well, let me take it off of you then it's too hot to wear that in here if that's okay with you.” I nod as I shrug off the coat to give it to him , as he puts it on top of his own coat with one hand so he wouldn't have to move .

“So is there anything else I can do for you?”

“If it's no bother , can you get me a Vimto cordial with water plus some ice in it if you can ?”

“Sure , no problem, I was going to refill my glass anyway. I'll be back in a bit .”

When he returns with the drinks I got back on his lap , as I take a sip of my drink I think he made it himself as it isn't diluted as it normally is . As we drink in comfortable silence , I look around taking in our surroundings when a realisation hits me .

“Wait, where's Arthur and John ?”

“ Oh, they're just in the private booth , doing god knows what.”

“So Tommy, can I ask you something?”

“Yes ,Princely, what is it ?”

“Is it true you rode a horse across the street?”

“Yes, I did . Why do you ask ?”

“Well, I was wondering if you could do that on our next date .”

“...Why ?”

“Because I want to feel like a fairytale prince and be swept up on my feet by a handsome man on horse , and plus we can't get stuck in traffic since a horse isn't technically a vehicle.”

“ Love, I don't think that is legal .”

“Since when did you care about what is legal!?”

He smirks , ready to retort back with something “ Well, Princel-”

“ Um , Tommy?”

We both looked around to see who interrupted Tommy. It was Arthur who was looking sheepish for some reason .

“Yes, Arthur, what is it ?” Tommy said, annoyed that we were interrupted.

“ We need you to come to the private room to talk business.”

“ Which part, Arthur ?”

“Kimber ,Tom . He's being a right prick.”

Tommy signs exasperated “Oh for fuck sake , alright you go in I'll be in there in a bit .” He says whilst carefully pulling me off his lap .

He turns his attention back to me . “Sorry Princely looks like our time has been cut short , do you want me to get someone to escort you home?”

“It's fine Tommy , but I think I would like to stay here for a little while longer then I will go home with Polly when you are done .”

“ Alright but if you need me I will be in the private booth , okay ?”

“Okay , try not to kill anyone .”

“No promises love” He says as he kisses my cheek before he goes.

At first I relaxed in my chair , daydreaming about my next date with Tommy and how to make sure he will be comfortable where it will be , I am interrupted by a loud sound from the door . I snap out of my ponder to see a group of factory men loudly yelling at the barmaid to get drinks. Looking through the window, I see it's dark outside , shit I forgot about keeping track of how much time has passed since Polly must've left already . I can't leave without someone escorting me home as it's not safe for me to go home alone at night in Birmingham, and the pub is starting to get too crowded with people for me to recognise anyone I know .

What the hell do I now ?

Okay I have to get to Tommy but the pub is so full I can't see which room he is in .

As I lean back in my chair, it felt like everything around me was heightened as I could hear bits of every conversation from all the patrons merging together from all sides of the room to form a never ending incoherent mess, the volume of this mess sounds like the roars of thunder each time they spoke, my ears are straining at this combination . My chest starts to feel too tight, everything feels way too , as I feel the oxygen slowly drain from the room the madding rhythm of my heart is telling me I need to go NOW .

I rushed to the bathroom the smell of cleaner and musk hitting me in the face and as I sat on the brown wooden floor which somehow has multiple shades, I leaned against the gray wall or at least I think it is as the yellow light of the bathroom makes it hard to tell. I begin rocking forwards and backwards, thinking that this might give me some comfort from this situation as I feel myself slowly dissociate more and more as this continues .

Why is this not helping !?

I'm in a different room with no people yet despite this I am still feeling like this .

Feeling deeply distressed because of this I started desperately hitting my head repeatedly, hoping that the pain would stop this horror from happening to stop me from processing all these things at once and end this suffocating experience . As I run my fingers through my hair , trying to regain some sort of control and think of what to do best but my mind is still foggy.

Then I hear the sound of the door opening, the loud noises from outside leaking into the room for a couple of seconds into the cold isolated bathroom, and then for some reason a man hovering above me . I can't focus on his face as when I try to look up to see his face the but I can't make it out clearly as the light flickering harshly against my eyes , but from what I can see is that he is white , has brown hair judging by his arms and his white shirt has a beer stain .

“Are you okay, mate?”

He says he doesn't know what to do with me .

He sounds...younger than I thought, like he must be around my age.

At this point , I feel like talking is beyond me. As I feel like I can't even speak . Which in of itself is terrifying . . So I nod instead, not knowing what else to do. He looks confused, but I think he probably thinks I'm high on snow or something.

“Okay then , try not to wreck the place.” He says lightheartedly as he leaves .

When he leaves the contrast between the busy pub and the isolated bathroom , with my only solace being my thoughts but even then I feel them turning against me.

How can anyone help me if no one knows where I am ?

How am I going to get out of here if I can't see the exit through all those people?

Would anyone notice where I've gone ?

Would anyone care ?

I can hear the noise from outside starting to emerge in the room as I can feel it slowly suffocating me , as I can feel my body continuing slowly shutting down . The more time passes, the more overwhelmed I feel as the reality of the situation sits in . Eventually, I can't take it anymore, feeling everything at once but with no way to do anything about it , so I start to lie down on the cold floor as I stare at the ceiling, feeling utterly exhausted but restless at the same time . Hoping that being unconscious would stop the anguish I was feeling, but then the door opens again, and I hear:

"Princely are you there?"

☞︎︎︎NEXT CHAPTER

𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎

Authors Notes

●Pretied bowties were laughed at in public in the UK at the time.

●Vimto was invented in 1908 in Manchester

●Cordial is a temperance (non-alcoholic ) drink originally, it's a concentrated fruit syrup

●Ice was accessible to a wide range of people through ice factories in the country from the 1900s , but I couldn't confirm how much this would've cost the average person

●Stewards was the person who would carry your bags and put them on the carriage

●Station master / mistress is the person who manages the train station .

●Feebleminded Cretins was an insult used to describe disabled people of colour this tended to be used in eugenics texts

●Andrew Wakefield is the name of the man who started the vaccines cause autism movement in the 1990’s to sell his own version of the MRR (Measles , Mumps and Rubella) vaccine

●Stewards were open to people of colour at the time

●Colonies were places were disabled adults and children lived and @worked in the country separate from the rest of the population in remote villages

Credits ( people I would like to thank):

@gay_AF_satan for writing the fic where I got the term Princely from .Here's the link for it :

@red-write-hand and @rysko for reading previous drafts of this and gimming me good feedback to help me improve this

And finally @raven-phoenix who tirelessly helped me every step of the way and helped me flesh out the chapters and certain scenes .

#tommy shelby / male reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelbyx autistic reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Tommy Shelby x male reader #Tommy Shelby / M reader #Tommy Shelby x M Reader #/ male reader #x male reader

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twisted-tales-of-all · 2 years ago

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The Enemy of My Enemy

Summary: When your home port suddenly claims a ban on pirates docking there, you and your rival are forced to join forces. Characters: Kim Hongjoong + Gender Ambiguous Reader; ft. ATEEZ members Genre: Fantasy Short Series (part 1) with a bit of Angst (and possible fluff in later parts) Tropes: pirate!AU, enemies to friends (to lovers in a later part), working together against a mutual enemy Word Count: 2.9K Contains: pirate-related violence (explosions, knives, injury, blood, etc), betrayal, cursing, mention of death and loss of limbs, homoromantic undertones for certain characters (nothing explicit or confirmed), use of 'sir' as honorific without gendered undertones

A/N: support banner by @cafekitsune ; pirate divider by @firefly-graphics 🤍

You aren't new to discrimination, not by any means. However, that didn't stop you from getting blindsided as you tied your ship to its usual post at the port.

"This ship and its crew are unwelcome in this port." A stern, deep voice booms from behind you, loud enough to gather the attention of everyone nearby - all but yours, at least.

As you finish tying the knot and stand up, you feel the figure looming directly behind you. You hadn't the slightest thought that they were speaking of your wondrous Moon Raider, not after the past three years of ensuring that your crew respected the port and its customs.

Turning, you ask the man, "What ship is unwelcome, exactly?"

Although you wanted to hide your irritation, your crew noticed. The man also must've noticed since he clears his throat harshly before responding with a tone rivaling that of an automated robot.

"Any and all pirate ships have been banned from docking on our port. Leave immediately or face the consequences."

Your irritation morphs into booming laughter, "We always pay any fines you assign us. What's with the extra formality this time around?"

As you mimic his stature, you notice another officer walking past your boat's position. You watch him announce the same rehearsed statement to the captain there as he hops out to anchor his ship to its post. However, rather than offering him a chance to leave, he grabs his arm, locking him into constraints instantly. At this point, you realize the gravity of the situation, but it's all too late. As you're focused on the Sun Howler, the officer in front of you approaches and places restraints on you. You call out to your crew, reminding them to stay calm and follow all the rules.

