#anyways yeah [thumbs up emoji]

[nicepersondisorder]

hello chat im insane. if you care. (trying to figure out how to draw the characters <3)

+ bonus husker

[cowardlybean]

This is the journal of missing 31 year old Reigen Arataka, distributed with permission from friends and family. The version presented in this document has been kindly edited with added commentary by a loyal customer of his. -Editor’s Note

hey guys check out my weird ass fic :3c

[sandpapersnowman]

me: sends my dad pics in an effort to connect

him: 👍

me: awesome. thanks. I'm glad I put in effort

my grandma (his mom): please send me pictures

me, begrudgingly: sends my grandma pics in an effort to connect

her: 👍

[junkissed]

need minghao to finger blast me send tweet

[teknikolor-walters]

What horror books? 👀

okay let me start this by saying i have horrid taste in literature so pleaseplease dont make fun of me but im rereading katzenjammer cuz i think its really cool

[something-awful1]

i genuinely hate the internet why is it so hard to avoid leaks 😭

[villruu]

👀

Oh man, I have like a LOT of wips (mainly DSMP and LMK) but there's this whole-ass pokemon fic series I have in my docs that's about submas. Basically, after an accident Emmet makes a deal w the devil to save Ingo from death, and as a consequence they get cursed into becoming zoruas whenever they dont know exactly when and where the other is. It has 8 fics planned and i have like 5 halfway or mostly written. The first fic is mostly written but a few scenes are missing and I'm just blocked on how to continue lmao

I am not sane in the slightlest about submas<3

snippet from the first fic under read more bc uh slight gore? And Angst? Idk

Emmet clinged to Ingo’s chest, feeling the small shift beneath his hands, and choked on the hatred burbling up inside.

There was too much blood, and Emmet had never thought himself as a squeamish person, but now, holding his injured twin, he barely managed to keep the bile down. He patted desperately for his belt, and choked up a sob as he noticed the broken  leather hanging from his pants. The belt must have gotten cut, and he could not see his pokemon anywhere near. Ingo also didn't have his, probably having been accidentally left behind in the cave above.

Desperation tried to make him move, but he felt every muscle locked up, as he felt Ingo’s blood flow between his fingers as he held his head as gently as he could. He didn’t know what to do, panic slowly obfuscating each option, until Emmet felt as if he were just a wild beast cornered against a wall, scrambling to survive. He would have stayed like that forever, if not for the pained weak whine of Ingo.

Emmet flinched, and without thinking anymore, he stood up with his twin in his arms and started to search for help. Adrenaline fueled him, and Emmet did not feel even an ounce of resistance, as he ran through the thick forest, hoping that the Universe had been kind to them and they had fallen towards the side of the mountain where civilization resided. Scratches and thorns started to decorate Emmet’s body, but he did not pause, in vain searching for help, for anyone, anything that would save his twin.

He sees a path, worn and old, and before he can question its state, he follows it, heartbeat tuning out everything around him except for Ingo’s shallow breaths against his neck, where Ingo had hidden his limp head as they ran in search of help. The path was more often than not covered in plants, but Emmet passed through, keeping a hand around Ingo’s hastily made tourniquet made of his jacket.

The path cleared out, and Emmet stumbled into a shallow clearing, a ring of thick forest surrounding it. 

There were only crumbling graves, erased through the rain, wind and age, a half destroyed statue erected in front of what appeared to be a bench. He stumbled, and deposited Ingo on the bench, tears obscuring half of his view. Emmet looked around, but not even pokemon were nearby, everything dead silent, not even wind daring to rustle the leaves on the trees.

“Please,” He rasped out, even despite knowing what would happen as he realized that civilization or help would never arrive, “Ingo, please.”

His brother just breathed, and that was all Emmet needed right now, for him to continue breathing. He collapsed in front of the bench, and sobbed, clutching at Ingo’s torn up sleeve, ignoring the way blood seeped onto the ground, painting everything in his brother’s essence.

Emmet knew they had fallen to the wrong side of the mountain, and the knowledge that no one would arrive for his brother felt almost too much. He wouldn’t last that long too, he could already feel the edge of pain drawing in, circling around, constricting his chest and making everything he saw blurry and faded.

“Stay alive,” He sobbed, wishing for once his face weren’t always a mockery of a smile, “Please, please, Ingo.”

Emmet had never been religious, had never put any stock into the Gods of this world, but Emmet set everything aside and closed his eyes, clutching Ingo’s cold arm, and prayed.

He prayed to whatever was out there, no words uttered, to anything, anyone to please, to please save his brother. He would do anything, anything for Ingo to live.

Wind swept through the clearing, what seemed like the beginnings of a storm gathering around them, but Emmet ignored everything, and continued to pray, fervently, no matter what.

“Anything?'' A distant voice came, and Emmet flinched, looking up to see…. Something, looking over both him and his brother.

“Please!” Emmet sobbed, “Ingo deserves to live!”

“He would not survive,” It said, its body a coiling mass that suffocated the sun above, “In this state, he is too far gone.”

“Then, then,.... I'll take it! I die in his stead, won’t that work?!” Emmet pleaded.

A rumbling not unlike an earthquake shook Emmet through his core, and he belatedly noticed it was just this thing’s laughter.

“You will not remain the same, my powers corrupt whatever it touches,” It said, its burning red eyes glaring into Emmet’s, “Would you be willing to sacrifice so much for your twin?”

“Always,” He breathed out, shaking but keeping firm his eyes onto the others, something telling him this was important, “For Ingo, I would do anything and everything. And he would do the same for me!”

“Very well,” It said, its face getting closer until it was barely a few centimeters away, “Through time and space, you shall prove your words.”

It got closer, and Emmet felt the faint sensation of something electric and colder than ice briefly touching his forehead.

“I can’t wait to see who you shall become,” It said, its long and coiling body surrounding both brothers, “Until we see again, Unovan Twins.”

That was the last thing Emmet heard, before his hearing turned into colors, he tasted electricity, and he fell into the most painful sensation he had ever felt, a glimpse of a World so far away and strange that could not be described before he fell unconscious, hand locked onto his brother’s arm.

