#his gym has cool gears too

[cheesecake801]

I'm not good enough at animation yet to show it confidently but I think showing it to you all is still worth it !

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part nineteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

The cool paste feels tingly on your skin as you rub it against your bruised stomach, wincing. Christ. Maybe Ghost was right to think he might break you. Beneath the mottled patchwork, another kind of pain stirs— your muscles are growing. Firm and tight. The only soft parts of you left are your breasts and your ass. Gently applying the paste to a nasty purple one on your left cheek, you curiously pinch the sore flesh between your fingers. Scratch that. Even your ass is firming up. 

Arnica has healing properties. Yesterday, you found a patch of it with Blue and created a salve with some water. You already applied some last night before bed. Whether or not it’s helping probably doesn't mean much when new ones are about to be added; still, the placebo effect brings some comfort.

You're still massaging your backside when the bathroom door groans beneath a heavy fist. 

"Hurry up. Grab your bow."

“Shit.” You startle, almost dropping the salve. "Uh, coming.”

Chucking on a clean shirt and your old pair of jeans, you pad out of the bathroom, ignoring the cry of your joints. Ghost is outside waiting for you. Wait— bow? Confusion delivers an uptick to your pulse; you never bring your bow to train.

“What’s going on?”

"The air," he replies in a flat tone.

The stale smell offers enough explanation. You cringe. "Should we split up?"

He shakes his head and nods towards the direction the gentle breeze is rolling in. "No need. It's coming from this way."

In the violet wash of morning, you trail beside him over tall grasses and scattered groundhog burrows as the air leads the way, luring you opposite the clearing where you train. There haven't been any Greys since the one you burned together. For the past few weeks, you'd almost forgotten about their existence— a pleasant naivety for once. 

Neither of you bothers with much small talk. He asks if you're sore, probably noticing how stiff you are, and you answer honestly. That's it.

You keep your attention strictly on the wood bow molded into your palm and the slight rustling of leaves all around you, scanning for signs of anything astray. You don't look at Ghost, even when you feel his eyes flicker to the side of your head. Staring at him for even a second longer than necessary rouses something in your gut that was once easy to label as fear; now you don't know what to call it.

He is wearing thicker clothes today, the intimidating vest stocked with ammo glued to his chest. You'd gotten used to his more casual wardrobe of gym shorts and hoodies. They make him look... softer, almost. A little less like a death omen. Though, you sincerely doubt there are any soft parts of Ghost left under all that gear, given the rigid planes you felt beneath your hands when you—

"There."

You snap your gaze in the direction Ghost is pointing at.

At first, you don't see anything.

Then, squinting, you make out a red color far too metallic to naturally sprout among the conifers. 

An arrow is urgently slotted on the bowstring as the two of you head towards it, your brows tightly knitted. You've been this way a few times and never saw a— is that a red car?— before. Closing in, your suspicions are confirmed when a stroke of sunlight bounces off the metal bumper. The patchy sedan is tucked within a bush, tail-end sticking out, with half-flat tires resting on corroded rims. Shadows of movement dance behind the tinted windows, too disjointed to be natural.

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath, boots scuffing over a long-faded gravel pathway that is now shrouded in weeds. The car must've been following it before winding up in the bush— the occupants no longer human enough to drive.

"They... they must have just turned while they were driving," you think aloud. "When did this even get here?"

"Maybe during the night," Ghost mutters.

He paces forward and swings open the passenger door. A string of moans is released as a Grey lurches within the confinements of the seatbelt, but he quickly silences it with a bullet to the forehead, causing it to flop sideways out of the car. Maybe just a day ago, it was a young man. His hair is fully intact and he's wearing a blue shirt with the Chelsea Football Club logo on the back.

"I wonder why they were driving this way to begin with," you say quietly, stomach rolling.

In the driver's seat is the slumped-over corpse of an older man, having died from so many bite wounds before the infection could take hold. The early stages of decomposition smell almost worse than the infection and you have to breathe through your mouth as you head for the back door. 

"There's another here I think."

You're ready to shoot and put whoever it once was out of their misery when you pry open the door, but the sight of a small body wriggling around makes you freeze. Curled up against the faded leather is an infected boy, no older than eight or nine. His eyes are all white except for the outer rim where a few vessels are still filled with red blood. Your fingertips dig fiercely into the frame of the door as you stare down at him; his soft brown hair, his small hands, his Minecraft shirt. He whimpers and tries to claw at you, mouth hung open in mindless hunger.

The feeling that washes over you is hot and cold at the same time. It's not the first or last time you've seen an infected child, so you don't know why the sight traps you for a few heartbeats.

A voice emerges beside you. "It's not a kid anymore."

You almost forgot Ghost was there. Your teeth clench. "Yeah, I know."

You feel his eyes burning into you. Your fingers tighten and untighten around the arrow's stem as you aim. 

"Hone it, Twix— the anger."

The tension in your jaw releases at the same time as your arrow snaps forward, cutting through the boy's skull and driving his limp body down to the car floor.

“You good?”

You forcefully swallow and look away, giving Ghost a short nod. "Guess that's all of them."

He slowly nods in agreement, studying you, but all he says is, "For now."

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

“Seen stranger things over the years,” he says. “It seems like they were headed somewhere, maybe needed a new place to settle, and one of them got bit. Infected the others.”

You nod, thinking it over. “What about the car?"

"No fuel left, so it's pretty useless." Rifle still in his grip, he moves around to the hood and props it open. "Might have some parts I can use, though."

While he scavenges for gears that aren't rusted beyond functionality, you take a look at their belongings. There is an empty bottle of whiskey in the cupholder. In the boy's lap is a stuffed tiger that you assume was once white, but now it's a worn of grey. You carefully shift his corpse and take it.

"I have a friend who might be able to care of this for you."

In the trunk, at least, you find some tripwire. 

Dragging the two adult bodies back to the trench for burning is your 'strength' training for the day. Since they haven't decomposed much yet, they're heavy; you go back and forth, taking one at a time. Ghost carries the small one over his shoulder. After the flames snuff out the smell of rot, he relieves you, claiming he has other shit to take care of—more traps to set with the newfound tripwire.

"Hey. Would you like this?" you ask Blue when she's up, handing her the tiger. 

"I'm kinda too old for dolls, Twix." She must see the expression on your face because she shakes her head and disappears into her room for a minute before coming out with a teddy bear. "My mom gave me this one when I was a baby and it just sits on my bed by itself, but now it can have a friend."

You smile and nod. "Yeah, okay."

The day is spent playing board games with her. When she notices how sore you are, she offers an exclusive massage from Grim, who hops over your back and legs as you relax face-down on the couch. However, even with the honorary treatment, the aching lingers. 

"Auntie, I'm over here!"

In a violet-tinted field, you search for the voice.

It's barren and hazy, with no hard edges or places for a little boy to hide; so why is it so hard to find him? You call his name. You wander around, aimless, until you catch a familiar whiff of baked cinnamon and fresh laundry. This way. He's this way. You start running fervently. When a small hand tugs at yours, you whip around and try to grab him, but the soft touch dissolves through your fingers like ash. 

When you wake up, there's a hand on your back and blood on your tongue, evidence that you'd bitten through it during your sleep. The taste is quickly replaced with bile as you launch up, grabbing the sleeve of someone's shirt.

"Oh no, you don't."

The hand moves to your hair, wrapping it around in a fistful before forcing your head to tilt down. A bucket is tucked beneath your chin. You vomit into it, the cool metal rim hissing against your fingertips. Again and again. When it's all out, your throat feels like sandpaper. 

"Done?"

The dark room surrounds you; the perfect place to hide what you know must be a ghastly look on your face. Awareness creeps in, and you're not thrilled by the fact that you've thrown up in front of him twice now. Without looking up at the white skull you know is there, you nod.

Wordlessly, he takes out a cigarette and lighter. You hear a deep inhale. See the dull glow of the flame. Then, he passes it to you and leaves.

"You look like shit today."

You can't even be offended, fully aware of the purple painted beneath your eyes. One look at you quirks his brow up in that annoying mannerism of his.

You offer a tight-lipped simper, mumbling. "At least I can always count on you for brutal honesty."

"Good trait to look for in an ally." He throws the gauze at you and you begin wrapping up. "I don't suppose it has anything to do with the fact you nearly ruined another shirt of mine last night."

You tie off the gauze and glance up. "Look, I'm s—" you stop yourself, "I mean, I'm not sorry, because you wanted my box open so now it's open. You already knew the potential consequences."

"Try opening it without emptying your stomach next time."

You flash him a look. "I think I miss when you pretended I didn't exist."

"And I miss getting a full night of sleep."

"Can we just get started? I'm ready."

Ghost keeps his eyes on you as he motions a fisted hand. "As you wish."

When the familiar dance begins, and adrenaline ripples up your spine, you realize that you missed this yesterday. The rest felt good, but this— the thrill of seeing Ghost start to get as worked up as you, the sweat stains on his shirt matching your own... it is something you itch for these days. 

You get a few hits in that have your ego swelling. But then— the rough night catches up with you after half an hour of wordless sparring. Your breathing grows labored, while his is barely winded.

"Tired yet?" he asks.

"No," you say, but he calls you out immediately.

"You're a terrible liar," he reminds you. A few more swings have your lungs burning as you dodge until one finally catches up with you, and whatever healing your homemade salve has done is erased by a fresh layer of pain. 

As you clutch your side, he changes the subject. "Are you going to tell me what it was about then?"

"What what was about?"

"Whatever was making you whimper in your sleep."

Your face twists. "I wasn't 'whimpering'."

"Fine, then. Crying," he corrects plainly.

You sigh through your nose, averting your gaze only for a moment, then focusing back on him before he can strike you again. His words hang in the air, ignored, as you jab an elbow toward his ribs. He grabs you by the knob of it and pulls you unnecessarily close to his chest. When you try to wriggle free by placing a hand on his chest, he fists your hair, which has slipped out of a bun into a haphazard ponytail, and tugs hard enough to force your eyes up to his.

His gaze is demanding but his voice is light— a mere breath over your forehead. "Tell me why someone who has seen plenty of infected kids by now seemed so bothered by the one she saw yesterday. He reminded you of someone, didn't he?"

The mention of it makes you snap. "Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Trying to act like you know anything about me."

"I know enough. You are easy to read."

So that feeling you get when he looks at you isn't just in your head; he truly can see through. Your nails dig into your palm. "There's no need to read me. We're not friends. We're just... allies, or whatever."

"Or whatever," he repeats thoughtfully, tasting the words. "You talk like a teenager."

"Compared to you I might as well be," you retort.

"Jesus." He chuffs out an exhale, eyes flickering down for a moment before returning up to yours, narrowing. "Let's not change the subject here." 

"Fine. Take this stupid Halloween mask off," you lift the hand on his chest up to the hem of his balaclava, feeling how weighted the fabric is with sweat. "And I will tell you all about it."

His jaw flexes before he gently guides your hand away. "Tempting offer, but I'll pass."

You refuse to acknowledge the tinge of embarrassment at his dismissal and inch back as far as the hand on your hair will allow. The close proximity, or harsh sun, is making it hard to breathe. "Well, it's not fair for you to ask me shit about my life when you don't even let me see your face."

"I never claimed to be fair." 

"I promise I won't vomit no matter how ugly you are. I've seen worse things out here."

His hand tightens. "I think I miss when you were scared of me. Less mouthy back then."

"Well, I'm not anymore."

"No?" He flips you around so your back is against him, one hand settling on the toned curve of your hip. His voice lowers to your ear. "Maybe I need to fix that."

An unwelcomed shiver courses through you. He lets go. A wristbone nudges against your spine, shoving you forward. Irritation simmers in your veins when his remark finally registers, and you whirl around, readying your stance. 

"If you even think about threatening me after I explicitly asked you not to, then I would suggest sleeping with a knife tonight."

"Who's threatening who, Twix?" He gives a low chuckle. "Relax. I'm sure I could handle you in my sleep, anyway."

He's egging you on; you know it. And yet, you stubbornly take the bait. His knee— the right one. That's where you got him last time that made him falter. Maybe an old injury. But when you swing a boot at it, he expects your attempt, knocking you away by the ankle. 

"Ah. Eager to get me beneath you again?"

Pink sears your cheeks as you wipe a trickle of sweat from your forehead. "I'm eager to humble you for once."

"Might need to keep your dinner down to do that."

You grit your teeth. So maybe he did allow it last time. The realization darts your eyes to his wide stance, searching for an idea. Without second-guessing yourself, you kick at the other knee. He must find your second attempt amusing because he easily predicts it, but before he can catch your leg, you snap it back and drop yourself to the ground.

The brief distraction allows the second of time needed to fit yourself between his legs. You're slim enough to push through, kicking at the inside of both knees once you're on the other side. His legs buckle, and you reach up to pull his arm, finishing the job.

Once he's down, you scramble to get on top, not caring if your boot kicks his face in the process. You grab both of his wrists and bring them above his head, but it's impossible to wrap your fingers all the way around them. Instead, you lace them through his fingers, breathing hard in his face as your breasts meld against the solid heat of him.

"Did you allow that?" 

His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it. "No."

Your lips furl. "Good."

A dark gleam passes through his dilated pupils that makes your head fuzzy. You let go of his hands. Immediately, they gravitate to your hips again, thumbs fiercely pressing into the sliver of skin exposed from where your shirt rides up. You don't move even an inch, frozen in place as you stare down at where he grips you against him. That feeling in your gut deepens and spreads. It is hard to pinpoint—so insane and foreign yet familiar at the same time—but one thing is certain: it begins and ends where his rough skin touches yours.

Before you can figure anything else out, a scream shatters the air, and Ghost rips you off of him in one swift movement. 

[bluesidez]

GymRat!Miguel Part 8

content warning: fluff, a little bit of hurt/comfort, some mentions of food, 18+ so MDNI, thigh riding 😙, thigh fucking 🤪, public indecency??? exhibitionism???, katoptronophilia aka mirror sexy time (thanks for the word jelly 🪼), just overall a really good time

word count: 4.4k, not proofread (we're only gearing up to what I assume will be another giant chapter 😷)

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GymRat!Miguel who does some sets of push-ups, sit-ups, and leg raises in place of the gym. You watch him while you wait for room service, encouraging him from the side. Your presence was especially needed during the sit-ups when you sit at his feet, holding them down and giving him kisses when sits up.

GymRat!Miguel who sings loudly in the shower after his workout. You have to answer the door with an apology as the server laughs at Miguel belting out Britany Spears.

GymRat!Miguel who finally decides to respond to his texts. He’s had enough time to cool off and your presence was like a calm breeze, kissing away at his skin.

He discards his empty plate, placing it back on the cart. You’re still chewing away at some fluffy pancakes, enjoying the views of the high-rise hotel as the default channel played soft jazz.

GymRat!Miguel who lays in your lap while you eat some fruit. He has his phone in his hands ready to type, but he opens his mouth, silently begging for you to feed him grapes and pineapple chunks.

He hums to himself happily when you comply, combing a hand through his hair. He felt so peaceful like this. Serene.

GymRat!Miguel who sighs as he opens the message app. Here we go.

Abuela 💕:

“Abuela I’ll call you tonight”

“And there will be no babies. Not now”

“There better not be!”

Pa:

“Gracias pa”

“I’m glad you were able to meet her”

“She means a lot to me”

“I can tell”

“Mijo you pack a big punch!”

“Uno más!!!”

“You got that from me 👍🏽”

“Sure did pa 😭”

Gabri 🤡🤏🏽:

“You’re such an instigator”

“It’s not instigating. It’s reporting 😌”

“‘It’s reporting ☝🏽🥸’”

“Shaddap”

“You think I’m letting a member of the robotics team bully me?”

“You have perfect pitch and play the saxophone”

“You’re not winning this battle”

“Aren’t you supposed to be entertaining my girl? 🤨”

“Direct this clown act to her”

“Not sure how she puts up with it but I’ll free her soon”

“Stfu”

“A real man would be doing OTHER things but I digress”

“Did you really have to send a pic”

“You hate me”

“It’s clear to me now”

“Anyway what’s this about Tyler punching things”

“OHHHHH”

“He got him good”

“Square in the face”

“A bloody mouth to match his nose”

“TWINEM”

“Good”

"Pa said he granted me the ability to punch"

“He can dream on about that”

“Because where tf is my strength 😒”

"He punched Tyler before"

"Your time will be soon"

"😕"

"Also Ik about Nancy cheating already"

"Tyler told me in high school"

"I didn't want to be the one to tell Kron"

"Ur better than me"

"I would have told him that after that punch"

"YOUR MOM IS A HOMEWRECKER!"

"That's not what that means but ok"

Dana:

“Does your bf know you’re lusting after others?”

“Not if you don’t tell 😙”

“….I don’t think I want to give you her number”

“You’re perfect for Gabri”

“You’re both unbearable”

“What’s unbearable is I’m not talking to your gf rn”

“It’s too many O’Haras”

“Too much testosterone”

“SAVE ME MIG’S GF”

“MIG’S GF SAVE ME!!!”

Dad….Tyler:

“It’s ok. For what it’s worth, I can tell that you had good intentions.”

“Gabri told me what happened”

“I apologize for acting out of order and punching your son, but I couldn’t let him disrespect my girlfriend and my mom. No matter how difficult she may be, I’m the one who should tell her about it. Not him.”

"I completely understand that. You did what you thought was right, and that's far more admirable than what Kron did."

