Open To: Anyone. Muse: Quentin Masters. 34-40 Years Old. Sports Journalist. ( Charles Michael Davis Fc

open to: anyone. muse: quentin masters. 34-40 years old. sports journalist. ( charles michael davis fc ) plot: just a general starter, though if your muse works in the sports industry, maybe he wrote a bad article about them or something like that.

"you seem pissed."

hazel eyes stayed locked on spike, barely blinking as he watched the man hesitate, weighing the discount. phillip normally didn’t ask for handouts - usually had the cash to pay in full - but today was different. he didn’t offer spike the full story, but he hoped the guy would get it anyway. the second he caved, a wide grin instantly spread across phillip's face. "you're a lifesaver, man - seriously. i’ll hit you up with the rest as soon as that paycheck comes through." he slipped the purple ziplock into his back pocket with one smooth move, then gave spike a light, playful slap on the chest with the back of his hand. "oh, and hey - wanna come watch me toss some dudes around tonight? i can hook you up with front row seats if you're into watching sweaty guys in speedos go for each other’s throats."

…                     he  tried  his  best  to  keep  a  straight  face  against  those  pleading  eyes,  tried  to  be  stubborn,  but  it  was  all  futile  in  the  end     ⸻     muttering  some  expletives  under  his  breath,  teeth  clenched,  as  he  pinched  the  bridge  of  his  nose  when  his  conviction  started  to  crack  like  an  old  porch  step. ❝  fine  .  .  .  okay.  fuck . . .   just  quit  your  whining.  ❞ a  long,  drawn-out  sigh,  like  the  kind  his  old  man  used  to  make  after  a  long day in the factory,  handing  over  the  purple  ziplock  bag  in  exchange  for  their  measly  handful  of  crumpled  bills.  spike  had  always  been  one  to  stick  to  his  guns,  never  cut  deals,  not  for  his  friends,  not  even  for  that  sweet  old  lady  who'd  always  slip  him  a  piece  of  candy  when  he  was  a  kid.  but  here  he  was,  changing  how  he  did  things  for  a  pretty  face  that  shouldn't  mean  a  damn  thing. ❝  don't  get  any  ideas  now.  this  is  a  one-time  thing     ⸻     you're  lucky  i  like  you,  'cause  even  my  oldest  regulars  don't  get  this  special  treatment.  ❞

open to : anyone. just a typical dealer x client plot. muse : spike gutterson. twenty7. weed dealer, butcher, busboy, everywhere and anywhere to save up enough money to move out of their shithole town.

ray scoffed, rolling his eyes with a smirk at her teasing. it was true - this was probably the third... or fourth time he’d promised to step outta the ring for good, but this time, he was dead set on it; the federation was already planning his farewell tour. "rich? nah, sweetheart, we ain’t that lucky," he chuckled, sitting up slowly, his grin widening as his gaze met hers by the door. "but if there’s one thing i know ‘bout retirement, it’s that the money ain’t half bad. so we might be able to afford one of those things."

she gave him a understanding smile, nodding softly. "you also said that the last time. you not so good at making promises, sunshine." crossing her arms, she knew she had to let him be. she frowned one eyebrow, chuckling. "hm... see the world? tend to the farm? do we have money for this? are we rich and you never told me?"

EMMA D'ARCY — Ph. by Sarah Piantadosi for ES Magazine (May 2024)

in his defense, seamus hadn’t exactly put much prep into this crossover match between federations. not because he underestimated the rival federation’s talent - he wasn’t that much of an asshole - but he sure hadn’t expected to find himself in the situation he was in now, with his opponent still pinning him down even after the three-count while the flashes from countless cameras captured every second of his defeat. “that was pure luck,” he muttered, even though he’d practically just had his arse handed to him. “i wouldn’t be the champ if my record looked bad now, would i?” the other man finally shifted off him, and seamus exhaled, still lying flat on the mat as he watched his opponent rise to his feet. “are ya at least gonna help me up or what? your new fans might fancy that,” he jokingly teased, extending his hand with a cheeky wink, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

it didn't matter if it was a championship match or an exhibition match. a bout was a bout, and callum was gonna make sure to give it his absolute all every single time. it just so happened that he was facing another champion this time around. he made sure to keep in the pinning position for a tad bit longer for the cameras that he knew were snapping pictures and streaming to all the folks at home. "i highly doubt that." it was healthy to have competition, and he knew it was good to have rival wrestlers going against each other.....they just had to make sure they could cut it over here. he was at the top of the ladder for a reason, and it was no easy climb to get there. "try improving your skills first before you start throwing out challenges. you don't have a good record." he mocked before starting to get to his feet.