#cats fucking think like three years olds

[bat-the-misfit]

having a cat with cancer is not enough i needed to get in even more panic bc i didn't see another cat escaping through the window and walking on a slippery roof he almost fell and broke a leg or died or smth

like wow how can i not be feeling like a trash when smth could have happened to him???

[flopbftheo]

will i ever stop seeing my childhood cat in every neighborhood cat i encounter or not

[arolesbianism]

I’ve been having a rough few days, but I’ve been feeling a bit better so I decided to make some lil thingies for some spiraling upwards kitties :3

[steelycunt]

people who treat hamsters like disposable pets and seem almost proud about not caring what happens to them. i hope you are shot btw

[sonicenvy]

ok so, like in all seriousness, I need any and all of the children™ following me to know this about the internet in days of yore. So like a major precursor to scrolling through dumb posts on social media sites was chain emails. This was a formative part of my early internet social experience™.

Basically someone you were friends with sent you an email with a subject line that was something like FWD: FWD: Silly Dogs. This email almost always originated from some other person that you did not know that was sometimes even located in a different country than you. It spread like MLMs (Multi-Level Marketing Schemes) wish they could spread. The originator of the email would have sent it on blast to everyone in their address book, and many, many, many people who received it (and enjoyed the content) forwarded it everyone in their address books. Sometimes people added comments onto it. You could see the entire FWD chain, which included the email addresses of basically everyone who'd ever received this email before you. This included, again, many people that you did not know.

Some chain emails were the classic dumb "FWD this email to 10 people for xyz good thing to happen to you" or "FWD this email to 10 people in your address book or xyz bad thing will happen to you." Some of these emails were literally just a collection of funny, interesting, informative, or downright weird pictures with no sources. Some of them were "games" where you'd add something to the email chain that built on whatever the person who forwarded it to you built. Many of these emails have very similar formats to modern "reblog this post and say xyz in the tags," or "reblog this post for good luck," posts.

Here are some screenshots of one such email that I received in 2009, to give you an idea of this:

There would be, sometimes like 100+ email address blocks like the below before the actual email even started....

The above email contained 15 silly dog pictures btw. also, as was sometimes typical of such an email the end part of the email would have weird links to people's company websites that they had in their default email signatures. sometimes they had telephone #s too. Sometimes the bottom of the email just straight up had an advertising link for some kind of service that was attached to the originator's (or someone else in the chain's) email account provider because they had a free email account instead of one that they paid for. The internet was a very different place back then y'all....

As a sidenote, you used to have to PAY to have an email address with good features. When gmail beta came out in 2004 it changed the email game. It was pretty exclusive in the beginning so not a lot of people had it. By the time I got my invite and joined gmail beta 2008 it was almost to full release. That said, I didn't really start using my gmail until 2011 though because gmail still had, uh, issues at the time. Also because of the fact that I was still heavily into yahoo IM and like, yahoo answers. My email address before my gmail was an email address that my mom had bought for me when i was, like a toddler in 1999 with her dial-up internet service. I'm not sure why she bought all her VERY little kids email addresses they absolutely wouldn't be using for a few more years but there you have it. I sent my first email in 2004, which was, like fucking 20 years ago lmao. thinking today about how my first ever emails are older than a lot of kids on this site now.... fucked up because I'm not quite yet 30, so I'm like "don't let that be THAT fucking long ago..."

So yeah, uh, that's your internet history lesson for today kids.

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

funniest disney history facts i can think of atm

literally EVERYBODY thought the lion king was gonna flop and pocahontas would be their greatest movie ever made. people begged to ditch lion king and work on pocahontas.

the reason robin hood ends so abruptly is that there was an actual ending planned and storyboarded but the crew spent too long arguing about everyone’s fursonas to finish animating it

madam mim was way less comedic in the original book but because her character was too similar to maleficent (who was in their latest film at the time), the sword and the stone crew decided to differentiate her by making her fucking hilarious

when making a goofy movie, jeffrey katzenberg (studio chairman at the time) told bill farmer to give goofy “a normal voice.” farmer, who had been voicing goofy for eight years at that point, including in the goof troop show that a goofy movie was a sequel to, was very confused. after making an attempt they decided to scrap that note completely.

as of march 2023, farmer is still voicing goofy, and tony anselmo has been voicing donald since 1986. the 2017 reboot of ducktales, which was slated as “wanting to do for donald what goofy movie did for goofy,” featured both actors as those characters; they had also been doing the voices for the original ducktales and goof troop/goofy movie. all the times goofy and donald interact in the 2017 ducktales however, donald was voiced by guest star don cheadle as a joke

current voice of mickey mouse bret iwan has stated that he has attempted to play kingdom hearts and did not do well

disneyland’s current world of color halloween overlay features a plot that is basically “the disney villains simultaneously adopt a goth kid” and i love it

people will make jokes about “well math says that the beast would’ve been 11 when he was cursed” well that was actually the original intent, but a flashback scene of baby beast was scrapped because he looked “too much like eddie munster”

when disney sent a representative to pixar to check on toy story production, she was like “this is all great! what style of music are you thinking” and they were like “for what” “for the songs” “we uh. we weren’t gonna have. any songs” and she went dead silent and then went “i have to make a call” and left the room

saludos amigos and the three caballeros were made as ww2 propaganda. the government commissioned disney to make movies to make latin america like them so that they wouldnt side with the nazis and provide them an in to invade, and latin america really liked donald duck so

saludos amigos was apparently the first time many usamericans realized that latin american people were like. people. film historian alfred charles richard jr said that the film “did more to cement a community of interest between peoples of the americas in a few months than the state department had in fifty years”

while latin america generally liked both films, chilean cartoonist rené rios boettiger fucking hated the chilean segment of saludos amigos, seeing the main character of pedro the plane as a weakass bitch, so in response he created condorito, the most popular comic character in all of latin america

disney wanted to adapt ts eliot’s old possum’s book of practical cats. his widow adamantly refused, and then sold the rights to andrew lloyd webber bc he wanted to make it sexy and she said “tom would’ve liked that”

in case you haven’t seen the defunctland, walt disney wanted epcot to be a futuristic utopia where he was basically the dictator. then he died so they just made it another theme park

speaking of defunctland the first defunctland video was on disneyworld’s alien attraction and please watch it. please it’s so funny

after the huge failure of the black cauldron disney was going to shut down its animation department. the department tried to convince them to keep them alive by showing them the one scene they had finished for the next movie– the mouse burlesque from the great mouse detective. it worked

the only attraction the black cauldron ever got was in tokyo disneyland where they put a tour under cinderella’s castle where everyone had to escape the disney villains trying to kill them, only to end at the horned king and the cauldron, who would try to sacrifice them to satan. this tour was popular but was closed in the early 2000s as the tunnels didn’t fit earthquake regulations and i want it in disneyworld so bad

walt disney once referred to his unionizing workers, led by goofy’s creator art babbitt, as “commie sons of bitches,” and i want a mickey build-a-bear that calls me a commie son-of-a-bitch whenever i squeeze its paw

[tojisun]

!! it’s very silly and unserious and the only reason it’s long is because it’s so vivid in my head. unedited as hell </3

nosy neighbours tf 141 got me giggling. and it’s not even inherently sexy nor attractive, it’s really just them being in people’s (or a person’s) business.

thinking about how, in retirement, they still bought a house together because it’s so odd to have separate lives. and so they bought one in the suburbs, with five bedrooms and four baths, and a really big backyard. kyle picked up gardening so the backyard was not just a plus but a damn requirement.

so they move in, not giving a damn about that one old WASP couple across the street watching them all with a sneer because apparently moving in with your mates is unusual. well, whatever. fuck them.

then they meet their new neighbour. you’re single—divorced, price would tell them later—whose life is centred around your 9 to 5 job at an office in the city which you wake up at 5am for.

you leave the house at 6:30am and then amble back home when it’s pushing 8pm. it’s a boring life; a boring routine. not even your little front lawn of cared-for wild flowers managed to hold their attention longer than a day.

so with that said, they’d like to go on a record and say that it’s all johnny’s fault.

friday evening, he started the game by saying, “she bought a baguette.” he paused. “and a bottle? it's shaped like lube?”

john blinked, setting his book down. “what.”

mactavish shrugged, still peering from the crack in the curtains. kyle walked in then, his apron all dirtied. “hey, i’m craving a baguette.”

johnny laughed and looked at price like price was supposed to get something from that. of course he didn’t, but johnny’s always been good at carrying the momentum so, to no one’s surprise, he repeats the observation three days after the previous one.

