#Cheap Glass Pipes

[nepalsmokingpipe]

Glass hammer bubblers: cheap and reliable for smoking

Smokers of different categories smoke different herbs using different smoking pipes. Besides bong, the glass hammer bubblers make the best market in the current times. They offer best smoking experience other than being most handy when they are to be carried out for smoking. Why they are so much in demand is because of its easy manageability and portability. Though somewhat like bong, the glass bubblers are the types that use advanced smoke filtration system.

[stonedgenie]

Looking for a high-quality glass pipe that won't break the bank? You're in luck! At Stoned Genie, we offer a wide variety of Cheap Glass Pipes that are affordable and high-quality options for every budget. Whether you're looking for a small and discreet pipe or a larger piece to impress your friends, we've got you covered.

[ashncloud1]

Distribution in Los Angeles Glass

Ashncloud specializes in distribution in Los Angeles glass, providing high-quality glassware for smoke shops and retailers. We offer a wide selection of glass products, including premium pipes, bongs, and accessories, with reliable wholesale services. Benefit from competitive pricing, fast delivery, and dependable inventory solutions tailored to the Los Angeles market.

[creativesmoke1]

Buy Good And Premium Quality Silicone Bongs Australia

Whether you are looking for a silicone bong filtration or a bong, choose Creative Smoke. We are renowned for manufacturing and wholesaling many types of high-quality smoking products to smokers in Australia. The most commonly used smoking products include silicone bongs, glass pipes and more. All our products are made from high-grade materials to deliver quality services to the users. We aim to provide a top-class smoking experience to our customers who spend significant payments of money on our products. For more details about Silicone Bongs Australia, contact us.

[reiderwriter]

Hi Kacie!! Now that your requests are open... Could I request a smutty fic where Spencer finds out reader has a not-so-common sensitive spot (like her legs, hair, arms, whatever body part you want). Maybe he finds out kinda in a public setting after she gets all flustered and wants to keep pushing to test his theory?? You can take as much inspo from this as you want<3

(If this emoji's not taken)-💃 anon

A/N: Hello! Sorry for going MIA for a while there. It was the beginning of a new school year here in SK, so I've been really busy! I've been chipping away at this one little by little, and it's finally done! I hope you enjoy it ♡

Warnings; Smut, 18+ Minors DNI, case details, misogyny from a bartender in the opening scene, Semi-public sexual experimentation, edging, PinV sex, use of pet names (good girl), slight degradation, cum play, etc.

Masterlist

The back of the bar was dimly lit as you walked through it, keeping pace with your teammate as you kept one eye on the shady inhabitants of the bar. 

You'd been sent - with Spencer of all people - to ask the local dive bar staff about suspicious regulars. A fact that didn't exactly take into account his general lack of intimidating looks and your status as the newest member of the team. 

A trial by fire if you'd ever seen one. 

You tried your best not to stick out like a sore thumb, but the people in these parts could spot a Fed from a mile away. And though Spencer was remarkably pipe-cleaner-like, they'd certainly recognised enough FBI in him to clam up upon your entrance. 

“We got some visitors, I see. What can I be getting you, little lady?” The barman greeted you as you reached the first stool at the counter, a patronizing smile on his moustache clad lips. 

“If it's okay, we'd like to ask you some questions. I'm Agent Y/N with the FBI. This is my partner, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“You're a Fed? Now, why would you bother doing all that hard work when you could be warming my bed, girl. It's definitely more honest and satisfying work.” 

The way the man leered at you over the counter has you freezing momentarily. Your instincts were saying fight, but you held your tongue just long enough to not ruin any rapport your team could build with locals. 

“I'm flattered, but already spoken for I'm afraid. Have you seen any suspicious men in here in the last six months, one that would pass through only semi-regularly, maybe with a few female companions, though never the same.” 

Professionalism at the cost of your peace of mind was going to be a hard learn for you as you grit your teeth and swallowed the bile in your throat. 

He just continued to leer at you as he dried up beer glasses. 

“You're looking for a man who likes cheap whores? Maybe you are in the market for a career change after all.” 

That was about all you could take, and luckily, Spencer Reid was well aware. 

Quickly grabbing you by the wrist, he pulled you behind him defensively and leaned over the bar, his voice low and somewhat chilling. 

“Disrespect my partner like that again, and I'll have you charged with aiding and abetting a murderer who has kidnapped and ended the lives of three local girls. Local girls whose fathers you're more than likely acquainted with, who absolutely have multiple acres of property and just enough bullets to put you in the ground.” 

The blood rushed to your ears at his voice, but the light grip of your wrist held you in place indefinitely. 

All the fight left your body, as you found yourself coming dangerously close to melting into Spencer in relief. 

He forced the man to answer some more basic questions, but it wasn't as if you could hear them. He stroked a quick thumb back and forth across your wrist as all the thoughts fled your head, and the words fell asleep on your tongue, resting there until he released you from his grip. 

You'd known that the area was slightly sensitive for a while, having accidentally brushed up against things and felt serious chills shoot up your spine. What you hadn't known was that it was that kind of sensitivity. 

Though, in all honesty, you hadn't exactly known that you could feel that kind of excitement for Spencer either. You just hoped he wouldn't notice. That much. 

Having finished his line of questioning and reiterating his threat, he moved his hand from your wrist to the small of your back and adeptly guided you from the restaurant and out of the line of vision of every pair of eyes in the place. 

“Are you okay?” He asked when he finally got you to the car, voice still quiet and low, and slightly too close to let you fully relax. 

“Peachy. He talked to you at least.” You turned away from him and began opening the passenger side door. 

“Nothing new or useful, though. Your bpm is high,” he joined you in the car, putting on his seat belt while you completely let go of yours, letting it zip back into itself.

“My… my what?” 

“Your bpm is high. Your heart was beating so fast,” he said, reaching over you to help you reclip it. “Were you nervous, Y/n? Or just sensitive?”

“Your mouth is entirely too close to mine to be asking that question,” you breathed out, cursing your eyes from stealing a glance at his lips. 

Only five minutes into this sudden attraction to Spencer Reid, and you were already mortified and extremely horny. In equal measures. 

“What would be the appropriate distance to ask that, then?” 

“I hear Australia is lovely this time of year.” 

He chuckled softly at you as he finished adjusting your seat and then moved far enough away to let the ground swallow you in peace. 

Never one to leave well enough alone, it seemed that Spencer took it upon himself to experiment with you for weeks on end after that. 

He'd constantly ask you to pass him papers, pens, anything that'd allow him to run a finger across the inside of your wrist. On more than one occasion you'd caught him staring into your eyes as he did it, and it took a nearly embarrassing amount of time to realise he was checking how dilated your pupils were before and after. 

When he'd gathered enough data for that line of questioning, he moved on to bigger things. 

You knew you were in danger of seriously falling head over ads when he offered to walk you to your motel door in a seedier case location. 

You, an FBI agent with a real-life gun and badge and job at Quantico, and you were jumping at the chance to have a man walk you to your room. You'd have been embarrassed if you weren't burning with anticipation. 

You hoped that like every other man in history, he was gently trying to insinuate himself into your bedroom, and by extension, your bed and more intimate places. 

So you were more than slightly disappointed when he started wishing you a good night. All of the aforementioned disappointment fled your body, though, when he picked up your hand and dropped a kiss to the inside of your left wrist, repeating the action on the right before wordlessly retreating. 

You stared at his back as he walked purposefully down the corridor and into his own room, leaving you to pick up your jaw and retreat to your room to lick your wounds. 

You wished it was him picking you up instead and found your brain imagining just that as your fingers dropped between your thighs that night. 

It became a case tradition for him to tease you like this, kissing your wrist after innocently walking you back to your hotel room. The others thought it chivalrous, almost cute and childlike, a form of courting that graced the good old days. They didn't know he grabbed you by the waist and held you against his hard-on every time you rode an elevator together. They didn't know his tongue darted out a few times to lick your wrist on occasion. They didn't know how you once mentally begged him to bite you there and how you shuddered as he ran his teeth along the vein there. 

Spencer was coming to the crux of his research regarding how far he could push you before you cracked. Only now, it was how far he could get without pushing you against a wall and jumping your bones. 

You knew you were in danger when he offered to escort you home after a case. 

“To walk you to your door, you know? Like always,” he smiled at you, the picture of innocence as you became damp between your thighs. 

“Sure. Yeah, okay, I'll get my keys, let's go.” 

You weren't sure how no one else noticed that Spencer didn't have a car to drive himself home after taking you to yours. You were unsure if they'd connect the dots between him escorting you home and his own apartment being 45 minutes in the opposite direction. 

Luckily for you, you could keep your hands at 2 and 10 the entire journey, away from his grasp. If he'd have touched you right then, you're sure you'd have driven both of you right off the road into a ditch. 

Or a pedestrian. 

The drive was calm, but pulling up forced your heart to your throat and kept it suspended there, almost like it was frozen at gunpoint, a deer in the headlights. 

“We're here.” 

“Great. Let me walk you in.” 

In. You swallowed hard, wishing very much for him to be inside of your apartment. 

“Okay.” 

Stepping into the elevator a few minutes later, he waited mere seconds after the doors began closing to pull you into his personal space. He was hard, he was so hard once again and his cock was now straining against your ass.

“Spencer, we need to talk about t-that,” he stroked your wrist as his hand splayed across your stomach, holding you firmly against him. 

“About what, Y/N?” 

He pulled your arm up almost as if inspecting the wrist for imperfections, and your head melted back into his chest. Why was this elevator so goddamn slow? 

You sprung out quickly when the doors pinged open finally and moved straight towards your door without a glance back, but you felt him close behind you. 

“Y/N, wait for me, wait, I'm sorry,” he called out quietly as you forced your keys into the lock as fast as possible. 

“Y/N, I'm sorry if I stepped over the line, I didn't mean too, please look at me-” 

You got the door open and turned back around to grab a firm hold of his tie and yank him into the apartment behind you. 

“Months. Spencer, you have been edging me for months, and I am sick of it.” You half growled at him, slamming the door behind him and then pushing him up against it. 

“I can feel how hard you are right now. Obviously you want to fuck me, so why aren't you?” 

His face went from shocked to intrigued, then shot straight for mischievous as he cracked a smile, and you felt his hands wrap around your wrists slowly. 

Before you could react, he had your positions swapped, your arms above your head pinned at the wrists and his breath hitting your neck as he answered. 

“I wanted to see how long it would take you to break.” 

Your lips leapt to his, hitting him angrily as you searched for more pleasure in his touch, one leg pushing up to wrap around his waist as his hips settled between yours. 

He met you at your level, giving just as good as he got.   

“Call it scientific curiosity,” he murmured, lips trailing down your neck, but hips pinning you in closer to the wall, keeping you trapped there. He made his way along your shoulders and then pressed light teasing kisses up your arms while rutting his hips into you, dry humping you against the wall as your eyes glazed over in lust. 

