#minsung fic

It started stupidly, really. On a lazy night off, a rare one, tangled limbs on the couch, half-eaten snacks scattered across the coffee table, and a remote fighting for its life between two increasingly indecisive men.

“Not the same stuff again,” Lee Know groaned, elbowing Han lightly, head tipped back against the cushions. “We’ve seen all of this.”

“Correction,” Han mumbled, scrolling, “you’ve seen all of this. I’m a man of culture. I appreciate rewatching things. For… research.”

Lee Know didn’t even need to look. He knew where this was going.

“Research, huh?”

“Yep.”

And then, there it was. Your face. The thumbnail of your drama sitting pretty in the recommended row.

Neither of them moved for a second. Just… stared. Like idiots. Like idiots who absolutely should’ve known this was coming but still got hit in the gut anyway.

Han was the first to crack.

“…Wanna?”

Lee Know sighed. Long. Heavy.

“Play it.”

Yeah. Of course. Of course they’d play it.

They had already watched it once. Twice. Enough that their favorite scenes were muscle memory now, the laugh you did when your character got flustered, the sharp glint in your eyes when delivering that one line that turned the whole fandom upside down for a week.

It was harmless at first. Admiring your acting. Talking about how good you were. How natural.

And then it wasn’t harmless anymore.

Then it became the way Han would mutter, “She’s not even trying. God, she’s not even trying and it’s like—”, cutting himself off, chewing on the inside of his cheek, bouncing his knee.

The way Lee Know went quiet. Hyper-focused. Tracking every micro-expression you made, like he was studying you, trying to figure out how you worked. Like if he watched close enough, he’d unlock some secret about you.

It wasn’t obsession. Not quite. But it was something. Something sticky. Something they didn’t talk about, not really.

Not until Han, voice barely above a whisper, said, “Imagine...”

Lee Know glanced at him, brow cocked. “Imagine what.”

Han didn’t look away from the screen.

“...If she looked at us like that.”

Silence. Thick. Heavy.

“You’re ridiculous,” Lee Know muttered, shifting, but not far. Not really. Not away.

“No, but really.” Han’s voice was lighter now. Testing the edges of something dangerous. “Imagine. If she...” a laugh, breathless, almost shy, like even saying it felt like crossing a line “...if she talked to us like that. That tone. That—”

Lee Know dragged a hand down his face. “Stop.” But there was no heat behind it.

“I won’t.” Han bit back a grin, tipping his head against Lee Know’s shoulder. “Bet you’ve thought about it too.”

Silence. A beat. Then, quietly. So quietly.

“Yeah.”

Han blinked.

“...Yeah?”

Lee Know sighed, low. Heavy. Hands folding behind his head, sinking deeper into the cushions like it could somehow take the edge off

“Yeah,” he repeated. Matter-of-fact. No running from it now. “Imagine her between us.”

Han’s breath caught. Sharp. Audible.

“Fuck.”

“Not even like... for anything serious,” Lee Know continued, voice deceptively even. “Just... one night. Just to know what it feels like.”

“Yeah...” Han exhaled, hands rubbing over his face now. “Yeah. Yeah. Just once.” His knee bounced faster. “Jesus, just... her voice, man. The way she says things. You can tell she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

“Mhm.” Lee Know’s lips curved, slow. “Bet she’s worse in real life.”

Han groaned. “Worse.” He thumped his head back against Lee Know’s shoulder. “Or better. Depending on how you look at it.”

Lee Know laughed, low, dark, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

“Both.”

It hung there. No take-backs. No pretending they didn’t mean it.

Until… the text came.

[Manager]: Variety shoot next week. Confirmed guests: [random comedian], [Stray Kids], [actress y/n.]

Lee Know reads it first. Blinks. Reads it again. Blinks again.

“Jisung.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not gonna believe this.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. “She’s... actually... what the fuck.”

Chaos. Actual chaos. Pacing. Laughing. Han running both hands through his hair like he was trying to pull the thought out of his skull.

“What if she’s not as cool in person?” Han asked, panicking.

“She’s cooler,” Lee Know answered instantly. No hesitation. None.

And then, the silent pause. The both of them looking at each other. The weight of it settling between them.

Yeah. Yeah, this wasn’t going to be normal.

— 

The day of the shoot started normal.

They showed up early. Ran through the briefing. Did their usual soundcheck, hair, makeup. Acted like it was just another schedule.

And then…

Then you walked in.

Coffee in one hand, phone in the other. Laughing at something the PD said. Casual. Effortless. Radiant in that stupid way that made Lee Know’s jaw clench a little and had Han gripping the edge of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Bro,” Han muttered, smacking Lee Know’s thigh without looking away. “Bro. She’s—”

“I know,” Lee Know breathed. “I know.”

You hadn’t noticed them yet. You were too busy greeting staff, bowing, chatting. Professional. Sweet. Completely unaware of the way two men were currently glitching about ten feet away.

Then someone gestured toward them. “Ah, you’ve met Stray Kids, right?”

You turned. And smiled. And they both swore that the entire room tilted sideways.

“Hey,” you said, voice warm. Easy. “Nice to meet you.”

Han stood too fast. Nearly tripped over the chair.

“Huge—uh—hi. I mean. Fan. Huge fan. I mean—hi.”

Lee Know, by some miracle of God, stayed cool. Mostly. Handshake firm. Smile tight but real.

“Been looking forward to this.”

“Me too.” Your grin was all teeth, playful. “This’ll be fun.”

And it was. Too fun.

The banter clicked. The laughter was real. You teased them; they fired back. The chemistry was so natural it made the staff laugh and shake their heads, muttering things like “These three are gold on camera.”

Except the best parts weren’t even on camera.

It was the way Han kept sneaking glances when he thought no one noticed. The way Lee Know’s eyes dragged down the line of your throat when you tilted your head to laugh. The way every brush of your hand, every bump of your shoulder against theirs, felt heavier than it should.

And you felt it. You had to.

By the time they called “cut,” none of you moved. Not really. Lingering. Pretending there was still a reason to hang back.

Until finally, Han cracked. Of course he did.

“Soooo,” he started, grinning too wide, bouncing on his feet, “off the record… we’ve, uh... we’ve been fans. For a while.”

You raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lee Know chimed in, voice lower, smoother. “Long time.”

Han blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like. You’re... incredible. Seriously.”

It should’ve felt awkward. Should’ve crossed into weird. But it didn’t. There was something else here. Something sticky and magnetic and undeniable.

Lee Know glanced at Han. Han glanced back. A conversation passed between them, silent but loud all the same.

And when Lee Know looked at you again, stepped a fraction closer, just enough that the air thinned, his voice was steady. Even. Dangerous in how measured it was.

“We were actually... talking earlier.”

Han’s grin turned lopsided. “About how crazy it is that you’re here.”

“And wondering...” Lee Know’s gaze didn’t falter. “If maybe… you’d let us show you. Just... how much we appreciate your work.”

There’s a beat of silence. A single second where you just look at them, both of them, and weigh whatever the hell is happening right now.

Because it is happening. You can feel it. This isn’t fanboy giddiness. This isn’t polite industry compliments. It’s something heavier. Stickier. Crawling under your skin in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with professionalism.

“Like… buy me a drink?” you ask, testing the weight of it.

“Yeah.” Han’s voice skips, then levels out. “Something like that. If you’re free. No pressure.”

Lee Know doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you. Sharp, steady. One brow tilting up like he already knows how this ends. Like the question’s just a formality.

“Yeah,” he echoes eventually, slow and clean. “Just a drink.”

A smile pulls at your mouth.

“Sure. Why not?”

—

It starts at a quiet bar tucked into some side street, dim enough to feel intimate but not enough to feel dangerous. Safe ground.

At least, it should be.

But the moment you slide into the table, Han pressing in beside you, Lee Know dropping onto the opposite side, knee brushing yours under the table, you realize safe isn’t really on the menu.

“So,” you start, wrapping both hands around your glass when it comes. “Been fans, huh?”

Han groans, flopping his head back dramatically against the booth.

“Oh my God, you’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

Lee Know’s smile is sharper. Slower.

“It’s just weird hearing that,” you admit, fingers trailing the rim of the glass. “I mean, from you two. I didn’t think you guys even knew I existed.”

Han laughs, a little too quick, a little too loud. His thigh shifts against yours. He doesn’t move it. “Oh, we knew.”

“Hard not to,” Lee Know adds. His voice is velvet now. Too smooth. Too casual to actually be, in fact, casual. His fingers tap against his own glass, slow, rhythmic. Measured. “You’re... memorable.”

Your eyes flick between them. Han’s knuckle is resting barely an inch from your thigh now. Lee Know’s gaze is heavy. Calculated. You clock it, the way he doesn’t bother hiding the way he looks at you. Not a polite glance. Not admiration. Something else entirely.

“You guys...” You hesitate. Smirk. “You’re not just friends, are you?”

It slips out before you can help it. Half a joke. Mostly curiosity. Maybe a warning to yourself.

Han freezes. Only for a split second. But it’s there, the flicker of surprise, the inhale he forgets to finish. Lee Know doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. He just tips his head, one corner of his mouth curling. He leans back, like a cat stretching in a patch of sun. 

“What do you think?”

God. His tone. Low. Dangerous.

Han recovers fast, grinning wide, but the edges are messier now. Nervous energy pulsing under the surface.

“You’re... perceptive,” he says, nudging your knee with his. “Scarily perceptive.”

“Lowkey,” Han admits after a second. Quiet. Honest. “We don’t... really advertise it.”

“But it’s not exactly a secret either,” Lee Know finishes, gaze fixed on yours. Steady. Unmoving. “At least... not right now.”

You swallow. Hard. Your pulse jumps somewhere stupid. Because now every single look. Every brush of fingers. Every subtle shift, you can feel it. The electricity buzzing underneath it.

And they’re watching you process it. Watching how your breath catches, how your thighs press together just a little tighter beneath the table.

You know exactly what they’re doing. You can feel it. The air’s shifted. It’s heavier now. Warmer. Like stepping too close to something you’re not supposed to touch.

Han doesn’t shift away. His thigh stays pressed firm against yours, just that constant, steady pressure, like he’s daring you to notice.

And God, you do.

“You’re good at reading people,” he says, voice smooth, mellow. Almost lazy, but not really. His eyes stay locked on yours, sharp as a blade beneath it. “Tell me, then. What are we thinking right now?”

“Careful though,” Lee Know hums. “You might be right.”

You laugh, short, breathier than you mean to. “What, is this a test?”

“Maybe,” Lee Know murmurs. “Are you passing?”

Han laughs into his drink, shaking his head. “Oh, she’s passing.” His eyes drop, to your lips, to the dip of your throat, then snap back up like he never left. 

Your skin prickles. Warm. Goosebumps crawling up your arms despite the heat buzzing under your skin.

“You two...” You squint, smirking. “You flirt like it’s a sport.”

“And you play back like a professional,” Lee Know fires back, lips quirking.

Han shifts, leaning into you now, not just thigh to thigh, but shoulder against yours. His hand rests over your forearm on the table, light, fingers brushing over your skin.

“Be honest,” he grins, soft, teasing. “You felt it when we met. Didn’t you?”

You’re caught. Completely. You know it. They know it.

“Is this how you rope people in?” you ask, trying for light, but your voice thins halfway through.

“No,” Lee Know says, simple. Honest. “This is... different.”

Han hums, fingers still brushing your forearm, featherlight. “You think we do this with anyone?”

God. God.

The weight of it coils low in your belly. Hot. Nervous. Thrilling. Because they’re not leaning all the way in, not yet, but the way they orbit you now? Hands brushing, knees pressed, gazes lingering too long?

Yeah. You know exactly where this could go. And they know you know.

“So,” Han says, breath warm against your ear now, “what’s your read?”

Lee Know tilts his head, lips curling. “Think you’ve figured us out yet?”

The silence that follows isn't empty. It's thick. Dense. Heavy like velvet, like smoke. The kind you feel on your skin before you even breathe it in. They're both looking at you now. Not subtle. Not polite. Not even pretending.

Lee Know's gaze drags slow, deliberate, from your eyes to your lips, down the line of your throat. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip, and God, he doesn’t even bother hiding the way the corner of his mouth curls.

Han watches him do it. Watches. His own lips part, something soft and breathy catching in his throat. His eyes flicker, from Lee Know to you, back again,like he's watching something private, something he shouldn't be watching, except… he's part of it.

A quiet giggle bubbles out of Han. Nervous? No. Not really. More like... giddy. Like someone who's a little too aware of how dangerous the game is now, and loves it anyway.

The tension buzzes so loud you swear you can hear it.

Your heart thunders. Your mouth’s dry. You swallow once. Twice. Then…

"Yeah..." Your voice comes low. Steady. Too steady for what’s happening to your pulse. “Yeah, I think I did.”

Both their heads tilt, not identical, but close enough to look rehearsed.

“Oh?” Lee Know’s smile widens, razor-sharp.

“Mhm.” You breathe in. Out. “You brought me here to have a drink.” You gesture loosely toward your barely touched glass. “Except... you actually want to have everything else. Except for this damn drink.”

Silence. A beat.

And then, Lee Know cracks. His laugh bursts out, sudden, sharp, tipping his head back like you just punched all the air out of him.

Han… God. Han folds. His whole posture crumples, shoulders curling in, hands dragging down his face like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s turning scarlet.

“Fuck—” he half-chokes, fingers squeezing over his mouth, peeking through them like a kid caught doing something bad. His eyes are wide, frantic, sparkling  “She’s good—" Another laugh punches out of him, breathless, helpless. “Oh my God.”

Lee Know’s laugh levels out, smooths into something dangerous again. He leans forward, elbows braced on the table, chin tipping into his palm as he stares you down with that look. That look.

“No, she’s better than good.” Lee Know drags his teeth over his bottom lip, slow. “She’s perfect.”

Han groans into his hands. “Stop. Stop. You’re gonna kill me. Oh my God.”

“So,” Lee Know hums, lifting a brow, “if we’re not here for the drink...” He lets it hang. The weight of it settling right between your ribs.

“What are we here for?”

Han sucks in a breath. His gaze flickers to you, quick. Nervous. No, not nervous. Not scared. Anticipating. Like he knows exactly what answer you could give.

And that it would ruin him.

You let the silence stretch. Let it breathe. Let them feel it.

Lee Know’s still watching you, calm, unreadable. Except not really. Because under that cool, steady stare is something else entirely. Something molten. Something that hums against your skin like a live wire.

Han’s curled in beside you, fingers fisted tight in his lap, breath all jittery and wrecked, like every second of this is frying him from the inside out.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip. Slow. Deliberate. Watch how both of them track the motion like they can’t help it. Like they’re starving for it.

“Okay...” Your voice drops. Smooth. Sweet. Dangerous. “So what now?”

Lee Know doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just... smiles.

“What now?” he echoes.

“Yeah.” You lean back, drape an arm over the back of the booth, mirroring his posture now, lazy. Confident. A lie, maybe. But it’s a good one. “You’ve been dancing around it all night. Testing. Teasing.” You glance between them, between the way Lee Know’s gaze sharpens and Han’s breath stumbles. “So... let’s go into it.”

You reach for your drink, don’t even sip it. Just toy with the rim. Watch them.

“Let’s start burning the fire.”

Silence.

It’s not even silence, really. The air’s too thick. Too loud. Every breath feels like a sound now. Every shift, every glance.

Lee Know’s smile stretches, lazy, dangerous.

“God.” His voice is lower now. Rougher around the edges. “You really are something else.”

“Oh my God,” Han blurts. “Oh my God. You can’t just—” He breaks off, laughing harder, face buried in his hands. “I’m dying. I’m dead. Goodbye.”

Lee Know doesn’t even look at him. He’s too busy watching you, head tilted, thumb dragging slow along his bottom lip, eyes dark enough to make your stomach flip.

“Tell me something.” He leans in now, slow, smooth. His thigh brushes yours under the table, deliberate. Measured. “How far do you wanna burn?”

It should be scary, the way he looks at you when he says it, the way his thigh presses firm against yours under the table, the way his voice drips lower, thicker, warmer, but it isn’t. Not really. It’s a dare. A challenge. A spark. And it’s… hot. God, he’s so hot.

You tilt your head. “Oh...” You smile. Slow. Sharp. “You tell me. You’re the ones who’ve been dreaming about this happening.”

That’s when Han cracks. Physically cracks.

A sound stutters out of him, half gasp, half broken laugh, and his hands fly to his face like he can hide from it. Like he can hide from you. From this.

“Holy shit,” Han mutters, like it’s punched out of him. “Holy shit, she’s right.”

Lee Know hums. God, it’s like a purr. Like satisfaction made sound. His thumb taps lazy against the table, eyes still locked on yours.

“Told you,” he murmurs, then lets it drop, smooth as silk, “didn’t I, jagiya?”

Han physically jerks.

“Hyung—” His hands fly up again, covering his entire face. Shoulders hunch. “You can’t just— not in front of—”

“What?” Lee Know’s voice is all teeth now, biting at the edges of a smile. “She should know.”

“So...” Your voice drops. Smooth. Steady. Wrecked at the edges but holding strong. “Are you going to call the driver or what?”

Silence.

Han makes a noise. Somewhere between a gasp and a groan, choked straight out of his throat like his soul just tried to escape.

“F-fuck—” His hands slap over his face again, head dropping straight onto the table. Shoulders shaking. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Lee Know tips his head back and laughs. Sharp. Loud. Warm. Completely delighted.

“God.” His palm presses to his mouth like he’s trying to contain it, eyes squeezing shut. “You are perfect.”

His gaze drops back to you, heavy. Hungry. Devastated.

