#yungi

“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.”

Mingi leaned forward in the passenger seat, eyes catching on the neon signs tagging the building’s exterior in shifting graffiti. “Damn,” he muttered, lips curling. “This place is actually kinda sick.” Yunho didn’t answer, just pulled into a spot a little too perfect to be legal. The truck’s engine purred low before cutting off, leaving only the thump of bass and the distant sound of someone screaming with laughter in the dark.

Mingi slouched back, grinning like sin itself, and reached into the pocket of his cargos. “Wanna roll?” Yunho turned his head, expression blank. “What are you doing?” Mingi casually held up a bag of tiny pills between his fingers, the soft glow of the streetlamp catching on the pressed letters. “Molly,” he said. “You want some?”

Yunho stared at him for a long second. Then another. “No,” he said finally, voice low, like he was already exasperated. “Someone has to drive us back home.” Mingi popped one anyway. “You’re gonna stay sober? In there?” Yunho just smirked, slow and dangerous. “I never said I was gonna be sober.” Mingi blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Wait… did you already….”

Yunho leaned forward, opened the glove box, and pulled out a half finished pack of edibles. He popped one piece between his teeth, the other slipping casually to Mingi. “I took an edible an hour ago.” Mingi made a low sound of betrayal. “You bitch… you pre gamed?” Yunho was already out of the truck, slamming the door shut behind him. The music hit harder once they stepped outside, vibrating through their shoes. Smoke, heat, the sharp sting of ocean salt and gasoline, Florida in the summer had never tasted so wild.

Mingi jogged to catch up. “You’re such a bad influence.”

“Good,” Yunho said, heading toward the line of glowing bodies outside the warehouse. “So are you.” They passed the graffiti covered gates with barely a glance from the bouncer, just a nod at Yunho’s face and a low spoken “you good” as the two of them stepped inside. Heat slammed into them like a wall. Not just from the packed crowd, but from the bodies grinding, the lights slicing through artificial fog, and the music, loud enough to rewire their bones. Every surface pulsed. The air reeked of sweat, perfume, weed, and something else sweeter. The floor trembled beneath their boots like the building was alive.

Mingi exhaled, pupils already beginning to dilate. He tipped his head back, tongue between his teeth as the bass dropped, then leaned in closer to Yunho’s ear, practically shouting over the music. “I’m going for it tonight.” Yunho glanced at him, brows furrowed. “What?”

“Her.” Mingi’s eyes scanned the crowd like a predator loosed into the wild. “You know… Y/N. Don’t act like you haven’t been losing your shit ever since she moved in with Wooyoung.” Yunho’s jaw tightened, just a flicker, but Mingi caught it. “That obvious, huh?” Yunho muttered and Mingi grinned like he’d already won. “Dude. She’s hot as fuck, funny, always half naked when we bump into her in the hall…”

“You don’t bump into her,” Yunho cut in. “You linger outside your door with no shirt on until she walks past from taking the trash out like clockwork.”

“And you don’t look at her?” Mingi shot back, raising a brow. “Please. You think I haven’t seen the way you check her out when she’s walking ahead of us to Wooyoung’s place?” Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because yeah, you had been driving him crazy. Ever since that first night Wooyoung introduced you with that smug “she’s off limits unless you’re ready to die trying” smile. Ever since he’d seen you curled up on Wooyoung’s couch in a Tomb Raider shirt and boy shorts, sipping from a can of spiked soda like you weren’t the hottest thing either of them had ever seen.

“First one to make her kiss him wins,” Mingi said suddenly, holding out a hand. Yunho just stared at it, unimpressed. “Are we twelve?”

“No,” Mingi grinned, wiggling his fingers. “We’re bored. Come on, unless you’re scared.” Yunho took a slow breath. Then clasped Mingi’s hand, his smile all teeth, because Yunho was competitive after all. “You’re gonna lose.”

Bodies moved around them in a blur, painted arms thrown in the air, smeared glitter catching the blacklight, eyes blown wide with lust and heat and whatever they’d taken. Mingi moved first, weaving through the crowd with Yunho close behind, both of them scanning faces, hair, silhouettes. But the second Mingi saw you, everything else stopped. “Fuck,” he muttered.

Yunho, high enough now that the lights were starting to ripple, turned his head. “What?”

“There,” Mingi said, voice low, like the moment deserved reverence. “Black leather. Red cup in one hand, Wooyoung’s shirt in the other.” Yunho followed his line of sight. And saw you. Lit by violet strobe and shadows, you stood half turned from the crowd, your body arched slightly as you leaned into Wooyoung’s side, laughing at something he said. You were wearing what could barely be called a top, all straps and skin and black that clung to your chest, wrapping around you like sin. Your shorts laced tight at the hips, barely long enough to hide anything. And your jacket? Hanging loose over your shoulders like you hadn’t bothered to put it on all the way, too busy dancing, glowing, existing.

Yunho’s jaw tensed, his tongue running along his molars as you turned, eyes catching theirs across the strobe lit haze. Your smile curled slow and Mingi’s hand twitched at his side. “Game on,” Mingi said, already moving. They moved like they belonged there. Mingi weaving through the crowd with that loose swagger, like the lights themselves parted for him. Yunho trailing just behind, cool, unreadable, the calm before a storm. Both tall, sharp edged, draped in shadows and neon glow. People turned as they passed. Some stared. Some stepped aside. But neither of them looked at anyone else. Only you.

You were laughing now, leaning into Wooyoung, fingers brushing the collar of his half unbuttoned shirt as Wooyoung glanced past you. Saw them. And grinned. “Told you they’d show up,” he shouted over the music, voice smug as hell, eyes locking with Mingi’s. “Didn’t I say they couldn’t stay away?” You turned, still smiling, but the second your gaze hit Yunho again, it stuttered.

That look in his eyes, low, steady, heavy. Like he’d already decided something. And Mingi? He gave you a look like he wanted to taste the heat off your skin and let it burn his tongue. All teeth and promise, like he hadn’t forgotten a single time he’d run into you in the hall. Not when your shorts rode up. Not when your hair was still wet from the shower. Definitely not when you caught him staring and just winked. “Y/N,” Wooyoung said, practically purring in your ear, “look who finally decided to stop playing hard to get.”

They stopped directly in front of you. Close enough that Yunho could feel the warmth rolling off your skin. Close enough that Mingi caught the faint citrus sweet scent of your perfume under the smoke and sweat. The bass thudded between you, slow and relentless, vibrating straight through bone as Wooyoung looked between the three of you, eyes bright, already feral with anticipation. “So,” he said, clapping a hand on Mingi’s shoulder, “what treats did my favorite dealers bring?”

Mingi laughed, easy and loose, already digging into his pocket. “You don’t waste time, huh?”

“Why would I?” Wooyoung shot back. “I know you.”

Mingi tipped two pills into his palm, holding them up like candy under the strobe. Wooyoung made a delighted noise, snatching one immediately. “Oh, thank God,” he said, already popping it. “San’s gonna lose his mind when he gets here.”

Yunho barely reacted, eyes still on you. The edible had settled in fully now, everything just a touch softer around the edges, lights bleeding together, sound stretching. But you stayed sharp. Clear. Distracting in a way that made his jaw tighten as Mingi turned his attention back to you, grin slow, deliberate. “You want?” he asked casually, like he wasn’t already watching your mouth.

You lifted a brow. “Depends.”

Mingi stepped closer. Too close. He tipped the pill from his palm to his fingertips, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. His voice dipped, just for you. “Depends on what?” Yunho’s breath hitched before he could stop it. The world seemed to narrow to that single, stupidly intimate gesture. The way Mingi’s fingers hovered near your lips. The way Yunho’s gaze flicked down without permission, heat blooming low in his stomach.

Wooyoung noticed. Of course he did and his grin turned wicked. “Ohhh,” he said, dragging the sound out. “This is gonna be a night.”

The pill hovered just inches from your mouth. You didn’t break eye contact. Didn’t answer. Just opened your mouth slowly, lips parting with deliberate ease, tongue slipping out in silent invitation, wet and waiting. Mingi’s grin faltered for half a second. Just a flicker. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting you to say yes without words. Like maybe he thought you’d giggle or tease or make him work for it. But no, you just stared at him, eyes glittering beneath the UV haze, daring him to close the space.

And so he did. Fingers steady, he brought the pill forward and placed it on your tongue, soft, precise, slow enough to feel every heartbeat between you as Yunho watched the whole thing like it was a crime scene. His jaw clenched. His hands slipped into his pockets, not for style, but control. Because watching you let Mingi feed you something he could’ve done… watching your tongue curl and pull it in without a sound? It was obscene.

You closed your mouth with a smirk, lips glossed and dangerous, and leaned back like you hadn’t just made them both lose composure for a second too long as Wooyoung whistled low beside you, laughing. “I told you,” he shouted over the music, spinning slightly like he couldn’t handle the secondhand heat. “Told you. She plays harder than either of you.”

Mingi exhaled through his nose, eyes still on your mouth. “You’re evil.” Yunho didn’t speak. He just licked his lips, slow. And thought about how long he was willing to wait for his turn.

The second the pill was gone, your tongue flicking back behind your lips, you just smiled. Mingi was still looking at your mouth like he’d just watched a miracle. Yunho hadn’t moved an inch, except for the way his jaw was locked tight, like he was biting down a thought he shouldn’t say out loud. And that’s when you hit them with it. “I’m honestly surprised you two left the apartment,” you said, tilting your head, voice lazy and sweet. “Didn’t think you left that couch unless someone was banging on your door or cash apping you.”

Mingi blinked. Yunho raised one brow, lips twitching despite himself as Wooyoung nearly howled. “Yes!” he shouted, pointing at you like you’d just dunked on them both in a single move. “That’s my girl!” Mingi laughed, one sharp breath, stepping in just enough that your knees almost brushed. “So you’ve been thinking about us on that couch, huh?” You gave him a look, equal parts innocent and filthy. “Maybe.”

Yunho finally spoke, voice low, calm like deep water. “Didn’t think you noticed us.”

“I notice everything,” you said, meeting his stare head on. “Especially the way you watch me like you’re trying not to.” That one landed and Mingi let out a quiet, “Shit,” under his breath, delighted. Yunho didn’t blink. Didn’t smirk. Just said, “I wasn’t trying.”

Wooyoung just stood there, sipping his drink with the world’s most satisfied expression. “Okay,” he said, glancing between the three of you. “Well, I feel like the fourth wheel now, so I’m gonna go find somewhere else to be until San gets here.” He patted your hip, leaned close to your ear. “Destroy them,” he whispered, then disappeared into the crowd like he knew exactly what he’d just left behind.

You licked your lips, whether from the taste of the pill or just for show, neither of them could tell, and looked between the two of them, slow, deliberate. “I’m thirsty,” you said. It wasn’t a whine. It wasn’t a request. It was a command dressed up like a casual thought. Mingi blinked as Yunho raised one brow.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Yunho held out a closed fist and Mingi grinned, instantly mirroring him. “Rock, paper, scissors?” Yunho asked, like they hadn’t done this same thing over stupid shit a hundred times before. “Let’s go.”

“One, two, three…. shoot!”

Yunho’s rock smashed Mingi’s scissors and Mingi dropped his hand like he’d just lost a championship. “Bullshit.”

“You lost,” Yunho said simply, that ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth as you watched, amused, as Mingi groaned like he’d just been asked to run a marathon instead of hit the bar. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes at you playfully. “What do you want, princess?”

“Surprise me,” you replied, cocking your head. “Something good. And cold.”

Mingi gave you a lazy salute. “On it. If I get trampled on the way to the bar, avenge me.” He disappeared into the crowd, swallowed up by bodies and strobes, leaving you alone with Yunho who rolled his shoulders back, eyelids heavy, half lowered, his stare molten beneath the blacklight. You could tell he must be high. He wasn’t stiff anymore. That always wound up tension in his shoulders had melted, replaced by a kind of lazy ease, like he was made of heat and smoke now. Like if you touched him, your fingers might sink right in.

“You look good tonight.”

Simple. But something about the way he said it, flat tone, that deep voice running over the words like honey over ice, made it feel like a confession. Not a compliment. Your brows lifted, but he wasn’t finished. “I mean,” he went on, licking his lips, “you always look good. Even when you’re yelling at Wooyoung in the hallway in your pajamas with your hair up and no bra on.”

Your lips parted. “What?”

Yunho just looked at you. Dead serious. “What? You think we don’t hear you two through the door?”

You blinked. “You…”

“You stomp your feet when you’re mad,” he added, tilting his head, voice thoughtful now, like he was recalling a favorite memory. “That one night when he ate your leftovers? You said you were gonna pour hot sauce in his shampoo.”

You stared and he smiled. High Yunho was a menace. “And still,” he said, stepping just a little closer, voice low enough that you had to lean in to hear it, “you looked so good. That tiny tank top, those shorts, all attitude. I almost walked over just to see if you’d yell at me like that too after watching you shove Wooyoung inside.”

Your breath caught. He was close now. The kind of close that made it impossible to think about anything else. His eyes were darker, lazier. His voice a shade rougher. His mouth curled just a little, like he was enjoying how much he was messing with you. “You like being mean and bratty?” he asked quietly. “Or just to people who can’t handle it?”

You let out a breathless laugh before you could stop it, more air than sound, caught somewhere between, are you serious? and, please keep going.

Yunho’s mouth twitched at the corners like he heard every unspoken word in that exhale as you tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing, your voice playful but razor edged. “So…” you said, eyes dragging down his chest before sliding back up to meet his gaze again, “which one of you came here planning on making a move tonight?”

Yunho didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even pretend to deflect. He just took one, slow step closer, enough that your knees nearly brushed again. His voice dropped an octave if that were even possible, drenched in honey and smoke. “I didn’t plan anything,” he said. “But then you opened your mouth and let Mingi feed you like that…” His eyes dipped to your lips. “and now all I can think about is getting my turn.”

Your breath hitched again, but he wasn’t done. High Yunho didn’t have a filter, and apparently, he wasn’t about to start now. He leaned in just enough that you felt the heat of his breath against your ear. “You ask which one of us came here planning to make a move?” he murmured, his voice a low drag of sin, “I think the real question is…” His nose brushed lightly against your jaw, barely there, barely real. “how many moves are you gonna let us make?”

You didn’t even get the chance to answer. Because Mingi slid back into the space beside you with three plastic cups struggling in his hands and that smug, lazy grin like he knew Yunho had been running his mouth in his absence. “Miss me?” he asked, holding your drink out. You took it without hesitation, fingers brushing his as your eyes flicked between both of them, Yunho high and hungry, Mingi glowing from the Molly and the heat. Both of them stared at you like they were ready to make a bad decision if you even hinted.

But you didn’t say anything. Not right away. Because something over Mingi’s shoulder caught your attention. Movement. Shirtless movement. Wooyoung and San had claimed a corner of the rave like it belonged to them, bare torsos lit up under the black light, bodies slick with sweat and paint. San’s hands were on Wooyoung’s chest, dragging glowing streaks over muscle and skin, while Wooyoung tilted his head back and laughed, messy and loud and gorgeous. They looked feral. They looked free. And you wanted in.

Your lips curved into a slow smirk as you took a sip from your cup, sweet, cold, laced with something that bit the back of your throat just enough to spark. Then, without a word, you started moving. Through the crowd. Toward them. Like you belonged as Yunho and Mingi shared a glance. One second. No words. Then they both threw back their drinks, downing them in one go. And followed. Because wherever you were going, they weren’t about to let you go alone.

The crowd thinned just enough for them to see you clearly again, stepping into the chaos where San and Wooyoung were still painting each other like living art installations. The air back here was thick with heat, sweat, and something sweeter, desire, maybe. Or danger. Same thing, really.

Yunho’s buzz was deep now, softening everything around the edges but sharpening you. The way the strobe lit up your skin. The way the blacklight made your eyes glow. He wasn’t even sure if the bass was still playing or if that pounding in his chest had taken over. Mingi’s jaw flexed as you reached San and Wooyoung, the blacklight making his bleached hair glow.

You slipped your arms back, fingers tugging your jacket from your shoulders. Slow. Controlled. Letting it fall and slide down your arms until it dropped to the floor like it meant nothing. The second it hit, every head turned, the cut of your top clinging to your chest, the sliver of your waist exposed. Your breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. You were feeling it now.

And then you looked at them. Dead on. No hesitation. “So…” you said, voice dipped in challenge, honey sweet and devastating, “which one of you is gonna paint my body?” Yunho froze. Mingi swallowed. Wooyoung made an unholy noise like he was witnessing something sacred as San just muttered, “Jesus,” and passed you the paintbrush he was using, the handle already slick from sweat and color.

Mingi recovered first, stepping forward, slow and grinning, voice thick. “You trust me with that?” You smirked. “Did I say I trusted you?” Behind him, Yunho’s hands flexed at his sides. His voice, when it came, was low and quiet, but it carried. “She asked which one of us,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “I say we both do it.”

The second Yunho said it, they moved. No hesitation. No coordination. Just instinct. Yunho and Mingi flanked you like you were the axis they spun around, blacklight paint already in hand, pupils blown wide, breathing in sync with the bass as Wooyoung, ever the chaos conductor, whistled low. “I’ll give you three some privacy,” he shouted, grabbing San’s wrist.

San barely managed a smirk, eyes lingering for one last second before Wooyoung dragged him into the sea of bodies, leaving you under the hot eyes and hotter hands of the two men who’d been holding back all night. The air kissed your skin, humid and electric. And then Mingi’s brush touched your shoulder. Soft at first. A teasing stroke, sweeping neon pink across the curve of your arm, dragging down to your bicep, then the inside of your elbow where your skin was most sensitive. He used his fingers just as much as the brush, smudging lines in hypnotic patterns that made you shiver. He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak. Just watched the way you reacted to each stroke, the way your lips parted.

Yunho knelt. Just dropped. The moment his knees hit the ground, you felt it in your spine. He dipped low, brush gliding along your thigh, cool against overheated skin. Neon purple bloomed in swirls just under the hem of your shorts, the handle of the brush pressing lightly into your leg as he dragged it downward. Then again, slower. Then his hand smoothed up behind the paint, warm palm, grounding touch, his thumb slipping dangerously close to the crease where your thigh met your hip.

You could feel him breathing. Hear the music bend around your body as the Molly hit hard. Colors exploded in your vision, the floor seemed to tilt slightly, and suddenly their hands weren’t just touching you, they were everywhere. Mapping you. Marking you. Mingi whispered something, too low to catch. You glanced at him. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, a smear of pink paint across his knuckles. “You’re glowing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “You feel that?”

Yunho pressed closer against your leg, painting along the outside of your calf now, head tipped to look up at you, eyes dark under the light. “I want to paint all of you,” he said softly. “Everywhere.” His fingers trailed the last stripe of neon up your calf, the brush moving slow like he didn’t want the moment to end. His gaze stayed locked on your thigh, his breath warm against your skin, and then your hand found his jaw. He looked up just in time to see your smirk. “Up.”

Just one word. But it was all it took. Yunho rose like he was pulled by a string, tall and towering again in front of you. Your eyes never left his, even as your fingers found the hem of his shirt. “Take it off.” You didn’t ask but Yunho obeyed. The fabric lifted slow over his torso, revealing hard lines, lean muscle, the faint glint of sweat already forming at his collarbone. Under the blacklight, every inch of him lit up in pieces, like a statue waking under your touch.

And then you snatched the brush from his hand. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t blink. Just let his hands fall to his sides, head tilted slightly, eyes dragging down your body like he couldn’t believe you were real as you dipped the brush in the paint still slick on your palm, purple, and pressed the tip to his chest. A long, slow streak down the middle, right over his sternum. Then another, across his shoulder. A swirl down the outside of his ribcage. You moved closer, bodies nearly flush now, paintbrush dancing like you were claiming him.

Mingi watched, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. He didn’t interrupt. Just let it happen, eyes dark, jaw tight, watching your fingers, watching Yunho take it. And Yunho, high, flushed, lips slightly parted, breathed out slow. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered making you smile, dragging the brush up his throat, stopping just beneath his jaw. “So are you,” you whispered, “but I’m better at it.”

You took one last slow stroke up Yunho’s neck, leaving a streak of glowing purple beneath his jaw, then stepped back to admire your work, paint glistening on his chest, his breathing shallow, his eyes glued to your face like he couldn’t look away if he tried. Then you turned. Head tilting. A single brow raised.

Mingi caught the look and grinned like he’d been waiting for it all night. “Say less,” he muttered, and yanked his shirt over his head in one smooth pull. The blacklight lit him up immediately, broad chest, golden skin already glistening with heat and Molly sweat, a line of silver chain hanging loose around his neck. His jeans sat low on his hips, and the way he stood, relaxed and ready? It made your mouth dry.

You didn’t waste time. You stepped forward and pressed the brush to his chest, dragging a thick stripe of hot pink from his collarbone down to the center of his abs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Just watched you, eyes hungry, jaw tense. Then your voice came, slow, a little breathy, like the paint was dragging truth out of you along with color. “Tell me…” The brush slid across his ribs. “how long…” You dipped again, switched colors. A smear of purple across his shoulder. “have the two of you…” A soft drag of the brush across the curve of his bicep. “been thinking about me?”

Neither of them answered. So you kept going. You turned, stepped between them, Yunho to your right, Mingi to your left, both shirtless, glowing, painted like they’d been claimed by your hands. “Which one of you…” you asked, painting a slow swirl over Mingi’s chest, then looking to Yunho, “am I going back to the apartment with later?” Your eyes flicked between them again, lips curling into something darker. Something dangerous. “Or are you the sharing type?”

Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard it ticked as Mingi let out a low laugh, sharp, wrecked, wrecking. And then Yunho stepped forward. Chest to your back and Mingi stepped closer, right in front of you. You were sandwiched now, heat, hands, breath. Trapped by two beautiful, high, paint covered problems. Yunho leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “We don’t share most things,” he murmured. “But we’ve talked about you.” Mingi’s hand found your hip. “A lot,” he added. “And the way we see it?” His other hand came up, paint still wet on his fingers, dragging across your waist. “If you can handle both of us…. why should you have to choose?”

