#[//He likes to think his laughter is very menacing. Its... its not. Not here.]

[deactivationincomplete]

Can you give us an evil laugh?

And now why wö̴̳̫͕̏̓̾uld I do th̵͛ͅat̶̠͘?

Hahahah.

[obito-in-disguise]

| You smack their butt |

Featuring: Geto Suguru, Fushiguro Toji, Satoru Gojo, Nanami Kento, Kamo Choso and Ryomen Sukuna.

Geto Suguru

Crack!

The sound of your hand making contact with his behind was loud and obscene. His eyes widen as he surges forward from the force, hands grabbing the counter in front of him for support.

He whips his head in your direction, glaring at you with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.

"What the fu-"

"What? so you can do it to me but I can't do it to you?" You snicker, the glimmer in your eye and the way you struggle to contain your laughter all too familiar.

Satoru.

Geto sighed, his hand moving to rub his sore behind. He glared at you once again, mentally noting to stop you from hanging out with the white-haired menace so frequently.

His idiocy was clearly rubbing off on you.

Fushiguro Toji

Toji watches in amusement as you recoil, shaking your hand around in pain.

"What the hell are your glutes made of? metal?!"

He only grinned ominously as he got up from his seat, setting down his chopsticks.

He stretched his arms over his head, joints cracking as he started to warm up.

"Toji...what are you doing..."

He looks up in mock confusion "isn't it my turn?"

"No!..." You squeal, running down the hall away from him. Toji's payback was always 10x what you inflicted.

"Don't start what you can't finish doll..." he chuckles before taking after you with inhumane speed.

Satoru Gojo

Satoru grins and shoves his ass out more, arching his back and making an obscene moaning sound.

"What the fuck is wrong with you" you laugh, half amused, half disturbed.

"Me? You're the one going around and smacking people's butts little lady. What's wrong with you?"

You watch him as he stands upright again, adjusting his shades.

You hum "Not everyone's, just yours."

"Ah...so you admit my derriere had a certain... appeal..." he grins, pulling his glasses down and smiling at you seductively.

You groan, getting up and heading out the room. This was a mistake, Satoru was obviously a weird freak.

He chuckles chasing after you. "Hey wait! What about round two?..."

Nanami Kento

Nanami's breath gets caught in his throat when he feels your hand land harshly on his behind. He stiffens, glaring into the distance in mortification.

You broke into laughter, covering your mouth before quickly moving to pull him into a hug. "Oh ken...I'm so sorry"

He glances down at you, watching how you're unable to catch your breath from laughing despite being 'sorry'.

His shoulders relaxed despite his embarrassment, and he slowly hugged you back.

He was used to your behaviour by now. Now he was too busy wondering how that delicate hand of yours packed such a punch.

"Yes very funny, I'll have to get you back for that though sweetheart."

Kamo Choso

Leave this poor baby alone omg.

Choso's eyes widen in horror when you smack his ass. He turns around slowly, looking at you in such terror that you can't help but burst out laughing.

He laughs along with you in fear "ha...ha ha...ha" before quickly dashing out the door. "I have to go."

"Choso wait!-" but he's long gone, now you feel worried. Choso was new to a lot of things and you've most likely just terrified him. You sigh, picking up your phone to call him, hoping he'll pick.

Yuji stares at Choso in confusion and growing anger as he explains that you suddenly hit him and that he doesn't know what to do. Yuji is confused because he's never known you to be the violent type.

"Wait, where’d she hit you, Cho?..." Choso flushes at Yuji's question, slowly pointing to his butt.

"Here..."

Yuji can't help himself when he bursts into laughter, here he was thinking you were abusing his brother but you were just being kinky.

Choso returns later that night much to your relief. You jump up, hugging him tightly and apologising profusely when he suddenly smiles and pulls away.

"Its ok lovie...I understand now"

You sigh in relief.

"You're a freak..." He smiles innocently at you, repeating Yuji's earlier words to him, unaware of the connotations.

"...You know what?...yeah"

Ryomen Sukuna

You were currently stuffed in the linen closet, a hand slapped over your mouth to prevent your whimpers of fear from escaping.

What on earth was happening you ask? Well you were hiding from Sukuna because you had the bright idea inspired by a cursed tiktok to smack him on the butt.

You could hear his psychotic laughs of delight as he stomped through the house, looking for you.

"Oh y/n...come out come out wherever you are..."

He most likely knew where you were but was enjoying this twisted game of chase.

Your suspicions were confirmed when he ripped the door to your hiding space open, lunging toward you.

You shrieked in terror as he grabbed you and hoisted you over his shoulder. Despite the fact that he just spent the last 5 minutes hunting you down like a maniac, Sukuna would never actually lay a finger on you...in a capacity to harm anyway.

He lands a playful retaliation smack as he stalks towards the bedroom with you still slung helplessly over his shoulder.

"My turn..."

Why're boys so jumpy when you smack their butts🙄 they be walking around all caked up too🙄🙄

Feel free to check out more of my Jujutsu Kaisen fics and other stories!

[its-avalon-08]

📣 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖 📣

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

🏁 pairing : Lando Norris x Piastri!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: she’s oscar piastri’s little sister — sarcastic, sharp, and completely uninterested in drivers. he’s lando norris — charming, persistent, and suddenly very interested in her. she came for oscar. she didn’t plan on falling for the one person she should’ve stayed away from.

themes : fluff, flirting, over protective brother, anxiety

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter 2 : aussies and laptops

The next day as Y/N had her sunglasses perched lazily on top of her head, arms crossed as she walked toward the food area, the sunlight catching on the edge of her gold hoops. Her outfit was sharp, effortless—cream trousers, a cropped black tee, and an oversized blazer that somehow made her look like she ran the whole team. Not that she cared. She just liked being comfortable and stunning.

She was about to grab a coffee when—

“Oi, is that a real medical researcher in the paddock, or just someone who got lost?”

Y/N’s head snapped up.

Jack Doohan.

She broke into a wide grin, momentarily dropping her cool, and practically launched into his arms.

“You menace,” she said, hugging him tightly. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I race, remember you moron?” he teased, pulling back but keeping his hands on her shoulders. “I heard you were finally crawling out of your lab, thought I’d come see if the rumors were true.”

“Still not as ugly as I expected,” she said, deadpan.

Jack laughed. “And you’re still incapable of giving a compliment I see. Still only talk to the germs your study?”

They chatted easily, trading stories and updates—Jack teasing her about her always-busy brain, Y/N rolling her eyes as she asked about his last race weekend and his weird new gym obsession along with a protein shake obsession which Y/N was going to lecture him about later. It was all laughter and casual nudges, the kind of warmth that could only come from years of friendship and long-distance FaceTimes at 2 a.m.

But from a distance, it might’ve looked like... more.

-

Oscar was leaning against a wall nearby, scrolling on his phone, unbothered. He didn’t even look up.

Lando, on the other hand, had stopped mid-sip of his smoothie, eyes narrowed slightly.

“What’s that?” he asked, gesturing toward Y/N and Jack.

Oscar didn’t glance up. “Jack and my sister.”

“As in...?”

“Doohan. Aussie driver. Family friend. Like an annoying cousin, but louder.”

Lando watched as Jack playfully flicked Y/N’s braid, earning a shove and a mock glare from her. “Yeah no fucker I know that. Its just that.. They seem... close.”

Oscar side-eyed him. “What’s with the tone?”

“No tone,” Lando said quickly, too quickly. “Just asking. You said she doesn’t come to races much, so I figured—”

“Figured what?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck. “I dunno. That she’d be... less flirty with other drivers I guess?”

Oscar finally looked up, eyebrows rising. “You think that was flirting Lando? Have you lost it?”

“Well, no,” Lando said. “I mean. I don’t know. Just looked like it. Kind of.”

Oscar snorted. “Mate, that’s Y/N’s resting warmth face. She’s like that with people she actually likes y'know. So not you?”

“So she likes him?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “Not like that. Jack’s been around since we were kids. He’s like a brother to both of us. Him and Y/N were in school together and they just remained really good friends.”

Lando looked unconvinced.

Oscar sighed. “Look, if you’re trying to figure out whether Y/N’s on the market, save yourself the trouble. She’s not.”

Lando raised a brow. “She told you that?”

“She doesn’t need to. She’s got stuff going on. Goals. Plans. She's just not interested in dating anyone right now.”

Lando nodded slowly, then smirked. “So I'm assuming it was a toxic ex right?” Lando meant this as a joke.

Oscar flinched before he could stop himself.

“...Maybe,” he said, voice tighter than before. “But that’s not the point.”

Lando caught it. “Wait—she had a—?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Oscar cut in quickly, then shot him a very deliberate look. “What does matter is that you—under no circumstances—try anything with my sister. Ever.”

Lando blinked. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Oscar said. “I like you, mate. I really do. But I will kick you in the balls and tighten the straps on so tight when u sit in the car that you can't breathe if I find out you’re trying to charm her.”

Lando chuckled, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No charm. Just conversation.”

Oscar squinted. “You’re incapable of just conversation.”

Lando shrugged, eyes drifting back toward Y/N—who was now holding two coffees and talking animatedly with a chef about whether the brownies were gluten-free. Her laugh rang out, soft and unbothered.

Lando’s gaze lingered.

“Swear to God, Norris,” Oscar muttered.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something. I felt it.”

-

The paddock was buzzing with post-FP3 energy—engineers pacing, radio static crackling through headsets, and the distant murmur of press activity. Y/N had stationed herself in the hospitality area, one sneaker balanced on the rung of a stool, sipping a lukewarm oat milk latte that had long since lost its charm.

Oscar appeared beside her, all sweat and smugness from the session, his race suit half unzipped, the fireproof undershirt clinging to his arms.

“You’re dripping, that’s grossss pastry get outta here,” Y/N said flatly, wrinkling her nose.

“Love you too,” he replied, and without warning, ruffled her hair—damp curls and all.

“OSCAR!” she yelped, batting his hand away as she tried to fix the chaos on her head.

He was already halfway gone, jogging off toward the McLaren motorhome, grinning. “Be nice to people! Don’t roast everyone you meet!”

“Be less soggy next time and I’ll consider it,” she shouted after him, though her voice was more fond than anything.

She chuckled, shook her head... and then her heart dropped.

Her bag was slouched next to the couch she’d been sitting on earlier, but—

“Where’s my bloody laptop?” she muttered.

Her smile vanished.

She unzipped the bag. Twice. Shook it upside down. Checked under the couch, around the table, even under the decorative cushions like her MacBook was trying to play hide-and-seek.

It wasn’t there. Her anxiety was rising higher and higher every passing second that she didn't find her laptop.

Her hands started to tremble a bit.

Okay. Okay. Maybe she left it near the garage earlier? No—she remembered plugging it in here. Right here. She needed it. All her lab notes, her research drafts, her recent paper edits—it was everything.

Her breath started to quicken, the edges of her vision getting fuzzy, like her thoughts were getting louder and louder and yet somehow out of reach.

“Oh god. Oh god, no. I swear—I swear I left it right—”

“Hey.”

She jumped, turning quickly to see Lando standing a few feet away, helmet in hand, face flushed from the session.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said gently, holding his hands up. “You okay?”

“I—uh—no. Not really. I lost—my laptop—I had it and now it’s not here and I think I might... I dunno, throw up.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

Lando stepped closer, carefully, like approaching a spooked bird. “Okay. Let’s slow down. Breathe with me.”

Y/N blinked at him, wide-eyed.

He exaggerated a long inhale, hands on his chest. “In.”

She mirrored him, shaky and shallow.

“Nope,” he said softly, shaking his head. “That was a half-breath. Come on, in. Like you’re blowing up a balloon.”

She inhaled deeper this time.

“Good. Now out,” he exhaled, dragging the sound out.

They did it twice more.

Her shoulders relaxed. Just a little.

“I don’t usually panic like this,” she said, voice smaller now. “But I had all my research notes on that laptop. Like—my entire semester’s work. And drafts I haven’t backed up because I’m a moron—”

“You’re not a moron,” Lando said quickly. “You’re brilliant. And also, you’re not alone in this. We’ll find it.”

Y/N dropped onto the stool beside her. “If I cry, I want it on the record I’m blaming Oscar for messing up my brain with that disgusting hair ruffle.”

“I can co-sign that,” Lando said with a smile. “Now, you said you were sitting here earlier, yeah?”

“Yeah. It was plugged in.”

Lando crouched down, checking behind the table, under wires, under furniture. He was surprisingly quiet—focused—and not a single flirty comment passed his lips. Just calm energy.

After a moment, he straightened up. “Did you by any chance move to the terrace area? Near the espresso machine?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my god. I did. I went out there for like, five minutes because the lighting was better—”

Lando was already on the move.

Y/N scrambled after him, adrenaline still lingering but a flicker of hope in her chest.

And there, sitting neatly on a bench table just outside the glass doors, was her laptop. Right where she’d left it.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed, rushing over and cradling it like a newborn. “You actual lifesaver.”

“Told you we’d find it,” he said, hands in his pockets now, looking smug.

She exhaled, long and slow. “I could marry you.”

He raised an eyebrow—playfully, but still careful. “Well come on then!”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Oh boy, that's my bad now. No marriage. Not if you start smirking like that.”

He laughed. “Alright, alright. No charm. Just glad you’re okay.”

She glanced at him, heart rate finally stabilizing. “Thanks, Lando.”

“Anytime.”

There was a brief silence—comfortable, soft.

Then she added with a grin, “But if you ever tell Oscar I panicked like this, I will Photoshop you into a Ferrari shirt and leak it to the press.”

Lando held up a pinky. “Sworn to secrecy.”

She hooked hers with his.

taglist: @landofotographyy @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @rd14 @stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @il0vereadingstuff @star73807-blog

[dxrlingluv]

Can you do a Telemachus x reader where Telemachus trains is dog to run at the reader so he has chances to talk to them? Thank you

It’s cute

A/N : This is such a CUTE idea! Thank you for requesting this. Telemachus art is from duvetbox.

WARNING : Fluff, GN!Reader, Argos is a cutie

Word Count : 1.8k

The salty air of Ithaca, a familiar embrace, carried the scent of olive groves and the distant, rhythmic sigh of the sea. You often sought refuge along the less-frequented paths bordering the palace grounds. Here, with a book as your companion or simply lost in the quietude of your thoughts, you found a measure of peace. It was on one such sun-drenched afternoon, the light fracturing through the leaves into a thousand dancing diamonds, that your tranquil routine was joyfully, and rather boisterously, interrupted.

It wasn't a gentle approach. First, a sudden, firm tug at the hem of your tunic, nearly pulling the fabric from your grasp. You yelped, startled, spinning around to see a medium-sized dog, its coat the warm brown of freshly turned earth, already retreating a few paces with a playful growl rumbling in its chest. In its mouth, it proudly held not a ball, but what looked suspiciously like the corner of the linen wrap you'd brought your midday figs in.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, half-amused, half-indignant. The dog, tail now wagging like a frantic pendulum, dropped the slightly slobbered-on linen and then, as if remembering its primary mission, nudged a worn leather ball towards your feet with its nose. Its intelligent brown eyes, bright with mischief, fixed on yours.

Before you could fully process the canine whirlwind, Telemachus, Prince of Ithaca, burst through the trees, looking flustered and apologetic. His dark hair were even more dishevelled than usual, and a light sheen of perspiration covered his brow.

"Argos! Oh, by the gods, I am so sorry!" he panted, rushing forward. "He—he can be a bit of a menace when he's excited. Are you alright? Did he frighten you? Or... steal your lunch?" He gestured helplessly at the discarded linen.

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and airy. "I'm quite alright, Prince Telemachus. And he only managed a corner of the wrapping, thankfully. He seems to have a flair for dramatic entrances." You bent down, picking up the ball. "Argos, is it?"

"Yes," Telemachus confirmed, a relieved smile beginning to chase away his embarrassment. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you were quickly learning was characteristic of his slight nervousness. "He's usually... well, sometimes he's more reserved. He seems to have taken a particular liking to you." The way he said it, with a hopeful glance, made your cheeks warm.

This set the tone for your subsequent encounters. Argos was not merely a fetch-playing companion; he was an agent of delightful chaos. One afternoon, as you were engrossed in a scroll, he bounded up and, instead of dropping the ball, decided your dangling hand looked far more interesting, attempting a series of playful, soft nips at your fingers. Each time you yelped in surprise, he'd back off, wag his tail, then try again, until Telemachus, feigning sternness, would call him off.

"Argos, behave!" Telemachus would scold, though his eyes often held a spark of amusement, especially when you'd dissolve into laughter. "He thinks everyone wants to play his version of 'gently gnaw the giant'."

"It's alright," you'd assure him, wiping a bit of dog slobber from your knuckles. "He's just very enthusiastic." And Telemachus would beam, clearly pleased that you weren't truly annoyed.

Another day, after a brief rain shower had left the ground muddy, Argos, in his excitement to greet you, misjudged his landing after a particularly impressive leap for the ball. He skidded, sending a spray of damp earth and grass onto your clean chiton. You gasped, looking down at the mess.

Telemachus was mortified. "Oh, no! Your clothes! Argos, you clumsy oaf!" He rushed forward, pulling a surprisingly clean handkerchief from his belt. "Here, let me try and..." He dabbed ineffectually at a muddy patch, his proximity making your breath catch slightly. His brow was furrowed with genuine concern.

"Truly, it's fine," you insisted, though you couldn't suppress a smile at his earnest efforts. "Mud washes out. And it was a rather impressive jump, wasn't it, Argos?" The dog, oblivious to the minor crisis he'd caused, barked happily and nudged the muddy ball against Telemachus's leg, leaving a similar mark. You both looked down, then at each other, and burst into laughter. The shared moment, surrounded by the scent of damp earth and Telemachus's quiet presence, felt surprisingly intimate.

The "theft" attempts also continued. Once, you'd laid aside a bright blue scarf your mother had woven for you. Argos, in a sudden burst of energy, snatched it and took off, leading you and a laughing Telemachus on a merry chase through the olive grove. Telemachus, surprisingly agile, finally cornered the triumphant dog, retrieving the scarf with a theatrical bow.

"Your rescued treasure, your highness," he playfully said, his eyes dancing, the scarf held out like a knight's favour. The playful gallantry made your heart skip a beat.

Through all these boisterous interactions, your conversations with Telemachus blossomed. Shielded by the playful antics of his furry accomplice, the initial awkwardness between you and the prince slowly melted away. You learned about his quiet dedication to his studies, his deep respect for his mother, Penelope, and the ever-present ache of his father Odysseus's absence. He, in turn, was a rapt audience for your own stories, your observations on palace life, your dreams for the future. He never seemed bored, always asking thoughtful questions, his gaze steady and sincere.

You began to anticipate these chaotic, joyful meetings. The sight of Argos, whether he was preparing to pounce, play-bite, or simply present his ball, became a signal for the arrival of the kind, earnest prince who seemed to find ever more creative, dog-assisted ways to spend time with you.

One particularly warm afternoon, Argos outdid himself. He arrived, not with the ball, nor with a stolen item, but with a small, intricately woven circlet of wildflowers held delicately in his mouth. He pranced towards you, tail held high, and deposited it at your feet with a soft whine, then looked back towards the trees with an air of great expectation.

Telemachus emerged a moment later, looking more sheepish than you'd ever seen him. He was fidgeting with the edge of his tunic, his gaze fixed somewhere near your sandals.

"Argos, um," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "He... he saw some of the handmaidens weaving those for the upcoming festival. He was quite insistent on bringing one to you. I tried to offer him the ball instead, but he was... determined."

You bent down and picked up the circlet. It was a beautiful, fragrant creation of tiny blue forget-me-nots, sunny yellow buttercups, and delicate white daisies. "It's beautiful, Telemachus. And Argos, you are a dog of impeccable taste and surprising skill." You knelt to give the proud dog a thorough scratch behind his ears, and he leaned into your touch with a contented sigh, thumping his tail against the earth.

Straightening, you met Telemachus's gaze. The afternoon sun, filtering through the canopy, haloed him in a golden light. The vulnerability in his eyes, the hopeful tilt of his smile – it was all incredibly endearing.

"He's a very persistent dog, isn't he?" you said softly, a knowing smile playing on your lips.

Telemachus blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. "Persistent?"

"Yes," you affirmed, your smile widening. You took a small, deliberate step closer to him. "Especially when it comes to making sure you have a reason to approach me. Whether it's retrieving a 'stolen' fig wrapper, 'rescuing' me from playful nips, apologizing for muddy paw prints, or delivering floral tributes."

The blush that crept up Telemachus's neck and flooded his face was instantaneous and quite spectacular. He opened his mouth, then closed it, a strangled sound escaping him. He looked as though he wished Argos would suddenly develop the ability to create a diversion of epic proportions – perhaps by chasing a chimera through the olive grove.

You reached out, your fingers gently brushing his arm. The contact sent a little shiver through you both. "Telemachus," you said, your voice soft and kind, "it's alright. More than alright, actually. It's... remarkably sweet."

He finally managed to speak, his voice a little hoarse. "You... you knew? All this time?"

"I started to suspect after the third time Argos 'accidentally' led you right to my favorite reading spot," you admitted, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "He's a clever dog, but his attempts to be subtle are about as effective as a Cyclops trying to tiptoe. And you, dear Prince, are not quite as skilled at masking your expressions as you might think, especially when you're watching me fend off your furry agent of chaos." You paused, then added, "Or when you think I'm not looking."

His blush, if possible, deepened further. "Oh," was all he could manage.

"It's a very charming, if somewhat chaotic, way to get to know someone," you continued, your tone a gentle tease, but your eyes full of warmth. "And for what it's worth," you added, your voice dropping slightly, becoming more sincere, "I'm incredibly glad for all his efforts. And yours."

Telemachus looked up then, his dark eyes meeting yours, and the relief that washed over his face was palpable. A hesitant, hopeful spark ignited within their depths. "You are?"

"Very," you confirmed, your heart feeling as light and bright as the wildflowers Argos had brought. You gently placed the circlet on your head, the flowers a soft crown against your hair. "So, tell me, Prince Telemachus, now that your wonderfully elaborate, dog-assisted courtship is out in the open, what exactly happens next?"

A slow, brilliant smile spread across Telemachus's face, chasing away the last vestiges of his nervousness. It was a smile that held relief, profound happiness, and just a touch of the endearing awkwardness that you had grown so incredibly fond of. He took a step closer, mirroring your earlier movement, bridging the small gap between you.

"Well," he began, his voice gaining a newfound confidence, a warmth that enveloped you. "I was hoping, perhaps, that you wouldn't object if I continued to 'coincidentally' find my way to this olive grove? And maybe, just maybe, this time I could manage it without needing Argos to tug on your tunic, or steal your belongings, or cover you in mud first?"

You laughed, a clear, joyful sound that seemed to dance with the rustling leaves. "I think," you said, your gaze locked with his, your heart soaring, "I would like that very, very much."

Argos, as if sensing the pivotal nature of the moment, trotted over and, with a soft whine, nudged his head against your joined hands, his tail thumping a happy rhythm against the ground. He looked from you to Telemachus and back again, his intelligent eyes seeming to offer his official, furry blessing.

As the sun began its slow descent, painting the Ithacan sky in breathtaking strokes of fiery orange, soft lavender, and deep violet, you stood with Telemachus in the quiet sanctuary of the olive grove. A new, unspoken understanding had blossomed between you, a connection forged through laughter, shared moments, and the wonderfully chaotic, utterly lovable antics of a prince's best friend.

[lay-z]

I'm sorry, but this is so self-indulgent, it hurts. I've been thinking about it since it happened...So, here goes nothing. Also, this took a turn while I wrote it, because I have no control over myself and usually change plotlines mid-writing. MINORS, DNI - 18+ only !!! Pairing: f!reader x John 'Soap' MacTavish Warnings/Info: German reader 🇩🇪; trash talk; banter; cussing; Scottish slang (I feel like that should count as a warning...); German language; fuckbuddies to lovers; sexual tension; explicit smut; unprotected sex; some jealousy; dom!Soap; fluff

“Ach, ye gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, lass!" Soap scoffs loudly as soon as he sees you swagger in to the private 141 rec room inside the HQ with a smug smile on your lips and that popular pink football jersey of the German national team adorning your body. 

Soap is wearing his new cobalt blue Scotland jersey himself; fabric straining around his bulging biceps, stretching over his broad chest, and fitting snugly around his narrow waist like a second skin, because he's bought it a size too small on purpose.  

Captain Price and Gaz are both showing off their support and colours by wearing their white England jerseys, naturally, while Ghost doesn't seem to care much because 'our bloody team isn't playing tonight anyways'. Keegan is wearing a vintage looking Portugal jersey, because 'Cristiano is still the fucking goat', and Roach is just happy to be there, really. He's more into American football, but he doesn't dare to speak that thought out loud tonight. 

The atmosphere is light-hearted, riddled with boisterous laughter, crude banter and the smells of Price's cigar smoke, savoury snacks, hefty beer and hard liquor, while the group is gathered around the sofa in front of the large flat TV screen mounted on the wall, either sitting on its plush cushions or on one of the office chairs borrowed from one of the nearby meeting rooms.  

Tensions are high, especially between you and Soap as the group waits for the preliminary reporting and interviews to end and the match to finally begin. 

Germany vs. Scotland, the first opening match for this year's European Football Championship tournament. 

Soap chokes up during Scotland's national anthem, overwhelmed by the sheer pride his fellow countrymen display in the stadium in Munich, while you merely stand with your hand over your heart as the German national anthem is sung next – singing your own national anthem and showing any kind of patriotism for your country, always makes you feel weird somehow; many thanks to inherited generational shame.  

Still, you feel a tiny bit of pride as you witness your own compatriots sing the anthem just as noisily as the Scots. 

"That a rare smile I spy on yer lips, lassie?" Soap teases after the anthems are finished, nudging his elbow against your upper arm while he's holding a bottle of beer in his hand. He loves to tease you with stereotypes that don't even apply to you most times, but he does it, nonetheless.  

"Ye like how yer fellow Krauts have shown some pride in their country, eh?" He snickers, earning a sharp, scolding glare from Captain Price.  

"Careful, MacTavish," the Captain chides from his chair next to the couch, his voice muffled by the cigar he's currently chewing on, while the others chuckle and snort among each other, "Keep the bloody banter above the belt, son."  

However, you simply click your tongue and roll your eyes at him as Soap continues to grin at you. Both of you know that he doesn't mean any menace by it, and you've said way worse stuff to each other in the past anyway – all in the name of good-natured, friendly banter, of course. Besides, you live for the constant banter and bickering between you two. It's pretty much the main foundation of your friendship, and what inevitably lead to your affair.  

"Very proud of my Krauts, yeah," you retort eventually, completely unfazed by the "slur", poking his large biceps with your forefinger harshly as you shoot him a mock glare, "I'll be even prouder when our team has completely annihilated yours, Scotch." 

Soap's chest rumbles with a low grunt at your name calling, and he loves how you defy him easily, as he lets his dark blue eyes roam over your figure appreciatively. He notices how the fabric of your jersey clings to your upper body, accentuating your delicious curves and ample chest, and how the thin collar hugs your pretty neck, making him want to wrap his hand around your throat just like he did last night. 

Gaz chuckles at your comment and even Ghost snorts quietly behind his balaclava, while Soap narrows his eyes at you playfully, now towering as he takes one more step towards you; close enough for you to tilt your head back slightly to keep eye contact with him.  

Gods, you love how tall he is compared to you; how he could easily bend you to his will if he wanted to. 

Soap notices how your pupils dilate as you hold his gaze fiercely and he can already feel his blood heat up in his veins with excitement, rushing south. He clenches his jaw as you bat your eyelashes up at him with that bratty smirk of yours and his fingers tighten around the cold beer bottle in his hand, the other one stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, to keep himself from grabbing and bending you over the couch in front of everyone, including your superiors.  

The tension between you two is becoming more noticeable to everyone present now, all thick and palpable.  

"Is – is that behaviour considered normal for them?" Roach enquires in a hushed whisper as he leans in to speak to the other men, shoving another handful of salted and roasted peanuts into his mouth while his eyes flicker back and forth between you and Soap. He's more interested in whatever is going on between the two Sergeants than the goddamn soccer game on TV. 

Keegan simply nods with an affirming hum as he lifts the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes glued to the TV, while Gaz answers verbally, also not taking his eyes off the screen. 

"Aye," the latter confirms, "Just ignore them, Sanderson. We don't interfere, unless they get physical. Right, Captain?" 

The older male nods firmly in return, his face a mask of seriousness as he watches the kick-off with intrigue, taking a slow sip of his glass of bourbon. 

"And even then, only if it's not sexual." Ghost adds gruffly, though one can practically hear that he's smirking beneath his mask. The Lieutenant has never said it out loud yet, but he is very much aware of the thing that has been going on between his Sergeant's for a while now.  

Soap manages to stay cocky after the first two goals for the German soccer team, despite his teammates and, especially, your teasing. The third one, a penalty goal, makes him break out in a sweat with both anger and devastation, all hope for a win now gone at once.  

The Germans don't stop there, though. 

You're tugging at Soap's arm, his jersey, jumping up and down like some excited bunny, laughing and cheering hysterically after having had a few drinks at this point, celebrating with the rest of the team, while the Scotsman looks on with a sour, stony expression.  

He doesn't even know when everyone else suddenly became a fan of the goddamn Germans, all he knows is that his team is losing, and he's currently outnumbered by impostors. Creepin' Jesus, even Roach is cheering for them! He should've known better than to watch the bloody game with you and the lads. 

"Aw, come on, Soapey!" You coo at him condescendingly, grinning widely as he crosses his arms in front of his chest with a huff, rolling his shoulders coolly as if he's not incredibly vexed, "Are you not enjoying the game, huh?" 

"Ach," he scoffs, shrugging off your hand from his shoulder like a petulant child, "Away an bile yer heid." 

"English, MacTavish!" Ghost scolds from his seat on the couch, having heard the insult despite the noise in the room, and you can see how badly Soap wants to flip the Lieutenant off.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny," you butt in a with a smug tone to your voice, "Be nice now. Your boys can still win thi–" 

Your voice is cut off by loud cheering as Germany scores their fourth goal. 

"Fuckin' sore winner, hen," Soap grunts as he bullies his cock deeper into your quivering cunt; right up to the hilt, stretching your velvety walls and hitting your g-spot repeatedly while you're burying your face into the soft pillows on the mattress beneath you, muffling your desperate noises as you take his fat cock like the good little bonnie you usually are behind closed doors. 

In this position, he has the best view on your delicious curves and soft skin, now adorned with his deep blue Scotland jersey after he’d swiftly pulled the German one off you once you were in your bedroom; the fabric now rucked up to your shoulder blades, one hand of his fisting the stretchy fabric tightly to keep you exposed. 

"Teasin' me all fuckin’ night," he huffs through gritted teeth as his blunt nails dig into your skin, tightening his grip around the fat on your hips with his other hand, so you can't escape him, "Over some fuckin' football game." 

While Soap rolls and thrusts his hips in a steady, brutal rhythm, positioned between his spread knees behind you, you're grabbing fistfuls of your blanket as you moan and whimper helplessly, dampening the white sheets with your drool, taking everything he's giving you in retaliation to your bratty behaviour back at the rec room. 

Soap had immediately grabbed a tight hold of your wrist and pulled you out of the room, towards the 141 quarters, as soon as the final whistle had rung out, ending the match with a terrible loss for Scotland. He didn’t bear to stand a minute longer to listen to his and your teammates mockery, and he didn’t care about the confused looks everyone, except Ghost, were shooting you and him as you’d left together. 

He doesn’t care much anymore that Scotland lost to Germany – 5:1; it just so happens to be the perfect excuse to completely wreck you tonight, and Soap keeps telling himself that it’s not at all because he’s witnessed Keegan getting friendly with you over the past few times the team went out to the pub on base. You two might not be official, but you’re still his – and his only.

His friend, his fuckbuddy, his lover.

"You're jus'.... mad they– a-ah~" You slur, but your words are cut off by another pathetic moan that is ripped from your throat when Soap grabs you by the nape of your neck suddenly, like a dog would grab her puppies, squeezing your flesh and muscle with his calloused hand to keep you in place, then pulls his thick cock out up to its angry-red tip only to pound back into you with determined fervour to finally shut you up for good. 

No, Soap is not mad about the bloody game – he’s mad that you’d spent halftime sitting on Keegan’s lap like an obedient puppy when the latter had asked you to take a seat, because the chairs were taken and Ghost took up most space on the sofa – and Soap was too proud to tell you to sit on his lap instead.

The bed rocks and creaks under your combined weight, hitting the wall repeatedly with a very telling “thudthudthudthud–” for your surrounding neighbours, your teammates, while the warm glow of your bedside lamp casts a lewd shadow of your current activity on the white walls of your bedroom. Fuck, Soap hopes Keegan can hear you two going at it in his apartment.

“What was that, bonnie? Ye said sum’?” the Scotsman grits out mockingly, biting his lower lip, nostrils flaring with exerted breaths as he squeezes your neck tighter, forcing you to arch your back and your pretty ass up into him as he pounds into you; skin slapping skin as his balls tap against your clit with each deep and rapid thrust. 

Meanwhile, you don’t even register his teasing words anymore as you’re fully focused on the mind-blowing pleasure Soap is giving you; hard and dominating and the opposite of how the usually treats you during sex.  

Your eyes roll back, toes curling as the tension of your impending climax begins to build up, up, up then; heat blossoming in your lower abdomen as he keeps pushing you towards the edge with each delightful rock of his powerful hips and his girthy cock ramming into your sweet spot.  

However, Soap knows those sounds you’re making all too well already; the way you’re breathing pattern changes, the higher pitch of your wanton moans and sweet cries of pleasure, the way your walls begin to clench harder around his thick length, practically sucking him in deeper into your silky heat – he can read all the signs like the bloody morning paper, knows you’re about to cum on his dick... 

And despite his own pleasure licking and tingling at his lower spine, making his burly muscles tense and twitch and his balls tighten with the inevitable – he stops his movements at once, ruins both your orgasms, and pulls his throbbing cock from your soppy, warm cunt. Glancing down briefly, Soap sees his bare cock glistening with your slick, creamy arousal and his pearly pre-cum gathering at the base of his cock, and the sight makes him shudder and groan with excitement. 

He can’t have you cum like this tonight, though, fucking you doggy – Gods, no. Soap needs to watch you fall apart on his cock, needs to see your gorgeous features contort in pleasure and your reaction when he spills his thick load into you for the very first time without anything holding him back and separating him from you – knowing he’s the only one able to have you like this.

“Up,” he grunts out next, simultaneously pulling you upwards by your neck while he feels your rapidly fluttering pulse under his fingertips, until your back is flush with his sweat-slicked and bare, heaving chest while his rock hard cock rubs and pokes along your ass cheeks, “Gimme yer mouth.”  

Cranking your neck towards him obediently, Soap reaches out and cups the side of your jawline to angle your face to his liking, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss and swiftly plunging his hot tongue past your lips. Your eyes flutter shut as you moan into his mouth while his other large hand snakes around your body, slipping beneath his jersey you’re wearing, cupping and groping your plump tits greedily, pinching your stiff nipples with the rough pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Soap goes on to shift and manhandle you into a different position and you gladly let him. 

He pushes you down onto your back, smirking to himself when you spread your legs for him all too eagerly, making grabby hands with a frustrated pout to have him on top of you again – it’s adorable, really, and he appreciates the view of your pussy, all puffy and wet for him, before he nestles himself between your thighs – the place that has easily become his favourite over the past few months.

 “Yer such a brat,” Soap chuckles darkly as he grabs one of your legs by your calf to hike it up over his broad shoulder, then the other, before he spits into his palm and gives his cock a few good pumps with his fist, tapping and rubbing the swollen tip on your sensitive clit teasingly until you let out a needy whine, one hand of yours reaching up to hold on to the back of his neck, tugging at his short Mohawk.

You’re his brat, though. Emphasis on his.

“And you’re such an ass tonight, Johnny,” you mewl in return and suck in a breath when Soap aligns his thick tip with your slick hole, pushing in halfway with one languid thrust and leaving you both breathless again. 

“’m not an arse,” he objects with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he watches you bite your lower lip raw to keep your lewd noises at bay, “Ye just have a way of drivin’ me doolally, hen.” He counters, and then leans in to crash your lips together once more, folding your legs up even further while his cock sinks into your cunt fully, followed by a guttural moan of his when he feels your walls clench and tighten around him, squeezing him until his muscles tremble with restraint.

He groans against your lips; the feeling of your throbbing heat and the taste of your soft tongue flicking and lapping against his is nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. It’s almost like he can feel your heartbeat through your snug, perfect pussy, and it nearly drives him to the brink of madness each time you let him fuck you.

“You can’t say shit like doolally and not expect me to laugh,” you snicker softly, nipping at his lower lip as you lock eyes with him, batting your eyelashes, “Sounds fucking ridiculous.” 

Soap grins in return and continues his deep, deliberate thrusts into your delicious cunt. His heart always flutters giddily whenever you gaze into his eyes with that cheeky look of yours, especially when his cock is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you out with every inch he has to offer.

“Say some in German then,” he croons lowly, nudging his nose below your chin to make you tilt your head up to give him better access to your neck before he begins peppering wet, hot kisses along your pulse point, sucking a purple love bite into your creamy skin to mark you up. “I wanna laugh, too,” he grumbles between nips and pecks. 

You click your tongue in mock annoyance, enjoying his ministrations and the way his beard tickles your skin too much to be mad at his teasing, and you tug on his short hair a little harder before raking your nails over his scalp until he purrs against your skin in pure bliss. Soap can feel how you swallow hard as he licks a long stripe from your collarbone up your throat, then your walls clench tightly around his cock and he grits his teeth as another pleasant shudder runs down his spine.  

“Say. Sum’. To. Me. Lass.” He demands, this time punctuating each word with a sudden deep and sharp rock of his hips that makes the bed’s headboard hit the wall again. 

Your eyes flutter shut with a breathy moan and your brain short-circuits while each of his thrusts makes a jolt of hot searing pleasure shoot right into your core, making your spine tingle and your body tense with bliss. 

“Ich liebe dich,” you blurt out unintentionally instead of an insult, your speech slurred and unintelligible as he presses his weight further into you, knocking the breath out of your lungs in this position. Your eyes widen as soon as you realize what you’ve just confessed and you pray he didn’t understand that. 

Soap doesn’t speak German, but those words do sound familiar. 

His stomach tightens, his heart skips a heavy beat while his mind begins to race, and his rhythm falters momentarily before he picks up his pace again, fucking into you fast, deep and thoroughly to drown out the sudden wave of foreign emotions on the brink of overwhelming him. 

“Again,” he demands against your ear, gripping your body tightly and keeping you in place on the mattress as he ruts into your cunt with newfound vigor and goad, his pelvis stimulating your clit with each sharp snap of his hips.

“Say –“ He gets a hold of your jaw, curling his large hand around it to make you look at him while he grits his teeth, huffing like some feral bull. “– that again.”

Reaching one hand out behind you, you brace your flat palm against the headboard while your other hand keeps holding on to the back of his neck, fingernails digging into thick muscle and skin as you cling onto him desperately.

“F-fuck, Johnny!” You cry out. “Ich liebe dich, du Vollidiot!” you repeat in between breathy, high-pitched moans, though more confident this time, before your eyes roll back in pleasure with another loud moan of his given name.

Soap can barely keep it together then. His heart nearly bursts out of his chest and his jaw clenches so hard, the veins in his neck start protruding and fluttering with his rapid pulse as he feels you come apart around his cock; your tight, soppy walls convulsing and clenching, pushing and coaxing him to his own sudden release.

And he lets go of your jaw, clutches the pillow next to your head tightly as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, groaning and moaning shamelessly as his body seizes up, balls tightening almost painfully before he spends his thick cum into your perfect cunt.

You wince and exhale a hiss when Soap leans back to look at you and lowers your legs at last, letting you stretch out your sore muscles while he stays buried inside you, moving his hips almost lazily and caressing your burning leg muscles soothingly while both your bodies keep twitching and shaking with small aftershocks. You can feel his warm cum and your own wetness leaking and dripping down your ass crack, ruining your bed sheets below – and you remember that you did actually let him fuck you raw this time in a fit of frivolity.

Your blurry vision becomes clear again once you blink away the haziness and then you already feel Soap’s calloused fingers tracing your jawline, his deep blue eyes drinking in your gorgeous, flushed features almost reverently.

“What?” You ask defensively, looking up at his ruggedly handsome face, now squirming under his uncharacteristically tender gaze and the feeling of his softening cock still resting all snug inside your cunt, acting as if you haven’t just professed your love to him, after weeks of dancing around the topic.

“Well,” he begins, clearing his throat after another beat of awkward silence as he can feel his cheeks begin to heat up with a burning blush,

“Ye cannae finally confess ye love me an’ not expect me ta combust, luv.”

[violetsiren90]

Pairing: dom!Hoseok/sub/brat!f!Reader

Genre: Oneshot; hard smut (eventual fluff 😂); BDSM lifestyle; friends to fwb to?; canon-compliant (idolAU)

Summary: You've been friends with Hobi for years, and he's your comfort zone - but when he gets wind of a dark secret you drunkenly let slip, things between you take a sudden extreme change.

Warnings: 18+ (minors, dni); hardcore BDSM themes/relationships; full consent and safe-words ❤; Hobi is a hard dom; MC is a brat (mostly); dominance and submission; elements of primal play; sexual degradation (deg-play use of the word "b*tch"); mentions of MC's hair and hair pulling; rough physical contact in a sexual context (manhandling); mentions of drinking; kink-outing; Jimin is a menace lol; Hobi in the studio 👀 (The full oneshot will come with more specific warnings - a looooong list lol)

Mood board here! ⛓🖤

Release date: Christmas? 🎄

Author's note: Hey, y'all! I am catapulting out of my comfort zone with this one and, honestly, having the time of my life. I've been in my Hobi era lately and when the concept of dom!Hobi possessed my mind I knew I'd have to write it out or else. 😅😂 I hope to pop this under your trees around Christmas! Hope you enjoy the teaser, and as always, if no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️💜

Also, a big thank you to @orchidyoonkook for beta reading this - you are the real MVP! 💕

If you want to be alerted via the tag list for this when it drops, let me know!

_______________________________________________

  "What?" Hoseok's wide grin stretches further as he regards your flustered face with giddy anticipation.

    You groan into your hands, willing the cushions of your friend's leather couch to swallow you like quicksand.

    "Fucking Jimin - I'll kill him!" you whine, pressing your fingers to your temples, and keeping your eyes glued to the hardwood of the studio floor.

    The rapper laughs as he swivels his baseball cap to sit backwards on his fluffy brown mop of hair. 

    "Come on! Tell me!" he insists, sprawling back in his rolling chair, the tips of his fingers touching deviously together as he regards you with twinkling eyes. 

    You sneak a glance at him before sighing defeatedly, which only earns another chortle of laughter from across the room.

    Park fucking Jimin. You really were going to kill him. Too many bottles of soju the week prior saw you blacking out at the BTS member's pad, the one he shared with your mutual friend, Jung Hoseok. You woke up the next day, memories of the night before obscure concepts of debauchery merely alluded to by the taste of bile and the dull cranial throb of dehydration. When Jimin rather gleefully handed you, along with an iced americano, one of the booze-fueled revelations you had let slip, you begged and pleaded with him to erase the memory from his brain...or at the very least to take it to his grave. He made no such promises. And now, you are facing the man of the hour - the subject of your divulgement - who had apparently been informed that you harbored certain strong opinions in his regard. Humiliating.

    You flick mildly irritated eyes back up to your friend who waggles his brows in a way that makes you want to crack a smile and sock him at the same time.

    "Before I say anything, I want to know exactly what he told you," you demand, crossing your arms defensively, no cracked smile to be found.

    He rolls his eyes up to the corner of the ceiling in recollection.

    "He just said that you had gotten wasted and admitted something kinky...about me." 

    At the last two words he drops his voice dramatically low and pins you with a grin that is sickeningly predatory. Your pulse begins to hammer and you have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, capable of speech. Fuck, you think to yourself, it's happening. You can feel sweat starting to bead at your hairline. Maybe if you get it out there, just say it aloud, it will lose its power. Maybe the spell will be broken. Maybe he will laugh and you will laugh and you'll order lunch and keep irritating him while he's supposed to be working on a track. You're both adults, right? You whoosh out a breath. 

    Hobi is still looking at you, his bottom lip pushing up and the corners of his mouth tugging down in one of his little inverted smirks while his right leg bounces a little up and down. It is just Hobi, after all, you tell yourself. Just Hobi. You are roundly aware that it may be a lie, but it seems to allow you just enough courage to jump.

    "Okay, okay!" you practically shout, and he giggles and stomps his feet, which admittedly makes revealing this particular chestnut a bit easier.

    "I told him...I said..."

    "What?"

    "Oh, Christ! Fine!" And the rest comes out like water from a fire hose. "One time I came to drop off Jimin's charger and you were in dance practice and you were watching the guys and you had this look on your face - like you were pissed or something - and it was so unlike you and I got turned on and ended up having a fucking wet dream that you were stepping on my mother-fucking pussy, okay?! Are you satisfied now?!"

    You heave a sigh and throw yourself back against the cushions, hands over your face. How you just mustered the courage to form those actual words you haven't even the faintest notion - but it was going to be you or Jimin, and it might as well be you. After your heart has begun to return to its resting rate and you've heaved a few deep breaths you steel yourself against the certain impending onslaught of Hobi's laughter and general mockery...which doesn't come. You peek through your fingers to see that your friend has shifted in his chair, facing a bit away from you toward the inside of the room, leaning forward, his hands gripping the ends of the chair's armrests. His face looks a little troubled, or pensive, you can't tell which. You sit up and really look at him, suddenly worried. Did you just fuck things irrevocably up? That was an incredibly bizarre and intimate thing to admit. Shit.

    "Hobi?" you squeak, barely over a whisper, as you regard him.

    He tilts his head suddenly to look at you, quick like a bird, and when those dark eagle-eyes regard you in return, you feel like a small, helpless creature scurrying across the tundra. Nowhere to hide. A bead of sweat escapes its perch and slips down from your temple. As he utters his question of response, the air suddenly becomes as thick as the tropics.

    "Is that something that you'd want, Y/n? To be treated like that? To be...put in your place? Put down?"

    You don't answer him. You can't. Your words, your breath, your coherent thoughts are stuck, inert, useless as your chest begins to rapidly rise and fall in heavy swells. Your eyes are locked on his face as if by magnetic force. He stands, his baggy Louis Vuitton tee falling over his grey sweats. He shoves his hands in the pockets and takes a step toward where you sit. His posture is relaxed. His gaze is anything but.

    "Is it?"

    You want to say you don't know. That you'd never considered it again. Never once recalled the image of it - of him -  standing over you as the sole of his shoe punished your throbbing sex.

    "Fuck..." you breathe, and when he doesn't take his eyes from your squirming form, you relent. "...y-yeah."

    He takes another step toward you, slowly. He's crowding you now, as he looks down, and the proximity is almost more than you can bare.

    "You see," he remarks musingly, "I thought you were gonna say something funny - something ridiculous," he tilts his head to one side, the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips, "But that's not funny, Y/n. No, that's not funny at all. Because, as it turns out..."

    He leans down, his breath fanning over your face as he speaks. Mint and espresso. You shiver and close your eyes.

    "...that's something I can do."

...what? He can...h-he can....

    "Hoseok..." you whisper shakily, because it's all you can manage.

    You hear him laugh darkly and you don't look at him.

    "Hoseok?" he mimics, "Not, Hobi, huh? Hoseok when you're like this, is it?" 

    "When I'm like...what?" You practically whimper in complaint, eyes still pressed shut as your last line of defense.

    But any manner of defense is in vain as he answers your query, the words dripping from his lips slowly like honey, sickly like venom - 

    "When you're a filthy pathetic little slut."

    A whine escapes you at the complete and utter shock of his words. Suddenly you clamp your thighs together (to provide friction or obscurity to your quickly dampening cunt you are unsure), and that's when he takes your jaw between his fingers and roughly jerks your chin upwards, your eyes fluttering frantically open. 

    "Is this what you want?" he hisses, "For me to have my way with you like a needy whore?" Fuck, is this happening? This is really happening. Your mind reels, but that's alright - it stopped doing the thinking when he got up out of that chair. Something primal in you had taken over, something that's been starving for so long, something that longs to feed.

    You do your best to nod with your chin in his grip. He swallows thickly, his eyes darting to your lips, and then back up to yours. His pupils are blown, his eyes almost wholly black as they trace over your face. Suddenly his hand slips from your chin to the nape of your neck where his hand tangles in your hair and his head drops to the side, his gaze softening.

    "I need you to say it, Y/n, are you sure you want to do this?" he asks, his voice so, so low but without the edge that sends ice through your veins. His voice. He's asking you as someone who cares about you, cares what you want - your friend. Do you want this? No...you don't want it. You need it.

    "Yes - yes, Hobi - I want this," you find yourself stumbling over the words to get them out.

    So quickly and so assured. Have you ever been this certain of anything in your life? His fingers dance against the nape of your neck and you sigh as his eyes travel all over your body. You want to hide. You want to strip down. You want to run and you want him to chase you. You want him to punish you when he catches you. You are sick with want.  

    "A safe word, baby, we need a safe word," he nudges your racing mind back into the current moment with his words.

    You blink, your mind running up against the sudden saccharine pet name (which he has admittedly called you before) as it scrambles for something obvious and yet not ridiculous.     Something simple maybe...a flower...?

    "Foxglove," you say, and he raises his brows with a grin.

    "Foxglove it is," he acquiesces. "So if you ever want me to stop, ever - okay? You say that. Foxglove." 

    You nod.

    "Say it for me," he whispers, you shiver again. Fuck.

    "Foxglove." It's slow and thick leaving your mouth.

    "Good girl," he purrs. Butterflies erupt in your rib-cage and your eyelids flutter. "How hard do you want it?" He asks, "How rough?"

    You scramble to find your voice.

    "Pretty rough, I think," you posit, a bit unsure of what that means.

    He hums in response, his brows knitting in thought. You were going to have to give him something to go on, you could see that.

    "I..." you stammer, "I want you to...to punish me. I want you to...to hurt me a little."

    He raises a brow - looks at you, just stares as if considering. Then suddenly you know what to say.

    "See...I'm not a good girl," you insist tilting your head back a bit haughtily, a bit defiantly. Being a good girl had gotten you butterflies, but that's not what you wanted right now. That's not what every cell of your body was screaming for.

     He's grinning wickedly again - his other hand is slipping out of his pocket and the one in your hair is gripping at the roots.

    "Hm. You're not are you?" he asks, his voice as dark and cold as the Pacific once again.

    "No, Hobi," you whisper. And suddenly your world is tilted on its axis as he tightens his fingers against your scalp and yanks your head back, sending a searing pain shooting through your skin as he stoops to hiss in your ear.

    "That's Hoseok, you pretty little bitch."

    You let out a whimper so needy it's nearly a sob. Your heartbeat is pounding between your legs. He lets go of your hair as roughly as he grabbed it and goes to lock the door and your stomach flips - you are totally and completely at his mercy. It's a little bit terrifying and completely exhilarating. When he comes to loom over you again, you decide just exactly where you stand in all this. You know exactly what you want. You glare up at him. He narrows his eyes.

    "You gonna listen, hm?"

It's not a question, you know it's not - it's a command. But you have one, just one, of your own...

    "Make me."

[kckt88]

Sytilībagon.

Summary:

Aemond follows his neice to her chambers, determined to teach her a lesson.

Warnings: Angst, Drama, Fluff, Language,Kissing, Incest, Smut - (Oral Sex - F Recieving), P in V Sex, Multiple Positions, Multiple Orgasms.

Word Count: - 2174

Sytilībagon - Belong.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

ENEMIES TO LOVERS.

AEMOND X O.C LAELA

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

As Aemond strode down the corridor, his footsteps echoing with purpose, he clenched his fists, his jaw set in determination. His niece's laughter still rang in his ears, a mocking melody that stoked the flames of his anger.

How dare she? How dare she mock him, belittle him in front of the others?

He reached the door to her room, his hand trembling with restrained fury as he raised it to knock. But then, a darker idea crept into his mind. No, knocking would give her too much warning. He wanted her to feel the fear that gripped him, the same fear she had incited within him.

With a quiet, menacing resolve, he turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest.

The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing along the walls, casting eerie shapes across the floor. Aemond's eyes narrowed as he spotted her sitting at the vanity, her back to him, unaware of his presence as she threaded her fingers through her thick dark locks.

He stepped into the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick rug, his breath coming in shallow, controlled bursts.

With each step closer to his niece, his resolve solidified.

Finally, he stood behind her, towering over her small frame, his shadow engulfing her.

She turned, startled by his sudden appearance, her laughter dying on her lips as she met his steely gaze.

"Aemond," stammered Laela, her voice trembling with apprehension. "What are you doing here?"

Aemond didn't respond. Instead, he reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, his grip tight and unforgiving as he hauled her from the chair. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

"You think it's funny to laugh at me, do you?" he growled, his voice low and menacing. "You think you can mock me and get away with it?"

Laela tried to pull away, but his grip only tightened. She could feel the rage emanating from him, a dark energy that seemed to consume everything in its path.

But as her hand reached up to grasp his, Aemond was caught off guard by an unexpected sensation that rippled through him.

In that fleeting moment of contact, there was an undeniable spark of intense attraction that flickered to life.

Aemond's grip tightened, not out of hostility, but out of a newfound curiosity.

Her gaze met his, and for the first time, he noticed the depth in her amethyst eyes.

Caught in the intensity of the moment, Aemond found himself drawn to her, his usual defences crumbling.

He couldn't deny the pull he felt, the unspoken connection that seemed to bridge the gap between them. It was as if the gods were conspiring to bring them together, despite their differences.

As Aemond leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, uncertainty warring with desire.

But then, it was Laela who closed the distance between them and pressed her lips against his.

The kiss was tentative at first, a tentative exploration of uncharted territory.

Yet, as their lips met, a surge of desire coursed through Aemond, igniting a fire within him that he never knew existed. In that moment, all doubts faded into the background, eclipsed by the overwhelming rush of emotion.

Laela responded to his kiss with a soft gasp, her own hesitance melting away in the heat of the moment. Their embrace deepened, each movement fuelled by an undeniable passion that defied logic and reason.

As the intensity of their kiss lingered in the air, Aemond's mind raced with a flurry of desires he struggled to contain. With each heartbeat, the yearning to be closer to Laela intensified, overwhelming his senses with a primal urge he couldn't ignore.

Gazing into Laela's eyes, Aemond felt a fierce longing stirring within him, an ache that demanded to be sated. In that moment, the idea of being apart from her felt unbearable, as if a part of him would cease to exist once they were no longer entwined.

Driven by impulse and a hunger he couldn't quell, Aemond found himself silently contemplating the unthinkable – to take her to his bed. The thought both thrilled and terrified him, awakening a whirlwind of emotions he struggled to comprehend.

In the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that such an act would irrevocably change things between them. Yet, the allure of surrendering to their passion proved too potent to resist, tempting him to abandon all reason in favour of the primal instincts that pulsed through his veins.

“Let me have you” urged Aemond.

“-Yes” replied Laela desperately.

Unable to deny himself any longer, Aemond shoved her towards the bed.

Aemond hooked his arms around her thighs and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

Laela watched as Aemond spat on her cunny.

His singular eye quickly looking at her before he lowered his head and pressed into Laela’ core with his tongue.

Laela clutched the bedspread above her head, her fingers digging into the fabric.

Aemond withdrew from her soaking wet core, licking at her pearl with his tongue. He was hard, fast and brutal, alternating between her assaulted bundle of nerves and drinking deep from her cunt.

Laela ground down on Aemond, hard; his tongue speared deeper inside her, and she felt the warm curl of her peak approach.

“That’s it come for me baby-” urged Aemond, his fingers reaching forward to caress her pearl.

“AEMOND” screamed Laela arching off the bed as she peaked.

“Hmm” muttered Aemond as he pressed a series of kisses to Laela’ inner thighs.

“P-Please A-Aemond. Need you” begged Laela.

Aemond rose from the floor, his chin shining with her slick, he smirked as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then placed them in his mouth savouring the delicious taste of his niece.

Aemond moved up Laela’ body pausing to grasp hold of her left breast as he ran his tongue over the peaked rosy nipple.

“Oh-“ gasped Laela.

“-ñuhon” growled Aemond as he seized Laela’ lips in a ferocious kiss, his hard cock throbbing against her thigh (Mine).

Aemond wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly ran it over Laela’ wet entrance, she began squirming impatiently against him as he continued to tease her.

“P-Please, I want you” exclaimed Laela desperately.

“Hmm” rasped Aemond as he slid inside her with a singular thrust.

He paused at her whimper of pain, pulling away slightly, and looking down to see the blood streaking his cock.

“A-Are you ok?” asked Aemond quietly.

Laela nodded slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, the sharp pain she had felt when he had first entered her was now a dull ache, she could feel his cock throbbing inside her and it made her insides squirm.

“Y-You can move now” muttered Laela.

Aemond started to thrust slowly, trying to prolong the feel of his niece squeezing his cock.

"Faster, Aemond" begged Laela.

"Patience, issa dōna" chided Aemond as he ran his nose up Laela’ neck (My sweet).

“Yes, Aemond, just like that-" panted Laela

Her hands ran over his arms, over his shoulders, and down his back. Her nimble fingers mapped his back muscles and then went down to his arse and gripped him - pressing him into her harder.

 “Gods, Laela" grunted Aemond, speeding up slightly.

"Fuck me, Aemond. Fuck me with that big, cock of yours. You feel so good inside me. I-I want it-I want you”.

Aemond groaned loudly, he knew exactly what Laela doing, but he couldn’t help himself. She wanted faster, he was going much faster now.

His pace had increased with every filthy word that dropped from his niece’s luscious lips. Now he was quickly thrusting in and out, shaking the bed, the headboard banging loudly against the wall.

Aemond lifted Laela’ legs onto his shoulders and wrapped his arms around her thighs, squeezing them together as he thrust his cock into her soaking wet cunny.

Laela folded her arms above her head as she moved her hips, meeting Aemond thrust for thrust.

“Aemond! I’m going to come. Oh, fuck!” screamed Laela.

“That’s it baby-come for me” exclaimed Aemond as he felt her clenching on his cock.

Aemond could feel the tension in his abdomen, but he didn’t want to come. Not yet.

Not even waiting for her orgasm to fully subside, Aemond moved Laela’ legs off his shoulders and manoeuvred her onto all fours, she whimpered as his cock slipped out, but he bent forward to press a series of kisses to her glorious arse, his hands kneading the soft flesh.

“P-Please Aemond” whispered Laela, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face into the mattress.

Aemond took his cock in hand and sheathed himself inside Laela once again, his eye rolling into the back of his head.

“Fuck” groaned Aemond.

“God. Yes. Aemond” moaned Laela.

He began to thrust in and out of her in deep achingly slow thrusts.

Laela took one of Aemonds hands that was on her hip and brought it towards her head.

Knowing what she wanted, Aemond placed his hand on the back of her head and pushed her face into the mattress, her back arching. His cock reaching deep inside her as he moved with such ferocity it could rival an animal, his long silver hair unbound and sticking to his sweaty back.

Aemond then grasped both of Laela’ arms and held them behind her back as he pounded into her, the sound of his hips slapping against hers echoed around the room.

Her screams of pleasure muffled by the mattress.

 “Fuck. Laela-that’s it” moaned Aemond.

He took hold of Laela’ hair, twisting his fingers into the messy dark curls before he pulled her backwards, her sweaty back colliding with his chest.

Aemond held Laela tight too him as he fucked her, his cock reaching deep inside her.

One hand grasped her hip, his blunt fingers digging into her flesh. Whilst his other released her hair and moved to her throat, squeezing gently.

“Give it to me please” pleaded Laela her head lolling back onto Aemond’s shoulder.

Aemond could feel the tension building in his abdomen again, as he thrust his cock inside Laela.

“I want you to come on my cock again, but not like this-” muttered Aemond as he once again withdrew from his wife’s wet heat and propped himself up against the headboard.

“-Aemond” exclaimed Laela breathlessly.

 “Ride me baby” replied Aemond as he pulled Laela on top of him. His hand moving to his cock, rubbing it along her folds before she sunk down and completely engulfed him.

“I-I don’t know how to-“ muttered Laela her cheeks tinged pink.

“Here-I’ll show you” replied Aemond placing his hands on her hips and moving her up and down.

 “Oh-” gasped Laela as she rolled her hips against Aemonds.

“That’s it baby, take it. Take all of me”

Laela dug her nails into Aemond’s chest as she moved her hips against his, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside her perfectly.

“A-Aemond” moaned Laela as he sat up, moving his hand to her breast again and taking her nipple into his mouth, his teeth gently grazing the rosy bud.

“Let go baby, I can feel you clenching around me” exclaimed Aemond, as he moved to the other breast and lavished it with the same attention as the other.

Laela’ thighs began to burn, as she felt her third climax approach, if her uncle’s face had been sculpted by the gods themselves, then his cock had surely been given to him by the devil.

It was sin incarnate and Laela was ready to let it claim her fully, her uncle had possessed every fibre of her being and she revelled in it. Her mother would weep at her ruination and her brothers would claim she had been defiled, but all that mattered in that moment was Aemond.

 “AEMOND” screamed Laela her vision going white as she came around his cock.

 Her uncle threw her back onto the bed his cock never leaving her warmth as he pounded into her, her legs wrapped around his waist, trapping his body against hers as he chased his own end.

“God. Laela” groaned Aemond as he exploded. His cock throbbing and twitching as he finally spilled his seed, collapsing on top of his niece, breathing hard.

It took a good while for Aemond to regain his senses.

Meanwhile Laela was laid underneath him completely blissed out. Her heart pounding in her chest.

Suddenly the realisation hit Aemond, he had just taken his nieces maidenhead, he had taken her to his bed and ruined her. What Lord would want her now?

No-she belonged to him. No other man would ever get to lay claim to her, he understood now more than ever, that he wanted her, he'd always wanted her and his hate was just a façade.

They were meant to be, and realm be damned he would see so.

There was only one way to ensure that she would belong to him forever.

“Marry me”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Forty-Five: The Crowned Menace at Breakfast

So, there might be ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY NINE CHAPTERS. Put your best socks on and get your most finest reading glasses, its going to be a long road ahead. I have loved writing every second of this story, and although very self indulgent, i hope you are loving it as much as I am. Im up to chap 63 with editing. They're coming sooooooon!

Enjoy! And don't forget to tell me what you think!

Ps: im already running out of images.

_____

The next morning came quickly—too quickly, considering the previous night had been an emotional sneak-attack double feature from both Zoro and Sanji.

You rolled out of bed with your usual grunt, still half-asleep, hair wild from tossing and turning, limbs aching in that oddly satisfying way after a long day of laughter and chaos.

You didn’t even think about it. Didn’t look in the mirror. Didn’t remember the flower crown still tangled in your hair like it had taken root.

And so, you trudged up to the galley like a sleepy gremlin… Wearing a crooked mess of daisies, clover blossoms, and a few crumpled petals dangling behind your ear like some kind of forest deity who also punched sea kings for fun.

You pushed open the galley door with a yawn. “Morning.”

Every single head turned.

A long beat of silence.

Then: “PFFTHAHAHA—” Usopp immediately faceplanted into his cereal. Sanji dropped the spatula. Zoro choked on his tea. Luffy pointed and yelled, “YOU’RE GROWING FLOWERS!” Robin set down her book, eyes sparkling. Nami looked up with the most evil, satisfied grin known to mankind.

You blinked, mid-step, confused. “What?”

Nami reached into her bag, pulled out a tiny mirror, and wordlessly held it up.

You stared. Stared harder. Then groaned like your soul had left your body.

“…I forgot,” you mumbled, rubbing your face. “I forgot it was there.”

Sanji, heart-eyes activated, swooned. “You look like a magical nymph who could punch me through a wall and I’d thank you.”

Zoro coughed into his cup. “She looked better yesterday. You had less dirt on your face then.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, dropping into a chair and resting your head on the table. “I was hoping today would be normal.”

You were trying to pretend it wasn’t happening, but Nami had already walked around the table and stood behind you with a glint in her eye.

“Hold still,” she said, fingers already reaching for your head. “What are you—hey, no—”

She started gently picking the flowers out, untangling them from your hair with surprisingly delicate care. “I’m not letting you eat breakfast looking like a possessed field spirit,” she said, voice amused but kind.

Robin chuckled. “It was charming, in its own chaotic way.”

“Not helping,” you muttered into your arms.

Chopper climbed up on the bench beside you. “Ooooh! I can help! Your hair’s kinda knotted in the back.”

You didn’t even argue. You just sighed. “Fine. Groom me like one of your wild jungle creatures.”

It was strangely… relaxing.

Nami’s fingers combed through with the ease of someone used to hair maintenance, occasionally murmuring “how did this even get in here” as she removed stubborn bits of grass. Chopper used a soft brush and a comb from his med kit, careful not to pull too hard.

Your eyes were half-lidded by the time they were halfway done. Zoro was watching from across the table, smirking just slightly. Sanji looked like he was holding back tears. Usopp whispered, “We’ve domesticated her.” Luffy tried to plop a second flower crown on your head and got swatted.

Eventually, Nami pulled the final daisy loose. “There. You're free.”

You sat up, hair fluffed, dazed from the gentle care. “…Thanks.”

Nami grinned. “Anytime, flower queen.”

You flicked a piece of toast at her. She caught it with her mouth like a smug little goddess.

And as you started breakfast, cheeks a little warm and heart a little full, you realized something:

You’d almost forgotten what it was like to be taken care of without asking.

And gods, did it feel good.

You, now free of your floral crown (RIP, daisy halo, 2025–2025), were quietly chewing on toast, hair freshly brushed and stupidly soft thanks to Nami and Chopper’s impromptu salon session.

You could feel it too—every time you turned your head, strands floated against your skin like they were silk. It was both deeply unsettling and weirdly comforting.

Sanji placed a new cup of tea in front of you with a little flourish. “For the queen of the garden,” he said smoothly.

You gave him a deadpan look. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Not unless you make me,” he said with a wink.

“Don’t tempt me,” you warned, sipping your tea. (It was perfectly sweetened. Of course it was.)

Across the table, Zoro stared at you for just a second too long. You felt it.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Zoro grunted. “Nothing. Just... you look different without the crown. That’s all.”

You squinted. “Better or worse?”

He shrugged, picking at his rice. “Neither. Just… less like someone possessed by forest demons.”

“Wow,” you muttered. “So romantic. Your words make the flowers bloom.”

Sanji leaned in, eyes glittering. “I think you look radiant either way.”

Zoro snorted. “You’d say that if she was covered in mud and blood.”

You smirked. “He has said that before. I distinctly remember it.”

Sanji huffed, crossing his arms. “I meant it. You looked powerful.”

“See? That’s the difference,” you said, pointing between them. “Zoro insults me into flustering. Sanji compliments me until I short-circuit.”

Nami, walking past with her coffee, smirked. “And somehow, you like both.”

You coughed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robin, not looking up from her book, casually added, “She once said she’d let Nami ‘break her ribs and call it love,’ so I don’t think subtlety is really her strong suit.”

You choked on your toast. Chopper patted your back. Sanji almost dropped his plate. Zoro just stared at you like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Luffy, chewing noisily beside you, looked up. “Wait, is this like the thing where she said she’d let Nami ‘step on her neck if she asked nicely’?”

“LUFFY!” you howled.

Nami sipped her coffee with the calm of a queen who already knew her power. “You’re all obsessed with me. I’m not even mad.”

Later, as the plates were cleared and Luffy and Usopp started chasing each other around the ship with forks for no reason at all, you found yourself lingering on deck.

Zoro had ended up beside you again—like he always did. Not saying much. Just being there.

“You were good with them,” he said after a while, nodding toward the shore.

“The kids?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged. “They were easy. Didn’t expect anything from me. Just wanted to play. Kinda nice, y’know?”

Zoro nodded. “They liked you.”

You side-eyed him. “…You did too.”

He smirked. “Shut up.”

You grinned and bumped your shoulder into his, just enough to nudge him slightly off balance. “You’re still one of my super best friends, you know.”

“Tch.” But he didn’t move away.

And somehow, that said more than anything else.

[aspivampi]

Gentle Kisses

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It had been a couple of months since the events we all know took place. Angel's house had never been the same but not in such a bad way. They were happy to be waking up with Smiling Critters surrounding them and snoring sweetly. The warmth of so many furry toys made them reconsider going back to sleep. They had to get up , however. The chores won't do themselves. As their mind was processing all the things they needed to do that morning , they heard a quiet CREAK from the room next to theirs.

-Good to see I'm not the only one up. - Angel yawned and chuckled after.

But maybe let's focus on the one that short story is actually about.

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

Kissy Missy stayed right where she was , not bothering to check , what the noises downstairs were all about. It wasn't until Angel came up to her room , that she took her gaze off the window she was looking through.

-So it's you I heard frivoling about earlier. - the yellow skinned person gave Kissy a soft smile.

Angel approached casually and sat beside Kissy. The floorboards creaked quietly as they parked their rear on the floor.

-Aren't you coming downstairs ? Breakfast is ready. - Angel asked as they were tying their unruly , spiky hair into a ponytail.

Kissy's eyes glistened at the thought of a warm meal.

-I made pancakes. - Angel added subtly and that was enough to get Kissy to come downstairs.

Kissy's monkey-like feet stomped down the stairs only to arrive in the kitchen and see a saddening sight. The kitchen table had been picked clean from any remains of breakfast. Angel's arms drooped.

-Oh gosh darnit. - they groaned. - Picky ! Did you eat all of the pancakes ?!

-... No ? - a high-pitched voice echoed from the garden outside.

-Come here ! - Angle growled blithely and took off running.

The laughter of Picky Piggy and a few of her comrades rang from outside. It was nice , really. Kissy grabbed the sweater. Angel gave her some hand-me-downs when they arrived at their house. All of the toys got clothes to wear , it reminded them of the simpler , nicer times. Kissy made her way outside just in time to see Angel capture Picky. Snip-its of their conversation could be heard from a distance.

-You little imp ! What happened to the pancakes ?

-I don't know.

-Oh , I think you do know. - Angel smirked mischeviously. - Spit it out !

Picky's giggles mixed with snorts resonated all around as she received her punishment from her caretaker. Those tickly fingers of theirs could be a menace to all toys.

Kissy Missy ignored the rumble in her stomach , got up from the stool she was sitting on and joined her friends outside.

One , certain someone was missing from the group. It made Kissy wonder. She approached Angel and put her hand on their shoulder.

-What is it , sweetie ? - Angel took a break from playing with Picky Piggy to address their tall friend.

Kissy made a peculiar shape with her hands above her head. It took Angel a second to understand , what Kissy meant.

-Where is Doey ? He went for a short walk. He should be nearby. - they answered simply.

Kissy nodded her head , true to her name , gave Angel a kiss as an expression of gratitude and went out to search for her best pal. The woods grew close to their house and it was a perfect place for Doey to go to. He mentioned many times , how calming and relaxing it was to be out there. The woods weren't all that big , you could clear them entirely in a matter of around ten minutes. Kissy didn't have to coddiwomple for long in order to find , who she was looking for.

On a long , thick log sat a figure very familiar for Kissy Missy. Even with all the changes to his physical appearance , he was still the same , good ol' Doey. The pot-bellied doll turned their head just in time to see Kissy approach him.

-Hiya , Kissy ! - he smiled.

His smiley had some laziness or maybe tranquility to it. You could just tell it was the expression of somebody who knew , thet were finally safe and sound.

Kissy Missy sat down beside her best friend. The log was a little uncomfortable to sit on , so they settled on sitting on grass. The summer breeze blew gently and carried the sweet smell of bourtree with it.

Doey chuckled softly.

-Can you believe it ? We are finally out. - he uttered under his breath.

Kissy turned her head to face him. If she could speak she would propably say : " it's hard to believe but yes " but because she couldn't , she resorted to squeezing Doey's hand. He got the message and that's what mattered.

They spent the next couple of minutes just taking in the view of nature, It was quiet but in a pleasant way.

Doey adjusted the daisy , stuck in the band of his top hat.

-Why did you come looking for me ? - he asked Kissy. - It's not that I mind , you know.

Kissy Missy just shrugged.

-Don't know ? Heh , alright. - Doey chuckled , closing his eyes.

A couple of leaves got blown down from nearby trees. They landed around Doey and Kissy , a couple ended up on Doey's head. He shook his noggin around to get them off. Kissy placed her fuzzy head in the crook of Doey's bendy neck. The moment of closeness between the two friends got interrupted by a quizzical noise. It came along with some squirming and quaking.

Kissy removed her think-box from it's perch , which was Doey's shoulder. She looked at him with interest.

-Apologies , Kissy. Your fur just tickled me , that's all. - he snickered while rubbing the tingles away with his hand.

Kissy Missy responded to that with a coy smile. An idea popped into her fuzzy head. It was a nice day already and a laugh or two would make it even better.

She wrapped her noodle arms around Doey's trunk , letting her plush hands rest on his round paunch. It could just be a simple , sweet hug or a tickle trap. In that case it was both. The pink , plush doll innocently wriggled her monkey-like paws , her fluffy fur rubbed against Doey's belly.

Kissy might be playing it off as her just trying to get a better grip on Doey but is she really doing that ?

Doey's voice quickly started cracking.

-Mwehehehehe ! Ahahaha Kihihihisyhyhyhy !

Kissy pretended not to be hearing her friends'es protests but were they protests really ?

He didn't say "stop".

She did what her name alluded to and peppered plenty of tickly kisses all over Doey's tummy.

-Bahahaha ! Nohoho ! Nahaha *SNORT* hat theheHEHEHEHE kihihihissehehes !

Oh yes. Yes , the kisses.

Kissy then proceeded to start kneading on Doey's sides and hips. The dough squished underneath her fingers , she almost fell like a baker.

-AhahaHAHAHA ! KiHIHIHIHIISSYHY ! *SQUEAK* HEHEHEHE ! *SNORT*

Kissy Missy was so focused on doing her part in that tickle fight , that she forgot abouth the fact , that Doey could be a menace as well. She felt a tap on the shoulder out of nowhere.

-Heheh , watch your back , my dear. - Doey wheezed , remnants of laughter still caught up in his throat.

The pink , fluffy sweetheart suddenly got grabbed by the shoulders. The surprise on her face quickly changed into a wobbly smile. Doey trapped Kissy in a friendly bear-hug.

-You must have forgotten that I am the tickle monster around these parts ! - he grinned , showing off his sharp , red teeth.

The tickle monster in question took the opportunity to strike. Doey dug his stubby fingers into Kissy's sides and that prompted the following answer :

-*SQUEAK* *SQUEAK* *PEEP* *CHIRP*

-Aww ! You are like a little squeaky toy. - her best buddy complimented on her reaction. - How adorable ! How about here ?

Doey nuzzled his face into Kissy's neck. She immediately scrunched said neck to protect herself from the tickles but it was no use.

More absolutely adorable noises came from the taller toy.

-*EEP* *SQUEAK* *PEEP* *MEEP*

-Doey ! Kissy ! Where are you guys ?! - a voice rang through the air.

Hearing that , Doey halted his little revenge. Angel stumbled out of the bushes with little DogDay perched on their shoulder. Their face lit up as soon as the saw Doey and Kissy.

-Oh ! Am I interrupting something ? - they wondered , staring at the two's amusing , and a little flustered , expressions.

Kissy shook her head , barely containing more squeaks.

-No. It's nothing important. - Doey chuckled gleefully.

-Well , that's great. I just wanted to say , that the other toys and me are going out for ice cream. Are you coming with us ? - Angel gestured towards the dirtroad behind them with their head.

-Of course , we are ! - Doey answered.

He got up and helped Kissy stand up. Soon they both headed to the ice cream parlour with Angel and the Critters,

Doey and Kissy playfully bumped into eachother as they walked and exchanged laughs as the sun set on the horizon.

*THE END*

[dark-and-kawaii]

Zevlor went from riding a horse as a hellrider to riding a dragon as a princesses consort . I wonder how Aradin would feel about that 😏

⋆｡˚⟡⋆ Tʜᴀʏ’s Sʜɪᴇʟᴅ ⋆⟡˚｡⋆

Yeah he did!!! Ah, Aradin I think would be filled with so much rage that the gods favored a hellspawn before himself… I wrote this a while ago but never posted it so here’s a little story about Aradin coming to Thay and seeing Zevlor again! Please enjoy xoxo!!! ♡ ♡ ♡

₊˚⊹♡ Content: Dragons - Angst - The Past Rehashed - Aradin Is Cocky Like Always - Zevlor Isn’t The One To Mess With

₊˚⊹♡ Aradin vs Zevlor

Months had passed, and Zevlor found himself once more at the gates of Thay, patrolling alongside his trusted friend, Riznof. The sun hung low in the sky as they walked their usual route, exchanging stories and laughter as time passed. He was thankful that despite the rocky start with Korgus and some of the people in Thay, life had settled into a rhythm for him.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the entrance, voices raised in agitation. Zevlor's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade instinctively while pushing through the gathering crowd, Riznof close at his side.

“What's going on?” he called out, his voice cutting through the noise. And as the crowd parted for their beloved Princess’ consort- the very man who’s been keeping them all safe, Thay’s Shield as they branded him… His gaze settled on a figure that stirred a deep seated ire… Aradin… Standing in the midst of the crowd with a smirk that could sour the sweetest wine, “You?” Zevlor’s voice was a measured growl, tinged with question and restrained fury. What business had Aradin in Thay, of all places?

Aradin's eyes glinted with malice when he saw Zevlor approach. Of course horns would be here, he had heard a hellspawn was clinging- still following Lofn around like some lost puppy. He could tell by the way Zevlor was looking at him that he hadn't expected to see him here, “surprised they let a foulblood like you in such a prestigious city,” he sneered, “then again, I suppose even a princess needs entertainment… you ain’t nothin’ but a whore for-“

Zevlor's jaw clenched, anger simmering beneath the surface. “What was that?” he demanded, stepping forward. But Aradin was unfazed, leaning in until their faces were mere centimeters apart. Riznof placed a steadying hand on Zevlor's shoulder, murmuring, “It's not worth it, my friend- he’s only trying to rile you up. The Queen will-“

Aradin laughed, the sound dripping with condescension, “Never thought I'd see another besides the dense girl stick up for a hellspawn,”.

Zevlor's fists tightened, ready to lash out… Just as his jaw clenches, a low rumble resonated through the air, followed by the unmistakable roar of a dragon.

Vyrmoth’s massive form descended from the clouds, his wings snapping with a force that stirred the very air around him as he swooped low, casting a shadow over Aradin and the rest of the crowd. As the ground trembled from the force of the dragon landing on the building just behind Zevlor, Riznof smirked, his hand slipping from his friend's shoulder.

The gorgeous beast leaned low over the edge of the roof, his long, serpentine neck curving down with its maw opened wide… Sharp fangs glistening with saliva and dried blood, a menacing display meant to intimidate, to frighten. And the dragon's fiery gaze landed squarely on Aradin…

As Aradin opened his mouth, Vyrmoth spread his wings, the sound echoing like a battle cry while an ear piercing roar erupted from his throat. Smoke curled from the corners of his mouth, a clear warning- a dare for the adventure to challenge his rider…

Aradin’s brows furrowed in rage, a snarl curling his lips. He wanted to reach for his blade, to fight this damned bloody hellspawn who was nothing- who didn’t deserve what he had-

But his gaze flicked upward, taking in the full sight of the massive creature… He’d be lying if he said his blood didn’t run cold at the sight…

His pride screamed for him to attack- to prove that he was stronger, that Zevlor was less than the shit on his shoes, but… His fear kept him rooted in place, the words stuck in his throat. His mouth was suddenly dry, the air seeming thinner-… Horns didn’t deserve this- this kind of power, to have the protection of a dragon, the love of a princess… Her of all people! Aradin’s eyes shut as he pictured Lofn’s face, her laugh, the way her arm wrapped around Zevlor’s at the grove… it should have been him…

He gritted his teeth and opened his eyes to look up at the dragon again then Zevlor… “This ain’t over, horn-“

“Commander, Zevlor! Urgent news from the castle!” A knight called out, his voice cutting through the tension. Zevlor closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath to steady himself, “What? What is it?” he asked, him and Riznof both turning to face the knight.

The knight looked pale, worry etched into his features, “T-The princess has gone into labor and-“ He paused, glancing around at the onlookers before meeting Zevlor's gaze with a silent message that something was amiss.

Zevlor's heart dropped, his eyes widening in alarm, “What!?” Without waiting for an answer, he sprinted towards a nearby horse, urgency propelling him forward, “I'll deal with you later!” he shouted over his shoulder at Aradin, his voice a promise.

With a swift motion, he mounted the horse, kicking it into a gallop towards the castle. The wind whipped past him as he rode, his mind a whirlwind of fear…

With a final glare at Vyrmoth and Riznof, Aradin turned and pushed his way through the crowd, disappearing into the streets of Thay.

[channiehyungandhanniehyung]

“You shouldn’t had flinched… I.N”

Lee:Felix,Yang jeoging

Lers: Felix,Yang jeoging

Words~1,124

This is a tickle fic if its not your 🔎 history then the door is wide opened!

It started off chill. The dorm was unusually quiet—a rare miracle. Felix had claimed the comfiest spot on the couch, blanket lazily flopped over his lap, and the TV murmured out some random documentary about oceans or volcanoes or rocks, honestly, who even knew at that point. Nothing exciting. Just cozy vibes. I.N had strolled in, said nothing, and dropped himself on the opposite side of the couch like he owned the place, legs stretching out—and boom, his feet landed right in Felix’s lap.

Felix didn’t even flinch. This was normal by now. Jeongin flopping his feet wherever he pleased? Standard. Expected. Half the time he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was just maknae behavior.

So, Felix did what any bored, zoned-out bestie would do: he let his hands wander. One thumb started lazily rubbing at I.N’s sock-covered heel. Not for any reason—just autopilot mode. Little, slow circles. No thoughts. No agenda. The show was too boring to bother with anyway.

Then—it happened.

A twitch. A very noticeable twitch. Jeongin’s foot flinched, violently, like it had a mind of its own. His toes curled in on reflex, and his heel jerked back slightly into Felix’s hand.

Felix blinked.

Oh?

He looked down at the foot in his lap, then back at the screen, then back at the foot. Curious, he rubbed again, slightly more to the side this time.

Another twitch. Another toe curl. A tiny, almost silent gasp from I.N’s end of the couch.

Felix’s lips curled into the slowest, cheekiest grin. “…Wait.”

Jeongin didn’t answer.

“You’re not—don’t tell me you’re ticklish right here?” Felix asked, dragging a finger softly along the arch.

That did it.

“NO—Felix, NO—don’t you DARE!” I.N kicked slightly, eyes going wide in alarm. He tried yanking his foot back like it was suddenly radioactive, but Felix had already grabbed his ankle with one hand, the other raised like a weapon. “Don’t even think about it!”

Felix’s grin just grew wider. “Oh, I’m not thinking anymore, Jeonginnie. I’m committing.”

With zero hesitation, he dropped the blanket and launched into full gremlin mode.

Fingers scribbled furiously across the soft sole, making direct contact now that the sock had slipped slightly from all the twitching. I.N’s reaction was instant—he yelped, kicked, and exploded into laughter like someone had pressed his chaos button.

“FELIHIHIX! AHHHH!” he shrieked, squirming so hard he nearly rolled off the couch. His foot flailed uselessly, toes spreading and curling like they were trying to fly away. “I—I CAN’T—MY FEHEHEHEET!”

Felix cackled, locking down the flailing foot with just enough grip to keep it in place. “Oh my gosh, you’re so sensitive!” he gasped between giggles. “This is GOLD. I could do this forever.”

“DON’T YOU DARE! TWO MINUTES MAX!” I.N cried out, trying to kick Felix in the shoulder with his other leg. “TWO MINUTES OR I SWEAR—”

“Alright, alright,” Felix said mockingly, as if he wasn’t actively scribbling all over the base of I.N’s toes like a menace. “I’ll try to keep it at two. But your feet are literally asking for it.”

“NO THEY’RE NOT! They’re asking you to LEAVE THEM ALONEEEE—AHHHHHH!”

The pitch of I.N’s laughter soared. Felix found the perfect spot—right under the ball of his foot—and he doubled down, watching in pure amusement as Jeongin thrashed and tried to bury his face in a pillow to muffle the noise.

“You sound like a tea kettle,” Felix teased. “You’re about to take flight.”

“You’re a MENACE!” I.N wheezed.

Felix just grinned wider.

—

You’re a MENACE!” I.N wheezed, voice cracking as he kicked helplessly at the air, his laughter bouncing off the dorm walls like a wild alarm.

Felix, completely unfazed, leaned in with that chaotic sparkle in his eyes. “Nah, I’m an opportunity taker,” he said dramatically, still wiggling his fingers under Jeongin’s twitching toes. “You left these vulnerable little feet in my lap like it was an invitation. You knew what would happen.”

“I did NOT!” I.N yelled, howling when Felix dragged a finger right under his toes in one smooth swipe. “I—I forgot you’re evil now—!”

“Correction,” Felix replied, smirking as he shifted his grip to the other foot like some cartoon villain. “I’ve always been evil. You just forgot.”

“WAIT NO NOT THE OTHEHEHER ONE—!”

But it was too late. The second foot joined the party, and I.N dissolved into absolute chaos. He twisted sideways, laughing so hard no sound came out for a full five seconds. His hands were flailing, his hoodie was halfway over his head, and his legs were doing whatever they could to escape Felix’s playful wrath.

“STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT!” I.N cried through his laughter, slamming a pillow over his face. “YOU SAID TWO MINUTES!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Felix said, checking his imaginary watch. “I’m sure we’re at, like… 1:59.”

“You’re a LIAR!” I.N squeaked, trying to drag himself off the couch but being dragged back by his own foot like he was in a horror movie, only the killer was giggling like a gremlin.

Eventually, finally, miraculously, Felix eased up. He let go of I.N’s leg with a dramatic gasp and flopped back against the couch like he was the one who had suffered.

“That was exhausting,” he sighed.

“YOU?” I.N sat up like a disheveled little gremlin, face red, hair sticking up in six directions, breathing like he’d just run three laps. “You are exhausted?! My feet are gonna file a complaint. They’re traumatized.”

Felix snorted. “Bro, don’t even act like that wasn’t hilarious. You laughed so hard I thought you were gonna levitate.”

“I nearly DIED.” Jeongin glared, grabbing the nearest cushion and threatening to swing. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick your jaw off.”

Felix held up both hands in surrender. “Fair, fair. But you didn’t, sooo…”

Jeongin narrowed his eyes. His feet were tucked safely under him now, far away from enemy hands. He was still recovering, but the gears in his brain were definitely turning.

“…You’re done for,” he said in a low voice. “You do realize revenge is happening, right?”

Felix raised a brow. “Revenge? Pfft. You’re too tired. You just screamed for like five minutes straight.”

Jeongin smiled.

But it wasn’t a nice smile.

It was a slow, terrifyingly calm smile.

The kind that said: You better sleep with one eye open.

Felix’s grin faltered for a second. “Wait—Jeonginnie. Buddy. Friend. We can talk about this.”

“Oh no, no,” I.N said sweetly, grabbing his phone. “I’m just gonna wait. Until your guard is down.”

Felix gulped, scooting slightly farther down the couch. “Bro—”

Jeongin held up a single finger. “You started this.”

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but paused.

He looked down at Jeongin’s feet, still curled protectively under him.

Then he looked at Jeongin’s face—pure vengeance.

“…Fair,” Felix mumbled.

And that’s when the TV, still on in the background, finally played something remotely interesting.

But neither of them noticed.

Because now it was war.

—

It took less than 24 hours.

Felix forgot. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known the way I.N smiled at him the day before wasn’t just a smile—it was a threat in disguise. But no. Felix had gone on with his life like he hadn’t tickled Jeongin into another dimension the night before.

So now? Payback.

It was just past midnight. Half the dorm was asleep. The lights were dim. Felix was curled up on the living room floor with a blanket, headphones on, watching something dumb on his phone. He looked so peaceful. So unguarded.

Jeongin crept up behind him with the silence of a trained assassin.

And then—

“Boo.”

Felix flinched, yanked out an earbud. “Wh—what?”

“You remember yesterday?” Jeongin said with a fake-innocent tilt of his head.

“…No?” Felix blinked.

“Liar.”

And with that—he pounced.

Felix shrieked like a cartoon character, trying to roll away, but Jeongin was faster. He straddled Felix’s thighs, trapping him in place with way too much ease for someone who looked like a squishmallow half the time.

“Jeongin—Jeonginnie, bro—BRO—” Felix gasped, already laughing nervously. “Can we talk—negotiations? Treaties? I’m open to bribes—”

“Nope,” I.N grinned like the devil in a hoodie. “I’m going straight for your weak spots.”

And oh he did.

He avoided the feet entirely. Jeongin was no amateur. He went straight for Felix’s sides, just beneath the ribs—his secret weak point. The spot that made Felix’s back arch violently, like he was being possessed.

“NONONONONO— AAAAAAHHH!” Felix HOWLED. No more giggles. No more “hehe.” This was rich, full-bodied laughter. The kind that echoed. The kind that Felix tried to bury in a pillow but FAILED.

“OH MY—JEONGIN!” he screeched, kicking and slapping the couch beside him. “WH—HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW THIS?!”

“I have eyes,” I.N said smugly, wiggling merciless fingers up to Felix’s lower back, digging in just enough. “And ears. And revenge energy.”

Felix convulsed, a weird squeaky sound leaving his mouth that he immediately tried to deny was him. His laugh turned wild and deep and echoey—it was the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt and your brain go blank.

And that’s when it happened.

“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA—”

The laugh.

THE laugh.

The one no one ever gets out of Felix.

Except maybe Chan. On a good day. If he’s lucky. And uses ✨science✨.

But Jeongin?

He got it like it was nothing.

It shook the walls.

Somewhere down the hall, a door creaked open.

A sleepy ferret shouted, “Who’s dying at 3 a.m?!”

Han yelled “FELIX ARE YOU A DYING CAT?!”

Lee know jabbed back “EY, DONT TALK AB DYING CATS, its a sensitive topic so SHUT UP”

And a groggy Chan, now half-awake, mumbled from his room, “…Was that THE laugh? Someone record that. Wait—wait—start over!”

Jeongin cackled. “Bro, you woke up the entire dorm.”

Felix, completely limp now, wheezed into the floor. “…I can’t feel my soul.”

“That’s called karma,” Jeongin patted his back lovingly. “You earned it.”

“Worth it,” Felix mumbled.

They both collapsed onto the rug, breathless, faces flushed, and surrounded by the soft sound of annoyed hyungs slamming doors.

“Next time,” Felix said weakly, “I’m tickling you when you least expect it.”

Jeongin snorted. “Good luck, sunshine. I sleep with socks and armor now.”

[oh-no-its-bird]

reading ur fic one step three steps rn and I don't usually read oc-insert fics but ichigo is SUCH a menace I love her to death... and the idea of this feral, unchecked little kid being put in kakashi's care is so good. he's gonna suffer so much but it'll be good for him I think 👍 anyway I can't help but wonder how things would go down with the whole. obito thing. because I can't help making everything about my favorite insane guy. do you think they'd bond over their love for making kakashi suffer. do you think they'd bond over their shared affinity for chaos. I don't know I just!! think they have so much potential as a duo ANYWAY sorry for rambling have a nice day

DJFBDKDJDJS IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE HER???

I'm also kind of in the boat of not especially liking or reading oc centered fics, I think making Ichigo was a bit easier for me than it would have been otherwise bc I really went into it treating her like a plot divice. Still am tbh. I love Ichigo but the story isn't there for her, it's there bc of her. I needed someone to stir shit up and bring up some very specific topics and issues, so she became that. And I fell a little in love with her character along the way

Inevitable tbh, it's probably impossible to write a character that much without finding or molding them into something you can like writing

Kakashi absoloutley deserves to be harassed by tiny children, and now he can't escape bc Ichigo is in his fucking house!! She's gonna bring back more (even tinier) children to harass him, starting with Naruto. He will never know peace.

ITS FUNNY YOU MENTION OBITO BC I ACTUALLY HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN SOME STUFF FOR HIM IN THE FUTURE WHENEVER HES INTRODUCED!!

I have so many notes and plans laid out for One Step Three Steps u don't even know

Anyways spoilers for the eventually Obito introduction in the fic, take a snippet for his introduction (it's liable to change tho, we won't be seeing Obito for a while in the fic)

"I . . . am Madara Uchiha."

Ichigo opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Finally, in her flattest voice, she went, "No you're not."

The imposter paused, then shook his head and gave a sinister chuckle. It was a decent enough imitation but she'd seen Hashirama give a better Madara impression.

While drunk.

"I understand it's hard for you to believe, but the stories of my death were greatly exaggerated."

Ichigo aimed her best impression of Ojisan's unimpressed face at him. Lip curled in distaste and head tilted to stare down at him like he was a bug.

He twitched. It was a pretty good impression. (Better than his Madara one, anyways)

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No. You're really not."

"Yes, I really am."

They stared at eachother, locked in stalemate, till she smirked.

"Ok sure, you're Madara-sama. What's my name then?"

"Um."

"Come on, Dara-chan," she batted her eyes at him innocently. "I'm sure you can remember."

He seemed to regain control of myself, straightening up and giving another echo of what might have been Madara's laugh. If he was a crazy cave hermit who'd decided to inject a gallon of cringe fail evil villain juice into his laughter, anyways.

"Come now, Ichigo, I know it's hard to believe but it really is me."

"Ha!" She shoved her hand towards him, pointing triumphantly. "My real name is Hatake Miko! I gave them a fake when I got here, and if you were the real Madara-sama you'd know that!"

"O-of course, Miko-chan, I was just testing you. I had to be sure you were the real Miko I remembered, after all."

"No, I lied I really am Ichigo." She deadpanned, giving him a little peace sign.

He staggered under some invisible weight, making a noise like a popped balloon.

"I don't usually kill children, but . . ." He mumbled to himself, and she scoffed.

"You don't even have his hair." She squinted at him, feeling insulted om Madara's behalf. "You're pretending to be Madara with hair like that? Have some standards.

[timeless-fanfic]

You will do great on your exam!!!!

And I was wondering if I could request an Andrew imagine where reader is his wife and she comes to Peter’s house distraught thinking Andrew would be there but he isn’t. Maybe a Roman messed with her and she is uncomfortable and wants him so she waits there . You can include Eden if you want

In the Comfort of Friends

Word Count: 1212

Andrew x Reader

The sun had begun its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the streets of Capernaum. The usual bustle of the marketplace was calming down, and the shadows lengthened as evening approached. You walked quickly, your heart pounding, your hands trembling slightly. The day had been long and unsettling, and the encounter with the Roman had left you feeling shaken.

You had gone out for a simple errand, hoping to find some peace amidst the routine. But a Roman soldier had approached you, making unwelcome advances and causing you considerable distress. His demeanor had been menacing, and you had hurried away, seeking the refuge of familiar faces.

As you neared Peter’s house, a sense of relief washed over you. Andrew was often here, helping with various tasks or sharing moments of respite. You had hoped to find him here, to seek comfort and reassurance. You quickened your pace, eager to find him and let the comfort of his presence soothe your fraught nerves.

You knocked on the door of Peter’s house, trying to steady your breath. Eden, Peter’s wife, answered with a warm smile that faltered when she saw your distress. “Oh, [Y/N], what’s the matter?” she asked, her eyes filled with concern.

“Is Andrew here?” you asked, your voice betraying the anxiety you felt. “I need to see him.”

Eden’s brow furrowed as she shook her head. “Andrew isn’t here right now. He’s out with the other disciples, attending to some business.”

A wave of disappointment and unease swept over you. “I see,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ll wait for him here.”

Eden nodded, understanding the urgency in your tone. “Come in, then. Let’s get you settled. You look like you’ve been through a lot.”

As you stepped into the warm, inviting interior of Peter’s house, the comforting scent of dinner cooking and the gentle chatter of Eden’s young children filled the air. The contrast between the safety of this space and the unsettling events of earlier was stark, and you tried to calm your racing heart.

Eden led you to a comfortable seat by the fire. “Would you like some tea or something to eat while you wait?” she offered kindly.

You shook your head, though the warmth of the fire was soothing. “No, thank you. I just need to wait for Andrew.”

Eden nodded and took a seat across from you. Her eyes were filled with empathy as she studied your face. “Is there something you’d like to talk about?”

You hesitated, your emotions swirling. “It’s just... a Roman soldier—he made me very uncomfortable. I was scared, and I didn’t know where else to go. I just need Andrew.”

Eden’s expression turned to one of understanding and concern. “You’re safe here,” she said gently. “And Andrew will be back soon. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. The sound of Eden’s children playing in the background was a welcome distraction, and their innocent laughter helped to ease your anxiety.

As you waited, Eden busied herself with her household tasks, casting occasional glances in your direction. The minutes ticked by slowly, each second stretching out as you anxiously anticipated Andrew’s arrival. The comfort of Peter and Eden’s home was a small balm to your troubled heart, but it was Andrew’s presence you truly needed.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. The door opened, and Andrew walked in, his face lighting up when he saw you. “[Y/N]!” he exclaimed, his concern evident as he rushed over to you. “What’s wrong?”

You stood up, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as Andrew enveloped you in a comforting embrace. The warmth and safety of his arms were exactly what you needed. “Andrew,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I—”

Eden’s presence was a gentle reminder of the support surrounding you, and she discreetly excused herself to give you both privacy. As the door closed behind her, Andrew looked at you with worried eyes. “What happened? Why are you so upset?”

You took a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. “I was out today, and a Roman soldier... he made advances toward me. I was scared and didn’t know where to go. I came here because I needed you.”

Andrew’s expression shifted to one of intense concern. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice filled with compassion. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance. “Thank you. I just... I didn’t know what to do. I felt so alone.”

Andrew’s hand gently cupped your cheek, his touch tender and soothing. “You’re never alone. I’m always here for you. And if someone ever causes you distress, you come to me, okay? I’ll do whatever I can to protect you.”

The sincerity in his voice was comforting, and you felt a sense of calm settling over you. “I know. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

Andrew sat down beside you, his arm wrapped around you in a protective embrace. The warmth of the fire and his presence created a cocoon of safety that helped to ease the tension in your body.

The door opened once more, and Eden reappeared with a tray of food and tea. She offered it with a gentle smile. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said. “Please, help yourself.”

You thanked her, accepting the tea with a grateful smile. The simple act of sharing a meal was a comforting gesture, and the warm tea helped to settle your nerves further.

As you sipped the tea, Andrew continued to hold you close, his presence a steady anchor in the midst of your distress. Eden joined you, engaging in light conversation that helped to distract you from the troubling events of the day.

Time seemed to pass more quickly in the company of friends, and before long, you felt the heaviness of the day lifting. The comfort of Andrew’s presence and the kindness of Eden had provided a sense of solace that you hadn’t realized you needed so desperately.

As the evening wore on, you and Andrew talked about your day, and the tension gradually eased. Eden’s children played nearby, their laughter and joy a welcome contrast to the earlier discomfort.

Eventually, as the night grew darker, it was time to head home. Andrew and you walked together, hand in hand, your heart feeling lighter with each step. The bond you shared with him and the support you received from friends had made a significant difference in your ability to cope with the day’s events.

“Thank you for being here for me,” you said softly, leaning against Andrew as you walked. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Andrew squeezed your hand gently. “I’ll always be here for you,” he said, his voice filled with love and reassurance. “And if you ever need anything, you come to me. We’ll face everything together.”

The comfort of his words and the warmth of his embrace made the journey home feel less daunting. With Andrew by your side and the support of friends like Eden and Peter, you knew that you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Change

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Pairing: barista!Mike (Hellraiser) x reader (you)

Summary: Mike has a gift for you.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, 18+, MINORS DNI!!! fingering, (unprotected) p-in-v showersex. And cat shenanigans, Mike behaving inappropriately around boobs... That kind of stuff.

A/N:

If you like this fic, please let me know 🥰 and reblog so that others may see it too! <3

@deandoesthingstome @geralts-yenn @mayloma @ellethespaceunicorn @summersong69 @livisss @ylva-syverson @sweetandgentlecreature

“Babe, can you grab some eh… Yes, Nyx, you can— Jesus Christ! Babe… Cats. Snacks. Please!” You look over the counter into the living room, where Mike is laying on the couch, covered in — and being screamed at by — his cats. The only one sitting next to him, rather than on top of him, is Sy. Your favorite orange menace is glaring at you, impatiently awaiting your return to the couch.

Nyx leaps off the couch and onto the counter as soon as she hears the drawer that holds her precious treats, Nova lazily taking her place on Mike’s chest. Little Mikey — who is still called that even though the name isn’t exactly apt anymore, because he’s grown so much that he no longer fits in the pockets of Mike’s hoodies, much to his dismay — pokes his head out of Mike’s sweater.

“What is he doing?” you ask, barely able to contain your laughter.

“Being a pain in my ass, as per usual,” Mike sighs. “But the cutest fucking pain in my ass I’ve ever seen, so it’s okay.” Your friends still don’t understand how you were able to make peace with the fact that Mike will never look at you the way he looks at his cats. The simple reason is that you know you’ll never look at Mike the way you look at your cats. You mean… his cats. Right?

Sy jumps you as soon as you sit down, Nyx and little Mikey follow soon after.

“Ow, Mikey, that’s my boob!” There’s honestly no saying which Mikey that remark is aimed at: it could easily have been both of them.

“He takes after me,” Mike says lovingly while he manages to grab a handful of tit while pretending to stroke Little Mikey.

“Hey, Mikey, that’s… Yeah, he does take after you,” you sigh as you try to feed all four cats an equal amount of treats. Mike eventually helps you by pulling Sy and little Mikey away before they can make a play for the last few treats. They’re Nova’s, end of story.

“I don’t like how they walk all over my sweet little baby,” you coo while giving her the head pats she so desperately meows for.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike laughs, “I’ve been meaning to tell you she’s got you fooled, babe.”

“What?” You turn to him — or rather; try to, because Sy lets out a dark meow that sounds more like a growl when he feels you’ve shifted too much.

“Yeah,” he said with a grin, “she’s being a pouty little baby around you, but she can take these fuckers in her sleep. They don’t mess with her when you’re not here.”

You turn to Nova, who is lying on her back in your lap, looking up at you with the biggest, most innocent-looking blue eyes imaginable. It’s obvious: whatever shenanigans are going on here, she hasn’t done anything. Mike laughs when you tell him that.

“Uhuh,” he says, “sure, Sweetcheeks. It’s okay, though! I spoil her too. Look at that little face!” He gently touches her nose with the tip of a finger, and she rewards him for his attention with a gentle, yet very loud purr.

“And how about this little face?” You chuckle under your breath as you gently move Nova off your lap and into Mike’s — Sy just bolts at some point — and nestle into Mike’s side, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“Not nearly as cute,” Mike says, but you don’t agree.

“How about you come with me and I’ll show you exactly how cute I think your face is?” you tease. Mike squirms when your cold hand worms its way into his sweater. “Fucking ow, Mikey!” Ten tiny claws have found their way into your hand — apparently the space inside of Mike’s sweater may now only be occupied by (parts of) Mike, little or otherwise.

“Serves you and those icicles you call hands right,” Mike says as he shivers dramatically.

“Well, maybe there’s a way to get me nice and warmed up,” you mutter with your lips pressed against his neck. “Come take a shower with me?”

“But I’m comfortable right here on this couch, with my cats,” Mike moans. You forgive him immediately; it’s not like you’ve never declined some naked quality time with just Mike because you were just too content with Nova purring in your ear.

Luckily for you, Mike has a weakness… “The shower will have significantly more naked boobs than the couch,” you try.

It works — of course it works! Mike is on his feet in seconds, leaving a very offended Nova on the couch, meowing loudly in protest.

“The f-" Mike exclaims as he takes a break from kissing your neck to look at your feet, where something furry brushed past your legs. “Of course.”

It’s Nyx, now soaking wet, of course, and meowing like her life depends on it.

“You did this, dumbass,” Mike grumbles as he picks her up. “Fuckin' wrong kind of wet pussy, dammit.” You barely manage to fight back a chuckle, and Mike blows you a quick kiss when he notices you heard what he said, before taking Nyx out of the shower cabin and wrapping a towel around her.

“Did you forget to close the door?” you ask curiously. He never does – he knows this is the result of that

“Nope,” he sighs, “but I’ve been suspecting for a while that this little monster can open doors. Guess I have my proof now.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” you ask. Nyx didn't sound like she enjoyed being wet much – although she seems to prefer it to being dried off, which she's fighting very actively.

“Yes, she's just being dramatic,” Mike snorts as he finishes towel-drying her. “Besides, this was entirely her fault. Yeah, you. You don't have to go everywhere I go, little weirdo.” She clearly doesn't agree with him.

After tossing the now semi-dry cat into the hallway and locking the door behind him – but not before checking if any of the others have snuck into the bedroom without him noticing – he joins you in the shower again.

“Where were we?” he says, making you laugh as he grabs a handful of boob.

“Right about there,” you chuckle.

Ever since Mike moved out of his parents' house and into his apartment, quickies in the shower practically all the private time you get together – and you both greedily make the most of what little time you get. Nova and little Mikey go absolutely nuts if you don't let them into the room even when – no, especially when – you’re getting it on, and Sy and Nyx are just obnoxiously loud at all times, no matter where you put them.

To add to the insanity, little Mikey has developed a habit of attacking feet. It's easy to guess why that isn't especially conducive to a romantic environment.

Then again, even limited to the shower – or those sporadic moments you decided it was worth wrangling four cats and listening to their complaints through the bedroom door – you have plenty of fun together. Besides, waking up with a snuggly Nova in your arms and Mike behind you with his arms tightly wrapped around you is just about the best feeling in the world.

Second to that feeling, is the exact thing Mike is doing to you right now; gently sucking on your neck while furiously pumping two fingers into you. He’s really gotten good at that.

“Fuck, Mikey, don’t stop,” you mutter. The remark is redundant at this point; he’s got you.

“Yes, victory!” Mike says with a big grin on his face that you kinda, maybe want to slap off, because he’s being impossible. “Now turn around so I can fuck you.”

It’s not an order of any kind, it’s a very directly phrased request born of sheer impatience, as evidenced by the fact that Mike unceremoniously grabs your hips and attempts to turn you around as he speaks.

“Bedroom?” you try, knowing you don’t want to wait, either. It’s that silly voice inside your brain that still tells you you’re a lady (you’re not) and you have to keep a sense of decorum (you don’t) to keep Mike from thinking you’re a slut (he already knows that, and he loves you for it!)

“Nope,” he replies. “Want you. Now.”

Oh. When he puts it like that… You finally give in to his greedy hands, allowing him to turn you to face the wall. When he pushes into you, you clench your fists and let out a loud moan.

“Fuck, I’ll never get enough of you,” Mike groans, pressing his lips to the back of your neck. It’s interesting how he seems to speak your thoughts so often — not that you would go as far as saying the two of you are totally in sync, or anything. God knows that’s impossible with Mikey, who isn’t even in sync with himself. But he’s yours, and you love him, and you can’t help but hope that you’ll indeed never get enough of each other.

He’s patient today, keeping the rhythm of his thrusts slow and steady. That alone would drive you nuts, but it’s the soft kisses to your shoulder and neck that really do you in, and soon you’re begging him for more — faster, harder… anything.

He chuckles. “Let me enjoy this,” he moans into your ear before teasingly nipping at your earlobe, his breath already revealing that he won’t be enjoying this for much longer, anyway. So you concede, your moans echoing off the tiled walls as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate and torturously gentle.

It’s the pressure of his fingers on your breast that eventually betrays him, letting you know he’s struggling — that he’s close, but not quite willing to have this be over yet. He wants to give you more, he always does, but he’s fighting something he can’t hold off forever.

Unsurprisingly, the grunt he lets out when he cums sounds more than a little disappointed, and you grab his arms, wrapping them tightly around you, keeping him as close as humanly possible for a while. You lean your cheek against the cool tiles of the wall, sighing deeply while Mike’s lips explore your neck.

“That was good,” you mutter, making him chuckle.

“That was short,” he replies. Who cares?

“It was great,” you repeat, not prepared to take any of his bullshit.

“Hey Sweetcheeks,” Mike says softly, and you let out a frustrated grunt.

“Five more minutes,” you mumble. There’s no such thing as five more minutes, especially now that the cats know you’re awake.

“I brought you coffee and breakfast.” Mike presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and — as per usual — Nova impatiently headbutts him out of the way. For the first fifteen minutes after waking up, you’re hers. Mike should know that by now.

The breakfast Mike brought you is an avocado and fried egg bagel, which means that eating it is not without risk — especially in bed. Nyx has this annoying obsession with eggs, which she immediately showcases by trying to steal it off your breakfast.

Luckily, Mike quickly provides the cats with their own breakfast, which means you get to eat in peace for a change.

You’re just finishing the last bite when they sprint into the room and jump on the bed. Now, all you have to do is wait for Mike to show up, too, and you can start your favorite part of the weekend; cuddling with Mike and your fur babies until someone can come up with a good reason to get out of bed. Last week it was well past noon when you finally decided you’d spent enough time under the covers. Not that moving to the couch had changed much about your activities. It had only added ‘watching TV’ to the mix — a Christmas movie, and you hadn’t even had to beg Mike to watch it with you; he’d volunteered.

Sy gets comfortable in your lap, while Nova climbs up to stick her face in yours. Nyx curls up next to you, waiting for Mike. That leaves little Mikey, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Odd…

“Baby,” you call to Mike, who you hear rummaging around in the kitchen, “where’s little Mikey?”

“Right here,” Mike says a little while later, when he comes back into the bedroom with his fluffy namesake in his arms.

Mike drops the cat on your stomach, and as soon as you pet him, you notice he’s wearing something around his neck. The cats don’t wear collars, which prompts you to investigate further.

Quickly, you find it’s not a collar; it’s a ribbon, with a note attached to it.

Dear mom, We miss you when you’re away, Always screaming, keeping dad awake. So for his sanity and his sake, Here’s something we would like you to take.

“You wrote me a poem?” you say with a smile before even really looking at what you’re holding in your hands.

Mike shakes his head. “They wrote you the poem, I promise.”

His tone is so serious that you can’t help but burst into laughter. “God, you’re such a dork, I love you!” You can’t help but notice that there’s something different about him this morning. He’s nervous. Fidgety — more than usual, at least. As if this is something way bigger than you realize at the moment.

It’s then that you realize you haven’t even taken a look at what he’s giving you, but as soon as you do…

In the palm of your hand, there’s a key — a house key, to be precise.

“We don’t want you to leave anymore,” Mike whispers as he pulls you firmly against him, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“You’re giving me a key to your place?” you stammer. Somehow, you get the feeling your voice is barely audible over the sound of your heart.

“I mean,” Mike mutters even more nervously than before, “I’m… I’m actually hoping I’m giving you a key to our place.”

With tears in your eyes, you turn your head to look at him. Mike’s hopeful (but terrified) baby blues stare back at you. “You want me to move in?”

“You can think about it… Or, if you’re not ready, that’s—” You raise a hand to get him to shut up, and when that doesn’t work, you kiss him square on the mouth. Hard.

“Yes, Mike. A thousand times yes.”

[rainbowolfe]

A Deep Observation of the Daycare Attendant

Because I am very, very normal about them.

Were you saddened or otherwise put off by sassy, mean Sun? Then rejoice, you're gonna like this post.

Because as funny as it is, it's a sharp turn for this character to make. Even the cookbook calls out how "nice and helpful" Sun is (according to Freddy). While we don't know when it is, I think if Sun was super impatient and a perfectionist deep down, even with years of training him to tolerate children, it would still show subtly.

TLDR: The Sun we interact with in the Arts and Crafts section isn't "Sun" at all. It's Moon.

Overall

It's interesting how much Help Wanted 2 goes out of its way not to acknowledge Moon. And it's unlikely to be an oversight on Steel Wool's end, this game was being made at the same time as the Ruin DLC. Really, it's so blatant it has to be intentional.

The Carousel levels make no mention of how to keep him at bay in the tutorial. And in the Arts and Crafts Loft tutorial, the instructions are just "Use the flashlight if it gets too scary." When on every other level, it's upfront about what threats you'll encounter and how to handle them.

Speech Pattern

Half of Moon's dialogue in every game he's been in so far has been laughter. So we know he's a giggly, goofy little guy. But one of his new lines is captioned: "The merry-go-round broke down. (snickers)"

Which, not only reads like he's the one who caused it to break down (he doesn't bother you until you touch it after all), but that little snicker dotting the end of his sentence is a verbal quirk Sun's never had before. And yet, we hear it constantly during Arts and Crafts.

Something we also get to hear is his beloved "You're gonna get us in trouble" line. I wouldn't expect the exact same delivery, but it's significantly different. Gregory going behind the security desk is a far more severe infraction than eating crafts, and yet "Sun" sounds far less flustered. Nervous, because it actually is against the rules (and he physically can't go back there if something were to happen) but not so worked up he's stumbling over his words.

Body Language

A lot of thought is put into the movement of all the animatronics, not just Sun and Moon. And they each have a distinct way of moving.

Of the two of them, Moon has always been the acrobatic one. And when he's not doing flips or swimming through the air, he's contorting himself (like that weird helicopter thing he does) or miming.

Even the little details. Sun's limbs tend to flow together in big fluid motions. Moon's movements are jerky and fast (unless he's in the air). And his body parts move more erratically. His fingers twitch. His knees, waist, and elbows all bounce at different times like a cascade. He also spins his head completely around, something Sun almost never does.

Many of Moon's animations were cut, but you can see them all here.

Now, what's the first thing 'Sun' does when you do Arts and Crafts for the first time? The mfer cartwheels in.

Designs

The in-game models we're awarded give us a good look at the differences between Sun and Moon. Most notably is their eyes. Sun has completely white eyes without pupil-holes (they seem almost glassy). Moon not only has pupils, but has one white eye and one black eye (and both glow red).

When you trigger darkness too many times, naturally you're jumpscared by Moon. But when you simply run out of time, Sun jumpscares you... but he has Moon's eyes. Suspicious? Very.

Another odd detail is that in the Artist's Loft level, Sun is there in their Eclipse form. But when the lights go off, they fully transform into Moon.

Jumpscares

Honestly, Steel Wool made it easy for me. If I had started with this, it would've been the only evidence I needed! But alas, I already wrote the above when I noticed this. In Security Breach, Moon's jumpscare is the "menacing tickle-fingers". Sun doesn't have a jumpscare. Moon will do the same jumpscare whether in the daycare or doing the top-of-the-hour shutdowns.

[The mechanism of how these two actually switch is a bit unclear, so this covers my bases if there actually are two physical Daycare Attendant bodies]

In Help Wanted, he keeps this jumpscare, even when he's ruined. 'Sun' with Moon's eyes also does this jumpscare. Their jumpscare doesn't become an actual attack until the Cinder Carousel level with Jack-O-Moon. It's very similar to the way he attacks Cassie in Ruin.

Personality

Sun only has one rule. And it's to keep the lights on. (And to stay out of restricted areas). So he's the type to do whatever will keep the kids entertained. He even encourages chaotic, hyper behavior right off the bat, suggesting they "drink Fizzy Faz until we explode". A hyper child isn't a child that's going to sit still and perfectly do crafts.

But during Arts and Crafts, there are clearly a lot of rules. Do the Paint-By-Numbers in order. Do it exactly as the guidelines say. Don't eat the crafts. Don't move. Don't shoot him with the dart gun. Don't throw things at him. Don't make mistakes. Don't come into his loft while he's malfunctioning. Be creative on your own time. The rules are endless!

So why would Moon be averse to nap time/the lights being off? Well, he actually tells us outright. "You'll... hurt your eyes." Be it an intentional feature or a bug, but when Moon is the one in control of the body, being in the dark makes them hypersensitive to light. And it hurts. As we see in Ruin, enough exposure will make them lock up.

Plus if Sun is still in there (I suspect he's not during the first Arts and Crafts), it could just be that Moon doesn't want to switch at all. Something fucky had to have happened for him to suddenly be the one active during the day. That's probably why they're attempting to train him using Arts and Crafts. It clearly didn't work out and he lost speaking rights. Plus "switching" seems to forcibly put the inactive one to sleep (aka "in a nap").

It seems like the way they're programmed, one of them gets to use the "Sun" voice and one of them gets to use the "Moon" voice, and they can't just swap back and forth.

And that's my post! Can you believe I'm not even done? Next time I'll talk about how Eclipse isn't the combination of Sun and Moon, but the combination of Moon and Jack-O-Moon.

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

TW: mentions of alcohol

Liiiiiiiiiiiiindir,

I simply must know somethings: coffee, tea, or cocoa?

Have you ever tried a hot toddy? Or Irish coffee?

Lastly, I feel like Glorfindle would be quite amusing when intoxicated. Do you have any funny stories about him inebriated?

Ah, but what a question to pose!

To choose between tea, coffee, and cocoa? Impossible. I adore them all, each for their own unique merits. Tea, for its elegance, for the way it soothes and sharpens the mind in equal measure. Coffee, for its boldness, its rich depth, and the sheer will to live it bestows upon the weary. And cocoa—for what soul could deny the simple joy of a warm, sweet cup of comfort?

As for Irish coffee—absolutely, yes. A divine creation. A marvel. A warm, spiced, intoxicating delight. But alas, I must confess…

I do not know what a hot toddy is.

I regret this lack of knowledge deeply. It wounds me. I feel as though I have failed in some intrinsic way. Please, someone, illuminate me—what is this mysterious concoction, and what am I missing?

Now.

Glorfindel. Intoxicated.

There are many stories. Many. But one in particular still lingers in my mind, for it was both chaotic and utterly perplexing.

We had been celebrating—what, precisely, I can no longer recall. A successful campaign? A festival? Simply a Tuesday that had gone on too long? In any case, there was wine. A great deal of wine. And Glorfindel, valiant and mighty warrior that he is, has… a rather enthusiastic approach to drinking.

And so, in due time, he was drunk. Very drunk. Disastrously drunk.

Which is how I found myself on the receiving end of a flurry of drunken flirtation.

“Lindir,” he said, swaying precariously, “has anyone ever told you your voice is like moonlight?”

I attempted to ignore him. This did not deter him.

“No, truly,” he insisted, “like moonlight in the form of sound. I think if I listen too long, I might weep from sheer beauty.”

And indeed, he did begin to weep.

At which point he declared he wished for a hug. From me.

Me. Lindir of Imladris.

I, of course, did not oblige. This was not the correct answer.

He was heartbroken. He lamented. He dramatically clutched his chest, as if struck by some terrible, unseen wound. He recited poetry in my honor.

It was, regrettably, very good poetry.

Elladan and Elrohir were both on the verge of collapse from laughter. Erestor had long since abandoned us, muttering something about not being paid enough for this. And Elrond…

Elrond merely took a long, weary sip of his wine and said, “This is your burden to bear now.”

And so I endured it. The poetry. The heartbreak. The unwavering need for a hug.

Eventually, he passed out. I had to personally ensure he made it to his chambers in one piece. And the next morning?

He remembered nothing.

I am so glad the golden menace isn't here on this interweb, dear Anon.