#I mentioned it to my housemates and they were like well. it is true our knives are loose in a drawer

[adigitalsky]

saw this dtiys challenge by @where-does-the-heart-lie and I loveeee sabo so I had to do it ❤️❤️❤️ ALSO, literally just caught up on the manga tonight

#one piece #sabo #revolutionary sabo #fanart #dtiys #skys art #I also love knife blocks #I mentioned it to my housemates and they were like well. it is true our knives are loose in a drawer #I love the idea of him heating up the metal of his pipe as well #it’s glowing!!!

[ozzgin]

A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?��� You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere killer #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere original character #horror #split personality #tw yandere

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Eleven

“You never texted me that you got home safe” Marnie is saying to me as we pack up our charcoal and newsprint and start shuffling out of Ida’s classroom the following afternoon.

“Oh, that was because you were acting really weird and mad.”

“I’m on my period, you know how it is.”

“Yeah absolutely.” 

“You obviously got home okay though, I mean, you’re here.”

“I did.” Dean is packing his things away in the corner of my eye and I have to try very hard not to look at him, just like I’ve been trying all morning, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully because every time he shuffled his feet or sniffed I’d look up at him, and then somehow he’d know about it and stare right back at me over his easel. His chair makes a loud scraping sound against the floorboards as he drags it back over to the wall with all the others and we look at each other again.

“Did he walk you home?”

“Who?”

“Dean. Did he end up walking you home?”

“Oh, yeah he did.” We turn away from him and head out into the hallway and she starts looking at me with suspicion. 

“There’s something up with you today.”

“Is there?”

“Yeah you seem away with it.”

“I suppose that I’m tired.” Which isn’t a lie, considering I didn’t hit the bedsheets three last night and then lay awake with my eyes sprung wide open and fixed on the ceiling for at least two more hours after that. 

“Well, what did you think of that conversation last night? The one about which girl Dean would pick.”

“Oh, I thought it was pretty stupid.”

“Me too, I can’t believe Fiona asked that, like what the hell, so juvenile of her.”

“Mm.”

“She’s really like that sometimes, it can be embarrassing to be around her, she acts so young…” She pauses. “Bizarre that he picked you though, isn’t it?”

I shrug. “Well I guess he had to say something. I’d say he just picked me because it’s the least likely to actually happen. A low risk choice.”

“Right?” she agrees. “It’d be so weird.” She swings outside into the yard and holds the door open for me. It’s a cold day, but it’s sunny and bright and fresh. The air smells vaguely like cut grass and flowers. “So anyway, I’ve been thinking about your birthday. I’ve already set up an event page on Facebook, but I’m yet to confirm a venue.”

“Wait, we’re really doing that?” I had assumed that the party wasn’t happening anymore on account of her bad mood last night, but obviously I was mistaken. She’s so indecipherable, a true enigma of a woman.  

“Of course we are, and we’ve only got a week to organise it now, so make sure to add your housemate and her friends to the group.” 

“I’m meeting her now, actually, so I’ll mention it.”

“Oh, amazing.” We head up the street and reach a crossroads on the road where she stops to ask me which way I’m going. I tell her I’m getting the bus into O’Connell street and she nods and points the other way. “Well, this is me. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah for sure. And thank you for organising the whole birthday thing, it’s actually really nice of you to do it.”

“Don’t mention it.” She gives me a kiss on each cheek like a French girl and pushes me towards the bus stop with a dramatic flourish. “au revoir mon amour” She calls out to me, using the worst accent I’ve ever heard in my life. 

The lunchtime crowds are picking up in the city centre and getting from one end of O’Connell street to the other is like pushing through a rugby scrum. I nimbly side step a woman fighting with her pram as she spills off a bus, and then swerve around a catholic group holding a big obstructive banner that declares: Ireland needs Fatima and praying the rosary in a big circle. Then I almost get stuck with one of those pushy charity workers in yellow T-Shirts, but don’t and then feel supremely pleased with myself about it. I have the kind of face that salespeople just flock to, but not today. Today I navigate this city like a real native, moving, no, waltzing through every roadblock I encounter and then I come to the Spire, an enormous silver pin piercing the blue sky and Claire is right underneath it waiting for me. She grins when she sees me and gives me a quick wave. 

“I’m starving, are you?” She says as she rushes across the road towards me throws her arms around me in a hug. She smells like her signature Flowerbomb perfume, and it makes me feel some kind of erupting happiness. 

“Oh yeah, I am. Do you know where you’d like to go for lunch?”

Her eyes open wide and excited and she breathes, “Bewley’s.” 

I laugh and we start walking back towards Grafton Street. “Whatever you want, Claire, you can have.” Hanging out with her is worlds away from hanging out with my college friends, because I know that none of them would ever set foot in a place like Bewleys, the café that your grandmother visits when she takes a trip to Dublin for the day to have the famous sticky buns and a cup of white coffee. It’s got that old fashioned charm that is dying in this city and Claire just wants all of it, all the time. I love that about her, she doesn’t really care about seeming too cool for things, she just does what she wants.

I wait until we’re seated with our menus before I tell her about Marnie’s plan for my birthday. “So, my birthday…” I begin, and instantly she clasps her hands together and gasps excitedly. “Yes! I’m so excited. I want to book a restaurant that Jaz recommended. They do Asian street food. How does that sound?” She wiggles her eyebrows like she’s just revealed the most exotic idea on earth to me and I laugh. “I didn’t take you for a noodle kind of girl.”

“I checked the menu and they do katsu curry. I had that once before and I liked it. Honestly because it tastes like takeaway curry, so if I get chips instead of rice then basically it’s like a curry chip takeaway but in cooler surroundings.”

I pat her hand. “That sounds great Claire, and I appreciate that you’re doing this for me, considering how much you hate trying new foods.”

She breathes out and beams at me. “I do, I really hate new foods. Shane took me to one of those crazy burger places on Valentine’s day and they had one with actual peanut butter on it.” She sticks out her tongue in disgust. “Who would want that?”

“Dublin is having a gourmet burger moment.” I muse. “I wonder is that the same place that made Marnie and I stand outside in the rain for forty minutes to get a table.”

“Oh I bet it was, it was awful. I was so disappointed. Sometimes I really do think that everyone here is an awful snob, and the cost of them. Listen, we had two burgers, two portions of chips, Shane had a bottle of Moretti and I had lemonade. Guess how much.”

I shrug. “Probably north of forty quid.”

“Fifty two euro.” She pauses for dramatic effect, her eyes like saucers. “Turns out the sides were extra. And your one, the waitress, who was, by the way, rude, wanted a tip. I was shocked. I said, where are we? Have I been knocked out and woken up in the USA? Since when should I be leaving a tip?”

Our waiter arrives to take our order and I ask for the caesar salad and an americano all while grinning at Claire, amused by her outrage. It’s so easy sometimes to imagine her older than she is now, having similar kinds of conversations with ladies from her yoga classes, or with their prams by their sides, gossiping outrageously in whispers while they rock their infants to sleep. It’s funny, but when I think of Claire like this I’m never with her because I can’t picture myself being older. At least not in the same way that she can. I don’t know what I want, but she knows exactly. The kind of house, the number of kids, the dogs, the car, it’s all worked out already, and I find myself wishing I could switch brains with her for a day just to experience the tranquillity of it. How nice it must be to be able to imagine your own future and see something other than… well, nothing at all.

“Well .” I conclude. “Let’s hope that this street food place is more reasonable.”

“Oh, it is. I made sure to check the prices online first. So will I just book for both of us and Shane?”

“Yeah sure! But actually, about next weekend, I wanted to ask you something.”

She looks at me with interest. “Oh?”

“So Marnie wants to organise a party for me. I tried to talk her out of it already but she insisted. She’s booking out some venue next Saturday night and inviting a load of people from college and other friends to come. Will you and Shane come too? You can invite Jaz and Serena too, if you want. I think it might be fun.”

“Marnie’s doing this?”

“Yeah, I mean, I know you two don’t exactly get along and I know we’re already doing dinner on Sunday, but it’d mean a lot if you were there.”

“It just sounds expensive. Are you sure about it?”

“Well that’s the crazy thing, she’s insisting on paying for it too.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“That’s generous of her.” She says with some haughtiness and I laugh self consciously. “Well, yeah, I know it is. Honestly I think it’s a bit mad, but she really wants to do this. I think she wants an excuse for a party though, and my birthday just happens to be the next one coming up.”

“Well, fair enough. It’s her money.”

“So what do you think? Will you come?”

She sighs ruefully. “You know, I really wish we could but Shane and I already have plans.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. It’s such a shame because I’d love to be there for you but it’s kind of something we can’t get out of.”

The waiter comes back with our lunch and I cradle my coffee to my chest trying to warm up my cold hands. “Is it a family thing?” 

“Nope.”

“Oh do you have a thing with Jaz and Serena?”

“Um… no.” She looks shifty. I watch her carefully as she starts picking at the crisps on her plate. What’s up with her? Her gaze is lowered and her lashes fanning over her cheeks so I can’t read the expression in her eyes. I try another question. “Okay, is it like, a concert or a play or something?”

“No, it isn’t.” She finally relents. “We’re actually meeting some friends.”

“What friends? You can just bring them to the party, the more the merrier honestly.” I pause. “Unless it’s Kelly. It’s not Kelly, is it?”

She smiles. “No, it’s not Kelly. As if I would hang out with her unless I was absolutely forced to.”

“Anybody else.” I state. “Anybody else I’d be totally fine with you bringing along. Even if you’re getting dinner or something first, you’re all welcome to come to the party afterwards, I really don’t mind.”

“Okay.” she says slowly, clearing her throat anxiously. “Except for that it’s Jude.”

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

[microscotch]

“I arrived a bit late to this whole thing, but I honestly thought this bimbocast would be chill about it. Clearly I was wrong, literally the first thing this pile of wussies does is complain about the way I fly.”

- “YOU LUNATIC ALMOST HIT US WITH YOUR FUCKING UFO!!!!!”

- “And you’re still alive, get over it.”

“We’re waiting for this last chick to arrive, not knowing this girl was planning on committing murder by almost crashing HER LITERAL UFO into the house!”

“Like, who on earth let that psycho onto the show, she’s a threat to society!”

-”YOU HAVE TWO EYES CONNECTED TO YOUR BRAIN, RIGHT?? CAN’T YOU WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU’RE FLYING??”

-”I see the whole “earthlings are useless wimps” stereotype is true as well.”

-”You’re insane!”

-”Bold words to direct at someone who almost killed you, now get out of my way, Leslie.”

“So we’re all situated at the table waiting for our boss and in comes this dumpster fire on two legs. I was like “Come on, that can’t be the person running this show!” 

-”Alright, I'll give it to you straight: I’m Toni and I’m your boss for the next few weeks. I want you to disgrace yourselves in front of these cameras and make me the wealthiest sim alive. You're gonna fill in my shitty bike courier job in the meantime and you BETTER do your job cause I'm gonna get in major trouble otherwise, so if I - uh - you get fired, you'll leave this rancid house. You'll also be off the show if you have a net negative relationship with all of your housemates. Got it?”

-”Roz, did you know that iguanas are cold-blooded animals, so their body temperature is reliant on the weather??”

-”Um, Toni, were you high when you cast some of these freakshows?”

-”Yes. Anyways, have fun making me rich!”

-”Oh yeah, so while we’re at that, how much are WE gonna get paid for this?”

-”April what are you talking about, nobody here is gonna get any money.”

-”WHAT??”

-”We’re gonna get paid in fame and exposure.”

“What person gets hired for a show WITHOUT getting paid? I’m just feeling so taken advantage of right now.”

-”Okay April it’s been two hours, people actually need to use this bathroom!”

-”THERE ARE THREE BATHROOMS IN THIS HOUSE, PICK A DIFFERENT ONE!!”

-”Hey Angie, I know we’re thinking the same thing, just letting you know that I didn’t get my nickname from nowhere, wink if you understand me. Angie??”

-”I DON’T DESERVE THIS KIND OF TREATMENT!!!! NOBODY WITH HAIR THAT LOOKS LIKE IT’S PERMANENTLY BLOWN BY THE WIND DOES!!!!”

“This bitch really thought she was gonna get paid to be on here, like, get a grip. Fortunately the whining stopped when the welcome wagon arrived ‘cause she became too busy going crazy over that one guy...”

-”Hey cutie, your cardigan is really hot! ❤” 

-“Oh thank you dear, do you know what’s also “hot”?? My fiancee’s ginger sister ❤.”

-”Getting my pride hurt twice today, alright, time to get drunk and blackout so hard I’ll forget this whole day ever happened!”

-”Aww, don’t be upset, April! Your ass is far too detox tea ad material for you to be this sad!”

-”SHOO ANGIE, TAKE YOUR FAKE ASS COMPLIMENTS AND FLIRT WITH NAMZIB IF YOU’RE BORED!”

-”I can’t be the only one thinking it’s completely sociopathic to cast someone nicknamed “The Slaughter” instead of arresting them, especially after nearly killing everyone upon arrival!”

-”You legit climbed into the hot tub to tell me that?”

“I got this weirdo’s signals and look, I’m not at all opposed to hatefucking, but I don’t go below sevens. I don’t care how turned on you get by near-death experiences, Roz.”

“Not to mention because that creep kept ranting to me, ABOUT me I didn’t have a minute left to change when the cab arrived to take us clubbing. Asshole.”

-”Hey Namzib, sorry we didn’t interrupt your makeout session with Roz sooner!”

-”Yeah, yeah, shut up, Tik Tok edition of Edward Cullen.”

-”EXCUSE ME, YOUNG LADY! DON’T YOU THINK YOUR ATTIRE IS -

-“NO!! THE LEGENDS FROM SECTOR 8 ARE TRUE. MRS. CRUMPLEBOTTOM AND HER MAGIC MURDER BAG ARE REAL!!”

-“...”

-”DON’T KILL ME!! UGH OF COURSE THIS HAPPENS WHEN I’M COMPLETELY UNARMED, STUPID BATHING SUIT....”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One trip to the house and back to the club later..

-“Dude, will you get going? Other people want to use the vending machine too!”

-”Hello there, young folks, it’s a nice day today! :)”

-“Just come back later when you’ve made up your mind, for Watcher’s sake!”

“So while Roz was about to lose his mind I couldn’t help but notice how virtually everyone but him in this house really wants me.”

“The boys...”

“The girls...”

“But I was standing like right next to him and everything he cares about is throwing a fit because some old dude blocked the vending machine! It’s so messed up.”

-”COME ON! COME GET ME!”

-”I love the young people! :)”

-”I’LL KICK YOUR ASS, GOATEE!!!”

-”Roz calm the hell down!!”

“Roz is just being totally aggressive right now, he’s making everyone look terrible. I was just like, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal!”

-“Stawp it, this is literally our first day and you’re making all of us look horrible, we’re gonna get thrown out!”

-”Be real, after what I’ve seen earlier today that guy was clearly your type and now you’re pissed at me!”

-‘You’re being ridiculous!”

-“Look! Over there is another old guy you can pester, now leave me alone!”

-“Would you degenerate move it already?!”

#belladonna shore #🍊 #consort wtf are u doing here

[2a8n]

New add. info 3

Most of this post will be devoted to my comments on the new information that has appeared, and not mediocre my assumptions on them, since the amount of this very information from the streams from DSP has increased so much lately (she streams almost every day). So expect a lot of text from me here and a small amount of any pictures. And yes, these drawings were also made on the stream, if I'm not mistaken.

I wonder what Rock did that makes Shirogane not even want to call him by his first name? Okay, he still doesn’t call Idate by name, but is this hot-tempered penguin really even worse than Rocma and Suno-san in the eye(s) of our depressive wolf? And yes, when did all the characters from Ice Scream manage to find out the name of the Orca? He had never introduced himself to anyone before. I understand that his niece Nagi and his "best friend" Rock may have learned his name as well as he learned their names due to long acquaintance, but what about the rest of the characters?

And the second warmest DSP character will be his brother Yukiyoshi? =)

--Especially in a place where there is a orca-rapist-abuser-bully-sociopath, a polar bear that can shred you to pieces at any time if she doesn’t like you or she is in a bad mood, a swearing penguin, which can also because of a bad mood or if you are not a child, say more nasty things and shoot you, and, finally, a living piece of pissed snow, mocking you at every opportunity. Indeed, Shirogane is really hard to get to think positively. I believe in it. Sounds like true.

I see that Takama has become more talked about on streams. Well, not as often as about his younger brother, but still… =\

Sorry dude, I forgot to mention you earlier. This character during the whole time that was his shown in Wadanohara and the Great Blue Sea, wasn't presented as very intelligent. I mean, all his conversations were about his hunger and even his longest monologue in essence consisted of the fact that "an empty stomach is the world's greatest pain". Even if he knew how to transform into a humanoid form, he wouldn't do it, simply because he couldn't even think about it: it would be easier to get food in his animal form, and he wouldn't even think about it, only because he is tormented by hunger more often than thoughts about his possibilities.

Most likely, those who don't find this guy scary will themselves be no less scary persons… And it seems that everyone that Idate considers weak (they either cannot fight back, or don't want to for some reason, or all at once), he classifies as "toys". Now I remember that he calls violence a "play", and in my head it just goes "play with toys" -> use violence on someone. I want to hit him.

Gosh, this friendship between Shirogane and Yukisada is clearly starting to go in some strange direction, don't you think? xD "Childhood friends" -> "close friends" -> "housemates" -> "great friends" -> "share a bed"…

They look youngful and at the same time younger than Orca. The Orca looks older, and at the same time he is older than these two. It remains to find out who else looks older/younger than whom, in order to collect at least an approximate picture in myself head regarding their age composition.

At least, before the meeting with Orca, he was definitely good health… ( - _ - )

DSP clearly keeps all information regarding the Shirogane family a secret. This wasn't the case with the family of Idate, Rock, Peraco, and, possibly, Yukisada (no one has yet asked anything about Yukisada's and his brother's parents). Does it mean that they can play some role in the Ice Scream itself…?

We recall that DSP divide into virginity into "rear virginity" and "genital virginity", and, based on this, we are already building our conclusions about what has been said.

I remembered that there was an official art showing Yukisada with a suitcase. Is it possible then that not only Yukiyoshi, probably, not living on Iceberg Isle, is visiting his older brother, but Yukisada is also visiting his younger brother as well?

But he only and does what he thinks about his childhood friend Shirogane and takes care of him all the time, so Yukisada indeed doesn't have time to think about love, ALTHOUGHWAITASECOND--! ( 0 _ 0 )

BONUS.

#funamusea #okegom #deep-sea prisoner #deep sea prisoner #ice scream #funameme #ice scream funamusea #ice scream deep sea prisoner #ice scream deep-sea prisoner #shirogane (ice scream) #shirogane #yukisada #yukisada (ice scream) #yukiyoshi #yukiyoshi (ice scream) #takama #takama (ice scream) #takama okegom #idate #idate (ice scream) #lobco #idate (watgbs) #ice scream idate #idate okegom #idate mogeko #idate orca #lobco okegom #lobco (watgbs) #watgbs #lobco (wadanohara and the great blue sea)

[xtruss]

Illustration by Nicholas Konrad/The New Yorker

What Lies Do to a Life

In “A History of Lying,” the novelist Juan Jacinto Muñoz-Rengel argues that lies are inescapable. But being in the periphery of a real man who couldn’t stop lying casts light on the ways that’s not quite true.

— By Lucie Elven | January 5, 2023

once knew a man whose remarkable lying caused me to overlook him. When we met, I was nineteen and world-weary, and he fit a mold I thought I knew: rich (he’d attended Harrow, a particularly expensive private school), clever (then Oxford, early), seemingly conservative (a link to the army). A few years later, I crossed paths with him again when I was thinking of moving into a cheap room in a house in London occupied by a woman he was dating. The room was in the eaves, and I took it, even though it didn’t have a door—just a permanently open trap with a ladder leading in.

At that time, the man worked for the civil service. He was writing a satire about it, he said. He would come to our house with a big army bag slung over his shoulders, and through the square hole in my floor I’d hear him talking about the Grenadier Guards, Afghanistan, P.T.S.D. I paid him little attention, but I knew that class was a constant source of stress in his relationship with my housemate, whom I’ll call Sophie. He had a string of names and well-known relations; he introduced himself as the son of a lord. She was middle class. Sometimes, the liar would go to extravagant parties and not invite her, and she would feel insufficiently impressive.

When Sophie, who had become dissatisfied with her job, applied for a position with the intelligence services, he encouraged her. But then she told him that she’d listed his name on a questionnaire—the sort designed to reveal anything in her private life that might compromise her, Queen, or country—and he said that there was no need to mention him. Days later, he broke things off. Sophie was shocked and upset, and grew more so when, shortly after that, she received a text message from the interviewer to whom she had spoken, meant for someone else. “It’s all a tissue of lies,” it read. “No Grenadier Guards. No Harrow. Nothing.”

The phrase “tissue of lies,” like “web” and “fabrication,” evokes the warp and weft of a narrative woven largely from threads of untruth—its sometimes animal vitality. Since then, I’ve thought often about how to retell the story of the liar. Relating it to friends as an anecdote was to submit to its surreal quality. It didn’t feel entirely right when I told it that way, given the license for exaggeration that the anecdote form allows. Doing so seemed to enact a kind of indulgent dynamic that I associate with ghost tours and urban myths of baby alligators living in sewers, or viral videos of shrouded figures walking across doorways. When I began to write fiction, I considered using the story but felt that it was unsuitable—both implausible and, somehow, too obvious. The parts that were most shocking in real life—the secret services, the texted tricolon, the degree to which he inflated his imaginary aristocratic heritage—would read as clichéd plot devices. But, over the years, the story kept hopping into my mind. When I encountered lies in my own life or in the news—reading about British undercover officers infiltrating the climate movement, for example, using the identities of dead babies and fathering children with activists—I would find the story of Sophie’s liar sitting there underneath, a toad under a pile of leaves.

Perhaps the reason that the liar has stayed with me has something to do with his simultaneous brazenness and banality—though the revelation was shocking, he himself had registered so little with me, and the fact of being lied to seemed, in the end, almost pedestrian. Lies are ubiquitous; in a certain light, to be shocked by them seems precious.

Such is the posture assumed by the Spanish novelist Juan Jacinto Muñoz-Rengel in “A History of Lying,” a book-length essay in which he declares that “the history of humankind is nothing other than the history of making it up.” Best known for a parodic crime novel titled “The Hypochondriac Hitman” and other postmodern experiments with literary convention, Muñoz-Rengel sets out from a brief summary of Cartesian doubt (which, he says, none of the philosophical solutions that have been proposed properly resolve) to argue that lying is not, as conventional morality might have us assume, a practice to be avoided whenever possible but, rather, an innate and inevitable element of language and life.

Muñoz-Rengel marshals a wide range of examples to this end, beginning with that of the Cretan seer Epimenides, who rose from a deep sleep in the sixth century B.C. to declare that “all Cretans are liars,” and stretching to the present day, when Spotify’s sharing function allows people to “stop listening to the things they want to and begin prioritising instead the image of themselves.” Skimming the surface of philosophy (Nietzsche, Freud, Ferdinand de Saussure, and post-structuralists are all praised for their skepticism), Muñoz-Rengel also attempts to give his polemic a scientific varnish by referring to the natural world. The book is laced with nuggets of evolutionary biology and examples of animals with the ability to disguise themselves. Consider the cuttlefish, he writes, for whom deception is a biological strategy. It can not only change color but is also “capable of modifying its texture, the entirety of its external structure, and even of generating patterns similar to the shifting seabed, which it can then set in motion along its body in the opposite direction to that in which it is actually moving.”

The example does much to illustrate the breadth of Muñoz-Rengel’s definition of a lie, as well as his subsequent tendency to blur concrete details, as well as historical fact, in service of his theory. So broad is his lens that people captured and enslaved by the Phoenicians are described as “overly trusting foreigners—the more credulous kind, who probably hung around the bait, rather than withdrawing somewhere safe.” Even his less extreme conflations are absurd. “Having dealings with other people means staying in a constant state of dissimulation,” he writes—in other words, you lie whenever you are polite. Gone are the important distinctions—based on their scale and severity, their effects and their motivations—between individual lies. And who would hold a single cuttlefish to be an example of deceitful behavior, when its aptitude for concealment is helpful to its survival?

Some of the most exaggerated portions of Muñoz-Rengel’s book are those in which he claims that, because language uses signs to represent real things, it, too, is a sort of deception, and that all understandings reached through metaphors are therefore “based on speculation, projection, lies.” This, again, seems to elide crucial nuances. While metaphors can sometimes be misleading, they can also illuminate the speaker’s personal response to a subject. In neither case do they impart knowledge that is empirically falsifiable, as lies do. When I compared the story of the liar to a toad buried in leaf litter, I was not claiming that the story had literally been hibernating for the winter—grayish, warty—then sprung out when it was unexpectedly disturbed, an unwelcome, grotesque, vaguely comic creature. I was trying to convey something of the particular way the story had lodged itself in my mind and, even when I forgot about it, seemed to be leading a life of its own.

Sometimes, among all Muñoz-Rengel’s vague tracings of unreality, I detect something sincere. His fierce allegiance to the idea that the origins of lying reside in any detachment from reality brings to mind the idea of not lying as an active pursuit, which takes the form of a constant sifting through the details of life, and a simultaneous attempt to articulate them as clearly as possible—something akin to producing art. But when he writes off representation with such little regard for the distinction between it and intentional lying, it comes—gradually, frustratingly—to seem as if he is not so much making a case about the inevitability of epistemological carelessness as providing a demonstration of it.

I can’t pretend his lying hasn’t made the liar I knew more interesting, but more interesting still was how, around him, the world behaved in unlikely ways. Like Boris Johnson—who was described by one former Tory M.P., himself often denying having been in the intelligence services, as “the best liar we’ve ever had”—the liar told stories that were superficially entertaining but predictable, and used them to garner power.

The propulsive force of people who know how to gain trust by knitting improbable tales is Muñoz-Rengel’s most generative subject. He recounts the story of the Catalan man Joan Pujol, who, in 1941, approached the British authorities to offer his services as a spy. By his own account, Pujol—whose family suffered during the Spanish Civil War, and who consequently hated Fascism and Communism both—came to spying in a roundabout way:

I was managing a poultry farm. . . . The poultry farm was not a success. . . . I decided to “exit” from the stage, as they say in the theatre. . . . My life in Madrid as a hotel manager began peacefully enough. . . . On 3 September 1939 England had declared war on Germany. . . . My humanist convictions would not allow me to turn a blind eye to the enormous suffering that was being unleashed by this psychopath Hitler.

