#it's a very airy song

[ashertickler]

lasko moore is a wave to earth enjoyer send tweet

[sansloii]

coughs in mikah voiceclaim

[killjoy-prince]

magnet 🐧🍑

[kittydothedishes]

@melit0n hey this song is incredibly you coded

[mymarifae]

i don’t think i’m ever recovering from this one. like guys i don’t think you’re ever going to hear from me again this is it i have to go get hit by a car. again. i feel like this

[airyairyaucontraire]

My nephew is just singing "The corn is as high as an elephant's eye" again and again and again while he builds Lego.

[clouds-of-wings]

Cain, firstborn son of Adam You killed your brother Abel. Now bear a mark of God in your eyes

Pain is the sign of your symbol And you'll be borne down by the load. You will walk forever to live and let die.

[donatellawritings]

What about instead of rage giving the reader the silent treatment let’s switch the roles and instead the reader gives rage the silent treatmentt plsss

you were being a chatty little princess. you couldn’t help how excited and giddy you were today — the sun was shining bright, the sky a pretty baby blue, the air smelled fresh and sweet, everything just seemed to have been going picture perfect for you. so, when rafe brought you along with him to the country club to catch up with kelce and topper, you were all smiles, to the point where your cherub cheeks and glossy lips ached from being so stretched. you sat prettily on rafe’s lap, even more bubbly than usual thanks to the pomegranate martini you’d been sipping on.

rafe’s hand mindlessly tapped against the side of your thigh as he spoke to topper about this new boat that he’d been eyeing, causing your doe eyes to widen as your lips parted, “oh my god, topper it’s so pretty and i told rafe that he should-” you cut in, oblivious to this being your fourth time interrupting rafe while he spoke to the guys. it wasn’t until rafe had finally corrected you that you realized your silly mistake.

“hey, y’gonna let me finish talkin’ to top, or are y’gonna keep on interrupting me?” rafe scolded, his voice cold and stern as he lightly grabbed your jaw, his bright blue eyes hanging low as he sent you a chilling warning look. a soft exhale left your nose as your eyes glazed over with threatening tears, with an obedient nod. now returning his attention to topper, rafe cleared his throat before continuing, “so, yeah m’probably gonna have it by next week — just waiting on my guy to have it all dolled up for me,” rafe sighed, ignoring the slight pang in his chest as you fiddled with your fingers and kept your gaze trained on your feet.

he could tell that you were trying your very best, not to cry.

you remained silent for the remainder of the day, only allowing yourself to extend a forced courteous smile to topper and kelce, once rafe decided it was time to go home. he didn’t miss the way you simply nodded or shook your head whenever the server asked you a question, or how you quickly wiped your eyes before a stream of tears could flow door your cheeks. could rafe do without your constant interjections? yes, but he had to admit that the conversation just wasn’t as engaging without your light and airy commentary.

so, rafe decided that he’d play all of your favorite songs, once you were comfortably seated in your passenger seat with your seatbelt fastened, his pink lips running dry as you remained blank of any emotion. reaching over the center console, rafe laying his hand right above your knee, squeezing the plush skin of your thigh, to get you to look at him, “hey, mama — y’doing okay?” he questions, quickly glancing over to you as you wordlessly nodded, your dolly eyes fluttering closed as rafe sighed in defeat, before bringing his hand back to the steering wheel. he had to admit that watching you leaning your head against the window to fall asleep, instead of his shoulder, stung him a little.

what gnawed at rafe the most, was that you weren’t being quiet as a punishment, you genuinely believed that rafe wanted you to stop talking, to the point where even he couldn’t get you to say a word to him. it’d been about four hours and he missed hearing you, he missed the way his name fell off of your tongue, the way your accent peaked with certain words, how you’d console him in spanish, but mostly, he missed hearing you call him ‘papi’.

it didn’t take long for you to fall asleep, thanks to the two cocktails you’d drank earlier, leaving rafe overtly excited to take the chance to get you in his arms, the moment he parked his car, rushing to the passenger side as he scooped you into his arms, his forearm resting underneath the soft curve of your ass, while his free hand gently slid over your waist. a low whine left your swollen lips as you kept your head leaned against rafe’s shoulder, sighing sleepily as you allowed your boyfriend to carry you inside of tannyhill.

pressing a kiss to your cheek, rafe was quick to take a seat on the couch with you on his lap, he needed this silence to end, before he flipped the fuck out, “i don’t like that y’not talking to me, mama — m’about to lose my mind, not hearing my pretty girl,” rafe coos sweetly into your ear, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you sigh, leaning your head closer into his shoulder. “y’not in trouble, baby, i just wanted to finish talking to topper and i know you’re excited about the boat,” rafe squeezed your waist, beckoning for you to look at him — he needed to make sure that you knew that he still saw you as his sweet girl.

compliantly, you lifted your head, your sleepy doe eyes bright as met rafe’s unwavering gaze, a small huff leaving you as you parted your now barely-glossed lips, “i just didn’t want to annoy you, papi —” you began, rafe’s eyes softening as your sweet voice ran like warm honey in his ears. you innocently shifted yourself on his lap, your swollen lips just aching to be kissed by rafe’s, “i know i was just being too excited,” you sighed, ending your small ramble as rafe simply stared at you blankly, licking over his lips as he shamelessly ogled yours.

the second you cocked your head to the side in confusion, rafe’s mouth was on yours, enveloping you in a disgustingly sloppy, but needy kiss. a throaty moan left rafe’s throat as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, securely holding your face against his as he messily licked into your mouth, spit smearing across your chin as you struggled to catch your breath, “papi, wait — i can’t breathe,” you giggled, your words instantly swallowed by rafe’s mouth as his tongue mushed slush against yours, the two of you whimpering with greed as rafe leaned forward, with you still clinging onto his lap, his shiny, spit-covered lips trailing down to your prettily pushed-up breasts.

“missed hearing y’fuckin’ voice, mama,” rafe mumbled, his voice broken and hoarse as you smiled cheesily, beaming with the fact that rafe missed you.

[sanguineterrain]

smut 18+ only, fucking jason on the kitchen floor, feral horny afab reader who wants to maul jason, unprotected sex, breeding kink, submissive jaytodd!!! rock on!!!

The first time you go absolutely batshit feral over Jason, he's cleaning the apartment.

He's done nothing to provoke your ferality (he never does), and usually, you keep it to yourself. Thoughts like if I were a vampire I'd suck his blood and I need my boyfriend to hold me down until I orgasm or pass out, whichever comes first, are inside thoughts, and you do a great job at keeping them as such.

So you're not quite sure what compels you to act the way that you do.

First, Jason's in clothes that don't help your insanity. The shirt is Dick's (Jason insists that he did NOT have an emo phase, thank you), so the cropped quality of the My Immortal t-shirt isn't by design. Jason's just big.

Yes, yep, your boyfriend sure is a big boy. That's all you can think about as you watch him over the top of your open book while he attacks the kitchen floor with his Swiffer Jet. He's humming a song you don't recognize.

You love him so much. The thought hits you square in the chest. You love Jason Todd. A lot. A lot a lot a lot.

The next thought that hits you is how soft and squishy your boyfriend is. Jason's sweatpants are baggy, the baggiest he could find, and they still can't hide how humongous his thighs are. His thighs are pure muscle, but when not in the middle of a fight, they are soft. Bitable. Very bitable.

Your gazes moves to the strip of belly that flexes and flutters with every movement. Jason's stomach isn't perfectly flat, a fact that you know sometimes bothers him. You take care to treat it delicately, not wanting him to be self-conscious even though every part of him makes you rabid.

You want to kiss Jason's stomach. Feel it twitch under your hand as you do, uh... other stuff besides kissing. You love watching Jason in action, love watching him wield his powerful body. But you also love him like this: using his body to take care of himself, his space, and you.

Jason's arms. You could write prose poetry on such magnificent creations. More than once you've had the urge to wrap one of Jason's arms around your neck and let him squeeze until you lose consciousness. Another inside thought! Jason would staunchly refuse and probably get you checked for head trauma if you requested such a thing, but you can dream.

Once or twice, Jason's flexed for you, silly and smiley. You've managed to hide just how fucking hot you found it. It's been well over a year and you still want to jump your boyfriend. You try to keep it to a manageable level, not wanting to startle or overwhelm him. You know Jason's complicated relationship with his body. You respect his boundaries.

But still, the thoughts linger...

Your feet carry you to the kitchen before you can think about it. Jason's done with the mop and has moved to wiping the counters. You seize the opportunity to get behind him.

"Hey, baby," Jason says before you reach him. He keeps wiping. And that's another thing: Jason is highly competent. His training makes him hear you before you've reached him. If you were an evil goon, you'd be on the floor before you could inhale. You also find that concerningly hot.

You stick yourself to his back and wrap your arms around his stomach. You grab handfuls of the layer of fat that covers his muscles, brushing your thumbs over where his hair thickens below his bellybutton.

"What's up, hm?" Jason asks, patting your hand.

"You're really hot," you say.

He snorts, glances behind at you. "I'm what now?"

"Hot. Juicy. I wanna maul you."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," you say peacefully, groping his waist. "Soon as possible."

"I'm free for a mauling in ten minutes. That work for you?"

"I don't know if I can wait that long." You slip your hands up his shirt. "Mind if I feel you up while I wait?"