[loverofallthingssmart]

white tears brown scars how i love u

[tamayokny]

i'm so glad that two of my classes officially end today and that i'll be able to breathe a bit more for the rest of fall semester. however, after completing one of these courses, i decided that working in an academic library setting just may not be the thing for me <3

[that-was-anticlimactic]

no listen you guys don’t understand okay so teru’s eng va is gowther in sds and ritsu’s eng va is king from sds, right? i was watching an episode to destress today and i totally forgot that there was a moment in s1 when gowther is just. carrying king on his back. probably because he got hurt, but he prolly could’ve easily just flown away or something but no. gowther just. carries him on his back. friendship. little guys.

so anyways that made me think of teru just. making ritsu get on his back and tbh that feels like something he would do. and ritsu would either do it begrudgingly because he wanted teru to stop asking, because he was about to pass out or was literally too injured to walk, OR teru just says ‘screw it’ and like. floats ritsu onto his back oiugyftcgvhjiuygtf anyways besties <3

[starbberryblue]

collection of my absolute favorite tags from this incredible post:

Candace and doofenshmirtz would be tumblr mutuals i think

[chisungie]

.

[your-secondborn-child]

prob gonna just lurk for a while thumbs up emoji

[venus-haze]

Sick as a Dog (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: Day 25 - Underwear stealing/sniffing. Soldier Boy is America's first superhero. The greatest man who ever lived. Larger than life itself. A sleazy chauvinist who's getting off on your panties in a motel bathroom. [AO3 link]

Note: Written for @cozycornerevents Kinktober! Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. I think this is my first Soldier Boy fic set in modern day…anyway it was fun writing mean and gross Soldier Boy🤭

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Soldier Boy-typical misogyny. Sexually explicit content involving masturbation, panty stealing/sniffing, degradation, voyeurism.

You couldn’t relax around Soldier Boy, not when Butcher and Hughie left you alone with him in that damn motel room. It was almost impossible to focus on the TV with him so blatantly eyeing you like a piece of meat. Tried to do the arm-over-the-shoulder move so he could grope your breast, and called you a prude under his breath when you scooted further down the couch. 

Sure, he was attractive, but you weren’t about to mix business with pleasure—especially not with a guy who, when introduced to you, asked Butcher if they only kept you around as “stress relief,” as if you weren’t even standing in front of him. Maybe you should have gone with MM and Annie after all.

“I gotta use the can,” he grumbled, scratching his crotch before standing up from the couch.

The tension slowly released from your body the further away he got from you. Picking up your phone from the coffee table, you saw a missed text from Hughie: Sorry to leave you on supe-sitting duty. Everything good?

You sighed, your thumbs hovering over the keys before sending back: Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.

Threw in an emoji at the end so he wouldn’t feel too bad. It was kind of your own fault, anyway. You decided to go along with Butcher and Hughie because part of you still naively believed in Soldier Boy’s heroism, his authenticity. And then you actually met him. Heard the shockingly crass way he talked, a relic of a time you had no interest in reliving.

You were just about to text Annie when you heard it.

A name. Your name. Low and gruff and mean coming from his mouth.

Putting your phone down, you glanced in the direction of the bathroom. 

You knew your best option was to just ignore it when you heard him say your name again—turn up the volume on the TV and ignore the way heat flared up between your legs at the grunts he didn’t even try to keep down. Instead, you stood up, your heart beating faster with each step you took. The motel room wasn’t all that big, didn’t take very long at all to get to the bathroom door, look in where he’d left it open a crack. 

Had he been careless? Or did he want you to watch?  

You gaped openly at him, pumping his hard cock with a pair of your used panties bunched up in his hand, sliding it up and down his length. Black, satin with a little bow, it was one of your favorite pairs you brought with you, too, and you weren’t sure how to feel about him having chosen that one to get off with, to ruin. You looked back at your duffel bag, wide open and clearly rifled through. Supposed you were trying too hard not to pay attention to him to pay any mind to his violating your privacy.

“That’s right, take it, you fucking slut,” he growled. “You might not be their stress relief, but you’re gonna be mine.”

How the hell was this the same guy whose PSAs you watched throughout your school years, telling you to pledge allegiance to the flag and say no to drugs? He was sick, hypocritical, a symbol of the worst of American debauchery. Every subsequent word that came out of his mouth was vile, objectifying—should’ve repulsed you instead of going straight to your pussy. Your brain was screaming at you to go back to the couch and pretend you didn’t see anything, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“I’ll make sure you can’t fucking walk tomorrow, have to carry you over my shoulder and tell everyone what a slut you are for my cock.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He squeezed his cock harder, his pumps more punishing, frustration radiating off of him as his precum soaked through your ruined panties. Could you even bear to wear them again, knowing all the things he said and did with them bunched up in his hand, picturing you in their place, bent over the motel room sink, or anywhere else he could think of in that deviant mind of his.

“How bad do you want it? C’mon, I wanna hear you beg.”

“Please,” you whispered despite yourself.

“I know you’re out there,” he taunted, startling you. “I can hear you panting like a bitch in heat. Why don’t you come in and give me a hand?”

With a gasp, you found your legs again and ran back to the living area. Fell over yourself to get onto the couch and make the TV louder, anything to drown out the sound of his groans, your name mixed with curses as he came just a few feet away. 

Your face was on fire, and you sat with your hands folded between your legs, trying desperately to ignore the want that had overtaken you while watching him. You were better than that, better than debasing yourself for someone like him. Still, a shiver ran down your spine when you heard a gruff, drawn out “Fuck” over the sound of the stupid Vought A Burger commercial that was on.

The sink ran. Toilet flushed. Your head was pounding when he walked out of the bathroom and back to the couch. 

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, throwing your panties at you.

The balled up garment landed on your lap, wet and heavy with his cum. With a reluctant, trembling hand, you pushed it onto the floor.

Your voice cracked as you half-heartedly told him, “You’re disgusting.”

He scoffed, his arm draped across the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder. “You should take it as a compliment. There’s plenty of other broads I could’ve jacked off to—Hayworth, Bardot, Fawcett—”

“But none of them had their panties lying around here, did they?”

