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lizard-on-a-window-pane · 8 months ago

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5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around.

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university.

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books.

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel.

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?”

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room.

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?”

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.”

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all.

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them.

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up.

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment.

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match.

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet.

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!”

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face.

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you.

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again.

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party.

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him.

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it.

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs.

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed.

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor.

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his.

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view.

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does.

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner.

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch.

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pyjamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pyjamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.”

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.”

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade.

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit.

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?”

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room.

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now.

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing.

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur.

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?”

“Just noticed,” he shrugs.

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry.

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…”

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?”

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.”

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you.

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest.

“Miguel?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?”

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing.

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you.

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do.

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble.

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off.

“Let’s get some air, huh?”

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while.

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party.

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?”

He chuckles and nods.

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle.

“Wasn’t that many…”

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names.

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there.

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified.

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.”

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side.

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after.

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag.

“Fuck.”

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium.

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!”

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright.

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him.

“You’re sick?” he asks.

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering.

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room.

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him.

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place.

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat.

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field.

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.”

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling.

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…”

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend.

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” “What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.”

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours.

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated.

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s.

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.”

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly.

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile.

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you.

#miguel ohara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara imagine #miguel ohara oneshot #miguel ohara fluff #miguel ohara angst #across the spiderverse #spiderman #atsv #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman fanfiction #slow burn #mutual pining #bbf!miguel #soccerplayer!miguel

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juliussilver25 · 4 days ago

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The Christmas Transformation

Jueun is the epitome of a 20-year-old, soft-spoken, bookish nerd. Standing at 5’8” (173 cm) and weighing just 130 pounds (59 kg), he has a slight, delicate frame that seems almost fragile. His black, straight hair is slightly overgrown, with bangs that often fall into his almond-shaped, bespectacled eyes. His pale skin is smooth and unblemished, a testament to hours spent indoors, away from the harsh Korean winters. Jueun's features are gentle and boyish—full lips, a small, slightly upturned nose, and a jawline that lacks definition but exude warmth and charm.

As for his clothing, Jueun favors comfort over style. On this particular evening, he is wearing an oversized gray hoodie with the logo of a popular anime splashed across the chest. The hoodie dwarfs his thin frame, making him look even smaller. Paired with it are loose, worn-out sweatpants and fuzzy socks decorated with cartoon penguins. His outfit speaks of a quiet, cozy personality—someone who is a self-proclaimed nerd—science fiction books, anime collectibles. His gaming setup is his sanctuary.

It is Christmas Eve, and Jueun sits alone in his small Seoul apartment, surrounded by the soft glow of lights.

The snow outside paints the city in a serene white, but Jueun’s thoughts are far from serene. His boyfriend, Minjae, had planned to visit, but a sudden work obligation has kept him away. Jueun sighs and adjusts his glasses, resigned to a quiet evening.

There’s a knock at the door.

Jueun frowns. It is late. Hesitant, he opens the door to find a box wrapped in glittering red paper with a tag that simply reads: For Jueun. From Santa. Intrigued, he carries the box to his couch and tears it open. Inside is a single item: a sleeveless silver gym shirt emblazoned with bold black letters, BEAST MODE.

Jueun chuckles. “Is this a joke?” he mutters, holding the shirt up. It is comically large for his slim frame, but curiosity gets the better of him. Shrugging, he slips it on.

The moment the fabric touches his skin, a warm sensation courses through his body. At first, it feels pleasant, like stepping into a hot spring. Then, it intensifies. His arms bulge, veins rising to the surface as his muscles expand. His chest broadens, and his legs thickens with sinewy strength. His reflection in the nearby mirror shifts rapidly: his once-delicate Korean features sharpen and morph, his black hair lightening to a sun-kissed blond of Germanic origin.

As Jueun's body transforms, the physical changes became more startling with each passing moment—and soon, they are accompanied by a rapid progression in age.

His youthful, baby-soft skin loses its smoothness, replaced by the faintest hints of weathering. His face, once round and boyish, begins to mature. Fine lines appear around his eyes and mouth, adding a rugged edge to his striking features. His cheeks hollow slightly, giving him a more angular, masculine appearance.

The changes accelerate. His jawline grows more defined, his Adam's apple more pronounced. Tiny flecks of silver appear in his sun-bleached blond hair, but they only enhance his rugged allure. His body, while still outrageously muscular, takes on the appearance of someone who has spent years perfecting it. His tan deepens, looking less like a sudden burst of magic and more like the result of endless hours in the sun.