Jason laughs but it comes out a little airy. "You're a menace."

"I'm crazy about you."

"Mm, I've noticed. Feeling's mutual."

"No, no." You move your head so that your mouth is on his exposed bicep. You feel the hot flesh in your mouth, lave your tongue over it for some time. As soon as it flexes, you bite the hard muscle.

Jason drops his dishcloth. You soothe your teeth marks with your tongue.

"You don't understand," you say, shifting so you're pressing Jason against the counter edge. He lets you keep him there. "I'm crazy about you. I wanna eat you, Jay. Let me eat you."

"Jesus, what's gotten into ya?" he asks, turning his head to look at you.

"Hopefully you," you say, unrepentant.

Jason's eyes widen. You adore how squirmy he gets whenever you're bold about wanting him. Despite how long you've known each other, Jason never fails to get flustered. Perhaps that's half the fun.

"C'mon, Jay, let me fuck you. I wanna fuck you on the kitchen floor," you say, past coyness.

He full-body shudders. "I jus' cleaned."

You grin against his arm, pawing at his hip. "I'll help you mop again, honey pie. Deal?" You're eyeing his stomach next, ready to suck his skin there.

Jason can't deny you for long. You both know that.

"You're persuasive," he says, eyelids fluttering.

You hum. "Didn't take much, though, did it? Is your dick hard already?" You squeeze him through his sweats. Jason whines, bracing himself against the counter. "Never takes long, huh? You're always ready for me in no time, stud. Ready to fill me up, right?"

"Oh m'God," he says, looking at you like you're divine. That look swells your ego every time.

"Is that a yes?" You cup his balls like you're choosing a bull for breeding. Jason buckles under your brazenness. "Yes, you want me to let you fuck my pussy? Yes, you want me to fuck you on the floor?"

"Yeah, yeah, please."

So Jason lets you push him down onto the tiles. You yank his sweats down first, then his underwear. He's already leaking onto his stomach.

"Fuck," you say, grabbing and holding Jason's wrists on either side of his head. "You gonna give me what I want, sweetie? Love of my life, handsomest guy I've ever seen?"

Jason nods vigorously. "Yeah, yes, an-anything y'want. Oh my God, I'm s-so hard. I love you. Y'so nice to me."

You smile gently.

"I'm nice for taking you on the kitchen floor, huh?" you ask, bending your knees and lining up his cock to your cunt. "What if I make you wait until I come first?"

Jason nods again, already breathing hard. "I want to, I wanna wait. You should come first. I want you to come first. I don't have ta come at all."

You raise an eyebrow. That's new. New, but not unwelcome.

"So even when I..." You sink down on his cock, just the tip. Jason whimpers in the back of his throat. "Do that? You don't need to come?"

You feel him flex under your hands but he's good and stays put. He doesn't break your hold even though he could. You grin.

"Oh-oh. Sweet boy. My best guy. Look at you, big and hard. You could take me if you wanted, but you don't want that, do you? You want me to take what I want from you. All that muscle and strength, but what d'you need, Jaybee? Hm? Tell me."

"Need you," he says, voice strained. "Need you to do whatever y'want."

You kiss under his jaw and dig your nails into his wrists. Then you sink further onto Jason's cock. His hips twitch but he doesn't thrust like he usually does.

"Will you kiss me?" he asks when he bottoms out, body strung tight like a bow.

"I did kiss you," you say, smiling into his neck.

"On th'lips," Jason says, fingers shaking. "Please? Please."

You thread your fingers with his to steady them. Then you lean in to kiss his mouth. Jason moans, greedily kissing you back. You begin to move. Jason's shoulders tense.

"You're so perfect," you say against his lips. "You'd be so perfect at knocking me up. Any time I wanted, you'd be hard and ready to come in me, right?"

"Ah-ah," Jason says, voice wrecked. "Y-yeah, yeah. As much as y'want. Do anything y'want. I'd do anything."

"Yeah, I know," you say, grunting as you slide back onto him. "I know, sweetheart. Pretty boy. Y'dunno what you got with this fat cock. Can barely speak when your dick's wet."

You do a particularly hard grind and growl against Jason's sweaty throat. You lick the salt from his Adam's apple, feel it bob against your tongue. Then you bite.

"Oh, oh," he whines, and your gut tightens further at his sounds.

"Don't come," you snarl, pussy like a vice. "I come first."

Jason shakes his head, lips parted. His pulse throbs against your mouth. "No, no, won't. I won't. I'm good. I'll be good. 'M I good?"

You pet his hair, voice softening. "You're good, Jason. So good, baby. So good that I gotta take you right here on the floor. You understand, right? I was aching over there, watching you. I had to fuck you. Had to use your big dick for something."

"Uh-huh," he says, voice wet and sticky with pleasure. "Y'had to. I can do it. I wanna be good for you."

He looks up at you, and you're struck again by your difference in size, and how easy Jason gets when he's inside of you. You feel that familiar tightness, the edge of your impending orgasm.

"Rub my clit," you say, letting go of his right hand, and Jason obeys instantly, locating and deftly rubbing your clit.

"Harder," you tell him, and he rubs harder. Your mouth falls open as the pleasure swells. "Yeah. This is what you're made for. Pleasing me."

One of these days, you'll broach the subject of Jason putting those muscles to good use and fucking you doggy-style, whining in your ear as he shoots load after load into you.

"I'm gonna come," you say, cunt tightening. "Are you gonna come?"

Jason shakes his head desperately. "No. No, no, y'said not to. Not gonna come!"

"A-are you sure?" you ask, grinning as Jason makes uh-uh's in the back of his throat.

"Won't come, I promise, won't come," he says, near tears.

You come, tightening hard around Jason's cock. He nearly howls, the corners of his eyes wet, tendons pulled taut in his neck.

But he doesn't come, true to his word.

Sloppily, you kiss him. Jason kisses you back, but it's frenzied. You know his brain must be soup with the effort it's taking to not come.

"Look at you," you say, gaze hungrily roving over Jason's swollen nipples, his red face, his drawn eyebrows. "You listened so well. Y'wanna touch me? Wanna hold me?"

Jason nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, please, baby, please, can I?"

"Go ahead, sweetheart. Hold me how you want and make yourself come. Don't be gentle."

Jason hesitates at the last direction. "Don't be gentle? Are y'sure?"

You pinch his nipple lightly. Jason bucks his hips. Your eyes narrow.

"I'm sure. Gimme everything you got, big guy."

You bite your lip as Jason's body comes alive, strength kicking in as he draws your thighs up over his hips, plants his feet, and drives into you. He punches the air out of you with each thrust, sobbing as he does. You hold on to his arms as he moves.

It only takes him a few thrusts before hot cum fills your pussy. Your eyes roll back at the feeling, nails scratching Jason's biceps.

"I want more," you say, grinding shallowly against his cock. Jason cries out, and more cum fills you.

"Was that good?" Jason asks, holding you closer.

You grin. "We're definitely doing that again."

Except, maybe not right after Jason's cleaned. You're not that mean.

[sinecosinewheel]

urgh. im gonna vent about smth stupid to avoid my actual problems

[killjoy-prince]

Ready for another round of putting my event team in an MV I like?

[ichorai]

wool ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; when you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his.

words ; 1.5k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, slightly suggestive

warnings / includes ; set before events of tbosas so no actual spoilers, making out, clemensia appearance, mentions of other characters, coryo's paranoia, he's not exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could, let's pretend the academy also serves dinner

a/n ; this man has consumed me body and soul. this fic was inspired by the song wool by flatland cavalry on the movie soundtrack! let me know if you guys would like a second part :)

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus Snow was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. He bore an aristocratic last name—yet you noticed that his dress shirt’s buttons seemed to be various different shades of black and slightly misshapen. His voice, so sweetly saccharine, charming, seductive—would whisper falsities like it was second nature. He would often claim that he wasn’t hungry, but you’d catch the longing glint in his pale irises as he eyed the steaming bread rolls Sejanus slathered with generous helpings of butter. 

Control. That was all he needed. 

It crumbled, ever so slightly, when you nudged your slice of apple pie in his direction. His eye twitched, and you pursed your lips, pulling your plate back to you. You ate quietly, and Coryo stared at you all the while, as if he were mentally dissecting your mind—studying you. 

You knew. It was all too clear, even if he wouldn’t tell you. And if he wouldn’t tell his closest friend—or, the closest thing he had to a friend, the two of you certainly did things that friends wouldn’t do—he most definitely wouldn’t let it slip that he was financially strapped to anyone else.

That same day, he met you in the back of the library. The two of you were supposed to be studying history—Professor Demigloss was one of the nicer teachers at the academy, but that didn’t mean he was any less strict with grades. And neither you nor Coryo could afford slipping now. Not if you both wanted to get into university. Being on top meant that there was only greater distance to fall.

But there were… distractions.

Mainly, his foot knocking against yours under the table. Your hand over his jostling knee. His teeth digging into his bottom lip. When you shifted so that your thighs brushed against his, the books spread out over the table were entirely forgotten.