"In another reality, you and Kron could get along. For now, I will aim for cordial. I will make sure that he apologizes to you, your girlfriend, and Conchata."

"I don't want an apology if it's not genuine."

"Let's move on from that. You said you wanted to make it up to me? I saw that you added more dates to the hotel. Thank you for that, you didn't have to."

"Yes! If you are willing, I would love for you and your girlfriend to meet with me. I actually arranged something for you, Gabriel, and your girlfriends. I want to hear your input before I finalize the details."

"Sure thing. Is this afternoon ok?"

"That's perfect. I'll see you then."

Ma:

Read: 11:10 AM ✓✓

“Ugh,” Miguel groans, shutting his phone off and closing his eyes.

You stop rubbing his hair and look down, “What’s wrong?”

Miguel grunts as he moves your hand to continue, “My mom wants me to come home. Not sure if I want to do that right now. Not unless I know she’s ready to be accountable for once, which I highly doubt.”

You hum in understanding, “She’s still your mom, though. You’ll have to see her eventually.”

“My mom or not, she had no right to talk to you the way she did,” Miguel said reaching his hand up to your face. “It was cruel and…strange coming towards you. She doesn’t know you. Not yet, anyway.”

It’s not like she was trying to know you, either. Miguel seemed to understand this in your silence.

“I have to go grab some clothes so she might just get her wish,” Miguel says, turning his head towards your stomach.

You look down at him, “You don’t have to. Today is my last day here.”

“Well, lucky for us, Tyler extended the stay for a few more days,” he grinned. He started to move your shirt to fondle your skin.

Your stomach twitched as his breath brushed your skin. He started to kiss along your front, head disappearing under your sweater. He hummed as he started to tug at your underwear with his teeth.

“Hey,” you say, watching his head moving around through the material. “Stop that and finish talking.”

You pulled your sweater up to reveal him, his teeth still holding the band of your panties and eyes like a cat that got caught.

He let the band go close to your stomach so it wouldn’t snap, “This visual is making me forget everything.” His eyes are heavy and wandering.

You look to where he’s looking to see that you’re essentially flashing him.

You drop your shirt in embarrassment, letting out a sound of panic.

“No, no, baby let me see.”

“No, you’re at such a weird angle.”

“All art must be viewed up close and personal.”

Miguel sat up from your lap. He watched as you huffed and pinched the neckline of your sweater, moving it for air.

"You're so confident from afar, but when I'm near you like this, you get so shy. Even in public, you can be so bold. It's just you and me here."

"It's just," you watch Miguel as he crowds your space. His mouth goes behind your ear to press his lips into your skin. "I don't know. It feels like...more when it's just us. More real."

"Does it not feel real when we're in public?"

Miguel sits back, eyes wondering to yours. There's a pinch in his eyebrows, so faint you almost miss it.

"It does! That's not what I mean."

"Then, what is it? Tell me. Talk to me."

"I want to do more with you."

"But?" Miguel holds your hands in his, stopping you from picking at the loose threads of the sweater. He rubs them with his thumbs, itching to pull you closer.

"But, when you look at me like that, I feel like I could pass out. I get overwhelmed and nervous. I don't want to say or do anything stupid. It gets harder to control myself. I feel crazy."

Oh.

Oh.

"Then there are moments when my brain fools me into thinking that you don't like me in the way that I like you. Moments when that girl from not so long ago comes back, ashamed of herself and her body. A small part of me that thinks you could date anyone else and you're settling."

Miguel takes a moment to process your words.

He takes a breath, then opens his mouth.

"You really don't understand how much you affect me, do you?"

Miguel pulled you in his lap, fed up with this charade.

You grip his shoulders, steadying your balance with how fast he grabbed you.

"Miguel-"

"I don't know everything that your last boyfriend did to you and I don't know everything that you've experienced because of your body. Baby, I don't even know what you've seen all this time to make you think you're not worthy of love and respect, but I'm here to squash it."

"I meant it when I said that I love you. I'll learn it in a hundred languages just to remind you. I'll even tattoo it on my forehead for you to be reminded of it every single time you see me."

"I don't think you need to go that far," you say, eyes warm.

"No, I think I should. Anything for you to understand me. Anything for you to see you like how I see you."

"Letting out my deepest darkest secrets here, but do you know what I did when we first met?"

You shake your head, curious.

"I had a dream about you that was so good, I fell out of my bed. Peter never lets me live it down."

"A sweet dream?"

"Now, you and I both know it was more than that. Two cold showers should answer your questions."

You hide your face in his neck, heartbeat drumming through you, "Did you really?"

"Hand to heart. I understand your feelings. I acknowledge them too, but I need you to understand mine as well. Trust me when I say that you are unbelievably sexy. I love you and your body. My eyes caught your appearance before I came to know your personality. Anybody would be lucky to have you, but I'm the luckiest because you chose me."

Miguel hugged you close and kissed your head.

"Now let's rewind. You said you feel crazy when you're close to me?"

You groan in his neck.

"Uncontrollable? Heated?"

"Miggy, stop."

"My girlfriend is head over heels for me," Miguel hummed as he rubbed his hands down your naked legs. "She wants to ruin me."

"No, I don't."

"She's still wearing my clothes with nothing underneath but her panties and is leaning all over me. Her thighs are around my waist and she just told me that she wants me."

"You put me here," you lean up and stare at him. Your cheeks were hot and your eyes were dewey.

"She's looking at me like she's upset, but now I know that her heart is going crazy. I want to kiss her."

"Then do it," you whisper.

The kiss is sweet, the taste of fruit and syrup still on your lips. You finally relax in his arms, body melted against his. His hands slip under your sweater, dancing over your back. Your skin is soft and warm, a blanket over Miguel's figure.

The time where you two connect extends deeper and longer. You let your hands venture further than the nape of his neck, roaming until you brush across his chest. Miguel's breath hitched as your nails raked his nipple, chest jumping at the impact.

You break for a second, wanting to get air, but Miguel leans back in, desperate. He's whining, groping your body all over. His noises go straight to your core, twitching above him. He matches your pace, dragging your hips across his, reveling in how fast your body was reacting to him.

When he leans back, there's a string of saliva connecting you two. He's breathing hard as he watches you.

"Can I take this off? Please," Miguel grips the bottom of your sweater, eyes pleading.

You bite your lip and slide the sweater over your head, dropping it to the bed. You bring your hands over the top of your chest, arms framing your breasts.

You can't look Miguel in the eyes, too shy, "Is this fine?"

Miguel's eyes almost turn as he watches you, so shy but so seductive. He reaches out to cup your breasts in his hands, groaning when they plush through his fingers.

"You're so," Miguel rubs his thumbs across your nipples, enjoying you twitching and gasping in his hold. "Fuck."

His gaze burned into you, hungry as you lapped his tongue around your nipples. You let out a whimper when you feel him pull your skin in, mouth hot. It doesn't beat his pleased hum, voice like a man finally getting relief.

He massages your vacant breast, movements getting harsher. His grip is like a vice making it harder for you to second-guess yourself.

You hiss and rake your hands through his hair, "B-baby, be careful."

"Lo siento, mi amor," Miguel says, kissing across your areolas. "'M sorry."

You find your breath, fighting to steady your voice, "You're on me like we didn't just do something earlier."

Miguel paused and placed his cheek on your chest, "Baby, I'm a virgin and a man, not a prude. With practice, I could go all day."

The thought of that has you tightening your legs around him, hips stuttering. Miguel shifts to pull you over his left thigh.

"Does that excite you, baby?" Miguel smirks.

You close your eyes and nod, hips rolling over his thigh, keening high as he hikes his thigh closer to your sex and grips your waist. His muscles feel so good against you, the sounds getting wetter and wetter with each swipe.

"God, you're so pretty like this," Miguel sighs. "My gorgeous girl."

Your movements are becoming more frantic, Migiuel's voice in your ears spurring you on. He was sucking into your neck, growling as you scratched against his shoulder blades.

"That's right, baby. Keep going. Use me to get off," Miguel helped your hips keep a steady pace, pulling at your briefs to a makeshift thong. The tightness of your underwear combined with his thigh and his voice sends you into overdrive.

"Miguel!" you sob, hands gripping his hair. Your body trembles as you squeeze your thighs around him, cunt pulsating around nothing but your underwear, release leaking onto his leg.

Miguel cooed as you dropped your weight against him, body limp and hips fluttering with aftershocks. You panted as you kept your head on his shoulder, willing yourself to calm down.

"Are you ok?" Miguel asks, kissing your temple, your ear, your cheek. He feels you nod into his skin, blissed out.

"I like how you called me the needy one and you're the one who came three times today," Miguel mumbled, laughing as you swatted at his pec.

"I already confessed what you do to me. This shouldn't be shocking."

"Didn't say that. 'M just happy you feel more comfortable around me. It's what I want." One last kiss to your face seals his joy.

You lift up on shaky knees, hands holding onto Miguel for dear life. Your thighs were still shaking and your underwear was ruined. Miguel's cock twitched at the essence that seeped onto his leg, watching as sticky lines dragged from his skin to yours.

He grabbed you by the waist with one hand and wiped at your slick with another.

He's about to swipe at it with his tongue until you stop him.

"Miguel! Don't do that," you say, flustered.

"What? I'm just enjoying the fruits of my labor," he pouts as you grab some napkins and clean off his hands and thigh.

"So close to eating you, yet so far," he sighs miserably. "One day."

You ignore him and look down at his erection, taking a knuckle and lining the side. It was your first time really paying attention to him down there, now that you weren't distracted by his advances.

"What about you?"

He twitched as you walked along his clothed shaft, pre-come leaking through the fabric.

"As much as I want you to continue, we have to get ready for today," Miguel jerks as you continue your ministrations with a pout on your face. "And, I need condoms if you want to take this any further."

"Not even a blowjob?" you peer at him with your deer eyes again.

Miguel took a deep breath, "I was right. You are trying to ruin me."

GymRat!Miguel who lets you know that Tyler wants to meet you both after you both have changed clothes for the day. Something about a surprise.

"I love surprises!" you say turning to Miguel with a smile on your face. "As long as it's nothing like last night. I think it'll be ok."

Miguel matches your smile and presses his lips to yours.

GymRat!Miguel who stops at his home briefly, trying to get in and get out. He manages to fill up his travel bag, drop off his laundry, and give Gabriel a heart attack all before his mom notices he's there.

"Where are you going?" Gabriel asks with his hand over his heart, headphones lopsided around his neck.

"None of your business, nosy."

"Uh, it kind of is my business. You think you're grown when you're really not."

Miguel rolls his eyes. He didn't really want to tell Gabriel, but sometimes he couldn't say no to him.

"We're going out to see Tyler. He has a surprise for us. He also said he arranged something for us including you and Dana."

"Oh shit! Ok. And if mom asks where you are?"

"Tell her I'll come by tomorrow. I'm spending the next few days with my girlfriend."

"Alrighty," Gabriel sing-songs, placing his headphones back on his head. "You kids be safe. Don't scare my girl away."

Miguel smacks Gabriel across the head and runs out the door before he can catch up.

GymRat!Miguel who just laughs at your face while you frantically unlock the car to let him in.

"Baby, what's wrong?" you ask, voice in a panic.

"A string bean is trying to attack me," he responds, giggling as Gabriel runs out of the house.

"I'm getting you back for that you oaf!" Gabriel yells as Miguel backs out of the driveway. He stops his anger to wave at you, which you return with a sweet smile.

"Baby, you're encouraging him."

GymRat!Miguel who guides you through the doors of a cafe that Tyler recommended. He sticks out like a sore thumb with his stark white hair and light clothing. The only semblance of color on him was his silver jewelry.

He sat there, typing away at his phone, oblivious to the people around him who found familiarity in his form.

"Dad," Miguel said, the word funny on his tongue. He tried to make an effort to refer to him as his father in public, something Tyler appreciated greatly.

"Son!" he got up and engulfed him in a hug, giving you a softer version afterward. "It's good to see you both."

"It's lovely to see you again as well, Mr. Stone," you say, giving Miguel a smile when he pulls your chair out for you. "Thank you so much for thinking of us after all that's happened. Thank you for paying for my stay as well, the hotel is very lovely."

"Anything for Miguel's loved ones," he smiles in a way that has a hint of Miguel. You feel better going into the rest of this meal.

GymRat!Miguel who almost chokes on his coffee before Tyler can finish his sentence.

"A yacht?!"

"Is it too much? I can do something else to your liking," Tyler frets, wiping his hands on his slacks. "I'm not sure what all kids your age like nowadays."

"I've never been on a yacht. so I don't even know how to react," Miguel responds.

The two of them are sporting the same deer-in-headlights look.

"I'm sure it would be a great experience for all of us. If everyone doesn't mind, I'm sure we can get together and have a great time," you say, helping the two of them out. "Something nice to start the summer off."

"That's great! I will have everything ready by the beginning of next month then," Tyler says, mood lifting immediately. He was a lot like a golden retriever. "With that in order, I'd like to grant you this."

He takes his wallet out, reaching in to grab a card.

As he slides it across the table, your eyes grow big.

It's a black card with T. Stone pressed across the bottom.

"What's this for?" Miguel asks, staring at the card with building curiosity.

"You all need clothes for the trip, don't you?" Tyler asks. "And I'm sure you need more clothes to wear this week. Please take this, I don't mind. I trust you not to go overboard. I'll let you know when to give it back."

Miguel took the card in his hands, the weight of it heavier than any of his own.

"I guess it's time for a shopping spree," Miguel said, a smile growing on his face.

GymRat!Miguel who drives you straight to the mall. The windows are down as you both laugh and sing to the song on the radio. Miguel wishes he could record this moment, but for now, he dials it back to replay in his memory.

GymRat!Miguel who is happy to carry your bags and encourages you to buy more. Whenever you start to feel like you've gone overboard, he just whispers "black card" in your ear like a devil on your shoulder.

GymRat!Miguel who convinces you to walk around the name-brand stores. He did have Tyler's card, but he was also thoroughly watching what you gravitated towards. He locked away so many gift ideas for later.

GymRat!Miguel who joins you in the mirror of a shades shop. The both of you take pictures with coordinating glasses and you giggle as Miguel makes silly faces in some of them.

GymRat!Miguel who becomes your doll as you pick out outfits for him. He's smiling down at you as you put different shirts up to his body, mumbling to yourself as you make decisions. So pretty.

GymRat!Miguel who waits while you try on some clothes, giddy whenever you show him a new outfit. You managed to find clothes that coordinated with his and you're super excited about it.

"Close your eyes!" you yell through the door.

He does so and listens for you to walk out. After you take a while, he opens his eyes a little.

"Baby, no peeking," you chastise.

He huffs and waits a little longer.

"Ok. 1, 2, 3, open!"

His eyes land on you in a dress that hugs your curves like no other. Your chest fills out the top perfectly and seeing your stomach through the front is driving him mad.

"Do you like it?" you turned around, giving Miguel a grand view of how your ass was sitting in the dress.

"Do the dressing rooms have a time limit?"

You blink at him owlishly, "No? Why?"

GymRat!Miguel who drags all of your bags and you back inside of the dressing room with lightning speed. As soon as he locks the door, he's attached to your lips, kneading at your ass and hips.

You gasp in his mouth, shocked at how fast he's moving.

"Miguel, what- oh," you sigh as he leans down and pulls your dress up, face buried in your neck.

"You look so good, mi amor. I can't help it."

GymRat!Miguel who almost cums when you pull his dick out. Your eyes grow along with his erection, watching as he twitches in your hold. You've never taken anyone this big and from your hesitance, Miguel can gather this much.

"We don't have to do anything. In fact, you don't have to do that here," he pants.

"You mean take you down my throat?" you ask, running your thumb over his head, watching in awe as liquid seeped out. Miguel bit his hand to quiet his moans. "I'll wait until we're somewhere more private and less noticeable that I'm on my knees for you."

Miguel looks at the open space under the dressing room door, "Yeah that's probably for the best."

GymRat!Miguel who places you in front of him, both of you facing the mirror. Your dress is bunched up and Miguel is rocking his cock in between your thighs.

He's bent down, biting lightly on your shoulder so that he doesn't shout. Your thighs were so warm and plush against him and his pre-cum was spewing out of him like a fountain.

"You feel so fucking good, baby," he moans a little too loud after a few minutes.

GymRat!Miguel who watches you in the mirror. Your tits were so close to slipping from the top of your dress, the impact from his hips jerking your entire body. He grabbed at both of them, watching as you moan at the contact. His slaps got louder and louder, milky fluid running down your legs.

GymRat!Miguel who is overcome with need when you turn and run your tongue across his earlobe. He convulses as his release spurts across the room, landing on the mirror. He grips your hips and breathes hard into your skin, the tempo of his heart moving quick.

You pat his head and praise him, heavy eyes following your hand as you rub his tip that's still rubbing through your thighs. He whines, sensitive, but not moving away from you.

GymRat!Miguel who wipes you down carefully with some wipes you have in your purse. Luckily you both haven't ruined yet another pair of underwear.

He kisses you softly when he finishes, little confessions of love traveling from his lips to yours.

GymRat!Miguel who checks the dressing room one last time, making sure he's gotten any evidence of his removed from the area. Your green dress is in his arms and you've changed back to your outfit.

The area is clean, but there are fresh hickeys on your neck, something he got carried away with.

