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seumyo · 22 days ago

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rainy mornings with husband!bakugou

Bakugou didn’t like the rain. That was a fact.

But the thing about rain is that it’s inevitable, something that only nature has control over (and additionally the particular people who have rain-based Quirks).

The rain was steady, soft against the windows like a lullaby. It wasn’t a storm, he notes, just a lazy morning drizzle that blurred the glass and painted the world in cool grays and muted greens.

He stood at the stove, barefoot, wearing loose black sweats and one of your hoodies—oversized on you but fitting snug on him (he remembered the sheer happiness you had when he told you your parcel finally arrived). The sleeves were a little too short, exposing his forearms as he stirred a pan of scrambled eggs with slow, unhurried movements.

He wasn’t in a rush, and for once, there wasn’t any tension in his shoulders. Thank god his schedule was getting lighter these days, especially as Japan is now entering a much colder rainy season this year.

Behind him, you were curled up on the couch, legs tucked under you, a throw blanket tossed lazily over your lap. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your pajama shirt yet—one of his old Dynamight shirts (which he was sure was sold at a golden price nowadays since it was one of the first ones released), faded from too many washes. You had your tablet propped on your knee, aimlessly scrolling through something, one hand cradling a mug of still-steaming tea.

He glanced over his shoulder, watching your thumb flick across the screen, your brows furrowed just the tiniest bit in that way that always made him want to kiss it away.

Damn marriage making him soft.

Having him thinking of kissing your worries away and whatnot.

“You ready to eat?” His voice was low, rough with sleep still lingering around the edges, though he’d been up for a bit now. It was the kind of morning that made him feel stress-free again—quiet, warm, you.

You didn’t even look up. “Mm… not yet. Gimme ten more minutes.”

Bakugou snorted, scooping the eggs onto a plate with a quiet clink of the spatula. “You said that ten minutes ago.”

“I did not,” you murmured, still distracted. “I said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“You callin’ me a liar?”

“...Nossir.” No, Sir.

“Uh huh.”

He turned off the burner and walked over to you, crossing the room with his usual quiet authority. You didn’t flinch when he sat down next to you and didn’t look up as he leaned in to press his lips to your temple. You just shifted slightly, making room for him as if it were the most natural thing in the world—which, honestly, it was.

Because if you hadn’t seen all of him by now—

Ahem, then casual intimacy would be a bit awkward when you’re 4 years into your marriage.

“You’re not even really lookin’ at anything,” he muttered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m looking at furniture,” you replied, lifting the tablet slightly for him to see. “For the entryway. I found this bench with drawers under it. It’s soo cute.”

He peered at it, expression blank. “It’s a bench.”

You gave a dramatic sigh. Here we go.

“It’s a functional bench. With storage. It’s called multi-purpose, Katsuki.”

“Yeah? Looks like a trip hazard to me,” he said, lips twitching at the corners.

You gave him a lazy elbow in the side, just enough pressure to make him grunt but not enough to move him. “You’d survive.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I busted my ass ‘cause of somethin’ you brought into the house,” he said, smirking now, eyes flicking down to the tiny mountain of throw pillows on the floor that had been there since you reorganized the couch again last week. “You and your ‘aesthetic.’”

You finally looked away from your screen, giving him an unimpressed look. That expression—one he knew all too well—is so fucking cute it makes his chest hurt.

“You like the aesthetic when it’s candles and not vanilla-scented ones and have things that are either black or white instead of having color. What’re we trying to have here? A monochrome house?”

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he said, and kissed your cheek again, slower this time. “Just sayin’… you got a way of makin’ this place feel lived in. That’s all.”

That made you pause. You turned your head just slightly, enough to meet his eyes, your features softened, and your smile became a little cheeky. “That’s sweet of you. I knew I had that effect on you.”

He shrugged, embarrassed now, and tried to cover it up by reaching for your tea. “This still warm?”

“Get your own,” you said without bite, holding it out of reach.

He let out a soft huff and leaned into your space more, nose brushing against your jaw. Because if anything, the husband version of Bakugou Katsuki—your husband Bakugou Katsuki—doesn’t have a concept of personal space during mornings.

“You really gonna deny your husband a sip? Really? When I prepared this for you?”

“You’re gonna drink half of it.”

“I will if you keep holdin’ it hostage,” he threatened, and you laughed—an actual, sleepy laugh—and finally let him take the mug. He took a sip, then handed it back with a little grunt of satisfaction. “Uh huh. Made it right today.”

“I make it better.”

“You put too much honey in it sometimes.”

“I like it sweet.”

“I like you sweet,” he said under his breath, then added, “Not your damn tea. That’s a health hazard at some point, dummy.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned over and bumped your forehead against his. He stayed there for a beat, closing his eyes as he let the closeness sink in. Outside, the rain kept falling, and the whole apartment smelled like eggs, toast, and the faint vanilla candle you lit sometime before he got out of bed.

“You gonna eat with me or what?” he murmured against your skin.

“In a bit,” you said again. “You’re warm. And it’s raining. I don’t wanna move yet.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something between a hum and a sigh, and settled in beside you, one arm looping behind your shoulders, the other resting on the blanket over your legs.

“This your excuse to make me feed you like last time?”

You smiled, sleep still tugging at the corners of your lips. “Maybe. That’s what husbands are for, right? Serving their spouses?”

“You’re a pain.”

“And you love me—unless you don’t. Then I’ll have you know I will be taking the washing machine with me; that one’s the most expensive piece of furniture we have.”

Bakugou snorted. “Really?” he says. “But fuckin’ right I do,” he added, voice low and reverent now. “I love you ‘til the sun fucking explodes, and even after.”

...

“That was poetic, hun. You should’ve written that for our vows.”

“... I’m regrettin’ that I forgot.”

You sat in silence for a while; the only sounds were the rain, the occasional tap of your fingernail on the screen, and the soft buzz of the world going on without them. Bakugou didn’t mind the quiet—not with you, at least.

You made it feel full instead of awkward.

Safe.

Eventually, you sighed and leaned into his side, closing the tablet and letting it slip onto the couch cushion beside you. “Okay,” you murmured. “Maybe I’m ready now. Because I don’t like cold eggs.”

He kissed the top of your head. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes half-closed. “But only if you bring it over here. Then we could continue watching that romance drama we forgot to finish because you went to Spain.”

Bakugou huffed, standing up with a stretch. “You’re spoiled.”

“You spoil me.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder as he walked back to the kitchen. “And don’t you forget it.”

He brought over the plates a minute later—eggs, toast, and a little variety of fruits because you liked it when he tried to be ‘balanced.’ He handed you the fork and watched as you thanked him and lazily started to eat, your movements slow, like your brain still hadn’t fully woken up.

He sat back down beside you, one knee brushing against yours under the blanket, and started eating his food, satisfied by the small sounds you made with each bite. It wasn’t fancy. It wasn’t flashy. But it was theirs—yours.

A rainy morning, warm food, the person he loved within arm’s reach—Bakugou couldn’t have asked for anything better.

So yeah, Bakugou might not like the rain, but he likes spending it with you.

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matteglaze · 5 months ago

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Thinking abt Todoroki Shouto, and how he isn't as dense as he comes across...

When reading fanfics Shouto is always oblivious and dense, and yes, I wholeheartedly agree with that—

But i feel like Shouto also does it on purpose, you know? Like, one day you're both talking, and he's just soo up close to your face. 'He probably doesn't realize' you rationalize inside your head, but no, he's definitely aware of the affect he has on you. Your reactions are cute, he thinks, cute in the way he can't seem to stop teasing you.

I think he'd pay extra close attention to people that are close to him, people he holds dear, so whenever you stutter, or your mind goes and blank and you think 'Oh, I hope he didn't notice that—' he does.

I think that's why I like the idea that he's actually a little menance, but the worst part is that he gets away with it !!

Whether it's saying something so humbling and out of depth— something that many would take offense to but think, 'well, he didn't really mean it that way— that's just how he is', NOPE!! he definitely meant it that way, but not clarifying anything saves him the trouble so why should he care yk...

Though, he mostly (all the time really) does it with you. Getting up in your personal space, saying things like "When we're on a mission together, I feel like I can handle anything as long as you're the one by my side"— and it flusters you sooo badly, but no, this is Shouto we're talking about, clearly he didn't mean it like that, right? Right? (And the entire time, he's trying to bite down a Cheshire grin)

So, yes, in the earlier years of being a hero he wasn't really great at communication and unaware of social cues— but now, he's practically evil with the way he acts around you.

Sometimes you think you see it; you're going to call him out on his behavior. There's no way he didn't know what he was doing when he held your face in his hands on a hot summer day, pulling you close and saying, "Is this cooling you down?" (No, actually, this was just heating you up)

But whenever you do call him out on it—

"You know, you're not that slick." You say one day, ice cream cone in hand as you walk next to him, bumping him with your hip. Your eyes slide over towards his mismatched ones, gauging his reaction closely. If you were anyone else you would have probably missed the slight quirk of his lip; the uplift of his brows. But you don't, and the grin on your face overtakes most of your features. Maybe today will be the day he finally admits it. Instead he doesn't speak, takes one lick of his mint chocolate ice cream and then he turns to you, a silent question appearing on his face. A taunt.

You let out a humourless breath, cone tight in your hand as you point it in his direction. Accusing him of something both of you know you won't be able to prove, but he knows you know, and you know he knows you know. But, it'd be really great if he could just admit it, because it's almost like a game.

A game between just the two of you.

"Don't try and act blonde now!" You chide, biting on your bottom lip to control the smile that tries to force it's way on your face.

Shouto smiles at your antics, leaning in close to you, and all of a sudden he completely invades your senses. The smell of mint on his lips is so close, and yet so far. He stares deeply into your eyes, and just as you thought you were getting closer to the truth— he brings his thumb up to wipe absent mindlessly at the corner of your mouth. He pulls back, looks you in the eyes, and takes a tentative lick at the frosty flavour on his thumb. With a cat-like tilt to his head, he says, "I'm not blonde?"

But, the worst part is whenever he speaks about you to others, he speaks so fondly of you; like one would do about their partner— but you guys aren't together. Sometimes he does it right in front of your face whenever you guys are at a hero gala. Shouto sees you talking to a new and upcoming, young, pro-hero and he immediately comes to your side. With how close he is, and with the things he says to them, "I can never imagine myself without them by my side." It gives people the idea that you're both, you know, a thing.

Little do you know, he's been playing this 'game' ever since high school, and even though the two of you aren't exclusive— it doesn't mean he can't get in his fun.

Todoroki Shouto is not good for your health.

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sluturu · 4 months ago

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hi there! this is my first smut request, and I like your writing, so could you pls you put me down as 🎀 anon??

so as of lateeeee, dom!Nanami talking absolute filth to his girls pussy while he eats her out has made my head spin for the last couple of days…

would you please indulge me?!

nanami talking dirty while eating you out

cw. oral (f. receiving), cunnilingus, teasing dom!nanamin — MINORS DNI 18+

note. hiiii ofc, hello 🎀 nonnie ♡ i hope this satisfies you! i don’t takes requests, but i really liked the idea of this bc o_o that’s so hot, so here we are. (not proofread & it’s really short, sorry!)

“shhhh, sweetheart,” he whispers, breath fanning against your overstimulated heat. “how can i hear what your pretty lil cunt has to say when you’re being so loud?”

you whine despite his soft command. you crave the feeling of his lips, his vicious tongue, yet he deprives you, almost like he wants you to beg for it.

