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nomoredying · 13 days ago

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HII!! can you pretty please write a sevika x reader where the reader is the same age as Vi and she likes sevika but sevika tries to ignore reader because of their huge age gap. Then there comes a day where sevika finally comes to her senses and liked the reader back. YOU CAN DECIDE IF IT'LL BE SMUT OR FLUFF HIIHIHIHIHI. Love your works btw 💞

handle with care

alt! mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

age gap (26/41), workshop setting, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, reader absolutely wins

the air in the workshop always smells like burnt copper.

not the sharp bite of a real fire, but something quieter. like heat that’s been humming for hours. it clings to your skin. seeps into your clothes. everything here has that smell — the benches, the tools, even your own notebook that you keep folded in the back pocket of your overalls.

you don’t mind it. actually, you kind of love it.

there’s something comforting about the rhythm of the place. the metal-on-metal clinks, the low drone of the generator, and her voice. ow, practical, a little rough. it carries better than it should.

sevika.

she’s always busy with something. welding, lifting, fixing. which makes sense, since this is her workplace. today, she’s crouched near the back wall, one knee bent, her forearm braced on a crate as she adjusts the tension in a belt-driven pulley. her sleeves are rolled up, gloves off, and there’s a smudge of grease across the scar on her left arm.

you glance, then look away. not fast enough. heat prickles at your neck.

stop being weird.

you return to your corner, tightening the screws on a gear assembly you’re trying to reattach to some kind of old-school courier drone. she’d given it to you this morning with a quiet, “think you can figure it out?”

you’d nodded like your brain hadn’t turned to fog. what you meant was, “yes, absolutely, i’d fix the entire world if you asked me to.”

you’ve been in love with her since the third week she hired you. maybe earlier. back when you showed up late on day two because your alarm didn’t go off, and she just looked at you once and said, “don’t make it a habit.”

three months later, you’re still here. still keeping your hands busy, still keeping your mouth shut, mostly. you don’t talk much unless she asks. but you watch her.

not in a creepy way. just… observant.

she’s got a way of moving that’s all intent. like everything she does matters. she respects the work. you can see that.

sometimes, she hums under her breath. low and soft. some old tune you don’t recognize. you let the sound settle in your chest.

the screw slips from your fingers.

you curse under your breath, pick it back up, and try again. it’s not that the piece is difficult. t’s just fiddly, worn down, old. you’ll probably need to weld part of the casing back in place too, but you’re avoiding that step because welding with the possibility of sevika watching always makes you feel like you’ve forgotten how arms work.

you sit cross-legged on the floor, elbow braced against your knee, muttering measurements to yourself while your brain drifts.

random stuff.

like how long it would take to boil one of those super-thick tubes of solder. or if maybe you should start bringing your lunch instead of skipping it. or if the two screws you accidentally dropped into the vent last week have formed a secret tiny society.

you blink. realize you’ve been staring at the same bolt for — what, two minutes?

“you deaf?”

you jolt slightly, look up. sevika’s standing a few feet away, one eyebrow raised, a wrench in her hand.

you blink again.

“what?”

she snorts. “figured you were building a shrine to that bolt with how long you were staring at it.”

you make a face. “maybe i was. it’s the only thing around here that doesn’t insult me daily,” and that’s true. sevika can be very mean.

“hm.” she glances down at the tool in her hand. “wanna make it two?”

you sigh dramatically and push yourself up from the floor, joining her near the back bench, where she’s taken apart half of some kind of old plating unit. it looks like one of those things that keeps cooling systems from shorting out.

but bulkier.

“need a second pair of hands,” sevika mutters, nudging it with her boot. “this bastard keeps tilting.”

you kneel opposite her and brace it with both hands, trying not to pay attention to how close your knees are to hers.

she crouches down again. starts working the tool through the stuck joint, frowning at it like it personally betrayed her. you glance up.

just for a second.

her eyebrows are furrowed. she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking, and there’s a tiny crease next to her mouth. you smile before you can stop yourself.

“what,” not a question.

your head jerks down.

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling like a creep.”

“i am not.”

“you are.”

you busy yourself with the bolts, “maybe i was jus.. appreciating the bond we share as coworkers.” those bolts are fascinating.

“you keep saying shit like that, and i’m gonna revoke your lunch break.”

“you already do.”

“…fair.”

the door swings open with a soft creak. a familiar voice pipes in before you look.

“hello-o-o?”

you peek over your shoulder. powder. her hair’s tied up in a messy half-bun, and she’s got some new device strapped to her arm that looks half like a watch, half like a very bad idea. ekko trails behind her, holding something that sparks every few seconds.

“what,” sevika says flatly. at this point you think that word and a raise of an eyebrow is her signature thing.

“hi to you too,” powder grins, “ekko needs you to look at his thing. he won’t shut up about it.”

“it’s a resonance stabilizer,” ekko says, stepping forward.

“it’s annoying,” sevika replies, standing up and dusting off her hands.

you step aside while she leans in to glance at the sparking object. powder comes to your side, eyes flicking between you and sevika.

“you comin’ to the drop?” she asks.

“tonight?”

“yeah, nowish. claggor’s got new music. milo swears he can beat everyone at darts. again,” you smile. “come on,” powder nudges you, when she sees you’re not rushing into saying yes, “you’ve been here all day. let your brain breathe.”

and i would be here all night too, you think, but say, “sure.” instead.

powder smirks. turns toward sevika, who’s squinting at ekko’s mess of wires.

“we’re stealing your girl, sevika!”

sevika exhales. hard.

“take her,” she mutters, not looking up. “bring her back with both hands intact.”

powder salutes dramatically. you catch sevika’s eye for a second — she gives you a look. you can’t read it, but it sticks to your ribs.

“go,” she says, jerking her chin toward the door.

your smile widens. “yes, boss.”

you leave with powder and ekko. the air outside is cooler, a breeze brushing over your cheeks.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the last drop is louder than usual tonight.

claggor’s made some half-decent playlist that thumps through the walls, and powder’s perched on the edge of the booth, legs swinging as she shoves another handful of pretzels into her mouth. ekko’s mid-story — something about a failed grappling hook test that ended in a pile of garbage and mild public embarrassment.

you’re listening. mostly. you like this place. it feels safe.

“i bet i’m better at dartboard than you, too,” mylo tries goading you. you stand up after necessity of rolling your eyes.

“why are you suddenly obsessed with darts? i don’t get it.”

you’re halfway through when it happens.

“not again!” someone shouts across the room, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of cards hitting a wooden table.

you glance over. and yeah. there she is.

sevika.

she’s got her sleeves rolled up again, sitting at a round table with vander and three other older guys you’ve seen around. she leans back in her chair, eyes sharp, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth as she drags a small pile of chips toward herself.

she’s winning. of course.

you don’t even realize you’re smiling until powder nudges your arm.

“she get tired of breathing in solder fumes or what?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “miss ‘i hate fun’ just had to show up and own the old men, huh? and you’re looking!”

you scoff, looking away. “i’m not looking.”

“you literally are.”

you throw a pretzel at her. those kids! you’re only seven years older than her, but not that it matters.

a long, long time with mylo passes when you catch sevika again. not at the table now. she’s standing by the counter, talking low to ran as they slide her a glass.

you don’t think. just move, “yeah, mylo, this is some bullshit..”

you slide onto the stool next to her. she doesn’t look. just sips whatever’s in the glass. probably whiskey. maybe battery acid.

“you stalking me now?” she mutters without turning.

you lean your chin into your hand, all wide eyes and syrupy grin. “i was here before you.”

finally, she looks at you. sideways. unimpressed.

“don’t you have people your own age to bother?”

you mock-gasp. “wow. ageism in public? cancelable behavior, boss.”

“you’re not working,” she says, eyebrow twitching. “i don’t have to be nice.”

“you’re never nice,” you hum. “and you came over to my bar,” you hope no one will let vander and silco hear your drunk nonsense.

“your bar?” sevika raised an eyebrow, mocking.

“i’ve decided it is. i’m claiming territory. you can have the bench vise and the oil stains.”

she huffs. not quite a laugh. you catch the way her eyes flick over you — quick, assessing. the edge of your collar, your lips, your tilted head.

so you tilt it a little more.

lower your voice. “something on your mind, sevika?”

her jaw ticks. she shifts, leaning away, hand back on her drink.

“you should go back to your little friends,” she mutters.

you blink. smile slow. salute with two fingers. “ma’am.”

then hop off the stool, turning and sauntering away without looking back.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you wake up with something aching in you.

it’s not something bad — not hungover, not anxiety, not hunger, not even the weird heartburn from powder’s mystery nachos last night. it’s something else. something loud. like your heart’s tired of waiting for your brain to catch up.

you stare at the ceiling for a full minute. blink once. twice.

then: “i’m gonna tell her.”

you say it out loud. it sounds ridiculous. you roll out of bed anyway.

the toothbrush nearly slips out of your mouth.

“nothing to lose,” you tell your reflection. “she’s a grown-ass woman, she can handle it.”

your reflection looks skeptical.

you rinse. towel off your face. mutter, “this is fine. this is normal. people confess things all the time.”

you arrive at the workshop early. early. you. sevika’s not even here yet, which should calm your nerves but somehow just makes it worse.

you pace. you fiddle with tools. you check the clock.

where is she? why am i sweating? why is my heart in my ears? why do my lungs feel like soup?

you stand in front of the workbench. stare at it like it holds the answers. then slowly — slowly — start testing lines. lines!

“sevika, i really admire you.” no. sounds like you’re applying for a scholarship.

“listen, so, you’re hot, and i think about your hands probably too much?” now that’s creepy.

“i like you. like, like-like.” what are you, eleven?

you try again. and again. pacing back and forth, flapping your hands like a deranged bird.

“okay. okay. sevika. i think i have feelings for you. and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but i just wanted to—”

“do you do this every morning or is this a special kind of breakdown?”

you freeze. your soul leaves your body, as you turn slowly to see sevika standing in the doorway. arms crossed. amused as hell.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. just air.

she raises an eyebrow, “well? don’t stop now. you were on a roll.”

your jaw flaps. “how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough to hear ‘like-like.’” she winces theatrically. “might press charges.”

you groan. press your palms to your face. “janna, save me.”

“what are you, twelve?”

you peek between your fingers. “twenty-six.”

she rolls her eyes and brushes past you, heading for the back bench. “not helping your case.”

you stand there. hands limp. brain still rebooting. then — quietly — you follow.

she’s already halfway through sorting a bin of damaged gears when she speaks again. tone even, not cruel. just honest.

“nothing’s gonna happen,” she says. “not like that. i’m your boss and i’m too old for you.”

you nod slowly and scold yourself for not preparing counter arguments for those we can’t be togethertales, old as time. next time.

“seriously?” you ask, unimpressed. but sevika just ignores you.

a few minutes pass. then you clear your throat. you can’t give up just yet! you just can’t.

“so what, you don’t like me? at all?” you press again, quieter. “not even a little?”

she exhales. steady, “that’s not the point.”

you feel heat rise in your cheeks, “so… you’re saying you do like me.”

“i’m saying you should shut up before i throw you out.”

you open your mouth to say something else — then see the look on her face. okay, she might actually throw you out. or throw her hands.

either way, you don’t want to test it so you shut up and work.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you do not back off. quite the opposite. it starts the next morning.

you don’t apologize. don’t mention it. you just show up with a cup of her favorite coffee — which you only know because you’ve watched her order it ten times. you drop it on the bench in front of her without a word, then go back to your own work.

she stares at it for a second. then at you.

then picks it up and drinks it.

you consider that a win.

you’re crouched under one of the lift platforms, tightening a bolt while sevika rewires the control box above. you can’t see her — just hear the occasional grunt, the click of metal, the way she breathes when she’s focused. steady. deliberate.

“hey,” you call up, “if i get electrocuted, will you miss me?”

“only during tax season.”

you even develop a game.

it’s called ‘see how long it takes to make sevika roll her eyes.’ your current record is twelve seconds.

“do you think it’s the smell of grease that makes me love you, or is it your sparkling personality?”

“if you say one more word, i’m stapling your mouth shut.”

“kinky.”

the wrench she throws narrowly misses your foot.

worth it.

sevika tries only ignoring and shutting you up from now on, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

you’re bent over the bench, wrist twisted awkwardly as you solder two wires into place. your tongue’s poking out in concentration. she walks by behind you and mutters:

“try using your actual brain instead of pretending you’re cute.”

you grin. “you think i’m pretending?”

“hell, you’re exhausting.”

you hum, “but charming.”

one day you walk in late. flustered, hair a mess, sweat down your back because you ran the whole way.

she looks up when you arrive. says nothing.

“good morning to you too,” you huff, dropping your bag. “missed me?”

“only the peace and quiet.”

“you love the sound of my voice.”

“i like the sound it makes when you leave.”

sometimes, when she’s too quiet, you up the ante.

“you ever kiss someone in a workshop?” you ask one afternoon, like it’s a casual thing. like you’re not trembling under your smirk.

sevika snorts. doesn’t look away from the pipe she’s welding.