“You hear that, jagiya?” His hand slips lazy down Han’s back, fingers trailing. “She’s not playing around.”

Han lets out a broken little laugh, face still pressed to the table, muffled and wrecked.

“I know. I know. Holy shit, I know.”

Lee Know hums, pleased. Dangerous. His hand slips into his pocket, thumb flicking his phone awake without breaking eye contact with you.

“Guess we’re leaving,” he says, casual. Lethal.

Han groans, dragging his face up just enough to peek at you from under his hands, red-faced, glassy-eyed, breath all shaky.

“We’re actually—” His voice cracks, wrecked. “Fuck. We’re actually doing this.”

“Yeah.” Lee Know’s grin curves sharper. “We are.”

He taps the screen. Brings the phone to his ear. Pauses, then tips his head toward you, eyes glittering.

“Last chance,” he murmurs, soft, rough. “Say the word.”

Like it’s an offer. Like it’s not already written all over the way your thighs press together under the table. The way Han’s knee trembles against yours. The way Lee Know himself hasn’t stopped smiling since you opened your mouth and flipped their whole world upside down.

Lee Know’s phone is still pressed to his ear when you breathe it out, soft, almost thoughtful, like you’re mulling over dinner plans and not detonating the bomb sitting between the three of you.

“I don’t have a word yet to tell you.” Your fingers toy with the edge of your glass, gaze steady, sharp. “I haven’t decided which one of you I want to kiss me first.”

Silence.

Not heavy. Not suffocating.

Explosive.

Han shoots to his feet like he’s been lit on fire. Chair scraping loud against the floor, hands flexing like he doesn’t even know what to do with them.

“We’re leaving.” His voice is tight. Wrecked. No hesitation. No second thoughts. “We’re leaving. Now.”

He’s already reaching for his jacket, fumbling, breath coming fast like every second spent not having his hands on you is physical pain.

“Hyung. Call the driver. Right now.”

Lee Know... God. He stays perfectly still. Perfectly composed. His lips curve into that smile… that smile. The small, smug, devastating one. The one that’s both impossibly cute and absolutely lethal.

The one that says, “Yeah. This is happening.”

“Guess you’ll figure it out in the car, huh?”

Han groans, loud, wrecked, tugging a hand through his hair like he’s seconds from losing what little control he has left.

“Jesus—” His eyes flash to you, wild. Desperate. “Move. Come on. Now.”

Lee Know just laughs under his breath, finally dropping the phone from his ear.

“Driver’s outside.” He stands, slow. Smooth. Hands sliding into his pockets, shoulders rolling back, casual like he isn’t burning alive inside too.

“Let’s go.”

The car door clicks open, and it’s Lee Know holding it, smooth, polite, deceptively sweet. His palm pressed flat against the frame, the tiniest tilt of his chin, gaze glittering.

“After you.”

Your pulse skips. You don’t say a word,just slide in, tension already crawling under your skin.

Han follows immediately, fast, like waiting even half a second longer might actually kill him. He barely manages to pull the door shut before Lee Know slips in last, shutting them both in, shutting you in, with a soft, heavy click.

The air inside shifts. Heavy. Hot. Thick enough to chew.

Lee Know stretches out like he owns the space, which, let’s be honest… he does. One arm drops way too comfortably on Han’s thigh. His fingers spread there. Light. Possessive. Casual. Except not really.

Han’s knee bounces. Rapid. Wild. Like it’s either that or combust on the spot. His hands twitch over his own thighs like he doesn’t know where to put them. His gaze flickers between you and Lee Know and anywhere but your legs pressed close to his.

You can feel the heat rolling off him. His shoulder bumps yours. His breathing’s all off, shallow, sharp, like he’s fighting his own body just to stay still.

Lee Know... thrives. His thumb traces slow circles over Han’s thigh, deliberate, knowing, while his gaze drifts out the window, pretending not to notice how Han’s barely keeping it together. His smirk says otherwise.

And you? You sit there. Pretending. Playing it cool. Legs crossed just enough that your knee brushes Han’s every time the car shifts. Eyes forward, but fully aware of the way Lee Know’s fingers keep moving. Of the way Han’s breath catches every time.

No one talks. No one has to.

The tension speaks loud enough.

The elevator ride is somehow worse. Stolen glances. Brushed knuckles. Lee Know’s fingers casually running through Han’s back, then yours, like it’s nothing.

Lee Know catches your eye. Smirks. Doesn’t say a word. Just taps his fingers against Han’s hip, lazy. Like counting down.

When the door clicks shut... Han moves. No hesitation. No words. Just hands on your waist, tight, possessive, frantic, dragging you in like he’s been holding himself back for hours.

“Come here.” His voice breaks halfway through, and then his mouth crashes into yours, messy, desperate, starving.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a devouring. His hands fumble, gripping at your hips, sliding up, sinking into your hair like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he doesn’t hold you hard enough.

Your breath stutters. Your knees almost give. Because it’s too much, the way he kisses like he’s drowning in it. Like he’s been dreaming about this. Obsessing.

Lee Know doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t rush. Just stands there, hands in his pockets, weight tipped lazy onto one foot, watching. Smirking. His head tilts slightly, like he’s studying something he finds beautiful. Entertaining. Filthy. Like his favourite movie came to life.

His gaze tracks the way Han’s fingers tremble against your jaw, how Han breathes like it hurts, like he physically cannot get close enough, fast enough.

“God,” Lee Know mutters, soft, half under his breath. His smile curves sharp. “Look at you.”

When he finally steps forward , slow, smooth, sure, it’s with that same predator energy. His palm slides over Han’s back first, fingers tracing up the back of his neck, grounding him. Reminding him.

He leans in, close enough his lips ghost Han’s ear first, then yours, breath warm, voice like silk stretched tight.

And then, in Korean, soft, sharp, just for Han, but you catch enough to know it’s dangerous. Lee Know’s voice drops, low, velvet, wrecked at the edges but still sharp as a knife. Right against Han’s ear.

“그래. 원하던 대로 해.”

“Yeah. Go ahead. Just like you wanted.”

And God, the sound Han makes next?

It shoots straight to your core. No warning. No mercy.

One second you think you have control, you’re keeping up, holding your own, and the next? You’re spiraling. Completely undone by the way Han grips you tighter, like his hands aren’t enough. Like nothing is. Like he needs you closer, impossibly closer.

Your back hits the wall, or maybe it’s the door, you don’t even know anymore, hands scrambling for something. His hair. His shoulders. Anything. Just to hold on.

Your mind spins. Dizzy. Electric. Every nerve lit up like fire. “Holy shit. Holy shit. What did I just step into?”

You gasp, a sharp, broken thing, when Han’s mouth drags from your lips to your jaw, frantic, messy, his teeth scraping skin like he wants to mark it.

“Fucking... wanted this,” Han groans, voice splitting, “you—both of you—God, you don’t even get it—”

Oh, but you do. You do now.

And the sound Lee Know makes? Low. Dangerous. Almost a laugh, but not cruel. No, it’s worse. It’s fond. Like watching something beautiful finally unravel the way it was meant to.

You flick a glance toward him, or you try to, but the second you do, your stomach drops.

Because the look in his eyes? It’s not teasing anymore. Not fully. It’s something deeper. He’s drinking it in. Watching Han fall apart on your mouth, on your skin, with that slow, devastating little smile. Like this was the point. Like this is exactly how he wanted it to happen.

“Mmm.” His fingers trail slow, possessive, up Han’s back, then skim down your spine, featherlight. “You hear him?” His voice curls into you like smoke. “He’s been dying for this.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs press tight without thinking. It’s too much. The heat. The hands. The voices. The sound of Han coming undone in real time, gasping into your neck like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t hold you harder.

Your fingers twist in his shirt, knuckles white. Your pulse slams so hard you feel it in your teeth. And somewhere, beneath the wreckage, a thought flickers through: “I’m in so much fucking trouble.”

And then Lee Know’s voice drops, smooth, wicked, as his hand curls around your hip, sliding warm and sure against your skin.

“It’s okay,” he purrs, like he read your mind.

Lee Know’s hand curves firm around your hip, fingers sliding up, slow, measured, possessive, like he’s claiming territory. His lips brush your ear, barely there, a whisper of heat, of warning, before he tilts his head back just enough to look.

His fingers cups your jaw. Firm. Steady. Turning your face toward him.

“My turn.”

There’s no teasing left in it. No question. No hesitation. Just Lee Know taking what he wants.

His mouth meets yours, smooth at first, slow, devastating, but it doesn’t stay that way. Because the second he tastes you, the second his thumb skims your cheek, he tilts in deeper. His other hand slips around the back of your neck, tugging you forward, locking you in place.

The kiss turns hot. Messy. Tongues sliding. Teeth catching. His lips press demanding, almost bruising, like he’s trying to pour every ounce of control, every second of waiting, right into your mouth.

Han groans, hands still tight on your hips, forehead dropping against the curve of your neck like he’s dying just from watching. Just from hearing it.

“Jesus Christ—” he gasps, voice ragged, shaking “oh my God—”

Lee Know doesn’t even look back. He hums against your lips, pleased, dangerous, and only breaks the kiss to murmur against your mouth, breath hot, words dripping:

“See, jagiya?” His thumb swipes your lower lip, slow, filthy. “Told you she’d be sweet.”

Han whines, actually whines, fingers flexing hard on your hips like he doesn’t know whether to pull you away or pull you closer. His voice cracks, desperate:

“Hyung—please—”

“Oh?” His brows lift. “You want more, jagiya?”

Han nods. Frantic. Breathless. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”

Lee Know’s smile curves sharper. His thumb traces slow over your bottom lip again, gaze heavy, half-lidded, devastating.

And before Han can breathe, before you can even process it, Lee Know drags Han in. Their mouths collide, hot, filthy, desperate, and you’re caught between them, breath stuttering out like your lungs forgot how to work.

Watching them kiss?

Watching the way Lee Know grips Han’s face, tilts him exactly where he wants, mouth claiming like he owns him? The way Han melts into it, hands trembling against your waist, like kissing Lee Know alone could ruin him completely?

It’s devastating.

It’s perfect.

When Lee Know finally breaks the kiss, sharp, breathless, his gaze snaps back to you. His palm slides from Han’s jaw to the back of your neck, pulling you back in.

“Come here.”

And then it’s the three of you. Lips crashing, messy, desperate, hands everywhere, no rhythm, no sense of who’s pulling who anymore. Han’s mouth finds yours again, gasping, needy, teeth scraping because he can’t figure out whether he wants to kiss you or devour you whole.

Lee Know’s hand slips under your top, flat against your spine, dragging you closer like it’s not enough, like nothing will be enough until you’re pressed between them so tight there’s no space left at all.

“God—” Han gasps, breaking just enough to breathe, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking. “You feel... fuck, you feel so good.”

Lee Know’s breath ghosts down the side of your neck, lips tracing, biting, soothing, and his voice drops, low, wrecked but steady, right against your skin:

“Fuck—” His fingers twitch, tightening. “You’re so... Jesus, you’re so hot. You taste... God, you taste so fucking good—”

Lee Know’s hands are steadier, rough where they drag down your spine, curling at your waist, guiding, controlling just enough to drive you insane. His lips drag a bite across your pulse, then soothe it with his tongue, smirking when he feels the way your breath hitches.

“Sweet...” His voice drops lower, lips grazing your collarbone. “But God, the way you hold us—” His fingers trace your jaw, tilting you toward him. “So strong. Fucking perfect.”

Your hands fist in Lee Know’s shirt, yank him closer. Your nails dig into Han’s back, pull him in harder. The gasps tearing from your throat are nothing compared to the way your body moves, matching every touch, every kiss with a hunger that makes them both lose it.

“She’s... fuck—” Han shudders, hands sliding up under your shirt, breath falling apart. “Hyung, she’s gonna kill me—”

Your head spins. Your breath tangles. Every nerve fires at once, not just from being touched, but from touching them back. From the way Han trembles under your hands, from the way Lee Know’s breath stutters when your nails scrape his back.

You are the fire. You are the burn.

And the way they kiss you, gasping, wrecked, hands fighting for space on your skin, it’s not just because they want you. It’s because they’re starving for you.

Lee Know’s hand finds your jaw again, tilting your face up to his, and his eyes are blazing. There’s nothing playful there now. No teasing. Just hunger. Precision. Intent.

“Couch,” he mutters against your mouth. “Now.”

You don’t remember moving. One moment, Han’s lips are on your throat, your fingers clawed into Lee Know’s back, and the next, he’s dragging you by the wrist through the hotel room, commanding, steady.

Lee Know drops into the couch like it was meant for this, legs spread, thighs wide, the image of absolute control. He pulls you with him, smooth and fast, until you’re straddling his lap, your knees sinking into the cushions, your core pressed flush to the bulge in his pants.

“Look at her,” he murmurs, eyes on Han now. “She’s already shaking.”

Han’s behind you before you can breathe, palms skating up your ribs. He’s panting already, actually panting, and the moment you grind your hips once, slow and steady against Lee Know’s cock, Han whimpers.

“Fuck—fuck, do that again.”

“You saw that?” Lee Know grins, hands gripping your ass, guiding your grind. “She’s a natural.”

You move again. And again. The pressure of Lee Know’s cock between your thighs, the wet heat of your core soaking through your panties… it drives you crazy.

Han presses in from behind, hands sliding under your shirt, mouth dragging along the nape of your neck. You feel his hips grind forward, cock hard in his jeans, rutting slow against your ass like he can’t help himself.

Lee Know’s fingers slip under your top, thumbs brushing your ribs, dragging it up, and he kisses you as he lifts it over your head. Your bra comes next, quick work, until he’s got your tits in his hands and your moan pours straight into his mouth.

Han growls behind you and helps you tug your jeans down in a second, urgent and clumsy, knuckles brushing your thighs. His mouth lands on your shoulder, hot and desperate.

You’re the one panting now, stripped down to nothing but soaked panties, hips rocking against the ridge in Lee Know’s pants while Han presses kiss after kiss down your spine.

And then…

“Off,” Lee Know says, breathless now, voice wrecked. “Take it all off, sweetheart.”

Your panties hit the floor and in a second as he shoves his own pants down, just enough so he could free himself. Then… He pulls you down onto his cock. Just like that. He’s thick, hard, already slick from the way you’ve been grinding, and the stretch forces a cry from your throat.

“Shit—” Lee Know groans, hands locking around your hips. “Take me. Nice and deep.”

And you do, slowly, hips circling, rocking down until your ass is flush against him. His head drops back, chest rising sharp as he watches you begin to move.

That’s when Han slides in close behind you. You feel him, every inch. His cock presses against your ass, straining in his jeans. You’re soaked, already full, and yet the weight of him behind you, the heat of his breath against your neck, is too much and not enough.

His hands skate up your ribs, one squeezing your tit, the other tangling in your hair, and his mouth finds the skin of your shoulder again. Hot. Open. Hungry.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he pants, lips dragging over your neck. “The way you ride him, I can’t—I’m gonna lose it.”

You moan, loud, desperate, and roll your hips again, grinding down onto Lee Know’s cock, dragging your ass across Han’s lap. He bucks forward, just slightly, and curses.

“You feel that?” he whispers, voice high and cracked. “That’s how hard you make me.”

His hand trails down now, across your stomach, between your thighs, until two fingers find your clit and press.

You jerk. Moan again, this time louder. Lee Know hisses through his teeth as your walls clamp around him.

“Fuck—Jisung—she’s squeezing me—”

Han gasps, lips still on your skin. “She’s losing it. Look at her.”

His fingers flick just right. Gentle, teasing, then harder, tighter circles, matching the rhythm of your hips as you bounce on Lee Know’s cock. And all the while, his cock presses harder against your ass, he’s grinding, panting, moaning into your neck like he might fall apart just from touching you like this.

“You gonna come, sweetie?” Lee Know murmurs, voice low and sweet. “Gonna fall apart with both of us working on you?”

Your whole body tightens, your thighs lock, your spine arches, and then it rips through you.

You sob. A full-body, high-pitched moan claws from your throat as your vision whites out. Your legs tremble violently around Lee Know’s hips, hips grinding desperately as your clit pulses under Han’s fingers.

You clutch Lee Know’s shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping you on earth, and the orgasm rolls through you in waves, one crashing after the other. Every nerve flares, every breath stolen, your pussy clenching around Lee Know’s cock so hard it makes him groan like he’s fighting to hold on.

“That’s it,” he hisses. “Fuck—feel that? She’s soaked—”

“God,” Han breathes behind you. “God, she’s perfect—”

Han’s fingers slow but don’t stop, coaxing every last aftershock out of you, and you gasp his name, raw and wrecked, your head dropping forward onto Lee Know’s shoulder.

Han’s hands are trembling now.

“Let me,” he says suddenly, voice hoarse, cracking. “Please—hyung, let me taste her. Let me—fuck—”

Lee Know leans in, kisses your cheek, still hard inside you.

“Go ahead, jagiya,” he whispers.

“She’s all yours.”

Then Han leans in, close to your ear, voice wrecked and low enough to rattle your ribs:

“Here’s how it goes, sweetheart. You’re gonna turn around. And you’re gonna fucking sit on his cock again. But this time? You’ll face me.”

Your breath catches. Your body jerks, hips twitching at the sound of his voice like that, steady but on the verge. And you nod. Because how could you not?

You move slowly, legs barely holding you upright, and Lee Know holds your hips steady, guiding you with careful, greedy hands.

You turn. Knees straddling his thighs again, now facing Han. Your hands find Lee Know’s thighs for balance, but your eyes stay locked on Han’s, watching the way his chest rises fast, his pupils swallow his eyes whole.