“No, they didn’t.” He was silent for a moment before breaking into a grin. “I’m gonna get you to fold sooner or later. Then, I’m really gonna make you beg for it.”

“Don’t bet on it,” you mumbled.

[braaan]

In all the ways that matter (w/ Yunjin)

male reader & lesserafim yunjin

smut & angst & fluff (the one where you want more of what’s already yours), 6k words

Let’s be honest: you don’t deserve Huh Yunjin.

She’s an ambitious mishmash of love languages. But from the way she’s always including you in wishlists back to her parents in New York, how she’s always testing new big-stretch-and-yawn-at-the-movies level ways to get her hands on you, or how she’s going on her eighth permutation of pet names and emojis for you on her phone (it’s been POOKIE🧸🦷🤭💙 for the past 2 weeks — your longest running), anyone would guess that she was fluent across the board.

And that’s only while you’re pretending that looks don’t matter.

Because whenever it feels like you have to chalk up a point for Yunjin’s personality, one of her physical features always stops you at the blackboard. 

Yunjin looks like she was grandma-knit: finished patiently and smoothed tender. Where skin would normally crease, Yunjin softens. And between the way her eyes sweeten into crescent moons when she laughs, how her lips always find a way to ease back into their permanent pout, or how perfectly her chin nestles in between your fingers, there was nothing about her that didn’t compete to be your favorite.

But all of them have to settle for second best. 

Because your favorite thing about Yunjin is her eyebrows. 

They waltz between well-learned battle lines on her forehead, stretching emphatically behind boundaries they know other features did not dare cross, because compared to the rest of her face, they’re bold. They explode from sienna to whiskey and hook insultingly fast, threading down to points so sharp that it only feels right to dot them at the end like exclamation marks, putting a megaphone to the stories that her eyes tell. Only on Yunjin’s face does softness ring loudly. Eye contact morphs into reverie, amusement magnitudes up into hilarity, and tenderness becomes love.

You think it’s unfair.

It’s unfair that the reasons you could fall in love with her are endless. It’s unfair that she can simultaneously make the world the two of you share both so tiny, special, and unreplicable and then larger than life, ever-expansive, and infinite. And it’s unfair that she makes doing all of this at the same time look so effortless.

It’s a high bar to clear.

But you try anyway.

If not to at least get close to the standard she sets, for the sex.

-

The two of you are practically asking for it the time you get caught.

Standing at the far end of a HYBE practice room, it’s all so fitting: under the only lit floodlight, her on her knees, your cock at attention inches from her lips, tension teetering above climax — Huh Yunjin was going to give you a performance.

She’s kissing at the bottom of your shaft, lingering half a second longer each time as she slowly makes her way up your length. She mewls, ad libbing your grunts with soft, venom-laced yeah?s.

“You sound so pent up,” she starts, thumbing your cockhead counterclockwise.

You give her bits and pieces of an affirmative response: you let out a forced breath somewhere between a grunt and an exhale, grip your cock tighter, and pinch one of her nipples with your free hand. She translates.

“Mmm?” Yunjin purrs. She runs the flat of her tongue long across your entirety, flicking up as she reaches the tip.

You’re gripping at anything you can to stay alive. Trying to keep the facade up that you can compete. You splay your free hand and grab at her chest, playing dirty; grasping for a reaction. She plays your game and picks up the rhythm on your cock.

“You don’t want to just paint my face right now?”

Your breath is hot on your lips, tight in your chest. You’re parrying, blocking, countering. You look deep into the pools of honey bourbon in her eyes. You’re falling into the abyss.

Who fights fair with a poisoned blade? Yunjin? Not with the tears dotting the corners of her eyes; not with the drool running down her chin. Her cheeks are hollow as she swallows further and further down your cock. Her lips brush the base of your shaft. It feels good. She knows it feels good, the way she’s looking back up at you; the way you’re groaning.

She raises her eyebrows.

You cum.

And despite all of the preposition, conviction building, and white-knuckle–steeling, you think, you don’t really ever lose. Because the moment you ride out your orgasm, it’s great.

You can’t compete. You kick off the cliffhanger and throw yourself into freefall. You see white flashes where there used to be color, and the tightness under your stomach evaporates into a vacuum: hot, and all at once. You can fully exhale and for what has to be a full minute, you die.

And as usual, after she makes peace with killing you, Yunjin brings you back to life. 

She kisses the top of your cockhead before sitting back on her heels. Under the spotlight, sweat literally shimmering, she’s glowing, and she’s ethereal. Her tongue darts at the sides of her mouth before retreating, replaced by her bottom lip, equal parts pink and proud; satisfied and smug. She grabs at a small towel sitting next to her before beginning to clean up, dabbing at where you’d made a fucking mess out of her face.

But not before the door to the practice room opens. Your stomach shatters, and everywhere you just felt warm goes cold. A woman takes the empty space in the doorway, starts in your direction, and continues way too fast.

Your brain is instantly numb, and you scramble for something further than a stone’s toss away from the plot of a cheap porno. She slipped on her towel and grabbed my zipper on the way down! What do you mean Yunjin’s in this room with us? My COCK? God no, this is a thermometer that just looks a lot like- You don’t get far.

And before you try at reasoning that would effectively end you on the spot, the woman gets close enough. She yelps, producing a folder from behind her to try and shield you from any further consequences.

“Can you put-” she shakes her hands — folder and all — in your general direction, “everything away?”

Jolted awake, you scramble at your pants at your ankles, pulling anything your fingers brushed against in the direction you thought was closed. In hindsight, the zippers for your pants pockets probably didn’t matter much, but you zip those too, hoping the thought counted. Yunjin reappears next to you, the straps of her newly stretched tank top sitting awkwardly on top of her shoulders, now resembling probably anything else closer than they would elastic.

The woman gingerly peeks an eye over at the two of you and lets out a deep, full exhale. “Good, phew!”

“You would think we’d have that practiced by now,” she tuts, using what was once her plastic barrier to fan herself. She shoots a dirtier glare at Yunjin before turning towards you, and her expression visibly softens. “Oh! Same guy!”

And instantly, anything that would give off that she was disappointed just a moment ago dissipates, and is replaced by genuine admiration.

“I respect that you guys are trying to make the dating thing work!”

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

See, when you and Yunjin first started dating, you expected a little bit of onboarding. A little bit of catching up to speed: When were her parents’ birthdays? Was she allergic to anything? What were her favorite movies? For extra credit, you’re even brushing up on the idol industry: How long was a comeback promotion period? What was an aegyo? — the usual.

But you’re still taking notes to this day.

(It’s a Saturday a couple of months ago, and you and Yunjin are snaking through the aisles of a thrift store.

“And Chaewon’s seeing them?"

Okay: Yunjin’s snaking through the aisles of a thrift store. You’re trailing behind her, making sure you connected all the right dots together.

“Nope,” she says, eyes scanning a tattered band tee. Then, equally nonchalantly: “Idols get horny, too. Dating just makes things messier than they need to be.”

There’s an expectant pause, then Yunjin turns to look at you.

“Not that that’s a rule or anything,” she adds, placing a hand on yours as if to close the lid on any implication that tried to escape. “It’s just not most people’s style.”)

‘Given’ was probably the word for it, you think. The idol industry collected teenagers at their most formative periods, and where others their age condensed pre-calculus and high school breakups, they learned choreography and how to introduce themselves across the language spectrum. When other kids’ hormones flared up and made them deal with acne, they were digitally edited, scrubbed clean, and hidden behind locked doors. An industry formed on cherry-picking highlights had to have a gnarly underbelly — what would be taboo had to be a given — and it probably only helped that everyone had to look like sex.

So you try to catch up and blend in. Try to not get hung up on how casually sex, drugs, and secrets are laced in sentences. Try to take what Yunjin says at face value.

Still, as her manager leads you through the lobby towards the revolving doors, and you’re bowing profusely as you try to apologize for what she brushes off as not the first time and very normal, there’s a certain edge about it all. Like no matter how airtight Yunjin’s grip tried to be, that you were fortifying a house of cards with pillars of paper mâché.

And it sure as hell didn’t help that halfway through the lobby, you trade greetings with her fake boyfriend.

There were some things that practice wouldn’t get you used to.

-

So get this: your girlfriend was going to be one half of a manufactured dating scandal.

She stood too close to another idol at a variety show, and online forum sentiment was eating it up (or something like that). There it was: a full page, in bold. All over social media. Yunjin, and the boy with the jawline and swoon-inducing eyes (not that you were jealous), everywhere at once, and on the tips of everyone’s tongue. The buzz brought eyeballs to her group debut, and what better way to snowball that momentum than to confirm it?

Yunjin just didn’t know that you knew yet.

And for your sake, it was probably for the better that she thinks her secret was safe. Firstly, because you don’t know how to feel about how you get the information. You were both at the pinnacle of industry — dating an idol — and at the mercy of it — cobbling together information from vague fan accounts, building a list of social accounts that got leaks right; irony never played fair.

And secondly, because you didn’t know how to bring it up.

Truth be told, you don’t know how to feel about it. You don’t know how you’re supposed to feel about it. You’re equal parts ruptured and reductive. Half of you thinks it borders on trust, and the other half scolds you for thinking that way: that you signed up for this, and don’t know how to compromise. Half of you imagines what they talk about when you’re not around: how far he’ll go to convince the public of a relationship, and the other half thinks you have no self-esteem for stooping that low.

All of you yearns for Yunjin. Because where there were all the things that you had to get used to, there were also the FaceTimes. The phone calls of complete silence when she just wanted someone to listen but was too exhausted to recount what practice was just like. The joy on her face when she told you that was going to debut.

Imposing would be selfish. She deserved everything she worked for, and you don’t even come close to par. Under it all, through the glitz, you see the Huh Yunjin that you fall in love with over again every single day, and she had too tight of a grip on your heart for you to break hers.

So you don’t bring it up, and wait for her to.

-

It’s quite literally pathetic the way notifications on your phone evoke a physical response out of you. Like it fires a neuron, you’re diving hands outstretched every time you hear it chime.

Sure, it hasn’t paid off yet — you’ve dropped literally everything to be greeted by promotional emails, pushes about the weather, and pings on the latest discounts — but you’ll hold your breath.

Though as you pick yourself up off the floor from familiar disappointment at another non-Yunjin notification, you can’t say that you’re less confused. And you’ve caught yourself multiple times today way too deep in somber tangents for some of it not to start sticking.

The loudest of them all stemmed from the fact that it felt like the answer was implied. That if there was nothing to it, it’d be easy to talk about. That if it was anything like the dating mantra, since it didn’t apply to the two of you, Yunjin would address it at face value.

And tautologically, because she didn’t, it wasn’t.

-

It’s the end of the week when Yunjin finally texts you.

have dinner plans tonight mister? :)

You draft two texts. The first makes you sound sixteen: obnoxiously sad about the state of affairs of literally everything. The second makes you sound sociopathic: blunt, deflecting, and not enough emojis. You send a third.

Nope! What do you have in mind?

Before long, you’re sitting on a blanket overlooking the Hangang. The sun’s setting, playing a global game of cat and mouse: light spills through the gaps in willow trees, gazebos, and construction, highlighting pockets of parkground with its blessing of orange-red. You’re where the surface area’s the largest, like the paper bowls of ramen didn’t anchor the blanket down enough, and the sun’s rays are what did the trick.

Or, technically speaking: bowl of ramen.

Because while Yunjin was three-quarters of the way finished with hers, sneaking bites in as she took breaths in between practically spoiling her next comeback, yours was virtually untouched. You made do with spinning the floating egg in your bowl dizzy.

“You know,” Yunjin starts, “you didn’t have to come out if you weren’t hungry.”

You look up at her. Her head’s cocked at an angle, piqued such that it catches sunlight. In the glow, she’s beautiful.

“I’m a big girl now,” she emphasizes. “You can tell me no. I might cry myself to sleep after, but — you know — in a big girl way.”

Her eyes curl up into tiny moons like they always do, and you give her a weak response.

It’s tightrope thin. Yunjin’s prodding, expecting you to riposte, poking at things she knows will get a reaction out of you; you don’t bite. You’re both expecting an answer. Your heart is jackhammering at your chest, and between the punctuation, in the offbeats, you want to yell. You want to find out if your house of cards is built on sand.