The moment hung there, thick with breath, bass, and sweat. Their hands were on you. Their paint was on you. Their heat coiled around your spine like smoke. But you didn’t stay. You slipped between them, smooth and untouchable, brushing Yunho’s hip as you passed, dragging your fingers along Mingi’s stomach like a promise. And then you disappeared into the crowd. Into the glow. Into the pulse. Bodies moved around you, painted and shirtless and slick. You started to move with them, head tipped back, lips parted, arms rising as the lights split the dark. The Molly hit now, not all the way just yet but enough the throb of bass vibrated inside your ribcage. Every brush of skin on skin sent your nerves sparking like static. You didn’t just dance. You surrendered.

And they watched. Mingi stood there, eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast, the paint on his skin glowing like warpaint. Yunho hadn’t moved at all. Still high. Still rooted. Still staring like you were pulling the breath from his lungs just by existing. Then, finally, he spoke, low, sure, teeth clenched around something he’d been holding back since the second he saw you. “If we do this…”

Mingi’s eyes flicked to him, sharp and Yunho didn’t look away. “we’re keeping her.” Mingi’s mouth twitched. Then he nodded, already stepping forward. And together, they walked into the dark and glowing paint after you.

The music was drowning everything, conversations, thoughts, names. You could barely feel the floor beneath your feet. The Molly was peaking now, turning the lights into ribbons, your body into smoke, and every brush of skin into something holy. You didn’t notice them at first. Not until Yunho slipped in front of you, silent as a shadow, paint still streaked across his chest, his eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing left in the world that mattered. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Just looked.

And then Mingi was behind you. You felt him first, heat at your back, the low rumble of a breath against your neck, and then his hands, big and warm, sliding around your waist like he’d done it a hundred times in his head already. Your body reacted instantly, hips twitching, chest rising, that high washing over you in crashing waves as their hands found you at the same time.

Yunho’s fingers skimmed your arms, sliding down to your hands, lacing through your fingers before pushing them gently to your sides, like he wanted you open. Exposed. Mingi’s hands were firmer now, one on your stomach, holding you against him, the other drifting lower, dragging across the paint on your thigh, smearing it warm between your skin and his palm.

You let out a soft, involuntary sound as Yunho leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You feel it?” You could only nod. Because you did. Everything. Their breath. Their skin. The heat rising like a tide you had no hope of escaping. Mingi’s mouth brushed the back of your neck, slow and dizzying. “You’re so high right now,” he murmured. Because so were they.

And then Yunho’s hands were on your hips, tilting you between them, rocking your body into Mingi’s slowly as the beat crashed around you like no one else was watching. Like the dance floor had become theirs. Yours. All of it. All of you. Mingi’s lips found your neck like he was starved for it. No hesitation, just heat. Soft at first, then deeper, open mouthed, tongue dragging slow against your pulse. The paint smeared between his mouth and your skin was warm and sweet, and the Molly hitting him full force made every breath of yours feel like it was his.

You gasped, half from surprise, half from how right it felt, and reached back without thinking. Your hand slid into his hair, messy and sweat damp, nails grazing his scalp as he groaned into your neck. “Fuck,” he muttered against your skin. “I need to taste you.”

Yunho pressed in closer from the front, eyes locked on yours, one hand sliding up your side like he needed to ground you both. His fingers dragged along your ribs, slipping just under the band of your top, and your head tipped back between them, utterly lost in the moment. Which is exactly when Wooyoung saw you. Across the dance floor, barely lit by the glow of spinning lights, he stopped mid step, one arm around San, the other holding a drink he immediately forgot he was holding.

“Holy shit,” he said, nearly choking on a laugh. “That’s gotta be, like… the hottest thing I have ever seen.” San, already a little flushed, followed his gaze and froze. His mouth fell open. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then leaned over and stage-whispered, “Wait… are they seriously….. here? Now?”

“Babe,” Wooyoung said, eyes not leaving the scene, “I don’t think they even remember we exist right now.”

Back on the dance floor, your hand was still tangled in Mingi’s hair, your other gripping Yunho’s bicep as his lips brushed your cheekbone, the heat from both their bodies making you feel like you were floating. You could feel Yunho’s next breath against your lips. And Mingi’s next moan into your neck as he was grinding into you now.

His hips rolled slow, perfectly in sync with the beat, with the rhythm of your breath, with the way your ass pressed flush against him. Every movement made you feel how hard he was, how far gone he’d let himself get. His lips were still at your neck, dragging lower now, teeth grazing your shoulder, breath ragged like he could barely hold it together. “Goddamn,” he murmured into your skin. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”

Your hand tightened in his hair. And then you turned. Yunho was right in front of you, looking like he was ready to devour you. His pupils were blown, lips parted, chest rising fast beneath the streaks of paint you’d left on him. He hadn’t touched you in the last few seconds, too busy watching, watching the way you melted under Mingi, watching your body arch, watching the way you looked at him.

So you made the next move. You reached forward, grabbed the front of his jeans with one hand, pulled him in like it was nothing and kissed him. Hard. Hot. Like you’d been waiting to. Yunho froze for half a second, like his brain glitched. Then he kissed you back so deep and hungry it made your knees weak. His hand cradled the side of your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as his mouth slanted over yours again, tongue sliding slow and possessive like he wanted to learn every damn inch of you right there on the dance floor.

Behind you, Mingi froze. You felt it. He pulled back just enough to blink, and then groaned, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “Not fair,” he mumbled, full pout in his voice. “I called dibs.” You broke the kiss just long enough to laugh breathlessly, still holding onto Yunho, your chest rising against his.

Yunho smirked, eyes flicking down to your lips again. “She pulled me in,” he said, voice low, wrecked as Mingi tugged your hips back harder, grinding into you again with intent. “Mingi wants a kiss,” he muttered, all sulk and heat in your ear, his voice low enough to melt your spine.

“Oh?” you said, loud enough for Yunho to hear, sweet as sin. “Hmm. Mingi wants a kiss?” Both of them froze when they heard your tone. That teasing, syrup thick dangerous tone. Then your fingers tugged hard. Your hand still tangled in Mingi’s hair gave a sharp pull, tilting his head up behind you as he gasped softly. And your other hand slid back up Yunho’s chest, curled around the back of his neck, and pulled him forward too.

Their faces met just over your shoulder. So close they could feel each other’s breath. And then you pushed them together. Mingi’s eyes widened as Yunho’s lips parted. And they kissed. At first? Just a spark. Then collision. Mingi groaned into it, hand still gripping your waist. Yunho tilted his head slightly, mouth moving slow and deep over Mingi’s like he’d been waiting for it. The blacklight caught the wetness of their lips, the smudged paint along their jaws, the raw, starving hunger that passed between them like a live wire.

You were sandwiched in between it all. Their bodies, their heat, their mouths. And you had never felt more powerful. When they finally broke the kiss, breathing hard, paint smeared between them, Yunho rested his forehead against yours as Mingi was still gripping your hip like he might fall if he let go. “That’s better,” you whispered, voice wrecked.

The crowd around you was nothing, just silhouettes and smoke, shadows moving to the bass. But here? This was the epicenter. You. Yunho. Mingi. All three of you locked together, dancing, lips swollen, hands everywhere. It wasn’t graceful anymore, it was messy, beautiful, hungry. You kissed Yunho again, fingers in his hair, his hand gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself to something real. Then your mouth was on Mingi’s, hotter, sloppier, tongues tangled as he dragged your hips into his with no shame, no patience.

Then, Yunho and Mingi again. Another kiss. Another jolt. Longer this time. No push from you. No smirk. Just them, moving, like instinct had taken over. Mingi’s hand on Yunho’s jaw, Yunho’s thumb pressing into Mingi’s hipbone like he didn’t realize he was doing it. And in the middle of it, you were still swaying, chest rising and falling, eyes fluttering closed as their heat bled into you. Until you broke away, grinning, panting. “I need to find Wooyoung,” you said suddenly, breath catching. “I gotta pee and I’m not going alone.”

Both men blinked, dazed, like you’d just pulled them out of a trance. You kissed Mingi once more, quick, sticky with sweat and paint. Then Yunho, slower, just enough tongue to promise you’d be back. Then you disappeared into the crowd again, vanishing into the strobe and fog and bodies.

Yunho and Mingi were left standing there. Still shirtless. Still glowing. Still tasting each other on their lips. Still very much not okay as Mingi cleared his throat after a long beat. “You’re not that bad of a kisser,” he said, voice light but strained, like he was trying to make it a joke and not think about it too hard.

Yunho didn’t look at him. Just stared into the middle distance like he was still buffering. “Shut the fuck up, Mingi.”

Mingi huffed a breath, nervous laugh catching in his throat. Because in all the years they’d been best friends, through everything they’d done, sold, wrecked, and survived, they had never done that before. And it wasn’t going away.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

You found Wooyoung near the back wall, mid dance with San, glitter streaked across his cheeks and a drink still clutched in one hand. He was laughing, of course he was, until your fingers curled around his wrist.

“Hey!”

“Bathroom. Now.”

Wooyoung blinked at the urgency in your voice but didn’t fight it. He never did when you got that tone. You dragged him past the grinding bodies, past the painted walls and flickering lights, until you shoved open the heavy black door with the hand lettered, COMMUNAL RELIEF ZONE [ Don’t Fuck in Here Please ], sign barely clinging to the frame.

Inside, the restroom looked like the aftermath of a music video, graffiti on every surface, stalls that barely latched, a mirror cracked across the middle, and the faint smell of body spray, beer, and weed lingering thick in the air. The only light came from a busted fluorescent overhead, flickering like it was trying to keep a beat. You stopped in front of the mirror, catching your reflection, sweaty, glowing, flushed, streaked in neon paint, lips swollen from kissing both of them.

Wooyoung leaned against the cracked sink, looking at you like he was already halfway through a reality show in his head. “So,” he said, sipping his drink. “Everything okay? Or, like, the opposite?” You turned to him, eyes wide, voice just above a whisper. “This is insane, right?” you asked. “Like… actually insane?”

Wooyoung blinked. “Babe. It’s you. Of course it’s insane.”

You laughed, breathless, wiping a bit of glowing paint from your neck. “I’m really doing this,” you muttered, almost to yourself. “With both of them.”

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up. “Uh, yeah you are. And can I just say? Finally! The three of you have been teetering on the edge since you moved in with me.”

Your mouth fell open. “We have not!”

“Oh come on,” he groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. You walk past their door like it owes you something. Yunho stares at you like he wants to die about it. Mingi flirts with you like he’s being paid in orgasms.”

You stared at him, silent as Wooyoung sipped his drink again. “So yeah. You’re really doing this. And honestly? You’re glowing. Literally and spiritually. Now piss before I kick the door down and tell them you changed your mind.”

Wooyoung waited as you relieved yourself and came out of the stall a little more grounded, but just barely. Your reflection still looked wild. Cheeks flushed, pupils huge, glowing paint across your chest, your stomach, your thighs. You still had Yunho’s kiss on your lips. Mingi’s breath still burned at your neck. Your body was humming. Buzzing.