Lee Know curses. A low, sharp hiss against your neck. “Fuck—look at you.”

Because when he helps you sink back down, slow, deep, he feels it all over again. The stretch. The warmth. The way your cunt takes every inch of him, slick and eager.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan as you settle. Your legs tremble again. And the moment you’re seated fully on him, hips flush to his, Han moves.

He doesn’t even wait.

He drops to his knees in front of you, and then, fuck. His tongue.

Soft at first. Then hungry.

Sliding over your clit in slow, filthy circles. His hands find your thighs, spreading you wider, fingertips digging in like he needs to anchor himself or he’ll float away.

You jerk, violently, hips stuttering, a cry ripping from your lips as Lee Know groans beneath you, his cock twitching deep inside.

“Yeah,” he pants, voice rough, deep. “Let him feel it, sweetie. Grind down on me. Just like that.”

You do, and it’s insane. The feel of Lee Know filling you, his hands on your waist, while Han’s tongue works your clit like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. Messy, desperate, fucking sinful.

Han moans into you. Like he can’t help it. Like your taste is wrecking him.

“She tastes like fucking heaven—”

His voice cracks. Breathless.

“Hyung, I can feel your cock fucking her—”

Lee Know groans again, louder now, and thrusts up into you, slow and devastating, forcing a gasp from your lips.

You're barely holding on.

Your legs shake. Your breath stutters. Your hands claw at anything, holding back at Lee Know’s shoulders, Han’s hair, your own thighs, anything to stay grounded, but it’s no use.

You’re drenched, body slick with sweat and spit and the dizzy aftershocks of your last orgasm, and the way Han’s tongue keeps moving, even now, even after all that, is enough to make your vision blur at the edges.

“Can’t—” you gasp, voice wrecked, pleading. “I—I can’t—ride—”

Lee Know moves instantly.

His hands slide down, grip the undersides of your thighs, and lift you just enough. You feel the shift, feel the heat of his chest under your palms, the way his cock drags partway out, slick and aching inside you.

“Then let me,” he murmurs, low, sharp, steady as a goddamn storm. “You just hold on, baby.”

And then he thrusts.

Slow. Deep. Measured.

You whine, loud, desperate, as his cock pushes back in with devastating pressure, every inch dragging against soaked, oversensitive walls. Your whole body twitches, your head falling forward, mouth open as another moan escapes you.

“Fuck—fuck—”

Han’s still on his knees. Still between your thighs. Still licking.

His hands push your legs wider, and his tongue finds where you’re stretched around Lee Know’s cock, flicking, licking, obsessing. And it’s not just you anymore. Every time Lee Know pulls out, just an inch, Han’s tongue follows, slick and hot, tracing over the curve of Lee Know’s cock where it’s disappearing inside you, then up again, flat over your clit, back and forth, like he can’t decide what he wants more: your taste, Lee Know’s taste, or the taste of both of you together.

Lee Know gasps.

It’s the first time he’s really slipped. The first time his rhythm falters, hips twitching, breath catching like the burn is catching up to him, too.

“씨발,” he grits, jaw clenched. “너 미쳤어.”

(Fucking hell. You’re insane.)

Han groans, louder now, lips sliding wet over Lee Know’s cock just as it drags out again. His tongue swipes along the underside, then circles your clit again with obscene, soaking pressure.

“그만—” Lee Know pants, voice cracking. “Don’t—fuck, Han, I swear—”

But Han doesn’t stop.

He moans into you, licking up everything, flicking his tongue back and forth across your clit in rhythm with Lee Know’s slow thrusts, up, down, slip across his cock, flick your clit, again, again and again until your entire body convulses above them.

You sob holding back into Lee Know’s shoulder, not knowing what the fuck to do with your hands anymore.

“I know, baby,” he says against your ear. “I know it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t fucking stop.

His hands cup your ass now, spreading you, controlling the rhythm entirely. He lets your hips fall, then thrusts up again, perfectly timed with Han’s tongue as it slips under and flicks, gentle but relentless, right where you're joined.

Your voice breaks.

“I—God, I can’t—I don’t know who to—fuck—”

Lee Know groans, deep, gravelly, like the sound of thunder right before it splits the sky.

“Can’t choose?” he pants, hips grinding up with slow, steady thrusts that feel like a full-body unraveling. “Then hold onto both.”

And you try. You try.

Fingers buried in Han’s hair.

Nails digging into Lee Know’s arm.

Legs shaking, voice cracking, heat building too fast again.

Han moans into your clit like he’s going to die with how much he needs your next orgasm, and Lee Know? Lee Know groans under you, cock dragging slow and deep, lips brushing your ear.

“That’s it,” he whispers, voice all sin. “Fall apart again. Let us have you.”

The pressure builds again, unbelievable, blinding, like it never left, like your last orgasm was just the first crack in the dam, and now it’s all flooding back harder, hotter, faster.

Lee Know’s cock drags against every sensitive spot inside you, slow, deep, devastating. His grip on your ass tightens, his teeth scrape your neck, and Han, fuck, Han is starving between your legs, tongue moving like he’s racing your heartbeat, flicking, circling, lapping, tasting everything as it leaks out of you around Lee Know’s cock.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t think.

You’re trembling so hard your muscles barely respond, thighs twitching violently every time Han’s tongue passes over your clit with that obscene pressure, and it hits you. It’s coming again. You’re going to come again.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—please—”

It’s not even words anymore. You’re begging through your teeth, clawing at Lee Know’s arms, tugging at Han’s hair, hips snapping forward like your body wants to be wrecked.

Lee Know’s voice is right at your ear now, low and dark, his breath catching with every roll of your hips.

“Give it to us.”

Han groans like it’s his own orgasm building, and the moment his tongue circles just right, slow, wet, and maddening against your clit, you break.

You shatter.

Not quietly, violently.

“Fuck—fuck—fuck—oh my God—”

Your whole body snaps down.

Back arched, mouth wide, screaming as you clamp down around Lee Know so hard it punches a moan out of him, low and raw. Your thighs lock around Han’s head and he doesn’t stop, keeps licking, keeps moaning into you, eating your orgasm like he earned it.

Your hips shake, bouncing on Lee Know’s cock with every pulse of your orgasm, and he fucks up into you once, twice, deep, groaning into your shoulder, completely undone.

“Shit—sweetie, you’re—you’re fucking soaking me—”

And it’s true. You feel it, the wet heat spilling down your thighs, dripping onto Han’s cheeks and chin as he groans, tongue still moving slow now, reverent.

Han’s head drops forward, resting against your thigh, flushed, soaked, lips parted like he’s drunk on you.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes. “She just ruined me.”

Lee Know pulls out of you slow, and you whimper, the drag of him leaving your body almost too much. Your legs twitch once, then go boneless around his hips. But he doesn’t let you go. Not for a second.

He shifts you gently, pulling your legs to the side, tucking you into his lap. His arms wrap around you, one across your waist, one under your thighs, holding you tight against him as you tremble, shaking from every nerve still sparking under your skin.

Your cheek falls against his shoulder. Your breath is a gasp. “That was—” You swallow. Try again. “That was fucking insane.”

Lee Know chuckles, soft and low, lips brushing your hair. His hand strokes your thigh slowly, grounding you.

Across from you, Han’s still on his knees.

His arms hang loose at his sides. His chest rises fast, his lips parted, slick, soaked, glistening with your orgasm. His chin. His jaw. Even the column of his neck, all of it wet, glimmering in the low light.

He looks wrecked. Beautiful. And completely ruined.

Lee Know watches him for a beat. Then he turns slightly, his voice a rasp near your ear.

“Jagiya,” he murmurs.

Han blinks up, dazed.

Lee Know smiles, slow, sharp, and his voice drops.

“Come kiss me.”

Han doesn’t move at first. Just stares, lips still shining, eyes flicking between the two of you. His hands curl into fists on his thighs, jaw tightening like the request alone short-circuited his entire brain.

You stay tucked in Lee Know’s lap, knees pulled to the side, pressed between them as Han leans in.

And when their lips meet…

God.

It’s not gentle. Not soft. Not teasing.

It’s filthy. Sloppy. Soaked.

The kiss lands wet, open-mouthed, with an obscene squelch as Lee Know licks into Han’s mouth, tasting everything you left on him. His tongue pushes past Han’s lips, messy and hungry, and Han moans, low, wrecked, like it hurts to be touched and he still wants more.

Lee Know’s hand flies to his waist, gripping tight, fingers digging in through the fabric like he’s pulling him closer just to feel the desperation.

And Han, fuck, Han grabs the back of Lee Know’s head, fingers twisting in his hair so tight it forces his head back. Their mouths disconnect for half a second, wet, panting, lips red and slick, before they crash together again, harder this time, filthier.

They lick into each other’s mouths. They moan like they’re fucking. And you’re right there, tucked between them, pressed into Lee Know’s chest with your head tilted back, watching them devour each other like it’s the only thing they’ve ever wanted.

Lee Know shifts his grip again, hand sliding down from Han’s waist to his ass, grabbing a full handful. Han gasps, his hand tightening in Lee Know’s hair, pulling even harder. And Lee Know just grins into the kiss, like he loves it, like it drives him insane to feel how rough Han gets when he’s finally not overthinking it.

They keep kissing. Messy. Loud. Unapologetic. All tongue, all breath, all filth.

Until Lee Know finally pulls back, just barely, lips red, mouth open and pants against Han’s lips: “You taste like her.” His voice drops to a growl.

Han shudders at that.

And you?

You’re shaking again, mouth open, thighs clenched, absolutely soaked all over again.

Their mouths stay close, lips brushing, breath shared between open mouths like neither of them wants to let go. A string of spit still stretches between them, catching the light, breaking only when Han exhales a shaky moan and lets his hand fall from Lee Know’s hair.

They’re both wrecked. Eyes dark. Mouths red.

Then Lee Know turns back to you, chest rising under your cheek, voice curling like smoke in your ear. “Oh…” His palm strokes down your thigh, slow. “You like watching us.”

Han blinks, dazed, then follows Lee Know’s gaze.

His eyes drag down your body, the way your thighs have squeezed tight again, the way your chest is heaving, the way your hand has curled into Lee Know’s skin like you need something to keep you still.

“Shit,” Han murmurs, breathless. “She’s soaked again.”

Lee Know hums deep in his throat, almost like a purr. One hand slides between your legs, lightly, still teasing, just to feel.

You gasp, twitching in his lap.

“She liked the kiss,” he murmurs. “That was it, wasn’t it, baby?”

You nod, small. Shaky. “Yes,” you breathe. “Fuck, yes.”

Lee Know grins first.

The kind of grin that’s not playful anymore, the kind that says he’s made up his mind. His hand cradles your cheek, fingers curling under your jaw, and his voice is low, warm, almost teasing.

“You want to be part of it again, sweetie?”

You nod.

There’s no hesitation, just heat. Breath. Your lips part, and he leans in.

And the kiss?

God. It’s filthy.

He kisses you deep, tongue sliding into your mouth with practiced ease, tasting everything. You feel Han’s breath against your neck the second Lee Know’s mouth meets yours, and you moan instantly, your body jerking, overwhelmed again by how much you still want them.

Lee Know kisses like he knows what you need before you ask.

Slow at first. Pressed close. His lips plush and wet, tongue flicking softly over yours, then deeper, more demanding, taking now. His hand in your hair. His breath against your cheek. And when you moan into his mouth, he groans, low and rough, pulling you closer into his lap.

And then,

Han kisses your shoulder.

Then your neck.

Then your jaw.

You gasp, lips breaking from Lee Know’s just enough for air, and Han’s mouth is there, replacing him, sealing over your lips like he’s been waiting for this moment since the first second he saw you.

His kiss is messier, hungrier. Less precise, more needy. He kisses you like he’s trying to drink you in, his mouth hot and wide, licking into you with little moans against your tongue, hands trembling where they cup your waist.

You kiss him back like you’re drowning.

Lee Know watches.

His hand strokes down your thigh again, slow, just grounding you. His lips brush your temple, and he whispers against your skin:

“Look at you. So fucking pretty between us.”

Lee Know turns your face toward him again, kisses you soft but deep, tongue sliding over yours just as Han starts kissing your neck again, open-mouthed and hot.

You whimper.

Then Han’s lips find your jaw, and you barely catch your breath before he’s back at your mouth, replacing Lee Know again, sucking on your bottom lip like it’ll keep him sane.

And Lee Know, God, he doesn’t move far. He kisses along your neck, your shoulder, licking softly at your sweat-slicked skin, groaning as his hand finds your tit and cups it slow, thumb brushing over your nipple.

Their hands. Their mouths. Both of them at once, kissing you, touching you, licking you open like they want to worship every inch that trembles under their fingers.

It’s breathless. Overwhelming.

You’re gasping into Han’s mouth, whimpering against Lee Know’s hand, your whole body flooded with heat again from the inside out.

And when they both pull back, lips red, cheeks flushed, breath ragged, you can’t even speak.

Lee Know’s smile is crooked now, eyes half-lidded, voice low and filthy as he cups your jaw again.

“That what you wanted?”

You nod. And you don’t even mean to move.

It just happens. Your mouth crashes into Han’s like gravity pulled you there, and he gasps into the kiss, stunned, caught, before he groans and melts into it.

It’s still desperate. Still messy. Teeth knocking, tongues fighting, like you’ve both waited too long even though you were kissing a minute ago.

Lee Know doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

He just watches, silent and still, one hand slipping from your waist as Han’s arms slide in to take over.

Han’s kiss turns rougher, hands trembling where they grip your hips, and then suddenly he’s lifting you, gently but urgently, up and out of Lee Know’s lap.

You stumble slightly, still breathless, and Han keeps you close, a hand splayed wide on your lower back, the other already moving down to grab your ass.

Your legs feel like jelly. Your head’s swimming. You pull back just a little to look down between your bodies and Han’s still clothed from the waist down. Somehow. His jeans clinging tight around his hips, the outline of his cock so prominent it makes your mouth water.

Your fingers move before your thoughts catch up.

You slide your hand down, palm dragging firm over the bulge in his jeans and Han’s whole body shudders. His breath stutters against your mouth, and you grin against his jaw.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Why are you still wearing these?”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His hands are on your waist, gripping tight and when your fingers fumble at his button, he actually whines.

You pull back from the kiss again, chest heaving.

“Off, Han. Now.”

You pop the button, drag the zipper down, and reach in. And there he is. Hot. Thick. Already leaking. Your hand wraps around him, tight, and Han gasps, nearly folding.

“Shit—fuck—”

He whines your name.

Lee Know says nothing. You glance back and, fuck.

He’s still sprawled on the couch like a king. One arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily wrapped around his own cock, stroking slow, watching you like he’s being served his favorite sin on a silver platter. 

His gaze burns. Unblinking. Fascinated.

You turn back to Han, pumping him slowly, firmly, dragging your thumb over the head.

“Need you,” you whisper. “I want to taste you.”

He groans like it hurts. One hand in your hair, the other gripping your wrist like he’s trying to stay grounded.

He starts backing up, step by step, pulling you with him, jeans around his thighs, your hand never leaving his cock.

And then his legs hit the edge of the bed.

He sits down hard, chest rising fast, legs spreading wide. You drop to your knees between them, taking off his jeans, mouth open, eyes locked on his, and he looks so fucking wrecked, so ready, like he might lose it the second you touch your lips to him.

Behind you, Lee Know doesn’t move. He just watches. Still slow-stroking himself, mouth parted, eyes devouring the way you drop for Han like you were meant to be there.

You’re just about to take him in.

Han’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread, jaw slack, hair a mess, and your mouth hovers right over his cock. One hand still wrapped around him, pumping slow, just enough to keep him trembling.

He looks down at you, and fuck, his eyes are wet.

His breath stutters every time your tongue flicks out to tease his tip. His fingers twitch like he wants to grab your hair, like he wants to beg, but all he can do is watch you, stunned, lips parted, every inch of him aching.

“Please—” he breathes. “Please, sweetie—”

And then, you hear it. The soft creak of leather. The slow step of bare feet across the floor.

You glance sideways. Lee Know is standing now. Still silent. Still watching. Only now, he’s close.

Towering beside the bed, cock in hand, eyes dark and hooded, his other hand dragging through his hair as he takes in the sight of you on your knees, mouth poised to devour Jisung like it’s the first thing you’ve ever wanted.

He strokes himself slow. Measured. Then he speaks, voice low, casual, like he’s already decided everything.

“Can I join?” But is not even a question.

Han’s whole body shivers at that, a whimper punched out of him, his hips jolting up. You gasp. Han’s already moving, pulling you up into the bed with him. Lee Know steps behind you, slow, sure, one hand brushing up your spine.

“Stay just like that,” he murmurs, voice curling over your skin like velvet. His hands runs over your spine, pressing your shoulders down so your head was close enough to Han’s cock again. 

“Mouth on him. Ass up for me.”

You moan, loud, already shifting, already obeying. Han’s cock twitches in your hand.

You crawl higher onto the bed, lowering your head even more between Han’s thighs. Your tongue flicks over his slit, finally, and his whole body jumps, a whine catching in his throat as you take the head into your mouth.

Behind you, Lee Know settles. On his knees. Guiding his cock to your entrance with a low groan.

And then, he pushes in. Slow. Thick. Delicious.

You moan around Han’s cock as Lee Know sinks into you, your thighs shaking, your mouth going deeper than you mean to, your fingers digging into Han’s hips as the stretch sets your whole body alight.

Han cries out. “Fuck—fuck— oh my god—”

He’s shaking, voice wrecked, face buried in his elbow like he can’t even watch without falling apart.

And Lee Know? He’s fucking you slow.

