#exercise adjustable bench | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cxrrodedcoffin · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Temptation - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer’s a pervert and so are you (a.k.a Spencer doesn’t know how to control himself when the team goes camping)

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: This isn’t that accurate to canon but I don’t really care, I just love the concept of pervert!spencer and wanted to write something filthy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i wrote half of this half asleep so give me a little grace pls, not proofread cuz i never do oops

TW: pervert!spencer, bau!reader, panty stealing, dubcon, public sex, outdoor sex, oral sex (reader receiving), penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cum eating, softdom!spencer, afab + fem reader

Rating: R, 18+

——

When one of the higher ups suggested the BAU team go on a wilderness retreat, you figured it’d be at some cushy wellness resort with cheesy team-building exercises and sleeping in cabins, not a campsite in the middle of the woods, with only a flimsy tent floor separating you from the hard ground.

You didn’t want to be here, truthfully you felt that the team was a little too close to each other at times, and there certainly wasn’t any bonding you could do out here that couldn’t have been done back at the office. You were cold, the rocky dirt beneath you was hurting your back, and you could not get to sleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time no matter how many times you tossed and turned into different positions.

You had enough, and decided to try your luck at a walk to wake yourself up until the rest of the team was up. You unzipped your tent, careful to be quiet to not wake anyone, and stepped out into the fresh morning air. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon, and the hazy orange hue was almost enough to make you understand why you were on this stupid trip to begin with.

You began your trek down the trail, the sound of birds chirping and the light layer of dew coating the underbrush making you feel momentarily like you were in a fairytale. Maybe a return to nature wasn’t such a bad thing. You came upon a small clearing, just through a slightly overgrown offshoot of the trail, and decided to take a closer look at the wildflowers growing there. There was a small overgrown picnic table in the center, the perfect place for you to sit and take in the beauty of nature.

You sat there for what felt like hours, your eyes fluttering shut as you slumped down against the table, finally getting some much-needed sleep in your blissful surroundings. The abrupt ‘snap’ of a twig startled you awake, and you almost fell back off of the withered bench. You looked around through hazy eyes, watching as a tall figure approached you. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light of mid-morning, seeing that the figure was none other than Spencer Reid.

“How long have I been out?” You asked, rubbing your eyes.

“Not long, the rest of the team just left on the hike, I volunteered to stay back and wait for you.” He explained, pushing his hair out of his face. You weren’t sure how honest he was being, the telltale nervous lick of his lips telling you that at least part of what he was saying was a stretch of the truth.

“Were you watching me sleep?” You jokingly accused, playfully pushing his shoulder. His face turned bright red, and for a second you thought you might’ve been right. He said nothing, shaking his head before turning around and walking quickly away from you. A flash of pink fabric caught your attention, just a sliver sticking out of the back pocket of his shorts.

“What’s this?” You ran up behind him, snatching the fabric out of his back pocket. You stopped in your tracks, mouth hung slightly open in shock when you realized what you held in your hand. It was the pair of dirty panties you had changed out of before bed last night, the pair that you had sworn you put in your laundry bag.

“What the fuck, Spencer?” You raised your voice, holding the pair up so he knew you’d caught him.

“I-I can explain!” He frantically tried to reason, taking a step back from you.

“Oh really? Explain to me why you pulled a pair of my dirty underwear out of my laundry bag while I was sleeping, I would seriously love to know what rational explanation there is for that.” Your heavy sarcasm was almost too exaggerated to take seriously, and to your detriment it had blood rushing to Spencer’s cock. He attempted to stutter something out, but it was all jumbled nonsense.

“I don’t need an explanation Spencer, you’re a pervert, plain and simple.” You scoffed, backing slowly away from him.

“You always walk around in those short skirts, how else am I supposed to react?” He attempted to defend himself, starting to gain a small bit of confidence as he took steps to close the gap between the two of you.

“That’s awfully misogynistic Spencer.” You retorted, the initial shock of the situation starting to wear off.

“Every time you bend over in those skirts I get an eye full of your underwear, and you know what? I think you’re doing it on purpose.” His accusation wasn’t entirely incorrect, you had noticed him staring at your ass the first couple times you wore a shorter skirt to work and thought it’d be fun to embarrass him a little. You never thought he’d resort to this, though.

“That’s bullshit.” You laughed, taking another step back until your back hit a tree, stopping you in your tracks.

“Really? Then why did you bend over right in front of me in those shorts last night?” He pressed his hand against the tree about your head, leaning over you. He may still be the slightly awkward, nerdy Spencer you knew before he did time, but prison surely did bring out an incredibly intimidating side of him. Now you were the one with nothing coherent to say, simply swallowing your pride as you looked up at him.

“I think you want me just as badly as I want you.” He breathed, his free hand meeting your waist. He leaned down, lips brushing yours until you raised yourself onto your toes to close the kiss, wanting to swallow him whole. The kiss was intense but short-lived as Spencer pulled away, his hand on your waist turning you so you were facing the tree. He dropped to his knees behind you, hands gripping the waistband of your shorts and yanking them down, exposing your bare cunt. Your slick was already starting to drip down your thigh, the thought of getting caught fucking your coworker in the middle of the woods only spurring on your arousal.

“Look how wet you are, and you think I’m the pervert?” He teased, not giving you a moment to react before his tongue was between your folds, drinking up all of your wetness. You leaned your cheek against the tree as he ate you like he was starving, his hands kneading your ass as his tongue explored every inch of your needy pussy. Just as he began sucking on your clit, the two of you heard someone coming up the trail outside the clearing.

Spencer scrambled to his feet, his hand covering your mouth as he wrapped his arm around your waist to shield your bare bottom half from view. You carefully listened, waiting for the couple’s conversation to fade as they walked past before Spencer finally let his grip on your waist go, continuing to hold his other hand over your mouth.

“I need to feel you.” He whispered, pushing his pants down to free his erection. He grabbed your shoulder, pushing you forward against the tree again before kicking your legs further apart, the head of his cock prodding your entrance. You whimpered against his hand, pushing your hips back in encouragement. He pushed into you, your wet cunt gripping every inch of his thick cock, stretching you out just enough to bring tears to your eyes. He filled you up perfectly, like he was made for you, and it grew increasingly hard to swallow your moans.

Spencer’s hand over your mouth could only muffle so much, but you didn’t care about getting caught anymore, you just needed him to fuck you as hard as he could. He started at a quick but steady pace, but you need more. You tried to talk against his palm, only creating confusion until he pulled his hand away just enough for you to speak.

“Harder.” You whined, holding onto the trunk of the tree for dear life as he granted your request. Each thrust of his hips against yours was almost brutal, his free hand digging fingertips so hard into your hip that you knew they’d bruise. Spencer had never been more grateful for his eidetic memory, knowing that he’d be able to remember how perfectly your ass rippled with every slam of his hips each time he wanted to relieve himself in the future. He finally dropped his grip from your mouth, the now free hand wrapping around your front and moving down your stomach to your clit, rubbing quick circles to match his pace.

“S-spencer, I’m not on birth control.” You choked out, sensing that he was as close as you were.

“Then let’s make a baby.” He groaned.

“Oh God!” His empty threat pushed you over the edge, your walls pulsing around him as you bit your forearm to stifle your cries of pleasure. Your knees began to buckle, Spencer’s grip the only thing keeping you standing as he came inside of you. He held you close, waiting for you to come down before pulling out, his seed dripping down your thighs. He brought his hand down to gather the extra, bringing his semen-covered fingers to your lips.

You didn’t have to be told what to do, sucking them clean as you caught your breath. He pulled your underwear and shorts back up your legs, helping you straighten up before doing the same with his pants.

“You really are a pervert.” You broke the silence, turning to face him.

“Oh yeah, like you’re completely innocent in all of this.” He quipped, wiping the slightest bit of his cum off the corner of your mouth.

“You might’ve just knocked me up in the middle of the woods, I think you win that title, Spencer.” He was blushing again, somehow shy again after the dirty things you’d just done together.

“I’ll take you into town to get the morning after pill, the rest of the team shouldn’t be back for a while still.” He took your hand, guiding you out of the clearing to start the walk back up the trail.

“I wouldn’t mind having your baby.” You told him, causing him to trip on a rock on the path. He caught himself, laughing it off, but secretly wishing he could pull you into the tree line and fuck you all over again.

——

Tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid smut #mine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #my writing #1k

1K notes · View notes

prettyinsophie · 7 months ago

Text

Cum with me…to the gym

3k words

Your visit to the gym with Abby escalates quickly when you find out that a certain area can also be worked on by the adductor machine.

warnings: fingering (reader receiving), oh and the fingering is in public so yeah…

I lowkey hate this but it’s the only thing I’ve managed to finish writing throughout the whole year…sigh. I recently watched Arcane so…maybe I’ll start publishing about Vi or Sevika or both.

“Oh, c’mon! We still have two more exercises to go before finishing with some cardio!” Abby exclaims with a devilish smile across her lips, enjoying seeing you sweating and panting after doing three sets of Bulgarians.

After weeks of your best friend begging you to pay a visit to the gym, you obliged with the condition of getting to see Wicked afterward since Abby’s not a big fan of long movies, let alone musicals, so here you were; hair-sticking to your face, red cheeks, and skin glowing with sweat because Abby’s routine is no joke.

“Two more?! Can we just do one more? Pleaseee?” You beg in a whiny pout, giving her puppy eyes because you feel like you’ll pass out any moment now if you keep going. Of course, you’re being dramatic, but that’s just your zodiac sign being true to itself.

Abby playfully rolls her eyes, suppressing a smirk because she thinks you look adorable like that. She won’t tell you that, though, at least not in a non-mocking tone. “The machines are easier, and you can hit whatever weight you want. Sounds fair?”

You purse your lips, looking at her while she chugs some water down. It’s so unfair how godly she looks right now while you feel like a sticky mess. You nod, defeated more than anything because you might as well complete the routine properly. “Fine…”

The gym is fairly empty, but that doesn’t surprise you since it was one of your conditions to agree to come. And so you walk to the bench press, which was as hard as any other machine even with the lowest weight. You were more of a workout-at-home type of gal, after all, and Abby always mocked you because she’s a gym rat and this is her second home. To each their own, you don’t like being around strangers that much.

“What’s this one for?” You ask with your head tilting to the side, confused but willing to learn all about the stupid machine, eager because it’s the last one you’ll use today and for a while.

“This is the leg adductor, great for toning your legs and inner thighs. I’ll show you how to use it and then you can give it a go, yeah?”

“‘Kay…”

You can’t deny that it’s fun to see her in a trainer-like role, and you decide that it’s not that bad and that the reward will come later when you watch the 190-minute-long film. You watch Abby setting the machine and its weight intently, trying to make mental notes of everything so you won’t need her help for each little thing. And here goes…your eyes definitely find her hands gripping the handles more interesting than the exercise itself, or the way her thunder thighs push the weight inwards almost effortlessly. Phew. She finishes her set and stands from the machine so you can give it a go.

“See? Easy.” She smiles before adjusting the weight so it’s lighter for you.

You hesitate to get on it because it looks silly, and you definitely feel exposed with your legs spread open in your yoga pants.

“Oh wow, didn’t know you could open up this much,” She teases with a quizzical grin and her head cocking to the side, which makes you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Shut up, I do pilates after all, don’t I?” You excuse your almost obscene spreading, and to only make it worse, you’re wearing a thong and you plead that Abby won’t look down because you’re certain she’ll be able to catch a detailed glimpse of your pussy.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with ya. Let me help you…” Abby snorts, amused at how you respond to her mindless teasing. She bends down in your direction to adapt the position so you won’t be opened up like a christmas present, “…and there! Now hold onto these and try to push the weight inwards slowly, if you do it fast you’ll hurt yourself.”

Abby instructs and you do as you’re told. Slowly, you push your legs together, gripping the handles because the weight is definitely challenging, and after the bench press, Bulgarians, and squats, your legs are not the strongest, but you manage to do it.

“How’s the weight? Do you want me to lower it?” Abby asks, leaning on the machine’s weight rack, “Y-Yeah…it’s too heavy.” Your voice quakes tiredly, and the blonde wants to poke fun at you for it but decides to save it because she knows you’re doing your best. So she lowers the weight so it’s more comfortable.

It’s definitely difficult to do it with your wobbly legs, but it’s also fun in its own way. You close and open your legs at a slow pace, breathing deeply as you do each one, and with Abby watching is only making it harder to pretend you’re not struggling as much. Although it hurts, you’re not sure if you’re targeting the right area since you keep clenching your core unconsciously, and it only causes you to breathe heavier and heavier for some reason. Abby’s on her phone since you got the hang of it, and yes, you can do the exercise, but with each push from your legs, your body gets hotter and your breathing gets sharper. The last rep comes, and the pressure is overwhelming even after taking small breaks between each set. The muscles in your lower stomach tighten, and that’s when you feel your pussy clenching around nothing, and you realize…

This fucking exercise is fun because it’s stimulating you, and your friend in front of you probably has no idea of what’s happening since she’s watching instagram reels.

Your back arches ever so slightly from the seat, a familiar reaction from when you pleasure yourself, and the pooling between your thighs only worsens as you get closer to the end of the rep, clenching every muscle because it feels so good. A loud, raspy gasp escapes your lips, and your eyes immediately seek Abby, checking if she’s seeing what’s engaging between you and the machine, but she remains still so you keep going. Your thighs are shaking, begging you to end the exercise but you keep going despite already hitting the fifteenth one.

‘Almost…’ Even the voice in your head is ragged. Your cunt is throbbing, your abs are inhumanly clenching and the band in your stomach’s about to snap. The sweat is running down your face and your neck, but all you can focus on is that aching pooling in the pit of your stomach.

With your chest heaving and your lip caught between your teeth, you close your legs one more time and groan softly at your release, the chemicals in your brain plastering colorful dots in your vision, and you finally let go since your body’s all weak and shaky. You can barely ride out the bliss when it hits you.

You just had an orgasm. At the gym. With Abby two steps away from you.

“Fuck…” A throaty breath catches Abby’s attention, and thank god your yoga pants are black and not pink today.

“You finally done? I know you’re a newbie but it took you long enough.” Abby puts her phone in her pocket and looks down at you with that kind and charming grin of hers, and then there you are, a panting mess.