Wooyoung watched you from the sink like a cat on a windowsill, bored and amused and deeply invested as you washed your hands. You turned to him, brushing hair from your face, breath evening out. “Hey…”

He raised a brow.

“You’ve had threesomes before…” you said carefully, watching his face. “With San…”

Wooyoung didn’t even flinch. “Yes,” he said, like you’d asked him if he’d tried iced matcha. “Obviously.”

You blinked. “Okay. But…. San’s your boyfriend.”

“Correct again.”

“And you two have an… understanding.”

Wooyoung leaned back against the sink, arms folded, cocking his head. “Also true.”

“But Yunho and Mingi…” you trailed off.

Wooyoung’s smile dropped, just slightly, into something softer. “They’re best friends,” he said. “Very best. They’d die for each other. And yeah… they both want you.”

You swallowed.

“And I know you want both of them,” he added gently.

You looked down at your paint covered hands. “What do I do?”

Wooyoung grinned. Bright. Wicked. Proud. “It’s 2026, babe,” he said, stepping forward and fixing the twisted strap of your top like it was sacred. “Go claim your two boyfriends.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Both of them,” he repeated. “Preferably before Mingi comes in his pants and Yunho implodes from emotional repression.”

You burst out laughing, smacking his arm and he grabbed your hand. “Let’s go. You’ve got two men waiting outside who would sell their souls for one more taste of you. Don’t keep them waiting.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho and Mingi stood just off the dance floor, paint still glowing on their bare chests, skin hot from the rush of movement, kisses, and whatever the hell just happened between the three of you. The crowd pulsed around them, bodies grinding, music crashing, lights strobing but neither of them moved.

They just stood there, staring at the bathroom hallway like you might reappear any second and light them on fire again as San appeared beside them like a ghost, shirtless, glowing under the blacklight, a streak of bright orange paint across his collarbone courtesy of Wooyoung.

“Hey,” he greeted casually, sipping from a cup. “You two look like you just saw God.”

Mingi blinked like he was re entering his body. “Maybe we did.”

San’s eyes flicked between them, lingering on the faint smear of color on Yunho’s lips. Then the bruised bite mark on Mingi’s neck. Then the paint handprint on Yunho’s hip and his smirk grew. “So…” San began, slow and smug, “do we need to start calling you boyfriend number one and boyfriend number two, or should we wait until she puts collars on you?”

Yunho let out a low groan and ran a hand through his hair. Mingi didn’t even pretend to hide how far gone he was.

San raised a brow. “Wait. That was your first you two kissed?”

Yunho’s jaw ticked as Mingi turned his head slowly, expression unreadable. “Yes.”

San blinked. “Shit.”

Yunho muttered, “Shut the fuck up.”

San raised his cup in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect you two to go zero to threesome on a Tuesday night.”

Mingi finally laughed, low and breathy and still buzzing. “What can I say? She brings it out of us.” Yunho exhaled hard, lips twitching. “Yeah,” he murmured, finally looking toward the hallway again. “She does.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The second you stepped out of the hallway, the energy shifted. Yunho saw you first, painted, glowing, eyes glassy but sharp. Your lips were still parted from laughter, your hand tucked into Wooyoung’s like you were keeping each other from floating away. Mingi spotted you a second later, his spine straightening, lips twitching like he was trying not to grin.

You looked like trouble. And you looked like theirs. Wooyoung clocked them instantly as the two of you got back, and leaned in to whisper something in San’s ear. San’s brows shot up. His grin was slow. Dirty. Satisfied. Then he pulled back, eyes dancing, and said loud enough for all three of you to hear, “Well? You three ready to get out of here? Or you gonna spread the desire in the atmosphere a little more first?”

Yunho groaned softly under his breath and Mingi choked on a laugh. San raised a brow, mouth twitching. “Because I’m pretty sure two more people just started making out because they looked at you.”

You stopped in front of them, paint smeared, pupils wide, grinning like a devil in heat. And said nothing. Just looked between Yunho and Mingi like you were deciding. Mingi stepped closer first, sliding his fingers into yours. Yunho followed without hesitation, hand brushing your hip.

Wooyoung, behind you, just clapped his hands once. “God, I love being right.”

Mingi grabbed his shirt from where it had been stuffed into a corner of the speaker booth, tugging it on halfway as he reached down to grab Yunho’s and your jacket too. He handed it to you without a word, his fingers brushing yours as you took it. You caught the look he gave you, eyes dark, slow smile tugging at his lips.

Yunho pulled his shirt back on, jaw still tense but hands steady. San, now glowing and grinning like the devil, had thrown his shirt over his shoulder, while Wooyoung tossed on an oversized flannel that was very much not his. Outside, the Florida air was thick with heat and salt, still buzzing from the rave that throbbed behind you.

“Guess you’re with them now, huh?” Wooyoung said, nudging you with his elbow as the five of you stepped into the muggy night. You gave him a lazy smile. “Guess I am.”

He grinned, then turned to San. “You driving? Because I am in no shape to do anything but be annoying.” San rolled his eyes, unlocking his car. “Get in, glitter boy.” The two of them peeled off toward the direction back to the apartment building, still laughing.

You turned to Mingi, who was standing at the passenger door of Yunho’s truck. You put a hand on his chest and gave him a little smirk as you tugged open the passenger side and climbed in first, sliding smoothly into the middle seat between them. Mingi blinked, then let out a slow, low whistle and followed you in, shutting the door behind him.

Yunho was already behind the wheel, keys in the ignition, glancing at you sideways. He didn’t say a word. But his hand found your thigh. And it stayed there.

The truck rumbled softly as it followed behind San’s car, taillights glowing red in the distance. The streets were nearly empty, just humid Florida air and the occasional flash of neon from a 24 hour diner or corner store cutting through the dark.

Yunho’s fingers rested on your thigh like he owned it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. The warmth of his palm bled through the paint streaked fabric of your shorts, and he hadn’t even moved it. Not once. But that pressure? That silent claim? It was driving you insane.

Your chest rose and fell with every breath, the Molly still hitting hard, making your skin feel too tight, your blood too loud. Your fingers twitched against your thighs, lips parted, brain hazy with heat and need. You shifted slightly, just enough for Mingi to notice. He turned to look at you, eyes low, mouth parted in a lazy, wrecked grin. He was leaned back, legs spread, one arm draped across the back of the seat behind you. Sweat still glistened at his temple, and the neon lights flashing through the windshield cast his face in soft flickers of pink and violet.

You met his eyes. Held it. And that was it. Mingi groaned quietly, head tipping back for a second like he was trying to collect himself. Then he reached out, slowly, and placed his hand on your other thigh. Not soft like Yunho’s. Possessive. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice all smoke and wreckage.

You swallowed hard, hand twitching against your leg. And then, you moved it. Your hand slid to his wrist, fingers curling, guiding him upward. Higher. Higher. The moment his fingers brushed over the damp heat pressed inside your shorts, he sucked in a breath through his teeth, hips jolting just a little where he sat. “Oh fuck,” he whispered, eyes wide now, gaze locked on where your hand was pressing his into you. “She’s already wet?”

Yunho didn’t look. But his fingers tightened on your other thigh. Hard. Your head fell back against the seat, breath catching, thighs tensing under both their hands as Mingi’s fingers rubbed slow now, teasing through the soaked fabric, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “You gonna let us take care of this the second we get home?”

Yunho finally spoke, his voice tight, low, rough. “She’s not gonna make it home if you keep that up.”

Mingi grinned, biting his bottom lip, hand sliding under the hem of your shorts now, fingers teasing through the damp fabric of your panties, knuckles brushing just barely where you needed him. His breathing was uneven, chest rising like he’d been holding it back for too long because his dose of Molly was hitting him just as hard as your own.

You whimpered, quiet, broken, and that sound snapped something in him. Without a word, Mingi reached across your lap. And grabbed Yunho’s wrist. Yunho’s gaze cut over instantly, eyes sharp, wild, but Mingi didn’t flinch. He guided Yunho’s hand across your thigh, under the fabric, right there, pressing his best friend’s fingers against the soaked center of your panties like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Feel that,” Mingi breathed, eyes on Yunho’s. “That’s because of us.”

Yunho groaned, low and guttural, hand twitching slightly beneath Mingi’s grip. His fingers flexed on instinct, pressing in just a little harder, and your hips jerked in response, breath catching in your throat as Mingi looked at you. His pupils were blown wide, lips parted, jaw slack with how gone he was in the high.

And then you reached for him. Your hand tangled in his shirt, dragging him forward and your lips crashed into his like you were starved for it. The kiss was messy, open mouthed, all tongue and teeth and need. His hand never left your body, not even when you moaned into his mouth, not even when your other hand clutched Yunho’s thigh like you needed to hang onto something solid.

The truck swerved slightly as Yunho let out another rough, broken sound, a sound that felt like jealousy and desperation wrapped together in one strangled breath. His fingers flexed harder against you, now knowing exactly how wet you were. Exactly how soft. Exactly how ready.

Mingi broke the kiss first, panting against your mouth. “She’s gonna break us,” he muttered. Yunho’s voice was strained as he pulled his hand back. “You started it.”

You just smiled, flushed and glowing, paint still smudged across your thighs, lips kiss swollen, still trembling from where both their hands were as the truck rolled through the last turn toward your apartment building, headlights sweeping across the empty lot, but inside the cab, the world had already collapsed into touch.

You were a mess of heat and sweat between them, hips twitching, breath shallow, nerves crackling under skin that felt too much and not enough all at once. Mingi leaned in, lips dragging against your throat. Hot. Wet. Wrecked. He kissed just below your ear, then lower, teeth grazing your neck like he wanted to bite. “God,” he whispered against your skin, “you feel so fucking good.”

And then he reached over again. Found Yunho’s hand again. And held it against you. Right between your legs. Right where you needed them most. Yunho’s breath hitched in his throat. His fingers twitched, then slowly, carefully curled, pressing more firmly into your soaked panties. Your hips jerked.

“Mingi…” Yunho started, voice low and panicked. But Mingi didn’t stop. He just smirked against your throat. “She wants it.” You moaned, softly, head tipping back against the seat. Then you started to move. Your hips rolled forward in slow, delicious rhythm, grinding against Yunho’s hand while Mingi’s stayed wrapped around his wrist, holding him there. His touch was clumsy at first, hesitant, but that melted the second you whimpered and rocked your hips again.

He groaned, sharp and rough. “Fuck…. she’s so wet.”

Mingi hummed in agreement, his mouth still working at your neck, sucking a mark just below your jaw as his free hand slid up your waist, fingers splayed across your ribs. “Keep touching her,” he whispered into your ear, breath hot. “Don’t stop. Let her show you how bad she wants it.”

And you did. Your eyes fluttered shut, your thighs trembling as you moved against Yunho’s hand, panting, high out of your mind, so close to unraveling with one boy’s mouth on your throat and the other’s fingers rubbing you through fabric soaked from both of their teasing as the truck finally rolled to a stop.