Hands gripping your hips tight. Thrusting in and out with steady pressure, enough to make you whimper around Han’s cock, enough to send little vibrations straight through him with every stroke.

He watches you take him. Watches your lips stretch around Han, your spit dripping down to your wrist, your moans muffled but so, so desperate.

“That’s it,” he grits out. “You look so good like this. Taking both of us.”

Han sobs.

“She’s so warm— fuck,—so good, so fucking good—”

“Let go, jagiya. Milk her mouth while I fuck her through it.”

Your mouth moves with desperate purpose, swirling and sucking around Han’s cock. His hips jerk involuntarily under your touch, breath hitching as you lick the swollen tip, tasting him slick and hot.

Han’s hands clutch at your hair, fingers tangling roughly as his head falls back, eyes fluttering closed. His breath grows ragged, broken into sharp gasps. You feel the muscles in his thighs tighten, then twitch, and with a low, guttural moan, he cums deep into your mouth.

You swallow every drop, warm and salty, your throat fluttering as he shudders violently against you. His hips press harder, seeking friction even as he spills, and you hold him close, steady, worshiping him with every flick of your tongue.

Behind you, Lee Know’s pace suddenly shifts, his thrusts grow harder, more urgent. His hands grip your hips tight, fingers digging into flesh as he drives into you with slow, powerful strokes that make your whole body tremble.

You can feel his cock sliding in and out with raw heat, a dark pulse radiating from deep inside you.

Lee Know pulls back just enough to slip his hand between your legs, fingers flicking over your slick, teasing your clit as he watches. The flickering touch sends shocks rippling through your core, making you moan.

And you? You’re sobbing against Han’s body. He’s trying to hold you, taking your hair out of your face, but he’s still shaking.

And then, with a low groan, Lee Know slides off you. His hand wraps around his own cock, stroking himself hard and fast, eyes never leaving Han’s. They’re watching each other, always watching, two predators locked in a silent dance of desire.

Lee Know’s breathing deepens, cheeks flushed, teeth sinking into his lower lip as his hand speeds up, stroking himself with sharp, slick sounds. His other hand stays locked between your thighs, working your clit with a maddening pace, relentless, precise, like he’s chasing your ruin with every flick of his fingers.

Han’s chest heaves in front of you, his lips still parted, his cheeks flushed, eyes locked onto yours with a hunger that borders on awe. He reaches for you, hands framing your face as he pulls you forward, not rough, but desperate, like he needs to feel your mouth again. You moan the second your lips meet his, the sound trembling out of you, high and broken. His tongue slides past your lips, deep and messy, swallowing your sobs as your whole body trembles.

Lee Know groans behind you, voice thick and low. “That’s it, fuck, come for us again” he grits.

Then… hips stuttering, thighs shaking, your orgasm ripping through you in hard, pulsing waves. You cry out into Han’s mouth, the sound soaked in pleasure and helplessness, hands clawing at his shoulders as the heat spills over.

Lee Know follows with a gasp, his hand tightening around his cock, pace brutal now. He strokes himself once, twice, then growls low in his throat as he spills across your ass in thick, hot bursts, hips rocking through it, his breath catching with every twitch.

And Han just watches. Watches Lee Know’s face twist with pleasure, watches the way his jaw drops, eyes flutter, hands squeeze tight around your waist.

They’re looking at each other. Even now.

And something in you throbs at the realization. At the closeness between them. At the way they want you between them, like this.

You can barely breathe.

Lee Know presses a kiss to your shoulder, holding you steady, stroking your thigh.

Han licks his lips. Wipes his chin. Still flushed. And still staring.

“God. What the fuck was this.” 

The room spins with heat and sweat and panting silence, their hands still on you, their eyes drinking you up now.

Your body’s still buzzing, your hair’s a mess, and you’re pretty sure your thighs are permanently shaking, but somehow, you manage a smirk.

“So…” you stretch lazily, dragging your fingertips down Han’s chest before shifting your gaze to Lee Know. “You guys want an autograph now, or something?”

Han groans, and buries his face in your shoulder.

“Don’t do that,” he mumbles, voice muffled, wrecked. “Don’t say shit like that.”

You laugh, or try to.

Lee Know’s fingers trail over your thigh, still lazily stroking your skin like he has no plans of letting you go any time soon.

“Why not?” you purr, smug. “I thought you were fans.”

Han lifts his head just enough to look at you, flushed, wide-eyed, completely destroyed.

“I don’t know how I’ll be able to watch you through a screen after this,” he says, and he means it. Every word lands heavy and honest. “I’m fucked.”

You smile. Slow. Sweet.

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing his damp hair from his forehead. “You are.”

Lee Know hums behind you, dropping a soft kiss to your shoulder. His voice is all smug satisfaction, lazy and low.

“Told you she’d ruin us.”

Han sighs dramatically, flopping back again.

“Worth it.”

You grin and let your head rest between them, two wrecked, beautiful boys, hearts still thundering in their chests.

God, what a night.

—

“This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”

You don’t even flinch when a pillow smacks you dead in the face.

“You’ve paused this movie three times now,” Jisung groans from where he’s sprawled across the couch like a tired housecat. “At this point we might as well just reenact it ourselves.”

“You wanna play the role of ‘Guy Who Dies in the First Five Minutes’?” you mutter, flinging popcorn at his forehead.

Minho snorts from the kitchen. “He’d overact and cry for no reason. The director would kill him off faster.”

“Excuse you,” Jisung gasps, sitting up indignantly, his hair a disaster and his sweatpants even worse. “I am a natural-born thespian. Right, babe?”

You blink at him. “Don’t call me babe.”

“You let Minho call you babe,” he whines, pouting now. “This is favoritism.”

“He doesn’t call me babe,” you say, just as Minho strolls in and casually drops into the seat next to you.

“Babe, you want the last can of cider?” he asks, already handing it to you.

You take it, muttering, “I hate both of you.”

It’s always like this — loud, stupid, a little too close. No boundaries. No filters. Just the three of you, the weirdest little trio to ever share a rent bill.

Jisung throws his leg over yours without asking, warm skin brushing yours where your shorts ride up. Minho leans into your side like it’s the most natural thing in the world, arm slung lazily along the back of the couch. No part of this should feel abnormal. It never used to.

But then again, you’re pretty sure Minho’s hand just grazed the top of your thigh when he shifted.

And you’re definitely not thinking about the way Jisung’s bare knee is pressed between yours, or how his voice goes lower when he talks like that.

You crack open the can and take a long sip.

Nope. Not thinking about it at all.

“Men Are Actually So Useless”

You shut the apartment door as quietly as you can, slipping your shoes off with a sigh. It’s almost 1 a.m. Your date ended forty-five minutes ago, and you’ve been walking off the frustration ever since.

You’d shaved. You’d worn perfume. You’d even sat through two hours of small talk with a man who thought astrology was “girl math.” And for what?

To get railed like a fleshlight and left hanging.

Pathetic.

You’re halfway to your room when a voice calls out from the couch.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to come home.”

You groan internally. Of course they’re still up.

Minho’s half-asleep on one end of the couch, hoodie pulled over his head, blanket up to his chin. Jisung is sitting cross-legged on the floor, munching on leftover dumplings and looking way too smug.

“Don’t,” you warn, not even turning around.

“Aw, come on,” Jisung says through a mouthful of rice. “How was your date? Did he whine about the check or just show you his Spotify Wrapped?”

You pivot slowly, arms crossed. “He came in under two minutes.”

Minho lifts his head. “Like… into the date?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Into me.”

Jisung chokes on his food.

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then—

“Bro.”

“What the fuck—”

“Are you serious?”

You walk to the kitchen, ignoring their reactions, and grab a cold bottle of water. The twist of the cap feels like violence. “I should’ve known when he asked if foreplay was like, optional.”

Minho groans. “Oh my God.”

“He literally said — and I quote — ‘I usually skip it unless it’s their birthday.’”

Jisung drops his chopsticks like the dramatics he is. “Men are actually a crime. A war crime. I want names.”

You sit on the counter and take a swig of water, swinging your legs. “It’s fine. I’m just gonna start pretending sex doesn’t exist. Like birds.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “Birds do exist.”

“Not to me.”

Jisung stares at you for a second. “Wait, are you telling me you didn’t finish?”

“Jisung.” You stare back, deadpan. “I’ve never finished. Not from another person. I genuinely think the female orgasm is a myth. Like… Santa. Or straight men who actually eat pussy.”

Minho visibly winces.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snap, pointing at him. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

Looks away.

Exactly.

Jisung throws his hands up. “No, you’re right. We’re hopeless. I’ve seen porn and I still don’t know what the clit looks like.”

You snort. “It’s okay. Neither does anyone I’ve ever dated.”

There’s another pause. One of those loaded, too-quiet ones.

Then Minho mutters under his breath, “Maybe you’re just dating the wrong people.”

You blink.

Jisung slowly turns toward him, eyebrows raised.

“What was that?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says immediately. “Forget it.”

But you don’t. And neither does Jisung.

Because something about the way he said it—

The quiet.

The certainty.

—makes something in your chest stir.

You’re still perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, water bottle in hand. The silence after Minho’s little comment sits heavy in the air, even with the distant hum of the fridge and Jisung’s abandoned dumplings growing cold on the coffee table.

Then, casually — like he’s talking about the weather — Minho speaks again.

“I’ve never left anyone high and dry.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, leaning back into the couch. “I’ve never been that guy. They always finish. Every single time.”

You snort. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know you’re serious,” you say, sliding off the counter. “You just sound dumb.”

Minho blinks. “Why?”

“Because they were acting, dumbass.”

His jaw twitches.

You wave your hand dramatically. “Moaning, shaking, saying your name like you’re the second coming of Christ? All fake. Peak performance. Women deserve Oscars.”

“I know the difference between fake and real.”

You laugh in his face. “Oh my God.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

Jisung raises a finger. “Okay, hold on. I always let the girl finish before me, too—”

“You think you do,” you say.

He stops mid-sentence, blinking. “Wait. What if they faked it too?”

“Exactly,” you mutter. “Men always assume they’re God’s gift to—”

“No, no, no, don’t do this to me,” Jisung says, pointing at his own heart. “I give effort. I go in with a strategy. I pace myself. I’ve got rhythm. I ask questions.”

Minho laughs into his blanket. “You sound like you’re planning a heist.”

“This is a heist. Stealing orgasms. Successfully.” Jisung looks at you, distressed. “Wait, what if I’m just mid?”

Minho wipes a tear of laughter from his eye. “Do they leave right away?”

“What?”

“The girls you’re with. Do they get up and ghost right after, or do they cling? Text you later? Try to come back for more?”

Jisung pauses.

Thinks.

“…They cling.”

Minho raises his brows, smug. “Exactly.”

“So… I’m good?”

“You’re welcome.”

Jisung looks weirdly proud of himself now, arms crossed and chin up like he’s just been knighted.

You just stare at them both, blinking slowly.

“This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever heard,” you mutter.

Minho turns his attention back to you, eyes lazy, voice casual. “I know when it’s real. Don’t lump me in with your trash date.”

You open your mouth to say something. Maybe to argue. Maybe to mock.

But then you remember the way he’d said it the first time—quiet, certain, calm—and the way he’s looking at you now.

And for some reason…

You say nothing at all.

“You Two Are All Talk”

You’re sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by greasy takeout boxes, scattered shot glasses, and half-finished bottles of soju and beer. The air smells like sweet alcohol and fried food, and someone — probably Jisung — spilled peach soju on the remote, which means you’re now stuck watching a dating show that none of you care about.

The TV’s playing in the background, but you’re more focused on watching Jisung reenact one of the over-the-top breakup scenes using a piece of fried chicken as a microphone.

“—and then she goes, ‘I just feel like you’re not emotionally available,’” he says in a fake high-pitched voice, holding the drumstick dramatically to his chest. “Girl, he ghosted his own mom! Of course he’s not available!”

Minho’s snorting into his beer bottle, lounging on the couch with one arm thrown lazily behind his head.

You’re sipping straight from a bottle of plum wine, blinking slowly. “Still more emotionally satisfying than my date.”

“Okay, we get it,” Jisung sighs, tossing the chicken bone onto a napkin. “Your sex life’s a horror movie. We’ve been hearing about this man’s 45-second sprint for days.”

“Oh, please,” you scoff. “You two act like you’re walking sex ed posters.”

Minho glances at you lazily. “Because we are.”

You laugh — hard. “Right. You two probably watched one moaning compilation and decided you’re gifted by the gods.”

“I do my research!” Jisung insists, sitting up straighter. “I study. I prepare.”

“Yeah? So you’re publishing a thesis now? ‘Women Are Easy: A Straight Man’s Journey Through Delusion’?”

Minho lifts his beer, grinning. “You’re just mad because your date couldn’t find the clit with GPS.”

You gesture at him with your wine. “Please. You probably think the clit is a setting on a washing machine.”

“I’ve had people shaking,” Minho says, smug.

“From disappointment?”

He smirks. “From pleasure, kitten.”

You groan. “Stop calling me that.”

“She looks like she’s gonna throw something,” Jisung mutters.

“I’m fine,” you say sweetly, taking another long swig. “Just dying of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Never have I ever“

An hour later, Jisung announces shots like it’s a public service.

There’s a dangerous mix of bottles on the table — soju, tequila, beer, someone’s emergency stash of rum Minho “accidentally” found in your closet. You’re all way past tipsy and deep into dangerously oversharing territory.

“I swear to God,” Jisung slurs, trying to stack the bottle caps like a tower, “if this one doesn’t count, I’m doing a truth round.”

You just laugh and refill your cup. “You’re already three truths deep. It’s called Never Have I Ever, not Tell All My Kinks and Cry About It.”

Minho raises his half-empty glass. “Never have I ever… had sex in a moving vehicle.”

You drink.

They both stare at you.

You shrug. “Backseat. Wasn’t great. Windows fogged up. Whole Titanic reenactment. Zero payoff.”

Minho smirks. “You really do have hidden talents, kitten.”

“I swear to God if you say that one more time—”

“What? It suits you.”

“You’re literally projecting a furry kink onto me.”

“No, I’m projecting cutie with claws energy onto you.”

You take another drink just to avoid screaming.

“Okay, okay—my turn,” Jisung says, pointing dramatically. “Never have I ever… choked someone during sex.”

You and Minho both drink.

Jisung makes a noise. “Wait, you?!”

You shrug. “I’ve had a weird phase or two.”

“She’s so mysterious,” Minho teases, leaning in. “What else don’t we know?”

“That I regret agreeing to this game.”

“Liar,” he says, grinning. “You live for the drama.”

Jisung grins, drunk and delighted. “Never have I ever had a kink I was scared to tell someone.”

Minho drinks.

You raise your brow. “Spill.”

He just licks his lips and smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know… kitten.”

You throw a napkin at his face. “Get a new personality.”

“I’m gonna get it printed on a t-shirt,” he says proudly.

“Make it two,” Jisung adds.

You groan.

Jisung turns to you, squinting. “Okay, what about you? Be real. What’s your weirdest kink?”

“I don’t have one.”

Minho snorts. “Liar.”

“I don’t!”

“You’re too aggressive to be vanilla. I don’t buy it.”

“I will fight both of you in the street.”

“I’d still call you kitten.”

“I’ll put you in a headlock.”

“Still hot.”

You down the rest of your drink.

This is fine.

Everything is fine.

—

The bottle of tequila is almost empty, which means the decisions being made now are… unsupervised at best.

Someone — probably you, but you’ll deny it later — suggested switching to dares after Jisung confessed he once cried mid-blowjob because the girl played a Taylor Swift song in the background and it “unlocked a core memory.”

There’s no music anymore. Just laughter, slurred speech, and the occasional crash of something being knocked over as Minho tries to do yoga in jeans for a dare.

“I’m literally—” he wheezes, stuck in a sad downward dog, “—so flexible.”

“You’re gonna snap your spine,” you say, lying sideways on the couch, cheeks flushed from alcohol and laughter.

“You love it,” he grins, not even getting up. “Don’t act like you don’t wanna see me in this position.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Born this way, kitten.”

“I swear to God.”

Jisung downs a shot. “Alright! My turn again. Truth or dare, baby girl?”

You throw a pillow at his face. “You call me that again and I’m putting your toothbrush in the toilet.”

He giggles. “Dare it is.”

You groan. “Fine. Hit me.”

Jisung lights up with pure evil. “I dare you to send a ‘you up?’ text to the last person you matched with.”

Your soul leaves your body. “Absolutely not.”

Minho sits up with interest. “Do it.”

“I’m blocking both of you.”

Jisung leans in. “Come on, you said you wanted someone with actual experience, remember?”

“I also said I wanted to be hit by a bus.”

“Same vibe.”

You groan louder, but you grab your phone anyway. “If I get ghosted or proposed to, it’s your fault.”

“I accept full responsibility,” Jisung says, raising his glass.

You fire off the message, toss your phone face-down, and collapse dramatically across Minho’s lap, already regretting everything.

“Ow,” he says, not even trying to push you off. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“You’re skinnier than your attitude,” you mutter into his thigh.

He just laughs, brushing a strand of hair off your face. “Still comfy though?”

You flip him off without looking.

“Still cute though,” he says, way too casually.

You groan. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love being called kitten.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep lying to yourself, sweetheart.”

You dramatically slide off his lap and onto the floor like a melting popsicle. “I’m gonna actually lose it.”

“Too late,” Jisung says. “You lost it three shots ago.”

You throw another pillow at him.

He throws one back.

Minho just watches, sipping his drink and smiling like he’s hosting a sitcom.

“Alright,” you say, slurring a little, “who’s next before I start throwing hands?”