“I…need to go to the bathroom,” You announce breathily, quickly getting off the machine because you need to take care of the situation in your pants. The blonde frowns and you know she wants to ask if something’s wrong, but she sees you in a rush and simply points at the ladies' room. You almost run, cursing in your head again and again because what the fuck is wrong with you? The bathroom stalls are empty so you enter the last one, immediately banging your head against the door.

“You’re a fucking pervert. You’re pathetic!” You whisper, and your legs threaten to give up once again, which only upsets you further.

You rest your head against the door and look up, battling the tears brewing in your eyes. This is it; the lowest you’ve reached so far. Who knows if one of the few people out there saw you? Shit, shit, shit. You haven’t had time to play with yourself but this definitely wasn’t the solution to that!

Deep breath in and out, but no matter how calm you are now, the wet spot in your pants remains.

“Hey…you in here?” Abby’s voice makes you jump startled, and you curse again in your head.

“Y-Yeah, last stall.” Your voice is weak and raspy, but you manage to get the right tone to not let her know you’re about to cry.

“You okay? You looked…I dunno, weird.”

Abby’s worry makes your heart clench, and guilt showers you like a bucket of cold water. She’s your best friend though; you know every small quirk, have seen each other’s awkward phases, and most importantly, have kept secrets you know aren’t for anyone else to know. So you’ll be fine, you’re adults now so this isn’t a big deal, right?

You open the door and pull her arm so she’ll join you. Rapidly, you close the door again as if the entire bathroom isn’t empty. Abby chuckles, amused by the sudden move from you, but the smirk fades as soon as she sees the sulky look on your face with your lips almost pouting and your eyes glossy. “Hey…what happened?” Her brows meet in a concerned frown, and she reaches for your hand.

The embarrassment is strong enough to block your throat and tighten your chest. You bite your lip, looking up when Abby’s thumb gently rubs the back of your hand.

“I…” How could you even put it into words? No fancy vocabulary would make this any better, “...the pressure of the exercise was really strong, and I…don’t know how but I think I came.”

Abby’s heart dropped to her stomach, and for your sake, she contained as much shock as she could inside her, but the truth is…she found that adorably amusing and even kind of hot…? You look defeated, just like a puppy who knows did something wrong, and she wants to pet your head and cuddle you.

On your side though, you’re certain she’s thinking you’re a freak that should be locked away from society. You look away from her. Your heart thuds in nothing but shame, pumping the blood to your cheeks, painting them a bright red color.

“How bad is the situation?” Her voice is lower than usual, and you assume that is in case someone enters the bathroom.

“My pants are soaked…” You nearly sob, sniffing but holding it in.

Abby hums, taking a step close to your position against the door, and she hesitantly brings her hand to your clothed crotch as if to make sure you’re telling the truth. Your body reacts to that, naturally, and you jump a little, looking at her with your eyes widening because that’s unknown territory.

“Okay…listen, it’s completely normal, yeah? Tons of girls have gone through the same thing so it’s not like you’re the first one.” She soothes you, her voice low and smooth, almost like a lullaby, and her hand moves to your hip, squeezing it lightly to comfort you.

You huff in relief, still embarrassed but that statement definitely took some weight off your back. “Thank god, I feel like a pervert.”

“You probably are, but that’s okay too.” Of course, she pokes fun at you at the first chance, but she manages to make you laugh a little.

The scenario is a little weird. You’ve been in the most insane and random situations together, but this could top any of those other ones. Your back’s against the door, and Abby’s just centimeters away from you; her hand gripping your hipbone rather firmly, causing your hips to jerk unconsciously. Your eyes meet hers, and she has such an indistinct look on her face that you can’t say you’ve seen before.

“You’re still sensitive,” She states huskily, and you catch her licking her lips.

“Well, yeah. I just had an orgasm.” You also state, almost sarcastically because it’s more than obvious why your body is reacting to her grip.

“You know…having multiple orgasms will help you relax your tensed muscles.”

…okay?

She takes the one step that kept you away from each other, and now both hands are on your hips as she glances down at you with her usual crystal-clear blue eyes gone several tones down to navy. You gulp nervously, your arms on your sides as you stand awkwardly.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Lemme help you.” She answers on the spot, with no hesitance or stuttering. And -shockingly- no hint of it being a joke.

You want to say no for the sake of your friendship more than anything, but your body’s been craving release for months, and if your best friend is willing to help you with such devotion then who are you to reject the thoughtful offer?

“Okay…”

Your answer takes Abby by surprise, but she doesn’t press on it because she doesn’t want you to change your mind, not when she’s getting worked up herself.

“Try to keep it down, though.” She winks a snarky smile at you, and before you can tell her to fuck off, she slips her hand down your pants, cupping your aching core.

“Fuck, you are soaked,” Abby whispers surprised, her voice coming out ragged at the realization, and she begins to move her fingers over your folds, spreading them and feeling the slickness of your previous orgasm.

You wanted to be cocky, but one of your hands goes straight to your mouth to muffle the whimper you almost let escape. You know your friend’s anatomy almost as perfectly as her personal traits and her thick fingers were always secretly acknowledged by you, and now they’re spreading your pussy, teasing you better than you’ve ever done it yourself.

“I didn’t know you were a thong girl,” Abby mutters sultrily, obviously noticing the lack of clothing for your cunt. Her fingers find your clit and she starts tracing slow circles, mostly to see your reaction.

Your eyes are fluttering, and your whimpers come out as hums with your hand blocking your lips. Her touch is gentle but firm, and god is it heavenly. It’s definitely better than your own, and you can’t believe you’re doing this in the bathroom of the gym Abby’s attended for the past years. Still, your hips roll in the direction of where she’s touching you, pathetically writhing under her to feel her calloused fingers even more against your throbbing clit.

“You like that?” Oh her voice…is as sweet as honey right now and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod your head, too scared of being caught, but Abby -being the jerk she is- yanks your hand off your face, letting it rest on your side and very clearly hinting at you that she wants an answer vocalized.

“Y…Yeah,” You manage to gasp under your breath, your head hitting the door when her fingertips rub a little faster, right in that magnificent spot with the right amount of pressure to turn your legs into jelly.

Abby’s having the time of her life. You look angelically sexy, as if you were trying to seduce her with those red lips of yours; parted open and inviting hers to get a taste. She can’t, though, and she won’t…for now. She wants to see every twitch of your brows, every flutter of your lashes when you blink repeatedly, and every bead of sweat that rolls down your forehead and causes your flushed cheeks to glow under the dim light of the bathroom.

“Abs…” It kills her to hear that beloved nickname of hers coming out of your lips in a needy gasp. She purses her full lips, pitying the situation because she wishes you could just whimper her name out loud. Later…she thinks to herself.

Abby calls out your name as well, matching your discreet and low tone, “...yeah? Feels good?”

You nod again, not risking a moan coming out. Your chest heaves, feeling tight because you can barely breathe. It’s almost like a fever dream…or a wet one, in this case. The blood is pumping hot and fast, adrenaline rushing all over you as she sends you to the fucking moon in steady circles. A loud gulp jumps on the walls of the stall, your best attempt at trying to keep quiet.

You feel that familiar pressure in your belly, but Abby whispers your name again. Her eyes are darker, with a loose strand of her blonde hair falling over her face, and she leans down. “I really wanna finger you, ‘s that alright?” She almost begs you, her pretty brows arching in eagerness for what your answer will be.

Your heart’s about to leap out of your chest at this point, feeling like you’re close to suffocating, but you lick your puffy lips and whisper a very needy ‘yes’. And Abby does not waste a single second before guiding one of your legs around her hips and immediately lowering her two digits to your entrance, spreading your arousal so her fingers won’t come in dry. You close your eyes at the weird sensation, but your hips jerk in her direction more aggressively than before.

“So wet for me…I wish I could taste that sweet pussy,” Abby hoarsely mutters in your ear, and before you can react, her middle and ring finger slip inside you oh so smoothly, stretching you open with her thick and long digits.

“Fuck…!” You hiss agitatedly, unconsciously clenching around her from how overwhelming everything is at this point. Abby slips them out and thrusts them until her knuckles become an obstacle, groaning under her breath as well, which only makes it harder for you to keep quiet. Why were you doing this again? Whatever the fuck was the reason, you wish she would’ve brought it up long before today.

Heat’s consuming your body, colored in a passionate red from your cheeks to your chest, probably from holding your breath, or the force Abby’s fingering you with. Either way, it’s all stimulating you in a way you know you shouldn’t be enjoying. Your heavy sighs are getting progressively louder, but the loud beating of your heart in your ears silences them.

Abby’s fingers thrust forcefully, almost abusing your soaking cunt, and squelching sounds filter out, causing the blonde to groan once again in your ear. Seemingly, the pornographic sound of her fingers pumping in and out only encourages her to seek deeper, finding a spongy spot at the very top when she curls both fingers expertly.

“There!” A normal whimper escapes, and as if to punish you, the door of the ladies’ room opens with two voices following as they chat about gains and what to have for lunch in terms of protein goals. Eyes wide as plates, you look at Abby, silently asking her what to do, unsure if it scares you more to keep going or stop.

Abby has her priority clear; you. So the solution is to cover your mouth with her hand and angle her fingers higher and deeper inside you, hitting the spongy wall repeatedly with the two girls chatting in the background, making enough noise to quiet the squelching of her fingering. Abby cages you between her body and the door, and her groans soon become growls, like a hungry animal salivating over its prey.

Tears brimmed in your wide eyes, beginning to tear up as you breathed raggedly through your nose and winced against Abby’s hand. You should’ve stopped, but the adrenaline rush of possibly -hopefully not- getting caught only caused your muscles to clench tighter, and the pooling in the pit of your stomach to swoop like a crashing wave. You’re close, so fucking close that you’re seeing stars this time. Abby’s eyes even shine before your eyes roll back and your body spasms like you’re being electrocuted. Creaming and cumming all over Abby’s fingers and in your yoga pants for the second time today. A loud ringing in your ears almost concerns you and makes you think you passed out, but it only lasts a minute or two before opening your eyes again and seeing your blonde friend looking at you like she just saw a UFO or something.

She keeps her fingers inside until the two girls leave the bathroom, and you can’t say it isn’t awfully awkward to feel the emptiness when she pulls them out and retrieves her hand from your lips as well, letting you pant loudly while you ride out the thunderous orgasm.

Your eyes meet, and Abby’s cheeks seem to get pink, which would’ve been funny in any other situation. “You, uh, you good?”

It’s so awkward that it makes your stomach cringe uncomfortably. “Yeah, just…recovering.”

Abby nods, letting you know that she understands, but you can tell she’s also embarrassed, probably regretting talking to you the way she did…publicly.

“Are we still watching Wicked?” You ask out of the blue, trying to lighten up the mood, and when Abby snorts everything returns to normal.

“Not only are we watching it, you’re getting eaten out afterward,” She taunts you sweetly, licking her dripping fingers clean.

#abby tlou #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby smut #abby anderson x you #abby the last of us #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson x y/n

791 notes · View notes

ronearoundblindly · 5 days ago

Text

Two-Factor Adoration (1)

Steve Rogers x agent!Reader sex pollen

Summary: Exposed to strange substances, you and Steve end up unable to resist each other's pheromones. Can you stop it? Will you two survive if you give in?

gif by @bannerville; based off of this post (see series) Warnings for sexual references (m. masturbation, kinda scenting??), language, slightly slow burn, probably too much exposition, and my splitting this into two pieces because I'm impatient. WC 2125

Steve rubs at the blue powder as it shimmers on his exposed fingertips. After trapping an enemy grenade beneath his shield, he thought everything trapped beneath would turn to dust—ash, specifically—but this feels more fine and then disappears as if it were never there.

He runs his thumb along the inside again.

Perhaps his mind is playing tricks on him. Perhaps his eyes are still adjusting from the flash-bangs of battle. He could swear he saw though, but there’s no time to ponder. When he tosses the shield, letting it ricochet twice before thudding against an enemy agent’s skull, all the remnants of powder dislodge and faintly rain down to the concrete floor. He assumes the glittery substance gets incinerated later once the building is set alight.

Steve doesn’t feel any different. He’s not sick or incapacitated. He returns to HQ with the usual fanfare he loathes, grins and bares it, yet notices one congratulatory handshake in particular has him relaxing significantly, a drape of rose-colored calm descending down his body after his nostrils flare and his slightly sweating palm tingles.

The woman is on Echo Team, and he supervised some of her training months and months ago. Steve keeps everything professional—always has—so he swallows the odd, overwhelming surge of desire that twists in his gut, allowing the excited newest recruits to pull him away.

He visits the infirmary later that night, concerned that he seems to be taking deep breaths that somehow aren’t…satisfying? It’s difficult to describe to the doctor, who finds nothing strange in the sound or strength of his lungs, but Steve also fails to mention the blue powder that may or may not have absorbed into his skin.

So embarrassing, you chastise yourself, tucking into the back bench surrounding the practice mats in the gym. Cap doesn’t deserve to be ogled like a slab of meat while he’s working.

You can’t help it.

It’s like a flood of intense arousal hit you—harder than the super soldier can hit, truly, the gentleman—the moment you opened the door. Normally, this is a safe place to let go of sexual tension, to flush it out of your body, because the stench of sweat hovers thick in the air.

It smells…uh god, it smells spectacular today, warm and natural.

Your core feels heavy, a boulder anchoring you to the bench, planting you squarely in the sightline of Steve Rogers teaching two Deltas a fresh evasive technique. You lean forward, burying your nose against a closed fist to block some of the aroma, trying to gain the focus and momentum to get on with your own exercise.

Instead, minutes of staring later, Jones shouts your name.

“You good? You wanna jump in?”

Rogers doesn’t look up, his face pinched and hands shoved in his pockets. “We done for now,” he says with a curt nod, the sharpest of glances whipped in your direction, and the captain excuses himself.

Jones hops up one of the bleacher steps.

“How heavy was your workout today, Pinkie? You’re sweating bullets.”

That stupid nickname will haunt you forever, damn it, but he’s right. You are perspiring enough to leave drops rolling down your back and neck. The shock of one bead dripping between your breasts causes you to sit suddenly straight, and you haven’t done anything at all.

So embarrassing.

He’s a handsome man, no doubt about that, but he’s not hanging around for your pleasure. Rogers is here to do a job, as are you.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve starts delicately.

Nat swirls her bottle of beer, a lazy smirk blooming in anticipation. He always asks that before something pertaining to romance in the modern world. She’s discussed this tell with him repeatedly but never fails to enjoy his shy pokes for dating tips.

Not that Steve has used any of her advice, but Natasha remains hopeful.

“What did Yelena say the Red Room mind-control felt like?”

Nat’s face falls. That was a chance of pace.

“Why…”

“I just wondered whether it was, ya know, blind obedience—“ Steve props himself on his arms across the table, quiet so as not to draw anyone else in the common area’s interest “—or an unexplained loyalty? Did she feel like a…a slave or was it a kind of…”

Nat takes a long sip of her beer, eyes narrowing.

“Love,” he finishes. “Did it seem like she loved following orders from Dreykov?”

“That’s an awful way to put it,” Nat mutters, disgusted.

Steve is quick to wave it off, telling her never mind, forget it, but he doesn’t change the subject once he notices she’s thinking on it.

“As far as I know, the Widow formula worked same as the Winter Soldier’s conditioning. They had no choice, no conscious thought about obeying or not.”

“Was it from electricity?” Steve presses. “Or a powder?”

“Her cure was what was kinda an aerosolized pow—what is this about?” Nat scoots closer to him across the small space. “Why are you asking about this?”

Steve does a poor impression of a man casually shrugging and enjoying a beer but stays distracted, scanning the room.

She sucks her cheek thoughtfully. “I don’t know about the mind-control thing, but I know that’s not what the pheromone lock felt like.” After Steve perks up, she attempts to elaborate. “That I could think about how much I wanted to hurt him, but my body couldn’t do it. I began the action, my arm moved at first, but no followthrough. One of the weirdest moments of my life. I was helpless.”

He’s always appreciated how honest Nat will be with him. Both of them work to be normal in a world they don’t really belong in.

“Helpless,” she adds, “not unaware.”

That’s how he feels; Steve cannot control how much he thinks about you, how he seeks out even a whiff of you, how ingrained his need has become so quickly.

He’s watched security footage of your team trainings, listened to your comms track of mission recordings, and stole a piece of your clothing.

Technically, Steve did not intend to take anything. It just happened.

Yesterday, you ran through the hall with your laundry in an open hamper, smacked right into him when rounding a corner, and dropped something without noticing.

He could have called after you. He could have returned the thin tank that lay crumpled at his feet. He did not. Steve held the soft bundle in one fist, deliberately down by his side, until alone in his quarters. He stood there just inside the door, thinking till it hurt about how wrong he was for doing this, how wrong he was for even thinking about you that way.

So he threw the garment into the trash and went about his night normally.

Steve, however, found himself with that same hand clamped over his nose and mouth as he furiously stroked his cock in the dark. He wouldn’t wash it until another round in the morning, shamed and sticky in the bed, breathing in the satisfaction like oxygen, his heart beating fast enough to concern him again.

He hasn’t gone to the doctor though since he knows what’s wrong.

He’s infected. He suspects you might be, too.

The goddamn training videos all feature Captain Rogers fighting.

You’re going to die.

It’s torture to sit in an uncomfortable chair, flanked by ten of your fellow junior agents, and watch his body spin, his chest heave, his legs spread as he leaps farther than any of these boys can hope to. Goddamn it, you’re going to die.

Rogers lets out this faint grunt when he’s been pummeling someone for a while and the microphone and camera are close enough. The footage is a mix of real battle and simulation, with blows either not connecting with the volunteers sparring or his punches being pulled. Those struggling noises actually get worse and more frequent when Rogers isn’t truly fighting. It appears harder for him to hold back than to go full-bore.

Goddamn it, he’s so hot.

The problem is two-fold now: these glimpses of him—hints of him by sight or sound or smell—throw your hormones into overdrive, AND when your adrenaline spikes, you’re desperate for a hit of him.

After the latest successful mission, with Echo Team being transported home on one of the main jets, the ones with lockers for the Big Six just in case, you found yourself pulled to that very corner, itching all over to find the source of that utterly intoxicating musk. You had to have it. You would combust without it, crawl right out of your skin, waste away on the grating and cargo net without it.

You wedged yourself in the small space behind the lockers, smothering the Cap suit to your face, nose practically bruised by the ridges of the shining star at his chest’s center, imagining it resting against his sternum. You let the flood wash over you, the pulse of sheer passion devastating your nervous system and exploding in your veins.

You imagine the body inside the suit pressing you into the wall with those broad shoulders, those strong arms pinning you by waist, that lean pelvis crushing your hips into the metal hurtling twenty-thousand feet above the Earth, and those dextrous hands anchoring your throat to offer him the best access.

Your head thuds against the lockers, alerting your team to shout from the front, calling you to rejoin them. Reluctantly, you replace the suit in silence, petting how the supple leather one last time before locking away that weakness to which you keep succumbing.

Goddamn it.

Steve’s convinced he’s going insane until Natasha tracks him down while they prep for a big multi-national sting of Ten Rings terror cells.

“Took a look at the Red Room files,” she throws out. “Found something interesting.”

At first, Steve doesn’t catch that this isn’t about the job at hand.

“The scientists played with the controls together.”

“Huh?” He tightens a clasp on his suit and swears his brain senses a phantom hint of you. “What controls? Was Red Room ever working with Ten Rings?”

“No, I mean the mind-control and the pheromone lock. They tried to kill two birds with one stone.”

Steve slides on his glove. “And?”

“Well, the results were catastrophic, so the project was abandoned.” Her brow ticks up when she notices his sudden, undivided attention. “It was a dual-acting compound, the owner of the Widow took one chemical and the Widow took the other. For obedience, loyalty, all that shit you mentioned. Added bonus being that you could sell a specific client a Widow only beholden to him. There were test subjects it didn’t work on at all, but there were also those who…”

Steve holds his breath.

“…became obsessed with each other. The—quote—‘owner’ lost control because he was also devoted to his Widow, and you can’t care about disposable resources, can you?” Nat’s voice drips with bitterness and judgment. “So, yeah, abandoned. There’s no mention of the testing continuing. They just moved on.”

“They just—what? Cured the subjects?”

“It didn’t work, Steve,” Natasha softly hisses back at his strained tone. “That’s what I’m telling you.” Her eyes bulge, encouraging the dots to connect. “Terminated. Widows don't have attachments, either.”

“Killed them,” he squeaks, clearing his throat. “And there were different powders?”

“Funny you should mention ‘powder’ because they did color-code them.”

Steve’s stomach drops. He know what’s coming.

“One was described as rozovyy.” Natasha turns to walk with him across the hangar to their gathered troop of agents. “Reminds me of that incident where Pinkie got exposed. Spent eight days in quarantine because two of the noobs played Hot Potato with what they thought was a dud dispersal pod. You remember that scare?”

He swipes his tongue over dry lips. “I recall something of the sort.”

“Guess we don’t have anything to worry about though. Nobody got doused in azure, did they?”

Steve swallows hard, sweating, heart rate kicking up, but it’s possible that’s because you’re among the agents assigned today and he can see you, positioned in the back—unnecessarily for your current rank,— focused strategically at his feet.

He swings around, halting Nat with a firm hand.

“Was there a reason they found it worked on some and not others?”

She sighs. “The pair that hated each other, it didn’t take. They did not want to be bonded in any way. There was no mutual…let’s call it ‘respect.’ That was the best guess.”

“Right.” Steve hangs his head, catching another imaginary whiff.

If he’s not already insane, it’s only a matter of time, and he knows it.

[Part Two]

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Ko-Fi]

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader smut #two-factor adoration

249 notes · View notes

vamptizm · 7 months ago

Text

ii. MISSION JEALOUSY — p. bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis : in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings : smut, fingering (oc receiving), brief degrading, exhibitionism if you squint, they’re both assholes, no aftercare. please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable!

word count : 3.5k

note : this is my first time writing this stuff and omfg was it HARD, i cringed at myself like 10 times and this might be bad but everyone starts somewhere ig lol

series masterlist

The team weight room was alive with the rhythmic clanking of weights and low murmurs of conversation, but Paige only had ears for Clover. The two had been switching off sets on the bench press, each girl pushing themselves harder than necessary—not to outdo their personal records, but each other. Ice, nearby and unbothered, worked through her squats, seemingly oblivious to the escalating competition between the two.

Clover added another set of plates to the bar and smirked as she lay back, her tattoos flexing with every adjustment of her arms. Paige leaned against the rack, her arms crossed, watching with an unimpressed expression.

"Feeling bold after last night, huh?" Paige's tone was casual, but the edge was unmistakable.

Clover gripped the bar above her, sparing Paige a glance. "Nah, I couldn't care less." she quipped, her voice light as she lifted the bar. "Why? Did I make your little friend cry?"

Paige's jaw tightened with a small scoff, but she kept her composure. "You really thought you ate, huh?" She stepped closer as Clover re-racked the bar with ease. "Maybe next time, try not to scare people off before dessert."

Clover sat up, wiping her hands on her shorts. "Scare her off? Oh, baby. She was hanging by a thread before I said anything." She stood, gesturing for Paige to take her spot. "Maybe don't bring your charity cases to team dinners next time."

Paige slid under the bar, refusing to let Clover see how much that comment—and pet-name—got under her skin. She grabbed the bar with purpose, her fingers tightening around it as she muttered under her breath, "You're insufferable, you know that?"

Clover, now spotting Paige, leaned forward slightly, her grin widening. "Yeah, and you fucking love it."

Paige bit the inside of her cheek, annoyed that she couldn't come up with a retort fast enough. Instead, she pressed through her reps, feeling Clover's eyes on her the whole time. By the time she re-racked the bar, she was already regretting agreeing to partner with Clover.

When Clover took her turn again, she added more weight to the bar, clearly trying to prove a point. Paige didn't bother hiding her scoff. "Sure you don't wanna just tape a 'look at me' sign to your back while you're at it?"

"Jealousy doesn't look good on you, Bueckers," Clover shot back, her voice steady as she lowered the bar with perfect form.

Paige crossed her arms, leaning slightly closer. "You're not that special, Ma."

Clover's laugh echoed through the room as she racked the bar with ease. "Sure, keep telling yourself that. I'm not the one who brought a backup date to dinner."

Paige felt her temper flare, the heat rising up her neck. "You think everything's a game, don't you?" she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as Jia moved to another station.

Clover tilted her head, her expression smug. "Maybe. But you love to play, don't you?"

Paige didn't respond, instead picking up a pair of dumbbells and turning her attention to another exercise. But the tension between them lingered, thicker than the humid air in the weight room.

The weight room grew quieter as the rest of the team filed out, leaving only the steady hum of the overhead lights and the sound of weights being racked. Clover and Paige remained, neither willing to be the first to leave.

Paige pretended to focus on her dumbbells, but her attention kept flickering to Clover, who was at the mirror adjusting the resistance on a cable machine. The gym's fluorescent light caught the sheen of sweat on Clover's skin, highlighting the tattoos curling around her arms and peeking out from the neckline of her tank top.

Clover glanced at Paige's reflection in the mirror, catching her staring. She didn't say anything, but the smirk that tugged at her lips made Paige's stomach twist in equal parts annoyance and something else she refused to name.

"Enjoying the view, Bueckers?" Clover's voice broke the silence, casual and teasing.

Paige huffed, looking away as she set her dumbbells back on the rack. "You wish."

Clover turned, leaning against the cable machine, her arms crossed. "You're still mad about dinner, aren't you? I thought we had fun."

"Fun for you maybe," Paige shot back, stepping closer to grab her water bottle. "I don't make a habit of embarrassing people for sport."

Clover's grin widened. "Oh, come on. Amelia was—what's the word?—forgettable."

Paige glared, taking a long drink to buy herself time. She hated how Clover always knew exactly which buttons to push. But worse than that was how Clover's confidence—the way she carried herself, so effortlessly bold—made it hard to focus on anything else.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Paige asked, her voice quieter this time.

Clover tilted her head, her expression softening just enough to catch Paige off guard. "Why would I?"

Paige didn't answer, but the air between them felt charged, almost suffocating. She could feel Clover watching her, and it made her want to walk out—or close the distance between them.

Clover took a step closer, her gaze steady, curious. "What is it about me that gets under your skin so much, huh? Don't act like it's just my big mouth."

Paige's breath caught, her pulse quickening as Clover's words hung in the air. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss.

"Nothing to say?" Clover teased, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping. "That's a first."

Paige clenched her fists at her sides, every nerve on edge. "You don't know when to stop, do you?"

"Not when it comes to you," Clover replied, her tone softer now, less playful but no less intense.

For a moment, the weight room felt impossibly small, the space between them shrinking by the second. Paige could feel the tension in her chest, the unspoken words and emotions she wasn't ready to name.

Paige didn't step back. Her smirk turned sharper, her eyes searching Clover's face for any sign of hesitation—but she didn't find any. Instead, Clover stood firm, her confidence unwavering even as the air between them grew impossibly thick.

"You're looking at me like you wanna fuck me, Bueckers," Clover remarked, her voice steady and cocky grin unfaltering, even if her heart was pounding.

"Good," Paige replied, voice low. "Maybe that's exactly what I wanna do."

Before Clover could reply, Paige's hand moved—lightly brushing her hip first, then lingering at her waist, her grip firm but not overbearing. Her touch sent a jolt through Clover, but she didn't pull away. Paige stepped even closer, their bodies nearly touching, her breath warm against Clover's cheek.

"You're bold today," Clover murmured, her voice quieter now but still laced with challenge.

Paige chuckled softly, the sound deep and confident. "Bold, or just tired of you running your mouth?"

The weight room suddenly felt a hundred degrees hotter. Paige's free hand came up, her fingers gently grazing along the line of Clover's jaw, tilting her head up slightly. The smirk on Clover's lips wavered for a second—not out of nerves, but because Paige's sudden boldness had thrown her off her game for the first time.

"Speechless for once?" Paige teased, her thumb brushing the corner of Clover's mouth.

Clover regained her footing quickly, her cocky grin returning as her hands came to rest against Paige's chest. "Not speechless. Just wondering if you're finally gonna back up all that talk."

Paige's response was immediate. She closed the small gap between them, her lips brushing against Clover's as she pinned her against the cold wall, teasing at first but quickly growing firmer, more insistent. Clover matched her energy without hesitation, her fingers curling into the fabric of Paige's shirt as she pressed closer.

The kiss was nothing short of electric—heated, competitive, and every bit as charged as their arguments. Paige's larger hand slipped from Clover's jaw to her ass, pulling her closer, while Clover tilted her head to deepen the kiss, not willing to let Paige take the lead entirely.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Clover was the first to speak, her voice soft but edged with humor. "So... does this mean you're done being mad about dinner?"

Paige laughed under her breath, her hand still lingering on Clover's waist. "Not even close." She stepped back slightly, her cocky smile returning as she grabbed her towel. "But that's a conversation for another time, Ma."

And instantly, the blonde's lips crashed back against Clover's, her unoccupied hand snaking back up to the girl's face before finding a light grip around her throat. That was enough to ignite the tamed fire inside of Clover, their kiss growing rougher, teeth clashing and tongues meeting— Paige licking into her mouth like she was seeking water in the Sahara desert. A small whimper escaped Clover into Paige's mouth. One that had the blonde cockily grinning against her lips as her slim fingers lightly squeezed the girl's throat.

"Already got you whimpering for me, Baby?" The blonde's grin was taunting, nothing short of confident in herself like she always was.

Clover, however, wasn't as amused as Paige. Too worked up, too hot to come up with her usual and well known retorts. "Just shut the fuck up." She rolled her eyes, barely able to express her annoyance, that could more so be described as frustration.

Paige didn't make an effort to reply, her hand snaking to the back of Clover's neck, pulling the girl into another rough and messy kiss. Her lips slowly began to trail down, peppering wet kisses along Clover's jaw until she reached her neck.

Clover couldn't help but fist the blonde's shirt, gripping it tightly in hopes of grounding herself. Her head tilts backwards, upper teeth biting down on the bottom of her lips to suppress the whimpers that so desperately wanted to be let out. Paige started out with placing soft kisses down Clover's neck, halting at the crook of her neck. Her grip around the girl's waist tightened, tongue darting out to lick along the inked area, down to the collar bone.

The pooling wetness and the growing heat between Clover's legs was hard to deny, even harder to hide. She almost scolded herself for the way her thighs pressed together—it only gave her away and of course Paige didn't miss that. A smirk tugged on the corners of the blonde's lips, darkness clouding her bright eyes.

"You think you're slick, huh? Spreading them for others all fucking week and now you wanna close those legs?" Her tone was mocking, almost degrading and for some reason it only turned Clover on even more.

She couldn't keep her mouth shut, though. When could she ever? Clover Amar was a loud mouth through and through. "Maybe if you weren't all talk I would've spread them for you instead."

Paige had to hold herself back from rolling her eyes, only a small, amused scoff escaping her. "Oh, I'm so sorry I made you wait, princess. Let me make it up to you, yeah?"

And just like that Paige went back to kissing and nibbling on her collar bones, mouth moving further south with each second before reaching her cleavage. Her hands slid up slowly, fingers playing with the hem of the girl's sports bra. "Can I?" Her gaze was back on Clover's face, blue eyes locking with hers and her tone unusually and bizarrely soft and gentle. As if getting permission meant a great deal to her. Clover could only nod her head, too dazed to trust her own voice.

That wasn't enough for Paige, though. She lifted her head up, standing straight as she shook her her head. "You got words, baby. Use 'em."

Clover had to bite her tongue to not curse the blonde out at that very moment. Even in a moment like this, Paige still needed to tease her about it. Typical. Taking a deep breath, she finally complied. "Yes. You can."

A smug smirk made it's way back onto Paige's lips, triumph painted all over her features. It was clear that she enjoyed this more than Clover herself. "There you go, good job."

And oh, how Clover hated the way those words made her stomach do flips.

Paige's fingers finally hooked into the material of the black sports bra, taking her sweet time in pulling it up until Clover's breast sprang free. She stilled for a moment, breath hitching in her throat as she took the sight in front of her in, mouth already watering. If it had been anyone other than the girl in front of her, she'd make sure to shower them in praise and compliments, but she couldn't do that yet. Clover's full tattoo was now in sight— starting from the valley of her breast and ending only a couple of inches above her navel.

The blonde took a subtly deep breath before her hands continued their abandoned actions. "Arms up," she dryly instructed, tugging the clothing over Clover's head and throwing it to the floor after she complied once again. She had to refrain herself from commenting on how well Clover could listen for once.

Paige took her sweet time admiring the girl's exposed chest, hands instinctively finding their way back to her waist, rubbing and caressing the soft skin up and down. Clover was starting to get impatient, her hand finding one of Paige's, guiding it up and placing it over her breast.

The smug smirk on Paige's face only intensified, exuding her all too known and obnoxious confidence. "Eager, aren't we?"

Clover didn't say a word, she didn't have to because as soon as the blonde spoke those words, her mouth was already back on Clover, lips latching onto one nipple while her hands played with the other one. Fondling, pinching her nipples, suckling and biting on them until she got a satisfying squeal out of the girl.

As much as Clover hated this, she absolutely loved it. In some way she was being worshiped AND pleased right? Technically, she was the winner.

Paige continued to suckle and place open mouthed kisses all over her tits, slowly trailing down along the inked skin, licking and pecking.

It wasn't enough for Clover, though. Not nearly enough to coming anywhere close to stilling her hunger for the annoying blonde. But luckily for her, she didn't have to do or say anything. Paige was already on it, hand sliding to the waistband of the girl's shorts while she straightened up. That's when Clover felt her body ignite with fire, the mere thought of being touched in such a public space where anyone could walk in at any given time—despite it being so late—excited her more than she'd like to admit.

"Can you stop teasing?" She asked in an unintentionally low tone, her question coming off as more of a demand or request.

"I don't know, can you behave for once?" Paige countered, that stupid smirk never leaving her face and if Clover wasn't so turned on in that moment, she'd want to smack it off of her.

She hesitated before replying, voice barely above a whisper and a small pout on her lips. "Yes."

That one word seemed to be enough for Paige. Her hand came back up, two digits hovering over Clover's lips. "Suck."

'Is she serious?' Clover thought to herself. She debated it, fighting her pride and ego all for the sake of pleasure before ultimately complying and parting her lips, slowly wrapping them around Paige's fingers.

"Good girl." The blonde hummed as she watched and Clover wanted to roll her eyes. Her tongue swirled around the digits, sucking on and wetting them all while maintaining eye contact until Paige pulled them out again, a string of saliva connecting them. This was purely for the blonde's own pleasure.

Her hands were back on Clover's hips, but this time she didn't seem to have the patience to tease her. Paige's hand slipped right between the material of her waistband and panties.

Clover let out a huffed breath of relief at the touch of Paige's fingers running over her slick folds. The girl was completely soaked by now—embarrassingly so—something that emitted a raised brow from the blonde. "What's got you all soaked, Ma?"

"Shut the fuck up." is all that Clover could muster to say, her words coming out breathless. Her body was on fire and the last thing she wanted, was to be teased again.

Paige could only chuckle, something that would've aggravated the girl if she wasn't so worked up and desperate. She began to slowly circle Clover's clit, biting back that smug smirk as she studied her expression. Clover made no efforts of hiding her face, nor how good she felt, multiple sighs escaping her lips and her eyes fluttering shut. Her leg lifted to semi-hook around Paige's hip for easier access.

"More, please." She breathed. Clover knew that if there was one way to get what she wanted, it was by playing her cards right. By asking nicely.

And it seemed to work when Paige sped her movements up, rubbing tight circles as her mouth latched back onto the girl's chest. It was as if she couldn't get enough of her.

Paige's movements slowed, two digits circling the girl's entrance for what felt like an eternity before slipping in all at once.

A soft gasp left Clover's lips at the delicious stretch, her head tipped backwards as Paige continued the abuse on her chest. The blonde's fingers were pumping in and out of Clover's sopping cunt, and the sound of wet squelching would've flustered her if she'd cared enough.

"Oh- Fuck, Paige." Clover's hands came up to the girl's shoulders, steadying herself. Soft whimpers and the sound of kisses all across Clover's chest was all that could be heard through the weight room.

"Good, huh?" Her voice was low and sultry, eyes looking up at Clover's already fucked out face, who could only nod her head.

The familiar knot below her stomach started to tighten, nails digging into Paige's skin as she continued her abuse on her cunt, fingers curling deep, hitting that gummy spot just perfectly.

Clover feels like she's floating and suffocating all at once, her muscles and senses trembling with pleasure and she can feel her high approaching. This wasn't what she had planned—being at the mercy of Paige Bueckers—but there wasn't anywhere she'd rather have been in that moment.

"You close, baby?" Paige mumbled against her neck that she was now attacking with kisses, almost as if she could sense it. "Clenching on my fingers like a slut. You're that desperate, Mama?"

Once again, Clover could only nod her head, whimpering and whining were the only form of noise she could muster up.

Paige smirked against the crook of her neck before pulling back to get a good look of Clover. Her unoccupied hand grabbed the girl's chin, tilting her head back forwards. "Look at me or I'll stop." She near to demanded as her movements quickened.

Clover barely had any time to register what was happening, her eyes fluttering open only to be met by Paige's hungry eyes. The intimacy of it should've turned her on even more, should've brought her closer and while it did just that, it also scared her. Looking into Paige's eyes was a form of intimacy and vulnerability that Clover had never expected to experience with her, a language so foreign, one she’d never bothered to learn. Her heart was pounding in her chest, stomach fluttering and she didn't know whether it was due to Paige bringing her closer to her release, or if it was the girl's baby blue eyes staring deeply into her soul, almost as if wanting to find a home within.

Those thoughts were quickly disrupted by the sudden feeling of Clover's climax washing over her, everything except the feeling of her all consuming orgasm, vanishing into thin air.

Just as quickly as it happened, it seemed to end when Paige's hand slipped out again, barely giving Clover the time to register anything. All she could do was watch how the blonde casually licked her fingers clean. "Tastes good." She spoke, but it sounded like she was more so speaking to herself.

Paige turned and a towel along with Clover's sports bra were already being handed to her. "To clean up with." She said, as if it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world.

Before Clover could register anything, the blonde was already making her way towards the door. "See you tomorrow." She called over her shoulder, barely looking back as she left the weight room.

Clover could only stand there in shock. Did that really just happen? Did she really leave just like that? It's not as if she expected any aftercare or something as silly as a kiss, but standing topless and still catching her breath, Clover couldn't help but feel ashamed. Feel as if she had just been used and discarded so easily. It wasn't something she was used to. Heck, even she had the decency to help the girls she hooked up with get cleaned up and dressed before ditching them.

She scoffed humourlessly before putting her bra back on, tightly gripping her towel and walking out of the weight room herself in annoyance, and which she hated to admit, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #mission jealousy #uconn wbb #uconn women’s basketball #uconn huskies #wnba #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige bueckers smut

464 notes · View notes

gymequipmentforexercise · 3 months ago

Text

Multi Purpose Adjustable Weight Bench In Chennai

OnTrackYou's FID Adjustable bench with a new decline feature and even greater durability.

Our Exercise Bench is a high-performance, heavy-duty designed for intense training.

Our home workout gym bench is engineered for heavy workouts, offering unmatched stability and strength.

Upgrade your gym with this durable, portable, and versatile bench designed for athletes who demand the best.

If you are looking for compact adjustable exercise bench in Chennai, Tamil Nadu, Contact a leading gym equipment supplier in India.

#multi purpose bench #multi adjustable bench #Multi Exercise Bench #Adjustable Bench #Home Gym Bench #Home Workout Bench #Gym equipment #home gym equipment

0 notes

p0orbaby · 10 months ago

Text

It Doesn’t Get Any Easier

summary: you’re the new physio, tasked to help leah one on one with her recovery; but lines start to blur the longer you spend with one another

warnings: none

a/n: i enjoyed this one. also trying out a slightly different style so let me know what you think

word count: 2.8k

Leah comes in every morning just after 7:30, always a little earlier than the rest of the team—well, what’s left of the team—who roll in around 8, give or take. You start noticing her patterns by the second week. It’s not intentional. It’s just that she’s hard not to notice. The way she slips into the room quietly, moving like a shadow, like she’s trying not to be seen even though she’s Leah Williamson and there’s something impossible about Leah Williamson going unnoticed. You’re not sure she’s aware of it, or maybe she is, maybe it’s part of the act, something people like her learn over time—how to balance being seen and unseen simultaneously. Either way, she always acknowledges you. It’s a brief nod or a soft “Morning” that comes out like a sigh. But it’s there. And you nod back because it’s professional, it’s polite.

You’re the new physio, brought in because someone higher up decided that ACLs are the new pandemic, and Arsenal’s hit hard by it. One by one, players dropping like flies—tears, rips, stretches that aren’t supposed to stretch. Someone needed to focus on rehab, on these slow and tedious one-on-one sessions. So, here you are. Your life has become a revolving door of knee braces, resistance bands, ultrasound machines, and cold compression therapy. A strange, repetitive kind of intimacy.

Leah is assigned to you. "Take care of her," they say. She’s a captain. She’s the face. There’s an unsaid urgency that comes with her, an invisible asterisk by her name. You feel it in every briefing, every passing mention of her progress. Everyone’s waiting for her return. Waiting for her to be fixed.

Your first session with her is awkward. Stilted. You’re overly conscious of how she sits, her knee elevated, her eyes on the ceiling, like she’s counting the tiles instead of looking at you. The air smells faintly of antiseptic and that weird plastic-y scent that medical equipment always has. You ask her the standard questions: pain level, range of motion, any stiffness. She answers with one-word responses, tight-lipped. There’s a distance between you that you can’t quite figure out if it’s professional or personal. Maybe both.

Weeks pass, and the routine becomes muscle memory. You know when to push and when to pull back. How to make her laugh, how to coax her into stretching just a little more without her getting defensive. You start to notice the little things about her. Like how she always wipes her hands on her shorts after you adjust the brace on her leg, or how she clicks her tongue when she’s frustrated, a soft noise that barely registers unless you’re paying attention, which you are. You’re always paying attention to Leah.

It’s in the middle of a session that things shift. You’re guiding her through a series of exercises—balance work, stuff that’s boring but essential—and she’s sweating, biting her lip as she focuses on not wobbling. You’re right there, hands out, ready to catch her if she stumbles. She doesn’t, but the proximity is there. Too close, maybe. Your fingers brush her waist as you correct her form, and she inhales sharply. You freeze, but she doesn’t move. Neither do you.

"Is this okay?" you ask, your voice lower than usual, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s the weight of her stare, those sharp blue eyes locking onto yours.

"Yeah," she says, but her voice sounds strained, like she’s not sure it’s the right answer. She’s not looking at you anymore, her focus now on the floor, her hands gripping the sides of the bench like she needs to anchor herself. The room feels smaller, the air thick.

You pull back, step away, putting space between you, but it doesn’t feel like enough. You can still feel the echo of her skin under your fingers, the heat of her proximity. You clear your throat, force a smile. "Let’s take five”

She nods, doesn’t say anything, just grabs her water bottle and takes a long drink, her throat working, a bead of sweat rolling down her neck. You turn away, pretend to be adjusting something on the ultrasound machine even though it’s perfectly fine, just to give yourself something to do, something that isn’t thinking about how her skin felt under your hands.

The next time around is more tense. There’s an unspoken tension now, like a line has been crossed, or maybe it hasn’t, but it’s close. You’re hyper-aware of every movement, every brush of skin. Leah doesn’t mention it, but there’s a change in her too. She flirts, subtly at first—offhand comments, jokes that land just a little too close to something more. You laugh, play along, because it’s harmless. It’s nothing. Except it’s not.

You catch yourself watching her more. The way her muscles ripple under her skin as she moves, the way her lips part when she’s concentrating, how her eyes flick to you when she thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if she notices you doing the same. You wonder if she feels it too—this thing simmering between you that’s becoming harder to ignore.

One day, after a session, she lingers. The rest of the team has filtered out of the gym, and it’s just the two of you, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound.

"Thanks for today," she says, her voice soft. She’s sitting on the edge of the bench, her knee still wrapped in the brace, but she looks more relaxed than she has in weeks. There’s something in her eyes, something you can’t quite read, and it makes your chest tighten.

"It’s my job," you say, but the words feel hollow. You’ve been telling yourself that for weeks now, trying to convince yourself that this is just work, that this is just another injured player, another knee to fix. But it’s not. You’re not sure when it stopped being just that, but it has.

"Is it, though?" she asks, and her voice is lighter now, teasing, but there’s an edge to it. A challenge.

You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. "What do you mean?"

She stands, slowly, her movements careful, deliberate. She’s close to you now, too close again, and you don’t step back this time. "I think you know what I mean," she says, her eyes locked on yours, and you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something dangerous.

You don’t have an answer, or maybe you do but you don’t trust yourself to say it out loud. The air between you crackles with something electric, something that feels inevitable.

She leans in, just a fraction, and you freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You could close the distance. You could kiss her, right here, right now, and no one would know. It would be easy. Too easy.

But you don’t.

Instead, you step back. You force a smile. "We should stick to the plan. Don’t want to push the knee too hard too soon”

It’s a cop-out, and you both know it. The shift in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it—the brief flicker of disappointment before she masks it with a shrug.

"Right. The knee," she says, her tone casual, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a thin thread ready to snap. She doesn’t push it, though. Instead, she grabs her bag, slings it over her shoulder, and heads for the door. But just before she leaves, she glances back at you, her eyes sharp, like she’s trying to figure you out, trying to decide if this is a game or something else entirely.

You stand there for a long time after she’s gone, the gym feeling too big, too empty. You can still feel the weight of her gaze, the heat of her body close to yours. You tell yourself it’s just work, just rehab. But deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

It’s never that simple.

The sessions after that are different. There’s a push and pull now, a tension that neither of you acknowledges but is impossible to ignore. Flirting turns into something sharper, more pointed, like you’re both testing the limits, seeing how far you can go before something breaks. But nothing breaks, not really. Not yet.

Then one night, you cross the line. It’s late, the training ground is empty, and Leah’s the last one in the gym. You’re both exhausted, worn down by weeks of slow progress, of frustrations mounting. The conversation starts off innocuous—something about her recovery timeline, how she’s feeling. But it shifts quickly. There’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that cuts through the usual banter.

"Why do you keep pulling back?" she asks, and there’s nothing light in her tone now. It’s serious. She’s serious.

You blink, thrown off. It’s late, the harsh fluorescent lights above cast everything in this sterile, washed-out glow that makes you feel like you’re in a hospital, or some kind of waiting room where nothing feels real, nothing matters. Leah’s standing in front of you, close but not too close, not like before, but close enough that you feel it—the weight of her presence, the space she occupies, the air between you vibrating, charged with something neither of you is willing to name but it’s there. It’s been there for weeks. Maybe longer.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, but it’s a lie and you both know it. You’re tired, too tired to come up with something convincing, and it’s the way she’s looking at you now, like she’s seeing through every excuse you’ve built up, every wall you’ve thrown up between you because you know you have to, because you’re the physio, you’re supposed to be the professional, the one who stays detached, clinical, objective. You’re supposed to care about her body, her knee, not the rest of her. Not this.

But the truth is, you do care, too much, and it’s bleeding into everything. Into the way you touch her during sessions, the way your fingers linger just a little too long on her skin when you’re adjusting the brace, or the way your pulse speeds up when she leans back on the bench, sweat glistening on her forehead, the tendrils of her hair stuck to her neck, and you wonder what it would feel like to brush them away. You know you shouldn’t, that it’s a line you can’t cross, but the line’s blurred now, so faint you can barely see it anymore.

Leah narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s wearing an old Arsenal training kit, the fabric worn and soft, the logo faded from too many washes, and you notice that she tugs at the hem of her shirt when she’s frustrated, twisting it around her fingers like she’s trying to keep her hands busy, like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. “You’re not stupid,” she says, and her voice is sharp, but there’s something underneath it—something vulnerable, like she’s exposing a part of herself she doesn’t want to, but she can’t help it. “You know exactly what I mean”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. You’re not stupid. You know why you’ve been pulling back. Why you’ve been keeping your distance. It’s because this—whatever this is—is dangerous. It’s complicated. It’s wrong in a way that’s hard to define but easy to feel, like a low hum in the back of your mind that you can’t shake. And yet, the more you try to stay away, the more you find yourself drawn to her. Like gravity. Like something you can’t control, no matter how hard you try.

“It’s not that simple,” you say, and your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You’re aware of how this looks—two people alone in a gym, the air thick with unspoken tension, the kind of tension that feels like it’s been building for a long time and is about to spill over. You glance at the clock on the wall—it’s almost 10 a.m.—and you wonder how it got so late, how time seems to bend around her, how hours slip by when you’re with her but still, its never enough. There’s always more, always something unsaid hanging in the air between you.

Leah uncrosses her arms, taking a step closer. You can see the faint scar on her knee, the way the skin’s still a little pink, a little raw, and it’s a reminder of why you’re here, what your job is, but all you can think about is the way her eyes are locked on yours, unflinching. “I’m not asking for simple,” she says quietly, and there’s an intensity in her voice that catches you off guard. “I’m asking for honest”

The word hangs in the air, heavy, and you feel something in your chest tighten. Honest. You think about what that would look like. What it would feel like to stop pretending, to stop playing this game where you act like you don’t notice the way she looks at you, the way your body reacts to hers. You think about what it would mean to cross that line, to give in to what’s been building between you. The consequences. The fallout. The way it would shift everything irreparably, and yet, the thought doesn’t scare you as much as it should.

You take a breath, slow, steady, trying to collect yourself, trying to find the right words, but they’re all tangled up in your head, a mess of things you can’t say, shouldn’t say. “Leah,” you start, but you don’t know how to finish the sentence, because there’s no good way to say what you’re thinking, no good way to explain the way your heart speeds up when she’s near, the way your skin prickles under her eyes, the way your mind drifts to her at night when you’re lying in bed, staring into the darkness, replaying moments in your head that shouldn’t matter but do.

She’s watching you, waiting, and you can feel the weight of her expectation, the way she’s daring you to say something real, something that matters. And maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re tired of pretending, tired of holding back, but something inside you cracks, just a little, just enough.

“I’ve been trying to keep this professional,” you say, and the words come out in a rush, tumbling over themselves like they’ve been waiting to escape. “Because I have to. Because I don’t know how else to do this without—” You stop, shaking your head, because it sounds ridiculous, it sounds like an excuse, and maybe it is. “It’s not just about your knee,” you say finally, and it feels like a confession, like something you’ve been holding onto for too long. “It’s about everything else”

Leah’s eyes widen, just for a moment, and you see something flicker across her face—surprise, maybe, or relief, or something else entirely. She doesn’t say anything right away, but she steps even closer, close enough that you can smell the faint trace of her sweat mixed with the scent of her shampoo, something clean and floral, and it hits you like a wave, overwhelming in its simplicity. You feel the pull again, stronger now, undeniable.

“You think I don’t know that?” she says, and her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a sharpness that cuts through the haze in your mind. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

The words hang between you, suspended in the air, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the gym, the team, the world outside this room. It’s just you and her, and the weight of everything you haven’t said, everything you’ve been too scared to admit.

Leah reaches out, her fingers brushing against your arm, and the contact sends a jolt through you, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something you’ve been trying to suppress for weeks, months. You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly, the space between you disappears, and her lips are on yours, and it’s like everything snaps into focus all at once.

The kiss is rough, urgent, like it’s been building for too long and now there’s no stopping it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat of her body against yours, the way her breath mingles with yours in the small, stolen space between kisses. It’s messy, frantic, like neither of you can get enough, like you’ve been starving for this and now you’re finally letting yourself have it.

You don’t think about the consequences, about what happens when this moment ends. You don’t think about the power imbalance, the lines you’re crossing, the mess you’re making. All you can think about is the way she feels against you, the way her fingers dig into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

514 notes · View notes

delusionalwriterr · 1 year ago

Text

Gym Buddy

Pairing: Beefy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You have a hard time keeping your eyes off of your gym crush.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: none

A/N: Shoutout to my gym girlies out there, this one's for you 🫵🏻

Masterlist

———

“What are we hitting today?” your friend asks you as you both enter the gym. You look over to the receptionist and greet him with a smile. Adjusting the gym bag on your shoulder, you turn to your friend and shrug.

“I was thinking legs?” you suggest as the two of you head to the locker area. You usually go to the gym alone, but today was thankfully one of the rare occasions your schedule aligned with your friend’s so you took this opportunity to invite her to the gym with you— something you used to do back when you were still in college.

Your friend nods in response before beginning to stuff her locker with the stuff she didn’t need, you mirroring her actions. “Quads, hams, glutes, or all of the above?” she chuckles, pulling out her shaker bottle and scooping in some pre-workout.

“I did quads last time, are you cool with hams and glutes?” you ask to which she nods again. “But you can do quads if you want.”

This time she shakes her head, “Nah, you know me. I can never say no to a good glute workout.” She turns to her side and nudges your hip with hers, drawing a chuckle from you.

You walk towards the workout area, your eyes scanning the room and immediately stopping by the benches. You feel your heart hammer in your chest as you watch him do bench presses— his chest puffing out and leaving no room for imagination thanks to the compression shirt he was wearing.

Bucky Barnes started going to your gym a few months ago, and to say you were shocked to see him there the first time was an understatement. Not that you were complaining though, but you practically fell off the treadmill you were using when you saw him walk in for the first time donning an oversized shirt, a pair of sweatpants, and a baseball cap.

Safe to say that he is definitely your gym crush, and you would be lying when you say that you look forward to going to the gym just to see if he was there.

Your gaze stayed on him as your friend led you to the Smith machine. You glance at his face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and mouth letting out huffs of breath as he raises the 100kg dumbells above him.

Goddamn.

Your attention is brought back to your friend as she begins loading the bar with a few weights to start your first exercise. You snap out of your daze and help her by loading up the other side before finally beginning.

Taking turns, the two of you did a few sets of back squats, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. You desperately tried not to look at Bucky for too long, afraid that your friend might notice or worse, you get caught by Bucky staring at him.

“Okay, what’s up? I feel like you left your brain back at home,” your friend joked as you took a break before starting your next exercise. You roll your eyes, taking a swig from your water bottle, ignoring her question.

Your eyes subconsciously trail to Bucky, once again. This time, he was hunching over the bench as he stared at his phone, chest rising and falling at a steady pace. Your friend follows your gaze and hums in realization.

“Ah, I see,” she pipes up with a smirk on her face, “you got hots for the Avenger.”

You laugh softly, turning back to her and shrugging your shoulders. “Guilty as charged.”

“Why don’t you go for it?” she pesters, causing you to rapidly shake your head. “No way, I’m scared he might just glare at me or something.”

She scoffs before beginning to look for other plates to load the smith machine. She looks around your area only to find none that would suffice for your next exercise. So she scans the gym in search of heavier plates only to find a stack of 25’s that were conveniently placed beside Bucky.

She smirks before trudging her way towards him despite your attempts to pull her back. “Come back here!” you whisper sharply, but ultimately give up once she reaches him.

You see her gently tap Bucky on the shoulder, prompting the super soldier to turn and face her. You feel your whole body tense and your face starts to heat up. You watch as your friend points to the stack of plates beside Bucky and you see him nod and begin to stand up.

Oh god, is he coming over here? You thought to yourself. Sure enough, you see your friend and Bucky each pick up a plate and head towards your direction. Your eyes briefly meet his, causing you to turn away and act busy by scrolling through your phone.

You feel your heartbeat quicken as you see them grow closer through your peripheral until they are standing right in front of the machine. “Thank you so much!” your friend smiles as they both load the weights onto the bar. “I would’ve asked my friend to help me out, but the pre-workout hasn’t kicked in for her, you know?” she jokes, earning a soft chuckle from Bucky and a glare from you.

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says, gaze shifting between the two of you, a shy smile on his lips. “Have a nice workout,” he adds, before heading back over to the benches.

Your friend turns to you, a wicked smile on her lips. “See? He won’t bite,” she chides, causing you to roll your eyes before heading to the machine to start RDLs. “Unless you’re into that sort of stuff,” she continues, earning a smack on the shoulder from you.

“I’m never working out with you again.”

—

The next few days were not as uneventful as you’d hoped. You thought by going to the gym alone like you usually do would mean that you’d have more time to just subtly watch Bucky from across the room without worrying about any friends that would force you to interact with him.

But just a few days after your initial interaction with Bucky, you were put in a situation where you had the chance to look at him up close once again.

You were doing tricep pushdowns on the cable machine when you felt a hand tap you on the shoulder, causing you to jump. You turn around to meet the pair of blue eyes you so desperately gazed at all the time.

You were frozen in your spot as you took in how attractive he looked in his compression shirt, arms bulging by the sleeves. You were snapped out of your daze when you realized he was talking to you. “I’m sorry, what?” you asked sheepishly, removing one of your earphones.

Bucky smiled shyly in return. “Are you using the other cable?” he asked, pointing at the machine next to you. You shook your head, heat rushing to your face upon the thought of him working out beside you. “No, go ahead.”

He smiled again before positioning himself beside you and starting his workout. You tried your best not to get distracted by the godly sight next to you, but you didn’t muster enough courage to talk to him after that.

The next time you talk was the week after that. You were doing a particularly heavy set of dumbbell shoulder presses (while keeping note of Bucky somewhere behind you doing bicep curls). It was already your third set, and you were aiming to push out 12 reps until you started to feel your weaker arm give out.

You braced your core harder as you pushed yourself to get the last rep in until you saw Bucky drop the dumbbells he was holding to rush behind you. “I got you,” he mumbled, lightly placing his hands just below your triceps to give you stability.

You tried to ignore your heart that was hammering in your chest as you were finally able to fully lift the dumbbells over your head. You moved to lower them to put them down, but Bucky suddenly wrapped his hands on your wrists. “All you, give me one more.”

Jesus Christ.

You pushed yourself one more time, ignoring the pain in your shoulders as you gave it your all. Once you finally put the dumbbells down, you turned to him. “Thanks,” you smiled, which Bucky returned.

“No problem,” he replied, but before you could say anything else, he was already walking back to his spot to continue his set. You were extra energized to workout that day.

Which brings you to a week after that. You were just stepping out of your car when you spot Bucky getting off his bike. You subtly watch as he took his helmet off, and revel in the way he tied his hair into a small bun by the nape of his neck.

God, you were down bad.

You were too busy trying not to drool and fail to notice that he was actually staring back at you. It wasn’t until he gave you a shy nod when you snap back to reality and return the gesture but throwing him a sheepish wave.

“What are you training today?” he calls out as he watches you take your gym bag from the trunk of your car and slung it on your shoulder. “Oh, I’m doing pull today. What about you?” you ask, silently hoping he was planning to do the same.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks which practically made your heart do backflips. Trying to hide your giddiness, you give him a short nod as you and him begin to make your way inside the gym.

You enter and greet a few familiar faces as Bucky follows suit before stopping in front of the lat pulldown machine. “Are you okay with starting with this?” you ask.

“What, no warm up?” Bucky asks in return, prompting your cheeks to heat up. “I don’t warm up,” you start, “And before you lecture me, I know it’s bad… I’m just too lazy to do it.”

He chuckles softly at this as he begins to take off the sweatshirt he was wearing to reveal that he was wearing a muscle tee underneath, leaving almost no room for imagination. “S’okay. I’m too lazy to warm up sometimes too.”

You laugh as you take a seat in front of the machine, pick a favorable weight, and begin your set. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the thought of Bucky Barnes standing just beside you to watch you do your set was both nerve wracking and motivating at the same time. Sure, you wanted to impress him with the amount of reps you could push out, but the way he was staring at you was also making your knees grow weak.

Thankfully, you finish your first set with minimal struggle before standing up and gesturing for him to go next. “That seemed a little too easy for you,” Bucky began, “I know you can lift heavier than that, doll.”

You try to ignore the way your stomach flipped upon hearing the pet name and reply with a playful scoff instead. You take a swig from your bottle as he starts his set. While lifting the whole stack, you admire the way his back muscles expand and contract without focusing too much on the soft grunts that were leaving his mouth.

Did it suddenly get too hot in here?

After a few more workouts and taking turns checking each other out, you both decide to end the day with a set of hammer curls. You watch in awe as he begins to work with a pair of 80kg dumbbells, making your weight look puny.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” you huffed as you continue your set. You see him slightly turn his head towards you in acknowledgment. “Given that you literally have a serum that makes you… you know, strong enough to lift a truck—“ he laughs at that, “why do you still work out?”

He ends his set and places his dumbbells back on the rack. “Well it sort of feels like therapy for me. When I go to the gym, it’s like— are you done with these?” he stops, pointing at the dumbbells you placed down while he was talking. You nod and before you could protest, he picks up the pair with one hand and places them back on the rack for you. “Anyway, when I go to the gym, I can forget about everything, you know? It feels nice to leave the rest of the world behind and pretend like everything is normal in my life,” he finishes.

Bucky lifts his metal arm in front of him. “This doesn’t really help with that though,” he adds, letting out a sad laugh. Your heart clenches at his sentiment, but before you know it, you blurt out, “Do you wanna get coffee after this?”

You widen your eyes at your sudden forwardness. A few weeks ago, you could barely approach him to ask help in re-racking weights, but you also never really imagined you would one day do pull with him, too. So this was sort of like a seize the day kind of thing.

Bucky, too, was caught off guard with your invitation. He never really talked to anyone when he went to the gym, preferring to just keep to himself, but there was something about you that pulled him closer. Maybe it was how friendly you were with everyone in the gym or how he saw you continuously push yourself to your limit in every exercise you do, but he was always intrigued by you.

His therapist told him to step out of his comfort zone more, so with a smile, he replies, “Only if you let me be your gym buddy from now on.”

Your smile reaches your ears as you offer him your hand, which he gladly took, “Deal.”

———

A/N: This really gives off crack energy, but hope you liked it either way ◡̈

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #marvel #the avengers #marvel headcannon

2K notes · View notes

weareukiyo · 1 year ago

Text

Buy adjustable gym benches for saving space and enabling mobility

There are more machines available in modern gyms and as a newcomer, you may get confused about where to start. You must read some literature about gym equipment and what they are meant to provide to your muscle-building quest. Compact exercise equipment is now available in the market and they are meant for installing or exercising in a space-restricted environment. A fully equipped professional gym is usually situated in a huge building where plenty of space is available. The gym is flooded with lots of exercise and weight training equipment and they are specific to shaping a certain area of your body.

#Compact exercise equipment #adjustable bench #Fitness equipment Dubai #gym equipment Dubai

1 note · View note

thewolvesofthenorth · 1 month ago

Text

Cardio

Join The Taglist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ HOTD Masterlist

Rating: 18+ Word Count: 7k+ Summary: Cregan loves a good cardio session. Warnings: Language, fluff, smutty goodness. A/N: Note 1 - Tom and his damn thirst trap inspired this one shot. So enjoy! Note 2 - Sorry for being MIA! Life has been really hectic lately and I've also been going through some writer's block. I promise I haven't forgotten my other works, and plan on finishing Man Of Honor soon!

⟸ Man of Honor ❖ What Goes Around Comes Around ⟹

Cregan adjusted his grip on the bar like he’d done a hundred times before lifting it off the rack. He took a deep breath has he steadily lowered the bar to his chest and held it there for a moment before pushing it back up as he exhaled, before going right into nine more reps. With a grunt, he completed his last rep, pushing the bar up and guiding it back onto the rack with a satisfying clink. He laid there for a moment, chest heaving up and down, as he caught his breath. He slowly sat up, rolling his shoulders out, and ran his hands through his hair as he scanned the gym.

It was busy, but not packed – just enough movement to make the air hum with the steady rhythm of effort. He wiped his palms on his shorts and scanned the room, debating his next move. He wasn’t in a rush and was thinking of doing one more exercise before ending his session early.

Kettlebells?

Treadmill?

Row machine?

His eyes roamed over the various pieces of equipment when his eyes landed on the squat rack across the way and did a double take.

There you were, setting up for your set, and something about the way you moved caught his eye—not flashy, not trying to show off, just steady, focused, controlled. Your form was clean. Back flat, knees tracking just right, depth solid. You braced before the lift like you’d done it a hundred times. Almost textbook.

Almost.

As you stepped into position and dropped into your first rep, he noticed it. Your right knee drifted just a little near the bottom of the rep—nothing dramatic, barely noticeable, but it was there. The kind of thing that could throw off your balance or wear on your knee over time if it became a habit.

Cregan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and watched for one more rep. Just to make sure he’d seen it right.

Yep.

There it was again.

Subtle, but there.

The corner of his mouth twitched—half a smirk, half something else. He grabbed his towel and wiped down the bench before standing. He didn’t plan to say anything. Not really. But before he’d even made the decision, his feet were already moving.

You had just racked the bar, stepping back and rolling out your shoulders when you caught a figure approaching. Tall, solid, a towel slung over one shoulder, sweat still fresh on his collar.

Wow.

He’s hot.

You were pleasantly surprised when he stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” he said, voice laced with an undertone of nervousness. “I – uh – hope you don’t mind me jumping in for a second.”

“Yes?” you replied cautiously. You were used to men hitting on you at the gym, but you didn’t get that creepy vibe from him.

If anything he seemed a little awkward, but friendly.

It doesn’t help that he’s easy on the eyes.

Very easy on the eyes.

“Your form’s solid,” he added quickly, holding up a hand like he wasn’t trying to correct you, just point something out. “Seriously—most people don’t hit depth like that. I just noticed that your right knee drifts a bit at the bottom of the rep.”

He tapped his own leg, just above the knee. “Could be your glute not firing fully or maybe just fatigue. Not a big deal, but I figured you’d want to know.”

There was no smugness in his tone, just that calm, measured confidence that comes from someone who’s put in the reps—both lifting and watching.

“Thanks,” you said, a little surprised. “You’ve got a good eye.”

He shrugged, a faint smile playing at the edge of his lips. “I don’t like seeing people get hurt when they’re doing everything else right.”

Then, as quickly as he came over, he stepped back, giving you your space. “Anyway—I just wanted to point that out to you. I promise I wasn’t trying to be a creep or anything.”

“I appreciate it,” you answered with a small smile. “And don’t worry, I don’t think you’re a creep. I’ve met lots of creeps, and you don’t strike me as one.”

“Thank you,” he replied, bringing a hand to his heart. “Glad to know that I don’t fall under that category.”

“You’re very welcome.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, and you couldn’t help but take in the steel gray of his eyes.

He has such pretty eyes.

The spell was broken with the clearing of his throat, and you blinked, a blush spreading across your cheeks.

“I – uh - I better let you get back to it,” he bashfully said, equally as embarrassed to have been staring at you for so long. Before you could say anything, he turned and began to walk away.

“Wait,” you said, not wanting this attractive stranger to walk away just yet. “You never gave me your name.”

He chuckled. “It’s Cregan.”

Cregan.

I like it.

“Nice to meet you, Cregan.” Holding your hand out, you introduced yourself to him, and the moment your hands touched, electricity surged through your body.

What was that?

“Likewise.”

Realizing you still held hands, you awkwardly let go, though you strangely missed the way your hand felt in his warm grip.

“Thank you again, Cregan.”

“You’re welcome,” he answered. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out. As he walked away, you couldn’t help but shamelessly check him out. Not wanting to get caught staring, you shook your head and went back to your workout. Making sure to keep your right knee from drifting, you sank into your first rep, and you could already tell that you had a little more power to your lift when you stood back up.

Huh, I wonder what else he could help me out with.

I wouldn’t mind getting a little workout in with him.

- ONE WEEK LATER -

The bench press wasn’t usually where you started, but you felt good today.

Focused.

You’d been a little more deliberate with your programming lately, and maybe—just maybe—part of that came from wanting to level up after that first conversation with Cregan.

You still thought about it.

And you definitely thought about him a lot over the course of the last week.

The short interaction that you shared had left an impression, and you couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander.

How often does he come here?

I haven’t seen him since last week.

Should I go up to him next time I see him and say something?

You weren’t sure what you would do, but you knew that you definitely wanted to see the handsome man again.

You were midway through your warm-up sets when you loaded the bar with a weight you hadn’t attempted in a while. It wasn’t a PR, but it was close enough to give you pause.

Lying back on the bench, you went through your checklist.

Feet planted.

Back tight.

Wrists straight.

You took a deep breath and unracked the bar, lowering it with control.

Midway up on the second rep, your arms trembled just slightly.

“I got you,” a voice said smoothly above you, and you instinctively relaxed—not giving up, just reassured. The bar steadied under your grip as he shadowed the lift with perfect timing.

Your eyes darted up, just long enough to confirm what your gut already knew.

Cregan.

You pushed through the third rep, and with his quiet support hovering just behind the bar, managed a fourth. On the fifth, you stalled for a second—but he only gave a gentle assist, enough to help you lock it out.

You racked the bar with a clank and sat up, wiping sweat from your brow.

“You always show up at just the right time, huh?” you teased, turning your head to look up at him.

Cregan gave a small shrug and a grin. “Guess I’ve got good timing. Or maybe I just hang out near the bench press in case someone strong needs a hand.”

You laughed. “Strong, huh?”

“I saw that set. That was solid work,” he said, nodding toward the plates. “Were you going for five?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Figured I’d try pushing a little.”

“Well, you had four on your own. Fifth just needed a nudge. Not bad at all.”

He offered his hand to help you up, and you took it without thinking. That same electric flicker sparked up your arm, just like last time.

You let go quicker this time. But not by much.

“Thanks for the spot,” you said, looping your towel around your neck. “You here for anything specific today?”

“Chest and shoulders,” he replied. “Figured I’d bench too, but looks like you beat me to it.”

“We can trade off. I’m not done yet.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You offering me a spot?”

“I am,” you said, stepping aside. “Fair’s fair.”

Cregan stepped in behind the bench as you laid back down and set up for your next set. He kept just enough distance to be respectful, but close enough that if you needed help, he could grab the bar fast.

Okay, focus, he told himself as you gripped the bar and started your first rep.

But focusing was a bit harder than it should’ve been. You were so close. So, tantalizing. And it didn’t help that your head was so close to his cock.

Fuck, I’m at the perfect height to just slide my -

Shit.

Stop.

Dammit.

Cregan coughed and tried to focus on what he was supposed to be doing. Spotting you. He shook his head and took a deep breath as you continued your set, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Your form was tight, deliberate and controlled without being robotic. The way your core engaged with each rep, the subtle arch in your back, the precision in how you breathed through the movement… it was impressive. Sexy in a way that had nothing to do with trying to be.

You weren’t showing off.

You didn’t need to.

Confident without being cocky.

Damn, that’s rare.

You finished your last rep with a determined exhale and racked the bar with a satisfying clink. You sat up and glanced back at him with a smile.

“Thanks again,” you said, wiping a bit of sweat from your temple, and he couldn’t help but notice a drop slide down your chest and into the valley between your breasts. Cregan gulped and tried not to think about sliding his tongue between them and licking you clean.

Fuck, I’m like a dog with a bone.

What is wrong with me?

“You’ve got a good presence back there,” you continued.

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Is that your way of saying I make a good spotter?”

“That,” you replied with a grin, “and you didn’t hover or breathe down my neck. Points for that.”

“I aim to please,” he said lightly, stepping around as you moved off the bench. “Your turn to keep me from embarrassing myself.”

“Oh, I doubt that’s possible,” you retorted, but took your place behind the bench anyway. “Let’s see what you’ve got, big guy.”

Big guy, he echoed in his head, fighting the grin that tugged at his mouth.

I could show you big.

Ugh.

I need to stop.

He laid back and grabbed the bar, suddenly fully aware of how close you were standing.

Don’t look up.

As much as he tried to control himself, his eyes couldn’t help but drift up to scan your body, and he felt his cock twitch.

I could just pull you down and have you sit on my face -

Shit.

Fuck.

Think of something else.

Anything but that.

Fucking hell.

Your voice cut through his thoughts. “Ready?”

“Ready,” he said, voice strained, and he tightened his grip on the bar.

He knocked out the first few reps easily, but couldn’t help the awareness of you above him. On his fifth rep, as he pushed upward, he caught the faintest hint of your scent. Clean, like citrus and something warm, and he nearly lost his rhythm.

Focus, idiot.

It’s just benching.

Just don’t look up.

Do NOT look up.

He racked the bar cleanly and sat up, shaking his head with a half-laugh. “Not gonna lie, that was a little distracting.”

“Oh?” you said innocently, crossing your arms, which only served to put your breasts up and it took Cregan great effort to not look. “Was I breathing down your neck?”

“No,” he said, standing. “You were perfect. That’s the problem.”

Your eyes met his, and there was that pause again, like the air got a little heavier between you.

“Maybe next time,” you said, a smile dancing at the edge of your lips, “I’ll try to be less distracting.”

Cregan chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if you were teasing or flirting or both.

Whatever it is, I like it.

A lot.

“I don’t mind it. Feel free to try and make it harder instead.”

He internally smacked himself at the double entendre.

Idiot.

You quirked an eyebrow at his statement and let out a giggle.

“Thanks again for your help. This time and last time.”

“Of course,” he replied with a smile. “I’m always happy to lend a hand or whatever you need.”

Oh my god.

Stop it.

“Ever the gentleman,” you giggled. “Maybe I’ll come to your rescue next time.”

“I won’t say no to that.”

“And who knows, maybe I’ll make it a little harder.”

Oh sweetheart, you already do.

- ONE WEEK LATER -

Cregan had just finished his last set of rows when he veered off the main floor, heading toward the water fountain near the side studio. He wasn’t looking for anything, really. Just a breather. Maybe to stretch before heading out.

Then he saw you.

Through the glass wall, the lights in the yoga room were low—soft and warm, casting a calm glow over the empty space.

Well, almost empty.

You were on the far side, barefoot on a mat, arms stretched out in front of you, hips high in the air—downward dog.

Cregan blinked.

Fuck.

Okay.

That was… definitely a view.

One I wouldn’t mind seeing up close.

Your leggings clung to every line of your legs and hips, and his brain short-circuited for a second before he dragged his eyes up to safer territory.

Still—damn.

You looked strong. Solid. Controlled. Even in a pose that most people rushed through, you held it with intention. He watched the slow rhythm of your breath, the way your back lengthened and heels pressed closer to the floor.

He didn’t even realize he’d stopped walking until someone brushed past him.

Get it together, Stark.

He exhaled sharply, then glanced back. You flowed seamlessly from downward dog into a lunge, arms rising in a fluid motion. Graceful. Like your body knew what it was doing.

It reminded him of how you’d moved at the squat rack two weeks ago—steady, focused. No showboating. Just strength with purpose.

And now he couldn’t help but think about how your body looked that day as well. And then his mind drifted to less innocent thoughts. Thoughts of coming up and grinding himself against you, letting you feel just how much you affected him. He hadn’t been able to get you off his mind since meeting you, and he was hooked.

He continued to watch when you shifted into a low warrior pose, and that’s when your eyes flicked up.

And saw him.

Shit.

Just keep walking.

Head to the locker room.

Don’t make it weird.

He froze, half-caught in the doorway, hand still gripping his water bottle. You smiled—small, but definitely amused. He could practically hear your thoughts.

Caught staring, huh?

Cregan raised a hand in half-surrender, half-wave, and gave a sheepish grin. You didn’t look bothered. In fact, you beckoned for him to come in.

That was all the permission he needed.

He stepped inside, trying not to feel like a total idiot. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, voice low. “I was just… passing by… on my way to get some water… because I was thirsty….”

Smooth, Stark.

Real smooth.

“Mmhmm.” You stayed in the pose a beat longer before rising with ease. “And you just happened to stop right when I was upside down?”

“Pure coincidence,” he said, deadpan, though the faint smile tugging at his mouth betrayed him. “I didn’t know you were a yoga type.”

You sat down on the mat and stretched your legs in front of you. “And here I thought you only lived in the weight room.”

“Hey, I get my cardio in too. Can’t forget about cardio. It’s like the most important workout. And the most fun if you do it right…”

You grinned and shook your head in amusement, picking up on the double meaning. “So, you gonna join in, or just enjoy the view?”

Cregan chuckled, scratching behind his neck. “Is both an option?”

That earned a laugh out of you—genuine, light—and damn, he liked that sound more than he expected.

You tilted your head, considering. “Can you touch your toes without swearing?”

“…Define swearing.”

You laughed, then nodded toward the open space beside you. “Try not to break any bones, hotshot.”

Cregan dropped down onto the mat beside you, grunting a little more dramatically than necessary. “No promises. But if I pull something, you’re responsible for CPR.”

You leaned closer, voice laced with mock sweetness. “That only works if your heart stops.”

He smirked. “Trust me, if I keep looking at you in those leggings, it just might.”

You shook your head, but he saw the blush bloom across your cheeks and the way you didn’t look away.

“Alright, Romeo,” you said, leaning forward into a stretch and folding over your legs with ease. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Cregan attempted to mirror you, reaching for his toes. His hands stopped somewhere around mid-shin.

“Wow,” you deadpanned, watching his effort. “Such grace. So majestic.”

“I’m a work in progress,” he grunted. “You ever try benching two plates after a yoga session? Doesn’t mix.”

“Can’t say I have,” you answered with a grin. “Let me guess, flexibility isn’t your strong suit?”

“Not physically,” he said, shooting you a look that was pure mischief. “Though I’m very adaptable in other areas.”

You raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“Very,” he said, dragging the word out just a little. “But hey, you’ve got your strengths, too. You could probably choke the life out of me with those killer thighs.”

You laughed again, biting your lip as you rolled out your wrists and slid into a pigeon stretch.

“Just a minute ago you were telling me that I was responsible for keeping you alive, and now you’re telling me that I could kill you with my thighs. Which is it?”

Cregan grinned, not missing a beat.

“Well, maybe I’m just saying… if I had to go out, that wouldn’t be a bad way to go.”

You let out a loud snort, shaking your head as you stretched deeper into the pose. “Morbid and thirsty. Impressive.”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands to watch you with a crooked smile. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

You arched a brow over your shoulder. “Dangerously flexible in your morals, maybe.”

He shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Only when it comes to beautiful women doing yoga.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile you tried to hide still tugged at the corner of your lips, and Cregan saw it.

And damn, that smile was going to haunt him in the best possible way.

Cregan watched the way your body moved. Elegant, strong, confident. He’d seen a lot of people train over the years, but something about the way you owned your space—quietly, unapologetically—hit different.

“Okay, your turn,” you said, gesturing to the pose.

He blinked. “That one? You want me to do that one?”

You nodded, all sweet and innocent on the outside. “What? Too hard?”

“I’m pretty sure my hips weren’t designed for that angle,” he muttered as he awkwardly dropped into the position. “This feels illegal.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’ll survive.”

“Will I?” he groaned, feeling the uncomfortable stretch in his muscles.

You leaned toward him playfully. “Want me to help?”

Cregan raised an eyebrow. “Is that an actual offer or just a very good tease?”

You didn’t answer—just leaned in a little closer and rested a hand on his lower back, guiding him gently into a deeper stretch.

His breath caught.

Your touch was light, but it burned through him. Too brief. Not enough.

He felt his cock stir in his shorts and he sucked in a breath.

Fuck.

“Better?” you murmured.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “Definitely better.”

For a moment, the room was quiet. The hum of the AC. The faint thud of music from the gym floor. But in that space, it felt like time stood still.

You sat back, crossing your legs. “You’re not too bad for a gym bro.”

He smiled, letting himself admire you just a little longer. “And you’re not too bad for someone who called me Romeo just a few minutes ago.”

You gave a small laugh, head tipping side to side.. “Flattery gets you halfway there.”

“And what gets me the rest of the way?”

You kept your eyes on his, a coy smile playing at your lips. “That depends.”

“On?”

“How sore you are after this,” you taunted lightly.

I bet I could make you even more sore.

He laughed, shaking his head. “So this is how it is. I show up for water, and suddenly I’m in a yoga showdown. I think you have an unfair advantage.”

You leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out in front of you again, toes pointed. “Unfair? Please. You’re the one who wandered in here and started talking about CPR and killer thighs.”

Cregan tilted his head, giving you a lazy, lopsided grin that made your stomach flutter. “Hey, I was just appreciating the view. You’re the one who invited me to join. Now I’m locked in a battle of flexibility I never signed up for.”

You smirked. “You could tap out anytime, you know. I won’t judge.”

“Oh, I’m not tapping out,” he said, easing himself into a seated twist with a grunt. “I just want it noted that if I pull a muscle, it’s because you challenged me and not because I’m old.”

You gave him a slow once-over, eyes deliberately sweeping from his shoulders to his legs. “You don’t look old. But if you need a nap and a protein shake after this, I’ll understand.”

Cregan snorted, leaning in slightly. “You offering to tuck me in, or just judging from a distance?”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Depends. Do you snore?”

“Only when I’ve had a really good workout,” he said, voice low with just enough suggestion to make your pulse skip.

A really good workout.

You laughed, shaking your head again. “Careful, Casanova. Keep talking like that and I might make this yoga session a lot harder for you.”

I have something hard for you.

Cregan had to bite his tongue from speaking his thoughts.

Dammit.

I need to calm down.

He gave you a boyish grin. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

You held his gaze, smile playing at your lips. “Guess you’ll have to stretch a little further and find out.”

Cregan let out a low whistle, dragging his palm down his jaw as he grinned. “Damn. Remind me never to underestimate a girl with a yoga mat and a death glare.”

You laughed, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “This isn’t a death glare. You’d know if it was a death glare.”

He leaned back on his elbows, eyes never leaving yours. “Oh yeah? What’s this one, then?”

You tilted your head. “This is my I’m humoring you but fully prepared to kick your ass if you get cocky look.”

He chuckled. “Noted. You’ve got a whole catalog of looks, don’t you?”

You shrugged, stretching one arm across your chest and rolling your shoulder with a soft exhale. “Occupational hazard.”

“Of being intimidatingly hot and flexible?”

“Of being left alone at the gym, mostly. But sure, let’s go with your version.”

Cregan groaned and flopped onto his back like he’d been mortally wounded. “Okay, that one hurt.”

“You’ll live,” you joked, shifting to straddle your mat and reach for a side bend. “I’ve seen your form in the weight room. You’re tougher than that.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, watching the movement of your body—fluid and precise, all curves and confidence. “You’ve been watching me, huh?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, that smug little smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “Only when you’re not looking.”

He laughed, something warm and boyish and way too endearing. “So we’re both guilty then.”

You shrugged one shoulder and leaned into the next stretch. “You weren’t exactly subtle standing outside the glass, Romeo.”

“You kinda stole my attention,” he admitted.

You glanced at him again, your voice quieter this time. “Yeah, well… you’re not so easy to ignore either.”

That pulled a different kind of smile from him—smaller, a little crooked. “We should do this again sometime.”

Your eyes stayed locked on his. “The stretching? Or the flirting?”

His smile widened. “Yes.”

You rolled your eyes and let out another laugh, reaching for your water bottle. “Careful, big guy. Keep that up, and you might just charm your way into a full yoga routine.”

He reached for his own bottle, still looking at you. “Good. Then maybe I’ll finally learn to touch my damn toes.”

You bumped your shoulder against his as you stood. “Dream big, hotshot.”

- SEVERAL WEEKS LATER -

The gym was quieter than usual for a Saturday afternoon. Just the low hum of machines, a few scattered lifters, and the rhythmic thud of a medicine ball against rubber flooring as you threw it.

Cregan caught it easily on the rebound, bare chest gleaming under the overhead lights. He’d ditched his shirt a few sets ago—claiming it was too hot—but you were starting to suspect it had more to do with the way your eyes kept drifting to his chest when he thought you weren’t looking.

Not that you were subtle.

Over the past few weeks, the two of you had slipped into a rhythm. A few solo lifts turned into full workouts. Spotting each other turned into grabbing post-gym smoothies. You’d learned his favorite stretches, he’d memorized the way you liked your weights racked. Somewhere along the line, the banter had deepened, the touches lingered just a little longer, and now…

Now it felt like something was going to give.

“Come on,” he called out, grinning as he braced his feet against yours. “That all you’ve got?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, already halfway up. “I’d be faster if someone didn’t keep showing off.”

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Show off? I’m just letting the airflow do its job.”

You huffed, catching the medicine ball at the top of your sit-up. The two of you had been at this for ten minutes—partner sit-ups, passing the ball, knees locked together, just close enough to feel the warmth radiating between your bodies.

It had started off as a challenge—Cregan had claimed he could outlast you. You’d claimed he was all talk.

But now it was something else entirely.

The tension had been building all week. All month, if you were being honest.

You tossed the ball back, and when he came up, he held the position a beat longer, eyes locking on yours. His hand brushed yours during the pass—on purpose, this time.

“Slowing down on me?” he asked, voice lower now. Rougher.

You rose again, catching the ball with a grunt and holding at the top just a second longer than usual. Cregan’s face was barely a foot from yours, sweat at his temple, chest rising and falling with steady effort, those steel gray eyes locked on yours like he wasn’t thinking about the next rep.

Neither were you.

Your breath caught for a second, the tension shifting—something sharper, heavier.

He smirked just slightly, and you knew he felt it too. “Still with me?” he asked, voice low and just a little cocky.

You licked your lips without meaning to. “Barely.”

You passed the ball back, and this time when he came up, his face stopped even closer to yours—too close.

You weren’t even sure if you threw the next pass on time. You were focused on the way his eyes dropped, for the briefest second, to your mouth.

“I think we lost count,” you murmured.

“I don’t care,” he replied, and there was no mistaking the husk in his voice.

His forehead was nearly brushing yours now, the space between you thick with heat and breath and the kind of tension that made your stomach flip.

You leaned in half an inch—just testing. His lips parted like he was ready to meet you.

In the blink of an eye, your hands found his shoulders—solid and warm under your palms—and you leaned forward, finally closing the distance.

Weeks of not so subtle glances and building sexual tension came crashing together in one electric moment.

He kissed you back without pause—one hand hitting the mat behind him to steady, the other sliding instinctively to your waist. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been waiting for this. Like he wasn’t about to waste the moment.

When you finally pulled apart, your breath came fast and shallow. His forehead rested against yours, both of you still pressed close, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Okay,” you said, dazed but smiling. “That definitely wasn’t part of the workout.”

Cregan laughed, low and warm. “Nope. Not at all. But you don’t see me complaining.”

You chuckled, your fingers still curled slightly into his skin. “Think you’ve got it in you to finish the set?”

“Not a chance,” he replied, his gaze dropped to your mouth again, voice a little rougher now. “I was thinking that we could call it on this set and move on to something else.”

“Something else?” you asked, licking your lips as a million ideas came to mind.

“Mhmm. I was thinking we could add some cardio to today’s session.” Cregan wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and you threw your head back with a laugh.

“Well, I think we’d need a change of scenery for that, don’t you?”

There was a glint in his eye as his mouth curved, his smile full of mischief, and you felt dampness pooling between your legs.

Thank god there’s only a few people here today.

“That sounds like a great idea. Maybe we should hit the showers and get cleaned up first.”

You nodded as he stood first, offering you a hand. You took it, and he didn’t let go right away—just held your fingers for a beat longer than necessary before finally releasing them. You gathered your things in a quiet sort of rhythm that had started to feel familiar over the past few weeks—his towel next to yours, your water bottles side by side. It was easy now, natural. Like your workouts had slipped into something more than just reps and rest times.

As you neared the locker rooms, Cregan glanced at the sign overhead and groaned. “Separate locker rooms. The universe is cruel.”

You smirked. “I’m sure you’ll survive. Barely.”

He shot you a look—half pout, half heat. “Don’t sound so confident.”

You gave him a wink and turned toward your door. “Try not to miss me.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like too late, and then you both disappeared into your respective rooms.

The locker room was quiet, your footsteps echoing faintly against the tile. You hadn’t even made it to your bench yet when your phone buzzed.

Cregan: I’m sweating like hell over here and it’s not from our workout.

Cregan: Your fault, by the way.

You grinned, cheeks warm for a completely different reason now. The memory of his lips still lingered—soft but charged. Your pulse hadn’t settled since.

You hadn’t stripped down yet. You were still flushed, your body gleaming with sweat, sports bra clinging to you, leggings molded tight over your hips. And suddenly, you were feeling bold.

You turned toward the mirror, angled just enough to show the curve of your waist and hips, one hand pulling your waistband down just slightly—barely teasing the edge of skin below. Your sports bra was dark with sweat, highlighting every line and dip. You snapped the photo quickly before you could overthink it.

You: Thought I’d give you something to help you cool down. 😇

No reply.

Then the typing bubble appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then again.

Cregan: Now, that’s just cruel.

Cregan: And doing the total opposite of helping me cool down.

Cregan: But two can play at that game.

And then—

A photo came through.

Your breath hitched.

Cregan, still shirtless, still sweat-slicked, standing in front of the mirror in his locker room. His hair was damp, messy from running his hand through it. His chest glistened, abs tight and defined. His hand pushed the band of his sweats down, revealing his black Calvin Klein boxers, with just a hint of V-line drawing your eyes lower.

You bit your lip, legs pressing together as you felt your core grow wet.

Fuck.

He’s got me there.

You: Oh? I don’t know.

You: I might just win this little competition.

A beat.

Cregan: I don’t think so.

You stared at his picture for a second longer, heat unfurling in your belly.

Seven hells, he looks good.

You could practically feel the sweat on his skin, picture the heat rolling off of him, the way his muscles flexed under your hands.

Fine.

He wanted to play?

You peeled your leggings down to mid-thigh and then pulled your sports bra off. Twisting your body to show your exposed back and ass, you covered your breast with your free hand and took another photo.

You: I’d like to see you try. 😈

You hit send before you could second-guess it.

Not even ten seconds later, another image pinged in.

Cregan had angled the camera down the length of his torso. The shot was unmistakably deliberate: his sweats and boxers were pushed much lower on his hips, one hand casually cupping himself, hiding the bulge that was certainly there.

Holy shit.

Cregan: You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.

Cregan: Five more minutes of this and I’m walking in there to teach you a lesson.

You grinned, heart pounding.

You: You talk big, Stark. But I don’t think you’re brave enough to actually do it.

You: Shame, really. The view’s getting better over here…

Typing bubble.

Pause.

Typing again.

Then:

Cregan: Say the word.

Cregan: I swear I’ll come find you.

Cregan: Right now.

Your lips curled into a wicked smile. You took one last shot—legs fully spread with your towel draped over your breasts and falling between your legs. You bit your lip and looked right into the camera as you took the picture and sent it off with a few quick taps.

Here goes nothing.

You: Locker room’s empty.

You: If you’ve got the guts… come prove it.

Cregan stared at the last picture, jaw tight, heart pounding hard in his chest.

Locker room’s empty.

If you’ve got the guts… come prove it.

Seven hells.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Shoving his phone into his gym bag, Cregan threw his towel over his shoulder, pushed out of the men’s locker room, and crossed the narrow hallway separating the two. There were only a few people left in the gym—none in sight near the showers.

Hopefully, it stays that way.

He moved quickly, quietly, the kind of purposeful stride that didn’t leave room for second-guessing.

One hand on the door.

A quick glance down the hall.

Coast’s still clear.

And then he was inside.

The locker room was quiet, faint steam still lingering in the air from earlier showers. And there you were—exactly where he’d imagined—sitting on the bench with the towel now wrapped yourself.

You looked up the second the door opened, eyes meeting his.

“Well,” you said, voice soft but daring, “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

He shut the door behind him. “Didn’t think I couldn’t.”

You stood and let the towel drop as you walked toward him, one step and then another, until there was hardly an inch between you. He could smell the faint sweetness of your skin, a mix of sweat and something uniquely you, and it was intoxicating.

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Last chance to kick me out.”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes with a heat that was pure challenge. “What makes you think I want to?”

Fuck.

That did it.

There was a thud as his gym bag and towel hit the floor, and his hands were on your hips in the blink of an eye, pulling you flush against him. Your back hit the row of lockers as his mouth found yours—hungry, hot, no more teasing.

You kissed him back, fingers sliding into his hair, dragging your nails across his bare shoulders. His hands wandered, gripping the backs of your thighs as you hitched one leg up against his hip, grinding against him, with just the fabric of his sweats and boxers separating you.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “Still think I’m playing a dangerous game?”

Cregan growled low in his throat. “Baby, you started the game.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time—less restraint, more heat—and somewhere in the back of your mind you remembered the showers were just steps away.

Your back thudded softly against the lockers again, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh as Cregan’s mouth moved down your neck, lips hot and insistent.

Then you tugged the strings of his sweats and Cregan broke away to push the rest of his clothes off, until they were nothing but a heap on the floor. You trailed your eyes down his body until you saw it. Your eyes widened at the sight of his hard cock, tip weeping with pre-cum, and you licked your lips.

Fuck.

Is it even going to fit?

“You’re really not holding back,” you said, voice husky, teasing.

“Neither are you,” he murmured, and his hands were already on your waist, thumbs brushing the strip of skin above your hips.

You smiled—daring him—and then pulled him by the hand toward the showers.

The tile under your feet was warm, the gentle hiss of a running shower echoing faintly off the walls as you turned the nozzle. Steam rose almost instantly, curling around your bodies in a slow dance of heat and tension.

Cregan was already close again, his fingers skimming your ribs until he cupped your breasts. He paused, gaze dark as it raked over you, water catching in the curve of your shoulder, slipping down your chest.

“You’re unreal,” he said, almost reverent. “So beautiful.”

You reached for him and pulled him into the spray with you, hands splayed across his chest as the water rained down on the both of you. His hands moved over your hips, your back, every part of you like he couldn’t decide what to touch first.

Then he had you pressed gently against the tile, his mouth back on yours, slower now but no less intense. One hand braced beside your head while the other found the back of your thigh, lifting, encouraging.

Your breath hitched when he pressed in closer, heat meeting heat, and you could feel his rigid length glide against your skin.

“Tell me if this is too much,” he murmured against your lips.

You smiled through the steam. “Too much? I dared you to come in here.”

He groaned softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yeah, and now I don’t think I’m leaving.”

The sound you made then was half laugh, half moan, muffled by his mouth when he kissed you again—slow, deep, winding your core like a spring as he teased you with every gentle roll of his hips.

You were slick and ready and full of want. It felt like an eternity before he tipped you back against the tiles, guiding himself to your entrance. The warm spray slicked over your bodies, and he shifted his grip on your leg, holding steady, teasing until his tip pressed again, then again, and you let out a breathless moan as he finally slipped inside you, inch by inch. You clutched his shoulders, nails digging in, torn between how impossibly big he was and how impossibly good he was. The stretch was incredible—just the right edge of fullness—and you wanted more.

“Fuck,” he breathed into your neck, not even moving yet. “You’re so tight.”

Fingers now in his hair, you arched into him, gritting out, “Keep going.”

“How the hell are you so tight?” he muttered, voice strained.

He pulled back and thrust again, deeper this time, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. In a show of strength, Cregan pulled your other leg up and wrapped them both around his waist, while he thrust up into your heat. You let out a loud moan as he began to pick up speed, hands both urgent and tender as he held you—catalyst and anchor all at once, fucking you the way you’d never imagined.

He drove his cock into you over and over, and you were quickly losing control.

“Fuck, Cregan,” you choked out, your mind dizzy with pleasure. “Right there. Fuck!”

“Louder,” he groaned, driving in at the perfect angle again, and you didn’t care who could hear. It was everything you wanted, everything you needed, heat and pressure building between your legs, every perfect thrust drawing you closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck! Don’t stop,” you pleaded. “Harder!”

“Yeah? You want it harder, babe?”

“Yes! Harder! Please!”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he urged and bit down on your neck. Your vision blurred as you came hard, pulsing, walls fluttering around him.

But Cregan didn’t stop.

He wouldn’t, not until you were gasping for breath, over-sensitized and shuddering and coming again, driving into you with a wild, unrelenting intensity that sent sparks across your field of vision. His mouth was at your ear, murmuring, “That’s it, baby… that’s it…,” and then he was gripping your hips tighter, harder, driving into you faster than before, and your whole body trembled as another orgasm ripped through you.

Cregan held you through it, every single second, until your back fell limp against the tiles and he finally let out a growl of his own. Two more thrusts and he was right there with you, spilling into you, almost too much to take. You clutched at him, boneless and breathless, feeling him twitch and then slow inside you, his movements softening, gentling. Your mind was a white blur of sensation as you clung to him, the water a steady, drumming pulse around you both.

“Goddamn,” he murmured when he caught his breath. “That was….”

You let out a small laugh, resting your cheek against his shoulder, feeling the water mat his hair. “One hell of a cardio session?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered with a chuckle. “We definitely got that cardio in.”

You shook your head and laughed again as he let you down gently, hands on your waist like he thought you might vanish. You pressed your forehead to his chest and wrapped your arms around him, as he tenderly stroked the back of your neck with his thumb. After a moment, you reached for the soap, and he took it from you, lathering his hands and then running them down your sides, your hips, your thighs, a slow grin spreading when you shivered under his touch..

“So, uh,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching up as he continued to rub soap across your skin. “Want to get some smoothies after this?”

You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him, your lips brushing lightly against his skin as you smiled. “Smoothies, huh? You really know how to treat a girl.”

Cregan gave a low chuckle, his fingers still gently tracing patterns along the back of your neck. “What can I say? I’m a man of luxury.”

“Mmhmm,” you murmured, pulling back slightly, your arms still looped loosely around him. “Smoothies after a hookup in the locker room. Real classy, Stark.”

He grinned, unbothered and clearly amused. “Hey, you started it.”

You raised a brow. “I started it? You were the one who said we needed to ‘add cardio.’”

His smirk deepened, the heat in his gaze not going anywhere. “And you were the one who dared me into your locker room.”

“Mmm. I guess that’s fair,” you said, tapping his chest with a finger. “Still, maybe next time we should try an actual date first.”

That made him pause—just for a second. Not hesitation, more like surprise. Like he hadn’t expected you to say it first.

Then his expression softened, the teasing edge melting into something more sincere. He cupped your cheek, brushing his thumb along your jaw. “Yeah?” he asked quietly. “You’d be up for that?”

You nodded, the smallest movement, but your eyes didn’t leave his. “Yeah. I would.”

His smile turned genuine, a little less cocky, a little more real. “Okay then. Let’s skip the smoothie bar today. You hungry?”

You gave a soft laugh. “After that? I could definitely eat.”

Cregan pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before pulling you out of the shower and grabbing your towels. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to dinner.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sweaty, post-gym dinner?”

His eyes dragged over you again, all mischief. “You could show up in a trash bag and still make it hard for me to think straight.”

You rolled your eyes, heat blooming in your cheeks. “You’re lucky I like you, Stark.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, with that damn grin again. “I really am.”

And the two of you worked to get dressed, you couldn’t stop the smile that curved across your lips—or the flutter in your chest that had nothing to do with the workout.

⟸ Man of Honor ❖ What Goes Around Comes Around ⟹

#cregan stark #tom taylor #house of the dragon #cregan fanfiction #cregan stark x reader #house of the dragon fanfiction #cregan stark x you #cregan x reader #cregan stark x y/n #cregan stark imagine #cregan x you

162 notes · View notes