The truck eased into the parking spot with a soft growl of the engine. But you barely noticed as Yunho shifted into park with one hand, the other still trapped between your thighs, your slick soaking through the fabric. His knuckles flexed, his breath ragged. The second the truck stopped moving, he turned toward you, eyes half lidded, pupils gone from the high, and lowered his head.

Mingi was still at your neck on one side so Yunho took the other. His lips pressed just below your jaw, soft at first. Then deeper. Slower. More deliberate. His mouth dragged over your pulse, teeth scraping just barely as his fingers finally moved again, slipping under the edge of your shorts this time, fingertips teasing along the edge of your soaked panties.

You gasped, body jerking forward, and Mingi grinned against your throat. “You’re gonna ruin these seats,” he murmured, his hand slipping under the hem of your top now, dragging up along to your breast. “She’s dripping.”

“She’s shaking,” Yunho muttered, his lips still against your skin. And then it got worse, or better. Because Mingi’s hand slid down between your legs too, right alongside Yunho’s, his fingers dipping lower, teasing the edge of your panties from below. Your thighs trembled, your hips instinctively grinding down, caught between both of their hands now. Two sets of fingers. Two hot mouths on your neck.

Your hands flew out, one gripping Yunho’s thigh, the other fisting Mingi’s shirt, head tipping back between them, breath breaking apart in your throat. They didn’t stop. Yunho pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then another. His fingers finally slid past the edge of your panties, dipping low enough to feel everything. He groaned against your skin, deep, ragged, wrecked. “She’s fucking soaked,” he breathed. “Mingi…. feel her.”

“I already did,” Mingi said, low and proud. “But I’ll feel her again.” And he did. His fingers joined Yunho’s. Two sets of fingers, stroking, exploring, slow and maddening. Your body was writhing between them now, every nerve on fire, your thighs spreading wider, mouth open, the Molly turning your skin electric.

“You gonna come for us right here?” Mingi whispered, breath hot against your cheek. “Wanna make a mess in Yunho’s truck, baby?”

Yunho growled at that, but didn’t stop. Didn’t even think of stopping. “Let her,” he rasped. “She’s already halfway there.” His lips brushed your jaw as his fingers dipped lower, sliding past the soaked fabric of your panties, and this time, he didn’t tease. He pushed in.

One long finger, slow and deep, curling inside you as your thighs trembled around his wrist. Your breath hitched so sharply it turned into a moan, head tipping forward, caught between both their bodies. “Fuck,” Yunho groaned, voice thick and reverent against your skin. “You’re so tight.”

You were beyond words as Mingi’s hand was still on you too, fingers stroking your clit in slow, deliberate circles while Yunho worked inside you, his finger curling just right, his palm pressed firm against your core, grounding you while you unraveled and your hips moved instinctively, grinding down against their hands, chasing it now.

“I can feel you squeezing him,” Mingi whispered, dragging his mouth across your neck. “She’s close.”

You whimpered, God, the pressure building fast, too fast, the way their hands moved in sync, the high amplifying everything. Your pulse was in your ears, your stomach coiled tight, and when Yunho slid in another finger, curling both and brushing just right….

Your whole body snapped. You came hard, legs shaking, mouth dropping open as a cry tore from your throat, your walls clenching around Yunho’s fingers, your hips stuttering against Mingi’s touch. You gripped Yunho’s thigh harder and Mingi’s arm like anchors, like without them you might float away completely.

“Shit, look at her,” Mingi murmured, still stroking you through it, watching the way your body bucked between them. Yunho didn’t say anything. He just watched your face, eyes blown, lips parted, cheeks flushed as you broke open between them, glowing under the streetlight through the windshield, sweat slick and shaking, their hands still on you.

Yunho slowly slipped his fingers out, wet with you, and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, satisfied sound that made Mingi curse under his breath as your body collapsed against the seat, panting, buzzing, wrecked, and they were both still fully clothed, fully hard, and not done with you yet.

The truck door creaked open. Your legs were still trembling, your shorts clinging to your thighs, soaked through. Every step felt heavy and electric, like the orgasm hadn’t faded, it had just settled into your bones. Mingi stepped out first, grabbing your jacket for you again and tossing it over your shoulders like he knew your hands were too shaky to deal with it yourself. He didn’t say a word, just looked at you with that same wrecked, dark gaze like he was two seconds from dragging you back into the truck and finishing what they’d started.

Yunho rounded the front of the truck, jaw tense, eyes unreadable. But when he reached you, his hand slid back to your waist like it belonged there and stayed. The three of you crossed the lot together in silence, lit only by flickering parking lights and the moonlight off the building’s windows.

The lobby was quiet. The elevator was too slow. So you took the stairs. Three flights. Each one like a countdown. You in the middle, Yunho behind you, Mingi ahead, your hands brushing the railing, your body still buzzing from the high and the heat and the way their hands had wrecked you without even undressing you.

By the second flight, you felt Yunho’s hand slide to your lower back. By the third, Mingi glanced back over his shoulder and smirked. “You gonna make it up here, or do we need to carry you?”

“I think she likes the view,” Yunho murmured behind you, eyes fixed on the sway of your hips. At the top, Mingi stopped at the door to their apartment, third floor, right across from Wooyoung’s, the hallway quiet except for the buzz of the overhead light.

He fished out his keys with one hand, his other already back on you, fingers curling into your hip as Yunho stepped beside you, his knuckles brushing yours.

The lock clicked open and Mingi shoved the door open with his shoulder, stepping inside first. The hallway light spilled in behind you, stretching long shadows across the dark wooden floor and faint haze of incense still hanging in the air. You stepped over the threshold slowly. For a second, you didn’t move further.

You’d only been in here once before, briefly, with Wooyoung, when he stopped by to grab a couple pre rolls and left you standing awkwardly by the door while Mingi flirted and Yunho barely glanced up from his game. Back then, it had just smelled like weed and cologne and something vaguely citrus.

Now? It felt like stepping into something dangerous. Like the tension in the truck had been waiting here for you. The apartment was dim, clean but lived in, an ashtray and a lighter on the kitchen counter, a couple hoodies draped over a chair, one of Mingi’s leather jackets on the arm of the couch. You noticed Yunho’s game controller on the coffee table, a water bottle, a half finished joint in a glass tray.

You stepped in deeper as Yunho shut the door behind you with a thud, final and heavy as you turned back to look at them. Mingi, locking eyes with you as he slid his jacket off and tossed it aside. Yunho, who hadn’t stopped watching you since you walked in, now reaching for the hem of his shirt again, playing with it as you took your jacket off and tossed it on the couch.

You let the silence stretch for a second. Then you took a step forward. Then another, slow, deliberate, until you were face to face with Mingi. He watched you like he was trying not to breathe too hard. His lips parted, paint still faint along his collarbone, pupils wide from the high and the heat of you standing so close.

You reached for him, hands sliding slowly up his chest under his shirt, feeling his heart thundering beneath your palms. Yunho didn’t speak. He just started to move, slowly circling the two of you, footsteps quiet on the wood floor. Not pacing. Stalking. Watching.

You turned your head slightly, tracking Yunho with your eyes while your hands stayed on Mingi. “Have you two ever… been with the same person before?”

Mingi’s throat bobbed as Yunho’s brows lifted slightly, but his expression stayed unreadable. He stopped behind you now, close, so close you could feel the heat of him without being touched. “No,” Mingi said, voice low, tight. “Never,” Yunho added behind you, and God, his voice was rough.

You smiled, fingers curling slightly in Mingi’s shirt. “So this is your first time,” you murmured, glancing between them. “Sharing.” Neither of them spoke. Mingi looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. His mouth opened, then shut again, like whatever he wanted to say would’ve made this too real, too fast.

Yunho was close enough to kiss your neck. But he didn’t. Not yet. You turned your body slightly, between them again, their heat closing in, your pulse pounding in your ears as you licked your lips. “Guess that makes me special.”

Yunho’s breath hitched behind you as Mingi just whispered, “You have no fucking idea.”

You didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t ask who was going first. You already knew the answer. Your fingers slid up Mingi’s chest, slow and teasing, until they tangled at the nape of his neck. You leaned in, just enough for your breath to kiss his lips, and then you pressed your mouth to his.

Mingi groaned into it, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight as your mouths moved in sync, messy, deep, no hesitation now. He kissed like he’d been starving, like holding back all night had made him desperate. His tongue slid against yours, and you moaned into it, high and breathless and needing more.

And Yunho was watching. Standing just behind you, eyes locked on the way Mingi’s hands pulled you closer, on the way you melted into the kiss, on the way your hips pressed into Mingi’s like your body had already chosen. But it hadn’t. Because you wanted both. You broke the kiss just long enough to look down, hands sliding between you and Mingi, fingers already moving to the waistband of his jeans.

One button. A zipper. Slow, deliberate. Mingi’s breath caught, hands tightening on your hips as he watched you work. “You sure?” he asked, voice a low rasp, already knowing the answer. You didn’t look up. You just smirked. And slid your hand lower and behind you, Yunho let out a soft, wrecked exhale.

You didn’t rush, you let your hands slide back up under Mingi’s shirt first, fingers dragging slowly along the ridges of his abs, smearing streaks of glowing paint that had dried there earlier. He hissed through his teeth, body twitching at your touch, hips rolling forward just slightly, like he couldn’t help it. Then you pushed his shirt up. Bit by bit. He lifted his arms obediently, and you peeled it off him like you were unwrapping something precious. Remnants of neon paint across his chest, shoulders, the curve of his biceps, smudged fingerprints, the trail of your brush from earlier, glowing evidence of what the night had done to him.

You tossed the shirt aside without a second thought. And moved lower again. You undid the top button of his jeans again, slowly this time, drawing it out. Yunho’s eyes were locked on your hands. His jaw was tight, his chest rising slow and sharp, like he was holding every breath in his lungs hostage as you dragged the zipper down just as slow, the metal sound loud in the still air of the room. Mingi’s breath stuttered, his hands twitching at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you or let you keep going.

You tugged his jeans down over his hips, past that line of deep muscle, watching his briefs catch for a second before sliding over thick thighs, glow in the dark fingerprints streaking down the sides of them from where you’d grabbed him in the rave. Now he stood there. In nothing but tight, dark underwear, his dick straining against the fabric, breath shallow, wrecked and waiting. Paint. Sweat. Muscle.

And you, looking up at him like he was yours already. Behind you, Yunho hadn’t moved. But you felt him watching. His eyes burning into your back, his breath heavier now. You didn’t turn around. Not yet. You just looked up at Mingi and murmured, “Let him watch.” And Mingi, his head tipped back, a groan slipping from his throat.

You turned your head, slowly, deliberately, until your eyes locked with Yunho’s. He was standing behind you, jaw tight, arms at his sides, like he was barely holding it together. His chest was rising and falling in slow, controlled breaths, but his eyes? They gave him away. He looked like he wanted to devour something.

You tilted your head, lips curling into a grin. “Are you the jealous type?” you asked, voice sweet, almost innocent, if not for the way your hands were still resting at the waistband of his best friend’s briefs. Yunho didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you. Hard. And then he scoffed, short, sharp. “Of him? Never.”