When the English rejected him, Pujol instead applied to work for the Germans, who, unsuspecting, took him on and assigned him a mission to Britain. Pujol, who had no intention of spying for them (he later claimed that he planned to work as a double agent), told his handlers that he was moving to Lake Windermere. Instead, he and his wife, whom he married in Madrid, had moved to Lisbon, where he bought a British guidebook, railway timetable, and map, and began to send made-up reports to his employer, accompanied by expense invoices. In April, 1942, the Allies signed Pujol on as a double agent, code-named Garbo. Over the next two years, he wove “a network of completely fictitious sub-agents”—twenty-seven in total—who all needed paying. His inventions included a Brit of Swiss-German descent named William Gerbers, a Welsh nationalist named Dagobert, a Gibraltarian waiter living in Chislehurst, and a Venezuelan student in Glasgow (and his brother, whom Pujol named Moonbeam). Their invented efforts led to Pujol charging the Nazis a fortune. Sometimes, when the Germans wondered why Pujol’s sources failed to file reports until after the fact, he made up stories of illness or told them that the source had died, leaving behind a fictional widow who needed the money.

In 1943, Pujol was enlisted to convince the Germans that the Allies were planning an invasion of the Pas-de-Calais, rather than Normandy. He kept up the lie until the last moment, when it was too late for the Germans to stop the D Day landings. By then, he and his wife and first child had been relocated to London, where the couple had a second baby. Declassified M.I.5 files show that, at the time, his wife was so homesick (she especially missed her mother) that she threatened to expose Pujol to the Germans. To keep her silent, Pujol and his British handler tricked her into believing that her behavior had led to his imprisonment, and arranged for her to visit a detention center, where Pujol pretended to be incarcerated. The Allies helped him maintain his cover throughout the war (and even after); he was both awarded an Iron Cross by Hitler and made an M.B.E. by King George VI—after which he faked a bout of malaria, and sloped off to Venezuela, where he opened a bookshop.

Pujol’s story only became known publicly in 1984, when an author named Nigel West went on a mission to uncover Garbo’s true identity: the result was a book, “Operation Garbo,” co-written with Pujol and published in 1985. (Although Pujol used his real name, “Nigel West” is a pseudonym for Rupert Allason, a former Conservative M.P. who has written about espionage, and has published several crime novels.) In “Operation Garbo,” Pujol is a lavish narrator, alert to the possibilities of storytelling even in his everyday life. When meeting his Nazi handler, he wonders whether he was taken on because this handler was “intoxicated by my verbosity.”

Muñoz-Rengel approves of Pujol for his “capacity for artifice,” which he used to fight against injustice “without firing a single bullet.” (None of Pujol’s wife’s role or treatment appears in the book, and one has the sense that Muñoz-Rengel is captivated by Pujol’s madcap behavior, rather than curious about its roots or its implications for the people who knew him.) Muñoz-Rengel attributes West’s success at tracking down Pujol in part to his vocation, writing that “novelists understand better than anyone the fictional nature of reality.” If there is an optimistic proposition in Muñoz-Rengel’s book, it is the idea that such an awareness grants you a special kind of agency. Once one knows that “everything” is a lie, one is no longer “some unsuspecting sap” but instead becomes “an actor who has chosen to act.” What this agency grants the person who wields it is not clear, but Muñoz-Rengel emphasizes that it is through art—“a sublime kind of deceit”—that one can obtain it. Cubists, for example, ditched the “fleeting lie” of classical beauty, and Dadaists broke with “the dominion of logic.” Conceptual art draws the viewer “into a game of reinterpretation and construction about what is real.”

It’s a shame that Muñoz-Rengel doesn’t connect these musings to his own work as a fiction writer. His account suggests a unidirectional process of unsettling that emanates from the artist into the world. But invention can also lead artists to unearth experience that was unadmitted to themselves. I write fiction partly to work out what I skate over and keep secret from myself; it’s difficult to start without something that feels real, a solid platform on which to stand. After that, it’s stimulating to stitch artifice and reality into a performance—a lie that lets someone in. Sketching out the relationship of truth and falsehood in Muñoz-Rengel’s own process might have offered the reader a foothold in the shifting sands of his argument, and an example of the kind of liberation and agency that he claims to value.

After Sophie learned that her boyfriend wasn’t the person he claimed to be—he had cribbed aristocratic middle names from fiction and an adopted forebear, had not obtained his undergraduate education early at Oxford, and so on—I did not see him for years. I drifted away from our shared friends, whom I hadn’t told what I knew. In our post-university social universe, personal and professional connections were difficult to disentangle, and there seemed to be a violence in puncturing their relationships and confronting them—him, too—with the truth. I had the opportunity to expose him to them, and I decided not to take it.

Still, I heard things about him from this or that person from time to time. One said that his age was different depending on whom you asked. Another maintained that he had tried to warn Sophie by recommending Graham Greene’s novel “England Made Me,” in which the protagonist pretends to have gone to Harrow and goes on lying from there. One night, I saw him at a bachelorette party. At the end of the evening, he was met by a willowy blond woman, a celebrity whose face I knew from science-fiction and period dramas—another notch in the story that seemed to me, in the days and years after, so implausible it was like a narrative contagion.

I sometimes wonder whether, in the end, not telling friends about the liar wasn’t so much an act of gentleness but an avenue to power. If the liar felt that he had a nice view over the people in his life—knowing more, seeing more—then I was there, watching them all, from a little higher up. It can be intoxicating to watch someone turn themselves into a character when you can see the color and the construction of the work. Nowadays, the liar works in tech, occasionally writes articles, and appears in front of governmental bodies.

Whenever I see her, Sophie and I add something that we’ve heard to the story of the liar, reframing the tale with new information, joking darkly about the latest development—it doesn’t look like the story is about to end. It’s not that Sophie hasn’t moved on. It’s not that the liar was particularly magnetic or charismatic. It’s that his lies made her marginal, and reduced their relationship to petrol fumes, and we want to make it solid again. Perhaps in using words carefully, placing the events in relation to other facts, and admitting how much we don’t know, Sophie and I run the risk of being overly literal, but I don’t think so. When the truth is strange, telling the story to each other—a version of it that incorporates both the plotline he wanted us to inhabit and our own experiences—is a way of showing how much life is driven by fiction, and then of weaving that fiction back into the real world, where it belongs. ♦

— The New Yorker

[blakkbirde]

Epilogue

Last time, I had mentioned a voice. This voice is much like the one that I followed when first beginning my ancestry work. To be honest, this voice I think is me, or my soul. It’s wiser than me, tells me when someone visits, and even has a part in my relationship with The Creator. 

This was the voice came after the incident. It was a relief as I had thought everything would be taken from me. Instead, it brought me closer to myself and has helped me stay in tune with myself. 

Since the event, I realized that my gift was taken, it was merely tempered. I could not see my house, that stayed true. It was much later when I was visited by my great grandmother, someone I had never met, that it became clear only those associated with my house that could not visit. Since then, friends and family of my house have sent messages from them, providing some comfort. 

During this time I’ve also gotten closer to The Creator. I’ve been taught lessons and given visions, stuff that has blown my mind. I’ve gone back to church, lengthened my meditation time, and have continued to improve. I’ve already made peace with the thought that this all might be accidents coinciding together. Luckily due to my illness, my brain get’s checked, so it’s definitely not that. I like to think that regardless of the source of all this, I’m becoming the type of person I’m pretty proud of.

Just as I was told to write all this down and share it, so too have I been told that it must end here. I must say I’m a little sad about it, as writing this all down let me get it off my chest and I feel like I haven’t said nearly enough. I liked it, despite being absolutely embarrassed the whole time. At the very least, I hope you were entertained by my tirades. At most, I hope you might believe that something crazy and extraordinary happened to me, and you know that if it happened to me, something similar can happen to you. Either way, The Creator is behind it all, my wish is for you to see that. The same entity that allowed me the bad trip in front of my housemates so I could move home, where I’ve seen signs I really wish I could share with you, is the same Creator that cares and wants to connect to you. I know the church is the last thing on people’s minds right now (it was the same for me), as well as the religion proclaiming a god that looks only like a certain demographic and seems to care more about how you’ve sinned than how you’re hurting and trying your best. But please listen. If you open yourself and just stop analyzing and thinking about the drudgery of life we’ve all made for ourselves, you will find yourself sitting quietly in a corner of your mind. And you’ll find that there is something bigger, much bigger than even what we think of as the Christian god sitting up in heaven looking down on us. That’s putting The Creator in a box we can understand, thereby cutting off pieces and parts of the being. It’s like only seeing a puppet without thinking about the arm moving the puppet. The Creator is all the things we think, but The Creator is also funny and connected to death and magnificently huge that you breathing is you brushing up against The Creator’s cloak.  

Whether or not you believe that something like the end times is coming, I’m sure you've seen how messed up the world has gotten. Why not give what I’m saying a shot? Why not call to that force beyond our comprehension and see if there’s an answer? Everything’s falling apart already. 

What is there to lose?

[sinswithpleasure]

First (ft. TWICE's Mina)

[Y/N POV]

"I'm home!"

After a long day of classes over at university, I had finally returned home. Computer Science was not an easy course of study to take, and I usually returned home exhausted every day. I walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water and taking a swig to cool myself down from the walk home.

"Huh, usually Mina greets me with 'Okaeri'... I wonder where she is today."

I sat down at the dining table, resting my exhausted body on the dining chair. I smiled at the thought of my housemate. Sharing this house with her had made the bills so much easier to pay off, and her presence meant I did not have to live alone.

Myoui Sharon Mina's agreement to house with me was through an ad I put out online. I had gone through so many different housemates, and I was ready to give up looking. One was a party girl that kept on bringing guys over to sleep with, and I had walked in on them desecrating my furniture multiple times. Some skipped out on paying their share of the bills. I was starting to get disillusioned with the idea of housemates before she popped around.

Mina had contacted me for an interview through text. She was my last chance I gave myself before resigning to my fate and moving to a smaller apartment. I was expecting another party girl, or someone I would not like instantly. However, when I met up with her, I was instantly blown away with her looks. This woman could easily have featured on any fashion magazine, on the cover, no less. She looked like a modern day princess, and yet, she was just a college student majoring in Dance, and seeking a roof over her head with cheap rent. Mina was nothing short of polite during the interview, and she had laughed when I told her my horror stories of the previous housemates. Throughout the interview, she easily charmed me with her politeness, and her assurance that she was nothing like my previous housemates. While every interviewee I had met promised what she had promised as well, I had a hunch she would stick to her promise.

Mina was also nothing short of what might actually be the perfect housemate. Every time we met in the hallways or in whatever room in the house, she would always greet me in Japanese with a "Good morning/afternoon/evening" with a big smile on her face. She respected all house rules and did her share of the chores, as well as paid her bills on time. This lady was easily the most charming of all my housemates, and it was easy to live with her. Ever the homebody, her only trips out of her room usually was to go to class or to occasionally grab snacks from the fridge or cabinets in the kitchen. Over the months, she loosened up and began to socialise with me more. We bonded over a shared love for gaming and hatred for her many admirers. Many a night was spent killing aliens and raiding dungeons together while cursing out all her admirers. Mina had learnt to read people well from all the boys chasing her for her looks and money through her younger years before college, and it was easy for her to know who was after her for her looks and money. If we weren't gaming together, we were chilling together on the couch watching movies or working on our individual assignments at the table. Point is, she was the best housemate ever, being so easy to get along with, and knowing her limits with the house. She rarely brought anyone over, and if she did, she would get permission from me and clean up after to ensure everyone got the best out of the experience. Did I mention she was loaded? To my surprise, she would easily be able to afford buying her own property, but she refused to spend frivolously. Why waste money when it would be better spent elsewhere on the newest games and more snacks for gaming sessions and movie marathons, or even better, saved for the future?

Spending that much time with her at home slowly led me to develop a crush on her. It wasn't a common occurrence for a housemate to not only be top tier in morals and ethics, but for her to look like the princess of Japan. With her shoulder length ginger hair and a dazzling smile that showed her teeth and gums, along with her bright brown eyes that crinkle with her smile, she was someone that would not be out of place if she was on a painting in a Japanese history museum. Her face was decorated with a number of beauty marks; one on her forehead, one on both her cheeks, one on her nose bridge, another on the left of her nose, one on top of her lips, one below, and one on her chin. Even her body had some. One on her neck, one on her left shoulder, and one on her tummy. These beauty marks, specifically on her face, looked like a constellation in the night sky. She could be doing mundane things like noting words down on a notebook or pouring herself a cup of water, she seemed to execute every action with the elegance of a princess. Every time she looked at me, her hair seemed to fall in place, her side-parted bangs falling nicely to frame the side of her face, covering a bit of her right eye. This would be paired with her dazzling gummy smile or a slight curve of her lips and raise of her eyebrows. She was unhealthy for my heart and I had to try to hide my blush each time I would catch her eye. Knowing her perceptiveness, she probably had already picked up on my crush on her. I could never be sure though, since she had not mentioned anything in the year we've lived together.

"Strange," I muttered to myself, "she's usually home by now. Her classes end at 3pm today. Where is she?" I got up from the chair, wandering over to the hallway that led to both our rooms. Both doors appeared to be closed. "Huh. Guess I'll…"

A faint hiss of breath reached my ears. Maybe it was a figment of my imagination? Before I could dismiss it as so, another breath echoed out into the hallway. That sounded like Mina's breathing… What was she doing? She was home?

I tiptoed my way towards the sounds, each one bringing me closer to my destination. Without noticing, I had stopped in front of Mina's room.

A gasp this time. As my hand reached to knock on the door, I noticed that said door was slightly ajar. While I hesitated to peek in, curiosity won, and I leaned to look into her room.

"What the fuck?" My jaw dropped from shock.

Myoui Sharon Mina lay on her queen sized bed, her ginger hair splayed out, a halo on her pillowcase. Her back was arched, chest pushed out, taut nipples straining the thin T-shirt covering her body. One hand of hers gripped the sheets of her bed, balling them in her fist, as the other…

Her other hand was shielded by her legs, but it was obvious what she was doing to herself, with muffled slick and wet sounds emanating from between her legs. Her shorts were thrown haphazardly next to where she lay on the bed, her panties still around her hips. Both knees met each other as she clenched her thighs around her hand. Her beautiful eyes were squeezed shut, brows furrowed, her bottom lip trapped underneath the bite of her teeth in an effort to muffle whatever sounds her voice would make.

I almost let out a gasp of my own. Arousal shot straight down to my groin, my cock beginning to harden at the sight. Never in my wildest dreams would I expect to physically see my housemate fucking herself with her fingers. Sure, in the year I had fantasized a lot about her during my own relaxation sessions, but those would only remain as fantasies. I was a little bit ashamed to admit that prim and proper Myoui Sharon Mina was the object of a lot of my sexual fantasies. I always imagined her stripping for me, our lips locking and tongues meeting, as we made love with each other, or her bent over a desk while I took her from behind, or if I was having sex with her in missionary position on my bed. I had also dreamed up this scenario before, where it ended up with us having sex with each other. Many a night was spent thinking about her body under her clothes, from her average sized breasts under her T-shirts or sweaters, to her round ass under her jeans, or to her solid abs whenever she wore anything that showed her core muscles. However, never would I have ever thought that this would come true in reality.

"Aaah~..." A moan broke my reverie. Mina had moved her left hand from balling the sheets to cup her right breast over her shirt, kneading the soft flesh. She whimpered at her own ministrations, before pinching her erect nipples over the T-shirt. "Mmmh~ fuck..." She shifted on the bed, panting at the exertions of her right hand between her legs, and the pleasure she was giving herself. Each time she pinched her nipple, she would arch her back a little, before biting her lip and letting out a soft "Mmmf~".

I knew I should retire to my room and leave her alone. This was an invasion of her trust and privacy, and my peeping on her, whether accidental or not, was not something I should be doing. However, I could not will my eyes to tear away from the sight of Myoui Sharon Mina fucking herself with her fingers. While I could not see what she was doing to herself, I could only assume she was circling her own clit through the motions of her forearm. My dick was straining against my jeans now, and I squeezed it to alleviate some pressure. Mina now had swapped to her left breast, and she had stopped biting her lip, opting to just pant in pleasure.

I was sure my underwear was ruined by now, with the amount of pre-cum I was producing. Unable to take the straining, I unzipped my jeans and let my bulge out. I did not want to pull my dick out or jerk off as she could catch me as I caught her, and that would easily ruin our current friendship beyond repair. Shit, this wasn't the dream I envisioned at all…

"Aaaagh~! Fuck it!"

Mina's unusually loud exclamation of frustration echoed out of her room. I looked up from my actions with my pants in time to see her fingers hook under the waistband of her panties and aggressively rip them off her hips. She kept her eyes shut as she raised her hips to allow for herself to remove the offending undergarment. Pulling harshly at her panties, she raised her legs up and flung them to a corner of her room, before yanking her shirt up to expose her breasts. Her legs returned to their prior position, with her thighs clenched around her right hand, circling at her most private of areas.

Another pang of arousal shot to my groin, and I felt more pre-cum flowing out of my dick. Holy fucking shit, Mina was a fucking goddess. As mentioned prior, her average breasts were fitting for her frame, but to see these same breasts naked… they were perky and smooth, and her nipples pert, the areola small. These same nipples were just as taut as they were under the T-shirt, their light brown a nice transition from the honey-fair skin she had. God, she was so fucking hot and I wished she would take me to bed with her. Before I could fully believe in my luck, Mina unknowingly took what might have been her killing shot at my health and well-being.

"Mmmh~ yes~!"

Mina's closed legs from before fell to their sides as she spread herself on the bed. Another rush of pre-cum shot out of my dick as I finally saw Mina's wet pussy for the first time. She was shaved clean, her pink lips spread and glistening with arousal. Mina's fingers were rubbing on her clit roughly, her left hand pinching her nipples directly now. She squirmed and whimpered with each tug on her own nipples, and the sinful words that left her mouth next almost made me moan out loud, had I not covered my mouth quickly.

"Fuck, yes, [Y/N], Aaaah~!"

Mina's middle and ring fingers penetrated her own pussy, as she moaned my name repeatedly. "Mmm~ fuck~ [Y/N]... aaah~ you're so big, so hot, mmmh~" Her fingers thrusted in and out of herself. I could see her drenched fingers each time she pulled out, showing how turned on she was. She angled her hand to allow for the pad of her thumb to rub her clit, and her fingers appeared to curl inside her with each thrust. "Yes! Right there! Mmmf~ fuck!" Her motions seemed to get faster and faster, as she writhed on her bed at the pleasure she was feeling. I gripped onto my bulge, rubbing myself over my briefs. Mina's moaning of my name turned me on so much; my dick was twitching in its confinements. I was barely controlling myself, and I could feel my willpower slowly leaking away. However, I disciplined myself and kept myself from going further than that.

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Shit! That feels so good, fuck~! I'm so close, I'm so close, fuck! [Y/N], fuck, [Y/N], I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum I'm gonna fucking cum on your cock, fuck, I'm gonna- aaAAAH~!"

Mina's hips bucked wildly as she thrashed in pleasure on the bed, her fingers fucking herself through her orgasm. I nearly came in my pants at the sight of her, as her loose hand gripped onto the bed sheets as an outlet for the pleasure wrecking her lustful young body. Mina's body glistened with sweat, her flushed skin wet from the sweat that formed from the exertion of her masturbation. She withdrew her fingers from her pussy, raising them to her eyes as she played with the strings of sticky fluid between said fingers. Mina then put her fingers to her mouth, her tongue darting out to clean them of the juices from her orgasm. The smile on her face depicted the afterglow of her orgasm. Her head tilted towards the door after, her eyes opening slightly as she panted heavily. The same pair of eyes appeared to have met mine, and I darted back to my room before I could verify. Panic coursed through my veins, and as I shut my room door too loudly for my liking, I leaned against the wall, face in my palms. I had no idea how I was going to face her if she really caught me peeping on her…

'Tomorrow's problems for tomorrow's me,' I told myself. For now, I had my issues to solve in the form of my arousal, and what better than a cold shower?

----------

[Mina's POV]

I'd caught [Y/N] peeping on me.

Well… this was mortifying. I'd been loudly moaning his name as I fucked myself and he'd probably watched every second of it.

Shit… his schedule today ends at 4pm… he could make it home in the time it took me to masturbate. How could I forget? Stupid me!

He did seem very happy to watch me though, evident from the hard bulge sticking out of his zipper and the wet spot that formed on his briefs…

How was this now a development in both our lives?

I'd returned home earlier that day, in the afternoon. The stress of the day was overwhelming; my assignment for a choreography was due soon and I still had lots to work on and practice. Furthermore, many other classes I took had assignments due, and I barely had enough alone time to myself as is. I moved to my room, changing from my school outfit to my home outfit, a simple plain white T-shirt and shorts. 'Fuck wearing the bra,' I thought, 'finally I get to be free of it. It's not like [Y/N] returns home soon anyway.'

I made a trip to the kitchen for a cup of water. It was rare to get some alone time at this point of the semester, and the stress was getting to me. As I leaned on the kitchen counter, drinking from my cup, my brain led me down a train of naughty thoughts.

'You're home alone, Mina. [Y/N]'s not here. You're stressed and you haven't masturbated in weeks. What's stopping you now? He doesn't come home early today…'

It was true, I was pent up for weeks and desperately needed a good orgasm. Every day was spent working on my assignments or choreographing something. I needed a release and it had been a while since I'd fingered myself. Heat pooled at my stomach; the need to masturbate had increased tenfold.

I returned to my room, giving the door a half-hearted push, and making myself comfortable on my bed. Rubbing myself over my shorts, I closed my eyes and let my mind wander. My thoughts were a mess at the beginning, but they slowly coalesced into the form of my housemate.

[Y/N] was a solid housemate. Ever the respectful man, he was never rude and unpleasant to anyone he knew, and he made it a point to be especially polite to any service staff he had the pleasure to meet. Every time I went out with him to restaurants or diners, the waiters or waitresses always received the utmost respect from him, and if he could tip them, he could. 'They are doing their best, and I'm sure any bit helps' was his reasoning when questioned. He cared for me a lot, always offering me a listening ear and advice when required, and I will never regret my decision to ask him to cuddle with me once when I was really down in the dumps. He became my best friend and my rock within the year we've lived together, and it wasn't difficult to end up crushing on him. He was able to lead me through my indecisiveness and take my hand through so many issues I'd face, and he knew how to be playful and have fun, such as dissing my many admirers or any stupid characters in movies in humorous ways. This man was my ideal type.

As I felt my arousal grow at the thought of [Y/N], I thought of all the times I saw him shirtless at home. As if it wasn't enough to be my ideal type of man already, being able to lead me and be playful and mature when required, he was lean, fit, and tall. I'd seen him return home after going for jogs, or when he'd work out at home. His body, shining with sweat, droplets cascading down his broad shoulders to his defined chest, running over his beautiful six-pack abs… His thick biceps and triceps…. This man was not built like a bodybuilder; I know my descriptions make it seem like he was one but he was just one sexy lean and fit man. I wonder what he packed between his legs...

My thoughts wandered to the times I've seen him flushed and panting after the exertion of workout, and I wondered if he'd look and sound the same if he was flushed and panting from jerking his cock… I imagined him lying on his bed, jerking his cock. Fuck, I was getting so wet, and there wasn't enough stimulation over my shorts…

At this point, I was breathing a little heavier from the pleasure coursing through my veins. I raised my hips, pulling my shorts off my hips and haphazardly flinging it to the side of the bed. My right hand returned to my pussy, rubbing it all over my panties. My nipples had hardened from arousal over the course of my ministrations and they were now tenting the loose tee I had on. My other hand gripped the sheets, seeking an outlet with the pleasure I felt. Rubbing my clit over my panties felt really good, but I hungered for actual contact. Slipping my hand under the waistband of my panties, I sought out my clit. The first contact of my fingers and my clit led me to buck my hips involuntarily, letting out an "Aaah~". My knees knocked against each other as I clenched my thighs around my hand.

As I rubbed circles around my clit, I imagined [Y/N]'s fingers on my pussy. I imagined his fingers rubbing my clit the same way I was now, as he leaned over me shirtless, lowering himself to bring his lips to mine. I bit my bottom lip, hissing in pleasure, as I imagined him licking at my lips and meeting my tongue with his, frenching me as he pleasured my pussy just the way I liked. God, this fantasy was making me so wet; I felt my juices flowing out of my naughty pussy and wetting my fingers. If this carried on, I'd surely end up wetting my underwear.

My fingers kept circling my clit as I arched my back, pushing my nipples against the thin material of my T-shirt. "Aaah~ fuck~" I moaned, my fist balling the sheets under me. I bit my lip again, keeping my vocal outlet to hisses and releases of breath. I kept circling my clit, refusing to give in to the temptation to play with my own breasts.

In my mind, [Y/N] had stopped frenching me and had turned his attention to my neck. I imagined his tongue running a line from my collarbone to my neck, before he bit onto my earlobe. I imagined him whispering to me, "You're mine now, Mina. All mine…" I writhed on the bed at the thought, leaning my head to the left, exposing my neck to the [Y/N] in my fantasy. As he left butterfly kisses down my neck, I imagined him pulling back up and asking, "Ooh, what's this?" as he reached for my right nipple. I released the tightly balled sheets from my iron grip, timing my movements with my fantasy. Imaginary [Y/N] tugged on my nipple, fondling my right breast over my T-shirt. I could not resist the moans that left my lips, and I let the fantasy run wild as I rhythmically tugged on my nipple, my fingers now teasing the entrance of my pussy, coating my fingers in my fluids.

"Mmmf~ fuck~" The wet, slick sounds of my fingers playing with my pussy echoed in my room, as I prepared to penetrate myself. I was very pent up now, as I imagined myself stripping naked to let imaginary [Y/N] fuck my slutty pussy with his hard cock. I couldn't take my own teasing any longer.

