#✧:���ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ( ̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅[̲̅:♡:̲̅]̲̅:̲̅:̲̅:̲̅ ) ･ﾟ✧

[mrkswan]

texts with fwb! riki ii

warnings. mdni. smut. angst. afab/feminine reader. talks about dacryphilia, shibari. a lot of cursing. riki is down bad and reader is an asshole (sorry guys)

part i here

very VERY highly requested! i hope this meets your expectations ♡ sorry to break ur heart at the end... dw, part iii is in the works ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

@jungwonsgff

[anotherknifeinmyhands]

sometimes i feel myself actively fucking up a social interaction in real time. like a sim.

[m6lancholiaa]

[gojoest]

tricked into the truth — gojo satoru

part of papatoru days

when your daughter asks “who said i love you first?”, the answer depends entirely on who tells the story

f!reader (she/her), girl dad!satoru, satoru tells your little one the story of how you said i love you first (told through a flashback), wc: 2.1k, not proofread

“papa, who said i love you first — you or mama?” your daughter curiously asks one day.

she’s currently in the middle of her very serious hairstylist routine, standing on a tiny chair as she carefully places colorful clips and ties in satoru’s hair who, on the other hand, is patiently perched in her room on another equally tiny chair that is clearly meant for dolls or toddles, and definitely not a grown man built like him.

of course, for the past hour and a half or so, satoru hasn’t actually been sitting — he’s been squatting just above the seat, careful not to crush it under his full weight. but he’s not complaining (even though his legs must be feeling it by now), not when his little girl is this happy playing with his hair.

“you’ll be surprised, my life, but it was your mama!” satoru answers smugly, his eyes gleaming proudly over that little victory.

“…snack time!” your voice reaches from the door as you nudge it open with your foot, stepping into the room with a tray of cookies in hand. “also — that’s not true. your father is lying to you.”

you set the tray down on the tiny table next to them and sit on the floor beside it.

“it is very much true”, satoru says — “need me to jog your memory?” — flashing you a wide grin.

you roll your eyes, preparing yourself to argue back and eventually say no, but your daughter gasps excitedly. “yes! yes! yes! story time!” she cheers and immediately plops down beside you, grabbing a cookie and nibbling at it with tiny bites as she waits for the tale to unfold. she’s always very eager to hear stories from your past before she was born, and with that kind of enthusiasm, you can’t really bring yourself to protest.

“alright then”, satoru says, clearing his throat as he shifts off the tiny chair and sits cross-legged on the floor. all three of you in a circle now. “so”, he continues, “this is the true and honest tale of how your beautiful and lovely mother said i love you first”

you scoff and give him a look. “let me correct the title — this is the story of how your father tricked me into saying i love you”

“my love, please”, satoru lets out a fake and very exaggerated gasp. “don’t be such a sore loser, not in front of our child ��� you’re setting a bad example”, he adds in a hushed voice, then takes your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles — partly because he just wants to kiss you, but also to hide that little grin of his.

“i’m just stating the facts”, you reply, slipping your hand free only to reach up again and pinch his nose, quickly earning a dramatic ouch! from him.

“see, my life?” satoru turns to your daughter while holding his nose, pretending to be in pain. “sore losers get violent” — but your little one just giggles at his antics, cookie crumbs clinging to her mouth.

you try to hold a straight face, but a smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it. still, you square your shoulders, determined — “okay then”, you say, crossing your arms. “tell the story and we’ll let her be the judge and decide if it was trickery or not”, you point at your daughter.

“i’ll be the judge! i’ll be the judge!” she exclaims, bouncing in place.

“sounds fair to me”, satoru grins as he reaches for your hand again — and this time, you let your fingers weave naturally through his. “so”, he begins. “two weeks after we started dating, we went to see a movie…”

. . .

you held hands throughout the entire movie — fingers laced, palms pressed so tight and close and for so long that by the time you stepped out of the movie theatre and into the cool night air, both your hands were practically soaked in sweat. they were warm and clammy, probably even pruney from all that time spent wrapped around each other. and yet — neither of you seemed inclined to let go; if anything, your grip only grew firmer.

“wah! it was such a good movie!” you chimed, eyes still sparkling from the final scene. “the ending was so romantic!”

satoru shot you a deadpan look from beside you as you both walked down the street, one brow raised. “they literally died”

“yes but they died together”, you countered and then sighed dreamily. “he was holding her hand the whole time! that was peak romance!”

satoru glanced down at your still intertwined fingers as your hands swung slightly between your steps — just like us right now, he thought to himself, but he didn’t say it out loud. instead, a soft smile crept onto his lips and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze as you continued chattering about the movie. he could listen to you go on and on about it all night, but you suddenly said something that made his soft smile turn sly.

“i really, really loved it!” you gushed and gushed, voice lifting slightly with each word. “like, sooo much! ough! i loved it!”

now, he clearly heard what you said — of course he did — but the street was busy, noisy with the rush of passing cars, distant music coming from cafes and restaurants, the chatter of people nearby… which gave him the perfect cover he needed to cause a little mischief.

he stopped abruptly. your linked hands tugging you back before you turned, blinking up at him. “hm? what?”

“wait, wait”, he said, eyes wide with disbelief — completely fake but surprisingly convincing as you totally fell for it. “did you just say you love me?”

silence

your cheeks instantly heated up. under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t hesitate to correct someone who misheard you, but this very situation right now was a different story.

because, how exactly were you supposed to correct someone who wasn’t entirely wrong in the first place? sure, you didn’t say i love you… but you had thought about it here and there, more than you’d like to admit, in fact; and surely, you might’ve come to the conclusion that, yes, you did love him — but then again, it was too soon to say it out loud… and you didn’t say it… still, denying it now might create a weird tension between you — you spent a good minute silently pondering and spiraling, before you spoke—

“i-i—” you stammered, dropping your gaze to avoid his. “i said i loved the movie”, voice small and flustered, clearly trying to save face, but the damage — as far as satoru was concerned — was delightfully done.

satoru hadn’t actually expected his little bluff to work — normally, you were sharp and quick with a comeback, always ready to put him in his place (one of the many things he adored about you) — but to his surprise, it, in fact, did work like a charm. and now that he was watching you try and fail to talk your way out of it, he had to physically bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning like a maniac. he got you good.

“well”, he said all while exaggerating a pout and slumping his shoulders, “so you don’t love me then?”

“i-i— i didn’t say that either!”

“aha. you’d rather love the movie than me, your boyfriend. got it.” — still pouting, but mentally cracking up at your panicked expression.

“damn it! why do you keep putting words in my mouth?”, you let out an exasperated sigh, to which satoru only shrugged — all innocence on the outside but on the inside he was practically doing backflips, because you weren’t exactly denying it. and if he was gojo satoru, then he was going to get that confession out of you tonight.

“i’m just trying to understand”, he tilted his head.

“i loved the movie”, you replied, standing your ground (barely though). “that’s it”

“what about me though?” satoru tilted his head even further, pairing it with a puppy eye look so realistic it was practically causing you chest pain.

“…”

he leaned in a little. “you don’t love me?”

“…”

“oh…” — a (fake) crack in his voice. “i see…”

“…i do”, you said, barely above a whisper, but it was there, and he heard — again — but satoru being satoru, he kept pushing. “you do what?” he asked with an oblivious expression.

“you know…”, you mewled, but didn’t finish.

“i have no idea”, he gave a shrug. “you didn’t say it properly. maybe you really don’t l—”

“i love you, you big idiot!”, you cut him off and basically yelled it at him.

silence

even though satoru had technically forced you to say it, his eyes couldn’t help but widen in surprise. hearing those words from you — even if they were shouted alongside an insult (not very romantic of you) — felt undeniably magical to him. a smile slowly tugged at his lips, and then he broke into laughter — finally dropping the act— all while you stood there fidgeting, anxiously waiting for a response.

“wow”, he managed between bursts of laughter while bouncing on his heels like a toddler, “this actually worked, hahahaha”

…and it finally dawned at you, that you had walked right into his trap.

mouth agape, you stared at him in disbelief. “you’re unbelievable. you tricked me?”

“yeah”, he said, half smug and half emotional, the teasing glint in his eyes still there but somehow softened. his heart was full, finally at ease knowing that your feelings matched his own. “i might be unbelievable or a big idiot — like you said — but you love me, don’t you?”

you huffed, trying to fight the helpless smile tugging at your lips. “i swear i am going to break up with you”

“says the person still holding my hand”, he teased with a grin, looking down at your joined hands. “squeezing it tighter than ever, in fact”, he added.

“that’s out of anger”, you huffed, giving a dramatic tug as if trying to pull away from his grip in protest — but you didn’t actually let go.

“nah”, he whispered, leaning in until your noses touched. “it’s out of love”, he breathed against your lips before adding — “when you want to slap me so hard but choose to hold me instead, it means it’s out of love”. his other hand rose to gently cradle your cheek, “i love you too”

 . . .

“wait, papa!” your daughter suddenly interrupts, eyebrows furrowed. “you totally tricked mama!”

“not my fault she fell for it”, satoru shamelessly shrugs.

“well, that’s… true”, she says thoughtfully, pinching her chin. “technically, even if you tricked her — mama said it first”

“that’s still not true”, you say, leaning in just a little, a smirk on your lips — the kind that says you know you’re about to drop one final twist and win. “your father was the one who said it first”

both satoru and your daughter look at you with their eyebrows raised in perfect sync. “what do you mean?” your little one asks, while satoru’s eyes narrow ever so slightly and you can see the spark of recognition there. you can tell he knows exactly where this is going.

“a few nights prior to that movie date”, you begin, “i stayed over at your father’s place for the first time, and we—” you pause for a second as the memory of your first time flashes in your mind, but you quickly clear your throat and glance at your daughter, obviously deciding to censor that part, “—took a nap together after dinner” — to which satoru snorts in that all too knowing way, but you shoot him a warning glare before you continue,

“and, while he thought i was asleep, he whispered into my ear — and i quote — would you freak out if i told you i love you? … i love you”

“damn”, satoru laughs, “i knew you were awake”, while rubbing the back of his neck. “i had a hunch… after i said that, you suddenly started squeez—” — you shoot him another warning glare — “…breathing all suspiciously”, and he corrects himself quickly.

“papa, you’re a liar!” your daughter gasps, utterly scandalized. “you did say it first! you are a liar!”

“oi, oi”, he frowns, feigning offense. “i don’t need slander from a little girl who doesn’t even know her own mother’s name!”

“i do know mama’s name!” she shoots back. “you say it all the time!”

“oh yea?” satoru raises an eyebrow, already knowing where this is going.

“yea! mama’s name is my love!” she declares it with her full chest, completely confident — after all, that’s what her father calls her mother all the time.

…and maybe it is time you finally teach your daughter your real name, but that can wait a little — at least until you and satoru stop laughing.

[dollgxtz]

When Mephie Sleeps

✿ Word Count: 5k

✿ Tags: girldad!Sylus, fluff, funny, toddler tantrums + shenanigans, poor mephisto has to get tucked into bed :p

✿ Summary: When Sylus leaves for “business,” you’re left to wrangle an overtired toddler who refuses to sleep, because if Mephisto doesn't have to go to sleep, neither will she...

✿ AN: I was feeling very maternal and decided to post some girl dad sylus fluff to soothe my baby fever. And before my His Watchful Eye readers say anything...yes I used the name Sylvia on purpose. It’s like a headcanon of mine that Sylvia would be a fav name for Sylus to name his first daughter (Sylvie for short). Is this fic directly related to HWE? No...but you may pretend if you'd like :3

If you were tagged it means you selelcted to be tagged in any future fics I write!

@leiaglamela @shia247 @Lazylightmusic @hyphensei @beaconsxd @adzir @zoezhive @mmeerraa @webmvie @mysterios-hoe @sylvieisoffline @riamir @blcknebula @wooasecret @chososlvrr @deathlycrow @mcdepressed290 @sylusqt @becky-chan @shawnberry @abrielletargaryen @Itsme3rin @2004crows @kokoqian @lioria @hon3yydew @laudyadee @yiddyyaddayami-blog @chaemaire @mylifedoesntexist @moonlitreveri3 @dvwnstar @ellie662 @your-l0cal-puppy @miserysscompany

All was well in the steel and password-protected walls of Onychinus, a fortress of blinking lights and quiet hums. But none of that mattered tonight, not when a particularly restless little girl was screaming in your ear.

"Sylvie, it's bedtime. You want Mr. Coco?" you say, your voice teetering between patience and pleading as you offered the sagging, much-loved stuffed rabbit.

"No! No!" she screamed, her voice cracking into a shriek as she flung herself dramatically onto the floor like a marionette with its strings cut. Her tiny fists pounded the ground, and her heels drummed a rhythm of pure protest against the bedroom floor.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes with the heel of your hand, the fatigue settling deeper into your bones. It had been a long day—chasing crumbs of productivity while juggling snack demands, wiped noses, and toddler meltdowns—but the real challenge always came when bedtime loomed.

Normally, Sylvia needed a little coaxing. A lullaby, a bath, a warm bottle. But tonight she was operating on a whole different level. Mr. Coco, her usual go-to comfort, was cast aside like a discarded offering. The soft lights meant to soothe her were ignored. The gentle story you read—twice—was met with increasing frustration.

You dropped to your knees beside her, trying to catch her eye. "Hey. Sylvie, sweetheart. What's wrong? Can you tell me?"

She let out another high-pitched whine, squirming away as tears welled in her eyes. Her face was flushed, nose running, bottom lip quivering like she'd just suffered a betrayal of mythic proportions.

You didn’t exactly blame her. It was hard on all of you when Sylus had to leave. His business trips were always sudden, and required his immediate attention. You hated it. Sylvia didn’t have the words to say she hated it too—but she didn’t need them.

Still, something about tonight felt different. Her grief wasn't just the usual missing-dad sadness. There was something more, something eating at her in a way you couldn’t quite name. You sat back on your heels, watching her sniffle and hiccup, and tried to put the pieces together.

You just couldn't figure it out.

"Okayyyy, do you want a snack? We can eat num nums before bed today," you say, pulling her gently into your lap so she didn’t hurt herself flailing around. You tucked her legs against you, steadying her weight as she squirmed. Maybe she was hungry? That wouldn’t be surprising. She was a growing girl, after all. And hunger tantrums were not unheard of in this house.

Surely her favorite crackers would do the trick—the little star-shaped ones she’d promptly nicknamed "num nums" because she couldn’t quite say "yummy" yet. You always kept a stash in the dresser just in case bedtime went sideways. Like tonight.

Her reaction was swift and explosive.

"NO! No num num!" she screamed, arching her back and kicking her feet, wrestling against your hold like a wild animal. Her tiny body radiated frustration, her face getting puffy in a matter of seconds. Her fists clenched the fabric of your shirt as she cried harder, tears spilling freely over her cheeks.

You tightened your grip, gently but firmly, and tried to keep her from smacking her head against your collarbone. This wasn’t like her. The sharp edge of her cries had that breathless, panicked quality to them that made your stomach twist.

You could feel your patience fraying at the edges, but the way her face crumpled—it got you every time. Her red eyes, rimmed and raw, were glassy and swollen. Her bottom lip trembled, and she looked so unbearably small in your arms, like nothing in the world made sense to her right now.

"Dada..."

Your heart ached. You adjusted your grip on her and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. Rocking slightly, you murmured, "You miss daddy? He'll come back, I promise. Mommy misses him too."

Her sobbing slowed for a moment, just long enough for her to hear you. You felt her little chest hiccup against yours, breath catching on the edge of another cry. Then, with a sharp, adamant shake of her head, she rejected the idea outright. Not quite the answer you expected. No? Didn't she just call out for him?

She sucked in a shaky breath, then another, and let out a heart-wrenching cry. Her voice, hoarse from all the yelling, came out thin and desperate.

"Mephie...Mephie..."

You blinked. This was quite unexpected. She normally didn't mention him when he was gone. "Mephie?"

She nodded hard, burying her face into your shirt again. Her words were muffled, but there was no mistaking them this time.

"Mephie go. Mephie no here."

Your eyes drifted automatically to the corner of the room. To the empty perch, dark and silent. Of course. That was it. The last piece clicked into place, almost embarrassingly late.

Mephisto wasn’t here. Usually, by this time of night, he'd be docked, quietly blinking from his perch like some kind of spooky nightlight. But not tonight. Sylus had taken him to do some firewall hacking or surveillance on his enemies—some covert operation involving encrypted networks, surveillance feeds, and backdoor access routes no one without clearance even knew were there. Neither Sylus nor Mephisto would be back anytime soon.

You sighed, your mind scrambling for a solution, something that would make sense to a toddler with a very strong attitude. She needed comfort, and logic wasn’t going to cut it. Still, you gave it a shot.

"Mephie will come back too, baby. He's probably sleeping right now," you said gently, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. "You should go to sleep just like Mephie."

You added a hopeful smile for effect. Surely that would work. She loved copying things—especially Mephisto. She watched that bird like it was a magical creature from her picture books—probably because in her world, he was. Mephisto didn’t just perch and blink; he played tag with her around the kitchen, let her stack blocks on his back like cargo, and cawed in playful tones whenever she clapped. She and Sylus had even turned bedtime into a routine where Mephisto would "kiss" her goodnight with a soft peck to the forehead. If she thought Mephisto was asleep, maybe she’d finally let go of the tantrum and rest.

But no. That idea went down in flames.

"Mephie no sleep!" she shouted, yanking herself back from your chest, her tiny hands pushing at you for space. Her cheeks puffed out, her brow furrowed in outrage. She glared up at you with all the fury a toddler could possibly muster—which was quite a bit.

She wasn’t just upset anymore. She was offended.

"He no sleep! He with Dada! He 'wake!" she insisted, her words spilling out with hot tears. "No bed!"

You closed your eyes for a second, dragging in a breath through your nose. Stubborn, perceptive, and completely unwilling to accept anything less than the truth—yeah, she was definitely Sylus’s kiddo. Even at almost two years old, she had that same unyielding glare, the same refusal to be pacified with half-answers or distractions. It was like staring into a miniature version of him...one that actually cried that is.

God help you, you were going to have to argue bedtime logic with an almost two year old over a robot crow.

“Sylvia” you try again, voice soft but fraying at the edges, “Mephie needs his sleep. Just like you do.”

Sylvia sniffs, still red-eyed, her small body trembling in your lap like she’s barely holding herself together. Her fists grip the fabric of your shirt, the tension in her muscles refusing to ease even as you gently rock her back and forth. You stroke her back slowly, tracing slow circles in a familiar rhythm you’ve used since she was barely able to hold her head up. “Don’t you wanna be like Mephie?” you coax, your voice hopeful, even if your nerves are wearing thin.

For a moment—barely a breath—her face softens. Her brows unfurl slightly, and her bottom lip stops quivering just long enough for the beginning of a smile to tease the corners of her mouth. Her eyes, swollen and glassy, lift to meet yours. There’s a flicker there. Hesitation. Maybe even curiosity.

Hope blooms quietly in your chest.

But then it dies just as fast.

She pulls back from you like you’ve said something offensive. Her brow knits together into an unmistakable scowl. Her back straightens. Her tiny body tenses, fists curling tight again like she's ready for round two.

“Mephie no sleep,” she says with sharp certainty. Her voice is small but fierce. Then louder: “Ever, ever never!”

You blink. “He does sleep,” you say, reaching for calm. “He needs to recharge, just like us.”

Maybe it was too matter-of-fact. Too logical. Because the moment those words leave your mouth, her expression changes.

“No! No! No! No Mephie sleep! I no sleep!” she howls, her voice climbing into something raw and frantic.

And just like that, she explodes again.

Her arms flail, fists pounding against your collarbone and chest in rhythm with the shriek of her sobs. She kicks with surprising strength for someone so small, and her whole body feels like a live wire in your lap. Her tears return with full force, hot and heavy, soaking the front of your shirt. It’s like she’s been personally betrayed by the suggestion.

You grit your teeth, not out of anger but exhaustion. You keep holding her, keep murmuring nonsense under your breath in a vain attempt to soothe her, but nothing helps. She’s inconsolable.

You glance at the time. Way too late. And bedtime, as a concept, feels like a joke now. You've read three stories. Sang lullabies. Offered snacks. Mr. Coco was rejected, the nightlight ignored. And now you're in a full-blown standoff over the sleep schedule of a mechanical crow.

You try everything again. Every trick you know. You pull out books—new ones, old ones, her favorite one with the cat and the moon that she used to fall asleep to like clockwork. You read it with exaggerated voices, soft whispers, calming tones. She stares through it, unmoved, barely tracking the words, wriggling and whimpering in your lap.

You dim the lights lower. You put on the soft music playlist Sylus made last time he was home—wind chimes layered with lo-fi lullabies and a subtle bed of white noise. It plays softly through the room, meant to feel like safety, like quiet. It does nothing.

She kicks the blanket off again, flails when you try to guide her to lay down. She’s flushed, sweaty, over it. You’re running out of options. In desperation, you try being stern. Which you never usually have to do. It feels wrong immediately, like putting on clothes that don’t fit.

"Sylvia. That’s enough. It’s bedtime."

Your voice is firmer than it’s ever been with her—sharper, more clipped. You barely recognize yourself. She freezes, her eyes going wide in shock. There’s a beat of silence where you think maybe it worked. Then she crumples. Her mouth opens in a soundless wail for a second before the crying starts again, loud and broken. She covers her ears with her hands like she can’t stand to hear it, her whole body curling in on itself. You feel the guilt hit like a punch to the chest.

You scoop her up immediately, your arms wrapping tight around her, protective and desperate. "No, no, I’m sorry. Shhh. It’s okay. Mommy didn’t mean it like that," you whisper, pressing your cheek against her damp curls. "It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s not mad".

You feel her hiccup against your collarbone, tiny fingers grabbing at your shirt like she’s trying to anchor herself. And you feel awful. Like you just kicked a puppy. You try to laugh it off, mostly to keep yourself from spiraling.

"This is your father’s fault," you mutter under your breath, pacing slowly across the room now as you hold her. You rock gently, even though she’s still squirming. "He can’t say no to you either. You’ve got him wrapped around your little finger, you know that?"

She doesn’t answer, but the crying softens into sniffling again. Her head rests against your shoulder, heavy and hot. She’s exhausted. Beyond it. You glance toward the screen of your phone on the nightstand. The soft, sterile glow of it is the only thing in the room still full of energy. Unlike you, who feels like you’ve been drained dry.

Nothing is working. None of it. Not stories, not lullabies, not cuddles, not snacks, not your voice, not your arms. She’s glassy-eyed, and she’s teetering right on the edge of overtired—too wound up to sleep, too exhausted to calm down. Her body’s fighting itself, and you can’t reach her anymore.

You’ve hit the end of your rope. There are no more tricks in your arsenal. You bounce her lightly, rhythmically, more for you than her at this point. You kiss her temple. You breathe through your nose like it’ll reset something. You stall, maybe another thirty seconds. Maybe a minute.

But there’s no other way.

You have no choice. You have to bother Sylus.

He answers faster than you expected, his voice warm and easy, like he’s in a good mood. Negotiations must’ve gone well—his tone has that loose, relaxed confidence he only gets when things have gone precisely the way he wanted.

"I was just about to call you, sweetie," Sylus says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. It makes you feel like you're back in the kitchen with him on a normal night, not separated by continents and encrypted comms. "How’s my two favorite girls?"

Sylvia, who had been half-asleep and whimpering against your chest, perks up immediately at the sound of her father's voice. Her head lifts slowly, like it weighs more than she can carry, and her tear-streaked face lights up with recognition. She lets out another ragged sob, but this time it’s laced with something closer to relief.

"Dada… Dada…"

You shift the phone, adjusting your grip so she can hear him more clearly. Her arms wrap tighter around your middle, like hearing him just reminded her how much she missed him. You exhale heavily into the receiver, rubbing your eyes as you try to find words that won’t sound as worn down as you feel.

"Well," you mutter, glancing down at Sylvia’s flushed, blotchy face, "one of us wants to go to bed. And the other one absolutely refuses to."

Sylus chuckles softly, a low, affectionate sound. It’s not mocking—it’s the kind of laugh someone makes when they love you and can picture exactly how bad your night’s been.

"Sylvia," he says, his voice shifting slightly as he speaks to Sylvia now, softening into that high-pitched dad tone he always uses with her. "Why don’t you want to go to sleep? Only bad little girls don’t sleep. Listen to your mommy, sweetie."

Sylvia gasps—not from surprise, but outrage. Her spine straightens in your lap. She pulls back from your shirt and glares at the phone screen with renewed fire in her eyes, as if Sylus had personally insulted her soul. Then comes the dramatic whimper—louder now, pitiful and wounded. Her bottom lip trembles, and her nose scrunches up.

"Nooooo," she groans, drawing out the vowel like she’s being wrongfully accused. Her little hands smack at the air in front of the phone, as if that’ll get her point across better. "Mephie no sleep! Caw! Caw!"

Another chuckle rumbles through the speaker, low and warm, and you can almost see the way his mouth quirks at the corner when he’s trying not to laugh too hard. There’s a teasing softness in it that only shows up when he’s with you—or talking about your daughter.

"I see," Sylus says, voice soft and sweet, casual in the way only someone continents away from a toddler tantrum could be. "You miss Mephisto, sweetie? My poor little girl."

You glance down at Sylvia, still sniffling, her small form curled into your lap like a tired, angry cat. Her cheeks are sticky with dried tears, her lower lip pushed out in stubborn protest. Her expression hasn’t changed much since the meltdown started, but her grip on your shirt tightens just a bit at the sound of her father’s voice.

You shake your head, half-laughing in defeat. "Clearly. She’s decided that if Mephisto doesn’t go to bed, then she’s not going either. Full-blown solidarity."

This time, Sylus lets out a full, hearty laugh. It fills your ear and, for a brief second, fills the room, stretching across the miles between you. You can imagine the way his eyes crinkle, the way he leans back when he laughs like that.

"I think she gets her attitude from you," he says between chuckles, breathless with amusement. "It’s cute."

You groan, more theatrical than serious, slumping back into the pillows behind you. "Don’t laugh. Please. Send help. I’m dying here."

You glance back down at Sylvia, whose eyes are half-lidded now. The fight in her is still there, but it’s quieter—less rage, more stubborn fatigue. Her hands twitch where they rest against your arm.

"Help, huh?" Sylus says, and you can hear the smile still lingering in his voice. But there’s something else there now too—a shift in tone. A flicker of focus. Problem-solving mode.

"Alright, alright," he continues, voice softening again. "I have an idea. I’ll call you back in a bit, kitten."

You raise an eyebrow, even though you know he can’t see it. "You better not be abandoning me."

"I would never. Talk to you soon." he promises, and this time the word lands like a vow. Then the line clicks off before you can ask what exactly he’s planning.

You stare at the phone screen for a second, still glowing in your hand, then glance down at Sylvia. Her breathing has slowed, but her eyes are still open, watching.

Whatever he's planning, you hope it works.

Miles away, in a sleek penthouse suite bathed in quiet luxury and the hum of automated climate control, Sylus moved with deliberate ease. The room was immaculate—dark marble floors, soft ambient lighting, and panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows offering a glittering view of the city’s skyline. But Sylus wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was too focused on his latest mission: tucking in a mechanical bird for a video call.

He grabbed the black silk eye cover he always kept in his travel bag—an indulgence for mornings when the sun was just a tad too aggressive—and tossed it onto the pristine bed. Then he began rearranging the hotel pillows into something resembling a nest: layered, cushioned, deliberately theatrical.

He turned to Mephisto, who was perched silently on the edge of the minibar. The bird’s luminous eyes followed his every move with sharp precision.

"Come here," Sylus said, voice low but with that clipped command tone that always seemed to work on both machines and people.

Mephisto let out a soft caw in acknowledgment and immediately obeyed, fluttering down with a controlled rustle of metallic wings. His talons clicked neatly against the polished floor as he strode to the bed without hesitation, perching calmly where Sylus had indicated.

Sylus reached out and gently caught the crow-bot mid-step, maneuvering him onto the pillow nest. He carefully arranged his wings and legs so that Mephisto was sitting down—well, as close to 'sitting' as the bird could manage.

"Stay," he instructed.

Mephisto let out a sharp, indignant shriek—"Caw?!"—and bristled, feathers twitching with offense. His wings flapped hard in protest, mechanical joints clicking as he launched himself back into the air with a few furious beats. He hovered there, glaring down at Sylus like he’d been asked to lie in a puddle rather than a pile of designer pillows.

Sylus sighed and ran a hand down his face, then chuckled under his breath. "I know, I know. Though, this isn't the time to be difficult y'know."

Mephisto tilted his head, gears clicking as he processed the statement. "Tell you what," Sylus said, crouching to the bird’s level, his voice dropping into that smooth negotiating tone he usually saved for boardrooms and interrogation rooms. "When we get back, I’ll let you pick a gem from the vault. Any one you want."

That did the trick.

There was a long pause as Mephisto mulled it over—both figuratively and literally, the gears inside his frame visibly rotating, eyes dimming slightly in processing mode. The bird’s head cocked again, then slowly dipped forward in what looked like defeat.

He gave a reluctant flutter, then flew back down to the pillows. With exaggerated slowness, he folded his wings and settled into the bed. A soft mechanical whir echoed from within as he tucked his head under one wing.

"Caw…" he mumbled, resigned.

Sylus smirked.

"Yeah, that’s what I thought."

He stepped forward and gently tucked one of the smaller pillows around Mephisto’s side, pressing it snugly into the crook of his tucked wing as if cushioning a real creature. He then covered the birds body with the blanket. Then, with quiet precision, he picked up the soft silk eye mask and draped it delicately over the bird’s optical sensors. It was absurd—laughable, really—but Sylus didn’t hesitate for a second. He even smoothed the strap gently along the back of Mephisto’s head, adjusting it so it lay straight, not too tight, not too loose. Just right. As if Mephisto could feel it. As if it mattered. But it did—at least to the little girl waiting on the other end of the call.

He stepped back to admire his work. The crow lay still, wings folded, eye mask in place. Perfect. His lips twitched in the faintest smile—not bad for bedtime theater.

Then he picked up his phone, thumb hovering over the video call button for only a moment before he tapped it.

The screen lit up, casting a cool glow over Sylus’s face as it rang—once, twice—before finally connecting. The image on the other end crackled for a second before stabilizing into a grainy but clear view of your face. You looked tired. Worn around the edges. The nursery lights behind you were low and warm, casting soft shadows across the room.

Sylvia was curled tightly in your arms, nestled under your chin like a heat-seeking missile. Her hair was a halo of messy curls, her cheeks still blotchy from crying. She wasn’t making noise anymore, just breathing heavily and watching the screen with half-lidded suspicion.

"Hey," Sylus said gently, voice dipping low like a whisper through the screen. "You still up, little dove?"

Sylvia blinked slowly at him. Her gaze sharpened with recognition. Her lip trembled—but not with sadness this time. Her eyes widened, catching a flicker of hope.

Sylus smiled, shifting the phone slightly as he angled the camera.

"Look who’s in bed, sweetie."

The image on the screen panned to reveal Mephisto—tucked beneath a blanket, head tucked under his wing, eye mask securely in place. The nest of pillows looked absurdly cozy, especially for a mechanical bird.

Sylvia gasped, louder than expected. Her little hand smacked your chest as she leaned forward, fully engaged for the first time in over an hour.

"Mephie…sleep…" she whispered, awe-struck.

You felt her entire body relax just a bit more. Back on the screen, Sylus grinned. It was soft and tired and proud.

"All tucked in. Now it’s your turn, sweetheart."

"Mephie sleep. Me sleep?" she cooed, her voice small and sweet, the sound muffled as she rubbed one tiny fist against her eyes. Her eyelids drooped, weighed down with exhaustion, and she let out a long yawn that pulled her whole body into a sleepy stretch before she sagged again against your chest, warm and boneless.

You couldn’t help the small snort that slipped out, amusement breaking through your fatigue as your eyes flicked back to the screen. There, in all his mechanical glory, was Mephisto—tucked into an absurdly luxurious nest of pillows, his obsidian-plated head covered by an actual silk sleep mask. The sight was pure comedy. The once-proud surveillance crow turned bedtime prop, looking more like a pampered pet than a stealth operative.

Apparently, Mephisto’s sensors were still engaged, because from the other end of the call came a sharp, unmistakably disgruntled "Caw…"—quiet, offended, and just dramatic enough to make you laugh harder. The mechanical equivalent of a long-suffering eye roll.

Sylus, ever unfazed, didn’t miss a beat. "Yes, baby," he said softly, his voice soft, clearly elated that this seemed to be working. "Your turn to sleep now. Daddy will buy you more dolls when he gets back, for listening to mommy."

That did it.

Her tiny body shifted in your arms. Sylvia blinked up at you slowly, as if taking a moment to process what he’d said. Then, with the solemnity only toddlers could muster, she gave one last look at the screen. Her eyes locked onto the image of Mephisto, perfectly still beneath his pillow cocoon and sleep mask.

She let out a quiet sigh of her own. “Mephie sleep…” she whispered again, softer this time. Her hands relaxed, unclenching where they’d been gripping your shirt. A moment passed, then another.

And then she pointed toward the crib.

You didn’t hesitate—not even a second.

You stood carefully, phone in hand, gently shifting her weight so her head stayed resting against your shoulder. Each step toward the crib felt like a cautious victory lap. You lowered her slowly onto the mattress, her favorite blanket already pulled halfway down in preparation. You covered her up, tucking the soft fabric around her small frame, your hand lingering for a moment over her chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of her breath.

Her eyes fluttered open once, catching yours.

"Night-night, Mephie," she murmured drowsily.

"Night-night, baby," you replied softly, brushing your knuckles against her cheek.

And then—finally—she stilled.

Her breathing evened out. Her limbs relaxed. Her fists unclenched. The tiny furrow in her brow, that stubborn little crease that had dominated the entire evening, melted away.

One breath. Then another. Then silence.

You stood there for a long moment, just watching. Making absolutely sure. Then you took a single step back. Then another. You moved like someone in a heist movie trying not to trigger a laser grid. Finally, you reached the doorframe, easing it closed with the gentlest pull of your fingertips.

Outside the room, you slumped back against the wall and let out a sigh. It was long, quiet, and full of relief.

You pull your phone back out just in time to catch the end of the performance—Mephisto, fully over the theatrics, shaking off the silk eye mask with a sharp flick of his head and a disgruntled rustle of feathers. The mask flopped dramatically off the edge of the pillow and landed somewhere near Sylus’s knee.

You laughed, a real one this time—light and exhausted, but genuine. "Aww, you should’ve taken a picture. I could’ve blackmailed him into revealing where he stashed my necklace."

Sylus smirked, shifting the phone to give you a better view of Mephisto, who was now preening indignantly on the edge of the bed, clearly offended by the entire situation. "You assume he hasn’t already stashed it in a random birds nest". Or hidden it in the ventilation shafts again."

You snorted, making your way through the quiet apartment toward the bedroom, your steps slow and soft now that Sylvia was finally asleep. The warm dim light guided you like a familiar memory.

"If that bird has buried one more of my things in a subfloor panel, I swear to god..."

"I’ll have him debriefed," Sylus said with faux seriousness. "Interrogated. Waterboarded. With oil."

You laughed again, shaking your head as you sank onto the edge of the bed. The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward—just heavy. Comfortable. Your eyes met his on the screen, and the corners of your smile softened.

"Thanks," you said quietly. "I really needed you tonight. You always seem to know exactly what to do."

Sylus leaned back slightly in his chair, phone steady in his hand. The glow of the city lit half his face, the other side cast in shadow. But his eyes were warm, locked on yours like they were the only thing in his world right then.

A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. “Compared to a table full of men plotting my death, calming down a toddler was far easier.”

“She really does treat Mephie like he’s her sibling,” you murmured, rubbing a hand across your face. “I don’t know whether to be concerned or just accept it at this point.”

Sylus’s mouth curved into that slow, knowing smile of his. “Well, maybe that’s on us,” he said. His tone was light, but there was a glint in his eyes you recognized instantly. “Maybe we should give her a sibling so she’s not lonely.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t even start.”

He chuckles knowingly, letting out a smooth and dramatic sigh in defeat. Although you both know he’d attempt to convince you later…

"Are you alright?" he asked, softer now. The warmth in his voice was still there, but threaded through it was concern. Then, with a flicker of a smirk, he added, "Handling a toddler-sized version of yourself with your exact attitude can't be easy."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. This bastard and his jokes. You nodded after a moment, but your smile was a little smaller. "Funny you say that. I was just comparing her to you earlier." Then with a sigh. "Im just…tired. It's hard without you. She feels it too."

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw his jaw flex, just slightly. You could tell he wished he could be there. Like it physically pained him not to.

"You always have me," he said, voice low and firm. "Doesn’t matter where I am."

Your throat tightened. You nodded again, more sure this time, and let out a breath. "I know. I just miss you."

His voice came back low and sincere, the teasing completely gone. "I miss you too. So much. I'll see you both very soon, don't worry." There was a beat where neither of you spoke, but it wasn’t empty. The quiet between you felt full—shared and heavy, but in a way that made you feel less alone. "Now, it’s your turn to sleep."

You suppose he's right. You can barely keep your eyes open now. "Goodnight, Sy," you said softly, your eyes lingering on his face.

"Goodnight, kitten," he replied, and just before the screen went black, you caught a glimpse of his smile—tired, but real. Just for you.

You set the phone down and sank into the pillows, your whole body unwinding slowly like a tightly coiled spring finally let loose. The weight of the day peeled off your shoulders, layer by layer.

That night, you dream of a tea party shared with Sylus, your daughter, and crows wearing little eye masks.

[ybklix]

E : EXPLICIT CONTENT

☆ synopsis: Chan did not expect his new duet song with his very well-known friend and bandmate, Hyunjin, to be rated E for explicit content.

★ pairing: bang chan x fem!reader x hwang hyunjin | ☆ genre—warnings: smut, fwb!chan, idols!hyunchan, softdom!hyunjin, dom!chan, threesome, pet names (including dreg. ones), praise & dreg, boobplay, grinding, cunnilingus, clitplay, fingering, cuckolding?, handjob, masturbation, oral sex (m. rec), unprotected sex, eiffel tower position (without the high five lol), slight dirty talk, cumshots, creampie. | word count: 10.7k

masterlist ⭒ taglist

wen's note: every skz smut writer's dream is to write a hyunchan fic, isn't it? lol so here's my little introduction and first hyunchan fic, BUT OFC, in the future i'll write a more lengthy and elaborated one :3 mmm, inspired by escape, maybe? i got my eyes on them, also red lights, a classic hehe

“Hyung, can I ask you something?” Hyunjin said to his friend, his tone somewhat uncertain.

Hyunjin played with the swivel chair subtly, looked at the paper, and then at his friend, who nodded in approval.

“Where do you get inspiration for these kinds of songs?” Hyunjin asked, amusedly, with a shy smile on his face.

It was the kind of question that even the fans asked him every single time. It was obvious that the song was about sex. Just like the previous ones. Hyunjin knew it was to please the fans, that having two songs with a sexy theme associated them with being a duo of that category, and he was fine with that, but... this new song in particular leaned a little more toward a more explicit area, and Chan had made it very clear that he would not change or censor anything; unless, of course, Hyunjin himself disagreed with the creative direction; Chan would only consider his opinion.

And Hyunjin’s opinion was that he liked it. That he would record it as it was written. So they were both sitting in front of the music production program. Chan was making some minor adjustments on the computer, so he could finally tell Hyunjin when to enter the recording booth.

But so far... the song was just an experiment. Chan had no plans to release it soon. But Hyunjin accepted immediately, trusting in the confidence and creativity of his beloved superior.

Chan was focused on the computer screen until he finally leaned back in his chair, sighed, put his hands together on his abdomen, and turned to look at Hyunjin.

“Because... I think the fans will like it,” he replied casually.

“Oh. Of course they’ll like it,” Hyunjin added. “But I mean, where did you get all that inspiration... if you don’t have a girlfriend? You don’t, right?”

Chan knew he was playing around, and Hyunjin’s amused and curious expression made him feel so tender that Chan let out a little laugh.

“Come on. Let’s record your lines,” he said softly.

Hyunjin obeyed immediately, locking himself in the booth, putting on his headphones, and reading the lyrics once more, where he had previously made notes and marked his lines.

Hyunjin motioned that he was ready, and they began recording the song. It was an activity and routine that they both knew by heart.

Until now. Everything was going perfectly. Chan praised Hyunjin, telling him when he did a good job and sounded good; he corrected him when necessary, gave him feedback, his opinion, and they recorded again. They were doing it calmly, without rushing. When Hyunjin wasn’t satisfied with the result, he asked Chan to repeat it.

Everything was fine... but Chan would have liked more... that one specific line, that Hyunjin should’ve sounded more vulnerable, needy, really feeling the lyrics and the melody. That was the only detail they kept repeating.

Hyunjin was embarrassed after trying several times and clearly seeing that Chan was not satisfied with the result. He was also embarrassed that the line was sung with a technique involving breath, a sigh, almost a sexy gasp or moan...

However, Chan simply said, “It’s okay. Take a break. Come here. I’ll continue recording my part.”

Hyunjin resignedly took his word for it and collapsed on the sofa behind his friend, outside the booth, in the studio.

“Shit. I have to learn how to moan,” he snorted, amused and slightly annoyed.

Chan laughed with his typical chuckle. As if he were out of breath, and narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not that, Hyunjinnie. I have some really good takes anyway, I’ll work with those and add something in the background. It’ll be fine.”

“Yes, but I can do—”

And suddenly their attention was drawn to the door, which almost swung open.

You were making your grand entrance, or so you thought, but you became shy as soon as you noticed that Hyunjin was there too. You were only expecting to see Chan alone because he told you he would be in the studio working on a new song, and when he said that, it meant he was alone, since when he was recording with the guys, he made that clear to you. So you went there, hoping to find him and fuck him there, as you had done before.

“Oh. Hi, guys.”

Chan looked at you in surprise, not expecting anyone to come in, but when he saw that it was you, his beloved friend with benefits, whom he fucked without restrictions or feelings involved, he blushed and looked at you amused by your change of expression, from haughty to shy.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, looked at you confused.

“Oh. Hi, Y/N,” the short black-haired guy greeted you.

You smiled shyly at him, not knowing what excuse to use for why you were there... since you weren’t expecting to see him, only Chan.

“I was just... a little bored, I’m sorry. The girls went home to rest, and I stayed here to eat and... I just stopped by,” you lied, trying to excuse yourself for walking in on a recording session.

Part of it was true. The beautiful girls from a certain well-known group at the company you worked for had already gone to their apartments, so basically your work was done... plus you were particularly turned on because you had been almost sexting and sending very inappropriate messages to Chan all day, and you both had an agreement to use each other when you needed it. Sex. You needed it. You had been continuing that dynamic for months.

And, of course, the other guys knew you because ever since you started fucking Chan, he kept you around, even though you weren’t on his staff.

“Oh, well. We’re just recording a song. We’re almost done, but you can stay,” Hyunjin suggested kindly.

“Sure. I was planning on staying anyway,” you replied playfully, closing the door to enter the studio.

“Chan’s part is the only thing left to record, but I want to stay and listen to the result, or at least the draft. Of course, the song will take some time.”

Chan was barely paying attention to what Hyunjin was saying; he was too mesmerized by you, his face wearing a half-smile and his eyes glued to you and your pretty dress and bare thighs. Chan watched as you sat down in the swivel chair next to him, smelling your perfume mixed with his, since you were wearing one of his oversized black zip hoodies.

He knew exactly what you were there for and... he felt a little sorry since Hyunjin was there. However, Hyunjin’s last comment caught his attention... Hyunjin planned to stay until the song was ready? Just when Chan could already taste your sweet pussy in his mouth and imagine how you would bounce on his cock, asking for more and more.

“Oh. Really. And what’s the song about?” you asked.

You noticed Chan was quiet, but not uncomfortable. As if he were thoughtful. Of course, he was thinking about how to get rid of Hyunjin or finish quickly so he could fuck you. All day you had been teasing him with messages. Saying that you would be at the company too... that maybe you could meet on the 5th floor and give him head by the dance practice room. Chan couldn’t help but feel a little scandalized and horny every time you were around; because he knew your body by heart, he knew what you liked, he knew how you felt and exactly what you did every time you got together. So he thought disappointedly that today would have been a very good day to fuck you... but Hyunjin was there.

Hyunjin let out a nervous laugh at your question.

“Oh, it’s about this concept... sexy?” he replied.

“Oh, so your next concept is sexy? I don’t think you’ve had one like, ever.”

You tried to calm your urge to kiss Chan, right there. You thought you’d leave soon and look for Chan another time... before doing something crazy, since you were horny enough, maybe you were ovulating, that you started looking at Hyunjin, but really looking at him, thinking about how attractive he looked sitting there, and of course, the very clear concept of Chan and Hyunjin as a duo came to mind—very sexy, high sex appeal; Hyunjin as the romantic but rough fuck, Chan just as pure rough fuck.

You could confirm it about Chan... but not about how Hyunjin did it. And, of course, you were curious.

Chan cleared his throat, noticing that your gaze had been fixed on Hyunjin for a while.

“No. We’re just recording, I have no plans to release it for now,” Chan finally spoke.

You noticed his serious and grave tone, immediately catching your attention, and you turned to look at him. Suddenly, he was upset.

You didn’t even respond when he said, “I’ll record my lines. Hyunjin, you’re in charge now.”

You felt out of place for a moment. You knew exactly when Chan was being cold and indifferent.

Hyunjin sat in Chan’s chair while he went to the booth, and they began recording. Without interruption, they were absolutely professional, ignoring you completely.

However, you appreciated the creative moment unfolding, and just seeing Chan, dressed casually in all black, shorts, and a tight-fitting sleeveless shirt... your thoughts began to betray you again.

After a few minutes, they finished. Hyunjin started talking to you in a friendly way. And Chan didn’t know exactly what to do with you... He just knew he was very jealous of the way you were suddenly being so friendly with Hyunjin, which was way too much for him.

Chan began working on the song, clearly annoyed because you and Hyunjin looked like two children laughing and chatting while he was concentrating on his work. But being angry with you made him incredibly hard; it was a guilty pleasure, wanting to put you over his knee, teach you a lesson, spank you, and overstimulate you. The image was so clear that he shifted uncomfortably in his seat from time to time, trying to adjust his erection. But it was useless; he couldn’t even concentrate properly anymore. And the worst part was that Hyunjin was still there with no intention of leaving, so Chan could satisfy his needs, desires, and fantasies with you.

Honestly, you didn’t pay much attention to Chan, as you assumed it was more than obvious that, at least today, you weren’t going to fuck—without having the slightest idea how aroused Chan was just by the power of his thoughts, breathing heavily and with his cock throbbing just for you— so you just enjoyed talking to Hyunjin, naively believing that you would leave that studio without having sex.

But things escalated quickly, especially when Chan was uncontrollably hard and, blinded by lust, thought he was going to release his energy one way or another. He wanted you right now, his erection constantly bothering him, clouding his common sense. At first, it was like… oh no, this is wrong, Hyunjin is there… but then all that went to hell, and in his madness, he thought, what if Hyunjin wanted to join in too? Who cares? He was going to fuck you in that studio right now.

Chan sighed heavily. He couldn’t concentrate, his hand tugging gently at his boxers that were starting to squeeze him.

You playfully took the paper with the lyrics, you had heard a bit of the chorus and Chan’s lines at the time you were there… and yes, you thought it was a little daring, but when you read the whole lyrics, it all made a little more sense… it was certainly in the sexy category. It was really the kind of song that implicitly screams sex, but the implication is so subtle.

“Woah, so this is the whole song? Do you think you’re going to release it at some point?” you commented.

Your voice was driving Chan even crazier; he was going nuts without even being able to rub himself.

Hyunjin blushed tenderly at your comment.

“I knooow, it’s a bit naughty, isn’t it? Maybe Chan will release it as a… record or something. And then it will become part of the official discography.”

“Do it slowly, don’t stop. Look at my eyes when—feel the—oh,” you began to read aloud phrases from the lyrics. “Oh, wow, I think you have to be 30 to release something like this. At least in this industry, you are. The people will eat you up alive. Who wrote this? The Weeknd?” you joked, looking up at Chan, who was still working.

It was obvious that he had written it.

“I know. Kinky, right?” Hyunjin said, amused. “I like it. I like this version of Chan… the lyrics are very creative… where do you think he got so much inspiration for something like this? Do you think he has a girl somewhere?”

Yeah, you liked that version of Channie, too. You couldn’t take your eyes off Chan once you saw him. It drove you crazy to watch him work, focused, his side profile making him look so attractive… You loved it when he called you over to clearly fuck, but then he played hard to get by getting to work, and there you had to be, walking over to him, hugging him, caressing his abdomen, and practically begging him to stop working and start touching you. You knew how much he liked it when you begged him and heard your needy voice.

You spent so much time watching him, almost melting when you looked at his big exposed arms, which you wanted around your body, holding you, headlocking you, just anything, just near your body, trembling in rush and sex… You were so lost in thought that you almost forgot you were talking to Hyunjin, that he had said something and you hadn’t responded, and you were clearly about to say something back when you noticed that Chan swallowed nervously under your intense gaze and discreetly adjusted his cock, which was not at all discreet, you realized. You could see how exquisitely hard he already was.

On the other hand, Hyunjin wasn’t stupid. He noticed the way you were practically devouring Chan with your eyes… and everything clicked into place for him. It was more than obvious that there was something between the two of you. Something very tense and sexual. He knew it as soon as he felt the tension fill the room.

So, you were Chan’s muse for all his songs about sex.

You struggled internally... whether to act as if nothing had happened and leave Chan with his hard cock... just leave the studio and let him deal with it on his own, or go up to him and start touching him, your body heating up at the idea that maybe you’d look like a pervert in front of Hyunjin, that he’d feel uncomfortable, or at best, that he’d get turned on and decide to join in.

So, you would tease.

“I think he likes to fuck,” you replied, loud and clear, surprising Hyunjin and Chan with the sound of vulgarity coming out of your mouth. “That’s where his inspiration comes from. Isn’t that right, Chan? You like to fuck hard? Just like the song says? It says—”

Chan turned his body abruptly to his right, toward you and Hyunjin; he looked at you coldly, impressing you both, leaving you speechless, even. It was obvious that you were provoking him and he wasn’t going to put up with your crazy girl attitude for another second... not now, when he was struggling between jealousy and sexual arousal, plus he was tired and being with you relaxed him too much; he means, sure, sex with you was intense, frantic, and tense every part of him, but he enjoyed it like never before. And it frustrated him that he couldn’t enjoy that right now.

“I think you’re done analyzing the lyrics, don’t you think?” Chan interrupted you, abruptly taking the paper from your hands. “Don’t you have... anything else to do?”

Oh, that turned you on in seconds. He said it with authority, almost challenging you.

Hyunjin could only be there, confused.

You looked at Chan intensely again, and your gaze daringly dropped to rest on his erection. You raised an eyebrow, just to let him know that you knew he was turned on, that he was surely as sensitive and needy as you knew him to be, and that you knew perfectly well that being helpless, unable to do anything with his hard cock and probably his suffocated balls, put him in a very bad mood.

You almost bit your lip, just at the thought of his rigid cock exposed.

But Chan knew exactly what he was doing. He hadn’t even bothered to hide his bulge when he turned to look at you... almost inviting you both, you and his dear bandmate whom he had known for many years... and with whom he was very close, but never to that kind of extent. Chan did feel a little sorry that Hyunjin could tell he was hard, to some extent, he thought it made him look like a pathetic degenerate... but what did it matter. Chan was horny, too horny, and when he was, he could become a pervert. Especially when his little personal fuck toy/doll of flesh and blood was there, teasing and wiggling and begging for attention. You both knew what you were to each other: friends, acquaintances, people who sought each other out to satisfy their desires, pleasure without prejudice. You loved that Chan used and dominated you.

Hyunjin studied both of your body language, his gaze darting from his friend to yours, and when he stopped to look at you, he noticed that your gaze was fixed on a very specific part of Chan, his crotch, so naturally, Hyunjin looked away from you to what you were looking at specifically, almost like a gentle reflex, not out of curiosity. But he regretted doing so when he noticed the bulge in Chan’s shorts. Hyunjin blushed and looked away guiltily. He couldn’t believe that his beloved hyung was hard, but why? Hyunjin wondered. Because you were there? Did you make him feel that bad?

“Mmm... not really. What are you guys doing after this? Would you like to go to a pojangmacha afterwards? I can see that Chan, specifically, needs to relax... this song is very, very hard for him to work on...”

You continued to tease him. Chan found it amusing. However, Hyunjin felt the atmosphere becoming more and more tense, so he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling like he was interrupting something, and clearly he was, he thought, just by looking at your heavy breathing and intense exchanges of glances.

“Um... well, you know, Channie-hyung... I have to go... I forgot that I was going out with Changbin today. We’re going to pick up kimchi from his mother and more food...” he said, a little uncomfortable.

Chan and you knew that Hyunjin was clearly lying, and, at that point, both you and Chan knew that Hyunjin had figured things out and recognized the fragile and risqué line that you and Chan were about to cross in a matter of seconds.

You chuckled, thinking it was crazy, but you had nothing to lose by trying, so you almost purred:

“What’s wrong, Hyunjin? Chan’s perversion is bothering you, isn’t it?” You clicked your tongue amusedly, looking at Hyunjin, who was standing still. And then you turned to your friend, delighted. “Chan, your erection is making Hyunjin uncomfortable. Take care of it, for God’s sake. You fucking pervert.”

Chan licked his teeth, amused and incredulous that you were behaving so rudely in front of Hyunjin and daring to speak to him like that. On the other hand, Hyunjin’s eyes darted fearfully from you to Chan, wondering how he had gotten himself into such a situation in the first place. He was starting to get nervous, his heart beating fast.

Hyunjin sighed and tried to speak sincerely. Meanwhile, Chan remained silent, calculating exactly what to say, analyzing every part of the two of you.

“Guys. I get it. I don’t want to interrupt you, I’d better leave.”

“Interrupt what?” You shrugged and continued your slow game of seduction. You quickly looked at Hyunjin and turned back to Chan. “If nothing was going to happen here... I don’t understand why Chan is hard anyway, if he hasn’t even been touched...”

You were sitting with your legs crossed, clearly looking for something to calm your intense desire, but it didn’t work. Once you became aware that Hyunjin now knew what you and Chan were subtly plotting, you stood up from your chair. To start something that you knew there would soon be no turning back from, perhaps a little guilt, regret, and a filthy feeling... but nothing that they both weren’t going to enjoy.

The idea heated your body and mind, and you were sure Chan was considering it too. That’s why he was so quiet and serious. Not denying, not confirming. Absolutely silent.

You approached Chan, kneeling on one side of the chair, a perfect position for Hyunjin to witness your hand traveling across Chan’s body, caressing his erection and abs. Chan tensed up completely, allowing you to touch him. He watched you do it, stern and unresponsive, trying to resist as he breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring gently at your action—your submissive position, and your mischievous hand being greedy on him.

Hyunjin sighed, appreciating the scene worthy of eroticism, but it still felt strange; he didn’t know if he liked it or found it repulsive. But Chan’s calmness, as if having you like this was the most normal thing in the world, made him feel sexually uneasy. Hyunjin was able to witness Chan at his best, the sexy Bang Chan the world fantasized about, at least a little, with his dominant and powerful presence, worthy of his—Chan’s art, of the words he wrote.

The scene and his thoughts made him shiver and unleashed a slow and pleasurable sexual desire in him. Very subtle, but noticeable. If he stayed there to appreciate something more explicit, his penis would become very hard with inevitable lust.

He never thought he would see Chan that way... not really.

“Unless, of course, he’s given a good reason to be hard,” you whispered.

Chan closed his eyes, enjoying it, but when he opened them, he realized that Hyunjin was watching the scene, completely tense and still. So Chan grabbed your wrist abruptly, stopping your caresses.

“Stop,” he ordered. “Hyunjin... is here.”

You smiled smugly and turned to look at him.

“If he wanted to leave, he would have done so already,” you said. “Have you ever had a threesome, Hyunjin?” you asked, the question hanging in the air, echoing throughout the sexually charged studio.

You were already too aroused to stop yourself. If he wanted to join in, he should do it now; if not, he could leave freely and leave you alone with Chan. Of course, you and Chan preferred that he stay.

Why would he? Hyunjin thought at your question. He had always loved monogamy, and besides, he was a very busy, famous, and exclusive idol and celebrity... to seek pleasure so easily, one false move and his life would be completely ruined; that was why he admired Chan, with an obviously active sex life amid the very hectic lifestyle that he and his other bandmates led.

“No...” Hyunjin whispered, embarrassed.

“Will you try?” you asked almost immediately.

Hyunjin licked his lips; his silence spoke volumes, letting you and Chan assume that he was genuinely considering it. Hyunjin looked at Chan with an almost worried look, seeking his approval as he almost always did, at every step of his career, for seven long years, he looked at him, almost as a reflex. Chan tried to read his gaze.

“Hyunjin, if you don’t want to do it, don’t—” Chan spoke, his voice serious, but he was interrupted.

“Can I do it...?” he replied timidly, taking you by surprise.

Hyunjin thought about it too much. Maybe he would stay out of curiosity, he wanted to try it... Deep down, he wanted to convince himself that he was doing it for the love of art. That he wanted to know firsthand what it felt like to be in that position, in the world, and under Chan’s lyrics.

You smiled broadly. “Only if you want to,” you added, and he nodded. “Okay. Chan will guide you.”

Chan didn’t even bother to ask Hyunjin if he was really sure, because Chan himself was very horny and needed attention and action soon... besides, he saw the firm decision in Hyunjin’s noble gaze. Besides, it would also be a fucking hot fantasy for Chan to admire how his beloved, and quite sexy, friend Hyunjin used your body for his sexual pleasure. And he would orchestrate the whole situation.

So Chan took control.

Chan cleared his throat. “Hyunjin, are you hard?”

His friend looked at him with mild trepidation as he shook his head gently. “Just... a little.”

Chan gave you a quick glance and gave you the go-ahead with a simple, “Go.”

Hyunjin blinked in confusion but understood everything as soon as he saw you approach him, gently removing your jacket, leaving it on the chair and revealing a very pretty strapless dress on you. He was still very tense, but he let you kiss him as soon as your lips touched his. You were a little impatient, so you acted quickly to get Hyunjin fully erect.

He let himself go completely, shyly holding your waist at first. You let him do it his way first, slowly and passionately taking your lips... making you question why you had ever considered kissing him in the first place. You thought he and the rest of the boys were extremely handsome, yes, but being attractive was basically part of their job, so Chan was always enough for you. You didn’t want to fuck anyone else. But the tempting opportunity was right in front of you, and you didn’t waste it.

Hyunjin’s pace was slow, delicate, his lips were soft, plumpy and exquisite, just like Chan’s, but the shape, texture, and rhythm were so different, his anatomy and dynamics... it was another incredible sensation that ignited everything in you. His large hands pressed against your skin and you couldn’t resist any longer; you sped things up, sliding your tongue into his mouth, seeking a wild and erotic kiss, which he quickly took control of.

You pressed your body against his, intensifying your wet, messy, and breathless makeout session, while your right hand slipped down to his erection in his pants, rubbing it.

Chan moved gently in his chair, witnessing the actions between you and Hyunjin, making him feel uncontrollably aroused. Chan cupped his erection, mentally preparing himself to calm down and have a little more resistance. He likes that, playing with his emotions and desire, making his cock as hard as possible and simply enveloping himself in eroticism, foreplay, the pleasure of feeling, touching, tasting, and listening. Sex for him was not meaningless.

“Touch me,” you whispered between your lips and pressed them back onto his.

Hyunjin’s cock throbbed at the sensuality of your voice and he obeyed, lifting your dress and squeezing your ass firmly while continuing to suck deliciously on your lips. Chan, for his part, squeezed his erection and clenched his jaw at the visual image that stimulated him to the limit, after realizing that you were wearing nothing under your dress but your cute little panties.

You began to feel more and more desperate; pleasantly overwhelmed by the sensation of Hyunjin’s warm, aroused body touching and kissing you, so you spontaneously and impulsively pulled away from him, leaving him confused, but he understood as soon as you completely removed your dress and bra. Hyunjin’s eyes sparkled at the sight of your nearly naked body, the contours of your bare breasts, the softness he imagined your skin must feel like; he was completely blinded by desire, and you gently took his attractive face in your hands again to kiss him, more roughly this time.

Chan moaned softly at your spontaneous movement, at the sight of your bare back and your precious body being touched by his friend. That hot growl turned you on even more, if that was possible. You were enjoying being pleasured by Hyunjin, but the idea of Chan watching you both made you so incredibly hot. It was like performing for him, giving him his own show, his personalized pornography, and it excited you so much to please him. You wondered if he was touching himself right now... at the image of Hyunjin running his large hands over your ass and waist, both bodies rubbing together.

You imagined all the things you could do with them, almost suffocating in lust. You had never felt so hot and special as you did in this situation. A threesome with the much-loved and desired duo that were Bahng Chan and Hwang Hyunjin.

Hyunjin couldn’t resist any longer; his lips desperately moved down your jaw to your neck, his hands traveling down your waist to cup your breasts, making you moan. His hands were ruthless against your skin, violently massaging your breasts, reveling in the soft, docile sensation of them, of holding them, of teasing your nipples; Hyunjin could swear he could cum just by playing with your tits. And, Chan, of course, could cum just by watching how you were being pleased.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as soon as you felt his sensual mouth suck and gently bite the skin on your neck, his wet lips descending to your breasts. Hyunjin took one between his mouth with great pleasure for his excited spirits and moaned as soon as his mouth made contact with your breast. He watched your reaction for a moment with a smug smile—your tense face reflecting pure pleasure, eyebrows furrowed, parted lips as you gasped softly, breathing deeply.

His mouth took your breast completely with hunger, treating it with a roughness that turned you on, while his other hand stimulated the other. His tongue began to play with your nipple, and you squealed in surprise as his free hand caressed your body and sought out your very sensitive clitoris. This time, his hands began to treat your pussy and nipple delicately, unlike his mischievous mouth that licked and sucked your breast until you were overstimulated and sensitive. When he saw you whimpering audibly, he moved on to do the same with the other... leaving you breathless and totally surprised at how he managed to master two different rhythms, feeling like two different people. His mouth was rough, but his fingers delicately traced circles on your sensitive spot.

Hyujin spread your legs a little, pulled aside the fabric of your panties, and let his knuckles caress you, allowing himself to be covered by your very welcoming, warm, slick, and wet folds. He could only think about how ready you were for his cock to slide into you with delicious ease. You were soaking wet, your labia throbbing on his fingers every time he touched you.

Yes, yes, yes. It was all you could think about over and over again as you whimpered with pleasure. He was finally touching your much-needed cunt.

Chan watched you writhe with pleasure, heard you whimper at Hyunjin’s caresses, so he couldn’t help but moan softly, with a very exasperated tone. “Fuck.”

He felt his erection at its limit. Dripping, throbbing, demanding in the most aggressive way to be attended to.

Hyunjin could do anything. His long fingers were a delicious blessing, his thumb stimulating your clitoris while his ring and middle fingers reached perfectly into your entrance, beginning to tease you intensely, his fingers sliding smoothly into you. You whimpered even louder, your thighs trembling as Hyunjin reveled in the soft sensation of your insides.

You focused on the pleasure he was giving you, but part of you couldn’t help but shiver at Chan’s rough gasps behind you, almost as if he were whispering in your ear. Every part of you trembled with arousal; you were beginning to lose control.

You knew you loved the feeling... but it was just so overwhelming not to be in control of yourself, to know that at any moment you could collapse into his arms at the slightest touch. That’s how intense it felt.

You were so impatient with wanting even more action and pleasure; not that you were’'t satisfied with how exquisitely Hyunjin touched you, but you wanted to take things even further, because you knew you could, because you were aware that two very attractive and needy men were in that room, screaming for sex, their eyes shining at every little thing you did, surrendering to you. You knew things were going to get even more intense, so you wanted to enjoy the best of both of them, so greedily.

But you didn’t want to leave Hyunjin. You let him push you so close to a much-anticipated, mind-blowing orgasm as you tried to stand in front of him, but you were just so lustfully weak. You let him use your pussy, let his fingers explore inside you. You were so close that Hyunjin could feel your walls squeezing his digits; so he distanced himself a little from your breasts, just to appreciate your face receiving pleasure.

But you shuddered completely, your body trembling and your tits were sensitive, sweetly stimulated, freshly licked and sucked. You were holding back your orgasm, and he could tell, so a satisfied, smug smile spread across his face. You didn’t want to come yet... not simply surrendering to Hyunjin’s fingers and his caresses on your core... but you couldn’t stop thinking about how good they felt inside you. You still wanted to play around a little, but the sensation was simply too much. You had no choice but to whimper, begging... without knowing exactly why, since letting him stop touching you was not an option at all.

“Hyunjin, please, please...”

The pressure in your stomach increased. You could handle a couple of orgasms during the same act without any problem... but in your mind, deliciously, you want to build up your excitement more and more, no matter how painful it is. In that respect, you were so much like Chan. You love... that pleasurable pain of desperation from really good foreplay.

But Hyunjin was so kind to you, being his first time with you, trying you out, getting to know you. So if he felt your orgasm coming, then he should let you come... and not push your limits or deny you like Chan used to do.

“You like that?” he exhaled with a smile.

Your face and soft moans spoke for themselves.

“Yes—” you replied with some difficulty and took hold of the forearm whose fingers were fucking you. “But...” you made a slight effort to lean toward him and move closer to his ear, to whisper with a sultry voice, despite being almost at your limit. “W-we should let Chan join in... before I... come.”

A mischievous, wicked but lustful smile formed on Hyunjin’s attractive face as he heard you ask... for more. It excited him so much that you were enthusiastic about the idea of more and more pleasure.

Hyunjin withdrew his fingers and hand from your center, making you grunt at the feeling of emptiness, just when your body was splendidly tense. He appreciated the stickiness on his fingers, your lust exposed on him, and he was about to return to you when you quickly turned around, pressing your butt against his erection and looking at Chan.

Chan almost swallowed nervously when he felt both of your gazes on him. He knew you were going to approach him... but he didn’t know what you would do. At first, he was just there, moaning quietly, rubbing his erection and enjoying the show, thinking that you would really cum for Hyunjin, for him, for his fingers working on you; he was confused when he saw you whisper something to him and he stopped... but he knew, as soon as your excited, panting figures began to point toward him.

Chan bit his lip when he finally saw your bare breasts and your red face, your softly watery eyes, and your soft, exposed abdomen going in and out. He had had many opportunities to appreciate your naked body... but each time you simply took his breath away. His lustful gaze continued to descend on you... delighting in the sight of the fabric of your panties poorly positioned on your pussy, the fabric stuck between your folds. His cock throbbed at the thought and memory of your pussy, it had a serious effect on him just seeing you, and he thought how lucky those panties were to live between your delicious, juicy lips, heavenly, sweet, forbidden lips.

Hyunjin moaned as he felt the pressure of your body against his, and without hesitation, he returned to holding and massaging your breasts. He could appreciate your enthusiasm for Chan and, with his heart pounding wildly, Hyunjin had to admit that he was also eager for him... to know... and learn how his beloved superior handled sex.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Hyunjin whispered hoarsely, his face caressed by your hair, reveling in its sweet scent and your closeness, your body exuding pleasure.

Nothing but lust and sex. That was all you could think about right now.

You let Hyunjin touch your breasts again, rubbing yourself against his incredibly large erection, and as you listened to his words and stared at Chan, you smiled mischievously.

Chan watched you approach as you took Hyunjin’s hands, guiding him toward him. Chan’s cock throbbed with a life of its own in his shorts as he had you both close by. You looked exquisite, full of lust and an adorable, naughty smirk on your face, and his friend... well, Chan always thought Hyunjin was a very attractive man, and not just because he was a member of his band or his friend; he also had to admit that his large erection intimidated him. It was obvious that Chan knew Hyunjin was well-endowed... but even so, he ended up impressing him in a very good way.

“Want to join us? A little help... with your situation?” you said, leaning toward him, both hands on the armrest of the chair, your face close to his.

Chan didn’t respond. He just breathed sharply and stared at you, a long, intense stare that you knew exactly what it meant, a hard stare studying your every move... that... he was slightly unwilling to play along and wanted you to beg him to touch you.

“Uh, tough crowd, I see,” you said in an amused tone, teasing him. “Fine. Then I guess you don’t mind if I have some fun with Hyunjin only for a little longer... I’ll sit here.”

You dropped yourself onto his erection without mercy. Chan whimpered as he felt your weight on his cock. It was exactly what he wanted... he wanted to see you being used by Hyunjin. The idea turned him on to levels he never thought or imagined possible.

Hyunjin watched the scene with amusement, your ass rubbing against him as you leaned over talking to Chan, and then he stood in front of you as soon as you sat down on his friend’s lap. But your actions were quick and clear; you pulled on Hyunjin’s belt, pulling him toward you, and began to remove it along with his pants and underwear, while at the same time you started to move your body on the erection of your dear friend with benefits; your throbbing center pressed deliciously against his desperate penis, your trembling hands working to undress Hyunjin from the lower half of his body.

Chan let you play with him, with his temperament and excitement. He didn’t touch you; he just growled and moaned, clutching the armrests of the chair tightly until his knuckles turned white and his lower lip burned with pain from biting it intensely.

On the other hand, Hyunjin let you touch him and perform the series of obscenities you had to do to him. As soon as you exposed his cock, he let out a low, trembling howl, muffled against his lewdly figure, and threw his head back in pleasure.

Your mouth salivated as soon as you saw his very tempting and flushed hard cock. So exquisite and eager for you to take it. Even Chan let out a soft gasp at the sight of his penis; he could tell you were enjoying it, your trembling body on top of him said it all.

“Mmm, fuck, Hyunjin, you have a big cock” you said, your thoughts speaking out loud while your eyes sparkled, increasing his ego.

You began to stroke his cock with your hand, pumping its entire length before taking it into your mouth and tasting it. Hyunjin gently grabbed your hair the moment your warm tongue touched his member. You were so excited that you started acting clumsily, unable to maintain a steady rhythm while teasing Chan and giving Hyunjin oral sex, yet still trying to keep him at bay, yet both men were enjoying you to the fullest.

You licked his cock, savoring it completely until your mouth could remember by its own his most exquisite taste and texture; in a few seconds you were already drooling, between your saliva and his precum, flooding the studio with Hyunjin’s whimpers and Chan’s sighs as he felt you grind his cock, making a mess in his shorts by your wey cunt. And, slowly and at your own pace, you began to suck him, so deliciously that if you continued like this, Chan was going to explode in orgasm and slight jealousy at seeing how much you were enjoying it. Taking him slowly, your head bobbing on him as you sucked him off, the sensation of his cock filling your mouth, almost thrusting it, practically fucking it. You couldn’t help but moan softly, choked on his dick.

“Hyunjin... wouldn’t you like to... try her? Like... eat her out?” Chan spoke for the first time in a long time, his voice trembling.

He said it because he wanted to see it. He would love to see it.

Hyunjin nodded, obeying Chan’s words without protest, so you had to stop, making your mouth feel so empty; you loved the warm, throbbing sensation of his penis filling your cavity.

“Come on, baby. Open your legs for Hyunjin,” he purred softly, peeking his face into the right side of your neck.

Chan finally touched you, and you moaned softly as you felt him. His body was warm despite the cold air conditioning surrounding the room. He positioned your body on his lap, pulling you closer to his chest so you could lean on him, and squeezed your thighs, indicating that you should obey him by opening your legs.

You did so, panting as you felt highly vulnerable. Chan gripped your thighs, holding them, and Hyunjin knelt in front of your pussy.

“I want you to try it for yourself. Fuck, look how soaked she is...” Chan murmured to Hyunjin, low and aroused, pulling aside the fabric of your panties and running his long fingers over your cunt, until he subtly slipped two fingers inside you. You sighed in surprise, your body tensing with excitement. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered, consumed by the soft, slippery sensation of your intimate area. “Let Hyunjin know how much you love to get your pussy eaten, baby girl,” he whispered dirty in your ear.

Hyunjin watched you, so vulnerable and submissive, almost naked on his friend’s lap, who held your thighs, squeezing them tightly, and then you... panting over his touch. Chan grabbed your thigh again, letting Hyunjin do his thing; so he finished undressing you, with Chan’s help, Hyunjin slid your panties down your thighs.

And there you were, panting, showing him your glossy pussy, used, prepared, and gently twitching. You felt taken and helpless, you loved the feeling, and you had no choice but to enjoy it. Hyunjin smirked weakly, nervous and excited, not believing that his perfect, delicious meal that hot afternoon in the studio in Seoul would be your tempting pussy.

Hyunjin did it again at his own pace. This time, it was you who held on tightly to the armrest, tense. He started kissing the inside of your thighs, gently tickling your clit with one finger and appreciating your exposed femininity, so well displayed that Hyunjin could paint the erotic image he was witnessing. He appreciated all of your anatomy and then raised his gaze to admire your face, his favorite part. He spread your folds, placing his long fingers on either side of your skin, and gave his first lick, his flat and warm tongue over your vulva, causing you to release a ragged whimper.

He licked you a couple more times, slowly and deeply, just to see your reaction and your uncontrollable need to move your legs, but Chan held you tightly, keeping them still. He smiled, his tongue in your pussy and looking at you, and, satisfied with his effect on you, he began to eat your pussy with a gentle hunger that pushed you to the limit, your eyes rolling back, whimpers you tried to control, pressing and biting your lips hard, resulting in the most exquisites “Mmm” for those excited men, your thighs trembling, your muscles seeking release somehow.

Chan saw the image of Hyunjin devouring your pussy, and it gave him so much pleasure; his breathing became hitched, and it made him feel so needy. For a moment, he thought he would invite Hyunjin more often, just to watch the two of you fuck. The image was delicious. You writhed on Chan’s body, sighing and panting, and Hyunjin... just kept going, reveling in you.

You stroked Hyunjin’s hair as he did the deed. You were so wet that the sound of your pussy combined with Hyunjin’s delicious saliva was audibly present. Hyunjin sucked your clit, staying there, torturing you just enough to drive you a little crazy, then moved his mouth down to your labia and entrance, slurping, nibbling, and licking. His pillowy lips were heavenly, his tongue ruthless and agile. You were so close again that the two of them could feel it.

“Mmm, fuck, she’s so fucking good—” Hyunjin hissed, still deep into your core, his constant sucking muffling the comment. “I can’t believe you had her all to yourself, Chan.”

Hyunjin felt his cock ache, suffocated by all the pent-up arousal. And Chan was in the same situation. Chan breathed deeply, close to you. You were so deliciously overwhelmed by all the sensations... that suddenly you remembered him. You turned to look at him and sought his lips, cupping his manly face with your right hand, and you kissed dirty, so deep and passionate, with agitated breaths and trembling tongues involved, so desperate for each other. Chan released your thighs and began to stimulate your breasts and nipples as you continued to kiss, this time more calmly, but with the same intensity as the first kiss.

But once again... you felt closer and closer. Chan’s hands were very different from Hyunjin’s on your breasts; both felt marvelous, but his tongue was certainly splendid on you. You felt so touched. So well taken. Perfectly overstimulated.

Hyunjin picked up an unexpected pace as soon as he could feel your orgasm coming, so he sped things up, fucking you deeply with his tongue, genuinely tasting you. You whimpered, first on Chan’s lips, but the sensation was so intense that you had to pull away from him a little, and your legs almost closed reflexively, but Chan retook one of your thighs.

You saw that attractive man with short dark hair lost in your core, striving for your sweetest orgasm, masturbating himself violently, yet matching the delicate and voracious movements of his mouth. Still, you wanted more; you were blinded by it. You sought Chan’s lips again, but he instead took your face roughly, squeezing your cheeks, turning it back to the front.

“Look at Hyunjin while he eats your pussy, princess, look at how carefully he’s doing it for you, enjoy it,” he said. Hyunjin heard and looked up, smiling. You were desperate and breathless, your legs still somewhat restless; the position was uncomfortable, and you were under a lot of tension, but Hyunjin took hold of your other thigh. “Open your legs wide, stay still. Good girl. You can take it, I know,” Chan whispered softly.

He let go of your face and abruptly returned to fondling your tits, pinching your nipples, and squeezing your breasts.

But it was too much. Your eyes watered again, you were so ready for your release... but somehow, you were still waiting for Chan’s permission, because it was the dirty game you loved to play. After all, you wanted him to be more dominant over you right now, heightening the sensation of your orgasm.

Chan saw you struggling, and to be honest, he could speak for both Hyunjin and himself, who was in the same situation. The pleasure had been prolonged in such a delicious, yet certainly painful way.

It was time for you to finally get properly fucked. Your cunt filled with a cock as you eagerly and much pleaded, like the little slut you were behaving for the very first moment with them. Or so thought Chan. So he said:

“Mmm, Hyunjin, why don’t you fuck her already?” he suggested, still seriously aroused. Hyunjin looked up. “You want Hyunjin to fuck you, huh, isn’t that right, my sweet princess?” he said to you tenderly.

Chan was practically directing the whole thing subtly and indirectly. You nodded submissively. You had no problem reaching orgasm with his delicious mouth, but you definitely needed your pussy stuffed by something bigger; you had been almost begging for it since the beginning.

Hyunjin obeyed instantly, standing up, and you moaned softly at the sensation of his mouth leaving you. He had never been so excited to follow an order from Chan as he felt now. He would fuck you with rather pleasure.

Chan let go of you and gently pushed your body, indicating that you should stand up. You did so with some difficulty, still feeling somewhat weak after the two intense sensations you had experienced.

“Turn her around. Let me see her face when you fuck her,” he whispered, shifting his body in the chair.

Hyunjin did as he was told again, gently taking your arm and turning you around. You were trembling at the thought. Hyunjin placed his hand on your back, caressing it and making you arch your back. You held onto Chan’s thighs, looking at him with teary, pleading eyes.

The logical part of Hyunjin thought about using a condom, but his wild desire prevailed, and he took his stiff, sensitive cock, moistened its tip between your slick folds, and entered you with a gentle, calculated thrust, pushing in inch by inch, leaving you breathless. You whimpered at the sensation of your throbbing sex joining with his, adapting to his size. And he let out a broken moan, so fucking hot it made Chan shiver, it was just the kind of sexy, captivating sound he had been looking for in Hyunjin from the beginning.

His cock felt so welcome yet suffocated in your tight insides. It was paradise itself; Chan could tell his friend felt it too. That once he tasted you, it was hard to get out of there. Chan was the living example, a long history of sexual encounters with you and around 21 songs about sex and connection written for you, about you, about you two, about what he felt.

His hard flesh filling you completely drove you sweetly crazy, but as soon as he started fucking you, it was your total undoing. Hyunjin moved, taking you by the hips, penetrating you slowly and deeply, hitting your cervix, moving every part of you, thrust after thrust, banging his pelvis against your skin. Hyunjin slid every inch into you, tearing you apart so pleasantly, you whimpered and cried louder. He wanted to make sure you felt it.

Chan licked his lips, reveling in the sight of you receiving pleasure, being torn apart; your tits moving to the abrupt pounding of Hyunjin in your pussy; he could see a little of Hyujin’s penis piercing you and going deep inside you, but certainly the image was very present in his head, of your pussy being used.

Little by little, you began to lose control. You were savoring your orgasm again.

“What is it, baby? Is Hyunjin too big for you? C’mon, you can take him.” Chan moved a little closer to you and commented, clearly amused by your little tears and constant moans escaping from you. “How does it feel, princess? You like Hyunjin fucking you, huh?”

You nodded weakly. You were out of breath. Still, Hyunjin wasn’t half as aggressive as Chan used to be with you when he fucked you hard. His thrusts were precise, long-lasting, with an exquisite back-and-forth motion. It was his steady rhythm and size that broke you; he was so careful.

Hyunjin grabbed your abdomen, lifting your body and pressing your naked figure against him, penetrating you deeply, stirring your guts. He was panting, right at the peak of his sexual desire, enjoying you. He massaged your breasts while continuing to fuck you nonstop while giving you hot kisses in your neck and shoulders, his deep breathing and sizzling grunts pressed against your skin, and your whimpers were more than sweet motivation for him...

And for Chan, who was completely turned on and overwhelmed, finally released his cock and masturbated delicately, letting out grunt after grunt; he was so sensitive. Hyunjin looked at his friend’s cock, also impressed in a very good way. It was obvious then why you were with him. Hyunjin knew that he gave you the most magnificent sex and... it was Bang Chan, how could you not be obsessed, even.

You bit your lip at the sight of Chan’s large, attractive hand touching himself, running his hand up and down the entire length of his rigid shaft. You loved Hyunjin fucking you, but just seeing Chan like that, so hard and needy, made you need him too.

So you did what you knew he hated and turned him on at the same time, teasing him, speaking mockingly, still subtly gasping and out of breath because of Hyunjin’s constant pounding.

“So... Chan. Are you just going to sit there, watching? Are you going to cum just by jerking off...? Aren’t you going to join in? Oh, look at you, touching yourself, like a guilty porn addict, your poor little thing—”

Chan stood up abruptly, somewhere between annoyed and excited... at first, the tone of your voice excited him so much that it made his cock tremble, but your comments escalating more and more into gentle degradation wasn’t what he was looking for, not right now.

His abrupt movement impressed both Hyunjin and you, yet he didn’t stop penetrating you. Chan had a plan: to fuck you until you were exhausted, almost unable to continue, filled with Hyunjin’s cum. He planned to leave you used and say proudly that now it was his turn to fuck you and he was going to tear you apart even harder, but no... you had to change his plans with that arrogant tone of yours, talking to him like that.

Besides, it was more than obvious, he could hardly resist any longer, he wanted his cock rubbed and used by you, into you.

Chan approached you, his clean hand taking your face with a gentle aggressiveness that made you know what was coming next, your pussy throbbing and your nipples hardening at the thought that you might have both handsome men at the same time. You wanted to smile, but Hyunjin’s constant movement inside you stopped you; you were still panting. His hand took part of your cheek, and his fingers tangled a little in your hair, pulling it enough to mark the obvious dominance and authority he needed during sex, when it was dirty and unrestrained. Just like the three of you were experiencing.

You looked into his dark eyes, full of something mischievous that intimidated you and turned you on irrevocably.

Chan spoke, sharp, cold, and annoyed, pulling your hair harder.

“You dirty little slut, you don’t know how to shut the fuck up and just be grateful and enjoy, do you? Even with your pussy full of cock, you want more?” Chan spoke so despotically that it made Hyunjin shudder. It was a tone of Chan’s that he had only heard a few times, maybe three or four times, back when they were trainees and newly debuted, when he really scolded them harshly. Hyunjin saw how Chan grabbed your shoulders, pulling your torso to control you, so he let go of you, understanding that he was about to join in, to make the situation a real threesome. You arched your back again, held onto Chan’s thighs, and ended up with your face grazing his erection. He took it and directed it roughly to your lips. “Then here, take it. I need to put my cock in your dirty mouth so you’ll stop talking and saying bullshit, isn’t that right, you little cunt? Open your mouth. Now.”

Hyunjin fucked you more gently, slightly lost in the situation... seeing Chan in his dominant nature during sex. You raised your gaze to Chan, your eyes shining, your look submissive as your lips touched his hot glans... it was everything you wanted. Both of them at the same time. Sexual desire caught you again with more intensity; you stuck out your tongue, just to feel his shaft on it. Chan slapped your tongue a bit with his cock and then pushed it into your mouth without further warning.

At first, you choked a little; your jaw was adjusting to the large intruder entering your mouth. Chan threw his head back, sighing in relief as he pulled your hair and began to move inside you, reveling in the sensation of your cavity enveloping his very flushed and needy sex, your lips around his circumference, a little roughness from your teeth, your palate, your restless tongue, and the soft, warm, and wet cheek lining.

Initially, he did it slowly, with a little consideration, just three slow, long thrusts, pumping his cock, sliding into you, from his glans, until it reached the limit of its length in your cavity without entering your throat. He did it to prepare himself, leaving you drooling and tired, but soon and spontaneously, he changed the rhythm, thrusting hard, fast, hitting your oropharynx, making you cry instantly, your hands clinging tightly to his thighs. You were making a mess, dripping from every possible way out of you.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, watching with guilty arousal and some intimidation at how hard you were struggling to keep up with Chan’s pace in your cavity. You looked like you were suffering, but at the same time so pleased, you were. Still, Hyunjin somewhat shyly commented:

“Hmm, don’t you think you should be a little gentler with her?”

Chan pulled your hair harder and smiled broadly, enjoying the sight of your completely devastated face, your eyes and nose running, your eyebrows tense, and your gaze seeking mercy. It was just the way you liked it.

“That’s how she likes it, rough,” he sounded more proud. “Isn’t that right, sweetie? You want Hyunjin to go faster, too, right?”

Chan took your cock out of your mouth for a moment so you could catch your breath. You inhaled deeply and nodded at his question.

“Yes,” you replied weakly and breathlessly.

You needed that.

That little bit was enough to change Hyunjin’s perspective. He wanted to try it, to fuck you so hard, to use his cock on you more for his own pleasure than yours... but he was a little indecisive, until that little confirmation gave him access to being that dominant person, whose energy his friend radiated.

You whimpered as soon as you felt Hyunjin’s large hands hold your hips more tightly and thus control your body more roughly. This time, he was fucking you exactly hard, destroying you, hitting a very sweet spot in you that made you lose control completely, making you tremble and so close to your orgasm.

And, amid the intense pleasure, Chan put his cock back in your mouth, fucking you with exactly the same brutal and wild movement as Hyunjin in your pussy. You endured it for a while, but tears fell from your cheeks more consistently. You never thought you would feel so exquisitely suffocated, so full, so used in search of their pleasure, like a real, flesh-and-blood fuck toy.

The studio that a few minutes ago was filled with music, talent, and two very creative minds... was now filled with your muffled cries on their cocks, the sound of the mess of fluids, both Chan’s and Hyunjin’s, against your mouth and pussy, and the violent way your skin collided with skin as you were fucked so hard; so now those two brilliant minds worked together to tear you apart, to push you to the limit and thus completely melt you away, releasing all the tension in your body that you were struggling so hard with. You came intensely on Hyunjin’s cock, making every inch of your being tremble. Hyunjin was sweating slightly; he slowed his thrusts, making them sloppy and careless once he felt your walls squeeze his cock, practically milking him, and he came inside you. He continued to penetrate you as his orgasm washed over him, his cock twitching, releasing every drop into you, as he let out that same incomparable hot sound of feral panting and whimpering he had previously accomplished.

And the moment Hyunjin finished his panting orgasm inside you, Chan was quick to follow suit; his semen shooting into your mouth and filling you completely. He pulled his still-twitching cock out of you and deposited shots of his cum around your lips with burning pride, lips which were already dripping with it, and you were beginning to swallow.

It was intense, and you were so tired. Just as Chan predicted. Everything about you was still throbbing, and your heart was out of your chest.

As soon as Hyunjin pulled out of you, gasping, Chan manipulated your body with ease, supporting your weakness, yet still keeping you arched. He positioned himself behind you and said in a hoarse voice:

“I have to see that pretty pussy dripping.”

Oh, he loves to do that. You thought, apparently, that now he loved to see it when it wasn’t just his cum filling you up. And he did it at just the right moment, as your walls continued to quiver from your most recent orgasm, struggling to return you to tranquility again, and just then, you moaned softly as you felt the tempting way your vagina slowly, tentatively, and involuntarily expelled that white liquid mixed with your fluids, leaving you dripping. It was humiliating and hot, but it satisfied more than one man. Hyunjin also looked at his work of art with pride. Both would swear that their penises throbbed again at such a dirty scene.

Chan manipulated your body again, this time taking your face and pressing your back against his chest. With one finger, he deftly wiped your chin and lips of his cum and inserted that finger into your mouth for you to suck.

“Look how beautiful she is, freshly fucked,” he said, proud.

Hyunjin smiled, breathing heavily and noticing the admiration with which Chan looked at you.

You weren’t just his sexual muse. You were his in every way.

In that studio, which at first was filled with implicit sexual energy, behind daring lyrics and clever wordplay, now enveloped in something merely explicit. So dirty and difficult to digest, yet above all, extremely pleasurable. It became sexy, obscene, and explicit.

♡ taglist: @rylea08 @iovecb97 @cherricola-star @armystay89 @lolareadsimagines @ayyonoona @do-you-remember-summer-127 @wildtokay @korthbum @hyune-sssne @oddracha @choso4u @life-is-a-game-of-throness @bokkiesluv @thvsuga @myrkhive @enhacolor @nightmarenyxx @smuttaburger @mintchocoddeonut @ysljoon @wonniecutie @staytinyluva @vernorica123 @rockstarkkami @lyuuu88 @vxyselectric @mrsha-ang-kim @rekussk

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ty for reading! (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[cameronsbabydoll]

bully!rafe spitting in puppy!readers mouth ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱

you’re whining again. small, pathetic noises spilling from your throat like you don’t even realize you’re doing it, little fists pawing at rafe’s chest like you’re begging for something you can’t put into words.

he tilts his head, amused. “look at you. don’t even know what you want, do you?”

you blink up at him, bottom lip trembling, shaking your head quick. “no…”

rafe smirks. his hand cups your jaw, thumb sliding down until it presses at your chin, forcing your mouth open. “then listen to me. open up, pup.”

your lips part instantly—obedience stitched into your bones. you don’t even question him, just wait there, breath shaky, eyes wide.

and then it comes. warm, wet, deliberate—his spit hitting your tongue before you can think about it.

you gasp softly, but the sound gets swallowed when instinct makes your throat work, swallowing it down like it’s nothing.

rafe chuckles, thumb smearing across your wet lip. “good girl. swallowed it right down.” his voice drops, low and mocking, “don’t even know what i’m giving you, huh?”

your cheeks heat, shame and need burning through you all at once. you shake your head again, eyes glassy. “nu-uh…”

he leans close, his breath brushing your ear. “doesn’t matter. you take what i give you. that’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?”

and you can’t help it—you nod.

“atta girl.”

[slushysturniolo]

𝙊𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙨

⤷ 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙧𝙙!𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩 𝙭 𝙣𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮!𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

⤷ 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨

⤷𝙘𝙬: 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Brown boots. It’s all wrong. Too shiny. Too clean. His eyes don’t follow the crowd the way Matt’s did. He doesn’t plug your phone into its charger when you’re too drunk and forget to. He doesn’t research the lavish restaurant you have reservations for, scrawl out a detailed escape route just in case.

He’s not Matt.

He’ll never be Matt.

Your goodbyes were clipped, quiet, already dissolving into silence before they even began. He let you stay the night after you chased him down, messy and unraveling. Said you weren’t fit to drive. He’s only seen you like that one other time, the hotel — panic cracking through your chest, too sharp to hide, too fast to control.

“Hey.” His hands framed your face, steady palms against your burning skin. His voice a whisper. “Where are you going? Stay with me.”

But it felt like floating. Like your back was glued to his ceiling, and you were watching your own life spin out beneath you. The photostrip pinned to his fridge. The plants crowding his windowsill. His favorite sweatshirt slumped over the arm of the couch. You saw everything, and then you saw everything else.

Your Girl Scout sash at ten. Your mom’s soft voice telling you the tooth fairy wasn’t real. Thirteen years old, bleeding through your jeans, your dad’s disgusted face as he scrubbed crimson from denim. Your mom the night before she left — eyes bright, smile wide, twirling you through the living room to The Beatles.

And then the blanket. The smell of detergent and smoke and him.

Matt.

His hand on your chest, pressing steady. “Breathe. In and out. Like that.”

Your palm over his now, desperate to come down.

“Do you feel that? Hm?” His thumb brushed hair from your face. You were on his bed, in his lap. You didn’t remember moving. “That’s your heart. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

But that was then.

Paris was just another city. Romanticized. Busy. Pretty lights on every corner, and none of them for you.

“Your dad set up a photoshoot for you today at three p.m.” You couldn’t remember his name. You didn’t care to.

“I’m not doing that. I looked at that photographer's portfolio, it’s shit.” (It wasn’t shit. You were tired. You wanted a fight.)

“I don’t work for you. I work for your father. I’m just being nice and letting you know that’s where you’ll find yourself at three p.m.” He kept his eyes on the road.

Not Matt. Matt would’ve asked you to see the portfolio. He would’ve given you tips on how to make it work. Show you how to stand taller, look sharper. Matt would've agreed with you, but he still would’ve made you go.

“I don’t feel good.” You pressed your forehead to the damp window, watching the families on the street. A mom, a dad, two kids. They looked happy. You wondered about their lives. Did the mom work? Did she know how to cook a delicious cake? Was the dad nice to the boy, or did he push whatever his father pushed onto him? Were the kids happy?

He says something now. You don’t catch it.

“Huh?”

“I said I can stop for medicine.” He gives you a side-eyed glance.

“You don’t have anything on you?” You raise your eyebrows.

“No.”

Not Matt.

One foot in front of the other. One deep breath. Not too much pressure on the ankles. The high will come soon. Won’t it?

No matter how many miles he ran, Matt couldn’t escape you.

You were everywhere. In the rhythm of his breathing, the rasp of his laces against the pavement. In the taste of the salt when sweat slid into his mouth. In the thud of his lungs hitting his ribcage.

He didn’t fly back to Pennsylvania like he planned. He couldn’t face Leila. She’d ask where you were. She’d call him an idiot. Tell him she was an adult. Tell him to buy a ticket to Paris.

Why didn’t he go? He didn’t know. Was it really about leaving his sister?

What was it?

What was it?

The hospital room was cold. Sterile. Unwelcoming. The kind of air that stuck to your clothes and followed you home.

She shouldn’t be here. She should've been home. She should've been curled up on the couch with the crocheted blanket his grandmother made, calling for him to bring her tea, telling him he looked too thin.

Fuck, did he forget the blanket?

The monitors beeped in a steady hum. Nurses walked down the hallway as if it were just another day. Patients were wheeled to different departments of the hospital. Women are discharged to their pink-cheeked husbands, who hold flowers wilted from the heat.

Matt knew death didn’t stop the world from turning. Afghanistan taught him that. But this–this was his mother. Surely the world should’ve stopped for her.

He could only hide from it for so long.

You seemed fine. You were posting on social media, and he knew you made it off of your flight safely. He tracked it.

He knew he needed to find new work for another client. He couldn’t sit with it. He couldn’t bask in your absence; he needed to make a move. He needed to stand up. Stop being so soft.

He understood no one would compare to you. And couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing.

His phone buzzed. It was you.

“He wears fuck ass brown boots.”

Matt’s hand is shaking, and he laughs out loud. He messages you back immediately.

“You don’t like brown boots?”

“No. I like your boots.”

He types out I miss you, then deletes it.

His thumb hovers over the screen, useless.

Coward.

“You always made fun of my boots.”

You say it first.

“I miss you.”

It’s been a month.

The texts blur into calls, and the calls blur into ritual. Every night, your voice fills the line before bed. You always sound tired, soft, a little drunk sometimes. The time difference means you’re yawning while Matt’s still wired from the day. He hates that. Hates that your bodies aren’t resting at the same time. Hates that it feels like he’s missing whole pieces of you when he sleeps.

He’s afraid he isn’t going to remember what you look like. He knows it isn’t rational — it’s only been thirty days. Thirty days without you. But fear doesn’t listen to reason.

So he scrolls. Through your Instagram, through the paparazzi shots he pretends not to see. He screenshots every post, every story, every blurry picture you send him “just because.” He knows you get the notification. He doesn’t care. Maybe he wants you to know. Maybe it’s the only way he can say I miss you without saying it.

Then he sees it.

A man.

Holding you around the waist while you walk into a dimly lit bar. You haven’t mentioned anyone to him, and it’s been twenty-seven days of phone calls.

He knows it’s been twenty-seven days because he marks them down in his journal: every conversation, a list of times of the phone calls, who called whom first.

Day ten: You picked up the same ingredients he taught you to cook with. You said, “It didn’t compare to yours.”

Day fifteen: You called him first. You were tipsy and laughed at everything he said. You asked about Leila.

Twenty-one: He called you because he saw a billboard that reminded him of you. An artist you liked was dropping an album. He wanted to know if you knew – of course you did.

Day twenty-seven: You reminded him that he said “He would never fucking leave you.”

He rechecks his notes. Nothing. No mysterious man.

He stares at the photo until his vision blurs, until he’s surprised the image doesn’t burn itself into the screen. His chest tightens. Acid crawls up his throat. That ache in his gut won’t shut up — the one whispering he’s already lost you.

So when your name lights up his phone, he turns it face down on the table. Lets it buzz against the wood until it stops.

He doesn’t answer. Not that night.

“This isn’t a question. You’re going to go out with this guy. It’s final.” Your dad paced the apartment, watch too heavy on his wrist, eyes skimming over the dirty dishes stacked in the sink.

Being set up on a date by your father was the last thing you needed right now.

“I don’t even know this guy.” You huffed. “This is so fucking weird, Dad. I don’t understand why I have to do this.”

“I’m not going to have a depressed daughter—it’s bad for my look.” He stopped, corrected himself. “Your look.”

You laughed, sharp and ugly. “So when I go out, I’m reckless. I’m crazy. I can’t be trusted. But when I stay home, that’s wrong too?”

His jaw tightened. “You’re not going to end up like your mother. I won’t have it. You’re going on that date, or I cut you off.”

The words sank like stones. You wanted to scream that he was too late, that you already felt like her some days. Instead, you swallowed hard and nodded, because part of you knew he was bluffing—but you couldn’t risk it.

The guy wasn’t ugly. He wasn’t even rude. He was just nothing. Polite smiles, polite conversation, droning on about your dad’s cinematic “masterpieces” like he’d memorized a press kit. He said your dress was nice.

But you wanted him to tell you it was too short.

Like Matt would’ve.

One cocktail turned into three, and you were on your phone looking at pictures you took of Matt. With Matt. He always hated it when you took candid photos of him, but he just looked so handsome.

Your date didn’t seem interested in the pictures or the fact that you missed your bodyguard so much.

“Was he like your boyfriend or something?” Your date took a sip of room-temperature water.

“No,” You felt embarrassed. You put your phone away. You knew you were in love with someone who didn’t love you back, someone who couldn’t love you back, and now someone who was thousands of miles away from you. A vast ocean separating you.

You excused yourself. Said you needed the bathroom.

You step out into the Paris night, the cool air wrapping around your legs, the moon spilling silver over the cobblestones. You shouldn’t be out here like this. Alone. Drunk. Matt would kill you. Matt would’ve demanded to be on the date, shadowing every step, just to make sure.

Matt.

Your hands fumble through your bag until your phone slips, clattering against stone. You snatch it up, thumb trembling as you press his name.

You hold it to your ear. You wait for his voice. It should only be noon in California. He should answer. He always answers.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

The lump in your throat swells, hard and aching. He never misses a call. Ever.

Except tonight.

The streets of Paris go by you in slow motion. The phone rings in your head, buzzing throughout your brain. You don’t want to cry. You’ve cried so much, you've wasted so many tears on him. The phone rings and rings, and you don’t even know if you would realize if he picked up the phone. The voices in your head are so loud now, asking you why you’re doing this. He pulls away every time. Why can’t you just let go of him when he let go of you so easily?

You’ve lost count of how many times you hear a busy signal before you finally reach your apartment, reach your bed, holding your phone close to your chest so if it does ring, you’ll hear it, you won’t miss his call.

“Matt, you have to slow down.” Leila’s voice comes out of the phone speaker. “You said she’s in Paris? What are you talking about?”

“She moved.” He sniffles.

“Moved?! When? What the fuck, Matt?”

“It’s been a month.” His throat aches. “It’s been a month and she’s fucking with some random guy.” He paces.

Leila is quiet.

“She wasn’t your girlfriend.”

“I fucking know that, Leila.” He spits. “I’m sorry..I’m sorry.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I don’t feel like myself. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You love her.” It’s simple.

“No, I don’t.” Matt shakes his head as if Leila can see him.

“Matt, I saw the way you looked at her. I’m not stupid.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t what?”

“Love her.” The words are strained coming out. “Fuck, she keeps calling me.”

“Why can’t you love her?”

“It’s just…it wasn’t appropriate. And you’re going to college now.” He mumbles through his lies.

“Don’t bullshit me, Matt. What is the real reason?”

Matt presses the heel of his palm into his eye socket, hard enough to see stars. The silence stretches until it feels like it chokes him.

He swallows. “Because the only woman I ever loved died. And I couldn’t save her.” His voice cracks. “If I let myself love her... what if something happens? What if I can’t protect her either?”

He’s crying now.

“All my friends I lost in Afghanistan–I couldn’t save them either. I can’t save anyone.”

On the other end of the line, Leila exhales. “Mom was sick, Matt. There was nothing you could’ve done. You can’t save everyone, that’s not your job, okay? So what are you going to do? Just to let her go because you’re too afraid to admit that you’re scared? Really? I’ve never even heard you cry…not even at Mom's funeral. And look at you. On the phone with me–me, who you don’t tell anything –crying over her.”

Silence stretches.

“Go to fucking Paris, Matt.”

Matt sinks onto the edge of his bed, the phone slippery in his hand. His chest feels hollow, scraped clean. For the first time since she left, the answer doesn’t feel impossible. It feels inevitable.

He opens his laptop. Searches flights. Paris.

He thanks Leila and hangs up the phone.

The Paris sun forces your eyes open, and you groan. Your phone attached to your sweaty chest, and you pry it off. It’s dead. You stumble around your apartment with one eye open, looking for your charger. You finally find it and plug it in.

You start up a pot of coffee and try to push your thoughts of Matt away. He’s done with you. With your antics. You were only a client to him, and you need to make peace with that. Maybe you’ll text that guy and apologize for leaving him, make up some flimsy excuse about being sick.

The coffee pot sloshes against the counter as your phone lights up.

You expect your father’s name. Another lecture, another disappointment.

But it isn’t him.

Matt: I’m coming.

You read it twice. Three times. Your pulse pounds in your ears. For the first time in weeks, you don’t feel tired.

[a/n: he's going to paris y'all! whenever i write anything i read it a million times until i hate it so i hope this chapter is fulfilling]

taglist: @y3sterdaysproblem @babyt0matoes @grace-sturnz @courta13 @sturnslutz @mattsdivaa @oopsiedaisydeer @iluvchr1s @pip4444chris @izzylovesmatt @sturniolofan-20 @hannahsturns @le4hsblog @silverspringsstare @chrattn1fan @xoxbunni @chrissturniolodailysluts @namelesssav @sorrybirds @meg-sturniolo @sturnwritess @sexyblkmf @mattsstarlet @sturniszn @mattsturnlover1 @hamzahsn1gf @matthewsdarlinggirl @pix3lsturniolo @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @wtfiamad1no @sturniolosluttt @they-luvaaliyah4 @ivysturnss @mattsdiamonds @everythingaboutbags @sippindietpepsii @lynniethe4thtriplet @mattsturnsangel @spaghettislut1 @mamaagirlbehindu123 @megsturn @sturniolosymphony @chriss-slutt @eeyore-of-100-acre-wood

[yintual]

 ㅤ( ★ ) ㅤ COZY WEEKENDS W/ BF ! ENHA+% 𖹭

         sunday for us ס_ס ; 𝖢𝘓𝗂𝖢𝖪     ᰈ̠ headcanons

ㅤ 양정원 ୨୧ ONE single mention of a free weekend, and you can bet your entire life savings on jungwon having some sort of a "fun" at home date planned and ready to go (read fun = as chaotic as chaotic can possibly be.) he'd be quite partial to making a pillow fort smack dab in the middle of your living room.

and bro would probably forget to mention his idea to you and you'd be forced to watch with your jaw agape as he drags any and every blanket, pillow, plushie to the site of construction. your fault for not being used to it by now, really. but you can always get him back during the inevitable pillow fight later ! ^_^

ㅤ 이희승 ୨୧ TWO of heeseung's favorite things in the world - you, the love of his life and gaming (the other love of his life. if he ever said that out loud though you might commit war crimes so he is diplomatic and just doesn't ^^)

all he wants for a perfect weekend is to be able to give time towards both of these. the solution? why gaming with you seated right on top of him, of course! he'd also more than love !!! to teach you how to play one of his own favorite games or if you already play, he'd love to duo with you and kill some villains (?) shoot some opps (?) idk gaming lingo #itouchgrass

ㅤ 박종성 ୨୧ THREE seconds is the exact time period it takes for jay to fold in front of his girlfriend (i.e., you) and her pretty eyes as she asks to bake together :3 to be honest, he wouldn't mind taking you out on a cafe hopping spree (#performative male SMH) or book reservations to a fancy dessert shop to satisfy any sweet craving of yours .. but he also does see and greatly appreciate the domestic charm of huddling together in the kitchen wondering what exactly 3 ounces mean

more often than not the entire event terminates with you seated prettily on the counter as he churns, whisks and microwaves sugary treats for the two of you. plus ! he thinks you make the cutest taste tester EVER so that's just an added bonus ;)

ㅤ 심재윤 ୨୧ FOUR unopened lego sets stare pitifully at jake from the cupboard they've been hastily shoved into; it's only natural he'd want to actually do something about them TT and you're more than willing to contribute to the activity !!

even if your motives are less along the lines of the actual "lego building process" and more along the lines of (rather selfishly) wanting to see the the adorable excitement on your boyfriend's face when he finally finds that one piece that he'd thought was missing in the box, stuck to his elbow all along ><

ㅤ 박성훈 ୨୧ FIVE is the exact number of total hours sunghoon has been able to devote towards sleep for almost the entire duration of the last comeback. this, coupled with the fact that he's just missed you terribly is enough to convince him that the only thing you and him are getting up to is a good ol' 12 hour nap, thank you very much!

and you just know he'll be extra clingy cuddling up to you as you maybe talk to each other about all the tea you've missed in each other's lives (the idol tea spill from him will be piping #trust) until you fall asleep right there wrapped up in each other's embrace >< bro has once told you he'd have your toes interlocked if he could BUT YOU DIDN'T HEAR THAT FROM ME !!!

ㅤ 김선우 ୨୧ SIX potential at home date ideas have already been rejected by sunoo when he finally settles upon binge-watching ! he's obviously put in a Lot of thought to pick the perfect one, because, really, what better way to spend a weekend than lounging together, munching on snacks and candy while you watch people on reality shows make questionable decisions, yelling at them all the while almost as if they can hear you? ><

when you get bored of that you move onto something cutesy and disney or 2000s romcoms OR GHIBLI MOVIES! and maybe pull out your fancy sweet smelling skincare as a treat too :3 the aftermath sees you and him with matching animal masks sent to all your friend gcs where no one actually replies with anything other than "get tf out w/ your cute coupley shit." haters will be haters :P

ㅤ 西村 力 ୨୧ SEVEN. i've run out of creative ways to start. anyway ni-ki would probably just go along with whatever you want because he's whipped like that. so you decide on a fun little game night <3 bring in lots of board games where he gets competitive as Fuck and sulks if you beat him. but he's cute so it's Okay?, and even play some typical high school truth or dare or 21 questions together LMAO because why the hell not !!

... if it's remotely game-like; you guys are Doing it! at one point you even pull out karaoke videos on youtube and try guessing different songs (you know those reels ...) except he only knows all the emo ones

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @dollsescent @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatariki @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @aurihyos @s0shroe @wensurr @unhakies @starniras @athenaisonlinee @weepingsweep @itsactuallylina @puma-riki @callikari ⋆

ㅤ 𝖤𝑋𝖳𝖱𝖠 ㅤ 「 ( ° ヘ ° ) !! ㅤ new format #yay + officially announcing that i'll be on semi hiatus for the remaining of august and september as well #notyay ++ "and a partridge in a pear tree" ahh headcanons IM SORRY

ㅤㅤㅤ© YiNTUAL ♡ 2025

[oneclickangel]

reblog if you're corny and insufferable

[guldaastan]

greta was time's person of the year a few years ago. she was adored by all liberal world leaders and parties. and when she learnt about people's struggle under occupation and colonialism, she stood in solidarity with them . she now stands with palestine and armenia and kashmir and every oppressed person in the world. she could have been rich as fuck by simply remaining as a climate activist. yet she chose to do the right thing. i love her for her integrity.

[uroko]

Rainy day in Kyoto

[lesbianjudasiscariot]

small talk enjoyers when the weather is in any way notable:

[matchadolly]

girlie that's not a random headache u are dehydrated malnourished over caffeinated over stressed and sleep deprived