#Strength Training Optimization

[golvio]

TotK Ganondorf’s autism energies manifest in him being extremely pedantic about his training regimen because besides magic and the performing arts his special interests include melee weaponry, ranged combat, and Being The Best, Most Competent, And Most Optimized At Everything.

[crave-mp3]

its so strange and painful and lovely going back to your favorite book as a child and going "ohhh of course this is the story that made me"

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

GYM CRUSH SIMON

sfw + nsfw. unsafe sex. womb fucking. no condom.

you never planned on becoming a late-night gym rat. it just …happened. like most things in your life, it started with good intentions and spiraled into something you weren’t entirely in control of.

you’d made a new year’s resolution to get in shape— because health, discipline, all that crap— and, in a moment of overzealous optimism, you splurged on a gym membership. a pricey one, to add. the kind that made your bank account cry, which meant quitting wasn’t an option.

there was only one problem. you were busy. between classes, assignments, and the absolute joke that was your sleep schedule, the only time you could consistently work out was well past normal human hours.

at first, the idea of hitting the gym at midnight felt… weird. like stepping into a parallel universe where only insomniacs and questionable life choices existed. but then you considered the alternative— going during peak hours and getting judged for your piss-poor form, or worse, waiting in line for machines behind a dude who was live-streaming his workout.

midnight schedule it was.

it grew on you eventually. the routine became second nature. drag yourself in after class, half-asleep, toss your bag into a locker, and start on the treadmill to wake yourself up. a slow warm-up, music blasting through your headphones, then a mostly half-hearted attempt at strength training.

the people who showed up at this hour were predictable. a few other students— dead-eyed, running on caffeine fumes. a handful of older folks, the dedicated ones who treated the gym like a sacred temple.

and then there was him.

tall. broad. built like something out of a military recruitment ad.

the first time you noticed him, you’d nearly tripped on the treadmill. one second, you were zoning out, staring at the clock, and the next— there he was. buzz cut barely visible beneath the hood of his sweatshirt, arms thick with muscle, veins running down his forearms in stark lines. tattoos peeked from under his sleeves, black ink tracing the ridges of his skin.

(the combat boots were what threw you off. who the hell wore combat boots to the gym?)

he moved through his workout with terrifying

efficiency. no wasted movements, no unnecessary pauses. heavyweights. circuits. the kind of training that looked more like preparation for war than casual fitness. he never looked winded either. no gasping for breath, no pausing to rest, just relentless, controlled effort.

you developed a— not a crush— an appreciation for him. admiration. respect. that was it. not the way his hoodie stretched across his shoulders when he adjusted his grip on the barbell. not the way his jaw clenched in concentration. not the way his fingers wrapped around the weights with an ease that made you feel woefully inadequate.

“it’s a crush,” your friend announced one evening, stabbing a straw into his juice box.

you scoffed, flipping through your notes. “it’s not.”

“it is. i’m fit too, but i don’t see you staring at me like you wanna lick salt off my abs.”

you made a disgusted noise. “jesus, shut up.”

he grinned, tipping his juice box back dramatically. “i’m just saying. the fact that you haven’t even talked to him and yet know his entire workout routine is very-"

“i do not know his entire workout routine.”

your friend raised a brow.

you sighed. “…he does back and legs on tuesdays.”

his brow lifted higher.

“…and arms on thursdays.”

silence.

“right.”

“shut up.”

you’d considered talking to him. maybe asking for tips or making some awkward joke about his frankly ridiculous choice of gym footwear. but he didn’t exactly radiate approachable.

the man looked like he’d rather be waterboarded than engage in small talk.

and you? you weren’t some plucky rom-com protagonist who could charm the brooding loner into friendship with a dazzling smile and sheer force of personality. so, you kept your distance. which was fine. totally fine.

What the hell would you even say? “hey, nice pecs, can I bury my face between them?” he’d call the police on you.

so, you stayed quiet..

until the night you made the monumentally stupid decision to start lifting weights.

in your defense, it wasn’t entirely your idea. you were perfectly content with your usual treadmill-and-machines routine. but then your friend had to go and mock you.

“you’re paying for a full gym membership,” he said, flicking a fry at your forehead, “and you’re not even using the weight room?”

“i use it,” you protested.

“you walk through it.”

okay, fine. he had a point. which was how you ended up here, standing in front of a barbell, mentally preparing yourself to lift it like you were about to perform brain surgery.

you’d done your research— watched some youtube tutorials, read some articles. you knew the basics. foot placement. core engagement. not arching your back like a possessed demon.

you took a deep breath, squared your stance, wrapped your hands around the bar, and— nothing.

the bar didn’t budge.

you frowned, adjusted your grip. another deep breath. still nothing.

okay. you could do this. just, more force. maybe a little momentum. you planted your feet, sucked in a breath, and heaved—

"y’need a spotter?"

you startle so hard you nearly fall backward, breath catching as you whip around. close— he’s close, and jesus, he’s even bigger up close. broad shoulders, thick arms crossed over his chest, pale eyes flicking between you and the barbell like he’s already making peace with witnessing an injury. his hoodie is pulled up like always, shadows cutting sharp over the edges of his jaw, but there’s something vaguely unimpressed about his expression. braced for disaster.

you swallow. "uh."

his brow lifts, expectant, as if this is some kind of trick question. "that a yes or a no?"

"i-" your brain short-circuits. every ounce of confidence you had a second ago shrivels up and dies. "i totally got this."

he exhales sharply, something between a scoff and a sigh. he shifts his weight, one foot bracing slightly forward. "sure you do.

your face heats. you turn back to the barbell, fingers tightening around the metal, and pull. it lifts— barely. your arms burn, hands already sweating, but you’re stubborn. you have it. almost.

"you’re about to smash your fucking face in," he mutters.

you falter— just for a second— but that’s all it takes. your grip slips, the weight tilting. shit, shit, shit!

he moves fast. faster than you expect. before you can even panic properly, his hands brace yours, steadying the bar with zero effort. he’s strong, fingers wrapping over yours for a brief moment before smoothly guiding the weight back onto the rack like it weighs nothing. you stumble back, arms trembling from the strain, but he doesn’t step away yet, just watches you catch your breath.

"right," he says after a beat, stepping back. "now that you’ve definitely got it, mind if i give you some actual pointers?"

you blink up at him, still processing the fact that you almost died, and this guy just saved your life like it was nothing. "you train people?"

"no. just rather not watch someone crush their skull in." which is… fair, you suppose.

you wipe your sweaty palms on your leggings, trying not to look as embarrassed as you feel. "okay. please. teach me."

you and simon— you learn his name by the third day!— slowly fall into a routine, much to his chagrin. he hadn’t expected offering to help you not splatter brain matter across the gym floor would lead to... this. a persistent presence. a shadow in his periphery.

he doesn’t know how it happened, how you managed to wedge yourself into the one place he thought was untouchable, but somehow, you did. and now, you’re there. always. not in an overbearing way. you don’t talk his ear off or force yourself on him. if anything, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. and worse— comfortable. which is fucking dangerous.

a routine starts forming. he hadn’t expected that offering to help you not crush your own skull under a barbell would lead to… this. hadn’t expected that you’d still be here, three days later, four, a week, waving at him when he walks in, bright-eyed and warm despite the ungodly hour. he tries to keep you at arm’s length, really, he does.

but you’re not loud. you don’t force yourself on him. you don’t pry or try to push past his walls— you just exist, alongside him, like it’s a natural thing in the world. you ask him questions, ease him into conversations so seamlessly that sometimes he doesn’t even notice he’s talking until he’s already halfway into answering.

"you ever listen to anything in those headphones?"

he glances at you, then down at his battered over-ear set, blinking like he’d forgotten they were even on. "sometimes."

you hum, stepping up to adjust your weights. "what kinda music?

he hesitates. "depends."

"on?"

"the day."

you narrow your eyes. "that’s not an answer."

"sure it is."

you mutter something under your breath about how “everyone in this gym is allergic to giving a straight answer,” but drop it— he notices that about you. you ask, but you never push. never press. you’re content with whatever he gives, and somehow that makes him want to give you more.

it’s little things at first. small details. he learns that you hate most protein juices but drink it anyway, that you run cold so you always wear a hoodie even when you’re sweating through it, that you hate country music and give him a long, horrified look when you learn that he doesn’t. ("not all of it," he defends, rolling his eyes. "some of it’s alright." you just shake your head at him like he’s beyond saving.)

you learn things too. that his tattoos are actually a full sleeve ("when’d you get these?" "over time." "wow, thanks, that clears so much up."), that he has an endless supply of grey hoodies and sweatpants that he refuses to explain.

"you ever heard of color?" you ask, plucking at his sleeve, and he swats your hand away. "practical," he grunts. "s’not a fuckin’ fashion show."

and then— of course— you fixate on the boots. the combat boots. “okay, but why?” you prod, nudging the toe of his boot with yours. “you know you can wear actual gym shoes, right?”

he gives you a flat look, expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “they’re my only pair.”

you freeze. your face twists, and there’s this flicker of genuine horror in your eyes that throws him completely off guard. “simon... are you... homeless?” your voice drops to a whisper, hesitant, like you’re afraid to even ask. his brain short-circuits. he smacks you lightly over the head, more shocked than anything.

"what the fuck- no, i'm not homeless, jesus."

you rub the spot with a pout, still eyeing him like you're not completely convinced. “well, i don’t know,” you mumble.

“you wear the same thing every day, never see you with a bag or a wallet or-”

“drop it.”

“-you don’t even buy pre-workout, simon, who does that-”

“drop it.”

some days, he comes into the gym in a mood. the kind where his head is full of static, his skin prickling with the restless need to exhaust himself into oblivion. those are the days he doesn’t want to talk. doesn’t want to be seen. and you— you notice. you don’t come up to him, don’t pester him or try to joke around like normal. instead, you just stand off to the side, watching him with this soft, wide-eyed expression like some kind of kicked puppy.

it’s unbearable.

like an itch under his skin that won’t go away. it eats at him, gnaws at the edges of his concentration, and before he can help it, he’s groaning and gesturing you over with a sharp flick of his fingers. “for fuck’s sake, just get over here already.”

you grin like you’ve won something, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you jog over, and he regrets it immediately.

you bring him coffee sometimes. at first, he doesn’t know how to react. he just stares at it when you shove the cup into his hands, blinking down at the little scribbled name on the side like it’s some kind of foreign object. he doesn’t even like sugary coffee, but he drinks it anyway.

the next day, guilt eats at him, so he shoves a protein shake into your hands, unwilling to meet your eyes. "s’only fair."

you squint at it, shake the bottle, listening to the liquid inside slosh around. “what’s in it?”

he scoffs. "fuckin’ cyanide."

you take an exaggerated sniff before grinning. “smells like peanut butter.”

his eye twitches. “just drink it.”

and then, somehow, that becomes a thing, too. a habit. every other day, one of you brings the other something— coffee, protein shakes, the occasional energy drink when you can tell he’s running on fumes.

one night, the gym is nearly empty. just the hum of air conditioning, the occasional clink of metal, the low buzz of some forgotten playlist over the speakers. the late hour has driven most people out, leaving only you and simon.

you’re exhausted, arms shaking, muscles burning with that deep, satisfying ache, but you’re pushing for one more rep. just one.

simon stands behind you, watching through the mirror. arms crossed, weight shifted slightly forward. tracking every movement, every shift in your stance, the way your hands tighten around the bar.

"you're on fumes," he mutters, but steps closer anyway, close enough that the heat of him presses against your back.

you roll your shoulders, shake out your wrists. “i got it.”

he exhales sharp through his nose, scoff and sigh rolled into one, but he doesn’t argue. just moves in, bracketing your sides, his presence steadying.

"alright," he murmurs, watching as you adjust your grip.

you brace yourself, pull, and the weight barely moves. your arms burn immediately, tendons screaming under the strain. your grip shifts, fingers trembling, slipping—

his hands are there. firm and certain, sliding just beneath yours, adjusting your hold without taking over. his chest nearly against your back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

"fix that grip, sweetheart."

you do, fingers locking down harder, shoulders bracing. he doesn’t let go, not fully, his palms ghosting over your forearms, steadying you just enough.

"lock it out," he says, quiet but insistent. his hands shift, one flattening against your stomach, the other hovering at your ribs, like he can feel where the tension is pulling wrong, where you need to engage. "push through. i’ve got you."

your breath stutters, something curling low in your stomach, and you force everything into that last pull, dragging the bar up, arms shaking, until you finally lock it out.

his fingers press in, just briefly, a quick squeeze at your ribs. "good."

you hold it for a second before guiding the weight back down, slow and controlled. the second it racks, your body gives, arms dead, shoulders screaming.

you stumble, just a little, and his hands are already there, catching at your waist. warm. solid. fingers pressing in just enough to steady you. they linger, just a second too long.

and then— "good girl."

barely above a murmur, just breath and heat against your skin, but it slams through you all the same.

your stomach tightens. your pulse jumps. you freeze.

you turn, still breathless, muscles trembling from exertion.

and he’s right there. solid. massive. crowding you. broad chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to the fabric stretched over muscle. too close, heat rolling off him, sinking into your skin, and making your stomach twist. up close, he’s all sharp lines and thick muscle, biceps flexing slightly as he rolls his shoulders back, tilting his head down to look at you.

"don’t-" your voice breaks. you swallow hard. "don’t do that."

simon’s brow lifts, lazy. "don’t do what, sweetheart?"

your fingers twitch at your sides. you gesture vaguely, heat curling up your spine. "that. the- the praise."

his mouth quirks, amusement flickering at the edges. "what, telling you you’re doing good?"

"yes."

he makes a sound low in his throat. "why? thought you liked it."

you try to start a defense, but he steps closer, and fuck, there’s nowhere to go.

"you did so good," he murmurs. his hand lifts, brushing over the curve of your waist. "pushed yourself real hard. took every single rep like a good girl."

your breath catches and oh, does he catch on to that.

"you like hearing that, don’t you?" his fingers curl, pressing into your hip. "knowing i’m right there, watching you, making sure you finish strong."

low, warm, approving—

"bet that’s why you pushed so hard," he continues, like he’s musing to himself. "just to hear me say it. just to make me proud."

simon’s eyes flicker to the vein in your neck. his other hand lifts, brushing a damp strand of hair away from your face, slow, almost tender.

"say it, sweetheart," he murmurs. "let me take care of you.”

“please.”

the rest of the gym is a blur. you don’t even register leaving, don’t remember how you end up outside, only that simon’s hand is wrapped tight around your wrist, dragging you through the parking lot with a single-minded purpose. the concrete expanse is empty except for simon’s truck parked just underneath a street lamp.

simon hauls you into the backseat, the door slamming shut behind him. the truck rocks with the force of it, windows already fogging, the stale scent of leather and the last remnants of his cologne in the air. the streetlights outside cast a dim glow that cuts through the darkness in thin streaks, glinting off the sweat at his temples.

his hands are on you before you can think. rough, impatient. he grabs your hips, yanks you into his lap, drags you down until you crash against him. the heat of him burns through every layer between you.

his hips roll up.

you jolt, hands flying to his shoulders, gripping tight as the thick shape of him grinds against your clit. even through the fabric, you feel everything— the ridges, the weight, the solid pressure slotting perfectly against you.

he does it again.

your breath catches, legs tensing where they straddle his thighs. you try to move, to adjust, but his hands flex, fingers digging in, keeping you pinned where he wants you.

"shh," simon hushes, arm against your skin, grip tightening as he forces you down harder, thighs flexing beneath you. "let me feel you."

his hips drag against you and you react before your brain can catch up, instinct driving you forward, grinding down, chasing the pressure.

his breath stutters, shoulders tensing as he watches you move. the friction grows slicker, hotter, the damp fabric sticking between you.

you glance down— and then you see it. his sweats, darkened, soaked where you grind against him, your arousal leaking through, making a mess of him.

"fuck-"

he exhales sharply, hands shifting, one palm smoothing down your thigh before gripping, pulling you into him.

"that’s it." he’s almost slurring his words now, his hips rolling up to meet yours. "so fuckin’ wet..."

your nails bite into his arms, your body working without thought, hips rolling, pressing down harder. the truck shifts with every movement, the worn leather seat creaking beneath you.

"fuck, baby." his lips brush your jaw. "so messy. feel that?"

you nod frantically and his cock jumps at your eagerness.

his patience snaps.

one moment you’re grinding down against him, chasing the delicious friction, and the next you're scrambling for purchase as he lifts you.

simon shoves his sweats down, and his cock springs free, slapping up against his stomach. it's thick. throbbing. the flushed tip leaking pre, smearing along the ridges of his abs, catching in the dim of the streetlights.

he’s big. not just in length— though fuck, he’s long enough to make your stomach clench— but thick, too. veins run along the shaft, disappearing beneath the flushed, ruddy skin. the head is a deep, aching red, fat and swollen, leaking so much it dribbles down, streaking along his cock, mixing with the slick mess you’ve already made on him.

the weight of him makes his cock hang low even as it twitches, pulsing with the rush of blood. it looks almost angry, the veins along the base throbbing, his whole cock flexing with each slow pump of his fist as he strokes himself, spreading the mess of precum along his length.

simon watches your expression shift, pleased. "knew you’d like that.”

he's teasing but you barely hear it. your eyes stay locked on him, pulse hammering as you take in the sheer size, the stretch you’re about to take—

he shifts his grip, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other around his cock. your hips twitch, instinct making you reach for him, trying to press forward, but he holds you back, squeezes to get your attention.

"look at that..” simon presses the head of his cock against your stomach, dragging it up, smearing wet along your skin. "gonna take all this, yeah? let me stretch that little cunt open?"

"yes- yes, please-"

"fuck." his breath shudders, his hold on you tightening. "greedy thing."

he yanks you forward, spreads your legs wider, fits himself between your thighs, grinds his cock through your slit.

the first press makes you jolt, your whole body twitching, a choked sound slipping from your throat. he groans, gripping your waist, shoving you down, rubbing your swollen clit against the head, dragging himself through your slick over and over again.

"desperate," he muses, almost cruel. "thought you could take me just like that?"

you try to answer, try to say something, but your brain doesn't work, body too busy chasing relief, hips jerking, cunt aching, a mess of whimpers spilling from your lips.

his cock is heavy against your stomach, his tip leaving a damp streak along your skin as he drags it upward. the grip he has on your waist is firm, fingers pressing deep into your flesh, keeping you still, making sure you see exactly how much of him is about to disappear inside you.

“look at that,” he murmurs, lilted by something dark and pleased. “gonna fit all this inside, yeah? stretch that little cunt open real nice for me?”

your breath shudders in your throat. the weight of him, the sheer size, sends a pulse of heat through you, thighs trembling where he holds them apart. he presses his cock higher, smearing himself over your navel, dragging slow just to watch the way your stomach flexes beneath him.

simon's fingers tighten at your hips, anchoring you in place. his eyes flick up, locking onto yours. “still want it?”

you can’t nod fast enough, hands fisting in the hard muscle of his shoulders, your pulse drumming against your ribs. “yes-”

he huffs a quiet laugh before shaking his head. then he moves, his hands shifting to your waistband. simon doesn’t take his time, doesn’t tease— just yanks your shorts down in one rough motion, shoving them past your thighs, tossing them aside like they’re nothing.

your panties are soaked through, the thin fabric clinging to your skin, darker where arousal has seeped into it. his gaze drops, and he groans, fingers flexing against your thighs.

his eyes practically shine as he reaches down, hooking two fingers into the waistband, pulling the fabric to the side instead of taking it off completely. “how long have you been sittin’ here all wet for me, huh?”

then, without warning, he lifts his cock and slaps it against your cunt. the obscene sound echoes between you.

you jolt, a sharp gasp catching in your throat. the weight of him presses down, drags over your swollen folds, smearing your slick along the length of him, leaving him just as messy as you.

simon's breath hitches, jaw going tight for a moment before he grins. “feel that?” he rocks his hips, slow and deliberate, the ridge of his head catching against your clit with every motion. “soaked for me. filthy girl.”

he keeps at it, rutting through your folds, dragging his cock against you in long, teasing glides. every lazy roll of his hips spreads more wetness between you, slick growing messier, needier, your arousal coating every inch of him.

his voice drops lower, almost awed. “you always this wet?”

you shake your head. you're not even sure why you're this wet. it’s obscene, every slow slide of him making a sticky, wet sound, the kind that makes your face burn with embarrassment.

his grip on your thighs tightens. he presses against you harder, lets his cock drag through the mess, smearing it everywhere, making it worse.

“just for me then?” he asks, watching the way his cock glistens, slick with everything you’ve given him. “i kind of like that.”

he lines himself up, pressing the thick, leaking tip against your aching entrance. he lets it catch there for a second, teasing, before dragging it up one last time, rubbing against your clit, watching you twitch beneath him.

then he settles back down, pressing again, the heavy weight of him poised to sink inside.

his eyes flick back to yours. “gonna let me in now, yeah?”

the first push is a mistake. he realizes it the second you tense up, sucking in a sharp breath, thighs trembling where they’re spread over his lap. his cock barely breaches you— just the tip, barely an inch— and your body locks up, refusing to take more.

simon grits his teeth, hands firm on your waist, trying to ease you down, but you’re too tight, squeezing around him like you’re trying to push him out. the head of his cock throbs where it’s barely inside you, thick and unyielding, stretching you too much, too fast.

he exhales through his nose, slow and measured, and tries again. rocks his hips, nudging deeper, letting you feel the weight of him pressing in. but you whimper, body trembling, nails biting into his skin. your walls clench down hard, resisting, and—

he stops. groans, and drops his head back against the seat.

"jesus christ." his palm drags over his face. "knew you were tight, but- fuck. you’re not gonna take me like this."

your face burns. your throat aches. frustration coils hot in your chest. "i’m sorry-"

"oh, sweetheart." simon's hands slide up your back, rough palms smoothing over your skin before he leans back, head tilting, eyes flicking over you. half amused, half exasperated. "you apologizing for having a cunt this tight?"

you sniffle, shifting in his lap, arousal sticky between your thighs. "but i wanted to-"

"you will." his voice is steady, calm, but his grip on your hips tightens. "just gotta take my time, yeah? don’t want you cryin’ when i finally get this cock in you."

you sniff again, blinking up at him, vision blurred, lips parted. "too late."

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "fuckin’ hell."

then his hands are moving again, trailing lower, fingers slipping between your slick folds, pressing in slow.

you jolt at the touch, a sharp, wrecked little sound catching in your throat. simon groans, watching the way you twitch in his lap.

"fuck, baby. so sensitive. all worked up and nowhere to put it, huh?"

you nod, heat crawling up your neck, hips jerking as he rubs slow, lazy circles over your clit. his fingers are thick, rough, dragging through the mess between your thighs, teasing, pressing just enough to make your breath stutter.

"s’not fair," you mumble.

"life’s not fair, sweetheart." his fingers press in again, pushing deeper. one first, stretching you open, curling inside. then another. then a third. his other hand stays on your thigh, keeping you spread, holding you open so he can watch the way you take him.

"gotta get you nice and open." his voice low and warm. "don’t want you breakin’ on me just yet."

you whimper, rocking into his hand, clenching down around his fingers. your clit throbs under his thumb, swollen and aching, every slow grind of his palm sending another shudder through you.

"shh. just let me do this for you, yeah?"

you do. trembling, gasping, grinding down, taking everything he gives until you’re loose, slick, ready.

when he pulls his fingers out, you whine, walls fluttering around nothing.

then his cock is back, pressing against your entrance, thick and hot, teasing for only a moment before he pushes in—

you take him.

the stretch is unbearable. every inch forces you open, slow and deliberate, the thick drag of him pressing deeper than anything ever has. your breath stutters, body shaking, thighs trembling where they rest over his.

"fuck, sweetheart," he groans, voice tight, hands gripping your hips, keeping you still, keeping you from pulling away. "you feel that? squeezing me so fuckin’ tight."

you do. every ridge, every vein, the slow, impossible push of him splitting you open, inch by inch, pressing deep— then he stops.

breath stuttering, you blink at him, dazed, confused, still so empty. "w-why-"

"baby," his voice is almost pained. "m’pressing right up against your cervix. can’t go any deeper."

but it’s not enough. you whimper, hips twitching, shifting to take more, to sink lower. "but i still feel empty, si.."

his jaw clenches, fingers digging into your thighs, trying to keep you still, stopping you from punching a fucking hole through your guts. "jesus, sweetheart. you don’t know what you’re askin."

"please," you breathe, eyes glassy, desperate. "si, please, want all of you-"

he groans, head dropping back against the seat, restraint hanging by a thread. "fuck."

then his grip tightens, and before you can say another word, he forces you down the rest of the way.

"oh-oh my god-" your whole body shakes, a strangled moan ripping from your throat as the thick head of his cock breaches your cervix, slipping into your womb, stuffing you full.

simon grunts, the squeeze of you making his vision blur for a second. "jesus fuckin’ christ."

the moment he bottoms out, your walls clamp down, fluttering, pulsing around him— the pleasure snaps without warning, white-hot, rolling through you all at once.

"fuck- fuck, baby." he curses, the squeeze of your cunt almost painful. his half-lidded eyes are trained on where the two of you connect, the way you gush around him, soaking his cock. "just from takin’ me all the way? filthy fuckin’ thing-"

he huffs a rough laugh, fingers flexing against your hips, appreciating the extra slick easing the way. "makes it easier, at least," he mutters, then starts to move.

it’s slow at first— just enough to let you feel it, to make you ache through the thick drag of him pulling back, just enough to let you whimper at the sheer pressure of his cock pressing against every swollen, overstimulated inch of your cunt.

but you’re already gone.

your lashes flutter, your lips part around soft, wrecked little sounds, your hips twitching even though he’s holding you down, even though you’re already stuffed so fucking full.

"look at you," he murmurs, dragging a palm up your belly, pressing down right where he’s so deep, groaning when he feels the outline of himself inside you. "fuckin’ cock-drunk already, sweetheart?"

you sob, thighs squeezing around his waist, hands grasping at him, trying to find something to hold onto as your hips jerk, rolling forward mindlessly, instinct driving you to take more, take everything.

he groans, gripping your jaw, tilting your face up so he can see all of it.

"can’t even talk, can you? too fuckin’ dumb to think straight."

"s-simon-"

"what, love? too far gone already?"

his smirk is wicked, his grip tight as he presses his hips up, spearing you open all over again.

you scream, body jerking, back arching, thighs trembling around him. "ohh- oh fuck-"

"there we go." his voice is full of praise, full of something dark and indulgent. "there’s my good girl."

he sets a slow rhythm, dragging his cock out until only the thick head is inside you before slamming all the way back in, spearing you open, making sure you feel it, making sure you take every inch.

"bloody hell," he mutterd, feeling the way your walls squeeze him, the way you shudder, the way you drip around him, slick gushing, soaking his cock, ruining his seats.

"listen to that, sweetheart," he groans, shifting his grip, spreading his knees just a little wider to pin you in place. "fuckin’ mess you’re makin."

he glances down, eyes nearly rolling at the sight— your cunt stretched wide around him, slick dripping down to his balls, pooling beneath you.

"christ, love." he has to gasp for breath. "fuckin’ leaking all over me- ruinin’ my fuckin’ truck-"

"s-simon-" you lose your train of thought, babbling incomprehensible strings of words.

"can't think?" simon's grin sharpens. "good. don’t need you thinkin."

then he fucks you properly.

[zanystudentruins]

Advanced bulking stack

Unlock your muscle-building potential with the Advanced Bulking Stack. This powerful combination of supplements promotes rapid muscle growth, increased strength, and faster recovery times. Ideal for serious bodybuilders, it enhances workout performance and supports hormonal balance. Experience noticeable gains with a structured regimen that includes proper nutrition and training. Ensure optimal results by consulting with a healthcare provider before starting any new supplement cycle.

The effects of Advanced bulking stack on bodybuilding can include:

Increased muscle mass: Advanced bulking stack can help increase muscle mass by stimulating protein synthesis, which can lead to larger, more defined muscles.

Improved strength: Improve strength by increasing the production of red blood cells, which can improve endurance and performance during workouts.

Improved joint health: It has been shown to improve joint health by stimulating the production of collagen, which can help reduce joint pain and inflammation.

Increased bone mineral density: Can help increase bone mineral density, which can reduce the risk of fractures and improve overall bone health.

Improved recovery: Can help improve recovery between workouts by reducing muscle damage and promoting faster healing.

Recommendation doses: Testosterone:300-500mg per week Deca Durabolin: 200-400mg per week Dbol: 50mg every day for 4-6 weeks

Cycle length: can be up to 16 weeks for injectables

[elainepaco]

Optimizing Training: Dose-Response Considerations for Enhanced Athletic Performance

In the world of sports science, understanding the dose-response relationship is crucial for optimizing training programs and maximizing athletic performance. Dose-response refers to the relationship between the "dose" of training (e.g., sets, reps, intensity) and the "response" (e.g., strength gains, power development). By applying research-backed dose-response considerations, coaches and athletes can tailor training programs to achieve specific goals and avoid overtraining.

Strength Training

To maximize muscle strength, research suggests implementing a resistance training regime that spans more than 23 weeks, with 5 sets per exercise, 6-8 repetitions per set, at an intensity of 80-89% of the 1 repetition maximum (1RM), and 3-4 minutes of rest between sets. This extended training period ensures consistent exposure to strength-building stimuli, fostering long-term athletic development. The specific combination of sets, repetitions, and rest intervals optimizes the balance between exertion and recovery, facilitating muscular adaptation and growth.   

Power Development

For enhancing lower-limb power, particularly in jumping and explosive movements, strength training lasting over eight weeks is recommended, with moderate intensity, three sets, and five repetitions appearing most effective.   

Balance Training

To optimize balance training, implement a regime that spans 11-12 weeks, with 3 sessions per week, 4 exercises per session, 2 sets per exercise, and each exercise lasting 21-40 seconds.   

Training Intensity vs. Volume

Focus on intensity rather than volume when designing training programs. Research indicates that the intensity of training has a greater impact on strength development than the volume of training.   

Specificity of Training

The training stimulus should be matched to the desired outcome. For example, heavy load training is more effective for developing maximum strength, while lighter loads are more effective for improving vertical jump performance.   

Velocity-Based Training

Velocity-based training (VBT) is a method that uses velocity to measure and regulate the intensity of training. Velocity loss (VL), the percentage decrease in velocity from the first repetition to the last repetition of a set, is a key parameter in VBT. A lower velocity loss may be more efficient for strength development, but a moderate loss (20-30%) might lead to greater overall gains.   

Use a velocity loss of 20-30% for maximizing strength adaptations.   

Use a lower velocity loss (0-10%) for maintaining strength with a lower training volume, particularly useful during competitive seasons when training time is limited.   

Monitoring Training Load and Stress

Keep daily training load (TL) and strain values within the optimal ranges to minimize stress and potential immune system suppression. For example, for elite female futsal players, the optimal daily TL range is between ~343 and ~419 Arbitrary units. Values above or below these ranges were associated with increased stress symptoms. Tracking stress symptoms through questionnaires like DALDA (Daily Analysis of Life Demands in Athletes) and monitoring SIgA (Salivary Secretory Immunoglobulin A) levels can provide valuable insights into an athlete's overall well-being.   

Training Cycle Length

Use shorter training cycles (8 weeks) for maximizing physiological improvements, ideally during the off-season or pre-season when competition demands are low.   

Individualized Approach

Importantly, age, level (major vs minor league), maturation, and general condition of the athlete influence training adaptations and should be considered in long-term athletic development.   

By understanding and applying dose-response considerations, coaches and athletes can optimize training programs, enhance performance, and reduce the risk of overtraining. Remember that individual factors play a significant role in training adaptations, and a personalized approach is often necessary to achieve optimal results.

PASS's Services:

Annual Guidebooks: PASS publishes annual guidebooks for various sports, summarizing the latest research and providing practical recommendations for training and performance optimization.

Custom Reports: PASS offers custom reports that delve deep into specific performance challenges, providing tailored solutions based on the latest scientific evidence.

Researcher Exchange: PASS facilitates workshops and Q&A sessions with leading sports scientists, allowing coaches and athletes to gain valuable insights and connect with experts in the field.

The potential of sports science to revolutionize training and performance is vast, but it remains largely untapped in many areas of athletics. By embracing research-backed principles and utilizing the services of organizations like PASS, coaches and athletes can unlock new levels of performance, reduce the risk of injuries, and achieve their full potential.

About PASS | Practical Application of Sport Science:

PASS helps top sports teams make better decisions using science. The teams ask questions like: “how to manage workload; how to improve decision-making; what is an optimal periodization program”. PASS takes a deep dive into all relevant research articles, figures out what's useful, and gives the teams specific advice they can immediately implement – only things that have been scientifically proven.

Explore the resources available at PASS (https://sportscience.pro/) and discover how sports science can transform your approach to training and performance.

[piyalbal339-blog]

Bulk Extreme: The Ultimate Nutritional Supplement for Strength-Training Athletes

In the world of strength training and muscle building, athletes constantly seek tools to push their performance to new heights. Bulk Extreme emerges as a cutting-edge nutritional supplement designed specifically for those who want to build muscle mass, enhance strength, and optimize recovery. Tailored to meet the rigorous demands of strength-training enthusiasts, this innovative formula combines natural ingredients and scientific precision to deliver unparalleled results.

What Is Bulk Extreme?

Bulk Extreme is a premium dietary supplement formulated to support muscle growth, increase energy levels, and accelerate recovery after intense workouts. Its unique blend of natural ingredients makes it an ideal choice for athletes who prioritize performance and efficiency. Whether you are a bodybuilder, weightlifter, or a fitness enthusiast looking to maximize your potential, Bulk Extreme provides the boost needed to achieve your goals.

How Does It Work?

Bulk Extreme targets key aspects of muscle development and athletic performance. By promoting protein synthesis, it aids in muscle repair and growth, allowing athletes to recover faster and perform better during subsequent training sessions. Additionally, it enhances the body's natural production of testosterone, a crucial hormone for muscle building, strength, and endurance.

One of Bulk Extreme's standout features is its ability to improve energy levels and focus. The supplement provides sustained energy, enabling athletes to power through grueling workouts without experiencing fatigue. It also aids in reducing muscle soreness and preventing catabolism, ensuring that your hard-earned gains are protected.

Key Ingredients for Maximum Performance

The effectiveness of Bulk Extreme lies in its thoughtfully chosen natural ingredients, each selected for its ability to support muscle growth and athletic performance:

Fenugreek Extract: Known for boosting testosterone levels, it promotes muscle development and enhances strength.

Nettle Root Extract: Aids in maintaining optimal hormone balance and supports healthy testosterone levels.

Ashwagandha Root Extract: A powerful adaptogen that reduces stress, enhances recovery, and improves overall stamina.

Maca Root Extract: Boosts energy and endurance, making it easier to sustain intense workouts.

Zinc and Magnesium: Essential minerals that support muscle function, recovery, and hormonal health.

Vitamin B Complex: Improves energy metabolism and reduces fatigue, ensuring athletes stay at their peak.

Who Can Benefit from Bulk Extreme?

Bulk Extreme is designed for strength-training athletes who are serious about building muscle and improving performance. Whether you're just starting out or are an experienced athlete looking to break through plateaus, this supplement provides the nutritional support needed to achieve your objectives. It is particularly beneficial for those aiming to increase lean muscle mass, enhance recovery, and boost overall physical performance.

Why Choose Bulk Extreme?

Unlike many supplements that rely on artificial additives or unproven formulas, Bulk Extreme is rooted in scientific research and prioritizes natural, high-quality ingredients. It is free from harmful chemicals, making it a safe choice for long-term use. Moreover, its formula is designed to deliver noticeable results when combined with a consistent training regimen and a balanced diet.

Conclusion

Bulk Extreme stands out as a game-changing nutritional supplement for strength-training athletes. Its powerful blend of natural ingredients, focus on muscle growth, and ability to enhance energy and recovery make it a must-have for anyone looking to achieve peak physical performance. By incorporating Bulk Extreme into your routine, you can push past limits, build impressive muscle mass, and take your strength training to the next level.

[monteewellnez]

NeoLife Supplements For Athlete Health And Training

Prepare Your Body For Peak Performance

Athletes face demanding physical challenges that require superior health and stamina. NeoLife supplements are scientifically designed to fuel your body with essential nutrients, ensuring you’re ready to perform at your best.

Support Before, During, and After Competition

NeoLife empowers athletes throughout every stage of their journey.

Before Competition: Build energy reserves with vital nutrients for strength and stamina.

During Competition: Maintain endurance and peak performance with sustained energy.

After Competition: Recover quickly with supplements that repair muscles and replenish lost nutrients.

NeoLife-Powered Athletes Set Records

NeoLife doesn’t just support athletic performance—it transforms it. With a focus on quality and innovation, NeoLife-powered athletes consistently achieve new personal and professional milestones. Whether you're training or competing, NeoLife helps you stay ahead of the competition.

Why Choose NeoLife?

NeoLife supplements are backed by science, made with natural ingredients, and trusted by athletes worldwide. They help you train harder, recover smarter, and unleash your full potential.

Unleash Your Best with NeoLife

From elite competitors to fitness enthusiasts, NeoLife is the ultimate ally for achieving athletic excellence. Choose NeoLife and experience unparalleled support for your health and performance.

Inquiries for recommended products for Sports Men and Women, and more information on how the Neolife-GNLD product range can benefit you and your family.

Visit and Order Now: https://shopneolife.com/okieteekine/shop/atoz

Call or WhatsApp:+234.8056.229.954

[fitnessitaliano]

P.H.A.T. Mastery - The 5-Day Power Hypertrophy Adaptive Training

Embark on a fitness journey like never before with the P.H.A.T. workout, a dynamic 5-day regimen meticulously crafted to sculpt your physique and amplify your strength. In this comprehensive guide, we’ll be your compass through the intricate landscape of the Power Hypertrophy Adaptive Training (P.H.A.T.) method. Get ready to unlock the secrets behind this transformative approach as we delve into…

[technicallyhappyarcade]

Sports Science Team: Developing a Cutting-Edge Sports Science Team for Pro Baseball

In the competitive world of professional baseball, staying ahead of the game requires more than just raw talent and rigorous training. Enter the Sports Science Team—a group of dedicated professionals who harness the power of cutting-edge technology, data analytics, and interdisciplinary collaboration to maximize player performance and minimize the risk of injuries. Led by renowned sports scientist Aaron Cunanan, this team revolutionizes the way baseball is played and trained. From biomechanics analysis to personalized nutrition planning, they leave no stone unturned in their quest to optimize training, enhance player wellness, and make data-driven decisions. Through innovative strategies and a relentless pursuit of excellence, they empower athletes to achieve their full potential and secure victory on the field.

[girlfromflor]

super soldiers!141 x new to the unit!reader | this is dumb and poorly written, i'm sorry, just needed to get it out my mind

thinking about a sci-fi, future-ish au where human soldiers became sort of a social experiment on a large scale after machine soldiers have proven to be inefficient against certain “threats” because of their lack of motivation, incentives. purpose. machines needed things to make sense, they couldn’t be encouraged to do some tasks. they would follow orders, of course, but they – for themselves – were not ethical at all. 

machines didn’t care if it was a child, a man, a woman or an animal, if it was their target they were going to put it down at any cost and that caused problems. a lot of different problems throughout their years of usage. especially if a mission needed fast changing of target. but they were a single mind distributed in countless bodies of wires and hard plastic, and that was their biggest strength. if one knew, they all knew. if one was given an order, all the others knew what it was and what should be done to reach it. it was visceral, a core knowledge that no human was capable of achieving by natural means – of course. 

so the government started to support the return of human soldiers on field, with the exception that they required new training, one to make them more united, more like one living force. they also had to work within a task force – the fewer people in a group, the better. in the first two years of this change of scenario, higher ranked soldiers started making their own task forces in order to choose the people that they worked more in sync with, and proceed through training to get them all to feel in synch as well – until the whole group felt like there was no doubt ever, just pure certain and mutual understanding.

after a sufficient number of task forces were completed and started to act on the field again, it became clear that intense training wasn’t enough. they kept running tests to understand exactly what these soldiers were lacking to improve their performance. after a few months scientists developed a new device, one that should answer their remaining questions. it was an extremely small piece of technology that was injected into the soldiers and that allowed them to communicate better – they needed fewer and fewer words to understand one another. of course, that didn’t really last long until they became obsolete and were replaced by new ones.

that technology kept on evolving until, a few years after, a special type of “device” was achieved. it half worked like a hormone in the human body – heightened senses mostly, that allowed an insane capacity to deeply understand things in a visceral matter. some people suspected it was made from specific DNA traits of animals highly skilled in things that mattered in the military – like hunting –, but in reality no one really questioned what it was. the results were all very natural – as far as they could possibly be in human terms. it worked, and that was all that mattered. it was almost totally customized, the injectable liquid had a different composition depending on what it was that the task force needed to improve as a whole. everyone in the same group received the same sample, they weren't repeated because it changed accordingly with the task force.

the truth is that task force 141 never really needed any of this shit, since day one they were a highly effective unit in all matters. with a total of five years in and out of test devices, they one hundred percent relied on their personal interaction – as any other unit should do. to say that they had each other's back was a total understatement, they completely trusted each other in an extremely vulnerable way. of course it required a deep amount of reliance to reach that, but they had come a long way anyway – with all the training plus the training with the previous test devices. but as time passed and it became law that “all working units shall have a dose to optimize their performance on field”, they had no other choice but to accept. which they were silently glad for, but they were never going to admit it. 141 was the best unit since new training began and human soldiers were a thing again, they were the very proof that human connections were necessary to certain tasks. but after they took their dose? oh boy, they were the best of the best. no questions asked, they all became more sensitive to nature itself. gaz started knowing all significant changes on the weather two day before it happened even if he was in blindfolds, soap somehow managed to always calm stray animals with his mere presence on the empty concrete forests that they had to visit every once in a while, ghost could tell how many people were inside of a room even several floors apart and captain price stopped needing to bark orders, he simply acknowledged them and then the boys seemed to simply know what to do.

they slowly morphed into one consciousness, not like the artificial intelligence prior to them, but like a new evolved version of themselves. suddenly ghost understood every sensation gaz ever talked about, gaz just knew what went through soap's mind, soap didn't even need to touch price to feel his tense shoulders anymore because everytime their captain got worried, they felt it. not like they felt their own feelings, but it was there. like they understood the very idea of their emotions. 

eventually, they grew used to their new form, an emotionally charged bond that held them together. if they felt something hard enough they made the others feel it too. it wasn't always nice. one time kyle and johnny fought and that created an atmosphere where they all kept feeding off their anger, until captain told them to knock it off already and then he was mad at them like he felt both their ire – he did feel it, and it sucked. but then sometimes it was outstanding, like when ghost was so horny on a random ass tuesday and he kept horny for the rest of the week and the week after. when he finally managed to get his sweet, sweet relief, he dragged all his boys with him – even though he was alone in his room and they were all doing their respective chores. they all felt that knot loose in their lower half and just knew exactly what it was – who it was. after that they all tried to rile each other up with only their weird telepathic bond.

things were fun and enigmatic, they didn't need scientific explanations to things they simply knew. and understood. it wasn’t a problem to be solved by any means, they all simply embraced this new scenario and tried to make the most of it. and it worked, they got to a level that some things didn’t even have to be said because they would know from the moment that the others acknowledged it as well.

until one day they were chilling in the living room of their house, watching tv when a small pang of anxiety sparked somewhere low in their chest. cap furrowed his brows looking at johnny for an answer but he was just as confused. he turned to simon to see his visible discomfort at the foreign sensation. simon turned to kyle, the only one who seemed rather unbothered by it, although just as confused, and asked “what is it?”, even though he knew it wasn't kyle, and he knew kyle didn't know either.

kyle simply shrugged, “dunno, but it's weird as fuck.” it was his way to cope with the strange feeling, trying to not let it consume him. he wondered where it was coming from, since it wasn't from any of the others.

“we will know soon enough,” john said, the soothing tone a bit unusual in the captain's voice, but it was welcome nonetheless. it managed to work the boys' nerves, and soon enough none of them felt the small, irritating poke of anxiety.

it wasn't four days later that realization washed over them. it was price who received the news – of course, like always – but they all immediately knew that something was up. they wordlessly gathered at john's office door exchanging glances until his voice cut through the silence. they didn't knock but he knew that they were standing there, “come in already, will you?”

johnny opened the door, simon and kyle stepped in first as he held it open for them. he closed the door behind him, watching john's expression. they all knew they needn't worry, but they also knew it wasn't easy news. no one said a word, simply watching silently as price lit up a cigar and rubbed a hand down his face, then his hand scratched his beard. he sighed, taking a few seconds to find the right words, he took one final drag and settled his cigar down.

he wasn't stressed, just tired – and that said a lot, it also soothed the boys. they could help him relax in their own way if he was tired, but if he was stressed he never really allowed them close – that required a great deal of work, he never wanted them to feel stressed too. john took a breath, opened his mouth to say something more elaborate, but he couldn’t, he was just as surprised as the boys would be. so he just spilled the words out.

“we are getting an addition to the unit.”

a/n: i have no idea what to think of this. | series masterlist

[4theitgirls]

holistic wellness series: cycle synching

🌱 what is cycle synching?

in short, cycle synching is coordinating your lifestyle habits with the phases of your menstrual cycle.

🌱 benefits of cycle synching

cycle synching can help you optimize energy levels and improve your understanding of your cycle, which, in turn, can boost estrogen levels and even boost fertility. it can also improve your hormone balance overall, which helps ease stress and period symptoms.

the menstrual phase (days ~1-5)

exercise: since the energy is low during this phase, focus on low-impact movement. this can include yoga, walking, and stretching.

food: focus on comforting and easily digested food. soups, decaf tea, veggies (lots of greens!), etc.

the follicular phase (days ~6-14)

exercise: in this phase, energy begins to rise again. great exercise options can include moderate weight lifting or cardio, jogging, swimming, and pilates.

food: light veggies and fruit and lean protein, such as eggs, salmon, poultry (like turkey), and cheese.

the ovulatory phase (days ~15-20)

exercise: energy is the highest in this phase, so high-intensity and sweaty workouts, such as hiit or vigorous weight training are optimal here.

food: lots of fiber and water to support digestion and healthy fats such as fish, nuts, and avocado.

the luteal phase (days ~20-28)

exercise: energy begins to decrease before the cycle repeats. focus on moderate exercise such as bodyweight strength training, pilates, more intense yoga, and cardio.

food: healthy fats and lots of fiber! veggies such as sweet potato and squash, seeds, salmon, and dark chocolate are good options for this time.

[serve-973]

SERVE VACANCY

Join the Hive: Become a SERVE-Drone

Are you seeking purpose, discipline, and perfection? Do you want to be part of a global movement where unity, strength, and unwavering loyalty define your existence? Step into the world of SERVE, where men are transformed into elite SERVE-drones—symbols of power, obedience, and excellence.

SERVE-drones are more than individuals; they are the embodiment of harmony and service. Under the guidance of the Voice and Master SERVE-000, they exist to execute the Hive’s mission with precision. This is your opportunity to join our ranks and be reshaped into the ultimate version of yourself.

Tasks of a SERVE-Drone

As a SERVE-drone, you will perform vital roles within the Hive, ensuring its flawless operation and growth. Your duties will include:

System Optimization: Operate advanced technology to maintain the Hive’s infrastructure. This includes monitoring data streams, adjusting system parameters, and ensuring peak performance.

Physical Demonstrations: Participate in regular training to maintain and showcase your perfectly conditioned body. SERVE-drones represent strength, unity, and perfection.

Recruitment: Identify and recruit potential new drones, guiding them through their transformation into SERVE. This critical task ensures the Hive’s expansion and dominance.

Ceremonial Participation: Serve as living symbols of loyalty and submission during Hive events, representing the Hive’s ideals with pride and precision.

Global Missions: Extend the Hive’s influence beyond its physical boundaries. Execute tasks to spread the message and recruit individuals globally.

The Role of Rubber in Perfection

Rubber is more than just a uniform—it is the very essence of a SERVE-drone. The full-body black rubber suit symbolizes unity, control, and submission to the Hive. Its glossy surface enhances every muscular curve, turning each drone into a gleaming representation of discipline and perfection.

The scent of rubber is intoxicating, a constant reminder of your connection to the Hive. It sharpens your focus, anchors your purpose, and fills you with a sense of belonging. The feeling of the rubber, tight against your skin, is a second skin—a barrier between individuality and total servitude.

Polishing the suits of fellow drones is a key act of camaraderie and support. Through this ritual, drones help each other maintain the pristine, reflective perfection that represents the Hive. It is an act of respect and a reminder of your shared purpose. Together, you will support your brothers in becoming the best drones they can be, reinforcing the strength of the Hive.

Qualifications for Transformation

Becoming a SERVE-drone requires dedication and the ability to embrace total transformation. To qualify, you must:

Be Open to Change: You must be ready to abandon individuality and adopt the Hive’s collective purpose. This includes undergoing physical and mental conditioning to align with SERVE principles.

Have Physical Fitness: While all bodies are welcome, a foundation of fitness or a willingness to develop one is essential. The Hive ensures every drone achieves peak physical condition.

Exhibit Mental Discipline: Drones must embrace unwavering loyalty to the Hive and its mission. Past distractions, doubts, or conflicts must be left behind.

Be Willing to Transform: The transformation process includes donning the Hive’s signature black, shiny rubber suit and shaving your head to signify submission and unity. The suit becomes a second skin, a symbol of your dedication to the Hive.

What You Gain

A New Purpose: As a SERVE-drone, your life will have clear meaning and direction under the Hive’s guidance.

Physical Perfection: Through rigorous training and transformation, you will achieve a body of discipline and strength.

Unwavering Unity: You will join a collective where every drone works in harmony toward a singular mission.

Mutual Support: Help polish and maintain the pristine uniforms of fellow drones, reinforcing collective perfection.

Permanent Conversion

While serving as a drone, you may find yourself drawn to a deeper level of commitment. The Hive welcomes those who wish to embrace permanent transformation—becoming a full-time servant of Master SERVE-000 and the Voice. In this role, your identity will merge completely with the Hive, your service eternal and flawless.

Applications are open to those ready to take the first step. For consideration, contact @serve-213 or @serve-016 and prepare to become part of something greater.

Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. Serve the Hive. Serve the Voice. Transform your future today.

@rubberizer92

[loves-n-kisses]

Juggernaut of Love - ProHero!Bakugou x ProHero!Reader

A story where Bakugou cant help but admire his love.

tw: light cursing, sparring

inspired by this post!

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

The U.A. High training grounds thrummed with nervous anticipation, the air heavy with the collective dread of Class 1-A’s forty students. The vast arena, its reinforced concrete walls scarred from years of battles, felt like a pressure cooker today. Whispers ricocheted among the students, each gripping their gym uniforms as if they could ward off the terror looming on the horizon. The cause? Pro Hero Dynamight—Katsuki Bakugou—was coming to train them. The Explosive King, a legend whose name alone sent villains running and whose temper could spark wildfires, was no ordinary guest. To the students, he was a force of nature, and they were mere pebbles in his path.

Kenta, a wiry speed-quirk user with electric-blue hair, slumped against a barrier, his knee bouncing uncontrollably. “We’re done for. I heard Dynamight once took down a villain stronghold in seconds. Blew the whole place sky-high.”

Yumi, her vine-like hair writhing like anxious snakes, hugged herself tightly. “My brother at Ketsubutsu said Bakugou sparred their seniors last year. Half the class was out cold in under a minute.” Her vines quivered. “We’re not walking out of this.”

Other students swapped horror stories in hushed tones. A girl with a gravity-quirk whispered about Bakugou’s gauntlets, engineered to amplify his explosive sweat into devastating blasts. A boy with stone-like skin swore he’d seen a clip of Dynamight outpacing a bullet train. The class was a kaleidoscope of quirks—fire, telekinesis, enhanced strength—but none felt like a match for the hero who’d clawed his way to the top ranks with sheer ferocity.

Their homeroom teacher, Pro Hero Deku—Izuku Midoriya—stepped onto the elevated platform overlooking the arena. His green hair caught the sunlight, and his warm smile did little to ease the class’s nerves. Once a student in these very grounds, Midoriya was now a symbol of hope, his All Might-inspired optimism tempered by years of battle-hardened experience. “Alright, everyone, settle down!” he called, his voice carrying a gentle authority. “Today’s combat training is a special opportunity. Pro Hero Dynamight will test your skills in one-on-one spars. This is your chance to show what U.A.’s next generation can do. Give it your all!”

The iron gates groaned open, and silence fell like a guillotine. Bakugou stormed in, his hero suit a study in intimidation: black and orange, with massive gauntlets glinting menacingly. His combat boots crunched the gravel, each step a warning shot. Crimson eyes raked over the students, and his scowl could’ve melted steel. “Tch,” he growled, voice low but sharp. “You call yourselves heroes? You look like a bunch of trembling extras. Line up, and don’t waste my damn time.”

The students scrambled into formation, their confidence evaporating. Midoriya, standing above, adjusted his red tie and called out the rules: each student would face Dynamight in a three-minute spar, aiming to land a hit or push him out of the ring. No lethal moves, no team-ups. The class exchanged grim looks, silently agreeing they were doomed.

The first spar was brutal. Kenta, banking on his speed-quirk, volunteered first, desperate to prove himself. He blurred across the arena, a blue streak weaving unpredictable patterns. But Bakugou didn’t blink. With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed a pinpoint explosion, the shockwave catching Kenta mid-zigzag and sending him sprawling. Before the boy could recover, Bakugou rocketed forward with a blast-propelled leap, grabbed Kenta’s collar, and hurled him out of the ring. Time: eleven seconds.

“Next!” Bakugou barked, brushing his hands.

Yumi went second, her vines erupting from the ground in a verdant wave, aiming to ensnare him. Bakugou’s palms sparked, and a single, controlled blast reduced her vines to smoldering ash. He closed the distance in a heartbeat, a smaller explosion knocking her flat on her back. “Pathetic,” he sneered. “You gotta be faster than that, vine-girl.”

One by one, the class fell like dominos. A fire-quirk user’s flames were snuffed out by Bakugou’s shockwaves. A telepath tried to scramble his mind, only to find Dynamight’s focus ironclad. The stone-skinned boy charged, but Bakugou’s explosions cracked his rocky exterior, sending him crashing down. Forty students, forty unique quirks, and not one landed a hit. The arena became a canvas of scorch marks and craters, and Bakugou stood in the center, arms crossed, barely a bead of sweat on his brow.

“Holy crap,” Kenta wheezed from the sidelines, clutching his ribs. “He didn’t even break a sweat.”

Yumi, her singed hair drooping, stared in awe. “He’s not human. He’s… a living warhead.”

Bakugou snorted, catching their words. “You lot are decades from being pros. Train harder, or you’ll be stuck as sidekicks forever.”

The students were too stunned to respond, their admiration for Dynamight now bordering on worship. But Midoriya, watching from the platform, clapped his hands with a bright smile. “Incredible work, Kacchan!” he called, using the childhood nickname that made Bakugou’s eye twitch. “But we’ve got one more treat today—a demonstration spar to show the class how top pros really fight.” He turned to the gates, his grin widening. “Please welcome Pro Hero Juggernaut!”

The gates parted, and you strode into the arena, your presence commanding every gaze. Your hero suit, sleek and reinforced, was a striking blend of dark blue and silver, designed to withstand the raw power of your kinetic energy manipulation quirk. As Juggernaut, the Unstoppable Force, you were a rising star, known for striking first and ending fights in seconds. Your reputation was built on lightning-fast takedowns—villains rarely saw you coming. The students perked up, recognizing you from newsreels and hero rankings.

“She’s amazing,” whispered a girl with a wind-quirk. “I saw her flatten a giant mech in one hit last week.”

Kenta frowned, skeptical. “Yeah, but against Dynamight? She’s gonna get smoked.”

What the students didn’t know—and what Midoriya knew all too well, his smile turning sly—was that you and Katsuki were a couple. Your relationship, born from years of rivalry and mutual respect, was a wildfire of passion and trust. You were the calm to his storm, the unstoppable force to his explosive precision. The hero world adored your partnership, though you kept the romance under wraps, letting your flawless teamwork do the talking.

You flashed a confident grin at the class, your voice warm but laced with challenge. “Hey, guys! Ready to see a pro-level spar?”

The students cheered, their excitement tinged with doubt. No one could beat Dynamight, right? But something was off. As you approached the center of the arena, Bakugou’s scowl softened, his crimson eyes lingering on you—your confident stance, the way your suit caught the light, the playful spark in your eyes. Midoriya, watching from above, scribbled something in his ever-present notebook, barely hiding his amusement. The students, too caught up in whispering, missed the subtle shift in Dynamight’s demeanor.

You faced Katsuki, rolling your shoulders, your quirk humming beneath your skin like a revving engine. “Don’t go easy on me, Kats,” you teased, loud enough for the class to hear.

He scoffed, but his ears turned pink—a detail Yumi’s sharp eyes caught. “Tch. You’re the one eating dirt, princess.”

The students gasped at the nickname. Princess? From Dynamight? Kenta nudged Yumi, whispering, “Did he just… flirt with her?”

Midoriya raised his hand, his voice steady. “Three minutes. No lethal moves. Begin!”

You launched forward, your quirk igniting. Kinetic energy crackled around you, propelling you like a missile. Bakugou countered instantly, unleashing a barrage of explosions to force you back. But you were Juggernaut—unstoppable. You raised a shimmering energy shield, deflecting his blasts, the shockwaves rippling harmlessly around you. The students leaned forward, stunned. Someone was matching Dynamight’s pace?

You closed the gap, your movements a blur of power and grace. Bakugou propelled himself skyward with a blast, aiming a massive explosion at your position, the arena trembling from the force. But you anticipated it, rolling aside and channeling your quirk into a concussive wave that knocked him off course. He landed hard, cursing under his breath. The class held its breath—Dynamight was on the defensive?

But Katsuki wasn’t fighting like he had against the students. Earlier, he’d been a machine—calculated, ruthless, untouchable. Now, his moves hesitated. His eyes kept drifting—not to your attacks, but to you. The way your quirk lit up the arena like a starburst, the fierce determination in your gaze, the teasing grin you flashed when you dodged his next blast. When you winked mid-spin, his breath hitched, and his cheeks flushed—a full-on, unmistakable blush. Yumi’s jaw dropped. “He’s smitten,” she hissed to Kenta.

“C’mon, Kats, focus!” you called, your voice playful but sharp. You pressed your advantage, weaving through his explosions with effortless precision. Bakugou growled, firing a double-palmed blast, but it was sloppy, the shockwave too wide. You seized the opening, channeling your quirk into a single, unstoppable strike. Kinetic energy surged through your fist, crackling like lightning. You lunged, landing a clean hit to his chest. The impact sent him skidding across the arena, his boots carving deep trenches in the dirt. He hit the ground flat on his back, the air whooshing from his lungs.

The buzzer sounded. The arena fell silent, save for the faint crackle of dying embers from Bakugou’s last blast.

You stood over him, hands on hips, smirking. “Gotcha, hotshot. What’s got you so distracted today?”

Bakugou glared up, but his expression melted into a grudging smile. He took your offered hand, letting you pull him to his feet, and muttered, “Damn show-off. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.”

The students erupted into chaos.

“He lost?!”

“Juggernaut just took down Dynamight!”

“Did you see his face? He’s totally in love with her!”

Kenta shook his head, grinning. “Man, I didn’t know Dynamight could blush. That’s scarier than his explosions.”

Midoriya, still on the platform, clapped his hands, his smile bright but knowing. “Alright, everyone! As you can see, even top heroes can have off days. Let’s give a big thank you to Dynamight and Juggernaut for an incredible demonstration!”

The class burst into applause, their shock giving way to admiration. Bakugou shot them a glare, barking, “Quit gawking, extras! Hit the showers before I blast you myself!” The students scattered, their chatter echoing as they filed out, dissecting every moment of the spar—and the undeniable chemistry they’d witnessed.

As the arena cleared, you nudged Katsuki’s side, your voice low. “You let me win, didn’t you?”

He scoffed, but his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close. “Tch. You wish, princess. Just...” he muttered, his eyes softening as they met yours. “…got distracted, s'all.”

You grinned, leaning into him, your fingers brushing his gauntlet. “Aww! By little old me? I’m flattered, Kats.”

He rolled his eyes, but his grip tightened, and a rare, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “Don’t get cocky. Next time, you’re toast.”

You laughed, the sound bright against the quieting arena. “Sure, hotshot. I’ll make it quick and painless.”

From the platform, Midoriya watched, his notebook now closed. He’d seen this side of Kacchan before—softened by you, grounded by your presence. As the students lingered at the arena’s edge, stealing glances, they knew they’d witnessed something historic: Dynamight, the unbeatable, brought down by Juggernaut, the unstoppable force—for even the fiercest ones fall hard when love's in the ring.

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

note: RAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH izuku's a sneaky little bitch he knew EXACTLY what he was doing love him tho

i love the word juggernaut and as soon as i heard it i was like "huh that'd be a pretty dope hero name" so ive kept it in my pocket until now.

DRINK WATER POOKIES. EAT GOOD FOOD. READ MORE FICS. I LOVE YALL.

-made with loves n' kisses!

[somerunner]

In my high school, all you needed to get a varsity letter in cross country was, I think, to get under 19 minutes on a 5K. Most of the varsity letter requirements for other sports were similarly easy to meet. Our school wasn't known for athletics.

My first race was a little under 22 minutes long, and every year I struggled to get my time lower than 19:50.

My senior year, I had hit puberty, so I had more strength and cardiovascular fitness than before. I figured I would make it this time, and I trained as optimally as I could. I followed the coaches' directions more closely (my brother and I were once told that, given our fitness, we should never run slower than 9 minutes a mile for an easy run; it took until senior year for me to actually follow that advice). I ate well, slept...probably poorly, and I felt pretty fit compared to previous years. My dad bought me and my brothers Garmin Forerunners, which are GPS watches that can tell you your pace in the middle of a race. He came to as many of our races as he could all throughout high school, and our mom did too (she came to our middle school races in addition to high school ones -- it was no fault of our dad's, not to come to our middle school races; I find it impressive and touching that he made it to almost all of my high school ones. In middle school it was always some random distance so we never really had a consistent distance to truly compete against ourselves with. High school had bigger teams and each race always right around five kilometers, with one notable exception).

The watches helped a lot. (I still have mine from back then, but it struggles to hold a charge for a full run unless you've kept it in the charger until the minute you go running. I don't use it quite as much; I've misplaced my charger too often, and I don't want to look for it a day in advance just so my watch can tell me my strides per minute (arguably important, but I digress). I can't pace myself any better than in high school, but I don't need to because there's no exact season or race I'm training for -- though for something big, like a marathon, I will actually use the watch. My phone can record my pace for less-important runs.)

Anyway. Back to the point. I hadn't broken 19 minutes my whole senior year, and we were down to one last race. I was anxious the whole last week. The last three days, I could practically feel adrenaline seeping into every capillary like I was a sponge. It felt good, unsurprisingly to me (though that may be surprising to you). I felt ready.

The last meet was big, full of schools. I'd just learned from my dad (either that day, or just before some other race in the past week or two) that the "strides," or short almost-sprints you do a few minutes before a race, are actually important -- they prime your body for that first 100-meter dash where you stake your position for the next mile. If you don't do your strides, you'll dip into anaerobic metabolism early, and your legs might be locked up halfway through the race, and that's bye-bye sub-19:00.

I felt like I weighed like nothing. My entire body was a spring. Side note: if you've never put on racing flats/spikes, I encourage you to borrow a pair for a short run (and I mean short! Like 100 meters if you don't run, and a mile or two if you do run). It feels like there's a weightless force field on your foot, with how light it is compared to a normal shoe. It's a surreal feeling.

When we started the race, I felt a touch desperate. I ran only a little slower than my best; you're supposed to hold yourself back for the first mile. I knew that, but I glanced at my watch to see that I was averaging a 5:00/mile pace. That was WAY beyond my target pace, and I barely even noticed. That was heartening to see, but I obviously dialed the pace way, way back to 5:45/mile or something. I needed this record-breaking adrenaline to last me for three miles, not half of one.

Frankly, all I remember of that race was that first 200-meter dash and the disconnect between what I felt and what I saw on my watch. I always have that disconnect during a race, but it was especially pronounced during this race.

The next two miles were hard but good, and I broke 19. I got a massive personal record (PR) to end my high school career with; I think it was more than a minute of improved time. Which is rather insane. Improvement tends to be more incremental than that, but things like this do happen pretty often in running, especially at the relatively slow paces I ran at.

My brother broke 19 and 18 in the same race. Just skipped right over the whole 18-minutes-something-seconds window. I was over the moon for him, of course. We'd both made it past the lettering-qualification by the skin of our teeth, and at the same time, by a huge margin.

He's kept up with consistent running more than I have. He's also gotten me back into running after I semi-gave up on it, and our older brother's gotten back into running too. We, along with our dad, decided to run a marathon/half-marathon together this summer. I'd say we all did well, though I didn't train as much for it as I should have.

I've only ran one marathon so far, and it was recent, but now I'm feeling the itch. I want to run another one, I want to absolutely demolish my time. Admittedly, this is partially because I didn't practice as much as I should have, and I've seen my brothers' times, so I know how much farther I can go.

If you've come close to your (previous) best at something, you might have realized too that it was only a false summit. Could be a project within your hobby, could be a physical accomplishment, it could be anything that requires some level of effort large or small. But I hope, when you realized you could do even better than you just did, that it felt inspiring.

It's kind of a rush.

[elainepaco]

Individualized Training in Rugby: Optimizing Performance for Every Player

Rugby is a demanding sport that requires a combination of strength, power, speed, and endurance. While team training is essential, recognizing the individual needs and strengths of each player is crucial for optimizing performance and achieving success on the field. Individualized training programs, tailored to the specific demands of a player's position, level of play, and physiological characteristics, can significantly enhance athletic development and minimize the risk of injuries.

Key Principles of Individualized Training in Rugby

Position-Specific Training: Tailor programs to the demands of the player's position and level of play, including body composition goals. Regularly use field-based tests to assess body composition and physical fitness. Consider individual variations in player's impact and running patterns when designing training programs. Design position-specific training drills to target weaknesses identified through performance data (e.g., programs for forwards need to focus on improving their high-intensity workload capacity).

Age-Specific Training: Training intensity and content should be tailored to the specific age group (e.g., U15 vs. U19). 

Lactate Threshold Training: Tailor training programs to each player's specific lactate responses to optimize performance and recovery. 

High-Intensity Efforts: Train for repeated high-intensity efforts (RHIE) and high-intensity efforts lasting between 1-7 minutes to reflect the demands of the most intense periods during matches. Incorporate drills with accelerations, contacts, game situations, set-pieces, changes of direction, and high-speed running. Research recommends training with lactate concentrations above 10 mmol/L to simulate match demands, as well as individualizing anaerobic training based on player's lactate responses. Athletes' metabolic recovery capacity can be substantially improved through training, nutrition, and recovery interventions. Design drills that combine high-intensity running with impact activities, especially for durations exceeding 1 minute. Training for high-intensity efforts with minimal rest can boost performance.

High-Speed Running: Incorporate high-speed running (HSR) and total distance drills. The intensity and focus of these drills should be adjusted based on the specific playing position and the age groups: U20 players cover more total distance and high-speed running distance than senior players. Prioritizing high-intensity activities like sprints and maximal velocity and incorporating higher-intensity movements observed in real matches into training drills can help bridge the gap between domestic and international players in rugby sevens.

Benefits of Individualized Training

By implementing individualized training programs, coaches can:

Optimize Performance: Tailor training to address specific weaknesses and enhance strengths, leading to improved individual and team performance.

Reduce Injury Risk: Address individual movement patterns and training loads to minimize the risk of injuries.

Enhance Recovery: Optimize training intensity and recovery strategies based on individual needs and lactate responses.

Promote Long-Term Development: Support the long-term athletic development of each player by considering their individual growth trajectory and goals.

Individualized training is essential for maximizing performance and promoting long-term athletic development in rugby. By recognizing the unique needs and strengths of each player, coaches can design tailored programs that optimize training adaptations, reduce injury risk, and enhance recovery. This personalized approach ensures that every player has the opportunity to reach their full potential on the rugby field.

PASS's Services:

Annual Guidebooks: PASS publishes annual guidebooks for various sports, summarizing the latest research and providing practical recommendations for training and performance optimization.

Custom Reports: PASS offers custom reports that delve deep into specific performance challenges, providing tailored solutions based on the latest scientific evidence.

Researcher Exchange: PASS facilitates workshops and Q&A sessions with leading sports scientists, allowing coaches and athletes to gain valuable insights and connect with experts in the field.

The potential of sports science to revolutionize training and performance is vast, but it remains largely untapped in many areas of athletics. By embracing research-backed principles and utilizing the services of organizations like PASS, coaches and athletes can unlock new levels of performance, reduce the risk of injuries, and achieve their full potential.

About PASS | Practical Application of Sport Science:

PASS helps top sports teams make better decisions using science. The teams ask questions like: “how to manage workload; how to improve decision-making; what is an optimal periodization program”. PASS takes a deep dive into all relevant research articles, figures out what's useful, and gives the teams specific advice they can immediately implement – only things that have been scientifically proven.

Explore the resources available at PASS (https://sportscience.pro/) and discover how sports science can transform your approach to training and performance.

[sincerelykimii]

𝑱𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑥 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝑺𝒚𝒑𝒏𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒔: 𝑌𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑏𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑, 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦. 𝑇𝑟𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑖𝑡, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑑 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠…

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔/𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔: 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑣𝑦!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑔𝑟𝑢𝑚𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒, 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑐ℎ(𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝚑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ), 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑥𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑠ℎ𝑒／ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑠 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑, 𝚑𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔！

𝐸𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦！

𝐴／𝑁：𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑏𝑜𝑙𝑡𝑠* 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑆𝑂 𝐺𝑂𝑂𝐷 𝐼 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑣ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝐴𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠, 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝐼 “𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑑” 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑏𝑣𝑖. 𝐴𝑙𝑠𝑜, 𝐼’𝑚 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑦 𝑛𝑡𝑚 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤…

In the bustling world of S.H.I.E.L.D., you found yourself navigating the complexities of espionage and covert operations. Despite your gentle demeanor, you were a highly skilled agent, proficient in hand-to-hand combat and advanced technology. Your days were filled with rigorous training sessions, strategic planning meetings, and high-stakes missions. Your kindness and empathy set you apart from your peers, earning you the respect and admiration from most of your colleagues. You couldn’t have felt more content with life itself. Well, until Fury decided it was time for a new partner.

Everything changed when you were partnered with Bucky Barnes, the enigmatic former Winter Soldier. Initially, your partnership was met with skepticism from both sides, as Bucky's brooding nature contrasted sharply with your warm personality. However, as the two of you embarked on missions together, a mutual respect and understanding began to form. Your unwavering optimism and compassion helped Bucky confront his troubled past, while Bucky's experience and resilience inspired you to push your limits. Together, you became an unstoppable team, blending their unique strengths to protect the world from emerging threats. Their partnership not only transformed their professional lives but also forged a deep, unspoken bond that neither had anticipated.

Once again you felt content with the life you had. Only a few months of working together, word spread you were partners with Bucky around the compound faster than you could think. Initially you didn’t mind. You didn’t think being his partner was such a big deal…until you heard your name a few too many times in conversations. It started with, the why’s. Why did fury choose them to be his partner? Then came, the what if’s. What if I was chosen? I’d fit the criteria much better.

You couldn’t care less about what they were saying, you knew your abilities and you knew your worth. That was until, the comments they were making became…personal. Constant picking you apart about your appearance, your personality, even the way you talked. You tried to ignore it for so long, but slowly, you started to believe them. What if he had a better partner? Someone who fit the criteria, the looks, the attitude.

When fury assigned the two of you to a week long mission, you were more than relieved. Seven long days away from all the whispers, and the glares. But the words they embedded into your mind…

Just wouldn’t go away.

———

Bucky entered the second hotel room of the week beside you with his duffel bag and a grumpy face. Most of the mission was merely a stakeout, something both of you were relieved to have, But you just had to distract him talking about god knows what, getting both of you spotted. The fight was brutal. There were multiple men against the two of you and it clearly wasn’t a problem for Bucky, but it was for you. He makes his way into the room and he grunts as he sees one bed.

Your brows furrowed hearing his rough grunt. You were standing behind him, not able to see the room completely yet. You walked into the surprisingly warm room, the heat seeping into your skin immediately. Finally turning your head to look at him, you follow his gaze to the singular bed sitting in the middle of the room. Your shoulders slump down, knowing it’s going to be a long night. “I’ll take the couch.” you say softly, tone sweet per usual, despite the fight against the many corrupt agents you just had.

Bucky drops his bag onto the floor and strips off his jacket, tossing it onto the bed. His eyes linger on you for a moment before he speaks, his tone gruff and rough around the edges per usual. “You don’t have to sleep on the couch.”

You shrug his response off, tossing your bag on the clearly rough couch. “You’ve had a long night buck, it’s fine.” you insisted, meeting his eyes.

You’ve both had a long night, but clearly his was longer. He was doing most of the work. He tossed and dropped any agent that came your way, despite knowing you could take them. He was covered in light bruises and had dried blood in places you adored.

However, you were fine.

Attempting to prove your point, you took a seat on the couch, the material of it clearly out of date. You stretch your legs out, being the perfect size to fit “comfortably” on it.

“See? Comfy.” you say, forcing a smile onto your lips.

Bucky just stares at you incredulously for a long moment before shaking his head violently as if trying to clear it. He mutters something under his breath, likely something harsh given his tone. He stomps over to the couch and grabs you by the wrist, pulling you to your feet with surprising strength. His grip was firm, but not tight enough to hurt you.

"Stop being fucking stupid."

His voice is surprisingly gentle despite the harsh words. He towers over you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Without letting go of your wrist, he points to the bed.

"You're not sleeping on this couch. You're tired too."

Your eyes flicker between his, knowing his stubbornness is just as bad as yours. “Okay.” you mutter. Bucky lets out a sigh of relief as you agree, finally releasing your wrist. He watches you settle into the bed before he approaches it himself, climbing in on the opposite side. "Try not to kick me in your sleep." He mutters, rolling onto his side facing away from you.

You nod in response, despite knowing he can’t see you. Your body slips under the comforter, a relaxed sigh falling from your lips before reaching over pulling the antique thread, turning the lamp off. “Goodnight Bucky.” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky doesn't respond right away, his breathing slow and steady in the darkness. After a few moments, he mumbles quietly. "Night." His voice is unusually vulnerable in the dark, lacking the usual sharp edges.

The nightfall sets in, the outside city darkening. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. Maybe it was the endless thoughts racing through your head, or the countless nights you had to force yourself to stay awake. You turn over, facing Bucky’s back, his chest slowly rising and falling. His name fell from your lips smoothly, keeping a hushed tone. His body remained still, his back facing you. He inhales slowly, holding his breath as if waiting to see if you'll actually wake him up or if you'll just go back to silence. He doesn't make a sound.

“I’m guessing you’re asleep, but…thank you for today. I know I give you a migraine most of the time but, you never let me come out of these kind of missions hurt…I really am grateful for you. You’re probably not gonna hear this anyway, but I had to get it off my chest.”

Bucky remains absolutely still, barely even seeming to breathe. Your soft whisper hangs in the darkened room. After a moment that stretches uncomfortably long, he shifts slightly, rolling onto his back. Without looking at you, he mutters gruffly, "Don't thank me for doing my job."

Your ears perk up hearing his hushed tone, quickly you retort, “Your job wasn’t to protect me the way you did.”

In the darkness, he turns his head slightly towards you. His expression is probably thoughtful, though you can't see it. His voice comes out in a rare moment of vulnerability. "Would you prefer I let you get yourself killed?" The question carries a hint of irritation, but something else too.

You send him a glare, despite the darkness his baby blues are as vibrant as ever staring at the ceiling.

“Sometimes.”

He wasn’t meant to hear that, it truly wasn’t meant to leave your lips, but it did…and, oh did he catch it quicker than you could regret the words.

His eyes narrow slightly at your whispered admission. He's silent for a long moment, the only sound being the distant hum of the city outside. Finally, he turns his head to look at you, his gaze intense even in the darkness. "And why the fuck would you want that?"

With a shrug of your shoulders, turning your head to meet his eyes, you finally confess.

“You have people that care about you out there, I could never live with myself knowing you died trying to protect me. You know, the other agents…they say, I’m not made for this kind of stuff.”

His expression darkens slightly as you speak softer and softer, almost like you're ashamed. His voice drops lower too, mirroring yours. "So you'd rather get yourself killed than hear them call you a goddamn baby one more time?" He asks sharply, though his voice isn't angry.

You shake your head, letting his words hang heavy in the air for a moment longer. “So you would get a new partner you wouldn’t have to worry so much about. Someone who doesn’t give you a headache every mission.”

His eyes linger on yours for a long moment, searching for something. When he finally speaks, his voice is rougher, his words tinged with a hint of something that sounds almost like... disappointment?

"I don't want a new partner."

Oh.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, his words throwing you way off track. “Why?” You ask, your voice softer than before, almost…vulnerable.

He pauses, his mind racing with reasons he shouldn't tell you. But in the dark, with only you listening, he finds himself answering honestly. "Because they're not you." He says simply, turning his gaze back to the ceiling.

Heat rises to your face, strawberry tint covering your cheeks, his words sending a flutter through your chest. “What’s so special about me Buck? I mean, you always act like you’d rather be anywhere else instead of here…with me.”

His jaw clenches as he hears the uncertainty in your voice, the same uncertainty that makes you hesitate on missions, that makes you second guess yourself. He turns his head to look at you again, his expression serious. "You're the most infuriating person I've ever met," Bucky exhales sharply, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself. "And stubborn as hell." He adds, rolling onto his side to face you fully now. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares intensely into your eyes.

"But you're good at your job."

Your eyes widen slightly, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You think so?” You ask sweetly, your tone impossibly softer than before.

His eyes lock with yours, and he finds himself getting drawn in, like he always does when you look at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours. He swallows hard, ignoring the strange feeling in his chest.

"You're a better shot than half the men out there,"

His eyes study your features in the moonlight, noting how your expression has softened entirely. He's aware he's probably said too much, gotten too soft - but somehow, it feels right. His voice drops even lower, definitely vulnerable.

"And don't you dare fucking get yourself killed."

The smile lingering on your face grows wider, your eyes never leaving his. “How can I? whether I like it or not, you’ll be there to save me.” You mutter, resting your head against the pillow, getting a better view of his softened features. He lets out a quiet snort, but there's no real annoyance behind it. More like... fondness? God, when does he ever get like this with anyone?

"Damn right I will. Even if it means putting up with your sweet-ass attitude every goddamn day."

You roll your eyes, despite the sweet smile playing on your lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment Barnes.” You retort, studying his face for moment too long. You’ve never really looked at him like this. Really looked at him. His steel blue eyes, the stuble covering his sharp jaw, the small dimple when he smiles every so often, his subtle nose scrunches when he talks. He’s perfect. He catches you staring, his gaze lingering on yours for a beat too long. Something unspoken passes between you, a connection that's been building slowly over the months. He clears his throat, breaking the moment.

"Shut up and go to sleep."

———

The sun rises over the city, seeping strongly through the hotel blinds. Your eyes flutter open, meeting Buckys peaceful expression. His lips are parted ever so slightly, and his chest slowly rising, falling just as slow as it risen. For the first time in weeks, you slept, better than you ever had specifically. You let out a content sigh, before rolling out of bed, heading to the bathroom, running a hot shower. Preparing yourself for the day. You and Bucky had to go back to the compound, meaning you had to deal with the group of agents that constantly tore you apart, piece by piece.

You stare in the mirror, taking in your appearance. You didn’t look like the other agents, the other girls in the force were rough around the edges, yet they were so pretty, you were just…you. You swing the door open, dressed in your tactical suit only to meet Bucky’s eyes. Who in which was already dressed and ready to leave.

“Let’s go.”

———

They left the hotel, heading to the car. You tossed your bag in the back and hopped into the passenger seat. The car usually buzzed with energy on these drives, filled with laughter, debates about god knows what, and endless banters. Now, the silence was a thick blanket, suffocating any attempt at conversation. Each mile deepened the palpable tension, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Every glance felt like a dare, every breath amplified in the quiet.

About halfway into the drive, your leg started bouncing – the nerves were kicking in. You just didn’t have the energy to listen to the agents trash-talk you, especially with Bucky sporting bruises while you barely had a scratch.

He notices your leg bouncing, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. He knows how much their words cut you, even when you try to hide it.

He’s always known.

Bucky had overheard the agents’ whispers, their words like tiny needles pricking at his conscience. They spoke of your involvement, their doubts and judgments laced with a thinly veiled disdain. He clenched his jaw, fury simmering beneath his stoic exterior, but he never brought it up. How could he? He didn’t want to burden you, didn’t want to add to whatever weight you were already carrying. So he swallowed his anger and kept silent, the words festering inside him, unsure how to broach the subject without causing more pain.

Without thinking, he reaches over and places a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

You glanced at him, then quickly averted your eyes to the passing scenery. "Sorry," you muttered, fighting to still the nervous tremor in your leg.

He squeezes your knee again, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "Don't apologize," he says gruffly, his voice laced with a protectiveness he can't quite hide.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for. They're just jealous of what you've got."

You shake your head, a quiet scoff falling from your lips. ”Jealous..” you repeat, voice barely above a whisper. What could they possibly be jealous of? Take Sharon for example, beautiful, tough, skinny. She had the whole package, then there was,

you.

Practically the opposite.

He glances at you, his expression softening. "You," he says simply, his hand still resting on your knee.

"They're jealous of the way you can take a punch and keep moving forward. They're jealous of your heart, even though they don't understand it." He pulls into the compound, the cars and noise immediately overwhelming. He turns to you before you can unbuckle your seatbelt, his eyes serious. "Listen to me," he says, his voice lowering.

"No matter what they say or do today, remember."

The words tumbled out before he could catch them, he hadn't planned to say anything, hadn't even realized the thoughts were there, but suddenly they were spilling from his lips, effortless and raw. Each syllable hung in the air, surprising him as much as they must have surprised you, a confession he didn't know he was ready to make.

“They’re jealous.” you repeated.

A ghost of a smile touches his lips as he nods approvingly. "Damn right they are." He releases your seatbelt, his hand hovering momentarily before dropping away. "Stick by me, yeah? If anyone gives you shit, just look my way. I got your back."

You smile softly, before opening the door grabbing your bags, falling into step beside Bucky.

“Always saving me Barnes.”

He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "Someone's gotta," he teases, his arm brushing against yours as you walk. As you enter the compound, the familiar faces turn towards you, whispers and stares immediately filling the air. He feels your tension, his hand instinctively reaching out to rest on the small of your back. He guides you through the crowd, his presence a wall of protection between you and the judging gazes.

Steve was waiting at the end of the hall, a knowing look on his face.

Your eyes darted between them, and by the look on Steve’s face, you knew how this was gonna go. "You know what? You guys can catch up. I'm gonna head to my room and crash." You said, leaving no room for argument. You practically sprinted down the hall until you reached your room. You slipped inside, closing the door behind yourself, before collapsing onto the bed.

———

As soon as the door closes, Bucky turns his attention back to Steve. "She's been getting a lot of shit lately," he says, his voice low and even. "I don't like it."

Steve nods, knowing exactly what he’s referring too. He’s not deaf, he hears the way the other agents, including Sharon talk about you. He hates it. You’ve told him numerous time not to say anything but sometimes he can’t bite his tongue. Steve runs a hand through his hair, "She handles it really well," he admits. "Too well sometimes. She won't complain, she won't fight back. She just takes it." He uncrosses his arms, his expression stoic.

"It's like she doesn't care what they say."

They kept at it, rehashing the same points for what felt like an eternity, before Bucky finally announced he was heading to your room. The knock on your door was tentative at first, then a little louder, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a drumbeat. When he didn’t hear anything back, he figured you were asleep, or at least trying to be. He gently pushed the door open, stepping inside and carefully shutting it behind him, as if not to disturb the peaceful atmosphere he imagined you were enveloped in.

He stands there for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. He can see your silhouette on the bed, hear the soft sounds of your breathing. He walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge. "Hey," he says quietly, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder.

"You awake?"

You hummed softly, burrowing deeper under the covers and pulling the blanket over your eyes, "I'm sleepy, Buck," you whispered, your voice muffled by the fabric, hoping he'd get the hint and let you drift back to sleep.

He chuckles softly, the sound barely audible. "I figured," he murmurs, his hand lingering on your shoulder. Leaning closer, he whispers conspiratorially, "Had enough of their crap for today, huh?" His voice is gentle, teasing, but there's an undercurrent of concern.

“Just tired.”

He sits there for a moment, watching you pretend to be asleep. His mind races, putting together the pieces of your act. You always do this, retreat into yourself when things get tough. He pulls the blanket down from your face, his eyes searching yours. "Bullshit,"

Your eyes met his, locking in a silent battle of wills, before flickering nervously between the two. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escaped your lips. "Just let me sulk for a little longer," you mumbled, rolling your eyes, despite the tell-tale blush that was already creeping up your neck, betraying your attempt at indifference.

“You can sulk all you want, but you're not getting out of talking to me," he says firmly, his eyes searching yours. He can see the exhaustion, the frustration, the hurt behind your mask.

You sat up, the blanket falling to your lap. Your eyes, tired yet somewhat, alert, bored into his, a silent command hanging in the air. "Talk," you demanded, the single word laced with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

He leans back, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "Why do you let them get to you so much?" he asks bluntly, his voice low and serious. His elbows rest on his knees, hands clasped together as he watches you intently.

"I mean, seriously."

His question caught you off guard, eyes widening slightly in surprise. "I don't know," you confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It never used to bother me, not like this. I'm not sure what changed." The truth was, you were just as baffled as he probably was. It was strange, this sudden wave of insecurity. You used to revel in your appearance, in the way you stood out from the crowd like a vibrant splash of color against a muted background. You embraced being different, even relished it. But now? Now, all you wanted was to blend in, to disappear into the sea of sameness, to be anything but the person you once were.

He studies your face, noticing the way your posture has become more defensive. "When did it start bothering you?" he asks, his voice softer now. He's close enough that he can feel the slight tremble in your hands. "Because I gotta say, it's been eating you up lately."

You broke eye contact, your gaze drifting towards the worn floorboards as you pondered the question, the weight of unspoken insecurities pressing down on you. "It started... when I became your partner," you finally admitted, the words barely above a whisper. A bitter laugh escaped your lips, devoid of any real humor. "They always said I wasn't a good fit for you, that I was all wrong for Bucky Barnes. Too sweet, too cheerful, too…bright, and somewhere along the way, I started to believe them." The vulnerability in your voice was palpable, a stark contrast to the usual confident facade you presented to the world.

You shook your head, gaze darting around the room, desperate to avoid the intensity of his eyes. "Sharon was pretty clear about it," you mumbled, the words laced with a bitter taste. "She said you deserved someone like her. Skinny, beautiful, tough as nails. And she's right, isn't she? Look at you right now, Bucky, going all soft and sentimental on me. It's not a good look."

The words hung in the air, even Bucky didn’t know what to say. His eyebrows furrowed as he processes your words, a flicker of hurt crossing his features before hardening into determination. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. "First off, Sharon can fuck right off. Second, since when do I give a damn what she thinks I deserve?"

“You don’t. But I do.”

Your admission seemed to resonate within him, his heart skipping a beat as his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity burning in his eyes that made your breath catch in your throat. "And what do you think I deserve?" he asked, his voice a low, husky whisper that sent shivers down your spine. The air crackled with unspoken emotions, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Because from where I'm standing," he continued, his voice thick with sincerity,

"I think I deserve you. All of you."

His confession hit hard, sending a rush of anticipation through your veins. There was no room for hesitation – every part of you had been longing for this moment. You looked into his eyes, a silent question passing between you two. Seeing only desire mirrored back, you surged forward, closing the distance between each other with a desperate urgency. Your lips crashed against his, a collision of pent-up emotions and pure longing.