"Aaaagh~! Fuck it!" I hooked my thumbs to the waistband of my panties, frantically pulling them off myself. Pulling up my shirt to expose my bare breasts to the cool air, I began to fondle myself, ignoring the volume of my moans. I spread my legs wide, letting the [Y/N] in my mind see how wet I was for him. At the same time, I circled my clit for a short while more before penetrating myself with my middle and ring fingers, imagining a naked [Y/N] penetrating my wet pussy with his hard cock. I moaned his name out loud at the pleasure from my fingers. My pussy sucked my fingers in, squeezing them in a vice like grip. My tight pussy refused to let my fingers go, and I released a loud exclamation and moan of [Y/N]'s name. I was so fucking wet now and wished [Y/N] was fucking my pussy for real.

"How does my cock feel in your pussy, babe? How does it feel having me fuck your wet slutty pussy?" I began to thrust my fingers in my pussy, my other hand gripping my breasts hard, mimicking the imaginary [Y/N] fucking my slutty body. "Mmm~ fuck~ [Y/N]... aaah~ you're so big, so hot, mmmh~," I moaned out, "you fuck me so good, so fucking good~ aaah~ I need more of your cock~"

I angled my hand to be able to both thrust in my pussy and rub my clit directly. "Yes! Right there! Mmmf~ fuck!" With practiced ease, my fingers rubbed the rough patch on the front of my pussy on each thrust, and it did not take long before I was on my way to orgasm.

I could hear [Y/N]'s gruff voice in my ear as I worked my way to orgasm. "You're mine, Mina. I'm gonna fuck you until you cum on my cock, and I'm gonna fill your pussy with my cum. Take my cum, slut." Imaginary [Y/N] began to pound my pussy as I simulated his thrusts through the use of my fingers. My pussy got tighter and wetter with each thrust, each tug of my nipples fraying the tense rope keeping me from falling over the edge. I was so close, so fucking close… I needed to cum hard...

"Oh fuck! Fuck! Shit! That feels so good, fuck~! I'm so close, I'm so close, fuck! [Y/N], fuck, [Y/N], I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum I'm gonna fucking cum on your cock, fuck, I'm gonna- aaAAAH~!"

My pussy squeezed my fingers within as a rush of fluid sprayed onto my fingers and palm. My hips bucked uncontrollably as I carried on thrusting through my orgasm to prolong the pleasure, my free hand dropping back to the sheets and gripping them as I writhed in pleasure, riding out the orgasm I desperately needed. My tight pussy finally relaxed enough for me to pull out, and my lust-addled thoughts brought me to bring my fingers up to let me taste my own cum. I licked my own juices akin to my favorite ice cream, short licks harvesting my cum from my fingers into my mouth. I smiled at how naughty I was, imagining my lovely housemate railing my slutty body, wet and ready for him to fuck, fingerfucking myself to him, and then tasting my own cum. As I lay exhausted on my bed, I made myself comfortable, opening my shut eyes to catch eye contact with [Y/N], peeking through the crack in my open door, squeezing his bulge that stuck through the zipper of his jeans, the wet spot evident on his briefs.

[Y/N] darted to his room straight after, and I could not believe he had just watched and heard me fucking myself while fantasizing about him. Again, I was very mortified. How could I forget he came back early today??

I had so much to think about now… what do I do and how can I face him for dinner tonight?

Flashes of [Y/N]'s bulge whizzed past my mind again, sending a new wave of arousal down to my pussy. Fuck… what do I do now? Groaning in embarrassment, I divested myself of my tee, wrapping myself in a towel, grabbing clean clothes, and going for a shower.

----------

[Y/N's POV]

The cold shower did not help.

Throughout my shower, I was painfully hard. Every time I closed my eyes, I could hear Mina moaning my name, see her fingers thrusting into her wet pussy, the slick sounds of her arousal ringing in my ears, and the visual of her arching her back, her face frozen in a broken scream, hips bucking wildly as she fucked her own pussy through orgasm, and her naughty smile as she licked her fingers clean.

I sighed in resignation at my current situation. It was clear that I'd have to deal with this issue myself over the next few days and try to maintain a normal relationship with Mina. Opening the door to the bathroom while drying my wet hair, I met Mina's wide brown eyes staring back at me, her bare arm reaching out for the door handle. Looking down over her body, I gasped in shock. Mina had styled her messy hair a little bit, but she was still visually sweaty and sticky from her earlier exertion. However, she was clad in nothing but a towel, her other arm carrying her fresh clothing to change to. My eyes roamed over her body; bare shoulders exposed, the smooth skin still a little flushed, yet so desirable. Her defined collarbones next, then down her bare arms, my eyes darting to her chest and down her torso, to her bare legs. I felt myself grow hard as I stared at the hint of cleavage above her towel, then to her bare legs, swapping between both parts of her body. I looked back up at Mina's face, which was coloured red by a blush. The constellation of moles on her face shone to my eyes, which trailed down each mole before locking on her brown eyes.

She was a work of art. Her parents' masterpiece. Not only was she such a pleasure to be friends with, she was (very) easy on the eyes, and her body was downright fucking sinful. God knows the things I'd do to get to bed her…

"[Y/N]?" Mina's soft voice snapped me out of my daydreams. Slapping a hand over my eye, I exclaimed out my apologies, pulling the door open and letting her in, before running out of the bathroom back to my own room.

----------

[Mina's POV]

I knew I had [Y/N] in the palm of my hand.

I knew what I was doing wearing only a towel. I knew he would go for a shower straight after, hearing the bathroom door close straight after.

He peeped on me. I wasn't angry that he did, after all, this was a bit of a fantasy of mine and it was turning me on so much knowing he watched me fuck myself thinking of his cock in my pussy. However, he peeped on me, and it was only fair for me to use the same body he peeped on to tease him.

I want to push him to his limit. How much of me can he take before he masturbates to me like I did to him?

[Y/N] has a moderately strong moral and ethical code. On a night where we were both drinking, under the influence of the liquid courage, I quizzed him on what he would do if he caught a girl masturbating to him. I'm sure it put a lot of thoughts to his head, but he had a genuine and serious look on his face when he told me he would not take advantage of or touch himself thinking of it. Those were her private times and if he came across it, he would try his best to ignore it as much as possible, though he did admit that if it really happened, he would not be able to resist watching…

Lesser men probably would have taken advantage of the girl in such a vulnerable state.

He was so cute, embarrassed yet trying to give me a proper answer while attempting to subtly check out my body. It was clear who the girl in his mind's eye was.

Oh yes, his feelings. Clear as day. I wanted him to confess first though. I never got the courage to. :(

Well, everyone has their weaknesses. Lord knows if I found him masturbating to me, I'd watch him too...

I giggled as I turned on the shower. He wouldn't know what awaited him. After all, everyone had their dirty desires deep down, and innocent shy homebody Myoui Mina also had her own perverted desires, and that involved teasing and seducing her sexy housemate until he broke, ultimately leading him into her open arms and into her bed.

As I lathered myself in soap and gave myself a good clean scrub, I thought back to earlier, when I caught eyes with [Y/N]. I focused on his bulge sticking out of his zipper and the wet spot of precum at the tip. He was so turned on by me and my body… My clit throbbed and I felt myself get wet again.

'I guess this is round two for me,' I thought, as my fingers reached down to my pussy again.

"Mmmf~"

----------

[Mina's POV - Post Shower]

Ah, what a relaxing shower…

I walked over to the kitchen, hearing the sizzle of a hot pan. I carried on drying my wet hair, walking into the kitchen. "Hey [Y/N], good evening," I greeted with a smile. [Y/N] seemed to jump at my voice, looking anywhere but at me, his skin flushed. "Ah! Err… good evening Mina, dinner's almost ready." I smirked, walking over to him as he turned back to the pan, one hand nervously scratching at his neck.

"Yaaah~, why're you so red? Are you ill?" I grabbed [Y/N]'s hand, pulling him to face me before putting my hand to his forehead. "No, you're fine…" I pouted, whining and shaking to act cute for him, "nnnhhh~, you're not looking at me when I talk to you. What's wrong?" I pinched both his cheeks and pulled him to look straight into my eyes as I puffed my cheeks, pout still in full force.

I thought it was impossible for [Y/N] to get any redder. I was quickly proven wrong as he froze for a short while, before quickly darting out of my grasp to attend to the sizzling pan. I whined again, "Oeiii~ reply me reply me reply me reply meeee~" as I poked his arm rhythmically.

"N-nothing, Mina, I'm okay…" He sounded so shaky. I laughed, poking his cheek and leaving to hang up my towel and get ready for dinner. "Tease ya~"

As I hung up my towel, I internally squealed at how cute he was being flustered. I would have never been brave enough to do this, but circumstances now had clearly changed, and I had power over him… the smile on my face quickly turned devious. I would tease him even more soon…

----------

[Y/N POV]

Mina was killing me. She was out for my blood.

Not only was it bad enough to have the image of her nubile and supple naked body burnt into every corner of my mind and the sound of her orgasm ringing in my ears, she came to the kitchen in another clean oversized tee and shorts. Although this wasn't any different attire at home in the past year, knowing that this was the most comfortable homewear to her, the fact that I knew what she looked like under those layers and how she sounded in her most intimate and vulnerable of times, I could not help but feel a deep lust for her that I had to fight to control. I'd been painfully erect for a while now and I clearly needed to quit thinking about it. To make things even worse, her hair was wet and a little messy still, and a Mina with wet hair and bareface was even worse for my health than a made up Mina was.

I refuse to masturbate to her. She asked me once about what I would do if I caught a girl masturbating while thinking of me. I don't know if she was asking me because of a lack of inhibition due to the alcohol we were drinking, or if it was out of a burning curiosity. She was particularly eager to know my answer though. I told her that I would try my best to ignore it and leave, but… I had to admit I probably would fail and watch…

At that time, I was already deep in crush with her, and my mind instantly wandered to imagining her on her bed fingering herself to me. I could not control myself from checking her body out before answering, and while she adorned a gentle smile as she waited patiently, her eyes twinkled with mirth. Visions of her with a hand between her legs, her grinding her pussy on a bed frame, her arching her back in orgasm, her pussy gushing as she bucks wildly, streams of cum squirting out and forming puddles on the floor… I had to fight these thoughts to answer her quickly before it started getting weird.

I invaded her privacy. It was not right for me to act on the events I had viewed. I knew if she did not know that I had seen what she was doing, I was technically in the clear… and this current notion of not acting on the visuals of her was probably hypocritical, as I had clearly spent many nights in the past year bringing myself to orgasm through imagining her beautiful body...

I did not know what to do with myself.

"Hey [Y/N], good evening."

I felt so embarrassed jumping at the sweet sound of her voice. "Ah! Err… good evening Mina, dinner's almost ready." I couldn't look at her for longer than a second.

"Yaaah~, why're you so red? Are you ill?" She pulled my arm, getting me to face her with her left hand, and raising her right, landing the knuckles of her fingers to my forehead. "No, you're fine…" She began to pout, sending my heart rate up. Stomping her feet, she whined and shook herself, swaying my arm with both her hands on my left wrist. "Nnnhhh~, you're not looking at me when I talk to you. What's wrong?" She pinched both my cheeks, then squished my face in her hands. She locked eyes with me in a mock glare, her cheeks puffed out akin that of a chipmunk or squirrel, and the same pout from earlier still being weaponized against me.

How could I look at her? I was so ashamed that I peeped on her. Furthermore, all I could think of was that the fingers on my forehead were the same fingers that were in her pussy and fucked her to satisfaction, and the same fingers she licked her orgasm off of.

I leaned a bit into her touch, feeling the cold of her hands on my cheeks. The aroma of her buttermilk body wash enveloped my senses, the only sound audible being my heartbeat. I could feel the heat of my face, and I felt so shy and uneasy in her hands. She'd never initiated this type of skinship with me before, and her hands were so smooth, her aroma so intoxicating, and she looked so adorable with puffed cheeks and pout on her face.

"Oeiii~ reply me reply me reply me reply meeee~" She poked me in the arm repeatedly. I felt faint. The pout never left her face and her high-pitched cutesy voice made her so much more lovable...

How could someone so sexy be so adorable?

"N-nothing, Mina, I'm okay…" Fuck, I sounded so unsure of myself.

She giggled, her eyes evidently showing her amusement and mischief. "Tease ya~." She poked my cheek, exiting to the balcony to hang up her towel.

--

Mina wasn't done with me.

Dinner was so awkward together since I had been shocked into silence from today. I couldn't even take glances at Mina without a mix of arousal, shame, and shyness. Every time my eyes met Mina's, she would smirk at me.

"[Y/N], are you okay? You're so shy today, did something happen? Hehehe"

… was that a hint? Did she see me?

No, no, no.

No no no no.

There's no way.

I blushed redder.

"You can tell me anything, you know?" She giggled again, a coy smile curving her lips. "I'll try to help you just as you've… helped me…"

My cock strained against my shorts.

Her tone seemed to hint to me that she knew of my viewing of her, but her smile had become half coy and half genuine. I did not know what to feel.

"Okay, thanks Mina."

Dinner was uneventful after as we both ate our fill.

Everything that had transpired today kept replaying in my mind. I really needed to sleep over today. I rose from my chair, getting ready to clear up and wash the dishes.

"[Y/N]!" I felt Mina come from behind me, her arms wrapping around my torso in a back hug. She embraced me tightly, tiptoeing to reach my ear, whispering to me, "Thank you for dinner today, hehe." She squeezed a little tighter.

I could feel her soft breasts pushing against my back. Her hot breath at my ear gave me a shudder, her lips nearly touching my ear. Her scent once again enveloped my senses, and I leaned back into her touch a bit. "Ah! Y-you're welcome, Mina."

I could hear her smile, and next thing I knew, I could feel her soft lips land near my nape, just above my collarbone. I audibly gasped, another shudder running through my body. I whipped around, stumbling backwards a bit away from Mina, my left hand reaching up to the spot she had just left a kiss on. Her lips were puckered slightly, slowly morphing into a smile. "Good night, [Y/N]." She turned around, skipping from the kitchen back to her room.

She was seducing me and I had to shamefully admit it was working.

I blushed. Her boobs were really soft.

----------

[Mina's POV]

In the safety of my own room, I jumped onto my bed, squealing into my pillow. [Y/N] was so cute!!! I was out to fluster him with just words but I ended up probably turning him on and getting to finally hug and kiss him like how I would in my daydreams.

This man was so turned on during dinner. I did not intend to hug him, but I had a rush of confidence and decided to follow my heart, and I could feel his shudders with my breath on his ear and my kiss on his neck. In my hug, I made sure to squeeze him tight, and I'm sure he felt my chest on his back… I hope he liked that.

I'm so happy he liked what I did today.

--

I woke up the next morning, a large smile on my face. Picking up my phone, I viewed the notifications from last night and the early morning.

Text from [Y/N]: Hey Mina, I'm going to school for a consultation session. Will be back at 12pm.

It was 10am now, and on a Friday. I had no classes on a Friday, and neither did he. Tonight was our gaming night, and… now I had three days to break his resolve.

He was my prey now, and I'm determined to get what I want.

Getting up from my bed, I stretched upwards. I had a really good few days to sleep in, and a few days to try to seduce [Y/N]. What's not to love about the weekend?

Heading to the bathroom, I passed by the wall mirror hung up in the hallway. God, I looked good this morning. I had slept the night prior in a thin T-shirt and boyshorts, forgoing the bra for comfort, of course. Sure, my hair was messy from sleep, but I knew for a fact I looked really good today. Snapping a few pictures with my phone, I smirked to myself. I couldn't help but think, 'It's not every day I feel this good, why not take more pics of my body?' Raising my shirt to reveal my breasts, I bit onto the hem of my shirt as I snapped a pic. I then took off my shirt, snapping more pics of my bare chest, before stripping bare and taking more photos of my nude body. I looked so hot. 'Maybe one day I could send these to [Y/N],' I thought, 'Investment.'

Putting my clothes back on, I proceeded to the kitchen for breakfast

--

"I'm home!"

I rose from my place on the couch, calling out "Okaeri". As [Y/N] walked into the living room, I stretched upwards, smiling in content at the comfort. When I opened my eyes, [Y/N] was furiously blushing once more, and his eyes were locked onto my chest.

Oh right, I'm not wearing a bra.

Well, I didn't plan this… but sure, I'm gonna make use of it.

"Like something you see~?" I swayed my hips a bit as I made my way to him. Pulling my shirt down a bit to show my cleavage, I bent down a little as I looked him straight in the eye with a smile. I could see him short circuiting; his eyes were locked on my boobs, and he might have actually forgotten how to breathe. [Y/N] shook his head, looking away while pulling my shirt up for me. "You can't do this, Mina! A lady shouldn't be doing this!" Such a cutie, flustered and horny at the same time.

"Nnngh~, why not?" I turned up my cuteness, hugging his arm and pulling it right between my breasts. Coy smile in place, I locked eyes with him, seeing him redden. "Mina, you're not usually like this. What's gotten into you?" I smirked, tiptoeing to reach his ear. "Maybe… I want you to watch me," I whispered. [Y/N] recoiled in shock, out of my grasp, but I just winked at him, pushing my hair up with my left hand, sultrily whispering once more, "Only look at me."

[Y/N]'s eyes were still switching between my face and breasts, and I was sure he could see my nipples tenting the T-shirt. His eyes travelled down to my boyshort panties and smooth milky legs, then to my thigh gap. I was starting to get horny from the pure lust displayed in his eyes as he checked out my body.

I was riling him up as much as he was riling me up, and I loved playing with him like this. Sure, maybe I might be acting very slutty right now, but I know that he wouldn't give in to me so easily, and I want to break his resolve before I take him. I want him to want me as much as I wanted him yesterday, and I want to see him cum for me while moaning my name as he jerks himself off.

I would have never done this if I did not know how much he enjoyed watching me fuck myself to him, but with how turned on he was and how he feels about me, both romantically and morally, I think I'm not going to care too much about image…

"My eyes are up here, [Y/N]," I drawled, "Unless you want me to show you more~" As I prepared to strip myself of my shirt, he grabbed my hands and pulled my shirt down. "NO! Nonono, Mina, that's fine, that's fine."

So red. So flustered. So cute. So… vulnerable.

I giggled. "Come on, let's get lunch! What do you wanna order?"

--

I could feel [Y/N]'s eyes roam over my body throughout the afternoon. I made sure to sway my hips a bit more when I walked, stretch more to show my chest, and show more of my legs to him. God, his lustful eyes when he thought I wasn't looking… I could feel myself getting bolder as he watched me.

Maybe I've got an exhibitionist kink… but only for him.

I want him to look at me more…

I snuggled up next to him, feeling him stiffen. He shifted in his seat, unsubtly arranging the pillow covering his lap. "Hehe, you're so stiff… is there something wrong?" He averted his eyes from me, a restless drumming of his fingers tapping a rhythm into the pillow. "No, Mina, nothing's wrong…" He trailed off, as if uncertain of his own answer. Then, in a move of confidence, I straddled him, kneeling over the pillow on his lap. "Then why won't you look at me?" I pouted, resting my hands on his shoulders. He turned to me, before snapping his head to the left again. "Mina! What-?! No, no, stop!" Grabbing his face with my hands, I turned his head to face my eyes. "You can look, I don't mind~"

[Y/N] seemed to have overheated. I giggled, getting off him. "I'm gonna go shower, enjoy yourself!"

----------

[Y/N's POV]

Mina was making it really hard for me not to jerk off to her.

She probably knows I saw her.

"Maybe… I want you to watch me"

"You can look, I don't mind~"

Coming home to an essentially almost naked Mina was a very… welcome surprise. A braless Mina only in a tee and panties was a dream I'd had for ages. Furthermore, she made sure to get her body in contact with mine, and give me the most amount of time to check her sexy body out.

God, her nipples tenting her shirt and that fucking thigh gap… I just wanted to rip her clothing off and fuck her pussy until she squirted all over the floor and I filled her hole with my cum.

I couldn't stop looking at her nipples, her legs, and that juicy ass in her boyshorts. She was quickly eroding my self control, and I really needed to rub one out soon… To make things even worse, she straddled me, giving me an eyeful of her body and the vision of what it would be like if she rode me. My resolve was quickly eroding, and it hadn't even been 24 hours since I watched her.

Mina's deep "You can look, I don't mind~" rang in my mind once more. I shook my head at the intrusive thought. I really wanted to keep looking, but I didn't feel like it was right to do so. This wasn't the usual Mina I was living with, it felt like this was Sharon Myoui instead, the more confident and sexy version.

Myoui Mina and Sharon Myoui were two sides of the same coin. Mina was the soft spoken homebody that giggled at the ending of spoken sentences, the girl that fluttered her legs when she was elated, waddled like a penguin when she walked, would gush and coo at how cute penguins and dogs were while "vibrating" by jumping and alternating between both left and right feet, and whose eyes would turn into crescents when she smiled her gorgeous gummy smile. This Mina was dorky and usually would be in the background doing something hilarious and cute.

Sharon, however, was the side of Mina when she got serious, when she was determined to obtain something she wanted. Sharon was basically the 'leader' part of Mina, when she took charge and made things happen. This side of Mina appeared if she was put in a leadership role, and she led with efficiency and high standards. This Mina was blunt and determined with endless fire and desire to succeed, and… this was the hottest Mina. She intimidated and aroused me a lot with this facet of her personality, and I… I would bottom for her if she came for me like that. This Mina knew what she wanted, and she knew she would get exactly what she wished for and how to obtain that success.

Now that she had locked the Sharon Myoui facet of her personality to me, I knew it was only a matter of time before I would give in. She'd given me a smug smirk as she left for her shower, and I basically just wet even more of my ruined briefs.

I refuse to jerk off to her.

My thoughts were interrupted by Mina calling my name, waving a hand in front of my eyes while bent to keep eye contact with me.

Oh fuck, she did this on purpose… a hoodie and boyshorts only? And the hoodie is unzipped enough to show a lot of her cleavage? Is she trying to flash me?

Mina smiled her crescent eye smile, no gums this time. "Ah, there we go. You were quite distracted. What were you thinking about?" Her eyes twinkled with mirth as she smirked, seemingly knowing that her giving me and eyeful of her cleavage was causing me to overheat once more. "I'm gonna cook dinner, what do you want?" Mina asked, tilting her head to the right. Before I could give her an actual answer, my mouth moved quicker than my brain could filter. "You."

Oh fuck. Fuck. What did I just say?

Mina's usually soft brown eyes were now hardened with lust and desire. She straightened up, once again kneeling on the couch and straddling me, a leg on either side of my thigh. I gripped the cushion on my lap hard, a rush of arousal shooting straight to my hard cock. Fuck, it hurts… straining against my pants for so long did not feel good at all. She had the hood of her hoodie up when she first greeted me, and now that she was on top of me, she had raised her left hand to push the hood off her as she flicked her hair back. She bit her bottom lip and sank onto the cushion as I quickly retracted my arms to avoid touching her. Her weight fully rested on the cushion as her arms snaked around my neck and she shifted to keep level eye contact with me.

"Oh," she breathed, "are you sure?" Her intense gaze seemed to pierce into my very soul. She bit her bottom lip, grinding down on the cushion in a slow circle, her actions causing the cushion to rub on my cock pleasurably. A whimper escaped my lips at her burning gaze, her lust and animalistic desire to consume her prey evident, and the pleasure from her essentially grinding directly on my cock. One hand of hers slid down to the zipper of her hoodie, then she slipped the zipper down enough to show the valley between her breasts and the lack of a bra.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry!" I pushed Mina off me onto the couch, as I rotated and leapt off. I caught a glimpse of Mina's confused face turning into disappointment as I sprinted into my room and shut the door, sinking to the ground in embarrassment. Oh wait… I left Mina there. In disappointment. 'I have to fix that immediately', I thought, as I opened the door to my room.

"Mina I do want you, you're fucking hot as hell but not like this, I'm so sorry!"

Fuck, what was I saying?

Slamming the door shut, I winced, then rushed to fill the silence of my room with music.

'Ding!'

I looked at my mobile phone. Myoui Mina has sent you a message.

I opened the private chat we had, and threw my phone away in shock.

Mina had sent a picture of herself wearing the same hoodie, and only the hoodie. She sat on the couch, spreading her legs open to show her glistening pussy. Her hoodie was spread open to show her breasts and pert nipples.

Myoui Mina: This could have been yours if you'd just let me fuck you.

'Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!'

I had to look. A whole set of pictures.

The next picture consisted of Mina in the same position, but her free hand spread her pussy lips wide open for the camera.

Myoui Mina: Look at how wet I was for you.

Another picture - Mina now sent a picture of her fingers, wet strands of fluid stuck between said fingers.

A video now.

"Aaaaah~" Mina, in the video, was fucking herself furiously with her fingers on the couch. "Fuck~ [Y/N]~ you feel so fucking good~ fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna- [Y/N]~"

Mina's scream of pleasure was accompanied by the gushing of fluids from her pussy. Her free hand rubbed her clit hard, prolonging her orgasm. Squirt after squirt of her juices shot out of her orgasming pussy, the sound of the liquid splashing all over the floor.

A final voice note.

"I could've squirted all over your cock, [Y/N]. It's a shame I had to fuck myself to an orgasm… I wish you'd been the one to fuck me to an orgasm before filling my slutty pussy with your cum. Think about that, [Y/N]. You could've made me cum screaming your name just like I did in the video…"

--

I could not sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Mina grinding on the cushion on my lap, Mina biting her lips, Mina staring at me with pure lust and desire, Mina's pink pussy, shining with arousal, Mina fucking herself on her fingers, Mina squirting all over the living room screaming my name.

How was I going to sleep now?

--

Mina's soft voice. "Oh, are you sure?"

Mina was grinding on my lap again, as she unzipped her hoodie to show me her breasts. "Look at me, babe." She pulled the hoodie off her shoulders, letting it slip off and pool around her forearms and waist, exposing her beautiful breasts for my viewing pleasure. She grabbed my hand, placing it on her left breast. "Touch me."

I fondled her breast, kneading and squeezing it as moans of pleasure left her lips. Mina then brought a hand to the back of my head, pulling me into a torrid kiss. When we broke for air, I bent down to suckle on her right nipple while I pinched and pulled at her left, causing her to grind down harder, which led me to groan at the increased sensations down below. Mina bent backwards, allowing me easier access to her breasts, as she stroked my head, whispering, "Good boy, that feels so good~ mmmh~"

"Stop." I looked up at her in confusion, as she got off my lap. Slipping both thumbs under the waistband of her boyshorts, she pushed them off. Strings of her arousal clung to her pussy and her boyshorts. As she let her underwear drop, she also pulled off the hoodie around her forearms, dropping it on the floor, leaving her naked in front of me.

She straddled me once more, pulling the cushion on my lap away. "Look at how wet you've made me, baby." Her voice was deeper than usual, her lust and desire evident in the breathy tone of her voice as her fingers spread her glistening pussy open in front of my eyes, while she leaned back, placing an arm behind her to support herself. Her fingers moved up to circle her clit, as she smiled slyly. "I wish you'd said yes, [Y/N]." Her fingers moved to rub her clit directly. "You could've stripped me. You could've taken me to bed. You could've fucked me and made me a slut for your cock."

She pushed two fingers into herself, hilting them at her knuckles. "Mmmf~ fuck," She withdrew her fingers, then thrusted back in, repeating the motion. "This… this could've been your cock, [Y/N]." Every alternate word was broken up by a moan as she pushed her fingers into herself. "Instead of… ahhh~ fucking myself- mmmf~ I… I could be- hnng~ cumming on your cock, aaah~"

Mina threw her head back, a guttural moan erupting from deep within her. Her fingers appeared to curl within her, stimulating her G-spot. "Fuck," the curse word was drawn out in a hiss, "fuck, fuck, fuck, that feels so good, fuck~"

My gaze travelled over her body. My hands moved to try to touch her, but Mina was quick to grab me. "Ah, ah, no touching from now on." She snapped her fingers with the hand that she was using to support herself, leaning forward to stare deep into my eyes. Her smile was coy, but her eyes were menacing, as if daring me to disobey. As I tried to move my hands, I found them bound behind me with zip ties to the bed frame. Wait… bed frame??

How did I get to her room?

Mina tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet her eyes. "Only look at me, darling. I want you to watch." She had withdrawn her fingers from her pussy; they were dripping with her juices. She lifted them to her own mouth, opening wide and sucking on her own fingers. I could see her tongue move, swirling around her digits, cleaning her fingers of her own pussy juices before she released them with an audible 'pop'.

My cock strained hard against my track pants. The bulge of my cock was painful, my precum staining through my underwear and forming a wet spot at the tip of the bulge. I squirmed under her, resisting against the ties. Mina looked down at my bulge, a big smile on her face. "I'm feeling generous today, darling. Because you've been so good today, you get to cum." She snapped her fingers once more, and I was now naked, lying on the bed with my arms around my head, still tied at the wrists to the bed. In the back of my mind, I questioned how she was able to manipulate reality to her will like that, but that thought was shelved when she sank down, pushing my cock against my stomach. Her pussy lips wrapped around the underside of my cock, and she began to rub up and down the length.

Mina smirked, her eyes glazed over, drunk in power. "Mmmf~ so hard for me, darling? Were you… aaah~... this hard when you… nngh~... watched me cum?" She ground down hard, reaching behind her to cup and play with my balls. Every few words of hers were broken up with gasps of pleasure. "Did me cumming while moaning your name feel good? Does it feel good knowing you're the reason I fuck myself? That this pussy cums for you?" Her thrusts on my cock were beginning to speed up.

"Mina-"

Mina glared at me, stopping her grinding on my cock. I squirmed, attempting to grind on her for my own pleasure. She raised herself up, just out of my reach. "Shut the fuck up. You're my slut now. My toy. My personal stress relief. You listen to me, and me only. Speak only if I tell you to. Speak up again and I will leave." She then leaned in, her eyes looking at my lips, then to my eyes. Her left hand caressed my cheek, before her thumb ran over my lips. "Be a good boy, and I'll let you cum…" She then snapped her fingers again, and I no longer could speak, just moan in pleasure for her ears.

Mina lowered herself once more, grinding down hard. Her pussy was leaking copious amounts of her juices, making a mess of both our crotches. Slick sounds echoed around the room, her wetness evident both visually and audibly. "Darling, are you gonna cum for me just like I came for you? Are you going to paint yourself white for me?" She grinded down forcefully, her pants turning to whines and whimpers, before turning to actual moans, of which each was interrupting her speech. "Cum for me, toy. Cum for me like I'm going to cum for you. Show me the load you'd put in my pussy. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm gonna… fuck! I'm gonna-"

Mina's hips bucked up, her pussy gushing. The visuals of the first stream of her squirt prompted me to cum myself, my spurts violent. I could only feel the pleasure of my own orgasm; nothing else in the world mattered when everything was whited out. Dimly, I noted Mina's streams landing all over my body, drenching me all over, as well as the bed sheets. When I opened my eyes, I was covered in a messy mix of semen, sweat, and Mina's juices.

Mina's next words were "Wake up."

--

"Blurrgh!" I sat up awake in shock. What the fuck was that dream? Panting heavily, I leaned backwards, attempting to calm down my pounding heart. What the fuck just happened? Wiping my sweat on my brow, I stared at the ceiling in a daze.

As I shifted to kick the blankets away in order to dissipate the heat from my body, I could feel an uncomfortable stickiness all over my body… and even more at my crotch. Sure, I was sweating profusely and very warm from the dream, which explained the stickiness on my body… but on my crotch…

Oh. I'd ejaculated in my pants.

The large wet spot on the front of my shorts was evident enough that my cum had soaked through my underwear.

Fuck.

----------

[Mina's POV]

Yesterday evening, I sent [Y/N] his first nudes of me. Me fucking myself to a fantasy of him and then squirting all over his living room. If only he'd just given in and fucked me; its not like he didn't want my pussy. I would have squirted on his cock.

Fuck it. I'm gonna break him now.

If he'd just given in, I'd not only submit to him, I'd have been his slut to fuck. Now that he'd resisted me, I really want to break him and make him my slut.

Shy [Y/N], so cute and flustered under me.

Fanning my dirty thoughts away, I prepared to shower and take my leave to the dance studio for practice.

--

"Thanks for today guys! I'll stay back for a bit more practice!"

I waved bye to my fellow classmates, before returning to the studio. While I did intend to practice more, I also really wanted to send [Y/N] something naughty. Locking the door, I giggled to myself.

I was wearing just a sports bra and yoga pants. I snapped a pic of myself, posing with a peace sign for the camera, before sending it to [Y/N].

'I am coming back a bit later, I'm working on something right now.'

Little would he know, I was working on taking my bra off my body. I was now topless in the studio.

'How do you like my body?'

I then decided to work my leggings and panties down my legs, stripping until I was nude. Fuck, I felt so naughty being nude in the dance studio. Kneeling on the ground, I began to snap a few pictures of myself.

'Did you have fun watching me cum?'

I then took a video of myself, running the lens from my face to my breasts, then down to my pussy.

'Maybe next time, all this would be for you.'

Smirking naughtily, I put on some music, set my camera to film, before proceeding to dance in the nude.

----------

[Y/N's POV]

Mina sent me more nudes.

She was testing my patience, and I wasn't the most patient person in the world when it came to her.

The video of her performing Taemin's Move nude was even worse - those hips, that stare, her thighs, her plump ass, the jiggling of her breasts each time she moved, and… oh my god, when she swung her right leg in a circle and flashed her pussy for the world to see… She was testing me and I was very close to failing.

As I watched the video with my earbuds plugged in, Mina popped her head into my room, waving cheerfully. "Konnichiwa, [Y/N]! Why're you so red?" I was ashamed to say I fumbled and dropped the phone in my hands.

Mina giggled, hiding her beautiful gummy smile with her hand. "Hehehe, watching something… naughty? Something personal?" She smirked cheekily, before announcing, "I've got something on soon, I'll be having lunch outside~ See you!"

I groaned after she left, proceeding for a freezing shower to get rid of my dirty thoughts.

Mina's body is divine.

--

I hummed a tune as the bacon sizzled in the pan. Breakfast for lunch seemed like a pretty good idea, and I couldn't resist bacon.

As I plated my bacon and eggs...

'Ding!'

Hmm, what was this?

Oh, fuck. Mina was sending me pictures again. This time, she was thankfully clothed, but what she wore was just as hot as if she had sent me pictures of her nude body. Her ginger hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she had on a beautiful suit. She appeared to be in the bathroom, seeing that a sink could be seen in the mirror she was using as a photography tool.

Holy fuck.

Mina knew of my weakness for suits. I'd told her before that anyone that wore a suit was hot in my eyes because of how put together they looked. I'd admitted that people in a suit, especially ladies, sometimes made me intimidated and flustered.

A voice note this time. "Hi [Y/N] baby, don't you like how I dressed for you?"

Another picture came in. Mina now had her tie loosened, and her hand was pushing her hair back. The next picture had Mina with two of the buttons on her dress shirt unbuttoned, showing her cleavage, with her tie pushed aside. She had untied her hair, letting it frame her beautiful face.

"[Y/N]-ah, I'm stripping for you now… I know you like it~" A giggle. "Hehe, enjoy~"

Another picture. Mina's dress shirt was now fully unbuttoned, a lace bra cupping her perky breasts, her tie nowhere to be seen.

Even more pictures. Mina with her shirt unbuttoned, now without a bra, showing the valley between her breasts. Mina with the blazer around her biceps, off her shoulders. Mina without a blazer. Mina with the dress shirt now off her shoulders, around her arms, still covering her breasts but exposing the smooth, milky skin of her bare shoulders, and her defined collarbones.

'Ding!' Mina sent another picture, this time of her with the camera held up behind her untied hair, her bare back facing the camera, with her free hand held up in a peace sign.

With each picture, my dick grew harder and harder. She sent her killing blow next.

[ Myoui Mina is initiating a video call… ]

"Hey, [Y/N]~"

Mina was still in a state of undress, the camera held at face level, just enough to catch her bare shoulders and hints of her cleavage. The mirror behind her captured the beauty of her bare back.

"What the fuck, Mina? What're you doing?"

"Oh, darling~ you don't have to be so shocked, it's not like you haven't seen me before." She laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You had so much fun watching me finger myself to you. If I'd known you were watching, I'd have called you in so you could pound my pussy until you filled me with cum and my pussy milked all the cum from your balls."

The absolute filth spilled from Myoui Mina's lips was something I'd never have expected to hear in my lifetime. These few days showed that Mina was more than just my elegant, respectful, beautiful, and considerate housemate; she was also a woman with her sexual desires, wants, and needs, and she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. In this case, she wanted me, and this was her way of doing so, through usage of her supple body and knowledge of my thinking processes and what ticked my checkboxes.

"I still have presents for you, baby. Guess what I'm doing right now?"

"Mina, I… Mina, what?"

"Yaaah~ you're not answering my question~ I'm doing something just for you, baby. Only for you." She winked, giving me a long gummy smile. "I'll let you see, chotto matte yo~~"

The screen shifted, now showing the white ceiling of the bathroom she was in. I heard the sounds of her belt unbuckling, and a short zip sound, before the camera was picked up again.

"Hihi, baby!" She panned the camera down, showing me her magnificent body… Oh. Oh. Her hand was in her pants, seemingly rubbing circles around her clit.

"Fuck~ that feels so good, mmmf~... Baby, I'm touching myself for you again~ This time… let Mommy show you what she does to her pussy when she thinks of you."

A whimper escaped my lips uncontrolled.

"Did Mommy's words turn you on, baby? Are you hard and twitching for me? Whip it out for me, baby. Flip the view. Show Mommy how much you like what you're seeing." Her deep and sultry tone, punctured with the occasional gasp and moan of pleasure, sent streaks of arousal straight down to my twitching dick, now leaking lots of precum. I swapped the view of my camera, pulling my pants down to set my cock free of its confinements within my shorts.

"Fuck baby, you're so fucking big… and so wet for Mommy. Jerk yourself for Mommy as Mommy strips for you." Mina propped the camera against the wall, turning around and pulling her trousers down with her panties. She bent over, flashing her ass and her drenched pussy to the camera as I jerked myself looking at her stripping. Mina turned around, placing her clothing out of the frame, standing in the bathroom naked.

"I'm glad no one ever comes here. Mommy can be loud and make a mess, and no one will know but you and me." Her lust-filled tone was turning me on more and more. Mina put her right hand down to her pussy, and her wrist curled up and she bit her lip and furrowed her brow, closing one eye. "Mmmf~, look baby," she put her hands closer to the camera, showing me the strands of her juices coating her fingers, "look at how wet Mommy is showing you what a slut she is. Mommy's a slut for your cock, baby. She wants your cock to fuck her pussy hard, to pound it until it cums and squirts all over you. Mommy wants you to fuck her until you fill her with cum and it leaks down her legs and thighs." She withdrew her hands from the camera, moving them back to her pussy as she picked up the camera and walked to an empty stall with a seating toilet, the cover already down. Sitting down on the toilet, Mina spread her legs, her fingers already penetrating her pussy and curling for her G-spot.

A sigh of pleasure released from Mina's open mouth as she leaned her head back. "Mommy's thinking… ah~... about your cock, baby…" Every few words she spoke were broken up with moans, sighs, hisses, or pants of pleasure. "I wish it was your cock in my pussy right now, baby. I wish you were kneeling and fucking into Mommy's slutty pussy as I spread for you. Don't you like that, baby? Don't you want Mommy's pussy around your cock?"

"Yes, Mina-"

Mina halted her actions. "What was that, baby?"

"I'm sorry, Mommy- fuck!" I jerked myself quicker, feeling myself edging slowly towards my orgasm at how Mina… no, Mommy had, so easily, made me submit to her.

Mina smiled. "What a filthy mouth. Mommy will let it slide this time, baby. Jerk yourself slow and good. I want you to come with Mommy. Not before, not after. Can you do that for Mommy, baby?"

"Yes, Mommy." I slowed my strokes down, disciplining myself to resist cumming first. Precum leaked out of the tip of my cock, lubricating the head. Whatever excess precum dripped to the ground.

Mina's bright smile on her face did not fit what filthy actions she was doing to herself, but that made it so much hotter. "Good job, baby. You're such a good boy. I promise you will enjoy your orgasm later. Hold on for me, okay?" She began to thrust faster and faster, moaning out loud each time her fingers curled over her G-spot. Her palm rubbed her clit with each thrust, slowly pushing her closer and closer to the edge of her release. "How does it feel, baby, to be watching me touch myself for you? Mommy's so wet and so horny watching you jerk yourself for her. Mommy's so happy you're dripping; it shows how happy you are to watch Mommy. Good job baby, I'm close, so close, fuck~"

"Mommy, fuck, I'm so close, so fucking close!"

Mina's sultry voice, broken with pants and moans, echoed from my speakers, "Yes, baby, cum for Mommy, cum with Mommy, fuck, I'm gonna, fuck-!"

"Fuck, Mommy, I'm coming!"

Mina's camera angle had switched to one from her point of view. The camera was now showing the door of the stall she was in, and her fingers furiously thrusting to bring herself to orgasm. Before she could finish her sentence, a long stream of fluid squirted from her pussy, her hand rushing to furiously rub her clit left and right, her squirt spraying all over the stall walls, floor, and door. She moaned gutturally as each stream exited, violent and strong. I could see her toes curling as she achieved her release.

The moment Mina squirted her first stream, semen shot out of the tip of my dick all over the floor. I bucked my hips into my hand, fucking my own hand to prolong my orgasm, as more spurts of cum shot out and created a puddle on the floor. As I collapsed to the floor, Mina's exhausted voice flowed to my ears, "Fuck baby, you came so much for Mommy… Good job, baby, Mommy came so much for you too." Mina's smile could be heard through the speakers. "You did so well for me… Mommy's proud of you. Now go clean up, Mommy will be back for dinner."

"Yes Mommy, thank you Mommy."

Mina giggled, the camera flipping to see Mina gazing at her drenched hand, covered in a coating of her squirt. Mina gave her hand multiple licks from top to bottom, as if she was sucking on a cock, all while her eyes never left the camera. I licked my dry lips, watching Mina clean herself.

"Maybe next time, it'll be your cock I'm licking."

[ Myoui Mina has ended the call. ]

My food was long cold by then.

----------

[Mina's POV]

As I rested on the toilet seat, recovering from my mindblowing orgasm, I smiled thinking of [Y/N]'s moans and submission to me. Making him call me Mommy turned me on so much that I'd squirted the most I had ever in my life; the stall I was in was covered in my juices. My squirt was flowing down the walls, the door, and dripping onto the ground, forming large puddles, as if someone had just showered.

Watching his cock spurt out so much semen was such a turn on, as well as knowing he'd just fucked himself for me. What an obedient little pet, so turned on and so wet just for me just by listening to my instructions. A good pet deserves a reward…

As I cleaned myself up, as well as the stall, and got dressed, I thought about how to seduce him one last time into my bed. I'm going to milk my pet for all he's worth.

I'm going to fuck him until I'm satisfied. I have waited long enough.

His reward will be my body.

--

"[Y/N], tadaima!"

I unlocked the front door to our shared apartment, dressed in the suit I'd used in our sex session over video. The aroma of fried rice wafted from the kitchen, accompanied by a "Shit!" and the sound of something dropping. Running to the kitchen, I was met with a red-faced [Y/N], picking up two spoons and forks from the ground. "Okaeri, Mo- Mina-ya." I smiled at his little slip of the tongue.

I walked over to him as he went to wash up the dropped utensils. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I leaned into his back, giving him a hug. "Thank you for cooking, [Y/N]." His body was so tense under my touch. He smelled really nice…

"Y-You're wel- welcome, Mina." His nerves were evident in his shaky and unsure voice. Turning him around as he dried his hands, I now embraced him from the front, burying my face into the crook of his neck. I felt [Y/N] finally wrap his arms around me, sinking into me just like I was sinking into his embrace.

"[Y/N]-ah, thank you for today too." I smiled at his sound of confusion, before I caressed his cheek with my hand. "Today's video call. I've never been so turned on in my life, and I've never cummed this hard before. And I did it with you. Thank you." With each word, [Y/N] got redder and redder, and he seemed to tense up, leaning away from me slightly, specifically his crotch. It was pretty clear why, but I did not want to embarrass him at this point. "Hey, don't get shy on me now," I said, flashing my gummy smile, "you've literally seen my naked body more than I've seen yours, from when you peeped on me to earlier today. I should be the mortified one here." Apologies spilled from [Y/N]'s mouth, but I silenced him with a finger on his lips. "It's okay, baby, I don't mind now, and I didn't mind then. However, I really have something I want off my chest now."

I took a deep breath in, then released it.

"Before I proceed with any of my other plans tonight, I kind of want to address the situation you caught me in on Thursday." I bit my lip, fiddling with my fingers. "Yes, I was fantasizing about you, and… I'm kind of ashamed you had to see that. I did not want to have you realise I think of you like that in that manner." Raising my hands to wrap around the back of [Y/N]'s neck, I stared into his eyes. "I like you, and I think you're hot."

[Y/N]'s eyes widened, before he pulled me into another hug, this one tighter than the rest. "Mina, thank you." His smile could be heard in his voice. "I like you too." As he withdrew, his hands trailed down my forearms to my hands, firmly clasping them in his. "I have something to say too. I'm sorry I peeped on you. I know you said you were cool, but I should have done better and not watched you. That was your private time and I should be respecting it, but I watched instead with perverted desires. This has been eating away at me, and I feel so sorry- mmph!"

I crashed my lips into his, yanking the collar of his tee to get him low enough to be able to take my kiss. I felt him lean into the kiss, reciprocating with as much desire for this as I had. As I pulled him closer, our kiss deepened, and my hands wrapped around his head while his arms wrapped around my waist.

We broke our kiss for air. I smiled, panting hard. "You were rambling, babe. It's okay, I'm fine with it. Let's have dinner before the food gets cold." I took [Y/N]'s hand, leading him to the table, draping my blazer over my chair, before proceeding to eat.

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair. [Y/N] couldn't hide his happiness as he seemed to have a dazed smile on at all times, and I was just watching him be his happiest. This was the cutest I'd ever seen him, and for the past year, I had seen so many moments of him being cute - when he was sleepy, when he was focusing on his work, when he was enthusing about his day or his interests, and that one time he cuddled me at my request. This was now the cutest I'd ever seen him and I was content just to watch him bask in his happiness.

I still want to bed him though.

--

As we walked back to our rooms after dinner, I stopped [Y/N] at my room. "[Y/N]-ah, wait." When he turned to face me, a smile on his face, I beckoned him with a wave. Tiptoeing to his ear, I whispered, "Shower with me." The look of disbelief on his face made me laugh. "I mean it, [Y/N], shower with me. I'll wait for you~"

Oh, the plans I have for him, and all of it ends with us sleeping together tonight.

Grabbing my towel from my room after untying my tie, I made my way to [Y/N]'s room. As I strided in, I grabbed [Y/N]'s hand, pulling him from his room. "Mina! I haven't picked my clothes yet! Mina!" I smiled at him as I carried on pulling him towards the bathroom. "You won't need those later, darling." Pulling him into the bathroom, I locked the door, then turned and pinned him against the wall, releasing the control I had on my lust for him.

"Mina?! Wha-?!" I forcefully pulled him in for a kiss, before releasing him and smirking. I rubbed his crotch over his shorts, pulling him for another forceful kiss, but this one softer and slower. His hands were also slowly roaming my body, first around my waist, then slowly moving downwards to knead my ass. Fuck, that felt so good…

I broke our second kiss. "Why don't you strip for me, baby?" I smiled, leaning back on the sink. I could see the arousal and fear rise in [Y/N]'s eyes, and as he set his towel down on the rack. I set mine down as well, before turning to him. "No, really. We're showering. Of course we're stripping. I'll strip too."

[Y/N] slowly pulled off his shirt, revealing inch by inch of his solid core muscles, his pectorals, his biceps, triceps… oh my God, he was so fucking hot. I couldn't help but just stare at the new amount of skin in my line of sight, forgetting to take off my clothing too. When he pushed his shorts and briefs down, I watched his hard cock spring out, and a rush of wetness flowed down my pussy. As he looked up at me, he rushed to cover his hard cock, sticking out in front of him. I laughed, before grabbing both his wrists and pulling his hands away. "It's okay [Y/N], it's natural. I'm wet for you too." He groaned, his dick twitching once. "Mina~," he whined, "don't say that! It's embarrassing…" Smiling, I moved closer to him and tiptoed to give him a peck on his lips. "You're so cute, [Y/N]. And… you're so big…" He groaned again, and I kissed him once more. "Fine, fine. I'm gonna strip now."

I could see his eyes darting to me and looking away as I unbuttoned my dress shirt. I'd already untied my tie in my room. He was very embarrassed and quite aroused as he looked at me undressing; the precum was starting to form at the slit on the tip of his red, angry, hard cock. How would that cock feel in my pussy? That thought made a rush of heat fill my loins. I pulled my shirt off, hands moving to unclip my bra, when I heard [Y/N] go, "Wait." He walked over, putting two hands on my arms, and turning me around. "It's awkward standing there… let me." His hands moved up to the clip of the bra. "Can I?"

Oh, he… that was so lovable of him. Beaming at him, I nodded yes. I felt his hands reach the clip, unclipping both ends of the bra. He aided me in removing it from my arms, and I took it off, turning around to show him my bare breasts. He gasped, eyes wide, staring at them, before closing his open mouth, unable to tear his eyes away. I giggled, tilting his chin up. "My eyes are up here, dummy, hehe."

"You're beautiful, Mina. Oh my God." The compliment took me off guard, my hands rushing to cover my face as I whined. "I'm shy~! Don't say that!" He laughed, pulling on my hands, then planting his lips on my forehead. Putting my hands down to the buckle of my belt, I undid my belt, then bent down, sliding both my pants and panties off me. I noticed a wet spot on my panties, and after I pulled the last of my clothing off and stood back upright, I could see [Y/N]'s red face, his eyes roaming my naked body, and his dick twitched once more, making my pussy wetter. "Let's shower, babe," I said, "if we wait any longer I might not be able to hold back." Pulling him into the shower, I turned on the water.

----------

[Y/N's POV - Post Shower]

The shower with Mina was uneventful. We were both kind of self conscious, but we got through the shower, albeit with a few lustful stares at each other, and smirks exchanged each time we caught each other. I could not believe my awfully sexy housemate was naked and showering somewhat comfortably with me. With that said, I was aroused almost all the time, watching a Mina with wet hair and droplets of water drawing streaks down the curves of her chest or the valley in the middle of her breasts, running down her toned core, her creamy thighs, her developed calves, and the worst of all - I'd watch some of the droplets run, and they'd reach her pussy… I had to tear my eyes away. I'd caught her staring at my own fit body too. Her hungry eyes ran over my arms, my chest, my core, down my legs, and every once in a while, right at my hard cock. We'd laugh each time we caught the other, but the sexual tension in the bathroom was so thick. It was clear what we would do post-shower, but I was hoping for something soft and slow, which I'd wanted with her for so long.

As I dried my hair off, I looked at Mina towelling herself off, her hair still wet. Reaching over with my own towel, I wrapped the towel around her head, drying her hair for her. She looked up at me in surprise, and all I could do was smile at how adorable she was. It was funny how a naked woman in front of me was the most adorable creature in the world at the moment, and not the sexiest. After we were dry, Mina smirked, and dragged me by the hand, leading us through the house naked. After hurriedly putting our towels out to dry, she dragged me to her room, giggling to herself as she pushed me onto her bed.

I leaned against the headrest of the bed, my eyes widening at how quick Mina was - she was now crawling towards me seductively, her lust and desire evident in her half-lidded eyes. Mina bit her bottom lips, her plump ass high in the air, her perky breasts swaying left and right as she crawled. My half-erect cock slowly hardened and grew, which Mina took notice of, and giggled. As she got closer, she rose up to straddle me, kneeling above my hard shaft. Lowering herself to meet me eye to eye, she wrapped her arms around my neck, putting her lips close to mine.

"Hi, baby." She smiled, my favourite gummy smile, with her eyes becoming slits. "Hey, Mina," I breathed, mesmerised by the juxtaposition of Mina's adorable smile in front of my face and the awfully sinful body she possessed, exposed to all of my sight. My eyes locked on to her thighs, the thick creamy expanse of skin just begging to be touched and caressed, and then to her breasts, which I'd always dreamed of fondling. Mina watched me check her body out for the umpteenth time, before tilting my chin up to meet her gaze. "Kiss me."