GymRat!Miguel who walks out like nothing happened. You on the other hand, hand over some extra clothes you didn't like to a worker in slight embarrassment. He eyes you both with a look of horror.

GymRat!Miguel who feeds you Auntie Anne's in the crowded food court. You hum happily after each bite. He dusts cinnamon off the corner of your lips with a smile.

GymRat!Miguel who moves from dusting to leaning across the table to lick the crumbs off when a table full of guys keeps eying you.

"What was that for?" you asked, oblivious to the hound dogs around you.

"Nothing. I just love you, baby."

dividers by: @plutism 🩵

a/n: I got a very useful lesson on condoms and BJs while writing this chapter. It won't ever be applied to this fic, BUT it was still kinda fun nonetheless.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! Leave a like, a reblog, and COMMENTS if you did!!! 🩵

taglist: @ghost-lantern @miguelhugger2099 @slushycoookie @emelie-s-h @lake-lili

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[cheriladycl01]

I'm not scared! Colby Brock x MotoGPDriver! Reader Part 1

Plot: You made a tweet about Sam and Colby and were in a podcast and they brought up Sam and Colby where you talked about the paranormal and how it doesn't really scare you because you drive motorcycles at over 200mph.

A/N: This has been sat in my drafts for a while coz i was kinda scared to post it, coz its a new reach of people I'm looking for.

It started off with a silly little tweet you'd made in the summer break when you werent racing. You didn't feel like watching old F1 or MotoGP races and there was no movie that immedielty came to mind.

So you scrolled through youtube. At first it was a documentary about the ocean, and you had to switch it out. Which is how you came across a channel called Sam and Colby, two American boys who... well you didn't actually think they had a 'thing:

Your YouTube consisted solely of vlogs and car/bike videos that you did. That was your niche. However these two didn't seem to have a specific niche, you perused them seeing that they vlogged and did challenges and prank video and even back in the day were part of vine.

The most recent things they'd been sticking too by the looks of things were these paranormal investigations. They went to these haunted places with cool gear and filmed the experience. You were very intruiged as the paranormal was something you'd believed in just never interacted with.

After watching them bring people on, and be scared shitless you knew you'd boss something like this.

You were alone in your house, drinking which is where the tweet actually came from.

There was a lot of action from both fans of motorsport and YouTube fans. You of course got some hate from the tweet from the YouTube side and hence started the fued between your fans and Colby and Sam fans.

It wasn't until the podcast you went on that the duo took notice of you.

"So today I'm here in the studio with Y/N, now this I think is an intertsing podcast for both of us, because you've only been on Motorsport related ones so far correct?"

"Yes" you smile nodding. You'd actually been on a few podcasts as you really enjoyed talking to people and hearing their stories and being able to talk about your own experiences and hardships.

You started of with the generic motorsport questions, that were all angled at you being a woman in motorsport. Which you enjoyed as you knew getting to the position you had now was a hard hard feat you managed to overcome.

He then got onto more general questions about you life, which again you were happy to answer.

"I do have something that people asked me to ask when we first annouced you here and that was about the tweet with Sam and Colby?" he says looking to his notepad making sure he was keeping in his order.

"Mmmm, what about it?" you smile knowing this was going to be a thing.

"So you basically said along the lines of, if you were in a Sam and Colby video that you wouldn't be scared, why is that?" he asks tilting his head to the side.

"Well, not much scares me when i drive motorbikes at roughly 250 kmph. You know, I've come off those bikes and had my life flash before my eyes as I go into the barrier. One of my worst crashes nearly killed me, but I got back on the bike, one I healed and I won my first race back in Lusial. As part of the Red Bull family I've helped them with some crazy challanges, beat Max Verstappen in an F1 car and lots more. So i think it would genuinely take a lot to scare me!" you smile explaining your thought process behind your tweet and how you think you'd genuinely react.

"So I'm guessing you'd be like down to collab with them at some point!" he asks.

"Yeah of course, I know these things take time to plan so obviously you know with both our busy schedules it probably wouldn't be anytime soon, but you never know!" you grin and after a few more questions before the podcast ends.

It was around a week later, you were in your home gym getting some weight training in when a message dings up. You stop the current exercise your doing to check it.

It was an instagram DM from the Sam and Colby official account. You click on the notification to go onto the chat to look at what they'd messaged you.

Of course you immedielty replied. You exchanged numbers with both the boy's before Colby made a group chat asking when you were free.

It was harder to find times than you expected, the next time you all would be free was during your winter break from racing. Which was risky to confirm anything, especially to their fans as anything could happen to you in that time.

You agreed on a date and time to tell your fans.

The next step was you inviting them to a race weekend, you wanted to meet them but obviously didn't have much time between races. So you invited them to your home race at Silverstone in the United Kingdom.

They decided to make it a whole thing, where they explored some haunted places across England after coming to see you at your race.

You decided to meet them at the airport first and you couldn't hold in your nerves to meet them, you never had the best people skills which is probably why you went into the career path that you did.

You waited for them in the arrivals area, it wasn't too busy due to the time of the day, just a few business men in suits. You looked around for a board to see when their plane had landed, but could find one.

"Y/N?" you hear from behind you.

A/N: I don't know what the fandom's like on here, but I just like writing about cool situations that help with writers block for writing my book! If you follow me for F1 and General Motorsports this is me branching out my writing into another hyper fixation of mine that’s been around for a while!

[starkidmunson]

glitter & crimson

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Steve comes home from his first post-injury workout drenched in sweat and throws himself onto the sofa on his back. Robin winces as she watches him go, raising an eyebrow. 

“That bad?” She asks, to which Steve groans in response.

“They want me to wear a bubble.” Steve responds, digs his hand around inside the gym bag still attached to his side and lifts out the full face mask.

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea, protect your face at least.” Robin observes, only to be met by a glare from Steve. His facial expressions are making a triumphant return as he regains more control over his face as the wound heals, and he’s taking full advantage of his bitchy looks whenever he can.

“Says the one not blowing hot air back into their own face as they work out.” He grumbles, flopping back and dropping the mask onto his stomach. “Everything hurts. You’d think I’ve been out for months, not just a few weeks.”

“How’s the headache?” Robin predicts, and Steve gives her another look before he sighs. 

“It’s not bad, don’t overreact. It’s not the concussion.” He insists, ignores the way her eyebrow rises again and instead pushes himself up again. “I’m going to shower,” Steve announces, making a quick escape from Robin.

It’s not exactly that he’s lying, because he’s not. He doesn’t think anything he’s feeling is concussion-related. The soreness in his muscles is from suddenly being weighed down with his hockey gear again, after weeks without. It’s a similar feeling to the first workout of the pre-season. The headache is a little trickier to convince everyone around, so he’d avoided mentioning it and done his best to hide it at the rink. It’s no surprise Robin can just tell he has one, though.

He lets steam fill the bathroom before he steps under water so hot his skin turns pink. He lets the shower spray target the middle of his back, shifts so it settles between his shoulder blades, and rests his forehead against the cool tiles in front of him.

Eventually, he emerges back into the apartment in sweatpants, his hair air drying. Robin is setting a cup of hot tea down on the coffee table, her own tucked onto an end table beside her on the sofa. Steve smiles softly and mumbles his appreciation as he sits and takes a sip.

As he drains the cup, the headache eases a bit and he feels a bit more human than he had after returning home from his workout. 

“You got mail from your parents today,” Robin eventually offers over the New Girl re-run neither of them are particularly paying attention to but have on for familiar background noise. Steve just grunts, uninterested, and instead busies himself checking any messages he may have missed from people he actually cares to give the time of day. 

Dustin had demanded a “family dinner,” which Steve agrees to and warns Robin when to expect a full house. Max, traveling with the Blackhawks for a game tomorrow night, had sent him a detailed threat to not push himself too hard while working out. He responds with a video clip the trainer had taken of Steve nailing a series of wrist shots.

Steve tries hard not to be too disappointed that he hadn’t heard from Eddie. They’d texted about their plans for the day, Steve knew Eddie had said he’d be spending the day in his studio working on a few new tracks he was putting together. Still, though, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping he’d have found a text or two from the other in the time he hadn’t been looking at his phone, something that was quickly becoming a standard for the pair.

Biting back his pride, he decides to send the first text, figuring the other will answer whenever they’re wrapping up in the studio.

Steve: Hope you’re having a good studio session.

After a long few moments, Steve can’t help the little sigh he lets out as he buries himself into the throw pillows filling out the sofa beside him. Robin nudges him with a foot, eyebrow raised, and he shrugs back at her, turning his attention to the television. It isn’t long before he zones out, though, thinking and overthinking.

His injury has given him a lot of time to think about a lot of things; primarily what landed him off the ice. He’s only mentioned it to Robin, but he has been considering coming out to his coaching staff and league officials to give background on what seems like an otherwise unprovoked violent streak from Billy Hargrove. Steve learned, in the days he spent in LA after the attack on the ice, Billy had taken to calling him names and slurs with press and on social media. The trash talking had landed him another fine from the league, but it wasn’t slowing him down. It was more than enough to prove the attack was premeditated, if everyone who needed to know the background was read in on their history.

And while Billy was staying on the attack, his teammates were apparently squared up and ready to defend Steve in a way he probably should have expected but hadn’t seen coming. Each of the players who had gotten physically involved in fighting Billy after Steve had taken a stick to the face had made comments with press about how Hargrove plays dirty and mean. Several had also spoken out about Steve’s leadership and sportsmanship on and off the ice, throwing their support behind him through his recovery. 

Coming out to the league and his coaches also had the potential to alleviate some of the anxiety he was feeling around his personal life. There had always been concern about coming out, getting kicked off the ice and ending up without the one thing he knew best. Long before he’d joined the league, his father had impressed upon him that he would have to settle and make sacrifices if he wanted to stay with the sport, but Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep his sexuality bottled up and hidden away from the public.

In large part, it was easy to place blame on Eddie. The rockstar blew into his life and changed his perspective on what it was like to be a public figure, out and proud. Steve knew their status didn’t translate equally. Sports fans were different from fans of a band; Steve had joined a team with supporters who would cheer him on so long as he wore their colors and made them proud. Eddie’s fans had sought him out, decided to listen to his music and support him on their own. But for Steve to see Eddie carrying on with his life, not having to hide any part of himself or worry about not posting certain photos from their days in LA on social media (because what if they looked too suspicious and got people talking and asking questions?) was what Steve longed for. 

Chicago was a pretty open-minded town; it’s why he and Robin had first moved to the city to begin with. But it still wasn’t a guarantee that everyone would continue to support the team if he did publicly come out. And Steve was working to reconcile that in his mind; to gauge how much he should even care about it. A part of him knew the greater majority wouldn’t give a shit as long as he still scored goals and played a clean, fair and exciting game whenever he hit the ice. But the thought of those few who might push back too hard and how it could impact his teammates - his friends - in the long term is still what ate away at him.

“I can hear how loud you’re thinking over there.” Robin eventually says while he’s deep in thought, and he shoots her a small smile in response. “Look, Steve, you have to do what you think is best for you. Who gives a shit about anyone else.” She says.

He wishes it was that easy. He knows it could be, but he cares too much about the fallout to stop overthinking. They fall back into silence again, until Robin eventually closes her laptop and leans close to press a gentle kiss to Steve’s hair.

“You’re the best at what you do and if people can’t see that around the fact that you like guys, then that’s their loss.” She says, gently, before excusing herself off to bed.

Steve lounges around in the living room for a while longer, before he turns off the tv, grabs a blanket and makes his way out onto the terrace. He wraps the sherpa around his shoulders and drops into one of the loungers out there, looking out toward the skyline. It’s cold, but not as cold as it’s been, and he’s always found comfort in the winter weather, anyway.

His phone buzzes, catching his attention, and he smiles softly at Eddie’s name. When he answers FaceTime, he’s immediately met by chaos. It sounds like three voices are talking over each other, Eddie’s closest to the phone, making a loud ‘shhh’ sound until everyone around him is silenced.

“Did you mean to call me?” Steve asks around a smile, and watches as Eddie’s face lights up as he draws his attention.

“I did!” He insists, though Steve isn’t entirely convinced. “Want to hear what the track I’m mixing right now?”

Steve raised his eyebrow, only half sure he knows what Eddie’s talking about, before he nods. “Let’s hear it.” He agrees.

“Told you,” Eddie hisses at someone just out of the camera’s frame; probably one of the Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie taps a few buttons below the phone, then a soft guitar tune starts playing. It’s not like anything Steve has ever heard from the band before, gentler and softer. Other instruments crash in, in a more typical Corroded Coffin sound, for what Steve assumes will be a chorus once there’s a vocal track, but it slows back to just a guitar for the next verse. Eddie pauses the song and lifts the phone up again. “Thoughts and opinions are encouraged.”

“It’s different.” Steve says, still a little in awe.

“But not in a bad way!” He hears Gareth’s voice from somewhere in Eddie’s studio, and Steve nods in agreement.

“I don’t think it’s in a bad way, either. Just different. It still sounds like you guys in that middle part, when all the instruments join in. But the guitar, that’s… it’s soft and sweet and gentle. It works nicely, not that I know anything about music,” Steve laughs, and Eddie gives him a little smile.

“I appreciate your opinion,” he says, seeming to inspect the screen. “Your face looks a little less colorful. How was practice?”

“Fine, I’m sore now, though.” Steve admits, shifts and cracks his back.

“Gross!” Jeff cries from somewhere around Eddie, and Steve can’t help but laugh again.

“You should get back to working, I’m gonna head to bed soon anyway. We can talk tomorrow?” Steve asks, and Eddie nods. 