“ken, pl-please–” you cry, feeling his stare and the tickle of his pants. “fuck, please.”

“hmm? you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles, fingers coming to toy with your swollen pearl. “tell me, my love, what is it you’re begging for?”

he rubs at your clit with such gentle intensity, as if he knows exactly how to drive you crazy. “need you,” you reply, weakly.

he just laughs, dragging his fingers through your sticky, sodden folds. “so fucking filthy,” he says, staring at the webs of arousal the connect you to him. normally, the undivided attention would make you cringe and attempt to hide yourself, but it’s nanami. the heat from his gaze does nothing but soak you further. “making such a mess, sweetheart…”

you silently scream as he plunges two fingers into you, curling them immediately. “this is what this pussy needed, huh? just needed some filling?”

it’s not enough, you fear you could never, ever get enough of the loving man between your thighs. you don’t want to be greedy, but you just can’t help it.

“your… your mouth… please. need your mouth, too.”

he smiles, “my spoiled girl,” he says before wrapping his lips around your clit, moaning at the taste. “tastes soo good, my love,” his words muffled against you, vibrating you to your core.

you tangle your fingers into his hair, rocking yourself against his face in attempts to get more. it’s futile, though. he never fails to remind you that he’s in control here, so when you try to get more, he just slows his fingers down and pulls his face away from you.

“silly girl, you should know better than that.” he caresses your thigh with his free hand. “‘m starting to think you’re letting your pussy do all the thinking, honey. have you turned off the brain in that pretty little head?”

you nod, dumbly, blinded by feral need. you tug loosely at the blond strands and pray he lets you off the hook this one time. you hope he can see you’ve never wanted anything more than his addictive mouth and thick fingers. though he just might see it as you being an attention starved slut, but you don’t really care much.

“ken, give it to me. please, i need you.” you say in a half pant, half sob, arching your back off the plush bed. “‘m sorry, please.”

he’s not sure what you have to apologize for; but he finds it strangely endearing that you would say anything for him to get you off.

and you love the man before you because he’s never denied you. yes, he’s made you work for it, but at the end of the day, nanami kento would do anything for his pretty, dearest wife.

but nanami can have a bit of a foul mouth when it comes to you and your pretty cunt.

“so fuckin’ sloppy,” he mutters while diving into your heat. his fingers resume their previous pace, quick in precise. “c’mon, tell kento how it feels, sweetheart.”

his words are muffled, but you hear him loud and clear. you moan out his name and tug at his roots, thanking him profusely.

he curls his fingers into your spongy g-spot, mouth wrapped tightly around your clit like a suction cup. his tongue flicks so skillfully like eating you out is what he was born to do. it makes your skin glisten with sweat, your head spin and it makes that all too familiar knot form in the pit of your stomach.

he spews countless stifled praises and comments about how nasty you are for him all the way until he has you hurtling towards your orgasm. your sobbing when that white hot pleasure courses through you and has your entire body going taut. he rides you out, finger fucking and licking you till you’re writhing and attempting to close your thighs around his head.

“k-kento–” you cry when he uses both of his hands to pin your legs wide open.

“such a dirty girl, look at the mess you made,” he says while coming up for air, face drenched with your sheen. “guess ‘m gonna have to keep going till you’re all clean, hmm?”

#kit writes #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #🎀 anon

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aomiiine · 3 months ago

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I just read your works and god you write Caleb so well😫 So..with all due respect,my head is filled with Caleb doing..hole inspection after a frat party because duhhh

It’s a crime that I responded to this so soo late but I come w a peace offering ☝🏼AND thank you so much for loving the way I write Caleb!! it means a lot w how reluctant I am to write ab him nowadays 🫶🏼 🫶🏼 newayyss, here’s my long awaited 2 cents on fratboy!caleb <3

frat boy! caleb, pussy inspection?, jealous caleb, banter, sweaty, messy & uncoordinated pussy fingering in the car🧍🏻‍♀️ ‘pip-squeak’ once!!! wc. 733 turned out longer than expected but that’s okay :’)

A frat party.

Nothing special. Just same old loud music and even louder people. Caleb had no idea why you insisted on going to one of these parties with him. Sure, he came here often, but only because he was practically lured out to it by his mates who covered it up as an ‘emergency’.

so now, Caleb’s forced to watch you socialise around with these vultures. As much as he wanted to snatch every drink you gulped, he knew better than you restrain you of your own fun—and suffer being accused to be a hypocrite by you later.

Minutes passed and yet he stood as still as a rock at one of the many corners of the room, arms crossed and jaw clenched tight. His eyes were sharp and intent on staring at you from afar, holding a conversation with a few other guys. Socialising. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Except, it was the type of ‘socialising’ he loathed to see you doing—dating or not.

and when the heat burned too hot, his jealousy spilled from it’s pot—overflowing.

“Getting with someone else right in front of me, huh? Not bad, pip-squeak,” Caleb spat, uttering the ever-so-endearing name he used for you in such a condescending manner that it made you shiver.

His wandering hands between your collided bodies in the cramp space of his car only made it harder for you to protest, every word dying in your throat and changed to a pathetic mewl or moan that just spurred him on his possessive streak.

“I barely knew the damn guy, Caleb,” you whined, hand held on his shoulder drifting down to his firm bicep in the dark of the vehicle. His big hands mauling on your thighs made you squirm further, frustration at his control over your body that refrained you from shifting on his lap in the position you wanted.

“Oh and he definitely wants to get to know you though. You and dirty panties,” he retorted with a humourless scoff, curling his fingers beneath your crotch to cup your sex, insistently delving past the thin fabric of the damp panties you wore. Your brows furrow at the slightest show of a smirk on his lips, knowing he could feel your arousal seep through and smear the pads of his digits already.

“Don’t say a fucking thing,” you warned, tightening your grip on his muscular upper arm, nails burying crescent-shaped indents on his skin.

“What? Like you’re gonna do shit to stop me with that drooling cunt,” Calen refuted, hooded eyes looking down at you, finding your threat as feeble as a kitten’s hiss.

Before you could open your mouth to return his wit with your own, he decided slide your panties to the side, a finger finding your slit with ease before sinking it deep within your depth without warning. A second finger followed suit, stroking your fluttering walls immediately after entering.

The sudden invasion made your breath hitch, lips parting open in a silent moan then crying out his name in a whine that sounded little like complaint. Your thighs seized, muscles flexing and quivering in an effort to stay kneeling on the carseat over one of his thighs.

caleb’s fingers were relentless, plunging in and out of your warm channel languidly. His movements were effortless, but so damn effective still. And as if he hadn’t caught you by surprise enough, his thumb snuck near between your parted folds, finding your clit and adding just enough pressure on the sensitive bud to make you get louder, uncoordinated, needy like he wants you to be.

“Don’t be tease—fuck me proper,” you mumbled between pants, eyes narrowing at the careless way his fingers were moving inside your wet pussy, eager to suck him further inside to the spongy spot that he could’ve reached so easily if he weren’t so damn sloppy.

“Nah, I’ll do that later.. Need to make myself sure this pussy belongs to me first.” Caleb’s reply only annoyed you further, leaning in to him and grinding your hips in vain to plea for his mercy. But he remained firm, spreading your pussy open until you hissed at the burn of the stretch, his thumb circling and flicking on your swollen clit repeatedly.

When recalling his words, you realised he truly was serious with inspecting your depths all over again. Just to assure himself—and you especially.

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amandabbbbb · 11 months ago

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summary: after the scene where ward drops rafe at barry’s and tells him to not come home but barry’s sister pogue!reader tries to comfort him even though rafe is soo mean to her like woah but it’s a happy ending

tw: mention of drugs, idk rafe cries a lot, parental issues, rafe calls reader kid and bitch once

word count: 762

“don’t come home, son,” ward says, his voice cold and final, as he walks away from his only son.

“where do you want me to go?”

“dad! dad!” rafe’s desperate calls echo into the night, but ward doesn’t look back, leaving rafe alone in the darkness in front of barry’s and your house.

“hey, barry, open the fuckin door! i know you got the coke, dude, come on. please just open up!” he’s begging on the verge of tears. “barry, if you don’t open this god damn door, i’ll fucking smash it down myself. i need coke, man!”

you slowly open the door, and before he even sees you, rafe shoves his way inside, causing you to stumble back slightly. he collapses onto the couch, his movements frantic and erratic. “barry, what took you so long? christ, give me your best coke. i need that shit now, dude” he demands, his voice thick with barely-contained emotion. when he finally looks up and sees you instead of barry, he quickly swipes at the tears streaming down his face, trying to hide his vulnerability.

“oh, hi, rafe! sorry, i had my headphones on. wanna listen? oh my god, are you crying?” you ask, your voice laced with genuine concern.

“no, jesus fuck, y/n, where’s your brother?”

“oh, um, i think he’s down by the shipyards doing a deal. sorry, rafey,” you say, offering a gentle smile.

rafe pulls himself up quickly, furiously searching for the drugs he so desperately craves. “where’s his coke? i know you know where he keeps it. go find it. don’t just stand there helplessly. you’re so goddamn stupid! fuck!”

“why are you being mean to me? you’re never mean to me… i don’t know where barry keeps the coke, rafe.”

he yells at the top of his lungs, “it’s like you have no fuckin brain. you’re just a useless dumb blonde.” (sorry i’m blonde)

the harsh words cut through you, and you can’t bear his anger. you turn and flee to your room, tears pricking your waterline, blurring your vision as you go.

your whole teenage years, you knew rafe as your older brother’s richest client, who he secretly would rip off. but as the years went by, he started buying barry’s more hardcore drugs, not just weed. you got to know rafe more as barry’s regular client. he would constantly stick around, always flirting with you and bringing you gifts when barry wasn’t looking.

“y/n, don’t shut me out. don’t be a bitch, come on, open the door. i need the coke. you don’t understand, help me here, okay,” he pleads.

you’re scared. you’ve never seen him like this; he’s always treated you like a princess. you yell as he bangs at your thin bedroom door, pushing the wood so hard it starts to crack. “go home, rafe!” your voice shaky and filled with fear.

the banging stops suddenly, your words echoing in the sudden silence. the quiet stretches on, each second feeling like an eternity. cautiously, you peek out of your bedroom door thinking maybe he finally listened to your advice. “rafe, you there?” you call out.

he’s sitting on your couch, tears running down his face, hyperventilating. “i can’t go home. i’m a liar, an addict, a thief, and i can’t be trusted, so my dad said he can’t have me in his house. i have nowhere to go.”

you slowly approach the couch where rafe sits, his face hidden in his hands. his body is shaking, and the room is filled with the sound of his ragged breaths. “rafe…” you say softly, your voice trembling as you try to offer some comfort. “you, um, can stay here tonight.”

he looks up at you, his eyes red and desperate, filled with a depth of pain you’ve never seen in him before. “i don’t deserve you, kid. fuck, i’m so sorry. i never wanted you to see me like this. i thought i had everything under control, but now you probably hate me or some shit…”

you sit beside him, offering a soft, reassuring smile. you put your hand in his. “it’s okay rafey. i could never hate you. we all have moments when shit falls apart. it doesn’t change how i see you. you’re tired. i’ll set up the couch for you.”

rafe’s eyes search yours, a flicker of regret softening his expression. “i didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he says, his voice low and raw. “i just… i don’t want to be alone. y’know, on the couch. not tonight.” the words hang in the air, heavy with his unspoken need to hold you tonight.

