#metcons

[icabelle]

June 29, 2025

Finally got to drive through Icefields Parkway.

Herbert Lake - views are stunning, you can swim. Enjoy the water.

Peyto Lake - finally an item ticked off my bucket list. Also a new item on my favorites!

Crowfoot Glacer - amazing to see something that’s been on this earth for a VERY long time.

Waterfowl Lakes - no word can describe how beautiful this lake/s is. Also, that gigantic mountain?? Wow.

Bow Lake - 2nd lake I was looking forward to in this trip. Sadly I’m already too tired and it’s too crowded, and hot so I wasn’t able to take a better shot. But nevertheless, my eyes were so full with the views!

Also decided to drive all the way to the famous Athabasca Glacier (is that the correct name?). Sadly we didn’t book so we didn’t get to ride the trucks to the actual glacier but next time we come back, I’ll make sure we come prepared.

Had lunch with a view. AnW buddy burger and Tim’s Coffee Mocha are all I had for this trip - plus water ofc.

Appreciate my Nike Metcon 6 in White Elemental Pink. So comfy, clean, and cutesy.

[garseeyuh]

[freshthoughts2020]

[sneakersculture]

10 ans de Metcon

Nike sort pour la rentrée la 10ème version de la Metcon, son modèle développé spécifiquement pour le cross-fit et le sport en salle. La Metcon X, un modèle très attendu Nike a donc présenté la Metcon X, version la plus stable et la plus durable de la famille d’après la marque au swoosh. Dixième version d’un modèle très spécifique, il reprend énormément de ses versions précédentes pour proposer…

[kramlabs]

[dilhero]

Finalmente sono arrivate 🥰😍💪🏻

[austinbutlerslovers]

Personal Trainer

Label Mature 18+

Summary You are hired by a mysterious client who ends up being a famous celebrity named Austin Butler, and upon meeting him for his first session, you wonder why he even needs a personal trainer at all. 🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin Butler x you • trainer x Austin client • slow burn •Austin  pursuing • shy Austin • flirty tension • mutual pining • body praise • body worship • sweat kink •emotional build-up •praise kink• sex deprived • thigh rutting• oral on male •cock worship • deep penetration • p in v • sex against a mirror • climax control •possessive touch • orgasm • aftercare 

🎁DT the lovely @abswifey plot creation/consultation🫠

Personal Trainer

Your gym is a fortress of iron and ambition, a private warehouse tucked away on an industrial corner in Los Angeles.

Its polished concrete floors gleam under fluorescent lighting, and the air is strong with the metallic tang of state-of-the-art equipment: Rogue power racks, assault air bikes, and a pristine set of Eleiko weightlifting plates that cost more than most people’s rent.

The walls are lined with mirrors, reflecting the sweat and determination of anyone who signs up for personalized transformations within.

Your own physique is a testament to years of relentless discipline, lean muscle and curves carved by hours of deadlifts, squats, and sprinting.

You train professional athletes, women mostly, and you have a list of devoted regulars.

As you start your shift, you don’t recognize the name on the new client form.

Just an initial: A. Butler. With sparse details, the client’s age and body targets, no address, no phone number, no social media handles, no personal information.

Confused, you head up to your manager’s office.

“This client form is incomplete,” you tell her, sliding the tablet over.

She leans back in her chair and tilts her chin like she knows more than she’s letting on.

“Your new client is coming in for a trial session today… he asked for you by name. He’s a celebrity. That’s all you need to know.”

You furrow your brows. “Wait…but who is he?”

Her lips twitch into a smile, cryptic. “You’ll see.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.” You say grinning.

“It’s better if you don’t look him up. He wants a trainer, not a fan.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You think I’m gonna fangirl?”

“I think you might,” she says, sliding the tablet back toward you. “Keep it professional. He’ll be here at ten.”

You’re skeptical, celebrities can be inconsistent, fame tends to outshine commitment.

You’ve dealt with a few reality TV stars and a pop singer who whined through every set.

But this secrecy? It piques your curiosity.

You prep your sections, wiping down equipment and double-checking your notes.

Your dark plum Lululemon tank and matching high-waisted leggings fit like a second skin, your Nike Metcons laced and sturdy.

You are ready, you tell yourself.

But the moment he walks in, you are not ready at all.

He is tall, insanely handsome, wearing a black cap low over his eyes with features that should come with a warning label: stunning blue eyes, full lips, sharp jawline perfect nose. 

He’s wearing a thin black tee that clings to his pecs and squared shoulders, his Adidas track pants with white stripes fitted just loose enough to tease.

He’s so in shape you wonder what he even needs to work on…

He’s perfect.

As he approaches, you literally have to pull yourself together.

“Hi, I’m Austin,” he greets with a shy smile, and he steps forward to shake your hand. 

He’s disarming, soft-spoken, his voice smoother than you expected. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, his eyes flickering over you with a bashfulness that doesn’t match his godlike presence.

You stare a little too long because his eyes are intense …impossibly so, and he’s kind, not the smug kind of famous…he seems almost… normal.

You finally find your voice. “Sorry—likewise,” you respond, giving him a quick handshake. “Let’s get you started.”

You lead him to the turf section near the mirrors where the racks of speed ropes are neatly coiled on hooks. 

Grabbing a lengthy one due to his height, you hand it to him and set the timer on your watch.

“Let’s do three minutes,” you say, stepping back to watch. “Just to get your heart rate up.”

He nods, adjusting the rope with a quick flick before starting.

He begins effortlessly the snap of the rope echoing sharply off the concrete walls, his rhythm fast and steady. 

His arms flex with each rotation, forearms tight and defined, shoulders working with effortless precision.  His knees rise in a smooth, athletic rhythm, perfectly timed, extremely agile.

He’s focused, fully present in his body, and it shows. Every movement is controlled, powerful. There’s, no hesitation, no slack. 

He looks like he’s been doing this forever.

When the timer beeps in your hand, you realize you’ve just been standing there, watching him. Not correcting. Not coaching. (not that he needed  it) Just… staring your mind completely drifted off.

He’s panting slightly as he smiles at you, his chest rising and falling. “What’s next?” he asks, breathless.

“Let’s check your range…” you say, voice trailing off, gazing a second too long as he takes a sip from his Owala water bottle. 

He tilts his head back, throat exposed, the movement drawing your eyes to the strong line of his neck, the rise of his Adam’s apple, the way his full lips part as he exhales.

You turn your head quickly to avert your eyes.

You lead him to the standing lat pulldown machine, clipboard in hand.

“We’ll start with these,” you say, adjusting the weight to 150 pounds- light enough to assess his form. “Three sets of 12, slow and controlled.”

You stand close as he begins, watching his lats flare as he pulls the bar down, his biceps flexing under his shirt. You assess how his body moves, his alignment, his engagement. You’re all business… mostly.

You lean against the machine, trying to keep your eyes on his form and not the way his full lips part with each exhale.

“Mind if I talk to you during our session? Help me build rapport” You ask, trying keep your thoughts in check.

He glances over at you, his eyes soft but genuine. “Sure, I don’t mind,” he says politely, and he smiles in a way that makes you forget what rep he’s on as his biceps flex pulling down the bar.

“…What would you say your most famous role is?” you ask immediately, unable to contain your curiosity.

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Definitely Elvis.”

You smile starting to place him. “I saw clips of that on TikTok. The dancing, the hips, how’d you get in shape for that?”

“I worked with a movement coach for over a year. Had a personal trainer, a choreographer… I was sore for three months straight at one point.”

You laugh, leading him to the bench press, spotting him as he lies back. His tee rides up to reveal the sharp V lines of his waist as he grips the bar, and you have to exhale to keep your mind on task.

You keep watch as his chest expands under the strain, his pecs lifting with each press, his arms flexing in clean, powerful pushes.

The bar moves with perfect control, and the way his forearms tighten, veins rising slightly with effort… becomes distracting…far too distracting. 

You shift your stance, pretending to check his alignment, but really, you’re just trying to pull your thoughts out of fantasizing about him. 

After he does a few sets, you pry more.

“You ever had to bulk up for a role?”

He nods, lifting the bar smoothly. “For Shannara Chronicles, I had a personal trainer. Needed lean mass for sword fighting, horseback riding, stunt work.

For Dune Part Two, I worked with a Navy Seal. Guy was brutal.”

Your brows lift. “You went tactical?”

“Yeah. Big arena fight scene. Also did stick fighting for months to dual wield blades on screen,” he says, lowering the bar as you help set it in place.

He stands, and you look up at him, nodding approvingly. “That takes real dedication and intense focus. I’m extremely impressed, Austin,” you compliment.

He grins down at you as you hand him a towel to wipe his forehead, and he pulls his cap off, bringing a hand through his sandy brown hair to tousle it back, his neck damp, lips parted.

“This workout’s intense,” he pants, swiping the towel over the back of his neck, and as his shirt rides up, giving a glimpse of his ladder-stacked abs, your eyes nearly roll back, but you force them to focus.

As you recover, you smile, handing him his Owala water bottle. “Same time tomorrow?” you ask, voice full of encouragement.

His blue eyes meet yours, lingering a second too long, like he wants to say something but thinks better of it. “Same time tomorrow,” he says, his smile coy, almost secretive.

He accepts his black stainless steel Owala bottle and flashes you a devastatingly handsome smile as he heads out.

 When the door closes behind him, you mutter, “Holy fuck,” sinking down onto the workout bench, your heart racing because he is way too hot for you to keep training like this.

The next day, you dress with intention; a deep forest green Alo set, zipper front sports bra, short shorts, and your favorite white Nike Metcons. You slick your hair back and style it into a low braid. Because for him, you don’t do subtle.

He walks in wearing a navy blue hat, white faded logo tee, and royal blue Adidas track pants, which leave no doubt to how much he’s packing, and your eyes quickly snap up as he approaches.

“I’m still sore from yesterday,” he greets, and you smile.

“Good that means we’re building new muscle on this perfect body.” You say before you can stop yourself.

He raises a brow. “Perfect, huh?”

Your cheeks flush. “You heard nothing.”

He grins.

You have him on the mat today doing side planks with weighted reaches, your stopwatch already in hand.

“Let’s start with three sets, 45 seconds each.” You instruct, and he obeys lowering to the floor. 

His forearms brace, his body a straight line of power. His triceps flex, and his is core tightened, every muscle prominent under his shirt.

He holds the plank, and you sit down comfortably beside him, keeping conversation to pass the time.

“What do you like to do in when you’re not reading lines or physically preparing for a role.” You ask, starting the timer. 

He thinks eyes focused ahead. “I like old movies, books.  Classics, mostly .”

You snort. “So old school then,” you tease.

He pauses. “What, you assumed I’m a TikTok boy?”

“I don’t know,” you pry, leaning closer. “You’re famous maybe clubbing? Yacht parties?”

He laughs, as the timer goes off taking a breath before resuming a side plank. “I ride motorcycles, is that  flashy enough for you?” 

“Ooh,” you say, mock-impressed, making him grin. “What else?”

“I like to cook,” he says, his voice softer now, like he is lost in thought. “I like long hikes, morning showers, good coffee.“ 

You smile as his voice fades into the background, watching the way his cheeks flush rosy pink in contrast with his blue eyes.

His hands flexes slightly as he holds the position, and his full lips part softly as he speaks. You’re so lost in staring at him you almost miss his question. “What about you?”

“Huh?” You say , blinking as the timer goes off.

He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I said, what about you? What do you do for fun?”

“Oh,” you say, flustered as you stand together and walk him to the leg press machine. 

You set the weight to 210 lbs, a solid starting point to challenge him given how well-conditioned he already is.

“I love to travel, I like nature hikes….and yeah, I am definitely devoted  to good coffee.” You admit.

“I’ll bring you one tomorrow,” he offers, settling into the machine, his legs flexing as he started his set. “From my favorite spot it’s just down the street.”

You glance at him, warmed by the unexpected gesture.

“Deal,” you say, and his blue eyes light up with contentment as he smiles.

The next morning, he walks in and your heart stops.

He’s wearing a sleeveless black tee that should be illegal. His biceps are obscene, round, firm, the kind you want to sink your teeth into. 

He has a black fitted hat and the usual matching white striped adidas track pants.

He’s holding the coffee he picked up for you, his smile devastating as he offers it. “For you.” He says.

You accept it, pretending your heart isn’t exploding as you take it. 

“Thanks.” You say slowly taking a sip as he watches. “It tastes amazing.” You admit.

He grins with pride. “I always feel so good after working out with you,” he says. “Thought I’d return the favor.”

You bite back the urge to say more with the security cameras on, and your manager pacing the floor today.

Instead, you nod toward the stair climber.

“Let’s see how good feel after this,” you tease.

You walk him to the stair climber and adjust  the settings for his session. “Four sets, 90 seconds each, high resistance.” You challenge, and he grins stepping onto the machine.

His focus laser-sharp as he begins to climb, and you can’t stop staring; at shoulders, his arms, his jawline even the curve of his ass in his adidas track pants are making you lose  focus. You’re not sure if your pulse is hammering from the caffeine or from him.

The gym’s a little busier today and as you spot your manager politely asking someone to stop filming him, your mood crashes.

After his set, he wipes his face with a towel and looks over, sensing it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone was filming you,” you admit outright. “My manager’s handling it.”

He slowly exhales. “Perks of the job.”

You look at him, surprised with how at ease he is. “Exactly how long have you been acting?” you ask, admiring his composure.

“Phew “He whistles, eyes flicking up, recounting. “…since I was about twelve.”

“So half your life.” You tease 

“Don’t age me.” He says giving you a grin.

“You don’t look a day over twenty-five,” you shoot back, eyes raking over him without apology.

“I’m thirty-three,” he says, still grinning.

“I know,” you say, holding up his chart.

He grins wider. “You doing research on me?”

You smile, your voice softer. “I’m thorough with my clients.”

By the end of the session, neither of you really wants to leave, and there’s a lull at the front of the gym as you walk him toward the exit. 

He hesitates, fingers tapping his water bottle like he’s working up to something.

“Are you allowed to do private lessons at a clients house?” he asks, his voice lower.

You clasp your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels playfully. “For very select clients. Why?” 

“How do I get to be a select client?”He asks, closing in just slightly. 

You point to the gym’s security cameras, smirking. “There’s rules and my boss is very particular about you. I could get in trouble.”

He nods contemplating, then he smiles, his eyes flickering with something darker. “See you tomorrow then.”

The next morning, your phone buzzes with a text from you manager: 

Due to a privacy breach at the gym, Austin Butler requests you train him at his home in Los Feliz. Address attached. 10 a.m.

You grin, practically giddy as you get ready. 

You pull on a sleek black Alo set, plunging zip up crop top, and high-waisted shorts, styling your hair in a sleek ponytail. 

If you’re going to his house, you’re making damn sure he wants you back. 

When you arrive at his address, the tall gates glide open automatically revealing a secluded home with clean lines and vintage charm.

His Audi RS Q8 gleams in the driveway at an eye watering $120,000, easy. 

Your salary is stacked, but his is next-level. 

You ring the doorbell, heart pounding.

Austin opens the door, and you nearly forget how to speak. 

He’s in a back cap, black tee, and red-lined Adidas track pants, and unlike at the gym, at his home he’s completely at ease.

“I’m so glad you made it,” he says, his smile warm and infectious as he guides you inside.

“Of course I made it,” you say, dipping your head to hide your grin as he closes the door behind you.

His eyes linger on your outfit for a moment like he can’t help himself, his usual shyness giving way to something more confident.

“I’ll show you to the gym,” he says.

He leads you through a spacious living room where a black grand piano rests in one corner. 

The dark wood floors contrast softly with clean white walls, where open shelves display vintage books, ceramic pieces, and framed photographs. 

There’s a lived-in stillness to his place, like every object has a story.

Through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, you can see his serene backyard pool, the water still and sparkling in the morning sunlight.

He leads you down a set of stairs to the lower level which opens to a glass-walled gym. The rubber flooring is fresh, the equipment pristine: a Peloton, a Concept2 rower, a full rack of dumbbells, a cable crossover machine.

“Austin, with all this, why even come to the gym?” You ask in astonishment.

He grins, eyes flicking to you, then away. “To meet new people.” he says offhandedly.

You walk in with him smirking. “Austin, we’re usually the only ones in the gym.”

“I didn’t notice,” he says, his voice laced with a playful edge, and as his eyes darken and his grin widens, you begin to wonder how he really found you… and why he asked for you by name.

“Let’s get you warmed up,” you say, pointing to the treadmill. “Ten minutes. Moderate pace.”

He nods, stepping up, and punches in the settings. The machine hums to life beneath him as he begins to run, steady, powerful, every stride precise. You stand back, watching him, pretending to review your clipboard, but your eyes keep drifting to him.

His biceps flex with each rhythmic swing of his arms, his legs moving with practiced strength, quads working under the cling of his track pants, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths.

By the seven-minute mark, his cheeks are pink, his skin flushed from exertion, sweat beginning to bead at his temples and he takes his hat off, running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it back from his forehead.

At ten minutes, he steps off, panting, sweat rolling down his neck, and your fight the urge not to do something unprofessional.

“…Let’s start with weights,” you say quickly, walking him toward the dumbbell rack. “Ever done lateral raises for your delts?”

He frowns, wiping his brow with a towel. “I don’t think so.” he answers.

You grin, of all the things he’s mastered you have him dead to rights on anatomy. 

“Perfect,”you say, grabbing two 20-pound dumbbells and placing them in his hands 

“I’ll show you how to activate those.” 

You stand behind him, rolling his sleeves up over his shoulders, fingers brushing his warm skin. 

He smiles, catching your eyes in the mirror, and you tighten the fabric, over his biceps.

You decide if he’s going to track you down by mysterious means, and hire you to come to his house, your going to work him out until he’s too weak to resist your planned line of questioning. 

Because in the back of your mind you think his shy boy charm is hiding some naughty little tendencies. 

“Now,” you say, pulling his shoulders back, “Lift from your waist, extend out to your sides.” You guide his wrists, lifting his arms until they’re straight. “Hold this posture.” 

You adjust his stance, hands on his hips, nudging his feet wider. “Better.” You say with him in the proper T pose.

You click your stopwatch. “Start.”

He goes hard, delts flexing, arms lifting from his sides but that quickly changes. 

By the second set he’s less precise his arms shaking slightly as you correct his form, placing a hand on his lower back. 

You hold him in place not allowing his body to incorrectly extend the movement and he exhales sharply, his focus breaking.

By the end of the set, he’s panting, face pink, sweat dripping as he grabs a towel.

“Water break?” he asks, breathless.

“Sure,” you say, scribbling notes.

“You going hard on me today?” he asks, swigging his water.

“Depends,” you say, eyeing him. “How did you find me?”

He nearly chokes, coughing on his water as he sets the bottle down. “I… I-wanted to get pointers from a new-trainer.” he says catching his breath.

You step closer, clipboard against your chest as you narrow your eyes. “That’s a lie.”

“No, it isn’t,” he says, voice wavering.

You press the end of your pen against his chest, smirking. “Half-truth, maybe. So, let’s try this again—how do you find me?”

He exhales, exhausted, too tired to fight anymore. 

“I was….getting coffee at my favorite place… and I walked by your gym window… I saw you in there, training someone. You were so focused, so absolutely beautiful. I just stopped and stared at you.”

You grin so hard you can’t contain it “And then?”you press.

“I got shy,” he admits, his voice softer, vulnerable. “I couldn’t bring myself to just walk in and ask for your number.”

You bite back a laugh. “Austin you’re famous. You act in movies, and you’re shy?”

He nods, eyes earnest. “I can push through the fear, but… I know there’s always a risk….”

“What’s the risk with me?” you ask, stepping closer, your voice low. “What’s the fear you can’t get past?”

He hesitates, his eyes searching yours. “That… you’ll say no to me,” he confesses, exhaling softly, like a weight lifts from his chest.

You grin, head tilting as you gaze up at him. “Austin… I would never say no to you.”

He searches your eyes, his reservation turning into resolve. “You’d say yes?” he asks, his voice low, measured, like he needs to be sure.

You step closer and his breath shudders, betraying everything he’s been holding back. 

“I’d say more than yes,” you promise, your voice soft yet certain as you stare up at him. 

His eyes drop to your lips, the need written all over his face, and as you lean in to him, all his longing crashes into need, and he kisses you, slow and soft, tasting of salt and sweat.

You set your clipboard aside as his strong grip finds your waist, and you moan into his mouth as your hands roam over his biceps, feeling the steel of his muscles.

“Austin, you feel unbelievable,” you say against his lips.

He pants against your mouth, his hands trailing down and grasping your ass, pulling you closer. “So do you,” he whispers, his voice rough, trailing off already lost in you.

His kisses deepen, hotter, wetter, harder. Your mouths slide together, tongues clashing, and he slowly pins you to the mirror, his body fevered, aggression pouring out. 

You can feel it in the way he touches you… his restraint, like he’s trying so hard not to break you.

“Austin, when’s the last time you hooked up?” you ask, breathless, looking up at him. His brows knit, eyes distant as he blinks, thinking back.

You unzip your sports top, and he makes a soft, breathless sound as you take his wrists, guiding his hands to your breasts. His eyes flutter shut as he cups them gently, and you bite back a grin.

“Do you want to hook up with me?” you ask, gazing up at him and he swallows hard, struggling to form words.

A giggle escapes you, breaking the tension, and it seems to bring him back as his eyes open his pupils wide. “Yes…” he breathes, his voice desperate.

You pull him in, kissing him again, feeling his sexual deprivation as he forcefully ruts against your leg. You turn from him to face the mirror, and he watches as you roll your Alo shorts and thong down, exposing yourself to him without a word.

His chest rises and falls, his eyes locked between your legs and he presses himself against your hip, groaning as his fingers trail over your slick pussy like it’s second nature.

His erection is rock hard,and as he pulls back, you glance over your shoulder as he lowers his red-lined Adidas track pants, curling his hand around his cock extending firmly in his grip.

He nudges the thick tip against you, slick and wet then he slowly eases in, your moans muffled as your cheek presses against the mirror. 

Your breath fogs the glass as he thrusts, deep, hard, relentless. His thighs meeting yours with a brutal rhythm, and you cry out, bracing yourself, trying to take all of him.

Your moans fracture under his strength, his grip on your hips unyielding, each thrust a wave of unending pleasure. The slick sounds of your arousal echo in the gym and you’re panting, hands splayed against the glass, his hips slamming into you  like he can’t get deep enough fast enough.

“You feel so incredible,” he grits out, and you moan, head pulled back as he grabs your ponytail.

“Let me see you,” he grunts, and slowly pulls out the loss making your whimper.

He flips and lifts you, pressing your back to the glass, and pulls you back down onto his cock as you moan. You grab his shirt, lifting it to see his abs gleaming with sweat as he thrust into you, every inch of him hitting impossibly deep inside.

You reach for him, pulling him close, his chest pressing yours as your ankles lock behind his back, and his rhythm changes becoming, harder, heavier, his fingers digging into your hips as he stares into your eyes.

“I don’t want to stop” he breathes.

Your hands tangle in his sweat slicked hair. “Don’t stop.” You gasp.

He groans, thrusting faster, and you cry out, clutching him, taking him like he’s the only thing keeping you together.

“Austin—oh my God, Austin—” you moan 

“Fuck, I’m close…” he grunts, and you gasp, arching against him as the tension snaps in your core. You orgasm as moans fall from your lips, your walls clenching tightly around him and he groans breathing heavily, trying not to come in you.

Your thighs are sore in the best way as he lowers you slowly to the padded floor, and he pulls out just in time, gasping as he strokes the base of his cock.

You kneel down, taking him into your mouth, and he moans, low and depraved, his cock twitching on your tongue with every ounce of come he releases. 

You hum in pleasure as he keeps thrusting in your mouth, his pace unrelenting and frantic, already overstimulated and unrestrained.

His hand grips your ponytail, holding you firmly to him, and he groans as his hips jerk forward and he finishes with his taste salty and rich on your tongue.

He’s breathless as he pulls you up to him, kissing you full of heat and promise, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close like he can’t bear to stop touching you, as you pant against each other’s mouths.

“You okay?” he asks softly against your lips, his voice hoarse, still catching his breath.

You nod, grinning. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more okay.”

That gets a real smile out of him, a boyish and shy one, and his blue eyes search yours with something he doesn’t know how to name yet.

He brushes a strand of damp hair from your cheek, his smile deepening.

“D’you want water?” he finally asks.

“Please.” You say grinning softly.

He pulls away reluctantly, sliding up his waistband as he grabs a cold bottle from a fridge tucked under a counter, cracking it open and handing it to you. 

You drink, still breathless, and watch him pull his shirt off and wipe himself down with a fresh towel, his abs flexing as he stretches, his muscles rippling as you try not to stare. 

He catches you watching and smirks. “You’re not subtle.”

You grin, licking water from your lips. “Neither are you.”

He laughs. “Fair.”

You pull your shorts back up and zip your workout top, slightly fanning yourself. “Is it always this hot in your gym?”

His smile deepens as he looks at you. “I could turn up the AC.”

You glance at him, a little flushed. “Or we could go outside.”

He tilts his head. “You wanna cool off out there?”

You nod. “I saw your pool,” you smile.

He grins like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Come on.”

He leads you back upstairs and opens a sliding glass door that leads into his backyard. 

It’s private, bordered by trees and high hedges, the kind of Los Feliz home built to disappear. 

The pool is long and rectangular, gleaming like a sapphire under the afternoon sun. 

It’s surrounded by lounge chairs, a shaded cabana, and large sycamores, with leaves swaying gently in the wind.

You pause at the edge, taking it all in.

Austin watches you, eyes trailing down your form in your skin tight Alo set. “You’re really beautiful,” he says, quietly.

You smile, stepping closer. “So are you.”

He blushes at your response, his shyness a trait you’re starting to love about him.

You stretch a leg and dip your toe in the water. “It’s warm.”

“You wanna get in?” He says.

“I don’t have a suit.” You say, locking eyes with him, and you grin unzipping your sports top.

It’s slow, intentional, and you let the sports top slide from your torso, revealing your smooth skin, and defined abs. 

His gaze darkens, devouring, and as you step out of your shorts, tossing everything on the nearest lounge chair.

He doesn’t move.

“You coming?” you ask, walking backward into the pool, the water lapping against your thighs.

He pulls his boxers and track pants off in one quick movement tossing them aside revealing his impressive cock between his thighs. 

You both wade in and the moment the water hits his chest, he exhales, fully relaxing. 

You float a little toward him, tilting your head, watching the way the water laps around his pecs and slides down his biceps.

“What’re your plans tomorrow?” he asks, his voice low, eyes catching yours.

“I was supposed to have a 10 a.m. session with a very select client,” you tease.

He treads closer, his gaze softening, pleading. “You don’t have to train me tomorrow, you don’t have to train me ever again unless you want to” he confesses, moving closer his chest pressing yours, the water warm between you. “Stay with me.” he says softly.

You grin, fingers tracing down his pecs. “You’re not my client anymore?” you say softly teasing.

His hand finds your waist under the water, gentle but possessive. “No,” he says, his voice deeper, “I’m not.” and he pulls you into a slow, searing kiss, the kind that promises he wants you here, with him, for as long as you’ll stay.

END 💪🏼

🔗 Master List

🏷️ Always Tag Me List

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[sirjocktrainer]

Weekly Workout

A good jock workout hard.

A good jock eats right.

A good jock obeys coach.

Working out hard means doesn't just mean lifting heavier and heavier weights. Something it means you stop lifting and take care of yourself.

It means when you have a set back, you deal with it rather than just throw on more weight and try anyways.

I maxed out my Olympic lifts this week, they were not what they had been per covid, each about 15 kilos off my best, but then I haven't been doing as much oly lifting since then, I've mostly been doing metcons over the last 2 years due to work and building back my back strength after an injury.

Right after the Covid's lockdowns ended I pushed a bit too hard in the gym and hurt my back. I give it time and once I felt better I went right back to oly...and hurt it again because I had rushed it.

This time I took my time, I make sure my back has felt better and then still kept the weights light, focusing on my form so still making growth. it wasn't until this spring I even started doing full snatches and cleans again rather than power snatches and cleans.

I gave my back the time it needed and now I'm starting back at my oly lifts for real. For both my maxes I stopped when my form went to hell, I only really failed two lifts out of the almost 2 dozen I did. (it wasn't a meet, just a gym max out day).

Rather than push for heavier weights and let my form be less than perfect I stopped and just re did the same weights over to do them better, I even dropped weight and build back up. Because that's what you need to do to work hard.

Moving forward and working out hard means sometimes you need to step back and work on fundamentals, or let your body rest and recover. it does not always means just add weight. Don't be that jock.

Be a good Jock.

Goals

My 500cals I did not bike today to hit that goal, after maxing out my Snatch and Clean/Jerk yesterday todays tome on the bike was about helping my legs recover, not pushing toward another max. My writing was is really good at 2800 words. Summer is going well with my goals. My goal to reading is also going very well, 375 pages of a book among everything else.

This week  @orcaazure, @Costas, @boy-s37, my marines and Toy, are being good boys and giving their best.

sirjocktrainer-100cal in 5 min, read 300 pages a week. 2000 words write/edit

boy-s37- 85% meal diet compliance Perform 100 pushups per day Achieve chest growth 40 inches

orcaazure- Total of 5 workouts a week Stick to my meal plan 5 out of 7 days a week bicep measures goal 42 shoulders measure goal 25

Costas-Drop 50 pounds 100 pushups in 2 minutes Free of sugar for 6 months

Dibsonal-4-5 days of strength training per week, maintain my macro goals, and avoid sugar

[lanternfeather]

metcon - sevika x nb!reader, hurt/comfort

my first fic featuring my self-insert oc, marin! in this fic, they are new to their local crossfit gym and struggling with an eating disorder, but hopelessly in love with coach sevika and desperate to make her proud.

contains: sevika x nonbinary reader, self-insert, original character, lesbian yearning, hurt/comfort, fluff/angst, eating disorders (no numbers mentioned but behaviors are), age difference, caring sevika, reader fainting and being saved by sevika

read under the cut

also on ao3

“Alright, seven AM, circle up around the whiteboard!” Coach Sevika hollered above the blasting metal music. Marin dutifully circled up with their classmates to see what fresh torture was in store for them today. They’d joined their local Crossfit a month ago, tired of not making any progress and failing to motivate themself for self-directed workouts at their old gym. And, yeah, they were already seeing progress in both the scale and the mirror, but this was by far the hardest thing they’d ever done. They’d thought they had an okay amount of strength and endurance, but had quickly learned better when their first workout saw them gasping, drenched in sweat, and still lagging behind everyone. But they were determined to get better and reach their goals, no matter how hard they had to push. The scheduled group classes were certainly motivating on their own, but Sevika… Marin knew on their first day that they would not be missing any seven AM classes, not when Sevika was so impressive and hot and gave them so much encouragement, as the weakest member of the group. Any round was worth pushing through just so they could hear that “yes, Marin! Great job!” and feel like it was all worth it. 

Most workouts were an absolute slog to get through. Marin knew they would likely do better if they fueled themself properly, but they were deeply entrenched in the practice of chronically not fueling themself. They doggedly ate very little and usually the same few low-calorie, high-protein foods in a fruitless attempt to build muscle while losing as much weight as possible. Every morning saw their vision going black around the edges as they squatted heavier and rowed faster. They knew they needed to change, and they couldn’t possibly continue making progress like this, and god forbid they fainted in front of their class… but this was what they’d done all their life and the thought of actually treating themself kindly was terrifying. They just had to keep pushing and improving and soon they’d be able to keep up with the class, and maybe impress Sevika with their progress.

As it was, the workout of the day today prescribed chin-ups for the strength portion and rowing mixed with burpees for the metabolic conditioning. Marin was excited- they’d recently progressed to being able to do one (1) quality unassisted chin-up, and they desperately wanted Sevika to notice how well they were doing, how much better they were getting under her guidance. Somewhere deep down, Marin’s rational brain told them that they should definitely not have a massive crush on their hot older trainer, and it would never lead to anything, but in reality, they were quite simple, and could never hope to resist a tall woman with huge arms and an intimidating presence. As Sevika rattled off the workout and the scaling options, she caught Marin’s eye and smirked a little. Marin smiled back and, unwillingly, blushed. They wanted to make Sevika proud. They woke up every morning dreading the workout ahead, but excited to see Sevika’s tilted smile cut through her severe exterior. Maybe they were being delusional, but they were slightly convinced that Sevika smiled at them and hung around their station slightly more than anyone else. But maybe they were just searching for evidence that wasn’t actually there.

After Sevika led the class through the warmup, which in itself had Marin sweating and panting, and demonstrated proper chin-up form, which made Marin sweat even more, it was time to start. Marin grabbed their step-up box and headed to their usual bar on the rig, hoping and praying that Sevika would make her way over to check in soon so they could show off. They set themself up with some bands that they knew they could assist them through sets of ten, eight, and six with, and, cued by the buzzer sound and Sevika turning her metal music up really loud, began their workout. They knew by the time they finished their first set that they would not be able to do the whole workout today. They felt supremely unwell, and considered grabbing some heavier bands for more assistance, when Sevika appeared beside them. 

“How are we feeling about the chin-ups today, Marin?” she asked, crossing her arms and really making her biceps bulge. She looked angry, but Marin knew by now that was just her regular face. Marin swallowed and caught their breath, untangling their foot from the bands. 

“I’m not feeling super great today, to be honest, so I’ll have to scale it back more…” they said, at which Sevika frowned a little further. “But can I show you something really quick?” They wanted to prove they were worth Sevika’s time so bad. Sevika gestured for them to go ahead. Standing atop their box to be able to reach, Marin wrapped their hands around the bar, exhaled sharply, and used all their strength to pull their chin clear over the bar. They heard Sevika exclaim in amazement, and then they did a second rep, so high on Sevika that they thought they could do anything. The minute their toes touched the box again and they disengaged, their vision began fading out at the edges.

“Marin, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you!” Sevika enthused. Marin couldn’t feel their hands anymore. I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. Nothing else mattered, even though they were sure they were going to throw up, and they could barely hear Sevika ask “Hey, are you okay?” I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you. Marin toppled off their box into a faint.

Slowly, Marin’s hearing and vision came back to them. They were so disoriented. Nothing felt right. They gasped a bit, and Sevika’s unfocused face appeared over them, seeming angry. 

“Marin, are you awake?” Sevika asked, to which Marin moaned, uncertain. They realized they were lying down, with their feet elevated and their head cushioned on a warm, soft surface. Judging by their position, and the position of Sevika’s face above her, they deduced their head was in her lap. The metal music was still blaring. The worst case scenario had come true. They had fainted in front of everyone in their class, who were all standing around looking worried, and Sevika had had to save their pathetic ass. They covered their face, extremely distressed and ashamed. They should have been more careful. They shouldn’t have pushed so hard.

“You passed out. It’s a good thing I caught you, otherwise I’m sure we’d be dealing with a severe head injury right now. Why didn’t you stop if you didn’t feel good? Do I need to call paramedics?” Sevika asked, quite sternly, deepening Marin’s shame.

“I wanted to… show you… my progress,” they said, sounding extremely selfish and stupid to themself. Sevika’s expression crumpled into something sad, shocked, and pitying, which was even worse than her anger. 

“Please don’t call paramedics. I’ll be fine in a minute. I’m sorry for disrupting the class,” Marin said miserably, trying to roll away and sit up, but their body just couldn’t move. Sevika held them more firmly in her lap, which was horrible. 

“No, you’re going to stay here until you’ve had some food and electrolytes. Coach Vi will continue the class,” Sevika reprimanded them. They were sure they had never felt this miserable. They felt like a stupid idiot child who couldn’t be trusted to take care of themself, which, in fairness, was kind of true. Sevika waved Vi over and requested her to bring a protein bar and Gatorade from the office. “What have you had to eat and drink today?” she asked them. They weren’t in the right headspace to make something up. They looked away guiltily, since the answer was nothing except their usual pre-workout trifecta of water for hydration, coffee for energy, and bone broth for electrolytes. Sevika’s expression got even sadder.

“Marin…” she said in a soft voice. Horrifyingly, Marin started to cry.

“I’m sorry,” they said pathetically, feeling even stupider and smaller. 

If Marin had been privy to Sevika’s thoughts, they would have known that her heart was breaking. Sevika had liked Marin and their quiet, earnest demeanor the minute they showed up for their first class, but was alarmed as they became rapidly thinner yet somehow pushed themself harder over the past month. Each time she’d seen Marin falter in a movement or have to sit down for a bit with glassy eyes, she’d considered saying something to them, to show them she cared and wanted to help. But as soon as she’d seen Marin go pale as a sheet and their eyes roll back, and felt their terrible nothing-weight as they fell into her arms, she knew the only one at fault here was her, for not speaking up sooner and letting this go on too long. She felt as though she had been leading Marin on, for encouraging them even as she knew that they would do anything to please her. As she stared at that sharp white face and counted the seconds until they regained consciousness, she struggled to not let her desires take over. To hold close, to protect, to give, to make whole again. She knew she was in far too deep as a coach, but she cared too much at this point.

“Don’t be sorry,” Sevika said, the words sounding sharp to Marin. “I should be saying sorry. I know you’ve been overworking yourself and I haven’t checked in on you, I’ve just been feeding into you pushing yourself.” Marin was quiet as they slowly ate the bar and sipped the Gatorade. “You’re clearly struggling and I should have told you to stop coming to class for a while.” Everything Sevika said made Marin feel worse. They tried valiantly to get up, to go hide and wallow in self-loathing for a while.

“Don’t patronize me. I know I suck at taking care of myself, but I’m paying for this membership, and I don’t need to be told what I can and can’t do,” Marin said bitterly, finally finding the strength to slide out of Sevika’s arms. Sevika swallowed and frowned.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to patronize you. You have free will and all that, but…” she looked away and Marin was shocked to see she was blushing. 

“I just wanted to let you know I care about you. And I want to see you get better- by better, I don’t mean thinner, I mean more lively and able to get through a workout.” Sevika said quite candidly. Marin decided to make up for being bitter, and speak candidly, too.

“I just wanted to impress you and show you how much I’ve improved since I’ve been training with you. Nothing else mattered to me except that I was worthy to keep coming here,” Marin said quietly. The truth hung heavily between them.

“You are worthy because you show up and do your best. You don’t need to impress me. Just putting in the work- in a healthy manner- and being earnest is enough,” Sevika said softly, making Marin swipe a few more tears away from their eyes. 

“Let’s avoid this situation going forward. Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to put your membership on pause-” Sevika said, momentarily shattering Marin. “-and you’re going to come here three days a week and have breakfast with me before we do a very scaled-back workout together. The other days, you’re going to rest or do something light, like a walk or yoga. And eat . And in another month, when you’re not seeing stars through every workout, we can reconsider your membership.” Her tone was no-nonsense and commanding. The thought of not exercising hard every day, and eating more than usual, sent a wave of fear and anxiety through Marin.

“I don’t want to… gain weight,” they murmured, knowing it sounded petulant and selfish even as they said it. Sevika’s face became stern and resolved.

“That’s the only way I see you being able to stand any form of exercise,” she said, and then, gentler- “It doesn’t have to be this hard. I want to help you find a middle ground that’s sustainable, and more importantly, allows you to exercise for fun and longevity rather than trying to prove a point.” Marin had to take a deep breath. Logically, they knew all this. But somehow they’d never managed to find a middle ground for anything. They’d always lived with an all-or-nothing mindset. The thought of taking it easy somehow made them feel like they were losing, in this fucked-up, competitive world. Sevika put a hand on Marin’s arm. Something tiny and hopeful flickered inside them. 

“Look, I’m certainly not a therapist, and I’m not going to fix you or anything. You have to be willing to improve your life yourself. I just want to be here to support you and make the process a little less lonely,” Sevika said, searching to look into Marin’s eyes. “Keep showing up for me, just in a different way.” Marin’s heart was pounding from that intense steel-gray gaze, but they set their shoulders and nodded once. Sevika bit her lip.

“And, listen… I’m not coaching the next class. Can we start today? Can I take you out to breakfast?” she asked, so tender compared to her tough exterior that Marin, down bad as they were, could not even hope to say anything but yes.

[sgiandubh]

Welcome to the shitshow

We have:

A ✈ sighting. No pics.

The MPC live, scarce details. No rings. Spartan decor. Suntan and out of Bonnie Scotland. No further details on destination, which might or might not be the same as the flight. Mark me, I think it is - he is in Gran Canaria and for a very precise reason: keeping his part of the deal and his Onlies on tenterhooks.

C is seen in Marseille, hullaballoo ensues. We pinpoint some coincidental details. I was expecting the shite to hit the fan in 4, 3, 2, 1...

And it did. With both sopranos hinting at the same person, but only one brave (or rather foolish enough) to push a name out there. Disingenuous, to say the least - but oh, how convenient for any given agenda. Because it's too easy, when you give out a name to a thirsty crowd to say: 'well, of course it's because of the shippers! They did this or that (sky is the limit)! They are to blame!' (excuse me?) and 'well, of course they won't say a word, now' (how convenient if the thing does not stick, eventually).

That was, IMHO, a strategic mistake and the petticoat is showing across the pond.

Around the same time, I started to get a different kind of Anon, day after day after day. Very brutal. Foul-mouthed. And...with some intel. I answered the first, but then when things started to 'happen', the coin dropped very quickly that: a) I did hit a nerve and b) someone or some people wanted me to push this particular agenda - remember when...?

For reference:

And then today, just in time for the long, boring, chilly and even snowy (depending on your location) week-end, the bomb dropped and the cargo was juicy:

A name. A woman. A gym. Not one, but three suspicious videos: the one with the leg, the one with the clear voice (unmistakably S!) and the one with the dog (and more S voiceover). How nicely connected. How fucking perfect.

An Airbnb close to the gym. What would a single woman traveler do in a three-bedroom gargantuan villa all by herself, when you are in Winterbird Central with a bajillion other accommodation options, is beyond any logic. So easily and lazily - OMG, date!

Unless...

Unless you conveniently forget some details:

Not one, but three different promos/endorsements, with a discount code to boot - 10% off, how nice!

The one that has been discussed by just about everyone:

The one that provided the discount code for new subscribers: Gymshark, a fitness attire manufacturer (https://eu.gymshark.com/).

And the most important one, hiding behind a humble hashtag: #metcon. Now I don't know you, but I'd rather digress about tea parlors and bookstores, and so had no fucking idea Metcon was, in fact...

Yup. Nike. A very recent model - expensive and sure, in need of immediate product placement/promo:

And so, for tax reasons, she just had to (mandatorily) include the #ad (as in advertisement, lest we'd not have naive Anons again!) hashtag.

Also, this, posted along the short reel with S's voice (but who cared, all 👂were there and only there):

That woman was working. She has, after all, 450k Insta followers. If she and S met at a gym in a winter destination very sought after by Scots should be none of our business. If they met again or have a regular training schedule does not mean they fuck or that we're going to look out for Remarkable Week-end 2.0. If they met in Hyrox GLA - so what? What is this, I beg your pardon, Gilead? People just can't hang out, like ever, I mean men and women?

🙄

But.. but... the gargantuan villa...?

Och. Sure enough, the place is correctly identified. You can check chez Marple. I am not posting it, because I do not want to and by now, I trust just about everyone has seen those pics. But this time, I am not going there. The name of that villa, even, made me laugh like a drain. I mean how more in your face can they be?

Who footed the bill of this rather comfy PR shitshow, reminiscing of Ha-wa-wee, 🐰 and whatever else you could think of? SRH?

Perhaps. But what if Nike did, as a freebie to a very good promoter? They sure can spare the dime and, to be honest, as we speak, there is no sign S and her share anything else than a gym schedule. What tells us with absolute certainty, at least at this moment in time, she is not there with friends, family or even a group of fellow promoters, Avon-style?

Oh, and the world is definitely a handkerchief, especially in GLA, it would seem. Wanna know who also follows her on Insta?

Paul Donnelly. Nope, not the chef. This Paul Donnelly:

The one who literally owes S a shitload of cash. A post that earned me a report (I was just explaining, if I remember correctly, that S would have been wise to legally secure that hefty loan, nothing more).

And now you know what? That post is gone, vanished, poof and I have no idea why. I surely did not take it down, I never do this.

And surely enough, just before I started writing, Filthy Anon came back and warned me there was more (pics, 👅👄) about McFitness. Surely enough, the same info (albeit toned down) was picked up by *urv in her comments' thread, about twenty minutes after Anon dropped by.

Agenda, anyone? God forbid!

You draw your own conclusions. I can only very honestly say:

Welcome to the Shitshow - the Winter Edition!

This page is not going to follow blindly your script, whoever you are. This page simply hopes to cleverly hit a nerve every time it considers necessary. Other than that, big effing deal, really. Ship on.

Sorry for the length. I was never good at summing up.

[garseeyuh]

[hellfiresky]

Personal tag game

Thanks for the tag, @orangez3st!

Any utensils preferences? Flat and small spoon, I’m autistic so I’m very particular about my spoons. Also, I like to eat using my hands - it’s a cultural thing lol.

A genre of music you love? I’m actually a polyjamorous, but I’m a part of the punk and metal scene. So, I guess it’s only fair if I say my favourites are hardcore punk and metal.

A type of seasoning/condiment that would make anything edible for you? Freshly made sambal with tomatoes

Pens or pencils? What kind? Graphite pencil, 4B

What’s your weirdest/most interesting hobby? Not that weird but quite unusual to some - freediving and bouldering

Favourite real person that you don’t personally know? Edward Said, Susan Sontag, Annie Ernaux, Mieko Kawakami

How many alarms do you have set? Two, 05.00 for weekdays and 06.00 for the weekend

Do you have any pets? Do you want some? I have 32 cats and 9 dogs

Favourite drink? Alcoholic/non? Water lol I drink a lot of water. I also like protein smoothies and chocolate negroni.

Favourite shoes? My Jadon Dr. Martens boots and my Nike Metcon 9 (lifting shoes)

Favourite smell? Ambroxan, iso e super, cetalox, musk, vanilla bean, leather, tobacco leaf, tuberose, sandalwood, lavender

How do you feel about bugs and spiders? I love bugs and spiders! They’re one of my special interests

Outdoors or indoors? Outdoors. I’m a very outdoorsy person

Sunny or rainy? Rainy when I’m in the city. Sunny when I’m hiking/diving

Where would you like to visit? Would you move there? I really want to move back to London. Probably will fuck around and apply for a doctorate degree in my old uni for that

Are you a people person? Personally, no, I don’t usually talk first. Professionally, yes.

At what temperature do you keep your home (or would if you could?) My AC is set at 21° celsius! I’d love to keep the entire house at that temperature.

Feel free to tag yourself if you see this!

[good-c-vibes]

Mi gente gymrat que zapatillas recomiendan para el gym, además de las metcon?

[versary]

i'm going to buy myself a pair of those dorky barefoot shoes because i cannot work out and then coach for hours in my metcons haha

[sneakerscartel]

Nike Free Metcon 6 “Hot Punch” & “White” Available via DSG

[crossfitandcarbs]

I've had an inconsistent last two weeks of training, which is rare for me but I got back into my routine this Monday morning.

And you know what?

I sucked.

The initial strength portion was okay- we did strict shoulder presses with an decreasing rep scheme but with an increasing weight.

But the second part? The metcon?

Everything felt so heavy, I felt so slow and I pretty much watched the clock the entire time, begging it to hurry up and reach the time cap.

A couple reasons why I think it was so hard today:

- I only had 6 hours sleep. That's not enough to perform well, especially at 5:15 in the morning.

- I'm stressed. I'm not getting into it right now, but my dad's not well and it was on my mind all morning.

On reflection, it's good to have days like this in the gym. Some days are just off and that's okay.

But hopefully tomorrow is better. 😅