He pushed you against the bookshelves a mere second later, the wood digging into your back uncomfortably, and kissed you until you grew dizzy. You were a welcome distraction—he could taste the apples on your tongue. The way you snaked your arms around his neck, toying with his pale blonde curls, pulling him closer until his body slotted against yours just perfectly—clicking into place like a pair of magnets facing opposite directions. It was desperate and heavy and he could only barely pull away to inhale sharply before cradling the base of your head to tilt your jaw back and kiss you even harder. Coryo swallowed any muffled whimpers that slipped from you when his free hand traveled lower.

Lower, lower, dangerously low—

When Clemensia’s voice echoed through the library in search of her lab partner, the two of you sprang apart, gasping for air.

She rounded the bend, and her dark eyes landed on the two of you. Keen, observant, narrowed. Coriolanus was flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling erratically. You were looking anywhere but the two of them, smoothing out your clothes and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Oh! I guess I’ll just have to find another time to bother you, Coriolanus,” she tittered, sickly sweet. She tilted her head with a tempered smile. “What’re you guys studying?”

Snow rolled his eyes in exasperation. “History,” he said. Curt, simple.

“Right.” She eyed you curiously. When she spoke again, it was directed more to you than him, sounding uncharacteristically void of frigid scorn. “I’d be careful if I were you. You sure he’s not just sleeping with you because you’re the top of the class?”

You stiffened, and Coryo bristled. 

“I’ll be fine, Clem. See you tomorrow.” 

There was another beat of terse silence. Her eyes darted warily between the two of you, and she whisked away in a flutter of red and black.

You blew out a breath. Your mouth tingled with the phantom memory of his lips planted over yours, and your cheeks flushed with heat. The two of you sat back down, both quiet. You worked in fluid tandem with each other, as you always did. His hands kept to himself this time. 

“I’m not using you,” he whispered, eventually. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” you replied hesitantly, testing the waters. “It’s not like you’d need to. Your grades are just fine as is.”

The two of you kept working until your fingers cramped with overuse and his head pulsed with the beginnings of a migraine. 

“Dinner?” you asked once the clock struck six, nudging him. “I think they’ll be serving mashed potatoes today.”

His stomach clenched at the thought of warm food. Control.

“Sure,” he replied coolly, flicking his books closed and gathering up all the papers to stuff into his bag. “I’m sick of mashed potatoes, though.”

You shot him an incredulous smile, brows quirking up. He was lying, but you didn’t know. “Not even when it’s seasoned with roasted garlic? A dash of the freshest of herbs?”

The blue of his eyes gleamed when they bore into yours. “Not even then.”

“You’re a strange man, Coriolanus Snow.” Your lips twisted downward, but it was more of a smile than a frown. When your eyes darted below to glance at his school uniform, you couldn’t help but notice the unironed creases in the carmine fabric. One of the buttons—the very top one—was oddly shaped and a different color from all the rest. It reminded you of his dress shirt. You quite liked that dress shirt. He looked handsome in it, but you chalked it up to his uncanny ability to look handsome in just about anything.

Your head tilted to the side, molten eyes fixed on the button. You knew. He knew that you knew. Panic seized in his chest, an irrational clawing sensation searing within his lungs. Would you tell the rest of the class? What would you say to them? That he was living as filthily as a District boy? That he skipped meals because he couldn’t afford them? That his cousin mended his clothes for him?

But your frown-smile deepened. Fondness stained your expression, clear as day. Coriolanus found himself surprised, as he often did around you. 

“I love your buttons, by the way,” you mumbled, reaching out to trace it with a finger. He held his breath on instinct. “Is it a stylistic choice? Having them all irregular like this?”

Stylistic. Coriolanus almost laughed.

“Mhm. It’ll be in fashion one day. I’m just ahead of the trends,” he murmured charmingly. A bluff.

When you laughed, airy and light and reminiscent to that of wind chimes, Coryo wished he could bottle up the sound and keep it as his, only his. 

“Maybe I’ll start wearing mismatched buttons now, too. Rebel against uniformity.” You stood up from your chair as you spoke, not catching the way Coriolanus’ expression faltered momentarily with your last three words. It was a joke, he had to remind himself. Just a joke. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner. I’m starving.”

He jerkily stood up. Grabbed your hand just because he could, fingers folding over your wrist. He could feel your pulse, thumping quicker and quicker. You regarded him curiously. Snow’s remaining spindly hand cradled your face and he stepped closer, intuitive eyes roaming over your face, wondering just how much of you was real. How much of you was lying, just as he was?

His lips fell over yours again. This time, the kiss was sweeter. Slower, more languid. His nose brushed over your cheekbone, warm to the touch. You hummed pleasantly against him, before placing a hand flat over his chest—over the crooked button—and pulled away with a dazed smile. It felt dangerously good that you hadn’t tugged your hand out of his grasp yet. His grip tightened in a near possessive manner.

As the two of you began walking out of the library, Coriolanus couldn’t help but think back to your hyperbole—about how far from starving you truly were. You wouldn’t ever know, not when your family was the very epitome of Capitol wealth. But he was glad he wasn’t the only one lying, for once, even if your lie was merely an inflation of the truth. 

After dinner, Coryo worked off the top button of his uniform with repeated tugs to the threads, pulling apart Tigris’ handiwork. He slid it over the table to you, watching the way your countenance softened in endearment. He kissed you again in the dark hallways outside the cafeteria, finding it difficult to get your lips to melt away from your tightly-stretched grin.

He walked home with a mirroring smile and a missing button that night. One less piece of the wolf’s sheeply clothes.

[venusincleo]

Time. [Aaron Pierre]

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Aaron Pierre x Black!Reader, teasing, slight edging, oral & fingering (fem receiving), DDLG kink/BDSM, slight?switch aaron, self!insert, close third POV and more...

Summary: You and Aaron have been in a long distance relationship for three months, as you reside in your cozy home in Seattle, and he stays in Los Angeles for work. Only ever having a quick day trip for quality time between your busy schedules, a long awaited break comes up on both of your calendars; three days and two nights at the end of a long week. Finally having the opportunity to see each other face to face, you enjoy a weekend of deeper, more intimate moments.

Word Count: 5.3k [I got carried away.🧍🏾‍♀️]

A/N: Part Two maybe?... let me know 🫣

• • •

Glasses clink between the four beings at the table, smiles and knowing looks move along each face as you gaze at your closest friends. Jade-green, feline eyes stared at you through natural black lashes, examining your demeanor as you commented on the subject of conversation; your Alma Mater’s recent Homecoming. He wasn’t that interested in the topic to be frank. 

Aaron was originally reluctant to agree to the nightcap, but when you insisted that the people you were closest to wanted to meet him, he felt the need to oblige you. He would get you to himself soon enough.

The ambivalence he held toward the conversation didn’t stop him from listening when you spoke, memorizing the words as if he would suddenly understand the intricacies of such a place like an HBCU. 

His eyes move away from your face as he settles into his seat, and his attention goes to the atmosphere of the jazzy establishment. The penthouse lounge was airy and spacious, mimicking the deep blue night, with its own stars to match. The celestial chandeliers lit the bar in the very middle of the large room romantically, with dim lamps atop each table that could put anything in a golden light. 

“And why would they ever put Beyoncé on the flyer? We know she ain’t gon’ be there! Put the actual performers.” Your sister Valerie added, shaking her head as she sipped on her lemon drop. You weren't blood related in any sense, but she was your ride-or-die by all means. 

You purse your lips at her comment knowingly, and take a sip of your wine.

“Girl, you know they love to act like they ain’t got no money. So, they’re baiting the people who are gullible enough to buy the ticket off the strength of her face chile.” Val nods quickly and points at you in agreement, a quick ‘Yup’ leaving her lips. Your other friend, Ryan, laughs at your interaction and shakes his head.

“And that’s why I ain't going. Spelhouse is having Ari Lennox and…”

“We know how you feel about Ari Lennox.” You and Valerie say in unison, teasing your longtime friend. He shrugs his shoulders unashamed of his near obsession, and Val laughs while she turns toward Aaron’s stoic form.

“Who’ you been listening to, Aaron?” She directs the conversation to him, and he looks straight at her with his answer ready on his lips.

“Oh, I’m more of a Sade type of guy.” The London accent infused in his soft tone causes you to look up at him, the wine affecting your every sense. As your eyes reach his side profile, you can’t help but to examine him from the top of his black curls down to his pretty face and then his plump pink lips. He continued to talk about his playlist and you were just…stuck. 

How could someone look and sound so sexy while talking about music artists? It definitely helped that you were an all-encompassed music lover, and couldn’t do much without a song in the background. You loved that the both of you connected over that, and it made you listen even more whenever he spoke about a new song or album he was getting into. 

“Honestly Y/N put me on to a lot of what’s in my rotation right now.” When you hear your name, you nearly snap out of your daze but then his eyes meet yours and you blink back the need to compliment him as nastily as you thought you should. He can see the growing lust in your eyes and a small smile rises to his lips for the first time tonight, one of his hands reaching your lap.

“I’m honing his ear, ya’ll.” You joke, pulling your eyes away from him. Any more staring and you would turn into a puddle right there. Valerie laughs slightly, and begins to go on about a  recent album she really loved while the man beside you zones in on your mannerisms.

Even as the conversation trudges on, Aaron recognizes your slight avoidance, something you made a habit of when he started to really turn you on. Maybe you didn’t want to seem too forward, or you were refraining for yourself. Either way, he understood because he was similar to you in that way. He never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable in your expression with him; sexual or otherwise.