Dragging your rival, the other officer follows behind as you walk with your officer silently. Trying to remain calm, you attempt to calculate why this may happen. Although you may not follow all the rules perfectly, everything worked out up until now. And, although you may not enjoy competing with him, you know Captain Hongjoong plays fair just like you. For the harbor police to arrest you both, there's really only one option: new port ownership. Although this was your first time back to the dock in months, you hadn't expected such a drastic change.

Reaching the prison, the officers shove you both into a cell together. Through the bars, they remove your cuffs.

"You sure we won't kill each other in here?" You joke, screaming at their backs as they leave, entirely unfazed by your comment.

"I think they'd prefer it," Hongjoong scoffs as he taps on the sheath on his hip, "Otherwise, they'd at least remove our obvious weapons."

Cursing, you sit down with your back against the cold brick wall. Fidgeting with the frayed fabric on the thigh of your pants, you wonder if the situation could get any worse.

"What'd you do, Raider?" He prompts, using your boat as your name, somewhat of a custom between you.

"Nothing here. Not in a long time. We've been gone for three months time. What of you, Howler?"

You look up to see him leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed and one foot laid over the other. He shakes his head, and - although his hat covers his face - you can imagine how hard the cogs turn in his head to analyze the situation.

"It wasn't like this when I left either. We've only been gone about seven weeks. How'd something happen so quickly?"

After a long period of silence, you hear footsteps approaching. Even simply seeing their shoes, everything clicks for you. You can tell Hongjoong understands as well, as you can sense him tense up.

"Hongjoong.Y/N. What an amazing situation for us to reunite."

The callous tone pricks at your skin, leaving goosebumps in its stead, but you refuse to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Your cellmate, however, is far too quick to anger to stop himself. He leans against the bars as he curses at the person who once sailed the seas opposite you both.

"The fuck is going on, Wooyoung?! Why in hell's name are you standing there high and mighty while we're stuck in a damned cage in this cellar?!"

Hands up by his head, Wooyoung stifles a laugh, "Quite aggressive now, aren't we? I know we were rivals on the sea years ago, but it looks like I won out."

"Sell out. Traitor. Fucking turncoat."

This time, he allows his laugh to echo through the prison. Cockily, he steps closer to Hongjoong, leaning in just barely out of reach.

"Does it matter what I did if I won? You look pathetic, Captain."

With this comment, you interject, "This is why you never had a loyal crew, you know. Your ego got in the way and Topaz Shields lost out because of it. Such a gorgeous ship, too. So sad. How's the leg?"

Knowing he wanted to hit below the belt, you remind him of his greatest tragedy by asking about his leg. Due to his ego, he drove his ship directly into the sirens' call and barely escaped with his life. He lost his loyal-to-a-fault first mate that day two years ago, all because he couldn't stand the thought of the other two crews finding a sacred treasure before him.

"Don't you dare mention Shields, Raider. The leg was the least of my troubles, and you know that much."

"Right, right. Pardon my impertinence. How could I forget that you lost your boyfriend as well?"

Trying to hold his composure, he reminds you that San was only ever his first mate, nothing more. Despite what everyone knows to be true thanks to their actions and Wooyoung's immediate reaction to the man's untimely death, he has denied his feelings since the incident - something to hide behind to lessen his feelings of guilt for causing his death.

"Well, whatever the case, I've come here to alert you that we'll be charging you for crimes against the city through your illegal market dealings and disregard for the laws of the area."

Hearing a former pirate captain charge someone for essentially being a pirate feels laughable, but you simply ask for the price point of said charges.

"Oh, no price for this one, Y/N. You both have been sentenced to time in jail equal to that of your career length. For you, that's three years; Hongjoong, you have 4."

Quick to react once again, Hongjoong unsheaths his dagger and swings it through the bars. It cuts Wooyoung on the lower part of his cheek, but the sound is far more intimidating than the actual damage.

Bringing his hand up to his face, Wooyoung smirks as he sees his red-stained fingertips. You keep a hand on your weapon, worried he might lash out against you both, but he simply turns to walk out.

"Enjoy your years. Once you return, there will be no Sun Howler. No Moon Raider. No pirates." He doubles down with his irritating remarks by waving his hand nonchalantly as he turns the corner.

As soon as the click of his footsteps fades to silence, Hongjoong drops into a squat. He curses Wooyoung and grumbles about the ridiculous sentencing. Seeing him freak out like this makes you giggle. He's usually light and free, the shining sun amongst a hoard of disheveled and mangled captains. You share that commonality with him - you've never quite been one for abandoning health and presentation, even if that's what many people picture when imagining pirates. The crews from this port rarely saw those kinds of pirates, not when the three captains who called this place home were you, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung. So, seeing one of these captains falling apart on the floor while cursing and swinging at someone makes you wonder how quickly you could also fall apart.

Shaking your head to rid yourself of those thoughts, you break the silence, "What's the plan, Howler?"

He looks at you dumbfounded, "Plan?"

"The escape plan? Ain't no way I'm letting that one-legged chicken act all high and mighty like that. We aren't gonna sit here and accept years of punishment for things he once did with us."

Suddenly recognizing escape as an option, Hongjoong stands up straight. You see a fire burning in his eyes and tricks within his crooked smile. He twirls the dagger around carelessly as he paces in the small box of a cell. With his newfound joy, he examines the bars, the lock, and every crevice that might be used to thwart Wooyoung's scheme and escape from the prison.

"I think this calls for a good old-fashioned bust out. Unless you think you can pick the lock from in here."

You approach the bars, trying to find the perfect angle to see what you need on the lock. However, you can't find the necessary parts to allow you to pick it from awkward angles. Turning to your cellmate, you shake your head.

"Bust out it is. Not as quiet, but it gets the job done all the same." He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat and pulls out a small trinket about the size and shape of a pocketwatch, which confuses you. He must be able to read the confusion on your face, because he explains, "My first mate loves to tinker, and he's made some marvelous contraptions. Stand back at the bars and watch."

Listening to his advice, you stand flush against the metal bars, the cold bleeding through your clothing to leave your skin feeling fresh. He stands next to you, flips the gadget open and closed quickly, and tosses it to the opposite side of the cell. When it connects with the wall, you hear a clicking noise and instinctively close your eyes. In that short moment, you feel Hongjoong move from beside you to in front of you. With the cold on your back and the warmth from his body closely in front of you, you barely process the explosion. When you open your eyes, you see the captain boxing himself around you, framed by the outside light streaming in. You assume it's around midday from how strongly it enters the room, and you try to look anywhere that isn't directly at Hongjoong's face.

He clears his throat as he steps back, "Sorry. I didn't want debris flying into your chest or anything."

Noticing him fiddling with his shoulder, you quickly thank him before asking if he's injured. Although he blows it off, he refuses to turn around, so you know debris likely lodged itself into his upper back. You decide not to fight it until you reach the docks, so you simply make your way over the rubble and out into the sunlight, letting him follow behind to hide his injuries.

Despite the explosion, nobody seems interested when you walk past. The only looks passed your way feel like those typical for known pirates walking around. As you reach the docks again, your crew quickly catches sight of you and rushes off the ship. You're glad that they make it to you long before his crew can see you.

"Mingi, can you tend to him? We blew our way out of jail, and he got hit with debris. He's acting like he's fine, but drag him aboard anyway."

Hongjoong tries to argue, but Mingi ends up behind him and sees the injury. With your first mate yelling at him for hiding it, he can't help but walk onto the Moon Raider for medical help. As he passes you, you sneak a glance at his back and see the top left corner of his otherwise tan shirt torn and stained dark red already. Trying to figure out the trajectory of the rubble, you place your hand on your right shoulder and vow to find Hongjoong a new shirt as thanks for blocking it from hitting you.

After reassuring your crew that everything will be okay and joking that you may be fined for the massive hole in the prison wall, you make your way past your prized ship. Approaching Sun Howler, you receive a much colder reception. Bowing before the ship, you address the first mate.

"Quartermaster of Sun Howler, I wish to inform you that your captain is currently aboard the Moon Raider receiving medical care from my crew. He protected me during an explosion of his creation, so I took it as my role to aid him with our supplies. He will be fine, and we will send him to you once his wound is properly dressed."

As you raise your head, you notice an exceptionally pretty man standing about ten feet in front of you. He nods as you acknowledge him before thanking you for taking care of his captain. You weren't expecting someone who could shine in his own respect to be Hongjoong's right hand, but hearing him speak makes you understand exactly why he would be in such a position. A voice that rivals one of a siren, the grace in his speech patterns, and his subtly decorated uniform all suggest a royal background. You begin to wonder whether he was a runaway or kidnapped and assimilated.

"Stop gawking at Seonghwa, Raider. Don't go stealing someone else's first mate." Hongjoong struts up to you, shirtless other than the bandages circling his chest, back, and shoulder blade.

Although Seonghwa laughs at the comment and explains the situation, Hongjoong doesn't back down in his jests, pointing out Seonghwa's obvious beauty.

"Sometimes, even I swear you're a siren. Even royals don't typically look and sound as good as you. You sparkle, Hwa." He reaches the boy as he talks, placing a hand on his shoulder to emphasize his final sentence.

"Captain, stop with the flattery. A first mate is never as wonderful as the captain, and yet you forbid us from saying those types of comments towards you."

Feeling out of place in the interaction, you quietly excuse yourself and begin walking back to your ship, but Hongjoong calls after you, "Y/N, let's find a new port together."

You try not to react, but the comment makes you trip over the air by your feet. You hope that they don't notice while you continue walking, making your way to your ship to break the news to your crew that you need to find a new home base and likely won't be able to return. Some crew members are quick to show their anger towards Wooyoung, but you reassure everyone with one simple claim.

"If we've done everything we can and they still don't want us here, we shouldn't want to stay either."

You explain how there likely isn't any time for goodbyes since the police likely won't waste time chasing you down again, so you work towards setting sail immediately. Luckily, your crew instinctively filled up on supplies while you were stuck in the cell, so there isn't much left to do.

"Cap'n, there's someone requesting to talk to you. Should we allow him aboard?" A member screams across the ship.

"Who is it?"

"Captain Hongjoong of Sun Howler, sir."

"Let him board."

As your new companion faces you, you address him properly and lead him into your chambers. Motioning to the nearest chair at your desk, you drop the formalities in the privacy of the room. Dragging out another chair to sit in front of him, you ask about the plan. As he recounts the pirates and their known home ports, you deduce that the safest plan would be to sail north, up the coast to the city rivaling this one.

"Won't they shun us away?"

"Didn't you and I once shun each other away and brace this port together regardless? Or what of Wooyoung taking over this city to shun us away from here?"

Nodding in acknowledgment, Hongjoong confirms, "So, we head north? Stop at each port we come across?"

"We might end up too close if we do that. Does your crew have the supplies to sail safely for a week before finding a port? I don't want to taunt Shields too soon; I want to be ready to fight back."

Uncertain of Wooyoung's response to your escape, the captain agrees to meet again in a week's time. After the seventh sunrise, they will look for the closest port. In case of landing at different ports, you agree on a plan to find one another via smoke signals and a trail of coded notes. To stay one step ahead of potential enemies, you assign each other new aliases to use in the notes, basing the initials on the boats' names and their respective quartermasters: Sea Heist Sails and Mightly Reel Mast.

After agreeing on the specifics, you shake Hongjoong's hand and wish him luck on his journey. Leaving you with a quick show of comradery in smiling and claiming that he'll see you in a week, he heads back to the Sun Howler to untie her and set sail. Following his lead, you untie Moon Raider and instruct Mingi to head north, staying near the coastline if possible.

As you drift out of the port, you hear a commotion behind you. Eyes drawn towards the ruckus, you see Wooyoung red-faced and angrily yelling at his guards. As he flails his arms in the direction of your ship, he makes direct eye contact with you. With a smug smile on your face, you remove your hat in a mocking salute, signaling to the man that you've won this round without breaking a sweat.

Tags: @yourfatherlucifer @pyeonghongrie

#cultofdionysusnet #wonderlandnet #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fanfiction #kpop fic #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fanfiction #ateez fic #ateez hongjoong #pirate ateez #ateez pirate au #kim hongjoong #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong fic #hongjoong fanfic

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e-arc · 11 months ago

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shewasverynice · 5 months ago

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Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen

⚠️ SPOILER HEAVY ⚠️

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Full tags/warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Character, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Ieiri Shoko, Yaga Masamichi, Nanami Kento, Haibara Yu, Tsukumo Yuki, Choso

‎‧₊˚✧ Chapter 35✧˚₊‧

The afternoon sun hung heavy over the lot, casting long shadows between the moving vans and delivery trucks. The place was alive with workers loading and unloading, clipboard-wielding supervisors barking orders, and the occasional frustrated customer arguing inside the rental office. It was the kind of organized chaos that made sneaking around a challenge—but not impossible.

Yaga adjusted the brim of his cap, glancing at his team of teen girls. Boe looked relaxed, hands in her pockets, while Rin bounced on her toes nervously with her fingers fidgeting in her pockets. Shoko took a slow drag of her cigarette, unimpressed with the whole situation.

Yaga nodded toward the smallest of the moving vans where a man was inspecting the tires. "Shoko, go talk to that guy by the van. Stall him," he said, his voice hushed.

Shoko flicked the ash to the pavement. "Yeah, yeah," she sighed, exhaling a plume of dark smoke, "No problem."

She sauntered over, her movements lazy but intentional, stopping just short of the man who was leaning against the van, eyeing the lot like a watchdog.

"Hey," she said, blowing out another slow stream of smoke.

The man looked at her suspiciously before he asked, "Can I help you?"

Shoko gave him an easy smile, shrugging. "My dad’s inside renting a van," she lied, "Said it might take a while. Figured I’d get some fresh air."

His eyes flicked toward the rental office. His shoulders eased just a fraction. "Yeah? Lotta people renting today. What’s he hauling?" he asked, placing the pen in his hand behind his ear.

She exhaled, feigning boredom. "Some furniture. I dunno, he just told me to stay put. You work here long?"

The man grunted, his suspicion dulling under the weight of small talk. Shoko kept him distracted, throwing in a laugh here and there, making sure his eyes stayed off the rest of her team.

Meanwhile, Yaga gestured to Boe and Rin. "You're up," he muttered.

Boe gave him a two-fingered salute before slipping off with Rin. They moved swiftly through the maze of vehicles, reaching the back door of the rental office without drawing attention. Boe crouched, pulling out a small kit, and with practiced ease, worked the lock. Rin stood close, keeping watch while biting her lip in excitement.

With a quiet click, the door gave way. They slipped inside, moving fast but careful. The office was small, mostly paperwork, a desk, and a wall lined with hooks holding dozens of keys. Boe scanned the hooks, but Rin was faster.

"Got it," she whispered, eyes locking onto the right set. "Number 42." She reached up, plucked them from the hook, and handed them off to Boe with a triumphant smirk. "Let’s go."

They retraced their steps, slipping back out just as effortlessly as they had entered. By the time they reached Yaga, he was already near the driver's side door of the van. Boe handed him the keys, and Yaga wasted no time unlocking it.

"In," he ordered.

Rin and Boe climbed into the truck, Rin practically bouncing in her seat while Boe just stretched out like it was a casual Sunday drive. Yaga started the engine, the low rumble drowned in the noise of the busy lot. He glanced up, meeting Shoko’s eyes out the passenger side window.

She caught his cue instantly. "Anyway, looks like he’s almost done. Catch you later, yeah?" She winked at the worker before casually strolling toward the van. The second she was close enough, Yaga gunned it, and she hopped onto the step, yanking the door shut behind her.

The lot erupted into shouts. A man near the gate, startled by the sudden movement, scrambled to slam it shut.

Too late.

Yaga barreled through, the gate creaking violently as they sped past. The man stumbled back, arms flailing.

Rin whooped, slamming her hand on the dashboard. "Clean getaway!"

Boe grinned, stretching out. "Told you it’d be easy."

Yaga just shook his head, focused on the road ahead.

The van rumbled down the street, disappearing into the afternoon traffic, leaving nothing behind but the distant sound of shouting workers and a very confused rental lot employee.

"So, now we need to head to the store," Rin said, looking over the list in her hands, "Best if we divide and conquer right? We need to move before the police find the van."

"Correct," Yaga agreed as he drove down the winding road, "Remember, perishable goods are ideal. We need to account for winter as well. Everything we can get we will fill inside the van."

"Oh, I—I thought we—" Rin hastily closed up the bag that she'd strapped to her chest, "We're stealing that too?"

"We've already committed a crime," Yaga explained calmly, "We will take as many supplies as we can get and that will be it for now."

"I'll hit the food then," Boe said, "I'll grab a cart and just fill up on the whole canned isle."

"Good," Yaga said, nodding to her. He glanced at Shoko and Rin and said, "You two focus on blankets, coats, socks, and anything warm you can find. Also any of the dry goods we needed as well. Laundry soap, toiletries, that sort of thing. I'll work on getting us space heaters and a generator."

"What will we do about gas?" Shoko asked, "Or are you going to run it another way?"

"Ideally we will have the electricity running again soon," Yaga explained, "But for now we'll need to steal gasoline."

"What if we get caught?" Rin asked, "What should we—"

"Use your cursed energy if you need to," Yaga said, glancing at the girls, "This is no time for us to be concerned with that. We will deal with the consequences later. Do anything you need, but do not hurt any civilians."

"Oh," Boe pointed at him, "You think the Kamo are waiting for us don't you?"