“you ever get fired in a workshop?”

you lean closer. “would you kiss me before or after firing me?”

this time, she looks up. slow. warning.

you lift your hands in surrender. “just gathering data.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the door creaks when you push it open.

you don’t expect her to be there. you’re mostly sure she won’t be. it’s her and your day off, it’s late, the whole street is half-asleep under the soft purple of early night. the sky’s hazy, clouds hanging over zaun.

you just forgot your jacket. that’s it. you left it here earlier, when you stopped by to grab that old gear schematic. figured you’d slip in, slip out.

but then you smell smoke. it’s become such a familiar scent, almost like home.

there she is.

sevika.

sitting at the main bench, bathed in the golden spill of a low lamp. wearing a simple fitted t-shirt, muscles coiled lazy along her forearms. she’s holding some kind of broken hinge. house hardware, it looks like.

a cigar sits between her lips, glowing soft at the tip, curling smoke around her jaw like a crown made of fire.

you stop and for a second your brain blanks entirely.

her eyes lift. meet yours. flat. unimpressed. “what the hell are you doing here.”

your voice trips, catches itself, then smooths.

“forgot my jacket,” you say, shrugging with a little smile. you nod toward the hook behind the door. “not stalking you, promise.”

“shame,” she mutters. “would’ve been more interesting.”

you grab the jacket and walk over. your hair’s still a little curled from earlier, makeup half-worn off, skirt swishing around your knees as you move. you didn’t dress up for this, obviously. but still.

she notices.

you perch one hand on the edge of the bench. tilt your head. “what’re you fixing?”

she grunts. “drawer rail snapped. piece of shit.”

“thrilling.”

a puff of smoke escapes her nose. “where were you going, all dressed like that?”

you smile. bite your lip, just barely, “what’s it to you?”

her brow lifts. you see the second she realizes she asked. like the words came out before she gave them permission.

you lean in, teasing, grin spreading across your face. “you jealous?”

she exhales sharp. rolls her eyes. “of what? whoever’s dumb enough to take you out?”

“ouch.”

you’re grinning wider now. the smoke swirls between you, heavy and sweet and your gaze drops to the cigar between her lips. your thoughts get much, much louder. stupider.

don’t do it don’t do it don’t—

you do. you reach forward. pluck the cigar right out of her mouth. she blinks. is she stunned?

you bring it to your lips, inhale. just a little, because it tastes awful. too strong. you cough once.

“how do you smoke this shit?” you rasp.

her arm moves before she thinks. she reaches to take it back. but your hand moves too, with your body, and instead of returning the cigar, you lean in.

press your mouth to hers.

just a breath. just a second. your lips are soft, the kiss barely-there. just enough for her to feel the shape of it. and then you pull back. slowly.

your face is glowing. oh, you’re smug. thrilled. like you just won sevika in poker. she stares at you. for a whole minute.

you’re halfway into a cocky little comment when she finally mutters — half-growled, low and breathy:

“you little shit.”

and then she kisses you.

hard. one hand curled into the back of your jacket, pulling you closer, pressing your mouth to hers like she’s claiming her territory. her lips taste like smoke and heat and steel. so much better than you imagined. you melt instantly.

your brain short-circuits. you’re so damn proud of yourself.

sevika moves like the leash finally snapped. her mouth covers yours again, rougher this time, teeth grazing just slightly as she presses in harder. you’re breathless. she huffs a laugh against your mouth like you’re exactly the kind of trouble she should’ve seen coming. and you are.

you pull at the collar of her shirt, fingers shaking as you touch the fabric, the heat beneath it. her hands already sprayed wide at your waist, pulling you closer.

her voice is gravel when she finally pulls back, barely a whisper against your lips.

“you’re out of your damn mind.”

your fingers rise to her jaw, brushing the rough line of her scar. when she licks into you, slow and deliberate, you whimper. pathetic, but can you really blame yourself?

you’re straddling her lap before you even realize it, thighs bracketing hers, skirt riding up in the back. her hands are big, scarred, and when they grab your hips, you feel it.

your body folds into hers like it was built for this exact purpose.

“this what you wanted?” she rasps, voice thick, low in your ear. “been teasing me for weeks — now you gonna cry when i give it to you?”

you grind down on her thigh, sharp and shameless, “you wish.”

your hands tug at her shirt, slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. her stomach flexes under your fingers.

you moan into her mouth when she grabs your ass with both hands and rocks you against her thigh.

“fuck,” she mutters, “you’re so warm—”

“then do something about it.”

you need her to do something.

your back hits the workbench and her body follows. she crowds you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other palming your thigh.

you tug her closer. feel her thigh press between yours again, higher this time. your hips jolt. your head tips back. “please,” you gasp, fingers fisting in her shirt, “sevika—”

she cuts you off with her mouth.

there’s no space left between you anymore, none, and maybe that should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. it feels like finally.

her hand’s under your skirt now, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. your skin burns everywhere she touches, and when her thumb grazes the edge of your underwear — lazy, suggestive — you’re glad you’re not standing because you’re so weak in knees.

“fuck,” you breathe, head tipping back against the bench, eyes fluttering.

“that all it takes?” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “a few touches and you’re falling apart?”

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

she chuckles low in her throat. it’s warm against your neck, “sure i do.”

her teeth graze the shell of your ear. your whole body jolts.

her mouth finds yours again. not teasing anymore, not at all. she kisses you like your taste is the only thing she’s thought about for days. you know her taste is.

you gasp into her mouth as her hand slides higher, slips beneath the edge of your underwear — and god. her fingers are fast, practiced, sure, and when they slide between your folds, she groans.

“wet already?” her voice drops into something filthy, almost reverent. “fuck, you really wanted this bad, didn’t you?”

you nod. bite your lip. her fingers slide through the slick once. twice. slow and deliberate. you arch into her hand, clutching her shoulders.

“don’t tease,” you whisper. “please, sevika, just—”

you don’t even finish. she slips one thick finger in. then two.

your hands claw at her biceps, anchoring yourself while her fingers fucks you deep, steady, perfect. her palm presses hard against your clit every time she moves. it’s brutal. addicting.

“shit. look at you. taking it so good.” she growls into your neck.

you moan something half-formed and needy — a thank you, maybe, or a plea — you’re not even sure. everything is blurring. your vision goes hazy around the edges, your legs shake, your body’s curling in on itself as she keeps moving, keeps pushing you right to the edge—

“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you gasp, voice breaking. “yes, sevika, fuck, just don’t stop.”

she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

she watches your mouth fall open, your hands grip the bench behind you, your whole body come undone around her fingers, and when you cry out her name, she almost fucking loses it completely.

you’re still catching your breath, still trying to remember how knees work, when she pulls her fingers from you slow, so slow, and sucks them clean right in front of you.

your mouth falls open. no sound comes out. just want.

she leans close, lips brushing your cheek. “turn around.”

you blink. “what?”

“i said: turn. around.” her voice is low. a growl, really.

you swallow. obey.

your palms hit the workbench. it’s cold under your hands, solid. there’s grease stains near the edges and scattered screws and metal shavings but you don’t care.

you feel her hand slide up your back. then down again. slow. deliberate.

“look at you,” she mutters, voice dragging hot across your spine. “fucking dripping. just from my fingers.”

your breath hitches. your thighs clench.

“and now you’re bent over my goddamn workbench like you’re begging for it.”

“maybe i am,” you manage to breathe, lifting your hips just enough.

her hand comes down hard on your ass.

you yelp. she hums.

“brat,” she says, like a warning. “you’re a fucking brat.”

you hear her opening a drawer or something. you’re just about to turn your head when you feel cold tip, slick with the lube just at your behind. your breath catches. was this in the workshop all this time? waiting for its time?

“been thinking about this for weeks,” she mutters, voice dark with hunger. “the way you walk around like, playing games. the way you run your mouth, like you don’t know i could shut it with my fingers, or my cock—”

you moan, wanton. she chuckles behind you.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.”

you feel her press up against you. your whole body sings for it.

“beg for it,” she says, low in your ear.

you don’t hesitate. “sevika, please. i need it so bad. right here. right now.”

sevika wanted to tease you a little more, but when she actually heard you asking for it, plans changed. she’s inside you now.

a high gasp escapes your parted lips and your hands scramble for the edge of the bench, trying to anchor yourself as she fills you up in one smooth, punishing thrust.

“there,” she snarls, grabbing your hips. “that shut you up, huh?”

you can’t speak.

“fuck,” she hisses, fucking into you harder. “you’re so fucking tight. clenching like you’re trying to keep me in.”

you are.

every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. the bench groans under the rhythm. her hands are bruising on your hips.

“you gonna come for me again, like this?” she asks, breath heavy against your neck. “bent over where we work? like a desperate little slut?”

“yes,” you sob. “yes, yes, sevika— please—”

her hand snakes around you, pressing hard to your clit. her mouth is bites your shoulder. her hips slam into yours, over and over and over.

and when you finally snap, it’s with moan that echoes through the whole damn shop. you fall forward, barely holding yourself up.

sevika rides it out, groaning, thrusting once, twice, before she slams in and stills, burying it deep as she spills with a low, muttered curse right into your skin.

the silence after is heavy. warm. her breath fans over your back. your thighs ache. your legs are jello.

you feel her press a kiss to your shoulder.

“now that’s a way to spend your day off.”

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @ggutpunch

#sevika my love #arcane #sevika x you #sevika x reader #sapphic #lesbian #sevika

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rageprufrock · 5 days ago

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Hey!

Really appreciating the cultural context posts you are sharing! It is really helping to recontextualize important details!!

So just a follow up to the name post, when we write fanfic, how would you say is the most culturally correct/appropriate way we can write the character's name during narration ('Xiaoshuai stood up.' or something ?) versus how they would call each other ?

Firstly: don't worry, this isn't a matter of being culturally correct or appropriate--it just sounds and lands weird to the Chinese ear. Using it wrong isn't offending anybody or rousing the anger of our ancestors or whatever, it's just a dead giveaway that you don't speak Chinese, which isn't a super huge shock when it comes to international fandom anyway, so truly, nobody needs to get pressed about this in any meaningful way unless you're going to write fan fiction that I want to read, in which case please God get this right so I don't have to back button out of that bitch.

In terms of how you'd use names in regular context, it's never incorrect when referring to someone to use their full name. Chinese family names don't serve the same purpose as Western surnames--they're an intrinsic part of a person's name, not separate from their given name. My parents still call me by my full name, including family name, very frequently, and not even because I'm in trouble.

If you worry that's not giving enough variation in your narrative, you can always default to the given name--if it has two syllables in it. If a character's full name is, to bring some necromancing twink action into it, Wei Ying, I cannot express to you how unhinged it sounds for that character to be referred to, whether by another character or by themselves or by the narrator as just "Ying." However, you can absolutely refer to them as Wuxian, as in Wei Wuxian.

Okay now I'm going to get into advanced weirdness 204: what would you refer to a character by if you're the narrator or POV character, referring to a different character?

If I'm thinking about myself, I am only ever going to think about myself in my full name, full stop. I have literally never thought about myself as anything other than Family Name Given Name in the private offices of my brain, unless I am calling myself a dumbass or something of a similar nature.

If I am thinking about someone else, all the things you might reasonably call that person out loud are things you could call them in the narrative. For example, if I am being a pervert about Guo Chengyu (facts), I could refer to him in a depraved screed about the stuff I want to do to and at him as "Guo Chengyu," as "Chengyu," as "Guo-zong" (Director Guo, presuming his work title), "Guo-shao" (young master Guo), "Chengyu-ge," Bro Chengyu (nonfucky), "Chengyu-gege" (unbelievably fucky), "Chengcheng" (if I want to get punched), "Yuyu" (also if I want to get punched), "Cheng'er" (if I'm some kind of female relative who is significantly more senior to him, but mostly limited to moms and maternal aunts), "xiao-Cheng" or "xiao-Yu" (if I'm an older male with reasonable closeness; this would not be appropriate in a work setting unless the person is significantly, significantly more senior than him and probably only acceptable if they're a friend of the family).

But you can also play with this. So if I have a secret crush on Guo Chengyu, and I'm in his long-suffering rotation of secretaries, I might generally refer to him--out loud and in my head--as Guo-zong (Director Guo), but in my heart, late at night when it's safe and I allow myself to hope, I might whisper "Chengyu-gege" to myself like a complete harlot.

