#b pass magazine | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cripcross · 7 months

Text

PLAN B.

🔞 this post contains mature themes. mature audiences only, minors do not interact. ageless/anonymous accounts that interact with my account will be blocked.

pairings: pre-outbreak!joel miller, afab!reader

😇 warnings: daddy kink, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, masturbation, slight voyeurism, overstimulation, p in v sex, joel has a big dick, pure filth.

summary: being neighbors with the miller's gives you the privilege of going over to their house frequently. as usual, you spend time with sarah and flick through magazines, but what you don't expect to see is joel jerking off in his bedroom.

As the familiar neighbor of the Miller's, you frequently visited the small family. More specifically, just to comply with Sarah's constant requests of listening to Destiny's Child and gossiping about Christina Aguilera and Eminem.

Stacking the countless Teen Vogue magazines in a neat pile on Sarah's desk, you realized that the young girl had fallen asleep on her bed. Her golden-brown curls laid messily on her pillow, her eyes closed and she breathed softly.

The house was quiet as the night air swept throughout the hallways and rooms. Moonlight seeped through the curtains of her bedroom, illuminating parts of her bed and nightstand.

Taking in your surroundings, you silently admired the decorations Sarah had in her room. The pink-painted walls, posters of music bands, numerous polaroids pictures and first-place ribbons pinned on the cork board above her desk. Your eyes glanced towards the clock on Sarah's nightstand.

After seeing the late time, you draped a blanket over Sarah and quietly tip-toed out of her bedroom, attempting to leave silently, despite the floorboards creaking underneath your every step. Making it out into the dim hallway, you slowly passed Joel's bedroom that was left ajar. About to take the first step down the stairs, you abruptly stopped after hearing a noise from Joel's bedroom.

A groan.

Maybe he's working out?

He might be watching a movie?

Your curiosity got the better of you. Before you knew it, you were standing right outside his bedroom door, hearing his quiet groans and grunts. Your eyes focused, looking into the slight crack between the ajar door and doorway. Waves of shock ran through your body as your eyes widened.

Joel sat on his bed, shirtless and leaning against the headboard. His pillows were scattered everywhere, his sheets and blankets messy. The real gem was in between his legs. Joel sat there, chest heaving and jaw slack, stroking his cock.

His hand was wrapped in a fist, gripping his cock, his hand running up and down in fast strokes. Watching him, an arousal pooled in between your thighs. His messy curls, veiny arms, and his fucking happy trail. You bit your bottom lip slightly, not able to force your eyes away from Joel's actions.

"Fuck, I... I can't cum." Joel mumbled to himself, eyebrows knitted together and eyes clenched closed. He sounded irritated and frustrated. He let go of his cock, letting it stand rock-hard and glistening with pre-cum between his thighs.

Too focused on looking at his girthy cock and body as a whole, you completely dismissed the idea of his bedroom door being slightly open. Leaning against the door a little too much, you stumbled into his bedroom and stood there dumbfounded.

Joel's eyes flickered to yours. He didn't bother covering a single thing of his. The words came out of his mouth before he could even process it. "Help me, cupcake. Will ya' do that for me? Help me get rid of this, baby." His voice was hoarse and quiet, his deep, brown eyes big and full of desperation.

After staring at him blankly for a moment, you took a deep, quiet breath and closed the bedroom door behind you, taking a few hesitant steps towards his bed. Just seeing you comply, Joel groaned quietly and began stroking his cock lazily.

Swiftly stripping off your pants and shirt, you heard Joel's grunts. "Oh, fuck, so beautiful, baby. Gonna come and look pretty, sittin' on my cock." More pre-cum leaked out from the slit on the thick tip of his cock, the more he stroked. Joel groaned, smearing more of the white liquid with his thumb, watching you intently.

You were completely naked, crawling on his bed. Joel immediately reached over, his large, calloused hands grabbing your waist and placing you on your knees, right above his cock. Joel's eyes practically rolled back at the sight of your juices leaking out of your pussy.

