#he's training just to always be stronger than you

[bjlipss]

— gym trainer!nanami <33

(cw: mostly sfw, suggestive, partially smut but no explicit descriptions of anything)

gym trainer!nanami who keeps a spare hair tie on his wrist because he noticed you always forget yours. he doesn’t say anything when he hands it over, just offers it with a quiet, “you’ll need this.”

gym trainer!nanami who has a resting “this is ridiculous” face but softens visibly the moment you walk into the gym, even if he pretends he hasn’t been waiting.

gym trainer!nanami who always wipes down your mat before you arrive because “it’s basic hygiene,” but secretly he just wants things to be easy for you.

gym trainer!nanami who doesn’t like small talk with clients, but with you, he asks how your day was—and actually listens to the answer.

gym trainer!nanami who keeps your favorite protein bar in his desk drawer because “they’re always out in the vending machine.”

gym trainer!nanami who never touches you unnecessarily, but when he does—a hand on your waist to adjust your squat, a thumb grazing your wrist when checking your pulse—it lingers just a second longer than it should.

gym trainer!nanami who notices when you’re in a bad mood, and instead of pushing you to lift heavy, guides you through stretching and breathing exercises in the corner with quiet music playing.

gym trainer!nanami who says things like “you’re stronger than you think” when you’re struggling, and means it with a kind of fierce, quiet conviction that makes your chest ache.

gym trainer!nanami who waits until you’ve packed up and are walking toward the exit before he calls your name—“you forgot your water”—just to steal a few more seconds with you.

gym trainer!nanami who tells himself he shouldn’t cross any professional boundaries… and then finds himself thinking about what you’d be like outside of this place. in a sweater. laughing. calling him by his first name.

gym trainer!nanami who offers to train you on his day off, just once, and shows up in a casual t-shirt and joggers that make your brain short-circuit. and when you compliment him, he looks away and says, “thank you,” like it’s something he doesn’t hear often enough.

gym trainer!nanami who notices the first time you start looking at yourself differently in the mirror. when your expression shifts from “i hate my body” to “maybe i’m okay.” and he doesn’t say anything—just watches, quietly proud.

gym trainer!nanami who finally lets it slip one evening after hours, when it’s just the two of you—

“i look forward to seeing you. more than i probably should.”

gym trainer!nanami who tells you to breathe through your reps, but the way he says it—low and steady, like a secret—makes your legs weak for a reason that has nothing to do with the workout.

gym trainer!nanami who kneels in front of you to adjust your foot placement, head tilted, eyes level with your hips, and says,

“wider. just a little more—perfect.”

and he knows what he’s doing. he knows.

gym trainer!nanami who watches the sweat roll down your neck during a workout and swallows hard before turning away, jaw tight, silently cursing himself for how badly he wants to press his mouth there.

gym trainer!nanami who has to adjust your posture during a deadlift, his chest just behind your back, his palm resting over your stomach, guiding you—

“tighten here. you’ll feel the difference.”

and you do. in more ways than one.

gym trainer!nanami who keeps it professional until the first time you moan his name—accidentally, frustrated during a session—and he stills completely, eyes darkening as he says,

“say that again.”

gym trainer!nanami who lets his hands linger when you finally break the tension between you—when you kiss him breathless in the quiet corner of the gym, all sweat and heat and whispered need—and he holds you like he’s starved.

gym trainer!nanami who touches you like you’re delicate, even when your nails are dragging down his back, even when you’re gasping against his neck—he holds you steady, murmurs,

“i’ve got you. i’ve always got you.”

gym trainer!nanami who presses you up against the mirror after hours, one hand gripping your thigh, the other cradling your face as he kisses you slow and deep—so different from the way your body’s moving beneath his.

gym trainer!nanami who tells you how good you feel with quiet praise between kisses, voice husky and reverent—

“you feel incredible. you’re doing so well for me.”

—and it nearly undoes you.

gym trainer!nanami who finishes with his forehead against yours, breathing hard, eyes locked on yours as he says,

“i tried not to want you. but now that i’ve had you like this… i won’t pretend anymore.”

[weneeya]

to show, to care m.list | rules

pairing. one piece x reader

characters. zoro, law, ace, smoker, luffy

note. always the same prompt bc i'm a sucker for fluff and soft things so here i am but with one piece this time! feel free to request

Zoro

he’s well aware that you can defend yourself just fine, he would never doubt it 

he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re not strong enough or anything 

yet he can’t help it when he sees a danger coming 

in the second, he’s in front of you, shielding you with his body

he’s larger than you (i mean look at him) so it’s not so hard to be sure you’re safe

it’s a reflex at this point, he doesn’t even control it

perhaps you can protect yourself, but if he can do it, it’s better 

the less you’re hurt, the better he feels 

not like he would admit it out loud 

he’s always saying that he would do that with anyone else in the crew 

he would, in particular moment 

but he’s ALWAYS doing it when it’s you

seeing you hurt is making him go feral so if everyone can avoid this, it’s good

Law

he’s a doctor, so cleaning and bandaging your wounds is a classic with him

always making sure you’re not getting too far or that he can treat them well enough so it won’t leave a mark

but he can’t always make it, plus there are probably a few that were here before you join his crew 

he’s extra careful with your scars, no matter where they come from 

he knows it don’t hurt you anymore, and he always ignores you when you say this to him

being healed doesn’t mean he shouldn’t care, right? 

no matter where the scars are, he’s being so gentle 

his fingers run on your skin while he leaves soft kisses on the marks

he wants you to know that you’re pretty to him, no matter what 

he follows the scars with his fingers mindlessly too

you’re sitting next to him and he’s reading, focusing on the book but tracing the marks slowly at the same time

Ace

the boy is narcoleptic at this point, so it’s never surprising to see him falling asleep out of nowhere 

in his food, after he drank too much, just in the middle of a conversation 

it’s not often because he’s too tired, but there are times where he is actually sleepy

he’s sitting next to you at the large table where everyone is laughing drinking and eating

he’s not as talkative as usual, but you’re with him so no one is questioning him much more than this

you’re taken out of your convo when you felt a weight on your shoulder 

the moment you turned around to yell at the idiot bothering you, you fell completely silent

the idiot is no one other than Ace whose head is now resting on your shoulder while he’s peacefully asleep in this chaos

be sure that everyone will tease you about it ; you’re never free from this 

especially as he does it a few more times again after that day 

he can’t help it, he’s just comfortable around you, how could you blame him

Smoker

he’s not the type to be really demonstrative 

not only because you both need to stay professional, but also because it’s just not how he is 

but sometimes, it’s stronger than his own will 

you make him go soft, softer than he has ever been before 

you’re sitting on his desk, explaining something about what you should do with some pirates troubling around 

his eyes are stuck on you, he can’t help it

you’re too focus on your paper to notice while he doesn’t care much

it’s not that he doesn’t care about what you’re saying, but you are everything he can focus on right now 

he shakes his head a little, stand up from his chair which makes you look back at him 

before you can say anything, his hand is at the back of your head while he leaves a kiss on top of it 

“I’ll go grab coffee, be back in a minute” 

and he leaves you there with yourself and your train of thoughts 

it becomes something usual after that, kissing the top of your head 

it just feels right to him, without being too much

Luffy

you’re never doubting that Luffy is the best and that he can win 

he always win, he’s going to be the pirate king after all

but you can’t help and worry sometimes 

he’s fighting against monsters, and after what you saw at Marineford, you’re always scared something as bad might happen 

you’re not too expressive about it, you don’t want him to think you don’t trust him anymore

but he’s not always as dumb as people could think 

so before a big fight, when you’re all preparing yourselves, he comes to see you

he links his pinky with yours, looking straight into your eyes 

“I’ll make it,” he says with his usual stupid smile, “I have to because I can’t broke pinky promises” 

you want to squish him so hard he would explode, but you also appreciate his reassurance ; you needed this 

he’s all giggling and you can’t help but smile at this view 

if he’s so full of himself, you can’t be worrying ; you have to do your best so you can stand proudly by his side

thank you for reading <3

[actuallybean]

Why Not Uponeth Me?*

Bucky’s idea of sparring ends up being a lot more hands-on than you imagined. *Contains sexual material: Minors DNI Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Tag List: @mostlymarvelgirl Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist A/N: Even though this wasn't inspired by Bed Chem by Sabrina Carpenter, I had to use that line for the title lol enjoy ;)

The training room of the Avengers Compound was always quiet when it wasn’t in use, the echoes of footsteps or the occasional grunt carrying through the expansive space. Today, however, it felt different. The air was thick with a tension that neither of you could deny.

You were sparring, alone. It wasn’t a particularly new thing for you. In fact, it was how you preferred to train, away from the eyes of others. You had your own rhythm, your own pace, and no one could judge you for slowing down or speeding up. It was just you and the heavy bag in front of you, your fists landing with the sharp precision you’d spent years perfecting.

A familiar sound echoed behind you, though you didn’t turn. The faint click of boots on the floor, the creak of a door opening, and the unmistakable quiet strength of Bucky Barnes entering the room. You’d noticed him hanging around lately, eyes following your movements from a distance, but you hadn’t expected him to actually approach.

“You’ve been working hard,” Bucky’s voice broke through the hum of your focus, his words warm but tinged with something else you couldn’t place.

You paused, wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead, your chest rising and falling from the exertion. Bucky stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes scanning you with that familiar, intense gaze. You always felt like he was looking through you, as if seeing things most people never did.

“I’m just warming up,” you said, trying to sound casual. It wasn’t like you to shy away from a challenge, but the way he looked at you now, like he saw everything, made you feel self-conscious. “What brings you here, Barnes?”

A small smile tugged at his lips, but it was laced with something softer. Something that made your heart race without permission. “Wanted to see if you wanted to spar. You’ve been at it for a while, and I thought I’d join you.”

You set your jaw, trying to ignore the fluttering in your chest. You’d sparred with plenty of people in the compound, but there was something different about this. Something about Bucky that made it feel... charged.

You stepped away from the heavy bag and motioned to the mat. “Sure. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

He chuckled, low and rich, before peeling off his leather jacket and tossing it aside. His eyes never left you as he approached the center of the room. You squared up, raising your fists, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you.

It wasn’t the first time you’d sparred with him, but it was different this time. There was an unspoken tension in the air, a thick electric current that ran between the two of you every time he moved, every time his arm brushed against yours. He was careful, precise, but you could tell he wasn’t holding back. And neither were you.

Your punches collided with his, the sound sharp and heavy in the room. It was intense, almost overwhelming. Every time you made contact, there was a rush of adrenaline. His strength was obvious, the fluidity of his movements almost mesmerizing, like a well-practiced dance. But you weren’t about to be outdone. Your body moved with equal grace and speed, pushing yourself to keep up with him.

After a few minutes of exchanging blows, you found yourself momentarily winded. You were fast, but Bucky was stronger, his muscle and precision making it hard to land a hit without being countered. You stepped back, raising your hands in defense, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You’re holding back,” you said, breathing heavily, your eyes narrowing.

Bucky’s lips quirked up into a smile, a knowing glint in his eyes. “I’m not. You’re just better than I expected.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you weren’t about to let him get the best of you. You lunged forward again, this time with more focus, more speed. You aimed for his ribs, but he easily sidestepped, catching your arm and twisting it behind your back. In a heartbeat, you were on the ground, breath knocked from your lungs as Bucky held you there.

His grip was firm, but there was something different about the way he held you down. His eyes, those dark, soulful eyes, never left yours. His breath was heavy in the quiet space between you, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. There was only the sound of your rapid breathing, and the weight of the moment hung heavy in the air. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his muscles tense beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Your chest rises and falls in rapid rhythm, breath catching as you stare into his eyes—those striking, ice-blue eyes that seem to burn hotter than fire despite their color. They hold a thousand unspoken words, a tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. The world around you fades, the only sound the echo of your own ragged breathing and the distant hum of the training room. Just as you part your lips to speak—maybe to say something, maybe to stop yourself from doing exactly what you’ve both been thinking—Bucky surges forward. His mouth crashes against yours with the desperation of a man who’s been holding back for far too long, like he’s been starving for this, for you, and he’s finally letting himself give in.

Your back hits the mat before you even register the movement—his weight pressing into you, strong arms caging you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. The kiss deepens, no longer rushed, but hungry. Commanding. His metal hand cradles your jaw, cool against the heat blooming under your skin, while his flesh hand grips your hip like it’s the only anchor he has left in the world.

You gasp into his mouth when his teeth graze your bottom lip, and the sound only seems to spur him on. His lips leave yours for just a moment, traveling along your jaw, your neck—leaving heat in their wake. Your fingers find his hair, tugging gently, and he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin and sending a pulse straight through you.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your throat, but it’s not a real question. His hand slides beneath your shirt, rough fingertips skating across heated skin like he already knows the answer.

You don’t say anything—you can’t. Not when his touch feels like lightning and every nerve in your body is begging for more.

You lift your hips in silent invitation, and that’s all it takes. His mouth is back on yours, his kisses rougher now, breathless and possessive, like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every inch of you.

Training is long forgotten. The fight you started is over—this one, though, the one between control and desire? That’s only just begun.

His hands are everywhere—one warm and calloused, the other cool and unyielding—and together they draw every shiver, every gasp from your skin. Bucky pulls back for only a second to yank your training shirt over your head, eyes raking over you like he’s seeing something sacred, something he's craved in silence far too long. His pupils are blown wide, hunger written in every inch of him.

“God, you’re…” he starts, but doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. His mouth is on your collarbone, then your chest, kissing, licking, nipping—taking his time like he wants to memorize every reaction. His flesh hand cradles your breast while his metal one trails down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its path, anticipation curling low and tight inside you.

When his fingers slip past the waistband of your leggings, your breath stutters. He feels the slick warmth waiting for him and groans—a low, raw sound that sends heat straight through your core.

