#i have a list of a handful to read already

[cuppajoel]

first fruit since winter

pairing: modern!acacius x reader

synopsis: You come out of the shower and apply lotion. Marcus wants to help.

w/c: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ (MDNI), unprotected pnv sex, established couple, slight (legal) age gap, v fingering, pet names, slight religious imagery, p pronouns, breeding kink?, size kink, rubbing?

a/n: my wip list is so fkn long but I cannot get this man out of my head. This is a continuation of the same universe as this fic.

If you’d like to hear more about these (almost) love birds/ more modern!acacius pls let me know and I can tag you next time. This is unbeta’d and barely proof read.

Read on AO3

Steam chases you from your en-suite bathroom. Smells of coconut and jasmine trailing closely behind. Your hair is bundled into a towel which is precariously balanced on your head, not helped by the jiggling as you brush your teeth.

There’s nothing that you enjoy more than coming home after the gym to use your own shower. The rainfall setting on the shower head acts as a masseuse and works out the knots on your back.

As always after a workout, your body is tired but your brain is playing pinball with all of the endless tasks that await you tomorrow. You thought a shower would wipe those out but to no avail.

A black, terry-cloth robe is tied loosely around your waist, creating a v between your breasts as you saunter into your closet. You pinch the silken material of your pyjamas between your fingers, holding your toothbrush steady in your mouth as you walk again through to your bedroom.

Without realising it, you're murmuring to yourself. It almost sounds melodic. The white foam around your mouth threatens to spill out from the sides as you set your pyjamas onto your bed before returning to the bathroom to wash it all away.

Marcus sits upright in your bed. Cheaters perched on the bridge of his beautiful nose as he glances at you over his paperback. It’s something historic, war-related. He allows the book to fall softly to his chest, his attention piqued as your return from the bathroom. Your robe has become more undone, exposing the full curves of your body and your hair is still damp, creating a slight chill on your neck.

He takes a deep, audible breath and then releases it. He enjoys watching you exist within your own space as if he wasn’t there. For so long, he had partners who relied on him for so many things that by the end of it, their personality faded to what they thought he wanted from them- but not you.

Your routine was impacted minimally from this new situation that you found yourself in. For the first time in your adult life, you had swapped keys with someone, allowing the other access to your homes.

Despite having shared every inch of each other's bodies, this was somehow the most intimate thing you think you’ve done with this man. Eyes catching in the mirror as you brush your teeth; ironing his shirt because you were ‘doing yours anyway’; a call from the other end of the apartment that there was a ‘band-aid emergency’. Domesticity had shown you the soul of this man and you were falling hard.

Over by your vanity, you retrieve a bottle of your coconut body oil. You undo the tie of your robe, which was already hanging by a thread, and allow it to slip off your shoulders to the floor below. You pump the oil into your hand, set the bottle back on the side, then rub your hands together, warming the liquid. Lifting your leg to the small stool in front of the vanity, you start at your ankles, rubbing deep, thorough circles up your calf, shin and then knee.

“If I could have a picture painted on the back of my eyelids forever, it would be this.”

You glance up at Marcus. The paperback is closed, to one side of his bedside table. His head is cocked as if trying to get a better view of what you’re doing. His smile is lazy, eyes hooded from a long day at work but there’s a spark in them that tells you that something’s about to explode.

The circling doesn’t falter as you pump more oil into your hands, beginning to knead your plush thighs. “Mmmmm, I’m sure there are a million other things you’d rather look at than me putting lotion on…” your idle hands continue.

Slowly, he pulls off his round-rimmed glasses, folds the arms inwards and places them alongside his book. He peels back the covers from the lower-half of his body, revealing the fact he’s wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, swings his legs out of bed and floats over to where you stand.

He picks up the bottle of body oil and waves it under his nose. Eyes fluttering, he knows this is one of the undertones of you. The coconut mixes so well with your warm muskiness which elicits a Pavlovian response in him. Marcus feels his cock twitch from the tight fabric he’s confined in. He hums, vocalising his appreciation for the smell before placing it back down, exactly where he found it.

“Can I help?” He looks down at your hands with pouty lips, then flits back up to your heavy-lidded gaze. Under the soft glow of the bedroom light, the oil makes your skin glimmer and shine. It almost makes it look wet.

Marcus prides himself on being a man of strong wills. Able to wait and savour the moments of anticipation that make the moments of pleasure even more heightened. But looking at you here, warm and slick, anticipating the feeling of you under his touch, is making his strength falter.

He tries to keep his mind on the here and now, but viewing you in all of your naked glory, Marcus’ mind begins to conjure up the most carnal of images as his cock becomes harder than stone.

Narrowing your eyes at the man towering above you, you remove your foot from the soft cushioning of the stool then gesture for him to sit on the vacant seat, which he does so obediently. His dark eyes somehow grow larger as you now stand above him, like he’s just been presented with a giant present to unwrap.

The size difference between your hand and Marcus’ is laughable, as you take his in yours, turning it so his palm faces the ceiling. Reaching behind him you pick the bottle up once more and pump the liquid into his palm. He cups his hand slightly, moving it so the oil doesn’t escape.

Neither of you move for a moment. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze as it roams across your full, heavy chest, down to the curve of your stomach and waist. Under his gaze you are a goddess; something to be revered and worshiped.

You grab both of his wrists and force his palms together. His eyes don’t drop from yours as he warms the oil in his praying hands. He is ready to sink to his knees at your alter. “There is no better sight than you.” His lips curl upwards, he hasn't moved from the position you manoeuvred him into.

Spinning, you present him with your back. Rolling your shoulders deeply, you try to keep your heart steady and your brain relaxed as his strong, wide fingers find the indents of your hips. “I feel like you may be a little biased, given I’m all naked and lubed up…” you chuckle, looking down at him from over your shoulder.

“I cannot do your beauty justice with words.” He starts, spreading his fingers wide and rounding them back and forth, kneading your cheeks. The movements he makes are not soft but also not punishing; calculated and steady. You can’t bare to look away from him, though his eyes follow his hands as they push and pull at your body.

“Every part of you surrounds me and fills up each of my senses so that I lose control…” he slowly moves his thumbs in circles until they reach the small of your back. He increases the pressure, knowing that you have trouble with that area.

“I see you, and I’m in awe.” His grip is unrelenting, he rises from the stool so that your back is to his chest. “When I touch you, my whole body burns.” He holds you as he pushes his hips forward, you can feel the warmth of his cock. A hum passes your lips and you can’t help but to push your slicked ass back into him.

A throaty moan turns into a chuckle as Marcus realises that you are just as ready for this as he is. His lips hover at your ear and you can feel him smile against you. “To smell you…” he inhales, the soft breath tickles the fine hairs on your neck and shoots goosebumps all down your arms which he smooths over with his oil-slicked palms before they settle on your rib cage.

“To hear you…” his hands travel further up, cupping your heavy breasts and squeezing them roughly, eliciting a sweet whine from your lips. The oil from his hands has all but depleted but with what’s left he spreads all over your tits, pushing and pulling with his calloused hands.

“Mmmfuuuuck” you allow your head to roll back onto his shoulder, your eyes fluttering closed as he twists and yanks at your hardened nipples, his breathing deepening.

“But d’you know what makes me lose it the most?” He rolls your nipples in between his thumb and fore fingers as the rest of his hands move the heft of your tits with his palms.

Your brain is still two moves behind him, nerve endings still firing off from the sensation of the body oil swirling under his relentless fingers.

A faint rumble at your back paired with stilled hands on your chest brings you back in the room. Marcus nips at your earlobe before soothing it with his hot mouth. Gently, he lets your punished bosom fall from his grasp as he turns you by the shoulders to face him.

Heavy-lidded, panting, and jaw-slacked is how Marcus finds you. He bites the inside of his cheeks, trying to hide how giddy your pliancy makes him. Lifting your chin with his knuckle, he ensures your gaze meets his and stays as he guides you backwards to the bed.

“What makes me lose it the most, the thing that taunts me every day when I’m sitting at my desk, daydreaming about coming home to you…” he lowers you to the pillowy softness of your comforter, hovering above you so that the tip of your noses are touching. “The thing that makes me run faster every morning?” Maintaining eye contact, you can feel him slowly walk his fingers from your kneecap up to the crease between your thigh and pussy.

Sucking in your cheeks, you bite down hard, trying to keep your breathing even. Marcus’ thick first digit swipes slowly up and down your drenched core spreading your wetness. “Fuuck, Marcus-“

“Ohhhhh, there she is.” He sucks in a deep breath as he adds his second finger rubbing slow, deep circles around your clit. “Tasting your sweet cunt is the first fruit since winter.” He pushes both fingers inside of you, his own eyes flickering closed as your tightness wraps around them. Marcus fucks his fingers in and out of you with careful precision, his honey-glazed eyes half open and staring deeply into yours.

Steadily, he slides his fingers from you. Leading a trail of wetness up your naked body, across your tummy, circling your poor nipples, before bringing them inches from your faces. His lips envelop his digits, a throaty rumble passing through him as you feel him rut his covered cock against your inner thigh.

Extending your neck, you lick at Marcus’ fingers and tongue, needing to know the taste of you in his mouth. He appeases you for a moment, licking a swirling his own tongue against both his fingers and grazing it past your own before it all becomes too much. “I need to be inside you.” He mumbles after removing his fingers from both your mouths.

Marcus shucks off his light grey briefs now stained a darker tone from his leaking cock. Holding himself up on a forearm, he takes length in his hand, pumping himself back and forth allowing his flushed tip to caress your clit, before notching himself at your entrance, pushing in half an inch.

Rapidly, he sucks in air through his teeth, trying so desperately to keep his eyes open and on you. “Your cunt is so greedy for me, sweetheart.” He dips his head to look at the point where your bodies are meeting.

He pushes in a little further, licking his lips as he does so. “Mmmmmfuck, look at us.” He brings himself out of you just to push forward again, only his tip inside. The wet sound of your soaked core bouncing off the walls, only highlighting how feral this man makes you.

Following his instruction, you brace yourself up onto your elbow, you look down to see Marcus’ thick, weeping cock tease in and out of you.

Surveying the toned roundness of his stomach, your man puts on a show for you. He allows the swollen crown of his dick to catch your opening, stretching you with the giant girth of his tip, only to pull out again.

It is obscenity at its finest. The heady sounds and smells of you both perfume the air, all with the sweetness of coconut oil.

At the same time, you look up, holding each other there in the moment. The older man pushes himself in, inch by aching inch as you wrap your legs around his waist and push down on his lower back, trying to feel him even deeper. Finally, he is seated within you, the burn of his stretch only adding to the carnal desire.

“You Goddess; you take me so fucking well.” Marcus’ head falls in the space beside yours, his breath hot and ragged as he stills his hips. You can feel yourself flutter and squeeze against his giant cock, willing him to move. He does, but only circles his hips, savouring the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him like a fist.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, the broad backed man takes pitty on you, pushing your left leg back and up over his shoulder as he starts his legato movements.

In all your years you have never been fucked in a way like this. College boys with the stamina of Olympians have nothing on the animalistic urge that you awaken in one another.

“Do you like it when I stretch you out?” Marcus’ deep timbre brings you back into the room as he licks at his lips. His eyes snake slowly from your own to the point where his giant cock is testing your limits and then back up again.

“Hmmm?” He goads, a smirk slowly developing as he feels you tighten around him over and over. “Feel us together, sweetheart. Feel how my cock stretches your tight little pussy.” He takes hold of your wrist and brings it down to the fusing point.

With a sly smirk of your own, you grab the base of his dick and slowly pump the part of him that can’t quite fit. A deep throaty moan rumbles from his chest as his deep eyes turn a darker espresso colour. “Fuck, you stretch me so much…keep going, please.” You can feel the faint twitch of his dick as you know you’re both not going to last long.

“You play with that swollen clit but don’t you dare come yet. I need to feel you squeeze around me as I’m filling you with my cum.” You should feel embarrassed as the type of moan that passes your lips, breathy and deep, but you don’t have the brain function to care. This man is fucking you dumb.

As any good soldier would, you follow your clear instructions from the man in charge as you roll your clit in quick, tight circles. “That’s it, my sweetness, you like the idea of me filling you right up don’t you?” His thrusts become faster and deeper. The leg that was up on his shoulder, now fallen slightly but hooked over his back as his relentlessness never falters.

Marcus smiles down at you, his bright pearly whites unable to be hidden as he peers directly into your soul. Slowly, he brings his lips down to yours, your body almost folded in on itself as he fucks up into you.

The warm heat of his tongue glides and smooths against your own as you hear him moan into you which is the thing you both need to push you off the edge.

Your tongues become sloppy but never still as you feel his cock jerk inside of you, filling you in the way that you need him to.

The sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears as you both continue microscopic movements of your hips, only prolonging your highs as the hormones rush through your bodies.

Marcus throws his broadness and takes you with him as he rolls onto his back and manoeuvres so that you straddle him.

Too exhausted to sit up, you press yourself to him, chest to chest. The deep thudding of his heart brings you both back down to earth.

After a while of soft touches and lingering kisses, Marcus can hear your breathing even out, a whisper of a snore coming from you. He presses a kiss to your, nearly dry, hair. “I’m falling in love with you…” he whispers to the otherwise silent room. The confession that will be heard on another day.

Np tags:

@guiltyasdave , @baronessvonglitter , @mandaloriankait , @ohhoneypascal , @gothcsz , @iknowisoundcrazy, @stellamarielu

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ sammy

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ the first time you call him sammy.

𖤐 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ i had this idea bc ik he hates it when ppl call him that — except dean sometimes. but the other day i was real sad, and i just want a sam to treat me soft yk. anyways hopefully u all like it 🤧 sammy is such a cutie name tho

𖤐 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ fluff. crying reader, reasons not specified. hurt/comfort, emphasis on the comfort. sam-centric. gender-neutral reader. can be read as modern reader in spn, or not. isn’t season specific, but written with earlier seasons in mind. probably ooc.  2.1k words.

   ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

The first time you call him Sammy, he hates it. He hates it because he hates the way it sounds. It's ringing in his ears. The way it comes off your tongue is putrid and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It’s unexpected and it has him gapping. He hates it the most, though, because you’re crying.  

There’s a laundry list of reasons why he hates it. But none of those reasons have anything to do with you. Even then, you’ve never slipped up, never even come close to saying it. Maybe you’ve thought about it, maybe you haven’t — Sam isn’t a mind reader. But he’s pretty sure you know he doesn’t like it. You’ve heard him shut others down before, made it clear it was off-limits. Whether or not you ever wondered why never really crossed his mind. It could be that you’re just understanding. You’re always patient with him, always respectful. It wouldn’t surprise him, though, if you already knew.

It’s in the way you glance at him whenever someone else says it, some stranger who doesn’t know better. The way your eyes flick to his, gauging his reaction, but you never ask. Never push. Never assume you have the right. It’s like you already get it — that to him, Sammy is a chubby twelve year old with too big eyes and an even bigger heart, a kid who still believed in things before the world beat it out of him. Sammy is powerless. Sammy is soft. And Sam has spent his whole damn life trying to be anything but.

Dean gets away with it — most of the time. Some days, it doesn’t sting as much. Other days, it makes his skin crawl. But you? You never try. Never tested the boundaries of what he’ll allow, like it’s some kind of game. You call him Sam. Just Sam. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, that doesn’t matter right now because you’re crying. Because you’re hurting so much that it’s spilling out of you, raw and unfiltered, past your lips in desperation. And Sam knows — knows you’d never call him that on purpose, never say it just to get under his skin. You know how much it bothers him. But right now? He can’t bring himself to care. Because how could he, when your voice is shaking, when your hands are trembling, when whatever pain you’re carrying is heavy enough to make you forget something so simple? He wouldn’t be mad at you — not really. He actually doesn’t think he could ever be mad at you. Especially not when you’re looking at him like that, like you need him to be steady, to be something solid when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.  So he swallows whatever flicker of irritation tries to rise in his chest and focuses on what actually matters. You. 

You, who’s crying. You're crying and you won’t stop. It’s the kind of crying that shakes your whole body, that makes your breaths come out in sharp, broken gasps. And Sam doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t ever seen you cry like this before. Maybe a quiet sniffle, or a small tear you’d quickly wipe away when you thought no one was looking — but never this.

He hadn’t expected this when he came back to the motel room. Dean had dropped him off before heading out to the bar down the street. It's the usual thing he does to celebrate another successful case. While Sam would’ve loved to join, he really didn’t. You were here and Sam could never stay away from you for too long. All Sam wanted to do was be with you and go to bed. 

But he hears it the minute he walks up to the door. It's muffled through the walls and the wood, but he can hear it clear enough. The sounds of heartbreaking cries and Sam grows frantic.  He’s quick to get the key in the door to unlock it. And no sooner does he do so, as he pushes it open, he finds you. He finds you sitting on one of the beds — at this point he isn’t sure which one it is and he doesn’t think you do either. Neither of you actually care, because that isn’t the concern. 

The sight before him is, and it breaks his heart. But he rushes in; fast and swift. The door shuts behind him with a clunk, and he sees you jolt. And all Sam can think to do is gather you up in his arms.  Because Sam isn’t some heartless freak that would close the door and walk away. His brain is too frazzled to think about anything else. He needs to hold you. He needs to calm you down. The tears streaming down your face tell him that you've been crying for hours. And just a little, it makes him sick, thinking that you’ve been upset for that long. 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your face buried in his shoulder like you’re trying to disappear into him. And all Sam can do is hold you. His arms wrapping around you so carefully, so gently, as if he’s afraid you’ll break apart completely if he isn’t careful — like you're fragile. 

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers softly. “I'm here.” He soothes as he holds you. “Just breathe f’me, okay?” His voice is steady, even if everything else isn’t. You’re wrapped up in him, as your body trembles. It's not just from your crying. No, it’s one of those involuntary shudders. He cradles the back of your head with his hand, helping you press yourself further into him. It’s almost as if he's shielding you as you hide away from everything. And while Sam might not know what that everything is, he’ll find it and make sure it never bothers you again. 

And that’s when he hears it. It’s muffled against the fabric of his flannel, and just low enough that he would’ve missed it. But he can’t. Because you’ve kept repeating his name through your broken sobs. It’s rapid before it slows. You say his name like you're trying to convince him of some urgency without having to say anything else. And then he realizes that you aren’t just saying his name by the time you start teetering on the edge of calming down. You hiccup and sniffle, and he can feel the heat of your tears against his neck.

The world around him seemed to fade and the sound of the highway outside dulled to nothing. He freezes for a brief moment, his breath hitched as those syllables hit his ears. So soft but shattered — fragile and so, so heavy. It was gut wrenching, and the way you had said it was different. It was different then he’d ever heard it before. Dean said it with familiarity, obviously — sometimes teasing, sometimes sharp, sometimes warm, sometimes just to mess with him. But you? It wasn’t just his name anymore. It was everything you had been feeling. All the hurt and exhaustion and desperation bundled into those two syllables — and he feels that flicker of irritation in his chest shift.

That irritation changes into something intense and unhinged. It burns in his lungs and coils around his heart. He felt cheated, robbed of something precious — because he had always wondered how it would have sounded had it ever left your mouth. Because he trusts you so much that he’d imagine it plenty of times. He imagined it sultry and light, full of love and care. The way you’d look at him like he hung the moon and stars. He pictured the way your lips would curve around the syllables, how the name would dance from your tongue and into his ears. And even if Sam thinks he doesn’t deserve it, amongst all the things that haunt and plague his mind; he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he had ever heard it like that, it would’ve healed something in him.

But now, in contrast to everything else, the name began to taste like salt and sorrow. 

You don’t really say anything else after that and it's clear that you don’t really know what to do next either. All you do is try and sink deeper into him, and Sam lets you. He’s patient as your breathing slowly begins to even out as he lets his warmth encase you. Your head lays so lazily against his shoulder, as does your body against his — so defeated, so worn out. And Sam feels just a bit guilty the moment he pulls away and your face is forced to emerge. 

He watches as your lip trembles as you take deep breaths. And a soft, small whimper nearly escapes your throat before he's pressing sweet kisses into your skin. It doesn’t matter where they land, whether it’s your cheek or your nose, he’s peppering you with enough kisses before you could even think about working yourself up again.

“Hey hey hey,” he coos and frowns slightly at your tear stricken face.  “It’s okay, honey. I got you.” 

He studies your face as you look at him, your cheek squishing and settling into his cupped hand. You just look so tired. He moves to smooth the hair away from your face and comes to the decision that he can’t just leave you like this. To leave you with dry tear tracks along your face and to wake up feeling miserable. No, he can’t have that. As gentle and loving as Sam can, he presses a kiss to your forehead and gingerly uses his thumbs to wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks. 

He’ll suggest ever so lightly to get you cleaned up. He murmurs it ever so tender, afraid of uttering any words too loud. And you don’t argue. You don’t wave him off — you don’t have the strength to. Instead you nod weakly and follow his lead as he sits you up. He moves fast, grabbing a washcloth that isn’t too far away in the bathroom and dampens it before dabbing at your cheeks. In fact, he wipes down your whole face so that there isn’t even a trace of your cries left. He moves more of your hair out of your face, the small strands of hair that were either dampened from your tears or the cloth, he isn’t sure. 

But his hands are steady. Sam is pretty sure that his hands have never been this steady in all his life. They’re precise and patient, soft in a way that is only reserved for you. And when you look up at him — with a small sad thankful smile and red rimmed eyes — he’ll just smile back reassuringly, pressing yet another kiss to your temple.  

He’ll ask if it's all better, and you’ll nod. You do seem much better now — calmer, more still — which Sam is glad for. And soon enough, the two of you are tucked tight beneath his covers, the warmth settling over you like a heavy, quiet comfort. You latch onto him immediately, burying your face as deep as you can into his chest, like you’re trying to disappear into the space between his ribs. Your grip on him, however, is no longer desperate but something softer, something lingering. His arms settle around you instinctively, holding you close. The slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing seems to lull you, your body finally relaxing against his. It’s peaceful. Almost perfect.

Though, a small ‘..ank you, ..ammy’ is murmured. The words drowsy, barely forming — melting into the warmth of him as sleep drags you under.

Sam tenses for half a second and his chest tightens briefly. But in the next moment, he isn’t paying it any mind. He doesn’t need to dwell on it. Instead, he just holds you tighter; pressing his lips to the crown of your head, lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him, and exhales.

He wonders if you’ll remember in the morning — if you’ll realize what you said, if you’ll apologize for it, or if you won’t even think twice. He thinks about if you’ll say it again. Because, yeah, he feels extremely robbed. The thought gnaws at him. It's like it's been tainted with something new and he’s almost eager for it to not be. And maybe it won’t be tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but eventually. Because somewhere, deep in that big, smart, dummy brain he has, he knows that you will say it again. And when you do, it’ll be soft, bright, and full of something that only he could wish for. 

He can already hear it. He can already imagine the way his nickname will sound when it’s spoken by you not through exhaustion or desperation, but through delight. And it’s already music to his ears. Because maybe — just maybe — being called Sammy wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if it’s coming from you.

𖤐 .ᐟ i feel like i rushed the end, but its literally 2 am and im tiredd.  anyways,, tysm for the likes, reblogs, and support i love writing these little stories for u all  ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

[kckt88]

Imzadi I

Summary:

When Aemond presents as the first Alpha Prime in generations, Rhaenyra’s already fragile claim to the Iron Throne is thrown into uncertainty.

But everything shifts when her daughter, Lucaera, experiences a shocking awakening of her own.

Bound by fate and instinct, an unbreakable bond forms between two—one that could either unite the realm or destroy it.

As the fires of war begin to smoulder, Lucaera must make an impossible choice: her mother’s crown or her mate’s life.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Language, Uncle/Niece Incest, Kissing, Oral Sex, Fingering, Loss of Virginity, P in V, Knotting, Mating Bites, Blood, & Others to be Added.

AEMOND x O.C NIECE

ALPHA/BETA/OMEGA DYNAMIC

Word Count: 6023

A.N - 'Imzadi - Beloved'

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, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @zenka69 @aemondsbabygirl

Rhaenyra stood in the brisk sea breeze of Dragonstone, her silver hair catching the light of the setting sun. In her hands was the letter. The words within had turned her blood cold.

Daemon loomed beside her, with his arms crossed, his violet eyes scanned her face as she read the missive again, her brow furrowed in a mix of concern and indignation.

“It’s true,” she said, finally lowering the letter. Her voice was quiet but tense. “Aemond has presented. An Alpha Prime.”

Daemon scoffed, a smile playing on his lips. “A late presentation means nothing. You are Viserys’s heir. Named and declared before the realm. He cannot overturn that for the whim of nature.”

“-But you don’t understand, Daemon,” Rhaenyra pressed, her voice rising with the urgency of her thoughts. “The last Alpha Prime was Aegon the Conqueror himself and none since. Until Aemond-” She clenched the parchment tightly, her knuckles pale. “He’ll have the realm’s attention. A claim they may find more compelling than mine own”

Daemon stepped closer, his hands gripping her shoulders, firm yet comforting. “Viserys would not forsake you. He has stood by his word for years, through every challenge and every whisper against your claim. Your brother presenting as an Alpha Prime changes nothing”

“Doesn’t it?” Rhaenyra whispered, her gaze distant as she looked out at the waves. “The realm craves strength and stability. They’ll see Aemond’s presentation as a sign—a divine confirmation from the gods that he is the rightful heir” She shook her head. “He is the first Alpha Prime in generations, Daemon. His claim will overshadow mine.”

Daemon’s hands slipped down to take hers, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, Rhaenyra. Aemond’s presentation does not make him Aegon the Conqueror, no matter how the realm chooses to fawn over him. And your father—our King—is not so foolish as to believe it does”.

Rhaenyra frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. “But what of the lords of the realm? They’ll rally to Aemond if they see fit. My being named heir will mean little if they reject me.”

Daemon smirked, his grip on her hands tightening slightly. “Then we remind them what true Targaryen strength looks like. Let the realm see your fire, Rhaenyra. Let them see that Aemond may roar, but your flame burns brighter.”

Rhaenyra looked down at the letter one last time. Aemond’s transformation from an awkward, second son into an Alpha Prime had already sent ripples through the court, and she knew those ripples could soon become waves crashing against her claim to the Iron Throne.

Lucaera slid down from Vermithor’s saddle, her boots landing lightly on the cold stone floor of the cavern.

Her gloved hand brushed along the dragon’s massive bronze-scaled neck, her touch lingering as she whispered, “Kirimvose, Vermitōs.” (Thank you Vermithor).

The bronze dragon rumbled deeply, his golden eyes half-closing as he leaned into her hand, his affection unmistakable. She smiled softly, feeling the warmth radiating from his immense form.

With a final croon, Vermithor turned and lumbered off into the shadowy depths of his cavern, the echoes of his heavy steps fading as he disappeared.

Lucaera pulled off her riding gloves as she ascended the winding stone staircase that led to the hall of Dragonstone.

The air grew warmer as she entered, and her gaze immediately caught on her mother, Rhaenyra, standing by the hearth, deep in conversation with Daemon.

Their expressions were heavy with concern, their voices low but urgent. Lucaera frowned as she stepped closer, slipping her gloves into her belt.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice cutting through the tension. “You both look like the world’s about to end.”

Rhaenyra turned, her face pale, her lips pressed together as if weighing her words. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “Aemond has presented. As an Alpha Prime.”

Lucaera’s stomach twisted, the weight of those words sinking in immediately. Her eyes darted between her mother and Daemon. “An Alpha Prime? What does this mean for your claim?”

“Nothing,” Daemon said sharply, stepping forward, his tone firm and unyielding. “Viserys named your mother his heir. That is the way it will stay.”

But Lucaera wasn’t convinced. “I might be young, but I’m no fool,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “Like it or not, Aemond now has a claim to the Iron Throne. He’s the first Alpha Prime since Aegon the Conqueror. The lords of the realm won’t just ignore  that.”

Rhaenyra sighed, her shoulders slumping as she looked away. “What can I do?” she murmured. “Hope that my father remains steadfast in his decision? That he does not waver?”

“Mother-” Lucaera said, shaking her head firmly. She stepped closer, her voice insistent. “-You cannot hide away here on Dragonstone, hoping this will blow over. You need to act-”

Daemon crossed his arms, a glimmer of approval in his eyes as he looked at Lucaera. “She’s right,” he said. “Otto Hightower is no doubt already whispering in Viserys’s ear, pressing Aemond’s claim. We must make for King’s Landing immediately-”

Rhaenyra hesitated, her gaze flickering between them. “And what choice do I have?”

“To King’s Landing, then,” Daemon interrupted, his voice cutting through hers with sharp finality.

Rhaenyra nodded at last, a reluctant resolve settling over her. “Very well,” she said. “We leave at first light.”

Lucaera found her twin brother, Lucerys, and their older brother, Jacaerys, sitting together in Jace’s chambers.

The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of several candles, their flames casting a faint, flickering light over the boys.

Jace sat by the hearth, a book in his hands, while Luke leaned casually against the edge of the bed, toying with a dragon-shaped carving.

As Lucaera stepped inside, she paused, a strange wave of heat flushing through her body. She felt uncomfortably warm under her riding leathers, and for a moment, the air in the room seemed too thick, too heavy.

Dismissing the sensation, she squared her shoulders and addressed them.

“We’re leaving for King’s Landing at first light,” she announced.

Jace looked up sharply, his brow furrowing. “Why?”

Lucaera hesitated, the words catching in her throat for a moment before she managed, “Aemond has presented. As an Alpha Prime.”

Jace’s book fell to his lap, forgotten. “You’re joking,” he said, his voice incredulous.

“I wish I was-” Lucaera replied, shaking her head. “It seems the news arrived earlier-”

Luke straightened, his earlier playfulness replaced by seriousness. “Does Mother intend to fight for her claim?”

“Yes-” Lucaera said, her tone firm. “That’s why we’re going to King’s Landing”

Jace leaned back, exhaling heavily. “An Alpha Prime, though-” he murmured, his eyes clouding with worry.

“The only thing that could potentially weaken Aemond’s presentation,” Luke said, his voice soft but deliberate, “-Is an Omega”

Lucaera scoffed, the sound harsher than she intended. “There hasn’t been an Omega since the Conqueror’s sister-wife, Queen Rhaenys. It’s unlikely one will present itself now.”

Luke shrugged lightly. “You never know.”

Lucaera laughed “I do enjoy your enthusiasm, brother, but if an Omega was going to present, it would’ve happened long before now. The only thing we can do is stick together and support Mother as best we can-”

Luke sighed, his earlier confidence fading. “I guess you’re right.”

Lucaera grinned, though her face felt unusually hot. “When are you going to learn, brother? I’m always right.”

Jace chuckled, his laughter breaking some of the tension. “Really? Always?”

“Most of the time,” Lucaera quipped, sticking her tongue out at him.

But then- a faint scent drifted through the air, sharp and clear, cutting through the warm, candlelit room.

Rainwater—fresh and clean—filled her senses, and then another smell, equally vivid: seawater, salty and bracing.

Lucaera blinked, her head tilting slightly as she turned toward her brothers.

Her heart skipped a beat. They were Alpha scents, coming from Jace and Luke. But that was impossible. She was a Beta—she shouldn’t be able to detect their scents, not like this.

“Are you ok Lucy?” Luke’s voice cut through her thoughts, his tone laced with concern.

Lucaera waved a hand over her face, feeling faint. Her stomach cramped, a dull, insistent ache, and sweat gathered on her brow.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” she asked, tugging at the collar of her riding leathers.

Jace frowned, studying her. “It’s just you-”

Lucaera shook her head slightly “I’ll say goodnight, brothers-” then she quickly, retreated from the room. “We’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

She walked briskly down the dim corridor, her steps echoing against the stone walls. Her body felt strange—too warm, her head light, and her senses sharper than they should have been.

By the time she reached her chambers, her skin was damp with sweat. Pulling off the outer layer of her leathers, she tried to steady her breathing.

The sensation didn’t ease. Her stomach cramped again, and her skin prickled uncomfortably. Opening the balcony doors, she stepped outside, letting the cool sea air wash over her.

It helped, but not as much as she’d hoped. She placed a hand on her forehead and frowned. Her skin was still clammy, and her heart was racing.

How strange, she thought, closing her eyes as she leaned against the railing.

The sharp scents of rainwater and seawater still lingered faintly in her mind. I shouldn’t be able to smell them like that. Not as a Beta.

A flicker of unease sparked in her chest. Was she falling ill? The timing couldn’t have been worse. The trip to King’s Landing demanded all her strength and focus, and she couldn’t afford to falter.

Shaking off her worries, she stepped back into her chambers, closing the balcony doors behind her.

Whatever this was, it would have to wait.

Steeling herself, Lucaera inhaled deeply, the salty air doing little to calm the growing unease. No matter what this is, she resolved, I need to be steadfast in my support of the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

The next morning, Lucaera pulled on her riding leathers once more, her fingers fumbling slightly with the buckles.

She still didn’t feel quite right—a light sheen of sweat clung to her forehead despite the cool morning air filtering through her chamber window. Her body felt too warm, her skin prickling with an unfamiliar heat.

They were supposed to sail to King’s Landing, but the thought of being cooped up below decks for the journey made her stomach twist. She needed the open sky, the wind against her face—she needed to fly.

Leaving her chambers, she made her way down the winding stone steps, descending into the caverns where Vermithor awaited.

The deep, rhythmic sound of his breathing filled the vast space, and as she approached, his massive bronze head turned toward her. His golden eyes gleamed in the dim light, and he rumbled a low greeting.

Lucaera climbed into the saddle and took a deep, shuddering breath, gripping the reins tightly. Through their bond, Vermithor sensed her unease, his body shifting slightly beneath her as he trilled with concern.

"Lykirī, Vermitōs. Iksan sȳz." (Be calm, I'm fine).

But even as she said it, she wasn’t truly certain of the words herself. She exhaled slowly, steadying her grip before tugging on the reins.

"Sōves, Vermitōs." (Fly, Vermithor).

Her bronze fury lumbered forward, his claws scraping against the stone floor as he made his way toward the cavern entrance.

Then, with a powerful leap, he soared into the sky, his colossal wings unfurling as they caught the wind.

The cool breeze battered against Lucaera’s face, offering momentary relief from the heat still radiating from her skin.

Vermithor cooed again, his concern pressing against her through their bond, but she pushed on.

The sea stretched out beneath them, endless and vast, and as they flew, she finally spotted the ship carrying her mother, Daemon, and her brothers.

The red-and-black sail billowed in the wind, unmistakable against the deep blue of the water.

Lucaera urged Vermithor to fly ahead, guiding him lower so that his wings skimmed the waves, sending up sprays of water with each powerful stroke.

As they soared, her thoughts drifted—to Aemond.

She hadn’t seen him since that night on Driftmark. He had been just a boy then, still young in his years, but bold enough to claim Vhagar, the mightiest of all living dragons. And for it, he lost his eye.

Her own twin, Lucerys, had carved it from his skull.

The fight that followed, the chaos, the anger—it had only widened the chasm between their family.

Lucaera had felt bad for Aemond then, for what had happened to him. He had just as much right to claim Vhagar as Rhaena did.

Dragons were not possessions to be passed down like heirlooms; they were creatures of their own will. Vhagar had chosen Aemond that night. She had seen something in him—something worthy—and she had claimed him just as much as he had claimed her.

Of course, he had been an arrogant arse about it afterward. The cruel words exchanged between them had never needed to be said. But still, he hadn’t deserved to lose his eye.

Even now, sometimes, she could still hear his screams of pain. The wet sound of the blade meeting flesh. The blood pouring down his face.

Lucerys hadn’t meant to do it. But he had done it all the same.

And now, Lucaera wondered what kind of man Aemond had become—especially now that he had presented as an Alpha Prime.

She spent the entire flight lost in her own mind, her thoughts tangled with past and present, until at last, the distant outline of King’s Landing came into view.

The city rose up before her, the great walls and towers of the Red Keep looming over the bustling streets.

Vermithor released a booming roar, announcing their arrival to all of King’s Landing.

As he circled the Red Keep, his massive shadow stretched over the rooftops, the smallfolk below pausing in their daily routines to look up in awe.

Some even waved, recognizing the great bronze beast that once bonded to the Old King Jaehaerys.

Then, from beyond the walls of the Red Keep, came a response.

A roar—louder and deeper.

Vhagar.

The descent into the training yard felt like a return to another life for Jace, Lucaera, and Luke.

The sound of clashing steel and the occasional bark of orders from knights filled the familiar air of the Red Keep, tinged with memories both sweet and bitter.

Jace led the way, his energy palpable as he bounded ahead. “Come on,” he called, his grin wide as he turned back to them. “It’s just like old times.”

Lucaera trailed behind, her steps measured. She still didn’t feel quite herself, the heat simmering under her skin.

Luke walked beside her, his eyes darting nervously to the bustling yard below.

Jace reached a spot on the wall near the yard’s edge and placed a hand on it triumphantly. “See? Told you this would still be here.” He pointed to a small dent in the stone. “You said I couldn’t swing Criston’s morning star but look—I left my mark.”

Lucaera smirked despite herself, raising a brow. “You almost took your own head off.”

Luke chuckled softly at the memory, but his gaze remained wary as he stayed near a chest of weapons, his shoulders tense. “They’re all watching us,” he muttered.

Lucaera ruffled his hair, trying to lighten his mood. “Relax, Luke. They’ve nothing better to do.”

But even she couldn’t ignore the whispers, and the stares from knights, squires, and lords alike.

The murmurs grew louder, and her irritation boiled over. She turned sharply to an older couple whose gossip had grown particularly bold. “Surely there are more important things to whisper about!”

The nobles paled, hurriedly retreating from the yard.

“Lucy-” Jace said, grabbing her arm gently. “What’s your problem?”

Before she could answer, Luke spoke up, his voice quiet. “They’re questioning us. Our legitimacy.”

Jace shrugged, his tone dismissive. “Let them. It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” Luke said, looking down. “It would be easier if we all looked more like Ser Laenor. And less like—” He hesitated, barely above a whisper. “-Harwin Strong.”

Lucaera’s jaw tightened, but she kept her voice steady. “It doesn’t matter what they think. Isn’t that what Mother always tells us?”

Luke nodded reluctantly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease.

Before the conversation could continue, the sharp crack of wood splintering and the roar of an approving crowd drew their attention.

The three of them pushed toward the source of the commotion, weaving through the gathered spectators until they reached the front.

In the centre of the ring stood Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston Cole.

Lucaera’s breath caught the moment her eyes landed on him.

He moved with deadly precision, his tall, lean frame shifting effortlessly as he dodged Criston’s brutal swings.

His long silver hair, damp with sweat, caught the sunlight, giving him an almost ethereal glow. Every movement he made was deliberate, graceful, and powerful.

And then she caught his scent—ash and leather, faint but unmistakable. It hit her like a wave, a heady, intoxicating combination that made her head spin.

Her cheeks flushed, heat pooling low in her stomach as her fingers trembled.

Criston’s morning star came crashing down, shattering Aemond’s shield into splinters, but Aemond didn’t falter.

With fluid grace, he sidestepped the attack and brought his sword to Criston’s chest, the sparring match won.

The crowd erupted in applause, but Lucaera barely noticed. The heat under her skin flared, her heart pounding in her chest as her violet eyes stayed fixed on Aemond.

She felt hot—too hot—her breathing shallow as she fought to steady herself.

Criston, breathing heavily, dropped his weapon and inclined his head respectfully. “Well done, my Prince. You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

Aemond smirked, twirling his blade lazily. “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” His voice carried, laced with disdain.

As his gaze swept the crowd, his sharp eyes landed on Jace and Luke—and then Lucaera.

“Nephews,” Aemond called, his tone sharp with challenge. “Have you come to train?”

But then something else caught his attention. His nostrils flared as a scent unlike any he had ever known washed over him.

It was intoxicating—sweet and warm, like ripe apples and cinnamon, heady and irresistible.

The Alpha Prime within him roared to life, its possessiveness surging to the surface. Aemond’s focus shifted entirely, his instincts sharpening as he sniffed the air.

The source of the scent became unmistakable: Lucaera.

His eye locked on her, and his entire body tensed.

Mine.

The thought was instant, primal, undeniable. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as his Alpha snarled, the presence of her two bastard brothers near her fuelling his growing rage.

They stood too close. Far too close.

Without realizing it, Aemond stepped forward, his movements deliberate and predatory. He couldn’t stop himself, the scent driving him mad.

She was flushed, her violet eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted as though she, too, felt the pull between them.

Lucaera staggered, her breath coming in rapid gasps as the heat within her became unbearable. Her knees weakened, and she swayed.

“L-Lucy?” Luke’s voice was filled with alarm as he reached for her arm.

Aemond growled low, a sound only he could hear, as his Alpha bristled at the boy’s touch.

Before anyone could react, Lucaera’s eyes rolled back, and she collapsed.

The yard fell silent.

Lucaera stirred slowly, her vision blurry, the voices around her a jumble of hushed whispers.

As the world came into focus, she realized she was surrounded—Jace, Luke, and several others crowded close, their expressions painted with concern.

Her insides twisted violently, a sharp pain shooting through her stomach, making her flinch. Her head throbbed, and her skin felt ablaze.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms, ignoring the dampness between her legs that only added to her mortification.

“Lucy?” Luke’s gentle voice broke through the haze as he knelt beside her. His hand reached out, brushing against hers in reassurance.

She recoiled instantly, bile rising in her throat as his scent overwhelmed her.

The sharp tang of his Alpha scent was suffocating, wrong. She whimpered, shaking her head, and then Jace’s scent hit her next—just as unwelcome, just as wrong.

“Lucy?” Luke tried again, his voice tinged with worry.

“I-I need to leave,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “I can’t—”

But then it came.

The scent.

Leather and Ash. It cut through the chaos like a lifeline. Her gaze darted to the source.

Aemond.

He stood nearby, his face unreadable, but his eye never wavered as it locked onto her. His presence sent a strange calm rippling through her, even as her body burned hotter. She needed—no, she craved—something.

Him.

She shakily got to her feet, barely aware of the wetness between her thighs, or the way her legs trembled beneath her. She had to leave. She needed to escape this suffocating chaos.

Jace stepped forward, his hand steadying her arm. She shrank back instantly, the touch unbearable. “No,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “Don’t—”

“Lucaera, you don’t look well,” Luke said, his voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, harsher than she intended.

Jace frowned, his worry deepening. “Should I escort you back to your chambers?”

“No!” The word burst from her lips before she could stop it, her chest heaving as panic clawed at her.

He isn’t the right Alpha.

She took a shaky step back, shaking her head. “N-no, I can make my own way there.”

“Are you sure?” Jace pressed, his brows furrowed.

“Yes,” she said quickly, her voice strained. “I just need to lie down. Nothing t-to worry about.”

Another wave of pain tore through her, and she whimpered despite herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aemond take a step forward, his expression tense.

But when she instinctively stepped back, he froze, his jaw tightening.

The training yard seemed to close in on her, the oppressive scents of other Alphas crowding her senses.

It was too much. The whispers, the heat, the cloying mix of leather, steel, and sweat—all of it sent her spiralling into fear.

“I’m fine,” she managed, holding up a trembling hand to stop Luke from following.

He exchanged a worried look with Jace, but they reluctantly stepped back.

Lucaera turned and fled, her steps unsteady as she made her way toward her chambers. She clutched her stomach, her breath coming in ragged gasps as another wave of pain seized her.

Lucaera could barely think, barely breathe. The pain was unbearable, as though her very bones were being shattered and reformed at once.

Every nerve in her body burned, her skin felt too tight, too hot. Her smallclothes were drenched, her thighs slick with something she could not control.

She whimpered as she slid down the cold stone wall, her body trembling violently.

The world spun, colours blurring, and then—the scents.

A wave of them crashed into her, suffocating, cloying. Too many. Too much.

Some were sharp and metallic. Others musky and thick with dominance.

Wrong. All wrong.

Something inside her was crying out, desperate, pleading. Help. Please.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Then—leather and ash.

The scent curled around her like smoke, soothing and possessive, an anchor in the storm. It seeped into her senses, and her body responded instantly, muscles loosening, mind clearing just enough to open her eyes.

And there he was.

Aemond stood over her, his single violet eye burning with something unreadable. His sharp, angular features were set in a strange mix of concern and hunger.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stared down at her, his chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths.

Her lips parted, her voice weak, broken.

“P-please-Qyybor” she gasped. “-Help me” (Uncle).

Aemond didn’t hesitate.

In a swift motion, he knelt and gathered her into his arms. She melted into him at once, her body instinctively curling into his, her face pressing into his throat.

Yes. This. This was right.

His scent wrapped around her, leather, and ash, something uniquely Aemond, and it sent a shudder through her that was equal parts relief and something far more dangerous.

He carried her with ease, kicking the door to her chambers open before stepping inside, shutting it behind him with finality.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them, her ragged breaths, and the deep, steady rhythm of his.

Aemond lowered her onto the bed, moving with surprising gentleness. He hesitated only for a moment before leaning down, his face close to hers.

She stared up at him, violet eyes wide and pleading, her body trembling.

Then he inhaled.

A deep, slow breath, his nose brushing against the delicate skin of her throat.

Aemond growled. A low, primal sound that sent a violent shiver through her. His fingers flexed against the sheets as if restraining himself, his eye blown wide.

His lips parted, voice thick with something raw, something primal.

“You’re an Omega?”

Lucaera stared up at Aemond, her breathing shallow, her body trembling. His words echoed in her ears, ringing louder than the thunder of her racing heart.

“An Omega?” she whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. “No, I—I can’t be. I’m a Beta.”

Aemond’s eye didn’t waver, his expression firm but laced with something deeper—something raw and primal. “You’re an Omega,” he said again, his voice low and steady.

“No,” Lucaera protested, her voice rising in panic. “No, you’re mistaken. There hasn’t been an Omega since Queen Rhaenys, and—and it’s not possible! I can’t—”

Aemond leaned closer, his gaze piercing as he cut her off. “There’s no mistake. I can scent it-”

Her protests caught in her throat, her words evaporating into the thick tension that hung between them. She was about to speak again, to deny it further, but then it hit her.

A wave of heat surged through her, molten and unbearable, pooling in her core. The wetness between her legs increased, soaking her undergarments, and a broken whimper escaped her lips.

Aemond reeled back suddenly, his jaw clenching as if he were physically restraining himself. “I shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice strained. “This isn’t proper. I’ll—” He faltered, his hands shaking as he gestured toward the door. “I’ll go get Jace, or someone else—”

“NO!” Lucaera cried out, her voice trembling and tearful. She reached out, grabbing his wrist. “No, not Jace. Not anyone else. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong.”

“Lucaera” mumbled Aemond.

Her violet eyes, filled with desperation and something else, locked onto his. “It’s you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I need you.”

Aemond stood frozen, his entire body taut with restraint. The sweet, cloying scent of apples and cinnamon had invaded his senses, seeping into his very bones.

It was intoxicating— stronger than reason. It curled around him, wrapping tight like a vice, sinking its claws into the deepest, most primal part of him.

A newly presented Omega in her first heat.

His fingers twitched, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to stay rooted where he was.

Every instinct—every roaring demand of the Alpha Prime inside him—screamed at him to move, to take, to claim.

Lucaera whimpered, shifting restlessly on the bed, her body wracked with tremors. Her flushed skin glowed in the dim candlelight, her pupils wide and glassy with heat. She smelled so sweet, so utterly perfect.

She was his.

No.

Aemond clenched his jaw, his nails biting into his palms. His body burned with the effort to resist, his muscles locking in place. He should leave. He should run before it was too late.

But then—

“Please, Alpha,” Lucaera whispered.

Aemond groaned, his head snapping to the side as if he could physically tear himself away from her, but the damage was done.

That word—Alpha—had shattered the fragile thread of restraint he had left.

His breathing turned ragged, his hands shaking. His entire body hurt with the need to touch, to hold, to mark. He shouldn’t. He knew that.

But the scent of her—clouded his thoughts, dissolving every rational argument in his head.

Lucaera whimpered again, arching slightly, her body begging for relief. The heat inside her was unbearable.

Aemond took a slow, deliberate step forward.

He loomed over her, his eye dark with an emotion he didn’t dare name. His breath came heavy, his nostrils flaring as he lowered himself closer.

Lucaera’s breath was shallow, her violet eyes locked on his with a mixture of need and desperation. She reached for him, her hands trembling as she touched his face, her fingers tracing the harsh lines of his jaw.

“Please,” she whispered, a sound that broke him in two.

His lips found hers with a hunger that felt ancient, primal, as if it had been waiting its entire existence to meet hers.

The kiss was unlike anything he had ever known—it was fierce, urgent, full of the hunger of the Alpha Prime he had tried to suppress.

He didn’t just kiss her—he devoured her, as though he was trying to breathe her in, to imprint her onto his very soul.

Her mouth was warm, and soft against his, her breath mingling with his in a dizzying swirl of heat and longing. His heart thudded violently in his chest as he pulled her closer, pressing her body against his.

The moment their lips touched, everything else faded—the crowded, suffocating thoughts, the world outside, even the noise in his head.

There was only her.

Only her and the overwhelming need to claim her, to make her his in every way.

The air between them pulsed, stronger with each second, each beat of his heart.

The warmth inside him swelled, the fire in his veins growing hotter as he kissed her deeper, his tongue slipping against hers, tasting her, feeling her respond to him in a way that was both maddening and beautiful.

His hands moved to her back, his fingers grasping at the soft fabric of her clothes, desperate to feel the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. He heard her gasp as he pulled her tighter, and the sound shot through him like lightning.

Aemond's mind screamed for more. The Alpha Prime in him roared for more. His body burned with an intense need, a hunger that only she could quench.

And he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that there was no turning back now.

Lucaera had lost her senses the moment Aemond had stripped her bare and knelt down between her open legs.

“Ñuha dōna Omega” whispered Aemond (My sweet Omega).

Lucaera’s eyes rolled into the back of her head as Aemond’s tongue swept across her slick wet folds.

This was unlike anything she’d ever felt before.

She bit the back of her hand to keep herself from screaming as Aemond began using his long fingers to tease her entrance.

“Ivestragī issa rȳbagon ao ñuha dōna” growled Aemond (Let me hear you my sweet).

“A-Aemond. Oh god. Please” moaned Lucaera.

Aemond pressed two fingers inside Lucaera, moving them repeatedly against a spot inside her that made her entire body shake.

His tongue. His fingers. Oh it was heaven.

“I know your almost there. Let it happen my sweet. Come for me. Come for your Alpha” whispered Aemond.

Lucaera arched her back and let out a loud scream as her pleasure erupted.

Aemond then crawled up Lucaera’s body, placing gentle kisses on her skin as he moved higher and higher.

Lucaera blushed furiously when she saw that Aemond’s chin was shining with her slick.

“Calm yourself my Omega” murmured Aemond as he swiped his fingers over his chin and then sucked them into his mouth, savouring the taste of her.

“I-I’ve never-” mumbled Lucaera.

“Relax and let me take care of you” whispered Aemond as he leaned forward and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

Lucaera could feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh and he felt huge, how on earth was that going to fit inside her?

Almost as if he could read Lucaera’s mind, Aemond smiled and began peppering gentle kisses all over Lucaera’s face.

“You can take it. Ao istan vēttan syt nyke” whispered Aemond as he reached down and began to rub his hard cock along Lucaera’s wet folds (You were made for me).

Aemond cast his eye downward watching with fascination as the head of his cock slowly moved through her slick folds.

Lucaera began squirming as he began teasing her entrance- probing gently but not breeching it, before he slid the velvety head over her pearl.

“A-Aemond. Please” whined Lucaera.

Suddenly Aemond pressed his cock against her entrance and rolled his hips forward, the entire hard length of him quickly sliding inside Lucaera.

“AEMOND” shrieks Lucaera.

Aemond stilled for a moment, almost as if he is savouring the feeling of Lucaera’s tight wet heat being wrapped around him.

“M-Move please Alpha. I need you” begged Lucaera desperately.

Aemond rolled his hips gently at first, allowing Lucaera the time to adjust to the feeling of his cock moving back and forth inside her, but when his sweet omega begins issuing pleas of harder and faster Aemond lost it and began fucking Lucaera into the mattress.

Their hips pounded together as Aemond thrusts hard and fast, his movements brutal yet precise.

As Aemond moved within Lucaera, the very concept of time seemed to fade away into nothing. 

“Lucaera. Lucaera. My Omega” moans Aemond as his cock begins to thicken at the base.

“Alpha-Oh-” whined Lucaera as she feels something tugging her.

“Going to fill you up with my seed. See you swollen with my pups” hissed Aemond as he gives one last thrust and forces his knot deep inside Lucaera, locking them together.

A low growl escaped Aemond’s throat, his teeth bared, then he leaned forward and sank his teeth deep into her mating gland.

Lucaera screams in ecstasy as she feels Aemond throb inside of her, coating her insides with his seed.

“-Lucaera. My Lucy. Always-” muttered Aemond.

Aemond then tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck—offering her the most vulnerable part of himself. An unspoken invitation, and a declaration of trust.

Lucaera didn’t hesitate. As she lunged forward, her lips brushing over his skin before she sank her teeth into the sensitive flesh of his mating gland.

Aemond groaned, his hands tightening around her hips as his body tensed. A rush of something primal and electric surged between them, snapping their bond into place like a tautly pulled bowstring finally released.

Their hearts beating as one.

Lucaera gasped, overwhelmed by the intensity of it—the connection that now pulsed between them.

Aemond was there, just beyond her own consciousness, a steady presence threading through her very soul.

She could feel his emotions, raw and untamed—possession, adoration, relief, desire—swirling together into something indescribable.

She whimpered, burying her face into his throat as their bodies remained locked together, the undeniable proof of their bond holding them in place.

Aemond hummed, his nose trailing up her cheek, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. His entire being radiated satisfaction, his Alpha utterly pleased, and Lucaera shivered at the warmth of it.

Then she felt it—deep in her chest, a soft, soothing vibration, spreading through her bones like a warm lullaby.

Confused, she blinked up at him. “I feel-strange,” she whispered.

Aemond’s eye softened, his lips quirking into a smile. He brushed his fingers over her damp cheek, his touch tender.

“It’s called purring, my sweet Omega,” he murmured. “It means you’re happy and content.”

Lucaera exhaled shakily, leaning into his touch as the warmth of their bond settled around her like a comforting embrace.

For the first time in her life, she felt truly whole.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Toto's obsession p.11

Hey guyss, I hope you enjoy this part and if you've missed part 10 or if you want to read it from the beginning here's my masterlist :)

I know it's been a while since the last part but I didn't know how to continue and I've finally got an idea, let me know your thoughts

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the luxurious hotel suite. You stirred in the warmth of the bed, still wrapped in the lingering scent of Toto. The space beside you was empty, but the sheets still held the imprint of his body. A moment later, you felt the familiar press of his lips against your forehead as he leaned down, brushing a hand over your hair.

"Go back to sleep, darling," Toto murmured, his deep voice still laced with the remnants of sleep. "I have a meeting, but I'll be back soon. Enjoy your morning, hmm?" His fingers lingered on your jaw before he pressed a final kiss to your lips, slow and possessive, as if reluctant to leave.

You smiled, your hands instinctively reaching up to hold onto him, but he gently pried them away with a chuckle. "I'll make it up to you tonight, I promise."

With a sigh, you let him go, watching as he left the room, his broad frame disappearing through the door. Left alone, you stretched lazily across the vast bed, relishing the rare quiet. After the chaos of the paddock, the never-ending attention from the media, and the overwhelming rush of emotions surrounding your engagement, you welcomed the solitude.

Deciding to take his advice, you got up and padded towards the bathroom. The marble bathtub beckoned, and you filled it with warm, scented water, sinking into the soothing heat. Closing your eyes, you let yourself unwind, savoring the rare moment of peace.

Meanwhile, across town, Toto sat in a sleek office, his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was sharp and commanding, leaving no room for negotiation.

"Three months. Not a day more," he said, his Austrian accent thickening as he emphasized his point. "I don’t care what it costs. I want everything perfect. The venue, the flowers, the security."

The wedding planner on the other end hesitated. "That’s a very short timeframe, Mr. Wolff. We will need—"

"You will get it done," Toto interrupted, his tone final. "I want the most exclusive location, something secluded. No press, no leaks. The guest list will be minimal. And I want her to have whatever she desires."

His fingers drummed against the desk as he listened to the planner scramble to assure him that it would be handled. Satisfied, he hung up, a smirk tugging at his lips.

It was all coming together. Soon, you would be his in every way that mattered. His wife, his world. But there was still one thing left to do.

A family.

The thought made his chest tighten with longing and possessiveness. As soon as the wedding was over, he would make sure of it. He could already picture it—you carrying his child, the perfect symbol of your bond. There would be no more distractions, no outside forces trying to pull you away from him. Certainly not George.

His jaw clenched at the thought of your brother. George had always been a thorn in his side, always interfering, always questioning his intentions. But it wouldn’t matter soon. Once you were married, once you had a baby, George would have no choice but to accept it. You would be too devoted to your new life, your new family. And George… George would finally understand that you weren’t his to protect anymore.

What Toto didn’t know was that George had overheard everything.

Hidden just outside the office, George clenched his fists, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never trusted Toto completely, but this—this was beyond anything he had imagined. His stomach turned at the realization of what Toto was planning.

He knew his sister. She was smart, kind, but painfully oblivious to just how deep Toto’s obsession ran. If he went to her now, she would never believe him—not without proof. And he needed proof.

His mind raced. He had to act fast.

Taking a deep breath, George straightened, his expression hardening with resolve. He might have lost the battle, but the war wasn’t over. If Toto thought he could control you, manipulate you into his perfect little world, he was wrong.

Because George Russell was about to change the game.

[callsign-rogueone]

two reunions

Dain Aetos x reader (love!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no warnings here! finally getting these two to the start of fourth wing! everyone's favorite boy makes an appearance, as does everyone's least favorite, love is yet again Put In A Situation, Nadine running her mouth, one thing about my girls is that they are always going to look out for Sawyer, tysm to the person who beta read this for me! you know who you are and ily. that's all I got for tags, byeee

It turns out that another glorious perk of being in leadership is having to work on conscription day. At least it isn’t on the same day as one of your runs — but it is miserable out, pouring rain with strong winds. It’s relatively sheltered where you’re stationed, but it’s still too damn cold, especially for July. General Sorrengail must have taken the day off. That, or she’s mad about something. 

There was really no need for you to be out here this early — you and Dain have been sitting in silence for nearly half an hour, collars upturned and hands stuffed into your pockets to keep them warm.

You both perk up when you see the first cadet hop down from the bridge. You don’t need to ask what their name is — you already know them well. 

“Sawyer Henrick,” he offers anyway, his cheeks warm with a hint of embarrassment.

“I’m glad you made it,” you say softly. “And I have a good feeling about this year. So does Laurent.”

He gives you a weak smile before he continues down the line, the next cadet stepping into place behind him. You and Dain alternate checking off the names, falling into a comfortable rhythm as the rain starts to taper.  

“Hi, princess.”

“Liam!” You drop the clipboard and nearly knock him over with the force of your hug, a happy breeze swirling around the pair of you. 

He laughs, wrapping you up in the smell of sawdust and linen. “That’s new.”

“Oh, it’s so good to see you. Did you grow? I don’t remember you being this tall.”

He gives you a slick grin. “I think you might have shrunk.”

You pout up at him. “It’s these damn boots. I swear, my feet are going to be stuck perfectly flat at this rate.”

Dain clears his throat, and you break apart hastily. “Right, sorry. Dain, this is Liam Mairi — my little brother.”

Dain’s eyebrows raise at your use of little to describe Liam, searching for some family resemblance that he won’t find before he offers him an uneasy smile, checking his name off the list.

You turn back to Liam, giving him a conspiratorial grin. “Your girl already called dibs, otherwise you’d be with me.”

“She’s not my girl,” he protests, blushing.

“You’re certainly her boy,” you counter. “She made it abundantly clear to our dear brother that you were to be placed with her. But don’t tell her I told you that, she’ll skin me. Where’s your shadow?” 

“We got separated in the line. She should be here in a few minutes.”

“Okay, be good. I’ll see you later.” You give him one last squeeze before he heads off, and then it’s back to the same monotony, name after name after name.

And then there’s a shout from the parapet that has you looking up from your clipboard. Someone is running across it, another candidate hot on their heels. It’s a girl, half the size of her pursuer, but it’s her hair that catches your eye: brown and silver. 

Violet.

She takes a leap off the end, immediately whirling around to point a knife at the guy — right where it would hurt most.

You’re a little impressed, actually.

There’s a very brief moment of silent negotiation between them before she backs off, letting him step down. 

She looks like she might collapse, but to her credit, she doesn’t freak out when you steady her with a curling wisp of wind around her back, guiding her further onto the solid ground of the courtyard behind you, and keeping her upright.

“Name?” you ask the brute, silently calculating the best way to put him down if he takes another step closer to her.

“Jack Barlowe.”

You don’t bother finding him on the list — you don’t take your eye off him, even as you offer a word of warning that he doesn’t deserve. “Be glad she didn’t kill you, or cut your nuts off. Others won’t be as merciful.”

He just scoffs at you in response, heading into the courtyard. 

As soon as he’s out of eyeshot and earshot, Dain says what you’re both thinking. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Tell that to my mother.”

General Sorrengail really is heartless, then. First what she did to Xaden, and all of your parents, and now making her disabled daughter fight for her life to become a rider? She might as well have just shoved her off the side of the parapet. That would be quicker, and more humane. But she actually seems to believe that she can do this. That alone will kill her. Unless one of your friends, or that guy behind her on the parapet gets it done first.

You need to say something. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. It’s not too late to bail, and it would probably be for the best if you did. We can—”

“This conversation doesn’t concern you,” she interrupts, hackles raised.

“As a friend of a friend, and someone who knows exactly what it’s like to be forced to be here, I think you’ll find that it does concern me,” you say coolly. “I don’t need to tell you that this place is a death trap, and a physically demanding one, at that. If you don’t want to be here, you shouldn’t be. Enough people have died on this hill already.”

She crosses her arms over her chest in a show of intimidation that doesn’t work at all — she’s tiny. Like a little lap dog that thinks its barking will protect the house from intruders. “I’m not leaving.”

She’s clearly equally as stubborn as her brother. 

She already looks suspicious of you, and pushing further wouldn’t be a good idea right now. You’ve done all you can do, for the time being. “He can’t say I didn’t try,” you mutter, turning away, back to the group of cadets who are waiting for you to check off their names. 

Bodhi appears beside you, speaking in a whisper — even though none of these kids speak the language, except one. “Is that who I think it is? The little one, with the hair?”

“Yes.”

“We need to get her out of here.”

“I tried already, but she wasn’t having it, and it would look incredibly suspicious if any of us kept pushing. She already despises me — I can’t exactly take her hand and drag her to the library, like she’s a toddler.”

“It looks like he might do that for you,” Bodhi offers.

You turn your head to see Dain still talking with her. He doesn’t look like you’d looked when you saw Liam again — not even close. He almost looks mad at her.

The ball is in his court now, you suppose. 

“That’s it,” your friend announces, hopping down. She looks completely dry, despite having been stationed in the pouring rain on the other side of the bridge.

You shudder at the thought of having to cross it again, even with your ability to control the wind, and the progress you’ve made with your fear of heights. “Why didn’t you just go around?”

“And miss whatever needlessly-dramatic speech Xaden has planned? No way.”

You snort. “Fair enough.”

Might as well check out the crop of new recruits while you wait. Most of them don’t look too bad -- decently physically prepared, and not shaking in their boots. Some of them, however, are much too confident.

“I’m just glad we don’t have any Tyrrish,” one of the girls says, eyeing the neighboring group with disgust.

You look her up and down before you speak. “A copper’s worth of free advice, hair dye; don’t go making enemies of the people who are supposed to protect you.”

She doubles down. “They made me and the rest of this kingdom their enemies when they decided to commit treason.”

“I don’t think this is a path either of you want to go down,” Sawyer warns, looking between you.

You hold a hand up to stop him. “It’s okay, Sy. Let her keep digging. She’ll hit the bottom eventually.”

The girl stills, freezing in place like a spooked deer as she considers your words — and realizes both of your arms are covered by the sleeves of your flight jacket.

You can’t help but smile. “Oh, this is never going to get old. Well, purple? Can you fight under the command of a pair of filthy traitors?”

Her eyes snap to the section leader, scanning him for a relic that she won’t find.

“Not him. The wingleader. And your section exec, too, actually — so three.”

She’s still quiet, blinking at you in stunned silence.

“Callwell!” Dain barks. “Get over here.”

“Off to serve my kingdom,” you offer with a sly smile and a two-fingered salute. “And I’m just fucking with you. I really don’t care what you think about me. Sticks and stones, right?” You leave before she can respond, jogging over to Dain. “What do you need?” 

“Your approval for us to move squads.” he doesn’t explain why, but it’s damned obvious; to protect Violet. If she’s under his command, he can help keep her safe.

You try not to show any sign of relief — he shouldn’t know that you have any interest in helping her at all. “On one condition,” you offer. “Henrick comes with us.”

“Deal.”

Your eyebrows lift, the flash of hurt you feel catching you off guard. He didn’t even pause to consider it, or try to argue with you at all. That’s not like him. 

He must be very attached to Violet. Maybe she’ll do you a favor and take him for herself, so you’ll have a real reason to give up on the idea of you and Dain, to forget about all of those quiet, tender moments that you keep replaying in your head when you can’t sleep.

Not that the two of you would ever work anyway. Not if either of your families have anything to say about it.

“The Mender wouldn’t mind.”

True enough. Brennan had known Dain, recalled fond memories of the boy who had grown up idolizing him and followed him around with Violet like a pair of little lost ducklings. 

But that was before the war, and before they’d grown into adults who could hold complex political opinions. Your cousin-in-law probably absolutely despises you. She doesn’t know that you’re family, and even if she did, she wouldn’t care if you lived or died. But that doesn’t change the promise you’d made to Brennan, to keep her out of here — which has now been updated to just keep her alive.

[avaredava]

Oh lord have mercy.

Imagine you're a video editor. You're hired to edit porn videos...yes we're open minded and get paid a lot for it.

I'm really seeing Suguru but could absolutely work with Satoru, Toji, maybe Sukuna (my man thoo)

I mean, I could say more but ugh your smutty little brain is so good I don't *need* to say more

Kisses 😘🧎‍♀️

HELL YEAH I love your ur brain more queen

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌Sum

You're always behind the screen editing porn… maybe you’ll be in front of it this time.

⯌ Wc

0.8k

Not proof read and sorry its kinda shorttt

⯌ Warnings

Oral m!receiving, porn, uploading nudes without permission but reader didn’t mind <3, live stream of sex, degradtion, penis in vag sex, unprotected (wrap before you tap), spit, saliva, creampies, breeding kink.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Click 

That was the average sound of you sending another edited video making sure it wasn’t blurry and shit like that. That perfect 4k video was sent to none other than Suguru Geto.

A famous porn star.

You two were close. Bestfriends. But boundaries were slim that's why you were perfectly fine doing all of this. 

He doesn’t even fuck other girls but all he does is masturbation and a shit load of toys on his big cock. Yet it’s just him, he has millions of twitter followers. So you get paid quite well.

He sent you another video, it was him whimpering like a little bitch, stroking his cock sluggish and drawn out. You can lie, sometimes it makes you horny. In your defence you’re just a woman!

It was quite a blurry video. It was annoying that he couldn’t get a new camera. You didn’t mind because you have a daily editing job just because his camera is super blurry.

You went and changed the settings making it so clear, it’s basically better than your eyesight. The thick throbbing veins and the shiny white pre-cum is such a pretty sight. Before you got too into it, you quickly sent it to him. With that you slammed your computer shut.

_

Suguru got the message and almost uploaded it before he realized… that’s not his cock. That's a pussy. A cleanly shaved wet video of a pussy. And it’s a pretty one too.

Yeah unfortunately you shut your computer too quickly to check. And you like editing your own videos. You need to practice your editing skills somewhere!

But he uploaded it anyway.

It blew up so fast. Thousands of likes, of just you fingering your pussy, with sweet moaning sounds in the background. Yeah he really liked it too. You open his twitter account to see how the video was doing.

 You saw what he posted and your heart dropped.

But in a weird way you felt good looking at all the good, postive comments. Saying how pretty you looked. But one made you soaked.

 “Bro, Suguru and this chick should do a video together. It would be mouth watering.” 

You gulped when you got a text from Suguru. It was a screen shot of that comment with an “?” under it. 

That's how you ended up driving to his house with a shaky hand on the wheel. When you pulled up front you were shocked at how fancy the mansion was. But all you could really think about was having that cock you had to look at for years over screen and hope you had it, was finally gonna be inside of you.

At least that’s what you hoped.

When you got in he already was naked and had a live stream on. He quickly undressed you and forced you on your knees. Everyone was freaking in the comments on how this is the first time he did porn with someone and how you were so hot. 

_ 

You were giving mind shattering head for hours, and more, and more people joined the live. You were getting needy. Especially with the fact you couldn’t touch yourself since your hands were tied behind your back.

He finally pulled his cock out of your warm mouth that had saliva running out of it down your chin, which he seemed to like. (and the rest of the viewers.)

He turned you around and you fell into a deep arch since your knees were only on the ground and you couldn’t catch yourself since your hands were tied. He moved the camera to have a clear view of your pussy and ass and his cock for a close up.

You sobbed when he slammed in, hard and fast. No lingering and slowness like his jerking off videos, just complete feral, animalistic thrusts, of his taking of whats his. You were his best friend but god he’s always wanted you and this is just making him act like an animal who hasn't eaten in days. 

He wrapped his arm around your body rubbing quick circles on your clit. He was getting so close. So, so close.

And people watching isn’t okay with him right now. 

He threw the camera. 

“Take it you stupid slut.” He said, his teeth clenched in a voice that made you clench around him. 

He came almost instantly. His cum drizzling down your legs as he tried to keep fucking it into you like a man with no brain. Both of your fluids mixed creating something he thought was the most beautiful thing ever. (It was)

You passed out after a mind shattering orgasm, Suguru took some pics of your cream pied pussy and posted it after the live ended quickly because of him.

He held you close, both falling asleep in his comfy bed.

Later on the both of you made your own twitter channel. (it blew up)

୨୧・・・・୨୧

If you want this re-written i understand this isn't one of my best sorryyy

[error04landonotfound]

So, I told myself during the race that I wouldn't rant about it post-race. And I wasn't going to!!

But then the interviews and the quotes came out. And then I really couldn't just sit with my thoughts. I'm gonna put a keep reading under here because I just know this post is about to be LONG.

Let me start by saying this: the intent of this post is NOT to hate on Oscar Piastri. The intent is to voice my frustrations with Andrea Stella, Zak Brown, and Will Joseph specifically.

When Lando was P1 last weekend, Oscar was told they were "free to race." The exception to that was, understandably, when they were trying to clear backmarkers. Aside from that, they were free to race each other. Oscar wasn't told to hold back at any other point and even made the argument that he was faster, which was understandable. Lando, on the other hand, was told repeatedly by Will Joseph that his tyre degradation was worse than everyone else's and that he shouldn't push too hard. Now, I don't have it saved, but the post-race graphic showing tyre degradation levels for all drivers had Lando as one of the drivers with the LOWEST amount of tyre deg. If that's the case, then why is his engineer telling him his tyres were bad, when Lando has historically been good at managing his tyres? It begs the question of what exactly Will Joseph was doing giving those messages.

Now we come to this weekend. Oscar qualifies P1 for the main race with Lando in P3 due to some crucial mistakes. Nobody is arguing that Piastri had a better Q3 than Lando. Lando himself said he made some mistakes, and that track seems pretty famous for punishing drivers who make mistakes. Lando also noted pretty much the entire weekend that the car was difficult to drive and that he was just going to have to make the best of it. So when Lando moves up to P2 within the first few corners of lap 1, there should be some excitement, right?? Some happiness that Lando is now P2 and a McLaren 1-2 is within reach, provided the pitwall/strategists play their cards right? That wasn't exactly the emotion conveyed through the NUMEROUS messages from Will Joseph. Instead, we had to listen as Lando was told not to push Oscar too hard; his race is with George, not Oscar; Lando your tyres look bad. Now, I'd like to note here that it was 2 in the morning for me, and my TV volume has to be SUPER LOW because my grandmother sleeps in the room next to me. But some of these were heard LOUD AND CLEAR. It became evident very early on that Lando was NOT free to race Oscar in the same way Oscar was free to race him last weekend.

Fast forward to the last 10-15 laps (tbh I can't fully remember when it was), when Will Joseph finally decides to tell Lando his car has a braking issue. Which, by the way, they withheld from him

A BRAKING ISSUE.

Now I don't know about y'all, but I'm pretty sure literally ANY OTHER DRIVER would be told their car has a braking issue. But for some reason, Lando wasn't told until the last stage of the race. Am I insane, or is that not seriously dangerous to withhold that information? Should a driver not be made aware that their car has an issue with BRAKING, let alone that it's already critical? That, to me, tells me that nobody on that pitwall cared if Lando finished that race. I could list more radio messages from WJ that were incredibly sus and counterproductive (um, the using up pace and pushing into Oscar's dirty air??), but I think I've ranted about that long enough

I cannot stress this enough: I do not hate Piastri. Do I wish he'd react similarly to Lando's wins how Lando reacts to his? Yeah. But I still don't hate on him. It wouldn't be very fair to yell and scream that Lando doesn't deserve the hate he's received (and still receives) and then turn around and hate on Oscar. When I say "hate" I don't mean criticism. I mean saying things like, "oh I hope someone runs him off" or "he should lose it into the first corner". Criticism is fine, but there's a fine line between it and hate, and we should be mindful of that.

Because that's all we want: fairness. I want Will Joseph to stop sounding like he's trying to sabotage his own driver. I don't always like Max and GP, but at least GP's radio messages to Max are encouraging!

I want Andrea Stella to show up to Lando's podiums, too, because he deserves to be praised just as much as Oscar (moreso, imho, because Lando has put in part of the work that's made the MCL competitive again!).

I want Zak Brown to NOT admit in interviews that he's thankful one of his drivers had a car issue that prevented him from challenging for the win!

Because let's be real: if this behavior was directed towards Oscar, there would be an uproar. But because it's Lando, it's acceptable. Nobody (except Lando fans) has any problem with how ZB, AS, and WJ are acting towards Lando, and it's frustrating. I just want Lando to receive the same treatment that Oscar receives. It doesn't have to be an either/or. Both can be treated well!

He's leading the damn drivers championship, for goodness sake. The least you could do is act like it.

Okay, I'm done (I think).

[nerdgirlbutinpink]

just putting it out there but what if joaquin torres and busy woman. not sure if its a perfect match but maybe an au?

wait i actually love this!!

i offer you this, please let me know if you want a part 2 and i’ll write it *insert mischievous fly rubbing hangs together*

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 | 𝗷𝗼𝗮𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗲𝘀 𝘅 𝗚𝗡!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: cursing, fighting, angst, and angry y/n! and joaquin! not a warning but the song is titled busy woman but i tried my best to make this a gn!reader

𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗮𝗻 𝗯𝘆 𝘀𝗮𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗮 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗽𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿!

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

“you know, if you weren’t so busy, we’d probably be having a great time right now.”

you roll your eyes, shoving your feet into your shoes as you balance your phone between your shoulder and ear. another meeting, another last-minute change of plans. you barely have time to glance at him before you press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“i know, i know. rain check?”

he just hums, watching you rush out the door like you always do. and you know it’s not fair.

it’s not like you don’t want to see him. of course you do. but between work, the endless responsibilities, the constant feeling that if you stop moving everything will fall apart—you just keep pushing him to the side, promising yourself you’ll make it up to him later.

but later keeps getting further away.

missed calls stack up. texts go unanswered for hours. plans get made, then rescheduled, then canceled. and through it all, joaquin stays. he stays with that half-amused, half-exasperated expression, hands in his pockets, waiting.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

until one night, he calls instead of texting.

“do you even wanna see me, or am i just here when you have a free second?”

his voice isn’t sharp, isn’t angry. it’s worse than that—it’s tired. worn down. like he already knows the answer but is asking anyway, just to hear you say it.

you shut your laptop, pressing your fingers to your temple. exhaustion seeps into your bones, but it’s not just from work anymore. it’s from this. from knowing you’re hurting him, knowing you don’t mean to, and knowing that doesn’t make it any better.

“joaquin, you know i do. i just—there’s so much going on.”

a pause. silence stretches between you, thick and heavy, before he exhales a quiet, bitter chuckle. the kind that isn’t really a laugh at all.

“yeah, baby, i know. you’re a busy woman.”

you squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way his words sink into your chest like a weight you can’t shake. because he’s busy too. he’s not just joaquin, the guy who leans against your doorframe with that teasing smirk. he’s the falcon. a superhero. he’s out there saving people, putting his life on the line, yet somehow—somehow—he still makes time for you.

and what do you do? you cancel plans. you leave his texts on read. you tell him next time like that’s a promise instead of another excuse.

he should be the one too busy for you. but he isn’t. he never is.

“joaquin, i—” your voice cracks, and you hate that you don’t even know what you’re about to say.

but what excuse could possibly be enough? what words could make up for the nights he’s spent wondering if he’s just another thing on your to-do list, something to be checked off when it’s convenient?

so when he sighs, low and tired, and says, “get some sleep, alright?” you don’t try to stop him from hanging up.

and when you’re left alone in the quiet, the weight of it all finally sinks in.

maybe the problem isn’t that you’re busy. maybe the problem is that, eventually, he’s going to stop waiting. and if you don’t figure this out soon, you’re going to turn around and realize he’s already gone.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

a/n: i tried to write this as the best i could, hope you like it >u<

[sflow-er]

Sauna to victory!

FINNISH KAJ CHARMED SWEDEN – READ THE AMAZING STORY OF THE TRIO

[Translation of the Seura magazine article posted here by @rinskuli]

The Group That Cleaned Up the Lot

KAJ made the impossible come true: Finnish people are going to represent Sweden at Eurovision. But then, they have a superpower that even eleven Swedish artists are no match for.

Text: Milla Ollikainen, Photos: Erik Åhman, Translation: @sflow-er

Caption: KAJ are Axel Åhman (left), Kevin Holmström and Jakob Norrgård. The trio, who have known each other since primary school, will preach the joys of the sauna to all of Europe in the Vörå dialect when Eurovision is held in Basel, Switzerland in May.

“Eighty-one points!” calls Melodifestivalen host Edvin Törnblom.

It takes a moment for the men in brown suits to absorb the information. The points given out to Måns Zelmerlöw – the favourite by far – are not enough to win the Swedish national qualification for the Eurovision Song Contest.

Kevin Holmström’s brows jump up to his forehead.

A look of disbelief and wonder slowly spreads out on Axel Åhman’s face.

Jakob Norrgård glances to each side with an almost startled look before burying his head in his hands.

All of KAJ are dumbstruck.

The group have just been chosen to represent Sweden at Eurovision with their song Bara bada bastu. The winners themselves are probably the most surprised of all, even though the young men already have fifteen years of a successful music career behind them.

In Finnish-speaking Finland, though, very few had even heard of them before Melodifestivalen.

There’s a KAJ there, from some place called Vörå.

Used to put the whole class in a good mood

After the grand final, KAJ stayed in Sweden to celebrate their win and then took a few well-deserved days off.

Swedes’ reactions to their win were mixed. Many would have preferred to see their country represented by Zelmerlöw, who also expressed his disappointment quite openly on the night of the grand final.

On the other hand, KAJ got the highest score in the popular vote, so the Swedish people were finally ready to send a Eurovision entry that wasn’t sleek but conventional pop music. In a matter of days, Bara bada bastu soared to the top of Spotify’s list of viral songs, and Björn Ulvaeus of ABBA posted his own sauna video of the song on Instagram.

People on this side of the Gulf of Finland have celebrated KAJ’s win without reservation and wondered how it’s possible that a band from Finland has been chosen as Sweden’s Eurovision entry. It’s a feat that takes an exceptional artist who must have some kind of superpower. KAJ’s power is even transmitted through the TV screen: Kevin, Axel and Jakob are, quite simply, incredibly likeable.

“As anyone currently singing their praises would say, they are nice and friendly boys who always have a twinkle in their eye,” says Katja Grannas, Finnish teacher at Vörå Samgymnasium high school. “They always used to put the whole class in a good mood and spread out a cheerful atmosphere.”

Kevin, Axel and Jakob already got to know each other in primary school, and in high school, they were a tight-knit trio nearly always seen together. They started their band in 2009 at the age of sixteen and quickly ended up on stage, as they were asked to fill in for a cancelled performance at a Christmas party.

Soon, they were already in the studio recording their first humour songs.

Caption: Contrary to what those who objected to the sauna humour feared, Sweden was still predicted to win after choosing KAJ and the odds only improved in their favour.

“They are nice and friendly boys who always have a twinkle in their eye.”

No toilet humour

Producer Janne Hyöty, who lives in Vasa, met KAJ very early in their career when he happened to be performing at the same event as them. KAJ approached him about wanting to record their songs at his studio.

“It may have been their first gig,” Hyöty says, thinking back. “I mean, they were still young boys. From the start, it was nice working with them. They are very talented and always thinking about how things could be done even better.”

Hyöty is known as a producer and composer and has made several songs for the Finnish national qualification, but KAJ were not looking to compete at Eurovision at this early stage of their career. Hyöty has produced all of the group’s seven albums, including their latest Karar i arbeit which came out last year.

Alongside their music career, the humour group have studied in Helsinki – Kevin Holmström and Jakob Norrgård at the Swedish-language Arcada University of Applied Sciences and Axel Åhman at the University of Helsinki, where he studied journalism and communications. Åhman has also published three books: a short story collection, a novel and a children’s book.

All three guys are in long-term relationships.

In Swedish-speaking Ostrobothnia, KAJ is so popular that 8 000 people attended their ten-year anniversary concert at Botnia Hall in 2019.

Hyöty wasn’t involved in making the Eurovision entry, but the accordion tracks for Bara bada bastu were recorded at his studio in Vasa.

“The song was still unfinished at the time, but I already knew it was going to take off and hit home. People were going to like it. KAJ make good and smart humour; it’s no toilet humour,” Hyöty says.

Teacher’s heart nearly jumped out her chest

Both Janne Hyöty and Katja Grannas watched the Melodifestivalen final live on TV – even though Grannas could have also gone to the viewing party organised at the local sports hall in Vörå.

“I was so nervous that the sofa at home felt like the best place to watch,” Grannas says.

According to Grannas, she already started to believe in her former students’ win when they advanced straight to the final from their semi-final. Watching the result unfold on the live broadcast still put tears in her eyes.

“I cried so much, and my heart nearly jumped out. The feeling was just amazing,” Grannas sighs.

Sidebar: KAJ did what Arja very nearly pulled off ARJA SAIJONMAA made a surprise appearance at the Melodifestivalen final. The hosts and Saijonmaa were seen wearing only their towels and beating themselves with birch branches before KAJ steamed up the stage with their sauna song. Saijonmaa, 80, lives in Stockholm and is a veteran of Melodifestivalen. She has competed three times, most recently just six short years ago. In 1987, she narrowly lost the Eurovision spot to Lotta Engberg by one point. Melodifestivalen has been held in Sweden since 1959. In 2002, it was expanded to the current contest format with four semi-finals and a grand final. This year, there were thirty entries in total. The finalists included two artists who had already represented Sweden in Eurovision: Måns Zelmerlöw who won the whole thing in Vienna 2015 and John Lundvik who won the nomination in 2019. Bara bada bastu by KAJ is Sweden’s first Eurovision entry in Swedish since 1998 when Jill Johnson sang Kärleken är at the final in Birmingham. Her tenth place isn’t considered a great result by Swedish standards.

Sidebar: A professor’s three points about KAJ KAJ’S WINNING ENTRY has made visible how poorly Finnish-speaking Finns know the music culture of Swedish-speaking Finland. We asked an academic expert to help us understand why. According to Johannes Brusila, professor of musicology at Åbo Akademi university, KAJ’s roots lie in the revue tradition of the Swedish-speaking countryside. Once or twice a year, communities have put on a revue at the local youth association or a similar locale, performing sketches and singing their own songs or covering international hit songs in their local dialect. “Humour, i.e. joking about local and international phenomena, is at the core of this tradition. It’s an essential underlying factor for KAJ,” says Brusila. For another thing, KAJ are from the western coast, where people follow Swedish media and culture more than Finnish. It was therefore natural for KAJ to participate in Melodifestivalen. People have always been looking across the gulf for role models and impressions, and the Swedish music industry was already familiar as well. “There’s also a third factor, which is a very important one for KAJ’s generation: if you are a Swedish-speaking artist in Finland, you have to choose between switching to Finnish or English and trying to make it in Sweden. The Fenno-Swedish market is too small to live on.” Brusila notes that the history of popular music in Finland is largely also the history of Fenno-Swedish music – it’s just that Finnish speakers don’t usually realise how many artists speak Swedish as their native language, from Georg Malmstén to Danny and Dave Lindholm. Brusila will be following with great interest how it ultimately goes for KAJ in Europe. “Humour is terribly dependent on context and culture. There’s always a risk of misunderstanding.”

Seura's readers are cheering them on

[Comments from random people praising KAJ and Bara bada bastu; I don’t think there’s much point in translating these.]

[bunni-v1]

Oh. Em. Gee! I read this post of yours https://www.tumblr.com/bunni-v1/771137137008640000/what-do-we-have-here?source=share and I'm going absolutely INSANE!!!!

Please please please, add Wise to this list too!!!

I need all 4 men in this!!!!

(If it wasn't obvious enough, I'm a hoe for all 4 of them)

P.S.: Absolutely in love with your work!!!!💖💖💖💖

What do we have here...? Pt. 2

🍓Lycaon was actually supposed to be in the original post, but I was so stumped on how to write him I just... didn't. Now I'm gonna actually do it though, because I'm lowkey obsessed with him. I was also gonna add Hugo, but I just... I don't wanna. Maybe if someone requests him specifically lol. Sorry, it took me so long to get to this.

Tw: Knotting, rut, marking (Lycaon); Mean dom! reader (Wise)

Info: NSFW; Lycaon, Wise x Reader (separate); fem!reader (sorry)

MDNI

Von Lycaon

The very idea of having your sexual encounters on his phone is nearly repulsive to Lycaon. There are far too many outside variables that could very well go wrong just by having them in his gallery. Imagine if he were to accidentally send one to a client, or Ellen finds them helping him with something. Goodness, the thought makes him shiver, he'd never hear the end of it. However, despite not liking the idea, he has allowed you several times to record on your own device.

He doesn't think much of it when you do, just happy to keep you satisfied. He'd never seen the videos himself, and he never cared to either, they were for your enjoyment after all. It wasn't his place to go through your phone to look for them, so he didn't. Until he stumbled upon them accidentally. He was just looking through old pictures you'd taken together when he found a folder (by some miracle) labeled 'special'. Curiosity got the better of him, and he discovered what felt like hundreds of videos and images of your intimate life. Most of them focused on him, but he could hear you in the background, and see how you shake with the camera. He understood the appeal now.

Videos like these would be especially helpful on nights he would be without you. It wasn't uncommon for him to be away from you for several nights in a row, and despite how much he tried, he was still a man. Relief was difficult without you, but maybe if he had... material... it wouldn't be so hard. So, to your pleasant surprise, he revisits the subject and asks for your permission to record the two of you. Several times. It comes in handy quickly, a cold lonely night in a hotel room on some assignment from a client and he can't quite get you out of his head. You were long asleep by now, so he wouldn't bother you, instead clicking through his phone to the private secured file (which you helped him set up) to what he was needing more than anything.

He looked through the selection thoughtfully, picky about what he wanted to watch. Finally, he lands on one, pressing play after ensuring his volume wasn't at max. It starts awkwardly pointed at the sheets, then quickly corrects itself to an angle between your legs. You are wearing a lacy black panty and garter belt set, plush thighs bulging out from the thigh highs connected to them. It's his favorite thing to see you in. Lycaon's free hand slides up your leg and into view, sinking his fingers into your skin with a gruff sigh from behind the camera. They flex against your thigh, the veins in them popping out.

He wastes no time in gliding them down to your panties, pulling them to the side to reveal your already-soaked cunt. He dips his fingers in without fanfare, and you mewl, the sound reverberating in his skull. You can hardly take two of them before you're crying that it's too much, yet you don't push him away when his thumb circles your clit. He easily works you on his fingers, knowing all your sweet spots by heart to the point he doesn't have to think about it. The video is short because of that fact, you cum quickly under his touch, far sooner than he likes in the moment. Luckily, he has more videos to pick from.

This one looks a little more produced than the last, having the phone set up nearby to record the two of you from behind. It begins with you climbing back into the bed, having been the one to set up the camera, and straddling his lap. His fluffy white tail comes up to cover your rear from the chill of the room, and his hands slide over your hips to help you settle on his dick. The phone picks up your slight hiss, fading to a giggle when his fur tickles you. Candles are lit, and there are a few rose petals scattered on the floor, a scene of absolute romance.

It takes you a moment to adjust to him, leaning down to kiss him and muttering between yourselves words that the phone does not quite pick up. Then, finally, you begin to move your hips. Rolling them slowly against him, sighing out your delight at the friction. One of his hands comes up to your front, and you moan a bit as he does. While most of the action is blocked at this angle, the sounds you make are heavenly, and they only get better when you begin to bounce. The wet slapping mixes with your moans in a positively addicting way, making his chest feel tight. He misses you dearly, if only you were here now, where he could touch you like he was in the video.

Sighing, he closes the video, more sad than gratified now. He thinks that one more try would be worth the effort, so he slides down and presses on a video he only vaguely recalls making. It is not well made, and it's hard to make out what's going on. The camera shakes around wildly, unable to focus on anything, but he hears the sound of him pounding into you. You whimper and whine, clearly muffled by the pillows, and finally, the camera focuses on something.

That something is, of course, your dripping cunt stuffed full with his throbbing cock. It sucks him in with each thrust, practically trying to milk him with how hard he can see you clenching. Now this was... interesting. You'd clearly already cum more than once, obvious from the sticky white ring around the base of his cock. Deep red bite marks marr the soft skin of your thighs, also covered in slick, and it dawns on him just what exactly he was watching. His own rut in action, deep into it at that. From the way he was breathing behind the camera, it was clear just what he had intended to record, though he was surprised he'd had the brain power to do it in the first place.

His free hand readjusts your leg, spreading it wide to give the camera a better view of where you are connected. There is a visible swell forming at the base of Lycaon's cock, bullying its way into your already abused pussy. Your leg shakes in his hold, another orgasm coming over your body, but it doesn't deter him. His thrusts become more shallow, not wanting to pull out for anything, not even the friction. The knot only gets bigger and bigger by the second, and your shaking only gets worse and worse the longer he stays inside.

There is a sharp intake of air, and then he finally shoves himself inside until you are pressed flush into his stomach. His knot swells fully, locking the two of you together for the next few hours as he dumps his load into you. A cry of his name has the phone being set down, forgotten in favor of caring for you, loyal as the dog he is to your needs. It was alright, though. Lycaon had long since satisfied himself. Unfortunately, now he had a few other issues on his mind, specifically about how to finish this job with a very obvious oncoming rut.

Wise

Wise 100% without a doubt is the one who brings up recording your sexcapades. As a movie lover and a tech nerd, it's only natural that he finds the idea of having sex on camera hot. Besides, he's a really busy guy, sometimes the two of you don't have the time to have sex. So, naturally, he needs something to help him get through the more lonely nights.

Worry not, your videos are well protected, thanks to his knowledge. No one is getting to his stash, not even Belle in all her nosy picking and prodding. (Fairy, however, could easily do so. Luckily, the AI has the wherewithal to not help Belle figure out what's in her brother's "super top secret, triple password protected file".) Yes, it's a hassle to get into the file, but he would rather not risk anyone else seeing either of you in your pathetic state of pleasure. It would be far more embarrassing for him anyway.

Tonight was, like many others, a lonely one. Wise had been working since early in the morning and, unfortunately, hadn't thought to invite you to stay over while you were visiting earlier. Of course, he could very easily text you, and you'd happily come over and help him with his little problem, but that would likely wake Belle (if she was even asleep yet, knowing her), and he just didn't want to deal with her teasing. That was what the videos were for, though, so he goes through the process of getting into the file and is greeted with some of his favorite sights in the world.

By now, he knew which ones would work the best for him, so he didn't have to think before he clicked on the first video leaning back into his pillows with a tired sigh. The camera is pointed down between your legs, Wise's silvery hair peaking between them. You have a hand fisted between the locks, controlling his movements with harsh tugs. He eats you out vigorously, following your lead obediently like he was trained to do. His whole face is bright red, positively pussy drunk on you. The sloppy sucking and slurping is all he can hear, aside from the occasional sigh from you. They're not sighs of pleasure, though, more of boredom. Like you were warning him that he wasn't doing good enough.

A harsh tug of his hair is proof enough of that, forcing him away from you. He whines, positively torn apart at the loss of your taste, and he can see your juices dripping down his chin in the light of the camera. His gaze is unfocused, completely dazed, only wanting to keep doing his job. You coo at him, moving your hand to cup his face in a tight grip. His lips pout when you squeeze, shaking his face toward the camera with a cruel laugh. "Awww, look at how cute you are, you wanna make me cum?"

He nods vigorously, pleading up at the camera with big teary eyes. You don't give him a break, instead shoving your fingers in his mouth. He sucks on command, closing his eyes and focusing on the action. You let him get them nice and wet, then pull them out with a pop. "How cute... maybe I'll let you if you sit and watch like a good boy? You can do that, can't you?" Again he nods, sitting back on his feet and watching obediently as you begin to finger yourself. The video cuts off shortly after that, so he moves to the next one.

The camera is now pointed upward, facing your front. You're straddling him on the very bed he's lying in currently, leaning back casually as you watch him adjust the camera until he's satisfied with the angle. When he is, you start grinding yourself into him, hips moving in a hypnotizing roll. It's mesmerizing the way you move against him, heat flooding through his body at the reminder of how nice your weight feels atop him. The heat of your skin against his much warmer than his own hand.

He whimpers behind the camera like an idiot, trying and failing to thrust up into you. Legs pinned down by your own making it far too difficult for him to do, so he is stuck taking your slow and easy pace. You are enjoying it very obviously, wide smirk on your face as you take your time in torturing him. Each roll of your hips was practically designed to drive him mad, and you do so successfully based on the sounds he's making. The calm pace only lasts for so long, and you lean back a little to get a different angle. Quietly, before you begin your next phase of the plan, you remind him to keep the camera held straight or else. There is some noise of acknowledgment, and then you start bouncing on him. Fast and rough, much more than he anticipates in the video, making him whine like a whore. Your head rolls to the side, your back arching, and your tits bounce in time with your movements. You really look like a goddess like this, he thinks, and he cannot get enough of it. It's wholly distracting to see you in such a position, and it seems he forgets what he was supposed to be doing, and the camera gets shakier and shakier until it falls unceremoniously to the sheets.

The next video after is a result of his own fumbling from the previous video. You are holding the camera once more, starting the video off with a big grin, and you nearly look adorable if not for the context. The camera flips around, and the view is something sinful. Wise is tied down to the bed, ass up face down, with a vibrator shoved up his ass. You giggle almost sweetly at the sight, tracing your finger around the base of the toy. "Someone didn't listen~" You purr, drawing them down to fondle his balls. His member jumps in excitement as you do so, very desperate for your touch.

You hum, rubbing your fingers lightly down his shaft as you press against his balls. You don't touch him how he wants you to, though, and you won't until you decide he is deserving of it. "Are you sorry?" You ask, and there is desperate nodding that jostles his whole body. You hum again, "Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?" More nods, accompanied by desperate whimpering this time. You seem to debate it for a few moments longer, before humming your approval. "Alright, I forgive you now. Just be good in the future silly."

It is then that you finally wrap your hand around his shaft, and the pace you set is brutal. You tug along his sensitive member quickly, so fast that there is audible slapping when your hand meets his balls over and over. You do not relent your pace, even when he starts crying, reminding him that this is what he wants. You jerk him off while the toy vibrates intensely inside him, making his cries of pleasure all the more pathetic. His legs begin to shake as his orgasm draws near, and all at once he is spurting white creamy cum all over his sheets. You keep going, even after he's cum, laughing as he tries and fails to scramble away from you. Again, reminding him that this is what he wanted, and that he needs to be good and make up for his mistakes.

Wise huffs as he closes the video, looking at his cum covered hand with shame. He was far too weak for you... perhaps you would like a little surprise to wake up to. He quickly snaps a picture of his newly ruined pants, sending it with a cheeky caption. He doesn't expect you to respond with how late it is, but his phone dings with your familiar tone. Seems he wasn't the only one who was feeling needy tonight.

[amara-scott]

Just friends.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 — Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x female!Slytherin Summary: Hiding the one thing you truly loved, the one person you trusted most was a horrible way to live. But if it was the only way to be with him, you would do anything. And he would do the same. warning: jealousy, a little angst

The next day dragged on with the usual monotony of classes, but the upcoming Valentine’s Ball had every other student in a frenzy. Even our professors seemed resigned to the distracted chatter and whispered invitations being passed across desks.

I was seated beside Pansy in Potions, idly twirling my quill while we waited for Slughorn to arrive and droned on about the properties of Amortentia. Right before us, Theo was smirking at some poor Hufflepuff girl across the room who had just tripped over her own feet while staring at him.

"So, what do you say, Greengrass?" A Ravenclaw boy—Duncan Harper, I think—was leaning against Daphne’s desk, grinning. "Will you be my date to the Ball?"

Daphne barely spared him a glance, already stirring her potion with a delicate flick of her wrist. "No, thank you."

He didn’t seem deterred. "Are you sure? I’m an excellent dancer."

Pansy snorted from beside me, muttering, "Doubtful." I hide a smile at her statement and continue to read the list of ingredients we would need for today.

But Duncan wasn’t the only one feeling bold. A Gryffindor—Henry Whitmore—sauntered up to our desk, clearly having built up his courage. And maybe being a bit too cocky for his own good. Gryffindors.

"Pansy Parkinson," he started, offering a confident grin. "Would you do me the honor of—"

She looked up from her parchment, fixing him with a stare so sharp and unimpressed that Henry physically flinched.

"—never mind," he muttered, backtracking instantly. "Apologies for the—um—disturbance." He hurried back to his seat before she could say another word. Almost tripping over his own feet and his head red as a beet.

Theo, who observed the scene from his table before us, leaned back, grinning. "That was brutal."

Pansy smirked, returning to her notes, shrugging like the most innocent girl there was. "If they can’t handle a look, they wouldn’t survive a dance with me."

I hid my laughter behind my hand, sneaking a glance at Mattheo across the room. He was watching the scene unfold with vague amusement, his fingers busy with his own task. He must have felt my stare because he turned his head slightly, smirking at me.

I rolled my eyes and turned back to my work, ignoring the way my heart picked up speed.

—

After class, the sun was warm as we lounged in the courtyard, enjoying the rare moment of peace. Pansy sat beside me, flipping through her magazine once again. The same one she was skipping through at breakfast, looking for another dress to stun everyone at the ball, probably.

Blaise and Enzo strolled over, dropping their school bags onto the ground with a collective sigh.

"Alright," Blaise said, stretching his arms over his head before taking a seat on the ground across from Pansy and me, Enzo following suit. "Who’s up for a night at the Three Broomsticks? Butterbeer on me."

"Tempting," Pansy mused, flipping a page. "But I have better plans."

Enzo raised a brow. "Better than free drinks?"

Pansy smirked. "I got invited to an exclusive Ravenclaw party in the tower tonight."

The boys immediately sat up, intrigued. My own interest perked and ready to squeeze every detailed information out of her.

"You’re joking," Enzo said, propping himself on his elbows. "How the hell did you manage that?"

Pansy inspected her nails. "I have my ways."

Blaise groaned. "That’s not fair. Do you know how hard it is to get into one of those? Ravenclaws don’t just let anyone in."

"Well, obviously," Pansy teased.

"Think you could sneak us in?" Enzo asked, eyes alight with hope.

Pansy tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. "Maybe. If you all behave."

"Define ‘behave,’" Enzo muttered.

Before she could answer, Draco and Mattheo sauntered into the courtyard, deep in conversation. A moment later, Theo came running after them, slightly winded.

"Merlin’s sake, could you two slow down?" Theo huffed, collapsing onto the grass beside us.

Draco smirked. "You need to keep up, Nott."

Mattheo dropped next to me without a word, stretching his legs out. The closeness was casual, natural—at least to everyone else. To me, it was an electric current beneath my skin.

"What are we talking about?" Mattheo asked, glancing around, eyes finding mine.

"Pansy’s exclusive Ravenclaw invite," I explain, "She claims she might be able to get us all in."

Draco’s brows lifted. "That’s impressive."

Pansy smiled, looking quite pleased with herself. "I know."

Mattheo chuckled. "And what’s the price for this favor?"

Pansy’s grin turned wicked. "Only that you boys behave yourselves."

Theo groaned. "Alright, fine. But if we get kicked out, I’m blaming Draco."

"As if that’s anything new," Draco shot back. Looking annoyed, but didn't fight back as he knew he wouldn't get far with stubborn Theodore Nott.

The conversation flowed easily after that, filled with laughter and playful jabs. I leaned back, letting myself relax, knowing that for now, at least, everything felt normal.

—

Time flew as Pansy and I discussed the Ravenclaw party and soon got ready together, sharing the same mirror and giggling as we got dressed in our most "out there" dresses. We both loved bold, but Pansy literally glowed whenever she wore anything remotely revealing. A true Slytherin with pride and confidence that wasn't fake.

The Ravenclaw Tower was already buzzing with energy by the time we arrived. The moment we stepped inside—thanks to Pansy sweet-talking the host, a sixth-year named Elias Montgomery—it was clear this wasn’t just any party. Blue and silver enchanted lights flickered across the walls, casting a soft glow over the room. Music pulsed through the space, blending seamlessly with the sound of laughter and shouting. A couple of bookshelves that usually held dusty tomes had been cleared to make room for trays of drinks, and even a few study desks had been transfigured into makeshift lounges.

"Alright," Pansy said, turning to us with a smirk. "Try not to embarrass me." She addressed the boys, sending a pointed look at Enzo and Theo last, both of them giddy.

Theo scoffed. "Please. We should be saying that to you."

Pansy rolled her eyes and melted into the crowd, waving us goodbye, already chatting up a group of Ravenclaw girls who looked like they knew her.

Draco and Blaise exchanged glances before heading toward the drinks, Enzo trailing after them. Theo, ever the social butterfly, immediately started making conversation with a group of seventh-years. That left me with Mattheo, who had been quiet ever since we stepped inside.

I nudged him. "You alright?"

He glanced at me, the blue light casting shadows over his sharp features. "Yeah. Just never thought I’d willingly step foot in Ravenclaw Tower, that’s all."

I chuckled. "Expanding your horizons. I’m proud."

His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes held something else—something darker. "Not too proud, I hope." His eyes lingering on my appearance, studying my dress casually, "you look stunning, by the way." He muttered and

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, thank you, Matty." A small blush forming on my cheeks.

"Just don't get too cozy, wouldn't want people to think you actually belong here." He adds and smirks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"Oh? And where would I belong then?" I reply, gently playing with the hem of his shirt as we stand close, masked by the surrounding crowds.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for my fingers, tugging me even closer, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "With me."

A shiver ran down my spine, but before I could respond, Blaise’s voice cut through the noise.

"Oi, Y/N!" Blaise walks over to us and I take a small step back, "Some Ravenclaw bloke’s been asking about you."

Mattheo’s grip on my hand tightened for just a second before he let go. His jaw tensed, but his expression was unreadable.

I turned to Blaise, who was grinning like he knew exactly what kind of chaos he was about to cause. "Who?"

"Don’t know. Tall, dark-haired, looked like he reads poetry in his spare time. Probably wants to charm you with sonnets or something."

I snorted, but before I could say anything, Mattheo exhaled sharply and muttered, "Fantastic."

Blaise grinned, clearly enjoying this. "You should at least say hello. He looked nervous—adorable, really."

I glanced at Mattheo, but he was deliberately not looking at me. Instead, he grabbed a drink from the nearest table, swirling it lazily in his hand.

I sighed, shooting Blaise a look before making my way toward the group he had motioned to. If someone wanted to talk to me, I might as well say hello.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mattheo tip his head back, downing his drink in one go.

I hesitated before making my way toward the group Blaise had motioned to, my stomach twisting slightly. As I got closer, recognition clicked into place.

Callum Davies.

We’d worked on a project together in fifth year, something for Charms that involved hours spent perfecting non-verbal spellwork. He had been quiet but clever, a little awkward at times, but sharp with his magic. I remembered late-night library sessions, parchment covered in notes, and the occasional smirk when he caught me rolling my eyes at something our professor said.

"Y/N," he greeted, his smile easy but a little nervous. "I was hoping to run into you tonight."

I raised a brow, amused. "Really? Didn’t take you for the party type."

He chuckled. "I usually prefer something quieter, but I figured tonight was worth making an exception." His gaze flickered toward me, assessing, before he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

I shrugged, swirling the drink in my hand Pansy had given to me as we entered the Ravenclaw tower earlier. "It's alright. Same faces, same drama, different night."

Callum smirked. "That sounds about right. Though, I'd argue the company makes all the difference."

I arched a brow at him. "Oh? And what makes tonight’s company so special?"

He hesitated for half a second, then gave me a knowing look. "Well, for starters, I managed to find you in this chaos. That’s a win in my book."

I huffed a small laugh, shaking my head. "Smooth, Callum. Very smooth."

He grinned but didn’t push, instead leaning against the wall beside me, his presence oddly steady despite the loud, drunken energy around us.

After a beat of silence, he asked, quieter this time, "You sure you're enjoying yourself?"

Something about the way he asked made me pause. I met his gaze, searching for whatever it was he wasn’t saying. "Why do you ask?"

He tilted his head slightly, considering. "I don’t know. Just… you seem like you’re somewhere else tonight."

For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. Because maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe my mind had been drifting too much—to Mattheo, to the weight of secrets I wasn’t sure I could keep holding onto.

But I forced a smirk and raised my glass. "Maybe I just need another drink."

Callum didn’t quite buy it. But he let it go.

"Should we perhaps dance? Might distract you a bit?"

Before I could answer, I felt the shift in the air—the kind that made my pulse quicken before I even saw him.

Mattheo.

His presence was unmistakable, a storm brewing at the edge of my vision. A second later, he was beside me, too close, his entire body radiating tension.

"Sorry to interrupt," Mattheo said smoothly, though there was nothing apologetic in his tone. "But I need to borrow Y/N for a moment."

I exhaled sharply, my fingers curling into my palm. "Mattheo—"

He ignored me, his grip closing around my wrist, firmer than before.

"Won’t be long," he muttered, already steering me away.

I dug my heels into the floor, resisting for as long as I could. "Mattheo, you can’t just—"

But he wasn’t listening. He never did when he was like this.

"I— I guess I'll see you later, Y/N—" Callum stutters and I send him a small apologetic smile, nodding.

Mattheo's grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear he wasn’t letting go. His jaw was clenched, his breath steady, but I could feel the storm raging beneath his skin.

By the time we reached a secluded alcove, far from the pulsing energy of the party, I yanked my hand free, heart hammering.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I hissed.

His chest rose and fell sharply, eyes blazing. "What’s wrong with me?" he repeated, incredulous. "What’s wrong with you? Standing there, acting like that Ravenclaw isn’t trying to get you alone—like he hasn’t been waiting for an opportunity the entire night."

I scoffed. "Mattheo, it was just a conversation—"

"Don’t," he snapped, stepping closer. "Don’t pretend you didn’t see it."

I shook my head, frustration clawing at my throat. "You’re being too obvious. People are going to start noticing if you keep acting like this."

His expression flickered—hurt, conflicted. "Noticing what?"

I swallowed hard. "That something’s going on. Between us."

His jaw tightened. "Right. Because keeping this stupid cover is more important than me losing my mind every time some idiot looks at you like you’re theirs to claim."

My breath hitched, my anger momentarily faltering.

"You don’t understand," he muttered, running a hand through his curls, his frustration palpable. "It’s not just tonight. Every time I see some guy watching you, talking to you, hoping you’ll notice them—I feel like I’m coming undone."

I opened my mouth to argue, but something about the way he said it made my stomach flip.

"Mattheo," I whispered, suddenly unsure of what to say.

His gaze was sharp, burning into mine. "And you don’t even notice, do you?" he asked, almost disbelieving.

I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but I didn’t need to. Because the truth was simple.

I didn’t notice them.

I only noticed him.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Taglist: @genterom903

[eschergirls]

March 2025 Caption Contest Winners!

It's been 2 weeks it's time to announce the winners of the March caption contest!

The captions were all really good this month (as usual) so since we had so many, I'll pick 3 honorable mentions and 3 winners (1st, 2nd, and 3rd place ranked).

Each winner will get to choose a prize if they wish (but you don't have to, you can just participate for fun too.) The prizes are extra Steam codes that I've acquired. If you won and want a prize, please contact me. 

The honourable mentions can get a prize if any of the winners decline (I will contact you if that happens, the prize order for honourable mentions will be selected randomly so the order you're listed here doesn't mean that's the order I will contact you in).

So here are the entries, organized by the platform they were submitted on:

Fedi/Mastodon:

Adriano: "Look, I like you, I know we both lost our legs in a mysterious jungle-related incident far away from our woods, we have a lot in common, but you still really really need a bath!" Maeve Moon: "Listen Snow, I know you like playing outdoors, but this would be way easier if we went back to my place!"

Disqus:

Imry:  Whenever you say "lol those two are inseparable" I imagine them melting together into a single entity despite their most desparate protests. Y'know, like this:

Tumblr:

betsybugaboo: Snow White and her girlfriend discovering tribadism boreal-sea: “I told you Velcro underwear was a stupid idea!” elkian: "Stop pushing!" "Shut up, if only one of us makes it out of the body-melting trap it's gonna be me!" encephalopoda: "I already said no smooching before you brush, Snow!" fyrenwater: Stories would get the details wrong, but Snow White was actually killed by the assassin Poison Apple, infamous for her throat chops. harukami: This year's batch of dryads were planted a little too close to each other. lythar-wolfe: Whatever they're doing is irrelevant, her hand is backwards on Snow White's throat. pinlc-candy: "Now is NOT the time to do palm reading, Snow! We need to get to a hospital stat, before it's too late for them to surgically reattach our lower legs!" rubybelladonna: argument breaks out in the middle of scissoring spider-honey: They're gonna need more than True Love's Kiss to fix this one. thecomicsrack: #this looks like a botched game of pattycake whatyadrawin: "Stop moving Snow! This will Re-align your spine the right way,  I saw it on a mirrorbook post" woodsworth: Grimm Physique Tales

The honorable mentions go to: encephalopoda, pinlc-candy and rubybelladonna

The runner-ups are: 

In third place: @fyrenwater: Stories would get the details wrong, but Snow White was actually killed by the assassin Poison Apple, infamous for her throat chops.

In second place: @harukami: This year's batch of dryads were planted a little too close to each other.

And the winner is... @boreal-sea: “I told you Velcro underwear was a stupid idea!”

Congratulations to all the winners and a big thank you to everybody who participated! I love reading all your creative and funny captions. xD

Stay tuned in April for another caption contest!

If you won and would like a Steam code as a prize, please message me with which prize you would like.  If you came in 2nd, message me with 2 choices in order of preference...  I'll give you your top choice that hadn't been taken by the other winners. (To clarify, every winner only gets 1 prize, but winners other than the one in first place should give me their list of games in order of preference so if one is taken, I'll give you the next on the list.  It makes it easier for me to hand out the prizes.)

If the winner or the runner ups don't claim a prize, then I will pick from the honorable mentions randomly to claim a prize if they want one.

The Steam codes I have available as prizes are for: Aragami, Beyond The Edge of Owlsgard, GoNNER, Hotel Giant 2, Peachleaf Pirates, Riot: Civil Unrest, Shadow Tactics: Blades of the Shogun, Such Art: Genius Artist Simulator, Survivalist, and Verne: The Shape of Fantasy.

[dollhousemary]

okay. tried reading actual published books to be more inspired to write and it’s worked a Little but not a ton so. what destiel fic should i read to kick the inspiration levels up a notch

[daisybell-on-a-carousel]

"Jason was the happy robin" this, "jason was the angry robin" that. Let's all be fully honest here Jason was the lonely robin

[lumenera]

New hobby just dropped (new hobby has been brewing for the last 3+ years)

1: 64mo blank book, aka 1/64 of a letter sized piece of paper. Total 1.5 sheets, dimensions ~1x1.5 in.

2: progress pic, the 64mo textblock. second binder clip is an attempt to make something even smaller than a 64mo

3: progress pic, the 64mo cut and folded signatures, ready to be punched and sewn

4: sticker of my bindery logo, which I designed myself :) + quarto notebook bc I made the textblock forever ago as practice, started using it as a notebook, and then figured if I was gonna use it, I should put a hard cover on it. It currently serves as my reference guide (paper size, suppliers, margins, etc).

Anyways it's so over. I'll see you in hell (WIP list)

[abisalli]

I‘m currently working my way through some old comics and taking a lot of notes, so I’m gonna start being very annoying sorry

(and also make some panel redraws)