Our lips drew closer, feeling each other's hot breath on the other's lips. When our lips met, Mina seemed to push into me, her hands cradling the back of my head and neck while I loosely wrapped my hands around her shoulders. We exchanged multiple kisses, each of them short pecks, as our hands began to wander. Mina brought one of her hands down to my shoulders, then to my biceps, giving them a squeeze. Her other hand moved down onto my other shoulder, and she broke our latest kiss, staring lovingly into my eyes. "Mommy wants it slow with you, darling. Can you be good for me tonight?"

A whimper broke free from my throat as I nodded in submission, my cock twitching once. Mina being my Mommy was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard in my life, and knowing that I'd be her good boy turned me on so much.

Mina's smile graced her features once more, softening my heart once again. "You've been my good boy these few days, taking all my teasing so well. Tonight, Mommy will reward you with her body." She leaned in to touch her forehead with mine, another giggle reaching my ears. "Enjoy your reward baby." Giving me a final peck, she reached for my cock, giving it a tight squeeze, before gripping it and stroking up and down, her eyes once again lustful. "Does my hand feel good, baby? How does it feel?"

I had moaned at her first touch. Finally, there was some reprieve from the pent-up sexual frustration and tension between us for the past few days. Now, she was finally relieving me of some of the pressure I was feeling because of her. Her dainty fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking it up and down, sending sparks of pleasure up and down my groin. Even when she was masturbating me, she looked elegant, as if she wasn't indulging herself in sexual activity with her housemate, but instead, playing a musical instrument. As she stroked, she met eyes with me, expecting my answer. "F-fuck, Mommy, your hand feels so good, oh my gosh!" Mina stroked faster, her eyes gleaming with mischief, as she began to talk dirty to me.

"Mommy's been wanting your cock for a long time, baby. Each time I see you shirtless, I've always wanted to jump you and fuck myself senseless on your cock. Sometimes, I want to be under you as you make me your slut, your cum dumpster, and just a hole for you to fuck. Don't you like that, baby? Hearing me beg for your cum, fucking my tight body as and when you like, in any position you want?" Her hand sped up, her words conjuring mental images that took me closer and closer to my release. "Or maybe my mouth. You could be plowing my mouth, dumping your load down my throat. Maybe even my lubed ass, you could be fucking my ass until I squirt all over the bed and my thighs. Do you want Mommy to be your slut, baby? Mommy could just be three holes for you to cum in, baby. Mommy can be your cumslut, your personal toy to cum in, or cum on. How about that, baby?"

The filth from Mina's mouth was easily the hottest string of words to ever grace my ears. I'd wanted Mina for ages, but I'd never expected her to be this dominating. She began to thumb the head of my cock, spreading the precum at the tip all over. "So wet for Mommy, baby. Are you cumming soon? Do you wanna glaze Mommy with your cum? I'll let you cum on me. Take your choice, baby. Do you want to cum on my breasts, my abs? My thighs? My ass, my back? Choose quickly, baby." Her hand stroked harder, and I instinctively exclaimed "Your breasts!"

"Good choice, darling. Cum for Mommy, cover Mommy with your love!" Mina fell back, spreading her legs to let me flush myself to her as I jerked myself to orgasm. My first shot landed all over her right breast, the second landing on the left. The next few shots glazed her sweaty torso, adding to the glistening of her sweat. Mina watched my cock spurt, delight and lust adorning her features, as she watched her baby dirty her body. Her hand thumbed my cock head once more, collecting the stray drips of cum, before she brought the thumb to her lips, licking my semen off it, as if it were some delicacy. Her other hand began to collect the sticky mess all over her torso and chest, scooping it up and pouring it in her mouth. Her tongue swirled in her mouth, mixing the semen with her saliva, before she sat up, opened her mouth to show me my cum, then swallowing it, before showing me her empty mouth. She giggled, before shifting to allow me line of sight to her wet pussy. Mina spread her labia open. The wet sound of the lips separating sent arousal down to my softening dick. Mina noticed that, and smiled. "Take your rest, baby. Come, please Mommy."

I shifted Mina to rest against me, her back leaning against my body. Placing my head near her right shoulder, I began to kiss her nape and towards the shoulder, teasing her a little. I kissed her up and down her neck, breathing on it once in a while, which got her whimpering and shuddering in anticipation and pleasure. My hands wrapped around Mina's body, one snaked around her core to keep her flush to me, the other firmly grasped her breast, kneading it to pleasure her. I was finally touching her body, and I intended to worship it.

Mina turned to me, her neediness and lust evident in her expression and tone. "Darling, don't tease me. Mommy isn't so patient." I caught her lips in a passionate kiss, my tongue sliding against her lower lip for access. When she granted me access, our tongues met, lazily swirling against the other, as we made out with each other. We broke our kiss, panting. "Mommy, please be patient." I gave her a short peck. "I want to worship Mommy's body."

I returned to kneading her breast as I kissed her neck, sucking and biting on certain spots. I fingered her erect nipple, pinching it and circling it, leading her to moan beautifully, the outlet of her pleasure music to my ears. Knowing that what I was doing was pleasing her turned me on so much. My dick flared to life, slowly hardening against her back, growing in size and girth. This did not escape Mina's notice, as she giggled. "Hehe, someone's happy~" I smiled against her ear, whispering, "I can't wait to fuck your pussy, Mommy, but you'll have to wait." Mina shuddered at my breath hitting her, which I filed as a potential spot to focus on.

I switched positions with Mina, letting her lie on the bed. I cradled her head and placed her softly on the pillow, before I straddled her and began to work on her neck once more, marking her neck with hickeys as she moaned at my ministrations on her neck. I bit on her earlobe and sucked, and Mina twitched at the pleasure, a loud moan escaping her lips. She was so fucking sexy moaning like that, and I felt precum flow out of my tip. Furthering my actions on her earlobe, Mina writhed around on the bed in pleasure, moaning a mixture of "Baby", "[Y/N]", or wordless sounds of pleasure. I began to kiss down from her neck, giving her butterfly kisses as I journeyed to her clavicle. I gave her a few kisses on her clavicle, hot openmouthed kisses as I licked the sweat on her pleasured body. The salty taste of her sweat did not bother me; my objective was to worship her body and make her cum with my mouth and fingers.

My journey down her body brought me to the swell of her bosom, her beautiful breasts begging to be pleasured. They heaved with each of Mina's laboured pants, her pert nipples waving in the air, tempting me to suckle and bite down on them. My dick twitched at the thought, precum once again flowing down to reach the tip, a little bit spurting out and dirtying the sheets. Mina's breasts were gorgeous and I could lose myself playing with them if I was left unchecked. I began to kiss down her cleavage, giving each breasts alternating pecks, licking and tonguing her flesh. Her warm body reciprocated earnestly; she writhed in lust, moaning as I kissed up each breast and around her nipples, but not quite touching them. "Mommy, can I…" my question trailed off as Mina looked up and nodded vigorously, silently begging for me to finally touch her sensitive nipples. When my tongue came into contact with her left nipple, my left hand pinched and tugged at her right, leading her hips to buck as pleasure coursed through her veins. "Aaaah~," she moaned, her right hand coming up to grip my hair. I gave her hardened nipple a few sucks, my tongue flicking it up and down, once in a while giving it a soft nibble. My hand carried on pinching and tugging her other nipple, while my other hand, which was supporting myself, reached over to grasp hers and hold it. "Baby, shit, that feels so good, fuck! Mommy feels so good baby, so so good~ aaah, shit~" Mina was enjoying the waves of pleasure crashing against her body. Her body was so warm, her beautiful features depicting the pleasure of the sexual activity she was engaging in.

I released her nipple from my mouth, blowing on it. The contrast of the cool air and the warmth of her body led her to squeak, as I blew on her nipple, then kissed it. Soon enough, I had swapped to her other nipple, suckling and nibbling the right nipple while fondling her left breast. All of this fueled Mina's desperation to finally have some action below. "Baby, fuck, eat Mommy out. Quickly!" I began to journey down towards her pussy, kissing all the way down her torso, her abs, her hip bones, and then down both her thighs. I spread Mina's legs open, my cock twitching at the amount of juices that was leaking out of Mina's pussy. Below where she lay, there was a large wet spot, and I could see how much her pussy glistened and clenched on nothing, as she begged, "Baby, quick!"

Our dynamics had switched, even though I was still calling her Mommy. I enjoyed the rush of power I had, and I began to kiss and lick down Mina's inner thighs, teasing her once more. I kissed down her left thigh, giving it a few licks, as she panted and hissed in pleasure. Doing the same for the other leg, I spared myself a glance at Mina's beautiful pussy. "Please, baby, eat Mommy, please!" Mina was so desperate she was pushing herself towards my mouth. I smiled, blowing on her clit, as she groaned in frustration. Finally, I gave her a lick around her pussy, tasting her juices but not giving her the relief she so craved. "Baby, please~ Ah~!!" I gave her slit one strong lick, gathering her juices all on my tongue, before swallowing what was in my mouth. Returning to her slit, I began to lick and suck on what I could, which was slowly driving Mina wild, as she grabbed my head and forced my mouth towards her pussy. I gave her a few more licks before I decided to push her quicker to the edge by involving my fingers. As I moved to kiss her clit, I began to rub my fingers over the slit, lubricating them for entry. Each kiss or lick on Mina's clit set off her melodic moans, groans, pants, and hisses. Occasionally, she would moan my name and I would double my efforts on her clit, which would set off small gushes of fluid onto my fingers.

"Mommy, can I put my fingers inside?" I looked up at Mina, our eyes meeting. She smiled and nodded, her smiling face quickly changing to one of pleasure as I penetrated her with my middle finger, thrusting in and out. I returned to kiss and suck on her clit, driving Mina crazy. "Fuck, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck! That feels so good, aaah~! Oh my, your fingers… fuck!" Deciding to increase her pleasure, I added my ring finger to the mix, continuing my kisses, sucks, and licks on her hard clit. Each time I thrusted in, I curled my fingers, looking for her G-spot. After a few strokes, I heard Mina squealing, "Fuck, baby, there! Right there! Fu- Fuck! Yes, yes, yes, yes!" I focused my strokes to aim at that spot, as Mina bucked her hips wildly with each stroke, pushing my head into her crotch. I decided to swap my fingers with my tongue, hearing Mina's disappointment at the withdrawal of my fingers, then a gasp of delight as I stuck my tongue into her delicious pussy. I licked and sucked from her pussy directly, drinking whatever juices she could offer. My wet fingers rubbed around and on her clit, and I could hear her going "Fuck, if you keep that… if- if- aah~ if you keep that going- fuck- I'm going to cum! Fuck!" Mina's filthy mouth only spurred me to work harder on eating her out - I wanted to drink her in literally.

I began to hasten my motions on her clit, and focus on her G-spot, and only that spot, with my tongue. Mina's hips began to buck wildly, her moans and words building to a crescendo. "Oh, fuck! Fuck! [Y/N], baby, fuck! Don't stop, baby, don't stop! Fuck! I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum! Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES, YES, YESYESYES- AAAAAAAHHHH~~~!!!!"

Mina squirted. Her juices gushed from her pussy, spraying onto my lips and into my mouth. I wrapped my mouth around her pussy, drinking her squirt in. The sweet taste of her juices flooding my mouth sent my lust for her through the roof. Her hips wildly bucking, the shrill screams resembling a whistle resonating around the room, her orgasming pussy clenching around nothing...

Rising from my position between her legs, I crawled onto the bed, wiping my lips with my hand. "Mina, are you okay?" I caressed her cheek, leaning in for a kiss. Mina nodded, exhausted and high off the post-orgasm afterglow, giving me a beautiful eye smile, meeting my lips for that kiss. We made out again, our tongues swirling around each other lazily, basking in each other's company. Mina smiled at me, kissing my forehead. "There are condoms in the second drawer."

----------

[Mina's POV]

I gave [Y/N]'s hard cock a kiss after putting the condom on him. I rose up to him, giving him a kiss, before pushing him onto the bed and straddling him.

"Thank you for earlier, baby, but now… now you're going to fuck Mommy's pussy until Mommy cums all over your cock and you fill that condom with your seed." I aligned myself with [Y/N]'s cock, slowly sinking down. The tip of [Y/N]'s cock parted my labia, and I began to tease him, rubbing his tip along my pussy lips. He moaned, frustration evident on his face at my teasing. "I know you want to cum, baby. I know you want to fuck Mommy's tight slutty pussy until you fill my hole with cum. However, I call the shots here babe, and I want to see you squirm. This slutty body may be your reward tonight baby, but I'm not such an easy slut. If you please me, baby, I'll make sure you get the full extent of your reward. Ready yourself, babe."

Without warning, I sank down on the entire length of [Y/N]'s cock. I sheathed the entirety of his hard shaft in my naughty pussy, a loud moan erupting from my lips as he stretched my pussy. [Y/N]'s loud "Fuck!" and other curses was indicative enough of the pleasure he felt penetrating me for the first time. I supported myself on [Y/N]'s chest, my teeth gritted at the fullness I felt. Smirking, I cradled [Y/N]'s head, locking eyes with him. "You're not allowed to cum until I'm satisfied. If you cum, I'll make sure, next time, I'll strip you, tie you up, and ruin every orgasm you have. Are we crystal clear, baby?"

"Yes, Mommy." [Y/N] was such a good boy. So obedient, so eager to please. If he kept this up, he'd get to enjoy more of my body next time.

'Pak, pak, pak.' The sound of flesh slapping flesh began to ring around my room as I raised my hips and sank back down, riding [Y/N]'s cock. Moan after moan left my lips, unfiltered. I decided to torture [Y/N] with more dirty talk, just to tempt him into cumming. "How does it feel… ahh~... having Mommy… hff~... fuck your cock, baby? How does it feel- oh, fuck! ...knowing you're Mommy's new toy? Fuck, that feels so good…. You're mine to fuck. Anytime. Anywhere." I could feel myself squeezing his cock harder thinking about how he was now mine to fuck as and when I wanted, and with each time I impaled myself on his cock, he would let out the sexiest moans, his eyes clouded with pleasure and lust for me, tinged with obedience and fear. Halting my actions, I grinded down on him, going in circles as I smiled at [Y/N] gritting his teeth and trying not to blow his load. "You can't come yet, [Y/N]~, not until Mommy's slutty pussy cums on her new favorite toy~."

As I grinded down on him, I leaned over, putting my chest in front of his face. "Suck on the breasts you love, babe. I can tell- ah!" [Y/N] latched on instantly, thrusting up and sucking on my left nipple, fondling my right breast. "Oh my god, fuck, that feels so good! I can tell you've… ahh! You've… fuck, you've wanted this, haven't you, baby? Shit, mmmh~, suck on the tits you love so much, baby. Make Mommy cum." I panted in pleasure as [Y/N] fucked up into my pussy, my hips matching his thrusts. "Fuck Mommy's pussy until Mommy cums. If you make me cum, I'll let you fuck me how you want, and you can finally fill that condom."

[Y/N] kept his thrusts up as he fucked into me hard. I was getting closer and closer to orgasm; his sucking on, paired with occasional biting and pinching of my sensitive nipples sent pleasure all over my body. Sweat dripped down my body, running down my neck and chest, which [Y/N] licked up whenever he decided to attack my neck and breasts with licks and kisses.

"Oh shit, babe. Fuck me just like that! Yes! Right there, yes!" [Y/N] had angled himself under me to hit my G-spot once more, and every thrust he was making was hitting that exact spot. He groaned in pleasure and exertion as he thrusted harder, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brows as he focused on not cumming in the condom once more, pushing himself to ensure I came on his cock.

"Fuck, baby, yes, yes, yes, yes, I'm gonna cum!"

My pussy squeezed down on his cock as I saw white and fell into his embrace. I could feel my back arch, pushing myself towards him, as I trembled and he fucked me through my orgasm, prolonging it.

"Oh, Mommy. Now it's my turn."

----------

[Y/N's POV]

Mina had her orgasm. Now it was my turn.

I flipped us so I was on top of her now, her legs wrapped around my hips. Mina's exhausted eyes stared into mine in surprise, and a devilish grin met her gaze. "Do you know how hard it was fucking you without being able to cum? Now I get to fuck your slutty pussy." I slowly began to thrust once more, Mina moaning at my movements. "Finally. Finally I get to fuck this pussy the way I like it."

I pushed my cock in her pussy ever so slowly, hearing her groan in frustration as I slid in one slow centimeter by one slow centimeter. "Mommy wants it faster, huh? Fine, I'll give you fast." I began to fuck her with quick, hard strokes, of which each was from head to hilt. "Fuck, baby, fuck, your cock feels so good in my pussy, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, oh my god, yes, oh my god-" Mina was slowly losing the ability to make coherent sentences as I gave her a hard fucking. Her vocabulary consisted of the phrase "Oh my God", the words "Fuck", "Shit", and "Yes", as well as mindless moans of pleasure.

Catching Mina's lips in a heated kiss, I kept the pace and power of my thrusts even as we made out once more, her arms wrapped around me as I held her head in my hands and arms. She moaned into the kiss, wrapping her legs around my hips as I fucked her pussy with short strokes, chasing my orgasm.

I decided to taunt Mina just as she'd taunted me so many times. "I can feel your pussy clenching around my cock, Mommy. Does this turn you on that much? Knowing that I'm using your slutty pussy just so I can cum? I've wanted you like this for so long, Mommy, under me, being my cockslut. Does my cock feel good, Mommy? Does it feel good being fucked like that? Like you're nothing but a hole for my cock to fill?"

It wasn't long before I exclaimed, "Fuck, Mommy, I'm cumming!" I'd gone beyond the point of no return through both my dirty talk and Mina's reactions to said talk. She'd looked so pleasured and fucked out, and she could only nod and moan at my words, her pussy squeezing my cock as she got more and more aroused hearing my words. Mina had pulled my body flush against hers as she achieved another orgasm, her pussy milking my cock as I felt my balls tighten and my cock pulse, each pulse firing off stream after stream of thick, hot semen. I'd not been able to last long after I'd nearly blown my load multiple times - once when Mina had begun to talk dirty to me, a few times when I'd fucked into her, and the toughest was when she came the first time. Both of us released guttural moans as we orgasmed in each other's embrace, Mina pulling me in tightly, and as I cradled her head and buried myself in her neck.

--

I pulled out of Mina's freshly fucked pussy, my cock easily slipping out of the used condom after. I threw the used condom away, making my way back to the kitchen. Getting 2 cups of water, I returned to Mina's side, placing the cups on her bedside table and pulling her exhausted self up to a sitting position. Mina panted with exhaustion, sweat still running down her body. I ruffled her sweat matted hair, kneeling down to meet her eyes. "Are you okay, Mina? Was I too rough?" Mina gave me a tired eye smile, before shaking her head. "No, baby. It was perfect." She caught me in a slow passionate kiss, conveying what her exhausted brain could not with words. I smiled, offering her a cup of water, which she chugged.

"Come on, babe, let's shower again."

--

As I scrubbed Mina's hair, she softly called "[Y/N]..."

"Yes, Mina?"

"It's Sunday tomorrow…" She poked her fingers together, turning to me with her soapy hair. "I know it's not the right order, but… date tomorrow?"

Oh, my heart. She was pouting and giving me puppy eyes. Puppy eyes! Pouting! Poking her fingers together! She was ADORABLE!!!

I ruffled her hair with my soapy hands, smiling. "Of course, Mina. Date tomorrow." Mina grin equalled that of the power of the Sun, and she "vibrated" excitedly. I brought her into a tight hug, the water running over us.

"Let's finish up and go to bed, Mina."

--

The next morning, I woke up to Mina straddling my body once more. "Oh- uh.. wha-? Good morning, Mina..?"

Oh, she had that glint in her eyes… and she was gripping my morning wood.

"Baby, I see you're happy to see me~" She rubbed up and down the length, pulling it out of my shorts. "Get ready for Round 2, baby~ The date can wait..."

"You're mine until I'm done with you."

--- END ---

#kpop fanfiction #kpop smut #twice smut #twice mina #kpop fanfic #myoui mina #male reader #twice

[shinescape]

Sleepover Agreement

NCT 127 x Fem Reader

Requested!

tw: poly relationship (the 4 members above), tiny mention of death (they went to watch a movie)

note: anon, i hope you like how this turned out. Enjoy the read!

It was movie night with the boys and instead of watching one at their place, all of you went to the cinema. After the show, all four of you were now out and walking aimlessly in the mall, linking your arms with Doyoung and Taeyong.

“How was the movie, did you like it?” Taeyong turned to look at you. You looked up at him and made a face, remembering certain parts of the movie earlier.

“I actually wished the guy would have died. He doesn’t deserve to live.” Doyoung was quick to agree with you. “Yeah, he should have died in that fire.”

Taeyong looked at both of you in disbelief and didn’t know what to say back since he actually liked the ending. He then turned to the back and saw Jaehyun and Johnny talking about something among themselves and suddenly thought of something.

“Should we stock up our food? I don’t think there’s anything left by now.” He asked the group. “Sure, I need some stuff as well.” Johnny answered.

“You okay with tagging along?” Taeyong asked you and you nodded.

You’ve dated all of them for quite some time but truth be told you never slept over at their place. It’s not that you never wanted to but they seemed to never force you to stay over as well.

Everyone went their separate ways in the grocer and you were with Jaehyun. You walked side by side looking at the aisle along the way. “Are you staying over for dinner?” He asked you out of the blue.

Also, you never spend the time with them after dinner, this was a first. He noticed it too and you were unsure of what to say. “Can I?”

You eyed him from the side and saw him nodded at you as he slung an arm around you. “Of course. You never stay over but that could change, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he looked at you. Jaehyun may not speak his mind a lot but when he does, it always hits you. You leaned on him as someone familiar came in view, Doyoung pushing the trolley towards both of you with a frown.

“Look at what these two took. Are we having a party?” Both you and Jaehyun eyed the content in the trolley and indeed there were too many snacks instead of proper cooking ingredients.

“We might as well have one. She’s staying over for dinner.” Jaehyun spoke and Doyoung darted his eyes to you. “Is this true?” He came closer and held your face in both his palms, inspecting your face up close.

“You’re not sick, right? Did Johnny trick you into staying?”

“Doyoung, no one force me. I just wanted to spend more time with you guys. That’s all.” You huffed and pried his hands away to which he pouted and Jaehyun scoffed at him.

“Let’s go find them before we get to eat supper instead of dinner.”

Their place always has a warm and cozy vibe to it unlike your shared apartment. Your two other housemates would always bring over their lovers without asking permission and you ended up not sleeping from all the noise they made. They would fight all night as well and the thought of one of their lovers coming later made you shudder.

You wanted to help with dinner but Taeyong shushed you away to the living and there you were squeezed between Johnny and Jaehyun. Your legs rested on the former as you leaned your back on Jaehyun.

The three of you were immersed in the series that was on the television that when Doyoung asked something it fell on deaf ears. He had to walk all the way to you and repeat his words. He knew the two would not give a definite answer thus he turned to you.

Dinner would usually be at the table but with the new addition, they chose to sit around the coffee table and sofa. You can’t help but think of the possible answers if you asked to stay over. Without a second thought, you let it out while they were discussing the show playing on the screen.

“Can I sleepover tonight?”

Everyone in the room went silent. You expected the worst and waited for anyone to speak up. “Baby, did the pasta make your head weird?” Johnny questioned and you shook your head at him slightly laughing at his words.

“I just don’t feel like going home tonight. Also, I’ve been wanting to ask for so long but guess I kind of didn’t want to be refused by you guys.” You told them.

Taeyong, who was sitting right behind you wrapped his arms around you and made you look up at him. “You’re always welcome here, sweetheart.” He planted a kiss on your forehead before letting go of you.

“But the question is, where will you sleep tonight and how about your clothes?” Doyoung asked with concern.

“She can sleep with me.” “She can wear my clothes” Both Johnny and Jaehyun answered at the same time. You were about to agree when Doyoung stood up from his seat and pulled you into a protective hug.

“No. She’s sleeping with me and will wear Taeyong’s pyjamas.” He eyed the two of them as if they were out of their minds.

“Why did you ask if you already had that in mind?” Johnny threw his hands in the air dramatically to which Doyoung stuck his tongue out at him. Childishly if you may add.

“You should ask her if she's okay with it. What do you say, babe?” Jaehyun rose a brow at you. “I’m fine with it. I suppose...” You trailed off your words when all of them were looking at you intensely, unable to focus on your answer.

“Or she can sleep with me and Doyoung tonight and with you both tomorrow. Sounds good?” Taeyong voiced out suddenly. How you wished that you could say something like that with ease.

“Sounds good to me.” Johnny shrugged and Jaehyun nodded his head in agreement.

Who knew it would be this easy to spend the weekend with your boyfriends. Despite overthinking it multiple times, you finally got the chance to spend more time with them.

This would be a weekly occurrence if they keep on agreeing to you and you secretly hope they would.

#nct oneshots #nct imagines #nct scenarios #poly nct #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct jaehyun #nct doyoung #taeyong x reader #johnny x reader #doyoung x reader #jaehyun x reader #nct taeyong #nct johnny #lee taeyong #kim doyoung #jung jaehyun #jaehyun #johnny seo #taeyong #doyoung #nct 127 #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #requested

[delimeful]

hold my body down (2)

chapter 2 of this fic!

warnings: arguing, mild violence, cult mentions, mild gore mentions

-

Virgil stared at the man, his mind blank. What?

“That’s-- great?” Roman tried, his voice cracking in the middle with bewilderment. The human beamed, beckoning with his hand. Roman reached out and Virgil slapped his hand back, glowering at him.

“What have I said about accepting help from random friendly men?” he hissed, eyeing the stranger warily. Roman flushed, shoving him slightly, but notably didn’t try to move forward again.

The man-- Patton’s smile didn’t falter, but his hand dropped slightly. Virgil refused to feel bad. For once, he was completely sure that his level of paranoia was necessary for the situation.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Patton said, folding onto his knees to sit on the edge of the bag’s opening. “I can just explain from over here. I would come to sit in the bag with you, but last time I did that I got held hostage and Logan put a ban on interacting with terrified strangers without his direct supervision.”

“That, uh, seems rather fair,” Roman offered, still wildly out of his depth. Virgil rolled his eyes, a hand on the hilt of one of his daggers in case the stranger made any sudden moves.

“Who’s Logan?” He asked, eyes flickering up to what little he could see through the opening.

“Oh, he’s the one who rescued you!” Patton said cheerily. Virgil broke out into a cold sweat immediately.

“Rescued?” Roman echoed in disbelief. “Are you talking about the giant? Because I’m pretty sure he just abducted us against our will.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Patton insisted, only confirming Virgil’s theory that he was probably brainwashed and/or had Stockholm syndrome. Or both. Or a variety of other, worse options, such as yet another cult member or another giant in disguise.

“Easy, Virgil.” Roman laid a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Uh-- Patton, was it? If we’re not being… y’know… kidnapped and imprisoned, do you think you could back up so we can get out of the bag?”

“Of course!” Patton answered, popping back to his feet. “I’ll be right out here, take your time! I’m sure the last couple of hours have been rough.”

Virgil tried not to snort. Rough was one word for it. His amusement died a quick death when Roman began moving towards the opening. He latched onto the other man’s arm like a steel trap. “I don’t trust this.”

“You don’t trust anything,” Roman retorted automatically before softening. “It’s okay, I’m just checking to see what’s out there. Won’t even get out of the bag, on my honor.”

Virgil reluctantly followed him, grabbing onto him tightly as though he could keep anything out there from hurting him by yanking him back into the bag.

Roman ducked his head back under the cloth a moment later. “Okay. Bad news, there is absolutely a giant still out there. Good news, he’s all the way over across the room, reading a book. He is steadfastly ignoring both us and Patton, who waved at me.”

“What.” Virgil clutched at his hair. “What is going on?”

“I suspect we’ll have to ask Patton that. If we want answers, we’ll have to go get them,” He said, patting Virgil on the back encouragingly. “Don’t worry, my Dark and Stormy Knight, I’ll keep you safe.”

“My job,” Virgil grumbled, not releasing his grip on Roman’s wrist as he led the way out of the bag.

Everything was huge. He should have expected it, seeing as this was a giant’s home, but it still threw him off. They were on a huge table, in a huge living room, and the giant was indeed across the room with a huge book, pretending like they didn’t exist. From this distance, Virgil could actually take in all of him without feeling like he was going to pass out.

Patton was sitting a few feet away, and beamed at their approach. Virgil barely tore his eyes away from the giant long enough to nod distractedly at him. “Hi again! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re… fine,” Roman said, uncertain. “I think we’d just like to know what’s going on?”

“That’s totally understandable!” Patton replied, sympathetic. “I was pretty jittery after Logan first brought me here, too!”

“Oh, great,” Virgil muttered to Roman. “Serial kidnapper.”

Roman shot him a look before turning back to Patton. “He brought you here? Could I ask… why?”

“The same reason he brought you two here! I was in danger.” Patton glanced over to the giant with a fond smile before leaning in secretively. “To be honest, I think he was even more worried than I was! I was sort of stabbed at the time, though, so I guess that makes sense.”

“How were you ‘sort of stabbed’? You’re either stabbed or you’re not!” griped Virgil, who was possibly feeling more snappish than normal after one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

“My goodness, you were stabbed?” asked Roman, who had always been a sucker for a dramatic tale.

Patton tugged up the edge of his shirt, displaying a nasty-looking scar that curved around his side and stomach. In Virgil’s professional opinion, there was nothing ‘sort-of’ about a wound like that; it had been meant to kill. “Yeah, the people you met in town, they’re a cult! And they wanted to do a blood sacrifice for the monsters in the woods, and I wasn’t exactly well-liked, so…,”

“They stabbed you and left you for dead?” Virgil finished, a bit of anger leaking into his voice despite his determination not to sympathize with this guy.

“But I didn’t die!” Patton waved his hands a bit as though in celebration. “All the monsters in the woods had already been scared off when Logan moved here, and so he was the one who found me and helped me recover!”

Roman glanced over at the giant again, a speculative look in his eye that Virgil absolutely did not approve of. He scowled, his grip on Roman’s wrist tightening slightly.

“Right, and he just did this out of the goodness of his heart?” Virgil snorted dubiously. “I wouldn’t believe that from another human, let alone someone with a literally huge advantage over us. If your story is true, why didn’t the cult try to gut us? For that matter, if he’s not into human sacrifices, why wouldn’t your buddy over there just tell them to stop? Or, y’know, not kidnap us in the first place?”

“Well, hold on--,” Patton tried, but Virgil was on a roll.

“How do we know that this isn’t some elaborate setup? If he has the magical capabilities to heal a mortal wound, then wouldn’t it be easy for him to enchant a captive into believing that he’s just doing what’s best for him? Before, you said there were other people brought here-- what happened to them? Do you even know?”

Across the room, there was a sharp clap as the giant firmly snapped his book shut.

“They left,” Logan said firmly, the first words that they’d heard from him. “And if you continue to harangue my housemate, I will ask you to do the same.”

“Logan,” Patton said, a little exasperated.

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine at the sight of those huge, dark eyes locked onto him, but he plastered his best snarl on even as he dragged a protesting Roman partially behind him. “We’d be glad to leave, but someone put us on a table ten times our height!”

“Virgil,” Roman tried, but Virgil didn’t have the luxury of not paying attention to the pissed off giant in front of them.

“There’s a staircase down to your left,” the giant informed him coldly, “so if you are intent on watching your companion die from organ combustion, you have my utmost permission to leave.”

Logan!” Patton chided, a lot exasperated. He turned back to them. “He doesn’t mean it like that, I promise.”

“Really?” Virgil snapped, crowding Roman back further. “Because it sure sounds like he just outright threatened to kill us if we leave.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Logan pinched the bridge of his nose before rising easily from his chair and reminding them all just how big he truly was. “This is why I let Patton handle the talking. I don’t know why humans always insist on making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

Virgil’s heart jumped into his throat as the giant approached, a thousand potential ways they were going to die flashing before his eyes. Behind his back, he flashed Roman a hand sign that meant ‘run for it’, and then released his friend’s wrist to draw one of his knives threateningly.

It was a pointless effort, but he’d known since setting out with his prince that one day he’d die for him.

Sure enough, the giant moved with that same uncanny speed he’d shown in the clearing, and simply grabbed Virgil’s forearm between his fingers as easily as one might scruff a cat, preventing any stabbing.

When Virgil immediately went to grab for another knife with his free hand, he found himself abruptly lifted and maneuvered, and couldn’t help letting out a startled yelp. The giant had essentially flipped him onto his front and settled one hand on his back as a weight, leaving him pinned and the giant firmly out of stabbing range.

More concerning was the fact that he could now see Roman, who hadn’t moved more than a few steps, and not just because he was a stupidly loyal, headstrong idiot. The prince seemed almost dazed, his skin shiny with sweat as he glanced between Virgil and Logan. Something was wrong. “Roman--!”

“You’re beginning to feel it, aren’t you?” Logan said, his cold tone thawing slightly as he looked down at Roman. “The cult of that town has only grown more... inventive with every cruel sacrifice they attempt. Rather than physical injuries, they’ve turned to blood curses, which has made my life exceedingly difficult.”

“Blood-- Blood curses?” Roman managed, looking more pallid by the moment.

The giant set a free hand down, palm up in offering. “I can reduce the effects. If you give me sufficient time, I can unravel the curse entirely, though brewing a countercurse will likely necessitate a drop of your blood.”

“Why go to the trouble?” Roman asked haltingly, meeting Virgil’s frantic gaze for only a moment. “What do you want in return?”

Logan sighed. “If you insist on applying such intentions to my actions, you can call it compensation. It is because of my presence that the cult continues to leave ‘offerings’, and thus your current state is my fault.”

“Then why not just do it?” Roman asked, staring at the offered hand with clear suspicion. Virgil was almost proud.

“Patton has gone to great lengths to teach me manners for interacting with smallfolk,” Logan replied dryly. “The first of which being ‘don’t grab.’”

There was a brief moment of silence as they all looked to Virgil, who was still pinned and sorely wishing he was in biting range of Logan’s hand.

“Manners don’t apply if someone is trying to stab me,” Logan added, a beat late.

Patton waved from where he was half-hidden behind Logan’s arm. “It’s true, my lessons did make an exception for stabbing!”

“Let him up,” Roman requested, his voice lacking its usual bravado. He still appeared concerningly ill. “He won’t stab you, right Virgil?”

Virgil grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath, before sighing and going limp. “All I want is to protect my prince. If you actually mean to help him, I won’t stab you.”

“Now that stabbing is off the table, I’ve gotta say, it’s knife to meet you,” Patton chimed in, his grin audible in his voice.

“Patton, please,” Logan groaned, lifting his hand off Virgil to instead massage his temples in exasperation. “You’re going to disturb our guests.”

“Aw, are you sure? I think my jokes are stabsolutely hilarious!”

Virgil ignored the ridiculous byplay between the two of them to scramble to his feet and hurry to Roman’s side, ignoring the way Logan moved his arm slightly to be between him and Patton. “Roman, are you okay?”

“Are you? You’re the one who just got gently tenderized by Bignoramus over there for the second time today,” Roman countered, matching Virgil’s whisper.

“Fine, stupid question, clearly neither of us are okay. Are we really doing this, though? We could still run.”

“I’m… not sure we can, actually.” Roman’s hand hovered over his chest, face drawn tight with pain. “They definitely did something to me, and I doubt either of us will figure out how to fix it or get aid in time. … Look. This may be my only option, but you don’t have to--”

“Can it, Princey,” Virgil cut in, dragging a hand through Roman’s hair roughly and ignoring his resulting squawk. “Where you go, I go.”

“Even there?” Roman asked, tilting his head toward Logan’s palm somberly.

Virgil looked over to Logan, watching the attentive way he was listening to Patton speak and contributing words of his own. The giant could have done away with any of them at any point, and he hadn’t. That wasn’t enough to really trust him, it could still all be part of some scheme, but... it had to count for something.

If it was the only thing that could help Roman, Virgil could push aside his fear and his anger.

“Even there,” he answered, and led the way onwards.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides g/t #ts virgil #ts roman #ts patton #ts logan #hmbd #hold my body down #g/t #my writing #writing #man its been ages since i posted the first chapter of this huh #surprise!

[ticketstomydaydreams]

HOME

(All We Have: Part One)

Part Two

Colson x Female Reader

Summary: You and Colson are close friends and he invites you to move in to his house while you work on his record together

Word count: 1,580

Feels: Friendship Fluff for now

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of feeling depressed

Companion playlist:

Machine Gun Kelly - Home

Sia - Dressed in Black 

The Beatles - With a Little Help from My Friends

A/N: Throughout the series there will be changes to the timing of real life events like the pandemic, the release of certain songs etc. There's certain things I want to incorporate into the series, like particular events in MGKs life and lyrics from songs, so some stuff will get moved around to fit in to the story ✌️

______

It had been a long evening working in Colson’s home studio, The Boulevard, with him and the gang on the upcoming Tickets to my Downfall album. To say your schedule was busy was an understatement, but Colson had insisted you get involved with the new material after the success of your work together on Hotel Diablo.

Composing music was your main gig, you had an ear for melody and your passion for writing meant you always had lyrics swirling around your head. You had a penchant for dark and melancholy lyrics, finding music to be a source of therapy for you. It was something you and Colson had instantly bonded over. He'd bugged you to list some of the stuff you'd written that he'd know and you had gained his professional respect immediately.

He always kept a close eye on your work, ever the supportive friend and had laid claim to your piece ‘Glass House’ as soon as he'd heard it.

______

2019

You were sitting crossed legged on the sofa in your lounge, gently strumming your guitar and gazing off into space and mumbling to yourself, as you worked out some lyrics in your head. Colson was lying on the floor by your feet, scrolling through his phone with earphones in, a blunt in his hand that he occasionally passed up to you. This was a common set up, you found it easier to write in the peace and quiet and Colson has gradually started hanging out at your place more when he needed to focus on his own writing.

"All alone in the glass house, lie awake til the sun's out, pink sky when you come down…"

"Throw me in the damn flames, Bury me in gold chains, throw me in the damn flames…"

You'd started singing out loud, occasionally stopping to scribble down lyrics and make adjustments, not noticing that Colson had removed his earbuds to listen to you

" Dude, that's hard, like, beautiful… " His comment made you jump slightly, you hadn't seen him propping himself up on his elbows, watching you intently "Sing that last bit again"

You blushed slightly, his opinion was always important to you, and started singing. He muttered to himself as you did, then pointed at you "Again!"

Letting out a little laugh and rolling your eyes, you sang again

"Throw me in the damn flames, bury me in gold chains, throw me in the damn flames"

Colson's voice met yours at the end of the line, rapping softly "I'm waiting on the rain to come and wash it all away"

You locked eyes, smiling and he sat upright. "Dude, Im'a need that hook! That spoke to me right there, I've think got something for it that I've been stuck on"

He looked so excited, your heart did a little flip. You'd seen that writing this album had taken it out of him, he'd been digging deep and really going through it emotionally. You could tell it was going to be raw and special from what you'd heard already.

He sat forward and moved the guitar from your lap so he could lean his arms on your knees and looked up at you shooting you puppy dog eyes with those baby blues "Pretty please Y/N"

You laughed and ruffled his hair, "Anything for you Col" Honestly, it'd be an honour to be part of such a personal project, you thought

He wrapped his arms round you and squeezed,

"You're a legend, kid. Get a sample recorded and send it to me!" He grabbed your guitar off the sofa and whipped back around, strumming a few chords as he carried on talking with his back to you, leaning against the sofa "This is gonna be fire, you always just hit the nail on the head, I swear it's like you're in my head sometimes"

You smiled, seeing the wave of motivation that had struck your friend. You felt so lucky to have a friend who was not only so inspiring, but one who 'got it', who understood that music was a form of release. Someone who recognised that it was important to feel these things, rather than encourage you to push dark thoughts away with toxic positivity.

He’d pushed to use your original samples on his record, but as much as you loved writing and singing, you were a behind the scenes kind of gal which had always suited you just fine. Naomi, a mutual friend of you both, came onboard to record them with him. A decision that turned out to be golden… 'Death in my Pocket' would be born not long after, with Naomi doing your lyrics such beautiful justice yet again, perfectly pairing with Colson's emotional rapping.

______

From then on Colson had kept you close to his recording. You'd been helping here and there with composition and notation, but your production skills were what was taking centre stage during the most recent sessions. You had a long list of projects you were working through, leaving you chained to your equipment most days and nights anyway so throwing more music into your workload didn't seem like much of a big deal. In all honesty, the chaos of Colson’s studio and the revolving door of personalities that were in and out constantly, made it one of the most fun places to be. You loved what you did for a living and it never really felt like work Even though the guys were a real handful at times, you kind of enjoyed being the studio 'Mami' as they often affectionately referred to you

Everything had wrapped up for the evening and the guys had migrated back into the house. You could hear from the raucous that the drinks must have started flowing freely. You were saving your work and packing up your stuff when Colson bursts back into the studio and throws himself in a chair, spinning it around with his arms in the air.

"You staying for drinks Y/N?" he grins at you, clearly hyper and in party mode

You let out a big sigh "Urgh, I'd love to but I have an early start tomorrow. I finally managed to get an apartment viewing. I swear I've looked at a hundred places now, they get snapped up so quickly.. I've only got a few weeks left on my lease as well"

“Ah, that sucks kid” Colson empathises, spinning his chair again before an idea strikes him “Wait! Why don’t you move in here for a bit until you find a place? The guest room is pretty much your room anyway, the amount you crash here”

You laugh “This is true, that mattress is so much better than mine! Aw Col, that would honestly be so helpful, the stress of finding a place when I’m this busy is killing me. I don't know… You sure the guys won’t mind?”

Colson scoffs “Why would they mind? You practically live here anyway” he teases “I’m sure they’ll be just as stoked as I am at the thought of you joining the madhouse for a while”

Before you have a chance to respond, he stands up and throws his arms around you, squashing you into him tightly “That’s it decided Roomie. Another song in the bag and a new housemate, plenty to celebrate tonight!”

Wriggling out of his tight grasp, you laugh and in a deep voice shout “let’s goooooo” mocking his signature catchphrase. He flips you his middle finger and says “Kitchen, now”

Once you’re in the kitchen, Colson heads to get you a drink and grabs one himself. Appearing back at your side, he passes you your beer and then shouts out to the rest of the group,

“YO, meet our latest housemate, Y/N is moving in. LET’S FUCKING GOOOOO”

Everyone in the kitchen lets out a big cheer, clearly pleased as he said they would be. Colson bends down and picks you up, swinging you around in a circle, spilling your drinks all over the both of you as you shout his name in mock annoyance, between giggles.

“I hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for” Rook laughs, clinking his drink against your now empty beer bottle once your feet are back on the floor

“It’ll be good to have another pair of hands around here, looking after you lot” Ashleigh chimes in, laughing and slapping Slim away as he pulls her hood up over her head, covering her eyes

It had been 5 years since you'd made the decision to move to LA, barely knowing a soul. You'd worked several jobs, jumped from place to place, worked your ass off to catch your break in the music business, sometimes feeling like the grind would never get you anywhere.

There had been times where you felt like you couldn't carry on, aching from trying to keep pace. The dream had felt like it was turning into a nightmare, as you tried to make ends meet, feeling so lonely in this enormous city.. but eventually you'd made these amazing friends who made you feel so safe and loved.

Now, there were times you had to pinch yourself just to make sure it was all real.

As you shake off some of the beer that's dripping from your hands, you look around the kitchen. Taking in the crazy, loveable bunch before you, your new housemates, you are filled with gratitude. You finally felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be…

Home.

______

❌❌ Lace up!

#mgk fluff #colson baker x reader #mgk imagine #mgk x reader #machine gun kelly imagine #colson baker imagine #machine gun kelly x reader #colson x reader #mgk fic #machine gun kelly #fandom #fanfic #fanfiction #mgk fanfiction #colson baker

[itachi-with-a-chicken]

Come be my teacher pt 2

Aish we're back

Link to part 1

Jung Hoseok nearly died to actually make publishable Yoongi's book

But eventually he made it

He hoped the day at the luna park was enough for Jungkook to be forgiven after spending nearly every afternoon with Namjoon and his kid brother

Mostly, he hoped Namjoon could forgive him to have to deal with both his child and his own kid brother

When he mentioned it, Namjoon has a variety of emotions.

Surprise, then recognition. Eventually softness.

"they have been good, all things considered." He laughs a little "Just warning you, Jungkook took a passion for Just Dance"

Well, Hoseok considers when he watches his son weirdly dancing in front of the television, there are worst things that could happen

Also, now that he has a life back, he can discard Min Yoongi in his man cave or whatever he likes to call his attic and go back to his routine

Which means, pick up and drive is kid to school

And see again the cute teacher

Not that he cares

But you know

He does

That day Kim Taehyung was wearing a dark green vest and a white shirt and looked as an absolute old man

His housemate confirmed it and if Kim Seokjin tells you you look bad, it's true

The thing is, Taehyung didn't want to look hot, he just wanted to look comfy and cozy to his kids

When he steps outside to collect the kids, he regretted every choice made that morning

Because there it was. In all his elegant glory. Jung Hoseok.

The two exchanged a small wave and Tae nearly forgot he has something to say to him

"Come on Taehyung" he tries to say to himself "he's just another parent. Nothing to worry about. Nothing special. Not a crush, no sir"

"Hoseok-ssi" he calls him. By his name, because the first thing Jung Hoseok told him as they met is "you're taking my son most of the week, we can at least call each other by our own names"

"yah?" He was already moving towards the car, dammit.

Stumbling at bit at the beginning, Tae tells him about the little recital he proposed to the school board that year

Hoseok beamed at him

"that sounds wonderful! kids will have loads of fun"

Taehyung was positively gloating, but tried to hide it

"so this week it's going to be parents-teachers conference, so we can explain every detail"

Nobody will pry from his cold hands the knowledge that the reason why it was happening that week was that Taehyung knew as a fact that Hoseok was busy until now

And also, that nobody knew about the meeting in the first place

The thing is, a meeting was supposed to happen at some point, and Taehyung was a very considerate teacher, okay?

He needed to tell the principal about the meeting, tho

Ugh

On the other hand, Hobi was quite serene.

The wonders of a full night sleep, he guessed

Nope nothing to do with the cute teacher and the cute vest that made him look cozy and cuddly and all the stuff a grown up should not look like

It would be a lie to say that it didn't do anything to Hoseok.

But then again, Hoseok can be a good liar

His phone chimed in, showing a text from Yoongi

"so did you ask him out?"

"who?" "What do you mean who" "i mean who would I ask out" "the teacher, dumbass"

Hoseok stared at the phone for a solid five seconds

"you don't even know what day of the week it is" "And yet I know you brought the little monster to school, so you've seen him"

For someone who forgets to eat, Yoongi can be really persistent about stuff

"why" he just asks, glancing away from his computer. If anything, he knows Yoongi has little to none interest in his love life by itself

Not after he finished all the people he could set him up, anyway

Including himself

That was so weird that both kinda decided it never happened

So back to the text, Hoseok patiently waited for whatever was the real reason behind such concern

"I may or may not started planning the next book based on whatever vibe you and your lovely teacher give off"

Hoseok shrieked, but just a little

"but you know!!! Most of the time the final product have nothing to do with the beginning!!!" Yoongi continues

Six exclamation point usually mean that he's either lying or trying to convince him of something he didn't actually believe in. So lying, after all.

"and what's the plot" hoseok asks, but then "no, nvm. Don't tell me. Just. Idk. No"

Yoongi didn't reply, but then his editorial instinct won over all his better judgement

"okay, tell me the plot"

Yoongi answer arrived after less then three minutes and it was a shit ton long. He basically already planned everything and all he needed was the main characters

"and they would be me and Kim Taehyung?" Was the only answer Hoseok managed to cave

Because yeah, if life was a written book maybe they could have been the perfect romance

Even by changing some basic stuff - "don't worry you're all idols here" - and making some unrealistic concessions - "your character is the greater dancer of all times" - the way Yoongi was telling the story

A story that didn't exist

makes him want to fall in love for real

But here's the catch: they were real people, and crush on your child's teacher is problematic at best, creepy at worst

So no, he won't be pursuing that. Thank you very much

(but gave yoongi permission to work on the story nevertheless because, you know, it's his job)

And he r e a l l y is set on his mind the day of the meeting after school

Doesn't matter that he exited work early just to go home and shower

And definitely didn't have anything to do with his choice of wardrobe that saw some neat jeans he had brought but never wore and his best fitting pastel red shirt

Along with a leather jacket because what the hell he was still young after all

And if some heads turned to check him out, when he entered the classroom, well. He couldn't blame them

He sat gingerly on his child desk and waited. Mr Kim still nowhere to be seen

Talking about Kim Taehyung

His day started the night before with his housemate that, in order to forget his impossible (only according to him) crush decided to have a drink

And since it would be too sad to drink alone, he had to bring Tae down with him

Little mattered he had to work the morning after and kids were not merciful with headache

He enters the room with the parents with eyes fixed on the floor, trying to remember everything he needed to say and--- oh

Of course Jung Hoseok was there

Of course he was stunning

And of cour-- no wait he was talking to Namjoon? What was he doing here?

Oh right. Mixed classes. His kids and mr Lee were together in this project.

Having the ten years old doing the talking and the eight years old doing the dancing was his idea after all

Mr Lee smiles at him, like the old turtle he was, and sat down, waiting for him to speak

The old turtle seemed frail and sweet but he remembered being a child with him. It was all a play

Which makes him perfect for this project, he guess

So, let's convince the parents he knew what he was doing and what he was talking about despite never producing any school play

It went fairly well for the most of it

Every time he met Hoseok's stare, the other man was smiling, and that made him feel both excited and incredibly shy

But mostly gives him enough confidence at least finish the presentation of the general idea

When parents asked questions - price, time needed, how the parts would have been distributed - he tries to be as clear as he can

And hopes nobody will actually spot how much he still doesn't know

Eventually, the questions are over and the meeting is too, with a copy of the project to take home and a promise to see each other as soon as possible

Tae was putting in order his papers, trying carefully to not perceive either Hoseok nor Namjoon, but of course karma hates him

So a few of his pages fly down the desk, right in front of. Well. Of course Hoseok. Who else

It's not like he could have the worst face in the history of faces and just have his life passing by

No, he had to live his 5-hours-sleep-10-hours-work while wearing his most anonymous clothes and have something less of a Idol staring at his face

Wait

He was staring

He said something

He said absolutely something and Tae was just too far away in his head to hear anything oh my--

"everything alright?" Hoseok asked, and the question clearly triggered Namjoon attention, because he came close too

"ye-what-ye sure. I'm sorry, I must be a bit tired. Hi, Namjoon-ah"

Hoseok smiles at him, but Taehyung makes a weird face at the other man

Well, they clearly knew each other enough to drop some honorifics

Probably wasn't the first time Namjoon came instead of his parents to school stuff like this, Hoseok always knew he was a good big brother

"You did great" the young man says, to which Taehyung smiles a little. Namjoon walks over them but doesn't stop, heading towards the door

"I gotta go now, Hoseok-ssi, see you Tuesday. Tae, see you around"

"Watch your steps" both Tae and Hoseok say, which surprised them, but proved them right when Namjoon bumped into a desk

Then it was only them. And Tae knew it's gonna be awkward really soon.

"so, how you know him?" He asks. Oh, Jungkook babysitter. Makes sense

"and you?"

Taehyung makes a weird face, half displeasure.

"I'll tell you in the parking lot, I'll feel less irresponsible if I'm not at work"

Hoseok felt he has to decline and go straight home

Also stop asking about the private life of his kid's teacher and babysitter

Because that was none of his business

But he was a nice person and nice people listen to what others have to say, right?

#vhope #vhope au #vope #kim Taehyung #jung Hoseok #kim Namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin #min yoongi #jeon jeongkook #bts #bts au #teacher/parent au

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

D.E.A.N | Chapter 4 - Truth

Masterlist and overall summary of the whole novel is here. | Prompt on trope-appreciation-tuesdays that inspired this is here. | @whumptober-archive

Fandom : Original Work

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

AO3

Wordcount: ± 3908

TW: Mention of (Minor) Character Death, Gory Description of Death, Mentions of Underage Sexual Assault (noncon)

It’s an uncomfortable day. It gets even more uncomfortable and devastating when Mark, and therefore the team, finally unearths their captive’s real identity.

Whumptober 2021 Tropes:

Day 5 — I’ve Got Red in My Ledger | Misunderstanding

Day 9 — Rumors of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated | Presumed Dead

Day 16 — On A Need to Know Basis | Aftermath

Day 20 — Lost & Found | Solitary Confinement

Day 24 — One Down Two to Go | Flashback

Day 31 — Hurt & Comfort | Trauma

This story is set in the last half of 2016.

------

The next day, Mark sits on the artillery room of their latest headquarter, not really doing anything as he is already done with his routine weaponry check and cleaning. Since he is no longer allowed anywhere near the holding room, it is now his turn today to do weaponry maintenance as decided by his teammates (and also housemates).

Now he just sits in silence, mind pondering and running around wildly to many directions and topics as he is staying idly.

“No offense to your mom, son, but I couldn’t care less about her. We fucked and turned to our separate ways. Then 9 months later you were born, and I didn’t know whose it was anyway. You know how your mom is, even until now.”

He remembers Jackson telling him, while in this exact position, idly milling around as their weaponry maintenance is finished 4 months ago.

Of course, he knows. He loves his mom to bits and thinks she is a fantastic single parent, but she—well, in the politest way possible—does not like to keep her legs closed.

And it’s cool. She has 6 figures job as a well-known corporate law firm partner and is very much a feminist. She doesn’t care about staying with just one man. And she doesn’t need to.

“I didn’t really think too much of it, but then you grew up, and I saw a lot of potentials in you. You’re brilliant in mind, body, and moral compass. You are not just good, you’re great.”

He still feels the swell of pride as he remembers the trusting look from the deceased’s blue eyes—scars visibly running through them—even if it’s tinted with the pain of his grief. Those eyes that Mark probably inherits looked at him with so much hope that he sometimes doesn’t have in himself. Especially right now.

He sighs.

“Whether or not you’re my kid, it really doesn’t matter. What matters is, with talks about making something like D.E.A.N had been brewing for years before its official founding, I knew I need someone who’s capable, but also trustworthy.”

He listened to Jackson raptly at that time, as the older man almost 25 years his senior ran his fingers through his own light brunette hair and straightened up to loosen his back after hunching over their weapons for quite a while.

“I mean, you defended this kid who kept insulting you with homophobic slurs after you were outed at 12 years old, because HE was being insulted for being middle eastern descent. It helps that you had really mean right hook.”

Mark chuckles lowly, before going back to his forlorn musing.

“I do agree that D.E.A.N is necessary, because there are some heinous and inhumane people who just… can’t be dealt with by the book. They’re just too—what’s the word—degenerate, and also complex in their networking. Too etched to this world while being grossly parasitic.”

It’s true. Case in point, Helga.

“We, as a country, as a society at large, needs something powerful and free enough from bullshit bureaucracy to be able to effectively deal with those kind of threats, and for good reason. But do you know how much power that kind of institution will have?”

This is it, the explanation and the wisdom he’s been holding on so hard unknowingly for years.

“That kind of institution, if we don’t carefully and tightly vet the people that we put there, are capable of so much damage to the country and the world in general. If they decide to abuse their power and legal or physical freedom, it can backfire horribly. Something that is designed to protect us from immoral threats can be the immoral threat themselves, you understand me?”

Mark did, and still does, of course. It’s something that is drilled into him and the other D.E.A.N agents each month they have central briefing and meeting, although Jackson himself drilled that into him personally for years.

It’s a good system. Everyone in D.E.A.N has squeaky clean record of conduct on top of extremely high-performance history. Even the smallest infraction will result in them being kicked out.

Something that Mark was sure is never going to happen to him, but not anymore. Not really.

“So I started looking, beginning from you, because I saw that you had integrity. I showed up in your mother’s life again, and indirectly in yours too. And as I grew closer to you, I started teaching you things that D.E.A.N, or what would be D.E.A.N, would need from its people.”

Like how to defend himself physically, then about law enforcements and the value they need to uphold as servants of the people, then about military and how above all else, they need to serve the good above the country. And whichever he chooses, he needs to uphold those values.

And also guns. Lots and lots of lesson about guns, like how to work them, how to disassemble and reassemble them, how to hold it as carefully as he holds his own and his mother’s life because it’s a big responsibility to hold killing machines like them.

He took them all to heart.

“I start steering you into the extracurricular activities that would land you there once it is created. Like taekwondo, other martial arts, wrestling, and maybe football, because I know you will need all the lesson you can get in combat and physical resilience too.”

And he is good. He is damn good at all of it.

“It helps that you become bigger and stronger because of those, so that those sniveling little shits get too chickenshit to be homophobic to you anymore.”

He chuckles again, remembering how starting from when he was 14-15 years old, his high school peers started to look at him with something akin to respect and wariness, as opposed to how his peers treated him in middle school.

“But I know and trust that you won’t use that to hurt people, instead to protect others more vulnerable than you and yourself. I know you will hold on to your integrity.”

He sighs again, feeling shaky and unsure. What happened yesterday doesn’t reassure him of Jackson’s trust in him.

“And as you learn and go through all the education and the training that you need, I started dropping your name to the council that was in charge of designing D.E.A.N. And on the side, I was pulling some strings too to get you to be admitted in more official government trainings throughout your college time, even ROTC, and eventually, that final federal training you had up to two months ago. I mean, I didn’t need to. You definitely could get in on your own. You passed all the previous levels of tests and prelim trials anyway. I just wanted to make sure.”

He’s not going to lie. That revelation kind of hurt him a little, thinking that he might not be good enough on his own and that Jackson might had been betraying him and lying to him all that time. Jackson repeatedly said that that isn’t true, though, that he truly majorly got into those programs on his own merit. Jackson just mostly wanted to watch over him and his progress closely.

“Besides, I wasn’t just preparing you. I already had my eyes on others, like Anna, and Adrianne. Which was great because apparently, she came with Lena attached. It’s a great two-in-one deal, if you ask me.”

He remembers the middle-aged man’s chuckle.

So, Mark just accepted that explanation. Just to soothe his own mind, if he is being honest.

He reminisces again.

“Eventually, I didn’t even need to name-drop any of you anymore. By the time D.E.A.N has already been established firmly, they all already had your and my other picks’ names on the list. I knew my job there is done. What’s left is to guide all of you when you’re in here officially.”

In the way, he noticed that and had an inkling something like that would happen. Jackson had never outwardly spelled out D.E.A.N to him, but he dropped a lot of hints that there is something like that and he wanted Mark to be there.

He remembers at the last few weeks of his federal training, some of the supervisors had been looking at him and discreetly whispering in each other’s ears while surreptitiously staring at him. Then around 20ish days after he unofficially finished his training, only waiting for the formal graduation, one supervisor whispered to him that he was needed in the academy’s highest supervisor’s office.

There, he was told that D.E.A.N has been going on for around one and a half years and it needs more agent. Mark was apparently chosen as one of them.

He obviously accepted the offer, of course. After all, this is what Jackson had been preparing him for.

“I know your mom doesn’t agree with where I’m leading you. I understand that, though. You’re the only man she truly loves in her life. You’re always going to be her baby boy, just like any other sons to their mothers, but people like you are just too important to pass up.”

It’s…

Well, it’s absolutely true, sadly.

For the longest time, as he kept dropping hints that he will go either to military or police academy, his mom just brushed it off and pretended that she never heard.

It’s ironic that he was more afraid of losing his mother’s love after being outed as gay, yet she just cupped his cheeks and told him that doesn’t matter and that there is nothing wrong with that, that she would love him no matter what (and maybe his future partner too).

On the other hand, his plan to be in military or the police, which is supposedly the more respected revelation, earned him his mother’s ignorance and sometimes ire and sadness.

He remembers over a year ago in his undergraduate commencement, his mother excitedly pointed camera at him and repeatedly said she was so proud of him, and that his getting honors in engineering degree in ivy-league level of university will never stop being her bragging point to her colleagues.

He indulged her and smiled back, posing for pictures, before he finally held her shoulders and faced her seriously, prompting his mom who had an inkling about what he would say to clamp up.

He hated to see how her face fell, and the life and excitement she had just bled out of her, but he needed to make her understand and accept it.

He told her that he had been enduring many tryouts and trials for his upcoming federal training, and that he had passed the last test, that no, he wasn’t applying to any Silicon Valley cushy jobs like she wished, like his degree would be expected to take him

She didn’t say anything and just told him they should drive home before it was getting late.

On the drive home, it was deathly silent. It was the kind of silence that was prickly, and sharp, and cold.

When they got home, his mom started talking fast, begging him to reconsider, telling him he can be the good of this world by using his degree (and maybe that’s true, this world does need more biomedical engineers and doctors, after all).

Then she started talking about how Jackson is lying, that it’s not that respectable to be in law enforcement or military, because she is a lawyer and she’s dealt with a lot of them before dealing with massive corporations in the last 10 or so years. Law enforcement and military people are either corrupt, or dead, no in between.

Then she started crying and begging him to reconsider again, and it was hard not to cry along and grant her wish, but he stayed strong because he knew it was the right thing to do, the important thing to do. It’s not just because Jackson. He only introduced him to that path and reality.

She ugly-cried, sniffling, screaming, repeatedly saying “Please, son, baby, you can’t do this to me, please stay with me, I’m your mom, don’t leave me to go there,” and at some point, stopped trying to be coherent and convincing. It’s far cry from how she usually carried herself either at home or outside, especially in mediation room or the court rooms.

At some point, she just sobbed and slid down as if she had no more energy to hold herself up, and she just hugged his knees instead while saying, “Please, baby, don’t leave.”

It broke his heart, so he slid down too and engulfed her in his hug as his own face was wet with tears. He told her he wasn’t going to leave forever. He was going to come back.

She stopped crying eventually, though still weak and unable (or unwilling) to get up again. He just continued rubbing her back and embracing her.

Then, out of nowhere, she pulled back and stared at him with empty look, almost like all her hope and affection for him just disappeared.

She said to him, “Give me your key to the house.”

He was confused and didn’t react, only giving her a puzzled look instead.

She repeated herself, and he eventually unsurely fished out his key from his dress pants, still swallowed whole by his black graduation robe, then he slowly gave it to her.

She snatched it from his hand and stood up, batting his hands away when he tried to help steady her.

He'll never forget the heartbreak and sensation of the pit in his stomach dropping so fast he felt unbalanced and almost collapsing.

“Get out of here and never come back. You’re dead to me.”

He thought it was some sick joke or her bizarre attempt at getting him to change his mind.

“Mom? What—”

“I’m not your mother anymore. And you’re not my son. Get out.”

She said so firmly with unreadable expression that he finally horrifyingly realized that she meant it. She wasn’t attempting to dissuade him. She knew he wouldn’t change his mind, and so, she wouldn’t change hers either.

Even as he begged this time, trying to explain to her.

She would hear none of it. Instead, she walked away and climbed the stairs. Few minutes later, his clothes came flying down haphazardly from the upstairs, as did his other possessions that were still left in his childhood home as opposed to him bringing them to his college dorm and eventually apartment.

He felt cold all over his body.

She really meant it. She was kicking him out of her life, not because he was gay, but because he was trying to do the right thing.

It hurt more than anything he could imagine.

For a few desperate moments, he actually considered taking back what he said and grant his mother’s wish instead, but she was hurt already, and she knew if he did what she wanted, it would be filled with resentment on his part.

As if adding salt to injury, she coldly recited the law that said she was well within her right to not house him anymore in her property as he was already 21, going on 22 years old in two months.

He was an adult, and she no longer had the obligation to provide for him, never mind that she never had any qualms about paying for his exorbitant college tuitions and textbooks and everything else he needed.

At that time, all he felt are confusion, betrayal, and hurt.

Now he understands why.

She was shielding herself for the highly likely potential of having to bury her child instead of the other way around. She did say that military or law enforcement personnel are either corrupt or dead. And both of them knew, along with Jackson, that he would never, ever let himself be corrupted. Not willingly, and not consciously, at least.

So, the other eventual fate for him would be death.

If he is out of her life and she cut contact with him, she would never have to hear about the news if he ends up dying in action.

He knows that now, over a year later.

Still, it stings whenever he tried to call his mother’s number and she never picked up. If anything, he just kept getting blocked. He kept changing his number (out of safety too, as encouraged by D.E.A.N itself), and she kept blocking him. Eventually, he called her once and it said that the number was inactive instead. She changed her number this time.

It was painful because he didn’t know who else to cry to and find reassurance that he wasn’t failing, that he was still capable, after witnessing Jackson’s bloody body and empty, lifeless eyes. That he still has what it takes to make D.E.A.N’s mission successful.

That he is doing the right thing.

In a sweep of less than a year, he lost both his mother and his father, or at least the closest thing he had to a father.

Both major people who made him who he is today, gone without a trace, other than pain lingering on their wake.

“Be ready, though, son. Being in this thing, it’s gonna cost you a lot. Strengthen yourself in your conviction to do the right thing, to eradicate evil with everything you’ve got. Don’t make yourself lose your mother for nothing. She’s raised you with this strength for a reason.”

Again, it’s true.

If Jackson picked him for his integrity, then his mother is the one who taught him that integrity. All of his values, trustworthiness, resilience, coupled with wisely applied stealth and cunning for his enemy who refuses to play by the rules; all of them are what his mother painstakingly instilled in him

Everything that make him who he is, make him chosen for this path, is because of his mother.

She is more important to him than anyone else in this world, even Jackson, and if he had to lose her, he’s going to make sure it’s worth it.

Besides, apart from trying to make this world a better and safer place for everyone else in this country (and maybe the entire world), he is also doing it for her. He wants her to live in the world where something like Helga is uprooted and thrown out from the surface of this earth.

His mother might not understand or accept his purpose, but he is hoping that the benefit of his mission still carries over to her life anyway.

“When I’m gone—and you know it’s a matter of when, not if—I want you to still hold on to that integrity and strength. I trust that you will hold on to that integrity and strength, all right, kid?”

That’s right. He will.

***

Apparently, his long musing before only gives him slight and temporary assurance. As usual, he is now planted on his seat in front of his laptop, doing what he has always done since the beginning of his time in D.E.A.N.

He's clicking through the list of profiles of the teenagers and young adults who are missing, and suspected to be kidnapped by Helga either for human commodities sale, sexual slavery, or being the lab rats for their new concoctions of illicit drugs.

Not that D.E.A.N or any other justice, or even defense and tactical, government body in this country (or any country, really) is fully sure that those activities are what are happening inside Helga.

They have inklings and anecdotal observations, but nothing firmly or solidly proven yet.

Still, Mark clicks through those profiles with decreasing hope and spirit.

He remembers doing this in the beginning, full of hope and heroic mindset that he was going to bring Helga down and save them. Of course, as time goes on, his hope is slowly replaced by hopelessness and his naivete slowly draining and draining out of him.

Each day passing and each profile having their status changed to ‘Presumed Dead’ just bring him down more and more, making him feel more guilty for not getting anywhere near to even catching just one of Helga groups within their network.

There were 10 or so days respite from his self-designed torture that the other agents keep telling him to stop. At the time, he thought that catching at least one member of Helga would lead to some much-needed breakthrough.

Obviously, it soon proves to be horseshit and hopeless as their captive clamps down and refuses to give useful information anyway.

Now that Mark is barred from any attempt to interrogate Nick, he’s back to his self-hate fest in clicking through the missing persons’ profiles. On the other side, Luke just shakes his head and clicks his tongue in disappointment, at this point giving up telling Mark to stop beating himself up with his usual schedule of clicking through the profiles.

He swears he has tried to exercise and do more training, looking through intel documents and blueprints of half-baked plans, yet he still feels the need to go to his laptop again.

He wants to stop, but he just can’t.

Something in his heart keeps pulling him towards that database. If he can’t save them, then at least he can honor them by dedicating a slot of the time in his day to acknowledge them and give them remembrance.

So, he clicks, and he clicks, and he clicks.

‘Presumed Dead’

Another ‘Presumed Dead’

And another ‘Presumed Dead’

And—

Wait, hold up.

He passes something, or someone, there.

He clicks back a little more slowly this time, taking in the young, almost childlike faces of the kidnapping victims who are all given status ‘Presumed Dead’.

No, not that.

Not that either.

Goddamit, he saw something before. Whose information was it?

He clicks and clicks and clicks and…

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

There it is.

A boyish and smiley face of someone who is apparently half Vietnamese-Russian descent stares back at him through the screen. Below the picture is written the text 'Age: 17 years 6 months and 5 days old' and another line that says 'Missing: 12th February 2013'. The photo is reminiscent of something usually shot for a school yearbook, the face still appearing so full of life and hope for his future.

That date was a little over 3 and a half years ago.

Just like the other profiles, this one is also ‘Presumed Dead’ as his missing days already went past three years.

But he is not dead.

The lively heterochromatic eyes are the same eyes as the hollow ones on their supposed captive informant.

Nikolai Khiem Belyaev is right there, in front of them all this time.

That’s why he feels like Nick looks so familiar to him, because Mark has been pouring so many hours into clicking through the missing teenagers’ and young adults’ profiles. Because he has been staring at those kids' faces for months just to beat himself up for another day he failed to find or save them.

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers instinctively, his face falls and as he feels his gut dips so low with nausea.

Luke side-eyes him, but as he sees Mark’s blanched face, he looks worried too and walks to his back to see what’s on the screen over Mark’s shoulder.

“Luke, we fucked up,” is all he can shakily say.

They really, truly, royally did fuck up real bad.

***

(I) (II) (III) (IV) (V) (VI) (VII) (VIII) (IX) (X) (XI) (XII) (XIII) (XIV) (XV) (XVI) (XVII) (XVIII) (XIX) (XX) (XXI) (XXII) (XXIII) (XXIV) (XXV) (XXVI) (XXVII) (XXVIII) (XXIX) (XXX) (XXXI - END)

#Whump #whumptober2021 #whump community #whumper turned caretaker #multiple whumpers #OC whump #no.5 #i've got red in my ledger #misunderstanding #OC #D.E.A.N #whump prompt #prompt fill #whump reveal #writing #English #repost for whump sideblog #me #completionist #whumptober #me-write

[sardinesandhumbugs]

30 "when you smile, you knock me out, I fall apart" with Ratty and Mole?

(Also, I haven't actually watched any starkid musicals those were suggested by @residentofskinnymandria but I will be looking into them this weekend :D)

A/N: Thank you for the prompt and for your patience! I procrastinated somewhat on this because for my other OTPs, I would usually go straight for the romance with a starter like this, but by now y'all know that when it comes to Ratty & Mole, the line between romantic and platonic tends to be up to reader interpretation :)

Also a shout-out to @wolfiethewriter for unwittingly providing inspiration for this ficlet, by getting hilariously drunk a few nights back during our Midnight Sun readthrough. I only hope you fared better the next morning than Rat :D

x

Categorically, Rat knew there were worse ways to wake.

But, as Toad started on his fifth verse of 'What Shall We Do with the Drunken Sailor?' Rat found he could think of no such examples.

He muttered something unsavoury and buried himself deeper into the recesses of the caravan, far from the prying, headache-inducing light of day, and far, far away from Toad's over-exuberant singing – for what little good it would do him. For Toad had inherited his mother's operatic lungs, if quantifiably not her pitch-perfect tone, and both were on full display that morning.

(It could not be said that Toad was a bad singer. It was simply the case that enthusiasm preceded vocal form, and he cared little for meddling things such as keys or sharps and flats when the mood took him. Regardless, even if Toad's voice had been flawless, Rat wouldn't have had the patience for it. Not today. The careening key changes were just the icing on the cake.)

The song briefly rose as the caravan door opened, and Rat recoiled as much from the intrusion of light as he did from Toad's blasted singing. Then the aroma of eggs and bacon hit him, and he begrudgingly shuffled his snout out of the cool, dark safety of the bedcovers.

Mole stood before him, fried offering in paw, and looking significantly less the worse for wear after their previous night's inebriations than Rat. He grinned, and set the breakfast down on the table beside the bed. "Well," he said, "I've never seen you sleep in this late."

"This isn't sleeping in," Rat muttered. "It's suffering."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before drinking so much yesterday," Mole said, the faint admonishment in his tone outweighed by the amusement.

"I'm not a lightweight," Rat grumbled. "It's just whatever Toad puts in his damn drinks to make them green always knocks me out."

"And makes you very drunk, apparently."

Rat hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer to his next question. "How drunk?"

Mole grinned again. "Nothing too embarrassing. You mostly just gabbled and then got distressed when you couldn't pronounce a word properly."

"What word?"

"I believe it was library."

"...Library?" Rat echoed. "How–"

"You kept saying 'liblary' instead."

"Libla...?"

"Liblary, hm-mm. The second 'l' kept creeping in, however hard you tried otherwise." The humour in Mole's voice betrayed that Rat's efforts, while in vain, had been quite the show.

Rat considered this as best he could while the sensation of galloping horses gallivanted between his ears. Eventually he located what he hoped would be a safe question. "Why were we talking about libraries?"

"Oh, we weren't – just you. Goodness knows why, and we thought it best not to ask."

"DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, DON'T LET HIM STEER THAT CARGO FREIGHTER, URL-EYE IN THE MORNING!"

With a wince, Rat turned a reluctant ear to Toad's questionable shanty rendition, trying to figure out if the words were indeed what he was hearing, or whether it was simply the effects of the hangover. "What verse is Toad on now?"

Mole chuckled. "Ones of his own creation. I think he ran out of official verses he could recall a while back."

As if to compound that fact, Toad skipped the refrain entirely and overshot to the next verse, of which the origin was undoubtedly a Toad Special.

"PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, PUT HIM IN THE LIBLARY 'TIL HE'S SOBER, URL-EYE IN THE MORNING!"

Rat winced again. "I'm not living this one down, am I?"

"Oh, Toad will forget in time," Mole said, with surprisingly surety for someone who had spent only a day and a half in Toad's presence. But, then again, Toad was not the most complicated of creatures. However, Rat noted that Mole didn't make any mention of himself forgetting any time soon.

Mole nudged the plate closer to Rat. "Eat up. You'll feel better for it."

Rat had half a mind to make a comment about food being Mole's solution to everything, but then he caught another whiff of breakfast and his stomach gave an audible rumble. He pushed himself up and made a start on the meal.

"Just out of curiosity," Mole said, "why did you drink so much of Toad's cocktails if you know you always suffer the next day?"

"Honest answer?" Rat asked. "I forgot."

"You... forgot?"

"I had..." and Rat paused as Toad butchered another verse, "more pressing issues on my mind."

Both animals waited out Toad's latest crescendo, enduring the new volumes before he petered out to more acceptable levels.

"Would those issues be green and singing?" Mole asked.

"Usually."

Rat had worked his way through a rash and a half of bacon before Mole spoke again, and the distance between the words belayed an uneasy deliberation. "You didn't have to come along," Mole said. He sat on the bench that ran along the inner of the caravan, which served as table space and seating as the need arose, and the ledge was set just a smidgen too high so that his paws only brushed the floor. "You know, out on the open road. Not if you didn't want to."

"Ah, well," Rat said, "then who would keep you and Toad out of trouble?"

"I think we would have managed."

Rat squinted. "No offence, Moley, but I know you, and I know Toad–" he gestured to the window from which Toad's performance was still going strong, and then immediately regretted it as the alcohol residing in his system sent his head spinning "–and you are both many things, but 'out of trouble' is not one of them."

"We survived this morning without mishap."

There was a crash from outside, followed by a cry of, "It's alright! Everything's good! No need to check!" from Toad.

"Mostly," Mole amended.

"Definitely sounds like you have everything under control here," Rat deadpanned.

"I'm sure everything's fine."

There was another thump, this time accompanied by the unimpressed whinny of the horse.

Mole and Rat exchanged glances.

Mole closed the window. "Look, Ratty, all I'm saying is that you needn't have felt obliged to come along if you'd rather have stayed on your river." He glanced to the wicker luncheon basket that was still half-full from yesterday, and which had seemingly swayed Rat in his decision to accompany the caravan. "We could have had our picnics on the riverbank instead."

"We?" Rat echoed.

"Well, of course. Do you really think I would have gone off on the Life Adventurous without you?"

Rat didn't immediately respond. The horses in his head had calmed, but the outcome was simply that he had more space to think properly through the last couple of days. Truth be told, he hadn't quite been sure which Mole would have chosen – him or the open road – and he hadn't been interested in putting it to the test. His mind played back the eagerness with which Mole had rootled through the caravan, exploring the compact living wagon and settling in with an ease that made Rat wonder whether the caravan's claustrophobic space reminded Mole of his own beneath-ground home. It certainly was a far cry from Rat's riverbank abode, where the house had the space to sprawl along the shoreline and the freshwater breeze meant the air was never still. Not like being underground, he was sure.

"Ratty?"

He had been lost in his thoughts for too long, and now Mole leant into his line of vision. Rat had to think quickly to recall what exactly Mole had asked.

"No, of course not," he said. "Only – well, I would have hated for you to have stayed on the riverbank only on my behalf."

"Like you came along here on mine?"

“And for the picnics,” Rat added. “Don’t forget the picnics.”

“Right,” Mole said with a laugh that said he wasn’t buying Rat’s offhanded dismissal any more than Rat believed it. “How could I forget the picnics?” He patted Rat’s paw and swung off the seat. “Well, you can put all thoughts of picnics from your mind until you’ve recovered — and maybe in future we stick to drinks we’re familiar with, hm?”

“Maybe,” Rat conceded.

It was as Mole threw him one last grin and disappeared out of the caravan that Rat came to the reluctant conclusion that, whether or not his housemate was aware of it, Mole had him wrapped around his little claw. He set the emptied plate to one side and collapsed back into the bunk, thankful for the small mercy that at least Toad had stopped singing—

“Feeling better finally?”

Rat jolted back up, and had to steady himself against the table as his head swam. He located Toad at the window. “Toad! How long have you been there?”

“I don’t know; I wasn’t keeping track.” Toad leant in against the windowsill conspiringly. “If I had known all it’d take for you to join me would be the smile off an undergrounder, I’d have dug him out ages ago.”

Rat grumbled but decided he was still too hungover to bicker over it.

Besides, it was somewhat difficult to argue with when it was true.

#dratandbotherbotheranddrat #replies #cat writes #wind in the willows musical #witw fanfic #did I partially write this just for the amusement of 'what shall we do with the drunken sailor' being applied to rat? #...maybe #things I said I didn't write: drunk fics #things I have now written twice: drunk fics #wolfie you are a terrible influence #also mole has a stomach of steel and toad drinks his green drinks regularly #or regularly enough for him to be immune #so rat is the only one in the open road who is going to suffer #also on a rewatch I realised that the cocktails they drink at the beginning of 'the open road' aren't green #they just look that way in the light #but too late they're green now #it always amuses me how at the beginning of the open road #they start with cocktails and by the end have moved onto beer #oh and for what it's worth that mispronunciation of 'library' is one I am guilty of #not even when drunk either #also wolfie you didn't gabble don't worry #I'm just using how I behave when tired #also in the book toad gets rat to agree to the open road by convincing mole first #he literally realises that rat will agree if mole does #so he sets to work convincing mole instead #which im sorta leaning on here

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 26/26)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 25

Throughout his five years in professional hockey, Connor Whisk has been called a great many things.

During his rookie season with the Pittsburgh Penguins, the adjective most frequently used by ESPN was promising. (Editor’s note: we’ve counted. Yes, we’re nerds.) However, soon after Whisk’s abrupt trade to the newly minted Seattle Kraken, sensational and unprecedented quickly started climbing the charts. It truly seemed like Whisk had found himself perfectly at home as a rising star on a young and fiercely untamed NHL expansion team, full of players with nothing to lose, yet so much to prove.

At least, that was the way things appeared.

Whisk suggests meeting at a quiet coffee place in Pioneer Square. He’s already waiting outside when I arrive (and it should be noted that I'm at least ten minutes early). Whisk's handshake is firm, his shirt is completely lacking in wrinkles without a single button undone, and there's something carefully proper in his manners as we exchange pleasantries and order coffee.

We don't have an abundance of time, which is why I get right into it almost before we're seated. What’s his opinion on the current standings? If the Kraken do make the playoffs again, like most experts have assumed, what will be their strategy for staying in the game longer, this time? And what’s changed for the Kraken, during these last couple of seasons, that have enabled them to become such a force to be reckoned with so soon after the team’s very foundation?

Whisk, who isn't necessarily known for taking pleasure in excessive attention from the media, seems surprisingly at ease with my onslaught of questions.

“We’ve worked really hard as a team to get to this point, slowly but surely. It may look like a sudden breakthrough from an outside perspective, I guess, but that’s very far from how we’ve experienced it. Although, I’ll be the first to admit that those first couple of seasons in Seattle were tough. Extremely tough. We were fighting so hard every single day, trying to get some semblance of proper teamwork, trying to get our plays to work, get anything to work, really. A lot of the guys were rookies, and many of us who weren’t had been pretty shocked by our trades. We did alright, for a new team, but we all knew that we should be doing better. That was the thing, really – we all felt that we could be so much more. Maybe, if we had believed that a little bit less, things might not have felt so hopeless at the time.”

Whisk speaks with a familiarly serious expression. Some of my fellow sports journalists have pronounced him subdued, and stiff, and on one memorable occasion, unemotional. Yet as we continue to chat about his teammates over a second cup of coffee, and Whisk goes into detail about what the Kraken’s recent achievements have meant for each of them, those descriptors couldn’t be further from the picture Whisk paints. Connor Whisk is clearly compassionate. Effortlessly earnest. Irresistibly determined.

"Last season, when we made it to the playoffs for the first time, that was such an important milestone. It proved to us that we’d had it right, all along. That as a team, we could be capable of anything. And I think, especially for the older guys who’d uprooted the lives of their families after their trades, getting that recognition from the whole league was so important. It’s definitely helped us feel like we have every reason to go into each game with that much more confidence, this season. Our plays are bigger, bolder and braver, and it’s really been paying off. This year, the goal is to make sure that energy lasts us not only all the way to the playoffs, but much further beyond.”

Whisk speaks about his teammates with both respect and compassion. It’s really quite obvious just how he's earned himself the title of Assistant Captain. And on the subject of leadership – is there any truth to the retirement rumours surrounding the Kraken’s current Captain, Donald “Ducky” Rodriguez? And would Connor Whisk agree with the consensus among both supporters and sports media, that he is practically guaranteed to inherit the title?

It's the first time since the start of our conversation that I find a certain amount of evasiveness in Whisk's answer.

"It's difficult to say. Every player has their own journey, and I can't speak for Ducky when it comes to his thoughts on possible retirement. As for my own feelings on the subject, I'd prefer it if Ducky just stayed in the game forever." Whisk laughs. "Really, I would. Ducky probably wouldn't have described his trade from the Aeros to the Kraken as the best thing that ever happened to him, back when it all went down, but it was honestly one of the best things that could've happened to me. I had looked up to Ducky for a long time, and having such an experienced player join us made an enormous difference for a lot of us who were relatively new to the game. We've had a great run together in Seattle, and I know Ducky has talked at length about how rewarding it's been for him to captain this team, especially at this point in his career. And honestly, I can't even really think about what might happen after his eventual retirement. I just can't. I guess I'm just trying to focus on the now, one game at a time, until the end of this season. That's as far as I'm allowing myself to think."

Of course, on the subject of the Houston Aeros, I must ask about the rumour that seems to circle back around every so often without ever being properly addressed. It's time we all knew, once and for all. Did Connor Whisk, during his time as a free agent, really decline an offer from the Houston Aeros? If so, when? And, perhaps most importantly, why?

"No, I did." Avid Aeros supporters will be pleased to know that Whisk has the decency to look quite apologetic. "It was during my time in the NCAA. I found it a very interesting offer, but ultimately, it just wasn't the right time for me. I'm sure it would've been a journey that was rewarding in other ways than the path I'm on, now. But sometimes, you've got to go with your heart, and my heart was very much still in Massachusetts with the Samwell team. I was very lucky to be able to make that decision and still have such great opportunities to play professionally after graduation. That was never something I took for granted, when I made that call."

Before we run out of coffee, and more importantly out of time, I remember to ask about Whisk’s tattoos. As frequent readers of Sports Illustrated will be well aware, he has two, both on his upper right arm. According to my quite extensive knowledge of Whisk’s frankly limited media appearances, he has never once commented on them.

Evidently, they're not some big secret. Whisk readily rolls up his sleeve.

“The first one, got your back, is a saying from my college hockey team. It’s about always looking out for your teammates on and off the ice. My time on the Samwell team really meant a lot to me, I was fortunate enough to play alongside incredible NCAA players like Eric Bittle, Will Poindexter and Nathan Piper. I learned so much, both about hockey and about myself. A lot of the guys actually got the exact same tattoo at some point, without any of us really talking about it. It caused a bit of unintended comedy at our last reunion.”

The second tattoo, know where we stand, is placed just a few inches below the first.

“That one is more personal. It's about having trust and faith in those I love, about making sure they always know how much they mean to me. I'm a somewhat private person, I guess, but anyone close to me could tell you that it's very important for me to make sure that my feelings are known.”

Private is certainly a word that comes to mind. Whisk doesn't agree to many interviews, and his fans have long given up hope of getting more than one or two TV appearances per season, post-game interviews not included. He's on Twitter, as is the whole Kraken rooster, but his activity is mostly limited to retweets of various sports accounts. His instagram feed? Almost exclusively pictures of his aquarium.

At the mention of aquatic creatures, Whisk’s expression brightens.

“My housemate actually took this amazing picture of our axolotl a while back, I have to show you. Look at this magnificent queen.”

Somewhere between several anecdotes about Whisk’s certifiably adorable pets, and a tangent about his commitment to supporting organisations working towards marine conservation, we do finally run out of time. As we say our goodbyes, I’m reminded once again of Whisk’s polite, proper manners, a stark contrast to his somewhat unfeeling reputation. But if one thing’s for certain, it’s that Connor Whisk is anything but unfeeling. He’s reserved, yes, and perhaps somewhat reluctant to put his innermost thoughts and feelings on display. But he’s certainly an impressively focused athlete, one who has proven time and time again to have an admirable commitment to supporting his teammates, on and off the ice.

I can only imagine the regret that must be felt over in Pittsburgh. Seattle, meanwhile, has every reason to celebrate. It’s really something, given how much Whisk has already achieved, that he still gives off the energy of someone who’s got so far to go. The question is, just how far is that going to get him, in the end?

Will he be remembered only as a key factor in the foundation of Seattle’s so-far successful expansion endeavour, or could he be a true star player in the making, one on the verge of creating a legacy that will last well beyond a time and a place?

Only time will tell.

    Whiskey lets the door fall shut behind him. He takes a deep, steadying breath.

There’s a familiar suitcase that’s been left right in the hallway. Whiskey quickly toes off his shoes and walks past it. Ah, there’s a t-shirt. And a bit further, a pair of jeans. Then socks.

Whiskey follows the enticing trail of clothes into the living room. He passes by the mantelpiece, where his Samwell Men's Hockey Captain's plaque sits right in the center, with his Art Ross Trophy from last season over on the side.

Out in the kitchen, he finds a pair of boxer briefs. The double doors out to the patio are wide open. Whiskey eagerly steps through them, his feet quickly carrying him across the patio, over to-

Yes.

Oh, yes. Finally.

Miguel breaks through the surface of the water just as Whiskey makes it to the side of the pool. Immediately, Miguel offers him a wide smile. He looks so perfectly relaxed, back in his pool, in their home. In the nude.

God, he’s so beautiful.

“Water’s warm,” Miguel greets him softly. He trails his fingertips across the surface of it, almost like he’s reacquainting himself with how it feels. “Much more pleasant than the Atlantic, let me tell you.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation.”

“Oh, please. Come here.” Miguel’s tone turns impatient as Whiskey pulls off his shirt, only to take a moment to fold it. “Fuck, just, come here. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. So much.”

Whiskey willingly abandons his attempts to keep his clothes from getting wrinkles. He makes quick work of his pants and underwear, before he lets himself slip into the water. Immediately, he gathers Miguel up in his arms.

It’s not a languid kiss, by any means. Being separated for eight fucking weeks will do that to you. Miguel kisses Whiskey like he’s been trying to breathe underwater for months, like Whiskey is his fresh gulp of oxygen, his moment of clarity. He kisses Whiskey like Whiskey is his very reason for breathing.

Which is almost funny, given that Miguel has been doing quite a bit of breathing underwater, lately.

“Did you get bulkier?” Miguel murmurs against Whiskey's bare skin. He’s trailing his fingertips along Whiskey’s forearms. “You’re kinda firm, here. I like it.”

“Maybe a little.”

Whiskey kisses the top of his head. He lets his hands travel lower, let's his fingertips glide across Miguel's ribcage over the ink that matches Whiskey's own, four little words with so much meaning. He grins as he reaches Miguel's ass and let's his hands come to an abrupt stop. God, it's been much too long.

“S'okay. You're here, now.” Miguel shivers pleasantly from Whiskey’s touches. “Practice run over?”

“No, Angela called me in. She needed me to sign off on the final draft of that article.”

“Sports Illustrated?” Miguel recalls curiously. “How bad was it?”

“Actually, it was… Fine.” Whiskey thinks back on the feature. “Better than I expected. There’s even a couple of paragraphs where that reporter’s made me sound, I don't know. Oddly sweet.”

“You are sweet.” Miguel smiles fondly. “Is it really so bad, if people find out?”

“I suppose not,” Whiskey agrees reluctantly. He lets himself give Miguel's ass another indulgent squeeze. “And they actually included my off-hand mention of my housemate, this time. So that’s something.”

“Good job,” Miguel says with a flushed grin. “Angela must be so pleased.”

Angela Johanson, PR and communications officer for the Seattle Kraken, had indeed been extremely pleased.

Her strategy had really worked for them, so far, which was why Whiskey wasn’t too inclined to argue with it. “If you want to hide anything from those vultures in the media,” Angela had told him during one of his earliest PR briefings, “You’ve got to do it in plain sight.”

Of course, there had been other parts of Angela’s PR strategies that Whiskey had found himself arguing with. Especially during their very first conversation with one another, before he’d had the chance to inform anyone in Seattle of his situation.

It had been right after the trade – hours after, literally. Whiskey was still in Pittsburgh, both physically and mentally. And, fine, Whiskey had maybe already started to realise that Pittsburgh wasn’t completely right for him. It was a very good team, but they were so swamped with talent, and maybe fighting his way to the top of that rooster should’ve been an exciting, motivating challenge, but it wasn’t. It just wasn’t. Whiskey had spent his whole rookie year feeling like he was working against his own team. He had known there was a fair chance that he would get traded. He wasn’t even entirely opposed to the idea.

But Seattle? The Kraken? A team that, for all intents and purposes, didn’t even so much as exist, yet?

“We’re rolling out a whole media package,” Angela had informed him over the phone – as soon as Whiskey’s very first chit-chat with management was over, they’d switched him right over to PR. “There is an enormous amount of buzz right now, given that you guys are the very first players we’re signing. I’ve got some talking points to go over, and then you’re going live on channel four tonight at-”

“Hold on,” Whiskey had cut in. “It’s, I’m not… I don’t usually do many interviews.”

“Oh, you will now.” Angela actually had the audacity to sound cheerful. “We’re right in the middle of establishing our whole brand, and profiling our players in the media is an incredibly important part of that. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“I’m not too interested in being a… A media profile.” Whiskey had tried his best not to panic completely. Really, he had. “I don’t… I’m fairly protective of my private life.”

“Well. You’ll certainly need to share the overall gist of it.” Angela had sounded almost confused. “We need you to be approachable, Connor. Likeable. You’re young, and very handsome, and incredibly talented. We’ve been hoping to have a broad interest in this franchise, all different age groups and so on, and right now, you’re looking a lot like our best bet to attract some real interest from young girls and women. We’re not going to miss that chance.”

“Look," Whiskey had told her flatly. "I’m going to tell you something in confidence, alright? In confidence. This needs to stay between you and me.”

“Okay? Connor, I’m not sure if-”

“I have a boyfriend.”

Angela had been quiet for well over five seconds.

“Oh,” she’d said. To her credit, there had been something like embarrassment in her tone. “I see. Of course, that’s not an issue. Not at all. We’ve done a lot of groundwork about the values of this organisation, Connor, and I want you to know that you’re going to be completely safe with us.”

“Right. Thank you.”

“And,” Angela had added, just a bit hopefully. “If you would choose to be open about that, I can assure you that you would have our full support to-”

“No,” Whiskey had interrupted. “No. I’m not going to.”

“Right.” Angela had paused. “Okay. We’d really be prepared to back you up, you know. It might cause a bit of a media frenzy, and earn us some frankly disgusting press, but we’d be ready to take that on.”

“Yes, a media frenzy sure seems like the last thing on your wishlist.” Whiskey hadn’t bothered to keep his anger out of his voice. “In any case, I’m not going to cause it for you. I’m extremely protective of my private life, and for very good reason. And I’m not going to go live on channel four, today or any other day.”

“Right, okay," Angela had said quickly. "Okay.”

There was a longer moment of silence.

“I hear you.” Angela’s tone had shifted significantly. Somewhere in the background, Whiskey thought he could hear the sound of papers being shuffled around. “I think… Well, won’t need this anymore. Or that. Hm. Let’s see.”

Whiskey managed something of a breath. He was feeling slightly calmer, although honestly not particularly regretful. Really, he’d be more than prepared to fight the Kraken’s entire PR department, if that’s what it took.

“Look.” Angela had apparently found something to say again. “I’ve seen your tapes, Connor.”

Whiskey frowned slightly.

“Okay?”

“You’re very good.” Angela’s tone was quite careful. “Very, very good. I used to play, you know, back in high school. You’re fast, and you play very smart. I’ve heard the way our head coach talks about your technique, and about your adaptability on the ice. Quite frankly, he won’t shut up about you.”

“Is any of this supposed to make me like you better?”

“That’d be nice,” Angela had said calmly, and okay, she was certainly brave. Whiskey had to give her that. “Most importantly, though, you should take me seriously when I say that we’re fully expecting you to be one of the faces of this franchise.”

“On the ice, sure, but that doesn’t-”

“And,” Angela cut in, “That means the media is going to be all over you. Even if you won’t let us schedule you for appearances, they’re going to find something to write about anyway. Really, I’m sure they’d be thrilled to publish all sorts of assumptions and speculation, especially if there’s nothing else out there to contradict them.”

Whiskey wasn’t sure what to say to that.

Angela actually had a point, was the thing.

“I understand the need to keep your professional and private lives separate,” Angela had continued. “And, Connor, I’d really like to help you with that. Because you’re going to need help. If we could work together and figure out a level of public visibility that you could actually be comfortable with, that would definitely keep a lot of so-called journalists from spinning a narrative that we have no control over.”

“Right.” Whiskey hadn’t needed to hesitate much longer. “I understand that. Honestly, I’ve seen the way certain publications go after some of our big names here in Pittsburgh. I’d hate to face something like that without a solid plan for how to handle it.”

“We don’t want you to feel like you’re facing anything on your own, or without a plan.” Angela had sounded quite hopeful once more. “Connor, I… I’m sorry if I came on too strong, just now, and demanded too much from you. We’re genuinely thrilled that you will be joining us in Seattle. I hope that you and I can figure out a media strategy that actually works for you."

“That sounds good.” Surprisingly, Whiskey actually meant it. “I, uh. This is all extremely important to me. I appreciate that you’re making an effort to see my perspective.”

“Of course.” Angela’s tone had been warm. “My job is ultimately about supporting you, you know.”

“Well.” Whiskey had actually smiled. “I suppose I’m glad to have you on the team, then.”

“That’s my line, isn’t it?” Angela had chirped pleasantly. “So. I’m cancelling with channel four. Let’s talk about alternatives for how to make your first impression.”

Whiskey hadn’t quite understood, back then, just how invaluable Angela was going to prove herself during his time in Seattle.

He also would never have guessed that, over a series of meetings where the two of them had drafted contingency plans for various hypothetical scenarios of Whiskey being outed, as well as quite a few bottles of increasingly expensive red wine, he and Angela would actually end up with something not entirely unlike a friendship.

"Angela says hi, by the way," Whiskey tells Miguel presently. They've made it out of the water – except, Miguel's already dived back in. Whiskey has sat himself down on the edge of the pool, content to stick his feet in and just watch Miguel. "She practically demanded that we have her over for dinner, this weekend, when I mentioned you were coming back home."

"Oh, I'd love to see Angela." Miguel dips beneath the surface, just briefly. "You could make those dark chocolate brownies for dessert."

Whiskey smiles.

"You've missed my desserts."

"Come on, try again." Miguel grins. "You're so close."

"Ah. You've missed my chocolate desserts."

Miguel rolls his eyes. He disappears back underwater with a playful splash.

Whiskey smiles softly as he watches Miguel swim down, down towards the bottom of the pool. He still remembers the first time Miguel took him swimming, remembers how his breath hitched at the sight of Miguel moving in the water, his lithe, flexible body completely in control. It was, and honestly still is, the most beautiful thing Whiskey has ever seen.

There's a picture of the two of them that hangs framed in their bedroom. It was taken the summer before last, during a trip they took to see Miguel's family. Miguel is looking at the camera, and his smile is the one that Whiskey loves the most – it's soft and warm and just so lovely. His brown eyes are wonderfully bright in the sunlight. He looks beautiful, and full of life and love. He looks perfect.

In the picture, Whiskey isn't looking at the camera. Instead, he is looking at Miguel. He's smiling, too, and although his smile isn't anywhere near as radiant as Miguel's, it's definitely gentle and content. He looks happy.

They both look happy.

The picture sometimes makes Whiskey wonder what others see, when they look at the two of them. Miguel, so full of energy and life, always bright with excitement and emotion, easily allowing his feelings to flow freely in any direction like a rippling, playful wave, his world a whole sea of excitement. And next to him, Whiskey. So purposeful, and focused, and bold. Always serious and earnest, making every decision with exact precision like he's carving his whole world out of ice.

And yet they come together so perfectly, almost as if they were always meant to find one another.

Miguel breaks through the surface again, with a bigger splash this time.

"I almost forgot," he says, a little breathlessly. "Whiskey. I do actually use Twitter, you know."

Whiskey frowns slightly.

"I don't."

"And as much as I love you, you're not the only account on there." Miguel rolls his eyes. "You Can Play made a pretty interesting announcement, today. Did you see it?"

Ah. Quickly, Whiskey looks away.

"They've received another one of those big donations," Miguel continues. He sounds delighted. "And still no sender, can you believe it? Funny, how this always happens right after you win another big game."

Whiskey ducks his head, grinning. It's only happened a handful of times, that Whiskey has managed to quietly donate a few thousand dollars to You Can Play without Miguel connecting the dots. Ever since that first time, when You Can Play had announced their deepest gratitude to an anonymous donor the very same week that Whiskey had received his signing bonus, and Miguel had immediately texted Whiskey a string of cash emojis and a question mark, it's become something of a game between them.

"Fine. You win this time."

"I win every time." Miguel grins, too. "I guess I should just be grateful that you haven't splurged too much on another ridiculous welcome-home present. I'm still getting over the shock from last time."

"You love the pool," Whiskey reminds him softly. He clears his throat. "I, uh. I might actually have gotten you something."

Miguel stills.

"Please tell me it's something that fits inside the house, this time."

"Well..." Whiskey knows that it's better if he just sticks to his plan of showing Miguel, when he gets the chance. They've been making loose plans for a trip to Boston, anyhow, and Miguel definitely won't mind going back to the New England Aquarium. Especially when he finds out that they'll be attending the opening ceremony for the aquarium's new, privately funded manatee conservation program. "It's not really something you can take home. But I know you're going to love it."

"Okay, mister." Miguel looks a little bit weary. "God, you've got that look in your eyes. I'm getting nervous."

"You'll love it," Whiskey repeats firmly. He smiles. "And, uh, speaking of love. We got a letter from Dex and Nursey, yesterday."

Miguel's eyebrows shoot up.

"A letter? Don't you guys text, like, a lot?"

"They've finally set a date."

"Oh," Miguel exclaims. His smile widens. "Oh, that is so exciting! We're going to a wedding!"

"We are, yeah." Whiskey smiles, too. "I haven't RSVP'd, yet, but…"

"No, no, of course we're going." Miguel is still beaming. "Wow. Wow. Do you know what colors they're doing? Ooh, and what's their venue?"

"I don't… We can read their invitation together." Whiskey watches Miguel for a moment. "You like weddings."

Miguel pauses briefly.

"I like seeing our friends happy." He smiles. "Whiskey, you know that I don't expect… I've never really thought that I would be married."

"Me neither." Whiskey isn't quite sure how to phrase his next question. "But, just because you didn't think it was in the cards… I mean. That's not necessarily the same thing as, you know. As not wanting to?"

"I guess not," Miguel agrees easily. Still, he shakes his head. "Honestly, it's really not something I've ever dreamed of, the way some people do. My choice of career was always going to be a big commitment for me, one that would certainly make things complicated in the romance department. But then you came along, and we've managed to build this life together, and it's just… It's so perfect. I don't need anything more."

"I know." Whiskey returns his smile. "I love the life we've built together, too. But, I'm just… Well. Actually. I've been thinking."

Slowly, Miguel's expression shifts.

"You have?"

"It's not…" Whiskey begins, only to pause. He needs to get this right. "It's something I'm still thinking about. I don't have all the right answers, yet."

"Okay." Miguel tilts his head. "Whiskey, did… Did something happen? To make you question yourself?"

Whiskey's smile softens. It's really something, how Miguel knows him so well.

"Kind of," he admits. "You know I went home, recently?"

"Yeah. For a funeral, right?"

"Exactly. My one of my uncles passed."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though his expression is somewhat confused. "I don't… You said you two weren't very close?"

"No, we weren't," Whiskey agrees. "But still, I… It got me thinking."

"About marriage?"

"About death." Whiskey almost smiles when Miguel's eyebrows shoot up. "I promise this isn't constantly on my mind, okay? It's just something I've kept coming back to, recently. Something I haven't ever thought about before."

"Okay." Miguel watches him in apparent confusion. "Whiskey, I'm sorry. You've lost me."

Whiskey takes a deep breath.

"When we die, I want them to bury me next to you."

Miguel is quiet for a moment.

"Oh," he says. His tone is careful. "I… Oh."

"And I don't think that would be possible," Whiskey continues. He actually smiles. "Unless… You know."

"Wait. Really?" Miguel actually manages to sound equal parts serious, and reproachful. It's really quite something. "Connor. I may never have dreamed of the perfect proposal, but if this is your idea of one, death might greet you a whole lot sooner than you think."

"No, it's not," Whiskey says quickly. "It's… I haven't finished thinking about this, not yet. I mostly feel like I don't really know what I should want."

"Maybe what you should want isn't the right question." Miguel sounds slightly more calm. He pauses to actually think for a moment. "You know, I'm… I hadn't really thought about that, either. But you… I think you have a point. You really do."

For a moment, they just look at one another.

"Well," Whiskey says lightly. It feels like something significant has shifted between them. It feels big. "I guess we'll see?"

"Yeah." Miguel seems to have found his smile again. "It wouldn't have to be an extravagant affair. You'd hate that."

"I would," Whiskey agrees. "But, at the same time… We wouldn't necessarily need to keep it just between you and me."

"I like that." Miguel tilts his head again. "You know, if… If we did? The world would find out, eventually. When we're gone, if nothing else."

"Yeah. I know."

"I don't know how I feel about that. I'll need some more time." Miguel's tone is unusually thoughtful. "But you would be okay with it?"

"I… I guess." Whiskey pauses for a moment. Suddenly, he remembers everything Angela's told him about the importance of taking control over the narrative. And honestly? Just like always, she has a point. "Except, if that is the path we take, maybe we should actually make sure that we have a say in how this story gets told? Not anytime soon, but, I don't know. At some point down the line."

"Right." Miguel is nodding, even though he still looks quite contemplative. "That's probably not a decision we should rush into."

"There's no need. We can figure it out at whatever pace feels right." Whiskey offers him another smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what?"

"For listening to me. For going through all of this with me."

"That's not something you need to thank me for." Miguel's smile softens into the one Whiskey loves best. "It's, you know. Sickness and health, good times and bad times. No matter what we tell the world, we both know that's what this is."

"Yeah," Whiskey agrees softly.

Sometimes, he still can't believe that they got here in the end. He smiles, helplessly.

"That's right. You're exactly right."

#check please #omgcheckplease #omgcp #connor whisk #OC: Miguel #an interview #and more #nurseydex #dexey #just briefly but hey it's there #fluff #actually yes fluff #also hockey?? #apparently #and so it comes to a close #as all things must #my god I'm actually so emotional #thank you so so much to everyone who's followed this #it's been a time #fanfiction #dance with somebody #evie writes #will be back with a post linking the full thing on ao3 once that's up