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thekinslayed · 4 months ago

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Come and Play

pairing | modern!aemond targaryen x gf!reader

tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! oral (m), dry humping (?), foot humping rly lol, gamer bf!aem, slight dom/sub dynamic, bratty reader

wordcount | 1.4k

note | WE'RE SOO BACK! big thank you to my love @silcoangel for this idea!! she said gray sweatpants gamer aemond and i got to work 🫡 not my best bc i'm a little very rusty but i'm soo happy to be putting this out for u guys. consider this my v day gift <3

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“They’re right behind the corner, Aeg— Yeah, I see ‘em.”

Your eyes are starting to burn the longer you stare at the bright purple lights that tint the room. Though the dizzy haze of cigarette smoke in the air might have something to do with it too. You’re cold, exposed legs prickling from the near frigid air Aemond always prefers, but something within you burned red hot. Pulsing and creeping its way, both to your head and somewhere down south.

You huff. Bored and forsaken by your boyfriend for whatever combat game he’s been into. Brows furrowing and orbs starting to burn holes into the back of his gaming chair. His throne, if you will, and his controller his mighty sword. He’s starting to yell into his bulky gamer’s headset, some colorful words thrown to his brother on the other end. Aemond’s always been intense, especially when it comes to winning.

His navy sheets, usually so pristine, turn mussed and crumpled up the longer you toss around in his bed. They smell like him, and so did his shirt you put on. He smells like pine, of the greenest earth in the deep forest, though tinged by tobacco and musk. It was utterly heavenly. So addicting, and so Aemond. You can’t stop pressing your nose into the fabric every so often to find him.

You miss him right now.

Your patience is dwindling, and on a better day, maybe you would have waited it out for longer. But you want him now. You swing your legs to stand, padding barefoot over to stand behind his chair. Cold fingertips trail along the line of his shoulder, reminding him of what he’s forgotten. He pays you no mind, the furious clicking of his controller unceasing and his hypnotized trance unyielding. Yet you persist, hands caressing his bare chest, nudging your nose into the crook of his neck.

“Aem,” you sigh, breathing in the scent of his skin. Always smells so good. “You said only an hour.”

“Hold on— Aegon, are you fucking blind or stupid? He was right behind you!” He’s loud against your ear, and you can hear his brother equally booming through his headphones. You sigh again, annoyance ticking deep in your chest with being ignored. Yet you were anything if not persistent. You like having your treat as soon as the inkling of a craving starts to tickle your tongue. If the incessant grumbling and quick tapping are anything to go by, their game isn’t going well. Maybe Aemond will get tired by the end, and you’ll have him all to yourself again. You know you will.

You warm your hands down the heated flesh of his abdomen, growing bolder with each caress. Your nails trace the line down his abs, and when your fingertips finally dip into the waistband of his sweats, Aemond starts to break out of his video game-addled trance.

“Stop,” he hisses, grabbing your hand in a tight grip. His larger palm pulls you away, before returning to his controller like a magnet. It should offend, really, but it only sharpens your aim.

You peek at the monitor, some first-person shooter game that makes you dizzy with the twists and turns, but then you spot the timer in the corner. Only a minute left, perfect. You decide to play nice, simply settling your hands over the ridged plane of his stomach, hugging the smooth leather of his chair as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck. Slowly, your fingertips start to trace the bumps of his muscled abdomen, drawing some small circles. You follow the path of his happy trail, feeling the fine hairs under your touch as you descend lower, and lower. And then he sighs, exhaling deep. He’s stopped talking now, but the cinch in his brow tells you he isn’t very pleased— with the game, or with you; it hardly matters.

Time runs out, and the screen flashes red as they lose the game. “Fuck,” Aemond grumbles, throwing the controller onto his desk and running a hand down his face in exasperation. You preen at his weariness.

“Aw, too bad, babe,” you pout, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly before stepping into his eyesight with a giddy look. “Come to bed?”

He considers you for a moment, eyes draping down your form. Nipples poking through his old college shirt, bare legs prickled in the chilly temperature, thighs subtly starting to rub against each other. Aemond meets your gaze, and for a moment, you can see your victory in his icy blues. Then they shift.

“Yeah, I can go for one more,” he says to Aegon, smirking as he leans back into his chair. You catch his abdomen clench, the shape of his cock outlined by the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants, taunting. Like dangling a treat in a dog’s face. The quick clicking on his controller resumes, and your boyfriend’s focus is sucked back into his game once more.

“Are you fucking serious?” you glower.

“Let me win this last one, yeah?” he grins. His palm, warm against your skin, softly pushes your thigh. “Can’t see, love, go back to bed.”

You grow hot, brows furrowing in disbelief. Aegon must be saying something about you, with the way Aemond snickers and his eyes flicker back to you with a lopsided smirk.

All a game to him. And just like Aemond, you never like to lose.

You kneel before him, fitting perfectly in the space beneath his desk. His eyes flicker to you in confusion, before speaking into his headset again. Your hands run up the length of his thighs, tracing his dick with your fingertip. It twitches under your touch, and you smirk. You’re quick to grab the waistband of Aemond’s sweats, pulling out his half-hard length before he can protest. You can feel him sparing glances.

You gather spit, dribbling it onto his cockhead, warm and hefty in your hold. It lubricates your hand as you begin to stroke him up and down. It doesn’t take long for him to harden, growing in size once you begin to take his tip into your mouth, and Aemond grunts. You peek at him through your lashes, watching his nostrils flare as he tries to keep a grasp on his composure.

Your work is quick, head bobbing along the length of him and hand stroking what your mouth can’t take. The other cups his stones, massaging and softly squeezing. You start to hear his breath. “Shit,” you hear him grumble under his breath. Trim hips start to subtly cant towards your face, his defense slowly crumbling with your tongue swirling on his mushroomed tip. The clicking slows, and you think you can hear Aegon yelling at him in his ear.

Soon enough, a loud thud above your head startles you, then another. His expensive gear is tossed with little care before he grips your hair. Aemond begins to thrust into you in earnest, fucking your mouth like his own little toy. “Fucking slut,” he hissed. “Is this what you wanted? Couldn’t even wait ‘til I finish the fucking game.”

His movements are harsher, assaulting the back of your throat. Aemond grips your hair tight, moving your head back and forth to his liking. The throbbing in your core grows unbearable, your panties warm and damp in need. He shifts in his seat, foot perfectly moving just right by the pulsing in between your thighs. You press your clothed cunt into his shoe, steadying yourself by gripping onto his calf for support.

You hump his foot, moving your hips in tandem with his thrusts. A dark chuckle leaves Aemond’s lips at the sight of you, looking down with a sneer. “I thought I fucked you enough, yet you still act like some pathetic, desperate whore,” he says, pressing his foot harder into your pussy. You whimper, gripping his leg tight as you grind your clit onto his foot. He gives you no reprieve, thrusts unrelenting until his hips start to falter. Soon enough, your boyfriend is pulling you off his cock and gripping your chin tight. He furiously strokes his cock, and his foot twists side to side to drive you into further stimulation. It manages to snag your clit just right, and you’re cumming, your mouth falling open as you soak your panties. Aemond follows soon after, gripping your cheeks to keep your mouth wide, and he’s spurting thick, hot seed onto your tongue with a curse falling from his lips. He watches you swallow all that he gives you, looking down from the tip of his nose. Spit smeared to your cheeks, eyes tear-stained and red. You’re perfect.

“Did I win?” you whisper.

"No, I did," he counters.

"Made you cave in, didn't I?"

Your boyfriend smirks, before pulling you up by the elbow to sit on his lap. He sits you with your back to his chest, thick fingers sneaking past the hem of your panties and finding the mess between your thighs.

“Why don’t we go best out of two?”

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #modern aemond

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globaloppaaa · 5 months ago

Note

how do we feel about boynextdoor having cuteness aggression :ppp

oh i KNOW they’re hiding it fr. thank you so much for requesting! i love little chats with my anons :))

warnings: none i believe!

leehan really does try to keep it undercover, and i think he does the best job at it? he can be really calm in most public situations, but when you two are alone? ohhh that’s a whole different challenge, because now he has you all to himself. he’ll slowly start to break, giving you quick, snarky remarks so that hopefully you won’t notice the blush creeping up on his face. but if you place his face in your palms and straight up ask him what’s wrong, he’s a stuttering mess.

“you’re always puffing your cheeks like that y/n, do you only get like this for me?”

(he’s silently combusting inside.)

jaehyun is not your strongest soldier. anywhere and anytime he is with you he just erupts into this fit of coo’s and pouts. he really can’t control it. try walking past him and watch the way his eyes widen as they linger on you, then his fingers start to tremor, then he’s pursing his lips trying to keep in how cute you look wearing his clothes… before you can even ask why his head looks like it’s about to explode, there he goes!

“oh my god look at you. how could you do this to me??”

“im wearing your shirt? didnt you ask me to-”

“i can’t take it anymore!”

sungho is another one who tries veryyy hard to keep his cool. he’s actually super sensitive about his and your feelings, which makes him attentive to your every move, but he feels so embarrassed ogling at you 24/7, so he mainly tries to find any kind of distraction to keep himself off of you. It’s hardest for him to keep it in when he hasn’t seen you in a while though, he’ll do his best but trust his hugs will be tighter and his kisses just a bit more feverish.

he scoops you into his arms, entangling you in such a strong embrace that you find it hard to exhale when he finally lets you go.

“sungie did you miss me that much?”

“you have no idea.”

taesan is gonna try to be soo nonchalant about it, but his inner romantic is screaming and clawing at his skin. forget him maintaining his dignity during any kind of conflict with you. the way your eyebrows furrow, and how you pout your lip for only him to see, oh and if you put your hands on your hips? hes a goner. can’t even remember what the initial argument was for because now he’s enamored. absolutely has to squish your cheek or squeeze you physically to get the frustration out.

“baby, you can’t keep doing this to me.”

“doing what?”

“there you go again, i said stop it!”

riwoo is like, totally natural about it? i feel like cute things are just a regular part of his daily life, and he’s always appreciated those softer, cuter moments with you. rather than getting aggressive he just basks in the cuteness with you. is NOT afraid to tell you you’re cute, because how could he try to lie? when riwoo sees something cute he just HAS to have it. though he does say it so often that you have to question what exactly is so cute to him, do you ever get an answer? nope.

“aww look at you!”

“riwoo baby you’re doing it again.”

“i can’t help it, look at you!”

woonhak is like, the worst person to keep collected about this. he gets overly expressive and dramatic when he’s talking to anyone, so when he’s talking to you up close and your big doe eyes have his full attention, it’s 10x worse. as soon as the rage hits he’s already making a fool of himself. He’s fighting it so hard in hopes it’ll help the agression subside, but he doesn’t realize he’s practically yelling over his own thoughts and laughing ridiculously to try and cover the thumps of his heartbeat.

“woonhak is everything ok?”

“YEAH YEAH ITS SO GOOD, YOU JUST LOOK SO GREAT TODAY. IS IT HOT IN HERE OR IS IT JUST ME-“

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sweettu1ips · 4 months ago

Text

PAIGE BUECKERS x SINGER!FEM READER

SYNOPSIS: "The push and pull had always been intoxicating, a slow burn of control and surrender. But tonight, the rules shift—an unspoken goodbye lingering in the space where lips almost met."

WARNING(S): (18+) toxic relationship ⋮ situationship ⋮ hook-up buddies ⋮ fuck buddies ⋮ kissing ⋮ not exactly a happy ending, but if you like that reader got her lick back, then yes consider this a happy ending... ⋮ flashbacks to intimacy ⋮ not really sure what else I'm missing soo...

WORD COUNT: 6.7K

| MAIN MASTER LIST ⋮ VELVET TRACES [P2] |

THE THING ABOUT PAIGE BUECKERS is that she doesn’t do attachment. Not in the way that matters. Not in the way I wanted.

She’s like a storm that never settles, all presence and pressure, rolling in heavy and hot before vanishing like she was never there at all. A name whispered in locker rooms, an echo in arenas, a breath against my neck in the dead of night. She loves like a shadow—only seen when the lights are dim, only felt in fleeting touches that never sink past the surface.

I should’ve known better.

But how could I, when Paige is all adrenaline and honeyed words, wrapped up in a body that moves like poetry, lips that turn even the most fleeting moments into something that sears? She’s a habit, a high, a hands-on-my-hips, teeth-against-my-skin kind of addiction that I can’t shake, no matter how many times I swear I will.

We started as nothing. Just a few run-ins at events, a reckless decision after too much tequila and neon lights bleeding into the early morning.

Me, fresh off a sold-out tour, my name looping through radio stations like an anthem, still buzzing from the stage, from the energy, from the world’s obsession with me.

Paige, the golden girl of the court, drowning in expectations but never once missing a shot. Our first time was impulsive, a collision of egos and sweat, hands grasping, mouths hungry, neither of us looking for anything more than the rush of it all.

And then it happened again. And again. Until suddenly, I had the code to Paige’s apartment, and she had a habit of pulling me into dark corners whenever our paths crossed.

It was easy. Until it wasn’t.

Because while Paige only ever wanted hands tangled in sheets and a body pressed to hers, I wanted something deeper. Something beyond the four walls of a dimly lit bedroom, beyond the stolen kisses and murmured goodbyes before dawn broke.

I wanted late-night conversations that didn’t end in tangled limbs. I wanted mornings where Paige didn’t slip away before the sun rose. I wanted to be something more than just a fleeting thrill, more than just a name she moaned into the dark before locking the door behind her.

But Paige?

She wanted nothing more than the sensation, the moment, the rush.

And I don’t know how much longer I can pretend that’s enough.

That’s how I found myself in the studio late at night, the soft hum of the city’s distant chatter filtering through the windows.

The overhead lights cast a warm glow, the dim shadows stretching like the quiet ache in my chest. The walls around me, lined with instruments and sound equipment, felt both comforting and isolating at the same time, as though they had absorbed every secret I had whispered into the microphone over the years.

Two days had passed since I had last sent a message to Paige, the blue text bubble sitting unanswered on my phone.

My thumb hovered over the screen, pausing just before tapping it to send another message—my emotions like a tangled wire, too complicated to be untangled with a few simple words.

Every minute that passed without a reply felt like a bruise on my heart, a dull throb that seemed to sink deeper with each second.

The night was mine now, a time to drown out the ache, to lose myself in music. I sat at the keyboard, fingers brushing lightly against the keys, a note breaking the silence in the room.

My mind wandered as the melody spilled from the ivory, filling the space between the notes. My thoughts slipped into the lyrics that had been playing on repeat in my mind— Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

A small sigh escaped my lips, and I exhaled slowly, almost like I was trying to let go of the tension held within my lungs. My hands hovered above the piano once more, the next note suspended in the air, waiting for something, anything to push it into reality.

I could feel the weight of the question—a question that had stayed in my mind since the moment Paige and I had begun drifting, a question I didn’t have the courage to ask aloud.

Would Paige hear me? Would she understand me more if I approached things differently? Would the vulnerability, the quiet intimacy of whispering, make her more present in our connection? Would it make her feel wanted, or would it push her further away?

I bit down on my lip, the sudden wave of emotion flooding my chest. The lyrics replayed in my mind, Would you hear me more if I touch you right here?

I didn’t mean to think about it like this, didn’t mean to feel the heat of the words burning in my veins, but the song had a way of weaving itself into my very skin, sinking under my bones.

The “right here” was never a place—it was an act, an invitation, a vulnerable plea for attention, for connection. I could picture it: my fingertips barely grazing Paige’s skin, the tremor in my touch betraying the uncertainty in my heart.

The thought of making that kind of contact—so close, so intimate—was both electrifying and terrifying.

I slowly stood, the music still playing in my mind, as my hand reached for the microphone stand. The cool metal against my palm felt oddly grounding. The intensity of my emotions surged, threatening to spill over like an ocean crashing against the shore.

I couldn’t stop it. I leaned into the microphone, my breath steadying, and whispered softly, “Ah, ah.” It was just a sound, a simple exhale into the space around me, but in that moment, it felt like I had said everything I needed to.

The vulnerability of the sound echoed, filling the room. A sensation of wanting, of longing, crept up my spine.

I moved to the center of the room, the dim light casting shadows across the floor, and closed my eyes, my body swaying with the rhythm in my chest. My hands floated just above my skin, as if reaching for something that was just out of reach.

Would it be enough if I reached out and touched someone, poured my desires into every delicate movement? Would it be enough if I brushed my lips against their skin, against their thoughts, the weight of every unspoken word shared in the air between us? The question lingered, as heavy as the silence that hung in the room.

I exhaled slowly again, this time with more certainty, as if releasing the tension that had built up between Paige and me, between myself and the world around me.

I wasn’t sure if this would be enough—if this small act of touching, of whispering, would ever be enough to bridge the gap of distance that had formed between us.

But there was something about the act of letting go, of offering myself in the quietest way, that made it feel like I could be heard. Even if it was only by myself.

My fingers brushed the strings of the guitar by my side, the soft strum of the chord filling the space with its melancholic sound.

It was almost as if the act of playing the song was a silent plea—a desire to be understood, to be touched not just physically, but emotionally, in ways that words couldn’t express.

My heart raced, the lyrics flowing through me as if they were written just for me. Would you hear me more?

I paused, letting the silence settle in. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hear the answer. But in this moment, in the stillness of the room, I let myself be vulnerable, letting the music carry my thoughts into the night.

I snapped out of the haze, the weight of the emotions that had overwhelmed me suddenly lifting, replaced by a sharp, determined clarity.

My heart, still thudding in my chest, quieted as I reached for my phone on the corner of the desk, the cold screen feeling almost foreign against my palm.

My fingers fumbled for a moment, as if they were still tangled in the last few lingering chords of the song that had played over and over in my mind, but soon found their place.

The familiar touch of the phone felt grounding, like a lifeline pulling me back to reality.

I pressed the call button, the sound of it ringing filling the silence, each ring seeming to echo my anticipation, my nervousness, my need for something—anything— to move forward.

It was as if I was trying to shake off the last remnants of the vulnerability I had just laid bare. I couldn’t stay here, lost in my head any longer.

When the line finally clicked, the voice on the other end greeted me with that familiar, steady calm, “Hey, it’s me.”

I exhaled sharply, as if releasing all the tension I hadn’t known I was holding in. “How fast can you get to the studio?” The words came out faster than I had intended, but they carried an edge—urgent, a little desperate. My voice shook, just barely, the slight crack betraying the layers beneath the surface.

I could hear the slight rustle of movement through the phone, as if my producer was shifting his position, maybe setting his coffee cup down, or running a hand through his hair.

It didn’t matter. I could feel the moment stretching between us, filling the space with an electric charge. I wasn’t even sure if I was asking for help, for direction, or for something else entirely, but the need was undeniable.

My hand, still gripping the phone, tightened around it as I gazed out the studio window, my eyes scanning the night outside. The city’s lights twinkled in the distance, just a blur of movement that felt so far away, so detached from the chaos inside me.

I was still on edge, still haunted by the unresolved feeling that had settled in my chest like a heavy weight. Paige. The distance between us. The things left unsaid. The longing that pressed against my ribs, urging me to do something, to make a choice.

But in this moment, I needed to focus. I had to focus. I wasn’t ready to dive back into my thoughts about her, about us. Not now.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. “I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I need to get this out,” I admitted, my voice a little softer now. The honesty slipped through, unintended but there all the same.

My eyes shifted over the studio, taking in the dim lights, the instruments scattered around like pieces of a puzzle I wasn’t sure how to solve. The walls that had once felt so comforting now seemed like they were closing in on me, the air thicker with the weight of my feelings.

The producer’s voice came through again, low and calm, but with an undercurrent of reassurance. “I’ll be there in 20.”

I nodded instinctively, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. A sigh of relief escaped me, and I finally let my shoulders drop, feeling the tension melt away, bit by bit. It wasn’t over, I knew that.

The song I was trying to create, the emotions I was trying to channel, the unresolved ache that lingered—it was all still there, pressing at the edges of my mind. But I had made the decision. I was going to push forward, try to create something, anything, to move past the confusion and the frustration.

As I hung up, the weight of the room felt just a little lighter. I wasn’t completely sure where I was heading with the song, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing I knew for certain was that I had to keep moving, keep creating. Maybe in the music, I would find the answers. Or maybe, just maybe, the answers would find me.

𖥔 A WEEK LATER 𖥔

The air was thick with anticipation, the bass from the speakers humming through my body like a second heartbeat. Backstage, I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the strap of my top—minimal, yet enough.

The dim glow of the vanity lights flickered against my skin, casting shadows that felt almost poetic. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, but not in a suffocating way. It was exhilarating. Electric. Like standing at the edge of a storm, just waiting for the thunder to crash.

For the last week, I had poured myself into two songs. Every lyric, every melody had come faster than ever, flowing through me like something inevitable. Like I was supposed to write them.

Like they had been waiting for me to put them into words. I hadn’t released them yet, holding onto them for this moment—this night—when I could perform them live for the first time. A choice that was far from accidental.

I ran a hand through my hair, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. It had been almost a week since I had last spoken to Paige. Since she walked away. Since I stood there, silent, replaying every word, every sharp edge of our argument, over and over.

"You act like this is more than what it is," she had said, her voice edged with something I couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe. Or indifference. "But it’s not. We’re not. You know that."

I remembered the way she had looked at me, the way something flickered across her face just before she turned and walked away. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew her words would stick to me, get under my skin, wrap around my ribs and refuse to let go.

I clenched my jaw, blinking away the memory as I exhaled sharply.

The arena was dark, thick with anticipation. A low, pulsing hum vibrated through the air, rattling through the floor beneath my feet. The crowd was already screaming, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of excitement, but they hadn’t seen me yet.

Not yet.

A single spotlight flickered on, illuminating nothing but the stage floor. The massive LED screen behind it came alive with static, glitching shapes and distorted visuals flashing in time with the deep bass that rumbled through the venue like a heartbeat. The sound of distant sirens echoed—warped, haunting, looping. A breathy, distorted voice whispered my name, stretched and layered over itself until it sounded surreal, hypnotic.

This—this performance—was my way of getting the last word in.

Maybe Paige would see it as an eye-opener. Maybe she’d see it as an attempt to get under her skin. Truthfully? I couldn’t give a single fuck.

What mattered was the music. The stage. The way the lights would hit just right, the way the crowd would scream the lyrics back to me, their voices colliding with mine in a way that felt almost sacred.

And the fact that I looked good. No—better than good. The deep purple lace hugged my frame just right, the dark fabric catching the glow of the stage lights in flashes as I moved.

A crew member signaled that it was time, and my pulse quickened, the air around me shifting. The venue was packed—thousands of bodies pressed together, waiting, the energy buzzing like static in the air. And right at the heart of it all—Madison Square Garden. The place where it all started. Where we started.

The music built slowly, a heartbeat turning into a racing pulse, synths creeping in like something alive. The fog machines hissed, rolling thick waves of smoke across the stage, swallowing the floor in shadows. And then—just for a second—total silence.

The arena went pitch black.

Suddenly..

The bass dropped. A blinding flash of white light strobed through the venue in sync with the first beat, illuminating me for the first time, standing center stage. Head down. Eyes closed. The breath of the moment curling in my lungs.

The screen behind me glitched again—flashes of old, grainy footage, a mix of blurred city lights, broken reflections in puddles, flashes of hands, lips, fleeting touches. Her silhouette. The past bleeding into the present.

A deep, sultry voice—mine, but distorted—spoke over the mic, just two words:

"You watching?"

And then—violins.

Soft at first, delicate, but haunting. They floated through the venue like a slow drip of honey, smooth, entrancing, weaving their way through the charged air. The LED screens behind me shifted—deep purple and black, slow-motion imagery of silk slipping off bare skin, fingers ghosting over lace.

The first beat crept in underneath, a subtle pulse beneath the strings.

Then the drums hit, and the violins swelled, twisting into something richer, more dangerous.

The lights flickered, shifting to deep reds and violets as the beat intensified, climbing into something sultry, hypnotic. The bass curled through the melody like smoke, smooth but intoxicating, pulling the entire track into the kind of rhythm that demanded to be felt.

I let the moment stretch just long enough—let the tension coil, let the crowd feel the buildup in their chests, waiting, craving.

And then, just as the beat fully dropped, I moved.

Hips swaying, chin lifted, gaze locked forward.

The mic brushed my lips, and I let the first words spill out.

“I been singin’, I been screamin’...

“...I been goin’ all night till my throat’s bleeding”

If she was watching, good.

Because this time, I was saying everything I never got the chance to.

The LED screens flicker to life behind me—glitching city lights, reflections rippling in puddles, fleeting hands skimming over skin. A fragmented memory playing for thousands to see.

And then—my voice.

"Did my purple lace bra catch your attention?

Uh Yeah, the look in your eye made me question."

The words drip from my lips like honey, smooth, effortless, but laced with something deeper. Something raw. Something meant for only one person.

And somewhere above—watching, devouring—Paige.

She's here. Actually here, in New York. In the VIP section, perched above the stage with the best view in the house. I don’t see her at first, too lost in the rhythm, in the way my body moves in sync with the dancers around me.

The choreography is sultry, deliberate, every step calculated. When I drag my fingers down my torso, lingering just slightly against the purple lace that clings to me, the crowd screams—but only one gaze matters.

Paige.

And the second I finally lock eyes with her—piercing blue, locked onto me with a fire that burns even through the darkness—I feel it.

The shift.

Her gaze settles on me like she owns me, like every movement is hers to consume. And then the realization hits—I see it in the way her lips part slightly, in the way her fingers tighten around the glass in her hand—this is a new song.

She hasn’t heard these words before. Hadn’t known until now just how deep this ran.

A memory flashes, one neither of us could ever forget.

Me, sprawled against silk sheets, bathed in moonlight, wearing this same shade of purple. The lace barely covering me, teasing just enough to make Paige lose her mind.

The way she had whispered against my skin that night—God, you’re wearing this just to kill me, aren’t you?

I had laughed then. But tonight? Tonight, I’m performing.

And Paige is watching.

"Would you hear me more if I whispered in your ear?

Made all my inner thoughts sound like, ‘Ah, ah’

Would you hear me more if I touch you right here? Made everythin' I want sound like, ‘Ah, ah.’"

The choreography intensifies, fluid, seductive. I roll my hips, arch into the movement, dragging my hands down my curves before flipping my hair back, locking eyes with Paige again. There are thousands of people here, screaming my name, but I only care about one.

Paige’s grip tightens around her drink.

I smirk.

I feel the effect I have on her, see it in the way her chest rises and falls just a bit quicker, in the way her jaw tenses.

She’s unraveling.

And me? I’m going to make her feel every second of it.

"I could take it off for you and tell you what I'm goin' through, hm

'Cause my body positioning determines if you're listenin', ah-ah."

I turn, my dancers moving in sync with me as I twist my body, sinking into the rhythm. The choreography is intimate, teasing—slow rolls of the hips, fingers grazing down arms, lingering touches that set the stage ablaze. And the entire time, my eyes never leave Paige’s.

The flashbacks bleed into every lyric. Paige’s hands gripping my hips that first night, pulling me closer, our bodies pressed together in the dim glow of city lights. The way she had looked at me—like I was something to be worshiped.

And now?

Now, I’m untouchable.

"Did my dance on your lap pique your interest? Yeah

Now I got you like that, let me finish."

The words are a challenge. A reminder.

I run my fingers over my chest, pressing into the lace just enough to tease, enough to dare Paige to remember.

The chorus hits again, and I let myself sink into the song, into the power of it. Paige feels it—the way I own this moment, how every movement is meant to be felt, witnessed.

"I'm losin' my mind, I'm losin' my head

You only listen when I'm undressed

Hear what you like and none of the rest, 'est."

And Paige feels that lyric.

It’s the truth she never wanted to admit.

The way she ignored the things I actually needed to say, the words that got lost somewhere between tangled limbs and gasping breaths.

"I'm-I'm losin' my mind 'cause giving you head's

The only time you think I got depth."

Her stomach drops.

I see it—the way her fingers dig into her thigh, her jaw clenching so tightly I swear she might crack a tooth.

Because fuck.

This isn’t just a song. It’s us.

I know exactly what I’m doing, the way I sway my hips, run my fingers along my thighs. I let myself sink into the music, into the feeling of being desired.

And Paige?

Paige is trapped. Watching. Needing.

But this time, she doesn’t get to have me.

But this time, she didn’t get to have her.

The final notes linger in the air, and I let the moment hang. I let her sit with it, drowning in the weight of the lyrics, the weight of me.

Then, slowly, I tilted my head, eyes flickering up to Paige’s seat.

I smirked.

And it was as if I knew— felt the way Paige was losing her mind, unraveling at the seams.

And then, just before the lights went dark, I mouthed one final thing.

“Still listening?”

Paige had actually sat through the whole concert—watching, studying, caught somewhere between lust, anger, and something heavier that neither of us had ever put a name to.

Her eyes had been fixated on me the entire time, tracing every movement, every note I sang, her expression an unreadable mask of longing and frustration, the kind that simmered beneath the surface, never quite reaching the surface.

By the time I was done with my last set, she was already out of her seat, her body taut with tension as she stood.

I thought, maybe, that this was it. Maybe this was the moment she would finally walk away, truly done with me for good.

But the second I hit backstage, pushing open the door to my dressing room, I realized how wrong I was.

There she was.

Paige was sprawled across the leather couch like she owned the place—legs casually spread, arms draped lazily over the backrest, her fingers barely curled as if she had all the time in the world. Her body was relaxed, but there was something predatory about her stillness, something that told me she had been waiting for this exact moment.

Her head tilted slightly, eyes never leaving me, watching as the door swung open, revealing me in all my post-show glow. The rush of the performance still lingered in the air around me.

My skin was flushed from the lights, damp strands of hair clung to my neck, and though my body ached from the show, I could feel the hum of my confidence still thrumming beneath the surface, energizing me, keeping me upright. But in an instant, that energy started to flicker, replaced by something I hadn’t prepared myself for.

My breath caught in my throat as our eyes met.

Everything stilled.

The cool, collected air that had surrounded me the entire night faltered for a second—just long enough for her to catch it. That self-assured smile I had walked in with faltered, just barely, enough to let her know she had the power to break me, to make me doubt every inch of the poise I had so carefully constructed.

The weight of the silence in the room pressed against me, the distance between us shrinking with each heartbeat.

I stood there for a moment longer than I meant to, the tension between us so thick that it felt like it could snap at any second. My final outfit of the night clung to me like it was made just for this moment—soft fabric molded to my form in a way that demanded attention.

The mini skirt skimming the tops of my thighs, the hem dancing with each subtle movement, while the fitted top traced the curves of my torso, leaving just enough skin bare to tease, just enough to make her notice.

The dark brown chunky platform boots I wore added an edge to my look, the weight of each step grounding me but also making me feel powerful in a way I couldn’t quite explain.

And all the while, Paige’s gaze was on me—slow and deliberate, her blue eyes tracing me from head to toe, each movement of her eyes sending heat pooling in my chest. Her expression remained unreadable—calm, controlled, like she was watching a masterpiece come to life, but there was something else there too.

Something simmering just beneath the surface—an intensity I couldn’t look away from. It was like she was waiting for something to break. Waiting for me to break.

I could feel the pull of her gaze like gravity, dragging me toward her without a single word exchanged. It wasn’t just her eyes that had the power over me. It was the tension, the rawness, the fact that I had never really escaped her orbit, no matter how many times I thought I had.

And I knew then, just as I always had, that she was never really done with me.

She wasn’t just watching. She was studying. She was waiting. And I was no longer sure if I could fight it.

I broke eye contact with her, a scoff slipping from my lips before I even realized I was doing it. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to hide the annoyance that flickered beneath my skin.

If she thought I was going to stand there, locked in some silent power struggle with her, she had another thing coming.

I turned my back to her and walked deeper into the room, letting the door swing shut with a sharp click behind me. The sound reverberated in the otherwise still air, cutting through the tension that had settled between us like a thick fog.

My hips swayed with the rhythm of my steps, the heavy click of my platform boots echoing off the cement floor. The sensation of each boot hitting the ground felt grounding, like I could still control this situation, even if my heart was already betraying me.

I moved toward the vanity, not daring to look back at her. Not yet. I reached for the small mirror on the edge, adjusting it slightly, watching my own reflection instead of facing Paige’s unwavering gaze.

I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much she affected me, not tonight. Not when I was so close to losing myself to whatever this was between us.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back, unblinking, like a predator watching its prey. It wasn’t just the weight of her stare; it was the certainty that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many walls I built around myself, she always knew how to break through them.

She always knew where to strike. Her jaw was clenched tight, her body unmoving, but I could feel the tension radiating off her in waves.

She didn’t say anything, but the amused smirk that danced on her lips told me everything I needed to know. She was watching, waiting for me to crack, to give in, to say something. Anything.

I wasn’t going to give her that. Not tonight.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, like it was daring me to do something. I stayed focused on my reflection, pretending that the quiet wasn’t eating away at my insides. But deep down, my mind was a storm.

Thoughts swirled like a cyclone, each one more confusing than the last. Paige—her presence, her control, the way she always seemed to hold every card—was never easy to ignore. It wasn’t just her ego, the way she carried herself with an unshakable confidence, or how she always had a smirk on her lips like she was always one step ahead. It was the pull of her. The constant tug she had on me, whether I wanted it or not. The way she made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.

I wasn’t some naive girl who couldn’t see the truth. I knew exactly what this was. Paige and I, we were never going to be anything more than what we were—hook-up buddies, tangled in this chaotic mess of lust, anger, and everything in between. Her ego was too big.

Her confidence too loud. It was a game, one she always won. Always kept me at arm’s length, just enough to keep me wanting more, but never enough to let me close.

And yet, I found myself caught in it, every single time.

The weight of her presence grew more suffocating, and I could feel my patience wearing thin. But I refused to show it. I refused to let her see the way my heart raced when she was around, the way my body seemed to lean toward her without my permission. I couldn’t give her that satisfaction. I wasn’t going to let her win tonight.

She broke the silence, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"You really think that outfit's going to distract me, huh?" Her eyes flickered over my form, her smirk widening as she took in the tight mini skirt I’d chosen for tonight, the way the soft fabric clung to my skin. "You think that’s gonna make up for what you did on stage?"

I didn’t look up, kept my gaze focused on my reflection. I wanted to give her nothing. I wanted to return to the calm, collected version of myself—the one that could walk into a room and own it without breaking a sweat. But the truth was, I was already unraveling, piece by piece. And Paige? Paige was the one who had the scissors.

Her voice was a poison, calculated and precise. "So tell me, Y/N, is this your way of proving something? With that little performance of yours? You really think you can just walk out there, do your thing, and not expect me to notice?"

But I refused to give in.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t get a kick out of this,” she continued, her tone dripping with challenge. “You’re not fooling anyone, Y/N.”

I let out a slow breath, letting the tension roll off my shoulders like it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let her get to me. Not tonight.

“You really think I care?” I finally said, my voice steady, but I could hear the lie in it. The cracks in my calm. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, but I didn’t move.

Paige let out a low chuckle, a sound that made my pulse quicken. She stood from the couch, the smooth, calculated movement of her body almost predatory as she took a step toward me.

“I think you care more than you’re willing to admit.”

I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. Because somewhere deep down, she was right.

I was in too deep.

The silence between us stretched, suffocating yet electric, and I refused to meet her eyes, even as I felt the weight of her gaze searing into me.

The reflection in the mirror, though, was another story. I could see the smirk spreading across her lips like a slow burn—satisfied, triumphant. I hated that damn smirk. It was her weapon, a reminder that no matter how much I tried to hold my ground, she always had the upper hand.

I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of knowing how much it grated on my nerves. Not once did I meet her eyes. Not once did I let her see how badly she was getting under my skin.

Instead, I focused on the mirror, watching my own reflection, trying to cling to the remnants of composure. I could almost pretend that I wasn’t trapped in this web of tension, but I wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all, Paige.

She didn’t let it go. Her presence shifted, darker, closer. I felt the heat of her body pressing against mine, her chest just barely touching my back, and I bristled at the contact. But I didn't move, didn't flinch. I wouldn’t let her have that.

Her hands slid around my waist, just above the hemline of my mini skirt. The warmth of her touch made my skin prickle, my breath hitching slightly as she pressed her body further against me.

Every movement was calculated, deliberate. Her hands were claiming me, possessive in the way they moved, gripping the soft curve of my waist with just the right pressure. My heart raced, but I didn't show it. I wouldn't show it.

I let her. I let Paige think she was winning, let her believe she had me right where she wanted me. Her kisses, slow and feather-light, trailed along my skin, familiar, almost too familiar. I knew what this was. I knew the drill.

She wanted control, wanted to be the one in charge, and I was giving her that—just for a moment. But deep down, I was already ahead. I always was.

I kept my silence, my body still, my expression neutral, and I could practically hear her self-satisfied smirk. She took my lack of response as confirmation.

"Did I hurt your feelings, baby?" Her voice, dripping with honeyed mockery, made my pulse spike as she pressed a kiss to where my neck met my shoulder.

The way her lips felt against my skin should have been comforting, but instead, it ignited something darker, something more dangerous. She was playing a game, and I was letting her think she was winning, letting her think she had the upper hand. But all I had to do was wait.

Paige didn’t give me any time to breathe. In one swift motion, she turned me in her arms, so I was facing her now, my back pressing up against the edge of the vanity table with a jolt that made my breath catch.

The shift was urgent, messy, the kind of passion that made the air between us thick with anticipation. I didn’t flinch, though. Instead, I stayed still as she pressed her hips against mine, the pressure making me bite my lip to hold back a reaction.

Her hands began to roam, tugging, gripping, finding familiar places that made my body betray me.

I could feel the way she took pleasure in it—the way I let her touch me, let her feel me respond to her. My hands gripped the edge of the vanity behind me, fingers curling against the cold wood.

Paige’s lips found their way back to my neck, and I let her—let her think that she had me, that I was melting into her touch, that I was submitting so easily to whatever game she wanted to play.

I tilted my head back, giving her more access, playing into the illusion, letting her think she was in control. But it was all a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing.

Her kisses were relentless, tracing sweet spots along my neck that made my breath hitch and my body tremble.

Her hands slid around to grip my ass through the fabric of my skirt, and I couldn't suppress the soft noise that slipped past my lips—one she loved, one she craved.

Paige was a menace, always knowing exactly where to touch, how to make me fall into this web of tangled emotions, of lust and anger and everything in between.

Her lips trailed up my neck, slow, deliberate, marking their territory, moving toward my jaw. The warmth of her breath on my skin made my chest tighten, but I could feel the moment approaching, the moment when I would stop this game.

Just when her lips were about to claim mine, I opened my eyes, my gaze slicing through the thick haze of desire like a blade through silk.

I tilted my head to the side, deliberately slow, a teasing pout curling at my lips—a cruel mimicry of surrender. Our mouths were barely a breath apart, the ghost of contact lingering in the air between us.

If it had been any other night, I would have caved, let her take what she wanted, let myself get lost in her touch. But tonight wasn’t any other night. Tonight, I was the one pulling the strings.

Paige froze, her breath hitched, her eyes flickering with confusion, frustration—searching for confirmation, for any sign that she still had me wrapped around her finger. But I refused to give her that satisfaction.

“I’m not your toy, baby,” I murmured, my voice a quiet storm, steady and unwavering. The weight of my words settled between us like a final warning.

For a moment, nothing existed but the shallow, ragged cadence of our breathing. I watched the disbelief flicker in her eyes, the realization creeping in like a slow-moving tide, threatening to pull her under.

She didn’t move at first. But then, the smirk she always wore like armor cracked, faltering, and I pushed her back—gently, yet firm enough to carve a space between us, a boundary she had never encountered before.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, her lips parted slightly in stunned silence. My gaze stayed locked onto hers, heavy with something she wasn’t used to seeing in me—control. And worse—rejection.

A slow smirk ghosted across my lips as I turned away, pivoting toward the vanity behind me. Paige wasn’t far enough for there to be real distance, so when I leaned forward, fixing my reflection with careful precision, the curve of my ass hovered dangerously close to her front—just barely not touching.

A whisper of temptation. A reminder of what she wouldn’t have tonight.

I adjusted my hair, smoothed my lipstick, acting as if her presence didn’t unnerve me in the slightest. The silence behind me was deafening, thick with unsaid words, unfinished games.

Satisfied, I straightened, meeting her eyes in the mirror, the corner of my mouth twitching with something smug and unforgiving. I turned, stepping past her, my fingers barely grazing the fabric of her sleeve as I moved toward the door.

Pausing in the doorway, I glanced back just once, my voice laced with something light, but sharp enough to leave a mark.

“You know where the exit is.”

And with that, I was gone.

The air outside the dressing room was thick, suffocating, despite the hum of excitement still pulsing beneath my skin. The second the door clicked shut behind me, sealing her inside,

I exhaled—a slow, deliberate release of breath that did little to steady the riot inside me. The hallway stretched ahead, a blur of dim, flickering lights and the distant hum of voices, but I moved through it like I was weightless, like my body hadn’t fully caught up to the gravity of what I’d just done.

I left her there—just like she had left me a thousand times before.

The symmetry of it should have satisfied me, should have made the ache in my chest shrink, but it didn’t. Instead, it spread—slow and creeping, like ink seeping into paper.

A stagehand passed by, tossing me a wide grin. “Insane show, Y/N. You killed it.”

I nodded, murmuring a thanks that barely scratched the surface of my lips. Their words felt distant, muted by the steady pounding of my heartbeat. My hands, wrapped in rings that glinted under the fluorescent lighting, flexed at my sides, still buzzing from the way she had looked at me.

Paige, sitting there like she had all the time in the world, like she had been expecting me to cave—to melt under her gaze the way I always had before.

But tonight, I hadn’t melted.

Tonight, I had watched the cracks form in her armor, had seen the exact moment realization settled in—that she no longer held the leash she thought she did. That I wasn’t hers to summon at will.

I made my way through the labyrinth of the backstage corridors, my heels clicking against the polished floors.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and something electric—an aftershock of the show still clinging to the walls. But none of it compared to the static lingering on my skin, the ghost of her gaze burning into me long after I had walked away.

The night unraveled in a blur after that. The dressing room, the press, the distant hum of a celebration I couldn’t bring myself to care about. People talked, laughed, congratulated me, but I wasn’t there. Not really.

Because in the back of my mind, Paige was still sitting on that leather couch, still staring at the door I had walked out of, still replaying my words like a cruel, looping melody.

I’m not your toy, baby.

I wondered if she had stayed there for long, if she had run her hands through her hair in frustration, if she had exhaled sharply the way she always did when things didn’t go her way. If she had sat in the silence, replaying every moment between us with that same restless, hungry energy I had spent years suffering under.

And then the days stretched into weeks.

Paige didn’t call.

Didn’t text.

But she didn’t need to. Because I knew she had seen it.

The internet had erupted like an uncontained wildfire, speculation running rampant in the wake of my performance. Every move, every lyric dissected, pulled apart, devoured by fans and gossip columns alike.

The video of me on stage went viral within hours—the way I sang with fire in my voice, like the words had been ripped from my ribs, like I needed this to be heard.

The analysis was relentless.

"Did you see the way she looked toward the VIP section? SHE WAS SINGING TO SOMEONE." "The way Y/N sang that line… she meant that. You could feel it." "Purple lace bra. PAIGE’S FAVORITE COLOR. The way she moved during that part? She knew exactly what she was doing." "Paige was in the crowd. You think she didn’t feel that?? That wasn’t just a song; that was a message."

The evidence stacked, theory after theory, fans pulling together every little thread like detectives unraveling a scandal.

Then came the videos of Paige at my concert—sitting in the shadows of the VIP section, her eyes locked on me like a predator watching its prey.

She hadn’t moved much, hadn’t reacted outwardly, but the cameras had caught enough. The sharp set of her jaw. The tight grip on her knee. The way her chest had risen just a little too sharply when I had turned in her direction.

I should have ignored it. Should have turned my phone off, drowned out the noise, let the world do what it did best—talk.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I let myself scroll. Let myself watch the videos, read the tweets, trace over every blurry, stolen moment that confirmed what I already knew.

She had felt it.

I pictured her in some dimly lit room, scrolling through the same chaos, lips pressed into a thin line, fists clenching as she watched the world speculate about us.

Wondering if she was regretting every moment that led up to this—the push and pull, the endless games, the times she had left me in bed, tangled in sheets and longing, only to disappear without a word.

Well, now she knew what it felt like.

And yet…

I missed her.

Not in the soft, romanticized way people spoke about heartbreak. Not in a way that felt poetic or tragic.

I missed her like a craving, sharp and unrelenting. Like something I had been forcibly weaned off, left to suffer the withdrawal.

I missed the way she would’ve laughed at all this—at the internet’s obsession, at the way people were tearing their hair out trying to figure out what we both already knew.

I missed the way she would have leaned in, breath hot against my ear, whispering, "Look what you did, baby."

But I wouldn’t break first.

She had spent years teaching me patience, teaching me the pain of waiting, of wanting. Now, it was her turn.

I stood in front of my mirror, makeup wiped clean, skin bare, exhaustion weighing heavy in my bones. My reflection stared back at me, lips curling at the edges with something dark, something smug.

You know where the exit is.

I wondered how long it would take before she found herself standing at my door.

𖥔 J'S JOURNAL 𖥔

Dear sweets,

this was a quick write--- well more of a get done to test the waters fic. But, here's my first Paige Buecker's fic <3

Not sure if I should leave it as it is or write a second part and make y'all happy...

Anyway's please let me know :)

P.S my main account is: @angelshxt. Thought the wifey deserved a separate blog, so here it is :p

xoxo,

#paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x y/n #paige bueckers x you #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x singer!reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers imagines #Spotify

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amiaclone · 6 months ago

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Hii!! Can i request a player 120/ hyun ju (hopefully i got her name right) eith a teen reader who got into the games with lying about her age so she can get her sick mother medicine?

I LOVE THIS ONEEE

*You slowly eat your rice while reimagining the events that took place*

*You barely and i mean barely just survived the last game there was no way you’d survive the next one now that your arm is sprained*

*To be frank you shouldn’t even be here if the creators of this game ever found out your age you’d probably be kicked out…..or killed.*

*You told everyone you were in your early 20s but your a few years younger then that a teenager*

*You were here to get the money to buy the treatment of your mother who’s battling to live*

*Just one more game and you’ll have the amount of money! You weren’t sure you were gonna make it though…*

*Honestly you don’t even know how the people didn’t find out you were lying you assumed they had all the data off everyone*

*I mean your records do lie about your age as you’ve been using them over the years to get certain stuff as your mother has been sick for awhile how long…..four years? You’ve had to lie about your age to get certain jobs and such it’s illigel but honestly…..the system is failing her…*

*She’s gotten worse you weren’t even sure if she was gonna live but this game was the only thing you had left*

*You weren’t even sure if you looked older or younger or your age so you were for sure that people were gonna find out how old you were….nobody really seemed to care or notice though*

*Except one anyway.*

*You haven’t really interacted with much people except a few one of them being Hyun-Ju*

*She was a kind lady who helped you get past the first few games so you’ve gotten close*

*You feel as if she can see right through you it’s not like it’s bad or anything it’s just…..you wonder if she’s gonna do anything after all most people in this game are clearly losing there minds you thought only a matter of time till you or even her….*

“Y/n?”

*You looked up speaking of the girl you were thinking about it was Hyun ju seeming serious you quirked an eyebrow*

“Need something?”

*You noticed her eyeing your arm so you tugged it hiding it acting like it was fine*

“Your arm…” *She couldn’t help but blurt out you forced a smile* “Im fine it just hurts a bit”

*She didn’t seem to buy it and sat down getting close you moved your arm instinctively*

“I’m not going to touch your arm don’t worry…I was just gonna ask…”

*She got close to your ear*

“What’s a young person like you doing here”

*You paused atleast she whispered it and cleared your throat awkwardly*

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

*She stares at you blankly*

“Most people can tell……probably you look your age there’s no way your not under 18 or 18…”

*You mentally groaned*

“Ok so what you’re gonna tell or something?”

*She shook her head*

“No don’t worry it’s just I’m curious….why is someone so young in a place like this?”

*You sighed it’s not like she was being rude so you didn’t mind telling her*

“My mother is sick she needs treatment and *I* don’t have the money.”

*She was stunned for a second*

“Well why isn’t your dad here?”

*You tensed* “Not that it matters he bailed on us when he found out she was sick didn’t wanna deal with it” *She nodded in understanment* “I understand what you’re going through I’m sorry anyways”

*She was right she could understand her parents and siblings cut off contact too for something out of her control*

*You shook your head* “It’s fine he wasn’t that good of a father anyways all I need is one more game…..with my student loans that were originally for my tuition I’ll use that and the money for her treatment!”

*She stared in pity* “What about your future?” *Your smile faltered a bit* “I’ll just….have to manage I’d rather my mother be treated though”

*She sympathised with you heavily* “Well if we get out i have a bit of money i can give…we can split.”

*You quivered your eyebrows unsure if she’s sincere or what.*

“Well if we even make it past this game…” *You glanced at your arm*

*She smiled sincerely* “I’ll protect you and I’ll promise that if anything happens I’ll have to die in here.”

*You stared shocked* “You don’t have to do that-“

*She cut you off* “Oh i insist! The two of us are at one bad dad except my two parents cut off contact and in debt to something we desperately need” *she smiles* “You might wanna hide your arm behind your back incase you look weak”

*You we’re still stunned she was taking the situation so well*

“Wow you’re….so nice for a game like this.”

*She shook it off bashful*

“Oh don’t worry I’m sure most people with common sense would do the same here like I’m doing.”

“I promise y/n i will protect you.” *she ruffles your hair a bit*

Soo yeah sorry if this seemed ooc i tried to make her as accurate as possible 😭

#x reader #character #fanfiction #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 x reader #squid game hyun ju #squid game hyun ju x reader #hyun ju #hyun ju x reader #y/n #trans #transgender #🏳️‍⚧️

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visionsofmagic · 2 years ago

Text

◜ mk1 men showing their kinks to you ◞

▸ characters: liu kang, kuai liang, bi han, tomas, johnny cage, kung lao, raiden, syzoth ◂ ▸ wc: 4k+ [wow, once again]

▸ tags: nsfw, soo spicy, lord kink, various kinks, power play, master kink, inappropriate usage of abilities, begging, licking, nudness, humiliation, praising kink, dom/sub dynamic, sub!mk1 characters, dom!mk1 characters, pet names, filming, spanking, ropes, fingering, cum, eating out, kneeling, brat!reader, f!reader, use of yn, personal assistant!syzoth, and more in the work! first time writing kung lao, hope it fits him well. ^^ enjoy! ◂ ▸ m.

THE TITLE • LIU KANG doesn’t have a god complex, not at all, he’s a humble creator – demi god, even though he has great power of fire, martial arts, and more. he expects all of his friends to see him as an ally, not a mighty god, and kneel before him because he wants to be accepted as one of you, staying beside you and protecting the realms at any cost.

well, it is like that for any other – including you, for most of the time anyway. however, he has a thing for a certain title whenever it leaves your pretty shining lips, making him go dizzy even though he is steady, not leaving any of his emotions getting away so easily – but around you, he loses focus a little bit, desiring to have you – wanting you to call him ‘lord’ again and again until he makes you cum, creating a mess on him – your lord.

it’s your idea – to call him by his ‘lord’ title as if it’s blessing coming out of your parted lips, additional teasing by your fingers, hands, and gazes don’t help at all – they just make him lose his control of being an ally, the rising heat causes him to give you more so that you can scream his name within the title.

it has both an affection tone, showing how much you love and trust him – using his title out of respect you have for him, for what he does for the sake of all realms – and a seductive tone which drives him crazy, and having you under him the moment he has a chance to do such thing. he makes you cum again and again as he listens to all the pretty noises you’re making because of him and how his warm cock enters your clenching pussy.

“ohhh – my lord!” you scream, “l-lord liu kang! it’s so good – sooo good.”

“oh, is it my love?” he will sound innocent even though his actions prove otherwise, cock slapping into your warm walls rapidly, “then cum, make a mess for your lord.”

his white eyes shining brighter than before as you hug his arms, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips to lips, you cum on his cock, making sheets go dirty within it as you moan his name so loud that he smirks down at you – cock side of him showing, “ohh, my pretty love is so good for her lord. let your lord give you more, will you?” you nod and it turns out that he hasn’t enough of you calling him by the title – he wants more.

ROPES • KUAI LIANG only used his weapons as defense and attack tools – well, it was the case until he met you, got to know you better, fell hard, loved you with his soul and heart, and finally got intimate with you.

it takes some time until you both bring the things you like to the bed – both afraid that the other will not approve. when you tell him first, the thing you want to do to him, he makes it come true because he is there to satisfy his lover, you, in the most pleasurable way – you deserve the whole world after all.

then, he brings his desires into bad as the sessions become more intense with each one – he learns how to give you pleasure and how to receive – yet, there is a certain one he likes to have – the one which includes one of his weapon, kusarigama without its kama, only cold metal chains he likes to see on your body – using it as a rope whenever he has you in front of him – ass up, face on the pillow, moaning mindlessly, body jolting forward whenever he spank your ass since you move so much, try to get your hands release – however, it’s impossible to do it even though you want to touch him.

the cold metal around your body, ending on your wrist, and being held by the warm hands of kuai liang sends chills down your spine because of how cold it feels compared to his body and cock buried deep inside you. he has a tight hold on the chain, using it as a rope to help you arching your back, ass getting higher as he fucks you from behind. “is it too much love?” he will ask, a bit teasing, looking at the beautiful sight in front of his eyes – red marks on ass cheeks, pussy soaking, breasts bouncing – the chains around them make them look delicious, face full of heat.

“you have no idea how beautiful you look right now my lady, as always, magical,” he says, increasing his warmness to make you moan his name louder, “will have you like this, wrapped with these chains, until you cum again and again. will make its marks appear on your whole body.”

MASTER • BI HAN is the grandmaster of lin kuei – it gives him power and authority. he likes to have it since he’s crazy for power for his clan, being stronger, better, and more determined with each passing day, doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied –he knows he has great strength but he seeks more and more – so, he doesn’t get satisfied even a bit – however, he can’t hide the truth that he likes to be master only for power, yes, it was the case for him but it changed a little bit when he saw the power he has on you while fucking you.

he doesn’t think of it as a kink, he’s too careless to think about what a kink is – he just enjoys it, it amazes him how he turns on immediately in the moments you call him your master, showing him respect, giving yourself fully to him both as a warrior and his lover.

he prefers being delicate with you but his true instincts make him go crazy around you, losing the control of creating a balance between a gentle lover and a rough fucker for you – he doesn’t think about it that much yet he knows he does two of them at the same time – love you so delicately, protecting you at all costs, telling all pretty names whenever you’re alone while fucking you rough, making you turn into a mess for him and his cock, earning lots of moans and rapid breaths from your agape lips.

he tries to stay calm yet when you use his title in a way no one dares to say it, affection and greed can be heard through it as he fucks you – every hole you have from pussy to ass and his favorite, your shining lips.

eyes rolling, salvia appears, tears wash your pretty face – what a magnificent sight to have in front of him as you stay on your knees, hands gripping his thick thighs, soaking onto the floor under you, and moaning how good he tastes while he has a grip inside your hair, pulling and pushing you, fucking your mouth as he pleases. he feels his empowerment inside your eyes – the look you give him scream how you are pleased to give your master pleasure at the highest level, letting him use you as his personal fucktoy – he smiles at the idea, the free hand caresses your chin full of wetness, creating two opposite sense and sending it to your core.

“how pretty,” he says lowly, “master’s favorite fucktoy,” adding, he smirks at his own statement when he earns a loud moan from you which is shut down by his thick cock inside your warm mouth. “yeah, like that? sure you do my personal toy – offering every hole of her to me – to his grandmaster,” he leaves your mouth, holding his dick and slapping your face with it, “say it,” he orders, “say who’s your owner.”

waiting for a response, he laughs when you give an answer, “master -! my grandmaster bi han!”

“that’s right pretty. let your master fuck your remaining holes as well after I fill your pretty mouth with my cum.”

PRAISING • TOMAS is so shy that he can’t tell his kink aloud even when you encourage him to say it after you explain yours one by one, feeling shy too yet wanting him to know what makes you turn on right away, wanting him to have you in the exact same moment.

he doesn’t judge you, not for a single time, contrary to that, he gets turned on as well, smiling widely, scratching his neck hair, and telling you how he will make them turn into reality the moment he has a chance to. he tries to get better in every one of them as well, wanting you to reach the highest pleasure, not leaving them only as statements.

so, it’s not surprising to discover his kink while having an intimate session with him, not paying attention to it fully but after it ends, you spend alone time, thinking about it with a logical and peaceful mind, you realize what turns him on in sex – putting attention to them and discovering which one is the most effective one on him.

can’t wait until you get together, alone, in the room you share, you just use your theory after a mission ends. you watch him closely yet do not alert him that you do it on purpose, calling him ‘good boy’ after he does his best in the mission, and completes it effortlessly. the word you use shows its effects immediately – he freezes for a moment, eyes shining as he looks at you with them widening, furrows raising, and chest going up and down rapidly for a moment before he gets himself together, saying thanks but sounding so delicate.

you know it’s not just the word – it’s the thing you do – praising him, his efforts, his support – all of it.

the next thing you know he literally moans loudly when you praise him as he eats you out, kneeling before you, the head between your inner thighs, fingers playing with your breasts as you hold him by his grey hair, pulling it and moaning shamelessly, “ohhh, such a good boy for me – baby, doing soo good!”

he freezes once again – yet, rather than turning into an innocent one he prefers to let it go, understanding what you’re doing and finding great lust in it as he moans again and again, eating you further, wanting to get more praise – even his fingers find your pussy, entering it, doubling the feeling up.

it makes you go crazy when you see his hardened cock inside his boxers, “pretty boy!” you scream, head throwing back, eyes going white as he fucks you with his tongue and fingers. soaking wet, you add, “be a good boy and make me cum tomas!”

“yes, yes, yes – ohhh, my goddess, will be a good boy – your good boy, will earn lots of cum from this pretty pussy – ohhhh, so delicious.”

FILMING • JOHNNY CAGE would never thought he would have a certain kink like this one – yes, he has lots of them – and having them with you, well, the ones you’re comfortable with as well as doing the things you want him to do. he pleases his woman as best as he can – giving you pleasure boosts his ego, wanting to please you further until your mind is only full with him – nothing else.

when he has you under him, below him, in front of him – in every position, he watches how your pretty face lightens up with the lust, desire to have more – listens to the lewd voices your pussy creates, mixing the sweet voice you make, especially moaning his name – smiles and looks down at your pussy as he clenches around his length, sending a jolt that flows through his entire body, making his mind go dizzy.

it’s perfect – from the beginning to the end, it’s just the description of perfection – you are the perfection for him. and being a great actor, addicted to his camera – his phone, he realizes something he wants ultimately, the reason why he pictures you even after he has you – he daydreams about you all day, waiting for it to end and finally getting together with you again.

he misses you so much that he can’t stand it, and he understands what he needs to do.

the first thing he excepts from you is to laugh, can’t take it seriously, then, not agree – but, you don’t utter a word when he says it, only looking at his face with heat on your body because of hearing how he thinks you look so beautiful – out of this world, dreamy, while you have his cock inside your holes – he expresses his desire to capture it, watch it later, and seeing you in every aspect as possible as he can.

then, you agree, don’t judge, just accept it and realize how you want him to film you whenever you have mind-blowing sex – it becomes a habit of yours now – he films when he fucks you from behind, the camera captures your pretty face so close that he cums the moment he watches it. he puts his camera on the table beside him when he has you on his lap, riding his cock as he drinks his favorite alcohol, watching you fuck yourself on his dick. he even takes a video of you while you suck his cock – his favorite so far because how obedient and cock slut you’re for him.

he smirks, taking you by the chin, making you look up, and winking at the camera of his phone as you suck his cock as if it’s the most delicious thing your tongue taste of – salvia leaves your mouth, eyes shining, nose has a little redness, cheeks burn, and tears flowing down to your face since his thick cock fills your entire mouth. “oh baby –“ he says, chuckling, “you’re my favorite sight to see in a movie! in our personal fucking movies – ohh, how much I like to watch ‘em only to see the expressions you make – so innocent yet lustful. my pretty lady will make you watch it too!” he laughs, caressing your face, “taking my cock so well – maybe will publish it so that everyone can see what a slut you’re for me! would’ve been my biggest hit!”

HUMILIATION • KUNG LAO is full of ego – thanks to his wins strength, and attractiveness, he has great self-love and he acts as such, telling his best qualities again and again – he does it around others just because he has a habit of doing it but with you? oh, the reason is different for doing it when it comes to you.

he remarks them to show off – to make you fall for him even though you’re literally his lover who fell hard for him, getting excited to see him – to watch him as he fights, and listening to all the bubbles he says including his ego. you leave chuckles, bright eyes shine with enjoyment, letting him show himself off because it entertains him that his favorite girl loves him as a whole – for who he is!

he can swear even he can’t think one of his desires would include an opposite kink compared to his general self. he can’t say it aloud either – he’s too shy to do that, to allow himself to get the knowledge of his deep desires – turning on by you humiliating him in bed out of all places – not to joke, not to tease – to take out his secrets into the surface.

it happens when he utters a few words about him being the greatest in bed, and you tease him about it by mocking, “oh, really? is magnificent kung lao the best fuck? maybe if you try enough you cute boy, being my personal fucker, it can be. what do you think?”

he can’t think about anything at that moment – his mind freezes – he even can’t think!

it takes some time for him to get back, hearing your worried questions about whether he is okay or not – you say sorry if it makes him uncomfortable – then, both you and he look down at his hardened cock, the tip is pink, dripping precum as he exhales the air rapidly than ever, words being cut as they reach to his dry throat.

“y/n –“ he nearly moans your name lowly, looking so fragile with the way his hands on your thighs shake as he holds them – you try to move your hips, caging him between your legs, getting closer, you chuckle, hands find his shoulders as you sit down on the table still, letting his exposed hardened cock press to your bare pussy.

you clench around nothing, and his cock twitches with your husky voice, mocking him more, “oh, will all mighty kung lao cry? will make a mess because of me? hm, is it the case you got a boner now, pretty boy?”

he moans this time, hands gripping the flesh inside his palms tightly, trying to earn a kiss from you as he leans closer but you put your forefinger on his lips, smirking and pointing the ground under his feet. “to earn it, you have to please me, my personal fucker,” you lick the side of his lip, winking as he begins to blush – redness appearing on his shocked face, the tip of his dripping cock hitting your pussy, wanting to get inside. your finger enters his mouth, pulling his warm tongue out as he whimpers, getting harder as if it’s possible, “on your knees, my good boy. show your owner how good this tongue is.”

BEGGING • RAIDEN is a humble man who knows his worth. he’s well aware of who he is, what his worth is, what he wants, and in which cases he will lose it all – only for you, his significant other, the owner his heart and soul.

he’s a gentle lover indeed, you can give him that – bringing gifts to you, kissing you fondly, showing great affection and love, especially when you’re both alone and comfortable – the peace runs in the air as you show the love you have for one to another openly, no fear of getting rejected – the knowledge of your worth in each other’s eyes is visible through the gazes, words, and actions.

it feels like a miracle when he finds both love and friendship in one person – and he thinks he is the luckiest person in whole realms when the tension you share completes each other perfectly – getting closer to you, he discovers his self – his kinks as you tell him about, he still has questions about them though yet he tries his best to please you while he gets you better, further – no one else, only him.

the help he receives from you about these all kink situations deserves a big thanks and he tries to give it to you by fucking you with his cock, his tongue, his fingers – which one you would like to have.

he puts more focus on you than himself, yet, you have other plans – you want him to understand the importance of being aware of knowing his deepest desires to take the best feelings from your body as well as his.

so, you tell him how words have a different and effective role in intimate sessions mixed with actions – you try to make him see its effects on him firstly because it’s the most remarkable and permanent way to learn about it – so, you study him, trying to see what makes him turn on and what turns him off. among others, one thing catches your attention – begging.

raiden never begs – not to others, or for other things. however, he is ready to beg for you even though he’s yet not know it fully – it takes time for him to get there, and being a helpful lover, you take your role gladly, using your knowledge in one night when you begin to make out. raiden appears behind you, hands wrap around your belly, pulling you closer to him, his cock slowly getting hard as it touches the lower part of your back – the thin fabric you have makes the sense breathtaking.

you chuckle, looking at his face as he rests his chin on your shoulder, “needy?” you tease and he blushes. nodding, he does his little tricks and before knowing it, you find yourself on top of him, cock is buried deep inside your walls – it twitches, wanting you to move and ride him.

“y/n –“ he whimpers, eyes getting brighter, tears ready to leave them.

“yes, my pretty boy?” you ask, head tilting to the side as you rise up and sit down on his length suddenly, making his head thrown back onto the pillow, moaning. “need something?”

“need you – to move – y/n, move already!” you chuckle, hands on his exposed well-built chest.

“then beg for it! we both know you can do better than that farm boy.”

and he listens, starting to beg loudly, hands positioned on your waist, holding tightly, tears washing his pretty face as he begs for you to move – then, he begs for more – he begs so beautifully that you ride him so well and he even begs as he cums into your pussy, making a mess. “yes, yes, please – oh my love, please! ohh – s’ much! s’ good!”

PERSONAL PLEASER • SYZOTH chose to be your personal assistant and lover at the same time – the idea of being by your side all the time, giving you the support you need, being the one you call first is always amazes him, causing him to accept your offer and take the title of right-hand man, giving aid and help in every way he is capable of.

he doesn’t feel any humiliation because you’re there to show your love for him, how you think of him as an equal, not below you, no – he’s your lover before being your personal assistant and protector. you are at the same level, and you don’t stay back by showing it to him and all the others – you have him beside you every time you attend meetings, parties, festivals, and business works. he’s always there – he lets you introduce himself as your lover first, then says how he’s also your right-hand man who is best at everything – your own luck.

yes, it makes him feel shy but not as shy as he feels when you have him alone – in your office, in your bedroom, in your garden – it doesn’t matter, the shyness he has is exactly the same in every place. it’s the way of help that makes him go all red, or warm, or crazy even.

you say besides being his right-hand man, he’s also your personal pleaser – you let him fuck you rough, showing the beast he has under his pretty face, “agghhh – fuck – syzoth!”, you let him get undressed and jerking himself off as you watch him – his eyes don’t leave yours, watching every expression you have on that pretty face of yours he likes to see as he jerks himself, cum into his fist and earning the same one from you, “syzoth – so – so good to watch!”, you let him go invisible and eating you out in public as you sit down under a table, trying to suppress your moans when he’s tongue swifts into his natural form, entering deep inside, “syzoth!”, you let him kneel before you, on his knees, watching you approaching him slowly, and then, taking him into the bed as he begs for it. “ohhh – syzoth!”

his answer will always be the same, “yes, my goddess? need me?” he mocks you as if he isn’t the reason why you’re like that – weak on the knees, shaking, soaking wet, wanting nothing but him.

the way he enjoys being your personal pleaser besides assistant drives you crazy – the intensity of having him both as a lover and pleaser rising up. you can’t even blame him for using his power inappropriately – it feels too good to utter the words that warn him. he doesn’t care – he does what he needs to do – what you deserve – his full attention and effort.

“my goddess, let me show my gratitude to you – as your right-hand man, it’s my duty to make sure you get what you want.”

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