His age settles at around 35, the prime of physical maturity. Jueun now stands taller, broader, and exudes the confidence of a man who has spent years living in this perfected body. He looks like a seasoned athlete, someone who has dedicated his life to sculpting his physique.

But the changes to his appearance are mirrored by shifts in his mindset. As the age progression completes, Jueun becomes entirely absorbed in his new self. Any lingering fragments of the shy, thoughtful, nerdy young man fade into oblivion. In their place is an overwhelming, almost mindless fixation on his new muscles and the lifestyle they demand.

He flexes again in the mirror, running his hands over his chest and arms with an almost childlike wonder. “Man, these gains are great,” he says, his deep voice brimming with self-satisfaction.

Jueun’s fascination isn’t just admiration; it is obsession. He can’t stop touching his biceps, testing their firmness, or bouncing his pecs. Each flex seems to spark a new wave of euphoria. His thoughts revolve entirely around working out, lifting heavier, and maintaining the perfect body.

“Bro, I’ve gotta hit the gym,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. His voice deeper and laced with an American accent he didn’t recognize. “I mean, look at me! I’m wasting time just standing here. I need to be lifting, man!”

His glazed-over eyes carry none of the depth they once had. Instead, they reflect the singular focus of someone who’s entire being has been rewritten. Jueun’s transformation isn’t just physical or even mental—it is complete. Memories of his love for video games and late-night conversations with Minjae fade, replaced by fantasies of bench presses, protein shakes, and impressing “babes.” A Bro who lives and breathes for the gym, his new muscles, and the validation they bring.

Jueun slips on his sneakers—expensive ones that seem to materialize out of nowhere, perfect for a gym session—then makes his way to the door. His new gym bag hangs over one broad shoulder, stuffed with protein bars and pre-workout supplements. He opens the door, ready to head out and show off his godlike physique.

Standing there, bundled in a heavy coat against the winter chill, is Minjae. His eyes widen in shock as they travel up and down Jueun’s transformed body. Gone is the shy, nerdy boyfriend Minjae had fallen for. Instead, a towering, bronzed, blond-haired muscleman stands before him, a vision so unrecognizable it makes Minjae’s breath hitch.

“Jueun?” Minjae whispers, his voice a mix of disbelief and fear.

Jueun grins, flexing his massive biceps. “Bro! What’s up?” Jueun booms, flashing a confident, pearly-white grin. His deep voice holds none of the warmth Minjae is used to—it is casual, dismissive. “Oh man, you’ve got to check this out.” He steps back, flexing his massive biceps again for emphasis. you’re not gonna believe this. Santa hooked me up big time! Look at these gains!” He gestures down at his chiseled body.

Minjae stares, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right words. “Jueun, what...what happened to you? You look...older. And...what is this?!” He gestures vaguely at Jueun’s impossibly sculpted body.

“Yeah, yeah, I aged up or whatever,” Jueun says with a laugh, brushing off Minjae’s concern. “But dude, who cares? I’m a total beast now. Check out these pecs!” He bounces his chest muscles, grinning as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Minjae’s voice trembling. “This isn’t you, Jueun. You hate gyms!”

“I love gyms!” Jueun retorts, clapping Minjae on the shoulder, nearly sending him stumbling. “Bro, you should come to the gym with me. There are some fine ladies there who totally dig this. You can work on your own gains, too! Once you get ripped like me, the babes will go wild for you.”

Minjae’s eyes fill with hurt. “Ladies? Babes?” Minjae echoes, his voice trembling. Jueun, you’re gay. I’m your boyfriend.”

“Gay? Pfft.” Jueun waves a dismissive hand. “Dude, when you’ve got muscles like these, everyone loves you. Trust me, those hotties at the gym? They can’t keep their hands off me. You’ll see—you just need some gains. Then you’ll be just as irresistible as me.”

Jueun adjusts his gym bag, oblivious to Minjae’s despair. “C’mon, bro. Let’s go! The gym waits for no man, and I’ve got a PR to break.”

Minjae watches, heartbroken and bewildered, as Jueun strides out into the night humming a tune about squats and deadlifts. Snow continues to fall, muffling the sound of Jueun’s heavy footsteps.

Minjae stands frozen, clutching the remnants of their shared past. Somewhere in the distance, a faint laugh echoes—a deep, jolly Ho ho ho!

Santa is definitely not getting a thank-you note this year.

Epilogue:

Jueun’s strength and muscularity is on full display as he works out that night. He exudes confidence and power, dominating the gym with his presence. No one can resist feeling his muscles striations and definitions. Jueun revels in being the center of attention!