Yaga's hands tightened on the wheel when he nodded. "I believe they will be, yes."

"Sweet," she chuckled, "Then this will be extra fun for me."

They didn’t slow down until they reached the massive parking lot of the biggest mega-store in town. Yaga pulled the van up to the closest door and killed the engine. The team climbed out, wasting no time in splitting up.

Boe snagged a cart and headed straight for the canned goods and non-perishable food items. She moved with purpose, arms sweeping entire rows of vegetables, soups, and prepackaged meals into the cart. The metal frame groaned under the weight, but she wasn’t stopping. As she reached for another stack of canned beans, a chill ran down her spine.

Boe’s fingers tensed around a can. She wouldn’t mistake that filthy energy anywhere. Her heart pounded, but she forced herself to stay casual, pushing the cart forward. As she turned the corner, she caught movement in her peripheral vision—a figure ducking back behind the aisle.

Boe bit back a grin. If they wanted to play, she was game.

With a sharp pivot, she took off, sprinting down the aisle with the overloaded cart. The metal wheels screeched against the floor. Behind her, the sound of hurried footsteps chased after her.

"Dicks!" she taunted, looking over her shoulder at her pursuers. She kicked at a display just as she passed it, sending a barrage of jars crashing onto the ground and spraying red sauce all over the ground and the men behind her. She laughed as she skidded for the door and as soon as she reached the van she lifted it up and threw it into the back before heading bravely back inside.

Meanwhile, across the store, Shoko and Rin focused on their own mission. They swept through the clothing section, grabbing blankets, coats, thick socks—anything to help against the coming winter. Packs of t-shirts, gloves, and scarves filled their arms as they moved fast but carefully.

Rin glanced up just as they turned a corner. A small group lingered near the entrance, their eyes fixed on them.

With a sudden burst, Shoko and Rin sprinted for the exit, throwing as much of their haul as possible into the back of the van. Just as they reached it, Boe’s cart came barreling toward them—already stuffed with food. She flashed them a grin as she passed, not breaking stride. Without hesitation, Shoko and Rin exchanged a glance and nodded.

Then, they turned and ran back inside.

The store had erupted into chaos. Employees shouted, customers scrambled away, and now the Kamo clan men were closing in. Rin bared her teeth, dragging her tongue across them as they lengthened and sharpened. Her nails extended into lethal points as she flicked her hands out. A feral grin spread across her face.

"Come on then," she taunted.

As the Kamo men advanced, Shoko used the distraction to slip away, snatching another cart and heading straight back for more dry goods.

Boe, meanwhile, had reached the food section again. She grinned as a group of men tried to corner her. With a flick of her fingers, blood-red daggers materialized, floating in the air around her.

"Well?" she smirked. "What are you waiting for?"

And then, the fighting truly began.

Every second counted now. The longer they stayed, the closer the authorities would get. They had to gather everything they could and make their escape—before it was too late.

Rin let out a wild grin, her claws extending as she leapt into the fray. She slashed, swiping at the nearest thug, forcing him back. Another lunged at her, but she twisted, sinking her fangs into his forearm. He screamed, stumbling away. Her hair whipped out like living vines, wrapping around another man’s leg and yanking him off balance.

The Kamo men quickly realized she was more trouble than they’d expected. Instead of engaging her directly, they tried to maneuver around her—heading straight for Shoko.

Rin snarled. "Oh, you’re not getting past me."

She lunged, spinning into a brutal kick that sent one thug sprawling. Her claws caught another across the chest, tearing through fabric and skin. The rest hesitated, clearly reevaluating their approach.

Shoko, meanwhile, kept moving, cart piled high with supplies. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. Rin had it covered.

Boe hauled down another aisle with her arm out with the cart right against the shelves. Down she went, dumping everything into the car with wild abandon and a loud whoop of excitement. "Outta my way!" she howled, laughing as people scattered in her wake.

The Kamo behind her called out orders, separating their group to try to ambush her from the other directions. Boe whipped around, swinging the cart with her, and changed directions. She charged straight at them, knocking them aside before she made her third mad dash for the door.

"Wrap it up!" She called as soon as she caught sight of Shoko, "Where is Yaga?"

"He's coming!" Shoko replied, tossing things into the van.

"I'm here!" Yaga's voice rang out a moment later. Beside him were many of his bigger cursed corpses. All of them worked together carrying a large generator and they quickly tossed it in. He glanced at the girls as they finished loading their own things, then asked, "Where is Rin?"

"Still inside," Shoko said, "She's coming. Pull up to the front!"

The girls and the cursed corpses piled into the van and Yaga got it running, and just as he'd hoped, as soon as he pulled up to the front Rin was ducking out of the door. She leapt forward, her arm outstretched for Boe who was leaning out the window. With one hand she grasped onto Boe and the other she dug her claws deep into the door of the vehicle as they sped away.

"Excellent job," Yaga muttered, keeping his eyes on the road.

Rin landed in the seat beside Boe, panting as her nails and fangs receded. Shoko got to work healing her wounds and Boe climbed over the two of them in the seat.

"They're gonna follow," Boe said, watching as the Kamo men piled into cars in the parking lot. "Want me to deal with them?"

"Yes," Yaga answered, glancing at his side mirror, "Any means necessary."

The moving van swerved violently, tires screeching against the asphalt as Yaga gritted his teeth, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. The two black cars in pursuit roared behind them, their engines growling as they gained ground. The Kamo clan wasn’t letting them go without a fight.

Boe braced herself against the open passenger window, her green eyes locked on the pursuing vehicles. Blood coiled around her fingers, shaping into wicked daggers. She hurled one, watching as it narrowly missed a tire, skidding uselessly across the pavement.

"Shit," she hissed, yanking herself back in as another shot ricocheted off the van’s metal frame.

"Slow down and breathe," Yaga barked, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror. "Don’t waste it."

Behind them, Shoko exhaled in relief, wiping sweat from her brow as Rin jolted upright, fully healed. There was no hesitation—Rin flexed her fingers, claws gleaming, and with a swift, fluid motion, she climbed out through the van’s roof hatch, bracing against the wind.

Shoko barely had time to shift before Boe leaned further out, preparing another attack. With a sigh, she gripped Boe’s waist tightly, holding her in place as she took aim again.

Rin moved like a shadow, scaling the roof of the van as if it were solid ground. Her hair whipped in the wind as she crouched low, eyes fixed on the first car. The second she saw an opening, she launched herself. Her weight crashed down onto the hood of the first vehicle. The driver barely had time to react before panic set in. The car veered wildly, tires screeching as it careened off the road and slammed into a guardrail.

Rin didn’t wait—she pushed off, claws sinking into the second car’s roof. But they were ready for her this time.

A man in the backseat twisted, his arms coated in a writhing mass of blood, forming an arrow as he aimed it at her heart. Before he could release, Boe’s dagger found its mark—buried deep into his skull. His eyes went blank, and without a sound, he slumped forward, tumbling out of the car and into the rushing road below.

The driver swore, jerking the wheel as Rin tore into the vehicle, claws ripping through metal, ready to finish this chase before it could go any further.

"She's on the other car?!" Shoko shouted catching sight through the mirror, "We gotta get her before we leave her behind!"

"Morishita!" Boe called, "Come back!"

Rin glanced up at Boe, then pointed down at the car that she was essentially tearing open like a can of anchovies. Boe waved to her again and shouted, "Get back here! I got it!"

Rin glanced down in the vehicle, then back up at the moving van. She watched as Boe was taking aim at the driver and nodded. Yaga slowed the van for just a moment as they took a turn and she knew that was her best shot. Just as Boe loosed the bloody dagger, Rin leapt for the back of the van. Boe's dagger hit the target and she howled as the car whipped violently before driving into the guard railing.

"Fuck yes!" she hollered, "Both are gone!"

"Good," Yaga gritted, "And Rin?"

There was a knock on the back of the moving van, the sound ringing from somewhere behind Yaga's head inside the metal vehicle. "Back here, Sensei!" Rin called.

Yaga sighed with relief. "Good. Very good."

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

"Five days," Sarah mumbled, standing at the edge of the barrier. She watched the winding road out of the forest as if at any second Rin, Boe, Shoko and Yaga would come walking up just like they should have. She bit her lip, chewing at the skin as her eyes flicked around for any kind of sign.

"C'mon, don't stress yourself out," Satoru called to her from the courtyard, "They'll make it. They're all strong."

"But what if something happened?" she asked, turning to walk back towards the others. "What if they got caught or if they—"

"Sarah, relax!" Satoru said, clapping a hand on her back, "It's fine!"

"She has a point," Yuki chimed in, carrying a basket of clothes with her as she left the girl's side of the buildings. "We may need to go look for them soon."

Satoru glared at Yuki. "No. We should trust them to get it done."

"Maybe I should have made a checkpoint here," Sarah muttered, but Satoru scoffed loudly. She looked up at him, but he was still glaring daggers at Yuki.

"No," he said firmly, "You don't have to do that anymore."

"But that's my whole shit, like…" She waved her hands aimlessly, "That's my big contribution here! If I don't do anything then I—"

"That's not the only thing you can do!" Satoru said with another loud scoff, "Don't say that. You're not just here for us to use like a save point in case we mess up!"

Sarah stared at him. She opened her mouth to retort, but he waved away her answer and grinned. "C'mon now, I hate when you talk like that. Don't sell yourself short, okay? You took care of those plant things, right?" She couldn't hide her smile, but she still tried. He laughed and pointed at her, "See? Not nothing."

"Okay well, whatever," she tried to cross her arms and appear as if she wasn't proud of herself, but she knew he knew her better than that. "I still think we should do it though."

"I actually agree with that sentiment," Suguru added as he joined the two of them in the courtyard. "As much as I hate the idea of actually doing it, if we had some of your ashes once we're all here then we know we have a safe place to return if something goes wrong later on."

"But we'd have to kill her," Satoru said, glancing at Suguru, "And I don't know if we can burn her body to make ashes the right way."

Suguru stared at him as he considered that for a moment. "That's actually a good point," he finally said, "If we want to be able to use her technique we may need to find a way to accomplish—"

"Listen to yourself!" Satoru shouted, "You're agreeing with doing that? Really?"

"Satoru," Suguru said softly, "We need to use every advantage we have and this is a different situation than she was in previously. Sarah isn't being used as a tool for this, she's being incredibly helpful and willing to do it for all of our safety. It's not as if we're just using her for our own gain this time."

"I know—I know I just don't like it," Satoru sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked down at Sarah who smiled at him.

"It's okay," she said, "Really, I don't mind."

Satoru's brows knitted together and he looked away from her with a frustrated grunt. "Don't just agree if you're actually scared," he mumbled, "Don't pretend you're not afraid to die."

"It… it's not permanent!" She said, but even she couldn't deny the waver in her voice. She swallowed and shook her head then added, "I am scared. I am. I wont lie about it, but we can't pretend like my technique isn't perfect for this. If we can make our own checkpoints then we have a lot less to worry about."

Yuki appeared beside the three of them with a pleased smile on her face. "The problem wouldn't be how we make the ashes, the problem is how long it would take," she said calmly, "Without a cremation oven we would also be burning a body outside which makes a lot of smoke and smells pretty awful."

"Lovely," Satoru gritted.

"We could easily burn her body and just take her bones after and crush them up," Yuki suggested, "We wouldn't have to worry about accidentally collecting wood ash as well then. But it would take a lot of wood to do this."

"Can we get the fire hot enough to burn her completely without an oven?" Suguru asked, turning to Yuki. "Or would we need to build something for that to work?"

"No, we could open air the thing if we need to," Yuki said, waving her hand, "It'll just take a lot longer. If we burn a body the slow way it's gonna take days. The benefit of the oven is that we…"

Satoru had long since grabbed Sarah's hand and pulled her away from the conversation. He scowled as he tugged her with him, leading her into the main temple building. She didn't fight back, even when he placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to sit down. He plopped down beside her with a huff, and shook his head.

"You mad, huh?" she said with a playful smirk, but he clearly wasn't in the mood to play.

"It's so wrong," He muttered.

"It's kinda fucked up," she admitted, "But I mean, a lot of cursed techniques are in a way."

"A lot of techniques don't require someone to kill themselves," Satoru grumbled. He glanced at her, a frown on his face when he said, "It just feels like if we aren't careful we'll be doing the same thing the geezers were."

"No way," she scoffed, "This isn't the same at all. Suguru was right. I'm offering to do it this time. I want to help!"

Satoru shook his head. "I know it's not the same, but I also know you're just trying to be reasonable," he said softly, "You're trying to do what you think we all want you to do. I know that's what you're thinking."

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she quickly shut her mouth again. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and hiding her face behind them.

"See?" he said, jutting his chin towards her, "Nailed it, didn't I?" He tilted his head, "You know you have to remember it this time. You know it's not the same. One of us will have to kill you and you don't get to just wake up like nothing happened when it's all over."

"I know that, I do," she sighed, "But I can't be selfish when it's the right thing."

"You can be selfish," Satoru murmured, placing his hand on top of her head. "Don't put on a brave face. Just tell me if you don't want to do it. Tell me the truth. I'll back you up no matter what you choose."

"It's not that simple," she said, shaking off his hand. "It's not and you know it. When we have a tool we could use that benefits everyone and all it would take it some uncomfy stuff for me then why—"

"Don't diminish it," Satoru said, "It's not just some uncomfy moment. You have to die. You don't remember what it was like when you did it before, but I promise you it's not something you want to remember."

"You say that like someone who's died," Sarah said. She glanced at him, then looked ahead again when she asked, "You've done this before haven't you?"

"I have," Satoru admitted, "And I've talked to you about it too." He reached out and gently grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. "And when you sent me back with the ritual I saw how scared you were."

"How do you know I was scared?" she asked, stubbornly pursing her lips, "Maybe I was just worried about fucking it up?"

"Don't try to be funny," he scowled, swatting the back of her head when he released her chin, "C'mon, I'm really pissed off here."

"I know," she chuckled, "Sorry. I just wanted to make you smile."

"Tryin' to act like me?" he teased. He couldn't help but smile just a little and she grinned at him.

"Okay, then fine, I'll say it," she said. She inhaled through her nose and turned to face him, her legs crossed with her hands placed on her feet. "Yes, I don't really want to do it," she finally admitted, "I'm really really scared that it's going to hurt like nothing else and I'm really scared that someone might fuck it up and then I'm gone for good. I'm scared that someone will have to put themselves in danger and start this whole process over again and have to go get ashes from like forever ago and we have to do all this crazy shit again."

She reached out to gently punch his chest and continued, "But making me say it outloud is just gonna make me more scared. You know I do much better if I just don't think about it."

He nodded, reaching up to clasp a hand around her fist. "But if you don't think about these things you'll just end up letting people use you again," he said softly, "If you just let yourself get swept up in all of it we won't know if we're going too far for you."

"I think you have a big misunderstanding about how much I trust all of you," Sarah said, trying to tug her fist back.

Satoru held firmly and shook his head. "No, I think you have no idea how easily someone can be used like that just because it's more convenient for everyone else," he said.

"Well, you've been keeping me safe from that so far, right?" Sarah asked, "I know I have you to make me stop if I let too much go."

"But what if it was me that asked you too much?" He asked softly. He hesitantly reached out then brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "You… I mean, well, I know you… you still…" he stumbled over his words a little, then cleared his throat. "It's not like I don't know how you feel about me."

She blushed and swatted at his arm. "Don't you dare look at me that way!" She snapped, "That's so unfair."

He laughed gently, nudging her as he moved away from her again. "But that is something I need you to think about," he said softly, "I'm really afraid that you'll get carried away even if it's me. Especially if it's me." He sat back on his palms, looking up at the sky, "I made a promise to you that you wouldn't have to make this sacrifice anymore, too. I didn't want you to have to worry about it ever again and just rely on me."

"But that's ridiculous," she huffed, "When we have a solution that would help all of us and the only inconvenience is for me, then why not do it?"

"It's not just inconvenient only for you," Satoru narrowed his eyes as he spoke, "Don't you think I get lonely when you're not here? Plus we can't do this the easy way and it'll take longer than just a few days for you to come back! You'll probably be dead for like a week maybe even two!"

"But you'll be okay," she said, "You… you've got Suguru and everyone else here to—"

"But I don't want to be without you that long!" Satoru blurted, "I hate it when I can't see you at least for a little while every day!"

She blinked and he watched her face slowly turn completely red. She snapped up to her feet, her mouth open and her hands aimlessly clenching and clearly unsure of where to go at that moment. Finally, she managed out a, "Why would you say that to me?!"

"Because I want you around!" He said simply, "I want to see you every day. I want to be someone you can feel safe with. I want to—"

"Don't say stuff like that," she mumbled.

"You always say sweet stuff like that," he teased, "You always said it should be normal for friends to talk about these things, right? It shouldn't be any different."

She didn't laugh this time though. Instead she glared at him and mumbled, "It's very different. This is completely different. Especially when you know I'm really trying to get over you…"

Satoru raised his eyebrow. He hesitated for a beat then asked, "Well, how's that going for you?"

Sarah gasped and turned on her heel with a muttered, "Bastard."

Satoru watched her hurry off and he groaned. He let himself fall back on the wooden floor, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why the fuck did I say that?" he muttered into his hands.