“You just went,” Minho smirks from the couch, legs spread, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “It’s my turn.”

“Oh no,” Jisung groans. “This is how we die.”

Minho lifts his shot glass, looking far too pleased with himself. “Jisung. I dare you to reenact the most dramatic porn line you’ve ever heard.”

Jisung doesn’t even blink. “Challenge accepted.”

He clears his throat like he’s prepping for a Shakespearean monologue.

Then, in the most unhinged, breathy voice you’ve ever heard:

“Doctor… I think my clothes are allergic to me. They just keep falling off.”

You choke on your drink. Minho lets out an actual wheeze.

“No, no wait—” Jisung holds up a hand, getting into position. “Let me set the scene.”

He kicks over a chair pretending it’s a hospital gurney and drops to one knee dramatically.

“Oh no, step-sir… I’m stuck. In my own feelings. For you.”

You’re crying. Actually crying. There are tears in your eyes.

“Step-sir!?” you gasp between laughs. “I hate you so much!”

Minho’s laughing so hard he’s gone silent.

“You’re welcome,” Jisung says with a bow, then promptly stands up and starts grinding to the faint beat of a TikTok sound someone left playing on a loop.

“Why does he dance like a drunk worm?” you mutter.

“He is a drunk worm,” Minho replies, refilling his glass.

“You love it!” Jisung yells mid-body roll, nearly falling over.

“I love you less every second.”

You all spiral again.

Once the laughter dies down and Jisung finally collapses into a heap, panting from his own twerk attempt, he raises his hand like he’s back in school.

“Okay. New round,” he says, breathing hard. “Everyone says their real kink. No lies.”

You groan. “This again?”

Minho leans in. “You scared, kitten?”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

You flip him off but stay seated.

“Fine,” Jisung says. “I’ll go first. Praise kink. But like—genuine praise. Not condescending.”

Minho raises a brow. “You want someone to pat your head and go ‘Good boy?’”

Jisung shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

You snort into your glass.

Minho gestures at himself. “Control. Domination. Tying people up. Making them beg.”

You look at him. “You sound too confident.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just know what I like.”

Everyone looks at you next.

You hesitate.

Then sigh. “…Probably power play. Like, being told what to do. But not in a creepy way.”

Minho smirks. “So you do have a thing.”

You hold your drink up. “Shut up and cheers me.”

He clinks glasses with you, looking way too smug.

You roll your eyes and look back at Jisung. “That enough horny for you?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, quieter than expected, he asks:

“Have you ever actually felt… safe during sex?”

The room stills.

Like, really stills.

Even the soft music from your phone feels too loud all of a sudden.

You glance over. Minho’s not smiling. Jisung’s staring at the floor. You don’t say anything right away, because you don’t know what to say.

And for the first time all night, it doesn’t feel like a joke.

Just a very real, very honest question hanging in the air.

No one answers.

But no one laughs either.

And somehow, that feels like enough.

But then Jisung lets out a breath and laughs — not a bitter laugh, just a tired, tipsy one.

“Shit,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry. That was a buzzkill.”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s valid.”

Minho finally speaks, voice low but easy. “Alright. That’s enough emotional intimacy for one night.”

You glance over at him. He stretches his arms above his head, his hoodie riding up slightly, revealing the sharp line of his waist.

He catches you looking and smirks. “Unless you wanna unpack your trauma some more, kitten.”

You groan. “I’ll smother you with a couch cushion.”

“You’d have to reach me first.”

Jisung raises his hand from where he’s lying like a corpse on the rug. “I vote we move this party to Minho’s room.”

Minho blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You have a big-ass bed and a TV. Your room’s the final boss of sleepover vibes.”

“He’s right,” you yawn. “Your mattress is practically luxury. My back still hurts from that Ikea piece of shit in my room.”

“Wow,” Minho says, offended. “She insults my kindness and wants to steal my bed. Incredible.”

“You love us,” you say, already standing. “Shut up and move.”

“Fine,” he mutters, grabbing his phone and the last bottle. “But if any of you hog the blanket, I’m throwing hands.”

Ten minutes later, you’re all tangled up on Minho’s bed — limbs draped across one another, the soft buzz of a random movie playing on the mounted TV. It’s dark, but the screen casts a glow across the room, painting Jisung’s half-asleep face in soft blue light as he mumbles something about how good Minho’s sheets smell.

“Because I wash them like a civilized human,” Minho mutters, shifting so he’s not lying directly on someone’s foot.

You’re curled on your side, head half on a pillow, half on Minho’s chest, too drunk and tired to move. His heartbeat is steady under your ear.

“I’m never going back to my room,” you mumble.

“Same,” Jisung adds, already half snoring.

Minho’s voice is quiet but amused. “You’re like stray cats. I let you in once and now you live here.”

You don’t reply. You’re too busy letting your eyelids fall shut, body warm, brain fuzzy, surrounded by the two people who somehow make everything feel a little easier — even the hard stuff.

And in that moment, with the movie humming softly and the bed full of slow, sleepy breathing, the world feels… safe.

Maybe not perfect.

But safe.

—

“Too Hot to Be Wingmanned”

The apartment smells like toasted bagels, fabric softener, and regret.

You sit at the kitchen table, hair in a messy bun, oversized t-shirt barely covering your shorts, sipping the world’s strongest coffee while Jisung pops Advil like candy.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” he mumbles, face buried in his arms.

“You didn’t,” Minho says, already fully dressed in sweatpants and a smug expression. “You just faceplanted into my mattress and made dolphin noises until you passed out.”

“I’m a delight,” Jisung groans.

You stretch, sore but oddly content. “Well, that was the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”

“See?” Jisung says, perking up. “And now we keep the energy going. There’s a party tonight.”

You blink. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” He downs the rest of his orange juice and slaps the counter. “We’re going. We’re getting dressed. We’re finding someone to ruin your life for the weekend.”

Minho frowns. “Why would we do that?”

“To get her laid,” Jisung says proudly.

“I’m standing right here,” you deadpan.

“Sorry, get her emotionally and physically fulfilled.”

Minho looks at you. “Do you actually want to go?”

You shrug. “Why not?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Because parties are loud, sweaty, and full of men who say ‘vibes’ unironically.”

You smirk. “Sounds like your dating history.”

Jisung chokes on his bagel.

“Fine,” Minho sighs. “But I reserve the right to judge every person you talk to.”

“And I reserve the right to ignore you.”

One Hour Later:

“Okay, thoughts on this one?” you ask, stepping out of your room in a strappy red dress that’s half the size of your confidence.

Minho looks up from the couch, squints. “Too… Valentine’s. Like you’re about to hand out chocolates and trauma.”

You scowl. “That’s literally my personality.”

Jisung gives it a seven out of ten. “It’s giving accidentally slept with the DJ.”

“Next one,” you sigh.

They sit through six more dress changes — everything from “bored trophy wife” to “church girl who commits tax fraud” — all met with critiques like:

“Too prom.”

“Too goth girl on her fifth rebirth.”

“Too nun, but like a bitter nun.”

“That one’s straight-up whore vibes — which, to be clear, I support.”

Finally, you step out in the final dress.

Jet black. Tight. Short.

Backless, clinging to your curves like it was made for you.

Your thigh tattoo — the bow on the back of your leg — peeks out with every step.

And your back tattoo trails upward from your lower spine, delicate and dark and sexy as hell, disappearing under the high collar and reappearing again at your nape.

You don’t even speak. You just do a slow spin.

The room is silent.

Jisung’s mouth is open.

Minho blinks.

You raise an eyebrow. “Well?”

Minho swallows. “You’re not wearing that.”

You smirk. “Oh? Why not?”

He gestures vaguely. “Because… it’s… a lot.”

“That’s the point,” you say, admiring yourself in the mirror. “If a man’s gonna ruin my night, he better at least be speechless first.”

Jisung finally exhales. “No, but like… why does this feel illegal? I feel like I’m watching something I need permission to see.”

Minho’s still staring, brows furrowed. “I just think—maybe you could wear a jacket.”

You laugh. “The fact you’re malfunctioning means it’s the perfect pick.”

Jisung’s already getting his shoes. “We’re so dead.”

Minho mutters something under his breath as you walk past to grab your lipstick.

It sounds suspiciously like “fuck me” — but you pretend not to hear it.

“Look Hot, Regret Nothing”

The party’s already in full swing by the time the three of you walk through the door — bass thrumming in the floorboards, lights low and hazy, the scent of perfume, alcohol, and way too much cologne clouding the air.

Heads turn as you step in.

Not because you’re doing anything special.

Just existing.

Looking like that.

Jisung whistles low under his breath. “Goddamn, we’re not even ten feet in and people are already eyeing you like you’re a buffet.”

You shrug, pretending not to notice the way a few people pause mid-conversation to check you out. “Good. I’m starving too.”

Minho’s next to you, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. “This place smells like frat boy sweat and bad decisions.”

“That’s the vibe,” Jisung grins. “Come on, let’s find the drinks and a corner to watch the world burn.”

The three of you weave through the crowd — a tangle of neon lights and pulsing music, people dancing, bodies swaying too close, laughter rising like steam.

You make it to the makeshift bar, where Jisung immediately takes on the role of overenthusiastic bartender, pouring shots like you’re all 19 again.

“To bad choices and worse men,” he says, handing you a glass.

You raise yours. “And to thighs that don’t chafe.”

Minho reluctantly clinks his glass with yours. “And to someone trying to flirt with you so I can judge them relentlessly.”

You grin. “Aw, you do care.”

“I just don’t want to have to fight someone,” he mutters. “These pants are too tight for kicking.”

You toss the shot back, and the burn in your throat barely registers — the music’s too loud, the energy too electric, and you look too damn good to care.

And apparently, so does the guy walking up to you.

He’s tall. Sharp jaw, smirky lips, a little too confident.

“Hey,” he says smoothly. “Saw you walk in and had to come over before I lost my chance.”

You blink. Bold.

Minho, beside you, doesn’t say anything. Just sips his drink. But you can feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“Name’s Theo,” the guy says, offering his hand. “You look… dangerous.”

You raise a brow, taking his hand just long enough to keep it polite. “And you look like you use that line a lot.”

He laughs. “Guilty. But I’m charming enough to get away with it, right?”

You open your mouth to respond, but Jisung beats you to it.

“She’s got a low tolerance for bullshit,” he says, grinning wide. “But if you’re lucky, she might let you buy her a drink before crushing your ego.”

Theo glances between you and your two best friends, then locks back onto you. “Is this the part where they give me a shovel and tell me to start digging my own grave?”

Minho finally speaks.

“No. This is the part where we see how long you last before she figures out you don’t know where the clit is.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Theo laughs, a little less confident this time. “You’re the protective type, huh?”

Minho’s smile is cold. “No. I’m the honest type.”

You nudge him with your elbow, shooting him a look. “Be nice.”

“I am,” he says, deadpan. “That was me being nice.”

Despite the tension, Theo stays — talking, flirting, clearly trying to impress. You humor him for a while, laughing at some jokes, sipping another drink, even swaying a little when the music gets good.

He leans in close when he talks. Too close.

His hand brushes your lower back once. You ignore it.

Minho doesn’t.

Jisung, sensing the vibe shift, quickly drags Minho to the other side of the dance floor under the excuse of “bro I love this song,” giving you space.

You dance a little. Just enough to tease. Just enough to feel good.

But when Theo leans in, breath warm against your ear, and whispers, “Wanna get out of here?” — you freeze.

You don’t answer.

Because before you can even think of a reply, a hand curls around your wrist and pulls you back.

Not hard.

Just enough to stop you.

You blink, turning around.

Minho.

Standing there, jaw clenched, eyes dark, voice low.

“She’s not going anywhere.”

Theo raises an eyebrow. “You her boyfriend?”

“No,” Minho says, tone sharp. “I’m her reality check.”

Theo snorts. “Yeah? And what reality is that?”

“The one where she’s too good for you, and you’re a ten-minute detour she won’t even remember tomorrow.”

You don’t say anything.

Because you don’t have to.

Theo holds your gaze for a beat longer, then shrugs and walks off without another word.

The music swells again.

You and Minho stand there in the middle of it — the lights, the noise, the crowd — and for once, he doesn’t say something smug or sarcastic.

He just looks at you.

Like maybe he’s not entirely sure what just happened either.

You swallow.

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep it light. “For cockblocking my one shot at mediocre disappointment.”

He huffs a breath, not quite a laugh.

“You deserve better than that.”

And then he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd before you can answer.

—

After Theo disappears into the crowd — bruised ego and all — you take a second to breathe, letting the music thrum through your veins and clear your head.

You spot Jisung dancing near the kitchen, doing some chaotic combination of body rolls and finger guns that should be illegal. You walk over, slide in beside him, and match his rhythm just enough to make him grin.

“There’s my girl,” he yells over the music. “You good?”

You nod. “Minho scared off my fan club.”

“Tragic.” He leans closer. “But also… not mad about it.”

You laugh, shake it off, and grab another drink. Jisung disappears toward the bar to flirt with someone wearing leather pants and absolutely no shame.

You’re left standing near the edge of the dance floor when a girl approaches you.

She’s pretty. Glitter under her eyes, drink in hand, tipsy smile already half-formed.

“Hey,” she says, swaying slightly. “Sorry — I just have to ask. Are you, like… poly?”

You blink. “What?”

She giggles. “Like, are you dating both of them?”

You tilt your head. “Both of who?”

She gestures vaguely toward the party. “Your two boyfriends. The tall chaotic one and the one with the resting murder face. They’ve been glued to you all night.”

You pause.

Then it clicks.

Minho. Jisung.

She thinks… oh.

You stifle a laugh, glancing across the room where Jisung is now dramatically flipping his hair at someone and Minho is leaning against a wall like it personally offended him.

“Oh,” you say, trying not to wheeze. “No. They’re just my roommates.”

The girl blinks. “Seriously?”

You nod, sipping your drink.

She leans in conspiratorially. “Girl. I can’t even find one man to text me back. You’ve got two hot ones wrapped around your finger like a romcom. That’s not fair.”

You smile. “What can I say? I cook frozen dumplings and never wear pants around the house.”

She stares for a beat. “Yeah. I’d fall in love with you too.”

You laugh out loud this time.

Hard.

But when she keeps looking at you like you’re the luckiest bitch on Earth, you just raise your cup and say, “You know what? Sure. They’re both mine. Full-time emotional support boyfriends.”

She gasps. “Iconic.”

You clink drinks with her, still grinning.

Because honestly? Explaining the chaos that is your friendship with Minho and Jisung would take too long.

And at this point?

You’re not even gonna fix her.

—

You find them near the balcony, Jisung sipping a mixed drink that’s definitely 90% sugar and 10% vodka, and Minho leaned against the railing like he’s about to deliver a monologue from a noir film.

They both look over as you walk up, still chuckling from your last conversation.

“What’s so funny?” Jisung asks.

You grin. “Some girl just came up to me and asked if I was poly.”

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Because of us?”

You nod. “Apparently I’m dating both of you. She said she couldn’t even get one man to text her back, and I’ve got two stuck to me like glue.”

Jisung beams. “Wow. She gets it.”

Minho just groans. “That’s it. We’re changing our group chat name to ‘Gay Boyfriends United.’”

You’re mid-sip when a voice interrupts you — confident, a little too loud, and already annoying.

“Excuse me,” a guy says, stepping in far too close. “I just had to say—you are absolutely gorgeous.”

You glance over.

He’s tall. Overdressed. The kind of guy who thinks holding a drink in a wine glass makes him sophisticated.

“I mean, damn,” he says, eyes raking over you like you’re inventory. “Face, body, those tattoos… just—perfect.”

Minho straightens up behind you.

The guy keeps going. “I don’t know how your two gay boyfriends are letting you walk around like this without putting a ring on it.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“Come on,” the guy smirks. “They’re obviously just your fashion advisors. Let me take you out sometime—properly. You deserve a real man.”

You don’t even get the chance to respond.

Because Minho moves.

Slowly.

Calmly.

His hand finds your waist from behind, warm and solid, and he steps right up to your back. His head rests gently on your shoulder, lips brushing your ear as he speaks low.

“Let’s go home, babe.”

The word babe lands like a gunshot.

Your heart stutters. Your mouth goes dry.

The guy in front of you falters. Blinks. Then scoffs.

“Seriously? That guy’s not even into girls.”

Minho tightens his grip slightly. Doesn’t say a word.

And that’s when Jisung steps in, looping his arm around both you and Minho with a blinding smile that somehow doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” Jisung says lightly. “We were just about to leave. Weren’t we, babe?”

You’re completely frozen now.

Minho’s breath is warm against your neck.

Jisung’s grin sharpens.

And both of them?

Staring this man down like they’ll bury him behind the venue without breaking a sweat.

The guy looks between the three of you — the way you’re pressed together, how they’re practically wrapped around you like they’re daring him to speak again.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Yikes. Alright. Didn’t realize it was that serious.”

He backs away, muttering something under his breath, and disappears into the crowd.

You don’t move.

Minho doesn’t move.

Jisung hums like nothing happened. “I really liked that drink too. Tragic.”

You blink. Slowly.

Minho leans in just a little more, voice low against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod once, still stunned.

Jisung squeezes your arm. “We’re gonna go home now. You’re riding with us, yeah?”

You look between them, still pressed to both sides of your body like armor.

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

Because at this point, what else can you say?

—

The car is quiet.

Minho’s driving, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap. He’s focused — a little too focused — eyes forward, jaw tense. Jisung’s in the backseat, head tilted against the window, drunk and humming along to the low music playing on the stereo.

You sit in the passenger seat, hands folded tightly in your lap.