-

The both of you are walking back towards HYBE, along the scenic route that you always take, and only someone purposely oblivious would guess that everything was fine.

“Do you,” Yunjin perks up, trailing off, “not like the comeback?”

You don’t say anything.

“Maybe,” she pokes again, “you’re grumpy because I haven’t been texting you?”

You feel her eyes peek at you then retreat. In your peripheral vision you see her purse her lips, nod, and then smirk. You hear a tiny breath.

“Are you,” and she lets out an exaggerated gasp, “seeing someone else?”

“I know about your scandal, Yunjin,” you blurt out, and it's too fast for either of your own goods.

There’s a beat. You both stop walking. You turn her way.

“Your dating scandal — your fake boyfriend — whatever.”

Yunjin isn't great at hiding her emotions — her eyebrows give it away. You see her face gradient across shock, then consideration, before landing on shame. Her eyebrows knit, and she can’t meet your eyes.

There’s another beat. You can hear your heart thump in your ears, and despite the autumn at night, you’re hot. You’re searching her face for a tell, some semblance of an answer; anything.

You’re imposing.

And for the first time in the past week, you’re thinking of her. Of her today and her in the past. Of all the work she put in to get to where she wanted to be. Of what she had to give up to have tonight with you. Of all the nights before this, and the many she had to cancel abruptly because work came up. Of her being here now, and you selfishly making this about yourself.

You’re imposing, and it feels like shit.

“I’m-,” Yunjin starts, voice shaky.

You look at her, and there’s tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up,” she continues slowly, and then the surface tension breaks. She shuts her eyes tight, and then she’s crying. “It’s in the contract we signed. It helps our comeback.”

You hear the Huh Yunjin that you first fall in love with. Before the glitz, before she had to pretend like she was an adult-

“I don’t know what to say.”

- before she had to hide anything from you.

(The two of you are in front of the HYBE building, and she’s giving you shit for how messily you eat. It’s a late spring, and Yunjin’s hair is shoulder-length and cherry oak. You’re missing a lecture on the pigeonhole principle, and she’s dodging her manager — sea salt ice cream was seasonal, after all.

“How did you get it on your nose?” She chides you, dabbing around your mouth with a scrunched napkin. “They should have you give your I.D. to see if you can handle a cone instead of a cup. Nine-year olds can do this better than you.”

“What if you don’t debut, Yunjin?”

You were always good at telling it like it was, even if you had to disregard social tact. But you had a point. Yunjin was going on her third trainee year, and internally, it didn’t look like it was going to be her last. 

There’s a couple of beats before she softens.

“I don’t know.”

It’s a side of her that really only you do. Under the spunk and the character she has to amplify, there is fear: that she’s taking too large a gamble, that she’d be perpetually behind if she didn’t make it, that it’d be safer if she just did what everyone else was doing.

She can’t meet your eyes, and she’s fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

“I just think things tend to happen for a reason,” she says, with more resolve than you expect. “And I don’t think it’s worth it to question it deeper than that.”

“How much of that is because you’re scared of the answer?”

There’s a pause, and the implication is clear.

“Do you always hate to have just a cute, fictional moment?” You look down at her, and she’s expecting it, staring back at you, eyebrows knit, lips in an exaggerated pout. “We can’t just — I don’t know — kiss and end things on the high note?”

You break, and let out the unflattering start to a laugh. She’s deflecting, and you know to let it go. In your heart of hearts, the two of you know that you’re both right. That there’s fear in uncertainty — a lot of it — but also hope. That big payoffs don’t come if you don’t gamble it all.

You lean down and kiss her on the nose.

She’s staring at you as she walks all the way back through the revolving doors, a smirk across her lips, and the unmistakably blue speck of sea salt ice cream on her nose. She’s yelling, letting you know to let the rest of your face have some ice cream, too.)

And you’re staring at her, wishing this time was half as picturesque. She doesn’t have the words; she doesn’t have to. Asking the hard question was your thing. She’s pleading, frantically, and her watery eyes are beckoning. You want to tell her that it’ll all play out, that things happen for a reason; you don’t have to — that was her thing.

Under the soft, streetlamp glow, you see the Yunjin the public doesn’t — the uncertainty, the gamble, the fear. You hear the desperation in the dark days; the resolve, unconvincing yet unabashed, that what was far out was not so; the throughline: that if she pretended to be convinced, maybe you would, too. 

You see the Yunjin you love, and you’re so fucking whipped.

You thumb the tear trailing down her cheek. You’re defeated, and it bleeds into your voice, but never going to pass on hitting where it hurts. “What happened to changing the idol industry?”

She chokes back a laugh through tears. “Okay,” she starts, and through the sarcasm she tries for — and how muddy it was between sniffles — she’s glad to hear your voice. “It’s the goddamn industry. What am I supposed to do in the debut video: admit defeat? Who’d watch that?”

“Sorry, it’s just — all of it — so dumb,” she adds for good measure, swiping at her eyes.

Hanging in the night, in the words unsaid, in between the watery sarcasm and the tension quickly evaporating, it’s clear. The two of you resolve a silent conversation. You’re punctuating her apologies with eye rolls, and she wants to hear you say you love her, but she knows that already. You say you don’t deserve her, and she calls you stupid.

Tears hot down your cheeks, you’re both laughing now, bouncing off of each other. And then, into the what’s next of it all: “I can try to get out of it,” Yunjin says.

It’s cathartic and real, and should disarm you.

But you say no.

Down to your cores, you and Yunjin were infinitely kindred. Intertwined forever, etched in the books of fate with permanent marker. You were after each other's hearts, molded from the same cosmic clay. You had each other in all the ways that mattered, and that would never change.

-

The last stop on your train home is when you get the notification.

are you headed home?

And in the moment, you catastrophize. It was in the middle of the weekend of her comeback. What was she thinking? Did something happen? How far were you away from HYBE?

But even if you played the same situation back a hundred times over, there was no way in hell you’d get to the conclusion that Huh Yunjin was in your foyer, behind your door, and wearing what didn’t leave much to imagination.

“Yunjin-” you try and start, before you’re kissed quiet. 