“Already so wet for me, doll,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Been thinking about this for weeks.”

Your hips roll up into his hand, seeking more, needing more. He chuckles darkly, voice husky. “Impatient.”

You’re about to fire back when two fingers slide inside you—thick, steady, confident. You moan, head tipping back as he sets a slow, maddening rhythm. His thumb circles your clit with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble.

“Bucky—” you gasp, but he silences you with his mouth again, swallowing your cries as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

When you finally fall apart, it’s with his name on your lips, hips arching into him, breath breaking in waves.

He doesn't give you long to recover. Your leggings are gone before you know it, tossed aside without a second thought. Bucky rises just enough to shed his shirt and pants, and your eyes drink in the sight of him—broad chest heaving, abs taut, cock thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours.

“You sure?” he asks, voice rough but sincere.

Your answer is a whisper against his lips. “Yes. God, yes.”

He lines himself up and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, eyes locked on yours the entire time. The stretch is delicious, overwhelming, perfect. He groans your name like a prayer, like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

Once he’s fully seated, he stills, letting you both feel it—how right it is, how deep. Then he starts to move.

It’s slow at first, deep and measured. Every thrust pushes a new sound from your lips, every grind of his hips draws you higher. He braces himself above you with his metal arm while his other hand grips your thigh, spreading you open wider, letting him sink even deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he rasps, sweat beginning to bead on his skin. “Like you were made for me.”

You meet his pace, nails dragging down his back, your moans filling the air as he picks up speed. The room is heat and breath and skin, the steady slap of bodies colliding, the rough sound of Bucky’s voice whispering your name, praising every reaction you give him.

You’re close again—he can tell. He drops his hand between you, fingers circling your clit again with practiced precision.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips. “Give it to me. Let go.”

And you do—with a cry that rips through you as you shatter a second time, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, tighter.

Bucky follows moments later, burying himself to the hilt with a low, broken moan, spilling into you as he trembles through his release. He stays there, forehead pressed to yours, both of you catching your breath, your heartbeats slowing in tandem.

When the haze finally clears, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, then your lips, this time gentle, lingering.

Slowly—so slowly—it begins to ebb. The electricity crackling under your skin softens to a quiet hum, the sharp edges of pleasure giving way to warmth, to the weight of Bucky still draped over you, his breath ghosting over your shoulder in heavy, satisfied waves. Your heart is still pounding, but it's no longer trying to break free from your chest—it’s steady now, tethered to the steady rhythm of his.

But then reality begins to creep in around the edges, slinking back like a cold breeze through a cracked window.

You're in the training room. Stark’s public training room. And you and Bucky are sprawled naked on the sparring mat, tangled together, still catching your breath in the aftermath of something so raw, so intimate, it feels like the world should’ve stopped to witness it.

You blink at the ceiling above you, heart skipping a new beat—not from pleasure this time, but from the sharp stab of panic.

“Oh shit…” you whisper, eyes wide now, thoughts racing.

Bucky hums sleepily against your collarbone, lips brushing your skin. “Hm?”

You push gently at his chest. “We need to get up. Like… right now.”

His brow furrows as he leans up, hair tousled, eyes still heavy-lidded and soft. “What’s the rush, doll?”

You shoot him a look, already reaching for your scattered clothes. “Because if Steve walks in and sees us like this, he’s going to lecture us for an hour on ‘professionalism’ and ‘boundaries’ and God knows what else.”

That earns you a low chuckle. “You worried about Cap seeing your ass?”

“No, I’m worried about him seeing yours,” you hiss, pulling your shirt on backwards in your haste.

“And don’t even get me started on Clint,” you add. “He’d never let us live it down.”

Bucky groans and sits up reluctantly, reaching for his pants with one hand while raking the other through his hair. “Damn it. You’re right.”

You both scramble to dress, giggling under your breath like teenagers sneaking out after curfew. Your legs still feel shaky, and Bucky nearly falls over trying to pull on his boots, but the urgency makes it all feel a little surreal—like a wild secret you both now share.

Just as you’re slipping your hoodie over your head, Bucky sidles up behind you, looping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss just below your ear.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice deep and still a little breathless, “maybe we aim for somewhere with a lock.”

You toss a glance over your shoulder, lips curved in a smirk that’s far too knowing. “There’s going to be a next time?” you ask, voice sweet and edged with teasing disbelief.

Your brow arches in challenge, the tone behind your question daring him to answer wrong.

Bucky's gaze drops to the curve of your hips as you shift to pull your hoodie straight. That cocky half-smile returns to his lips—lazy, wolfish, and dangerous in all the right ways.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, stepping closer, metal fingers brushing the small of your back, “after that? You really think there won’t be?”

Before you can fire off a sassy retort, his hand comes down—sharp and quick—with a firm smack to your ass, still hidden beneath the fabric of your leggings. The sound echoes just enough in the empty training room to make your eyes widen.

You gasp, partly from surprise, partly from the wicked thrill of it, and whirl to face him, one hand planted on your hip.

“Barnes,” you hiss, eyes narrowing, cheeks burning—though not from embarrassment. He only grins wider, like a man far too satisfied with himself.

“What?” he says, completely unrepentant, lifting a brow. “Just reminding you what you’ve got to look forward to.”

You roll your eyes, though your smirk betrays you. “You're insufferable.”

He leans in until your noses almost brush, voice a low whisper against your lips. “You love it.”

And maybe… maybe you do.

[lsunstreakerl]

hello, have some o!famiglia lestappen :) heat crisis edition. 3k, max POV, explicit

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: omegaverse, heat crisis, muzzles, potential dubious consent but it doesn't go very far, maxussy

Max nudges out his leg, poking Charles in the calf with his foot. He looks up from his phone, tilting his head slightly.

Max clears his throat softly. Talking with Charles is still new, something he's working on, and Charles treats it like a novelty every time, giving Max his full attention.

"Do you have a water?"

Charles is moving before Max even gets the sentence out, nodding.

"Yes, do you want— I have chilled? Or room temperature also if you would like, but— that is stupid, nevermind, let me grab one from the fridge."

Max leans his head against the side of the couch, watching fondly as Charles narrates his way through the kitchen.

It's not something he remembers him doing from karting— constantly speaking out loud, filling the silence with what he's doing. He's not self absorbed enough to think that it is something he might be doing for him, but.

It would be nice if it was.

Charles' footsteps pad back into the living room, scent washing over Max as he leans across the back of the couch, passing the water bottle down.

Max presses it against his forehead for a moment. It's summer in Monaco, not that it matters much— the ongoing quarantine just means he's stuck inside Charles' flat for a second week running.

The heat is starting to get to him, seeping into the apartment even with the cracked windows. Charles has been a gracious host, and Max has a haphazard space going on in the guest room, but it's starting to look like their temporary situation might not be so short after all.

He feels a cool droplet of condensation fall off of the bottle, dropping onto his forehead and sliding down, a welcome balm of relief.

He moves the bottle, pressing it against his neck, blissful in the sensation against his overheated skin. Charles makes a muffled noise from the other end of the couch, scent sharpening harshly and filling the room.

Max's eyes snap back open, meeting dilated pupils. Charles has his teeth sunk into his palm, his other hand gripping the side of the couch, nails digging into the fabric.

"Max— I think maybe—"

Max's eyes widen, nose flaring as he takes in Charles' scent. It's all alpha, stronger dominant notes taking over his normal smell, and Max feels dizzy with it, head fuzzy from the summer heat.

His own scent dips, concerned, and Charles' nails dig deeper into the couch, knuckles white.

"Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

Charles swallows thickly, eyes trained on Max in a way far more intense than usual, like he's trying to pin Max in place with his gaze.

"You need— guest room, please, you are— you smell like heat, Max."

Max freezes. He hadn't—

He hadn't thought about it. He's on an implant, which isn't the typical suppressant choice for omegas, but he can't take pills after the overuse of them in his childhood. The implant doesn't remove his heats, just extends the break between cycles in comparison to a natural one. It doesn't always work, but he still wasn't due for another few weeks.

The only thing he can think of is close proximity to an alpha. An alpha who's been unfailingly polite, cooking for him, giving him a room, never asking for anything in return.

His fingers tighten around the bottle as he staggers to his feet, eyes trained on Charles the entire time. He feels unsteady on his feet, the room spinning around him, and Charles twitches from his spot on the couch— but Max regains his footing, and he stays put.

Max doesn't look away as he backs into the guest room, shutting and latching the door as the reality starts to sink in.

He's entering a heat. In an alpha’s apartment.

There's barely a semblance of a nest in the guest room, more a sad scattering of clothes, and Max bites back a whine.

He has a heat box at home, full of his nesting supplies specific for the heat hotel he uses, but that box isn't here— none of his things are. Anything that would normally bring him comfort or ease the stress is absent, and he doubts Charles has a knotting toy lying around for Max to use.

He ignores the tiny voice telling him that he has a living, breathing alpha knot in the other room. There's no way Charles would say no, but it's coercion, going into heat into his apartment like this.

Circumstances aside, Max knows better. He's going to have to ride it out alone, more miserable than he's been since his initial presentation heat with Jos.

Gianpiero, while completely unfamiliar with raising an omega, had been diligent about finding the best heat hotel, always careful to be there when Max got out, disoriented and missing the pack.

Max doesn't have that now. He's missing the scent of his family pack to tell him everything will be okay, alone in an apartment he doesn't belong in.

With an alpha.

He can't clamp down the next whine fast enough, and he winces as he hears it, thready and distressed. He can smell Charles through the door, the same way he can smell Charles everywhere in the flat, and he bites on his knuckles to try and avoid any other humiliating noises.

It doesn't work, and he struggles to the bed, trying to make a proper nest out of it. His legs are starting to feel like jelly, world fuzzy at the edges.

He's so hot, tugging his shirt off to add to the nest, fingers trembling. His pants are next to go, body moving on autopilot as he strips, air cool against his overheated skin.

Max only faintly registers his own whines as he crawls into the bed, shaking as he tries to settle. The nest isn't big enough, doesn't have enough comfort to it, and he has nothing to get through it except his own fingers.

He's not even sure how he'll handle getting food— and he trusts Charles, but he's not stupid enough to leave the room in the middle of heat. There's not an alpha alive who would let that happen without stepping in.

There's a wet slide between his thighs when he adjusts, and he warbles low and long, wishing he could bite on his own tongue.

Jos had been adamant about never displaying any omega behaviors, but Gianpiero has always encouraged it, telling Max to vocalize how he feels.

He's regretting letting his ironclad control slip over the years, fingers sliding down between his legs as he tosses his head, trying to find the best spot to bury his nose.

Nothing is enough, and a cramp is already starting to build in his gut, his own biology working against him.

He cries out into one of the pillows, teeth sinking into the fabric, pushing his fingers up inside himself with little fanfare, whining at the wet noise that echoes into the room.

This is going to be miserable.

------

Max hurts, body drifting in and out of awareness. He's soaked in sweat, writhing on a bed, dissatisfied and upset. His teeth are locked into a sweatshirt, nose buried into the collar. It smells like alpha.

The whole room smells like alpha, and Max only faintly registers the smell getting very close before his instincts take over.

He arches his neck back, legs dropping open with a soft cry. He needs it, needs a knot, needs something that isn't his own fingers, wrist cramped and uncomfortable.

There's a low rumble next to his ear, deep and reassuring. Max whimpers, twisting his head, and Charles gently bumps their foreheads together.

His eyes are huge, pupils swallowing up almost all the green, but Max is stuck on the muzzle, dark leather criss-crossed around his nose and jaw, keeping his mouth shut.

"Alpha—"

Charles rumbles again, scenting him. His scent is drenching the room, layering around Max like a blanket, and he sobs when he feels fingers ghost across his cunt.

"Alpha, please, need it, need a knot."

Charles' soft noise sounds pained, but Max can't focus on it, eyes rolling back in his head as the alpha pushes three fingers into him at once, spreading them inside of him.

Max squirms, rabbiting his hips down. It's leagues better than his own hand, but it's not a knot, even though Charles is right here—

Charles' thumb rubs gently around his oversensitive clit, and Max feels his legs lock up, hips trembling as he claws at the sheets, tipping his head back as far as possible.

Knot, he needs—

Silicone pushes at his cunt, dripping wet, spread wide by Charles' fingers, and he sobs in relief.

It doesn't even matter that it's a heat aid when there's an alpha right here, it's something. Charles doesn't waste any time, and Max writhes as he feels the toy work its way into him, a slick slide with a humiliatingly wet noise.

Charles' thumb on his clit doesn't let up even as Max feels the edge of the knot bump against him, and Max needs it, needs it so bad— he's babbling nonsense, can only think about getting it inside of him, being good for alpha.

He comes when Charles works the knot inside of him, stretching him wide open and keeping him there, legs twitching against the bed. There's tears down his face, and he finally feels relief for the first time in his heat, feverish pain starting to recede.

Charles has his face pressed into Max's neck, crooning slowly as Max feels the all consuming heat lessen. His hands are gentle across Max's hips as he lifts him up, air cool against his overheated skin.

Max nudges at his jaw, skin pressing against leather as Charles walks them slowly into the bathroom. He faintly registers the sound of water running, but he gets distracted at the firmness of the artificial knot inside of him, shifting in Charles' arms.

Charles croons at him again, and Max moans when he's lowered into the cold water, embarrassingly loud in the quiet of the bathroom— but it's hard to feel ashamed about it when he can smell his alphas scent dip into something pleased.

He ebbs in and out sleep, only tangentially aware of soft fingers scratching through his scalp, and of water running through his hair.

There's a soft towel wrapped around him, fluffy as his alpha dries him off, and his nest looks different when he's carried back in.

There's a stack of blankets at the foot of the bed, the sheets changed from his sweat soaked pile that he'd had before. Charles hovers after he sets Max down, hands a few inches from his waist.