No one’s spoken since you left the party.

Not about what happened.

Not about the guy.

Not about the way Minho pulled you into his arms like it was nothing, or the way Jisung clung to both of you like backup was already pre-planned.

You don’t know what to say. You’re not even sure what you should say.

So you just… stare out the window, watching the city pass in blurs of gold and red, neon signs flickering past like ghosts.

Finally, Jisung speaks.

“Do you think that guy moisturizes?”

Minho snorts. “Doubt it.”

You blink. “That’s what you’re choosing to talk about?”

“He looked dry,” Jisung murmurs, eyes still half-closed. “Like… emotionally. And epidermically.”

“Epidermically,” Minho repeats, deadpan.

You smile a little despite yourself.

Minho glances at you at a red light. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just processing.”

He nods once. Doesn’t press.

Jisung hums again. “You looked hot, though. Like, actual hot. Like a problem.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. “Apparently too hot for gay boyfriends.”

That gets a laugh out of both of them.

Minho shakes his head, pulling into your building’s parking lot. “If I hear that phrase one more time, I’m committing a felony.”

—

Back at the apartment, you all peel off your shoes and jackets with the sluggishness of post-party fatigue. Jisung collapses dramatically onto the couch like he’s just been shot.

“I’m so tired,” he whines into the cushions. “Minho, carry me to bed.”

“I’d rather throw you out the window.”

You laugh, making your way to the kitchen for water. Minho joins you, grabbing a glass from the cabinet like it’s muscle memory.

For a second, it’s just the sound of water pouring and the low hum of the fridge.

Then—

“You know you didn’t have to do all that back there,” you say quietly.

Minho glances at you. “What, call you babe and hold you like a K-drama boyfriend?”

You snort. “Exactly.”

“I was just playing the part,” he says, voice light. “Didn’t wanna deal with that guy’s mouth for another five seconds.”

“Sure,” you say, raising your glass. “Oscar-worthy performance.”

He smirks. “You liked it.”

“I blacked out.”

“Liar.”

Jisung yells from the couch, “If anyone’s Oscar-worthy, it’s me. I fully committed to the role of clingy gay boyfriend. I deserve a bouquet and maybe some champagne.”

“You’re not getting shit,” Minho calls back.

“Discrimination,” Jisung mutters.

You lean against the counter, sipping your water, feeling the tension finally starting to bleed out of your system.

Minho looks at you, serious for just a second. “He was being a dick. I wasn’t gonna stand there and let him talk to you like that.”

You stare at him.

He holds your gaze.

You nod once, softly. “Thanks.”

He shrugs, reaching past you to grab a snack from the cabinet — like he didn’t just melt your brain a few hours ago.

“Anytime, kitten.”

You groan. “I knew you’d bring it back.”

He grins. “Don’t act like you don’t miss it when I stop.”

You chuck your water bottle at him.

Another date night

It had started out fine.

Better than fine, even.

You’d gotten dressed up — not too much skin this time, just enough confidence. He picked you up, took you to a quiet rooftop bar, ordered for you without being an asshole about it. He was funny. Charming. Flirty in a way that felt natural.

You laughed. You flirted back. You let yourself think, Maybe this time.

And when he leaned in and kissed you outside his place, hand on your waist, whispering something smooth against your skin — you didn’t flinch. You let him lead you in.

And that was the mistake.

Because the moment things got physical… it all unraveled.

His kisses were messy — but not the good kind. All teeth and wetness, like he was trying to eat your mouth instead of kiss it. His hands were too fast, like he was skipping every chapter just to get to the end of the book.

When he finally got you to his bed, it wasn’t sex.

It was… humping.

That’s the only word that came to mind.

Rhythmic, fast, mechanical. He didn’t look at you, didn’t touch you properly, didn’t even notice that you’d gone completely silent halfway through.

And when it was over — when he collapsed beside you with a content sigh and tried to pull you into his arms like he’d done something worth celebrating —

You stood up and said, “I have to go.”

You dressed in silence, didn’t bother with excuses, and left before he could ask if you wanted water.

—

By the time you get home, your skin is still buzzing — not with arousal, but with rage.

Minho and Jisung are on the couch, both in sweatpants, half-watching some dumb late-night cooking show. They pause when they hear the door open.

And they look at you.

Like they already know.

Minho cocks his head. “Well?”

You don’t say anything.

You just kick your shoes off harder than necessary, walk into the kitchen, open the fridge, close it again without grabbing anything, and press both hands against the counter.

“You okay?” Jisung asks gently.

Still nothing.

Minho sits up straighter. “Bad?”

You laugh. Just once. A broken, humorless sound.

“Why is it always me?” you ask, still facing the fridge. “Like… what the hell am I doing wrong?”

Neither of them says anything.

You turn, and they both see it — your eyes glassy, your voice shaking now.

“Do I have a sign on me that says ‘Don’t worry about her’? Like I’m just… there to be used and thrown away?” You gesture vaguely. “It’s like none of them even try. Like I don’t matter.”

“Hey,” Minho says, standing now. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” you snap, voice rising. “I keep going on these dates. I try to give people chances. I try to have fun. And every single time I end up back here, wondering what the hell is wrong with me.”

Jisung walks toward you slowly, like you’re a wild animal about to bolt.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he says softly.

You shake your head. “It’s pathetic. I literally had to fake moaning just to get it over with faster. I felt nothing. Nothing. It’s like he wasn’t even with me.”

“Did you—”

“No,” you cut in. “Of course I didn’t.”

Minho’s jaw tenses.

You take a shaky breath. “I came home. Got in. Locked the door. Said hi to you guys. And now I’m going straight to my room to do what he couldn’t: make myself cum.”

Jisung’s eyes widen slightly.

Minho doesn’t move.

You look between them. “What? You wanted honesty? There it is. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And I’m so fucking done pretending this doesn’t bother me.”

And with that, you turn on your heel, walk down the hall, and shut your bedroom door.

Behind the door, it’s quiet.

Just you, your pounding heart, and the sound of your vibrator drawer sliding open.

—

Minho and Jisung stand in the living room, frozen in place, her words still echoing in the silence between them.

“…make myself cum.”

Neither of them speaks.

Then, very faintly—just through the thin walls they all used to joke about when playing music too loud—comes the sound.

A soft whimper.

Followed by another.

Then a quiet, breathy moan.

And another.

Jisung’s eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

Minho doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just stares at the hallway, jaw clenched, lips parted, expression unreadable.

But then the sounds continue — more desperate now, sharper, her breaths catching like she’s chasing it, needing it. Taking it. The kind of pleasure they’ve never seen her give anyone else.

The kind of pleasure no one else has ever deserved to give her.

And suddenly the silence between them is heavier than ever.

Hotter.

Jisung shifts slightly, hands twitching at his sides. “That’s… she’s really…”

Minho finally speaks. Voice low. Dangerous.

“She’s not faking this time.”

Jisung looks down.

Minho follows his gaze.

They both see it.

Hard.

Obvious.

Each of them, clearly affected.

Jisung swallows hard. “Okay… this is new.”

Minho doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t joke.

Just lifts one brow and lets his gaze flick from Jisung’s straining sweatpants to his flushed face and back again.

Then, calmly — like he’s talking about the weather:

“So it’s not just her.”

Jisung’s voice is a little breathless. “Nope.”

They stare at each other for a long second.

And then another moan cuts through the air — louder this time. Her voice raw, desperate, breaking as she gasps something unintelligible.

Minho exhales slowly. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip.

And then he smirks.

“Still think we’re all talk?”

Jisung doesn’t answer.

Minho steps closer — just one step — his eyes gleaming, cocky, full of wicked confidence.

“She thinks no man can make her cum,” he says, voice low, hungry. “That no one’s capable.”

He leans in just enough for Jisung to feel the heat of his breath.

“I say we prove her wrong.”

Jisung swallows. “We?”

Minho’s smirk widens.

“Oh yeah,” he murmurs. “We.”

He turns toward the hallway, voice dropping even lower.

“And I know just the way to prove it to her.”

The sounds from your bedroom have faded now — the vibrator long silenced — but the effect lingers.

The air is thick with tension, lust, and something darker.

Something heavier.

Jisung still stands frozen by the couch, hands clenched at his sides, face flushed to the tips of his ears. His chest rises and falls in short, unsteady breaths, his eyes flicking between the hallway and Minho like he’s stuck in the middle of a slow-burning fever.

Minho watches him.

Carefully.

Hungrily.

Then, he steps closer.

“You hear the way she sounded?” he asks quietly. “That wasn’t fake. That was real.”

Jisung nods, throat tight. “Yeah.”

“She’s been chasing that feeling from every guy who’s ever touched her.”

Minho’s voice drops lower — smooth, deliberate.

“And none of them gave it to her.”

Jisung bites his lip.

Minho steps even closer.

“You think she deserves to keep begging for it?”

His fingers lift — featherlight — and ghost along the hem of Jisung’s shirt, just barely grazing the skin underneath.

Jisung shivers.

“N-no,” he says, voice catching.

Minho smiles.

“Exactly.”

He lets his hand drift upward, knuckles grazing Jisung’s bare stomach, brushing just under his ribs — not enough to satisfy, just enough to taunt.

“You want to help her, don’t you?”

Jisung nods quickly. “Please.”

Minho’s hand trails slowly up to his chest, fingers dragging lightly over his shirt, then back down to his waistband.

His lips are close to Jisung’s ear now, breath warm, soft, intimate.

“We take our time,” he murmurs. “No rushing. No fucking her like a rabbit. No skipping the parts that make her moan like that.”

Jisung lets out a soft, helpless sound — somewhere between a whine and a whimper.

Minho grins.

“We make her feel everything. We kiss her slow. We touch her like she’s breakable. And when she’s trembling? When she’s begging?”

His fingers drift down, teasing the waistband of Jisung’s sweats.

“We don’t let her finish until she knows exactly who it was that finally made her cum.”

Jisung lets out a shaky breath, hips twitching forward instinctively, chasing contact. “Minho—please…”

Minho pulls back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

“You too, huh?”

Jisung blushes deeper, his hand twitching toward his own waistband. “I—yeah. I need…”

Minho hums.

“Oh, I know what you need, baby.”

He dips his head lower, lips brushing against Jisung’s jaw now.

“But you don’t get it. Not yet.”

Jisung whines, softly. “Please…”

Minho steps back, smug as ever, eyes dark.

“Not until we make her beg first.”

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip, tilts his head, and grins.

“Then maybe I’ll let you beg for me too.”

“So This Is War”

It starts small.

You barely even notice it at first.

Minho’s hand brushing your lower back every time he passes behind you.

Jisung leaning his head on your shoulder when you’re watching TV, his fingers just barely grazing your thigh.

A smirk. A wink. A joke that feels a little too heavy, a little too close to something more.

They’re not doing anything new, not really.

But something’s different.

And the worst part?

They’re suddenly everywhere.

Minho starts walking around shirtless.

Not unusual — but now he does it with his sweatpants slung so low on his hips you can see the sculpted V-cut leading down beneath the waistband. His body glows — pale, smooth skin, lean lines, strong forearms, chest defined enough to make you choke on your morning coffee.

He catches you looking. Every time.

“You good?” he asks one day, when you’ve been staring at his abs for way too long.

“Peachy,” you mutter, looking away fast.

But then Jisung joins in.

Except with him, it’s worse.

Because Jisung’s tan, tattooed, and stacked like he was carved from heat and sweat.

His chest is broad, arms thick, abs sharp — and the ink curling down his ribs only makes it worse. When he stretches? You can see the cut of every muscle down his sides, the way his sweatpants hug just right.

And he stretches a lot.

Especially in front of you.

“Oh my God,” you whisper under your breath one day when he reaches up to grab a cup and his entire back flexes.

You don’t think anyone hears.

But Minho smirks behind you.

You try to keep it together.

You really try.

But one day, you’re sitting on the couch and both of them — shirtless, in grey sweats — come in laughing about some inside joke, brushing past you to grab drinks from the kitchen, all tan skin and defined muscle and cocky grins—

—and your thighs squeeze together involuntarily.

Hard.

You suck in a breath and clench your fists in your lap, trying not to make a noise.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. It’s just the lack of sex. The drought. The desert. It’s not them. It’s me.

It’s not just you.

And when you catch Minho watching you squirm?

You know it.

—

So the next day, you fight back.

You grab one of their shirts from the laundry — oversized, soft, smells like a mix of laundry sheets and masculine warmth — and wear it.

Just it.

No shorts.

No bra.

You walk into the kitchen like it’s nothing, yawning, pretending you don’t notice the way the hem barely covers your ass.

Minho glances up from his cereal.

Freezes.

Jisung does a double take from the sink and nearly drops his mug.

You stretch, arms overhead. “Morning.”

They both respond at the same time.

“Good morning.”

“Holy shit.”

You smirk, turn around slowly to reach into the cabinet, letting the shirt ride up just enough to flash the curve of your thigh.

When you glance back, both of them are staring.

And neither says a word.

Because they’re trying not to fold.

They’re trying to wait you out.

And all you’re thinking is:

Let’s see who breaks first.

“Just Watch the Movie”

Minho’s bed has always been the biggest, the comfiest, the default for group hangouts — but tonight? It feels more like a battlefield.

A slow, sticky, silk-and-skin battlefield.

The lights are off. The screen glows soft and blue, casting flickers across the walls as some random action movie plays — explosions and gunshots you’re not paying attention to at all.

Because you’re sandwiched between Minho and Jisung.

Again.

Only now?

You’re in your favorite black silk nightgown. Thin straps, low neckline, barely brushing mid-thigh. Soft as sin.

Minho’s wearing loose grey sweats, nothing else. His pale chest rises and falls slowly, one arm thrown behind his head like he’s not doing anything wrong.

Jisung’s in gym shorts, shirtless, golden skin on full display — broad chest, solid arms, side tattoo visible and staring at you like a dare.

They’d invited you in with matching smirks.

You should’ve known.

It starts small.

Minho tugs the blanket over your legs, hand brushing up your bare thigh — casual, almost careless.

Jisung shifts beside you, leaning into your shoulder like he’s getting comfy, but his fingers trail lightly along your arm, then down to your wrist.

You try to focus.

You try.

But their hands keep moving.

Minho’s fingers start stroking slow circles just above your knee, thumb dragging lazily over your skin like he’s petting a cat.

Jisung starts playing with the ends of your hair — gentle, rhythmic — his knuckles grazing your collarbone when he tucks a strand behind your ear.

Your pulse is pounding.

“Comfortable?” Minho asks, voice low and warm.

“Mmhm,” you manage, not sounding convincing in the slightest.

Jisung shifts again, this time letting his hand rest on your bare thigh — just resting, but warm, and big, and intentional.

You clench your jaw.

The movie plays on. You couldn’t name a single character if someone paid you.

Minho leans closer, his mouth near your ear now. “You’re really tense, kitten.”

You swallow hard. “Just… focused on the movie.”

Jisung chuckles against your shoulder. “You sure? You’re squirming.”

You turn your face, trying to glare, but Jisung’s grinning — full lips, hooded eyes, messy hair, and he’s so close you could count his lashes.

Minho’s fingers trace the edge of your nightgown now, teasing the thin fabric, like he’s curious how far it rides up when you breathe deep.

You shift again, thighs pressing together, heat blooming low in your stomach.

They don’t say anything.

But they know.

And worse?

You know they know.

Jisung presses a kiss to your shoulder — innocent, featherlight, like he’s not driving you insane.

Minho exhales a soft laugh, eyes glued to the screen but fingers sliding higher by the second.

And you?

You’re trying to keep your breathing even.

Trying to keep your thighs still.

Trying not to melt into the sheets and moan out loud.

Because this is a game.

And you’re still trying to win.

“Not Gonna Break”

You don’t know how much time has passed.

Could be ten minutes. Could be an hour.

The movie plays on — indistinct background noise, flickering shadows on the wall — but your brain hasn’t registered a single frame. Not when Jisung is currently lying with his head pillowed on your chest, warm cheek against your collarbone, arm draped across your stomach like he belongs there.

And his hand…

Is on your thigh.

Massaging.

Not lazily. Not teasingly.

Expertly.

His palm kneads into the muscle with slow, soothing pressure, fingers spreading warmth through your entire leg as he works his way up and down your thigh like he’s really trying to help.

“You keep tensing,” he murmurs against your chest. “You’re all tight. I’m gonna help, okay?”

Your breath catches, but you nod.

“Mmhm,” you hum, barely holding it together.

He squeezes your thigh a little harder, just under the hem of your nightgown. His skin is so warm. His hands so big.

Focus on the movie.

Beside you, Minho shifts.

He’s been quiet — too quiet — stretched out along your other side, one hand behind his head, the other still lazily resting just above your knee. But you feel his gaze now.

You feel it when it drops to your shoulder.

The one where the silky strap of your nightgown has slipped down — exposing the smooth curve of your skin, your collarbone, the faint outline of the top of your chest. You didn’t even realize it had fallen.

But he did.

And now?

Minho lifts his hand.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Fingers brushing against your bare shoulder as he hooks the strap with his thumb, sliding it back into place.

He doesn’t rush.

He lingers.

The backs of his fingers trail up your neck, grazing the edge of your jaw, the heat of his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

You don’t look at him.

You can’t.

But your thighs press together again — instinctive, desperate — and Jisung notices.

He hums low against your chest. “Still tense, baby.”

You nod once, throat dry. “Just tired.”

Minho smiles beside you, voice soft. “Mm. Sure it’s not something else?”

You stay silent.

Jisung’s thumb strokes along the inside of your thigh now.

Minho’s fingers casually draw shapes on your shoulder.