Her hands are on top of yours, leading, as you smooth down the creases of her vanilla crop top and run your thumbs down her body. Your fingers are fluid, filling the divots, tracing along the lines, running the valleys of muscle in the flat of her stomach. Between bouts, as her lips linger inches away from yours, for a moment uncaptured, you breathe in air nonvenomous, and try to grapple with it all, scrambling for something to hold on to before your brain short circuits.

You’re sinking, and you don’t know how to wrestle rights from rudimentaries. Yunjin’s eyes, glazed over, zero in on yours, and she kisses you again. Her lips are sweet and have a bite to them, yours smack as you swallow the venom thick on your tongue. She pulls away, you come up for air.

Standing in the soft, orange-yellow glow of light from the room adjacent, you see the Yunjin the public does — the siren, sultry and seductive: her eyes, soft, malleable, and unassuming — how she could convince you that your name was something else entirely if she looked at you head on — her lips, venom-laced and tantalizing — how she’d push the agenda. 

Except this time, you’re finally lucid, and you see the parallel. In the muscles — impressive in the light, but meek at the same time, like it split moments in the spotlight with softness — in the eyes — perpetually provocative, but infinitely innocent — in the perfect unattainable. Everything is polished, nudged purposefully in its direction. It’s all artificial, doctored, and done up.

Huh Yunjin is a product of industry, and you were going to fuck it out of her.

Yunjin’s smirk dismantles as you rip your hands from her grip. It completely falls apart as you pull her into you face first, thumbs across her cheeks. And as she tries to pull back, you’re keeping her where you want her, kissing into the poison. Her hands grab at your chest; at your dress shirt, half foregoing permission, pulling buttons apart, and half to steady herself as you move your dance deeper into your living room.

You’re leading this time, and as your knees bump brown velvet, you’re able to rasp: “Yunjin, on the couch.”

“How do you want me?” she whispers, breath hot on your lips.

“Legs apart.” You push her into the middle seat, and her hands are working at her shorts. There’s an audible zip, and they’re on your hardwood.

And as you’re kneeling down into the negative space in between Yunjin’s thighs, in the seconds, sultry and slow-burn, you catch a glimpse of her face. Spread across the finger in her mouth, eyes half-lidded, and eyebrows upturned, you think you see anticipation. Like you were going to rip Yunjin apart, and — straying away from what she was taught, coloring outside the lines — she might let you.

You test the theory: you take her into your mouth.

And you don’t think you’ve heard an exhale more pained. 

You’re generous — lapping at her heat through lace, grazing against her clit — and with variety — kissing her inner thighs, nipping at skin. Yunjin’s sensitive and unintelligible.

“Fuck,” she manages to get out, her hips bucking, searching for more of you. One of her hands tries to meet you where you are, to pull her panties to the side, to feel you on her. But you redirect her to where you want her to be: your free hand on her wrist, you lead her up her chest. And though reluctantly, she translates. Together, you’re undoing buttons, palming the fullness of her breast, and flicking at the hard bud of her nipple.

Eventually, you give Yunjin what she wants.

You’re cradling her thighs around your forearms, and at the angle you have her, suspended, supported by the small of her back, you swear she yelps. You draw her underwear to the side, and then Yunjin’s squealing. She’s whining, she’s so wet, she’s raking her nails at your scalp. Your mouth’s on her cunt, drawing long across her folds, tonguing the alphabet over her clit.

There’s this moment. She’s arching, thighs hooked tight at your arms, on her tiptoes. You poke your tongue into her heat, there’s a high note, and then Yunjin’s cumming in your mouth.

And as you coax her through it, tongue flat, letting her ride your mouth, you’re sharing a gaze. Morbid curiosity can’t stop her from peeking at the mess she’s making, and you want to see what it looks like to kill a goddess.

“Fuck,” Yunjin repeats, like it’s the only word she knows, as you lick your lips. Her head’s tucked into her chest, and the orange bask she’s painted in is competing with the blush sauntering across her cheeks.

“You’re so-” she starts, dodging your eyes, kicking out gingerly at you.

“Mm?” you beckon, easing yourself in between her legs, undoing the button at your pants, freeing your cock tenting at the fabric. “I’m so?” you press again, tugging her panties off, soaked beyond belief.

And how you have her under you, top unbuttoned, hanging off her shoulders, how she can’t meet your eyes, it’s apt. Like she’s disarmed. Like under the layers of polish and practice, purposefully put away; under the glitz, the expensive everything: multisyllabic and most likely mispronounced; under the spunk, in her personal space, when she wasn’t allowed to deflect, Huh Yunjin was naked, and like putty in your hands.

All it took was your mouth on her cunt.

And she sure as shit didn’t need to say anything to you to admit it. It’s hard to miss, the way she’s folding her legs behind your waist, the red across her cheeks deepening.

“Think about your answer,” you quip for good measure, and with your cock hovering inches away from her pussy: “I’m going to fuck you now.”

And truthfully, the confidence is more for you than it is for Yunjin. It’s far from your first time, but every time you slide your cock in Yunjin’s cunt, it’s like everything around you takes a collective deep breath. Time becomes measured in fractions of a second, and you’re clairvoyant and hypersensitive. The head of your cock pushes into her pussy, and it’s hot.

You inhale a breath, picking up the sex in the air.

You swear your vision inverts. There’s white where there used to be color.

You catch the entirety of Yunjin’s mewling, as she goes from fuck, please, and your cock into falsetto. She’s mixing your name with untranslatables.

You feel her fucking cunt.

Teeth gritted, you’re pairing hard and soft. You bury your length in her, the front of your thighs slapping the back of hers, and kiss her lips tender. You only taste Yunjin, and you kiss her like she’s lifeblood. It’s sweet: her lipstick, her taste still on your lips, the breaths you’re sharing. And as Yunjin breaks for air, you’re whispering in the negative space, breath hot.

“Yeah?”

And she’s nodding her head, uncontrollably. Agreeing to anything you put forward, before you even asked. Anything that kept your cock in her.

“You’re-” you try again.

Your hands wrap around her midriff, her hands wrap around your wrists.

“You’re such a-”

God, her fucking cunt.