You smirked at that. “Hmm.” And without another word, you dropped to your knees in front of Mingi and Mingi let out a ragged breath, his hand flying to your shoulder, his stomach twitching as your hands slid down his thighs, slow, possessive, teasing.

You glanced up at Yunho one last time, your voice low and thick with challenge. “We’ll see about that.” Yunho’s jaw clenched as Mingi looked wrecked already, chest heaving, painted skin flushed and twitching. You hadn’t even touched him properly yet, and he was already groaning softly, hand sliding into your hair, pupils locked on you like you were the only thing left in the world. And behind you Yunho was silently burning. You could feel it and you wanted him to.

Your fingers slid into the waistband of Mingi’s briefs, your nails dragging just enough to make him twitch. He hissed softly above you, his hand tightening in your hair as he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

You eased the fabric down, slow and teasing, your eyes never leaving his. And when his dick sprang free, thick, flushed, hard, you bit your lip and blinked up at him with a look that was somewhere between awe and delight. Yeah. Wooyoung had not been lying. Your mind flickered back to that conversation, the one where he casually, wickedly said, “Come on, there’s no way Yunho and Mingi aren’t packing. Tall. Broad. Quiet. Cocky. That’s big dick energy and I’m a professional.”

At the time, you’d rolled your eyes. Now? You knew for sure. Wooyoung was right. So right. You let your gaze drag down, admiring every inch of Mingi now that you had him in front of you, bare and twitching under the heat of your stare. The paint still streaked his abs, chaotic, glowing evidence of everything the night had become. You bit your lip, slow and deliberate, and looked back up at him.

Mingi groaned, head tipping back, voice thick with restraint. “Baby… you can’t look up at me like that and not do something about it.” Behind you, Yunho let out a breath that was closer to a growl.

Mingi was shaking above you. His hand was still in your hair, barely holding on, his jaw slack as your tongue dragged a slow, wet line up the underside of his dick. You didn’t take him in, not yet. Just let your breath fan over him, tongue circling the tip, teasing, playful, mean.

His hips bucked forward instinctively, but you held him back with a hand on his thigh, nails digging in just enough to make him groan. “F… fuck,” he stuttered, voice trembling, head tipping back. “You’re evil.” You grinned, mouth still hovering just over him, tongue flicking out again, featherlight and he whimpered.

Big, warm hands suddenly settled on your head, fingers weaving into your hair. Not rough but firm. Possessive. That touch that said he’d watched long enough. Yunho. He leaned down, lips brushing your ear, voice low and edged with frustration. “Don’t be a tease.”

You froze for half a second, heat rushing to your core, breath catching in your throat as Yunho’s grip tightened slightly, tilting your head just the way he wanted it. “You know what he needs,” he murmured, his voice wrecked now. “I know you do.” His other hand dragged down your back, over your spine, making you shiver as you looked up at Mingi again, his eyes wide, mouth parted, chest rising fast.

Then Yunho’s grip guided you forward. Not forceful, directed. And you followed. Your lips finally parted. And Yunho didn’t hesitate. His hand stayed firm at the back of your head, guiding you down as you took Mingi into your mouth, slow at first, your tongue sliding over the head, tasting him, savoring every inch as your lips stretched around him.

Mingi choked on a breath, his body jerking forward so hard it nearly made you lose rhythm. “Fucking…. shit,” he gasped, hands flying out, desperate for something to hold onto, and landed on Yunho’s shoulders, gripping tight, anchoring himself as your mouth began to move.

Yunho’s fingers stayed tangled in your hair, not pushing, not rushing, but directing, setting a rhythm that had your mouth gliding over Mingi’s dick in long, wet pulls. “That’s it,” Yunho murmured, his voice low, dark, wrecked. “Just like that.”

Mingi looked like he was breaking, head tipped back, chest heaving, eyes fluttering shut as he fucked into your mouth, guided by Yunho, helpless to stop the way his hips rolled forward with every glide of your lips. Your hands were on Mingi’s thighs now, holding him steady as you let him use your mouth, spit running down your chin, soft gagging sounds muffled by the thick weight of him on your tongue.

“Holy fuck,” Mingi groaned, one hand slipping from Yunho’s shoulder into your hair too, gripping tight as his hips began to stutter. “She feels…. fuck, she feels so good.”

Yunho’s grip tightened just enough to make you feel it. “She’s perfect, isn’t she?” he said, voice low, staring at you like he wanted to memorize this. “Taking you so well.”

You moaned around Mingi, the sound vibrating through him, making his whole body shudder as Yunho watched it all, his hands in your hair, his best friend falling apart from your mouth, you on your knees between them like you were made for it.

You took Mingi deeper. Your jaw ached. Your eyes were glassy. Spit slicked your chin as you gagged again, just barely holding your rhythm but you didn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Mingi was groaning above you, fists clenched in your hair and Yunho’s shirt, hips twitching like he was seconds from falling apart.

Your throat clenched around him, and your gag turned into a sound so wet, so messy, it echoed in the quiet apartment and Yunho’s breath hitched. His eyes darkened. And then he looked at Mingi, really looked at him and grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close until their foreheads slammed together, sweat slick and tense.

“You better fucking come,” Yunho growled, voice low and mean, his grip tight. “Because it’s gonna be a minute before you can again.” Mingi groaned, wrecked. “Fuck… Yunho, I….” his voice cracked, shaking, already losing it.

Yunho didn’t blink. “I’m not waiting anymore.” His hand in your hair gripped tighter, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged. He looked down at you like you were his, ruined lips, slick chin, eyes dazed, and then back at Mingi, like this was the last favor he was willing to give.

Mingi’s thighs trembled. His stomach clenched. And with one more stuttered thrust into your mouth, he shattered. “Fuck…. yes, fuckfuckfuck…..” His whole body locked up as he came, loud and broken, his hands shaking in your hair, hips jerking once, twice, before finally slumping, gasping, wrecked.

Yunho released him the moment it hit, attention dropping to you. His hand still in your hair. His eyes starving. He pulled you up off your knees like you weighed nothing, hand still tangled in your hair, the other gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. You barely had time to gasp before his mouth crashed into yours, desperate, messy, full of tongue and heat and want.

He moaned into your mouth the second he tasted it. Mingi. Still lingering on your tongue. Yunho groaned, low and guttural, grinding his hips into yours like it physically hurt to keep waiting. “You taste like him,” he growled against your lips, biting your bottom one hard enough to make you whimper. “Fucking mine now.”

His arms locked around your thighs. And suddenly you were in the air, legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you through the apartment, fast, like if he didn’t get you on a bed in the next five seconds, he might just fuck you in the hallway. Your arms clung to his shoulders, breath ragged, heart racing.

Behind you, Mingi was still catching his breath, wiping at his mouth, pants tangled around one ankle, but the second he saw Yunho lift you, heard that kiss, saw your legs wrapped around him, his body jolted with renewed energy. “Fuck,” Mingi muttered, yanking his pants the rest of the way off, stumbling after you both, completely naked, eyes still glassy and hungry.

Yunho shouldered open his bedroom door and you barely had time to breathe before he turned and tossed you onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly on the mattress, arms splayed, heart pounding, lips still swollen from his kiss.

He stood at the foot of the bed for half a beat, chest heaving, just looking at you like you were already stripped bare. Then he reached down and peeled his shirt off. It clung to his skin, damp, paint smeared, stretched across broad shoulders and lean muscle, but he pulled it over his head in one fluid motion and dropped it to the floor without a second glance.

The blacklight from the small strip above his bed flickered to life as Yunho leaned over to flick a switch. Because of course he had one of his own. The paint from the rave still glowed on his chest and arms, faint streaks of neon pink and purple smeared across muscle and collarbone, your earlier brushstrokes visible like claims. His skin shined with sweat, his jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on yours.

And then the door creaked and Mingi appeared. Naked and wrecked. His lips were red from your mouth. His chest still smeared in dried paint. His dick already hard again, swinging slightly as he stepped inside, eyes dragging down your body like he couldn’t believe he’d let you walk away, or well, carried away, from him for even a second.

Yunho didn’t look at him. Didn’t flinch. Just dropped his voice low and rough. “Close the door.” Mingi did, eyes flicking between you, spread on Yunho’s bed, shorts clinging to your thighs, top still hanging crooked off your shoulders, and Yunho, standing shirtless at the foot of the bed like something feral.

You were all still covered in streaks of paint. Marks from the rave. From your hands. From each other. Yunho didn’t take his eyes off you. Not even when Mingi stepped closer. “Help her out of those,” Yunho said, voice low and tight, fingers already at the button of his own pants.

Mingi didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate. He climbed up onto the bed behind you, hands slipping to your hips as you sat up slightly. His lips brushed your shoulder, one hand already tugging at your top, the other sliding beneath the hem of your shorts, pulling the waistband over your hips slowly, reverently as you watched Yunho the whole time. His pants hit the floor with a soft thud, and then his boxers followed, his body rising in the dim purple glow of the blacklight like something out of a dream. His skin shimmered with sweat and dried paint, his abs tight, chest flushed, and when he stepped forward, fully bare….

Yeah. Your mouth parted slightly. Because of course. Of course Yunho was just as big as Mingi. He stood tall, dick thick and heavy, hard in a way that made your thighs twitch before Mingi had even finished pulling your panties down. You huffed a laugh, half dazed, half amused, and leaned your head back against Mingi’s chest.

One of Yunho’s hands wrapped around himself lazily as he looked you over, fully bare now, sprawled across his sheets with Mingi behind you. You laid back. Naked. Glowing. Breathless. The blacklight above his bed turned every streak of paint on your body into something celestial, smears of neon across your chest, your hips, your thighs. Your skin shimmered with sweat and anticipation, and both of them were looking at you like you were something holy.

Yunho climbed up the bed. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous. His hands planted beside your knees as he settled between your thighs, eyes locked on where he was headed. His breath hit your skin first, hot, shallow, teasing, and then his lips followed. He started with your inner thighs. Soft licks at first, slow kisses, tongue dragging across glowing streaks of dried paint as he worked his way up. His hands gripped your hips to hold you still as your body twitched beneath him, breath coming faster with every inch closer.

Behind you, Mingi shifted, his hands finding your waist, then your breasts. He groaned into your neck as his fingers found your nipples, teasing them with callused thumbs. His dick pressed hot and heavy against your lower back, smearing pre cum onto your skin as he rocked forward instinctively. “Fuck,” Mingi whispered, his mouth at your ear. “You feel so good. I want to be inside you already.”

Yunho didn’t answer. He just kissed higher. Right above your mound now, his breath ghosting over the heat between your legs. Your thighs trembled, your hands clutching at the sheets as his mouth hovered just shy of where you needed him most. And then he licked you. One long, slow stripe up your slit.

Your back arched instantly and Mingi groaned at the sound you made, mouth now on your neck, teeth grazing skin as his hands massaged your breasts, palms slick with sweat and need as Yunho’s tongue dragged back down, slow, deliberate, tasting you like he had all night to savor. His tongue flicked over your clit again, slow but firmer now, then dipped lower, tasting you, savoring every drop like he was starved.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, his face slick, lips shiny with your arousal, jaw tight like it physically pained him to stop. Then he looked up the length of your body. Mingi was still behind you, his dick grinding lazily against your back, mouth sucking bruises into your neck, fingers rolling your nipples between sweat slicked fingertips. And Yunho moaned. “Mingi…” his voice cracked, half a growl. “Get down here.”