“You react when I touch you, you heat up. But it gets worse if I touch you here, right Y/N?” His lips again found your wrist, but this time his teeth grazed across the veins he found there. 

“You get so horny now when I look at you. I can grab your wrist and make you beg for my cock, isn't that right?” His mouth was back by your ear as your legs went limp under you. He still had you caged against your own door, and you had no idea what to say to that. 

Part of you wanted to protest purely because of the rough tone of voice he was using. The other wanted to flood to the floor and tell him yes, beg him to just fuck you and be done with this pure torture. 

“I asked you a question, Y/N. Isn't that right?” 

“Yes, yes, Spencer fuck, I don't care anymore, yes. You can touch me and I'll react to you, please help me.”

“Good girl.” 

He pulled away instantly, but his hands wrapped firmly still around your wrists. Slowly, he pulled you towards him as he slowly walked backwards further into your apartment. You thought for a second about just throwing yourself back into his arms, to close the space he'd created again between the two of you. 

You tried it, lifted your head slightly, begging his lips to return there, but he held firm. Each step was an agony of need, and you fought to hold your tongue, begging yourself not to beg him so pathetically. 

“Such a good girl, I'm holding you by the wrist, and you won't even protest about how slow I'm being.” 

Your mouth fell open as you registered his words. 

“You're being an ass.” 

“What was that? You want me to touch your ass?”

“Spencer!”

“Don't worry, we'll get to that.”

His back finally made contact with your bedroom door, and you stumbled forward into his chest as he kept his grip even still. 

“You're going to listen, right? You're going to listen to me and do what I ask you to do, aren't you?”

You wavered again. He'd been teasing you, but now he was serious, his tone light and his voice soft, but you could feel the strength in his grip. You could feel his arousal at your hip. 

“Yes, Spencer.”

“Good. Get on your knees on the bed. No clothes.”

He released your hands and opened the door for you as you tried your best to walk forward calmly. 

By the time you reached the bed, you'd removed most of your clothes, but you hesitated at the underwear as he watched from behind you. A quick glance over your shoulder saw him palming his cock through his pants, still leaning against the door he'd opened for you. 

He was getting off watching you, and you were frozen in arousal. 

“No clothes, Y/N.” 

“I know.”

“Underwear is clothing.” 

“I know that, too, Spencer.”

“Then take it off.” 

You shot a quick glare over your shoulder as you unclaimed your bra behind your back and threw it to the floor. 

“On my knees, right?” You said, climbing on the bed still clad in your panties. 

“I also said no clothes.” 

“If you're so invested in my state of dress, how about you come and help me rectify it.”

His lips twitched in small annoyance, but he followed the trail of clothes you'd left, ridding himself of his tie, shirt, jacket, and pants along the way. 

He climbed on the bed slowly behind you, not opposite as you'd presumed he would. His hands reached out to touch your back before slowly sliding all the way up to your neck and pushing your upper body down into the sheets. 

You let out a little squeak in shock, but let his hands guide you, feeling especially pliant when he grabbed your hands and crossed them behind your back. 

“Maybe the panties can stay. I'll just decorate them afterwards,” he said, and with that, he pulled your hips up with his free hand  guiding you into the position he wanted you in, and pushed two fingers into you. 

“Fuck, Spencer-” your brain short circuited as he pumped the digits slowly in and out of you, setting an agonizing pace but holding you so tight that.you couldn't even press your cunt back into his fingers. 

“What? What is it, Y/N? Tell me how you feel?” 

“Feel good, so good Spencer, p-please more.” 

He shifted slowly behind you, pulling his fingers out almost completely before pushing them back in, this time with another finger added. He didn't quicken his pace as you assumed he would, but he took his time stretching you out further as you moaned and whined underneath him. 

“More. You wanted more,” he reminded you, and his voice was like a sharp hit straight to your cunt, rough and hot and filling you completely. 

You barely registered the orgasm that flowed over you, your brain replaying his words on a loop as he continued pleasuring you. 

“That's it. That's a good girl. Get my fingers nice and wet.” 

When you finally grounded yourself in the moment again, your cheeks flushed as you realized just how wet you'd gotten. You felt your arousal still dripping down your leg and turned your face further into the sheets to hide your embarrassment. 

He pulled his fingers out of you, though, and with his now free hand he crouched over you and hooked his fingers under your jaw lifting your head and body up, forcing your crotch back into his as your back arched. 

“Don't hide from this. Look how wet you are for me, Y/N. Taste it.” He tapped his fingers against your mouth and you were ashamed at how fast your lips dropped open, tongue falling out to let him wipe his cum stained fingers against your pretty little lips. 

You tasted yourself on his fingers, wrapping your tongue around them and sucking as he dragged his dick across your back, trying to relieve himself in any way he could. 

“Good girl. It's time for one more, Y/N.” 

You released his fingers with a wet pop as he pushed you back into the sheets. Lining himself up, he entered you easily, your cum providing ample lubricant. 

You whined at his first few pumps, certain he was going to continue his torturous pace and leave you begging for more hours into the night. 

Instead, he let himself work you up to it, each thrust gaining in speed and strength until you could hear the slap of your skin against his more vividly than your own heartbeat. 

His cock was thick, filling you perfectly as you lost yourself in the sensations. 

“One day, I'll handcuff you to this bed,” he said, leaning down and whispering in your ear as each part of your body vibrated with lust. 

“I'll tie you down to this bed, and I'll treat you like a princess. I'll eat your cunt for hours until you cum every time my breath hits your cunt, and I'll cover your pretty tits in my seed. I'll let you use my cock as your personal sex toy, and I'll fulfill every single need you have.” 

His hand released your wrists as both of his hands came to wrap around your waist, pushing you deeper into the plush covers and changing the angle of his dick. 

You screamed at the pleasure, forgetting the paper thin walls your apartment boasted. 

“Fuck, Spencer.” 

“And you're going to love every single second because your brain switches off every time I touch your delicate little wrists.”

With that, another wave of pleasure spread through your body, sending prolonged shivers throughout your body. 

You felt him withdraw and heard the sticky mess of him stroking himself behind you until he made good on his promise and sprayed his generous load across your ass and panties before collapsing on the bed next to you. 

The two of you laid there for what felt like hours, sharing nothing but your labored breaths and the space of the bed before he finally rose. 

You tried not to sleep, but your entire body felt stiff from the awkward, if enjoyable, position he'd held you in. 

Your eyes drifted shut, and you just listened to his movements. A creaking floorboard here, a stumble against some furniture there, culminating in some running water and a return to your space. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, cautious to rise you from what he assumed was much needed sleep. 

“Mmmm,” was all you could reply.

“I realize now that I made a pretty big mess, so we need to get you in the bath.” 

“Mmm,” you protested, brows furrowing as you tried to gather your sheets closer around you, cradling yourself in the warmth. 

But doing so only made you more aware of the sticky wet mess around your torso and legs, and you let out a small, frustrated sigh. 

“You're stubborn, you know that, right?” He said, admiration coating his tongue as he lifted you slowly and helped you place your feet on the floor and walk towards your bathroom. 

“Spencer, shouldn't have a bath, too sleepy.” 

“I know, I'm going to stay.”

“In the bath?” 

“In the bath.” 

“Good.”

And it was. You let him lift your legs one by one into the scorching water and melted back into him, your head resting on his shoulder as if it were the most comfortable pillow you'd ever used, and you slept. 

[omedapixel]

MORE DEBUG OBJECTS

By poular demand, here are the rest of the prop and miscellaneous objects enabled for decorating! I don't have any pics right now, but the full list of objects is below the cut, and each package is merged by expansion pack.

As with my other debug objects, these can all be found under DEBUG > MISC. The catalog names are often something weird, because I haven't edited or added any strings.

These objects are technically not CC, it just allows you to access and decorate with objects that are already in game. Therefore you can uninstall these overrides, share worlds and lots using them, and they'll still remain wherever you've placed them.

Also, if you have a default replacement for any of these props, for example a plate default, then the object will also be updated to reflect that.

I highly reccomment using this in conjunction with my S3DT mod, since some of the objects are half sunk into the ground by default.

DOWNLOAD HERE

Object List Below

BASE GAME:

Guitar Case

Amplifier

Bottle Spigot (unused asset)

Child Ladle

Child Mixing Bowl

Cutting Board (slots do no work, unfortunately)

Fire Extinguisher

Fire Poker

Fire Lighter

Hammer

Bartending Bottle Prop

Ice Cream Cone

Microwave Meal

Paper Plate

Screwdiver

Sponge

Toilet Brush

Wedding Ring

Wrench

WORLD ADVENTURES:

Canteen

Chopsticks

Dig Site Brush

Flour Bag

Fortune Cookie

Map (looks like plain parchment)

Nectar Glass

Nectar Tray

Pamphlet

Pickaxe

Pungi (snake charming instrument)

AMBITIONS:

Chisel

Fire Axe

Blowtorch

Chainsaw

Detonator

Gnubb Bunny

Gnubb King

Junk Pipe Piece

Magnifying Glass

Notepad

Shovel

Tape Measure

Tattoo Gun

Triangle Ruler

Walkie Talkie

LATE NIGHT:

Drink Shaker

Drumstick

Party Glass

Round Party Glass

Bartending Bottle Prop

Juice Can

GENERATIONS:

Envelope

Love Letter Envelope

Cheap RAM Disk

Expensive RAM Disk

Beaker

Rolled Diploma

Flashlight

Game Controller

Greeting Card

Round Flask

Sparkling Juice (champagne)

PETS:

Hoofpick

Adult Pitchfork

Child Pitchfork

Plastic Pet Food Bowl

Cat Hunting Chip Bag

Cat Hunting Feather

Cat Hunting Leaf

Dog Treat

Foal Bottle

Horse Brush

Litter Scoop

Pet Brush

Stick (for playing fetch)

Freezer Bunny Ice Cream

Kitty Litter Pile

Rainbow Ice Cream

(forgot to do the chocolate ice cream, sorry!)

SHOWTIME:

CD Case

Record

Golf Ball

Juggling Pin

Microphone (grey)

Snack Bowl

Headphones

Golf Club Average

Golf Club Expert

Golf Club Old

Firefly Jar

FireflyJar Lid

Juggling Knife

Magician Sword

SUPERNATURAL:

Fly Swatter

White Glove

Bonehilda Key

Alchemy Bowl

Alchemy Package

Beehive Smoker

SEASONS:

Horseshoe

Child Rake

Adult Rake

Barista Bar Cup

Egg Hunt Basket

Trick or Treat Basket

Carving Knife

Fruit Punch

Hot Beverage Cup

Stack of Hot Dogs

Love Letter

Pie (from eating contest)

Snow Cone Syrup

Soccer Ball

Tissue

Spooky Day Candy

UNIVERSITY:

Clipboard

Red Juice Cup

Art Scanner

Bonfire Logs

Candy Bar

Cold One

College Letter

Energy Drink

Manilla Envelope

Macot Plushy

Ping Pong Ball

Ping Pong Paddle

Mistletoe (unused asset)

Protest Banners (3 versions)

Protest Flyer

Smartphone

Soda Can

Paint Sray Can

Suitcase

Whiteboard Eraser

Whiteboard Marker

ISLAND PARADISE:

Broom

Coconut Drink

Cold Beverage

Grim Reaper Trident

Pineapple Drink

Rescue Tube

Glass Bottle Pool Bar

Pool Bar Juice Can

INTO THE FUTURE:

Microphone (black)

OIl Puddle

Stardust

Paper Bag

[charliemwrites]

Girl rage, girl rage, girl rage!!

