#i kind of got the impression that i was not what she was looking for lol (had just been in the woods eating berries and spent all day before

[frehyun]

Drowned

siren!hyunjin x afab!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of drinking, descriptions of drowning, unprotected sex (do not), monster cock, fingering (f and m receiving), oral (f receiving), creampie

genre: pirate/siren AU, found family trope, fluff, monster (?) smut, a little bit of angst

word count: 8.2k

author's note: started thinking about merman hyunjin, wanted to write a little something, it got out of hand. voilá. seriously, this is the longest thing i've ever written so i'd really appreciate to hear what you think! please let me know if there's any mistakes or if i overlooked something <3 happy reading 💙

masterlist

divider by @firefly-graphics

For as long as you lived, the sea was your home. The salty wind in your hair, the water splashing against the sides of your parent’s ship and freedom in your heart. Never have you wanted for more, the crew and everything else that was on board was always enough.

Sure, every now and then you had to get rough with other pirates or relieve some rich folk of their valuables but regardless of that, you wouldn’t change your life for the world. You never had a worry on your mind except maybe what’s for dinner that day, enjoying a nice sunbath on the deck, messing with some of the lower standing crew members that were close to your heart or going fishing with your mother whenever you were docked on some harbor.

Today was no different. Maybe a little different, since your father had tasked you with checking out one of the local rich men’s houses. Your boots carried you to the wealthy district where you earned your share of people eyeing you with disdain but you didn’t mind, smiling toothily at them and waving which just left them perplexed by your friendliness.

You whistled lowly at the sight of the mansion, gold decorations shimmering on the façade, lush greenery surrounding the entire building.

Kind of impressive.

The fence was hopped easily and you found your way into the mansion. No one was home so you figured there was no point in trying to stay low. You scanned through most of the main rooms, snatching up anything that looked valuable enough to you. With your pockets and bag full, you strolled over to what seemed to be a room where whoever lived here kept all of their valuable paintings and other art finds.

You stood in front of one particularly impressive artwork. While others would surely admire the stroke pattern, the colors used or the fascinating woodwork on the frame, you simply ascertained that the painting was small enough to carry out and still be able to run with. So you grinned to yourself as you removed the painting from the wall and leisurely made your way out of the house again.

Your steps are hurried as you make your way back to the ship, signaling for the crew to get ready to leave the harbor.

“Halt! She’s a thief!”

Oh well. Took them long enough.

You broke out in a sprint, painting secured beneath your arm. Your father was already barking out orders, readying the ship to take off as soon as they can, while some of the local police is hot on your trail.

You giggled as you climbed onboard right as the ship began its movement towards the horizon. With big motions you waved to the people left behind, all of them fuming for having lost the race against you.

-

The island was no longer to be seen, your parents were proud and your little family had plenty of stuff to sell for the next dock. You couldn’t be happier.

To reward yourself for your hard work today, you decided to lounge about in the sun. The waves rocked you until you fell fast asleep.

So deeply asleep that you didn’t wake up when the outlook yelled about another ship approaching yours.

So deeply asleep that you only woke up when the first canonball tore through the flimsy wood of the ship you called home.

Your heart was beating erratically as you struggled to make sense of your surroundings, everyone onboard in a panicked hurry. Some men running around trying to fight off the opponents that were starting to invade your space, the others below deck firing back with whatever they had, some others trying to keep the rising water out of the ship, refusing to let it sink just like that.

You grabbed your own sword and jumped to your father’s side.

“Seems like you angered the wrong gentlemen this time around!” – he laughed as his sword clashed with another.

“It was your stupid idea!” – you countered, equally finding amusement in the familiar situation and laughing.

The fight seemed to be on your side for a moment, countless stuck-up lawmen falling into the harsh waters while your side held their numbers up. But not everything always goes the way you want it to, one misstep and everything can fall apart quickly. So when the blade slashed through your side, you sucked in a breath and stumbled backwards against the railing, a man twice your size giving you the last push you needed to tip over, the cold water enveloping your whole body.

You struggled to keep your head above the waters, gasping for air but breathing in more water than anything sustainable. Your body bumped into those of others that had met the same fate as you, making the entire process of trying to stay alive harder than it needed to be. The side of your torso ached with every movement and soon enough, the strength left your limbs as you slowly but surely sunk deeper into the depths of the sea, unaware of someone that observed your descent with curious eyes.

The first thing you notice when you come to your senses again is that you feel incredibly warm.

The second thing you notice is a pair of curious eyes staring down at you.

“Oh” – he moves out of your sight before you can properly take the rest of his appearance in but one thing is abundantly clear to you: pupils should not be shaped like his, nor should eyes be as yellow as his.

You sit upright as soon as you can, wincing at the sharp pain in your side. The pain is all but forgotten when you take in the otherworldly creature sitting timidly at the edge of a stone not far from you.

He is nervously picking at his fingers while gazing at you, the space between each finger connected by a thin membrane akin to some sea creatures you know. There are tiny little scales scattered around his skin that shimmer in various shades in the light, ranging from the deepest onyx, powdery sky blue, brilliant gold and pearl white. The most alarming thing about his body is the very obvious fish tail where his legs should be, decorated in the same colors as the rest of his scales with smaller, elegantly shaped fins on the sides of it. It seemed to be longer than whatever the stories made you picture in your mind. When your gaze wanders back up his body, taking note of how the scales fade into normal skin and just being scattered here and there, you notice the gills on each side of his neck, fluttering softly with each breath he takes. His impressively broad back had another line of fins across his spine. Finally settling your gaze on his face, framed by luscious black locks, you can see he has another set of large fins on the side of his head, probably protecting his ears. His eyes shine a shimmery yellow with a fitting cat-like pupil that’s slightly dilated as he’s taking your form in. A slight blush covers his cheeks, the miniscule fins along his cheekbones fluttering.

He is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen in your life.

When he opens his plush lips to say something, you can see his teeth are a set of fangs, his canines larger and sharper than the others which seem kind of blunt in comparison.

“Do you feel pain?” – his voice comes out shyly, an underlying trill accompanying the sound.

Suddenly, you remember you are supposed to be in pain, immediately clutching the side that was slashed during the fight but finding it neatly bandaged with algae and scraps of cloth. He must have taken care of you while you were unconscious.

Surprisingly, all that’s left is a dull pain that pulsates along your heartbeat, nothing too bad. As you tell him this, he seems pleased, a proud little smile on his lips.

“You are a pirate, yes?”

“Yeah. We got attacked and then…” – you trail off and look around.

You’re clearly on some shore but it doesn’t seem like any civilisation is nearby, the air devoid of any sounds that indicate humans are nearby, just the soft crashing of the waves, the wind in the trees and the calls of animals. There isn’t any harbor, no boats in sight, the beautiful creature sitting beside you the only sign of intelligent life.

A sigh leaves your lips, already wracking your brain for any ideas on how to get back to the mainland or contact your family. For a second earlier, you thought that you found your end as you stared into the creature’s eyes. So sure were you that what you saw in front of you must have been one of the legendary sirens that your mother always told you about. Creatures that lure in pirates and sailors alike with their beautiful appearance and mesmerising voices, only to drag them into the depths of the sea, killing them.

Whatever was in front of you, curiously holding up the painting that you stole, big eyes roaming over the faded paint, couldn’t be a man-killing siren for he was far too soft and gentle to be anything like those legends said he would be.

It was honestly kind of cute watching him take in the ruined painting, completely captivated by the swirling colors, his tail gently splashing in the water in quiet excitement.

He seemed to be no threat, so you let your guard down easily beside him.

“Do you have a name?” – you ask him finally, breaking his concentration on the painting, yet he doesn’t look away from it.

“Hyunjin.”

“Well, thank you, Hyunjin. For saving me. I’m y/n.”

The tips of his ear fins flick at your admission, yet he makes no move to look at you. His fingers, with claws retracted, gently glide over the messy colors and though the original painting is near unrecognisable, far too damaged by the tides to make anything out, Hyunjin seems to find a certain beauty in the destroyed artwork.

“Do you know who made this?” – he asks and there’s that trill in his voice again that makes you think his vocal chords must work differently to yours.

“Nope. Stole it from some rich guy, he didn’t really indicate the artist anywhere. I doubt he cared.”

Hyunjin frowns at that, finally putting the painting to the side and turning to you.

“What are you going to do now? I understand that this island is less than ideal for a human but I had to get you back on land as soon as possible. You would have died.”

“I know where my family was headed and if they survived that encounter, they’ll still sail towards Port Vement. I just have to figure out a way to get there” – you let your body fall back into the sand.

Hyunjin hums and even then, the little trill you’re slowly getting obsessed with accompanies the sound. You want to hear it again. You wonder if it would be there if he sang.

“I’ll help you. I’m the reason you’re in this situation, after all.”

-

The days passed in a slog. You were mainly concerned about finding a way off of the island while staying alive, the wound you nursed on your side healing too slow for your liking.

Hyunjin had been fantastic at keeping you company and ensuring you actually survived and stayed sane. He caught fish for you with his bare hands, showing it off proudly by raising his arm in the air and giving you a toothy grin from his place in the water as you watched him, your adoration growing for him with every fish caught.

You ate together and meal times were one of the few times where you had to realise, that Hyunjin was after all part animal with the way he tore into the fish, his fangs easily making short work of the seadweller.

When you were busy building a makeshift raft out of the driftwood that you found around the shore, he’d sunbathe on one of the nearby stones, his scales glistening and shimmering in the light. Your desire to touch them grew every time you stole a glance at the sleepy siren.

Sometimes, the two of you would just lay together, exhausted from the day. Hyunjin liked it when you told him stories of your adventures around the world but it seemed that he found particular joy in the stories that focused on your little pirate family.

You would tell him of Marnie, the bear-like man in charge of the kitchen, who you swear was the softest guy you had ever known. Everything he touched turned into a delicacy and his passion for good ingredients and cooking got even you excited to try your hand at making a dish, only to end up burning your hand and the meal tasting like it had gone bad a week ago, thus swiftly ending your career as a kitchen helper.

You would tell him of Val, the outlook who loves reading more than anything ever since your mother taught him. He keeps a little box full of books he procures from the towns you visit. Val doesn’t talk much but he’s generally good company and loves telling you about the plots of his novels.

You would tell him of Arlen, a tall scary-looking guy who was in charge of keeping all of your weapons sharp and battle-ready. Despite looking so fierce and battleworn, Arlen was quite the romantic, swooning here and there over the beauty of the world.

You would tell him of Marlo, who was with you ever since you were born for he was your father’s childhood friend. Marlo lies and talks a lot of bullshit all day long but that made him the greatest storyteller on board because he could exaggerate the hell out of the tales he told.

And finally, you would tell him of your parents, who fell in love when your father was just a scrawny lad robbing a bar blind with his crew of misfits. He swept her off her feet and promised her a future full of wealth and a lifetime of love in their little family.

It was a fair exchange, because Hyunjin, after a few days of only you entrusting stories to him, started telling you of his own life.

He was born in an alcove to two very loving parents when the weather just started changing, the water slowly warming up with each day passing, the sun more happy to be out and about. He was the only one of his clutch that survived, so he didn’t have any brothers or sisters.

When he was just a little fish, his parents got caught up in some kind of conflict between a group of sirens and, in order to protect their only son, gave their lives so he could swim away.

You noticed his voice came out strained, so you silently took his hand into yours in an effort to comfort him. It was your first time initiating touch with him and he accepted it gratefully, continuing on with his story.

“I was alone for quite a while, but my parents taught me well”, he said, “until I met a bunch of other sirens, all male, which was weird, since all the other sirens I had met during my life always had females with them for one reason or another. They were weird for that but what was even weirder is that… I stuck with them for a while and they started feeling like home.”

You nodded along to his words, your thumb caressing the back of his hand in comforting motions.

“You had your own little family, hm?”, you whisper and he nods.

“What happened to them?”, you ask cautiously, not wanting to push him too far in case he wasn’t ready to share that part of the story with you yet. His gills fluttered as he took in a shaky breath, his ear fins flapping nervously as his eyes find yours.

“There was a storm and we got seperated. I don’t know where they are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t share any more stories that night.

-

A few days into your new castaway life, you figure you should change or at least clean the bandages for your wound so it doesn’t get infected. Even after diligently checking through the supplies you gathered in your time here, there isn’t an awful lot of cloth amongst it.

You sigh and look down at your clothes, already mourning the fabric.

You trudge over to where Hyunjin was lounging about. In a way, you envy him for not having to wear proper clothing. Most of what he was wearing consisted of various seashells, fishing lines and other sea artefacts that he, or one of his friends, assembled to resemble necklaces, bracelets and decorations for his tail.

If he was human, he would be quite fashionable, you think.

“Hyunjin”, you whine and he cracks open one eye to look up at you.

“Can you use your claws to cut off some fabric from my clothes for new bandages?”

He mutters a quiet ‘sure’ and sits up, making grabby hands with his sharpened nails at you. You giggle at his antics and offer him your pantleg and he gently cuts off enough fabric to dress your wound with.

The next part is kind of awkward because last time you were unconscious and the situation was quite literally life-or-death. You both sit there awkwardly, Hyunjin still with the fabric in hand, not sure how and where to move. What was acceptable? Would you let him take care of you again now that you were fully conscious?

You were the first to break the awkward tension by lifting your shirt up.

“Help me, again?” – you choke out and Hyunjin feels like jumping into the water and swimming away as far as he can. He trills something, no words coming out of him, just cute little noises, his ear fins flicking nervously.

He scoots closer to you, the base of his tail settling against your knees and despite his scales looking so scratchy, it’s a smooth, silky feel against your skin.

The old bandages and algae are taken off with ease and Hyunjin curiously eyes your wound, checking if it needs to be cleaned or any other special care. Meanwhile you feel like dying, his careful eyes roaming over your middle feels weirdly intimate and you want to burst into a million pieces at his attention.

It’s not every day that you get the full attention of a man as beautiful as him. Even rarer that someone you feel attracted to genuinely wants to take care of you. Something stirs in your heart when Hyunjin’s fingers gently trace the outline of your wound, careful to not keep them too close.

“Is this okay?” – he asks when you slightly jump at his touch and you nod back at him in a daze.

He starts bandaging you up gently, occasionally letting his gaze flit up to your face, silently checking whether you were still okay with what was happening. His own neck starts gaining color when he notices how flustered you are by his ministrations and he quickly finishes up, making sure the bandage wasn’t too tight but still snug.

“Done” – he trills and quickly retracts his hands back to his own body.

On one hand you’re glad it’s over and you can let your body relax again, on the other, you wish he would have kept his hands on you just a little longer.

-

You’re finally able to complete a safe enough raft when Hyunjin finds the last piece of driftwood that seems stable enough to hold you. While you pack all the things you had gathered for a longer journey on sea, Hyunjin tests the durability of the raft by swimming a few paces out into the ocean and hops onto it.

It seems to pass his tests and he gives you a thumbs up before bringing it back.

“And you’re absolutely sure you can swim and pull this at the same time?” – you ask from your place on the raft for the nth time that day, the anxiety gnawing at your core that you’re tasking Hyunjin with something that would end up hurting him.

“Trust me a litte, I’ll be fine!” – he grins and it’s that smile you started to love so much, one where his eyes crinkle a little and remind you of the shape of the moon on some nights. It’s a smile that usually only comes out when he’s genuine, cackling about something he finds extremely funny or something you said to him makes him so happy he can’t hold himself back.

“Alright, fish boy, let’s go, then.”

And oh boy, he’s faster than you thought, pulling you two through the tides as if you weighed nothing to him. Maybe you didn’t. Maybe sirens were extremely strong and he simply never showcased it to you as he did with so many things.

You hold onto dear life and try to navigate him towards where you think was Port Vement.

Amidst the waves rocking your little raft, the excitement and anxiety at the thought of seeing your family again rises within your heart.

What if they never survived that attack?

What if something else happened to them and they never made it to the Port?

What if they never came to Port Vement in the first place?

Such thoughts had plagued your mind ever since you started planning to go after them, only momentarily silenced whenever Hyunjin piped up with something he wanted to ask you about ever curiously or whenever the siren popped into your field of vision, effectively ripping you out of your spiral.

It’s a moment of clarity, your chest constricting at the realisation that in these few days together, you really grew attached to your unlikely acquaintance. A realisation that forces a small part of your brain to wish that you could just stay with him instead of returning to your family. Because a returnal would mean that you would have to say goodbye to him and maybe never see him again, your worlds too different to be allowed to collide for too long.

You don’t talk a lot during your travels and when night eventually falls, Hyunjin is far too tired to keep up with idle conversations. His tail is gently curled around the raft as he rests his body on the wood beside you, slumbering peacefully as the waves rock you two in a soft but steady rhythm. Your hand finds its way into the soft tresses of his hair, your fingers carding through his locks in an effort to comfort and thank him for his efforts during the day.

That fall off your ship could have easily ended in your death. A deep cut in your side, the bloodloss and the strong tides would have killed you right then and there, slowly draining your strength until there was none left.