I am aware this did not help at all. 👍

#chinese language #chinese bl #sorry mom

481 notes · View notes

shiftingwitholive · 1 month ago

Text

things to script about your s/o!

here are some things i always script to make sure my relationships are always supportive, non-toxic and just generally wonderful <3

they always think you’re pretty, weather you’re wearing makeup, no makeup, pajamas or a fancy outfit

they can always sense when you need space and when you need them to talk to you or distract you (when you’re upset)

they are good at communicating their needs and if there is any problems, they also understand and make sure to actually listen when yoy communicate your needs

their mouth doesn't taste bad (dude i am NOT kissing you if you have horrific breath)

you are saved as a cute nickname in their phone (if you have phones) - idk i just think this one is cute

they are really patient with you when trying to teach you stuff

if they tease you or you two have sarcastic banter as a part of your jokes they never take it too far and know when to stop

You only have PDA when you are both comfortable (and they can tell when you aren't!!)

they won't keep any bad secrets from you (only fun things like surprise parties or surprise gifts)

they are comfy (this one may seem weird but like, if you're planning on laying on their chest or resting your head on their shoulder you don't wanna feel like your head is on a rock)

they have good music taste (requirement for my irl relationships)

they won't smell bad

they always have the physical stuff you need - weather that's a spare key when you can't find yours in your pockets, a straw at a restaurant, sugary snacks when you're tired, ect. (for my current s/o i scripted that he has a spare eyeliner in his bag because i always complain about forgetting mine when we went places)

they can cook (no matter how much you love take out, nothing is better than a home cooked meal. unless you wanna be the cook in which case go off queen)

if you sleep in the same bed - they won't take up too much of the bed/ duvet or be too warm/too cold in the night, they don't snore or drool, non gross sleeping please.

they listen to you talk about your interests and actually care (instead of pretending they do)

they let you spend time with your friends without being too clingy or annoying

they have good friends that won't be mean/ annoying/ inappropriate with you

they are really sweet at all times

they always have the best compliments for you

your love languages match up

they never mock you or your beliefs (unless it's like a joke that you are both comfy with and know is a joke)

they are willing to share their clothes (i will slowly steal all of my S/O’s t-shirts and hoodies)

this list is forever expanding, but here are just the ideas i have for now. some of these are specific to me so if there's anything that doesn't work you don't have to include it! it's your script for your dr.

happy shifting!! <3

#reality shifting #shifting #desired reality #shiftblr #shifting community #shifting script #reality shift #shifting blog #shifting realities #dr scripting #dr s/o #shifting s/o #i miss my s/o #shifitng #anti shifters dni

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cheftsunoda · 1 month ago

Note

hi okay so i know you just did a poly and i absolutely ADORED it, so i wanted to put in a little request! could you do a poly where reader was with a driver (say lando for reference) but he cheated on her, so she writes a song about him cheating. however, carlos and rebecca swoop in and take her for themselves, which leads reader to write an album about them? i LOVE your works and i love your poly works even more!

it’s ok im ok — cs55 + rebecca

smau/blurbs

carlos sainz x !singer reader x rebecca donaldson

lando norris x !ex singer reader

yn has been nothing but loyal and loving to lando over the last year and a half…and what did that get her? a broken heart…but it also may have given her a boyfriend AND a girlfriend.

fc : tate mcrae

(a/n) : love this ideaaaaa <3 thank you for all the love cutie pie.

guys i had the cs55 in red up until the minute i was about to post this. im still not over it.

also i apologize bc this took me so unnecessarily long to finish. promise i will have something else posted by tonight or early tomorowwww

—

f1gossipgirls

2,278,009 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Lando… babe, did you forget you have a girlfriend? And not just any girlfriend—a very hot, internationally famous one at that. Word on the street is Lando’s been cozying up to Magui these past few days while YN’s away on tour. And yep, someone caught them kissing in the club. Oof. Sending hugs to YN—she deserves so much better.

—

view 575,090 other comments.

username00 : not LANDO cheating on a GRAMMY NOMINATED BADDIE while she’s working 😭 men are actually unserious.

username0 : this is def on brand for magui

username1 : you fumble a woman like yn and you fumble your whole life, congrats lando 🎉

username5 : she was literally on stage pouring her heart out while he was in the club. disgusting.

username7 : her last show was tonight and he was supposed to be there with carlos im sick.

↳ username00 : carlos will def still be there. he LOVES yn and will especially be there to support her now.

username10 : cheating on a superstar like yn is so insane to me. i would’ve just stayed grateful and quiet 😭

username11 : you don’t cheat on a woman the world is in love with. he’s done.

username15 : can someone check on yn pls she deserves love, peace, and no crusty men.

—

The stage lights are warm against my skin as I run through the final chorus, my voice echoing across the empty arena. Soundcheck usually feels like a safe space—a quiet rehearsal before the chaos of the crowd. But today, something feels…off. My phone has been vibrating nonstop. At first, I ignore it—everyone knows not to blow up my phone during rehearsals unless it’s urgent. Then the vibrations keep coming. And coming.

I lower my mic slowly and turn toward the side of the stage. My phone is facedown on a case, but even from here, I can see the screen light flashing again and again. Missed calls. Messages. Alerts. The energy in the room shifts.

“Hold for a second?” I say, already walking toward it.

I flip my phone over. The first thing I see is Lando’s name trending. Then the texts hit me all at once.

“Please call me ASAP.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Are you okay?”

“Have you seen the video???”

My chest tightens. I don’t want to click it. I already know. Deep down, I know. Still, I tap the notification. It opens to a video. Blurry, loud, too dark—but unmistakable. Lando. Magui. A club in Monaco. His hands on her waist. Her arms around his neck. His lips on hers. I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing.

“YN?” a voice calls gently.

I turn just as—my best friend, my dancer, my anchor—crosses the stage. Her face changes the second she sees mine.

“Come here,” she says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and steering me offstage without asking a single question.

We sit on a low equipment case behind the curtain. The buzzing in my phone hasn’t stopped. Neither has the buzz in my head.

“He cheated on me,” I whisper. “In a club. While I was here. Rehearsing. Writing songs about him.”

She doesn’t flinch. Her grip on my hand tightens. “I saw the video,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you to see it like this.”

I laugh, bitter and cracked. “How else was I supposed to see it? On Twitter? A news alert? A pap asking me about it??”

My voice shakes. My throat aches. I feel humiliated. Blindsided. Like the whole world saw the betrayal before I even knew it happened.

“I gave him everything,” I murmur. “I loved him. I trusted him.”

“I know,” She says softly. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. He did.”

My eyes blur with tears I hadn’t realized were building. I feel like I’m underwater, like this moment isn’t fully real yet.

“I feel so stupid,” I choke. “I feel…used.”

“No,” She says, pulling me into a hug. “You feel hurt. And you have every right to. But don’t you ever call yourself stupid. He didn’t cheat because of you—he cheated because he’s a coward.”

I lean into her. The backstage hum fades away, replaced by the sound of my heart breaking quietly into pieces.

She pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “You’re going to survive this. And then? You’re going to do what you always do. You’re going to write. And when the world hears what he did to you in your own words? They’re not going to pity you. They’re going to stand with you.”

I swallow hard and nod. Slowly. My voice is gone, but my hands curl into fists.

“I’m done protecting people who don’t protect me,” I whisper.

Jess smiles, proud and fierce. “There she is.”

—

The dressing room is filled with soft rustling and whispers. The scent of setting spray lingers in the air. I sit at the vanity, staring into the mirror as someone touches up the shimmer at the corner of my eyes. I look calm. Composed. But I feel like I’m floating outside myself. My phone buzzes again beside the mirror. I don’t need to look.

Lando. Again.

Missed calls. Messages. Voicemails. I’ve stopped checking.

“Don’t,” YBFN murmurs behind me, catching my eye in the mirror.

“I wasn’t going to,” I reply quietly, though my hand itches to grab the phone and throw it across the room.

Instead, I slide it farther out of reach. I shouldn’t care. But I do. Because I loved him. Because I trusted him. Because I thought the boy I stayed up writing songs about would at least have the decency to not betray me in public like that.

“YN?” someone calls gently from the hallway.

A knock follows. Hesitant.

“Hey, uh… it’s Max. Can I come in?”

I glance at her, and she gives a subtle nod. I swallow down the lump in my throat.

“Yeah,” I call.

The door creaks open slowly, and Max Fewtrell steps in, holding a bouquet of pale roses wrapped in soft brown paper. He looks… unsure. Nervous in a way I’ve never seen him. Like he doesn’t quite know where to stand in the aftermath.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey.”

He steps forward, then stops halfway, fidgeting with the paper in his hands. “I—look, I didn’t know. I swear to you. If I had known what he was doing—what he did—I never would’ve let it happen. I feel sick. And I know I’m probably the last person you want to see, but I couldn’t not come tonight.”

His voice cracks a little near the end, and my heart tugs painfully in my chest.

I’ve always loved Max. Not in the way I loved him, but like the way you love people who come into your life and never leave—quiet constants. He was always there. Supportive. Sweet. A buffer when Lando got overwhelmed. A safe space. I stand slowly and walk to him. He doesn’t meet my eyes at first.

“I don’t hate you,” I say gently.

He looks up, and his eyes are glossy.

“I’ve known him since we were kids,” he says. “I never thought he’d do this to you. I mean—God, you of all people.”

I take the flowers from his hands, brushing my fingers against his. “Thank you for coming.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was picking sides,” he says quietly. “I’m not. I can’t. Not when I saw how much you loved him. And not when I see what this did to you.”

My throat tightens, but I manage a smile. “You don’t have to explain, Max. You showing up says enough.”

He nods, jaw tense like he’s holding something back.

“If you need anything,” he says finally. “Someone to vent to. Someone to just sit in silence. A drink after the show. I’m here, alright? No pressure. No sides. Just… me.”

I pull him into a hug without thinking. It’s gentle. Familiar. And it makes something crack open in my chest—something quiet and sad and healing all at once.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, even if I’m not quite there yet. “But thank you for being here.”

Max hugs me tighter, just for a second, before pulling back. “You’re going to kill it tonight. Just… don’t let him ruin this moment. This is yours.”

He smiles at me once more and slips out the door just as the call for places comes through. I glance back at my phone one last time, still lighting up. I power it off. Let him sit in silence. Tonight, the only voice that matters is mine.

—

The lights dim. The crowd erupts. The opening chords hum through my in-ears, and I step into the spotlight like I’ve done a hundred times before—but tonight feels different. Heavier. Quieter, even in the chaos. It’s the final show of the tour. It should’ve been a celebration. But instead, I’m standing on stage with a broken heart, mascara set like armor, and an entire audience holding their breath for me. I grip the mic with steady hands and let the lyrics come, one by one. A verse. A chorus. A little bit of my soul falling out in every line. I look up and something catches my glance. Carlos and Rebecca, standing in the VIP section.

Carlos is wearing all black, his arms crossed casually, but his eyes never leave mine. Rebecca’s beside him, radiant in her simplicity, with a soft expression that feels like warmth. Her hand brushes lightly against his, and when she catches my gaze, she smiles. Not a pity smile. A proud one.

I falter for half a second. Not enough for the crowd to notice—but I feel it. The way their presence roots me. Grounds me.

Carlos nods at me—just once. Like he sees everything and says, “You’ve got this.”

I sing the next line straight to him without even meaning to. The lyric cuts deeper than I expected. There’s a flash in his eyes. Something soft. Something protective.

Rebecca lifts her hand in a quiet salute as if to say, We’re here. You’re not alone. And just like that, I stop thinking about Lando. I stop thinking about the betrayal, the headlines, the ache in my chest. Because here I am—on stage, holding a crowd in the palm of my hand, singing my truth.

And in the middle of it all, two people I never expected to be looking for… are looking at me like I matter. I finish the song and let the last note linger.

The audience roars. Somewhere in the noise, I hear someone scream, “We love you, YN!”

I smile. And when I glance back at the VIP section—Carlos is still watching. Rebecca whispers something to him, and he nods, slow and certain, like a promise. My heart flutters. Maybe this isn’t the end of something. Maybe it’s the beginning.

—

The door to my dressing room clicks shut behind me as I step inside, the noise of the arena fading to a low hum. It’s quiet in here. Dimly lit. Safe. I exhale for what feels like the first time all night—half-laughter, half-collapse—as I lean against the vanity table and look at myself in the mirror. Smudged eyeliner, a faint shimmer on my collarbone, and the remnants of adrenaline still pulsing through my veins. But then I notice them. The flowers. Three bouquets, each one distinct. Each one carefully placed.

The first is elegant, precise—white orchids and pale blush roses wrapped in a ribbon that looks like it came straight from a Paris runway. A small note is tucked into the stems.

We’re so sorry we couldn’t be there tonight, mon ange. We watched the live stream from home. You were breathtaking. We love you, and if you need anything—anything at all—we’re here. Always.

— Charles & Alexandra ❤️

My throat tightens. I press the card to my chest for a second, then gently set it down. The second bouquet is wild and colorful—sunflowers, tulips, baby’s breath. Unruly in the best way. Joyful. The third is rich and moody—deep reds and golds, with eucalyptus and something that smells faintly like rosemary. Bold. Grounded. Attached to both are notes written in the same pen.

You were incredible tonight. Breathtaking and beautiful as ever. I love you.

— Becs

So proud of you, Cariño. You gave it your all and looked stunning while doing it.

— Carlitos

Before I can even finish reading them, there’s a soft knock at the door. I turn just as it opens and Rebecca steps inside first, glowing in a sleek black suit and boots. Carlos follows, a bit more hesitant, his curls still slightly messy like he ran a hand through them a dozen times before walking in.

“You were incredible,” Rebecca says, her voice low and warm. “Every single second. You tore the roof off.”

“You nearly made me cry,” Carlos adds, offering a half-smile. “Which, I don’t do. Ever. So. Thanks for that.”

I laugh, startled by the emotion that rises so quickly. “I’m really glad you both came.”

Carlos shrugs. “We weren’t going to miss it. Not tonight.”

Rebecca’s eyes flick to the flowers, then back to me. “We didn’t want to crowd you after everything, but… we thought maybe you could use a distraction. Something light. Loud music, good drinks, bad decisions.”

Carlos leans against the wall and grins. “You feel like celebrating?”

I look between them—two people who didn’t owe me anything but showed up anyway. Who didn’t pity me, didn’t push, didn’t question—just stood with me. And for the first time since everything crumbled, I feel like I can breathe.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding slowly. “I think I do.”

Rebecca beams. Carlos tosses me his jacket without warning, and it lands perfectly over my shoulders.

“Let’s go remind the world,” he says, “that you’re the star of the show.”

And for once, I believe it.

—

f1gossipgirls

3,450,305 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, folks… the post-breakup friend draft is officially over — and it’s looking like YN LN took the win. Max Fewtrell and his girlfriend Pietra were front and center at her sold-out Madrid show last night, joined by none other than Carlos Sainz and Rebecca Donaldson. YN, Rebecca and Carlos were later spotted celebrating at a club downtown, all smiles and tequila shots. No sign of Lando. Ouch. Looks like the grid has chosen sides… and we’re not saying anything, but this one has to sting a little. 💔

—

view 675,045 other comments.

username00 : Carlos choosing the ex over the bestie… that silence gotta be loud for real 😭

username0 : She got Max and Carlos?? oh lando honey you fucked up.

username1 : this is like when your divorced parents fight over the family dog but the dog picks your mom

username5 : me pretending i didn’t see this bc my mental health is fragile

username7 : he’s focusing on racing and y’all are obsessed with who’s hanging out with who lmao

↳ username00 : he wasn’t focused on racing while juggling two women at once.

↳ f1gossipgirls : ate.

username10 : i get supporting yn but can we stop pretending like breakups are one-sided??

↳ username0 : he legit cheated on her while she was away singing love songs she WROTE ABOUT HIM.

↳ f1gossipgirls : you tell em mama

—

It was past 2AM, and the club was pulsing with bodies and sound — music deep enough to drown in, lights flickering like camera flashes. Everything was sticky with champagne and smoke and heat. It should’ve been overwhelming.

But I was wrapped in them.

Carlos’ hand was firm and low on my waist, grounding me, his breath warm against the shell of my ear as he leaned in to say something that got lost in the music. I didn’t ask him to repeat it — didn’t need to. The way he looked at me when I laughed told me everything.

Rebecca was curled against my other side, her arm slung around my shoulder, her perfume heady and sweet — something expensive and wicked. She was glowing, flushed from dancing, eyes glassy in that beautiful way tequila makes everything soft and electric.

She pressed her lips against my cheek, slow and lingering, just as Carlos’ thumb started tracing lazy circles on my side. I tilted my head back, dizzy and melting between them, and smiled.

“Anyone watching us right now,” I murmured, voice barely audible over the bass, “is probably losing their minds.”

Carlos chuckled, pulling me a little closer, the pad of his fingers skimming over the edge of my bare back. “Let them.”

Rebecca grinned, her teeth grazing my earlobe before she whispered, “Let them talk. They’ve never had this.”

There was no rush. No expectations. Just the three of us — tipsy, warm, wrapped in each other’s gravity, dancing slowly even when the beat was fast.

Carlos kissed my shoulder. Rebecca kissed my neck. And in the middle of a wild, glittering room where everything else was chaos — we were something still. Something that felt like ours.

—

There’s something sacred about silence in the morning.

Not the kind that’s forced or awkward — the kind that’s earned. That slow, drowsy stillness that only follows a night bursting at the seams with noise and light and too many glasses of champagne. I could still feel the bass in my bones, a faint echo of the club vibrating somewhere under my skin, but it was fading, replaced by the soft rhythm of two other heartbeats tangled with mine.

Carlos was the first thing I noticed.

His arm draped heavy over my waist, the press of his chest against my back grounding me in that half-dream state. His body was always warm, always solid — like curling up with summer. His breathing was slow and steady, his lips just brushing my shoulder with each exhale. Every time I moved, even slightly, his grip adjusted like his body already knew mine too well.

Rebecca was curled against my other side, still half asleep, her thigh slung over mine, one arm tucked beneath her head, and the other linked with my fingers — lazy and possessive even in slumber. Her hair was a mess of soft waves across the pillow, catching the golden morning light like honey. I could smell her perfume on the sheets, sweet and faint now, but still hers. Still her.

And me? I was the luckiest kind of hungover.

My mouth tasted like tequila and chocolate. My makeup was probably smeared halfway across Carlos’ chest. My head was pounding just a little — a quiet throb at the base of my skull — but I didn’t care. I felt like I’d been cracked open and poured into a world that was soft and blurry and unreal.

I closed my eyes again, soaking it in.

The bed was too warm, the blankets pushed halfway down, and one of Rebecca’s heels was still tipped over by the doorway. There was a bottle of water on the nightstand. An empty champagne glass beside it. One of Carlos’ rings was sitting on top of my phone, like even he couldn’t keep track of where it ended up anymore.

“Are you awake?” Rebecca’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with sleep.

“Maybe,” I murmured.

She shifted closer, her nose brushing against the side of my jaw. “You’re staring again.”

I smiled, eyes still closed. “You’re both disgustingly attractive first thing in the morning. It’s unfair.”

Carlos groaned behind me, voice gravelly and low. “Too early for compliments. Or talking.”

“But not too early for cuddling, apparently,” I teased, wiggling back into his chest.

He made a soft sound — something between a chuckle and a sigh — and pulled me tighter against him, his hand skimming down to my hip, fingers tracing absent circles over my skin. “Always time for that.”

Rebecca shifted to press a kiss just below my ear, her lips lingering. “Do we have to get up?”

“No,” I whispered. “Not yet.”

The three of us stayed wrapped in the sheets like that, tangled and slow, like we could hide from the world if we just stayed still enough. There was no rush. No need to explain anything. Just breath and warmth and the quiet knowledge that something real had grown out of the wildness.

“I like this,” Rebecca said softly.

Carlos hummed in agreement. “Me too.”

“Even after I dragged you both through three clubs and made you take tequila shots with strangers?” I teased.

He kissed my shoulder. “Especially after that.”

Rebecca grinned against my neck. “You’re exhausting. But in the best way.”

The sunlight spilled brighter through the curtains. Outside, Monaco was probably waking up, already buzzing. But here — in this little cocoon of soft sheets and half-whispers — the world felt far away.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of both of them — Carlos with sleep still in his eyes, Rebecca brushing hair from her face, both of them looking at me like I was something good.

And I realized, for the first time in a long time… I wasn’t running from anything.

I was home.

—

third person pov

Lando stared at the gossip post like it might change if he refreshed the page.

It didn’t.

“Well, it’s clear who won the friend group after the breakup. Max Fewtrell and his girlfriend Pietra were spotted front row at YN LN’s final Madrid show last night. Carlos Sainz and Rebecca Donaldson were also in attendance — and the trio was later seen heading to a club together. No sign of Lando, of course.”

It wasn’t dramatic. Not really. No grainy kiss, no scandalous hand placement. But somehow it hit harder than all the rumors ever had.

She looked radiant in the pictures — eyes closed, mid-performance, glitter like stardust on her cheekbones. In the one shot outside the club, she was sandwiched between Carlos and Rebecca, laughing like the night hadn’t ended. Her arm was looped loosely through Carlos’, Rebecca standing close on her other side, all three of them glowing under the Madrid streetlights.

Lando clicked his phone off. Turned it back on. And called Max.

It rang once.

Twice.

“Bro,” Max answered, half amused and half wary, like he already knew why he was calling.

“You were at the show?” Lando asked, skipping the pleasantries.

“I was.”

“And you didn’t think to—” Lando stopped himself. “She looked… good.”

Max was silent for a beat. “She was incredible.”

“And then the club?”

Another pause.

“Yeah,” Max admitted, a little quieter. “Carlos and Rebecca took her out after. Just to celebrate. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Did she seem…” Lando trailed off, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know. Weird? Off?”

Max sighed. “No, mate. She seemed free.”

Lando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the room around him suddenly too quiet. “You really think she’s okay?”

“I think she’s better than okay,” Max said. “I think she’s finally figuring out what her life looks like without constantly being judged for it. Without you in it.”

The words landed like a punch — not cruel, just honest.

Lando swallowed hard. “You know I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know,” Max said. “But you still let her feel like she had to go through it alone.”

There was nothing left to say after that.

Just the low hum of the call, the sound of a friendship quietly splintering under the weight of something heavier than either of them could name.

“She deserves to be happy,” Max added softly.

Lando nodded, even though no one could see it. “Yeah,” he said, barely above a whisper. “She does.”

And then he hung up.

The post was still open on his screen, YN frozen mid-laugh between two people who didn’t let her go.

For the first time, Lando wondered if he’d already lost her for good.

—

yn_ln added two posts to her story!

seen by lando, carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, and 10,300,094 others.

{caption 1 : oh madrid, how i love you. thank you for an amazing last show of this tour.} {caption 2 : ty @/yourbff for the new shirt. something big coming soon.}

—

lando : yn can we please talk about this?

↳ lando : I’ll do anything. I can fly out rn and we can talk or you can just yell at me.

↳ lando : please yn.

↳ lando : I love you.

↳ yn_ln : if you really loved me, you would’ve never done that to me. I don’t want to talk lando. i want you out of my life, forever. please. give me my time. give me my peace.

alexandrasaintmleux : you are so beautiful it is insane. but how are you doing my love?

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : making it through. would love to see your beautiful face when i come back to monaco tho:)

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

alexandrasaintmleux : absolutely! can’t wait!

oscarpiastri : im sorry he is so fucking stupid. hoping you will still come down and see me though :/

liked by yn_ln

yn_ln : I most definitely will, Osc.

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: hope you’re doing well though, yn. always here to talk if you need.

liked by yn_ln

carlossainz55 : so proud, cariño❤️

liked by yn_ln

—

yn_ln

liked by carlossainz55, alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri & 14,090,007 others.

yn_ln : well, whatever that was. it’s ok im ok + mv out everywhere now.

—

view 909,475 other comments.

alexandrasaintmleux : my jaw is still on the ground. you absolutely ate that (and him) up.

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : i love youuuuuuu

georgerussell63 : if i were him or HER id be in hiding for the next 20 years.

liked by yn_ln

↳ yn_ln : one can only hope.

liked by georgerussell63

franciscagomes : you are so fucking hot. he fumbled so hard

liked by yn_ln

francolapinto : i volunteer to be the rebound

liked by yn_ln

alexalbon : remind me to never get on your bad side. pls don’t write about me

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↳ yn_ln : won’t write about you but will write about your angel gf who is the loml

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↳ lilymhe : YOU ARE SO FUCKING HOT. NO MAN DESERVES ALL THAT. GIMME.

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charles_leclerc : hope they are both listening to this rn. you gagged THEM

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↳yn_ln : who taught you that??

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maxverstappen1 : i applaud you bc me personally i would’ve ran him over already but public embarrassment works too

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↳yn_ln : you still can if you wish

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iamrebeccad : so proud of my girl. you look soooooo good 😻

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↳yn_ln : couldn’t of done it without you my babyyyyy❤️

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username00 : the whole grid in her comments defending her…if i were lando….i would just disappear

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↳carlossainz55 : so incredibly proud pretty girl

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↳ yn_ln : love you angel

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—

The sky had started turning that perfect, syrupy gold — the kind of light that made even a parking lot look cinematic. My boots were sticking to the pavement, and the car hood I’d just climbed down from was still hot beneath my fingertips. I could feel mascara drying in the corners of my eyes and someone was yelling about lighting, but all I could think was— is this what closure feels like? Then I heard him.

“Tell me that I didn’t miss you in the splits.”

I turned around, and there they were. Carlos — in a white tee and sunglasses, holding a coffee— and Rebecca beside him, smirking and gorgeous My heart did this dumb little twist. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them until I saw them.

“We brought caffeine, love and hugs.” Rebecca said, sliding her arm around my waist.

“And if needed,” Carlos added, mock serious, “I will personally run Lando over. In that car, preferably.”

I couldn’t help it — I laughed. The kind of laugh that cracked my chest open just enough to let the ache breathe. I ran straight to him, throwing my arms around his shoulders, letting myself melt into the familiarity.

“I missed you guys.”

“You’re killing it,” Carlos murmured into my hair.

“You’re terrifying. In a really hot way,” Rebecca added, fanning me.

The crew kept moving around us, but I didn’t care. I just wanted this moment. Us.

I leaned into Carlos’s side and took a sip of the coffee he held up for me. I could still feel adrenaline buzzing in my ribs. “I just… I didn’t want the world to think he broke me,” I admitted quietly. “Even if, for a minute, he did.”

Carlos took my hand, warm and steady. “You didn’t get broken, cariño,” he said. “You got louder. Louder and hotter.”

Rebecca nodded fiercely. “And stronger. And bitchier. In a good way.”

I laughed again. The ache loosened a little more. I glanced at the monitor where the last take played back — me dancing on the car, mouthing the words like a woman who didn’t look back. Maybe this was what healing looked like. Glittery, a little messy, but surrounded by the people who reminded you who you were.

—

We just had wrapped for the day, the sun was lightly setting behind the clouds and I took a deep breath as I walked off set. I closed myself in my dressing room and let myself fall on the couch. I lied there for a few minutes, thinking, processing— not sure where my life was going next. Enough of that. I pushed myself up and quickly changed, checking my makeup in the mirror. I grabbed my bag and made my way out but I found myself with a smile on my face. Because just past the edge of the set, I saw them.

Carlos leaned against his car, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, hair windswept and cheeks flushed from the cold. Rebecca stood beside him, all glowing skin and easy elegance, both with a small smile that made my heart drop in the best way.

I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding it all together until I saw them. I walked over slowly, like if I moved too fast it would break the spell.

“You waited,” I said, voice low. Maybe a little shaky.

Rebecca passed me a cup. “Of course we did.”

Carlos tilted his head, eyes soft. “Did you think we wouldn’t?”

I didn’t answer. I just let myself sink into their arms — into Carlos’s steady warmth and Rebecca’s grounding touch. I think I sighed for the first time all day.

“We’re stealing you,” Rebecca murmured into my hair. “We have a reservation, you need real food, and I’m not letting you spiral in a trailer eating Sour Patch Kids and watch TikToks.”

Carlos kissed the side of my head. “Come on. You deserve a night off.”

They took me somewhere tucked into the hills above the city — candlelit tables, soft music, a quiet breeze. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect. I sat between them in the booth, fingers tangled with Rebecca’s under the table while Carlos poured me a glass of wine with one hand and stole my bread with the other. We laughed. A lot. But it wasn’t the kind of laughter you use to fill silence or avoid feelings. It was the kind that comes when your soul finally exhales.

“You know,” Rebecca said gently, at one point between courses, “watching you today… I was proud of you in a way I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. Not just because you looked hot — although, you did.”

Carlos grinned, nudging her. “Obviously.”

She smiled, then looked back at me. “But because you turned pain into power. And it didn’t look bitter. It looked like healing.”

My throat tightened. I reached for Carlos’s hand across the table and he didn’t hesitate. His thumb brushed over mine, slow and steady.

“You looked free,” he said simply. “Like you remembered who you were before the headlines, before the breakup, before him.”

I couldn’t say anything back. Just squeezed both their hands and tried to memorize the way it felt to be so completely seen. After dinner, we ended up on the beach — Rebecca’s idea. She said she needed to feel the sand and the stars and the sea to remind herself the world was bigger than Instagram comments. I sat between them on a blanket we found in Carlos’s trunk, their coats draped over my shoulders, watching the waves roll in and out. No noise. No pressure. Just the kind of quiet that felt like safety.

“You know what’s funny?” I said softly. “I used to think being loved meant being watched. Like, being chosen in a room full of people.”

Carlos glanced over, brow furrowed in that quiet, gentle way of his. “And now?”

I smiled, just a little. “Now I think it’s this. People who don’t need to choose you in a crowd because they’re already sitting next to you. Holding your hand. Sharing their fries.”

Rebecca rested her head on my shoulder, pressing a kiss to the space just beneath my jaw. “You never had to perform for us. You never will.”

Carlos’s fingers brushed mine again, lacing them together.

“You don’t have to be the strongest girl in the room,” he said. “You can just… be ours.”

And under the stars, wrapped in borrowed jackets and the softness of being fully known, I finally believed him.

—

I’d been holding the email open on my phone for almost an hour. The subject line still made my stomach twist.

Final Confirmation: Private Villa Booking — Amalfi Coast.

It was meant to be the celebration. The wrap-up. The quiet exhale after the noise of the tour. Just me, Lando, ocean views, overpriced wine, and no phones. We booked it months ago. Back when I thought we’d be forever. Back when I still flinched when people called him my anchor. Now it was just… mine. Still waiting. Still booked. Still beautiful. And the idea of going alone made my chest ache. I looked up from the screen. Rebecca was curled on my couch with a face mask on, one leg tossed over Carlos’s lap as he read something on his iPad. They were quiet. Safe. Mine, in that strange, soul-deep way.

“Can I ask you guys something?” My voice came out quieter than I expected.

Carlos glanced up immediately. Rebecca pulled off one earbud.

“Of course.”

I sat down on the floor in front of them, twisting my fingers in the hem of my hoodie.

“So, there was this trip… to the Amalfi Coast. It was supposed to be a post-tour getaway.” I paused, swallowing hard. “It was meant to be with Lando.”

They both stayed silent, waiting.

“I thought about canceling it,” I admitted. “But I didn’t. Something in me kept it. And now I… I want to go. I need to go.” I looked up, eyes burning slightly. “But I don’t want to go alone.”

Rebecca’s face softened immediately. Carlos reached forward and brushed his fingers gently over my knee.

“So come with me,” I whispered. “Please. I want to rewrite what it was supposed to be. I want to laugh and drink and sleep under the sun with people who make me feel like myself again. I want to take up space and not feel guilty about it. I want to go and not be haunted.”

Carlos didn’t hesitate. “Then we’ll go.”

Rebecca leaned forward, resting her forehead lightly against mine. “Baby, you never had to ask.”

“We’ll make it yours again,” Carlos added. “All of it. Just say when.”

—

carlossainz55 added two posts to his story!

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{caption 1 : from now on yn will be planning the trips} {caption 2 : my girls ❤️}

oscarpiastri : can she plan my next trip too?

↳ oscarpiastri : also i know how excited she was for this trip so thank you for not letting her go on her own.

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iamrebeccad : we love youuuuu

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—

yn_ln

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yn_ln : my peace.

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—

I should’ve known something was up when Rebecca told me to wear the black slip dress. Not suggested, not playfully offered an option — she told me. In that tone. I didn’t question it.

It was the kind of silky, clingy fabric that made me walk a little slower. The kind of dress that clung to your collarbones and shimmered in candlelight. I paired it with gold heels and a soft perfume.

And when I stepped out of the villa and saw Carlos waiting in an all-black linen button-down, his sleeves rolled up and his hair soft in the breeze, I forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Wow.”

That’s all he said.

And then Rebecca stepped out behind him, radiant in a champagne satin gown that flowed with every movement, her hair loose and gleaming, and I felt like I’d walked into a dream I didn’t even know I had. Dinner was on the terrace of a quiet, oceanside restaurant. White tablecloths. String lights twinkling overhead. The sea stretched into forever behind us, and everything smelled like salt and citrus and the slight sweetness of fresh basil. It was peaceful. Like we were tucked away from the rest of the world. Like this night didn’t have to end.

We laughed more than we spoke. Carlos ordered the wine and insisted on choosing everyone's plates like he was on some Michelin mission. Rebecca kept feeding me bites from her plate and pressing her hand against my thigh when she laughed. And it all felt like it had always been this way. Like I had always belonged between them. Somewhere between the dessert and the second bottle of wine, Carlos leaned forward, his fingers brushing mine.

“We, uh…” he started, and then looked at Rebecca, who gave him a small nod.

He turned his full attention back to me — soft, serious, that kind of gaze that makes you feel seen all the way through.

“We wanted this trip to be special for you. We know what it was supposed to be.”

I swallowed, the mention of him lingering in the space like a shadow, but it didn’t sting the way it used to. Not here. Not with them.

“But it’s also special for us,” Rebecca added, reaching for my hand, intertwining her fingers with mine. Her eyes searched mine, glassy under the dim lights. “Because being with you… feels like home. It always has.”

Carlos smiled, his thumb running over my knuckles. “And we don’t want it to just be a moment. Or a trip. Or a way to rewrite old memories.”

He paused. “We want it to be the start of something real. With you.”

My heart pounded so loudly I almost didn’t hear him.

“We want you, YN.”

Rebecca’s voice was softer now.

“All of you. Every wild, brilliant, chaotic, breathtaking piece of you. Officially.”

I blinked, suddenly breathless.

My past had always been chaos and press cycles and people twisting my story before I ever had a chance to tell it myself. But this — this — was a moment I got to keep. One they gave me with no conditions, no edits, no masks. Just love. Uncomplicated. Unashamed.

“Yes,” I whispered, tears catching in the corners of my eyes as I smiled.

“God, yes. Of course I want that.”

Carlos kissed my hand. Rebecca leaned in and kissed my cheek. And when I stood to hug them both, caught between their warmth and the sound of waves crashing behind us, I realized this was what peace tasted like. Salt on my lips. Wine on my tongue. And love wrapped around me like silk.

—

Mornings start slow here. Somewhere around 8:30, the sunlight filters in through the linen curtains, golden and warm. The villa smells like sea salt and espresso. Rebecca is usually curled up in one of the oversized chairs on the balcony with a book in her lap and her sunglasses pushed into her hair. Carlos takes his coffee out on the terrace and reads the news like a 40-year-old man on holiday. And me? I’ve been writing.

Not because I have to. Not because a label is breathing down my neck or the internet is waiting for a comeback. I’ve been writing because something inside me finally feels quiet enough to let the words come out.

I sit barefoot in the kitchen in one of Carlos’ Williams T-shirts with a pen tucked behind my ear and a notebook that smells faintly of sunscreen. Sometimes I write lyrics while I sip cold orange juice straight from the bottle. Sometimes I hum melodies into my phone between bites of toast. Sometimes I sing half-formed verses into the soft skin of Rebecca’s shoulder while she’s stretching beside me, and she just murmurs, “That one’s gonna hurt in the best way.”

The door creaks behind me. I glance up just as Carlos walks in shirtless, towel slung over his neck from his swim, hair wet and eyes sparkling.

“Writing again?” he asks, dropping a soft kiss to the top of my head.

“Trying,” I murmur, chewing on the end of the pencil.

“It’s weird. I feel like I’ve got so much to say and for once… no one's yelling over me.”

He sits beside me, stretching out long legs, his arm brushing mine.

“That’s because you finally surrounded yourself with people who want to listen,” he says softly, eyes meeting mine. “And people who love the way you say it.”

I swallow hard at that. Rebecca walks in with her hair tied up in a scarf, carrying a plate of fresh fruit and croissants like she’s straight out of a dream.

“Breakfast for the tortured artist,” she grins, plopping down next to me. “Please write a song about how you always steal food."

I laugh and lean into her shoulder.

“Only if you promise to be in the music video.”

“Done,” she smirks.

Carlos rolls his eyes.

“Am I allowed in this one, or am I just creative director again?”

“Creative director and shirtless muse,” I grin.

They laugh, and I soak it in. The comfort. The lightness. The way my heart isn’t clenched anymore when I think about writing love songs. Because they’re not memories now — they’re moments. Real ones. Quiet and full.

Later that afternoon, Rebecca will convince me to swim in the ocean and Carlos will carry my notebook like it’s sacred, making sure it doesn’t get wet. We’ll eat lemon pasta on the patio and they’ll convince me that “the heartbreak album” doesn’t have to be all heartbreak. That I can let the softness in too. And maybe… maybe they’re right. Maybe this time, I get to write something that sounds like freedom. Like beginnings. Like the kind of love that lets you stay exactly who you are — and holds you there, gently.

—

yn_ln

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yn_ln : my new album "starry eyed" tells the story of my heartbreak that turned into the love i found that i've been chasing my whole life. i love you all and i hope this album heals you in the way it healed me. out next friday. -yn

—

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charles_leclerc : if i cry im gonna sue

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lando : proud of you. happy for you.

↳ username00 : not too late to delete this sir.

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lilymhe : DESTROY HIM but in a calm, classy and sensible manner.

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↳ yn_ln : i love u so fuckin much

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iamrebeccad : our girl. you are so amazing. you deserve everything and more. we love you.

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—

f1gossipgirls

2,090,111 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, well, well… YN LN is officially back—on the charts and in the paddock. Fresh off the release of her heartbreak to healing album “Starry Eyed,” the singer made her stunning return to the F1 world this weekend… and she wasn’t alone. All eyes were on YN as she arrived alongside Carlos Sainz and Rebecca Donaldson, and let’s just say—the rumors are writing themselves. Between the intimate lyrics on the album, the kiss Carlos was spotted giving her on the cheek, the hand-holding with Rebecca, and the cozy walk with Carlos' father—fans are convinced this is more than just friendship. Could this be a new paddock power trio. Because from where we’re standing… it looks like love.

—

The paddock feels different today. Not louder. Not quieter. Just… sharper. Like the air itself is holding its breath. I’ve done red carpets. Stadiums. Late-night talk shows. But somehow, walking through the paddock after everything that’s happened—this is the most intimate stage of them all. The cameras are already turning before we even make it past security. I can feel them catching the moment Carlos’ hand brushes gently against the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. The way Rebecca slides her fingers through mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because it is. We agreed- no subtlety. No denying. No “we’re just friends” charade. We’re done hiding.

Carlos squeezes my hip gently before stepping to my other side, nodding politely at a journalist who immediately fumbles for her mic. He doesn’t stop. Neither do we. Rebecca leans in as we walk, lips brushing my temple as she whispers, “You’re doing great, love."

I smile up at her, just in time for a wave of camera flashes. Flash. Flash. Flash. Capturing the way I smile at her. At him. At us.

And then—like the universe couldn’t help but stir the pot—we turn the corner and see him.

Lando.

Standing near the McLaren garage, head turned just enough to see us before pretending not to. He freezes for a half-second. That stupid familiar smirk falters. His eyes flick to our hands. To Carlos’ arm still around my waist. To Rebecca whispering something that makes me laugh without meaning to. And for a moment, the noise in the paddock dulls.

Carlos sees him too. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t change his posture. Just tightens his hand slightly on me. Like a quiet reminder: you’re safe. you’re mine.

Rebecca notices. And because she’s Rebecca, she doesn’t just ignore Lando—she smiles at him. Brief. Civil. Ironic. Me? I don’t look away. I meet his eyes for half a second as we walk past, chin high, heart steady. Let him feel the weight of what he threw away. Let him hear the album in his head, track by track. We don’t stop. Don’t stumble. Don’t say a word. At the edge of the Williams garage, we pause.

Carlos lowers his sunglasses just enough to meet my eyes. “You good?”

Rebecca draws soft circles on the back of my hand. “You don’t owe anyone a thing, love. But if this is how you want to do it…”

I turn to her, then to Carlos, and press a kiss to his cheek—right over the place his dimple forms when he grins. Then I lift Rebecca’s hand and kiss her knuckles, slow and sure. And we walk inside, together. Let them whisper. Let him regret. This isn’t revenge. This is freedom.

—

yn_ln

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yn_ln : the album inspo. love you both beyond belief.

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carlossainz55

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carlossainz55 : mis almas gemelas

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yn_ln : love you both forever and ever. thank you for showing me what true love feels like.

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iamrebeccad : my loves. wouldn't want to do this life with anyone else.

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alexalbon : you guys couldn't of warned us before the most iconic paddock couple launched???

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↳ lilymhe : i was just sitting there unaware and choked on my juice.

↳ lilymhe : so hot. so iconic.

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charles_leclerc : i love love. this made me soft.

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—

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la-patrona-magdalena · 2 months ago

Text

Synopsis:

You always wanted your family to look at you, even just once. At least with a bit of the affection they gave to the portraits of your mother. Too bad that when they finally did, you were looking at the pages of a comic that showed the cruel future.

Inspired by the manhwa: no place for the Fake Princess

Warnings: English is not my first language, so I used a translator. Yandere content, neglect, abandonment, angst (?), allusions to death, original character (not the reader), allusions to torture. I try to keep the gender neutral,but in part there are mostly feminine pronouns. If any warnings are missing here, please let me know.

Disclaimer: This fanfic is for personal reading only. The use of this text for AI model training, data mining, commercial purposes, or any automated reproduction is strictly prohibited without the explicit consent of the author. Translation or reposting to other platforms is also strictly prohibited without the author's permission

Thank you.

You can read the fanfic in its original language (Spanish) on my AO3

previous chapter - Next chapter

Masterlist

Chapter two - See them Truly

This was going to be hard. In moments like this, you wished you had inherited some of your siblings' intelligence— well, Bruce's kids', really. It would also be hard to stop thinking about them as family.

You realized that while trying to fall asleep. You don't know anything about the outside world, or how to manage money nothing. You're only 12! You just wanted to worry about getting a good grade so Alfred would give you ice cream, not about getting tortured by some clown-painted lunatic. The upside is, that won't happen for a few years, so you have plenty of time to hide from the Joker's eye and think about what you're going to do with your life once Serelith shows up… unless you end up bringing her into this yourself just to get out of this strange family as soon as possible. The downside is that you want to figure something out now, and it's really hard to think when Tim's trying to brush your hair in front of the mirror in his room, where he dragged you earlier this morning.

—If you’re doing this so I won’t say anything about— He cuts you off before you can finish. —I'm doing this because I want to. I trust you enough to know you won't tell anyone… That includes Bruce and the others, okay?—he asks as he keeps trying to make your hair look somewhat decent.

After reading the comics, you learned a lot about everyone else's skills. Sure, you already knew Tim was smart—you'd asked him for help with your homework more than once just as an excuse to spend quality time together. But you didn't know he was on Batman's level, or that he figured everything out when he was nine. Yeah, you're way out of his league. If you were him, you wouldn't bother teaching some kid basic algebra either, not when you've got complex cases to deal with. …Although, he’d probably teach Serelith if she asked him…

The point is, once you woke up with a clear head and your emotions under control, you'd decided not to tell anyone about the comics. Which means you'll have to be really careful around someone like Tim.

—I won't tell Bruce or anyone else. I promise.— You give him a half-smile, one he definitely notices… When did you stop calling Bruce “dad”? Wasn't it just you and Damian who used to call him that?

Maybe Damian had something to do with your anxiety attack—now that Tim thinks about it, Damian’s so-called “company” probably just means fights and arguments. It was really stupid of him to think Damian treated you differently just because of some fight from years ago. Besides, you don’t know anything about Damian’s past! To you, he probably just seemed like a troubled kid. Tim should’ve paid more attention to you. He shouldn’t have kept his distance just because of his own issues with Damian. He shouldn’t have looked away just because everyone else did.

He won’t take his eyes off you, not until he’s sure you’re not close to another breakdown like last night’s. Not until he knows nothing’s going to hurt you again.

—Ow!— You wince as he tugs too hard on your hair with the brush. He mutters a string of repeated apologies, mixed with complaints about how hard it is to deal with your hair, though really, it’s just lack of experience.

After some struggle and a few tips from you on how to do it right, he managed to do a decent job brushing your hair and even put in a slightly crooked flower clip.

—Thanks,—you mutter, somewhat indifferent. Tim wasn’t exactly close to you not that anyone in this family really was, unless you counted Damian’s short conversations with his arrogant attitude. So Tim’s strange behavior today is a surprise. A part of you wanted to hug him and tell him about your day, ask about his likes, and knit him something out of wool with a design he might like, now that his eyes were on you. But the other part of you, the bigger part, wanted to throw in his face how, in the comics, he was so desperate to find Serelith, sleepless nights without rest, with such a tired and loving look aimed only at her, never noticing your absence. Why was he looking at you now? Was it because of what happened last night? He was surely making sure you wouldn’t cause any trouble. Once he was certain you wouldn’t make another “drama,” he’d go away. You shouldn’t get your hopes up about him; you can’t look at him with love because he won’t look at you that way. That belongs to his real sister, not you. You have to try to act normal about his sudden concern; you’ll only make things worse if you tell him what you saw.

Tim swallowed hard at your tone, yet he kept his eyes fixed on his task. He would make sure to learn properly later.

—I’ll walk you out,—he gave you a half smile, though it looked more like a grimace trying to escape the awkwardness. You just nodded, letting him accompany you to your bedroom door. —I homeschool,—you replied, returning the same awkward smile, which in your case looked more like a dry smile— —I just have to go to the study room. —Ah…— His uncomfortable smile faltered a bit. Why don’t you go to school? Did you even go once? Now that he looked at you properly, he should have known—you’re not wearing any uniform. —I’ll walk you there then.

You nodded, and Tim led the way to your door, then stood there still. Which was your study room inside the mansion? Maybe you studied in the library? Apparently, you noticed his confusion and walked past him, now leading the way yourself. In a few minutes, you showed him how to get to your study room. It was near the library, and he didn’t waste time analyzing the place as much as he could with a quick glance. It was a slightly small room compared to the usual rooms in the mansion, with several of your study things near a small worn-out stool, scratched in bright colors with different little animals. Inside was an older man, unknown to him, accompanied by Alfred, who gave a somewhat surprised look upon noticing him.

—Master Drake?—Alfred asked, while the man, who Tim assumed was your teacher of some unknown subject, looked at him with curiosity. —Oh… hello, Alfred. I didn’t mean to interrupt.— He looked at the stranger in front of him suspiciously while nodding in greeting. Could this man be the reason for your near breakdown? —Good afternoon. I didn’t mean to impose.

you entered the room, walking right past him, , and sat on your little stool in silence. Had you always been this quiet? Or were you only acting this way because the teacher was present? Did he intimidate you?

—Can you leave so I can focus?—you asked. You didn’t mean to sound harsh, but your tone wasn’t exactly gentle either. You just wanted space and to study without his strange behavior weighing on you. If he stayed, you felt like at any moment you might break down in front of him—run to hug him without caring about Alfred or your teacher being there. You didn’t want that. You couldn’t do that. You didn’t have the right.

Tim blinked once. The request caught him a little off guard. First you kicked him out of your room, and now your class? You? Didn't you know that he could teach you the same class you were taking without any problem? He lowered his gaze a bit, didn’t say anything right away, wondering if maybe he was overthinking it all. —Of course,—he finally replied, with that same smile that, after seeing it so much, gave you a strange chill. —I don't want to bother. He took a step back. Then another. Carefully, trying not to make unnecessary noise, like he was afraid of being a distraction even as he left. —Good luck with your studying,—he murmured before turning fully and disappearing down the hallway, his footsteps nearly silent.

He was already thinking about quickly finishing the case at hand to start investigating you, and all your teachers. Maybe he could even convince Bruce to let him take you to his apartment and homeschool you himself. That way he could be absolutely sure no teacher was hurting you. He didn’t trust any of them. Even if he investigated every teacher in Gotham, you’d still be safer if he was the one doing the teaching.

Alfred followed him with his eyes for a moment, then turned his gaze back to you, one brow slightly raised. Your behavior lately had been… unusual. You hadn’t come down for dinner last night or for breakfast this morning. He’d also noticed how young Master Drake had rushed through his breakfast and ran straight back upstairs. At first he thought it was because of the case he was working on—until he saw you with him.

Normally, he would’ve been glad to see the two of you spending time together. That finally, after all these years, someone in the family was looking at you the way you’d always wanted… But your behavior, the way you spoke to him, and that empty, pained look you gave him…

Alfred could only politely bid farewell to your teacher and to you, leaving you to study alone while he headed out to take young Master Damian to school. Who, by the way, was in a foul mood today—more than usual. Ever since he noticed your absence at dinner last night, and all the way until he got into the car this morning.

Grumbling in the back seat, the green-eyed boy sat with his arms crossed, not even bothering to hide his annoyance from Alfred, who glanced at him now and then through the rearview mirror.

Where the hell were you?

Damian hadn’t seen you since you returned from your shopping trip with Pennyworth, jumping around excitedly after buying some ridiculous comics. He had hoped, really hoped, to at least see you at breakfast, hear you talk about what you’d read while he pretended to be annoyed. But you weren’t there. If Pennyworth hadn’t told him you were fine, he would’ve gone to look for you himself. And if it weren’t for his father, he would’ve stayed home to study with you.

Not that he needed to. Obviously. He already knew everything they taught. But at least he would’ve listened to you, would’ve looked at you when you asked about something you didn’t understand, and then he could’ve mocked you and explained it himself afterward.

But Richard says “you need to make friends,” and his father agrees. He can’t argue against both of them, so if he has to socialize, why aren’t you coming along too? You, who don’t even have a double life as a vigilante, should be the one socializing more, getting friends in your civilian life, not isolating yourself in a room.

Though… part of him was glad you didn’t have anyone else. And he suspects that’s exactly what his father wanted when he decided you’d be homeschooled.

With a grunt, Damian got out of the car when Pennyworth parked in front of Gotham Academy.

—She’s acting like an idiot,—he muttered with a rough, irritated tone.—It’s not normal.— He glared at the butler for a few seconds, his annoyance clearly showing—though beneath it, so did his concern.

Alfred watched him for a moment before answering, his face composed as always, though carrying that same faint concern.

—I’ll take care of her. Master Damian should focus on school for today.

Damian turned his gaze away, jaw tense as he realized Pennyworth was trying to calm him down about his half—no, his sister.

—I’m not a child. I don’t need to be calmed.

—Yet you throw tantrums like one,—Alfred replied with his usual sarcasm. Damian only scoffed in response and started walking away, pausing only briefly to mutter something under his breath.

—She shouldn’t lock herself up like that. It’s pathetic.

When Damian first arrived at the mansion and met you, he thought you were pathetic.

Everyone else was a vigilante, everyone went out to fight at night—even Gordon found a way to stay useful after losing the ability to walk.

You weren't. You were just someone he shared half blood with. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn't pay attention to you for a while, just insulting you and telling you what a nuisance you were whenever you came near. It only took two interactions for you to realize you didn't want to be around him. It bothered him a little for a while, more than the others' attitude toward him.

He didn’t know why you, specifically, annoyed him—until eventually, he realized you were just like him in this family.

Clearly, compared to him, your combat training was nonexistent, your intelligence was average, and your hands were clean. He was the son of a devil, and you were just the daughter of a pretty model. He was a child whose father never knew existed, and you were a child who was always planned.

And yet somehow, the family treated you both the same. Except for Pennyworth, he seemed more familiar with you.

You were two kids who didn’t fit. Two kids the family didn’t quite know what to do with.