His fingers dipped down, gently rubbing and feeling your soaked slit. You let out a small whine as his fingers found your clit, rubbing it in small circles. Your breasts were in his face, with the position that you were in. Joel took the opportunity to lick and toy with your breasts, before sucking hungrily on one of your nipples, letting his teeth gently graze against the sensitive nub.

You moaned, still on your knees, with his leaking cock pressed against your outer labia. Joel seemed utterly distracted with your breasts. He pulled his fingers away from your clit and put both of his large hands on your breasts, gently pinching both of your nipples in between his thumbs and index fingers. He left kisses on your sternum area, between your breasts. "So fuckin' gorgeous, cupcake."

Reaching down, you grabbed his girthy cock and rubbed the thick tip of it up and down your slit. His pre-cum smeared all over your labia and vulva, mixing with your own juices. "C'mon, ride me, baby. You're fuckin' soaked. Show me how much of a good girl you can be, yeah?" Joel spoke in a hoarse voice, leaving soft kisses on your collarbone and neck.

Moving from kneeling to a squatting position over his cock, you pressed the tip at your entrance and slid down with ease, putting your hands on Joel's broad shoulders to help balance yourself. "Oh, fuck, cupcake... so fuckin' good." Joel groaned, feeling the way your wet cunt engulfed his cock.

He was so fucking thick.

You whimpered loudly, working your way down his cock slowly. Joel placed his large hands on either side of your waist. "Doin' so good for me, princess." He kissed your temple, running a hand up and down your back. You inhaled deeply, holding your breath. You exhaled, knowing you reached the bottom of his thick shaft, feeling the thin layer of his pubic hair against your slit.

Joel allowed you to adjust for a moment, leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. He was impatient and all he wanted to do was start fucking you relentlessly, but he didn't rush you. You bit your bottom lip slightly, in concentration, beginning to go up his cock, clenching around him tightly as you moved. It felt euphoric to you.

"Fuck, yeah, just like that, baby. Keep ridin' daddy's cock like that." Joel groaned, feeling the way you clenched around him. Going up and down on his girthy length at a normal pace, Joel's hands tightened on either side of your waist. He grunted and buried his face in your neck.

He didn't care anymore.

Joel held your hips down as he bucked and thrusted his hips upward frantically, hearing your pussy squelch everytime his cock went in and back out again. Your eyes rolled back and all you could possibly utter were pornographic moans, feeling the tip of his cock continuously hit your sensitive g-spot.

Quietly panting in your ear, Joel's libido was up to the ceiling. "Fuck, fuck, I can't stop, baby." His thrusts were deep and fast. His large hands clenched in the sheets, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, hips bucking wildly into yours. "Ungh, ungh, Joel!" You were seeing stars. Skin softly clapped against each other and his balls smacked against your slit continuously.

A big coil was building, deep inside of your stomach. You were gonna cum soon. Too fucking quick. "C'mon, princess, nearly there. You can do it." Joel groaned into your neck. "I'm gonna cum... daddy, I'm gonna cum..." You sobbed, your pussy clenching tightly around his cock, almost as if it was trying to keep him inside forever.

"Oh, fuck─if you keep clenchin' around me like that, I'm gonna fuck around and knock you up." Joel mumbled, not stopping his animalistic thrusts for nothing. You practically mewled at his words, eyes rolling back and drool slightly dribbling down your chin. "Need... need your cum... want it inside." You whined, barely able to form sentences.

Joel had the slightest smirk on his face. "Yeah? Fuck, you want it that bad, princess?" You nodded frantically, trying to bounce your hips up and down to meet his thrusts. Joel's grip on your waist tightened, seeing your response.

That was all he needed.

Burying his face into your neck, Joel groaned and his thrusts went back to the same, furious pace. He was fucking you like there was no tomorrow. "Gonna fuckin' fill you up. Gonna go home with your sweet pussy filled with my cum... bet you'd want that, huh, princess?" Joel grunted, pushing his cock deeper into your sopping cunt, with each thrust.

"Yes, yes, yes, please... please, cum..." You whimpered, throwing your head back as he bottomed out continuously, followed by the sounds of your wet pussy. Feeling the tip of his cock prod your sensitive spot one last time, your back arched and your eyes rolled back. "Oh─oh, fuck, Joel!" You sobbed.