If Hyunjin didn’t decide to help you out of the kindness of his heart, that would have been it. He didn’t need to help you or stay by your side to ensure that you had food and were safe. Probably shouldn’t have helped you if he wanted to keep himself safe.

But he did anyway. And for that you were incredibly grateful, yet you didn’t have a proper chance to show him that and it made you feel guilty. So all you could do for the moment was ensure that he was healthy and offer him all the comfort he needed.

Surprisingly, the journey was more boring than you expected. There were no storms, no complications, barely any ships nearby that could’ve been trouble for a stray girl and her equally stray siren.

When you see Port Vement in the distance, you let out a yell that scares Hyunjin so much he momentarily stops swimming to look back at you in horror.

“Port Vement, Hyunjin! We made it! You did it!!” – you excitedly celebrate and crawl forward on your raft to take him into your arms tightly. Hyunjin startles at your sudden touch but relaxes into your hold, his webbed fingers coming up to pat your back.

“I promise you, I’m gonna buy you as much food as you want, whatever you want, I’ll make it possible! There’s not enough ways in the world to thank you” – you sob into his shoulder, suddenly emotional over the whole ordeal.

He really doesn’t like it that you’re crying but having you in his arms feels so right, so comforting to his heart that he physically feels his feelings for you click into place, finally slotting into the spaces where they belonged.

“Let’s get you out of the water, then” – he trills shyly and you sniff as you settle back onto the raft so Hyunjin can pull you the last few meters.

With shaky legs you finally stand on solid ground again.

Port Vement had always been something of a safe haven for your family so it felt good to be back somewhere familiar. You tell Hyunjin you’re gonna check out the docks to see if your family’s ship is there and he promises you he’ll stay nearby watching over you in case something happened.

Your mind races as you hurry to the docks, all the questions bubbling up again that spike your anxiety. The uneven road makes you trip and bump into people passing you by but you don’t much care for their complaints as you make your way down the streets. Your heart is beating fast inside your ribs, almost painfully so, making you feel like you’re drowning again.

Everything comes to a halt around you as all your fears slip clean off your shoulders when you take in the glory that is your family’s ship. You want to break down and cry now that you finally know they’re here and safe but you knock some sense into yourself as you wrack your brain for possible locations they could’ve fled to in this town.

There were several shops and fishermen around trying to sell their wares but you doubt you’d find one of them there, especially with the sun setting already. Then your eyes stop at a shield hanging from one of the big wooden doors around you.

A tavern.

Bingo.

You break out into a sprint again, ripping the door open and startling several of the guests. Ignoring all of their complaints is easy when your eyes zero in on one table in the far back where your father is cackling obnoxiously loud, probably about some lame joke Marlo made.

“Dad!” – you yell and hurry over to their table. When they notice you, everyone’s eyes turn as big as saucers and the table almost topples over with the force of everyone suddenly standing up, trying to get to you first.

This time you really cry when the first pair of arms encircles you, soon to be followed by countless more, the lot of you just ending up in a big cuddle pile.

“You don’t know how much I missed you” – you cry and everyone shares your sentiment.

“We thought you died!”

“How did you survive that?!”

“Where have you been this entire time?!”

“How did you get to this island?!”

You answer all of their questions throughout the evening and in-between beers. For a moment, you think whether to tell them about Hyunjin’s existence or to obscure it to keep him safe in case someone else was listening in on your conversation. You settle on whispering it to your parents while the others are busy getting shitfaced. You’re your parents are surprised would be an understatement and they don’t believe you at first, thinking you might have taken a hit to your head or that you started to hallucinate in your absence.

Your insistence on the truthfulness of your story makes them eventually back down and give in.

“I don’t want to do anything he doesn’t want to, so I don’t know if you’ll ever meet him but… I just wanted you to know that my survival was thanks to a kind soul” – you mumble to them and your own statement makes you suddenly go rigid.

In your revery and celebration you totally forgot that Hyunjin was waiting for you.

You excuse yourself hastily, only your parents knowing the real reason why you would suddenly leave, and run outside to where you had last seen him. New anxieties swirl in your head. What if he left? What if that was it and you never got to say a proper goodbye to him? Thank him for what he’s done?

The coast was entirely clear so you called out to him in the dark.

“Hyunjin?”

Silence.

“Hyunjin? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait for so long!”

The waves softly crash against the shores.

“My parents know about you, I hope that was fine? They’re very grateful, just like I am!”

The sounds of drunken hollering from the town reach your ears but thankfully they’re quiet, too far away to be a concern.

“Please don’t tell me you left…” – your voice gets quieter with each time you call out to him.

That’s when you spot something in the water. Two glowing orbs watching you from beneath the water. A relieved sigh escapes your lungs and your eyes sting, marking the fourth time you want to cry today.

You carefully step to the edge of the water and crouch down to place your hand into the sea. There’s a few moments before the yellow glow starts gliding through the water towards you and something suddenly takes your hand into theirs.

Hyunjin’s head peeks out of the water and you can see him pout.

“I thought you left me for good” – he mumbles into the water and despite his overly dramatic pout, you know he means it.

“I really am sorry… I got carried away after seeing my family again but I should have at least given you a sign or something instead of letting you wait without knowing what’s going on” – you caress his cheek, letting your thumb graze over the miniscule fins protruding from his cheekbones and Hyunjin lets out a soft trill.

“I was scared” – he doesn’t look you in the eyes anymore after his admission and your heart breaks.

“Don’t leave me, you’re all I have” – he sounds so broken, so different from the boy that kept giggling over the dumbest things you told him.

“Hyunjin…”

The water splashes around him when he pushes his body up on the stone, tail flailing behind him. When his hands find purchase on your shoulders, his retracted nails digging into your flesh, you half think he is going to live up to the siren stereotypes and drag you into the depths, but instead, his plush lips crash into yours haphazardly.

For a moment you’re taken aback, the force of the kiss so sudden, but your heart swells when your mind finally catches up to what was happening, your lips starting to move against his.

He tastes salty and a bit fishy, you can feel his fangs when you push your lips against his. Hyunjin is in a constant battle with himself of wanting to savor this and wanting to rush to the next part. His body wins and he timidly licks your lips, requesting you to open your mouth for him.

As you two kiss, pouring every amount of yearning and love into it, your arms circle around his small waist, pulling him further against your body. A pleased trill escapes his lips and you smile against him, licking excitedly into his mouth. You notice his tongue is different from yours, forked at the end and longer overall. Your tongue catches a few times on the many little fangs in his mouth but you don’t mind. Right now, you’re on cloud nine.

“The feelings I have in my chest are too big to put into words” – he says breathlessly when you part, foreheads touching.

“Can you show them to me?”

Hyunjin nearly sobs at your question, his mind pushing him to do a million things at the same time. How does one put their love into actions properly? How could he possibly show you how much you grew to mean to him within the days you spent together with just one action?

The rest of his tail lifts out of the water and envelops you, his arms pushing you to rest your head against his chest as he cradles you.

“My mother used to hold me like this” – he begins quietly, his heart thumping loudly against your ear.

“She said that as long as her heart was beating in her chest and I could hear it like this, I wouldn’t have to worry about anything. And even long after the beating of her heart faded out, I could remember it and be sure that for as long as she lived, her heart was beating for me” – he hugs you tighter against his chest, his cheek resting atop your head.

The two of you stay like this for a while, just breathing with each other, feeling each other’s skin. You give little kisses to his chest, finally getting to touch his scales like you wanted to the moment you met him.

“I know it’s not a replacement for what you lost, but for the time being until we find your friends again, if you wanted to, I could probably convince the others to take you with us, you know.”

“You would?”

“Of course I would, you dummy”, you giggle and poke his side and he lets out a trill again, much to your joy.

“My parents already know about you and even though a part of them probably thinks their daughter has lost it, they would accept you without thought. You saved me and showed me more kindness than another human might in a situation like this, you’re probably already part of the crew in their heads.”

Hyunjin sobs and hugs you even tighter to his body, his tail wrapping protectively around your legs.

In the quiet of the night, you two whisper about better tomorrows and a future filled with love to each other.

You don’t return to your family until morning.

-

The introduction between Hyunjin and your family went as well as you could have hoped. While most of them were weary at first, scared, that he was going to turn on them and do siren things to them, they accepted him after seeing that he was equally as shy about meeting them. Plus, they couldn’t argue with you for long when you kept insisting that he was the only reason you were alive right now.

The crew went about loading and repairing the ship from the damages it endured during the battle, meaning that you weren’t going to leave this place for a few days at least. Hyunjin curiously watched the hustle and bustle from a short distance away, not wanting to be in the way or risking getting seen by locals who didn’t know about him.

Your father approaches you on the last day of repairs, asking you to check out a new little addition to the pirate ship, one that has you gasping in happiness.

They decided to add a small, silly lift and a bunch of nets that were sturdy enough to hold Hyunjin on the side of the ship. That way, he could either use the lift with the help of someone on board or climb his way on deck using the nets. With an addition like this you were absolutely sure that Hyunjin was now part of the family and with an excited skip in your step you run to tell him about it.

He seems just as excited about it, his ear fins flickering happily and a huge grin on his face. Just one issue.

“Do you…uhm, have a bucket of water or something for me to sit in? I’m going to dry out otherwise.”

You scratch your head in thought. You kind of forgot that he needs water to survive, never having seen him outside of it for long.

“We got that covered, lad!”, Marnie yells, scaring both of you, as he unloads the last ingredients for the kitchen on deck.

“Near the spot where our dear y/n always sunbathes we put up a big tub already filled with salty sea water for ye!”

Hyunjin’s eyes glitter in joy and he claps his hands together excitedly.

“y/n! Help me up! I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to be on a big ship like this!”

You chuckle and run on board towards the lift, and with little trouble you get the siren on board. A little more physical effort from both of you is needed to get Hyunjin across the deck and into the tub but when his cute little fish butt hits the water the two of you let out a pleased sigh.

“This is great!” – he trills excitedly, not knowing where to look first.

As Hyunjin takes in all the sights and the difference in height, you take the opportunity to observe the rest of the ship, a sense of calm settling in your chest at the thought of having both your family back and Hyunjin by your side.

-

Travelling with a siren by your side proves to be quite advantageous. The fishing takes half the time with Hyunjin speeding through the nearby waters and snatching up any fish big and beautiful enough to be considered meal-worthy by Marnie while your father desperately tries to do it the old-fashioned way only to lose to the siren every time.

To make up for every defeat, Hyunjin’s second job as a pirate is scouting ahead of your ship to make sure you’re not running into any law enforcement or other pirates that could prove dangerous.

He seems to love being needed for specific tasks.

The next time the opportunity arises for your crew to steal from a rich guy, Arlen casually takes a painting off the wall to offer it to Hyunjin later. He tries to brush it off as not a big deal, yet he can’t escape getting pulled into a big hug as Hyunjin thanks him wholeheartedly.

Arlen would never admit it to anyone but he teared up a bit at the genuine excitement bubbling off the siren just because he gave him a little gift.

The others soon also realised Hyunjin’s love for art so it escalated into something of a tradition for any crewmember to always bring back something from the world of art for their new fish buddy.

-

Today was one of the boring days, the entire crew on land for their business endeavors. The ship wasn’t docked as usual, a short distance away from land so they had to use the row boats to get to their destination. That left Hyunjin and you alone on the boat, lounging about in the sun. He let one arm lazily dangle outside of his tub to hold your hand with.

You suddenly realise that with the entire crew gone, probably until the next day, you could finally get some much needed kisses in. Ever since you took off from Port Vement, Hyunjin and you had to abstain from too much physical contact since you didn’t want to scare your parents with both bringing a real siren to the crew and explaining that he might be their new son-in-law.

Hyunjin cracks his eyes open when he feels your hand caressing his cheek. Without warning, you press a kiss to his lips and he feels like bursting at the seams, after being deprived of your loving touch for so long. It was just the start of your relationship and he immediately had to hold himself back from all the physical affections he wanted to give you. It was kind of unfair.

All the more reason for him to meet your kiss with as much fervor as he could muster. The miniscule fins on his cheekbones tickle you when you deepen the kiss, your tongue gliding over his forked one. Your heart beats erratically at your chest at you finally being able to kiss him again, your desperation transferring over to your movements being overly eager, accidentally knocking your teeth together but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, it seems to spur him on even more, his hand finding its place on your waist, squeezing your flesh rhythmically.

You decide to be bold and lift your body in the tub, your legs on each side of his tail. Hyunjin looks up at you with an open mouth and big, glazed over eyes, clearly startled.

“Your clothes…”

“Forget about them, Hyune.”

And you descend back on him, your lips clashing with his. Your fingertips graze his ear fins and he lets out a high trill at the back of his throat. They must be sensitive. You store that knowledge in the back of your head for later.

Hyunjin is restless, unsure of where he’s allowed to touch, if he’s supposed to just trust his instincts, let his body do whatever it wanted. You were clearly just doing whatever came to your mind, grinding your core into his tail and letting out small whimpers against his lips that drove him crazy. He needed to know, so he gently pushes you away from him.

“Are you sure?”

You look at him dazed and it seems to take a second before his question registers in your head.

“More than sure. Do whatever feels right, Hyune.”

That about does it for him. His body presses into yours as he attaches his lips on your neck, sucking and peppering it with kisses. Your hands glide over the many fins along his spine, lightly scratching at the base of them and earning another trill from him. Your shirt is discarded haphazardly and thrown somewhere nearby the tub, leaving you bare in front of him. His curious eyes roam hungrily over your chest, a hand coming up to cup your breast experimentally.

“Where can I touch you?” – you breathe against him and Hyunjin suddenly grows shy. A red blush starts to creep up on his neck but he takes one of your hands into his regardless and places it on a specific part on the front of his tail.

“You… you know my ear fins are sensitive and the top of my body works similar to a human’s but, uhm… this is, you know…” – he stammers as you press your fingers into his scales gently. A small slit runs horizontally up his tail between his scales and in a burst of curiosity, you press your fingers inside, causing Hyunjin to throw his head back against the tub and let out a long moan.

“I see” – you tell him and continue to lightly press your fingers against his slippery walls. Your ministrations have him writhing and squirming underneath you, letting out small wanton moans mixed with trills.

Something soon pushes your fingers away and you take a moment to look at the mess Hyunjin had become while you were busy playing with him. He already looked so fucked out, his eyes glossy and glazed over, his hair falling around him messily like a crown, his chest heaving as he looked up at you.

He still was the prettiest thing you ever saw.

“y/n… please…” – he tugs at your pants and you realise you’re still completely dressed from the waist down. You hastily step out of the tub to get rid of the last few offending garments, bearing yourself entirely to him. As you step back in, you see what was pushing against your fingers just a moment ago.

That makes everything a little easier to figure out, as two cocks, similar in color to his tail, protrude from the slit, one a little bit larger than the other. But before you can touch him again, he urges you to sit on the edge of the wooden tub, eager to get his mouth on you. His forked tongue delves between your folds, experimentally licking up and down before focusing its attack entirely on your clit as he suckles.

Your hand tangles itself into his luscious hair, keeping him in place. The effort was kind of in vain because Hyunjin would rather die than part from you at this moment, greedily licking up your juices just to hear more of those melodic moans spilling from your lips. Just as much as you grew obsessed with his fascinating voice and trills, he grew to love your voice the same way.

Carefully, with retracted claws, one of his long fingers prods at your entrance before slipping in until the membrane stopped it from going any further.

“You’re doing so well…” – you praise him and earn a trill, your hands starting to massage his ear fins to give some of the pleasure back.

His ministrations soon bring you to your first climax and leave both of you panting and wanting for more.

Hyunjin eases you back into the tub to hover over his crotch. He gently takes the bigger one of his cocks into his hand, hissing at the contact after going for so long with no touches, and angles it towards your entrance for you to sink down on.

You both moan as you sink down to the hilt, his smaller cock nestling directly against your clit. Time stands seemingly still as you get used to the unusual stretch.

“You okay?” – Hyunjin whispers and soothingly rubs your lower back, his cold hands soothing against your burning flesh. You nod at him, letting your body fall against his, chest against chest, your arms circling around his waist as your face buries itself into his neck.

“Can you move?”

Hyunjin trills and obeys your command without thought, moving his hips in slow motions, his cock dragging deliciously against your walls. The extra stimulation from his smaller cock against your front makes you whine into his neck which you pepper with kisses, his gills fluttering at the caress of your lips.

“You feel so good…” – Hyunjin all but whimpers, his hands finding purchase on your hips to move you against him. You hug his chest tighter as you feel your orgasm build up a second time.

“Can I…uhm-“

“Do whatever you want, Hyune. Please.”

You feel him kiss the crown of your head and his strong tail bracing itself against the wooden tub before his pace gets rougher and faster, water beginning to slosh out at the sides. The drag of his two cocks against you is too much for you, your cunt clenching around him as you come with a strained moan into his chest.

“Ah… I love you, y/n. I love you, I really do. Where do I-“

“Inside.”

“Really?”

“I want all of you, Hyunjin.”