You both reacted differently to being treated that way. He fought back when necessary, every time someone dared to mess with him. You, on the other hand, smiled… and then ran off to cry. It was pathetic—but he hated it. He hated how you cried from the way others treated you. He understood, to a degree, that he came from a very different world than this one. But you? You were born here. You were supposed to be more loved, because you were cleaner, because you were wished for.

But somehow, the opposite happened. Eventually, he adapted. And somehow, they adapted to him. he made a place for himself. And somehow, they ended up loving him.

And though he’d never admit it, and he’d rather cut out his tongue than say it out loud, he loves them too.

And he knows, somehow, he knows, this family loves you. And he hates how, even so, you still don’t have a place here. They never adapted to you, not even when you keep trying to adapt to them.

Eventually, he chose of his own willto be around you. He found a way to make you interact with him again. It was difficult and strange at first, but he made it work

You weren’t close. You never have been. And he won’t allow it… not yet. Not when his mother put a price on his head and was capable of killing him. Not when that man is capable of putting Gordon in a wheelchair, capable of killing and torturing Todd, and capable of nearly doing the same to Thomas.

He wasn’t going to risk you. He’s already risking too much with the Joker knowing everyone’s identities. He’s already risking too much just by sharing a last name with you. Getting closer would only put you in more danger.

You have to stay in your place—clean, untouched.

Reluctantly, and only after Richard explained things to him, he came to understand that somehow, the situation you were in was the safest way to keep you alive.

So for now, he only comes close enough so you don’t cry because you feel lonely. He’ll send Titus to play with you, let you pet Alfred the cat, and listen to you rant about your latest wool creation or how tough a particular class was. He’ll come near and keep his eyes on you during breakfast, lunch, and dinner—even if his father doesn’t come down to eat with you. He’ll be there, talking with his usual attitude and way of being. He doesn’t act differently around you; he treats you the same as the others. And that probably doesn’t bother you… does it?

He’ll keep up that same routine until one day, he’s completely sure you’ll be safe. That you won't suffer for the life this family you were born into chose. When that day comes, he’ll allow himself to get close to you the way he’s always wanted.

If his grandfather saw him now, he’d tell him how pathetic he is for getting attached to you. And to some extent, he is. It’s pathetic how he gets angry when you don’t attend classes with him, even though he knows it’s a thousand times safer for you, according to his father.

It’s pathetic how he sneaks into your room at night just to steal a wool keychain you made and didn’t have the courage to give him. It’s pathetic how he keeps it in his pocket and carries it everywhere, wishing you’d make more wool creations for him, like you did with the oven mitts or Pennyworth’s scarf.

It’s pathetic how much he hates Drake after finding out he stayed the night in your own bed. Doesn’t he see that puts you in danger? And why did you even let him into your room in the first place?

And it's even more pathetic that he keeps thinking about all this. I'm sure by the end of the day you'll get over that attitude of yours, and at dinner you'll finally talk about the comics you brought yesterday.

He just hopes you don't look at him and think he's pathetic, how pathetic he is just because of his beloved sister.

Okay, two weeks as I promised… plus a two-day delay, dear god. The worst part is that this chapter was already written since the synopsis...

Ahem, even though I still plan to keep the two-week schedule for each chapter (now every Saturday), for now it'll be every three weeks, mainly because I’m planning the direction of the story better and figuring out how I want to develop it. I also prefer publishing chapters with a good chunk already done, not just writing as I go. And unfortunately, under my hyper-fixation on the Bat-Family, which makes it very difficult for me…In fact, I wasn't even sure I'd put Damian's thoughts on Reader so quickly, but I think they'll be important for the rest of the story. So yeah, thanks for your understanding.

On another note, I’m really grateful for all the support! I wasn’t expecting so much love and such sweet messages. I love you all, internet strangers. I tried to tag things as best I could, but one or two might have ended up mislabeled. Well… love you lots!

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ggidolsmuts · 2 months ago

Text

AirGnG - ITZY Yeji, Red Velvet Seulgi

"Ah this is a nice neighborhood!" Yeji exclaims.

"Yeah, quiet too. You should be able to go out and about without being disturbed," her manager says. "Here you go, behave and show up on time okay?"

"Yes I will, thank you unnie!" Her manager had helped her argue her case for staying by herself, giving both of them a little more freedom to enjoy the little European village near their filming site.

"You have my number, the international one?"

"Yes yes I do."

"Okay okay, I'll stop nagging, get comfortable."

"Thank you unnie, have a good night!" Yeji waves goodbye cheerily and pulls her luggage up to the apartment. She coos as the door swings open—it's cozy and lived in, warm colors, everything she pictured in her mind's eye. Yeji lugs her suitcase to the bedroom and begins unpacking, humming away happily. When she's done, Yeji kicks back on the couch and debates which restaurant she should try tonight. She's almost ready to go when there's a knock on the door, the owner maybe?

"Hello, thank you again for—"

"Yeji?"

"Seulgi unnie?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I could say the same for you!" The two of them hug first, but when Yeji sees Seulgi's luggage she really has to ask. "Why are you here?"

"I booked this place, I'm doing some filming in the area."

"Oh, me too, did they double book us?" The two of them sat down to call the owner.

"Hello?"

"Hello, this is Kang Seulgi, I arrived at my booking and there was already someone here."

"Really? That doesn't sound right, are you sure you have the right place?"

"Hello, this is Hwang Yeji, I booked with you too I believe, do you want me to call via the number I have?"

"No no, that won't be necessary, er... It looks like there's been a mistake."

"Yes, and what do you suggest?"

"I could, hmm, refund one of you, and you can get a hotel instead?"

"That'll be difficult I think—" Yeji starts.

"Unless you're willing to cover the cost of the hotel, not a chance on such short notice," Seulgi barks authoritatively.

"No hmm, that would be difficult yes. What if I gave you half-off on the stay and you share the place?"

"That might be—"

"No, 75% off for both of us, or I report you to the platform for fraud."

"Wait wait wait! No need to be hasty. 75% off is a lot though, I'd be making half the money off two people."

"You would be making all the money off one of us if you didn't double book us by 'mistake'." Seulgi's tone leaves no room on her opinion of their mistake.

"66% off?"

"75%."

"70%?"

"70%, and you cover all platform and cleaning fees."

"I— Fine, just please don't make a mess."

"No promises." Seulgi hangs up the phone before they get another word in. "Ugh, sorry, I hope that's okay."

"Yeah, I think so, we got the discount, and maybe I can find see if there's anything cheap and still save money—"

"No no, you're here first, I'll go find a place."

"No unnie!" Yeji's torn—naturally she wanted to stay here, it's so nice, but Seulgi's her unnie and her sunbae, surely she should let Seulgi stay here instead? "How about... We give it a try? Just stay here for a few days, and see if you're okay with it?"

"Are you sure, you'll be okay with that?"

"Yes! If you do find a good deal then let me know and I can move there instead."

"No no, if I find one I'll go, but thank you!" Seulgi grasps Yeji's hand warmly.

"O-Of course. I was going to get dinner, do you want to come along?"

"Sure, let me just unpack a little and we can go!" They enjoy a nice little dinner together, catching up and sharing the details of what they're here for. When they returned home though, it was time to have an awkward conversation.

"Sorry unnie, let me move my stuff and you can have the bedroom, I'll take the sofa."

"No no, let me take the couch!"

"I can't let you take the couch!" Yeji gasps, scandalized.

"Should we share then?" Seulgi suggests. "It's big enough for both of us."

"You want to do that?"

"I mean yeah, sure, I don't mind."

"I don't mind either."

"That's settled then, do you want the left side or right side?" Both of them settle in that night, facing away from each other to prevent any further awkwardness.

"Have a good night unnie."

"Good night Yeji."

The first few days are a little awkward, but as they spent more time together, Yeji and Seulgi grew closer, getting a little more comfortable with their intimate arrangement. They would explore the village together when there's a gap in their filming, hitting up the popular spots and taking pictures for each other. They'd greet each other warmly when either came back, and share the shots they took for their respective MVs.

"Ooh you look good here!"

"Thanks, I can't wait to see what you take today!"

"Thanks unnie!"

"One of the staff here recommended a nice wine cellar we could tour, do you want to come with me?"

"Oh really? Of course!"

"Great! Tomorrow? When do you finish filming tomorrow?"

"I think 5 pm? Let me check... Yes 5 pm."

"Okay, I'll book us for 6:30 then."

The next day Yeji's bouncing on her feet as she gets back early, 3:30 pm! She's humming to herself as she enters the apartment, wondering what Seulgi's up to. And then she hears it.

"Ahng..." A mewl, a moan, an un-idol like sound. The bedroom door is ajar, but there's no one in there? No, the sound comes from the bathroom, and Yeji doesn't need to see to know what's happening behind the closed door.

"Nngh, oh yes..." As Yeji gets closer she can hear the repeated rapid squelches, the solid slapping of Seulgi's hand between her legs filling Yeji's ears. Seulgi's moaning like no one's home, her voice wavering and quavering, modulated by the pleasure she feels, dampening and amplifying. Speaking of dampening, a rush of heat floods Yeji—she shouldn't be here, listening to this! Yet her feet refuse to move, her heart pounding as she listens to Seulgi reach a crescendo. The rhythmic sounds stop, a quick staccato of gasps and whimpers, and then Seulgi's deep breaths of air finally snap Yeji out of it: She needs to go, now.

Seulgi rush of dopamine is dashed against the sound she hears—the door closing? Was that— She quickly pulls on her pants and looks around.

"Yeji?" There's no answer. "Hello?" Nothing. Did she just mishear it? Seulgi looks around, making sure it wasn't a break-in either, and with frustratingly no closure she goes back to the bathroom to clean up. Right outside the apartment Yeji's heart is pounding after hearing Seulgi call her name. She squirms a little, trying to calm herself, willing the wetness between her legs to go away. She goes for a walk around the block, and then another, and then a third, before finally return back to the apartment.

"Seulgi unnie, I'm back early!" she announces herself loudly.

"Oh Yeji, you finished already?"

"Yes."

"Great, well, we have some time till the wine tour, so relax and we'll head out in a little bit."

"Sure, I'll go get changed." Yeji heads into the bedroom, taking off her soaked panties and wearing a new pair. With Seulgi not going anywhere, Yeji's not going to have any time to herself, so with a sigh she settles in the living room, whiling away time on her phone until it's time to go. The wine tour was good, but as far as Yeji's concerned, the most distracting thing was Seulgi becoming more and more clingy as she drank more wine, the tipsy and clumsy drunk in her revealing herself. She didn't really smell of alcohol, but Seulgi was very noticeably touching and holding herself close to Yeji, and Yeji could feel herself warming up with something more than wine.

"Ahh that was so good!" Seulgi sighs as she drags Yeji to the couch.

"Yeah it was good wine. Unnie!" Yeji gasps as Seulgi lies down on her lap, head nestled between her thighs.

"Just let me lie down for a while..." Seulgi mumbles, but her eyes snap open, nose crinkling as a scent washes over her. It was not unpleasant, familiar even, and it takes her alcohol-hampered mind a moment to process the scent molecules—arousal, Yeji's aroused, why? Her sluggish mind quickly switches into "sex" gear, and she puts two and two together.

"Yeji, your lipstick, it looks good on you, what brand is it?"

"Huh? I don't remember."

"Let me take a closer look." Seulgi sits up and scoots right up to Yeji, who freezes like a cat. She squeaks like a mouse as Seulgi holds her by the chin, coming ever closer.

"Really pretty."

"T-Thanks unnie." But Seulgi doesn't move away, her eyes still holding Yeji there even as her hand drops to Yeji's shoulder.

"I want to try it." Yeji's mind short-circuits as she feels Seulgi's lips pressed against hers, and the arousal she's been unable to release comes out as a moan when Seulgi sucks hard on her lower lip. "Tastes good, better than the wine."

"I- I, I..." Yeji's lying on the sofa, and Seulgi's on top of her, when did that happen?

"Yeji, what time did you get home today?"

"Hm? A-About 3:30 pm?"

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's not when I heard you come back." Seulgi presses her thigh up between Yeji's legs, and Seulgi nearly goes mad—Yeji's dripping hot on her skin. The thought of Yeji overhearing her earlier makes her even hotter under the collar, she had to know. "Did you hear me when you came back?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about unnie," Yeji denies, but her thighs spread just that little bit more, allowing Seulgi to press even harder against her.

"Did you listen to me fuck myself in the bathroom?"

"A little, maybe..." Yeji shudders as hands land on her waist and begin moving upwards, and she couldn't decide if she wanted the hands under or over her top. "I left as soon as I heard you."

"Liar." Seulgi squeezes a breast, pushing up the bra cup roughly and feeling Yeji's stiff nipple beneath. "I heard a door close after I finished, after I came so hard on my dildo. Did you hear me cum hard?" Yeji shudders as Seulgi palms her hard nipple, and only manages a nod.

"Bad naughty baby girl..." Yeji holds her breath as Seulgi slips a hand under her top, touching her midriff directly. "And you haven't had a chance to cum since then have you? I could smell you just now. Oh you don't get to blush now, not after you listened to me and liked it." The button on her jeans pops open with a deft touch. "I want to see you cum hard."

