#oscar harem

[chiefatticcreator]

Ask (RWBY): Has Oscar been enjoying the sex lessons that Jeanne (R63!Jaune) has been giving him?

"Her lessons are really fun!" the farmboy nods, excited, still flushed and breathing a bit hard from having just gotten out of the latest one. "She really does her best to teach me how to fuck well, she's fun, nice, really pretty..."

He blushes a bit deeper for a moment.

"But I think mrs. Goodwitch is the better sex teacher. But Jeanne's lessons are more fun."

[mctwinkdom]

saw this tweet, how accurate 🥺

[rene-spade]

my man isn’t creepy! i | f1 grid

growing up leclerc au !

fem! leclerc! reader x f1 grid, leclerc family

part i: carlos sainz, daniel ricciardo, oscar piastri, pierre gasly & kika gomes

synopsis. when the youngest leclerc finds her partners’ ‘shrine’ of her, but she’s a leclerc so the red flags aren’t all that red

WARNING(s); i like em crazy y’all, obsessive/possessive behavior, implied stalking/shrines, unhealthy relationship dynamics, sexual implications but no smut

carlos sainz.

“What is it?” You asked, head tilted to the side as you look up at your boyfriend. The Spaniard melted, muttering a curse to himself and running his hands through his thick hair. He felt hot, nervous for what the outcome of this discussion could be.

“Dios mío, ángel, it’s— it is not what you think— nothing bad. I am just embarrassed is all.” He reassured, big hands gripping at your shoulders. But he knew it was a bit bad, even his enabling family members were worried he’d freak you out if you saw. His movements were made to comfort you, but you could tell they were more self-soothing. Arthur had a similar habit whenever you got upset with him, too.

You only frowned, but it fueled Carlos’ panic.

“Mi amor, I will do whatever you ask-! You know this. I will let you in when it’s cleaned, I swear it.” He pulled you into his chest, arms fully embracing you. But you squirmed out of his hold, making him respond with an unhappy attempt to coo you back into comfort.

“You’re hiding something in there, Carlos. This is the first time I’m staying with you in your home since we started dating, let me see.” And at the sight of your big, beautiful, angry eyes, how could he refuse an Angel? With a twitch of his fingers, Carlos unlocked the door without any movement to push it open.

With a short huff, you pushed yourself through the door, only pausing at seeing at the sheer amount of merchandise that covered every surface. It was all you-themed, from posters and cut-outs, down to a body-pillow and even an outfit you’d only worn once for a runway show. There was a glass shelf with your old perfumes, newer ones too, and photos everywhere.

“Carlos….” You began, covering your mouth with your fingers and stepping further in.

“I know—! But I liked you so much before we started seeing each other and I- I am just a passionate man is all, my whole family says so—!” You cut off his red-faced rambling with a beaming grin.

“Ouah! I didn’t know you were a super fan before we met!” You giggled, mumbling to yourself in French about the various things he’d collected. “maybe you are a bit extreme, but it’s kind of cute, no?”

“¿En serio? Sí, mi perla!” He breathed shakily before grinning, “I should have known you’d understand! Mis hermanas se burlaron de mí, ¿sabes? But it was all silly…” (You’re serious? Yes, my pearl! My sisters teased me, you know?)

“What are you saying? Your sisters… something? I’m still learning, mon chéri.” You pout at him, in a much better mood now that you knew what your boyfriend was hiding behind the door he seemed so desperate to keep you away from.

He shook his head, hair messy after having run his fingers through it many times due to stress, “We should have dinner with them tonight while we’re still in Spain, I said. Let’s go back downstairs?”

“Why? Got anything weird?”

“Don’t say things like that, amor!”

♤ ♤ ♤

daniel ricciardo.

“Danny…?”

“Shit-!” He jumped out of surprise, dropping the box he was reaching from the top shelf of the closet.

“Oh, I’m sorry, mon soleil!” You squeaked, jumping back as well. You hadn’t meant to scare him, but it wasn’t your fault he was so focused in the dead of night. You were just curious is all. The box he dropped was was rectangular in shape, but easily bigger than a shoebox. You shot him a sleepy grin, “What do you have there?”

He sighed, shaking his head, “Why are you up, sleepy girl? Get back to bed, I’ll be right there. Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I’m up because you’re up.” You wrinkled your nose, inching closer to him with a small blanket in your arms. You tried to get a glimpse of what fell out of the box, but Daniel wrapped himself around you so you couldn’t see. He wrestled the blanket from your fingers, careful not to be rough with long nails, and threw it over your head with smile.

As you wrestled, your boyfriend only laughed and placed kisses on any part of you he could without being hit by your flying limbs, “Pretty things like you should be asleep. Your brothers would kill me if they knew I disturbed your beauty rest.”

“Are you trying to hide something from me?” You pulled the blanket off your head, hair a mess.

Daniel froze, jaw clenching as he tried to hold a toothy smile. But he didn’t have it in him to lie to you. The moment was completely still, before you finally broke eye contact and crept passed him to see the mess on the floor. You could hear Danny gulp as you plucked the first item from the ground; a pretty, navy blue set of lacy underwear. Yours, yes. But from ages ago, you swore you lost them. Then there were a few pieces of jewelry, a lipstick tube, a silk scrunchie, a press-on nail, a red heel, and two pieces of now-hardened chewing gum. All yours from various points of this past year.

“Daniel,” no, not the first name, he begged internally, squeezing his eyes shut, deciding to just wait for the inevitable disgust and rejection. You never called him by his full first name, only sweet ‘danny’s his way, sometimes ‘mon soleil’ or ‘sunshine’.

“You know you can just ask for my things, yes? You don’t have to take.” You were looking right up at him, navy colored panties still in your hand like you didn’t even mind that he took them. His reasoning couldn’t have been pure, you know that.

You hummed, pulling at his fingers so you can shove the underwear into his balled up fist, “lá.”

“Perfect girl.” He muttered, pulling you back into him and dragging you to bed, “give me the pair you have on then, yeah?”

♤ ♤ ♤

max verstappen.

It wasn’t always like this with you— you used to be just Charles “track terror” Leclerc’s pretty little sister, a little girl. But now it was years later and you’ve become something perfect and irresistible— something he can’t live without. He knows he’d resorted to some immoral, if not a little creepy, behaviors, but it’s not like he’s one of those guys that would ever hurt you. No, you’re a deity to him. He told his sister about his feelings at one point (even thought about showing her the shrine), but she told him— “This is all because you watched You!” The Netflix show that follows a stalker.

So he took down the shrine— moving most of it into his bedside drawer and the rest under his bed. But he realized he didn’t think it all the way through when he had you in his room for the first time; all pretty and perfect and curious.

“Good race, Maxie.” You hopped back onto the bed, your hair bouncing as you landed, “You’re so tense and for what, huh?”

Max had just a little bit of shame about the whole thing, but maybe not too much. I mean, his body definitely felt some kind of physical guilt or something if you’re judging him by the shaking and sweating— but his mind was happy. You were here with him in his home. In fact, the physical reaction might just be from seeing you curled up in his bed. But you’re close to finding out how… intense he was. (As his mother would say.)

“Sorry, lief, I’m just tired and you’re distracting me by being cute.” He smiled down at you as he began to change, “you need a shirt to wear?”

“Yes, s'il te plaît. Hey, can I put my bracelets in here—? oh!” He’d barely turned his back for a second, just long enough to remove his shirt, but that’s all it took for you to pull the drawer open and see the copious amount of photos of you (some edited to have him in them) and unsent love letters.

“It’s not a shrine— I’m not a creep! It’s just some things I made back before we got together—! You weren’t supposed to see them!” He was trying to shove some of the papers back in, but you were already skimming one of the letters.

“Mijn hart,” he winced at seeing the one you had— one of the more unhinged ones. The worst of it was in Dutch, so that worked out for him at least.

“Oh c’mon, Maxie! It’s kind of sweet! You had such a big crush on me! It’s a little hot, even.”

He grew even more red and fidgety at that, “Shit.”

You giggled at the words you could understand before he wrestled the page out of your grip. You grabbed him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he could stray too far.

“From Max Verstappen-Leclerc, hm?”

♤ ♤ ♤

oscar piastri.

“Can’t I just grab a hoodie, Osc?” You questioned as he held you in place on the counter, from his spot between your legs, still in his race suit.

“You don’t need one, Lovey, it’s hot.” He pressed himself into you so he could feel you breathe better. You’d asked for a jacket the moment you’d entered his freezing trailer just after the race. He saw you go for the closet and quickly redirected you onto the counter.

“Non, you’re hot because you just raced in a little car for hours and now you’re all over me. I am normal temperature.”

“Cold?”

“Yes.”

“Then get closer, I’m hot.”

You huff obnoxiously like the pretty spoiled girl you are and Oscar can feel the rush of serotonin he got just from the sound. He knew this is the part where you’d get cute and pretend to pick a fight, his sweet thing. But bad timing— he’s desperate to hide his secret now.

“I can’t get any closer to you if I trieddd. What? You have a girl hiding in that closet? Hm?” He scoffed into your shoulder, but stiffened, knowing just what was behind that door.

You gasped dramatically, likely playing it up to get what you wanted (a tactic you used with your brothers, Oscar noticed), “You do! Irréelle!”

“I don’t!” His face shot up from your shoulder, brows furrowed, but he didn’t let you go, “You know I don’t like any other girls!”

“Then you need to show me so I can be sure! And I’m still cold.” You crossed your arms and pulled your knees together to get him to back up.

“I can’t.” He choked out. “There’s— it’s just— I have this thing—”

You hopped down and booked it across the trailer before he could reach out and stop you, yanking the door open to see what your new boyfriend was hiding.

You breathed out a dramatic sigh of relief at the sight, “Goodness, Osc.” Rather than finding a person, you instead found some sort of… collection? Collage of yourself and your things? Photos mostly, magazines, and lots of hearts drawn on articles about you.

Oscar grabbed you by the shoulders and quickly spun you around into him, slamming the door, “You saw?”

Looking up at him with big eyes, you nodded, “Yeah, why? You really like me that much?”

“What? Yes— yeah I do. You—? Okay.”

♤ ♤ ♤

pierre gasly. | kika gomes.

“I’m prepared to blame you for this if Charles finds it.” Pierre breathed, looking at the start of his girlfriend’s collection of your things. Kika scoffed, a smile playing at her lips as she re-organizes your makeup. Mostly lip balms, you’d let her borrow some of your things, not knowing she wasn’t going to give any of it back. Kika even managed to get a few skirts from you as well. The small framed photo of you sitting in her vanity was just a personal touch.

Pierre would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed, but he could say he wasn’t surprised. He and Kika were a good couple, a good duo in general, but especially when it came to drawing you in. Because Pierre was such a good friend to Charles, it came pretty easy; Charles was easier on him around you. Unfortunately, that grace didn’t extend to Kika just because they were dating. Charles had something of a sixth sense for when pretty girls liked his pretty sister; so he was on to Kika. Where at the beginning it was nothing to get you alone with them, it was now next to impossible.

“Pierre? Kika? Are you home?” Wow it’s like they could hear your pretty voice— oh wait they gave you a key. To their apartment. In Monaco, where you live and you can really just waltz in and see all of the things they took (—yes they, Pierre is a thief too—)

Like two naughty school children, the couple shot up to cover what they’d done before you could reach their bedroom. This was their fault naturally, none of yours at all, they were the ones who encouraged you to come over whenever physically possible.

“Grab everything and I’ll distract her!” Kika whispered, rushing to slip out of the room.

Before the ‘not fair-’ could slip from his lips, his girlfriend was off to catch you, brushing passed him and leaving the door cracked. He could hear your surprised greeting, a cute squeak escaping you, before Kika saying something like ‘Oh, Pierre is busy now’, then silence. Pulling the handle back just an inch, he peaked outside to see Kika’s lips not even a centimeter from your own, her hands gripping your jacket for dear life.

“Oh, pretty girls, ce n'est tout simplement pas juste.” Slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it. Your eyes shot to his, but Kika’s remained trained on your face. After just a second, your gaze drifted to Kika’s vanity behind him.

The couple froze, you saw. Pierre pulled the door shut behind him as Kika’s mouth opened to form words.

“Oi! Get your hands off my little sister, huh? Démon impoli et pratique, seriously.” Charles slipped into the living room from the front hallway, having obviously accompanied his little sister in her visit.

“Non, Charlie, Kika helped me when I almost tripped.” You smiled at your brother, quickly covering for them, “I was just coming to see if I could get my jean skirt back?”

You looked up at her so sweet and she thinks you’re blushing—“Oh.” She squeaked, “yes, no problem. Pierre.”

“I’ll get it for her, mate.”

“surveille ta copine. je ne suis pas aveugle, mate.”

♤ ♤ ♤

Your man (s girlfriend) is definitely creepy, girl.

note; I made kika and pierres a lil longer bc they’re two ppl so yeah ft charles

thinking part ii with lando, mick (ft the schumachers), lewis, lance, alex & lily, george and carmen?

- ren

[origami-butterfly]

The things I do for this fandom literally no one asked for this

Edit: to all of you saying "healthy is a relative term" in reference to Jarthur. I know. I was going to give them a red and a blue line, but I forgot. It was a mistake. It happens.

[littlelewdmable]

Blake: Have you all noticed how kinky Penny is getting?

Jaune: Yep. I've lost count of how many times she's seduced me.

Ruby: It's every night for me.

Yang: I'm getting sore from all the screwing.

Weiss: I don't have the stamina to keep up with her.

Pyrrha: I think I might have accidentally corrupted some of her data the last time we did it. That might be why.

Nora: Nah, I think she was always going to be kinky, it was just a matter of time.

Ren: It's hard to resist.

Oscar: Honestly, I didn't get what all the hoopla with Penny was until she did the expanda-boob thing. Now I think I'm hooked.

Blake: So she's screwed everyone but me?

Ruby: She's probably just waiting for the bondage gear to get in before she does.

[brokentrafficknight]

Canon Ruby's already kind of a harem protagonist but still

[absoluteocellibehavior]

Detective Noel and Father Oscar are my favorite ✨boyfriends-in-law✨

[ktwritesstuff]

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU)

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Your faves are werewolves and you get to pork them. And you are also a werewolf. Yeah. That's pretty much it. Beta-read by the incomparable @bs-fangirl. Additional content notes below the cut.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Content Notes: No sexy times in this chapter, but issuing a content warning for some medical drama, my total lack of understanding of the Spanish language, and completely made up shifter nonsense.

Chapter One

Three weeks ago you were convinced Santiago was dead.  And now you were holed up in his safehouse in St. John while he led the rest of your pack on a suicide mission through the Columbian jungle.  You hadn’t been keen on being left alone with the baby in unfamiliar territory, but you didn’t dare complain.  You might have been able to convince Frankie to sit this one out–he had a good heart and he was fiercely protective of baby Luna–but you couldn’t ask that of him.  Not after landing the both of you in hot water for getting pregnant against your Alpha’s wishes.  

You tried not to wonder why the trip that was supposed to last 5 days had stretched out to two weeks, but it was hard not to imagine all the things that could have gone wrong.  Some nights you woke alone in a strange bed so frightened it was all you could do to wake Luna and encourage her to nurse until you could barely keep your eyes open.  

You were relieved when the boys’ boat finally pulled into the dock, until you saw the state that Will was in–bleeding from his stomach, barely able to stand on his own.

You searched their faces for clues to what had happened: Will pale and in pain, Benny agitated and fretting over his brother, Santiago was stern, nearly impossible to read, and Frankie just seemed sad.  You counted them again: four.

“Where’s Tom?”

Santiago pointed to a human-sized bundle of canvas tied with rope at the back of the boat.  A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over you as the realization set in.  You leaned on one of the dock’s pylons to support yourself.     

You felt your wolf, Ginger, raging inside you.  You took deep breaths to calm her, knowing that Ironhead was more than likely scratching at Will’s nervous system, eager to be free.  Seeing Ginger, smelling her, feeling her anguish would certainly push him over the edge.  But letting Ironhead out now would do more harm than good.

“Get him up to the house and get my kit,” you instructed.  Your anxiety dissipated as your whole world narrowed to a single purpose: taking care of your pack.

Benny set Will down on the chair in the main room and helped to remove his shirt.  You grimaced, peeling back the hemostatic dressing to find a bullet hole still seeping blood and pus.  You poured wound wash over the damaged skin and pressed fresh gauze against the wound.  Ironhead growled and snapped at you–fangs and claws bared–before Will could get him back under control.

“I know,” you said as calmly as you could manage.  “I know it hurts.  Stay with me.”  

In the tiny nursery–the outdated butler’s pantry, just big enough for a bassinet and your nursing chair–Luna woke and began to cry.  The sound made Will lurch with the effort of keeping Ironhead contained.

“Frankie,” you called.  “Get the baby.  Frankie, the baby!”

From across the room, Frankie stared at you blankly, still deep in shock.  You instructed Benny to keep the pressure on the wound and went to the nursery to fetch Luna.  Seeing you, she stopped crying in earnest, but still fussed for comfort and attention.  

“Francisco!” you snapped, carrying the baby out to her father.  “Escúchame!”

Frankie’s eyes finally focused on you as you handed Luna off to him.  He clutched her to his chest, cradling her head in his hand and breathing in the familiar smell of her–like fresh powder and breast milk.  His breathing and pulse began to slow.  Catfish grounded and soothed by being reunited with his beloved pup.  

“Take her,” you instructed.  “I need to stitch Will up and get him regulated.  If he shifts now, he will tear that wound wide open. You understand?”

“No,” Frankie protested, trying to hand her back to you.  “I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you said.  “You are her father.  I need you to do this.”

Frankie nodded, rallying himself to take Luna to the kitchen so you could stitch Will’s wound.  

Stomach wounds were so complex, without imaging or exploratory surgery it was impossible to know the full extent of the damage.  But the truth was, even with a shifter’s regenerative capabilities, if the kidneys or bladder were involved Will would be dead already. He was feverish, so you gave him an injection of acetaminophen to try to bring down his temperature and help with the pain.  An IV would be better, but you weren’t set up for that here.

“Can you swallow?” you asked, opening a bottle of antibiotics to show him the size of the pills.

“Don’t worry, man,” Benny said, trying to soothe himself with humor.  “If you can't, we'll give you the suppository.”

Will rolled his eyes, accepting the pills with a glass of water.  “I can swallow.”   

“Benny, can you get him out of these wet clothes and into bed?” you asked.  “I’ll be right in, I’m just going to put on a pot of tea.”

“You got it,” Benny agreed, snapping to attention, happy to be given a task.

As the youngest member of your pack–before Luna came along–he could be irresponsible, impulsive, and self-indulgent, but he always knew when to buckle down and get things done.   

“Come here,” you urged.  “Give me a kiss.  You’re doing a good job.  You’re a good brother.  I’m proud of you.”  

Benny stooped to place a kiss at the corner of your mouth and you helped him lift Will out of the chair.  As they hobbled to the bedroom you went to the kitchen to put on the kettle.

“How is he?” Frankie asked, bouncing Luna on his knee as she fussed and reached for you.  

A shifter’s wolf was a natural part of their sympathetic nervous system, but like an elevated heartbeat or increased blood pressure, it could also be maladaptive.  The change took years to master without losing yourself to the animal and even then required an incredible amount of energy, energy that Will needed to heal.   

“Bleeding’s stopped,” you explained.  “But he’s not out of the woods yet.  Fighting one hell of an infection.  May need stronger antibiotics than what I have to give him.  If it goes septic we’ll have a feverish, pissed off Ironhead on our hands.”

“Tell me what you need,” Santiago said–the first words he had spoken to you in over three years.  “I’ll get it.”  

You turned away from him, returning your attention to warming up a bottle for Luna as you waited for the kettle.  You would be the first to admit, you hadn’t gone out of your way to bridge the gap between you after he had essentially waltzed back into your lives with a hand grenade after years off the grid.  But if this was his feeble attempt at repairing what he had broken, he would have to do better than that.

“I’m going to stay with Will tonight,” you explained.  “I need you to look after Luna.”

“Can’t Benny watch him?” Frankie pleaded, rising from the table as he shushed Luna anxiously.  “She wants you.”

“Benny has never calmed anyone in his life,” you said.  “And we need Will calm, Frankie.  You will be fine.  She’s just hungry.  Give her a bottle and rock her, play with her for a bit and put her to bed.  There’s toys and clean nappies in the nursery.  It will be good for you both.” 

You went to Frankie, holding Luna between you, wondering what the hell had gone on out there that had him so on edge.

“I love you.  I trust you.”  You held Frankie’s scruffy, bearded face and kissed him.  His lips tasted like salt and copper pennies.

You poured the tea and checked the temperature of Luna’s bottle before handing it off to Frankie.  You went back to the bedroom, thankful you had missed the ordeal of getting Will undressed and settled into bed.

“Thank you, Benny,” you said.  “I can take over; you need your rest.”

“Are you sure?” Benny asked, adding soto voce, “He’s pretty agitated.”

“I can still hear you, Benny,” Will snapped.

“I can handle your brother,” you assured him, giving the taut muscle of his arm as squeeze with your free hand.  “Eat something, try to get some sleep.”

Will growled and shifted uncomfortably in bed as his brother left.

“Where’s Luna?”

“She’s with her father,” you said, taking a careful seat beside him on the bed, holding the back of your hand against his face.

“Frankie doesn’t know shit about taking care of a kid,” Will protested.

"He'll be fine,” you insisted, taking a cold compress from your bag and holding it to the pulse point on his throat.  “You're the one I'm worried about.  You want something else for the pain?" 

Will shook his head.  ""M fine."

You sighed in frustration at Will’s pigheadedness.  Toughing out the pain made Ironhead that much harder to soothe.  You undressed and slid under the covers beside him, pressing yourself against his side.  His bare skin was hot and clammy.

"How's that?"

"Better," he nodded, putting an arm around you.

"I should put you on NPO," you warned, handing him the cup of tea from the bedside table.  "But as it stands you need the fluids. You lost quite a bit of blood."

"I'll make more," Will said, sipping the bitter tea.

"At least you haven't lost your sense of humor,” you said.  “Tell me what happened.”

Will related the whole mess to you: how they all got greedy at the sight of all that money, but Redfly most of all.  That Frankie blamed himself for the helicopter crash, for the deaths of the cocaine farmers, for not putting his foot down when the load was too heavy for the chopper.  That the son of one of the murdered farmers had followed them to seek revenge against Tom.  That they had to cross the Andes on foot and fight their way through an army of child soldiers to get to their boat.  That at the time, being shot in the altercation with Lorea was the least of their worries. 

“Is that so,” you sighed.  Having gone through all that it was a wonder he hadn’t thrown a clot, or worse.  “Any other symptoms? Headache?  Chest Pain? Nausea?”

Will shook his head, taking another gulp of tea.

“Dare I ask when was the last time you took a shit?” 

Will chuckled, just a little.  "You don't want to know."

“You have to tell me if the pain gets worse,” you warned.  “You understand?”

The bullet had gone straight through him, so at least it wasn’t tearing him apart on the inside while they were traipsing through the Andes.  

“All those speeches you give to new recruits, do you ever tell them about this part?”

Of course everyone loved hearing the story about assaulting a man into pissing himself at the Piggly Wiggly.  It made them feel powerful, cool even, paradoxically in control.  They were far less interested in the very real possibility of watching their friends die.

“About beautiful women asking about their bowel movements?” Will scoffed.  “No.  Definitely not.”

“I thought the whole point was to keep it real,” you carefully leaned your head on his chest.  You could feel his heart pounding

“Nobody wants it kept that real.”  

"Here," you said, taking his hand and placing it on your chest so he could feel your heartbeat.  "Does that feel like the heartbeat of someone in danger?  We're safe now; you can rest.  You brought them home."

"Not all of them," Will said with a pained grimace.

"I know.  I could kill Santiago for putting you through that."  

"Go easy on him," Will pleaded.  "He's hard enough on himself for all of us."  

"Well it certainly doesn't show," you said.  "He's cold to me.  Won’t even look me in the eye."

"Don't take it personal.  It's just--"  Will’s eyes flitted away from you like he didn't want to say.

"Spit it out."

"There was a woman.  In Columbia--"

"He can fuck who he wants," you scoffed.  “You know I don’t care about that.”

"A human woman."

A growl formed deep in your chest, but you swallowed it down, mindful of controlling your temper, but you were sure the momentary lapse in judgment wasn’t lost on Will or Ironhead.  

"He said it was nothing,” Will said.  “But he cared for her.  He had to send her away to keep her safe."

“Then it doesn’t matter anyway,” you said in a careful, measured tone as you took the empty mug from Will’s hands.

You both knew that with Tom gone the pack was vulnerable.  You needed Santiago now, as much as you hated to admit it.  If his loyalties were divided it would be disastrous for all of you.

You laid your head on Will’s chest, carefully snaking your arms around him to soothe yourself with his solidness.    

“Close your eyes now,” you said.  “You need sleep.” 

[asktheisle]

dichloro@oscar wow, didn't expect to see any legendary pokemon at this party.. i would have prepared better had i known we'd be in such high company. what exactly ARE the magi? i've not heard of pokemon like them in our universe..

This island is hidden away, so many legendary and mythical pokemon come to seek refuge from the rest of the world. It's almost like a resort to them in a way. If you were to luck out in encountering one, they would treat you kindly as long as you do the same.

As for the Magi, they are a group of pokemon. That's just what they call themselves, but they're a trio. They usually only show their true form to those who are the same species as them, as well as fairy and psychic types. Sometimes they might show themselves to others, however! My son-Nathaniel-has seen them, and he's a human.

Speaking of, the Magi should be coming around soon...

[ryuto12]

Vomit Boy Has GROWN

[chiefatticcreator]

which two members of team rwby want oscar, and which two members want jaune? wouldn't be shocked if ruby and yang have the same taste given that they are sisters.

They actually don't! Oh, Ruby thinks Oscar is cute, and Yang agrees that Jaune is handsome, but both prefers the others. Weiss and Ruby want Jaune, Blake and Yang want Oscar.

[mctwinkdom]

why do you think daniel and lando as a ship didn't take off the way landoscar did? I am obsessed with landoscar but just recently got into it so don't know too much about the Daniel era... Ive seen clips of Carlando and I get why they were shipped so much (even though I deff prefer Oscar lolol) but curious your thoughts...

I'm also a recent fan! I wasn't around during the McLaren Daniel era, so my analysis really isn't that great, but I also noticed how much more popular Carlando and Landoscar are compared to Dando, so here's my two cents on it (don't take it too seriously please):

My first idea is the age gap? I think some people aren't comfortable shipping two men with a 10 years age gap, whereas Carlando and Landoscar have a much more comfortable 5 and 2 years gap. Second idea is that Daniel was supposed to be the number 1 McLaren driver and, being a race winner, to show Lando how it's done; but the opposite happened and Lando was the better McLaren driver at that time, which made the dynamic a bit weird. Third reason is, from what I've heard (I didn't necessarily see it from myself) Daniel and Lando actually were a bit awkward around each other at first and took some time to find common ground and humor.

Overall, I think Dando is a good ship but they don't have a "cliche" trope, which helps a lot of ships to get popular: Carlando was a big brother taking his little brother under his wing and teaching him what he knew about racing and life in general; Landoscar are giving college sweethearts being a bit shy and playful and cute around each other. Daniel and Lando are obviously good friends but Daniel was not the mentor he was supposed to be and that Carlos was, and he wasn't the playful cute agemate Oscar is either. They were just... well, dudes.

As for why Landoscar took off this way, I think that fanstage moment at Silverstone 2023 changed everything, that's when the fics started blowing up. It's obvious Oscar is not a touchy person and Lando is very respectful of people's boundaries, so when Oscar wrapped his arm around Lando's middle and pulled him closer with that kind of "c'mon why not" face, you can see how suprised and happy Lando is, he's literally BEAMING. So yeah. Landoscar hits like crack and they became popular so quickly because it's a dynamic we're not used to see in F1 and in Lando's previous ships: it's sweet, and quiet, and soft, they have so many little moments showing how fond they are of each other, they're two teammates genuinely having each other's back (last Austrian GP really proved that) and pulling the team UP.

That concludes my analysis!! I never paid too much attention to Dando to be honest, they're really not my cup of tea (mostly because I don't fuck with Daniel like that), but that was fun to think about.

Landoscar stays on top ✌️

[jacqcrisis]

Imagining a harem anime but its about a new teacher to an all boys school but also the teacher is a Normal Human Dad and the school is a special school for creatures of all sorts and the harem is that he's getting fought over by all the other monster facility. The minotaur football coach. The naga gym teacher. The slime thing science teacher. The orc english/drama teacher. The kitsune-looking home ec teacher. The Thing That Haunts and Cleans the Halls. And more.

Is he having the worst time or the best time? Who knows, but he's getting paid a lot as their diversity hire and his kids are getting free tuition. Pros and cons.

[oscarisaacsspit]

need him to fill me up and breed me with that fictional seed

i hate that he’s fictional i wanna go down on him

[one-chaotic-neautral]

Malevolent really is just 'Arthur's harem' isn't it?

We have John, Oscar, Noel, Butcher, Larson, Kayne and Scratch being all varying levels of obsessed and /or gay for Arthur, and he seems mostly oblivious.

He just has that pathetic wet cat man charisma that brings all the boys / eldritch entities to the yard.

[ktwritesstuff]

Nothing Else Matters (a Triple Frontier shifters AU) Chapter 4

Title: Nothing Else Matters Fandom: Triple Frontier Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Reader x Triple Frontier Boys reverse harem style Word Count: ~2,000 Summary: Sexy times in the woods...

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 (below cut) | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter Four

Back in the day, whenever the boys were home from deployment you would spend full moons at the Miller family cabin in South Carolina. It was your favorite place in the world, so lush and green, no one else around for miles. Just you and your pack, running, hunting, with nothing to do but follow your instincts and appetites. Those happy days were few and far between now, so when Tom let you get away, you were sure to take full advantage.

While the boys drank around the bonfire, you ran. Ginger caught the scent of a stag about a mile from the cabin and you followed it across the mountain. You felt so strong and free, you wished it could be like this always.

You finally caught up to the deer, a young eight-point buck, fat and healthy. You stalked it silently on velvety paws, waiting in the shadows. At just the right moment you leapt, teeth sinking into the stag’s throat, warm blood filling your mouth, tearing with fangs and claws until you lost yourself to the animal inside.

You woke to the sensation of a cold, wet nose proding between your thighs. You opened your eyes to find a compact, gray wolf snuffling against your bare skin. Your mouth and hands were stained with blood from the deer carcass torn open beside you, Ginger already having dug out the best bits from her kill.

Ironhead lapped at your belly and pressed his snout into your groin.

“Knock it off,” you said, pushing him away. Ironhead huffed, shaking his large head.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Will warned, shifting back as you stretched your limbs, painfully stiff from spending the night on the ground.

“I’m not alone,” you teased, taking one of the deer’s forelegs in your hand and waving it at Will.

“You disgust me,” Will said, sinking to his knees beside you.

“You like it,” you said, placing a hand on his head, drawing him into a lazy kiss.

Will moaned against your mouth, holding your face in his hands as he climbed over you. You snarled and snapped at him, digging your nails into the muscles of his arms. Will growled back fiercely, moving his hands to grip your thighs, pressing his body against yours as you scratched across his shoulders and down his arms.

Will pushed you back onto the moss-covered earth, panting and gasping between hard, hungry kisses. He took your throat in one hand, thumb tucked against the hinge of your jaw, forcing your teeth apart as his tongue delved toward your throat.

The morning air turned your damp skin to goose flesh. You braced your legs against his sides and pushed with all your strength to roll on top of him, pinning him to the earth.

Will grabbed your ass with both hands, hoisting you up and impaling you on his cock in one precise movement. You moaned at the sudden intrusion, pussy stretched so tight you could feel every pulse of his hard shaft. You rolled your hips against him instinctively, bracing your hands against his chest.

With a growl, Will flipped you onto your back, thrusting into you hard and fast. You bared your teeth, pulling his face toward yours, close enough that you were breathing the same air. Your muscles–already primed from the exhilaration of the hunt–coiled tighter, nerve endings on fire.

Your eyes rolled wildly, mouth hanging open, practically drooling with your orgasm. You sank your teeth into his shoulder in a firm love-bite to keep from crying out loud enough to scare all the game for miles.

Will pulled out of you, shuddering with his release, ribbons of cum coating your stomach and thighs. He rolled onto the grass beside you, draping an arm over you and burying his nose against your hair.

“You smell different,” Will said.

“Hmm?” you moaned, tracing the ridges of his muscles lazily.

“You smell different,” Will repeated. “Like booze. Not beer; sweeter…like whiskey.”

The boys had reached a consensus that you smelled like sex; at first it made you self-conscious, but they assured you it was pleasant. Animalic musk and warm floral, although they each described it a little differently. Will said it was like roses, Benny thought it was magnolias, and it reminded Frankie of marigolds.

To you each of the boys had a distinct smell as well. Tom smelled like stress, sour sweat and hops. Benny had a skin-like smell as well, but cleaner, one that reminded you of summer, like sunscreen and salt. Will smelled like old leather and dark earth, grounded and stable. Frankie smelled like Christmas, cardamom, nutmeg, and amber bourbon.

“You’re pregnant.” Will put the pieces together even before you did.

“What? How could you possibly know that? It’s barely been a week; I haven’t even missed a period.”

You laughed, even as you realized he must be right. Ironhead knew your body as well as you did, even better perhaps. Every curve, every freckle, every sweet spot cataloged in his fastidious mental map.

“I can smell it,” Will said, sniffing the crook of his own elbow and grimacing. “Ugh, it’s on me.”

“You can’t say anything,” you said. “Not yet.”

“What do you think is going to happen when I get back to the cabin smelling like I fucked Catfish,” Will said.

“It’s not that bad,” you said, tipping your nose toward your armpit.

“Speak for yourself,” Will said, scrubbing his chest with a handful of long grass. “I need a shower.”

“You can take that back with you,” you said, nodding to the deer.

“What’s left of it.” Will rolled his eyes, shouldering the carcass, setting off through the woods still buck-ass naked.

“Put on some pants!” You laughed, calling after him. “Before you get poison ivy on your dick.”

Ironhead’s pronouncement had set something off inside you, something you had tried to keep at bay until now. Hope that something you had wanted for so long was finally coming to fruition. But you knew the odds better than anyone, something like a third of all pregnancies ended in miscarriage within the first weeks. You didn’t feel pregnant–no nausea or fatigue or unusual sensitivity–you worried that might mean something was amiss, but there was nothing you could do. You took your time getting up, surveying your body for any strange, new sensations. You set off yourself for where your clothes were stashed before returning to the house for a shower and a long nap in a proper bed.

You were woken by the sound of fighting, growls and snarls and pained whimpers, and ran out to the porch to see what was the matter.

Redfly had his teeth in Catfish’s haunches, fangs tearing through flesh as Catfish whimpered in pain, he squirmed and broke free, rolling over to show his belly in submission only for Redfly to pounce on him again. You ran to stop the fighting, but Will caught you by the waist to hold you back.

“Let it happen,” he warned, holding you in his vice-like grip.

“What did you do?” you screamed, trying to push him away. “Let me go!”

You beat your fists against Will’s chest futilely as the fighting went on. Enraged that he had gone to Tom after you had explicitly asked him not to, even before you had a chance to talk to Frankie. But there was no other explanation; Tom was too oblivious to your needs and desires to have figured it out on his own.

You figured that Will was jealous–jealous that you had gotten the child you wanted without him and he wanted to punish you for it. And poor Frankie was caught in the crossfire.

Benny’s huge gray wolf bounded out of the woods to see what was the matter, inadvertently charging headlong into the scuffle. As Redfly snapped at Benny, warning him to back off, Frankie managed to get far enough away to shift back, holding his hands out, still bleeding, lying naked in the dirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said frantically. “I’m sorry. Jesus. Just tell me what I did.”

Will let you go and you ran to Frankie, falling on your knees beside him, using the end of your nightgown to put pressure on the deepest wounds.

Tom shifted back, his eyes just as sharp and dangerous as his wolf’s. You returned his gaze in kind, refusing to look away first.

“She’s fucking pregnant,” Tom said, wiping the sweat from his face with the back of his arm. “You stupid asshole.”

Frankie’s face softened, his mouth falling open as he turned to you.

“Oh.”

Benny pulled himself up on the porch steps, still recovering from the effort of the shift, both hands knotted through his hair, eyes wide at the realization.

“I’m an uncle.”

“Dumbass,” Will rolled his eyes, smacking his brother lightly on the back of the head

You sighed, looking down as Frankie watched you with concern.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you said.

“Oh,” Frankie gasped again, eyes wide as the news finally sank in.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said, helping Frankie to his feet, supporting him on the way up to the house. You took him to your bedroom and made him lie down so you could examine him.

Most of the wounds were superficial, scratches and nips, but there were some deep punctures on the backs of his legs and hip that would need stitches. You cleaned the wounds and got most of the bleeding stopped.

“Hold still,” you instructed.

Frankie was laying on his stomach while you did your best to stitch up the ragged wounds on the back of his legs. It had been a while since you had to break out your suture kit, which was surprising given Benny’s penchant for letting his MMA opponents tire themselves out by using him as a punching bag before overtaking them.

“This is ridiculous,” Frankie moaned. “I should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“Don’t worry about that now,” you said.

“So what happens next?” he asked, the anguish apparent in his voice as much as he tried to hide it.

“We get you wrapped up and put you to bed,” you warned. “You’re going to be feeling this for a few days.”

You tied off the last set of stitches and did your best to cover the area with gauze and medical tape.

“I mean with the baby,” Frankie said. “Are you going to keep it?”

“Of course I’m going to keep it,” you said, ripping a piece of tape with a little more force than necessary. “What kind of question is that?”

“Oh,” Frankie sighed, and despite the obvious pain he was in, you felt his whole body relax under your hands. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” you teased, slapping his bottom gently. “You think I would have fucked you if I wasn’t willing to have your baby?”

“You could have had anyone,” he said. “You picked me. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you said, retrieving an ice pack to keep down the swelling. “It’s only been a few days. A lot can happen in the coming weeks; there’s no sense making plans until things are more stable.”

You covered him with a blanket, carefully sitting down beside him, combing your fingers through his dark hair.

“I mean it,” Frankie said. “I’m going to make this right. I’ll take care of you.”

Frankie turned onto his side, laying a protective hand on your belly. Your first instinct was to admonish him, but looking down at his big, brown eyes you realized you didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

“I know you will,” you agreed, placing one hand over his. “But not alone. We have our pack. And so will she.”

“She?” Frankie grinned up at you. “Like you said, it’s only been a few days.”

“I have a feeling.”