Your sweet, white consistency squirted and leaked out onto Joel's cock. Down your thighs, down his balls, and staining his bedsheets. Joel's thrusts didn't conclude. He wasn't done. "Fuck, yes, c'mon... c'mon." Joel growled into your neck, his strokes turning sloppy, but the desperation was still evident. At this point, you were seeing more than stars. You were overstimulating and your mouth stayed agape as he fucked you through your orgasm, chasing his own.

Within seconds, Joel groaned loudly, pulling out and swiftly pushing his cock deep inside of your pussy, once more, to the brim. He stayed still, not moving an inch, as thick, white ropes of his semen squirted inside of your cunt. You felt the sudden hotness inside of you, but all you could do was go limp and relax on his lap, with his cock still bured inside of you.

Joel brought his hands up to your head and ran his fingers through your hair, kissing your flushed cheek as he chuckled, slightly out of breath.

"'m gonna need to get ya' a plan B, aren't I?"

🚀 authors note: ffs, this took way longer than anticipated, but this is js another one of my horny thots, so i hope this was somewhat satisfying.

(i need joel miller asap) 🫠

#🚀. cripcross #joel miller smut #pre-outbreak!joel miller #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #the last of us hbo #the last of us smut #joel tlou #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x afab!reader #my writing

1K notes · View notes

2knightt · 11 months

Note

Hiiii! Can you do the outsiders gang with an s/o who models I feel like that would be interesting :)

↳but i’m into it, i’m into it.₊˚✧

➬ the gang x model!fem!reader

a/n;i love famous reader so much omfg. also, i love using chase atlantic lyrics for my titles. dont chase men, chase atlantic everyone.

Johnny Cade ;

believes that you are the most BEAUTIFUL person to walk the planet.

STRONGLY BELIEVES THAT.

probably thinks you’re too good for him.

PLEASE TELL HIM HE’S ENOUGH FOR YOU.

take him too your shoots and he will be blushing the whole time.

if you wear something that’s flattering to your body shape, he will explode right then and there.

“how do i look? should i fix my hair?”

“you look perfect.”

“you think?”

“…mhm.”

the gang seen you on a magazine cover and started freaking the fuck out.

“HOLY SHIT JOHNNY ISN’T THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND?”

“WOAHHH!”

“jesus…does she have a sister?”

“guys please stop.”

cuts out your magazine covers/photo shoot pictures and keeps them in his jean jacket pocket.

not in a weird way, just in a way that when he’s sad and you aren’t around he can remind himself on how lucky he can really be.

Dallas Winston ;

oh my god he never shuts up about how he got the hottest model ever.

“yeah she’s pretty n all but, my girlfriends a model so.”

“that’s so cool that your chick is…like that! but mines a model, so, she’s just better.”

buys steals all your magazines/any photo shoot you do.

any guy thats talks about you in way dallas doesn’t like, gets knocked out.

“i’d hit that.”

“yeah?”

“yea—”

dead./j

no but he would pull all his strength in that punch.

the gang thought he kidnapped you because no way in hell a pretty girl like you would go after dallas winston.

“y/n, blink twice if you’re kidnapped.”

“raise your hand if you need help, dude.”

“guys, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

you’re legit, all he thinks about.

he’s so whipped for a model girlfriend, if you asked him to jump he’d ask how high.

genuinely believes you’re an angel, will NOT tell you that to your face though.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he gets so nervous around you omfg.

his palms be sweating n shit, stuttering and everything.

“he-hey y/n.”

“oh, hey pony!”

uses his favourite photo shoot of yours as a book mark. i can feel it in me bones.

he giggles and kicks his feet when he looks at that bookmark btw

draws you?? i feel like that’s his favourite pass time.

IF HE HAS TO DESCRIBE A STORY IN ENGLISH HE WRITES ABOUT HOW HE MET YOU OMFG AND THE WAY HE’D DESCRIBE YOU IN THE ESSAY??/?!:;&

he’d be so sweet with his words when he talks about you. i cant i love him so much

the gang is lowkey jealous that the youngest one out of all of them pulled a model.

“hey, don’t you model?”

“yeah!”

“what.”

“how did ponyboy get a date with you?”

“…are you guys serious? am i that ugly to you guys?”

Sodapop Curtis ;

POWER COUPLE OH MY GOD I CAN’T.

you guys walking in the street together probably makes people pass out.

literally nobody was shocked that you guys started dating.

the prettiest girl for the prettiest boy, it was bound to happen, c’mon.

he probably got into modeling because of you.

OH MY GOD IMAGINE DOING A PHOTO SHOOT WITH HIM???

he asks for his favourite picture of you two from that shoot to be printed out larger for him so he can hang it in his room.

like dallas, he will punch a guy for you.

“she’s hot.”

“she has a boyfriend.”

“so?”

call 911 cause that guys gonna need it in a minute!

showed steve a picture of you before he introduced you to the gang.

“oh my god soda. why are you dating a literal model?”

“why not?”

“but what else did i expect, you get girls daily.”

Darry Curtis ;

honestly, he couldn’t care less about what you do for work.

if it brings in money, it brings in money.

but the gang sure as hell does!

“YO ISN’T THAT Y/N L/N?!”

“THE MODEL?”

“yeah? how do you guys know her?”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW HER?”

“she’s my girlfriend, soda. that’s why i brought her here.”

“WHAT??”

i’d be lying if i said darry didn’t carry around a head shot of you in his wallet.

he doesn’t brag, but when the chance to talk about you comes, he takes the chance.

“good for her. huh? oh—my girlfriend models. pretty popular.”

when he sees a magazine with you in it for sale, darry snatches it so fast.

compliments you after he seen it.

“i like your most recent shoot, the makeup suits you.”

“you think, darry?”

Steve Randle ;

rocked the whole world when you guys started dating.

DOESN’T SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOU.

“that’s so tuff soda, but y/n actually said—”

“nobody cares steve.”

“shut up and let me tell you what MY GIRLFRIEND said.”

STEVE HAS A PICTURE OF YOU TAPPED ON THE INSIDE OF THE TOP OF HIS TOOL BOX.

takes you on dates 24/7 just to show you off.

sometimes he lets go of your hand to see if anyone would flirt with you so he can punch them.

gang thought he held you hostage when you started dating ngl.

“you can do so much better, y/n.”

“dallas, shut the fuck up.”

“i’m just sayin’.”

“i will knock you out.”

Two-bit Matthews ;

HE’S SO WHIPPED FOR YOU IT’S DISGUSTING.

you have him giggling n shit.

his room is filled to the brim with photos of you.

not in a weird way, he just thinks you’re drop dead gorgeous.

tells you cheesy pickup lines, all the time.

“are you from Tennessee? cause you’re the only TEN I SEE! get it?”

would start a fan club for you if you asked nice enough.

introducing you to the gang was earth shattering for them.

“how??”

“what do you mean, ‘how?’”

“how did you pull her?”

“I PULLED HER WITH MY GOOD LOOKS AND CHARM, STEVE.”

“you’re so funny, two-bit.”

“like you falling flat on your fucking face yesterday?”

“YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T TALK ABOUT THAT.”

may 24th, 2023. 11:30PM.

tag-list ;

@diorgirl444, @typereader 🧍‍♂️

#2knightt #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #dallas x reader #johnny cade x reader #johnny x reader #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #steve randle x reader #two bit matthews x reader #two-bit x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #sodapop x reader #darry curtis x reader

2K notes · View notes

spookysteddie · 4 months

Text

That Friday Night

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

read part one here

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)

a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!

...

You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it.

But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees.

Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’

They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted.

However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous.

Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!”

You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?”

Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.”

Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers.

“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.”

…

You should’ve changed your mind.

You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you.

You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time.

Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face.

“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands.

God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long.

You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it.

“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-”

“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.”

Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!”

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels.

You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?”

You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus.

Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus.

It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.

Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually.

Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts.

“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that. The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs.

“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.”

His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you.

Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.”

He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?”

You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was.

Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.”

Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?”

He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen.

Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke.

“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again.

God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.

A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet.

“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening.

Photos are fine.

Everyone must be tagged.

Nothing negative.

Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar.

That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines.

You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?”

You nod, “y-yeah of course.”

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over.

He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer.

But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.”

…

By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more.

Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason.

“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.”

Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something?

“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes.

Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there!

And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?

Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.”

You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured.

“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.”

“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not?

“‘Precious babies?’”

You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.”

“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne.

It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him.

He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan.

“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.”

You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”

He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.”

Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close.

“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.”

You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?”

“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?”

“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.”

You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent.

He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…”

The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?”

So, you do.

The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name.

From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times.

So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos.

“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music.

You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.”

The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care.

Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back.

You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him.

“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him.

He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.”

“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you.

The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes.

You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.”

He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?”

That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.”

His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top.

Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you.

He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right?

You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center.

“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone.

But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid.

“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.”

You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.”

He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans.

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No.

“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.” He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers.

You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?”

You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous.

But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.”

“V-very.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!”

He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.”

You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.”

His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”

You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.”

He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft”

He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it.

“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.”

You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?”

He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.”

“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.”

You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?”

The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it.

“Oh god! Please.”

“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.”

And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down.

Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.”

You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.

“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’

“And now… we wait.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #modern!rockerstar!eddie munson x influencer!fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

880 notes · View notes

2001hz · 1 year

Text

Hyde (1997)

#2001hz #01hz #2001hz archive #hyde #b pass magazine #photography #hyde archive #l arc en ciel #1997 #japan

275 notes · View notes

heartsforsserafim · 7 months

Note

mean g!p wony...

Take It

pairing ; wonyoung x fem!reader

genre ; smut

tw ; degrading, gp!wonyoung, teasing, crying, blowjob, cum on face, cum eating, unprotected sex, idol!wonyoung, non-idol!reader, sorta public sex, bathroom sex, jealous sex, dom!wonyoung, bottom!reader, cockwarming (kind of), edging

an : i tried actually-

You were waiting inside your girlfriend's makeup room, for her performance to be over. You loved to surprise her each time after an promotional period, but today she didn't expect what you had one.

Walking into the dressing room and celebrating with the staff and fellow members, "Hey y/n!!" yujin said picking you up and twirling you around. Each time you visited the other girls really never got to hang with you since well, wonyoung would take you and they wouldn't see you two for a while.

Wonyoung turned around, and her eyes automatically landed onto your clothes. (For a thought, you were dressed similar to ryujin in the loco studio choom video). After yujin finished spinning you, rei and liz ran up to you and began talking to you. gaeul and leeseo stayed behind you too, also filling you in on everything.

Wonyoung felt, strange. She didn't like when her members took all of your attention, i mean of course you're her girlfriend and those are her bandmates you guys are going to get close but god did she hate when you wouldn't even speak a simple word to her while you're with them.

And really in your defense, you have five girls on you at once, all of them possibly talking about different topics so you really couldn't talk to wonyoung if you tried. She was honestly pissed off at this point, her face wasn't even the same anymore. She was hoping after taking some pictures they'd be done.

"Guys! Can you leave Y/n alone?" Wonyoung said, obviously irritated. liz rei and leeseo walked off, but gaeul and yujin stayed. Wonyoung sighed again, rolling her eyes. After a while, those two finally left your side, finally leaving wonyoung with you.

Automatically, she placed you onto her lap, "Hi baby" you say in a sweet voice and kiss her cheek. "Don't baby me." wonyoung spoke, staring daggers into your eyes. She grabbed your face, holding your cheeks in a firm grip.

You knew where this was leading, "B-babe" you say, tears were threatening to fall but you couldn't yell out it'd alert someone. Wonyoung wasn't trying to hurt you on purpose, it was the new thing you two were trying.

"Shut the fuck up." She grabbed your hips and placed you over her shoulder before walking into the bathroom. Of course, you knew where this'll lead. Wonyoung hasn't been able to release any of her stress in any form, it's been promotion after promotion plus her magazine shoots ect.

But today, she was going to use you to get off. Whether you liked it or not.

(...)

"On your knees" wonyoung said, beginning to remove the pants she wore, you stood there, shocked. You didn't expect her to actually want you to do this in the bathroom, right? "You fucking heard me, on your knees before i force you down" she said, her boxers now removed.

Her cock stood tall directly against her abdomen, god did she look so attractive. Her abs were so defined, you were so stuck in a daze you didn't realize wonyoung had already grabbed you and forced you onto your knees.

She slapped you, so you could focus up once more. Grabbing her cock into your hands, you stroked her shaft a bit. It twitched in your hands, and she'd let out small sounds. You would occasionally play with her tip before going back down and continuing your movements.

A while passed before you finally put her inside of your mouth, "Ah~" she let out a soft, yet blissful, moan. God did your panties pool once you heard her. You were looking up at her, while you sucked her off. Her eyes were hooded, bringing one of her hands up to your hair, she made a ponytail with it.

Prompting you to grip her thighs, and open your mouth wider, allowing her shaft to slide easily along your tongue. She began thrusting into your mouth, her cock hitting the back of your throat felt so amazing. Using both her hands, she forced her shaft deep inside your throat.

Your nose touching her abs, she didn't move until you began squeezing her thighs, your eyes welling with tears. She pulled out, a string of saliva connected her tip and your mouth.

Your face was so flushed, and you couldn't think. Wonyoung stood you up before bending you over on the bathroom sink. She lifted your skirt, moving your panties before sliding her shaft it.

God she was so big, you wanted to scream her name out but you couldn't. A knock came at the door, "Hey wony, dives are asking for you we're not rushing but hurry out!" Yujin spoke from behind the door, wonyoung halted her hips.

She was thinking should she leave you a dripping mess for a few minutes with the fans? You couldn't bear waiting any longer and pushed back against her cock, making her enter you fully. "f-fuckk" you moaned out.

She didn't move yet, and god was it fucking up your mind. Every single detail on her cock, you felt deep inside of you. She was touching your cervix for fucks sake.

She began slowly, her thrusts were so deep, you whimpered while she fucked you. Grinding your hips back against her, she grabbed them and halted your movements.

"W-why~?" you asked, looking at her through the mirror. "Just look at me, make me proud, okay?" She spoke, you nodded watching as she used your hips to roll along with her thrust.

Speeding up, she placed her hand inside of your shirt and began playing with your breast through your bra. "I-i'm gonna- mm- c-cum" you moaned out.

The way wonyoung's cock felt inside of you felt amazing. Closing your eyes for a second to keep yourself from screaming she stopped moving..

"P-please" you begged. She chuckled, before continuing, this time rubbing your clit and making you scream out. You tried your best to stay quiet but she whispered into your ear. "Let them know how good you feel baby"

She continued fucking you, this time going impossibly faster and you felt your orgasm coming. Your walls tightened around her shaft, your legs began to shake and your eyes rolled back. You came with a string of moans, while wonyoung slowed down.

Once you were done going through your afterglow, you immediately got back onto your knees and began sucking wonyoung off. Already deepthroating her so she'll cum. Grabbing your head she began fucking your throat, saying things like, "Fuck baby you're so good" and "just like that~ ah"

She pulled out, cumming on your face. She continued to stroke her cock until her entire load was covering your face and clothes. You looked up at her, taking some of her cum off of your face and licked it off of your fingers.

She watched as you did so, her cock softened as she began putting her clothes on. Cleaning you up before you both walked out of the bathroom, meeting the eyes of her manager and the fellow members. You two knowing you guys were fucked, it was worth it.

#kpop #girl group smut #kpop smut #ive smut #ive wonyoung #jang wonyoung #wonyoung

501 notes · View notes

humanpurposes · 10 months

Text

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks.

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday.

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut.

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off.

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?”

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note.

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little.

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke.

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious.

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip.

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh.

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor. While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it.

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction.

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters.

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs.

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times.

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head.

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down.

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over.

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it.

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant.

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds.

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular.

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk.

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing.

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination.

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers.

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers.

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright.

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God.

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

#aemond targaryen #my fics #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction

952 notes · View notes