But, he almost couldn’t help himself, his hand squeezing at your plush thigh through your silk dress. A breath hitches in your throat and you glance at him, the warmth of his hand through the fabric on your skin a bit too much to bear in your inebriation. As you lay your hand over his, he turns his head to look in your eyes and a jump reaches your core. All you can think of is what it would be like to have his veined hand up your dress and inside of your panties, soothing the hardened bulb between your thighs.

You can barely move, completely intoxicated by your thoughts and the man who was staring directly into your soul, seemingly watching them with you. 

From across the table, Ryan pays attention to the alluring energy between you and your man, the sexual tension horribly intense. Heat rises in his face as he thinks of the possibility that you and Aaron may become more serious than he had hoped.

He’s not the first man to come around. He thought. But when he saw the way you two spoke to each other with no words between you, fear rose in his heart that maybe –just maybe– Aaron would be the last. Your last first. 

Ryan’s fingers tap lightly against the bare wooden table, and then, he clears his throat to try and break your concentration. Seeing the both of you unphased, his bruised ego heightens his audacity, and he speaks.

“So… how does this work? Her love language is physical touch and ya’ll are never together.” He directs his question to Aaron but both of your eyes break contact to look at Ryan simultaneously. Your hands don’t leave one another’s for a moment as you take in his question.

“She has one of my sweaters that she sleeps with.” Instinctively, you run one of your manicured hands up his arm, squeezing at the toned muscle of his bicep as he replies to your friend. “We make sure we don’t miss a beat on communication…And then we plan visits like this.”

“But is that enough?” Ryan doesn’t process the answer at all. “What if she absolutely needs a hug? Then all she has is us like she’s always had…” Valerie sips on her drink silently now, thinking that Ryan is just being an interrogative friend. You could feel the venom in his questions though, and even in your struggle to figure out what it was, he seemed to have a point he wanted to make.

“Or, what if she needs some? She’s all lonely at home and you're at work, states away.” Your face begins to contort with confusion at his question, unease settling in from his suggestive tone. Why the hell would he be thinking about that?

Before you can even wrap your mind around the moment, Aaron’s arm stiffens in your hand, and you look up at his face to see a clench in his jaw. He takes a deep breath, and releases it in a soft sigh, which seems to calm him a little. But the comfort that he previously had never returns to the table.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but…” He runs a hand over his facial hair as he hesitates with his answer, not wanting to put your business out there. But truly, the only person at the table who didn’t know the answer was Ryan.

“She calls me.” 

Flashes of just one of you and Aaron’s horny FaceTime calls fill your mind, and you look away from his face quickly. Your whole body is hot with the continued memory of hearing his breathy groans mixed with the light squelching of his large hand around his shaft, pulling to his oblivion for only your eyes to see.

“And…what?” As Ryan pushes and pries for more of your intimate relationship details, you finally sit up from your comfortable lean in your seat and look him in the eyes.

“Ryan, that’s enough!” Your voice raises just a bit as you assert your lamentation. “None of this is any of your concern… What the fuck is wrong with you?” You tilt your head to the side as an attitude fills your body. 

“To be honest, it’s quite obvious that you wanted to be the answer to all of your questions.” Aaron squints his eyes in Ryan’s direction and you can feel anger breathing down your neck.

You looked down at the table as you tried to breath through this emotion, but you just felt…blindsided. A friendship that you held on to for so many years…and now it was obvious that there were possibly secret feelings brewing this whole time. 

Valerie can feel the heat radiating off of you, and she knows that it’s only a matter of time before you snap. 

“Hey, Y/N, I think this is just a misunderstanding.” She tries to talk you down but you don’t even meet her eyes, you are so livid. 

“Ryan, maybe you should apologize.” Val turns to her friend, who she is also shocked by at the moment. Her limbs are static at the awkward silence that has fallen between all of you.

“Aaron, I’m ready to go.” You alert him, and almost instantly, your gentle giant is rising from his seat to fulfill your request. His large hand is held out for you to take, and you do so, following him out of the lounge and into the elevator that would take you to the lobby on the ground floor.

• • •

Finally in your car, Aaron is still tense from the unexpected interaction with your college friend. He was under the impression that your folks would have had a positive view on you guy’s relationship, but he stood corrected. With about twenty minutes left on the drive back to your place, you both had a bit of time to process the conversation.

“He’s mouthy.” Aaron complains as he sits comfortably in the driver’s seat of your car, which was still adjusted for his tall frame. His gravelly voice feigned apathy but you could just tell that he was not happy. 

“I’m sorry about him. I’ve never seen him so…overprotective.” You try to wrap your mind around the possibility that Ryan could have felt whatever he was feeling towards you for all of the years that you had been friends. But nothing seems to truly make sense.

Just as your words registered in your man’s mind, his attention averted from the road in front of him and he turned his head in your direction.

“If that’s what you call overprotective…He’d been asking invasive ass questions all night. I’m surprised he even let you leave.” He expressed, his shoulders slightly raised with the tension in his words. Your eyes squint at his charming face as you realize what he said. Let me?

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You ask. Straight-forward. You seldom ever disagreed with Aaron, but this time he was hinting at something that was already working your nerves.

With a deep breath, Aaron can sense the tone in your voice, and he mentally curses himself for getting you even a little riled up. 

“I’m just saying,” He begins, his voice steady as it was when you saw him for the first time earlier today. “I think he has a thing for you.” 

As his calm words filter through your mind, you venture into your memories to think of the dynamic you’ve had with your friend. He was the first one you made on your Alma Mater’s campus, and a writer, just like you but in a bit of a different way. A journalist. You always had such a close knit relationship; you shared your best laughs and biggest dreams with Ryan. 

But then, you realize how you’ve never seen him with anybody. Not one romantic interest. 

You had originally thought that was because of his workaholic tendencies, but today’s events had you thinking differently. He did seem a little territorial at the lounge. A sigh leaves your lips as you try to put these new thoughts out of your mind and then you rethink a point you wanted to make to the strong-willed man beside you.

“And let’s get one thing straight.” Aaron gives you a glance as he continues to focus on the road, but your eyes stay on him as you speak. “You can be jealous, that’s human. But nobody ‘lets me’ do anything.” The attitude eases off of your lips effortlessly for it being the first time you beckoned it with him. But it doesn’t seem to phase him too much, he just fixes his full lips to agree. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

The rest of your ride is smooth and quiet. A mumble of a tune can be heard from the low-playing radio station, and the heat is on just enough to push the cold of the budding fall night away. 

When you get to your apartment, neither of you say a word, but you wait for him to get to your door just like you had all day. Aaron promptly grabs the handle of the passenger side, and you get out of the seat gracefully, steadying your Saint Laurent heels on the concrete beneath you. Your hand instinctively reaches for his bicep as he closes your door and he leads you up to your apartment.

Warmth allows you to settle into your space, and you ease into your kitchen as you have many times before. Your hand reaches into your cupboard for two rose-tinted wine glasses, which are free of any stem, and you set them on your island as you turn to your refrigerator. From the enclosed appliance, you grab your favorite wine and pull at the already opened cork.

Aaron watches you intently, hoping you’ll say something, anything to break the silence.

“You want some?” You gesture the chilled bottle in front of your chest and he gazes at you with a tingling fascination. 

“Yes, please.” He answers you surely, and you resort to pouring both of you an even glass of the deep red alcohol. As you round out his glass, Aaron chuckles to himself and you peer up at his light eyes to catch his thoughts.

“Love is complicated, huh?” He grins boyishly in your direction, his lips raising over his bright teeth as he waits for your agreement.

“Mm.” You hum contrarily and turn on your heels to put the empty bottle of wine on the counter next to your fridge for later disposal. When you face Aaron again, you wrap your hand around your glass and bring it close to your lips.

“Well, I only want you.” You take a sip of your sweet, warm-noted delicacy and continue looking at your man. “It doesn’t get much simpler for me than that.” The tall specimen before you takes a large gulp of his wine, and your eyes dilate instantly as he licks the brief stain of the alcohol from his pink lips.

“Agreed.” 

Hoping to hide the growing lust in your eyes, you raise your glass and drink again, and Aaron watches you this time. His eyes scan you closely, picking up on the heightened speed that your chest rises and falls. Naturally, his focus shifts to your breasts, down the valley between them and then to both nipples, which are hardening by the second with your arousal. 

You set the half-empty glass down on the counter in front of you, and his lovely green eyes mimic the clear waters of a tropical island as they dart back up to yours. Deep, soulful brown eyes stare back at him as you take in a deep breath and release it through your nose. Quickly, Aaron walks around the island counter to meet you, his wine still in hand. Without missing a beat, he follows your steps as you turn around to watch his next movements, both of you toe to toe now.

As your pretty orbs peer up at him widely, his large, kept hand finds its way to your face. A delicate caress of his thumb against your cheek sends a trembling breath from between your lips, and heat rises in your face at the contact. Wanting to wait no longer, Aaron trails his gaze down to your mouth, and seamlessly places his over yours.

The kiss was molasses on your lips; slow, sweet, warm. He confidently parted the edges of his pucker to make way for his tongue, prompting you to do the same and graze him in a lovely tale of destiny. The taste of wine only deepened the thump of the pulse between your thighs, and soon you could feel the moisture pooling in your laced Victoria Secret thongs again. 

Aaron kissed you like he was giving you a gift. As if he wanted you to remember every detail. His attention to the kiss made you a complete mess, breathless in the very best way. And once he pulled back from you, your lowered eyes gave you away instantly. 

Curious eyes guided his pointer finger to the space under the spaghetti strap of your left shoulder, and as he readied himself to pull it off, he paused and placed a kiss along your heated skin. 

“Is this okay?” He asks, looking up at you vividly. You nod quickly, a sharp inhale lacing your lips, and then, your word.

“Yes…” Near to a whisper, but audible to his seeking ear. Another second and he took both straps from your shoulders, watching as the silk fabric folded atop itself, then stopped at the round of your d-cup breasts. An index finger between your breasts is all he uses to pull the plunge down even more, revealing your bare bosom. His mouth waters at the sight of your perfect tits and he reaches for one, squeezing at the pillowy flesh. 

Finally, his thick tongue meets your sensitive skin and his lips wrap around your nipple to suck at it passionately. A breath hitches in your throat as you feel his mouth deliver a soft pleasure, and though you want to moan you bite at your lip to muffle the sound. The vibration of your vocal cords alerts Aaron to keep going, and he pops your breast from between his lips to give some attention to the other. 

This time you can’t contain yourself and you allow a whimper to escape your mouth, then you bring a hand to the back of Aaron’s head to guide him on. With swirling eyes, he stares up into your lowered ones, and outlines your areola with his tongue before he enveloped the bulb with his lips once more. 

Then, he raised his face back parallel to yours and delivered a silken peck to your lips. His eyes taunted you as he stepped away from your blazen body, looking you up and down in your initial ruin.

“Finish your wine.” 

Your hand couldn’t move quick enough as you grabbed your glass from its place on the counter behind you. Three swift gulps ended the drink off abruptly, and Aaron smiled at your zeal, but that didn’t stop him from taking slow gulps of his lasting alcohol to keep the night at his pace. 

Once he guzzles the very last drop from your pretty wine glass he sets it down right next to the one you just finished. Then, he holds out his hand for you, which you dotingly fulfill, allowing him to lead you to your bedroom. 

Steady steps into your dark room prompts Aaron to feel along the wall for your light switch, flicking it on when he finds it. Your eyes fall upon your perfectly made bed, and then your mind travels to the thought of it disheveled due to your pleasure.

Aaron releases your hand, and stands before you with eyes that know exactly what he wants.

"Take off your dress."

Another demand that you answered with absolutely no protest. Eager hands pulled down your silk slip dress, and as it fell around your heels, Aaron began to crouch before you. One of his gentle hands wraps around your calve and the other moves your dress from the space around your feet.

Free from hazard, he lifts one of your feet cautiously, and you steady yourself on his shoulders as he uses a thumb to push the strap of the heel down. Slowly, intentionally, he takes your shoes off, and plants several feather-light kisses on your calves and up your thighs.  

A gasp leaves your lips as you feel his mouth decorating your skin with small declarations of desire. His gentle hands then trail up the back of your legs as he raises to a standing position, then he takes his hands from your body altogether. 

Withdrawal was an understatement. You didn’t expect to be so out of it, so quickly. But his touch. Oh, his touch. And those eyes? Gahdamn.

“D’you remember the safe word we came up with?” His husky voice taunts you, calls to your core with a siren song no one has ever sung before. Just him. 

You’re a little too shook to even answer him, and very quickly he recognizes that he already has you where he wants you. A cocky grin curls at his lips and he brings a hand to your chin to get your attention.

“Huh, princess?” You blink slowly, and then nod as the word comes to the forefront of your brain from one of those infamous FaceTimes.

“Mars.” He looks over your flushed face, and then lets your chin go as he takes a step back.

“Mhm. And what did I tell you to call me?” His large hands reach under his shirt to unbuckle his belt and your eyes follow his quick and certain movements. 

“Papa, Dada or Sir.” He wraps his crisp leather belt around his hand, and your eyes dart from the thick fabric to his eyes, that are already looking over at you. 

“Our main rules?”

“Never say no to Papa, only yes, not ‘yeah’. No back talk unless told otherwise. No touching myself without permission.” 

Aaron nods his head to your correct recollection of the rules you both agreed on and his Chelsea boots click against the floor as he navigates to his bag that is sitting on your dresser. Quietly, he shuffles through a burgundy satin drawstring bag, and your curiosity is piqued when he grabs something from the bag then sets it down along with his belt. 

“I don’t intend to try too much tonight,” He began, holding up a pair of vegan leather cuffs that you told him you were eyeing after an intense conversation about DDLG play. “But I did bring these.” 

Your breathing picks up at the thought of him placing those leather cuffs around your wrists and having his way with you. So sweetly, so softly. And then so deep that you can barely take a full breath. You bite your lip absentmindedly and he takes heed of your tell, bringing them over to your bed before he stands in front of you again.

“We’ll leave those for later.” He acknowledged tossing them behind you. As your chocolate brown eyes peer up at him in anticipation, he can’t help but look over your beautiful face, and then your curvaceous body. His skin continued to heat up with the thought of finally touching you the way he knew you wanted, and the sounds that you would make when you felt all that he wanted you to feel. 

Hurried hands rush to the hem of his shirt, and he pulls the true black fabric off of his body, letting it fall to the floor as he brings himself close to you. Those same hands pull you into his hold, tenderly, allowing your chests to meet in an almost overwhelming warmth. At this point your panties are soaking wet, and your throbbing cunt has become the default for whenever you are in Aaron’s presence. 

Just waiting for the word, you bring your arms around his neck, and as your manicured fingers play in the short curls at the nape of his neck, his eyes flutter in delight. One of his spots. His thick shaft fights against his black dress pants, begging to meet you for the first time. You can feel his print press against your abdomen and he breathes harder at the thought of contact. 

As he’s finally ready to put an end to the anticipation, or to begin at least, he brings his face close to yours and allows his lips to tease them for just a second. Warm, wine-ridden breath plays at your lips and nose as your eyes lower even more. But he still doesn’t give in. He wraps a strong hand around your neck, only applying pressure where safe, and then his lips meet the supple skin beside his thumb. 

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you process his roughness, his soft kisses and his hard dick against you. Sneakily, you bring a dainty hand to the fortress of his pants, feeling just how thick he was through the fabric separating him from you. A moan eases from your throat as you caress him and he hums at the faint sensation.

“Please…” You whisper, knowing that he most likely had a plan for the night, and nervous that you would ruin it. 

“Please what, princess.” He rasps against your skin, as he goes back to delivering torturous kisses. You breathe in a hollow breath, and then answer him.

“Please fuck me, Papa.” Your hand squeezes around his girth through his pants and he stops what he’s doing to look you in your eye. The desperation in your orbs causes him to hum with a grudging remembrance of his list for the night. He wanted so badly to give you what you begged so nicely for. But if he wanted you to have something substantial to hold on to while you were states and hours away, he’d have to stick to his guns.

With a hungry kiss to your yearning lips, he steps back from you and his eyes caress your body.

“Not yet.”

When his eyes finally made their way back to yours he glanced at the bed behind you and gestured for you to move.

“Get on the bed.” A step back was all it took for your legs to meet the cool bedding atop your mattress, and you lower yourself to sit and then lay along your queen-sized bed. 

He stared down at you from his stature, and brought his hands to the front of his pants to unfasten and unzip the closure, his dick protruding over the unzipped edges as he stood there. You watched as he rubbed his large hand over his thickness and your pussy tightened around nothing, causing you to whine at the uncomfortable sensation.

“Pa…” You drag on, getting very weary of this waiting game. Knowing just what you were wanting, Aaron stepped forward and pressed his clothed pelvis against your lace, feeling the give of your damp panties. It didn’t take long for him to reach to the sides of the thin garment, and tug them from your thick thighs, revealing the overwhelming supply of natural lubrication at your entrance. 

Aaron raised the soiled fabric to his nose and his eyes rolled closed as he took in your earthy, sweet scent. A growl exits his vocal cords, and he stuffs the panties in his left pocket, happy to now have a souvenir of his own to keep. 

Kneeling at the edge of your bed, he instantly used his wide tongue to lap up your delicacy. When he had ingested all the sticky elixir that you supplied, he started at making some more. With his mouth open fully, he placed his lips within the well of your labia, sucking on you like there was nothing else he’d rather do. 

His strong hands parted your legs on either side of you, allowing him full access to his new favorite treat. As he caught his rhythm and really got into it, he pulled up to watch a string of his spit follow his tongue away from you, and then he leaned back in to devour you thoroughly.

A throaty moan left your lips as you reached a hand down to his head to encourage him to keep going. Humming against you, he nestles his face in your pussy proudly, sucking and licking to your audible delight.

“Fu-fuck!” Your body begins to tremble in response to his zealous efforts, and though it was instinct to close your legs at such pleasure, Aaron’s strength didn’t really leave that as an option. You squirm underneath his secure hold on you, and he can tell that you’re close as you cry out the sexiest wail of pleasure he’s ever heard. 

To push you even further, he rubs his middle and forefinger into the mess of spit and your slick that he created, and he pushes them into your tightness. Forefinger first, and then both, he strokes straight in a couple times and then he turns his hand upward, using a ‘come hither’ motion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your spine arches through your upward spiral of pure energy.

“Ohh…” You call out, amongst the ridiculous squelching that is produced from him fingering you so deliberately. Aaron can’t help but to groan at the sounds you make, biting his lip as he gets you all the way to your peak. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and you open your eyes to meet him, your whimpers driving him wild.

“Mmh. You gon’ cum for me baby?” His English accent falters just a little as he focuses on your nut, and everything that it’s taking to get you there. Before you can even respond, speechless at his skill, Aaron wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking as he strokes his long fingers into your dripping cunt. Your drawn out cry fills the room, and your body shakes at the orgasm that is breaking through you. 

It doesn’t seem to end. The more you dripped onto his fingers, he stroked even more precisely, and the louder your sounds got. At this point you were damn near screaming bloody murder, and you were sure you’d get a not-so-polite knock at your door tomorrow morning. But for now, it felt too good to be quiet. He had to know how good he was doing you, and you’d tell him all night.

Another true climax runs all of the energy you had out of your system, leaving you too weak to protest. But, Aaron seemed to get the hint, noticing the flutter of your eyelids, and limp yet awake body. You thought you’d be able to handle a full night, but you were only finishing fourplay and depleted. What the fuck?

Opting to make himself your personal cleaner for the night, Aaron softly licks away any remnants of your screaming, leg-shaking orgasm and kisses your inner thigh just barely. Your chest heaves up and down as you try and catch your breath, eyes lower than they’d ever been before. 

Seeing you worn out like this made Papa proud, of course. But he was still dealing with a boulder between his legs that he didn’t really want to handle alone. As the gentleman he is though, Aaron raises himself from his kneeling position and climbs on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your shivering body. 

Once you feel his warmth, you snuggle into his toned chest, your eyes closed and your mind completely empty. Just as you get comfy though, and begin to drift off into la-la-land, you hear Aaron’s soft resolve in your ear.

“Imma let you rest, but we’re not done, princess.”

Part Two [ii]

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

[dearly-somber]

hyunga’s sleeping | l.mh

-> pairing. idol!minho x non-idol!reader (f)

-> genre. Established relationship, domestic fluff.

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1101

-> warnings. None!

-> a/n. This was fueled by pure, unadulterated Minho & Soon-Doong-Dori (SDD) brainrot.

-> skz ficlets, oneshots and series m.list

-> started. Feb. 23rd, 2024 @ 16:51

-> fin. Fri., Mar. 1st, 2024 @ 19:40

-> edited. Sat. Mar. 2nd, 2024 @ 15:40

-> divider credit. @plum98

“Eomoni!”

“Y/N, darling, come in!”

Minho’s mom wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling you inside with a big smile on her face. She waves you off as you slip out of your shoes and into a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty slippers Minho bought for you as a joke years ago, forcefully prying the bag of goodies you bought on your way here from your fingers.

“I hope I’m not intruding—?”

“Hush!” Mrs. Lee chides with a smile, “Stop worrying so much.” Her hand hovers by the small of your back, guiding you up the last step into the living room.

“Is Minho here? He said he was coming home today…”

“Yes, he’s here. He’s in his room.” Minho’s mom sets the plastic bag on the counter, and you naturally go to help her unpack what you bought, shelving things like you live here.

“I—hello, abeonim.” You bow at Mr. Lee, closing your eyes contentedly when he comes around the counter to give you a fatherly side-hug that squishes you against him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, ruffling your hair as he lets you go in favor of helping his wife unpack.

You shrug, walking around to the other side of the counter. “Thought I’d pop in to say hi. I missed the kittens very much.”

Mr. Lee laughs, shaking his head at you. “Of course, the kittens.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

You can’t help the grin tugging at your mouth, clearing your throat to speak. “Speaking of, where are the babies? I haven’t seen any of them since I got here.”

“Last time I checked they were all with Minho in his room,” his mom says, putting away the bottle of red wine you bought for dinner later tonight.

“Great! I can kill two birds with one stone.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

She snickers at you, shooing you away with a fond smile. “Go say hi and then come sit with us—we found a documentary we thought you’d like.”

“Okay, eomoni.” You smile at her and hope your pure love and adoration for her isn’t written too clearly on your face, afraid she might tease you. You walk with light steps in the direction of Minho’s room, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“Minho-ssi,” you sing-song, rounding the corner with a light and airy step-a-step you’re pretty sure you saw somewhere in Thunderous’s choreography.

Mreow?

“Doong-Doong-ah?” Your lips jut out in a surprised pout, looking down at the talkative orange tabby with a tiny furrow in your brow. Following the lump of white sheets behind him, you finally make out Minho’s all-black clad body hidden under all the fluff.

You smile.

“Is hyunga sleeping?” you whisper, walking over on the tips of your toes before crouching in front of Doongie, scratching behind his ears with a soft smile. He mrews, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans his head into your hand. To your right, Dori hugs what you think is a bottle of lotion between his white socked-paws, his tail flicking with each nibble he delivers to the hard plastic.

You let your hand wander over Dori’s side and chide him with a half-hearted hiss when he clamps his teeth around your knuckles, shaking it off with a smile when he pauses a second before giving your hand a couple of licks.

You give his side one last pat before walking around Minho’s feet, only noticing Soonie as he’s cuddling into your boyfriend’s duveted stomach.

You can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips, crouching next to the sleeping cats to card your fingers through Soonie’s fur, feeling a familiar sense of pride swell in your chest at his appreciative purr.

And then you’re looking up at Lee Minho, your body tingling all over at the serenity on your sleeping beauty’s face, unable to help but reach out and let your hand run over his hair; a little frizzy at the ends but otherwise straight; he must not have been sleeping for very long.

You drag your hand over Minho’s head with an inexplicable softness constricting your throat, wishing you could lean down and kiss him without running the risk of waking him up.

You jump a little when Minho lets out an adorable grunt as he slowly pries his eyes open.

“Jagi?” he mumbles.

“Did I wake you?” you coo, combing your fingers through his fringe.

“Mmm.”

You chuckle, letting the pads of your fingers brush over his forehead, over his eyelids. “Ever the truthman.”

“Truthman?” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to loosely hold your wrist between his fingers.

“When did you get home?” You let your hand wander over his cheek.

“A few hours ago…”

“From practice?”

He guides the palm of your hand against his lips. “Mmm...”

He kisses your hand, turning onto his back (much to Soonie’s dismay) and throwing the duvet around his hips before tugging on your arm with surprising strength.

You yelp, practically falling on top of him. He lets out a back-of-the-throat kind of giggle that sends tingles down your arms, using his hands on your hips to shift you higher up his abdomen.

Minho lets out a satisfied hum-sigh against the top of your head, his fingers massaging the skin at your waist before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your trousers, letting the elastic keep his hands in place.

“Baby,” you say, softly—knowing his parents are waiting for you downstairs but feeling so tempted to sink into his warmth and stay there until the end of days.

“No,” he huffs, nuzzling your temple. “Lay with me for a bit.”

You can’t help but laugh, subtly shaking your head. Of course he knows. “Okay, but only for a minute. Your mom invited me downstairs to watch a—“

“Shh, jagi, I’m trying to sleep.”

———

“Y/N, sweetheart, we’re—“

Mrs. Lee stops in her tracks, right outside Minho’s room. The sight she comes across brings an immediate smile to her face, and she can’t help but take her phone out and snap a picture to give to her son later:

Minho, his arms wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, legs intertwined. And surrounding you, Soonie, Doongie and Dori; the youngest of the trio laying by his hyung’s head. Doongie lays by your feet, and Soonie sleeps just off to the side, his legs stretched out in front of him.

As she sits back down with her husband, Mrs. Lee can’t help but think: she can’t wait for the day Minho asks for her mother’s ring.

[comatosebunny09]

tempest | sylus q.

summary: sylus sabotages all your attempts to move on. things come to a head after you grow tired of him giving you mixed signals. genres: angst, erotica warnings: melodramatic af, alcohol, jealousy, unprotected intercourse, size difference, written with female reader in mind, dirty talk, restraints, profanity, emotional hate sex, “slut” used like once notes: a consequence of staying up past my bedtime, this late night/early morning blurb was born. thank you so much for reading, lovely! hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️ now playing: masc - doja cat

Nothing seems amiss tonight, Sylus thinks, leant against the rail of the second-floor balcony in his club.

He studies the crowd—the sea below of writhing, sweaty bodies. The floor thumps beneath his feet from the bass of the music. Red strobe lights briefly highlight his features, revealing a pristine glass of whiskey poised at his lips. Nothing in particular seems to capture his intrigue. There are no suspicious-looking people sinking into the crowd. No dancers to protect, no fights to break up. He’s about to retreat into the quiet safety of his office, but—

Oh, what’s this?    

Something finally does pique his curiosity tonight. That very something being you, and he finds his brow ticking upward at what’s got you so tickled. You come to him in a flash of sensual grins and carnal titters, tucked away in the corner of the first-floor VIP section. Sylus bristles at the sight, blood turning to icicles in his veins.

You’re not alone, much to Sylus’ chagrin. Shacked up with another performer, and Sylus doesn’t like how close he is to you on the red leather couch. Doesn’t like how he nuzzles into the hollow of your shoulder, whispering God knows whatever obscenities into your ear. And his hands are on a languid excursion over your waistline, down the swell of your thighs...

You don’t push him away. Instead, you encourage his advances with a hand clasped around his neck, an airy sigh parting your lips. Your laugh pierces through the dense fog and thumping melody, heard only by Sylus. And the sound of it curls its fingers around something hidden in his chest, squeezing.

Sylus sets his jaw into a rigid line. Narrows his eyes. The whiskey glass suddenly explodes in a flurry of jagged, glittering shards in his palm. He ignores the lazy drip-drop of his blood pooling on the marbled floor, unable to tear his eyes away from you so effortlessly entwined with another man. What’s more off-putting is that you’re doing it of your own volition, blatantly playing in Sylus’ face. In his club, no less.

His girl. Enthralled by someone else. 

The iron-wrought rail screeches and bends under Sylus’ crushing grip. He turns away from the scene with a tempered rage, stalking into his office. None the wiser to your eyes, boring holes into the space between his shoulder blades as he retreats. 

—

You have a thing for blondes.

Platinum blondes, to be specific, the unnatural sheen reminding you of a figure stuffed in the darkest reaches of your fantasies.

He talks too much, you muse, tugging at the give of your newest conquest’s belt. Still, he’ll have to do for tonight. 

He chuckles, hot and lustful against your shoulder, open-mouthed kisses emblazoned into your skin. He promises the best of things whilst his hands smooth over the silk of your nightgown. He bunches it between your thighs as he seeks out the searing heat of your womanhood. 

You roll your eyes. You’re all too familiar with this song and dance—a convenient face in your bed to chase away the loneliness, whispering hollow words. White noise in the muddled mess of your mind, your need for instant gratification blotting out all thought and reason. Tamping down your dignity, your pride. 

You giggle despite yourself to play up the theatrics. Act all docile so you can get what you want as he moors you to the bed beneath him, branding your throat with kisses. Despite the angle, his belt finally gives, and he sighs something relieved as he slots himself between your thighs.

At least he feels good, you reason, lying back once you’ve unfastened the buckles of his jeans, and you grant him whatever claim he wants on your body. Your eyes slide shut, your mind spilling into a fitful haze. You will yourself to relax. Will away thoughts of a man clad in black and his stupid hair and equally stupid, stunning eyes boring into you. 

But it seems fate has other plans for you tonight.

He comes to you in a flourish of inky feathers and sparkling, claret orbs of energy at the foot of your bed. 

Initially, you mistake him for a trick of the light, your bedroom’s muted, amber glow distorting your vision. Desire dulling your senses. There’s no mistaking the shift of pressure in the room, however. The air crackles with static, the hairs adorning the back of your neck standing stiff.

“What the fuck?” you mutter over your counterpart’s shoulder, sitting up as best you can with the hard press of his body weighing you down. You find your blood running cold, your breath corked in your lungs.

It’s him, alright.

“What’s wrong?” asks the man between your legs, all breathy and concerned through the fog of lust. He ingests you with mussed hair and lidded eyes. Kiss-swollen lips part, and he scrutinizes you before chasing your line of sight over his shoulder. 

What greets him turns his body to stone.

“Mi-Mister Sylus?” the man cowers, scrambling off you. He stands at your bedside, bowing profusely beneath your intruder’s glare. “I-I didn’t know this was your ho—”

“Leave. Now.” The control of Sylus’ voice leaves no room for argument. Promises the worst of things if he’s not heeded, the glint of his Evol on his fingertips driving his point home.

Your former one-night stand books it, scooping up his clothes to slip past your employer out of your abode with his life intact. You sit up on your elbows with a scowl, your body awash with the heat of embarrassment when Sylus’ disapproving gaze slides over you. 

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” you grate, clambering out of bed. Under normal circumstances, it would be comical to watch you tumble to the floor, fighting with your sheets. But now, you crave nothing more than to distance yourself from the center of your heartbreak. 

“What is? Me catching you screwing around with the help, or your state of dress?”

You give him a sharp look, ignoring how the rake of his eyes over your form makes your body hum. Fixing your negligee, you stalk out of your bedroom, Sylus hot on your heels. 

The gleam of your decanter on your counter calls to you. You snatch it up without thinking, the dark, viscous fluid inside violently sloshing about. The cork popping is jarring in the stillness of your kitchen, contending with the violent thrum of your pulse. You greedily drink straight from the bottle, caramel streams of bourbon easing down the sides of your face, your neck.

When the acrid sting reaches your nose, you slam the decanter on the counter. Just in time for Sylus to blur into frame, and he props his hands on your kitchen island as he watches you with his mouth carved into a tight line.

You pace. Massage your temples and smooth back your hair with a shaky hand, finally giving in to your frustration. “What the fuck are you doing here, huh? What the fu—what do you even want with me?”

Sylus’ shoulders drop the slightest. He exhales slowly, the red wash of his irises glinting dangerously in the light above your stove.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking around with my staff?” He quirks a brow at your scoff, the tendons in his jaw jumping. He otherwise appears composed, clicking his tongue and shaking his head with disdain. “This is very unbecoming of you, sweetie.”

“Are you kidding me,” you say with a bitter laugh. Against your better judgment, you maneuver around the island until you’re standing before him. He swaddles you in his imposing aura, peering at you with an air of indifference, a silent rage brewing beneath the surface of his skin. 

You’re breathing hard over crossed arms. Refuse to back down despite every synapse in your brain alerting you to flee. “Didn’t you once say I can have whoever I want?”

He bristles at that, squinting at your brazenness. You’ve struck a nerve. Buried the knife to the handle and twisted.

“Since when do you give a fuck who I sleep with? I never gave you shit for chasing that—” In a fit of rage, you kick one of your stools over, the clatter of it against the hardwood not once deterring Sylus’ stare. “—fucking Hunter around like a lost puppy!”

He scoffs bitterly. “So that’s what this is about?” It’s infuriating how calm he is, contrasting the tempest raging behind your ribs. “Petty revenge?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you seethe, stepping around him. 

You barely take two steps before limber fingers wind around your forearm, searing you to the bone, halting your escape. You stiffen. Surprise briefly glazes your features before you give him a haughty, sidelong glare. His own holds a warning. An alarm you don’t heed, trying vainly to shake yourself out of his grip.

“Let me go!” you snarl, struggling to no avail. You’re grossly outmatched. Can do nothing when he effortlessly pulls you stumbling in front of him, irritation coloring his features. 

He passively waits for you to finish thrashing about. For you to stop shoving the heels of your palms against the rigid pane of his chest in an effort to free yourself. You pause to catch your breath, glaring daggers between the divot of his collarbones.

“Are you quite finished, sweetheart?”

The childish look in your eye begs to differ. 

The air shifts. His expression warps into one of conflict as if he’s waging an internal battle in his mind. He huffs out a breath, fixing you with a look that sets your body aflame.

“Do you love me?”

The question catches you off guard. Floors you, and you replay it in your mind, unsure if you truly heard it. You blink dumbly at him. “Do I—huh?”

“Are you in love with me,” he repeats as if it isn’t the most earth-shattering thing. “And don’t lie to me because I can very well see through your ruse.” 

Sylus leans closer, the warm scent of his skin overhauling your senses. His right eye glows a sinister red as he threatens to tap into the power of his Aether Core. Like a door being knocked upon, you feel him poking around the edges of your mind, those sickly tendrils of power begging for entry.

You avert your gaze to the side. Even without the use of his Evol, he reads you like the deckled pages of a book. 

Of course you care for him, your feelings rooted deep like a sturdy tree. You’ve been his ace for years—his trump card. Yet, he’s treated you with nothing but kindness. Built you up to believe you meant more to him than just a tool to lure out and kill off his competition. The errant touches. The unguarded words he whispered…

Dammit.

You were foolish to think you could ever erase the thought of him with cheap carbon copies and one-night stands.

“Let go of me,” you say again, though the fight’s left your voice. 

“Answer me.” The hard edge his tone once held is traded for something softer—more beseeching. “Please.”

You reply with a sardonic chuckle, the taste of the truth pungent on your tongue. “Even if I were in love with you, it wouldn’t change anything. I’m nothing more than a pawn to you, Sylus. A pretty face. Your moneymaker. I’m damaged goods. ‘m nothing like her, and I never will be. So, would you—”

You try weakly to free yourself, your chest swelling with emotion. God, why do you feel like crying? “—would you just piss off?”

It is his turn to look wounded. You stiffen when the callused fingertips of his opposing hand graze your cheek to sweep some hair away from your face. You don’t deserve this tenderness—his pity. His hand falls listlessly at his side, and his trembling lips part, voice abrasive with the strain of whispering. “Is that what you think of me? That I don’t care about you? That I’m using you?”

The tremor of his voice makes your stomach pinch with regret. Its painful, sharp talons sink into you. Despite it all, you refuse to face him fully, instead swept up in your own head.

He laughs bitterly, disbelieving your apathy. There is no warning. No preamble when he suddenly hefts you onto the counter by your waist, the air pinched from your lungs as the brisk countertop touches your thighs. You blink at him disbelievingly, rooted to your spot.

“What the fuck? Are you putting me in timeout?”

Sylus doesn’t dignify you with a response, instead shrugging out of his overcoat and ducking out of sight into your darkened entryway. You watch the path he forged with your mouth agape, ears straining for every bit of sound. Every flicker of static. 

He returns soon after placing his coat on the rack. And you’ve nothing but the gleam of red and rigid hips bullying their way between your legs as preparation before he snatches you into a kiss that siphons the breath from your lungs.

“Sylus, what the f—” you pant between the fusion of your mouths. You push against him, scrambling for reprieve. He doesn’t let up, instead using your shock to his advantage. He slips his tongue into your mouth, leaving no part of it unscathed, greedy as he swallows the noises you make for him. His grip on the nape of your neck is almost bruising. Desperate as his lips slant possessively over yours.

Your pounding fists devolve into weak thuds against his chest. You find yourself melting into the warm pull of his mouth. Find your ire petering, something hot pooling in the pit of your stomach. He breaks away with a sticky click, his hands finding the crooks of your knees to tug you impossibly closer. You share a breath out when your chests crash together. He doesn’t grant you the luxury of an inhale, his lips sealing to your neck, blistering the column of it with sweltering, open-mouthed kisses.

You instinctively wrap your arms about his shoulders, weighted fingers sifting through soft strands of white.

“It seems you need to be reminded of your place,” he huffs, highlighting his words with a sharp nip to your flesh whilst his hands smooth up and down your sides. Curl around your ass, squeezing and kneading, eager to lay claim to whatever parts of you he can reach.

You snort incredulously, doing nothing to deter his ministrations. Breathless as you are, you still taunt him. “And what is my place, Sylus? Curled up at your feet like an obedient little dog?”

That gets his attention. 

He draws back to fix you with a simmering look that makes your limbs sparkle with anticipation. “No.” You suck in a breath, gritting your teeth against a moan, when his wide palm slips between your bodies, digits pressing into the seam of your muff. “You’re mine. Have I made myself clear? Mine.”

Arousal dampens the seat of your panties. Your scent betrays you, radiating in the space between. He hovers his mouth over yours, breathing hot and ragged while he strokes you with meticulous arcs, dredging the prettiest little sounds from your throat. “Were you really about to give this to him,” he husks, smug in the face of your keening. “My body? My cunt?”

Try as you might, words elude you, the tremor of your body belying your earlier fight.

“Fine. If you wish to act like a brat, then I will gladly treat you like one.”

He snatches you to him, your legs impulsively encircling his waist. With one hand sealed to the small of your back, he spins you ‘round to walk you towards your living room. His effortless display of strength makes the apex of your thighs throb. You’re a mess of shaking tendons when he deposits you onto the shag rug, peeling back to snatch his sweater from his shoulders. To fret with the buckles of his belt, freeing his girth pushing against the stitch of his slacks.

Saliva puddles in your cheeks. You missed the sight of him. Hard planes of muscle rippling and contracting, his gaze predatory from above. You reach out to touch him, to familiarize yourself with the tan stretch of flesh covering his abs, to chase the neat trim of hair dipping beyond the waistband of his briefs.

But he stops you. Snares your wrists in one hand, and your throat burns with ash when the smoky stems of his Evol materialize in its place. He lifts a brow in warning. Behave, his expression reads. Once perfectly coiffed hair falls into his face, adding to his wolfish appearance. 

Soundlessly, he eases down the sprawl of your body, blazing your stomach with languid kisses. His eyes never disconnect from yours as he pushes your negligee over the ripple of your ribcage, dipping his face between your thighs. You arch with anticipation. Why is it so damn hard to breathe?

Deft fingers bow beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down none-too-gently. He drags them over your ankles, flinging them over his shoulder, and the warm musk of your sex causes his eyes to smolder and his lips to part. Drawing your thighs further apart with one hand, the other seeks refuge at your bosom, curving around a swollen breast, thumb grazing over your pebbled nipple.

Your lips part with a sigh of his name. You don’t know if you’re begging him to leave or stay. He reads between the lines, parting your sticky labia with the upside-down V-shape of his fingers before diving in for a taste of your pretty pussy. 

You scramble for purchase of his locks. Drive your fingers between the strands, tugging, burying his face deeper into your muff. He feasts like a man starved, his appreciative groans growing in volume and tingling your stomach whilst he relentlessly sucks on your clit, alternating between licking that sticky bud of pleasure and tonguing the pucker of your pussy.

You chase that cresting wave of pleasure, your hips surging off the floor. His hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you fastened to him. To keep you nice and open, humping pitifully against the glide of his tongue. 

Your toes strain with the effort of keeping you up, your head thrashing, and you’re pulling so roughly on his tresses, his grunts of satisfaction intermingle with those of pain. You don’t care. Not thinking straight, your mind a nebulous cloud of pleasure. Pleasure you’ve missed, pleasure that only he can give you.

With another succession of licks, you come undone in his mouth, your orgasm spilling through you like warm liquid. You sigh all hot and wanton, your hips slowly meeting the ground with your exhale. You shake like a fawn when Sylus laps up the remnants of your orgasm, and you tug at his hair with your manacled hands when the stimulation borders pain.

“Done already, sweetheart?” he goads huskily, sitting back on his haunches, eyes shrouded by alabaster bangs whilst he swipes his thumb over his cheek to chase the last vestiges of your nectar away. Such a feral sight makes you clench, a reawakened surge of need rippling through you. 

“Too bad,” he croons, coaxing and tender, the texture of his voice betraying the sinful things he’s doing with his hands. He palms himself, lip pinched between his teeth. Reaches beneath the band of his briefs to pull his cock free, and it slaps intimidatingly against his navel. “I’m just getting started.”

The head burns an angry red. Shines with a pretty, pearlescent bead of pre-spend, and you swallow, watching his fist swallow up the bulk of it whilst he strokes himself. With a devious cant to his lips, he taps the milky mess of your cunt with his cock, and you gasp, your hips twitching whilst your sex throbs in protest.

There’s no preface when he takes hold of your hip, effortlessly flipping you onto your stomach. The carpeted rug bites into your naked torso, leaving pretty, raw indentations on your skin. You peer over your shoulder, a flash of crimson alerting you to what Sylus is up to behind you.

He rucks your hips up until you’re on your knees. Positions himself between your splayed thighs, fisting his cock. You’ve nothing but the crisp kiss of an errant breeze on your sticky cunt as a warning before you feel him pressing into you, the engorged head of his cock slowly feeding into the clench of your pussy. 

His groan is strained from the force of your union. You quiver around him, and despite your overstimulation, you suck him in so greedily. So filthy, your pussy squelching as he sinks further in until his hips notch up against your ass.

His grip is vexing on your hips. For a moment, the pair of you sit like this, the searing channel of your sex readjusting to his size. It’s been far too long since you’ve felt like this. Felt so full, your stomach pinching pleasantly. 

When you clench around him, finally reacquainted with his girth, he moves. Slow and steady at first, drawing out the agony, killing you with suspense. You grit your teeth as your arousal resurfaces, your cheek buried in the carpet. His pace quickens thereafter, and he alternates between sharp snaps of his hips and shallow thrusts that leave you keening and leaking.

He gathers your makeshift restraint in his hand, tugging on the band of his Evol as he fucks you, your arms awkwardly folded behind your back. 

“This is what you wanted, right?” he huffs amid the lewd symphony of skin slapping skin, your bodies adorned in a fine sheen of sweat and slick. “For me to fuck you like old times?” He slams into you with a particularly violent thrust, punching the air from your lungs, your body painfully scrubbing against the high-pile rug. “To fuck that little attitude out of you?”

You can only pant, a hot film of tears blurring your vision. Your mouth hinges open, saliva leaking from between your distended lips. Feels so good. Hurts so good, and you can hardly speak, trained only to the sensation of him moving inside you. 

“It seems you only understand me when I’m using you like some wanton slut. Is that right, sweetheart?”

Of course you can’t respond, your voice siphoned with each pump of his hips. He clasps your ankles, drawing your legs up until your heels dig into your buttocks. And he digs a little deeper with this angle, his thrusts growing erratic as he batters against the swell of your cervix.

Finally, finally, his hips stutter. Stiffen, a groan pushed through grit teeth. You milk him, hot, furtive spurts of cum bathing your sex a milky white. So much, it seeps down the inner curves of your thighs, pooling in the carpet. Slowly, he draws out of you, releasing your ankles and freeing your wrists of the harsh pull of his Evol. You lay flat on the floor, thoroughly spent and heaving breaths, something between a laugh and sob caught in your throat.

He leaves you sprawled out like this, and you’re remiss of his warmth. He doesn’t leave you for long, coming back to you with a towel he’s procured from your linen closet to clean the aftermath of your union. There’s reverence in his ministrations, contrasting the beast he was mere moments ago. As if he fears causing you further harm, gentle as he cleans around your swollen sex, whispering words of praise and reassurance.

The remainder of your time with him slides into a confusing blur. With him helping you stand, arms snaking around your waist to keep you steady. He kisses you like you’re something fragile. Like he’ll never see you again, though you doubt this will be the last of your encounters like this.

You help each other with your clothes. And there’s an unbearable silence between you when you watch him leave through the doorframe of your front door, bidding him a fitful goodnight. 

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart,” he promises, a smile that doesn’t quite touch his eyes, cresting over his lips. You nod quietly, and you’re surprisingly lovesick mess as you close your door behind him, battling with a new onslaught of emotions swelling in your chest.