cheek meat

anonymous asked:

Okay but i swear to you i will sacrifice my entire being for someone to write that pens!bitty fic or one shot. I need like air

(Alright, you monsters, I did this one, but I’m not great with RPF so this is probs it for Pens!Bitty <3  tw for concussion)

A sprained ankle here, a blown ACL there, and Bitty’s on the Penguins starting line flanking Sidney Crosby like it’s nothing. Like it’s no big deal he’s racking up assists left and right for the man who is going to displace two of Bad Bob’s career records this season. Like Eric didn’t have a debilitating fear of physical contact less than five years ago and is now playing for a team defending a championship title.

From behind, Sid looks like Jack. Or at least he has Jack’s ass, which is a hell of a thing to realize after being slammed into the boards. He’s disoriented enough to ask, “Jack?” when his captain skates up to check on him.

“Bittle, you okay?“

Eric blinks and the illusion is gone. No Jack, no Samwell, just the Pittsburgh Penguins beating the snot out of the New Jersey Devils. And the Devils beating the snot out of Eric.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Eric says, pulling himself to his feet and blinking through a blossoming headache. “You know you look a lot like Jack Zimmermann from behind?”

“Better not be a crack about my ass, Bittle,” Crosby elbows him lightly, herding him back to the bench.

Aboot,” Eric echoes, “I wouldn’t joke about your ass, Captain. Special kind of cheek meat.“ 

That didn’t come out right…and why are the lights so bright? Are they always this bright?

Crosby slides to a stop and Eric bumps right into him. “You sure you aren’t concussed?” Though he’s asking, Eric can clearly see Sid waving over a trainer. Eric takes a moment to reflect on his situation, what he’s just said to his teammate.

“No, but you really look like my boyfriend.”

“You just said I look like Zimmermann.”

“I know. Jack Zimmermann looks like my boyfriend.”

Crosby connects invisible dots in midair with his finger. “I look like Jack Zimmermann, who looks like your boyfriend, who looks like me.”

“Yes. No?”  That sounds right. Kinda.

“Bittle. Do I look like your boyfriend from behind?”

Eric nods, even though the motion makes his world tilt sideways.

“I look like your boyfriend, Jack Zimmermann, from behind.”

“Yes.” Wait. That’s a secret. “Shit, that’s a secret.”

“Fuck, yeah, you’re sitting this period out, buddy.”

Malkin slides up beside Crosby and gives Eric a once over. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Got his bell rung, thinks I’m his boyfriend.” Crosby slaps the rail twice with his glove and shoots Eric a wink. A couple of the boys whistle and holler while the trainer shines a light in Eric’s eyes. The part of Eric’s brain still functioning properly is probably really upset right now.

“I don’t think it’s a concussion, he’s just dazed.”

“I’m ready to go in, coach, just give me a chance.” Eric jokes, though no one laughs. “Ace Ventura? No?”

The arena turns sideways along with Eric’s stomach and he burps wetly. Sullivan makes a face and says something to the trainer and just like that Eric is being directed to the locker room for further examination.

Eric hopes this makes for a really funny story later.

as much as I love the tropey gorgeous show that still star crossed is, I would also be very happy with an hour of the nurse just fucking roasting everything and everyone because nothing will be as iconic as “it’s not very good, is it?”

Sangwoo trusts him with a knife.

He thinks about this now just as he has been thinking about it for days. When Sangwoo is not in the kitchen Yoonbum might even lift it from the chopping board as if to practise wielding it, but all it does is wobble in his unsteady hand.

It’s been…how long has it been, since Sangwoo dropped him into a swivel chair and placed the knife in his hand? He doesn’t know. All he can remember is that his palm had been soft, and his fingers gentle. They had pushed the hair out of his face and left his cheeks glowing.

They had glowed again later to be sure; glowed with the red hot force of Sangwoo’s palm - returned again with its second face.

Every error in the kitchen had its consequence. He began to experience them so routinely that he memorised them. A dropped plate brought him smarting cheeks. Overcooked meat was pulled hair. A failure to respond was a sharp pinch of his flesh, fleshy half-moons in his skin.

If he wanted - really wanted - a cut across his thigh, all he would have to do is break a cup and wait for Sangwoo to locate the sharpest shard.

To his mind, with this knowledge he almost had a type of control over Sangwoo. That was his small and solitary solace.

Madness is when time becomes everything and nothing. He uses time as a measure - of pain, of progress, of opportunity to escape. His life is defined by it, but it has no real weight. He cannot place himself.

He wonders about the knife. It was a test to be sure. Or did Sangwoo really have that much faith in him? He hadn’t seemed suspicious…and before that Yoonbum had done his duties well. Pride rushes up his spine, and he straightens with it. It was possible that…

What other privileges could he win, with time? Perhaps Sangwoo would let him sleep upstairs…perhaps more…

Perhaps – a voice pushes in – perhaps it didn’t imply trust at all. Perhaps Sangwoo knew he was eternally useless with a knife – that’s all.

He deflates, shoulders dropping.

His hand grips the handle of the knife tightly. He’d just have to learn to fight.

Behind him, Sangwoo speaks up from the table where he had been flipping through a magazine. “You know what I just remembered?” he asks in a way that makes Yoonbum – shocked out of his stupor – wholly suspicious. A chill settles over him.

“That time in the basement when you pissed yourself from fear. I had to hose you down like a dog, you were so pathetic! And all I did was nick you a little with a can.” He laughs loudly at this, and his eyes are bright.

Yoonbum stiffens, but forces a smile over his shoulder. The knife is reunited with the chopping board, and he turns around to slice at some leek with renewed vigour.

“Imagine I had used something else. Like the knife you’re holding now.” Yoonbum looks over his shoulder again to meet Sangwoo’s eyes. They’re black with accusation now, serious, his face no longer bright or laughing. His voice is poison. “You would have shit yourself.”

Yoonbum is paralysed by the idea that Sangwoo has a sense for his thoughts. He says nothing, receiving the message and accepting it. Whatever he had done, he had been too obvious.

His silence seems to agitate Sangwoo, who rises with a frown to stand behind him.

He flinches, but Sangwoo only rests his chin atop Yoonbum’s head, letting his warm hands travel over his belly affectionately. “You really have no sense of fucking humour do you, Bum? It’s boring. You can be so boring.” He sighs into his hair.

If there was ever a time to raise the knife and plunge it into Sangwoo’s forehead, it would be now. He considers this very seriously – it would be so easy, he’s right there – but half of him is fighting the burgeoning disappointment searing throughout his chest.

Sangwoo finds him boring.

“S-sorry,” he says, and he is. His heart cracks into two at the idea that he is undesirable to Sangwoo in yet another department.

Sangwoo brings up a hand to smooth along Yoonbum’s forearm and rest atop his own, where he grips at the knife. His other hand fingers the young scar on his collarbone. He suddenly presses into it hard, and Yoonbum whimpers.

“Don’t let me get bored of you, Bum. That really wouldn’t be good for you.”

Yoonbum’s lips wobble into a miserable line, and he nods.

Sangwoo leaves a lingering kiss on his forehead before letting go, leaving the kitchen for the bathroom.

Yoonbum hovers over the counter, breathing harshly. He puts down the knife.

Sangwoo is gone but he will not practice today.

wildd-dreamerr  asked:

HIII Omg i love your imagines soo much! Can you do 25, 28 and 65 With Chanyeol??? Please??

Mortification was the only thing on your mind as Chanyeol piggybacked you up the stairs to his apartment.

“Alright, no more alcohol for you for a long while.” He huffed, shuffling your weight on his back. “And maybe no more potato snacks.”

“Aw, why?” You hiccuped, still intoxicated. “That one guy at the club said my curves we’re perfectly fine.”

“You have to be kidding me.” Chanyeol scoffed. “You’re obviously too drunk to remember that he called you ‘a fine piece of ass’ that he would like to ‘eat all night long’.”

Your cheeks flushed. “You’re making that up. I know it.”

Chanyeol merely sighed as he reached his apartment door, unlocking it and kicking off his shoes and he stepped inside.

“Let’s just get you to bed so you can sleep all this liquor off.” His low, concerned voice felt soothing, relaxing your tipsy senses.

He continued to carry you to his bedroom and towards the bed, where he sat down. He then delicately removed your arms from his shoulders, gently guiding you to the mattress.

“Damn.” Chanyeol cursed as he began to tuck you in. “You’re gonna have one hell of a hangover headache tomorrow.”

He shut off the lamp on the bedside table, allowing the room to be lit only by the moonlight seeping through the windows.

Before he could leave you reached out and grabbed his hand.

“I don’t want you to stop.” You muttered, your voice coming out as more of a desperate plea.

Chanyeol’s eyes widened as he looked down at you.

“You don’t want me to stop what?”

“Taking care of me.” You answered, barely letting him finish. “I… I think I love you.”

His stunned silence urged you to continue.

“You’ve always been there for me.” You felt your eyelids get heavy as the alcohol worked its way to your consciousness. “You’ve… Always come to… Save me…”

You lost your grip on Chanyeol’s arm, exhaustion causing your hand to fall limp against the bedsheets.

“I’m not going anywhere, (y/n).” His voice seemed lower and more serious than normal, but sleep had overtaken your senses.

You could’ve sworn you heard something before your grasp on reality faded entirely… Something like-

“I think I’m in love with you too, (y/n)…”

Chanyeol was right. The minute the sunlight reached your eyes you woke up, greeted with a monstrous headache that stung like hell.

You stumbled out of the room, and immediately your eyes met Chanyeol’s tall frame as he leaned over the stove in the apartment’s kitchen.

Your less-than-discreet entrance caused him to turn around. He smiled and nodded towards the kitchen table for you to take a seat.

You complied, scratching your head furiously in contemplation.

“How-… Wh-what… Did I-…” Your embarrassed attempts to recall the events of last night failed. “…How drunk was I?”

Chanyeol just grinned knowingly as he sat a plate of food down on the table next to you. 

He leaned against the chair across from you, crossing his arms. “Pretty damn drunk.”

You banged your already throbbing head against the table in frustration, groaning.

“Relax, nothing went too far at the club.” Chanyeol told you before muttering to himself. “Thanks to me, that is.”

“Huh?” You looked up at him, begging for answers.

“As I recall, I got a text from you saying ‘this guy says he likes my ass, ‘lolz’’ at 3am.” He let out a short, amused laugh before continuing. “I had to drag you out of the building after some sleazeball was eyeing you like a piece of meat.”

Your cheeks flushed immediately, signifying your regret.

“And, I distinctly remember you running away from me towards the tree outside of my apartment complex.” You could only grab a fistful of hair against your scalp as he went on. “Then you climbed the damn thing, yelling ‘look how big this piece of broccoli is!’ before falling off and landing right on your ass.”

“No… No no no no no no.” You shook your head in disbelief. “That’s crazy. You’re crazy! There’s no way I let myself get that drunk.”

I swear I’m not crazy, (y/n).” Chanyeol put his hands on the table, looking at you dead in the eye.  “So you’re telling me there’s no way that you meant it when you confessed to me last night?”

You froze like a deer in headlights.

“I- How did- I thought-” You stood up, still unsuccessful at getting a complete thought out.

Chanyeol only smirked, perking up at your reaction. He walked over to you, putting his hands on your shoulders and gazing into your expression of utter confusion.

“I’m just teasing you, alright?” He gave you a cheeky grin. “Don’t worry about it and eat some breakfast.”

You groaned, but complied and sat down, beginning to shovel the food into your ravenous system. After eating for a good fifteen minutes, you glanced up at Chanyeol who was sitting across the table from you, absorbed in consuming his own meal.

“I meant it, by the way.” You mumbled, half hoping he didn’t hear it.

“I did too,” He muttered back, not taking the focus off if his plate.

“So…” You tapped the fork on your plate nervously. “What happens now?”

Chanyeol looked up at you innocently, but a mischievous glint was hidden in his eyes.

“I think I’m supposed to kiss you. Then take you into my bedroom to make out with you like crazy.”

“So…” You swallowed. “Are you going to?”

“Hell yes.”

Originally posted by moon-min-ah

Welp, you knew the drunk scenario was gonna show up sooner or later. In all honesty though this one was cute af~ Thank you so much for requesting it, hun! And thank you for reading my stories! I’m so sorry this took so long and I hope it was worth the wait!!


Eclipsed - Nishinoya Yu x Reader

AN: Some love for my favorite libero. Hurray for first post!

Nishinoya Yu was like the sun.

He was energetic, bright, and dynamic; but most of all, he made everyone feel alive.

If Nishinoya was the sun, then you were the moon.

You were calmer, quieter, and wiser. You were a mystery and many classmates didn’t know what to think of you. But you didn’t mind; in fact, you took it as a compliment. Because of this, many classmates were afraid to approach you. It wasn’t that you were mean or hated people, you only looked like you did. But when they were paired with you for a project, they saw past your demeanor and welcomed you with open arms.

That’s how you became friends with Tanaka Ryunosuke.

Keep reading


Trying different things with squats and my knees wanna act like they ain’t got no home training 😡😡😡 Shoutout to Coach Sagan’s cheek meat for the guest appearance

325 x 3 x 7, seated

#gains #fit #training #like4like #follow #nyc #newyork #physique #aesthetics #powerlifting #squats #bodybuilding #weightlifting #lifting #gym #motivation #goals #new #grind #legs #fitness #bulking #competition (at Blink Fitness Nassau)

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Tuna cheek meat steak with soy sauce & buter on rice. My grandfather was a seagoing fisherman on a tuna clipper, but he was too satiated to eat tuna meat at home, as he had eaten all parts of tuna day by day on board. As for me, I often ate its tail, heart, stomach and skin as well as its meat in my childhood, and then I don’t also like it very much. As you know, Japanese people love its meat very much, though nobody paid attention to its inner parts. But nowaday they are rarely served at our table as their price has gone up these ten years. Its cheek meat tastes good with the soft texture. If you’ve never tasted it and find it at a lower price somewhere, why don’t you try it?

Look and Listen

Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean stopped the Impala, the headlights shining on the “Dead End” sign above your heads. Glowing like a prize just won at you as you smirked in your seat.

You had been right about the dead end and Dean was utterly wrong.

“There you go.” You shoved your hands in the front of your hoodie and nodded at the evidence in front. “As I said.”

“Shut up.” Dean spat and hit his hand on the wheel. He was already fuming from the fight earlier. You practically felt the heat surrounding him, filling up the car.

“Don’t talk to me like that.” You glared. “It’s not my fault you never listen to me.”

“I said shut up, Y/N.” He growled.

You looked over at your—whatever he was. Sure, you two had slept together and flirted nonstop when you two weren’t fighting, but neither one of you ever said anything about a relationship. This was some sort of game for Dean and you were just along for the ride since your dream guy couldn’t take a clue that you had actual feelings for him. You weren’t about to go and tell him, either. Dean Winchester didn’t want a girlfriend—he wanted a hunting partner he could screw after a hunt.

The fight had been going on for days now. Dean would say something to get you all riled up and it usually ended with you forcing Dean to sleep on the floor or the Impala; usually the latter. There was never a “I’m sorry” or “I’ll do better next time.” Dean refused to ever admit he was wrong and you refused to admit you loved him too much to just walk away—but that time was ending. The love you felt for this man, it was too strong and that was the problem.

When Dean was around, you felt your heart melt into a puddle and the butterflies in your stomach raced around against time, never stopping. When he said your name you felt relief that he cared enough to remember. And the sex, the sex was always amazing. Dean knew how to take care of you, but he also knew how to please you. You were always there in the morning with a reward for the night after.

But this was different. Lately, even the sex was all wrong, if there was any sex at all. He completely stopped kissing you or calling you cute little pet names. Even his touch was different, firmer and shorter than ever before.

You had had it.

You threw open the door of the Impala and grabbed your bag from the floorboard. You would walk to the nearest motel and take a room for the night, it couldn’t be too far off. The rain would wash away your worries for now and in the morning you would think of a new plan.

“What are you doing?” Dean glanced over his shoulder at you.

“I’m leaving, Dean. This isn’t working out. You’ll be happier with me gone anyway. This stress is too much for me.” You claim.

“Y/N, don’t be stupid.”

“No!” You threw the phone be bought you at him, hitting him square in the jaw with it. You didn’t need anything he touched. “You never listen to me, Dean! That’s where this always starts. I’m your partner. It would be nice if you took my advice sometimes but no, it’s all about you and your cockiness taking over. Hell, I haven’t had a good sleep in months.” You stood up and slammed the door in his face.

As you turned your back and started to walk away, the rain soaking your shirt and pants already, you heard Dean call after you. “Y/N!”

You didn’t look back.

And he didn’t bother to run after you.


You checked yourself in the mirror before leaving for work. Back in your hometown, it felt nice. You hadn’t meant to come back here, hadn’t meant to create a completely normal life for yourself, but you had. And it was better than before.

Regardless of all your old friends ditching you to move on to bigger things, you felt safe. Hunting was a thing of your past, something you never thought of anymore. You couldn’t. The memories it brought back…

It took you a year and a half, but you made it. Able to support yourself, feed yourself, and even taught yourself not to think about the boy you left your heart with. That last part was the hardest part. You missed him every second of every day and even this day you were thinking of him as you walked out into the streets. He was engraved in your mind and he wasn’t leaving, but you knew how to deal with it by now.

You smile at a few of your neighbours. You walked to work most days, enjoying the fresh air. It was the best feeling in the world.

Halfway to work, you stopped and grabbed yourself a coffee. The barista smiled at you. He was new. Black, curly hair peeking out from under his cap; dark blue eyes, like the sky before a storm; long and skinny; his fingers were twice the size of normal ones. You found him slightly attractive, though he appeared too young for you, so wave him off when he asks for your number.

“Y/N?” A rough voice asks behind you.

You turn and see him standing there, towering over you like some giant out of the sky. His bottom lip is quivering some and his eyes are already watering.

There was no colour left in his cheeks, no meat on his bones, and his eyes were dead with no emotion whatsoever.

You let out a breathy “Dean” before you’re engulfed in his arms, your face pressed against his chest. It was obvious that he was out of shape. His hold was no longer strong and protective, it was weak and not as crushing as it used to be, not as welcoming.

“Dean.” You push him away and look at him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dean stutters, a single tear sliding down his stubbly cheek. “I-I didn’t think you’d come back. I looked everywhere, Y/N. I gave you a day. I thought you would come back to the motel after you cooled down.”

“Why on the earth would I go back to the man that—“ You stopped yourself. ‘Breaking my heart’ didn’t seem like a good enough reason.

“I know, I know.” His head fell and he sniffed. “Son of a bitch, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

“Dean, what happened to you?” You ask, worried that he made some deal with a demon. You looked around the building and noticed Sam wasn’t there.

“Y/N,” he gripped your shoulders. “I am absolutely, completely in love with you. I can’t take it anymore. Being without you feels horrible. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat. Hell, I nearly killed myself a couple months ago with alcohol poisoning. I’m a mess, baby doll. I can’t live without you.”