And you?

You’re overheating.

You’re melting.

You’re gripping the blanket in your lap so hard your knuckles ache.

Because you refuse to fold.

You refuse to moan.

And you refuse to let them win.

Not yet.

—

You woke up the next morning tangled in silk sheets, warm and still buzzing slightly from the night before.

They’d teased.

They’d touched.

They’d pushed.

But you?

You won.

You fell asleep between them like it was nothing — calm, composed, lips sealed shut even when your thighs were clenched so tightly it hurt.

Now, the living room is filled with sunlight and fake peace.

You’re curled up on the couch with your phone, scrolling idly through your feed, coffee in hand. Trying to pretend the night before didn’t exist.

Trying to pretend you’re unaffected.

Meanwhile, Minho and Jisung are standing across the room — sweaty, shirtless, freshly back from the gym — and so clearly up to something.

You hear it first in their voices.

The tone.

The deliberate lightness.

“I think I pulled something,” Jisung says, stretching dramatically, sweat glistening down his chest.

Minho smirks, slapping his shoulder. “That’s because you never stretch before lifting. Amateur move.”

“You were the one grunting through squats like a porn star.”

Minho shrugs. “I was lifting heavy. Don’t be jealous.”

You glance up from your phone just in time to see Jisung walk behind Minho, arms snaking loosely around his waist in mock-affection.

“Oh, I’m so jealous,” he says, pressing his cheek dramatically to Minho’s back. “You’re just so strong and sweaty. Who wouldn’t want you?”

Minho laughs low in his throat, hand covering Jisung’s where it rests on his stomach. “Careful, babe. Say that again and I might start thinking you mean it.”

You blink.

Stillness.

They’re not looking at you.

They’re fully focused on each other — too close, too flirty, too much.

Touching like they’ve done it a thousand times.

Comfortable. Warm. Intimate.

You swallow.

Your thighs press together.

Again.

Your brain protests. They’re your best friends. They’re messing with you. This is just a bit—

But your body?

Your body is burning.

You don’t even realize you’ve been staring until Minho glances over — meets your eyes — and smirks.

“Oh, morning,” he says, pulling away from Jisung just slightly. “We were just talking about the gym. Got real hot in there.”

“So hot,” Jisung agrees, stretching his arms behind his head, chest flexing, sweat still glistening along his collarbone. “Dripping.”

You say nothing.

“Actually,” Minho adds, grabbing a towel from the back of a chair and wiping his neck slowly, “we should probably shower.”

Jisung nods. “Yeah, especially if we’re going out later. Shopping, right?”

Minho turns to him. “You go first?”

Jisung tilts his head, smiling. “Why don’t we just shower together?”

You choke on your coffee.

Minho raises an eyebrow. “To save water?”

“Yeah,” Jisung grins. “And time. We don’t wanna keep her waiting.”

You open your mouth.

Nothing comes out.

Minho lets out a soft, thoughtful hum. “You’re right. It’s the responsible thing to do.”

They turn.

Walk toward the bathroom.

And just before disappearing down the hall, Minho glances over his shoulder.

“Unless you’d rather join us, kitten.”

You don’t breathe.

The bathroom door clicks shut.

And you’re left on the couch, heart pounding, legs tight, coffee forgotten.

What the fuck.

Minho x Jisung — third person POV

————————————————————————————————————————

Minho didn’t speak when they stepped into the bathroom together — didn’t need to.

The silence between them said enough.

Jisung hesitated just slightly, fingers fumbling at the waistband of his gym shorts. Minho noticed, eyes gleaming. He stepped in close and reached down, his knuckles brushing lightly against Jisung’s hip as he curled his fingers under the fabric.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured, voice low and smooth.

Jisung’s breath hitched.

Minho dragged the shorts down slowly, past the swell of his ass, down thick, toned thighs — letting his hands linger, teasing the skin just enough to make Jisung tremble. He peeled them off completely, gaze flicking up as Jisung stood completely bare in front of him.

“Look at you,” Minho said softly, almost like he was speaking to himself. “Already flushed.”

Jisung swallowed, eyes wide. “I—”

“Shower,” Minho interrupted, tugging off his own sweats and stepping into the water like it was nothing. “We need to get clean.”

He didn’t wait. Just reached for the soap, lathered it between his hands, and moved in behind Jisung.

The first touch made Jisung shiver — Minho’s slick palms dragging slowly down his back, massaging the lather into his skin like he had all the time in the world.

Then lower.

Over his hips.

Around the front.

Minho’s hands slid over Jisung’s chest, fingers pressing into the muscle, thumbs brushing his nipples before moving lower again.

Jisung bit his lip, thighs trembling.

Minho leaned in, lips ghosting his ear. “Still holding it together?”

Jisung’s head dropped back against Minho’s shoulder, a soft whimper escaping. “No. Minho, please—kiss me, just—something.”

He turned without waiting.

Minho caught him, both hands gripping his waist now — and then their mouths met.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. Full of moans swallowed and lips bitten and Jisung pressing forward like he couldn’t get close enough.

Minho groaned, hands sliding down to grab Jisung’s ass, squeezing tightly, dragging their hips together until their cocks brushed — hard, hot, aching for more.

Jisung gasped into the kiss.

Minho broke it only to kiss lower — trailing down his jaw, to his throat, then lower still, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the line of Jisung’s chest.

When he reached a nipple, he bit.

Jisung cried out, hand flying to Minho’s hair.

Minho sucked harshly — then licked over it, soothing the sting before switching sides.

“Fuck—Minho—please—don’t stop—”

His mouth moved with purpose now, kissing and sucking all over Jisung’s chest, hands roaming his sides, hips grinding into him with each flick of tongue.

Jisung’s body was shaking.

Every moan echoed in the tile and steam.

Every breath sounded like begging.

And when Minho finally pulled back, lips red, eyes dark, Jisung looked ruined.

“Needy little thing,” Minho whispered, brushing hair from his face. “You’re gonna come undone before we even get started.”

Minho’s gaze swept over Jisung like fire licking across paper — slow, consuming, inevitable.

His hands stayed firm on Jisung’s hips, thumbs brushing over the sharp lines of his waist, holding him steady even as his legs threatened to give out. Steam curled around them, the sound of water splashing against tile almost drowned beneath the sounds pouring from Jisung’s mouth.

Minho bent again, pressing his lips to Jisung’s chest — not kissing gently, not even sweetly — but claiming, with his teeth and tongue and heat. Every time Jisung moaned, Minho dragged it deeper, lower, letting his hands slide over Jisung’s ass, gripping hard, grinding him up against the firm line of his own cock.

“Minho, please—fuck—please,” Jisung choked out, hands buried in Minho’s hair, hips twitching helplessly forward, desperate for any friction.

“You’re already falling apart,” Minho murmured, voice soaked in that sharp, dangerous calm. “We haven’t even touched your cock yet.”

Jisung whimpered.

Minho licked a slow, deliberate line across one nipple before dragging his teeth gently against it. He felt Jisung’s whole body jolt, legs trembling harder now.

“Fuck—Minho, please, I’m so close—”

That made Minho pause.

He leaned back, looked up at him — water dripping down his temple, lips flushed and wet from kissing, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“No,” he said simply.

Jisung blinked through the haze. “W-what?”

Minho’s hand moved between them. Not to stroke. Not to finish. Just to hold him — his palm wrapping firmly around Jisung’s cock and keeping him still.

“You don’t get to cum yet,” Minho said, cool and smug, brushing his thumb just barely over the head. “Not until I say so.”

Jisung whined loudly, body jerking forward involuntarily, cock twitching in Minho’s grip. “Fuck—fuck, Minho, I can’t—”

“You can.” Minho’s voice was like velvet-covered steel. “Because I said so.”

He gave one slow pump — not fast enough to satisfy, just enough to remind him who was in charge — before pulling his hand away completely.

Jisung almost sobbed at the loss of contact.

“You’re gonna stay nice and hard for me,” Minho continued, licking across his own bottom lip as his eyes dragged slowly down Jisung’s body. “And you’re not gonna cum until I make you beg for it like you mean it.”

“Minho, please—*please—*just a little—”

“No.”

Minho turned him around suddenly, pressing Jisung’s chest up against the cool tile wall, keeping his body flush behind him.

He leaned in close, voice right at his ear.

“You’re mine to play with,” he whispered. “And we haven’t even started yet.”

Jisung whimpered again, chest heaving, cock dripping, thighs shaking.

He was wrecked.

And Minho?

Minho was just getting warmed up.

Jisung’s forehead rested against the cold tile, chest heaving, body trembling from the denial and heat surging through him. His cock throbbed between his legs, so painfully hard it ached. Every breath he took fogged the wall in front of him, but he couldn’t move. He didn’t move.

Because Minho was still pressed to his back — solid, slick skin, warm breath at his ear, one hand wrapped tight around his waist to keep him right where he wanted.

“I warned you,” Minho murmured. “Told you we weren’t done.”

And then—

He slid inside.

No teasing.

No preamble.

Just the thick press of his cock as he bottomed out in one, long, devastating thrust.

Jisung cried out — sharp and wrecked — a raw sound that echoed against the tile like it meant something.

Minho didn’t flinch.

He simply moved.

Steady.

Hard.

Fucking him into the wall with slow, brutal precision, each thrust deliberate and deep. Jisung moaned again — louder this time, voice breaking.

And that’s when Minho’s hand clamped down over his mouth.

“Shut up,” he growled against Jisung’s ear. “You wanna be loud? Then I’ll make sure no one hears you.”

Jisung’s eyes rolled back as Minho’s other hand wrapped around his throat — firm and unforgiving, not cutting off his air, just holding him there, keeping him in place like a prize.

Jisung moaned helplessly against the palm covering his mouth, muffled and soaked with need, his body twitching under the pressure, hips arching back into every thrust.

Minho groaned, voice hot and breathless against his skin. “You feel that? How deep I am inside you?”

Jisung nodded desperately, his muffled cries high and urgent behind Minho’s hand.

“You’re taking me so fucking well, baby,” Minho whispered, licking a stripe along Jisung’s jaw. “So tight. So desperate.”

His hips snapped harder, pace brutal now — the sound of skin on skin echoing between the moans Jisung couldn’t stop.

“Stay loud,” Minho growled. “I dare you.”

He tightened his hand just slightly around Jisung’s throat — enough to make his breath stutter, to make his entire body go tight — and thrust in again, even deeper, watching Jisung fall apart from every inch.

And under Minho’s hand, Jisung moaned like he was dying for it.

Because maybe he was.

Readers POV

——————————————————————————————

You’re halfway through getting dressed when you hear it.

A faint sound.

November 1st, 1987

Jisung’s thighs burned.

“Fuck- Minho please~” Jisung whined, gasping for air like he ran a mile.

“You said you could take it baby, so take it…Come on, I know you can do it.” Minho purred.

Jisung was riding Minho, and has been for the last 10 minutes. By now his thighs were starting to give out. His hands were placed right below Minho’s sternum, and he desperately tried to chase after his release, but every time he got close he suddenly felt his limbs give out, and he had to start from zero again.

“Please baby? I wore this just for you..” Jisung pouted, voice shaky. It was currently 1:34am, and some of Jisung and Minho’s friends were still downstairs in the living room. They had a little get together for Halloween, and with what Jisung had on, Minho couldn’t wait for company to leave.

What Jisung wore that night wasn’t exactly provocative, and nobody but Minho would notice the sex appeal it intended. It was a tight fit long-sleeve turtleneck, just plain black, which wasn’t a problem. The outfit was paired with two devil horns, a tiny pitch fork, and two cute little wings strapped to his back. The real problem was the shorts. They were red and very small, at least to Minho. In reality they were a normal length for the 80s, but something about the fact that Jisung’s thighs were completely out made it hard for Minho to not get hard.

Jisung did this on purpose.

Minho and Jisung drank with their friends, but with each drink, their young brains were both turning to nothing but horny mush. Minho had hidden the remote on purpose, so when the others asked for it, he made his move. Jisung went into his room to get it, and before he could even turn around to deliver it, Minho was all over him.

“Minho- Minho I have to get this out there..” He said between their mouths.

“Go, then I want you back in here. Be quick.” Jisung could tell Minho was being serious.

Jisung returned the remote, but not before he explained that Minho ‘wasn’t feeling well’ and he needed to take care of him.

That led them here. Minho, in nothing but his unbuttoned shirt from his ‘police officer’ uniform, and Jisung in nothing but his horns and wings.

“I know you did, and I appreciate it a lot, you look so cute baby…but I think I want my little devil to beg a bit more.” Minho smirked.

“You’re the captain…take charge…or at least help me a bit…please?” Jisung pouted, crawling his way down to Minho’s face to kiss his jaw, knowing what broke Minho. Once Jisung started rocking his hips, Minho snapped, grabbing Jisung’s waist and helping him lift up, tearing a gasp from Jisung.

“Fuck…you’re such a little brat…can’t even ride me properly, my baby needs help with everything huh?” Minho coo’d, thrusting up into Jisung, groaning at the feeling.

“mmmh~! Yes…fuck- yes Minho…” Jisung moaned, rolling his hips, feeling his orgasm approaching.

“Walking around in those slutty shorts…you were just begging for me…” Minho ran his hands through Jisung’s hair before tugging it, making Jisung moan louder. “Shhhh baby…we have company…wouldn’t want them to know I’m fucking you this good, would you?” Minho smirks.

Jisung covered his mouth with his hand, the other on Minho’s abdomen as he bounced on his cock, feeling himself tip over. The way Minhos cock reached deep inside and hit the perfect spot over and over was making him see stars.

“Shit- fuck baby I’m gonna cum~” Jisung mewled, leaking sweet precum onto Minhos stomach, the sight itself being too lewd for Minho to hold back a moan.

So he planted his feet on the mattress, thrusting harder up into Jisung’s poor hole.

Jisung would have come, if it weren’t for Hyunjin barging in the room.

“JISU- AHHHHH!” Hyunjin yelled, covering his eyes.

Jisung’s head snaps around.

“Hyunjin what are you doing?! You scared the shit out of me!” Jisung pants, and Minho looks beyond him to look at Hyunjin too.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

“Seriously?!” Jisung thanked the gods that his ass was covered by the duvet, if Hyunjin were to see Jisung’s ass getting absolutely pounded by Minho’s cock, he probably would have died of embarrassment on the spot.

“Sorry, I just need to know if-.”

“Hyunjin!” Jisung yelled, wondering what the hell was so important that Hyunjin had to stay in the room for, at least he was still covering his eyes.

“It’s important.”

“Seriously Hyunjin, I’m not gonna answer your questions with my boyfriend’s dick up my ass.” Jisung rolled his eyes.

“Dude! Gross!” Hyunjin yelled, and Minho snickered, Jisung looked back down to see Minho’s shit eating grin.

“I just wanted to ask if we can go see your friend Felix again.”

“GET OUT!!”

“Not until you give me an answer.”

“Fine! Now get out.” Jisung yelled.

“Fine, but just remember you-!”

Hyunjin was cut off by a pillow being thrown at him, giggling as he shut the door, his hand never leaving his eyes, thankfully.

Jisung sighed, slouching, then pouting. Minho was still smiling, giggling to himself.

“And what are you laughing about?” Jisung crossed his arms.

“You called me your boyfriend.” Minho smiled, and it seemed to light up the room, making Jisung smile too.

“You’re so cute. Boyfriend~” Jisung sung out.

“Stop saying that, I’ll have to pound you out.”

“No thanks, boyfriend.” Jisung smirked, and it was ripped away as soon as Minho flipped them over and started pounding into him like a man on a mission. Minho had to clasp his hand around Jisung’s mouth to keep him quiet enough to not be heard through the walls.

Jisung’s eyes were already starting to roll back, and Minho’s grunting was getting louder and louder.

“You gonna cum?” Minho asked through his breaths, tilting his head.

Jisung couldn’t do anything but moan as his legs started to shake, his cock giving one final twitch before shooting out ropes of cum all over himself.

“Oh fuuuuuck~” Minho moaned, grinding deeper before feeling himself spill over the edge, collapsing onto Jisung.

They both laid there, catching their breaths, arms wrapped around one another.

“I love you baby…” Jisung said, closing his eyes.

“I love you too.” Minho said, kissing his temple.

~~~~~

AHHHH I LOVE MY PORK SODA MINSUNG I JUST HAD TO

I know it’s been a while but ya girl has been so unmotivated :(

The Gonstead Adjustment by almondcat

Jisung has the hots for his chiropractor is the gist. The flirty banter in this is top tier & the buildup of tension before they finally bone is DELICIOUS. Genuinely still my fave fanfic to this day. It was the first fanfic in the fandom I read and got me so hooked, here I am with a slew of my own fics lmfao.

2. Termination Dust by mrehk

I'm sure you've all heard of mrehk. Given that she's written the most devastating fanfic in the entire fandom (and no, I haven't read it yet and I will not for awhile bc I have a weak heart), you should recognize her name. This is my favorite fuck buddies to lovers + fake dating story ever. Jisung is adorably cringe and charming at the same time, Minho is a bit blunt and hopelessly obsessed. The development of their relationship is just *chefs kiss*

3. He is the king by crookedtime

My favorite fantasy minsung fic. Bluesung is a fae servant working in the Lee kingdom, and after a the newly crowned king notices him, he's asked to meet with Minho so he can learn more about the fae's current situation in his kingdom. The fic has a great balance of politics, world-building, and romance. Minsung are so precious in this, and their fears/struggles feel so real to me.

4. ex proprio vigore by mrehk

Yeah, we got another mrehk on this. This one's a different flavor with a law professor x grad student pair up. It's SO deliciously fucked up. I haven't seen another fic do the taboo nature of this trope quite as good. Jisung is very troubled in this, and the glimpses of why only make you crave to know more. Major age gap in this fic btw!

5. chances taken by iamnotme

One of my fave a/b/o fics. Minsung help each other through their cycles after both have experienced some difficulties/trauma with them in the past. They're both so painfully sweet in this, especially Jisung. He's the cutest lil omega ever I can't.

6. hands-on learning by dawnshine

Another legend in minsung fic land. "Straight" Jisung is getting tutored by Minho, who is extremely down bad for him & comes up with a brilliant plan to get Jisung to tutor him on sexual acts so he can "impress his crush". For some super strange reason, Jisung agrees. It's sexy, it's funny, and I LOVE how the 'finding out your not straight' trope is handled in this. It's a different, but still very valid experience and I was happy to see it done.

7. Touch by Anonchez

My first underrated gem on this list. Listen, this fic is SO SENSUAL I can't handle it. Jisung is touch-starved and agrees to do some ASMR videos for Minho that fill the void for him. It's just delicious, lip-biting good fun, ok?

8. The Claiming of Han Jisung by Cuddlyms & peachpastrie

Listen, this is the best alphaxalpha fic I've ever read. Jisung is a cocky lil shit in this, and Minho has a vendetta because he doesn't understand his own feelings. Their tension & what it leads to when the mating run comes at the end of the season is exquisite.

9. no expectations by gongie

This is like... straight up knotting kink? And it's so hot?? It's hilarious and stupid and sexy af, and I just can't. Jisung is stressed one day, and Minho's brilliant idea is to offer to knot him so he can relax. And since Jisung is super down bad for his best friend, he agrees. Sexy shenanigans ensue from there.

10. Growing Pains by linosdino

Jisung has the hots for his best friend's older brother and goes about seducing him over the summer. Another fic where the buildup of tension is just SO good. I wanted more of their dynamic so bad. Another major age gap fic, just a heads up.

11. lower your expectations by saintsideways

Another underrated fic. Jisung finds out he's a slayer, which he hates a lot and doesn't want any part of, but the supernatural keep coming for him. Including a very sexy vampire who he has a fucked up desire for that neither of them can resist. If you like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, PLEASE give this fic a chance. It was SO cool seeing all the roles the author chose for skz, and the plot/writing get trippy as it goes on, but I think it serves the story so well.

12. if i want it (it's mine) by clownbody

This fic broke my brain. I can't even fully explain why because they don't even MEET in this fic, but it just hit me the right way that my brain literally melted from sexiness. Jisung is down bad for a mean, dommy camboy and I NEED the author to write a sequel at some point oml. It's so SO good and so underrated, please read it.

13. He Runs, I Follow by IAmSoooTired

If you want an a/b/o fic that has more plot than smexytime, this is the one for you! It's very dystopian where omegas are kept in facilities until they're released for their mating run, because unmated omegas "can't be trusted" to be in society before then. Jisung sneaks into college to study law disguised as a beta, where he rooms with Minho. The world-building is super interesting & minsung are so sweet in a world that is not at all.

14. silicone by leaguejagi

I'd be remiss to not recommend a fic by my current partner in crime, but she 100% deserves to be on this list. This is a filthy lil one shot that's just delicious. As soon as I read it, I knew we'd be great writing partners! (And I was right. I'm so addicted to our story it's stupid, but more on that next). Jisung is horny and his bf is being mean and neglecting him, so he takes matters into his own hands - quite literally. Jisung is desperate, Minho is a bit mean and entirely too hot. It's funny and sexy, so if you need a quick lil smut shot, please give it a read!

15. Under My Skin by myself & leaguejagi

Yes, I am getting into self-promo territory lmfao, that's why I put these at the end. But listen! This fic is SO FUN. It's the only fic on this list that's a WIP, but I just have to gush about it because I'm having an absolute blast. It is a bit different because it's an RP, so there's frequent POV changes & some story overlap/disjointed dialogue to read since we're each playing one main character & responding to each other's writing. But it's so self-indulgent and exciting, and so far it seems like readers are having an easy (and fun?!?!) time reading along with us. Jisung & Minho come from enemy kingdoms & are forced into a political marriage to hopefully end the conflict. It's a/b/o, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, and so much more oml. The amount of times we've laughed, squealed, and had to fan ourselves as we've been writing is a bit ridiculous, but that's why we had to share lmao. Why gatekeep something so fun, y'know?

16. Broken Things by me

I barely have any angst on this list (bc like I said I'm weak), so here you go. The angstiest fic I have ever written. I made myself cry multiple times writing this, and from what I've been told I've also made some other people cry whoops. But it has a happy ending, and I did my best to write these heavy topics with care. And for as emotionally draining as this fic was, I'm also super proud of it. Minho ran away from home 10 years ago. When his father dies, he comes back to settle his estate and runs into Jisung, who used to be his best friend. As they reconnect, they have to navigate old scars, new problems, and what it means to fall in love with the same person twice. It's basically a childhood friends to lovers/second chances fic with a looot of angst, so mind the tags, ok?

Jisung reached his hand across the table, stretching his fingers in your direction. Slowly, you slid your hand into his, earning a smile.

“Out of curiosity, how long have you known?”

His fingers squeezed around yours, keeping you from pulling away from him as your eyes cast downward. Another hand slid across the table in your peripheral and you slowly linked your other hand with Minho’s too.

Taking a deep breath, you sat up straight and looked at them again.

“I’ve known for a little over a year now.”

Minho’s eyes flashed, Jisung flinched, but neither made any move to pull away from you, and that settled your rapidly beating heart just a little bit.

“You didn’t plan on telling us, did you?” Phrased as a question, but said as a statement, you couldn’t help but squeeze their hands tighter. As if you were keeping them from getting up and walking away.

“No, I didn’t.” Jisungs hand squeezed yours in response. “But, I had my reasons, and good or not, I did what I thought was best for both of you at the time.”

“And now?” Jisung’s voice was scratchy, as if he were holding back tears.

“Now, the decision is yours to make. I’m done choosing our future. If you want me, I’m here and I don’t plan on leaving again. If you don’t, I will respect that and you’ll never have to see me again.”

Jisung pulled his hand away from you as if you’d burned him. You tried not to let the pain of his rejection show on your face.

“You’d really just leave?” He was standing, backed into the bookshelf behind the table, seemingly putting as much of a barrier between you as possible.

“If that’s what you needed from me, I would.” Your heart was aching at the mere thought of it. Running the first time was a spur of the moment panic reaction. Discussing you leaving willingly now had your heart in your throat, feeling like it wanted to break into pieces and throw itself to the floor.

Jisung’s eyes were watery, the tears starting to form. You chanced a glance at Minho, who’d gone eerily quiet but had yet to release your hand.

Jisung’s words were stuttery and small as he hiccuped out a sentence.

“But you, you promised. You said you weren’t going anywhere. You promised!”

“And I’m not, as long as that’s what you both want. I don’t want to get in between you, I don’t want to be some hitch in all of your plans for the future. If it would be easier for you both if I just disappeared, as if none of this ever happened, you can say that. It’s okay. I can take it.”

Looking at Minho, you were shocked to see tears in his eyes, his brow furrowed angrily.

“You’re so stupid.”

“HAN JISUNG! You’re a dead man!”

You couldn’t help the full blown cackle that left your mouth as you heard your soulmate yell at the other. Your laughter only rose as Jisung bounded into the kitchen, sliding behind the island as if he were playing baseball with Seungmin.

Your soulmate held a finger to his lips, begging you to keep your mouth shut only moments before a fuming Minho stormed into the room. He scanned the room, stalking over to you and dropping a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Where’s the menace hiding?” He murmured against your lips.

You let out a noise as if you were thinking before sighing. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you. Sanctity of marriage, and all that.”

“What about the sanctity of our marriage?”

You pat his shoulder, shaking your head in faux sadness and pouting at him. “He got here first.”

His eyes burned with a rage you were certain was playful. “Well in that case, if he wants to keep hiding, I guess I’ll just spend my time with you instead.”

Before you could so much as form a thought, your ass was firmly planted on the island, hips held in his hands as he took up position between your forced open thighs. He placed another kiss on your lips as he pulled your body to meet his.

“This is our kitchen!” Jisung shouted in dismay as he popped his head up over the counter.

You laughed again. Because of course that would get him to come out of hiding.

“You’re one to talk! It’s not like you haven’t made your fair share of messes in here.”

“The kitchen is a place for making delicious meals! Not shenanigannery!”

Minho raised one brow at the younger boy. “You did not just say ‘shenanigannery’.”

“I for one don’t mind some kitchen shenanigannery.” You giggled, playing with the hair at the base of Minho’s neck. You noted it was starting to get a bit longer than he usually kept it.

Minho growled playfully. “I like the way you think.”

“Oh so it’s okay when Y/n says shenanigannery, but when I say it, it’s a problem?”

“I’m mad at you right now!”

“I didn’t know you’d already fed Soonie! He was meowing like he was starved!”

“You’re the reason my cats are getting fat!”

“I am not going to apologize for loving and taking care of our babies.”

“Y/n, deal with your soulmate.” Minho groaned in response, tucking his head into your neck to hide away from your other soulmate, pulling you back into him once again.

You grinned at Jisung, curling your finger to motion for him to come closer. Pulling him into a kiss over Minho’s shoulder, you felt Minho stiffen as he realized he was sandwiched.

It didn’t take long for kisses to be trailed along the expanse of your neck, Jisung releasing you from your kiss to work along Minho’s neck. You tried to hold in your moans as Jisung rocked Minho into you gently, but Minho just sucked at your skin a little harder in response to get you to release the noises he craved.

Finally releasing you, Minho pressed one last kiss to your lips before turning to Jisung and wrapping his arms around his waist, reveling in the way his eyes were already starting to gloss over with want.

“I thought you said the kitchen wasn’t a place for shenanigannery.”

“Hm, did I say that? Doesn’t sound like me.”

One of your favorite parts about dating two international pop stars, was definitely the concerts. And one of your absolute favorite things to do at concerts was wear shirts that say ‘my boyfriend is on stage’ or something along those lines, and revel in knowing nobody took you seriously.

It was like your own little joy of publicly claiming your soulmates without breaking the internet.

Right up until it did break the internet.

You and the other soulmates usually avoided anywhere the boys would actually see you, due to yea, not wanting to publicize your relationships, but mostly because the boys would get extremely distracted and you all agreed to let them focus on Stay.

But when your friend that had initially told you about Stray Kids, and who you had yet to actually introduce your soulmates to, informed you she’d gotten tickets in the pit, you knew you couldn’t tell her no. You also hadn’t thought to inform Jisung or Minho about the plan, deciding on surprising them instead.

Worse idea.

The moment Jisung found you not too long into the very first song, he somewhat gracefully elbowed Minho mid choreography, and nodded in your direction. You couldn’t stifle your laughter when Minho misstepped and actually fell on his face. Which of course not only led to Jisung cackling, but to you getting completely singled out due to everyone else just being concerned.

You’d never truly realized how serious Stay was about the boys safety until that moment.

Jisung couldn’t keep the shiteating grin off his face and Minho couldn’t stop the blush growing across his cheeks if he wanted to. The Stay’s around your were appalled when he rolled his eyes and blew you a kiss before continuing on with the performance.

You enjoyed the show and the random attention your boys would offer throughout. You could tell they were trying really hard to focus on Stay’s but failed when they’d see you.

It wasn’t until you said goodnight to your friend after the concert and made your way to the back of the stadium to greet you boys when you realized you were way more obvious than you thought.

Scrolling through your phone, you were met with countless videos of you. Stays asking who you were, recounting stories of you in the pit, discussing your relation to the boys, who obviously knew you. Some were speculating you were Minho’s soulmate, some Jisung’s. Some were trying to protect you by telling Stay’s it didn’t matter.

There were clips of you laughing at Minho falling and of the kiss he blew you, clips of Jisung spacing out while staring at you. Your face was in almost every video on your for you page, and you knew you were going to get an earful about it from Riley.

The cackling that filled the room could only be described as a rock of noisy seals playing king of the hill.

Minho’s face was firmly hidden in your neck, his arms gripping around your waist for dear life, as Bee and Jisung recounted his face plant in dramatized fashion. You couldn’t fully stifle a giggle yourself every now and again, which would lead to Minho’s face getting even warmer against your skin.

“I thought it was cute bubs.” You tried to ease as you played with his hair.

“You laughed. In the middle of the pit. Surrounded by Stay.”

“Well it sounds bad when you say it like that.”

He just grumbled more and pulled you impossibly closer to him.

All of the laughter disappeared from the room the moment Chan and Riley stepped through the door. Minho refused to look up and acknowledge them, Bee and Jisung both sat like trained puppies that knew they were in trouble, and you just stayed where you were being held.

“Give me the news straight up Doc, how bad is it?”

Chan sighed, eyes fixing on you. “The company is giving you a choice. You all pretend you don’t know each other and it was just circumstance, or you come out as Soulmates to the public.”

You perked up at that. “All three of us?”

Chan and Riley shared a look that would’ve put you on edge if you hadn’t already felt about ready to jump out of your bones from the nights events. The smirk Riley leveled you with just about had you wanting to hide entirely behind Minho.

“They didn’t specify. Just that you admit to being a Soulmate.”

Bee scoffed. “There’s no way the company didn’t specify, why the hell would they not be specific about outing their own members when, oh. I’ve caught up.” Bee just fell right back into position and went back to being quiet.

You, on the other hand, were not at all caught up.

Chan nodded at Riley, who then stepped in front of you, gently taking the hand that wasn’t dutifully massaging Minho’s scalp.

“Chan and I have made the decision that if you want to come out as a Soulmate and make yourself a target of the public, you have every right to claim both of your Soulmates. We’re willing to fight the company on your behalf if it comes to it, but we couldn’t possibly imagine forcing you to choose which one you can love openly, and we especially would never force them to pretend to be something they’re not.

“The decision is entirely up to the three of you in any case. We’ll leave you to discuss and decide. But we want all of you to know that we’re backing you all one hundred percent in any decision you come to.”

“We want to be public!” Jisung spouted off.

Minho’s head shot up in tandem with yours whipping around to look at Jisung, eyes wide in shock.

“They told us to discuss it Jisung-”

“What’s there to discuss? None of us are going anywhere, Stay’s are just going to get more curious if they keep seeing Y/n at shows, and if we move now we have the least likelihood of getting fired because the internet is already gossiping about us.”

Chan stepped forward as if already ready for a fight. “You’re not getting fired in any case Sung.”

“You can’t guarantee Hyung. I appreciate it, I do, but you can’t guarantee it. The company owns us to an extent and they absolutely can do away with us at any point if they decide to.”

“Sungie, you might be overthinking this-”

“I think you guys are focusing on the wrong part of what I said. I just think like, hey why not? No time better than the present, right?” He made his way to you and Minho, grasping and squeezing a hand in each of his. “I love the both of you more than anything in this world. Even my career, should I get fired for it. I want to share you with the world, so what do you guys say?”

You looked at Minho, watching as a beautiful smile slowly dragged across his lips. You couldn’t hold back your own smile as you grabbed Jisung's phone right out of his pocket, went to his instagram, and wrote up a post with your favorite picture of the three of you. You made sure to include Minho and yourself as collaborators, and hit post before you could even consider your actions.

“Have fun with that, Baby.” You slipped his phone back into his pocket, pressed a kiss to his lips, and gave his chest two love taps before kissing Minho as well and finally freeing yourself from his arm prison. “I’m going to go face the consequences of my actions.” You muttered as your phone immediately started buzzing with your friends name. “Hey Eve-”

The whole room could hear the half yelling, half screeching, entirely rambling happening down the line.

“Lee Know and Han of Stray Kids reportedly Soulmates. An official statement was released by JYP Entertainment following a concert with some interesting footage of a person in the crowd, and later that evening what has been presumed to be the hard launch of the throuple.”

You didn’t know you could get happier. After finally falling into the arms of your Soulmates, moving in with them, getting to love and be loved by them everyday, you didn’t know it could get sweeter. But scrolling through your phone, reading the sweet posts and comments about you, seeing the fanart of you with your boys, all of it just made your smile never want to falter again.

You knew Stay would be accepting, save a few that claimed to be true fans but clearly were not, but you hadn’t expected the immense outpouring of love you and your boys received.

“This was a bad idea.” Jisung pouted, looking at your screen from over your shoulder. “Stay loves you more than us.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “No they don’t.”

Jisung just plucked your phone out of your hands, typing in just your name, and you watched as your feed was flooded with art, sweet messages, thirst tweets, and all sort of other stuff.

“You even have fanfiction about you already!”

That made you choke.

“I have what?!”

“Oh yeah, a lot of it’s really good!”

“Han Jisung, you’ve been reading fanfiction about me?!”

Minho entered the room at that moment, eyebrow raising immediately.

“What?”

“He reads it too!” Jisung outed, pointing at Minho, who just shrugged.

“Some of it’s really well written.”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“Only if you think of it that way.” Minho pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Maybe we could try out some of it sometime.” Jisung whispered, pressing a kiss to your other cheek.

You two soulmates shared wicked smiles that made you want to bolt. Or throw yourself at them. You couldn’t decide which.

They made the decision for you, Minho scooping you over his shoulder and Jisung grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he followed the two of you out of the room.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips over Minho’s shoulder.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Jisung.”

“I love both of you, despite doing all the heavy lifting while you two have all the fun.”

You and Jisung didn’t let Minho feel that way for very long.

Yeah, you were only getting happier and happier in life with your soulmates.

taglist💚 some didn’t work, boo tumblr😔