etapereine - Tumblr blog

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well

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just normal things to do for your soulmate rival.

thanks to @wouteke for sharing the link. <3

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bonk

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☀️🌙

by @pushlikeabastard

📸 Mathieu van der Poel, Super 8 Classic, 16 Sep 2023 / Wout van Aert, Tour de Suisse, 12 Jun 2023

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Caitlin Bailey, from Solve for Desire: Poems; “Pigeons”

[Text ID: “The most brilliant part of / you exists to haunt me:”]

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browsing cyclblr this morning

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<3

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📸 urskazigart

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📸 urskazigart

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nothing quite like posting a fic and immediately seeing twelve things i want to change

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to my word now i'll be true

@cycleprompttuesday: "read"

also on ao3.

it should, maybe, be a bit concerning, your inability to say no to him.

attack with me tomorrow, he jokes, as you both catch your breath on the rollers, side by side like always. it’s a mountain stage tomorrow, the last of the tour. there are dark circles under his eye that match yours, but he’s smiling, just a little - and this is the moment, you will think later, when you doomed yourself. you would do anything, for that smile, even push yourself up a mountain on a stage that no longer means anything for you. 

come to my hotel tonight, he asks, one hand wrapped around your wrist and his thumb brushing against your pulse point. he’s pulled you aside, behind the podium, with pollen on the shoulder of his jersey, a flush in his cheeks, and the roaring of the crowd still ringing in your ears. it is no small thing, what tadej's asking of you. it’s no small thing, the answer you will give him. his eyes are big and blue and beautiful, and you are helpless.

don't leave yet, he murmurs into your skin, after your heart rate has returned to normal and his hands have mapped what feels like every square centimeter of your body. your phone beeps insistently, where you flung your bag in the corner earlier, in your impatience. tadej's face is tucked into your shoulder and his lips mouth lazily along the line of your neck. it feels nice, you can admit that to yourself. you want it, and his lips are very insistent.

visit me in monaco, he urges, his voice slightly distorted through the phone speaker and his face pixelated, just a little, through the terrible hotel wifi. it’s not a question, this time. tadej's gotten more confident, more sure of what this is between you. there’s no need to look at your calendar to know you’re booked the entire week he suggests. you think of salty air and french mountains and your hands in his hair. there’s no need to hesitate before you agree anyway.

come to bed, he whines from where he’s huddled under multiple blankets and a mountain of pillows. you turn another page - only four more before the end. shuffling, the rustle of sheets, arms around your neck. three more pages. before him you didn’t understand how good it could sound, your name whispered in your ear. two more pages. hercule poirot is revealing how he solved the murder, and tadej is revealing just how determined he can be. one more page. his tongue brushes the side of your neck. the book slams shut.

race with me, he calls, before he’s flying away from you up another mountain. he says it’s his favorite, but it’s also the fourth time he’s said that this week. he turns back to you, question and challenge and hope all rolled into one. you look at your garmin, where your carefully calculated numbers look balefully back at you, giving neither judgment nor encouragement. none is needed. the burning in your legs is nothing to the sound of his laughter when you catch him.

read to me, he pleads, fisting a hand in your tshirt but not looking at you. it’s been a bad day, you’ve known that much since he turned up on your doorstep with no warning. you haven’t asked any more questions. he will tell you when he’s ready. the book on your nightstand is a mystery, one you’re nearly finished with, but tadej will complain, tomorrow, if you don’t start it from the beginning. his breath is warm on your neck, and he is asleep before the first chapter is over.

let me see you, he begs, over text and phone and video call. it’s almost a surprise to you, that he has not yet booked a flight and turned up unexpectedly. you know tadej's schedule almost as well as your own, and you know he does not have the time. you know he’ll make the time. he’s crying, on the phone and over the video call, and surely uae can spare him for a day or two. you don’t want to be coddled, but it would be nice, to see him.

stay with me, he says, so quietly you almost don't hear it over the rush of the waterfall. his hand is tight in yours and his eyes are bright and he's looking at you like you're something wondrous to behold. you don't point out that he's the one who drove here, so you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. you don't remind him that you have a flight back to switzerland in three days. that's not really what tadej is asking. you don't have the words for him, but he doesn't seem to need them. the way you kiss him is answer enough.

it should, maybe, be a bit concerning, your inability to say no to him. you don't care anymore.

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seeing a player’s chain peek out of their jersey is like lingerie for men

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📸 naikefotosport