Except you need to hear it. You want to hear her say it, airtight, with no room for implication to escape.

“Yunjin,” you finally manage, and then in whole: “You’re such a good girl for my cock, aren’t you?”

She’s nodding her head, mumbling. But that wasn’t good enough for you. You’re hilting, deep in her cunt, and steadying yourself, curling a hand around her neck. “Yunjin” — a little louder — “answer me.”

Her hands around your wrists tighten, and she lets out this moan. Like she’s trying to give you the answer you want, and frustrated that she can only whine. Finally, through the untranslatables: yes, yes, all for your cock-

But that wasn’t it. Your fingers are pressing into her throat, and you’re pounding into her, wet all over you; imprinting her into the sofa. “Yunjin,” and it’s dark. “This is all you want, isn’t it?”

And she’s doing everything she can to convince you. She’s pushing herself into your length, grabbing at your hands, and through eyes half-lidded, staring deep at you. To show you she can compete, to show you just how good she was — just for you. And through your grip: “Yes, fuck. God, yes — this is all I-”

But it’s not what you want to hear. You’re riding the line. You’re biting your tongue bloody. Yunjin’s cunt is suffocatingly tight against your cock. Your grip’s white-knuckle on her skin. You shut your eyes tight. You know what you wanted to hear.

“Your other boyfriend can’t give it to you like this, can he?”

And you spend all the luck that was supposed to last you this lifetime, because in a moment of lucidity, you pull out. But immediately after that, you’re left to your own devices, and of course, you cum.

It’s hot, and you feel like a rubber band twanged across the middle. Like everything tight is wrenched out of you, and then let go, left to ricochet on your spine, springing back and forth. Your ears are ringing, your toes are curling; you’re letting out an orgasm so deep, you’re only saved by the fact that your eyes are closed for half of it.

And as you stir, blinking vision back into your eyes, your brain coming back to center, you’re thinking back, and you realize what the fuck you just said.

Yunjin’s meeting you where your eyes are at. Your brain’s numb, her jaw’s frozen in this half-scoff, lips untouching. She raises her eyebrows, giving you somewhere between what the fuck and intrigued. It’s expectant. You opened this up, she’s saying, now what?

You’re standing in the sand, and your house of cards is crumbling. You’re toeing where you expect the line to be, can’t find it, and don’t need to look to know it’s long behind you. Your chest is tight, and the implication is still in the air. You’re scrambling for something: something to walk it back, something in between the lines, anything to drive a stake through the premise and kill it entirely.

Yunjin is less patient. She ventures into the unknown, since you won’t. “Has this been about that the entire time?”

“Yunjin,” and you’re honest, preemptively reaching your hands out to her. “I don’t know why I said that.”

You’re looking straight into her eyes, completely wide. Her eyebrows pinch, and there’s a couple of beats. You know you should take them, to fill in the blanks; not to let the implication linger. But before you do: “I thought about my answer,” Yunjin starts, lowering her fingers to where you left yourself on her stomach.

And only after she runs her forefinger across her tongue, only after she cleans it of cum: “You’re so good, and no one can give it to me like you do.”

Spread across the bite in her lip, eyes half-lidded, and how she’s staring at you through her lashes, the implication’s crystal. And you would probably literally short circuit, if not for the second wind that was Yunjin licking you off of her fingers as she doubled down.

It all crescendos. She’s flipped over, and you’re pounding her into the couch, half to punctuate any sentences that implied she wasn’t completely yours, and the other half because her cunt was still so goddamn tight. The upholstery’s harmonizing, the hardwood exhaling on her offbeat.

You’re gripping Yunjin’s hips, bottoming out in her cunt at an angle, pulling her back into you. And she’s writhing, whining, taking your cock deeper and deeper.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she’s saying, and it irks you a little more than it should.

“Yunjin,” you spit, and you’re pressing your thumbs into her skin. “Shut up and take this dick like a good girl.”

And when you’re both pressing the buttons-

“Who else can fuck you like this, Yunjin?”

no one no sorry so sorry all yours this pussy yours you fuck me so- so hot when you’re jealous

“Yeah? You want me to? You’re such a good girl for me, baby,”

yes so good only for you so messy all over your cock fuck cum in me cum in me please i’ve been such a good girl please

- the gray area might as well be a chasm.

Because after you cum inside her, Yunjin drooling over your sofa, breath shuddering, leaking all over your cock, you have a mountain to climb. Physically — how you’re crumpled over her, exhausted, entangled — emotionally — how you’ll both put a cap on this in its entirety — and all of the rest of the above.

You’ll wait for her to bring it up.

-

Yunjin’s wrapped in your dress shirt, two sizes too big, and her head’s on your chest. Nothing short of Herculean, you’re in bed, and under polyester.

“He has a girlfriend, you know,” she says.

“Huh?” you manage intelligibly.

“My scandal.” Yunjin motions under the sheets, like the word needed air quotes. “Cute little thing. Works at an animal hospital. Always the loudest voice in the fanchants.”

You’re stunned, and don’t know what the right line of conversation is. “How are they taking it?”

“Probably makes their sex hotter, too.”

Dating made everything so much messier than it needed to be.

-

Two weeks after their comeback, the scandal breaks.

The official post is tame, but knowing netizens — a look at the comments confirming your suspicions — they’re feral. It’s a collage of three photos that look like they were taken from fifty feet away, but unmistakably of Yunjin an arm’s length away from another figure. They’re on a blanket overlooking the Hangang; she’s cuddled up in one of your hoodies, two sizes too big; and in the third photo, enlarged in post for emphasis, Yunjin’s nestled in his arm, selling the relationship pretty goddamn well.

You open an alt account and leave a hate comment.

LET’S BE HONEST HE DON’T DESERVE HER 💀💀💀😭😭😭

---

:)

[papaya-twinks]

flip it back - l.n

Warnings: Angst, Fluff!

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N panics and makes a BIG mistake

A/N - Little project I did with @maxiemclaren, she’s doing the alternate with Oscar and I’m doing it with Lando, check hers out too xx

“Hey Y/N,” Oscar smiled at you, sitting beside you in his drivers room as you smiled at him. “Hey, how was media?” you asked, putting your phone down. “More rumours about us dating,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes. “Again? Do they ever get tired?” you snorted, you did like Oscar, just not as a boyfriend, simply a friend. “Do you even like anyone?” he laughed, turning to you as your cheeks filled with colour.