Happy Christmas to Jueun Santiago @santiago-silver

#silver brothers #silver #silver collective #ai generated #male transformation #jockification

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extasiswings · 9 months ago

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Okay but I’m fascinated by muay thai as a metaphor for queerness here. Eddie and Tommy both know how, and can practice together, but Tommy is on another level—he has a whole setup in his garage, his home, it’s an integrated part of his life. Buck, on the other hand, is on the outside. He doesn’t do muay thai with Eddie, he doesn’t know how. But Tommy says he can teach him, when the overall conversation and ultimate outcome (Tommy kissing Buck and opening his eyes to the fact that he’s into men) is a big signal that the real thing Tommy is here for is to be Buck’s guide through this queer journey of self-discovery.

Eddie is in between. He knows how, but it’s not an integrated part of his life the way it is for Tommy. Which tracks—Eddie in general is a master of compartmentalization. He keeps all the little pieces of him carefully siloed, never shall they cross. His queerness is no exception—he allows himself to embrace that piece of himself in specific ways, with specific people (the rituals are so very intricate, they really are), but the rest of the time he locks it away. Like coming back home after a quick trip to the gym.

I’ve been going back and forth since the shooting on the question of whether Eddie is aware of his feelings for Buck, because Eddie’s S5 arc especially was very queercoded. And I was thinking of that question as coextensive with “does Eddie know he’s queer?” But I think now that’s the wrong analysis—they are separate questions with separate answers—and after 7x04 (and the tease of 7x05) I think a) yes, Eddie absolutely knows he’s queer and is fine with it but tries to keep it separate from all the other pieces of him/the rest of his life, and b) he has not allowed himself to consider what if anything that means re: Buck. Eddie is all about control, and that’s what has enabled him to compartmentalize so well, but it’s like the guy from the call in the promo—you can’t control all of yourself all the time, you can’t keep yourself locked down that way, separated into smaller and smaller pieces, not allowing yourself to be your full self—eventually that separation will hurt you.

Buck is at step 1 of his journey. He’s just learning, Tommy is “teaching” him. And he’s about to drop a bomb in the middle of Eddie’s very carefully ordered life. Because if Buck is straight, it’s easy for Eddie to avoid ever having to examine his own queerness in connection with Buck. But if Buck is queer? If something is suddenly Possible in a way he assumed it wasn’t before? Then everything is different.

#chapel for ts #911 spoilers #yes I know I sound insane but it was an INCREDIBLY SPECIFIC activity that they kept bringing up in connection with the three of them

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gibsongirled · 4 months ago

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i’m obsessed with girl dad!schlatt 🤭 can we have a fic where they’re high school sweethearts (reader with a normal job out of the spotlight) and she joins the podcast for the first time and schlatt introduces her to everyone as his wife as she’s never been in a video/mentioned before

would love their daughter making an appearance—maybe either hearing her on the baby monitor or smth and schlatt goes to take care of her

love your writing 🫶 i can’t wait to read anything new you post

ANYONE ELSE BUT YOU !!

description: some say that high school sweethearts don't last, you and Schlatt proved them wrong.

a/n: this was such a cute req !! (the title's the same as the song by the moldy peaches :3)

People have said that high school sweethearts would not make it past high school, and some of them were right. But you and Schlatt were the exception. Hah, suck on that, other ex high school sweethearts.

The two of you met during your sophomore year, having shared the same History class. Schlatt sat in the row behind you and occasionally, the two of you would exchange glances and go on with your day, because high schoolers are awkward like that. You started seeing him more when one of your friends started dating one of his friends, causing you to get to know him through mutual friends.

And eventually, the two of you got closer. A lot closer. You sat on the bleachers at his baseball games, stayed up late with him while he edited his videos, and was his date to prom. That night under the poorly decorated stars in the gym while the DJ played the weirdest tracks you’ve ever heard was one of your core memories. And then the two of you started dating and no one was surprised. You two made it way too obvious how much you liked each other.

When Schlatt started doing Youtube full time, you said that you wanted to be kept out of the spotlight and he agreed with you. He kept his real life and online life separate- only letting the closest friends know that he was dating someone. Of course, those same close friends were invited to the small ‘friends and family only’ wedding you two had a few years later. Another core memory that he has framed and placed on his setup that’s out of view from the camera.

Schlatt went on hiatus when you were pregnant with your daughter. He had scheduled his already made videos to upload at a certain time and was completely offline from the internet after that, being by your side 24/7. The hiatus continued on for a few months after your daughter was born and then the internet started speculating where he disappeared to, because this was far from his usual sparse uploads.

Your late night talks had delved into how to continue streaming without revealing you and the baby. And you decided to fill his viewers in on your existence. He was definitely shocked, but ultimately it’s your decision and that was final.

“Schlatt, who’s with you today?” Ted asked on the latest Chuckle Sandwich episode, waving at you through the camera. “Audio listeners - love you to death - Schlatt has a woman with him.” Of course, Ted knew who you were- having been invited to your small wedding years prior. He was just playing it up for the camera.

You waved back at Ted, smiling as Schlatt grabbed his mic and talked into it. “My wife.”

“Your wife?” Tucker asked incredulously and Schlatt nodded, smiling widely as he pulled you into his side. “My wife! Say hi, toots.”

“Hi, Ted, Tucker.” You beamed, feeling anxiety and excitement mix into one intense feeling. You heard the baby monitor suddenly crackle to life with a loud cry, and you sighed softly, removing your headphones and began to get up when Schlatt stopped you, getting up himself. “I’ll get her. You sit tight, babe.” He whispered to you and made a hand motion to the camera to continue the session without him. You slid the headphones back on, keeping one ear open to listen to what was happening on the monitor.

The three of you continued on making random conversations about all sorts of stuff until Schlatt came back. He kissed you on the top of your head and sat back down beside you.

“How is she?” You asked, looking at him.

“She’s good, just needed a bottle.”

“Ah, okay.”

That small conversation between the two of you was left unedited and Twitter was on fire when the episode came out, because not only was he married, he also had a baby! The two of you were trending for a good while, and you are well loved by his viewers.

You were so glad the two of you gave it a chance back in high school, and you couldn’t think of anyone else to share this life with. Schlatt was your soulmate and you were his.

#— writing #jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x you

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alternate-real-ities · 4 months ago

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Hey man! Love what you've got going on with your blog and helping people out! Would love to see what else is out there for me, love a good race tf personally!

- TF Lover

Hey there! Thanks so much for your kind words about my blog and the unique content I share. I'm always happy to help spark people's imaginations!

As you know, my current setup relies on peering into alternate realities via this custom-built multiverse gazing machine (which is a long story!). While full transformations aren't yet possible with my current tech, I've been able to capture some fascinating versions of yourself from other dimensions. Here are three such glimpses:

First up, meet yourself as a young Indian man from another reality.

In this version of yourself, you are a skinny and nerdy-looking young man in your early 20s. You have long dark hair, bright brown eyes framed by thick glasses, and your face sports quite a bit of facial hair that you trim to look tidy.

You work as a software engineer at a large tech company in the heart of Silicon Valley making the big money. When you're not coding away, you love to play video games at home in your pajamas and eat junk food while binge-watching anime series.

Next up, meet your Japanese popstar doppelganger:

In this reality you're dressed to impress in a tailored ensemble that accentuates every sculpted muscle beneath. Your brownish hair is perfectly coiffed, contrasting with porcelain skin and dark piercing eyes. The confident smirk that usually plays on your lips suggests you know exactly how captivating you look.

Under the glare of the lights, every inch of your lean physique seems to shimmer with an otherworldly allure. Your jeans hug the swell of your ass as you move fluidly across the stage, commanding the audience's attention with every sway and thrust. The energy is electric - you can almost hear the collective sighs of adoration from the crowd!

Finally, across yet another dimensional divide, we can find yourself tapping into your nordic roots:

In this reality, you exude a quiet confidence that commands respect. Your piercing blue eyes seem to bore into everything you look at, and that strong jawline is accentuated by a neatly trimmed beard. The way your body fill out your clothes makes other people wonder what other assets lie beneath...

Beneath that buttoned-up exterior lies a beast waiting to be unleashed - a physique sculpted through grueling gym sessions, where muscles ripple and flex as you pour sweat. Just imagine the raw power coiled within those piercing blue eyes...

These glimpses offer just a taste of the incredible diversity possible across the multiverse. Who knows what other versions of yourself await discovery? As I work on my timeline converger, maybe one day I'll be able to share the gift of full transformations with you and others. Until then, I hope these alternate realities inspire you into achieving the best of you!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #race change #muscle tf #musclegrowth #asianization

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pro-mammonologist · 1 year ago

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Demon Bros Dick Pics ❤️😘

I’ve been seeing everyone talk about the demon bros dick pics so obviously I have to chime in

Lucifer would send pics with him fully clothed minus his cock sticking out from his pants. If he sent a video, you’d get to see him take off a glove to stroke himself and he would purposely start slow and then speed up. He would be quiet minus some taunting. His dick pics are exceptional similar to him.