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Taglist: @inthedarkshadows000

#fanfiction #writing #a03 fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #fix it fic #reincarnation fic

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fuzzyruinsface · 4 months ago

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 years ago

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tuesday again 10/17/2023

started explaining why this one is a little lighter than last week's gallery wall behemoth bc of a uhhhh kind of dire week, personally and professionally speaking, but then realized when fic authors do that in front of chapters i don't actually care or require an excuse from them, im just delighted to have a new chapter.

listening

this is a deeply cheesy little folk song but the lyrics "man you name it and if we ain’t got it: we’ll get it" gave me a sensible chuckle.

youtube

now for a moment to expound upon houston: they truly have imported every possible food service establishment. the two chains i miss most from jersey, jersey mikes submarine sandwiches and 7-11 gas stations, are both here. i get that this is the fifth largest metro area in the US or whatever but both of these companies are SO niche. absolutely bonkers. spotify.

i think this started autoplaying after a playlist inspired by f/allout: new v/egas came on??

reading

i originally had a very mean-spirited graf about the utility of a pool in northwestern massachusetts and the kind of person who can comfortably lose $31k, but it is genuinely awful that there are no rules around zelle. that money goes into a black fucking hole and there's no way to get it back, which is not the case for any other kind of recognized money except cryptocurrency

Did we confront Gary Kruglitz [the pool contractor]? Yes we did. We marched right into his office and grilled him hard until he defeated us with a simple and probing question: What's a zelle? It defied belief, we quickly realized, that a man who had been trapped in technological amber since the Nixon era was running a cyberscam designed to come between us and our money out of an AOL account.

watching

Van Helsing (2004, dir. Sommers). this movie is horrible. this movie is terrific. i don't have anything to say about this movie bc i was distracted by equal opportunity tits and asses the entire time. the time of the “Kate Beckinsale in a corset” movie genre is long over but GOD. watched with my sister bc it's leaving tubi soon

playing

one week i will have the energy to try New Thing but until i do it’s genshin. there's a poetry event that has terribly boring minigames, but the story quest has finally tied a bow on a piece of folkore we came across in the very first release so that was fun!

wrapping up some stuff in sumeru bc im running out of map pins, this game has done one of the things i hate most: progress-locking one extremely long and tedious collectible hunt (the music gates) behind another extremely long and tedious collectible hunt (the robots locked in the vines). the next time i see one of those little fucking budget koroks i am going to drop kick it into the sun. what the fuck is the circumference of teyvat anyway. it feels like we have explored so little of this planet's surface

i have graphics turned down pretty low bc of performance issues on my elderly laptop and this is still such a remarkably pretty game. look at this big estuary leading off into the distance

making

i wildly overextended myself this week, partially bc im trying to take advantage of this brief post-covid heightened immunity. lot of dinners. lot of late nights. on top of that BOTH of my siblings were in town for unrelated professional reasons this week :) no overlap so we did not have a nice fambly dinner :( but did have pretty okay separate dinners :) if they could learn to fucking communicate their trave plans and the number of peope that will be showing up at my home that would also be pretty okay >:(

one of the party games i played this week asked the question “what could you give a 40-minute PowerPoint presentation on” and i started saying facts about the downfall of the penn central railroad and they very nicely let me continue saying facts about the downfall of the penn central railroad, the largest bankruptcy in US history until ENRON, until the round timer went off.

i have some thoughts about Train Guys and how it's very easy to fall into being a Train Guy, bc there's a very easy template to follow, and there's a lot of Train Guy content, and have i been doing this bc i actually like trains, or bc it's easy to listen to Well There's Your Problem on repeat bc it's familiar and comforting, or do i just really really really fucking hate flying?

who could possibly say.

mackintosh update: allowed herself to be scooped up by my brother (who she met at christmas and loves) but did NOT allow herself to be pet by the strangers in his company. did hang out in the middle of the floor observing tho. a regular little extroverted socialite!

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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rom-e-o · 1 year ago

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A Small Detour (Constance/Ebenezer) (Modern AU Ebenestance)

"How did Connie lose her job at the nightclub and end up working for Ebenezer?"

WELL...

(Rated 18+ for language, some innuendo and descriptions of sexual situations. Minors, DNI. Nothing is graphic, but just in case.)

It had been quite a long time since Ebenezer Scrooge had felt so viscerally, horribly uncomfortable.

Of all the places for his job to take him, these types of locations were always the most concerning: the clubs filled with scantily clad, and often underpaid (or worse), dancers.

It was 7:45 p.m. on a Tuesday evening, and the after-work crowds had already filtered into the seedy building, the brick-and-mortar edges nearly bursting from the crowds and thumping music. The queue of patrons getting into the club was filled with financial executives and other businessmen Scrooge recognized from his own building, some of whom already appeared buzzed and were slumped against their dates. Some of those dated slyly picked at the pockets of the businessmen, only giving Scrooge a wink when he caught their attention with his stare.

The club was certainly not a place he desired to be at by choice. Even on this very evening, he was not on-site as a potential customer, but rather as a financial advisor. He was here to collect a sizable debt payment from the owner – one that had not been collected for the past six months.

Some clubs were run by honest management, cleaned professionally, and employed entertainers that sincerely enjoyed their line of work for good wages. Those businesses, he took no issue with. To each their own. If all involved were consensual adults, who was he to care?

This type of establishment, one that was one more citation away from embezzlement and money-laundering, was the exact opposite of what was allowed. The owner, Mr. Harold Lupscholl, owed money. Quite a bit of it.

“Oi, you lookin’ for a romp this evenin’?”

Ebenezer turned to see a blonde woman in a blue sequin dress, her cheeks blazing red from the cold. Her foundation had an orangey tint compared to the rest of her face, and it looked like she’d painted the pigment over her lips as well, making them unusually pale and nearly invisible. Her eyes, on the other hand, were lined with layers of waxy black pencil scribed an obvious millimeter above her glue-caked lash line. She looked … juvenile.

“Oh, no…” Ebenezer said. The girl had to be in her early twenties at the latest. “I’m here on business.”

Frowning, she took a drag of a cigarette and blew the smoke out with a huff. “Boring. Be that way.”

She sashayed away, and he could see her sheer pantyhose had holes dotted along the backs of her thighs. He watched her walk up to another older gentleman, who judging by the way he took out his wallet, was enthusiastic to accept her offer.

He judged the bloke, but deep down, a part of him felt sympathy. Or, perhaps pity was the more apt word.

He knew what it was like to crave the embrace of another. Now, to pay for it? It was … a nuanced decision, but one he couldn’t see himself making.

Even after the Three Sprits has visited him during the bleary-eyed morning Christmas and inspired him to venture outside the hallowed office walls of his private bank to do good in the world, he was still man of relatively vanilla interests. He was jovial and kind, and as good a partner or master as one could ask for! However, had he tried to channel his new, redemption-inspired cheer into attracting one very special person? He … hadn’t. Not since Isabel had he acted on such intentions or interests.

There was another woman he pined for, but … well, he’d dreamed of her. But only dreamed.

The only time they interacted was when he saw her every morning at New Grounds Coffee Co. Her coffee was … bracing, to say the least. In Bob Cratchit’s words, it was “enough to melt the shell off a snail.” The taste wasn’t what mattered; it was her company he enjoyed.

Whenever he entered the coffee house, Constance DoGoode waved at him like he was a friend, and always made sure to send him away with a complimentary cup of freshly whipped cream for his dog, Prudence. Above all else, she … seemed to like him. When he complimented her, he noticed that she would blush, and how on occasion, her eyes would linger on him just a bit longer than they needed to. Not that he minded.

Nonetheless, he knew it wasn’t ideal to share secret smiles and flirtatious looks forever.

One day, when he had a better handle on his frazzled nerves and could stop blushing like a schoolboy, he hoped to ask her out for a drink. Perhaps dinner, even? Would Constance accept with that same, excited grin she always flashed when he walked into the coffeehouse? The thought brought a light smile to his face, even though he was standing before one of the most garishly lit buildings he’d ever seen. Even clouds of smog couldn’t dull the glow of the flashing neon lights that flashed over the pavement like lights from a cosmic solar storm.

It was the shrill of a police siren behind him that woke him from reality, causing him to turn as see officers scuttle from their vehicle and into what was a very not-up-to-code hostel next-door. A cacophony of screams came from within, and his brow scrunched in sincere concern.

The sooner you do this, the sooner it’s done with, he thought. Stiff upper lip.

With a deep inhale (but not too deep – the smell of warm latex was borderline sickening) and marched onward through the double-doors.

Spider-web cracks on the small, coin-slot style windows prevented him from truly absorbing how seedy the club was from the outside. One he stepped in, a wave of body heat slammed into him. The acrid aroma of cheap, tangy alcohol made bile rise in his throat.

He ventured forth, bobbing and weaving through the crowds and dodging way too many topless dancers.

Of course, he was a grown man. He understood the appeal of going to a place and ogling people. The concept made sense like a memorized mathematical formula made sense. However, the sight of women in pleather unitards briskly walking through crowds of drunk men, trying to avoid contact as much as possible, was deeply troubling.