In truth, you had the biggest, stupidest crush on his teammate, Lando. Not that you’d ever even think Lando would want anything to do with you. “I-I do,” you said, Oscar could probably tell from your reaction to the question anyways. “Wait, really?” he said, eyes wide, “who?”. You opened your mouth, no sound coming out. “Promise you won’t snitch,” you pleaded as he firmly nodded. “Lando,” you said quietly, only to frown at Oscar’s smirk.

“Knew it,” he smirked, seeing your shock. “I’ve seen the way y’all talk. He definitely likes you back,” the Aussie said as you scoffed, “yeah right, have you seen him?”. You and Lando had a fairly decent friendship, you got on well and talked a lot. He messaged you a few times a day, if it was to send you reels, memes or just to chat. You didn’t mind, but he was surely just a celebrity crush.

“Hey Y/N,” a voice said, behind you, making you look up, seeing Lando. “Oscar, media need you again,” the Brit said, watching his team mate groan. “Sorry dude, it’s about the race,” he grimaced at Oscar. “Media making up shit with you and Oscar again,” Lando said, sitting down after Oscar left. “Yeah, they never get tired of it,” you rolled your eyes. “They’re pretty darn annoying,” Lando laughed, making you chuckle.

“D’you like Oscar?” he asked, turning to you. “As a friend,” you confirmed. “More than that? D’you like anyone, Y/N?” he asked, hands clasped together. Immediately, you flushed. You couldn’t tell him the truth, you’d die of embarrassment. “I…yeah, I, um, I like Oscar,” you said hurriedly, making him nod slowly. “Oh, right,” he nodded simply, “I see,”. You gulped. You’d just lied. “I’ll be off, Y/N,”.

Lando had changed. He no longer messaged you during the day, only sending simple things such as: ‘busy, practise’ or ‘busy, gym’. Why had he changed? Did he not like Oscar? You felt horrible for lying. But of course, the only way to remedy a lie was to tell the truth. You’d made a plan. You would bring Oscar and Lando to one place, and you’d tell them the truth.

And then you’d leave and probably never talk to Lando again. Rather that than him living and thinking you liked Oscar. So you texted them. Oscar, as usual, with his usual ‘alright y/n, I’ll see you then <3’ message. Lando - a simple acknowledgment in the form of a thumbs up emoji. “Hey you guys,” you smiled awkwardly at the pair of them. “Hey Y/N,” Oscar said brightly, much opposing to Lando’s, “hi,”.

You still didn’t realise why he sounded so…downbeat ever since the ordeal. But anyways, you had a matter at hand, and you intended to deal with it. Maybe savour it slightly, this was going to be the last moment you saw Lando and got to speak to him without dying of embarrassment. “So, I told you guys who I like,” you began. “Mhm, you told Oscar about your little crush on him?” Lando snorted. “Mate, what? What the hell you on about?” Oscar rolled his eyes.

“Dude, don’t give me that crap. She told me she liked you,” Lando raised an eyebrow. “Wait, listen,” you said, before Oscar could retaliate. “What?” Lando asked, frowning at Oscar, before turning to you. “I told Oscar I liked you,” you said quietly, not making eye contact with either of them as Lando’s jaw dropped. “You told my team mate you liked me, and told me you liked him?” Lando said, trying to wrap his mind round it.

“Yeah, I guess,” you shrugged, cheeks flushed. “Wait, so he thinks you like me?” Lando blinked, “yes,”. He paused. “And I think you like him,” he continued, “yes,”. He paused again. “Oh shut up, dude,” Oscar shoved his team mate lightly as he interrupted his third question. “Better question, which one of us do you actually like?” Oscar asked, squirting. “I mean, I-,” you started, not sure how you were gonna say it.

“I don’t wanna say it,” you said, hugging your body and looking down. “You gonna make us pull it out of you?” Lando asked, blinking down at you again. “I dunno,” you shrugged, cheeks red. “Oh Y/N,” Oscar shook his head, “we really have to interrogate it out of you?”. You didn’t like this, it made you uncomfortable, and soon you’d have to drop the bomb. “Is it actually either of us?” Lando asked, tapping his chin.

“Yes,” you nodded, looking up at him as he continued to think. “Does he have brown hair- ow!” Lando gasped as Oscar elbowed him. “I dunno, mate, I think he has blonde hair,” the Aussie said sarcastically, making you laugh. “That was a purposeful question, I wanted her to laugh,” Lando rubbed his ribs as you raised an eyebrow, he definitely wasn’t intending for you to laugh. “Is he ugly?” Lando continued. “What?” you gasped, neither of them were ugly.

“If it’s a yes, sheesh, good luck with Oscar, girl,” Lando said, narrowly dodging another jab in the ribs. “C’mon Y/N, be straight with it,” the Aussie said. “It’s not me, I know that,” Oscar scoffed. “It’s Lando, and you want to say it, I can tell,” he said, pulling your hands from your face. “Wait, what?” Lando asked, eyes wide, “you like me?”. You turned to him, “yes, I know, it’s embarrassing you’re probably horrified and I-,” he cut you off.

“No fucking way. Y/N, you like me?” he repeated, he was so gonna laugh at you. “I…yes?” you shrugged. “You’re having a laugh. Nuh uh, you’re having a giggle,” he backed away, this was worse than you had pictured. “Y/N Y/L/N, you like me back?!” he said, his lips forming into a smile as your eyes widened. “Back? You like me too?” you asked, a smile on your lips too.

“Fuck yeah, have you seen you?” his hand covered his mouth as Oscar snorted. “Right, well whilst you two flirt the fuck out of each other,” Oscar said, “I’m gonna mentally prepare myself for this,”. Lando raised an eyebrow at you, then Lando. “For what?” he blinked. “Lando, if you may follow me for the ‘if you hurt my best friend’ talk…” the Aussie trailed off, gripping Lando’s shoulder as he gulped. “So long Y/N,” Lando grimaced as you burst into laughter.