"I-I only listened—"

"You could've watched too," Seulgi whispers in her ear, and the moan Yeji lets out is divine when two fingers dip under her panties and push into her. Seulgi's not fucking around, and Yeji's jeans have squirmed halfway down her thighs as Seulgi continues to finger her. She pulls Yeji's top up, holding the hem to her mouth.

"Bite down." Obediently Yeji does so—she could use her hands to hold them up, but her mind's only working well enough to do what Seulgi says. It's okay though, as her hands are grabbing on to Seulgi when her unnie begins kissing all across her chest, her bra simply pushed away like her walls are being pushed open right now.

"You look so hot right now, no wonder you have so many fans." But no fan would get to see this—Yeji's back is arched, pushing her tits into Seulgi's face as the fingers inside her never stop moving. The fingers inside her are well-practiced, as if she knows Yeji's body better than she knows herself, and all of her reluctance crumbles as she gets close to the edge.

"I'm gonna cum, I'm cumming!"

"Cum hard for your unnie!" At Seulgi's insistence Yeji comes undone, the firm pressure of Seulgi's curled fingers causing Yeji to trap her arm there as she soaks her second set of underwear in slick. Yeji can only gurgle as Seulgi plays with her body through the orgasm—pinches and pulls of her nipples, a soft breath on her neck, the added pressing on her clit the worst and best of it all.

"Hnngh!" Yeji twists away from the stimulation, almost spraining Seulgi's wrist as she cums a second time in quick succession, riding it out by leaking all over her own thighs, drunk on pleasure instead of wine. "Unnie..."

"Yes?" Seulgi's already working on her own jeans, eager to have her own peak, but no.

"I'm sleepy..." Yeji sighs, and she's out like a light. With a frustrated sigh of her own Seulgi carries Yeji to the bedroom, dressing her best she can before falling asleep next to her, wholly unsatisfied.

"Hmmmm..." Yeji sighs happily—she just had the best night of sleep on this trip so far, and she stretches comfortably like a purring cat. That is, until she looks up at the ceiling and realizes where she is, and the events of last night come flooding back—kissing Seulgi, then feeling her hands all over her own body, and then... inside her?! She looks under the sheets, and she's wearing a tiny pair of shorts and no underwear. Oh no, did that really happen last night? She didn't even drink that much!

"Damn it!" she buries her face in her hands. What now? She looks at the empty space next to her, and on the other side she sees a red dildo peeking out of Seulgi's suitcase. She really shouldn't, but Yeji's curiosity got the better of her, and she opens the suitcase and gasps. The dildo is long, far longer than anything Yeji has at home or even seen.

How can it even fit in her? Yet as she looks at it more closely she sees the flanged middle of the toy, and dizzily she realizes what it is.

"It's meant for two people!" she whispers to herself.

"Yes it is." Yeji almost jumps out of her skin at Seulgi's words.

"U-Unnie! I didn't mean to—"

"I know." Seulgi takes it from the suitcase and holds it out in front of Yeji. "You can touch it, it has been washed thoroughly." Yeji grips it, feeling the toy's hardness when she squeezes it.

"About yesterday, did we..."

"Have sex? No not really, I got you off, but that's about it, you fell asleep right after."

"Oh, what about you—" Yeji looks down at the toy in her hand.

"No, I'll deal with it later." Seulgi doesn't tell Yeji that she was going to use the toy now, but Yeji had somehow denied her again by waking up. "I have to go."

"Unnie I—"

"We can talk later." Yeji's left dumbfounded by Seulgi's curtness, but as she watches Seulgi's hips sway out the door, a conviction sets in—she's going to need to have a talk with her unnie. And Yeji prefers her talks to be like her choreo, hard and fast.

That's why Seulgi's a little bewildered when she comes home to a saccharine Yeji, hugging her and welcoming her back, complete with coffee and pastries from the nearby cafe on the table. She's a little less bewildered when she feels Yeji's hands slipping down the back of her jeans, squeezing her butt.

"Yeji, what are you doing?"

"I wanted to make it up to you unnie."

"You don't have to, if you're worried about me talking about what happened when we go back to Korea. We were both a little drunk, things happened, and we can keep it to last night. You don't have to make it up to me or anything." Seulgi's only partially telling the truth—having Yeji so close to her is making her wet, and she would very much like Yeji to "make it up to her", but only for the right reasons.

"Are you sure?"

No, of course not! Seulgi wants to shout, but all she manages is a nod. Yeji doesn't take her chance to leave though, no, she gets even closer, and a wild thought runs through Seulgi's mind—is Yeji the one trying to seduce her now?

"I think we should still have a talk though, right?" Yeji's whispering in her ear.

"We should, if you want."

"I do want." Seulgi's knees go weak when Yeji confirms that she is doing this for the 28 best reasons, her tongue grazing Seulgi's ear. "I like to let my tongue do the talking."

In a matter of seconds Seulgi's on the bed, delicious thighs wrapped around Yeji's head as the younger idol gives her unnie the tongue lashing of a lifetime for being so curt with her earlier that day. The only apology that Seulgi can offer is a liquid one, her juices spilling freely into Yeji's waiting mouth as all the frustration from last night leaks away.

"Right there, right there!" she whines as Yeji licks circles around her clit before giving it a mischievous kiss. "H-How are you so good?"

"I could say the same thing, your fingers were magical."

"I guess all that tutting training helped me," Seulgi jokes glibly.

"I bet, lots of experience. Would you remind me of last night, my memory's a little hazy, drunk too much I think." Yeji's already kicking off her underwear, and Seulgi is never a selfish lover. "Ah..." This time Yeji takes off her clothes, leaving her completely naked as she's fingered by Seulgi.

"God so hot..."

"I want to see you too, unnie." Seulgi ignores the fact that her clothes are going to be stained with Yeji's juices and pulls off her own outfit with slick-covered hands before letting Yeji strip the rest. They end up head to toe from one another, and with her head dizzy from feeling Yeji's tongue back on her slit Seulgi brings her fingers to Yeji's pussy. Finally the two of them are pleasuring each other together, doing what they're best at with fingers and tongues.

"U-Unnie!" Yeji squeals when Seulgi curls her fingers, allowing Yeji to remember the buzzing pleasure she felt last night. She can't make much sound though as Seulgi's thighs close around her head for a second time, and Seulgi's hips buck forcefully into Yeji's mouth.

"Oh— Mmf, fuck!" Seulgi's the one who can exclaim as she cums, but that's quickly scuppered as she sputters from Yeji squirting hard, fluids going from one orgasming hole to another. Yeji's moaning into Seulgi's pussy, thighs trapping her there so that the only thing she can do is shake and vibrate between Seulgi's legs. By the time both of them are done it's hard to say who had the worst of it—Seulgi coughing and spitting, her jaw slick and shiny, or Yeji red-faced and gasping for air, a shiny face mask splattered all over her courtesy of Seulgi. They laugh shyly at each other as they clean up, and with finally all of their makeup gone, there's no holding back from what they're both wanting.

"Show me how to use the dildo unnie." Yeji grabs the hard red toy, handing it over to Seulgi.

"Okay, I'll put it in you first." Yeji groans as she feels herself get slowly stuffed, watching the "hilt" of the toy get closer and closer to her, before stopping a little bit short.

"D-Deeper, please. Please unnie." Upon hearing her needy, hungry, vulnerable tone Seulgi's so tempted to just shove the last inch, no, the whole damn thing into Yeji, but she resists her own temptations, knowing what would give both of them a good time.

"Soon." She holds the dildo, fingers almost touching Yeji, and with practiced motions she eases herself on to it. Seulgi lifts her legs over Yeji's spread thighs, and quickly she's closing the distance to Yeji. "Now you can use your hand—" She grips the toy, pushing it deeper into Yeji.

"Unnie!" Yeji gasps at the deep reach of the toy, and when Seulgi pulls the dildo back Yeji can see her own slick on the dildo, staining her unnie's possession.

"Or you can push yourself on to it." Seulgi bucks her hips, and Yeji's eyes are wide open as she watches Seulgi take it to the hilt smoothly. "Hnngh fuck that's good." The next time she does it, Seulgi does it with such force that she's pushing Yeji's side of the dildo and making her moan.

"Ahh! F-Fuck me unnie, fuck me!" Seulgi grabs the dildo and begins tugging it back and forth, fucking herself and Yeji at the same time. But it's harder than doing it alone—Seulgi can feel the resistance when she tries to push it into Yeji, her loud moans giving Seulgi a very good idea of just how tight Yeji is.

"Use your hips, push it against me!" Yeji's glassy eyes watch the hypnotic waist movements of her unnie before copying them, moaning and realizing just how good it feels. The two of them ride the dildo together, trying to get themselves off and getting each other off in the process. Seulgi's wordlessly moaning now, chasing her own peak—normally she would have a hand on the toy, shoving it into herself like Yeji overheard in the bathroom; This time it's not needed though, as the sight in front of her is more than enough stimulation—Yeji's lithe body undulating, eyes closed in concentrated pleasure and mouth hanging open in slack bliss. Seulgi can feel Yeji's skin against her own, their thighs rubbing against one another as both of them squirm and buck.

At some point Yeji's arms buckle, and she's lying on the bed, squirming and gasping as she tries to get herself where she needs to go. Her hands go to her pussy and—

"Ohhh YES!" Seulgi is treated to the sight of Yeji's chest rising suddenly as she cums, groaning and moaning as she rubs her clit furiously, drenching the dildo in her juices.

"Nngh oh god Yeji!" The sight is enough to push, pull, and drag Seulgi over the edge all at the same time, and with an undignified groan she's staining Yeji with her slick of her own, hilting herself as deep as she can on the dildo and clenching around it as the orgasm violently takes her. The two women thrash and twitch and tremble on the bed as they sweat and squirt and leak all over it.

With some difficulty Seulgi manages to untangle herself from Yeji and remove the dildo from both of them, and Yeji manages to drag herself towards Seulgi, leaning into her unnie's embrace.

"That was hot," Yeji whispers. "We won't be able to do this in Korea, would we unnie?"

"Most likely not, too many eyes on us there."

"We should make the most of our time here then, right?"

"Yeah— Yeji?" Seulgi gasps as she feels Yeji's warm breath on her chest, and moving lower.

"I'm hungry."

They truly make the most of their time left in Europe, and by the end of their trip there isn't a surface or wall that Seulgi hasn't pushed Yeji against and fingered, and there isn't a floor tile in the apartment that Yeji hasn't dropped to her knees and eaten Seulgi out on. The apartment reeks of sex, and the bed is completely ruined by their mixed fluids, all because the owner got greedy and double booked them. They spend their last night together, legs criss-crossed, the dildo buried to the hilt in both of them, close as close can be. Yeji has her arms flung around Seulgi's neck, whimpering and whining as her clit is thumbed and rubbed.

"Unnie, unnie!" Yeji's crying out as she cums, and Seulgi's moaning softly with her—Yeji's walls grip the toy hard, making it vibrate inside Seulgi as well while she rides out her own orgasm. It starts as a rumble, and Seulgi feels herself getting to the edge too—she just needed to wait for Yeji to finish her off.

"I'm yours..." Seulgi is not left waiting for long, and the rumble becomes an avalanche when she hears those words. She's pushing against the dildo hard, imagining herself driving hard into Yeji.

"S-Say it again Yeji."

"I'm yours." Yeji moves off the toy, and grabbing it firmly she shoves it into Seulgi, over and over. "I want to make you feel good too Seulgi unnie."

"You are, you are!" Yeji winces as her neck gets marked by Seulgi, a passionate bruise that she'll need to cover up before flying back. Seulgi cums with a muffled cry as she pushes against Yeji's thrusts, and she doesn't stop there.

"Yeji don't stop, keep going, keep making me cum!" The squelches keep getting louder and louder as Yeji pushes the toy through Seulgi's clenching walls, watching her abandon all reason and hump Yeji's hand until her abs can't stop twitching and Yeji's arm is cramping up. Everything is sticky and shiny from Seulgi's multiple peaks, and as she watches Yeji clean it all up with her mouth—dildo, fingers, and Seulgi herself, she can't help but think.

This can't be the last time we do this.

"Seulgi unnie!" Back in Korea Yeji greets her unnie with a bow and a big hug.

"Oh Yeji, it's good to see you!"

"I was wondering if you could film a challenge with me?"

"Of course!" Under the eyes of their watchful managers they dutifully finish filming dance challenges for each of their songs, and as the managers start to depart ahead of them, Seulgi pulls Yeji in for a goodbye hug.

"Yeji, I started a beginner course for martial arts, and I was wondering if you wanted to try it with me sometime?"

"Martial arts?" Yeji wonders aloud, and Seulgi needs to only whisper one word in her ear.

"Nunchucks."

"Count me in."

A/N: Kinda a parallel piece to the AirBnB one, the dynamics here didn't quite fit what I was going for in that story, so I kept most of the setup and just changed up the smut. I know some prefer F/F over M/F, so maybe this is more enjoyable for some lol, either way thanks for reading!

#smut #itzy #red velvet #yeji #seulgi

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