#weighted vest training

[ancientroyalblood]

How to Use a Weighted Vest for Functional Fitness Training: A Complete Guide

Adding a weighted vest to your workout can significantly elevate the intensity and effectiveness of functional fitness training. By providing additional resistance, weighted vests help improve strength, endurance, and overall athletic performance. This guide explores the benefits of weighted vests, how to use them properly, and the best exercises to incorporate into your routine for optimal…

[chaoartwork]

Just sketches of a dubious little creature getting up to mischief.

[rainyfestivalsweets]

Alright. So ya'll know I have embarked on a mission "Operation lose this gut". You have seen my victories and struggles.

One thing I was looking for recently was this waist trainer that I got back when I was married.... idk 2017?

I saved it thru 2 moves, a divorce and a fuckton of decluttering.

I had lost it and was recently looking for it.

I found it!

I am still have trouble fitting it though.

Does it actually help to wear these things? Idk. But I have a dress I need to fit so I am gonna try it out. Hopefully over the next month it will help.

Also - good God, I have lost 100 pounds. Wtf was I thinking buying this?????

It took alot of work to get it on this far.

This is after 100 pounds of weight loss.

Still doing all the things. Cardio & weights & diet.

Keep going keep going keep going.

[thesinnersbride]

After workout selfies! 🔥⚡️

#sheilagrace #selfies #selfietime #aftertraining #afterworkout #training #sports #fitness #workout #workoutmotivation #fitnessmotivation #weightedvest

[technicallyhappyarcade]

The Ultimate Guide to Choosing the Right Weighted Vest

A weighted vest is a versatile fitness accessory to enhance your workout routines. It's an adjustable garment that adds extra weight, typically in the form of removable weight plates or sandbags, to increase the intensity of your exercises. Whether you're into running, walking, calisthenics, or CrossFit, a weighted vest can help you take your fitness to the next level. They come in various weight options, making it easy to customize the challenge to your fitness level. Weighted vests offer muscle strengthening, endurance improvement, and increased calorie burn. They are also use in autism therapy and sensory training. Explore the world of fitness with a weighted vest and elevate your workouts.

[multifandomme]

Disarmed

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: During a mandatory training session, you unexpectedly uncover a new kink and Emily is more than happy to indulge you. Based on this anon request.

Genre: Smut, (choking, semi-public/public?, fingering, pet names, light praise, degradation, daddy kink), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 2.9k..

This piece is for day 15 of kinktober under the ‘choking’ prompt.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

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The sky had yet to be licked with a trace of dawn’s light, the only solace found in the caffeine that thrummed steadily through your veins, listless eyes flickering around in the silence. It was unusual for the team, though incomplete, to be so void of life, but Strauss and her dark magic had the ability to drain the fun out of any situation.

This time, Strauss had stooped to new lows, had marched into the morning briefing and blindsided half of you with firm instructions to abandon the case and attend a mandatory training session instead. Of course, the reaction she had understandably yielded had been less than favourable, though presented with no choice, you were forced into compliance.

Unshakable tension hung in the air, unnerving quiet persisting and breached only by the sound of the car engine in the background. Emily’s warmth bled into you, her body pressed snugly beside you, her hand lingering against your knee. Spending time with her appeared to be the only saving grace, every occasional stolen glance forcing the emergence of a smile upon your lips and one that even Strauss could not diminish. 

But you knew that the moment would be short-lived, knew that the second Emily stepped into the training facility she would transform, the demeanour of a hardened agent soon to possess her. It was alluring to witness, her competitive streak free of its cage and only evoking an envy in you towards any unsub that was ever lucky enough to be subdued by her. You had imagined it countless times, desperate to feel the weight of her wrath, her gun trained on you, her voice purring in your ear. For now, the fantasy would have to suffice. 

The vehicle ground to an abrupt halt, your devious daydreams hastily thrust to the outskirts of your mind. Morgan sighed audibly in agitation as he regarded the training facility with disdain, serving only as a reminder of a job left undone, the knowledge that cases were certain to be stacking in your absence. This sound roused Hotch into rotation as he twisted in the driver’s seat, his hands retracting from their prior state of uninterrupted white-knuckling around the steering wheel.

“I know that none of us want to be here,” Hotch acknowledged, flatly, his mirrored indignation unable to be hidden, “just follow instruction, stick to protocol and maybe we can get back in time to pick up the case, which I know is what we all want.”

“How the hell did the rest of the team get out of this one?” Morgan flared, his head shaking in avid disapproval, his jaw flexed, “Strauss has it in for the four of us, this is just another one of her games.”

A lengthened pause occurred as Hotch jostled to land on a diplomatic answer, though his agreement was glaringly obvious. He knew that this was merely another strategy to antagonise the team and place all of you under a microscope in the hopes that you would fail. Morgan had already let her sneak under his skin, falling victim to the effect she had been intent on provoking.

“Then let’s not give her any more ammunition,” Hotch nodded, his expression determined, intense.

“What’s the first scenario?” You probed, curiously, the lewd thoughts you had stowed away earlier suddenly sparking back into existence, entranced by the vision of Emily in her bulletproof vest, wondering how it would feel to have it slammed against you.

Morgan unravelled the little brochure that Strauss had kindly provided earlier, his eyes scanning the first page, a scoff of bemusement emitting. “Hostage negotiation.”

The revelation elicited a burst of excitement inside of you, a sense of renewed purpose holding you in its grasp as you conjured a menacing plan. Emily noted the shift, suspicion quick to cloud her as she narrowed her eyes. 

“I could be the unsub,” you suggested, coolly, a dismissive shrug following suit for good measure, the deranged delight threatening to hack through and expose your true motive.

And manipulating a profiler was your first mistake, Emily's irises swirling with something newfound, an unmistakable glint that soundlessly informed you that she had suspected your underhandedness. You had expected her to dissuade you, to foil your plan for her own satisfaction and yet, she remained quiet, collected, a sweet simper fused to her lips.

"You sure you can handle that?" She retorted, the soft lilt in her voice only inflaming the thoughts that plagued your brain.

Emily knew exactly what she was doing, but you also had an ace to play.

"Come on, Prentiss," you appealed, vehemently, your lips inching closer until your breath fizzled against her ear, the proximities deliberate enough that a marked whisper had the potential to go unheard by the others. "I have no problem overpowering you in the sack, baby, why don't you give me a challenge for once?"

A musing scoff emanated from her, eyes darkening to a shade unfathomable, her expression hastily correcting itself, self-control successfully slashed by the daring nature of your words. Bite marks imprinted themselves into the full flesh of her lips, her gaze averted as she threw a nod of confirmation towards Hotch.

"Let her do it, Hotch," Emily echoed, feigning supportiveness, though the hand upon your knee mutated its caressing touch to something more ominous, squeezing with vigour, with warning. "She's desperate for it."

"Give the girl a chance, Hotch," Morgan chimed in.

Hotch ruminated on the idea, the chasms of his frown lines deepening in his state of thought, his face unreadable until it melted into certainty.

"It's settled then," he affirmed. "Emily will negotiate. Morgan, you and I will serve as backup. Let's get into position."

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Anxiety rattled as you awaited the inevitable onslaught, an agent from another unit knelt before you, posed as the hostage, your gun nudging into the back of his skull. You should have been fearful of failing given the high stakes involved, Strauss gunning to disband the BAU and strip you of your jobs, but you were enthralled by the unfolding situation. Your heart thudded, so ferociously that your ribcage seemed to bounce visibly with every pulsation, a familiar tingling sensation between your legs as you prepared to face the crowd of agents. But you only cared about one of them.

And when the battering footfalls flooded, you stared out into the sea of unfamiliar faces until you identified the one that educed goosebumps, libido splintering. Emily gripped her gun forcefully, her aim never straying as she followed your every movement with it, her callous demeanour only furthering the thrill that racked through you.

"FBI! Put the weapon down!" Emily bellowed, unequivocal in her demand. "Nice and slowly, let me see your hands."

"Listen to her," Morgan encouraged, his voice gentler, coaxing. "She's trying to help you but you need to let this man go, okay?"

The words did not register, unable to pry your lustful gaze from the woman before you, her steps painstakingly slow as they grew nearer, cautious in her approach. You almost considered surrendering, too engrossed by Emily for logic or reason to occur to you, every thought placing her at the singularity. And God, you wanted her, wanted to bow out of this exercise and feel her flush against you, inside of you, all over you.

"Don't come any closer," you demanded, unfaltering on your designated target as you repositioned the handgun against the hostage's temple this time, the threat coercing Emily into a slight retreat. "I'll shoot, do you hear me? I will shoot him."

Emily swallowed hard, a fleck of annoyance passing over her eyes in the realisation that she would have to resort to faux appeasement. As expected, she safely holstered her weapon, her teeth gritted almost undetectably in response to her state of powerlessness, having assumed that a feat like this would have been effortless. She had underestimated you.

"I have put away my gun," she reiterated, her hands raised to the skies, her fate undecided, at your mercy. "I won't hurt you, but I'm gonna need you to let him go first, okay? Nobody needs to get hurt."

Compelled to heed her, the uncompromising cinch upon your gun devolved into a state of wavering, the compulsion to submit to her almost too staggering to ignore. It was only when you noticed her form closing in that you had realised how convincing she had been, how she had managed to render you bewitched without being consciously aware of it. You had forgotten the existence of protocol, the purpose of your task sliding away until it no longer mattered to you or at all. And then, your gun clattered to the ground beneath, the hostage fleeing into the arms of Morgan who awaited him.

Under the guise that the exercise had been concluded, your eyes travelled to land on Emily, met instead by the whirring of flashing throws and punches. The pain had not yet materialised, too bewildered to arrive upon a single emotion nor feeling until your neck found itself encircled, besieged by a wrecking force.

The surge of cold against your back signified that you had been successfully wrangled to the ground, a striking white smile peering down at you from above. A sensation of weightlessness washed over you, the hands around your neck only willing you further to places unknown, places that you had not yet explored, your vision clouded in white-hot.

"More," you rasped, your thoughts so exquisitely confused, so nonsensical that you were convinced that the voice belonged not to you, but to someone far in the distance. "Daddy."

"Come on, Prentiss," Morgan's voice pierced your brain, half-startling you as you thudded back into reality and reacquainted yourself with your surroundings. "Now that's just overkill."

The pressure released itself and subsequently filled you with disappointment, Emily clambering from you with a sickening smile.

"Really?" She questioned, blatant amusement sported upon her features, the sound of footsteps retreating as the training room gradually emptied. "Begging me to choke you in front of all of those agents, hm?"

A pitiful whine was all that you could gather, any further response thwarted by the sound of Hotch's voice as he peeped his head around the doorway.

"Take twenty," he spoke, his voice echoing out into the newfound hollowness of the space, you and Emily now the only remaining inhabitants. "Target practice is next on the agenda. We'll regroup at the range."

Emily nodded in agreement before scanning the room to assure that you were alone, panic percolating inside of you until it brimmed. You had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, left vulnerable in the desolation.

"A lot can happen in twenty minutes, pretty girl," she hummed, her mouth still corrupted by that same, sinful smirk. "I could help you out," she considered, a finger pressed to her lips, as if she was waiting to be convinced. "The question is, are you going to be quiet if I do?"

Instantly, you sucked in a breath, careful as not to solidify an unfavourable decision, the remnants of a whimper swallowed away.

"I'll be quiet, Daddy," you acceded, fighting avidly to veil your growing desperation.

The surrounding scene blurred the second the words had been uttered, the cool flooring against your back replaced by the feeling of a rugged wall. Your vision vacillated between clarity and murk, unable to shake the residual feeling of light-headedness from earlier. Two hands fisted into your vest, her strength pinning you in place as you battled to meet her gaze.

And when you did, you weakened into a state of undivided pliability. You were hers to take, she knew that.

"So fucking typical of you, isn't it, angel?" She taunted, a low chuckle expelling from her, two fingers teasing a downward stripe over your larynx and eliciting a subconscious shudder. "You just can't seem to control yourself around me, can you?"

Refuting her was a lost cause, your hunger so visceral, so blatant that you would do anything to persuade her into quelling it.

"No, I can't," you admitted, breathlessly, your focus fixed upon those trailing fingers, praying for the revival of that same crushing pressure, praying to a god that you didn't believe in if it meant you could relive that feeling of ascension. "I want you, Daddy. I need you."

Flames roared in her eyes, a searing heat radiating from her despite the heavy obstruction of clothing, her hand spreading to reprise its role around your throat. This time, the force was purposely unsatisfying, light as you sprung forward in search of more.

"You want me to choke you, baby?" She asked, almost innocently, her tongue curling against the corner of her mouth in unbridled amusement. "You want me to make you beg for air, hm? Make you forget how to breathe?"

The second you opened your mouth to formulate a response, a harshened grip unleashed itself, the sounds you had vowed to conceal blurting out into the silence.

"That's it, whine like a whore," Emily crooned, mockingly, her teeth grazing your earlobe, the vibration of her words causing shockwaves to ricochet, "you're just loving this aren't you, angel?"

Every drop of moisture drained from your mouth, your jaw slack as you struggled to will in a trace of oxygen. Emily merely smirked as you flailed in her grasp, her face dangerously close as she basked in your strife. For a fleeting moment, she released you and you exploited this scintilla of freedom to calm your burning lungs, your breath erratic, audible.

But the pressure did not let up for long, merely re-emerging in lower territories, her free hand smoothing over your pussy and inducing a loudened moan.

"Fuck."

With time stacked against you, Emily could not afford to subject you to the prolonged suffering that she loved so much, the pads of her fingers soon pressed to your folds. A menacing grin tugged at her lips, her cheeks swelling as she noted the sheer abundance of arousal. A stifled grunt exuded from her, your eyes flickering to acknowledge that she appeared to be as voracious as you were, undeniably pleased to find you drenched, delighted to be the cause of it.

"Filthy girl can't stop herself from getting wet," she growled, "so pathetic, baby."

"Daddy, please," you begged, twisting your neck against her palm in a helpless bid to coax her into compliance, "Squeeze harder."

And Emily delivered, your expectations surpassed as your eyes widened in shock, the bones in your neck appearing to rearrange from the brutality of her grasp. It was heaven and hell combined, the torturous motion of her fingers toying with your clit causing reality to elude you in its entirety. Pleasure burrowed into every pore, lungs burning for alleviation as you dragged in tiny, futile bursts of oxygen, eyes flickering as your mind soared, detached from you.

"And you thought you could overpower me?" Emily huffed out in irony, three ruthless digits shoving their way inside of you and prying your eyes wide. "Not very smart are you, princess," she gibed, her nimble fingers curling deliberately without warning, "you only think about getting fucked, huh? Mindless little thing."

The rigorousness of her action had you elevating to your tiptoes, frantic to encourage her into a deeper invasion of you. This thoughtless bliss was where you prayed to remain, to live out your days, with Emily intruding every part of you. You were positively addicted, relinquishing all control to her ministrations, a smile pinned to her lips as she denied you of breath and regifted it at her own accord.

The sound of punishing fingers wading through your arousal engulfed the quiet, joined by the shameless squeals that fled from you. The consequences of your volume would surely be rectified later, and would probably exist in the shape of Emily's hand spanking you red, raw. You didn't care, didn't have the energy inside of you to put up much of a fight now, your self-control reduced to tatters with no sign of reassembling just yet.

"Close, Daddy," you mumbled, your voice stifled, trembling. "Please."

A cloudy fuzz filled your eyes, Emily's silhouette eclipsed as you succumbed to the dizziness that lapped at you. The ceaseless pounding of her fingers kept you on the cusp of alertness, each swipe of your clit rousing your conscious mind into waking.

"Cum for Daddy," Emily cooed, her lips etching flitting kisses into your cheek, her grip on your throat loosening ever so slightly. "Good girl, cum for me, princess."

And as your climax swept you up, her hand retracted from your throat to muffle the screams that spilled, unchecked, fading against her palm as you floated away. You didn't want to return, lost amongst the stars that sparkled in your vision, shooting around until they gradually ebbed away. Emily withdrew first, suckling ardently on the arousal that covered her digits, triumph fulgurating in her orbs.

"Ready for target practice?" She questioned, cockily, studying your disheveled state with an unrivalled satisfaction. "You know, you can always sit this one out if you're not in the right... state of mind."

"Oh, I'm ready, Prentiss," you retaliated, determination falling to mask your state of disarray as you readjusted your clothing with a cunning smirk. "I just can't wait to watch you lose to me twice."

Emily paused, dumbfounded as you barged her out of the way, your shoulder purposely colliding with her. An audible scoff escaped her, frenzied footsteps soon to follow behind you.

"Okay, now you're really in trouble."

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[gummyfang]

♡♡♡ |   ˗ˏˋ FULL GEAR WORKOUT  ´ˎ˗

➳　【 K ö n i g　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ 】

❧ Warnings: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛 / 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: man idk what this is i needed to get my gear kink out of my system lmao. konig fucks u in full gear that’s all. this is a mess. sorry no capital letters in this one my wrist hurts and pressing shift hurts womp womp :(

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

“fuck, oooh scheiße, i can’t...” könig’s guttural babbling slowly died down in his throat as he groaned loudly, hips smacking against your pelvis with a noisy squelch. your back arches off the freshly cleaned bedsheets as his cock pistoned into your spongy cunt deliciously, but his gloved hands kept you from twisting away from him. this had all started as a joke. an offhand remark. as you’d dropped by könig’s barracks only to find him suited up in full combat gear, earning a look from you. he just explained it was for training purposes. his body had to stay used to the gear, as he had no time to grow comfortably accustomed to the weight and heat out in the field every time.  clearly, he’d taken your joke about him fucking you raw in it for practice very seriously. your legs wrapped around his hips clumsily as könig continued to pound into you, the fabric of his combat cargo trousers causing your legs to slip down a little. although you were convinced könig was completely lost in the feeling of being enveloped by the feeling of your warmth sucking in his dick further with each thrust, you felt his gaze move down to look at you. his gray eyes were sultry and pooling with lust from beneath his sniper hood, his gaze just barely meeting yours through the holes in the cloth. “you need some help?” he laughed breathily. before you could groan out a response, könig moved his leathery grip from your wrists. you whined as the comforting pressure of his tactical vest left your abdomen. however, your whines quickly turned to loud moans as könig hoists your leg over his shoulder and starts thrusting his cock into you at a heightened angle. ohhh fuck. your head twisted itself back into the pillow, mouth agape as you watched your boyfriend fuck you. the glinster in his eyes told you he was thoroughly enjoying seeing you like this. “i should fuck you like this more often, engel. you look gorgeous.” könig growled. while his muscular right arm locked your leg in place over his shoulder, his other hand started exploring your body, fingers grazing over your clit. könig groaned deeply, his hips stuttering a little as his finger traced your bare skin. his cock twitched inside you, the sight of your naked body at the mercy of his fully clothed one seemed to do something to him he had never realized he loved. he pulled out of your cunt suddenly, a string of slick still attaching you to his erect cock. without any effort, he grabbed your hips and rolled you over onto your stomach, before reentering you from behind. you cried out as he picked up his pace brutally. könig’s eyes flashed with caution as he instinctively leaned over, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushing your face into the pillow. “careful, now, engel. someone might hear us.” he growled, followed by a soft whimper. he wasn’t going to last much longer. your eyes rolled back into your skull as you felt the hard, icy metal of the canisters and tubes of his vest press into your back. it was painful, but it hurt so good. something about that sensation sent you over the edge. “könig!” you cried his name into the pillow as your body spasmed, your puffy walls tightening around his cock deliciously as you came. könig groaned loudly as his body lurched forward at the sensation, feeling his gear press you into the bed even further. his hips stuttered as he moaned into your ear deliciously, before his cock spurted hot ropes of cum deep inside you. slowly, könig fucked himself out into you, before his hips finally came to a halt. you felt the draping fabric of his sniper hood brush against the back of your neck, damp with his sweat and breath. you felt his hand gently pat your hip twice before he pulled out, chuckling softly. “i think i just found my new favorite workout routine.”

[shadow4-1]

Hi! Idk if you take requests, but if you do I was wondering if I could request a 141 x reader where they're on a mission and at some point a grenade gets thrown at them and they don't have enough time to run away so reader pulls a Steve Rogers and throws herself onto it to prevent the damage done to the rest of the squad? If not that's totally fine too, ik it's kinda sad lol. Btw I love your writing it's super good, especially the 141 x shy reader. 💕

I like this idea! It's very heroic and a lil' sad. And, to be quite frank, would've been a much more heroic way for Soap to have gone out in MW3! Here's my take on this prompt:

Shit. Shit. Shit.

How the hell are you going to do this?

Gaz is alive but unconscious, Ghost is on his knees, and Soap is face down in a pool of subway grit. You can't hear, you know your eardrums are blown out from the blast. Price dashed off after Makarov.

On shaky ankles you step around the bodies of friend and foe alike. You can feel the atmosphere bend with the whiz of bullets but you can't hear them shattering the checkerboard tile.

You manage to get over Soap first. He's breathing. He's really fucking heavy too, all dead weight and limp. With all of your adrenaline strength you manage to brute force him over onto his back. He's got some shrapnel in his jaw and littered all over his kit, but nothing too visibly deep.

There's a hand on your shoulder. It's so heavy it nearly brings you down to the floor. You scream, but you can't hear it, only feel the vibration in your chest.

It's Ghost. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, and completely crazed. You can't tell if he's talking because of his mask. He's still on his knees, and his body dips to the side before he rights himself with a jerk. You know your Lt. well enough to know something is seriously wrong with him, but he's conscious, and therefore not your top priority.

Gaz is.

You glance over at your other team member. He's slouched over against a pillar. He's barely awake with eyes rolling and lips bloody. You make a mad dash over to him. You trust Ghost will take care of Soap to at least get him to safety.

You feel more bullets bending around you but it doesn't matter. You're probably hit already and you just can't feel it. Your boots lose purchase in some grime and you slip. You crawl the last few feet to Gaz. He doesn't see you or focus on you even as you fill up his vision.

You try to mutter something to him but you can't hear it and you doubt he can either.

The entire subway platform vibrates. You can feel the rattling of a train whoosh by behind you. You really hope Price caught Makarov. Just as the train passes you by you feel another explosion. Hot air blows down the tunnel followed by a red glint.

Oh no.

You wrap your arms tight around Gaz's neck and pull him down to the floor. He coughs up blood tinged saliva onto your vest. You tuck your body around him, cradling his head against your chest. You realize he's missing his hat as you press your face against the crown of his head. One of his hands weakly grabs at the side clasp of your vest.

For that last moment before disaster strikes, you desperately hope he has no idea what's going on.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

The Witch's Bodyguard

(2) I hide and cower in the corner, conversations getting hard

Actress!Wanda Maximoff x Bodygaurd!Fem!Reader

Summary: Wanda has to do an interview and is a little anxious about it

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: None this is just a set up and establish chapter

A/N: I'm so glad you're all looking forward to this series!

Taglist: @dorabledewdroop @rroyale-109 @wandanat01 @scarlizziee @nixxnsworld

@snoozingredpanda @wandamaximoff-simp @mrsromanovaa @sweet--escape17

@natashamaximoff-69

Your fist collided with the sand filled bag, stopping it dead in its tracks. Breathing hot and heavy after a two hour workout. You grabbed for your towel, sitting down to wipe away the sweat from your face as the feeling of a cold water bottle hit the side of your neck.

“I heard you finishing up so I figured I'd bring some water.” You hear Wanda say from behind you. Your tumbler is forgotten beside you as you take the bottle from her. You'd been here only a week, but Wanda quickly learned you're a creature of habit. The early wake up time, workouts that lasted the same amount each day. She was taking notice of the little things.

“Thank you. We have to go out for that interview soon, right?” You ask as you receive a nod. Your eyes flicked down to her hands. Her fingers fidgeting with the rings on her other hand. You could tell she was nervous, but it wasn't your place to say anything so you simply stand up. “I'll be ready in 10. Is Bucky ready?” Your voice is firm, commanding, but devoid of any unnecessary inflection. Bucky's reliability is another aspect of your job that you've come to depend on. Wanda simply nods as the two of you leave the at-home gym.

You head back to your room in the house, taking a quick five minute shower before dressing in your army pants, boots, and a plain white top. You also put on your bulletproof vest and holster your pistol.

As you swiftly gear up, the weight of the bulletproof vest is a familiar comfort against your chest. You've worn it through countless missions, and now it's become a staple of your attire as Wanda Maximoff's bodyguard. The pistol snug in its holster feels like an extension of your body, a tool of protection that you've trained with extensively.

Exiting your room, you find Wanda pacing in the living room, her nervous energy palpable. Bucky stands nearby, his posture relaxed but alert, a testament to his own years of military training.

"Ready to go when you are Ma’am," you state, your voice steady and authoritative. Wanda nods, her eyes briefly meeting yours before she gathers herself. She's still adjusting to having a constant shadow, someone who anticipates her needs before she even realizes them. You can sense her wariness, the uncertainty lingering beneath her composed façade.

As you escort Wanda to the awaiting vehicle you place your hand on the small of her back. A small gesture to reassure her that you’re here. You keep a vigilant watch on your surroundings. Every passerby is a potential threat, every noise scrutinized for signs of danger. It's second nature to you, this constant state of alertness, but you can see how it unnerves Wanda, the way she glances around nervously.

During the drive to the interview location, Wanda remains quiet, lost in her own thoughts. You respect her need for space, allowing her the silence she seeks while remaining vigilant for any potential threats. Bucky engages in small talk, attempting to lighten the mood, but you remain stoic, your focus solely on the task at hand.

Arriving at the interview venue, you scan the area, assessing the security measures in place. Satisfied with your observations, you usher Wanda inside, your presence a silent reassurance amidst the chaos of flashing cameras and eager reporters. Your hand once again finding it’s place on the small of her back.

Throughout the interview, you remain at the perimeter, a silent sentinel watching over Wanda's every move. You catch the subtle shifts in her demeanor, the way she navigates the questions. To most people she probably looked normal, but to you it was obvious she was anxious as she waited for questions to come her way with her other coworkers. She fidgeted with her rings again as she looked over the crowd. When she catches your eye you can fully see the panic and you do something that surprises you both. You make a silly face and she starts smiling with her brows furrowed. So you make another and get a chuckle out of her. It made you happy to be able to ease her tensions.

As the interview draws to a close, you guide Wanda and Bucky back to the vehicle. Once safely inside, you exhale a silent breath of relief, the tension slowly dissipating from your shoulders. You looked over at Wanda you also seemed to be much more relaxed now that it was over.

======

You sit in the dim glow of the fire, the crackling flames casting dancing shadows across the room. The warmth seeps into your bones, a comforting embrace after the long day's work. With a book in hand, you delve into its pages, immersing yourself in a world far removed from the reality of your duties.

The rhythmic tapping of keys fills the room as Wanda works diligently on her laptop, her focus unwavering. You steal a glance at her from time to time, noting the furrow of her brow as she concentrates. There's a sense of determination about her, a drive to excel in everything she does.

The silence between you is companionable, each lost in your own thoughts yet connected by the shared space. It's a rare moment of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives, a chance to simply be without the weight of the world pressing down upon you.

As the night stretches on, the fire burns lower, casting elongated shadows that dance along the walls. You reach for your cup of tea, the warmth seeping into your hands as you take a sip. The aroma of chamomile fills the air, soothing and calming.

Eventually, Wanda closes her laptop, the soft click of the lid echoing in the quiet room. She stretches, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she settles back into her chair. You close your book, marking your place with a gentle touch before setting it aside.

"Long day," Wanda remarks, her voice breaking the silence. You nod in agreement, the events of the day still fresh in your mind. Despite the challenges, you feel a sense of accomplishment, knowing that you've kept her safe once again.

"But a good day," you reply, your voice low yet filled with assurance. Wanda meets your gaze, a hint of gratitude shining in her eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the differences between you, there's a mutual respect that binds you together. "Time for bed?" You ask, but Wanda shakes her head, making you raise an eyebrow.

"A little longer." Her voice is soft. "Just want to relax without work for a bit. Let my mind shut off." She looked at you, eyes looking so tired. Like she could fall asleep in her chair as she curled up her legs and rested her chin on her hand to look over at the fire.

You let her be, picking your book back up to read a little more. It was only a few minutes until you heard her breathing even out, looking up from your book to find her asleep. A small smile on your face. This seemed to be a thing. Half of the week Wanda was falling asleep somewhere other than her bed and you'd have to take her to bed.

You lift Wanda effortlessly, her slight frame feeling feather-light in your arms. She stirs slightly as you gather her, her grip tightening instinctively as she nestles closer to you. Her warmth seeps into your skin, a comforting presence amidst the quiet of the night.

As you ascend the stairs to her room, you navigate with ease, your steps sure and steady. Wanda's soft breaths tickle the nape of your neck, a gentle reminder of her vulnerability in this moment of repose.

Reaching her bedroom door, you push it open with a gentle nudge, the soft click echoing in the stillness of the night. The room is bathed in moonlight, casting a silvery glow upon the familiar surroundings.

Carefully, you lower Wanda onto her bed, tucking the covers around her with a tender touch. She sighs contentedly, her features relaxed in sleep. For a moment, you simply watch her, the moonlight casting shadows across her peaceful face.

With a sigh, you turn away, leaving her to her dreams. It's become a routine, this silent vigil over her rest, a duty you've come to embrace with quiet determination.

Exiting her room, you pause in the hallway, your gaze lingering on the closed door. In the stillness of the night, you can't help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over you, a silent vow to always keep her safe.

With one last glance, you continue down the hallway, the echo of her soft breathing lingering in your mind. As you settle into your own room, you can't help but reflect on the complexities of your role as her protector, the unspoken bond that binds you together even in the darkest of hours.

And as sleep finally claims you, you find solace in the knowledge that for tonight, at least, she rests easy under your watchful gaze.

[rainyfestivalsweets]

9/13/23

Dudes. I DID 2 RUN/WALK WORKOUTS YESTERDAY.

Here is the other one:

It was Wednesday now and I am:

Standing at my desk

Wearing my waist trainer

Focused on my goals

Ready to kick ass

My waist trainer went on much easier today. Much much easier.

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Downloading sexy beast mode.....

[.... ... ....]

And did I mention I was able to get the dress on?

So I am not weight focused right now, I am habit focused. If I just focus on my daily activities, I can't go wrong.

[littlebluespoon]

Stuck ~ Octo!König

I got distracted by @frogchiro's wonderful octo!König head cannons and I just had to write a little something where König saw an opportunity and refused to not take it 🤭

Hope you all enjoy 💙

Part 2 - Stuck (Again) Part 3 - Unstuck Part 4 - Stranded

A03 link -

You’d been with the 141 for a few of months now, patching up the hybrids after their missions and even sometimes after they pull some mischief on the base. Before you joined 141 you hadn’t interacted much with hybrids, even in the military most of them were in specialised units suited to their hybrid abilities but getting to work with Price and the others had been an eye opening and fun experience for you. It also forced you to learn about a thousand new skills and tricks as the fox side of Gaz meant you had to catch him to treat him, you learned how to avoid Soap’s wandering tail as you tried to give him stitches and what to say back to Ghost and his growling every time you had to treat him. Luckily none of them required specialist training to be able to treat so you were quite comfortable in your skills. Of course, maybe someone should have insisted on more training for you before you were all sent on the mission with Kortac, it might have caused less problems.

“Contact left!” “Ghost, how copy?” “Shit! Fuck! He’s hit!” “Medic! König’s hit!”

You dart out from where you had taken cover and rush towards Ghost and König. Getting there you see the Colonel on the ground, having been dragged behind cover by Ghost, in a pool of blood,

“König? Can you hear me?” You knew you had to act quickly, putting pressure on the wound and trying to get him to respond as you shook him.

“Don’t..” He mumbles out, ‘Don’t waste… I’ll shift” he whispers out, so quietly that your ear is pressed to his veil just to hear him,

“Then shift!” Screaming in his face as you desperately try to stop the blood, you watch him shake his head,

“Burden, no..” you roll your eyes at the stubborn soldier,

“I can protect you König, just shift so you’ll live!” you emphasise your point by putting as much of your body weight on his wound as possible and that seems to be all it takes.

One minute you’re fighting a six foot ten inch stubborn ass of a man and the next you have an octopus barely bigger than your hand, curled around your wrist. You cant not stare at him, you didn’t even know König was a hybrid. After a few shocked moments you can hear more calls for a medic in your comms so you make a quick decision and shove König down the front of your top, behind the bullet proof vest.

Between the mission going to hell and patching up everyone’s injuries, you’d actually forgotten about König until another Kortac soldier asked you how you’d gotten him to safety. Dumbfounded you took a moment to remember and then you couldn’t stop the blush across your face. Pulling off your vest and reaching into your shirt you get a hand on him and gently tug, and tug, and tug but he goes nowhere. Now everyone’s looking at you in confusion,

“Hehe, hang on,” you say to the Kortac group, “König! Let go” whispering down your shirt at the stubborn man who refuses to move no matter how much you pull at him. Seeing that everyone’s looking at you like you’ve gone insane you decide to take off your shirt and ask for help. Instead all you get are laughs and several photos that perfectly capture how unamused you are and how content König is.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Simon loves being Price's demonstration dummy. He loves the aftermath even more.

cw: sexual content, a horny lieutenant, body worship, oral sex, anal sex.

"Start by securin' a grip on yer opponent's arm with one hand, and use the other hand t' grab their collar or shoulder. Carrier vest works well too."

Simon stood at his captain's side, his body relaxed as he prepared to go airborne in the name of practical demonstration. He'd be lying if he said it wasn't his favourite part of the week... well, that and what always followed.

He watched Price from beneath low lashes, drawing deep, slow breaths through the fabric of his mask, if only to keep his bloody heart from thumping through the wall of his chest in excitement. Price's hands warm and firm against his body even through the cotton of his shirt, and his skin tingled in their wake.

"Step t' the side and lower yer hips while bringin' yer opponent close to ya," Price said, his attention on the new recruits gathered around the mat. Simon didn't resist as his captain drew him close, but he did breathe him in; sweat, deodorant and cologne, a deep musk that gathered at the back of Simon's throat, made his mouth water. Simon wanted to shove his nose into his ruffled hair, underneath his arm, across the ruff of his chest, for that scent to soak through to his bones.

"Yer shoulder should be positioned under their armpit. As ya pull yer opponent forward an' down, rotate yer hips and shoulders into them. Use yer legs t' lift an' drive yer shoulder into their body. Big fuckers like this? You gotta use their weight," Price moved and Simon's feet left the floor, "against 'em."

Simon's back hit the mat, punching a grunt from his chest, and he felt the familiar thrill unfurl down his spine as Price's body crowded over him. He studied the dark v-shape of sweat in the front of his shirt, the glisten of wet up his throat that disappeared into the scruffy stubble of his beard. Fuck, Simon wanted to lick it off him.

"As yer man's thrown, maintain yer grip t' control his fall and prepare for a transition into a dominant position or submission. Grapple, choke. Don't pause t' catch yer breath," he explained, half sprawled over Simon's body, his thick chest pressed to Simon's, so close that Simon felt the vibrations of his voice against him. "Any questions?" There weren't any. "Good. Pair up. Technique over strength."

The squaddies grabbed a buddy and headed to the other mats, and Price looked down at his junior officer's face. "You bulkin'?"

"Yeah."

"Thought so. Had to put some welly behind that one," Price said, lopsided grin making Simon want to shove his tongue down his throat. Those blue eyes framed in scruff and laughter lines, the curves beneath his sloped collarbones, the effortless way he had thrown Simon's sizable bulk to the floor, his form perfect, the explosive power in his body exercised with trained precision; everything about him made Simon feral.

The captain rolled to his feet and Simon grabbed the arm he offered down. "Take the four over there. Positioning like that's gonna lead to somethin' tearin'."

"Rog."

Simon wandered over to correct the indicated trainees and Price observed another set. This latest batch were promising, but they were almost skittish in their desperation for approval. More likely to make mistakes and second guess themselves. They needed to relax into it, listen to their instinct over the noise in their head. Simon decided to break the ice with the next demonstration.

It was a simple manoeuvre that tended to be a whole lot of fun to finish the session; the ranger roll. Quick and snappy way to pluck someone from the field and leg it under fire. Price was a pro at it. Simon upped the difficulty by latching onto a nearby bench, locking his legs so that Price flailed on his back halfway through the roll, splayed over Simon's belly with an arm hooked under his knee.

"What the fu--?" Price glanced up, saw Simon's ploy and elbowed him in the gut in retaliation, smirking. "Ya bloody muppet." The recruits laughed, their stances noticeably relaxing as Simon shrugged apologetically. Ice broken. Price rolled to his feet and performed the move again. This time, he lifted Simon from the floor, and Simon draped over his shoulders with a soft, satisfied hum. Fuckin hell, he needed Price on his back, needed those strong thighs around his hips, needed to hear that gruff voice sex-rough, fucked raw.

Simon suffered through another twenty minutes of watching others perform pale imitations of Price, before the captain finally dismissed them to the showers, heading out of the gym to his room.

Simon stayed long enough to ensure no one lingered by the dumb bell rack before swapping out of his boxers and shorts to a pair of grey joggers; he wanted as little between him and his prize as possible. Hands shaking, he knocked at Price's door after pursuing him down the corridors, shouldering his way inside only when Price greeted him from behind it. "Feelin' impatient, Simon?"

Simon watched as Price stripped off, revealing damp curls of chest hair, the sweat-slick curves and slopes of his body, still pumped from exercise, thick and flushed. His mane of brown scruff was ruffled out of place, sticking up in all directions, begging for fingers to grab it, to tug until he was forced to show his throat.

Simon's cock thickened in his joggers, pressing out against the soft grey material, and he folded his mask up above his nose in anticipation. Price chucked his t-shirt onto the floor, standing there in his shorts and nothing else, built like a fuckin greek hero and begging to be defiled, blue eyes dark. "C'mon then, boy. Come get it."

Simon didn't need telling twice. He growled low in his chest and surged forward, barreling Price into his bed, his mouth pressing to his throat as he ground his hip forward between Price's thighs. "Mmf, fuck, yeah," Price moaned, fingernails snagging in Simon's t-shirt as he bucked eagerly.

Price arched, his body begging for worship even if his voice stayed stoic, understated. For now. Simon buried a hand in his hair and pulled his head back, sucking and laving biting kisses down the arch of his throat to his chest, mouthing thick muscle with desperate, wet licks, before sucking a nipple into his mouth with a grateful moan. Price tasted like heaven, raw masculinity and power, and Simon wanted to overwhelm him, overcome the strength roiling beneath his skin, possess it and feel it wrapped around his prick until it yielded to him.

Mine, mine, his mind chanted, his nose burying in Price's armpit as he forced one of Price's arms above his head. Simon ran the flat of his tongue into the groove of it, tip flicking over the veins in his bicep before he sucked kisses into that flesh too. Price gasped, a low, raspy sound deep in his throat, his erection pressing up into Simon's belly, and Simon sank off the edge of the bed as he worked lower.

There was a layer of plush on Price's abdomen and Simon nipped at it, tonguing the trail of hair that disappeared below the waistband of his shorts, before wrenching those down too. Price's full cock bounced free, the slit wet with precum, but Simon ignored it to bury his face in the dark curls around his sac, inhaling the deep musk of him with a feral, half-wild growl.

"Filthy git," Price said through a throaty laugh, only to dissolve in a low moan as Simon sucked, wet and open mouthed, at his balls, teeth threatening tender skin in a way that made Price's cock twitch and throb with arousal. Simon didn't leave him waiting too long, swallowing the thick bulb of his glans to the back of his throat, tongue writhing and wriggling beneath his shaft. Price arched, strong fingers scrunching at Simon's mask and then dropping to grip the blonde tufts that escaped the back of it.

Simon let him fuck up into his mouth, his arms curling around his thighs to pull them apart, Price's heels nudging the backs of his shoulders. It was erotic, the way Price's body moved in search of pleasure, even splayed and vulnerable. His command didn't falter. "Nnh, Simon, fuck, fuck... Yer mouth's a bloody treat, sweet'eart."

Simon growled and pulled off, leaving strings of saliva and cum to trail down his chin to the tip of Price's cock as he stared up the naked length of him to the mischievous blue eyes watching him. Price knew what he was doing. Knew how he was baiting Simon to fuck him until his legs didn't work and his throat was raw from the moaning. Simon's cock ached, the brush of soft fleece enough to make him rut forward against the mattress in search of pleasure. "C'mon, Simon. Fuck me," Price snarled, strong thighs testing Simon's grip on them.

Simon surged up his body to smash their mouths together, teeth catching chapped lips, the taste of copper between them as he snatched the bottle of lube from where Price had chucked it in full anticipation of the railing he was about to receive. Simon squirmed out of his joggers, thick cock rutting into the sweat and spit slick skin of Price's hip, fisting the bed sheets with one hand as he gathered enough self control to tilt to the side and soak his cock in lube. A messy fist smoothed the gel down to the base before gathering Price's legs up his torso, his tip pushing into the snug grip of Price's hole.

"Mmf, fuck, slow, slow... Fuckin hells," Price snarled, nails biting into the side of Simon's neck as Simon quivered under the strain of self control. He rolled his hips in short, measured thrusts, easing in slowly, hunching down to kiss the grimace of concentration off of Price's face.

Simon was a decent length, nothing to sniff at, but it was the girth that truly satisfied, left people wrecked. It had taken previous lovers time to work up to and even Price, practiced and experienced, huffed deep breaths as his body yielded to it. "God bloody fuck, mm..." Price cussed, pushing his head back as he rocked up to meet Simon's hips, sliding himself up and down the full length of him. "Yeah, tha's it, right... Ah, right there, Simon, fuckin... Ah."

He was fucking beautiful like this. Beautiful. There weren't a word that fitted better. Blue eyes misty, his head thrown back, the flush of pleasure down his neck, splashed across his furred chest. His legs spread wide and wanton as Simon's fat cock sank into his greedy hole. Simon wanted to look, but he also wanted to taste, his teeth scraping through the scruff of Price's beard on their way to his neck. The pace was sweet torture, the pleasure curling up his spine, his balls pulled tight, sinking in all the way to the hilt, hoping Price'd be able to feel him in his guts if he thrust deep enough.

"G'wan, fuck me proper, boy," Price rasped, rewarded almost immediately with a firm thrust that startled a yelp out of him. It was all the encouragement Simon needed, gathering Price's legs to his shoulders as he began to piston his hips at a relentless pace, fucking hard and fast into the warm, wet clutch of Price's body.

Simon loved making Price loud, his bitten off cusses peppered with lower moans, gasps that almost bled into whines when Simon found the right angle. It was a complete and utter fracture of his iron control, and Simon revelled in it. His own noises ran away with him; snarls, growls, Price's name, his title, sir. The dizzying pleasure unspooled through him from head to toe, the day's tension burning out of his muscles with every pant of exertion, Price's body milking his cock with the most delicious friction.

Price didn't touch himself. He never did at first. He liked being fucked; liked the way a thick cock felt as it spread him open and pounded his prostate, his hands fisting the bed sheets as he met each thrust, demanding. When Simon shifted onto his feet, curving Price's hips up until he was fucking down into him like an animal mounting a mate, deeper, harder, than before, Price finally fisted his cock in search of his building release.

Simon lost track of anything but the heat of Price's hole, the pulsing clutch of it around his prick, the increasingly desperate noises each of his thrusts punched out of Price's chest. His orgasm curled up his spine, pulling taut in his muscles, his balls high and tight as he held off until the end he desired.

Price's hand stuttered and then he was spilling, thick ropes of cum splashed over his chest and neck, his impressive cock throbbing and flicking in the circle of his fingers as he teased himself through the aftershocks. Simon went to pull out, but Price snarled, "Don't you... fuckin dare. "

It flicked a switch in Simon's head, cut the final thread of a chord that had kept him tethered, and he began to rut like the animal he was. The wet slap of his hips grew louder as he chased his high, Price's groans broken around the pain-pleasure of overstimulation, his hole more lax post orgasm, relaxed, sloppy with lube and precum, the noise of Simon's cock fucking into it as obscene as his command to be bred full that punched out in the next breath. "Fuckin... breed me, Simon."

Simon came with a bitten off shout, grinding down into Price 's body as his balls emptied in hot, heavy pulses. Price moaned, pressing up into Simon's hips, rocking slowly as Simon's stuttering thrusts ended with him staying as deep as he could until his cock had stopped twitching, brimming Price with a week's worth of frustrated build up.

"Fuckin hell," Simon rasped, slumping down onto his elbow as he drew out, satisfied by the wetness that covered Price's thighs in the aftermath, and the puffy redness of his fucked out hole.

"Hope they do," Price murmured, shaking legs dropping off the edge of the bed. Simon slumped onto his back, and Price rolled onto his side, following him. "You broken?"

"Nah. Fuckin knackered."

Price barked a laugh. "Simon 'One Nut Wonder' Riley."

"Fuck off," Simon blustered through a laugh of his own. "Aren't you meant to be gettin' a limp dick at your age anyway?"

"Watch it," Price shot back, but without heat. He patted around blindly for his cigarettes and lighter, striking one up between his lips. He took a toke before passing it across to Simon, who puffed smoke at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"Surprised maintenance haven't beasted you for that smoke alarm yet."

"They'd have to catch me first."

"Wiley bastard."

Price smirked as Simon passed the cigarette back, smoke curling from his nose as they both gazed thoughtfully into the dark above them, comfortable and quiet in the afterglow.

They fucked again a few more times that night; slower, closer to lovers than the raw fuck of earlier, and Simon spooned up behind his captain, thrusting into him as he tenderly kissed his neck, drawing out softer moans and praise. "Yeah, Simon... Mm, fuck, that's, ah, ah, please..." The way Price arched into him, muscular body spreading itself eagerly to be pleasured, gravelly voice demanding and pleading in equal measure, made Simon heady with lust and adoration.

Simon wasn't sure what the fuck they had, what it was called; he knew it was wrong by the standards of the service, but they'd have to pry it out of his cold dead hands.

[reiderwriter]

can i request a fic of pining spencer reid and bau!reader who are brushing up on some hand to hand combat and reader is really invested on winning finally pins spencer down and reader is straddling spencer and they are both like 😳😳

the rest of the bau and other fbi agents are on the side making varies bets about who wins maybe too? (eg that miss congeniality scene)

A/N: Thank you for the request and omg thank you so much for this one specifically - I loved this idea. I had to make Spencer competitive too, because 😊 I wanted to.

Word count: 1.8k words

Warnings: none! Just fluff, however if anyone wanted to send a follow up request wanting a part two where there is some smut I'd be 100% okay with that... Just if you wanted to.

Part two

When Morgan told you that, after an unfortunate shoulder injury you received on the job, you’d have to take another training course to prove that you were up to being back in the field, you almost resigned on the spot. Passing the first time hadn’t been the easiest feat for you, and while you were confident in your skills in the field, you knew that you were, to put it kindly, athletically challenged. 

“There’s no way to get out of it? No exceptions they can make to allow me into the field?” You asked, desperate to avoid Morgan putting you through the ringer. 

“I’m sorry, sweet cheeks, but they’re worried about your ability to perform under pressure, so I gotta push you today, okay? You’re not alone, at least.” 

“I’m not?” you gave the man a questioning look as you followed him to the changing rooms reluctantly. 

“Nah, they pulled up Reid and Garcia as well, you’ll all be doing the work together today.” 

“What that’s ridiculous! Penelope isn’t even in the field and Reid has never passed one of these things.” You throw your bag down on a bench, and look ahead of you into the equipment room, and sure enough, there they are, looks of equal dissatisfaction spread across their faces. 

“You’re preaching to the choir here, sweet cheeks. You’re in good hands though, I’m not going to push you too hard today.” Somehow you didn’t believe that. 

–X–

An hour later you were flat on your back, panting harder than you had in months, dripping with sweat and feeling an ache in your bones that you hadn’t felt ever. Next to you on the ground, you could hear your fellow torturee’s moaning in pain, presumably doing their best to stay conscious. 

“You know, chocolate thunder, I love you, I really do, but you make it very, very hard sometimes,” Penelope squeaked out as the other man chuckled from above you. “God I’m not even asthmatic but I think I need an inhaler.” 

You chuckled at that and pushed yourself up to a seated position. 

“I think I am asthmatic.” Reid said form his position on your other side. You stole a glance at him quickly before blushing and looking away. You didn’t have a crush on him, or at least that was what you were telling yourself, but you did have a keen appreciation for how he looked in his button down shirts and FBI vests. His hair was shorter now than when you first met, and the longer parts stuck to his face with sweat. You were lucky that the strength had been all but zapped from your body because given the chance, you’d be pushing his hair out of his face for him and get lost in his eyes. 

“Come on, guys. You finished cardio, you finished weights, all you got left is some simple self defense drills. Think you can handle that?” Morgan laughed from above you. 

“No! I haven’t been able to handle any of this, what makes you think I can do more?” Reid moaned out on the floor next to you. You stood up, reluctantly, holding out a hand out to the man and helping to pull him to his feet. 

You underestimate the help he needed to get up, though and he has to catch you in his arms as soon as he’s up, as you stumble into him, legs too weak. You blush as the two of you stay uncomfortably close for a few seconds, only pulling apart when Morgan lets out a sharp cough. You jump back from each other then, and pray to god that no one else in the room saw the puppy dog eyes you were unintentionally shooting up at him. 

“Okay, so there’s three of you, so I’ll join in for these sparring drills. Any volunteers?” 

“To tangle my limbs with yours all hot and sweaty on the floor? Sweetie, I thought you’d never ask.” You hadn’t seen Penelope move so fast all day, though you knew she was only half joking. 

“Okay, so Y/L/N, Reid, you head over to that mat over there. You’re going to start a hand-to-hand combat simulation, whoever pins the other down first wins. We’ll do best of three, okay?” 

Reluctantly, you made your way to the mat he indicated to, knowing that you weren’t going to have as much fun as Penelope any time soon. 

“You’re going to start in a common self-defense scenario. Reid, you’re going to be the assailant, you’re going to come up on Y/L/N from behind, okay?” You nodded at Morgan’s words and turned yourself away from Reid, feeling his presence at your back already. 

“Is this really necessary?” He questioned from behind you, and you could practically feel Morgan’s answering look on your back. Finally, he rested a light hand on your shoulder, and your session started. 

You grabbed the hand on your shoulder and twisted it, and yourself, behind his back, gaining the upper hand quickly. 

“Y/N, come on. Take it easy, I’m exhausted. Just let me pin you and we can call it a day.” Reid said from in front of you and your ears burnt at his suggestion. 

“Wait, why would I let you pin me? I have the upper hand right now.” He huffed out a breath and twisted his body underneath your arm, catching you off-guard as he swept your legs from underneath you. Before you could fall all the way down, though, he grabbed you around your waist and held you in what you assumed looked like a ballroom dancing dip. 

“You were saying?” You desperately wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off of his lips. “Actually, I have a few years more experience in the field than you, and I was probably beaten up a lot more in high school, so I wouldn’t be too upset about losing to me, okay?” 

You returned his smile sarcastically for a second, before lifting and swinging the heel of your foot into his knee, forcing him to hit the mat as you scrambled out of his grip and repositioned yourself behind him, pulling him arm behind his back a second time in an attempt to subdue him. 

“If you have so much experience getting your ass kicked, Spence, why don’t you just let me do it?” You enjoyed feeding his words back to him as he moaned out a little. 

“Because something tells me you’d enjoy it a little too much.” He somehow slips from your grip again, swiping your legs out from underneath you and climbing over you. The two of you struggle for a few seconds on the floor, but he has your legs pinned with his own, and he forces your hands above your head. Your heads are even with one another, and you’re both breathing heavily now. 

You decide to take another approach to get out of his hold this time. Rolling your hips up into his slightly, you let your eyes rake over his body above you. 

“You sure you’re not enjoying this just as much, Reid?” you shoot him an innocent enough smile, but you can see the flush staining his skin, and he loosens his hold on you just enough to allow you to wrap your legs around his waist and use your bosy weight as leverage to flip your positions. 

Now he’s on his back below you and you sit up in triumph, straddling his lap. His arms fight to get yours pinned to your side but you give back just as much as he is, and you can feel the crowd forming around you. He decides to fight dirty as well. 

“Thought you’d enjoy being under me more than you’d like being on top. I was being a gentleman,” he huffs out and manages to flip you over once more, pushing up and wrapping his legs up over your knees and forcing you onto your back. Your legs are now spread wide for him, his crotch pushed against yours, his arms gripping yours and pushing them firmly into the mat. You struggle a few more times but you know this is it. He’s got you. 

“What? Not even going to let my hands go to let me tap out?” you huff out, blowing a stray piece of hair out of your eyes. He pins both of your hands with one of his and gently tucks the hair behind your ear for you as you burn up under his touch, suddenly at a loss for words. 

“What, and let you try to tackle me again? Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll let you go.” 

“Y/L/N, Reid, if you’re finished over there, you can grab a drink and start over. I did say this was going to be best of three.” Both of you suddenly snap your eyes up to Morgan, who has one raised eyebrow pointed at you. You realise that you’ve also drawn the attention of the other gym-goers and scramble away from each other to the sound of chuckles and wolf whistles. 

“Shit,” you run a hand through your hair and get in position to go again, this time swapping with Reid so you take the position of the unsub. 

From a distance, you don’t realise that Penelope and Morgan have completely given up on their own drills. 

“Twenty bucks says Reid gives in and kisses her first,” she whispers to her companion. 

“The kid? No way, he’s being too cocky for that. I reckon Y/N will do it to try and distract him first.” 

“I’ll take that bet,” Garcia says, and they settle back into watching the two of you, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re both enjoying sparring a little bit more than you normally would be. 

“When do you think I should tell them that they never needed to do this training session in the first place?” 

“Derek Morgan, if you are admitting right now that you made me walk through hell and back just so you could force these two beautiful idiots whom I love to recognise their feelings for each other then I am going to murder you and then bring you back to life so I can kiss you for being so smart.” 

“So I shouldn’t tell them?” 

“Take it to the grave, baby.” 

They turned their attention back to you, suddenly way more invested in how this was going to turn out.

[valliesworld]

You Mean Something

masterlist

simon “ghost” riley x reader, mentions of other task force 141 members

genre: angst

warnings; she/her pronouns, mature content, standard call of duty violence, cursing, kidnapping, mentions of self harm and suicide, mentions of torture, starvation

synopsis; after a failed mission that left you in the hands of the enemy, you finally realise how much Ghost cares for you

Distractions came easy to you, even if you tried your hardest to stay focused, to stay alive and awake, your mind still thought of him while you were being subjected to such torture. You think about his eyes a lot, how in his eyes his his humanity was shown, the person he really was. There were times it got lost, when he would that mask and military vest, when he would become the man the army demanded of him. But you saw it in his eyes that day in the sunshine, waiting for the cadets to finish training. You saw the humour that burned there too, the sort that stays for an eternity. There was something in his spirit that danced when he trains, like a fire giving just the right amount of warmth. You have seen it die too, the flames almost extinguished, when he was under the gun of guilt, shame and fear after a particularly hard mission. You know that isn't him, not the real version, the person you’ve grown to love with everything that is yourself. That's why you had to see his eyes before you go, to see the real him before you decided to give up and let death win. You wanted him to see you too, the girl who messes up, but would do anything in her power to keep him and the squad safe, to keep him emotionally healthy, no matter how deep his scars go. So when you think of him, you see a cheeky man who made cadets run laps til they turned green and hope to god he thinks of the vulnerable version of you, the one beneath the soldier.

In moments of silence, when your captors would leave you be, you would remembered the last conversation you had with your family. She had wished you well with tears in her eyes, making you promise you’d come back to her. Your father had been busting himself with house work, refusing to acknowledge that his youngest child was off to another suicide mission, just like he always did before you left. You had kissed your mother on the cheek as a goodbye, not promising a thing but granting her a smile, just in case that was the last time she’d ever see you again. Death wasn’t scary for you, you had accepted that you would die young, in your line of work death was not something that could be prevented, no matter how hard you might try. What did scare you though, was your nieces and nephews growing up without you, only seeing you in photos, it was your mother and father having to bury their youngest, it was your older brother and sister living without you. Death didn’t scare you, but the impact of yours on your family did.

You didn't know how long you had been held captive for, it could have been weeks, months, even years, at that point. What you did know was that the starvation they subjected you to as one last punishment had began to take it's toll on your body, your weight had dropped rapidly, leaving those metal cuffs loose around your wrists and ankles. At first it had been small strands of hair falling out from stress, then slowly it became more and more til you were left with thin strands to cover your head. Your body was always shivering, cold to touch, and you didn't know whether it was because you were forced to sleep on freezing concrete or if hypothermia was beginning. to settle within your bones.

Makarov had captured you for one thing, he had seen potential in you, wanted you on his side, and the only way he believed he could do that was if he broke you down into nothing, just to rebuild you as the soldier he always desired. He had watched from afar as you had taken down men three times your size, as you cleared bases by yourself, and how you lived up to your callsign. He knew you were young, younger than the other task force members, and with being young came being naive and impressionable, Makarov wanted to use those attributes and swing them to his favour.

In some of your exhausted delusions, you dreamt of your team, of your family. You had dreamt of your first Christmas with the task force, how you had sat in your room with the computer screen on, talking and listening to your family on the other line, wishing to be back home and apart of their celebrations, that was, until Gaz barged into your room and dragging you out for a Christmas surprise with your chosen family. You had dreamt of the day you accepted death, how you leant up against that brick wall, the rain pouring from above and mixing with your blood; red water sweeping the street. You had accepted your fate that afternoon, dying alone, until you knight in a shining skull mask whisked you off your feet and to survival. You dreamt of the day your nephew was born, how his tiny hands wrapped around your finger, chosing you to be his favourite person in that moment. You dreamt of many things, but one always kept returning. The delusion that Ghost would save you one last time.

"Fear is part of being human, Redback, it's the precursor to bravery. We need it, it wakes us up to what needs to be done. So feel it, own it, let it ignite your thoughts," Gaz's words echo in your mind constantly, they were one of the first words he ever spoke to you, and they resonated with her throughout her short years with the task force. They kept you alive at that point, they told you no matter how inhuman you felt, you were still alive, still breathing, still ready to fight.

Your cell was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in, no windows. In there you could have no idea how much time had passed or even if it was night or day. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could forget their own name in there, and you were beginning to. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, no furniture or cloth of any kind.

You could hear the sound of feet slamming against concrete, though your eyes never opened, refusing to see what was coming to torment you that time. They had stripped you of everything, they took your weapons, and your dignity. They had left you to rot in the cell in cotton underwear and a white undershirt, though both items were caked in dirt, grim, and stained with your own blood.

The sound of keys jingling had caught your attention, and when you opened your eyes you kept your gaze away from the intruder. Instead, you found the bruises and dried blood on your ankles far more interesting. The person had unlocked your hands first, fumbling with the keys as if he were nervous, as if something had gone wrong, and that had been his first mistake. When your hands were greeted freedom, you finally looked over at the man, your knife, the one they had stolen from you, sat perched on his hip. They had stolen your gear just to use it against you, and that fact gave you more motivation than anything previously, you wanted your things back.

Without a second of hesitation, your hands wrapped around the knife, plucking it from his tactical belt, your tactical belt, and plunged it into his thigh. He cried out in pain, something you never gave them the satisfaction of hearing, as he doubled over from the fiery sensation in his leg you pulled the knife out again and plunged it into his neck, blood that was not yours finally coating your body again. As you let out all your frustration on the man, pulling the knife out just to slam it back in over and over again, you began to register the sound of gunfire, the sound of Russian shouting, and the feeling of panic the base you were trapped within was beginning to feel.

Once you were positive the man below you was dead, you began stripping him as they had once stripped you. You took the keys from his cold, dead hands, and unlocked your feet from the shackles, your ankles screaming in relief. You then took his clothing, albeit they were far too large for you, they were better than what you had been forced to stay in for your time as a prisoner. Tightening the pants around your waist with your belt, you felt somewhat okay, you didn't feel helpless or hopeless, you felt determined, determined to get out of there yourself, since there would be no rescue party for you.

Gripping onto the rifle, one that wasn't yours originally, you began your escape. As you made your way through the base, leaving a trail of bodies behind you, you felt like yourself again, you felt like the soldier once were. You had reminded yourself of things that were facts; you were one of the youngest ever recorded female members to join the SAS, you were an accomplished soldier, a sergeant before your twenty first birthday, you were a force to be reckoned with; those facts kept you motivated throughout your escape, you were all those things, and more, and you could get yourself out of any situation.

Sticking to the shadows, you took down over twenty soldiers, cornering them til they were alone, and that tactic had worked well enough, til your luck ran out. The corner you took was one of bad judgement, over fifteen men resided there, all on high alert for your whereabouts, and with no shadows to conceal yourself, you had no other option but to simply turn back around, though when you did so, you found yourself face with thirty other men, ready to pounce. Weighing your options, you knew that to surrender was your only choice, if you wanted to stay alive. Letting the rifle hang from your shoulder, you held your hands up, defeat running thick through your veins.

They didn't make a move though, not one soldier stood out of line, all of them waiting for you to make the first move, to do something unpredictable, until he sauntered out of the crowd. Makarov's second in charge, Yuri, grinned like a mad man as he gripped you roughly, pulling you in the direction of another room and dismissing the men on guard. You were no longer deemed as a threat as he led you into the room, far nicer than the cell you had grown accustomed to.

He stripped you of your weapons, though he was not thorough, leaving your bloodied knife within your waistband as he took the rifle and pistol from your body, turning the safety on and throwing them across the room.

"I thought we beat the need to escape out of you," he tsked, hands feeling your body in a way far less appropriate than simply looking for weapons. "But I now see that you have to be broken in a different way to get you to comply with our rules."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as the five other men walked through the door, dragging their bodies with them. Three had a grip on Ghost's sluggish body, and two were struggling against Soap's protests. The men forced Ghost and Soap to their knees, Ghost having to steady himself by placing his hands in front of him to keep him from falling foreword. They had drugged him, most likely using the same one they had used to keep you compliant in the first weeks of your capture.

"Redback?" Ghost questioned softly as he looked towards you, confusion running through his mind.

"These two were found sneaking around our base," Yuri revealed, toying with a piece of your hair as he forced you to look at them. Soap held a look of distraught as he looked over at you, like he had just seen a real ghost, while Ghost's eyes held a look of resentment within them. You weren't sure who the resentment was pointed towards, but you had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't directed at you. "And now you'll watch them die."

Yuri stepped foreword, his own pistol raised, pressing the barrel against Soap's head as he looked back at you. With a clenched jaw, you pulled the knife from your waistband and pressed it against your wrist. The sharpness of it caused a small speck of blood to dribble down your arm and drip to the floor, but despite the sting you kept it in place.

"Makarov wants me, you kill them and I'll die with them," You spoke clearly, despite your voice being hoarse from not speaking for days on end. "How would that look for you? Under your watch, his prized possession dies because you can't do your fucking job right."

Yuri let out a dry chuckle, "so loyal," he commented, looking towards the men knelt before him, "and where are your pleas? When she was taken from you, you left her. Maybe you two would rather her blood spill to cover your sins."

"Shut up," You hissed, their silence to his words were deafening, a heartbreaking scene as Ghost looked anywhere but at you.

"I want you to memorise this moment, they weren't here to rescue you," Yuri growled, "They were completing another mission, and you so happen to be here as well."

Ghost's eyes, despite hooded with the effects of the drug, widened slightly, struggling even harder against the three men that held him in place. Soap on the other hand, used the distraction as an ample time to escape. Taking the gun from Yuri, Soap pointed it towards the men holding him down and left off two shots, killing them quickly. You had taken this opportunity to throw the knife, watching with a sickening smile as it lodged itself into Yuri's chest. Ghost, regardless of being under the influence of a drug, took down two of the men holding him hostage while Soap let off another shot into the final man.

Ignoring the two men, you walked over towards Yuri, watching as he spluttered out in pain. Hovering over him, you crouched down, twisting the knife deeper into his chest. Pulling it out, you relished in the pool of blood that began to form.

"I want you to memorise this moment," You repeated his words to him as you dragged the bloodied knife down his cheek, smearing his own blood on his face, "that nobody is here to rescue you." and with that, you plunged the knife up through his bottom jaw.

Months had come and gone, and you had not spoken a word to anyone on Task Force 141 since you had been brought back to the. safety of your base. The wounds, the injuries to your flesh would heal long before you're able to heal your brain. You had gone through a lot, many scars now littered your body, your ankles and wrists having a permanent red line from the rubbing of your shackles, and your mind was in shambles. Laswell had told you that they hadn't looked for you once, that they assumed you were dead and had even informed your family of you being killed in action. You felt almost betrayed that they didn't even bother to look for you, that the mission was more important to them, to Ghost, than to see you still breathing.

The doctors had gotten you healthy again, gave you the fluids and sustenance you had been deprived on before setting you up with a physiotherapist. That man had retaught you how to do simple tasks, explaining to you that the only reason you were capable of such things during your escape was because of the adrenaline coursing through your veins. It had taken you four months to get back to doing things on your own, and an additional three months before you were back to your usual abilities, and still within all that time, you refused to look at the men that had left you in the hands of the enemy. They had offered you leave, to go home and spend time with family, but if the mission was as important as leaving behind a team member, it only made sense to stay and complete it before gifting yourself with seeing your parents relieved faces.

The gym was quiet at three am, sleep no longer a need for you as it only plagued your mind with unwanted memories. The sound of your knuckles coming in contact with the rubber punching bag silenced your mind, created an inner peace within you as you assaulted the equipment. Nobody else resided inside as you continued to push your abilities, seeing just how long you could do this before getting tired. You used to be able to go for hours, but now, it seemed that you could only do half of that.

Your inner peace was quickly ruined by the sound of heavy footsteps, and before you could even register what was happening, his hands wrapped around your waist and pushed you against the closest wall. He turned you to face him, the hard skull plate from his mask was gone, his balaclava the only thing separating them from each other. His breathing was heavy and his eyes were hooded from lack of sleep, the black war paint he usually sported was not there, leaving his expressions easier to read.

"You never threaten to kill yourself to save me again," His voice was rough, reminding you of a hot long black in the early of the morning, bitter and abrasive, burning your tongue. "I'd rather get shot ten times over than ever see you do that again."

Scoffing, you looked at him with a frown, "A few months too late for this revelation, Lieutenant."

"I don't care," He huffed, grip on your waist loosening, "You don't get to do that shit, not anymore."

"And you don't get too care, why do you even care? Huh?" You spluttered out, words dripping with venom, "You left me there to die, Laswell told me everything, told me how you all didn't even give me a second thought, told my fucking family I was dead."

"I watched you die," He growled out, "I watched as that bullet went through your chest, as you fell to the ground."

"And you didn't think to check? The mission that important to you that you can't go over to a wounded soldier and check if their heart is still beating?" You all but screamed at him, if you were anyone else, your yelling at a superior would go severly punished, "I was wearing a fucking chest plate, you saw me put it on, you checked I had it on before we started that fucking mission, and you still left me for dead."

"You don't think I don't remember that now?" He yelled back. at you, voice booming throughout the gym, "You don't think I wasn't awake every night wondering about you? Thinking of things I could have done differently? I completed that mission and went back for you, you were gone."

"Why do you care so much?" You hissed at him, "The first time we met you told me that I'd be another dead body at the edge of your boot because you didn't think I was good enough, why care now?"

"Because you mean something to me," He revealed, though his words were sweet his tone wasn't, it was like he resented the fact that you meant something to him, "you mean more to me every single day, that's why I care."

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemicrofic August challenge.

Embarrassing For You

August Prompt: Plug | Word Count: 437 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Voyeurism | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Set During S2, Slice of Life, Sports Practice, Bisexual Eddie Munson, And He's Being a Little Weird, Because He is a Little Weird

Eddie is leaning against the metal slats underneath the bleachers, as he watches the boy's basketball team getting ready for outdoor strength training. They only do it once a week, and Eddie has quickly learned that it's his favorite day of the week. 

The cheerleaders are practicing on the track, skirts flying over their heads, their spankies and long legs on glorious display. And to the right, the guys are on the field doing different drills for strength and agility.

It's a bisexual boy's dream come true. His dirty little secret. With so many pretty places to look, and so little time to do it.

"You're ridiculous," Gareth says from behind him, and Eddie glances in his direction from where they're hidden under the bleachers, overlooking the football field and track.

"Sssh!" Eddie hisses, yanking Gareth closer to him by the collar of his vest.

"This is embarrassing for you," Gareth says, and yeah, sure. This is a little embarrassing. But whatever. He can spectate sports in secret once a week from beneath the bleachers, thank you very much.

Gareth cannot, and will not, take this away from him.

"Just look," Eddie says, leaning closer to the holes in the bleachers so he can watch the athletes warming up on the field. 

Gareth leans next to him, and looks, "I say again. This is embarrassing for you."

Eddie ignores him.

A blonde cheerleader does a bunch of back handsprings, legs and ass showing, and Eddie likes that, he does, but right now he's really got eyes for Steve Harrington.

Shirtless, all that tan skin, with a heavy sheen of sweat as the sun beats down on him as he works hard, pulling all that weight behind him.

"Look at him. Just plugging along," Eddie says under his breath, watching Steve drag a heavy bag across the grass. Biceps bulging. Cut thighs. Those thighs, rippling under his little shorts. "The little engine that could. Chugga-chugga, choo-choo."

And before Gareth can say anything, they're interrupted by a laugh from above.

Oh fuck. 

Oh shit.

Eddie backs up. He didn't say Steve's name out loud did he? He rewinds all his color commentary through his head, and he doesn't think he did. Maybe this can be played off. 

But then a head's looking at them, upside down, hair hanging loose.

Robin Buckley. From band. 

Well, that's equal parts terrible and probably fine. He's pretty sure she's playing on the same team he is, and why's she here, if not for watching the cheerleaders? Birds of a feather.

"You're a dingus," she says.

And yeah, okay. Fair. She's got him there.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemicrofic and follow along with the fun! ❤️

Notes: Will Future!Robin tell Future!Steve, what she heard this day, maybe while sitting next to an RV in 1986, while making Molotov cocktails? Who's to say? (Me, and I say yes, lol.)