You lift up and take his face between your hands to look at him as his hips stutter into you in an uneven rhythm until you feel his cum filling you up. That trill accompanies his voice even as he comes. He looks beautiful, his eyes full of adoration, his lips slightly apart as he comes down from his high slowly.

You two hold onto each other, just basking in eachother’s closeness for a while before his cock slips out of you, retracting back into his slit now that it’s all over and no longer needed.

“I love you, too, by the way.”

And Hyunjin couldn’t be happier, his ear fins flapping happily as he nuzzles his face further into your hair.

-

You do eventually tell your parents about the relationship between you and Hyunjin and although they seem extremely hesitant at first, they figure they can’t really do anything to stop you from pursuing him with the way he’s bonded to you.

The crew eventually returns to Port Vement to stay there for a few days and Hyunjin and you find yourselves on the same part of the shore where your relationship started taking a turn.

You both lounge about beneath the stars, you tucked carefully into his chest. Originally you were scared that Hyunjin and your world were too different for this to go well but you found that despite him being a sea dweller and kind of a menace sometimes, that the two of you are a better fit than you expected.

When you want to tell him another story from your childhood for old time’s sake, you find him already fast asleep in the sand next to you. You smile and kiss the corner of his mouth before settling back against his chest.

Whatever battles lie ahead, you’re sure Hyunjin would pull you from the depths again and again and anyone daring to attack him for what he was would face your entire crews wrath.

As long as your hearts beat, they beat for eachother, you’re sure of that.

-

taglist: @jeonginsleftcheek

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[phyrestartr]

Deal With It | Gojo Satoru x M!Reader (TEASER)

CW: Arranged marriage, SELF-HARM (on and off-screen), hurt/comfort, angst, drama, self-loathing, blood and gore, implied depression, suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation #NSFW, probably top Gojo, probably bottom reader, maybe switch idk, idek if they'll bang it out tbh lol, angst with a happy ending, reader is a sorcerer, time skips, time progression, relationship development, student era into teacher era Note: I got this request to make a story revolving around Gojo and an arranged marriage to the reader (but bro is in love with Getou sob.gif), and I've been RUMINATING on it for forever. I think I finally have a good idea of who the reader is/what their chemistry is like with Gojo, so I'm happy to post a wee bit of a teaser to motivate myself! Let me know your thoughts---I'm finding that I absolutely love writing for Gojo, so I'm down to write more LOL. He's a very fun, complex character.

Deal With It

“So, you really don’t care what he thinks?” Shoko asked as you lit her cigarette. “Even I think he was kinda harsh.”

You pocketed your lighter and leaned back against the cold stone of the college walls. “He’s got a thing for that black-haired guy.”

“Getou.” 

“Sure.” You shrugged and tried to rub the ache out of your neck as you stared up at the bleak, grey skies. The air reeked of petrichor. Thankfully you’d brought an umbrella that day. 

“And you’re not bothered he’s in love with Getou?” Your friend continued, her cute bobbed haircut swaying with the tilt of her head. She always looked so charming like that, when she was being a mischievous brat while pretending to be anything but. 

“Dunno.” And that was the truth. “He’s not even my type. I’d rather hitch up with someone like you or Nanami. Someone less annoying. Less loud-mouthed.” 

“Ooh, that'll hurt his ego.” Shoko smiled. “Well, guess you'll have to learn to deal with it.”

You took a deep breath and rubbed your face as you nodded. “Yeah.”

–

“Forever is a long time,” You mumbled, leaning your forehead against the cool touch of the window. Rain pittered and pattered, exploding off the glass like trillions of kamikaze planes. It almost birthed some sort of hurt in your chest. Best not to dwell on it, you decided.

“Hah? Are you talking to yourself again like a weirdo?” The one and only Gojo Satoru yowled before kicking you in the rear like a petulant child. “Pft! Figures. Knowing my luck, I would have to get married to a creeper.” 

“Even if you married Getou, you'd still be marrying a creep,” you grumbled, dusting the dirt off your behind. “You need something? Or did you harass me just for the fun of it.” 

You heard Gojo, your fiancé, scoff and shuffle behind you. “I just wanted to remind you to humble yourself! Just because I'm forced to marry you doesn't mean you're accomplished or cool or anything, got it?” 

Being in his presence had you craving a cigarette. “Yeah, got it.” 

“And Suguru's better than you,” he added, aloof voice bowing down beneath hardened, steeled words. “Don't forget that either.” 

You bit down on your cheek to ward away the heat building under your skin, the magma sinking deep into your eyesockets and threatening to pour down your esophagus. The taste of iron washed against your tongue, and you released your flesh from between your molars. Sometimes, you wanted to keep boring down on yourself to see how much you could really take, but a fear of the answer too often made you think twice. 

“This is starting to bore me,” you said, tilting your head as you caught a flicker of red in your rain-muddied reflection. You touched your fingers to your tongue and found translucent red coating the tips. 

“Pah. I was gonna say the same!” You watched his reflection turn away. “Good luck trying to impress me.” 

I'm not interested. You watched him walk away, slouching and with his hands in his pockets like he was emulating some kind of yankii character. He might have fit the bill, if he hadn't had such a ridiculous, brat side to him. Just deal with it. You wiped the red on your uniform with a sigh. Tomorrow's a new day.

--

Feel free to comment on this post if you want to be tagged for the full version!

@kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

[rinawantstosleep]

"I don't like your stupid, white hair." 

"And I don't like your boring, brown hair, buddy."

"W-well... well, I don't like your ugly, doo-doo face!"

"Your mama does." 

The two could go bickering like this for hours on end if you let them. What may seem to be a mutually digressive arrangement is actually an oddly adorable bonding in disguise. Satoru and your son put on a front of being annoyed at the other's presence, but you've never seen them apart for longer than a few minutes at a time. They've grown on each other; much like how moss grows on a statue that's been lingering out in the open. An indispensable cycle of life that's truly inevitable. 

"No, she doesn't! She doesn't! She likes... sof- sofis... sofistogated guys."

"You mean sophisticated?"

"Shut up!" 

You'd been terrified that your little one wouldn't have a father-figure to rely on anymore after you divorced your husband. However, it was something you had to do for his sake. The child deserved to live in an environment that wasn't always reeking of alcohol, where he wasn't subjected to the constant, drunk yelling of a pathetic excuse of a father who couldn't get his shit together and lazed around at home all day while you did all the work. If that meant that you'd have to raise him on his own, then so be it. At least he'd be raised properly. Signing those papers was, by far, the easiest decision you'd ever made. 

"I'm not shutting up because a kid in clothes too big for him is telling me to."

"You... you're the one always wearing tight clothes around the house to impress my mama."

"No, that's because I'm ripped. Gotta show off what I've got. And your mama loves that." 

"Oh, yeah? That means you show off your... your - um... ugly, doo-doo face!"

Would you regard it a miracle that Satoru just so happened to stumble into your life around that very time? Well, relatively. Meeting him wasn't something you'd planned, nor anticipated. The kind stranger who offered to pay for your order at a café a year ago has somehow, thanks to quite a romantic sequence of events, turned into your boyfriend; a rock to lean on for when you need the support. And, also, someone that your little one can look up to (with the fun, bonus benefit of the pair getting into silly, childish quarrels nine times out of ten). What is Satoru if not a three-hundred-and-thirty-six-month-old toddler, too? Puts your five-year-old to utter shame with the way he acts. 

"Enough. Baby, we've been over this before. Behave."

"But, mama, he's being a meanie!" "But, babe, he's acting all pretentious." 

The responses come simultaneously: one is high pitched and whiny, and the other is your son. Sometimes, you have to pause and ask yourself how you haven't gone insane yet. It's the love that keeps you from falling apart. How could you ever harbor any other feeling for these two, except for wanting to cherish them? You just... need to work on a pet name that doesn't apply to the both of them at once.  

"I don't want to hear it. Sweetie, finish your lunch. And, Satoru?" 

"Yes, honey-who-loves-me-and-my-'ugly, doo-doo'-face?" He's smirking, snickering, while saying this, the sly bastard. When will the pair ever relent on trying to one-up the other? 

"Why have you got one of my hair ties on your wris- never mind. Don't forget to change the sheets in our room. I'd do it myself if not for the meeting I need to get to in an hour." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

Cue a tiny gasp. 

"But, mama..." The voice of your little one breaks the peaceful silence at the dining table once again. His legs start kicking back and forth - a sign that he's growing restless - from the chair they're dangling off of. He's got a protest already forming up in that head of his. "Toru said he'd take me to the skate park today. And he promised to get ice cream after."

Toru, huh? That's new. You can't help the smile that paints itself on your lips. The two have been getting along pretty well, it seems, contrary to all the bickering they do. That's always nice to know. It's amusing to see the dynamic they've built. One second, they're riling each other up to no end, the next, they've already formed a secret alliance to go out and have fun together. How cute. "Is that so?"

"Mhm! So that means we need to leave riiight after I finish my lunch. Don't get mad, okay?" 

It's the small things like these that warm your heart. Some sacrifices can be made if it's in regards to this adorable (step, even though you haven't married Satoru yet)father-son moment. The sheets are insignificant right now. "Awwh. Of course I won't get mad, baby. It's good for you to want to spend more time with Satoru. Isn't he a fun guy?"

"... maybe." 

. . . 

"Just make sure he's safe out there. Helmet and gear on at all times, no big ramps. And don't let him eat too much sugar. He'll get hyper. Once the rush dies down, he'll get cranky -"

Satoru's arm wraps around your waist before you can finish your sentence, pulling you overwhelmingly close to his frame. Instinctively, your arms move to wrap around his neck, just the way Satoru likes it. Oh, how he wants to just throw everything else out the window and drag you to the nearest room with a lock in place.

"You -" A quick peck to your lips, followed by a nibble on your bottom lip. "- worry -" Another peck. "- too -" Another. "- much." Then, an unexpected bite on the shell of your right ear. "I'd never allow myself to let that little demon get hurt; or hyper."

Large hands wander across the curve of your back, resting firm on your butt. Satoru doesn't want to expose your son to the way he's squeezing your plush flesh with his long digits, so he shifts to have your back pressed against the wall. A perfect opportunity to kiss you - which the man can't help but seize. What else is a smitten boyfriend to do while waiting for your son to get ready and come down from his room upstairs? Lips against lips until one of you pulls away for air. "He's safe with me, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"Atta girl. Now, you go that meeting of yours. And, tonight, after we both get back- oww."

"Groooss! Don't kiss my mama, or you'll make her ugly! Like youuu!"

"Baby, no. Don't kick Satoru's ankles-"

"I'm saving you, mama."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[syluscrows]

LNDS boys reacting to Cupcakke songs

I genuinely love cupcakke so much she is so creative 🫶🏻🩷 my favourite lyrics of hers are "But my cum is Caucasian"

But.. how would the LNDS boys react to her songs??? 😏

SUGGESTIVE - SYLUS, ZAYNE, XAVIER

Mdni

Xavier - Backstage Passes

- "You want me to listen to a song..?" "I think you'll like it Xav!" (you were wrong)

- At first I think he would be internally jamming to be honest. But..

- "O-oh..." Is his only response when she sings "Got my asshole squinting on his dick like it might fuck around and get glasses"

- I think he would get super embarrassed.. the reddest you've ever seen his cheeks 😭

- "I didn't expect this.." once the gagging noises start

- Once you explain it to him a bit he does think it's kinda funny.

- I'm sorry, but I really do think he would get hard? He doesn't know what to think!

Zayne - CPR

-Man is frowning from the start...

- It just doesn't seem like his kind of thing?

- But the fact she's slurping and moaning from the start, he is already SILENT..

- He is so tense and unmoving he might as well be a piece of furniture

- "I save dick by giving it CPR" "But- that's not how cpr-" "shut up nerd"

- He wouldn't laugh, he would look DEFEATED

- "Oh my God Zayne are you SWEATING?" "Yes..."

- If you measured his heart rate you wouldn't hear a fucking thing he's in shock.

- "Okay, I get it now.." "I'm not turning it off."

- As it ends he's just.. frozen in place.

- "Zayne you can breathe.. it's over.." "Please don't do that to me again."

Sylus - Deepthroat

- Mans loves music right..? And ideally I'd like to think he's quite open to discovering different genres / artists, so I don't think he would question if you wanted him to listen to ANYTHING.

- First 17 seconds he looks so focused

- I think he would genuinely break his facade and piss himself laughing the moment the "HUMP MEE FUCK MEEE" starts

-"Mouth wide open like I was at the dentist??" He looks IMPRESSED (HER LYRICS R SO CREATIVE HOW COULDN'T HE BE??)

- He is speechless when she starts moaning, in a good way???

- "I think I like this music" "oh?" "I think I'll get it on vinyl." "NO SYLUS.."

- "Put it so deep I can't speak a sentence" HE WOULD SMIRK IM SORRY

- Turns to look at you SHOCKED when he hears "I ain't swallow one kid I think I swallowed twins!" (He's still laughing though)

- "So, can we go to one of her concerts?" "Anything you want, kitten"

- I think he wouldn't mind listening to the rest of her songs, he seems like he would find this kind of stuff funny?

- Perverted man would probably ask if you showed that to him for certain reasons.. "So, I'm guessing you'd like to recreate all of that..?" "I just wanted you to react to it--"

BONUS: the twins would fucking love it.

[jun1perf1nch17]

Shadows and Silk

Chapter one: First Impressions

Sevika x (F) Reader

Summary: You a new prostitute at Babette's brothel meets the regular Sevika a harden criminal with a dark history. Despite her past and her reputation of being cold and closed off, behind closed doors she shows you a different kind of woman. Throughout your time together your purely transactional relationship grows into one of love and affection. How will the both of you handle a relationship and the uprising of a revolution against Piltover, will she drag you down with the revolution or will you both flourish in the chaos.

Warnings: 18+ Sex work, Mentions of Sex

Word Count: 2377

A/N: This is my first time writing fan fiction like ever! So let me know what y'all think of it. Hopefully y'all are in love with Sevika as much as I am. Also I'm gonna try and update every week if not every other week.

MEN and MINORS DNI

I stand before Babette's brothel, the neon lights adorning the front of it paint my face in a kaleidoscope of vivid colors.

Just days ago, I was living in a small town seven hours outside of Zaun, working in a brothel not much different than Babette's. Life was manageable, steady, even. I had earned enough to scrape by, and I even had regulars I’d grown comfortable with. But everything changed when the town's governing council launched an effort to crack down on prostitution. It turns out a lot of the men on the board had gotten caught with prostitutes in other brothels across town, and it seems like their wives did not like that too much. One by one, brothels across town were raided and shut down. The Red Garter, my little corner of solitude, was no exception. And so, here I am, standing in front of Babette's.

Even after over three years in this industry, the anxiety of a new job still clings to me like a second skin. I inhale deeply, willing my nerves to settle and step toward the door. As I push it open, a small bell chimes overhead, announcing my arrival. It was earlier in the afternoon so the place was almost barren of any clients. The clients that were there were sitting with some of the girls in their rooms, and looked like they were chatting away about whatever was on their minds at the time. 

Walking down the dimly lit hallway past the rooms where I could assume the workers were housed, I made my way toward the back of the establishment. If I had to guess, the office was back there. Sure enough, I soon came across a curved door with a sign hanging on it that read Employees Only. I knocked lightly, and a muffled “Come in” echoed from within.

Pushing the door open, I stepped into a small, cluttered office. Behind the desk sat a short yordle woman, her large ears twitching slightly as she scribbled something onto a piece of paper. The desk was a chaotic mess, papers were scattered everywhere, as though she’d been juggling a dozen tasks at once.

“Are you (Y/N)?” she asked, her soft eyes meeting mine.

“Yes, ma’am. That’s me.”

She let out a soft hmmph at my reply, leaning back in her chair.

“I was reviewing the application you sent in. Quite the resume you’ve got there. Most people who apply here are on their last legs, desperate and out of options.”

I offered a small shrug. “Well, being a prostitute wasn’t exactly my dream job either, but I’ve come to enjoy the work.”

Her lips curled into a knowing smile, her expression one of quiet approval. “Good attitude,” she said, her tone firm yet warm. “You’ve been around the block, and it seems like you’ll fit in just fine here. I trust you already know the ins and outs of this line of work, so let’s cut to the chase. Do you want the job?”

Relief flooded through me, a weight lifted off my shoulders at the stress of not finding a job. My face lit up, unable to hide the joy surging through me. “Yes ma’am I would love to take the job”

“Perfect! Let me give you the rundown on how things work around here and a few warnings about Zaun, especially since you’re new to the area,” she began, her tone brisk but not unkind. “First things first, most of the clients you’ll see are thugs, criminals, drunks, you name it. Be smart about who you let into your room. You’re your own company here, so you have full control. You can accept or deny whoever you want.”

I nodded along attentively, letting her know I was listening. Encouraged, she continued, “Now, you’ll be staying here at the brothel unless you’ve got another place to live, which I’m guessing you don’t?” She paused, raising an eyebrow as she waited for me to respond.

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” I confirmed.

“Perfect!” she said with a cheerful clap of her hands. “In that case, let me show you to your new room.”

Sliding off her chair, she stood, and I couldn’t help but blink in surprise as she stepped down, revealing her full height or lack thereof. She barely came up to my knees. How does someone so tiny manage to run a place like this, let alone in a city as dangerous as Zaun? I wondered. Before I could linger on the thought, she gave a gentle push to the small of my back, nudging me toward the door.

We walked back down the hallway, her pace brisk despite her stature. As we passed one of the rooms, I noticed its curtains were drawn tightly shut, but faint, Wanton moans escaped through the velvet fabric. My cheeks warmed as my mind wandered, imagining the scene unfolding behind the heavy drapes.

Just a few feet beyond the occupied room, she stopped in front of another doorway, drawing aside the curtains with a dramatic flourish. “Here it is, your new home!”

I stepped inside and took in the space. The centerpiece of the room was a circular bed set against the back wall, dressed in blush pink sheets and bedding. To the right, was a matching pink velvet couch to add a touch of comfort, and on the left, an antique wooden dresser stood ready to hold my belongings. The room exuded a strange mix of elegance and whimsy, a stark contrast to the gritty streets of Zaun.

As I walked further in, something on the bed caught my eye, a mask. Curious, I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. The mask was intricately crafted to resemble an albino deer. The ears had a soft blush of pink on the inside, with tufts of delicate fur peeking out. The snout extended downward, the pale pink nose blending harmoniously into the design. It was hauntingly realistic, each detail painstakingly precise.

Whoever made this must be an amazing artist, I thought, running my fingers over the smooth surface. It’s almost unsettling how lifelike it looks. Awe washed over me as I continued to inspect the mask.

Babette must have noticed me inspecting the mask because she spoke up. “Everyone must wear a mask at all times when they’re with a client. It’s purely for your safety, nothing more. We wouldn’t want anyone recognizing you in public and causing you trouble, now would we?”

“No, ma’am,” I agreed, carefully placing the mask back on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Now,” she continued, “why don’t I show you the bathing quarters?”

I followed her out of the room and down the hallway to the far end, where she stopped at a stairway concealed by heavy curtains. With a dramatic sweep, she pulled the curtains aside and gestured for me to go first. I climbed the stairs and found myself in a stunning bathroom. At the back of the room, a wall of frosted windows let in soft, diffused light, illuminating a massive circular bathtub. The windowsills near the tub were lined with a wide variety of soaps and lotions, presumably for the employees’ use. To the left of the tub, several vanities were arranged along the wall, some cluttered with makeup and perfumes, others nearly bare. On the right, a row of doors likely concealed toilets.

“This is where you’ll bathe while you stay here,” Babette explained. “The soaps are yours to use, but feel free to bring your own if you prefer.” I hummed softly in acknowledgment. “And one rule about the bathrooms: no clients are allowed up here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied with a nod.

She led me to the left side of the room, where she pointed out my designated vanity and sink. Each vanity was marked with a colored ribbon to identify its owner, mine had a pink ribbon tied neatly around the top, matching the soft blush tones of my room.

We lingered in the bathroom for a while as she explained more about the expectations during my stay. I was required to pay Babette 400 Notes at the end of each week. She advised me to keep my prices high enough to maintain value but not so high that it discouraged clients. Most of the girls charged 100 Notes per hour, she added.

After discussing the job and getting to know each other better, Babette finally led me back downstairs.

As we descended the stairs, Babette led me back toward my room. Before I could reach the door, I collided with something solid, something that felt like a brick wall. I stumbled backward, only for Babette to catch me by the waist, stopping me from falling onto her.

“Watch it!” the brick wall barked.

I looked up, startled, and found myself face-to-face with a woman towering at least 6’5”. She was massive. Her shoulders were broad like a linebacker’s, and her muscular arms looked strong enough to crush a skull. As I gave her a quick once-over, I realized she was shamelessly doing the same to me. Her intense gaze sent a shiver down my spine. Without a word, she huffed, brushed past me, and strode toward the front door.

I turned to watch her leave, but my eyes flicked toward the room she had just exited, the previously closed-off one. Inside, I saw a woman sprawled on the bed, fully nude and visibly panting. “Looks like she had a good time,” I whispered to Babette, half-teasing.

But when I glanced at Babette, her expression wasn’t amused. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyes clouded with concern. She grabbed my hand and gently pulled me closer, speaking in a low, urgent tone.

“Listen, you need to be careful with that one. Her name’s Sevika, Silco’s right-hand man. She’s known for pushing the girls to their limits. Some can’t handle it and end up out of work for days. A lot of them refuse to work with her anymore.” Babette paused, watching my reaction before continuing. “If you decide to take her on, that’s your choice. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I nodded, trying to sound nonchalant. “Well, we’ll see if she even wants me first,” I said with a teasing smirk.

Babette narrowed her eyes slightly but didn’t reply. Instead, she turned and continued down the hall toward my room. Pulling back the curtain, she gestured for me to enter.

Breaking the silence, she said, “Now that you’re caught up on everything, here are your keys, one for your bedroom and one for the bathroom. I figure you’ll want to head out for clothes and essentials. Just make sure you’re safe if you leave.”

With that, she turned to go.

“Bye,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away.

Once Babette leaves, I turn to face my room. I walk over to the bed and let myself fall face-first into the pillows, savoring the softness after the long, exhausting day of moving in. For a moment, I just lie there, letting the quiet envelop me. But reality soon hits, I don’t have anything to wear, for work or otherwise. With a groan, I push myself up and off the bed, reluctantly grabbing my purse before heading toward the front door.

Since I’m still unfamiliar with the area, I decided to stick close to the brothel. Luckily, I found a thrift shop and a small lingerie store nearby. At the thrift shop, I pick out some basics: a couple of pairs of jeans, denim shorts, tank tops, and crop tops. I also grab a few trendier, club-worthy outfits for nights out. The lingerie shop offers more elegant options, and I settle on a simple pink set to match my room and a sultry black one-piece that oozes confidence.

By the time I finish shopping, the night is alive. The city streets are filled with laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of people enjoying themselves. As I make my way back to the brothel, something catches my eye, a bar called The Last Drop. Through the windows, I spot her, the towering woman I ran into earlier. She’s seated at a round table near the back of the bar, surrounded by men who seem engrossed in a card game. Judging by their scowling faces, they’re not winning.

She’s got a cigar hanging loosely from her mouth, its ember glowing faintly as she exhales smoke without even bothering to remove it. There’s an air of effortless dominance about her that’s hard to ignore. My eyes linger on her, tracing the sharp lines of her jaw and the way she seems to command the room without saying a word. Suddenly, as if sensing my gaze, she turns and locks eyes with me.

My heart skips a beat, and heat rushes to my cheeks as I quickly look away, embarrassed at being caught staring. I hurry past the bar, my steps quickening until I’m out of sight.

When I finally reach the brothel, the exterior is abuzz with activity. Men linger by the walls, cigarettes glowing between their fingers as they laugh and chat. A few toss lewd comments my way as I walk past, but I keep my head down and ignore them, focusing on getting inside.

Back in my room, I pull the curtains closed behind me, tying them off to block out the outside world, then lock the door. I begin unpacking my purchases, folding each piece carefully and tucking it away into the dresser. As I work, I can’t shake the thought of Sevika. Despite our only interaction being that brief, accidental collision, she lingers in my mind. There’s something magnetic about her, a mix of strength, mystery, and danger that both intrigues and unsettles me. Babette’s warning echoes in my head, but it doesn’t stop me from wondering what it would be like to have a moment alone with her.

The rest of the night passes quietly. I finish unpacking and change into my PJs. I curl into my pink sheets, letting the softness lull me into relaxation. Yet, as I drift off to sleep, my mind inevitably wanders back to the tall, imposing woman.

[juniper-sunny]

The Art in the Heart* - Chapter 7

An unexpected detour brings new people into your life, along with a different side to Silco that you've never seen before...

Happy Ending AU | Silco x Reader | Young!Silco | F!Reader | No [Y/N] | Slow Burn | Romance | Eventual Smut | Fluff | Angst || TW: Alcohol | SFW | WC: 3.6

beta reader: @silcoitus <3

ao3 || Masterlist || Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

 “This is The Last Drop?” you ask, surprised. You wonder if that’s why the pub is so cozy; if the Children are always on the lookout for new members, then it’s in their own self-interest to make their home turf an attractive place to visit.

“Sure is,” the bartender says with a proud grin. “All proceeds go towards helping the good Children of the Lanes.”

You raise your eyebrows, impressed by the mercenaries’ ingenuity. Good alcohol is always in demand in the Undercity, so the Children are sure to never run out of money. “That’s pretty smart.”

“You should buy a drink if you’re on our side,” he says cheerfully. His unserious manner tells you that he won’t mind if you don’t, though. “You sure I can’t get you anything?”

“I would if I could,” you say regretfully. “Do you have a tip jar?”

“A woman after my own heart,” he says warmly. He grabs a beer mug, thumping it down enthusiastically on the counter in front of you. 

You finally locate your money bag and pull out a handful of golden coins, dropping them into the mug. The man’s eyes widen in delight as the money clinks and rattles against the glass.

“Cheers, sweetheart,” he says gratefully.

After stashing the mug away under the counter, he puts his fingers to his mouth and whistles sharply. The sudden and loud noise makes you jump. He waves at someone behind you, gesturing for them to come over.

“I’ll drink next time,” you promise the barman. “This place is really nice… my friend made it sound like a war room.”

“Oh? Who’s this friend of yours?” he asks. He glances away from you, waving more insistently.

“Silco.”

The bartender’s cheer turns to curiosity as he leans on the bar, squinting at you. Self-conscious, you stand a little straighter under his scrutiny, scooting over to make room for the tall woman who takes a seat next to you.

“You got my drink?” she asks you, bored.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, here—” you move one of the glasses closer to her. 

She takes it with a nod of thanks.

“What do you want, Vander? I still have the meet today,” she says, annoyed.

“Think he’ll still want to do business with you after you smashed his friend’s face in?” Vander laughs.

Sevika rolls her eyes. “He deserved it.”

“Just as well. This lady here is going to be much better company,” the barman nods at you. “I’m Vander, and this lovely lady is Sevika.” He jerks a thumb at the woman. She ignores you, sipping from her drink.

You introduce yourself. Vander nudges Sevika with his elbow, which earns him a steely glare from the woman.

“Don’t be like that, Sev; she’s a friend of Silco’s. Any friend of his, is a friend of ours,” he says sincerely.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say with a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you both.” Silco had described his brother-in-arms as a big man with a big heart. As first impressions go, he certainly fits that description. As for Sevika, Silco praised her toughness and loyalty, a woman with a surprisingly kind heart hidden underneath a thorny exterior.

She seems more interested in nursing her drink than making small talk, so you hold your hand out to Vander. But his attention is caught by someone walking behind him; he turns over his shoulder to wink at them. 

When he looks back at your extended hand, he takes it and turns it gently, lowering his head to kiss your knuckles. His calloused fingertips slide against your palm. 

“Oh—” you stammer, startled. 

Just as Vander’s lips are about to make contact with your skin, Silco appears behind him.

“Vander, we’re out of—” Silco says, annoyed. 

He does a double-take at the sight of his friend kissing your hand. His mouth drops open, the pub lights reflecting off his chipped teeth.

“Silco! Hi!!” you squeak out, embarrassed. When you yank your hand back, your heart rockets into your throat, a full heated flush steaming your face hot enough to make you want to take off your jacket. The drink in front of you looks tempting for your suddenly parched mouth.

He says your name, incredulous. “What brings you here?”

“I—I was just in the neighborhood,” you lie. The excitement of meeting Silco’s friends almost made you forget about your stalker. Remembering them drives a spike of anxiety through your heart, and you fidget with your sleeves. But you’re not about to tell Silco about that, especially in front of his friends. 

And it wasn’t a complete lie, either—you’re just taking a detour before you head home.

Silco narrows his eyes at you. You smile innocently at him, the very picture of honesty. 

Vander grabs two more glasses and tops them up, shoving one into his friend’s hands.

“Here’s to our comrades, new and old,” the bartender toasts. He downs his drink in one gulp while Sevika takes another slow, appreciative sip. 

Silco doesn’t drink, still staring at you with suspicion.

Flustered, you reflexively drink from your own glass, accidentally taking an extra-large mouthful. The spicy and earthy drink hits you hard, a punch to the face with a fiery, honey-sweet aftertaste. You cough so violently you fumble for a stool, taking a seat next to Sevika.

Silco rushes around the counter. He stands on your other side, rubbing your back in concern. Worried, he asks, “Are you alright?”

The alcohol burns in your mouth, an uncomfortable tingling tracking from the roof of your mouth down your throat. But you try to smile at Silco, coughing out, “It’s good to see you.”

Because it really is. His smile soothes you better than any glass of water could. He takes a seat next to you, his hand lingering on your back. You bump his shoulder playfully with your own.

“So how’d you meet our man here?” Vander asks, grinning as he refills your glass.

“Oh, um…” you glance at Silco. “Saved him from Enforcers.”

Sevika glances at you from the corner of her eye, curious. Vander lets out a bark of a laugh before he asks, “Pretty little thing like you? What’d you do, blow a kiss at them?”

Silco tenses at the compliment. His hand on your back moves up to your shoulder, squeezing you protectively. “Please don’t judge my companions too harshly. I assure you, under most circumstances, they are perfectly capable of behaving themselves.”

“I just dropped paint on them,” you answer with a shrug, ignoring Vander’s remark. This time, you take a little sip of the drink. In smaller quantities, it’s quite tasty. You let it linger on your tongue to better enjoy the fruity notes.

The larger man leans forward, brows furrowed. If you thought he was watching you too closely before, he stares openly at you now. You stare at the liquid in your glass, swirling it to avoid the bartender’s eyes. “You’re the muralist?”

“Uh…” You look at Silco questioningly. “I’m working on a mural right now, yeah.”

“Well, I’d like to thank you if Silco hasn’t already. He forgets his manners sometimes,” Vander says, giving his friend a playful punch in the shoulder. “Couldn’t have gotten our most recent score without your help.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve thanked her plenty already,” Silco says impatiently, rolling his eyes.

“You might as well be one of us now,” Sevika says to you. For the first time that night, she smiles, a sharp smirk that transforms her face into something gleeful and young. She shares a knowing look with Vander before finally turning to look at you head-on, assessing you properly now. “Saving Silco’s ass is pretty much a rite of passage for the Children.”

“I believe our ledgers are equally balanced in that regard,” Silco scowls. His hand leaves your shoulder to pick up his drink.

Sevika snorts. “Sure you don’t want me taking over the accounting? ‘Cause I keep better track of our numbers than you do.”

“Now, now, kids,” Vander snickers. “No fighting in front of the new recruit.”

“…Wait, what?” you ask, confused. When you turn to look at Silco, he’s frowning but flushed red from embarrassment. He sighs and pinches between his eyebrows, looking down at the counter.

“I had hoped that my friends would know better than to surprise you,” Silco says in an annoyed tone. He looks up, still avoiding your gaze to glare daggers at Vander. “I merely asked them to consider extending a formal invitation to you. I hadn’t realized that the final decision had already been made without my input.”

The bartender pouts in apology, his watery eyes widening in an impression of a Poro. “And here I thought you asked her already.” 

“If you got your eye on her, she must be good people,” Sevika pipes up. She raises her drink at you before finishing it off. 

“Exactly,” Vander says to you. “Silco likes to leave most of the recruiting to me. You must be something special if you caught his eye.”

You clutch your glass tight. A confusing cocktail of emotions swirl in your chest, not helped by the alcohol: triumph at earning the approval of Silco’s friends, clashing with self-consciousness at being the center of attention. 

“I was just in the right place at the right time, that’s all,” you hunch over the counter and mumble. 

“I’m so sorry,” Silco says earnestly. He looks at you directly now, eyes wide with distress. “I should have discussed it with you first, I only meant—”

“Silco, it’s okay,” you reassure him. “Can we talk about this later?”

He nods, his knee bouncing rapidly, restless and nervous.

“It was nice meeting you all,” you say, giving Silco an affectionate pat on the arm as you step off the stool. “Have a good night—”

Silco looks crestfallen as his friends break out into a chorus of protests.

“Are you really going home after just one drink?” Vander asks, turning his sickeningly sweet puppy eyes at you.

“Let’s play for it,” Sevika says, whipping a pack of cards out with a flick of her wrist. She shuffles them expertly, dealing the cards swiftly on the counter. “If you win, you get to go home. If I win, you stay and I’ll tell you how Silco fucked up his teeth.”

“That’s—that’s not necessary,” Silco sputters. “Don’t you have a meeting today?”

“He’ll come back if he knows what’s good for him,” Sevika says dismissively. She looks at you expectantly.

You drink again to buy yourself time to think. You have fun hanging out with Silco, his friends seem welcoming enough, the alcohol is tasty… all very persuasive reasons for you to stay. 

“Sure,” you tell Sevika cheerfully. “What are we playing?”

Her explanation of the rules is short and straightforward, but you find yourself distracted when Silco scoots his chair closer to yours. When you ask Sevika to please repeat herself, your friend says he’ll help you. 

He hooks his chin over your shoulder when you pick up your hand of cards. He’s warm and solid next to you, his breath grazing your cheek. The contact has your heart racing, your heartbeat so loud it almost drowns out his whispered instructions in your ear. 

Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, but you find yourself leaning into his constant touches instead of away from them. Indulging in the fantasy that he’s not just being chummy, but that he wants to escalate your friendship into something… more.

You quickly down your drink in one gulp, slamming the glass down too hard on the counter. When Vander asks if you want another, you shake your head vigorously, making yourself dizzy. You tell the bartender that you just need some water. Silco tells you to slow down when you chug the whole thing as fast as you can without choking.

But you want to drown that thought before you can pursue it. Wishing only leads to disappointment, after all. Building an icon for a small faith only for it to be struck by lightning. Leaving behind nothing but ashes in its wake, all your hopes going up in flames and trailing away with the smoke.

Besides, you’re trying to make a good impression on Vander and Sevika. Trying to laugh at their jokes and answer their questions. 

Trying to ignore Silco’s long and handsome fingers as he touches your cards. 

Trying to focus on the game instead of the tapestry of lines and scars on his skin.

You ask Vander what his favorite drink is, and he points out different bottles on his shelf. 

But your eyes are instead drawn to the column of Silco’s throat as he swallows. His tongue tracing the outline of his thin lips after downing shot after shot of vodka. 

How he always smirks first before teasing his friends, mischievous and playful. Then he’ll smile bright and joyfully as he chuckles, a low and soft sound compared to Vander’s booming laughter. The trio use pointed words with each other, but they never cut deep enough to hurt.

You’ve stopped drinking for the night since you have to wake up early tomorrow. But you’re still enjoying yourself, bonding with Sevika and Vander over stories of Silco’s youthful antics. Already flushed from drinking so much, Silco turns even redder when Sevika tells you of the misadventure of his broken teeth. 

From any other storyteller, it would have been a heroic retelling of his courage and defiance in the face of an indomitable goliath. And yes, teenage Silco was very brave in an encounter with multiple Enforcers. But Vander breaks into uproarious laughter when he talks about his friend dodging their punches expertly only to trip and fall open-mouthed on an Enforcer’s boot.

“I can’t believe you still managed to fight them off,” you tell Silco in awe. “I’m glad you’re still here.”  

“Did y’know… I have the fewest arrests compared to these two,” Silco slurs drunkenly. He swings his glass at them in a wild, unsteady arc, his drink spilling out of his cup. Sevika scowls when the alcohol splashes onto her poncho.

“Still the worst of us at holding his liquor, though,” Vander says, chuckling. He throws a towel at his friend’s face. Silco’s head thumps onto the counter as the towel falls into his lap. “Take care of that spill, will you?”

The bartender walks away to help another customer. Sevika shoves herself out of her seat, shoulder-checking Silco as she stalks off to the restroom. 

You reach out for the towel, gingerly picking it up before you wipe the counter dry. Silco watches with sleepy, half-lidded eyes as you fold the towel neatly.

“How are you feeling?” you ask him, amused. It’s almost fascinating to observe Silco’s total loss of composure; for someone who lives in a bar, his tolerance for alcohol is lower than you expected. Maybe it’s because he’s skinnier than his friends.

“M’good,” he mumbles into the counter.

“Here.” You slide your glass of water closer to him. 

You pat his back, encouraging him to sit up so he can drink. He raises his head slowly, swaying dangerously as he sits up again. When he makes a grab for the glass, he almost knocks it over. You catch it just in time. Some of the water spills out onto your hand.

You take it upon yourself to hold the glass up to Silco’s lips. When he opens his mouth, you tilt the cup carefully, careful not to pour too much too fast. He drinks with small gulps, little by little until your glass is emptied. You can’t help but imagine him as a houseplant, and the image makes you giggle.

“What’sss’funny?” Silco asks as he lowers his head onto the counter again.

“Nothing,” you say quickly. You lay your head down on the bar, folding your arms to use as a cushion. Even when looking at him sideways, his handsomeness is undeniable, his long nose pressed into the counter and his dark hair draped over his sharp cheekbones. 

You wonder if he’d let you push his hair out of his eyes.

Silco mumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch. Just as you scooch closer to listen, his eyes droop shut. He slumps completely limp, mouth falling slack.

You poke him in the face to wake him up. When he doesn’t respond, you stroke his cheek with the back of your hand, knuckles gently grazing his skin. He’s soft and warm to the touch as you trace the contour of his cheekbone. He babbles something incoherent, his lip twitching upward in the ghost of a smile.

You jerk upright in your seat, glancing around frantically. Sevika hasn’t come back and Vander is still busy with other customers. You’re glad that neither of them were around to see your moment of weakness, but that means they can’t help you with Silco either.

“Silco…” you lean in to murmur into his ear. He responds with a questioning hum. “You live here, right? Where’s your bedroom?”

Something about asking that question makes you blush, and you’re glad his eyes are still closed as he waves towards the far side of the pub, his fingers hanging limp. 

You squint past customers and furniture to see a doorway encircled by a curved steel beam. It’s not very far away, but the real challenge is getting Silco to his feet.

“Silco…” you say again patiently. “Please get up.”

“Mmm… why…” he mutters.

“You need sleep, Silco,” you say gently.

“Mm’sleeping righ-now…”

“You can’t sleep here, dummy,” you chuckle.

“Why not…?”

“It’s bad for your neck and back.” You also can’t deny that you’re curious about Silco’s sleeping quarters, but you keep that thought to yourself.

“I’ll go if y’come wi me…” Silco cracks his eye open, a drop of turquoise peeking out at you from under his dark eyelashes.

“Sure,” you say, amused.

Your friend grins. He sways upwards with a wobble and pushes the stool away from the bar. You catch him under his armpit just as he slips off the stool, his weight forcing your knees to bend. He’s heavy like a waterlogged backpack, the strain on your back only slightly lessened when you throw one of his arms around your shoulders. The pair of you almost careen into another bargoer, and you apologize to them through gritted teeth as you steer Silco towards the doorway.

The light from the pub leaks through just enough to illuminate a short flight of wooden steps that lead into a hallway. With some prodding, Silco perks up just enough to slide off your shoulders and onto the wall. He oozes down the stairs one at a time before catching himself on a doorknob on the left. When he pulls the door open and stumbles into a room, you follow him.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and in the dark you almost miss another flight of stairs. Startled, you yelp as your foot falls through the air and you catch yourself on a handrail.

“Sorry,” Silco’s voice floats to you. You hear a switch clicking, then a muffled flop of him landing on something soft. A lamp turns on, weakly illuminating the room with a warm yellow glow.

It’s a small, cozy kitchen with a long couch and a small armchair, both orange with squishy cushions and colorful square patches of blue, purple, and red. An old wooden door repurposed into a coffee table sits between the couch and armchair. The lamp on the table is small and electric, illuminating Silco’s face as he lays on the couch. A large and brightly polished gramophone sits on top of a red barrel in the far corner. Framed and unframed photos on the walls give the place a homey feel. The shelves above the stove are stocked with clean glass jars, cutlery, and mismatched plateware.

Silco lies on the couch, sleepy eyes blinking at you as he smacks his lips. He turns on his side as he watches you walk over to the sink.

“You good here?” you ask. You grab a jar and fill it with water.

He hums in the affirmative, smiling at you appreciatively when you place the jar on the table close to him. 

“You should stay,” he says through a yawn. “’S too late f’you to walk home.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. Normally, you would decline and insist on walking home if it weren’t for your stalker. A shiver crawls up your spine at the prospect of leaving the safe haven of The Last Drop. You imagine them descending on you as you try to dodge them in the Lanes. The cold fear kept at bay by your friends and the alcohol creeps into your veins again, rooting you to the ground. 

“Yeah… I’ll take care of you…” he trails off, his eyes falling shut.

You yawn quietly, conscientious of Silco falling asleep again. His hand uncurls next to his face, his body fully relaxing like an unknotted rope. The sound of his deep breathing fills the room, low and peaceful. 

Slowly, slowly, you tiptoe over to his feet and unlace his boots. It takes some awkward maneuvering of his legs to finally get them off; you hope he won’t remember you manhandling him in the morning. You place them gently next to the foot of the couch before unlacing your own. Your own boots look so much smaller when you place them right next to his. Then you take off your jacket and drape it over Silco, pulling the collar over his shoulder. Only then do you finally take a seat in the armchair.

“Goodnight, Silco,” you whisper softly, your own eyes drooping shut as you switch off the lamp.

He doesn’t respond. You pull your knees up to your chest and rub your arms for warmth as you drift off, joining him in slumber.

───────────────── ●◉◎◈◎◉● ─────────────────

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[fairytaleendingss]

Room for One More?

Chapter 2

Summary: Your rivalry with Remus continues as you spend a night out with his friends at Sirius’ concert.

CW: Alcohol Consumption, mentions of vomit (briefly), references to sex.

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x reader

Chapter 1

—

A few days later and you were finally settling into your new home. And as far as roommates go, the boys were pretty good ones.

James was usually out early in the morning at the gym or Rugby training and he’d often return with coffees for everyone. Sirius was a natural born entertainer and always had a joke or a silly anecdote to amuse you with when you returned home from work.

It was just Remus that hadn’t warmed up to you yet. However, you had no idea why. You’d done everything you could think of to win him over. You cleaned up the kitchen for him before he got home from his lectures, you left extra for him when cooking dinner, you even offered to do his laundry when he was too busy studying for upcoming exams. But still, nothing. No matter what you did, you were greeted with a cold disinterest and one word answers.

By the time the weekend rolled around, you were exhausted, both from him and your long week at work. You were hugely looking forward to Sirius’ show. You figured it’d be the perfect way to unwind.

—

You were squashed into a booth next to James and a girl named Dorcas, twirling your straw in your hand.

The bar was full, think with energy and cigarette smoke. It was dimly lit, some dive down a back alley. Apparently Sirius and his band played here every Saturday night.

“So y/n! Mary tells me you want to be a writer!” Lily called across the table, barely audible over the clattering of glasses and loud talking that filled the room

“Yeah, it’s something I’m working towards,” you replied. “Although I’ve been working on my novel for a couple of years now but it’s still not quite there yet.”

“Oh cool!” Peter chimed in. He was sitting beside his girlfriend Sybil, a hand around hers under the table. They looked positively smitten with each other. It reminded you of how glaringly single you were.

“What’s your book about?” Dorcas asked.

You sighed. “I guess you could call it a fantasy.”

“Oh is it one of those ones about wizards and magic and stuff?” James pondered enthusiastically.

“I mean, kind of? Not really.” You replied.

“Oh good,” Dorcas mused. “I don’t really like those kinds of stories. I’ve always found them to be a bit childish. I mean, the idea of wizards living amongst us? it’s a bit absurd if you ask me.”

You giggled. “Yes well, I’d say mine is more of a high fantasy. Anyway, enough about me. What do you all do for work?”

You took a sip of your drink.

“Well, I’m a primary school teacher.” Lily offered.

“Oh wow. And how do enjoy that?”

She giggled, her dimples appearing as she did. You had to admit, she was stunningly beautiful, with long auburn hair and astonishing sea-foam eyes. You understood why James had been pining after her for so long.

“I love it,” she responded. “It’s wonderful knowing you’re able to shape a young person’s life.”

“That sounds really rewarding,” you responded.

“It is,” she smiled. “But it’s far from impressive compared to what some of the others do. I mean, Dorcas here is a lawyer and Remus is studying to be a doctor!”

Eyes fell on Remus and you watched as he recoiled slightly under the attention.

As the conversation drew on, you learned that Peter was a Banker, Sybil read tarot cards for a living and Dorcas’ girlfriend Marlene played lead guitar in Sirius’ band.

“Just wait until you see her,” Mary exclaimed. “She’s incredible.”

“I’m looking forward to it!” You replied. You took another sip of your drink and realised you’d finished your glass. Upon looking around the table you saw that the others were in a similar position.

“Looks like I’m in need of a refill. Next round is on me guys!”

There was a slew of cheers from the group as you slid out of the booth and made your way towards the bar. You placed your order and then took a seat on a stool as you waited for the drinks to be made.

You were scrolling through instagram when you felt a presence beside you. Looking up, your heart sank slightly when you noticed it was Remus.

“I thought you could use some help carrying everything,” he muttered, taking a seat beside you.

“Thanks but I think I’ll be okay.”

“Yeah well, I could use some space. The table was getting a little crowded.”

Your eyes raked over his figure, you saw the was he was nervously fiddling with his hands. It dawned on you that maybe the bar scene wasn’t really his thing so much as it was his friends’. He seemed to be a little overwhelmed.

“Okay,” you relented.

A few drinks were placed on a tray in front of you, and Remus reached out to grab his, taking a long sip. Your eyebrows raised.

“You’re drinking straight whisky? That’s pretty hardcore.”

“It’s referred to as a whisky neat,” he responded matter-of-factly (as if you hadn’t been the one to order it for him). “And it really isn’t that bad. I have a pretty high alcohol tolerance. Why? What did you order.”

“A gin and tonic.”

“Exactly my point.”

Your eyes narrowed as you looked up at him. You could help but scoff.

“Are you implying that I can’t hold my alcohol?”

Remus shrugged, taking another sip. “I’m just saying that some people have a higher tolerance is all.”

A mix of irritation and downright anger began to build in your gut. You’d had enough of him. His coldness towards you, his constant condescending remarks. Fuck it, you thought, I’m done being nice. If he wanted to start something, then so be it.

“Fine,” you challenged. “If you’re so sure about that, £20 says that I can out-drink you tonight.”

He turned to face you, a brow quirked questioningly.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just shake on it, Remus.”

“Fine. It’s your funeral.”

You shook hands. Then you turned to the bartender.

“Excuse me, I’d like to change my order. Could I get a whisky, neat?”

—

The band came on around 10pm and the crowd cheered wildly.

Sirius was the first to enter, clad in black and leather, looking like a true rockstar.

His eyes twinkled beneath the stage lights. Even on the narrow bar stage, he managed to look ethereal.

“How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The crowd roared once more, you among them.

“That’s good! We’re Snakes and Lions and we have a few songs to play for you. Is that alright?”

The crowed cheered again.

As the first notes of the song trickled through the room, you couldn’t help but stare up at Sirius. His long flowing hair, the tattoos that peaked out from under his black tank top, the way his eyeliner brought out the grey of his eyes.

A glance to Remus beside you, told you he was feeling the same way. He was staring up at Sirius like he was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. And you couldn’t blame him.

Still, you felt and odd pang of jealously shoot through your gut.

You decided to push it down, instead venturing to the bar for another drink.

As the set drew on, you could feel yourself beginning to sway, not only from the music but also the alcohol in your blood.

The room began to blur in a dizzying haze and you found yourself leaning into James who stood beside you, for support.

You continued to watch Sirius perform, entranced by the way he moved around the stage, his voice baring into your very soul.

At one point, when he he introduced the band (Barty on drums, Marlene on lead guitar, Evan on rhythm guitar and his little brother Regulus on bass), he sent you a wink and you felt your heart leap in your chest. You felt like you were watching a celebrity.

Still, amidst the music, your mind continued to wander to Remus. Your bet had carried on and you continued to down drink after drink out of sheer spite.

You were determined to beat him. Determined to prove that you could hold your own, that there was a spot for you in his home, whether he liked it or not.

By the time the band finished playing, you were far past the point of no return.

—

There was a light on somewhere. It was too bright, shining directly into your eyes. You groaned and rolled over, sinking in to your mattress. You tried to go back to sleep but you couldn’t. You needed to get up and turn the light off.

As you blinked your eyes open, you realised the light wasn’t in fact coming from the ceiling but from a window.

That’s odd, you thought, I don’t remember there being a window there.

The room was blurry as you looked around. It was clearly morning, that much you could tell, and there was a throbbing pain in your head. Last night was definitely a mistake.

It was then that your gaze fell on the football paraphernalia that sat on the dresser and the framed jersey that hung above it.

You shot upwards like a bullet, your eyes widening as you glanced around the space.

This wasn’t your room. It was James.

You gasped loudly as you looked down at yourself. Fuck! You were in your underwear.

You frantically looked around the space, searching for anything you could use to cover up. There was a black t-shirt thrown over a chair in the corner.

A sniff told you it was clean and you hastily threw it on, not caring right then that it wasn’t yours.

It didn’t cover much but it’d have to do for now.

It was at that moment the door swung open. You froze, wide eyed like a deer caught in the headlights.

James just looked you up and down for a moment, balancing a cup of coffee in each hand.

“Oh good. You’re up.”

“W-what happened last night?” You blurted out in a panic.

“You don’t remember?” The boy queried, moving to place the coffees down on the bedside table.

You shook your head.

“We didn’t… ah? You know?”

“Oh no! Nothing like that! We didn’t sleep together if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through your hair in relief.

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

James just smirked. “Oh no, it’s much more embarrassing than that.”

You looked up at him nervously, feeling your cheeks grow hot. “Shit. What did I do?”

James moved to stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, muscles in his biceps flexing as he did.

“Well, you stumbled into my room at 2:30 in the morning complaining you were bored.”

You grimaced.

“Then you collapsed in my bed and refused to leave. Which I didn’t mind, by the way. But then you complained that it was too hot and insisted on taking your clothes off. I barely stopped you from getting completely naked. You were on a mission.”

You groaned as he chuckled at the story.

“James, I’m so sorry.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been there.”

“What? Mostly naked in our roommates bed?”

He snorted. “Yeah sure. Something like that.”

He gestured towards the coffee that sat on the bedside table and you took a sip, letting the warm drink sooth your aching throat.

“I’m sure you have a hell of a hangover,” he sympathised. “Why don’t you finish your coffee and then go and have a shower while I whip up some breakfast.”

You smiled up at him gently. “James, you don’t have to-“

“Stop apologising,” he cut you off. “I’m happy to. Besides, what are roommates for if not to make you meals?”

—

It was a while before you re-emerged, having showered and now wearing clothes that were your own. You weren’t bothered to dry your hair though. You resigned to let it drip down your back.

You trudged into the living area to see that the rest of the boys had beaten you there.

James was standing in the kitchen cooking what smelt suspiciously (and deliciously) like bacon.

Sirius was lounging on the sofa, half watching a random action movie that was playing on the TV, set to low volume.

You assumed that choice was made for the benefit of Remus who looked a wreck. He was sitting at the dining table, face down with his head resting on his arms.

An evil sense of satisfaction washed over you when you realised that he was nursing a hangover just as bad as your own.

“Well!” You made sure to exclaim loudly, smacking your hands down hard on the table as you took a seat across from Remus.

He flinched and groaned as he sat up, sending you an irritable look.

“Last night was fun.”

Sirius chuckled from his across the room. “For some of us more so than others.”

“Y/n definitely had fun,” James teased as he approached the table, placing a plate of bacon and eggs before you. You slapped him playfully on the arm as he walked away.

You glanced around the room as you began to eat, your brows furrowing when you noticed something odd out of the window.

“Guys, why’s the pot plant out on the balcony?”

“I’m airing it out,” Sirius said absent-mindedly. “Remus threw up in it last night.”

A delighted smirk overtook your features. “Did he now?”

The boy just groaned, thumping his head back down onto the table.

“Here mate,” James stated, placing a plate of food down beside his head. “Eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

You had to admit, you did feel better after some food. And James was a bloody good cook.

Then, suddenly an idea flitted through your mind.

“Did anyone keep a copy of the tab from last night?”

“Yeah I’ve got it in my wallet, why?” James confirmed.

“Could I see it please?”

He placed the receipt in front of you on the table and you began to add up the drinks that you remembered yourself and Remus ordering.

“Aha!” You shouted after a moment, jumping up and walking around the table. Remus looked up at you, displeased.

“I beat you! Pay up!”

“What’s this?” Sirius questioned curiously.

“Remus bet me £20 that he could out drink me and I proved him wrong!” You exclaimed.

“Hey, don’t put this on me,” Remus muttered. “It was her idea.”

“It looks like you’ve been a bad influence on our poor Remus,” James teased.

“Yeah, he never usually drinks that much,” Sirius added.

You looked at him suspiciously. “Huh? Really? That was big game you talked last night.”

“Remus is all talk,” Sirius joked. “Deep down he’s really just a little softy.”

“Fuck off, all of you,” the boy groaned.

“Not until I get my £20!”

James barked out a laugh.

“Come on buddy,” he stated in Remus’ direction. “You heard the girl, pay up!”

—

Taglist:

@hisparentsgallerryy

@navs-bhat

@shushbruv

[u10como]

Love, Toes and Pistons

Greaves & Daughter, a car repair shop on the outskirts of a small town, smelled like motor oil and sun-baked metal, a heady cocktail of nostalgia and hard work. Riley, 22 year old young woman with shoulder length auburn hair and joyful brown eyes, sat cross-legged on a rolling stool, her foot gripping a socket wrench as she tightened the bolts on an old Dodge Charger’s engine mount. Riley had no arms, ever since she was born. Her worn, oil-stained tank top revealed her bare shoulders, adorned with sunflower tattoos where one would otherwise expect arms to be. Her movements were smooth and practiced, her feet more dexterous than most people’s hands.

“Turn it just a little more,” came her father’s voice from the corner.

Riley glanced up. Gus Greaves, 62 year old man with broad shoulders, receding grey hair and wrinkled face with a large oil smudge on his forehead, leaned heavily on his cane, his age and life of hard work showing in his once impressive stature, but his eyes sharp as ever. “It’s snug,” she replied, shifting her weight to check her work.

“Snug ain’t tight.”

Riley smirked, obliging him with another firm twist. The bolt groaned into place. “Happy now, old man?”

“Ecstatic,” Gus deadpanned, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Just remember, if that thing rattles loose, you’re buying the replacement parts.”

She rolled her eyes, setting the wrench down. The Charger’s owner, a middle-aged woman named Lisa, peeked around the corner. “How’s it lookin’, Riley?”

“Purring like a kitten,” Riley replied, brushing her heel against her jeans to wipe off some grease. “Want to hear it for yourself?”

Lisa nodded eagerly, and Riley reached up with her foot to flick the ignition key dangling from the dashboard. The engine roared to life, smooth and steady. Lisa beamed.

“You’re a lifesaver! I’ve got a long haul ahead this weekend, and I can’t thank you enough.”

Riley shrugged, smiling. “Just doing my job.”

Gus watched the exchange with quiet pride, but his expression turned somber as Lisa drove off, leaving the shop quiet again.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “when I opened this place, I thought I’d be the one calling the shots until I kicked the bucket.”

“You still are calling the shots,” Riley replied, standing and brushing her feet off on the mat. “You just do it from the sidelines now.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Gus leaned forward on his cane. “It’s a hard business, Riles. People are stubborn. They’ll see a young woman like you—”

“And one without arms none the less,” Riley cut in, raising an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Yeah. That, too. You’ve got talent, no question. But you’ll have to prove it over and over. You ready for that?”

She paused, her expression softening. “Dad, I’ve been proving it my whole life. To teachers, strangers, and sometimes even to you.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

***

Riley's coming to this world was a bittersweet mix of hope and tragedy.

Her parents had long tried for a child with no success. 18 years of marriage and three miscarriages later, by the time Gus Greaves, tall, muscular man with bright, kind eyes and brown hair aproached his 40th year of age, his wife Eileen, a beautiful, petite woman with long braid of auburn hair and green eyes, who looked at least a decade younger than her actual age of 36, greeted him with a beaming smile.

"Guess who's going to be a dad?"

"Are you..." Gus blinked in surprised and smiled. "Are you sure, love?"

"Absolutely. 17th week and her heart beats strong." replied Eileen.

"Her? We're going to have a daughter?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Absolutely not. I mean, i could use a son to help in my shop, i'm not getting any younger, but as long as she's healthy, i'm happy."

"As you should be," Smiled Eileen and approached Gus for a kiss. I already decided on a name too. I want to name her Riley. It has a nice ring to it."

"Shouldn't i have a say in this?"

"Alright, husband, what is your suggestion?" Winked Eileen.

"Ella. After my late granny. That name's got tradition in my family, dating well into 1830s."

"I don't like Ella. Don't get me wrong, your grandma, god rest her soul, was a great woman, but the name feels... dated." Replied Eileen.

"Well, you have a right to your opinion, honey. Let's keep the options open and decide when our little Ella is born, shall we?"

"Gus!" Laughed Eileen and shoved her husband playfully. You said it like you're already decided.

"Well, i might be, love," smiled Gus, "But what do you know? Anything can yet happen and i might change my mind..."

***

23 weeks later, Gus Greaves was sitting in a hospital corridor, feeling a mix of emotions. Fear, sadness, grief, but also hope. He was crying large, bitter tears, for the first time in his life since he was a little boy, mourning the death of his wife Eileen, who died in labor.

“Mr. Greaves?”

He looked up to see a nurse standing in the doorway. Her expression was kind but tinged with sadness.

“It’s time to meet your daughter,” she said softly.

Gus’s legs felt like lead as he stood and followed her down the hall. He wiped the tears from his eyes and nodded.

The nurse led him into a nursery where several children born in the past few days lied in small bassinets, wrapped tightly in pink or blue blankets. Anong them was his daughter.

Gus approached hesitantly, his breath catching in his throat as he looked down at the tiny bundle. She was so small, her face scrunched in a peaceful sleep. But as his eyes moved down to her shoulders, his chest tightened.

She had no arms.

A flood of emotions hit him all at once—grief for Eileen, fear for what the world would think of his daughter, but also love at the sight of her tiny, peaceful face, already bearing resemblance to his late wife.

“She was born without arms,” the nurse explained, her voice compassionate. “But she’s healthy and strong. She’s already a fighter, Mr. Greaves.”

Gus nodded, unable to speak. Slowly, he reached into the bassinet and lifted his daughter into his arms. Her weight was impossibly light, yet she felt like the heaviest burden he’d ever carried.

As he cradled her, the baby stirred. Her tiny foot emerged from the blanket, curling and stretching, searching for something. Gus extended his finger without thinking, and to his astonishment, her toes wrapped around it tightly, holding on with surprising strength.

The gesture broke something in him, and tears once again started streaming down his face. He could almost hear Eileen’s voice, her stubborn insistence, her unwavering belief that their child would be extraordinary.

“Riley,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Your name is Riley.”

He looked down at her, a fierce determination settling in his chest. “I don’t know how I’m going to do this,” he said, his voice trembling. “But I promise you, I’ll figure it out. I’ll give you everything I’ve got, kid. I’ll make sure you never feel like you’re missing a damn thing.”

Riley’s grip on his finger tightened, as if she understood.

In that moment, Gus Greaves, newly widowed and utterly broken, found a purpose stronger than his grief. His daughter had already shown him her will to live, her strength, her fight. He would honor Eileen's memory by giving Riley the life she deserved.

***

It was late afternoon, and the garage was sweltering. 8 year old Riley, wearing boyish clothes, sat cross-legged on the floor, watching Gus wrestle with a rusted bolt under the hood of a pickup truck. She was fascinated by the tools—how each had a purpose, like puzzle pieces in her father’s hands She always played with the tools, leaving a mess, which didn't exactly please Gus, who had then to search the tools all over the garage, sometimes arranged into a improvised race track, along which Riley pushed her toy cars.

“Hand me the ratchet, kiddo. If you're goint to be messing with my tools, at least make yourself useful” he called, barely glancing at her.

Riley scanned the tools scattered around her, locating the ratchet. Clutching it in her left foot, she turned around and dropped it into her father's large, calloused hand.

Gus smiled at her and nodded before returning to work. “Thanks, Riles.”

He finished the job while humming 'Dust in the Wind'. It was Eileen's favorite song and ever since her passing, he always hummed it while working, making him feel like Eileen is still with him, looking over his shoulder. When the work was done, Gus stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Alright, kid. I have an idea. If you like the tools so much, let's make sure you can handle them properly. Grab the crescent wrench and follow me to that Corolla over there."

From that day on, Gus let Riley help with bolts, nuts and other simple tasks around the shop. The work she was assigned wasn't very important in the larger picture, but it kept her occupied and saved Gus some time to focus on the more important tasks. After all, she was still too young to work on her own, or, so Gus thought.

***

Two years later, the late afternoon sunlight poured into the garage, filtering through the wide doors and glinting off scattered tools. It was one of those days when the heat outside was unbearable and the road in front of the garage stenched of molten asphalt . Riley, ten years old and restless, wandered into the shop, barefoot as always. Her father was nowhere to be seen, having stepped out to run errands, but the familiar, greasy scent of the place was like home.

A battered, candy-red sedan sat in the center of the garage, hood propped open, its guts exposed like a patient on the operating table. Riley stared at it, curious. She knew this car—it belonged to Mrs. Moreno, the kind elderly woman who always brought her cookies whenever she came by for a repair.

On impulse, Riley approached the car. She knew from overhearing her father earlier that the sedan had been running rough, stalling at stoplights. Gus had muttered something about the throttle cable needing adjustment, then sighed about how everything these days was more trouble than it was worth.

Riley wasn’t sure what a throttle cable was exactly, but she’d seen her father work often enough to know how to look for problems. Propping herself up on a nearby stool, she leaned forward, her toes curling around the lip of the car’s engine bay. Her gaze roved over the tangle of parts until her eyes landed on a cable that looked…off. Frayed. Loose.

Her heart quickened with excitement. I bet that’s it.

She scanned the area for the tools she’d need: a pair of pliers and a small wrench. Sliding to the floor, she grasped them with her feet, one at a time, her movements deliberate and careful. Years of practice had made her feet deft, though she’d never attempted anything this ambitious before.

Returning to the stool, she balanced herself and leaned in. Her foot gripped the pliers firmly as she nudged the cable into place. Sweat trickled down her temple, and her tongue peeked out in concentration as she tightened the bolt with the wrench, testing it a couple of times to make sure it was secure.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t hear the shop door creak open.

“What in the—”

Riley froze. Slowly, she turned to see Gus standing in the doorway, a brown paper bag of groceries in his hand, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“Dad, I—” she started, her face flushing.

He set the bag down on the counter, crossing the room in a few strides. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his voice low and unreadable.

“I just…” She faltered, glancing back at the cable. Her foot still held the wrench, evidence of her meddling. “I was trying to help.”

He stared at her, his eyes darting from the car to the tools in her feet, then back to her flushed, defiant face. For a moment, she braced herself for the lecture she was sure would follow—how dangerous it was, how she should have waited for him, how she didn’t know what she was doing.

But instead, Gus did something unexpected. He leaned over the engine, inspected the cable, and gave it an experimental tug. It held firm.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

Riley blinked. “What?”

“You fixed it.” He straightened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

“Really?” she asked, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yeah. Really.” He grabbed a rag and wiped his hands, though they weren’t dirty. “Guess you’ve been paying more attention than I thought.”

Riley’s chest swelled with pride, but her father’s next words caught her off guard.

“Alright,” he said, his tone business like. “If you’re serious about this, we’re gonna do it right. No guessing. No cutting corners. I’ll teach you everything you need to know, but you gotta promise me you’ll do it my way—carefully.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean it?”

He squatted down to her level, his expression softening. “I’ve seen the way you watch me work, Riley. You’ve got the knack. And it looks like you’ve got the guts, too.” He gave her a small smile. “But you’ve also got a lot to learn. So? You in?”

She nodded so fast her hair bounced. “Yeah! I’m in!”

“Alright, then.” He stood, grabbing a wrench from the workbench and twirling it in his fingers. “First lesson: always double-check your adjustments. Just because it looks good doesn’t mean it’ll hold under pressure.”

For the next hour, they worked side by side. Gus explained the mechanics of the throttle cable, walking her through the process step by step, while Riley absorbed every word like a sponge.

When they were done, he handed her the keys.

“Go on,” he said. “Take her for a spin. Let’s see how she runs.”

Riley’s jaw dropped. “You’re letting me drive?”

“You’re not driving,” Gus corrected, smirking. “You’re sitting on my lap and steering while I work the pedals. Don’t get cocky.”

She didn’t care. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, the pride and joy bubbling inside her were enough to light up the whole garage.

***

The shop had never been quieter. Riley, now sixteen, stood in front of the engine block perched on the workbench, her feet planted firmly on the stool she used for leverage. The AMC straight-six engine was a hulking piece of machinery—greasy, scarred by time, and utterly beautiful to her. It wasn’t her first rebuild, but it was the most ambitious.

Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: "Take it slow. Engines don’t care how fast you are. They care how right you are."

She’d started by tearing it down piece by piece, cleaning years of grime from the cylinder walls, valves, and pistons. Now, weeks into the project, the engine was coming back to life under her meticulous care.

The parts were laid out in careful order: pistons and rods, freshly machined crankshaft, camshaft, lifters, and timing gears. Riley leaned forward, gripping a torque wrench in her foot as she tightened the bolts holding the cylinder head in place. Every movement was deliberate, her toes curling around the wrench like fingers.

“Not too tight,” came her father’s voice from the doorway. Gus, still the imposing man he used to be, but the greying hair of his temples slowly starting to show his age, crossed his arms, watching with a critical but approving eye. “You strip that thread, you’ll be cryin’ when you gotta redo the whole thing.”

“Relax, Dad,” Riley shot back, not taking her eyes off her work. “I’ve got this.”

“Guess I’ll shut up, then,” Gus said with mock surrender, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Good plan.”

***

Two days later, Riley stood in the shop as her father lowered the engine into a test stand. The shop air was thick with the smell of engine oil and anticipation. Gus turned to her, tossing her a set of keys.

“Alright, Riles. Moment of truth. Let’s see if your baby purrs or sputters.”

She caught the keys deftly with her foot and flashed him a confident grin. “She’ll purr.”

Inserting the key, she flipped the ignition and pressed the starter button with her foot. The engine coughed once, twice—then roared to life. The straight-six purred, smooth and steady, the vibrations reverberating through the garage. Riley’s grin widened as Gus let out a low whistle.

“Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad?” Riley said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s perfect.”

“Let’s not get cocky,” Gus replied, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

For weeks afterward, Riley spent her mornings studying for her driver’s license and her afternoons behind the wheel of Gus’s truck. Learning to drive without arms was no small feat, but Gus had never been one to shy away from unconventional solutions.

Together, they modified the truck with a knob on it's steering wheel, making it easier for her to tun with her foot, and pedal extensions. Riley practiced tirelessly, her feet learning the delicate choreography of accelerating, braking, and turning.

“You’ve got to feel the road,” Gus would say during every lesson, his voice gruff but patient. “It’s not just driving. It’s listening. Cars tell you when something’s wrong—you just gotta pay attention.”

Riley did more than pay attention. She excelled. On her test day, she passed with flying colors, the examiner staring in awe as she navigated the course with a level of precision most drivers could only dream of.

***

The day she got her license, Gus called her into the shop. “Got something for you, Riles” he said, his tone unreadable.

“What, another lecture?” Riley teased, wiping her feet on a rag as she followed him.

But when she stepped into the garage, her breath caught. Sitting in the center of the bay was an AMC Pacer, freshly washed, its baby-blue paint gleaming in the sunlight.

“Dad…” she breathed, stepping closer.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Gus said, smirking. “Pop the hood.”

She did as he asked, her fingers brushing the latch. When the hood swung open, her eyes went wide.

“It’s…is this my engine?” she asked, staring at the pristine straight-six nestled inside.

“Sure is,” Gus replied. “I figured you’d earned it after all the hours you put in.”

Riley turned to him, her expression a mix of shock and joy. “You mean this whole time I was rebuilding my car?”

“Had to keep you busy somehow,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I knew you’d take better care of it if you built it yourself.”

Riley felt a lump rise in her throat, but she pushed it down, unwilling to get too sentimental. “You sneaky old man,” she said, a grin spreading across her face.

“Call me whatever you want, kiddo,” Gus said, tossing her the keys. “Just don’t wreck it.”

She caught the keys and turned to the car, lifting her left foot, her toes brushing the driver’s side door. Sliding into the seat, she ran her toes over the pedals and steering wheel, feeling the weight of the moment settle over her.

Starting the engine, she listened as it rumbled to life—her engine, her car, her accomplishment.

“Where you headed first?” Gus asked, leaning on the doorway.

Riley grinned, pulling on her seatbelt with her foot. “Anywhere I want.”

With that, she backed out of the shop, Gus watching with a proud smile as the little blue Pacer disappeared down the road.

***

The shop was busier than usual for a Friday afternoon. Riley, now eighteen year old woman with small chest, long, lean legs and shoulder length auburn hair tied in a bun, was crouched next to a rusted-out pickup, her foot maneuvering a socket wrench as she tightened the lug nuts on a newly installed tire.She grew to beauty, reminding Gus of her mother, but with a noteable tomboyish spin, which frankly was a better fir for a mechanic anyway. Her father leaned against the counter, flipping through a parts catalog while keeping an ear on the phone conversation with a supplier.

The clang of the shop bell announced a new customer. Riley didn’t look up until she heard a voice that dripped with impatience and irritation.

“Hey, uh, I’ve got a Camry out there,” the man said. “Brakes are squealing. Shouldn’t be a big deal, so if you can knock it out quick, that’d be great.”

Riley stood, wiping her foot on a rag, and glanced toward the counter. The man was in his late forties, with a weathered face and a stained baseball cap. He didn’t seem like the polite type.

“Let’s take a look,” Gus said, grabbing his cane He hurt his foot last year and ever since then, he walked with a limp. He was a stubborn man and insisted on still being strong enough to work in his own shop, but deep inside, he knew he would no longer be able to do everything on his own and was glad he had Riley to lean on. “Riley, you free?”

Riley nodded, stepping forward. The man’s eyes flicked to her, then down to her missing arms. He blinked, his mouth opening slightly in surprise.

“She’s gonna do it?” he asked, his tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yes,” Gus said flatly, his voice brooking no argument.

The man hesitated, his brows furrowing. “Look, no offense, but brakes are kinda important, you know? I’d feel better if—”

“If what?” Riley cut in, her voice calm but sharp enough to slice through the tension.

The man glanced at her, then back at Gus. “If someone else looked at it,” he said, lowering his voice as if she couldn’t hear him.

Gus straightened, fixing the man with a steady gaze. “Riley’s the best mechanic I’ve got. If you don’t trust her, you’re welcome to take your car nest town over.”

The man huffed, crossing his arms. “Fine. Just make sure she knows what she’s doing.”

Riley rolled her eyes but said nothing, walking past him toward the lot where the Camry sat.

***

The Camry was a mess. Riley crouched next to the front wheel, examining the brakes. The caliper bolts were corroded, the pads worn so thin they’d started grinding into the rotors, which were warped beyond repair.

Gus approached as Riley stood. “How bad?”

“Bad,” she replied. “Bolts are seized, rotors are toast, and the pads might as well not exist. This guy’s lucky he hasn’t wrapped this thing around a tree.”

Gus nodded. “Think you can handle it?”

Riley smirked. “I’ve got it.”

***

Back in the shop, Riley secured the Camry on the lift and removed the wheels, revealing the full extent of the damage. The caliper bolts were so corroded they wouldn’t budge. Riley grabbed a drill with a hardened bit, clamping it between her toes.

The man wandered into the bay as the drill screamed against the stubborn bolts. He flinched at the noise.

“What’s she doing?” he asked Gus, who was watching from a safe distance.

“Removing bolts that should’ve been replaced ten years ago,” Gus said dryly.

“Shouldn’t this be quick?” the man grumbled.

“Not when the brakes are this bad,” Gus replied, gesturing toward the car. “Your rotors are warped, and your pads are metal-on-metal. This isn’t a ‘quick fix.’”

The man opened his mouth to argue but stopped as Riley finally freed the last bolt. She stepped back, setting the drill down and examining the rotor.

“Yup, it’s shot,” she muttered, then turned to Gus. “We’re gonna need replacements. I doubt anyone local has these in stock.”

“Let me check, Riles” Gus said, heading for the phone.

Riley turned to the man, who was now watching her with a mix of unease and begrudging respect. “You ever replace your brake fluid?” she asked.

He frowned. “Uh... I don’t know. Maybe? It’s been a while.”

“A long while,” Riley said, gesturing toward the sludge in the brake lines. “No wonder your brakes are fried. This is the kind of thing you have to keep up with, or it gets expensive.”

The man looked sheepish but said nothing.

***

It took Gus half an hour to find a supplier willing to ship the rotors from another state. In the meantime, Riley cleaned the calipers and prepped the car for the new parts.

The man lingered in the corner of the shop, awkwardly silent until finally blurting out, “So... how long you been doing this?”

“Since I was ten,” Riley replied without looking up.

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” She paused, glancing at him. “And before you ask, yes, I can do just about anything you’d expect a mechanic to do. No, I don’t need help. And yes, I’m damn good at it.”

The man raised his hands defensively. “Alright, alright. I get it. Just... didn’t expect this, you know?”

Riley shrugged, turning back to her work. “Most people don’t. Doesn’t mean I can’t prove them wrong.”

***

Two days later, the parts arrived. Riley installed the new rotors and pads, bled the brake lines, and finished the job with her usual precision. She tested the car on the shop’s lot, ensuring the brakes were smooth and responsive before parking it out front.

The man returned, eyeing the car nervously.

“She’s ready,” Riley said, handing him the keys with her foot.

He hesitated. “And it’s... safe?”

Riley smiled, nodding towards the car. “Test it yourself.”

He climbed in and drove a slow loop around the lot. When he returned, he stepped out, his expression sheepish.

“Drives better than it has in years,” he admitted.

Riley smirked. “Imagine that.”

The man fumbled with his wallet, glancing at Gus as he handed over the payment. “You’ve got one hell of a mechanic here,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Riley.

“Yeah,” Gus replied, his voice tinged with pride. “I know.”

The man nodded at Riley, awkward but sincere. “Thanks.”

She waved him off with her foot, already turning back to the next job.

***

The shop was unusually quiet that afternoon, with Gus out running errands and Riley alone in the garage. She was perched on her usual stool, leaning over the engine bay of a beat-up Jeep Cherokee with a bad alternator. The rhythmic clinking of her foot manipulating a ratchet echoed through the space, accompanied by the low hum of a classic rock radio station playing in the background.

Her focus was so intent that she didn’t hear the bell over the door jingle, nor the hesitant footsteps approaching from behind.

“Riley?”

The voice startled her. She jerked upright, nearly dropping the ratchet. Turning, she saw him standing there—Alex Harper, the guy she’d spent three years secretly pining over in high school.

Tall, with messy brown hair and that effortlessly charming smile, Alex looked like he’d just stepped out of her dream. He wore a well-worn hoodie and jeans, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets.

“Alex?” she said, blinking in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "Figured I owed you an apology for how my dad acted here the other day.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “That Camry guy was your dad? Yeah, you don’t have to apologize for him.”

“Maybe not,” Alex admitted, stepping closer, “but I feel like I should. He can be... well, you saw.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Riley said, though her voice lacked any real bite. “But I’ve dealt with worse.”

Alex nodded, his gaze flicking to the Jeep’s open hood before returning to her. “Still, I’m sorry. He was out of line. You’re incredible, Riley. He didn’t have any right to doubt you.”

Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment. She glanced away, fiddling with the ratchet still clutched between her toes. “Thanks. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though,” Alex insisted, his voice softening. “I mean, you’ve always been amazing. Back in school, I used to watch you during science class—how you figured out stuff faster than anyone else. You were so focused, so... determined.”

Riley’s head snapped up, her heart racing. “You... noticed me?”

Alex chuckled, his cheeks reddening. “I mean, of course I did. Who wouldn’t?”

Riley looked down at her armless shoulders and shrugged. " Oh yeah, kinda hard to miss, i guess?"

"I mean, sure, that too, but... I wasn't really talking about that. I mean, you know... You're smart and pretty..."

Riley stared at him, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief and cautious hope. “Pretty? Me? You're, like, the first person to call me that. Besides my dad, that is.”

Alex stepped closer, his smile gentle. “Well, it's true, though. And I was hoping…” He paused, glancing down and taking a deeper breath as if gathering his courage. “I was hoping maybe I could take you out sometimes? You know, dinner or something. If you’re interested.”

For a moment, Riley was too stunned to respond. She’d imagined this scenario a hundred times, but it had always felt like a far-off dream. And yet, here he was—Alex Harper, the boy she’d silently crushed on for years—asking her out.

“Oh... WOW...I...” She faltered, her insecurities threatening to creep in. She glanced down at her missing arms, then back at him. “Are you sure?”

Alex frowned slightly, his expression earnest. “Riley, come on. Of course I am. I’ve wanted to ask you out for a long time, but I figured you weren’t interested. I didn’t think I stood a chance.”

Riley let out a shaky laugh, her nerves giving way to disbelief. “You’re kidding. YOU didn't think you stood a chance? I’ve had a crush on you since sophomore year!”

His eyes widened in surprise, then softened with something that looked a lot like relief. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, a shy smile playing with her lips.

“Well,” he said, grinning now, “I guess we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

Riley felt her confidence returning, the weight of her doubts lifting. “Alright,” she said, tilting her head toward the clock on the wall. “I’m off at six. Pick me up then? she offered her foot.”

Alex nodded, his grin widening as he shook Riley's foot. “It’s a date, then.”

As he left, the shop seemed a little brighter, the air a little lighter. Riley turned back to the Jeep, her heart still racing but now with excitement. For the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she has a place in the world outside of the garage too.

***

Riley stood in front of the mirror in her small bedroom, staring at her reflection. She’d traded her usual oil-stained coveralls for a simple navy-blue dress, its sleeveless cut emphasizing her armless shoulders. Her hair, normally tied back in a messy ponytail, was down, curling loosely around her face.

“You look great,” she whispered to herself, trying to believe it.

The sound of tires crunching on gravel outside the house pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced out the window and saw Alex’s car parked in the driveway. A nervous thrill shot through her as she grabbed her small purse with her toes, swung it over her shoulder and made her way outside.

Alex was leaning against the passenger door of his clean but slightly dented sedan, dressed in a casual button-up shirt and jeans. When he saw her, his face lit up.

“Wow,” he said, pushing off the car. “You look... amazing.”

Riley blushed, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He grinned and opened the car door for her. “Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said as she got in, beaming with happiness.

***

Alex took her to a cozy diner just outside of town. It wasn’t fancy, but it was warm and inviting, with checkered tablecloths and the smell of frying bacon in the air. Riley appreciated the casual vibe—it felt less intimidating than a formal restaurant.

They sat across from each other in a corner booth, talking as they waited for their food to arrive.

“I’ve been thinking about that Jeep you were working on,” Alex said. “Was it as bad as the Camry?”

Riley snorted. “Not even close. Your dad’s car was practically a death trap.”

Alex winced. “Yeah, he’s not exactly big on maintenance. I’m just glad he didn’t kill anyone.”

Riley shrugged. “That’s what we’re here for—to keep people like him alive despite their best efforts.”

Alex laughed, and Riley found herself relaxing. They talked about everything—work, school, their favorite music, and funny stories from high school. Riley was surprised at how easy it felt, how natural.

“So,” Alex said, leaning forward, “what made you want to be a mechanic? Was it your dad?”

“Partly,” Riley admitted, sipping her soda through a straw, her left foot under her chin. “But mostly it was just... I don’t know. I liked solving problems. Cars make sense to me. You figure out what’s wrong, you fix it, and they work. People are way more complicated.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. But you’re good with people too, you know.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he said. “You didn’t just fix my dad’s car. You handled him, and that’s no small feat.”

Riley laughed, coverig her mouth with her toes. “Fair point.”

***

After the dinner, Alex suggested a walk by the nearby river. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. They strolled along the path, the cool evening breeze playing with the hem of her dress.

“So, you really had a crush on me all this time?Alex asked, his hands in his pockets.

Riley smiled. “Oh absolutely. But i never thought i stood a chance. I figured you're way out of my league.”

He stopped walking and turned to her, his expression serious. “Out of your league? Riley, you’re one of the coolest, smartest people I’ve ever met. If anything, I was worried you wouldn’t say yes.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked away, suddenly shy. “It’s just... I’ve always been self-conscious about, you know, not having arms. I didn’t think anyone would...”

“Would what?” Alex asked, stepping closer.

“Would see past that. I mean, in the shop, knee deep in the engine bay i feel perfectly confident, but outside, no matter how much i'm trying to be just like everyone else, i know how people look at me” she admitted.

Alex’s voice softened. “Riley, when I look at you, I don’t see someone without arms. I see someone who’s strong, determined, and amazing at what she does. That’s what matters to me. ”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face for any trace of insincerity. She found none.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, a small smile forming.

***

They reached a wooden bench overlooking the river and sat down. The sound of water rushing over rocks filled the silence as they watched the last light of the day fade into twilight.

“Can I tell you something?” Alex asked.

“Sure,” Riley said, glancing at him.

“I used to be intimidated by you,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always seemed so sure of yourself, like you didn’t care what anyone thought. It wasn’t until today I realized you were just as nervous about some things as the rest of us.”

Riley chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a better actress than I thought.”

He turned to her, his expression serious again. “You don’t have to act around me, Riley. I like you just the way you are.”

The words, soft and reassuring, filled Riley with happiness. Riley’s heart raced as she met his gaze.

“Alex...” she started, but he interrupted her by leaning closer, his eyes asking for permission.

She nodded slightly, and their lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss.

When they pulled apart, Riley couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“Good unexpected?” Alex asked, grinning.

“The best kind,” she said.

***

Alex dropped her off at home later that night, walking her to the door like a perfect gentleman.

“I had a great time tonight,” he said.

“Me too,” Riley replied, feeling a warmth she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“So... can I see you again?” he asked, his voice hopeful.

She smiled. “Definitely.”

***

Back in the present, Gus handed Riley the shop’s ledger as the two stood at the front counter. The cover was worn, the pages smudged with years of grime.

“Guess this makes it official,” he said, his voice thick. “Greaves & Daughter Auto Repair. You’re in charge now.”

Riley lifted her left foot and took the book in her toes, holding it carefully as she set it on the counter. “I won’t let you down, Dad.”

“I know you won’t” he said, patting her shoulder. “But don’t let yourself down either. You’ve got a gift, Riles. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

The clang of the shop bell interrupted them as a customer walked in. Riley squared her shoulders, stepping forward with a practiced smile.

“Welcome to Greaves & Daughter,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

in caitlyn's post-war speech, she talks ambiguously of history and of ups and downs and of a story not yet over, but there's no promise for the future, no motivation to keep going, no bigger picture, no lesson learned. we're not shown much work being done either and i'm about to examine why it felt that way to me, leaving me a bit confused, somewhat unsatisfied, and deeply, profoundly sad

of course, jayce and viktor are dead. heimerdinger is gone, potentially also dead but unlike the latter two, we don't quite know what happened to him, he just kind of disappeared. i was left under the impression the were two ekkos - one for each universe, and our ekko's consciousness just changed bodies briefly due to the hexcore before heimerdinger managed to send him back to his own body in the right universe. but it seemed there was only one heimerdinger (body and soul) who'd traveled to the alternative universe as a package and lived there for a thousand years until our ekko came around in the alternative one's body, and instead of traveling back with him, heimerdinger's body and subsequently his consciousness ceased to exist. so... who's inventing things now? who's rebuilding piltover?

jinx and warwick (because there's no vander left there anymore, we made sure of that) are also presumably dead. we see how this is affecting ekko and vi, but not necessarily the undercity, for which jinx was a symbol of freedom, of unity - the perfect person who could've broken a cycle of violence, poverty and oppression. zaun doesn't get its sovereignty and seemingly loses its beacom of hope.

we see sevika as part of the council in piltover instead, but it's not like she's making merry with the other new counselors, in fact they throw her some nasty looks. and of course, i didn't expect it to be easy and it's admirable she's even there at all but unless i missed anyone, she's the only zaunite there out of 9 counselors (w/ zaun being 1/4 of piltover's population in canon afaik). i guess there's work to be done there but there was no indication of it even being able to go in a good direction, since she seems to have no backing from anyone now and again, we don't even know the extent to which the undercity managed to unify under her.

mel, a character always depicted in white and gold, an image of purity and mercy, defiant of her mother's brutality since childhood, now dons her red eyeshadow and sits on her throne on a ship for noxus. in an attempt to save her city, the city she was exhiled in to "learn" this brutality, to be hidden from the black rose from, and that's she's instead given her everything to care for (after barely getting the time to grapple with her own identity crisis and the predetermination of her fate) she's left no choice but to surrender her mother to the black rose, and watch her die in her arms. perhaps it is by virtue of noxian law she assumes her place and has to return to noxus. she leaves her beloved city in such a perilous and war-torn state, riddled with guilt and confusion. is she a wolf now? has she always been one?

ekko presumably grieves jinx by burning a piece of paper for her (my first thought was it was for heimerdinger, his "mentor" whose contributions and potential sacrifice made ekko coming back home possible, and with the time reversal device at that - but i interpreted it as being for jinx because it was in the place he kissed her alternate self in the alternative universe). what of ekko's future, of his commune? what happened to the tree getting corrupted? heimerdinger had plans to fix it with jayce's help or at least find the sickness' origin (the hexcore, yes, but we don't know if what happened to the tree got reversed), instead they found out the undercity was completely reliant on piltover's mercy for their water and air, and this knowledge seems to have died with them (bcuz i doubt ekko has the power to do anything about it).

caitlyn's looking at the kiramman house files, including city plans, potentially to rebuild things after the war but how? first of all, what are they gonna do with the hextech, the weapons, the gates, the magic in general? would they even want to try that again, and what implications would this have for piltover and zaun individually but for their precarious newly founded relationship? and secondly, she's a policewoman/detective turned anti-civil-war-commander turned just war commander, she's not an engineer or a scientist. all those ones? gone. all the people we know of who could rebuild the city in its previous progressive state are gone - jayce, viktor, heimerdinger, even jinx as a technological wildcar in vi's words. caitlyn seems to be telling the story or archiving files and plans for any future kirammans but she doesn't seem to have any work of her own to do anymore.

vi is the saddest case here, which says a lot. she's lost everything and is completely devoid of purpose. it's okay not to be okay, but what she says to caitlyn completely destroys me (and i'll do a separate, more detailed post but this shall do for now). she's depressed. easily. she's grieving jinx, humming a song her mother used to sing to them, the same one jinx was humming when we first saw her this season. when she says, "I'll always be dirt under your fingernails, cupcake." she isn't being cute, flirty, or romantic. she's being self-deprecating, indicating she deems her presence a nuisance to caitlyn, she deems herself unworthy and unwelcome in her house, but it's not like she's going anywhere. where else could she even go? caitlyn is all she has left. that's what she means when she says, "nothing's ever gonna clean me out", but perhaps even more so, she implies she's beyond repair, that she'll never be whole, never be truly okay again after this.

(the only person who got a "happy" ending, and the reason why this pisses me off is because he was truly vile and wicked and idc abt his motivations i will not be convinced otherwise, was fucking singed, who somehow got to have his immortalized robot daughter despite everything)

[mothgirl-number-4]

[Five days.] [It's been five days since you woke up for the first time.] [Four and a half since the second time! Haha! …No need to linger.] [You haven't tried contacting your stardust. You. Siffrin.] [Ever since your successful attempt on your own life That only made you loop AGAIN why AGAIN??? WHY??? you've been looking for some quality information.] [It seems you've been made as a near identical copy of your darling stardust due to the fact you only have one eye not the right one AND craft exhaustion. You don't remember ever getting craft exhausted but you might have if you actually esca but it's whatever!!!] [Beau has been surprisingly pleasant company. You started teaching him some more Vaugardian due to someone not being able to speak being a bad conversation partner, and you feel slightly guilty for pushing him to- but you aren't sure that was the best idea.] "Shining One- er-" ["Saffron, Beau."] [He has some of the name troubles you used to have. You did use to have name troubles, right? Not the point. He remembers at least not to call you Bright one.] "Yes, Siffrin! I was going to ask if you were awake, but it seems you are. …Did I wake you?" [He's so anxious it'd be almost cute if it wasn't pathetic. He wants to impress you, you think.] ["Don't worry about it, Beau. It's 8:23 in the evening."] "Ah. Thank you, Shin- Saffron." [As for the name change, it's was initially just so it was easier to pronounce for him, but any difference from your Stardust has become… Thrilling. You aren't about to go throwing everything away- that wouldn't be fair to Beau, but it's nice.] [One of the Housemaidens comes in. You think her name is Edie. Comedy mask on.] ["Ah! Hello, Edie~"] "Edith, Saffron." [Your eye twitches.] ["Sorry, Edie."] "Hmph. Well, you're both good enough to be sent to a benefactor for temporary housing, if you wish."

"Oh! That'd be wonderful, Kind One!" ["I agree with Beau here, the sooner I'm out of this place, the better!"] [You're smiling but it doesn't reach your eyes. You've been dying to get a look at their library. Anything for an explanation.] [The Housemaiden looks you over, she sees right through you. You hate it you hate it you hate it it reminds you of…] [Who does it remind you of? Whatever! What. Ever!!!!] "I'll give you two one day to get ready. We've already got somebody willing to take you in for a time. I'll come along to ensure your healthy arrival and inform your caretaker of the responsibilities they are going to have to undertake with your…" [Her eyes dart over to Beau and back to you] "unique cases, but then we'll be out of each other's hair for the foreseeable future." [The Housemaiden has been trying to get through to you for the whole time you've been here, but they're going up against an expert at this.] […During the third day, she told you about her mother, for some reason. You think she was trying to connect with you over parents but you don't remember yours. Something about half-siblings? You don't care to recollect. You didn't come here for a lecture on Change.] "Isn't this wonderful, Shining One?" [She left- and Beau is talking to you. Comedy mask off, but you do try to be… Hospitable.] ["Of course, Beau. I'm ready to get out of here! I'm ready to sleep, though. Talk to you tomorrow?"] [He gives you a strange stern look, and nods. He lies down, stiff as a dead body.] ["You're not gonna fall asleep like that. What's the issue?"] […] [He sighs.] "Do you not like me?" […Oh. He- …] [It's best if you tell the truth. You've been caught off guard and don't know how dangerous he is.]

["I've had… Bad experiences with protector types. …Part of the reason I'm here, actually!"] [Technically the truth.] "I see… But what about me?" […] ["I don't know. I don't know what I think about you. I thought I hated you but you're just… I don't know. I don't like you, but I don't mind spending time with you. And I'd prefer if I could keep an eye on you for now."] "Of course." [There's a pause. You aren't used to doing feelings talks.] "I can protect you!" [You almost choke on your laughter, you barely manage to stifle it, but he still looks slightly offended.] "What?" ["Beau, I don't know if you know this, but I'm pretty strong, even without craft. If anything, I'd protect you."] [He flushes with embarrassment.] ["But uh… Thanks for talking with me about the fee-fees."] "Fee-fees?" ["Ling-lings~"] "Oh! I see! Very funny, Saff." […A nickname?] "Is that okay? I don't-" ["No no- I liked it."] "Oh. Good." ["Yeah, good…"] ["Thanks, B."] "Yeah." [You sleep, and you do not dream of a twin-headed ouroboros consuming itself, nor being eaten by a star, nor burning up as your friends not YOURS they AREN'T laugh. You dream of pleasant conversations by a favor tree with someone you don't know.]

[Your time is done. You're satisfied.]

[You couldn't take your role back, but that's his fault for leaving you alone. You're satisfied.]

[You're satisfied. You fade at last.]

...

[You feel a thread pulled to its limits. A fire burning hot hot hot and something breaking, failing, rotting. You gag on nothing as starlight beams out of your eyes and mouth.]

[The string pulls, choking you as you attempt to scream, but you have no mouth. You attempt to cry, but you have no eyes.]

[The thread snaps.]

[You feel a pulling in your head.]

[And you feel your heart..

p

o

p

]

[You wake up in a room. The first thing you take in is UNIMAGINABLE PAIN. You scream and scream and scream- there are footsteps. You hear the familiar sound of healing craft as the pain subsides the slightest bit. Not enough to be anywhere near comfortable, but you aren't screaming anymore.]

[You sit up, hands grasping at what you realize far too late are bedsheets. They rip in your hands, piercing craft chugging through your fingertips like the drip drip drip of blood.]

[You're already babbling apologies when]-

"Oh thank goodness you're awake, bright stranger."

[That voice. Not from the healer you don't recognize them but you turn to the neighboring bed- you're in an infirmary? -and see another stranger.]

[You recognize that accent but you don't recognize... Him?]

"[Who-]"

[You cough on your words- Vaugardian, Loop! Try again~]

[The familiar stranger looks at you with wonder.]

"Say- say that again, will you?"

"[What, 'who?']"

"No- what was that language?"

[You don't know.]

"[I don't know. Where am I?]"

[The familiar stranger- you're just going to call him the King, it's too similar to be a coincidence. You've never been lucky enough to even consider otherwise. -looks disappointed before lighting up again. His Vaugardian is rough, but understandable.]

"Ah! You're in the Bambouche house of change! Or uhm... The one closest to Bambouche I think... I couldn't really understand them the best."

[The King looks awkward. How could this pathetic whelp end up as the intimidating monster that killed- Blinding- He's speaking]

"They call me castaway, but I prefer Beau, he and him, please. What about you?"

[Oh this is hilarious. The Change god thinks its so blinding funny doesn't it. You're laughing. You're cackling and guffawing and]-

"[Siffrin, they/them, nice to meet you!]"

"Oh, like the savior?"

[What.]

[septimusmoonlight]

You doing ok?

hi

[californiaquail]

post part 1: just looked at the Cutest little apartment and the lady didn't say anything about cr*dit sc*res and it is almost perfect except for no pets and no wifi everyone please pray that i get it

post part 2: i'm no longer amused at the state of traffic because it is still barely moving except now i'm trying to get home

post part 3: everyone please also pray that my bus comes before nightfall. amen 🙏🏻

[isfjmel-phleg]

🌋

[adastra-rising]

Adding Onto this, I’m thinking of working on this as an AU/fanfic. I’ve drawn a concept sketch for the kid, (unfortunately, I don’t really like it) her name is Marcee Mayvelle (Aliteration!) and she’s like 9. If she was ever officially adopted, she’d take on the name Mayvelle Tsurugi. (Because I refuse to believe Felix would pass on the Fathom surname. That shit DIES with him.)

Name Notes: I chose the name “Marcee” (pronounced like Marcy) because it’s not something I could see Felix or Kagami choosing for their own child. Most Fankids I see for them have fancy rich-kid British names or Japanese names. I think it’s really important for this AU that Marcee is not the kind of kid they would have through normal means. In terms of name, interests, appearance, etc.

The ✨Found Family✨ of it all feels stronger to me if it’s not someone who’s necessarily just like them. What brought them together was not fate but circumstances!

- A victim of child neglect rather than what Felix or Kagami went through. She was never really forced into behaving a specific way or meeting expectations, because her parents were literally not present.

- They stopped driving her to school and everything. So she is a year or so behind in education.

- She pretty much raised herself. Outwardly, she appears immature and naive, but is definitely aware of a lot more than she lets on.

- Ryuko and Argos busted her parents after Argos picked up on Marcee’s negative emotions after her parents got into a fight. They called CPS but Marcee refused to leave Ryuko’s side, eventually the two of them let her stay over their place in Lieu of foster care. The rest is history.

- She never really got a chance to do much as a kid and IMMEDIATELY latches onto Kagami’s fencing (“While you were having a normal childhood, I WAS STUDYING THE BLADE.”) and becomes obsessed with it.

F: Is it reasonable to give a 9 year old a sword?

K: Yes. I got one when I was 7.

- The entire reason why she got so attached to Ryuko was the cool looking sword. “The cool sword lady will protect me, I am safe.” (Kagami is not used to being admired like this, by anyone other than Felix)

M: I LOVE COOL SWORD LADIES!!!

F: Understandable, I also love cool sword ladies.

- Marcee’s initial impression of Argos is a bit more… mixed, at first she thinks his eyes are a little bit scary but then she realizes that if she gets the scary bird man to like her, nobody will hurt her because the scary bird man will scare the bad people away. (11/10 logic. Her plan is successful!)

- Then she realizes that Felix is kind of a loser and that’s when she really comes to like him. She thinks he’s awkward af but super funny because of it.

- Rather than being known as an adopted daughter, Marcee is technically just Kagami’s fencing protege. (This is also what Kagami tells herself when she starts to get attached: “She’s just my student I won’t get attached. I will not get attached. I won’t.”)

- She’s not good at fencing but she’s got the spirit! After a few years, her efforts do pay off and by the time she’s a teenager she’s pretty much kicking everyone’s ass because Marcee was really persistent and Kagami never gave up on her!

- Marcee is a little bit of an IPAD kid but can you blame her? She had nowhere to go as a kid (sorta like Adrien) and had to make her own fun.

- She has an emotional dependence on Roblox and Minecraft Pocket Edition and knew she had found her family when Felix (in an attempt to show that he cares about her interests, because his father never cared about his) downloads her favorite games and tries to make her a Minecraft House. It was literally just a square made out of dirt.

- (In which a Minecraft house made of dirt is symbolic of letting a lonely abused kid know they are safe and at home!)

- Duusu and Longg realize she’s here to stay way before Kagami or Felix do. They’re both in denial, meanwhile Duusu and Longg are just like “yeah hell nahhh”

- Duusu and Marcee cannot be left alone in a room together or else someone might die. Chaotic ass duo. Longg is usually the one to babysit the two of them.

Feligami Brainrot at 6:30 am (Have not Slept)

Whenever I see art/descriptions of adult/married Feligami, they are either happily childless or have like three kids.

Generally speaking, I think it’s more canon compliant for them to not give a crap about having a nuclear family, and just focus on spending time together.

But I also want to suggest:

✨Found Family Feligami✨

Like to me the only way I could EVER see them starting a family is if they were out on patrol one day as Argos and Ryuko, and just randomly found a lost, scared, ab*sed kid and sorta just claimed them? Probably like an older kid too, at least 6. And they’d never have any other kids it would just be the one.

Like at first they just wanted to get the kid out of their toxic household and neither intended to get attached, but they totally do. Now it’s too late and suddenly they’re parents. Like the kid prolly doesn’t address them as mom or dad but they’re totally family now!

Meanwhile the kid, who’s prolly never felt safe at home, is finally able to sleep peacefully at night because they know if anyone tried to hurt them, both of their new guardians are superheroes! And even without powers, Kagami would prolly still manage to beat the crap outta anyone who came near them! Truly, there is no safer place!

I feel like both Felix and Kagami would struggle to adjust, but they’re both trying really hard! Felix especially is prolly a very…. Awkward parent in the sense that he is just. PROFOUNDLY ANXIOUS. All of the time. Bro wants the kid to be happy but doesn’t exactly have any normal childhood memories to use as reference and tries to connect with the kid using the stuff he grew up with, and quickly realizes the shit he was interested as a kid are not common at all.

“Would you, uhm, like to play a round of chess?”

“No, but I’d love to play monopoly jr: Disney edition!!”

“?????”

Meanwhile Kagami doesn’t register that they’re starting to act like a family, that she truly wants to protect this kid, and tries to convince herself they are merely a roommate or guest until Marinette shows up one day and haphazardly comments that Kagami is such a kind and considerate parent and she’s just like?????

[july-19th-club]

me age seven being sat down in front of the school’s district child psych lady and being given strange, simple spatial puzzles to solve and then long, complicated worksheets and hammering my way through them at the speed of light while having zero comprehension what their purpose was or why i was here: this is urgent! i have to get a good grade in Weird Puzzles, Or Else, something that is both normal to want and possible to achieve,