“What if we watch a romcom?” You look between the two who give you wary glances, but don’t respond. “If we’re going to watch a Marvel movie, we’re starting from the beginning and not watching anything else until we finish all of them. Is that something either of you want to commit to?” 

They both shrug as if you have all the time in the world, because you do. Every Friday night Yunho came over with snacks and soda in tow, sometimes beer if he had a particularly shitty week, and the three of you sat around your living room shooting the shit until you decided on a movie. It was an unspoken thing, your movie nights, your weekly hangouts, they’d started almost immediately upon moving into your shared apartment with your boyfriend, Mingi, and simply never stopped. Rarely did a week go missed. 

You huffed a heavy breath, sinking back into your couch, snuggling up to Mingi. You slid your gaze over to Yunho who held the remote, “What are you waiting for? Everyone knows the first watch is The First Avenger.” 

Yunho didn’t respond, but instead pointed the remote toward the TV, his hand completely swallowing the device beneath his palm as he searched the movie and put it on. You tugged the blanket that laid over the back of the couch over yourself and Mingi, laying your head over his shoulder, letting your arms wrap around one of his, letting his warmth seep into you. It’s been years since you’ve seen this movie, since any of you have seen this movie probably, yet your brain wanted to do anything else but pay attention. 

With it being days after your period ended you were now nearing dangerous territory, ovulation week, a week your boyfriend adored yet had to physically prepare himself for. You resembled a fucking hormone monster for a long five days, needing your boyfriend at all hours of the day to tame the fire that would not die down inside you. Before Yunho came over Mingi had already taken you six ways to Sunday, you only stopped because Yunho trudged inside your apartment with a six pack and a face contorted with grief. 

Another situationship over, he’d said. Not amicably, either. 

You didn’t see the big deal, she wasn’t anything special, the girl he was hooking up with six months ago that he ended things with was better for him than this one. But Yunho is Yunho, somehow still a glutton for punishment as if it didn’t completely offset how he was with women, how he fucked. Not that you knew from experience, but from the stories he’s told while five beers deep, lounged out in your living room, complaining to you and your boyfriend, you’ve learned some things. 

Things you could not think about right now. Not while your body was begging you to make a baby, not while you were literally laying on your boyfriend, not while Yunho was sitting just across the living room.

Right now was not the time. 

But would it ever be the time to think about your boyfriend’s best friend’s sex life?

It’s not that you inherently wanted Yunho. You couldn’t possibly deny a gorgeous man’s beauty, but it wasn’t about wanting Yunho. It was the stories, he never should have opened his fucking mouth– how he naturally slips into dominance with every woman he sleeps with, no, he doesn’t slip, it’s intentional. 

Yunho is a Dom. How he instructs, how he expects submission, how he corrects, how he tames. 

Your sex life with Mingi was far from dull, Yunho and his stupid stories should be miles from your mind, but you can’t control the thoughts, especially not right now. You untwist your arms from around Mingi’s bicep, letting your palm fall to his thigh, his bare skin feeling like velvet. So soft despite the hair that grew sparsely in that area, you’d give anything to let your tongue lick up the skin, to watch his eyes roll back, to hear his deep groan as you suck a mark into him.

Your thighs tightened at the thought, eyebrows twisting because you know Mingi could feel it, and how he shifted beneath you confirmed it. You tilted your head, peeking up at him with a sheepish look through your lashes, just to be met with a disapproving crinkle between his brows. 

You could basically hear his thoughts, Don’t even think about it. You almost pouted. I need you. Now. He shook his head once. Not here.  You looked toward the hallway where your bathroom was, that led to your bedroom. We have plenty of options.  He glanced at Yunho, then back at you. When he leaves, I’ll take care of you.  You held his gaze, I can’t wait that long.  He didn’t back down. You can, and you will. 

You huffed, shuffling to the side, putting inches of space between yourself and your boyfriend. You caught the sideways glance from Yunho which lasted all of a millisecond before his eyes were back on the screen, watching the movie again. You pouted, arms crossing over your stomach, legs propped up on the coffee table in front of you that was littered with empty bottles of beer and half-filled chip bowls. 

Mingi clearly wasn’t going to crack, and you could hold onto your anger until it killed you, so you leaned onto the armrest of the opposite side of the couch, the pillow shoved beneath you not giving a shred of the comfort your boyfriend’s body did. You kept your eyes trained on the screen, brain whirling in frustration and arousal, letting yourself daydream about Yunho’s debauched sex life until your eyes inevitably closed. 

You woke to fingers hooking into your waistband, sliding it down your thighs with careful precision, like he didn’t want to wake you. You lifted your hips anyhow, welcoming the head of black hair between your legs, eyes still heavy and low-lidded with sleep. Mingi looked up at you through thick lashes, gaze heavy, his lips slightly parted, as if he’s been waiting for this. 

“He just left,” he said like an excuse as your sweatpants hit the floor, black panties folded into the gray fabric, a contrast to your deep hardwood floors. Your back arched on command as he bent down, laying on his stomach, strong arms hooking under your thighs. 

“Mm, needed this pussy just as much as she needed me,” he didn’t dare glance back up at you, eyes zeroed in on your center, leaning in just as your legs parted. He started slowly, tongue slipping through your folds, his eyes softly shut, ripping mewls from the back of your throat, low and grumbled, muddled with sleep. 

Your hand flew to his hair as your chin tipped back, your neck digging into the uncomfortable armrest, the pillow beneath you doing nothing to soothe the ache. You didn’t care, you barely noticed, not with your boyfriend’s head between your legs, lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just the way you liked. He groaned as you pulled on his roots, tongue flattening against your folds, sliding upward to draw circles into your clit. 

You sighed, staring at him through heavy lids, watching as his face contorted in pleasure, how his hips rutted into the cushions at the end of the couch. He pulled a hand from beneath your thigh, ripping his mouth away to spread your folds with his fingers, finally glancing up at you. Noticing your expression, he let out a huff of amusement, lips tilted in a smirk, “Have a good nap?”

Eyebrows knitted in pleasure and anticipation, you nodded, lips parted, fingers that fell to the couch gripping at the fabric. He chuckled as he inserted the tip of his middle finger into your center, earning a gasp from you. With his focus back at your core, he asked, “What had you so worked up?” 

You were thankful he kept his eyes down, you couldn’t control the way your eyes widened ever so slightly, couldn’t hide your reaction to the last question you’d expect him to ask. You wished you could avoid the question, you couldn’t answer honestly and say that you were daydreaming about his best friend’s sex life.

You stuttered, “S-Steve Rogers was on the screen.”

He paused, looking back up at you with his eyebrows raised, “Steve Rogers had you ready to fuck me in the bathroom with Yunho, of all people, here?”

You cracked a smile, it was kind of funny, even funnier that it was believable. “Can you blame me?” 

“No,” he bid you one more amused glance before he slipped his middle finger inside you, “I can’t.”

You gasped a moan, back arching again, hips bucking up to meet the length of his finger. He pumped it inside of you once, twice before he was curling it, the pad of his finger rubbing up against that spot inside you that made your bones feel like jelly. You were loud now, moans slipping from your lips one after another as he built up a rhythm, his finger curling into you with each thrust, putting pressure where you needed it. When he brought his lips back down to suck on your clit your hands flew to his roots again, holding him there, broken cries leaving your lips, he was so fucking good at this. 

He knew how to coax you to orgasm better than you did by now. You supposed after being together for years, he should. You gasped when his teeth grazed your clit, hips bucking into him, curses flying from your lips. “F-fuck,” you hissed, “Yes, Mingi, just like that.” 

He grunted in response, feeling your walls tightening around his finger, quickening his pace, the rhythm you needed to push you over the edge. Your legs shook around his head, your breath catching in your throat, shakily inhaling with each wave of pleasure as he brought you to orgasm with ease, movements he’s been perfecting for years now. 

“Please tell me you’re planning on fucking me again,” you gave yourself no rest, staring at him through glassy eyes, your body heavy and slightly spent, you didn’t even know what number orgasm you were on today. 

“I don’t know if my dick still works,” he sat back on his calves, pulling your body towards him with your hips. One fluid movement, so easy, he was so strong, he could throw you around if he wanted to, god, you wish he wanted to. 

You rolled your eyes, arms reaching in front of you to wrap around his biceps, letting your fingers slip beneath the sleeves of his tee shirt as he bent down, bringing his face to yours. “I watched you hump the couch two minutes ago, Mingi.”

“Hey,” he pulled back before you could attach your lips to his, “Don’t make fun of me for that.”

“What?” You smiled, head tilting to the side, “I would never.”

He pouted, bottom lip jutting out, wet and plump and soft, your arms slid up to flatten your hands around his shoulders, pulling him back down. “I think it’s sexy that eating me out makes you desperate.” 

He finally kissed you, tongue slipping into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. You hummed, stretching your legs to lay them over his thighs, pulling him into you, where he rutted his hips into yours the second you made contact. You kissed for a while, letting your tongues sloppily lick into each other’s mouths, your hands flying into his hair again, his hands sliding down your torso. You let your mind drift as you kissed, thinking about how he pulled you into him so easily, how much he could rough you up if he wanted to, if he had a dominant bone in his body. 

Mingi is a lot of things, but you would never say dominant is one of them. Over six feet tall and so fucking strong, Mingi seemed intimidating until the moment he opened his mouth. Sweet, caring, eager to please, Mingi would do anything for you. He’d fight wars for you, swim across the ocean, you shouldn’t want anything more. You shouldn’t want anything different. 

And you don’t. Not really. 

Mingi is perfect how he is, you wouldn’t want him any other way. But curious you are, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d be like if he treated you like a pet rather than his girlfriend. Would he be anything like how Yunho describes his encounters? Would he be strict, would he control when you came, how you came? Would he choke you, slap you, take you in any way he wanted, instead of what you wanted?

What you wanted was to be fucked, and as Mingi slipped his sweatpants halfway down his flexed thighs and lined himself up with your center, you knew what you wanted would always be his top priority. Song Mingi didn’t know what the word selfish meant.

You didn’t deserve it, you acted like a brat earlier, huffing out of annoyance and putting physical space between you because you didn’t get what you wanted. But instead of punishing you, instead of fucking you only to get himself off, of denying you the pleasure of another orgasm, Mingi woke you up with his face between your legs. Because he knew you, what you wanted, what you needed, and Mingi’s life’s pleasure is making you happy.

You cried out as he sheathed himself inside you, nails painting crescents into his biceps, your eyes flying to the back of your head, flushing out your entire thought process. No, Mingi is perfect, the way he carves himself space inside you as if it’s the first time, every time, is more than you could ever ask for. He leaned back down, barely attaching his lips to yours, only the sounds of your breath and skin slapping against skin to be heard in your living room. 

With his hands still wrapped around your hips he tilted them upward, fucking into you harshly, angled to hit that same spot inside you, he wasn’t in the mood to draw this out and you couldn’t blame him. You’ve been insatiable all day, when you woke up, in the car earlier, against the kitchen counter before Yunho came over, you wondered if he had anything left to give you. You slid your hand down between your legs, drawing quick circles over your clit, your jaw falling slack, lips unresponsive against Mingi’s. 

“Gonna cum for me already, hmm?” He tried his best to sound like he wasn’t completely losing it, voice strained yet still teasing. His hips stuttering told the truth he tried to hide, he was just as close as you were. 

“Yes,” you whispered into his mouth, voice high pitched, on the cusp of orgasm, your hips meeting his thrusts like you couldn’t get him deep enough. 

He let his forehead press against yours, both surfaces coated in sweat, mixing together in their meeting, getting a glimpse of his fucked out face was enough to send you over the edge. Your knees tightened around his torso as you came, moans guttural and unabashed, embarrassment might’ve crossed your mind two years ago. But now he’s seen everything, he’s heard everything, he aches for it, if you aren’t cross-eyed and crying into his ear, he knows he isn’t hitting it right. 

“Yes, baby, that’s it, so fucking good,” he praises, hands gripping under your thighs, pressing them back, bending you in half. “Gonna fill this pussy up.”

Chest heaving, mouth ajar and unable to close, you could have finished again at the sight of him. Sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the muscles surrounding his hips peeking out from beneath the hem of his tee, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, Mingi was a vision, a sight to be seen. 

“Please,” you begged, voice whiney and desperate,  “Wanna feel you cum inside, I need it.”

His thrusts turned erratic, smacking into you harshly, a deep groan leaving his lips as he emptied himself inside you, fingers holding onto your legs tight as he came. Where you wouldn’t usually notice the sharp pain of his grip, your senses were on high alert, the feeling making you moan with him, the pain mixing with the comforting warmth of his cum filling you up. Hypnotizing, addicting, for a moment you thought maybe this wasn’t ovulation brain– maybe this was something you were really curious about.

Maybe something you really wanted to try. 

He keeled over, lips finding yours again, palms softly running over where he’d just gripped onto you, soothing the area. Your skin burned under his touch, you wanted him to do it again, harder this time, maybe wrap one of his pretty hands around your throat– 

“You’re cut off for the night,” he said into your lips, then pressed a kiss to your cheek. “No more sex.”

“Boo,” you wrapped your arms around his neck, crossing your ankles over his back, “If I keep you here maybe you’ll get hard again.” 

He laughed into your cheek, heavy and genuine, “You’re terrifying when you’re ovulating.”

“Says the man who just came inside me,” you pressed a kiss to his hair, then loosened your grip on him. “You want a baby more than I do at this point.”

He shrugs as he sits up, pulling out of you, “Sue me.” 

“We have a timeline, Song Mingi.” 

Sundresses, swim trunks and margaritas surrounded you, all of your friends bouncing around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s massive backyard, a ridiculously sized plot of land behind a farm-style rancher that they bought just last year. 

Don’t mind the setup, Seonghwa said, We’re still renovating!

Meanwhile an inground pool enclosed by several feet of perfectly laid concrete took over the space just outside the back door, a tiki bar, a patio with a full grill, a table and chairs, couches, a fucking fire pit… We’re still renovating, your ass. It was both perfect and absolutely ridiculous how much they have it together in contrast to yours and Mingi’s one bedroom apartment two towns over. 

They wanted to be the house, the place where all your friends and families gathered, the permanent hosts, and damn, did they succeed. They’ve been planning Wooyoung’s going away party ever since he broke the news of his job offer three states away, a bittersweet gathering, both in congratulations for Wooyoung’s raise and sadness that such an important voice in your friend group would be so far away. You hoped it wasn’t permanent, the selfish part of you hoped he hated it and came back to you guys immediately, he was the biggest light amongst you, one of your favorite people to be around, but you were also proud of him for his success, his hard work paying off. 

You could hear him laughing now from across the lawn, chatting with his girlfriend, Sana, Jongho and his girlfriend Jihyo, about god knows what, the sound warming your heart while breaking it simultaneously. You’d miss him more than he knew. 

“Want another, my love?” Mingi came up behind you where you sat, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek, stealing your glass out of your hand. 

You nodded, “Yes, please,” and watched him scurry off toward the tiki bar, Yunho and his date sitting at the teal colored stools lined up on the outside. You watched Yunho’s head turn toward Mingi, how he got off his stool to follow Mingi behind the bar, no doubt to help him make you another margarita. 

You turned your head back to the group lounging on the couches, Yeosang and his girlfriend Tzuyu, Hongjoong and Seonghwa, San and his boyfriend Jongin, everyone in the middle of a conversation you had accidentally clocked out of. You crossed your leg over your other one, fixing how your sundress laid over them, trying to ignore the sweaty stick of the summer heat on your skin, the alcohol that warmed your blood doing nothing to cool you down. 

Past seven, the sun was still annoyingly bright and agonizing, your hair tied up atop your head, probably matted at this point from the time you spent in the pool earlier. 

“...I keep telling you that you need to fire him,” San says to Hongjoong, his top lip bent in irritation, “He’s nothing but a lazy nuisance. If he messes up one more deal, I’m gonna talk to him myself.”

“He just started, San,” Hongjoong shook his head, “Cut the man a break.” 

San sips his whiskey instead of responding, his hand laying over Jongin’s knee, and it’s the reminder you needed as to why you initially clocked out of the conversation. You hated when they started talking business– even if that’s how all of them remain close, minus Wooyoung and Jongho, who are old college friends of Mingi and the others. They were all college friends, the group of them in the same fraternity, still close as ever post-grad, even now that so many of them work at the same firm. 

You loved when your parties and hangouts stayed free-spirited, light hearted, less talk about work and more stories from their college party days. Those stories you loved, especially the ones that included your boyfriend, the ones that told you exactly who he was before he met you. Not one story was surprising, though, he’s the same lover boy he’s always been, back then just included a lot more keg stands.

You let your eyes drift again, moving back to the tiki bar, where you caught Mingi, Yunho and his date walking towards where you sat around the fire pit. You shot them a tight lipped smile, grateful they were coming to join in on the conversation, hopefully derailing it to something more enjoyable. 

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called across the lawn, “Why don’t you guys come join us?”

You grabbed your glass from Mingi as he sat down next to you, thanking him before you took a sip. Cold and refreshing, just what you needed to cool you off, tequila and summer was your favorite combination. Yunho sat down beside Mingi, and you watched as his date propped herself on his knee, her hands folded in her lap, crinkling the fabric of her pretty sundress. Yunho sat back, one hand holding his beer, the other haphazardly laid on her thigh as if it was nothing.

You wondered if that’s something he told her to do, or if she chose to sit there herself. There was space next to him, even more space on the couches across from you, surrounding the fire pit. Was that a part of it? Yunho’s game? Maybe it’s not a game, a lifestyle rather than some joke, a clear show of possession so everyone in the circle knew she belonged to Yunho. 

Your tongue poked out to swipe over your bottom lip, ripping your eyes away from the pair, shoving the curiosity down. You turned into Mingi, crossing your other leg instead, your entire body leaning into him. You wondered if Mingi would ever ask something like that of you, maybe he would if he ever got jealous enough. 

Mingi isn’t the jealous type, though. He never has been. He has full trust in you, and that trust outweighs everything, lingering eyes of others, shameless flirting that you never caught on to. Even that one time where Yeosang’s hand lingered on your forearm for a little too long after too many drinks, telling you how gorgeous you looked in blue, Mingi still didn’t care. He nodded his head with an excited smile and said, I know, right?

You wondered what Yunho would do in that situation. Would he rip your arm away, take you into an unused bedroom, a storage closet even, and remind you who you belonged to? Would he leave marks, trailing from your jaw to your chest, to show who owned you if they stepped too close? 

Mingi nudged you with his shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to his concerned expression, giving him a small smile. He quietly asked, “You okay? Tired?”

You shrugged, “Was just thinking.”

He leaned over, kissing the top of your head, “Don’t think too hard, I’m starting to see steam coming out of your ears.”

You smiled, a huff of amusement leaving your lips. You don’t even know where you had been staring, if it was at anyone, you needed to control your thoughts, but they were starting to plague you. Especially when you caught Yunho holding up his beer bottle an inch above where it rested on his thigh, how his date immediately caught on, taking the empty glass and standing up to get him another. She was his date, it’s not like she was his girlfriend, someone who knows him well enough to understand his body language without a word being spoken.

The more you saw, the more you understood, the more it made sense. They were playing, even now, in front of everyone. You didn’t like the burning in your gut, the sting of jealousy, the interest it brought you, how a part of you wanted to try being in her situation. If you could be good, if you could pick up on cues so easily, so fast, if you could please. Will she be rewarded for it later? What does that look like? 

You ripped your attention away again, blinking, staring down at your margarita held between your fingers. You could be completely wrong, all of this could be innocent, she could be sitting on his lap because she wanted to be there. Maybe she got him another beer because she was being a good date, doting on him. You could be sexualizing it for no reason, which changes the burning in your gut to a burn of shame, embarrassment that you’re sitting with your entire group of friends, once again pondering over Yunho’s sex life. 

“What do you say we play beer pong, for old time’s sake?” Wooyoung’s loud voice washed over you like a bucket of cold water, grabbing your attention. Groans and laughter were mixed among the group, and Wooyoung tilted his head, his smile growing larger. 

“How old are we?” Jongho smacked his arm, sitting on the side of the chair Jihyo was sitting in, one thigh on either side of the armrest, “Twenty?” 

“Come on,” Wooyoung begged, his lips bending to a pout, “When’s the next time you guys are going to see me?” 

“Guilt tripping us into playing beer pong,” San shakes his head, a smile on his cheeks, dimples out on display, “Very you– And it worked.” 

Wooyoung cheered and Sana turned her gaze your way, meeting your eye, shaking her head with an amused smile on her face. You mirrored her expression, letting your eyes slide to Jihyo and Tzuyu, all four of you mentally preparing to sit on the sidelines while your boyfriends got trashed. All of you would have to deal with their hangovers in the morning. 

An hour later, you and the three girls plus Jongin were all seated just off to the side of the beer pong table, where all eight boys were loudly playing, laughing, or taunting the ones currently in the middle of a game. You listened to the commentary just as much as you were watching the game unfold, your ear catching every other sentence, laughing when one of them made a remark that was out of pocket, but the five of you currently in the midst of conversation didn’t have much attention left to give the game behind you. 

“...And she said she was not giving him the ring. It’s fucked up,” Sana sat back in her seat, her arms crossed over her bikini top, in the middle of telling a story. “She said she’d rethink it if I stayed with him for over a year after we move away, but I don’t believe her one bit.”

“Maybe she’s telling the truth, she’s probably just watching out for her son,” Tzuyu smiled at Sana, ever so optimistic, always looking at the bright side. Her brown hair laid in long braids down her shoulders, far past her bikini top, the tips just caressing the hem of her denim shorts. You tightened your lips, that was not what Sana wanted to hear right now. Wooyoung’s mom has never liked Sana, and you’re starting to think she never will. 

“It’s crazy how she thinks she can control your relationship, I mean, Wooyoung is twenty seven. He’s far past the age of her coddling him,” Jihyo added with her face twisted in disgust, that was what Sana wanted to hear, Jihyo was always good at fulfilling whatever idea Sana came up with. The two of them were a pair, the moon and the sun, where Jihyo appeared harsh and was sweet as candy, Sana was bright and colorful until she bared her teeth. 

“I know!” Sana said, a little too loudly, nervously glancing at the table behind you to check that none of the guys heard her, blonde hair moving with her. You’ve always been on Woo’s mom’s side, you always expected him to end up with someone… Nicer. He deserved someone who would treat him like a king, but in a way, you supposed Sana did treat him like one. Anyone else who wasn’t Wooyoung, though? That was a different story.

“I’m sure she’ll give in,” Jongin added, an encouraging smile on his face, he knows Sana just as well as you do by now. A linen button up laid loosely over his shoulders, the white a contrast to his golden, sunkissed skin. Him and San must have spent a lot of time at San’s beach house this summer. 

This was always the dynamic between you, the partners. Jihyo genuinely believed what she said to Sana, Tzuyu was supportive, and Jongin tried to keep the peace. You kept quiet, you weren’t much of a liar, and your brain couldn’t be farther from Sana’s impertinence.

Your knee bounced, margarita watered down and loosely held between your fingers, Yunho’s date was glued to his side at the table behind you. She didn’t leave him once, not when Tzuyu invited her to sit with you, not when Yunho was actually playing the game. She respectfully declined with a bashful smile, cheeks rosy and chest gleaming with a sheen of sweat, then she stayed hung off of Yunho’s arm like an accessory.

It was beginning to fucking consume you. Was that one of his rules? Was she not allowed to leave his side, stuck there to be his personal waitress? Was she getting off on it, too?

Was the reward really worth it? 

“Hello?” Jihyo tapped your knee, pulling your attention again, her smile amused as if catching you off guard was the funniest thing in the world. 

“Sorry,” you tried to smile, tucking your hair behind your ear, “Did I miss something?” 

“I asked how Mingi is, how you guys are,” Sana smiled the same way Jihyo did, “What’s got you so out of it today?”

You forced a chuckle, “My bad, I didn’t get good sleep last night, the margaritas are making me sleepy.” A lie so easily told, white lies you could handle. “We’re good, thinking about moving into something bigger soon.”

“Oh?” Tzuyu asked excitedly, “You guys have been in that apartment for years, are you thinking about renting or buying?” 

A two-story, white house, with three bedrooms and an open floor plan, yes, you were thinking about buying. You fought to not glance behind you, keeping your eyes trained on Tzuyu, “If we can get a good loan for a mortgage, we’ll own.”

Tzuyu cheered, her grin bright and wide, “I’m so happy for you, me and Yeosang always talk about how perfect you guys are together. Do you think he’s planning on proposing this year?” 

You smiled, a shy giggle escaping you as you stared down at your margarita again, “I think so.”

“Your wedding is going to be gorgeous,” Sana adds from across the small table between your chairs, “If it’s anything like how you decorate your apartment– and the bridesmaid dresses, don’t even get me started.”

You waved a hand, ignoring the bridesmaid comment, “I won’t, I’m not jinxing it. Who knows what might happen?”

You catch Jihyo as she rolls her eyes, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he proposed tomorrow, you’ve been together longer than any of us. You’re the OG girlfriend.” 

That ripped a laugh from your chest, it’s true, you’ve been with Mingi long before any of the other guys’ partners entered the picture. Jongin interrupted, “I could help you with a mortgage loan, you know, my dad’s a banker.” 

“When the time comes,” you nodded toward the brown haired man with kind eyes, then finally let your eyes fall to the table behind you, seeing who was playing now. 

Who might still be glued to their date. 

Mingi and Yunho were playing Yeosang and Wooyoung, a cocky smile on your boyfriend’s cheeks, a lazy smirk on Yunho’s. They must be winning. 

And his date, her dark hair up now, in a claw clip behind her head, two pieces fallen out and framing her face perfectly. She stood just beside Yunho, her drink clasped in her hands, barely a sip drank from the clear glass. You wondered if she was allowed to drink, or if that was one of his rules, too. 

Your lips pursed and you stood up, legs bringing you to your boyfriend before you could think about it. You slid in between him and San, the dimpled man throwing an arm over your shoulders, “You come to play?”

You smiled up at him, shaking your head, “Just wanted to watch.” 

“Wanna watch me win,” Mingi added, shooting you a wink, then tossed the ball across the table, sinking it into one of the red solo cups filled with water. 

You clapped with the rest of the boys, your grin wide as a low whistle left your lips, staring down the table at Yeosang and Wooyoung who wore red cheeks and sour faces. The difference in the amount of cups left standing made it clear who was winning, not that it surprised you, Mingi was always more competitive when he had Yunho by his side. 

You watched as Yunho’s date tugged on his wrist, whispering something into his ear, and he nodded down at her. She silently excused herself, dress flowing in the breeze as she walked across the patio, inside the back door. 

You watched, and then your legs were moving before you could stop yourself. You followed her in, just as she was draining her glass into the kitchen sink, one of her hands on her hip. 

She turned to you as the backdoor snapped shut, surprise on her face, eyebrows raised and lips parted. “Oh! Sorry, I would have left the door open for you.”

Ah, fuck, she’s nice. You smiled, walking across the hardwood floor, your sandals smacking with every step, “No biggie, I don’t think I’ve introduced myself yet, I wanted to say hello.” You introduced yourself, a smile on your cheeks, “Not in the mood to drink?”

She glanced down at the empty glass in her hands, then at the sink, then up to you. She laughed nervously, “I'm a slow drinker, it got watered down, not all that tasty anymore.”

You slowly nodded your head, “Totally get that. Did you need help finding the bathroom?” 

She looked around Seonghwa and Hongjoong’s kitchen as if you reminded her why she walked in here, the bathroom nowhere to be found. She smiled again, her cheeks rosy and squishable, face completely bare beside mascara, she’s adorable. A perfect, submissive girl. “Yes, please, that’d be great.” 

“Down that hallway and to the right,” you pointed to the dark hallway and she thanked you, setting her glass down in the sink and scurrying off in the direction of the bathroom. When she was out of eyesight, you pouted, you don’t know what you expected from coming in here, but you definitely didn’t learn anything new. You took a sip of your margarita, setting a hand on the kitchen island for purchase, your mind whirling. You wanted to know. You wished you could just ask. 

The door opened and closed behind you and you turned to find Jihyo walking in, her own cheeks red from the seltzers she’d been sipping on, the summer heat she’s been basking in all day. She smiled at you, eyebrows popping up in surprise and confusion, “Girl, what are you doing in here? You’ve been acting weird all day.”

Your lips pulled to one side, you wondered if Jihyo had any experience in this area, if she and Jongho ever explored in the way you’re curious about. If anyone in your group has done some experimental shit, it’s Jihyo. “Can I ask you a question?” 

Her face turned serious, quickly walking closer to where you stood, gathering her dark hair behind her head to pull up into a bun. “Of course, is everything okay?”

“Yes, yes,” you said, shaking your head, loosing a quick, heavy breath. “Is Jongho ever… Rough with you?” 

Jihyo paused in the middle of tying her hair, cocking her head to the side. “What do you mean ‘rough’?” 

You scrunch your lips, trying to reword the question properly in your mind. “Have you ever experienced… Like, a dominant guy? That kind of role, in a relationship?”

Jihyo’s lips curved upward, a devious smile on her cheeks, eyebrows wiggling. “You thinking about spicing things up with Mingi?” 

Your cheeks warmed, you looked down at the hardwood floor in embarrassment, then back up to her. “Possibly. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“Then yes, Jongho can be rough sometimes, but only when I purposely pissed him off or made him jealous or something. The relationship I was in before I started dating Jongho, though…”

Your entire face lit up, she giggled as she noticed. 

“He was a very strict man, but not in a gross way, more so in a… Domineering way, I guess, everything I consented to. He thought it was sexy to control unsexy aspects of my life, what I wore, how I acted, what I did, who I talked to. In bed, he was a fucking freak.”

Your eyes filled with stars, you asked, “In a good way?”

“Oh, absolutely. He’d tie my hands behind my back, attach a spreader bar between my knees, or put a vibrator on me and leave the room until he was satisfied with how long I’d been in there by myself. Then he’d come back in and fuck me like I hadn’t already came a gazillion times.”

You released a shaky breath, toes digging into the soles of your sandals. It sounded so… appetizing. 

“He was fun, that whole relationship was fun,” she smiled brightly, you almost felt bad about making her reminisce on something she loved so much, but clearly didn’t have anymore. 

You couldn’t stop yourself, asking, “Why’d you break up?”

“He cheated on me,” she rolled her eyes, “Ruined a good thing. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you nodded your agreement, cheeks warm, your whole body warm… You imagined Mingi tying your hands behind your back, attaching something between your legs to keep you from closing them, fully in control of your body and your pleasure. The thought was so hot, you could see it in your mind, you licked your lips as if it was happening now. 

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back,” Jihyo’s eyes flew back to the hallway, in the direction of the bathroom. Just as you started to warn her about Yunho’s date being in there, she bounced back out, apologies on her lips about being in there for so long. She was barely in there for five minutes. 

You followed her back into the backyard, not stopping by the table again, but sitting yourself back in your cushioned chair, legs crossed, slowly sipping your margarita. You didn’t want to see her fall back to Yunho’s side like a lost puppy dog. 

God, you needed to get a grip. The girl didn’t do anything to you. Jihyo’s story filled your head again, but instead of imagining Jihyo and the mystery man, it was you and Mingi, a vibrator strapped to you while he sat back, watching, analyzing, telling you no when you begged him to cum. 

When Jongin pulled you back into the conversation you were barely paying attention to again, your body physically shook off the thoughts, a chill cooling off your very blood. 

You really needed to get it together. 

“I have something I need to tell you.” 

Almost a full week after Wooyoung’s going away party, another movie night with Yunho under your belt, you couldn’t let these feelings fester for any longer, you were losing your fucking mind. Night after night, your boyfriend has rocked into you, sweet words on his tongue, soft caresses to your face. As much as you enjoyed it, you felt guilty for your feelings, for wanting more, something different. Admitting it was a start.

Day after day you’ve done little things, almost unnoticeable things trying to get his attention, trying to spark an ounce of jealousy. You made a comment about how good San looked at Wooyoung’s party, how he looked like he’d been hitting the gym– Mingi had given you puppy eyes, asking, “Should I start going to the gym more?”

You felt so guilty you dropped to your knees then and there, feeding praises into his ears, worshipping his body, vowing to yourself to never make him ask you a question like that ever again, to never make him feel self conscious or worth any less. The whole encounter left you feeling icky. 

But maybe another route would work. 

Just yesterday you asked him, What would you do if someone hit on me at the bar?

He furrowed his brows and said, Tell them not to do that, I guess?

You were getting nowhere like this, and it was frustrating. Granted, you probably should have just opened up and told him your feelings the moment these thoughts started crossing your mind. 

Mingi turned over in your bed to face you, eyes sparkling, staring at you like you were his whole world. You needed to bring this up delicately, propose it in a way that wouldn’t leave him feeling like he wasn’t doing enough, that he wasn’t enough. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, either. Asking him to slap you around was strangely feeling meticulous, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, eyebrows furrowed in focus and fear. 

“Is everything okay?” He asked, eyes glossed over with worry, he shuffled a bit closer to you in your shared bed, needing your warmth to soothe his own nerves. 

“Yes, baby, everything’s fine,” you smiled weakly, your arm stretching across the sheets to lay your palm over his cheek. “I’m just nervous to say what I need to, or ask my question, I guess. I don’t want you to feel like I’m unhappy, or that you aren’t doing enough, but… I’ve been thinking.”

He mirrored your smile, teasing, “You know what I say about you and thinking.”

A huff of a laugh left your lips, smile growing stronger, “I’m serious, Min.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” his smile grew too, genuine and light, he’s always been good at diffusing situations, easing your stress. “Hit me.”

“Funny choice of words, actually,” you start, and the crease between his brows shows itself. “Do you ever think about… Being a little rough with me?”

He lifts his head up off the pillow ever so slightly, surprise flashing in his big brown eyes, “Like, when I’m fucking you?”

“Yeah,” you watched his face morph into confusion, “Throwing me around, saying mean stuff, choking me a little, maybe even slapping me–”

“Slapping you?!”

“I don’t know!” You shuffle in your bed, sitting up straight, tucking the baby pink comforter in your lap, hands mindlessly playing with the fabric. Staring down at him, voice coated in shame, you asked, “Do you?”

He blinked a few times, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he says, “I don’t think I have ever, once in my life, thought about hurting you.”

“Does it freak you out if I say it’s something I might be curious about?” You lay a hand behind your back, using your arm to support your weight. Mingi shifts too, sitting up beside you, still staring at you like you’re a math equation he can’t calculate. 

“It doesn’t freak me out, I–” He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to figure out his own feelings, what to say. “When did you start thinking about… this?” 

“The night we watched that Captain America movie with Yunho,” you answer honestly, staring into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. He looks down at his lap, thinking, counting, before he looks back at you. 

“Dude, that was like two weeks ago,” he says, horror in his voice, “You’ve been sitting on this for that long?”

“It’s not a big deal if it’s something you aren’t interested in,” you wave a hand in front of you, trying to fake nonchalance, but there was no way to prove to Mingi this isn’t important to you if it took you this long to say something. He knows you far too well. 

He glances up at your ceiling, moving his lips, scrunching them to either side of his mouth, thinking. He finally looks at you, a gleam in his eye that you couldn’t place, “You really want me to be mean?”

“I–” Now it was your turn to look like a fish out of water, and then you realized this was the time to admit it, to tell him what you want. With defeat heavy in your voice, you said, “Yes, I do.”

“Okay,” he breathed, nodding slowly, “I can try.”

“Really?” you raised your brows, staring at him in surprise as if you expected him to say no. But this was Mingi after all, always eager to please, the man who would walk through fire for you. 

“You’ll have to, like… Tell me what you want in more detail, what to do, I mean.”

Your entire face lit up, eyes wide, grin bright, you jumped over the mattress to swing your arms around his neck and your thighs around his hips. You kissed his entire face, perched in his lap, mumbling thank you thank you thank you and he giggled beneath your assault, wrapping his arms around your back, holding you close. 

“Do you wanna do this, like… Now?” He asked when you stopped peppering smooches to the tip of his nose, his voice not quite uneasy, nervously curious. 

“We could,” you shrug, arms still hung over his bare shoulders, “We haven’t fucked since last night.”

“God forbid a day goes by where we don’t have sex,” he teases, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing lightly. 

You gasp, dropping your hips to drag against his barely clothed crotch, smirking when you feel him half-hard beneath you. “There should never be a day that goes by where we don’t have sex.”

“As long as you’re still you, there won’t be,” he says, still teasing as he presses his lips to yours, soft and sweet, normal. You sink into him, letting your hips drag over him in a slow but intentional rhythm, allowing your mind to ease, releasing soft gasps as his hands slide up your body, under your shirt. 

No, you didn’t need to do this right now. You didn’t want to. You wanted him, close to you, feeling his warmth and his weight anchoring you, to set the thoughts you’d finally gotten off your chest free. You told him, you’d talk about it, you’d plan, you’d do it. He said yes. God, you love him. You let your hands slide up his biceps, fingers dancing over the sides of his neck, cupping his cheeks to hold your world in your hands. 

“Not tonight,” you whisper into his lips, forgoing an explanation he didn’t need, “I changed my mind. Tonight, I just want you.” 

He smiles, bared teeth pressing against your lips, soft and comforting, home. “Yeah? You sure?” 

“We have time,” you pull him closer, chest to chest, elbows hooked over his shoulders and hips still rocking as if he’d feel the truth laid bare, in your skin, in your breath, in your bones. He didn’t need to change, you didn’t want him to change, if things stayed like this you’d still spend forever by his side. “We have forever.” 

He kissed you again, only breaking it to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere behind you, hands gliding up your skin with precision, feeling every dip and curve of your body. As if to burn it to memory, as if he didn’t know it already, as if he hasn’t worshiped every inch of your skin before. “I love you,” he murmured into your mouth, bodies still too close to be considered separate. 

“I love you,” you whispered, barely breaking the kiss, eyes closed and heart aching with how much love for him it contained. 

Another Friday, another movie night, another story told by Jeong Yunho. 

Except this time, you and Mingi were more versed in his area of expertise, your listening was active, asking questions, looking deeper. Where you once sat nodding, periodically saying mhm and no way, you were now asking him to explain, asking why. And because Yunho is Yunho, he answered every question with honesty, even over-explaining when your brow quirked too high for his liking. When he read the question on your tongue. 

For the past several days, you and Mingi have been doing research. Articles from legitimate blogs on the internet, books from the library, romance novels pulled from your bookshelf, Mingi had said, “If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.”

You hadn’t quite explored yet together– meaning he hasn’t necessarily slapped you around just yet. He’s taken it slow, tugged on your roots during a blowjob, extended your orgasm by ripping his fingers away at the last second, he even called you a slut once. Just once, though. And he apologized after. 

You didn’t think you could possibly be any more in love with him, but seeing him learn for you, express genuine interest in something you asked for, you couldn’t wait for the wedding  Sana was running her mouth about. But that could wait. For now, you were still exploring, experimenting, basking in the relief of getting this off your chest and doing something about it. You never want to withhold information from your boyfriend again, and Mingi might go into cardiac arrest if he finds out you’ve been sitting on your feelings ever again. 

Mingi’s been honest with you. He’s told you his doubts, his fears, that he’s petrified of doing something wrong, not knowing his own strength and hurting you, saying something vile that he can’t take back. You’ve taken them all in, easing his worries by offering him solutions, reminding him why you’re taking it slow. To set boundaries, to plan, to play, to find out if this is something he’d even enjoy. If either of you would enjoy it. 

Because in theory it sounds wonderful, a wet dream coming from the pits of your ovulation, but to put it into practice… What if either of you hate it? What if your sex life is forever tainted because you’re trying to fix something that isn’t broken? 

Clearly, you’re both overthinkers. But luckily, you’re both good at soothing each other, and Mingi has reminded you the two times that you’ve brought this up that nothing could destroy your sex life, the two of you were made for each other. There wasn’t much room for stress after that. 

Yunho came over with a smile on his face this week, a telltale sign that things were going well with his newest partner. Walking inside empty-handed and talkative, he cracked a can of beer from your refrigerator, starting his story from the beginning as his long legs brought him to your living room. He was playing with her at Wooyoung’s going away party, a detail he left out when he was over last week, when he was too engrossed in the freshness of dating her to get down to the nitty gritty. 

This week he was exploding with things to tell you both, his mouth running a mile a minute, sharing things you nor Mingi asked him to, but didn’t mind hearing. Especially not now. 

“The rules I made with her are different than the ones I’ve made with others,” splayed across the couch he always sat on, Yunho’s Spot you and Mingi call it, a leg hung over the armrest with the other stretched in front of him, he sat lazily, relaxed. Yours and Mingi’s apartment was always a comfort to him. 

“Like how?” You had your head laying on the godforsaken armrest, pillow beneath your head actually providing solace for once, your legs stretched over Mingi’s lap at the other end of the couch. He studied Yunho as he listened, hands on your bare legs, eyebrows bent only enough to imply focus. You knew it was more than just listening to his words, he was memorizing them, saving them for later. The sight made a soft smile live on your cheeks. 

Yunho sucks a breath through his teeth, brows rising as his head tips back in thought, silver hair a contrast to the deep charcoal of the cushion behind him. “She can only wear dresses around me, when we’re in public she has to ask permission to leave my side, she can’t drink unless I allow it, hmm… Oh, I banned bras. And panties.” 

You crane your head to see him over the armrest, mouth gaping and teeth poking out in a smile, a giggle leaving your lips. You fought the urge to say I knew it, instead reiterating, “Bras and panties?!” 

“What’s the point of it, though?” Mingi asked, and Yunho directed his gaze to his best friend, his eyes smiling just as brightly as his lips. Mingi glances between you and Yunho, “All the rules, they just seem… Inconvenient.” 

“Inconvenient for who?” Yunho raises his eyebrows, “Would it be inconvenient for you if your girlfriend walked around without a bra, without panties, in a dress?” 

“Not inconvenient for me, inconvenient for her,” Mingi should have just added duh at the end of his sentence. Yunho knew what he meant, but Mingi couldn’t read between the lines of his answer. Your tongue poked your cheek as your eyes danced between the two men. 

“Then you know the point of it already,” Yunho’s grin was sly, his head tilting ever so slightly, as if he knew why Mingi was questioning him. He never has before. 

Mingi’s lips fell into an O shape, you watched him put the pieces together in real time, another laugh leaving your lips. Mingi glanced at you for a second before his eyebrows knitted again, turning his head to look back at Yunho, “Why couldn’t she drink?” 

“Because it’d make her have to pee, and she has a piss kink,” you knew he was answering honestly by the look on his face, the ease of the words leaving his mouth. “It denied her of having the fun of toying with me and saved me the punishment of fucking her in Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s bathroom.” 

Your jaw dropped as your head whipped around the armrest, gaping at Yunho, “You’d really do that?” 

“If she disobeyed me?” He raised his brows, “In a heartbeat.” 

“In their bathroom?” Mingi’s eyes were as wide as yours, the corner of his upper lip bent upward in disbelief. 

“I would have done it in front of all of you if I had the consent of everyone in the room.” He said it so casually, too casually, as if this was normal, common. It could be these days, for all you know. 

Yours and Mingi’s eyes meet as surprise and intrigue cross his features, as if he was picturing himself doing it. As if he was curating a list of rules for you, too. You assumed you wouldn’t have to wash as many pairs of panties from now on. 

Mingi’s eyes trailed back to Yunho, you watched him swallow, the gulp of spit passing down his throat. “And when you say punishment…” 

Yunho smiles, daring and wicked, his eyes flaring with amusement. He sits up straighter, white tee pressed against the back of the couch, ankle crossed over his knee, he wouldn’t let your rare curiosity go to waste.  

You change spots, too, laying your head on Mingi’s lap instead of your legs, propping them up on the criminally uncomfortable armrest. You made a mental note to start looking for a new couch. Mingi lays a hand in your hair, not moving, just resting, as if he needed to touch you to feel grounded. 

“The humiliation,” Yunho released a dragged out breath, as if he loved the word, loved its meaning, the action. “I would have put her over my knee, made her tell everyone watching what she did, why it was wrong.”

Mingi blinked, his lips parted, as if he couldn’t fathom why in the world Yunho would do that. “You’d let everyone see that? See her?” 

Yunho shrugs, “If everyone was into it.” 

“She obeyed you though, right?” You ask, and he raises his eyebrows in your direction, acknowledging you, “Does she get, like… Rewarded for that?” 

Yunho smiled, a proud look sitting on his face, a soft nod of his head. “Of course she does, well, she did.” 

You raised a brow, imploring him, and his smile grew as if he could read every thought in your mind. “You two are curious tonight.” 

You can feel the embarrassment in your cheeks, and as you look up to Mingi, you see a faint blush spread over his nose. If you could see his ears from where you laid, you’d bet they tipped red, too. Neither of you are being shy with your curiosity, and it was clear. 

Yunho didn’t wait for either of you to answer, “I’ll bite. We didn’t even get back to my place, to be honest. She got to finish twice in the car, another three times when we got back for good behavior.” 

A huh? ripped from your chest, a disbelieving sound, just as Mingi screeched, “Five?!” 

You thought back to when she went to the bathroom at the party, how she tugged on Yunho’s wrist before she went inside, how he nodded toward her in allowance. You wonder if you’d be willing to let it be taken so far, or if you truly just wanted to be slapped around. You supposed you would if five orgasms were waiting for you afterward. 

“They weren’t easy, don’t say it like that,” Yunho waved a hand, long fingers bending the air around him, “I was forcing them out of her by the end of it. She likes overstimulation.” 

You peeked up at Mingi again, whose lips you think were going to stay permanently parted for the duration of the conversation, with his thick, deep eyebrows touching his hairline. He was shocked— so were you, even if neither of you should be, you’re no strangers to multiple orgasms in a session. But five, for good behavior, a reward like that, it almost made you hand your boyfriend a notepad and a pen and say Yes, I want that. 

Yunho’s laugh sends a shiver down your spine, your body involuntarily jerking at the noise, head shifting in your boyfriend’s lap. It sounded borderline condescending, which you weren’t sure if you were making up, or if it was on purpose. Your eyes widened as you felt it, the fucking boner Mingi was sporting beneath your head. He knew you felt it, you could see it all over his face, the blush you thought was from the nature of the conversation, no, he was horny, and Yunho didn’t seem like he was anywhere near done with the conversation. 

Realization hits that Mingi must be thinking about doing that to you, and he’s hard. You might have started jumping for joy if you didn’t have to explain to both men why. 

“You guys look like you’ve never heard anything like this in your life,” Yunho’s laugh is still showing on his cheeks, the way his head is tilted, his eyebrows slightly raised, smugness oozing off of him. “I’ve told you stories before.” 

“Yeah, but…” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the answer you were about to give. He didn’t need to know you were experimenting, or attempting to. No one needed to know. “It’s just crazy.” 

“Yeah, you’re crazy,” Mingi adds from above you, the both of you nodding your agreement, hiding why you’re both so god damn affected. His clothed cock pressing against your head, having to pretend like it isn’t there, Yunho so easily talking about how he punishes and rewards his partners, how arrogance seemed to be possessing him, it was all too much. 

Yunho raises his brows, his smile still present on closed lips, as if the two of you were transparent. Completely see through, thoughts and feelings laid bare for him to see. If you could peer into Yunho’s mind you might see that he’s enjoying this, that he knows exactly what he's doing, toying with the two of you might be the most fun he’s had in months. 

He can see how pathetic the two of you are, you’re wearing it. Too many ideas are brewing in his mind, ones he’s positive he can never verbalize, but if the two of you kept looking at him like that…

“I’ve told you worse, remember when that one girl thought it’d be funny to flirt with that random guy, when we all went out to the club? It was back in February I think,” Yunho’s glancing between you both now, like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction painted on your faces. “I tied her up and left her alone in the bedroom, in the dark, for an hour?” 

You gulped. You remembered this story. Mingi was only growing beneath you, he remembered this story, too. 

“She was a crying fucking mess by the time I went back in, so wet, didn’t take any prep at all for me to fuck her. She didn’t cum once that night. Never did that shit again, though.” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. You think of a few weeks ago, when Yunho was once again across from the two of you, when you put space between yourself and Mingi, a part of you hoping he’d fuck the brat out of you. You couldn’t even imagine Mingi tying you up and leaving you alone, he’d probably be crying before you would, or he wouldn’t even leave the room. But the thought of it… If he could… You crossed an ankle over the other, trying to create some kind of pressure between your thighs, friction to alleviate your core that was beginning to throb. 

Mingi’s grip tightened ever so slightly in your hair and you knew he was showing you the restraint he was quickly losing, that he needed you. Your eyelids fluttered at the feeling. 

“How did you get into this? This, uh, lifestyle,” Mingi’s voice was shallow, his mouth drying, he was feeling it just as much as you were. You don’t even know if you heard his question let alone the answer, not when you could feel his cock under you, begging to be touched, probably leaking, the tip red and aching…

Mingi pressed a finger to your cheek and your lips fucking parted. He was only trying to get your attention. “You okay?” Mingi asked, need flashing in his eyes, an unspoken question, a statement. Oh, Yunho has done it now. 

I need you.  You blinked. Now? A small nod. Now. Get him out. 

“Not feeling too good, honestly,” you pouted, letting a hand fall across your forehead, “Do I feel warm to you?” 

Mingi’s lips scrunched trying to hide his smile, you were the better liar out of the two of you. His palm hit your forehead, “Hm, you do feel warm.” 

“Let me feel,” Yunho crossed the living room in a quick stride, his hand falling to your forehead fast, before you or Mingi could think up a silly excuse. His hand damn near laid from ear to ear, sending a spark of something through your entire body. “Damn, you are warm.”

He needed to get out, now. You give him a weak smile, “Must be coming down with something, I’m sorry to cut the movie night short.” 

He shakes his head, then clasps Mingi’s hand, and goes to grab his keys off the coffee table, “Don’t worry about it, there’s always next week, Iron Man can wait. Feel better.” 

“Thanks, Yun,” you call after him, tucking your smile away until you hear the front door close— 

Mingi pounces. Strong arms tugging you onto his lap, assaulting your lips with his own, rough palms slipping under your shirt, thumbs hooking into your waistband. There was no time to waste. 

“Fuck,” he cursed into your mouth as you rolled your hips against him, shorts dragging against his sweatpants, and you smiled at his sensitivity. “Fuck, I need you.” 

“Yeah?” You rolled your hips again, harder this time, “That bad?” 

His fingers tighten on your hips, digging into your skin, his jaw going slack, mouth unresponsive against yours. You let your hands feel up his chest, his shoulders, his neck, lips ghosting his jawline as he guides your hips against his. 

His head tilts back as your lips attack a sensitive part of his neck, right below his ear. His voice comes out deep but breathy as he says, “Wanna make you cum five times, too.” 

Excitement shoots up your spine. You sit back, hands resting on his shoulders, a grin on your cheeks, “Do it, then.” 

He scoops you off his lap and falls to his knees, a muted thump was heard as cotton covered skin hit the hardwood of your floor, he laid you on your back as if you were fragile, made of glass. Your legs parted after he slipped your shorts off anyway. 

You kept your hands in his hair as his tongue worked you open, your first orgasm coming quickly, easily, praises falling off your lips, skull digging into the floor beneath you. Mingi didn’t stop, though, not as his black locks ran taut between your fingers as you pulled in an attempt to get him away, when the pleasure became too much. 

It was on purpose, the pleasure was fucking blinding, pleasure and pain, the sting of your orgasm that never fully finished turning into another, a pit in your stomach that ached with every swipe of his tongue. Your hips bucked, trying to chase him away, attempting to overpower strong arms holding you down by the bone. 

“Mingi— holy shit,” you cried, eyes wide and staring down at him where he was doing anything but looking up at you. Focused, tongue moving in perfect circles, flicking at your clit with enough precision to tell you he wasn’t letting up. Your movements seized, joints locking up, breath getting caught in your throat as he pulled you under, forcing another orgasm to wash over you. 

He ate you through it again before you were keeling, abdomen clenching, body jerking enough to where it was annoying for him to keep holding you down. His lips let go with a pop, sucking in a deep gust of air as your bones went fluid, body sinking into the hardwood floor. 

Mingi smacked his teeth with plump, swollen lips. He lifted himself up by his arms, saying with a steady voice, “Turn over.” 

You opened your eyes again, staring at hunger incarnate, “On my knees?” 

He lifted himself farther, sitting on his calves, wrapping his fingers loosely around your ankles where they sat planted on the floor. Again, he said, “Turn over.” 

You blinked, “I can’t if you’re holding my ankles like that.”

In a quick motion, he pulled you toward him, forearm scooping under your back, and your palms were pressed to the hardwood floor in a second’s time, knees stinging as the deep swirls of oak stared back at you. You hissed, “Fuck, that hurt.” 

Hands that were already sliding up the backs of your thighs paused, “You okay?” 

You smiled, thinking of all the limits you’ve discussed in the past weeks, your safe word, what to do in case you couldn’t say it. “I know what to say if I’m not.” 

“Good.” 

Your elbows hit the floor as his fingers slipped inside, his other hand holding onto your ass, squeezing your skin. “O-Oh my God, Min,” you cried, letting your forehead drop to your open palms, your back arched up into him as his fingers hooked into you, hitting that spongy spot inside, your toes curling, shins lifting off the floor. 

It was overwhelming. Yunho had left barely ten minutes ago and you’d already came twice, Mingi working you up to a third without any reprieve. You could hear the smile on his face as he asked, “You gonna cum again? Gonna be good for me?” 

You wailed as his fingers assaulted the spot, slipping in and out of you, curling, massaging, your body jerking at every movement he made. He sucked in a breath before he pulled his hand off your ass, letting it fall back down with a heavy smack, “Answer me.” 

Your moan was treacherous, loud, somewhere between a score of pleasure and a cry of pain as you came again. Weaker this time but still as blinding as the first, you shook, he hit you. Not as hard and not as confident as he could be, it was still pain mixing with the pleasure, a cocktail of endurance and emotion, a step forward. 

“Baby,” you could barely hear as both hands soothed your ass cheeks, rubbing circles into the skin. “Answer me, my love, need you to say something.” 

You weren’t sure if your consciousness was still inside your skin, or if you were floating somewhere beyond. 

His hands hooked into the crevice where your hips met your thighs, pulling you backward into his lap, moving and dropping you as if you were light as a feather. He was moving too fast, your brain could barely keep up, overwhelmed and overstimulated. You sunk into him, the smell of him pulling you back down to earth, the heat of his cheek pressed against your head warming you. “I’m okay,” your voice came out weak, lagged, tired. Your knees burned, but the fire he had lit inside your belly blazed. 

“You swear?” He took your chin in his hand with care, forcing you to look up at him, concern bubbling wildly in his eyes. 

You nodded, “I swear. You can keep going.” 

He kept you in his lap, his hands moving slower now, uneasy. Fear bled into you with every touch, under your tee, as he unclipped your bra, even fumbling with the clasp. You could taste his nerves. 

But his cock still stayed hard beneath you, pressed up against your back. After he tugged off your shirt and bra you faced him, bare legs wrapping around his hips, your boyfriend fully clothed where you sat naked, but not uncomfortable at the difference. You let your lips crash into his again, picking up speed, trying to show him your hunger when his had gotten foggy, masked with fear and concern. 

He let you lead him, tongue dancing with yours, his hands sliding over your skin with more confidence now, more pressure. You smiled into him, “You still owe me two more.” 

He matched your smile, “And here I thought we were past your insatiability.” 

You let your bare center drag over his clothed length, gasping when it brushed against your clit just right. “I want you inside me.” 

“I’m supposed to be telling you what to do,” his hands fell to your hips, grinding you against him harder, grinning when your head fell to his shoulder. 

“Then tell me how you want me to ride you,” you mumbled into covered skin, your hands sneaking beneath the hem of his tee, fingers tracing his toned abdomen. 

“Why do you get all the power?” He placed his hands under your ass, lifting you to shift onto his knees, you yelped when he stood up, easily holding you steady through the movement. A show of strength, a display of dominance, one that sent all the blood on your body straight to your still pulsing clit. 

You clung to him on the walk to the bedroom, your arms hooked around his neck, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin. All the daydreams you’ve had and research you’ve done was paying off now. This was better than anything you could’ve imagined. 

He threw you onto the bed before he tugged his shirt over his head by the collar, pulling his sweats down just enough for his cock to spring out. Standing before you in all his glory, Mingi’s cheeks were pink, eyes glossed over and hazy, hair shooting out in four different directions atop his head thanks to your incessant pulling. God, he was fucking beautiful, you sat up on your knees and crawled towards him, wanting to taste—

He stepped back so you couldn’t reach, his right hand wrapping around the base of his cock, squeezing when it was already red and leaking, just as you imagined. You pouted. He raised his eyebrows. “You want my cock, don’t you?” 

You met his eyes to find arrogance, something you’ve only seen on your boyfriend a handful of times. You swallowed down the thrill, nodding your head, “Yes, I want it.” 

He pumped the length of his cock, a groan sneaking out of his lips, his head falling to the side, eyes fluttering shut. You gasped at the view, your eyes trying to catch the full length of him, not knowing where to look, not wanting to miss anything. Slowly, he built up a rhythm, and you whimpered from your spot on the baby pink comforter. 

“Please, let me,” your eyes stayed glued to the way his hand dragged down the length of his cock, how his tip leaked beads of precum, lubing up his hand. He ignored you. “Mingi, please. I need it.” 

He groaned instead, his hand pumping faster, until he finally opened his eyes. In a low, lazy voice, he moaned, “Fuck, feels so fuckin’ good.” 

Your mouth hung open at the sight, he really wasn’t going to let you touch him. Was it because you told him to fuck you? He really thought you were taking the power from him? 

“Please, Mingi,” you were whining now, fists balling at the comforter beneath you, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip jutted outward. 

He tsked. “Get down here. On your knees.” 

You’ve never moved faster in your life. Sitting on your calves before him, knees burning again, hands in your lap, staring up at him with every hope in the world, you waited for instruction. He wasn’t fucking around. 

He pumped his cock faster, palm circling the tip, squeezing his hand as stuttered moans poured from his lips. He wasn’t even looking at you, eyes focused on his cock, “Open your mouth.” 

With your tongue out you sat up on your knees, eyes glued to his cock, waiting for his cum. Your cunt throbbed between your thighs, three orgasms weren’t enough, you needed more, you needed him, his cock filling you up, to cum around it. His moans grew in pitch as his wrist jerked faster, stuttering, his hips bucking forward into his hand, his eyebrows knitted together. It took everything you had not to slip a hand between your legs. At least you were a quick learner. 

He came with a loud groan, ropes of white hitting your tongue, your nose, your cheeks, your eyebrows. You moaned with him as you felt the warmth on your skin, swallowing him down, licking your lips to catch what you could. 

“Good girl,” his voice had dropped another octave, as if he was getting comfortable in his rank now, dominance surrounding him like an aura. You smiled up at him, stars in your eyes as he took his thumb to your face, scooping his cum off of your cheeks, nose, eyebrows, then promptly shoved it past your lips. 

You gagged at the sudden intrusion, but swallowed him down anyway, lips wrapping around his thumb to suck it clean, tongue sliding against the underside. He patted your head with his other hand, a small smile sitting pretty on his cheeks, “So good for me, baby. Kiss me.” 

You stood up on wobbly legs and kissed him, he could probably taste the gratitude on your tongue, how much you fucking loved this, loved him. He moved to sit back on the edge of the bed, never breaking the kiss, hands on your waist, tongue licking into your mouth to taste the leftover remnants of his release. Your knees planted into the mattress as you climbed on top of him again, a hand between your bodies, slipping his cock between your folds, spreading the wetness where it gathered. 

“Holy shit,” he gasped out, breaking away from your lips to glance down between you, “You’re so fucking wet.” 

“That was so fucking hot,” you said in the same tone he used as he looked back up to meet your eyes, “You’ve never done anything like that before. I’m dying.” 

He huffs a laugh into your lips, “Dying is dramatic.” 

You kissed him again, “And I meant it.” 

You dragged your core along his shaft, sliding over his length, and he hisses into your mouth in overstimulation. You smile, “Now you know how it feels.” 

“Sit on it,” he grabs his cock with one hand, your hip in the other, completely ignoring your remark, “Now.” 

You cursed under your breath at the tone of his voice, at the desperation and order mixing together, how badly he wanted you, needed to feel you, yet overstimulating himself to do it. His cock was already hard again in his hand as you lined yourself up on top of him, hands bracing yourself on his shoulders as you started to sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch with ease. 

The sound was deafening, how pathetic the two of you sounded, the whine-coated moans cracking from your gut. Your nails clawed into his shoulders, eyes screwed shut at the stretch, at how easily he slipped inside. His voice was strained, “Too fucking tight, gotta open up for me, relax.” 

You were too excited, your joints locked up from adrenaline and anticipation. You took a deep breath, letting your body relax, unlocking your limbs, forehead falling forward to rest against his. His hands come up to your waist, rubbing circles into your back, “There you go, my love, you feel so fucking good.” 

You whimpered at the praise, hips bucking forward involuntarily, “Can I move?” 

“Go ahead, baby,” he said, letting go of your waist, leaning back against the mattress on his elbows, “Show me how badly you wanted to ride my cock.” 

Your jaw went slack at the words, hips immediately picking up and dropping back down on him, your hands sliding up your stomach to pinch at your nipples. You bounced on him slowly at first, watching his face contort in pleasure, letting the sound of him guide you, encourage you. Eyebrows slanted and lips parted he moaned and moaned, hips jerking into you every few thrusts, silently telling you to pick up the pace. 

“Mingi,” you breathed, a hand on his abdomen, using it to balance your pace, “Choke me?” 

His eyes widened, “I— I don’t—”

You reached an arm forward, this was one of his unsure areas, where he was scared of his own strength, of hurting you seriously. You wrapped a hand around his throat, fingers pressing into the sides, “Like this.” 

The moan he released stopped you completely. It happened in slow motion, the squeeze of your fingers, how his lips parted, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, how you pulsed around his cock at the sight, at the sound. 

Now it was your turn to widen your eyes in surprise, “Oh.” 

He brought his hand up to wrap around yours, his hips fucking up into you harshly, overwhelming your nervous system, shattering your god damn mind. Oh, he really liked that. You couldn’t fight the smile breaking across your cheeks, your words coming out jagged through his thrusts, “You liked that?” 

He whimpered, broken through the pressure of your fingertips, and a small, shy nod of his head. You just wanted to show him how. Encourage him to do it himself. This opened another door completely. 

You released him after a moment and he took a deep breath, eyes wild, gasping out, “Holy shit.” 

You nodded with a wicked smile, your hips picking up the pace, “You really liked it?” 

“Do it again,” he whispered, pushing himself up by his forearms, pressing his chest against yours as you changed your speed, rocking against him, a dirty grind against his cock as your fingertips danced over his throat. 

You leaned in, whispering, “Kiss me,” against his lips, and he did, his mouth following your lead, up until you tightened your grip around his throat and pressed into the sides with light pressure. 

“Fuck,” he whimpered against your lips, the sound broken and raw, and his jaw went slack again, his eyelids fluttering, his cock throbbing inside you. You could have fun with this. 

You dropped your hips against him harshly, making him jolt into you, not a thought behind his fucking eyes as they widened, “So desperate, I told you to kiss me, didn’t I?” 

“I can’t,” he cried, eyes closed, chin tipped back, “Feels so fucking good. Harder, please.” 

You laughed in disbelief as you picked up your pace, the begging felt good, great even, your body consumed by another pleasure entirely. This was incredible. Maybe you could understand why Yunho does what he does, the sheer pleasure he must feel from breaking his partners down, having them at their wits end beneath him.

Having Mingi like this was unexpected but so fucking hot, even under a spell his cock was still hitting that perfect spot inside you, making you moan in tandem with him, a song of pleasure and worship filling the room, masking the noise of skin slapping against skin. 

You let him go to brace your hands on his shoulders and his head fell against your chest, lazily kissing at your skin, his hands coming behind you to graze his fingernails down your back, making you hiss out at the sting. “Shit, Min.” 

He whimpered again, making your hips stutter as you tried to ride him harder, faster, clenching around his length, and his fingers clawed at you deeper. Your back arched, “Yes, feels so good inside me, you’re so fucking perfect.” 

“Need you to cum,” he said against your chest, a mumble of words, barely comprehensible. He glances up at you through his lashes, eyes sparkling and vulnerable, “Need to feel you cum, need it. Wanna fill you up.” 

Your face twisted in pleasure, at the look on his fucking face, “Oh— Oh my God.” 

You clenched again and he whined, “Fuck, I’m gonna fucking cum.” 

“Wait,” you barked out, rushing a hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, “Hold it.” 

His head tipped back, his features scrunching together, hands slipping down to your hips to squeeze, to guide you into fucking him harder. Deeper. 

You gasped out a cry as you drew quick circles on your clit, still bouncing on him with the same rhythm, “F-Fuck, I’m so close, fuck, Min.” 

“Yes,” he encouraged, “Cum for me, wanna feel it. Wanna feel you cum around me, please baby, give it to me.” 

Your hips stuttered as you felt your high hit its peak, Mingi whining at the loss of rhythm, leaning back on his elbows to fuck up into you, his legs pushing against the bed frame surrounding your mattress. Your orgasm crashed over you, sending you forward, body folding in on itself as your vision went white, ears ringing as your body collided into his. 

Mingi cried out, hips bucking and jerking into you to get himself off until he filled you up with his second load of the night, a sigh full of pleasure and contentment escaping him as he finished, his joints finally unlocking, laying flat against the bed. 

After a moment his arms curled around you, pulling you up, laying your head on his chest from where you landed awkwardly over him. His hand went into your hair, rubbing lazy circles into your scalp, pressing his lips to the top of your head. 

“Did I kill you?” He asked, voice teasing, and you grumbled a noise in response. “We can talk about it tomorrow if you want, but we still have to get you all cleaned up. Don’t fall asleep yet.” 

You stuck your tongue out, licking the patch of his skin that was just beside your mouth to show him you were awake, making him shuffle in discomfort. He let out a small, disgruntled sound of surprise, “Eugh, don’t lick me.” 

“Are you serious?” You picked your head up ever so slightly to see his face, which didn’t look disgusted at all. 

A sweet smile sat on his cheeks, one not embarrassed, not shy, not regretful, but happy. You could have sighed in relief if you weren’t absolutely exhausted. He faked a pout, “You look so tired, and I still have one more orgasm to give you.” 

He laughed when your face twisted in surprise and fear, you don’t think you even have the strength for a shower. 

But because Mingi is perfect and knows you better than you know yourself, he ran the two of you a bath. 

And you talked. A little. 

But he definitely ripped that fifth one out of you. 

You did end up talking about it the next day. 

And the day after that, and the day after that, for two weeks. It seemed you and Mingi couldn’t stop talking about it, that night, his words, his assertiveness, how he jerked himself off onto your face, how your hands wrapped around his throat. It quickly snowballed into more, the two of you turning into monsters, it was as if your insatiability had grown a twin and possessed your boyfriend. 

“I don’t know what happened,” at your favorite coffee shop in town the next day, the two of you sat cozied up in a booth, laptops out, but the last thing you were doing was working. “Something inside me, like, opened I guess. You put your hand around my neck and I thought I was gonna cum on the spot.” 

With your cheek in your palm, you swirled your straw in your coffee cup, the doc you had open on your laptop screen long forgotten. “You really never thought you’d be into anything like that?” 

Mingi shrugged, bringing his attention back to his screen, he drew mindless circles on his keypad with his finger. With his eyes on his laptop, big navy frames sitting on his nose, he admitted, “I don’t know, I never really thought about it.” 

“Funny how I was trying to show you how to choke me,” you teased, lifting your head from your hand, straightening in the booth. “And here we found out something new about you.” 

He rolled his eyes, a shy smile growing on his cheeks, still not looking at you, “Yeah, yeah, I owe you one.” 

“No, not at all,” you shake your head, “We should just see what happens. What the vibe is when we’re in it, you know?” 

He meets your eyes, cheeks dusted pink, “You’re okay with it? Like… If I asked you to do that to me again, you’re okay with it?” 

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head, was he embarrassed? You leaned forward, keeping your expression serious, “Song Mingi, that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen you do. One of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, actually.” 

His eyebrows raised in surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting that answer. You smiled, hoping it came off as reassuring as you needed it to, “You’re not the only person that learned something about themself last night.” 

His lips curled up at the edges, lopsided smile crawling across his cheeks, “I still wanna try doing it to you.” 

“Good, because so do I,” you leaned back in the booth, still smiling, and you hoped his chest felt lighter, because yours definitely did. 

The next morning, he beckoned you awake by peppering kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, but his hand sliding between your legs is what had your eyes finally opening. 

You hummed in delight, sleepy mind curating nonsense to mumble as you stretched your arms over your head, spreading your knees to welcome to intrusion, the skilled fingers that knew exactly what they were doing. 

Silently he worked you open, pressing kisses to your lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth to really get you there— he forced the taste of an orgasm on your tongue before he ripped it away, popping his fingers into his mouth instead. 

You almost cursed him out for it, eyes wide, jaw dropped and pissed, but he just smiled.

“Be good for me today and you can have the rest later.” 

You wore a scowl the entire day, even if thrill was coursing through your blood, excitement for what awaited you at home. He texted you mid-day while you were hard at work at your desk, asking for a present, a sexy picture in your job’s bathroom mirror. 

You swallowed down your embarrassment, ears burning as you sped to the bathroom, eyes darting all around your office to make sure no one noticed, that no one saw you. An absurd fear. 

Relief washed over you when the bathroom was empty and you quickly pulled your skirt down to your thighs, your ass laying right over the hem, plump and picturesque. You took a few, sending them all to him immediately, feeling scandalous and prideful that you’d done something so sexual in your job’s bathroom, and didn’t get caught. 

He sent back a picture of the print of his cock through his slacks, his hand squeezing the base, his veins popping through his pearly skin, the watch sitting on his wrist making it so much hotter. With a caption just as incriminating as the photo, you salivated, tongue swimming in saliva as your thighs squeezed together beneath your desk, lip caught between your teeth. 

Your body burned as you set your phone down, barely able to concentrate on your work as you completed your day, fighting with your mind to keep focus. By the time you got home he was waiting for you, already hard, stripping the skirt off your hips before you’d fully made it through the threshold of your apartment. 

Five seemed like a lucky number for you two now, how many times you’d finished on various places of his body, on his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his thigh. The fifth came to you with his palm wrapped around your throat, squeezing harder than you ever thought he would, confidence oozing off of him as he drilled into you with your back against his chest. 

The next day you seemed to switch places. You tapped into that side of yourself you just met, making Mingi a mess beneath you, tears and sweat and saliva, you took it all in stride with a smile on your face, eyes blazing with a wickedness Mingi’s never seen on you before. It was experimental and fun, fumbling hands and stuttered words, Mingi submitted to you even if you weren’t fully confident in your dominance. 

You’d never degraded anyone before, much less your angelic boyfriend, it was a true fight to come up with nasty things to say, but that’s where your research had come into play. If either of you had an ounce of consciousness inside of the bubble you’d created together, you could probably pick apart where each and every piece of your words, actions, where everything had come from. 

You two had become obsessed, every waking moment had turned sexual, doing and talking, talking and doing, you couldn’t get enough of each other. You started to feel silly for thinking your sex life would be ruined when, if anything, it had gotten better, somehow more active, because you both had turned insatiable. Mingi couldn’t make fun of you anymore, not when he was just as fucking horny as you were. 

As deep as you were in it, the learning, the experimenting, something tugged at you. Maybe it was how you couldn’t grow fully confident in the weeks you’ve played, how you fumbled your words still, or when your hands didn’t quite know where to go, what to say, when to pull away. You knew learning never truly stopped, especially with something as severe as tapping into BDSM dynamics, but you found yourself stumped more than once, and that was enough to consider researching more. 

Especially the night when you and Mingi had fallen into your sheets, a mess of lips and tongues and nails, waiting for the other to take the lead. Fighting for dominance but never winning, leaving room for the other to take charge, to set the tone for how the session would go. Ten minutes of kissing and muttering filthy words in each other’s ears, you knew he was feeling it, too. 

Above you, he paused, lips parted and hands planted beside your head, chest heaving with adrenaline and slight confusion. You stared at each other for a moment, reading the feelings in each other’s eyes, before a laugh erupted from Mingi’s chest and had you giggling along with him. 

“Shit, are we plateauing?” He flopped down next to you on his back, amusement laced in every word, eyes never leaving you once. 

You giggled more, letting your head fall to the side to look at him, tilted smile on his lips and deep, hooded eyes. “I’m not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping you were gonna toss me around tonight.” 

“That’s funny, I was kinda hoping you were gonna edge me until I cried,” he responded plainly, as if the words spilling from his lips weren’t completely filthy. You both laughed before you let out verbal breaths, a sound to fill the comfortable silence, then met each other’s eyes again. 

“Well?” You asked, raising your brows at him, “What the hell do we do now?”

Neither of you knew, and you didn’t have an outlet to turn to. Instead you fucked slow, back to your roots, praises and kisses and soothing touches that felt incredible but still didn’t scratch the itch. The two of you needed more, something to help when you were both feeling submissive, looking for the same type of pleasure. 

It wasn’t something you needed. No, you think it might be… Someone. Another person to help. The thought left you feeling uneasy. 

You and Mingi have never once talked about opening up your relationship to anyone. Not once in your years together have you discussed a threesome, it’s been years since you’ve experienced a shred of jealousy, never once an inkling of disloyalty. Yours and Mingi’s relationship was the poster for perfection, and opening the door to someone else, even if it was all purely sexual, for education purposes, felt… Weird. Strange. Unwelcome. 

Even if you were to say yes, who the hell would you ask? You only know one Dom, one person with enough experience in this area to help you. You forbade the thought for days to come. 

Until it happened again. 

The two of you weren’t as rough this time, kisses pressed to skin and hands slipping between legs, but it was still there. Mingi was whimpering into your mouth, a sound you’ve learned came from a very specific mindset, when he needed to be taken care of, when he was feeling needy. 

And you had a long fucking day. 

Your boss had assigned your team with a project that wasn’t anywhere near your area of expertise, accompanied by a deadline that didn’t seem humanly possible. When you had brought it up to him, he was not nice, stern and angry with you for not ‘doing what you get paid to do’ when this particular assignment was under his job criteria. It wasn’t fair, you had stress bottled up inside you from your head to your toes, you hadn’t even had sex on your mind today let alone coming home to dominate your boyfriend. 

Your skin burned with every touch Mingi gave, you so badly wanted him to flip you around, take you with no prep, laying harsh slaps against your skin with a hand wrapped around your throat, you wanted these feelings fucked out of you. If you were going to fuck, you wanted to be fucked. There was so much negativity built up inside you from the day you yearned for your mind to go blank, to fall into that corner of consciousness where you didn’t have to be. Where Mingi made decisions for you, where he decided what was best. 

“What’s wrong?” With his eyebrows furrowed in concern he pulled you into his chest, hands cradling your cheeks with soft palms, as if you would break in his grasp. 

Fuck. Your throat tightened, your bottom lip jutted outward, your eyes closing to try and force the tears ripping their way through your ducts down. Mingi held you closer, threading a hand through your hair, scratching his nails into your scalp to soothe you, “Baby, what happened? What’s wrong?” 

You sobbed into his chest, guilt racking through you with every breath, you didn’t know what to do. So consumed with the stress of your day and now Mingi wanted you to perform for him, you couldn’t do it. You didn’t answer at first, and he didn’t pry, he laid you down with him instead, letting you cry into his chest while rubbing circles into your back, kissing your head every few minutes, holding you close. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally choked out, eyes opening only to see his tear-soaked tee before you. 

He moved his hands to cup your cheeks again, holding your head up to look at him, thumbs swiping under your eyes to paint your tears onto your skin. “What’s wrong, my love? Did I do something?” 

You shook your head in his hold, “No, no, it’s not you. I just had a really long, fucked up day, and I can’t…” Another sob ripped from your chest, “…I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Baby,” the word laced with the ache from his own chest, he continued, “You don’t need to, you never need to, we don’t have to do anything.” 

You sniffed, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. Mingi’s seen worse, though, he’s seen everything. You pouted, involuntarily sniffing up the last of your cries, voice still broken and uneasy, “That’s the thing. I want to, I just don’t want to think, I want you to take my mind off of it. But I think you want the same from me.” 

He blinked at you, concern and thought drinking up every inch of his face, he didn’t know what to say, either. It was a crossroads. He couldn’t just say Okay, I’ll dominate you tonight— it wouldn’t feel right. You wouldn’t want him to, either, you only want it if he wants it. Just like he only wants it if you want it. 

He looses a breath, running a hand through your hair again, thumb swiping under your eye with his other hand, “Why don’t I run us a bath, order some takeout, and we can sit and watch a movie? Then tomorrow when we’re clear-headed and you’re feeling better, we can talk about this. What to do when it happens.” 

You nodded into his hands, bottom lip quivering, because God, you were so fucking lucky. He washed every inch of your body in the steaming hot water, massaging into your shoulders, your scalp as he washed your hair. He had you smiling and giggling by the time you got dressed, after he ordered takeout, and then the two of you talked about your day. He listened actively, he hated your boss already, now that dislike just ran deeper. You watched a comedy, both laughing and talking through the whole thing, cuddled up next to each other before you fell asleep on the couch with every limb on your bodies intertwined. 

“Wait, so you’re both switches?” Yunho faces the two of you in his spot, feet planted on the floor, elbows resting on his thighs with his fingers interlocked. His eyebrows laced together in focus as he listened to your story from the beginning, ready to guide you, to give the advice you asked him for. 

You and Mingi knew you weren’t going to get anywhere from websites, informational books or romance novels, this was a problem you needed to speak to someone about. A real life human with knowledge, experience, the one person you both know and trust to help you with your little problem. The decision to ask him didn’t come easy, days were spent talking it out, the pros and the cons of opening up your sex life enough to let someone peer inside. None of your friends knew a single detail about yours and Mingi’s sex life, it wasn’t information you gave away easily. 

But this? This felt necessary. 

You sat with your legs crossed on your couch in your comfiest clothes, and Mingi sat stretched out beside you in an outfit that nearly matched yours. Yunho had walked inside complaining about his latest conquest, a six pack in his hand, ready to drink and forget all about it, maybe pass out on your couch. He was even dressed for the date he was supposed to go on, slacks and a long linen shirt, the top three buttons unbuttoned. Clearly, coming here was a last resort, or an answer to his own problems. 

Until you and Mingi bombarded him with your own. 

Yunho seemed excited to dive into your sex life, though. From all the stories he’s told, he’s barely ever gotten a detail out of one of you, one sided experiences shared without ever getting a glimpse inside of what you two do when you’re alone. He set the six pack down on the second shelf of your refrigerator and sat down in his spot across your living room, urging you two to spill. 

“I guess so?” You look at Mingi and then back to Yunho, “I don’t know how else I’d describe it. It depends on the night.” 

Yunho smiles in disbelief, “I would have never expected that. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re the dom, and Mingi’s your sub.” 

“He’d love it that way,” you joked, nudging Mingi with your elbow, the six foot man beside you who wore the gentlest smile. “All of this started because I wanted him to throw me around a bit.”  

“Hm,” Yunho sits back on his couch, crossing a leg over the other, his arm stretching across the back. “That’s a lot to discover, you haven’t been doing it for long, then?” 

“A month and some change, I believe,” your boyfriend nods in Yunho’s direction. “At this point I think we’re just confused. We’re extremely similar and our feelings line up more often than they don’t, it’s hard to differentiate when one of us wants to be the one in control. Or doesn’t want to be, in our case.” 

“Wait, wait,” Yunho raises a hand, “Let me see if I’m getting this right. The issue at hand is that neither of you want to be in control?” 

“Sometimes,” you add, “Not all the time. The issue is what to do when that happens.” 

Yunho laughs, and it’s a shrill sound that slithers down your spine, ringing in your ears like a wake up call. You think you can read the words in his mind, on his tongue, the easiest solution here, and it terrifies you when he actually says it. 

“Why don’t you just call up a third when it happens?” 

So simple. So easy. Like you and Mingi haven’t been together for years, like your sex life was some measly thing you could invite others into, as if it meant nothing. That was dangerous territory. 

But you suppose you’ve been in dangerous territory for over a month anyhow. 

You glance at Mingi who seemed to be thinking the same thing as you. He’s the one who turns to Yunho and says, “I don’t know if that’s something we’d be comfortable with.” 

“Including someone else… Opens doors,” you add, fingers fidgeting where they say in your lap, uneasiness oozing off of you. 

“Doors that we haven’t even knocked on, let alone opened,” Mingi nods, and the comfort of his thigh pressed to your knee feels necessary. 

Yunho tilts his head, “It doesn’t need to be some big thing. You guys are exploring, figuring shit out, it doesn’t hurt to have someone else to guide you. And scratch the itch.” 

You pull your lip between your teeth. That wording, how casual he’s treating the sentiment… You and Mingi were planners, since the beginning of starting this adventure, you’ve talked everything out from day one. Yet as you glanced at your boyfriend, the transparency in his eyes, how he seemed to be contemplating it, too. 

Something was nagging at you, saying maybe inviting someone else in is the right option. Yunho was the one with experience, he’s guided people before. 

He’s guided people before. 

“Do you know anyone who would?” Mingi asked as your eyes skimmed over Yunho. Broad chest, long legs, strong thighs, you’ve never really looked at him. You know he’s gorgeous, but you’re too in love with Mingi to notice when someone looks like that. This could work. Your head tilted, the pearly chest peeking out of the white linen shirt lined with a silver chain, eyes dropping to his slacks clung to every muscle in his thighs. This could definitely work. 

Yunho smacked his teeth. “Are you kidding me?” 

A smile played at your lips as a bubble of excitement erupted in your gut. Every single story he’s ever told comes rushing back to you, every minuscule detail— Is he thinking what you’re thinking?

“You two have zero structure. As much as it doesn’t need to be a big deal, you should still invite someone that you trust.” Yunho meets your eye as he finishes his sentence, and you watch as he realizes, catching a glimpse of the amusement on your features, he knows. 

“I trust whoever you trust, Yun,” Mingi says plainly. “I trust you the most.” 

You and Yunho stare at each other, lost in some kind of nonverbal contemplation, who was going to tell Mingi what both of you were thinking? He jerks his chin in the direction of your boyfriend, the action so small it was almost unnoticeable, his eyes saying Go ahead. 

So you do. 

“Min,” you say quietly, turning to look at him, and Mingi meets your gaze with an absentminded look. As if Yunho couldn’t hear, you ask your boyfriend, “Why don’t we ask him?” 

Mingi’s face contorts into bewilderment. “He can hear you— I— Are you crazy?” 

You look at him, really look at him. We trust him.  Mingi’s face doesn’t change. He’s my best friend.  You pull your lips together in a line. He’s the only Dom we know. He can help us.  Mingi glances at Yunho, then back to you. Are you sure? You smile. I’m sure. 

When you both looked back at Yunho, his face had completely morphed into something different. Stronger. Thrill is racing in your blood, excitement and nerves combined encouraging the trickle of sweat beneath your clothes. You didn’t give yourself a moment to think, not about what could go wrong, not even about what would go right. Just sitting across from him had your mind floating, staring at that corner of your consciousness where you were everything and nothing all at once, waiting. 

Mingi said something. You weren’t listening. 

Yunho sat deeper into the couch, knees spread and outstretched in front of him, a smirk on his lips. “God, I thought you would never ask.” 

Amusement still rippling in your eyes, impatience sitting shallow beneath your skin, you blink, “What do you mean?” 

“The night you were ‘sick’?” He bends two long fingers on each hand around the word, “Don’t think I didn’t know why you kicked me out. What my words were doing to you both.” 

Your body flushes, he even felt your temperature that night, yet he knew the whole time? Smirk still etched into his skin, he says, “You both looked at me like you wanted to eat me alive. Like you needed me to put you in your place.” 

The breath that leaves your lungs is staggered and Mingi catches it, he could probably feel the arousal radiating off of you, smell the wetness pooling between your legs. You wanted this more than you realized, you think, and you hoped he did, too. 

“Is that what you’d do?” The words stumble out of your mouth before you can think about them, “Put us in our place?” 

Yunho meets your eye again and his gaze laid upon your body is all consuming, like being under a microscope, as if he can see the brat that laid dormant between your ribs. Voice swimming with simplicity and clean control, he says, “If you give me a reason to.” 

He shifts his focus to your boyfriend and you feel colder without it, “Do you want this, Mingi?” With eyes on him and him alone, still exuding confidence and strength, he asks, “Or is it just your pretty little girlfriend that wants me?” 

You and Mingi both gasp. Holy shit. Mingi stared, lips parted, you were sure his mind was going a mile a minute about all the things that could go wrong, how he hadn’t done any research on this. 

Hold on, Yunho thinks you’re pretty? 

“I’m nervous,” Mingi responds, his voice small, brushing his pinky finger against your thigh, but keeping his eyes trained on Yunho. Ignoring the pretty little girlfriend part doesn’t surprise you at all. With a little more confidence, he says, “We should talk about this.” 

“We will talk about it,” Yunho nods, “I wouldn’t do this without talking about it first. I need to know your limits, boundaries, what you’re comfortable with. I need to know if you want it most of all though, Min.” 

Mingi turns to you, a fire in his eyes, one that you couldn’t place specifically. Nerves or arousal, stress or excitement, they could burn either way. With an even smaller voice, low and raspy, he asks, “Are you sure about this?”

“I trust him,” you say just above a whisper, “If you don’t want it, we don’t do it. Period.” 

“Baby,” he squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head down, voice smaller than you’ve ever heard it, “I want it so fucking bad.” 

You smile, peeking to look at Yunho, giving him a quick nod. You turn back to Mingi, excitement laced in your words, “Then let’s do it.” 

“I need to hear you say it, Mingi,” Yunho cuts in, voice slicing through the room, an order. Mingi’s cheeks are bright pink as he stares at his best friend across the room, fingers fidgeting with the strings of his sweatpants, nervous. “Don’t be shy with me, I know everything about you, Min. I’ve seen your worst, and I’m still saying yes to fucking you.” 

The huff of air that leaves Mingi slices through the room like a knife. It relayed every thought he was keeping trapped inside, every feeling he wasn’t sure if he should feel, as if he released the last bit of apprehension so the truth could lie bare. He looked at Yunho as if he handed his pride over to his best friend to hold between his long fingers, as if one harsh squeeze would leave Mingi ashamed for the rest of his life, as if he’d lose Yunho if this went all wrong. 

Mingi swallowed, “I want this.” 

Yunho smiled, “Great.” And as if he could read Mingi’s thoughts, his expression just as well as you could, he added, “You won’t regret it, I promise.” 

Mingi nodded, leaving silence to lay over the room like a blanket. You steal a glance at your boyfriend, the both of you seeming to be thinking Well? What now?

Yunho answers your thoughts once more, “Tell me what you’ve done, what works, what doesn’t. Any boundaries, hard limits, things that are an immediate No.” 

You purse your lips, trying to rack your mind, because in all seriousness you really haven’t tried all that much besides choking, some light power play and orgasm denial. 

When you nor Mingi answer right away, the smile on Yunho’s face only grows, sly and knowing. “You guys are like two virgins sitting across from me. Say something.” 

As if the one sentence took the edge off completely, you smile, and the lock on your vocal chords open. “We’ve just played around with choking, denying orgasms and stuff, some degradation. Nothing crazy.” 

Yunho nods, “Okay, impact play? Spanking, slapping?” 

“I did that once,” Mingi raises a finger, a nod of his head. 

“I don’t really know what I’d be into or not into,” you shrug, “Do you have, like, a list?”

“What, like a survey? Check off the box next to each kink if you’re into it?” 

That rips a laugh from your lungs, “Fuck you, I don’t know. I don’t even know what there is to say no to.”

Yunho’s smile is somewhere between amused and plotting, eyes thinned and menacing. “Okay, then tell me what is an immediate Yes. What you do want.” 

You purse your lips again, but Mingi answers first, the confidence in his voice taking you completely by surprise. “I like being choked, and I like when she’s mean to me, but nothing too mean, more like when she calls me names. I don’t know about being spanked or slapped.” 

You nod, “Choking and names, yes. Spanked and slapped also yes.” 

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere,” Yunho nods, “When you say names, you mean slut, whore, etcetera…” 

You and Mingi nod, saying yes simultaneously. 

“And we’re both okay with orgasm denial, how about overstimulation?” 

“Yes,” you say in unison with your boyfriend once more. 

“Then let’s start there,” Yunho leans forward again, elbows on his knees, legs spread before him. “I won’t be too harsh with you. If you guys are still interested in exploring, then we’ll save it for next time.” 

He’s already thinking about next time?! 

“Have you figured out a safe word already?”

You and Mingi nod, but Mingi says, “It’s kiwi. We googled safe words and it said fruits are good words to use.” 

Yunho tries to ignore his amusement but his smile leaks through the mask, “Kiwi, okay. I can kiss you both, touch you both, there’s no limits when it comes to that, either?” 

You and Mingi both shake your head. You add, “We’re yours to do whatever you want.” 

“Good,” Yunho says, then turns to you, back to the demeanor exuding strength and power, “For starters, never say fuck you to me again, unless you want to watch me ruin your boyfriend while you sit in the corner, watching.” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your body stilling, heat erupting beneath your skin. The thought of him touching Mingi without you, doing anything without you present, active… a shiver racks down your spine, eyes wide and alert. You nod, then squeak, “Understood.”

“So sweet,” Yunho smiles, “I’m gonna have fun with you. Come here, pretty.” 

You glance at Mingi, who looks like a deer caught in fucking headlights, eyes wide and slightly panicked, lips pulled into a line. His face seemed to say, He wants to do this now?!

You hold his stare, Should we?

His eyes fly to Yunho, then land back on you, his jaw tightening as he thinks. You can see the thoughts form, the churning of contemplation in his mind, but you watch as they soften, chocolate eyes melting under the heat of his best friend. His lips perked up at the corners, but his eyes told you he wasn’t completely sure, “Don’t keep him waiting, baby.” 

You swallow but still stand on shaky legs, sauntering across the room, around the coffee table, approaching Yunho who shifts as you come closer, body sinking into the couch and spreading his knees. His face is too calm and collected, too casual, as if he’d truly been waiting for this, as if he’d seen this picture in a dream. You stand before him, socked toes wiggling against the hardwood as he looks you up and down, eyes catching on your big tee, staring where it swallows your shorts beneath. You were not dressed for the occasion, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Come on,” long fingers hit the top of his thighs, patting muscles and clothed skin, his slacks bunched where his thighs met his pelvis. “Sit.” 

Your heart thumps beneath your chest as you sink a knee on either side of him, your head immediately turning to look back at your boyfriend. Yunho catches your chin with his hand before you catch a glimpse, his voice stern, “Eyes on me.”

You didn’t think you’d be apprehensive– every bone in your body was screaming yes, but the thighs beneath you were so different from Mingi’s, more narrow, just as strong but more slender, a lankier build than your muscle mass of a boyfriend. The difference had your body confused, your muscle memory warped, but your muscles relaxed in his hold, submitting to his grip on you, long fingers hooked on either side of your jaw. You stared into the well of bronze below his brows, lighter than Mingi’s, but hardened with steady control. 

“Do you still want this?” His voice was low, almost a whisper on your skin, “Be honest. We can just watch a movie, try again another time, or never talk about it again.”

“I do,” It took a single hammered heartbeat to answer, “I want this.”

He smiles again, sweeter this time, “Then kiss me.”

He guided you toward him with his fingers still wrapped around your jaw, his lips softly melting with yours, and the feeling was… Strange. Smaller than Mingi’s but just as soft, you adjusted, allowing him to take the lead, following his lips as his hand traveled to your cheek, taking up every inch of space from your jawline to your ear. It was dizzying, Yunho kissed like he was already undressing you, inside you, passion and lust and conjoining, you could feel every intention behind it. It didn’t take long for your hips to rut against his. 

As good as it was, it was still weird. Being with one person for so long but enjoying another, guilt nibbled at your soul, at every ounce of blood in your body that circulated only for Mingi. His hands dropped to your hips, palms covering bone, fingertips digging into plush skin, moving you against him. Your lips still followed his, body pliant for him, your arms flying to his shoulders to keep you steady. 

Yunho pulled away after a moment, back relaxing into the cushions, hands laying softly on your hips, he averted his eyes to your boyfriend who sat across the room. 

“Min,” you turned your head as Yunho called his name, eyes widening as you took in the view of your boyfriend. Body stretched out before him, jaw locked, eyes glazed over, still somewhere between horny and hesitant. “Come here,” Yunho’s voice was softer now, control still tangled within his words but he’d mixed in something calmer, soothing. 

Mingi loosed a heavy breath as he stood, taking the seat beside Yunho, his limbs locked and rigid. You met his eyes, trying to understand what laid below the surface, and for the first time in years you couldn’t read his mind. Yunho’s head still hung lazily over the couch, his eyes raking over his best friend, his thoughts you couldn’t place either. 

Yunho’s hand reached out to touch Mingi’s face, his thumb caressing his smooth, pink cheek, a small smile sitting on Yunho’s face as he touched him. Yunho locked a laugh inside his chest as Mingi shuddered, his voice quieter now, “Wanna kiss me?” 

Mingi looked like he saw a ghost. Rapidly blinking, his lips opening and closing, yet leaning into Yunho’s palm resting on his cheek. Mingi nodded once, and that was all Yunho needed to lean in, to attach his lips to Mingi’s. 

Your lips parted as theirs met, a rush of adrenaline seeping into your bones as they kissed, softly at first, questioning and experimental. Your eyes widened as their kiss deepened, Mingi’s body turning to face Yunho, a rough palm coming up to cup Yunho’s cheek, the two of them holding each other. 

It was… Passionate. You wondered if Mingi was feeling the same things you did, the guilt, unease, the feeling of it all being foreign. It didn’t look like it, but you wondered how you looked kissing Yunho, if it appeared anything like this. The heavier it grew, the higher your temperature raised, a blazing heat consuming you as every nerve ending sparked. Watching Mingi kiss someone else— Yunho of all people— had you even more confused than you were before, horny but jealous, enjoying the show but wishing they were touching you, too. 

Yunho’s hand slid down to Mingi’s jaw, grabbing it the same way he grabbed yours, you watched as his fingertips turned white with pressure, his grip tightening to ignite jealousy in your fucking soul. You rolled your hips at the sight before you, unsure if it was to get their attention or if it was because of the bucket of arousal that had been dumped on your head.

A hand left Mingi’s jaw to slide up your thigh, to rest on your hip, urging you to continue. You leaned forward at the attention, your hand reaching under Yunho’s unbuttoned shirt by the collar, fingers caressing his collarbone to his shoulder. Your lips followed, tongue licking up his neck, tasting sweat and Yunho as you kissed his jaw, the two still making out just above your head. 

Yunho’s hand slid up to your waist beneath your tee, still keeping the other hand on your boyfriend’s jaw, somehow appeasing both of you simultaneously. You think about what he said– God, I thought you’d never ask– It finally clicks that he’s been waiting for this. He wants it just as much as you two do. The thought makes you smile into his skin, your other hand playing with the buttons of his linen shirt, wanting to feel the skin beneath it, wanting the wall between you gone. 

Yunho finally breaks away from Mingi, both hands coming to your hips to still you, and you pull away from his neck. Both you and Mingi stare at him confused, waiting for instructions or compliments or degradation, you weren’t sure.

You would have never expected what actually came out of his mouth. 

“That’s enough for tonight,” he leans back into the couch, eyeing the two of you carefully. You glance at Mingi who wore swollen lips and furrowed brows, you were sure you looked the same. 

“That’s it?” Your eyebrows knit together, “Just some kissing?” 

You were baffled. Yunho smiles, “Just some kissing. Now you’ll know if you really want it, with me.”

“I know,” Mingi counters immediately, “I know. I want it, now. With you.”

You nod your agreement, “I know, too. I want it, Yunho.”

Yunho’s smile just grows, sly and wicked as per usual, “Think on it for a few days.”

You can feel him hard beneath you– You stare at him with wide eyes, eyebrows furrowed, jaw slack. The arousal sliding through your veins was begging to be released, the arousal for him, for what comes next. You sputter, blinking rapidly, “I– We don’t need to think. Are you serious?” 

He laughs. Not condescendingly, one genuinely full of amusement, “I’m serious, baby.” His hands grab at your hips, lifting you to place you on Mingi’s lap instead, “Next time.”

You look at Mingi who shares the same expression, confusion and surprise, blue-balled. You look at Yunho who’s getting up from the couch, “You don’t want to?”

He stands before you then glances down at his clearly hard cock pressing against the material of his pants, “I clearly want it, but I know you two. You don’t do anything on a whim, everything is planned out, even sex. Think about it, talk about it, and call me.”

It was as you had jumped into the ocean, freezing water washing over you, waking you up while simultaneously putting you down. You blink at him, he was right, he knows the two of you far too well, but for once you didn’t need to think it through. You knew down to the essence of your being that you wanted this, wanted him, wanted to see what he’d do with you. Wanted to feel it.

“Don’t look at me like that,” He tilted his head, pouting, “I promise I’ll come back and fuck you stupid if you want me to.” 

Oh, you burned at his words, you wondered what other filthy things could leave his pretty lips. Mingi spoke up before you got the chance to whine, “You’ll come when we call?” 

Yunho nods, “I promise. We have, like, twelve more movies to watch, anyways.”

You groan, you forgot about your Marvel Marathon. “God, this is gonna be endless.”

“You have no idea,” He winks, fucking winks, and you sink into Mingi, fighting another groan. 

He turns, grabbing his keys from the coffee table, and starts for your front door. He waves a hand as he approaches the door, calling behind him, “I’ll be waiting for your call!”

You and Mingi look at each other as he slips through the door, a thousand words going through your minds, but you speak first. “We are calling him tomorrow.”

Mingi laughs, head tipping backwards, his whole body falling into the couch. “He’s such an asshole, but he’s right. A correct asshole.”

“A correct asshole,” you huff, laying on top of your boyfriend, sinking into his warmth. “I’m horny.”

“Good thing I got a lil’ jealous seeing you kiss him,” Mingi says, his hands sliding up your waist, under your tee– His tee. “Come here.”

“You? Jealous? I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Laughter. Yours. Then Mingi’s. He stepped quietly out of his shoes, setting the bag on the entryway table. The sight that met him when he turned the corner into the living room knocked something loose in his chest. You were curled up on the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up your forearms, legs tucked beneath you. Mingi sat beside you, leaning back in his usual lazy sprawl, blonde hair a little messy, one arm draped along the back of the couch just a few inches from your shoulder. His hoodie was oversized, gray and slouched off one side, a pair of joggers riding low on his hips.

The room smelled like your candles, jasmine and vanilla, and the faint trace of cologne that clung to Mingi like a signature. Neither of you noticed him at first. You were too busy laughing at whatever movie was playing on the screen, your hand pressed to your mouth, and Mingi grinning wide beside you as Yunho’s voice cut through the moment. “You two look cozy.” Both your heads turned and you lit up instantly as Mingi gave him a lazy nod.

Yunho walked in slowly, letting his gaze flick between you and his best friend. He didn’t say anything for a beat too long as you sat up a little straighter, the shift subtle. “Yeosang’s in the shower,” you added, maybe as a buffer, maybe just to fill the silence and Yunho nodded once, walking past both of you into the kitchen. The bag landed a little heavier on the counter than it needed to.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The bar was tucked into a corner not far from KQ, dimly lit and half empty, the kind of place Yunho liked for its quiet anonymity. No neon, no cameras. Just a worn leather booth, condensation slick glasses, and the familiar buzz of low conversation. Jongho was already a few shots deep and Yunho wasn’t far behind, but he paced himself, slow sips, lazy swirls of amber liquid around ice, letting it settle behind his sternum where the tension usually lived. It wasn’t often they had a night like this. No schedules, no practice, no pressure.

“Hyung,” Jongho said suddenly, squinting down at his glass, “you ever think about how weird it is… how small the world is?” Yunho chuckled. “You’re drunk.” Jongho ignored him, elbow on the table, spinning the glass by the rim. “Like… how people’s paths cross. Once. Then again. But in different ways.” Yunho raised a brow. “You about to get philosophical on me?”

“Shut up, I’m serious,” Jongho muttered, then grinned, eyes glassy. “It’s like…. like when you find out something totally random connects to your current life.” Yunho leaned back in the booth, one arm stretched out lazily across the backrest. “Okay, Confucius. Give me an example.” Jongho opened his mouth. Closed it. Then made a mistake. “Like that time I walked in on Mingi and Y/…..” He stopped and visibly winced. “Shit.”

Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. “Mingi and who?” Jongho’s face shifted through five stages of regret in two seconds flat. “Forget it,” he said, laughing too quickly. “I’m just drunk. I didn’t mean…”

“Who, Jongho?”

Silence. The music playing overhead bled into the space between them. A low synth beat. A female voice crooning something heartbreake as Jongho exhaled. “It was forever ago, man. 2020. Before you ever even started dating her.” Yunho’s expression didn’t change, but the drink in his hand stilled. “Y/N?”

Jongho’s silence said it all and Yunho’s jaw twitched once as Jongho leaned forward, urgent now. “Look… it wasn’t serious. It was one night. They were both single. And Mingi never… I’m sure he never said anything after you two got together. Neither did she. It wasn’t like that. He’s always respected you. He still does.”

Yunho stared at the ice melting in his glass. That should’ve been the part that broke him. But it didn’t. The part that snapped through his skull like a lit fuse was the image. Your body under Mingi’s. The curve of your back. Your voice. The way Mingi’s mouth would’ve looked against your skin. And you never told him. Neither of you did. And now every moment you laughed with Mingi, every shared glance, every old joke, was loaded.

He downed the rest of his drink. Didn’t speak. Didn’t ask another question. Didn’t need to. Because now he couldn’t unsee it. And worse, he wasn’t angry. He was hard.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho stood in the kitchen, just watching you and Mingi untangle yourselves from the couch as if you hadn’t just stabbed him with a memory he never asked for. You stood first, stretching with a soft sigh, hoodie rising slightly to reveal a sliver of skin above your waistband. Mingi followed right after, yawning exaggeratedly as he raked a hand through his messy blonde hair. “Oh shit, food,” he grinned, heading toward the kitchen like he lived here. Yunho didn’t move out of the way but Mingi still brushed past him, shoulder to shoulder, casual as hell, plucking one of the steamed mandu straight from the takeout container without asking. “Hot,” Mingi muttered, mouth half full as he blew air dramatically between his lips.

Yunho stared at him but Mingi didn’t notice. Or maybe he did. You were behind them, grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the drawer like you always did, totally unaware that your boyfriend’s mind was spiraling. He could still hear Jongho’s voice from that night as the soft sound of a door opening pulled everyone’s attention as Yeosang stepped out from the hallway, towel around his neck, damp hair sticking to his forehead. He blinked at the crowd in his kitchen. “Why does it smell like Mingi touched the food?”

“I did touch the food,” Mingi said proudly, holding up another dumpling. “And I’m taking this one too.” Yeosang groaned and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “You’re the reason we can’t have nice things.” Yunho’s lips twitched at the corner, almost a smile. Almost. But the weight behind his eyes didn’t lift as you slid in beside him, hip bumping his gently. “Thanks for picking this up. You hungry?” He looked down at you. You were so soft when you smiled like that. So his. And right now, all he could think about was his best friend inside you. His voice was calm. Controlled. “Starving.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The lights were low and golden, soaked into the wood grain of the walls like smoke. Some vinyl was playing from the back, old soul, scratchy edges. No fans. No phones. No bullshit. Just Yunho and Mingi in a booth near the back, two whiskies on the rocks between them, untouched for now as Mingi leaned back, legs stretched under the table, hoodie traded out for a plain black tee that clung to his frame. Blonde hair still a little damp from his earlier shower.

Yunho had already rolled his sleeves to the elbows. He wasn’t drunk. Not even tipsy. Mingi, though, he had that warm buzz behind his eyes, the one that made him talk more. Laugh easier. Miss red flags. “It’s been a while since just us two hung out,” Mingi said, swirling his glass with a soft clink. “We always say we’ll go out, but then schedules get crazy.” Yunho nodded slowly, watching the way Mingi’s fingers tapped the rim. “This place is nice,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t even know it existed.” Yunho hummed, swirling his drink slowly. “Yeah. Seonghwa showed it to me. Good for nights when you don’t want eyes on you.”

Mingi nodded. “Kinda wish I had a spot like this back when I was still rooming with Jongho. That apartment was cursed.” Yunho smirked into his glass. “You did some wild shit back then.” Mingi laughed. “You act like you weren’t worse.”

“Not worse,” Yunho said smoothly. “Just… quieter.” Another drink. Another few minutes of silence, broken only by the lazy jazz now bleeding out of overhead speakers. Yunho let it stretch. He didn’t push. He just sat there, letting Mingi settle in deeper, watching the way his lips parted a little more with each sip, how his walls came down without him even noticing.

When Mingi poured another two fingers, Yunho mirrored him. But he didn’t drink it. Not yet. He waited. Waited until Mingi’s smile turned a little sleepy, until he slouched just a little further, until he said something like, “Man, I miss being reckless sometimes.” And that was Yunho’s cue. He leaned in slightly, voice dropping, relaxed and conspiratorial. “Reckless, huh? You mean like hooking up with people you weren’t supposed to?”

Mingi chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean… maybe.” Yunho matched the laugh and tilted his head. “Alright, be honest…” He picked up his drink, finally taking a slow sip, and locked eyes with his best friend across the table. “What’s the best sex you’ve ever had?”

Mingi blinked. Then barked out a laugh. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind two drunk best friends ask at nearly midnight,” Yunho said, smiling like it was nothing. “Come on…. Spill.” Mingi leaned his head back, closing his eyes with a groan. “Fuck. I dunno, man. That’s a loaded question.”

“Exactly why I asked.”

Mingi was quiet for a beat too long and Yunho stayed still. Relaxed. But his heart was thudding when Mingi finally huffed a breath, the kind that said he knew better than to answer, but was going to anyway. He swirled his whiskey lazily, eyes fixed on the ice like it held answers. “Alright…” he finally said, lips tugging into a slow, sheepish smile. “There was this one time. Back in 2020.”

Yunho’s grip on his glass didn’t change. But inside he snapped to full attention as Mingi leaned back against the booth, eyes glazed in memory now, lips parting around the words before he could stop them. “It was one of those nights where everything just lined up. No expectations. Just heat. It was back when we were rotating stylists all the time,” Mingi started, rubbing his jaw. “You remember those months, right? Never the same team twice. Like every comeback we had a new person fitting our pants.”

Yunho made a quiet noise. “Yeah. Rough era.”

“She was new. Cool as hell. I thought she was just being nice at first, but then she followed me out one night.”

Yunho’s fingers curled lightly around his glass.

“Club in Itaewon. We were all there, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, me. She showed up late. Looked hot. Like she wasn’t even trying. Big hoops, red lipstick, black dress. All legs.” He laughed to himself. “We were drunk. Not like messy drunk. Just enough. I told her she should come back with me, she didn’t even blink.”

Yunho’s tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek. Still quiet. Still listening.

“Got her back to the dorms and thank fuck everyone was out. It was like, we didn’t even make it to my bed at first. Just slammed her against the wall. She kissed like she was pissed at me for waiting.” He took another sip, eyes a little glazed now. Lost in the memory. “When I finally got her to my bed, she climbed on top of me like she was born to do it. Took off her dress without me even asking. No bra. Just those hoops swinging, her nails in my chest, and I swear to God… she rode me like she wanted to ruin my life.”

Yunho’s knuckles whitened around his glass as Mingi kept going, chuckling now. “And right when I’m about to come, I hear this click and Jongho’s standing in the doorway looking traumatized. Dude just backed out and closed the door. Didn’t even say anything.” He laughed louder now, slapping the side of his glass. “Took him three days to make eye contact with me again.”

Mingi was grinning now, loose and full of heat, the kind of smile that only showed up when he was riding the line between buzzed and reckless. His elbow was on the table, one hand lazily spinning his glass while he replayed every second of the memory like it was his favorite movie.

Yunho’s expression never changed. Just leaned in slightly, voice low. “What happened after Jongho left?” Mingi blinked at him. Then huffed a laugh and took another sip. “Shit. Honestly?” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “She lost it.” He leaned back with a groan, grinning like he couldn’t help himself. “I don’t know what it was, maybe being caught turned her on more? But I swear, the second the door clicked shut, she got even louder. Screaming my name, begging me not to stop.”

Yunho didn’t blink as Mingi kept going. “She was a squirter, too. Like…. bad. Soaked my sheets twice. Told me not to pull out either.” He laughed, eyes glazing. “Said she was on the pill. Let me hit raw. Let me do whatever I wanted. Even let me fuck her ass before we passed out.”

Yunho nodded, as if politely listening to a story about a new car or a vacation. His fingers tapped once on the glass. “You know…” He let the pause stretch. Let Mingi sip. “Me and Jongho were here last week.” Mingi glanced up as Yunho’s voice stayed soft. But it cut like a blade. “He was drunk. Let it slip.” Yunho tilted his head, watching Mingi freeze. “How he walked in on you….. with Y/N.”

The name landed like a gunshot and Mingi’s entire body stilled. The grin died on his face as he stared at his best friend, blinking, confusion and horror crashing into him in real time and Yunho finally smiled. But there was nothing kind about it. “She ever tell you we were already talking back then?”

The air between them dropped ten degrees. Mingi’s throat bobbed as he set his glass down with a quiet clink, like sudden movement might make this worse. “Yunho…” he started, voice already cracking, “I didn’t think… fuck…. I didn’t know you knew.” Yunho didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched. “I thought…” Mingi’s hands flexed on the table. “We agreed not to say anything. That was five years ago. You weren’t even with her yet.… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

And that shattered Mingi more than yelling ever could. “What?”

“She really does get loud, doesn’t she?”

Mingi’s mouth parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came out. He just stared at Yunho. Chest tight. Pulse thudding in his ears as Yunho tilted his head slightly, as if studying him. “You still want her?” The question hung heavy in the air. Not accusatory. Just honest. Deadly honest.

Mingi’s brows furrowed, lips parting again. “Yunho…” Yunho leaned forward just a little, arms resting on the table, fingers lazily tracing the rim of his glass. “Because I think you do.” His voice didn’t rise. It didn’t have to. “You still think about it. About her. About that night.”

Mingi stayed silent. And Yunho smiled. Slowly. Like he already knew the answer. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, remember?” He took another sip, licking the whiskey off his bottom lip. “I just wanted to know if you’d lie to me.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The door clicked shut behind him with a soft thunk as Yunho slid the lock in place, dropped his keys in the bowl by the door, and toed off his boots in the dark. The hallway was silent except for the low hum of the heater and the faint drip of the shower coming from the bathroom at the end of the hall. You were still awake. Of course you were.

He walked in slow, shoulders loose, head slightly tilted like the whole night hadn’t just peeled back five years of hidden truth and laid it bare on a whiskey stained table.

Yeosang’s door was cracked open, the light off, soft snores audible from inside. Passed out. Dead to the world. Yunho ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long, quiet breath as he stepped further in. The bathroom door was half closed, fog curling out into the hallway, the sound of water muffled but steady. He stopped in the doorway and looked in.

Your silhouette moved behind the fogged glass of the shower, barely visible, the curve of your body blurred and glistening, head tilted back under the spray. You didn’t know he was home yet. Didn’t know what Mingi had said. Didn’t know that Yunho had asked if he still wanted you. Didn’t know that Mingi hadn’t answered.

Yunho swallowed hard, jaw working. His knuckles ached from how tight he’d been gripping his glass earlier. And now, staring at you behind that fogged door, the image of you on Mingi’s bed, mouth open, soaked sheets, desperate hands, clashed violently with the you standing here. His. Now. And yet… Still loud. Just like Mingi said.

Yunho closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep. Then he turned away and headed to the bedroom to wait. The bedroom light was low, the curtains drawn tight against the city outside. The lamp on Yunho’s side cast a warm amber glow, cutting soft shadows across the room as he sat at the edge of the bed in nothing but gray pajama pants, legs slightly spread, forearms resting on his thighs. His dark hair was still perfectly in place from earlier, but his body was relaxed now, chest bare, smooth, golden in the light, the faint outline of his abs rising and falling with every quiet breath.

He heard the water stop. The soft sound of you padding across the apartment. The creak of the bathroom door before you stepped into the room, towel wrapped around you, hair damp and skin flushed from the heat. You paused when you saw him there, already waiting. Yunho looked up. Slow blink. Slight smile. “Hey, baby.” His voice was low, honeyed, unreadable.

You smiled back, soft and unsuspecting, and walked toward the dresser to grab one of his shirts, pulling it on and turning around just in time for him to pat his thigh. “Come here.” It wasn’t a request. Yunho reached for your hips the moment you were close enough, tugging you gently into his lap, your legs straddling him as you settled on top. His hands rested on the backs of your thighs, fingers dragging slow lines up toward your hips.

His hands slid up beneath the hem of his own shirt on you, thumbs dragging along your waist, the tips of his fingers spreading wide across your back. “You were laughing a lot earlier,” he said quietly. “Mingi’s funny, huh?” You nodded, breath hitching just slightly at the soft scrape of his nails against your skin. “He’s always like that.” Yunho’s eyes flicked up to yours. Still calm. Still warm. “Yeah,” he said, voice smooth. “You two go way back.”

You barely had time to react to that before he was lifting you, flipping your positions as he shifted up the bed. His shirt dragged up your body as he moved, exposing skin inch by inch until he tugged it up and over your head entirely, tossing it somewhere to the side. He paused for just a second. Eyes dragging over your now bare body, no panties, no bra, completely naked for him without him having to ask. “Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

He leaned down, lips brushing your throat, one hand braced beside your head and the other running down your thigh. But he didn’t linger. Didn’t tease. “I need you.” The words were low. Taut. Almost strained. You nodded, your breath already shallow, reaching for the waistband of his pajama pants but he was faster. He sat back on his knees, pulling them off in one smooth motion, his dick already hard and heavy against his abdomen.

His hands returned to your waist, dragging you into his lap effortlessly, and his voice dropped again, firm, breathless, low. “Ride me.” Again, it wasn’t a request. And you didn’t hesitate. You moved quickly, straddling him, your knees bracing on either side of his thighs, your hands steadying yourself against his chest. He gripped the base of his dick for you, guiding you with ease as you hovered above him, his eyes never leaving yours. “Go on.”

You sank down slow, the stretch making your breath catch, your fingers digging into his chest as you bottomed out on him and Yunho let out a sharp breath through his nose, his head tipping back briefly. “Just like that…” His hands slid up your waist, gripping hard at your hips. “You’re already this wet for me? Didn’t even have to touch you first.” He looked up at you again, gaze burning now. “Fuck yourself on me.”

And you did. You rode him hard, thighs shaking, hands flat on his chest as your hips rose and dropped with desperate rhythm. Sweat beaded at your temple, your moans slipping into gasps, louder with every bounce. Yunho’s hands gripped your hips at first, guiding you, holding you steady… until he let go. Let you lose control on top of him. “That’s it,” he groaned, watching the way your body worked him. “Use me.” His head tipped back, chest rising and falling beneath your palms. “Take it.”

You whimpered something unintelligible, rhythm stuttering, and Yunho saw it. the way your thighs trembled, your walls clenched, the wave cresting. “Go on,” he breathed. “Come for me.” And you did, a sob ripping from your throat as your body seized, your orgasm crashing through you in waves. You barely had time to recover before Yunho was gripping you again. In one fluid motion, he flipped you, flat to your hands and knees, not giving you a break.

He knelt behind you, dragged his dick through your dripping folds once, then slammed back inside making you cry out, the sound high and wrecked as he fucked into you hard. No hesitation. No gentleness now, just the slap of skin and the growl in his chest as he chased something darker. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Louder.” And you were, moaning, screaming, hands clawing at the sheets as his dick hit deep, over and over, relentless against your g spot.

Then your body locked up. “Yunho!” You squirted hard around him, soaking the sheets, your scream echoing in the room. And that’s when Yunho pulled out. Just slightly. His dick, slick and thick, brushed up, too high, his tip teasing against your tight, twitching rim and you gasped, back arching in surprise as Yunho leaned over you, breath hot against your shoulder. “Tell me… who’s bigger?” You froze. Heart pounding. Pussy still pulsing as his hips shifted. “You remember, don’t you?” He pressed against your ass, slowly, the head of his dick pushing past resistance. “Me…” His voice was low. Right at your ear. “Or Mingi?”

He started to sink in deeper. Slow. Thick. Stretching you open inch by inch. “Be honest.” You couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Not with how full you were. Not with the way Yunho was pushing into you slowly, thick and steady, his dick stretching your ass open as your face buried into the pillows and your thighs trembled. Your heart pounded.

Your lips parted in a broken moan, fingers curling into the sheets as you gasped for air as Yunho leaned over your back, his palm flat on the small of your spine, holding you there, his dick buried inside you now, not moving, just letting you feel the weight of it. “Breathe,” he said softly. Almost sweet. But your chest was tight. Not from the stretch. From the words he said before. Mingi. Your blood ran cold. He knows. The thought slammed into you so hard your eyes stung. You blinked fast, jaw slack, lips trembling as you tried to look over your shoulder.

Yunho was still behind you. Still inside. His hand slid up your back like he was calming you down, not splitting you open. “Yunho….” you whispered, but your voice cracked. And he hummed. Just a hum. Not a denial. Not a question. Like he’d been waiting for you to catch up. You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Your whole body locked up in the shock of it. Of the realization. Of the fact that he’d brought you here like this, that every single thing he’d done tonight mirrored what you’d told no one. What only one person knew. His best friend. Your stomach flipped. “You…” your voice shook. “You know.”

Yunho’s hand curved around your throat, pulling your upper body back against him just enough to whisper into your ear, “Of course I do.” And then he rolled his hips, deep, slow, intentional, grinding himself into your ass like he wanted to imprint himself there. “Now answer the question.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The hallway at the mbc end of the year gayo was loud. Some running passed with clipboards. Someone yelled about confetti cues. The floor buzzed beneath your sneakers, but you barely felt it, like you were walking underwater. Your clipboard was in your hand, checklist half filled. There were racks of outfits, jewelry trays, steamed jackets, touch up kits… all of it ready.

You weren’t.

The dressing room was lit too bright. You’d already adjusted Yeosang’s mic pack, double checked Jongho’s pants fit, even teased Wooyoung’s hair when he asked, but your fingers felt clumsy. Your mind was nowhere in that room. Last night was still on loop. His voice. His hands. The weight of him inside you. “Now answer the question.” You hadn’t and Yunho hadn’t pushed again. He’d just held you after. Kissed your shoulder like he hadn’t just split you open and laid you bare.

And now you were here, surrounded by music and stylists and lights, and Yunho? He was laughing with San and Seonghwa by the monitors like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t destroyed you with just a whisper and a thrust. You looked away fast. Tried to breathe. Tried to focus on the checklist in your hand. That’s when you saw him. Mingi. He’d just walked in, dark hoodie over his stage shirt, hair already styled, ear cuffs gleaming under the fluorescents. He hadn’t even said anything yet. But the second his eyes met yours? Your stomach dropped. He knew.

He knew Yunho knew. It was in the tight line of his mouth. The twitch at his jaw. The way his eyes flicked over your body, not lustful, not playful. Wary. You blinked once. Twice. The clipboard in your hand suddenly felt heavy. And Mingi just just stared. No smirk. No nod. No, “hi.” Just silence and something unreadable behind his eyes. You crossed the room before you could stop yourself, clipboard forgotten, eyes locked on him.

Mingi stood near the corner mirror now, adjusting the cuff on his wrist, hoodie shrugged halfway off one shoulder to reveal the chain hanging from his styled collar. You walked up with a small brush in your hand like it was nothing, like you were just doing your job. “Mingi,” you said quietly. He didn’t look at you as you stepped in close, close enough that your chest brushed his arm. Lifted the brush to the front of his hair, eyes locked on the mirror in front of you both.

From the outside, it looked like you were fixing a stray piece near his temple. But your voice was low. Deadly. “You fucking told him?” Mingi’s jaw tensed. His eyes flicked to yours in the mirror, then away. “I didn’t tell him anything.” You didn’t blink. “Bullshit.” Mingi exhaled hard through his nose. Voice barely audible. “Jongho told him.” Your hand froze. Just for a second. Then you dragged the brush once more through his hair, mechanically, like the motion could ground you.

“You let him find out like that?” you hissed, lips not moving. “You let him ask me about it while he was inside me?” Mingi’s nostrils flared, but his face stayed still. “I didn’t know, alright? I didn’t know until he looked me in the eye and practically manipulated me to say it.” You pulled back slowly, lowering the brush, but not your gaze. “And you did.”

Mingi finally turned toward you. Face close. Too close. “Would you have lied?” Your stomach twisted and in the mirror behind him, Yunho was walking over as Mingi’s eyes were still on you. Sharp. Wounded. Regretful. But yours were already past him, locked on your boyfriend as he walked past you and sat down in the vanity chair right beside you. Didn’t speak. Didn’t look at either of you. Just sat back, one leg propped lazily over the other, thumb scrolling through something on his screen. Like he hadn’t baited Mingi into a confession, then buried it inside you.

You and Mingi both turned slowly, eyes locked on him, breath caught but Yunho didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t have to. His entire posture said, I know. I’m fine. You’re not. And she’s still mine. The silence between the three of you was thick, so charged it buzzed beneath your skin as you shifted your weight, the clipboard still in your hand. Mingi’s jaw was tight beside you. His knee bounced once and stopped as Yunho finally tapped something on his screen and murmured, almost to himself, “Set list changed. We’re bumped to after midnight.” He still didn’t look up. Still didn’t smile. Just sat there like the devil himself, scrolling, waiting.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The show had just started. Ateez had finished their opening and now a rookie group was on, their vocals blasting faintly through the monitors lining the hall. The lights behind the curtain bled blue and gold, shadows of dancers spinning across the frosted walls. Inside ATEEZ’s lounge, it was quieter. Tense. Seonghwa was pacing through choreo. Wooyoung was teasing Jongho. Yeosang was sitting with his eyes closed, headphones on, zoning out.

And in the far corner, low light, couch shoved against the wall, Yunho and Mingi sat in silence. Yunho was leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone in one hand, the other absently twisting his team ring on his finger. Mingi hadn’t looked at him in ten minutes. Not until now. His voice was low. Tight. “You really want me to answer that question from last night?”

Yunho didn’t look over. Just let the question sit in the air between them for a beat. Then another. “You asked if I still want her like that,” Mingi added, quieter this time. “You really want to hear it?” Yunho’s thumb slowed its movement on his ring. Then stopped. And finally he looked over. His expression wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even cold. It was curious. “Yeah,” he said calmly. “I do.”

Mingi’s throat bobbed. “Why?” Yunho didn’t blink. “Because I watched her fall apart on my dick last night…” His voice dropped just a little. “Screaming. Squirting. Just like she had for you.” Mingi’s jaw tensed, breath caught as Yunho tilted his head. “So if you still want her like that…” His mouth twitched. Just slightly. “I want to see what you’ll do about it.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was almost midnight. The lights were pulsing gold and white across the massive stage. Streamers curled around your feet. The LED screen behind the MCs showed 11:58, ticking down in the corner. Fans were screaming from the crowd pit. The whole place buzzed with countdown energy. Idols from every group were packed together, laughing, bowing, waving at cameras, huddling for selfies. And in the middle of it? ATEEZ.

You stood just off stage with the other stylists and managers, clipboard clutched tight in your hands, watching for final cues, fixing a mic wire here, a jacket collar there. You weren’t supposed to be watching them. But you couldn’t help it. Not when something felt off. Yunho stood near the center with Seonghwa and Jongho, clapping politely, a lazy grin on his lips, but his eyes? They drifted to you. Briefly. Blatantly. Then he looked away like it hadn’t happened.

Your stomach flipped and then you noticed Mingi. He was off to the left with San and Wooyoung, bouncing slightly on his heels with the music, but he wasn’t looking at the crowd either. He was looking at you. And it wasn’t that guarded, guilty look from earlier in the dressing room. This time? It was heat. Full blown, mouth parted, can’t stop staring at you heat. Your heart stuttered as the countdown started.

“TEN!”

Mingi turned his head away, barely. Not fast enough.

“NINE!”

Yunho’s hand flexed at his side.

“EIGHT!”

You realized, whatever they talked about backstage when you noticed them on the couch together…

“SEVEN!”

….whatever Yunho had told him…

“SIX!”

Mingi wasn’t hiding it anymore.

“FIVE!”

He was waiting.

“FOUR!”

For permission.

“THREE!”

“For the green light.

“TWO!”

For you.

“ONE, HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

Confetti exploded. Cheers erupted. ATEEZ smiled for the cameras. But all you could feel was two sets of eyes burning into your skin.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The energy backstage was a blur of flashing lights, quick steps, and shouted times. Staff swarmed around idols like bees to honey, fixing jackets, wiping sweat, checking mic levels. Someone was yelling for water. Someone else was counting down second call. ATEEZ had exactly five minutes before they were back onstage. You moved through them on instinct, head down, kit in hand, brushing powder onto Jongho’s nose, smoothing Wooyoung’s fringe, flipping open a comb for Yunho… and that’s when you felt it.

Heat again.

But not from your boyfriend. Your fingers moved automatically through his dark, slightly damp hair, combing the strands neatly into place. And you could feel him watching you again. Mingi. And your spine prickled. You didn’t dare turn your head. You tried to focus. You really tried. But Yunho was sitting on the low bench in front of you, spread legs, hands resting casually on his thighs, and even seated, he radiated ownership.

And the second your fingers paused in his hair, Yunho looked up. Eyes locked on yours. His voice was quiet. Smooth. “Something wrong, baby?” You shook your head, a little too quickly. “No. Just…. fixing this side.” He didn’t blink. Didn’t smile. Just watched you. Let you flinch as you tucked a stray strand behind his ear and caught your wrist and held it. Not hard. But enough to remind you, he knew you were shaking. Your eyes flicked past him, just for a second.

Mingi was leaning against the wall a few feet away, dressed in full stage outfit, rings on his fingers, eyes dark and locked on you. Your throat went dry. Because you recognized that look. It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t nervous. It was need. And permission.

Someone called that it was almost time. The group before them was just finishing their final chorus. You could hear the crowd’s roar bleeding through the curtain. Spotlights strobed past the entrance tunnel, casting flashes of white and purple across the floor. ATEEZ stood in their line up, perfect formation, mics on, movements tense with energy. San was bouncing slightly in place, rolling his shoulders, fixing the sleeves of his black stage vest. You stepped up beside him, quickly adjusting the back seam and pulling a strap into place. “You’re good,” you said over the music, giving his shoulder a firm pat.

Then you turned you turned and Mingi was standing just behind San. You handed him his sunglasses for his Wonka look, he took them with a smirk, and then the hat, adjusting the brim slightly before slipping it into place. “You’re not sweating yet,” you murmured, brushing a powder puff lightly under his eyes. “Surprising.” Mingi didn’t answer. Just stared at you. His eyes dragged over your face, your mouth, your throat, watching you like he’d already decided what he was going to do to you once they were off that stage.

Your heart stuttered. And then you felt it. Yunho. Moving in behind you. Quiet. Large. Radiating heat like a shadow draped over your back. His hand ghosted down your side, not touching, but close enough that your body reacted as he leaned in, lips grazing just behind your ear. His voice was low. Velvet. Filthy. “Wonder if you can handle both of us at the same time.” You froze. Mingi’s eyes widened, barely, but he heard it too.

You stood there, rooted, pulse hammering, mouth slightly parted, speechless as the stage manager called, “ATEEZ, standby!” The guys turned, filing into the tunnel, adrenaline high, energy snapping…. And Yunho? He didn’t look back. He just walked ahead, calm and cool, like he didn’t just say something that would haunt you through their entire performance. Your knees almost buckled. Mingi had already turned toward the stage, but his jaw was tight, his ears pink, sunglasses clutched a little too hard in one hand.

And right behind him, calm as ever, Jongho walked by. Didn’t stop. Didn’t look at you. Just passed between you and the stage entrance and muttered under his breath, dry as dust, “I didn’t hear anything.” And then he was gone. Mingi didn’t even try to hide his laugh this time, just let it slip, low and breathless, as he followed the rest of the group onstage.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The door closed behind you with a soft click. ATEEZ’s room was quieter now, empty chairs, discarded jackets, half empty water bottles lining the counter. The muffled roar of the crowd still bled through the walls as all the groups gathered onstage for the ending, laughter and cheers echoing faintly down the hallway. You leaned back against the counter, hands braced on the edge, staring at absolutely nothing. Your heart was still racing. You could still hear Yunho’s voice. Low. Calm. Certain.

Not whispered like a secret.

Not rushed like a mistake. Deliberate. “Wonder if you can handle both of us at the same time.”

Your stomach flipped. At first, your brain tried to reject it. Shock reflex. He didn’t mean that. It was just dirty talk. He was trying to throw you off. But the longer you stood there alone, the more the pieces locked together. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t jealous. He was curious. And worse…. he was planning. Yunho had been sitting with this for days. Turning it over. Testing reactions. Watching both of you unravel while he stayed perfectly in control.

You dragged a hand down your face, breathing shallow. He wants a threesome. The realization hit harder than anything else that night as the chaos of the night was finally thinning out. ATEEZ had finished their final encore wave, mics pulled, outfits half unzipped, energy buzzing high as the group filed toward the loading bay exit. The black vans were already lined up outside.

You moved to follow the others, adjusting your jacket, still buzzing with everything from the stage to that damn thing Yunho whispered earlier. To your realization. But before you could pass the second van a hand caught your wrist. “Baby.” Your heart skipped. Yunho was leaning against the open backseat door, hoodie thrown back on, chest still rising a little from the performance. He was relaxed. Too relaxed. “Where you going?”

You blinked. “KQ. For the afterparty.” He tilted his head with a slow smile. “Nah. You’re coming with me.” You paused. “Back home?” Yunho nodded, stepping aside like it was already decided. “Driver’s waiting.“ You glanced past him, into the van. Mingi was already inside. Sitting in the far seat. Hands folded. Eyes on you. He didn’t look away and your throat went dry as Yunho watched your expression shift, watched it click again, and leaned in, his voice low at your ear, “I’ve been patient long enough.” He kissed the corner of your jaw and opened the door wider. “Get in.”

The van was dark and warm. You sat between them, Yunho on your right, Mingi on your left, your hands tucked in your lap, heart hammering like the beat never left your chest. The sound of the road beneath the tires was soft, the occasional flicker of headlights painting your thighs gold in the dark. No one spoke. Not yet. Yunho had one arm stretched behind your shoulders, fingers grazing the back of your neck, slow and absent. The other? Resting on your thigh. And then… it moved.

You sucked in a quiet breath as his hand slid upward, slowly, confidently, his palm warm over your jeans. “Yunho…” you whispered, voice barely steady. He didn’t stop. Didn’t rush either. Just let his fingers graze the inside of your thigh, just shy of where you were already pulsing with heat. You turned your head, just slightly, meeting his eyes in the dim van light. There was no teasing in them. No smirk. Only truth. “You think I don’t know what’s in your head right now?” he murmured, voice low. “Do you want him?” he asked, cutting gently across your denial. “Because he wants you.”

Your breath caught. You didn’t answer right away. The van rolled on through the quiet streets, the city blurring past the tinted windows, soft flickers of light casting across your thighs, your chest, your lips as Yunho’s hand stayed right where it was, high on your inner thigh, fingers warm, unmoving. Mingi hadn’t said a word. He didn’t have to. You could feel the tension vibrating off both of them, pressing in on either side of you like a fuse lit from both ends. You let it simmer. One breath. Two. Three. Then you shifted. Turned your body slightly toward Yunho, your knee brushing his as you locked eyes with him, steady. Bold. His gaze flickered with challenge. And then you smiled.

“You know…” Your voice was low, sweet and deadly as you turned your head just slightly, enough to speak over your shoulder to Mingi, but not take your eyes off Yunho. “He asked me last night who’s bigger.” Yunho’s jaw twitched and Mingi exhaled sharply beside you, tension snapping through his shoulders as you moved your hands. One to your right. One to your left. Sliding across the front of both of their pants and feeling them. Hard. Thick. Waiting. You bit your lip, eyes still locked with Yunho’s as you gave both of them a light squeeze. Mingi’s breath hitched. Yunho’s nostrils flared. And you hummed, all fake innocence and filthy satisfaction. “Hmm… Guess we’ll see.”

The van pulled to a smooth stop in front of the familiar building, glass and stone rising high into the Seoul night, quiet at this hour except for the soft hum of the streetlights. The driver didn’t say a word. Neither did you. You were the first to move, fingers slipping from where they’d rested across two solid, hard thighs. Your hands still tingled. Your body ached. Your brain felt like static as you stepped out into the cold air, the door clicking shut behind you. And they followed. No hesitation. Yunho on one side, Mingi on the other, silent, steady footfalls across the marble floor of the lobby. The elevator opened instantly and you stepped inside first. Yunho hit the button as Mingi leaned back against the wall. None of you spoke. Not until the doors opened on the 14th floor.

You walked straight to Yunho’s apartment, the one he shared with Yeosang. But Yeosang was at the KQ party, still posing for photos and sipping champagne, completely unaware of what was about to happen in his home. Yunho unlocked the door and pushed it open letting you step inside first. You walked a few steps deeper into the apartment, then turned around, slowly, silently, and looked at them both standing in the entrance.

Yunho locked the door behind him with a soft click, and Mingi toed off his shoes without a word, his eyes never leaving you. Your heartbeat was everywhere. In your throat. In your fingertips. Between your thighs. The silence stretched just long enough to snap something inside you. You looked at Yunho first. His expression was unreadable, jaw tight, gaze sharp, hands casually in the pockets of his pants like he wasn’t seconds away from doing something reckless.

You stepped toward him slowly. Not nervous. Not shy. Just burning. Your eyes didn’t waver. “So… What? You found out…” Another step. “and now you want to watch your best friend fuck me?” The words landed like glass shattering and Mingi stiffened behind you as Yunho’s jaw twitched. But he didn’t look surprised. He stepped closer, voice low, even. “I already watched him fuck you. In my head. Every time I touched you since Jongho told me. I’ve imagined it a hundred ways. I want to know if it’s as filthy as Mingi made it sound…” His hand came up, just his fingertips ghosting along your jaw. “And I want to see it with my own eyes.”

You couldn’t breathe as Yunho leaned in, whispering just beneath your ear. “Doesn’t mean you’re not mine.” Yunho didn’t flinch when you turned from him. Didn’t stop you. Didn’t say a word. He just stepped back. Let you walk slowly, purposefully, across the space between them, until you were standing in front of Mingi whose breath caught and your smile curled. Not sweet. Devious. Predatory. You lifted your fingers to the hem of your shirt, but didn’t tug it off yet. You just played with the fabric, letting Mingi’s eyes drop. Letting him remember. Letting Yunho watch.

“So….. What details did you tell him?” You asked and Mingi’s lips parted. His throat bobbed but he didn’t answer. Didn’t get the chance. You tilted your head, eyes wide in mock innocence, voice low and sharp as sin. “How I rode you until you started whimpering?” Yunho inhaled behind you. Sharp. Audible. “How you almost came the second Jongho walked in on us? You loved that, didn’t you?” You stepped closer and Mingi’s back hit the edge of the couch as you leaned in close, your breath fanning across his ear. “Did you tell him about the mess I made all over your bed?” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Did you tell him how loud I screamed for you?”

Mingi’s hands twitched at his sides and Yunho’s breath hitched behind you. Still silent. Still watching. Not a breath wasted. Not a muscle flinched as he watched as you stepped into Mingi’s space, smiling like the devil in soft cotton, letting every filthy word hang in the air like smoke. Mingi was already unraveling, he could see it in the way his chest rose too fast, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there.

Then you reached down. Two fingers at the waistband of Mingi’s pants. And Yunho felt it. Something snap. “You know what we didn’t do that night?” you asked softly. Your eyes flicked toward Yunho, not seeking permission. Warning him. And then you dropped to your knees and Yunho’s jaw clenched, heat flashing through his chest as you looked up, kneeling in front of Mingi like you’d done it a thousand times, except you hadn’t. That’s what made this worse. Worse for Mingi because, no, the two of you didn’t go down on each other that night. And god he wanted to.

Your fingers hooked into Mingi’s waistband and slowly tugged them down, revealing him already hard, flushed, twitching with need as Yunho’s hand flexed at his side. You didn’t break eye contact with him as you licked your lips. “Never went down on each other,” you murmured, voice a velvet blade and Mingi let out a choked sound. Yunho? He didn’t say a word. But his chest was rising. His knuckles were white. And his dick was hard under his pants as Mingi’s back hit the couch behind him as you knelt between his legs. The room had gone too quiet. Except for your voice. “You gonna whimper for me again, Mingi?”

Yunho’s lungs burned as he watched the way your mouth curved when you said it, like you already knew the answer. Like you wanted to ruin his best friend again right in front of him, just to see how far you could push both of them. And Yunho let you. Didn’t stop you. Didn’t even try. He didn’t want to. Your hand curled around Mingi’s length, slow and deliberate, and Yunho saw Mingi’s head tip back, already fighting it as you leaned in and Yunho lost it. Not visibly. Not yet. But inside? His mind shorted out the second your mouth wrapped around his best friend’s dick.

You were slow with it, sinful. Tongue dragging along the underside like you’d been craving this since the last time, and Yunho couldn’t fucking look away. He didn’t even realize his own hand had curled into a fist at his side until his knuckles ached. Mine. The word whispered in his head, dark and possessive. But his dick throbbed when Mingi gasped, when your mouth took more of him, your hand stroking what your lips couldn’t reach. Yunho saw your eyes flick up, still on him, watching him just as much as he was watching you. It was cruel. It was calculated. And it was working. Because Yunho’s breath hitched the second he heard Mingi whimper. Just like you said he would.

“Fuck….” Mingi groaned, one hand slipping into your hair as he tried not to fall apart too fast, voice already shaky. “Fuck, baby….” Yunho took a step forward. He didn’t even realize he did. His shadow stretched across the floor behind you, quiet as a storm. He moved like smoke, silent behind you, that towering frame casting you in shadow as you stayed on your knees for Mingi, mouth full, hands braced on his thighs, lips already shiny with spit and slick. He didn’t sit. Didn’t crouch. Didn’t even blink. He just stood there, still as stone, eyes locked on the way Mingi’s hand twisted into your hair and started pulling.

You moaned around him, and Yunho swore his pulse ticked in time with it. “Shit….” Mingi hissed through his teeth, hips twitching forward as your mouth swallowed him deeper. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.” Yunho could hear every breath Mingi took, how ragged it got the second he started thrusting, just a little at first. Testing. Watching. Until your throat flexed and you took it, eager, needy, obscene. And Yunho just kept watching. Watched from above as Mingi fucked into your mouth like he’d been waiting to finish what you started since the night it happened, like he’d never forgotten the way you made him lose himself the first time.

Yunho could see your jaw working, throat twitching, spit starting to drip down your chin and still he didn’t move. Didn’t touch. His eyes dropped lower, trailing down your spine to the dip of your waist, that little arch as you adjusted, knees spreading wider on the floor between Mingi’s legs…. Mine. It growled in him this time. Hot. Brutal. Ready. And when you looked back, lips still wrapped around his best friend’s dick, eyes glassy and filthy and so goddamn proud of yourself…. Yunho’s restraint cracked.

His voice came low, dangerous, right behind your ear, “You’re enjoying this way too much, baby.” You pulled off Mingi with a wet pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you looked up at Yunho, cheeks flushed, eyes glinting with mischief and something much more dangerous. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” you asked, voice lilting soft and saccharine like sugar melting into something sinful. “Besides…” Your gaze dropped deliberately between the two of them, Mingi, breathless and twitching in your hand, and Yunho, still towering behind you, his jaw clenched so tight you could practically hear the grinding of his teeth. “it would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

You tilted your head, lashes fluttering as you gave Yunho that deceptively innocent smile, the one he knew better than to trust. “The three of us. All the time. No more secrets.” You rose up on your knees slowly, deliberately, fingers trailing up Mingi’s chest before reaching behind you and finding Yunho’s waistband, teasing at the band of his pants. “just you…” your voice dropped to a whisper as you leaned back against him, breath ghosting over his throat, “and him…” You reached forward again, stroking Mingi lazily, watching the way his head tipped back again. “and me.”

Yunho’s hands finally snapped into motion, gripping your hips, dragging you flush against him. “Interesting?” he echoed, lips brushing the edge of your ear, voice dark as smoke. “That what you think this is?” He pushed against you, hard, dick straining, rubbing right where you needed it. “Baby,” he growled, “you’re about to find out what two of us feels like.”

You didn’t say another word. Just walked away slow, like you had all the time in the world, fingers curling around the hem of your top. The room was already thick with tension, like lightning waiting to strike, but you lit the fuse with one lazy smirk thrown over your shoulder as your shirt hit the floor first. Then your jeans, sliding down your hips with a shimmy that had both Yunho and Mingi frozen in place, staring like they’d just been caught in a spell as you unclipped your bra on the way down the hall, tossed it carelessly on the floor, and then your panties joined the rest, bare skin flashing in the low light as you turned into Yunho’s room without a glance back.

“Man…” Mingi exhaled, half dazed, dragging a hand down his face before cutting a grin at Yunho. “You’re gonna have to get used to sharing.” Yunho’s jaw ticked. He didn’t answer. Just followed. And Mingi, cocky as ever now that the seal was broken, trailed right behind him. By the time they reached the door, you were already climbing onto Yunho’s bed, legs spread, back against the headboard, completely bare and looking at them like you were the one in charge now.

You tilted your head, smile slow and dripping heat as your eyes locked onto Mingi’s. “Come here.” Mingi froze like you’d snapped a leash around his neck, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he started yanking his clothes off with zero finesse, shirt over his head, belt hitting the floor with a sharp clink, pants kicked away like they offended him as Yunho took a step forward too, but your hand came up, palm pressing against his chest before he could reach you fully. “Ah ah,” you teased, breath just a whisper. “You want to watch, right?”

Yunho’s jaw clenched. His pupils were already blown wide, and you felt the low rumble in his chest under your hand. But he didn’t move. Didn’t argue. Just dropped into his gaming chair like a king settling in for his favorite show, spreading his legs wide and dragging one palm over his thigh as Mingi laughed under his breath, already climbing up the bed like a storm rolling in. “You’re playing with fire, baby,” he murmured, voice thick, eyes flicking briefly to Yunho before finding you again. “You sure you’re ready for both of us?”

You didn’t even flinch. You just leaned back, spreading your legs wider with a wicked glint in your eye and Yunho’s breath hitched as he leaned forward in the chair, forearms resting on his knees, lips slightly parted. The room was dim, just the soft golden hue from the hallway light spilling in along with his bedside lamp, but it was more than enough to see everything.

Mingi was between your thighs now, hands sliding slow up the outside of them, thumbs brushing dangerously close before finally gripping you tight and pushing your legs open wider. Yunho exhaled through his nose. You were already soaked, the faint sheen catching the light, and Mingi wasted no time. His mouth pressed to your inner thigh first, open mouthed kisses teasing along the skin until his tongue finally licked a path straight up your core. You arched, a sound slipping from your throat, but Mingi just gripped harder, pinning your hips to the bed.

Yunho’s fingers twitched as he watched the way his best friend licked into you like a man starved, burying his face, the wet sounds lewd and sharp in the quiet room. You tangled your hands in Mingi’s hair, but he didn’t slow down, he couldn’t, not when you tasted like that, not when Yunho was right there watching every second of it, jaw tight, dick straining against his jeans. You moaned again, back curving off the bed as Mingi plunged his tongue deeper, one hand slipping under your thigh to keep you still, the other gripping your hip with bruising force.

And Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched, completely wrecked and only getting worse as your moans broke through the room like thunder, raw and uncontrollable, echoing off the walls as your body writhed under Mingi’s mouth. Yunho’s fingers dug into his thighs, knuckles white as he watched you grind up into Mingi’s face, helpless to stop yourself. Mingi had one arm thrown over your stomach to keep you from squirming too far, his mouth locked onto your clit, sucking, relentless, while two long thick fingers pumped inside you, fast and deep, curling just right.

You screamed his name, your eyes fluttering back, the pressure mounting faster than you could brace for. “F…. fuck… Mingi…” your voice cracked, broken and breathless. Yunho’s chest rose sharply as Mingi groaned into you at the sound, the vibration sending you spiraling as your thighs started to tremble. Your hand gripped his hair tighter, tugging hard, but he didn’t slow down, tongue flicking, lips sealing tighter, fingers pistoning faster. Then everything snapped. Your back arched off the bed, mouth falling open in a cry that bordered on a sob as your orgasm ripped through you, hot and overwhelming and you squirted hard, the wet sound unmistakable as it splashed against Mingi’s chin, the sheets, even your inner thighs. He moaned, licking through it like it was his reward, like he couldn’t get enough.

Yunho cursed under his breath, jaw clenched, eyes never leaving your shaking form as you gasped for breath, legs still twitching from the aftershocks, Mingi dragging his tongue up your slit one last time. Then he looked up at Yunho over your body, his lips slick, eyes dark and smug. Yunho was going to break as you tugged Mingi up by his hair, your mouth crashing into his, hot, messy, tasting yourself on his lips. He groaned against you, hands already skimming your sides, greedy with the way you kissed him like you owned him.

Then, with a smirk against his lips, you pulled back just enough to whisper, “Lay back.” Mingi obeyed instantly, letting you guide him to sit against the headboard, his eyes blown wide as he watched you crawl into his lap, your back to him this time as Yunho shifted where he sat, breath caught in his throat. You didn’t rush. You reached back, teasing yourself with Mingi’s tip first, dragging it between your folds until both of you were whimpering. Then, keeping your eyes on Yunho, you slowly sank down, inch by aching inch, until Mingi was fully inside you, thick and stretching, the kind of stretch that made your head fall back and a low moan rip through your throat.

“Fuuuck,” Mingi groaned, his hands gripping your hips like he might lose it right there. You rolled your hips once, slow and deep, then looked right at Yunho. He was watching, every twitch of your body, every sound you made, the way your fingers dug into Mingi’s thighs to brace yourself. And you held his gaze as you moaned, “Mmm… feels even better than I remembered…” Yunho’s jaw clenched. His eyes were fire. His fists, balled at his sides as you bounced once, slow and purposeful, then again, arching your back just enough for Mingi’s tip to drag along every sweet spot inside you. And still, your gaze stayed locked on Yunho’s. You didn’t even have to say it. You wanted him to see all of it.

Yunho hadn’t moved for minutes, jaw tight, hands clenched at his thighs, eyes burning holes into where Mingi had you moaning in his lap. But the moment your back arched and that breathy little cry left your mouth, he snapped. You didn’t even notice at first, not until the bed dipped in front of you, and suddenly, Yunho was eye level with where you and Mingi were connected, his face so close you could feel his breath on your thighs. “Yunho?” You gasped, hands flying to Mingi’s knees as Yunho gripped overtop of Mingi’s hands on your hips, stilling you just enough before he leaned in, his tongue hot and wet as he licked right up to your clit and sucked it into his mouth like it was his last meal. “F… fuck…. Yunho!” Mingi groaned behind you, tightening his hold and thrusting up deeper into you, the sensation of Yunho’s tongue and Mingi’s dick slamming into you in perfect rhythm making your whole body shudder. You couldn’t even form words, only sounds, loud, desperate, ruined.

Yunho was relentless. His tongue worked you in tight, filthy circles, then flattened and dragged slow before flicking fast, your clit throbbing, swollen, everything pulsing around Mingi until…. “Oh my god…. Yunho, baby… I’m….” You cried out, body clenching, thighs shaking as your orgasm tore through you, soaking both their thighs as Yunho kept going, not letting up for a second while Mingi cursed, voice low and broken behind you. “She’s squeezing so fucking tight,” Mingi groaned, fingers digging into your hips, breath ragged. “You’re gonna make me…. shit.”

You barely had time to breathe before Yunho pulled off you, his lips shiny, voice low and wrecked as he met your eyes. “You wanted both of us all the time, right?” His hands slid up your thighs, slow and claiming. “Then you better keep up, baby.” His shirt hit the floor in seconds, muscles flexing with every movement as he kicked off his pants, eyes dark with hunger. Every inch of his skin was golden in the low lighting, chest rising and falling as he watched you lose yourself on top of Mingi, watched the way your head tipped back, mouth open in a breathless overstimulated moan. Mingi’s grip on your hips turned bruising, his rhythm desperate now. He was thrusting up so hard the headboard rocked against the wall, groaning as he chased that first high.

“Fuck, look at you,” Mingi gasped, sweat clinging to his chest, voice strained and ragged. You were barely holding yourself up, hands braced on his thighs behind you, body trembling as he slammed up into you over and over again. And Yunho was standing at the foot of the bed now, completely bare, slowly stroking himself as he stared, his gaze never leaving the way you and Mingi were connected, the sound of your wetness filling the room with every thrust.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Mingi groaned through clenched teeth, hips bucking up one last time. You cried out as you felt him pulse inside you, warmth flooding you as his fingers dug deep into your hips, holding you down as he throbbed, breathless and undone beneath you. You were a fucking mess. Sweaty, flushed, soaked and still trembling when Yunho finally climbed back onto the bed, his hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you back, lips crashing into yours, hot, hungry, claiming.

Mingi was still beneath you, chest rising fast, lips parted as he tried to catch his breath. He looked wrecked already as Yunho’s voice was low, thick with something dangerous. “You want this?” Your breath caught, but you nodded, wide eyed, wanting them both. Every inch of you burned as a smirk tugged at Yunho’s mouth. “Then get back on him.” He turned you gently, one hand skimming your hip as he nodded to Mingi.

Mingi moved fast, anticipation written all over him as he sprawled across the mattress, hair a mess, pupils blown wide as you crawled back into his lap. You guided yourself down onto him again, moaning at the stretch, the fullness, the familiar burn that lit you up from the inside. Yunho stayed behind you, watching the way your body took Mingi in like it was made for him. His fingers ghosted up your spine, leaving chills in their wake. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice gravelly. “Just like that.” You started to move, slow at first, riding Mingi, his hands gripping your hips again, guiding your rhythm. But Yunho’s heat was getting closer. You could feel him, hovering just behind, hands settling on your waist as if to steady you.

You tipped your head back, moaning, caught between both of them already. “Keep going,” Yunho said low, breath warm on your ear. “Don’t stop.” His hands curled around your waist, warm and steady, a contrast to the way your body was already trembling from the intensity of Mingi still beneath you. You could feel him, every twitch, every flex, as he held your hips, still catching his breath from his last release but already hard again, need glinting in his eyes like a promise as Yunho leaned in close behind you, chest pressed to your back, his mouth ghosting over your shoulder as he exhaled, low and heavy.

Mingi’s fingers tightened at your hips again, but his eyes never left Yunho’s, there was an unspoken understanding, a tension older than either of them would admit out loud as Yunho’s hand moved to your lower back, steadying you, the other sliding down to join Mingi’s where they gripped you together. He looked down, his gaze darkening as he watched the place where you and Mingi were joined. “Fuck,” he breathed, more to himself than to either of you. He kissed the curve of your shoulder, lips lingering, and then you felt it, his body shifting behind you, the press of him tentative, slow, careful. Your breath hitched. So did Mingi’s.

“Just breathe,” Yunho whispered, voice hoarse now, rougher, as he moved in tandem with Mingi’s rhythm, both of them grounding you between their bodies, guiding you through every new sensation with practiced hands and reverent attention. Mingi’s hand came up to brush your cheek, voice low and full of awe. “You’re unbelievable…” And Yunho, still behind you, buried his face in your neck, exhaling like he’d been holding it in forever. Your entire body trembled as he pressed forward, his grip on your waist firm but gentle, coaxing you down until a sharp gasp tore from your lips, your hands flying to Mingi’s chest to steady yourself.

Yunho had finally bottomed out, his chest flush against your back, the heat of his breath fanning across your shoulder as both men stilled for a moment, grounding themselves in the overwhelming stretch and pressure of both being inside you. Mingi let out a wrecked, broken sound beneath you, half whimper, half curse, his fingers tightening like a vice on your hips. “Fuck… I can feel him,” he rasped, his voice rough with disbelief, with desire, eyes wide and glassy as they met yours. “I can feel everything.” You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t even think. Your body was a mess of shivers and ragged gasps, caught between both of them in a way that shattered every boundary you’d ever known. You felt full, so full it was almost too much, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

Yunho pressed a kiss to your neck, his voice a low, gritted murmur. “You’re taking us so well, baby… You look so good like this.” Mingi nodded, breathless. “She’s perfect. Fucking perfect.” And for a heartbeat, the world narrowed down to just this, three bodies, tangled in heat, in trust, in something deeper neither of them dared to name yet. The first movement was cautious. A slow roll of Yunho’s hips behind you, timed with the way Mingi bucked up beneath you, both men finding a rhythm with careful control, dicks sliding against each other inside you. You whimpered as your body tried to keep up, every nerve lit, every breath shaky and sharp.

“Easy,” Yunho murmured against your shoulder, his fingers stroking soothing circles over your waist, though the tension in his arms betrayed how close he was to losing control. “Just breathe, baby.” Mingi was breathing heavy under you, his hands slipping from your hips to your thighs, thumbs brushing up and down as he whispered, “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. We’ve got you.” They started to move again, deeper now, more coordinated. The sensation was staggering. The push and pull, the stretch and friction, their bodies perfectly in sync inside you. You couldn’t hold in the cry that broke from your throat, your head dropping forward as your whole body clenched. “I… oh my god….” was all you could manage before your orgasm slammed into you like a wave. No warning, no chance to stop it. You shattered between them, legs trembling, fingers digging into Mingi’s shoulders as you pulsed around both of them.

“Holy shit…” Mingi choked out, groaning through gritted teeth as you clamped down hard, dragging a broken moan from his chest. “Fuck, look at her,” Yunho hissed behind you, pressing a kiss to your spine, voice wrecked and reverent. They didn’t stop. They couldn’t. Not when you were falling apart like that between them, so beautiful, so undone, and all theirs.

The moment you slumped forward, barely coherent, Mingi’s hand slid up your back, trembling as he tried to steady himself. “You okay?” he rasped, eyes glazed. But your whimper in response wasn’t one of pain, it was need. “More,” you choked out. “Don’t stop…. please.” Yunho gritted his teeth behind you, sweat clinging to his skin as he pulled back just enough to thrust forward again, watching your whole body jolt. Mingi moaned beneath you, his hands tightening around your waist. “Fuck,” Mingi gasped. “I can’t… I’m not gonna last….” He was too deep, too far gone, the heat and pressure and sensation driving him wild. He held out for maybe three more thrusts before his head fell back and his body tensed under yours. “Y/N…” he gasped, his whole body shuddering as he came hard, hips jerking up involuntarily, buried deep. He grunted, almost in pain, chest rising and falling like he couldn’t breathe. And he didn’t move. Still inside you, stuck, his arms wrapped around your waist as he panted, murmuring broken apologies and praise against your skin. “So good, you’re so good, baby… fuck, I can’t move…”

Yunho reached around you, lifting your body gently, adjusting you just enough to shift the angle. Mingi whimpered, overstimulated and overwhelmed beneath you, his nails digging into the sheets. But Yunho was relentless now, each thrust more desperate than the last, trying to hold himself together as your body started to tremble again. Mingi was moaning now, helpless, his legs twitching under you as Yunho used your body to chase his own high, every deep stroke brushing against that same spot inside you until your walls clenched again, tighter than before.

You cried out, a sudden second orgasm crashing over you, your whole body shaking as your nails dragged down Mingi’s chest. He whimpered in pure overstimulation, hips barely able to twitch as he held you close. Yunho growled low behind you, his rhythm faltering as he surged forward one last time, his name slipping from your lips just as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a deep, broken moan. The only sounds left were your soft whimpers, Mingi’s hitched breathing, and Yunho’s chest pressed to your back as he wrapped his arms around you both.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there, boneless and trembling, caught between both of them in a tangle of heat and sweat. Every nerve in your body still sparked like live wires, Mingi twitching beneath you with the occasional whimper as he tried to remember how to breathe. Yunho finally exhaled behind you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slowly, carefully pulling out. You whimpered at the loss, already so sensitive, and he hushed you gently, his arms circling around your waist to ease you forward.

“Hang on, baby,” he murmured, guiding you off Mingi with care. Mingi let out a small, choked sound at the movement, collapsing fully onto the bed with one arm flung over his eyes like he’d just been hit by a train as Yunho pulled you into his lap, your legs shaky and useless, your skin flushed and slick as you slumped against his chest, head resting on his shoulder, utterly wrecked.

He ran a hand lazily down your back, kissed your temple, and then, because of course he did, his voice dropped into that smug, teasing drawl that made you want to both slap and kiss him. “So…” He tilted his head, eyes full of mischief. “Who’s bigger?”

Your head jerked up with a groan, shooting him a look even as a tired laugh escaped your lips. “Oh my god.”

Mingi peeked out from beneath his arm, blinking blearily. “Happy new year.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

In hindsight, it was a catastrophic idea.

But Yunho's smitten with you, and for some reason his brain decided it'd be hilarious—maybe even charming—to wedge his 6'2" ass under your twin bed and leap out like a discount horror movie villain when you got home from class.

So now he's crammed beneath your bed, knees jammed to his chest, spine folded like a poorly built Ikea shelf, and he's choking on dust bunnies the size of actual rabbits. Still, he's grinning like an idiot when he hears the front door click open.

You call out his name. Once. Twice. Then your footsteps creak toward his bedroom.

"Guess he's not here," you announce.

Yunho smothers a laugh as your feet start padding toward your room. His heart is hammering in his chest, but he shuffles forward a little so he'll be in prime position for the big reveal when your door swings open.

Then it does.

He spots your glossy black tabis stepping into the room, and his chest thrums with excitement. He braces himself, about to leap out like the world's dumbest jack-in-the-box—

And then…

Another pair of shoes.

White Air Forces. Huge.

His stomach drops.

Shit.

You? Bringing someone home? The thought had literally never crossed his mind. You’re so introverted he once caught you avoiding eye contact with a poster. A poster, for God’s sake. Like even the printed people were too much.

For one wild moment, he actually considers crawling out, just taking the hit of awkwardness and praying you can find the humor in this slightly creepy situation. But then a voice rolls in:

"Do you know where he went, or when he'll be back?"

It’s deep. Masculine. The kind of voice that belongs to an upperclassman who could (and probably would) kick Yunho's teeth in if he popped out from under your bed.

So he does what any rational person would do: he stops breathing and prays for death.

"Not sure. Probably playing video games with his friends," you reply, dropping your bag with a thud. "He's usually here, though. We don't have class for another couple of hours."

The guy hums, slow, smug, and Yunho’s not sure why it makes his stomach turn until he speaks.

"Good. Then we should probably hurry."

You giggle and Yunho flatlines under the bed.

He's never heard you laugh like that. It's nothing like the polite little chuckles he's earned in the six months of orbiting you like a loyal golden retriever. No, this one's real, bright, and apparently only reserved for sneaker-wearing strangers with deep voices.

He watches in silent horror as your tabis swivel toward the sneakers, then up on tiptoe, and then the wet, unmistakable sound of kissing seals his fate.

There's another smack, a different kind, louder this time, followed by your muffled moan, and his nightmare is confirmed.

He's trapped under your bed watching you (the self proclaimed love of his life) star in the feet version of a softcore porno.

His only options are bleak:

Stay hidden and endure the soul-crushing agony of listening to you get wrecked by big foot, OR, crawl out, get mistaken for a pervert, and risk having his face turned into ground beef by Mr. Air Forces.

Neither sounds great, but Yunho chooses the former and lies there, pinned against the dirty floor, lungs burning with dust and humiliation, and prays for divine intervention.

Maybe the fire alarm. An earthquake. Spontaneous combustion.

Literally ANYTHING.

Anything to drown out the soundtrack of his own personal apocalypse as your room fills with noises that will haunt him longer than his chiropractor bills.

Yunho doesn't breathe. He doesn't blink. He stops existing altogether. He’s now just a pair of eyes staring at the undercarriage of your bed frame, willing it to collapse and put him out of his misery.

But of course, life is not that kind. Instead, both your shoes shuffle towards the bed in tandem, and then the springs groan and sink with your added weights. Yunho’s soul leaves his body.

His mind short-circuits. Should he close his eyes? Cover his ears? He doesn't want to see this. Definitely doesn't want to hear it. His brain screams at him to shut it out, but there's literally no escape. Every squeak of the mattress presses into his spine and ricochets through his bones.

This couldn't possibly get any worse he thinks.

Then your voice comes—low, breathy, and unrecognizable in this register.

"Hold on, let me lock the door."

Yunho clamps a hand over his mouth as you run to the door, trying to hold back the pitiful whimper bubbling in the back of his throat. The lock clicks into place, loud and final, like the clang of a jail cell, and his stomach lurches.

Whatever you’re toeing your way back to do, he’s pretty sure it’s not going to be great for his mental or emotional stability.

You kick your shoes off as you come, and Yunho squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself for the groan of the bedsprings again.

It never comes.

There's rustling though. Lots of shifting, fabric moving, a zipper dragging down, and the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor. Yunho dares to crack one eye open and immediately regrets it.

You're on your knees...right in front of his face.

Well actually there's a huge pile of Mister Air Forces' fucking pants—still crumpled around his ankles—in front of Yunho's face, but you're right on the other side. Soft, delicate knees pressed into the hardwood flooring between the legs of Yunho's now sworn enemy.

His eyes are stinging, and he feels the first wave of tears forming when Air Forces' sighs, long and deep, then mutters a gut twisting, "Shit..."

They burn for real when the spit slick sounds of you sucking him off curl under the bed and into settle Yunho's skull.

It's slow, rhythmic and obscene—like someone halfheartedly stirring mac and cheese. Then it starts in earnest: the rhythm of your movements, your gags, a wet squelching sound that makes Yunho's wince.

No...no...NO!

God please! No!

He was definitely in hell. He's convinced he died sometime between second period and now, and this was his own personal section of hell. A punishment for all of the times he'd masturbated thinking of you.

"Fuck..." Air Forces gasps. "You think you can take a little more?"

Yunho's eyes nearly bug out of his head.

TAKE MORE???

You hum twice, confirming, mouth still presumably full of dick, and Yunho thinks he's gonna be sick.

"Hold still, okay? Tap my leg if you can't take it."

CAN'T TAKE IT???

No. There's no way he's about to do what Yunho thinks he's about to do. Not to you. Not to the sweetest person he's ever known.

But thats exactly what happens.

Yunho actually lets out a pained whimper this time, but the sound is drowned out as Air Forces braces himself on the balls of his feet and starts fucking your face.

The sound is absurd. He can only imagine what it actually looks like. And it doesn't stop. It just goes on and on, a grotesque symphony of suction and spit. Yunho's temples pound with every glug, glug, glug, each one impossible wetter and louder than the last.

It's not erotic either. It's not even human. It's like listening to someone punching water. And it's so loud. He's loud. God, why is he so loud? Is this what you like?

"Fuck... you're incredible," Air Forces murmurs, voice low and proud. "I've never...mm—never had it like this before."

Yunho wants to laugh, cry, and vomit all at once. His hands curl into fists against the dusty floorboards. This was like some sick fucking joke, and the worst part of it all? His treacherous dick is throbbing like it's in on it.

Fuck. This is so humiliating.

He clenches his jaw, trying to will away his growing erection through sheer will power and self loathing. It doesn't work.

For a moment, he considers jumping out now, tackling the bastard by his ankles, hopefully breaking the stupid little dick he's using to defile your perfect face.

But he can't. One wrong move and he'll be a headline in tomorrow's paper: "College Sophmore Beaten to Death After Cosplaying as a Freaky Dust Bunny."

His obituary will just say PERVERT in all caps.

Yunho's murderous fantasy is cut short by a choked groan, Mister Air Force, and a lewd slurp and pop from above him. You.

"Holy Shit..." he groans, breathless. "You look so innocent. I thought you were lying about not having a gag reflex."

Yunho stares up soullessly at a metal beam running down the center of your bed and wonders how hard he'd have to bang his head into it to kill himself in one go.

You laugh, soft and strained, and Yunho's chest caves in. He's memorized that laugh in so many innocent contexts, and now it's pinned forever to this. To him. To glug, glug, fucking glug.

Yunho's eyes water from sheer mental nausea. He presses the back of his head to the floor, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. But his misery is far from over.

"Now I know what that mouth can do, come here let me see what your other lips feel like."

As you push up to your feet—quick and a little too eager for Yunho's comfort—he doesn't even have the strength to wish for death anymore. All he can do is hope, willing it into the thick, humid air of your room: that Air Forces will nut the second he enters, that he’ll disappoint you, and that maybe… just maybe, this nightmare will finally be over.

He's still thinking it when clothes start raining down like some alternate universe Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs.

Shoes, socks, skirt, shirt, jeans, bra. And then the bed squeaks, and your feet are gone. All Yunho can see now are Air Forces' pasty white toes flexing... FLEXING... and he wonders if he'll ever recover from this.

There's movement above, slow, heavy, and ominous from where he's crammed. Then Air Forces gasps, swearing under his breath. And despite how absurd the whole situation is, Yunho can't stop the curiosity gnawing at him. What were you doing up there? What the hell was he seeing?

"How are you so wet just from sucking me off?"

Yunho's head whips to the side in sheer disbelief—and there they are. Your panties, crumpled a few feet away like the universe's idea of a cruel gag gift. The pale pink fabric is soaked so deep it's turned a darker shade, glaring back at him with all the smugness of, "Yeah, you wish this was for you, huh?"

It stabs him, sweet and cruel, then twists when you say,

"Mingi, are you just gonna stand there and keep drooling over me, or are you actually gonna fuck me?"

His dick jumps. Your voice is so soft, practically begging, and if Yunho were standing—if he could even feel his knees—he'd drop to them like the heartbroken protagonist in a soap opera and shout to the heavens from the gut punch of it all.

How could you say something so filthy in that sweet little voice? How was he ever supposed to look you in the eye again after this, let alone speak to you?

And to make matters worse, you've now gone and put a name to the blunt instrument of his torment.

Mingi.

Fucking Mingi.

What kind of name even is that?

Mingi laughs.

"Someone's impatient..." he says, smug. "I hope you keep the same energy when I'm in it."

You giggle again.

Then there's a pause—the rip of foil—and Yunho nearly passes out.

The bed shifts. Hard. Scooting forward a few inches. Yunho freezes. You squeal. Then the mattress dips.

Yunho closes his eyes, not because of the dust suddenly raining down on him, but because he's trying desperately to disappear into the darkness behind his eyelids for this next part. But it only makes it worse.

You gasp, loud and shocked, then the sound tapers off into a breathless, drawn-out "Oh my god." It echoes in his head like a gunshot.

Then the rhythm starts. Soft at first. Steady. Then it picks up and your moans grow louder. Everything seems to be magnified with his eyes shut. Every smack, every squelch, every blood curdling grunt.

And to make it all worse, his stupid, fucked-up brain is imagining every possible position Mingi might have you in, each squeak of the bed adding another to the list.

"Fuck...that feels so good..." your voice cuts through the air in a shaky, barely coherent whine, and Yunho wants to scream.

"Yeah... say my fucking name." Mingi grits. "Let everyone on the floor know who's fucking you like this."

Yunho silently prays you won’t—please don't. But then you say it, all desperate and euphoric like the girls in the pornos, and he wishes he had some dull pencils or rusty nails to jam into his eardrums.

You choke out his name, over and over, and the bed frame rattles even harder in response. Impossibly harder. Thrashing. Like it’s alive and mocking him.

Yunho grabs himself, holds his erection clenched in a tight, unforgiving grip. He's never been this hard in his entire life. It's actually sickening. It feels like his dick might spring right up and through the fucking bed if he lets go.

And sure, he could probably pull it out and dull the unbearable ache really quick, especially with all the noise you two are making, but this situation is rock bottom enough.

There's no way he could still call himself a human being if he jerked off—UNDER YOUR BED—to the sound of you getting drilled into oblivion, yelling another man's name.

His eyes water for real this time. Not just from the dust, but from the gutting mixture of jealousy, arousal, and abject humiliation.

He's pinned, a silent and unwilling audience; his whole world reduced to the percussion of a mattress, his pulsing dick, and the unbearable truth that this will be carved into his brain forever.

Time stretches. Yunho lies there for god knows how long, joints locked, muscles screaming, chest aching. And then you say something that makes his blood run cold.

"Mingi...I'm gonna come..."

It comes out soft and feeble. And Mingi, the fucknut, grunts something about you squirting all over him. Yunho's mind mercifully blocks that shit out.

The bed rocks a little while longer, then you mewl, and everything stops. He doesn’t mean to bite his lip or grind the heel of his palm against his hard on, but the sound you make as you cum is so fucking sexy that no amount of mortification or rationalization can help him exercise self control.

This was the stuff of his wildest dreams and most perverted fantasies. The whole bed is vibrating. And if Yunho didn’t know what was actually happening, he’d think you were being electrocuted. By the time it ends, you’re practically wheezing, and Yunho’s bitten his lips so hard it’s drawn blood.

He's pants quietly, chest heaving, thumb fidgeting at his zipper, the unthinkable hovering in his mind. He hates himself for even wanting to, for even contemplating it—but it’s you. Outside of this, the closest thing to moaning he’d ever heard from you was a startled little sound you made after tripping on the sidewalk.

And judging by the friendzone fortress you seem to have cornered him in to, he probably wasn’t going to get another chance to hear it ever again. So Yunho pulls the button of his jeans open, swearing to take this low moment of depravity to his grave.

Then Mingi's voice cuts in, gravelly and intrusive, and the spell shatters.

"Uh-uh, turn around. I'm not done with you yet."

Yunho yanks his hand from his fly like he’s been burned, shock and frustration flaring through him. He drags it down his face instead, jaw tight, heart hammering.

For fucks sake…

He watches, temple now throbbing, as Mingi climbs off the bed—great, more feet—but then yours hit the floor too.

You whine as Mingi twists and bends you into position, tapping your ankle with his foot until you pull your legs together. He plants his own wide on either side of yours, and Yunho feels a pang of misery. He doesn’t need his imagination to fill in the blanks.

He knows exactly what position you’re in.

It’s his favorite.

You hiss as Mingi pushes back into you, and without thinking, Yunho bucks his hips, desperate to live vicariously through him.

He knows it’s pathetic.

“Stay just like that,” Mingi instructs.

Then he starts moving.

He doesn’t ease in to it this time. Even from under the bed, Yunho can hear the sticky smacks as Mingi pistons into you like he’s drilling for oil. One of your feet lifts off the floor from the sheer force of it. And for a moment, you’re squeaking. A high pitched, helpless sound perfectly synced to the bed’s violent rhythm.

Yunho can’t believe his ears. He’s seen porn before, but nothing like this. This isn’t sex. It’s a small-scale natural disaster happening on top of a mattress.

Then Mingi’s voice cuts through it all, ragged and mechanical, like the Terminator decided to narrate his own sex tape.

"Stop running." Hey says. Succinct. "You wanted this dick, you gotta take all of it."

You answer with a strained noise that barely sounds human—half breath, half plea—and Yunho’s brain detonates like tiny, self-destructing firework of despair and auditory trauma.

"I'm trying," You whimper. "It's so deep...I-I can feel it...in my stomach."

Yep... he's definitely going to kill himself after this.

The thrusting stops. Mingi pulls out with a slick pop, and the bed squeaks under new weight. You're gasping, practically heaving, and all he says is "come here."

There's a pause, a shuffle, then the rhythm starts again. This time with a sharp, hollow thump echoing through the wall.

Reality slams into Yunho like a bucket of ice water.

Oh God, you're on top.

At first the bed was rocking side to side. Now it's vertical. And that thump? That's definitely the headboard meeting drywall. (Great! First his dignity, now his deposit)

Your moans even sound different. Lighter, breathier. And fucking Mingi. He's grunting like he's auditioning for a livestock competition, and punctuating it with loud slaps Yunho can only assume are on your ass.

"There you go... ride that shit, baby... Fuck, don't stop."

Every word hits Yunho like a sledgehammer, but he can tell you’re loving it. You sound wrecked, voice trembling, breath catching, but your rhythm never falters. The sharp smacks of movement reverberate through the bed frame and into his spine.

Minutes stretch into eternities, and every second is an assault. Every grunt, every gasp, every desperate, broken “fuck” shoots straight to his dick, painting an even filthier picture in his head until he’s sure he’s going to lose it completely.

The room is suddenly way too humid, and the heat is not helping Yunho’s slow descent into horny delirium. He’s drenched, sweat streaming down his face, neck, and sticking his shirt to his back.

He’s half delirious, and can’t stop picturing the way you must look: the flush on your cheeks, the sheen on your skin, the way your body’s probably bouncing in motion.

Mingi mutters something about being close, asks where he can finish. Yunho barely registers it. Then you ask in response, voice soft and dirty, if he wants to finish in your mouth, and it’s like a flip switches in his head.

Every nerve fires off at once—jealousy, desire, shame, awe. They all slam together like a demolition crew in his skull. Sparks fly, circuits short, and his brain catches fire.

Your words hit him like wrecking balls, and as you slide off the bed Yunho’s chest drums with panic. All he can do is listen helplessly and wonder if he’ll ever stop being emotionally obliterated. Or at least get a single minute of dignity.

He wants to cry again when the bed shifts and your knees hit the ground. He almost does when he hears the wet snap of the condom before it hits the floor.

He looks away when the mattress dips again, but there’s no escaping the sound of Mingi’s rough breathing, the slick rhythm of his hand, the guttural noise that follows as he comes down your throat.

From Yunho’s vantage point, the moment feels eternal, every second amplifying his torment, until finally, mercifully, Mingi sighs and it all comes to an end.

You both sink on to the bed, breathless, panting, then it’s still for what feels like the first time in millennia. Mingi mutters something low and satisfied and you both laugh.

Yunho just lies there, pinned, sweaty, and heaving from the sheer violence of what he’s witnessed. He isn’t even sure he exists anymore. He’s just dust, shame, and regret crushed beneath a twin bed that feels more like a coffin. This was the worst sex of his life, and he wasn’t even partaking in it.

It takes forever for you two to leave after the fact. You disappear into the bathroom for a shower, and Mingi stays on your bed, lounging, laughing, and scrolling through TikToks like nothing mattered.

When you return, he watches, itching with an almost painful excitement as you pace around the room getting dressed. Relief hits him like a wave, borderline orgasmic, as you slip your tabis back on, and Mingi those fucking Air Forces Yunho will no doubt see in his nightmares.

When you finally leave, Yunho doesn’t care about the way you hum and giggle when Mingi says he’ll see you later, voice slick with pride and satisfaction. He doesn’t even mind the brief makeout session you stop for at the door before the lock clicks shut.

He waits until he hears the front door close completely, then he lets out a groan so rough and jagged it barely qualifies as human. It tears out of him, lungs protesting from how long he was forced to stay quiet.

For a while, he just lies there. Like a dusty corpse, waiting for the universe to do him a favor and delete what was left of him.

Then it hits him. He’s still under your bed. You’re long gone, and he’s still there. Like a freak. The realization drags him back into his body. He rolls onto his stomach and crawls out, limbs locked and aching, hair full of lint, shirt damp with sweat and maybe a few tears.

His shoulder bumps the frame as he worms his way out like some rejected horror movie extra. His knees tingle like they have pins in them, and his spine cracks when he finally extends it for the first time in nearly an hour.

Yunho’s thinking to himself that he needs a long, scalding shower and a lobotomy when suddenly—

Your door swings open again.

"Shit—!" he hisses, trying to reverse like a panicked Roomba, but it's too late.

You startle when you see him, hand frozen midway to a charger cable dangling off your desk, blinking at the disaster in front of you.

The silence is nuclear.

All Yunho can do is stare helplessly as you take him in: dusty, disheveled, halfway out from under your bed, hair stuck up with static, face flushed and sweaty, eyes wide, and pupils blown.

Your brows draw together slowly.

"...Yunho?"

He throws his hands up, as if to say, Please, I’m not a pervert, then scrambles the rest of the way out, limbs flailing, utterly hopeless.

His knees buckle from lack of blood flow when he tries to stand up, so he just stays there—pathetic, tragic, and doomed. Because there's no explanation in the world that can make this make sense. No way to erase the image of your roommate crawling out from under your bed, covered in lint, eyes wild, and very obviously hard.

"I—it's not—I wasn't—" His voice cracks.

Excuses scramble like rats in his skull: Surprise? Prank? Illusion?? Nothing sounds remotely sane.

You blink at him, then at the bed he just slithered out of, then at the obvious bulge in his lap. He can see the gears turning behind your eyes as you put two and two together, but when your lips part, nothing comes out.

Yunho's intrusive thoughts detonate. Lie. Say you were fixing the slats. Say you saw a mouse. Anything but the truth. She's going to call the cops. You're going to end up on a list. God, why didn't he just jump out and die earlier?

His voice is strained with fear, and even to him, it doesn’t sound believable, but he throws out the only thing he can think of in that moment: