#//I know my posts are far and few in between//

[secretmaniacc]

RIDE OR DIE

Parings: The salesman x Fem!oc

Summary: Two fierce recruiters, locked in a heated rivalry over who can secure the most players, strike an unusual deal: whoever wins the next recruit gets to drag the other out to dinner. But when tempers flare and egos clash, their “game” turns into a battle of wits, slaps, and simmering tension. What starts as a simple challenge spirals into something far more unpredictable—because in their world, nothing ever goes as planned.

Warnings: slow burn, language, violence, dom!salesman x baddie oc, teasing, work rivals, kissing, fingering sex, mentions of blood, slapping, maybe something else that I don’t remember.

Wc: 5.4k

A/n: this is my first post and idk how do you use tumblr and I can’t even add warnings cuz idk what should I warn about but I hope y’all can enjoy wtv the hell I wrote, English isn’t my first language so no attacking. Not proofread. This is so bad ik.

The dimly lit café hummed with quiet chatter, the occasional clatter of cups breaking the tension in the air. She adjusted her sunglasses, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned forward, her fingers tapping softly against the edge of the table. The man seated across from her was sweating through his cheap dress shirt, his eyes darting nervously to the plain white envelope she'd slid toward him just moments ago.

"Inside that envelope," she began, her voice calm but charged with intent, "is the answer to all your problems. Every overdue bill, every phone call you're dodging, every sleepless night. All gone."

He hesitated, staring at the envelope like it might bite him. "I don't know... I mean, this doesn't sound—"

"—legal?" she finished for him, leaning back casually. She tilted her head, the smirk widening. "You'd be right. It's not. But when has that ever stopped you before?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Bingo, she thought, watching him flounder. That reaction told her everything she needed to know.

"Think about it," she pressed, her voice dropping an octave, almost a whisper. "A few games. A few hours. And then you walk away with enough money to start fresh. No more debt. No more hiding."

He reached for the envelope, his hand trembling. But just as his fingertips brushed the edge of it—

A familiar voice cut through the air. "Amateur move, don't you think?"

Her eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Only one person could manage to sound both smug and bored in the same sentence.

"Go away," she said flatly, her tone ice-cold.

But of course, he didn't.

"I mean, honestly," the salesman continued, sliding into the booth beside the man like he owned the place. "Laying it all out like that? Where's the finesse? The mystery? The intrigue?"

She finally turned her head, pushing her sunglasses down just enough to meet his eyes. "Do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?"

"Not when I'm right," he replied, flashing her that infuriatingly cocky smile.

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, and gave him a sweet, fake smile in return. "Right about what? Annoying the hell out of me? Congratulations, you've mastered the art."

The man between them shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting from her to the salesman and back again. "Uh, I should probably—"

"You're not going anywhere," she said sharply, cutting him off. She reached for the envelope and slid it back toward the man with deliberate slowness, her gaze never leaving the salesman. "You want to talk about finesse? Fine. Let's talk about your pitch. What is it this time? Another mysterious slap game in the subway? Real creative."

He laughed, the sound low and easy, and leaned back in the booth. "What can I say? It works."

"Until it doesn't," she shot back.

"Why don't we let him decide?" he countered, gesturing to the man, who looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

She turned her attention back to her target, her expression softening. "You want to trust him? Go ahead. But let me ask you this: When he disappears into thin air after taking his cut, who's going to be there to clean up the mess? Not him."

The salesman's grin faltered, just for a second, but it was enough to make her smirk.

"Fine," he said, standing abruptly and brushing imaginary lint off his suit jacket. "He's all yours. Let's see if your little sob story gets him to bite."

"Gladly," she replied, leaning back with a victorious gleam in her eyes.

But as he turned to leave, he leaned in close, just enough for his breath to brush against her ear. "Next time, sweetheart, try not to play so dirty. It's almost cute how hard you're trying to beat me."

She didn't flinch, didn't react, even as her grip tightened on the edge of the table. He chuckled softly and walked away, leaving her with the trembling man and the lingering scent of his cologne.

"You should take the deal," she said finally, sliding the envelope across the table one last time. "Before someone else comes along and makes it worse for you."

This time, he took it without hesitation.

As she left the café, she spotted the salesman leaning casually against a lamppost outside, twirling a coin between his fingers.

"You owe me," she called out, not breaking stride.

"For what?"

"For not strangling you in there."

His laugh followed her down the street, a sound that stuck in her head longer than she cared to admit.

Next day

She pushed the door to the briefing room open with a little more force than necessary, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor. He was already there, of course, leaning back in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table like he owned the place. The sight made her want to turn around and walk right back out.

The office reeked of stale coffee and carried the faint metallic tang of the envelopes they used to seal people's fates. Spotting their shared desk, she sauntered over and dropped into her chair, leaning back with a casual air. Her red-tipped nails drummed a steady rhythm against the table, a small but deliberate sound to break the silence.

"So," she started, her voice smooth but sharp enough to cut, "how many desperate souls did you con into signing today?"

"You're late," he drawled, not even bothering to glance up from the notepad he was scribbling on, "I've already got a head start."

She ignored him, tossing her clipboard onto the table with a loud thwack. "Four recruits," she announced, while sitting in the chair across from him.

That got his attention. He arched an eyebrow, finally glancing up. "Four? That's cute."

Her lips twitched, but she kept her expression neutral. "Better than your three."

The smug grin he'd been wearing all evening faltered for a split second, and the sight was immensely satisfying. He quickly recovered, sitting up straighter and folding his arms over his chest. "Who says I only got three?"

"I saw you at the station earlier," she shot back. "Your guy ran off before you could even give him the envelope."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "He came back. Took the bait. Easy money."

She narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge whether he was bluffing. With him, it was impossible to tell. He could sell a lie as easily as breathing, and she hated how good he was at it.

"Let's see the proof, then," she said, gesturing to his notepad.

He hesitated, just long enough for her to pounce.

"Liar," she said smugly, leaning back in her chair.

"Fine," he admitted, tossing the notepad onto the table. "Three. But mine were quality recruits. You're probably scraping the bottom of the barrel as usual."

She bristled at that, her fingers curling into fists under the table. "Quality? The last guy you brought in was a drunk who passed out halfway through the first game."

"And he still made it further than your little college dropout," he countered.

"That dropout lasted three games," she snapped. "And he made us more money than any of your recruits ever have."

"Us?" He laughed, the sound low and mocking. "Sweetheart, there is no 'us.' This is a solo game, remember? And right now, you're losing."

The word sweetheart grated against her nerves, but she forced herself to stay calm. She wasn't about to let him see how much he was getting under her skin.

"Keep telling yourself that," she said coolly, pulling out a pen and jotting down the day's numbers on her clipboard. "Meanwhile, I'll be over here actually doing my job."

He watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he reached across the table and snatched the clipboard out of her hands.

"Hey!" she protested, but he held it just out of her reach, flipping through the pages with a smug grin.

"Let's see... Ah, there it is," he said, tapping the page with the end of her pen. "Four names. Not bad. But you forgot to include the part where they all looked ready to bolt the second you left."

She lunged for the clipboard, but he pulled it back again, chuckling under his breath. "Careful now," he teased. "Wouldn't want to make a scene, would we?"

She glared at him, her jaw tightening. "Give it back."

"Say please."

"Go to hell."

He laughed again, but this time, he relented, sliding the clipboard across the table. She snatched it up, smoothing the crumpled pages with deliberate care.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" she muttered, not bothering to look at him.

"And yet, you keep coming back," he replied, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

She bit back the retort that was on the tip of her tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her lose her composure. Instead, she focused on her clipboard, pretending he didn't exist.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, he broke it.

"You know, you're lucky you have me as competition."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Because I keep you on your toes," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "Admit it. If it weren't for me, this job would be boring as hell."

"Boring?" she repeated, her tone icy. "You think ruining people's lives is boring?"

"Don't get all self-righteous on me," he said, his voice low and teasing. "We both know you enjoy the thrill just as much as I do."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words caught in her throat. He wasn't wrong, and they both knew it.

"Speaking of thrill," he continued, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "how about a little wager?"

She narrowed her eyes. "What kind of wager?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Next recruit wins."

"Wins what?" she asked warily.

He shrugged, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Bragging rights. And dinner."

She snorted. "You think I'd let you take me to dinner?"

"Who said I'd be taking you?" he shot back, his grin widening. "You'd be taking me."

The audacity of it made her laugh, a sharp, bitter sound that echoed through the sterile room.

"Fine," she said, standing up and smoothing her pencil skirt. "But don't cry when you lose."

"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he said, rising to his feet and adjusting his tie. "Worry about yourself."

With that, she grabbed her clipboard and swept out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the tiled floor.

Later That Night

The neon lights of the city cast a harsh glow on the bustling streets, illuminating the restless hum of nightlife. Cars honked in the distance, their headlights cutting through the mist rising from sewer grates. She stood near the entrance of a seedy-looking diner, a faint flicker of its neon sign sputtering above her. The air smelled of fried food and rain-soaked pavement, but she didn't notice. Her sharp eyes scanned the crowd like a predator hunting for its next meal.

She didn't need long to spot potential. It was always the same—the defeated ones, with slumped shoulders and darting eyes. They carried their desperation in their posture, wearing it like a beacon.

Her instincts honed in on a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit leaning against a lamppost. He clutched a briefcase to his chest like it was his last lifeline, his lips moving silently, perhaps rehearsing excuses or trying to summon courage to return home empty-handed.

Perfect.

Before she could move, a faint ripple of awareness prickled at the back of her neck. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"Stalking me now?" she asked, her tone sharp but low enough to remain unnoticed.

"Just observing," came his smooth reply, closer than she expected. "Wouldn't want you accusing me of cheating."

Her lips twitched, almost betraying a smile, but she held it back. "You can't cheat at something you're already losing."

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, and she could feel the smirk in his voice without even glancing back.

She pushed his presence to the back of her mind, focusing instead on her target. With a subtle breath, she strode forward, heels clicking against the pavement, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the street. She approached the man with the kind of confidence that disarmed even the wariest prey.

"Rough night?" she asked, her voice soft and sympathetic, like the purr of a cat just before it strikes.

The man flinched slightly, his tired eyes meeting hers with a flicker of suspicion. "Something like that," he muttered, his voice hoarse and uncertain.

She tilted her head, her expression warm but unreadable. "Well," she said, slipping an envelope from her jacket pocket and holding it out to him, "what if I told you there's a way to turn your luck around?"

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking between her face and the envelope as if weighing the risks. Behind her, she felt his presence again, closer this time. The faintest shuffle of shoes on asphalt told her he was watching, and she resisted the urge to smirk. This one was as good as hers.

Just as the man reached out to take the envelope, a hand shot over her shoulder and plucked it from her grasp.

"Now, now," he said, stepping into view with that maddeningly smug grin, twirling the envelope between his fingers like a magician showing off a trick. "Let's not rush things."

Her jaw tightened, the air around her practically crackling with tension. "What the hell are you doing?" she hissed, her voice low and sharp.

"Just helping out," he replied, unfazed by her glare. With a deliberate slowness, he handed the envelope back to her, throwing in a playful wink that made her blood boil.

The man, caught in the crossfire, glanced between them, his confusion turning into hesitation. "Uh... Is this some kind of scam?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, his tone dripping with practiced reassurance. His smile widened, radiating a charm that seemed almost genuine. "We're just offering a little game. High stakes, high rewards. Interested?"

The man hesitated, his grip on the briefcase tightening. "What kind of game?"

"It's simple," he said, crouching and slamming the folded paper onto the pavement with a sharp snap. "You use your own tile and try to flip mine. If you win, you keep the envelope and some extra cash." He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket, fanning them out enticingly.

"And if I lose?"

He smirked, the gesture sharp and taunting. "Then I get to slap you. Fair trade, don't you think?"

The man recoiled, his skepticism deepening. "What kind of twisted game is this?"

"Just a little fun," the salesman said, his tone light but unyielding. "Besides, no one plays if they think they're going to lose. Are you scared you'll lose?"

She suppressed a groan. He always did this—pushing just hard enough to make them take the bait.

"Or, you take the envelope and walk away, no games required." She suggested.

Her rival's chuckle was low, almost teasing. "Where's the fun in that? And where's the money he so desperately needs, Let him decide."

The man glanced at the envelope, then at the money, and finally at the salesman's smirk. "Fine. I'll play."

Her rival's grin widened. "Excellent.", gesturing toward a nearby alleyway. "Let's make this quick."

She followed them into the dimly lit alley, her annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. He always turned everything into a game, always needed to prove he was one step ahead

He handed the man a folded paper tile, stepping back and gesturing for him to begin. The man crouched, his hand trembling slightly as he slapped his tile against the one on the ground. It barely budged.

"Not bad," the salesman said, picking up the tile. "But let me show you how it's done."

He crouched, his movements fluid and confident. With a sharp snap, his tile slammed down, flipping the man's effortlessly.

Without missing a beat, he straightened and grinned. "Looks like I win this round." He raised his hand, his smirk deepening.

The man flinched, bracing himself, but the salesman stopped short, hovering just close enough to make him sweat. Before delivering a slap that echoed through the alleyway like a gunshot. The man staggered back, holding his cheek with a mix of shock and indignation.

"Oh my—" she whispered, flinching

The salesman, unfazed and borderline proud, grinned down at the man. "another round?."

The man blinked, rubbing his face. "don't you think this was abit painful?"

"Wasn't this our deal?"

"Alright, I'll go again," the man exclaimed, determination etched on his face. He grabbed the colored tile with trembling fingers and slammed it down with force.

The tile on the ground barely budged.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Minutes passed, and the man refused to give up, his voice hoarse as he repeatedly asked for another round. His face, now blotched with red and purpling bruises, told the story of his futile persistence.

Growing impatient with the drawn-out game and the waste of her time, she decided to intervene. Not only had her rival stolen her recruit, but he was also dragging this nonsense far longer than necessary.

"I'll go easy on you this time," she heard him say, his voice laced with mock compassion.

"Or," she interjected sharply, pulling a thick stack of cash from her pocket, "you let me take over and raise the stakes."

Her rival's brows lifted, amusement lighting up his face. "Feeling brave, are we?"

"I just like winning," she retorted, her tone clipped as she handed the cash and envelope to the bruised man. "I don't think you have a reason to continue this."

The man hesitated for only a moment before greed overtook him. He snatched the envelope and money from her outstretched hand, shoving them hastily into his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered, practically sprinting into the crowd and out of sight.

She turned, her eyes narrowing as they locked onto her rival. "Happy now? You scared him off."

He smirked, stepping closer, his movements deliberate and calculated. "Scared him? I think I made his night."

"Your ego is insufferable," she said, arms crossing over her chest.

"Is it?" he countered, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her face with a maddeningly light touch. "Or is it just that you don't like losing?"

Her pulse quickened at the proximity, but she refused to show any sign of weakness. "I didn't lose. He took my deal."

His smirk deepened, his expression dripping with arrogance. "If that helps you sleep at night."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, velvety murmur. "The game's not over yet. Want to take his place?"

Her breath caught as his fingers grazed hers, sliding the blue tile into her palm before he pulled away. The motion was deliberate, calculated to unnerve her, but she refused to let him win that easily.

She exhaled sharply, tilting her chin upward as she crouched down. Focusing on the game, she slapped her tile against the ground with all the force she could muster.

The crack echoed through the narrow alley, but the result was disappointing—the tile barely shifted.

"Tough break," he quipped, crouching beside her, his voice a teasing whisper. "Maybe you should let me teach you a thing or two."

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and unwavering. For a moment, the tension between them was palpable, an electric crackle in the chilly air.

"I don't need your lessons," she bit out, rising to her feet and brushing past him, her jaw tight.

"Alright then," he said with infuriating ease. He crouched effortlessly, his movements smooth as silk. With a single, sharp slap, his tile flipped hers with almost mocking precision.

Standing, he turned toward her, a mock pout curving his lips. "I guess I'll have to slap that pretty face of yours now. May I?" he asked, his voice dripping with a false politeness that made her blood boil.

Her jaw tightened, and she nodded stiffly. Before she could brace herself, his hand connected sharply with her cheek. The slap rang out in the alleyway like a firecracker, her head snapping to the side with the force.

Pain bloomed hot and fast, her body recoiling slightly as she stumbled a step back. She could already feel the beginnings of a bruise forming, the sting radiating from her skin.

Her chest rose and fell as she steadied herself. "Again," she demanded, her voice steely.

This time, she took her turn, and with a fierce slap of her tile, she flipped his. A slow, triumphant grin spread across her face.

"Your turn," she said smoothly, stepping closer.

His smug grin never wavered, even as he leaned in for his next move. The sharp crack of his tile meeting her tile.

he missed.

His tile flipped awkwardly, tumbling off-course and skidding out of bounds. A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but before he could recover, her palm came down with brutal precision. The slap echoed louder this time.

He staggered slightly, his face turning away as her hand left a bright, stinging imprint on his cheekbone. The smirk she wore grew darker, more dangerous. "Losing your touch?" she taunted, her voice mocking.

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing, merely resetting the tiles and motioning for the game to continue.

The game continued, the back-and-forth intensified, each slap a resounding echo through the narrow alleyway. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, thickening with every calculated strike. Her cheek throbbed, the sting from his earlier slap blooming into a vivid bruise, while his jawline reddened with the marks of her retaliation.

Then she missed.

Her tile spun wildly off-course, landing far from where it needed to be. The mistake was glaring, and he seized the moment without hesitation. His hand came down with brutal force, striking her cheek hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

The impact sent her staggering, and this time, a trickle of blood began to run from her nose. She stood frozen for a moment, her fingers brushing against her upper lip. Crimson streaks stained her pale skin, a sharp contrast that only seemed to embolden her defiance.

She tilted her head back slightly, wiping the blood with the back of her hand, smearing it rather than cleaning it. When she looked back at him, her smirk was intact, as sharp as ever.

"What's the matter?" she teased, her voice biting despite the blood. "that's all what you've got?"

For the first time, his confidence faltered. His hand, raised for the next strike, but then froze mid-air. Her face painted with blood hit harder than any slap, and the hesitation in his expression was palpable.

Before she could press further, he stepped forward abruptly, closing the distance between them in one smooth, deliberate motion. His hand dropped from the air to grip her arm firmly, and he pushed her back against the cold brick wall.

The impact stole the air from her lungs, the rough texture of the wall biting into her back. Yet her smirk didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, her chin tilting upward as if daring him to try harder. His arms came up, caging her in, palms pressed against the wall on either side of her head. Her breath hitched at his closeness, but she refused to let him see her flinch.

His eyes flicked to her nose, catching the blood still trickling down. Slowly, with deliberate precision, he raised his hand.

She braced herself for another strike, but instead, his thumb brushed against her face. The unexpected gentleness of the motion sent a shiver down her spine, though she masked it well. His thumb wiped away the blood, his touch lingering a second longer than necessary.

He pulled his hand back, glancing at the crimson streak now staining his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he reached down and wiped it clean on her shirt, the motion casual but calculated.

"Better?" he asked, his tone mocking, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Her smirk dissolved into a sharp scowl, her voice snapping as she opened her mouth. "You—"

He cut her off without a word, his lips crashing against hers in a fiery, passionate kiss. The world around them faded as his hand ditched the wall completely, roaming over her body, pulling her impossibly closer.

For a moment, she pulled back, eyes wide with shock, breathless and taken aback as if the kiss had surged through her like electricity, igniting every nerve ending. What had just happened? How had everything shifted in the blink of an eye? But before she could fully process the intensity of her feelings, his grip tightened on her hips, anchoring her in place, and the heat radiating from him was undeniable, wrapping around her like a warm blanket.

Her heart raced, a wild flutter in her chest that felt like it could lift her off the ground. There was something magnetic in the way he looked at her, a primal pull she could no longer resist. The air was thick with tension, charged with unspoken promises, and just when she thought she might pull away entirely, the fire in his gaze ignited something deep within her.

With a soft sigh of surrender, she leaned back into him, allowing herself to melt against his body. He cupped her face, his thumb brushing along her cheek, as if memorizing the delicate curve of her features. And then his lips crashed into hers again, hungry and demanding, hungry as though he had been waiting for this moment forever. This time, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past her lips to dance with hers in a slow, teasing rhythm that sent shivers down her spine.

She gasped at the sheer sensation, heat pooling in her core as every ounce of tension from earlier evaporated in an instant. The taste of him was intoxicating—warm, slightly sweet, and utterly captivating. Her hands found their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him for more.

He pulled her closer still, his hands roaming over the small of her back, mapping every curve as if he were trying to memorize her with his touch, urging her to lift her legs around his waist. Instinctively, she obliged, feeling the strength of his body as he lifted her effortlessly. she wrapped her legs around his waist, instinctively urging him to lift her higher, to take her deeper into his embrace, their bodies fitting together perfectly—two pieces of a puzzle that had finally found their match.

The world around them vanished, a blurred backdrop to this moment where only they existed. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing kisses down her jaw, throughout until he meets her neck, pausing to nibble at the sensitive skin just below her ear, igniting fire in her veins with each flick of his tongue and gentle bite. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her tightly as if he feared she might slip away. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her impossibly closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt electric.

When his lips began to trail again over her delicate skin, she hissed, "You can't leave more marks; they'll know."

He paused, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze, a teasing light in his eyes. "How would they know it's me?" he murmured against her skin.

"The cameras," she whispered, referring to the implanted devices on both their jackets that monitored their work. But just as the words left her lips, she felt his mouth curl into a smirk against her neck.

"Then we might as well give them a show and leave as many marks as I want." He falls back into her skin, his lips teasing the flesh between his teeth as he moves to mark her as his own. His lips pause at one of the pulse points on her neck, noticing how her heartbeat quickens and flutters. Was this typical?

He wasn't sure, but he finds himself praying it's a good thing. A chuckle escapes him as her hands grow desperate, pulling at the back of his head, stifling a groan. "Easy, girl."

"Remember when you said you'd never kiss me? That I wasn't worth it?" she teases, a playful smile flickering on her lips.

"Fuck, did I really say that? I don't recall," he replies, feigning shock.

"Just saying that because you can't make me come," she laughs softly against him, and he can't help the way a small smile curves his lips. His fingers slip underneath her skirt, pushing past the hem of her panties. He finds her wetness already coating his fingers. "Can't make you come yet you're so wet for me, hm?"

She bites her lip, allowing her hips to sway against his fingers as pleasure envelops her thoughts. Though he's unsure of what exactly to do, he has overheard other men discussing this, and he hopes it delivers as much pleasure as they say when he dips a finger inside her. She's loose around him, wet, eagerly sucking him in. He quickly adds another finger, finding his rhythm almost immediately and growing bold. He dares to let his thumb tease the edges of her clit.

He notices the way her nails dig into his shoulders, biting her tongue so hard that crimson might seep forth at any moment.

The salesman had kissed many women, been on the brink of sex, yet none had reacted the way she did. They were quick to show their responses, every emotion not hidden behind a curtain of embarrassment; yet now, despite the situation, she found herself shy about making noise. He allows another finger to push inside her, the pink velvet of her insides gripping him. He hears her gasp when his fingers threaten to curl, and he allows himself another smile. His thumb finds her clit again, and that's when her grip becomes lethal, biting her lip no longer serving as a guard for her moans.

"Please," she mumbles, whimpering.

"Please what, sweetheart?"

"I... I need you," she moans, surprising herself with her confessions to a man so dangerously psychotic, one who has killed and toyed with lives—this was something she swore she would never do. Yet here she was, becoming intimate with him, and his touch felt so gentle it was as if his past didn't exist. She can see the vein pulsing in his neck as he finally pulls his fingers out, his eyes fixed on hers as he moves his hand to his mouth, savoring her taste.

Her pupils dilate at the sight, skin warming before she realizes she's replacing his fingers with her tongue, pressing her mouth against his again. His hand falls to her waist.

Now every kiss deepens, an intoxicating blend of urgency and desire. She feels each heartbeat echoing between them. Every brush of their lips sends sparks racing through her veins, igniting every part of her being. It's primal and raw, yet intimately tender, as if they were revealing hidden parts of themselves that only the other could see.

Their lips finally part after what feels like an eternity, both gasping for breath. Foreheads resting against each other, they feel the warmth radiating from their skin, their hearts racing in unison. His eyes flutter open to find her looking up at him, a soft, teasing smile spreading across her face.

"You can put me down now," she breathes, her eyes dancing with mischief.

He reluctantly lowers her to the ground, still holding her gaze, trying to steady himself.

But as soon as her feet touch the ground, she kneels right at his crotch. "That's for not giving me a warning," she laughs, her sound teasing and light.

He winces, a mixture of surprise and discomfort crossing his features as he stumbles back. "Fuck."

She turns with a gleaming smile, beginning to walk away, glancing over her shoulder. "And now... I win. Dinner is on you," she calls back, her laughter lingering in the air.

"We are not done yet!" he calls out one last time, holding himself in pain.

part 2

[slut4jeon]

hi sugarplums update!!! 𝜗𝜚₊˚

firstly…

happy new years everyone!!! <3, ik im a little late to the party but i just wanted to share a few things w you guys

about fics…

I’m currently on the works on a few little things atm teehee

so here’s a lil sneak peak of what I plan the release out of the vault soon!!!

taking idea suggestions <3

Company pt 2

Pairing: brothers bsf!jk x fm!reader

Sypnosis: the annual ski trip held by your school was right around corner, but your relationship with jungkook isn't exactly "exclusive".

Note: continuation of "Company" I'm basing this off "To All The Boys I've Loved Before"

70% done

The Boy is Mine

Pairing: city council!jk x seamstress!reader

Summary: You didn't just fancy New Yorks City Councilman Jeon Jungkook. You were head over heels infatuated over the man whom you've been tailoring suits for.

10% done

The Girl Next Door

Pairing: Mechanic dilf!jk x ex pornstar!reader

Sypnosis: In search of a clean slate from her past of being an ex pornstar, 23 year old yn decides to move into her nana's hometown. What wasn't expected was to get intertwined with the next door neighbor, a single 32 year old mechanic fathering a toddler on his own.

20% done

Money is The Motive

Pairing: lawyer!jk x gold digger!reader

Sypnosis: Would you set aside your greed for the man you love?

Note: my inspo for this fic was based on the Mexican soap drama "Teresa". Basically a beautiful and smart woman born in poverty. She knows her worth and has any man eating out of her palm. However, her ambition gets the best of her when she begins deceiving those around her. She's a social climber and a gold digger who heartlessly pushes aside or uses those who care about her for her own benefit. She sets aside her emotions as she finds them to be a nuisance, she gets what she desires. Every time the protagonist of the soap drama tries to control her feelings, she tells herself: "Entre ser o no ser, yo soy" translating to "Between being and not being, I am."

80% done

Nightcrawler

Pairing: ex!jk x fem!reader

Sypnosis: Ending on bad terms, over two years have passed since your split. Goosebumps cover your skin like scattered crawlers at the thought of your exes return. Subsequently, the one man you've been anticipating to see is back in town and has his eyes set out for you.

Note: 90's inspired ish. I forgot to post this on Halloween but I’ve been holding it off far enough I might as well get it done.

75% done

Flatline

Pairing: fwb idol!jk x fem!reader

“I was out there on the road. Life out of control. She became a victim to my busy schedule. And I know that it's not fair. That don't mean that I don't care. This one's dedicated to the girl out there.”

WIP

[14dayswithyou]

I literally have the most amazing and wonderful community in the entire world???? T_T In this essay, I will—

This is going to be raw and unedited because I want to get my initial thoughts out there before I forget n go back to crying /pos, but?? Yawl.... I can't even begin to find the words to express how appreciative and grateful I am for each and every one of you!! ;v;

I've spent the past few hours reading through everyone's personally written messages, then rereading them all again to let it all fully sink in. I'm being genuine when I say that I've never felt this loved or appreciated in any community before in my life.

Those in the Discord server might know about this already, but since the start of this year, I haven't really been enjoying myself (nor have I been as active) in the yandere VN community. There was far too much infighting between devs, parasocial communities, and toxic anons that ruined so much for me — so I withdrew from it all and remained in my own small bubble. Even then, I still got belittled, harassed, doxxed, and even became the target of Tall Poppy Syndrome by others; most of which nearly made me want to leave altogether, but the overflowing amount of support from everyone in the 14DWY community made me want to stay.

And even now, after reading all those heartfelt messages... I think it's permanently solidified the little space I occupy here on the internet :3

So... Yeah, long story short (and a story that will likely end up as its own separate Tumblr post gjskskjd), I wasn't enjoying myself at all in the yandere VN community... but I did have the time of my life in the 14DWY community. And it's all thanks to you guys.

I'm genuinely sooooo proud to have such an endlessly kind, social, and talented community; and I'm glad to have brought such an interactive and friendly group of people together over our shared interest in such a nice concept. 14DWY is essentially a labour of my love — and although I'm ultimately creating it for me and my silly interests — it's still something that I want to make worthy of you guys as well. All the love and support you've shown me and 14DWY motivates me to do my very best, and y'all deserve nothing less. So...

Thank you all for finding a comfort character in my Totally Normal Guy and his Totally Not Eccentric quirks. Thank you for all the insanely talented creations y'all make and share with me. Thank you for sending in your silly (/pos) questions and turning them into inside jokes and AUs for the rest of the community to enjoy. Thank you for talking with me and making this space a genuinely fun place for me to be in again.

From the bottom of my heart; thank you all so much. I really hope everyone has had an amazing year so far, and I hope 2025 will be as kind to you as you all were towards me.

I also want to give a big fat massive huuuuuuuge shout-out to Ashe / @flaneur001 my love (/p) for organising the 14DWY letter event on Discord, and for contributing so much of their time and dedication to the 14DWY community. You say you've only been part of the community for a year, but to me, that was a year well cherished and appreciated. The 14DWY community (and me especially) have all been so lucky to spend this past year with you, and I sincerely hope you've enjoyed it as much as we have. You've done so much for me, the community, and the 14DWY Discord server, so it's only fair that you get the recognition you deserve. So thank you, Ashe!! And a big thank you to everyone in the 14DWY Discord who participated in this event as well!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cryin and sobbin to do <3 /silly /pos

[kiwriteswords]

Drabble request—trying to explain to Hotch posting him on Instagram/making it Instagram official!

The Hard Launch [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader Drabble]

Masterlist || Ao3||Word Count: 600

TW: Age gap, social media use, non-BAU reader, Aaron Hotchner POV

Aaron Hotchner had never been one for social media. Not one bit.

To him, the value of a private life far exceeded the lure of likes and comments. 

However, as he sat across from you in the soft glow of your living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way your fingers danced with nervous energy over your phone screen. 

Penelope, who lived next door to you, had been the architect of your meeting. Her intuition had proved impeccable, as usual. Despite the age gap of twenty years between you and Hotch, the connection was undeniable. It was your youthfulness that breathed new life into his structured world, and in turn, he offered a grounding stability you cherished.

Although, in this moment, he felt from an entirely different generation.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Hotch's voice was laced with caution as he watched you meticulously select a photo from your gallery.

You nodded, biting your lip in concentration. "Yes, but it has to be perfect. This isn’t just any post, Aaron. It’s us...going public. Officially."

Hotch’s brow furrowed, the corners of his eyes crinkling in thought. "And this is important because…?" His tone wasn’t dismissive, merely inquisitive. He genuinely sought to understand this slice of your world.

You paused, the selected photo of the two of you from Dave's retirement party displayed on your screen—both of you caught mid-laughter, a snapshot of genuine happiness. "It's about crafting the narrative we want to share. This," you gestured to the photo, "tells a story of joy. Of us. It’s not just for my friends but for anyone who comes across it. I want them to see the happiness we share, not just the age difference."

Hotch took the phone from your hands, studying the image. He had always been protective of his private life, especially after the tragedy with Haley and the constant threats that came with his job. But looking at the photo, the happiness evident in his usually reserved expression, he felt a rare surge of pride.

"You make a compelling argument," Hotch admitted, handing back the phone. "So, how do you make it ‘perfect’ then?"

You smiled, a sparkle of excitement in your eyes. "It’s about the caption too. It sets the tone." You started typing, your thumbs moving swiftly. "'A new chapter begins with endless possibilities,'" you read aloud, then looked up at him for approval.

"Poetic," he commented dryly, but his small, affectionate smile betrayed his appreciation. "You really think this is necessary?"

"It’s like marking a milestone," you explained, your gaze softening. "It's telling the world that this is my choice, our choice, and we’re happy. It's setting boundaries too, declaring that what matters is the narrative we choose to share and nothing else."

Understanding dawned on him then. It was a declaration, a way to control the story before others had the chance to define it for you. In his line of work, control was everything, yet here he was, learning a different kind of control—over personal perceptions and societal narratives.

"Okay, post it," Hotch said finally, the protective instinct giving way to support for your happiness. You looked at him, a mixture of relief and love washing over you, before pressing the share button.

As you set your phone aside, Hotch reached for your hand, a silent acknowledgment of the new step you both were taking. "How long until the world knows?"

You chuckled, "Give it a few minutes. Penelope probably already has the notifications on."

True to your words, within minutes your phone buzzed with Penelope’s enthusiastic approval and a stream of comments that followed. Hotch couldn’t help but feel a sense of rightness about it all. Maybe, just maybe, this social media thing had its merits, especially if it meant the world would know how proud he was to have you by his side.

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Redheads

synopsis: interactions between you and fred hechinger at a red carpet event for gladiator ii.

wc: 2.5+

rpf!!! don't like, don't read!!!

a/n: i love that soft, sweet, adorable man with all of my heart. my inspiration is how fred talks about sherry. the monkey. i'm down bad bro.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of these interviews. i definitely have more in mind for these two, but we'll see how this goes. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

The flashing cameras and yelling reporters have started to become the new normal, which was so not normal for you. You couldn't believe how far you'd come.

Granted, your role in the movie was definitely more in the supporting cast territory, but you couldn't deny how massive the production was. But even as a supporting actress, you still had quite a bit of screen time as the unnamed favorite concubine to Emperor Caracalla.

The fans who knew you called out your name from behind the velvet ropes and you smiled and waved as you walked by.

"y/n! y/n! Over here!" A reporter called out. You nodded and smiled as you approached, indicating your acceptance of the carpet-side interview. Your agent had warned you that not every journalist might want to speak with you and that you should accept any interview you came by. Thankfully, as the start of your night would show, that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" You beamed, coming to a stop in front of the camera. The reporter greeted you back and handed you a microphone glued to a mini Romanesque column. "Oh, wow. I love the microphone!"

"Thank you," She smiled. With a quick glance at her blouse, you saw a name tag that said 'MTV UK: Claire'. "It was my idea, actually."

"Incredibly creative! They should give you a raise, Claire."

"If you wouldn't mind saying that directly into the camera..." Claire trailed off with a chuckle and a mischievous glint to her eye.

You shot the camera as serious a look as you could muster. "MTV, if you do not give this woman a raise, I will riot in the streets."

"Alright alright, enough of that." Claire laughed out loud with a few shakes of her head. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, this old thing?" You smiled bashfully, grabbing at your skirt to twirl it around. The styling department had made sure that all the gowns worn during press had some Roman inspiration behind them. The piece you were wearing was off white in color, representing your character's position in society. Even with your character in mind, your dress was still breathtaking. The gown was composed of yards and yards of fabric, giving it this dreamy, flowy silhouette. The neckline was so beautiful, in the cowl style and draped ever so slightly off your shoulders. To say that you loved it would be an understatement. "Thank you very much, you look amazing yourself."

"But you are on a different level!" Claire gasped, no doubt to return the topic to you. Just like you were media trained, the reporters were too. "What was the thought process behind your look tonight?"

Your eyes lit up as this was something you had wanted to talk about. "Well, the styling department and I actually workshopped this look together. Of course we wanted it to be glamorous, this is the red carpet after all. But we also wanted to show the character through the outfits, you know?" She nodded along.

"Right, your character was quite impactful even with the few lines you had." Claire added, and you smiled in thanks.

"Yeah, thank you." You felt your face heat up at the compliment. "We wanted to still be true to her, under all the glitz and glamour. So that's why we went with the understated color, to not only show her position in society but also her demeanor throughout the film."

"But your jewellery is anything but understated." She laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't help myself." You laughed with her.

"Give us a quick tour."

You were almost dripping in gold, from your head to your toes. "We've got the hair piece." You brought a hand up to show the gold pins connected with chains littering your up-do. "Earrings upon earrings, all hoops." You pulled a strand back to show off your right ear clearly. Some were clip on earrings as you didn't have quite enough piercings to get them all. "The necklaces, of course. Some bracelets, some rings. But I think this cuff on my upper arm is my favorite."

"And these are all borrowed pieces from different brands?"

"Most of them are, yes." You confirmed with a nod. "But some are from my private collection. And some I might steal." You joked, getting a laugh out of Claire.

"Well, you really knocked it out of the park." Claire smiled, a tone of finality in her voice that showed you the interview was coming to a close. "And before we let you go, we've got one question we're asking everyone tonight. I think we can all agree that the cast of this movie is full of beautiful men." You giggled, a bit surprised at the turn in topic. "But people on the internet have separated them into two categories."

"Oh, have they now?" You asked, unaware of what she was talking about.

"Yes, they have. Gen Z has divided them into the brooding brunets and the freaky redheads." She explained, pulling up two little hand held signs. One with Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, the brooding brunets, and the other with Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger, the freaky redheads.

You couldn't contain the surprised laugh that escaped you at the sight of their little printed faces. "Oh my goodness!"

"So, as the resident Gen Z-er on the cast, who is your pick?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm the only representation of Gen Z here." You mused as you grabbed both the signs from Claire. You lifted up the 'freaky redheads' sign and pointed to Fred. "My friend is right there with me in the Gen Z territory."

"Alright, as the representation of Gen Z women, which team is more your style?" Claire asked as you studied the signs. "People are saying they went into the movie for the brunets and came out converted to team redheads."

"That's actually really funny," You chuckled as you looked down at both signs. "This is hard." You mumbled. A small smirk found itself on your lips as you thought of Fred seeing this clip later. Someone no doubt showing it to him, as he wouldn't find it on his own. "I feel like- yeah." You nodded with determination. "I'm gonna have to go with Fred- I'm going with team freaky redheads." You nodded. "I think it would be treacherous otherwise."

"Good choice. You'd break Emperor Caracalla's heart."

"And then he'd have my head." You laughed, stepping back. "Thank you for your great questions."

"Thank you for your time." Claire waved as you walked away. "We're gonna have a tally going throughout the night, and we'll see who wins. Team brooding brunets, or team freaky redheads." You heard her say to the camera as you moved further down the carpet.

'She looks so pretty!!'

'i love the thought process behind the outfit, you can tell she really loved her character'

'the reporter asked y/n if she prefers lucius and acacius or geta and caracalla and this girl really said FRED 💀'

'i love seeing new faces in hollywood, give young new actors a chance!!' ↳ 'right?? im so sick of them recycling the same actors for every big budget movie'

'she mentioned fred, not caracalla, twice, unprompted. i see you, y/n. you're just like us.' ↳ 'have you seen his interviews? he's literally the cutest i cant blame her 🥺'

A few steps down, another reporter flagged you down. This time, the questions were more centered around the acting itself.

"And was it difficult? In a previous interview, you've said that your character's growth was significant, but she had almost no lines in the movie."

"Yeah, I think in the final cut she only has... three lines?" You winced, looking upwards as you tried to recall what was and wasn't cut. "Though I'm not sure."

"So there were scenes where she could've said more?"

"Oh yeah, for sure! There was a lot of experimentation with my character throughout filming. Ridley's a genius and he was kind enough to truly take in my suggestions. There were times where I felt like she would actually stay quiet during a scene, whereas other times I felt like she would speak up. But yeah," You breathed in and furrowed your brows in thought as you tried to focus your answer back to the original question. "It was definitely a challenge. I had to really work on my micro-expressions. Lots of research, lots of practice. And lots of trust, too. With a character like mine, I really relied on Fr- on my fellow actors in those scenes. So yeah, definitely challenging. But who doesn’t love a good challenge?"

"And did you take any inspiration from other people's work? Any source material that helped you out as you built your character?"

"Of course!" You smiled, a hint of humor in your tone as you thought of your response. "Yeah, I did. Actually, one of the biggest inspirations for my role, believe it or not, was Ferb. From 'Phineas and Ferb'."

"The- The children's show?" The interviewer questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, Ridley thought it was brilliant!" You laughed. "We watched compilations of Ferb scenes on youtube together. And I know that Fred- Fred Hechinger, who plays Emperor Caracalla-, he also brought up Sid Vicious with Ridley, as well as other sources like that. Sir Ridley Scott has great taste, there's no denying that."

'ferb as inspiration for a movie like this,,, gen z in the film industry really are the gift that keeps on giving'

'im just imagining y/n and ridley scott curled up on the couch watching phineas and ferb reruns. that man is 86 years old. this is brilliant.'

'bro didn't even have to say anything and y/n still brought up fred 💀'

'the gen z cast members making ridley scott watch cartoons is sending me'

'not her pretending she didn't mean to say fred when she talked about trust, we all heard you y/n'

Unbeknownst to you, Fred's interviews were going much like yours, only a few feet behind you on the carpet.

"You look amazing today!" Claire, the same reporter you spoke to, told Fred during his first interview on the carpet.

"Thank you, thank you." He replied bashfully as he tried to subtly look around for you, but he couldn't see you just yet. "Everyone looks so great, everyone."

She asked him a few questions and then came time for her ending segment.

"Alright, to close off, we've got a little game here."

"A game?" Fred smiled with raised brows. "I love games." He said softly, not realizing that the microphone would pick it up.

"Yes, a quick one. You just have to choose between team brooding brunets and team freaky redheads. We've asking everyone to join."

"Woah!" Fred exclaimed as he received the signs. "That's me." He pointed out his own face in the picture of him and Joseph. "What are we basing our choice on here?"

"Well, the internet is battling on who is more attractive."

"Oh my god." Fred chortled, not expecting that answer. "Who's played the game?" He asked, still examining the hand held signs.

"As of now, we've spoken to Joseph Quinn, Connie Nielsen, and y/n l/n." Claire recounted.

Fred's eyes lit up and his cheeks reddened at the mention of your name. "And what's the- what's the consensus so far?"

"It's two to one. Can you guess who's in the lead?" Claire asked.

"Let me think... Well, Joseph -my brother-, he definitely voted for us." He pondered aloud as he counted the votes off on his fingers. "Connie... I think Connie went for team brunets. I mean, it's her husband. She's gotta." He grinned when it came to you. "y/n chose me, right? We're in the lead?"

"Yeah, you're right on all counts! You really know your cast members." Claire laughed. "y/n didn't want to anger Emperor Caracalla."

"Oh, she couldn't. I’ve got too much of a soft spot for her." Fred shook his head emphatically.

"So, are you keeping team redheads in the lead? Or will you give us a tie?"

"No, I'm going team redheads!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not helping out my competition, no way!"

'this man has bewitched me with his beautiful eyes and calming demeanor'

'he always calls joe his brother im CRYINGGG'

'did you see his face when they mention y/n, this man can't hide his crush for the life of him 🥺' ↳ 'neither can she lol'

'what do yall know about fred hechinger 🗣️🗣️🗣️'

'fred immediately knowing that y/n chose him, kill me right now.' ↳ 'mind you the choice was caracalla. she still said 'fred' and he said 'me'. can they be more obvious?'

'the way this man said 'i love games' protect him at all costs'

‘he said ‘i’ve got a soft spot for her’ is this the year of men yearning?’ ↳ ‘it’s just the paul mescal effect’

It was during his next interview that he saw you. He was talking about his experience building the character of Emperor Caracalla with Sir Ridley Scott as well as Joseph Quinn when he finally caught sight of you. You had spent a bit longer with a specific reporter down the carpet, causing Fred to catch up to you. 

“Of course, y/n was a great help as well.” He smiled, reaching over to brush against your elbow to catch your attention. At the perfect time, too, because you had just finished talking to the reporter in front of you.

“Oh, Fred!” You beamed, coming over to give him a hug. 

“Look at you.” Fred spoke against your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug and brought you into his side in front of the camera, almost like he was showing you off. “Look at her, isn’t she stunning.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes as you tried your best not to show how his compliment affected you. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just had to say hello.”

“No worries,” the reporter reassured you. “Fred was actually saying how you helped with the building of his character.”

“Yeah, we worked really closely during pre-production actually.” You nodded, acutely aware of Fred’s hands on you. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket while his other arm draped across your waist, his hand resting against your hip. “My character was almost like Caracalla’s sidekick, so the motives for all her actions are really based around him.”

“I’d argue that she was more of a mirror, actually.” You turned to look at Fred, never passing up an opportunity to hear his view on these things. “She’s the complete opposite of Caracalla, but in a way she represents who he truly is under all the pressure of being in Geta’s shadow.”

“And under all the syphilis, of course.” You added, causing Fred to giggle.

“Yeah, and under the syphilis.”

‘he seems like such a sweet guy 🥺’

‘did you see his face when he saw her???  😫😫😫 theyre in love, your honor’

‘him showing her off like that is peak soft boyfriend behavior’

‘they just called me single in seven different languages’

‘his laugh is actually so cute, who is this man and why am i in love with him? 😍’ ↳ 'get in line' ↳'behind y/n, you mean?'

‘the way he’s touching her???? im just gonna go take a nap in front of an oncoming train’

‘im calling it, new hollywood it couple’

‘look at how he looks at her!!! may this love find me 🙏’

[cherryxbooo]

I've got you ... always

Summary: Working as a Mercedes engineer has always been challenging, but with men constantly looking down on you, it becomes unbearable. Lewis is quick to put a stop to it, and fight for justice.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for the love you've shown me so far. I really appreciate it! 🤍 The reason I chose this storyline is to address the issue of sexism and misogyny in workplaces. Unfortunately, this still happens far too often, and with this fic, I hope to bring much-needed attention to this subject. Just know you're not alone 🫶

Reader x Lewis Hamilton

Warning: misogyny and sexism

It had been nearly six years since I first joined Mercedes as an engineer.

Six years of intense work, late nights, early mornings, and a relentless pursuit of perfection in the world of Formula 1.

It was my dream job, one I had worked tirelessly to achieve.

But those six years also marked the time I’d spent with Lewis, six years of love, laughter, and challenges with the man who had become my everything.

I could still remember the day we met as if it were yesterday.

A bit of backstory:

I was the newest member of the Mercedes team, fresh out of a competitive hiring process, and I was determined to make an impression.

The first time I stepped into the paddock, I felt like an imposter among the sea of seasoned professionals.

My hands clutched my tablet like a lifeline as I walked into a strategy meeting, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in my chest.

Lewis was already there, sitting at the far end of the room. He looked relaxed, dressed casually in his signature streetwear style, yet exuding an unmistakable aura of confidence.

As I took a seat near the back, his eyes flicked toward me.

I was sure he wouldn’t even notice me, why would he?

I was just another new face among dozens of team members.

But then, he smiled.

It wasn’t one of those polite, obligatory smiles.

It was warm and genuine, as if he could sense my nerves and wanted to reassure me.

That smile was like a silent message:

You belong here.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently.

At first, it was just in passing, a quick hello in the garage, a casual “How’s it going?” during lunch breaks.

But it didn’t take long for us to start talking. Really talking.

It was during a particularly chaotic race weekend in Silverstone that our friendship began to solidify.

A last-minute weather change had thrown everyone into a frenzy, and I found myself staying late in the garage to run some last-minute simulations.

The paddock was nearly empty when Lewis walked in, still in his racing suit, and caught me muttering to myself as I tried to make sense of the data.

“Long night?” he asked, leaning against the workbench with a lopsided grin.

“You have no idea,” I replied with a tired laugh, glancing up from my screen.

He stayed and talked with me for over an hour, even offering a few insights that helped me crack the issue I was stuck on.

By the time he left, I realized that the nervousness I’d felt around him was gone.

He wasn’t just Lewis Hamilton, seven-time world champion.

He was kind, funny, and incredibly easy to talk to.

From that moment on, our friendship grew effortlessly.

Whether it was over post-race debriefs, team dinners, or stolen moments between the chaos of race weekends, we found ourselves drawn to each other.

We bonded over a shared love for what we did, but also over our differences, his world of high-speed fame and my quieter, behind-the-scenes role.

It wasn’t long before I realized my feelings for him had shifted.

I hadn’t planned on falling for him, but Lewis had a way of breaking down walls without even trying.

He made me laugh when I was stressed, listened intently when I rambled about work, and made me feel seen in a way I hadn’t experienced before.

One evening, after a long day at the factory, he invited me out for dinner.

It wasn’t anything fancy, just a cozy little restaurant tucked away.

Over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, we talked about everything from our childhoods to our dreams for the future.

By the end of the night, when he walked me to my car, he hesitated for just a moment before leaning in to kiss me.

That was the beginning of us.

For a long time, we kept our relationship private. We both wanted to protect what we had, to keep it ours without the scrutiny of the public eye.

But as the months turned into years, it became harder to hide.

Fans started noticing the subtle signs, the way Lewis would glance at me during interviews, or how I always seemed to be nearby during race weekends.

When we finally decided to go public, it wasn’t a grand announcement or a carefully curated statement.

It was a simple photo posted on Lewis’s Instagram.

We were in Monaco, sitting on a terrace overlooking the harbor, the golden light of sunset washing over us.

I didn’t even know he’d taken the picture until he showed it to me later that night.

“Should I post it?” he asked, his voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking of the attention it would bring, but then I looked at him, at the way his eyes softened as he waited for my answer.

“Yeah,” I said with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

The response back then was overwhelming.

Fans flooded the comments with messages of support, and the media couldn’t stop speculating about us.

But through it all, Lewis and I stayed grounded, reminding each other that our relationship wasn’t for anyone else.

It was for us.

One of the things that made our relationship so strong was our ability to communicate.

From the very beginning, we had promised to tell each other everything, our fears, our frustrations, our dreams.

No topic was off-limits.

Whether it was a rough qualifying session for him or a challenging project for me, we leaned on each other without hesitation.

At least, that’s how it used to be.

Lately, I hadn’t been able to keep my promise to Lewis, to tell him everything, to lean on him like I always had.

The reason? Mark, Alan, and Greg.

They were three senior engineers on the team, men who had been with Mercedes long before I joined.

Older, more experienced, and as I had quickly discovered, painfully set in their ways.

From the very beginning, they had made it clear that they didn’t think I belonged.

I still remember the first time I overheard them.

It was during my second week on the job, and I was running a simulation late at night.

They didn’t realize I was in the corner of the garage, headphones off, sorting through notes.

“Hiring for diversity quotas,” Mark had muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Yeah, they want to tick a box, so they bring in the fresh-faced rookie,” Alan had added with a chuckle.

Greg, ever the opportunist, chimed in,

“Let’s see how long she lasts when the pressure’s on.”

"She's better off making us a sandwich."

Their words had stung, sharp and bitter, but I had swallowed my pride.

I told myself that proving them wrong would be the best revenge.

I worked harder than I ever had in my life, triple-checking my calculations, volunteering for extra tasks, staying long hours to ensure that my work was flawless.

And for a while, I thought it had paid off.

At first, the snide remarks tapered off.

They didn’t engage with me much, but at least they stopped openly questioning my abilities.

I had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, I had earned their respect.

But lately, the comments had returned, and they were worse than ever.

It started subtly, dismissive sighs during meetings when I spoke, or whispered conversations that stopped the moment I entered the room.

Childish right?

Then the snark escalated, cutting through my carefully built confidence like a knife.

“Did you even double-check this?”

Alan had sneered last week after a team briefing, gesturing at the simulation results I’d spent days perfecting.

Greg, never one to miss a chance to pile on, smirked as he added,

“Leave the big decisions to people who actually know what they’re doing.”

Then Mark's voice was heard,

"Yeah, go do the laundry or something, whatever you women are good in."

It was always wrapped in the guise of banter, thinly veiled behind forced smiles and casual tones.

But I wasn’t naïve.

There was a sharpness to their words, a deliberate attempt to undermine me that cut deeper each time.

Even Mark, the one who usually played the “neutral” party, had started joining in.

During a debrief on a race strategy I’d helped design, he had scoffed and muttered,

“Well, I guess every team needs its token young genius.”

It was relentless.

Every day, there was something, a comment, a glance, a dismissive laugh that made my blood boil.

But I kept it all to myself.

I told myself that it wasn’t worth causing a scene, especially now.

Lewis had enough on his plate.

His move to Ferrari had been the talk of the motorsport world, and while he was excited for the new challenge, the transition was anything but easy.

here were endless negotiations, media commitments, and the emotional weight of leaving the team that had been his family for over a decade.

I couldn’t bring this to him, not now.

Not when he was already stretched thin.

So, I stayed quiet.

I bit my tongue when Alan questioned my calculations, ignored Greg’s condescending remarks, and pretended not to hear Mark’s muttered jokes.

Each time, I told myself it was just words, that I could handle it.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could.

Lewis was busy.

I kept telling myself that over and over, like a mantra.

Between announcing his move to Ferrari, dealing with the media frenzy, juggling sponsorship demands, and the seemingly endless meetings, he had so much on his plate.

The last thing he needed was me adding my problems to the mix.

But today was different.

The garage was buzzing with activity as we prepped for the upcoming race weekend.

The sound of drills, clinking tools, and the hum of engines filled the air, a symphony of chaos I had grown to love over the years.

I was stationed at my usual spot, hunched over a set of data sheets, meticulously double-checking the aerodynamics report for any inconsistencies.

I was deep in concentration, my pen scratching against the paper, when their voices drifted over.

Mark’s gruff tone was unmistakable.

“What’s the point of her even being here? Probably just a pretty face for the team photos.”

I froze, my hand pausing mid-note.

My heart sank, but I willed myself to stay calm, telling myself to ignore it like always.

Alan, never one to pass up an opportunity, snorted.

“Yeah, but even that’s debatable.”

Their laughter was casual, almost conversational, but the sting of their words hit me like a whip.

Then Greg joined in, his tone dripping with mockery.

“She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver or maybe even the boss. Imagine thinking she got this job on her own merit.”

Mark laughed before adding,

"Maybe we can all ask her for a turn as well, if it's that easy to shag the boss, we might have a chance too."

"At the end of the day, that's all they're good at. Women don't belong in the motorsport world."

The room was filled with their laughter.

That was it.

My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the table as my hands began to shake.

I stared at the numbers on the page, but they were a blur, overshadowed by the burning heat of humiliation rising in my chest.

For years, I had endured their passive-aggressive comments, their dismissive attitudes, their constant undermining of my capabilities.

I had told myself it didn’t matter, that their opinions didn’t define me.

But hearing them reduce everything I had worked for, the late nights, the sweat, the tears, the sacrifices, to nothing more than being Lewis Hamilton’s girlfriend?

It was too much.

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails digging into my palms as I tried to hold it together.

But their laughter, light and cruel, echoed in my ears, shredding the last of my composure.

I pushed back my chair abruptly, the screech of metal against the concrete floor silencing the room for a brief moment.

My vision blurred with unshed tears as I grabbed my tablet and notes, clutching them to my chest like armor.

I didn’t dare look at them, I couldn’t.

My breath hitched, and my chest felt tight, like the walls were closing in.

I needed to get out. Now.

Without a word, I turned and stormed out of the garage, my footsteps heavy and uneven.

I didn’t care where I was going; I just needed space, air, something to stop the lump in my throat from turning into a sob.

As I walked away, their laughter faded into the background, but the words lingered, etched into my mind like a scar.

I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet carried me blindly, weaving through the maze of garages and team trailers until I found myself at the paddock’s edge.

It was quieter here, away from the relentless hum of activity, the chatter of crew members, and the ever-present cameras.

I sank onto a bench beneath the shade of a tree, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

Burying my face in my hands, I let out a shaky sigh.

My mind replayed their words like a broken record, each snide comment cutting deeper than the last.

"What’s the point of her being here?"

"Probably just a pretty face for the team photos."

"She’s only here because she’s shagging the driver."

The worst part was that they’d managed to plant a seed of doubt.

I had worked so hard to get here, put in countless hours, and sacrificed so much to prove myself in this male-dominated field.

And yet, in this moment, I felt like a fraud, like I didn’t belong.

“Y/n?”

The sound of Lewis’s voice cut through the fog in my mind.

I looked up sharply, my breath catching when I saw him standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.

He must have followed me.

My stomach twisted in a mix of guilt and relief.

The last thing I wanted was for him to see me like this, vulnerable, crumbling under the weight of my emotions.

“What’s wrong my love?” he asked, stepping closer and crouching down in front of me.

His warm, dark eyes searched mine, his hands gently resting on my knees.

The concern etched into his face made my heart ache.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly wiping at my face.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, his expression soft but skeptical.

“Don’t do that. Don’t shut me out.”

I hesitated, my resolve cracking under his steady gaze.

His presence was grounding, but I didn’t want to pull him into my mess.

“It’s nothing, really,” I tried again, forcing a weak smile.

“I just… I’m tired.”

“Y/n.”

His voice was low and firm, but there was a tenderness to it that made my throat tighten.

“Please. Talk to me.”

That was all it took.

The dam broke, and the words spilled out in a rush.

I told him everything, the comments, the dismissive attitudes, the years of enduring their quiet but cutting condescension.

My voice wavered as I explained how it had worsened recently, how their snide remarks had crossed the line into outright insults.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve been under so much pressure with everything, Ferrari, the media, the season. I didn’t want to be another problem for you to deal with.”

Lewis listened intently, his face unreadable as I spoke.

But the slight tightening of his jaw and the way his hands gripped mine told me he was anything but indifferent.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

I stared down at my hands, afraid to meet his eyes.

“They’ve been doing this for years?”

he finally asked, his voice low and tightly controlled.

I nodded, biting my lip. “It wasn’t always this bad, but yeah.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to add to your stress,” I said softly.

“You’ve been dealing with so much already.”

Lewis let out a slow, measured breath, his grip on my hands tightening.

“Y/n, nothing, and I mean nothing, is more important to me than you.”

His voice softened, but there was a fierce protectiveness beneath his words.

“You should’ve told me. They don’t get to treat you like this. Ever. No woman deserves this kind of treatment.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but Lewis was already standing.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his expression dark with determination.

“Lewis, what are you doing?” I asked, standing as well.

He glanced at me, his jaw set.

“I’m making sure this doesn’t happen again.”

I reached out, touching his arm.

“Lewis, please—”

“Y/n.” He turned to face me fully, his eyes locking onto mine.

“You’ve put up with this for far too long. I’m not letting it slide, and neither should you. This is your workplace, your passion. You shouldn’t have to deal with people who try to tear you down.”

His words hit me hard, a mix of anger and love wrapped in every syllable.

I nodded slowly, my throat tight with emotion.

“Good,” he said, his voice softening as he pulled me into a hug.

His arms wrapped around me tightly, and for a moment, I let myself melt into his warmth.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured into my hair. “Always.”

By mid-afternoon, the entire paddock was filled with noice.

Meetings with Toto were rarely casual, and the tension in the air was palpable.

I stayed out of sight, nerves twisting in my stomach.

When Lewis had assured me earlier that he wouldn’t let this go, I’d believed him.

But seeing the immediate repercussions unfold was a different kind of catharsis.

The walk to Toto’s office felt longer than it should have, every step heavy with anticipation.

Lewis had his hand firmly on the small of my back, guiding me through the bustling paddock.

His touch was grounding, but my nerves still prickled under my skin.

“Relax,” he said softly, leaning closer.

“We’re handling this together.”

I nodded, though my stomach was a tangled mess of knots.

The last thing I wanted was to cause drama, but after years of enduring Mark, Alan, and Greg’s behavior, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

When we arrived at Toto’s office, Lewis didn’t bother knocking lightly.

He rapped his knuckles on the door with purpose.

“Come in,” came the familiar voice from inside.

Toto was seated behind his desk, a stack of papers neatly arranged to one side.

His brows lifted in mild surprise when he saw the two of us enter together, but he quickly gestured for us to take a seat.

“This seems serious,” Toto remarked, his sharp eyes flicking between us.

"What’s going on?”

Lewis glanced at me, silently asking if I wanted to start.

I hesitated, my fingers twisting in my lap.

Noticing my reluctance, Lewis leaned forward.

“It’s about some of the team dynamics,” he began, his voice calm but tinged with an unmistakable edge.

“Specifically, the way Mark, Alan, and Greg have been treating Y/n.”

Toto’s expression shifted, his posture straightening.

“Go on.”

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak.

“For years now, they’ve made comments, snide remarks about my qualifications, my presence here. It started when I joined, but I brushed it off because I was new, and I thought I had to prove myself. But lately…”

My voice wavered, and I swallowed hard to steady it.

“Lately, it’s escalated. They’ve been openly dismissive of my work, undermining me during meetings, and even questioning my position on the team. Today, they went too far.”

Toto’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

“What happened today?”

Lewis’s hand found mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze as I recounted the incident.

“They implied I’m only here because I’m dating Lewis and that I used my body to get my position,”

I said quietly, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

“And that I didn’t earn my role.”

Toto exhaled sharply, his expression darkening.

“That’s not all,” Lewis added, his tone hardening.

“This has been going on for years, Toto. Years. Y/n didn’t tell me sooner because she didn’t want to cause problems, but that’s no excuse. Those three have created a toxic environment, and it stops now.”

Toto’s gaze shifted to me, his stern demeanor softening slightly.

“Why didn’t you come to me earlier, Y/L/N? This isn’t the kind of behavior we tolerate here.”

I shrugged, feeling small under his scrutiny.

“I didn’t want to be seen as a troublemaker. They’ve been here longer than I have, and I didn’t think anyone would take my word over theirs. Plus, I didn’t want to add more stress to an already intense environment.”

Toto shook his head, his voice firm but understanding.

“You should never have to tolerate that. Not here, not anywhere. The Mercedes team prides itself on being a family. What you’ve described is unacceptable, and I take full responsibility for not noticing it sooner.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, his jaw still tight.

“What’s the plan, Toto? Because I’m not letting this slide.”

Toto nodded, already making notes on a pad in front of him.

“First, I’ll be speaking to Mark, Alan, and Greg individually. They’ll be given the chance to explain themselves, not that there’s much room for justification here. If their behavior aligns with what you’ve described, they won’t be part of this team by the end of the day.”

A weight lifted off my chest at his words, but the tension in the room remained palpable.

“I want to be there,” Lewis said firmly.

Toto raised an eyebrow.

“Lewis—”

“No,” Lewis interrupted.

“This is personal. They didn’t just disrespect Y/n, they disrespected the team, the values we stand for, and me by extension. I need to make it clear that this behavior won’t be tolerated. From anyone.”

Toto regarded him for a moment before nodding.

“Fine. But let me handle the disciplinary side. You can say your piece, but I’ll deliver the consequences.”

Lewis nodded, satisfied.

“That works for me.”

Toto turned back to me, his expression softening once more.

“Y/n, I’m sorry you’ve had to endure this. If there’s anything else you need, support, time off, anything, let me know. I’ll make sure you feel safe and valued here.”

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion.

Lewis stood, pulling me up with him.

“We appreciate it, Toto. Let us know when the meeting is.”

“You’ll hear from me shortly,”

Toto promised, standing to shake Lewis’s hand before giving me a reassuring nod.

As we left the office, I felt a sense of relief wash over me.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel alone in this fight.

Lewis wrapped an arm around my shoulders as we walked down the corridor.

“We’ve got this,” he said softly, his voice full of conviction.

I leaned into him, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“Yeah, we do.”

Toto wasn’t one to waste time.

Within the hour, Mark, Alan, and Greg were called into his office one by one.

The first to arrive was Mark.

When he stepped in, he wore his usual smug expression, likely thinking this was just another routine meeting.

But Toto’s steely gaze and the presence of Lewis, standing tall with his arms crossed by the window, quickly shattered that notion.

“Have a seat, Mark,”

Toto said curtly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk.

Mark sat, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between Toto and Lewis.

“What’s this about?”

Toto wasted no time.

“It’s about your behavior toward Y/L/N,” he said, his voice sharp and unwavering.

“I’ve been informed of your repeated condescension, disrespect, and comments that have no place in this team, or any professional setting.”

Mark blinked, caught off guard.

“What? That’s not true. I—”

“Don’t bother lying,” Lewis cut in, his voice cold and firm.

He stepped closer, his dark eyes fixed on Mark.

“We’ve both heard enough from Y/n and other team members. You’ve been targeting her for years, haven’t you? Questioning her qualifications, making snide remarks about her role here, and today, outright implying she only got her position because of me.”

Mark’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“I… Look, it was just banter. No harm meant.”

“Banter?” Toto echoed, his tone dripping with disbelief.

“You call undermining one of the most talented engineers on this team banter? You call questioning her abilities and belittling her contributions banter?”

Mark leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice.

“Toto, I didn’t mean anything by it! I was just—”

“Enough,” Toto interrupted, his voice cutting through the room like a blade.

“I won’t tolerate excuses. You’ve created a hostile environment for one of your colleagues, and that is unacceptable. You’ve not only disrespected Y/L/N but also the principles this team stands for. I don’t care how long you’ve been here, Mark. Your behavior is grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Mark paled, his smugness vanishing entirely.

“Dismissal? Wait, Toto, please. I’ve been with this team for years. You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will,” Toto said, his voice resolute.

“Pack your things. Security will escort you out by the end of the day.”

Mark turned to Lewis, desperation in his eyes.

“Lewis, you can’t agree with this. We’re teammates, for God’s sake!”

Lewis’s expression didn’t waver.

“You stopped being my teammate the moment you disrespected Y/n. Pack your things, Mark.”

Mark’s shoulders slumped, and he left the office in silence.

Next was Alan.

He walked in with a similar air of confidence, though it quickly dissipated when he noticed the tense atmosphere.

“Toto,” Alan began, sitting down and glancing uneasily at Lewis.

“What’s going on?”

Toto leaned forward, his hands clasped on the desk.

“What’s going on, Alan, is that your behavior toward Y/L/N has come to light. Years of dismissive comments, snide remarks, and today, a blatant attack on her credibility. Care to explain yourself?”

Alan frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“Look, I might’ve been a little hard on her, but it’s nothing personal. She’s young and still learning. I thought she could use a bit of tough love.”

Lewis scoffed from his spot by the window.

“Tough love? Is that what you call undermining her at every turn and insulting her in front of the team?”

Alan shifted uncomfortably.

“She’s good at her job, I’ll give her that. But come on, Lewis, you can’t deny people have wondered if her connection to you played a part in her being hired. It’s not like I said anything everyone wasn’t already thinking.”

Lewis took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides.

“The only reason anyone would think that is because people like you spread that garbage around."

"Y/n earned her place on this team through her hard work and talent, not because of me."

We didn't even know each other when she joined. And even if, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, the way you’ve treated her is disgusting.”

Toto’s expression darkened further.

“Alan, you’ve been with Mercedes long enough to know we value respect and inclusivity above all else. What you’ve done isn’t just a breach of trust, it’s a breach of the very foundation of this team. Your actions have consequences. You’re fired, effective immediately.”

Alan stood abruptly, his face red with anger.

“You’re seriously going to throw away years of experience over a few jokes?”

“Yes,” Toto said bluntly.

“And I suggest you leave now before you embarrass yourself further.”

Alan glared at both of them before storming out, muttering under his breath.

Finally, it was Greg’s turn.

Unlike the others, Greg walked in looking visibly nervous.

He barely met Toto’s eyes as he sat down, fidgeting with his hands.

“Greg,” Toto began, his voice steady but firm.

“You know why you’re here.”

Greg nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I figured.”

“Then you know the kind of behavior we’re addressing,” Toto continued.

“You’ve contributed to a toxic work environment for Y/L/N and others. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Greg hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who was staring at him with barely concealed anger.

“I—I don’t have an excuse. I guess… I thought it was harmless, but it clearly wasn’t. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry.”

Toto’s brow furrowed.

“You thought it was harmless? You’ve made Y/n feel unwelcome and disrespected in her own workplace. That’s not harmless, it’s damaging. Apologizing now doesn’t erase what you’ve done.”

“I know,” Greg said quickly, his voice trembling.

“I know I messed up, and I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.”

“It’s too late for that,” Lewis interjected, his voice low but full of authority.

“You had years to change your behavior, and you didn’t. You don’t get to stay on this team after what you’ve done.”

Toto nodded in agreement.

“Greg, I appreciate that you’re taking responsibility, but the damage has been done. You’re no longer part of this team. Security will escort you out shortly.”

Greg’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded, standing to leave.

“My deepest apologies,” he said quietly before walking out.

By the end of the day, the three men were gone, and the Mercedes team felt lighter.

Word of the firings spread quickly, and several team members quietly expressed their relief and support for you.

Back in the garage, Lewis pulled me into a quiet corner.

“It’s done,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I nodded, a weight lifting off my chest.

“Thank you, Lew. For standing by me.”

“Always sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“No one messes with my girl.”

To all the women facing sexism at work, school, home or online: You are strong, capable, and deserving of respect. Don’t let anyone diminish your worth. Your voice matters, and you are making a difference just by being you. Keep pushing forward.

The end

[puck-luck]

plz feed us a little quinn blurb i need him so bad

mattias anon and i were talking about quinn's hand after seeing this pic of the injury the other day:

and i said "how is he meant to finger you in these conditions" and she replied "good thing he has a mouth!" so here is a munch!quinn thought :)

Quinn's eyes are dark as they stare up at you, cataloguing each contortion of your expression. His eyes seem to glint with pride each time his tongue draws a moan from you, alternating between your clit and your entrance.

He'll tease you one minute, then overwhelm you the next. He'll trace his tongue along the rim of your hole before dipping inside, licking into you as far as he can before pulling away. He'll circle his lips around your clit and suck harshly until you're writhing beneath him, latching onto the bundle of nerves the same way he does with your nipples.

Quinn has never been one to complain about having something in his mouth– not when that something is as pretty and as tasty and as vocal as you.

"Does it feel good, baby?" Quinn will ask knowingly, pulling away to give you a moment of reprieve before diving back in.

"Mhm," you hum, high in the back of your throat. You're so pent up from his tongue that yours feels too twisted to form words.

"So sweet," Quinn murmurs, licking a stripe up your cunt with the flat of his tongue. Then, he peppers kisses all over your inner thighs, finally returning to your core to toy with your clit. The tip of his tongue flicks over it rapidly, sending shockwaves through your system.

Quinn's gaze seems to dance with laughter when you arch off the bed and moan, hands flying to his hair and fisting the strands. His eyelids flutter when you pull at the mess of dark waves atop his head, the vibrations from his own moan traveling up your spine.

"Gonna come from just my mouth, baby?" Quinn asks. Sounding extra pitiful, he adds, "It's too bad I can't fuck you with my fingers. I know how you love being full." His face breaks into a smile, smug as he dives back in and prods at your hole. He nudges your clit with his nose, making sure to catch your reaction.

You don't bring up that his other hand works just fine, and he could use that instead, because you're caught up in the way your stomach coils. His tongue pushes past your entrance and pets your walls, and his nose bumps your clit again, and again, and again. Your hips are moving mindlessly, grinding against his face as you chase your orgasm, and Quinn simply looks up at you though his eyelashes. He never enjoys himself quite as much as he does when you use him to find your own climax.

ps! i have a few beaquinn ideas and quinn x reader ideas that i've been playing with in my mind, but i'm trying to finish stg10 at the moment. so those will come one day. i want to be better about posting more often!! i feel like i am not... but that's allowed. just keep letting me know what y'all want to read and i'll add it to the list :)

[cissy0writes]

Little Matchmaker

Part 1

(Jinx x gn!reader)

Summary: The little girl you've been taking care of for a few months stopped showing up one day. A few days later she's on your doorstep once again, but this time she isn't alone... (angst & fluff)

Warnings: mentions of violence and death, selfloathing thoughts, suicidal thoughts, probably ooc Jinx

Wordcount: 1.3k

A/N: Sorry for the delay, my weekend was way more hectic than I originally anticipated. And I worked two double shifts the last two days... This is still not finished, but I decided to cut it into two parts so I could at least post this, it's super short and Jinx only appears at the end, sorry for that... I was super tired while writing this (and as I already mentioned in my last post, english is not my first language), so I apologize for every mistake I didn't correct. I hope it's still enjoyable to read.

The first night she didn't show up, you didn't think much of it. Sure, there was that nagging feeling of worry in the back of your mind; but she was a smart kid- surely she was alright. By the third night, however, you were a complete mess. Your whole body was filled with nothing but anxiety and guilt.

You had looked for her, of course, you had. Day and night you made your way through the lanes, searching for the little girl to no avail. You started dreading the worst, she was dead, she had to be that was the only logical explanation. It's not like it was far-fetched either, Zaun was a dangerous place, and children died daily... You just didn't think she would.

You barely knew her for two months, but it was enough time for you to develop maternal feelings for her. You took her in, kept her well-fed and entertained, and even changed the whole room arrangement in your small house to give her a little space of her own. You planned on raising her to your best abilities and you failed. You failed her, you didn't protect her, you let her wander off... Her blood was on your hands and the guilt was eating you alive.

You always thought it was fate that led her to you, but now you weren't so sure anymore. Would fate be really that cruel? To give you a new purpose, a reason to stay alive, just to rip it from you again?

Perhaps this was fate's way of showing you that you had no reason to stay. Maybe you weren't meant to live a happy life, maybe you weren't meant to be alive at all.

That's all you could think about as you sat in front of the small window of your bedroom. You stared out onto the empty street, the undercity painted in the darkness of night. Your head was pounding- curtsy of the last three sleepless nights, and your eyes burned from the many tears you shed over the last days. You felt absolutely miserable, your mind showing you memory after memory you made with her over the last two months.

You were about to close up your shop when you heard the clashing of metal cans. With a frown you made your way to the window, peeking out of it with squinted eyes. That's when you saw her, a small girl covered in dirt and grease sitting between the trashcans with a pout on her young face.

Her brown hair looked matted and was covered in knots, her clothes dirty and ripped, and goodness did she look thin- like a single blow of wind would knock her down. You quickly made your way outside, wondering where she came from, if she still had parents, or at least somebody to look after her.

Once you reached her and crouched down in front of her with a frown, she looked up at you- face scrunching up in fear and started scrambling backwards until she hit the wall. You carefully held up your hands in front of you, showing her you were no threat. "Hey, hey... it's okay. I won't hurt you." You kept your voice as gentle as you could, and her rapid breathing started to slow down again.

She still looked skeptical of you, and honestly, you didn't blame her. Who knows what she faced, what she went through? You looked her over more carefully, searching for any wounds, but besides a few bruises on her knees and palms, she seemed unharmed.

You bit your bottom lip and looked up at the sky for a moment, it was starting to get dark. The girl's gaze followed yours and she let out a sound close to a whimper, which caused you to look down at her again.

Taking her inside was an easy decision. She was scared, hungry, and all alone; what else were you supposed to do? So, with a small sigh, you got up from your crouched position and held out your hand to her. And after a moment of hesitance, she took it.

She held your hand the whole time. From getting inside, closing the shop, and making your way upstairs to the small flat you lived in- she didn't let go once. It surprised you, how quickly she decided to trust you, but you supposed you were the first person to offer her at least some sense of safety.

As the two of you sat at your tiny kitchen table, a plate with hot porridge placed before her, you decided to ask her the question that's been on your mind since you noticed her.

"Hey kid," was all it took for her to look up from her plate, spoon held midway in the air, and a curious expression on her face. "Do you have a family? Anyone?"

Even though you alredy expected it, the shake of her head still sent a wave of sadness through your body. In that moment, you knew you would keep her around.

The first time you met her...

The memory caused you to break down in tears again. Your shoulders shook with every sob and you felt like you couldn't breath. Why did you let her go outside on her own? Why did you prioritize a stupid sale over playing with her? No money in the world was worth loosing her, and you would give anything to have her back.

You were tired, so damn tired, but you wouldn't allow your body the rest it so clearly needed. You were punishing yourself, why should you let yourself rest? You clearly didn't deserve it. You wiped at your eyes and tried blinking your vision back to focus. But the sight on the street caused your heart rate to pick up; this couldn't be real, you were hallucinating from exhaustion.

You frantically rubbed your eyes and leaned closer to the window, your nose almost pressed against the glass. But it seemed like your mind didn't decive you, she was still there, walking towards your shop.

Isha.

She was alive!

You pushed yourself up, the chair you were sitting on falling backwards and landing on the floor with a dull thud. Then you ran, you ran as fast as you could, outside the room and down the stairs. You pushed the door of your shop open, the door swinging harshly against the wall.

"Isha!" You screamed as you ran towards her small figure, tears still running down your cheeks at a rapid pace.

She looked at you with a smile, oblivious to the worry she caused you, as she picked up her pace.

You fell to your knees in front of her and pulled her tightly against you, pressing your cheek against the top of your head and closing your eyes. Your sobs slowly died down and you took shaky breaths to calm yourself.

Isha was alive, she was safe and unharmed in your arms. Where has she been? Did you even care? Not right now, you decided. Now you were just going to hold her for a while. She was alive. nothing else mattered.

The call of your name from an all to familiar voice, a voice that still haunts your dreams, caused you to snap your eyes open abruptly. You hadn't noticed that Isha wasn't alone, you were far too relieved to see her, so you blocked anything else completely out.

But as if your poor heart hadn't been through emotions already, you were now faced with the very person who broke it. Your eyes widened as you stared at her, her gaze looking almost haunted as her violett red eyes met yours.

Jinx. She was right in front of you, and now you were vividly picturing the last time you saw her in your mind.

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 2.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

-

A/n: The first chapter was a bit short cause it was a test-run honestly, but I am planning on doing an outline for this story as well. I'm definitely neglecting my previous wips, but i don't have a lot of motivation for them right now. Hopefully, however, I will get to them soon!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

The characters may be ooc, but I did do my best. Please let me know how I did!

-

Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

rehab masterlist. chapter 1.

The ride to Wakanda had been slow and uneventful and tense so far. While Steve had attempted to read the black book that had been beside the soldier's cryostasis pod, his attempts proved unsuccessful.

The whole book was written in Russian, which Steve wasn't versed in at all. So, it had been up to Bucky to look through the book despite his apprehension.

Just like with the red book that came with him, the book within his hands doubled as an instruction manual as well as a history of the soldier that was still sitting rigid behind him; unblinking and unmoving. The book didn't give her a name, which frustrated both Bucky and Steve, but wasn't surprising at all.

HYDRA didn't care for who the person was before they became a tool. All that mattered was who you were to them in the moment, what you could offer, what you did, and if you were valuable enough to keep under their watchful eyes.

To them, the woman was Winter Soldier #08, Subject #2018, which was a peculiar number that stood out to Bucky. Her activation words were different than his as well, as was expected, and he frowned at the words that seemed to take root within his mind and piqued his interest at what the possible connections between them and the soldier were.

Holiday. Cross. Shatter. Stimulation. Integrity. Sport. Axis. Assumption. North. Aurora Borealis.

They were so seemingly random that Bucky's mind was starting to hurt trying to tie together some type of story. While his activation words had an inkling of a connection to his life, these seemed almost benign.

Within the activation section, there were a couple of hastily-scribbled notes that detailed about the soldier's history of resistance and the methods that worked best for such occasions, preferred mission-types, experimentation documentation, and some key accounts of the soldier's missions that were note-worthy to HYDRA.

There was one note that stood out to Bucky, however, that had him on the edge of his seat and growing further uncomfortable as he read.

'NOTE: WS #08 is known to be hostile even after activation. Be prepared to meet resistance with severe punishment (Flagellation, Cattle Prod, and High Frequencies favored). Further reprogramming required to fix flaws.'

It wasn't too entirely unknown for a subject to be resistant. Bucky could recall times where he had resisted in moments where he remembered bits and pieces of his life before HYDRA stripped him of his humanity.

Despite what he had told his therapist and Steve, he still had nightmares about the punishments he received while he was the Winter Soldier.

No amount of time within the Mind Chair could ever erase the recollection of the sick things HYDRA did to him to make him listen and be obedient.

Bucky could still feel the hands on him in the moments his mind forced him to remember: the painful intrusions, the feeling of a whip against his back, fingers digging into his scalp and yanking his hair, voices yelling profanities and insults and sexual degradations as he was beaten, tortured, assaulted; whatever HYDRA wanted in those moments.

Taking a shaky breath, Bucky closed his eyes for a moment before Steve's voice had the arms on his hairs standing; forcing Bucky to jump out of his mind and back into the present as the Captain addressed him.

"Shouldn't be too long now before we arrive. Any luck on our guest?"

Bucky shook his head, murmuring softly as he glanced down at the book again.

"So far, nothing. There's a couple notes that say she's hostile before and after activation and some methods that prove successful in making her obedient, but that's mainly it. She's been involved in a lot of assassinations, espionage, a couple data breaches: the whole nine yards."

Steve pursed his lips, shaking his head as he sat back in his chair, staring down at the ground as he became lost in thought.

"If she's a highly-valued asset, then why did they leave her in the facility? Seems like she was pretty high on the ladder just to be left where she was."

Bucky and Steve slowly shared a look with each other before alarm bells began to go off in Bucky's head, and he spun around in time to catch the Soldier's wrist, a large knife within her hands. Steve looked shocked, grunting as he jumped back, and Bucky gripped their wrist hard.

The soldier glared at him before bringing her knee up, slamming into his stomach and forcing him to fall back into the control panel of the quinjet. Steve jumped into action then, calling desperately as he dodged a kick to the face.

"Please, we don't wish to hurt you-"

"-but we will if we have to."

Bucky seethed, Steve giving him an exasperated look. The woman didn't hesitate, throwing the knife at Steve as hard as they could. Steve ducked, his blue eyes widened as the knife embedded into the glass of the windshield; cracks webbing throughout the ruined blade.

During this moment, the Soldier turned her attention back to Bucky as he charged, throwing punches that she expertly dodged and ducked from, her fists punching hard into his ribs and face as he missed. The hits hurt like hell, his face contorting into pain before he swung with his left arm, hitting her in the side and throwing her into the wall.

The woman let out a grunt as she smacked into the side of the quinjet, and Bucky cursed loudly when she grabbed the strap of a supply crate and hurled it at him. As he flew back into the seat, Steve came rushing at her, throwing his shield and hitting her in the side of her knee once it ricocheted off of the wall.

The soldier yelled out in pain, crumpling slightly, and Steve immediately tackled her to the ground. The two of them smacked hard onto the metal flooring, and she punched Steve as hard as she could, the man letting out a hiss as pain bloomed within his cheek.

In that split second, she bucked her hips, her legs coming up to wrap around Steve's neck and forcefully slammed him onto the ground, his head smacking against the edge of a seat and disorienting him. The soldier was quick to scramble to her feet despite her wounded knee, and Bucky met her with a punch to her gut, making her double over and audibly retch.

He then grabbed her by the back of her neck, swinging her back and then forward into a seat a couple of times, her mask breaking off in the process, and she jumped up, using the wall for leverage as she swung herself onto Bucky's back, wrapping her arm around his neck to begin choking him.

Bucky grit his teeth, snarling as he reached behind him with his left arm, curling his metal fingers around her broken knee and squeezing as hard as he could.

Throughout her cries of pain, he could hear the sickly sound of bones shattering; could feel the way her skin and bones crushed beneath his grip, and Bucky was able to breathe again as her grip became loose.

He swung himself backwards into a wall, smacking her against it over and over until she finally let go of him, falling down onto the floor. Grabbing her wrists, Bucky called over his shoulder as he restrained her.

"You alright, Steve?"

"I'm just peachy."

He dropped down next to Bucky, wrapping electromagnetic cuffs onto her wrists before forcing her up and into a seat. The soldier's head was bowed, the cuffs smacking into the wall and jerking her body slightly, and Steve made sure to secure her legs as well.

Once she was properly restrained, Steve glanced at Bucky, noting the anger that was on his face; his jaw clenched and blood running down his temple. He was panting, his whole entire body tensed, and Steve took a few deep breaths as well before he turned back to the soldier.

"Seems like your bad feeling turned out to be right."

"We never should have done this."

Bucky's words were harsh, his blue eyes glaring at Steve as the man hissed out.

"I told you that there was going to be a problem, and there was. There's no hope for these people. They are programmed to kill and serve HYDRA and that is it."

"Even if there is no hope, we still need to try. We saved you, and we can save others."

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. There wasn't really any use in trying to fight Steve on this. Bucky understood that Steve came from a good place and had good intentions, but Bucky couldn't keep the anxiety and fear from filling him.

What if something happened? What if HYDRA had found him again and this was their plan all along? Bucky turned back to the woman as her head lifted, and both of the men seemed surprised at being able to see her face clearly.

There were horrific scars on the bottom half of her face that had been concealed by the mask; some of them raised and seemingly new while others were faded and old. Her bottom lip was cut, blood trickling down her chin, and her nose seemed to be broken as well.

Her (e/c) eyes were glaring at the two of them, a cut above her brow from Bucky slamming her into the wall, and Bucky looked taken back. Steve walked forward slightly, frowning.

"What is your mission?"

Her eyes flicked to Steve, her lips pursed, and she simply hissed out as menacingly as she could.

"Heil Hydra."

She sat back, and Bucky hissed out, a fire raging within his eyes as he snarled.

"Ответь на вопрос, солдат. Какова ваша миссия?"

There was no response. Instead, the soldier seemed to begin staring in front of them; becoming vacant and frozen again. Bucky huffed in frustration before he turned to Steve, shaking his head.

"If you still want to go through with this, you need to let Shuri and T'Challa know that she's hostile and active."

"I'll let them know. We're only a few minutes out."

Bucky nodded before he sat opposite of the soldier, muttering.

"I'll keep an eye on her."

Steve gave Bucky a weary look, an expression of apprehension and concern on his face, and he wiped away some blood that had trickled out of his nose.

"Alright. Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

Steve pursed his lips slightly before he walked to the front of the quinjet, immediately opening a communications line with T'Challa, and Bucky stared right at the soldier.

Despite the fact that she was looking at him, it seemed that she was mentally somewhere else. Blood was still running down her nose and chin, dripping onto the floor, and Bucky couldn't help but to clench his jaw as the sound of the dripping ripped into his memories.

Cloth over his face, a bright light from above, boiling hot water slowly burning his skin with every drop, he couldn't breathe. he can't breathe.

Breathe. Breathe. Let me breathe. Please. Let me breathe! LET ME BREATHE!

Bucky shook his head furiously, and he only felt bitter and disgusted by the amused look that seemed to flash within the woman's eyes. Clenching his fists, the man simply huffed as he listened to Steve talk with the King, the kingdom of Wakanda coming to view.

-TIMESKIP-

"What on earth would possess you to come to the notion that bringing an active Winter Soldier into my kingdom would be a good idea?"

T'Challa was not happy. As Steve and Bucky stood in front of the king, the Dora Milaje surrounding them with a tight grip on their spears at the information Steve had given T'Challa, the king was frowning deeply while Shuri stood next to him with a curious gaze. Steve looked apologetic while Bucky kept his arms crossed, biting his cheek as Steve spoke, the king glancing at Bucky all-the-while.

"I know this isn't really conventional-"

"-it is unacceptable! What you are asking for is not negotiable!"

Okoye was understandably angry as well, her eyes wide with fury as she took a step forward, and T'Challa hummed to her gently.

"Okoye."

The woman did not relent, simply squinting her gaze as Steve bowed his head in shame. Bucky clenched his jaw slightly, and T'Challa glanced at Steve.

"Your vision is noble, and I respect what you are trying to accomplish...but you are asking me to put my people at risk. It was different for Sergeant Barnes...but this...woman...is still under the complete control of HYDRA's programming."

Steve sighed slightly before he pleaded gently.

"I can watch over her...keep her from hurting anybody if something goes wrong. Stark wasn't willing because he doesn't have the technology to reverse the programming like you do, and Wanda is currently MIA."

T'Challa laughed slightly, shaking his head.

"The world will question where Captain America has gone. You cannot ignore your duties to promise something you cannot be sure that you can keep."

Shuri then piped up, suggesting with a shrug.

"Why not have Sergeant Barnes look after her? He has the most experience, after all."

"Absolutely not."

Bucky frowned deeply, shaking his head.

"I have to agree that this is a bad idea. I know that it was different for me, Steve, but that's the issue: I knew you. I had something to cling to...a name, memories and dreams...this woman is completely unknown."

Steve was beginning to look defeated, and Shuri's voice made everyone turn to her.

"If it makes a difference: I would be interested in working on restoring the woman's previous identity, but only if Sergeant Barnes will stay to watch over the process. My brother is right: The Avengers may be a team, but they need their Captain Colonizer to help in times of need."

"Shuri."

T'Challa's voice was stern, but Shuri and Okoye shared a look of amusement with each other before she hummed at the sight of Bucky's apprehensive expression.

"Your expertise on this matter will be beneficial, Sergeant Barnes. I'm afraid that Mr. Rogers will be of no help except for physical."

T'Challa rubbed his temples slightly, and Shuri offered, glancing at the king.

"If it brings you comfort, then I shall have Okoye and select members of the Dora Milaje to accompany as well. The soldier shall be put into cryostasis at all times except for observations and testing."

Steve looked hopeful, and he pleaded softly, T'Challa staring him down with apprehension.

"You have my full cooperation that if something goes wrong, then I will answer for it. I know that what I am asking for is dangerous, but she was a person too. This woman probably had a whole life before HYDRA took it away...just like they did with Bucky and your father."

Okoye bared her teeth slightly at the mention of the late king, and T'Challa shook his head, humming.

"There is no need to appeal to my sympathy. Shuri has made up her mind, and I have learned long ago that even if I do not agree, she will do what she pleases."

Shuri smirked slightly, joking as she patted his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you understand me."

All the while, Bucky was clenching his fists, hidden beneath his crossed arms. There was no way that this was going to go well, and though there was a part of Bucky that did understand and did agree with what Steve wanted to do, there was another part that understood how incredibly risky this was.

Take it from him: this woman was dangerous, especially since she seemed to still be active on pre-existing orders. It was even riskier given the fact that nobody knew what her orders actually were. Steve glanced over at Bucky as he stared at the ground, and he placed a careful hand on his shoulder.

"Buck, I know I'm asking a lot...but she needs somebody."

"She tried to put a knife through our heads, and you're saying that we owe her?"

Steve frowned, and Bucky couldn't stand to look at him in fear of seeing the disappointment. Feeling under pressure and on-the-spot, Bucky sighed and his shoulders sagged.

"Fine, I'll stay and help, but Steve, if something happens...this one is on you."

Steve looked relieved, and he thanked him quietly, saying as Shuri grinned while Okoye and T'Challa shared a stern look together before Okoye began to whisper to T'Challa quietly.

"I know, and I'm ready to accept that responsibility should it come to that. I just...someone's gotta be looking for her, Bucky."

Bucky just shook his head, muttering.

"We don't know how long HYDRA has had her, so there might not even be anybody to miss her."

"But she deserves a chance to be her own person just like you."

Bucky shared a look with Steve, staring at him for a moment before he groaned.

"I hate it when you do that shit. I already said I would help, I'm just...there's a lot that could go wrong."

Steve countered, nodding his head slightly as he rocked slightly on his heels.

"There's a lot that could go right too."

"Yeah, say that to the killer headache you're gonna have tomorrow."

Steve chuckled slightly, joking.

"Already there, but thanks for the concern."

"Whatever."

Shuri clapped her hands together, saying.

"Well, now that we've got this settled, shall we bring our honored guest into the lab?"

T'Challa hummed, his Black Panther suit appearing as the Dora Milaje immediately stood at the ready as Shuri stood a bit behind T'Challa.

"Be cautious. We don't know know what is going to happen once those doors open."

"No need. She's been completely restrained, there's no way she's gotten out."

Sure enough, when the door to the quinjet opened, the woman was still sitting rigid; staring at the opposite wall. Steve hummed, walking up the steps, and Bucky followed reluctantly.

"Welcome to Wakanda."

Steve said before picking her up by one of her arms, Bucky grabbed a firm hold of the other with his metal arm. With her feet dragging on the ground, it was apparent that she was not going to fight back.

However, that did not stop the Dora Milaje from pointing their spears at her as Steve and Bucky took her inside. As Shuri, T'Challa, and Okoye followed, Shuri voiced to T'Challa gently.

"I will take care in monitoring her behaviors and will let you know the second that I am given any indication that rehabilitation will be unsuccessful."

T'Challa hummed, a slight frown upon his face as he stared at the woman in front of him.

"No need to worry. Should something happen, I am ready to take the necessary steps to ensure the safety of Wakanda."

-

STORY NOTES: While on the way to Wakanda, Bucky and Steve have attempted to identify the woman by reading through the book that was accompanying her cryostasis pod. However, Bucky's efforts are fruitless. Instead, Bucky discovers the activation words associated with the Winter Soldier and other important details about the history of the soldier.

Reflecting on his time as a Winter Soldier, Bucky begins to become increasingly agitated and worried about the situation. Steve makes an observation on the peculiarity of HYDRA leaving behind a highly-regarded asset when the woman begins to engage the two super soldiers in combat.

Despite Bucky and Steve sustaining significant injuries, they are eventually able to subdue the Winter Soldier by Steve breaking her kneecap with his shield and Bucky further crushing it. Although they question the winter soldier, she becomes withdrawn and silent; refusing to answer any questions.

When they arrive to Wakanda, T'Challa, Shuri, and the Dora Milaje are waiting for them. T'Challa is upset by Steve bringing the seemingly-active Winter Soldier to Wakanda, voicing his concerns on her presence while Steve pleads his case.

Shuri makes a suggestion that Bucky should stay to watch over her because Steve has prior obligations to the Avengers. Bucky adamantly refuses, but Steve manages to convince Bucky to stay in Wakanda to not only protect the people, but to be there for the woman should Shuri's methods be successful.

Shuri then suggests to bring the Winter Soldier to her lab, and the two Avengers begin to escort her inside, T'Challa and the Dora Milaje ready to engage should the Winter Soldier try to fight. Shuri reassures T'Challa that she will alert him as soon as she possibly can if something goes wrong, and T'Challa reassures Shuri that if the Winter Soldier escapes and causes harm that he is willing to kill her to ensure the safety of Wakanda. End Scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Ответь на вопрос, солдат. Какова ваша миссия? - Answer the question, soldier. What is your mission?

TAGLIST: @vicmc624 @tilldeathripsusapart

[4linos]

the one that got away

han jisung x fem!reader (hint of hyunjin x reader)

synopsis: jisung struggles with his unspoken love for his best friend as new year’s eve reveals that he’s too late.

wc: 926

(a/n: my late nye post. i’m sorry it’s angsty too. 😢)

Jisung's heart was pounding steadily, drowning out the wild laughing and pounding music from the party. The air felt too heavy and suffocating. He had been looking for you for what seemed like hours, but time was running out, and the countdown was already beginning. He needed to find you. He had to tell you. For years, he had buried it. The feelings. The slight aching that had developed in his chest whenever you mentioned another guy.

Jisung would grin and nod whenever you talked about how much you liked someone or how you were falling for them, his voice composed and his face neutral. But inside? Each word from you was like a blade twisting deeper into his chest.

Tonight, though... Tonight, he planned to say it. He wanted to confess tonight, with the promise of a fresh start with the new year. He was not going to hide anymore. He was not going to let you slide through his fingers one more year. He needed to be brave.

And so, when he finally saw you, laughing brightly within the crowd, his stomach twisted in an unfamiliar way. You weren't alone. Hyunjin was there. Of course he was. Hyunjin, with his effortless charm and that goddamn smile, had everyone swooning. Jisung stood still, staring at the two of you, feeling a weight in his chest that he had never experienced before.

You were talking to him in the same way you had with so many others before: joking, teasing, lighthearted, and carefree, but it wasn't just that. It was more than just the playful back and forth. It was the way you touched his arm, your fingertips lightly brushing over his sleeve, and the way Hyunjin's gaze stayed on you, soft and centered. Jisung's chest squeezed severely as he stood in the corner of the room, feeling isolated in his own existence.

He couldn't move. He could not even breathe. It wasn't meant to be like this. You were not supposed to be so perfect with him. Not with Hyunjin. Not like this.

Even though he was only a few steps away, the distance between you widened as the countdown began. You were still so lost in him, and for a moment, Jisung felt crushed by the weight of his own emotions. He shouldn't have let things get this far. He shouldn't have let himself love you in this way. He had always been worried of ruining what the two of you had together. But now, it felt like everything was slipping away.

The clock struck midnight, the world erupted in cheers, and Jisung's world collapsed in the form of a kiss. Your lips touched Hyunjin's in front of him, and everything stopped. The sound of fireworks outside seemed to fade into the background. It was only you. It's just you and him. The two of you were caught in that kiss, the kind that people only share after they've passed that boundary and know who they are to each other.

Jisung had no idea how long he'd stood there, staring. He had no idea how much of his heart had broken in that one second. All he knew was that it felt like someone had ripped a huge, raw hole in him that he couldn't ignore. His thoughts raced around in circles, too rapid and furious.

This isn’t what I thought it would be. This isn’t what I imagined. This wasn’t how I planned for it to go. 

When you moved away from Hyunjin, your gaze fixed on him. You smiled softly, with your brow furrowed in anxiety.

"Jisung?" you asked, your voice soft. "Are you okay?"

He wanted to scream. He wanted to say no, to tell you that he wasn’t okay, that everything in him was breaking. That he was never okay, that he had never been okay, as he’d watched you walk past him for years, falling for everyone but him.

But the words didn’t come. The lump in his throat was too heavy, his chest too tight. He swallowed, hoping to force the emotions down, but they just surged harder. He couldn’t do this. Not now. Not like this.

Instead of answering, Jisung did the only thing he could do. He turned away, his body moving on instinct, unable to stand there anymore. He couldn’t bear the sight of you, the sound of your voice, the warmth of your concern, when everything in him screamed I’m the one who’s been here all along. I’m the one who’s always loved you.

His feet carried him out of the room, out of the party, out of everything that felt like it might shatter him even more if he stayed.

The cool air hit his skin, sharp and biting, but it couldn’t touch the rawness inside him. He needed to get away, to disappear into the night, because the image of you with Hyunjin, your face lit up with joy, your heart elsewhere was suffocating him.

Jisung sobbed in the dark, alone with his thoughts. He didn't want anyone to see it. He didn't want you to know how much it hurt, how much he wanted to be the one you kissed. How he had waited so long for that moment, only to find you in the arms of another.

He'd passed up his chance, hadn't he? He'd let his fear rule him, let his own damn self-doubt stop him from taking the risk. And now the world felt too heavy.

Happy New Year, Jisung.

It wasn’t, though. Not for him. Not anymore.

//

masterlist

[loredrinker]

Inflection, Context, and Elven: Lavellan’s Veilguard Ending (romance state)

Lately, I’ve seen quite a bit of criticism directed at a romanced Lavellan on my dash - particularly in the Veilguard ending, interpreting her as needy, egotistical, or entitled.

And I am wondering: Did we watch the same ending? (I find it fascinating how differently people interpret the same moments - such a reflection of the human experience.) And I couldn't help myself! I felt compelled to share my interpretations so I punched this out the last few days.

The sticking point seems to be Lavellan’s words, especially the ones spoken in Elven.

It seems like a common interpretation of Lavellan’s words here are: 

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.” (Implying possessiveness or entitlement - and that she alone will make it better.)

The game’s delivery offers no inflection on any word though. For me, it’s always been: 

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.” 

It’s subtle, but very different. This is just one micro-example of how much nuance is packed into the dialogue in the Veilguard ending. These lines shouldn’t be taken in isolation - especially not the Elven ones. They should be understood in the context of what Solas says to Lavellan in Elven just before, and beyond that, within the history established in Inquisition and Trespasser.

Indulgent Solas x Lavellan post ahead.

Note: I respect and appreciate all Solas ships and I will never post negativity towards other interpretations in this space. Everyone deserves to enjoy their creativity and find joy in their community. There’s more than enough Solas to go around. As for Lavellan’s portrayal in VG, it's not perfect. I understand the devs had the impossible task of balancing every interpretation of her. Some dialogue between Rook and Lavellan took me out of gameplay a bit. But I recognized then they had to condense countless versions of her into one, and perfection wasn’t possible. In general I have honest criticisms about the game but try to keep my posts positive overall.

Still here? Excellent. (And sorry, it's another long post.)

"Elven is often a game of intents, not direct mapping of phonetic meaning." The language doesn’t rely on straightforward translations of sounds or words into specific meanings. Instead, it operates on a deeper level, where intent and context carry as much weight.

Earlier in the game, when Solas confronts Elgar’nan, he says: “I must speak to you in this tongue. It seems Elven is beyond your grasp.” This insult implies that Elgar’nan has lost the ability to understand the nuanced, metaphorical nature of the language. Elven relies on shared understanding, rhythm, intent, to convey its full meaning. By Lavellan and Solas choosing to speak Elven to each other it's an acknowledgement of their shared understanding - a connection rooted in their history going back to Inquisition.

Which is why I embrace it in my interpretations.

I disliked that Veilguard kept out the Elven words and left only the English translations in. They can be found here: (Elven Language - Dragon Age Wiki)  But for funsies, let's take Lavellan’s actual Elven dialogue and translate it literally: Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan. We already know from Inquisition that Banal nadas translates roughly to "Nothing is inevitable" - the same phrase Solas uses when confronting the Nightmare Demon. So Lavellan is saying: "Nothing is inevitable. I love you, my heart."  The gall of this woman! 

Since I do my best to keep my posts playing in the game’s sandbox, I’m going to just look at what the game tells us the translations are and not get into actual translations (others have done that far better than I ever could). There are some great fandom language resources linked at the end of this post. 

Let's start where Lavellan enters and speaks in the common tongue: 

This is personal and expansive. On one level, she’s speaking as someone Solas has wronged, reminding him of the pain he’s caused her directly. But on another, she’s channeling the voices of countless others whose lives were affected by him and who will be shattered by his actions. It’s a challenge that blends her role as both an individual and the Inquisitor.

It’s also not a condemnation. Lavellan doesn’t lash out or accuse him of being irredeemable. Instead, she questions him, cutting through to reach the man beneath. She’s speaking to Solas (wisdom).

"Vhenan" is acknowledging his love for her but it’s also symbolic of his heart, the part of himself he’s buried and tried to ignore, suddenly reappearing. Solas has spent much of his journey detached and isolated, removing his heart metaphorically to push forward with his plans without the weight of emotional ties. Lavellan’s presence makes it impossible for him to keep it hidden. His heart is right there, exposed and speaking. And the ellipsis - so many words unsaid.

Immediately Solas looks down (I read it as shame). It’s a reaction back to what he said in Trespasser: that he would not have her see what he becomes. And yet, here she is. She sees him, the terrible path he has chosen, the blood on his hands, the awful things he has done, and what he’s about to do. In that moment, his shame is palpable - because Lavellan is one person he couldn’t bear to face in this state. 

And Lavellan doesn’t hesitate. Her next words are as much about holding him accountable as they are about reminding him that there is still another path. 

This isn’t some starry-eyed, naïve Inquisitor we’re dealing with (at least mine isn’t). Lavellan is fully aware at this point. But her stance is clear: no one is beyond redemption, not even the Dread Wolf himself. And she wasn’t the only one – this message is repeated throughout the game by others. 

Her words challenge the belief that has kept Solas shackled to his path. He’s convinced himself that his guilt and mistakes are too great, that there’s no turning back, and that the only option is to see his destructive plans through to the bitter end.

She doesn’t beg or demand or frame it in a way that’s grand and sweeping – she simply says “you’re wrong.”  

She’s not trying to erase his mistakes or pretend they don’t exist. She's saying, Yes, you’ve done terrible things, but that doesn’t mean you’re beyond the reach of change.

Lavellan’s journey as Inquisitor began with the Anchor - a mark born of Solas’s mistakes and choices. From the moment she touched his orb (yes, it sounds dirty), her path became entwined with his. This isn’t Lavellan selfishly claiming Solas’s path; it’s an acknowledgment that their journeys have run parallel.

Their connection was forged long before either fully understood its implications. Lavellan’s work to stabilize Southern Thedas mirrors Solas’s aim to restore a broken world, including the burdens of being forced to take on titles and labels. She is revealing her own struggles with devastating, blood-soaked choices - choices that, like his, have carried profound consequences.

Solas believes he’s been walking this path alone, but Lavellan shows him she's been walking alongside him this whole time. Now, as their paths converge again, this is a reminder of the power of connection and the burdens they’ve both borne. He's actually not alone.

Her words also carry an unspoken promise: she is ready to continue to bear the consequences with him. She knows the road ahead is painful and fraught with difficulty, but she is steadfast.

Why do I feel that people sometimes forget Lavellan’s role as Inquisitor? She wasn’t defined by Solas; she was the leader of a powerful military and political organization, forced to make horrible decisions. Whether you choose the mages or templars in Inquisition, you doom thousands to torment and death. The Empress of Orlais can live or die based on the Inquisitor’s choices. And if you’re like me and made the wrong calls on the Dalish clan war table operation, her own clan can be murdered and wiped out.  (Yes, I’m still haunted by that moment.) Her hands have blood on them too. This makes me wonder: does some criticism of the Solas/Lavellan romance stem from failing to see Lavellan as her own person? I love Lavellan for who she is as the Inquisitor - not because of Solas. Likewise, Solas is fascinating on his own. Their romance is one layer of the story, not the foundation of either character. Sometimes it feels like there are even some Solas/Lavellan lovers who have a tendency to overlook the depth and individuality of both characters outside of their romance.

Solas’s statement is a raw admission of all the guilt he carries for his deceptions and the pain he has caused her - lying to her about his identity, betraying her trust - not just as the Inquisitor, but as a person he loves.

His words are not an attempt to seek forgiveness but an acknowledgment of the truth - no matter how painful it is for them both. He knows his choices have caused devastation to the world and to her specifically. He's exposing the full weight of his dual burden: the grand, world-altering consequences of his plans and the personal betrayal of the woman he loves, who trusted him. 

Perhaps, on some level, he hopes that reminding Lavellan of his lies and treachery will convince her to abandon him, sparing her further pain. His guilt and self-loathing are so entrenched that the idea of being forgiven - or even supported – either confounds him or terrifies him.

But Solas’s confession is not just a shield to push her away. It’s also an invitation for her to see him - not the wise, compassionate companion she knew, but the flawed, broken man beneath.

This moment to me shows that Solas still values Lavellan’s understanding (we also saw it in his letter to her). He doesn’t diminish the weight of his actions but wants her to see the cost of his deception - not just for her, but for himself. To Solas, his betrayal is unforgivable. 

And yet - this "selfish" woman dares to forgive him anyway. 

Forgiveness is an act of wisdom because it requires understanding - and she reflects that wisdom right back at him.

"All you have to do is stop" is heavy with meaning. Yes, on the surface, it’s a plea to stop tearing down the Veil, to reconsider the destruction. But it’s also a plea for him to stop running, to stop isolating himself, and to stop punishing himself for his failures. She’s asking him to step out of the shadow of his self-loathing and see that there’s another way forward, not by demanding or commanding, but by offering him compassion (forgiveness). (Cole, I miss you.) 

But Solas’s guilt and self-loathing run deep.

With these words, Solas apologizes to his heart - hardening it once more. For a moment, it had softened, cracked open. But he shuts the door.

The bow that accompanies his words is loaded. A bow carries layers of meaning depending on context - reverence, respect, gratitude, apology, greeting or farewell, a spiritual act, acknowledgment, loyalty, mourning, or even a romantic gesture. Solas’s bow can mean all of these. 

He is physically reinforcing the gravity of his apology. It’s a solemn moment. He is bowing to her strength, to all she has endured because of him. And when he calls her "vhenan," it is personal. It's an apology to her and to his own heart for not choosing the life he wanted to have with her.  “...to stay by your side as Solas...as I wanted.”  

The bow also carries guilt. He is acknowledging the pain he’s caused and humbling himself before her. And his eyes in the animation during this moment – I saw haunted, tormented, tired eyes – the eyes of a man grappling with the weight of his choices and the thought that he cannot accept redemption, even if it’s offered freely.

Time for a an indulgent moment - a bow can also symbolize acceptance. What if, in that moment, it’s not just an apology? What if it’s Solas saying, “You’re right. You have walked this path with me. I acknowledge that.” The bow could be a tacit agreement - a recognition of a future with her. What if he’s asking: I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, are you still coming with me? And Lavellan’s eyes right after? She looks down, like she’s contemplating this - what if he tears the Veil down? What happens next? What do I do? Anyway, maybe I indulged with this thought a little too much.  

But, as I’ve said before, it takes a village to stop a Solas. Cue Morrigan and Mythal - but I’m not diving into that dialogue rabbit hole in this post.  

But this scene with Mythal is important. Lavellan has just watched the man she loves completely crumble in front of Mythal. He’s bent over in grief/pain, utterly vulnerable. She hears him say, in anguish, “The things that I have done.” She sees him lift the dagger - perhaps to surrender it, to shield himself from Mythal, or even as a plea to Mythal to end his torment. Whatever the intent, Lavellan is witnessing the rawest, most broken Solas. His guilt is overwhelming, and this is the first time she’s truly seeing the full weight of it laid bare (as is Rook). It’s a moment of heavy sadness for her – and for us as players. 

This scene seems to have created a universal understanding among players who love Solas, regardless of who you ship Solas with. We are all witnessing Solas in this moment of pure vulnerability. Let’s honor that shared empathy. 

Solas is bent over with the emotional collapse of centuries of obligation and guilt coming to the surface. Mythal’s departure leaves Solas vulnerable, stripped of the purpose that has guided him for so long. He is alone in his pain.

For Lavellan, can you imagine the helplessness? All she can do is offer her presence, understanding, and faith in him afterward. That might feel like so little in the face of such immense pain, but it’s all she has to give. 

Where Mythal’s words, spoken in the common tongue, are authoritative and final, Lavellan’s are intimate and personal. Her choice to speak Elven reflects her desire to meet Solas where he is - connecting with him on an intimate level.

Only after Mythal has left him exposed - that Lavellan uses the Elven language. In this moment, stripped of his defenses, he is finally open to hearing and feeling the full significance of the words and their intent.

Lavellan’s words challenge the notion that fate is immutable or inevitable. When she says, “there is no fate...,” she isn’t diminishing everything else in favor of her love; she’s rejecting the tyranny of inevitability. Her words assert that choices - rooted in love, connection, and shared purpose - have the power to shape their path forward. She reframes love as a force just as powerful as fate, capable of creating meaning and direction where there once seemed to be none.

Atonement

And at this point? Lavellan has no idea what Solas will do next. None of them do. But the combined efforts of Rook, Lavellan and Morrigan get through to him. Because Solas makes a choice - a monumental choice. He binds himself to the veil, committing to atonement. Atonement is a powerful, active word. It evokes the gravity of recognizing wrongdoing and the courage to address it. His decision to seek restoration with the Titans, to deal with the Blight, to return to where it all began, reflects the depth of his remorse and his willingness to rebuild the balance he disrupted – from the beginning. 

Solas equates atonement with isolation, believing that his punishment must be borne alone. To him, atonement requires severing ties, including the possibility of love. He doesn’t ask Lavellan to join him because he cannot conceive of burdening her with the weight of his choices and the path he must walk.

But Lavellan’s words - once again - challenge that. She offers him the possibility that his actions, no matter how devastating, do not erase the love and faith others still have in him. This is an invitation.

She's also being vulnerable here. She’s offering herself to him, knowing full well that he still might say no. A risk she’s willing to take. 

He doesn’t try to shut her out or push her away this time. Instead, he shifts the focus - he needs her to understand the gravity of the path they are about to walk. His response reflects his own vulnerability as well, he wants her to know what she’s choosing, but he can’t bring himself to reject her offer outright. 

Solas responds in Elven - his acknowledgment of their shared understanding and their entire relationship and journey that has shaped them.

His words also mark a turning point: for the first time, Solas allows Lavellan her agency. Throughout their relationship, he has taken her choices away. He broke off their relationship in Inquisition. He vanished after Corypheus’s defeat, leaving her no say in it all.

And he knows this! During their confrontation in Trespasser, when Lavellan demands answers, he justifies his deception with, “And what would you have had me say? That I was the great adversary in your people’s mythology?” Her cutting reply, “I would have had you trust me!” lands with devastating clarity. His face falls, struck by the hard truth: the man who values freedom has stripped hers away. And he's going to do it again.

This moment in Veilguard feels like a callback to that. Lavellan is asserting her choice. And this time, Solas doesn’t take it from her.

By framing his destination in such stark, "terrible" terms, Solas isn’t pushing her away out of cruelty. He’s laying bare the enormity of what lies ahead, warning her of the peril while giving her the freedom to choose for herself. It’s his way of ensuring she understands the stakes.

Solas is doing what she requested long ago - trusting her - and what a choice to place that trust in. He’s entrusting her to make an informed decision about stepping onto a path that could shape the future of Thedas. He is trusting Lavellan’s strength and resiliency. And in trusting her, Solas reveals a quiet, unspoken truth: he doesn’t want to face this journey alone. By even presenting the choice, he reveals a quiet hope that she might go with him, despite everything.

To me, what makes this moment so achingly beautiful is the duality in his expression. His eyes seem to plead two things at once: “I don’t want to put you in harm’s way,” and “I can’t deny wanting to be with you.” There’s a raw vulnerability in the way he looks at her.

“It won’t be terrible if you’re with me.” 

Lavellan’s response is a direct challenge to Solas’s warning. He tells her the path ahead will be awful - because of him. But she counters, saying that it’s because of him that it won’t be. This isn’t her forcing herself into his journey or suggesting that she alone will make it better. Instead, it’s her way of expressing that his presence will give her the strength to face whatever lies ahead. She’s trying to ease his mind, while also signaling her willingness to trust him again.

At the same time, her words acknowledge the weight of Solas’s suffering, offering herself as a partner to bear that burden together. She isn’t dismissing the risks or downplaying the severity of what’s to come - she’s choosing to stand beside him, fully aware of the challenges ahead.

It’s not about personal gain; it’s about shared resilience. Lavellan’s focus is on what they can endure together, not on what she might receive from the journey.

And since the Fade reflects emotions, as many have pointed out, their combined trust and love could manifest in ways neither of them can predict. Their bond has the power to shape not just their path but the very world around them.

This declaration is past, present and future; it’s a reaffirmation of their bond, a recognition that they’ve been walking the path of the dinan’shiral together all along. It’s future focused - she is offering to shoulder the burden with him going forward.  

She’s also telling him that she won't abandon him, no matter how hard the road ahead may be. 

And at the end of the day, she's a woman who still loves him. What does Prince Lir say in The Last Unicorn? "I love whom I love."

I've never interpreted Lavellan as someone sitting by a window for ten years, writing sad poetry and sighing into the wind, longing for Solas. She’s been busy - rebuilding a fractured world, navigating political fallout, and seeking understanding. Lavellan’s love for Solas isn’t blind devotion; she’s holding onto the possibility of redemption and the deep impact he had on her life. In my world state, Lavellan’s clan is wiped out. The people of the Inquisition have become her family, the ones she fights for and protects. And indirectly, Solas gave her that family. Despite the pain he’s caused, her love for him reflects the complexity of her journey - one defined not by a single relationship, but by hope, resilience, and the connections she’s forged along the way.

Lavellan then leans in to kiss him, and Solas allows himself to be drawn in. This moment is acceptance - a silent vow, a promise sealed in their shared vulnerability. It’s an intimate connection forged in front of those who have just witnessed the emotional storm that brought them to this point, as if to say, “This is where we stand, together.”

While I won’t dive into fly-cam images (you can find some here), there are some tender subtle details: the way he caresses her hands with his thumbs, the way he holds onto her one hand as she pulls away, as if he’s not ready to let go. But I promised to stay within game constraints.

And then Solas turns to Rook and says, “Thank you.”

Solas doesn’t thank Rook when he hands them the dagger, nor when he’s preparing to walk into the Fade. He says it after the kiss. Make of that what you will but Rook’s is symbolic for me, especially after thinking about this ending a bit.

In thanking Rook, Solas acknowledges not only their actions but also their understanding of the connection he shares with Lavellan. Rook, transformed by their own relationships and the bonds they’ve formed throughout their journey, embodies the themes that have always defined Dragon Age to me: connection, fellowship, community, love, and redemption. These games (again, for me) have always been about how people, despite their flaws and struggles, can come together to make the impossible possible.

Rook’s symbolism in the redemption ending feels like the culmination of this ethos. They represent how even those who begin on the periphery of great events can become central to forging bonds and creating change. Solas’s gratitude is for Rook's empathy, their recognition of the importance of connection, and their role in bringing these threads of love and redemption together. I'll go cry now.

And off they go into the Fade.

The Final Translation 

"With Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain dead, and the Inquisitor finally reunited with her true love, it looked like one of the biggest stories the world had ever seen was finally drawing to a close."  

Varric’s narration ties the ending image back to the connection between Inquisition and Veilguard. Inquisition is the Inquisitor’s story; Veilguard is Rook’s. Solas serves as the thread linking them. Varric frames this moment through Lavellan’s perspective, narrating the story like one of his novels - not to diminish Solas, but to highlight the Inquisitor’s journey. After all, Veilguard wouldn’t exist without Inquisition. Rook wouldn’t be working with Varric or searching for Solas if not for the Inquisitor.

As much as I would have loved a deeper focus on Solas, Veilguard wasn’t his story. If Inquisition is the Inquisitor’s story and Veilguard is Rook’s, this ending is a shared culmination: for a romanced Lavellan, it’s the personal resolution of her journey; for Rook, it’s recognition of their critical role in saving Thedas.

Okay, indulgence over - whew, that was long! I really need to practice shorter posts.

In the end, those who dislike this romance or this ending probably always will. That’s fine; I just wanted to share my interpretations because I genuinely love this story for all its complexity.

To everyone who made it to the end of this post - thank you for joining me in my indulgence. May your own Solas ships continue to bring you joy and inspiration.

Elven language resources: 

Project Elvehn on AO3 

Elven Translator 

World Anvil Elvhen Resource 

Reddit on Elvhen Poetry 

[cappuccinoandglitter]

[I restarted this this morning and the muse actually did latch on so this will be a full-length thing now and I'll post it when it's done. But here's the intro, per the prompt above. I think this is all because I missed out on the Ren Faire last year and I miss it.]

Tommy Kinard grins broadly at the gold dollar coins the patron deposits in his hand. While most of the 'tourists' coming to the Renaissance Faire pay with dollar bills or even 'Master Card or Lady Visa', a few of the old timers and die-hards come prepared from the bank with actual dollar coins. These days you have to order them special, so he admires the commitment to the bit. He bounces the coins a little in his hand, enjoying the clinking metal sound, the weight of them, and then puts them in the register. "Howie, one Seafoam for the gentleman," he calls over his shoulder.

His business partner, Howie Han, already with a pint glass in hand, starts pouring from the tap. "Aye, m'lord! Comin' right up!" he replies in an exaggerated Irish brogue, which sounds all the more surprising coming from a Korean man.

Tommy chuckles. The tavern at the heart of the Faire has been doing really well since he took over five years ago. Back then, he wasn't sure the gamble would pay off, but so far, it has. He never saw himself as a front-of-the-house guy before, preferring to focus on the brewing process and the business side of it. But putting on his 'innkeeper' garb every Saturday and Sunday morning works like any uniform, putting him in a mindset he wouldn't normally be in. In his brown breeches and dark green shirt with the lace-up collar he leaves untied, he kind of feels in character, even if he doesn't actually have a character to play.

He pulls a washcloth from the pocket of his apron and starts wiping down the counter between customers. The current crowd is an even mixture of 'rennies', the regulars who dress up in period-accurate garb and usually purchase season passes so they can spend every weekend here, and the tourists in their street clothes.

And someone he recognizes. "Hey, Miss May," he says, smiling at the young woman. She's in what some call 'closet garb', a long skirt and peasant blouse that straddle the gap between modern clothes and costuming. "What can I get for you?"

"Scotch eggs are coming out of the frier in a minute," Howie tells her.

Tommy winces. He hates those things.

"Oh, no thanks," May Grant says. "Can I have an apple cider?"

"Absolutely!" Tommy says. While Howie is busy retrieving the Scotch eggs from the frier, Tommy pours May's drink and charges her only half the regular cost.

"Thanks, Tommy!" She takes her drink and wanders to an unoccupied table.

"Who's here for the Scotch eggs!" Howie crows.

"All right!" "Me!" come the various responses. A pair of tourists buy two eggs a piece and mill around for a moment, before zeroing in on May's table.

Tommy frowns, but just watches. Maybe she knows them. But the line for the eggs keeps growing, demanding his full attention, distracting him from what's happening at May's table until he hears her voice, raised slightly above the din. "I'm sorry, but you're invading my personal space!" Her table sits by the wall, and it looks like they're blocking her escape.

"Hey!" Tommy shouts, coming around the bar to intercept.

"We're just making conversation," one of the men say. He's clearly been trolling the festival grounds buying alcoholic beverages at every available opportunity, because he's well past the point Tommy would have served him anything.

"Yeah, my guy, we're jus' bein' fren-frenly," his companion slurs, and puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder.

Tommy reacts before thinking, knocking the hand off his shoulder and twisting it behind the man's back. "There's such a thing as too friendly."

"Ow! Ow! You're hurting me!" the man whines. Not such a big guy now.

The other guy seems to decide this is a bar fight now, but before he can get a blow in, a gauntlet grabs on to his forearm and holds him back. "My lords!" the knight booms theatrically. "Do you have any idea who the lady's mother is? If ye do not wish to face the wrath of Pirate Queen Athena herself, you will leave this establishment now."

Tommy looks at the knight, and his entire body freezes in place. There's no shortage of good looking actors on the cast, and Tommy is sure this guy is part of the cast, even if he hasn't seen him before. No mere rennie would have this kind of stage presence. Or know who May's mom is.

"Now, apologize to the lady," the knight says. His hair is a slightly sweaty mess of brown curls, and his eyes are a piercing sky blue, but Tommy's gaze keeps getting drawn to the lips that are on the redder side of pink and look like they would feel so soft against his own.

"Ow?" says the guy in Tommy's grasp that Tommy somehow managed to completely forget he was still holding onto.

Tommy tears his gaze away from the knight and lets the tourist go. "Yes, apologies are in order," he says. He can't do an accent to save his life, so he doesn't try.

The two men give May meek 'sorrys', and Tommy shoves the one against the other on the way out the door.

May looks fine, if a little shaken. "Thanks, Tommy," she says. "Thank you, Sir Evan." She says the last with a little smile and curtsy.

'Sir Evan' gives a small bow. "If you'll excuse me, I must escort these villains out of the shire." So he's going to make sure they get booted out of the faire entirely, good.

Tommy watches the knight walk away, briefly admiring the curve of his ass in his breeches.

Renaissance faire meet cute between tavern owner Tommy ("I brewed this ale myself") and a knight ("Sir Evan" he introduces himself as; only later does Tommy hear "Buck" but it's too late, he's registered that cute knight with the bisexual color flag as Evan in his head)

A couple of drunk faire attendants try to harass Tommy's friend's teen daughter and he steps in, and Buck steps in too. Two big strapping guys tend to convince people to back off, especially when one is built like a tank and the other is literally armored

Tommy gives Buck a free mug of ale, and they talk, and throughout the day Buck keeps coming back to the tavern and Tommy watches Buck at the joust

And instead of a girl's handkerchief as a favor, Buck takes the checkered handkerchief in Tommy's apron as his favor and ties it around his wrist

Buck wins the joust and canters over, hopping down to wink at Tommy, then kissing the piece of cloth around his wrist. Tommy can't help leaning over the fence to kiss Sir Evan for real.

[chantersboard]

560 words. Joel x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, unprotected piv, creampie, one warning not tagged for spoilers

A/N: so my New Year’s resolution was to stop All or Nothing-ing. not everything I write has to be completely polished and 5K long. there is so much I want to write but I’m a full time working mom of two I don’t have the time to always write fully fleshed out, edited stuff. so I’m giving up on doing it All. I’ll write the small stuff and be happy for it. so here’s my first small stuff yay

———

Confession

Joel sits on the edge of the bed, his large hands resting on your hips as you stand between his legs.

Your confession still hangs heavy in the air like a cloud of fatal spores.

He looks up at you and you’re unsure how to interpret the subtle emotion on his face. Sadness? Fear? Joy? It’s impossible to tell and he hasn’t said anything yet.

Why hasn’t he said anything yet?

You shuffle on your feet. Nervous. Anxious. Scared. The tiny ball of nausea in the pit of your stomach grows larger with each second that passes in silence.

Joel closes his eyes and presses his forehead against you. Your hands move on their own, instinctually, and you run your fingers through his hair. He inhales deeply and shakes his head.

Shit. This is it, isn’t it?

It was bound to happen eventually. The cold weather forced you inside, forced you within these cramped walls and into his space. Then the snow fell, and continued to fall, extending your imprisonment. So you had no choice but to listen to Joel’s honeyed words. You had no choice but to look at his handsome face and watch his strong body. You had no choice but to desperately fall in love with him.

A hand lingering too long on the small of your back turned into frantic grabs of your behind. A gentle kiss on the cheek turned into love bites that left your nipples deliciously sore.

When he slotted into you he fit so perfectly, as if he was made for you, and you willingly spread your legs further. You let him kiss you until your lips were swollen. You let him get lost inside you until your pleasure crested and you were screaming his name. You let his hips rock against yours until his breathing was haggard, until he choked out those few words: where do you want it?

In your fucked out bliss you tightened your thighs around him and gave him permission. “Inside,” you moaned. And Joel didn’t think twice, didn’t hesitate. He slammed into you until his cock twitched, coating your warm, fertile walls with his come.

For weeks the nights ended similarly, his release seeping out of you and soaking the bed sheets, until the snow outside began to melt and the days grew longer. For weeks you lived like this, your days carefree and your nights filled with love and euphoria.

Until one day you suddenly realized.

Joel moves his hand from your hip and slowly—so slowly—brings it to the spot just under your belly button.

“So last week,” his voice is low and you strain to hear him. “When you were sick…”

The nausea rolls in your stomach again and, afraid to open your mouth to talk, you hum in affirmation to his unfinished question.

His thumb draws small gentle circles on your tummy. As far as he can tell you look the same, but he knows somewhere inside you a life grows.

“After Sarah I didn’t think…” he looks up at you again, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I love you.”

You smile and let loose a shaky breath.

Just maybe everything will be okay?

Joel wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. He kisses your belly, then, with his lips still pressed against you he mumbles, “and I love you, too.”

[bwat5-blog]

Did Jinx Love Vi?

**Spoilers For All Of Arcane**

Okay. First let me say I am not here to attack or insult Jinx. The title is literally just addressing the question I'm hoping to answer so.. put down the torches and pitchforks. I recently had a very nice short talk with someone on one of their posts, and it was primarily to do with this issue of how Jinx treats Vi in the show. And in truth, I share a lot of their feelings. For the most part, we never really get a moment of Jinx outwardly showing any sympathy or kindness to Vi at all until almost the end. As I always do for clarity let me be crystal clear. Vi is my favorite character. But I think most people watching objectively can agree she tries really fucking hard for the people she loves and gets kicked in the teeth almost constantly.

*Not writing in my usual spot to look up these quotes so some may be paraphrased*

" Never thought my sister would turn blue-belly"- Literally there because of what Jinx did

"I'm a hero. I busted half of Zaun out of prison while you were passed out at the bottom of a mug"- Vi completely spiraling after losing literally everyone she loves and Jinx knowing full well she didn't step in for Zaun until they took Isha

" She used to be pretty cool, til I kicked her ass"- literally the fight where Jinx lured Vi down there hoping to die and it ended with her on her back urging Vi to finish her.

Smirks at Vi when Vi sees the Mural of her and Vander. Even though Jinx literally betrayed everything Vander ever stood for and considers the man who murdered Vander and caused the deaths of their brothers her father. All while Vi is nowhere to be seen.

Now, there is obviously history between them, Jinx has her reasons to be angry just like Vi does. NEITHER ARE PERFECT. But these few examples are not exaggerated or spun. And they are just a few of many. It can really come off like Jinx just does NOT care what happened to Vi at all:

Seven years in Stillwater undergoing god knows what kind of hell

Almost killed getting back to her in the undercity before being taken by firelights

Almost killed by Jinx on the bridge

Almost killed by Silco at the same event where she begs Cait for Jinx life and Jinx responds by murdering Caitlyn's mother

Has clearly been driven so far by Jinx's actions and what has happened that she becomes Enforcer

Abandoned by Caitlyn and on self-destructive spiral that will very likely kill her because Caitlyn has lost her self after everything Jinx has done to her.

However, I think there are some things we need to remember to better understand this issue:

Jinx is severely mentally ill. I know this is obvious. But it matters because everything she says and does is filtered through a different lens than the average person.

Jinx hates herself and in season 2 especially, wants to die until she bonds with Isha. She gives us evidence of this repeatedly but the moment I most remember is when she meets Isha for the very first time and describes knowing she could die at any time as the best feeling in the world. Then goes on to associate herself with cursing a a sister, a family or a society, I think it was.

"I'm losing my snappy comebacks"- Part of Jinx's whole schtick is verbally lashing out. She mocks everyone, at all times, for any reason. It doesn't make it kind or right. It's just what she does. She also absolutely knows precisely what to say to piss her sister off. Like any good little sister would. Additionally, you may be the person yourself but if not, we all know that person whose defense mechanism is cruel or sarcastic words. While Jinx is plenty dangerous, more often than not when she feels insulted/threatened/uncomfortable she goes for the death blow verbally.

Considering all of that, while there are moments I wish she could have shown Vi alittle more kindness and love, especially with how much Vi loves her, I think Jinx's love for Vi remains constant throughout the show, even if her motormouth sometimes makes it hard to see:

The Reunion:

Even after all the terrible things in their childhood, including the incident for which Vi carries so much guilt and some of the fandom think a fifteen year old Vi should have been crucified for, this is how their reunion starts. Vi apologizes immediately and embraces her. Jinx is crying and ashamed of how she has changed but Vi accepts her and loves her. It only goes wrong when Jinx sees Caitlyn, and why is she mad at Caitlyn who she has never seen or met?

Cyclops and lefty to the rescue. Silco to turn Jinx against Vi and Sevika intentionally trying to damage Jinx's mental health, both of these figures poison Jinx against Caitlyn ruining the next several times they get close. But all throughout that series of events we see Jinx trying to overpower the voices in her head because she knows Vi loves her, and she loves VI. Just unfortunately, she does not win.

2. Seeing Vi As An Enforcer:

Now this isn't a happy moment of course. But Jinx isn't so distraught at seeing Vi in the uniform because she doesn't care about Vi. She is seeing what she believes is the total rejection of her by the last person she has who loves her and who she loves, all wrapped up in the package that killed her parents

3. Jinx VS Vi:

Even during the fight Jinx wanted to end in her death, when Isha gets involved and sticks a gun in Vi's face Jinx IMMEDIATELY screams no.

4. Jinx At the Pit:

If you slow down the cinematic of Vi's time in the pit, is actually shown a few times not just the once. Now I admit this is head-canon and probably the least provable one of these. But I don't think Jinx would have show up again and again to take pleasure in or mock Vi's pain. I think she was just checking on her in the best way her mind knew how.

5. Vander:

I already mentioned how their last interaction went, and the fact that Jinx came to Vi anyway to try and rebuild their family knowing full-well Vi would likely want to kill her is impressive and a clear sign of JInx's desire for them all to be together again.

There are plenty more examples to either point (particularly the MASSIVE example of how Jinx feels about vi in the end of the show), this was quick and not my usual quality. But the thought struck me and I wanted to jump on it. Feel free to share your thoughts same/different or otherwise, I appreciate all of you who take time out of your day to read my thoughts. Even when they are quick and slap-dash like this.

The story of these sisters is one that for me, will live on forever. Have a great day.

[markleessodalite]

You Called Me Baby: l.jn

You Called Me Baby: Lee Jeno drabble

Content: Jeno and reader are grossly in love but painfully shy, and a particular word is accidentally thrown around, causing Jeno's brain to implode. No warnings to note

A/N: this isn't my best but i just wanna post something since its going to be a few days before i can post something better/ more in depth

Its been painfully long since you’ve heard from Jeno. You know he’s not the most talkative guy, not much of a texter, and when you do get a response from him, he’s a little dry. But he’d at least make an effort to appear, to let you know he’s listening to you. To reply to your message as quickly as possible, to return a call that he missed. To hold your gaze with his own as you tell him stories about you, your life, your past, and your hopes for the future. He didn’t need to talk that much for you to understand him. He didn’t need to say anything at all. The way he’d look into your eyes with a peaceful smile, the way his hand would inch ever closer to yours begging to be held, the way he’d always manage to focus solely on you in a room full of all your friends’ excited chatter and laughter. He didn’t say a word, but he made it obvious he felt the same way that you do– completely and foolishly head over heels.

It was obvious in the darkness of last night, when the two of you were alone after everyone else had gone home, sitting on the couch side by side. As close as possible without actually being wrapped around each other. Not close enough to feel his heartbeat, but close enough to feel the sparks between you. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, and finally, hand in hand. His hand was calloused and rough, but the warmth radiating off of him, that you were sure was coming directly from his heart, made his palms feel like plush cashmere.

And then it slips out. You didn’t mean to say it. You didn’t even realize you called him such a sweet word until he stiffened. Then chuckled. Took on that smile that you know only appears when he’s uncomfortable. Then you feel cashmere slipping out of your hand. Before you can address the sudden tension, he’s excusing himself and closing your door behind him.

Now, the morning after, you lay in your bed, staring at your phone, unsure whether to hate yourself for being so reckless with your words or to hate Jeno for just up and leaving without uttering any words at all.

Just as you’re about to throw your phone onto the nightstand and force yourself back to sleep (its the only thing you can think of to avoid crying), you get a call. Perhaps if you had thought for a second longer, you'd reject it out of spiteful heartbreak. But before you can think that far ahead, as soon as you see who it is, you answer as if its second nature.

“I’m sorry I left. I was nervous. It just surprised me when you called me ‘baby’ and I didn't know how to respond. I’m sorry. But I do really like you. Can we meet up today?”

[somepsychopomp]

Okay I cannot get it out of my head now. How does eldritch Athena interact with Anticlea, Laertes (maybe Ctimene)/ and how freaked out are they in a scale from one to ten. Sorry lmao I just love creepy Athena with all my soul

I'm sick so please bear with me

on a scale of 1-10, the entire family including Ody are at 11

In this AU, the gods are more distant forces that people still pray to, but you really don't want an up-close encounter with the divine. They're much crueler and colder creatures, who are just as inclined to view humans as prey as well as worshippers. And yeah, they are creatures- the gods don't really have 100% human forms. They can take on human aspects like speech, but in this AU they're all much more monstrous

And maybe I'll post more about it in greater detail, but right after meeting Odysseus, Athena kidnapped him and kept him sequestered in a cave at the highest point in Ithaca's mountains for like a week. She genuinely thought she was doing the right thing by carrying him off.

To Athena, a healthy baby (ie an owlet) should be a fat, round puff ball that's constantly being fed. So Odysseus being so "skinny" (AKA a healthy weight for a human child) must mean that he's being neglected at home. Perhaps, she reasons to herself, Odysseus is the runt of his clutch and therefore, is not being fed as often by his parents.

Which is a shame that the boy's mother and father don't see the potential in him that Athena does. So she decides to take this little one as her own, and give him a far better chance at life than he'd get with his human parents. She humors Ody's desire to make a small fire to cook his food over, but at night, she sleeps with her back to the cave entrance and her owlet tucked between her body and her wing, where Ody should be nice and safe and extra warm. (Athena is nocturnal but is willing to switch her sleep schedule until her little one is grown)

One day, she goes out hunting for food to bring back to the nest, and Odysseus takes his chance to escape. He makes it all the way back to the castle and throws himself into his mother and father's arms, sobbing since he's so happy to be back.

Laertes and Anticlea take in the sight of their lost son- he's dressed in ragged, bloodstained clothes, with cuts along his scalp (Athena's first few attempts at preening weren't quite as gentle as they should've been)- and they wonder where he's been. Did their poor boy get lost in the woods? But where? They sent out search parties day and night, putting nearly every able-bodied man on the island to task.

Through his tears, Odysseus tries to tell them that it was Athena who spirited him away... only for Athena herself to burst through the palace's front doors, flapping her wings and hissing with fury. She crushes the nearest guard underneath her talons before swallowing him whole, and says she will devour the entire palace unless her owlet is returned to her.

Laertes tries to hide Odysseus behind him, but it's no use. Athena knows that Odysseus is here. But the king cannot bear to part with his child by sending him off to an unknown fate at the mercy of a goddess. Anticlea bursts into tears and begs Athena to let them keep their son. Her heart would break without Odysseus and she would surely die of sadness.

Athena accuses them of underfeeding and neglecting Odysseus, to which the two human parents swear to feed Ody "properly" and to "cease their neglect" at once. Odysseus clutches his mother's hand in a way that Athena finds vexing; why would he so love his ignorant, uncaring mother?

Maybe Athena pokes around their house, trying to search for enough deficiencies that would give her good reason to simply snatch Odysseus and carry him somewhere far away. Interestingly, she finds no other offspring save for a plump toddler. Ctimene cries at the sight of Athena, but she pays the little girl no mind. Mostly, she's confused. If there are no competing offspring from Odysseus' clutch... then did she make a miscalculation?

Though it frustrates her and wounds her pride, Athena will allow Laertes and Anticlea to continue housing and feeding Odysseus. But she shall be his tutor in all things scholarly and physical. They shall build her a suitable roosting spot as well, since Athena still wants to take some of the responsibility for sheltering Ody.

In their dreams though, both the king and queen are haunted by a dark shadow stalking them wherever they go. They hear the clicking of Athena's beak as she warns them: should they disappoint her, she shall tear their house asunder, devour them whole, and make off with their son to be raised as her own.