Max starts up a soft purr, disassembling the pile of blankets as he starts to construct his nest.

He pauses midway through, tilting back into Charles' arms, nosing at his neck. The alpha's arms wrap around his waist, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. Max likes the sound of it, likes the soft blankets and the feeling of being filled, and he can feel his heat starting to simmer beneath his skin again.

He tugs Charles with him when he drops back into the nest, gasping as it jostles the artificial knot inside of him, falling back into the sheets.

Charles abruptly stops at the edge of the nest, a low whine threading out from behind his locked jaw, scent taking on a faint hint of anguish.

Max whines, fingers curling in his waistband and trying to pull him closer, but Charles refuses to budge, firmly on the outside of the nest.

Maybe— maybe he's not enticing enough, maybe he needs to be more convincing. He drops his legs out, tipping his head back, and his alpha makes a punched out noise, reaching over to settle his fingers across Max's thighs.

He's still not getting in the nest, but he's touching Max, a soothing balm against the fire building inside of him.

"Alpha..."

Charles' scent is pained, but his fingers brush against where the knot is settled inside of Max, tugging at the edge, and—

Max isn't present for much after that.

------

Max is curled into his alpha's chest, barely awake as he licks at jam from his fingers, purr rattling through his chest. The TV is going, something about historical France, and he's tucked under a blanket, bracketed by his alpha's legs.

There's a hand running smooth lines down his back, coaxing him back into his half asleep haze, and he's surrounded by a rich, protective scent. He's safe, warm and full, cradled in a perfect cocoon.

------

Max sobs into the pillow, fire burning across his bones. He's writhing, muscles cramped all up his abdomen, fingers ripping into the sheets. The nest isn't enough, his alpha isn't here—

He chokes on a gasp, shivering as he curls tighter into a ball. He can't even bring himself to find relief, the very thought of it repulsive, even as it's the only thing he can think of. His scent is rotten, seeping through the room, mixed with his tears. There's saltwater in his nose and mouth, pitiful cries making their way out between ragged panting.

There's a panicked wash of scent as he hears the door fly open, and he wails, twisting towards his alpha as frantic fingers tilt his face up.

There's no muzzle, just terrified green eyes, blown wide as he looks over Max, thumbs brushing at the tears under his eyes.

Max tries to turn, propped up on his right arm, and pain lances through it— he drops back down with a soft cry, and his alpha launches into the nest, desperately scenting him as he gathers Max into his lap, nose pressed into his scent gland.

He's rumbling, trying to soothe Max as he runs his hands down his ribs, and Max whines— he's soaked in sweat, feverish and hurting, he can't possibly be enticing— but he doesn't care, lowering Max gently onto his back.

He brackets Max above him, sliding two fingers inside where he's dripping wet and aching, murmuring soft apologies against his skin as Max cries.

He wants more, he wants less, he wants it to stop hurting.

He's only vaguely aware of his own begging, raspy and soft.

Max flinches when he feels a thumb across his clit, and his alpha quickly understands, carefully avoiding the area as he slowly works his fingers inside of him.

It's slow going— Max hurts, and being filled is overwhelming and raw, but it's the only thing helping. He has his nose buried against a thick neck, drinking in the spiced scent, reassuring with a low thread of panic laced through it.

There's gentle words being whispered into his ear as his alpha slowly works the heat aid inside of him again, the artificial knot barely finding any resistance as it slips inside of him. His shuddering sobs start to quiet as he's tucked into a broad chest, arms circling around him. The frantic scent is starting to ease, fading into something relieved as the pain starts to recede and Max starts up a watery purr.

He can faintly hear the soft apologies his alpha is whispering into his hair, tucking Max's face into his neck as they lay in the nest.

------

Max's heat breaks in the middle of the afternoon. He wakes up feeling encompassed and safe, head nestled under a strong jaw, arms wrapped around him. It smells like Charles, wholly and completely.

He smells his own scent spike with anxiety, and Charles immediately startles awake with a questioning noise. He must smell that Max's heat has broken, because he launches backwards out of the nest, starting a rushed apology, too fast for Max to follow.

"Max, I am— truly, I am so sorry, I would not have— this is so improper, I promise it is not what it looks like. I swear, I didn't— I did not do anything besides help get the heat aid in, and only when you wanted it, I think—"

Max's scent mellows out, soothing pheromones against Charles' spiraling panic. He clears his throat, which feels rougher than usual, worn from the unwilling vocalizations of heat, as it often does.

"Charles— it is okay. I trust you."

There's not many alphas Max would say that about, but he finds himself believing it. He doesn't remember much from his heat, just snapshots of cool bathwater, of Charles refusing to enter the nest without real permission, of a frantic—

Oh.

"I didn't think... This is my fault. I wasn't scheduled for a few more weeks, or else I would've figured something else out. I'm sorry to impose on you, and if you felt—"

His stomach rolls. He and Charles have something good going, slow courting as they strengthen their friendship, and Max's biology may have just ruined all of it.

"Forced— I am truly, deeply sorry. I should never have put you in that situation."

Charles' scent sharpens defensively, eyes narrowing.

"No, no, you could never. You did not coerce or force me, Max. It was my choice. If anything, I should be sorry— you were not able to give consent for me to assist you. And,"

He pauses, eyeing Max with concern.

"Are your heats always that bad? It seemed normal right up until the end, like you had some kind of heat crisis, but that wouldn't make sense...?"

Max winces.

"I had, uh. Suppressant overuse, when I was younger. Before I was with Gianpiero. Sometimes my heats still throw my hormones out of balance, and they try to shut down the heat. It's a rare side effect, but I usually have my heats at hotels with a medical wing, just in case."

He rubs a blanket between his index finger and thumb, looking away from Charles.

"Without a medical intervention or a heat partner, I just... won't satiate the heat. It would get worse and worse, and then..."

Charles whines, a broken noise slipping from his throat, and Max rushes to reassure him, shame swirling in his gut.

"It's not every time. And I'm sorry you got dragged into it. I know all... this probably isn't what you thought you were getting into when you asked to court me. I understand if you want to break it off."

The soft snarl from Charles startles both of them, and he leans forward, linking his fingers with Max, eyes wide and desperate.

"No— no, I want to keep courting you, I want— I want to be there when it happens again. I don't want to see you in pain. I don't care if it's untraditional, if you need me outside your nest every time, I will be there."

His scent is deeply earnest, and Max feels shy under his gaze, unable to meet his eyes. He knows he's not a typical omega, but... if Charles still wants to try—

"Maybe next time you could be in the nest?"

He tries not to sound too hopeful, but it seeps into his voice anyways. It's worth it for the way Charles' face softens, scent sweetening as he squeezes Max's fingers.

"I would love that."

[multi-fandom-imagine]

I have a thought for epic. Before Telemachus went on his diplomatic mission, he was scrawny because he didn't have any warrior training. And his wife loved that about him. But hear me out. He comes back, after all the training from Athena and such and he is so much stronger and has more muscle and his wife is like "DAMN!!"

A/n: I love this 🤣 also like let me know if you want a smutty part 2 👀

You were one of the best things that happened to him, Telemachus. You saw him for who he was, not for being the son of Odysseus and now....now he was leaving you behind.

(Something he did not want to do)

Lip's quivering, you did your best to not pout as you grasped your husband's hands gently in yours as you gazed up at him. "Come back to me."

Telemachus smiled as he pressed his head against yours as he gave you a soft kiss. "Always."

It's been close to a year, a year without your sweet and gentle husband and now you've had gotten word he was finally returning home. You've always knew that Telemachus wasn’t a warrior when he’d gone.

Not yet.

Telemachus had always been gentle—long-limbed, a bit too lean, always more tongue-tied than bold, except when he spoke of justice. Or you.

You’d fallen for his soul, his smile and those beautiful eyes, not his sword arm. For the way he listened more than he spoke.

So when the guards called out—“A ship! The prince returns!”—you dropped the basket you were holding and without thinking you took off into a sprint.

You ran to the shore.

And stopped cold.

Because the man disembarking was not the same scrawny boy who left.

He was taller now, shoulders broad beneath a dark cloak, a glint of bronze beneath it where his armor clung. His arms—Gods, his arms—were no longer slender but strong, defined with muscle earned from battles and training alike. He walked like a lion now, not a hesitant deer. Confident. Controlled. Powerful.

And then he smiled...that same sweet smile.

Your Telemachus was still in there—that soft tilt of the mouth, the boyish warmth that bloomed behind storm-colored eyes.

“Wife,” he greeted lowly, voice deeper than you remembered, huskier with use.

You blinked once.

Twice.

“…Damn,” you whispered, breathless.

His brow arched in amused confusion. “What was that?”

“N-Nothing,” you stammered, cheeks flaring with heat as you suddenly remembered the many, many inappropriate thoughts now stampeding through your mind. “I just—I didn’t—gods, what did Athena feed you?”

That made him grin.

“You missed me, then?” he teased, stepping closer until his shadow fell over you, until you had to tilt your head just to keep eye contact.

You reached out, placing your hand on his chest—partly to confirm he was real, partly because by the gods, you wanted to feel those muscles beneath your palm. “You could say that.” Your mouth felt dry and you were at a loss for words now.

But when he dipped his head to kiss you, slow and warm and newly confident, you could barely remember what restraint meant.

“I have so many things to tell you,” he murmured against your lips.

“Mhm,” you breathed. “Later. Right now, we’re going inside. And you’re going to tell me with your arms and body and everything else.

He blinked.

Then he smirked.

“By the gods,” he chuckled, sweeping you up bridal-style without effort. “I’ve missed you.”

And if anyone asked why the palace doors slammed shut and didn’t open again until dawn…

Well. That was nobody’s business but yours

[pleasuretrade]

several sentences sunday abandoned fic friday

ok @stereobone tagged me last time and i've been rly busy n fucked up so it's late but here is for u roooooo

wrote ~1500 words of this and then abandoned it for various reasons. probably like the second thing i ever started writing for mota, before i was even active on tumblr abt it. was gonna be a summary of a years-long escalation of what they started in flight school. and no idk if you actually had to continue combatives training in flight school and i refuse to research it

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

 Combatives was a given in Basic. Gale hoped he never had to use it, less scared of the high chance he’d die in the air or hitting the ground than he was of coming face to face on land with a nazi, not that he’d ever tell anyone that, ever, except Bucky eventually. Naivety and misplaced optimism told him that combatives training wouldn’t follow him into flight school, but of course he was wrong, as that’s where his optimism always got him.

 Naturally, he’d sparred Bucky first and frequently. They’d become fast friends and worked together well, despite all odds, and in the service that meant staying together. Becoming brothers was a valuable token, gave you a higher chance of staying alive; they’d drilled as much into every man. It was never lost on Gale, the way that his place in things had become interwoven with John’s, so much so that it could literally keep him alive someday. Buck and Bucky, dependent on each other and allowed to be so by Uncle Sam himself. It made the thing in Gale, the sick, confused thing, that much hungrier. He’d put a muzzle on it, tied it down with strong rope and a long stake, told it to stay, boy, stay, and told himself he had it under control.

↓↓↓↓↓↓

 They were grappling clumsily, Bucky always better at it, just broader and taller and stronger enough to have the physical upperhand. And all of the sudden it hit Gale like a freight train, like a stray dog snapped loose from its rope. John’s leg pressed between his, tangled, bones held tight, his arms around Gale like a vice, breath against his hair—Gale was hard in his trousers.

“Bucky,” he said lamely, meekly, pleading before he could stop, wanting this to be over before his friend realized what was happening.

“Yeah?” And John pressed his leg into Gale harder, spitting the word, amused and teasing like a schoolboy and definitely knowing.

 It knocked the wind out of him. The terror, the shame, the guilt, the arousal. Gale panicked, twisting like an animal, only the motion and the friction weren't helping, and Gale was letting John work him over in his attempt to escape, cock weeping a single bead of dampness that Gale felt like a rush of cold water. This was it, this was the end before it had really started, before Gale ever got over there and saw his first mission. He was going to be sent home, and his dad was going to send him to the sanitarium, and he wouldn’t have Bucky in his life anymore, wouldn't be Buck anymore.

“Bucky, stop.”

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Buck, happens all the time,” John said, grunting only a little, collected even as Gale struggled in his arms. Pressing into him like he wanted to drive a point home.

“Stop!” The sound punched out of him, desperate and getting angry.

 And finally John let him go, rolled off and threw up his hands.

-

 Gale was on his bed in their room, clothes still on and not about to be taken off. He would sleep in his clothes if he could, too ashamed to touch himself even just to take them off, too angry to remove a layer between his dick and the world. When John opened the door Gale already knew how it would go, how John was going to act like nothing happened, how it was going to be an awkward nothing, how it would sour their friendship even as they try not to let it. Or at least, he thought he knew.

 John finished scrubbing at his hair with a towel, tossing it on the edge of his own bed, and Gale had to do it now or he would never do it.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could manage at first, too many words churning in his head.

“Sorry for what?” And there John went, pretending nothing happened.

“Not gonna say it out loud, Bucky.”

 John scoffed. “Jesus, Buck, always so serious. A little wood isn't gonna scare me away, alright?”

 It made Gale boil, hot up from his neck and down across his thighs. How Bucky was so flippant about it. How he didn't understand. It wasn't a misfire, wasn't just his body reacting errantly to physical stimulation. Gale was sick, and he was sick for John, for Bucky. His handsome face, his dark curls, his confidence, but more so his kindness, the soft meat under his tough masculinity, all the things he kept hidden away that Gale was finally piecing together, bit by bit. Gracious even now, when he had no reason to be.

“It won't happen again.”

-

 The very next time they did combatives, it happened again. Gale had spent the hours leading up to it agonizing, churning, making a mental list of things that repulsed and repelled him so he could conjure them on command. He braced for a punch that he tried desperately to tell himself didn't have to be inevitable. Over and over, reminding himself that it wasn't normal, that there was no reason for his body to do it, spiders, frog eggs, soured milk, the bright red tinge of his father’s vomit that Thanksgiving when he was eleven years old.

 It was useless, in the end. Gale tried and tried to stay upright as they grappled, and then to stay on his knees when he couldn't, and then when that didn't hold he would simply give up, flop to his stomach, take the loss. Lost and lost and lost until their commanding officer noticed, brought attention to it with a sharp bite of reprimand that set Gale's body to burning guilt.

“Just warmin’ him up, sir,” John told him, covering for Gale easy as anything.

 Their CO cut them a sharp look and moved on, skeptical and suspicious in the way that Gale excelled at nearly everything and why wasn’t he excelling at this?

 John assumed the position, stance wide and braced low, hands out and eager. “Come on, tough guy, give it to me.”

And the words made Gale want to be sick, to keel over and vomit or orgasm, his dick getting ideas before the physical contact even hit, spiders, spiders, spoiled milk, frog eggs.

 Like he was looking for it, like he wanted it, John had him again in no time. Thigh wedged between Gale’s, pelvis pressed tight, the crease of his hip meeting where Gale’s hard cock strained in his uniform. “Bucky, I give, stop,” rushed out, a plea. And when John didn't give up, when he shifted against Gale, teasing, taunting, punishing, “John.”

 John’s mouth close to his ear, low, low, only for them to hear, almost a whisper as he shifted his body in something too similar to a thrust, “I like when you say my name.”

 Gale almost came in his trousers just as John released him, laughing, rolling off and patting the dust off of himself, smiling, satisfied. Sick in some way. But he couldn’t be sick like Gale. Could he?

[oensible]

Article also available at The Hockey News Archive (subscription)

Transcript below the cut.

PROSPECT REPORT

[Lede image description: Elevated shot looking down at Worcester Sharks (AHL) goalie Tyson Sexsmith as he reaches out to make a glove save in his crease.

Caption at upper right: FEET FIRST Tyson Sexsmith focused on his skating while playing as both a forward and goalie growing up.]

Quick, Slick Sexsmith

Sharks' AHL goalie is one of many enticing prospects looking to get his shot in The Show with San Jose or elsewhere

BY RORY BOYLEN

(Page 46 | JANUARY 30, 2012 THN.mobi)

Tyson Sexsmith always wanted to be a goaltender, even if his parents weren't as keen. He began donning the pads around the age of seven, but Mom and Dad always wanted him to be a strong skater, so as a kid Sexsmith played the first half of his Okotoks minor hockey practices as a skater and the second as a goalie. "I liked the gear and I like to be different," he said. "Having my parents want me to keep playing forward and be a good skater definitely helped my game as I feel I've probably been one of the stronger skaters on every team I've been on."

It's certainly a trait that has allowed him to excel in the famously successful Sharks goalie factory. He's risen to become one of the American League's best netminders with Worcester and earned an all-star nod. At 5-foot-11 and 195 pounds, Sexsmith doesn't follow the big-body trend we've seen in the NHL lately and will never be the same type of goalie as 6-foot-3 Carey Price or 6-foot-5 Pekka Rinne. However, it's his skating ability that helps make up for any size disadvantage. "He's got a real thick lower body, really strong legs," said Tim Burke, San Jose's director of scouting. "I'm not comparing him to Mike Richter, but he also had a thick lower body and guys with explosive lower bodies are already in place and they don't have to extend and chase pucks."

Sexsmith, a 2007 third-rounder (91st overall), is establishing himself as an elite prospect, but he had to endure some difficult times over his first two as a pro. In November of 2010 with the ECHL's Stockton Thunder, he was about three minutes away from a shutout when Bakersfield goalie Josh Tordjman skated down and challenged him to a fight during a post-whistle scrum. While Sexsmith won the tilt, he broke his hand as well. And two years ago, his rookie pro season was interrupted by a hernia, so he's already played more games in the AHL this year than he had in his first two campaigns.

But the San Jose crease is as crowded as ever. With three goalies already on the pro roster, other intriguing prospects such as Alex Stalock and Harri Sateri are fighting for depth-chart positioning. Stalock's season-long leg injury opened up an opportunity to start in the AHL and while Sateri has been strong in his own right, Sexsmith has been otherworldly in earning a few more starts that his Finnish counterpart. "It's definitely frustrating," Sexsmith said about the number of goalies in the system. "It's something you just have to deal with – it's out of your control. You know there will be someone to take your job if you're not willing to perform. You have to take it as a challenge."

And history shows he is up to the task. In his first year of junior with the Vancouver Giants, Sexsmith served as a backup on a Western League championship team. He became the starter the next season and, under the weight of expectations, led his team to a Memorial Cup championship. When his junior career ended, he came out of it with a new WHL and Canadian League shutout record. "He was technically very calm and positionally strong," Burke said of what turned him on to Sexsmith. "And a lot of people said 'well, he's playing in Vancouver, they have a good team,' but the reality is Ken Dryden had a good team, too. Tyson won a lot of games."

And while there's a lot of competition in net, Burke says all of San Jose's goalies get their opportunity. "We make them believe in the way we train them that they're all going to have a chance to play because history says we've had a lot of goalies play in the league," Burke said. "And if any of them don't, we're not saying they can't do it. We're saying we have to find a way, whether it's mentally or physically, to get them to that point."

As Sexsmith refines the little things in his game such as day-in, day-out mental focus and picking up the handedness of an oncoming shooter, "that point" doesn't seem too far off.

A scan of the article from the goalie issue of the Hockey News about San Jose Sharks’ prospect, Tyson Sexsmith.

His mask reads “Sexy”.

[little-shadow-club]

Something something Esil, Haein and Juhee would in fact make the best group of besties ever because all they want in life is to have a normal life (Haein being away from constant work, Juhee learning to live with her trauma, Esil living for something more than what she was designed to do), unfortunately they met the most abnormal guy in the world. Nein, in the universe.

[mattplsh]

working out consistently is insane it’s been like 6 months and my arms are the biggest theyve ever been and I dont even feel like ive been working that hard

[neptunsx]

PERMANENT | P.SH

⤷ genre: angst, nsfw.

⤷ synopsis: sunghoon as your toxic boxer ex who got your name tattooed.

You hadn’t meant to see him again.

You were scrolling absently through channels, not really watching anything. The day had been long, your body heavy with the kind of tired that no amount of caffeine could touch. You just wanted background noise. Something to drown out your thoughts.

You paused on a channel where the crowd was going wild—flashing signs, girls lifting their tops in a frenzy of excitement.

With a sigh and a roll of your eyes, you turned your attention back to admiring your freshly done nails.

Then…his name echoed through the chaos and hit you hard, like a punch to the chest.

“Park Sunghoon steps back into the ring tonight—”

You froze.

You didn’t breathe.

The screen shifted to show him entering the ring — black gloves, cold eyes, hair pushed back the way it always was before a match. He looked sharper. Stronger. But it was him.

Sunghoon.

Your ex.

You didn’t even realize you were leaning forward until your elbow knocked the remote off the couch.

He looked exactly the same. Like no time had passed. Like he hadn’t wrecked you eight months ago with nothing more than distance and silence.

Your throat tightened.

You hadn’t seen him since the night he left — or rather, the night you did. The night you packed a bag after another argument that started small and turned brutal. That was your pattern: quiet resentment, building pressure, then a blowout that left both of you staring at each other like strangers.

It wasn’t always like that.

There was a time when he made you feel untouchable. When his voice in the early morning, raspy and low, was your favorite sound. When his hands were always on your waist, grounding you, and his mouth only ever knew how to say stay.

But the higher his career climbed, the more he looked down on you.

He stopped talking. You started overthinking. He buried himself in training—and in other women when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

He made you feel needy for asking to be seen, dramatic for needing his time. He mocked your softness, called your emotions a distraction.

The compliments turned to criticism. The late-night phone calls became silent treatments.

The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by cold calculation—like you were just another task he didn’t have time for.

And still, you stayed… until it hurt more to hold on than to let go.

You told yourself you moved on.

But there you were, heart racing, watching the man who used to sleep next to you throw punches with the same precision he used to kiss you with. Calculated. Controlled. Cold.

The match ended fast. It always did. A blur of footwork, one perfectly placed hit — and Sunghoon stood in the center of the ring, victorious, breathing heavy under the arena lights.

He pulled off his gloves. The camera followed the movement.

And that’s when you saw it.

A tattoo, dark and fresh, inked into the side of his ribs.

Your name.

You blinked. Your lips parted.

No. No, that couldn’t—

You leaned closer.

Your full name. In his handwriting. Just under the curve of his left ribs, near where you used to rest your head at night.

You felt like the floor shifted underneath you.

When did he do that? Why would he do that?

You hadn’t spoken in months. Not even a text. He didn’t show up when you moved out. Didn’t fight for you. Didn’t ask you to stay.

And yet there you were. Permanently etched into his skin.

Your stomach turned with confusion, heat, and something dangerously close to longing.

Midnight came and went. You paced. You sat in silence. Trying to process what the fuck you just saw.

Your fingers hovered over his name in your phone. You told yourself not to do it, told yourself you didn’t need to know.

But you called anyway.

He answered after two rings. Like he always used to.

“…Hello?”

The sound of his voice pulled something tight in your chest.

“Hi…” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

A pause. Then: “Y/N?”

You ignored the way your name sounded coming from him. Focused on the tremble in his voice instead.

“Can you come over?”

He was quiet for a beat.

“Are you okay?”

“I just… I need to talk.”

Another pause. Then: “Yeah. I’ll come.”

He showed up in a black hoodie and oversized jeans. His sleeves were pushed up, revealing his bruised knuckles.

When he showed up at the door, it was like everything stopped for a second. Your chest tightened, a familiar ache creeping in.

He leaned casually against the frame, his fingers flicking the keys to his expensive car, the sound of metal against metal almost too loud in the quiet of the night. The faint scent of cigarettes wrapped around him — a bitter contrast to his polished athlete image.

As he looked at you, the weight of everything unspoken between you hung thick in the air.

You moved aside, allowing him to enter your house.

He stepped inside like he still knew the way. Like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

You sat on the edge of your couch, arms crossed over your chest. Trying to seem calm. Like you hadn’t been rehearsing this moment in your head all night.

He stood a few feet away, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to get closer.

“You said you wanted to talk.” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I did.”

A heavy beat passed.

“So?” he asked, shifting his weight. “Talk.”

You swallowed.

“I saw the fight.”

His jaw tensed. “Okay.”

“And I saw the tattoo.”

His expression cracked. Just slightly. But it was there — the flicker of surprise. The way his shoulders tensed, like he’d been caught in something.

“So…” you said, voice sharper now, “when were you planning to tell me you got my name inked into your ribs like I’m some kind of ghost you can't shake?”

He hesitated.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Seriously?” you scoffed. “So what, I was supposed to just never find out? You really thought you could keep this from me? You thought I wouldn’t find out that you permanently branded yourself with my name, like some fucking trophy?”

His eyes flickered for a second, but he quickly masked it with a smirk. “I didn’t do it for you.” he said coolly, spinning the car keys around his finger. “I did it because I couldn’t pretend anymore. I’m not here to explain myself to you.”

“Pretend what?” you snapped back, stepping forward, heart pounding in your chest. “What were you pretending? That you were over me? Because you weren’t, and you knew it. You just didn’t want to admit it.”

He gave a low laugh, but it wasn’t a real laugh—it was condescending. “You still think everything’s about you, don’t you?”

He took a step closer, his arrogance flooding the room. “No. I didn’t pretend to be over you. I just let you go because you couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t about to sit here begging you to stay, like some weak, desperate idiot.”

You shook your head, your pulse rising. “And now you think you can fix it by putting my name on your fucking skin? As if that somehow makes up for the years you spent shutting me out? You didn’t fight for me, Sunghoon. You never did.”

He shrugged, unfazed by your words. “You weren’t worth fighting for. I don’t need to prove anything to you, and I don’t need your forgiveness. I did what I had to do to keep moving. You’re just... a reminder.”

“Is that it?” you spat. “I’m just a reminder? You’re so full of yourself, you think this tattoo is some kind of redemption. You don’t get to claim me like this.”

His expression darkened, but only slightly. “You never understand, do you? I didn’t do this because I missed you. I did it because it’s the only thing that won’t leave. Everything else does. You did. So I kept pushing, kept fighting, kept pretending I didn’t care. But every goddamn time I stepped into that ring, I felt your presence, like a shadow I couldn’t outrun. You never left my head, no matter how hard I tried.”

“You think this tattoo means something?” you said, the bitterness thick in your voice. “You think that after everything you did, a tattoo will fix it? You never tried to make things right, Sunghoon. You just let me walk away. And now you’re expecting me to think this is some grand gesture?”

He stepped even closer, voice dropping lower. “It’s not about you thinking anything. It’s about me reminding you of who I am, who I was to you. You think you can walk away, pretend I don’t still haunt you, but I’m still here, aren’t I? And you’re still pissed, still holding on.”

You froze, a shiver running down your spine. “You’re so arrogant.” you said, the words barely escaping through your clenched teeth. “You don’t even realize that it’s not about you anymore. It’s about me and how you destroyed us. You shut me out over and over again. You didn’t give a single damn.”

“You think I didn’t know that?” He was inches from you now, his eyes burning, but there was something almost... possessive in them. “I didn’t need to call you. I didn’t need to chase you. You think I didn’t know how much I hurt you? I knew. But I was never going to chase you down, begging for forgiveness. That’s not how this works.”

“You’ve always been so damn prideful.” you seethed, voice trembling with anger. “You think you can just leave me with nothing and then show up with this thing on your skin like it makes everything okay?”

“I never said it made everything okay.” He looked at you, his gaze flicking to the tattoo briefly before locking back on your eyes. “But it’s real. That’s more than you’ll ever understand. You were always so temporary to me, and I wanted something that wouldn’t leave. You won’t leave me, not like this. No matter how much you think you hate me, no matter how many times you tell yourself you’ve moved on—you're still here.”

You shook your head, feeling something twist in your chest. “I’m still here because you never let me leave completely. You always found a way to pull me back in, and now it’s too late. I’m done. I’m done trying to fix something you never wanted to fix.”

He smirked, a faint edge of satisfaction curling his lips. “You think I didn’t know you’d say that? You think I didn’t know you were still in love with me? It’s the same shit, every time. You want to hate me. You want to make me the villain. But you still can’t walk away. You’ll never walk away.”

You looked at him — really looked at him. The tired eyes. The bruises. The tattoo. He was still him. Still sharp edges and cold fire. But now there was something soft underneath.

And you were still you.

Still in love with a boy who didn’t know how to ask you to stay until it was too late.

“I shouldn’t let you back in.” you said.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t.”

Silence. Long. Heavy.

You hated him.

You hated the way he stood there like he hadn’t torn you apart. The way his jaw clenched when you spoke, like you were the one being unfair. The way he smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne and memories you still hadn’t managed to drown.

You hated the way your body still ached for him, even now.

“You think I can’t forget you?” you whispered, stepping back, needing space, needing air. “You’re wrong. I do it every damn day.”

But you didn’t sound convincing. Not even to yourself.

His eyes flicked down to your mouth. “Then why are you shaking?”

You froze. Your breath caught. And in a flash, like muscle memory, he was already in front of you again, backing you against the wall like gravity was pulling him there.

“You hate me,” he murmured, voice low, “but you let me in.”

“You’re still a fucking narcissist.” you hissed, but your hands had already found his chest, trying to push him away.

“And you’re still lying to yourself.” he shot back, just before his mouth crashed into yours.

It wasn’t sweet. It was angry. Raw. A clash of teeth and breath and months of words you never said. His hands were on your waist like they used to be—possessive, rough, like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

You knew you shouldn’t.

But God, he felt like fire after a lifetime of cold.

He pulled back for a second, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless.

“This doesn’t fix anything.” you whispered.

“I know.” he said, brushing his lips against yours again, softer this time. “But I need you. Just for tonight.”

You knew it was a terrible idea. Knew that the next morning, none of this would be simple. But when he looked at you like that — like you were the only thing that ever quieted the chaos inside him — logic didn’t stand a chance.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him back in before you could talk yourself out of it. His mouth crashed into yours, hungry and unrelenting. He kissed like he fought. With intensity, control, like he needed to win. And maybe you did too, in your own way.

His hands were on your body, sliding beneath your shirt, calloused palms dragging across your skin like he was rediscovering a language he hadn’t spoken in months. You gasped into his mouth when his thumbs brushed under your ribs, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core.

“Still so fucking soft.” he muttered against your neck, his breath hot. “You think I ever forgot this?”

You didn’t answer — couldn’t. Your back hit the wall again and your arms wrapped around his neck instinctively. His mouth moved down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.

You tugged his shirt over his head, eyes tracing the familiar scars, the bruises from his latest fight, the ink over his ribs — your name etched in bold, defiant permanence.

“You’re fucking crazy.” you whispered, dragging your nails down his chest.

“Only for you.” he said, eyes dark as he pulled your sweatpants down.

He worked you out of your clothes like it was muscle memory — like he’d imagined it a hundred times since you left.

His mouth moved to your tits, grabbing them firmly and marking them as his.

You gripped his hair, gasping his name, and he looked up at you, lips already flushed, voice gravelly,

“Say it again.”

“Sunghoon...” you moan again, softly.

He groaned like it hurt. Like it healed.

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the couch.

He finished undressing himself and pumped his dick a few times while maintaining eye contact with you.

When he finally pushed into you, it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t slow. It was desperation wrapped in need — teeth on your collarbone, fingers digging into your thighs, curses muttered into your skin. He was everywhere. He was too much. He was exactly what you needed.

He was ramming into you like crazy, like he was starved. You clawed at his back, legs locked around him, moving in sync like your bodies never forgot.

“God, you still feel like mine.” he growled into your ear, hips thrusting harder, more erratic now. “Tell me I didn’t lose you.”

You bit his bicep, half a sob, half a moan. “You never really had me.”

But even as you said it, your nails raked down his spine and your body arched into his like gravity couldn’t bear to keep you apart.

“Are you sure about that?” he said, looking at you with dark, needy eyes.

His hand crawled up, finding your neck and giving it a strong squeeze, holding you in place.

Your vision blurred as pleasure crashed over you in waves — overwhelming, all-consuming. Your back arched off the couch, breath hitching, unable to ground yourself in anything but the way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you. He slapped your cheek and grabbed your jaw, making you look up at him.

“You fucking slut,” he groaned, “missed my dick that bad?” he mocked, making you whimper and feel vulnerable under him.

“Fuck you.” you spat.

He chuckled, low and dangerous, like he loved when you talked back.

Before you could blink, he flipped you effortlessly, pressing your chest to the couch cushions, dragging your hips up with rough hands. You gasped, caught off guard, dizzy from the shift, but burning with need.

“You always needed it like this.” he muttered behind you, voice like gravel, hands gripping your hips with a possessive hold that left fingerprints in his wake. “Hard. Messy. Mine.”

And then he was moving again — deeper, rougher, pulling sounds from you that didn’t even sound like your own. You buried your face in the pillow, but he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back just enough to hear your pretty noises, “Don’t hide from me now."

“F-Fuck.” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot back, trying to slow him down.

But he didn’t stop.

He gripped your wrist mid-air, pinned it to the small of your back, and kept going — relentless, feverish, like he was trying to burn his name into your skin.

He’d never been like this before. Not this rough. Not this desperate.

Not this possessed.

Every thrust sent a shockwave through you, your cries lost in the heat between you, in the way your name kept falling from his lips like a prayer turned curse.

Your thighs trembled.

Your breath hitched.

And then you shattered. Back arching, vision blinding white, everything in you unraveling all at once. You cried out his name, broken and breathless, feeling yourself fall apart around him.

That was all it took.

With a guttural groan, he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips like he was anchoring himself to the moment — to you. Like he needed this more than air.

You were still catching your breath, your body buzzing with the aftershocks, when it hit you.

Your eyes flew open.

“Wait—” you gasped, twisting to look at him. “Did you just—? You didn’t pull out.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

“Yeah.” he said, calm. Too calm. “I did it on purpose.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Are you insane?”

His hand slid down your spine possessively, slow and deliberate. “No.” he murmured. “Just done pretending.”

Your chest tightened, fury and disbelief tangling with something that felt a lot like fear.

“You can’t just—” you started.

“I already did.” he interrupted. His voice was low, dark, final. “That wasn’t just sex. That was me putting you back where you belong. You’re mine again — deal with it.”

Your mouth opened, then closed.

You should’ve pushed him off. Should’ve screamed, left, anything.

But instead, you laid there, his breath still warm on your skin, trying to decide if the rapid beat of your heart was from panic… or the fact that a part of you liked being wanted this much.

Even if it was twisted.

Even if it was wrong.

© NEPTUNSX, 2025 / do not copy or repost.

[harrysfolklore]

i see your face in every crowd - op81

summary: the asutralian grand prix is right around the corner and oscar's face is everywhere in melbourne, his ex girlfriend can't help but miss him (he misses her too)

folkie radio: if you know me you know i'm a sucker for an exes to lovers trope, and honestly this one is one of my faves i've ever done. ENJOY AND LEAVE FEEDBACK

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by oliviarodrigo, lando and 2,107,399 others

yourinstagram back home for a bit... needed some time to reset & breathe. been writing loads lately - the songs are just pouring out 🌊 feeling more inspired than ever tbh. can't wait to share what i've been working on with u all soon. huge thank u for all the love lately, means more than u know xx

view all comments

username1 BABYYYY

username2 i'm happy she's home and surrounded by love

sabrinacarpenter miss ur face already 😭 these songs are about to end lives fr

chappellroan THEYRE NOT READY FOR WHAT'S COMING!!! also pls come back to LA soon i'm dying without u

username3 chappellynbrina is a forever thing

username4 the way melbourne gp is gonna be so awkward next month...

└ username1 why does everyone have to make everything about that 🙄 let them live

└ username2 no fr like can we focus on the music instead

username5 oscar ain't shit anyway, ur so much better without him queen

└ username3 y'all don't even know what happened, stop being toxic

└ username6 they literally both asked for privacy can u respect that maybe

alexandrasaintmleux being home suits u sm! can't wait for the new era

└ username2 once a wag always a wag

username7 THE BREAKUP ALBUM IS COMING AND IM HERE FOR IT

username8 take all the time u need but also pls drop a song soon we're starving 😩

lando yooo text me when you get the chance !

└ username1 THEIR FRIENDSHIP LIVES

└username2 oscar piastri you can't break this one

username9 some of y'all are being so mean for no reason, they were cute together and now they're not, it happens

username10 manifesting a collab with sabrina on this album 🕯️

liked by lando, alex_albon and 467,958 others

oscarpiastri Last few days of prep before heading home for the season opener. Ready 💪

view all comments

username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 we're so taking that wdc this year

lando looking a bit weak mate might need another few months of training

└ oscarpiastri stick to gaming mate

└ carlossainz55 Children, behave 😂

└ username1 THIS INTERACTION

username3 we're so back. man's entering his thirst trap era and we love to see it

└ username1 healing through gym pics, real

username4 the transformation from rookie to absolute unit we love to see it

username5 melbourne's gonna go crazy for him

└ username2 the city will be pretty much covered with his face

username7 the post-breakup glow >>>>>>

username8 bro said watch me get faster AND hotter

username9 yn is stronger than me bc i definitely would've given him another chance

georgerussell63 Looking strong 💪🏼

└ lando but still slower than me

└ oscarpiastri We'll see about that mate

└ username3 WHAT IS LANDO'S PROBLEM

aussiegp Our hometown hero getting ready to give us a show 🇦🇺

username10 YN GET BACK WITH HIM I BEGGG

liked by shortandbrina, livbedumb and 119 others

definitelynotyn not me stalking his instagram at 2am with a glass of rosé in hand... why he gotta post gym pics looking like THAT 😭 someone take my phone away fr because what if i do something stupid like text him rn???? also why does he have to look so good while training I HATE HIM

view all comments

shortandbrina girl DELETE instagram rn i'm not joking!! calling u in 2 mins

└ definitelynotyn too late i already watched his story 3 times help

midwestprincess this is why we don't drink wine alone bestie... coming over with ice cream and we're watching mean girls

└ definitelynotyn pls hurry before i do something stupid like listen to our playlist

livbedumb first rule of breakups: BLOCK THE GYM PROGRESS POSTS!!!! trust me on this one

└ definitelynotyn but what if i just want to check if he's doing okay 🥲

└ gracieeeeee she's lost it completely someone intervene

arithegood not me literally writing a song about this exact situation last week 💀 wine drunk stalking is universal bestie

└ definitelynotyn pls send me the song i just know it'll hurt so good

phoebenotbuffay okay but like... we've all been there 😭 remember when i almost texted #him after he decided to walk around in those short shorts

└ definitelynotyn at least urs wasn't wearing race suits that make his arms look like THAT

whostaylorswiftanyway time to write a song about it bestie x

└ definitelynotyn already got three verses and a bridge done ngl

liked by username1, username2 and 6,974 others

f1updates Melbourne is getting ready for the Australian GP! The city is covered in @/oscarpiastri billboards and posters as they prepare to welcome their home hero

view all comments

username1 imagine being yn trying to get coffee and boom there's your ex's face on a 50ft billboard 💀

username2 the way you literally can't escape his face anywhere in the cbd this week

username3 the way this gp would've been so different if they were still together... remember last year?

└ username1 they were the cutest in the paddock

└ username2 pls she probably won't even be in melbourne this year

username4 our boy is everywhere and we love to see it!!

username5 the promotional team really said oscar piastri world domination

username6 the billboards are giving everything they need to give tbh

username7 maybe she should drop the breakup album during race week for maximum chaos

└ username1 now that would be iconic behavior

└ username3 the way the charts and the podium would be fighting for his attention

username8 MELBOURNE IS OSCARLAND

username9 imagine not being an oscar fan rn… or worse, being his ex

username10 CAN SOMEBODY THINK OF OUR GIRL YN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 597,388 others

oscarpiastri Seems like there's a few of me around Melbourne at the moment... has anyone noticed? 😅

view all comments

username1 OSCAR FUCKING PIASTRI

username2 HE DID NOT

lando bit of an upgrade for the city tbh └ oscarpiastri Better than your face mate

username3 OH HE'S MESSY FOR THIS ONE

└ username1 posting this RIGHT after her story i'm screaming

username4 he chose violence today and i'm here for it

mclaren Our guy's everywhere! Can't wait for the weekend 🧡

└ username2 admin pretending they don't see what's happening here

username5 THE TIMING OF THIS POST??? someone's feeling petty

username6 he really said "oh you can't escape me? let me show you why" 💀

georgerussell63 Just ran into your face in the airport

username7 the way he probably had these pics ready and WAITED

username8 bro saw her story and chose chaos

danielricciardo looking good mate! although i remember when it was my face everywhere 👴 └ oscarpiastri Times change old man

username9 it's giving "oh you miss seeing me? here's more" energy actually

username10 focusing on the important stuff: he looks good in every single billboard

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter and 1,389,647 others

yourinstagram missing tour life so much today! can't wait to get back on the road and see all your beautiful faces again 💕 thankful for the memories we've made together x

view all comments

username1 MY GIRL I MISS HER

username2 the way she posted this exactly after THAT story... we see you

└ username3 damage control era

troyesivan SUPERSTAR 🤩🤩

username4 girl we know what (who) you're really missing

└ username2 not her trying to distract us 😭

username5 we're not fooled bestie but we support you

sabrinacarpenter miss you too angel!! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you sabs 🥺

username6 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST

username7 WE NEED A TOUR ASAP

gracieabrams I miss being on the road with you 🥹🥹

username8 EVERYONE TALKIG ABOUT OSCAR HELP

username9 can we talk about how good she looked on tour though??

username10 the way she's probably sitting with sabrina rn planning damage control posts

└ username11 the group chat must be WILD right now

liked by midwestprincess, livbedumb and 109 others

definitelynotyn well. something just came in the mail and i think i might actually throw up. universe really said "you thought that instagram story wasn't enough embarrassment for one day?"

view all comments

shortnbrina GIRL CHECK YOUR TEXTS RN

└ definitelynotyn I'M HAVING A CRISIS

midwestprincess the way i SPRINTED here when you texted

└ definitelynotyn help what do i do

└ midwestprincess BREATHE FIRST

gracieeee wait is that what i think it is? 🏁

└ definitelynotyn 🙃🙃🙃

└ gracieeee OH MY GOD????

livbedumb the timing… someone's been plotting

└ definitelynotyn don't. i can't think about that.

maddiebeer okay but like… are you going?

└ definitelynotyn MADS PLS I'M ALREADY SPIRALING

└ maddiebeer that's not a no 👀

arithegood manifesting a rain delay so you have to stay longer

└ definitelynotyn I HAVEN'T EVEN DECIDED IF I'M GOING

└ arithegood sure jan

phoebenotbuffay imagine if you'd actually posted this on main too

└ definitelynotyn DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT

└ phoebenotbuffay too soon? 😂

dulapeep at least you have time to plan outfits

└ definitelynotyn NOT HELPING

└ dulapeep the green dress. trust me.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 665,583 others

oscarpiastri Close. Bring on tomorrow

view all comments

username1 THATS MY BABY GOAT

username2 oscar piastri man of few words

username3 pole position if he was still with yn

mclaren Our home champ 🧡

username4 OKAY CHAT DO WE THINK YN WILL ATTEND THE RACE??

└ username1 maybe focus on racing?? this isn't about his ex

lando sorry about that

└ oscarpiastri Should've just let me keep it

username5 can't help but think about yn in parc fermé for his win tomorrow but they're not together anymore

username6 HES WINNING TOMORROW THERE'S NOTHING THAT CAN CHANGE THAT

charles_leclerc An existential crisis later

└ carlossainz55 Let him breathe

└ username1 HUUUH WHAT ARE THEY TALKING ABOUT

username7 brb listening to yn's songs about him.. specially lover

liked by midwestprincess, shortandbrina and 107 others

definitelynotyn watching from my couch because apparently i'm the biggest coward in the universe. the pass is literally staring at me from my coffee table. i hate myself.

view all comments

shortnbrina GET IN YOUR CAR RIGHT NOW

└ definitelynotyn I CAN'T

└ shortnbrina YES YOU CAN I'M CALLING YOU AN UBER

midwestprincess GIRL THERE'S STILL 40 LAPS YOU CAN LITERALLY MAKE IT

└ definitelynotyn and then what?? walk in mid-race??

└ midwestprincess YES EXACTLY LIKE A MAIN CHARACTER WOULD

livbedumb not you watching his every move on tv when you could be there

└ definitelynotyn this is less scary ok

└ livbedumb is it though??

maddiebeer remember when you said you'd never be that girl who's too scared to face her feelings?

└ definitelynotyn low blow mads

whostaylorswiftanyway THE PASS IS RIGHT THERE GO GET YOUR MAN

└ definitelynotyn STOP YELLING AT ME

└ whostaylorswiftanyway NO

gracieeee remember when you said his note was the sweetest thing ever? remember crying about how much you missed him? but sure stay on your couch

└ definitelynotyn this is emotional manipulation

definitelynotyn FINE YALL WIN. CALLING A CAR RN

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by shortnbrina, landitooooo and 113 others

definitelynotyn we did some talking. then we did some kissing. then we did some more talking. then we did some more kissing. might have cried a bit (him too). wearing his sweatshirt again. life's funny sometimes.

view all comments

midwestprincess OH GOD FINALLY

gracieeee I'M SOBBING

leclercccccc FINALLY you accepted the follow request

└ definitelynotyn oh my god

└ leclercccccc i helped with the speech you know

└ notoscarpiastri mate.

└ leclercccccc you're welcome btw

landitooooo took you both long enough bloody hell

└ notoscarpiastri says you

└ landitooooo oi what's that supposed to mean

└ shortnbrina no idea really

└ definitelynotyn lando norris and sabrina carpenter... there's stuff you need to explain

arithegood THE TIMELINE HAS BEEN RESTORED

└ definitelynotyn dramatic much

└ arithegood says the girl who showed up mid-race

whostaylorswiftanyway I expect a full debrief tomorrow but I'm happy for you my girl

notoscarpiastri Can we go back to the kissing?

└ definitelynotyn please

liked by username1, username2 and 8,594 others

popbuzz YN AND OSCAR PIASTRI SPOTTED TOGETHER IN MELBOURNE

view all comments

username1 THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT THE SWEATSHIRT

└ username2 SHE'S WEARING HIS CLOTHES AGAIN

username3 FROM SPINNING OUT TO BREAKFAST DATES IN 24 HOURS

└ username2 character development at its finest

username4 IM GOING TO CRY THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER

username5 Sources say he went to her place last night...

└ username1 and didn't leave 👀

username6 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY REALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

username7 this is proof that crying over your ex on main actually works

username8 YN IS A WAG AGAIN OMFG

username9 everybody say thank you australia gp billboards with oscar's face

username10 OSCAR LOVE SONGS ARE SO BACK

username11 WE WON SO HARD

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 876,494 others

oscarpiastri Home race took some unexpected turns both on and off track. P9 wasn't the result we wanted, but somehow still ended up winning this weekend.

view all comments

username1 HE'S SOOOO

username2 LOST THE RACE BUT GOT THE GIRL??

lando mate that's actually smooth

└ oscarpiastri Learned from the best

mclaren We'll take this kind of victory too 🧡

username3 THE THIRD PICTURE IM SOBBING

username4 mans really said forget p9 i got the girl

username5 HE'S SO BOYFRIEND WE'RE SO BACK

nicolepiastri ❤️

username6 OSCAR PIASTRI THE MAN THAT YOU ARE

username7 oscar's guide to get back with your ex with just ten simple steps

sabrinacarpenter FINALLY !!! OUR GIRL CAN STOP MOPING AROUND

└ chappellroan now we need oscar's friend to grow some balls too

└ oscarpiastri @/lando

└ lando well...

└ username1 OMFG LANDO AND SABRINA??

└ username2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

username8 I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL LIFE

yourinstagram 🥺🥺 i love you

[magical-reid]

Beneath the Mask

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (some Winter Soldier) x Reader

Word Count: 900 Words

Summary: After an intense sparring session, you find yourself awkwardly daydreaming about Bucky Barnes, only for him to appear in full Winter Soldier gear, making you flustered with his teasing and undeniable presence. Despite the tension, Bucky reassures you with a soft smile, showing that, even in his intimidating suit, he's still the same man you've admired from afar.

The compound was quiet for once, a rare lull in the chaos that usually characterized life with the Avengers. The team was scattered throughout the facility, each preoccupied with their own business. You were tucked away in the training room, lingering far longer than necessary after your sparring session, nursing your usual crush-fueled daydreams about Bucky Barnes.

It wasn’t just the general aura of mystery, or his startlingly blue eyes, or even the way his rare, crooked smiles felt like tiny rays of sunlight piercing through clouds. No—it was also the fact that he’d taken his scarred past and made himself something better. Stronger. Kinder. Bucky wasn’t just beautiful, he was good, through and through.

Unfortunately, all that admiration made you hopelessly awkward in his presence.

You were seated on the bench by the wall, sipping water as you procrastinated returning to your room. Your mind had just started to drift—something about the way his metal arm glinted in the sun when he worked outside—when the sound of heavy footsteps jolted you back to reality.

You froze as he appeared in the doorway.

But this wasn’t just Bucky. This was the Winter Soldier.

He was in full tactical gear, his black combat suit hugging the sharp lines of his frame. His metal arm gleamed faintly under the fluorescent lights, each groove and plate illuminated in sharp relief. A black mask covered the lower half of his face, and his long hair fell in messy waves around his shoulders.

Your breath hitched.

“Hey,” he said, voice gruff. The mask muffled him slightly, but not enough to disguise the gravelly timbre that always made your knees weak.

“Hi,” you squeaked, praying you didn’t look like a deer in headlights.

He hesitated, leaning against the doorway with a casualness that belied how imposing he looked. “What’re you still doing here? Thought your training block ended an hour ago.”

“I—uh…” You scrambled for an excuse, your mouth dry. “Just, um, cooling down. Staying hydrated.”

Brilliant, you thought. Truly a masterclass in casual conversation.

Bucky tilted his head, his piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you. He stepped closer, and the sound of his heavy boots on the mat made your heart race. You tore your gaze away, but it didn’t help; now you were hyper-aware of his presence, the faint smell of leather and gunmetal surrounding you like a storm cloud.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was softer this time, gentler, and that somehow made it worse.

You nodded frantically. “Yep! Totally fine! Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

He frowned, straightening up. His gaze flickered down, taking in your stiff posture, the way your fingers clenched the water bottle like a lifeline. And then… he smirked.

Oh no.

“Is it the suit?” His tone was teasing now, a hint of amusement lacing his words. “Does it bother you?”

“No!” you blurted. “I mean—no, it’s fine, I just—it’s…” You trailed off, heat flooding your cheeks.

This was mortifying.

To your surprise, Bucky crouched down to your level, his smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. He rested one arm on his knee, tilting his head slightly as he studied you. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You just… look different, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. The Winter Soldier gear transformed him, sharpening his features, accentuating the lethal edge that lurked beneath his quiet demeanor. It wasn’t hard to imagine why people used to quake at the sight of him—but you weren’t afraid. Far from it.

“I look different, huh?” he echoed, his lips twitching behind the mask.

You nodded, unable to find your voice.

He reached up, his gloved fingers tugging the mask down. His face was still soft despite the tactical gear, the familiar angles of his jaw and the faint stubble on his chin grounding you. “Better?”

You nodded again, relieved. But then he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Or do you like it?”

Your eyes went wide, and you felt your pulse skyrocket. “What?”

The smirk was back, full force now. “You look a little flustered, that’s all. Didn’t know the tactical suit would have this kind of effect.”

You made a sound halfway between a squeak and a groan, burying your face in your hands. “Bucky!”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach flip. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop teasing.” He paused. “But seriously, you don’t have to be nervous around me. I’m still me, y’know? Even in this.”

Peeking through your fingers, you found his expression sincere, his blue eyes warm despite the black suit and gleaming metal arm. It struck you then, how much effort he must have put into reclaiming this image of himself—how he’d taken the weapon Hydra had forged and turned it into something good.

“I know,” you murmured, lowering your hands. “You’re always you.”

For a moment, his expression softened further, and something unspoken passed between you. Then he rose to his full height, offering you a hand. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here before Sam comes looking for us and starts making fun of me.”

You took his hand, your cheeks still warm as his metal fingers closed gently around yours. And maybe—just maybe—you gave his suit one last lingering glance before following him out.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Cyberpunk Riot Control Officer - NonCon

There's nothing he hates more than degenerates and rioters. When he gets his hands on, he's going to pound some law and order into you. Warning: general noncon, anal, abuse of authority and unorthodox baton use

Yandere! Riot Cop with his bulky body armour and faceless glass helmet. With his baton and falsely justified sense of violence.

Yandere! Riot Cop who initially runs into you when he's off duty. Who thinks you're totally his type. Who even flirts with you a little and smirks at the pretty blush he causes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tackles you during the riot and gets one hell of a surprise when he pulls down your mask. 

Yandere! Riot Cop who hates your politics, who hates that you're one of them. A girl like you should know better.

Yandere! Riot Cop who says 'degenerates' and 'anarchists' when you say 'revolutionaries.'

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams you into the concrete and bends your arm so far up your back you scream that he's going to break it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who holds you down and presses his boot into your face. His blood is way up and he gets rougher than he needs to. A little handsy too.

Yandere! Riot Cop who throws you into an unmarked police hovocraft and takes you down to the Statzi headquarters instead of to jail.

Yandere! Riot Cop who claims he wants information but who really wants to pin you down to a steel interrogation table and fuck you from behind until you're begging him to stop.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is just aching to use the excessive force you're always accusing the police of.

In custody, Yandere! Riot Cop takes you deep underground. Until you can't hear the hovocraft or the chanting of the crowds. Until you feel entirely alone.

Yandere! Riot Cop who asks his captain for permission to personally interrogate you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who who takes you to a stark, bare room and chains your wrists to the interrogation table.

You're a nobody now, he tells you. Just another terrorist. He can keep you in here for as long as he wants. Hell, even his boss doesn't care what he does, as long as he keeps you alive.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you a choice - give up your allies or stay here and suffer.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grins like a cat with the cream when you put on a brave face and tell him to fuck off. You're a scared little girl caught up in a bigger mess than you realise and he's going to take full advantage of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs the back of your neck and forces you down onto the table, cold steel biting into wrists and his fingers biting into your skin.

Yandere! Riot Cop who is so much stronger than you. Who has years of training that let's him maneuver you however he pleases.

And you bent over the dull steel of the interrogation table pleases him plenty.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tuts at your attempts to get away. So weak... Did you really think you could challenge the State?

Yandere! Riot Cop who slams his baton against the table right next to your face. It sounds like a gunshot in the quiet of the room.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you jump and tense up. Is it finally sinking in? It's just you and him and right now he holds all the power.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly runs his baton up and down your thighs. Who goes a little higher each time.

He can't mean to go through with it, you think desperately. There's cameras, there's records, there's the law for God's sake.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses the tip of his baton to flip your skirt up and over, so your ass is bare. Who rubs one gloved hand over your cheeks. The material is cool and rough and nothing you do can shake off his touch.

Yandere! Riot Cop who let's his baton climb even higher, until the thick rubber tip is rubbing against your good girl cotton panties.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives you one last chance to give up information. Who laughs when you tell him what he's doing is illegal. You're a terrorist, remember? You don't have rights.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your panties aside with two fingers and nudges the baton against your entrance. Who takes in the site of you and savours it. A filthy rebel entirely at his mercy.

Yandere! Riot Cop who slowly pushes his baton into your cunt. The rubber is cold and unyieldingly hard, the shaft thicker than it looked.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls back out and sets a slow, drawn out pace. He's as implacable as a machine, never letting the pace drop because he knows your body will respond to it eventually, no matter how much you try and fight it. Who puts his free hand on your lower back and shoves you against the table when you try and squirm away.

Yandere! Riot Cop whose cock is so rock hard he can barely think. Who grips onto his baton so tightly the handle creaks from strain.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves watching you scrunch up your nose and try not to cry. You brought this on yourself and he's enjoying every second of it.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can see your pussy getting wetter, can see the way your thighs shake. Who isn't surprised at all when you finally come, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans quiet.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives your ass a hard squeeze, sucking air through his teeth when your skin turns red under his hand. You look so damn good like this - skirt up, ass blushing, pussy dripping. And you're all his.

You cunt is an aching mess and your hair sticks to your cheeks in damp strands, and still you refuse to talk.

Yandere! Riot Cop who feels every sadistic instinct rising up to play.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tears a condom open with his teeth.

Yandere! Riot Cop who rubs his tip against your tight little asshole. There isn't any lube besides the juices from your pussy and whatever came with the condom but he's far past the point of caring - if he had one to begin with.

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs his cock with one hand and your handcuffs with the other. It's a damn struggle to push into your ass and when the tip is in, he throws his head back and groans.

You're unbelievably, unbearably tight.

Yandere! Riot Cop who finally has enough leverage to go all the way. Who plants his hands on either side of your face and forces himself in with a brutal thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who loves the way you scream.

He's fucking huge. It feels like your whole body is being stretched to its limit. When he pulls almost all the way out and slams himself back in, the shock makes you sob. Finally, you give in. Beg him to stop and you'll tell him whatever he wants.

Yandere! Riot Cop who's honestly impressed you lasted this long. Who pulls out almost all the way but keeps the tip inside you.

Names, he demands.

And you give them to him. Student leaders, writers, underground information runners...

It's betrayal, pure and simple. But in this empty room, miles from the open sky, your comrades and your cause feel irrelevant.

They aren't here with you. He is.

Yandere! Riot Cop who gives a satisfied purr, his hands cradling your waist. See? That wasn't so hard, was it?

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you finally relaxing.

Yandere! Riot Cop who uses it as an opportunity to snap his hips forward and bury his cock in you again.

"The first bit for was interrogation. The rest is just for me."

Yandere! Riot Cop who grabs your hair the entire time he's railing you, the other hand on your handcuffs to pull you back onto his dick with every thrust.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you to scream as much as you can, the people who can help you can't hear you and the people who can hear you won't help you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who fucks like a stallion and growls like a dog.

Yandere! Riot Cop who can feel you orgasm again with the nerves his hitting. Your ass and cunt both shivering around him. He's giving you the worst sort of pain and the worst sort of pleasure at the same time.

Yandere! Riot Cop who pulls your hair until you're practically bent backwards, his voice a rusty growl right in your ear when he comes.

Yandere! Riot Cop who smashes you face into the table when he's done and lifts up his visor just to whisper to you.

Yandere! Riot Cop who tells you that you don't even know who he is. He could be your neighbour or your friend's boyfriend or even someone you flirt with at the gym.

You'll never know who fucked you and you'll be filled with dread about every man you take to bed.

Yandere! Riot Cop who drawls that he might pay you a visit. He knows exactly who you are now, and such a tight little ass shouldn't be wasted on degenerates and rebels.

"Well sweetheart, how does it feel to really get fucked by the State?"

[5sospenguinqueen]

WAG In Training - Franco Colapinto x Reader

Summary: When your boyfriend makes the leap from F2 to F1, you never expected for fans to show so much interest in you. However, they seem to enjoy that your comments are… less than professional

Warnings: Suggestive comments

Requested: Yes by anon

F1 Masterlist

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

f1 just posted

liked by jensonbutton, officialmpmotorsport and others

f1 starting in monza, franco colapinto will be racing in williams for the remainder of the 2024 season

12,074 comments

williamsracing welcome to the team

alex_albon bienvenida, franco

francolapinto so excited for this opportunity 

→ user1 he’s so polite

→ user2 just wait

user3 he looks like disney prince

user4 not surprised he got the seat. look at those big beautiful eyes. i bet james was like "whatever you say, handsome"

user5 hand veins! 

its_yn so proud of you baby! we’ll have to celebrate later

→ francolapinto i can think of a few ways 

→ its_yn as long as it ends with those fireproofs on the floor 

→ user6 who is this?

→ user7 his girlfriend, and has been since before he was in f2 so don’t start 

→ user8 omg her instagram is so cute. all the pics of her and franco 

its_yn just posted

liked by williamsracing, lilymhe and others

its_yn i heard f1 drivers get the best head. @/francolapinto want to test that theory?

6,389 comments

francolapinto but i already know i get the best. i am always happy to prove it though

→ williamsracing add this to the list of things you can no longer say online

→ its_yn that’s becoming a very long list

user9 she’s an icon, she’s a legend, she is the moment

user10 i never knew how much i needed y/n in my life until right now 

user11 i hope williams never pr train her because she is hilarious 

lilymhe i can’t wait to meet you 

→ its_yn me too! you’ve definitely been my favourite thing about williams so far

→ alex_albon rude

alexandrasaintmleux i like the shade of lipstick

→ its_yn i’ll let you borrow it

user12 y/n and franco are going to take off ten years from james vowels’ lifespan

user13 i love how cute her aesthetic is but then you read her captions

yourfriend uh oh, they’ve found you, y/n. you better delete your old tweets

→ user14 too late. we already have screenshots 

user15 this is unhinged and i love it. is she like this all the time?

→ dennis_hauger yes. and i’m glad she’s gone

→ its_yn oi

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

williamsracing just posted

liked by alex_albon, francolapinto and others

williamsracing first post-quali interview in f1 completed

10,998 comments

francolapinto something i have been looking forward to 

→ user1 yeah, hun, we know

→ user2 the interviewer definitely knows

user3 okay but the pouty lip in the last slide? talk about kissable

→ user4 i’d like to nibble on them liked by its_yn

→ user5 i love that instead of disliking all these comments, y/n just joins in

user6 his face in the second slide when he realised y/n was watching him flirt with older women

user7 y/n is stronger than me because if my man was rizzing up all the interviewers, i would throw myself in front of a moving f1 car 

→ francolapinto she’s fine. she gets her own back by flirting with jenson whenever she sees him

→ its_yn it’s not my fault he’s so scrummy

→ jensonbutton thank you, y/n

user8 okay but i love how secure they are in their relationship. she only jokingly told him off and they kissed straight after 

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

fc43 just posted

liked by user9, its_yn and others

fc43 i wonder what else is thick

4,044 comments

its_yn i can already feel the bruises on my cervix 

→ user9 !!! 

→ user10 out of pocket

user11 i love that she’s even interacting with a fan page

→ user12 aha she’s everywhere 

user13 do you think he’s into choking? liked by its_yn

→ user13 omg she confirmed

→ user14 yes but in which way? he likes to be choked? she likes to be choked? both?? liked by its_yn

user15 his neck looks so biteable  liked by its_yn

user16 (s)creaming

franco43stan just posted

liked by user1, its_yn and others

franco43stan i’d like to report these photos. they made my 85yr old grandmother have palpitations

11,437 comments

its_yn gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

its_yn actually salivating

its_yn yes, i’ve licked those abs. yes, i’ve done so when they were sweaty 

→ williamsracing we knew we’d find you here

→ user1 oop she’s been caught. they’re going to take her away from us

user2 y/n stronger than me letting her man post videos with a slutty 2 second shot of his stomach

→ user3 girl likes watching us thirst over him

→ user4 makes her feel validated about her horniness

→ its_yn at the end of the day, ladies, i’m the one who gets to touch 

user5 imagine that chain swinging against your back

→ its_yn been there, done that

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

francolapinto just posted

liked by williamsracing, landonorris and others

francolapinto my girl

11,437 comments

alex_albon okay, this was sorta sweet if i ignore what these photos undoubtedly lead to 

→ lilymhe you never show photos like this of me

→ alex_albon those are only for my eyes! plus, i have been trained properly 

user6 franco saw that everyone loved y/n for being unhinged and decided to let everyone know that he is also down bad

its_yn why would you post these when you’re all the way in america and can’t do anything about the ache you’ve created! 

→ francolapinto calling you. now. 

→ user7 doesn’t he have quali in 40 mins?

→ user8 phone sex is more important 

williamsracing why do you give us hope that this will be a normal post… and then we scroll? and then we read the comments

user9 i only look at franco’s posts to see y/n’s comments

user10 even if franco doesn’t have a seat for next year, y/n will forever be famous as my #1 wag

user11 y/n and franco mean so much to me. we can’t lose them next year 

user12 franco is cute and all but y/n 🥵

user13 can franco fight?

→ francolapinto he will try 

its_yn if i’d have known we’d get this much attention, i’d have convinced franco to stay in f2

→ francolapinto do not lie. you were so happy for me that you cried

→ its_yn no, that was from how good the celebration sex was

→ francolapinto some of our best work tbf  

williamsracing just posted

liked by jensonbutton, f1 and others

williamsracing couple’s day out? no! couple’s pr training! 

14,880 comments

f1 heartbroken 

jensonbutton finally 

user1 poor james looks like he’s heard things he never wanted to

user2 aha james has been through the trenches 

redbullracing don’t try to silence them

alpinef1team no! let them let their freak flags fly 

user3 james fighting for his life with these two

→ user4 and all the teams opposing him

user5 did they put franco in time out?

→ francolapinto yes :(

user6 just fell to my knees in walmart 

user7 noooo they got to my emotional support couple

user8 y/n looks like she’s had an amazing day

→ its_yn i did! i learnt so much

→ user9 are you going to listen to any of it

→ its_yn no :)

→ francolapinto we’re here for a fun time, not a long time 

→ user10 ^^ franco trying to convince y/n to have sex in his driver’s room liked by its_yn and francolapinto

━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━

requests open

coming up; liam lawson x ferrari admin including cars references

max verstappen part 2 to taste

charles leclerc x sainz reader

tag list

@peachiicherries @rosecentury @c-losur3 @heavy-vettel @evie-119 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @lilorose25 @sillyfreakfanparty @iloveyou3000morgan

[gojorgeous]

“heatwaves”

pairing: alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader summary: when a work trip takes you to japan, the last thing you expect is a heatwave... and some guy with blue eyes? content: MDNI (18+ only), nsfw, a/b/o dynamics, no established relationship, dubcon (i feel like it’s always kinda dubcon with a/b/o), p->v, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding, biting, blood, marking, spit, praise, swearing, pet names (baby/sweetheart/princess), brief mention/implication of pregnancy, knotting, reader gets picked up, reader is american, reader is unaware of their omega status, reader experiences their first heat, reader and satoru “bond” without having a fully conscious conversation, reader and satoru are early twenties. a/n: it's here! somebody spay me. by popular demand i have written alpha!gojo for you all… just a classic reader goes into an accidental heat at work and (x) character happens to be the nearest alpha LMAO. this is entirely uncreative, but i love it for that!!! straight smut with a little plot if you squint hard enough! i hope it lives up to your expectations. find my alpha!geto fic here and find the list of my 1k event fics here. enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED! credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. wc: 5k

Nobody ever told you that Japan was so damn hot. 

Hot was not what came to mind when you’d heard you’d be taking a trip to Tokyo. Temples? Sure. Mt. Fuji? Great. Hot? No fucking way. 

But, here you were, boiling away under the sun on what you’d thought would be a fun little work trip. Instead, you were just suffering with every step, trying to listen to what Principal Yaga was saying and failing miserably. 

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.” 

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross. 

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before. 

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones… 

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing. 

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers? 

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man… 

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.” 

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused. 

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour. 

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen. 

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?” 

 Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was… 

“Yes… Thank you.” 

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…” 

“Take care.” 

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources? 

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think. 

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.  

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor. 

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?” 

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?” 

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside. 

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully. 

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost. 

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing. 

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.” 

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree. 

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground. 

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker. 

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it. 

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply. 

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands. 

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right? 

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed? 

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power… 

“N-no–” 

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?” 

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper. 

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls. 

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard. 

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper. 

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.” 

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–” 

“‘M following your scent, baby.” 

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love. 

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin. 

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning. 

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.” 

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key. 

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak. 

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper. 

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right. 

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough. 

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts. 

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation. 

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.” 

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again. 

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs. 

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-” 

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back. 

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.” 

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants. 

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty. 

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm. 

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need. 

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.” 

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.” 

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before. 

“You on birth control, baby?” 

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…” 

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.” 

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively. 

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back. 

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name. 

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts. 

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers. 

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now… 

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together. 

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.” 

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair. 

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones. 

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut. 

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed. 

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he. 

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does. 

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry. 

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision. 

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to. 

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here. 

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time. 

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @fushironi, @enchantedsylveon, @keiva1000

link: alpha!geto

link: 1k followers event!

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

[rose-pearls]

The perils of love

Summary: being in love with Luke seemed to be a bad idea as you realise that he doesn't seem to be interested. But as you get ready to move on from love entirely your father decides to appear and two people fall for you.

Main Taglist : @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989 (open)

Part 2

Luke Castellan, everyone knew him at camp either for his sword skills or just his kind smiles for every camper that walked into the Hermes cabin. You had fallen for him the moment you met him, sweet brown eyes and a kind smile had you into a puddle. 

You had been twelve, wandering around the Hermes cabin, waiting desperately for your parent to claim you but the days went by, and you still were there. The little girls crush however didn’t went by but grew stronger every day you saw the boy who slowly turned into a man that had all the girls going crazy over him.  

He had been kind to you but there was always a look that you couldn’t decipher, until today that was.

“So, where is your number one fan Luke?”, you hear Chris say in a teasing tone and after a moment you hear Chris say your name, as if to make it clear it was you. 

“I don’t know and frankly I don’t have the time to care right now,” Luke says after letting out a sigh, but you felt your chest tighten at the words. Chris snorts at the words and you don’t expect what he says next.

“You know that there is a betting pool as to when the both of you are going to date,” you don’t know how Luke reacts, as you are practically one with the wall, but you hear him snort.

“Please, she is a sweet girl, but I would never date her. I don’t know how to explain it but sometimes she can just be a little-”, he seems to be trying to find his words and as you wait for it you feel tears brimming in your eyes at his previous statement.

“Clingy? I mean she is practically everywhere you are.”, the words are like a bullet to your heart, particularly when you hear Luke agree.

“I know right, I mean I know that she is still part of the Hermes cabin as she hasn’t been claimed yet but still,” you try to blink the tears away, not willing to cry as you hear the words being said by the man you had always looked up to. 

“Maybe she will never be claimed, I mean after three years,” Chris says, and you can hear the grimace in his voice, he says it with such carelessness as if you haven’t been thinking about the same thing every night for the past three years, wondering what was wrong with you.

“We’ll see what happens I guess, but maybe it would be good for her to be in another cabin,” Luke says, he looks like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore, but Chris adds one last phrase to their conversation.

“Or better for you,” there is a quiet hum of agreement and that is the only thing you need before leaving the cabin quietly, the book that you had come for quickly forgotten.

You knew it was pitiful, the fact that they all seemed to know that you liked the Hermes boy and that they all pitied you for it. Because in the end the boy would never go for you, he had a hundred girls waiting for him and yet here you were hoping for the impossible.

Tears are brimming in your eyes, but you quickly brush them away, not wanting to cry after what had happened, you needed to be strong now. It was time for you to get over that stupid crush and get on with your life, maybe if you trained more your godly parent would finally recognize you and claim you.

“What are you doing here all alone?”, you suddenly hear someone say behind you and you turn around to find Annabeth looking at you with worried eyes.

“Thinking, the lake always seems to sooth me,” you say, the words coming a bit weaker than you intended them too. The girl simply nods at your words before sitting down next to you.

“What about you?”, you quietly ask her, and she lets out a sigh.

“Needed to get out a little bit, I can only strategise so much before going crazy,” she says with a small smile, and you can’t help but smile at her words.

“I’m sure your strategy will be incredible, as always,” you tell her and she simply nods, looking too far into her thoughts.

“Chiron is thinking of splitting up the Hermes cabin,” she suddenly says, and you turn to look at her in surprise.

“Really? How so?”, you can’t help but ask, wondering if this is maybe your chance to get a bit away from a certain Hermes boy.

“He thinks that the unclaimed children and children of minor gods should get the chance to chose in which team they want to be,” she looks conflicted, and you can understand why, this could mean less people for the blue team, her team.

“It seems like a kind gesture,” you can’t help but say and Annabeth nods in agreement.

“It is, although he could’ve said it sooner, now we all need to find a different strategy and we are going crazy with figuring out who will be on our team,” she seems overwhelmed, and you can’t help but put your hand on her shoulder trying to calm her down.

“Hey, calm down it will all be alright,” you tell her, and she takes a deep breath before slowly nodding in agreement.

“I know, I just don’t want to lose,” she says with a pout, and you can finally see the twelve-year-old she really is, that childlike excitement at the thought of capture the flag.

The both of you are deep in thought before her voice breaks the silence, her voice small as she talks.

“Which team are you choosing?”, it was probably a valid question to ask, you were unclaimed so you could technically choose which team to be on, but you just couldn’t get the previous conversation you had heard out of your head.

“The fact that you aren’t saying anything makes me think that you are going to go on the red team,” it seems like she is trying to tease you but there is some sort of hurt woven into her words.

“Don’t take it personally,” you can’t help but say, as much as you would’ve liked staying on the blue team you just couldn’t bear to be that close to Luke after what you had heard. You didn’t know what you would be doing tonight as you were sleeping in the same cabin as always, but he wouldn’t pay attention to you not unless you went to him.

“Did something happened with Luke?”, the carefully asked question makes you look at Annabeth with wide eyes, she had an understanding look in her eyes and you couldn’t help but curse the fact that she was Athena’s daughter.

“Nothing happened, I just realised that maybe I should get to know other people and that maybe it would get me out of my comfort zone,” there are a lot of things unsaid, Annabeth knows it too. Luckily, she doesn’t know of the conversation you had heard, or the fact that the words had cut you deeper than you could’ve ever thought they would. 

“You should probably tell Chiron and the red team, I heard that they were planning a strategy evening to talk about what they were going to do tomorrow,” you try to find anger in Annabeth’s eyes but there is only understanding and a lingering sadness that seems to disappear as you get up.

“Good idea, I will be doing that right now. Good luck on the strategy and don’t drive yourself crazy Annabeth you will do great,” you tell her, and a sweet smile appears on her lips as she nods slowly making you smile at her.

“Don’t be a stranger!”, she yells as you are about to leave, and you turn around to smile at her.

“I won’t!”, she looks reassured at the words before turning back to the water, leaving you to go towards Chiron office. 

--

“A little birdie told me you were on the red team,” you hear someone say and turn around to find Clarisse smirking at you.

“Would that little birdie be Chiron?”, you ask, feeling breathless after trying to stab the dummy about a hundredth time with your sword.

“I don’t reveal my sources princess,” she says with a smirk while you feel your cheeks heat up, you tell yourself it’s because of the work out you just did.

“We have a meeting tonight, after dinner at the Ares cabin,” she says while looking around the rink before picking up a sword.

“I’ll be there,” you tell her, expecting the girl to leave you alone but she just comes closer to you.

“After that there is a movie night and a sleepover, one of the Aphrodite kids managed to convince Chiron to allow it,” the words leave you confused for a moment, how would you even have a movie night with all these people.

“Only a few people are invited for that part,” she clarifies, and you feel breathless at the sight of her warm brown eyes, seemingly forgetting about other brown eyes.

“How come I am invited?”, you can’t help but ask, wondering why the Ares girl suddenly seemed sweet to you when she was practically attacking anyone else. 

“Don’t ask too many questions or you’ll be uninvited princess,” the nickname rolls of her tongue in a way that makes your cheeks go red, once again.

“Fine I’ll stop asking questions and just come with my pajama’s,” you tell her, and a satisfied grin makes his way on her lips.

“Good, now back to serious stuff you were holding your sword the wrong way,” she says like it’s a fact, as if she was pointing out that the sky was blue.

“No, I wasn’t!”, you can’t help but say looking at her with wide eyes.

“Yes, it is, let me help you fix it. I need the best people on my team after all,” you get ready to object but as you feel her get behind you putting her hand over yours on the sword to put your hand correctly you find yourself speechless.

The next hour is spent fighting against each other, but you can’t stop laughing as Clarisse tells you stories of her siblings to try and distract you, which ultimately works as you often end up on your ass. You don’t even seem to notice another pair of brown eyes looking at you, farther away, brows furrowed as he looks at the scene in front of him.

--

“Welcome to the exclusive sleepover,” you hear a soft voice say and you turn around to find Silena smiling kindly at you, two glasses in her hands before giving one to you.

“Thank you, guess they really were exclusive as I had never heard of them before,” you say, feeling a bit nervous as you look around the room only to find Clarisse in a heated discussion with another Aphrodite girl.

“Clarisse only invites people that she trusts or likes, which isn’t many, but she does cares for them,” Silena smiles at the Ares girl in front of you and you can’t help but do the same, Clarisse always seemed to be angry but in that moment, she seemed far more softer.

“I’m glad she trusts me,” you say, somehow missing the look Silena gives you, a look of confusion as you seem to have missed her clue on Clarisse liking you.

Clarisse had always been discrete about it, but Silena had caught her looking at you far too often to not know about it. Her fingers always seemed to itch when you were sword fighting, as if she was itching to get your posture right and to be able to touch you even for just a few seconds. You only had eyes for the Castellan boy, or it seemed that way until yesterday when Chiron told them that you would be on their team. Silena didn’t ask much of her mother but in that moment, she couldn’t help but ask her mother for help to get the both of you together. Clarisse deserved her happy ending and you deserved someone who would love you for who you were.

She gets woken from her thoughts as she hears Clarisse talking to you, there is a nervousness in her gestures as she pushes her hair behind her ear, but you don’t seem to realize it as you recount a story. Silena quietly gets up from her spot, and sends and encouraging look towards Clarisse, who seems a bit more at ease now. 

--

Capture the flag is a mess, more than the last time but you try not to let your mind wander too long. A boy that you think is from the Hephaestus cabin runs towards you and you sigh in annoyance before starting to fight against him, quickly ‘killing’ him and making him surrender. 

You had been tasked with trying to find the blue flag, but it seemed as if Annabeth had found a really good spot this time, and she had put more people in defense. After a while you wondered if you had the wrong hunch until you saw something blue flickering in the reflection of your sword. As you turned to look behind you, you saw the blue flag but weirdly there was no one around it.

“This feels like a trap,” you can’t help but whisper under your breath as you try to hide behind the bushes but a blade against your neck makes you stop in your steps.

“Sorry, but I need to do this,” you hear someone say and you turn around to find a sheepish Percy looking at you.

“Hi Percy,” you say with a kind smile and the boy smiles back, looking reassured that you aren’t mad or swinging your sword at him.

“How are you doing?”, you can’t help but ask, you hadn’t seen him since he had been claimed by Poseidon, but the boy seemed healthy.

“Good, well as good as you can when you learn that your father is one of the big three’s and that your life will be a hellhole,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you can’t help but snort.

“Still as sarcastic I see,” you can’t help but say while laughing and a sheepish grin forms itself on his lips.

“Can’t help it,” he says while shrugging his shoulders.

“It’s a shame you aren’t on our team,” he says quietly, and you smile softly, the two of you had talked a lot when he had arrived, and you felt close to him.

“Maybe next time,” you tell him and the boy smiles at the answer before asking you a question and the two of you talk for a moment before you hear a battle cry and see the red team suddenly making their way in the clearing, the blue team also appearing.

Percy and you look at each other with wide eyes before you take out your sword.

“If you don’t say anything about this, I won’t say anything,” Percy nods quickly and the both of you break away from the tree you were behind before joining your team as Percy joins his.

An Apollo girl comes running towards you, but you quickly manage to disarm her, others following behind her, but you are in such a haze that you don’t realize how close you are getting to the flag. That is until you are met with a familiar blade, Luke’s. 

The boy is looking at you, slightly out of breath from the fighting just like you.

“You can always abandon now sweetheart,” he says and can’t help but blush slightly at the familiar nickname. 

“No chance Castellan, give me your worst,” this seems to make the boy laugh before he quickly wields his swords, yours clashing against his in familiar movements. You had fought many times against Luke as he had taught you how to fight but you had a new trick up your sleeve that Clarisse had taught you. She had told you that his left leg was his weakness, a bruise that had never really fully recovered. 

So, when the opportunity presents itself, you wield your sword against his left leg, making sure not to hurt him too much. But as you hit the spot Luke winces in pain and his sword leaves his hand. You don’t think at that point and simply continue straight to the flag, whispering a soft ‘sorry’ as you go to the Hermes boy.

You manage to take the flag before seeing Percy coming towards you with his sword, you expect the hit, but he seems transfixed, looking at something above you. There is a loud silence, on a battlefield that was filled with battle cries just a second ago.

Chiron’s voice suddenly comes up, suddenly saying your name.

“Daughter of Zeus, king of the gods,” the rest of his words are lost as you look up, only to see the symbol of Zeus above your head, your father’s symbol.

You didn’t know how to feel, you had been waiting for so long but now that it was happening you just felt lost. Why was he claiming you right now?

“Congratulations! Seems like we are cousins now,” you suddenly hear Percy say, he has a bright smile on his lips, but there is also sadness in his eyes. It takes you a few seconds to understand why, you were now a child of the big three, which meant your life was about to be a hellhole as Percy had said.

“Always though there was something familiar between the two of us,” you try to say in a teasing tone, but it falls flat, Percy nodding in understanding.

As you turn around to look at the rest of the camp you see Luke looking at you with wide brown eyes, as if he was seeing you for the first time. You turn your gaze towards Clarisse who is looking at you with a proud smile and something else that you can’t quite understand.

There was surely a lot of trouble coming but not the one you were expecting, it would be far more complicated than monsters or a father that decided to appear after fifteen years. Matters of the heart were after all the most complicated of all, particularly between a daughter of Zeus, a daughter of Ares and a son of Hermes.