As soon as this was over, he was filing an official report. This place couldn’t—

“Ough!”

In that moment, one of those very brisk-paced women accidentally clipped his shoulder. The contact came as more of a surprise than annoyance. He quickly recovered (it helped that he was a tall man that towered over most) and went to check on the woman who had collided with him.

“I’m so sorry miss, are you—”

He froze as he saw the woman who had collided with him. That head of coppery hair, even when pulled up into a ponytail, was too distinct to mistake. Even her outfit, a cherry-red bodysuit, clung to her with the same flattering style that her favorite, red satin corset top did.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman muttered, her American accent clear as day. There was a slight tremor in her voice, as if she was trying to swallow a frog. Or a sob. “I wasn’t looking—“

“Constance?”

Her head flicked up with the speed of a fox in the path of a screeching car. The woman looked blindsided for a moment, blinking up at Ebenezer in shock, before embarrassment eclipsed her face.

“M-Mr. Scrooge.”

In addition to the one-piece, the outfit also included white rabbit ears atop her head, a detached collar and bowtie as a choker, and a bunny tail he could only assume was pinned to her backside. It was an obvious and cheaply made Playboy knock-off, only made passable by the beauty of the woman wearing it.

“I-I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said.

Realizing how the situation looked, Ebenezer flushed red. He rallied himself just in time to reach down to help her up.

“I-I’m here on business,” he said, raising his voice above the bass-heavy music. “Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” he repeated again, straining to annunciate over the music, “I apologize for running into you!”

“Oh, it’s fine!” she resonated, “It’s a little chaotic in here.”

He laughed stiffly. “Y-Yes, I can see that.”

Despite the awkwardness of the encounter, she still wore the same, kind smile on her face that she flashed each time he saw her at the coffee house.

There was a lull in the music as the DJ changed tracks, and she seized the opportunity. “I’m sorry. I-I guess my clumsiness is just as bad here as it is at the coffee house.”

She gratefully accepted his hand, which was still dressed in a leather glove. She wobbled upright, teetering on heels so tall that her feet were practically perpendicular to the floor. As he helped her to her feet, he heard an odd, clanking sound that sounded oddly metallic. It came from the vicinity of her ankles, and when he glanced down to inspect the source (perhaps she’d dropped her keys, or her wallet?) he was met with a disturbing sight.

“Are those…shackles?” He mouthed the words and pointed for extra emphasis.

She looked down at the faux-iron bindings around her ankles.

“Oh, um, sure are,” she said, trying to play it off casually. She dragged a foot up, lifting the chain with it. Perhaps they weren’t made of real metal, but they definitely added weight. “It’s part of the gimmick, I guess. Some guys are into it, but they’re hard to walk in! Especially for a klutz like me!”

That irritating bass from before queued up again, and Ebenezer could feel his patience crumbling.

Despite the music and bustling crowd around them, a silence settled between them. The moment was made more palpably awkward by the fact that he tried to respectfully look away from how nicely the bodysuit hugged her body.

“If you’re here on business, are you looking for Mr. Lupscholl?” she asked curiously.

“Yes. Do you happen to know if he’s in tonight?”

Realization made her brow furrow. “He should be. Um, he has a back office. I can take you there.”

She beckoned him to follow, guiding him through a maze of swaying bodies and gyrating couples. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied topless dancers blowing kisses to the crowds. When he gazed forward, he blushed at the realization that there was a bunny tail, plush and cottony, pinned to the apex of her bum.

He veered his eyes away immediately out of respect. When he did so, he caught sight of a woman sliding provocatively across the very tented lap of a well-endowed man in a booth.

She led him around the edge of a large drink bar, which was curved and topped with a cherry-tinted marble.

Two dying palms marked the start of a small hallway hidden at the back of the dance floor.

Down the hall, which was kept dark so as not attract attention away from the dancers or the spectacle of the dance floor, was a small series of doors. There was one bathroom, one storage closet, and all the way in the back, a singular office.

Constance approached the door and knocked. “Excuse me, sir—”

A grunt interrupted her. “New girl? Buzz off, yeah? I’m busy.”

Ignoring his rebuttal, she knocked again. “A man is here to see you. Mr. Scrooge is his name.”

“Mr. Scroo—fuck, he’s here?”

The door swung open a few moments later. A man, easily 5’5” in stature but intimidatingly red in the face stormed out. Despite Constance having a few inches on him in height (especially in heels), he didn’t hesitate to grab her by the wrist and give her a harsh jerk.

Constance, scared but adept at handling such situations, held firm. “Sir, he said here on business.”

“You let him in?”

“I didn't, and even if I did, I can’t prohibit people from coming in—”

“Fucking moron!” he screamed, spit spraying in her face. “You stupid cunt!”

While she stayed calm, Ebenezer was by her side in a heartbeat. He swiftly intervened, placing himself between Constance and the shady business owner.

His hand seized Mr. Lupscholl’s wrist, sinking his fingertips into the sweat-sheened flesh.

"Let go of her," Ebenezer's voice was low and commanding, a dangerous edge to it.

The man glared at Ebenezer, but the man’s icy stare left no room for argument.

With a grunt, his released his grip on Constance's wrist. She stepped back, finding refuge behind Ebenezer, who reached back to lay a comforting hand on her as she did so. He continued to glare at the man, a silent warning in his stance.

“Keep your hands to yourself.” Ebenezer's tone brooked no argument.

“Or what?”

“Or I have even more evidence to report to the authorities to have this establishment shut down,” he said. “In addition to the sky-high debts that you’ve been avoiding for the past few months.”

The last part practically caused the man to short-circuit.

“Get off these premises,” he hissed at Ebenezer. Then, he looked to Constance and pointed an accusatory finger at her. “And you. You’re fucking fired! Forget your last paycheck – I want you out of here in five minutes.”

“You won’t speak to her that way,” Scrooge reminded the man bitterly. “And you can’t legally withhold her compensation either.”

“What are you, her fucking lawyer?”

“No, just the lender here to serve your paperwork. A lawyer would be kinder.”

The man, chastened and likely recognizing the futility of further confrontation, mumbled a few choice words under his breath. He ducked into his office and beckoned Ebenezer inside with a wave of the hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

"This won't take long."

"Fuck you."

With one last look of reassurance, Ebenezer stepped through the threshold just in time for the door to not slam back on him. Once he was inside, someone audibly locked it.

This left Constance in the semi-darkness of the hall.

Five minutes later, Constance walked out of the club in her civilian clothes. After the awkward confrontation, she’d stopped by her locker to collect her toiletries and change before exiting. If she was kicking her out, she could at least look semi-dignified.

What was she going to tell the girls, she thought. Her roommates. Her job at the coffeehouse didn’t give her enough hours to pay rent.

Time to update her resume, she supposed.

Walking out in a loose black T-shirt and denim miniskirt with slip-on sneakers, she looked more like a woman shuffling home after a one-night stand than she did a woman leaving work.

Stepping out into the night without a proper coat, she felt a shiver inch up her spine like a worm.

Just as she shivered, a familiar shadow drifted outside to join her.

“Gods, you must be freezing,” Ebenezer noted with obvious concern. “Here.”

Setting his briefcase down without a second thought, he stripped his jacket and offered it to her. “O-Oh, no, that’s not necessary—”

“I insist. My car is right here. I drove – I’ll be fine. Please. You’re shivering.”

After an icy wind caused her skin to prickle with gooseflesh, she accepted. The satin-lined coat was warm from his use indoors all evening, and also carried the scent of his cologne. It took noticeable effort for her to resist burying her nose in the fabric to take in the aroma fully, but she resisted.

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said. Then, he laid a concerning hand upon her back, and pressed. “Are you alright?

“I … feel a little bad.”

He blinked. “You feel bad? About what?”

“About the other girls. Should I warn them? I know he only fired me, but they’re going be out of work too, right?”

He almost paused in sheer awe of her empathy in the face of the current situation, but he recovered gracefully.

“Don’t worry about that,” he reassured. “I have no intention of your coworkers paying for Mr. Lupscholl’s misdeeds. You, and them, will be receiving a payout.”

“R-Really?”

He nodded, pleased by her hope. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“B-but…he’s got to be bankrupt, right? How could he have any money left to give?”

“I’m sure he has some funds I can weasel out of those pockets of his,” he said vaguely. When it came to helping his clients, the billionaire was always able to conveniently scrounge up proper funds and compensation.

Another icy wind blew past, but the chill wasn’t as potent as it had been moments before. Ebenezer noticed that a contributing factor to the shift was the sudden presence of more people on the sidewalk than there had been minutes before.

Both him and Constance turned their attention in tandem to the inside of the club, where the shadows of rowdy patrons and employees were starting to flail about. Shouts creeped through the spiderweb cracks in the windows, the sounds strident enough to make the delicate panes rattle in their frames.

“Seems your former boss announced the news.”

The same people rioting inside were beginning to spill onto the pavement outside in angry throngs, each band of bickering partygoers getting larger by the second. Whether Lupscholl was the target, or they were looking to take their anger out on each other, was hard to determine.

Scrooge reached into his trouser pocket and clicked the button on the key fob to unlock his car. Its lights flickered on, and Ebenezer opened the passenger door for her.

“Get in.”

A loud crash pierced the night air, and one of the large strobe lights inside flickered out from beyond the fogged windows. Without further argument, Constance raced inside the car and pulled the door shut before anyone else could attempt to climb in behind her. When someone who recognized the redheaded employee saw her try to slip away, they charged after her. Before they could lunge for the handle, she flipped the manual lock on the door to shut them out.

Ebenezer ran around the driver’s side and did the same. With a click of the lock, he immediately queued up the engine. After a quick gear shift, he shimmied quickly out of his parallel parking spot and sped down the street as safely as he could from the chaos.

The echoes of chaos they left behind them quickly faded into silence, replaced with the ambient sounds of city nightlife. Honking horns. Loud advertisements over store radios. Even the hum of the car’s relatively silent heater contributed, and also paired nicely with the 70s hits playing softly on the car’s radio. It would haven been quite the relaxing combination had they not just driven away from such an upset.

Then, faintly, the reverb of sirens rang out from a comfortable distance back.

The man made a sharp left onto Berners Street at the soonest opportunity, clearly aiming to hop on the A40 to take him back east, which would take him back to Lime Street in fifteen minutes, or twelve if traffic was particularly light.

Constance, breathing hard and still wearing the man’s coat, glanced at him as he drove. “W-Wow. Um. Thank you. Again.”

As the adrenaline settled, the older gentleman puffed out a laugh.

“You’re welcome.”

She joined in the soft laughter as her own nerves began to soften.

They two reveled in shared mirth for only a moment, as he traveled north on Chenies Street before arriving at an intersection with a long line of dark gray, uniform townhomes that signified that he'd reached the residential area of Gower Street.

“Right, let’s see,” he mumbled to himself, refocusing on driving, “Left takes me to Camden Town, but right here should put me on Gower, then en route to A40. Then, in a jiffy, Lime Street should be …”

He paused, tapping the brakes at the same time the realization hit him. The man practically blanched at the realization that he had put both of them on a direct route to his flat.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he rushed to reply. “We need to get you home. Please pardon me, I wasn’t … I mean…”

As he stammered, Constance only stared at him with a neutral, smiling expression. “No, no. You’re fine! You were focused on getting us out of there. I’d want to make a break for home too.”

“Still, that’s no excuse!” he replied with reddened cheeks, chastising himself for the lack of decorum he’d displayed. With a stiff cough and loosening of his tie (it was getting too hot in the car, he noted) he gripped the wheel and inched forward again. The universe had blessed him with a visible lack of traffic to deal with, which was greatly appreciated.

“Where can I take you?” Ebenezer asked properly this time, still a tad frazzled even as Constance pulled a map up on her smartphone and mounted it on his dashboard.

“Here. It’s just south of downtown, so you’re on the right route anyway.”

“Ah. Good.”

For the rest of the car ride, Constance leaned back in the passenger seat, looking tired but relaxed. It was a view that he found oddly comforting, he admitted internally. A beautiful woman, wearing his coat, relaxing in his car while he drove her home … it was enough to soften every red-blooded man’s heart a bit, he reasoned.

Even her body language had greatly changed from their first few moments in the vehicle. Now, wearing his coat as a blanket, she angled her head and stared out the window as he drove, as if she was taking in the sights of the city. That made sense, he thought, as she likely didn’t have a car. These routes were likely unfamiliar sights to her, at least in some capacity.

Did she take the bus nightly all the way from downtown to Soho for work? That wasn’t an ideal situation for even a seasoned local, let alone a recent transplant from across the pond.

She was living a hard life in London, he thought. A life a woman like her didn’t deserve to live. She was a hard worker, intelligent and kind. She deserved an opportunity – a starting spark to spur the blaze of a better life.

“Um, Constance?”

“Yes?”

“I know you work at the coffeehouse as well, but given the current situation, a…thought has occurred to me,” he confessed.

“What is it?” Her voice was so kind and inquisitive, and clear as a bell to boot.

“To make sure you’re compensated fully for your boss’ negligence, I’d like to make sure we arrange a meeting to discuss things,” he said, “Go over paperwork, sign all the necessary documents, you know. It can be anywhere you feel most comfortable.”

“Your office is right around the corner from the coffeehouse, right? Can we meet there?”

He cracked a light smile at the suggestion. “I was hoping you’d say that. Um, yes.”

She leaned forward, curious at what was on his mind. “Why do you say that?”

“Well…” he started, giving her a look out of the corner of his eye, “If we meet at my office, might you be able to bright a copy of your CV? You see, I’m looking for a new bank clerk, and knowing what I know about you…I think you’d be a whiz at it.”

“You saved and changed my life that night.”

A glass of bourbon warmed in one of his large hands while the other rested upon the back of a woman, his fingers meticulously carving their way through coppery waves.

Ebenezer lounged on the large sofa in his flat, donned only in pajama bottoms and a dressing gown. He rested upon a large, expansive L-shaped sofa that he’d never found himself using to its full potential until recently. Constance, who had just recounted the story of the fateful night, was curled up beside him, head resting on his shoulder. Just like that fateful evening many moons ago, she was so relaxed in his presence that she had to try to resist the tempting lull of sleep. The feat was made even harder by the fact that she was also donned in a silky nightie and heeled slippers, complete with feathery pom-poms across the straps. Glamorous, but completely and utterly comfortable.

The duo was nestled together before his flat’s massive panoramic windows that showed off the pristine London skyline, the view only split by a massive, warm fireplace that blazed with fragrant alder firewood.

“I had been dreading going to that damn club and dealing with that leech of a man the entire week,” he recalled with a cheeky grin, glancing down at her. His eyes burned with fondness for her, his fingers moving to stroke her visage as if he was caressing a statue. “If I would have known you would have been there, and that everything after that night would have led to this, I would have raced there sooner.”

She giggled as he dropped a devout kiss upon her coppery crown.

“You were so cute and shy,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Heavens, when you realized that you were actually driving me back to your apartment, you were so sweet about making sure I knew you’d made a mistake.”

“True, but … ugh, I was such a bumbling schoolboy the entire time,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Certainly not dashing enough for a lady like you.”

“Not dashing enough? You saved us both by getting us out of there! You offered me a job and an opportunity to start over at a new job that I liked. You were a knight in shining armor!”

Chuffed but always modest, he shrugged.

“I still could have been quite a bit more graceful about it,” he said. “You’re too kind, my sunflower. I still think it’s a bloody miracle you kept talking to an oaf like me.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes at his stubbornness.

“You were a perfect gentleman,” she said, “Although, this more assured side of you is definitely welcome as well.”

He took a swig of his drink, his icy gaze still resting on her from over the rim. He drained the liquid in one last gulp, exhaling the delicious burn. “Do you, now?”

She nodded, pulling his arm even closer and resting her chin atop his shoulder. “Masculine, virile, charming, and handsome? Oh, very much so.”

Ebenezer sat the now empty glass down on the marbled end-table so he could use both hands to cradle the woman at his side.

“By the way…” he asked, her voice burring pleasantly as he moved his lips against her hairline, “Whatever happened to that skimpy little outfit you had to wear?”

Her cornflower eyes flicked to his with a mischievous glint.

“Oh, I have it still,” she revealed with mock casualness.

“Truly? Even the heels?”

“Of course,” she teased. “Why ever do you ask?”

“Why do you think?”

Her smirk broadened into a bright grin as Ebenezer moved his lips down to her neck and gave a playful nip. He continued to trail kisses along her velvety, perfumed skin as she laughed. Keeping his movements slow and languid, he made sure he properly worshiped her entire décolleté before lifting his head again to offer a bourbon-flavored kiss. She accepted willingly, parting her lips to drink in the delicious flavor and his even more delicious moans and huffs of laughter.

On that fateful night just over a year ago, Ebenezer Scrooge had glanced over while driving through west London, and had found the view of the woman in his passenger seat as mesmerizing as he did enthralling.

Now, as he and that exact same woman collapsed in a tangle on the sofa, hands slowly shifting beneath layers of silk, he couldn’t help but think of home much that view had changed and evolved … and how thankful he was for taking that small detour near Camden Town to get there.

@quill-pen Some fun lore for how the nightclub era ended! I couldn't find if we decided on an exact neighborhood for the girls' cottage, so I totally ballparked it, haha. ^^;

#scroogeverse #modern au #ebenestance #scrooge 2022 #scrooge netflix #scrooge x oc #oc constance dogoode

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