“bag’o coal and lemon bread. what the hell.”

“that’s a disgusting dinner combo,” kyle chirps, switching the channels.

simon throws a pillow at him because he had been watching a documentary about moths when kyle changed the program without asking him.

“it’s just monday,” john finally replies, cementing his participation in the game. “why’s she buying lem—did she not grocery shop?”

johnny looks at him, wide-eyed. “that’s a good question, sir.” then he turns, ignoring them again to peer at their neighbour. john’s sure you’re back in your home so he really doesn’t know what johnny’s watching at that point.

simon was successful at wrestling the remote control back to him, and the program’s returned to the moths.

.

thursday evening, two and a half weeks after monday’s lemon bread and bag of coal, the game picks up again.

“who the hell makes a rug purchase during the weekdays?” kyle asks, his voice teetering between fascination and concern.

“how long’s the rug?” johnny replies, all of them watching as kyle stands in front of that slip of window they now use for ‘bird watching.’

kyle spreads his arms out—2.5 ft.

“huh,” johnny says. “for the toilet, you reckon?”

“probably for the cat, actually,” simon cuts in.

“what cat.” john doesn’t even know who asked that, but really—what cat?

“a round thing,” simon answers. “grey fur.”

“aww,” johnny croons. “that’s cute.”

john sighs and turns back to the morning paper’s crossword puzzle for the day.

.

you don’t join the neighbourhood’s annual summer barbecue party much to their disappointment. although, in all fairness, john understands your decision because they wouldn’t have gone to it anyway had they not found out that the host this year was going to be that WASP couple who still sneered at them every chance they get.

the wife, of course, couldn’t turn them away in front of the other neighbours who particularly loved kyle and, shockingly, simon so there they are, eating what is begrudgingly some good ribs while listening to the neighbourhood gossip.

and while each story was riveting, nothing could honestly hold a candle to their ‘bird’ and your peculiar grocery runs.

.

one evening, you come home with a man. john tells them it’s your ex-husband, admitting to them that yes, he’s now used up their once-a-month pass to accessing ‘special’ resources with regards to finding more about you.

“think they’re fuckin’?” johnny asks, no longer feigning disinterest.

kyle groans because it had been more than a minute now since johnny dropped a card from his stack; they tried their best to be patient as they waited, thinking mactavish needed more time since, apparently, he’s never played cards before—growing up as a catholic boy, he’s always been told that any form of gambling was a gateway to eternal damnation.

john didn’t have the heart to tell him that you didn’t have to make bets to be able to play cards.

“maybe,” simon replies, ignoring kyle’s angry grumbling. “why else would she bring him home? her house ain’t really a wonder.”

“…how do you know that?” kyle asks, his words measured and slowed.

simon blinks, then he sniffs, before looking away.

“hey!” mactavish screams, catching on. “we agreed no tampering with anythin’ of ‘ers!”

“yeah? well tell ‘at to cap’n too—he was already there when i broke in.”

johnny turns to him with a theatrical betrayed look. kyle drops his head on the table because the game’s been fully abandoned now.

“sir,” johnny says, his voice airy like he’s speaking mid-gasp. “you didn’t.”

john licks the back of his teeth, then, “jus’ wanted to see ‘er cat, s’all.”

.

the ex-husband leaves three hours later with a familiar rug tucked to his side.

.

“huh,” simon murmurs, his voice so faint that john almost missed it. “tulips and tuna today.”

johnny and kyle would’ve loved the update but the two are away for the week.

john messages it to the group chat.

suds (19:21)

> holy shit she’s improving.

.

oddly enough, it took them six months since they moved in for them to finally talk to you.

or, well, for you to talk to them.

“i’m havin’ a yard sale tomorrow,” you say after the introductions have passed, your lips tugged up in a shy smile.

john honestly couldn’t even remember how he used to envision you—old age caught up to him and for a whole while, you were nothing but a coloured blob in his eyes since they turned out to be more damaged than expected—but whatever that had been was erased the moment you stood before them.

shy and awkward, your back slouched just a little like you’re trying to curl into yourself in the face of their rapt attention, but even then you’re beautiful.

“yeah?” kyle asks, smiling; the first to break out of the trance you put them into. “and would y’need help, pretty miss?”

“oh, you,” you murmur, strained laughter peeling from your lips. “and yeah, i do. would that be alright? i tried moving my old couch downstairs and my back almost gave out. i swear, i thought i was going to see the lord today.”

johnny laughs, loud and booming. “well we’re glad that you didn’t die today, otherwise who would take care of little truffle, huh?”

john barely stopped himself from heaving out a loud sigh, an attempt made more challenging when he caught the way kyle whirled his head to glare at mactavish, the act not any less subtle since it startled you too. simon grumbles something incoherent—it’s lost amidst johnny’s petering laugh and your swelling horror.

“…how, exactly, do you know my cat’s name?”

[februarys-wednesday]

i like the idea that bruce just shows up to league meetings with his birds with absolutely no explanation offered

i mean this man frequently stalks his coworkers and knows everything that's happening in their personal lives and i think he'd forget that HE is the weird one for doing it and not everybody automatically knows when he's acquired a new child

so he just shows up at the watchtower with a new bird and literally says nothing about it . just sits at his chair with the latest robin standing next to him and literally doesn't acknowledge that anything is different and it gets even more confusing when they change their costumes and names 😭

like

20-something bruce: and containing this may be a matter of-flash did you have a question

barry: uh. yeah. sorry, what is that?

20-something bruce: (glancing at 9 yr old dick who has been next to him for 45 minutes) that's robin. obviously. as i was saying,

-

early 30s bruce, who hasn't shown up with a robin for a few years, entering with a nightwing and a jason todd robin:

barry:

diana:

hal:

j'onn:

bruce: what.

hal:

hal: do you like clone them or

-

mid 30s bruce, quietly talking with a clearly-not-sixteen-years-old robin in the corner after being without one for two years:

hal:

diana:

barry:

j'onn:

clark:

bruce:

tim:

bruce: this one followed me

-

late 30s bruce zeta-beaming in with a nightwing, a slightly older robin, and an absolutely BUILT man in a red hood:

barry: did you hire a bodyguard

bruce: no.

barry: whos mr red over there

bruce: you don't remember my second one???

barry:

hal:

diana:

j'onn:

clark:

barry: did. did that one not die

jason: got better

-

later 30s bruce, quietly showing around a blonde robin:

hal:

bruce: don't ask.

hal: i didn't say anything

-

40 yr old bruce, making intense, unbroken eye contact with a black shadow:

clark, leaning over to talk to tim: what are they doing

tim, not looking up from his fancy ipad: do i look like i know that

-

red robin popping in unnanounced in the middle of a league meeting: batman is alive.

barry: who the FUCK are you???

-

batman, some minutes later, trailed by what is CLEARLY a new robin: did red robin happen to pass through here????

barry: i have several questions

-

no-longer-lost-in-the-time-stream bruce, talking to batgirl, black bat, and the signal:

hal: did you get three more.

bruce: no. just one.

hal: i shouldn't have asked, my bad

-

mid 40s bruce wayne, stepping out of the zeta tube: sorry i'm late

diana: not to worry. let's get start-

bruce: i have a few more coming behind me

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

jason: hi

cass: 👋

diana:

diana: ok should we st-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

dick, holding damian like a scowling, sopping wet cat: bruce he's not feeling polite today

damian: HISSS

bruce: okay does he need to go back?

dick: he said he's fine but hes just not feeling polite

diana:

diana: is that the las-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

steph: b i need a hair tie

diana:

diana: so can-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

duke: b did i miss rolecall

diana: no, signal, you did not. let's-

zeta tube: 🌀🌀🌀

tim: b alf is mad at you

bruce: why

hal: it's like a fucking clown car

steph: you didn't eat breakfast

tim: you didn't eat breakfast either

steph: shut.

damian: HISSSS

jason: wing. if you do not keep that brat quiet-

dick: hes a BABY!!!!!

duke: you didn't eat breakfast either, timothy

jason: hes a BITCH!!!!!

tim: who the fuck told you????

cass: :)

hal: (storming off, in tears), YOU HAVE TOO MANY CHILDREN.

[mv1simp]

Into It ♥️ Part 1 of 3

Max Verstappen x Girlfriend!Reader

i'm into it, yeah, says she wanna fuck me later, girl i'm into it

the one in which you’re newly dating your gorgeous boyfriend, max verstappen, after months of pining and flirting. he’s the perfect gentleman, so romantic and treats you just right! now how do you tell him that you’re desperate for mad max to come out and rail ur insides without sounding like a freak 😚

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut but this time with some plot lol, reader essentially is just trying whatever tactic she can to seduce her bf and make mad max come out in bed, size kink, dom/sub elements, 4k WC

PART TWO HERE ♥️ PART THREE HERE ♥️

You look up blissfully at your boyfriend, Max, from where you’re tucked into his side, his strong arm scooping you against him and keeping you warm. You’re rewatching an old classic, Shrek 2, as you wind down from your dinner plans with your friends earlier than evening. Lando and Daniel had joined as well, teasing you and Max mercilessly about how you two were finally together and that the whole F1 grid had been placing bets on when you would make it official.

You had flushed in a combination of embarrassment and giddiness, unable to hold back a matching laugh with Max who had looked over at you with an adoring gaze, his own heart warm with happiness about finally being able to call you his own. You two had run in the same Monaco circles for years - with him as a driver and you on the McLaren legal team. Though initially you only saw glimpses of him through paddock interviews or social media posts celebrating his multiple winning streaks, the two of you had become a lot closer the past couple years through his friendship with Daniel and Lando. Soon enough you were joining them at weekly Padel sessions, leading to you and Max exchanging funny cat memes or popping online to decimate him and Lando on a Call of Duty stream and then eventually onto deeper conversations, from his latest breakups with his model girlfriends or quiet ramblings with a bottle of wine outside a booming party about the pressures of demanding fathers.

Of course, tongues were wagging anytime you two were seen together - especially when Max had his first time in years being single for months before you had gotten together. You couldn’t deny that you had always thought the older Dutch man was incredibly handsome and funny, always full of interesting facts about niche topics, and you found his intensity and passion for his racing career so attractive, as a high powered professional yourself as a lawyer for a luxury car brand’s executive board. But you had always curbed any growing feelings you had for Max, paranoid that it would compromise the strong friendship you two had developed. Besides, given his affliction for dating vogue models, and his respectful gazes or polite touches compared to the much more flirtier ones from other drivers on the grid, you had never thought max considered you attractive.

But somehow, despite both your busy schedules, despite max being across the globe, you always ended up calling each other first to share sad, happy, or even just boring news. You had never once imagined that after winning his most recent championship the first person he came looking for in his celebrations that night was you, his face flushes from champagne and hugging you tightly, his eyes shining with warmth as he told you he couldn’t have won it without you and suddenly you could no longer deny the rapid palpitations of your heart when you looked up at him. And as he looked at you, thumb gently brushing across your cheeks, warm breaths mingling together as your faces drew closer, he couldn’t deny himself any longer either - Schat, all I’ve been thinking about is what I really wanted for my prize instead of this trophy. Can I kiss you now?

And the rest was history. Fast forward a few months and it’s still so surreal to call Max your boyfriend, you think, as you come back to the present, watching him fondly as he chuckles at the movie. Dating him has been a dream - he’s your first serious relationship, your standards too high to waste time with any of the subpar guys you had gone on first dates with before - and wow, did Max know exactly how to knock all of those standards out of the park. He would always drive and pick you up anywhere you wanted, in his sleek luxury cars that had pedestrians gawping, one large hand on your thigh and asking how your day had been. You had literally stopped taking your wallet out anymore as Max always slammed down his black Amex at any opportunity to pay for you - dinners, trips, jewellery and luxurious shopping sprees - and although the staunch feminist in you had initially disagreed you couldn’t help but feel so cared for, so looked after - knowing all you needed on a night out was one hand around his arm and the other clutching a pretty little Chanel purse he had picked up for you at last month’s race weekend, with a matching Dior lip gloss inside. If you were ever having a hard day at work he would always order your favourite foods straight to your apartment, where he would meet you and bitch and vent alongside you about whichever client had been giving you grief.

And my god, the sex - THE SEX with your man had been absolutely amazing. Considering the difference in your past number of relationships, max was keenly aware that he had a lot more experience than you and was so unbelievably sweet and patient - letting you take all the time you needed to go slow and work up the confidence gradually to ask for what you wanted for him. Your first time together had been incredibly romantic, a night at a private house he had booked out for the week on the Italian coastline. After a candlelit dinner and a bottle of wine you found yourself in his lap on the outdoor chaise, soft kisses turning more and more heated, max whispering are you sure, liefje? If you’re not ready-

to which you had cut him off with another deep kiss, pleading for him to make you his once and for all ❤️ His eyes had flickered with a deep intensity at your possessive statement before softening out to adoration again as he gently unlaced your dress and trailed kisses down your body, worshipping you. you’d both cum embarrassingly faster than you’d have liked, high off the feeling of one another, max cleanly finishing inside a condom he threw away before carrying you in his arms to the bedroom inside. Since then, you’d both figured out you had a combined very high sex drive, using every opportunity in your schedules to make love, max never hesitating to always make sure you came first, either on his fingers, tongue or cock. You had the perfect boyfriend. Truly. You couldn’t ask for anything more, yet -

- yet, here you were, feeling like an absolute bitch about the recurrent thoughts that had planted in your mind as you watched max come out of the bathroom freshly showered, getting ready for bed after finishing a gaming stream with his mates following your Shrek 2 viewing. The issue was that your boyfriend - your incredibly hot, sexy, tall Dutch boyfriend - was so stupidly enticing but so oblivious that he has no idea what he did to you. You bit your lip as you looked at him, hair dripping wet, distractingly saying something to you while texting on his phone - but your mind was only fixed on how big and strong Max looked. Your boyfriend was much bigger than you, almost towering over you at 6”1 with your 5”1 frame. His athletic training currently during the season meant he had been looking extra delectable lately, defined abs, thick muscular thighs and a broad shoulder and back that narrowed down to a narrow (or as Lando joked, slutty) waist, highlighted now by the grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips that did nothing to hide the sizeable bulge in between his legs. It was undeniable that he was packing, to the point where you had called it his third leg after first seeing him naked, making him laugh but also take even more care everytime he entered you - you were a lot smaller than his previous partners, after all. He always made sure his pace was gentle and slow, avoiding fully entering you too much in worry of causing you pain. Truly, your boyfriend was too sweet - everything he did was to avoid causing your any pain or distress - which is why you felt too embarrassed to ask him directly to be rougher with you when he was simply looking out for your comfort. It has been perfect for you initially, but now you felt more adjusted to his size, and each time you slept together you felt yourself becoming more and more desperate for Max to be just a little bit rougher, a little bit more controlling. What would he think when his usually sweet, happy go lucky girlfriend admitted she actually fantasised about him completely ruining her? So, of course, you being you - an ambitious feminist - have decided to hatch a conniving strategy to seduce your boyfriend into giving it to you just right!! 💕

Starting tonight - you had already planned to spend the night at Max’s, relaxing after the hectic work week you had both had. Often, you wore his comfortable hoodies that dwarfed you and smelt just like him as you cuddled in bed. Instead tonight you wore an angelic pink lace Agent Provocateur nightie, bows and all, pushing your cute tits up on display for him and complimenting your caramel skin perfectly. Enough to drive Max crazy, right? Sitting against the plush pillows, you had been reading one of your steamy dark romance novels - your latest outlet these days while you manifested getting some back breaking sex with Max - but of course had ended up distracted by the sight of your himbo boyfriend emerging from the shower.

-Schat? So what do you think? Max finally looked up from his phone, making you come back to reality and realize you hadn’t been answering his question. Max’s eyes widened seeing your pretty little form on his bed - he had never seen you wear an outfit like that in bed before. He cleared his throat, inconspicuously shifting his stance so you didn’t notice his hard on at the sight of you when you hastily stumbled to reply - Oh sorry maxie, I missed what you were saying, just a bit tired after today

Max immediately came to your side in bed, looking guilty. Of course Schat, sorry, I’m keeping you up with my gaming stream aren’t I? You had such a long week already, we can go straight to bed now. You cursed your own slip up - of course, your sweet Max would put your comfort first over what you were sure looked like mission successful given the rapid hardening of his bulge you had zoned in on.

You try again as Max dims the bedside lamps, taking your book gently away from your hands and setting it to the side. You lean softly in next to him, fluttering your eyelashes up at him, tits right up against his hard biceps so that your breasts are basically cushioning his arm right in between them. Your nightie rises up your legs, showcasing your soft, luscious thighs for him. Max smiles lovingly at you, cradling your face before peppering your cheeks with baby kisses. You look so pretty, sweetheart. So sweet to wait for me before falling asleep, mein Schat.

You lean in further, lips pouting in an effort your boyfriend would finally catch the hint but instead you found yourself gently maneouvered and tucked into his side, his large hands rubbing soothing circles along your back as he placed a final kiss on your forehead. Goodnight, darling. Your eye twitched at his definitive words, perplexed at how your plan had been so unsuccessful, but you sighed and wished goodnight to Max, falling asleep and already plotting for another day.

A couple of weeks later you decided to up the ante. A sexy, bold crimson red lingerie teddy set, practically see through and showcasing your tan nipples through the lace and mesh, and a pathetic excuse of some lacy red panties to match. You smirked as you eyed yourself in the mirror - sure, it was quite a forward look, but you had found yourself becoming increasingly more desperate for your boyfriend’s attentions after attending his Monaco race today. You did your best to attend the races you could but with your own demanding schedule often struggled to make it, so were very excited to support your boyfriend this time - especially as you had been keeping track of how this season was difficult compared to earlier years given the poorer quality of the RB car. Your eyes had widened at seeing the events this weekend - a string of bad luck events. First, his engine had stalled during free practise, making him lose precious practise time, and then a red flag had been called as he was finishing an almost perfect qualifying lap, ruining his chances of pole, and finally during the actual race he was clipped on the side by one of the Aston Martin’s, making him spin out but still incredibly go on to get P2. It was amazing result given everything, but what caught your attention was a side of your boyfriend you had only every heard whispers about emerge on the track. In the past, you had only attended races he had easily won, appearing calm and collected throughout the weekends as he cruised to P1 - easily overpowering everyone else. Today though - Mad Max, his fans excitedly cheered and paddock staff gossiped, Mad Max is finally back!! In his villain era!!

And your Max was indeed seething at everyone - competitors, his strategy team, the stewards for not giving Aston Martin a penalty - and you had listened in on the radio to hear him angrily swear and yell to his engineer, seen him aggressively overtake and defend his place on the track, and finally seen the stormy expression on his face as he emerged out of his car, clearly pissed with narrowed eyes as he stalked off to his driver room without a word, not even sparing a glance at you or anyone else. Sure, you should have felt a little hurt that he hadn’t noticed you or seen the perfectly planned designer outfit you had arrived wearing, sending the paparazzi into a flurry, but you completely understood that his career was first on the line today and he needed some time to cool off. And honestly, instead of feeling bad for Max - the sick, twisted part of you couldn’t deny that he had looked sooo sexy completely dominating on the track, authoritatively giving orders over the radio and confidently outmanoeuvring his rivals. You had to catch yourself from biting your lip or squeezing your legs together as his rough accented tones got more and more angry throughout the race over your headphones, imaging what it would be like to be pinned down by his strong arms, to have him lean down behind you and whisper naughty things in your ear, to ask if you liked being a dirty little-

“Oh! Y/N! Can we get a quick word?” The sky sports reporters interruption hastily put an end to the illicit thoughts you had been having. Quickly trying to school your expression into something much more PR friendly, you flashed a dazzling smile, “Of course!”. As expected they tried to rile responses out of you to condemn Max’s aggressive performance. But you had stood for none of it, honestly and clearly stating that your boyfriend had driven very capably and fairly given the circumstances and you were extremely impressed with his performance. “He’s a triple world champion after all. Did you just expect him to roll over and not defend his title? If you don’t agree with it then no need to watch it. At the end of the day he’s the one driving the car over the finish line while everyone else is speculating hypotheticals.” The reporters thank you for your input, stumbling for words at your strong defence of your boyfriend. You wandered off before they could say more, catching up with Max a couple hours later when he had debriefed and collected his trophy, looking a lot more chilled out than earlier.

Hey, Schatje he mumbled gently, leaning down to kiss you on the lips after pulling you from a conversation with the other WAGs. Max! you had exclaimed brightly, congratulating him on his win and letting him know just how proud you were of him. You knew he would be tired - we could go to the red bull celebration yacht party for 30min, show our faces, and then play hooky back to ours? I already put in a dinner order for your favourite lamb kebabs.

Max smiled down at you - you knew him so well, always knew what to say and when he wanted to relax. Sounds amazing, Schat he voiced in agreement. Later, after eating dinner at home, Lando sent him a trending insta reel with the caption “Mate, she’s too good to you, you bagged a queen.” Max grinned, expecting some fanmade memes about you and him as he clicked the link (he has seen all the Queen Y/N and he’s just…Ken Max tweets already. You were a well liked figure on the paddock for years with your well mannered speech, excellent dress style and courteous relationships with most of the staff.)

He was suprised to instead see an interview post race of you defending him staunchly, shutting down any opportunity the reporters used to manipulate your words. He walked into his bedroom to find you conveniently waiting for him in bed again, nose buried in one of your romance models, and started laughing at how effective you were at putting the media clowns in their place. Thanks for sticking up for me always, liefje. You smiled back at him with pure adoration - of course Maxie, that’s the advantage of dating a lawyer, right?

He agreed enthusiastically, so caught up on now yapping about the race as he climbed into bed with you that he didn’t even notice the sexy little outfit you had planned just for him, covering you up with his soft duvet before you could properly twirl around and showcase it for him. Your eye twitched again as he yawned in between statements, grabbing your waist and bringing your back in against him, spooning you while his voice gently trailed off, falling asleep.

Meanwhile, your mind was running at 100 miles a minute, a scowl on your face. This was ridiculous, you had gotten all dressed up in an overpriced beautiful outfit just for your boyfriend to get distracted by a 3min interview you had done with an asshole reporter and then fall asleep instead of ravaging you?? You had tonight would be the perfect night, for you to be the one to support him for once, be the perfect outlet for his stress, to use you and manipulate your body for his own pleasure…heat pooled in your gut at your dark thoughts, and you grow wetter between your legs at the mental image of max having his way with you. Maybe it still wasn’t too late. Sighing gently, you closed your eyes, pretending to drift into sleep but moving your plump, barely covered ass behind you to gently grind up on your boyfriend’s cock, which was now rapidly hardening with your practised movements. You sensed Max had awakened when you felt his arms tighten around you, keeping you still in an effort to stop you from exciting him to much while you were still asleep and he couldn’t act on it.

Mmmhmm, maxie, feels so good~ you moaned, still keeping up the facade of having a wet dream, breathing getting heavier and pushing your tits against the edges of his fingers that were wrapped around your waist. You felt him exhale sharply as he came into contact with your hardened nipples, a smirk on your face. Your grinding had managed to push the duvet partially off, exposing your red lingerie in the moonlight - surely this would be enough to drive any man crazy!!

You heard him sigh behind you, shifting slightly and inadvertently pushing his cock against your skimpy underwear as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck - and you had to hold back a squeal with how hard and big he felt against you, this was it, he was finally going to give in and fuck you awake while he thought you were having a wet dream, he could slide it right in, you were ready for it, for him, you were soo wet already just from imagining it, this was so hot-

Your fantasies are quickly shut down as max easily used his strength to turn you around so your face was buried into his chest again, your ass now devastatingly much too far away to get any action, and began rubbing your shoulders soothingly to get you to fall into a deep sleep again. You almost combusted at the action before deflating and accepting defeat once more. Your kind boyfriend of course would never toe the line of having sex with you in a dubious way were you were asleep. You wanted - no needed, to bring Mad Max out in your bedroom, and you were determined to do whatever it took.

Over the next few weeks you threw countless strategies Max’s way. Leaving your dirty romance books out in plain view, sometimes even opened up to a page right in the middle of a jaw dropping sex scene. Lacier and lacier bralettes and panties left everywhere to prompt him. “Accidentally” deleting his best SIM race time record on his rig. But nothing seemed to be working - max diligently tidyed up the stray underwear, reshelved the books, and generously forgave you for the SIM error before setting a new record later that night instead of fucking you angrily like you had planned. You got more frustrated as both your work schedules became busier, leaving you less time to connect with him. Fuck, last weekend - last weekend you had even thrown out all your boxes of condoms before jumping into Max’s arms when he had come home, laughing and eager to see you. One thing let to another and he was as eager to be inside you as you were to have him inside you, voicing It’s been too long Schat, I’ve missed your sweet body so much, so beautiful for me in between kisses as he reached for the bedstand drawer to grab a condom - only to find it empty. You pretended to have a confused look on your face (truly, you deserved an Oscar for your performance this past month) before oh so innocently suggesting Maxie, we- we don’t have to use one if you don’t want, I’m on the pill -

And there it was - a brief darkening of your boyfriends’ normally loving ice blue eyes, his sharp gaze on you at your suggestion of doing it raw for the first time - before he schooled his features back to normal and gave you a sweet kiss, It’s okay Schat, you’re too sweet, you don’t deserve to feel uncomfortable for my sake, I’ll just grab some from the corner store, da? He was off you before you could protest, promising he would be back soon as you blinked away tears of frustration and denial that yet again your plan had failed. When he finally entered you later that night, ever so gently, condom and all, you closed your eyes tight and imagined how each vein and ridge of his thick cock might feel when fully buried inside you to the hilt, if that goddamn condom broke, if he spilled all of his thick, creamy cum inside you, so much that it spurted out the sides, leaking everywhere, claiming you as his and no one else’s, making such a filthy, filthy mess-

- you came harder than you had the whole month, burying your face in Max’s shoulder to contain the scream that threatened to spill out. You sighed as you came down from your high. Fuck, you needed a drink.

—————————————————————————

A/N: Follow along for Part 2 of this 3 part series to see if dear reader will finally manage to uncockblock herself and release Mad Max!! 😚😚

[pinkynana]

am i the asshole? (most likely, yes)

a series where either you or the member does something morally wrong for an unjustified reason. all seven stories are in its own universe so they are not connected in any way. the order of the fics being published are random, not in age order. this may or may not take awhile.

mark - aita for immediately going to comfort my best friend's ex after they broke up so we could link up?

Since the very first time mark saw you, he knew he had to have you. The only problem was that you were introduced as Johnny’s girlfriend to him. Which is why when johnny texted him that the relationship was over, he immediately sprinted to your apartment so he could play the good guy who’s lending a shoulder to lean on while you cried your eyes out. He had it all planned out.

read here

renjun - aita for being possessive about my childhood best friend’s virginity?

It has been awhile since you last met Renjun. Perhaps your last encounter was right after graduation. You recently came back to your old neighborhood, having drinks with your favorite childhood best friend. And it slipped out of you that you had never had sex, despite a whole semester in college. Renjun took that as an invitation. Afterall, you experienced every one of your firsts with Renjun.

read here

jeno - aita for seducing my step brother because i got jealous that he got a girlfriend?

It’s been a year since your parents got married and you were officially Lee Jeno’s step sister. Despite living under the same roof, you never really seriously connected with him and it’s all because of your huge crush on him. You didn’t want Jeno to see you as a family member, so you kept your distance. Until he brought home a girl and something inside you just burns at the thought of him sleeping with her.

read here

haechan - aita for fucking my girlfriend while my webcam was still on so my friends could watch?

Haechan always showed you off to his friends and you didn’t mind it at all. You find it hot anyway. What you didn’t know was the fact that he also always showed your body off to them too. All the times you had recorded your sexy times, all went into Haechan’s friends’ folders.

read here

jaemin - aita for only agreeing to be friends with benefits with him so i could play with his cats?

You partnered up with Jaemin by chance, not knowing that he was a father to three adorable cats. And to say that you’re a cat person was an understatement. Since then, you always came over to Jaemin’s apartment which resulted in you being under him at some point. If you were saying frankly, you didn’t give a fuck about the sex. All you think about everytime you were there were luna, lucy and luke.

read here

chenle - aita for hooking up with a random man i met at the club while i was in a fight with my boyfriend?

Your boyfriend always told you that he hated girls at the club, saying that they were easier than prostitutes and such. Which drove you to the decision to go to a club after your hundredth fight with him, just to provoke him. It was never your intention to be in another man’s arms that night.

read here

jisung - aita for not deleting the nudes that my best friend accidentally sent me?

Jisung knew about your situationship that’s been going on for about five months. He doesn’t know the details, though. Truth be told, it’s embarrassing to admit to him that your situationship barely ever pays attention to you lately. So you decided to take it up a notch by sending him nudes. Which then you only realized 20 minutes later that you sent it to Jisung by mistake.

read here

[ellecdc]

Lexy!!! I've literally just thought of this so it might be awful, but I love the jegulus you've written and I think in most scenarios I see reader falling for James first because he's the more outgoing, ask-for-what-you-want type, but what if she first met regulus as a cat animagus? And she gets really attached to him, and he get really attached to her sweet-talking him all the time, and when eventually she gets to know him and James in-person he's just already so much more comfortable with her than he is with most people? Idk this could be a request if you like (but no pressure!) or just a ramble but I'd love your thoughts on it either way (again, if you feel like it!! no worries if not my love <3). Hope you're having a day as lovely as you are!

I don't write nearly enough for these two so I was more than happy to play around with this!! I think it also stems from Regulus being the type to (rather reluctantly) accept love than to pursue love, but after spending any amount of time with James, I could totally see him feeling capable of accepting it and perhaps giving it away too! so this was fun, thanks for the prompt, my love!!!!!

poly!jegulus x shy!reader who makes a little friend [2k words]

CW: fem!reader, reader is shy....I think that's it, OH reader thinks maybe people are making fun of her at one point but they're not so it's chill

Where James was all bravery (and a ceaseless amount of emphatic assertiveness), Regulus was cunning through and through. 

Was Regulus’ approach perhaps a bit understated? Sure. But was it also effective? Well, he certainly thought so. 

People like you required a softer approach; an approach James wasn’t well-practised in (nor well suited for). Someone as shy as you could handle James’ loud proclamations and brazen flirting even less than Regulus had.

Besides…they didn’t really have time for James’ approach, because if it took Regulus himself three years to come around to James’ advancements, well…they didn’t have three years. 

So, Regulus spent time with you the only way he knew he could that wouldn’t cause your shoulders to migrate to your ears or cause you to avoid eye contact with anyone within a 12 foot radius of yourself. As a cat.

As a very sleek and refined black cat with piercing grey eyes; what? Regulus wasn’t afraid to admit he was a particularly attractive little feline.

And you certainly didn’t seem to disagree.

“Oh there you are, sweetness!” You exclaimed as he trotted his way over to you; a little brrp escaping his mouth at the endearment rolling off your tongue so easily at the sight of him. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”

Regulus spent some time rubbing along your shin and hip that he could reach thanks to the way you were currently seated with your back against an old oak tree. 

“Well aren’t you just so handsome, hm?” You cooed, and Regulus felt his heart thrum (or perhaps that was just the sensation of the dramatic purrs you were eliciting from his animagus form).

Regulus somehow found it far easier to give affection in this form; there was something far more vulnerable in offering Sirius a sincere hug, or even asking James to hold his hand than there was in stepping up onto your thigh with his little paws as he used his head to rub against your shoulder. 

That, and his feline form didn’t seem to get so caught up on such human feelings like vulnerability or abandonment issues.

“Such a sweet boy.” You murmured, rewarding him with chin scratches. “Where do you go after you say bye to me? Hm?” You asked him then, and Regulus actually found himself desperate to tell you. Desperate to say “I’m right here! I’m always here! I’m just usually accompanied by a great bumbling sod who is just as crazy about you as I am but is far less gracious about it!”

Regulus wondered then when he became the sort to admit to holding a flame for someone? Agreeing to go out with James had been a sort of relenting “oh shit, yeah, fuck, I’m sort of in love and wildly sexually attracted to my brother’s best friend, aren’t I? Damnit, well, alright then I guess.” 

But falling for you had been an active choice on Regulus’ part; he’d set up the playing field with strategic manoeuvres and expertly playing the hand he was dealt. He manipulated moments where he would get the chance to spend time with the unbridled you; the version of you perhaps only those closest to you ever got to see, and perhaps not even then.

The you that you were when you didn’t feel the need to perform for others. The you that you were when you were completely free to be yourself.

He hoped that the comfort and ease you found in his company like this would one day translate to comfort and ease in his company whilst in his human form, too.

It was official; Regulus had officially lost the plot. He’d become a lovesick fool and a complete sap planning moments for the two of you to meet and dreaming of the day he could tell you just how he felt.

He’d been spending too much time around Gryffindors, it was time to see a mind healer. 

You had been resting with your head back and face pointed towards the sky above you that was partially obstructed by the canopy of branches and leaves above you before you took a deep and definitive breath in. 

“It’s almost time for class, kitty.” You murmured softly, looking down at Regulus with a look of adoration and perhaps some regret that you had to leave his company. 

That’s sort of how Regulus imagined he and James looked every time you left the room, not that you’d ever noticed. 

But before Regulus could be particularly perturbed by that thought, you actually bent down and pressed a kiss to the space between Regulus’ ears. 

And with a grace and assuredness Regulus not often saw on you, you stood and headed towards the castle for your next class.

“Oh my Godric, she kissed you!” James squealed as he removed the invisibility cloak from his person.

Regulus let out a startled hiss and felt his tail poof up in an attempt to make him look far more intrepid than he actually was. 

“Awe, you’re so cute when you think you’re scary.” James cooed as he reached down to give Regulus a scritch only to be swatted away rather aggressively by his boyfriend.

“Regulus!” James chided as he held his hand protectively against his chest. “That was very rude.”

“There were no claws, you tosser.” Regulus muttered as he returned to his human form. “What were you even doing out here?”

James shrugged in nonchalance as he tilted his head up to the sky in much the same way you had but moments ago. “I was bored so checked the map to see where you were, and then saw you were here and wanted to see the magic in action.” 

“You’re so lucky you didn’t sneeze and blow the whole thing.” Regulus spat, though James was either ignorant to his boyfriends grumblings or choosing to ignore them.

“She’s so lovely, isn’t she?” 

Regulus hummed in agreement, ire quickly melting away as he looked longingly (like the lovesick sod he was) in the way you’d left.

As he moved to lean back against the tree beside James, his hand came into contact with something distinctly unnatural. 

“Oh?” He murmured as he pulled an open journal out from under him, the page currently resting on a beautiful sketch of…him?

“Merlin’s tits. Did she draw you?” James breathed out in disbelief as he pulled the journal closer to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous James.” Regulus chided as he tried to ignore the quickening of his heart. “That could be any cat.”

James hummed in clear disagreement as he adjusted his glasses. “‘I wish I could paint; there’s no way I can portray the beautiful grey of this cat's eyes’” He read from a small patch of scrawl beside the image with a little arrow pointing towards him.

“I think I just found our in, Jamie.” Regulus murmured quietly before looking at James with an arched eyebrow.

Yup, he’d definitely been spending too much time in the company of Gryffindors. 

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

You were fanning the tip of your quill against your lips as you stared off into space again. You couldn’t believe you lost your sketchbook. It wasn’t like you’d been drawing anything particularly crude or inappropriate, but somehow the thought of someone actually looking inside the little world you’d been building had you feeling naked. 

“Is this seat taken?” You heard from above you, causing you to straighten up so quickly that your knee met the bottom of the table with a painful thunk. 

It was Regulus who had asked the question, but it was James who asked “Shit, are you okay, love?”

“Sorry. No.” You mumbled quickly, face heating up to near painful temperatures. “Erm, I mean, no, that seat’s not taken, and sorry, I’m okay.” 

“You don’t have to apologise to me, angel, the victim was that poor knee of yours.” He continued as he took one of the two seats across from you, his furrowed brows pointed resolutely at the span of table you’d accosted moments ago. 

“What is it that you’re working on?” Regulus asked you then, nodding his head towards the blank parchment in front of you and the quill that had spent just about more time in your mouth than it had on paper. 

You felt your shoulders shrug nervously as you stared resolutely at the blank expanse before you. 

“Not much, it seems.” You admitted quietly. “I, erm, I’ve lost something recently.”

“Your sketchbook.” James and Regulus chorused, and you winced at the whiplash you nearly gave yourself in moving your gaze to them. 

“I…yes, my- how did you know I’ve lost it?”

Regulus shrugged calmly as he looked down at the table in front of you. “It’s odd seeing you without it, quite frankly.”

You hardly had a moment to feel horribly uncomfortable to realise that Regulus Black and James Potter had ever noticed anything about you before - let alone something that, for whatever, reason felt particularly sacred and personal to you - before Regulus pulled out your sketchbook from his bag. 

“You…had it?” You whispered, feeling disturbingly close to tears imagining this to be one of the Marauders pranks where they spent one evening flipping through the pages for a laugh.

“You forgot it…down by the oak tree on the grounds.” Regulus offered quietly as he carefully slid the closed book towards you. 

“We didn’t take it.” James added as if sensing your concern. 

“Did you look at it?” You asked quietly then; staring down at your long lost book now gripped tightly in your hand rather than at the two boys.

“Just one page.” James admitted as he shifted in his seat. “It was opened to that page when we found it.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Regulus began, “but I may have added something to the page we found it on.” 

You looked up at him expecting to see some devious or malicious smile gracing his face, but you were only met with a look far softer than you ever imagined possible on the young Black’s face. It looked…dare you say, hopeful? 

You looked back down at the sketchbook to see a little tab sticking out about ¾’s of the way through and opened it carefully.

The parchment crinkled and groaned as you opened the book; protesting as if it had been subjected to water or rain only to be completely dehydrated again. 

And inside, the sketch of the little feline companion you’d come to love had been transformed into a beautiful water painting, the tail charmed to swish back and forth every so often as its - now the perfect shade of grey - eyes blinked at you. 

“I thought the sketch to be beautiful, but you wanted it painted and I wanted to do that for you.” He admitted quietly; voice no higher than a whisper. 

“You got the eyes just right.” You murmured in awe before your eyes flit up to…a matching pair. “They’re your eyes.” You amended disbelievingly. 

Regulus simply smirked, though even that appeared soft.

You looked back and forth between the two boys, neither seeming to know quite what to say, but neither seeming particularly inclined to leave your company. 

You realised then that they’d been with you like this - in your company, that is - before.

You looked down at your sketchbook and began flipping through the pages before stopping at the one you were looking for and handing it to James. 

James accepted your book and held it as if it was something precious as he smiled down at the page.

It was a sketch of him laying on his back across one of the benches in the quidditch stands as he casually threw and caught a snitch - the snitch and his arm charmed to move. You hoped that wasn’t too creepy - having a drawing of him in your personal book - but you had been up there first before his friends came to hang around, and they hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by your company at the time.

“You’re very talented.” He said simply, and you felt your shoulders relax from the worry of him being uncomfortable. 

“Think you can paint that one, too?” You asked Regulus quietly, and you felt your heart stutter slightly when his face lit up into a beaming smile. 

“It’d be my honour, beautiful.” 

Oh gods…what did you just get yourself into?

[foulphantomllama]

My Secret Desire | AESPA Winter x Male Reader

AESPA Winter x Male Reader (POV)

Y/N is an abroad student from Europe. When he realizes he has feelings for his bully, Minjeong, their love-hate relationship made them push each others limits.

I will be releasing it in chapters. If you guys like it, i will make it as long as possible. And also I can take requests! Enjoy your reading.

The Exchange Student

It was always hard for me to go to school in the mornings. There were multiple reasons but the main one was my bully. Minjeong. But everybody was calling her Winter. Because she was stone cold, rude. Her attitude has a certain charm, I’m not going to lie. I guess this was the main reason I took the bullying for so long. I may be an exchange student but, i wasn’t really the type you expect to get bullied. After all, she was literally pocket size. I even can call her efforts cute. It was like taking a beating from a two year old. But little did I know that this cat has very sharp claws.

I had classes three days a week. So does she. She was not the brightest student, but she was always on time to classes. I don’t remember a single one that she missed. I, on the other hand, was pretty good at my grades and I knew my way around nearly all of the subjects. But still, she found something to make fun of me. But mainly me being a westerner. As time passed by, I get used to her attitude towards me. At some point I was addicted to her verbal abuse. She mocks my accent, my eating habits, the way I study. Everything. This toxic relationship started to grew inside me. It was just like I had found the motivation I needed to stop thinking about the choices I made with my life. And I was still getting pretty annoyed at some things she does but, overall, I started to fell for her.

Like I said, waking up in the morning always made me think about my choices. What the fuck I was doing in Korea tho? But I always ended up looking at myself at the mirror. Although my self-esteem was at its lowest, I was surprisingly pretty egoistic. Don’t ask me how that is possible. I don’t know either. Just like one of those mornings, I come to school, grab myself a freshly brewed americano and when I was on my way to the class, I saw Minjeong coming towards me. “Hi” she said with a soft, nice voice. Something I did not heard from her before. She got me. “Hi” I said back. “Look” she started to talk. I was nervous. Why I was nervous? “I’m so sorry for all my attitude towards you.” I was shocked. Did she just.. apologized to me? “Don’t worry about it. We’re adults after all, In fact I was starting to like it.” I answered. “Ha” she smirked at me. But that smirk was too evil and too inviting. She was fucking me up. Making me stand for everything I hated before. “So, can we just talk over there?” she said to me. I accepted. We started walking together.

After a little walk, we sat at a bench looking towards our building. She took my cofee off my hand and started drinking it. “Sorry, I’m so nervous.” She said. “I was probably never should have bullied you from the start.” She looked at me. Her face was to innocent to be guilty. But she was. I knew that but still, wanted to hear the rest. “Do you need something?” I asked. “How did you knew?” she answered back. “My father says If I don’t pass my classes this year It will be over for me.” “What will be over?” I answered. “School.” She said. “He says he will remove me from the school.” She put the coffee to the side. Something was seriously off. I could feel it. But I agreed to help anyway. She was so happy when I agreed to help her. Some of it felt insanely real. Was it real?

[lowkeyremi]

"Dada fart!" Your daughter, Miu, who happens to be a three year old that thinks anything with farts or butts is funny, giggles while pinching her little nose with her index finger and thumb.

"Rintaro that smells atrocious! Go to the bathroom!!" Within a few seconds Mui parrrots, "Dada troshus!"

There's a cat-like grin gracing his sharp face. Leave it to him to be devious and handsome at the same time.

"What are you guys talking about? I don't smell anything." It physically pains you how childish he is. Both you and Mui smell that rancid smell, he can't seriously be saying he doesn't smell anything.

"Rintaro. Don't pretend like you don't smell that." It takes extreme patience for you not to curse right now. Mui doesn't need to be taught language like that, especially not while she's only lived three little years on this earth.

"Dada smell like a stunk!" You really do wish you could find this whole thing funny like Mui does, but it smells absolutely awful.

"You mean a skunk?" She nods rapidly.

Rintaro being ever the childish man he is, runs right past you and sprays something on your clothes.

Fart. Spray. He was pranking you, and now he just sprayed you with fucking fart spray.

"RINTARO YOU LITTLE PIECE OF SH- SHIITAKE." If you thought the smell was bad from afar it's even worse up close. You curse whoever has made that horrible stuff, hoping they get a first class ticket to hell.

"Mama fart!" Since Mui hadn't noticed the fart spray she just thinks you "farted" along with her father.

"No- I mean- Dada has a spray that smells like farts." A mischievous sparkle glistens in her eyes, just like it does when Rintaro has a bad idea.

"If little kids use it though, it might burn." You make up completely on the spot. Hey if it works it works.

"I no wanna get burnded." The way she pronounces burned is absolutely adorable.

"Sorry babe." Rintaro's right behind you. He's sincere but that crooked smile on his face pisses you off. Before he can even grasp what happens you snatch the spray from his hand and start spraying like crazy.

"HOLY SHIT- that ugh- DAMN THAT SMELLS LIKE A BAG OF ASS!" His eyes widen, as do yours, once he realizes what he just said in front of his daughter.

"Bag of ass????" Sweet little Mui repeats.

"That's a no no word, Honey." She too widens her eyes. Rintaro instantly groans knowing what that means.

"Dada give Mui three paper moneys for bad words." The man in question sighs as he pulls out his wallet.

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING REUNITED !!! SEBASTIAN V. X FEM!READER! X MARK W. (18+)

summary: sometimes a cat-and-mouse game of three can last longer than intended.

content warning: smut below the cut (minors dni), explicit language, mfm threesome, dom!sebastian and dom!mark (mentions rbr!mark and rbr!seb), multi 21, oral sex (m receiving) + deepthroat + facefucking, dumbification if you squint hard enough, double penetration + spitroast, praise kink, size kink-esque, age gap (with mark), unprotected sex (NOT RECOMMENDED)

💌re:moony's planner request: "pls more webberxsebxreader preferably smut"

note: i have a couple asks/requests sitting on my inbox for a while and this is the first thing i've written in a while 😭 i'm sorry to disappoint y'all but enjoy regardless xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist // o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out

even ten years later, she still had them chasing after her. 

working with red bull was anything but easy for her back in 2012, being a 22 years old woman and all. women in motorsports were something of a relatively new topic back then and when she made her presence known in the milton keynes factory, she would have expected things to be hard for her.

well… it was hard for her for a brief moment until a certain australian and german molded her into something more bold, giving her the attention and validation she desired. 

yet she persisted, thinking of them as people who merely wanted her to feel comfortable in the formula one field. she didn’t think much of it before.

until malaysia 2013 happened. sebastian vettel won after he stopped following a team order, causing mark webber his p1 and in the process the ‘multi 21’ controversy occurred. 

she was there to witness all of that - from mark’s radio to sebastian’s interview post-race, even their cooldown room segment. she was there. 

that was also the same night mark finally snapped and bent her over his hotel room bed, with her allowing mark to fuck the frustration out of himself while she whined and cried about how big he was— and how full she felt. 

it didn’t take long for sebastian to hear her whimpering and her pleading, as his room was situated next to mark’s. the german driver came knocking on mark’s door, and sebastian found his cock in her mouth and his hands gripping her hair. 

mark, ever the dominant man that he was, demanded the woman to suck the race winner’s cock and condescendingly told sebastian it was a ‘congratulatory gift’ from the australian. 

that was the last night they’ve ever seen each other in the same bed, but they saw each other a lot in the paddock. 

in 2014, mark left for world endurance while sebastian continued to chase after her - to which she explicitly stated that she wasn’t going to do it again. but sebastian pursued her continuously anyway.

now, in 2023, both men were retired but they always found themselves coming back to the paddock or the pit lane. mark webber had been managing a driver who was a rookie this year, while sebastian couldn’t find himself to leave the scene as he was newly retired. 

both had excuses, but no one really knew the real reason why they kept coming back. no one knew but themselves… and her. 

the ten year build up led to her hotel room by the suzuka track, her tits were splayed out and pinched and caressed by both men and her knicker becoming more damp as they continued to tease her. she uttered nothing but a pitiful sigh, something that had both men groaning in delight.

“god, i fuckin’ miss that whining of yours, baby,” mark nipped her ear, his greying stubble grazing her neck and his grubby fingers nestling themselves between her legs. “miss the way you fuckin’ plead. you miss being handled like this, don’t you?”

sebastian chuckled darkly, his hand finding itself stabilizing her chin as he examined her desperate face. “and you thought those men you’ve been fucking were fulfilling your needs,” sebastian’s german accent thickened as he gave her an amused smile, “we’ve been waiting for this for ten years, liebe.”

it was a blur, having to figure out how she went from sinking down to her knees and choking on sebastian’s cock as the tip hit the back of her throat. she could feel a lot of things.

this included mark’s hand that held her hair up and bobbed her head back and forth. mark crooned sweetly and praised her, “there we go. that’s a good girl. keep sucking his cock like that, baby. you’re doing so good for him.” 

mark nearly laughed when he watched her knees close and clench, fascinated at her submissive state as his eyes looked at her teary ones.

sebastian’s usually-bright-blue eyes were darkening as her mouth took in mark’s length, watching the way her tongue swirled around the aussie’s tip before her nose grazed the hipbone of the older man. 

mark let out a guttural groan, feeling his tip at the back of her throat as she skillfully took him in. he let out a string of curses before he muttered, “good girl. keep sucking me off like that. ‘m gonna fuck this throat of yours, hm?” he peered down at her, waiting for her go ahead and witnessing her nod. 

sebastian smirked as mark’s hips began to snap forward, lewd sounds of liquid escaping her barely empty mouth as she continued to indulge in mark’s cock.

“she can take us both so well,” sebastian crooned to the girl, stroking his cock at the same pace mark fucked her mouth with his length.

a few snaps of his hips after, mark finally pulled her mouth away and allowed her to breathe. she panted heavily, looking up at the towering man and still kneeling before them. 

“think you can take both of us, schatz?” sebastian asked the woman as if she couldn’t comprehend a word anymore. her bruised throat didn’t tell them anything, earning an amused laugh from mark and sebastian. she was already fucked out and she only sucked their cocks. 

mark could remember how desperate she was to suck him off after his loss at malaysia, wanting to please him after he grew frustrated with sebastian’s refusal of order in the track. all mark could think about was how ten years later he was going to feel her again. perhaps even better this time.

sebastian laid on the bed, gesturing for the woman to sit on his cock. 

mark’s hand helped the woman up before slapping her ass, his mouth letting out a smirk when she let out a soft sigh at the impact. 

soon, she sat on sebastian’s lap, sinking down on his cock as she let out a moan, “oh fuck…” 

she adjusted, allowing herself to bounce on sebastian’s cock for a moment before she felt mark move and settle behind her. a splatter of lube escaped its bottle as mark spread it generously, in the process his fingers prodded her back hole as she let out a soft whine. 

mark fucked her with his fingers while sebastian continued to thrust slowly, making her writhe and cry out for the two of them. they really had missed this— her pitiful and pleading moan. they missed making her cry like she hadn’t been fucked hard before. 

“mm… so fuckin’ tight,” mark whispered in her ear, pulling his hand away to stroke his cock and lubricate it. 

she nearly collapsed on top of sebastian when mark’s cock entered her slowly, both she and mark letting out loud moans. she felt so full while mark felt like she was hugging his cock tightly. 

“fuck, mark!” she exclaimed, her head nuzzling sebastian’s shoulder for a moment as she babbled, “so fucking big. god, you’re so fucking big!” 

“you’re so tight for us, schatz,” sebastian murmured and kissed her temple sweetly. “so fragile, we can barely fit ourselves in your holes.” 

“seb,” she whimpered as she muttered, “‘m so full.”

“i know you are, bebe,” sebastian said, humouring her submissive state while mocking her in the process, “you’re so full that you can’t think anymore, hm? all you can do is be a good girl for us because you’re already fucked out.” 

mark groaned loudly, now moving languidly alongside sebastian as the two men thrusted in and out of her holes. she couldn’t do much, she couldn’t even reminisce because of the sensations that she’s lost all thanks to their dominance and their primal urge to fuck her endlessly.

“you miss this, baby?” mark whispered heatedly, now moving rougher as she cried out their names. “missed this body of yours.”

“you had us running after you for years,” sebastian smirked, “now you’re a putty in our hands. such a shame you made us wait this long.”

“it’s a good thing we caught you eventually,” mark added as his eyes found her hands clawing at sebastian’s bare chest while she whined and squirmed in pleasure.

“because we’re gonna make sure you’re not gonna slip away anymore. gonna make sure you’re ours. gonna make sure everyone knows you’re ours — we’re gonna fuckin’ ruin every man for you like we did in 2013.” 

♡ moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody @avaleineandafryingpan @enhacolor @roseandtulips @woweewoowa @magnummagnussen @happy-nico @architect-2015 @hiireadstuff @biancathecool @scorpiomindfuck

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1 @savrose129 @maxillness

[hamsterclaw]

Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

‘An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.