Mingi slowed, lips leaving your throat as Yunho’s voice dropped, thick with need, hand sliding up your thigh as he spread you open wider. “She tastes so fucking good.” Mingi froze for a second, like the words had short circuited something in his brain. Then he moved. Sliding down the bed beside Yunho, past your side, between your legs now. His hands joined Yunho’s at your thighs, and when Mingi looked down at your soaked, swollen pussy, slick and glistening under the blacklight, he let out a sound that was downright filthy.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. “I need to taste her.”

Yunho didn’t argue. He just shifted slightly to the side. Making room. Your legs were shaking. Your voice was gone. You didn’t even remember when it started, Mingi’s tongue joining Yunho’s, both of them nestled between your thighs like they belonged there. Maybe they did. Maybe this was exactly where they were meant to be. Because they didn’t stop. Not for a second.

Yunho’s tongue circled your clit while Mingi licked deeper, the flat of his tongue dragging up your slit before dipping down again. Then they switched, no warning, Yunho licking lower, filthy, slow, his moans vibrating into you while Mingi sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking fast, precise, perfect.

You cried out. Loud. Too loud. “F…. fuck… please……. oh my god!” Your hips bucked off the bed, thighs trembling, hands flying to their heads, fisting in their hair, needing something to hold onto as the pleasure built and broke and built again. You didn’t even know whose tongue was where anymore. It didn’t matter. They were both on you. Everywhere.

And when their mouths met accidentally at first, tongues brushing mid stroke, they didn’t pull away. They just kept going. Their lips slid against each other, their tongues still licking you in the space between, both groaning into your pussy, sharing the taste of you with no hesitation. Then Yunho tilted his head slightly, lips catching Mingi’s for real, tongues slick, wet, glowing under the blacklight with your arousal still shining on both their mouths.

They kissed deep, moaning into it, and you felt it, the vibration of it all right where you needed it most. And you lost it. Your head tipped back with a cry, spine arching off the mattress as your orgasm hit hard the second one of their fingers started circling your clit, crashing through you like a wave you’d never survive. Your body shook, your thighs clamped around their heads, and still, they didn’t stop. Didn’t move. Just kept kissing. Until you were trembling beneath them, chest heaving, sweat clinging to your skin, your voice nothing but ragged sounds.

Your hand reached out blindly, grabbing at the nearest arm, didn’t matter whose, and it ended up being Mingi’s. He barely had time to blink before you were pulling him, rough and breathless, pushing him flat onto the mattress beneath you. “What…” he started, but your mouth was already on his, tasting yourself on his lips, grinding against his hips with a wild, needy roll of your body.

“I need you,” you whispered against his lips, voice wrecked and hoarse. “Now.” His hands flew to your waist as Yunho stayed where he was, kneeling at the foot of the bed, watching, his chest rising fast, his dick throbbing between his thighs as he saw you climb onto Mingi like you were about to devour him. “Fuck,” Yunho breathed, voice low, almost reverent. “Do it.”

You straddled Mingi, your thighs braced around his hips, his dick hot and heavy beneath you, slick with your arousal, already twitching as he looked up at you, wide eyed, stunned, dying for it. And then you reached down, grabbed his length, and lined him up. You didn’t wait. You sank down onto him in one slow, shattering motion and Mingi shouted, head snapping back, fingers digging into your hips. “Fucking… oh my god!”

You let out a moan so loud it echoed, your mouth falling open, eyes fluttering shut as he filled you, deep, thick, perfect. Yunho groaned behind you, his hand fisting around the base of his dick, watching every inch disappear inside you, every twitch of your thighs, every sound you made. “Fuck,” he growled. “Just like that.”

You rode him hard. Hips snapping down with a rhythm that was pure desperation, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room, mixed with Mingi’s broken groans and your breathless moans. He was deep inside you, stretching you, throbbing, his head tipped back into the pillow, eyes wild, mouth open. “Fuck… fuck, baby….”

You didn’t let up. You leaned forward, one hand braced on his chest, the other wrapping tight around his throat making Mingi’s breath hitch, and his hips buck beneath you. Your fingers tightened slightly, your voice low and ruined. “You like watching me use you like this?” His only answer was a whimper.

Behind you, Yunho’s breath was shaky, his fist still working over his dick as he watched you ride his best friend like he wasn’t even there for you to please, just to fill. And then he moved. You felt the bed shift before you felt his hands. He knelt behind you, his chest against your back, his breath hot at your ear. “You’re gonna make him come,” Yunho growled, voice low and feral, one hand reaching up to your neck, his fingers wrapping around the front, just above where your own held Mingi’s. He squeezed gently. Controlling. Claiming.

His other hand slid down, between your bodies, fingers slipping over your clit like he knew exactly how to break you. You cried out, head falling back against his shoulder, your thighs trembling as Mingi groaned beneath you, his hips stuttering as Yunho’s breath dragged against your skin. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice thick. “Taking him so fucking deep… riding him like he’s nothing.”

You shattered all over again, grinding against Mingi’s dick and Yunho’s hand, choking on the pleasure that was everywhere now, your neck, your clit, your core, your brain. All of it. Between them. Held. Owned. Worshipped. Yunho’s hand working your clit while you rode Mingi into the mattress, his dick buried deep, your thighs shaking, your orgasm still rolling through you. Mingi was a mess beneath you, his hands gripping your hips, chest flushed, mouth open, groaning helplessly as you kept moving. “Sh… she’s…. fuck… she’s creaming on me…”

You were. Dripping. Soaking him. Still grinding down like you couldn’t stop, couldn’t breathe, your body caught in that molten loop of pleasure that made you forget your own name as Yunho’s hand stilled. You felt it. Then heard his voice. Low. Tight. Commanding. “That’s enough.”

Before Mingi could even gasp, Yunho grabbed your waist and pulled, lifting you off of Mingi mid thrust, your walls clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. “Yunho!”

“Turn around,” he growled. You barely had time to register it, his hand already spinning you, guiding you onto all fours in the middle of the bed. You looked over your shoulder, dazed, and there he was. Wrecked. Flushed. Eyes dark. Dick throbbing.

Mingi was still catching his breath behind you, flushed and panting, his own dick gleaming with your slick, his hand wrapped around the base like he didn’t know what to do now that you’d been taken from him again.

But Yunho was done waiting. He knelt behind you, grabbed your hips with both hands, and lined himself up, his dick dragging through your slick folds, spreading the mess you’d left behind from riding Mingi. You gasped, bracing yourself on your elbows as he started sinking into you, “My turn.”

Yunho groaned the second he bottomed out. His hands dug into your hips, his chest pressed against your back, and his head dropped forward, breath catching. His eyes fluttered shut. Then rolled back. “Fucking… Jesus,” he choked out. “You’re so tight. So…. wet.” He didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not right away. You had him frozen, so overwhelmed by the heat of your walls wrapped around him, by the way your body welcomed him like it had been made for him and only him. He was trying to breathe. Trying to process. And you were impatient.

You shifted first, just a little. Then rolled your hips back. Hard. Yunho gasped, his grip on you tightening. Then you did it again. And again. “Fuck… baby….. wait…” But you didn’t. You started backing up into him with slow, powerful rolls, your ass slapping against his thighs, forcing him deeper, forcing motion, your own body using him just like you’d used Mingi, chasing more, needing it. Needing him.

“Oh my god,” Yunho groaned, head tipping back, eyes fluttering as you rocked on his dick, your slick already running down his length, coating his thighs. You looked over your shoulder, breathless, your voice teasing, wrecked. “Thought this was your turn.”

Yunho let out a breathless laugh. Low. Rough. Dangerous. You felt it vibrate against your back just before his hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh like he didn’t know if he wanted to hold you still or pull you apart. He leaned over you, mouth at your ear, voice thick and shaking from holding back for so long. “Fucking brat.” Then he snapped his hips forward. Hard.

You cried out, your body jolting up the bed as he slammed into you without warning. And he didn’t stop. Not this time. He pulled out, only halfway, then slammed back in again, deep and relentless, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing around the room, your slick making it filthy, wet, loud. You buried your face into the sheets, moaning helplessly, your knees threatening to give out.

Behind you, Yunho was growling now, every thrust harder than the last, like he needed to fuck every smartass word out of your mouth, every last trace of control you thought you had. His dick hit deep, dragging against your walls perfectly, your pussy already fluttering around him from the overstimulation. Your body trembled with every thrust, voice cracking on every moan.

“You think you can ride him like that,” Yunho hissed, pounding into you now, hips snapping with brutal rhythm, “drip all over his dick like that….” Your fingers clawed at the sheets. “and then fuck yourself on me like I don’t know what that little act was?”

You whimpered, broken, and behind you, Mingi groaned, still watching, still stroking his dick slowly, his free hand gripping the headboard now as he stared at the way Yunho destroyed you. Yunho leaned over you, teeth scraping your shoulder. “You’re ours now.” Then his hand reached around your waist, slipping back between your legs again to rub your clit in tight, fast circles as he slammed into you from behind. “Fucking say it.”

You tried to speak. Tried to answer him. To say the words, I’m yours, like he demanded, like he deserved. But your body betrayed you first. Your mouth opened. But the words got caught in a scream as Yunho’s fingers rubbed harder, faster, his dick slamming into you without mercy, and suddenly everything inside you snapped. Your thighs trembled violently. Your back arched. Your scream cracked in the back of your throat as your orgasm tore through you, white hot and blinding, your entire body seizing beneath him as you squirted.

It gushed out of you in hot, messy pulses, soaking his dick, your thighs, the sheets, everything. “Fuck!” Yunho choked, his hips jerking, hands gripping your waist as the force of it pushed him out of you. His dick slipped free with a wet, messy sound, and you collapsed, shaking, gasping, your slick pouring down your legs, your body too overwhelmed to even move.

Mingi let out a broken moan beside you, hand tightening around his own dick, eyes wide, staring. Yunho was frozen for a moment, breathing hard, staring down at your soaked, trembling body, your pussy still twitching from the aftershocks, slick and dripping as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sweat and spit and disbelief. “Fuck.”

His voice was hoarse. Shaky. And you were still gasping, trying to come down from the most explosive orgasm of your life. Mingi moved first, his hand reaching for you gently, eyes full of something wild. “You good, baby?”

Your chest was rising and falling in shaky waves, thighs trembling, your body a mess of slick, sweat, paint, and the wreckage they’d both left you in as you looked up, eyes hazy but glowing, lips swollen, that grin curling slow at the corners of your mouth. “I want you both.”

The room went silent. Mingi froze. Yunho’s brows lifted, his chest still heaving as he stared down at you like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. Then they looked at each other. Really looked. And for a second, the air was thick with unspoken things, uncertainty, hesitation, want. Because they’d never done this. Not with each other. Not like this. But for you? They’d burn that boundary down without blinking.