CW for Simon being a Jerk and a Creep, mentions of violence and murder, and kidnapping.

One time in high school, there was a boy that wouldn’t leave you alone. You gave him a million chances to knock it off, growing more and more hostile, snapping your teeth. The inappropriate touches in the hall, the lewd comments at lunch breaks, the fucking pictures. Nothing salacious, just long shots of you from afar, trying to go about your day.

One day he reached for your chest and you snapped two of his fingers. His parents wailed that you ruined his rugby career. You told them he should get better at football.

When you’re annoyed, you crack the knuckles of those same fingers on your own hand.

It’s the first thing you do when you wake up in a bare, grey basement, laid on a thin cot on the ground. Pop, pop. Recalibrating your foggy mind.

You don’t quite remember how you got here. Last clear thing is the bar. Doesn’t matter how you got here though, at least for the moment - just that you are here. And you don’t want to be.

You’re handcuffed, chain looped through an exposed pipe above your head. You clink it once, twice. Decide it’s fairly sturdy and take stock of everything else.

Your stomach is a bit tight with nausea - drug induced, you figure. Ugh. And your head aches, nothing a glass of water won’t fix.

But all your clothes are intact, no ache between your thighs or burgeoning bruises on your breasts. No shoes, though. Bummer, you liked those.

You crack the knuckles on your other hand; pop, pop.

You think of the scent of cheap whiskey, shattered glass, policemen wrapping you in a shock blanket. Remember your date chocking on his own vomit in a dark alley, then someone much bigger and stronger grabbing you as you tried to leave.

Hm.

The pipes are warm. You settle back against them and wait.

—

You don’t scream when Simon enters the basement. Don’t make a single peep. You shift against the pipes, tucking your feet under you as he approaches. Your eyes are so big, rounded as you peer up at him through your lashes.

“Such a smart girl,” he coos, “staying quiet for me. Or are you just that scared?”

You blink at him, the tiniest indent dimpling your bottom lip from your teeth. He crouches down in front of you, arms balanced on his knees. You’re curled up so small. He wants to bundle you in his lap, tuck you away.

“It’s alright, little one,” he soothes. “There’s no need to be scared.”

You twitch a bit, the metal cuffs clicking together. He flicks his eyes to them, sighs.

“Those are so that you don’t do something stupid,” he explains patiently. “Like you did earlier.”

A little furrow of confusion creases your brows. He exhales, amused despite himself. So precious, his girl. Like you can’t fathom why he would be upset with you.

“Going out with a strange man.”

He tuts, feels that black rage simmering again, same he felt when he realized you and that slime were no longer at the bar.

“He almost hurt you in that alley,” he reminds, “had he not been so drunk he tripped over his own fucking feet.”

He takes a second to breathe, fingers twitching. They feel too dry, too clean. He was so worried about getting you home that he had no time to bother taking care of that scum.

“I tried to let you have your fun, baby. I really did. But I can’t — I can’t anymore. The world is far too dangerous.” He brushes the backs of his fingers down your cheek, coos at the little shudder that runs through you. “And you’ve proven that you can’t take care of yourself.”

Your lips part. Shock, confusion, protest. It doesn’t matter, he’s more distracted feeling the soft give of your plush bottom lip beneath his thumb, bitten pink.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he soothes. “I’ll take care of you from now on.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, dropping your head to your arm. He hums.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. This is for the best, I promise.”

You sniffle a bit, blink wet eyes open. Wet your lips with the tip of your pretty pink tongue.

“What… what do I call you?” you ask, voice soft and raspy.

Oh, such a sweet thing. Such a sweet, clever girl. You’re going to be so, so good for him.

“Just Ghost for now, luv. Let me get you some water, you’ve earned it.”

—

You exhale slow and soft, counting every fourth heartbeat. If you don’t, you’ll start trying to break things. The smart money is on your bones giving before that stupid pipe. So. Breathing it is.

You’ve never felt out of control in anger. Everything is always so sharp and clear, you think and move with a precision you usually can’t coax from mind or body.

This… Ghost, though.

It was a pleasant surprise that he didn’t realize what you did in the alley. Too dark, perhaps. Too quiet. Perhaps he thought you were fleeing in fear.

It’s an advantage you can’t squander. He’s much bigger than you, much stronger. Carries himself with posture and purpose reminiscent of military or former military bearing. There’s a physicality to the way he moves that echos violence.

You know that you will only get one proper shot to escape. There is no point wasting it on shouting and cursing and snarling. Even if he did only consider it bluster and bark, it would plant seeds of doubt in his mind. Make him careful and conscious of any slip ups.

Sometimes, rabid animals appear friendly or docile. The virus gets a new victim close enough to turn and bite, spreading and infecting.

You run your tongue over your teeth, imagine the taste of blood if you’d bitten through his thumb like you wanted to. Inhale and exhale again, start the counter over.

Pause to resist another sneeze, blinking past watery eyes and sniffling it away. Christ, he couldn’t have at least cleaned the basement before chaining you up down here? Could barely focus on his ridiculous monologue through the allergies.

Not that you think you missed much; and you’re sure you’ll be hearing it again.

He’s just like every other man you’ve ever killed, you muse, settling in again. And it’ll be so, so sweet watching the blood bloom.

[paradiseprincesss]

greedy | jonathan crane

a little short fic to help me get over my lackluster writers block. brownie points if u can guess which song i listened to that had me writing this xoxo. also not the first line being a gossip girl reference HAHAHAHA.

summary: whoever said jealousy and possessiveness doesn't go both ways?

warnings: smut, p in v, riding, degrading (just a sprinkle), office sex, jealousy, possessiveness, kissing, swearing, mdni 18+ only

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

if looks could kill, we wouldn't want to be jonathan crane right now.

you shot jonathan an irritated glare as his receptionist continued to talk to him, intruding on your time together.

you'd come to visit your lovely fiance at work today as you knew his job at arkham asylum was stressful to say the least, and you'd figured it would be sweet of you to come surprise him with lunch. what you didn't expect to find was his receptionist all over him in his office.

okay — maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but still! the way she was smiling at him, batting her lashes innocently, and using that weird, flirty tone with him was enough to get your blood boiling.

you trusted your fiance. you wouldn't have said yes to marrying him if you didn't — but you didn't like the way this bitch was trying to play coy. especially with you sitting right beside him the whole time; it was infuriating.

if you could choke her right now, you would've — but you didn't exactly want to end up as an inmate at your future husbands workplace.

"i called the DA's office to—" his receptionist started to speak, but jonathan cut her off with a bored tone.

"you've mentioned, thank you." his tone is dull, clearly not amused with her cheap attempts at whatever it was she was trying to do. "now, if you will excuse me — my lovely fiance and i are trying to enjoy lunch together."

"right," the receptionist said with a phoney smile, "i just wanted to make sure that you knew i called to schedule that meeting next week for you, jonathan."

"it's doctor crane to you." he said sternly, looking at her with a menacing glare through his glasses. the receptionist suddenly looked a little flustered as she collected her papers, shooting you a dirty look — which didn't go unnoticed.

of course, you didn't want to cause any issues at jonathan's work. especially not when he was stressed out enough from his job. so you let it slide (not without making a mental note of it first, though), and continued to eat your lunch with him quietly.

the following week, you returned to arkham to visit jonathan once more. you came bearing gifts (lunch), to which jonathan was elated. it wasn't often he got a break at work — but when his beautiful fiance came to visit, all his stress would seemingly melt away.

today, you brought his favourite. a sandwich from the cafe you two frequented on your days off, along with a coffee just the way he likes it — black with a dash of sugar. "darling, you didn't have to do all this just for me." jonathan said, bringing you in for a kiss.

"i wanted to," you informed him happily, "and it's only a twenty minute drive away from home, jon."

"still, you're too good to me." he said softly, taking the piping hot coffee from you. "i'm very lucky to have you, my love."

you wave off his words, shaking your head as you try and hide your smile — you always thought you were the lucky one. "oh, stop it."

the two of you finished off lunch seemingly uninterrupted today, just enjoying each others company. afterwards, jonathan informed you that he had some paperwork he had to do. patient intake forms, prescriptions, referrals — all the usual doctoral stuff.

"i'll see you at home then, honey." you said to him while placing a small kiss on his cheek, the colour of your lipgloss lingering on his face.

"nonsense, darling. it's just paper work — stay, please." jonathan insisted, pulling you onto his lap. "i've missed you. you know how much i despise working late. you're always asleep by the time i get home."

before you could respond, the sound of knocking on his closed office door interrupted your little moment together. the door swung open, and jonathan quietly let out an annoyed huff.

"doctor crane." his receptionist said, her tone much too sultry for your liking. she looked at you up and down, narrowing her eyes. "and hello to you, too."

you took in a deep breath, already annoyed. the tone of her voice was causing you to see red, and her outfit? questionable.

she wore the shortest possible skirt (how was this even considered professional?!) and a tight, almost see through blouse. you knew exactly what she was trying to do — and you weren't having it.

"do you always go around parading yourself like the workplace whore?" you asked suddenly, making jonathan choke on his coffee. "because truthfully, you're not very pretty and that outfit really isn't doing you any favours, either."

"excuse me?" she asked, her eyes going wide. "i'm sorry, but—"

"good, you should be sorry. stop flirting with my fiance before i make him fire you." you said harshly, looking at her with disgust and judgement. "you can go now."

hastily, the receptionist left in embarrassment. jonathan's hands snaked around your waist, giving you a little squeeze before he whispered in your ear. "someone's jealous, hm?" he asked, gently nipping at your neck. "you're so sexy when you're mad."

usually, it was jonathan getting jealous. with a body like yours and a face that pretty, you garnered attention from men every time you went out. jonathan was pretty much unfazed by it at this point — that was the price he had to pay if he wanted to marry someone as beautiful you.

but occasionally, the tables would turn and jonathan would be the one getting hit on. he'd always shut it down before really even started — once going as far as throwing a drink in a woman's face for grabbing his arm while he was at a bar with you.

"i want her fired." you said lowly as jonathan placed soft kisses down your neck, making you sigh with bliss.

"consider it done."

his hands came up to cup your breasts through your dress, making you moan. he reached over to the zipper on the back of your dress, unzipping it slowly as you wriggled around on his lap, feeling his cock getting harder by the second.