Mammon would stroke himself ass naked in the mirror so you can see his whole body. He’d also send pictures of his dick print through some sweat pants. Likes to send nut videos and will be extra loud and panting. Always very good lighting and setup unless he’s desperate and was already jerking it.

Leviathan, sends them from his pov but makes sure the lighting is good because he cringes at the shitty dick pics too. Prefers sending videos but doesn’t always send direct masturbation vids, likes to slide his fingers around and trace his veins for you or send live photo of him rubbing his precum around.

Satan is the one who nit picks the most. Has to have good setup, lighting, angle, everything. It’s where he channels his inner Asmo. Likes sending nut videos, likes sending pics where he’s teasing as well, like hiding it behind a book. He likes to keep the angles diverse, but if you can see him smirking it adds to it.

Asmo sends the most extravagant boudoir photos where his cock is wrapped like a fucking present. When it’s not extravagant he loves a good soapy cock moment. Anything fresh out the shower is good, he likes how pink and hot and wet his skin is. Cum dripping from the tip? Yeah, he said artisté.

Beel sends regular dick pics but he also loves a good dick print. Will play with himself through his gym shorts and likes to send videos of it growing (don’t knock it til you try it it’s sexy as fuck and it’s just calling his name). Thinks it’s really hot to send them when he’s not at home but out like in public and he gets hard cuz he’s thinking about you. He thinks it’s the most appropriate timing.

Belphie is lazy with lighting and angles but he makes up for it because he sends full start to finish masturbating videos where he will do the most to get himself to cum. He likes to send pictures of him jacking it with the flash on in total darkness so it’s all you can see. He also knows you love the hand veins and they’re extra illuminated in the flash. He’s hard a lot and only really sends pics when you’re away, otherwise he’d be text that he’s horny.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me headcanons

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energiefitness · 2 months ago

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Choosing the Right Commercial Treadmill for Your Gym: A Complete Guide

When setting up a gym, one of the most essential pieces of equipment is the commercial treadmill. Whether you’re designing a full-fledged fitness center or a boutique gym, treadmills are indispensable due to their versatility and popularity. A well-chosen commercial treadmill for gym settings can attract more clients, enhance workout routines, and provide a solid return on investment.

Why Commercial Treadmills Are Essential for Gyms

Commercial treadmills are built specifically to handle the demands of a high-traffic gym environment. Unlike home-use models, they are designed to withstand continuous usage for hours daily. Here are a few reasons why having the right commercial treadmills in your gym is crucial:

1. Durability and Longevity: Commercial treadmills are made from high-quality materials, ensuring they last longer under heavy use.

2. Versatility: With a wide range of speed, incline, and program settings, commercial treadmills cater to users of all fitness levels.

3. Safety and Stability: They are designed with robust safety features, like emergency stop buttons, sturdy frames, and cushioned belts, to prevent injuries during intense workouts.

4. Brand Trust: Fitness enthusiasts recognize top-quality commercial treadmill brands, which can boost your gym’s reputation.

Key Features to Look for in a Commercial Treadmill

To ensure you’re making the best investment for your gym, you need to carefully evaluate the features of the treadmills you’re considering. Here are the top aspects to look for:

Motor Power: A strong motor is essential for running a commercial treadmill smoothly for long periods. Look for treadmills with at least a 3.0 to 4.0 HP motor.

Belt Size: A wider and longer running belt allows for a more comfortable experience, particularly for taller users or those with a longer stride. A commercial treadmill for gym use should have a belt at least 20" wide and 60" long.

Weight Capacity: To cater to a range of users, choose a treadmill with a weight capacity of at least 300-350 pounds.

Incline and Speed Settings: Modern commercial treadmills come with incline settings that can simulate uphill running, offering users a more varied and challenging workout. Speeds ranging from 0 to 12 mph are ideal for most fitness levels.

Advanced Technology: Look for treadmills with built-in workout programs, heart rate monitors, touchscreens, and even Bluetooth compatibility. These features can help attract tech-savvy gym-goers.

Shock Absorption: A treadmill with excellent cushioning reduces the impact on users' joints, providing a smoother run and preventing injuries.

Warranty: Ensure the commercial treadmill comes with a robust warranty on the motor, frame, and parts. This will guarantee long-term peace of mind for your gym.

Top Benefits of a Commercial Treadmill for Your Gym

Versatile Training Options: Whether someone is walking, jogging, or doing sprint intervals, a treadmill can cater to a wide range of cardio activities.

User-Friendly: Treadmills are easy to use, making them accessible for both beginners and seasoned athletes alike.

All-Weather Fitness: Regardless of the weather conditions outside, your clients can rely on the treadmill for a consistent workout.

Performance Tracking: Most commercial treadmills feature performance tracking systems, enabling users to monitor their progress over time. This can be a motivating factor for gym members.

Increased Gym Revenue: Offering high-quality commercial treadmills can attract more members, resulting in increased memberships and higher retention rates.

Best Commercial Treadmills Available in India

At Energie Fitness, we offer a premium range of commercial treadmills for gyms that meet the highest standards of quality and performance. Our treadmills are designed to endure the rigors of daily use while offering cutting-edge features for an optimal workout experience.

Some of our top-selling commercial treadmill models include:

· High-end Commercial Treadmill with Advanced Features: Offering superior motor performance, high-tech displays, and customizable workout programs.

· Heavy-Duty Commercial Treadmill for Gym Use: Built to handle continuous usage, these models come with extra-wide belts and reinforced frames.

Conclusion

Investing in the right commercial treadmill for gym use can significantly elevate the quality of your facility and improve member satisfaction. With durable build quality, advanced technology, and safety features, a high-quality commercial treadmill is essential to running a successful gym. Make sure to choose wisely based on the features and needs of your clientele.

At Energie Fitness, we provide some of the best commercial treadmills in India, designed specifically to meet the challenges of a high-traffic gym. Explore our extensive collection to find the perfect match for your fitness center.

#gym #gym equipment #commercial gym setup #full commercial gym setup in india #india

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delacyrose224 · 2 years ago

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Late Night Talking

Pairing: Lee Minho x reader

Genre: Fluff, established relationship

Word Count: .9k

Author's Note: Song of the day is Late Night Talking by Harry Styles!

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“...do you miss me?”

It’s so quiet, you almost think you’ve made it up.

“What?”

Minho clears his throat softly and repeats himself.

“Do you miss me?”

He looks at you earnestly, but can’t hold eye contact for very long before he’s glancing off to the side, running his fingers through his long hair making it even messier than it was to start off with.

You smile, though he doesn’t see it.

“Of course I miss you. Who else can I bother on a daily basis?”

A small smirk works its way across his face as a signature glint of mischief sparkles in his eyes.

“It better just be me. If not, I’ll start sending you those memes you hate. And spam you with pictures of Jisung.”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a laugh.

“Ah, so that’s who you’ve replaced me with since you can’t bother me in person.” Though you’re joking, Minho notices the small frown on your face, even through his phone screen.

“You know I miss you, right?” His face is devoid of any joking, complete earnestness coloring his expression (and his ears, which are turning pink). “I’ve never felt this way about anyone this quickly.” Minho is matter of fact, succinct when it comes to his feelings. That’s how you know he’s telling the truth.

“Minnnnnn…” You hide behind your hands, embarrassed. One of the reasons the two of you had bonded in the first place was because of your difficulties in sharing deeper emotions.

He’s got a full blown smirk on his face now. “Glad I can still make you flustered, even from thousands of miles away,” he laughs. “How was your day?” His eyes soften, genuinely interested in what you have to say.

“It was…dumb, to be honest.”

“Tell me why.” Minho lays across his bed in the hotel room he’s sharing with Changbin, propping his phone up against the pillows.

“Well, I was running late this morning to start things off. Maybe because I made a stop to see your kids…” you laugh. Minho can feel his heart skip a beat in his chest at the mention of you caring about his cats.

“And then once I got to work, I ended up spilling coffee on myself-” You see Minho’s mouth start to open in protest, but you cut him off. “I didn’t burn myself, I just stained my new dress, don’t worry. But then I had meetings most of the day, and you know how my students sometimes just try my patience. But then I came home and changed into comfy clothes and watched a few episodes of that new show we talked about before. And here I am, talking to you-easily the best part of my day.” You smile softly at the man in front of you.

“Well one, I’m sorry you had a bad day. Two, did you put stain remover on your dress? Three, how dare you start that show without me. Four, this is the best part of my day too.”

“You’re worried about the stain on my dress?” You can’t help but laugh-what other man would be so concerned with laundry?

“Well, you spent your hard earned money on it!” he huffs, brows knit together in agitation.

“Yes, Mr. Clean, I put stain remover on it and immediately put it in the wash. And you said you didn’t like period pieces, that’s why I started it without you!”

“Well, I wanted to watch it with you,” he pouts.

“Fine…I’ll rewatch the first episode with you,” you concede.

“Right now?” Your eyes widen.

“Do you have time right now? Where’s Binnie? And you had a show earlier, you must be exhausted!”

“Not exhausted enough to not spend time with my best girl. And Binnie’s just left to go to the gym, he won’t be back for a while.”

Your cheeks flush at his pet name for you, but you’re excited to spend more time with Minho. After a quick setup and syncing of the show you were going to watch, the two of you settle into your respective beds.

It’s just as good as the first time…well, as much as you sit through. 45 minutes in, you’re both nodding off, and before you know it, you’re sound asleep.

—-------------------------------

A bright beam of sunlight hits your face, forcing your eyes open.

“What…happened?” You push up onto your elbows, rubbing out sleep out of your eyes, only to flop back down on the bed in protest. A deep groan comes from next to you, but there’s no one there.

Shoving your hands underneath the covers, you search until you grab your phone from the tangle of blankets. There on your screen is Lee Minho, yawning with long hair almost completely covering his face.

“Hi sleepyhead,” you giggle, watching him push the long strands out of his eyes.

“Hi love,” he yawns. “I’m guessing we fell asleep watching that show last night?” You nod. “Guess we were both more exhausted than we thought.” He lays his head on his hand, smiling softly at you.

“You’re smiling an awful lot lately, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to when you’re around.” His smile widens, his eyes staying just as soft as before.

“You keep this up, and Stay is gonna figure out something’s up. The cold Ice King is melting,” you laugh.

“I think they’d be happy that I’m happy,” he muses, then starts to frown. “I have to go get ready for a schedule soon before Chan yells at me…can we do this again soon? In person?”

You nod.

“...it’s a date, then.”

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

Taglist: @alpacaparkaseok @hyungieyoongi @derinxfam

You can find more of my work here!

#stray kids fluff #minho fluff #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #minho x reader #minho x y/n #lee know x y/n #skz fluff #skz imagines #lee know imagines #minho imagines

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wrestletotheground · 9 months ago

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Uhmm I'm in need of a ross smutty workout blurb cuz oh man I'm down bad and I need him to destroy my p**** respectfully

hi responding to this ask after way too long here's a video and long ass blurb (1.6k words) as compensation 😇

18+ minors dni!!!

'urghh- fuck'

ross' groans and grunts of exertion from working out echo through the apartment and you'd be lying if you said it wasn't making you insanely turned on. you do all you can to resist interrupting him, pressing your thighs together as you shift around on the couch for some type of relief. it doesn't help, his huffs and groans are getting louder the longer he's at it.

picturing your boyfriend, sweaty and breathless in his skin tight workout gear is what makes you finally give in. you get up and make your way over to the spare room where he has his little at home gym setup.

you peep your head around the door to see ross lying down doing bench presses with a bar that must weigh more than you, arms straining with every lift. you can see the little tufts of hair in his armpits when he lifts it up, moving slightly with every flex of his shoulders. his legs are on full display facing out towards you, and the nylon material ending barely halfway down his thighs isn't doing much to hide his bulge. the sight of him nearly makes you cum on the spot, and a moan involuntarily leaves your throat. you freeze in place, but of course he heard you, there's no going back now. he places the bar back in the holder above his head and cranes his neck up to look at you, a soft smile playing on his lips.

he sits up as you walk over to him cautiously, hyper aware of the sticky mess already forming between your legs. 'hi baby, need something?' you climb into his lap without hesitation, your brain already short circuiting at the way the bulge in his shorts pushes against your core. his arms, back and forehead are damp with sweat, which somehow makes you even hornier. 'no... m-maybe... just like hearing you is all,' you murmur, a flush rising in your cheeks.

his face breaks into a knowing grin as his hands run up and down your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 'hm, why's that angel?' he asks, bringing a hand up to push your hair behind your ear. it's at that moment you realise he's wearing his gold chain. that and the tank top is a dangerous combination. 'ross...' you whine, turning and looking away flusteredly, before he grabs your jaw and turns you to look at him. he tilts his head back, drinking in the lust written across your face. 'use your words baby, what do you want?'

'you.' it barely comes out as a whisper but your hands make up for the lack of words by threading through the hairs at the back of his neck, pulled tightly into a ponytail, and tugging just under the bobbin. he groans and rests his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. you can feel him hardening quickly under you, getting more turned on by the second. working out always made him like this. all the extra testosterone pumping through him meant he usually needed something to take it out on, be it you or his fist with a picture of you in front of him when you weren't around.

'how long had you been listening to me angel?' he whispers, tracing his fingertips down your back gently. 'too long, im- mmh- need you, daddy, m'so wet,' you whine, grinding on him harder and ignoring the humiliation creeping through your mind at how pathetic you sound. 'god, someone's needy today,' he smirks, although his eyes are already dilated gazing at you.

he's entranced, fixated on how easily you submit to your own desires.

he picks up the bar behind him and lets it fall to the floor with a thud, making space to lie back fully with you on top of him.

'watch, you'll break the floorboards,' you say, leaning down with a smirk in your eyes as if you're not worried about the weight falling so hard. you grind into him slightly as you press a hand onto his chest, making him burn with desire for you. 'oh I'll show you breaking the fucking floorboard-,' he barely finishes his sentence, pulling you into him harshly and attacking your lips with his. you gasp at the sudden contact and the intensity of the kiss, melting into him instantly. breathlessness takes over the two of you, rutting against each other desperately as your hair falls down around his face.

his cock is thick and hard between your legs, straining against his sweaty gym shorts. the feeling of it makes you clench uselessly as you fumble around with your hands to pull them down. he lifts his hips off the bench to help you pull them down, taking his boxers with them. you look down and your head goes fuzzy when you see his erection, red and throbbing already. he inhales sharply as you instinctively take it in your hand, slinking down his legs to bow your head down. he stops you just before your tongue touches off him.

'darling, not n-now, mmh, need to fuck you, okay?' he manages to say between heavy breaths. you nod your head yes, smiling coyly at the fact he's so needy and worked up already. he doesn't even notice how his hips involuntarily rise to meet your lips in contradiction to his words.

'lie down,' he says, slipping out from under you as you lay down obligingly. goosebumps prickle your body in anticipation. he gets up to stand towering over you at the foot of the bench and drags you down by the waist until you're right where he wants you.

you spread your legs instinctively and his eyes are instantly drawn to the pool of wetness seeping through your shorts. 'fucking hell, must have been torture sitting out there for so long, needy little whore,' he says with a smug grin. you can't help the way your eyes flicker between his face and his cock, your pussy throbbing at the thought of him inside you.

he pushes the skimpy bottoms to the side and trails a finger up your soaked cunt, making your eyes flutter shut and a desperate whimper escapes your throat. he can't help touching himself at the sight before him, biting his lip to stifle a groan as he works his fist up and down in anticipation, beads of precum rolling down his shaft. 'perfect', he mumbles under his breath. your cheeks flush.

he doesn't waste another second before hooking his fingers under the waistbands and all but ripping your pants off, throwing them aside carelessly.

you lie still, fawning up and waiting for him to make the next move. he returns his hand, this time slipping in two fingers with barely any resistance. he twists and curls and spreads his fingers as if you're a toy, trying to find the position that makes you drool.

and he does. he manages to find a spot inside you that has you seeing stars instantly, arching your back and letting out an obscene sound as he keeps hitting it perfectly. the sight of you is too much for him and before you can even think, the digits are replaced by his cock nudging at your entrance.

as soon as he pushes his tip into you, you know you're not going to last long. soft moans fall from your lips with every thrust. his arms tremble with fatigue over you, but he doesn't falter. if anything it spurs him on to fuck you faster.

the smell of musk and sweat and Him clouds your senses. it makes you impossibly more turned on, throwing your head back as he whines into your neck.

'ughhh- fuck, always so tight and wet for me, good girl'. 'your good girl,' you agree. his hands are on your shoulders, pinning you exactly where he wants you. he brings his hand down to your lower stomach, using his thumb to swipe back and forth over your clit. you can't help the pathetic whimpers that fill the room, it feels too good to care.

it's messy and hot and it feels like you're both on a high, chasing the end of each other. your hands wander all over him with the indecisive need to simply be as close to him as you can be. his eyes are inches from yours, an intense, almost primal stare burning through you.

'fuck, darling, I'm so close, you want me to fill you up? want this pretty little cunt dripping with me hm?' you nod your head, jaw slack, barely able to speak as pleasure courses through your veins, his words only making you whine further.

his thrusts get sloppy and fast as your insides are set aflame, and suddenly you're plummeting, gripping onto his back, leaving nail marks on the back of his neck and crying out. he's not far behind you. one final thrust and his eyes flutter closed, lips pursed shut as a heavy groan rips from his chest. he attacks your lips once more as he moves slowly and precisely, spilling every last drop into you.

he pulls away and his greedy eyes scan your body, taking in how fucked out you look; lips red and bitten raw, chest heaving with every breath under a glossy sheen of sweat. 'fuck, i think I've done enough working out for the both of us,' he laughs.

you eventually manage to move to the bed and lie down into each other for a while, between giggles and kisses, basking in the mutual infatuation between you.

#ross macdonald smut #ross macdonald oneshot #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald #matty healy #trumanblack #george daniel #the 1975 smut #adam hann #the 1975

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