“Night, Stevie.”

~~~~

He hangs up the FaceTime, steals a pizza roll off Jeff’s plate, and re-opens the notes app on his phone. Scanning over the rambling notes he’d made himself about how he imagined the song would work out, he starts a new paragraph.

And he stares at the blank line before him.

“You’ve composed, like, 4 tracks and you can’t come up with a single lyric for any of them?” Freak asks, takes a pull from a joint burning in an ashtray near the sofa, and blows the smoke out away from the group.

“Very helpful insight,” Eddie grumbles, and Jeff leans forward. 

“Do you want us to help? Like, do you have a theme for the songs, or is this just going to be your own little pet project?” He asks.

“Well, I guess it depends. If you want to drop a surprise EP or double album after the one we’re putting out, I’m probably going to need help. But if you’re cool with letting me sit on it, I can probably figure it out on my own.” Eddie offers.

Gareth twirls a drumstick between his fingers. “I think we let Eddie handle the love songs about Steve Harrington, and if he comes up with enough to make into something to drop, we drop them whenever he’s ready, and if not, we throw them onto the next album or whatever when he’s ready to release them.” 

Eddie sighs and drops his head back against the rest of his swivel chair. “Can we stop calling them love songs about Steve?”

“Guess you have extra incentive to write lyrics to them, then,” Freak teases, and Eddie groans back, making the other boys laugh.

It isn’t much longer before they all excuse themselves to the rooms they claimed around the house. Eddie spends a few extra hours in the studio, working on as many lyrics as his brain allows and even sorts out bridge for the song he’d played for Steve before he heads off to bed.

He isn’t surprised to wake up the next morning to a text from Steve, who routinely gets up hours before Eddie and is always the first to send a text wishing him a good day ahead.

Eddie: Go easy on yourself on the ice today, you were up too late listening to headbanger music.

It’s a while before he gets a response, which isn’t uncommon. They both have their own lives which responsibilities to get up to. But Eddie would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting not-so-patiently for Steve’s next response. Freak flew out this afternoon, heading back to visit family in Ohio, leaving Gareth and Jeff at Eddie’s. They’re playing video games in the living room when Eddie’s phone rings with Steve’s name and ID photo.

“Hey, how was today?” Eddie asks immediately, launching himself off the sofa and away from the boys and the noise from the television.

“Well, that’s part of why I’m calling,” Steve says, sounding a little out of breath and hair damp with sweat, glancing off camera before he flashes a charming smile down at Eddie. “What are you doing Tuesday?”

His brain short-wires for a second, thrown off course by the response. Is this Steve, asking him out on a date? That can’t be it, right? There’s no way, not with the back-and-forth they have going on. There would be more to it than that, and Steve seems like the kind of guy to give more than 4 days notice for a date that requires at least one party to travel several states. So Eddie does his best to quickly calm and compose himself, hoping he hasn’t taken an alarmingly long time to answer, before he responds. “I don’t know, what am I doing Tuesday?”

“I think you’re coming to watch the Blackhawks play the Predators in Nashville. I’m allowed to travel and suit up, but I probably won’t play just yet.” Steve is grinning, and Eddie can’t help but smile back.

“Hell yeah, I’ll be there!” He agrees, already pulling up the link to buy tickets for the game. “If I get shamed for wearing my Harrington jersey to a Preds game, you get to take the blame for me rooting against my home away from home.” Eddie teases, and Steve lets out a breathy laugh.

“Bring it on,” he challenges, finally seems to Eddie like he’s caught up and gotten back the quick wit and sharp humor which had been on a slight delay since the injury. A sign of recovery, Eddie’s sure and it helps to see him returning to normal.

They catch one another up on their days, and Eddie lets Steve listen to a few more of the tracks they’ve been working on over the last few days, but stops before the lyrics start in the only one he and Jeff have crafted words to so far, not ready for Steve to hear it yet.

As they’re talking, Eddie gets a notification he almost swipes away without reading, but Steve’s name catches his attention, so he drags it down and reads over the words.

“You okay?” Steve asks, and Eddie realizes the face he must be making is ridiculous. 

“Oh, uh. I just got a notification about you?” he mumbles back, and texts the link to Steve.

Now it’s Steve’s turn to look confused as Eddie reads over the headline again.

Hockey Legacy Harringtons to Host Joint Fundraiser

Steve reads the words and seems to immediately understand them in a way Eddie can’t, and he closes his eyes in a heavy sigh. “I promise you, my life is not usually this dramatic.” 

Eddie hates how miserable Steve seems all of a sudden; regrets passing the link on but knows he would have found out eventually and gotten upset anyway. “Dude, really, I don’t even know what that means, so it’s not a big deal.”

“It is, though. This is my parents, deciding that I’m worthy of being their son again because I’m getting a bunch of positive press after the injury. So my name gets to be included in the gala invitation, which I have been excluded from since juniors, by the way.” It’s still piecemeal, the information Eddie is able to take away from Steve’s explanation, but it’s enough to get the general gist of the issue.

“Ah. So, the dad who convinced you to self-sabotage is now trying to take credit for your sportsmanship?”

“Something like that,” Steve grumbles, and Eddie can see how he’s holding the phone differently, typing out a text. “I think I have to get Robin and we need to figure this out, sorry to jump off like this. But, I’ll see you at the Preds game? We can grab dinner after?”

“It’s a date.”

Eddie physically can’t stop the words before they’re out of his mouth, and immediately waits for a hole in the ground to open up and suck him in and put him out of his misery. But Steve just raises an eyebrow, smiles and shrugs. “Not yet, but. Sure.”

Then, Eddie stares at himself in the reflection of his phone after Steve ends the FaceTime call and he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with Steve Harrington, who keeps finding new ways to catch him off guard.

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Am I Acting Weird?

Part II

I've been jogging on this treadmill for over an hour now. Cardio sucks, and I hate this old unventilated gym! When I joined the football team, I did it for the parties and cheerleaders! I just wanted to drink with the cool guys and get laid. I still do, but I haven't had a drop of alcohol in weeks. I can't even remember the last girl I hooked up with!

I used to think it was weird that I was suddenly working out all the time. It was like my entire personality had changed overnight.

I know it's not weird now. Max, my younger brother, told me so. I have to keep working out until I become the quarterback of the football team. Then I have to bulk up and train even more, so I can become a professional footballer. That's my new goal in life, and I can't wait for my little bro to be able to brag about being related to a pro athlete.

Sure, I never really wanted to play football professionally. If it were up to me, I'd be out drinking with my buds, but it's not up to me.

That's not weird right?

I shake my head and slow my aching legs. Droplets of sweat run down my face as I work to control my breathing. My whole body is sore from the conditioning. It doesn't help that this is my third workout of the day. Between my morning weight session, afternoon field practice, and this, I am totally whipped.

I stagger over to grab my workout gear. My night isn't over. I still have to bulk my stomach up for tomorrow.

With a frustrated sigh, I stomp out of the gym and march directly into the diner next door. I nod to the greasy cook behind the counter. I've become a regular here, so he knows me pretty well.

"The usual?" he grunts with a toothy grin.

I nod and sink into a booth.

Max, my little brother, got tired of me eating at the house. Apparently, it took our father too long to cook my bulking meals. Max has me eat here after my workouts, and I completely agree. Max shouldn't have to share our dad with me. He deserved to have someone at home cooking whenever he wanted to eat.

"Four burgers, fries, and a soda," the cook snickers as he slaps the tray in front of me, "A growing boy needs extra protein."

I grimace and turn away from the chef. His breath alone is enough to make me lose my appetite, but I take a big bite and swallow. I won't gain mass if I'm not consuming mass, and I obviously need to get bigger.

I've broken out into a second sweat by the time I'm done. Forcing myself to up, I have to adjust to my bloated waist. You'd think I'd get used to a packed stomach, but I always feel uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

I let out a belch and carry the dirty dishes to the back. It always feels weird strolling into an employees-only area like this, but it's part of how I get my meals for free. You see, the cook let's is nice as long as I take care of two things.

The dishes are the first thing.

"Leave the dishes," I hear his husky voice behind me, "I never wash 'em anyways."

I drop the dishes and turn the sink off, holding my gut as it growls in pain. My belly might ache, but I've got one more thing to do.

The cook watches me expectantly. He licks his chapped lips, and grabs at the bulge under his apron, between his two trunks of legs. He's already fishing the thing out. I know what he wants, so I drop to the floor. This has become just another part of my daily routine.

It's how I thank the chef.

I don't know how this became a habit, because I absolutely do not enjoy it! The man is filthy, and a man! I'm not gay! I like women, but I have to eat a lot to bulk up and Max liked the idea of me eating for free. It's not weird!

I let him manhandle me a bit, gripping my head and pulling my hair. The cook gets off faster if he roughs me up a little. He usually only lasts a few minutes, but it's the longest few minutes of the day.

It's not sex. It's just a transaction!

"Oh, yeah!" he growls with his eyes squeezed shut, "Yeah, boy! Fuck!"

I whip my head off his hairy crotch and jump to my feet. I spit into a napkin and wipe my mouth quickly. I know from experience that I won't be able to get the taste of sweat and meat out of my mouth until I brush my teeth thoroughly at home.

My part is finally done here, so I just want to leave!

"Can't wait to see you tomorrow morning, jocky boy!" he laughs, but I've already stormed out, marching down the street to my house. I'm trying not to think about how I'll be seeing him in a few hours for breakfast.

"Hey dad," I mumble, stepping inside.

"Boy," he answers dismissively, not even looking up from his work. As usual, he's wearing his home uniform: a suit and white gloves. I have a similar outfit for when I'm hanging around the house, but dad gets a lot more use out of his now that I'm constantly bulking up. Max is really the only one who seems to dress casually around here anymore.

I guess that makes him the weird one.

"What are you doing?" I ask, trying to start up a conversation.

"What's it look like, boy?" he answers gruffly, "I'm cleaning up after Max and his guests. Now, either get your uniform on and help or get out of my way."

His attitude makes me cringe a bit. Dad and I used to be really tight. We used to bond over sports and craft beer, but he doesn't really care about anything besides Max anymore.

I don't think he's gone to any of my games for the last few months. He's always cooking or cleaning for Max. I wish I understood. We used to tease Max all the time together, but now he gets angry anytime I try and bond with him. Like, it's totally normal and right for Max to be his new favorite, but I wish we could still chat every now and then.

"Sorry," I mutter.

My father ignores me and heads off to the kitchen in a rush. He looks erratic, and I can tell he's just as exhausted as I am. He's made it a habit of working extra hours at the office everyday. It's so he can bring home the biggest paycheck he can earn every week, but I know is affecting his sleep.

"Where is Max?" I ask.

My dad frowns, tersely responding, "Max took his guests to a movie in my car. The house needs to be clean and snacks need to be ready for when Max gets back."

"Oh," I sigh, "Are his friends staying over again? I'd stay up with you and help serve them, but Max said I should be getting nine hours of sleep every night."

"Go to bed, boy. I'll handle it," he states firmly, putting the final touches on the silver platter.

With that, my father picks up the tray of assorted snacks and walks them out into the living room. There he takes his place by the door and stands in his usual position. It's where he normally waits to welcome Max home everyday. Father and I know that someone like Max shouldn't have to put their own coat away or take off their own shoes.

"Alright, dad, see you tomorrow."

He doesn't answer. He's already standing still as a statue and probably won't move until Max gets back. Hopefully, my little brother won't keep him up too late.

Sleep won't be hard for me to find. I can barely keep my eyes open, and I pass out as soon as I fall on my bed. The rest of the night is a deep and dreamless void, while my stomach processes all the food I ate.

When I wake up, I find dad like this...

"Dad? Dad!" I give his shoulder a nudge.

He jumps to life, jerking his eyes around the trashed living room.

"Did you fall asleep standing up?"

"Maybe," he answers with shock, "Max had me holding everyone's coats while they enjoyed some beer. They must have moved to the bed while I drifted off."

"Aren't they a little young for beer?"

"Max and his guests are welcome to my alcohol whenever they want it!" he snaps back at me.

"Geez, ok."

"You have a workout you need to get to, boy," he barks, "And I'm going to have to hurry if I'm going to clean up this mess before work."

I stare at my father as he scrambles to clean up the living room once again. He looks even more exhausted and disheveled than last night. Hopefully, he would be able to clean everything up with enough time to shower and shave. I know that all of the household stuff is his responsibility, but sometimes it seems like too much.

With a shrug, I turn and step out of the door. My day is going to be the same miserable routine as the last. I'm not looking forward to any of it, but that's not weird. Like Max said, I'll just keep my head down, and power through.

[blue-jisungs]

ACTION!

author's note. first fic of the event!!! thank u so so much @slytherinshua for making this cute banner<3

genre. crack, fluff, coffee shop au, non-idol

word count. 1048

summary. movie major!vernon decides to confess to you, lead by an impulse (and a rush of caffeine)

as creepy as it sounds, vernon has been watching you. not in a stalker way, of course, but it just so happened that you both liked the same cafe. 

and you shared the same classes, like literature. and you both attended the movie club. and! he sometimes saw you on the gym when he went to accompany work out with mingyu. 

he realised this a while ago – he has a serious crush on you. 

he adored the way you always painted your nails with a glittery nail polish, the way your h/c hair fell on your arms perfectly. you also had amazing taste – not only he loved your fashion style but also during the club discussion about movies, he realised you both share the same taste in movies. and tropes… and favorite directors. 

or when, like right now, you chewed on a straw while your gaze was stuck in your laptop. the almost coal-black coffee looked sweet as hell when you drank it. 

letting out a deep sigh you put the plastic cup away and rested your chin on your hand, looking out of the window to observe passers-by. the pleasant chatter of the people inside the cafe made it really easy to space out. 

vernon failed to notice that he let his hand lie on the keyboard, his essay turning into a bunch of incoherent letters. 

suddenly, the door opened and a gust of cold wind sneaked inside causing you to turn around.

oh shh– you looked his way, don’t look–! 

maybe it’s the day he should confess? you live once, no? he already asked his friends for a piece of advice – chan said to leave it, jeonghan insisted to go for it. 

vernon sighed, grabbing his stuff and packing his belongings. careful enough not to nudge the empty glass after his cappuccino and plate with the rest of a lemon tart, he put his precious laptop covered in stickers into his bag. drumming his fingers in thought against it for a moment, he precisely weighed his options.

whatever, he’ll try. the worst you can say is no. besides, he once described emma watson as “a bit foreign, eyes beige and hair darkish-blondish”… so, props to teenager vernon for being so creative but he won’t be so corny now. hopefully. 

maybe… i think i’m in love with you and you just gotta let my love adorn you. no, too poetic. and he’ll sound like a weirdo. no, no.

vernon ordered an americano (extra shot, extra ice, make it nice) and grabbed it, taking a deep breath. casually walking up to you, he cleared his throat.

“can i?” 

your eyes tore away from the window and a cute smile appeared on your lips, brightening your face. 

“sure, vernon. sit down, i wasn’t being productive anyways” you nodded and moved your laptop to make some place. 

“y-you know my name?” he stuttered before plopping down. here goes his coolness…

“yeah, seungkwan introduced us. and we share classes together” you nodded, observing how the gears visibly turned in his head. 

“would you like to be a part of my movie?” vernon suddenly blurted out and he felt as if the whole cafe turned quiet. no chatter, no rumble of coffee machines working and glasses clinking. just you, him and silence. 

the tips of his ears reddened but his features remained calm.

“what? dude, i know you’re a cinematography major but i’m no professional” you scoffed and started chewing on your straw again. 

“no, like… that was stupid. wh… you know what i major in?” vernon was, yet again, taken aback. you nodded, taking a sip of the black liquid. the ice cubes in your cup bounced off the plastic walls when you stirred it. 

“vernon, you’re a friend of a friend. if course i know. you know my major too, so…” you let out an amused laugh and it was the most angelic sound he’s ever heard “but is the movie like a project?”

“no… just… y’know how everyone crushes emrata, emma watson or like, emma stone?” he named all the emmas he could, seeing that clearly you were confused by his words “and you… you’re just like everyone’s favorite movie” 

“what the emmas have to do with that though?” you blinked, apparently ignoring his previous sentence. 

vernon let out a shaky breath and looked around the room. couples, students, businesses men in a hurry. everyone surrounded by the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans in the air. 

“that you’re way prettier than all of them combined. and i used to have… no, let’s not go there. i keep making weird parallels to movies but what i wanted to say is that i have a huge crush on you” the boy said, fiddling with his thumbs and missing the way the straw fell out of your mouth. his eyes kept scanning the people in the cafe, afraid to meet your gaze “if you don’t know, let me explain girl. hmm, so what i mean is that saying you’re perfect is not enough…”

you scoffed at his adorable awkwardness. his iced americano began to drip on the table long ago, a small puddle of water forming around it. 

“vernon” 

“even if it doesn’t work, it’s okay…” he shrugged, looking like he was talking to himself at this point rather than to you. 

“vernon…”

“we’ll probably fight from time to time but we’ll overcome it like it’s nothing–”

“chwe hansol!”

his gaze snapped up, eyes widening. 

“not the government name?! sorry. what were you saying?” vernon rose his eyebrows and then blinked slowly. oh he’s such an idiot. 

“you’re so cute” you snickered and leaned forward, resting your chin on your interlocked hands “sure, let’s give it a go. action! as they say on movie sets, no?” 

“wha… are you serious?” vernon couldn’t believe this. it all happened so quickly and very impulsively… and… it happened for real. 

“one hundred percent serious, you movie nerd. i thought you were cute ever since i joined that movie club… so why not?” you nodded gently and saw a white smile bloom on his lips.

“i… i kinda can’t believe it. but so… y/n, may we go on a first date then? movies?” he asked excitedly, whipping out his student id “i have discounts!”

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @eternalgyu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

[menonlywrestling]

Montana 2001

Batchelor Arthur (51), works as a delivery driver for a furniture company. He didn't do very well academically, and still lives in the town he was raised in. He always dreamed of becoming a Pro wrestler, but life got in the way and it never happened for him. He's a total pro wrestling nerd and goes to every live pro event in his county. Mostly he keeps himself to himself, and in his spare time, apart from watching wrestling, he works out in the small make shift gym in his basement. Occasionally he'll meet other men out of state, that he chats to online, for private pro wrestling bouts.

A few months ago, Jonathan (29) joined the same company, and was assigned to Arthur to help with the larger deliveries. Initially very quiet, he's starting to come out of his shell and chat a bit more when they're out in the van. Arthur isn't the most talkative either, but they're relaxed around each other a bit more now and there isn't as much awkwardness. They have some things in common. Working out, Sci fi and action movies. The gossipy receptionist at their company told Arthur that Jonathan was recently separated from his wife, and had moved to town to start over.

Arthur has become a bit infatuated with Jonathan. He's always checking him out when he's not looking, admiring his thicc, muscular body. Those eyes, those arms, the sexy Southern accent, that BIG ASS and package. He jerks off every night, imagining what Jonathan would look like in Pro gear. If he could wrestle, what would his favourite hold be? Would he be a heel or a jobber? He fantasises about them wrestling each other. About them being a tag team and winning the regional belts. About them making love in the ring after a bout.

One day, Arthur mentioned that he was going to a pro wrestling show after work. Jonathan asked if he could tag along. He had no plans. He doesn't really know anyone else in town. At the show they're having a great time. It's a Friday night, they're drinking beers and laughing. While watching the action, Arthur is impressed with Jonathan's commentary and knowledge of Pro wrestling. When he mentions this, Jonathan tells him that he wrestled Pro for a bit when he was younger, to earn some extra cash. His grandfather was a pro wrestler and taught him when he was a kid. He had a ring set up in his basement that they would practice in.

Arthur cannot believe what he's hearing. He's impressed, and incredibly turned on. He also notices that during the main event, a violent and bloody chain match between two enormous hot muscle bears, that Jonathan is trying to hide his massive hard on. Arthur questions if this is this really happening. Is he imagining this? Is this wishful thinking? Has he had too many beers? The guy's straight, after all.

After the show, Jonathan thanks Arthur for letting him tag along. He's had a great time. He says he's been feeling a bit lonely. "maybe I should start wrestling again, to get out of the house?" he says, jokingly.

As they make their way to the taxi rank, Arthur asks if he has plans for the weekend. Jonathan shrugs his shoulders "no, sir" he replies. Arthur pauses, then asks Jonathan if he'd like to come to his house tomorrow night. "We can order some pizzas, drink some beers and watch the WWF PPV on cable, if you'd like?"

J: "Sounds great, thanks, that would be cool"

A: "You know, I'm not a bad pro wrestler myself. I've been wrestling for years, on the underground scene. I was thinking that maybe, just for a bit of fun, we could have a bit of a tussle, were kinda the same size and....

Before he could finish, Jonathan says "I'll bring my gear".

To be continued?

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #16] Overindulging

warnings: just a lovely little fluffy chapter!! breakfast food!! chatting about jaykay's big dreams!! we visit yoongi and he calls us out on our bullshit of being besties!! a very cursed bird falls </3

a/n: our first calamity of the purge - i cannot find the header image for this chapter ANYWHERE :( i've checked both laptops and my phone, know the exact date it was orginally posted (nov 20, 2022 if ur curious) and yet nothing - there's actually a few around this period which are lost in the void </3 the og was one of my fave headers too :( it had a cute lil market stall :( waaa

soundtrack: wish on an eyelash - mallrat

wc: 5.3k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"So you really quit then, huh?" Jeongguk mumbles, before blowing against the top of his coffee. It's steaming hot, the cold air of a fast-approaching winter not enough to cool it down.

The pair of you walk by the canal that runs through the city; Jeongguk in his gym gear, his skin still a little clammy from his session, you in a pair of comfy sweats despite the fact you haven't worked out at all.

It's a Sunday, and neither of you slept much last night. He'd been behind the bar, and you'd been on the other side, disco balls in your eyes and trouble in the tequila smile that you were greeting him with every five minutes. It's not your fault that he was the most interesting guy in the bar all night.

You nod, taking a sip on your americano - still iced (because "warm coffee is for pussies" ).

"Wasn't getting my money's worth," you explain, but he knows this perfectly well. You only ever went to the gym to grumble about how much you hated it. That, and to pretend like you weren't looking at him in the mirror whenever he took off his lifting belt. He caught you every single time, but he'd grown to enjoy how shamesless you'd become with it. "Plus Danbi's finally nagged me into joining her pole class, so I'm-"

"Shut up," Jeongguk laughs, cutting you off with his exclamation. He briefly stops in his tracks. Looks at you all lovely and bemused. "You're not?"

You're almost offended by his disbelief.

"Oh, but I am, Jeon," you grin. It's not how you ever thought you'd get your primary source of exercise, but Danbi's core muscles have never looked better. You figure may as well give it a try. "Had my first class yesterday afternoon."

"Did you?" He asks, only waiting for a small hum before he questions you further. "How was it? Have fun?"

Truthfully, you've never been so quickly humbled. Danbi and the other girls in the class make it look effortless. It's a small group, and they've all been lovely and overwhelmingly encouraging, but you can't help but feel out of your depth.

"The pole spins," you tell him, because you can't believe you were the only person who didn't realise that. "Always thought it was the people spinning, but nope. Just the pole."

"What?!" He almost chokes, just as confused as you had been yesterday.

"My thoughts exactly! So yeah, that helps," you acknowledge, nudging his arm to push him in the direction of the street market.

It runs up a lane, connecting the canal to the main street, and has been active for hundreds of years. Old traders would dock their boats on the canal and set up shop down the alleyway, away from the prying eyes of the law enforcement looking for black market traders. These days, it's all flowers and produce, with the occasional hotteok stand during the winter.

Jeongguk's bag rustles as he hikes it a little further up his broad shoulder, sniffing sharply to clear his nose. It's the first sign of a winter cold, and he regrets not wearing a coat, now.

You're babbling on about your class, and how your legs have never been more bruised. You're not even sure he's really listening, but you don't mind. There's no pressure for him to retain this information, no pop quiz coming later.

You just enjoy each other's company. Talk about nonsense because you can. It's like you're playing a game of sims, prattling to one another just to make those little green plus marks hover above your head, your socialising bar restoring to full health.

"Honestly, you should see my legs - I look like a bloody watercolour painting. All purple and blue."

"Oh, yeah?" he finally responds with a teasing grin, glancing over to you as you meander towards a flower stall. It's small, but overflowing with native flowers. Considering how cold it's becoming and how orange the leaves are on the trees that line the river, it's nice to see some green. "Maybe next time I'm at the cafe, you'll have to live model for me."

You stop in your tracks. Bunch your face up like an old newspaper, as if he's just said the most offensive thing you've ever heard, and then you scoff.

Jeongguk turns to look at you fully, a goofy little smile on his pretty lips (though you really ought to stop thinking of his lips as being pretty ), and raises a brow. He's baiting you out. Teasing you. Was deliberately looking for a reaction like this, because he finds them funny.

Folding your arms, you knock your shoulder against him as you walk past and say, "you're never seeing me naked."

" Again ," he calls after you. "Never seeing you naked again ."

The ajumma sitting by her stall just a metre away, with her homegrown cucumbers and cabbages, scowls in Jeongguk's direction. Tuts beneath her breath. Looks away as he turns to apologise, his cheeks flaming red like they always do when he's had too much soju.

He's not had a drop all week, though. He's been working hard, and studying even harder. It's all work, no play. The walk home from the gym is the most free-time he's indulged in since he left your apartment last week.

You had been right in saying that the water pressure of his shower is far better than yours - but he'd insisted on showering at yours regardless. Together. Just friendly. Like you normally do. Didn't want to have to explain things to Jimin. Is still not exactly sure even he knows how to understand your friendship - just that he likes it, and he doesn't want to lose it.

He also likes the scent of your shampoo. Rummaged around in Jimin's old haircare stuff for a shower cap just so he could preserve it for an extra day. Doesn't tell you this though, as he thinks it's a bit weird.

Probably just as weird as the way you'd rearranged your pillows that night just to keep the scent of his aftershave close. You tell yourself it's a comfort thing. In all actuality, it most likely is.

"I can't believe you shouted that-"

"I didn't shout!"

"- In front of that poor old lady," you hiss beneath your breath as he finally catches up with you, now holding a cabbage. "Why do you have-"

"Felt bad. Bought a cabbage from her."

"The fuck are you gonna do with a cabbage?"

He shrugs. "Eat it?"

Nonchalant in the way he approaches life, Jeongguk feels like a summer breeze even as temperatures begin to dip below a comfortable level. You've got a heat pack in your pocket, and when Jeongguk sniffs again, you pass it over to him. Think that he needs it more. He tells you it's okay, and that it's fine, so you just stuff it in his pocket despite his protests.

By the time you've reached the end of the alley, Jeongguk is the one ignoring your protests as he pushes you forwards into a cafe. The buttery scent of fresh pastries is so heavenly that you're half convinced you did actually die of embarrassment when he announced his awareness of your bare skin to the entire neighbourhood.

Various loaves of bread line the counter towards the front of the shop, golden brown and just begging for you to buy every single one of them. Pastries, cakes, too. It's overwhelming.

"They do the best french toast," he promises you - and how can you refuse?

You're practically salivating as Jeongguk plonks you down by the window of the only free booth. It's tucked away slightly, but offers the perfect people-watching spot - which is why it's his favourite seat in the entire cafe. He tells you to wait there while he orders at the counter.

You're too busy people-watching, but you notice the lack of his presence. The cafe feels duller. Less warm. Less inviting. Less... like home. He's taking longer than you thought he would.

Perhaps there was a queue? You can't see from your vantage point - but, eventually, you can see Jeongguk as he comes to stand in front of the window with a closed-lip smile, his silver ring flipping in the corner of his mouth. In his hand is a small bouquet of posies. Wildflowers, you think, from the stall down the other end of the alley. He must have sprinted. The way his chest heaves a little confirms this.

"For you," he says as he comes to sit opposite you a moment later, holding them out for you to take. There's a variety of flowers in the bunch, tied with a white ribbon, but you don't know the name of any of them. You just know that they're beautiful. He senses your confusion, so he clarifies. "An apology. Sorry for telling the entire street I've seen your tits."

You narrow your eyes. Tilt your head. Jeongguk thinks you look like a little puppy. Tells you so.

"Careful, or you'll have to buy me more to make up for the fact you just called me a dog," you tease as he places a small black disk down on the table. It's from the front counter, given to him when ordered the food. On the side, a bright red 07 lets you know your order number.

"I like dogs," he says as he shakes his hoodie off, tucking it over the back of his chair. "It's a compliment."

Sometimes, you forget Jeongguk has tattoos. His eyes are so doe-like, his nature so tepid and warm, that the idea of him engaging in anything remotely painful shocks you - but you've also seen how hard he goes at the gym, and have also felt his firm grip on your body. You know he most likely finds pleasure in a little pain.

They trail up his arm, thick intricate lines mapping out his identity for all to see - or at least the parts of him he doesn't mind other people knowing. If you didn't know Jeongguk, you'd be able to learn a lot about him from his arms - right down to the fact that one of them covered in ink, while the other is pristine and free of it. He's a man of two halves, and you're lucky enough you get to indulge in both.

"What?" He grins when he realises you're contemplating something.

"Just not sure I forgive you," you tease, crossing your arms in an attempt to make it look like you weren't reminding yourself of the way his fingers - the ones with the tattoos - feel inside of you. It was only a brief thought, but any thoughts like that outside the confines of a fallen bird are dangerous, you decide.

"Got you flowers, got you brunch - what more do you need?!"

You sharply inhale some air, teeth gritted, eyes to the sky in contemplation. "More compliments."

Jeongguk has to try really hard not to roll his eyes. He looks around, as if he's scared someone will hear him, licks the corner his of mouth and shakes his head.

" Fine . I like your outfit."

"Pathetic," you say almost immediately. "If I wanted appearance compliments, I'd go on tinder."

"You have tinder?"

"Give me something that's actually a compliment. Something none of my tinder boys could say."

"You have tinder boys?"

"And girls," you shrug.

The truth of the matter is that you have neither at the moment. The app lies dormant on your phone, unused because you just can't be arsed with the hassle. There are only so many times you can be asked if you're 'open-minded ' or if you live alone. As much as you don't mind hooking up with strangers in bars, you hate meeting people off of apps. It's too much pressure.

Still, you don't let Jeongguk derail the conversation, although you can see that behind his eyes there are some cogs turning. Whatever he's thinking will take a while to formulate. You know what he's like now; how he likes to think things through before he says them.

"So," you lift a shoulder, lazily shrugging. "Compliment?"

He reclines back into his chair. Finds himself narrowing his eyes like you so often do. You're challenging him, and he's weighing up how much of a chance he has of winning. Thinks his odds are pretty high.

"Tae couldn't have sorted out his art show without you."

As much as you wanna pretend like it isn't exactly the sort of thing you wanted to hear, a smile forms on your face. Acknowledgement of your hard work is always appreciated. You press your lips together, but still, a smug grin prevails.

"Nah, seriously, Byeol," he adds on. "Thank you. I mean it. It's been Tae's dream since I met him. You've no idea how cool it is to watch all of this happen."

"I played a tiny part," you smile, secretly enamoured with how happy he is for his friend's success.

It's a trait that says a lot about Jeongguk. Who he is as a person. Makes it all the more clearer as to why he's so keen on helping you with your issues. He wants the people he cares about to thrive, no matter the circumstance.

"So? The nozzle is a tiny part of a fountain gun," he says, making reference to the bar he works behind. "But without it? The drink would go everywhere. It's important. You're important."

"You're giving me far too much credit," you deflect, a little embarrassed, now.

He shakes his head. "I'm not giving you enough."

He holds your gaze for a moment. Wants you to know that he really does mean what he's saying. He wouldn't bother hyping you up if he didn't genuinely think it. He knows Tae well, and knows he has enough drive to make his dreams come true, but he had been drawing blanks recently - until you came along.

It's not just the space of the art cafe that's helped, but you willingness to help market it, get the news out to local artist circles that Tae wasn't privvy to. You've taken insurmontable wieghts from his shoulders. All Jeongguk could do was put posters up in the bathroom stalls of Dionysus.

"What about you?" You ask, wanting to move the focus away from yourself. "What's your big dream?"

He goes to speak, but is cut off the by the small black disk with a flashing 07 on the side of it. The vibration tone is so loud that it actually makes him jump.

"Hold that thought," he says as he heads off to the counter to retrieve the food, leaving you to watch the window once more - but you find yourself glancing in the mirror that's up on the back wall.

The woman at the counter smiles at him, and you see him bow slightly as he says thank you. His manners are never forgotten.

You bet he's the kind of customer the girl behind the counter will daydream about coming in again. A takeaway order, maybe. He'll stand by the till and wait for it, chitchatting with her. She'd hope he would enjoy her company and make himself a repeat customer. One day, eventually, he'd ask what she's doing after work. Ask if she wants to grab a drink, or something.

But Jeongguk is Jeongguk. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't.

You know this.

Still, you find yourself dreaming up this little hypothetical life for him; one in which his fears don't exist anymore.

When he returns, he pretends he didn't see you looking.

"Samgyeopsal," he simply states, as he organises the plates to make them look pretty, just in case you wanna take a picture.

"What of it?"

He's proven right as you pull your phone out and open up the camera. Tweaking a plate ever so slightly, you're impressed with his arrangement. He's got an eye for composition. You're less impressed with the fact he sticks his middle finger up in the background of your shot.

"Child," you scold. He just sticks his tongue out to further solidify your point.

"Well," he hums as he redistributes the plates and hands you some cutlery. "I really enjoy working at the bar, but I hate not being able to make big decisions about what happens there - here -" He passes you the tiny jar of syrup that came with your french toast. "- and so I'd like to own my own place. Thing is, I really fucking love samgyeopsal."

"Oh yeah?" You laugh at how much he exaggerates his tone.

"Love it more than maybe anything else on this planet."

"Even me?"

"Oh, especially you."

"Rude."

"Shut up," he laughs, focusing his attention on his croque monsieur. "Anyways, I think it would be really cool to have my own joint, yanno? Decorate how I like, serve my favourite side dishes. Get a good team working for me - probably would poach Yeonjun from the bar."

"He'd do well in a restaurant," you nod. "Good people person."

"Exactly," Jeongguk beams, thinking about the prospects all over again. "I even know the exact building I wanna be in."

"Really?"

"Mhmm," he confirms, swallowing down a bite of warm bread and cheese - no ham ,though. They really scrimped on the ham. He'd never scrimp on meat in his place. When you notice how furrowed his brows are, as if he's furious for how delicious his food is, you smile. "Few streets over from your work. There's been a vacant unit next to the makgeolli bar for a little while. I've registered my interest, but like - I'm still in fucking school." He laughs now. It's all a bit of a pipe dream. "I need to speak with investors. Raise funds. That's what scares me the most."

"Oh?" You encourage him, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought - and also not wanting to stop eating. He was right. The french toast is to die for.

"I know all of the hospitality tricks," he continues. "Been working long enough to know how to run a place on the people side of things, but I'm a bit out of my depth when it comes to business."

"Do you not cover that at school?" You question with genuine curiosity. "Thought you were under the business faculty?"

"I am," he nods, pleased that you have apparently been listening to him. "But you can only be taught so much, yanno? Nothing compares to actually experiencing it. It's the little things, like bank meetings, and shit. That's what's scaring me."

Funny. You'd never really considered that Jeongguk's fear of rejection could trickle down so far into his bones. It's like he's fearful nothing he wants is a viable option - career path included.

"Have you spoken to Yoongi?" You ask, mindlessly soaking up the maple syrup on your plate with a chunk of french toast. "He's got his own studio, right? He's gone through this process?"

Jeongguk nods. "Something similar, I suppose. Hospitality is a little different to what he does. I think technically - when it comes to tax and shit - he's listed as a construction worker?"

He laughs, and shakes his head. Has seen Yoongi painstakingly craft the most beautifully ornate home furnishings. Thinks he couldn't be further from a construction worker if he tried (though Yoongi would argue that the red pine hanoks he built with his own bare hands beg to differ).

"To be fair," he considers, "I actually need to pop by Yoongi's on my way home."

"Oh?"

"There's some work to do at the bar out back. Boss wants to convert the little courtyard next to the staff room into the smoking area, and change the existing smoking area into a patio bar," Jeongguk sighs as he rolls his eyes. He thinks they may as well just add a bar to the existing smoking area and leave the courtyard free - mainly because he likes to hide there on the nights he can't be fucked with punters. Only for a minute or so. Maybe five minutes. No longer than ten. Apart from that one time he fell asleep, but that's neither here nor there. "Doesn't wanna hire workers though, so yours truly has been tasked with the job. Gonna get Yoongi's advice on it."

You nod. Remind yourself of what Jeongguk looks like with a lifting belt on, and replace it in your mind with a tool belt. Press your lips together. Your legs, too.

"What?" He asks, when you shift away from him slightly.

"Oh, no, nothing," you smile, deflecting. "Just really good food."

He narrows his eyes. Chooses not to press. Has no idea that you're getting yourself all flustered because of him . Instead, he hauls the conversation forward - asks you about your dreams instead, where you want to end up in life. It's a big question, you tell him, and he agrees - but he finds fantasising about future possibilities fun. Gets you thinking in hypotheticals. Lottery wins, winning a free trip to a country of your choice, only having one day to live - that kind of shit.

The conversation carries on for far too long. Brunch is long gone, and Jeongguk suggests another drink not once, but twice. Orders some french toast for himself, and gets you a cake from the counter even though you insisted on not wanting anything, just because he doesn't wanna eat alone.

Midafternoon sun encroaches on your window spot, and he finds himself grinning whenever the glitter catches in the light. There are a few rogue specks that have strayed from your eyes. He leaves the ones on your cheeks alone, but reaches over and dusts off the ones that are on your forehead. Says nothing as he does so. You just let him, and continue talking.

He can encroach on your personal space and recieve zero complaints. You're comfortable. The significance isn't lost on him, but it is tucked away into a safe part of brain, not to be distrubed for the time being.

Once he's done with his french toast (and also done complaining about the fact he's eaten so much he might die ), you head on your way.

There's a chill to the air that wasn't present earlier, and you know that you're gonna have to start wrapping up a lot warmer soon. You hate how quickly summer turns into winter - autumn is far too fleeting.

As soon as the leaves turn golden brown, they've fallen, only for the snow to fall just as quickly as soon as the New Year arrives. You've a month or so to go.

"Best season," Jeongguk says as he kicks a few leaves that are brittle and brown, settled on the pathway, crunching beneath his feet. He loves the rustle of autumn leaves.

Loves the blossom season in spring, too, and will swear that it's his favourite season instead come April.

The cycles of life; evidence that life goes on, always. No matter how defeatist he can be, no matter how much he can fear the variables of the future, it's proof that there invariably will be one.

He leads you through a twisted road of alleys, that you'd no doubt get lost in without him, before eventually reaching Yoongi's studio. "I'll be quick, promise."

And how can you refuse? You owe him for the food, and know that he absolutely will not accept it when you try and pay him back, so not kicking up a fuss or complaining is the least you can do. It's not like you have plans for the afternoon. Had sort of figured you'd spend it hanging out with him anyways.

You're also really nosey. Are intrigued by Min's. Wanna see inside the studio, to see if it looks like how you've imagined it to(though you have already looked at the instragram, so you reckon you've got a fair idea in your head).

Jeongguk ushers you up a narrow staircase that brings you above a mandu restaurant. The smell of hot oil and fresh dough wafts in the air and follows you up the stairs, while Jeongguk whinges about being hungry again.

He absolutely cannot be hungry already, but he swears down that he'll die (a common complaint from him) if he doesn't have some mandu soon. You put your palms on his lower back and encourage him up the stairs, stopping him from turning around when he tries.

It's only made worse when you enter Min's studio, only to find Yoongi munching on flat mandu. Jeongguk whines again. Tells Yoongi that he's being cruel, then tells you the same thing for your refusal of allowing him to indulge in such a delicacy.

Yoongi just looks at the pair of you a little bewildered, half a mandu in his mouth, the rest held snug between his chopsticks. He swallows down the food and raises his brows. "Can I help you?"

As it turns out, he can. Jeongguk explains the task at hand - "ballache, if you ask me" - and Yoongi offers to help, free of charge, without even batting an eyelid. Brushes his hands off on his dark grey apron, tosses the empty paper container of his mandu into the bin, and sets about finding that right tools for the job.

It's a no-brainer to him: invest in the people you care about, and they'll invest back. He knows that Jeongguk would help him in a heartbeat, too - and he will also be sure to remind him of this moment in the future when he's in desperate need of a bar space for a showcase.

Min's is everything you thought it would be.

Deceptively large, it has more than enough room for there to be a few extra members of staff - but Yoongi works best alone. Likes his solitude. The rowdiness of his friendship group more than makes up for how quiet his job is - and when the saws and sanders are blaring, it'd be redundant having other people to socialise with.

The back wall showcases more saws than any one man could possibly need, but they all serve a distinct purpose that Yoongi would argue couldn't be achieved with anything else. In all truth, he's skilled enough to be able to mimic the texture and appearance of certain saws, but he likes doing things the old-fashioned way; as they should be done.

There's a stack of wooden boards on his work table, that he's been sanding by hand because there's something far richer about the finish than when they're machine done. He'll charge a little extra for these ones - and it'll be paid without hesitation because of how beautiful they are.

"Has he mentioned dinner at our place to you, yet?" Yoongi asks when Jeongguk finally makes a break for it to go and buy some mandu.

You glance over to him from the display unit, where small ornate objects sit, perfectly polished and prettily waiting for new homes. "Dinner?"

Yoongi nods. "Our place. Weekend before Tae's show - has he really not mentioned it? I've reminded him twice already."

Shaking your head, you laugh. "Boy's got a complex. Not good with invites."

It's something Yoongi is well aware of - after all, he'd been the one to watch Jeongguk with you, a smile on his face, as he finally spoke to a new girl at the bar a few weeks back.

"Mhmm," Yoongi hums. "Just didn't realise it applied to you, too."

"Doesn't normally," you admit, trying to hide the slight confusion you feel. It really is out of the ordinary - he usually invites you to things to avoid having to invite an actual girl. Makes you feel a little insecure. "Maybe he just doesn't fancy me being there?"

"Who doesn't want you where?" Jeongguk says through a muffled mouthful of mandu, pushing the studio door open with his shoulder. Stops in his tracks when he sees Yoongi slowly fold his arms over his chest, giving him a hard stare. "Ah. That ."

He glances over to you, noticing your furrowing brows and the hurt that's delicately kissing your features. It's faint. Barely there. But he knows you well enough now to know exactly when you're feeling affronted.

"So you don't want me there-"

"No!" Jeongguk chimes before you've fully finished your question. "No, no. It's not that, I just keep forgetting. Honestly."

He really does. The last time Yoongi sent him a reminder, he'd been on his way to the art cafe hell-bent on getting forgiveness. And like, he did get it, so it's not like it was a fruitless endeavour. Ended up nearly getting laid in the process, but that's neither here nor there.

Yoongi sighs. "If you want a job done properly, do it yourself."

And then he's the one to invite you for dinner. "Our place. Seoyeon is dying to meet you."

You say yes in a heartbeat, as you've been dying to meet her, too. Yoongi says he'll just bypass Jeongguk next time and invite you himself, to which Jeongguk doesn't protest like you half think he will.

In fact, Jeongguk actually really likes that Yoongi considers you a part of the group. Likes that you're becoming their friend, not just his.

Jeongguk's eyes are warm as he looks over to you; teacups full of steaming americanos. Enough caffeine to keep you up for hours, but cosy enough to calm the shakes. And, just like a good cup of coffee, you find yourself always going back for more. Warm coffee might be for pussies, but maybe you'll make an exception this time.

Eventually, Yoongi shoos you both out of the studio. He's got work to finish, and you're distracting him as you mess around with the soldering pen he uses to sign his work. Neither you nor Jeongguk can really work it properly, and are just using it to write profanities on scrap wood anyways.

"You're like a pair of flirting teenagers," Yoongi scolds. He actually quite enjoys the way you banter together. It's nice seeing Jeongguk like him old self again - but he worries. Knows what happened the last time Jeongguk got a little too close to a girl who was 'just a friend' - so he deliberately makes things awkward to force a little self-reflection upon his friend. "If I didn't know the pair of you, I'd think you were fucking, or something."

The way Jeongguk glances over towards you is nefarious; a reminder that what's done in the dark should remain in the shadows.

That's the thing about Jeongguk, though. There's no hiding him. He'll shine even in the darkest of rooms - and when he's facing a girl with enough glitter to rival a mirrorball, his shine would only ever be amplified.

Still, he gags and tells Yoongi not to be a 'weirdo,' and that 'guys and girls can be friends without fucking,' and asks 'do you not have any girl friends?' then says 'like, literally, what the fuck Yoongi?' and 'take that back ' and 'we'd never fuck' and 'we're not even each other's type' and-

"You're deflecting a little hard, there, Gguk."

All you can do is laugh. Yoongi's right. He is deflecting hard.

Plus, on a technicality, you haven't fucked Jeongguk. Not really.

Which is probably a good thing, considering that when you arrive back at Jeongguk's place, there's a single bird waiting on his bed for you both.

The folds are pristine. Expert. His .

He looks at you as you read it to yourself first. Isn't sure if you're grimacing or smiling. Thinks both would be bad, given the nature of literally every single bird on his ceiling.

"So?"

You eventually look up at him, and turn the bird around for him to read:

Let a friend set me up.

"So," you take a deep breath and smile. It's convincing. "Looks like I have to arrange you a blind date."

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[pearlofthesirens]

domestic simon riley headcanons perhaps?

ooh i'm gonna love writing thissssss!!

Domestic Simon Headcanons:

wakes up at either 4 or 5 am, even after retiring. doesn't let go of the military morning routine.

if you're sleeping, he'll give you the softest kiss before fixing the blanket so you're not cold.

brushes his teeth and immediately hits the gym. loves the food you make, will tear that shit up but he thinks he should be keeping his body fit too. doesn't want Johnny to tease him for becoming soft(you personally love him even when he's a huge teddy bear).

when he comes back and sees you making breakfast, he won't hesitate to give you back hugs despite your complains of him being sweaty and smelly. "Si, no! Take a shower first, you're stinky!" "Shower can wait, lovie. I need to give my girl a kiss first."

calls you all sorts of nicknames like lovie, darling, sweetie, doll, my girl, etc.

if he's hungry and you're not at home, the only thing he can make is tea and toast. might burn the bread a little, might add a can of beans or potato mash(bri'ish tings), do not trust him with the kitchen.

if you're doing chores together, he would definitely want to help a lot even if he doesn't know much. for example, he'd definitely help with keeping the counter clean and taking dishes out from the dishwasher if you're cooking.

why waste water? take a shower together! "Water's too hot, doll. You're gonna burn." "Water's just fine." "You make me wonder what kinda demon I fell in love with."

genuinely gets scared if you call him Simon Riley, or worse if it's Ghost. will start contemplating about every single thing he did and where he might've gone wrong. "Simon Rile-" "I'm right here, sugar. Anything wrong? Need a shoulder massage?" "I-...please get the box of pasta from the top shelf." "Anything for you, doll."

he generally refuses to let you see him in full gear, prefers to keep Ghost out of his lovely Manchester apartment. but once after he was done with a long mission, he was so tired that he entirely forgot he had a significant other and walked inside the house with his balaclava and everything. you almost let out a scream when you saw a tall figure with a skull face hovering over you as you were sat on the couch, reading your favorite book. "AAAHH-" "Darling?"

he would legit go "?????" before he realizes that he has his mask on and everything. removes it immediately and sees your eyes soften, arms wide open for him. he takes you in a bone crushing hug, not forgetting to kiss your forehead.

always the big spoon when sleeping, but loves your arm around him too. will keep one arm out for you to rest your head on, doesn't care if it's numb, and the other around your waist. when you're facing him, he will hold your head and hips protectively, letting you bury your face in his chest and neck.

doesn't believe that a man should be controlling what his partner wears, he will encourage your to wear whatever makes you feel comfortable and confident. keeps a protective arm around your waist in public to show that you're his. "Wear whatever you want, sweetie. I can fight, ain't got all this body for nothing."

arguments with him are always short. he would not let anything get to a point that you two are shouting on each other's faces, he does not want to be like his father. goes to a different room to cool himself down before he opens the door to find you.

has a hard time apologizing with words at first, will try to get you something like flowers or give you a silent hug. but he soon learns to say "sorry" and to be gentler with you.

will get down on one knee and present you the ring when you least expect it. wants to have a small wedding at a church with only a few people, preferably TF141, Laswell, your immediate family and a few close friends you have.

wants kids, but won't force you if you don't want to. will consider resigning from the military if he does end up being a dad, he doesn't want to risk his life out there when he has two beautiful human beings to come home to. "Such a poppet, isn't she? Just like her mama." "Don't give me all the credit, honey. She's got your looks too, pretty little thing."

will take you out for dates, dinners too. believes that a relationship shouldn't be stagnant. you get to pick the restaurant and he will willingly pay for whatever you want to eat. you just have to look pretty <3

although he likes to put the most effort, he expects you to put effort too. he takes offense if you disregard how he feels, is devoted to you and expects you to love him the same.

little things matter to him. he pays attention to how you make tea for him, how you do not push him when he doesn't want to talk about something, how you adjust the blanket over both of you every time he comes home late and plops himself down on the couch with you.

overall, the sweetest but realistically speaking, it might be a bit tough to live with him considering he's in the military and has a bitter past. but as long as you're ready to compromise and understand him, he will return the love tenfold and more.

proofread ✓ pearly venus, 22:00 240229

[octuscle]

I am the only smart and social guy in my class and I’m also he only gay one, normally I prefer to hang with the girls and do all my projects with them…but this time our teacher forced all us guys together, in time for the group project I overheard the boys talking about making me a real Man/boy with there phones. Help!

You have your first project meeting. You are sitting in a circle with the boys. Everyone is playing with their cell phones, picking their noses or scratching their balls. You take a deep breath. And you think you have an idea for an environmental project. Collecting trash on the bank of the creek behind the school. And classifying the garbage according to the possibility of recycling.

Dude, that's a lame idea, grunts one of the guys. We were thinking something like "how far can hard training get you in a week". The other guys applaud. And one presses the "Activate" button on the Chronivac app.

Hehehe, you're not into sports at all. But that sounds like a cool project. Shit, why didn't you come up with that idea. You do a little research on the Internet. Calculate the budget, write to a few sponsors. Look for sportswear, nutritional supplements, also look for sources of potentially illegal support. The other guys play with their cell phones. One of them says you should chill out. It's enough if you start tomorrow.

Project diary, day 1:

Erkan sent me a message this morning that he and the other guys will be at the gym at 08:00. I should come already dressed. I don't even remember that I already got a bag with gym clothes yesterday. But in any case, there is one next to my desk. I put on a tank top, some shorts, socks and shoes. While brushing my teeth in the bathroom, I think to myself how ridiculous the way-too-big clothes look on me. On the bus, I'm a little uncomfortable with my appearance. And between the boys in the gym even more so. But it's a project, we have to go through with it.

We spend six hours in the gym. Has been amazingly fun. Somehow I was the only one sweating. The boys just played with their cell phones again. Hopefully there are good pictures for the project documentation. After the training I wanted to take a shower, but the guys took me directly to their regular shisha bar. I have rarely felt so uncomfortable. Because everyone else is bigger, more muscular and more masculine than me. And because I'm the only guest in sweaty sports gear. Besides, I'm starting to feel the soreness. I just fall into bed in the evening. Unable to move.

Project diary, day 2:

At 06:00 I get an address from Bogdan. Barbershop from his cousin. Meeting at 07:00 so that I no longer have to train with the ridiculous blond curls. I'm supposed to put on yesterday's clothes. I didn't have the clothes hung up yesterday. Actually I wanted to put on fresh clothes today So, of course, nothing has dried. Brushing teeth must go quickly, I'm late. Fuck, I actually finally get beard growth? Must take a closer look at me later in the gym.

So far it does not get at all. Bogdan's cousin not only gives me a new haircut, he also shaves me. In my opinion, completely unnecessary. But the result is cool. For the first time I can imagine in the gym on the weight bench in front of the mirror that the project will be a success. Otherwise, the workout goes like yesterday. After the six-hour program, I was looking forward to a shisha. But Ivo takes me to the outdoor pool. One hour of swimming One hour on the lawn. One hour of swimming. Ivo allows me to take a cold shower without shower gel after swimming. It feels good. And I like my tight white ass.

Project diary, day 3:

When Akay sends me the message to remember that my gym clothes are still in the locker, I'm already awake for an hour. Pushups and situps. I got quite a tantrum from my mom yesterday about how my room looks. Hey, the laundry isn't that dirty yet. And I'll clean up the cum-soaked handkerchiefs tonight.

Since the rest is as I said in the gym, I go only in tracksuit with white socks and Adiletten in the bus. I look so antisocial. Makes me somehow horny. In the gym I'm alone today. Fuck, to be honest, the losers only disturb. Let them hang out, I have my own rhythm. And it beats out of iron. For solid muscles. I take a break only to pour protein shakes into me. And on the way to the outdoor pool I make a quick stop at Bogdan's cousin. Trimming the sides And trim the beard.

At dinner, my mother tells me that I stink as much as my room. My father is on my team. He pumps himself. And considerably more than me. It's good to have support at home for my goals. I eat my five chicken breasts with rice, drink two more liters of water and then go to bed. Dad looks in again, laughs, says that nothing stinks as cool as pump sweat and asks if he should get me a syringe cure. Fist bump, old man! But I stay natural for now.

Project diary, day 4:

Was horny while pumping. Today on the bench 150 kilograms pressed. Need new tank top. The old one stinks excellent. But is too tight.

In the evening once again met with the guys on Shisha. Was cool. But they are not focused enough. Juri has scratched his belly. Ey, hardly a six-pack to see. Would I be ashamed of myself!

Project diary, day 6:

Ey, yesterday completely forgotten the diary. Was in great shape in the gym. In the afternoon then posed at the pool. Trained on the pull-up bars. The fans applauded. And in the evening with my old man bombed our arms for an hour. I'd like to have his biceps too.

Today is free. Sascha got me an appointment with the tattoo artist. Before again Barber And afterwards outdoor pool. And then party. The boys and me to the disco. Man, I could have had them all! And I fucked two guys on the toilet. Shit, I have so much energy, I really have to cum four times a day. At least!

Project diary, day 7:

I can only hope that one of the guys makes the presentation about our project. I'm so totally not up for it. I already wrote the damn diary. And I was the guinea pig. I'm a fucking hot lab rat.

One of the guys said last night that I used to be a nerd and a weakling. Must have been a long time ago.

[storyshark2005]

snippet of the next chapter of ur carraville fic pleak 🥺👉👈

(ask and you shall receive 💕 Excerpt below: Saturday morning! Teh lads are in the car (what beats car talk!Carraville???) on the way to Scholes Gym. Bonus: SHAKIRA!🎶 )

“Shit—” Gary suddenly slips the clutch and the car lurches unhappily. “Sorry—” 

“You forget how to drive or something?!” Jamie jokes, shaking his head clear. 

“Just got distracted.” Gary coughs weakly, nodding in the direction of his phone. “Why don’t you put some music on.”

Music is good. Less chance of Jamie saying something nonsensical or stupid. 

“Okay right, what d’you fancy?” 

“I don’t care, whatever’s fine.” 

“Shakira?” Jamie jokes, and then searches for ‘Waka waka.’  The little tribal-y horns sound off, and the WA-KA! WA-KA chant. He sets Gary’s phone down in the cupholder and bobs his head in time. 

Gary snorts but Jamie can already see his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the bass drum. By the time the chorus comes around, they’re both laughing and singing the ‘waka, waka, eh! eh!’ bit out loud. The bits they can pronounce, anyways.

“What’s she saying?!” Gary asks. “The part right before she says, ‘This time for Africa’?”

“Not a clue, I make something up every time!” 

They crack up laughing, and Jamie gets a hand on Gary’s knee, which Gary can’t really do anything about on account he’s gotta have a hand on the wheel and one on the stick.

“Behave,” Gary murmurs, as if he disapproves. 

Jamie gives his knee a squeeze, right at the swell of his quad, and lets go. Whatever weirdness he’d felt earlier was quickly evaporating. Something to do, maybe, with the deft movement of Gary’s hand on the gear shift. Or the high morning sunlight filtering down through the tinted windows, casting him in a kind of overexposed splash of pink and sepia. Or the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The stupid sunglasses, too. He looked good in those.

The music changes, nudged via algorithm back to Gary’s usual mix of U2, James, Oasis, and Springsteen. Jamie looks out the window for a while, and lets his mind drift. Thinking again of last night, of the deep part of the night when Gary had let him in close. 

It’s strange, probably, to be excited about something like this with Gary, after the week he’s had. There’s probably something wrong with him. Twenty-five years with Nicola ended overnight, and he doesn’t even feel that bad about it. A couple of nights out on the ale with Micah, a little cry, and what was left to do? Call a lawyer? Was that really it? 

“Is this really the first Salford game I’ve brought you to?” Gary asks suddenly, pulling Jamie from his thoughts.

Jamie thinks. “Yeah, except for that Class of ‘92 friendly youse put on a few years back.”

Gary laughs, “You had an absolute howler that game.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie admits. “It was the keeper’s fault, though!” 

It wasn’t, really.

Gary makes one of those high-pitched, amused little hums in the back of his throat. “I hope you bought him a beer afterwards. He deserved it, after such a shambolic performance from his defender.”

Jamie groans at the memory. “Even Phil was laughing at me!”

“Thank God those days are over, eh?” Gary sighs. “Honestly. If I don’t kick a ball again the rest of my life, I’ll be alright with it.” 

“You sure?” Jamie asks, on impulse, like a knee jerk. “Thought you might try and score tonight.”

The car slows to stop at a red light. Gary doesn’t answer, and Jamie thinks maybe he’s pushed too far again. 

It’s terrifying. Thrilling. Overnight the whole of their dynamic has shifted. It’s still the same basic material, still Gary and Jamie; but it’s a bit like someone had pulled the carpet up, given it a big shake, and laid it down again, this time with new wrinkles, a slightly different shape to it. 

The light turns green, and Gary shifts smoothly into drive, engine rumbling with a rough, sporty little growl to it. He looks unfairly cool in his stupid sunglasses, driving his luxury car. 

They turn off the main road. Gary slows the car, and suddenly they’re pulling into a compact, shady little carpark in front of the gym. It’s not nearly as big or grand as Jamie had expected. There’s a bus stop out front, and an uninterested teenager wearing earbuds slouching against the clear plastic shelter. 

Gary pulls around to the back, parks up against the building next to a slick black Mercedes SUV, and cuts the engine.  His arms sag. He throws his sunglasses up on the dash and runs his hands down his face. 

“Fuck,” he says. “You know, my whole fuckin' life, I’ve—” 

He stops, cutting himself off, staring through the windshield like the barrel of a gun.

Jamie doesn’t say anything. He thinks he could ruin it with the wrong words. 

He wants to tell him to forget the gym, to find a hotel. He wants to climb over the console and tolerate the dig of the steering wheel in his lower back. He wants his full weight settled on Gary’s lap, and most of all he wants to rip the sunglasses away and have all of Gary’s attention, every little micrometre of those big brown eyes focused solely on Jamie. Gary’s attention is a rare, flighty thing; constantly being torn at, pulled in every direction, and at any given moment, usually only a fraction of it is on Jamie. 

Suddenly, desperately, Jamie wants all of it. Now.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

The Beginning Of The End Series

Summary: You were once a “honeybee”, now you’re simply a “bunny”. Can an alliance and friendship still last after one’s former lover became the current lover of another?

Pairings: ELP x Reader x Jay White

Warnings: +18, mentions of smut, dirty talk.

Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @baysexuality , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @pleasantpastels

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

The car ride back to the hotel was made beneath a deadly silence. Pure tension radiated from Riley’s sweaty body on the passenger’s seat. I tried to speak something, anything, but every time I opened my mouth something kept me from talking.

For the most part, Riley was a very annoyingly - yes, even though I love him he can be a pain in the ass sometimes - positive, funny, and easygoing guy. But there was this darkness in him, something raw and brutal that rarely came to the surface, but whenever it did, it was a scary sight.

He completely loses all his happy-go-lucky attitude and becomes this cold, unreadable, frightening creature. Only a handful of times have I witnessed it, and I’m embarrassed to say that whenever it does happen - although rarely - I have to ask myself if I wasn’t dating a serial killer.

It became a small inside joke between the both of us, one I would sometimes bring up to take him away from that darkness. But this time, something’s different…this time, I don’t dare to say a word to him until we’re inside his hotel room.

“Rye? Are you mad at me? Mad that I came here?” The question left my lips before I could stop the words from slipping out.

Riley turned around and smiled, a smile that never reached his eyes and somehow made him look even scarier than before “I’m not mad at you, bunny. I’m just on the edge with everything that happened at the Dome. It has nothing to do with you. I’m happy that you’re spending your vacation here with me. I just need to get rid of this… feeling that’s all”.

“Can I do something to help?” My hand brushed against his crotch but Riley quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled it away from him.

“Not this time. I’m too angry and I don’t want to hurt you” His hand let go of my wrist so he could cup my cheek “But I’ll tell you what, there’s a gym here in the hotel so I’ll get changed into some proper clothes and get rid of most of this feeling then once I get back here, we’ll order some room service for us and maybe you can join me in the shower to help me cool off?”

“I doubt we’ll cool you off though” I smirked against his lips “If anything it’ll warm you up even more”

“I thought you were a caring girlfriend who wanted to help?” He teased before nibbling my bottom lip.

“And I do! You know we aim to please, sir”

The small little word made a low growl rumble in his chest “Don’t start with me, bunny”. Riley’s hands cupped my ass through the jeans “Don’t tease me like that”

“I spent my 12 hours flight thinking about this” My hand brushed against his semi-hard cock through his gear “I had to lock myself in the bathroom three times just to touch myself while watching our videos”

Riley pinned me against the wall so now he was facing my back. “Oh, you’re playing a very dangerous game, pretty thing” He slowly lifted my shirt up and softly scratched from my waist to my hip.

I chuckled when one of his hands gripped my breast before the other closed around my neck “I like dangerous games” I whispered.

A low grin took over my lips as Riley harshly pushed my jeans down my thighs along with my underwear before placing his middle and ring finger inside my mouth “Spit!”.

My saliva coated his fingers as he turned me around to face the full-length mirror close to the tv.

He closed his bicep around my neck as his wet fingers slid the saliva through my folds until he stopped at my hidden bundle of nerves.

“Keep looking at the mirror” Riley snarled before he began applying the perfect amount of pressure on my clit while circling the little pearl.

“Oh my god” Small moans left my lips like soft prayers as his fingers sank further down into my void.

“Look at me!” He grunted and my eyes soon found him in the mirror “Who owns this pussy?”

“You do, sir”

“Say my name”

“Riley” His name fell from my lips with a loud moan, making a cold smirk take over Riley’s lips.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir”

“And who can have this beautiful pussy, huh?” The harsh slap he gave on my outer lips somehow made me even more wet and Riley wasted no time sinking his fingers back in my pussy.

“Only Riley can”

“That’s a good girl” His teeth roughly sank into my neck before he asked again “Who can stretch this tight pussy until you’re begging for more?”

“You, sir”

“Who can eat you out until you’re so sensitive that even a small little huff of wind makes you cum?”

“Only my Riley can”

“Can Jay do that?”

“No, sir”

“Good girl” Riley smirked against the skin of my neck as our eyes locked in the mirror. “You’re going to be a good fuck doll for me and let me fuck you whenever and wherever I want while you’re here?”

“Yes, sir. Always” My hand gripped his forearm around my neck once I felt the familiar burning rising in my loins.

The burning sensation began to fade as Riley’s hand moved away from between my legs. I caught a glimpse of mischief in his eyes before he pushed me face-first down on the mattress.

“Let’s see if you can live up to your promise, bunny” He chuckled, hands gripping the waistband of my jeans and tugging the fabric farther down my legs until they pooled around my ankle “Starting now”.

The hollows underneath Jay’s eyes seemed to become deeper and deeper the more he stared at his reflection in his hotel room’s bathroom mirror. He couldn’t get her out of his head ever since he saw her face to face earlier tonight…his honeybee, the only woman he would ever love, the only woman his body would ever crave for.

His phone screen lit up on top of the bathroom counter and a heavy, tired sigh unintentionally left Jay’s body the moment he read the name displayed on the screen. The last thing Jay wanted was to see his fiancé’s face, but his mind traveled to their 6-month-old and the thought that something might have happened to his baby had Jay’s forefinger instantly accepting the FaceTime call.

“What is it, Lisa? Did something happen to Charlie?” Jay didn’t even bother to pick the phone up from the bathroom counter as he began to brush his teeth.

“No, he’s asleep. I just wanted to talk to you”

At the sound of his fiancé’s sultry voice, Jay dared to look down at his phone and the sight of the red lace bra had him sighing again.

“If that’s why you called, I’m not in the mood, Lisa”

Lisa frowned at Jay’s sudden lack of interest in her and the question left her lips before she could even stop it, “Why? Is there someone else in there with you right now? Is there another woman taking care of you while you’re there?”

Jay’s loud huff caused some of the toothpaste to fall from his lips into the sink, he carefully washed his mouth and put his toothbrush away before taking the phone in his hand as he walked to the bed.

“You know what they say: When you were someone’s side piece and suddenly became their main one, you’ll constantly be afraid to take the spot of the one who was once deceived”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lisa spat while putting on her bathrobe and closing it tightly around her thin waist.

“You’re a smart woman, Lisa. You’ll figure it out” Jay’s chuckle only lasted a few seconds before his financé asked:

“This is because of her, isn’t it? I saw Riley’s photo on Instagram, she got there today. Is that why you can’t have sex with me? Because of her?”

“I can’t have sex with you, Lisa, because guess what? You’re over 6 thousand miles away!” Jay answered with sarcasm as he lay down on the bed.

“You know what I mean, Jay! You’re thinking about her, aren’t you? I bet you even saw her! Why do you do this to us? How can you still have feelings for her?! Please don’t tell me that you still love her. We have a baby together, Jay! How can you still love that woman?”

“Are you done? Because I’ve had a gruesome match, I’m tired as fuck, and I’m in no mood to listen to you bitching in my ear”

“You do, don’t you?” Lisa’s eyes filled up with tears “Tell me what do I have to do, baby. What do I have to do for you to stop loving her, Jay?”

“Goodbye, Lisa” Was the only thing he answered before ending the call and turning off his phone.

Jay opened his Ipad and tapped on the only file that required a password to open, after a few seconds his gray eyes stared at thousands of files of him and his honeybee.

Riley pulled me closer to his embrace as we rested against the headboard of the bed. “The second burger was completely based on gluttony and I deeply regret it now” My hand lightly pressed against my stomach, making Riley chuckle.

“But in the end, it was worth it” He softly pecked my lips “I haven’t felt this satisfied ever since I went to visit you in California”

“Is that so?” I looked up at him

“Mhm, I feel at peace” Riley brushed his lips on top of mine as he whispered “My body is full, my heart is full, and my balls are empty. That’s the synonym of heaven right there, bunny”

“Yuck, you’re so gross” I laughed loudly “How dare you ruin such a precious moment by bringing your balls into it?”

“C’mon, you love my balls” He teased “You love when they’re in your mouth or on your face”

“Ewww! Okay, that’s enough” I couldn’t stop laughing as Riley continued:

“You love sucking on them, I sure fucking love when you suck on them! I love when you suck my cock too, you give the best head there’s out there, bunny. You sure know how to use that mouth, so fucking messy and wet, and you take it all deep down, suck on the head, trace the veins with your tongue, and-”

“Got it, thank you for the confidence boost.” I said after covering his mouth with my hand.

Riley licked my palm making me whine “I fucking hate when you do that”

“Well, you deserved it because I was giving you all the juicy details about how I love your mouth around my cock and you rudely interrupted me so you had it coming” Riley smiled pridefully before he turned around and pinned me down on the mattress “I was getting horny again too, but you had to go and cut me off, didn’t you?”

“Rye, I ate too much” I cackled once I felt his hard cock gliding through my folds.

“That’s why this time we’ll have a nice session of sweet, slow, lovemaking, bunny” Riley nibbled on my bottom lip as he pressed his tip against my entrance.

What I failed to notice was the text message that had arrived on my phone from an unknown number that said:

What would you do if you knew that Jay still loves you?

[neomel]

Ehhmmm HI EVERYONE !!!! so this is very inspired by @kafus's Pokémon liveblogging n their various playthroughs and its been so fun to follow, and it gave me the inspiration to pick up a new playthrough - or TWO PLAYTHROUGHS !!!

i realized its been forever since ive actually played FireRed LeafGreen and that ive never done it w. the help of save editing to add eg. Rare Candies for grinding. but i also realized that ive never actually played the Gen 1 Pokémon games....so i decided to do both !!!!

im doing a kinda-sorta Nuzlocke too, just to try out different Pokémon and get myself to rotate between them, but I am also moreso trying to use funny stuff more than minmaxxing for strategy. Here's my Pokémon Red team for instance!!

Yes that's Marcel the traded Mr. Mimel!! I got an Abra as my first encounter and realized that using Alakazam would just be steamrolling people with a big Special number, so I boxed it for later to use Gen 1 Mr. Mime for a while. I've rotated some of these members in and out with others in the box, mostly because the movepools are so fascinatingly terrible ^^; Like - I wanted to use Nidoking because his Gen 1 sprites are absolutely incredible, and you can get him before even the second gym from Mt. Moon's Moon Stones, but........he doesn't get Double Kick unless you get Nidorino to like Level 47?? and Nidoking misses out on Thrash unless you level him up early.

Clefable has been the absolute QUEEN of the run though, like !!! i love her silly sprite in this game so so so much, and the well-rounded stats paired with Sing make them a really good Pokémon to use in pretty much any situation. its funny how the lack of many good moves means that mediocre moves like Growl or Water Gun end up feeling useful just for being options at all...I've had some fun with the mediocre TMs given out too, like giving Bide to my Ivysaur to utilize the Leech Seed draining effect as best as possible in a sort of quirky strategy. Though on the flipside I had to give up on using Mankey entirely after realizing it just gets NOTHING in terms of moves - before Yellow it literally doesn't learn any Fighting type moves by leveling up other than Seismic Toss (which doesnt count), and the only one it gets by TM is Submission which is.....nooot good :T

Anyhow - Here's a terrible img of my FRLG team! I'm out of Rock Tunnel and in Celadon in this playthrough wheras the RBY playthrough is still not through the tunnel yet :( BUT that means that I've gotten a lot more silly goobers in this run. Even though my Mankey died here before I could use it for anything funny.....i really like Primape's design so im kinda sad I've never gotten to use it lol

ANYWAY ANYWAY look at my fucking boy. look at my Fungler. look at my little man. he has 20 diseases and he sucks ass. i love him.

i played a Gen 3 fangame a while ago that gave you access to Fury Cutter as a TM and a Paras really early on, and the gears got grinding in my head to force sleep with Spore and then chain a Fury Cutter combo, and the affection for that silly strat has stuck with me and made me kind of adore Parasect by extension. look at my fucking guy he sucks so much!!! but he puts people to sleep really well and has cool bug claws. i love his terrible movepool and having to give him Secret Power to do any damage. lol .

it is funny to play these older games where the movepools sucked ass, even as deep in as Gen 3 . so you have to really stretch for ideas on how to use mons but it feels really fun when you make something sorta click? like this Doduo Rage -> Rest -> Chesto set, it doesn't get Swords Dance nor the infinitely funnier Acupressure but this is kinda just a shittier funnier version of that? also Tri Attack being physical feels like it was made just for Dodrio. i love my bird.

im still kinda miffed at how many things just sorta suck in Kanto though. like so many routes early on are just Rattata/Pidgey/Spearow/Ekans while the Safari Zone alone has like 7 Pokémon you can only find there, the distribution feels so strange. and of course the whole Game Corner garbage, i want to use Hyper Beam in Gen 1 because of how cool its Gen 1 exclusive quirks are but its a Game Corner exclusive reward >:((( im gonna have to see if i can save edit gambling coins into the game or what.

BUT im having a lot of fun !! its so silly seeing all the Gen 1 sprites ingame for the first time. the Gen 1iness of it all. not even being able to fuckin check how strong moves are or how much accuracy they have. or even sort the order of moves outside of battles. your battle items menu just opens up your entire bag. such a silly fuckin mess of a game. i love it .

(also feel free to ask about any of the nicknames i have answers for like half of them)

[fredheads]

Fredsythe + 1 or 8 for the fic prompts 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

of course i chose sweater weather look at my icon...

Fall comes in fast that year, cool rainy weather sweeping in to replace the September sun before the high school’s been back in session for a month. There’s a definite chill in the air when they walk home, the whisper of more rain always on the horizon. 

FP’s never been the type to dress for the weather - he wears his leather jacket or letterman all freezing winter and well into the summer heat, shivering in sneakers and bare ears when it snows and sweating in the sun. He’s been known to wear sleeveless shirts in late, chilly fall, or cover his bruises with long sleeves when it’s ninety degrees in the shade. He has no rainjacket or any kind of snow gear to ease the changing of the seasons; indeed he has very few clothes at all, which explains most of the disparity. It’s not hard to be dressed poorly when your whole wardrobe for all four seasons fits in a duffel bag. 

Tonight, though, he’s warm in an old, stretched-out man’s sweater from Goodwill that’s two or three sizes too big for him. He has three of these in his closet, all secondhand and thin from overuse. FP’s never owned anything that wasn’t worn and mended, but he cherishes these specifically for their derelict appearance. Gladys teases him frequently that he’s trying to look more like Kurt Cobain. Maybe there’s a grain of truth in that, but there’s another association that’s more precious to him: 

They remind him of his mom. 

Linda used to dress in sweaters just like these when FP was growing up. He remembers how the sleeves were always too long for her, how she would let him fidget with the worn collars when she held him on her lap. When she’d died, senior had tossed them and the rest of her clothes without a second thought. It was too much to hope that they had found their way into Riverdale’s thrift store inventory - it was more than likely that those memories of his childhood were laying buried wherever the landfill trash from almost ten years ago ended up. 

But either way, when he’d come across this one in the belly of the thrift store a year ago, he’d almost cried from the memory. Fred had been with him, and FP remembers him half-heartedly warning him about how thin the fabric was before he must have seen the look in FP’s eyes. Fred had fallen silent and paid the dollar for it without a second thought, and on the way home FP had explained it to him as best he could without crying harder. This was something he had retained from his childhood; boys didn’t cry. Certainly not over something like a sweater. 

When they’d reached the corner where they usually parted ways, Fred had pulled it out of the bag and over FP’s head, even though it still smelled like the musty store. FP, predictably, had been in a T-Shirt that was much too light for the weather, but the sweater was just right. 

“You look good in it,” Fred had said, just that, a little smile on his face and love in his eyes. And FP had worn it almost the entire year since, drifting back to the thrift store now and again to see if anything similar ever showed up, eventually taking home two cousins to the original. The sweater was now more worn than ever, with holes at the collar and hem, but FP just grew more and more attached to it. Fred and FP traded clothes freely, everything from hoodies to gym socks to boxer shorts, but Fred had never asked for one of those sweaters. FP would have lent them freely - there was nothing in the world so valuable to him as Fred - and surely Fred knew that, but he still didn’t ask. That was just how Fred was. 

FP does have one of Fred’s own hoodies on his bedroom floor - an RHS Athletics one with Andrews on the sleeve. He has one of his own too - currently somewhere at Fred’s house, probably stuffed into the closet where Fred’s zillions of other hoodies and shirts are threatening to burst the closet at the seams. 

Fred has a wardrobe that changes with the seasons: baseball tees in spring that show off his newly well-defined arm muscles, cut-off denim shorts and cropped T-shirts in summer that drive FP to throes of sexual frustration for those long weeks at the end of the school year, and from fall into winter he favours oversized hoodies and fluffy crewnecks that hang on his small body like a tent. He looks so unbearably cute in them that FP can no more concentrate throughout their shared classes in the fall than he can when Fred’s bare back is exposed to him all June. 

That’s what he’s wearing when he knocks on FP’s door in the middle of that rainy fall night. It’s well past Fred’s usual curfew, so his best friend is the last person FP expects to see when he peers through the crack of the door out into the rain. It’s not pouring, but it’s damp, small cold droplets falling out of the dark sky with enough persistence to get the trees and eaves dripping. Fred also owns at least two raincoats, so he’s not sure why his friend’s just in his big crewneck sweater, the shoulders and sleeves damp and his hair soaked down to his head. 

He knows there’s something wrong right away. Fred comes in and doesn’t say anything, just stands in FP’s kitchen like he’s somehow an unwelcome guest. He has his shoulders hunched and his eyes cast down, looking like a kitten that had had water thrown at it. His sweatshirt sleeves hang all the way past his hands, and he’s playing with his fingers almost nervously, though the actual gesture is lost somewhere in his sleeves. FP’s holding him immediately, hands on Fred’s shoulders, which are almost buried under the fabric of his sweater. 

“What is it? What’s the matter?” FP asks immediately, worry making his voice harsh and clear. 

“I just needed to see you.” Fred’s voice is too soft, his eyes red from crying when he glances up into FP’s face. He’s shivering from the cold, and sniffling like his nose is running. He blinks furiously, lips trembling. “I wanted to see you.” 

“In the middle of the night?” FP prompts gently, eyes travelling instinctively down Fred’s body to see if he’s hurt. He can’t tell if he’s hiding anything below the oversized sweater, but there’s at least no sign of blood or broken bones. Fred looks back down at his soaked feet, letting FP see how wet his brown hair is. It’s dripping, and there’s a stripe of darker fabric running down the back of his sweater from the collar. 

He mumbles something to the floor, and FP catches the words my dad. 

“Your dad?” he prompts, gently using his fingers to tip Fred’s head back up so he can look him in the eye. Fred sucks in a gulp of air, his pale cheeks now taking on a pink tinge from the change in temperature. 

“We had a fight.” Fred’s pale little hand comes up to rub a tear off his face with his knuckle, the skin ice cold when it brushes FP’s wrist. His voice is teary and fragile as a sheet of stained glass. “It’s just s-stupid, I’m sorry.” 

“About me?” FP asks quietly, already anticipating the answer. Artie Andrews made no secret of the fact that he thought Fred could have found a better best friend, though he was at least decent enough never to say it to FP’s face. But FP could feel the way Artie’s eyes swept his leather jacket, painting him with the same brush as the rest of the Southside. FP can’t fully blame him. He’s never really felt good enough to be Fred’s best friend either. Fred says nothing, and FP prompts him gently. “Fred?” 

“No.” Fred’s eyes are filling up with tears again, looking straight at FP at last, and the raw, honest, grief in them makes FP feel like he’s being ripped apart from the inside. Fred had the sweetest face he’d ever met, and the flipside of that was that whenever he got upset, it was like watching a little kid find out there was no Santa Claus. “Not you. About me.” 

Fred pulls out of FP’s grip and starts pacing the kitchen, shoulders tightening towards his ears again. His lips are pressed tight together, and FP recognizes the look of someone who’s trying desperately not to cry. He feels himself relaxing somewhat, though his stomach still clenches to see Fred so obviously distressed. But at least FP knows what’s going on. Or he has a good enough guess. 

“I’m never going to be good enough,” Fred whimpers coherently in the middle of his pacing and muttering, confirming FP’s read of the situation. He’s leaving a small river of water on the shitty trailer linoeleum as he walks back and forth, sniffling and wiping his nose and face briskly with one of his too-long sleeves. FP’s heart sinks more and more as he watches him. 

He knows how viciously Fred holds himself up to an impossible standard, set already high by Artie and his brother and higher still by his own insecurity. FP knows that deep in Fred’s heart, whatever he says in fits of rebellion, he has a desperate need to be accepted by his father and himself. 

On very rare occasions, watching Fred suffer under these self-imposed pressures, FP feels a fleeting sort of relief that the bar was set so low for him. It sucked to have everyone - yourself included - think you were a piece of shit, but at least he’d accepted long ago that torturing himself wouldn’t change the outcome. 

“He wants me to be perfect,” Fred whispers, hiccuping in the middle. He had slid neatly from self-pity to rage and now back again, the puddle of water growing under his feet. His face crumples when his eyes land on FP, and he finally stops pacing. “I’m sorry, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You’ve been through so much, and I’m just-” He gestures with one floppy, too-long sleeve, his face falling even further. “I’m sorry, FP-” 

FP crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around Fred in a tight hug. Fred freezes in surprise, and then returns the hug tenfold, squeezing FP’s back furiously. Protectiveness explodes in FP’s mind like fireworks as the cold rain from his best friend’s clothes soaks into his front. 

Fred’s his best friend and his sweetheart, and he’d hurt anyone, any day, who let him think he was less than wonderful. But something about Fred in that sweater makes him seem a thousand times more vulnerable, until FP can hardly bear to uncurl his arms from around Fred’s skinny frame. It feels like a betrayal worse than death to let go. Maybe it’s because he hates to think of Fred feeling cold, maybe it’s because he looks so small when he’s drowning in his big sweaters, or when his body seems all the smaller and bonier when you have to search for it through all that fabric. He feels like he’s holding something incredibly delicate and precious, and it’s an effort to release him. 

FP puts his hands on either side of Fred’s face, holding his frozen cheeks. 

“Come with me,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. 

Fred’s right, that FP is usually the one in the position of asking for help, and usually in much more dire circumstances. But the flip side of that is that FP knows exactly what Fred would do when someone showed up bedraggled and crying at his door, aching for a love that felt impossible to get. 

He leads Fred into the bedroom, stopping to grab his bath towel from the bathroom door. FP pushes Fred down onto the bed, then gets down on his knees and unlaces both of Fred’s dripping wet Nike sneakers, easing them off his soaked feet. Fred hasn’t made a move to use the towel that FP had dropped in his lap, so FP gets up and rubs his hair briskly with it until it’s a bird’s nest of damp brown waves. He combs his fingers playfully through it, pushing it back from Fred’s face so he can see his eyes. 

“I’ve got dry clothes,” he promises, rummaging through his falling-apart dresser until he comes up with two thick pairs of holey socks, an undershirt, sweatpants, and underwear. He changes Fred’s socks first, then helps him pull his huge blue sweater up off over his head. It comes off attached to his soaked T-shirt, and even his narrow bare chest is damp with rain. Fred stands obediently and helps FP change his lower half, though his fingers stay just loose and clumsy enough that he doesn’t entirely take over. FP glances at the closet and sees what he’s looking for immediately: another one of his cherished Goodwill sweaters hanging near the front. 

He slips it over Fred’s head, helping him slide his arms clumsily through the sleeves. The worn fabric clings to his body in a way the thicker sweater had only obscured, bringing attention to his bony elbows and shoulders. FP would have given him the one he was wearing, but it’s a little damp from their hug, and he doesn’t want him to catch cold. He pulls the hem down firmly and glances around the floor until he locates the school sweatshirt that had crossed his mind earlier - it’s the warmest and newest piece of clothing he owns. 

It’s not Fred’s, he realizes, as he pulls it out of the mess on the floor - they must have switched back at some point unknown to him, so he’s holding his own. He can tell even without checking the sleeve, because of the size. Their school initials are printed on the front in the shape of a football, his name and number embroidered on the sleeves in blue and gold. Fred had always loved that sweater, and it’s still plush inside from newness, the fleece not yet worn flat. When he gets it over Fred’s head, he feels something in him relax at last. If nothing else, he can keep Fred warm. Warm and safe. 

He sits down on the edge of the bed, very close to his best friend, so that their thighs are almost on top of one another. Fred’s staring at his hands, which sit limply in his lap, and FP leans in and kisses him gently on the temple before standing up. 

Fred speaks up at once, his voice worried. “Where-” 

“I’m going to be right back,” FP promises.  

He all but runs to the soggy kitchen, boiling a kettle of water and digging his hairdryer out of the bathroom cabinet while he waits. When the kettle finally boils, he starts making a cup of hot cocoa so hurriedly that hot chocolate sloshes over the sides, blistering his fingers. When he re-enters his room, Fred’s still sitting on the end of the bed, wrapping himself up in FP’s sweatshirt and pulling the sleeves over his hands. 

“I made this for you,” FP offers, holding out the mug of cocoa until Fred takes it. Fred looks into the mug and smiles slightly when he sees what’s inside. While he’s drinking, FP plugs in the hairdryer and blasts Fred’s wet hair with it, lifting it through his fingers so that it dries evenly without burning his scalp. Little by little he feels Fred coming back to him, breathing more normally, his shoulders loosening, as though he’s actually defrosting him from ice. 

When FP crosses to the foot of the bed again, Fred looks up at him with eyes that have a spark back in them. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s such a tender, affectionate look on his face that FP suddenly feels a little shy. He’d rather this expression than Fred’s sadness, of course, but even after all this time he wonders if he’ll ever get used to being on the receiving end of that naked affection. Fred holds out his cup, lukewarm and half-empty, and FP takes it gently out of his fingers. 

“All done?” he asks, and when Fred nods he sets it aside on the nighttable and climbs onto the bed to smother him in an ferociously tight embrace. FP pulls them both gently down onto the mattress, squeezing Fred tightly and securely in his arms. Fred ducks his head into the hollow of FP’s neck, his hair, still warm from the blowdrier, tickling FP’s throat. FP kisses him on the head and snuggles him like his life depends on it. 

“You are good enough,” he whispers ferociously in his ear, a lump rising unexpectedly in his throat. He hugs Fred tighter, trying not squeeze the tears out of his eyes, though Fred can’t see him. “You are wonderful, okay? You are incredible. You are perfect to me.” 

Fred says something very soft that’s lost in the space between FP’s shirt collar and skin. FP readjusts just enough so that he can lay with his forehead pressing against Fred’s forehead, looking right into his big brown eyes. 

“What was that, mumbles?” he asks softly, tracing the downy curve of Fred’s cheekbone with his finger. 

Fred’s lips curve into a smile. “You know,” he replies softly. FP thinks he does. 

FP rubs his back as Fred’s eyes close against the pillow, drawing the comforter up over both of them to keep him warm. He links their legs together below the sheets and watches as Fred’s eyes flutter closed. His muscles loosen under the pressure of FP’s arm until he’s relaxed, but FP doesn’t release him from his warm embrace. The urge to take care of him is like a physical fire burning in his chest, and he thinks he could happily hold him in this nest of blankets for the rest of his life. 

Maybe there’s a little bit of his mother in him after all.

[historicalfightingguide]

"Damien Lehfeldt on How Team USA Is Using Analytics to Get an Edge"

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EPISODE SUMMARY

Our guest is Damien Lehfeldt, known on Instagram and elsewhere as "The Fencing Coach" but also the strategy and data lead for the Team USA national epee team. We chatted with him about the analytics behind Team USA's drive for gold.

EPISODE NOTES

In this episode of First to 15, we're joined by "The Fencing Coach" himself, Damien Lehfeldt. 

Damien has been writing The Fencing Coach blog since 2012. That’s the same year he helped coach Team USA’s Suzanne Stetinius to the London Olympics in Modern Pentathlon. He’s now a coach at Nova Fencing Club in Virginia.

Damien is a former epee fencer who had a successful career at Brandeis University, where he graduated in 2009, and he later won gold in the men’s epee team event at the 2012 North American Cup.

On top of all that, he’s the strategy and data lead for the Team USA national epee team. We’re going to talk about what that means and more in today’s episode.

The Fencing Coach website

The Fencing Coach on Instagram

Read a transcript for this episode"

"In each episode, we’ll talk to someone interesting within the fencing world, including young fencers just learning the sport, coaches, experts from outside of fencing, fencing parents, referees, Olympians and Paralympians, and many more. Ready? Set? Fence!"



So while this podcast is obviously geared directly towards olympic fencers there's still some elements that historical fencers may find useful. I do doubt a regular hema club, let alone a single person has the same resources as a national olympic fencing team, especially one like USA's national team, however looking into dartfish may still prove useful to hema folks in many places. If nothing else trying to follow how the knowledge gets used by olympians can provide us in lessons on certain seemingly irrelevant parts of our fencing to our general 'game plans' when fighting.

For anyone who hasn’t yet seen the following links:

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Some advice on how to start studying the sources generally can be found in these older posts

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Remember to check out  A Guide to Starting a Liberation Martial Arts Gym as it may help with your own club/gym/dojo/school culture and approach.Check out their curriculum too.

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Fear is the Mind Killer: How to Build a Training Culture that Fosters Strength and Resilience by   Kajetan Sadowski   may be relevant as well.

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“How We Learn to Move: A Revolution in the Way We Coach & Practice Sports Skills”  by Rob Gray  as well as this post that goes over the basics of his constraints lead, ecological approach.

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Another useful book to check out is  The Theory and Practice of Historical European Martial Arts (while about HEMA, a lot of it is applicable to other historical martial arts clubs dealing with research and recreation of old fighting systems).

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Trauma informed coaching and why it matters

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Look at the previous posts in relation to running and cardio to learn how that relates to historical fencing.

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Why having a systematic approach to training can be beneficial

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Why we may not want one attack 10 000 times, nor 10 000 attacks done once, but a third option.

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How consent and opting in function and why it matters.

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More on tactics in fencing

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Open vs closed skills

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The three primary factors to safety within historical fencing

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Worth checking out are this blogs tags on pedagogy and teaching for other related useful posts.

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And if you train any weapon based form of historical fencing check out the ‘HEMA game archive’ where you can find a plethora of different drills, focused sparring and game options to use for effective, useful and fun training.

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Check out the cool hemabookshelf facsimile project.

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For more on how to use youtube content for learning historical fencing I suggest checking out these older posts on the concept of video study of sparring and tournament footage.

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Consider getting some patches of this sort or these cool rashguards to show support for good causes or a t-shirt like to send a good message while at training.