"you can be so mean." he teased, slipping you out of your dress sensually. "it looks good on you, though."

as your dress fell onto his office floor, you got up, walking around in just your lacy bra, panties, and high heels to the door, locking it shut. you made your way back over to jonathan, straddling him as he rested his arms on his office chair, leaning back with a sigh.

"you don't ever have to be jealous." he assured you softly, admiring the way your thong snugly fit against the curve of your hips. "how could i ever want someone else when i have the woman of my dreams with my ring on her finger — and soon, my last name."

"i don't like other girls looking at what's mine." you growled, pulling him in by his tie, causing him to smirk at you.

"you're so greedy for my love, aren't you?"

you offer no response, pressing your lips against his hungrily. he wraps his hands around your waist as you grind your hips onto his strained cock, hard and begging to be inside of you.

he unbuckled his belt, pulling out his cock — angry and hard, pre-cum leaking from the tip already. you smiled at him innocently.

jonathan wondered how you could look so naughty yet so angelic at the same time.

you lifted yourself up slightly, lining your drooling hole up with his thick cock. you slowly sink down onto his cock, the delicious stretch and feeling of your warmth enveloping him making the both of you moan. you started to move up and down on his cock, your wetness dripping down his cock and soaking his pants a bit.

"you're so beautiful," he breathed out, choking back a moan as he felt your tight, wet pussy around his cock, "but you like to be fucked like a cheap whore, don't you?"

his degrading words barely matched his sweet tone, but you nod your head regardless. even when you were riding him — when you were physically on top, he was still in charge — and you wouldn't have it any other way.

"i'm not talking money," you whimper, "i'm just physically obsessed."

"greedy little whore, that's what you are." he growled. you continued to bounce on his cock as you watched him drop his head backwards, hands gripping onto your waist in ecstasy. "you gonna come for me? come on, baby. show me how much you love my cock."

"mmhm! f-uuck, yes!" you whined, falling apart in his hands as you felt the tight coil in your stomach getting closer and closer to snapping. "need your cock all the fucking time, j-jon—"

"i know," he cooed softly, "i know you're about to come, darling."

"baaaaby—" you breathed out, your release washing over you. "oh my god!"

"that's fucking right." he almost snarled, watching your tits bounce in his face as you rode him even faster, taking his cock deeper with every up-and-down motion of your hips. "drench my cock like the greedy little bitch you are."

you did as you were told — creaming his thick cock as you threw your head back, lost in the pleasure that was consuming your whole body. your thighs started to tremble, giving out as your body went to overdrive.

"stay put," jonathan growled as his fingers dug into your flesh, "stay fucking put. you're — fuck, ugh — gonna take all my cum."

he started to ram into your cunt, bucking his hips upwards as you moaned and whined, feeling your second orgasm quickly approaching as jonathan chased his own. "c-close," you managed to say, "again."

"so greedy." he groaned as you came around his cock for the second time in the same minute. he came at the same time as you, feeling his cock spurt out hot ropes of cum into your spent little hole.

he raked a hand through his dark hair, pushing his fogged glasses up on his nose properly while he was at it. you let out a deep breath, looking at his handsome face with a soft smile on your lips. he returned your smile, his hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you lovingly.

the two of you get cleaned up, getting dressed as jonathan had some important tasks to return to — he was at work, after all.

"i'll see you at home, then?" you asked softly, grabbing your purse before reaching for the door handle.

"yes, darling." he confirmed, giving you a gentle kiss. "i'll be home around nine — i got a little distracted at work today, so..."

@girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @dolleyednymphette @kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@aprilsfrog05 @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

[symbiomancy]

spin the bottle —ryōmen sukuna

—summary: A game of Spin the Bottle at a party reveals a bit of Sukuna's jealousy. What else to do but fuck it out against the side of your parents' home? // AO3

—cw: stepcest, jealousy, quickie (p in v sex), creampie

—wc: 1,5k

—a/n: more stuff will come once i stop being so hyper-critical about my smut.

Your gaze meets Sukuna’s from across the room when someone calls out for a game of Spin the Bottle. He raises a brow, so do you. The moment stretches, drags. Eventually, you put down your cup and approach the circle forming in the middle of the room.

“You playing?” Someone asks and you nod. He motions to the circle, tells you to pick a spot, and downs his bottle of cheap beer. You find a spot between two girls, one you recognize from Sukuna’s class and you give her a quiet greeting as you settle in. Then there’s movement in the corner of your eye, a body pressing between you and the girl and you open your mouth to snap and tell him to fuck off —

Sukuna raises a brow at you as he settles in, nodding at the girl in greeting. You close your mouth, turn to look at the beer bottle placed in the middle of the circle as someone reaches out and gives it a spin.

It’s… uneventful. A boring game.

You make a face when a guy spits into a girl's mouth as they’re pulling apart. She slaps him across the face and the sound reverberates off the walls. A chorus of hoots and cheers and grimaces and laughter follows. You make no effort to stifle the laughter that bubbles from your throat.

The bottle is re-centered and you reach out, give it a spin.

It spins, slows, stops.

You stare at the dark glass, at the neck pointed towards the person sitting to your right.

Sukuna stares at the bottle, at the neck pointed at him. He raises his gaze from the bottle to stare at you, brows furrowed, then looks at the bottle again. Silence lingers, stretches.

“No way,” you say, reaching for the bottle to give it another spin. You wind your hand — maybe it’ll land on a pretty girl, that would be a nice change of pace —, and someone’s fingers clamp around your wrist. The reaction is immediate, a familiar hand clamping down on that wrist, squeezing.

Sukuna is frowning, glaring at the offender, some random guy you don’t recognize from your class or his.

“Okay, touchy,” the guy drawls. “But rules are rules, dude. Gotta kiss.”

“Dude,” a girl you vaguely recognize pipes in, mocking the tone of his voice, “they’re siblings.”

“They don’t even look alike.” He pauses, squints at you, and then at Sukuna. “Not alike.”

“Our parents are engaged,” you say.

“So?”

“I’m not playing into your weird step-siblings fantasy. Let go.”

The guy scrunches his face, looks at Sukuna, then back at you before releasing his grip. Sukuna releases his grip moments later and sits back.

You center the bottle and spin. It ricochets off your leg, wobbles, slows, stills.

The very same jackass looks up at you with a smug grin slowly expanding, lips splitting. His eyes drop from your face to your chest, linger there for a moment and then he’s leaning forward, inching closer on all fours across the space in the middle of the circle —

“Nope,” Sukuna says. He stands in one move, hand on your bicep to haul you up from the floor with him. You ragdoll after him for the few moments it takes to find your footing. Sukuna’s grip on you is tight but not painfully so as he weaves through the rooms and the hordes of drunk teenagers and young adults.

The cool night air is invigorating and you take a deep breath the moment you’re out of the alcohol-fume desecrated house. It’s moist and cool, a reminder of the impending thunderstorm predicted for tomorrow. Sukuna shrugs off his jacket and drops it onto your head.

You don’t speak on your way to the train station, nor when you get on the train. You spot him from the window of the women’s cart as you’re rolling the sleeves of his jacket up to accommodate the length for your liking and wave at him. He rolls his eyes but waves back.

The streets of your (still relatively new) neighborhood are quiet. Houses are dark, the streetlamps illuminating your way. Lone few windows are still alight. The murmur of a conversation reaches your ear as you pass two women standing by the front door of a house, lit cigarettes in hand.

Sukuna is silent, staring ahead, hands shoved into his pant pockets. So, you loop your arm through his, tug on it until he looks at you.

“That was hot,” you say, a grin curling the corners of your lips up. “Were you jealous?”

He bristles, looks away from you.

He opens the gate door for you, closes and locks it behind himself. He’s hot on your heels as you approach the house, his hot breath caressing the back of your neck.

You stop at the steps of the house, glance at the windows — all dark — and turn to him, rise onto your tiptoes. Your lips hover over his, just out of reach. His breath dances on your lips — a tinge of vodka. You close the gap, press your lips against his.

His mouth is hot — yeah, that’s vodka on his tongue. The thoughts melt away as his tongue presses against yours, his hands on your jaw, warm and big. Secure.

Sukuna movies swiftly, presses you against the side of the house, hands on your body, gliding, groping, petting. Fire blooms under your skin, follows the trail of his fingers. They push under your flimsy shirt, cup your breasts.

“Y’re so soft,” he mutters against your lips.

You fumble with his belt buckle until it comes undone and shove your hand down his pants. He’s already hard, tip leaking. You give it a gentle squeeze, run a finger over the slit — he hisses into your mouth, withdraws slightly, sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. Then he’s pressing against you again, firm chest trapping you in place, your hand still wrapped around his shaft. You give it an experimental pump and swallow the groan that escapes Sukuna’s lips. One of his hands, searing hot, wanders down your side, dragging the heat under your skin with it. It grasps the back of your thigh, squeezes the plush of flesh.

“Jump, jump.”

You do, wrap your arms around his neck and haul yourself up. Sukuna wraps your legs around his waist, drags his hand underneath your pink skirt. Thick fingers press against your clothed cunt, smooth over the wet spot on the fabric, tug it aside.

He angles your body, one hand wrapped around his dick to drag the tip through your folds. You take an even breath to stifle the moan in the back of your throat.

Sukuna presses the tip of his swollen cock against your entrance, just barely breaching it. This time you gasp audibly, tighten your grip around his neck, try to force your hips down, seeking that friction.

“Please, please, please,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He hums, presses forward into your tight, wet heat. You press your mouth against his shirt, groan against the stretch, the blissful fullness. His breaths grow shaky against your ear and he pauses, taking a moment to compose himself.

“Again?” You ask, the ghost of a smile on your lips. There’s a wet spot on his shoulder from your saliva.

“You’re funny,” he says and pulls his hips back, then snaps them up, pushes back into you. A gasp escapes your lips, bounces off the house wall — you’re too busy feeling sparks at the base of your spine, rushing up and splitting into your extremities to notice it — to stifle it. He settles into a pleasant rhythm, every drag of his cock forcing the air from your lungs. He plunges in, out of your sloppy, wet cunt. Heat blooms in your cheeks, you can’t bear the sound of your poor cunt swallowing your step-brother’s cock.

Heat coils in the pit of your stomach. He’s so big, so thick, so good, he drags against your walls so well and hits that spot with every stroke. Your body wants to ragdoll under him, the back of his jacket dragging against the rough exterior of the house as he thrusts up, down. In, out.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly the coil in your body snaps and you cum, pussy clenching around him. You cry out, sink your teeth into his shoulder and the feeling of weightlessness rushes through your veins. Sukuna says something, something you can’t decipher over the ringing in your ears and he speeds up, pumps in and out of your sopping cunt with reckless abandon. He stalls abruptly, buries himself into you to the hilt and spills inside. You’re still spasming around him, milking him for every drop he has to offer.

He’s warm, so warm.

Your chest is heaving — so is his —, breaths mixing in the cool night air. It stings your throat and lungs and soothes your sweat-slick skin. A smile threatens to split your lips apart and you press your face against his shoulder, stifle your giggle.

“What?” Sukuna asks, but he makes no move to pull out.

“You’re kinda fun when you’re jealous.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest, reverberates in yours.

banners by @/cafekitsune

[0anonnymouslyours0]

hi I have literally never done this before but I saw your post just now and thought what the heck

could you write a small thing about spencer reid where reader and him are neighbours and they both have a little crush on each other but never get to interact because spencer is literally never there

until either reader or spencer's apartment floods and it's 3am so they just go to their neighbour and there's maybe a cute confession?

(feel free to add your own pizzazz I love your writing!!!) <3333

hihihi girl! request anytime! this also ended up being a lotttt longer then intended <3

warnings: none, its fluffy its cute, like rlly cute and a bit cliche.

spencer reid. that was your neighbours name. considering he was home very little, you'd only seen him a few times and you've never even spoken a word; it seemed silly how much time you spent thinking about him.

you'll admit, your a sucker for a tall brunette with glasses, who wore ties and vests, and perhaps looked just a little nerdy. it was sweet, spencer looked very sweet.

he also happens to be your next door neighbour. like literally, you open the door of your house every day, and are confronted with the site of his own house. he's right there. you've debated sliding a note under his door, or just knocking and suggesting coffee, but you've always backed out.

the opportunity however, presents itself in a slightly annoying way. in the afternoon, you arrive home and walk into your living room to discover the entire floor flooded. one quick check of the house, and you've determined the entire place is flooded.

"jesus christ." you mutter, dialing a plumber and the flood services in your city.

when they arrive, its determined your house will be unliveable for 2 days. 2 whole days.

the plumber, matt, stares at you. "apologies, lady, but your pipes are pretty busted. its gonna cost you too."

you groan, annoyed.

"oh, uh your neighbour, you should check with them. see if they've got any issues." he adds.

you stop, spencer. your neighbour. you have a reason to go talk to him. you leave the plumber, and his little team to get to work, and cross the street to spencers house.

knock. knock.

maybe he isnt home. you look at his driveway. his car is there. the door creaks, and opens, revealing spencer reid. the man himself. in all his messy hair, rumpled shirt, afternoon glory. he pushes his glasses up, staring at you, suprised.

"hi. sorry i'm-"

"y/n." he says, quickly, and then flushes.

"right." your suprised he knows your name, though you do know his. "look uhm, sorry to bother you.. but my house kind of flooded. like everywhere. so, uhh- i was just checking if your house is all good."

his eyes widen. "your entire house? is flooded?"

you nod, grimacing. "yeah.. i mean my stuffs fine, i just have to find somewhere to stay and its a pain." you say, folding your arms and sighing.

he looks at you for a moment, thoughtful.

"uh.. besides from the fact im a total stranger.. you could um, stay with me? i mean. i have a guest room, im usually out all day. i'll cook." he says, quickly. he looks at you, expecting a no.

your suprised at his offer, intrigued even. he seems safe, your not uncomfortable.. and it would save you from having to stay in some cheap hotel.

"really? i mean- are you sure?" you confirm, raising your eyebrows at him.

he nods energetically, smiling. "i mean, it would be easier for you."

you nod, smiling back.

"well.. uh come in?" he says, shuffling to the side awkwardly.

his house is delightful, with heavy linen curtains, and tall bookshelves. the house is mostly wood, with touches of green and navy. it fits him perfectly.

"nice place you have here." you say, smiling.

"thank you." he says, staring at you for a moment. you catch him, and he looks away quickly.

"do you, uhm want a coffee? we can sit for a bit if you'd like." he says, gesturing at the couches in his living room.

you nod. "black with sugar, please."

"oh- i have mine just the same." he grins, hurrying off the the kitchen, before returning with a cup for you. he sits opposite you, studying you for a moment.

"so.. spencer, how long have you lived here?" you ask.

"5 years. which.. i think is a year longer then you?" he smiles.

"correct. uh, where do you work?"

he pauses, thinking thoughtfully. "truthfully, i work in the fbi. behavioral analysis unit." he says, staring right at you.

you shuffle in your seat, suddenly aware that this possibly means he can read your every emotion, or thought.

"thats very.. impressive, but then again you do have an intelligent look to you."

he chuckles, "well, i have been told i dress the part."

you laugh, smiling at him.

"you know.. i noticed you a while ago." he says, looking down at his coffee and swirling it.

you raise an eyebrow, curious.

"how so?"

"well, if i may be bold, your very- uhm very pretty."

your eyes widen, taken aback. you flush, letting out a soft giggle.

"you think so?" you whisper, staring at him. he finally looks up at you, nodding.

"do you say that to all the women you invite into your home?" you tease.

"i don't often invite women into my home.. in fact, you might be a first. quite special." he smiles. your cheeks feel hotter.

"well, spencer, i noticed you a while ago too. your very cute. you might be just my type." you say, staring at him.

its his turn to blush, and he looks nervous, as he turns away from you, lips parting into a smile.

"perhaps a blessing in disguise your apartment being flooded.." he whispers, the smile evident in his voice.

"i mean," you chuckle. "there has been one good outcome.."

"mmm.. silver linings and all." he says, turning to look you right in the eye. its sweet, hes very sweet. you think your very much going to enjoy your next two days here... perhaps even extend your stay.

[smokedesiresblog]

Glass Chillums Wholesaler USA: Affordable Options for Water Smoking Pipes

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[ashncloud1]

Browse our collection of silicone bongs, offering durable and stylish smoking solutions at wholesale prices. Upgrade your inventory with these versatile and high-quality pieces.

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

🎃 Trapped behind glass

Shower Sex CW: Non-con, Dub-con, inhuman penetration, multiple penetration, urination, strangulation

The glass door to the standing shower clicked shut as (Reader) stepped in. It had been a long day at work and they needed to melt their skin off their body with boiling water.

Creaking loudly due to age, the pipes shook as the water struggled to heat up, shooting out at (Reader) while it was still cold, startling them. It didn't matter how long they lived in their shitty, cheap apartment, the terrible plumbing always surprised them with just how terrible it was.

It slowly did warm up, however, drenching (Reader's) exhausted flesh in a comforting way.

As the water sprayed across their back the texture changed suddenly, the water feeling thicker and heavier than normal. But when (Reader) looked at the shower head, afraid that they were getting splashed with muck, they found that everything looked normal. 'Fucking lead pipes..' (Reader) thought bitterly, not really knowing if hard water was the explanation or not.

Water now almost slimey, the thick oozing liquid dripped over their goosebumps, grossing (Reader) past their breaking point. When they realized the water wasn't going to be changing back, they turned the knob to shut it off, but the water continued running.

"Fuck me.." (Reader) whined, not wanting to deal with maintenance nor the inevitable water bill. They reached for the door, but found themselves paralyzed. It was as if their entire body was tightly bound in a latex suit, restricting their movements. Across their flesh, the "water" began moving in different directions, flowing with a mind of it's own.

(Reader) opened their mouth to scream, but their throat was instantly filled with the hot goo, writhing inside of them, but never sliding down to their lungs or stomach. As they focused on the pulsing water gliding over their tongue they didn't notice the gushing liquid searching for their entrance until it flooded every hole between their legs, including their urethra. The warmth hurt only for a second, never stretching to the point of pain. But it was uncomfortable and strange.

Every inch of (Reader) felt violated, the water massaging their entire form, not only fucking every opening (suffocating as it rammed up their nose, birthing a migraine from the lack of oxygen, accentuated by the rushing water in their ears); using every hole used like a fuck hole, but their skin was slick like someone was masturbating by riding their wet exterior.

It continued ramming into them, dripping and leaking seemingly without end. The sensation of a foreign entity entering their piss slit while teetering on the brink of unconsciousness made (Reader) lose control of their bladder, unable to feel embarrassment with the black spots filling their vision as their urine coated their thighs along with the water like being, mixing with the fluid creature and (Reader's) arousal.

Every time they almost passed out the thing would retract from their nose, just long enough for them to regain their strength before plunging back in, plugging them up.

They couldn't think, the intensity of the fucking and the strangulation leaving them a soaking mess, slobbering over the hard water and cumming freely into the drain, orgasming multiple times without fully being aware that they were doing so.

Eventually the water seemed satisfied, sliding off (Reader's) body to drip down the drain and defy gravity to retract into the spout. (Reader) collapsed onto the shower floor, the only liquid left on their shaking form was their own, piss, drool and their climax, leaving them to fall asleep, wet and cold, too scared to turn back on the water to wash themselves off.

[carbondioxda]

Too hot to cuddle

Prince Zuko x reader<3

c/w: fluffy, too hot to cuddle trope (reverse trope), hot weather conditions, the reader is a girl, reader is a waterbender, no use of y/n, third person, frozen elsa reference don’t even ask, harsh language cause what the fuck is this weather

a/n: had this in my drafts for months but I just finished it because I’m living through a heatwave nightmare right now and actually feeling like reader. This is horrible. It’s 35 Celcius and my ass is tweaking

sorry for any mistakes! english isn’t my first language. and the way I write dialogue might be different than what you’re used to

The air was suffocating. It felt as if she was breathing some kind of piping hot spores instead or oxygen. The girl was laying in a bed, that was way too warm for comfort and as embarrassing as it was, she swore she felt a sweat puddle on the mattress underneath her.

The fact that her boyfriend happened to be a firebender was making things even worse now. Firebenders are naturally warmer than others, maybe to adapt to the heat when they're fighting or for god knows what other reason. Still, Zuko's toned hands on her waist were making her feel as if he's gonna burn her body alive. They made her get those heat waves all over her, worse than chills every now and then.

"I'm gonna melt. Not in the good way." - she thought to herself. It's not like she wanted to get up. It was a cute little routine of theirs to cuddle and sleep together, ever since her and Zuko started traveling together.

However, The Earth Kingdom's summer nights were unbereable. Besides, that the little hut they rented was made for winter season, so it kept all of the warmth in. No wonder it was so cheap in this time of the year, anybody would go insane in those conditions.

She finally got up and sat on the bed. The hairs on her forehead were sticking to her skin and she had a sudden urge to chug a few litres of ice cold water. This was bad.

- You okay? - Zuko half-whispered, his voice cracking from tiredness.

- Yeah, it's just...hot as hell in here. - she got up and went to the bathroom. She was too exhausted to take a glass, so she drank right from the sink. The bed creaked, meaning that he also got up.

- Are you sure everything's okay? - he rubbed his eyes, speaking in his hoarse, tired voice.

- I feel like I'm melting. It's so hot I swear I'm gonna suffocate. - she said, gulping the water. Even the water didn't seem to be cold enough for her liking, so she had to chill the water with her waterbending.

- I guess it is a little warmer today. - he mumbled, finding her state funny somehow. The heat never bothered him anyway. She noticed him looking around and trying to think of some evil plan, as always.

- A little warmer today…for the love of god. What are you looking at? - she asked, catching eye contact with him in the mirror. He was staring somewhere.

-Nothin'

- You've been staring at the...- she turned to where he was looking. - …bathtub?

- No I wasn't. - he shrugged. His actions didn't really match his words, as he turned the faucet on and plugged the drain.

- Are you seriously gonna take a bath now? It's 2 am.

- No. But you are. - he said, lifting her up bridal style and putting her into the bathtub. Before she could register what's happening, she was in the water, fully clothed.

- whattHEFUCK?! - she shouted, almostjumping when her pijama got wet in the cold water, that splashed around from the impact of her hitting it. It was a shock for a second and then, it was....nice? The air wasn't so suffocating anymore and her skin wasn't burning.

- You'd overheat if I didn't do that. - he smiled and sat down on the floor next to her.

- You could've given me a heads up. Now my clothes are wet.

- They were wet from the sweat anyway. I could’ve told you but naah, seeing your reaction was better. It's not so bad, is it? I mean, you stayed in.

- ...it's not worse. - she half-whispered.

- Just don't think of bloodbending my ass in there, I'm not as hot as you are.

- Aww, you think I'm hot?

- What? Uh-shit. Poor choice of words. I mean, you are, I just didn't mean...nevermind.

- Nah, I can't blame you, I'm hot as shit. - she scoffed, cold water meeting more of her skin and the material of her pijamas.

- Shut up. - he scoffed, which resulted in a splash of water being bended on his face. - That was unnecessary.

- It absolutely was. 

- Okay just find something to keep yourself busy for a few minutes. I'll open the windows, maybe it's gonna help. - Zuko smiled and headed out of the bathroom. In a few minutes of his absence and some chill water calming down the girl’s overheating situation, she felt exhaustion washing over her. She didn’t have to worry about the hotness of the room anymore and her body desperately needed rest. Her eyes grew heavy.

Zuko did manage to help her get out of the bathtub and got her some dry clothes. Then he carried her to the bed, this time not to throw her into another surprise but just to sleep. The room was colder, faint breeze hit their skins thanks to the opened windows from time to time. The sheets didn’t feel like lava anymore and it was good. Good enough to sleep.

- ’night. - she mumbled, getting comfortable.

- goodnight, love. - he mumbled back. She instinctively wanted to snuggle up to him, but he stopped her. - No cuddling for today. Otherwise I’ll have to carry you to the bathtub again.

- ’kay. - she said quietly. He gave her a small kiss on the forehead, before turning to his side. This was the first time in their lives that it was in fact too hot to cuddle.

[papil0nglegs]

Scent 🕯️

Tf2 mercs scents

A/n: I was gonna say something about Medic shaving but then I got flash banged by that one picture of him with the hairy chest.

Scout

He took the term “cologne king” and ran with it.

He puts on like 10 sprays of cologne every morning guys it’s bad

Tries to cover his sleep stank with cologne every morning but it’s very much there

He does use deodorant because he’s not THAT stinky (tho spy is the one who forces him to wear it)

“Scout, did you put on your axe this morning?”

“ughhhh I don’t wanna 😒”

Uses 2 in one because he’s lazy asf. He’ll only use the good stuff if it’s from spy.

He doesn’t rlly care for face care, he uses the same bar of soap he uses to wash his ass and it works fine surprisingly

His rooms smells kinda musky but it’s subtle,it mostly comes from his mattress that he’s been using since childhood (which he barely fits on)

Heavy

Have you’ve ever been inside the car of a guy who works out frequently? Yeah

He smells musky asf, he does sweat a lot so it makes sense!

He has a subtle Cinnamon smell to him, no one knows if it’s from something he uses or if it’s natural

If you ever give him a hug god rest your soul cuz all your gonna be huffing in that day is his scent.

Def uses Dr squatch deodorant cuz he’s classy like that. Wont use cologne unless it’s a gift from someone

Spy

You’ll never catch this man being stinky, EVER.

He uses the good shit, Le Male Elixir, showers every night, and every now and then has a Smokey scent to him.

Scout begs and begs for his cologne but he’s a gatekeeping king so he won’t budge.

“SPY PLEASE JUST GIMME THE NAME”

“Absolutely not.”

“CMON-SPY WHAT ARE THE TOP NOTES? WHERE DO YOU NORMALLY SHOP??”

His shampoo has no scent + he doesn’t really care for buying the expensive stuff cuz his hair is always covered anyways.

His skincare is pretty good, uses face wash serum and moisturizer. No anti-aging stuff tho, he personally thinks aging is a privilege.

Pyro

If you can smell these two photos, you’re smelling pyro

Medic

He just smells like a hospital, but when finishing a mission he smells like straight blood.

His hospital smell mostly comes from the latex gloves he has to wear, the blood smell is from surgery’s or brutally killing enemies. (Obv)

Definitely doesn’t mind getting blood on him, so if you complain about the smell to him he’ll shrug it off.

Cologne wise he’d use something minty, he’d only ever use it when going somewhere fancy. Other than that he sees no use for cologne.

He’s quite high maintenance, so he never stinks nor does he necessarily smell good. He just smells like.. medic.

Demoman

You’ve ever took a whiff of milk to check if it’s expired? Yeah.

Sorry but he does not gaf, there’s a puke stain on his shirt from like a week ago + he uses pretty cheap cologne.

Def uses Irish spring cuz I said so, it fits him.

Would have a sleep stink but getting a sleep stink would come from a bed, lord knows he’ll make it to his bed before passing out drunk.

He doesn’t shave, he uses child safe scissors to cut his beard 😭 someone help him.

Engineer

ITS BAD.

but it’s also like, hot?

He had that garage workshop scent, he’s also sweaty cuz of course he is. For god sakes he’s in his 50s and doing garage work he shouldn’t be doing that he should be sitting down and having a fucking glass of water.

No cologne for him, beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, that being all the sweat he collects from making shit he probably shouldn’t be making !!

Showers at night cuz that’s when he gets all the sweat off, he takes those piping hot showers that would burn off a normal persons skin off.

Sniper

He hangs around piss jars all day, I’ll let you do the rest.

No sleep, no cologne, just him. He just smells like rain and spoiled milk.

His camper van smell interesting to say the least, it’s not necessarily clean so it just smells like straight coffee, not the good kind.

He’s not that musty! He is quite hygienic.. in a way

He had a skincare routine, and spends half and hour in the shower cuz he ends up dozing off after a while <//3

He does NOT play about that skincare routine btw, if he sees a pimple he’s tracking down what he used to cause it.

Once he does he’ll use it as target practice lol

Soldier

This guy smells like 1000 things at once.

If you took a whiff of him he’d smell like straight dirt at first, but then it somehow transfers to a wet dog kind of smell, with a hint of oil.

*need a cologne of that

If you offer him deodorant/cologne he’ll deny it. He says that the way he smells is how god intended

His helmet smells FOULL, if you take the tiniest sniff you’re gonna pass out.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

No Pain, No Gain | Part 3 |PersonalTrainer!Aemond x fem! reader

A/N: you guys are absolutely feral for this and I love it, thank you legitimately for all the love. Once again 😘 @ewanmitchellcrumbs ​, hope you luv uwu

Series Masterlist

warnings:  EVENTUAL SMUT, 18+, sexual tension, binge eating, mentions of breakup, cursing, dickhead Aemond, reader is horny af, English slang (soz), warnings will be added when needed

When Baela messaged you with this screenshot.

   You thought, hell fucking yes.

 What better way to take your mind off thinking about your personal trainer’s dick, undo about an hour’s worth of cardio and feel like shit afterwards?

 2 for 1 cocktails.

 Storm’s End was pretty popular so Baela, being the legend she is, booked for four of you to go. Baela, her twin, Rhaena, you and a mutual friend from university, Maris Baratheon. Her Uncle owned the pub/club so she used her connections to get a further 50% off on friends and family discounts.

 God it was going to be a long night.

 After getting ready in the living room, Rhaena absolutely hogging the Spotify playlist, all three of you buzzed on a glass of Prosecco hobble to Storm’s End.

 “Rhaena, take those stupid shoes off” you nudge her shoulder a bit, which takes her off balance. She’s wearing heels that are far too big and far too high for her. Tottling around like a newborn giraffe.

 She yelps a bit but glares at you, “At least I’m taller than you now, short-ass”

 Hand on heart, you feign offense, “Who put 50p in you?”

 Baela nudges you from your other shoulder, “Children, stop it”

 Maris pipes up from behind, playfully squeezing your butt, “Where did you get this from?”

 “Ow! Maris!”

 Rhaena laughs, “Our creepy cousin is giving her personal training”

 “Hey, you” Baela glares at her twin, “He’s not ‘creepy’, just misunderstood. And be nice, his dad just died!”

 “Oh yeah cos everyone loved Viserys” Rhaena mused.

 You give an awkward look to Maris as you enter Storm’s End, giving a name as they lead you to a booked table.

 “He didn’t seem that bothered about it” you shrug as you huff off your coat.

 Maris, sat next to you in the booth, hangs her jaw open, “Fuck you, look at these!” she says squeezing your biceps, “I’m jealous I don’t get to see you in the bikini”

 Rhaena snorts, “Maris, your bisexual is showing”

 “Sorry, sorry”

 You must admit that when you were getting ready to go out with the girls tonight, you’d made the effort. The black cocktail dress hanging in the back of your wardrobe, that probably hasn’t been touched since the graduation party a few years ago, looked tempting. So imagine your surprise to find that it still fit, snug in all the right places. It wasn’t quite warm enough to go out in just that, so you pulled a coat over it. Even here, in the darkened part of Storm’s End, a sort of anxiety prickled at you at how low cut it was. You were usually not so brave.

 It had been a while since Maris came to visit all of you, so the drinks came easily. And effectively being as cheap as water, it was easy to put all the cocktails away. One particular cocktail had you constantly sneezing from the ginger in it, but you were nicely drunk now, engaged in conversation.

 Maris was swooning over a girl she’d met on a night out.

 “You know when you see a woman and you’re just like ‘yes’ she is perfect” Maris swoons, slurring her words.

 Almost in unison you all say, “No”

 “Maris, we are hetero beyond hetero” you laugh, sipping the cocktail and leaning against Baela on your other side. She leans in as well, partially, if not more drunk than you right now.

 “Okay fine, I’m not having this conversation with you virgins”

 “Whoa whoa whoa! Who said virgin?” Rhaena furrows her brows, angry and you genuinely have to hold back a laugh with how loud she’s being as several people turn around, hearing what she’s said.

 “Rhaena, I am willing to bet yours has grown back it’s been so long”

 “Nuh-uh” you point to yourself, head wavy from all the drinks, “that’s me~”

 Maris orders more, “Didn’t you and what’s-his-face break up like two months ago?”

 “Yesss, but we didn’t have sex for ages before that. So if anything it’s me who’s the sad little virgin of the group” you say, polishing off your cocktail to go in for another.

 Baela snorts, “At least until she gets a mouthful of Aemond”

 You almost spit out your drink, glaring at Baela. The alcohol has made you more…morally loose, yes. But you didn’t expect Baela to say that.

 “What the fuck Baela!”

 “Oh come on, she’s been cracking out the vibrator everytime I even say his name”

 Maris sees your bright red face, “Don’t” you warn.

 “Oh my god, as if you have a thing for creepy Aemond?!”

 You raise your eyebrows, “Okay, describe him”

 “Tall, lanky, skinny…I guess?”

 Stalking time.

 You raise a finger, putting your cocktail down to get your phone. You quickly bring up his instagram and show her the one photo where his whole body is in shot.

 Pretty much as soon as the screen lights her face, her jaw drops.

 “Oh my god”

 “Can you two please stop thirsting over our cousin, please” Rhaena rolls her eyes,

 Maris zooms in, “Hold on, I want to see what all the fuss is about”

 She zooms in, really taking him in and the both of you fawn over the photo for a bit too long. Describing everything. His legs, arms that poke out of the shirt he’s wearing with veins. Ugh. His neck, his chest, his shoulders. How tall and broad he is. Just everything.

 “Would you not let that man destroy you?” you ask Maris, snatching your phone out her hand,

In your drunken haze, you freeze as your finger slips and double-taps the screen, liking the photo.

 “Oh shit”

 Rhaena raises her eyebrows, “what”

 “I just fucking liked the photo” you drop the phone and put your head in your hands, vision spinning from the alcohol as well as the embarrassment.

 The girls erupt in laughter, which isn’t helping.

 You find the courage to look and see that the photo is a good ten or so months old. And the little dot next to his profile shows he’s suddenly active. He’s definitely noticed.

 Fuckfuckfuck.

 “Hey, you never know, it might be a good ‘in’ to get him to bang you”  Maris chimes.

 You’ve never felt more embarrassed in your life. And yet, you can’t help your mind wander at the possibility of it.

 Would he?

 He was pretty handsy last time.

 But he’s a personal trainer, surely it’s wrong for you to pay him and bang him when he’s on the job.

 No you can’t.

 You can’t imagine…him bare chested pressed against you, hot, sticky and sweaty from the efforts, broad shoulders closing you into the mattress, large hands splayed across your waist, teeth biting at your neck, prying your thighs apart, rutting into yo-

 “Hello! Earth to y/n!”

 Fuck, you’ve got to stop doing this.

 “Do us all a favour and fuck him” Maris muses, “You’re like in heat or something”

 Despite the embarrassment of it all, the night continues on and Baela is far too drunk to carry on. So being the good friend you were and mother of the group, you pull her hand around your shoulder and escort her home. She’s wobbly at best and seems to laugh at the smallest thing, and even though you’re drunk as well, the situation earlier sobered you up considerably.

 “I have a headahceee….” Baela moans.

 “I heard you the first three times you said it”

 “Can we get some painkillers, we don’t have any hic back at the flat..”

 With an annoyed groan you drag her into the nearest corner shop, it’s close-ish to home, so hopefully she swallows the painkillers, shuts the fuck up and you can tuck her in on the sofa.

 She waits at the entrance while you pay, talking absent-mindedly to a stranger.

 “Baela, don’t talk to strangers please” you say as you shove the box of painkillers in her hand. The man she’s talking to smirks amused at the situation.

 “This isn’t a stranger, it’s my other cousin!” she says, her drunkenness making her far too loud.

 “Oh yeah?” you crack open the bottle of water you bought, taking a swig before passing to Baela, “Is that true?” you ask the other man.

 It could be true. He’s got platinum hair, a smile that spells trouble and that weird cockiness all Targaryen men seem to have. He gives you a bit of a wink, shoving his hands into his pockets.

 “Unfortunately, yes. Aegon” he extends his hand and you tentatively shake it, still a bit weary. He looks at you like he already knows you, it’s very weird.

 “Yeah that sound like a Targaryen name”

 “He’s Aemond’s older brother” Baela says while taking a sip of water, accidentally letting it fall over her face and down her neck,

 “Unfortunately, also yes” Aegon smirks, “She looks a bit worse for wear”

 “We can thank Storm’s End 2 for 1 cocktails for that, can’t we Bae?” you smile, hooking an arm around her waist to steady her, she just grunts in response, “what are you doing here anyway?” you ask Aegon as he’s now found some interest in walking alongside you both.

 He shrugs, “Just came out to get a few bits, do you guys want a lift home? Aemond’s parked around the corner”

 “Yeah actu-” your mind works before your mouth does and your face pales a bit, embarrassment working its way into your belly.

 Baela has that stupid fucking smirk on her face again, wide and giddy like a child, “Yes please! Y/n, this is your chance to get Aemond to ram-”

 “Enough of that” you warn sternly, slapping a hand over mouth, but Aegon gives an amused grin, seemingly catching onto the subject of the conversation, “We’re fine getting home thanks”

 “Don’t be stubborn, come on” Aegon says, helping Baela down the road.

 A gnawing embarrassment curls in your gut. The last thing you want is to see him. And this is reinforced when you round the corner and Aemond is in the driver’s seat, looking up when he sees three figures. His eyes dart between Aegon and Baela for a moment before landing firmly on you, shamelessly looking down and then back up again.

 You take a deep breath. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.

 Try as you might, you make for the back seat, but with a shit-eating grin, Aegon makes it there first, under the guise of helping Baela in the backseat and making sure she’s okay. And you want lightning to strike him down right now with how fucking smug he looks.

 A family trait, you see.

 With an annoyed huff and without looking at the smug blonde in the driver’s seat, you get in the passenger seat, quickly pulling the seatbelt around you. Aemond doesn’t say anything either, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on his thigh.

 Oh God, his thighs.

 Stopstopstop.

 You can almost see in your peripheral the way he’s smirking to himself, thinking it’s all very amusing.

 “Aem!” Baela shrieks drunkenly from the backseat, luckily cutting the already existing tension, “Where did you come from?”

 Aem chuckles lowly and it might be the first proper time you’ve heard him laugh, he turns to his cousin in the back seat, “I could ask you the same thing”

 “I found them in the shop, what was it, Storm’s End 2 for 1 cocktails?” Aegon laughs.

 Aemond huffs a laugh in response, raising an eyebrow in your direction, “Training going well then?”

 You only have to turn your head a little to face him and when you do, you regret it immediately. In the proximity of the car, with you in the front seat, it’s achingly close. You try to muster up an indifferent look.

 “Don’t live in the gym like you do”

 He smirks, poking his cheek with his tongue, and turns back to the road, putting the car in gear to drive off. And now his gaze is averted, you briefly let your eyes go over him. It was only fair, he did the same to you. And you turn away quickly with a sigh when you see he’s wearing fucking dark grey sweatpants. All those thoughts return at breakneck speed, the sinful, lustful ones you only think of when you’re alone with your vibrator and it makes you squeeze your thighs together harshly, and you swear you see a flicker of Aemond’s head move in your direction when you do it. Not that he shows it on his face.

 Aegon’s playlist is in full swing and it’s not a long car journey, but it certainly fucking feels like it.

 You’re just thankful that Baela is quietly drunk in the backseat, half asleep, so she can’t say anything incriminating about the desires you’d divulged in female confidence.

 “Stop the car” Baela says hurriedly, undoing her seatbelt.

 Aemond brakes, looking back at her in the rearview mirror.

 “Oh shit” Aegon curses as Baela gets out the car like a bat out of hell to run behind the closest tree, halfway across the park. Aegon follows with the bottle of water you’d bought her.

 In any other situation, you’d be glad to have a borderline sick and vomiting Baela out of the car. But right now, left alone with Aemond after the sheer stupidity of the night so far, you want her to come back as soon as possible.

 Aemond sighs, at least glad Baela had the decency to get out of the car before being sick. He reaches for the gearstick to move the car out of the way of the middle of the road. And the smug bastard completely misses and his large hand makes contact with your knee instead. You can do nothing but gasp when he does it.

 “Sorry” he murmurs without moving his hand.

 When you look at him, he stays eerily still, his eyes flitting across your face to take in the dazed, stunned and impassioned look on your face. Your mouth seems to go dry, brain made of cotton, desperately trying to come up with something to say, but failing.

 Aemond withdraws his hand back to the gearstick, but not before giving the flesh above your knee a firm squeeze, burning his touch into them, leaving behind prickling heat on your skin. Seeing that you’ve been caught staring at him for too long, you flick back, pushing your legs together impossibly tighter.

 He seems to delight in the reaction.

 “Have fun on instagram earlier?”

 Oh fuck my life.

 You turn to him, embarrassed, but his eyes are on the road just as Aegon and Baela get back in the car with a few rough and tumbles. You hate how easy it is for him to get a rise out of you like this, so you turn away and just watch the night life go by as Aemond drives the 5 minute route back to your flat.

 Almost as soon as he pulls up, Aegon’s helping Baela out and you follow, just about to shut the passenger side door when-

 “See you at our session tomorrow” Aemond muses smugly. His eyes glimmering with mischief.

 Not knowing what to say and far too horny to even form a thought, you take Baela back into your arms and make for the flat, but not before looking over your shoulder to see Aemond’s dark gaze over the steering wheel.

 Once in the flat, Baela collapses on the sofa, murmuring incoherently. Like a good mother, you put a glass of water and painkillers on the side table, pulling the blanket over her.

“Did you get railed?...” Baela groans, to which you bite your lip.

“No Baela”

 With a disappointed groan, she turns and almost instantly falls asleep, aided by the dizzying effect of the alcohol creeping in. You smile at her, she’s always been like this when she’s drunk. Always the wingman. Or wingwoman, you supposed.

 Halfway through taking off your makeup, your phone pings with a notification.

Absolute.

Bastard.

You wake up the next day shockingly kind of okay. Baela on the other hand is milking this for all it’s worth. Being a Saturday, you supposed she’s allowed some time to recover.

 But when you use the blender to make a smoothie, she groans, “Are you doing this on purpose...” she groans, with a wet cloth on her forehead.

 Forcing the urge to laugh at her away, “Sorry hun”

 She lifts the cloth to glare at you, “Why are you in gym gear, it’s Saturday”

 Your mind races a bit, a blush making its way up your neck and a familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

 “Last session today before the holiday” you say, leaning against the counter to sip the smoothie, “only day free was Saturday”

 Baela pulls a face, as if amused.

 “What”

“Nothing”

 You scoff, “Fuck you, I told you all that under the influence, it doesn’t count”

 “Oh yes it does~”

 She goes on and on and on it feels like, about how badly you said you wanted Aemond to destroy you last night. She seemingly doesn’t remember the finer details about how you got home. You wished you could forget. You can still feel the way his hand gripped your leg so tightly, the bare skin prickling up.

 Ping.

The dreaded ring of a notification. And it’s like he can fucking sense when people are talking about him.

   Dramatically, you flop on the sofa, showing Baela the text.

 “I don’t know how many more signs you need” she reaches for her go to hangover cure, the biggest bar of chocolate you’ve ever seen and a diet pepsi, “I don’t want to hear anything about it, if you do though because that’s gross. Tell Maris or something”

 “Nothing is going to happen”

 “Uh huh, whatever you say hoe”

 With even Baela’s belief in you dwindling by the second, with a heaving sigh you manage to plop into your car, prop your phone on the mount for directions to the address Aemond sent you and drive. Something curls in your gut all the way there. Nerves? Excitement? Nausea? Was it the Indian food…

 You know the answer already but it doesn’t make it any better.

 The car that picked you up with Baela the previous day is parked on a driveway, a black Mercedes.

 Twat.

 With a breath to stable yourself, you trudge with your gym bag to the front door. The front garden is curiously and meticulously tidy, grass mowed and in general looked beautiful. A stark contrast, you think, to the guy inside. For a moment, you honestly think why the hell you’re here. Or maybe it’s just scary how easy it was for you to just…go with it and come to his house.

 He appears in the doorway mere seconds after you press the doorbell, making you think he had seen your car pull up, but this notion is quickly dashed when you see him. He leans against the doorframe on his forearm, having to look down at you with a bottle of something in one hand.

 “Didn’t get lost then” he says with a smug smile. The embarrassment and those thoughts that were loud the night before come back at breakneck speed, making the heat flood your cheeks uncontrollably. You just hope that he doesn’t see it, but by the amused look on his face, he totally does.

 You roll your eyes a bit and his smile seems to drop for a second. He removes his arm from the doorframe, your eyes drag over what he’s wearing briefly. It’s not the black shirt he usually has on, but a grey one with patches of dark  at the neckline and middle, you surmise he’s probably already been working out before you got here. The image of his taut stomach sticking to his grey shirt will forever be seared into your memory.

 Walking through his home is like walking through a show-home, as in, it doesn’t look like it’s been lived in. It’s weirdly pristine, smells like air freshener and detergent. And as you follow him to the back of the house, where you assume the home gym is, you can’t help but stare at the dark grey patch in the middle of his back and the way his shoulders move when he takes a drink.

 There’s some stairs that lead down and you quirk a brow, “a basement gym?”

 He stops at the stairs, looking up, his eyes somewhere else before he meets yours. His hair is up in a bun again, like the first time, with stray pieces falling out, “Yes?”

 “How very serial killer of you” you muse, following him down the stairs, “Should I share my location with someone”

 He huffs a laugh, opening the door and leading you inside with the smallest of touches to the small of your back, “Unless you want to”

 Even the borderline ghostly touch against the small of your back through your coat is enough to make your brain feel like it’s mush.

 What if he’d ventured down, using his large hand to squeeze your flesh between his fingers? Moulding the skin to shape of his palms?

 “Drink?” he asks, strangely more chirpy.

 Pulling off your coat you reply, “No, got my water, thanks”, you try and make your voice as stable as possible.

 His home gym is actually quite big, lit by several spotlights since there’s no natural light. It hasn’t got any machines, but several weights and sit up benches, perhaps he brings some clients here sometimes? Your body shudders inconsolably at the thought of being laid on the sit up benches, flat with him looming over.

 He’s filling up his own water bottle from the cooler in the corner, back to you, “So what were you doing on instagram?” he asks, and you think you can hear the smile on his face.

 Taking advantage of him not looking your way, you adjust your sports bra. It’s a different set this time, since the other is in the wash, a dark rusty orange two-piece. He turns just as you’re pulling your hair up into a bun, eyes hooded and trained on you before briefly flitting across the new outfit.

 “Stalking your creepy profile” you answer, disinterested.

 He raises an eyebrow, “Creepy?”

 “That’s what Rhaena said”

 “Ah” he responds, “she would”

 “Why’s that?”

 He motions loosely to his eye that you supposed he was blind in, “Freaks people out”

 You furrow your brows, “Why would it freak people out?”. You ask it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and he’s quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers against his water bottle in thought.

 “Does it not freak you out?”

 You shake your head softly, “No”

 He doesn’t take his eyes off you when he takes a sip of water and it makes your thighs feel somewhat like jelly.

 “Right, stretches”

 Oh boy.

 It’s almost as bad as the first time you’ve done them together, except he’s extra handsy, smirking with the knowledge that you were talking about him in your spare time. This time, when you’re doing the 60 second planks on the mat, his hand stays there on your back, moving every now and then slowly between your shoulders, to the nape of your neck. And there’s no mirror in his home gym, so you’re only hoping and praying that he’s not taking this opportunity to look at you in the skin tight leggings too closely.

 Although secretly, you kind of hope he is.

 “That’s it...” he praises lowly, and it takes you so off guard that you think you might just crack. But you resort to just biting your lip, trapping the skin between your teeth painfully.

 Squats are genuinely no better. He stays behind you the entire time, achingly close with his hands on his hips and everytime you go down to do one, you can’t help the desperate thrum of anticipation in your belly as you make contact only very slightly with his leg.

 Once you’re done with stretching and core, with the lack of windows in the room you’re in, it’s very hot and you wipe your forehead a little, slightly out of breath as you take a sip of water. Feeling as if you are being watched you turn your head slightly and see him sat on the sit-up bench watching you intensely.

 “Shit” you curse as some water leaks out of the bottle onto your chest and right down your sports bra. You try and wipe it away quickly, your chest already glistening with sweat. But when you look up, you see his eyes quickly flit from there to your eyes, darkened. One of his thighs jitters as he bounces his leg, as if aggravated.

 “Sorry” you breathe, grounding yourself, “what next” you ask, desperately trying to lighten the tension.

 “Bench press” he responds, and there’s that same tone he used last time. The tone that he used after literally scaring your ex away. But you swallow thickly and nod and sit where he once was.

 He explains how to do it and you take it all in a bit until you realise he’s going to be standing right behind you and your cheeks flood with heat again, tingling down the back of your neck. He just stands there as he usually does, but from this angle (and it’s very difficult to not look at this point) your head is right at his waistline and had there not been 30kg combined in your arms right now, you probably would have given more of a reaction to it.

 But you do your reps, with him watching in silence, seeing you break a sweat. As far as you are aware, his eyes forever on your form, but really it’s zoned in on that shadow that disappears down your sports bra and at the exposed bit of midriff beneath that to your leggings.

 As you’re doing the last few, he rounds the side and places his hand flat on your ribs, right under your sports bra’s hem and you freeze, an involuntary gasp escapes.

 When you meet eyes, he’s already regarding you.

 “Relax”

 Licking your lips nervously, you nod and breathe in and out deeply. But he never takes his hand off you, almost making sure you’re doing what he says.

 The next few reps are probably the most difficult. Never being able to stop thinking about his fingers on your bare skin, his thumbs drawing very very small circles on the hot flesh there. The air feels charged, as if one wrong move could ignite something, like striking a flame near gas.

 He moves his hand lower to your abdomen, making you freeze and look at him again. There’s no smug smile on his face, just a hooded, promiscuous expression, one that makes a deep, blurry thrum right where his hand is.

 “Push here”

 You try and do as he says for the last few, but it’s hard with the way he’s staring at you. And when you let out a huff and put the weights back where they belong on the rack, he nods slightly.

 “Good girl”

 He sees the way your face flushes this time, but makes no comment on it. Instead he rights himself to stand, extending his toned arm to you to help you up, not breaking the intensity of his look.

 It really does happen too quickly to know who did it. All you remember is taking his hand to pull yourself up. The next. Both his hands are around your waist, nearly encompassing them with how big they are, and the way they slide against your glistening skin rouses you in places you didn’t even know existed.

 There’s not even time to say anything when he locks his lips with yours, pushing you harshly against the wall with a thud that makes you gasp into his hot mouth. It’s messy, chaotic, a clashing of desperate lips and when he brushes your lower lip with his tongue it’s embarrassing how good it feels. He pushes you against the wall so harshly by your waist that you think he’s trying to embed you into it, hands clasped tightly around you in frustration, his fingertips creating marks where they are fixed.

 Amongst all this, he presses his firm, lithe body against yours and you let out the quietest of moans with the realisation that he is desperately hard beneath the sweatpants he’s wearing, pressing it into your thigh.

 “Fuck…” he breathes as his hand snakes up your front to take hold of your jaw, kissing with such need that it almost feels like too much.

 All this time your hands have had no idea what to do, but one slides to the nape of his neck, gripping harshly and completely destroying the style his hair had been in. The other runs over the slick skin of his forearm, tracing the veins there, and how they seem to thrum with every beat of his heart, faster with the desire that courses through them.

 “Fucking perfect…”

 Words fail you at this point, his fingers digging into the sides of your face make you realise he’s keeping you right where he wants you, attacking your mouth with his in a way that’s not really happened to you before. And that little breathy moan escapes once again when his teeth nip at your lip as he pulls away, immediately dipping to your neck to kiss and suck the delicate skin there, his hips pushing against yours with hunger.

 You wonder what his hands would feel like wrapped around your neck, squeezing gently, or maybe not so gently. If his hands would just go that bit lower…if your hands just dipped beneath the hem of his shirt…down the sweatpants…

 Buzz buzz.

 Snapped out of this hot, heavy trance, Aemond steps back a little and you duck underneath his arm, not daring to look back at him at the fear you might stay and fuck up this entirely professional relationship. You desperately look at your phone, a missed call from Baela.

 But that’s all the excuse you need, you hurriedly pack up your stuff, “S-sorry…I..” you start but with no vocabulary to actually finish. Your core is still spurring with delight with what you’ve just done, taking all the power from your brain.

 Looking back briefly, he looks a bit dishevelled but still ridiculously too good, flushed in the face and his chest gently heaving, and with that ghost of a smile on his face. Not smug this time, to your delight.

 “Um, sorry I have to go…thanks, Aemond” you excuse promptly. Even the very swift walk back to the car is a blur. It’s only when you’re in the driver’s seat, intensely gripping the steering wheel that it all slots into place.

 Your fingers go to your lips and all the places his hands had touched you. They’re on fire. Begging for more. And you feel your breath in your lungs stutter at the memory of it. Aemond stands at his window, watching with acute amusement that you’re still sat there, absolutely dumbstruck by what’s happened.

 Baela pings you in the wake of her missed call.

taglist (sorry if I missed anyone, I’m crap, bold means I couldn’t tag)

@mrsgrwy​ @lovelykhaleesiii​@urmomsgirlfriend1@iiamthehybrid​ @namelesslosers​  @chainsawsangel​ @warmfieldofgrass​ @mynameisbaby9​ @afro-hispwriter​ @tempo-rary-fix​ @toodlesxcuddles @definitelynotsatans​ @svtansdaddyx​ @tssf-imagines​ @darkenchantress​ @vrtualfairy​ @fan-goddess​ @skikikikiikhhjuuh​ @helaenaluvr​ @sarahkimtae​ @blackxisxmyxcolour​ @castellomargot​ @girlwith-thepearlearring​ @julczimozart​��@amazingdisneyfansblog​ @slutforaemond@thedamewithabook@Iiamthehybrid@sahvlren@Whoknows333@cosmoeticss​