Yunho was the first to speak. “Are you sure?” His voice was lower now. Calmer. Just the tiniest tremble beneath it as you smiled again. “Yes,” you whispered. “I’m sure.” Yunho let out a shaky breath, his jaw tightening as he bit his lip. “Mingi…” he said, grabbing your waist and starting to pull you upright, “get under her.”

Mingi’s eyes blew wide. But he didn’t hesitate. He moved instantly, sliding back onto the bed, settling onto the pillows, his dick hard, thick and slick with your earlier mess. You were still breathless as Yunho helped guide you up and over him. Your thighs shook as you straddled Mingi’s hips again, his hands immediately moving to your waist, his mouth open in disbelief and desire.

Yunho knelt behind you, palms smoothing up your back, his dick heavy against your ass as you let him guide you. Still dazed. Still trembling. But you wanted this, needed this. Your thighs spread as you shifted forward, hands bracing on Mingi’s chest while his dick slid back into your soaked, aching pussy with a sound that made all three of you groan. He was so deep, filling you instantly, your body hugging him like you were made for it. Mingi’s hands gripped your hips tight, head falling back against the pillow, lips parting. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Still so tight…. so warm…”

You moaned as you adjusted, hips rolling slightly, already full. And then Yunho’s hands were back, on your hips, on your lower back, smoothing down your spine as he leaned over you. His dick slid between your cheeks, hard and slick, and your breath hitched. “Relax,” Yunho murmured against your ear, his voice thick with restraint. “I’ve got you.” You nodded. Shaking. Wanting. Needing.

One of Yunho’s hands moved down, parting your cheeks as he lined himself up with your tight hole, his other hand steady on your waist. You felt the pressure first, the thick head of his dick coated in your own slick, pressing slowly into you, inch by inch, giving your body time to open. Time to take him. And you did.

You gasped, loud, wrecked, as your muscles stretched around him, your fingers digging into Mingi’s chest, your head dropping forward. Mingi moaned underneath you, holding you steady, his own dick twitching inside you as Yunho slid deeper, slow and controlled. “Fuck… she’s taking it,” Yunho groaned, voice breaking. “So fucking good.” Your whole body shook, not from pain, but from how full you were. Every inch of you was claimed now.

Mingi’s hands slid up your sides, breath ragged. “You okay, baby?” You nodded, voice barely a whisper. “More.”

Yunho let out a growl. And pushed in all the way. No one moved. Not at first. You were so full you could barely breathe. Yunho’s dick buried deep in your ass, Mingi’s thick and pulsing inside your pussy, both of them holding you in place like your body had become their center of gravity. You trembled between them, your hands flat on Mingi’s chest, head bowed, hair clinging to your sweat slicked skin.

Yunho was hunched over your back, his hands gentle now, one on your hip, the other stroking slowly up your spine as he leaned in, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Just breathe,” he murmured, voice low and shaky, even he was overwhelmed by how tight you were around him. “You’re doing so fucking good.” You let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, nodding slowly, body adjusting to the incredible stretch of being filled so completely.

Mingi’s fingers flexed on your waist, his brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut. “Shit,” he groaned, voice cracking. “I can feel him. Every time he breathes, I feel it. You’re so tight…. and he’s… fuck, Yunho, you’re right there.”

Behind you, Yunho exhaled through clenched teeth, his hips rolling just slightly, grinding deeper, making you twitch around both of them. “Don’t,” Mingi warned, voice tight. “If you start, I’m not gonna last.” Yunho chuckled, low, dangerous, turned on beyond belief. “She asked for both of us,” he murmured. “We’re giving her everything.”

Yunho’s hand slid up your back, soothing, grounding, before curling into your shoulder as Mingi’s fingers tightened at your hips. And then, together, they moved. A slow, careful rhythm. Yunho pulled back just slightly, only to push forward again in time with Mingi’s shallow thrust upward, both of them feeling each other through you, moving in sync, inch by inch, stretching you in both directions, filling you until your body didn’t know where one of them ended and the other began.

Your mouth fell open. But no sound came out. Just breath, shaky, shattered breath, punctuated by tiny gasps as their dicks slid deep inside you, over and over again. “God… fuck,” Mingi groaned beneath you, his voice thick and cracked. Yunho’s voice was low, wrecked, jaw tight as his hips rocked forward again. “She’s gripping so tight… I don’t know how much longer I can go slow.”

You were gone. Completely. Arms shaking, collapsing slowly over Mingi’s chest as your body stopped even pretending it could hold itself up. You just let go, your chest pressed to his, cheek resting against his shoulder, moaning with every roll of their hips. You didn’t need to move. They were doing it all. Every grind. Every thrust. Every deep, stretching, aching stroke.

“That’s it, baby,” Mingi whispered, breath ragged, lips at your ear. “Just take it. Don’t fight it…. just let us have you.” Yunho’s hand found yours and squeezed. “You’re perfect like this.” Their rhythm stayed slow. But it was deep. So deep. And you had no idea how you were still conscious. Your body was trembling, slick and painted and stretched wide around them, every inch of you owned, claimed, used. And still, it wasn’t enough. “More…” The word left you in a gasp, barely audible. “Please…”

Your voice cracked as your forehead dropped to Mingi’s shoulder, your fingers digging helplessly into his chest. “Fuck me… please, fuck me….”

Yunho’s breath snapped in his throat as Mingi cursed under his breath, hands flexing hard around your waist. And then they moved together harder. Faster. The slow, torturous rhythm broke like a dam bursting, and suddenly you were slamming between them, your body jolting with every thrust, your cunt clenching around Mingi while Yunho pounded into your ass, both of them grunting, moaning, losing it. The room echoed with it now, wet, filthy slaps of skin, the low growls of Yunho’s breath behind you, the broken gasps Mingi let out beneath you every time your pussy clenched around him.

“God, she’s squeezing me…” Mingi groaned, eyes squeezed shut, hips jerking upward into your heat as Yunho’s hand wrapped around your throat from behind, pulling you upright, owning your weight as he fucked into you harder. “You wanted this?” he growled into your ear, hips snapping with every word. “Wanted to be split open between us?”

You sobbed, loud, raw, shattered. “Yes… yesyesyes!” Your body bounced between them now, ragdoll loose, your mind gone, your pleasure spiraling toward something catastrophic as Mingi was already close. He’d been close since the second you’d taken him again, wrapped around him so tight, so wet, so full of him and Yunho both.

But now Yunho was pounding into you from behind, and every thrust had you clenching, tight, rhythmic, choking his dick like your body wanted to drag him over the edge with you. “Fuck…. fuck…baby,” Mingi gasped, his head thrown back, eyes wild. Your arms were limp around his shoulders, your body bouncing between them as Yunho drove into you harder, groaning low and mean every time your ass met his hips.

Mingi’s fingers dug into your waist, trying to slow it down, trying to breathe but you clenched again. And again. “Y/N…. oh my…. I’m gonna… fuck!” He thrust up once, instinct, reflex, desperation, and he came. Hard. Deep. Filling you with thick heat as his entire body locked up beneath you, your name falling from his lips in a shattered groan. “Y/N…. oh fuck, I’m coming…”

You felt it, his dick pulsing, twitching, spilling inside you. And still, Yunho didn’t stop. He growled, slamming into you again, dragging your trembling body against his chest, his hand slipping under you now, rubbing your clit like he wanted to wring another orgasm out of you right there as Mingi whimpered, body twitching under you. His dick was still buried in your pussy, overstimulated, twitching, trapped, and you just kept clenching around him every time Yunho’s thrusts pushed you forward.

“She’s milking me,” Mingi moaned, eyes rolling back, hips bucking helplessly as his body twitched in aftershock. And Yunho was fucking possessed. “Take it,” he growled against your shoulder. “Take both of us.” Your body was on fire. Yunho’s dick pistoned into you from behind, every thrust dragging you down onto Mingi’s overstimulated length, your soaked, fluttering pussy still squeezing him tight, milking the last pulses of his orgasm as you shattered again. A raw, broken moan ripped from your throat as your back arched hard, your body locking between them.

Your walls clamped down on Mingi violently, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave you couldn’t control, your body trembling, twitching, pulsing. “Fuck…. I’m fuck, I’m coming again! Mingi’s mouth fell open. His fingers dug into your waist. And the second you clamped around him like that, soaked and pulsing and hot, his body betrayed him.

“Fuck…. baby… fuck!” Mingi sobbed, breath catching on a shocked gasp as his hips bucked helplessly, another orgasm ripping through him without warning. “I…. I can’t… I can’t stop….” He cried out, loud and wrecked, dick twitching deep inside you as he came again, your orgasm dragging his body into another release, his thighs trembling beneath you, his chest heaving, his mind gone as Yunho’s thrusts were brutal now, sloppy, the rhythm gone, all growl and need and desperation.

He slammed into you one last time, hips locked to yours, buried deep and let out a snarl against your skin. “Mine… fuck, I’m coming….. fuck…” You felt Yunho pulse inside you, thick and hot, his grip bruising on your hips as he spilled deep into your ass, forehead pressed to your spine, his body shaking through it. All three of you froze. Breathing. Shaking.

And then you collapsed. Sandwiched between them, painted and soaked and trembling, your body full of both of them, your throat raw from moaning, your limbs limp, your mind empty as Mingi whimpered beneath you, chest rising and falling like he’d just survived something divine.

Yunho kissed your back once. Then again. Then breathed. “Yeah…” he murmured, voice hoarse. “we’re never letting you go.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The next day was slow. Florida heat leaked through the blinds, casting lazy golden stripes across the living room floor, the faint hum of a fan, and the low crackle of a blunt being passed back and forth.

Yunho was sprawled on the couch, legs spread, clean shirt hanging loose off his frame. His hair was damp from a recent shower, skin now scrubbed clean of paint and sweat and sin, but his jaw was still sore from clenching last night.

Mingi sat beside him, shirtless, sweatpants riding low on his hips, head tipped back against the couch as he took a long pull from the blunt and exhaled slowly, smoke trailing from his mouth as he looked at the ceiling. “So…” then grinned lazily, “Yeah.”

“Never doing that again without prepping better,” Yunho muttered as Mingi laughed.

Knock knock knock.

The front door creaked open without waiting. “Hey,” came Wooyoung’s voice. “I need a favor, and weed, and also to make sure you didn’t break my best friend because she still hasn’t come back and I…” He stopped. Stared. Mouth parted in a half formed question as he took in the scene…..

Yunho and Mingi, stretched out on the couch, very much alive. Very much relaxed. And you. You walked in from down the hall, freshly showered, legs bare, one of Yunho’s oversized shirts swallowing your frame, just long enough to cover the top of your thighs and nothing else.

Wooyoung blinked and before he could even form a real sentence, Mingi reached for you without hesitation, his arm curling around your waist and tugging you into his lap like it was already routine. You went willingly, curling into him with a sleepy smile, your hand brushing Yunho’s knee like you’d done it a thousand times.

Yunho glanced at Wooyoung and took another drag from the blunt. “How much weed you want, man?” Mingi nuzzled your neck, grinning into your skin. And Wooyoung? He just stood there, gaping, hands on his hips like he was about to throw a fit.

“Bitch, consider me jealous.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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: