#she never does dock the pay though
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dracocheesecake · 10 months ago
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Ardia: "Uoomi, be honest, is *insert incredibly immoral act here* wrong?"
Uoomi: "Yes."
Ardia: "...I'm docking your pay."
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kysstar · 2 months ago
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SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER ONE : : PLAN GONE SOUTH
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pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader
series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.
genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)
chapter warnings : : mentions of death, marriage talk, a little bit of violence
word count : : 3.8k
[series masterlist]
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—“Merchant’s daughter,” Hongjoong said, kicking his boots up on the table, eyes flicking between the crew. “In and out. No blood, no mess, no drama.”
“Boring,” Wooyoung drawled, already peeling an orange he’d stolen off some dock vendor. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“Fun doesn’t pay,” Seonghwa replied smoothly from where he leaned against the map wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Gold does.”
Yunho snorted. “I’ll take boring if it means a warm meal and dry socks for a week.”
The ship creaked beneath them, anchored just far enough off the coast to stay unnoticed. Moonlight cut across the war table, highlighting inked maps, a list of docking schedules, and a crude sketch of the merchant’s estate. The target: Hyeon Jisoo, daughter of the East Trade Baron. Young, pampered, used to saying yes and hearing nothing but yes in return.
Easy snatch. Quiet ransom. No one dies.
“We hit the estate during the shift change. Guards rotate at midnight,” Yeosang said, tapping a finger on the paper. His tone was flat, focused. “North entrance is least guarded. Servants come and go there. We wear house colors, sneak in quiet.”
“And sneak out quieter,” Mingi added, chewing the end of a pencil. “You sure the girl’s worth it?”
“She’s worth a vault of it,” Jongho replied, arms folded, steady as ever. “Her father’s been flaunting coin for years. Time someone took a slice.”
Hongjoong nodded. “We don’t need the whole vault. Just a taste. We hold her for a week, send the note, get paid. Then we drop her off at some quiet beach with her fancy shoes and let her cry into silk.”
The crew chuckled. Except Seonghwa, who just gave Hongjoong a look. “You sure this won’t cause waves?”
“We don’t need to cause waves, Hwa. We need to disappear before the tide turns.”
A beat of silence, and then Hongjoong leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
“Wooyoung, Yeosang, San—you’re in.”
San perked up immediately. “Finally.”
“Why me?” Yeosang asked, not protesting, just curious.
“You’re quiet. You don’t get cocky. You think.”
“What about me?” Wooyoung grinned, teeth flashing.
“You never think, but people like your face.” Hongjoong smirked. “You’ll charm the guards, flash a coin, ask for directions to the wine cellar. Get their attention somewhere else.”
“And San?”
“Muscle,” Hongjoong said simply. “And backup when charm fails.”
San beamed like he’d just been knighted. Wooyoung rolled his eyes.
“You’ve got until nightfall to prep. Masks, clothes, weapons—discreet ones,” Seonghwa added, side-eyeing Mingi who already looked too excited.
Hongjoong stood. “Remember: we want the merchant’s daughter. Not a scene, not a body count.”
“Easy job,” San repeated.
Hongjoong didn’t smile. “There’s no such thing.”
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—"You can't be serious."
Your voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. The silence that follows is heavy, strained. Across the room, your mother’s expression is tight, and your father doesn’t even look at you—he simply stares at the glass of wine in his hand as though it might answer for him.
But you’re already walking forward, heat in your chest, voice rising. “Prince Chanwoo? You expect me to marry him?”
“He is a respected ruler,” your mother says sharply, lips thinning. “And this marriage secures peace.”
“Peace built on fear,” you shoot back. “You know what happened to his last two wives—queens, not common girls. They couldn’t bear him sons and ended up hanging from the palace walls.”
“Rumors,” your father says finally. “You’d do well not to repeat them.”
“They’re not rumors.” You take a step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They're warnings.”
"Enough," your mother snaps. "You will not raise your voice to your father. You will do your duty."
“Duty?” you echo, bitterness curling around the word. “Is that what you call throwing me to a man who smiles like a snake and kills his wives in secret?”
“He won’t hurt you,” your father says, though he sounds tired rather than convinced. “You are different. You are royal.”
“So were they,” you say coldly.
“I won't do it.” The finality in your voice cracks through the air like thunder. “I won’t marry him.”
“You will,” your father says, rising to his feet now, towering with the weight of the crown behind him. “You will marry him and protect this kingdom.”
“I would rather be stolen by pirates,” you snap. “At least they don’t hide their knives behind crowns.”
“Enough!” Your mother slams her hand on the table, trembling with fury. “You are acting like a child—”
“You are treating me like property!”
That’s when you hear him—your brother’s voice, sharp and steady as ever. “She’s right.”
Taeyang steps into the hall, standing beside you with his chin high and his eyes locked on your parents. “She’s not a bargaining chip. And Chanwoo—he’s dangerous. We all know it.”
“Taeyang, stay out of this,” your father warns.
“I won’t,” he says, and there’s steel beneath his calm. “If she dies in that castle, it’ll be your names they chant in the streets.”
Your father glares. “She is a princess. She will marry where we decide.”
You stare at him, your blood turning to ice. “No. You may hold the crown—but you don’t own me.”
Then you turn and walk away. The corridor is quiet compared to the storm you just left behind. You don’t stop until you reach your chambers, heart pounding. Two maids rush forward, startled, but you say nothing, only sit at the vanity, fists clenched in your lap.
Moments later, Taeyang steps in. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he says, but his voice is soft.
“I meant every word.” Your voice cracks. The maids begin brushing your hair in silence, knowing better than to interrupt. “They’re sending me to die, brother.”
He sighs and crouches beside you, watching your reflection in the mirror. “I’ll talk to them again. There has to be a way out.”
“There isn’t,” you say quietly. “Father’s made up his mind. You know how he is.”
Taeyang presses his lips into a line. He does know.
“I just need to get out,” you murmur. “Clear my head. Jisoo’s hosting a small gathering. Nothing grand. I’ll go there.”
He nods. “You should. But take guards.”
You smile weakly. “Always the responsible one.”
Taeyang chuckles and ruffles your hair, undoing the maid’s hard work. She huffs under her breath, but you laugh.
“You’re the only reason I haven’t lost my mind,” you tell him.
“Someone has to make sure you don’t burn down the palace.”
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—Jisoo greets you with a grin the second you step into the courtyard. The space is warm with low lantern light, scattered laughter drifting between stone columns and silk curtains. A few familiar faces linger near the fountain, sipping wine and speaking in hushed tones.
“You made it,” she says, linking her arm through yours without waiting. “I was beginning to think your parents had locked you in the west tower.”
“They nearly did,” you mutter, earning a snort from her.
You walk slowly beside her, the fabric of your gown brushing against the tiled floor. It’s a deep wine-red, cinched at the waist. Your hair is twisted up, pinned with pearls, and the only pieces of jewelry you're wearing are a few rings and a ruby necklace.
Jisoo pulls you toward a small table tucked beneath a tree blooming with night jasmine. “Sit. Eat something. Complain. I’m here for all of it.”
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—The party hummed with low music and soft conversation, the kind that filled spaces with comfort and masked intentions. No one noticed the three new arrivals—why would they? They looked the part. Rich silks, clean boots, smiles just wide enough to be trusted. They moved through the crowd like shadows dipped in gold.
Wooyoung was already flirting with a girl by the fountain, wine glass in hand, his coat perfectly tailored, his grin sharper than any blade he carried.
“I give it five minutes before someone offers him a marriage proposal,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, leaning against a column, eyes scanning every window, every guard, every possible exit.
San adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, the only one of the three who actually looked uncomfortable in noblewear. He tugged at the collar, eyes flicking to the second floor balcony.
“She’s supposed to be up there. Third door on the left. Servants say she doesn’t like parties. Stays out of sight.”
“Relatable,” Yeosang said.
San snorted. “Let’s move before someone recognizes you from a wanted poster.”
They slipped away from the light, Wooyoung breaking off with a wink and a whispered promise he had no intention of keeping. They met near the staircase.
“North wing,” Yeosang murmured. “Rooms upstairs. One of them has to be hers.”
“She’s not out here,” San added. “I’ve checked twice.”
“Then she’s inside,” Wooyoung said. “Let’s move before some duke starts trying to make small talk again.”
They split off again, slipping into the villa like they belonged. Servants didn’t stop them. Nobles glanced and looked away. No one questioned three handsome men in fine clothing.
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—The window is open. You’re leaning against the frame, one hand curled around the stem of a half-empty wine glass, the other clutching a small tin of sweets you swiped from the kitchens when no one was looking. The air is easier to breathe out here—cool night breeze brushing your skin, jasmine blooming somewhere below. Inside, the party still hums, low and dull, like voices through thick velvet.
Jisoo had gone to fetch something—probably more wine, or maybe the pearl hair comb she’d been gushing about earlier. You told her you’d wait. You weren’t expecting her to take this long.
You take a slow sip, eyes drifting toward the stars, when something shifts behind you.
It’s small. A breath, maybe. A whisper of movement. But it pulls every nerve in your body taut.
You turn—and that’s the last thing you manage to do.
There’s a blur of movement and a sharp crack of air. Pain blossoms behind your eyes, sudden and white-hot, and the world spins. You don’t even have time to scream.
Yeosang lunges forward just in time to catch you before your head hits the floor. His arms close around your waist, steadying the dead weight of your body with a grunt as he eases you down gently.
“Shit,” he mutters, checking your pulse, brushing your hair away from your face. You’re breathing—shallow and even—but your brow is already furrowed like you’re dreaming something terrible.
“She moved,” San says, still braced like he’s expecting a second wave. “Could’ve called for help.”
“You didn’t have to hit her that hard,” Wooyoung snaps, pulling a thick cloak from his pack and kneeling beside the two of them. “She’s half your size. Are you trying to kill the ransom?”
“She’ll wake up,” San mutters, avoiding Wooyoung’s glare.
“That’s not the point—”
“Enough,” Yeosang says quietly. He’s still watching your face, frowning slightly. “Are you sure this is the girl?”
Wooyoung shrugs, already pulling the cloak over your dress to hide the deep crimson silk. “Matches the description. Right place, right time. Rich, young, pretty.”
Yeosang doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick down to the details—the way your hair’s been pinned, the rings on your fingers, the kind of fabric that shimmers when it moves. It doesn’t scream ‘merchant’s daughter.’ It screams something else. Something heavier. Costlier.
“She’s dressed too fine,” he says, low.
“It’s a party,” Wooyoung replies, tying the cloak. “Baron’s daughter wants to peacock, so she does. Doesn’t change the job.”
Yeosang hesitates, then nods slowly. “Let’s just move before anyone notices she’s missing.”
San’s already at the door, checking the hallway. “Clear.”
“Good. Grab her,” Wooyoung says, rising to his feet. “And this time, maybe don’t knock anyone else unconscious unless they swing first.”
Yeosang scoops you up, careful but fast, adjusting his grip so your head rests against his shoulder. You don’t stir. Just a soft, pained sound, barely audible.
They disappear into the night without another word.
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—Below deck, the room was dim and swaying with the gentle lull of the sea. Lanterns swung from beams overhead, casting low golden arcs across the ship’s worn interior. The air was thick with salt, wood, and the faint trace of dried blood that clung no matter how often they scrubbed.
You were still unconscious—tied to a chair with thick rope, wrists bound, head slumped slightly to the side. Your cloak had fallen open during the rush, revealing a flash of silk beneath. The only sound from you was the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.
The crew gathered in a loose half-circle around you, talking low among themselves.
“She went down faster than I thought,” San said, arms crossed. “Didn’t even make a sound.”
Wooyoung leaned against a crate, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you she was the one. Clean job, no fuss.”
Mingi crouched beside the chair, eyeing you curiously. “Looks... a little different than I expected.”
“Maybe she’s just dressed nice for the party,” Jongho offered.
“Merchant’s kids always look expensive,” Yunho muttered, but there was a faint line between his brows now. He wasn’t entirely convinced.
Footsteps echoed from above—the unmistakable sound of boots against the stairs.
Seonghwa descended first, cool and composed as always. Behind him came Hongjoong, coat swinging behind him, hair wind-tossed from the deck. He looked tired, but alert. Captain mode.
“Let’s see the prize, then,” Seonghwa said, stepping into the lantern light.
Wooyoung straightened up. “Got her clean,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t even have to chase her.”
Seonghwa gave a short nod, eyes flicking over your form, scanning for any signs of resistance or damage.
Hongjoong approached slowly, gaze narrowing. “Nice work,” he said absently, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth. “Maybe you aren’t as useless as you look, Woo.”
Then he crouched down in front of you. The smirk faded.
His eyes locked on the necklace around your neck—a thin, delicate chain of gold, holding a ruby the size of a tear. His hand moved before he spoke, fingers brushing the pendant gently, almost thoughtfully. He held it for a beat, then let it go, and reached up instead to tilt your chin toward him.
Your head lolled slightly. The light caught your face full on now—cheekbones, long lashes, the faintest frown still resting in your unconscious expression.
San stepped forward slightly. “Captain? Something wrong?”
Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He just stared at your face for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he stood.
His sigh was sharp, tired, edged with frustration. His voice, though, was calm. Too calm.
“What necklace,” he said, “is she wearing?”
Seonghwa stepped in and bent down, lifting the ruby gently with two fingers. His breath hitched. “Ruby,” he said under his breath.
The air shifted. Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang, eyes widening.
“Ruby,” Hongjoong echoed, with a dry chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the wall. “And who wears rubies?”
The silence stretched. Jongho, voice quieter than usual, answered. “The royal family.”
There was a pause—half a heartbeat—and then Hongjoong slammed a vase off the nearby shelf. It shattered against the wood with a crack that echoed through the whole hull, sending pieces scattering across the floor.
“You three idiots,” Hongjoong seethed, not yelling, just loud enough to cut. “You kidnapped a member of the royal family!”
No one spoke. They all knew better.
There were times on this ship when you joked, when you laughed at your captain’s strange moods, when you nudged at the line for fun. This wasn’t one of them.
This was where you zipped your mouth and hoped the storm passed.
Hongjoong’s boots hit the wooden floor hard as he stomped up the steps, the tension in his shoulders visible even from behind. Seonghwa followed a pace behind, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression unreadable. One by one, the rest of the crew moved after them, heads lowered, glances thrown, but no one speaking just yet.
They spilled out onto the main deck where the moon hung fat over the sea, and the wind tugged at their coats and hair like the ocean itself was eavesdropping.
Wooyoung was the first to speak, tentatively. “Couldn’t we just ask for ransom?” he said, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “She’s a princess. They’ll pay more than we could ever dream of.”
Seonghwa scoffed, loud and short. “They wouldn’t send gold, Wooyoung. They’d send ships. And soldiers. And cannons with our names carved into the damn balls.”
“She’s not just a royal,” Yeosang muttered, glancing out at the dark horizon. “She’s the kind of royal they hang people for touching. All eight of us, strung up before we make landfall.”
“So we dump her,” Mingi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right now. Overboard. Cut our losses, vanish before the tide turns.”
“And when they find her body floating?” Jongho asked, frowning. “You think they’ll just shrug and say ‘oh well’?”
“I say we drop her back where we got her,” Jongho added, voice low. “Slip her back into the courtyard and pretend we never saw her.”
“We knocked her out and dragged her across a harbor,” San cut in. “You think no one noticed the princess is missing by now? Going back would be suicide.”
The group fell into silence. Hongjoong stood near the helm, staring into the night like it might offer him something he could work with. A way out. But all it gave him was the sound of ropes snapping against sails and his own rising pulse.
He hated royals. Hated everything about them. Their smug faces, their soft hands, their twisted power disguised as charm. And now one of them was tied to a chair on his ship.
His lips curled back in frustration. And then—noise. Muffled at first, then louder. A scuff. A thud. The creak of ropes moving when they shouldn’t be, from below deck.
Hongjoong groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he muttered. “Our princess is awake.”
He didn’t turn around. Just waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “Get her. Before she breaks something.”
Yunho and Mingi immediately moved, boots thudding as they headed down the steps and into the dim lower deck.
They reached the room where they left you. The chair was empty, only thing on it were ropes and the cloak.
“Mingi—” Yunho started.
But Mingi had already turned—just in time to catch the heel of your foot directly to his face. He staggered back with a grunt, blood blooming from his nose.
You bolted through the narrow corridor, gown bunched in your fists, heels clacking like gunshots against the floorboards. The ship was a maze of doors and passageways, and you had no idea where you were or where the exit was—but forward was better than trapped.
Your breath came in sharp bursts, the ache in your head dulling with every rush of adrenaline. Panic clawed at your throat, but you pushed it down. Run now. Breathe later.
One second you were turning a corner, and the next you were being yanked back into a chest, a cold ring of metal pressing hard against your temple. Your body froze instantly.
“Make a move, princess,” a voice hissed against your ear. Low. Dangerous. Calm in the way that promised nothing good. “And, I’ll blow your brains out.”
Hongjoong’s arm stayed locked across your ribs, anchoring you against him with unshakable grip. The cold kiss of the gun never left your temple. Not even when he raised his voice, directing it toward the deck where his crew had gathered like guilty schoolboys caught in a mistake no one dared name yet.
“Because someone had their heads up their asses,” Hongjoong said, voice steady but biting, “we kidnapped the wrong girl.”
No one moved. Not a single shift of boot or breath.
“I don’t want a stuck-up royal bleeding on my ship,” he continued, tone razor-sharp. “So we’re going to sail close to shore, drop her off at her golden palace, and pretend this never happened. She won’t say a word. Right, princess?”
Your breath caught. Your mouth parted. He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t even glance at you when he said it—he’d already decided.
The idea of returning tightened something in your throat. The palace gates flashing before your eyes. Your mother’s pinched look. Your father’s barely-concealed disgust. The stiff silence they would demand while attendants wiped blood from your brow and powdered the bruises under your eyes.
And then the ceremony. The binding. Prince Chanwoo.
You saw his face in your mind, that soft practiced smile that never reached his eyes, that always left your skin cold. You saw the last queens, portraits now—painted high and pale, hidden in shadowed corners of the palace where no one spoke their names.
No.
Your body twisted suddenly in Hongjoong’s grip. “You can’t send me back.”
That made him look at you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “What did you say?”
“Don’t send me back,” you said again, louder this time. “Keep me here. I’ll pay you. Whatever you want—just name your price.”
He shoved you then—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to turn you—pinning you against the gunwale. The sea roared below, black and endless. You looked down and your breath hitched. One wrong move and you’d be part of it.
“What game are you playing?” he growled.
You lifted your chin. “I’ll pay anything. Just let me stay on this ship. Keep me away from the kingdom.”
There was a beat of silence, long and heavy. Then, he tilted his head, lips curling with dry amusement. “And why would a princess want to stay with a bunch of pirates?”
You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Neither of you moved. Somewhere above, the crew waited, pretending they weren’t listening. The ship creaked, low and slow. Every second felt like it dragged along the edge of a blade.
Finally, Hongjoong pulled back. He stepped away from you in one smooth, practiced motion. But his eyes never left your face.
You reached for your hand, pulling off the ring you’d worn since you were sixteen. Thick-banded gold, three flawless diamonds, wrapped in a loop of white-gold filigree. A gift from the Queen Mother. Worth more than most small ships.
You held it out. Hongjoong went to take it—but you pulled it back an inch.
“This,” you said clearly, “is the price. For not telling anyone who I am. For letting me stay.”
The air shifted. Again. The crew watched, quiet and stunned. The fire behind Hongjoong's eyes flared again. A long pause. His hand curled into a fist.
Then he closed his eyes. “Fine,” The word landed like a stone.
You placed the ring in his palm. He turned it in his fingers, inspecting it with a slow, careful look, like it might burn him. Then that familiar twist of his mouth returned, cynical and sharp. He gave you a shallow, sarcastic bow.
“Welcome aboard, princess.”
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© kysstar
taglists : : @lcvejjoong @cheolright @yeon103 @m00njinnie @sheadoreswalls @asweetblueberry2 @ateezswonderland @chanscappuccino @mis4marz @desi2go @torkorpse @jayyourbabe @napipope-ta @boredlol914 @itsmyterriblewonderfullife @peachyyunhoe @lover-ofallthingspretty @monsta-x-jagi @d3kstar @tunafishyfishylike @mountiiny @zzenkha
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bambiihee · 3 months ago
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SPRING BREAKERS༚ ── y.jw
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on the pier, by the lake, jungwon wants to make this spring break one you’ll never forget.
▸ PAIRING༚ 양정원 x fem!reader ▸ WC༚ 0. 6 k ▸ GENRE༚ straight filthy smut, pwp ▸ WARNINGS༚ NSFW, MDNI! public sex, exhibitionism, slight dubcon (jungwon tells her to make him stop and she doesnt), dirty talk, dom!jungwon, vaginal fingering, teasing, breast play
[ note༚ ] part one of fifteen for my 500 followers event! doing the prompts out of order >_<
When Jungwon had told you that his friends had planned an afternoon trip to the lake, a week into spring break when the weather was the warmest, you had begged to go with him. You hadn’t spent a day at the lakeshore since you were young, and all of his friend’s girlfriends were coming, so it was only fair if you got to tag along as well.
But now, sat in Jungwon’s lap on the pier, his hands growing bolder and bolder as he slips his fingers underneath your bikini strings, you wish you had stayed behind.
All of his friends are out in the water, too caught up in each other to pay attention to the two of you perched on the rickety wooden dock— you watch them like a hawk, praying to whatever god will listen that none of them take a passing glance over their shoulder.
“Jungwon!” you hiss, though it sounds more like a whimper. “We can’t do this here!”
He just hums, tugging playfully at the straps to watch them snap back against your skin. The tie threatens to give way with every teasing motion, your bikini top falling open and your breasts spilling out for everyone to see. The thought horrifies you, and so does the feeling of something hot and heavy swirling in your gut.
“Do what?” Jungwon asks innocently, venturing down your chest to cup your tits. He gropes and kneads them, pushes them together just to pull them apart, twists at your hardening nipples through the fabric of your bikini. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from moaning aloud, somehow feeling even more sensitive than usual, every touch sending sparks of desire through your core.
Jungwon’s touch is ravenous, rough and greedy and so fucking obvious as if you were back at home and not sitting in public. in broad daylight. with all of his friends around.
“That! We can’t, not here!” you try to wiggle out of his grip, but you only manage to rub up against the growing bulge in Jungwon’s swim trunks. He’s already half hard, you realize with a gasp— the fabric of your swimsuits are thin enough that you can feel very ridge and vein of him, slotted between your asscheeks and straining up against you needily. The soft grunt Jungwon lets out in your ear goes straight to your pussy, dripping slick and clenching around nothing in record time. “Won, please, they’ll see—“
“What if I want them to?” he purrs, his whispered confession shocking you into silence. Slowly, his hand leaves your breast to trail down your belly, fingertips like fire as they caress your skin. The tip of his middle finger comes in contact with your clit, the littlest ghost of a touch that makes you jolt and mewl. Your reaction makes him chuckle, and he slides his fingers farther, traces the outline of your slit through your bottoms. “Fuck, you’re already so wet for me. You sure you don’t want it too, baby? I could make you feel so good, just slide your bikini bottoms to the side and make you cum on my fingers— make you cum so hard you don’t care if anyone notices.”
“Wonnie…” you warble weakly, your defenses cracking as Jungwon starts to peel your soaked bottoms from where they’ve stuck themselves to your core.
“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I will.” Two long, bony fingers prod at your weeping entrance, the bump Jungwon’s hand makes in the flimsy fabric obscene. You hiccup and roll your hips, unable to stop yourself from seeking his touch.
You don’t tell him to stop. You can’t even form words.
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aquaholicsanonymousworld · 2 months ago
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Florida Kilos | Pairing: Jason Duval x Ex!Reader | Author's Note: I need GTA VI neeoowwwwwwww!!!!!!! I NEED JASON DUVAL NOW!!!!! "THEY REHEATED THE ARTHUR MORGAN NACHOS!!!!!!" I scream as they drag me away to the asylum.
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Jason Duval had a buzzcut now.
You noticed it before anything else, before the thick new muscle on his frame, before the gold chain catching light against his tan skin, before the way his arm was slung a little too casually around her waist. His hair — the long, sun-streaked mess you used to tug on when things got heated — was gone. Shorn down to the scalp like he was trying to erase the kid you used to know.
And maybe he had.
Because Jason wasn’t playing small-time in the Keys anymore. No, not with Lucia on his hip — the Lucia you’d heard whispers about, the one with the sharp mouth and sharper instincts, the kind of woman who didn’t play second to anyone.
Your stomach turned when you saw them, all wrapped up in each other like they owned the place. Lucia’s eyes were always moving, clocking everyone in the bar, but when her gaze slid over you, it was indifferent. Like you weren’t even a blip on her radar.
Jason, though — he wasn’t so smooth.
His eyes locked on you, and for half a second, that cocky grin twitched. Like he wasn’t expecting you here. Like maybe seeing you knocked him off balance just a little.
You let your eyes drag over him, slow and deliberate.
“Buzzcut, huh?” you muttered, stepping close enough that only he could hear. “Guess you really are trying to pretend the Keys never happened.”
Jason’s jaw tensed. That familiar tick in his temple. “Maybe I just got tired of dragging around dead weight.”
You almost laughed. “Is that what you call it now? Dead weight?”
Your eyes flicked to Lucia, then back to him. “Tell me, Jason — does she know you used to cry every time you busted up your hand? Or is that another thing you shaved off with the hair?”
Lucia’s brows lifted, finally paying attention. Jason’s hand on her hip tightened, subtle but there.
“You should walk away,” he said, voice low, dangerous in a way that used to thrill you but now just made your blood boil. “Before you say something you can’t take back.”
You stepped in, chest nearly brushing his. “Already did. Three years ago on that damn dock, remember? Or did you buzz that out too?”
For a split second, the whole room felt like it held its breath.
Jason’s lips curled into a sneer, but behind it — deep behind it — there was that flicker. That heat. That unfinished business that no amount of new girlfriends, new cuts, or new crimes could kill.
Lucia’s hand slipped down to his wrist, subtle but firm. Possessive. Like she could feel the shift in him too.
You smirked. “Didn’t think so.”
And with that, you turned on your heel, letting the weight of your words hang in the humid air. You didn’t look back — but you could feel his eyes burning into you as you walked away, every step stoking that slow, simmering fire you both pretended was dead.
You barely made it past the neon flicker of the bar’s open sign before you heard heavy footsteps behind you — fast, clipped. Jason.
“Hey.”
His voice snapped through the night, sharp enough to stop you in your tracks.
You turned slow, arms crossed like armor. “Took you long enough.”
Jason was on you in seconds, close enough that the heat radiating off him made your skin prickle. The ocean breeze did nothing to cool the air between you.
“You really couldn’t help yourself, huh?” His jaw was tight, eyes dark and storming. “Had to start shit in front of her.”
You let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry — did I mess up your little power couple moment? My bad.”
He stepped in closer, chest brushing yours now. That chain around his neck caught the light again, glinting like a warning.
“You think this is a game?” he growled, voice low enough that it rumbled through your ribs. “Lucia doesn’t play. You open your mouth like that again, and she’ll—”
“What? Finish what you started?”
You tilted your chin up, meeting his glare head-on. “Go ahead, Jason. Let her come for me. At least she’d be honest about it.”
His nostrils flared. That vein in his neck jumped — the same one you used to trace with your fingers when you still loved him, before all this turned toxic and ugly.
For a beat, neither of you moved.
The only sound was the muffled bass thumping from inside and the distant lapping of the waves.
Then Jason swore under his breath, voice cracking just enough to give him away. “You make me crazy, you know that?”
You smirked, sharp and mean. “Always did.”
His hand shot out, palm flat against the wall beside your head — not touching you, but caging you in. His chest heaved, close enough now that you could smell the mix of cheap cologne and sea salt, and under that, something familiar. Him.
Your breath hitched, just for a second. Mistake.
Jason caught it, his eyes flicking down to your mouth and back up.
His jaw clenched. “You don’t get to look at me like that.”
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips — reflex, but it made his eyes darken. “And yet, here you are. Chasing after me.”
His other hand twitched at his side like he wanted to grab you, shake you, maybe kiss you — maybe both. You weren’t sure which one you wanted either, and that was the real problem.
“I should go back inside,” he muttered, but he didn’t move.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “You should.”
Neither of you moved.
The air felt thick enough to choke on. Your heart slammed against your ribs, traitorous and loud.
Jason leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed your ear when he spoke. “Next time you pull that shit… I won’t let you walk away so easy.”
You swallowed hard, throat tight. “Next time, maybe I won’t.”
He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again, something dangerous flickering there — something old and raw and very, very alive.
Then, like a switch flipping, he straightened, scrubbing a hand over his buzzed scalp like he could shake you off.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked back inside, leaving you alone in the sticky Florida night, pulse racing and every nerve on fire.
He could still feel it sometimes — the ghost of your fingers threading through his hair, slow and lazy like they had all the time in the world.
Back then, they did.
Back before everything got complicated. Before the money, the jobs, and Lucia.
Your legs were slung over his, bare skin sticking to his thighs in the sticky Keys heat. You sat sideways on his lap, one hand absently twirling a piece of his long, sun-bleached hair while the other traced idle circles on his shoulder.
Jason leaned back against the rickety porch chair, grinning like an idiot as he watched you squint against the late afternoon sun.
“Y’know,” he drawled, voice thick with that lazy contentment he never found anymore, “you’re real bossy for someone who’s technically not my wife yet.”
You paused, fingers caught in a tangle of his hair. Your eyes narrowed, amused. “Yet?”
Jason smirked, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. He reached up, caught your wrist, and tugged you closer until you were pressed up against his chest.
“Ok, Mrs. Duval,” he teased, voice warm and rough around the edges.
You snorted and shoved at his shoulder. “Shut up.”
But he just laughed — full and loud, the kind of laugh that used to bubble up easy around you.
“Nah, I’m serious,” he said, grin softening into something more real. His hand found your hip, fingers curling there like they belonged. “You’d look good with my name. All official and shit.”
You stilled against him. The banter dropped a little, tone shifting like it always did when he got too close to the thing they never quite said out loud.
“Jason,” you warned, voice quieter now. “Don’t say that if you’re not gonna propose. That’s messed up.”
His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened — cocky but earnest in that dumb, dangerous way he had.
“But I will,” he said simply. Like it was fact. Like there was no world where it didn’t happen. “One day. I swear.”
You rolled her eyes, but he felt the way your body softened just a little like part of you wanted to believe him. Like maybe you did.
“Sure, Duval. I’ll believe it when I see a ring.”
Jason just laughed again, tipping his head back against the chair, letting your fingers go back to weaving through his hair like they were stitched into him.
And in that moment — sun setting, beer bottles clinking somewhere in the background, your weight warm and solid on his lap — he meant it. He really fucking meant it.
But now, standing outside some grimy Vice City dive with Lucia waiting inside, Jason could only feel the phantom sting of that promise.
Because he never did buy that ring. Never made her Mrs. Duval.
And judging by the way she looked at him tonight — all sharp edges and bitter heat — she remembered that too.
Part 2
220 notes · View notes
jhyoos · 2 months ago
Text
Beauty And The Beast
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beast!sevika x beauty!reader
mentions: dark content, romance, based on french version of beauty & the beast, wlw, mean sevika, angst, ambessa as gaston, reader is called beauty
summary : you scarfice yourself to live with a terrifying beast in order to save your father. overtime, you discover the beast is gentle and kind beneath her monstrous facade.
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Once, there was a home filled with light.
It stood proudly on the edge of the sea, where salt met silk, and the scent of jasmine tangled with the wind. In this house lived a merchant—widowed, wearied, but not unkind—his shoulders heavy with age and grief. He had six children: three sons and three daughters, scattered like mismatched pearls across a velvet strand.
The youngest, the quietest, the one who wandered the gardens in bare feet and read novels by candlelight, was you.
And though the others had grown restless with ruin, you found solace in simplicity.
Your father, once the proud captain of ships, now walked with a limp and a heart softened by sorrow. Still, every evening, he would sit at your bedside and read aloud, voice dipping through pages of tales older than memory. Of girls with hair like night, of beasts with broken hearts, of love that bloomed like moonflowers in dark places.
It was never just fiction to you. It was a map. A key. A prayer whispered into the stars.
Then the sea turned cruel.
His last fleet sank in a storm of debts and salt. One by one, his holdings were stripped away, like leaves in autumn. And so, with nothing but a rusting cart and threadbare coats, your family fled the city’s grandeur and took root in the countryside—where the bones of trees rattled in the wind and the cottage was crooked with time.
Your eldest sisters—Mariette and Corinne—were furious.
"They expect us to live like peasants!" Mariette would hiss as she cleaned her fingernails with a broken comb.
Corinne cried when her satin gowns wouldn’t fit inside the single wooden chest she was allowed to bring. "This is barbaric," she declared. "Like being exiled."
The brothers, each in their own way, tried to help. Maxime, the oldest son, was brooding and bitter, speaking of debts he’d yet to repay. Tristan, clever but too soft-spoken, worked the soil with shaking hands. And Adrien, the youngest, tried to make everyone laugh, even when there was nothing funny left.
But you—you tended the herbs. You fetched water from the stream. You stitched old linen into curtains and sang softly to the geese. You did not complain.
"It suits you," your father said one morning, watching you gather wildflowers at the edge of the frost-laced orchard.
"What does?" you asked.
"This life. You look… peaceful here."
You smiled, placing a daisy behind his ear. "Peace isn't found. It's made."
He laughed then, eyes crinkling. And for a moment, he looked young again.
Then came the letter.
One of his ships, thought lost, had docked. There was a chance—slim, but real—that he might reclaim its cargo. Enough gold, perhaps, to pay off some debts. Perhaps even return to the city.
Your sisters burst into a flurry of demands.
"Bring back my sapphire earrings!" cried Corinne. "And my silk from Persia," Mariette added. "A music box," said Adrien. "A hunting knife," muttered Maxime. "New boots," said Tristan, though he glanced at you with guilt. "And a pearl comb, if you find one," whispered Adrien again, hopeful.
Your father jotted the requests down with a heavy sigh. When he looked at you, he didn’t ask.
But you stepped forward anyway.
"A rose," you said gently.
His brow furrowed. "A rose?"
"Yes. The kind that only grows by the sea. The kind you used to bring Mama."
His breath caught for a second. Then he nodded. “If I find one, you shall have it.”
He kissed each of you goodbye at dawn, his cloak too thin for the cold. When he reached you, he lingered. You took his hands—calloused, trembling—and held them to your cheek.
"You don't have to do this," you whispered.
"I do," he replied. "But I promise I’ll return."
He did not know that fate was already moving.
That the rose would bloom. That a curse would stir. That you, the softest of them all, would ride into the teeth of something ancient and wild.
But when the sun rose behind the hills and his figure disappeared over the ridge, you stood alone in the snow, one hand clutching your scarf, the other already aching with the weight of a promise not yet made.
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The letter never came.
Not in three days. Not in four. On the fifth day, your father returned—ashen, soaked through from the storm, and whispering things you could barely understand.
“There was a castle,” he rasped, collapsing before the fire. “A rose… I only picked a rose… and then she appeared—”
You helped him out of his coat. The others listened, confused and horrified, as he stammered through his tale. A great hall filled with gold and wine. A bed of velvet. A table laid with all the gifts his children had asked for. And in the garden—a rosebush. Blooming, vibrant, in the dead of winter.
“I picked one,” he said, his voice cracking. “For you.”
A shadow had fallen over him then. A voice, deep as thunder. She had appeared—not a woman, not quite a monster. Cloaked in darkness. Eyes like dying stars.
“She said,” he swallowed, “I had one day to return… or she would come for you all.”
The others began to protest, to scream.
But you were already moving.
You packed before the sun rose. A single trunk, a woolen cloak, your mother’s locket. Your father cried when he saw you saddling the mare.
“I should never have asked—”
“You didn’t,” you said, hugging him tightly. “You didn’t have to.”
You kissed his forehead, and rode out into the frostbitten morning, wind stinging your cheeks.
You rode until your fingers went numb. Until the trees grew thick and strange. Until the path twisted itself into something uncanny.
And then, like smoke rising from nothing—there it was.
The castle.
Tall towers like spears. Ivy strangling marble. Frozen fountains, caught mid-song.
The gates opened as you approached. No guard. No voice. Just silence and snow.
You stepped inside.
The walls breathed. The chandelier flickered to life. A fire sparked in the hearth though no hand touched it.
A feast waited for you—hot bread, roasted roots, sugared fruit. Your coat vanished from your shoulders. Velvet slippers slid across the floor, as if guided by ghosts.
But she did not show herself.
Not yet.
Not until the mirror.
You found it after dinner, in a hallway of endless doors. It was tall, cracked, and framed in twisting thorns. And when you stepped before it—you saw her.
A reflection that wasn’t yours.
A woman—taller, broader. Cloaked in fur and shadow. One arm made of iron, gleaming faintly. Her face was half-hidden, but her eyes… her eyes burned.
You gasped. And just like that, she vanished.
Only the wind answered.
And still, the castle held you close.
And somewhere, behind the mirrors, she watched.
Waiting.
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The days that followed felt stitched from dreams—beautiful, unsettling, and somehow not quite real.
The castle obeyed your presence like a loyal hound, yet its silence was sharper than any growl. Doors opened with a thought, fires flared when your hands trembled from cold, and music drifted from unseen places. But her—the Beast—was nowhere to be found. Not in the halls of crystal, nor the gardens shrouded in hoarfrost. Only in the mirror, sometimes. Only when you weren’t quite sure if you were awake or dreaming.
Still, the castle gave you what it thought you wanted.
A wardrobe bloomed with velvet gowns—midnight blue threaded with silver, pale green the color of moss after rain, crimson cut like fire against your skin. Jewels gleamed in boxes that opened themselves. Perfumed baths awaited, steaming and still, with lavender and rose petals floating like memories on the water.
And books. Shelves and shelves of them.
You’d stumble across entire libraries nestled behind hidden panels. Leather-bound folios of ancient poetry. Scrolls with pressed flowers marking forgotten verses. Children’s stories, maps of forgotten worlds, illustrated fables from distant lands. Books that seemed to rearrange themselves at night, offering you different wonders each morning.
They became your only companions.
You began to speak to them, softly, while reading by the tall frosted windows.
“If you’re listening,” you murmured one afternoon, tracing the delicate golden letters on a book’s spine, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful. But you can’t hide forever.”
There was no reply.
Only the snow outside, falling like whispers from the sky.
That night, you dreamt.
The same dream that had haunted you since your arrival.
You stood in a sun-drenched orchard, golden apples gleaming in the trees. A man—not quite a man—moved through the branches. Dressed in hunting leathers, hair falling in careless waves. He smiled at someone hidden from view. A woman. A princess. Her eyes mournful, her hands clasped.
She begged him to stop. He promised to change. He kissed her brow and vanished into the woods again.
And then, a golden deer.
Always the deer.
It leapt through the clearing, radiant and unreal, and the dream ended with the echo of an arrow not yet loosed.
You woke with a gasp.
And this time, you knew you were not alone.
She stood in the doorway—half-shadow, half-shape. Broad shoulders draped in a fur-lined coat. One arm silver, the other gloved in leather. Her hair fell in coarse, curling waves, streaked with gray at the temples. Her mouth, hidden beneath a scarf, didn’t move.
But her eyes did.
Steel and sorrow.
“Why won’t you speak to me?” you asked.
She tilted her head, then turned away, disappearing into the hall.
“Wait—please.”
You followed, barefoot, trailing your nightdress through corridors of black marble. Down endless staircases. Past portraits that watched too closely. Into the garden where the roses slept beneath a blanket of snow.
“I deserve to know who you are,” you said. “What you are.”
Silence.
Your breath caught in your throat. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears.
“Please. Show me.”
She froze. Then, slowly—agonizingly slowly—reached up and tugged the scarf away from her face.
You took a step back.
Scars, jagged and brutal, cut across her cheek. Her nose had once been broken. One eye, the left, was a pale shade of stormcloud, half-blind. And beneath her coat, iron plating disappeared beneath her collarbone, trailing down like vines of machinery across muscle and skin.
She did not blink. Did not flinch.
And neither did you. Not until the fear, raw and ancient, stirred in your belly.
You turned.
And ran.
Through the gardens. Across the snow. Toward the frozen lake that glimmered under moonlight like a mirror shattered into stillness.
“Stop!” Her voice, deep and rough as stone, broke behind you.
But your legs were faster than reason. Faster than mercy.
The lake groaned beneath your feet.
Then cracked.
Then gave way.
The cold was instant. Violent. Your lungs seized. You kicked, flailed, reached toward a surface that blurred into sky. The world turned to silence and blue.
And then—
An iron hand gripped the back of your corset.
You were yanked upward, sputtering, choking, hair slick to your face. She dragged you from the water like a storm dragging ships from sea.
You collapsed on the bank, coughing, shivering. She crouched beside you, her eyes wild.
“Why?” you rasped. “Why save me?”
She said nothing. Only unfastened her coat and wrapped it around your shoulders.
And for a heartbeat, a single heartbeat, her hand brushed your cheek.
Not with iron. With skin. Warm, calloused, trembling.
Then she was gone again.
And the snow kept falling.
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The morning after the lake had swallowed you whole, you woke to warmth—a fire crackling in the hearth and the scent of rosemary wafting through the thick curtains. Your clothes were dry, your body wrapped in thick, luxurious blankets, and your skin tingled where the chill had once cut through you like a blade. You could barely remember how you’d gotten back to your room, or the wild gaze that had burned in her eyes.
But there was no trace of her in the room now. No hint of the woman who had saved you, whose touch still lingered on your cheek like a secret.
You sat up slowly, trying to push the shivers from your limbs. The castle felt colder today—darker, even though the sun had risen and its light slanted through the ice-covered windows. The roses outside seemed even more lifeless, the frost heavier. The air in the halls was thick with something ancient, an unspoken tension.
That was when you heard it—a low hum. A strange vibration in the air, as though the walls themselves were whispering. It tugged at the edges of your consciousness, pulling you toward something you couldn’t name.
With hesitant steps, you left the warmth of your room. The corridors seemed endless, colder, and yet they whispered to you, like a promise half-fulfilled. The mirrors, once distant and silent, seemed to hum with life today, their reflections warped and flickering, like echoes of a life that no longer existed.
You wandered, following the sound, your heart beat quickening in your chest. Eventually, you found it—the music. It wasn’t coming from a room. It was coming from a door—a door you hadn’t noticed before.
This door, unlike the others, was old. Ancient. Covered in vines of iron, the metal twisting around the wood as if it were trying to break free. There was no handle, only a faint indentation of a symbol that you couldn’t place.
You reached for it without thinking.
The door swung open with a creak that echoed through the silence.
What you saw inside made your breath catch in your throat.
It was a room of mirrors.
Dozens of them, stretching across the stone walls like portals to another world. They were all different in shape and size, framed with intricate designs of leaves, vines, and thorns that seemed to move as your eyes flicked across them. But what struck you the most was the center of the room, where a large mirror stood taller than the rest, its frame carved from the blackest wood you had ever seen.
This mirror… felt alive. It pulsed, its surface flickering with an eerie light. And within it—there she was.
The Beast.
She stood motionless, her body barely visible in the reflection. The scars that marred her face were harsher, more pronounced. The iron arm gleamed with an unnatural shine, and her gaze—her stormy eyes—were locked on you, as if she could see through the mirror itself.
For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Time seemed to stop, the silence between you stretching thin and tight.
Then, she moved.
The Beast stepped forward in the reflection, her figure distorting the surface of the glass like ripples on water. You couldn’t look away, even as a cold sweat began to gather on your neck.
“I thought you might come,” her voice echoed, deep and rich. But there was a sadness in it, a mournful sound that tugged at something inside you.
You didn’t answer right away. You couldn’t. Something about the way she stood, something about her presence, made you feel small and yet… strangely at peace.
“You’re not like the others,” she continued, her voice lower now, as if it were a secret shared only between you and her. “They wanted to leave. They all wanted to leave. But you… you stayed.”
You found your voice at last. “I didn’t know what else to do,” you whispered. “I don’t understand this place. I don’t understand you.”
Her lips curled into something like a smile, but it was more sorrow than joy. “No one ever does.”
The mirrors around you hummed louder now, the reflections of the Beast blurring, overlapping. You felt yourself being drawn into their depths, the world around you starting to slip away.
“Who are you?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath.
A long pause stretched out between you. She stepped closer in the mirror, so close that you could almost feel her breath on your skin. “I was once a noble warrior,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. “A woman cursed by her own cruelty, by her own vanity. I was a fool. A selfish fool.”
The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, and your heart twisted. You felt a sudden pang of empathy for her, even though you knew you should be afraid. The stories you had heard—stories of wicked beasts and wicked curses—did not match the depth of sorrow in her eyes.
She took another step forward in the mirror, and your heart skipped. You could almost feel her presence, as if she were standing right in front of you, her form made of shadows and light. “I was given a choice: to die or to be reborn. But in being reborn, I became something less than human, something that haunts the edges of this place.”
The words were like a spell, curling around you, binding you to her.
“Why are you showing me this?” you asked softly. “Why now?”
“Because,” she said, her voice softening, “you are the only one who has ever stayed. And I cannot change what I am until I am seen for what I truly am.” She looked down at her iron hand, flexing it slowly. “I have waited for someone to see me, truly see me. Not as a beast, but as a soul broken by time. Someone who isn’t afraid.”
You were silent for a long time, the weight of her confession settling on you like a heavy cloak. You wanted to reach out. You wanted to do something, say something to ease the burden she had carried for so long.
But before you could speak, the mirror shimmered again, her image fading back into the glass, leaving you alone in the room of endless reflections.
The room fell silent. The humming stopped. The mirrors turned cold again, their lifeless reflections only showing your own figure, standing alone in the darkness.
But the feeling lingered—the echo of her words, her presence, her pain.
And as you left the room, a single thought clung to your mind: Maybe, just maybe, the Beast wasn’t the monster after all.
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The next days passed in a strange, haunted rhythm. You couldn’t escape the pull of the mirrors—their silent whispers haunting your every step. The Beast’s presence lingered in your mind like a shadow, both distant and impossibly close. You hadn’t spoken to her since that moment in the room of mirrors, but her words had become like a mantra in your head: You are the only one who has ever stayed.
You spent your days wandering the castle, tracing the arc of its strange halls, your feet gliding over the marble floors as if you were drifting through a dream. But it wasn’t the beauty of the castle that held your attention. It was the emptiness, the overwhelming silence that clung to the walls like cobwebs. There was something deeply lonely about this place—something that seemed to bleed into the very air you breathed.
The only thing that offered any comfort was the library.
The library, vast and ancient, seemed to stretch on forever. The shelves towered high above, filled with books that smelled of dust and magic. It was here, among the stories of distant lands and forgotten kings, that you felt a fleeting sense of peace. The books, once so ordinary, had become your refuge—a space where you could disappear into other worlds, away from the heavy gaze of the mirrors, away from the Beast.
But still, her presence lingered.
One evening, as dusk fell over the frozen grounds outside, you found yourself drawn back to the grand dining hall. The fire flickered in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows over the room. It had been nearly a week since you last saw the Beast, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, you felt an overwhelming urge to seek her out.
You entered the hall quietly, your footsteps muffled by the thick velvet of the carpet. The room, though beautiful in its own right, felt cold—empty. The long table, set for one, stretched before you, glistening with untouched silverware and delicate glassware. There, at the far end, stood a single figure, her back to you.
The Beast.
Her silhouette was a strange blend of shadow and form, her iron arm gleaming faintly in the firelight. She didn’t turn when you entered, but you could feel her awareness settle over you like a heavy weight.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. You stood there, watching her, and she—perhaps sensing your gaze—did not move.
Finally, you could bear it no longer.
“I came to find you,” you said softly, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.
The Beast stiffened, her shoulders tightening as though bracing for something. When she turned slowly to face you, there was an unreadable expression on her face—something you couldn’t quite place.
“Did you?” Her voice was a low rasp, rich with something you couldn’t understand.
You nodded, not knowing what you hoped to find or what you could even say. All the words in your mind seemed too small, too fragile to break the space between you.
A long, tense silence followed. Then, the Beast’s iron hand moved, brushing against the edge of the table. She seemed to be considering something, her eyes narrowing slightly, as though weighing your presence in the room.
“Why do you stay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “Everyone else leaves, but you…” She trailed off, her gaze flicking to the side as though she couldn’t quite look you in the eye.
“I don’t know,” you replied honestly. “I don’t have any reason to leave. And… I don’t know if I could leave, not without understanding what’s here.”
Her eyes flickered with something—recognition? Hope? But it was gone in an instant, swallowed by the shadows that clung to her form.
She took a step toward you then, her movement slow but purposeful. You held your ground, though your heart raced in your chest. She was near enough now that you could see the scars that marred her skin, the jagged lines where her human form had been twisted and broken, the strange, mournful sadness that clung to her eyes.
“You want to understand me?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost intimate. “Then you must see me. Truly see me.”
You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “I’ve tried. I don’t understand everything, but I see you. I see more than just the Beast.”
A flicker of something passed over her face. For a moment, you thought she might say something—might finally reveal the truth of her curse—but then she turned away, walking toward the large, ornate door that led out into the courtyard.
Without turning back, she spoke again. “Then come with me.”
You hesitated, uncertainty gripping you. But something inside you stirred—something deeper than fear, a pull you couldn’t resist. Slowly, you followed her, your feet moving of their own accord as you walked through the long, silent hallways.
The castle was a maze, its winding corridors twisting like the threads of fate itself. But the Beast seemed to know where she was going, and you followed in her wake, drawn by something you couldn’t name.
Finally, she stopped in front of a grand set of double doors. The wood was old, worn, the edges softened by time. She turned to face you then, her iron hand resting lightly on the door.
“This is where it all began,” she said softly, her voice almost lost in the silence. “This is where I was made.”
With a creak, she pushed the doors open, and the room inside took your breath away.
It was a ballroom, grander than anything you had seen in the castle, but it was in ruins—dust-covered chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, their crystals dull and broken. The floor, once polished to a mirror shine, was cracked and worn. But despite its decay, the room was still beautiful—haunting, even.
The Beast stepped forward, her iron-clad footfalls echoing in the vast emptiness. She walked to the center of the room, her back straight, her head held high.
“This is where I once danced,” she said, her voice filled with a strange, painful nostalgia. “Before the curse, before the monster I became.”
You approached slowly, your gaze scanning the room. The air felt thick here, laden with forgotten memories, lost time. It was as though the very room had been frozen in the past, suspended in some moment before the fall.
The Beast stood there for a long time, her eyes closed as though she were reliving a memory—one so painful that it caused her to tremble.
And then, to your surprise, she extended her hand toward you.
“I may be a monster,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “But I remember what it was like to be human. To feel. To dance.”
You stood there, unsure, as the invitation hung in the air between you. Could you? Could you trust her, take her hand, and step into the shadow of her past?
But something inside you whispered that this was the moment—the moment when everything could change.
Without thinking, you stepped forward, placing your hand in hers.
And as the music began to play—a soft, haunting melody—you danced with the Beast, the two of you moving together in a forgotten waltz, spinning through the echoes of time.
The shadows no longer seemed so dark. The loneliness that clung to the castle began to ease, replaced by something fragile, something delicate: hope.
And for the first time since you arrived, you felt like you weren’t alone.
The Beast had shown you a piece of herself—a sliver of the person she had once been. And in that moment, you realized something that both terrified and thrilled you: perhaps, just perhaps, she could be more than the monster she believed herself to be.
And maybe—just maybe—there was love hidden in the ruins, waiting to bloom once again.
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Days turned to weeks, and though the air around the castle had lightened, there was still something heavy resting in your chest. The Beast—Sevika—had become your world, and yet, despite the warmth she had begun to offer, there was still a lingering emptiness. You couldn’t ignore the ache in your heart, the yearning for the life you had left behind. Your father, your family—how were they? Were they well? Had they missed you as you missed them?
Sevika must have noticed the weight of it in your eyes, the way your gaze would drift to the window at the first light of dawn, your thoughts clearly far away. One evening, as you sat together by the fire, her low voice broke the silence.
“You miss them, don’t you?” Sevika asked, her gaze unwavering as she studied the flames.
You hesitated. The truth was right there on the tip of your tongue, heavy in your chest. The longing for home, the ache of memories that hadn’t faded despite the years. You missed your father’s smile, his gentle presence; you missed the chaos of your siblings, the simple rhythm of life before everything changed.
“I do,” you admitted softly. “I miss them all. I miss how things were before…”
Before the curse, before the castle, before Sevika had become the center of your existence.
Sevika’s expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. She had seen the depth of your love for your family, and though she never voiced it, you knew she understood what it meant to be torn between two worlds.
“Go,” she said, her voice a low murmur, almost as if she were granting you permission. “Go to them. Spend time with them. You deserve it.”
“But what about you?” you asked, feeling the weight of the words as they left your mouth. The thought of leaving Sevika, of walking away from this place that had slowly started to feel like home, unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
“I will be here,” Sevika answered, her eyes dark but steady. “You don’t need to worry about me. Go, and when you're ready... come back.”
Her words stung more than they comforted. She was letting you go. No anger. No desperation. Just the quiet understanding of someone who had been alone for far too long and knew how much you needed this.
And so, with a heavy heart, you left the castle the following morning. The road that had once been so unfamiliar to you now felt like a pathway you could walk in your sleep. You traveled for days, the distance between you and the castle growing with each step. Every day, you reminded yourself why you were leaving. Your family needed you. You hadn’t seen them in so long. You had to make sure they were okay.
When you finally reached the familiar outskirts of your childhood home, it felt like a dream. The house stood tall in the distance, its worn walls and crooked roof the same as you remembered. You could hear the laughter of your siblings, the scent of your father’s cooking drifting in the air. The warmth that washed over you was a balm for your soul.
Your father, who had grown thinner since your departure, greeted you at the door with tears in his eyes. He enveloped you in a tight embrace, murmuring your name as though afraid you might disappear. Your sisters surrounded you, their laughter filling the space around you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. They teased you playfully about how much you’d changed, how different you seemed, but you didn’t mind. You were home. And for the first time in months, you felt at peace.
For a week, life seemed almost normal. The weight in your heart had lifted for a time, replaced with the joy of family dinners, shared stories, and the comforting familiarity of home. You slipped into your old life with ease, finding joy in the simple moments that had once felt so ordinary.
But as the days passed, the silence that lingered between you and your father, your siblings, grew louder. You missed the sound of Sevika’s voice in the still of the night, her presence in the rooms of the castle. You missed the way she had slowly become more than just the Beast in your eyes. You missed her strength, her vulnerability—everything she had become to you. And the more you allowed yourself to remember, the more you realized that your heart had never truly left the castle.
One evening, as you sat outside with your father, watching the stars twinkle in the sky, the conversation turned to old memories, to stories of his youth and the life he had once known. You listened, hanging on every word, until a sudden realization struck you like a wave.
“Father,” you said, voice trembling slightly, “I have to go back.”
He looked at you, confused. “Go back? Where?”
“To the castle,” you said softly. “To her.”
His expression faltered, his brow furrowing in concern. “But why, my child? I thought you were happy here. I thought this was where you belonged.”
Tears filled your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined to be strong. “I am happy here, Papa. But I am also happy there. And… and I love her. I can’t ignore that.”
He sighed, his weathered hand resting on yours. “Then go. Go to where your heart calls you.”
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The road back to the castle felt longer than it had the first time. The air seemed heavier, filled with an unease that clung to the bones. The sky above you was muted, a pale gray that bled into the horizon, mirroring the heaviness in your chest. Every step felt like a distant echo, a reminder of the promises you had made to yourself, to her.
As you neared the gates, they creaked open on their own, as if the castle itself was beckoning you back. But the sight that greeted you was nothing like the castle you had left behind. The stone walls, once majestic, now stood cracked and weathered, covered in a thick blanket of moss. The ivy that had once adorned the castle like a beautiful gown now seemed to strangle it, twisting around the towers like a living thing.
The gardens, once full of life, were overrun with thorns. The rosebushes you had once admired were now wild, their petals wilting, their thorns sharp and unforgiving. The air was thick with a strange, stagnant smell—like something had died, but no one had the strength to bury it.
As you stepped inside, the warmth of the castle was gone. The hearths were cold, the great chandeliers that once shone with light were dim and brittle, their crystal shards hanging like dead stars. The halls were quiet, the silence oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of the old wood beneath your feet.
Roses—dozens of them—lined the halls. Their vines twisted up the walls, their thorns sharp and jagged. The petals, once vibrant, were now dull, some already falling to the floor, leaving trails of wilted blooms in their wake. The scent of the roses was suffocating, thick with the weight of decay.
You walked through the corridors, heart pounding, as if you could hear her, Sevika, somewhere in the dark corners of this crumbling place. You followed the path, feeling the weight of time pressing against your chest, and when you reached the heart of the castle—the room where you had first found the rose—the air felt colder still.
There, at the center of it all, was the glass vase. The rose inside it, once vibrant and full of life, was now barely clinging to the last of its petals. It was sickly, fragile, its edges turning black, as though it too had been drained of life.
And then you saw her.
Sevika lay in the corner of the room, her massive form hunched, her iron arm resting at her side like a broken wing. Her once-proud posture was now a shadow of itself, her body weak, her breathing shallow. The vibrant glow that had once surrounded her was gone, replaced by an ashen pallor, a coldness that seemed to seep into the very walls of the room.
“Sevika?” Your voice cracked as you rushed to her side. You kneeled beside her, your hands trembling as you cupped her face, feeling the coldness of her skin. Her once fierce eyes were now closed, her breath coming in ragged, weak gasps.
You shook her gently, your heart breaking with every second that passed. “Wake up. Please… Sevika. Please.”
The words caught in your throat, your mind racing with a thousand questions. What had happened? Why was she like this? What could you do?
You looked at the rose in the glass vase. Its last petal was hanging by a thread, its beauty now a pale shadow of what it once was. And in that moment, you understood.
It wasn’t just the curse that had drained her strength. It was the curse of the rose—the curse of love that could never fully bloom, of promises that could never be kept. The beast inside her, the part that had been cursed to remain forever in this form, was dying along with the rose. She couldn’t survive without it, just as the rose couldn’t survive without her.
Your hands shook as you took her hand in yours, pressing it against your chest. “Please, Sevika. You can’t leave me. You can’t.”
Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, holding her face gently in your hands. “I—I love you. I love you more than I ever knew I could. I never wanted to leave you. I should never have left you.”
Her eyelids fluttered, her weak breath catching in her throat. A flicker of something—of recognition—passed across her face, though it was faint, distant.
“Sevika…” you whispered again, your voice trembling, “I don’t care if you’re the Beast. I love you. I love you in every form, every way, no matter what you’ve been made to be. Please don’t go. Please don’t leave me alone.”
Her eyes cracked open slowly, weakly, the dim light catching the glint of the iron in her gaze. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, though it was bittersweet, full of pain.
“I knew you would come back,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, barely audible. “I knew it, even when the darkness came… I knew you’d come for me.”
You held her tighter, desperate, your fingers clutching her arm like a lifeline. “I should have never left you. I should have been here. I’m so sorry, Sevika. Please…”
“Don’t apologize,” she murmured. “It was never your fault. It was always mine. I... was never meant to be loved. I was born from that curse, from that dark place. The beast I am… I’m just a shadow of what I could have been. The rose... it was all I had left.”
“But you have me,” you said, your voice breaking with emotion. “I’ll always be here. I’ll always love you, Sevika. Please, don’t die. Don’t leave me.”
The last petal of the rose in the vase fell, its delicate form floating to the ground, like a whisper in the wind. The rose was gone.
And with it, Sevika’s strength faded.
But as her body grew weaker in your arms, a glow began to emerge from within her, faint at first, like the dying embers of a fire, then slowly growing stronger. The thorns that once covered her body began to recede, like they were shedding their grip on her soul. The beastly form she had worn so long seemed to be unraveling, piece by piece, as though the curse itself was finally breaking apart.
“Sevika?” you whispered, your voice thick with tears.
And then, in a final, breathtaking moment, the transformation began.
Her iron arm, once a symbol of her curse, shifted and changed. Her body glowed with a soft, golden light, and the twisted vines and thorns that had once marked her skin melted away, leaving her bare and vulnerable. Her once-rough features softened, becoming something almost familiar, something that looked like the woman you had come to love.
Her eyes, now full of warmth, opened, meeting yours with a clarity that sent shivers through your soul.
“You came back,” she whispered, her voice still weak but full of love.
And in that moment, you knew that the curse had been broken—not just by the rose, but by the love that had bloomed between you both. The love that had been tested, torn apart, and rebuilt stronger than ever.
“I never left,” you whispered back, your lips trembling as you leaned down, your forehead resting against hers. Slowly, you closed the distance, your lips meeting hers in a kiss. It was gentle at first, hesitant, as if both of you were afraid to believe that this moment was real. But as the kiss deepened, a fire ignited between you, a burning passion that had been hidden for so long.
Your hands cupped her face, feeling the softness of her skin, the warmth of her breath against you. She responded in kind, her fingers trembling as they brushed through your hair, pulling you closer, as if she too couldn’t believe that the curse had finally been broken.
For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. There was no darkness, no curse, no fear. There was only the two of you, finally free to love each other without the weight of the past.
When you finally pulled away, your lips still tingling with the intensity of the kiss, you gazed into her eyes—eyes that were no longer filled with sorrow or regret, but with love. True love.
“I love you,” she whispered, her voice full of reverence, as if saying it out loud somehow made it more real.
“I always have,” you replied, your heart soaring. “And I always will.”
And as you kissed her again, you both knew that nothing, not even the darkness that had once held you captive, could ever tear you apart again.
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It was said the castle never stopped blooming.
Even when snow blanketed the world in white, roses still bloomed on its windowsills, warm with the memory of a love that had defied the cold. Vines curled like lacework across marble balustrades, and petals drifted like silk through the air, eternal as breath.
In the heart of it all was you—and Sevika.
The ballroom where the curse had broken now held music every night. Not the mournful hush of enchanted halls, but lilting notes played on harps and flutes, accompanied by soft laughter and candlelight. The mirrors no longer reflected loneliness but joy, shared glances, and the golden flicker of love lived out loud.
You often walked the gardens in the twilight hours, hand in hers. Her iron arm, once feared, now shone with filigree and gold in the low light—etched with the vines of the rose you had once asked for. She had changed, yes. But not in the way stories warned of. She had bloomed, just as you had, and together you grew—a wild, wondrous tangle of what it means to be fully seen, and still, fully loved.
And every spring, beneath the grand arch of roses in the garden where the curse first cracked open to let love in, you renewed your vow.
“I love you,” you whispered, always the same way, forehead against hers, heart pressed to heart. “I love you,” she answered, every time as if she were still astonished by the miracle of it.
And the castle listened.
The wind carried your laughter. The roses remembered your names. The stars always seemed to shine a little brighter over that place—where a girl who asked only for a rose gave her heart instead, and in return, found a soul that matched hers petal for petal, thorn for thorn.
And so, the tale lived on.
Told by firesides, inked into songbooks, whispered by lovers in gardens and alcoves.
A story of iron and softness. Of wild roses and velvet mornings. Of a girl who loved a Beast, and a Beast who learned to be loved.
Not the end. Never the end.
Only ever after. And always, in bloom.
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taglist : @krilara @authenticaqua @chigichansgf @dreamylovelydove @ferxanda @morticeras @smaugayra @hell0-ki55y @abbyanderswife @azteriarizz @moodient @that0nyx @sleepycrybbylaiah @elleoa @koralinebox @torradeironic @furrytaesss @minaridior @importantllamawombat @ivorydevil @rhian88 @pink-ladybugs @femininefables @ancrygurl @vkumi @yaracampbell @foralltheprettygirls
an: i wrote this half-asleep ill fix anything that needs fixing in the monring
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oscquinn · 7 months ago
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WILD & FLUORESCENT, lip gallagher
c5. of BORDERLINE, lip x bsf! reader (nickname: MK)
TAGS & WARNINGS → MATURE 18+. underage drinking, smoking (🚬), kissing!!!!! theyre kissing in this one guys. mostly fluff, a bit of emotional angst. but this is just the clubbing & graduation chapter, really!
CHAPTER SUMMARY → the last two months before graduation are a whirlwind, but you take all of it in stride. teetering on the edge of friends and something more, lip is by your side for all of it.
A/N → final chapter is here!! but don't worry, there is much more mkverse content to come. stay tuned!!
WC → 2.1k
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After convincing Ian to drive the three of you downtown for the night, You, Lip and Adri pile into your car. You let Lip sit in the front seat to guide his brother, still newer at driving at only sixteen. Though, you remember a time when he’d driven a truck that Frank had… acquired. All the way down to the docks and back, at twelve. To say Fiona was pissed? That would be the understatement of the century.
You peer around the headrest, craning your neck while the car rolls to a stop in a crowded city lot. A deep color lines your lips, and you apply a shiny gloss on top. For a moment you glance at Lip, your heart quickening when you see he’s already looking at you. 
“Look like a whore,” he teases, drawing a giggle from your lips. You don’t mind it. You know he’s just being coy.
“Yeah well,” you gesture at his half undone button up, “could say the same about you.” You swat the back of his head with one hand before retreating to step out of the car.
Lip and Adri do the same, and the boy shrugs as he walks around to the drivers side where you are. The front window rolls down and Ian peeks out, “hey man, y’said you’d give me a ten for this.”
An unlit cig hands from his mouth as Lip pats his pockets for a lighter. You hand him yours when he’s unsuccessful. “Did I though?” Lip responds to his brother, “cause, I don’t remember that.” 
Adri fishes a ten five from her purse, then holds her hand out to Lip. “Come on, pay up.” He rolls his eyes at her but obliges, five dollars wasna sacrifice he could make. Adri hands the money to Ian with a pat on his arm, “thanks Ian, drive safe okay?”
He smiles and nods, rolling up the window before pulling away. Lip eyes her as the three of you walk towards the entry line. “You know AJ, there’s no use in hitting on my brother–”
She laughs in disbelief, “what? No, Lip–oh my god–I play for the other team too.” Lip’s eyes widen in surprise, his wit silenced, and Adri nearly doubles over. 
“Oh yeah?” Lip asks, “good to know.”
“Yeah. If I was going for anyone in your family, it’d for sure be Fiona,” she tells him, and then it’s Lip’s turn to stumble from the intensity of his laughter as you approach the end of the line. 
You check your reflection in the window of a closed shop, “If I don’t make out with someone fine tonight, I’m throwing a fit. Seriously.”
Still recovering, Lip pants out, “you look pretty like always MK.”
You raise an eyebrow in response, “really. ‘Cause earlier y’called me a whore.”
“Mm-hmm,” he nods, taking a drag from his cig before exhaling the smoke away from your face. “A pretty whore, yeah. What’s it Adri said, slutty chic?”
At his comment, you remember his words this morning. 
Lip and Adri wait for you outside the corner store as you get your picture taken for a new fake, dead set on getting a good one. This could last until your actual twenty-first birthday. When you finally emerge Lip takes your newly updated card from your hand, inspecting it closely. “You definitely got a discount ‘cause y’r hot. Mine cost like, twenty dollars more and wasn’t half as nice as this shit. But it scans, so I can’t complain.”
Adri eyes you at the comment, lifting an eyebrow behind Lip’s back. He’s indecisive in that way, always half hitting on you but never making a move. It drives you up the wall.
Why does Lip Gallagher have to be so infuriating?
You dismiss him as Adri pulls three smirnoff shooters from her purse. “Fuck! Forgot I had these in here still, meant to take them in the car.” She quickly passes you one each, unscrewing the top to her own. 
“Wait, I wanna make a video,” you tell her. “For our future selves.”
“Of course you do,” Lip complains, but there’s a smile on his face as you prop up your phone. 
You step back between the two of them, raising the small bottle. “Cheers! To… uh–”
“To your twenty-first,” Lip supplies with a smirk. He throws an arm around your shoulders after uncrewing his shot. “And to many, many more.”
“Many more!” Adri toasts, grinning as the three of you clink the bottles and down the shots. 
A bit of a lightweight, you’re feeling the shot by the time you approach the bouncer. By batting your eyes and flashing your ID while telling the large man how excited you were to finally get to try adult things, you distract him enough that he doesn’t check Adri’s ID. Only when the two of you make it to the bar and look back for Lip do you notice he’s still outside the door. He peers around, scowling at the two of you for abandoning ship while he’s left to shell out the cover fee. Thank god you’d known not to pick somewhere too fancy, a little divey club with a dated soundtrack and cheaper drinks. He only had to give the bouncer fifteen before he was allowed inside. 
You offer to buy him a drink as an apology but he refuses, placing a ten on the bar. “I’ll have the three for ten shots, just pour something y’think these girls would like?”
You watch the bartender shoot him a grin before grabbing a bottle of house made strawberry syrup. He rimmed three shot glasses with the syrup before pouring rum and a splash of lemonade. He passes them over and Lip hands the shots out, “on me,” he says with a grin as he elbows you. 
The rum goes down the hatch with ease–it’s your favorite liquor–the bartender made a pretty accurate guess. While you shake off the burn of the shot you hear music that you immediately recognize. You place the plastic cup down on the bar and grab your friends’ hands. “Come on!”
You drag Adri onto the floor, grinning when she takes your other hand and the two of you twirl around. Your hand had slipped from Lip’s as he stayed by the bar, ordering drinks. You pray to god he’s putting them on separate tabs. Lip wades through the crowd with three plastic cups in his hands. He passes two fruity cocktails to you and Adri before gulping down half of his own whiskey sour, his hips beginning to sway to the beat. You twirl around on your own, surprised when a warm hand lands on your hip. 
From behind you Lip murmurs, “this ain’t weird, right?” He guides you to face in Adri’s direction, shes lost in some girl’s eyes. 
You stammer out, “n-no ‘s not–” before he’s swaying you to the beat. He downs the rest of his drink, placing the empty cup on a ledge to your right. Two hands now guide you to face him, looking like the cat that got the cream the way he’s grinning at you.  
And it isn’t weird, really. You’ve always had this unspoken thing between you. Always flirted with the edge of friendship and something more. Regardless, you’re comfortable with it. 
The night goes on just like that, Adri swaps kisses with the girl, smudging a nice shade of brown all over her own lips. You stumble out around two-thirty in the morning, clinging to Lip’s side as Adri hops in a cab home. She offered the two of you a ride to the station but it was in the opposite direction, and Lip insisted the two of you could walk the two blocks there. 
“C’mon MK, lets get you home yeah?” Lip says, his arm holding your waist securely. 
You focus on your steps, blurry eyes pulling away from Adri’s cab as she leaves. You look up to see Lip’s sparkling blue eyes turned toward you, and you’re grateful to the cool wind for excusing the flush on your cheeks. 
“Thanks,” you slur, heading down the street. It’s a short walk which you fill with comfortable silence until your tired body is collapsing into a seat on the L. Within seconds your head finds Lip’s shoulder, drawing a chuckle from the boy. “Lip?” you ask softly, looking up at him.
He smiles graciously, his lips curving into a tipsy grin. “Yeah? Wha’s up kid?”
Your flush worsens at the soft nickname and gentle tone of voice he uses. “Will we be best friends forever?” you ask softly, feeling childish. But you need to know, and they always say drunk words are sober thoughts.
Lip’s smile dips and for a second you fear the worst, but his gentle hand moves to ruffle your already messy hair. “Oh yeah, no doubt about it,” he murmurs. Before you know what’s happening he’s kissed your head. A soft peck right on your crown. 
You stare up in awe, and as if moving on their own you see your fingers tangle in his curls. You pull him down until his lips are on yours, teeth knocking but you don’t find it in you to care. He tastes like the whiskey sours he’d been sipping on all night, smooth bourbon mingling with the acidic taste of a vodka cran on your tongue. 
After a moment you come to your senses, kissing him like this on a public–although empty–train. “Fuck! Lip, ‘m s-so sorry, jeez–”
He cuts you off with a soft finger running over your bottom lip. He traces up to the corner, lifting it into a pretty curve until you’re smiling on your own. He kisses your smiling lips, then murmurs, “‘s okay, y’know. We can be friends who kiss.”
You can kiss Lip Gallagher. Whenever you want. You’re too elated to care about the friendly label. 
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Graduation rolls around in due time. Lip looks good in his cap and gown, khaki shorts and a crisp button down underneath. He has you tie his deep blue tie for him, up in your bedroom before heading off. He kisses you in the proximity, holding your cap flush against your head as his own knocks it backwards. All while Caroline and Ian wait downstairs. 
The four of you ride in your car over to the school, and you hold back your tears in the parking lot as you hug your little sister all, dressed up to sing the National Anthem at your graduation. You sit far from Lip during the ceremony but find each other afterwards, walking to the front of the school arm in arm to take a few pictures. Adri surprises you on the way, catching up after sitting right in the front for the best view. You shriek with laughter as she hugs you, you hadn’t even seen her. The three of you take a picture together, Adri sandwiched between Lip and yourself. When you look back at it, you see Lip smiling like the sun in your direction. 
When everything is done and your camera roll is sufficiently full of graduation shots, your little group disbands. Lip says goodbye to his own family, Fiona needing to return to work and Veronica taking the kids back home. You hug your parents tightly, taking one last photo with them by the school sign before they head off. Adri takes a hint from the glance you shoot her, and offers Caro and Ian a ride in her jeep, with the windows down. Of course they say yes. 
That leaves you and Lip alone in your car. You shift into reverse, and when you turn your head to check behind you, he catches your lips with his own. Just a peck, you wish it was more. “You’ll call me every Friday when I’m in Mass, yeah?” he asks, face still close to yours. 
“Of course I will,” you murmur. “I’ll update you on everything.”
“Everything?” he questions, as a smirk plays at his lips. 
“Yeah, everything. Promise.”
You hold out your pinkie, and he does the same. You lock your fingers in the same way you would as kids, swearing to be friends forever. Distance won’t break this bond, right?
“Even your hookups?” Lip asks, drawing his pinkie back from yours. “I want it all, y’know. Girl talk and everything.”
You laugh at him before turning your gaze forward again. “Yeah, right. No fuckin’ way I’m telling you about my sex life. I’ll have Adri for that.” 
He laughs too, goodnaturedly, and clicks his seatbelt on when you glare at him. “Well, I’ll be tellin’ you ‘bout mine, so just know that. Dunno if I’m gonna make too many friends with those mathlete pricks and daddy’s money jagoffs,” he scoffs. 
You roll your eyes, “yeah, I’ll be your phone diary, ‘kay?” From the corner of your eye you can see him smile.
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THX 4 READING → the final installment of borderline is dedicated to mkip nation; @notsonian, @ariiireads, and @dearpyramus. beta'd by the lovely @carmybrainworms <33
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tortillamastersblog · 3 months ago
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Just A Nobody - Part 6 | Mabel
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Pairing: Mabel x reader
Warnings: mentions of substance abuse and addiction, and swearing
Summary: You never wanted to return to New Bedford, but when your dad relapses, you’re forced to go back for the summer and work to earn some money to pay for his rehab.
Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist
ON HOLD
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I didn’t actually end up going home after all. I drove there, yes, but then I thought about what would be waiting for me when I went inside – the mess I haven’t cleaned up yet and my dad, probably hungover as hell and moody– and I decided to go straight to the café instead.
I’m just finishing up my shift, sweeping the floor while the late afternoon sun streams in through the windows, bathing the whole place in a golden glow. Karen’s somewhere in the back, going through inventory.
She didn’t comment on what happened or why I’m back earlier than planned, but she did eye me with some confusion when she noticed my clothes were still a little damp from when Mabel pulled me into the shower fully dressed. Just like she didn’t mention me coming home early though, she didn’t mention that either. She just gently told me what needed to be done, and that was that.
I’ve got to be honest, I feel kind of disgusting still wearing the same clothes from last night, and I’m looking forward to finally showering, but the thought of my dad waiting at home, and the mess that’s still there, makes me sweep and clean a little slower than I could be.
After a few more minutes, there’s literally nothing left to clean, so I put the broom away and head into the back to tell Karen I’m leaving.
She looks up from her clipboard, standing next to a shelf full of flour and sugar and smiles kindly.
“It’s about time. I told you you could’ve left three hours ago,” she scolds playfully, which just makes me smile tiredly.
“I know, but I needed the distraction,” I admit, and her smile fades just a little.
“You wanna talk about it?” she asks gently.
I shake my head. I already told Mabel and it drained me, so no, I don’t want to talk about it again, especially not right before going home where I’ll have to face the music.
“Okay then,” she says, accepting my answer without pushing. “Have a good evening. I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”
I nod, and she squeezes my forearm for a second before going back to her clipboard. I turn and leave after untying my apron and hanging it up on the back of the door.
The air outside smells like it always does, salty and a little fishy because of the docks nearby, and I sigh, climbing into my dad’s truck and starting the drive home.
I keep thinking about the way Mabel comforted me last night. How I actually managed to open up to her, even though we barely know each other. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and the weirdest part is… I trust her. It’s not logical. It’s not earned. But it’s there, sitting warm and heavy in my chest, and I’m holding onto it because she’s felt more like home in the past twenty-four hours than anyone else has in years.
I know I have Dan and Karen, and I’m grateful for them. I really am, but I don’t tell them everything. They’ve got their own lives, their own worries, and they know my dad. I’ve seen the way their expressions change when I bring him up, and I don’t want to make it worse. With Mabel, it’s different. With her, it feels like I don’t have to explain myself. Like she’s got her own demons too, and maybe we don’t have to fight ours alone if we’re both already carrying them.
When I pull into the driveway and step out of the truck, I stretch and run a hand through my hair, dragging my feet up to the door. I check my phone out of habit. A text from Charlie—nothing new about the site. I ignore it and pocket my phone before going inside.
The second I walk in, the smell of stale beer and something bitter hits me. I sigh and drop my bag by the door.
“Dad?”
No answer. Just the hum of the fridge and the low buzz of the lights.
“Dad? I’m home.”
Still nothing.
I stand there for a second, hoping I’ll hear a groan or movement, but the apartment stays quiet. He’s probably still at the bar or crashed somewhere. I swallow the frustration and toe off my shoes. There’s no time to spiral over it right now. I’ll shower, start my laundry, put away my stuff from the boat, and maybe go look for him later.
I pick up my bag and round the corner.
And then I see him.
“Dad?”
He’s on the kitchen floor.
The bag slips from my hand and thuds on the floor as I drop to my knees.
“Dad!” My voice breaks as I reach for him, rolling him onto his back, and I feel my stomach twist.
His shirt is soaked. There’s vomit on the floor and in his beard. He’s cold to the touch and his lips are tinged with blue, his breathing shallow and uneven.
“Dad, come on.” I tap his cheek. Once, twice. Nothing.
My hands are shaking as I fumble for my phone, already dialing 911. My voice stumbles through the words as I cradle his head in my lap, trying not to panic.
The woman on the line talks me through it. I check his mouth, make sure there’s no blockage, then turn him on his side, trying to keep him steady while watching his chest rise and fall. She tells me to be ready to do compressions if his breathing stops which makes my heart drop.
Luckily I don’t have to do anything but watch him breathe though because five minutes later, the paramedics are there. I open the door with numb hands, then step back and let them in. They move fast, efficiently, checking vitals, fitting the oxygen mask, and asking me when I last saw him.
I tell them I wasn’t home last night which makes them nod and keep working, and before I know it, they’re loading him onto a stretcher.
One of them asks if I want to ride with them. I normally wouldn’t, but my legs feel like jelly and my head’s still spinning, so I just nod and follow.
In the ambulance, I sit with my hands clenched together, watching the paramedic check my dad’s pulse, and watching the rise and fall of his chest. They stick defibrillator pads to him, just in case which makes me look away. There’s a lump growing in my throat and it burns.
This is my fault.
If I’d come home last night instead of staying at Mabel’s… If I hadn’t let myself feel something good for once…Maybe I would’ve found him sooner. Maybe I could’ve stopped this.
But I didn’t.
And now I’m sitting here, watching the only parent I have left get smaller and smaller beneath all the wires and tubes and machines. I can’t turn back time. I can’t fix it. I just have to sit here and watch and pray, even though I don’t believe in God.
I keep thinking about the last things I said to him. How he asked me to watch Breaking Bad and I blew him off. How we argued about going back out to sea. What if that’s it? What if those were our last moments?
He’ll think I hated him, but I didn’t. I never did and I still don’t.
I hate the drinking, I hate what it’s done to him, I hate that I’ve had to be the adult since I was fifteen, and I hate the way it’s broken both of us, but I love him. Even now. Even when it hurts more than it heals.
A hand on my shoulder makes me shoot up in my seat, and my eyes fly open.
"I'm sorry," a nurse says, and I relax when I remember I'm in the waiting room of the hospital. It's been about three hours since I got here, and I must have fallen asleep while I waited for the doctors and nurses to take care of my dad. They immediately rushed him to the ICU, and I was actually going to follow them, but then the same nurse that just woke me stopped me with a gentle smile and told me I couldn't go after them.
"It's okay," I croak, running a hand down my face in an attempt to wake myself up. "How's my dad?"
I feel absolutely filthy in my clothes, and I'm tired and overcome with guilt, but all of that is overshadowed by the worry I have for him.
The young nurse takes a seat next to me and lowers his voice so the elderly woman across from us doesn’t overhear, even though she seems to be in her own world of worry right now. Maybe she’s here for her husband, who's got God knows what that made her come to the hospital a little past eleven.
"We've sedated and intubated him because his breathing wasn't strong enough," he says, and my eyes briefly drop to the keychain around his neck, where his ID is clipped, revealing that his name is Henry. "He's stable for now," he goes on, "and we've already run an MRI to rule out brain swelling, but they're still keeping a close watch on him in the ICU. You can see him soon, but he won't be awake for a while."
"Okay, thank you," I say, sinking back into the chair with a shaky exhale.
Henry sends me another soft, gentle smile before leaving, but I don't reciprocate it. Not because he isn’t kind or I think they’re not doing enough, but because I literally just can’t.
This morning, I felt light for the first time since coming back to New Bedford. Talking to Mabel, just having the space to be me for once, felt like a breath of fresh air. I was going through our date plans for tomorrow all day during my shift at the café, but then reality had to slap me in the face once again and make me feel nauseating guilt for spending the night at Mabel’s in the first place instead of being home when my dad got back so I could have called for help earlier.
I go to close my eyes again, to once again wallow in self-pity and grief, when my phone pings. It's another text from Charlie, but unlike his earlier one when he said there was no news about the site, he’s now texted that a court date is being set for Tuesday and that Tom is going to be the only one who goes in. And then, right after, he texts again, asking if I've been doing okay and if I want to come to his parents' house sometime over the weekend for dinner, and that I can even bring Mabel if I want to, as if we're some kind of couple.
I stare at it in disbelief for a moment, anger flashing through me at him even suggesting that, as if everything didn't just turn to shit. But then I feel that anger falter as quickly as it appeared because he doesn’t know what's happening and he's just trying to reach out.
I don’t have the time to hang out though, because I have to work to get ahead on the money I might have to chip in to get the site back. And now, also because of the hospital bills that are definitely going to pile up along with all the other bills at home.
I pocket my phone without answering and watch the woman opposite me again, getting news from a different nurse that seems to be good because she starts crying and smiling before being led away, leaving me alone in the waiting area while doctors and nurses bustle around.
I shut the door behind me with a soft click and lean back against it with my eyes closed. It's a little past six in the morning, and all I want to do is sink to the floor and cry, or sleep, or both. But I can't. I can't because I have to shower and go to work. A little after Henry left, he came back and took me to see my dad, and when I saw him unconscious, intubated, and looking like a literal ghost, I almost collapsed. I sat with him for hours, telling him about what happened with the site and how Tom's going to have to go to court over it. I even admitted to him that I knew going out fishing wasn't the smartest move and that I was sorry we fought, even though I knew he probably wouldn't remember any of what I said when he woke up. If he wakes up...
I flinch at the thought but push myself off the door to shower and finally get out of my clothes. The doctors said I should go home to get some rest when they found me half asleep next to my dad hours after Henry brought me to him, and that they'd call me if things changed with him, so I agreed and left. But not to sleep. No, it's like I said, I have to work. Not just because of the money, but because of the distraction it offers.
I stumble to the bathroom, finally strip off all my clothes, and take a quick shower before getting dressed again in some jeans and a simple shirt, not forgetting to put on my glasses again because I can’t handle putting in contacts right now. A quick look in the mirror makes me cringe at the dark circles under my eyes and the exhaustion written all over my face, so I quickly look away again and pull out my phone to shoot Charlie a quick text that I don't have time to see him this weekend.
Then I clean the kitchen and living room, gagging at the smell of my dad’s vomit and the moldy takeout boxes on the coffee table before heading out of the apartment.
I take my dad’s truck to the café and head inside. Karen and Jules, one of my coworkers, are already there. Karen vanishes into the back right as I get inside, while Jules just shoots me an amused look and raises an eyebrow.
"Rough night?" she chuckles, but I don’t reciprocate it. I just mumble, "Yeah, something like that," and brush past her to get my apron from the back.
Karen is just taking a batch of cookies out of the oven and smiles at me over her shoulder, but as soon as her eyes settle on me, her smile fades, clocking that something is wrong instantly.
"What is it?" she asks quietly, putting the cookies down and approaching me, lifting her hands to cup my face. But I turn away before she can and put on my apron, whispering, "I can’t, Karen. Not right now..."
"Y/N—"
I just shake my head and head back to the front, feeling my throat burn with unshed tears. I can’t afford to break down right now.
When I get out front, Jules is just finishing arranging the pastry display case. She gives me another smile, but this time it’s less teasing, and simply hands me a coffee and a blueberry muffin before I can say anything.
I thank her quietly and sip on my coffee, also taking one bite of the still-warm muffin before moving around the counter to take the chairs off the tables.
The café is set to open in a few minutes and there’s still a lot to do, so once I’m done with the chairs, I wordlessly help Jules set up the coffee while Karen pops her head in from the back every couple of minutes with a concerned look on her face. Every time her eyes meet mine, I quickly look away, and then the cafe opens and the morning rush begins.
"Y/N?"
I’m in the back, grabbing a box of new to-go cups from the top shelf, trying not to knock anything else down, when Karen sticks her head in.
"Yes?" I ask, finally getting the box down and turning around. It's almost half past nine now, and the morning rush is finally over, which has given me the opportunity to slip into the back for a breather under the guise of getting the cups.
For a moment, I'm worried Karen is going to want to talk again, but then she just says, "There's someone out here asking for you."
I shift the box in my arms and raise my eyebrows. "Who?"
Karen shrugs, and even though I can still see the worry in her eyes, there's a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "I don't know her name, but it's that girl I saw you talking to during your shift the other morning."
Mabel.
"Oh. Okay. Thanks. Is it okay if I take a little break?" I ask quietly, setting the box down, and Karen just nods and pats me on the shoulder on my way past.
I’ve honestly not thought about Mabel or our date later tonight ever since I saw my dad in his hospital bed, but now that I know she's here and she asked for me, I can't help but feel a little nervous because everything is just getting to be too much. I don't know if I can go on that date with her when I should be working, or when I know my dad is in the hospital, fighting for his life.
Don't get me wrong, I like Mabel. Like, really like Mabel. It actually kind of scares me. But right now, I don’t know if I can be there for her the way she expects me to be.
I already bombarded her with all my drama and trauma, and now this? My dad in the hospital because he literally almost drank himself to an early grave—still might? She deserves so much better.
I wipe my suddenly clammy hands on my apron and head back into the front of the café, where I instantly spot Mabel sitting in her usual seat by the window with her back turned to me.
Jules sees me stop in my tracks for a moment and wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, but I just ignore it and hesitantly make my way over to her.
"Hey, you." I slowly slide into the seat in front of her, feeling my heart flutter when she looks up and a smile instantly blooms on her face.
"Hi!" She closes the notebook she was scribbling in and places her hands on top of it. "Busy morning?"
"Mhmm." I hum and try to smile, but it falls flat, and just like Karen, Mabel clocks it instantly. Her smile falters and a crease forms between her eyebrows, but she doesn’t ask about it. Not yet. Instead, she takes a moment before asking, "So, you ready for our date later or are you getting cold feet?"
I know she probably means it as a joke to lighten the mood, but it strikes the exact nerve I was worried about, and I actually cringe, which makes her drop her apparent resolve not to pry.
"What is it?" she asks.
I swallow thickly and wring my hands in my lap. "I actually have to work at the shop this afternoon—pick up an extra shift."
Mabel blinks, surprised, and hurt flashes across her face as she sits up a little straighter, probably thinking I changed my mind because of something she did. So I’m quick to go on before she can overthink anything.
"It’s not because of you, I swear. It’s just..." I avert my eyes. "My dad..." My throat closes and I swallow harshly again, but before I can go on, Mabel asks, "Your dad? Is he okay?"
I shake my head, still keeping my eyes trained on the table. "Not really, no. He’s—he’s at the hospital. I found him passed out in his own pool of vomit last night when I got home from work, and..." Tears spring to my eyes and I blink rapidly to get rid of them. "They had to sedate and intubate him."
"Fuck..." I look up, glassy-eyed, to see Mabel staring at me with wide eyes.
"Yeah... fuck," I agree quietly, quickly wiping at my cheek when a single tear rolls down. "I have to pick up extra shifts in the next couple of days to cover his hospital bills. And then there’s this whole thing with Charlie and Tom and the others and the site and... and—"
"Hey." Mabel takes one of her hands off her notebook and slips it under the small table to grab one of mine. "It's okay. You don’t have to explain. I get it."
I press my lips into a thin line and nod, feeling my eyes well with fresh tears. I'm just so glad the tables around us are unoccupied, and both Karen and Jules are too busy at the counter to notice my distress.
"I'm sorry."
"No." Mabel shakes her head, her dark eyes filled with so much understanding and compassion it tugs at my heart. "Don't apologize. It's okay. We'll just reschedule, yeah?"
Still feeling like I might just be too much for her but clinging onto this one good thing in my life nonetheless, I mumble a quiet, "Yes please. Thank you for understanding."
"Of course." Mabel squeezes my hand before letting go and looking around to make sure no one is watching, then cups my face and uses her thumb to swipe a tear off my cheek. I lean into her touch, closing my eyes before opening them again and gently taking her hands off my face.
"I'm really sorry, but I have to get back to work," I say quietly, rubbing my thumbs over her knuckles.
She hums and nods, squeezing my hands. "It’s okay."
I exhale shakily and squeeze back before letting go and getting back to my feet. I’m about to walk away when Mabel tugs on the back of my shirt, making me stop in my tracks.
She grabs the front of my apron and pulls me down, pecking my lips and taking me by surprise before sending me off with, "You know where to find me if you wanna talk or just get away from everything for a while."
It takes me by surprise, even though she’s been this soft with me before. But we’re in public right now, and I wasn’t expecting this kind of display of affection when she’s usually more sarcastic and aloof. It also makes me realize that even though we haven’t known each other that long, I’m already in too deep to just freeze her out now because I think she deserves something better.
So I just nod and thank her quietly before getting back to work.
_______________________________________________
Part 6 is finally done! I'm sorry it took so long to write. I've just been low on inspiration for this story lately.
Anyway, I hope you liked it <3
Tag list: @idontliketoread2137
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davrinsleftpectoral · 1 month ago
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A Word With Friends
Thank you @woundedsoul12 for the tag, to @hedwigoprah for starting it, and to @seaglassmelody for picking such a great word this week.
Sanguine
Definition (Adjective): optimistic or positive, especially in an apparently bad or difficult situation.
OR
Definition (noun): a blood-red color
Rules: Use the challenge word to write a sentence or scene and then tag a few friends. Happy writing! 
This is a little piece of Welcome to Nug E Cheese chapter 2. This word fit right into a conversation I wanted to have.
==
Neve looked up at the clock on her office wall. How did it get to be 2:30pm already? It had been a quiet morning. She’d spent the entirety of it fully focused on brainstorming ideas to try to save her store. As she was becoming aware of her surroundings again, she caught the scent of coffee wafting in from the break room. Neve couldn’t stop her smile this time. Any time she got caught up in work in her office, Turvi would come by and make an afternoon pot of coffee, without her having to ask. She would need to remember to thank him later.
Neve left her papers spread out across her desk and headed for the coffee. She saw Lucans seated at the round table, staring forlornly at a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. 
“How’s the coffee this afternoon?” She asked with a smirk. 
He looked up at her and then back at his cup. “It’s a little… crunchy. Seems to have gotten grounds into the pot.”
“Oh, Rook must have been in a hurry. If you don’t fill Old Joe with water to just the right spot, you get grounds.” Neve shrugged one shoulder, as if to say what can you do. She was still going to drink some, so she busied herself making a cup.
“How do you do it?” 
Neve turned to look over her shoulder, “Do what?”
“How are you so sanguine about this?” 
“It’s just coffee. It’s really not that big of a deal.”  Neve tilted her head quizzically. Surely he couldn’t be that picky about coffee.
Lucanis sighed. “No not that. Though it should be illegal to call this,” he gestured wildly at the cup, “coffee.” Neve chuckled at that.
“No. How can you be so sanguine about your store possibly closing. With half the stores slated to be closed, the odds are not in your favor. And 3 months is not a long time. Why aren’t you looking for another job already? Wouldn’t that be a better use of your time? You’re clearly a very capable manager, surely you could find a much better paying job?”
Neve turned back to Old Joe the coffee maker and poured herself a cup. She didn’t reply immediately, but instead pondered how to explain it to him. She was puzzled by Lucanis. He had an expensive watch, designer shoes, never once spoke about riding public transportation, yet never showed up in his own vehicle, and he acted like someone that had not only never worked a customer service job, but like someone that had never even been to a casual style restaurant before. This man’s lived experience did not match hers or the other people that worked at her store. Why was he here? His relationship with money was clearly not the same as hers, how could she answer him?
She turned around, cradling her coffee cup, and leaned back against the counter. “I’ve lived in Dock Town my whole life. It’s not about the money. These people need a place to work, and to have fun. They need a little hope.” She paused and then sat across from Lucanis at the table. “Thats why I’m still here. But what about you? Why does someone like you work in a place like this?”
Lucanis kept his face neutral. Interesting. “What do you mean?” He asked.
“Most people that live or work in Dock Town wouldn’t be able to afford a watch like that, and they’d know not to wear it because it would make them an easy mark for pickpockets.” Neve sipped her coffee while looking at him over the rim. She could ask questions too.
Lucanis cleared his throat and slowly moved his watch arm into his lap under the table. “Things changed for me and I needed a job, and Solas offered me this one.” He sighed. “I will go see if Rook wants help setting up for the meeting.” With that he slipped out of the room. Neve watched him go. She’d figure him out eventually. But first, her coffee.
==
I’m not entirely sure who has done this or who’s on break this week, so I’m no pressure tagging @therivercrow @biowaredisasterbisexual @jouskaroo @notyourmamasdeerbat @genjyoandgojyoandhakkai @mythals-whore @blackwall-my-tiny-husband
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anime-villian-irl · 5 months ago
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Mouthwashing fic in the works
We can fix this
So mouthwashing if things were slightly different
Crash still happens but curly and Anya have a bit better communication, daisuke is a pathetic wet puppy which makes Swansea want to be slightly better (the way I never fucking got to this plotline) and , and Jimmy also sexually abused curly but curly normalized it in his head
Anya tells curly about the sexual assault and he's like “oh well. That's justifiable because reasons(boys will be boys type shit)” and Anya like “no it fucking isn't” and curlys like “well he didn't mean any harm by it and we can't even report it because our pay will be docked" Anya gets frustrated and cursed him out and leaves
Curly then finds her later and tells her that Jimmy used to do the same thing to him before and that he knows what's she's going through but they can't do anything about it because they're already getting fired and if anything goes wrong their pay is getting fucked , Anya ends up crying with him as curly tries and fails to justify Jimmy's shitty behavior
Curly goes to Jimmy and is like “hey um I know what you did to me and Anya and we can fix everything. I don't hate you , Anya only semi hates you we can fix everything everything isn't totally fucked up” Jimmy does as Jimmy does and chrases the ship
Curly still gets injured and Anya ends up talking to him a lot while giving him his meds and it still makes her nauseous but she feels closer to him knowing Jimmy screwed them both over and is all like “I would of crashed the ship too curly. I would of crashed the damn ship and killed us all too”
Eventually at some fucking point Anya is about to commit but looks at curly is is thinking “we all need to die together. It's what's fair” so she fucking murders Jimmy while sobbing and apologizing is just like “I don't want to do this. But it's only fair. We have to do this all together.” But then daisuke pathetic ass finds her sobbing over Jimmy's corpse and is like ‘anya you fucking good?”
Anya tells him everything while apologizing and daisuke just takes a breath and is like “okay. We can fix this.” And then he takes her to where curly is and whole anyws having her back to back panic attacks daisuke tells curly everything that happened and is like “but it's okay though right? We can fix it right?” And curly you know can't fucking speak and is just like internally screaming and is just crying looking into daisuke eyes
Do not know where to take this but I do know I want some references to curly in the little fish guys game and how he ends up in the bottom of the ocean
@bougiebutchbitch tagging you just so I can get your opinion because you have the best takes I've seen so far on mouthwashing and I keep managing to accidentally be blind to nuance.(Sorry if you didn't want to be tagged in anything)
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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 8 months ago
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🧚‍♀️ Anon
Risotto similar to Jason Voorhees? (I had to do it! I couldn’t resist!!)
He was bullied a lot as a kid for his bizarre appearance, white hair, red eyes and black sclera
However his childhood friend Darling was always so nice and kind to him, telling him how his eyes and hair is very pretty and cool, she was 1 years younger than him and much smaller too (Darling was very small for a 9 year old, with Risotto being 10)
Until Risotto’s death, which devastated Darling so much that het mind repressed her own memories of what happened that day (As she was being held back by bullies who let Risotto drown)
Now almost 20 years later and some random people are trying to bring back the place, which cause Risotto’s cousin to snap and go on a killing spree (I thought it would be interesting to do a role reversal for Risotto with his cousin) until his death at the hands of one of the people he tried to kill
Darling went to the lake to pay her yearly respects to Risotto like she always does on his birthday (Not realizing the hulking individual stalking her. Watching her. Following her back home)
So when Darling comes home, she opens her fridge and screams in horror seeing the severed head of someone, only for huge hands to grab Darling and she’s forced unconscious and awakens inside a rundown house tied to the bed and walks in a huge man
Risotto either doesn’t talk or he can but his speech is very broken as he and Darling made a promise to marry each other when they grow up and Risotto intends to fulfill it
Risotto face looks rotting with half his jaw bone seen, grey to greenish skin from the rot or it’s burned flesh, whatever you want
Happy Halloween!! 🎃
Happy Halloween, would have posted a fic today but Nintendo released their music app... let's just say splatoon 3 ost and smut do not work together lol.
But hell Risotto as Jason Voorhees.
Warnings: mentions of attempted sexual exploitation.
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Risotto was never a social person, he was a recluse and his strange appeared didn't make things better. Darling was there for him though.
Around 16 and 15 they ended up going on a school camp and darling ended up in a situation where her male classmates were blackmailing her into performing sexual favors. Risotto intervenes to help her but he's overwhelmed by the group and is floored. Darling pleads with them to stop, she'll do what they want if they stop hurting him while one of them holds her back.
They end up dragging him to the nearby lake and forcing his head under, pulling him up every so often until he stops struggling. The group freaks out realizing they just killed him. Darling is quickly pushed aside and ends up unconscious from the fall.
They end up submerging his body under rocks and promise to never tell what happened. Now they need to deal with Darling but when she comes to she doesn't remember what happened that night and they take her back to camp.
Next morning Risotto is nowhere to be found, the people who run the camp call the police but even they can't find him. The camp is ended early and shortly after the whole thing is shut down after his mother sues for negligence.
Darling is still close with his family after all she'd been dating him at the time. His cousin, Campanelle knows there was something up with his disappearance. It had to be foul play.
Years later does one of the former students buy the place and offer to host their high-school reunion before it officially opens. They barely knew anything about Risotto and think it was a shame it got shut down after what happened. Most people believe he just ran away.
Darling does go but is drawn to the water, she sits out on the dock. Wondering what happened to Risotto and hopping that he really did run away, as unlikely as it seems.
Meanwhile Cam ends up overhearing one of the guys mention what happened that night and all hell breaks loose as he ends up killing one of the guys and injuring two others. Everyone is shocked and darling gets back just as the police arrive.
"They killed him! (Insert a few names) killed Risotto Nero!" Cam loudly proclaims as he brandishs a knife before he's killed. Darling is mortified, it stabs her to know the truth.
The camp hall where the party was held is closed for investigation but the rest of the place however is still open. Due to darling helping the host with preparations she got one of the private lodges.
She goes back for the night bawling her eyes out. She needs a drink to soothe her throat and opens the fridge to see the severed head of one of the culprits in the fridge, he'd tried to run away after being called out before meeting with a grizzly fate. In the light she also sees the blood on the floor from what she assumes is the head.
She runs out the door to tell someone before running into someone. She clears her eyes to see a large figure but can't make out the features in the low light.
"The fridge- there's a-" she tries to speak past her hiccups but the figure grabs her in their tight grip, brandishing a machete at her.
"Please let me go! I'll do whatever you want, Just let me go" she begs them. They end up putting away the blade before knocking her out. Risotto didn't realize it was darling at first until she begged, almost mirroring what she begged before his death.
When she comes to she's finds herself tied to a chair in a dingy old cabin. A lamp is lit and is met with the monster before her. Blueish gray skin with extreme visible veins. Parts eaten away exposing the muscle and bones beneath. Looking up at his face his lower jaw is only bone but those eyes and hair catch her off guard. No it couldn't possibly be. She remembers what happened now, there's no doubt he died.
"No... it can't be" she chokes out before crying again. His hand caresses her face.
"No! there's no way you're him!" She shouts as she moves her head away. He looks older, how could he even age if he was dead. She refuses to believe her beloved could ever become this creature. He's determined to show her the truth.
He came back for her. The moment he awoke he was thrown into a frenzy to try and save darling a many years too late and ended up killing two people hiding out at the abandoned site.
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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 years ago
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WIBTA if I complained about getting docked pay because we were locked out of the workplace?
I (17M) started a job about a month and a half ago, and I work 7am morning shifts on Saturdays and Sundays (evening shifts on 2 or 3 weekdays. $11 an hour). I always make it to my shift on time and clock in at least a minute early, or on the dot. Im never really early, but I hate the idea of being late and have put in effort to make sure I have a good record regarding that.
last weekend, I showed up Saturday morning and couldn’t get inside- the shift lead had not arrived yet to unlock the door, so i and another coworker waited. It was 7:05 when I remembered I could access the website we use to clock in, and so I did that. The lead had slept in (she, ~22F, is a respectful person though a bit disorganized and forgetful, however I understand that she’s under a lot of stress) and showed up finally around 7:25.
We got in, did our stuff, it was fine. But towards the end of my shift I saw her going through our time cards and “correcting” my clock in to the time at which she arrived. She reasoned that because we couldn’t get inside we weren’t working and therefore couldn’t be paid for it.
That day was only a 2 hour shift, so that was about 20% of that shift taken from me- it wasn’t my fault I was locked out, I was here perfectly on time like every time. It’s not really a big deal, and thus far I haven’t made a fuss about it, but the other coworker locked out with me mentioned that this has happened before. I honestly expect it to happen again considering it’s quite an early shift and it’s easy to sleep in, and the shift lead is a quite exhausted person.
So if this does happen again, WIBTA for complaining to a higher position? Is there a certain threshold (eg less than 30 min) where I should let it go?
What are these acronyms?
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jekinabox · 8 months ago
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some rambles on my takes on Curly from Mouthwashing
I understand that a lot of people see Curly’s reaction to Anya telling him about her SA and what he did after as him ignoring it for Jimmy’s sake- and maybe that’s true, the point could very well be that people (especially those close to the abuser, especially men) will just set that kind of thing aside because the abuser “wouldn’t do that” or “will be better” or whatever, especially because Swansea ends up doing the same thing when Anya tells him, as well as the consistent theming of responsibility and trying to fix things.
But I think that maybe there’s more to it? If you don’t, feel free to look away, this is just my thoughts and take. But I think If the story is about SA and the consequences of not rooting the people out, I don’t understand what Diasuke’s role in it could be, so that just isn’t the moral of the story that I see. Of course, if this is how you see the story, that’s ok! People can have different views on media, and art is as much about people’s different responses to it as it is about what the creators meant.
Onto my little ramblings about the guy!
1- I think it’s very probable that Curly’s been manipulated by Jimmy, and for a long time. They’re “best friends,” and Curly believes Jimmy “won’t try that bullshit with me” even though he clearly does. Even at the birthday party, Jimmy is uncaring to his “best friend,” and during the confrontation near the cockpit, Jimmy outright twists what Curly’s said in the past. (Not to mention what he does to Curly afterward, but that doesn’t exactly count since it’s afterward.) I also wouldn’t be surprised if Jimmy helped Curly out of some situation in the past due to his savior complex and Curly now feels like he owes Jimmy something. It’d be easy for him to overlook Jimmy’s smaller problems if he feels he owes Jimmy something, especially if it’s something bigger, and he seems more of the “deal with it” kind of person anyways, so he’d obviously toss any grievances aside since he thinks everyone needs multiple chances. At first, Jimmy probably unsettled him. But he got used to it, just like his job. He deals with it for the last day, then another, then another.
2- Curly seems legitimately concerned when Anya tells him about everything, at least when he gets confirmation. We don’t see much after the she asks him about the locks on the doors, and we don’t see how much he actually learns, and thus no clue as to how bad he believes the situation may be (Harassment is nothing to scoff at, but if he just believes someone’s being a creep or annoying her, he’s obviously going to try to learn more and deescalate before anything else.) We also never see how much or what they say when she asks for the gun, but what we know is that Curly is freaking out when he thinks she has it, and actually believes it at first to be that she wants to kill herself due to the recent termination of their jobs. He’s first confused, then after her few words of explanation says he’ll talk to Jimmy. We never see an actual talk, but he learns definitively of what happened only “1 day before the crash,” and it takes time to sort through emotions, plans, and decisions, let alone when someone you thought was good did something like that and if you realize that they were a shitty person all along. Curly also then needs to decide what they’re going to do with Jimmy (they can’t lock him in the cockpit or medical because they need those, nor the hold because he would obviously mess up whatever they’re shipping as a hissy fit against them, and considering you get pay docked for complaining, using the cryopod or the gun would probably make this whole deal worthless for practically everyone.) Even if he did decide to just get rid of Jimmy, he’s not going to tell anyone that in case Jimmy finds out, and especially not Anya, since she seems forgiving enough and in a bad enough spot he has no clue what she may try to do if he tells her “I’m going to go kill Jimmy.”
3- Inaction and not taking responsibility doesn’t feel like Curly’s issue. Curly has the responsibility of everything on the ship, even baking a cake, and even when told not to tell his crew about the loss of their jobs, he still does. He even takes roles that aren’t his, like doing Jimmy’s psych evaluation when he sees Anya’s uncomfortable. This is why he and Jimmy are the two characters we play as, and are seen as opposites and each other’s foils. Jimmy’s whole thing is unreliable narration. By the end of the game, he’s convinced himself Curly crashed the ship and he’s the better man for leaving Curly alive after what he “did.” Jimmy’s an aggressive man who uses people for just what they can give him, and he causes problems for the express purpose of trying to fix him so people worship him, but messes up even with all the time in the world to “fix” things. Curly’s the one blamed, but he’s a genuine guy who tried his best and gave people the benefit of the doubt until he couldn’t anymore, but didn’t have the time to fix anything because Jimmy broke that chance.
4- My main bit is over, but another piece of his psychology- Curly probably hates himself, considering how Jimmy talks about him seeming like he’s at the edge of a bridge with cinderblocks on his feet, and if he hates himself, a way he may try to cope is by insisting everyone isn’t tied to their worst moments! Just like how he talks about how pain is a symbol one’s alive, which sounds like another coping mechanism. Jimmy isn’t the only one who hopes it hurts.
5- And Curly was right, most of the time, about how bad things don’t define people. Swansea’s rude and abrasive at times, but a pretty good man in a bad life. Diasuke was unplanned for the journey, but he’s a good intern who’s trying his best. Anya may have only completed the Pony Express medical course, but she keeps Curly alive for four months, even despite his quadruple amputations and missing skin and the complete lack of a lot of medical equipment that she could’ve used. The unfortunate thing is- his kind nature let bad things in, and it was so slow and manipulative he didn’t even necessarily know, consciously, how bad it was, until Jimmy crashed the ship, got everyone killed, and fed him his own leg. 99.9% indeed.
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oceaneyesinla · 6 months ago
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FINALLY i found the writing momentum to write about my beloved Rook and her beloved boys
A small introduction to her: her name is Emmariel Thorne, and she's an elven Warden rogue. she's also a little shit with a heart of gold
beware spoilers for Veilguard under the cut, referencing a major choice and a key story mission
divider by @/cafekitsune
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"Has anyone seen Rook?" Harding asks the room at large, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, "Viago just sent over ... you know, I'm not sure what it is. It's got her name on it, though."
Lucanis speaks up from where he's preparing the vegetables for dinner, "Knowing Viago, it's either poison or a new blade. He and Teia are growing rather fond of her, though Viago will never admit it."
"Rook did look very excited the last time she came back from Treviso." Neve doesn't look up from the papers she's reading, but there's a small smile turning up her lips. Minrathous falling to the Venatori had driven a wedge between them, but in the aftermath of Weisshaupt, their bond seemed less fraught. Especially since Rook helped her with some work back in Dock Town.
Davrin is the one to actually answer Harding's question, "Haven't seen her, but I'll let her know you're looking for her if I do."
A lie, but no one else needs to know that. Not that he'll tell her about the 'gift' from Viago - he'll take great pleasure in telling her about the package, and in watching her face light up, blue eyes bright and mischievous. Lucanis is right - Emmariel has endeared their new Crow friends just like she has everyone else, and even the Fifth Talon isn't immune to her charm. That mystery package is almost certainly a knife.
No, the lie is that he actually does know where Rook is. She's exactly where he left her; fast asleep in his bed, using Assan as both a pillow and a plush toy. The griffon was all too happy to spend some time with his second favourite person - after all the trouble Remi and Lancit had bonding with the griffons in the beginning, he never expected Assan to take to Emmariel as quickly as he did. She gravitates to him almost every time she passes through the courtyard, and Assan just chirps happily as she taps his beak and cradles his head in her hands and throws her arms around him.
Davrin has spent more time with Emmariel lately, just like Assan - both of them grew up in Dalish clans, and both of them found a new home with the Wardens, though their path to the Order differed. Being around her feels easy - she's warm and friendly, with a quick wit that draws a laugh out of him every time. Her heart takes pride of place on her sleeve, and she has a knack for seeming so empathetic but so strong. He can see why Antoine and Evka speak so highly of her.
That big heart comes with a cost, and Davrin hates to watch her pay it. He can still see the first time she let all of them see just how badly Weisshaupt affected her in his mind. The sheer disbelief on her face as a Warden stumbled through the doors to the dining hall, supported by Antoine and Evka. The big tears that rolled down her cheeks as she tripped over herself to reach him, and the shuddering sobs that left her shaking in his hold.
The Warden was her mentor and the man who saved her life when she was blighted; Samuel. For over a week, she helped them with their problems; listened to him and Lucanis take petty shots at each other, and supporting Neve in Minrathous through the mage's distrust and her own guilt. All of that, while carrying the burden of not knowing how many of her Warden friends were dead, or if her beloved mentor had survived.
Watching her cry into Samuel's shirt, Antoine rubbing her back and looking close to tears himself, Davrin made a silent promise to himself - he would take care of her; give her a safe place to shed the weight she carried and let herself be vulnerable. It's no hardship - he finds himself thinking of her when she's away from the Lighthouse without him, and he can't help the smile that tugs at his lips when she comes to see him and Assan.
When she fell asleep in his room, curled up in the armchair by the fire with Assan keeping watch, he didn't hesitate to lift her into his arms, cradling her against him as he moved her to his bed. He can't take away the grief of Weisshaupt, or the guilt of Minrathous, but he can let her have a few hours of uninterrupted rest, safe and sound in his room and his bed.
************
He's quiet when he returns to his room, just in case Emmariel is still asleep. A cheerful chirp greets him, and moments later, Emmariel is peeking around the corner, all tired eyes and sleep ruffled hair, making her pretty blue curls even more unruly than usual. He's not a poetic man, but the smile she sends his way feels like the soft sunshine of sunrise, and some small part of him hopes that whatever future comes his way after all this, she will be by his side.
He's pleasantly surprised when she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face into his shoulder. He doesn't hesitate to return the gesture, relaxing into the warmth radiating from her. In a spark of bravery, he drops a kiss to the top of her head. She stays quiet, but the way her arms tighten around him speaks volumes.
"Sleep well?" He asks as they pull apart; she looks better than she did before her impromptu nap. Her eyes are bright again, clear cerulean sky staring up at him.
She lets out a little laugh, reaching out to scratch Assan between his ears, "I did. Assan makes a good cuddle buddy." Assan lets out happy little chirps, approving of both the attention and the praise from his second favourite person. When she looks back up at him, the sheer emotion in her eyes makes his heart skip a beat, "Davrin ... thank you, for letting me sleep." He's pretty sure she's thanking him for far more than that, but his answer will always be the same. Maybe he's an idiot - a Warden falling for another Warden at the end of the world, but he can't find it in himself to regret it.
"You're always welcome with Assan and me. Who else will feed him snacks on the sly?"
His playful tease pulls another bright peal of laughter from her even as she tries and fails to look innocent, "I would never feed him gingerwort truffles when his father isn't looking, and a good boy like Assan would never accept illicit treats."
There's that spark of mischief, of life he's been missing. She's still laughing and looking up at him with those big blue eyes that give her away and it would be so easy to reach out and -
"Oh, Rook! There you are!" Harding's voice breaks the moment building between them, and Emmariel's happy little bubble. He watches her tense up infinitesimally, her hand stilling on Assan's feathers, using him as a comfort. She's expecting the worst, and after everything they've been through, he can't blame her, "Viago sent a package for you. Lucanis thinks it's poison, Taash is hoping it's a cape."
Emmariel's grin is immediately restored, bigger and more concerning than before, "My knife! Viago said he was sending a little knife for me to keep hidden away. For emergencies." Davrin has seen Emmariel with a blade - the only person having an emergency would be the person crossing her.
She grabs his hand, tugging him along behind her. Not that it takes any effort for her to make him follow her. He pointedly ignores Harding and her knowing smile as he lets Emmariel lead him across to the dining hall, Assan trotting along by her side. All he wants to focus on is the warmth of her small hand in his.
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joycieillustrations · 4 months ago
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Hi! I hope you are doing well. I am very curious about the "bed scene" (something spicy, heehee) and "last night" (something angsty?). Take care and thanks for sharing your numerous talents with us! :)
Hehe, actually it’s somewhat the other way around 😉
Bed scene is a prelude to — funnily enough — the bed scene in Season 2. I’m just fascinated by these two and how they operate within their relationship, especially in this moment: we can see that they’ve reconciled physically, that they’re comfortable around each other, that this is normalcy for them. It’s the most united we see them that season, and I just wanted to explore it, especially following on from their reunion in 1x10.
She slinks into their bedroom in the hour after dawn. Hues of pink and orange seep in around the long, heavy curtains, in the slither of horizon revealed with each swell of the breeze. Driftmark never sleeps – not truly – but its lord does, more so now in the wake of his blood fever, his invalidity. The years have worn at him, crashing down again and again like the weathering of the shore: the scar on his neck, the new lines on his brow, the retreat of his hair. Yet they are a small price to pay for the comfort of his arms.
Rhaenys pauses, stealing this one brief moment for herself: her husband in her bed, returned to her after so long a separation. The outline of his silhouette is both familiar and unfamiliar. Despite all his absences throughout the years, she had never once become used to sleeping alone – though she had become used to her nighttime companions being smaller. She had become used to little fingers clutched in her nightdress, to a head of silver curls tucked beneath her chin: Laenor, seeking comfort from a nightmare; Laena, wriggling and restless without her father’s stories; Baela, crying for her mother.
He is a changed man, yes; just as she is a changed woman.
“You smell of dragon.”
Her husband’s voice is muffled against their pillows. A dark eye cracks open to watch her as she seats herself, turning to look over her shoulder as her fingers work on the clasp at her throat.
“And you smell of brine and tar and unwashed sailor,” she replies, voice hoarse and weary from thin, cold air. “Mayhaps we are well matched.”
Ok, I lied — last night is angsty and spicy. It’s set during 2x04, after Rhaenys confronts Corlys at the docks and he comes to Dragonstone. Medieval-style warfare takes longer, what with the moving of soldiers by foot, so I imagine Rhaenys would have enough time before needing to leave that she would have one last night at Dragonstone (that way she and Meleys are well rested, they have time to strategise, etc. etc.). This imagines what her last night with Corlys might look like:
The sweat of his brow is slick upon the back of her neck. His breath is hot, suffocating, tangible against her skin, heavy like a shroud. The fingers of their free hands – their left, with his, as ever, eclipsing hers in size and strength – clutch at the jagged contours of the headboard. She’s glad he’s chosen to take her like this, that she doesn’t have to look into his eyes.
She’ll forgive him if she looks into his eyes.
The arm holding her back against him loosens. His palm slides higher, past her stomach, up between her breasts, coming to rest flush against her sternum. She can feel the thud of her own heartbeat, pounding within her like a war drum — and what is it she feels now? Anger? Desire? Resignation? Oh, this man, this man who burrows beneath her skin, claws his way back into her affections, nestles within the cage of her ribs like a part of her very self.
“It’s you, Rhaenys,” he gasps, the bed groaning with each frantic roll of their bodies. “Whatever I have done, whatever I have— it’s always been you. Only you. I’ve only ever loved you.”
I do plan on continuing both of these, but I don’t envisage finishing them any time soon — I’m planning on working through my multi-chapter fics in chronological order now, so this one won’t be in my active WIPs until at least Ad amorem and Salt and Smoke are both finished.
Thank you so much for your ask! 🥰
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lottiesnotebook · 4 months ago
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Hi!!!! Happy Friday <3 I'm looking through the AU prompts you reblogged and I *know* the Florence song Mermaids is in Cara's bio so.... Mermaid AU for Cara?
I did not make this connection til just now, and I'm obsessed now - I could write a million pages of this AU, but I hope you enjoy this snippet which I'm already inordinately fond of...
Cara 'Rook' Hawke-Laidir/Neve Gallus, pre-relationship, naked first impression, slavery mention, Mermaid AU
@miladydewintcr | @dadrunkwriting
with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp
Neve doesn’t feel great about investigating Cida Ciconia’s latest rival, for all Elek’s pious smile that he ‘just wanted to make sure the new girl at the Siren’s Call was working there willingly’. Neve knows what the payout is really for - if the girl’s a slave, the Shadow Dragons will smuggle her out of Minrathous to freedom, and if she’s a particularly foolish freewoman, Neve will give her the polite version of what happened to Cida’s last three competitors in Dock Town.
The girl will probably assume it’s a threat. Coming from Neve, it’s a warning. Elek doesn’t make threats, not when it comes to his sole ‘legitimate’ business and its star. She’s not really working for the Threads, she tells herself. Not really. All the whispers she’s heard on the girl say she’s something special, and Cida won’t tolerate any aspiring singer for long.
The girl is, in fact, something special, something Cida can’t possibly match, though her first impression does not reveal it. Neve first hears her famed voice raised, not in song, but in pettish demand, and it’s something of a relief, in all honesty. Maybe the Threads will go easier on a stupid, spoilt little girl than on a Docktown woman who should have known better.
“Aria, is that you?” the girl demands, from the far side of an enameled screen. “Do you have my honeyed mango juice? You know I can’t perform without it!”
There is a splash of water on the other side of the screen, which makes Neve feel secure enough to reveal herself. If she’s bathing, she isn’t expecting visitors, and she might even be too embarrassed to call any bouncers until Neve’s said her piece and gotten the hell out.
“Sadly not,” she says, casting a quick ward over the door. “I’ve got a message for you, Miss Laidir.”
There was a snort from the far side of the barrier. “Don’t be ridiculous, how much did you bribe the bouncer to get back here?”
“I didn’t have to. This isn’t that kind of message.”
A wobble of emotion beyond pettishness creeps into the voice: fear, she realises. Fear of her, or of her employers? “They- they don’t like people coming back here.”
“I won’t be long. Are they paying you, here?”
“What? I mean, I guess-”
“Can you leave?” That’s one of the cruellest tricks Minrathous law can play on the unwitting traveller - the thousand levels of slavery so complex, so vicious, that one can become ensnared long before they realise.
There’s a bitter laugh from the far side of the screen, and another splash. “You haven’t seen the show, have you?”
“I admit, I’m not a fan, but-”
“You should come round the screen,” the girl interrupts, unexpectedly. “If you’re going to threaten me, I’d like to at least look you in the eyes. And maybe answer some questions that are a little less stupid.”
That’s an oddity her brain notes, given the notes of fear that still hover in the air with the girl’s words. If she’s scared, it’s not of Neve seeing her in a vulnerable position, or of whatever message she bears. That’s the voice of a woman who thinks she has nothing left to lose. She’s wrong, of course - everyone has something to lose, if the Threads want to take it, but that make it less dangerous. Neve of all people knows there are plenty of people who are never truly harmless.
Still, she moves cautiously as she pokes her head around the corner of the screen, taking in the opulent decoration (the Siren’s Call’s gone up-market, if it can afford to do up even the back rooms), waiting for the trap to spring. Instead, there’s another, distinctly irritated splash.
“You’re grown, I’m pretty sure you’ve seen naked women before, especially if you break into rooms this often.”
She still feels almost too awkward to turn her head, despite the direct invitation. And then it gets even more awkward, because as soon as she does look directly at the girl in the bath, she can’t look away. From the vivid amber eyes that meet hers without a trace of fear or shame. From the inky black rivulets of damp hair that cling to her shoulders, to the curves of her (truly spectacular) breasts. From the long fish-tail that drapes over the side of the tub, sending sparks of light dancing like wisplight around the room.
“You’re not human,” she says, which is quite possibly the most obvious observation she’s ever made.
The girl takes in her astonished expression, and lets out a low, wicked cackle, revealing pointed white teeth. “Now you’re starting to get the picture.
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ask-postcrash-curly · 3 months ago
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Hello, sweet pea. Kind Words. Heh! ♡
How are you feeling, dear...? Any more comfortable now? I do hope so, after how harrowing a time being, ah, onboarded was for you... but I have faith that you are in good hands from here on out. (Not that Anya's were not, of course! But I agree that she does deserve some well-earned and long overdue rest. You all do.) As am I certain that Swansea and Daisuke are doing just as well as they can be. I can only imagine Anya must be fretting over them just as much as you are — surely she will stop by soon to give you an update. Perhaps all they need is a bit of time to recuperate, first.
Please, don't apologize for — you did not upset me, sweetheart. Yes, it does hurt my heart more than anything to hear you terrified and in pain, always, but that is not your doing. Above all else, I am just so overwhelmed with relief and gratitude that you are all finally, finally safe — after all of this terror and tribulation and heartbreak. Sometimes it seemed as if it would never end...
Oh, but my Grant Curly! I do not know whether to be cross with you or beg for forgiveness. Perhaps I will have to cope with both! Enough of the "real son" and "obligation" speak, I beg of you, I cannot take it anymore. I love you, darling, do you understand me? You are my son and I love you no matter what! Forever and always! Yes, because I wished to, because I wanted to! I have said it before and I will say it a thousand times more, if I must! I would not be here now if I did not intend to be here forever! I want to share my stories with you, I want you to be safe and sound in my arms, I want to tell you about all of the birds, and I don't want you to ever stop calling me "Mum"! Because I love you with all of my heart and soul, I almost cannot bear the weight of it! And that is just the same as I feel for Kestrel! I simply do not care what anyone else has to say about it, that is legitimate enough for me! Phew...
Forgive me for getting so worked up again, I - I could not get through to you after we last spoke, before the rescue ship docked. I do not know how Kestrel was able to, but he has felt terrible this entire time over it, too. He is quite antsy to speak with you again about it, but I told him to wait until you are ready. Regardless, the last thing either of us wished for was for you to spend any amount of time feeling as though we wanted nothing to do with you anymore. Especially while you were so afraid... it could not be any further from the truth, my love. Please, forgive me. I am so heartbroken by this promise that I cannot keep, no matter how hard I try... but if it is the price I must pay for the starlings to pave your way back home, to safety, then...
... You know, I had such the strange dream the other night, as well... I do not recall much of it now, but perhaps that is for the best... I do remember that it was quite distressing at first, though I just could not wake myself from it. I thought I had heard you calling me again, like before. And then... I felt like we were flying, you and I. How I had wished in the moment for that feeling to last forever. I would like to believe that... this means good things ahead, yes? The worst is... surely behind us, now. It must be.
Anyhow, I do not wish to worry you any more with the strange things that go on in my head, dear. You must still be exhausted. Please, do try and get some rest if you are able to. I must see to it that I can perhaps reach out to Anya again...? Then she will be able to inform your care providers about the pills and the lights situation. I do hope this works...
Oh, and — I love you, dear. I just wished to tell you again, in case your poor, silly head has already forgotten. I love you.
Hello!!
A bit. The light's still killing me, but apparently they... didn't mean to leave it on constantly? Meant to turn it off at night, probably. I guess they still have a day-night cycle on here. Anyways, the light's off now, thank fuck. One of them's sitting in here to watch me, I think. But he fell asleep. S'kinda nice. Can listen to the ship moving. Still not feeling... great. But better. (Of course, yeah. She's been through enough. That's surely why she hasn't come by. Just... resting.) Yeah... yeah. Surely. Right, yeah, of course. Just have to be patient. At least I'll be able to tell when time passes now, yeah?
Okay, but technically— yeah, fine. I'm s... I mean, thank you.
What— why?! ...Ah. Okay... okay... Mhm. Yeah, mhm... yeah...
thank you...
No, uh, that's— It's okay. Not your fault. Not Kestrel's either. Tell him we... we can talk whenever he wants, okay? And that the, uh, "we don't hate you" thing helped. No, you don't have to ask for any sort of forgiveness, all right? Didn't do anything wrong. It's just me and my bullshit. Not you, never you. Sorry, what promise...?
So you didn't hear me, then. Yeah, about that dream... You kinda, uh, projected the whole of it into my head. Hahah. Probably was me you heard calling, actually... I'd like to believe good things are ahead too. I really would.
Hey, no, you can keep telling me strange things. I don't mind it. Yeah, I'm... 'resting.' Staring at the ceiling. Can't fall asleep with the pain for more than a few minutes, but that's all right. Just enjoying the dark while it lasts. ...God, yeah, that'd be a big help if you can. If you manage it, please ask her about the others, too. So that you can pass it along to me.
I— I love you too. Thank you... so much, Mum.
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