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miajooz · 2 days ago

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Lectures in Lust ⋆˙⟡

overview ⋆˙⟡ you’re a new professor at a nursing school you had been wanting to lecture at for years. the college’s reputation was phenomenal—and so was yours. the only issue was the school chancellor and president of the college, who clearly had an eye for you.

warnings ⋆˙⟡ all AFAB, threesome, voyeurism, exhibitionilism if you squint, vibrator usage (caitlyn and reader receiving), oral (vi receiving), strap usage (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving) swearing, praise, degrading, slight humiliation, power dynamics. the beginning is kind of unserious..MINORS AND MEN DNI!!

⋆˙⟡ 7.5k words

You didn’t know where this whole shit show started. Neither of you did.

Neither? Vi and yourself, of course.

You wanted to teach at a college for as long as you could remember, something about helping students grow into functional beings in society was appealing to you. More so, since you had chosen to specialize in teaching students in medical school. To think these people would go on to save lives? What a valuable thing to provide.

To say you took your job seriously was an understatement. After all, you worked so hard to get here. Flirting attempts from students? Turned down. Attempts made by your coworkers? Most of them turned down.

Right, most. Because there was Vi.

Vi was the chancellor at the college you worked at, just below the president. She had the kind of personality that made you hate her and become obsessed with her at the same time. She was cocky when she could be, sleeves always rolled up as if she owed people something. But maybe it was the other way around.

In her eyes, she owed you things. Maybe owing is the the correct word, maybe she wanted to give you things. Maybe you picked that up when you caught her staring at your ass in the break room, or how her eyes seemed to wander during meetings or presentations you attended. No matter where you were in that building, you could feel her eyes.

Did you owe her something?

Maybe you should’ve thought twice when you never turned her down, never gave her that stern face the same way you did with your colleagues. You should’ve thought about it when you let her put her hand on your waist, when her breath ghosted over your neck like a promise, when she lead you into her office and took you right there on her desk.

But something about the riskiness was what made it so addicting. Your job was on the line, but how could you possibly resist her?

You couldn’t. You couldn’t because she was simply irresistible. And it wasn’t just one time you failed to turn her down, it wasn’t one time you let her fuck you in that office like it was her real job. Not even the second.

That’s when they started—the hookups.

It was strange, they never got taken outside of the work place. It was always in her office, she’d find reasons to call you in. She’d tell the president that she needed to scold you for something, that she needed to help you adjust your lectures in a productive way. It was a stupid excuse, but you were oblivious to her stupidity somehow.

But all of it was stupid, who in their right mind would lie to the president? No, not Caitlyn Kiramman. Especially not when she was suspicious.

It was after hours, you did your lectures—two to be exact. The papers you needed to grade were collecting dust in your file cabinet—they were not your first priority. They’d have to wait, because you weren’t in your lecture room.

Like routine, you were in Vi’s office.

She was riskier today, maybe that was the issue. Too giddy and her smile too sly to not have any meaning behind it. She was sitting on her chair, strap attached to her body and thighs spread. She was kissing your neck, not leaving any hickeys but kissing it hard enough to make you worry.

You were on top of her, silicone stuffed deep inside you. Your shirt was unbuttoned far enough so Vi could see your bra, panties slipped to the side carelessly to make room for the toy giving you an unfair amount of bliss. Your moans were uncontrollable, short gasps leaving you with every bounce of your hips. She was kissing your insides, making your whole status look like a joke as you rode her like you needed it.

And you did, you did need it. And maybe it was the power dynamic that got you off. The chancellor fucking you like this? Your higher up? Shameful.

Vi smiled against your neck, shushing you but thrusting her hips up particularly hard to make you squeal. It worked in her favor, she let her tongue glide across your skin sensually before kissing up your jawline. She looked at you, ring covered fingers digging into the plush of your ass and moving you how she wanted you to.

“Shh, quiet down baby.” she murmured, letting one hand wander away from your ass. she brought it up to your lips middle and ring finger prodding at your lips. “Open up for me, sweet girl.” she said lowly, looking at you expectantly.

You moaned in response, a desperate sound that bounced off the walls and hit you right in the gut—where the shame and embarrassment settled itself. But you still obeyed, lips parting just enough so she could slide her fingers into your mouth. You sucked the digits, lifting your hips up and slamming back down onto her dick. You gasped and let out a weak cry against her fingers, the muffled sound made her laugh.

“That’s it, quiet down for me. Want the president to know what a slut you are?” she asked condescendingly. When you didn’t respond, she slapped your ass with the hand that was still there, eliciting a weak whine out of you. “Don’t be a brat. Be a good girl and answer me, mhm?”

She took her fingers out of your mouth, loving the way your tongue tried to cling to them. You let out a strangled moan, trying to form a coherent thought. “N-no ma’am, I don’t want..her to know.” you managed between gasps, cunt spasming wildly around he silicone stretching you out. It was the good stretch, the kind that was wet and clung.

“You don’t want her to know what, sweetheart?” she questioned, slapping your ass again but harder. “If you wanna be vague so bad maybe I shouldn’t be helping you out. But, fuck. I can’t resist you.” another thrust up had you huffing and whining even more, you couldn’t control the sounds flowing out of your mouth like an endless stream.

“I don’t—fuck! I don’t..want the president to know what a s-slut I am!” you cried out, feeling her hands wander towards your hips to bounce you on her dick again. You were a mess, trying to muffle sounds into her shoulder but to no avail. But it was already too late.

“You don’t want me to know? I think I have a good idea of that already.”

Fuck.

A voice in the doorway, a voice anybody in that building could recognize. Caitlyn Kiramman: the president. The woman who wore professionalism in both her demeanor and her style. Her whole essence was laced with it, something that made your chest tighten when you were near it.

Your stomach practically dropped to your ass, you even heard Vi’s breath hitch but she was far more relaxed than you were. You turned your head, eyes wide and lips parted. No attempts to move were made, you felt like a deer in headlights. She just stared at you, watching, judging, observing—it all made your skin crawl so uncomfortably.

“Ma’am, holy shit I—“ you started

“—You should head home. We can talk about this another time.” she said calmly, too calm. She fixed her glasses, eyes darting towards the woman who was under you. “Vi, come in my office when you get this handled.”

That was it, she left just like that. You both sat there panting, silicone still inside you. Your pussy clamped around it, greedily begging for more but not receiving anything. You were horrified, absolutely mortified. How the hell were you supposed to keep your job now? The job you were so serious about. You might as well have signed you soul away and laid down in a casket.

Even Vi’s bed didn’t sound as great as a casket. The bed you never got to be in.

Vi let out a short laugh, patting your hips softly. “We’re in deep shit, baby. You still wanna finish?” she asked casually, kissing your jawline as if nothing happened. your heart was racing from both the gesture and what just happened.

You hesitated. So much shit happened..but she was already inside you, right? What was there to lose! “..Yeah.”

Yeah. Definitely a slut.

For two days it was silent, absolute crickets. Vi didn’t call you into her office, you still had your job, and Caitlyn hadn’t said a word to you about the situation. She sent you an email, though. It was so you could present the powerpoint you made a week ago to her to convince her to let you teach an upcoming lecture a certain way. More hands on experience would be valuable, you just had to get the permission.

To say you were terrified was an understatement. You were under the impression that this was just the calm before the storm, the build up to everything you worked for to come crashing down right in front of you.

Yet you were somehow so far off.

You got an email while you were grading late, assuming it was a student, you opened it. No, it was Caitlyn. Your heart dropped like the day you got caught on top of Vi, breath hitching and stuttering before you even read the contents of the message. She asked you to come to her office to discuss some things and so you could present your project. Seriously, you both knew what it was! Couldn’t she just specify and say ‘we need to discuss how the only thing that’s going to be fucked as of recently will be your career, you harlot.’

Nonetheless, you pushed yourself away from your desk and stood, legs shaking and breath caught. You grabbed your laptop, stuffed it in a bag, and slung it over your shoulder. This was the going to be moment you lost everything you worked for—just because you decided to fool around with the unfairly hot chancellor.

The walk to her office could only be described as torturous. You felt as though the walls were closing in and the floors had eyes. The windows were shameful reflections that reminded you who you were. A professor, and maybe a slut. Maybe? Who gave you this confidence?

You knocked once, opening the door and clearing your throat. You turned around fully to shut the door behind you, that way you could avoid eye contact for a second less.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Odd..that wasn’t Caitlyn’s voice. It was Vi’s—what the hell was she doing in here with you? Perhaps getting chewed out like you were about to be? You looked up and saw her standing, though she was standing behind Caitlyn’s chair.

Caitlyn looked you up and down and hummed, manufactured hand raising to adjust her glasses. The glasses that sat on her face like a seal, a seal and repellant to bullshit and shame.

Maybe not..since you were standing before her.

“Miss Kiramman,” you began “I have the presentation. But first, I want to say I am so, so—“

“—So, I see you’ve been sleeping with the chancellor?” she questioned, though it was just a fact. She tended to interrupt a lot, it was evident how she didn’t want to hear you spew bullshit excuses.

You cleared your throat, placing your arms behind your back as if to look professional. As if you hadn’t already fucked yourself over. And if Vi didn’t have the most cocky expression—she probably got herself out of this mess. Maybe they were sleeping together too?

Did you fuck the president’s girl? Shit!

“Yes, ma’am. But I swear, it was only a one time thing.” you tried to explain, hands trembling behind you.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrow, hands folding on the desk professionally. “Six times, darling.” she said flatly, eyes halfway narrowed.

“What?” you questioned, earning a scoff from Vi in the back. Oh, this cunt.

“Six times I’ve heard you or seen you with Vi.” she said, watching the way your face went pale with a blank expression. “If you’re going to lie to me, at least be believable.”

How did you manage to fuck yourself over even more? At that point you accepted your fate and kept your head low.

“Yes, yes..that’s true. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what else to say.” you mumbled, hands fidgeting nervously behind your back.

“So sheepish now, huh? You weren’t that way in my office.” Vi said, fingers tapping the top of Caitlyn’s leather chair. Caitlyn’s face didn’t even twitch, her face stoic and professional like always. But there was something deeper. Something deeper in her eyes, deeper in the way she composed herself.

But something was different in the room as well. Where was the anger in her tone? All of it was very straight forward, which made you wonder. Though you didn’t have time to wonder. You never did.

“You’re a smart girl. It makes me wonder why you’d do something so stupid.” Caitlyn said, still no real bite to her tone.

Vi patted her on the shoulder, eying you like she usually did. “Come on, doc. Get to the point. You had that presentation for us, yeah?”

You nodded feverishly, scrambling to take your laptop out of the bag you had it in. You carried it over to some side table, logging in and sending Caitlyn some information. It was a visual aid for your presentation, since you wanted to show graphs and whatnot. She pulled it up, projecting it on the screen behind you and to the left—to which you shuffled over to.

With a ridiculous amount of nerves settled in your stomach, you cleared your throat and began speaking. “Well, for the next topic I’m teaching..I wanted to incorporate some more hands on experience.”

You started off shaky, but eventually you leveled yourself. You pointed at the images, showing graphs and statistics you thought would matter. But while you were looking away, Vi moved. By the time you looked forward, she moved behind you. You only noticed when you felt her breath ghost over the skin on your neck, the hairs standing up and a surprised gasp leaving you. There was a hand sliding up and down your hip, slow and measured.

When you paused, Caitlyn looked at you expectantly. She looked stern, but you could see how the edges of her lips were curved into something like a smile.

She was amused. What the hell was this?

“Keep going. I don’t have all day.” she stated, clicking to the next slide from her computer. “You wanted to speak, so speak.”

You let out some weak noise, looking at Vi with a raised eyebrow but not saying anything. It was humiliating how you weren’t trying to be professional. No, because you were leaning into her touch. Your hips were bucking up and back into her hands, breath shaky the same way it was when you’d follow her into her office—all of it.

Vi kept her eyes trained on you, her face so close that her glasses bumped against your cheek. Yet, you continued talking, continued leaning against her.

Well, you continued to talk until it almost became impossible. Vi’s hands were all over you, and her hand placements were getting even riskier. One hand was on your ass, the other still on your hip. The sheer neediness you felt made you moan in response, interrupting you mid sentence. You looked between Caitlyn and Vi nervously, were you really expected to keep talking?

“Come on, doc. Teach it to us, be convincing.” Vi whispered in your ear, “The president is watching, sweetheart. I suggest you keep talking.”

You tried, you really did. But when she surprised you with a kiss on the neck you couldn’t take it anymore. It was scenic the way you were panting at that point, eyes desperate. “Ma’am, I can’t present like this—please.” you pleaded, unsure what you were pleading for. Probably something like sweet relief, not a break.

Caitlyn raised her eyebrow at you, taking off her glasses for a moment and cleaning the lenses with a cloth. “Do you want Vi to fuck you?” she asked bluntly, the question making you shiver.

“What?”

“I don’t like to repeat myself, you heard what I said.”

You paused, looking at her with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Of course you wanted that, you were so desperate you had been hooking up with Vi—you wanted her. Especially now when her hands were all over you. “Yes, ma’am.” you replied softly, afraid of the answer truthfully.

Caitlyn hummed, trying to bite back the smirk on her face. She put her glasses back on and leaned back in her chair a bit. “Right, darling. Finish your presentation then.” she told you, to which you immediately obliged

You were talking, again. You should’ve walked out of that office because of how absurd this situation was. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. Not when the warm hands on your body were tempting you, not when you were leaning against them, adjusting your posture so she could touch you more. Especially not when her right hand found its way downward, pressing on your aching clit through your clothes.

That was what broke you, that small amount of pressure. “Oh, fuck. Please..” you sighed out, a soft moan falling from your lips. Vi laughed behind you, looking at Caitlyn expectantly. It was clear she was desperate too, she wanted to fuck you just as badly as you wanted to be fucked.

A nod was all she needed, and Caitlyn provided. She motioned you to keep going, and you tried. Vi’s hands moved away from your clit and up towards the waistband of your pants. She slid her hand down, past your panties to find your pussy again. To say you were wet was an understatement, she played with you for so long to make you all soaked for her. And it worked.

Vi’s fingers ran up and down your cunt, getting covered in a humiliating amount of slick. Her middle and ring finger moved up to your clit, drawing slow circles around it as a way to make you choke on your words. “S-so therefore—god!”

You were a mess. Panting, bucking your hips against her fingers for more friction, shaky words covered by needy sighs—all of it. And worst of all? You couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t stop yourself from pathetically rutting your hips to feel more. How were you supposed to keep your job now? And yet somehow that was the last thing on your mind. The first thing was Vi—her fingers. The fingers that were prodding at your entrance.

You stopped talking completely, that had successfully shut you up. It was impossible to present anymore, you looked at Caitlyn with a needy expression and let out some sort of sound. A sound you didn’t know you could even make. “Please, ma’am. I can’t.”

Caitlyn hummed and turned off the projector, the visual aid for your presentation gone. “Well, you’re not gonna be smarter after getting fucked, are you? Though judging by your decisions—you’re already lacking there.” she said, trying to hold back a smile as she watched Vi play with your pussy under your clothes.

God, what a bitch. Somehow her attitude turned you on even more.

You lowered your head, eyes squeezing shut. She must’ve given Vi a signal, because you felt a difference. Her fingers paused for a moment, before she slowly started sliding them into your wet, aching hole. You felt something between relief and euphoria. A weak moan left you, your head falling back against her shoulder. It was as if you completely lost touch of your surroundings.

Vi groaned at the feeling of your pussy clenching around her fingers favorably, it was too much. Whenever she’d draw her fingers out, she could feel the way you clung onto her, begging for more without even trying. “Fuck..missed this pussy so damn much.” she moaned into your neck, kissing it softly. There was a desperation in her voice, after getting caught—it was clear she struggled without this.

And so did you.

“Come on baby, tell me how much you missed this.” she whispered, loud enough for Caitlyn to hear. She watched the two of you, unable to hold back her smile anymore. The sight was incredibly hot, Vi’s hands stuffed down your pants and your head tilted back—it made her squeeze her thighs together under the desk.

“Answer her question, darling.” she demanded, though her voice was softer than usual.

You just moaned in response, they were ganging up on you—which was surprisingly hot.

“I-I missed it..fuck!” you cried, feeling the way Vi’s fingers sped up. They were fucking into you at a brutal pace, your jaw fell open and your hips stuttered—unable to even grind against the friction anymore. Your own slick was getting all over the inside of your panties, the previous arousal was all over Vi’s knuckles along with whatever she collected from fingering you.

You noticed you were being pushed along somewhere, though you weren’t focused enough to know exactly where. You felt your pants being slid down, to which you happily accepted. Before you knew it, you were being slightly bent over. When you looked across from you, your face was slightly above Caitlyn’s. She was sitting there, glasses resting on the table and her pupils dilated.

“Wanna make a deal, sweetheart? I promise it’ll do you good.” she questioned, eyes narrowed at you slightly. This whole situation was too much to handle, you were pleasantly overwhelmed but also nervous. Where was this going?

You nodded feverishly to her question, not really considering any risks. Vi was still ruining your pussy, curling her fingers in a way that made it sound like you were sobbing.

“If you let us both fuck you, you can keep your job.” she offered, “Right now.“

Was she being serious?

This shocked you to an unreal degree. Well, you would’ve been more surprised, but a certain someone’s fingers drilling into you had your thoughts slightly muffled. This wasn’t just about your job, the president was a very sexy woman. You wanted both of them. Greedy? So be it.

“Yes—yes! Please, please..—“ you managed between moans, your panting continuous and heavy. You couldn’t get another word out, Caitlyn stood up, leaned over the desk closer to you, and kissed you. The feeling of Vi’s fingers inside you and your lips on Caitlyn’s was heavenly, you never thought this much pleasure was possible.

You moaned into the kiss, holding yourself up as best as you could. Vi’s fingers pumped in and out of you, wet sounds were made everytime she fucked them back into you. It was all too good, you could feel your thighs trembling and your aching hole begging for more. You dripped all over her hands, drool also dripping down your chin as you desperately made out with Caitlyn.

The kiss was almost as messy as the way Vi was ruining you from behind. It was all tongue twirling, heavy breathing, teeth clicking—such a sloppy kiss for such a respected woman.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Am I not enough for you? You need Caitlyn as well? So greedy.” Vi husked in your ear, glasses bumping your face again. She curled her fingers faster, hitting a spot inside you that made you cry out into Caitlyn’s mouth. You were so weak for them, it was insane how they seemed to strip away every professional thought in your head and replace them with filthy ones.

This continued, your pussy greedily sucking in Vi’s fingers and your tongue being sucked by Caitlyn. You were overwhelmed, but so, so satisfied. Your whole body was tingling, every action was leaving you hungry and craving. What else could you crave in this situation? Maybe release.

And it was building. You could feel your body start to shake more, your lower abdomen tightening and your breathing becoming heavier. Caitlyn seemed to take notice, because she broke the kiss. She wanted to hear you moan, right in her ear.

“Gonna cum, darling? Go on, cum for us.” she urged, her lips brushing against your ear. She looked at Vi, taking in her focused expression and gave her an amused smile in response.

Those words were what did it for you, you couldn’t take it anymore. “Oh—oh..fuck!” you moaned into her ear, your sentence almost being cut off by a cry. Your back arched, hips moving back to fuck yourself onto Vi’s fingers harder. You drenched the digits continuously thrusting in and out of you, sweet whimpers escaping your lips into Caitlyn’s ear.

“That’s it baby, use my fingers. Good girl.” Vi praised, her voice sounding much sweeter. She always got weak when she saw you cum, all her attitude seemed to just vanish.

Caitlyn stroked your hair softly, making sure your lips were still by her ear so she could hear every little sound you made as you came down from your high. You were panting heavily, trying to ground yourself from an orgasm your body hadn’t prepared for. The mind fog was there—though you knew it wasn’t over.

Vi slowly pulled her fingers out of you, moaning at the squelching sound and the way wetness clung onto her fingers. She brought them up to her face, sucking your cum off her middle finger. Caitlyn watched and hummed in approval, watching.

“You always taste so good, it’d be rude to hog you from the president.” Vi said, holding her finger middle and ring fingers in front of Caitlyn’s lips. She pushed them in, feeling her swirl her tongue around the digits and taste you. You didn’t even realize what was happening—which was good, could’ve came on the spot.

Eventually, Vi pulled her fingers out of Caitlyn’s mouth and patted your ass once. “Vi, can you get my red bag from under the desk?” Caitlyn asked, eyes still locked on you.

Vi laughed and stepped back, walking towards the front of the desk and grabbing the bag out from under it. “Whatcha got in here, cupcake? Toys?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, tapping under your chin so you looked at her. She was drawn to your eyes, they looked tired but hungry at the same time. Or maybe it was her hunger reflecting off your irises. “You’re holding the bag, just look.” she stated, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. She planted a small peck on the corner of your mouth, smiling at the way your lips puckered and chased hers. “Such a pretty girl. Even prettier when you have that messy look on your face.”

Vi reached into the bag and pulled out two things: a little vibrator and a strap. She laughed and raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you. “Not gonna use your fingers, president?” she questioned, setting both the items on the desk. “What was that earlier? How you wanted to feel her pulse on your fingers?”

What the hell? That was news to you.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, looking over at Vi finally. “I have very expensive nails on, Vi. You would know that since you lost a bet and paid for them.” she said, her attention darting back to you. “Wouldn’t wanna hurt that pussy either. No worries, darling, we’re going to take great care of you.”

You simply nodded, eyes trained on Caitlyn’s beautiful ones. You didn’t know what you did to deserve this, but it must’ve been something good. Vi picked you up, setting you down on the desk and keeping her arms around your waist from behind. She kissed your cheek tenderly, a gesture you didn’t know you needed. You turned your head and looked at her, giving her a small peck on the lips.

Vi looked at you like some sort of valuable treasure, she always had such obvious eyes. You could look into them and immediately know every thought she thought she was hiding. Even when she said it was just hookups—her eyes said something different. She smiled at you, caressing your waist softly. “Are you getting soft on me, baby?” she questioned.

You shrugged, feeling Caitlyn’s hands gently caressing your thighs. “Maybe, don’t act like you’re any better.” you replied, not breaking eye contact.

“I can admit that, I’m not stubborn in that case.” she said, hands moving up to unbutton your shirt. She was too busy looking at you, so she struggled a bit with one of the buttons. You both giggled, and you watched her eyes stray away from yours and towards the button.

Once the button was undone, she slid your shirt off your shoulders and tossed it to the side. Caitlyn clicked her tongue, fingertips digging into the plush of your thighs. “Vi, please. That’s an expensive shirt.” she said, looking at it on the floor and narrowing her eyes.

Vi shrugged, grabbing your jaw and turning your head towards Caitlyn. “You’re so materialistic, cupcake.” she teased, kissing your jaw right under her hand.

You just sat there awkwardly, did they always fight like this? Interesting relationship for a president and chancellor. Though this whole situation was interesting.

Caitlyn stood between your legs, not quite pushing up against you. She kept some distance just so she could look at you. Her eyes traveled south, pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy. She hadn’t ever gotten a good look at it, so she couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“Oh, how pretty. Is this what Vi has been hogging?” she asked while she dragged her fingertips up and down your cunt, nails threatening but also arousing. You clenched around nothing, the air in your lungs stuck. You knew she wouldn’t put her fingers in, so you were left bucking your hips up as a way to beg for more.

Vi slipped her hands under your bra, rolling her thumb over your nipples and watching Caitlyn mess with you.

Caitlyn pulled away for a moment, moving to unbutton her shirt as well. You tried to close your eyes to bask in the pleasure you felt from having your nipples played with, but Vi snapped you out of that.

“Ah, ah. Watch her, sweetheart.” she murmured in your ear, removing her left hand from your boob and grabbing your jaw to hold it steady. You watched Caitlyn undress, the delicate way she slipped her long skirt downed, how she slid her expensive panties down her thighs with such care it felt threatening, all of it.

You shamelessly looked her up and down, because damn.

Vi whistled lowly, letting go of your jaw and kissing your neck once. She brought her hands back behind you and unclasped your bra with a speed you didn’t know was possible. She tossed it to the side with your shirt carelessly, palms finding your tits again.

Caitlyn laughed at the whistle, stepping forward again and reaching past you to grab the strap waiting for her. It was a dark blue, looked pretty similar to Vi’s. In fact, it was the exact same. What a coincidence!

“That looks a lot like Vi’s.” you said obliviously, a sweet gasp leaving you when your nipples were pinched softly again.

Both Caitlyn and Vi looked at each other and laughed. Caitlyn held the strap in one hand, patting your thigh softly. “Because it’s the same one, darling.” she said, eyes locked on your perky nipples.

“How can you remember how it looks like so well when it’s inside you all the time? You’ve got good memory, doc.” Vi said, finally leaving your nipples alone since they were starting to get a little sore.

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow at Vi, “You’re so cocky for someone who was bent over my desk the day I caught you two.”

Vi hummed and kissed your neck again, smiling against your skin. “This isn’t about me right now.” she defended herself, most likely to save her ego.

You were actually in shock. It was a bit surprising that they had been hooking up too. What a total mess this dynamic was. What kind of college had a professor, the president, and the chancellor all sleeping together?

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Caitlyn reached past you again to grab the vibrator. You gulped, not expecting her to use both on you. Before you could process, she clicked it on and put it on a low setting.

“Ready?” she asked, holding the toy dangerously close to your clit. You were breathing heavily in anticipation, so needy despite the fact you already came. All you could manage was a nod, which was enough for her.

Caitlyn pressed the vibrator down onto your clit softly, smiling at your reaction. You immediately arched up, a choked out moan falling from your lips in response. She moved it up and down your needy pussy, wetness sloshing and your hole pulsing and clenching.

When the toy prodded at your entrance, you let out a pathetic cry. You threw your head back onto Vi’s shoulder and gasped, every nerve there tingling and making you shake. “F-fuck! Caitlyn!”

Caitlyn moaned at your reaction, moving the vibrator back up to your clit. “I’m a higher up, darling. Address me with respect.” She then pressed herself up against the toy, that way it was between the both of you. Both your clits feeling the pleasurable hum and pressing it against each other. You both moaned at the same time, her eyes fluttered shut and yours remained trained on her.

Vi couldn’t help but slide her hand down her pants at the sight, eventually completely discarding them. The room filled with sweet moans and gasps, the silent buzz of the toy muffler by your bodies.

Caitlyn eventually pulled it away from you, handing it to Vi while she started to secure the strap onto her body. You watched with a hazy expression, whining and bucking your hips up pathetically at the loss of friction.

Once she got the strap secured to her body, she looked at Vi. “You should sit on her face, darling.” she suggested, holding the dildo part of the toy in her hand carefully.

Vi blinked, pupils almost as dilated as yours. She just groaned and nodded, kissing your neck one more time and huffing.

The sheer idea of this had your head spinning. You’d be in the middle of something you weren’t sure you were ready for. But you wanted it, all of it. Maybe you really were as greedy as they said you were.

The position changed a bit, you were scooted further so you could lay down on the desk, legs spread. Caitlyn was between your legs, dragging the silicone up and down your pulsing pussy to collect all the wetness she could. Vi was hovering over your face, waiting for a signal.

You patted her thigh softly, “Come on, sit.” you urged, grabbing both her thighs and yanking her down. You couldn’t see much of anything anymore, but you didn’t need to. You lapped at her cunt softly, licking up all her juices and trying to push your tongue inside her. Vi immediately gasped, head lowering and weak curses leaving her. “Oh, fuck..just like that, baby.”

Upon seeing this, Caitlyn couldn’t control herself anymore. She had one hand holding the blue, slick covered silicone and one on your hip. She lined the tip up with your entrance, starting to slowly push in. The way you opened up for her was beautiful, it made her moan in a tone she didn’t know she was capable of. You greedily sucked her in, weak cries muffled by Vi’s cunt pressed against your face. It was absolutely filthy.

“That’s it, good girl. Sucking me in so good, darling.” she said between desperate pants. Now that she wasn’t holding the dildo part, she reached for the vibrator again. She turned it on, pressing it against your clit again.

You whined and bucked your hips up, tongue flicking faster as you messily ate out the woman above you. Caitlyn pulled it away, holding it against herself. Before she started thrusting, she pushed the small toy inside her, throwing her head back at the sudden feeling. The part of the strap pressing against her pussy kept it in place, though she was falling apart.

Then, she started fucking into you—dragging the silicone in and out of your sopping hole with a torturous pace. Vi watched the whole thing, moving to pinch and grab at her own tits. You moaned into her pussy, nose bumping against her clit as you thrusted your tongue inside her.

Caitlyn was starting to get desperate and sped her movements up. She was absolutely drilling into you now, unable to contain herself. The desk started to shake, the squelching sound of your pussy echoing between your bodies. The hum or the vibrator inside her was constant, she was an absolute mess. Moaning, grabbing onto you tightly, all of it.

You were a mess, fucking your tongue into Vi at the same pace Caitlyn was using on you. Your movements stuttered, jaw trying to to go slack from how roughly she was fucking you. But you took it, all of it. You could feel every little manufactured vein of her dick pushing against your walls, every movement making the tip kiss your cervix in a way that almost made you limp. It was all too good, the familiar feeling of that silicone making you see starts behind your eyelids.

When Caitlyn thrusted, it jolted your body forward which directly affected Vi. She was absolutely weak, it was funny how her confidence seemed to vanish when she started to feel good. She was pathetically whimpering above you, pleading and cursing. “Please, please—god..you’re so fuckin’ good at this..”

Caitlyn smiled, legs shaking at the intense pleasure inside her. She angled her hips up a bit more, hitting a spot inside you that made you whine loudly into Vi’s cunt. You almost thought you couldn’t take it, she was fucking you like an animal and you couldn’t get enough. You couldn’t get enough of the collective moans, the way you clung to her cock every time she tried to pull out, the way Vi tasted on your tongue—you were officially in heaven.

“Mhm? Does she have a good tongue, sweetheart?” she asked Vi, panting and huffing.

Vi couldn’t even manage a response. She feverishly nodded and hung her head low. Eventually her glasses were dangling off her face, another harsh thrust and jolt of your body had them falling onto your stomach. But nobody paid attention to them, nobody even looked at them. In fact, you hadn’t even noticed.

You were moaning uncontrollably into Vi’s pussy, flicking your tongue in and out and licking up everything you could. When you pushed your tongue in, you could feel a difference in how she was clenching around the muscle. She had to be close, you dug your fingertips into her thighs to keep her from squirming too much.

Caitlyn seemed to catch on too, though she was mainly focused on you. She watched the way your pussy greedily sucked her in, the way your juices dripped out of your hole and downward. She loved it, she especially loved the ring forming around the base of her dick. She looked at Vi, removing a hand from you and cupping her cheek instead. “Are you close?” to which she earned a nod.

“Cum for us, darling. Right on her tongue.” she urged, eyes locking with Vi’s. They were both panting heavily, eyes half lidded and full of desire. That’s all it took for Vi to finished, your tongue flicking again and Caitlyn’s words. She let out a long string of curses, grinding against your face softly so she could ride it out. The amount of pleasure and relief she felt was unimaginable, she felt like her whole body had reset.

You continued flicking your tongue, not wanting to waste anything as she came in your mouth. You weakly let go of her thighs, hands shaking and trembling. Eventually she lifted herself off your face, sitting next to your body. Your chin was covered in slick, she laughed and wiped it with her thumb. “God, you’re so beautiful. Keep fucking her, Cait.”

Caitlyn continued fucking you roughly, finally getting to see your fucked out expression. “Such a good girl for making Vi finish. So proud of you.”

You moaned at the overwhelming praise, eyes bobbling in place. All eyes were on you now, you weakly reached for Vi’s hand to which she immediately grabbed and squeezed. Now that there wasn’t anything to muffle your moans, it was a bit more embarrassing. Every thrust had you gasping or whimpering, though Caitlyn was also being quite loud. She was clenching around the vibrator inside her, absolutely sopping. Her slick was getting the strap of leather under her pussy soaked.

Vi reached her other hand over and pressed on your abdomen, feeling the bump of Caitlyn’s dick inside you. She smiled, urging you to look at it. “Look how deep she is baby, you feel that?”

“Y-yes! yes, god!” you cried, you could feel her hitting that perfect spot every time, and you knew you wouldn’t last for long. When Vi pressed down, it was so overwhelming. But the feeling was so good, and her words got you off even more. You felt that familiar tightening in your stomach, though it felt stronger. “M-ma’am. I’m..I’m close—!” you gasped out, squeezing Vi’s hand.

“Mhm? Gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” she husked out, not far behind you. The toy inside her was absolutely maddening, her hips were starting to stutter. “Come on, just like Vi did.”

Vi ran her other hand through your hair tenderly, eyes trained on the way your tits bounced. All she could do was groan and watch, wanting to see you finish so badly. “Soak her cock, baby. ‘Wanna see it.”

And you did, your orgasm hit you like a fucking tidal wave. You cried out, back arching impossibly high and your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Please, please!” you whined out as you came, thighs trembling and your whole body feeling lighter and tingly.

Caitlyn kept going to help you ride it out, though seeing you finish made her follow. She let out a string of sweet moan, hips stuttering and her head tilting back. Vi’s eyes darted between the two of you like a lost puppy, though she was extremely satisfied.

You all stayed there for a moment to catch your breath, eyes squeezed shut and the smell of sex in the air. To say that was the most earth shattering orgasm of your life wasn’t descriptive enough. You felt like a whole other being.

“Holy shit.” you panted out, looking at Caitlyn who was coming down from her high as well. You looked to your stomach and saw Vi’s glasses sitting there, you blinked in confusion and raised an eyebrow. “How did these get here.”

Vi laughed and patted your cheek, taking her glasses back and putting them back on. As if she looked professional in your eyes after all that pathetic whimpering. “They fell off while you were eating me out, didn’t notice?”

You shook your head, which made both of them laugh. Caitlyn reached down and pulled the toy out of her overstimulated hole. It was absolutely soaked, strings clung to it as she pulled it out and set it elsewhere. “You didn’t notice them falling on you? I must’ve been doing a good job.” she bragged, pulling out of you and humming at the way you gasped.

You felt a bit embarrassed, but you were too hazy to put any concern into that. Vi helped you sit up, letting you lean back against her chest. “I know Caitlyn has wipes in here..but we can go to my apartment and get actually cleaned up.” she offered, looking between the two of you.

Caitlyn nodded, reaching for her glasses and putting them on. She looked at you and smiled. “Your charges are dropped. I was going to let you keep your job anyways.” she confessed, watching the way your eyebrows furrowed.

“Are you kidding me?”

“No, darling. But is it true you moaned my name one time while riding Vi?”

You stared at her in disbelief, then looked back at Vi and slapped her arm. “Why the hell would you tell her that?!”

Vi winced and rubbed her arm, laughing at your sudden change of attitude. “I have to report things to the president!” she argued defensively.

“You’re so unbelievable!” this was the most embarrassing moment of your life. You feared for your job just to be told you didn’t need to? You would’ve done this anyways but still!

Caitlyn laughed and rubbed your thigh tenderly. “Oh, stop that. Might have to fuck you again.”

“Is that a threat or a promise.”

“Put your clothes on you slut”

A/N: i’m so sorry this took so long, i hope yall enjoy!! first time writing threesome things sooo..i trieddd!

tags!! <333 @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @hyperbabes @usuck @haithone @yunaversalluv @smaugayra @andieprincessofpower @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @sewithinsouls @pariiissssssss @aliselune @myla-wyla @nattakasuperlesbian @xiletay @sawaagyapong @ellies-real-wife @lostdecisions @liddyflyer @talyaisvalslutsoldier @dustandpearls @vicluvsu @urmomssideh0e @ilovetaylorrr @shynymphh

#caitvi x reader #caitvi x you #caitvi #vi arcane #vi smut arcane #vi x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn smut #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn kiramann smut #wlw #lesbian #wlw love #arcane imagine #arcane #arcane smut #vi smut

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nekonaps0 · 3 days ago

Text

Mixed text pt2

✦part1 part3

✦fem!reader

✦characters: second years

✦You meant to send your very spicy little message to your boyfriend. But you didn’t just text him. You accidentally dropped it into the dorm group chat…

Riddle Rosehearts

Your text:

“You looked so good yelling at Ace today. I think I’ve got a thing for authority. Want to punish me next?”

Group chat chaos:

Cater: “👀 Y’ALL KINKY”

Trey: “Cater, don’t encourage them.”

Ace: “IM SUING.”

Deuce: “Can I leave the chat?”

Riddle dropped his pen. He stared at the screen like it had personally insulted the Queen of Hearts.

“...What. What is this. What is THIS.”

His face turned a shade of violently red only seen in cartoons. He stormed into the kitchen where you were innocently making tea.

“Care to explain why my entire dorm now believes I’m a disciplinarian in the bedroom?!”

You apologized. Profusely. With kisses.

He eventually calmed down, sighing, fanning his cheeks.

“...I suppose next time, if you must send something like that, at least not in the group chat.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Your text:

“Next time I sit on your face, maybe I’ll let you breathe. Or not”

Group chat chaos:

Leona: “...Disgusting.”

Jack: “I AM INNOCENT. I DON’T DESERVE THIS.”

Ruggie choked on his lunch. Spit his soda. Dropped his phone. Cursed out loud.

“NONONONO—FUUUCK—DELETE DELETE DELETE.”

You get a voice note from him, sputtering:

“You just committed war crimes. Everyone saw it. Even Leona. I’m going to die. You killed me.”

But after a few hours of internal screaming, he texts again:

“...Not gonna lie though, if that’s a promise... see you tonight.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Your text:

“If I showed up under your desk in nothing but heels and pearls, would you finally stop pretending to read your contract papers?”

Group chat chaos:

Jade: “Fascinating.”

Floyd: “Shrimpy WILD today huh??”

Random Mostro Lounge worker : “I’m filing a complaint.”

Azul nearly threw his tablet into the Mostro Lounge aquarium. His face went beat red.

“No no no no—WHY did it go to the group chat—”

He immediately DM’d you:

“My pearl, I beg you… do not ever use that phrasing again where others can read it.”

 “But also. I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Please continue.”

Later that night, he’s “working late” in his office—door locked. Wonder why?

Floyd Leech

Your text:

“I had a dream last night where you tied my wrists with ribbons and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wanna try for real?”

Group chat chaos:

Azul: “Excuse me?!?!”

Jade: “Brother, you’ve become quite popular.”

Other students: “Please get a room. Floyd just starts cackling. Loudly.”

“OOOH SHRRIMPYYYYY~ You sent that to everyone!”

He immediately replied in the chat:

“Bet. I be there in a minute!”

Then he slid into your DMs:

“You gonna let me tie you up tonight or what~? Don’t worry, I won’t squeeze too hard. Just enough to hear you squeak.”

You never hear the end of it. Never.

Jade Leech

Your text:

“Tell me again how you pinned me to the tank last night. Maybe do it again when the Mostro Lounge is empty?”

Group chat chaos:

Floyd: “WHOOOOAAA~ You DIRTY lil shrimp!”

Azul: “I’m canceling both of you.”

Random student: “I’m not emotionally stable enough for this. AND IM NOT CLEANING AGAIN!”

Jade’s eyes twitched. Just once.

Then he smiled that eerily calm smile and typed calmly into the chat:

“Thank you for your attention. We’ll be discussing aquarium etiquette next meeting.”

He DMs you moments later:

“Dearest pearl, your creativity astounds me. Shall we give them something else to talk about next time?”

(You don’t know whether to be turned on or terrified.)

Kalim Al-Asim

Your text:

“You looked so good sweating at practice today. I just wanted to drag you behind the gym and have some fun.”

Group chat chaos:

Jamil: “I’m throwing my phone into the Nile.”

Scarabia dormmate: “Kalim. You absolute legend.”

Kalim read the message and blinked. Then beamed.

“Aww! You think I looked good???”

Totally missed the point.

Jamil came in screaming and tackled Kalim’s phone to delete the chat history.

Eventually Kalim got it and turned bright red, laughing nervously.

“Ohhh! I thought you meant—!!! Ehe… well… if you meant… the other thing… let’s talk after dinner?”

Sweetest himbo. 100% still flustered the next day.

Jamil Viper

Your text:

“I had this fantasy of you pulling my hair and whispering orders in my ear. Think you can boss me around outside the kitchen, too?”

Group chat chaos:

Kalim: “You mean like cooking instructions?”

Scarabia dormmate: “I am never using the kitchen again.”

Jamil saw the notification, stopped mid-chop, and stared in dead silence.

Then he muttered:

“I’m going to bury myself in the sand.”

He DMs you with:

“You sent that to the dorm. THE DORM.”

You apologized, and he replied:

“You better mean it. Because now everyone thinks I wear the apron and the crown.”

(He gets very bossy that night. RIP for your back)

Silver

Your text:

“I dreamed of you tying me up and whispering in to my ears with that sleepy voice. Maybe tonight I won’t have to dream.”

Group chat chaos:

Lilia: “My boy is all grown up 😭”

Sebek: “UNACCEPTABLE.”

Malleus: “What do you mean by... ‘tying up’?”

Silver dropped his sword during sparring. He froze in horror. Even Lilia’s teasing didn’t register.

“No. No no no. She didn’t.”

He messaged you:

“You meant to send that to me, didn’t you?”

When you admitted it, he covered his face and sighed.

“You have no idea what you’ve done. Sebek’s yelling, Lilia’s laughing... and Malleus asking questions…”

He doesn’t say anything else—until later that night, when he shows up at your room.

“...You said you didn’t want to dream, right?”

You sleep like a princess that night.

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

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binmeister · 1 day ago

Text

Vocally incompatible

Jinu & Rumi x Producer! Reader - Scenario

Where you have to step in and guide a couple of squabbling idols on how to sing with chemistry.

CW: Kinda fluff, both of them are crushing on you highkey, RuJinu are more platonic sibling rivalry in this AU - not proofread

OST - Everytime - CHEN, Punch (listen if you haven’t please see the vision I beg)

Were you in hell? You had to be. Of course working in any form of creative media sucks but it is actually kind of insane what you’ve been put through for the last 3 hours of recording session 2 of 3. Jinu and Rumi, two extremely vocally talented idols and leaders of their respective groups could sing their way out of anything. But apparently had less chemistry than you personally did with a toaster and a bath tub filled to the brim with water.

How could this happen? You envisioned such a beautiful harmony from the two of them, surely they could harmonise off eachother with Rumi’s richer tone and Jinu’s heavenly high notes but it was like oil and water in a hot skillet - both trying to overpower the other and just completely unable to sync up and get their shit together. You were rested against the vast audio equipment in front of you, elbows on the very edge of the table with your head in your hands as the duo in the booth had both stopped to take a water break. You felt like you were at your wits end, there’s no way they couldn’t get their shit together right?

The track you envisioned their voices on was supposed to be a romantic and charming song, they didn’t even need to harmonise that much with Jinu taking up the masc. vocal lines they only needed to harmonise at the last chorus but it was like they were fighting each other with their singing voices. Was it too much to ask of them? You heard the booth door click open and the two had walked back into the main studio with you, Rumi grumbling a little to herself as she gave Jinu the stank eye. You couldn’t see it but Jinu had stuck his tongue out at her, and her jaw dropped as she raised a hand to swat at him but before she could he side stepped her and made a noise which finally got you to raise your head to look at them - Rumi tried to play it cool, pretending to stretch with her raised hand and not show that she was mid-assault on the taller male.

“Guys I just.. what is going on?” You finally spoke, your voice drained as you eyed them both in genuine confusion and maybe even a little concern. You expected things to be bumpy but you’re nearly about to waste a whole second session of unusable audio because no matter how much you attempted to guide them with words alone the two just.. couldn’t synergise. They both pointed to each other immediately, voices layered on top of each other as they made immature jabs at the other party.

“It’s him, he’s just going too high too fast.” “Me? You’re trying to sing my line!” “YOUR line? This is a duet.” “Oh so now it’s ours?”

They shut up as soon as they felt your deadpan stare on them, a wry smile on your face as you drooped in your chair. “So you guys hit it off when fighting but you can’t sing together?”

You thought it over for a little before sighing, maybe you should’ve done this from the start but you expected them to do better than what they did and admittedly you felt a little childish - surely you didn’t need to step in and record the demo because Rumi was usually fine but if you really have to... You stood up, gesturing for Rumi to take a seat in your place and then motioning for Jinu to follow you into the audio booth - handing him a pair of headphones as you took up the other pair and stood in front of the mic.

“You’re gonna sing with me, and you’re gonna imagine I’m the love of your life.” You said blankly, voice calm as you pointed at Jinu accusingly. “We’re gonna pretend we’re in a slow burn drama, you’ve finally realised you fell for me and are gonna imagine what it feels like when you look at me and all you can think is mushy gushy feelings.”

“We’ll do the first chorus and your first verse, then I’ll do the same with Rumi.” You finished, eyes on him waiting for him to at least do something to acknowledge he heard you.

The tips of Jinu’s ears were hot, he stammered a bit and nodded obediently and had to resist the urge to bite his lip. Did you catch it? How’d you know that he started to think you were cute. He didn’t have time to think as you gestured for Rumi to play the sound track, the clicks of the starting beats in his ears as he looked away from you to look at the music sheet in front of him so he could follow along with the lyrics.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” You sang into the mic - your tone breathy and Jinu felt tingles at the back of his neck as he dared to let himself look at you, eyes closed as you sang and you looked. Breathtaking. He finally broke his gaze, looking ahead and catching Rumi’s expression and she was no better than him. Dreamy expression on her face as she looked at you like you lit the stars in the sky as she subtly swayed to the opening notes of the song and your voice.

“..shipeun dan han saram.” You continued on, he heard the beats signalling that he needed to harmonise soon on the shared adlibs and he let himself steal a last glance at your serene expression as your brows scrunched slightly as you gently laced the lyrics with emotion. Like you were the one that had fallen in love with someone and wanted to tell them through this song. that they meant the world to you. That maybe.. he meant the world to you.

“Baby oh oh oh oh..” His voice melted together with yours, like you two had been singing together for centuries and he could feel the butterflies in his stomach and how his chest felt a little lighter as he continued harmonising with you. Then finally it was his solo line, you had leant back away from the mic - eyes barely open as you nodded along to the song and listened to how he handled his voice and how he finally put some feeling into his words. A smile ghosted your lips and he had to resist the need to smile as he sang but he continued.

Yeah. He gets it now.

“Oh every time I see you, geudae nuneul bol ttaemyeon...” He sang out, eyes looking at the glint of your eyes and he finally understood the lyrics a little better. It felt more natural like this, with you. With Rumi it felt like the two were siblings being forced to be nice to each other and honestly, he couldn’t resist messing with her because of it. In that endearing older sibling way where they’re genetically programmed to mess with the younger one.

It was maybe a minute more of him singing, his voice finally having that sweetness and yearning that you were in need of for this track and you couldn’t help it you were giddy. He was nearly done with his verse and on the last line you looked up, eyes meeting his and he choked on his last word before looking away to break your gaze. You didn’t catch it right? The fact that he was staring at you the entire time as he sang, as the past months of working with you played in his head - the small gestures, the banter, just everything played in his head like a movie and he rubbed the nape of his neck as you clapped for him.

“Yes! Yes this is exactly what I wanted, great job Jinu.” You cheered gleefully as you gestured for Rumi to stop the track, she looked surprised with what she heard. Jinu was capable of singing with emotion? No way. He’s just a stinky demon.. a stinky pretty demon but like, he’s still gross. Though she had to admit you guys sounded.. amazing together. Like you were confessing to each other in the snippet that was recorded and she felt a tinge of jealousy at that, she’s known you longer after all! Surely it’s just business. Jinu laughed you off, bashful as he gave an awkward tiny bow to you before he responded.

“The scenario you said to imagine, just kinda worked I guess?” He offered up as an explanation but you didn’t look into it too much, hands lightly clapping at his work before you instructed him and Rumi to swap places. As they brushed by each other Rumi couldn’t help it, she had to make a jab at him.

“Do you know what button to press orrrr.. are you gonna wing it?” It was childish, she had a smug smile on her face as he paused briefly before they both gave each other the stank eye and she entered the booth - taking up Jinu’s previous position as you bounced slightly on your feet in joy. Finally things are shaping up! Jinu sat down in the office chair in front of the audio equipment, staring blankly at all the shiny lit up buttons and dials and- okay yeah he has no clue what he’s supposed to press.

Slowly he looked up, Rumi met his eye first and she had the same smug smile on her face as before like she just knew he had no clue what was going on and you? When he caught your eye you just smiled at him, walking up to the glass and trying to point out which buttons he needs to press and trying to talk loud enough through the muffling glass for him to understand that he shouldn’t press them until you give him a signal. He could do that much. Hopefully.

You stepped back up to the mic, turning to Rumi and beginning to give her the same breakdown you gave Jinu but instead you’d be singing Jinu’s lines instead and then you would harmonise on the bridge together.

“Rumi, I know you well enough that you’ve never thought about holding hands with someone before. I need you to just, pretend, that you finally found the love of your life okay?” It was a very, very poorly worded peptalk and she was shocked. “I too have thought about that!” Rumi said in protest, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment and she could just feel Jinu’s dumb smile as he heard everything through the mics.

“Okay okay, alright then.. imagine we’ve been arguing for weeks and then something clicks and you just, start seeing me in a different light hm? Just picture me as someone that you fell for.” You teased, your tone softer with her as you smiled at her before gesturing for Jinu to start up the song at a different part. You winced when he hit the wrong button, a screech playing in both you and Rumi’s headphones that made the other girl groan and mutter about his incompetence but you heard the muffled sorry from him as he corrected his mistake and finally the song started back up right near his chorus would end.

“Nal tteonaji marayo..” You sang out, no hesitance as you picked up the song from right after the chorus with ease. Rumi couldn’t help but look at you with an adoring gaze, she loved hearing you sing and.. you were just in your element when you were in the booth or when you were busy slaving away at mixing tracks. Like your own graceful kind of science. There was a yearning in your voice that tugged at her heart, a bittersweet touch to the words that left your lips and she really felt like you were saying these to her. A confession between the two of you.

“Nal mitgo gidaryeojullaeyo.” You continued and she let herself harmonise with you, emotion slipping into the lyrics as she let your voices mix together finally. No battle, no too much or too little on either of your voices. She perfectly melded in with yours like you were meant to sing this track together. She hit the high note beautifully, tastefully even with such ease and precision - strain free and you mentally cheered as you continued on eyes closing as you continued the last few lines with her. The emotion Rumi put into her voice, was natural like she’d been bottling up feelings and finally managed to let them out - a tint of shyness in her words as they left her lips.

“Nae unmyeongijyo. Sesang kkeuchirado.” Your voices continued together, Rumi ending the shared harmony with a softer touch and leaning away from the mic and continued to admire you as you sang out the last line that you wanted to show them. Jinu was stunned. He knew Rumi could sing, he knew you could sing but it was like he was listening to an intimate confession between two soulmates.. which made him feel a twinge of jealousy but he couldn’t deny that you both sounded heavenly together.

“Jigyeojugo shipeun neo,” You finished, letting the music play and holding up a hand to show Rumi not to continue on as you opened your eyes and stepped back. You motioned for Jinu to stop the track and he did, and you felt the tension leave your shoulders as you quietly cheered - the joy in your body leading you to bounce a little in joy as you fought the urge to let out a hoot of victory.

“Yes! YES! This is great, awesome, I just need you two do the exact same thing let’s get Jinu back in here.” You spoke quickly as you took the headphones off your head, haphazardly throwing them on the studio mic and rushed out of the booth. You spun Jinu, grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his seat in a blink of an eye as you ushered him back into the recording booth so he and Rumi could try that last bridge again together.

The finally understood what to do!

Rumi and Jinu exchanged glances. This wouldn’t end well. You gleefully gave a thumbs up to them as you started the track from the beginning, full belief in them as they started the song from the beginning again. Both flawlessly sang their solo choruses and Jinu was singing the chorus the exact same way as he did with you - but then it was like a record scratch moment as they immediately started overpowering each other again during the bridge and your smile dropped from your face.

Oh.. it seems you’ll be in here for a third session with them after all.

#jinu x reader #rumi x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #kpdh x reader #saja boys x reader #huntrix x reader

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cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

Note

Heyy! I love all your fics, they are soooo good! Could you maybe write one where y/n is max fewtrells little sister and landos race engineer but media is being mean to her and saying that she just got the job cause she's a woman and that she doesn't deserve it. So lando has to step in and then they fall in love. If you don't like this you could just ignore it but I'd love to read it:)

not on my watch — ln4

smau + blurbs

lando norris x !race engineer reader

it started shortly after the mclaren announcement was posted— 'yn fewtrell has been named lando norris’ race engineer for the 2025 season.' the internet erupted—accusations of nepotism, blatant sexism, and outrage that they’d hand the job to a 24 year old woman. they don’t know you built half the strategy software they rely on. they don’t know you graduated at 19 and haven’t made a wrong call since. they don’t know lando trusts you more than anyone else on the team. this season, you’re done staying quiet. you’re going to prove them all wrong. even if it means falling for the one person you were never supposed to.

fc : lissie mackintosh

(a/n) : hellooooo mi vida <3 thank you for the love on my work! i appreciate you sm. sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoy 🧚🏻

also i love writing like the engineering side of things. my dad is a retired race engineer and he taught me everything i know and is the reason for my love of the sport. there is your fun fact of the day;) enjoy !

—

mclaren & yn_fewtrell

liked by lando, maxfewtrell, zbrownceo & 7,110,011 others.

mclaren : Please welcome YN Fewtrell as Lando Norris’ new race engineer for the 2025 season. Brilliant, fearless, and ready to lead from the pit wall. Let’s go win some races. 🧡

—

view 772,000 other comments.

username000 : ok but she’s actually a genius? she BUILT half their strategy models. stay mad.

username00 : this is history and y’all don’t even know it yet. she’s gonna run the whole grid one day.

username0 : nepotism is alive and well I see 😐

username1 : she’s 24 and in charge of race strategy?? lmao. hope Lando likes DNFing.

↳ lando : keep my wife’s name out of your FUCKIN mouth.

liked by yn_fewtrell and maxfewtrell

↳ lando : i literally begged her to take the job. she had about a dozen offers for other teams. she is smarter than the whole paddock put together.

liked by yn_fewtrell, maxfewtrell, mclaren and oscarpiastri

zbrownceo : Brilliant mind. Cool under pressure. Unshakable. Couldn’t be prouder. Let’s do this.

liked by mclaren and yn_fewtrell

↳ username5 : you’ll regret this 2 races into the season.

oscarpiastri : I thought I knew the science behind F1…and then I met YN…and she made me question everything. Congratulations, YN! We are happy to have you.

liked by mclaren, yn_fewtrell, maxfewtrell and lando

maxfewtrell : Such a proud big brother moment. Go show them just how genius you are, sis! 🤧🧡

liked by mclaren, yn_fewtrell and lando

pietra.pilao : literally the most intelligent person in the world! no one deserves this more🥺 I LOVE YOU YNNNNN

liked by yn_fewtrell, maxfewtrell and lando

lando : no one can wrangle me like this one. let’s make history together bub!!

liked by yn_fewtrell, mclaren and oscarpiastri

username17 : Hiring women just to look good, not to win races. Disgraceful.

↳ yn_fewtrell : funny how the people questioning my ability never mention the races i have helped win. maybe instead of whining about my gender, you should learn how to actually win. see you on the podium—if you can keep up. 🧡

liked by maxfewtrell, lando, mclaren, pietra.pilao and oscarpiastri

↳ maxfewtrell : ATE

liked by lando and yn_fewtrell

username37 : Just here to watch her fail and disappear. It’s not like she’s actually qualified.

↳ lando : talk shit get hit. you’re out here bullying a woman behind a keyboard while she stays winning and getting paid.

liked by yn_fewtrell and maxfewtrell

username45 : Bet she got the job ‘cause Max begged, not because she earned it.

↳ maxfewtrell : lando doesn’t even like me that much, if I would’ve asked he would’ve said no.

↳ lando : TRUTH

username55 : This is why F1 is a joke now. Giving a 24-year-old woman a crucial race engineer role? Please. Next, they’ll have kids driving cars.

↳ maxfewtrell : This comment is exactly why she’s needed. You clowns scream about F1 being a joke, but the real punchline is you thinking your fragile ego matters more than her qualifications. She’s 24, a genius, and running circles around engineers twice her age. Stay pressed.

liked by yn_fewtrell and lando

—

You’re not sure why your palms are sweaty. You’ve given technical presentations in front of FIA directors. You’ve rebuilt a predictive model with zero sleep and one cracked laptop. You’ve told grown men twice your age their simulations were wrong—and then proved it. But this? Sitting across from Zak Brown and the McLaren technical director with your name printed at the top of an official offer letter? This feels different.

“Relax,” Zak says, grinning like he’s already picturing you on the pit wall. “You’re not in trouble. Unless being a genius is suddenly against the rules.”

You crack a smile. Just a small one. The technical director slides the contract toward you. You already know what it says. But seeing it in writing makes your heart skip anyway.

“We want you in the role officially,” Zak says. “You’ve been running the backend strategy models, fixing everyone’s messes from behind the curtain, and honestly? It’s long overdue.”

“I thought I was too young,” you say carefully. “Too… controversial.”

Zak leans forward, elbows on the table. “You graduated at 19. You built the race strategy AI we still use today. You predicted the Qatar safety car last season three laps before it happened. You’ve saved Lando’s race more times than we can count. If you were anyone else—any guy, with ten more grey hairs—we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. You’d already be in that seat.”

Your throat tightens a little. You swallow it down.

“We know what people are going to say,” the tech director adds. “The media will be brutal. The ‘nepotism’ headlines, the ‘diversity hire’ comments. It’s coming.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But they’re wrong.”

Zak nods. “Exactly. And I want them to say it. Loudly. So we can prove them wrong. Publicly.”

There’s a long pause. The kind where everything shifts—where it all becomes real.

“Lando asked for you, by the way,” Zak says, almost offhand. “Said he’s never trusted anyone more with his race or his car.”

That stops you. You blink. Look back down at the paper. You knew you’d earned this. But hearing that? It hits different. You pick up the pen. And for the first time since walking into the room, you let yourself smile—full, bright, certain.

“Let’s go win some races.”

—

Dinner at Max’s flat was always a bit of a circus. Pietra’s voice filled the kitchen as she narrated her sauce recipe like a cooking show. Max was burning the garlic bread while insisting he knew what he was doing. And Lando? Lando was sitting at the end of the counter, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, stealing olives out of the bowl you were supposed to be using for the salad. You’d missed this.

The normalcy. The teasing. The fact that no one was looking at you like you were about to become the most talked about person in the paddock.

“You’re being suspicious,” Max says, pointing a fork at you as he slides into his seat at the table.

“I’m literally just existing,” you reply.

Pietra hums. “No, he’s right. You’ve had a look all evening. Like you’re hiding something.”

You glance at Lando. He doesn’t say anything, but he raises one eyebrow, a silent challenge. He’s been patient with you the last few weeks. Supportive, even while everyone else kept asking what team you were going to sign with. Mercedes had called. Ferrari had emailed. Even Red Bull made an offer. You’d kept it to yourself, waiting for the right moment. Tonight was the right moment.

You take a slow sip of your wine. “So… I signed.”

The room goes silent. Max straightens in his chair like you just told him you were pregnant. “What?”

Pietra claps her hands. “With who?!”

Lando freezes. The olive he was about to eat drops back into the bowl. “Wait. Seriously? You signed?”

You nod slowly, drawing it out. “Yep.”

Max leans forward, eyes wide. “Okay, well—Ferrari?”

You shake your head.

“Mercedes,” Pietra tries, gasping dramatically. “You’d look hot in silver.”

You smile, still silent. Lando’s eyes haven’t left your face. He looks nervous. Hopeful.

“I signed with McLaren,” you say finally. “Race engineer for Mr. Norris.”

And then—Chaos. Pure Chaos.

“YESSSSS!” Pietra screeches, nearly knocking over her wine.

Max throws a napkin in the air like it’s confetti. “I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU’D STAY!”

Lando lets out a breath like he’s been holding it for three years. He covers his mouth with one hand and laughs.

“You’re joking,” he says, eyes wide. “You’re actually serious?”

“I signed the contract this morning,” you reply, grinning. “Zak just let them put out the announcement.”

Max is on his feet in seconds, pulling you up into a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you,” he says into your hair, voice suddenly a little thick. “They have no idea what’s coming.”

Pietra joins the hug, wrapping her arms around both of you. “We’re going to make shirts that say ‘fewtrell dominance could bore fans.’”

You laugh into her shoulder. “Please don’t.”

When you finally break away, Lando’s still sitting, eyes soft, lips twitching like he’s trying to hide how relieved he is.

“You okay over there?” you tease.

He stands, coming to stand just in front of you. “I’m great. I’m—actually, I’m really happy.”

You nod, trying to keep your voice even. “You sure you can handle me screaming strategy in your ear every Sunday?”

Lando grins. “Only if you promise to keep calling me out when I whine on the radio.”

You roll your eyes. “Deal.”

There’s a beat where no one says anything. Just you, standing a little too close to Lando in the middle of Max’s kitchen, your heart hammering for reasons that have nothing to do with the job. Max breaks the silence.

“So… do I need to have the talk now, or can I just trust that Lando will behave?”

Pietra gasps. “Max!”

Lando chokes on a laugh. “What?! Nothing’s even happening!”

You try to act innocent, but you’re smiling now—bright and open and a little bit full of something terrifyingly hopeful.

“Yet,” Max mutters, grabbing the garlic bread off the counter. “I’m watching you, Norris.”

You roll your eyes and steal a piece of bread. Because the truth is, you’re watching him too. And you’re not sure who’s more in trouble—you, for finally taking this job. Or Lando, for falling a little harder every time you say his name.

—

Later that night, the laughter fades into tired giggles, and the plates are mostly empty, wine glasses scattered across the table like a celebration that never wanted to end. Max and Pietra are curled up on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket and pretending they’re not eavesdropping. Which leaves you and Lando in the kitchen—cleaning up, sort of. Mostly moving things around and trying not to look like you’re just avoiding saying something.

He’s rinsing dishes at the sink, sleeves pushed up, curls slightly messy from running his hand through his hair too many times. You dry the plates beside him, stealing glances when you think he’s not paying attention. Of course, he is.

“You really had us going,” Lando says softly, finally breaking the silence. “Thought you were off to Ferrari or something.”

You shrug. “I could’ve. But… it never felt right. They wanted the title on my resume. McLaren actually wanted me.”

He smiles at that—wide and full of pride. “We’re lucky to have you. I mean that.”

There’s something heavy under his voice now. Not just pride. Something else.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he adds, rinsing the last glass. “I asked for you.”

You glance over at him. “I figured. Zak doesn’t subtlety drop things like that.”

Lando laughs under his breath, then grows quiet again. “It wasn’t just because you’re smart, or talented, or scary good at reading data. It’s because I trust you. And that’s rare for me.”

You look down at the towel in your hands, your voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you too.”

There’s a long pause. The kind where the air shifts. Where you both feel the question neither of you has dared to ask.

He looks over at you, searching. “Are you scared?”

You nod slowly. “A little. Not of the job. Just… everything else.”

His gaze softens, and he takes a step closer. Not quite touching, but close enough to feel the warmth between you.

“Whatever it is,” he says, voice low, “we figure it out together.”

You blink at him. Your breath catches, just a little.

“Even if Max threatens to murder you?” you joke.

Lando smirks. “Especially then.”

The moment hangs there—close, careful, charged. You want to kiss him. You have for years. It is definitely not the time now. But the thought is there, sitting between you, unspoken and inevitable.

Instead, he nudges your shoulder gently. “Come on. You’re off duty tonight. I’ll finish up.”

You hand him the towel and roll your eyes. “Don’t screw up the glassware, Norris.”

He grins, watching you walk out of the kitchen. And when he turns back to the sink, he’s still smiling—because for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly where it’s meant to be.

—

Australia. Testing Day.

The paddock is humming like a heartbeat—fast, sharp, electric. You walk toward the garage with your headset in hand, credentials swinging around your neck, papaya polo fitted perfectly like it’s been yours all along. People glance as you pass, some with confusion, others with curiosity. You hear your name once or twice in passing—low whispers, half-question, half-gossip. You ignore all of it.

Because you’re not here to be liked. You’re here to run a car. McLaren’s garage is already alive when you step in. The smell of oil and tire rubber hits you first, followed by the warm buzz of quiet chaos. Engineers, mechanics, data analysts—moving like they’re part of a living machine.

Lando’s sitting in the car, helmet off, half-zipped race suit and that usual lazy grin stretched across his face.

“Morning, boss,” he says into the radio, teasing.

You settle into your seat on the pit wall like you’ve done it a thousand times. Calm. Focused. Headset on.

“Morning, Norris,” you reply coolly. “Try not to crash. I just got here.”

A soft laugh crackles through the comms. “No promises.”

Zak appears behind you, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “This is it,” he says, smiling. “Let’s show them why you’re here.”

You nod once and focus on the screen in front of you. Live telemetry scrolls across the monitor. Tire temps. Fuel load. Weather variance. You track it all with sharp, trained eyes.

Your voice is calm when it hits the radio. “Okay Lando, we’re doing a 12 lap run, softs, with gradual pace increase. I want full feedback on braking stability by lap 4. Let’s go.”

“Copy that,” he replies, voice lighter than it probably should be. “Lead the way, genius.”

And then the garage clears as the engine roars to life. He pulls out of the pit lane. The screens flicker to life, and the data begins to pour in. Sector times. Tire degradation. Wind resistance. The other engineers glance over at you—quietly impressed. By lap 5, you’re already adjusting the run.

“Box at the end of 8. Temps are creeping up faster than expected. Want to save the compound.”

“Copy,” Lando says immediately, without question.

By lap 9, he’s back in the garage. You’re waiting with a bottle of water and a raised brow.

“You’re .03 seconds off your previous best in Turn 11,” you say, casually handing it over. “What are you doing in there, admiring the desert?”

Lando takes the bottle, grinning. “Maybe I just like hearing you call me out.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of a smile. The truth is—you’re in your element. The voices in the paddock might still whisper. The media might still doubt.

But on that pit wall, with your headset on and Lando behind the wheel, you’re exactly where you belong. Every call you make is sharp, every number you read makes sense, and the car? The car is singing. And by the end of the day? McLaren tops the timing sheets. Because this time, it’s not just about the car or the driver. It’s about you—and him—and the strategy that only the two of you can build together.

—

The garage is humming with the kind of energy only a race day can bring — tightly wound nerves, soft radio checks, the heavy scent of tire compound, and pure adrenaline wrapped in papaya orange. This time, it’s louder. Bigger. More intense. Because this is your first race. Your race. On the wall. Running the strategy. With the whole world watching. And they’re not just watching Lando. They’re watching you.

You barely hear the murmurs from the media pens—Let them talk. You’re too busy building a strategy that’ll make them eat every last word.

In the garage, Max and Pietra are chaos in human form.

Max is pacing in his McLaren cap like he’s the one driving, and Pietra is waving around a mini flag like it’s actually helping anything.

“Can she even breathe up there?” Pietra asks, looking up at the pit wall nervously.

“I don’t think she is breathing,” Max replies. “She’s calculating.”

Five minutes to lights out. You clip your headset on. Your screen shows Lando’s live data feed. Heart rate slightly elevated, but steady. Tire temps in ideal range. Track temp rising faster than expected.

“Alright, Norris,” you say into the mic, voice cool and even. “We’re sticking to Plan A. Clean start, protect the tires. You hold position in Turn 1 and don’t get spicy until after Lap 10. Copy?”

Lando’s voice crackles through the radio, playful even under pressure.

“Copy, boss. I’ll behave. Ish.”

The lights go out. And so does the paddock. Lando has a flying start.

Shoots past Leclerc like it’s personal, glues himself to P2 before Lap 2, and settles into a comfortable rhythm. You monitor everything. Grip levels. Crosswinds in Sector 2. Fuel consumption. Brake temps. Max is screaming into Pietra’s shoulder behind you. Pietra’s crying by Lap 5. “HE’S DRIVING SO WELL.”

You smile despite yourself. By Lap 17, you see it.

The Ferraris are chewing through their tires. The Red Bulls are too conservative on power. You run the numbers twice. Then a third time. You flick on the radio.

“Box this lap. Undercut window is open.”

Lando doesn’t question you. “Copy. Let’s do it.”

He dives in. The stop is flawless. 2.3 seconds. And when the others finally pit? He comes out in the lead. P1. The garage explodes.

Max is on his feet, yelling something incoherent about “NEVER DOUBTED HER FOR A SECOND.”

Pietra is crying again, but this time she had acquired a hat to cover her face. You stay calm. Mostly.

“Alright,” you say over the radio. “Lead car. Twenty four laps to go. Clear track ahead. I want clean air and zero drama. Think you can manage that, Norris?”

Lando’s voice is steady, but there’s a grin buried in it.

“For you? Anything.”

The last 10 laps are torture. DRS threats. Virtual safety car. A rogue yellow flag that nearly throws everything. Your hands are shaking, but your voice is steady. Every call is precise.

“Brake bias forward by 2 clicks.”

“Harvest more in Sector 3.”

“Hold them off. This is your race.”

And Lando? He drives like he’s on rails. Like every word you say is gospel. Lap 58. Final sector. You stand, fingers white around your headset, eyes locked on the monitor.

Lando crosses the line—

P1.

The radio crackles—

“WE DID IT!” he screams. “YN! WE FUCKING DID IT!*”

Your heart explodes in your chest. You cover your mouth with one hand, tears burning in your eyes before you even realize they’re there.

You press the button, voice breaking just slightly.

“You were perfect, Lando. That was all you.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“No. That was us.”

The garage is mayhem. Mechanics hugging. Pit crew chanting your name. Zak running in from somewhere with champagne already in hand.

Max is sobbing into Pietra’s shoulder. “I KNEW SHE WAS A GENIUS. I KNEW IT.”

Pietra’s recording you with tears in her eyes and yelling, “YOU JUST BEAT HALF THE GRID WITH YOUR BRAIN.”

You take your headset off slowly, still stunned. And then you feel arms around you. Lando’s. He’s still in his fireproofs, sweat-soaked and grinning like he’s never smiled before. He doesn’t care who’s watching. He lifts you slightly off the ground as he hugs you.

“You were magic,” he whispers. “You made that happen.”

You pull back just slightly, your forehead resting against his. “And you made it look beautiful.”

He doesn’t dare to make a move. But his hands linger at your waist. His smile is soft. His eyes are only on you. And in that moment—surrounded by champagne, chaos, and the disbelief of everyone who ever doubted you—you know—This is only the beginning.

—

yn_fewtrell

liked by lando, maxfewtrell, pietra.pilao and 4,708,003 others.

yn_fewtrell : aus was fun, onto the next (p)one🫶🏻

tagged : pietra.pilao, maxfewtrell and lando

—

view 192,005 other comments.

lando : stole my french fries and my car, huh?

liked by yn_fewtrell

↳ yn_fewtrell : that is the price you pay when I lead you to a race win😁

liked by maxfewtrell and lando

↳ username00 : bitch one won race and made it her whole personality already. can’t wait to watch her fail.

mclaren : engineering excellence powered by french fries and gyros🧡

liked by yn_fewtrell

oscarpiastri : leave lando and be my engineer. i will give you all the french fries you want

liked by yn_fewtrell and lando

↳ lando : not happening oscarino. she is staying with me 🤭

username10 : how are you THIS smart, THIS cool, and still relatable

liked by yn_fewtrell

username000 : There are people with decades of experience who deserved that role. But sure, let the influencer do strategy.

username11 : If she really cared about the job, she wouldn’t be flirting with her driver. Unprofessional af.

username50 : She’s more concerned about photo dumps and outfits than race data. No wonder people think women don’t belong here.

username33 : Funny how she was handed this position and still makes it all about herself. Typical influencer behavior.

zbrownceo : Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.

liked by yn_fewtrell and lando

—

It’s been eight weeks since Australia. Five races. Two wins. Three podiums. Zero strategy errors. One woman behind the radio. And somehow — none of it is enough.

You’re walking through the paddock before FP2, headset looped around your neck, data tablet pressed to your chest like armor. The McLaren polo clings to your skin in the heat, but you don’t notice. You’ve been sweating for hours, and not because of the sun. Every few steps, your name follows you like a curse. Not in congratulations. Not in respect. Just low, biting whispers.

“She only sounds smart on paper.”

“She’s riding Lando’s success like it’s hers.”

You walk faster. You don’t let it show — but God, it’s wearing you down. Quietly. Brutally. You haven’t opened Twitter in weeks. You scroll past Instagram comments like they’re burning. You stopped reading your tagged posts the day someone told you to “go back to fashion school” and said your first win was “handed to her.”

It’s not the media. Not even the sexist podcasters with cropped beards and buzzwords. It’s everyone else. The silence from your colleagues when your name is mentioned. The sideways looks from rival teams when McLaren beats them on strategy. The fans who scream for Lando and ignore you completely — or worse, call you a distraction. And still, you show up. Every day. Every race. Every session. You make the calls. You hit the targets. You win. But today? Today feels thin. Like the ground beneath your feet is giving way just a little.

You take a long breath as you pass the Sky Sports camera crew, nod politely, hoping to keep walking — until one of them turns just slightly and says it loud enough for you to hear—

“There goes Norris’ lucky charm.”

You stop. It’s not just the words — it’s the tone. Patronizing. Dismissive. Cruel in its casualness.

“Smart of McLaren to hire someone for optics. Keeps the headlines clean while he does the real work.”

Something cracks. Quietly. Deep in your chest. You turn your head — slowly, expression unreadable — and meet the reporter’s eyes.

“I suggest you rethink who’s doing the real work,” you say coolly, though your throat is tight. “I’m the one keeping his car in the points.”

Before he can respond, before he can smirk or backtrack or say something worse— A voice cuts in. Sharp. Dangerous. Familiar.

“Is there a problem here?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is. You feel him before you see him. Lando. Still in his fireproofs, still flushed from the car, eyes hard and jaw tight.

The reporter chuckles, uncomfortable now. “Nothing at all. Just—complimenting your engineer.”

“Really? ‘Lucky charm’ doesn’t sound like a compliment to me. You are patronizing her.”

Lando steps between you and the reporter without hesitation, his voice low and lethal.

“You don’t get to belittle her work because it makes you uncomfortable. You don’t get to reduce her to some narrative you can sell. She’s the reason I’m winning. She makes the calls. She reads the race like it’s written in a language only she speaks. And if you can’t handle that—maybe you should just get the fuck out.”

The silence is deafening. The reporter stammers something, but Lando doesn’t wait to hear it. He turns to you gently, expression shifting — still sharp, but soft in a way he reserves only for you.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

You want to say yes. Want to tell him you’re fine. That it doesn’t matter. But your hands are trembling. And you’re so, so tired. He notices. Of course he does. Lando doesn’t say anything more — just steps closer, hand resting briefly on your back, shielding you as he leads you away. Out of the cameras. Out of the noise.

And even as your eyes sting, even as your chest aches with the weight of it all — there’s something steady about the way he walks beside you. Like a lifeline. Like a promise. You don’t say it yet. But you know. He’s in your corner. And when you can’t fight for yourself — Lando will.

—

It starts with the silences. Not the good kind—the ones you used to share in the garage after a long session, exhausted but grinning. Not the quiet that existed between looks and smirks and inside jokes that didn’t need explaining.

This silence is different. Colder. Heavier. Lando notices it first in the little things. The way you leave the debrief as soon as it ends. How you sit at the other end of the table during meals. How your messages have gone from memes and chaos to nothing but numbers and fuel loads. Professionally, you’re sharper than ever. Flawless. But the rest of you?

You’re fading.

He sees it. He’s been seeing it. And it’s not until the night before the Spanish GP, when you skip the post dinner team drinks without a word, that he makes a decision. He doesn’t text. Doesn’t knock and wait. He uses the keycard Zak made everyone take for security reasons, pushes into your suite quietly, and hears it immediately—

Not music. Not the TV. Just the soft rustle of curtains and the distant sound of you trying to breathe quietly. He finds you on the balcony.

Sitting on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest, forehead pressed against your arms. Shoulders shaking. The city lights stretching below you while the tears you’ve been holding back for weeks finally pour down your face. You don’t hear him at first.

Until the sliding door opens behind you and a soft voice says, “Hey.”

You flinch. “Lando—shit. I—I didn’t know you—”

You wipe your face furiously, still refusing to look at him.

“You should go,” you say quickly. “I’m fine. Just needed air—”

“You’re not fine,” he says gently, stepping onto the balcony. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to joke. Deflect. “You’re not exactly dressed for an emotional breakdown—”

He sits beside you anyway. Cross legged, close enough for his shoulder to brush yours. Warm and present and so painfully there.

There’s a long silence. And then, softly—

“I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do, Lando.”

Your voice cracks. Finally.

“I do everything right. Every call. Every number. Every strategy. We’re winning, and I’m still losing.”

He doesn’t say anything—just waits.

“They’re never going to see me as more than your little sidekick,” you whisper. “Or Max’s sister. Or the girl who ruined the sport. And I’m so tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.”

Your hands are trembling in your lap. He watches you struggle for air, for composure, for the strength you’ve worn like armor for months.

“I feel like I’m screaming into a void and smiling while I do it,” you admit. “Because if I stop being the girl who can handle it, then they win, right?”

Lando doesn’t speak for a moment. Then—

“I don’t want you to be the girl who can handle it,” he says quietly. “I want you to be the girl who’s allowed to feel it. Who’s allowed to break down on balconies. Who doesn’t have to carry it all alone.”

You look at him. Finally. And what you see isn’t pity. It’s rage. And hurt. And love—undeniably, plainly, terrifyingly there.

“Do you have any idea how much I admire you?” he asks. “Not just for what you do. But for how you survive in a world that tries so hard to push you out.”

Your eyes fill again.

“But I hate watching you shrink. I hate watching you pretend like the comments don’t get to you when I know they do.”

“I can’t let it show,” you murmur.

“You can,” he says. “With me, you can.”

He takes your hand. It’s not romantic. Not yet. It’s grounding.

“I need you to know something,” he continues, voice low and sure. “None of this—none of what we’ve built this season—works without you. Not the wins. Not the podiums. Not me.”

You press your lips together, fighting another wave of tears.

“But I need you to work too,” he says. “Not just the engineer. You. The person. And she deserves rest. And softness. And someone to sit with her on a balcony when she forgets how incredible she is.”

Your heart aches at how gently he says it. Like you’re made of glass. Like you’re allowed to fall apart.

“I don’t know how to let go,” you whisper. “I’ve been holding it all for so long.”

He squeezes your hand, his voice breaking just slightly. “Then let me help. Please.”

And you do. You let your head fall to his shoulder. You let the tears fall without apology. You let someone see you—not just as the brilliant, capable, unshakeable engineer they all expect—but as a person who’s tired and hurting and desperately in need of grace.

And Lando? He doesn’t move. He stays beside you until the sun starts to rise. And when you finally speak again, voice hoarse but steadier than before, you say—

“I don’t want to do this without you.”

And he replies, without missing a beat.

“You won’t have to.”

—

Race Day. Mid season. High pressure. Everything on the line. The garage is tight with tension. Dry air. Sharp voices. You can feel it pulsing through your headset like a storm trying to form. Lando’s in P3. The strategy is clean. You’ve run every scenario.

“Stick to Plan B,” you remind him calmly.

“We wait. The softs will come back to us. Hold position, and we pounce after lap 38.”

“Copy,” he says. But you can hear it — the edge in his voice. The hunger. The itch. Lando wants more. Too soon. You hear the switch in his tone by Lap 30. He’s pushing harder. Ignoring lift points. Going aggressive on the straights. And then—he says it.

“Box now. I’m undercutting.”

You sit bolt upright. “No. Lando—no. Tires aren’t ready. The window’s not open yet—”

Too late. He dives in. Pit crew scrambles. The stop is clean. But the re-entry isn’t. Traffic. Cold tires. He rejoins behind a cluster of midfield chaos. Loses time. Loses grip. Loses everything. You stand frozen, eyes on the screen as he drops from P3 to P9 in four laps. The garage is silent.

Your hands are clenched. You barely hear the commentary echoing from the monitors.

“That’s a brutal call from McLaren. Early stop puts Norris behind heavy traffic… was that a misread from the pit wall?”

Your headset is still on when the post-race headlines start posting in real time.

“MCLAREN STRATEGY ERROR COSTS NORRIS BIG FINISH.”

“YN FEWTRELL UNDER FIRE AGAIN AFTER RISKY CALL.”

“Norris’ engineer strikes out — questions rise around her future.”

You don’t even feel your legs as you pull off your headset. Don’t feel Zak’s hand on your shoulder. Don’t hear the apology Lando doesn’t say. You just walk out of the garage.

—

His hotel room. Just the two of you.

“I told you not to pit,” you say quietly, arms crossed over your chest, trying not to shake.

Lando looks at you like you’re the one who ruined it.

“I felt the grip dropping—”

“You disobeyed strategy. You disobeyed me.”

Your voice breaks, brittle and sharp. “And they’re blaming me for it.”

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing. “You don’t get it—”

“No, you don’t!” You snap. “I have spent every race protecting you. Protecting this team. Taking the hits so you don’t have to, and you go rogue the second it doesn’t feel perfect?”

“I’m the one in the car!” he fires back. “It’s my instinct—”

“It’s your ego, Lando.”

Silence. The kind that cuts. You look at him, really look at him — and it hits you. Hard. Too hard. You love him. You love him, and it’s eating you alive. And maybe the worst part? He doesn’t even see it. Not through the anger. Not through the noise. You turn toward the door, needing air. Needing anything.

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” you say, barely above a whisper. “I thought I could balance it all — the job, the team, you. But I’m drowning.”

Lando takes a step forward. “YN…”

You shake your head, eyes burning. “I need space.”

And this time, you mean it.

—

f1gossipgirls

2,570,110 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN Fewtrell in talks with Red Bull??! Lando’s race engineer was seen meeting with Christian Horner this afternoon. She has faced a lot of criticism and backlash working with Mclaren. Will she stay with them?

—

The room is silent, save for the faint ticking of a sleek analog clock and the soft shuffle of pages as Christian Horner flips through your printed track performance portfolio like he’s browsing specs on a new wind tunnel component. He hasn’t said much in the last few minutes. Just let the numbers speak for themselves. You see your call sheets. Tire offset modeling. Degradation analysis. Win probabilities. All the things that made people outside the team mock you — and made people inside the paddock terrified of you.

“This,” Christian finally says, tapping a finger against your Australian GP strategy sheet, “was the best pit call I’ve seen in three years. And I’ve worked with Hannah for over a decade.”

You blink, caught off guard.

He smiles. “We see what you’re doing, YN. Some people only see Lando’s wins. I see who’s putting him in the position to take them.”

Your stomach turns slightly. You should feel proud. Grateful. Validated. But instead, it just makes your chest ache.

He leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers. “If you come here, you’ll be given autonomy. No headlines. No internal politics. No fighting for respect. Just results. And trust.”

You nod, slowly, unsure what to say. His voice is steady. His words, deliberate. Everything you thought you wanted—finally offered. And yet, there’s a pit in your stomach that only gets heavier.

The folder with your name on it sits in front of you, untouched. Contract terms. Role title—Head of Race Strategy.

It would be a promotion. A salary jump. A career-defining move.

But all you can think about is a voice in your headset saying “we did it.”

A hand brushing your back on the podium. A boy with a crooked smile and a voice that only ever softened for you.

—

Lando is exhausted. He hasn’t slept properly since the race. Since the fight. Since you walked out of his hotel room without a backward glance and took all the air with you.

He’s meant to be reviewing simulator data with the McLaren techs, but his head isn’t there. It hasn’t been for weeks. It’s back in that garage. That balcony. That hotel room. He runs a hand through his curls and turns a corner—And nearly bumps into Max Verstappen.

“Jesus—sorry, mate,” Lando mutters, distracted, already half past him.

Max doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hey,” he says, glancing down, “You might wanna keep your eyes up today.”

Lando blinks. “What?”

Max gives him a dry, amused look. The kind that says I know something you don’t.

“Just thought I’d let you know,” Max says, casually taking a sip of his drink. “Horner’s in a meeting right now with your engineer. Could be the last time you call her yours.”

Lando’s whole body stills.

“What?”

Max shrugs. “I mean… she’s good. We all know it. Wouldn’t blame her for jumping ship. You guys made it easy, yeah?”

Lando opens his mouth, but Max is already walking past him, throwing one last glance over his shoulder.

“She looked serious, by the way. Folder and everything.”

Lando’s pulse spikes. He doesn’t ask where. Doesn’t call Zak. Doesn’t wait for security or clearance or logic. He just runs.

Through the Red Bull corridors. Past the press room. Past engineers and assistants who do double takes as he flies by in his team hoodie, looking like he’s chasing something he should’ve protected weeks ago. And he is. Because this time, he might be too late.

—

The contract still sits unopened in front of you. You don’t know what you’re waiting for. Christian is mid-sentence again — something about finalizing negotiations after the summer break — when the door slams open so hard the glass rattles. You jolt in your seat. So does Horner. And then you hear it.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You look up and your heart stops. Lando. Flushed. Breathless. Hair a mess. McLaren hoodie halfway unzipped, curls damp with sweat. His eyes are locked on you, not even acknowledging Christian.

You push your chair back, stunned. “Lando—”

He doesn’t wait. He walks straight across the room, past the Red Bull logo, past the executive folders, straight to you.

“Come with me,” he says, voice rough. “Now.”

You hesitate for half a second, glancing at Christian. Christian sighs, clearly already over the dramatics. “Take your time.”

You follow Lando into the hallway, the door swinging shut behind you. The second it closes, he rounds on you.

“Why?” he says, voice sharp with confusion and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Why would you do this? Why would you just leave?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Was I that awful to you?” he continues. “After everything—after what we’ve built—do I really make it that easy to walk away?”

“Lando, it’s not like that.”

“Then tell me what it’s like.”

His voice cracks on the last word. He’s begging now. And you can’t hold it in anymore. Your chest aches. Your eyes sting. Your hands are trembling.

You swallow hard. “Because I’m in love with you.”

He blinks.

You keep going. “Because I’ve been in love with you and pretending not to be for months. Because the second anyone even suspects we’re close, the hate triples. Because every race I sit beside you and make calls that win championships and people still say it’s all because I want your attention.”

Your voice is shaking now.

“And if I stay—and if this gets out—I know what they’ll say. That I seduced my way into the headset. That I only win because you let me. And I can’t—I can’t survive that, Lando.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Until he speaks. Softly. Carefully. Completely undone.

“You think I care about any of that?”

You shake your head, eyes blurring. “You should.”

“I don’t,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve been in love with you since we were kids and I’ve been waiting for you to see it.”

You stop breathing.

“I have let people talk. I’ve watched them rip you apart online, in meetings, in commentary boxes. And you just kept showing up. Not for the glory. Not even for the team. For me. Because you believed in me.”

He’s in front of you now, so close your hands could just—reach.

“So if you’re scared, I’ll take the heat. If they want to come after us, let them. But don’t run away from what we’ve built just because they can’t handle a woman being better than all of them.”

You blink hard, the tears finally falling.

“I wasn’t trying to run from you,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand.

“Then stay. Not for McLaren. Not for the team. For me. Stay and let me love you out loud.”

You don’t say anything. You just fall into him. And this time, when he catches you — he doesn’t let go.

—

f1gossipgirls

4,100,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Well, McLaren is making it very clear that their engineering goddess will not be making the move to Red Bull. 😌

Last night’s Women in Motorsport event, hosted by YN Fewtrell herself, was equal parts groundbreaking, glamorous, and papaya coded power move. McLaren not only doubled down on their support of their youngest ever lead race engineer—they literally built an entire collection around her. Yes, you read that right.

The new McLaren x YN capsule drop—which happens to be co designed by YN, Lando Norris, and Oscar Piastri—blends garage grit with streetwear genius.

Oh, and Zak Brown? Sources say he stood off stage during the launch with the expression of a proud dad. One thing’s for sure—McLaren isn’t just protecting YN—they’re elevating her. With the performance she’s delivered this season and the cultural pull she’s building off track, any team who thought they could poach her might want to rethink.

—

time skip- end of season

Race 24. Sunset. Victory. The pit wall erupts. Headsets fly. Crew leap from their chairs. Someone screams. Someone sobs. Champagne is already spraying even though it hasn’t even been five minutes since the checkered flag waved and everything changed. McLaren are Constructors’ Champions. Lando Norris is a World Champion. And you? You’re frozen. Still seated, staring at the final sector times like they might dissolve if you look away.

It’s done. You did it. You were the voice in his ear all season. Through every win, every late brake, every risky undercut. You built the strategies. You held your nerve. You called the shot that sealed the title. And suddenly—arms are around you.

Oscar’s the first to tackle you, practically dragging you out of your seat. “YOU DID IT! WITH THAT BIG BRAIN,” he yells, voice cracking as he yanks off your headset.

Then Zak’s pulling you into a bear hug, shouting, “You genius, you absolute weapon—you just made history!”

And then there’s chaos. Cameras. Journalists. Engineers hugging. Lando doing donuts on track with the British flag trailing out of his halo. Mechanics crying. Oscar waving his P3 trophy like it’s a lightsaber.

And somewhere in the madness, someone shouts—

“WHERE’S Y/N?! GET HER TO THE PODIUM!”

You’re still breathless when they drag you through the garage. Your McLaren polo is soaked in champagne before you even reach parc fermé. You trip over a cable. Someone shoves a bottle in your hand. You’re laughing and crying and blinking back tears as fans chant your name from the grandstands.

“FEEEEW-TRELL! FEEEEW-TRELL!”

And then you see him. Helmet off. Eyes wild. Hair flattened with sweat. Lando stands on the car, arms in the air, tears streaming down his cheeks as the team swarms around him. But the moment his eyes land on you, it’s like the world narrows. He jumps off the car and runs. Straight into you.

The impact nearly knocks the wind out of you, but you wrap your arms around him as he lifts you off the ground and spins you, screaming nonsense into your neck. He’s shaking. You’re crying. And neither of you care who’s watching.

“You did it,” you whisper.

“No,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “We did it. You got me here. You held me together. This championship has your name all over it.”

You want to say something witty. Something cool. But the only thing that escapes is a broken, soft.

“I love you.”

His whole face crumples. Like he’s been holding that in too.

“God, I love you too.”

And he kisses you. Right there. In front of the cameras. In front of the grid. In front of the entire fucking world. And instead of boos, instead of backlash, there’s only cheering. Because finally — finally — no one can deny you. You’re not a PR stunt. You’re not just Max Fewtrell’s sister. You’re not Lando Norris’ distraction.

You’re the architect of this championship. And tonight, the world knows it.

You stay on the podium stage for the celebration, champagne in your eyes, Lando’s hand in yours. Oscar flings his trophy in the air. Zak is pretending he isn’t crying. The team is lifting mechanics onto their shoulders. Pit crew are dancing. Someone starts singing “Sweet Caroline” off-key.

And you? You look around at the chaos, the joy, the sheer disbelief that you finally made it here. And for the first time all season— You feel loved. Not just for what you do. But for who you are.

—

lando

liked by yn_fewtrell, maxfewtrell, oscarpiastri and 11,010,290 others.

lando : FUCK ALL YOU BITCHES THAT DOUBTED MY PRETTY BIG BRAINED GIRLFRIEND. SHE SHOWED YOU AND WON ME A CHAMPIONSHIP

tagged : yn_fewtrell

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whytheylosttheirminds · 3 days ago

Text

snooze - r.c.

note: originally posted on my old blog a few months ago, this is a repost!

summary: your man works hard, and you love him for it, but some mornings you just wish he'd stay in bed a little longer...

cw: smut, fluff, pinv, dirty talk, 18+ minors do not interact

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Rafe’s alarm rings through the large bedroom like a blaring siren, jerking you violently from the sweet sleep you were just wrapped in. He doesn’t hear it at first, still sound asleep next to you, snores rumbling through his bare chest.

You blink your eyes open, the room is still dark, though the first golden rays of the sunrise creep in through the small crack in the curtains. You twist your body towards Rafe, snuggling your head into his neck, an attempt to both shield your eyes from the sunlight and get his attention, desperate for him to silence the loud alarm.

After a few seconds, he still hasn’t heard it, so you reach up and gently tap his cheek.

“Baby,” you groan, cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Too loud.”

Rafe takes a deep breath in, eyes still closed as he reaches his bedside table, tapping his phone screen clumsily until the sound subsides.

He settles back in, placing a quick kiss onto the top of your head as he pulls you into his side. You sigh happily, running your nails softly up and down his chest and stomach, drawing little hearts and stars on his skin. He shivers when you graze over the soft skin of his lower stomach, following his happy trail down to his waistband. You fully plan on dipping your hand below it, where he’s already twitching and firming up for you under his sweatpants, but you get distracted by the delicious deep V lines on either side of his waist. You dip your pointer finger into the valley of muscle and trace the shape down, switching to the other side and drawing back up.

He stirs when you angle your finger to scratch lightly with your manicured nail, lingering just above the band of his Calvins that peeks out from his sweats.

“That’s so nice, baby,” he mumbles in his deep, crackling morning voice, “I love these hands.”

Rafe laces his fingers in yours with one hand, his other arm sliding under your neck and wrapping around your shoulders. He pulls you close so he can drop a sloppy kiss on your temple.

You sigh and lift your intertwined hands to place a kiss on each of his knuckles.

“Maybe you should stay home,” you suggest between kisses. “Then you can enjoy these hands all day long.”

He smiles knowingly, still not opening his eyes. You play this game every morning, trying to find ways to convince him to play hooky from work, though they never succeed. He’s always showered and out the door by sunrise, leaving you with a cup of coffee on your nightstand and a quick kiss as you drift back to sleep.

“Sounds perfect, but I have an 8 a.m. with a potential investor,” he explains.

In the quiet, Rafe starts to drift off again. You continue to stroke his chest and think of all the many enticing reasons for him to stay, but before you can list them for him, his alarm blares from his phone again.

You lean over him, reaching to the phone on his nightstand. He takes the opportunity to snake his hand around your waist and slide it under his big t-shirt you're wearing. His hands feel so nice on your lower back, you pause, almost forgetting what you were reaching for in the first place, until the alarm rings out again, making you both wince with its volume. You tap the screen desperately until it’s silenced.

“Just hitting snooze so we can have five more minutes,” you say, settling down over him and resting your cheek on his chest.

“Liar,” he says with a sleepy smirk. “You turned it off.”

You faked an offended gasp, “I can’t believe you’re accusing me of such deception, Rafe Cameron.”

“So when five minutes go by and the alarm doesn’t go off again, what are you gonna say then?”

“I was hoping you’d fall back to sleep by then,” you confess with a giggle, laying a soft kiss on his chest, right over his heart.

“I knew it.”

He sits up in bed, causing you to fall back onto the pillows, immediately missing his warmth. You paw at his arm as he reaches over to check the time on his phone.

“Nooo,” you whine. “Don’t go yet.”

He smiles down at you, leaning over to place loving kisses on the edge of your jaw and up your face, touching his lips to your temple one final time before standing from the bed.

Your vision is still fuzzy from sleep and the darkness of the room, but you follow the general shape of him as he walks to the wall of windows on the other side of the room. He’s shirtless, the lower half of his body covered in soft gray sweats. You squirm a little under the comforter as you take him in. You didn’t know it was possible to be this attracted to someone, but it’s like every day you’re with him, your body craves him more, and it makes it that much more painful when he leaves.

Rafe interrupts your reverie by lifting his arms and throwing the curtains wide open. You flinch at the bright sunlight that pours through the windows like it’s burning you.

“Too bright, Rafe!” You protest.

He just turns with a smug smile, his tall silhouette casting a shadow over the bed, blocking you from the blinding sun.

“I’ll make you some coffee before I go,” he promises as he leaves you alone in the bedroom, pulling a pillow over your face to shield yourself from the daylight.

It’s silly to complain when his hard work is the whole reason you can lay in this comfortable bed so late into the morning. When he’s not with you, he’s at the office, earning you all this comfort, but it still seems unfair when you want him this badly.

You used to be an early riser, but the way he lays you down every night when he gets home, fucking you hard and slow until you fall asleep clinging to him, it’s made you a whole new person. You’d pay him twice his salary if you had it just to get him to stick around a little longer, make you feel that good again.

A devious idea comes to your brain, and you pull the covers from yourself quickly, making fast moves before he gets back.

When Rafe comes back into the room a few minutes later, he nearly spills your hot coffee all over himself at the sight that greets him.

The comforter is bundled at the end of the bed, nothing covering your body as you stretch out on the mattress. You’ve switched out his t-shirt and your baggy sweats for a silky pair of boy-short panties and a lacy bra. You're facing away from him, laying on your side, the curve of your hips and peekaboo view of your ass casting a scandalous shadow on the wall. The fabric of your panties is so flimsy, it climbs up the curve of your ass, revealing you to him as if they’re barely there at all.

“Nice try,” he shakes his head, though the small crack in his voice betrays his defiance. You know you’ve got him hard and frazzled.

“Hmmm?” You don’t turn to look at him, instead bending your knee and sliding one leg up higher to give him an even better angle of your ass.

“It’s not gonna work…” he insists, setting your coffee down, fully intending to turn and make his way to the walk-in closet to get dressed, yet somehow finding himself completely immobile.

“What’s not going to work?” You echo, feigning cluelessness in a way you know is gonna drive him mad.

“I really do have a meeting,” he continues his one-sided argument, trying desperately to convince himself. “I can’t be late, it’s important.”

“Okay! Have a good day, baby,” you yawn, shifting on the sheets as if you’re just getting comfortable, hoping he doesn’t see the smile you’re hiding in your pillow, obsessed with the strain in his voice that reveals his resolve is cracking.

The mattress sinks slowly under his weight, and you can feel the heat of him before he even touches your skin. His hand slides up your leg, from your ankle all the way up to your thigh, where he pauses to squeeze your flesh.

“You’re gonna be late,” you let your mouth twist into a cheeky smile.

He huffs a defeated laugh, letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder in frustration, “you’re killing me.”

“I’m not doing anything!” You giggle, arching your back and giving him a better glimpse at the other side of you, your nipples already pebbling in anticipation, clearly visible through your see through bra.

Rafe responds by saying your name, so low and needy it’s almost inaudible. You twist your torso just enough to meet his eyes, blinking at him sweetly through your eyelashes.

“Yes?”

He doesn’t respond with words, just a piercing gaze. His blue eyes are blown wide with lust as he takes you in, dragging over your body helplessly, fighting an internal battle as he plots his next move. Filthy thoughts are etched on his face, you know him well enough by now to see the gears turn behind his eyes, imagining all the things he could do to you if he stayed.

“Can I at least have a kiss before you go?” You ask, hoping the taste of your lips will tip the scales in your favor.

He can’t deny you a kiss, he never does, so he leans in and meets your lips with a nod, his hand rising to softly cradle your jaw. You run your tongue so gently across his lower lip that he wonders if he imagined it. When you part your lips for him and release a small sigh, the game is over.

With another squeeze of your thigh, he pulls back from you just enough to reach his phone on the nightstand. You watch with a victorious grin as he types out a quick message, surely to his secretary, and tosses the phone somewhere on the bed.

“Bought us an hour,” he tells you.

“Only an hour?” You pout.

“Don’t be greedy,” he teases you, shuffling behind you so he can spoon you, placing a dozen quick kisses up your arm, making you giggle in delight.

Rafe’s hand slides from your thigh to your waist, dipping to splay over your stomach so he can pull you flush against him. You sigh dreamily as he begins to suckle on your neck, leaving little pink marks everywhere his lips touch.

“Wasn’t that kind of an important meeting?” You ask, feeling a little guilty for potentially making him miss out on a good opportunity.

“Nothing’s more important than this,” he assures you.

You let out a little whimper at his sweet words, igniting a fire in him. His hand drifts up your stomach until his palm is settled over your breast, kneading gently.

“Oh,” you gasp. “That feels good.”

“Yeah?” He drawls with a crooked grin, pausing to drag the tip of his tongue over the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Just needed a little attention today?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Needed you.”

His hand leaves you for a minute to fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You lift your arms up so he can slide it off and toss it somewhere on the floor of the massive master suite.

The rough skin of his palm comes back to rest over your hard nipple, the sensation is so sweet that your whole body hums with pleasure.

“God you’re so soft,” he breathes over the wet spot he’s just left on your skin, “love these tits so much.”

With that confession, he pinches your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger, the pain lasting only a second before he smoothes it over with the pad of his thumb.

“Rafe!” You squeak out at the sting.

He shushes you gently, lowering his mouth to pull your earlobe between his teeth, the pressure strong, but not strong enough to pull your mind from the way his hand is dropping lower on your torso towards your panties. A pool of silky arousal gathered between your legs, you rub your thighs together in search of friction as his hand continues to move maddeningly slow.

“Don’t worry baby,” he coos, “gonna take good care of you like I always do.”

Your fingernails dig into the sheets in preparation when he finally reaches the band of your pantines, lifting them to slide his hand in.

“You always take such good care of me, Rafe,” you agree.

He places his other arm under your head for support, allowing you to look down at the outline of his big hand wriggling under the damp cloth of your panties. His fingers find your entrance easily, pausing outside to swirl in your wetness.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he praises. “Always so ready for me.”

After a few more swirls, he’s satisfied with the coating, dragging his fingers back up to your clit. He hits it right away, he could find it in a hurricane. He runs his fingers over you at the perfect angle, starting with delicate figure eights.

Your head falls forward in ecstasy, unable to form words. Rafe bends his arm at the elbow, laying his hand flat against your forehead to pull your head back into his chest, your neck arching with the stretch. The pink spots he’s left on your exposed throat have darkened nicely, giving him a chance to appreciate his handiwork. He reattaches his lips, desperate to claim you as many times as he can, hungry for you.

The sweetest, breathiest moans fall from your puffy lips, and he basks in them like the sunlight that’s bleeding through the curtains. He’s nibbling on your shoulder like it’s his breakfast as his fingers pick up speed on your clit.

Between circles and flicks, he stops to tap quickly with the tip of his middle finger, the rhythmic pressure and release has the sensitive bud pulsing. You chase his fingers pathetically with the roll of your hips, needing more.

As you writhe, his cloth covered cock slots between the valley of your ass, each wave of your hips grinding perfectly against his shaft. You shut your eyes tight, picturing his perfect length and the gorgeous noises he makes when he comes. You need to hear those sounds like you need air.

Your hand releases from the sheets, reaching behind you to rub the hard ridge of his dick over his sweatpants. Rafe clenches his jaw, a throaty groan vibrating through his chest and straight into your body.

“This what you wanted, angel?” He asks, his tone dominant and desperate all at the same time. The perfect balance of ownership and a genuine urgency to please you.

“Just wanted you,” you confirm through your pants, grinding yourself into his hand, “all I ever want is you.”

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

No further instruction needed, your hand finally dips below his waistband, immediately finding his pulsing cock.

“Shi-ii-t,” he shudders as you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly and reveling in how hard you’ve made him.

You notice goosebumps rush up the arm that’s disappearing into your panties, you realize your hands must be cold. You know he’d never complain, but you don’t just want him to feel good, you want him to feel as amazing as he makes you feel.

You draw your hand back from his boxers, and he groans at your absence, nearly protesting until he sees what you’re doing. You dip your hand into your own underwear, gently nudging his out of the way, and collect some of your wetness onto your own fingers. Your hand glistens in the morning sunlight when you pull it out, displaying it for him before returning your grip to his cock.

He’s speechless. Eyes rolling back at how fucking sexy that was, desperate to ground himself before he comes too quickly in your hand. He moves his palm down from your forehead to cup your throat, not too much pressure to hurt, but enough to remind you how strong he is. You whimper, swallowing hard under his broad palm.

“Jesus christ, baby,” he sputters, “you’re my fucking dream girl.”

You fall in sync, Rafe rubbing tight, firm circles over your clit, while you slide your hand up and down his shaft, pausing at the tip with each stroke to swirl your thumb in the precum he’s leaking. His knuckles flex in response to each flick of your thumb, pads of his fingers holding and releasing your neck in steady pulses.

You squeeze his cock as he squeezes your throat, so perfectly aligned in your drunken pleasure that you both chuckle at how unbelievable it feels. But if you’re laughing, then surely he’s not doing a good enough job.

He draws your clit between his fingers, rolling over and over, not pinching too hard, but just hard enough to set every nerve ending in your body on fire. You draw your knees up, your hand slowing involuntarily on his cock as you feel the familiar coil tighten in your tummy, seconds from snapping.

“I can’t believe you’re real, you’re so perfect,” Rafe whispers into your shoulder, kissing you over and over.

“Gonna make me come talking like that, baby,” you warn him.

“You want that? You want me to make you come in my hand?”

“Not yet,” you choke out, so close that you’re already dreading coming down from your high. It’s too soon, it’s not enough. No amount of him will ever be enough, but you at least need him closer. “Want you inside, need you in me.”

“Anything. Anything you want,” he swears as he pulls his hand from your core to rip your panties down your legs. You pull them off over your feet and toss them away as he removes his pants and boxers behind you.

The fabric finally out of the way, his dick spears into your back, somehow always so much bigger and more powerful than you remember. You pray he doesn’t make you wait any longer, wriggling back onto your side so your soaked pussy is perfectly exposed to him.

In the soft morning light, he finally gets a good view of your slick folds, nearly busting all over your back at the sight. He’s filled this new condo with the most expensive art he could find, but nothing comes close to the masterpiece in front of him. To him, you’re fucking priceless.

He wastes no more time, tucking a hand under your knee to angle your leg up. You take his cue, understanding each other without words as always, and brace your foot flat against his calf, propping yourself open for him.

A combination of the angle and his picture perfect memory of your walls has his tip hitting your g-spot on the very first thrust. He stretches you so sweetly, the tight fit making your brain go foggy and your mouth fall open, gasping helplessly.

“Like this?” He asks, not taunting but not really asking either, already knowing the answer to “this how you want it?”

“Not quite,” you whisper.

He freezes with confusion before you reach behind you to find the hand he has braced on your hip, pulling it up and placing it back around your neck.

“There,” you say, “now it’s perfect.”

“Holy shit,” Rafe stammers, hips jerking forward, slamming into you a little too hard, lost in his infatuation with you.

At first he worries it’s too hard, but a dreamy moan rises from your throat and you encourage, “yes, yes, like that, please.”

Mouth agape in disbelief at his pure fucking luck in finding you, he obeys your plea, pulling back slow before thrusting in hard again. The hand that’s not on your throat pushes into the mattress beneath your head, lifting himself up for leverage. He continues to fuck into you hard, pausing after each stroke to hit as deep as he can possibly get. You’re a mess, crying out with each slap of his hips against your ass, blabbering incoherently as you clench around him.

“Ohhh my god you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth. “‘I’m gonna come if you keep squeezing me like that. You gonna let me come inside?”

Your eyes fly open as an invisible light bulb goes off above your head, you twist to meet his eyes, his lids low and irises completely blown out with lust.

“If I do, will you stay home?” you proposition him.

He scoffs, shaking his head in pure amusement and adoration, tongue digging into the side of his cheek in the cocky way you love. From this angle, the sharp features of his perfect face hover just inches from yours. The sheer attraction you feel makes your walls flutter around his cock, a tease of his reward if he promises to stay.

Rafe screws his eyes shut, his head falling back as you pulse around him repeatedly.

“Fuck! Yes, I promise, I promise,” he cries out as he continues thrusting into you sloppily, “I’ll do anything. I’ll sell my house, I’ll change my fucking name. Just ask me and I’ll do it.”

His theatrics delight you, bubbly giggles rising from your stomach as he loses himself in you. You can’t remember ever loving anyone as much as you love him at this moment.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, completely enamored with the man inside you.

Without a thought, he slips the hand on your throat to the back of your neck, kneading your skin as he pulls your mouth to his. It’s not gentle, like his typical good morning kisses, it’s messy and wet and hard and completely mind numbing. You bite on his bottom lip, almost accidentally, losing your mind at the taste of him.

“B-baby,” he stutters, his hips doing the same, “can’t - fuck - can’t wait any longer. Tell me where you want it.”

“Mmmph, inside, please! Please fill me up, Rafe.”

It’s all he needs to hear, he buries himself deeper than he’s ever been.

“Come with me?” he pleads.

You’re so close, you can’t even find words, nodding rapidly. He hits your g-spot one final time and you slip off the edge of the earth into uncut ecstasy.

Your eyes roll back and your toes dig into his leg, bruising his calf. His tip hits your cervix hard, hot cum pooling deep in your core, spilling out of him for longer than you thought possible. His breath is ragged and his chest heaving as his body jerks around you.

Both trembling, his arm gives out and he slumps down, curled around you. Sweaty and satisfied, you catch your breath together, Rafe still buried deep.

He plants wet kisses on the nape of your neck, brushing your hair out of the way and blowing gently to cool you down. You see only bright white behind your closed eyes, floating in a perfect pleasure you didn’t know was possible until you met this man.

After a few moments, or possibly hours, he starts to pull out. Your hips chase his defiantly, refusing to lose his warmth again.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, reaching back to grab his hip and hold him in place. “You promised.”

“I also promised to change my name, you gonna make me do that, too?” He laughs.

“Maybe.”

“Oh really? What are you gonna call me?”

“I dunno,” you shrug. “How about daddy?”

Your teasing has the intended effect, Rafe twitching inside you, already hardening again. He knows you’re just playing with him, but his mind spirals out of control at the pet name. He’s so in love he thinks it might kill him.

Settling back into you, he reaches around the bed until his hand finds his discarded cell phone.

Your lips twist into a smirk as you hear him dial, still buried in your heat.

The dial tone rings a few times and he says, “yeah, gonna need you to clear my whole day. Something came up.”

He thanks the voice on the other line, hanging up and tossing his phone somewhere in the mountain of blankets on the floor.

“A whole day?” You ask, nestling back into his chest. “Aren’t you gonna lose the money from those investors?”

“Probably,” he shrugs, laying more slow kisses on your shoulder. “Worth every fucking cent.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

#queue #rafe cameron #obx #obx fic #rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron smut #obx smut #outer banks smut #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic

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icarusignite · 16 hours ago

Text

he leaves you out like a penny in the rain (p.2)

Pairing: Zayne Li x Non MC Reader

Summary:��You spent years orbiting Dr. Zayne Li, but when a careless comment shatters the fragile bond you thought you’d built, you walk away. Only then does Zayne realize what he's lost.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, angst. slowburn. Zayne being emotionally constipated rip

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: I did not expect all the overwhelming love and feedback on part 1, so thank you so much to everyone who read and interacted, you made my day.

There will be a part 3 later to explore them getting even closer, and that will be more fluff (I did say slowburn lmao). I know they don't technically kiss and make up in this one, but that would be unrealistic, and this chapter is essentially Zayne having an existential crisis lmao. Gotta make our man suffer a little. I may also make this a whole series with more snippets of their life together (dates, workplace shenanigans, wedding, etc.) cuz I am rather attached to the concept of Zayne x coworker lmao. As always would love ot hear yalls thoughts <3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3

"I didn't ask for her kindness. She's not helping anyone by wasting time with personal errands. If she spent as much energy on her department as she does playing nursemaid, maybe the pediatrics wing would run on schedule."

Zayne regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. In his head, they'd sounded like a neutral observation spoken in the abstract. But out loud? They were undeniably brutal.

He didn't even realize how harshly it had come across until he saw Miss Hunter's expression change. The easygoing smile slid off her face, and her eyes narrowed. She began gathering the files strewn across his desk in silence.

Zayne frowned. "What are you doing?"

Miss Hunter scowled without looking up. "Sometimes I forget that I'm speaking to someone with the emotional availability of a brick."

"Excuse me?"

She rolled her eyes as she shoved a folder into her bag. "I do sincerely hope, for your sake, no one else heard you say that. Your colleague may be a lot of things, but incompetent is not one of them. I've never seen anyone work as hard as she does. She bends over backward for her patients, stays longer than anyone else, and still finds time to show basic human decency to the people around her. You don't have to like her, Zayne, but don't you dare belittle her like that."

Zayne opened his mouth to reply, but the woman had already thrown her coat over one shoulder.

"Where are you going?" he asked. "Didn't you say you needed my help with the case? That is why you've been coming in, haven't you?"

"I think I have what I need. Someone from the Association will give you a call if we require anything else." Her eyes met his one last time. "Thank you for your time, doctor. Now don't let me waste any more of it."

Then she was gone, and the silence she left behind was deafening. It wasn't like her to walk out like that. Frigid departures were his specialty.

He sat down slowly, but didn't open the file in front of him. Instead, his eyes drifted to the spot on his desk where you used to leave his tea for him.

Miss Hunter was kind. You were, too. He never quite understood why people like that kept finding their way into his life. He seemed terrible at keeping them there. And now, he was starting to understand why.

The words he'd said earlier soured in his stomach, replaying in his mind like a low-grade headache he couldn't medicate away. He didn't even know why he'd said them. It wasn't like him to speak without thinking.

Miss Hunter was one of his oldest friends. She had known him long before he was "Dr. Li." Back when he was just Zayne. She knew his tells better than anyone.

If she had caught him glancing at you every time you entered his office, she would have known immediately. She would have teased him mercilessly, bothered him about something he didn't even fully understand himself.

And she was your friend, too. Which meant she would've told you.

He certainly hadn't wanted that. It would ruin things.

Not that there was anything to ruin, technically. You weren't involved. You weren't his. You weren't anything more than a colleague.

From the early days of med school to the quiet corners of the hospital now, you flitted in and out of his life with a warm drink in one hand and a smile on your face, offering sugar and comfort like it cost you nothing.

Zayne knew better than to believe it was just for him. You were like that with everyone.

You brought donuts for the night shift nurses, slushies for interns melting in the summer heat, and hot cider during the freezing winter. You volunteered to cover holidays and swapped shifts without complaint. You remembered birthdays, favourite snacks, and which residents were allergic to almonds.

You were a kindness machine, and he hated that it still got to him. Sometimes it was hard not to feel like there was something different about the way you smiled at him, and when you slipped out of his office after each delivery, Zayne found it nearly impossible to concentrate afterward.

Your presence left ripples. He had insinuated that you were a distraction, but not because you hindered the hospital. No, you were a distraction to him. When you were gone, he was thinking about you, and when you were near, he couldn't think at all.

So why had he said what he said?

Because he didn't want Miss Hunter to know what he was feeling? Because he didn't want you to know?

Zayne took off his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. He still didn't have a good answer. The only real explanation was the simplest, and the hardest to admit: He'd been cruel. And now he felt the guilt of it like a stone in his throat.

Zayne wasn't the kind of man who tracked people's comings and goings. He only paid attention to pathology reports, test results, and charts with clear logic. He didn't count footsteps in the hallway or wonder where someone's voice had gone.

At least, not until yours had been missing for three days.

At first, he told himself it was a good thing. You were keeping your distance, finally, after all this time. No more interruptions. No more unsolicited desserts or stickers pressed onto his notes like a child's reward chart.

He had, after all, been pulling away from you, too. Maybe you'd finally taken the hint.

He should've been relieved. This distance was what he wanted, wasn't it? He'd convinced himself that if you were gone—if your presence stopped softening the corners of his day—then he'd finally be able to focus again. Be more efficient. More himself.

But to his growing dismay, the effect was the exact opposite. He could focus even less.

He spent too long rereading documents, missed the timing on his own schedule, and found his attention drifting in the middle of patient reports. Every time he turned a corner and didn't see you, he wondered where you were. When he passed the pediatric ward and didn't catch a glimpse of you hunched over a chart or joking with a young patient, he slowed to search without meaning to.

Maybe you were on vacation. That was rational. Doctors took leave all the time, and you of all people deserved one. But when he asked a pediatric nurse in passing, he got an answer that deflated every illusion he'd been holding onto.

"She's still on duty," the nurse explained. "Very busy. You know how she can be."

That was worse. You were close by, and still not coming around. It became harder to ignore.

Occasionally, he'd get a glimpse of your coat disappearing down a hall, or the top of your head as you ducked into the operating theatre, but never your face. And he certainly never saw you in his office again, even when you should have been there.

His desk was cleaner now. No crumbs from lemon cake, and no more paper cups of oolong. During his breaks, he found himself rifling through his drawers, trying not to look at the stack of stickers he kept there. The ones he peeled off and meant to toss, but never did.

There was the glittering, heart-shaped one you'd slapped onto his clipboard months ago. A cartoon cat, a kidney with googly eyes, and a shiny peach. You'd stuck that last one on his stethoscope once, and he hadn't taken it off for days, claiming it made his youngest patients smile.

But really, it was because it made you smile.

By the fifth day of your absence, he found himself looking up every time his office door opened. He dared not say aloud what he was hoping for, but the disappointment in his expression was telling enough when his guest never turned out to be you. He hadn't realized how often you used to cross his path until you didn't anymore.

On the sixth day, he lingered by the pediatric nurses' station, claiming he was checking up on a shared patient, but he didn't find you.

On the seventh, he stopped by the eastern stairwell just before midnight, the one he knew you liked to take instead of the elevator because you were trying to get your daily steps in. It was empty, but he waited for fifteen whole minutes.

By the end of the week, something in his chest felt too tight. The silences were heavy, and his tea never tasted right because he had to make it himself.

It was nearing midnight when Zayne finally finished logging the last of his post-op notes. The hospital had thinned to its late-shift hush, leaving only the occasional overhead call and the low hum of fluorescent lighting that never truly turned off.

The unexpected sound of knocking almost made him flinch, but when the door opened, his shoulders practically slumped in disappointment.

"No need to look so disheartened by my presence," his colleague, Dr. Greyson, teased. "I'm only here to drop off patient files, as you requested."

Zayne didn't respond.

"I really wish you hadn't scared off our caffeine supplier, though," Dr. Greyson continued, unaware of the subtle shift in the man's demeanour at the mention of you.

"Excuse me?"

"You know. The doctor who used to swing by with desserts. She hasn't come by in a whole week. The whole cardiology department is suffering. Morale's at an all-time low."

Zayne rolled his eyes. "I hardly think anyone's suffering."

Greyson tilted his head, watching him with that infuriating look that said I know more than you think I do."Did you scare her off or something? You used to get visits like clockwork. Can't believe I'm saying this, but I find myself missing that 'you-forgot-to-eat-again' look of pity she used to give all of us."

"She is probably busy. As you should be."

Greyson clicked his tongue. "I'm not trying to pry—well, maybe I am, just a little—but I figure if she stopped showing up, and you started passing by pediatrics like you're casing the joint, something must've happened."

"Nothing happened," Zayne muttered stiffly.

"Sure. Except for the part where she's been sending interns to collect your reports instead of coming herself. And the part where you've looked like someone kicked your cat for three days straight. You're not as subtle as you think."

"It's none of your business."

"Isn't it?" his colleague drawled. "Because it's starting to affect your concentration. You missed a detail on that post-op note yesterday. Not like you."

Zayne's lips pressed into a thin line. "It was corrected immediately."

"Doesn't mean I didn't notice." Then he added, more gently, "You know, if she's avoiding you, there's probably a reason."

Dr. Greyson's words echoed long after he departed.

Zayne scoffed at first, but the question refused to dislodge itself, settling under his skin like a splinter he couldn't quite reach.

What had he done? What could he have done?

He turned the thought over again and again, as if studying it from every clinical angle might make it reveal itself.

Yes, perhaps he'd been colder than usual lately, but that wasn't new. You'd known him long enough to recognize the ebb and flow of his moods. You used to tease him about it. "Dr. Li, did your coffee betray you again today?" or "Should I come back when the glacier thaws?"

You always came back because you weren't the type to hold a grudge. And certainly not the type to vanish without a word. If something bothered you, you would have said it.

So, why disappear?

The only thing he'd done differently, the only deviation from the constant rhythm of your companionship, was—

His stomach turned.

No.

There was no way.

Had you heard what he said to Miss Hunter that night? Or worse, had she told you herself?

Miss Hunter wasn't the sort to do that, especially if she knew it would hurt you. But you hadn't been working that night. He'd checked the rota; you weren't even on call.

His voice sounded vindictive in hindsight. He had only meant it as a deflection. A way to keep Miss Hunter from pressing further into places he hadn't yet dared to look himself. He hadn't thought—

He hadn't thought.

His gut twisted. That would explain your absence. You hadn't simply disappeared, you'd withdrawn. And not just from him, but from his whole department.

He'd done something worse than push you too far. He'd made you feel small and irrelevant.

Zayne exhaled sharply and leaned back in his chair, overcome with guilt. He didn't know what he was going to do. He wasn't good with apologies. He wasn't even sure how to begin, but something had to be done.

If not for himself—he still wouldn't allow himself that admission—then at least for the others. For the people who looked to you. For the space you had filled so effortlessly, that now felt so cold and painfully quiet.

Maybe, if he could fix this, you'd look at him again the way you used to. Maybe it was time for him to stop watching his door and finally go knock on yours.

The next week, Zayne finally mustered the courage to approach you. He stood just by your office, waiting for you to arrive, but when you finally did, you were moving too quickly for him to say anything. Your shoulders were tensed as you ducked past him, and without thinking to ask for permission, he followed you inside.

You didn't even acknowledge his presence. You were hunched over a drawer, rifling through it with your good hand. The other one—your dominant, he noticed—was clenched in a bloodied fist, a crimson thread trickling from between your fingers and down your wrist.

"You're hurt," he murmured.

You ignored him, yanking open another drawer with more force than necessary. Your good hand trembled as you pulled out the first aid kit, and it clattered onto the desk, spilling slightly.

He took a step forward. "You're bleeding. What happened?"

Still no response, and Zayne was forced to watch as you clumsily opened the box, tugging at alcohol wipes and sterile gauze with one hand, fumbling with the bandage roll like it had personally offended you. When the antiseptic hit your wound, you hissed, and that was the last straw.

Zayne reached for your wrist, and you pulled back as if stung, your blood-slicked palm cradled awkwardly against your chest.

"I just want to—"

"Leave me be!" you snapped. "Please. I have work to do."

He didn't raise his voice. "You can't work like this."

"I am working like this."

"You can't take care of your patients if you can't take care of yourself."

You let out an incredulous laugh. "Is this your way of calling me incompetent again? Believe me, Dr. Li, I have no time for you right now."

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed impatiently. "I'm not trying to—look, please, just let me help. You can snap at me all you want afterwards."

Without waiting for your response, he firmly nudged you in the direction of your chair, and you let him because standing suddenly felt too exhausting. Maybe the adrenaline had worn off, or maybe you were just too tired to argue anymore. You kept your mouth pressed into a thin, unhappy line as he worked.

Zayne didn't speak either, kneeling beside you tentatively. He did not look at your face as he pried open your fist, his frown deepening as he examined the wound. Then he cleaned it with uncharacteristic tenderness, wiping away the blood and wrapping the gauze, his fingers stalling against your skin a beat too long.

When he finally stood to pack the kit away, you stood too, your anger spilling past your lips in a venomous tumble.

"My apologies for wasting your precious time with personal errands, Dr. Li," you practically sneered. "But you don't have to play nursemaid anymore. You do have a department to run, after all."

His own words thrown back at him. Zayne winced, but met your gaze without faltering. He deserved every bit of your resentment. "That was...certainly warranted."

You scoffed, pressing your wrapped hand into your lap. "Damn right, it was."

He nodded stiffly, absorbing the blow without complaint. He would accept your barbed words because at least you were speaking to him. Anything was better than your silence.

"I..." He cleared his throat and tried again. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

When all you could do was glower at him, he adjusted his lab coat just to have something to do with his hands.

"I have no excuse for what I said. Or for what you heard," he continued. "It was... awful. And cruel. And I was wrong. You work harder than anyone else here. You work too hard. And I never should've implied otherwise. I'm sorry."

"I don't accept it," you said simply.

"I—"

"I don't care if that makes me petty. I'm allowed to be angry. You don't get forgiveness just because you decided to feel bad about it now."

Zayne's mouth parted in protest. "I know this is about the conversation you overheard, and I—"

"The one where you called me pathetic? Questioned my competence? You essentially said I've been neglecting my job because I bring my colleagues refreshments every now and then?"

"You must know...I had no intention of hurting you."

"Didn't you?" You stepped back, putting some distance between the two of you. "Because I remember every word. Every. Word. And believe me, it wasn't the first time I've been told I'm not good enough to be here. I just never thought you'd be the one to say it."

He flinched, but you didn't give him the chance to say anything else.

You tipped your head toward the door. "Please leave, Dr. Li. As per your earlier suggestions, I am working on managing my time better, and part of that includes not engaging in pointless conversations."

You followed him to the door, closing it in his face with a click. It was worse than if you had slammed it, because this felt too final.

He was just about to leave when he heard the strangled sound from the other side. A whimper and then a quiet sniffle. Zayne stood frozen in place, hand hovering over the doorknob, wishing he could offer more than the hollow apology he had.

His voice, when it came, was hoarse. "Truly, I am sorry."

For the first time in all the years he had known you, there was nothing else he could say.

Zayne didn't try to speak to you again. You asked him to leave you alone, and he respected your decision enough to resist intruding into your life. But that didn't mean he stopped caring, and he certainly never stopped trying. He just changed the way he did it.

You never ran out of your favourite stationery, a new box appearing on your desk every time you were even close, and it seemed that someone had paid for a lifetime's worth of beverage orders at the cafe across the street where you frequented. Every time you showed up, the barista would grin at you and tell you that your order had been paid for, no matter what hour it was. It was absurd.

The nurses had started noticing, too. How Zayne signed off on consults for your shared patients before you could ask him to. And the fact that the smartboard in your office now auto-updated like clockwork because someone had programmed the algorithm to pull directly from the cardiology logs.

He didn't overstep, of course. He didn't want to do anything that would make you think he was questioning your competence or ability to get things done. He just handled the little things to make your life easier.

For Zayne, it wasn't about being forgiven. He wasn't delusional enough to think that any of this would win you over, but that wasn't the point. He just couldn't stand the thought of you being tired, overworked, or overlooked anymore.

He knew you were angry, and you had every right to be, but this was the only way he could think of to fix things. To anticipate your every need before it arose and solve it before it became a problem.

However, no matter how much he tried to stay out of your way, his eyes were always drawn toward you when he occasionally passed you by, like a reflex he couldn't kill. You never returned the look, and though it killed him, he never stopped refilling the frog stickers when the last sheet disappeared from your drawer, and making sure the lab results for your most critical cases were flagged top priority. He wasn't waiting for your gratitude. He just didn't know what else to do with the ache that sat where your laughter used to echo.

It became unbearable when he began messing with your break room. The one in the pediatric wing was barely even a room, really just a glorified closet with a dying microwave and a fridge that made suspicious humming noises when overfilled. But it had been your domain. A little corner of chaos you liked to keep warm for the interns and residents who rotated through your department, stumbling half-asleep between charts and crying toddlers.

You'd made it a habit to stock the cabinets with snacks. Caffeine bars. Gummy vitamins. Single-serve juice boxes and thermal mugs with weird slogans. It wasn't much, but it made the 2 a.m. shifts bearable. People had started calling it the "Sunshine Station."

But lately, something had shifted.

You didn't notice it at first because you were too busy. But then, one afternoon, you ducked into the room to grab the last apple juice from the mini fridge, only to find that the juice had already been restocked. Not just that, it had been rearranged neatly, the labels facing out. Right next to a new box of cereal bars that no one else even liked, but your most overworked intern swore kept her from fainting.

It was strange. You hadn't placed an order this month because you'd been shamefully distracted by your own indignation. When you checked the other cabinets, they were full too, and not just with generics, either.

The gummy vitamins were the exact kind your other interns liked, the ones shaped like bears instead of those awful chalky tablets. Whoever had placed the order had even remembered to get lactose-free yogurt.

When you asked around later that day, all you received were blank stares. Those who frequented the break room claimed that the items had been simply delivered as they always were, and that they thought you had been the one to handle it like you always did.

It unsettled you. For years, you had been the one to keep things stocked. You took pride in remembering everyone's favourites because you liked showing up for the people who worked under you. It mattered to you. But now it was as if someone had quietly picked up where you left off. Someone had taken the time to learn what your team liked. Someone who was trying very hard to make amends.

You shut the thought down fast. You didn't want to think about him.

But your interns had other ideas, it seemed.

The next evening, you were filling out patient notes at the corner table, half-tuned out, while they squabbled over a nearly empty box of mango pudding cups.

"I swear to god, Nam, that was my last one!"

"First come, first serve, Clara. You've had four already!"

"I'm dessert-loading for morale!"

You didn't intervene. Their bickering was strangely comforting, like white noise after too many days of stifling silence.

Clara finally wrenched the box from Nam's hands, only to gasp dramatically.

"They're gone!" she mourned, rattling the empty cardboard. "My pudding! This is an emergency!"

"Just ask Dr. Li to add them to the supply list," Nam muttered, crouching to inspect the fridge's bottom shelf for apple slices.

You froze. "Ask who?"

Nam's head jerked up, eyes wide. "I—I mean, like. I don't know why I said that. Just—someone else must've added them to the order since you've been so busy lately. That's all I meant."

Clara nodded with a false smile. "We must have a secret supplier in our midst who keeps us stocked. The Snack Phantom. Or maybe... the Nutrition Ninja."

Nam nodded sagely. "The Candy Courier."

"Or the Juicy Justice Man."

"Okay, now you're just being plain ridiculous," you snorted, rubbing your temple. "In case you forgot, I'm the one who places the orders. And I'm sorry I forgot to this month. So what's all this about Dr. Li? He's got nothing to do with us."

Clara's eyes bounced between you and Nam guiltily. "Oh. Uh...it's just that he asked us about our snack preferences."

Nam nodded. Then quickly shook his head. "Well, not all of them. Just like... a few specific ones."

You squinted suspiciously. "Like what?"

Nam hesitated. "Like, which flavour of chips you like. And which brand of protein bars Clara eats when she's on night shifts. And those gummies that Dr. Gao hoards like a dragon."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable.

"Dr. Li doesn't believe in vending machines," Clara deadpanned, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere. "I swear I've heard him call flavoured chips 'an affront to God' once."

"He's not trying to replace you, of course," Nam added hastily. "He's just taking stuff off your plate. We all know how busy you've been lately. You even have that health outreach drive this weekend."

Your jaw clenched, and you looked back down at your chart, trying to keep your expression unreadable. In your periphery, you saw the two interns nudge each other, mumbling something about a chart they forgot to update before scuttling off.

When the room cleared out a few minutes later, you were left alone with your tepid green tea, staring at a worn sticker someone had left on the edge of the table. The same kind you used to put on Zayne's mugs.

Suddenly, every little thing felt far too overwhelming. You didn't know what you were supposed to feel.

Gratitude? Bitterness? Some ugly combination of both?

You were just so tired.

It was past midnight when you finally finished with your tasks of the day, exhaustion making your limbs feel like they belonged to someone else. Your coat was slung over your arm, your bag slumped tiredly against one shoulder, and the charts you'd meant to leave in the admin office tilted in your grip like a collapsing tower.

You cursed under your breath when a few of them slipped loose and tumbled to the floor. When you bent, your back made an uncharacteristic sound, and you winced. You hadn't eaten dinner. Or lunch, or even breakfast, for that matter. Your feet hurt, and you still had a dozen things to do tomorrow, even though it was supposed to be your day off.

Of course, this would happen. Of course—

"Let me help."

You turned sharply, and there stood Dr. Zayne Li, just a few paces away.

His hair was impeccable as always, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, coat draped carelessly over his shoulder. He looked as tired as you felt. More, maybe. The shadows under his eyes had grown darker since the last time you really looked at him.

You hadn't seen him this close in months.

In the time it took for you to scrutinize him, he had already stepped forward to gather your scattered files. When he handed them back to you, his fingers brushed yours tentatively, but you did not thank him.

Nonetheless, he followed you to the nurses' station where you dropped your load off, and then outside toward the exit.

"I didn't think you'd let me help," he remarked.

You shrugged, and that earned the smallest quirk of his lips. Equal parts sad and knowing. He must have sensed some kind of brittle neutrality in your expression. Not forgiveness, but the absence of active malice. The first thaw in a long, punishing winter.

When the two of you stepped out into the cool night air, he held the door open for you. You didn't comment on it, and the silence stretched again.

Zayne cleared his throat. "You're off tomorrow, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"I checked the roster. I wasn't trying to pry."

You gave him a sideways glance.

"I just—" He adjusted his cufflinks. "I've been trying to apologize. Properly. I know I hurt you. I said things I didn't mean, and I let you believe things that weren't true. That you weren't—"

You turned to face him then, and he stopped talking.

"You did hurt me."

He swallowed. "I know."

"I still don't think I forgive you."

"I don't expect you to."

Your arms wrapped around yourself. "But holding onto it for this long has been exhausting, so I'm going to let it go. I'm not letting you off the hook. I am just letting myself off it. I simply don't care what you think of me, so you can rest easy, I suppose. I'm not angry anymore."

Strangely enough, you found that you meant it. It had been several months since the incident, and although for a short while it had bruised your ego, you needed to try and move past it. It was a lesson you had learned early in life when everyone around you doubted your abilities. You could not let their opinions of you make you waver. The same applied here. While you admired Zayne's intelligence and abilities, you refused to let his opinion of you affect your work. You had worked too hard for that to happen.

You were letting go more for yourself than for him. You wondered if Zayne knew that too, because he was looking at you with an expression of melancholy resignation, like he wasn't sure if he should be relieved or devastated.

Was indifference any better than fury?

When you stepped past him to head in the direction of the train station, he called out after you. "You shouldn't take the train this late."

You didn't stop walking. "I've done it before."

"You're exhausted."

"Shocking, considering I just completed a 17-hour shift looking after tiny humans with fevers and sticky fingers."

"I'll drive you."

You glanced at him over your shoulder skeptically. "What, is this some sort of attempt at penance?"

"No," Zayne countered. "It's common sense. You're swaying on your feet."

You opened your mouth for a retort, but he was right, and frankly, you were too tired to protest on principle. So with a small, muttered, "Fine," you followed him to the parking lot.

You said nothing as you slid into the passenger seat and let the warmth of the heater begin to soothe the ache in your muscles.

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them, five minutes later, the streetlights outside looked wrong.

"This isn't my route."

Zayne didn't look at you. "I'm taking you to dinner."

"I didn't consent to that."

"You got in my car, didn't you?"

You turned fully to glare at him. "Where are we going?"

He disclosed the name of your favourite late-night restaurant, the one with the golden stew and free barley tea.

"How did you—?"

"I know you haven't eaten all day."

"Have you been having my interns spy on me?"

"You can't be both sleep and nutrition deprived. I've bagged up bodies that had more vitality than you."

"Oh, so now we've moved on to insulting my appearance? How novel."

"You're not hideous," Zayne remarked absently. "You just look like a Victorian ghost that's been wandering the moors since 1852."

You made a strangled noise of indignation. "I hate you."

"I know."

"Well, you should start acting like it."

But you lacked your usual fire. Then your stomach betrayed you, growling so loudly it echoed through the silence of the car.

Zayne didn't say anything, but the way he glanced over at you with that annoyingly subtle twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth made your scowl deepen.

"...Fine," you grumbled. "But I'm not thanking you."

"Wouldn't dream of asking you to," he said dryly, pulling into the familiar lot.

You rolled your eyes but stepped out when he opened the door for you, letting the smell of garlic, chilli, and warm rice overpower the urge to strangle him.

The restaurant was nearly empty at this hour, only a few lingering patrons tucked into booths, and faint ballads played through the speakers like a lullaby. You sat across from Zayne, not quite looking at him, and the overhead light was dim enough to make everything feel like a dream viewed through steam.

The waitress didn't bother with menus because she knew your order. You'd been coming here ever since your residency days. She simply smiled and said, "The usual?" with a glance at you, then your companion, who gave a silent nod.

You watched her leave, then directed your attention toward him. "You didn't even ask what I wanted."

"You always get the same thing. Unless you've changed your mind in the last several years."

"And if I had?"

"Then I'd offer you mine."

That shut you up for a moment.

"I didn't expect you to say yes," he confessed candidly. "To dinner."

"Then why are you trying so hard?"

"Because I miss you." His response startled even him because he immediately avoided your probing gaze.

"Excuse me?"

"I miss..." He exhaled. "I miss your bad jokes. Your sugar bribes. The energy you bring into a room just by walking into it. I miss being someone who deserved all of that."

"Dr. Li...Zayne...what are you doing?"

Your use of his first name made his heart convulse in his chest, and he wondered with mild curiosity if he was having a heart attack. You tended to have that effect on him. "I'm trying to make things right."

You didn't have an answer for that, so you picked up your spoon and dipped it into your food that had just arrived. You let the warmth hit your tongue, sink into your bones, and settle somewhere deep inside the ache. This was easier than coming up with a response.

Across from you, Zayne stirred his bowl absently. For someone who dragged you here with such conviction, he wasn't eating much. You caught him glancing at you more than once, and each time, he looked away just as quickly.

Then he cleared his throat. "So, one of my interns fainted in the middle of a laparoscopic demonstration yesterday."

You blinked, surprised he was talking at all, let alone telling you stories.

"She nearly took down the anesthesia tray with her."

"Oh...is she okay?"

"She's fine. She may have forgotten to eat. Or breathe. Possibly both." A beat. "I told her if she ever wants to pull a stunt like that again, she has to warn me first so I can bill cardiology for Greyson's near heart attack."

You gave a reluctant huff of amusement, and he seized it like a drowning man to driftwood.

"And then, today, one of my residents presented a case that was very obviously plagiarized from a House episode. He even kept the ludicrous diagnosis."

"That's... dramatic."

"He said, and I quote, 'It's rare, but not impossible, Dr. Li.'" Zayne took a sip of water. "I told him so is being struck by lightning during a Sudoku competition. That doesn't mean it belongs on a discharge summary."

You snorted into your rice. He seemed pleased by that. As pleased as he ever looked, which wasn't much, but you saw the ease in his shoulders, and the faint wrinkle at the corner of his eyes.

It was odd, watching him do what you used to do. Filling the silences and stumbling awkwardly over attempts at connection. Sharing things he wouldn't normally bother to say out loud. You tried not to let it affect you.

Tried.

Zayne glanced at you again, then made a visible effort to keep going. "Someone else spilled an entire tray of empty vials. He dropped them while trying to open his pudding cup. I told him that's what he gets for eating like a five-year-old."

You smirked. "Dr. Greyson told me last year that you eat your sandwiches with a knife and fork."

Zayne didn't miss a beat, going along with your story just for the sake of hearing you talk. "I do. Why wouldn't I?"

"You... what?"

"It's cleaner. You get an even distribution. No hand residue. Structural integrity is maintained throughout."

"That is the most unhinged thing I've heard in months."

"I'm a surgeon," he replied unapologetically. "I value precision."

"You're a monster."

"Possibly."

Another quiet moment passed, but this time it was companionable, warmed by broth and faint humour.

Zayne stirred his stew with mechanical precision, then said, with no real preamble, "Did I ever tell you about the time one of my interns tried to impress me by diagnosing a nosebleed as a sign of brain-eating amoeba?"

"...Please tell me you're joking."

"I wish I were."

"And what was your response, Dr. Li?"

"I told her that unless the patient had just returned from a stagnant swamp in the middle of winter, she was catastrophizing. Then I handed her a nasal spray."

You pressed your hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh. "You're such a menace."

"She handed in a ten-page write-up on amoebic encephalitis the next morning."

"I'm torn between horror and pride."

"Greyson said I should start charging tuition."

"As if you don't make enough money already."

"They're all chaos." He shook his head. "One of them showed up in inappropriate footwear during an OR rotation and asked if we were doing anything fun today."

You choked on your rice, and Zayne offered you a napkin without comment.

"Inappropriate footwear? Would that be high heels or Crocs?"

"I cannot recall exactly."

"God. That sounds like something you would've done back in school."

Your dinner companion looked offended at the insinuation. "I would never have disgraced myself that way."

"True. You were insufferably by-the-book."

"I still am."

"You are." You chuckled again, reluctantly. You hadn't laughed this much in months.

Worst of all, you didn't hate the way it felt. But you hated that you missed it. You hated how much you'd missed him. You had to remind yourself that he was just trying extra hard to alleviate his own guilt, not because he actually wanted you to feel better. But it was hard to question his sincerity when he looked at you so earnestly. To you, his eyes had always been his most mesmerizing feature, and now, when he trained them on you, unguarded and sincere, you felt your resolve start to crumble.

Despite the distance and the cruelty that still stung at the edges of your memory, the ache hadn't lessened. There was something so familiar about him, the way his stories came out stiff and slightly disjointed, like they'd been rehearsed. The way he glanced up between anecdotes to check if you were still listening.

"I also miss not being verbally assaulted every morning by my ravenous interns asking where the 'sugar fairy'��went." He gave you a gentle smile, something a little more than the usual twitch of his lips, and you chugged your glass of water to drown the sudden influx of butterflies that swarmed in your stomach.

You groaned. "I knew Dr. Greyson started that name."

"He did. But the students run with it like it's gospel. I overheard one say they were going to sacrifice someone to the snack deity if you didn't come back to our floor soon."

"And would that someone have been you?"

"You would enjoy that, wouldn't you?"

You laughed before you could stop yourself. You tried to smother it, but it bubbled up anyway. "Indeed, I would."

Zayne looked deeply, irritatingly satisfied, and you bit back another smile. For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself enjoy it.

You were too tired to resist the lull of good conversation and an old friend tonight. Tomorrow, you could try to go back to hating him. Tomorrow, you would take your grudge by the hand, but today, you deserved to let go a little.

Eventually, he stopped talking, and you looked up to find him watching you intently. Almost reverently.

"...What?" you asked, warily. "Do I have rice on my face or something?"

He didn't respond.

"Seriously. What are you looking at?"

Zayne hesitated. "I didn't mean what I said earlier."

"What?"

"That thing I said. About you looking like a Victorian ghost."

"Oh?" Your lips quirked up wryly. "Do I look worse, then? Let me guess. Forest cryptid instead? Decrepit hag?"

Zayne didn't crack a smile or tease you back, and something fragile fluttered just beneath the surface of his gaze.

No. You look beautiful.

Even like this. Even in exhaustion with dark circles under your eyes and your hair messier than you probably realized. You were beautiful in the way late-night hospital lights made you glow. Beautiful in the way you had always cared, even for people like him, who never knew how to deserve it.

He hated that it had taken him this long to notice. Or rather, that it had taken him even longer to admit it to himself, but he would spend the rest of his days trying to find the right moment to say it aloud, to make you believe it.

Today, however, was not the right moment, so he just wordlessly refilled your cup of water.

You didn't thank him, but you didn't push him away either.

For tonight, that was enough.

Taglist: @floofycookie @heartandeye @lanxianschoenheit @loverindeepspace @treeteaofversailles @ikesimpleton @mysticcauldronspire @69-gojos-wife-69 @nm4565natty @ciexuvia @jeonjenny @plzdonutpercieveme @sylusgirlie7 @raethewargeneral @staarflowerr @eolivy @straykidslvr @lemurianmaster @preeyas-world @sillyfreakfanparty

Hope I didn't miss anyone ❤️

#icarus ignite writes #love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace zayne x reader #zayne x reader #zayne x you #lads zayne #lads #lnds #l&ds #zayne x non mc #zayne love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #li shen x reader #li shen #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace zayne fanfic

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owe-143 · 3 days ago

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Hi, if ur not too busy I was hoping I could request something for the saja boys?? Basically reader(fem maybe) is a human manager for the boys(kinda cliche, ik) but they the boys are demons and doesn't rlly care, because they have do manager stuff, but with how mystery was acting durring the meet and greets carries a spray bottle of water around, and gets abs a shirt the actually fits(kinda, don't wanna disappoint the fans) and at one point jinu is like "🤨 where/when did you get all that" and reader is like "🥲You boys stress me tf out, shud up. "

Any who sorry if this is too long, love your work!

✦Stressed tf out✦

A/N:Ty for requesting! I love this idea!! Thank you for reading my stuff hahaha

Warnings: swearing, kinda not proofread

Oneshot fic💗✨

Saja Boys x Manager!Fem!Reader

→Kpdh masterlist←

You scribbled final notes in your journal for the days events. The silence of your office was comforting and you could think. It wouldn't last long as a loud scream echoed the building. You couldn't help but sigh. You lift your fingers, slowly counting down

"Y/N! " Jinu burst through the door. His eyes were panicked. "Mystery, he is-"

"Biting Abby! I know! " You cut him off, shooting out of you seat. You slide the desk drawer open. A few necessities for the boys slept in the drawer. For any occasion. Hair brushes, fidget toys, spare devices and a ton more. You grab the spray bottle and signal Jinu to follow

Jinu's eyebrows raise. "Why do you have all this anyway" He asks. You scoff. You walk faster, approaching the lounge where the other boys were. Another scream erupted from the room. "Because no doesn't seem to work for you boys! " You snap, kicking the door open

The scene in front of you is nothing from the usual. Baby's sitting on the table even when you've told him multiple times not to. His eyes focused on his Nintendo ignoring the scene unfolding on the other side of the room

Mystery stands opposite Romance who has Abby right behind him. You stomp over, spraying Mystery with a reasonable amount of water. He stumbles back and growls. Romance rolls his eyes. He steps away from Abby to sit back down on the sofa.

"Thanks" Abby sighs. You glance over at him. You suddenly spray his face. Abby jumps back "Hey! What did I do?! "

"Nothing. Just felt like it" You say with a grin. You strut over to Baby. You raise the water bottle then spray the side of his face. "Get of my damn table" You hiss. Baby squints his eyes at you. Although, he doesn't dare to protest. Last time he did it was the bottle that hit is face. He slid of the table and sat beside Romance

Jinu dragged his hand down his face. "Sorry" He spoke "Didn't mean to bother you. Again" You shrug. "It's fine" You smile. You watch Baby and Romance have a back and forth with the Nintendo. Mystery sitting in a corner with his arms crossed. Abby was focused on a mirror trying to fix his hair.

The boys are more difficult to handle than you anticipated. Of course, being a manager is never easy for anyone. The Saja Boys were quite normal at first. Relaxed when you started managing them. That only lasted about a week.

You glance around the room. "You all have a meet and greet in the next hour. " The statement causes Romance to groan "Seriously? Can't we do it tomorrow?" Romance has been snappy as of recent. He has an attitude issue in general but it's gotten ridiculous. Abby snickered "What's your problem? " He asks looking over at Romance.

"You're his problem! " Mystery responds. You could sense an argument breaking out. Which would lead to more physical attacks. "That's enough. Meet and greet is today and that's fucking final" You grab the Nintendo from Baby's grasp

"Hey-"

"You've played this thing the whole week. Take a break" You walk over to the door. "If I come back here and you guys are still fighting, I'll start banning stuff"

None of the boys says a word. One thing they won't do is test your threats. When you sat you'll do something. It's most likely to happen. Like the one time you took away anything sweet. Baby lost it that week but it did teach him to stop throwing wet toilet paper at his members

You look over at Jinu, pulling the door open "Help them calm down, please? Not mad, just stressed. And extra help would be amazing" You say. Jinu opens his mouth to speak but closes it again. He smiles and nods. "Yeah. I can do that"

Hopefully Jinu, would be able to calm them down. For about 10 minutes top. But hey, gives you time to rethink your life choices

#kpop demon hunters #kpdh #kpop demon hunters x reader #kdh #kpdh x reader #saja boys

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seneon · 24 hours ago

Text

NOTHING AND SOMETHING ──── jinu × fem¡reader.

about. in which, from a courtesan girl with nothing but beauty, to a girl with something to the singer boy. set in ancient rural¡korea au. pure sweetness and romance with the minor mentions of blood. 2700+ words.

notes. this is actually an old piece which i never published, and it kinda fits jinu. i lied about posting next week LOL. also, the courtesan part is only at the start btw

IT WAS IN THAT MOMENT, that a young boy with black hair was captured by such beauty.

he was fifteen, and by the greatest fate, was already well known by the entire kingdom for his heavenly voice. so what will happen when a young junior courtesan’s beauty catches the eyes of a royal singer?

jinu was on a mission to deliver plentiful harmonies to a higher ranking courtesan. instead, he came across the youngest girl who they have in the brothel.

you only spoke a little, very much aware of the existence of the well honoured singer recognised by the emperor himself.

so polite and kind in a rather closed off way, he wishes you would bloom and smile like a shining diamond.

soon a senior courtesan came to pay her undivided attention to the young and talented boy. but not before seeing your existence as a mere nuisance in the midst.

why, a young girl who barely even knows how to please a man dares to breathe the same air as the older woman?

the beauty you held is dangerous enough for the other courtesan. with repulse, the older woman landed a slap on your face, then a string of vile words came out from the woman’s mouth. and soon the salty tears rolled down your soft cheeks.

your existence ceased to exist after the older woman declared your presence to be erased from the room. after all, you were just a mere fifteen girl who was traded in for the price your parents couldn’t pay.

you were nothing.

the singer boy frowns at the way your body slumps just as you retreated far away to who knows where in this brothel that seemed to be your newfound hell.

so when dusk arrived, jinu set out to commit a crime worthy of his life. he wanted to rescue the girl he thought was so beautiful. it was simple when his soul demanded a reason—he wanted to see her beauty again and forever.

ROSES ARE SYMBOLS OF LOVE. the flower that bathed in exquisite and rich crimson red was placed down at the fingers of the boy. brown eyes lock themselves onto the single flower that rests atop jinu’s soft palms.

he scanned it while perking a brow up. confusion took over his mind as he looked at you who had given him a single rose. you stood there, awaiting for his next move as you sipped on whatever amazing juice that jinu had brewed for you.

“what is this?”

“a flower, silly.”

it has been a few months since jinu had taken you away from the brothel, bringing you back to the palace to vouch for the wonders your beauty you could do. up until then, you’ve been working with the boy and serving as his graceful dancer while he sings and plays the bipa for the crowd.

you kept your silence and watched him. he was such a mysterious and kind soul. yet, there was always something deep down inside that made you curious. you did not understand why, but you had always wanted to be by his side.

maybe it was because you owe him for saving your life, or maybe it was the mysteriousness that ate you away.

perhaps something else entirely different.

“and it’s a flower for...?” he questioned, holding it up to inspect every detail of it.

an inward laugh escaped from your lips applied with the softest and lightest colored lip balm.

“for you.”

now jinu was even more confused.

“for me?”

you hummed in response. “i thought it would be perfect to give it to you since it reminded me of you,” you explained, nodding your head slowly with a cheeky smile and blush. “as handsome as a flower could get in the flower kingdom.”

honestly, jinu has no idea how to react to what he just heard. how could he, when sweet words of poetry invaded his ears and found a spot in his heart to create a veil of warmth that surrounds him?

only a simple flower from you could bring the ultimate warmth out of him, and he was going to treasure it until the very day it withers into oblivion, along with the cheeky smile you have on your face.

LIFE IN THE FORM OF DARK RED RIVER. your gaze was fixed on the boy of seventeen, his hands stained with a warm red that itched at the back of his mind. marks ingrained on his skin as they slowly crawled up his neck and down his arms.

under your beautiful eyes, he covers his arms immediately, fear making its debut at how you would react to them.

it cannot happen so soon. not when he has everything he had ever wanted. not when his voice reaches out to the souls of the people, granting them joy. not when you tell him how much his voice is a soothing balm to your soul whenever he sings to you every night.

not when he has you.

you remained stoic in your spot. your eyes are unreadable this time, the way they bore into jinu’s gave him the initial fear that you might just see him in a fearful and different way than the usual soft and affectionate gaze that you always gave him.

jinu takes a step back, suddenly wary of your eyes looking over the blood on his hands. he wanted to flee, wanted to run from you, all just so you would not be the next one whose soul he is going to consume. so you will provide the next blood in which he will bathe in.

before the boy could even take the next step of his sandals, you reached out in three quick strides and wrapped your gentle fingers around his bloodstained wrist.

jinu wanted to protest and pull his hands away from your grip. but he could not, not when your fingers were so warm against his cold wrist.

“i’m dangerous, you shouldn’t.”

“and i do not care,” you replied after taking out your handkerchief which he weaved for you in his free times. you wiped his bloody fingers with such gentleness that it silenced the singer boy.

you could not care if his hands were stained with the blood of others. his hands will always remain something that made you feel safe every time he held you in his arms. nothing could compare to his gentleness when he braids your hair every morning.

gentle and kind with your touch, the boy felt some warmth around his cheeks. a field of roses had spread across his face, the colours almost as prominent that the blood which were splattered across his fair cheeks. he tried his hardest to contain that fuzzy little feeling in him.

your fingers now stained red too, and jinu brushed his thumb against your skin before planting a chaste kiss onto the bloodied spot.

“i don’t want to get your skin dirty,” said the boy as he took the handkerchief, tossing it away. “i’ll get you new ones. keep your hands off of dirty things.”

“but—”

“no buts. we get out of here and get you new handkerchiefs. come,” jinu said and grabbed your hand, walking away from the scene where the air reeked of blood.

he is going to abandon everything and run away with you.

IT BEGAN AS A WHISPER IN THE AIR. the day had been beautiful and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. the clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. now, the heavens rained down the cries of the celestials.

cold and wet gems rained onto the canopy cloth, emitting the echoes of millions and millions of tiny taps. demon boy jinu shifted his umbrella just a few inches above his view, observing the girl who stood in the middle of the walkway.

the look you held while looking up in the sky was exactly similar to a child that had gone stargazing for the first time. it was golden and angelic. with the rain that planted cold kisses on your skin, the water found its way to shelter itself into your clothes, slowly soaking them.

“jinu, it’s raining…” you murmured softly, extending a hand out to feel the gentle droplets tapping themselves onto your palms.

it was no surprise to jinu that you knew he was behind you, watching, and admiring you. even in the soothing weather, you resembled an ancient portrait of a maiden.

“huh, i can see that,” the boy walked over to you and shifted the position of his umbrella, so you two could share instead of you getting your skin even damper.

a smile slithered across your face, glancing up to the tall boy, “course’ you can, umbrella boy.”

he cringed at the silly nickname, a frown surfacing as you pursed your lips together. yet a soft chuckle emitted from the depths of his throat later on, arousing a mutual chuckle from you.

it was music to his ears amidst the voices that haunted him from within. even the way the corner of your eyes crinkled was enough to form spluttering butterflies in his stomach.

“you’re really beautiful,” he incoherently murmured, so softly. it does not reach your ears. so you tilted your head in confusion, a visibly confused expression took over your entire mind.

“what?”

a lightly tinted blush— not very much visible to one's eyes, started to sprout across his cheeks.

“what did you say?” you asked again. and his lips then curved upwards into a short smile that you managed to capture,

“i said, you're really beautiful. like an angel.”

the sight of him with a quick smile so genuine has your insides turning into a mess. it was not one of those fake smiles he gave to the kings or noblewomen or the courtesans just to please them.

this smile is special.

it was just for you and you alone.

IT HAS BEEN TWO YEARS. even so, not a single moment went by where he was never left intimidated by your beauty. you brought him out of his little dark and claustrophobic void, introducing him to a whole new world that one fateful night.

slowly with just you being in his reach, he could feel his heart thumped and thumped louder. with each soft, slow-paced thump, it grew into loud and fast-paced beats. you never failed to create butterflies that would flutter and dance about in his soul, enjoying themselves in the meadow.

the both of you are nineteen now. with each day that went by within a blur, you grew even more beautiful. it was breathtaking whenever he laid his eyes on you, even though he had gotten so used to your beauty.

all while he now had to hide within the darkness of gwi-ma, the king of the underworld, and the voices that lingered at the back of his mind was enough to drive him into a state of madness—something he wanted to conceal from you completely.

his golden eyes shifted to your form, where you sat by a lake, gently dipping your fingers into the cold waters to wash off one in a million of the handkerchiefs jinu had bought you which you had stained dirty with the blood of his victims after cleaning him up.

under a sky of perfect midnight velvet, under stars so brilliant they drew the eyes heaven bound. regardless of the strange situation you now live in with jinu, your hair was dripping with jewels, diamonds too perfect for anyone to gaze upon without stumbling in awe.

they were the diamond jewelry he had gotten you for your eighteenth birthday.

wild serenity filled every moment. dark light honoured the earth, and everything was as still as a moonlit lake.

everything was peaceful, quiet and so calming. yet, you could not shake off this… odd and fuzzy feeling. it lingered around your chest too often, demanding for an answer on the inside.

what was it that you kept feeling around a jinu after all these years? in your heart, you quietly asked the silvery midnight of a moon reflected in the lake.

“what are you doing out here so late?” the oh so familiar voice questioned.

you snapped out of your trance and looked at him momentarily, patting the spot beside you. “cannot sleep. my mind is too clouded right now.”

“ah,” jinu replied and sat down beside you. he followed your gaze—which went back to admiring the starry night instead of the lake. your fingers and the handkerchief were still dipped in the lake, gently swaying back and forth from the colliding waters.

it was a moment to treasure.

“jinu, do you ever feel this weird, annoying and fuzzy feeling around your chest?”

“what do you mean?”

you held your clenched fists near your chest and looked down at your. “i always get those feelings whenever i am with this one boy. he makes me weak, if not for his perfect presence that cleanses my sins.”

wasting no time, you pointed your free fingers at the boy beside you, a frown taking over your smile. “you. you’re the one making me feel like this. but... why?”

why?

does the now demon boy himself even know? if only he knew the answer, he could have helped you understand it more. deep down, he guessed and debated about it, as he was feeling the same thing, even right now. being close to you was something he had learned to appreciate.

time had seemed to stop around everywhere. the street, the village, the entire universe. but, the moon continued to illuminate the secrets of the heavens onto the two young souls—one pure, and the other tainted.

it was silent. a comfortable yet uneasy silence that could bring forth the ultimate summer and it felt as if there were snakes slithering around. jinu did not know how to feel, what to feel. as he only felt the moon of the frozen sky painted a warm palette into his chest.

the male could not take it anymore. he needed to get it off his chest, if not all he would think about is you, a blessing from heaven, the forgiver of all living things on earth. a burst of emotions exploded, overpowering the whispers of gwi-ma, and he groaned in silent annoyance.

“look, in the books of the palace i read, that those feelings are what’s called love. and i—”

“love you.”

“yes that, thank you. i love you too.”

...

oh.

he facepalmed once the realisation hit, a deep red blush sprouting from both your cheeks. an awkward tension filled the air. you played with the lake waters shyly, and the boy looked away, silently cursing himself for the humiliating thing he said out loud.

what had he just said?

jinu, what the hell is wrong with you?

...

after a long stretch of silence, jinu finally breaks it.

“i… i don’t know if it’ll work out,” he admitted, his golden gaze lowering to the lake beneath, seeing solace in the gentle waves. “i mean, i’m cursed. a demon, i’m not lovable. i abandoned my mother and sister and left them to suffer.”

jinu continued, his hands reaching out into the lake to gently take your hands out from the waters, setting your soaked handkerchief aside and taking his own clean handkerchief to wipe your hands.

you watched in silence as he cleaned your hands, letting his words seeped into your soul. his gentle touch so comforting, even though if his hands were cold and his nails were as sharp as a monster’s.

“regardless of all your imperfections and mistakes and flaws, i still love you,” you said softly, thumb brushing his cold knuckles before you looked at him. “even if you are a demon, i still love you. and even if you will live for an eternity and i will die anytime, my feelings for you will never change. i love you. i was nothing back then, but now i am something with you.”

oh, you.

what should jinu do?

a smile so everlastingly sweet formed on jinu’s face just as he intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling you closer just so he could feel your skin and bask in your warmth.

“i’ll never understand why you love me, but i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispered before pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead, keeping you close like you are the only thing he ever needs.

“you’re my pretty girl. and you mean everything to me.”

CENTURIES OF LONELINESS CRACKS, at the exact moment you approached the table, a poster and a silver marker pen in your hand. you looked as radiant and beautiful as jinu had always remembered.

nothing changed in the way your hair flows and the way your smile could warm even the coldest of hearts.

he took the silver marker pen and the saja boys poster, signed his name on it before looking up at you again, a familiar smile surfacing on his cheeks.

“i’ve miss you, my pretty girl.”

your excited grin drops to a more softer smile, retrieving a piece of diamond jewelry out from your hair to set it on the table, one that he gave you centuries ago.

it seems like fate is a funny thing, making nothing into something, mending your destinies together.

“i’ve missed you too.”

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